Luke felt a momentary flash of remembered fear that made him falter. He stood gripping the lightsaber. Finding no danger behind them, Callista turned back to see what the problem was.
And, with its eyes fixed on Luke, its nemesis ... the one-armed monster lunged for Callista, instead.
She couldn't react fast enough. Seeing the down-sweeping arc of the sharp claws and the blinding speed with which the wampa charged, Luke yelled, "No!" and cut sideways with his lightsaber.
Putting all the Force behind his swing, Luke cleaved the one-armed snow creature in half. The dead monster continued to growl and gurgle as it lay smoking on the threshold of the shield door. "I thought I had done that a long time ago," Luke whispered.
More wampas surged from the tunnels below. Outside in the night snow creatures stood up from the outcrops, no longer bothering to hide.
"Don't just stand there," Callista said, shoving Luke as he stared at the dead one-armed creature. "Run!"
The two sprinted across the hard-packed snow. The cold slashed like razors at their lungs as they gasped for breath, already exhausted from the battle.
The wreckage of the poachers' ship looked ominous in the watery light, but their own space yacht shone like their only hope. As the wampas pursued, leaping across the snow-swept rocks, Luke and Callista ran with their last surge of strength.
Reaching the ship, Luke hammered at the door controls. Callista stood behind him, her lightsaber glowing. The door slid open, and Luke pulled her inside, then sealed the door again.
He ran to the pilot compartment and stared at the controls, stifling the sickening despair that swept over him. The controls were smashed. The navicomputer gone. The comm system ripped out.
The wampas hadn't ruined the engines, though the cables for thrust control had been torn free. He and Callista set to work, removing dented or slashed panels and trying to cross-wire anything, just to get them lifted off.
Outside, the wampas began to batter the hull of the space yacht with sharp rocks. If they breached the hull, Luke knew he and Callista could never leave the atmosphere of Hoth.
Callista hunched beside him, working on a different panel. She sorted wires, traced connections, moving with a frantic, efficient energy that wasted not a second. "Try this," she said, and pulled out an alternative power source, which he jacked into the thruster control.
"We can ignite the engines, lift up out of here," Luke said.
Callista agreed. "We'll never be able to restart the engines if we land again. We have to move now, and we have to get off this planet."
Luke triggered the firing button, and the space yacht's engines roared to life at full power.
They had no directional control. The ship lurched up off the ground--and the last thing they heard from the wampas was a long, shrieking scrape of claws against the metal hull as the ship tore away, plunging upward into the night. The icy cracked surface dwindled below them with dizzying speed. They had no maneuverability, just a blind ballistic takeoff that hurled them into the atmosphere.
Callista worked at the other controls. Luke already knew what damage the wampas had done, but her voice faltered as she gave her own assessment.
"No comm system, no navicomputer, only five percent life support." She sighed. "Who knows where we'll end up? We might have been better off staying down there."
NAL HUTTA
CHAPTER 34
Though See-Threepio was miffed that Durga the Hutt had cut short the diplomatic visit so suddenly (after offering a wealth of excuses and apologies), Leia felt an oppressive weight leave her shoulders as soon as the fat slug was off the planet.
It had become clear that Durga either had no overall authority from the Hutts or no inclination to enter into a bargain with the New Republic --as Leia had suspected. Their negotiations had gone exactly nowhere, and Durga feigned ignorance every time Leia mentioned the subject of secret weapons.
"We are businessmen, not warriors," Durga had said. "Our battles consist of under-the-table negotiations, not blasters and detonators."
Although Han glanced at Leia with an I-told-you-so expression, she could tell that she had managed to shake Durga. The birthmarked Hutt had hoped to stall longer, and he seemed decidedly uncomfortable throughout their "diplomatic" visit--but Leia had not given him any easy opportunity to get rid of them.
Han and Leia were both surprised, however, when even after his speedy departure, Durga did provide access to one of his private information brokers--true to his word. Before Leia and Han departed in their diplomatic ship, Korrda the emaciated Hutt ordered one of the brokers brought in to "service" them.
