That left the last two, who had been told that the Millennium Falcon had first slowed, then accelerated. If they appeared where Han thought they would, they were dead meat.
“Fighters crossing starboard to port: lay down interdicting fire dead ahead,” Han ordered, sawing the Falcon around again, toward the singularity. It was easier to aim his ship at the enemy than to describe to his gunners where he thought the bad guys would appear.
His heart gave a leap as the two coralskippers arced into sight right where he thought they’d be, between the Falcon and the dovin basal, the two fighters flying wingtip to wingtip and preceded by a volley of molten projectiles that curved in the mine’s hypergravity. The lasers laid down a blistering fire right in their path and caught both ships broadside. One flamed and broke up, and the other soared off into the night, trailing fire.
Seven down, two damaged! A nice total, and the day had hardly begun.
Adrenaline drew a grin across Han’s face. He dived for the singularity again, not because he knew what he was going to do next but because he wanted to hide: the three remaining fighters were curving around and about to drop onto his tail. But this time he didn’t use the dovin basal to slingshot himself around onto a new trajectory: instead he worked the controls to go into orbit around the singularity, the Falcon’s spars moaning from gravitational stress as she crabbed sideways through the dovin basal’s gravity well.
Ahead, through space warped by gravity, he saw what might be an enemy fighter. “Open fire dead ahead!” he called again, and he saw laserfire streak outward, the bolts curving in the singularity’s gravity like a fiery rainbow.
“Keep firing!” he urged, and brought the Falcon’s nose up just a touch. The curving laser blasts climbed up the fighter’s tail and blew it to shreds.
There was wild cheering from the gun turrets: even the restrained Commander Dorja was yelling her head off. “Fire dead aft!” Han shouted over the noise as he fed power to the sublight engines: with the gravity well’s distortion affecting his perceptions, he had no idea where the remaining enemy were, and he was afraid they were behind him, ready to wax his tail just as he’d waxed the single enemy fighter.
Relief poured through him as scans showed his precautions were unnecessary: they’d pulled away from the dovin basal on a completely different trajectory and were well out of range. Han held his course to see if the enemy had had enough—but no, they were coming around again, ready for more punishment.
And two more fighters were heading for him, the two he’d wounded, each coming in on its own trajectory.
Han rolled the Millennium Falcon around, heading for one of the two single fighters, figuring he could knock out one of the damaged craft before taking on the pair of uninjured craft.
And then proximity alarms blared, and Han’s display lit up with twenty-four fighters coming out of hyperspace right on his tail.
Thwarted rage boiled through him. “We’ve got company!” he shouted, and pounded the instrument panel with a fist. “I’ve gotta say this is really unfair—!” Then he recognized the new ships’ configuration, and he punched on the intership comm unit.
“Unknown freighter,” came a voice on one of the New Republic channels, “alter course forty degrees to port!”
Han obeyed, and a section of four craft came roaring in right past his cockpit. His nerves gave a leap as he recognized the jagged silhouettes of Chiss clawcraft, Sienar TIE ball cockpits and engines matched to forward-jutting Chiss weapons pylons, the design the result of their fruitful collaboration with the Empire under the Chiss Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Once upon a time, Han thought, TIE fighters on his tail would have been a bad thing.
“Commander Dorja,” Han said, “we’ve got some of your friends here.” Another two sections of clawcraft came roaring past, followed by three sections of New Republic E-wings. Directly in front of the Millennium Falcon the formation came apart in a starburst, one section of four heading for each of the remaining coralskippers while two others remained in reserve.
Han hit the TRANSMIT button. “Thanks, you guys,” he said, “but I was doing fine on my own.”
“Unknown freighter, stand clear.” The voice had a slightly pompous ring, and Han thought he recognized it. “We’ll handle it from here.”
“Whatever you say, sport,” Han replied, and then watched as four fighters ganged up on each of the coralskippers. The enemy craft couldn’t jump to hyperspace, and they couldn’t flee the fighters because they had been chasing the Millennium Falcon at near lightspeed and couldn’t alter course in time.
