Star Wars - Rebel Force 03 - Firefight

by Alex Wheeler

  He needed a new plan. After all, Commander Narra had put him in charge.

  I don't know why, he thought, dispirited.

  But it didn't matter if Narra had made a mistake. Luke was in charge, which meant it was his responsibility to guide his men down to the surface. To keep them alive.

  "Red Three, Red Four, hold present course," he ordered finally, "Red Two, Red Five, you're with me." The enemy pilots were too formidable as a unit. But divide and conquer—that could work. Wedge and Zev would stay in a high orbit while Luke, Han, and Chewbacca would head for the planet. The enemy would be forced to split up. Three on two was a greater advantage than five on four. And once Luke and the others had dispatched their attackers, they could return to help Wedge and Zev clean up the rest.

  It was the perfect plan—except for one thing. As Luke, Han, and Chewbacca dived toward Kamino, the enemy ships didn't split up. They stuck close to Luke's trail. Too close.

  The Preybird opened fire, followed by the Firespray. And their blasts were concentrated on Luke.

  "Reverse course!" he shouted as Kamino loomed in his viewscreen and all four enemy ships strafed him with laserfire. Han and Chewbacca were trying to hold them off, but the three of them were outnumbered. Luke pulled up hard on his controls, attempting to gain altitude and return to Wedge and Zev. But the thrusters wouldn't respond.

  It didn't make sense. "Artoo!" he shouted, banking sharply to avoid a blast of fire. He could force the ship into a pitch and roll, but the thrusters weren't giving him any lift. Once the enemy figured out he couldn't shift direction, he'd be toast. "What's going on with the navigational thrusters? Have we been hit?"

  R2-D2 beeped something that indicated a negative. He swiveled his domed head and extended a manipulator arm, searching for broken connections. Luke blasted laserfire at the nearest freighter. His targeting and weapons systems were still operational. But the ship was accelerating toward the planet—and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  The strange gravitational readings! Luke suddenly realized. They hadn't been caused by a natural anomaly after all. Some kind of tractor beam had to be dragging his ship toward the planet. "This is Red Leader!" he cried into the comm, panicking. "Retreat! Repeat: Retreat. Something's pulling me toward the planet. All units retreat while there's still time!"

  "Time's up, kid," Han said into his comm. "Whatever it is, it's caught me, too." His X-wing went flying past Luke's, with Chewie's close behind. The enemy ships were falling, too. The blasts of laserfire broke off as the pilots tried desperately to pull their ships out of the tractor field.

  But nothing Luke did seemed to help. R2-D2 had no luck, either. They were falling, with no way to slow the descent. "If we come in too steep, we'll burn up in the atmosphere!" Luke said, alarmed. But they could only wait—and hope. If he made it through the atmosphere intact, he could eject. If not…

  "At least Leia's not here," Luke murmured. "That's something."

  The deep black of space gave way to the swirling storm clouds of Kamino. The wind screamed past as Luke's X-wing hurtled toward the surface. Wide, flat platforms raised on stilts stretched over a dark, churning sea. The ship would either slam into one of the city platforms and break into a million pieces, or it would drop into the waves and disappear forever. Luke didn't plan to stick around to find out which. He scrounged behind his seat for his survival kit and stuffed it into his utility pouch. It was now or never.

  "You ready, little guy?" he asked R2-D2.

  The astromech droid beeped encouragingly. Luke took a deep breath—and ejected.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The wind roared in his ears, a deafening thunder. His stomach lurched into his throat. The ground sped toward him; the icy air sliced his face, stole his breath, burned his eyes. Then the parachute deployed.

  And all was calm; all was silent.

  Luke floated, the wind now nothing but a gentle breeze. The city gradually grew beneath him, spindly gray buildings sprouting from the water, connected by wide, flat platforms. Beyond them, nothing but open sea. In the distance, ships screamed through the sky and crashed into the waves, one after another. Han and Chewie must have ejected, too, Luke thought, watching their X-wings disappear beneath the sea. They had to.

