Ambush at Corellia

by Roger MacBride Allen

  “That we will do, Captain. Millennium Falcon out.”

  Han shut off the com system, hung up his headset, unstrapped himself from the gunner’s chair—and then just sat there for a moment, thinking.

  In the game of sabacc, the rules could change in the middle of a hand, and all the cards that were going to do you good could suddenly be the worst kind of bad news. But the opposite was also true. A disaster of a hand could turn around just as quickly, and win you the pot. The trick was in knowing exactly when, and exactly how fast, and exactly by what means the change could come. Then you could be ready for it; know exactly how to deal with the new situation.

  Every now and again your opponent made a mistake, showed a card he should not, and you knew more than you were supposed to. The most honest sabacc players were good enough sports to tell their opponents when it happened. But sabacc players who wanted to win were never that honest.

  The opposition, whoever that was, had just showed Han some of their cards. Han was not about to let them know he had seen anything at all.

  But neither was he the least bit sure what rules he was now playing by.

  * * *

  Han stepped into the cockpit, and was not overly surprised to see Leia in the pilot’s seat, watching the main viewport. He hadn’t really expected her to sit by quietly while the ship was under attack. He was glad she hadn’t. Assuming she had the kids squared away, getting a second pilot into the cockpit was the best thing she could have done. She turned to face Han. “Did you have a nice chat with our new friends?” she asked. She clearly wasn’t too happy about being cut out of the comlink.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Great bunch of folks. Are the kids still okay?”

  Leia nodded toward a small repeater screen that was showing a view of the lounge. Han could see three small figures, their expressions very serious, very solemn. “I told them that if they moved out of view, there would be no dinner for a week,” she said. “For once it seems like they knew when I needed them to obey. But what the burning skies is going on, Han?”

  “Sorry I cut you off from the com back there,” he said, answering the hurt in her voice rather than the words of her question. “I just needed to concentrate. If things had gone the wrong way, we could have been in trouble.” Han wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying. His mind was on the problem at hand, not on being polite to his wife. “Look, lemme into the pilot’s station, will ya? I’ve got to try something.”

  Leia got out of the seat, but she clearly was not yet placated. “Could have been in trouble?” she repeated. “Could have been? What do you call pirates shooting at us?”

  “There weren’t any pirates, and no one was shooting at us,” Han said, his voice flat and tired. “That’s why I ordered Chewie not to maneuver. I was worried we might fly into one of the intentional near misses.” Han settled into the pilot’s chair. “Chewie, punch up the tactical playback and run it, will you? Main screen.”

  Chewie gave Han a strange look, but obeyed. The tactical display popped up on the screen, and showed a schematic diagram of the encounter just past. “Watch the Uglies come in,” he said. “Remember we came in out of hyperspace, well short of where we were supposed to be, but on a straight-line course for our intended arrival point. The Uglies were coming in on that same course in normal space—but they were expecting us to show up twenty seconds later and a million kilometers away. Then they throw away perfect firing position and fly right past us. They don’t even shoot back when I take a shot at them. For a second there, I thought I had just gotten us all killed by opening fire on a nonhostile ship, but then I figured out what was going on. Instead, they flew past us, then waited until they were almost on top of the honor-guard ships before they turned and opened fire on us. And they kept missing. Threepio couldn’t miss us at that range.”

  Chewbacca growled and burbled.

  “Exactly,” Han said. “The Uglies were robot ships, and not very well-programmed ones. No one was onboard those ships. They were programmed to fly to a designated point in space, then open fire with near misses at a ship meeting the Falcon’s description. They were expecting the Falcon to arrive roughly in the center of the honor guard’s spherical formation,” he said. “If we had shown up there, it would have worked great. It would have made perfect sense to open fire where they did. Perfectly sound tactics. Except we came in from a million kilometers away, and they flew past us at point-blank range, took up an absolutely lousy firing position, and started blasting. As I said, somebody didn’t program their robots so well.

  “Chewie, modify the display to show the encounter if we had arrived as per the flight plan.” The screen cleared and then displayed the image of a miniature Falcon popping out of subspace in the center of the honor-guard sphere. “If we had arrived there, in the middle of the PPB’s spherical formation, and had gotten there twenty seconds later, the act would have worked. The bad guys would have shown up coming straight for us, gotten off a shot or two, and then been blasted by the heroic pilots of the honor guard, firing their popgun lasers at the attacking ships.”

  “But the PPBs lost one of their own ships,” Leia objected.

  “Another robot-drone ship,” Han said. “The one that ended up getting shot was the one that was at the back of the formation and flew the simplest maneuvers.”

  “That doesn’t prove it’s a robot,” Leia objected. “Maybe it was just that the least skilled and experienced pilot was the one who got hit.”

  “Except that the squad leader didn’t seem to care about his own pilot getting killed. He didn’t seem to know what I was talking about when I offered my condolences. He’ll never win any awards for acting.”

  “But if they were running a deception, they would have thought about that sort of detail ahead of time.”