The newly arrived fighters took no chances, just professionally hunted down each of the coralskippers and blew it to smithereens, taking no casualties in return. Then the allied squadron turned on the dovin basal mine and very carefully destroyed it with a calculated barrage of torpedoes and laser bursts.
“Nice work, people,” Han congratulated them.
“Please stay off this channel, sir,” the fighter commander said, “unless you have an urgent message.”
Han grinned. “Not so urgent, Colonel Fel,” he said. “I’d just like to invite you to a meeting here aboard the Millennium Falcon, with Captain Solo, Princess Leia Organa Solo of the New Republic, and Commander Vana Dorja of the Imperial Navy.”
There was a long, lonely silence on the comm.
“Yes, Captain Solo,” Jagged Fel said. “We would be honored, I’m sure.”
“Come right aboard,” Han said. “We’ll extend the docking arm.”
And then, over the comlink, he called C-3PO and told the droid there would be guests for dinner.
TWO
Leia knew Jagged Fel fairly well. He was a decorated fighter pilot, the son of an Imperial baron who lived with the Chiss and who had on occasion aided the New Republic. Jag was a little stuffy, but not a bad sort once you got to know him. He had served with Jaina Solo in the defense of the Hapes Cluster, and later, as part of Jaina’s Twin Suns Squadron, fought at Borleias; and the two had the same sort of complicated, antagonistic relationship that Leia had once shared with Han. Though Leia appreciated Jaina’s having a friend who could take her out of her troubles, she rather hoped that Jaina would not resolve this skirmishing in the same way that Leia had resolved her feelings about Han: having an Imperial baron in the family would create far too many complications. Having Darth Vader for a father was bad enough.
Jag Fel came aboard in his vac suit. With his helmet under one arm, he gave Leia and Han a smart salute. “I’m sorry, sir,” he told Han. “I didn’t recognize Falcon’s profile.”
“I wouldn’t have made much of a smuggler if you knew my freighter from any other,” Han said. “But I was offended that you didn’t recognize my voice on the comm.”
“I was calculating enemy trajectories.” Stiffly. “Such things take one’s full attention.”
“Will you join us for dinner?” Leia asked.
“Perhaps I will take a bite or two. But I don’t want to have a meal when my pilots are hungry.”
C-3PO helped Jag remove his vac suit, revealing the red-piped black uniform of a Chiss fighter pilot. After Jag had been introduced to Vana Dorja, he joined the others at the table.
“Aren’t you part of Twin Suns Squadron?” Han asked. “Isn’t Jaina here?”
Jag explained that after Borleias, many new pilots had arrived fresh from the training schools, and a decision had been made to break up the old squadrons in order to build new squadrons around the experienced pilots. He and the Chiss had been pulled out of the Twin Suns Squadron in order to form a new squadron, and Kyp Durron had been pulled out as well, to re-form Kyp’s Dozen.
Experienced pilots were at a premium. The military had apparently decided that for each unit to have some experienced pilots was preferable to throwing whole formations of rookie pilots at the enemy.
Jaina had been compensated for losing so many experienced pilots by a promotion. She was now Major Solo—her majority up until now had been a temporary
, or “brevet,” rank, but now it was real.
Leia didn’t like that either. She knew that Jaina would now feel the necessity of proving she deserved her promotion, doing so no doubt at the risk of her life.
“What’s your squadron doing here?” Han asked.
“The Yuuzhan Vong have been mining this section of the Hydian Way, pulling ambushes on freighters and refugee ships. We’ve been sent in to clear the enemy out of the area. Earlier today we destroyed the minelaying transport that had been dropping mines and coralskippers along this part of the Way, so any more skips that we find will have been stranded here for a while.”
“I was hoping you’d get some rest and refit after Borleias.”
“So was I.”
For a moment both men looked weary. The fight had gone on for so many months, and so badly despite everything they had done. Both deserved a rest, but neither would get one, not unless it was the rest from which they would not return.
A twinge of anxiety prompted Leia’s next question. “Have you seen Jaina?”
