Crucible: Star Wars

by Troy Denning

  She closed her eyes.

  Eight seconds, seven seconds …

  The hatch opened to the sound of blaster fire. Before they could step through it, Barduun backed across the threshold, deflecting blaster bolts with one hand and hurtling Force lightning with the other. He was laughing so hard his shoulders shook.

  When he spoke, it was in the biot’s feminine voice. “Captain Solo, are you my father?” The hatch rasped closed. His laughter boomed through the corridor, then he spoke again in the biot’s voice. “You’re not much in the courage department, are you?”

  “That was you?” Han looked back to Creepy Leia, whose face had returned to the same vacant expression as before. “How? Why?”

  “The Force, Captain Solo.” Barduun lowered his arms, then turned away from the now-sealed hatch. “Always the Force.”

  Of course, the Force. The fight in the lab must have been exhausting, even for Barduun. To stay strong, he had needed to feed on Han’s fear.

  What kind of dark-side fiend was he?

  The synthetic voice said, “Eradication begins in … five seconds.”

  Barduun took his Leia biot by the arm and stepped across the corridor to the opposite wall—no, through the opposite wall. A holograph.

  Four seconds, three seconds …

  “Come along, Captain Solo,” Barduun called. “And don’t touch that sensor pad. Touch nothing. With these Columi, everything is a trick.”

  Han snatched his blaster rifle and leapt across the corridor, passing through the holographic wall just as the count inside his head reached one.

  “Access granted,” the voice said.

  Han found himself on a ring-shaped balcony, looking down on a three-meter circle of smooth black stone—Base Prime’s natural surface, he guessed. There was a gap in the balcony railing, large enough for a person—or a powerbody—to use. And that was about it. Aside from the security he’d just faced—the blaster cannons and the one-way holographic wall—the little round chamber seemed entirely unremarkable.

  Still holding the hand of his “princess,” Barduun stepped into the gap in the railing, then turned back to Han and extended a hand.

  “Come along, Captain Solo,” he said. “You cannot enter without the Force.”

  “In a second,” Han said. He had no intention of stepping into the black circle of stone. “I have a few questions.”

  Barduun rolled his eyes. “The only important question is this: do you want vengeance?”

  “That depends on the cost.” Han nodded toward the circle. “What happens if I go in there with you?”

  “You will receive what you desire,” Barduun replied. “The power to destroy the Qrephs.”

  “Power like yours?”

  That was the last thing Han wanted, and he was pretty sure Leia—the real Leia—would have told him the same thing, had she been able to. There was no natural way Barduun could have developed Force sensitivity at his age. And even if that impossibility had happened, there was no way Barduun had learned to handle dark-side powers the way he did—not in a few short weeks. Something else was going on here—something that scared Han more than death.

  “Will I learn to use Force lightning?” Han asked. “To turn blaster bolts with my palms?”

  “All that and more.” Barduun extended his hand again, and Han felt himself being drawn toward the dark circle. “Now, come along, Captain.”

  Han pointed the blaster rifle at Barduun’s chest. “You go ahead. I’ll wait for the Qrephs here.” He glanced through the one-way holographic wall toward the hatches on the far side of the security ring. “All things considered, this looks like a pretty good place to hole up.”

  Barduun continued to draw him across the balcony. “Without the power to destroy the Nargons, this is only a place to die,” he said. “You must come with me. It is the only way to win.”

  “Why do you care whether I die or win?” Han demanded. “What do you get out of the deal?”

  “You are not the only one the Qrephs have wronged,” Barduun said. “I only want what—”

  Han squeezed the trigger and held it down—only to see Barduun’s hand shift positions at the last instant and send the bolts screaming back toward him.

  Han had been expecting that. He was already diving through the holographic wall, into the outer security ring, rolling over his shoulder and spraying fire blindly toward Barduun. He heard the biot cry out and thump to the floor.

  The synthetic voice spoke from above. “Present your authorization code now.”

  Han found himself flying through the holographic wall again, his chest aching as an infuriated Barduun held him in the Force. He glimpsed biot Leia on the floor with a smoking hole in her head and her eyes open wide. Then he was hanging upside down in Barduun’s crushing Force grasp, his blaster rifle clattering to the floor.

