by Kathy Tyers
Quickly, the domes swung into view. Han pulled them in on high resolution and spotted a double line of shattered walls between jagged new craters.
“What a mess,” Leia said.
“Ten to one our mysterious aliens have already hit this place.”
“Good.” Leia flicked dust off Han’s chair. Startled, he twisted around. “That means they probably won’t be back,” she explained.
“Checked it off the list,” Han agreed.
“And they’re out for bigger game now. I only hope Luke’s careful.”
“He will be. Okay Chewie, this looks like a nice quiet neighborhood. We’re hidden better if we land … blend in with the rocks, you know. Let’s get low and kill speed. Only enough to fight gravity. We’re going in cold.”
He didn’t tell her how hard that would be. His sensors registered under 0.2 G on this ice ball, and no atmosphere to heat up incoming craft, but shedding temp was no simple job. Core heat was still up from the hyperspace jump, and friction was no small factor: even in the dead cold of outer-system space, they had already hit billions of ions and atoms. Han touched a control he rarely used, setting dorsal radiators on full. He wished he had chillers for the landing struts, but if wishes were fishes, Calamarians would be giving the orders at Alliance HQ.
Just beyond the terminator, he spotted a crater bottom long and broad enough to hold the Falcon snugly. He shut down the radiators, brought her low, and let her hover. Now, no braking rockets …
About to ease down, he spotted a dark shining pool spreading out on the crater bottom below him.
Not water ice, then, but ammonia or some other smelly volatile that melted at such a supercold temp that even hover jets puddled it.
Now what?
Chewie whuffled a suggestion.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Synchronous orbit. Good idea.”
“We’re not going to land after all?” Leia relaxed into her high-backed seat as the Falcon swooped over the ruins and gained altitude.
Chewbacca howled, pointing out a small problem.
“It works well enough,” Han said.
“What works well enough?” Leia demanded.
Han frowned at Chewie. Thanks a lot, pal. “The Falcon’s star tracker. For maintaining orbits on autopilot. It’s slaved into a circuit that doesn’t normally cover those things.”
“Why?”
Han laughed shortly. “You don’t make this many modifications on one freighter without slicing a few circuits. The tracker works well enough—but—Chewie, make sure we don’t drift off course. So long as we stay close, no one’ll spot us.” Han jabbed a sensor. “Looks like Brother Luke’s moving in on the Imperials’ side. I suppose you want to stick around and watch.”
Leia frowned. “With this scanner board, it’s impossible to tell who’s on which side. Anyway, I’m uncomfortable with the whole situation.”
“Oh.” Was that scanner-board comment another insult? “Oh,” he added cheerfully. Maybe they’d finally have a quiet hour. Their so-called vacation after the big Ewok party had been worthless; Leia was bone tired. But during the jump, with all hands busy and Threepio bustling everywhere, he’d quietly had Chewie make a few modifications in the Falcon’s main hold that weren’t in Cracken’s Field Guide.
He only hoped Chewie had gotten it right. The big Wookiee was a master mechanic, but his aesthetic sense wasn’t, well, human.
Han Solo hadn’t exactly joined this picnic for the war effort.
Leia groped behind Threepio’s neck and switched him back on, then followed Han aft. Once the Battle of Endor wound down, they’d talked for hours. Beneath that smuggler’s cynical mask, this man hid ideals like hers. They’d simply been squashed harder. And she’d dreaded being alone ever since Luke gave her the terrible news: Darth Vader was her—
No.
Her mind dodged its own defenses and thrust again: As she’d watched Alderaan blasted from space aboard the Death Star, she’d thought she’d been watching her family die. In truth, her father had stood—
No! She would never accept him as her father. Not even if Luke did.
She ducked to miss a dangling hose. If she had to find a hiding place and pull her head in for a few hours, the time had better count for something. She’d already wasted too many days recuperating. She rubbed her right arm. Not even synthflesh completely countered the itch of a healing blaster burn. As she’d told Han, it wasn’t bad … just hard to ignore.
