Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy II: Assault at Selonia

by Roger MacBride Allen

  “Is there no way to fix it?” Dracmus asked.

  “Maybe,” Han said, “if we’re very lucky and we don’t crash into a planet or into Corell or starve to death before we can do the job. If the engines themselves haven’t melted down, all we have to do is make ourselves a new initiator link—but that could take months.” The coneship made the Millennium Falcon look maintenance-free. “Who maintains this ship for you—your worst enemy?”

  “In a sense, yes,” said Dracmus. “It is because our enemies have denied us access to regular spaceports and seized all our ships that we are forced to use these craft. They’ve been in storage for twenty standard years.”

  “And you just wheeled them out, pushed the ‘on’ switch, and hoped for the best?” Han asked.

  “We didn’t have much choice in the matter,” Dracmus said. “We are in a fight for our lives, and the question of what is an acceptable risk suddenly has different answers.”

  “But why is it worth risking both of your lives and a nonreplaceable ship just to get me to Selonia?”

  “Perhaps we do not put such an excessive value on our own lives, as you humans do. We are more willing to sacrifice ourselves for the good of all.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Salculd muttered.

  “Your question is still a good one,” Dracmus went on, ignoring the interruption. “However, I must say no more about it.”

  “I had a premonition you were going to give that answer,” Han growled. “Still, it doesn’t exactly fill in all the blanks, if you know what I mean.”

  “If you ask me,” said Salculd, “it’s time that we—”

  Suddenly another alarm squawked. Salculd turned back toward her controls. “What have we got left that’s not shut down—” She checked the displays. “Uh-oh,” she said. “More bad news. The navicomputer just crashed.”

  “That’s not bad news anymore. With the engines down, who cares about the navicomputer?” Han said. “Look on the bright side. If we can’t navigate, it doesn’t matter if the propulsion system is melted down to slag.”

  The Jade’s Fire was farther sunward from Selonia, but she had far better detectors—and a far better stealth ability than the coneship. The Jade’s Fire could see the coneship—though they had no reason to pay her any mind. However, the coneship could not see the Fire. Beyond that, the Jade’s Fire also had a far superior ship-type database. The coneship had spotted the sudden arrival of four large incoming blips. The Jade’s Fire had them nailed as Bakuran warships—three destroyers and a cruiser—the moment they came into range.

  And there was one other difference. Those aboard the Jade’s Fire reacted somewhat more calmly to the Bakurans’ arrival.

  “What the hell are they doing here?” Mara asked. “And how did they beat the interdiction field? And who’s aboard?”

  “I don’t know how they got here,” Leia replied. “But I’m glad to see them. And as for who is aboard, I think I have a very good idea.” She reached out with her Force sense and closed her eyes. But no, the range was too great. Maybe Luke could reach out that far, but she could not. She hadn’t really expected to sense from here. She would try again later. But even so, she knew.

  “Who?” Mara asked. “Who is it you think is aboard those ships?”

  “Luke,” she said. “Luke is there. He came to the rescue. He brought the ships in. I knew that when I saw they were Bakuran. The Bakurans owed a debt to Luke, and he got them to pay it. Don’t ask me how, but he did. And don’t ask me how the Bakurans beat the interdiction field, but they did.”

  Mara looked at Leia and frowned as she thought it through. “It’s exactly the sort of thing he would do,” she conceded. “And the Bakuran connection clinches it. I think you’re right. Luke just arrived. But that’s a battle formation out there, and communications are still down. Luke or no Luke, I don’t think it would be the smartest idea to head over that way for a little visit. We keep our heads down and stay on course for Selonia.”

  The infuriating thing was that Leia knew perfectly well that she was right.

  Belindi Kalenda was delighted to be where she was—or, more accurately, she was glad to be anywhere where she could do something useful. She felt as if she had been lost in the shuffle since her arrival in the Coruscant system, bringing her messages from Corellia. Others might have been swept up in the drama of great events, but once her task as messenger was complete, she had been promptly relegated to the background while the grown-ups took over.

