Star Wars: Adventures in Wild Space: The Snare

by Cavan Scott

“They’re gone,” Lina breathed.

  Milo sank back into his chair. “I thought they were after us,” he said, his voice shaking.

  “They’re heading toward Thune,” CR-8R reported. “As are we, if you haven’t remembered!”

  “I’m on it,” Lina replied. Milo flicked through the internal camera feeds and found her climbing down into the engineering section.

  “I see you,” Milo said. “How’s it looking in there?”

  “Smoky. There’s been a fire. Some of the cables must have burnt through,” Lina said.

  Milo watched his sister swing over to an access panel. She pulled it open to find their mom’s supply of emergency tools.

  “This shouldn’t take me long,” she promised. Milo hoped she was right. He glanced through the front windows. Thune was massive now and he could make out every ship in its orbit.

  “Those are the new-model Imperial ships—TIE fighters,” CR-8R reported. “They’re docking with that space station.”

  As if on cue, a red light started flashing urgently on the control console.

  “Now what?” Milo asked the droid.

  CR-8R checked the readouts. “It’s the space station. They want to talk to us.”

  “Why?” Milo asked.

  “Without answering their call, that’s difficult to know,” CR-8R remarked.

  “We’ll have to ignore them,” Milo said. “How long until we hit the atmosphere.”

  “Six minutes.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Humor isn’t part of my programming.”

  Milo flicked on the comms. “Did you hear that, Sis?”

  “Loud and clear. The core is in bad shape. The transfer coils are fried, but I should be able to divert power. How’s Crater doing with the repulsors?”

  “Poorly,” was the droid’s too-honest reply. “The safety computer is being stubborn. It won’t release the repulsors until there’s a stable power source.”

  Just then, the light on the console began flashing again.

  “They really want to talk to us, don’t they?” Milo said, staring at the space station.

  “They’ve increased the priority of the signal,” CR-8R told him. “If we don’t answer, they might send those TIE fighters back to investigate.”

  “Just answer the call, Milo!” Lina snapped over the comms. “The last thing we need is another flyby!”

  Milo pressed the communication control with a shaking finger. “H-hello, there,” he said, dropping his voice in an attempt to sound more like his dad. “How can we be of assistance?”

  “This is Imperial Harbor Control. We were about to ask you the same question,” a woman replied. “You are approaching the planet at extreme speed.”

  “Roger that, Harbor Control,” Milo bluffed even though he had no idea what he was talking about. “We’re experiencing a little booster trouble, but will sort it out, er, now-ish.”

  “Now-ish?” Lina repeated from the engineering section.

  Milo glared at her image on the screen.

  “Unidentified Mu-class shuttle! Please transmit your identity,” the harbor controller requested. Panicking, Milo killed the comms.

  “What are you doing?” CR-8R asked.

  “We can’t tell the Empire who we are,” Milo insisted. “They think the Whisper Bird was destroyed. If they find out we’re alive we’ll be arrested like Mom and Dad!”

  “So you’re just going to ignore them?” the droid replied.

  “That won’t work,” Lina said as she pulled on different cables. “As soon as we’re within range, the Whisper Bird will just send our IFF code automatically.”

  “Our what?” Milo asked.

  “Identify Friend or Foe,” CR-8R explained. “Every ship automatically transmits an ID code by law.”

  “Lina can just override it, right?” Milo asked.

  “Even if I could, I’m a little busy,” Lina replied.

  A red light flashed on the console.

  “They’re signaling again,” CR-8R reported.

  Milo felt like screaming. They couldn’t have come this far to be stopped by something as silly as an ID code. Up ahead, the TIE fighters were racing back toward them.

  “How are you doing with that power?” he asked his sister, gripping the arms of the pilot’s chair tightly.

  “I just need a few more minutes,” Lina replied.

  “We don’t have a few minutes. Crater needs to make…” He hesitated, unable to find the right words.

  “Evasive maneuvers,” CR-8R said for him.

  “Not with me next to the generator you don’t!” Lina exclaimed.