  Barduun wrapped an arm around Han’s legs, then turned back toward the stone circle. Three steps to go.

  Han reached into his waistband, drawing the holdout blaster he had taken from Mirta Gev. He pressed the nozzle into Barduun’s thigh wound.

  Barduun took a step.

  Han squeezed the holdout blaster’s trigger, firing an energy bolt into the same hole. Barduun’s knee buckled and he almost fell, lurching another step toward the circle. Han twisted around, pushing the holdout blaster up between his body and Barduun’s.

  Barduun staggered another step forward. Han pulled the trigger again and felt himself falling—onto dark, hard stone.

  Barduun was stumbling backward, away from Han, onto the balcony. His chin tipped up, revealing the smoky hole where Han’s bolt had entered.

  Han fired again, burning a small hole through Barduun’s breast.

  Barduun stumbled back one more step, then tumbled through the holographic wall into the security ring.

  The synthetic voice said, “Present your authorization code now.”

  Han crawled across the stone, then clambered onto the balcony. Barduun wasn’t moving, but Han didn’t feel like taking chances. He braced his arm on the floor, taking aim through the one-way holograph at the biometric sensor pad on the far side of the security ring.

  He opened fire and hit it on the third try.

  “Authorization revoked,” the voice announced.

  A dozen doors clunked open, and a dozen blaster cannons descended from the ceiling. They turned their emitter nozzles toward Barduun’s prone figure, and he vanished into a storm of smoke and light.

  Twenty-three

  Vestara was rushing past the barracks when three thundering booms shook all of Base Prime. She feared for an instant that Solo had improvised a mega-explosive from something in the biot lab, but she didn’t see how. There hadn’t been time, and the latest reports had him at the gate. Then the sound of secondary detonations began to roll up the corridor behind her, and she realized that at least two of the initial blasts had come from the other direction—from the main hangar.

  A determined presence began to search the Force, reaching out from somewhere above Base Prime. An instant later, another explosion came, this time closer and sharper. Another boom followed from somewhere far away, and then a string of blasts seemed to erupt simultaneously in nearly every corner of the sprawling facility.

  Marvid and Craitheus floated up the corridor beside Vestara. Even in the broad corridor, it was a tight fit, and she found herself rubbing shoulders with their vanalloy powerbodies.

  “It appears the Jedi arrived sooner than expected,” Craitheus snarled. “Considering Solo’s escape, I find the timing highly suspicious. Perhaps you lured us away from the sabacc game so you could put us in harm’s way.”

  “Right—and risk my own neck?” Vestara countered. “I wouldn’t start hunting for traitors yet. This is just what Jedi do—arrive at the worst possible moment.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Marvid complained. “I’ve received the damage report from the hangar. Our fighter squadron was hit before any of them could scramble.”
r />   Vestara stifled a groan. The miasma surrounding Base Prime was impenetrable to sensors, so it was ineffective and dangerous to fly a regular patrol. But with the Jedi coming, the moment she’d returned to the base she told the squadron commander to launch his Bes’uliiks anyway. Of course, he had insisted on following the chain of command, and that took time—time they didn’t have, as it turned out.

  Hoping there might be some way to salvage a few starfighters, Vestara asked, “What’s the status in the hangar?” She knew Marvid and Craitheus were monitoring communications through their powerbodies.

  “The crews were running for their craft when the second missile took down the shields,” Marvid said. He spread his pincer arms. “When the third missile breached the hangar, they were carried away in the decompression wave.”

  “What about the shields in the rest of the base?” Vestara asked, hoping that all the booms and bangs she was hearing were not shields going down. “Still holding?”

  “Not for long,” Craitheus replied. “They’re already down in several places. The Jedi must be hitting us with a dozen craft.”

  Vestara shook her head. “Not likely,” she said. “They haven’t had time to bring extra Jedi into the Rift—and Leia Solo wouldn’t twiddle her thumbs waiting for backup. It’s the Falcon out there and maybe one or two escorts. That’s all they need.”

