Star Wars: The Hand of Thrawn II: Vision of the Future

by Timothy Zahn

  Luke took a careful breath. “We’re friends,” Luke called. “We mean the Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo no harm.”

  The fluid eyes seemed to focus on him. “Who dares disturb the sleep of the Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo?”

  Luke looked at Mara. “A recording?”

  “Sounds like it,” she agreed tightly. “But what good does a recording—watch it!”

  But Luke was already spinning around, lightsaber flashing out into defensive position in front of him, as his own senses flared a warning.

  There were two of them, standing there on the upper section of floor: a pair of large, thickset sentinel droids on treaded bases, each with a heavy blaster gripped in its right hand.

  “Get behind me!” Luke snapped to Mara, taking a short step in front of her.

  Just in time. Even as he stretched out to the Force, both sentinels opened fire.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he heard Mara snarl from behind him. “A big fat diversion—the oldest trick on the list. And I fell for it like some dumb farm kid.”

  “Watch your language,” Luke warned. The sentinels were good, laying out a systematic targeting pattern that would have quickly taken out most opponents. So far, though, he was easily staying ahead of them. “Can you do anything about them?”

  Her reply was a spitting of blaster fire over his shoulder raking across the sentinels’ joints and glowing eyes. But there was no effect. “No good—the armor’s too thick for my blaster,” she said. “Let me try—”

  “Watch it—he’s moving,” Luke cut her off. The sentinel on the left had suddenly started rolling on its treads along the raised floor ring toward the far end of the room, blaster still firing. Luke clenched his teeth, stretching out harder to the Force, feeling sweat breaking out on his forehead. With the source of the blaster bolts now coming from two different directions—and with the separation between them growing ever wider—it was becoming harder and harder for him to physically get the lightsaber blade back and forth fast enough to block the shots. Behind him, he heard the snap-hiss as Mara ignited her own lightsaber—

  Followed by a sudden yelp and a muffled thud.

  “What happened?” Luke snapped, not daring to take his attention off the sentinels.

  “Don’t try to walk,” Mara warned, her voice inexplicably coming from the floor beneath him. “Thrawn left another surprise for unwanted guests.”

  Luke frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blue-white blade of her lightsaber cut across one of the shots from the more distant sentinel, now at the far end of the room. “Okay, I’ve got this one,” she said. “If you can spare a second, take a look at the floor.”

  Letting the Force guide his hands, Luke risked a quick look down at his feet.

  One glance was all he needed. The floor had sprouted loops of green-black cord that had formed themselves into a tangled mass around their feet. “Looks like they extruded themselves out of the cracks between the tiles,” Mara went on. “First step I took my foot tried to catch in one of the loops.”

  “Clever,” Luke agreed tightly. “I guess that rules out any chance of running for it.”

  “At least we know now why all the furniture’s stacked off to the side,” Mara added. “You don’t want to clutter your killing field with a lot of stuff the victims might be able to hide behind. Luke, this other sentinel’s still coming.”

  Luke risked a glance. The second sentinel had rounded the far end of the room and was now rolling steadily around the other side.

  And in maybe ten seconds it would reach a point directly across from Mara.

  “Quick—before it gets any closer,” he told her, easing a little to his left so he could again defend against both sentinels. “Use your lightsaber on it.”

  “Right,” Mara said, and through his haze of concentration he felt her emotional twinge at the memory of her less than perfect handling of the weapon back in the chamber where they’d taken out all of the stalactites and stalagmites together.

  But the moment passed; and as he leaned hard into the effort of blocking the barrage of shots he saw the flash as her lightsaber windmilled across the room toward the sentinel. It sliced cleanly into the intersection of head and body—

  And then, abruptly, the blue-white blade vanished.

  “What happened?” Luke demanded.

  “Blast it!” Mara snarled. Out of the corner of Luke’s eye he saw the blade reappear, swing into the sentinel, and again vanish. “He put a layer of cortosis ore under the armor.”

  “Then go for the blaster,” Luke said.

  “Right.”

