Star Wars - Retreat From Coruscant

by Laurie Burns

  One of the transports off to their side suddenly exploded in a fiery flash. Wincing, Taryn changed course slightly to steer clear of the twisted metal and spared a quick glance at the shield indicators.

  Only to wish she hadn’t. The indicators had gone from green to red, and they flashed with each hit. A diagnostic message was forming on the panel, the sensors showed another of those blasted TIE fighters swooping up behind them, and Taryn didn’t think the Messenger could take too many more hits.

  “Hang on,” she warned Bremen, still on the deck, and threw the freighter into a dive. The TIE fighter shot past overhead, and as she brought the ship’s nose back up, Taryn saw the starfighter ahead had circled back to help.

  The X-wing’s laser cannon flashed as it screamed toward them, and on the scopes, one of the dots behind them disappeared. The X-wing turned its attention to the TIE fighter she’d shaken while Taryn swiped at the sweat on her face and put the drive to full again. Up ahead, the freighter and transport were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d already made it to safety — or they’d been destroyed.

  Del cursed as the Messenger shuddered from another series of hits to the rear. The shield indicators flashed red, then went black and the diagnostic message began to blink. “We’ve lost the deflectors,” Taryn shouted. Swallowing back the metallic taste of fear, she was poised to plunge the ship into another dive when the console pinged, indicating they’d reached their hyperspace point.

  Wrapping a hand around the levers and acutely aware of the TIE fighter closing in on them, she gently pulled back, and was rewarded by the sight of stars streaking to starlines, then fading into the mottled sky of hyperspace.

  Hurtling through hyperspace toward Coriallis, Del and Colonel Bremen had plenty of time to firmly establish their mutual dislike.

  Bremen didn’t hide the fact that, as civilians, he didn’t trust Taryn and Del to be competent. He made it clear he thought Bel Iblis should have commandeered the Messenger, kicked off her regular crew and used an all-military crew to complete the mission.

  Taryn tried to shrug it off, but Del retaliated by offering up barely-concealed barbs concerning the New Republic’s ignominious retreat from Coruscant, while Bremen grew tighter-lipped with each crack. She thought the game childish, but as long as Bremen was busy with Del, he wasn’t breathing down her back, so she didn’t say anything about it.

  The two had disappeared into the hold more than an hour ago, and she stood in the wardroom, wiping grease off her hands. They would be changing course at Coriallis in a few hours, and she wanted to try out the newly-repaired deflector system before it was actually put to the test.

  She never got the chance.

  As she strode toward the cockpit, the Messenger seemed to hesitate underfoot, then gave an awful shudder as stressed hull metal squealed in protest. Caught mid-step, Taryn grabbed at the bulkhead for balance, then got thrown into the the cockpit as the ship seemed to slam into some immovable force. Clattering crates and a yelp sounded from the hold, while in front of her, the mottled sky of hyperspace unexpectedly became starlines, and then, with a final sickening lurch, coalesced into the starfield of realspace

  They’d been forcefully yanked out of lightspeed, and Taryn didn’t even have to check the scopes to know why. Straight ahead, filling the transparisteel viewport, was an Imperial Interdictor cruiser.

  Nor were they its first catch. A transport with New Republic Markings drifted nearby, linked with an Imperial shuttle. Taryn pondered if it were one of the many that had so recently fled Coruscant.

  “What happened?” Bremen demanded, pounding up the corridor as she got to her feet. On his heels, Del sported a fresh gash on his forehead. No answer was necessary as the comm crackled to life and a brisk voice from the cruiser Requital ordered them to prepare to be boarded.

  Taryn sank down in the pilot’s seat, mind racing. The datacard was well-hidden, and unless the Imperials were determined to read each and every missive in the hold, she didn’t think they’d find it. The thoroughness of their search would probably depend on how suspicious they were. Her and Del’s identification was in order; Bremen might be harder to explain, but she’d think of something. Should she admit that they’d just come from Coruscant, or — ?

