Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy II: Assault at Selonia

by Roger MacBride Allen

  “No, you don’t,” Jacen said, more than a little tired of being in charge of his little brother. He and Jaina were taking turns being responsible for him. In another ten minutes Anakin would be her problem, and for that, Jacen was thankful.

  “I need to get up,” Anakin said again.

  “Why?” Jacen asked, calling his kid brother’s bluff. “What is it you need?” He knew perfectly well that what Anakin really had in mind was rushing to the Falcon’s cabin to help push the buttons. Of course, the scary thing was that he’d probably push all the right buttons. Anakin’s skill with electronics and machinery was more than a little disconcerting, even to Jacen. It was like Anakin’s Force skills had taken some sort of weird hard left turn. But, all that being said, “probably” wasn’t good enough on a spaceship—especially one as wonked out as the Falcon usually was.

  “Well, um, I gotta—”

  “And don’t tell me it’s the bathroom,” Jacen said, guessing what was going to come next. “You just went.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Anakin. “Well, um, I gotta get up and—and—find my bookchip. I need it to read.”

  “Oh, brother,” Jaina said. “How dumb does he think we are? Jacen, did we used to do this?”

  “We must have,” Jacen said. “I just hope we were better at it.”

  “Better at what?” Anakin demanded. “What?”

  “Being sneaky,” Jaina said. “If you’re going to tell a fib, at least think up the whole thing before you start. No one believes you when you stop halfway through like that. And besides, the bookchip is a really bad excuse. You can barely read yet.”

  “I know my letters and numbers.”

  “But you can’t read a whole book to yourself yet, can you?”

  “Almost,” said Anakin, but even he seemed to realize he wasn’t very convincing. “But I still need to get up.”

  Jacen let out a sigh. “Anakin, you can’t go to the cockpit. Period. That’s it. If we let you go, Chewbacca would just throw you right back out, and you’d be in trouble and we’d be in trouble, and it all would be for nothing.”

  “Well, okay,” Anakin said. “But would it be okay if I just got up and looked for my bookchip?”

  “No. You can’t get up. None of us can. The grown-ups are all busy, and we can’t interrupt them, and we can’t be wandering around, in case the Falcon hits a bump. I can’t get up, you can’t get up, no one can get up until Ebrihim says we can. All right?”

  “All right.” Anakin said, his voice turning sulky. “But can I just—”

  “No!” Jacen said. “Just lie still and be quiet.” He waited a minute to see what his little brother would do next. It would either be a tantrum or a sullen silence with occasional mutterings about the injustice of the universe. Jacen devoutly hoped for the latter. It was a lot quieter.

  After a minute’s silence he heard mumbling from the bunk below his, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now the trick was to be quiet until Anakin forgot he was mad, or else Anakin would get mad all over again that he had to be quiet while the other kids could talk.

  Not for the first time in the last few days, Jacen found himself beginning to appreciate just how much his parents had to put up with.

  He and Jaina had been forced to do a lot of growing up in the last few days. The escape from Corona House had been chaotic and terrifying, and the flight to Drall had seemed to have consisted of terror, tension, tedium, and low comedy. The terror had come early, when the Corellian PPBs had attacked them and done some damage before Chewbacca could shoot them down. The tension had come in waiting to see if Chewbacca’s improvised repairs would hold together long enough to get them to Drall—or anyplace at all, even at the minimum power levels that were all the Wookiee was willing to risk. Tedium barely described the long dull days it took to get to Drall. As for the low comedy—well, it came along more or less automatically whenever Chewbacca, Q9, and Anakin were in the same compartment.

  It didn’t help matters that no one had had a chance to pack anything in the frantic rush to escape the havoc on Corellia. Each of them had exactly two sets of clothes—whatever they had happened to be wearing at the moment the attack started, and one set of cut-down ship’s coveralls each, scrounged from whatever their parents had happened to leave on board. Q9 had proved surprisingly skillful in cutting children’s clothes out of adult ones, but the coveralls didn’t fit properly, and it was a perfect nuisance the way Ebrihim insisted that they wash everything out between wearings. Seeing how he didn’t wear any clothes at all, it hardly seemed fair. In any event, considering that they had almost no clothes, there certainly was a lot of laundry to do.

