Showdown At Centerpoint

by Roger MacBride Allen

  said, and sat down in the pilot's chair. Ebrihim had a very nasty feeling

  that he had a large patch of singed fur somewhere in the small of his back.

  In any event, there was the acrid smell of burnt hair, and there was

  definitely a tender spot back there. However, this was not exactly the time

  or the place to worry about such things. Besides, his lungs were about to

  burst, and he was much more interested in catching his breath than in a lot

  of idle chitchat about whether or not his back had caught fire. The three of

  them- Chewbacca, Marcha, and Ebrihim-were hiding at the base of the cone

  nearest where the Falcon had been. Had been. Ebrihim watched the Falcon

  rising straight up into the freedom of the night sky, her way illuminated by

  the glow of its repulsor pads, and fires lit by Jaina's marksmanship. Where

  the ship had been. That was the key point. Nothing else mattered. Not

  really. It was cold and hard to say it, but even if the Falcon crashed, even

  if Thrackan Sal-Solo shot it down with the loss of all hands, this moment

  was a great victory. For Thrackan Sal-Solo had been denied even the hope of

  influencing Leia Organa Solo's decisions. But he had paid a price even

  trying to use her kidnapped children against her. Ebrihim knew the Drall,

  and he thought he even knew the Selonians and humans fairly well. His

  attempt at blackmail had no doubt sickened and disgusted thousands, millions

  of people throughout the Corellian system. It must have turned millions

  against him, turned passive dislike into active resistance. It must have

  gained sympathy for Leia-and for the New Republic. All that would have been

  worth it for Thrackan, if he had succeeded in manipulating her, forcing her

  to recognize Corellian independence. Even if she had been forced into a

  public rejection of his demands, that would have done her tremendous damage.

  A mother turning her back on her children-yes, Thrackan Sal-Solo could have

  done a great deal with that. He hoped deeply, profoundly, with all his

  heart, that the children survived. But even if they did not, they had

  defeated their father's cousin, their enemy, simply by getting away.

  "Good-bye," he said into the comlink, though they were almost certainly out

  of range already. "Good-bye, and good luck. May-may the Force be with you."

  As he watched, the assault boat lifted off and lurched up toward the sky.

  There was no way to be sure, of course, but as best he could tell, the

  assault boat had lifted with all hands aboard. That left the three of them

  down here alone, even more stranded than they had been before. Of course,

  Ebrihim had no doubt they would have plenty of company in the near future.

  The question was-who would that company be? Jacen held the controls in a

  death grip as the Falcon rode her rcpuisors up into the early-morning sky.

  They came up out of the repulsor shaft, still moving straight up, but Jacen

  knew better than to try to fly too high and too long on repulsor power

  alone. He would have to make the transition to sublight engines--and make it

  quickly. The repulsors were not intended for indefinite boost in the first

  place-and Jacen knew just how much this ship had been through recently. He

  put his hand on the sublight engine throttles, and pulled back on them as

  slightly, and as gently, as he could. The Millennium Falcon took off like a

  lightning bolt, streaking across the sky. Jacen pulled the Falcon's nose up,

  trying to gain some altitude-or at least trying to avoid diving into the

  ground. He swallowed hard and eased the sublights back just a trifle, and

  then shut off the repulsors. The Falcon shuddered for a moment, but then

  settled down to smooth flight-at least for a moment or two. Then she was

  suddenly diving in toward the ground far below. Jacen pulled back up on the

  stick, forcing her nose up, fighting to keep her from fishtailing all over

  the sky. At last she seemed to stabilize as he got the feel of the controls.

