no trouble slicing her way into the cargo container with a few
connecting cables from her portable computer. After a surprisingly
long crawl over, under, and around the generator to the front of the
container, she settled down with her book-chips to wait for Deen.
"You sure this'll work, Deen?" said Boo Rawl, captain of the Rebel
barge driver Long Run.
"For the thousandth time Boo, yes! My aunt is the docking supervisor
at this port. She wouldn't have signalled for us to come if she didn't
have everything at this
end arranged. I didn't live through the
evacuation of Echo Base just to get blown out of the sky by my own
family."
"I'm not nearly as worried about your family as I am about what you've
done to my sublight engines," said Boo.
"I didn't do a thing to your precious engines, Boo," said Deen, "all I
did was add an ST box so the port will read our transponder signal as
the Imperial driver's. Standard Operating Procedure, straight out of
Cracken's Field Guide--I do it all the time."
"Yeah, well, you seemed to be getting pretty close to my cobulators
with that hydrospanner . . ."
"Oh, quit griping and hail the port--we're practically on top of
them."
Boo Rawl shrugged and opened a channel. "Kuat Freight Port, this is
Drive Craft 36DD, requesting permission to link with the barge in .
. ." Boo paused to check a datapad. "Loading dock 42."
"Drive craft, your transponder signal is unclear, "said a cold voice
from the station, "Please transmit clearance code to confirm your
identity."
Boo gave Deen a pointed stare as he sent out the code.
"Uh, sorry about the transponder, Kuat," he said, "new tech on board
was tweaking the sublights, obviously got a little carried away."
"Identity confirmed," answered the controller, uninter-ested in Boo's
explanations. 'Driver DeeDee, you are early.
Link techs will be at dock 42 at 1430."
Boo turned again to Deen, who gestured innocence but said nothing.
"Ah, are you sure about that, Kuat?" asked BOo. "My orders say pickup
at 1230."
"I will check, DeeDee," said the controller.
Boo shut off the comm. "Isn't that one of your aunt's people?"
Deen nodded.
"Then what's the problem?"
"I dunno . . ."
Kuat hailed the driver: "It seems you are right, driver DeeDee," said
the controller. "You are listed for 1230 . . ." Deen smirked at
Boo.
"However, there will be a slight delay--the techs' orders say 1430.
They will be back on duty within the hour."
"No problem, Kuat, I'll wait," said Boo. He shut down the comm
again.
"Now what?" he asked Deen.
"We wait for the techs to finish lunch, like you said."
Boo rolled his eyes. "What if Security decides to visit us while we're
waiting?"
"Boo, you worry as much as my friend Voren," said Deen.
"Security'll be on break too."
"Yeah, off playing Whack-a-Bothan, or Bobbing for Calamari." Boo
sighed. "I hate waiting," he said.
"Finally! I thought they'd take forever!" said Boo as they received
the signal that the last of the linking clamps had secured the cargo
container to the barge driver. "Kuat, this is driver DeeDee," he said,
cutting off the latest scarlet-rated offering of Billi B and the
Paradise Gang and hailing the station. "I've linked up to the barge
here, and I'd like to check the cargo before I leave."
"Go ahead, DeeDee."
"All right, Deen," Boo said as he cut the comm. "She's all ours.
Let's take a quick peek and vanish before the real barge driver DeeDee
shows up."
Deen entered the airlock connecting the access hatch on the cargo
container.
"Is the generator all right?" asked Boo as Deen entered the hold.
"The generator is huge--you don't really want me to spend two days
inspecting . . . Wait a . . ."
"What?"
"I saw something move . . ."
"Hi, Deen!" said Shannon, popping into view. "Is this the generator
you wanted?"
"Shannon!"
"Who's the kid?" Boo asked.
"My cousin . . . Shannon, does your mother know you're in here?"
"Of course not. We'd better get moving."
"We?" said Deen. "What do you mean, we?"
"I'm joining the Rebellion," she answered, hauling out her portable
computer. "Now come on, we've got to go," "Absolutely not," said
Deen.
"You are going straight back home."
"How?" said Boo. "The dock's been depressurized, and I'm not too
thrilled with the idea of calling the techs back, having them unlink us
and re-pressurize the dock, explaining the kid to Security, and then
waiting to get linked up again. I'm not crazy about dragging some poor
kid into danger, but we have no choice. She's on for the haul."
"He's right," said Shannon, climbing into the driver cab. "Close those
hatches and let's go!"