  And then there was Anakin.

  It had fallen to Jaina and Jacen not only to take care of themselves, but to keep Anakin in line as well—and the twins had learned very quickly that keeping their kid brother out of trouble was a lot less entertaining—and a lot more difficult—than helping him get into it.

  But learning how to do laundry and baby-sitting were far from the only growing up they had done. There were more serious problems as well.

  There was the question of secrets, for example. Back on Corellia, before the trouble started, Anakin, somehow, had sensed the presence of a huge, ancient, underground facility of unknown purpose, and led Jacen, Jaina, and Q9 straight to it. The children had told their parents, Ebrihim, and Chewbacca about it, but no one had the slightest idea what the installation was. All anyone knew for sure was that the Human League was looking for it, though no one knew why. It seemed obvious to Jacen that something had to be done about the place Anakin had found, but he could not think of what. It was starting to dawn on him that grown-ups had to deal with that kind of ambiguity a lot.

  And that was not all that had happened on Corellia. The night before the attack on Corona House, all three children had eavesdropped on a meeting between their parents, Governor-General Micamberlecto, and Mara Jade, and overheard a lot of top-secret things about the starbuster plot, stuff that had not gotten out to the general public. The children hadn’t meant to hear such vital information, but they had. Jacen was virtually certain that Ebrihim, Q9, and Chewbacca knew nothing about that meeting.

  And that made the three children the only people off the surface of Corellia who knew about the plot—except the bad guys, of course.

  And what they were supposed to do about that, Jacen had not the faintest idea.

  Ebrihim looked through the viewport at the surface of Drall, compared it against the map display, and then nodded. “This is approximately the right position,” he said. “You may begin your descent from orbit.”

  Chewbacca grunted unhappily, but worked the controls and started bringing the Falcon in.

  “I still don’t see how we are reduced to navigation by dead reckoning,” Q9 said. “How could this ship have such primitive location equipment?”

  Chewbacca looked back over his shoulder at Q9 and bared his fangs.

  “If you wish to place blame, Q9, place it with me and with my Aunt Marcha. I did not memorize the precise coordinates of her estate last time I visited, and it would seem she has never gotten around to installing a landing beacon in her back garden.”

  For once, Q9 had no reply.

  The Millennium Falcon moved down from orbit as she had moved into it—stealthily and slowly as she could, doing as much of her maneuvering as possible over unpopulated parts of the planet, where detection would be more unlikely.

  The ship drifted into atmosphere and the night sky over Drall, cruising silently along. Ebrihim did not much like the idea of coming in during local night. It would be difficult to find his aunt’s home even in broad daylight. But no one had any idea what sort of reception the Falcon might receive if it were detected.

  There had been reports of disturbances on Drall, but there was no way to know the current state of affairs. All interplanetary communications had been shut down by the hugely powerful jamming that had started up after the attack on Corona House. Still, Ebrihim couldn’t
quite believe that things could be too bad on Drall. Drall were too sensible to be swept up in the sort of hysteria that seemed to be gripping Corellia. Even so, there was no point in taking chances.

  Chewbacca moved the Falcon lower and lower, down into the night. At last he pulled her nose up and brought her into a gentle banking turn. They had reached the point on the map Ebrihim had noted as being more or less near his aunt’s country estate.

  “Good, good,” Ebrihim said as he looked out over the low rolling hills. “I must admit I wasn’t sure how close we were going to be, but we are quite near indeed. I have often flown this way in an aircar. There,” he said, pointing out the window. “Follow that river to the north. Aunt Marcha lives on the western bank.”

  Chewie turned the Falcon northward and brought her in to treetop level—then below treetop level, swooping down to fly only ten or fifteen meters over the surface of the river itself.

  “Goodness!” Ebrihim cried out, in a voice that was embarrassingly close to a squeak. “I appreciate that we need to avoid detection, but do we need to fly quite so low?”

