Leia held on to his arm, forced him to turn back.
“He left him?” she echoed suspiciously.
“Anakin left him, left Chewie,” Han spat.
Leia, too shocked to respond, just let go, and Han stormed away, leaving her full of questions and fears.
“There was nothing else I could do.”
Jacen paused at the door, hearing his little brother’s words. He had learned of the disaster at Sernpidal, had caught his mother crying over Chewie’s demise, and he had suspected, though he had no proof other than one of his father’s glances at Anakin, that his brother had somehow been involved.
“You’re sure of that?” came another voice inside the room, Jaina’s voice.
“The moon was dropping fast,” Anakin replied. “All the air was lighting up with fire.”
“From the compression,” Jaina reasoned.
“We didn’t even know where the wind had taken Chewie, or if he was even still alive.”
“But Dad said he saw him,” Jaina replied, and Jacen winced at hearing that, fearing that Anakin was lying to cover something.
“That was too late,” Anakin admitted. “That was even as we started blasting out of there. We had, maybe, four seconds before impact. How could we get to him and get out of there in four seconds?”
The door opened and Jacen walked in. He stared hard at his little brother, more out of sympathy than accusation, though that didn’t appear to be obvious to Jaina and Anakin, given their fearful expressions.
“You couldn’t,” Jacen said, and Anakin looked surprised indeed to find his older brother apparently backing him up. “If the air itself was starting to burst, the Falcon wouldn’t have been able to reverse course against the rush. You’d have probably crashed right on top of Chewie, or right beside him, and then you’d all be dead.”
Anakin blinked repeatedly, blinking back tears, Jacen knew. He could appreciate what his brother was going through. His own grief was intense and overwhelming—Chewbacca had been like an older brother, or a playful uncle, to all of them, and even closer to his father than Luke was. But he realized that Anakin’s grief, mixed as it was with such obvious guilt, likely dwarfed his own.
“Dad doesn’t see it that way,” Jaina offered, and she looked back to Anakin with sincere pity. “He’s pretty mad.”
“He’s outraged,” Jacen agreed, and Jaina sucked in her breath and gave him a look.
“He’s out of his mind with anger,” Jacen pressed, “about losing his best friend. It’s not really about anything you did or didn’t do,” he told Anakin. “It’s about losing Chewie.”
“But I—”Anakin started to reply.
Jacen walked right up to him, dropped his hands on his brother’s shoulders, and stared him in the eye hard. “Could you have gotten to him and pulled him to safety?” he asked, his voice dripping with the intensity of the Force, forcing both Anakin and Jaina to hear and register every word, every syllable, with crystalline clarity.
Anakin seemed as if he would topple as the weight of that question, the point central to his emotional existence at that time, fell over him, as he replayed those last terrible moments on Sernpidal.
“No,” he answered honestly.
Jacen patted his shoulders and turned away. “Then you did exactly the right thing,” he said. “You saved the rest of them.”
“But Dad—”Anakin started.
“Dad’s not half as devastated and angry as Chewie would have been if he knew that all the rest of you were going to die trying to save him,” Jacen snapped back before Anakin’s reasoning could even begin to take form. “Can you imagine trying to face the fears of your own death knowing that your best friends were going to die because of you? How would Obi-Wan Kenobi have felt if Uncle Luke had rushed back in to help him in his last fight with Darth Vader? He’d have been horrified, because Uncle Luke would have thrown his own life away and destroyed the only chance the Rebel Alliance had against the Empire. Chewie’s the same way. He saved you, saved the son of his dearest friend, and the act cost him his life. He died content in that knowledge.”
He turned away from Anakin then, looking back at Jaina, who stood open-mouthed, obviously stunned by his eloquence. Behind him, he heard Anakin sniffle, and knew the flood of tears, held back thus far because of that terrible guilt, was about to pour forth.
And he felt like crying, too, something he didn’t want to do in front of his little brother, and surely not in front of his sister.
With a nod to Jaina, Jacen rushed out of the room.