Gamorrean guards dragged a cart with creaking wheels into the dining hall. The carrion birds still perched on their ledges, waiting for dropped food or for a guest to stop moving long enough that they could pounce.
The cart was old and stained with clumps of decomposing refuse, as if someone had mistaken it for a garbage receptacle. A huge, spiral-shaped mollusk shell filled the cart, its ridges worn and covered with algae. The opening to the corkscrew shell was black and foul-smelling. Leia wasn't sure she wanted to know what lurked within.
Korrda slithered forward to rap briskly on the shell with a thin stick. With a sound like a long stream of sand poured into thin mud, a fleshy appendage nudged out of the open hole in the corkscrew shell, protruding like a long tongue. The creature emerged like a worm from a piece of rotten fruit, sickly tan-gray with a cluster of five milky white eyes on its smooth rounded head. "What do you want?" the creature said in a surly voice.
Korrda reared up to glare at the shell creature. "Lord Durga commands that you provide information to these guests. They need to know about Imperial activities." Korrda finally seemed filled with self-confidence, now that he spoke to a creature even lower in the pecking order than he was.
The information broker grumbled. "Information on Imperial activities, eh? Couldn't narrow it down a little, I suppose? Noooo, that's too much to hope for, isn't it? We could at least limit ourselves to current Imperial activities, couldn't we?"
"Yes," Leia said. "We want to know what the remnants of the Empire are up to right now."
"Oh, good--that's much easier, isn't it?" the shell creature said sarcastically. "I suppose you require a specific listing of every individual's activities--I have records of five billion or so, and that's without even looking hard--or would generalizations be good enough, hmmm?"
"Generalizations would be sufficient," Leia answered tightly.
Without a word, the smooth head slipped back into the dark opening with a wet pop. Leia heard muffled rummaging sounds as the creature stirred about, as if it were searching through a labyrinth inside the enormous shell. She wondered what the creature could be doing in there; then the damp head popped up again and turned its eye cluster toward Leia.
"You're in luck, aren't you?--plenty of schemes afoot. Imperial forces have been unified, squabbling warlords executed. Starship construction increased tenfold, new soldiers appearing by the tens of thousands--that the sort of thing you're looking for? Imperial military forces have clustered around a single commander, and it would appear that even women and aliens are allowed to serve to the extent of their abilities--a vast change from the Emperor's way of thinking, wouldn't you say? Charming to see an enlightened Imperial commander, isn't it?"
Han looked over at her, and Leia sat up straight. The alien information broker had piqued her interest, despite her initial resistance. Could it actually be telling the truth? Leia suspected this entire charade was still part of Durga's scheme, a distraction to keep them concerned about one threat while the Hutts completed another one. But even Durga's ulterior motives did not preclude an actual Imperial plot.
Leia said, "Do you know what their plans are? Has the Empire formed some sort of strategy?"
The information broker wavered in the air. "Scattered Imperial fleets have come together with such a buildup of weapons they are almost certainly planning a major assault against the N
ew Republic , wouldn't you think? Specific target unknown, so it's no use asking, is it?" The information broker swiveled its eye cluster toward Korrda. "May I go now? I have a lot of work to do--you can see how busy I am, can't you?"
"Wait," Han interrupted. "Who is this new Imperial commander? I need to know."
The information broker rumbled deep inside its body. "Oh, that's all you want, is it? Why not ask for the number of sand grains on the beaches of Pil-Diller, or ask me to count the leaves in the forests of Ithor, eh?"
Korrda rapped the shell with his gnarled stick again. "Shut up and answer the question."
"All right, all right, I was just getting to that, wasn't I?" the information broker said, and slithered back into the shell, where it rummaged around for an interminable time before it finally popped out again.
"Daala," the creature said. "The admiral in charge of the Imperial forces is named Daala, you see? But that's all--I've scraped the walls, haven't I? Since I have no more information, good night!"
With that, the fleshy head popped back into the shell, leaving Leia and Han to gape at each other in amazement. Leia had expected nothing like this.
