“The droids aren’t making much progress,” Ul’ligan said to Tay, who shook her head.
“Either we set down, or we need to get out of here.”
“Can we make hyperspace?” Ul’ligan asked.
Tay shrugged, ears flat. “If we go now, if there’s no more damage—”
“We have to make it to Lessu,” Hera said. Goll shook his head in warning, but she ignored him. If they didn’t trust the rest of the team with the real purpose of the mission, how could she expect them to trust her with their lives? “This medicine is earmarked for a settlement of our elders. They’re the foundation of our culture. If they die, we die.”
No one said anything, and Goll turned to the comm. “I’m contacting the rendezvous.” He adjusted the secondary transmitter, and a light flashed green. “Dianthy, this is Goll.”
“Goll!” The connection was scratchy with static, but the words were clear. “Goll, all the rendezvous points are being watched—”
“Calm.” Goll flattened his hands in the air as though Dianthy could see him. “All the fallbacks, too?”
“Everything close to Lessu.”
“Stand by.” Goll cut the channel, frowning.
“That’s that,” Baratha said. “I’m sorry about your elders, but we can’t risk losing the gattis extract. Abort and try again.”
“We don’t have time,” Hera said. “Is there somewhere else we can land?”
“Weren’t you listening?” Baratha glared. “All your fallbacks are being watched.”
“There was another one,” Rheden dragged herself upright, Baratha supporting her. “To the west?”
Eclipse was stable enough that Hera risked manipulating her maps, then saw that Goll had called up a different file. “If you mean Rhovari, that’s too far. It’ll be too hard to distribute the medication from there.”
“That’s better than not having it at all,” Rheden said. She swayed and sat down hard on the floor plates.
“It’s too much of a risk,” Baratha said.
Hera pushed the voices away. Goll was right, they had to get through, but Baratha was also right, much as she hated to admit it. And Rhovari really was too far west…She looked at the map display again, symbols scrolling past as the system laid out a course to Lessu, possible landing sites marked with blue diamonds. There weren’t any between the mountains and the jungle’s edge, and the next were all too close to Imperial observers; the rendezvous and fallback sites formed a rough crescent in the badlands west of the city, but if the Imperials had them under surveillance, there wasn’t much chance of getting Eclipse out again even if Tay could finish the repairs. A new mark caught her eye, on the southern slope of the cone that contained the city, and she quickly queried the system. It was a commercial landing zone, originally intended to serve a local factory, now disused; it was small, and the original approach lane had been narrowed by two new towers, but there was just enough room to set Eclipse down.
“Goll. What about here?”
Goll leaned over her shoulder. “Too small.”
“There’s about ten meters clearance each way,” Hera answered. “I can do it.”
“Ten meters?” Baratha rose to her feet. “Are you crazy?”
“It’s tight,” Hera said, “but we can drop straight in on the field. Eclipse can handle it.”
Goll shook his head. “It’s close to Dianthy’s territory, but—”
“It can’t be done,” Baratha said.
Tay hauled herself to her feet. “We’d fit, but we’re in no shape to try. We have to abandon.”
Ul’ligan tipped his head to one side, and Rheden stretched out one hand to catch Tay’s sleeve. “Can we make it into hyperspace?”
Tay hesitated. “Yes. I think so.”
“No,” Goll said. “We are going to deliver the medicine. That’s what I paid you for, all of you.”
“I’m not losing my ship for this,” Rheden said.
“And I’m not letting this medicine fall into Imperial hands,” Baratha snapped. “That’s final.”
Hera looked from one to the other. They’d never been anything like a team, but now it was all falling apart. She took a deep breath, remembering what Goll had said before: The leader’s job was to keep everything moving, however they had to do it. “Whatever we do, we need to finish the repairs. If someone directs the droids, the work will go a lot faster.”
There was a moment of silence, Tay’s ears twitching, but it was Ul’ligan who spoke first. “She’s right.”
Hera hurried on before anyone else could argue. “Once we get the repairs finished, we make one attempt to deliver our cargo, and if that doesn’t work, we bail. But we have to try once.”