  He was able to angle his descent enough to aim for one of the platforms, but at the last minute, a gust of wind blew him off course. The parachute wrapped itself around a long, thin antenna shooting up from the surface. Luke stopped with a jolt as the parachute lines were stretched taut. He found himself dangling upside down, about twenty meters off the ground. Rain pelted his face. Bolts of lightning flashed overhead, dangerously close. It suddenly occurred to him: What if this wasn't an antenna?

  What if it was a lightning rod?

  Trying not to panic, Luke yanked on the cords holding him to the parachute. He hauled himself upright. If I can cut myself free, I can climb down the antenna, he told himself.

  As long as he didn't lose his grip.

  As long as the wet durasteel surface wasn't so slick he slid to his death.

  And as long as he wasn't struck by lightning on the way down.

  He had to swing close enough to the antenna to grab hold. He dangled from the ropes, shifting his weight in one direction, then the other. At first he just swayed gently, but soon he was swinging like a pendulum. He slammed into the antenna and wrapped his arms around the wet durasteel. It was so cold that he could already feel his fingers going numb. He'd have to do this fast. Wrapping his legs tightly around the narrow pole, he activated his lightsaber. The glowing blue blade sliced through the parachute cords. Luke was free. Now he just needed to find a way down.

  He peered at the ground, which seemed extremely far away. There were no handholds on the antenna, and the material was too slippery to risk climbing hand over hand. Instead, he shinnied down, finding purchase with his feet, then lowering his weight, inch by slippery inch. His hair was plastered to his face and rain streamed into his eyes, turning the world into a watery blur. His hands slipped down the pole with a blistering squeal, and he dropped the last three meters, landing on the ground with a heavy, jolting thud.

  But at least he'd made it onto the planet. Now, the next problem: How was he ever going to leave it—especially with his ship at the bottom of the Kamino sea?

  The city, a collection of dark domed buildings rising on stilts from the choppy waters, was absolutely still. According to Luke's mission briefing, the place was little more than barracks for the families of those working in the research station, so it made sense that much of the population would have left when the station had closed down. He'd been expecting a sparse population, a certain emptiness, but he hadn't expected…this.

  The platforms were empty. Motionless. And yet signs of life were everywhere. Speeders sat in the middle of the street, apparently abandoned, rusting in the rain. Peering through water-streaked windows, Luke glimpsed homes with tables set for dining, offices with work-cluttered desks, children's playrooms strewn with toys. It was as if one day all the residents had simultaneously dropped what they were doing and walked away.

  Or disappeared.

  There was a rustling noise behind him. Luke froze. He rested his hand on his blaster and slowly turned around.

  R2-D2 beeped in delight. Luke relaxed and smiled in relief. "Glad you made it, little guy. Now we just have to find the others." He pulled out his survival pack. It was equipped with a homing beacon and a signal detector that would allow him to track the beacons of the other X-wing pilots. Two blinking lights popped up on the screen—one for Han, one for Chewbacca. They were close—less than a kilometer away. The signal tracker would show him exactly where to find his friends. But it couldn't tell him whether they were still alive.

  Div turned his back on his ship before it sank completely beneath the water. No point in dwelling on the past—and his beloved Firespray was now officially past. When the tractor beam had first kicked in, he had assumed it was part of Skywalker's attack. But it
quickly became clear that the Rebel X-wings were just as helpless as Div and his pilots—which meant the beam was coming from the planet. Probably some kind of Imperial defense system, Div thought. His employer had promised that this sector of Kamino was abandoned. But Imperial defenses were sophisticated; they didn't need human personnel to operate them. No doubt this one had been left activated when the scientists had fled. Div would need to go to the central research station, deactivate the beam, and find a ship that would take him off this rock. The sooner he was back in the air, the sooner he could complete his mission. That is, if Skywalker hadn't died on impact.

  He's alive, Div thought. Out there somewhere. Close.