  The TIE fighters were now so close that Milo could make out the twin muzzles of their laser cannons. “I don’t think we’re going to have a choice!”

  “We’re coming within IFF transmission range,” CR-8R said.

  “Crater, you have to do something,” Milo pleaded.

  “I’m not sure what I can do,” CR-8R began. “Even if overriding the code wasn’t illeg—”

  Suddenly, the droid froze, his head cocked to one side.

  “Crater?” Milo said, shaking the droid gently.

  “What’s happening?” Lina asked.

  “He just…stopped working,” Milo reported.

  “He what?” Lina cried.

  CR-8R’s head snapped up again and his eyes flashed. One of his probe arms shot out of his body and slammed into the navicomputer. “Overriding codes,” he announced.

  “But you said that we couldn’t—” Milo started.

  Before Milo could finish his sentence, CR-8R answered the harbor controller’s call. The female voice echoed through the cockpit.

  “Starstormer One, we have received your transmission.”

  Milo stared at CR-8R in amazement. Starstormer One? What was that about?

  “Your IFF checks out. Everything present and correct,” the woman said.

  Milo stared at the comms-speaker as the TIE fighters sped back to the base. “It is? I mean, it is. Good. So we can proceed to Thune, then…please?” Milo said shakily.

  “You still need to reduce speed,” the harbor controller replied. “Do you require a tractor beam? We could pull you into the station’s hangar.”

  “No!” Milo shouted, a little too quickly, before recovering. “We don’t need the tractor beam, we have everything under control.”

  He switched frequencies to talk to his sister. “Lina, please tell me we have everything under control?”

  “Rerouting power…now!” Lina reported.

  The Whisper Bird shuddered, nearly throwing Milo from the pilot’s chair. With a squeal, Morq landed in Milo’s lap.

  “The repulsors are responding,” CR-8R said, seemingly back to normal. “Retro-rockets are firing. Acceleration compensators activated.”

  “You did it, Sis,” Milo shouted. “Now get back to the airlock.”

  “There’s no time for that,” CR-8R insisted as the navicomputer beeped wildly. “We’re about to enter the planet’s atmosphere. Mistress Lina, I’m closing the hatch.”

  “What? No!” Lina cried.

  “You will be safe in the engineering shaft while we make planetfall,” CR-8R said. “Well, as safe as any of us.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Milo hissed.

  “Starstormer One, you are coming in too fast,” the harbor controller shouted over the comms. “You are going to crash. Engaging tractor beam.”

  “Crater, do something!” Milo yelled desperately.

  “I am,” the droid replied. “Firing retro-boosters. Full reverse. Hold on!”

  The Whisper Bird’s hull blazed red as it plunged into Thune’s atmosphere, out of control.

  IT WAS LIKE being in an Utapaun whirlwind. It didn’t seem that any harm could come from being thrown around in a confined engineering shaft, but that wasn’t the case. Every twist and turn of the ship sent Lina flying through the air, bouncing from wall to wall.

  “Milo!” she cried out as she wa
s tossed around. “What’s happening?”

  There was no reply, not that she would have been able to hear it if there were. The roar of the engines was deafening and if being thrown around wasn’t bad enough, the heat coming out of the defective generator was making it difficult to breathe.

  Lina was thrown upward toward the closed hatch and slammed into the ceiling. She dropped back down just as a thick cable burst over her head and hot steam sprayed out. For a moment, Lina thought she was going to fly into the hot cloud and be boiled alive in her spacesuit.

  Of course! The spacesuit! That was it!

  She pressed herself to the wall, slapping her palms against the metal. The magna-pads activated and she clung to the wall. No matter how much the ship moved around, she would remain where she was.

  She tried yelling for her brother again, but Milo didn’t respond. The engineering shaft shook, but Lina held on. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain in her ears. The heat from the generator was becoming unbearable. She couldn’t take much more of this.

  Then the floor stopped shaking and the engines settled down to a deep but steady rumble. The temperature was still stifling, but at least she wasn’t being thrown around anymore.