He stopped near the entry ramp. She leaned against a bulkhead and stared up at him. “What’s left to fix?” The Falcon was Han’s first love. The sooner she accepted that, the less often he’d get his back up. Besides, it was foolish to feel jealous of a spaceship.
Han slid his hands off his hips and let them hang along his black pants’ side stripes. “Things will probably stay quiet for a few hours. Chewie’s on watch, too.”
Abruptly Leia realized that was no combat glimmer in his eyes. “I thought something needed repairing.” She tossed down the challenge. “Come on, isn’t there some new modification that needs field testing?”
“Yeah. Back here, in the big cargo bay.” He strode along the curving corridor, slapped the locking panel, and stepped down into the Falcon’s aft hold. He palmed open a bulkhead hatch into the closed starboard compartment. “Shield generators, back here.”
The cargo bay smelled stuffy. She stepped down behind Han. “What are you smuggling this time?”
“Something I picked up on Endor.”
“We picked up on Endor,” she corrected him. Crates piled and braced with more crates walled off the back of the compartment. Han slid a crate aside and uncovered a locker she thought might be a refrigeration unit. He reached in, groped, and pulled out a glass bottle.
Straight-faced, she took it. Primitive glass sealed with a plug of tree bark, it looked less than sanitary. “What is it?”
“A present from that Ewok medicine man. You remember. The one who made us honorary members of the tribe?”
“Yes.” Leia lounged against the stack of cargo crates and handed back the bottle. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Han yanked on the plug. “Berry … wine of some … sort,” he grunted. The plug popped free. “Goldenrod about split a resistor translating, but the gist of what the fuzzy guy said was, ‘To ignite the heart that’s beginning to warm.’ ”
So that’s what he was up to. “Hey, we’re at war.”
“We’ll always be at war. When are you going to live?”
Leia felt her cheeks heat. She’d rather talk, argue, even fight with Han than hide out and sip … berry wine? … with a battle going on. As Bail Organa would’ve pointed out, this man wasn’t even appropriate company for someone of her upbringing. He wanted to solve all his problems with a blaster. She was a princess by adoption, if not by birth.
Again the black-masked shadow fell across her thoughts: Vader. She had hated him so righteously.
Cloudy purple wine sloshed into stoneware. Probably not a palace-quality vintage. “Let’s not …” she began, then she trailed off. She’d already decided she couldn’t do Luke any good hanging around the subspace radio.
“Hey.” Han handed her one cup. “What are you thinking? What are you afraid of?”
“Too much.” She touched the rim of her cup to his. The pottery clinked softly.
“You? Afraid?”
Leia had to smile. It didn’t make sense to be anything but brave and headlong. She sipped, then sniffed her cup and wrinkled her nose. “It’s too sweet.”
“I don’t think they make anything else.” Han set his cup on a pallet. “Look over here.” He took her hand and tugged her around the freestanding divider of crates. She set her cup beside his. “I—” He stopped.
Leia looked down into a nest of self-inflating pillows.
“Chewie—” Han growled. He dropped her hand. “I guess that’s a little blatant. I never should’ve trusted a Wookiee.”
Leia laughed. “Chewie set this
up?”
“Wait till I tell that big wet-nosed furball—”
Still laughing, she braced herself against a bulkhead and shoved him over backward. He caught her hand and went down flailing.
CHAPTER
4
Chewbacca hoped he’d gotten it right. Han’s aesthetic sense wasn’t, well, civilized. But his intentions were sterling. Leia ought to be able to figure that out. She seemed like a genteel female.
Threepio prattled behind him. Chewbacca fiddled with communications gear, checking occasionally on Luke’s battle. He’d lost track of which blip in all that mayhem was the Flurry.
“And this is a rather precarious hiding place,” Threepio added. “Planet Six is rightly denied the dignity of a proper name. Why, it’s little more than a large boulder of ice. Not even a settlement, just the remains of a military outpost.” Abruptly he paused. “What was that, Chewbacca? Tune back a few kilobits.”
Chewie shrugged and suggested that Threepio butt out.
“I shall not ‘butt out,’ you ill-mannered fleabag,” the droid squeaked. “The nerve of some creatures, discounting my expertise. I distinctly heard something back there.”
