Star Wars
Maze Run
by
David J. Williams and Mark S. Williams
It was the mother of all lightning storms.
Huge jets of relativistic plasma surged from the polar regions of the black hole, lighting up the dark with tendrils of shimmering fire. There was only one direction for a sane pilot to go: far away, as quickly as possible.
The Millennium Falcon gunned its engines and headed in.
Nor was this black hole an ordinary specimen.
Every galaxy rotates around a supermassive vortex, but this particular one was the hub of the dwarf galaxy known as the Rishi Maze. Vast fields of gravitation, energy, and debris stretched out on all sides. Perhaps that labyrinth of death was the reason the galaxy was called the Maze in the first place. Perhaps.
Han Solo didn’t care.
What he cared about was angles and vectors and flight paths. As well as the fact that he’d been presented with a challenge of the first magnitude, for only the very best pilots stood a chance of getting through the Maze. That was what Solo cared about.
And payment. That, too.
The truly annoying part was that so far this undertaking had already cost him the highest price of all: a girl. While carousing at his favorite space bar back at Mos Eisley, he’d been that close to getting with that minx Jenny. They’d flirted and flitted around one another for months and he’d finally managed to peel her off from her throng of admirers, when the broker approached him. Norund Tac - fixture at the Merchants Guild and a longtime glitterstim smuggler - said he had a run that required a cool hand on the stick... somebody who could handle not just the Imperial Blockade of Hutt space but who could get through to the very center of the Rishi Maze. Tac was fronting for a group of spacers running an illegal energy farm deep in that maelstrom and who badly needed supplies of every kind: phase-loop generators, ramscoop coils, reserve shielding, the works. The Empire had the vertical space trade lane shut down, so the only way to reach the customers was via a run through the radiation fields dangerously close to the galaxy’s black hole. Which was all the more reason to drive a hard bargain - or else walk away entirely.
As it was, Han balked right up until the moment Tac laid half the payment on the table and promised a tidy little bonus at the delivery point. By the time they’d sealed the deal, Jenny had wandered off with Tork the Bouncer and another night of potential bliss went up in smoke. By the morning, Han and Chewie were aboard the Falcon and running from an Imperial cruiser hellbent on preventing them from jumping out of Hutt space. But giving the Imperials the slip was the Falcon’s speciality and in the chase that followed, she more than lived up to her reputation... albeit with a few hits to the aft shielding.
Of course, that was the easy part. Now they had to thread the maze. Han watched while the Falcon’s computer spat out the initial parameters of the run, calibrating a whole host of variables to plot the optimal way through the legion of obstacles. Han spread his gloved fingers over the holo-deck and began to shift the various indicators around for the tasks ahead. He’d learned his lesson long ago: reconfigure the deck as needed and never get locked into anything. Flexibility was the key, and Han had made sure that the Falcon was the most flexible ship he’d ever piloted. To most, she was just another beat-up old freighter, barely capable of carrying a load big enough to support her operations - but to Han she was better than having your own personal Star Destroyer. He’d put enough special tweaks and one-of-a-kind modifications into her to make the Falcon the match of any smuggling vessel on the Outer Rim.
On the screen, the radiation levels were climbing, and on the speakers so was the volume of Chewie’s growls.
“Nothing to worry about,” drawled Han.
Chewie’s barbed retort resonated through the cockpit. He was down in the access corridors, still running the post-hyperflight checks. They’d hoped to have some time between exiting hyperspace and entering the Maze, but with Imperial ships in the vicinity, they’d had to forgo that luxury. But what Chewie wasn’t forgoing was conducting the checks manually. He was a stickler for caution.
This was fine by Han. Given that he liked taking extra risks, he and the Wookiee balanced each other out. Great partnerships had been built on far less. Han grasped the stick and throttled the Falcon in, dodging past the photospheres of some of the stars caught in the black hole’s outermost orbits. A few of those stars even had planets that the black hole had yet to tug loose from their grip: chunks of rock hewing close to their suns, any atmosphere long since swallowed by the maw that filled half the sky. Chewie’s face appeared on the screen - he tossed back his head and growled to indicate that everything was checking out from the hyperspace jump and they could proceed as planned.
“Good,” said Han, “because we already have.” The Wookiee protested, but Han just kept talking over him: “I’m taking us in now; we can’t waste any more time if we want to catch that directional beacon when it goes off.” That had been its own argument, of course - Chewie wasn’t too happy with the fact that they didn’t even know the precise location of the rogue energy-farm, and that instead, the station would signal to them once they’d navigated enough of the Maze to be reachable on the comlinks. Even though Solo had replaced the Falcon’s stock sensors with a military grade package years ago, finding the beacon amongst all the energy distortions would be no easy feat. He throttled the Falcon up to half speed and eased the ship into the gaps between the radiation fields. Those fields were shifting quickly enough that the Falcon’s computer was working hard to plot the optimal flight vectors - and working overtime to factor out interference on the instrument readings. Han gazed out of the cockpit as he eased between gigantic lakes of high-energy clouds. The ship shook as the gravitational forces increased - and then suddenly the radiation levels were spiking. Chewie’s questioning growl reverberated through the com system. All Han could do was shrug agreement.
