Allegiance
Page 30
“You don’t need Lord Vader’s permission,” Mara cut in. “Besides, we don’t have time. Deliver the message, Admiral.”
There was a soft hissing of exhaled breath. “Acknowledged,” he said. “Commander, order the Happer’s Way to return to its original course and landing destination.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Mara said. “Don’t worry—the pilot won’t risk getting himself shot down. He’s far too confident that he can slip out of any net we can weave.”
“Understood,” Bentro said doubtfully. “Do you want me to order troops or air support to the Greencliff field?”
Mara hesitated. All the Imperial forces down there were under Vader’s direct command, and she had no intention of crowding him twice in one day. “No, I’ll handle it,” she told Bentro. “Thank you for your assist.”
“My pleasure,” the admiral said. “Our sensors indicate the Happer’s Way is returning to its designated course.”
“I see,” Mara confirmed. “I’ll contact you again if I need further assistance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bentro said, and there was no mistaking the quiet relief in his voice. If Mara didn’t want to push Vader, a mere fleet admiral certainly didn’t.
The comm clicked off. Keeping a wary eye on the Happer’s Way, Mara keyed her ship for landing sequence. Given the current distance between them, Caaldra would have about ten minutes on the ground before Mara caught up with him.
For a moment she considered leaving her place in line and moving up so that she would be right on top of him when he landed. But if he hadn’t already spotted her back here, that would tip him off for sure. Better to let him have his ten minutes to prepare for whoever or whatever had just kicked him away from the safety of the palace.
She was looking forward to seeing what he came up with.
Chapter Twenty
“THIS,” HAN SAID, “IS COMPLETELY NUTS.”
“That was what I said,” Quiller commented sourly from beside him. “LaRone didn’t listen to me, either.”
Luke frowned as he gazed out the speeder truck’s windscreen. It was crazy, he had to admit. Going out alone into a tautly quiet city, just the seven of them, with Vader’s stormtroopers all around them and Vader himself somewhere in the city. Even with Chewbacca staying out of sight in the Suwantek—under loud protest, of course—Luke knew he and Han by themselves wouldn’t have even made it off the Greencliff Spaceport grounds without being stopped and questioned.
But with five stormtroopers in full armor accompanying them, one of them running escort ahead of the truck on a speeder bike, the local patrollers’ questions and suspicions had evaporated like dew off hot sand.
The real question, he knew, would be what would happen if and when they ran into some of the Imperial searchers. To Luke, all stormtroopers looked alike, but from some of the comments the others had made he gathered that there were ways for the stormtroopers themselves to distinguish among one another. If the stormtroopers of the 501st Legion currently combing the city realized that LaRone and his friends weren’t part of their unit, there could be some awkward questions.
But the 501st had to spot them first … and for that, they had a secret weapon even Vader couldn’t anticipate.
There was a subtle nudging from the Force. “Make a left at the next corner,” Luke told LaRone, pointing ahead toward the street. LaRone’s helmet dipped slightly in a nod as he flipped on the signaler to alert Brightwater to this latest course change.
“I just wish there were a few more vehicles out here we could lose ourselves in,” Han muttered, staring out the side window as they took the corner. “Does everyone go to dinner at the same time around here?”
“They’re not inside eating,” Marcross told him grimly. “They’re inside cowering.”
“Imperial forces have landed, remember?” Grave added from behind Han. “Or were you expecting the citizenry to line the streets and throw Vader a parade?”
“And then turn right up there,” Luke said, pointing ahead.
“You know, this is really starting to weird me out,” Grave commented. “How can you possibly know where the other search parties are? I was tapping into their group comm frequency for a while, and even with that I couldn’t figure out their pattern.”
“Don’t bother asking,” Han said drily. “He’ll just tell you it’s a Jedi thing.”
“Right, from a group of people who were supposed to have been wiped out years ago,” Quiller countered. “Gives me the creeps a little, too.”
