by James Luceno
“My drives are down!” came Miko’s voice. “No power! No power!”
Then silence.
Kyp saw another of his squadron, an older X-wing, disintegrate under a barrage of missiles, and he pointed his nose out of the system and took off at full throttle. He felt the pursuit at his back and worked hard to fix the coordinates so that he could make the jump to lightspeed. No time for heroics now; survival was the key, survival to return and report!
An A-wing appeared on his wing, the speedy craft pacing him.
“They’re right behind!” the pilot cried.
“Keep it straight and fast!” Kyp called back, for these strange craft had not shown any ability to outrun them.
“But we’re the only ones left!” the pilot cried.
“Steady and straight!”
And indeed, the enemy fighters couldn’t catch them, but that surely did not end the pursuit, for another craft, a roughly oval-shaped rocky vessel, burst open a forward chamber, and a host of half-meter-long black winged creatures that somewhat resembled armored turfhoppers poured forth.
Kyp saw them and saw that they closed easily.
“Hyperdrive!” he cried to his new wingman.
“No coordinates!”
“Now!” Kyp ordered, and he engaged, and so did the A-wing, but the A-wing had a trio of the vicious insectoids already on it, secreting a substance that melted through the hull, allowing the creatures to burrow in.
Kyp lost sight of the A-wing as the starlight elongated in that momentary freeze of reality that was initial hyperspace, but he understood, somewhere in his subconscious, that the other had not survived the jump, that the engagement of the powerful hyperdrive had blown the damaged A-wing to pieces.
Kyp came out of lightspeed almost immediately, fearing he would collide with a planet or zip through a sun. Before he could begin to try and calculate where he was, though, he saw that he, too, had not escaped unscathed, that he, too, carried a couple of unwanted passengers.
And one was coming through the canopy right at him, wicked pincers chopping excitedly.
“Sernpidal?” Han echoed incredulously. “You want me to go to Sernpidal?”
“A favor,” Lando innocently replied. “Hey, I let you run the belt for free—” He stopped as Han frowned, reminding him that bringing up the belt incident might not be a wise thing to do when begging a favor.
“It’ll take you two days,” Lando said. “If I have to divert a freighter, I’ll be spending more than the payload will bring in.”
“Then don’t sell them the ore,” Han reasoned.
“Got to,” Lando explained. “As long as I keep the outer colonies supplied, the New Republic looks the other way on some of my—how shall I put this?—under-the-table operations.”
“Cost of doing business,” Han said with finality, holding up his arms. He looked past Lando then, to Leia, who was standing in the hallway, arms crossed over her chest and frowning, a pose that poignantly reminded him that Lando could prove to be a very valuable ally at this time. Lando had the network out here, the contacts they’d need if they wanted to truly understand how the Advisory Council might be connected to the smugglers. Like it or not, Lando Calrissian was a lever that both Luke and Leia desired in the turbulent political arena.
“Hey, even though your run didn’t go well—and I’ll give you another try for free—Jaina got the record and so did you and Chewie,” Lando pleaded.
Han smirked, more at his wife than at Lando. “Sernpidal?” he repeated, as if the very notion was preposterous, but in a conciliatory tone.
Lando’s smile nearly took in his ears, and he started walking again toward the control room. “You’ll be back before anyone realizes you’re gone,” he said.
One of the technicians came out of the control room then, carrying a datapad. He spotted Lando and ran to the man, his look somewhat nervous.
“Trouble?” Lando asked, taking the printout.
“From Kyp Durron,” the technician explained.
Lando looked at the heading and chuckled. “The Dozen-and-Two Avengers,” he recited with a snort and a shake of his head, for even Lando, known to be boastful and flashy, recognized that Kyp was going a little over the line of pretense here.
“What’s the problem?” Leia asked, as she and Han moved beside their friend.
“Outpost on Belkadan, in the Dalonbian sector,” Lando explained. “Something going on over there.” He looked to the technician. “Did you try to raise them?”
“Nothing coming from that planet but static,” the man confirmed.