  The blue-white blade sizzled out again—there was a crackle of broken metal and plastic—and suddenly that point of danger faded from Luke’s mind. “Good job,” he called to Mara, shifting his full attention to the sentinel in front of him. “Now get around here and do the same thing to this one—”

  He swiveled back again, getting his lightsaber blade around just in time. Suddenly the sentinel on Mara’s side had started shooting again—

  “Watch it,” Mara snapped a belated warning. “It had another blaster holstered for its left hand—oh, shavit.”

  “What—? Never mind,” Luke growled. In response to Mara’s attack, the sentinel facing him had now drawn a second blaster from concealment with its left hand.

  “He’s got a second blaster for the right, too—”

  “I got it, I got it,” Luke cut her off, leaning still harder into his defense. With twice as many shots coming in now from each of the sentinels, they were in worse shape than they had been before. A missed blaster bolt sizzled painfully across the top of his left shoulder—

  “Sorry,” Mara said, her back pressing against his now, the hum of her lightsaber like an angry insect behind him. “What do we do now?”

  Luke grimaced. The row of ysalamiri-equipped Chiss he’d faced up in the fortress had been bad enough; but at least there they’d had the option of shooting their opponents if defense became too difficult. Here, trapped in the middle of an open room, caught in a crossfire from two tireless droids who couldn’t be killed, with tangling cords around their feet precluding any chance of fast escape …

  “Luke?” Mara called again over the sound and fury. “You hear me?”

  “I heard you, I heard you,” he snapped back.

  “So what do we do?”

  Luke swallowed hard. “I have no idea.”

  Beneath Leia, the Predominance’s great bulk shuddered as another proton torpedo got through the Ishori defenses, its violent explosion ripping another piece out of the hull. Ahead out the main bridge canopy, the sky was a tangle of turbolaser blasts splashing across their shields or occasionally burning through to vaporize layers of metal or transparisteel.

  But in that sudden, heart-stopping moment, none of that mattered; not the battle, not her own life, not even the terrible threat of civil war. With that flicker of distant emotion, that sudden tremor in the Force, one thing alone had surged to overriding importance for her.

  Somewhere out there, Han was in deadly danger.

  “Captain Av’muru!” she shouted over the din of the bridge, crossing quickly toward the command console. Two guards raised their blasters warningly; without thinking, Leia stretched out with the Force to turn the weapons aside as she passed. “Captain, I must speak with you right away.”

  “I am busy, Councilor,” the Ishori captain snarled, not even bothering to look at her.

  “You’ll be busier than you care to be if you don’t listen to me,” Leia bit out, straining with all her strength toward the wispy, unclear sensation that was Han. His emotions were still seething with danger and threat and helpless fury; but try as she might, she couldn’t penetrate through the emotion and the distance to his underlying thoughts.

  But there was one thing that was very clear. “There’s some new threat waiting out there,” she told Av’muru. “One you’re completely unaware of.”

&nbs
p; “Other threats are meaningless!” Av’muru all but screamed. “There can be no other concern but the Diamalan attackers around us.”

  “Captain—”

  She broke off at a feathery touch on her arm. “It’s no use, Councilor,” Gavrisom said, his long face tight and almost bitter. “He can’t and won’t think that far ahead. Not with his ship under immediate attack. Can you tell me what this threat is?”

  Leia looked out the canopy, trying to pierce the dazzlingly lethal light show outside. “Han’s in danger,” she said.

  “Where? How?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her stomach twisting with her own sense of helplessness. “I can’t pick up his thoughts clearly enough.”

  “Who else might know?” Gavrisom asked.

  Leia took a deep breath, forcing calmness into her mind. Gavrisom was right: what Han needed was for her to put aside her emotions and think clearly. “Elegos was with him on the Falcon,” she said, stretching out again with the Force. But there was nothing. “I can’t even sense him.”

  “Who else might know?” Gavrisom persisted. “Someone closer at hand?”

  Leia looked out at the battle again, a sudden tentative flicker of hope stirring in her. “Lando. Han might have said something to Lando.”