  “Milo?” she gasped, her throat dry.

  There was still no answer. Lina kept the magna-pads on, just in case, but the ship’s descent seemed smooth now.

  If it was a descent at all. Before the ship had started shaking, Lina had heard the harbor controller mention a tractor beam. Is that what had happened? Were they being pulled into the Imperial space station, helpless and without any way to escape?

  There was a sudden thud from below, and Lina jolted forward, jerking her shoulders. She couldn’t help crying out. She had hurt her shoulder just before her parents had been taken and it was still sore. It had happened messing around in a swamp with Milo, when their only worry in the world had been getting in trouble with Mom and Dad.

  That seemed a lifetime ago now.

  Lina released the magna-pads, but waited at the bottom of the shaft. A noise from above made her look up. Someone was walking on the top of the ship, right above her head.

  Who was it? She remembered the stormtroopers, with their pristine armor and emotionless masks, who had taken Mom and Dad.

  And the blasters. She could definitely remember the blasters.

  Lina crouched down, looking out for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere, other than the internal hatch that had jammed earlier, the reason why she’d had to make the space walk in the first place. Yes!

  She scrambled to the door, only to find that the controls were still dead. Reaching back, she snatched a fusioncutter from her mom’s tool kit with shaking fingers. If she could slice through the door, she might be able to escape into the main hold—if it wasn’t crawling with troopers already. It was a chance she’d have to take.

  She fired the cutter’s energy blade as the hatch opened above her head. Lina looked up, raising her hand to protect her eyes from the sunlight that was spilling down from the opening door. She was too late. A monstrous silhouette loomed across the opening, multiple arms flailing around its body. What was it?

  “Mistress Lina?” came a familiar voice.

  Lina laughed and dropped the fusioncutter.

  “Mistress Lina, are you all right?” CR-8R called.

  A familiar mop of unruly hair appeared.

  “Can you see her?”

  “Milo!” she shouted, pulling herself up.

  Her brother waved a hand in front of his face. “Man, it’s hot in there!”

  “Tell me about it,” she cried, her voice cracking.

  Something furry squealed and jumped into the shaft.

  Morq scrambled down toward her, throwing his long monkey-lizard arms around her shoulders when he reached the bottom.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m all right, little fella.” She laughed, returning the hug. “It’s good to see you, too. What happened up there?”

  “Stand back,” CR-8R ordered. “I’m sending down a line.”

  A thin fiber rope dropped down the shaft and Lina grabbed on to it. She sighed in relief as CR-8R began to pull her up to the open hatch. Her body ached so much that she would never have made it up the ladder again.

  At the top, Milo helped Lina onto the hull. Morq hopped over to him and climbed up his shoulders.

  “Are you hurt?” the droid asked, worried.

  “I’m a little bruised and battered, but I’ll be okay. I just need some fresh air,” she said, taking off her helmet. As soon as she did, a foul smell hit her. “Ugh! But the air here stinks!”

  “Sorry,” Milo said. “I should have warned you. This place smells.”

  Then, without warning, he pulled her into a fierce hug. She held him tight.

  “You did it,” she said. “You got us down.”

  “To be honest, Crater did it, not me,” Milo said, pulling away.

  The droid hovered back a couple of paces. “But I won’t be requiring a hug. A simple thank you will suffice.”

  “But what happened?” Lina asked. “I thought they wanted our identification codes.”

  “And that’s what Crater gave them,” Milo said with a grin.

  “How?” Lina asked.

  “It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you,” CR-8R admitted. “I was searching my databank for solutions to our IFF problem and discovered a whole archive of counterfeit registration documents.”

  “Counterfeit? As in fake?” Lina asked.

  “That is what the word means, Mistress Lina,” CR-8R replied. “I’m glad to see all those years of school have paid off.”

  “But how did fake codes get into your database?” Milo asked, confused.

  “Well, they certainly weren’t there before,” the droid said, sounding mortified at the very thought. “I can only guess that they are part of your mother’s data package.”

