Wedge asked the comm officer, “Have we heard from Red Team yet? Has Admiral Ackbar arrived in position?”
Ackbar had taken his own complement of ships on a different approach vector: a trio of Corellian gunships, smaller than the Corvettes, and an enormous Calamarian Star Cruiser, the Galactic Voyager, one of the largest and most powerful ships in the New Republic fleet. Wedge knew, however, that sheer size and firepower did not guarantee a victory. Ackbar was to enter the system from the other side, and the two fleets would engage near Nal Hutta itself.
“Red Team confirms they are in position,” the tactical officer said.
“General Antilles,” the comm officer interrupted. “We have an urgent message from Nal Hutta demanding to know our purpose here.”
Wedge tried to stifle a smug grin. “Let them know we’re just engaging in peaceful combat exercises. No cause for alarm,” he said, then muttered, “unless they try anything.”
Admiral Ackbar waited for his helmsman to give the announcement. Finally the other Calamarian officer said, “Both teams in position, Admiral.”
Ackbar nodded his huge head. “Prepare to engage,” he said.
The Galactic Voyager was Ackbar’s favorite ship in the fleet. Every one of the lumpy pod-shaped Calamarian battlecruisers followed a slightly different design devised by master shipbuilders in orbit around their world. For years the Mon Calamari had worked nonstop to replenish the losses suffered by the New Republic during fierce battles with the Empire, such as when Admiral Daala and her Star Destroyers had attacked the Calamarian shipyards and Ackbar himself had caused the destruction of the half-completed warship Startide.
Beside him General Crix Madine, the Supreme Allied Commander for Intelligence, said, “We need to keep the Hutts preoccupied and intimidated to accomplish our real mission here.”
A bearded, middle-aged man, Madine had been in charge of the ground assault on Endor, which resulted in the destruction of the energy-shield generator, allowing the Rebel fleet to destroy the second Death Star. A long time ago, Madine had been an important officer in the Imperial military, but he had defected to the Alliance, bringing with him much valuable information. A good many Rebel victories had resulted from the secret intelligence Madine had delivered to Mon Mothma. He now kept a low profile, serving in his quiet role of necessary covert operations.
“Now that our fleet is in system,” Madine said, “I doubt very much that the Hutts will dare misbehave when the Chief of State arrives on her diplomatic mission.”
Ackbar nodded solemnly. “That may be your motivation, General Madine, but right now my purpose is to score a victory for Red Team.”
As Ackbar began preparations for the engagement, Madine went to one of the sensor stations and relieved the lieutenant. Crix Madine was a hands-on person who liked to do his own busy work. He had no way of knowing when he might need to be proficient in every level of operations, so he tried to have a broad background and competence in every system on board.
Madine adjusted the Galactic Voyager’s long-range scanners to zoom in on the greenish planet of Nal Hutta and its Smugglers’ Moon, Nar Shaddaa. With the arrival of the New Republic fleet, he noted a marked increase in traffic departing from Nar Shaddaa, no doubt small-time criminals fleeing the intimidating military force. He resigned himself to letting so many lowlifes get away, but right now he couldn’t be interested in the dregs of society. His real target on this mission would be much more devious.
“Blue Team has squared off in a defensive position,” the tactical officer said.
Ackbar concentrated on his station. “Give me a display.” Images of Wedge’s fleet appeared in a picket line across space. “Very well,” he said, “we will be the aggressor in this engagement.” He stared at the arrangement of Blue Team’s ships and shook his salmon-colored head. “I’ll have to teach General Antilles a lesson in tactics and vulnerability.”
Madine returned to the admiral’s side. “What do you mean?” He had always been interested in fleet maneuvers.
Ackbar pointed a flipper-hand toward the images. “We’ll plunge through them like a dagger,” he said. “One of our gunships in front, then the Galactic Voyager, then the other two gunships. We’ll plow straight between the two frigates—those are the primary targets. The lead gunship will come in firing and pass straight through. Then the Galactic Voyager will obliterate their defenses with our superior firepower. Finally, the second and third gunships will mop up what’s left. With one pass, we’ll take out the Yavaris and the Dodonna. Blue Team’s flanking Corvettes will be unable to bring their weapons to bear because their own ships block the way.”
