Star Wars - Rebel Force 02 - Renegade

by Alex Wheeler

  A crash of transparisteel cut off his words. Luke spotted the telltale gleam of a blaster barrel and, before he even processed what it meant, threw himself at Jaxson, knocking both of them to the ground. A searing blast of laserfire flew through the air where their heads had been, striking the ugly painting behind them. A jagged hole exploded in the Mos Eisley forefather's forehead.

  The creature in the doorway held the blaster in his right hand and as he stepped fully into the cantina it became clear that his left arm ended at his shoulder in a cauterized stump. His scaled face was bruised and dented, and one red eye clouded over with green blood. He lurched through the door on one leg, and swung the blaster across the cantina, spraying laserfire in every direction.

  Bossk was back.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "Hey—he's supposed to be dead!" Luke protested, as he overturned a table and pulled down Leia behind it for cover.

  "I guess no one told him," Leia said, her blaster already in hand. She peeked her head out and took a couple shots. Laserfire erupted all around them, and she lowered her head again, safely shielded behind the table. Luke spotted Jaxson, Windy, and Fixer cowering beneath another table a few meters away. None of them were armed.

  "Jaxson!" Luke shouted. When Jaxson turned, Luke tossed him his blaster.

  "What are you doing?" Leia asked.

  "I have my lightsaber," Luke said. "That'll be enough."

  He raised his eyes above the edge of the table, just enough to scope out the situation. Bossk, who had attached the sawed-off barrel of a blast rifle to the charred stump of his left leg, was framed in the doorway, his own blast rifle peppering the cantina with laserfire. His two allies, the Gamorreans who had blasted through the windows, stood in opposite corners of the cantina, firing at anything that moved.

  But this was Tatooine, which meant plenty of the cantina patrons were ready and willing to fire back. Every time Bossk and the Gamorreans tried to advance, they were pinned down by a barrage of laserfire. So they stayed at the perimeter, deflecting shots with chairs and tables, pinning down everyone who lay inside. It was a "Mos Eisley" standoff.

  The room was thick with smoke. A foul stench of scorched plastoid hung heavy in the air. Shards of sunlight filtered into the dark room through shattered transparisteel, lighting up the pale, terrified faces of the unarmed cowering behind furniture.

  A hammer-headed Ithorian leapt up from behind the long bar, emitting a keening wail as he raced toward the exit. He made it ten steps before blasterfire cut him down, and he dropped to the ground in a twitching, moaning heap.

  Luke tightened his grip on his lightsaber. Enough. The bounty hunter was here for him, and he wasn't about to hide under a table while innocent people were hurt.

  "If you and Jaxson can take out the Gamorreans, I can handle Bossk," Luke told Leia. She gaped at him.

  "You don't even have a real weapon!" she protested.

  "Just trust me," Luke said. "We have to end this now."

  Leia glanced over her shoulder at the nearest Gamorrean. "He's not covering his right flank," she said. "I think I can take him down, if I can make it over in that direction. And if Jaxson can get the other one."

  Luke caught Jaxson's eye, and jerked his head toward the Gamorrean at the far end of the saloon, who held a heavy blaster in one hand and a disrupter rifle in the other. Every few seconds he fired off a warning shot. When he got bored of that, he played target practice with the row of bottles lining the bar, exploding them one by one. If Jaxson could make it to the edge of the room, and sidle along the wall unseen, he'd have the perfect angle for a direct hit. Jaxson followed Luke's gaze, then gave him a confident nod.

  On my signal, Luke mouthed, and, nodding again, Jaxson began to inch into position.

  "You sure you know what you're doing?" Leia whispered. Luke nodded. She squeezed his shoulder, then slipped away.

  "Bossk!" Luke shouted, hoping to draw attention away from his friends as they lined up their shot. "It's me you want! Leave these people alone."

  "The coward speaks," Bossk said, then aimed a round of laserfire at Luke's head. Luke ducked below the table again. Once Leia and Jaxson took out the other two shooters, it would be easy to dispatch Bossk. But Luke didn't want him dead. Not until he found out who'd hired the bounty hunter. "Surrender yourself, and we can end this."

  "How about you surrender yourself," Luke suggested, trying his best to channel Han's confidence. "Unless you want to lose the other leg."

  The bounty hunter chuckled. "You plan to take on a Trandoshan and two Gamorreans?"

