Mon Mothma was very good. There was no doubting that.
Luke sat up. Enough of this. It was ridiculous for him to be moping around this way. There was too much to do, too much to get ready for. He needed to know more. It was high time to get that briefing from Threepio.
He was on the verge of pushing the intercom button to summon Threepio when the intercom came on all by itself-with Threepio on the line. "Master Luke." Anna please come to the cockpit. Artoo is passing us a feed from the military sensor net.
There's some sort of intercept taking place. A flight of Y-wing fighters are attacking some peculiar combination of an X-wing and an oldstyle TIE fighter."
Lando's voice came on, very excited. "It's an X-TIE Ugly, Luke!
And the only shipyards that can put those together-"
"-are in Corellia," Luke said, finishing Lando's thought as he ran out of his cabin toward the cockpit.
The cockpit hatch was open and he dove through it.
"Tell Artoo to contact the intercept fighters!" he said. "Tell them to call off-"
"No need," Lando interrupted. "Whoever is on that thing must have done some fast talking for himself. The Y-wings ceased fire and the cruiser Naritus slapped a tractor beam on her. They're taking her aboard. And before you can tell me to do it, yeah, we're changing course. That's got to be someone with news."
Luke dropped back into the copilot's seat and punched up the audio com channel to his X-wing.
"Artoontact the cruiser and request permission for us to come aboard."
Artoo replied with an affirmative-sounding triple beep. Luke leaned forward and peered eagerly through the viewport of the Lady Luck The Naritus was nowhere near, of course, and it was going to take some time to get there, but maybe now they were going to get some information.
"Turn this thing around, Lando. Let's get moving."
Kalenda knew her problems weren't over, not by a long shot. Not when she was sitting in a cell in the cruiser's detention block, rather than at a table in its briefing center. Not that she could blame the captain of the Naritus for viewing her with more than a little suspicion.
She was, after all, traveling without any papers or proof of her identity; the NRI did not send its agents out on undercover missions with photo ID. Even if she had carried ID, it would have been phony from top to bottom, matching her cover story from the time of her entry into the Corellian system. But she had ditched that long ago, of course. That identity was blown, and blown big.
So all they had was a frazzled4looking young woman in a rumpled jumpsuit, both woman and jumpsuit badly in need of cleaning. But Kalenda was not about to ask for a shower or a fresh set of clothes.
Not yet. So far they had just given her a quick pat-down, checking for weapons. They hadn't thought to search her clothing all that caretully, and she didn't want this crowd finding that datachip.
No.
She had her orders regarding that.
But there was another worry. That X-TIE she had stolen. That they were going over with a fine-tooth comb, and she couldn't blame them. The trouble was, she had no real idea what was aboard it. It took very little imagination to think of things that could be aboard the Ugly, things that could get her into very, very big trouble. But, she told herself once again, no point at all in borrowing trouble when there was so much currently available.
She could hear the outer hatch of the detention block opening, and, a few minutes later, the door of her own cell opened. The hard-bitten rating who had taken charge of her came into the room.
"Still checking your story," she said. "The NRI confirms that's a legitimate one-shot word code you used, but they point out that those things aren't foolproof."
Kalenda nodded. She knew at least three ways to get around the word codes-but that was why the NRI didn't take word-code recoguition signals on faith, even with a positive voice-pattern match. "So they've sent Anna
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you to get fingerprint and retinal patterns and a DNA sample," she said.
The rating cocked her head and gave a sort of half smile. "At least you know your NRI procedures. If you're a plant, they did a good job briefing you."
There didn't seem to be much to say to that, so Kalenda said nothing.
"1 don't suppose you've changed your mind about making a statement," the rating said.
"Sorry," Kalenda said. "I have orders from the other side.