  “If you were running the deception, you would have thought of it,” Han replied. “Maybe these guys aren’t so good at this sort of thing. Or maybe they didn’t have time to set things up just the way they wanted. Maybe they’re improvising.” He looked at the display for a moment longer and then spoke again. “That might explain the B-wing. I can’t see how we were supposed to believe that those little PPBs could take on that chop-job B-wing. Maybe they didn’t have time to put together a more plausible matchup.”

  “All right. Assume you’re right. The next question is—who are ‘they’? This was a pretty big operation. You can’t just order some PPBs to go out and play shoot-’em-up. There would have to be a huge conspiracy with a cover-up all set and ready to go. Greasing a few palms I can see, but how can you bribe the whole armed forces?”

  “With a larger bag of money,” Han said. “This is Corellia. Everything is for sale here. And cover-ups aren’t that hard when everything is a secret. It could be that the highest level of command ordered this, or that they know nothing about it.”

  “So it’s either an official mission, or it isn’t, and the military and government might be behind it, or they might not,” Leia said. “That’s very helpful.”

  “Well, look on the bright side,” Han said. “For the moment at least, we have at least one advantage. We know someone’s playing games, but they don’t know we know.”

  Chewie had been unusually quiet for a long time. Now he let out a low edgy-sounding bellow.

  “I don’t know why,” Han replied in an irritable voice. “I can make guesses why they did it. Someone in the Corellian Defense Forces wanted to throw a scare into us—and make us trust the CDF.”

  “If they think we fell for it,” Leia said.

  “Well, it’s good to have things nice and clear,” Han said. “But just for the moment I don’t think there’s much we can do besides follow these guys in and keep our eyes open.”

  “Wide open,” Leia said. “Take us in, Han.”

  Han set to work laying in a course, but then looked up at the PPBs still holding formation. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he had tangled with the heavy hitters in this part of the sky. “Just l
ike old times,” he said to Chewie, who replied with a noncommittal yawp. Han nodded. “You’ve got that right,” he said as he went back to his work. “Welcome to Corellia.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Message Intercepted

  Mara Jade stared at the message cube, wishing she could send it to someone else, or make it cease to exist altogether. Or discard it, ignore it, pretend it had never arrived. But she couldn’t. Not under the circumstances.

  Well, no sense staring at the miserable thing. She wouldn’t learn anything further by looking at it. In fact, that was the whole point. She sighed, stood up, crossed her cabin, put the cube back in the safe, and sealed the safe’s door. She stepped out into the corridor of her ship, the Jade’s Fire, turned, and headed toward the sloop’s bridge. Might as well give the orders in person.

  Once she had decided what orders to give.

  Long years ago, so long ago that it seemed another lifetime, back when there had still been an Empire and an Emperor, Mara Jade had been the Emperor’s Hand, doing his bidding on a hundred missions, carrying out his will in secret. She had been his courier, his courtier, his envoy, his assassin, on more occasions than she could count. The Emperor had sensed her power in the Force and made use of it. He had commanded her, ruled her, owned her, body and soul.

  And then, out of nowhere, had come crashing, headlong, sudden destruction. The Rebellion, the Alliance, had defeated the Empire and killed the Emperor.

  Mara had landed on her feet, more or less, working for the smuggler and trader Talon Karrde, and keeping her past life as secret as she could. She had never developed any deep or abiding love for the New Republic, to put it mildly, but being able to recognize and accept the reality of a situation was a survival skill. And if there was one thing Mara was good at, it was surviving.

  For that matter, she was no slacker when it came to prospering, if current evidence was any sign. She had made a—reasonably—amicable split with Karrde some time ago, and set up in business for herself. It was a different universe out there, one that didn’t have quite so much use for smugglers anymore. She established herself as a trader in her own right, running a small, quiet, but highly profitable trading company. Like a number of others who had been active in the wars, she had found the return to civilian life more than a little difficult. It was hard to find much excitement in getting a good price on habbis-root after fighting for the future of the galaxy. Still, she was out in space, the master of her own fate, able to go where she wanted and do what she wanted.

  She paused at the sealed hatch leading to the bridge, smoothed her tunic, and set her face into its usual stern expression.

  There might be other captains who tried to set their crews at ease, strove for a relaxed atmosphere on the bridge. Not on Mara Jade’s ship, thank you very much. Her style of ship management carried over directly from her personal style, which was to say it was more than a little severe. Mara Jade was a strikingly lovely woman, her pale skin accentuating her high cheekbones. Her red-gold hair ran down her back in a thick, heavy, luxuriant braid. Her body and her graceful movements were more in keeping with those of a professional dancer than a captain.

  On the rare occasion when a formal reception or other social event required her to dress in something less utilitarian than her customary one-piece jumpsuit, the effect could be startling. People would take one look at her and instantly assume her to be some carefully bred member of the aristocracy. They expected her to behave with demure refinement. However, Mara had never been one to let the expectations of others get in her way, and she had never been one for honeyed words either. She could play that part when it suited her, but it rarely did.

  What she did best was crack the whip, enforce discipline, command—and earn—respect. Nor would she employ anyone who could not earn her respect. That was the way she handled her ship, and more or less everything else in her life as well. It behooved her, therefore, to appear in front of her crew in a cool, calm, and collected state. Never mind that she was actually more agitated than she had been in a long time.

