“Uh-huh. Yet here you sit with her secret whatever-it-is in your hold, no longer in charge of your own bridge control codes, while she uses your comm to chat with her confederates, and Black Sun and the Empire close in for the kill. Did I miss anything?”
Han didn’t respond. He just turned and stared at his sensor display. “Well, at least it really is the Nova’s Heart.”
“Han, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised to find out the entire crew of that black yacht are Jedi and that the Empire’s sent Darth Vader himself after us.”
Han’s face drained of blood. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Dash sighed and rubbed at his patched right eye, watching as Javul’s yacht drew up along their flank from the stern. “Yeah, I’m joking. Everybody knows there aren’t any more Jedi.”
“Dash?” Javul’s voice came to them from the console.
“Here.”
“I need that transponder Leebo took out of the other droid. Can you bring it back to engineering?”
“May I ask why?”
“We’re going to use the Nova’s Heart as a decoy.”
“And that,” said Han as Dash exited the cockpit, “is the first thing I’ve understood in the last week.”
Dash reached the engineering bay to find not just Javul, but Mel, Nik, and Spike as well. As an added bonus surprise, the container they’d snatched from Bannistar Station had been moved from concealment to the center of the main hold.
“What are you doing?” Dash asked.
Javul held out her hand to him. “Do you have it? The transponder?”
Dash hesitated.
“Trust me,” she said.
Why not? He was too tired not to. He dug the transponder out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
She smiled at him. “It’s almost too bad the eye patch will come off soon. It makes you look rakish and piratical.”
“Yeah, and plays havoc with my depth perception. What are you doing?” he repeated. “What’s with the container?”
“The container and this transponder are going over to the Nova’s Heart.”
“Okay. The transponder I understand, but why the container?”
“We’ve got a big fat target painted on our hull right now,” she answered. “The Nova’s Heart has been out of sight and out of mind for a while.”
“Not sure I agree with your line of reasoning, but it’s your show.”
Javul nodded. “Yeah, right now, it is. Thanks, Dash.”
“What for?”
She smiled gently at him; even a man with only one good eye could read plenty into it. “For trusting me, even though I’ve given you every reason not to.”
He felt the gentle bump as the yacht made a soft connection with the Millennium Falcon’s port-side docking ring. Mel moved to cycle the air lock. A moment later the hatch opened and Captain Marrak appeared in the pass-through between the two vessels.
Javul flipped the transponder to Spike, who grinned and strode with it through the access tunnel to meet the yacht’s Zabrak captain. She handed him the transponder, then kissed him enthusiastically enough to raise Dash’s temperature.
Mel and Nik, meanwhile, were maneuvering the container into the cargo pass-through. Behind Javul a light flashed on the sensor panel. As Dash reached for the comm, the ship trembled.
He grabbed the back of the engineering station’s chair to steady himself. “Oh, that can’t be good.”
Javul’s eyes were wide with sudden alarm and, from the cockpit, Han was shouting, “Rendar! Get up here! Now!”
He got up there.
The approaching ship was stealth black, so light-sucking fuliginous that it registered on Dash’s wonky perception as a hole in space. It was coming at them at an oblique angle, from around the curve of another of Mimban’s moons.
“Hitch Kris again,” said Dash. “I’ll get Javul to talk him down.”
“Well, she’d better be on her toes, ’cause he just fired a shot across our bow.”
And there was no one in the laser turret to fire back, Dash realized. But if Javul could dissuade Kris from being a pain in the rear, there’d be no need. As if the Vigo had read his mind, the big black yacht fired another blast of high-energy particles at the smaller vessel, rocking it sharply.
“He’s really mad, Dash. Get Javul!”
Javul stuck her head into the cockpit. “I’m here. What’s hap—” She stopped, staring through the viewport.
“Would you please tell your fiancé to stop shooting at us?” asked Han.
“That’s not my fiancé.”
“Okay, ex-fiancé.”
