All he could remember later were faces, images, moments. There was no way to assemble anything like a complete, orderly chronology. A crying child in her mother’s arms, another baby thrust aboard his craft by a father who could not get aboard himself, the stale smell of too many bodies jammed into too small a space, the stink of fear in the air. Doing an overflight of a fire burning out of control in the middle of the Thanta Zilbra settlement, nosing his runabout through a throng of hysterical refugees piled onto the flight deck of the Naritus, making it impossible to continue operations. The voice of a stranger, some other pilot somewhere else in the operation, coming into his headphones, softly singing a lullaby. Was she aware she was singing? Was she trying to soothe herself, or some terrified child jammed into her spacecraft?
An old man, sitting on a box in the middle of the landing field, flatly refusing to leave, despite the pleading of his family. Was he determined to give up his spot to someone who had longer to live, or was he just stubborn, or crazy, refusing to believe in any danger that required him to leave his home? Smashed-open luggage, the most precious belongings of a lifetime abandoned on the landing pad, some of them forcibly discarded when the owner refused to believe it was a choice between his suitcase and someone else’s life.
The chaos of small spacecraft of all kinds, civilian and military, bobbing and weaving and flying in and out among the larger ships of the rescue fleet. A collision in space, as a civilian pleasure boat slammed into an X-wing, and both craft exploded. No one lived through that.
And then, at last, sitting at the controls of his runabout, asking for launch clearance to go back for the next load, and hearing the request denied. There was no time to go back. It was over. The fleet had to leave. Screaming into the mike, demanding clearance, insisting there was time plenty of time, for at least one more run, knowing there were still people back there. He knew they were there. He had seen them, spoken with them, promised them he would return.
And hearing the order to secure for the jump to lightspeed. That order, that moment, he remembered clearly. The Naritus activated its hyperdrive, if only for a few moments, and suddenly she was gone from Thanta Zilbra, escaped, away. Wedge could feel the change in her engines as she dropped back into normal space, a light-week or so away from the doomed sun.
Suddenly the urge to shout, to scream, to protest, was gone as well. He sat there, empty, wooden, spent. After a time he released his seat restraints, disembarked from the runabout, and shouldered his way through the crowds of refugees on the flight deck, pushed his way toward a viewport. From here, seen by light that had left the star seven days before, Thanta Zilbra still seemed healthy and well, a warm, inviting dot of light in the sky, not far off at all.
But that was not the way it really was. Not anymore. Wedge shoved his way back through the crowds of sobbing, terrified, stunned people, back toward the operations center.
They were all watching it there, of course. There was nothing else left to do. The cameras from the stay-behind drones were sending their signals via hyperwave link, and so Wedge could see it, see it happen. The star seemed to grow darker, shrink in on itself. Its surface seethed with energy as it backed down in on itself, collapsing down until—
Until it flared, blasting outward in a blinding gout of white starfire that bloomed past the incinerating planets, past the vaporized space stations, until it reached the stay-behind camera and—
The screen went black.
“Right on schedule,” Parry said, half to himself. Wedge had not even noticed he was there. “Bovo Yagen is next. That’s confirmed, too. No rumor. Estimated system population twelve million—if you want to believe estimates after today. And they’re spread out over two inhabited planets and dozens of stations, asteroids, and habitats. If we couldn’t pull ten or fifteen thousand people out of this system, what the hell are we going to do there?”
“I don’t know,” said Wedge. “I don’t know.”
All he knew for sure was that unless some way could be found to stop the next nova, millions of people were going to die.
TO BE CONCLUDED
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roger MacBride Allen was born in 1957 in Bridgeport, Connecticut. He graduated from Boston University in 1979. The author of a dozen science fiction novels, he lived in Washington, D.C., for many years. In July 1994, he married Eleanore Fox, a member of the U.S. Foreign Service.
Books by Roger MacBride Allen
THE TORCH OF HONOR
ROGUE POWERS
ORPHAN OF CREATION
THE WAR MACHINE (with David Drake)
SUPERNOVA (with Eric Kotani)
THE MODULAR MAN
FARSIDE CANNON
THE RING OF CHARON
THE SHATTERED SPHERE
CALIBAN
INFERNO
ALLIES & ALIENS
The STAR WARS Corellian Trilogy
AMBUSH AT CORELLIA
ASSAULT AT SELONIA
SHOWDOWN AT CENTERPOINT
DAVID BRIN’S OUT OF TIME: THE GAME OF WORLDS
UTOPIA
THE DEPTHS OF TIME THE
OCEAN OF YEARS
THE SHORES OF TOMORROW
BSI: Starside
THE CAUSE OF DEATH
DEATH SENTENCE
FINAL INQUIRIES
STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe
You saw the movies. You watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …
In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?
Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?
Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?
Yoda explained that the dreaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?
All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.