“Getting a little hot up here,” he said, and put the Falcon into a slow roll, flipping the craft belly up to where her shields were at maximum. For a moment, the rad-readings held steady - and then they kept on climbing, reaching steadily toward the red, becoming intense enough that the cockpit was in growing jeopardy. Han let out a curse. Given the damage to the aft-shields, he’d expected this kind of development, just not so soon. If he stayed where he was, the radiation would boil him from the inside out. He flicked off the autopilot and proceeded to power down some of the ship’s more fragile systems.
“Chewie, prep the engineering station. I gotta close up the cockpit.”
Which took only another ten seconds. Han lowered the cockpit’s blast shielding and proceeded to get the hell out of there, making for the auxiliary flight controls at the engineering station. Departing from the cockpit left a bad taste in his mouth because he’d have to fly the ship entirely by instruments and holo-display. He thought back to his flight training days and remembered how the words of his old instructor Alexsandr Badure and the infamous tactician Adar Tallon meshed.
When all else fails, you’ve always got your eyes.
But now he was blind. A light sweat broke out on his brow. It became just that little bit heavier as he reached the engineering station to be greeted by Chewbacca’s mournful howl.
“What do you mean the navcom’s out?” Solo stepped back, gave the casing a well placed kick, and was rewarded with the holo-screens flaring to life. “See? The old girl loves me.” Ignoring Chewie’s skeptical grumble, he keyed the 3D nav display’s resolution to maximum. The astrogation displays centered on the black hole as they scrolled myriad data on the rising gravity and energy fields. Solo’s fingers danced across the touch screens, making micro adjust
ments to the ship’s course and speed while Chewie coaxed ever-greater performance levels from the engines. As always, the Falcon’s navcom anticipated moves and fed course corrections as needed. The computer was so attuned to his piloting that Solo had long since come to regard it as a third crew member. Now that trust was paying off. For the next twenty minutes, man and machine and Wookiee ran the galaxy’s most lethal gauntlet without incurring any further damage. As they emerged from another gap in the radiation fields, Solo resumed scanning for that beacon.
Only to find something else entirely.
The whole screen was alive with data. There were so many mass-signatures that for one crazy moment Solo thought they were in the middle of an asteroid field. And then the holo-display crystallized: he was looking at a massive cluster of debris caught in a gravitational pocket. Chewie’s inquisitive rumble echoed up from the engine-room.
“Copy that,” said Solo. “It’s a ship’s graveyard-” But even as he said that, he realized it wasn’t quite true. Chills went up his spine as he realized what he really was looking at: not pieces of broken ships, but rather pieces of a single ship... a battlecruiser, thousands of meters long, its spine long snapped by the impact of the gravitational fields. Yet the ship’s huge axe-shaped aft seemed to be mostly intact, blunt and menacing. Strangely, there didn’t appear to be any listing of this type of vessel in the Falcon’s records, though Solo had been assured that the last system update was the most comprehensive ship overview one could get on the black market. It certainly wasn’t any kind of craft Solo had ever encountered, and there were few ship designs he hadn’t been exposed to during his time on the Outer Rim.
“You ever see a ship like that?” he asked Chewie as the Wookiee emerged from the ship’s engine room wearing his welding goggles, a power-torch in one paw. Chewie leaned in and took a closer look - then let out a series of short barks.
“You really think it’s that old?” Han frowned. “It’s one hell of a piece of engineering, that’s for sure. Some of its systems are still functioning...”
Han trailed off as the threat computer flashed on, displaying half a dozen contacts peeling out of the debris and moving in fast. He let out a low curse. His active scans had probably set them off. But they were too small to be fighters. Which meant...
“This ship’s got some kind of automated defense system,” he muttered. But Chewbacca had already put two and two together and was sprinting off to the quad laser. Solo throttled the ship into high-gear; as he tracked the incoming drones he realized that even a crack shot like Chewie would be hard-pressed to destroy them. Each drone radiated a shield much more powerful than any machine of that size ought to boast. He recalled another of his tutors’ key rules: never mind the fancy maneuvers - just go straight at them! It wasn’t like he had any other choice. He pulled the Falcon’s nose up and punched it.
As he did so, the drones rolled into attack position and unleashed a withering barrage of blaster cannon fire at the Falcon. Solo felt the ship buckle as he spun the craft on its axis to present the rear shields to his attackers. He heard the unmistakable sound of the Falcon’s quad lasers answering back. As Chewie scored a direct hit, blowing one target to pieces, the remaining pods broke off and angled for another line of attack against the Falcon’s weakened front shielding. They were going to bring him down through sheer numbers, Solo realized. Like wolf cats harrying prey. But even as he braced himself, the holo-display caught his attention with more data. The computer had decoded the transmissions among the defense drones.
And between those drones and the derelict ship.
Solo swore under his breath. The ancient starship’s power plant and main engine systems were still active! The sensors showed the bright lines of microwave energy flowing from the starship, powering the drones. The computer was busy trying to disable those energy signals, but wasn’t making any headway. Still... a crazy idea came into Solo’s head. So crazy he didn’t even dare tell Chewie. He patted the Falcon’s nav-computer like a beloved pet.