“Sounds straightforward,” Madine said.
“Just watch,” Ackbar answered.
* * *
Wedge slumped into his command chair with a boyish grin on his square-jawed face. “He’s falling for it!” He clapped his hands. “All right, Red Team just stepped across the line. We know exactly what they’re going to do. Prepare for it.” Wedge shook his head and looked at Qwi. “Doesn’t Ackbar think I read his own tactical manuals?”
He saw Red Team coming on in a straight line, a single gunship in front, then the huge Star Cruiser, followed by two more gunships. “He’s aiming between the two frigates,” Wedge said. “All right, everybody, red alert! Battle stations! All weapons, low power. Just enough for them to detect all the hits we score.”
“All weapons low power, sir,” the gunnery sergeant reported. “Hit counters are activated.”
Wedge’s eyes twinkled as he watched the ships approach. He held up one hand. “Full power to lateral shields on both frigates,” he said. “Drop all other shields. We know where they’re going to shoot.”
The gunship came right on target, streaking between the Assault Frigate and the Yavaris, repeatedly firing simulated shots.
“Shields holding,” the defensive officer said.
Then the Galactic Voyager came through, its low-power weapons blazing. Wedge chopped down with his hand. “Close the net,” he said.
The tactical officer shouted orders into the encrypted communication system, and the six Corellian Corvettes at the flanks—supposedly out of firing range—suddenly looped up and around, encircling the two seemingly vulnerable frigates. The Corvettes scattered like static moths, flurrying into position and firing on the Mon Calamari Star Cruiser from top and bottom.
The Yavaris and the Dodonna both fired upon the Galactic Voyager, catching it in the crossfire it had expected—but Ackbar had not anticipated the attack from above and below. Wedge ordered the Yavaris to strike Red Team’s front gunship, crippling it.
The simulation computer reduced the gunship’s capabilities and told its captain they were dead in space.
General Madine watched as the hit counters tallied the enormous number of strikes on Red Team’s ships. Madine scratched his beard, turning to Ackbar. “He lured you, and you fell for the trap.”
“Shields failing, Admiral,” the helmsman said in alarm.
“Computer reports that both gunships to our rear have been removed from the game,” the tactical officer said.
Admiral Ackbar flushed a blotchy reddish color. “Increase speed,” he said. “Let’s get away from here so we don’t suffer any more hits.”
“Too late, Admiral,” the helmsman said. “Our shields have failed.”
Madine turned to watch the hit counter’s numbers spiraling upward like a cascade reaction. “Hull plates have been breached. Admiral, I’m sorry to report that the Galactic Voyager has been destroyed.”
Ackbar’s shoulders slumped. “A defeat.”
The tactical officer stood up to report. “We did finally disable their Assault Frigate and one of their attacking Corvettes, but the computer lists Red Team as ‘out of commission’—the Galactic Voyager and two gunships down, our front gunship crippled.”
Ackbar sighed. “The price of overconfidence,” he said. “I was not thinking. Open a channel to Blue Team.” Madine watched as the Cal
amarian stood straight and spoke to Wedge Antilles. “This is the Red Team commander. Congratulations on your victory.”
“You were too predictable, Admiral,” Wedge said.
Ackbar chuckled, but it was a forced laugh. “I will try to be more … erratic with my future commands, General Antilles.”
He checked his sensors and saw that Leia’s diplomatic ship had arrived from Coruscant, exactly on time. Ackbar, as commander of the New Republic fleet, opened a channel to all ships engaged in wargaming exercises.
“Chief of State Leia Organa Solo’s ship has reached the system. Have the fleet form up and escort her to Nal Hutta,” he said. “After that we will return for a rematch.”
Ackbar closed the channel. “On to business. General Madine, I believe you have work to do down on the surface?”
Madine nodded and took the turbolift below decks, where he would prep his commando team for their covert mission to the Hutt planet.