Jaina went to Anakin then, wrapping him in a big hug—and he didn’t even try to pull back from it. He buried his face in her thick hair, his shoulders bobbing.
“The Rejuvenator is at Ord Mantell,” Leia explained, looking up from the console and the communicator. “She can be here in three days.”
Lando looked over at Han, neither of them thrilled by the news. Leia had been calling out all morning, trying to locate some real firepower within the region, but Dubrillion was far from the Core and far from any current New Republic activities, leaving the Rejuvenator as the closest major warship. Unfortunately, the swarm of enemy ships would likely arrive within two days, if they kept their present course and speed.
And that was a big if, Han knew. Those tracking the incoming ships had indicated that they were accelerating, which left a bad taste in his mouth. If those ships were accelerating now, why hadn’t they done so earlier, and thus caught up to the defenseless refugees? Han knew when he had been baited, and he had to wonder now if he and the other refugees had inadvertently led their enemies right to Dubrillion.
“Put out the call for the Star Destroyer,” Lando said to Leia. Then he turned to Han. “We’ll hold them off until the Rejuvenator gets here.”
“Anything from your brother?” Han asked Leia, who just shook her head. They believed that Luke and Mara would have made Belkadan by that time, were perhaps even on their way back, but they had heard nothing to confirm that belief.
“We might still be able to get out of here,” Leia offered. “We pack the fastest ships and head out for Ord Mantell, and put a call ahead to the Rejuvenator to have them meet us halfway.”
“That warship doesn’t pack half as much firepower as Dubrillion,” Lando argued. “If we’re going to fight them anyway, I’d rather it be right here.”
Leia looked to Han, who nodded that Lando had a point.
“We’ll hold them off and let the Rejuvenator come in here to help,” Lando went on, his tone showing more confidence, as if the plan was fully unfolding even as he spoke. “And if we can get the call relayed down the line, we can have half the fleet here in a matter of a week.”
“If they listen,” Leia reminded him. “The New Republic has got its own problems, and closer to home. I don’t think they’ll send out half the fleet to worry about some minor problem at the Outer Rim.”
“Minor?” Lando echoed incredulously, and Han winced as if he had just been slapped. After all, Han had just seen an entire planet destroyed. But the councilors wouldn’t view things in the same way as Han, or anyone else out here at the Outer Rim, Leia knew without a doubt. They had cities with more people in them than every planet in the closest three sectors combined, and stories of complete catastrophe rolled in to Coruscant every day. They’d send some help, of course, likely in the form of a single explorer ship, or a squadron of X-wings, if Dubrillion was lucky.
“The Rejuvenator has got a task force with her—a few smaller cruisers, gunships, cargo support, and even a crew transport,” she explained. “We’ll put out the call for them to come in with all speed.”
“And we’ll have the way clear for them to link up with our own forces,” Lando said confidently. He looked to Han. “What do you plan to do with the Falcon?”
“I’ll be up there fighting,” Han promised, and there was indeed the promise of death in his eyes, a cold, hard stare, as chilling a look as Leia had ever seen on his face. He was transferring his grie
f into anger, she knew. He was intending to make every enemy pay for the loss of his closest friend.
A shudder coursed down her spine.
Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin walked into the control room then, their expressions equally solid and determined. “We’ll be up, too,” Jaina declared.
“Oh, no,” Han started to argue.
“We’re Jedi Knights,” Jacen interrupted. “You can’t keep us out of the fight.”
“I don’t need three copilots,” Han shot back.
“And you’ve already got one, because I’m coming with you,” Leia declared. Everyone in the room turned to regard her curiously. Leia had long ago traded in her warrior garb for one of diplomacy. But she steeled her gaze, an expression that offered no room for compromise.
“There you have it,” Han agreed. “Your mother’s flying beside me.”
All three of the kids were shaking their heads, telling Leia clearly that Han was missing their intention.
“I’m not your copilot,” Jaina agreed. “I fly better in a starfighter.”