  But here they were, back on Corellia, and it would have been a gross understatement to say the Bakuran intelligence staff did not know its way around. They had a fair amount of book knowledge and database information about the planet, but nearly all of it was badly dated. Several of their references referred to its role as an Imperial base, which was bad enough, but she had actually stumbled across several “update” reports in the Bakuran files that were clearly written during the Old Republic. They needed all the help they could get.

  But she had bigger jobs than updating the historical record. There was any amount of real-time analysis to do. Her primary job at the moment was to get the best figures possible on the size, dimensions, and intensity of the interdiction field. The Bakurans had brought along special instruments for the purpose of tracking the field—and with every reading those instruments got, it became clearer and clearer that both the jamming signals and the interdiction field were centered on the Double World system. They had suspected that right along, of course, but it was nice to get it confirmed. But Kalenda had just gone one better than that. The data she had just pulled in and processed made her all but certain that she had detected the precise position of the field generator. And while she didn’t know about the others, the news certainly was enough to give her a surprise.

  Kalenda checked the time and swore under her breath. She was supposed to give the tactical report in five minutes. She wouldn’t have time to freshen up or change. Well, it wasn’t her fault the confirming data had chosen this moment to come in. It wasn’t as if the data would be any better if it came from an officer in a fresh uniform.

  “Now then, the first order of business is fleet status,” Kalenda said to the staff assembled on the flag deck. “The news is not good, but it could certainly be worse. The good news is that Intruder, Defender, and Sentinel have all effected repairs and are under weigh and in formation, making for Selonia at three-quarters flank. The bad news is that although Watchkeeper has managed to restore her life-support systems and her attitude control, she has not been able to restore her propulsion system, and is not expected to be able to do so for some time. She is drifting in toward the inner system, but it will take her several years to get there on her current course. Her crew will be safe onboard in the meantime. The other three ships will perform a flyby of her, but will not stop to render aid. However, we plan to launch an uncrewed shuttle vehicle loaded with spare parts toward her as we come in on closest approach.”

  “I’ve ordered all but five of her fighter craft to transfer over to the operational ships,” Ossilege said. “Five fighters should provide sufficient cover against attack, and the fleet is going to need all the firepower it can get.”

  “Anything further on what we’ll be up against?” Lando asked.

  “Yes, there is,” said Kalenda, “and it’s most interesting. We are seeing small fighter craft launching from the Doubles, Corellia, and Drall, all headed for a very clear intercept point directly in our path for Selonia. There are three or four larger craft—none of them even the size of the Lady Luck, but nearly all the craft we have seen so far are light fighters. The ones boosting from Corellia are all PPBs, and the craft from Drall and the Doubles are roughly equivalent. We can assume the Selonians will launch their own craft when we are closer. They save on fuel and consumables by holding their ships on-planet as long as possible. However, it seems clear that craft from all the planets are joining in a coordinated attack. At least they are trying to join in.”

  “What’s
the problem?” Lando asked.

  “One of timing,” Kalenda said. “We are now just over two days out from Selonia, and the intercept ships just started launching a few hours ago. Our analysis of their sublight-engine emissions strongly suggests that most of the craft are boosting for the intercept point at maximum thrust, but course projections show they aren’t going to get there in time. Nor have the intercepts been timed for simultaneous time-on-target, which would provide the maximum firepower to them. Rather, the fighters are straggling in over a prolonged period of time, giving us the chance to fight a few of them at a time. That strikes me as very poor coordination.”

  “Not very surprising with virtually all communications jammed,” said Gaeriel Captison. “My guess is that the coordination was agreed to before the jamming started. ‘If a ship comes into the system, this is what you do.’ That sort of thing.”

  “But the fact that there is any coordination at all seems quite remarkable,” said Kalenda. “Five independent sets of rebels on five planets, many of them the self-declared bitter enemies of each other, all banding together to attack us. You were right, Admiral Ossilege. We are learning things from this assault.