Direct from the Chief of State." Well, not quite direct. But surely the Chief of State's husband was close enough, even if it didn't sound quite as authoritative. "I am to talk only to Admiral Ackbar, Mon Mothma, or Luke Skywalker." And that wasn't quite accurate, either, but it was close enough. Han Solo had told her to hand the datachip over to one of those three, and no one else. She couldn't pull the datachip and tell her captor she wasn't allowed to hand it over to her.
Not unless she wanted the chip being played back by the captain of the Naritus five minutes from now. There had been too many leaks already.
The story of the starbuster plot would have to be tightly held, in order to avoid a panic, if for no other reason.
The rating shook her head. "You don't ask for much, do you?"
"I don't write the orders, friend. I just follow them."
After I've rewrttten them, she thought.
"Wish to burning stars I could get the same folks to write my orders," the rating said. "Yours seem to get results."
"What?" Kalenda asked. "What do you mean?"
"Be back in a second," the rating said. With that she left the cell. Kalenda could not help but notice that she had left the door open. Was that a test? Did they figure if she wasn't who she said she was, she'd try to make a break for it? Or should she try to make a break for it?
What did the rating mean about getting results? Were they about to bring in some sort of interrogation specialist? Whatever the rating had meant, it didn't sound very pleasant. But no. Stop being foolish.
They could interrogate her all they wanted. All they'd get was the truth.
Still, that didn't make the thought of someone using all the latest hardware to perform science experiments on her mind seem all that comforting an idea.
When the rating returned, with a tall, grim-faced stranger, the idea seemed even less pleasant. Was he an interrogator? He was a tall, lean man, sandy haired and blue eyed, wearing a New Republic Navy fighter pilot's undress uniform, with no insignia. He didn't look like an interrogator. In fact, his face seemed familiar. She had never seen him face to face, of course, but still "My name is Skywalker," the stranger said. "You wanted to talk with me?"
CHAPTER FOUR
The flowers of Home
The Millennium falkon eased cautiously out of its parking orbit around Drall and headed down toward the planet's surface. Chewbacca, in his accustomed seat in the copilot's right-hand chair, made a nervous little moaning roar as they headed in. "Don't worry," said Q9-x2, who was clamped to the floor behind Chewbacca. "We are now well inside the Drallish defenses. Our slow approach strategy has paid off."
"I wish I shared your confidence, Q9," said Ebrihim.
The Drall was distinctly too short for the pilot's seat, and was reduced to the indignity of standing on the seat in order to see out the forward viewscreen. He was more or less strapped in, but he knew perfectly well he was not all that likely to stay in one place if the going got difficult.
Ebrihim was tall for a Drall, though he was well aware that was not saying a great deal. He was about a meter and a quarter in height.
He had short, thick gray fur, with a sprinkling of lighter gray on his face and throat. Like all Drall, he was short-limbed, with clawed, fur-covered feet and hands. Like nearly all Drall, he was a bit on the roly-poly side by human standards. While normal for a Drall, being short and pudgy and furry was often a nuisance for a dignified creature, especially when dealing with humans. Too many of them seemed ready to regard a Drall as a sort of living stuffed-animal toy.
Perhaps that
was why Drall tended to stand so much on their dignity.
Q9 turned toward Chewbacca. "My master is often extremely overcautious," he said. "I am glad to see you do not share this trait."
"I am not overcautious, but neither am I not madly overconfident, as some are. Drall's defenses are not elaborate, and are intended to detect fast-moving, aggressive craft. I am sure we have gotten past all the defenses I know about, and those this ship can detect, but that's a far cry from saying there will be no further surprises."
Chewbacca moaned again and shook his head.
"Assuming I understand you properly, I quite agree," said Ebrihim.
"I, too, have had my share and more of surprises on this trip."
He glanced up toward the interior monitor screen, which was showing a view of the three children in their cabin, strapped down on their beds, which were doing double duty as acceleration couches.
At least the children were behaving for the moment.