  “Then we must talk to him,” Gavrisom said firmly. “I will go speak to the captain about piercing the Diamalan jamming. In the meantime, is there anything your Jedi skills can do about it?”

  Leia took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” she said. “Let me try.”

  · · ·

  “I tell you, this can’t wait,” Lando insisted, throwing every bit of urgency and intimidation he could muster into his voice. “I have to speak to High Councilor Organa Solo right away. The whole fate of the New Republic might well hang on the edge. Not to mention your own lives.”

  “Really,” Senator Miatamia said, his voice icy calm. Diamala, Lando knew, were notoriously hard to read, but it was abundantly clear the Senator wasn’t impressed. “And what is the nature of this threat?”

  “My friend Han went out to take a look at that comet out there,” Lando said. “I was watching him on macrobinoculars … and he just vanished.”

  Miatamia’s cheeks creased. “You mean he crashed?”

  “I mean he vanished,” Lando insisted. “Right out in the open.”

  “Yet how truly open is the region around a comet?” the Diamal pointed out, an ear twitching. “He may have veered into the gases of the tail, or you may have lost sight of him briefly in the glare of sunlight from the surface.”

  Lando grimaced. Not only was Miatamia not convinced, he wasn’t even going to give it a fair hearing.

  But Lando knew what he had seen. “All right, then,” he said between clenched teeth. “In that case, I’m calling in the favor you owe me.”

  Both ears twitched this time. “What favor is this?”

  “I gave you a ride to Coruscant from Cilpar, remember?” Lando reminded him. “You’ve never paid me back for that.”

  “You stated at the time that you would not require any payment other than our conversation.”

  “I lied,” Lando said evenly. “And I want my favor now.”

  Miatamia eyed him darkly. “We are in a combat situation.”

  “This won’t jeopardize that.” Lando gestured at the bridge, lying beyond the transparisteel wall of the observation deck he and Miatamia were standing on. “All I want is for the jamming of the Predominance lifted, just on Councilor Organa Solo’s personal comlink frequency. Just that one frequency—that’s all.”

  The Diamal shook his head. “I cannot gamble that such an action would not create additional danger for Diamalan lives and goods.”

  He turned away, facing the battle again. Lando swallowed a curse, looking past him and the besieged Ishori ship at the comet glowing with such deceptive serenity out beyond the fighting. Han had asked for his help. Had trusted him.

  And he did know what he’d seen.

  “All right,” he said, stepping squarely in front of Miatamia again. It was time to put his money where it counted. “A gamble, you say? Fine—let’s gamble.”

  He pointed out the viewport at the Ishori ship. “Here’s the bet. You let me talk to Leia right now; and if the threat turns out not to be as serious as I claim it is, you and the Diamala will get my mining and casino operation on Varn.”

  The Senator’s ears twitched. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly serious,” Lando said. “My friend’s in danger, and I’m the only one who can help him.”

  For a long moment the Diamal stared at him. “Very well,” he said at last. “High Councilor Organa Solo’s private comlink frequency only. And for no more than two minutes.”

  “Done.” Lando nodded. “How fast can you arrange it?”

  Miatamia turned toward the observation deck’s intercom and spoke rapidly in the Diamalan language. He was answered in kind. There was one more quick exchange—“It is done,” he said, turning back to Lando. “Your two minutes are running.”

  Lando already had his comlink out and keyed. “Leia?”

  “Lando!” her relieved voice came back instantly. “I was hoping to get through to you. Han’s in trouble.”

  “I know,” Lando said. “He went with Carib to check out the comet and asked me to watch with macrobinoculars. They cut in close to the surface, and then just disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?” Leia asked anxiously. “As if they’d crashed?”

  “No,” Lando said grimly. “As if they’d dipped inside a cloaking shield.”

  He heard her sharp intake of air. “Lando, we’ve got to get over there right away. If there’s an Imperial ship hiding out there—”

  “Hey, no argument here,” Lando said. “But I’ve already used up all my favors getting this call through.”

