Rebel Stand

by Aaron Allston

  If he didn't get them back... well, his Peace Brigade superiors would not

  only decline to reward him for the capture of the Solos, but they might choose

  to take the news badly. And if things continued as they were, and the Peace

  Brigade became the legitimate government of this backwater planet, he might have

  to leave. Quickly. Surreptitiously.

  Jarred back into activity, he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a

  handful of identichips taken from prisoners. Perhaps, with a little

  modification, one of them would serve to get him off-world.

  The duracrete under Han's feet fell into darkness, but only about three

  meters, a deep enough drop for him to begin to worry that he was dropping into a

  mine shaft, a short enough drop that, with his experience, he was able to absorb

  most of the shock of impact with bent knees, to roll forward off the plug and

  across another hard floor to come up on his feet with a minimum of bruises.

  A minimum. Not none. His middle-aged back would feel that one in the

  morning. Amazingly, he still had his blaster pistol in hand.

  He was in another duracrete tunnel, this one illuminated only by the hole

  overhead. A hole in which Leia's face suddenly appeared. "Are you all right?"

  "Get down here!"

  She leapt in headfirst, rotating in midair to land on her feet atop the

  plug. Her landing was so light compared to his that he couldn't help but grin.

  "You do that just like a Jedi."

  "Hush. Where to now?" She handed him the datapad.

  He checked the datapad screen and turned in the approximate direction

  they'd been running while in the tunnel above. "There'll be a metal door there

  giving us access into a metal scrap compactor. We take a left and get out the

  door at the end."

  "No, Han. Not another compactor. Once in a lifetime is enough."

  The map on the screen suddenly blanked, replaced by words: I INITIATED A

  POWER SHUTDOWN ON THE COMPACTOR. IT CANNOT BE ACTIVATED UNTIL IT GOES THROUGH A

  FULL START-UP PROCEDURE. IT WILL BE THREE HOURS AT LEAST.

  "Well," Leia allowed, "that's all right, then."

  More shapes blocked the hole above. Han and Leia ran before they could

  begin firing.

  Seeing through the Falcon's holocam eyes and sensor screens, R2-D2 sent the

  transport up on repulsorlifts. The transport wobbled like a plate being balanced

  atop a stick and he marvelled that humans, with their reflexes that crawled in

  relation to the speed of droid calculations, could learn to pilot vehicles so

  well.

  He managed to get the Falcon clear of the bay before its ceiling panels

  began to swing down again. His trill was a little like laughter-the spaceport

  authorities had noticed just a little too late. Now that he was above the bay,

  he was clear of whatever comm-jamming equipment they had put in place; he could

  once again detect and interact with Han and Leia's datapad.

  Now he had to make sure he got the Falcon to the Prison. Not just to the

  prison, he reminded himself, but to the prison and in one piece.

  Furious, Han kicked at the pile of metal scrap leaning against the exit

  door from the compacting chamber.

  "Artoo, you didn't say anything about having to dig our way out!"

  SORRY. THE COMPUTER SYSTEM DIDN'T MENTION THAT THE COMPACTOR WAS HALF FULL.

  THEY ARE IN VIOLATION OF THEIR OWN REGULATIONS. THAT IS PROBABLY WHY THEY DO NOT

  HAVE THE LOAD LISTED.

  "Leia, can you cut through this? Or through the wall?"

  Leia bounced her lightsaber blade off the glossy blue wall of the chamber

  and shook her head. "Magnetically sealed. I can cut through the pile. In a few

  minutes." Then she heard the sound of mechanical voices from behind her. She

  spun. "Which we don't have."

  A security droid entered through the door Han and Leia had used just

  moments before. The droid fired as soon as his barrel cleared the door and

  continued to fire as he sprinted to the wall opposite the door, where he took up

  position, laying down covering fire.

  Leia batted the first blast out of the way as she and Han got behind cover.

  The cover was good-heavy steel scrap that easily absorbed the energy unloaded by

  blaster rifle shots. But missed shots ricocheted off the walls, propelled by the

  magnetic shielding, and inevitably one would bounce down into Han's or Leia's

  back.

  Then a second droid entered the chamber, and a third, and a fourth, all of

  them firing.

  "We're sunk," Leia said.

  "I don't think so." Han glanced around, found a more protective niche in

  the scrap, and sidestepped into it. He rose high enough to return fire for a

  moment. "Six, seven, eight of them. The more, the better."

  "The more, the better?" Leia slid into place beside him. "Yeah, when we get

  enough of them in here, we can't possibly lose."

  "Now I know why you never want to be told the odds. Because you don't know

  what they mean!"

  Han grinned at her. "Nine, ten, eleven. That's good enough to start with.

  Can you get me a couple of those blaster rifles?"

  "You planning on shooting our way out of here?"

  "That's right. Please, Leia. Two rifles." Leia hesitated, caught off guard

  by Han's rare use of the word please, then said, "Cover me. Go."