Han looked sickened. He blinked his eyes uncomprehendingly. "But how could it be Daala?" he mumbled. "She's ... dead."
Leia met his eyes and decided she didn't want or need an explanation right now.
"Apparently not," she said. "This puts a whole new spin on things--doesn't it?"
CORE SYSTEMS
CHAPTER 35
In Admiral Daala's hands, the remnants of the Empire became a machine, a massive cohesive engine being tuned to peak performance.
Cogs spun. Components fit together. Armament factories processed resources into additional weapons: TIE fighters, blastboats, AT-ST'S, and structural components of new Star Destroyers. Hyperdrives were mass-produced and installed in ship after ship. Weapons' cores were charged with tibanna gas. Formerly downtrodden workers--even aliens and females--were given responsibilities and put to work for the glory of the Empire.
Daala reveled in the progress reports she received. Now aboard her great black ship, the Night Hammer, she progressed from system to system, knitting together once-scattered allegiances, cementing loyalties, and squeezing more work out of subjects who had been lax for too long, drawing tight the Imperial net.
Accompanied by awesome red Imperial Guards, she spoke at armaments factories and shipyards, raising her voice and building morale, making herself visible so that all could see a charismatic leader who was there to do something against the enemy, fostering hope in the future once more. She paced around the Night Hammer's ready-room, a private strategy chamber that was itself as big as the entire command deck on a Victory'-class Star Destroyer. Daala stared out the viewing window, drinking in the brilliant spatter of stars at the heart of the galaxy. Nebular material streamed in ribbons across star clusters.
The huge ready-room seemed extravagant, almost intimidating. She would have preferred a more confined place to gather her thoughts, but in her position she could not take command of any ship other than the Super Star Destroyer. The ready-room had its own sleeping quarters, food-processing stations, even access to command-level escape pods, should disaster befall the warship. Though it was immense, the Night Hammer functioned with a relatively small crew, relying on massively redundant automated command systems.
Vice Admiral Pellaeon cleared his throat and waited for her attention. Daala knew the older officer had arrived, but she let her thoughts wander a while longer. "Our fleet is growing strong," she finally said out loud. "I can feel it."
Pellaeon waited for her. "Yes, Admiral."
"I don't want to strike before we are ready ... but I'm anxious to go to battle again." She sighed and turned to Pellaeon, who stood holding a datapad with the latest fleet statistics. She frowned wearily and sank into one of her chairs. "I do grow tired of administrative details, though," she groaned. After only a moment she stood up again and began to pace around the ready-room, a blur of nervous energy.
"These details are necessary," Pellaeon said. "Without sufficient attention to detail, all your work will fall apart. You must understand that, if you intend to run the Empire."
Daala fixed him with a sharp stare. "But I have no designs on running the Empire. That's not what I'm after. Surely you understand that by now? Once the battle is won, I intend to relinquish command with great pleasure--to you or whomever else is most suited to the damn job."
Pellaeon's head snapped back and his watery eyes widened. "Me, Admiral? I am no emperor!"
She let loose a laugh. "Neither am I, Vice Admiral--but let's not worry about that until the war is over. Give me a rundown. Where do we stand?"
With obvious relief at the change of subject, Pellaeon sat down at the table while Daala continued to pace. He called up numbers on his datapad. "We now have one hundred twelve fully functional Victory'-class Star Destroyers. I've placed them under the command of Colonel Cronus, as we discussed at our last meeting."
"Yes," Daala said, "a good choice. He seems a competent commander."
"We also have forty-five Imperial Star Destroyers--and of course we have the Night Hammer." He slid the datapad across the table. "There's a full listing of our TIE fighters, interceptors, and bombers as well as a tally of Gamma assault shuttles, Lambda-class shuttles, AT-ST walkers, scout transports, and blastboats. The next entry summarizes our entire complement of personnel and their areas of expertise."