  But he kept his tight grip on the joystick and kept his eyes constantly

  flitting back and forth between the viewports and the controls. "Well, we're

  out," Jaina asked. "Now where do we go?" "I don't know," Jacen said. "We

  never talked about that part, but- "Behind us!" Anakin shouted. "Look at the

  detector screen!" Jacen had to look for a moment before he could even find

  the detector screen. But once he did, he had not the slightest trouble

  reading it. There was cousin Thrackan's assault boat, hot on their heels. A

  blast of laser flared past the Falcon's starboard side, and Jacen flinched

  involuntarily-jerking the ship's controls, and heeling the Falcon up and

  flipping her over on her roll axis until the topside of the ship was pointed

  down. The Falcon was suddenly climbing at about a forty-five-degree angle of

  attack, but w ith the cockpit pointed down instead of up. The artificial

  gravity system held them in their seats, but Jacen could look up and back

  and see the ground where a piece of sky should have been. The accidental

  maneuver seemed to have shaken Thrackan off their tail, at least for the

  moment, but he would be back, no doubt about it. And he'd start shooting at

  them again. "Shields up!" Jacen shouted. "Where-where are the shield

  controls?" Jaina asked. "Chewie moved 'em when he rewired the cockpit,"

  Anakin said from the observer seat. "Under your left hand, sort of. The

  panel with the big red buttons." "Where? Where?" Jaina said. "I don't see

  it." "I'll get it," Anakin said. He undid his seat restraint, hopped out of

  his seat, and wriggled in between the two pilot stations. He reached in and

  flicked the safeties off a row of red switches, stabbed his chubby finger

  down on a big red button, and twisted two dials. "All right, now shields up!

  Top, bottom, and forward shields at-um-twenty percent. Rear shields at

  full." A dull crash and a shudder that ran through the whole ship told Jacen

  that Anakin had gotten the shields up just in time-and that cousin

  Thrackan's aim was getting better. Was he trying to shoot them down? Were

  those warning shots? Or was he trying to disable them? So far, as best Jacen

  could tell, Thrackan had just used the assault boat's chin guns, low-caliber

  lasers intended more for antipersonnel work than ship-to-ship fighting. But

  what did it mean? Jacen knew his dad would have been able to interpret the

  shots, know just what Thrackan intended, and what to do about it. But his

  father was not here, however devoutly Jacen might wish that he were.

  Probably-probably-Thrackan was trying to disable the Falcon, not kill them.

  The thought was not much comfort. Thirty seconds before, he had been

  worrying about figuring out where to go. Suddenly he wasn't all that

  interested in getting to anyplace at all. All he wanted to do was get away

  from here, right now. "Shoot!" Thrackan shouted. "Shoot, damn your eyes!" "I

  can't shoot them if I can't get a lock on them," Thrag growled. "The chin

  guns don't have any sort of automatic target tracking. I can't fly a pursuit

  and try for a pinpoint disabling shot at the same time. Maybe you're that

  good, but I'm not." "We'll see how good I am," Thrackan said, climbing into

  the copilot's chair. "Switch gunnery c
ontrol to this station," "But it's

  your own blood relatives!" Thrag protested. "I ordered you to shoot at them,

  and I'm going to shoot at them myself. I'm not hypocrite enough to pretend

  there's a difference there." Thrag turned his attention from his flying long

  enough to look Thrackan up and down. "Do your own dirty work, then, and

  welcome to it," he said, and switched over gunnery control. "But I never

  thought I'd meet a man who thought it a special point of pride to shoot down

  his own flesh and blood." Ossilege's ensign rushed onto the flag deck,

  almost stumbling over his own feet in his hurry. "Sir, something's

  happened!" Ossilege turned, raised one eyebrow, and regarded the young man

  with a withering stare. "Thank you for that cogent and highly detailed

  report," he said. "Ah, yes, sir. I'm sorry. At the repulsor. Something's

  happened there. We detected several energy pulses that read like laser fire

  and explosions, and then-then two ships came out of the repulsor, one in

  pursuit of the other. They've just gained enough altitude for us to see them

  over the limb of the planet. Both are being flown very badly, and one of

  them seems to be damaged." "Two ships?" Kalenda said. "That's all there were

  down there, unless someone is playing a very cagey game." Ossilege stabbed a

  button on the flag deck's main console. "Putney here," said a slightly

  high-pitched and nasal voice. "Commander Putney, this is Ossilege. It looks

  like everyone has cleared out of the repulsor. Both ships have taken off."