  “I’ll do the talking,” Bremen announced, interrupting her thoughts. “You two keep quiet and let me handle it.” He held out a hand, apparently expecting Taryn to hand over the captain’s bars pinned to the front of her uniform. She stiffened.

  “No, I’ll do the talking,” she corrected him with some asperity. “You looked in a mirror lately?” Clad in that ill-fitting uniform, the Imperials would never believe he was captain of the Messenger. Ignoring Bremen’s flush of outrage, she told Del. “Go back to the airlock and wait to assist the boarding party.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said crisply, backing out of the cockpit.

  “Cooperate with them, fully,” she called after him warningly. Outside, a shuttle from the Requital was approaching, but they still had a few minutes. Looking at Bremen, she raised an eyebrow. “Now. You were saying — ?”

  “Do you have any idea how serious this is?” he snapped back. “What do you think they’re going to do once they’re on board? Take a look at your permits, tell you to have a good day, and just leave?”

  “I certainly hope so,” Taryn said. “That seemed to be General Bel Iblis’ idea behind using us as the courier. Look, I’m the captain here, and I have the proper ID to back it up. You have any better ideas?”

  His resistance was plain, but she did have a point. “Okay, then,” Taryn said. “You don’t talk unless you’re spoken to, you do everything the Imperials ask, promptly and courteously, and if you’re carrying any weapons, you lose them now, before they come on board. Understand?”

  Bremen’s face looked as stiff as a droid’s and his eyes glittered, but he managed a short nod. “Good,” Taryn said, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Let’s go back and meet our guests.”

  While the Imperial shuttle pulled alongside, she dug out the Messenger’s permits datapad. She just had time to get back to the airlock and straighten up authoritatively before it slid open and five Imperials strode in.

  The lead, a middle-aged man balding under his naval officer’s cap, halted just inside while the other four troopers, all armed, fanned out in the corridor. “Commander Voldt,” he briskly identified himself- “Who’s in charge here?”

  “I am.” Taryn stepped forward. “Captain Taryn Clancy, of the Core Courier Service. This is my crew.”

  Voldt eyed her, gaze lingering on the curves of her uniform, then slid a glance over Del and Bremen. He noted Bremen’s exposed ankles, then flicked pale eyes back to her. “Courier service? This a mail ship?”

  “Yes, sir,” Taryn said. “En route to Coriallis.”

  “Where from?”

  She’d already decided there was no sense lying. The vector on which they’d been yanked out of hyperspace pretty well spelled it out. “Our last scheduled stop was Coruscant,” she told him. “But we dropped into the system, saw what looked like the entire Imperial fleet around the planet, and decided to give the place a pass. Didn’t want to get mixed up in anything, you know?”

  He nodded slowly, not looking entirely convinced. “You didn’t deliver your shipment?” he asked. “Don’t your employers promise prompt delivery?”

  Taryn allowed herself to look slightly taken aback. “Well, yes,” she said. “But they frown on dropping in on a war zone even more.”

  Voldt stared at her, then snorted. In amusement, or disbelief, she couldn’t tell. At his casual hand gesture, two of the troopers disappeared to search the ship. “Let’s see some identification,” he suggested.

  “Certainly.” Taryn passed him the permits datapad. He transmitted the ship’s license and registry information to the Requital to be checked out, then inspected their identification, raising an eyebrow when Bremen failed to produce an ID. Bremen managed to look both
embarrassed and earnest as he muttered, “Sorry, sir. Got robbed in port.”

  Voldt flicked that speculative glance over his uniform again. “Looks like that’s not all they took,” he commented. “How inconvenient for you.”

  Bremen nodded. Voldt stared at him a moment longer, then danced at the two troopers returning from searching the ship. “No one else aboard, sir,” one reported, while the other stepped up holding two blasters.

  “Who do these belong to?” Voldt asked.

  “That one’s mine,” Taryn said, indicating the blaster she kept hidden under the sleep pad in her cabin. She looked at Bremen and Del. “Whose is this?”

  “Mine, Capt’n.” Del stepped forward. “I know you don’t like us carryin’ on board, so I had it stashed in my bunk. Sorry,” he added, looking sheepish.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” she said repressively, wondering where Bremen had “lost” his weapon so it wouldn’t be found.

