by Troy Denning
Hoping the pirates would be fooled into believing their quarry had escaped into the nebular miasma, Luke gave the decoy a final burst of speed, then let it drop and turned to Han.
“I guess this answers . . . our question,” Luke said. He still had to concentrate to speak, as he was continuing to hide the DR919a. “It’s pretty clear why they’ve been so desperate to trade for reactor fuel and hyperdrive coolant.”
“Yeah—but I really wish it wasn’t,” Han said.
“Why?” Juun asked. “In the history vids, you’re always saying that it pays to know who you’re fighting.”
“Didn’t I tell you to stop watching those things?” Without answering Juun’s question, Han turned back to the power grid. “We can get by without climate control for a while. And who needs air scrubbers?”
Tarfang jumped out of his chair and scurried toward Han, jabbering in alarm.
“Tarfang is inquiring whether you’ve lost your mind,” C-3PO said. “Without the air scrubbers, carbon dioxide concentration will rise twelve percent an hour.”
“No problem,” Han said. “We’re not going to last an hour.”
Juun’s eyes grew large, and he looked over his shoulder at Luke. “I don’t understand.”
“We have to stop them,” Luke explained. The fiery pain inside had begun to subside when he stopped overdrawing on the Force, but the cold ache of Lomi Plo’s attention remained with him. “We can’t let a whole fleet of nest ships loose.”
“They’ll eat whole sectors bare,” Han said. “Worse—they’ll turn the natives into Joiners.”
Juun let his jaw fall and was silent for a moment, then he suddenly started chuckling.
“You fooled me!” He shook his head and looked forward again. “The history vids didn’t say you liked practical jokes!”
“We’re not joking, Captain Juun,” Luke said. They had now reached the planet, a huge disk of swirling white that filled most of their forward viewport. He could feel the presence of a large mass of pirates beneath the clouds, somewhere near the world’s equator. “We really need to stop them.”
“We—” Juun’s voice cracked. He stopped to wet his throat, then tried again. “We do?”
“I don’t like it much, either, Juun,” Han said. “But that’s what happens when you start hanging out with Jedi.”
Han’s tone was joking, but there was a core of truth to his words. Luke was acutely aware that he was the only one aboard who had volunteered for this mission. Everyone else had gotten caught up in it simply because they happened to be nearby when it became a necessity, and none of them was very well equipped to survive the job. When he thought about what might happen if he went through with this, he wondered if he really had the right to pull them along. But when he thought about what might happen if the Killiks dispersed across the galaxy . . . he wondered if he had the right not to.
The first of the “moons” began to swell in the forward viewport. At eight kilometers long, it was an ungainly vessel, with a stony hull, giant control fins, and two cavernous docking bays—one of which was currently launching a battered five-hundred-meter passenger liner. Luke ignored the liner and reached out to the nest ship through the Force. It was filled with Killiks—probably the Taat nest, judging by the stoic nature of their presence.
Almost instantly the cold ache in his stomach began to expand again as Lomi Plo reacted to the contact. Luke took a few deep breaths and called on the Force to push the ache back down, but this time he merely succeeded in stopping it from expanding any further. Lomi Plo was growing stronger as he drew nearer.
“Captain Juun, how tight is the Alliance’s blockade?” Luke asked. “Will it prevent the Killiks from escaping in these ships?”
“Of course,” Juun replied. “As long as the Killiks use the standard routes to leave the nebula.”
“What about the nonstandard routes?” Han asked.
Tarfang chuttered and shook his head.
“Tarfang points out that the pirates have never used the standard routes,” C-3PO translated. “And neither have the black membrosia smugglers.”
“Forget the blockade, Luke,” Han said. He let the power grid cover clang shut, then latched it in place. “You want this done, we’ve got to do it ourselves.”
Luke sighed. “You’re right.” He turned to Juun and Tarfang. “I’m sorry, but I really need your help stopping these nest ships.”