CHAPTER 23
Chief of State Leia Organa Solo’s diplomatic cruiser entered the Nal Hutta system, flanked by an imposing display of New Republic battleships innocently engaged in combat exercises.
Leia sat in the hammerhead-shaped command compartment of her Corellian Corvette, a diplomatic ship much like the blockade runner in which Darth Vader had captured her while searching for the stolen Death Star plans near Tatooine. See-Threepio hovered beside her, newly polished so that he gleamed under the bridge lights. Han, though dressed in less diplomatic finery than he had worn during Durga’s visit, fidgeted in his clean uniform.
“They’ve spotted us,” Han said as alarms began to go off.
“They already knew we were coming,” Leia said. “We sent the Hutts full notice at least … half an hour ago.” She chuckled. “Okay,” she said more seriously to the crew, “time for our performance: I’m going to make a transmission.” She stepped to the upper bridge, alone under the lights. She held the rail, primped herself for a moment, then composed a miffed expression on her face. “Please open a channel,” she said.
When the Hutts responded, Leia began her tirade. “Why is there no official escort fleet? I expected Lord Durga to have taken care of that personally. What have you been doing all this time?”
The Hutt respondent was a lowly worm, thin and with a narrow head, obviously not a powerful crime lord like Jabba or Durga. His huge eyes flicked from side to side as he spoke in Basic. “Um, excuse me, Madam President, but Lord Durga is not here. We regret that we are unable to meet—”
“What do you mean, Durga isn’t here?” Leia snapped. “He sent us an express invitation to visit him at our convenience. I trust you’re not implying that he lied to the New Republic’s Chief of State—or do you mean to suggest that he is in fact retracting his offer to repay our hospitality? This is an outrage! How does he expect to form some sort of treaty with the New Republic? I’d say the chances are becoming vanishingly small, in light of this snub.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the scrawny Hutt.
“I’m sorry, Madam President, but Lord Durga is away … on business.” He waved his stubby hands, totally flustered. “If only you had given us some warning,” the Hutt continued, “we would have prepared for your visit. But as it is, we have no facilities—”
Leia glared at him coldly. “You don’t actually expect us to turn around and meekly go home after the enormous expense and trouble we went to for this highly visible expedition, do you? I hardly think Lord Durga would want to risk such a galaxy-spanning diplomatic incident. Don’t be absurd.”
The timid Hutt looked around, as if seeking someone else to consult, but found no one. “What do you expect me to do?” he wailed. “I don’t have the authority to—”
“Nonsense,” Leia said, and raised her chin haughtily. “We are coming down at Durga’s personal invitation —what further authority could you need? We expect to be well treated. See to it!” She signed off, then burst out laughing.
Han came over and hugged her. “I think you enjoyed that,” he accused, trying to restrain spasms of laughter. He stepped back and applauded her performance.
Threepio meanwhile was totally baffled. “Oh dear! Perhaps we should have given the Hutts more time, Mistress Leia. At least they would have had the opportunity to prepare. I’m afraid they’re so flustered now, this could put them completely off balance.”
“That’s the point!” Han and Leia said, raising their voices in unison.
Threepio staggered backward and shook his golden head. “Well, I’m sure this sort of approach wasn’t covered in any of the protocol programming I received. Once again, I feel I’ll never understand human behavior.”
Leia sat next to Han at one of the discussion tables in her ready-room, and she reached over to clasp his hands. “Thanks for coming with me, Han. I’m glad we’re finally going somewhere together, instead of splitting up all the time.”
“Yeah, I like it too,” he said with a lopsided grin. “It’s a nice change.”
She sighed, then her lips tightened. “We can’t cut them any slack. The Hurts are dangerous already, and they’ll be unstoppable if they have their hands on a Death Star.”
Han nodded gravely, and Leia continued, as if giving an impassioned speech to the Senate. “The first Death Star was meant to be the ultimate doomsday weapon in the hands of the Empire. Now the Hurts will become galactic bullies with a big stick—and what’s to stop them from selling those plans to any other small-time dictator who wants to get his own way? We cannot let the Death Star proliferate. The galaxy will be a shambles. If anyone with enough credits can buy the plans and go around blowing up planets, then no one will be safe. We must stop this at all costs.”