  "Why?" Putney asked. "We're not sure, but one ship seems to be pursuing the

  other. We need to take advantage of the situation. They may or may not have

  left troops behind, but even if they have, some of their troopers and most

  of their firepower just headed off toward orbit. We are going to seize this

  chance with both hands. I don't care if your assault boat is only half

  loaded and your troops don't have their pants on. I want them headed toward

  an assault-speed landing in the repulsor now." "Yes, sir!" Putney replied.

  "Our heavy weapons aren't aboard, but if we're lucky, we won't need them. We

  can launch in five minutes." "Do it in four," Ossilege said, and cut the

  connection. He turned and gestured toward Kalenda. "Get me visual and

  tactical on the two ships now," he ordered. Kalenda worked the controls with

  lightning speed and brought up the imagery from the long-range visual

  scanner and the tactical. The images of two ships appeared. Both were

  clawing for altitude, the one in the lead flying erratically-and upside

  down. "That's the Falcon," Lando said. "That's the Millennium Falcon, Han

  Solo's personal ship. It's flying upside down, and I think the pilot must be

  drunk, but I'd know that ship anywhere." "That's the assault boat behind

  it," Ossilege said eagerly. "And it looks to have taken some damage." "Who

  the devil is flying the Falcon1?" Kalenda asked. "It's not Chewbacca, I can

  tell you that much," said Lando. "He could fly her better than that

  blindfolded and with one arm in a sling-and I'm not speaking poetically."

  "Then who is it?" "I have an idea, but none of you would believe me anyway,"

  said Lando. "You didn't last time." Ossilege looked at him sharply. "You're

  saying one of the children is flying that ship?" "You said it, I didn't,'1

  Lando replied. "The assault boat is firing again!" Kalenda cried out.

