“Are you some kind of empath?”
“It is not hard to feel death,” she said. “They are coming. They are almost here.”
It was at that moment that Han began to believe that something truly was happening aboard the starship. He struggled to a seated position just as Enara pitched forward, whimpering loudly, her palms pressed to her forehead, her tousled hair hiding her face.
Moments later, there were noises from beyond the doors—cries, blaster fire, thumps against the bulkhead, and a grating, unnerving sound that Han was certain he knew but which his pain-drugged mind could not identify. Then the small hatch inset into the large loading doors was flung open, and a towering Wookiee frame filled the opening.
“Chewie!”
With a piteous wail, Chewbacca rushed across the deck and scooped Han up into his arms. Throwing back his head and roaring delight, he spun Han in circles—a dance of joy.
“Ow—not so rough. What kept you?” Han answered gleefully. “Where’s my ship?”
Then Han yelped as Chewbacca juggled him in an effort to reach his comlink. After barking into the device, Chewbacca slung Han over his shoulder and started back toward the hatch, now guarded by another giant.
“Wait—wait—the others—wait, Chewbacca, the others. We have to take them, too—Enara, Taratan, Noloth—stop, you thick-headed furball,” Han bellowed. “Put me down, I’m not dead yet. Enara!”
As Chewbacca reluctantly complied, Han saw that Enara was still seated where she had been, though no longer doubled over. “Come on,” he called to her. “There’s room for you, too, isn’t there, Chewie? How many of them can we get—”
His words trailed off as he looked around the hold. None of the other prisoners had reacted at all to what was happening—they were scattered in their usual haunts and gatherings, sleeping, talking, sucking water from the drip-pipes.
“What’s happening?” he asked, taking two unsteady steps toward Enara. “Come on—our reservation here’s expired.”
“I cannot go,” Enara said. “Go, please—I am at my limit.”
“I don’t understand.”
Enara shook her head sharply. When she did, the rest of the prisoners vanished, leaving only Enara, Han, and Chewbacca. Chewbacca whined unhappily and tightened his grip on his blaster.
“Now you are inside,” she said, “seeing as I do.”
“Where are the others?”
“They were never here,” she said. “They escaped at the transfer camp and were picked up by Star Morning. They are elsewhere now, safe. You can go.”
Chewbacca whined again and tugged at Han’s shoulder.
“That was—they were an illusion?” Han said, ignoring Chewbacca’s urgings. “You were covering their escape? Never mind, it doesn’t matter—you can leave now, too. There’s no one here to protect.”
“I must stay,” she said softly. “Denied his prizes, Nil Spaar would try to replace them. Denied the security of their protection, he would seek security through the death of his enemies. Go, Han—I am not a prisoner here. I have chosen this freely. Go now.”
Turning away from them, Enara lowered her chin to her collarbone. An instant later, the hostages reappeared—including a crippled, dozing Han Solo, lying on the deck beside Enara.
There was a cry from the Wookiee at the door, and then the achingly familiar roar of the Falcon’s engines.
“Enara—” Han said plaintively.
Then his legs buckled under him. Chewbacca caught him cleanly before he hit the deck, and would not listen to his protests as he carried him away.
Enara never looked up. Han’s last glimpse of her was of a tiny woman with tangled hair, sitting cross-legged beside the man whose life she had just helped preserve.
At just about the same time that the Millennium Falcon was roaring away from Pride of Yevetha behind a curtain of exploding firecracker mines, Mud Sloth was dropping out of hyperspace in front of the Fifth Fleet’s flag group.
Even as the forward pickets were relaying the contact to Intrepid, the gunship Warrior surged ahead, breaking formation to place itself on an intercept course.
“Contact ahead,” the tactical officer announced to the bridge. “Type not identified. Size class, F—possibly a probe of some sort. She came right out of the heart of the cluster.”
On the other side of the room, a blank display at comm three suddenly lit up with a string of numbers. “Receiving transmission from the contact—they’re attempting to authorize a link.”
