Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis 1 - Before the Storm

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “All right,” Han said. “If it can wait until all of us are a little more awake.”

  “It can wait, but not too long,” said A'baht. “Have you eaten?”

  “Nothing since my feet left the ground.”

  “ Then I suggest you come with me to the captain's mess, and we'll catch a meal while Captain Morano jumps us into the first grid. Unless your stomach takes exception to the combination of food and hyperspace?”

  “Not at all,” said Han. “That's kind of you. Let me find my shoes.”

  “Oh—not entirely kind,” said A'baht.

  “Oh? Is the captain's cook still struggling to master his galley?”

  A'baht smiled. “Since you're senior to me—and especially since you're Han Solo—your presence is a problem for me where the crew is concerned,” he said. “If you will allow it, I'd like to use your presence to underline the seriousness of this mission, and turn a negative into a positive. And having you seen as my guest aboard will kill the rumors your arrival spawned faster than any announcement I could make.”

  Han nodded. “Let's do it, then. I'm not here to make your job harder.”

  At 2440 hours exactly, between the para rolls and the Dornean brandy, the Fifth Fleet jumped into Hatawa Sector. The search for Ayddar Nylykerka's Black Fleet had begun.

  Chapter 11

  By the time Colonel Pakkpekatt reached a comm station, Lady Luck had moved within two kilometers of the vagabond and was closing at a leisurely rate that would nonetheless place it alongside in a matter of minutes. The sight of it brought the threat ruffles on Pakkpekatt's back to full flourish, and his throat turned crimson—a display no one in his bridge crew had ever seen before.

  “Calrissian, you are a madman,” said Pakkpekatt with an icy evenness. “You will lose more than your commission over this, I promise you that.”

  “Colonel, I'll take that as your promise to do everything you can to help keep me alive long enough to satisfy your fine sense of outrage. I understand the Fleet doesn't allow you to court-martial a corpse.”

  “There are other uses for corpses,” said Pakkpekatt with a cold smile. “While you are still alive, perhaps you would like to place your justifications on the record.”

  “Gladly,” said Lando. “Your decision to exclude us from the foray team endangered not only the lives of Bijo and his men, but the whole mission. And your attitude during yesterday's briefing convinced me that you'd never give any real weight to anything we brought to the table—”

  “You mean to blame me for your recklessness?”

  Pakkpekatt raged, his frosty reserve vaporizing in an instant. “You brought nothing to the table. You obviously came here with secret information about this vessel, which you denied having, and denied to us.”

  “Secret information? What're you blathering about, Colonel?”

  “You as much as admitted it. You are the one who knew that the foray team would be in danger. You knew that the target was expecting a countersign, which you already possessed.”

  “Colonel, you don't know what you're talking about. I had a hunch about what the builders of this ship out here were doing, and this was the only way to play my hunch.”

  “You expect me to believe that you risked your lives and your ship on a 'hunch'?”

  Lando chuckled, a low, smooth sound. “You've never played sabacc with me, have you, Colonel? You have to be willing to lose big if you're hoping to win big. No one ever got rich wagering one credit at a time.”

  “I hope you've enjoyed your little game, General. But I had always understood that hiding cards was considered dishonest.”

  “Colonel, we didn't have any secret information. We simply happened to look in the right place in the Imperial archives, and just barely in time, too. Now we're in, and we're going to do what we can while we're here. I trust you have the recorders running by now?”

  Pakkpekatt muted the link and looked away from the comm unit toward his operations officer. “Do we have the recording of the key signal Lady Luck used to enter the restricted zone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is the tractor beam on D-89 strong enough to tie up Lady Luck?”

  “Easily,” said the operations officer with contempt.

  “She's just a civilian pleasure yacht.”

  “Is the interdiction field up?”

  “Yes, sir, the field is operational.”

  “Then queue up that key, and get ready to send the picket in to yank them out of there.” Pakkpekatt turned back to the comm unit and opened the link.