"But . . ." Deen began.
"The Imperial driver will be here in . . . less than 30 minutes," said
Shannon, checking her chrono. "Set our coordinates for hyperspace,
comrade," she told Boo.
"Name's Boo. Now keep quiet, kid, I gotta talk to your mom's folks."
Shannon nodded. Deen stood in shock.
"Kuat, this is barge driver DeeDee. My cargo is secure and I'm ready
to go."
"Affirmative, Driver DeeDee," said the controller. "You may leave port
when ready; thank you for choosing Kuat Engineering and please be
careful of repair drones on your way out."
"No problem, Kuat," said Boo, "and thanks for everything."
He began piloting the barge away from the dock.
"This is almost too easy," he said. "Deen, your aunt is the best .
.
."
"What did she have to do with it?" asked Shannon. "I set the whole
thing up!"
"What do you mean, you set it up?" asked Deen.
"Mom was too scared to help you--you knew that, Deen," Shannon said.
"So I changed the pickup time."
"And Aunt Nell . . ."
"Doesn't know a thing."
Boo was astonished. "The kid set this up? I'm impressed.
Great cousin you got here, Deen. Though it would've been nice if she'd
gotten the techs here sooner."
"Sorry, Boo, I, uh, sort of forgot to change their orders," said
Shannon. "How long 'till we can jump?"
"We've just cleared tractor beam range--let me get past that one drive
craft . . . Aw, no, I don't believe it!"
"What?" asked Shannon.
"See ahead? That's the real barge driver 36DD, come to pick up the
generator."
"You sure?" asked Deen.
The comm light flashed. "Unknown Driver," said the controller, "return
to dock immediately."
The three Rebels looked at each other.
"Keep going," said Deen.
"Repeat," said the controller, "unknown Driver, return your barge to
dock and you will not be harmed."
"Yeah, right," muttered Boo.
The Imperial drive craft positioned itself between the Rebels and the
spacelane.
"How?" said Boo. "The Long Run ain't no snub-fighter linked to a
loaded barge, it moves like a drunken Hutt . . ."
"What's its shield tolerance like?" asked Deen, pointing out the
viewport, where at least a dozen TIE fighters were converging on
them.
"Oh, beautiful," said Boo, "I knew this was too easy."
The comm light blinked again. "Unidentified Driver," said a familiar
female voice, "this is Senior Controller Voorson with your final
warning. Reverse your heading and return to dock 42, or our security
forces will open fire."
"Lovely," Boo muttered. "Deen, take the guns. Blast anything between
us and freedom."
"Wait," said Deen, "I have an idea--Shannon, follow my lead," he said,
slapping the comm panel.
"Controller Voorson," he said, "call off your attack. We have your
daughter." He nudged Shannon.
"Mom, Mom, it's me! Don't shoot!" she said.
The comm panel was silent.
"You think that'll stop 'em?" Shannon asked.
Laser blasts bounced off the driver's shields.
"There's your answer," said Boo. "Take the guns, Deen!"
Deen hit the firing buttons. The small turbolasers managed to hit two
oncoming TIEs, and three more were disabled by flying debris. Deen
kept firing.
"Rebel Driver," said Nell Voorson, her voice touched with panic, "turn
back now. Security will not permit you to escape."
"We ain't askin' for permission!" shouted Boo, continuing to plow
forward. A TIE's solar panel clipped their shields; the TIE flew
apart, colliding with one of its fellows.
"Boo, the shields are gonna go any second," said Deen, still blasting
at their attackers.
"Rebel barge driver," said Nell Voorson, "this is pointless.
Stop now or be destroyed . . ."
"Sorry, Auntie, there's no going back now!" said Boo.
"Rebel . . . Deen!" Nell pleaded. "Deen, think of what you're
doing--think of Shannon --Security won't listen to me!" she shouted,
"they won't let you go!"
"I'm sorry, Aunt Nell," Deen began.
"Watch the TIEs!" Boo warned; the stream of tiny fighters continued to
pour at them.
"We're gonna hit that driver!" Shannon cried as the Imperial barge
36DD loomed before them.
"Not if they're smarter than we are," said Boo.
Deen bit his lip and Shannon covered her eyes as the drivers
converged.
Nell Voorson's voice continued to beg
for' sanity over the comm panel.
A bead of sweat rolled down Boo's face. "I don't think they're gonna
.
. ."
At the last moment, the Imperial driver ducked beneath the Long Run.