  Voldt gave her an unfathomable look, then nodded to the trooper, who stepped back, still holding both blasters. He handed the datapad back to Taryn. “Captain. I’d like to see the contents of your hold, if I may.”

  Despite the phrasing, it wasn’t a request.

  Taryn led the way, trying to gauge how suspicious the Imperials were, and how complete they might insist on making this search. So far, Voldt’s manner hadn’t given anything away. Casually, she looked over her shoulder. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why were we stopped? Is this some sort of checkpoint?”

  There was no mistaking the amused snort this time. “You could call it that,” Voldt said dryly. His eyes were fixed on the sway of her dark hair against her back. “It could be considered a checkpoint for traitors.”

  “Traitors?” she echoed, carefully.

  “Traitors to the Empire,” he said, finally looking up as they reached the hold. “Rebels, fleeing from Coruscant. We’ve driven them off and rescued the populace from their terrorist ways, but now, like the cowards they are, they’re scurrying off to wherever they think they’ll find safety.” His thin lips turned up in an unpleasant smile. “We don’t intend to let them run too far.”

  Taryn wondered if Interdictor cruisers were sitting along all of the most well-traveled hyperspace lanes leading from Coruscant. If so, a good many fleeing ships had undoubtedly fallen right into the Imperials’ trap, including that transport she’d spotted earlier. Perhaps even themselves.

  She shook off the thought. No, so far we’re doing fine. The only thing to worry about was the datacard, and that was well hidden somewhere inside the crates that filled the hold. Reassured she keyed open the door and gestured for Voldt to step in.

  He did, glancing around the room and then stepping over to peer at the stacks of sealed crates. “These are bound for Coriallis,” he noted, studying the labels on the outermost crates.

  “Yes, sir, that’s our next stop,” Taryn confirmed.

  “But where’s the shipment you didn’t leave on Coruscant?” He swung to face her, one eyebrow raised in query.

  Where was it, indeed? Taryn’s stomach clenched as she considered the question. Not only had they delivered the mail bound for the Imperial Palace, but they’d off-loaded the regular Coruscant mail, too. There was nothing here to back up her assertion that they hadn’t landed on the planet.

  Excuses vied for space on the tip of her tongue, but before she could blurt any of them out, Del stepped forward.

  “I moved ’em out of the way. Capt’n,” he said, and indicated three crates piled haphazardly in the far corner. Each was labeled bound for Coruscant, and she held her breath as Voldt insisted on opening up all three. But randomly picking out datacards to inspect, he found them all properly labeled with Coruscant destinations. Relieved, Taryn slanted a glance at her first mate, wondering whose mail had been borrowed to pull off this masquerade. Clearly, Del and Bremen hadn’t spent all their time back here bickering.

  “Hmmph,” Voldt grunted as he replaced the last crate’s lid, and looked around the hold as if hoping to find Mon Mothma herself hiding among the load lifters. Pointing at two of the troopers, he ordered all the crates examined. But the search was cursory, with the troopers merely opening them up and confirming there was mail inside.

  Brusquely ordering the crates resealed, Voldt motioned for Taryn and crew to follow him, and strode back down the corridor to the airlock. Calling the Requital, he confirmed that the Messenger’s permits were in order and then, looking somewhat disappointed, told Taryn they were free to go.

  Trying not to let her relief show, she had to work harder to keep from shooting a told-you-so look at Bremen. The four troopers rejoined them, and after an unexpected handshake from Voldt, during which he held on a tad too long for Taryn’s liking, the Imperials headed back to their ship.

  She got the nav computer busy recalculating their course, then turned the freighter around and drove for the stars, trying to grab enough distance to jump to lightspeed. Glancing again at the captured New Republic transport, Taryn wondered what fate awaited its occupants.

  When the console finally pinged, she cupped her hand around the hyperdrive levers, gently pulled them back, and gratefully left that particular problem behind.