One of the New Republic guards came in. “Excuse me, Madam President,” he said, “but your dropshuttle is ready. We can take you down to Nal Hutta at your convenience.”
“My convenience,” Leia said ironically. “I’m so looking forward to this.” She felt as if she were dropping into the open jaws of some slavering beast.
Along with Threepio and their honor guard, Leia and Han went to the Corvette’s drop ship bay and climbed aboard the small diplomatic shuttle. “You ready for this?” Han asked.
Leia looked at him, pondering her answer. “No,” she said honestly. “But we have to do it anyway. Let’s go visit the Hutts.”
CHAPTER 24
Nal Hutta was a bog, flat and sunken like a sewage-reclamation reservoir, with standing puddles and sickly-looking marsh grasses—a landscape the Hutts somehow found attractive. Leia realized she should have expected as much.
A Hutt sailbarge coasted toward them as the diplomatic shuttle settled on a landing pad near Durga the Hutt’s holdings. When she saw the sluggish luxury ship cruise along, its directional sails billowing in the foul-smelling breeze, Leia’s skin crawled with the memory of her last fateful trip with Jabba out to the Great Pit of Carkoon.
She, Han, and Threepio stepped away from the diplomatic ship, accompanied by their New Republic escort, and waited for the sailbarge to receive them. Above, the sky was draped with shadowy gray clouds. As Leia and Han stood in their formal attire, a greasy rain began pelting down, cold droplets clotted with residue from massive strip-mining operations in industrial sectors far from the showy palaces of the Hutt crime lords.
“This certainly is a gloomy place, isn’t it?” Threepio commented. “If we don’t find shelter from this dreadful rain, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if my new gold plating gets corroded.” He turned his glowing yellow optical sensors toward the runnels of water trickling down his arms. “I do wish you had left me on Coruscant, Mistress Leia. I’m sure I would have done a much better job taking care of the children.”
“Didn’t we tell you, Threepio?” Han said mischievously. “As a matter of state necessity, we’re going to present you to Durga the Hutt. He’ll be your new master.”
“What?” Threepio cried, raising his arms in sudden shock. “Oh, no! You must be joking. I’m doomed! Please, I ur
ge you to reconsider this, Mistress Leia.”
Leia elbowed Han in the ribs. “That’s mean, Han!”
“Just kidding, Goldenrod,” he said and slapped the protocol droid on one hard metal shoulder.
“Kidding?” Threepio made a flustered sound. “Why, that wasn’t at all funny!”
Across from the Nal Hutta spaceport, Durga’s palace rose tall. Despite the brown haze of pollution and atmospheric sludge, its walls gleamed white and clean. When Leia squinted her brown eyes, she could make out the tiny forms of slaves climbing up and down the sculptured facades in the slippery drizzle, scouring the gargoyles and crenelations.
The sailbarge hovered over them. Guards stood on deck, scowling in all directions. A thin Hutt slithered along the top deck, moving under its own power rather than on a repulsorsled; Leia recognized the narrow, emaciated face of the creature she had argued with over the comm system. He was alarmingly different from any Hutt she had seen previously—scrawny as a ribbon of mottled green leather that hung on a flexible spinal column. He did not look well.
“Greetings, Chief of State Leia Organa Solo. I welcome you in the name of His Great Obesity, the Lord Durga, who is unfortunately unable to be with us at the moment.”
Leia bowed slightly. “Thank you. But I want to meet with Lord Durga. He invited us here.”
“Ah, I have summoned him, Madam President. He is coming with all due haste.” The scrawny Hutt envoy leaned over the barge railing.
“Good,” Han muttered. “I’m not exactly crazy about the idea of staying for very long.”
“I am Korrda, special envoy and slave to Lord Durga. I am not worthy, but it has fallen upon me to entertain you until he can be here in person.”
“Oh, that’s very nicely said,” Threepio said.
Korrda seemed pleased. “I hope you find my Basic acceptable. Lord Durga insists that all his entourage learn the language so that we might better work with the New Republic. Might I offer you suitable hospitality in the meantime?”
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