“Stopping them?” Juun twisted around in his seat. “How?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a bunch of baradium on board?” Han asked.
Juun’s eyes went wide. “You carry baradium in your stores?”
“Han is joking, Captain Juun,” Luke explained. “And we don’t need to disable all of the Killiks’ ships. I only have to stop the one carrying the Dark Nest. They’re the key to this.”
Tarfang chittered a question.
“Tarfang still wants to know how,” C-3PO said. “The DR-Nine-one-nine-a doesn’t even carry concussion missiles.”
“It has an escape pod, doesn’t it?” Han asked.
“Of course,” Juun said. “The pod is quite functional.”
“Good.” Luke did not have to ask to know that Han was thinking the same thing he was—with one exception. “Then all you have to do is get close and drop me off.”
“Us off,” Han corrected.
Luke shook his head. “This a Jedi mission, and we don’t even have much in the way of weaponry. You’ll just—”
“If you say get in the way, I’m going to Hutt-thump you,” Han warned. “Leia would kill me if I let you die alone in there.”
Luke sighed in resignation, then began searching for the Dark Nest again. Each time he made contact with one of the nest ships, the cold knot inside rose a bit higher into his chest. It wasn’t long before he had to wage a constant Force battle just to keep the feeling in check.
They were just passing the third nest ship when Luke sensed a mass of pirate presences rising through the planet’s clouds below.
“Be ready,” he warned. “The pirates are coming up to cut us off.”
Tarfang let loose with a long string of Ewokese invective.
“That’s not fair,” C-3PO said. “It’s hardly Master Luke’s fault that you haven’t replaced the tail cannon.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Han said. “If we have to open fire, we’re starslag anyway.”
Another nest ship appeared from behind the curve of the planet, and the anguish of the captives being devoured by the Gorog larvae grew clear and raw in the Force.
“There.” Luke pointed at the vessel. “Do a flyby and we’ll eject in the escape pod. Then head for the Murgo Choke and tell everything you know about this to the highest-ranking blockade officer you can find.”
Tarfang began to gibber and shake his head.
“Tarfang doesn’t think that is very wise,” C-3PO translated. “The Defense Force is going to be looking for someone to blame about those replicas.”
“And if you don’t want it to be you two, then you’d better be the ones who sound the warning,” Han said. “If you get there before anything bad happens, they might even give you a reward.”
Tarfang’s furry brow rose. “Gabagaba?”
“I’m sure it would be substantial,” Luke said.
“Yeah, a thousand credits, at least,” Han said. “You might be saving an entire fleet, after all.”
“A reward would be nice,” Juun said. “But that’s not the important thing, Tarfang. It was our mistake, so it’s our duty to correct it.”
Tarfang groaned and let his head drop, but waved Luke and Han aft toward the escape pod.
“I’ll keep the Niner cloaked as long as I can,” Luke said, turning to go. “But once you’re beyond interception range, get out fast. I need to devote—”
Luke’s instructions were interrupted by the wail of DR919a’s proximity alarms. Juun shrieked, and Luke whirled around to see a blue streak of ion efflux lighting the forward viewport.
> “Pirate ship?” he asked.
Juun could barely bring himself to nod.
“Relax—they missed,” Han said. “Now that they’re past—”
The proximity alarms screamed again, and this time Luke was thrown from his feet as the ship bucked. A loud boom rolled forward, then metal groaned in the stern and the sour smell of containment fluid began to fill the air.
Juun studied his console for a moment. “I can’t believe it! We’re not showing any damage.”
“What a relief!” C-3PO said from where he had landed across the deck. “My calculations indicate that even if the impact was glancing, we were hit by something at least the size of a Corellian Engineering Corporation corvette.”
“Uh, I wouldn’t get too excited.” Han rolled to his knees next to Luke. “I rerouted the damage control power to the shields.”
Tarfang, who like Juun had been strapped into his seat, looked back and began to yap at Han angrily.
“Yeah?” Han rose and jabbed his finger in the Ewok’s direction. “Well, we wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t boosted that flit-field you two were calling shields.”