Goll nodded slowly. “If Dianthy can get her people there…”
Rheden leaned over the map display, blinking hard as she tried to focus. Hera could smell the bacta on the bandages and saw her grimace as she made sense of the display. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Hera nodded.
“I’m not,” Tay said, and Ul’ligan laid a hand on her shoulder.
“One try. She’ll hold together for that.”
“And if she doesn’t, we’re in bigger trouble anyway,” Rheden said. “I’m in.”
Tay sighed. “All right.”
“One try,” Baratha said. “Nothing more. And only if they complete the repairs in time.”
“We’ll do that,” Tay said. She looked at Goll. “I’ll need your help out on the hull. Ul’ligan needs to be on guns.”
“Let me update Dianthy,” Goll said, “And I’m all yours.”
Hera turned Eclipse onto the new heading, watching the jungle thin out beneath them as the ship drew closer to the city. Behind her, Baratha was mercifully silent, tending Rheden with quiet competence; the monitors showed Goll and Tay busy on the hull’s starboard side, while the droids worked along the tail, patching conduit and cable. She could still feel the damage—sluggish response to the control surfaces, a definite lag when she asked for more power—but she’d flown worse. In the background, she could hear V-wing chatter on the Imperial circuit: So far, they were concentrating on the spot where the patrol had caught Eclipse, but sooner or later they were going to start looking toward the capital again. The short-range sensors showed a couple of flights at the edge of their range, but no one had spotted them yet.
“Hera.” Tay’s voice crackled from the intercom. “Gravitics are repaired. We’re good—oh, damn it.”
“What?” Hera scanned her controls, but nothing seemed to have changed.
“We’ve got a break in the secondary power conduit on this side,” Tay said. “Not a problem now, but we need it fixed before we jump to hyperspace.”
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Hera checked her readings. That was just enough time to finish before she had to begin the landing. “All right. We’re going in.”
“But they’re still out there!” Baratha demanded, and out of the corner of her eye, Hera saw Rheden grab the clinician’s arm.
“We’re committed. Sit down and be silent.”
Astonishingly, Baratha obeyed. Hera banked Eclipse, chasing the ship’s shadow south and west across the broken ground. They were still safely under the Imperial sensor net, but they were entirely too visible from the surface. The Imperials were still searching, and it wouldn’t take much to draw their attention—and if she did, Goll and Tay were still on the hull, utterly exposed. She chose a vector that kept them well clear of an Imperial monitoring station and dropped Eclipse lower still.
The cone that was the city of Lessu swelled on the horizon, and the nav computer chimed, offering a new heading. It would take her around the old industrial district, keeping clear of the maze of chimneys and drop towers that broke the steep surface, but anyone watching from the main traffic tower would have trouble missing a star freighter. She keyed the intercom.
“Goll. How are the repairs coming?”
“Almost done,” Gol
l answered, sounding strained.
In the monitor, Hera could see Tay lying flat on the hull, reaching into an open compartment, the harness that tethered her to the ship stretched taut. Goll crouched beside her, a toolkit open at his knee. “We’re coming up on Lessu.”
“Five more minutes,” Tay said.
“We’ll be landing then,” Hera said. But they had to get that conduit repaired if they were going to escape. “Ul’ligan, call in the repair droids, get them stowed.”
“Right.” The Nikto’s growl was strangely reassuring.
The nav computer’s beeping was getting louder, but Hera ignored it, aiming for the heart of the factory district. “Hold tight.”
Eclipse streaked across the barren ground—mercifully, there was no one in sight—and she pulled up as they crossed the ditch and the wall beyond. Hera swung around a leaning drop tower, lights strobing along its side, and flung Eclipse instantly to the right to avoid a shorter chimney. On the monitors, she saw Goll brace himself, one hand pressing Tay into the hull, the other clinging to an exposed strut. A pair of towers loomed ahead, rising from the same base and connected at the top by a rusted walkway. To go over would put them into the Imperial sensors, and either side led to a tangle of chimneys and turrets, but the space between was impossibly narrow. She tipped Eclipse sideways, not daring to tilt more than twenty degrees for fear of losing Goll and Tay, and held it there as she threaded the gap.