  Logic dictated that if Div had had time to eject, Skywalker and his friends probably had, too. But it wasn't logic that made him so sure. Sometimes Div just knew things. And he knew that Luke Skywalker was alive.

  Not for long, friend, Div thought. When he agreed to take a job, he never stopped until he got it done.

  It soon became clear that the city had been completely abandoned. The briefing files from his employer had included all known information about Kamino, but that wasn't saying much. Nearly all the data had focused on Tipoca City and its satellite communities. It was there, in the planet's capital, that the Republic's clone warriors had been born.

  No, not born. Made.

  Built.

  Div suppressed a shudder, thinking of the blank, identical expressions lying beneath those blinding white hoods. He'd been only a young child when the Republic fell and the clones became Imperial weapons of terror. But he couldn't understand how anyone had been foolish enough to trust them, to see them as protectors. As anything but the face of a pitiless and indomitable enemy.

  Because they were fools, Div reminded himself. Quick to trust; quick to die. He knew that better than most.

  The images of Tipoca City in his briefing files showed a vast network of huge domed towers. Kamino's capital was nearly entirely enclosed and protected from the elements, its scientists moving through immaculate white halls, their lives showered in light.

  But this city…well, you could hardly call it a city at all. Research City, the briefing file had deemed it, offering no images—only a map and blueprints of the central research station. It was dark where Tipoca City was light, corroded with mud and grime and rust where Tipoca City was spotlessly clean. While most of the buildings were domed, in the style of Kaminoan architecture, the network of hatchways connecting them was incomplete. Div suspected that the Empire had never planned for full enclosure. It may have been the traditional Kamino way, but it was also costly and timely. This city—or outpost, really—showed all the signs of something built in a hurry. Or half-built, at least. There were abandoned construction sites on every corner, as if the workers had left in the middle of the job. As if they left in a hurry, Div thought. And so the city had been left open to the elements. With no one left to care for them, the buildings were already corroding in the steady rain. Div wondered how long it would take for the lightning rods atop each dome to topple. For the domes to collapse in on themselves. For the stilts holding up the city platforms to fail. For the city to be fully reclaimed by the sea.

  By that time, he planned to be long gone.

  Div sloshed through rain-flooded gutters, wandering aimlessly—or so it would have seemed to anyone watching. But he had memorized a map of the city and was following a meandering path to the central research station. It was the likeliest place to find a ship. Div had learned a long time ago that a strange environment was a dangerous one. He had to find his bearings and explore the surroundings before walking blindly into what could be a trap.

  Something else Div had learned long ago: Anything could be a trap.

  The storm clouds cast the city in permanent shadow. Div knew that Kaminoans saw only in ultraviolet, so to them, the buildings likely shimmered in an array of colors invisible to the human eye. But to him, the city was nothing but a bleak landscape of black and white. Thunder rumbled gently in the distance, blending with the rhythmic slapping of the surf and—something else.

  Div froze midstep. The telltale click of the blaster was almost too soft to hear, but it was unmistakable. He whirled around, weapon raised, and came face to face with a blaster carbine.

  "Div, right? My leader?" The woman holding the rifle was one of the pilots on his team, a hard-edged mercenary who'd said no more than two or three words to anyone. Clea Sook, he remembered. From Galidraan. It'd be hard to forget the black tattoos covering her face and hands—hands that were aiming a blaster at his head, without trembling. Div was pretty sure she could easily shoot him and never look back. "Any good orders you'd like to hand out now?"

  "How about: Drop the blaster?" Div said, without much hope it would have an effect. "We could work together, find our way out of here twice as fast."

  Clea's lips curled up in a mirthless smile.

  "You really don't want to aim that at me," Div added.

  "Let's see…With you alive, I split the reward four ways. With you dead, I split it three ways. Why wouldn't I want to aim this at you?" She laughed. "You think I can't survive on this rock without your help?"

  "Maybe you can; maybe you can't," Div allowed. "But there's one thing you won't survive."

  "What's that?"