A pirate frigate shot past between the DR919a and the Gorog nest ship, then wheeled around and opened fire with a small bank of turbolasers.
The bolts flashed past at least a kilometer overhead.
Luke returned to his feet and checked Juun’s navigational display. He was relieved to see the rest of the pirate fleet—about thirty vessels, ranging in size from blastboats to frigates—executing much the same maneuver, all laying fire in a circle around a disabled blastboat floating several kilometers to their stern. His Force illusion was still working; the pirates had no idea where DR919a was and were attacking blindly in the hope of landing a lucky shot.
“I think the worst is over,” Luke said. The Gorog nest ship was now directly in the center of the DR919a’s viewport and rapidly beginning to swell. “But you need to pull up a little. I think the collision dropped our nose.”
“I am pulling up,” Juun gasped.
Luke glanced at the yoke and saw that the Sullustan had pulled it back almost into his lap. Tarfang unstrapped and started aft, sputtering in alarm and motioning to Han.
“Hey, it’s not my fault,” Han said, following. “I didn’t touch the attitude thrusters.”
The DR919a passed under the pirate frigate and continued toward the Gorog nest ship.
Han’s voice came over the intercom. “It’s only a smashed relay box. We’ll have it fixed in . . .”
The rest of the sentence was drowned out by a sudden, painful pop in Luke’s ears.
R2-D2 began to whistle in alarm, and C-3PO said, “Are you sure?”
R2-D2 tweeted in irritation.
“Oh, my!” C-3PO said. “Master Luke, Artoo says the ship is losing cabin pressure.”
“I know.” Luke’s ears popped again. “Han—”
“Did you feel that?” Han said over the intercom. “We’ve got a hull breach!”
“Where?” Juun demanded. His eyes were glued to his damage control console. “I’m blind!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Luke said. The Gorog nest ship was filling the forward viewport now. “Even if you could seal off the breach, there’s no time.”
Juun looked up at him. “What are you saying?”
“I guess I owe you a new ship,” Luke said. “If we live that long.”
EIGHTEEN
In Leia’s mind, daybreak was forever.
She was floating on the edge of a purling river, relishing the soft brush of a warm breeze on her face, watching Alderaan’s sun stand on the canyon rim. She had been watching it for hours, days perhaps, and it never moved. That was the point of the meditation, to still all: thoughts, emotions, mind.
But the water was growing rough. There was anger between Jacen and Jaina, a feeling of betrayal and . . . acceptance. Leia reached out to them in the Force, hoping that her love might help them heal the chasm that divided them. They were so far away, so deep in the Unknown Regions, where only the Killiks and the Chiss could find them. This was all she could do for them. They had to rely on each other. They needed to take care of each other . . . for Leia, if not for themselves.
The sense of acceptance—Jacen—closed itself off, and Jaina’s sense of betrayal began to grow less bitter. For Leia, she would watch over her brother.
Leia relaxed again, trying to return to her meditations, but the water started to lap at her, to lift her and pull her out into the current. She did not try to stay close to shore. There was a familiar warmth in the water’s grasp, an honest strength that she recognized as her brother’s presence in the Force. She surrendered to the river, and the canyon walls began to rush past. The yellow sun climbed high into the sky, the breeze vanished and the air grew still and stale, and suddenly Leia was back in her detention cell, sitting cross-legged on her bunk, staring at the same empty place on the wall that she had been watching for . . . she checked her chrono . . . eighteen standard hours.
Leia started to respond to Luke, but he had already sensed her return to the realm of the temporal and was warning her that something was escaping, that things were terribly wrong inside the nebula. She could sense that he was in some kind of turmoil, and that Han was with him—but not much more. Her heart rose into her throat, and she pictured Saras nest in her mind and wondered if they were still on Woteba.
The only reply was the overwhelming impression that a threat was coming, that Leia had to sound the alarm. She reached for more, trying to find out if Han and Luke were in danger and needed help, but all she sensed was a raw fear that might have been her own—and then Luke’s presence was gone.