Javul was already backing out of the cockpit. “No. That’s not my ex-fiancé, either.” She ran down the passageway, shouting now. “That’s Xizor!”
Han hit the intercom to the main hold. “People, we are leaving—now!”
Javul’s voice came back through the intercom. “You can’t! We’re still locked with Nova’s Heart. We’re going to have to fight back.”
Han’s hand flew over the controls. “Then we’ll fight back from behind the moon.”
“We can’t move—”
“You do your job—I’ll do mine! Get someone to the laser turret, get that container off-loaded, and cycle the locks. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Han opened a link to the bridge of the Nova’s Heart.
“What’re we doing?” Dara asked as Javul turned from the communications panel.
The container was half in and half out of the pass-through, and a couple of the Heart’s crew peered at them from the other side of the connected air locks.
“Change of plans. We’re under attack.”
“I heard,” said Mel. “I’m going up to the laser turret. You stay,” he told Nik and sprinted for the turret access tube.
As Javul moved to help Dara with the container, the ships shuddered and a low thrum shivered through the joined hulls. Cold adrenaline shot through her. The sublight engines had come online. They were moving.
“Hurry!” she shouted and reached for the container.
Moving in tandem, the two small ships ducked beneath the moon and into a sharp curve that put the bulk of Mimban’s satellite between them and the Black Sun Underlord—though it brought them closer to the surface than was probably safe. Worse, Dash thought, if Xizor was able to bring his big yacht through the screen of mining traffic and slide between them and the planet, they’d be effectively trapped.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he told Han.
“Trust me.”
“I do. It’s Xizor I don’t trust. He might just blow up this moon to get at her. Where is he?”
Han checked the sensors. “Coming over the lunar north pole. Dead ahead.”
He was sweating. Dash hadn’t ever seen Han sweat before.
“Arm missiles,” Han told him.
Dash armed the missiles and started sweating himself.
As the bow of Xizor’s yacht peeked over the curve of the moon, the ship’s comm came to life. Dash jumped as Prince Xizor’s dark, silken voice addressed them.
“I know you’re in one of those two little tin cans, Alai Jance. Which is why I intend to blow them both to dust. I admit, though, that I don’t know what you’re up to and my curiosity is piqued. Enough that I may—may, I say—make an attempt to capture you. I suspect you may be of some strategic value. So understand, Alai, that your continued existence depends on your next action. If you’re tempted to fire on me, think twice.”
Dash, his hand hovering over the missile launch button, was more than tempted. The man who had blown his family apart was right there, right above him, silhouetted against the ambient glow of the system’s sun and planets. Two missiles fired at just the right interval and at the right angle could punch a momentary hole in Xizor’s shields at their weakest point and take out their shield generator. A second barrage might disable their ventral laser cannon, leaving the keel unprotected. And if he did it in the next five seconds, before Xizor’
s ventral gun battery had cleared the moon, he might just be able to blow the prince to whatever afterlife the Falleen believed in.
He brushed the tips of his fingers over the button, hand trembling with the desire to push it.
What was keeping Javul? How much time did they need to push the container over and button up the two air locks?
“Steady,” breathed Han, as if he could read Dash’s thoughts.
Javul’s voice shattered the tension. “We’re clear! We’re clear!”
“Hold on!” Han shouted. He flipped the ship over, pivoting on its beam, and shot beneath the moon. Nova’s Heart mirrored their movements, then wheeled over the south pole of the moon and shot off in another direction.
The Millennium Falcon sailed toward the heart of the system, into an area of high traffic between Circarpous IV and V. Dash understood the strategy. Even Prince Xizor would be reluctant to take a chance on the sort of collateral damage that might result if he attacked in such a crowded corridor.
But suddenly Prince Xizor was the least of their worries. The freighters, ore carriers, and passenger ships that usually dominated the intersystem space lanes were scattering in the face of two Imperial cruisers and a Star Destroyer—the latter of which was just pulling out of the lee of Circarpous Major.
Han let out a whoop and hauled back on the steering yoke. The ship shot straight up, ninety degrees relative to the system plane, picking up speed … and leaving Xizor and the Imperials on a collision course.