  Han popped up and squeezed off several quick shots. Leia stood from behind

  cover a moment later, saw several of the droids aiming to return fire. Some of

  them had to hold off firing to avoid hitting more droids charging into the

  chamber.

  With the Force, Leia reached out toward one of the late arrivals, a droid

  who held his rifle in a loose grip. She yanked toward her and the rifle came

  sailing to her hand. Before it landed, she repeated the trick on the next droid

  entering the room, and his rifle, too, leapt from his possession and into

  Leia's.

  She ducked down with Han. "Now what?"

  "Battleship tactics." He hauled on the heaviest plate of scrap metal in

  their vicinity, toppling it so that it covered the two of them almost

  completely. Their improvised fort was now lit only by the red glow from Leia's

  weapon. Han indicated two spots on the plate. "Holes here and here. Fist-sized."

  Leia complied, burning two apertures in the metal.

  The air now stank with the odor of superheated dura-steel. "You won't be

  able to see to aim."

  "Who needs to aim?" Han picked up one rifle in each hand, switched each to

  full autofire, inserted the barrels in the holes, angled them up more toward the

  ceiling, and began firing.

  Leia switched off her lightsaber and crowded back as far away from the

  rifles as she could, holding her hands over her ears. The roar in this confined

  space was deafening. Han rocked the weapons back and forth, slowly changing his

  angle of fire left to right, up and down.

  The metal plate shuddered as it began sustaining hits. Han turned to Leia

  and flashed her a manic grin, then closed his eyes and kept firing.

  First one of his rifles clicked down to zero and stopped firing, then the

  other. But the sound of ricochets continued as shots bounded from one end of the

  compactor chamber to the other, bouncing again and again until they hit

 
something not protected by the chamber's magnetic seal.

  Such as scrap metal. Such as droids. Such as droids being transformed into

  scrap metal.

  When there were no more blasts or impacts to be heard, Han maneuvered the

  metal plate aside and peeked. Leia also leaned around the plate to look.

  The droids weren't completely destroyed. She saw one walking back and forth

  with half his head gone, clicking the trigger of a rifle that was missing its

  middle section. Another droid spun around, his upper half turning one direction

  and his lower half the other, causing him to roll erratically across the floor.

  But most were down, motionless.

  "I'll watch the other door," Han said, "if you'll cut through the pile here

  and get us out."

  "Love to."

  The exercise yard guards looked up as the Millennium Falcon awkwardly

  maneuvered into position above the yard.

  The guards raised their blaster rifles and opened fire. R2-D2 saw their

  assault through his link with the transport's holocams, and felt a momentary

  thrill of dismay and an anticipation of damage before his probability

  calculations indicated that their shoulder arms would not be able to harm the

  ship. He brought the Falcon down several meters until the keel was just above

  the ground, and hovered there.

  Han and Leia emerged from a side door in one of the walls bounding the

  exercise yard. They drew the guard-droid fire from the Falcon, hut Han fired

  with his blaster in one direction, keeping droids harried and defensive there,

  while Leia deflected each and every blaster bolt aimed at them from the other

  direction. R2-D2 lowered the starboard boarding ramp, and in moments, Han and

  Leia rushed up to the cockpit. R2 raised the ramp.

  Leia gave R2-D2 a pat on the dome before settling into the copilot's chair.

  "Well done, Artoo."

  He wheetled at her, sent one last message through the dataport, then

  unjacked himself.

  Han peeled off his piratical tunic and scrubbed at the false scar over his

  eye as he looked over the control boards. "Threepio's on foot north of here. Get

  into the topside laser turret. We'll scoop Threepio up and then Punch out of

  here."

  "To space, I assume," Leia said.

  "To the forest." Han flashed her a lopsided grin. "Trust me on this."

  The spaceport was protected by a quartet of aging Z-95 Headhunters,

  venerable predecessors of the X-wing. While they made cautious runs in the

  distance, unwilling to strafe a transport so close to the ground, Leia helped

  keep them at bay with judicious use of the Falcon's top turret,

  Han guided the Falcon north over the base, swooping down once, just long

  enough to lower the boarding ramp and give C-3PO time to hurry aboard. Then Han

  kicked the thrusters in and headed northwest, the direction with the nearest

  heavy stand of forest. As he neared the leading edge of old-growth trees, some

  of which reached to the height of twenty-story buildings, he rotated the Falcon

  until the ship was perpendicular. The Falcon slid into the forest like a

  vibroknife into blue butter. The pursuing Headhunters broke off pursuit,

  scattering, climbing above the treetops to look for the Falcon from an altitude.

  After a few hundred more meters of nerve-jangling maneuvering through the trees,

  Han tilted the transport back onto her belly and settled down in a shadowy

  glade.

  "If I may ask, sir," said C-3PO as he desperately clung to the restraining

  straps on his seat, "why do we not just go into space?"

  "Because someone was aboard the Falcon," Han snapped. "And do you know what

  happens every time someone I don't like comes aboard?"

  "No, sir."