“How much farther?” LaRone asked.
“Not very,” Luke assured him. “A block or two.” And if the stormtroopers were already searching the area, he and the others would have to pull Leia out right from under their noses. That would bring the whole question of stormtrooper identification to the top of the stack again.
There was a sudden whisper across his mind, a mix of the coiled-spring predator image plus the unmistakable urgency that he was learning meant danger. “Stop the truck,” he snapped. “Right now.”
A second later he was thrown against his restraints as LaRone jammed on the brakes. “What is it?” he asked.
From behind them came the distinctive sound of heavy blaster cannons. Luke spun around in his seat, craning his neck as he looked through the rear window.
He was just in time to see a small ship, its engine section on fire, spiraling toward the street below.
The Happer’s Way was sitting silently on the scarred permacrete as Mara eased the Z-10 onto her assigned pad in the uncrowded Greencliff Spaceport. She shut her engines back to standby and studied the freighter. There was no movement she could see, no other indications of life.
Could Caaldra have already made his escape?
There was one way to find out. Lightsaber in hand, she lowered the Z-10’s ramp and headed outside. Stretching out with her senses, keeping alert to her peripheral vision in case he was lying in ambush in the shadow of one of the other ships, she started across.
She was halfway there when the freighter’s starboard cargo bay blew up.
Force-driven reflexes threw her to the ground, twisting her body around as she fell to take the blast across her back instead of her face. The shock wave rolled over her, tingling against skin only recently healed from the previous burns. She rolled over as bits of debris began falling around her and bounced back to her feet, igniting her lightsaber.
And as she did so, dimly visible through the smoke, the boxy metallic shape of an AT-ST rose into view through the jagged opening. The command module swiveled around to face her, and its twin chin-mounted blaster cannons opened fire.
Mara dived to the side as the salvo blasted a pair of holes in the permacrete where she’d been standing. The module swiveled to follow, the laser cannons firing again. Mara dodged one of the bolts, angling her lightsaber blade to catch the other and try to send it back to its source.
The move nearly ended the battle right there. Mara had never tried to block such a powerful blast before, and instead of successfully returning the shot she nearly had the lightsaber wrenched out of her hands by the concussion. She managed to hang on to the weapon, breaking into a full run as she tried to beat the pursuing bolts to the nearest cover.
She made it, but just barely, diving behind an old and badly corroded ore hauler that looked as if it hadn’t been moved in years. The AT-ST’s final salvo blew a pair of holes in the hauler’s stubby outfoil as Mara quickly made her way to the rear, where the sheer bulk of the hauler’s engines would offer her some protection.
But not for long. There was a short pause, and then Mara heard the rhythmic mechanical creaking of the AT-ST’s knee joints as it climbed up and out of the hole the explosion had torn in the cargo bay. She listened intently, her eyes studying the semi-haphazard layout of parked ships around her and mapping out two different evasion routes depending on which way Caaldra decided to come around the hauler. There was no way she could outrun an AT-ST in a straight-line path, at least not over a
ny serious distance, but on a twisting obstacle course like this one she was far more maneuverable than the big machine. If she could get in under the guns and cut off part of one of its legs, she could bring it down.
The mechanical clanking started up again, heading right. Mara responded by going left, moving to a spot beside the hauler’s nose where she could duck under it and escape out the other side as soon as the AT-ST came into view.
But it didn’t come into view, nor did it seem to be coming closer. In fact, as Mara listened, it seemed to her that the AT-ST was actually getting farther away.
And then, suddenly, she understood. Ducking under the hauler’s nose, she ran out the other side.
Caaldra was no longer hunting her. Instead, he was driving the big combat machine due south across the landing field. Even as Mara came into sight of it, the AT-ST plowed its way through the low landspeeder fence and headed into the largely deserted city streets.