That drew Warrior’s captain over to peer at the screen. “Sender code is valid, but it’s coming over the air, unsecured—that’s not a military transmitter,” said the comm specialist. “Same with the authorization code—checks as valid but not current. Someone’s trying to get in the front door without a key.”
“I’d like to know who,” said the captain. “Identify the sender code.”
“Sir, it returns as classified.”
“Really,” said the captain. “Take us to level two alert and authorize the link.”
The numbers vanished from the display, to be replaced by Luke Skywalker’s face.
“Captain,” said Luke’s holo. “Do you recognize me?”
“I recognize who you appear to be,” said the captain. “I have no information that that person was known or expected to be in this sector.”
“Very good, Captain. By now you should have an identification on this ship and an assessment of its threat potential.”
The captain looked away toward the tactical officer. “Transponder says it’s civilian, yacht, skiff class, unarmed—now confirming from direct scans. It’s a Verpine Adventurer, sir.”
There were several snorts and chuckles around the room.
“‘Unarmed’ is not confirmed, Lieutenant,” the captain said, turning back. “A ship of that size could easily carry tactical munitions in its passenger compartment.”
Luke nodded in agreement. “I’d appreciate it if you’d rendezvous with me and have your people inspect the ship. Once you’ve satisfied yourself that I am who I appear to be, and that we haven’t replaced the refresher with a fusion bomb,” he said lightly, “I trust you can arrange for a ride or an escort to the flagship. I am carrying some extremely important information for the fleet commander.”
The captain was well disciplined or stubborn enough not to bend. “Continue on your present course,” he said. “Keep this channel open. We will rendezvous with you shortly.” But when the link was closed, he turned to comm one. “Signal Intrepid, secure. Notify the general that Luke Skywalker is inbound.”
When the message had been sent, comm two craned his head around toward the captain. “This is good news, right, sir?”
“I hope so, Lieutenant,” the captain said grimly. “I dearly hope so.”
By the time Mud Sloth came to rest in slots thirty-nine and forty on Intrepid’s forward flight deck, everyone in that section of the ship—and many elsewhere, in every other section—knew that Luke Skywalker was coming aboard.
No official announcement had been made. The scuttlebutt spread among the officers and crew via two distinct chains of friendships and contacts—with equal rapidity, but slightly different flavors of meaning. Among the officers, it was styled as “Heard the big news?” To the crew, it was definitely good news.
Luke could see it in the grins of the deck crew as they tied down the skiff and in the jaunty thumbs-up they offered to him as he clambered down out of the ship. When he turned and helped first Wialu and then Akanah down, the mood around him changed for a time. But soon he felt the focus shifting back to him again—a focus for hope and reassurance, for belligerent pride, even chauvinism and xenophobia.
It’s as though they think I’m here to win the war for them, Luke thought as he followed their escort off the flight deck. But it’s the people they’re nearly ignoring who I’m hoping can do that.
He had wanted and asked for a private meeting with A’baht, but that was perhaps too much to expect. Eithe
r he was too much of a magnet, even among the officers, or A’baht’s idea of “private” automatically included two spare colonels and an extra captain.
Luke dealt with them by ignoring them. “What’s the status of the conflict, General?” he asked, offering no introductions for his own companions.
“The President has declared war on the Yevetha,” said A’baht. “As a first step, we’re preparing to return to Doornik Three-nineteen and take it away from them. We’ve also gotten more aggressive in searching for the remaining shipyards. And planning’s underway for deeper penetrations of the cluster, all the way to the Yevethan homeworlds.”
“Are any of your forces currently engaged in hostilities?”
“No. This is the lull before the storm,” A’baht said. “Now, can I ask you to explain your presence? I assume that if you had been sent here by the President, we would have been notified in advance.”