“No. My squadron was pulled away for this duty just after Borleias.”
Jaina, Leia thought, deserved a rest no less than Jag and Han. Leia had wanted to force her daughter to take leave, and that was before the meat grinder that was Borleias, the rearguard action where the Yuuzhan Vong had been forced to pay for their victory in rivers of blood. But Jaina was, perhaps, too much like her mother, too committed to the cause of the New Republic, and the Jedi, ever to rest until some kind of victory was assured.
Wisdom is knowing when you’ve given all you can. Neither she nor her daughter had truly learned that lesson.
Jag turned inquiring eyes toward Leia. “And you, Highness?” Jag asked. “What are you doing here, so far away from the centers of power?”
“A diplomatic mission to the Empire,” Leia said.
“You’re alone? No escort?”
“There was no one with the authority to give us one, so we just went.” No use explaining about her vain hopes of spending some time alone with Han, a combination vacation and second honeymoon, while they transited to Bastion and back.
“I assume you’ll attempt to convince the Empire to make greater efforts against the Yuuzhan Vong,” Jag said. His tone was insufferably superior. “A pity that the logic of the situation is so against you—it would really make more sense in the short term for the Empire to join the Vong.”
Leia saw Vana Dorja’s sudden, intent interest, and dreaded it. “Could you explain your reasoning, Colonel Fel?” Dorja asked.
Han, clearly furious, opened his mouth to interject a comment, but at a look from Leia said nothing.
“It’s a question of what each side could offer the Empire,” Jag said. “The Empire’s a beaten shadow of its former self, strapped for resources. The New Republic is in no position to help the Empire, not when its own resources are being appropriated by the invaders. But think what the Yuuzhan Vong could offer the Empire—whole worlds! All the Empire would have to do is take them from the New Republic while the New Republic’s forces are committed against the Vong. The Empire could double its size, taking its choice of worlds, and it would cost the Yuuzhan Vong nothing.”
Vana Dorja’s eyes narrowed with calculation. “That’s a very interesting analysis, Colonel,” she said.
Han finally couldn’t contain himself any longer, and lodged his protest. “You forget what happens next,” he said. “The Vong can’t be trusted—they haven’t kept their word yet! If the Vong let the Empire grow, it’s because they’re only fattening it for slaughter.”
Jag rubbed the long scar on his forehead. “That’s why I said in the short term, Captain Solo,” he said. “In the long term, I don’t believe the Empire would survive long in a galaxy dominated by the Yuuzhan Vong.”
Vana Dorja’s eyes glittered. “Could you explain, Colonel Fel?”
The superior tone was back in Jag’s voice. “Leaving aside any issues of perfidy—and it’s perfectly true that Yuuzhan Vong guarantees can’t be trusted—there exist long-term issues of compatibility. The Vong and the Empire simply want different things. The Empire wants a return to the power and respect it once enjoyed. The Yuuzhan Vong want not only the complete domination of the galaxy, but an ideological and religious domination as well—they want their way of life to triumph. And while some aspects of Yuuzhan Vong life are compatible with the Empire—the discipline, the unquestioning obedience to authority—other areas are not. The Yuuzhan Vong are opposed to all forms of technology.”
He held up a hand. “And where is the Empire without its technology? The Empire has always relied on a technological solution to its problems. If it adopted Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology instead, it would concede whatever advantages it has, and make itself dependent on the Vong.”
He shook his head. “And even an Empire doubled in size would be unable to resist the Yuuzhan Vong if—I should say when—the Vong move against them. The New Republic, if it somehow survived, would not come to the aid of an Empire that had aided its enemies. If the Empire allies with the Yuuzhan Vong, it will be isolated, ripe fruit for the Vong whenever they choose to pluck it. And even if the Yuuzhan Vong keep their promises and do not invade, the Empire will be overwhelmed quite peacefully in time—in a galaxy dominated by the Yuuzhan Vong, the Empire will have to become Vong-like in order to survive. The Yuuzhan Vong triumph either way.”