Mara hissed between her teeth. So Caaldra had recognized her trap and declined to take the bait. On this side of town the streets were fairly narrow but relatively straight, giving the AT-ST that straight-line speed advantage Mara had already noted. All Caaldra had to do was get a few blocks ahead of her and steal a landspeeder, and he’d be away before she could catch up.
Or so he apparently thought. With a final look at the departing AT-ST, Mara turned and sprinted for her Z-10. Two minutes later she was in the air and heading south.
She’d thought Caaldra might try to change direction once he was out of immediate sight of the spaceport, hoping to shake off her pursuit. But while there were a few small clusters of taller structures, most of the buildings in this part of town were only two or three stories high, providing little visual cover for such hide-and-search games. As Mara rose above the parked ships, she could see the AT-ST still plodding its way south in the distance. Kicking her drive to full atmosphere power, she gave chase.
Unfortunately, the same low buildings that provided little cover for the hunted did likewise for the hunter. Moreover, the Z-10’s only weapon was a small auto blaster whose fire control was programmed awkwardly into the ship’s sensor package. If Mara was going to win this, she would have to get in the first shot, and to get it in from point-blank range.
And with the AT-ST’s array of viewports and view-screens providing a complete 360 view, the only insertion angle that offered her any chance was directly above her target. Climbing into the sky, Mara leveled off; and as she caught up with the AT-ST she rolled the Z-10 over into a nosedive directly above it and started down.
She was lining up the auto blaster’s crossmarks on the AT-ST’s entry hatch when she saw the light blaster cannon turret riding the command module’s left side swivel around to point upward at her. Instantly she swung the control yoke over, wrenching out of her dive and trying to pitch over to the AT-ST’s right side where that particular weapons cluster couldn’t target her.
But the Z-10’s systems hadn’t been designed for such a tight maneuver. She was a fatal half second too slow; an instant later the ship bucked beneath her as the engine section took a direct hit.
She was going down.
She fought the crippled ship the whole way, managing to turn what would otherwise have been an instantly fatal nose-first crash into a hull-ripping belly skidder. Her momentum carried her two entire blocks, the grinding of metal against permacrete stabbing into her ears the whole way.
But at last the grinding quieted and the wild bucking slowed to a stop. Breathing hard with reaction, wincing at the acrid smell of smoke and burned metal and leaking fluids, she climbed out of her seat. The ramp had been crushed in the landing, but three quick slashes with her lightsaber provided her an exit through the transparisteel canopy.
Her skid had dropped her about three blocks south of where Caaldra had taken out her engines. Climbing carefully out of the ruined ship, she turned to look north, fully expecting him to have taken the opportunity of her crash to change direction, either back north to the Happer’s Way or west toward the palace that she knew was his ultimate destination.
But he’d done neither. The AT-ST was still clanking its way toward her, its chin blasters tracking back and forth across the street like an alert sentry walking the line.
Apparently Caaldra had decided to pass up escape in favor of revenge.
The crippled ship disappeared below the level of the buildings around it, and a second later LaRone heard the distant sound of metal skidding along permacrete. “It’s down,” he bit out, looking around. In the distance to the south he could see a parked landspeeder transport, its complement of stormtroopers probably spread out through the buildings of that neighborhood. No other vehicles or personnel were in sight. Possibly no other vehicles or personnel were in the area.
No one but the Hand of Judgment.
“Out,” he snapped to Luke as he swiveled the speeder truck around. “You, too, Solo. Go get your friend—we’re going to see if we can help that pilot.”
For a wonder, neither Luke nor Solo argued the point. A moment later LaRone was gunning the truck toward the crash site, following Brightwater on his speeder bike.
The crash had been north of them and, it turned out, two blocks farther west. LaRone guided the truck around the final corner, and found himself facing an extraordinary sight. Half a block ahead was the wreckage of the light freighter they’d seen go down, twisted and torn, billows of black smoke pouring out of its burning engines. Moving away from a gaping hole in the cockpit was the pilot, a young woman with red-gold hair.