“Belkadan?” Leia asked.
“Small planet with a scientific outpost,” Lando replied. “Just a dozen or so scientists on planet.”
“And what does this mean?” she asked, taking the printout.
“Probably means their transmitter is out,” Lando replied. “Or maybe there’s a solar flare wrecking communications. Probably nothing important.” He looked to Han with a wry smile. “Since you’re going out anyway …,” he began.
“Belkadan?” Han echoed, more incredulously than he had echoed Sernpidal.
“Just a few days out of the way,” Lando said innocently.
“I haven’t even agreed to go to Sernpidal yet,” Han reminded him.
“Luke and Mara will go to Belkadan,” Leia offered. “They’ve been wanting some time alone anyway.”
Lando nodded, more than satisfied with the offer. His ships were all dedicated to business, and any diversions meant money lost.
They all met later on that day, and indeed, Luke and Mara were more than happy to take the excursion to Belkadan, while Han and Chewie would take the Milliennium Falcon to Sernpidal with the payload for Lando. Leia begged off going, but suggested, strongly, that Han take Anakin along for the flight, and even suggested that Han might want to let Anakin take the helm again.
He just looked at her helplessly, his expression one of surrender. She was the ultimate mediator, and he had known all along, of course, that she would find a way to sort out the problems between father and son concerning Anakin’s wild piloting near Coruscant.
The next morning, Han and Chewie went to the Falcon’s dock to find the hold thrown wide, with cart after cart being floated inside.
“And how much of this stuff is illegal?” Han asked Lando, who was supervising the loading.
“All above the table,” Lando assured him with a less-than-confirming wink.
Chewie howled.
“Luke’s going to want your help out here,” Han said. “He’s got some issues with Kyp Durron and his friends, and is going to need some information on some smuggling operations.”
Lando dipped a low bow. “At your service,” he said through a glittering smile.
Han knew what that meant, and he wasn’t exactly sure it was a good thing.
They saw Luke across the way, then, offering a wave and moving with Mara into the Jade Sabre, R2-D2 rolling along behind them. A few minutes later, cleared by the tower, the green-hued ship blasted away, disappearing from sight in a matter of seconds.
“Quick ship,” Lando remarked.
“You think Luke would give Mara anything less?” Han asked.
Lando looked up at the empty sky where the Jade Sabre had just departed, and nodded.
The Millennium Falcon took off an hour later, for a one-day trip that would prove to be the most harrowing journey of Han Solo’s life.
R5-L4 screeched and wailed pitifully, sparks flying from its head as the insect creature’s acid-secreting pincers slashed and tore, digging into metal as easily as if it was packed soil.
In front of the doomed droid, Kyp worked furiously to get his lifesuit secured before the final breach of his hull sucked all of his atmosphere away. He heard the cries of R5-L4, and they cut into his heart as deeply as if he was losing a dear friend, but he could do nothing until the suit was in place.
Sparks continued to fly, bouncing off the back of Kyp’s canopy. A small burst of flame erup
ted from the droid, only to wash out instantly for lack of oxygen. But that was it for R5-L4; the screeching stopped.
Kyp was on his own.
He unstrapped and turned himself about, to see the insectlike creature feasting on the wires and boards that were the droid’s guts, and to see another insect creature clinging to the lower wing on the right, gaining a foothold, it seemed, and intent on the ion drive.
Thinking quickly, Kyp shut down the drive and pulled the lever, closing the S-foils. The whole of the craft groaned as they came together, trapping the insect between them, but not crushing it. Kyp rocked the lever back and forth, opening and closing the foils, trying to dislodge the thing, or squish it flat. It held its ground stubbornly, so Kyp just kept the foils as tight as they would get.
The insectoid monstrosity on the back of his fuselage was finished with its meal, and now those acid pincers came at the back of Kyp’s canopy.
The Jedi waited, waited, hand on the button.
The pincers drove through; Kyp pressed and fell into his seat, grabbing a belt with all his strength. The canopy blew away with a tremendous shock that rocked the X-wing violently, knocking its nose down so that it was flying forward in a diagonal posture.