Out here in the fringes of the system? Chewie considered tearing off a metal arm. It would serve Threepio right. But he’d just have to resolder all those connections again.
“I detected something that was not a naturally occurring phenomenon. Tune back a few kilobits.”
Well, it was possible. Pressing his headset to one ear, Chewie hit the low-band scanner and had it repeat its sweep of near space. Something buzzed briefly, a signal too weak to key scanner-pause. Chewie spun a control to amplify. Several seconds of fine tuning brought up a low electronic hum.
Threepio cocked his golden head and posed authoritatively. “That’s very strange, Chewbacca. It sounds like some kind of command code for communicating between droids. But what would active droids be doing in this vicinity? Perhaps it is a mechanical survivor from that abandoned Imperial outpost below or machinery still in operation. I suggest that you turn on the comlink and alert General Solo or Princess Leia.”
Han had hinted that he’d better not be disturbed for anything short of catastrophic pressure loss. Chewie told Threepio as much.
“Well, I shall not relax until I have ascertained that signal’s origin. We have, after all, entered a war zone. We could be in considerable danger. Wait—” Threepio leaned to the other side. “This is no code used in any Alliance or Imperial system.”
The invaders? Without hesitating, Chewie swatted the comlink.
It beeped from Han’s shirt pocket. “General Solo!” bleated Threepio’s singsong voice. “General Solo!”
Leia wriggled in Han’s arms. “I knew it,” he muttered. Just when Leia’d been on the verge of relaxing. He pulled out the comlink. “What?” he sneered.
“Sir, I am picking up a transmission from near space. A droid control unit of some kind seems to be in operation very close by. I am not certain, but its source appears to be coming closer.”
“Uh, oh,” Leia said softly against his shoulder. She pushed up to her feet.
“Okay, Chewie, we’ll be right there.” Han made sure it sounded more like a threat than a promise.
Looking amused, Leia poured her syrupy wine back into the bottle and recorked it. Before sprinting up the corridor, she spread her hands and mournfully quoted Han’s words back to him: “It’s not my fault!”
Han had just swung into the cockpit when an electronic shriek rang out from the main console. “What’s that?” Leia asked.
Great. Just great. Chewie was already powering up. “Not good, sweetheart,” Han clipped. “We just got probed.”
“By what?” Leia dropped into the seat behind him.
“Well?” Han tossed the question over his shoulder to Threepio.
“Sir,” began Threepio, “I have not yet ascertained—”
“Okay,” Leia interrupted, “shut up. There!” She pointed dead center on the viewscreen. “Look! What are they?”
From behind the dead icy bulk of Planet 6, eight or nine small shapes appeared in midstarfield, headed directly for the Falcon.
“I’m not sticking around to find out,” Han growled. “Chewie, charge the main guns.”
Chewbacca barked agreement full voice.
“We know the aliens take prisoners,” Leia muttered. “I don’t want to open negotiations from that position.”
“You won’t. C’mon, Chewie. You and me for the quad guns. We’ll see what they’re made of. Leia, take us someplace. Suddenly I don’t trust Planet Six.”
Leia slid into the pilot’s seat. Hadn’t he just vowed that she’d never take the Falcon away from him and Chewie?
Yeah. But this was different. As he rounded the bend, he heard Threepio’s voice fade out: “The Millennium Falcon is better configured for running away than for engaging enemy fighters.…”
Han climbed up the turret and clambered into his seat, then squeezed off a ranging burst. “They’re closing fast,” he told Leia via the pickup mike on his headset. “Is Goldenrod getting any data? What are they?”
Threepio’s answer began, “Well, General Solo—” By then, Leia’d answered, “Deep-space droids. That’s all he knows.”
The droids swooped into close range. Three soared over the freighter’s asymmetrical dish, firing energy bursts toward its main engine. “Analyze those beams, Goldenrod,” Han shouted as he fired. “Are they laser cannons or what?”
Chewbacca snarled over his headphones. “Yeah,” Han answered, “for ships of that size!”
