Reunion: Force Heretic III

by Sean Williams

Everything depended on him being able to convince those that saw him that his “death roll” was genuine, while at the same time maintaining enough control over his ship to ensure he wasn’t actually killed.

  A fraction of a second before colliding with the gunship, he fired his laser cannons. The resulting explosion boiled yorik coral in a great plume from the gunship, enveloping him in fire and debris. For a brief moment, he was actually cushioned by the blast—a situation he had initially feared might be untenable, until he checked the rating on his shields and found that they could take it. Inertial dampeners soaked up his residual momentum and brought him and his clawcraft to a creaking halt deep within the hull of the ruined gunship.

  It had been a rough ride, and it took him a minute to get himself back together and make sure everything was still in one piece. His shields were recharging, the body of his starfighter was still rigid, and his weapons systems were still working. So far, so good.

  The view through his forward canopy was like something he’d expect to find at the heart of a sun. The impact had unleashed a lot of energy on the dying gunship’s interior, energy it wasn’t designed ever to see. Molten decking bubbled against his shields, burning in what little atmosphere remained in the leaky hulk. Organic components released noxious fumes as they decomposed in the extraordinary heat. Jag imagined a plume of debris and particles spewing from the hole he’d left in the gunship’s side. At least he hoped there was; that had been the plan, anyway.

  He clicked his communicator. Unwilling to risk revealing his survival until the time was right, he had explained his proposal to Jocell and Adelmaa’j and told them how to respond should the first stage work out. His one click would tell them he’d survived. Thankfully, he immediately received two clicks in return, which meant that everything had gone according to plan on the outside, too: the Yuuzhan Vong had bought the illusion of his destruction. He exhaled heavily in relief, and instantly felt one knot of tension dissolve in his gut. It was time to work on the others.

  He searched the wreckage with radar and other instruments. As far as he could tell, it was empty of life, but not completely dead yet. The spine of the ship was still transmitting data, although the “brain” of the living craft was dead and the various limbs it had once coordinated were disconnected. Patches of the yorik coral that comprised the hull would live for some time yet, even if, as a whole, it was beyond hope. And in places, surviving off scraps of nutrients and energy sources circulating irregularly through the infrastructure, were five clusters of dovin basals, the miniature black-hole generators that the Yuuzhan Vong used for propulsion, defense, and attack.

  Jag nodded to himself, pleased with the situation.

  He fired up his engines again. The clawcraft shifted in the wreckage, then settled as his shields got a better grip. He slowly upped the power, relying on the fighter’s instruments—possibly scrambled by the impact—to tell him where he was going. No further clicks came from his wingmates, so he had to assume everything was still going according to plan. He pushed the engines to their maximum power before, gradually, creakingly, the ruined gunship began to accelerate.

  Another two clicks from the outside confirmed that his reaction wake was being camouflaged by the vapor plume. Anyone studying the gunship’s wreckage would simply assume that its interior was aflame and disregard it. Hopefully there were too many other things to worry about—the Star Destroyers, the Imperial squadrons, and the two pesky Galactic Alliance fighters nipping at anything that seemed to be paying too close attention. And while they were busy with that, Jag could get started on the next stage of his plan.

  Using the laser cannon as a surgeon would wield a vibroscalpel, he began to sculpt the interior of the gunship. Taking great care to avoid the weight-bearing stanchions against which his starfighter pressed, he cut great chunks out of the spaces around him and let them fall back into the exhaust plume. Relatively speaking, the thrust his starfighter could apply to the gunship was small, since the gunship massed many times more than his engine was used to propelling. He couldn’t do anything about thrust, but he could affect the mass he was pushing against. By eating away at the gunship from the inside and letting the pieces tumble back into the wake, he could gradually increase the effect his clawcraft’s engine was having. And that this inert wreck was suddenly accelerating across the skies of Esfandia wouldn’t necessarily arouse the Yuuzhan Vong’s suspicions. In large space battles, active debris was a common and occasionally dangerous hazard.