  Craitheus looked doubtful, but he glanced away without arguing the point. “Let’s just get back to the lounge,” he said. “You may relieve Gev as we discussed.”

  The walls began to reverberate to the crump of discharging turbolasers—gunners defending Base Prime. That did not mean they actually had targets in sight. In a battle like this, the Mandalorians would be doing everything possible just to slow the enemy down.

  Vestara rounded a corner and spotted thirty Nargons lining the corridor ahead. Some were watching the ceiling, and many were twitching their tails, but all were holding their blaster rifles across their chests.

  Vestara slowed and turned to Marvid. “What’s this?”

  “Our personal security detail,” he answered quickly. “With Han Solo on the loose, one can’t be too careful.”

  “That’s a lot of bodyguards,” Vestara said. “You sure it’s only Solo you’re worried about?”

  “Obviously not,” Craitheus snapped. “As you’ve noted, the Jedi are here. Now, if you’re done wasting time, I suggest we keep moving.”

  They reached the Nargons, and two of the bodyguards fell in behind Vestara, while the rest followed the Qrephs. Keeping one eye over her shoulder, Vestara led everyone to the makeshift sabacc lounge.

  As she stepped inside, she glanced out the viewport. A steady stream of turbolaser bolts was stabbing up from Base Prime, flashing against the blue miasma. The barrage was unlikely to stop Skywalker or his sister, but it would heighten the general fear level, which would make it easier for Vestara to seize control.

  And judging by what she saw in the lounge, she needed to take control. The walls of the lounge were dotted with burn scars, and the floor was painted with blood. Two biots—one a Nargon, the other a Soroc replica—lay dead on the far side of the sabacc table. The air reeked of detonite and charred flesh, and the security hatch at the back of the room had been blown, creating a small jagged hole.

  Mirta Gev was sitting atop the table, snapping orders into a handheld comlink. She was still dressed in her bloodied sabacc dealer’s uniform, with her pant leg slit open and her leg extended in front of her. A 2-1B surgical droid was working on a hideous gash that stretched from her ankle past her knee.

  With the Qrephs and the Nargons crowding into the room behind her, Vestara strode confidently to the table. When Gev ignored her, she used the Force to deactivate the comlink.

  Gev continued to bark orders for another moment, then seemed to realize what had happened. She turned to Vestara and scowled.

  “Go away, little girl.” Gev clicked the comlink active again. “I’m assessing the situation.”

  “Here is the situation.” Vestara used the Force to yank the comlink from Gev’s hand. “You take orders from me now. If you do it well, you might even survive.”

  Gev’s brow shot up. “Take orders from you?” She shook her head. “Never going to happen.”

  “It will happen,” Craitheus said, floating up next to Vestara. “Under the terms of your contract, we may delegate command as we see fit.”

  “And this is your mess,” Marvid added. “First, you led the Jedi to the Ormni, then you let Solo escape. It’s as if the Jedi were paying you.”

  Vestara saw the resentment flare in Gev’s eyes and began to worry the Mandalorian might be ready to take her troops home and tell everyone else to go suck void. And that could not be allowed—not in the middle of a Jedi assault.

  Vestara turned to Marvid and shook her head in counterfeit exasperation. “That’s not entirely fair,” she said. “The Jedi didn’t follow a tracking beacon to Base Prime.” She glanced at Gev. Judging by the Mandalorian’s look of surprise—and perhaps even gratitude—the ploy was working. “At least, not a beacon that Mirta missed.”

  “If you’re suggesting the Aurel Moon led the Jedi here, that’s impossible,” Craitheus said. “Even if our maintenance droids had missed a tracking beacon, it would be impossible to follow it through the Bubble. The plasma here is too thick.”

  Vestara shook her head. “Your love of technology blinds you. The Jedi have other means of tracking their prey.” She passed Gev’s comlink back to her. “But, Mirta, Marvid and Craitheus are right about one thing—your contract lets them put me in charge. Will you honor the terms?”