“Oh, no,” Han said again, shaking his head emphatically.
“You’ve got plenty of ships,” Anakin protested to Lando.
“And there aren’t any better pilots on Dubrillion than us,” Jacen added. “And if we lose the battle up there, the fighting will come down here in a hurry.”
“I’d rather be up there fighting, where I have the advantage,” Jaina agreed, and Leia knew that it was confidence, not bravado, carrying those words, a confidence well-placed, given Jaina’s top score among the belt-runners. Once again, Leia was reminded of the splendid job Mara was doing with her talented daughter, emotionally as well as physically.
“All three of us can fight,” Jacen added. “You know that, and you need pilots.”
Han started to reply, stopped, and took a deep and steadying breath, then looked to Lando. “Can you give them shields from on planet?” he asked. “Like the ones they had in the asteroid belt?”
“I’m bringing Belt-Runner I back in,” Lando replied. “For all her power, the ship’s got no offensive arrays, so she’d be a sitting target up there. I’m going to put her in high dock but keep her powered up, so she’ll be able to lend some shielding power to the equipped starfighters as long as they stay close to home.”
“How many starfighters can we equip?” Han asked, and he narrowed his eyes, obviously plotting.
But Lando shook his head, throwing those visions far away. “Not an easy thing to do and takes up too much room,” he explained. “And too much time. I couldn’t even get the Falcon wired to take the power-shield boost within a week, and I’d have to take away half of your systems just to make your power grid accessible to the signal.”
“So you’ve got a few TIE fighters and a couple of TIE bombers,” Han remarked.
“Enough for the kids,” Lando replied with a shrug.
“Those TIE fighters don’t carry any weapons,” Jaina protested. None of the three kids liked where this conversation was going.
“They do now,” Lando assured her with a cocky grin.
Jaina eyed him skeptically.
“Not much,” he admitted. “Just a single laser cannon and one bank of torpedoes. It’ll take some pretty amazing flying for you guys to hand out any real damage to the enemy fleet …”
He paused there and let the words hang in the air, and Leia saw the intrigue mounting on the faces of her three children. She looked back to Lando and wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or angry with him for the sly way he had just played on the egos of her three children. For Leia, despite her recognition of their skills, judgment, and training, and despite her understanding that the situation here was purely desperate, wasn’t thrilled at all about the prospect of having the three kids up there in the middle of the fighting. She looked to Han, but she found no answers in his perplexed expression, and indeed, there seemed few options. They had seen the tracking data on the incoming force, and it was huge.
“You stay close to the planet,” Leia said.
“All three of you!” Han added, loudly and firmly, poking his finger at the kids.
“Within reach of Belt-Runner I’s help, and the planet’s turbolasers,” Leia finished.
Jaina and Jacen beamed at the news that they wouldn’t be left out of it this time.
There was no smile on the face of young Anakin, though. He stared at his father, looking for some hint of forgiveness.
He found none.
Jaina and Jacen started out of the room then, sweeping Anakin up in their wake.
“You think Mom will be able to help Dad up there?” Jacen asked Jaina, honestly concerned. “She hasn’t done much flying lately. Maybe one of us should go with him.”
Jaina considered the words for a few moments, then shook her head, reminding herself that her mother was no novice to action. Sure, Leia and Han were older now, but both still had plenty of fight in them. “They’ll hand it out to the enemy,” she assured her brother. “What’s Lando got that can match the Millennium Falcon?”
Jacen returned his sister’s smile and turned the conversation toward their own strategy for the upcoming battle. They looked to Anakin to join in, but he was obviously paying no attention to them at all, lost somewhere deep inside himself.
Indeed, Anakin’s thoughts were locked in the past, replaying those last terrible moments of Sernpidal, again and again, trying to determine if he had indeed done something wrong, if there might have been something, anything, he could do to change events, to save Chewbacca.
Logically, there seemed no answers. Logically, Anakin had to believe that he had done the right thing, taken the only option available to save the Falcon and the many people aboard her. But logic couldn’t hold in the young boy’s heart, not against his father’s judgmental look, not against the reality that Chewie was gone, was really gone, and there was nothing anyone could do about that.