Daala glanced at the numbers but felt her green eyes glaze over. This was not her strength. "I'll study these later," she said. "Right now my mind is occupied with other concerns." She drew a deep breath. "We are getting close, very close. You and I must discuss the strategy for our first attack. I prefer not to make this decision alone. You have decades of experience and a wealth of knowledge. We are here with the door sealed and no one watching--I want your honest opinion." She lowered her voice. "I will not make the same mistakes again."
Pellaeon swallowed slightly. "I appreciate your faith in me, Admiral, but surely you recognize that this time you have a genuine fleet at your disposal."
Daala slapped the palm of her hand down on the table, her eyes blazing. "And I will not waste it!"
Pellaeon stood up. "Shall I get us a drink, Admiral?"
She nodded and turned her eyes to stare out at the stars. She didn't speak until he had returned with a tall, cool glass of stim tea.
"As I see it, Admiral," Pellaeon said slowly, "we have two obvious primary targets. The first is Coruscant, the capital, the most heavily populated and fortified world in the New Republic . If we destroy that planet, it would turn the Rebels into a scattered flock of whipped animals, fleeing for sanctuary to a hundred separate bases all over again."
"I agree," Daala said. "However, the battle for Coruscant will be long and difficult. And bloody. We will lose a large portion of our new fleet if we choose that as our first target."
Pellaeon nodded, tugging at his gray mustache. "I'm forced to concur, and I must also confess to a certain reluctance to devastate the former Imperial planet."
Daala's lips drew together in a pinched expression. "What I'm looking for, Pellaeon, is a decisive victory, an important Rebel target that we can utterly squash with minimal loss to our forces. We need a morale-building strike that will set the Rebels reeling and buoy our own troops up in an ecstasy of renewed patriotism. At that point we can come back with twice our strength and hammer Coruscant to rubble. I have such a target in mind," she said. "Are we thinking of the same one?"
Pellaeon took a sip of his cool tea.
She watched him. He paused a moment, then answered without hesitation. "Yavin 4." He raised his eyebrows. "Where the new Jedi training center is located."
"Yes," Daala said. Her smile congratulated him. "The Jedi Knights are powerful symbols to the Rebels--and they will be powerful enemies if we let them proliferate, as the enemy seems to intend. If we strike now and uproot this weed before it goes to seed, we can
strike a mortal blow to these Rebels."
Daala recalled her iron-willed mentor Tarkin, who had taught her everything about tactics, strength of character, and love for the Empire. Tarkin had died while attacking the Rebel base on Yavin 4--and she thought it would be a fitting target in her new campaign.
"Excuse me, Admiral?" Pellaeon said, startling her out of her thoughts.
She glanced at him and realized he had just said something. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't hear you."
"I suggested that we diversify our strike. Allow Colonel Cronus to take his Victory fleet and strike at dozens of minor targets, so that the Rebels believe they're under attack at all points. This will cause damage far beyond the risk incurred, and it will add to the turmoil and confusion surrounding our own surprise attack."
Daala smiled. "Excellent idea, Vice Admiral. Colonel Cronus will launch his strikes. You will take a fleet of Imperial Star Destroyers directly to begin the obliteration of the small jungle moon. And I will follow in the Night Hammer to ensure that we retain possession of this worthless system."
She gulped down the last of her cold stim tea, and it felt like a thick rivulet of ice crawling down her throat and spreading through her body.
"We'll begin at once," Daala said.
CHAPTER 36
Kyp Durron hunched forward in front of the control panel. His dark eyes narrowed as he scanned the enemy forces arrayed around them.
Dorsk 81 piloted their stolen Imperial ship into the massed battle fleet. His slender, olive-green hands danced nervously on the controls; his yellow eyes widened in astonishment, as if he were still unable to believe what Kyp had talked him into doing.
"I'll bet this is the biggest gathering of the fleet since the battle of Endor," Kyp said, "or at least since Thrawn's last attack."
Dorsk 81 licked his thin lips and nodded, keeping his eyes on the frenzy of ship activity, like flotsam tossed about in a hurricane. "There certainly are a lot of ships," he said. "We'll be blown out of space the moment they suspect us."
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