Kyp turned about, trying to figure out what to do with the one on the wings, but he stopped, stunned, for the creature on the back of his fuselage remained, back four legs clasping the X-wing, front two waving in the air. It was bent up at the back, head up, pincers stuck through the ejected canopy. Hardly thinking, reacting out of sheer horror, Kyp sprang to his knees, pulled the lightsaber off of his belt, and brought forth the glowing blade. A single clean swipe took the closest two grasping legs, and the backhand severed the last two, and the monstrous insect, and the canopy, flew away.
Anger welled in Kyp as he composed himself, as he thought about the losses this day, as he looked at the tattered remains of R5-L4. He knew the score, that none of his promising Dozen-and-Two Avengers had escaped beside him—and when a sudden explosion rocked the side of his X-wing, and that stubborn creature pinned between the wings somehow extended its pincers enough to breach the ion drive, he doubted that he would get away, either.
He crawled out of his cockpit, grasping tightly, understanding that he had no lifeline here, that one slip would send him floating helplessly in deep space. The X-wing was spinning now, over and over—Kyp couldn’t really feel the movement in the zero gravity, but he could see the changing placement of the stars. He held on tightly, recognizing that the spin would likely soon exert centrifugal force and toss him away.
He had never known such desperation, a castaway on a life raft in the middle of the most vast ocean of all. But he was a Jedi, trained and proven. He dismissed his anger now, refused to give in to it, and approached logically, carefully.
The insect looked at him; the pincers snapped hungrily.
Kyp thrust his lightsaber right between them, the energy blade cutting deep into the creature’s head. The insect went into a fury; the X-wing spun even faster, and looped head over tail, as well. For an instant, Kyp lost his grip, tumbling, tumbling, right off the back. His lightsaber fell from his grasp, but he reached out to it instinctively with the Force, needing the security of the crafted weapon though it would hardly help him in this situation.
Likewise, as soon as he had the lightsaber in hand, Kyp mentally grabbed at the spinning X-wing, putting a hold on it as secure as his strong arms ever could. Closer and closer he inched, until it was in his reach, spinning about, and he grabbed on to the tail and pulled himself to the fuselage.
Still trapped between the wings, the monstrous insect lay very still.
Kyp put his lightsaber away and used this vantage point to try and examine the damaged drive, to try to think of some way he might begin repairs. What could he do?
With a sigh, followed quickly by a determined grunt, he pulled himself over the edge of the fuselage back to his cockpit. He steadied the ship with attitude jets, then began a general inventory, trying to get a fix on where he was and on the extent of the damage. His hyperdrive seemed to be working, but with no canopy, he didn’t dare engage it. He reached instinctively for his emergency kit, but stopped abruptly, recognizing that, with his entire canopy gone, there was nothing to patch.
What to do? Even if there was a habitable planet around, Kyp couldn’t land without his canopy, and the lifesuit would serve him for only a few hours, or perhaps for a few days if he went into his Jedi trance.
But those thoughts were for later, he told himself determinedly. Next came the real test: he eased the ion drive back on-line. It fired, sputtered, and he found that only by rocking the throttle could he keep it going, and then only at low power.
He looked to the side, to the trapped and dead creature, and almost opened the wings. But then, keeping his cool, thinking ahead, Kyp understood that this alien life-form should be examined. Even if he didn’t make it, those who later found his dead craft would need to see this creature.
Even if he didn’t make it …
The disturbing notion echoed over and over in his thoughts. He sat back and forced himself to relax, relax, moving past a state of consciousness, into the flow of the Force. Envisioning his ship, he moved his thoughts beyond the mechanics of the vehicle, into the realm of the philosophical, the true purpose of the various components that comprised his X-wing. And then it hit him—not the perfect solution, but one that had a chance, at least.