  “On another subject, I can now report that moments before this meeting, we pinpointed the exact source of the jamming and the interdiction field. Not surprisingly, they are both coming from the same place. More surprisingly, that place is Centerpoint Station.”

  “Where?” Gaeriel asked.

  “Centerpoint Station. I’m not surprised the name isn’t familiar to you. It’s not very well known outside the system. It is a very large space station that sits in the barycenter, or balance point, between the Double Worlds of Talus and Tralus. Put another way, it occupies the point in space about which both of those worlds revolve.”

  “I must say that news surprises me a great deal,” said Ossilege. “I assumed that the interdiction field was so powerful that it had to be coming from a ground-based source. How could a space station be large enough to generate that much subspace energy?”

  “Centerpoint is a very large installation,” Kalenda said. “That being said, I would agree that we can’t see how it could be generating or controlling the field. But it is comparable in size to a Death Star, and, I believe, much more massive. And it seems to be putting out one hell of a lot of power. Far more than is indicated in any of the historical records we have, for what that is worth. It’s like it’s come alive after being dormant.”

  “If it controls the jamming and the interdiction field, then Centerpoint Station is the key to this whole system,” Ossilege said. “May we see some imagery of it?”

  Kalenda punched in the proper commands, and a holographic image of the station appeared over the table. The main body of the station was a massive gray-white sphere. Long fat cylinders, covered with all sorts of piping and hardware and antennae, extended from either side of the sphere, with the whole system spinning on its long axis. “The main sphere is a shade over a hundred kilometers in diameter. From end to end, the whole station is about three hundred fifty kilometers in length. It’s so old that it has to spin to provide artificial gravity. It predates the invention of our form of artificial grav, and no one knows who invented that, or how long ago.”

  “Interesting. Very interesting indeed. But why put the interdiction generators and the jamming equipment on a space station? No matter how large it is, wouldn’t you agree that a space station would be intrinsically more difficult to defend than a planet-based installation?”

  “In many ways, yes, sir.”

  “And yet. And yet. Our opponents can read a positional display as well as we can. They must know that we have instruments capable of charting the interdiction field and locating its origin point. And they must know as well as we do that the control of the interdiction field is vital to their plans. And yet there is no indication of any effort that I am aware of to protect this Centerpoint Station. Fighters from the Double Worlds are moving toward the intercept point.”

  “Sir, if I might interrupt for a moment. Our tracking isn’t absolutely solid at this range, but we are fairly sure that we’ve also spotted fighters launching from Centerpoint and heading toward us.”

  “Indeed?” Ossilege raised his eyebrows. “That makes it even more remarkable. They chose to send fighters away from what they must defend most strongly? But their failure to defend is only part of the problem. They must also know that even a somewhat coordinated attack demonstrates that the seemingly independent rebel groups are working with each other. The Human League’s propaganda goes on and on about how much they hate all the other groups. I would assume the others sing a similar tune. In those circumstances, this coordination amounts to consorting with the enemy. Should it get out, it will be politically damaging to all of them. These are fairly closed societies, of course. Yet stopping us is seen as a vital enough task that they are ready to risk that damage, though they are deploying a force of light fighters that is too weak to stop us.

  “Why light fighters? Either they do not control any larger ships, or else they do not feel the need to risk them in combat. But they would appear to have no reason to be so confident. It is all most puzzling. Had these points occurred to you, Lieutenant Kalenda?”

  “Yes, sir, they had.”

  “And what do they tell you?”

  “Only that we are missing something. Something very big. Something that makes them confident that they can stop us at Selonia.”

  “I quite agree,” said Ossilege. He thought for a moment. “How long until closest approach with Watchkeeper?”

  Kalenda checked the time. “Ah, we will do the flyby in about eight hours, sir.”