CHAPTER ONE
Approach
Honored Solo, we are running out of time!” the voice squawked from the comm unit. “We will be entering atmosphere soonest if our approach is not controlled!” The intercom gave out a strangled squeal. Either the comm circuit up to the ship’s control cabin was on the verge of giving out again, or else Han had just gotten lucky, and Dracmus was about to lose her voice. That would be a blessing.
Han slapped the answer switch and tried to stay focused on his work. “Keep your shirt on, Dracmus,” he said, shouting just a bit. “The comm unit send-circuits needed work as well. Tell honored Pilot Salculd that I’m nearly done.” Why did the universe require all shipboard repairs to be on the rush? What I wouldn’t give to have Chewbacca here, Han thought.
“What shirt?” the voice asked worriedly. “Should shirts be worn? Is this for safety?”
Han sighed and pushed the answer button again. “It’s an expression. It means ‘be patient,’ ” he said, struggling to keep his own patience. Dracmus was a Selonian, and most Selonians did not like being in space. Understandable for a species that mostly lived underground, but having an agor
aphobic being in command was enough to drive anyone crazy.
Han Solo made the last hookup, closed down the last of the inspection hatches, and crossed his fingers for luck. That ought to do the trick, he told himself. It had better. It was about time that something worked properly. If the coneship he was aboard was a fair example of the breed, Selonian spacecraft weren’t much for reliability. Han engaged the power switch and waited for the inverter system to energize.
Han was starting to question his own sanity in volunteering to help fly this particular coneship down out of free space to the surface of Selonia. He could have said so long and good luck and ridden down with Leia on the Jade’s Fire. But when a job needed doing, and no one else could do it, volunteering was not really all that voluntary. He hadn’t had much choice in the matter. He couldn’t have left Dracmus high and dry. He had obligations to her, and to her people.
And Dracmus had made it clear they had to get this ship down. Her people couldn’t afford to abandon any spacecraft, no matter what shape the craft was in. The nameless coneship might be a piece of space-going junk, but Dracmus had assured Han that it was better than anything else the Selonians had at the moment. Or, more accurately, it was better than anything that the Hunchuzuc Den and their Republicists had.
“Hurry, Honored Solo!” Dracmus called again.
Why couldn’t that intercom break down the way everything else did on this ship? Han hit the answer button again. “Stand by, Dracmus. Pilot Salculd—watch your power settings!”
Knowing he was with the Hunchuzuc would have been a bit more useful if Han had had some clear idea about who or what the Hunchuzuc Den was. All he knew for sure about them was that the Den was part of an amorphous faction of Selonians who lived on Corellia, and that, so far as Dracmus knew, they were still allied to a pro-New Republic alliance of Selonian Dens called the Republicists, and that he was mixed up with them.
Dracmus was a member of the Hunchuzuc, and she had either kidnapped Han or rescued him from Thrackan Sal-Solo—or both. Han was still not sure. The Hunchuzuc seemed to be having a fight with the Overden, the leadership on Selonia proper, a fight that was going on in parallel with the Republic’s battle against the rebellions in the Corellia system, though the two fights did not seem to be directly related to each other. The Overden was on the Absolutist side, which wanted absolute independence for Selonia. But even if the Hunchuzuc were Republicist and the Overden were Absolutist, Han was coming to the conclusion that neither side much cared about principles, either way. Each was primarily against the other.
But Han did know a few things for sure. He knew that Dracmus had saved his life, and that she had taken risks to treat him well. He knew that a member of his own family—Thrackan Sal-Solo—had treated Dracmus’s people with the utmost cruelty. By Selonian standards, that alone was enough to brand Han himself as a villain, a killer, a monster. Yet Dracmus had given Han every benefit of the doubt. She had treated him with decency and respect. If that was all Han knew, it was also all he had to know.
“When will it be working?” Dracmus called, her voice growing more strident. “The planet is getting closer!”
“That is the idea when you’re trying to reenter,” Han muttered to himself. Decency and respect to one side, there was no denying that Dracmus could be one major pain in the neck. Han pressed the answer stud again and spoke. “It’s working now. Tell Salculd the inverter is back on-line. Have her power up the control circuits and let’s see how it goes.”
“We shall do so, Honored Solo,” said the faint, worried-sounding voice from the comm unit. “Salculd says she is initiating control circuit power-up.”
Han was kneeling down in front of the inspection hatch, and a low-powered hum made him think he might be just a bit too close to the inverter array. He stood up and backed away. The hum faded out after a moment, and the array’s indicator lights came on, showing normal operation.
Han pressed down the answer button again. “Don’t hold me to this,” he shouted, “but I think it’s working. The spare parts off Mara’s ship did the trick. We ought to be able to get underway anytime you like.”