When those three got going, there was no way to stop them. Why in the blue sun he had volunteered to become their tutor, he would never know. He had thought a temporary job teaching a few basics of Corellian life to the children of an extremely powerful and influential human might prove entertaining, and provide him with some opportunities he would not otherwise have had, perhaps improving his prospects in the job market as well. But the entertaining temporary assignment had ended up with him being shot at and chased off the planet.
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"Mi will be well," Ebrihim said in his most reassuring voice. "We will be able to set down quietly on my family lands. There you will be able to effect repairs on the ah-ship." He had been about to refer to the Millennium Falcon by a less respectful term, until he hadn ticed the Wookiee's expression. Chewbacca seemed to have a complicated love-hate relationship with the old rattletrap of a spacecraft. One minute he prized it above all things, and the next he cursed it most impressively.
"Little good repairihg the ship will do while the entire system is under this interdiction field," Q9 said. QX2
bore a vague family resemblance to the R2 series of astromech droids. More accurately, the Q9 series was an experimental design, based on the later-model R7 chassis. Opinion was still split on the outcome of the experiment. Some argued it was a flat-out failure, while the optimists argued it was still too early to know for sure.
Q9-X2's behavior did not always make him the best argument for success. He was nothing more or less than a nuisance most of the time.
He seemed to have a knack for driving his master-and everyone else-to distractiOn, and then demonstrating his own indispensability.
Q9 had saved Ebrihim's life in the Corona House attack, a fact that had reminded the tutor just how useful it was to have an overintelligent droid with too much initiative. But even so, Q9 could still be most aggravating.
For one thing, Q9 was forever modiing himself, installing new equipment. He had installed his own repulsor units, allowing him to move far more freely over terrain where his wheels would not take him.
He had also installed his own voder unit, rendering him capable of speech, rather than being forced to rely on the hoops and bleeps of the average astromech. Ebrihim was not certain that Q9 with a voice was an improvement. Ever since he had plugged the voder in, he had talked too much. "Once the ship is repaired, what will we do?" Q9
asked, demonstrating that very tendency.
"Once we are on the ground, we will plan our next move, Ebrihim said, attempting to dismiss the question.
"That is a nonanswer," Q9 said. "It offers no information."
"Perhaps because I have none," Ebrihim replied, quite testily.
"Honestly, Q9, you can be most aggravating. When we land, I hope to contact members of my family who will help us stay hidden while we gather more information. Our prime duty is, of course, to the children. We must ensure their safety. How we are to do that, I do not know."
"No one knows how to do the impossible," Q9 said, rather tartly.
"They do seem to have a talent for trouble," Ebrihim conceded.
"That," said Q9, "is one of the great understatements of all time."
Jaina, Jacen, and Anakin lay flat on their backs in their beds, cooped up in one of the Falcon's tiny cabins. They were all properly belted in, doing their best to lie still and behave. At least the twins were doing their best.
Anakin was having a bit more trouble repressing the impulse to squirm and fidget.
"Gotta get up," he announced.
"No, you don't," Jacen said, more than a little tired of being in charge of his little brother. He and Jaina were taking turns being responsible for him. In another ten minutes Anakin would be her problem, and for that, Jacen was thankful.
"I need to get up," Anakin said again.
"Why?" Jacen asked, calling his kid brother's bluff.
"What is it you need?" He knew perfectly well that what Anakin really had in mind was rushing to the Falcon's cabin to help push the buttons. Of course, the scary thing was that he'd probably push all the `ight buttons.
Anakin's skill with electronics and machinery was more than a little disconcerting, even to Jacen. It was like Anakin's Force skills had taken some sort of weird hard left turn. But, all that being said, "probably" wasn't good enough on a spaceshispedally one as wonked out as the Falcon usually, was.
"Well, urn, I gotta"And don't tell me it's the bathroom," Jacen said, guessing what was going to come next. "You just went."
"Oh, yeah," said Anakin. "Well, urn, I gotta get up and-and-find my bookchip. I need it to read."
"Oh, brother," Jaina said. "How dumb does he think we are?
Jacen, did we used to do this?"