  Another two clicks confirmed that he was on course and, as yet, unnoticed. His engines were redlining, but he figured they could sustain the effort for the ten minutes required of them. While the battle swirled around him, he moved the hulk slowly but surely to the northern flank. The attention of his cutting lasers encroached, meter by meter, to the hull. Red-hot wreckage boiled and burned around him, and every now and then he would come across a lifeless body that he had to force himself to ignore, and carry on. Each one he came across reminded him just how crazy this plan of his really was.

  If it caught the Yuuzhan Vong off guard, he told himself, if only for a second, then it would all be worthwhile.

  * * *

  “Admiral, Twin One appears to be intending to ram that ruined gunship!”

  Pellaeon’s gaze didn’t shift from the display to look at the officer standing beside him. “I can see what he’s doing, Commander.”

  “But sir, the Yuuzhan Vong have collision avoidance systems at least as good as ours. They’re not about to let wreckage drift into their ships. If they suspect the gunship is to be used as a ram, they’ll simply blow it out of the sky! What could he possibly hope to achieve by doing this?”

  “He hopes to surprise me, of course. And them in the process.”

  Despite his belief in the young Jagged Fel’s abilities, Pellaeon couldn’t help but feel some apprehension. He’d wanted something solid and disconcerting from the Chiss pilot, certainly, but he hadn’t expected quite so dramatic a response as this.

  Meanwhile, the disposition of the battle hadn’t changed. The Yuuzhan Vong still outnumbered the Imperial and Galactic Alliance forces, and they were still amassing their forces in the northern flank. The alien corvette and cruiser had managed to repel all attempts to place a yammosk jammer between them. That remained a potential flashpoint. If it ignited, Esfandia might return to Yuuzhan Vong control.

  But he was determined not to let that happen on his watch. He’d sooner ram the Yuuzhan Vong warships himself than allow that.

  “Any sign of the Falcon yet?” he asked his aide.

  “No, sir. It must still be down in the atmosphere.”

  He wondered whether he should send reinforcements down to the surface. The Galactic Alliance forces hadn’t done so, but that was probably because they simply didn’t have the resources to spare. His last conversation with Captain Mayn had ended on a notably cool note; perhaps an offer to assist would help bridge the gap.

  His aide soon had her on the line, and he explained the situation as clearly as he could without spelling out every detail. He never entrusted confidential information to any sort of broadcast medium, no matter how secure the line was thought to be.

  “So if you need any assistance in that regard,” he concluded, “I’d be only too happy to offer.”

  Mayn was shaking her head before he’d finished. “Thanks, Admiral, but that won’t be necessary. We received a low-power coded transmission from the Falcon a short time ago ordering us to deter any further incursions into the planet’s atmosphere as a matter of some urgency. I was about to pass it on to you, in fact, when you called.”

  Pellaeon absorbed this. It didn’t sound like a simple everything’s-under-control-no-help-required instruction. One didn’t normally issue orders requesting urgent inaction without good reason.

  “Do they know about the Vong patrols scouting the planet?” he asked.

  “I advised them of that myself.”

  “And they still don’t want anyone to
watch their back while they’re down there?”

  “They were quite specific about that.”

  “Did they offer any explanation as to why?”

  “No, sir. The message was brief. They simply said they would explain in due course, when their location was less sensitive.”

  “What is their location?”

  “That I don’t know, sir,” Captain Mayn replied expressionlessly. “The signal was too diffuse and brief to obtain a precise lock on—which I assume was the intention.”

  Pellaeon frowned. Did Captain Mayn really not know, or was she holding out on the information per instructions from her superiors? It seemed reasonable to assume that the Falcon was looking for the relay team. That wasn’t a problem in itself. He simply hated being left in the dark.