  “I see. I see. Very well.” Ossilege stood up abruptly and turned toward his flag communications officer. “Set up a direct laser line-of-sight link with the captain of the Watchkeeper. Patch it through to my cabin, full privacy scramble.” The com officer saluted and set to work at his console. “As for the rest of you, suffice to say that Lieutenant Kalenda’s report has inspired me to make a change in plans. I will inform you of those changes as soon as I have completed my consultations with the Watchkeeper. That is all. Good day to you.”

  And with that, Ossilege swept out of the room.

  Everyone stood up and made their way toward the door. “What was all that business about consulting with Watchkeeper, Lieutenant Kalenda?” asked Captain Calrissian.

  “I don’t know, sir,” she replied. “But I’ve got a hunch that I wouldn’t want to be the captain of the Watchkeeper just at the moment.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Calrissian agreed. “When admirals take a sudden interest in disabled ships, it’s almost always time to start worrying.” That much was beyond debate.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  All Together Now

  Tendra Risant was close to despair. It seemed as if she had been stuck aboard this ship for years instead of days. The Gentleman Caller had appeared a roomy enough ship when she had first boarded and explored her, but now the craft felt no larger than a coffin—an image she did not much care for.

  She was not sure how much longer she could hold on. Tendra had never solo-piloted a ship before, never been this alone before. The silence, the solitude of space seemed to close in around her, and the vast open emptiness seemed to confine her. The ship had enough food to sustain her, and the recycling system would keep her air and water pure for at least a year without any trouble at all. But was there enough sanity left aboard the craft to keep her going? The ship could keep her body functioning as long as need be—but it could do nothing to keep her mind working.

  Why didn’t Lando answer? What had happened? What had gone wrong? Had she gambled everything in her life on a foolish whim, and lost?

  She reached over and listened again to the radionics monitor speaker as it echoed what the transmitter was sending. She knew that hearing the message could do her no good at all, and might simply reduce her to tears once again. But she had to hear it, had to know it was still going
out.

  “Tendra to Lando,” said the voice, her voice, from the speaker, sounding far more sensible than she had felt for a long time. “Please respond on preassigned frequency.” Pause. “Tendra to Lando. Please respond on preassigned frequency.” Pause. “Tendra to Lando. Please respond on preassigned frequency.…”

  Admiral Hortel Ossilege stood on the flag deck of the Intruder, resplendent, as usual, in his dress white uniform. “The time has come,” he said, “to explain the situation. As you know, we have taken the Watchkeeper in tow and transferred virtually all of her crew to the other vessels. You no doubt are wondering why we are taking a near-derelict craft in tow as we enter into battle. I will tell you flat out now. I intend to sacrifice her.”

  If that statement was intended to elicit a general murmur of astonishment, it succeeded. Ossilege waited for the room to quiet down. “We have been baffled by the badly timed arrival and inadequate coordination of the opposing fleet,” he said. “We are now only a few hours away from contact with the first elements of that fleet, and yet the tail end of it has barely begun to form up. We have just now started to track launches from Selonia itself.

  “I have analyzed the ship placements of the enemy, and I can tell you this—they are very bad, if the enemy does in fact try to do what we think he will try to do. If he offers a straight fight, he will lose, and lose badly.

  “But. If they intend instead to draw us, to herd us, to move us around by offering themselves as a target and then retreating—then they have deployed themselves very well indeed.

  “The obvious question is, of course, draw us toward what? I intend to find out, and without risking all of my command.

  “We have managed to restore a very small percentage of the Watchkeeper’s propulsion power, and will shortly rig a slave system capable of flying the ship by remote control, at least well enough for our purposes. I will operate the main remotes myself. I recognize that it is the traditional prerogative of the ship’s captain to fly the craft at such times, and I do wish to make public acknowledgment of the fact that Captain Mantrony asked, very strenuously, for that privilege. I have refused her. If the Watchkeeper is indeed attacked in some novel way, we need to fly her so as to find out as much as possible about that weapon. Captain Mantrony would be less than human if the laudable instinct to protect her own ship did not interfere with that need. Her protests of my actions have been recorded.