  "I'm not worried about the two Gamorreans," Luke said—and, simultaneously, Leia and Jaxson took their shots. The snout-nosed aliens fell in unison, with a single, resounding thud. Luke leapt to his feet. "Leave the Trandoshan!" he shouted to the cantina. "He's mine."

  Bossk chuckled again, although this time his laughter sounded hollow. He pulled the trigger on his blast rifle, sending a blast of laserfire directly at Luke's chest. Without hesitating, Luke blocked it with his lightsaber. The laserfire ricocheted off the glowing blue blade, and Luke advanced toward the bounty hunter.

  It's just like I practiced, Luke told himself, as Bossk blasted away at him. Luke whirled the lightsaber through the air, deflecting shots one after the other.

  Focus, he thought.

  Concentrate.

  Let the Force guide you.

  This time it wasn't just Obi‑Wan's voice that he heard. It was as if Obi‑Wan himself was present, guiding Luke's hand. The lightsaber zigzagged with a smooth surety and grace that Luke had never before achieved, even in his best training sessions. The glowing blade shimmered and sparked as the blasts pinged off of it and, step by step, Luke advanced on the Trandoshan. The cantina had fallen silent, every eye on Luke and his dancing blade. Finally, Luke was close enough to slash the blaster out of the Trandoshan's had.

  Close enough to make good on his promise to take the Trandoshan's other leg if he wanted to. Which he didn't. The thought of such a brutal act, even in self-defense, made him sick. But he had to hope that Bossk believed he was capable of it.

  The Trandoshan reached for the BlasTech pistol tucked into his belt. But Luke stopped him with a flick of the lightsaber. "You're stronger than me," he said quietly. "You may even be faster than me. But you've seen what this weapon can do." He touched it to the Trandoshan's armored breastplate. "This can slice through your armor in an instant. You may be able to survive without an arm or a leg, but can you survive without a heart?"

  "I will not beg for mercy," the Trandoshan said coldly. "Slay me if you must. The Scorekeeper will embrace me with honor for my many kills." Luke knew he believed it. Bossk didn't fear death. He feared cowardice, humiliation, and dishonor. The crueler punishment would be to let him live.

  "Who are you working for?" Luke asked.

  Bossk's jaws drew back in a jagged smile. "There's only one creature on this dung heap of a rock who's worthy of my services. One creature who owns you all.

  Jabba. Of course.

  "Then go back to your employer, and you tell him it doesn't matter how many bounty hunters he sends after me. I'll never help him get Han."

  "You would die to protect that spacer scum?" Bossk asked.

  "No one's dying today," Luke said. But if it came to that? Yes. And Luke knew that Han would do the same for him. No matter what had happened, Luke was sure of it. "So while you're at it, you can give Jabba another message: You want Luke Skywalker? Better come and get him yourself. If you dare."

  Luke knew his message would never get back to Jabba. The Trandoshan would probably hop the first freighter off the planet, rather than face Jabba's wrath at having failed. Or he would try again, round up another handful of incompetent Gamorreans for another attempt on Luke's life. But—Luke watched the Trandoshan hobble away—he doubted it. And even if the bounty hunter decided to try again, by that time, Luke would be long gone. He was done hiding out; and he was done pretending that this was a place where he still
belonged.

  It was time to go home.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  X‑7 peered through the scope of his A2S0 longarm blaster rifle, watching Luke and his friends dodge blasterfire. His hand tightened on the front-grip pump as he readied for the shot. From his perch on the roof of an out-of-business water distribution plant across the street, he had a perfect view of the chaos inside the cantina. Tatooine's blazing suns blanketed him with a brutal heat that radiated in waves off the bleached pourstone of the roof. Sand coated his hands, his face, the insides of his nose and mouth. It was as if the desert was consuming him. This place was the armpit of the galaxy, and the sooner he got out, the better. But he couldn't go anywhere until Skywalker was taken care of.

  He waited impatiently for the Trandoshan to deal Luke a death blow. But it never came. And X‑7 found himself relieved. Which made no sense. It shouldn't have mattered whether Luke died by X‑7's hand or the bounty hunter's claw. All that should have mattered was that the target ended up dead, and the Commander was satisfied. Fulfilling the mission, that was to be his only job, his only care.