  But it seemed Wookiees had little patience for the faint of heart. Chewbacca merely laughed, and brought the Falcon down just a trifle lower.

  Ebrihim was more than a little unnerved, but even so, it was a breathtaking experience, swooping so low over the blue-black waters of the wide river, the trees to either side little more than indistinct shapes that rushed past in the darkness, coveys of startled white-winged aviars springing into the air as the Falcon soared past their roosts. It took an act of will to break away from the scenery and look forward, upriver, watching for his aunt’s house.

  He had not been this way in many a year, but the night flight over the water brought back any number of memories. When he was a cub, he had played on the banks of this river, swum in it, frolicked on the great lawns of his aunt’s mansion. Peaceful, splendid days. But now—now the world, the Galaxy, had changed, and not for the better.

  Wait a moment. That small island in the river. Yes. Yes. “Gain some altitude, friend Chewbacca. That island is a bit larger than it looks. And slow the ship as well. We are getting close. Very close.”

  Chewbacca brought the Falcon to about a hundred meters’ altitude and slowed it almost to a hover, so the ship was barely crawling forward.

  “There!” Ebrihim pointed toward the tree-lined riverbank. “That small pier there, with the white boat tied up. That is my aunt’s. Fly in away from the river, past the tree line.”

  Chewbacca swung the ship around and moved over the trees. A large white house came into view, and he brought the Falcon to a halt, so it hovered in place, a silent shape in the sky.

  The house was a central hemispherical structure about twenty meters high, with two long wings on either side. The unbroken white of the dome made a striking contrast with the dark slate roofs of the wings. The wings were three stories high, and the whole house was easily a hundred meters from one end to the other. Though there was little decoration on the exterior of Aunt Marcha’s home, it was not a severe-looking building, and even in the darkness, it seemed a welcoming place. The gardens and the trees were lovely, and decorative vine plants crept up the side of the dome and the walls of the two wings. It was the sort of place Ebrihim’s vast family could visit all at once—and often did.

  “Yes, that is my aunt’s home,” Ebrihim said eagerly. “But …”

  “But what?” Q9 asked.

  “But something is wrong. It is only an hour after dark. The house should be brightly lit and full of people—but all the windows are dark.”

  Q9 extended his dataport and plugged into the Falcon’s sensor system. “I read nothing unusual,” he said. “No significant weapons or shielding. No communications activity. An infrared sweep reveals two Drall-sized life-forms. Four vehicles in the outbuilding to the rear of the house. Power charge near depletion on three of them, if that tells us anything.”

  “You have just read a great number of things that are unusual,” Ebrihim said. “There should be, at the very least, four or five Drall in the house. Even if Aunt Marcha herself were not in residence, the staff would still be there. And the house staff would never let the power charge on the vehicles get that low.”

  Chewbacca let out a low rumbling hoot.

  “I don’t know what we should do,” Ebrihim said. “Let me think for a moment.” He and the others were practically fugitives. They needed help. They needed someone who would hide them. But who was that down below in the house? Was one of the Drall Q9 detected indeed Aunt Marcha? Or was she not there for some reason? Were those interlopers down below? Or suppose it was Aunt Marcha? What was she doing in the house with just one attendant and the lights off? Could she be in trouble? And would they bring more trouble on her by coming here? But where else could they go? On the other hand, if she were in trouble, perhaps Ebrihim and his party could help her. A highly maneuverable modified Corellian stock light freighter with turbolasers, shields, and all the rest of it did have its uses, and those aboard the Falcon did have a fair number of skills.

  That decided him. “Put her down,” he said. “Try and get her in down under the trees as much as possible so she won’t be so easy to spot from the air.”

  Even if Ebrihim had not understood Wookiee, the dirty look he got from Chewbacca would have told him what the hoot and the blat meant. Don’t tell me my business.

  The Millennium Falcon eased her way down toward the ground and sidled over to one side of the house, moving over the spacious lawns toward the woods. Chewbacca brought her to a halt in midair well under the forest canopy, and then brought her in for a gentle, perfect landing.