  “Thank you, Captain,” he said, no longer caring to soften his tone in the interest of public relations. “In future, please keep me promptly informed of any such developments.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The Galactic Alliance captain signed off, and Pellaeon turned away from the screen to consider what she had and hadn’t told him. Part of him wondered if he was naive in assuming that he could trust this group of Galactic Alliance forces in the same way that Luke Skywalker and his associates had proved that they could be trusted. Yes, Leia Organa Solo was Luke’s twin sister, but she’d been trained in the art of politics—and politicians had too many fingers in too many pies to be taken at face value …

  “Admiral?”

  At the sound of his aide’s voice, he turned from his disquieting thoughts. “What is it?”

  “I have a text message from Colonel Fel, sir, relayed through Twin Nine.”

  “What does he say?”

  “He says: ‘Get ready.’ ”

  Pellaeon glanced at the displays showing the northern flank. The gutted gunship’s path was a dotted line passing between the two major targets in that region. The Chiss pilot was clearly going to miss both ships by a healthy margin.

  Any reply Pellaeon might have sent went untransmitted as, on the screen before them, the gutted gunship suddenly exploded.

  * * *

  “That was risky, Leia,” Han said when the message to Pride of Selonia had been dispatched. “The transmission could be traced.”

  Leia folded her arms and shivered, unable to take her eyes off the screen in which the aliens C-3PO called Brrbrlpp had gathered. “I know, but we can’t take the risk that any more of them will die. It’s not acceptable.”

  “There are Yuuzhan Vong down here, don’t forget,” Droma put in. His tail twitched restlessly where it dangled over the edge of his chair.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” she said tightly. “I just haven’t decided what to do about them yet.”

  A strange new warbling came over the comm.

  “The Brrbrlpp say that there are many hot bodies on Esfandia now,” C-3PO translated. “They’re doing what they can to protect their people, but without knowing where the next target will be, it’s impossible to keep them all safe.”

  Leia could appreciate the problem all too well. There was only one possible solution, but she didn’t particularly like it. It all boiled down to the question of what was more important: the relay base and communications with the Unknown Regions, or the lives of an alien species that got caught in the middle of a war.

  “We can’t stay down here indefinitely,” Han pointed out.

  “But we can’t go anywhere, either,” Droma said. “Not while those aliens are out there.”

  He indicated the ring of flowerlike aliens floating around the ship in mute appeal. The moment they engaged the Falcon’s drives, they would be swept away like Geonosians in a hurricane.

  “I’m aware of all this,” Leia said irritably. She tried not to take her frustration out on her companions, but it was hard not to when all her thoughts kept coming back to the same conclusion.

  “Telemetry,” Han said. Screens in front of the copilot’s station flickered with data coming down from the Selonia. “Increased traffic in this area. The scarheads must’ve picked up the edges of our transmission.”

  “If we keep low, they won’t see us, right?” Droma looked at both of them hopefully.

  “Yes, but we’re not about to do that,” Leia said. “We have to send another message.”

  Han didn’t look happy with her suggestion. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.

  “If we do that, Leia, they’ll spot us for sure.”

  “That’s partly the idea.”

  Understanding dawned behind her husband’s eyes. “Okay, but what about them?” He indicated the waiting aliens.

  “How far can we extend the shields?”

  “A fair distance. Why?”

  “Can we create a separate pocket?”

  “Not without serious modifications.”

  “But you could do it?” Leia felt disappointment mounting on top of her frustration.

  “I guess.”

  “Good.” She was only marginally reassured. Her plan would save the Brrbrlpp in the short term, but might end up killing them all in the long run. “I don’t think we have an alternative,” she said.

  Han nodded as he turned away to begin hitting switches. “Then let’s get started.”

  Droma was looking from Han to Leia with increasing puzzlement. “I don’t suppose either of you would care to let me in on what’s going on.”

  “It’s simple,” Leia said. “We’re going to draw the Yuuzhan Vong here by sending another transmission.”

  Droma’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up. “Not before dropping me at the nearest thing that passes for a bar on this planet, I trust?”