“I’ve come here from J’t’p’tan. On your charts, Doornik Six-twenty-eight-E. Before that—well, the full explanation would take too long, and I’m not prepared to share all of it in any case,” Luke said. “But the part that matters is simple and straightforward. I’m here to offer you a chance to take that first step in a different direction.”
Even for someone with Luke’s status, Colonel Corgan, Colonel Mauit’ta, and Captain Morano were a tough audience—especially when what was being peddled had the look of magic.
“Do I need to defend the Jedi to you as well?” Luke snapped in response to the most recent expression of skepticism. “The nature of the universe transcends the definitions of science, and the possibilities of the universe exceed the limitations of technology.”
“I am not eager to risk the lives of my crew on tricks and invisible forces that cannot be measured,” said Morano.
“You’re apparently not eager to save the lives of your crew, either.”
“I prefer to trust what I know. We can win this war with the weapons we have.”
Loose objects were scarce on a ship rigged for combat, so Luke found it necessary to create some. Reaching out with the Force, he ripped the decorations from the three officers’ uniforms and deposited them in neat rows on A’baht’s desk.
“Now you know a little more about invisible forces,” Luke said.
“This is not helping,” General A’baht said with a sigh.
“I’m simply trying to remind them that the Force is as real as anything in this room—it’s a mystery, but not a fantasy,” Luke said. He pointed a finger in the direction of Morano, who was still staring wordlessly at the naked fabric where his service bars had been. “His way of winning this war means thousands, tens of thousands, of deaths on both sides—needless deaths.”
“Needless only if your trick fools the Yevetha,” said Corgan, gathering up his decorations with a cross expression on his craggy face. “And you can’t know if it will fool them.”
“What Wialu is offering us is no ‘trick,’” Luke said with studied patience. “Her instrumentality is older than the technology of that blaster you wear, and more powerful. But it’s more difficult—it takes a life commitment, not just a squeeze of the trigger.”
“Perhaps she could tell us more about how it works,” said Mauit’ta.
Luke turned away, raising his hands in the air in disgust and frustration.
“Reflection,” said Wialu, “from the surface of the Current.”
“I’m afraid that’s not very useful to me,” said A’baht as Luke turned back. “You must realize that you’re asking us to mount a major military operation around something we’ve never experienced. Would it be possible to have a demonstration?”
Luke expected Wialu to refuse that imposition, but she surprised him. “You are asking me to create a major projection of something I have never experienced,” she said. “It seems it would be to the good of all if you would demonstrate first, and then you can judge my practice.”
A’baht glanced at Corgan. “Colonel?”
“Well, there are about twenty ships from the Fourth due to join us in”—he glanced at his chrono—“about half an hour. Would that do?”
“I would like to be as close to the phenomenon as possible,” said Wialu.
“There’s an observation bubble on the maintenance rover,” Marano offered. “I think we can probably squeeze the seven of us in there. If you don’t object to the presence of skeptics, that is—”
“Your beliefs are irrelevant to me,” Wialu said. “I am empowered by mine.”
When the rover had reached the fifty-kilometer boundary of the arriving task force’s jump target, General Etahn A’baht tapped the driver on the shoulder from behind.
“That’s close enough, son,” said A’baht. “And drop us a few kilometers below the entry track. I don’t wish to have the command staff erased by a navigational error.”
“I’m more worried about being erased by an error of enthusiasm by some gunnery lieutenant,” said Corgan. “Those ships are jumping into a hot zone, and they’re not going to be expecting us to be sitting here waiting for them.”
“Akanah will address that,” said Wialu. “The ships will not see us.”
“What do you mean?” asked A’baht.
“General, just take her at her word,” Luke said. “If I had wanted it that way, you wouldn’t have known Mud Sloth was in the neighborhood until I’d parked it in your space.”
Corgan shook his head disbelievingly, but there was no opportunity to pursue the issue.
“Here they come,” said Maiut’ta.
One after another, the great ships emerged out of the center of overlapping white flashes of radiation, like new stars winking on in the night. Cruisers and attack carriers, Star Destroyers and gunships, all quickly closed the distance to the rover, roaring by overhead in a spectacular display.