  Not that she didn’t still have problems, she thought in exasperation nearly a week later, staring out at the empty expanse of space before them and acutely aware of Bremen looking over her shoulder, as usual.

  The rest of the trip to Coriallis had been uneventful, and once there, Bremen had programmed the nav computer with a new course. Since then, they’d dropped in and out of hyperspace a dozen times on their way to intercept one of the New Republic’s battle fleets, somewhere in the Borderlands.

  At least, Taryn thought it was the Borderlands. She didn’t recognize the majority of the places they popped in on, and Bremen saw no reason to enlighten her — about their location, or anything else. He curtly informed her she’d get control of the Messenger back once they intercepted the fleet and delivered the message.

  Well, here they were at the intercept point. So where was the fleet?

  “They might be a little late,” Bremen said, and Taryn glanced over her shoulder to see a furrow creasing his brow. “They are scheduled to be here,” he added at the expression on her face.

  “If they don’t know we’re coming, what are they scheduled to meet?” she asked. Bremen ignored the question; clearly, this was yet another bit of information that mere civilians couldn’t be trusted with. Since they’d dropped into the outer edges of a system and were skulking around like thieves instead of getting closer to one of the Planets, Taryn figured the New Republic had an outpost here that its fleet was checking up on. Bremen just didn’t want to get close enough for her and Del to take a look.

  She sighed. Despite a week of close quarters living, or perhaps because of it. Bremen wasn’t any easier to get along with. She’d finally had to order Del to stop his needling — if only she could order Bremen to knock off his condescending manner, as well. His attitude reminded her far too strongly of her father.

  Because it was possible the fleet had been delayed, and because they really had nowhere else to go, the Messenger simply drifted for the next several hours. Taryn was sitting in the cockpit staring out at the stars and trying to recall astrogation charts of the Borderlands region when Bremen came in and dropped into the copilot’s seat.

  Mildly surprised, she glanced over as he studied the long-range sensors. He’d finally stopped hovering over her, apparently reassured she wasn’t going to break into the nav computer to find out where they were if he didn’t keep an eye on her every minute. Naturally, she had, only to find that all records of their past several jumps had been erased.

  So it wasn’t so much a matter of trust, as that it simply didn’t matter.

  “You don’t think much of us, do you?” she said.

  He took his time looking up. “Pardon?”

  “It’s not just you and your New Republic on the line here, you know. It�
�s me and Del, too,” she said. “If you’re caught, we’re caught. You think we’re going to do anything to mess this thing up?”

  “Not deliberately, no,” he conceded. “But accidents happen. What about when Voldt wanted to see the Coruscant mail — you hadn’t thought of that, had you? What if there hadn’t been anything to show him?”

  “That cloak and dagger stuff is your department,” she retorted, but the comment stung. He was right; and instead of getting defensive, she should admit it and learn from the experience. “That doesn’t justify treating us like dimglows, and keeping me in the dark about where we’re going. I have a right to know.”

  He folded his arms and gave her a level stare. “Captain Clancy, it’s no secret I don’t think you or Del Sato should have been allowed on this mission. You’re civilians, and more of a hindrance than a help. You can’t be expected to make the kind of split-second decisions needed to keep us out of trouble.”

  Taryn flushed, and concentrated on keeping her temper as he continued. “But you’re here anyway, so consider being ‘kept in the dark’ as your protection. If you don’t know anything, you can’t give it away.”

  “What do you take me for?” she asked, affronted. “If I wanted to give you up, I would’ve done it when Voldt was aboard. You’ll notice I didn’t.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “But it’s better to be prepared than be sorry.”

  Taryn was debating whether it was even worth discussing any further when she was saved from a decision by a sudden blip on the sensors.

  A ship, emerging from hyperspace about 30 kilometers away.

  She reacted before Bremen did, flipping switches to start bringing the engines on line. “Del!” she yelled down the corridor, trying to maneuver the sluggish Messenger around to face the oncoming ship. As it came into view, Taryn identified it as a slightly battered-looking Skipray blastboat, with no markings indicating who it might belong to. But it clearly wasn’t the fleet.