Dash hit the intercom and shouted, “Countermeasures, Leebo! Drop countermeasures!”
But the Star Destroyer had already gotten off a shot. It struck their aft shields just off center and threw the Millennium Falcon into a wild half turn. The second shot caught the cloud of trash Leebo had jettisoned, but they were so close to the ship that it bucked again.
If she’d been alone in the area, the Falcon would have been able to move at will, but even here there were enough other ships to make maneuvering hazardous. And unlike Black Sun, the Imperials obviously wouldn’t think twice about shooting up the locals. The Falcon had only one advantage—size. They could move much faster in this crowded space than the Star Destroyer, but the cruisers were much smaller and much more agile. They were already reacting to the Falcon’s radical course change and giving chase.
As they dodged a string of three ore carriers, Javul came forward and fell into the jump seat behind Han.
“The gunnery crew still in place?” Han asked.
“Mel’s up in the dorsal turret. But I sent Dara and Nik over to Nova’s Heart. We’re a skeleton crew now.”
“Are you kidding? It’s usually just me and Chewie. I still feel over-occupied.”
Another shot just cleared their sensor array. The cruisers were gaining on them.
“Can’t we jump to hyperspace?” Javul asked, her eyes fixed on the tactical display.
“Not yet,” Han muttered. “Still too close to the star’s gravity well.” He glanced sideways at Dash. “You’re gonna have to take the belly turret.”
“I have a better idea—let me steer and you can go and shoot at the Empire.”
“Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen. You pilot the Falcon? In your dreams. Go take the gun.”
Dash licked his lips. “I … can’t, Han. I can’t aim. Even without the patch, I still can’t see clearly out of my right eye. Not well enough to target.”
Han’s expression was opaque. “Okay, you’ve got the con, but don’t do anything I would.”
Dash put his hands on the copilot’s yoke, and Han climbed out of the pilot’s chair and headed for the hatch. He paused to point a finger at Javul. “Keep an eye on him. Don’t let him do anything dangerous. Or stupid.”
“Right.”
Dash did something both dangerous and stupid almost immediately. He turned the Millennium Falcon over again and aimed her bow directly at Circarpous Major. If he was at a disadvantage visually, flying into the sun, so should be their pursuers. Not only would their visual acuity be cut by the glare, but it would also muck up their sensor arrays. At times the older, simpler instruments were the best; a brand-new, right-out-of-the-shipyards Star Destroyer couldn’t have anything as antediluvian as a simple radar array.
Advantage: Falcon.
The problem was, of course, that the sun’s gravitational pull and magnetic fields played havoc with the Millennium Falcon’s systems as well. The one-eyed pilot was going to have to eyeball the right moment to veer off. Ironic.
Javul slid into the pilot’s seat. She was silent, her gaze on the viewport, which had darkened automatically to screen out the sun’s radiation. Dash somehow knew the silence was trust, not fear. It made him tighten his grip on the steering yoke.
His concentration was broken when the Imperials hailed them. “Unidentified craft, this is Commander Corsa of the Imperial cruiser Valiant. You will heave to and be boarded, or we will destroy you. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I understand just fine, thanks,” Dash murmured, keeping his focus on the looming star.
“I didn’t catch that, Captain,” Commander Corsa said. “Say again.”
“Catch this, Corsa! Fire at will!” Han’s voice shouted over the intercom, followed by the distinctive sound of a barrage of laserfire.
Javul, peering through the viewport dead ahead, suddenly went stiff and pointed. “What’s that?”
That was a black hole in the sun. A vaguely ship-shaped hole. It was moving toward them rapidly—clearly not a fleeing freighter. Dash’s heart hammered and his throat went suddenly dry. If that was Xizor, his intention was clear—to blow them out of the sky and … and what? If that was the plan, it was suicide. He’d be flying right into the path of an Imperial formation. Did Xizor really want Javul dead that badly?