  Leia ignored the glib remark. “It’s the only thing we can do. They know something’s in the area, since they picked up the fringes of our last message. But they’ll assume it came from the relay base; that’s all they’re aware is down here. They’ll instantly converge on us, wanting to take us out.”

  “And that’s a good thing—why?”

  Droma looked to Han for support, but didn’t get it.

  “Listen,” Han said, “we tell the Selonia to look for a convergence in our location, right? When the Yuuzhan Vong are all in one spot, they’ll make the perfect target. The big beam weapons on one of those Star Destroyers should be able to make quite a mess out of them.”

  “Not to mention us, of course.”

  “Not if they aim right. We’ll be cold, presenting as small a target as possible.”

  “What about the locals?”

  “Hopefully they’ll be tucked nice and safe under our shields,” Han said. “Look, just relax, Droma, and stop your whining. Leia knows what’s she doing.”

  “She married you, didn’t she?” the Ryn muttered with a shake of his head. “That’s not what I’d call a particularly good track record.”

  Leia turned away from the two and faced C-3PO, not interested in her husband’s response to the Ryn. “Threepio, advise the—” She stopped, unable to get her tongue around the pronunciation of the aliens’ name. “Just tell them that they should come as close as possible to the Falcon and that they’re to stay there until we tell them otherwise.”

  “As you wish, Princess.”

  “Tell them also to get anyone in the area as far away as possible. Things are about to get extremely messy around here, and I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

  C-3PO relayed the message in burbling, singsong tones. A reply came in several stages, with the droid explaining key features of the plan that were beyond the aliens’ experiences.

  “They will do as you instruct,” he said eventually, “although there are some concerns that they might be taken hostage. They ask us to be particularly careful of the nesting plains nearby.”

  “Nesting plains?” Han rolled his eyes. “That’s just terrific. As if we don’t have enough to worry about.”

  “What does it look like?” Leia asked.

  “It consists of a series of caves and tunnels bene
ath the surface in which the female Brrbrlpp lay their eggs for the males to fertilize. They are private places, warmed from the heat of the core.”

  “And the fact that one of them is so near to us might explain why there are so many of those aliens around here,” Leia mused aloud.

  “Exactly, Mistress. If we had come down in the open plains, there would have been almost no one around.”

  “Well, we can’t move now,” Han said.

  “Tell them we’ll be as careful as possible,” Leia said. “That’s the best we can do.”

  C-3PO relayed her reassurance, while Leia came to terms with the difficulty of what she’d set out for herself. As things stood, the Falcon was a stationary object that the Yuuzhan Vong looking for the relay base could easily use for target practice. It could neither flee nor return fire, for fear of hurting the fragile locals. Add to that the nearby nesting area, and the fact they still had no idea where the relay base was, and it was beginning to look like they’d taken on more than they could handle.

  “The message is on its way,” Han said. “I’ve adjusted the shields.”

  Leia glanced at the screen and noted that the ring of Brrbrlpp had contracted around the old freighter. “Then all we can do now is wait, I guess.”

  “And hope they’re not too busy up there to rescue us,” Droma said, his eyes drifting nervously to the ceiling.

  For this one’s home …

  Saba’s eyes snapped open. She sat bolt upright, heart racing and scales shifting in anticipation. She took a couple of deep and calming breaths, but the residue of the dream still troubled her. The burning planet, the anger, the slaveship, the torpedoes … She had relived the terrible images of Barab I’s destruction too many times over the last few months, as well as the guilt that accompanied the dream.

  For this one’s people …

  She shook her head to lose the dream and the emotions it brought. It was unlikely that she’d ever lose the dream completely; what had happened that day would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  She sighed heavily to herself, and looked idly about the dark room. It was still nighttime, and everyone was asleep. The only sounds she could hear were breathing and the rain’s continued pitter-patter on the rooftop. For all intents and purposes, everything seemed normal. And yet …