And two blocks farther north was the towering bulk of an All Terrain Scout Transport, clanking its stiff-legged way down the street toward them all.
“What in the world is that doing here?” Quiller muttered.
“Brightwater—check it out,” LaRone ordered, gunning the speeder truck toward the wreckage, an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. The woman up there had to be Luke’s and Solo’s friend—it was the only reason why anyone would deploy an AT-ST against her. And now that she’d been identified and was on the edge of being caught, Luke’s and Solo’s own capture wouldn’t be far behind.
Clearly Marcross had followed the same line of logic. “We can’t get involved,” he said urgently from the rear of the speeder truck. “They’ve got her now.”
“What about Luke and Solo?” Grave asked. “We can’t let them get caught, too.”
“We may not have a choice,” LaRone said grimly. Still, they had to try. He swung the speeder truck wide in preparation for a U-turn back toward where they’d dropped off the two Rebels, hoping there was still time to get them back to the relative safety of the Suwantek. Ahead, Brightwater was approaching the AT-ST.
Without warning, the walker’s chin-mounted blaster cannons swiveled down and opened fire.
The sheer unexpectedness of the attack nearly cost Brightwater his life. He twisted the speeder bike into a tight swerve as the edges of the salvo shattered his right steering vane and then raked along that side. Finishing the turn, he kicked the throttle to full power, the damage to his steering vane making his usually tight evasive maneuvering look more like a drunkard’s slalom. The AT-ST’s cannons fired two more bursts, both missing, before falling silent again.
But the walker was still coming.
Brightwater made it back to the wreckage just as LaRone brought the speeder truck to a halt and leapt out, bringing his E-11 up to guard position. “Hold it!” he snapped to the red-haired woman. She was young, he could see now, no more than twenty years old.
“I’m an Imperial agent,” she snapped back. “Level K-12; recognition code Hapspir Barrini. We’ve got a bandit in that AT-ST.”
LaRone felt his mouth drop open. But years of training instantly took over. “Understood, ma’am,” he said. “Orders?”
“Let’s start with some air support,” the agent said. “Get your group commander on the comlink.”
LaRone winced. “Actually, we’re not with the main group—”
“We can’t,” Marcross said grimly. “The AT-ST’s got full jamming going.”
“Then we’ll have to do it ourselves,” the woman said, glacially calm. “You—scout trooper—is your speeder still functional?”
“Functional enough, ma’am,” Brightwater said, swiveling back around to face the AT-ST lurching toward them. His armor, LaRone saw, was blistered along his right leg where the blaster cannons’ near miss had caught him.
“Do an evasive drive around his left side and try to draw his fire,” the agent ordered. “If and when he turns the command module around to track you with his forward cannons, you, sniper, will go for the concussion grenade launcher on his right side.”
“Acknowledged,” Grave said, dropping the muzzle of his T-28 into firing position.
“If he doesn’t turn the module, or when he turns back around again,” she continued to Brightwater, “you’ll swing around and try for his drive engine radiator and exhaust vents. His transmitter’s back there, too—maybe you can knock that out and clear the jamming so we can get some backup. If the sniper was able to take out the grenade launcher, you should be relatively safe on that side, but watch out for the light blaster cannon turret on his left.”
“I can stay clear,” Brightwater assured her.
“Just remember that if we don’t nail the launcher, you’ll have that to worry about, as well,” the woman reminded him. “If it gets too hot, circle around the block and rejoin us here. You’re our only mobile force right now, and I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for nothing.”
LaRone felt a stirring of surprise. An Imperial agent who actually cared about the troops she had commandeered? That was something new.
“What about the rest of us?” Marcross asked.
“You’ll lay down cover fire and try to split his attention,” the agent said. “Fall back as he approaches and try to draw him past what’s left of my ship. I’ll be waiting for him here.”
LaRone looked at Grave. Skulking in the middle of burning wreckage in the path of a hunting AT-ST was not a good way to live to pension age. “Ma’am, if I may suggest—”