Leia remained on her bunk, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. Han and Luke were in the middle of a bad situation, and she could not help chastising herself for letting Bwua’tu detain her and Saba. She had remained imprisoned aboard the Admiral Ackbar out of concern for the deteriorating relationship between the Jedi and the Galactic Alliance, and now Han and Luke might pay the price.
But Luke had not asked her for help. He had contacted her as a Jedi Knight, directing her to take action on behalf of the order. She was to sound the alarm, and soon.
Leia started by reaching out to Mara, who was still in a Force-hibernation. Whether Leia and Saba convinced Bwua’tu of the danger or merely departed in the Falcon, Mara and the other StealthX pilots would need to be ready.
As soon as Leia had alerted Mara, she reached out to Saba and felt . . . nothing. Either the Barabel did not wish to be disturbed, or she was not awake. Leia hesitated to try again. Saba had once confided that when she sensed someone’s presence while she was sleeping, she often awoke with a terrible urge to hunt them down.
Still sitting on her bunk with her legs folded, Leia reached out in the Force and grabbed the security cam hidden inside the ceiling light. She located the signal feed and pulled. A soft clack sounded from inside the fixture, and then she sensed the mild irritation of a guard stationed in the processing area at the front of the cell block.
Moving quickly now, Leia unfolded her legs and went to the door. She could not sense any living presences on the other side, but she felt sure there would be an EverAlert droid—a Justice Systems variant on Lando’s highly successful YVH series—standing in the corridor between her cell and Saba’s. She pressed her ear to the door, then looked up toward the side wall of her cell, fixing her attention approximately over the last cell on the block, and used the Force to project a loud boom into the ceiling.
A series of muffled hisses and metallic thunks sounded outside her door as a massive droid charged down the corridor to investigate the noise. Leia placed her hand over the magnetic lock she had seen when her door was open, then reached out with the Force and disengaged the internal catch. The door slid open with an all-too-audible hiss.
She stepped out and found the EverAlert swinging around to face her.
“Your cell door has malfunctioned.” The droid planted its foot a
nd began to bring up the heavy stun blaster in its right arm. “Return to your cell and remain—”
Leia flicked her finger at the EverAlert’s head and used the Force to flip its primary circuit breaker. The switch lay hidden beneath its neck armor, but that was no hindrance to a Jedi.
“—staaaationaaaar . . .”
The droid’s chin slumped against its chest, and the stun bolt it had been preparing ricocheted harmlessly off the floor.
A metallic clank sounded behind Leia as the blast door at the front of the cell block retracted. She spun around to see a pair of astonished guards standing on the other side of the threshold, their blaster pistols still holstered.
“Stang!” the older one said. “She’s—”
Leia swept her arm in their direction, using the Force to jerk both guards forward. She slammed them into the blast door, then dropped them across the threshold so the cell block could not be sealed off without crushing them.
The older man, a grizzled human sergeant, snapped the comlink out of his sleeve pocket. His companion, a Duros with smooth blue skin and red eyes bulging in alarm, made the mistake of reaching for his blaster.
Leia reached out with the Force and slammed his head into the wall, then summoned the blaster from his open holster. By the time she got the muzzle pointed in the sergeant’s direction, he was raising the comlink to his lips.
“Everything’s fine here,” she said, touching his mind through the Force. “There’s no need for alarm.”
“W-whatever you say, P-princess.” The sergeant was careful to keep his finger away from the comlink’s activation switch. “You’re the one holding the blaster.”
Leia sighed. She was going to have to work on her Force-persuasion skills with someone besides Saba. Force intimidation was fine for Barabels, but humans needed something a little more subtle.
She gestured at the comlink. “Tell the watch officer—and no funny business. I’m a Jedi. I’ll know if you use an alarm code.”
The sergeant nodded, then activated the comlink. “Everything’s fine here, Watch.”