“Conduit’s fixed,” Tay called.
“Confirmed,” Hera answered. A landing light flared ahead: Dianthy’s people. She hit the air brakes, balancing Eclipse against Ryloth’s gravity, and hovered above the gap. Checking the monitors, she could see Goll drag Tay to her feet, then both of them headed for the nearest hatch. Hera triggered her landing cameras and winced. Ten meters clearance didn’t look nearly as large as she’d hoped. She eased the big ship down, red dust swirling off the buildings. The walls rose around them, so close she felt as though she could touch any of them. And then, at last, the landing gear touched, lights flaring as Ul’ligan and Goll opened the hatch.
She gave a sigh of relief but kept the power up, resetting the controls for takeoff. The Imperials weren’t going to overlook a freighter sitting on the city’s shell for very long—
“Go!” Ul’ligan shouted, and the hatch indicators flared green. Hera took a breath and let Eclipse rise.
—
“Moff Mors! The unidentified freighter has landed on the outer surface of the capital.”
Mors glared at the screen, wishing she could force the V-wing patrols to exceed their maximum speeds. She’d guessed wrong—it hadn’t occurred to her that the missing freighter would continue to its stated destination, and she’d wasted time and men searching for signs on vectors that led away from Lessu. “Get ground troops moving. They’re obviously smuggling something. Find them and cut them off. Now!”
“Yes, ma’am.” The nearest comms officer spoke into his mouthpiece, and a moment later she saw lights flare on secondary screens as Colonel Piik’s men turned out from their barracks in the capital.
“Shut the city down. I want every exit sealed.” That was all she could do about Lessu for the moment, and she turned her attention to the main display. The freighter was still on the ground, and she turned to Karris. “Signal Despot. Tell them to watch for an unauthorized liftoff from Lessu, a YT-209 freighter. Capture if possible, but destroy it if it won’t stop.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Karris said, and turned to his own controls. “Despot acknowledges. They’re reversing course.”
For a second, she thought the V-wings might have a chance, arrowing across the badlands at their top speed, but the freighter began to lift, dragging itself out from among the buildings. As soon as it cleared the roofs, it shot upward, showing a surprising turn of speed, and headed for open space. The main screen switched to an orbital view, and Mors swore as she saw the angles. Despot was still reversing course: They’d been caught flat-footed. The captain fired anyway, but the bolts fell short. The freighter seemed to shift slightly, then it was gone.
“They’ve jumped to hyperspace, ma’am,” someone said, and Mors swallowed an angry retort. Of course they’d jumped; it wasn’t as though Despot had managed to hit anything. She stifled her anger with an effort, knowing that what she truly felt was fear. One chance.
“I want the city searched—” She stopped abruptly, recognizing the folly there. They didn’t have the personnel to do a proper door-to-door investigation; the best she could manage was a general sweep and hope that something useful turned up.
“Yes, ma’am,” Karris said again. “Ma’am, there hasn’t been any sign of organized resistance in the capital. Is it possible they’re just smugglers?”
It was possible, of course. The Outer Rim produced smugglers who were as dedicated, or determined to earn their full fees, as any Imperial officer. But it was not a risk she cared to take. “I don’t care who they are. I want that cargo found. Search the city, first, then inform all our agents that I will pay a handsome reward for information on the freighter, the cargo, and/or its eventual recipients. Keep the city sealed until I say otherwise.” That would be hard on the locals, but she couldn’t afford to care. She would not be found wanting again.
—
Hera engaged the autopilot and leaned back in her seat, staring at the blue shimmer of hyperspace. “On course for Manda, Captain.”
“Good,” Rheden said. She had managed to reclaim the captain’s chair, but she was clearly in no shape to fly. “We’ll drop the rest of you there. Plenty of transport on Manda.”
And who’ll fly you wherever it is you’re going? Hera swallowed the words, knowing they were pointless.
“At least we made it,” Tay said, and pulled herself up out of her own chair. “Come on, Krys, let’s get another look at that burn.”