  “We're doing the best we can,” he told Lando. “But some systems were in the middle of a calibration diagnostic, getting ready for our attempt later today, and they're not back up yet. Can you stand off at your present range and give us a little time? A few minutes ought to be enough.”

  “I guess that's reasonable enough. But I hope you're not thinking about trying to send the foray team in,” Lando said warningly. “We've talked about it here, and we have doubts that the key will work a second time.”

  “No,” said Pakkpekatt, “we have no plans to do that. Just stand by.”

  He broke the link. “Ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then do it.”

  Since making its pass at the vagabond the day before, D-89 had been flying formation with Glorious, awaiting its next job as the second spotter platform for the long-range stereo recordings to be made of the foray team's contact. When its realspace engines suddenly roared to life, it had only a few kilometers to cover before reaching the invisible boundary of the vagabond's security sphere.

  D-89 was still accelerating when the vagabond hailed it—a signal heard on board Lady Luck and Glorious as well. Lobot was the first aboard the former to realize the cause. “There's another vessel approaching the vagabond.”

  Almost at the same time, Threepio said, “Master Lando, that is not the same sequence.”

  “I know,” said Lando grimly. “I can hear it. Ah, I was afraid he was going to try this—” The signal from the vagabond ended, and the response began, relayed from Glorious through D-89's own transmitters. But even before the response was complete, a fierce blue light began dancing over the entire aft third of the vagabond's hull.

  “Hold on, everyone!” Lando cried on seeing it. He threw himself across the console, reaching for the control that would boost Lady Luck’s combat shields with the full output of her engines.

  But his hand had not reached the switch when the cockpit was flooded with light, a light so harsh that even Threepio flinched from it, a light so cold that it made Lando shiver. Half a dozen alarms began to sound at once, as though the yacht itself were crying out in surprise.

  And piercing the cacophony was the keening wail of a frantic Artoo.

  From the vantage of those watching on the bridge of the Glorious, it all seemed to take only a moment, a few heartbeats. Those who glanced down at their consoles in that moment missed it. When their heads swiveled and jerked upward at the collective gasp, all that was left to see was the sudden spreading cloud of flotsam in space between the cruiser and the vagabond.

  The blue glow had made the vagabond suddenly bright on the cruiser's screens. Then three beams of energy had lanced out from the tail of the ship, knifing across space like searchlights, sweeping toward the same target. The beams intersected, merged, and at that moment, that point, there was a small but spectacularly intense explosion.

  At the same time, all the telemetry from D-89 vanished from the bridge consoles of the Glorious.

  Then the lances disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, and there was silence. The vagabond dropped back into near invisibility as small secondary explosions lit the atomized debris from within, like tiny nova stars inside a hot nebula.

  “What about Lady Luck?” Pakkpekatt quietly asked a still shaken tracking technician.

  “We’ll have to wait til the debris disperses. It's too heavily ionized. But the Marauder still has Lady Luck on her screens
.”

  “How very interesting,” Pakkpekatt said, straightening to his full height.

  “Colonel, Captain Hannser of the Marauder, asking for your instructions.”

  “Tell him to wait,” said Pakkpekatt, turning toward the bridge windows.

  “Imaging, replay the attack, half-speed. Everyone, watch your monitors. Let's see what we can learn about the general's friends.”

  One by one, Lando silenced the alarms—the radiation alarm, the proximity alarm, the contact alarm, the systems alarm, the anomaly alarm. The ship seemed unharmed, even untouched.

  “What was that?”

  “I'm showing an explosion eight kilometers aft of us,” said Lobot. “I believe we have now seen a demonstration of the weapons technology of the Qella.”

  “Holy queen of sailors—tell me it wasn't the foray shuttle, Lobot.”

  Lobot opened a link to one of Glorious's unsecured processors. “It was the ferret D-89. No one was on board.”