  But this time, X‑7 wanted more than that. He wanted the kill. Luke had defied him one too many times, clinging to life; Luke had made the Commander doubt X‑7's competence. Luke Skywalker needed to die, and X‑7 needed to be the one to make that happen.

  X‑7 knew something was wrong. He wasn't supposed to feel want. Just as he wasn't supposed to feel frustration, or impatience as he watched the battle play out, his finger itching on the trigger of his blaster. These were emotions—and emotions were dangerous. More than that, they were forbidden.

  X‑7 also knew that he should report his problem to the Commander, who would be further convinced it was time for more training. More time in the box, pinned to the wall, pincers prying through his thoughts and memories, cleaning him out. Or perhaps the Commander would decide he wasn't worth the trouble and terminate him. This shouldn't have mattered, either. Life was nothing to X‑7, nothing but a way to serve the Commander. If he could better serve the Commander through death, so be it.

  But nothing was the way it was supposed to be, not since Luke. The longer he spent on this mission, the more he wanted to complete it. And the more he wanted other things, whether or not he was supposed to. Things like Luke's death.

  Things like his own life.

  Everything will get back to normal, he told himself. Once Skywalker is dead.

  The wounded Trandoshan limped out of the bar. X‑7 had no idea why the bounty hunter would have given up before he or his target was dead. But it wasn't important. It was X‑7's turn now. Luke was standing behind the shattered window, jagged transparisteel framing his trusting face.

  Kneeling, X‑7 rested the barrel of the blaster on the edge of the roof, and framed Luke's head in the targeting scope. He lined up the perfect shot. His finger tightened on the trigger, but he hesitated. Just to savor what was to come. Just a moment—but a moment too long.

  The blast nozzle jabbed hard into the back of his head. X‑7 likely would have been able to identify it by feel—a DL-44 heavy blaster—but he didn't have to. Be knew exactly what kind of blaster it was, because it was accompanied by a familiar voice.

  "Drop it." Han didn't wait for X‑7 to comply. He kicked the weapon out of X‑7's hands. It toppled off the roof, crashing into a Jawa trading post below and clanging against an unsuspecting R2 unit. The unit beeped and sparked, skidding wildly toward a tethered eopie. The spooked beast reared up on its hind legs, slamming back to the ground squarely atop a stall of fresh pallie and pika fruits. A clutch of angry Jawas and fruit vendors gaped up at the roof, shouting in squeaky voices and shaking their fists.

  "Get up," Han ordered. "Slowly."

  As he climbed to his feet, X‑7 did some quick calculating. He could kill Solo now—the smuggler's blaster was nothing against X‑7's speed and K'tara fighting skills. But he couldn't do it now, not with half of Mos Eisley watching from below. His orders had been to remain undercover for as long as possible, to kill Luke without losing the Rebellion's trust. Which meant he would have to let this play out as long as he could, and try to turn it to his advantage.

  "Better shoot me now, Solo," X‑7 growled. "At least if you want to live past sundown." No point in denying what he really was, not when he'd been caught in the act.

  Han shook his head. "You're no good to me dead," he said. "Not until we make it good and clear to our friends what you've been up to. You want to quit breathing after that? Be my guest."

  X‑7 laughed. "You came all the way here to clear your name? How…cute. Too bad it'll never happen."

  Han just scowled at him, and raised his comlink. "Chewie, how's it coming down there?"

  The Wookiee barked in response, and Han nodded sharply. "Well, hurry it up." He kept the blaster steadily aimed at X‑7. "Our friends will be here soon."

  X‑7 smirked. "Just in time to rescue their good and loyal friend Tobin Elad from the diabolical Han Solo."

  "They're going to find out exactly what their good and loyal friend is made of," Han snarled.

  "And you've brought evidence, have you?"

  Han said nothing.

  X‑7 arched an eyebrow. "Your word against mine, then?" he said. "The word of a man who stashed several kilograms of detonite in his quarters? Who fled justice, rather than face his accusers? The man so scurrilous that even Jabba the Hutt has deemed him untrustworthy? I'm sure our friends will have no trouble believing a man like that."

  X‑7 could read people; it was the only way he'd stayed alive for so long. So when Han lowered his eyes and said, quietly but firmly, "I'm sure," X‑7 knew.

  He wasn't.