Working on his own, with no astromech and only a basic engineering manual to guide him, Kyp altered the power grids of the ion drive, bringing them more completely to his shielding power. Then, holding his breath, he eased it back on-line. It offered no thrust this time, but, rather, created a bubblelike shield about him, one that he hoped might allow him to survive hyperspace. He laid in a course for Dubrillion. He kept searching the records as he went, though, and soon determined that there was another possibility, a remote planet named Sernpidal.
Torn, for he knew that he would find help at Lando’s, Kyp finally decided, after yet another warning sputter and flutter of power from the wounded drive, to try for the closer Sernpidal. He altered the course accordingly and engaged the hyperdrive, focusing his consciousness on that tentative ion powerplant, attentive to its every sound and pulse.
He came out of hyperspace almost immediately, just an instant before the ion drive fluctuated, dropping his shielding canopy. It came up again almost immediately, and Kyp shook his head as he considered the daunting task ahead of him. He’d have to hop and skip in short hyperspace bursts all the way to Sernpidal. And all the time, he’d have to simply hope that the ion drive didn’t die altogether.
He engaged the hyperdrive again, closing his eyes and feeling the vibrations behind him, easing as he needed to, not letting those sputtering jolts of the ion drive reach a critical level. His breathing slowed, his heart pumped even slower, preserving his oxygen, but he kept enough of his consciousness to feel those vibrations, to jump out of hyperspace and then, when the ion drive was ready, jump back in, playing the controls as one might rock a tired baby.
Danni Quee sat in an icy-walled dome-shaped chamber just above the frigid water and with hundreds of meters of solid ice above her. She wore only that loose-fitting poncho, for her other garments, the horrid, fleshy creature that had enwrapped her body, and the star-shaped creature that had violated her very insides, were gone now. Despite her lack of clothing, though, Danni was not cold. Strange lichen covered the floor of the place, emitting warmth and light, and probably oxygen, she figured, because she could breathe easily in here.
Her captors were horrible beyond anything she had ever seen, especially the huge tentacled brain that seemed to be guiding them, but in a strange sense they were also noble. Danni had not been tortured—yet—and had faced no intimate advances at all. She was a worthy enemy, the humanoid leader, Da’Gara, had proclaimed, on the word of Yomin Carr, and so she had been treated with a solid measure of respect.
Still, they meant
to sacrifice her.
Now she was alone, hour after hour. Every once in a while, the water would bubble and a pair of the tattooed barbarians would splash up, one keeping a weapon pointed her way, the other bringing food—squirming, eel-like creatures—and potable water. She wondered what was going on down there, in the lower depths, where the war coordinator’s bulk rested, where the water was warmer because of volcanic activity. She wondered what was happening on the outside, beyond this frozen wasteland, in the galaxy that was her home. It would be conquered, Da’Gara had promised her, brought to its knees before the glory of the Yuuzhan Vong. And she would see it.
Danni got the distinct feeling that Da’Gara was hoping that she would stop being one of the infidels, as he called all the peoples of her galaxy, and see the light and truth of the Yuuzhan Vong way.
She didn’t think that likely.
The water bubbled, signaling another approach. Danni looked toward it quizzically. She was expecting them—Da’Gara had told her that another worldship would dock soon, and that she could witness the glory of the arrival. Everything seemed to center on that word—glory—with the Yuuzhan Vong. She mentally prepared herself for the expected violation by the fleshy creatures, the suit and the horrid mask.
But then she saw something she could not have anticipated, and she drew in her breath harshly as a pair of tattooed barbarians burst out of the water, dragging a battered human man between them.
Da’Gara came in next, moving to Danni as the other two threw the new prisoner roughly to the floor, his fleshy, organic enviro-suit peeling back from his body.
“Some warriors came against us,” the prefect explained through the watery gurgle caused by the star-shaped mask. “Some of your best, apparently.” He paused and nodded toward the limp form on the floor. “They were destroyed with ease.”
Danni looked at him curiously, more for the manner in which he was speaking than for the actual words. Before this, his inflection and pronunciation had been horrible, and he had scrambled the structure of nearly every sentence, but now that wording was noticeably smoother.
