by Jason Fry
“There she is-hit it and quit it!”
Shea yelled.
Alarms began to wail in the chamber, and Shea saw battle droids gesticulating in confusion. He activated his proton torpedoes, bracketed the center of the reactor, waited for target lock, and thumbed the trigger. Before the torpedoes even went home he was banking to port and racing back the way he had come.
“It’s away!” Starks yelled, as Amp’s fighter turned to follow him.
“Cutie, give me a 150-second countdown to criticality,” Shea said as shock waves buffeted his fighter.
Then they were back in the pipe, crawling towards that curtain of pink
120 SECONDS, Cutie reported.
Shea could see each tentacle, could count each egg.
His V-wing climbed with horrifying slowness. He tried to tamp down his panic, force his foot away from the throttle.
“Captain!” Starks cried. “In 100 seconds this kriffing mountain is going to be a cloud -of-vapor!”
“I know,” Shea said. “Don’t touch your stick.”
50 SECONDS.
A low rumble began behind them. Shea stared at the tunnel walls, teeth clenched.
”Shea!” Starks wailed.
“Don’t touch your stick.”
30 SECONDS.
Sweat stung Shea’s eyes.
“Ambient temperature’s climbing,”
Amp reported.
Shea realized he was mumbling: “Come on baby come on baby come on come on….”
20 SECONDS.
Shea thought the walls were dark gray ahead, but decided that was wishful thinking. He looked again. It was true.
There was a muffled thud somewhere below them. Then another.
10 SECONDS.
The V-wings drew even with the final row of tentacles. Shea ignited his engines and stomped on the throttle, savage acceleration slamming him back in his chair. His vision blurred, he saw blue sky -and the mountain exploded.
His fighter was tumbling end over end. He clung to the stick, watching chunks of rock and machinery whip past the cockpit, hesitate at their apogee, then fall back out of view. Cutie was screaming and his instrument panel was solid red… but he was alive-as were Starks, Amp, Dibs, and Rocket.
“You thought you were a holostar before!” Starks crowed. “Wait till they get a load of Shea Hublin-the Slowest Gun in the Western Reaches!”
Back at the base, Shea decided that the pillar of smoke rising from the plain greatly improved the view. He extended a stocking foot towards Fara. The Kelrodoan had kept his boots immaculate.
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Fara,” he said. “No way I’m letting you go now-you’re the most valuable valet in the whole Empire.”
“The Empire-man is too kind,” Fara said, turning away and spitting on Shea’s boot. After a moment he began to scrub at a scuff mark.
“No, you earned the compliment, Fara,” Shea said. “And now you’re going to see the galaxy-or at least the rest of the Western Reaches.”
Fara glanced briefly at Shea, then turned to gaze at the plains and skies of his homeworld, as if he were trying to memorize them. Then he blinked and returned to cleaning Shea’s boots, face expressionless.
“Sir!” Starks yelled. “You have a priority incoming holomessage!”
“Patch it through,” he said-then sat up. startled.
He’d never met the man whose image flickered before him. but the hawklike features were unmistakable.
“Sir, I’m honored,” he stammered.
Moff Tarkin smiled. “The honor, Captain Hublin, is entirely mine.”
FIGHTER SLANG
BANDIT: a hostile fighter or starship
BUMPING: engaging in aerial combat
FANGS OUT: eager for a dogfight
FLAT-HATTING: showing off or engaging in dangerous maneuvers
GOO: a planet’s atmosphere
GRIPE: a technical problem
HOP: a mission
LATCH: get into position to destroy an enemy fighter
ON YOUR 6: behind you
SA: situational awareness
SPLASH: shoot down
VAPEBAIT: a poorly skilled pilot
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