  "They sabotage something! Usually the shields, or especially the hyperdrive

  motivator. I hate that. Leia, take over at the controls while T see what they

  did,"

  "Yes, Captain. Right away, Captain." Leia trotted into the cockpit, took

  the pilot's seat as Han vacated it, gave him a kiss as they made the transfer.

  "You know we're only going to have a few minutes here before they find us and

  bring in the heavy guns."

  "Then let's hope I'm as good as mechanic as I know lam."

  "Anything I can do while we're waiting?"

  "Get on the comm board and see if you can find their comm traffic. That may

  give us an idea of how much time we really have."

  "I'm also going to put in a call to our smuggler contacts. Let them know we

  have to leave in a hurry."

  "Very polite of you. Very proper."

  "Oh, shut up."

  Han didn't take long to find it. The hyperdrive motivator had indeed been

  sabotaged. Someone had installed a simple fuse that would hold up to a system

  check but Would blow the first time real power surged through the system. In the

  hyperdrive motivator compartment, the saboteur had also wired a tracking device.

  Han rerouted the hyperdrive power the way it was supposed to be, then threw the

  tracking device out an airlock.

  He returned at a run to the cockpit and slid into the Pilot's chair as

  Leia, still in her comm unit privacy head-set, vacated it and took her own seat.

  They watched as, in the distance ahead and to port, a long-nosed flying

  vehicle edged through the trees. "What is that?" Han asked. "Vong, or local

  make?"

  "Can't make it out," Leia said.

  "Well, let's just outfly it and identify it later." Han powered up the

  repulsorlifts and stood the Millennium Falcon on her stern. He heard noises of

  unhappiness from C-3PO and a wild squeal of dismay from R2-D2. As he accelerated

  up through the treetops, he grinned over at Leia. "Forgot to tell them we were

  taking off."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Leia, you have to admit, that was fun."

  "Fun. Getting kidnapped, jailed, threatened with torture, shot at-fun."

  "That's right."

  Leia felt her face twist into a smile she had no control over. "All right,

  all right. Despite everything, it was fun."

  "Welcome back, Princess."

  ELEVEN

  Borleias

  Tam awoke in a hospital ward bed.

  Again.

  He didn't like doing that. It was happening too often.

  This time, his left shoulder ached, and he remembered how it got that way.

  The first time a member of the medical staff walked past the foot of his bed, he

  motioned the man over and said, "Can I get a message to someone?"

  "Let me get someone for you first," the man said.

  Minutes later, visitors appeared from beyond the blue curtains to one side.

  Tarc barged right up to stand beside Tam. Wolam was content to stand at the foot

  of the bed, smiling. And Intelligence head Iella Wessiri positioned herself

  between them.

  "Which arm hurts?" Tarc asked.

  "No, no, no, Tarc. Protocol." Tam gave him a little mock-glare. "The

  visitor who is most socially important, or who has the greatest demands on his

  time, gets to talk first. Which one is that?"

  "Me," Tarc said.

  "Try again."

  "Well, her, I guess."

  "That's better."

  Iella smiled at the boy. "I was available, so I thought I'd stop by in

  person to give you some news. You did a ve
ry important thing last night. You

  prevented a Yuu-zhan Vong spy from getting away with some, well, very

  significant information."

  "Information you didn't want them to have. Unlike the stuff I gave them."

  Iella nodded, not contrite.

  "What information?"

  "I shouldn't say. You shouldn't ask."

  "I think I can guess." When still under Yuuzhan Vong control, he'd stolen

  records of a project being developed at this base, something about a superweapon

  involving laser weapons focused through a giant-sized lambent crystal, a living

  crystal normally bioengineered only by the Yuuzhan Vong. The spy's torture of

  the Bothan, asking about such a crystal, suggested that the Botban's chamber was

  where it was being kept or monitored. But there had been no giant lambent

  crystal there-only the wreckage of some sort of mock-up.

  There was no giant crystal. It was a fake. The whole Starlancer project had

  to be a fake. In a moment of clarity, he understood that the Starlancer project

  was nothing more than a ring in the nose of the Yuuzhan Vong commander,

  something to tug him in one direction or another.

  "What's your guess?" lella asked.

  "I shouldn't say. You shouldn't ask."

  "Good man."

  "How's the Bothan?"

  "Alive. Which he probably wouldn't have been, without your intervention.

  He's a few beds down; you can talk to him if the doctors say it's all right.

  Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and say thanks."

  "Happy to help. Except for the pain part."

  When she'd gone, Tarc said, "They're talking about you."

  "What are they saying?"

  "That you're crazy as a monkey-lizard, jumping a Vong warrior all by

  yourself."

  "What do you say?"

  "Well... I've never seen a monkey-lizard."

  Tam nodded. "Good answer."

  "Come on, boy." Wolarn motioned Tarc over, "We need to give the monkey-

  lizard here some more time to rest. You can be my holocam operator until he

  drags himself out of bed."

  "Good," Tarc said. "I'll make the recordings he's scared to."

  "Just don't record me." Tam pulled the sheet up over his head.

  He heard Tarc snicker, and then he drifted away into sleep once more.