  Ebrihim breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe. “Q9, for heaven’s sake unstrap me from this blasted pilot’s chair.”

  Q9 unclamped himself from his position in the rear of the cockpit and rolled forward. He extruded a pair of worker arms and rapidly undid the straps. Ebrihim hopped down from the chair and stretched, grateful to be free.

  Q9 hit the cockpit door control and they all stepped out into the ship’s corridor. Ebrihim went to the door of the children’s cabin and knocked. “Jaina, Jacen, Anakin. We’ve landed safely. You can unstrap now and come out.”

  Ebrihim tried to step out of the way quickly, but he was nearly trampled all the same as the three children tumbled out of the cabin.

  By the time he got himself untangled from them, Chewbacca and Q9 were ready to open the airlock bulkhead door and lower the access ramp. “Wait just a moment!” Ebrihim called out, and hurried over. “I’d best go first, alone.”

  There was a brief chorus of protests from all hands, but Ebrihim shook his head firmly. “No,” he said. “I go alone. I am known here, and you are not. They might well have spotted our landing from the house, and could be a trifle nervous about it. Things could go badly if they saw a stranger coming out of the ship.”

  “Well,” said Jaina, “I guess you’re probably right. But hurry back! We’ve been cooped up in this ship way too long.”

  “I’ll be back as fast as I can. However, friend Chewbacca, it might be just as well if we were ready for a quick takeoff. It’s possible that my aunt isn’t here, and that we’ll encounter a somewhat, ah, less hospitable welcome than we might like.”

  Chewbacca nodded his agreement.

  “Anakin, if you would be so kind as to open the hatch and let the ramp down,” Ebrihim said.

  “Sure thing!” Anakin cried, delighted at the chance to do real work with real machinery. He punched in the proper codes and watched with obvious pride as the inner hatch opened and the ramp dropped smoothly down into the dark night. The night air of Drall wafted into the ship, cool and inviting, redolent with the soft, flat tang of a river breeze.

  “I’ll be back as soon I am able,” Ebrihim said, trying not to sound nervous. And, indeed, why should he feel nervous? This was his family seat, his home. If there were any place in the universe that he ought to feel safe, and comfortable, it was here.
>
  He walked down the ramp, out into the dark night of home. As he stepped onto the soil of Drall for the first time in years, he was surprised by how soft it felt underfoot.

  Stepping clear of the ship, he walked a little ways toward the house, but then stopped. There is a bit of folklore common to the spaceways, a little piece of knowledge that all believe to be true. In its crudest terms, it is that there is no place like home. You can never be as comfortable as on your own home planet, with the air pressure, the atmosphere, the gravity, and all the other things exactly as you knew them as a child. It felt good to Ebrihim to be back under Drall’s lighter gravity, breathing its sweet air. Even the hooting and cawing of the night creatures, the hums and buzzes of the local insects, seemed to reach out to him, soothe him, remind him of days gone by. The very air seemed perfumed, laden with all sorts of—

  BLAM!

  A high-powered blaster bolt blew up the ground right in front of him.

  Ebrihim dove for the ground and landed face-first in a thicket of big, blue, foolish-looking flowers that gave out a cloyingly sweet scent. His aunt’s prized garden.

  “Who’s there?” a familiar voice cried out. “Did I hit anybody?”

  His aunt. What was she doing out here packing heavy weapons? “Don’t shoot!” Ebrihim cried out. “Don’t shoot. It’s me, your nephew Ebrihim!”

  “Ebrihim?” his aunt’s voice asked. “What the devil are you doing out there? Did you come on that raider ship that’s lurking back there?”

  “It’s no raider!” he called out. “Those aboard are friends! We are here seeking help!”

  “Then why land like thieves in the night?” she asked, coming close enough for Ebrihim to see her by starlight. She looked a bit older and stouter than he remembered, but seemed as vigorous as ever. Of course, the oversized blaster rifle she was carrying added to the impression of vigor. “It is you, Ebrihim,” she said, in a slightly irritated tone of voice, as if she were expecting him to have changed into someone else. “Get yourself up. You look ridiculous down there.”