  "But where's Han?" Luke asked, yet again, as Chewbacca led them through the Mos Eisley crowds. "And what are you doing on Tatooine? What's going on?"

  Chewbacca just issued the same terse bark he had every time Luke asked.

  "He says, 'You'll see,'" C‑3PO translated, sounding rather displeased. They threaded their way through a cluster of chattering Jawas, standing in the midst of a pile of spare parts and smashed pika fruits and shaking their fists at the sky. "Listen to me, you Wookiee—"

  Chewbacca cut him off with a warning growl.

  "I'm merely—suggesting that if you were to offer us some additional information about what you and Captain Solo are doing on the planet, we might be in a better position to help," C‑3PO huffed.

  The Wookiee ignored him, disappearing into an empty water distribution plant and beckoning them to follow. He hurried to a dark, crumbling stairwell and rushed up the steps, two at a time.

  R2‑D2 beeped.

  "What do you mean we can trust him?" C‑3PO asked. "Do you know how many times he's threatened to tear my arms off?"

  R2‑D2 beeped again.

  "Yet?" C‑3PO yelped. "He hasn't done it yet? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

  Luke and Leia brushed past the droids. They were wasting time. "Come on," he urged them. "Something's going on. Let's see what it is."

  Luke followed Chewbacca all the way up the roof. And when he stepped out of the stairwell, he stopped so abruptly that Leia nearly slammed into him. "What is it?" she hissed.

  Luke didn't respond. He just grinned.

  "Good to see you're still in one piece, kid," Han said. Then he inclined his head toward Leia. "Greetings, Your Worshipfulness."

  Leia's eyes widened. "Han! I can't—what are you doing up on the…?"

  But she swallowed her words as Han stepped aside and revealed the figure kneeling by the edge of the roof, Han's blaster digging into the side of his head.

  "Elad!" Luke exclaimed. "What's going on?"

  "What's going on is that you owe me another one, kid." Han grimaced down at Elad. "Everything he's told you is a lie. He's not here to help you—he's here to kill you."

  Luke shook his head. Tobin Elad had become a good friend. He'd listened when Luke needed to talk. He'd believed in Luke when Luke hadn't had the strength to belie
ve in himself. "The explosion on Yavin 4?" he asked quietly. "You're saying…"

  "He's a spy," Han said. "Working for the Empire."

  "How do you know?" Leia asked.

  Han raised his eyebrows. "What if I told you I just knew?" he asked. "What if I told you to trust me?"

  Elad turned his face toward Luke and Leia for the first time. "Don't listen to him," he said, in a firm, steady voice. There was no trace of fear in his eyes. "He's the Imperial spy. He came here to kill you, Luke. It's why I'm here—to stop him."

  Han jabbed Elad with the blaster. "Shut up."

  "Or what?" Elad asked. "You'll kill me in cold blood? That will only prove the truth: that you're a mercenary. For enough money you'll do anything. Even kill an innocent man. Or—" He glanced meaningfully at Luke. "Someone foolish enough to believe he's your friend. If I have to die to reveal who you really are? So be it."

  "You're not listening to this junk, are you?" Han asked. "You barely know this guy. Don't know anything about him. And you're going to believe him over me?"

  "And what do they know about you?" Elad countered. "Other than the fact that you're a smuggler, a criminal, and wanted in twenty different star systems. Go on," he urged Leia. "Ask if he has any evidence. Ask if he has a shred of proof that I would ever be a threat to the Rebellion."

  Leia didn't even hesitate. "He doesn't need any."

  Han started in surprise. "I don't?"

  "He doesn't?" X‑7 said, his surprise shocking even himself.

  "No," Luke answered for her. "He doesn't."

  The certainty that filled him had nothing to do with the Force. He didn't need the Force to tell him that he could trust Han. The pilot had proven his loyalty, and his friendship, again and again—and no matter what had happened on Yavin 4, that was unquestionable. Luke had come to Tatooine hoping to take comfort in the friendships of his past, people he'd known long enough and well enough that their loyalty could never be questioned.

  But coming home had made him realize that he wasn't the same naïve moisture farmer he'd been when he left. He wasn't the same Luke Skywalker who'd hunted womp rats with Windy and matched daredevil skyhopper maneuvers against Fixer and Jaxson. They'd known him longer, but they didn't know him better. Not anymore.