  "Direct hit-but they're still flying," Lando said. "They must have gotten

  the shields up, somehow." Ossilege peered intently at the tactical screen,

  trying to make sense out of the course projection, but the Falcon was flying

  so wildly all over the map it was impossible to know for sure. "Where are

  they going?" he demanded. "Where are they headed? Whatever course they're

  trying to keep doesn't lead even remotely toward anything. Where do they

  think they're going?" "Nowhere," Lando said. "Away. Out." "Do they know

  we're here?" Ossitege demanded. Lando shook his head. "If they did, they'd

  be heading toward us, or hailing us, or something. They're just flying in

  whatever direction they happened to be heading in when the pilot managed to

  get control of the ship." Ossilege was plainly excited, agitated-and just as

  plainly trying not to show it. "Can we get a tractor beam on either ship? Or

  both?" Kalenda checked. "Not quite. But even if they are not moving straight

  toward us, they're moving in our general direction. We ought to have the

  Falcon within tractor range in twenty seconds, and the assault boat in range

  ten seconds after that." "Wait until they're both in range, and then get

  tractor beams on both of them. Pull the Falcon in, but just hold the assault

  boat where it is, at least for the moment." "Yes, sir," Kalenda said, and

  set to work relaying the orders. "If we work this right," said Ossilege, "we

  can grab the repulsor and Thrackan Sal-Solo, all at the same time." He

  looked up to the main screen, still showing the Triad fleet forming up,

  getting ready to do whatever it was here for. "Except for the trifling fact

  of an enemy fleet massing for the attack, I think we might be in very good

  shape indeed." The Falcon lurched wildly to one side as the assault boat

  managed another hit. "Shields didn't like that one," Anakin said, watching

  the defense display. "That's it," said Jaina. "I've had it. Let's give them

  some of their own back. Powering up ventral laser cannon and setting for

  aft-aim." "What?!" Jacen cried. "Are you out of your mind?" "I think you're

  all out of your minds," Q9 said. "Quiet, Q9. Jacen, he's already shooting at

  us! How could shooting back make things any worse?" "I don't know," said

  Jacen, "but I bet we find a way." "Ventral laser on auto target seek. I've

  got a target lock!" Jaina squeezed the trigger and the laser cannon blazed

  away. "Hit him!" she said. "Shields absorbed the shot, but I made him back

  off a little." "Shields down five percent!" Thrag said. "A nice clean shot,

  and no mistake. If that had had any power behind it, we'd be a hulk in space

  right now." "Shoot at me?" Thrackan said. "Those miserable whelps have the

  gall to shoot at me? Activating main armament!" "But you'll blow them out of

  the sky!" Thrag protested. "You need them alive!" "But I want them dead,"

  said Thrackan Sal-Solo. "Main armament powered up and ready to fire." Jacen

  risked a peek at the detector screen. "Jaina, he's not backing off, he's

  bringing his main turret cannon to bear! We've got to get out of here. Hang

  on!" Jacen pulled back up on the stick, pulling the nose of the Falcon up.

  The Falcon climbed over its nose, into an inside loop, up and over before

  pulling out of the loop, right on Thrackan's tail. "Anakin! Forward shields

  to full!" Jacen shouted, and his little brother scrambled to reset the

  switches, just in time to deflect a near miss from the assault boat's turret

  gun. The Falcon bucked and shuddered, but her shields held. "We're i n

  behind their shields! I have a shot! Hang on!" Jaina called. She fired

  twice. The first caught the turret gun right at the join with the assault

  boat's upper hull, blowing the gun clean off the hull. The second caught the

  sublight engine array, smashing the sublight emitters down to nothing.
The

  assault boat was dead in space. Jacen had to stop cheering long enough to

  keep from ramming the Falcon right into her stern. And then a giant,

  invisible hand reached out and yanked the Millennium Falcon by the scruff of

  the neck. "Assault boat has lost main propulsion. Tractor beam on!" Kalenda

  announced. "Positive lock on assault boat. Provisional lock on Falcon.

  Falcon attempting to break free. We can't hold Falcon for too long without

  damage to her." Lando went to the flag deck com panel and punched in a comm

  access code he had not used in a while. "Let's hope Han didn't go and change

  codes on me," he muttered, then pushed the transmit key. "Lando Calrissian

  to Millennium Falcon. This is Lando Calris-sian calling Millennium Falcon.

  Shut down your engines and do not resist the tractor beam. We are taking you

  aboard a Bakuran vessel, allied with the New Republic. Do you copy?"

  "Lando?" came a young, eager voice over the com line. "Is that you? Is that

  you?" "That you, Jaina?" Lando asked. "No, I'm Jacen," came the rather

  irritated reply. "But Jaina and Anakin are here too. And so is Q9." "Who or

  what is Q9?" Admiral Ossiiege asked irritably. "I haven't the faintest

  idea," said Lando. "But it looks like we'll get the chance to find out." He

  pressed the transmit key again. "Where are Chewbacca and the Drall?" "Still

  in the repulsor chamber on the planet," Jacen answered. ''We'll have to send

  someone to get them." Lando glanced at the flag deck's hangar status board.

  "We've just launched our own assault boat to them," Lando said. "They'll be

  all right." "Good," said Jacen. "We'll be really glad to see you, Lando."

  "And I'll be glad to see you too," he said. "Oh-and one more thing. Nice

  flying-and nice shooting. Your father will be proud." "Thanks, Lando!"

  "Don't mention it," Lando said, and cut the connection. He looked up at the

  main tactical display, where the fleet of the Sacorrian Triad was moving in,

  slowly and carefully in toward Centerpoint Station, and the two lonely

  destroyers that stood guard on it. From there, his eye shifted to a

  countdown clock, showing the eighty-two hours remaining until Centerpoint

  would fire at Bovo Yagen. "At least," said Lando to the dead microphone,

  "he'll be proud of you if we all live long enough for him to hear about it."