  “Thank the stars.” With a touch on the console before him, Lando signaled the cruiser. “Colonel, one of these days you're going to learn to stop ignoring what I tell you.”

  “Anytime you care to start telling me the truth, General, I will be happy to listen.”

  “The truth?”

  “Yes, the truth,” Pakkpekatt snarled. “You could begin with who you are working for, what's inside the target, and why you chose to become a traitor to the New Republic. The vagabond allowed you to approach, and now it's protecting you.”

  “General, I warned you that the key might not work a second time. The challenge to the ferret was different than the challenge to us—probably to stop someone from doing exactly what you tried to do, namely snoop and steal the key. If the vagabond's protecting us, it's only because it thinks we belong here.”

  “Are you still claiming that all this is simply the outcome of a gambler's lucky hunch?”

  “Colonel, we're breaking and entering. We're not here to keep an appointment.”

  “Then why is the vagabond still here?”

  Lando looked up and stared out Lady Luck’s front port. The weapon that had been used against the ferret would be equally effective against the interdiction pickets. And with even one of them destroyed or disabled, there would be nothing to stop the vagabond's escape.

  “I don't know, Colonel,” said Lando. “Maybe she's waiting for us. I'm going to start closing with her again and see what happens.” With a light touch he edged the thruster control forward. “In the meantime, if you'll stop trying to send in the cavalry long enough to listen, we'll pass along everything we know, or think we do.”

  Artoo and Threepio had been having their own conversation at the rear of the yacht's flight deck, and now Threepio stepped forward to where Lando and Lobot sat. “Sir—”

  “Wait, Threepio.”

  “Sir, Artoo says that the new sequence sent by the Qella vessel does not appear in the information from the survey archives.”

  “What?”

  “Artoo says he is unable to determine what the correct response might be.”

  Lando shook his head. “I feel like I'm in a spelling bee and the kid in front of me just went out on a word I don't know either. Colonel, are you getting all this?”

  “Getting it, yes. Understanding it, no.”

  “We matched the original signal from the vagabond to the genetic code of a species called the Qella. The correct response was the next portion of the code,” Lando said.

  “But it interrogated the ferret with a different sequence, and we don't seem to know what comes next. Maybe Lobot has an explanation—he's the one who found the match in the first place.”

  “An explanation is readily available,” Lobot said. “But it will not help us with our problem.”

  “I'd like to hear it anyway,” said Pakkpekatt.

  Lando nodded his agreement.

  “I have reviewed the history of the records concerning the Qella. They were discovered by the Third General Survey, which was the Republic's first comprehensive examination of habitable worlds in the galactic arms,” Lobot said. “But the only report is from the survey vessel. By the time the contact vessel arrived eight years later, all of the Qella were dead, and more than one-third of the planet was covered by ice up to a hundred meters thick.”

  “All dead? What happened?”

  “An asteroid impact was postulated,” said Lobot. “The contact vessel collected genetic samples and technological artifacts from two sites, but it wasn't equipped for archaeological work, and there were many worlds with live populations waiting for a contact vessel. Qella was marked for a follow-up visit by an archaeological team, and the contact vessel continued on. But there was no follow-up.”

  “Why not?” Lando demanded.

  “The Third General Survey was never completed,” said Pakkpekatt. “It was terminated at the outbreak of the Clone Wars.”

  “The colonel is correct,” Lobot said. “All survey and contact vessels were taken over by the Imperial Navy with the Third General Survey only sixty-one percent complete.”

  “Which means we have all the information we're going to have about the Qella?” Lando asked. “There must be more somewhere. They obviously had inter-stellar travel. They must have had neighbors, trading partners—”

  “Perhaps the colonel's staff can locate such information,” said Lobot. “I have been unable to locate any other references to this planet and its inhabitants.”

  “I have people working on it,” Pakkpekatt said curtly. “If I had been given this information when you first developed it, I might have had some results for you by now.”