Their shields brushed, buckled, and collapsed as they zoomed past the
other ship and into clear space. Four laser bolts from four different
TIEs burst past the Long Run just as Boo pulled the jump levers; all
three Rebels held their breath as the starlines merged into the blur of
hyperspace.
"Are we safe now, Boo, are we safe?" asked Shannon.
"Depends on two things," said Boo. "First, whether or not your mother
called ahead to Venir or Renegg for Interdictors . . ."
"And whether or not we hit somebody," Deen finished.
Shannon crept into her cousin's lap and laid her head on his
shoulder.
All three Rebels remained tense, silent, waiting for either a fatal
crash or a jerk out of hyperspace into Imperial custody.
The minutes dragged on. Shannon realized that, whether she lived or
died, she would never see her parents again; she began to cry. Deen
held her close, wiping her tears and rocking her.
"Hey," said Boo softly, "it's been 30 minutes. We're clear."
"We're away?" said Shannon.
Boo nodded. "Free and clear, kid welcome to the Alliance."
"Little Bit," said Deen, "I'm sorry I got you into this . . ."
"I'm not," said Shannon, putting on a smile. "Come on, now,
Deen---let's go slay some dragons."
Do No Harm
by Erin Endore It all seemed pretty straightforward the day I was
called into Commander Briessen's office. "Temporary detached duty," he
called it. Naturally I wondered what kind of detached duty a
hospital-ship medic warranted, but I didn't have to wonder very
long--only until Lieutenant Haslam showed up: I have to say he didn't
look like a topnotch commando.
A couple of centimeters taller than I, light brown hair thinning on
top, pale blue eyes, roundish face, slender
build; he looked like an accountant. But everyone in the Rebellion knew his reputation by
then..What could he possibly want with me?
I found out in short order. Gebnerret Vibrion, the political head of
another Rebel cell, had been captured by the Imps and was undergoing
interrogation on Selnesh, a notorious prison planet in the Irishi
Sector. He knew too much to be left in custody; he had to be either
broken out or killed quickly. Okay, I could understand that. I hadn't
been with the Rebellion very long, but even I knew that given enough
time, anyone could and would break under interrogation: physical
torture, drugs, threats to loved ones--everyone has a breaking point.
So where did a medic come into the picture? It turned out Vibrion was
a rather elderly human male with Zithrom's syndrome, a kidney problem
requiring him to take continuous doses of Clondex in order to stay
alive. It was a pretty sure bet the Imps wouldn't be taking tender
care of his medical problems. Even worse, before he died he'd go into
delirium.
And who knew what secrets he'd give away then?
So I reported to the mission briefing with no small amount of
apprehension. I hadn't joined the Rebellion for a life of adventure;
I'd signed on to save lives. (Skies, that sounds pompous. It's more
accurate to say I'd signed on for a steady job doing what I'm good at,
for the benefit of the Good Guys.) I felt even more out of place when I
met the other team members, commandos all: Melenna, a tiny, cheerful,
exquisitely beautiful woman with a cap of loose golden curls and the
coldest blue eyes I've ever seen; Gowan, a big dark guy, definitely the
strong silent type; Enkhet, a tall, skinny, pale kid whose appearance
fairly screamed "slicer"; Liak, a (relatively) small Wookiee with long
golden-brown fur and an almost palpable aura of calm about him; and
Haslam, regarding us all with his coolly analytical gaze.
"The plan," he said after a long moment, "is to get in, get Vibrion,
and get out as quietly as possible. We're not going to take down the
Interrogation Center; we're not
going to slaughter Imps; we're not out for glory. We're gonna get Vibrion. Period."
His tone of voice was making me uneasy. "Get him in what sense?"
I asked.
"In whatever sense we have to," Haslam replied calmly, "If we can
evacuate him, fine. If we can't, we can give him a quicker and easier
death than the Imps will, and we can keep him from talking. Have you
got a problem with that, Doctor Leith?" He stressed the title just a
little.
&
nbsp; Actually, I did. I could see his point: burdened with a nonambulatory
rescuee, there was almost no chance the team would make it out
intact.
On the other hand, I was a doctor, and my job was to do everything I
could to save my patient. I kept my mouth shut for the moment, but the
twisting sensation in the pit of my stomach was picking up
considerably.
"So," he addressed the others. "Basic very-dumb-orphan
scoop-and-run--you've done it a hundred times.
We infiltrate the center incognito--Melenna, Liak, you're the
Tales From The Empire Page 28