  Gev shrugged, refusing to commit, then turned to Craitheus. “If I do this, I want to see the nanokiller lab.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not safe for you,” Craitheus replied, lying so smoothly that Vestara barely sensed the cloying deception in his Force aura. “If even one molecule of the sample has escaped into our lab—”

  “So she’ll send Thorsteg later,” Vestara said. She saw no need to mention the dishonesty she had sensed—not yet. If she was going to set a trap for Luke Skywalker and his sister, she needed to get her forces deployed. “And Gev’s contract says nothing about fighting Jedi. Everyone on her team gets a million-credit bonus. If we succeed, Gev’s personal fee is doubled.”

  The crumping of the turbolasers grew more urgent, and the plasma beyond the viewport grew orange with short-range burst attacks.

  “Agreed,” Craitheus said quickly.

  Mirta Gev narrowed her eyes but nodded.

  An instant later, the tiny, fork-nosed silhouette of the Millennium Falcon appeared in the miasma, weaving and dodging past boiling blossoms of fire.

  “Commander Gev,” Vestara said. “Have your people disperse their Nargon squads throughout the base. Hold there until the Jedi penetrate the facility.”

  Gev acknowledged the order with a curt nod, then activated her comlink.

  Craitheus was less agreeable. “You’re not much of a tactician, Lady Raine.” Like everyone else in the room, he was watching the Falcon as it careened through the forest of turbolaser fire. “You’re anticipating a bombing run, but they’re coming to rescue Solo. They won’t risk his life with such an indiscriminate assault.”

  A carpet bombing was the last thing Vestara expected—and it took an act of will to ignore the insult. She was not ready to eliminate both Columi, but it would make her happy to see Craitheus die in battle, provided the Nargons didn’t hold her responsible. By design, the reptiloids were fiercely loyal to the Qrephs. If she hoped to ever claim the brothers’ empire for herself, she could not risk the Nargons’ vengeance.

  Outside the viewport, two dark specks dropped from the Falcon’s belly and began to descend. As they adjusted their trajectory, they steered toward the barracks area.

  “Dropsuits,” Vestara announced. She turned back to Mirta Gev. “Once the Jedi have penetrated the base, have all forces converge on the laboratory wing.”

 
; “You’re drawing the enemy into a trap.” Gev’s tone was approving. “Where?”

  “The gate,” Vestara said, pleased that Gev was responding to her directly. “The security ring should confuse them just long enough to give us an advantage, and there are three entrances, so we can hit them from multiple sides.”

  Gev nodded. “Good.”

  As Gev relayed the order in Mando’a, Vestara turned to see four more specks descending from the Falcon. Her stomach went hollow. That made six dropsuits—six Jedi.

  It didn’t make sense.

  “Using the gate is an excellent idea,” Marvid said. “We know Han Solo is hiding in that area, so you could have a useful hostage. But how will you lure the Jedi into your trap?”

  “Not me, Marvid.” Vestara turned back to the viewport, where the Falcon was still approaching. The dropsuits now resembled six bulky, big-shouldered silhouettes. “You will.”

  “You intend to use us as bait?” Craitheus demanded. “You must be mad!”

  “Mad or desperate.” As Vestara spoke, she watched one of the jumpers vanish into a turbolaser blossom—then come out on the other side, tumbling and glowing but still in one piece. “Either way, it’s you the Jedi are here to hunt. If you don’t want to draw them into the gate, name your spot. That’s where we’ll set the trap.”

  Marvid hesitated. “The gate is fine.”

  Beyond the viewport, the six silhouettes sprouted gouts of white flame and spiraled toward the base in wild helices. Their arms began to swing back and forth, flashing and flaring as they sprayed miniature missiles at Base Prime’s turbolaser emplacements.

  Miniature missiles?

  Vestara extended her Force awareness toward the nearest silhouette. She felt neither fear nor excitement; only cold, empty danger.

  “Correction,” she said. “Those aren’t dropsuits. They’re battle droids.”

  A string of small explosions rocked the base as the miniature missiles struck their targets. The payloads weren’t large, but the missiles were well aimed. They took out the turbolasers’ emitter tips and forced feedback explosions, and the defensive fire quickly dwindled to almost nothing. The Falcon wheeled into a powered descent, and four new silhouettes dropped from its belly.