The oncoming vessel hailed them. “Alai Jance.”
Javul shot a startled look at Dash. “Hitch!” She mouthed and leaned forward in her seat. “Here.”
“You really want to go through with this?”
“I have to, Hitch. You know I do.”
There was a moment’s pause, then the Vigo said, “All right. Just now the Imperial’s sensors can’t read me. I’m in your shadow. On my mark, dive minus ninety degrees. Understood?”
“Understood,” Dash said, perspiration trickling down the sides of his face. The eye patch itched. He pulled it off and tossed it.
The sun had filled the Falcon’s viewport, and now the vessel barreling toward them was an expanding black mass in the midst of that fiery backdrop. A blurry black mass.
“Mark!”
Dash leaned into the steering yoke, and the Millennium Falcon dived straight “down” and into the stew of traffic in the Circarpous system’s temperate zone. He dodged other vessels, spinning, spiraling ever-downward through the core of the system and out the other side. This time there seemed to be no pursuit. Free of the system’s gravity fields, beyond a far-flung circling shell of asteroids and comets, Dash turned the Falcon’s bow toward Alderaan and prepared for the jump to hyperspace.
Just before they jumped, Hitch Kris contacted them once more.
“Congratulations, Alai. You’ve shaken the tail … for now. The Imperials split up to chase other targets, and my boss”—he laid subtle stress on the word—“has galloped off after the Nova’s Heart.”
“And you, Hitch?” she asked softly.
For a few moments, there was nothing but the faint hiss and crackle of the carrier wave. Then Hitch’s voice said, “I’m done, baby. You’re into something that’s way beyond my pay grade. Good luck.”
“You, too … that is, I assume you’re one of the targets the Imperials are chasing.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry about me, Alai. I may have lost you, but I still have resources neither the Empire nor Underlord Xizor know about. Smooth spacing.”
“Smooth spacing,” she answered.
Dash turned to look at her. Was that wistfulness in her expression? Did she still harbor some fondness for
her Vigo ex? He engaged the hyperdrive, watched the stars blur, then closed his eyes.
Han interrupted his semi-coma by appearing and demanding his command back. Dash was happy to comply. His leg ached, his shoulders were throbbing, and his right eye felt like there was sand in it.
He and Javul made their way aft to the crew’s commons where she sat him down, got out a medkit, and forced him to let her work on his eye for the fourth or fifth time. She flushed it out with a medicated solution that stopped the stinging, then applied some ointment. He sagged in the chair, wanting desperately to sleep. His mind wandered, wondering about the relationship between Javul Charn and Hityamun Kris.
His mind hit a snag. His eyes flew open.
“What?” She was watching him through the steam from a hot cup of caf.
“Hitch said that Xizor was chasing Nova’s Heart.”
“Yes.”
“Why? The transponder was Hitch’s and he’s not chasing anybody anymore.”
“Xizor isn’t chasing the transponder. He’s chasing Oto. We reactivated him, gave him some new instructions, and put him on Nova’s Heart. That’s why it took us so long to disengage the air locks.” She smiled at his dazed expression. “Why don’t you get some sleep? Make that eye feel better.”
He was asleep before he could muster the energy to answer.
THIRTY
DASH WOKE TEN HOURS LATER WITH THE SURE KNOWLEDGE that they were still in hyperspace. He was disoriented for a moment, because he was lying in his bunk, not hunched over the table in the crew’s commons or curled up on the floor beneath it. He tried to imagine Han being enlisted to help move him here and failed. He turned his head and realized two things simultaneously: that his right eye was significantly better and that Han was the occupant of the nearest bunk.
Who was piloting the ship?
The question brought Dash to his feet and out into the corridor. He made his way to the cockpit, where he found Leebo ensconced in the pilot’s chair, with Mel sitting beside him. The cargo master glanced up as he slid into to the jump seat.
“He left you in charge?” Dash asked the droid.
“Yeah, and I didn’t even have to pretend to have a bum eye.”
Star Wars: Shadow Games Page 27