“What?” Leia cried. “What, for ships of that—”
“Strong shields.” Han poured firepower into a single droid, holding it steady in his sights for as long as it’d take to implode a full-size TIE fighter. The thing finally blew.
The Falcon rocked as another droid fired. Han relaxed into the gunner’s power chair. This was just the old game. Another droid swooped along the freighter’s rim, right at the edge of his sighting capability. “Smart droids,” he muttered. “They learn fast.”
Abruptly the starfield tilted, lining up the droid for a long, clean burst. “Better?” asked Leia’s voice in his ears.
“Much.” The thing finally exploded. Two more came in, still aiming for the engines, not the gunners’ stations or the cockpit. They want prisoners, all right. So where was Big Mama, the boss ship? Or were these babies programmed to attack on their own?
As if she’d read his thoughts, Leia murmured, “What do you bet they’re left over from the alien attack on this outpost?” Han finally overloaded the upper one’s shields. A wave of debris sent its buddy spinning out of sight.
“Safe bet,” he said tightly.
Silence.
“That everybody, Chewie?”
Affirmative roar.
Breathing heavily, he scrambled back down to the cockpit. “Where are we headed?” he asked Leia.
She stroked a control rod. “In system. There may be more of those out here. I don’t know about you, but I’d feel safer with the rest of our battle group.” As she stepped out of the captain’s chair, the engine pitch fell off with a groan. Cabin lights darkened. “Now what?” Leia demanded. “I never know what to expect from this overmodified bucket.”
Or its overconfident captain? Go ahead, Princess, say it. Han whacked a console. Ready lights blinked and the engines came back up. He swung into his seat with a flourish. “We’re gone.”
Leia crossed her arms and looked defiant. “For all the protection I’ve gotten, we might as well be doing Luke some good.”
“Well, strap down, sweetheart. We’re going to hustle.”
Motionless but for his eyes, Luke glanced from viewscreen to BAC unit. Commander Thanas’s Imperial ships were falling back.
Not because Luke was coming in. Evidently his battle group had dropped back out of hyperspace at the moment when the Ssi-ruuk meant to press their advantage to Bakura’s surface. That meant the al
iens had thinned their outer arc to push forward. One light cruiser was practically undefended, creating an area Luke’s small force ought to be able to take easily.
“Delckis, give me squadron leaders.”
His headset hissed. He adjusted it, pressing small hard components into his ears. “Okay, let’s get their attention.” He touched a BAC panel to transmit its evaluation into their targeting computers and highlight the solitary cruiser. “Gold Leader, Rogue One, that’s yours.”
“Got it, Flurry.” Wedge Antilles sounded confident and experienced. “Rogue Group, lock S-foils in attack position.”
Luke felt vulnerable, riding a target as obvious as this carrier. “Red Leader, split your squadron. Red One through Four, hold an escape cone open behind Rogue and Gold groups. We’ll draw them away from the planet.” Every byte of data his ships’ sensors could feed into the BAC would help it analyze alien ships’ capabilities.
He shook his head. The yellow-gold pips on his screen were Imperial fighters—and he was defending them.
“Red Five and the rest, stay with the Flurry,” Luke finished.
Sitting beside him on the elevated captain’s chair, Captain Manchisco swiveled away from the master computer. Three black braids swung on each side of her head. “Why, thank you, Commander.” Her sense in the Force teased him. Eager for battle, she felt confident of her ship, her crew, and herself.
Gold and Rogue squadrons soared in, confounding the aliens’ rearguard with a full-speed sweep. Luke stretched out with his feelings, barely aware of his body. Sensed through the Force, pilots swarmed like hive-minded insects. He tried reaching for alien presences, but couldn’t find any. Unfamiliar minds were always difficult to touch.
As Wedge closed on a tiny enemy fighter—the BAC showed it a bare two meters across—he braced himself. Something that small might be just a remote, a drone. Or the aliens could be elfin-size.…
Wedge scored. Something weak and inexplicably putrid shrieked in momentary anguish, then fizzled away and died. Luke choked down his gag reflex. Had he felt two presences cry out? He drummed his fingers. The enemy fighters weren’t true drone ships then, but piloted. Sort of. Something had died.