  “All right,” Leia said, her voice suddenly dark. “It’s up to me, then.”

  “What are you going to do?” Lando asked.

  “I’m going to help Han,” she said, her voice as cold as he’d ever heard it. “Stay clear—you don’t want to get involved in this.”

  The transmission clicked off. “Too late for that, Leia,” he muttered at the dead comlink. “Years and years too late.”

  Another barrage of turbolaser fire lanced out from the nearest of the two Golan weapons platforms, the spread targeting the group of starfighters harrying its flank.

  Wedge twisted his X-wing safely between the shots and did a quick check of the rest of his squadron. As with the last such salvo, and the four or five before it, none of them had taken any damage.

  Neither, as far as he could tell, had anyone else in the attack fleet. Bel Iblis’s strategy of staying just at the edge of the Golans’ kill zone had so far paid off.

  But that strategy was about to change.

  “All fighter wings, this is Perris,” the voice of the Peregrine’s fighter commander came tautly through his headset. “Captain Tre-na has confirmed that General Bel Iblis is definitely in trouble in there.”

  Wedge grimaced, wondering what about the situation had needed any confirmation in the first place. Nose to nose with another Imperial Star Destroyer, pinned in place by probably every heavy tractor beam the Ubiqtorate base could bring to bear—

  “Look—they’re firing,” Rogue Five snapped. “Everything they’ve got, looks like.”

  “I see it,” Wedge said, gazing through the separating distance at the blaze of turbolaser fire flashing out from the Errant Venture, his last faint hope that Bel Iblis might still be able to talk his way out of this evaporating like morning mist at sunrise. If he’d opened fire on the base, it meant the bluff had failed.

  It also meant he was running low on time. That second Star Destroyer, not to mention the Ubiqtorate base commander, wasn’t just going to sit there while Bel Iblis vaped their tractor emplacements and got away.

  Tre-na and the rest of the fleet command staff aboard the Peregrine had clea
rly come to the same conclusion. “Okay, fighters,” Perris said. “The fleet’s going in, and we’re going in hard. Your job is to draw fire away from the main ships, help wherever you can to punch a hole in the defense perimeter, and be ready to run screen when the Imperials finally launch their own fighters. All wings, acknowledge and prepare.”

  “Rogue Leader, copy,” Wedge said, then keyed for the squadron’s private frequency. “Well, Rogues, you’ve all had a look at the perimeter. Any thoughts on where the weak spots are?”

  “Maybe,” Rogue Twelve said. “Seems to me the turbolasers on the starboard side of that second Golan have a slight flutter.”

  “You sure?” Rogue Three asked. “I didn’t notice anything.”

  “It’s small, but it’s there,” Rogue Twelve said. “It may be just enough to leave a small gap between—”

  “General Antilles?” a new voice cut in.

  Wedge frowned. It was a familiar voice, but not one of his squadron. “This is Antilles,” he confirmed cautiously.

  “This is Talon Karrde. How are things?”

  It took Wedge a second to find his voice. “Karrde, what in blazes are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “To be perfectly honest, trying to get past your forces,” Karrde said. “Is Commander Horn there with you?”

  “I’m here,” Rogue Nine said. “What do you want?”

  “I want to collect on a favor you owe me,” Karrde said. “The one we discussed the last time we were together on the Errant Venture, remember?”

  There was an exasperated-sounding noise in Wedge’s headset. “Karrde, are you crazy? We’re in the middle of a battle here.”

  “Which is precisely why I need the favor now,” Karrde said. “I need you to escort me through the New Republic lines.”

  “To where?” Rogue Nine countered. “In case you hadn’t noticed, on the other side of our lines is an Imperial Ubiqtorate base.”

  “Which, conveniently, happens to be my destination,” Karrde told him.

  Wedge snorted gently. “The Wild Karrde must be a lot better armored than I thought.”

  “The Imperials won’t be a problem,” Karrde said. “I have a high-level code for getting through their lines. My problem is your lines.”