  That made even less sense. Before being captured, Rhyssa Graf had transmitted some encrypted data files into CR-8R’s memory. The droid had been decrypting them ever since. But why did their parents have a large supply of fake IDs?

  “Can you tell what else is in the data?” Lina asked.

  “I’m still decoding most of it,” CR-8R admitted. “It’s about twelve percent complete.”

  “Why is it taking so long?” Milo asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve just been busy trying not to crash into Thune. Remember? When I saved all our lives?” CR-8R scoffed.

  Ignoring the droid, Lina turned around to take a look at Thune. The Whisper Bird had landed in a busy spaceport. Across the rows of starships was a large town with tall stone buildings.

  “Ow!” Lina cried as something stung the back of her neck. She swatted her hand against her skin and pulled away with a squashed bug in her palm.

  “Oh, yeah, forgot to mention,” Milo said, waving a buzzing fly away from his face. “There are insects everywhere, here. They’re awesome! Other than all the biting and the stinging. That’s kind of annoying.”

  “You need some bug spray, yes?” someone called from below. The children looked down to see a large and wrinkled alien bobbing around on a personal hover-saucer a meter from the ground.

  “Who’s that?” Milo asked.

  “Activating lecture mode,” CR-8R announced. “It appears to be a Jablogian, a native of Nar Kanji. Observe the blemished red skin, the beady yellow eyes, and the unsightly rolls.”

  “You might also want to observe the pointed ears,” the alien shouted, “that can hear every word that rust bucket of yours is saying! Unsightly rolls indeed!”

  “Sorry!” Milo yelled, giving CR-8R a kick. “He didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I can assure you that I did,” the droid sniffed. “You’ll never meet a more dishonest bunch of crooks than the Jablogians.”

  “What was that?” the alien bellowed.

  “He said he’s sorry,” Lina shouted. “And that he didn’t mean it!”

  “Well, I never,”
CR-8R fumed. “I save your lives and this is the thanks I get?”

  “He’s never going to let us forget that, is he?” Milo groaned.

  “Just be quiet and take us down to the ground,” Lina said, climbing onto CR-8R’s hovering base. “I’ve had enough of being up here, one way or another.”

  “What do you think I am?” the droid complained. “A glorified elevator? Oh, very well. I suppose you’d better get on, as well, Master Milo, although that fleabag of a monkey-lizard can find his own way down.”

  In response, Morq jumped onto CR-8R’s head. Grumbling, the droid floated them all down to the ground.

  “That’s better, yes?” the Jablogian said. “No need for all that shouting. Welcome to Thune spaceport.”

  “Thanks,” Milo said. He jumped off CR-8R, only to be attacked by another buzzing insect. “I think.”

  “Thune is a beautiful place,” the alien told them. “Except for all the bugs. It’s the canals, you see; the entire place is built on them. There’s something in the water that attracts insects.”

  “Lots of insects,” Lina groaned, swatting her neck again.

  “Which is why you need this,” the alien said, pulling out a can of spray. “Nazgorigan’s patented bug repellent. Guaranteed to make the little bugs buzz off. How many would you like?”

  “Sorry?” Lina asked.

  “How many would you like to buy? You won’t get far on Thune without one can or seven. Unless you like scratching yourself until you’re raw, yes?”

  “Okay, we’ll take one,” Milo said, pulling a credit chip from his pocket. “How much?”

  “Four credits each,” the alien replied.

  “Four credits? That’s a bit expensive!” Milo said.

  “Buy two get one free?” the alien suggested, pulling two more cans from his pack.

  An insect landed on Milo’s nose. “Fine, we’ll take two.”

  “A pleasure doing business with you,” the alien said, handing over the cans and stuffing Milo’s credits into a leather purse. “Don’t forget, if you need more just call my name and I’ll come running.”

  “Your name?” Lina asked.

  “Nazgorigan,” the alien said, his lips pulling back into a repulsive yellow-toothed grin. “Like it says on the can. Good-bye.”