“They’re in the system,” Leia announced. She sat in the Falcon’s second seat, beside Han, with a nervous C-3PO standing behind them, chattering away about everything and nothing all at once.
“Possibly you could intercept their transmissions,” the droid remarked. “I would be most happy to translate if they are in a language unintelligible to you.” He went on, offering his skills, and Han turned to Leia and scowled.
“Couldn’t we have just left him behind?” he asked.
With a smile, Leia glanced briefly back to C-3PO—a friend, and one she usually considered fine company—then turned her attention forward again.
“Or I could translate our own communications into code,” the droid rambled on, despite the fact that neither Han nor Leia was listening to him.
Han nodded to Leia. He could hear the first sounds of battle, from the starfighters Lando had put on patrol along the orbits of the outer planets. Pilots called in descriptions of the incoming enemy fleet—which matched exactly the descriptions Kyp Durron had offered of the enemy starfighters.
“You hear that, kid?” Han asked, clicking on the comm to the top gunnery pod.
“It’s going to be a rough ride,” Kyp replied. He was seated comfortably in the gunnery pod atop the Falcon, having offered to sit in as gunner. He hadn’t quite recovered from his escape ordeal yet, not enough for him to take a ship of his own into the fight—and Lando didn’t have a ship he wanted to fly anyway.
Leia opened up the communications to all channels, scanning and listening, and the reports came in fast and furious, cries for help, cries of victories scored, warnings that the enemy force was rolling in closer to the inner planets, closer to Dubrillion and Destrillion.
“Getting hot out there,” Han muttered.
Leia understood his tone, recognizing the nervous edge that went beyond his fears of battle. Like Leia, Han wasn’t afraid for himself, but for his three kids, each flying a TIE fighter down there, below, in close orbit to Dubrillion.
The Falcon’s console warning signals chirped in, and glancing down at the small
viewer, Han and Leia caught the approach of the first retreating friendly starfighters, just a few greenish blips on the screen.
And then, abruptly, that screen practically turned red for the sheer number of ships tracking in behind them.
“Too many!” came a cry over the comm from one of the starfighters, and Han and Leia could certainly appreciate the sentiment.
Han took a deep and steadying breath. He expected Leia to tell him to go to the lower gun pod, that she could take the helm, but he knew that his place was up here, flying the Falcon. “Just feed me the data as it comes in,” he said to preempt any requests. To his surprise, though, Leia stood up. He looked at her curiously.
“I’ll be in the lower gun pod,” she explained, and Han’s expression turned even more incredulous.
“I feel like shooting something,” Leia said, and though it was obviously a joke, a statement made to alleviate the tension, neither Han nor Leia even cracked a smile.
Han stared at his wife for a moment, at her grim expression. Then he nodded and Leia kissed him on the cheek and headed for the lower gunnery pod. Han, too, could do some shooting from up here, just the small front lasers, but his real job was to keep the enemy fighters in line for the bigger guns.
“Can you hear me?” came Leia’s call over the comm.
“I got you,” Han assured her. “Make sure you hold the left flank, and, Kyp, you’ve got the right.”
“Ready to start these monsters singing,” Kyp called back.
Han shook his head at the man’s unending cockiness. He, too, had that in him, but strangely, he didn’t feel overly confident at all at the moment. He looked down at his tracking instruments, the screen glowing red from the sheer number of blips.
Not confident at all.
They heard the reports, as well, and the first cries of battle joined and the first losses to their comrades cut deep into the hearts of the three younger Solos as they swept past Lando’s tallest towers in their shield-enhanced TIE fighters. Belt-Runner I was working perfectly on them, they knew, but their first runs since coming up from Dubrillion had shown them that the shield effect grew minimal as soon as any of the TIE fighters broke out of the planet’s atmosphere.
Star Wars 327 - The New Jedi Order I - Vector Prime Page 30