Bravo! Leia thought in admiration. Jagged Fel’s analysis had stated her own position succinctly.
Vana Dorja, listening, nodded but offered no opinion. Leia could only hope she would include Jag’s analysis in her report.
Jag turned to Leia. “We’re isolated here,” he said. “I’ve heard very little information concerning what’s happening elsewhere in the New Republic. Do you have any news I can give to my pilots?”
Leia took a deep breath. Only the sunny news, she thought: the Imperial spy was listening. “The Senate has established itself on Mon Calamari,” she said. “They’re in the process of reestablishing the regular processes of government and electing a Chief of State.”
Amusement quirked a corner of Jag’s mouth. “I thought Pwoe was Chief of State.”
“Pwoe seems to be a minority of one at the moment.” In the aftermath of the fall of Coruscant, Councilor Pwoe had declared himself in charge, and had begun issuing orders to the government and the military. He might have gotten away with it had the Borleias campaign gone differently—Pwoe had expected the defenders to buy time with their own annihilation, but instead Wedge Antilles and his scratch force had held out for much longer than expected, their example an inspiration to the remnants of the New Republic. The holodocumentary Battle of Borleias, by the historian Wolam Tser, was doing sellout business throughout the New Republic, and had shown the defenders of the planet as heroes battling against great odds. Wolam Tser’s work had done a lot to change minds about the New Republic Defense Force and its capabilities.
When the Senate had finally reconvened on Mon Calamari, they’d remembered that it was they who had the right to elect the Chief of State, and they’d summoned Pwoe and his cohorts to join them. Even then Pwoe might have managed his election as the New Republic’s leader, but instead he overplayed his hand: he insisted that the Senate leave Mon Calamari to join him at Kuat. The Senate refused, declared the office of Chief of State vacant, and sent out instructions that no organ of government should obey Pwoe’s orders.
“Pwoe’s been made unwelcome at Kuat,” Leia said. “Even Niuk Niuv won’t follow him any longer. He’s left—for Sullust, I hear. I doubt he’ll be welcome there, either.”
Vana Dorja gave a slight shake of her head. “This is the sort of thing that can only happen when the chain of command is not clear,” she said.
“It’s clear enough,” Han pointed out. “Pwoe chose to disregard it, is all. And now he’s paying the penalty.”
“In the Empire he would be shot,” Dorja said.
Han gave a satisfied smile. “We’re cruele
r than you are,” he said to Dorja’s surprise. “Instead of killing him, we’re going to let him linger for years as an object of contempt and ridicule.”
Jag, smiling also, rose from the table. “Duty calls, I’m afraid,” he said. “We’ve got to destroy any remaining mines and coralskippers before the Yuuzhan Vong get a transport out to rescue them.”
The others rose and said farewell to their visitor. Jag snapped out a salute. “Good luck, Captain. Your Highness.” He hesitated. “Would you like an escort as long as your route takes you along the Hydian Way?”
“Thanks, but no,” Han said. “We’re not moving along the Way, we’re crossing it. It’s a coincidence that we’re here at all.”
“Very well, then.” Jag picked up his helmet. “The best of luck on your journey. Good to meet you, Commander,” he added, with a flick of his eyes toward Dorja.
“And you, Colonel.”
“Good hunting,” Leia said.
Jag smiled. “I think it will be good hunting,” he said, and moved toward the air lock.
A few minutes later the twenty-four fighter craft flashed into hyperspace, and the crew of the Millennium Falcon continued alone to a meeting with their old enemies in the Empire.
THREE
“I have a few minutes only,” Senator Fyor Rodan said. He sat—sank, rather—in an oversoft armchair while his aides bustled in and out of his hotel suite. All of them seemed to have comlinks permanently fixed to their mouths, and to be engaged in more than one conversation at the same time.
“I appreciate your taking the time to see me, Councilor,” Luke Skywalker said. There was no place to sit—every chair and table was covered with holopads, datapads, storage units, and even piles of clothing. Luke stood before the Senator and made the best of the awkward situation.
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