“Good to hear, most Honorable Solo,” Dracmus said, the relief in her voice almost painfully obvious. “Very good to hear indeed. We shall proceed at once.”
The indicators flickered a bit to show the inverters were drawing more power. “Take it easy up there,” Han said. “Throttle up nice and slow, all right?”
“We are doing so, Honored Solo. And we shall hold at one-third power. We have no desire to overload our systems again.”
“That’s very reassuring,” Han said. “But I think I’d better head up there and keep an eye on you just the same.”
Han crossed to the access ladder and climbed up to the nose cabin of the coneship.
The coneship was just that—a fat cone, with the engines at the base and the control cabin in the point. The nose itself was nearly all transparent transplex, affording a spectacular overhead view. The pilot, Salculd, lay flat on her back, looking up and out at the sky ahead. For a human pilot, it would not be the most comfortable way to work. Of course, Selonians were most decidedly not human.
Salculd looked over to the lower deck access hatch as Han climbed out of it. She gave him a toothy smile and then returned her attention to her work. She looked comfortable enough. Dracmus was pacing at the rear of the cabin, looking anything but calm or relaxed.
Though they were fairly standard bipeds, Selonians were taller but thinner than humans. Their arms and legs were shorter, and their bodies rather longer. They could manage equally well walking on two feet or four. Retractable claws in both their hand-paws and foot-paws made them impressive climbers and diggers. Their tails were only about half a meter long, but they packed a major wallop when used as a club—as Han had reason to know.
They had long, pointed faces, and their entire bodies were covered in sleek, short-haired fur. Dracmus was dark brown. Salculd was mostly black, but her belly fur was light brown. They both had bristly whiskers that were as expressive as human eyebrows, once you got a little practice in interpreting them. They also had mouths full of very sharp teeth. Han had been able to interpret the teeth with no practice at all. In short, they were elegant and impressive-looking creatures.
“How does all go?” Han asked Salculd the pilot, speaking in his rather labored Selonian. Salculd did not speak Basic.
“All is well, Honored Solo,” Salculd replied. “At least until the next subsystem flips out.”
“Wonderful,” Han said to himself. “Everything be well, Honored Dracmus?” he asked in Selonian.
“Fine, fine, all is fine, until we crash and die,” Dracmus replied.
“Glad we have a consensus,” Han muttered to himself.
“It is good to plan ahead like that,” Salculd said. “Here I was just going to land the ship the regular way. Now I am knowing that I will fail and we will crash. It is most comforting.”
“That is enough, Pilot Salculd,” Dracmus snapped. “Concentrate all attention on your duties.”
“Yes, Honored Dracmus,” Salculd said at once, her tone of voice most apologetic.
Salculd was a fairly experienced pilot, and knew her ship at least reasonably well, if not as well as Han would have preferred. Dracmus, on the other hand, was trained to deal with humans, and incompletely trained at that. When it came to ship handling, she had no experience, no knowledge, and no skill. Even so, she commanded the ship—not just in deciding where it would go, but down to the last detail of every maneuver. Salculd could not, or would not, overrule her. Dracmus was of higher status, or seniority, or something, relative to Salculd, and that was that, insofar as either of the Selonians was concerned. Neither seemed much concerned by the fact that Dracmus had only the slightest understanding of space operations, or by the fact that during the raid on Selonia she had repeatedly ordered the ship to do things it could not, and come alarmingly close to getting them all killed.
Salculd might have a sm
art mouth, and an irreverent attitude, but she followed all of Dracmus’s orders—no matter how boneheaded—with alarming dispatch. It took some getting used to.
Han took his own place in the control seat next to Salculd. He had done his best to adjust the padding to fit a human frame, but the seat would never be comfortable. Han lay back and looked up.
The view out the transparent nose of the coneship was nothing less than spectacular. The planet Selonia hung big and bright in the sky, filling the middle third of the field of view. Selonia had smaller oceans than Corellia, and the land mass was broken up into thousands of medium-sized islands, more or less evenly spaced across the face of the planet.
Instead of two or three large oceans and four or five continental landmasses, Selonia’s surface was a maze of water and land. Hundreds of seas and bays and inlets and straits and shoals separated the islands. Han remembered reading somewhere that no point on land anywhere on Selonia was more than one hundred fifty kilometers from open water, and no point on the water was more than two hundred kilometers from the nearest shoreline.
But there was more to the view than the spectacular planet. Mara Jade’s personal ship, the Jade’s Fire, hung in space a kilometer or two away, her bow hiding a bit of the planet’s equatorial region. She was a long, low, streamlined ship, painted in a flame pattern of red and gold. The ship looked fast, sleek, strong, maneuverable—and Han knew she was all of those things. He wished, not for the first time, that he was aboard her, and not just because the Fire was a better ship. Leia was aboard the Fire, along with Mara Jade.
Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy II: Assault at Selonia Page 28