“Don’t let me down, baby” -and then he turned the Falcon sharply, sent it hurtling past the huge ship. The drones turned to pursue him while the Falcon’s computer went into overdrive, its signals wending their way ever deeper into the starship’s systems, searching for the behemoth’s engines. As the Falcon shot past the huge craft’s rear, the drones opened fire at a range that was all too close; Han’s chair shook as the Falcon’s shields went into the red. He heard Chewie’s howls of anger sounding from the quad-laser turret. But as the drones closed in for the kill, the Falcon’s computer found what it was looking for-
“Do it,” Han said through gritted teeth.
-and ordered the giant starship’s engines to ignite a full burn. White heat surged across the pursuing drones, detonating them in a series of flashes. Next moment, the burn ceased, the long-derelict reactor exhausted. All that was left of the drones was more debris. The momentum of the starship’s engine-block carried it forward into the next piece of wreckage, which in turn slammed against the forward section. A nasty chain reaction was underway, but Han wasn’t waiting around - he punched the Falcon’s afterburners and roared out of the gravity pocket, back into the fields of energy. They were moving much faster now with the boost. That black hole was getting closer with every moment, a backdrop against all the stars and radiation, the hub around which it was all turning.
And then Solo heard a loud beeping.
At first he thought it was another of those drones.
But Chewie’s yell of triumph said otherwise-
“Pay-dirt,” yelled Solo. They’d found the beacon. Its syncopated rhythm echoed through the corridors of the Falcon as the computer ran extrapolations back to its source: a rock orbiting a star that in turn was orbiting less than 1.5 tera meters from the event horizon of the black hole. The energy readings indicated a substantial base there - easily large enough to harness energy from the black hole that stretched over it like some kind of demented sun. Solo let out a sigh of relief - and stopped as the base’s defense weaponry locked onto the Falcon. The comlink began flashing. A disembodied voice reverberated through the cockpit.
“Unidentified vessel, identify yourself.”
Solo took a deep breath. “Epsilon zero-five-six-eight-Z,” he said. The code phrase he’d been given back at Mos Eisley, the sequence upon which this entire mission depended...
“Affirmative,” said the voice. “This is Firebase Alpha. We read you, Falcon. How was your trip?”
A grin spread over Solo’s face. “Just fine, Alpha. No problems.” His voice took on a sardonic tone. “Apart from Imperial starships on the way in and some kind of half-dead starship in the middle of the Maze.”
“Sounds like you met our Sith relic,” said the voice.
“Your what?”
“Most of the routes skirt the wreckage. Sorry you got the one that didn’t.”
“You and me both,” muttered Solo.
“Well... congratulations on keeping your hide intact. We’re clearing you for landing on approach vector 1.3 Zeta.”
“Roger that, Alpha,” said Solo. “Think you could have a couple of a glasses of T’lil T’lil ready for us?”
The voice chuckled. “We’ll see what we can do Alpha - over and out.” As Han switched off the comlink, Chewie’s rumbling baritone sounded over the ship’s speakers. Han frowned.
“What do you mean power surge?” Han scanned the internal sensors and saw that the forward cargo was indeed showing a weird energy reading. It looked like it might be some kind of feedback from the just-received beacon - an echo in the system. But even as Solo suggested this to Chewie, the Wookiee cut him off, grunting that he was heading forward to the hold.
“Oh for the love of...” Solo activated the autopilot and raced to the forward holds to find Chewie already inside, pointing a hand scanner at one of the huge oblong crates that constituted the Falcon’s cargo. Solo’s eyes went wide.
“It’s coming from inside that box?” he a
sked.
The Wookiee nodded. Han was getting a sinking feeling about this. He grabbed a charged pry-bar and unceremoniously popped the cargo container’s magnetic seal, revealing a two-meter long canister covered in what looked like Imperial markings. At the top of the canister was a device that could only be a detonator. And as for the canister itself...
Han snatched the hand scanner from his friend’s gigantic paw and shoved the device up close. The result flashed onscreen:
“Baradium,” he said.
Chewie snarled with anger. The scanner rattled off more specs, but Han didn’t need to read any of them. He’d spent enough time as an Imperial cadet to know all about baradium and the disintegrating wave its fusion reaction unleashed.
And there was enough here to fracture a small moon.
Solo slammed his fist against the bulkhead. It all fell into place like getting dealt the perfect hand in a rigged card game. There was only one type of man insane enough to hide on the lip of a black hole mining energy: Kriffin’ Rebels. And what better way to wipe them out then to send in a couple of dupes unwittingly carrying a bomb on a supply run? Chalk one up to the Imperials’ department of dirty tricks. The hand scanner told him the rest of the story: the beacon’s signal must have inadvertently played havoc with the bomb’s electronic detonator, activating it prematurely. Undoubtedly, the plan had been for it to go off when the Falcon reached the base. Now it was on a countdown. But how much time did they have?
Star Wars - Maze Run Page 1