"We must have," Jacen said. "I just hope we were better at it."
"Better at what?" Anakin demanded. "What?"
"Being sneaky," Jaina said. "If you're going to tell a fib, at least think up the whole thing before you start.
No one believes you when you stop halfway through like that. And besides, the bookchip is a really bad excuse.
You can barely read yet."
"I know my letters and numbers."
"But you can't read a whole book to yourself yet, can you?"
"Almost," said Anakin, but even he seemed to realize he wasn't very convincing. "But I still need to get up."
Jacen let out a sigh. "Anakin, you can't go to the cockpit.
Period. That's it. If we let you go, Chewbacca would just throw you right back out, and you'd be in trouble and we'd be in trouble, and it all would be for nothing."
"Well, okay," Anakin said. "But would it be okay if I just got up and looked for my bookchip?"
"Na You can't get up. None of us can. The grown-ups are all busy, and we can't interrupt them, and we can't be wandering around, in case the Falcon hits a bump. I can't get up, you can't get up, no one can get up until Ebrihim says we can. All right?"
"All right." Anakin said, his voice turning sulky. "But can I just-"
"No!" Jacen said. "Just lie still and be quiet" He waited a minute to see what his little brother would do next. It would either be a tantrum or a sullen silence with occasional mutterings about the injustice of the universe. Jacen devoutly hoped for the latter. It was a lot quieter.
After a minute's silence he heard mumbling from the bunk below his, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now the trick was to be quiet until Anakin forgot he was mad, or else Anakin would get mad all over again that he had to be quiet while the other kids could talk.
Not for the first time in the last few days, Jacen found himself beginning to appreciate just how much his parents had to put up with.
He and Jaina had been forced to do a lot of growing up in the last few days. The escape from Corona House had been chaotic and terriying, and the flight to Drall had seemed to have consisted of terror, tension, tedium, and low comedy. The terror had come early, when the Corellian PPBs had attacked them and done some damage before Chewbacca cou
ld shoot them down. The tension had come in waiting to see if Chewbacca's improvised repairs would hold together long enough to get them to Drallr anyplace at all, even at the minimum power levels that were all the Wookiee was willig to risk. Thdium barely described the long dull days it took to get to Drall. As for the low comedy-well, it came along more or less automatically whenever Chewbacca, Q9, and Anakin were in the same compartment.
It didn't help matters that no one had had a chance to pack anything in the frantic rush to escape the havoc on Corellia Each of them had exactly two sets of clothe whatever they had happened to be wearing at the moment the attack started, and one set of cut-down ship's coveralls each, scrounged from whatever their parents had happened to leave on board. Q9 had proved surprisingly skillful in cutting children's clothes out of adult ones, but the coveralls didn't fit properly, and it was a perfect nuisance the way Ebrihim insisted that they wash everything out between wearings. Seeing how he didn't wear any clothes at all, it hardly seemed fair. In any event, considering that they had almost no clothes, there certainly a lot of laundry to do.
And then there was Anakin.
It had fallen to Jaina and Jacen not only to take care of themselves, but to keep Anakin in line as well-and the twins had learned very quickly that keeping their kid brother Out of trouble was a lot less entertaining-and a lot more difficult-than helping him get into it.
But learning how to do laundry and baby-sitting were far from the only growing up they had done. There were more serious problems as well.
There was the question of secrets, for example. Back on Corellia, before the trouble started, Anakin, somehow, had sensed the presence of a huge, ancient, underground facility of unknown purpose, and led Jacen, Jaina, and Q9 straight to it. The children had told their parents, Ebrihim, and Chewbaeca about it, but no one had the slightest idea what the installation was. All anyone knew for sure was that the Human League was looking for it, though no one knew why. It seemed obvious to Jacen that something had to be done about the place Anakin had found, but he could not think of what.
It was starting to dawn on him that grown-ups had to deal with that kind of ambiguity a lot.
Star Wars - The Corellian Trilogy - Assault At Selonia Page 7