  "This." He struck out before she had a chance to react. His arm slashed across hers in a blur of motion. The blasterflew from her hand. In seconds, he had her on the ground, his knee on her chest, his blaster jabbing her forehead. Div tilted his head. "You sure you don't want to reconsider working together?"

  She scowled at him. "Why not just kill me now, up your share of the reward?"

  "Because no one's getting anything until we blast off this planet," Div said. "Besides…" Without taking his attention off her, he widened his focus to include the cityscape. It was perfectly still and silent. No signs of life. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there. Something wrong. "Besides, no point in working alone when we can work together."

  "And if I don't agree to buddy up?" she asked flatly, clearly already knowing the answer.

  "Leave you out here, knowing you want me dead?" he asked. "Would you do that?"

  Clea smiled, genuinely this time. "Not if I wanted to live." She nodded. "Fine. We work together." She raised a hand, and he shook it, then pulled her to her feet. He was pretty sure she'd strike the moment his back was turned. So he returned her blaster, but not before deactivating it with a subtle, practiced motion. She'd never know, unless she tried to shoot.

  Div let Clea lead the way to the research station, devoting most of his attention to the dark corners of the silent city. Her reflexes were slow, her motions obvious. Her face was a transparent mask that announced her every impulse as soon as she had it. She was a known quantity, and that meant she wasn't a threat.

  It was the unknown that bothered him. Not scared him, not yet. But something was out there, in the shadows flickering in the abandoned streets. Come and get me, Div thought. I'll be ready. He always was.

  Almost always, he thought bitterly, brushing away the memory as soon as it arose. He'd let his guard down one time and someone else had paid the price. It wasn't going to happen again.

  Ever.

  Fallon Pollo lurched down the narrow street, blood seeping from a gash in his leg. All his equipment—his food, comlink, weapons, map—had gone down with his ship. He had crashed at the edge of the city, his Preybird smashing through the roof of an abandoned barracks. The driving rains had blotted out the fire, and Fallon had escaped. No amount of money was worth this kind of grief. But then, he didn't fly for money, did he? Not anymore. All his life, he'd chased the big score, the one last job that would let him retire in style.

  The job had taken ten years to find, two months to complete.

  Retirement had lasted about two weeks.

  So he was back in the game, picking and choosing jobs at random. He had a reputation for being particular, turning down high-
paying gigs for no apparent reason. The truth was he didn't have a reason for anything he did, not anymore. He worked until he became bored, then took a break—and when he was bored with playing, he worked again. He had everything a man could want: money, luxury, freedom. Now he wanted nothing, except an escape from the boredom.

  And that was harder and harder to find.

  He trudged aimlessly, searching for a sign of life. He kept his eyes on the ground, ignoring the gray buildings looming overhead.

  Ignoring the dark shadow that trailed him, and the soft, wet slurping sounds it made as it slithered down the street.

  Fallon rounded a corner, finding himself in a dark, narrow alley. It dead-ended after a few feet, abruptly dropping off into the water. Fallon hesitated at the edge, staring down at the roiling seas. Bolts of lightning danced at the horizon. Heavy clouds cast the world in permanent night. A few aiwhas, flying lizards with ten-meter wingspans, circled low on the water, searching for food. They suddenly scattered, as if spooked by his presence, and disappeared over the horizon. Fallon was wholly alone.

  Thunder crashed and wind whipped across the water. Through the noise of the rising storm, Fallon couldn't hear the quiet slap of tentacles lashing the pavement.

  But something made him turn around.

  His face went pale. His mouth dropped open. Eyes pinned on the nightmare before him, he grasped stupidly for his blaster. Just as his hand closed around the trigger, a giant maw opened before him and the darkness swallowed him whole.

  Fallon Pollo was no more. Yet the creature was still hungry—and the night was alive with fresh prey.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "What do you mean you have a bad feeling about this?" Han growled. "Quit messing around, you oversized hairball, and let's go find Luke."

  Chewbacca looked nervously at the deserted streets and barked a quiet reply.