  The vagabond now nearly filled Lady Luck’s forward viewscreen.

  “Colonel, you can deal two different players the same hand; one of them will win with it, and the other lose. If we had given you the chance to play our hunch, what would you have done with it?

  Where would Bijo Hammax be right now?”

  After a long pause, the intelligence officer said, “Point taken, General.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. We're getting pretty close now, as I guess you can tell. The way I see things, I'd better start concentrating on the game going on out here,” Lando said. “We'll keep in touch, but that's not going to be my first worry.”

  “If you would leave an audio channel open—”

  “You'll probably want to pick up all our cockpit sensor feeds—Lobot can route them to you.”

  “We will do what we can to assist you,” said Pakkpekatt.

  Lando knew that those must have been difficult words for the Hortek to say. “You'll hear us yell,” he said. “But if you'd really like to help, maybe you want to see what you can do about getting a ship sent to Qella, fast. There may still be answers there that we're gonna need before this is over.”

  With Lady Luck cruising slowly along the hull of the vagabond at a distance of only a hundred meters, Lando felt as though he were seeing the ship clearly for the first time.

  At a distance, the hull seemed lumpy and irregular.

  Up close, it looked like nothing so much as a bundle of massive tree trunks woven round with thick, crisscrossing vines, which had grown into the metallic bark. But the scale was all wrong for that comparison—the “vines” were large enough in cross-section to park the yacht inside one, and the “trunks” would easily have swallowed the bulk of the cruiser.

  “Looks a bit like a Foss,” said Lando. “What do you think about those extrusions?”

  “I can't tell whether the design is symbolic or functional,” said Lobot. “There is no repeating pattern that I can perceive.”

  “Maybe those extrusions are some sort of energy conduit for the weapons,” said Lando. “I can't see anything else that looks like a weapon.”

  “It is possible that their weapons use surface-charge capacitance,” said Lobot. “SCC is considered unsafe for task force operations, but single vessels can accumulate very large surface charges without affecting internal systems. Deep spa
ce is a good insulator.”

  “So the entire surface might be an accumulator for that weapon we saw?”

  “Yes. The extrusions, as you call them, increase the surface area. The actual weapon apertures could be quite small.”

  “Perhaps we should send a greeting message,” said Threepio. “I would be happy to offer my services.”

  “Not yet, Threepio,” said Lando. “Look, there's the primary attach site that Bijo was planning to use—there, swing the spot up and to the right.”

  “That's not a hatchway,” said Lobot after a moment's inspection. “It's a surface marking. There are no seams.”

  “The secondary attach site is farther forward. We'll go take a look at that.”

  “General Calrissian,” Pakkpekatt said.

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I thought you would like to know that IX-26 has been diverted from its patrol in Nouane to pick up an archaeological team from the Obroan Institute,” said Pakkpekatt. “They are on their way to Qella now.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “My chief of data acquisition has asked me to relay a request to you,” Pakkpekatt continued. “He would like you to attach a tracking and monitoring limpet to the target at first opportunity. In the foray team's action plan, that was considered a mission failsafe.”

  “Colonel, I intend to attach this entire yacht to the vagabond, as soon as I can figure out where to do it. We'll do a hand attachment of a TRAML then, if everything's still quiet. I'm not going to fire anything at her if I can avoid it.”

  “Lando,” said Lobot suddenly. “Look.”

  The surface of the vagabond had suddenly come alive with small, pale patches of light. They appeared and disappeared in orderly patterns along the top of the hull extrusions, forming sequences that drew the eye forward, and then to the edge of the curving hull, where they disappeared.

  “Oh, no! Artoo, look out! It's getting ready to attack!” Threepio exclaimed.

  “That's not what happened the last time they fired,” said Lando.

  “The last time they fired, we were two klicks away,” Lobot reminded him. “We wouldn't have been able to see this stage from there.”