Rheden accepted her extended hand, and the two of them made their way slowly out of the cockpit. Baratha rose as well, grimacing, and gave Goll a sharp look. “I’ll expect to receive our final payment before we land.”
“You’ll have it,” Goll said wearily. “But not right this moment.”
Baratha snorted and ducked out of the hatch. Goll settled himself in the captain’s chair, shaking his head. Hera glanced over her shoulder at Ul’ligan, who was sitting in the pull-down seat behind the engineer’s station.
“Thank you for supporting me.”
The Nikto shrugged. “We are both subject peoples, the Twi’leks and us. I know what it is to lose a culture. It was worth the chance.”
And that, Hera thought, was the most frustrating thing about the mission. Yes, they’d made it, delivered the gattis-root extract and escaped, but that was all they’d done. And even when someone recognized that there was common cause to be made, it didn’t actually change anything.
“I’m going to eat,” Ul’ligan went on, “then sleep. I’ll leave food for you.”
“Thanks,” Hera said, and sighed as the hatch closed behind him.
“You did well,” Goll said after a moment. “The gattis extract should make a difference.”
“Yes.”
“More than the flying. I always knew you were a good pilot. It was a good plan.” Goll paused, his face serious. “You have the makings of a good leader. Like your father.”
Leader of what? Hera thought. But maybe she could pull together a group of her own, find some way to stand up against the Empire. “I want to,” she said, and was mildly surprised by her own desire. “I hope I can.”
* * *
STAR WARS®: TARKIN
* * *
James Luceno
Five standard years have passed since Darth Sidious proclaimed himself galactic Emperor. The brutal Clone Wars are a memory, and the Emperor’s apprentice, Darth Vader, has succeeded in hunting down most of the Jedi who survived dreaded Order 66. On Coruscant a servile Senate applauds the Emperor’s every decree, and the populations of the Core Worlds bask in a sense of renewed prosperity
.
In the Outer Rim, meanwhile, the myriad species of former Separatist worlds find themselves no better off than they were before the civil war. Stripped of weaponry and resources, they have been left to fend for themselves in an Empire that has largely turned its back on them.
Where resentment has boiled over into acts of sedition, the Empire has been quick to mete out punishment. But as confident as he is in his own and Vader’s dark side powers, the Emperor understands that only a supreme military, overseen by a commander with the will to be as merciless as he is, can secure an Empire that will endure for a thousand generations….
A SAYING EMERGED during the early years of the Empire: Better to be spaced than based on Belderone. Some commentators traced the origin to the last of the original Kamino-grown soldiers who had served alongside the Jedi in the Clone Wars; others to the first crop of cadets graduated from the Imperial academies. Besides expressing disdain for assignments on worlds located far from the Core, the adage implied that star system assignment was a designator of worth. The closer to Coruscant one was posted, the greater one’s importance to the Imperial cause. Though on Coruscant itself most effectives preferred to be deployed far from the Palace rather than anywhere within range of the Emperor’s withering gaze.
For those in the know, then, it seemed inexplicable that Wilhuff Tarkin should be assigned to a desolate moon in a nameless system in a remote region of the Outer Rim. The closest planets of any note were the desert world Tatooine and equally inhospitable Geonosis, on whose irradiated surface the Clone Wars had begun and which had since become a denied outlier to all but an inner circle of Imperial scientists and engineers. What could the former admiral and adjutant general have done to merit an assignment most would have regarded as a banishment? What insubordination or dereliction of duty had prompted the Emperor to exile one he himself had promoted to the rank of Moff at the end of the war? Rumors flew fast and furious among Tarkin’s peers in all branches of the military. Tarkin had failed to carry out an important mission in the Western Reaches; he had quarreled with the Emperor or his chief henchman, Darth Vader; or his reach had simply exceeded his grasp, and he was paying the price for naked ambition. For those who knew Tarkin personally, however, or had even a passing familiarity with his upbringing and long record of service, the reason for the assignment was obvious: Tarkin was engaged in a clandestine Imperial enterprise.
The Rise of the Empire: Star Wars: Featuring the novels Star Wars: Tarkin, Star Wars: A New Dawn, and 3 all-new short stories Page 3