  An Imperial code. The courier had used an Imperial code. One that had been obsolete years before the first Death Star had become operational, but an Imperial code nonetheless.

  What could it mean?

  Never mind. One step at a time. Take it one step at a time.

  Mara hit the switch and the hatch slid open. She stepped into the bridge of the ship and took her accustomed place at the command station. The navigator, a goggle-eyed Mon Calamari, swiveled one eye toward his captain and then back to his console, but did not otherwise acknowledge her. The pilot, a human male, looked over at her and gave a solemn nod. Good. That was the way she liked it. Discipline Mara insisted upon, but she had no use for people jumping around saluting everything that moved.

  To be opened in the presence of Leia Organa Solo, self-styled Chief of State of the so-called New Republic, Han Solo, and the de facto governor-general of the Corellian Sector, Code Rogue Angel Seven.

  The message had been there, in old-style Imperial code, written in neat lettering on the side of the message cube. Mara had unbuttoned the code almost without thinking, but knowing what the words said told her precious little about what the cube meant. Clearly the cube was from someone who had no great love for the New Republic, but beyond that it was difficult to comprehend. There was another label on the cube, but the writing on it was in a script Mara did not recognize. By the look of it, the Imperial-code label had been slapped on the package quickly, and one edge of it overlapped a corner of the unreadable one. Either the Imperial one had been put on second, in some haste, or else it was meant to look as if it had.

  The cube had been aboard a message drone that had intercepted the Jade’s Fire a day or two after she arrived in the Talfaglio System, in the hinterlands of the Corellian Sector. Not that the intercept location told her much. The drone had been equipped with lightspeed engines, and could have come from absolutely anywhere.

  But no matter where it had come from, Mara could not understand why in space it should follow her. And follow her it had. There was no chance of the Jade’s Fire finding the drone by chance. The drone had homed in on the Fire’s ID beacon, and the message cube itself had been wrapped up in a package with Mara’s name scrawled on it.

  But who had sent it? And why? And why had they sent it to Mara? Presumably the reference to “Code Rogue Angel Seven” would mean something to Organa Solo or one of the others, and let them know how to open the cube without destroying its contents. But if it was to be opened in their presence, why send it care of Mara Jade?

  And why use the Imperial code? It certainly wasn’t there to hide information. Surely the New Republic’s people could read it, given a very little bit of time. Was it there to inspire Mara’s Imperial sympathies? Certainly the wording of the coded message was not meant to make anyone in the New Republic happy. Could there actually be some Imperial remnant still remaining? It seemed utterly implausible. Or was the whole affair some elaborate attempt of her business rivals to tag her as pro-Imperial and ruin her business?

  But that was absurd as well. The Empire was as dead as an embalmed corpse. There were no remnants left. There was nothing left to be pro-Imperial about. Besides, even if she had managed to keep the details of who and what she had been in the old days secret, everyone in the business knew that she had worked for the Empire. There were times when that didn’t make business any easier, but it was no grand secret. There wasn’t much point in trying to wreck her reputation by telling people what they already knew.

  So what was it about? Mara knew enough about message cubes to know that she would not be able to find out by any amount of computer slicing. The message on the outside might have been in an easy-to-read code, but she knew that make of message cube, and knew that it would take years of work to slice it—and even then it might go wrong, erasing the contents just as she finally got it open.

  No. There was only one way to find out what it was all about. And that de
cided her. Mara had a lot of personality traits that had stood her in good stead over the years, but plain old-fashioned curiosity was the one she had been least able to indulge. Smugglers and Imperial agents couldn’t afford to stick their noses wherever they wanted.

  But well-to-do traders could, if they had what others wanted. And Mara had the cube. She could trade physical possession of the cube for knowledge of its contents. And there was always profit in knowledge.

  “Mr. Tralkpha,” she said to her Mon Calamari navigator. “Turn us around, if you please. Provide Mr. Nesdin with a direct course for the Corellian System, and let’s put speed ahead of fuel economy just this once.”

  “Very good, Captain,” said the taciturn Tralkpha.

  “Mr. Nesdin,” she said, addressing the pilot. “While Mr. Tralkpha is so engaged please contact our next scheduled stop and advise that we will be delayed by a priority courier mission.” If whoever had sent the drone had the sense to monitor transmissions from the Jade’s Fire, that would tell them she was taking the bait, delivering the cube. “Then get us moving to Corellia.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Nesdin. No questions, no raised eyebrows, no reminders that they had a schedule to keep. Just calm, competent obedience to orders. That was the sort of crew she liked.

  But something else, a turn of phrase she had just used in her thoughts, was trying to tell her something. What was it? Ah! Of course. Taking the bait. Bait was what you put in traps. Was that the plan here? Was someone planning to draw her into an ambush?

  Mara Jade smiled to herself, and knew it was not a pleasant expression. Those who wished to entrap Mara Jade were welcome to try. She doubted they would wish to repeat the experiment.

  “I’ll be in my cabin,” she said, standing up. It would be completely useless, of course. But she had to take another look at that cube.