“Are we allowed to talk?” asked Corgan.
“Patience,” said A’baht, gazing up with his fingers laced together behind him. “Patience and attentiveness will both be rewarded, I suspect.”
“I don’t take your hint.”
“How many ships were we expecting?”
“Twenty-two.”
A’baht nodded. “I have counted thirty so far.”
Corgan and Morano stared, gaping, as the broad hull of a fleet carrier sliced the vacuum above their heads. “That has to be a mistake.”
Luke caught A’baht’s faint smile. “I’m confident I can still count to thirty,” he said. “I suggest you check with Tracking.”
Maiut’ta was already reaching for his comlink. “Sweep the arriving ships,” he ordered. “Give me a count.”
“Thirty-eight—forty—forty-one—still clicking over.”
“Are they all normal tracks?”
“Everything as expected—wait a minute, some of the IDs are duplicated. Colonel, do you want to tell me what’s going on now?”
“No, Lieutenant. Stand by,” Mauit’ta said, switching off the comlink.
A’baht turned to the other officers. “Well, gentlemen, we have our demonstration.” He gestured with his hand as a gunship rumbled by just a kilometer away. “Which ones are real? That one? The next? I can’t tell—I suspect even Tracking can’t.” He turned back to Akanah. “Thank you. I am quite satisfied.”
In the next moment, half the battle group passing in review vanished. Wialu sagged noticeably and sought her seat immediately afterward. Akanah settled beside her protectively.
“General, what did I just see?” the rover driver asked in an awestruck voice.
“Nothing, son,” said A’baht. “Officially and literally nothing.”
“But—”
“Don’t ask about it and don’t think about it,” the general said. “Just get us back to the barn as quickly as you can.” He glanced at Luke. “We all have a lot to do.”
They were on final approach to Intrepid when they were waved off for the launch of a flight of fighters. Morano’s face immediately took on a worried expression. “What’s that
about? Patrol rotation isn’t for another hour.”
He got an answer from the flight controller after the rover landed.
“Outer patrol is moving out on an intercept,” the controller advised them. “We’ve got a ship coming in from the interior, high speed, no proper ID, nothing but some kind of jammer or scrambler signal in response to our hail.”
Morano wheeled around to face Wialu. “Is this part of your demonstration, too?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “This one belongs to you.”
“General, Commander Jarrou has taken the group back to a level two alert,” the controller continued. “Captain, you and the general are wanted upstairs, flank speed.”
Luke raced to the bridge at General A’baht’s heels, then anchored himself in front of a tracking display. The image was still small and two-dimensional. His head cocked to the side, Luke studied the image as it slowly grew larger.
“Specialist, how fast is that ship moving?”
“Eight sublight, sir. She’s cooking.”
“Can you let me hear that jammer signal she was transmitting?”
“Still transmitting,” said the specialist. “On the headphones, sir. Watch the volume—it’s an eardrum-killer.”
Luke slipped the earpieces in place and listened. Almost at once, he laughed.
“Sir?”
“That’s not a jammer. That’s Shyriiwook. Wookiee-talk,” he said, tearing off the headphones. “It’s Chewbacca, and he’s upset about something.” Luke peered at the display again. “He wants those pilots to get out of the way. General A’baht!”
A’baht looked up from a huddle with the tactical officer. “What now?”
“Better tell those fighters they’re on a rendezvous-and-escort, not an intercept,” said Luke. “That’s the Millennium Falcon coming in.”
Shoran and Han were both carried off the Falcon on medevac stretchers.
By appearance alone, they looked to be in equally dire straits, but the indicator lights on the stretchers’ monitor panels foretold their different destinations. The indicators on Shoran’s stretcher were static and mostly red, and he was taken directly to Intrepid’s morgue. The indicators on Han’s stretcher were jumpy and mostly yellow, and he was taken directly to a bacta tank in med ward one.
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