THE BLACK FLEET CRISIS #3 - TYRANTS_TEST

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  near him.

  By the time Chewbacca reached what was left of the guard station, the

  return fire had ceased. Every one of the guards had fallen victim to

  Lumpawarrump's steady hand and hunter's eye. True, three guards still

  had some fight left in them, despite massive bowcaster wounds--but

  Chewbacca did not object to that.

  He crushed the chest of one who was trying to rise from the deck, then

  threw himself on the back of another and broke his neck with a savage

  twist. Spinning away from the toppling corpse, Chewbacca found himself

  face-to-face with the last guard.

  The Yevetha was bleeding profusely from gaping shrapnel wounds in the

  shoulder and right cheek, and his thorax plates were scorched and

  bubbled. He slashed the air with his claws, and Chewbacca roared a

  challenge. They charged each other, meeting in a collision that would

  have leveled lesser creatures.

  Their short struggle ended with Chewbacca hoiSting his huge attacker

  overhead and hurling him against a structural column. The Yevetha slid

  heavily to the deck and never moved again, his back broken. Standing

  over the body, Chewbacca tipped back his head and made the Wookiee

  triumph-cry echo to the farthest corners of the flight deck.

  Then he turned away and waved Lumpawarrump across to join him.

  Only then did Chewbacca see that his son was injured, dragging his

  right leg as he ran. When and how seriously Lumpawarrump had been

  wounded, Chewbacca did not know--he only knew that his son had not

  uttered a sound in complaint, and that when the moment had come, he had

  faced the katarn without flinching, and his aim had been true.

  The woman called Enara crouched beside where Han Solo lay dozing and

  lightly touched an unbruised spot on his forearm.

  "There is fighting on the ship," she whispered.

  "Your friends have come for you."

  Moving awakened a thousand pains and brought a sharp wince to Han's

  face, but he struggled to a sitting position nevertheless. "For me?

  How do you know?"

  "I know," she said, her face drawn. "I have called them to us, and

  they have finally heard me. Come, we must move you. It is not safe to

  be close to the walls."

  "I don't understand," Han said. But he allowed Enara to help him limp

  to the center of the hold. The effort left him weak, making it

  necessary for him to lay himself out once more on the uncomfortably

  hard surface.

  "I don't hear anything."

  "They are a long way from here. I cannot hide them--it is too much for

  me. But I will try to Help them find you." Enara sat down beside him,

  arranging the folds of her scorched brown caftan around her as though

  it were a fine gown and she was expecting to receive guests. Then she

  cupped her hands lightly around one of his and looked away toward the

  locked loading doors that sealed them in.

  Han did not question her words. She was a puzzling woman, given to

  curious pronouncements and long periods of distraction marked by a

  faraway gaze and an aversion to company. But of all the prisoners in

  the hold, Enara was the only one to step beyond her own fears and needs

  to befriend him. She had been the first to speak to him when he had

  first arrived, and hers had been the only compassionate face he had

  seen when

  he awoke in agony after the beating at the hands of Nil Spaar.

  But the tenuous promise of a rescue was not enough to keep Han from

  dozing. Pain quickly exhausted him, and his bruised organs, his torn

  and battered muscles, assailed him relentlessly when he was

  conscious.

  Sleep was his only relief.

  "The fighting is close now," Enara said during one of Han's wakeful

  moments. "If you need to walk--" "If those doors open, I can get to

  them. But I still don't hear anything."

  "Soon," she said.

  He saw that her face was pale, and he felt her hands trembling, the

  skin that was usually soothingly cool now hot against his.

  "Enara--what's wrong?"

  "I cannot keep them apart. So many dying--your way is so hard, so much

  chaos," Enara whispered.

  "Are you some kind of empathY' "It is not hard to feel death," she

  said. "They are coming. They are almost here."

  It was at that moment that Han began to believe that something truly

  was happening aboard the starship.

  He struggled to a seated position just as Enara pitched forward,

  whimpering loudly, her palms pressed to her forehead, her tousled hair

  hiding her face.

  Moments later, there were noises from beyond the doors--cries, blaster

  fire, thumps against the bulkhead, and a grating, unnerving sound that

  Han was certain he knew but which his pain-drugged mind could not

  identify. Then the small hatch inset into the large loading doors was

  flung open, and a towering Wookiee frame filled the opening.

  "Chewie!"

  With a piteous wail, Chewbacca rushed across the deck and scooped Han

  up into his arms. Throwing back his head and roaring delight, he spun

  Han in circles--a dance of joy.

  "Ow--not so rough. What kept you?" Han answered gleefully. "Where's

  my ship?"

  Then Han yelped as Chewbacca juggled him in an effort to reach his

  comlink. After barking into the device, Chewbacca slung Han over his

  shoulder and started back toward the hatch, now guarded by another

  giant.

  "Wait--wait--the others--wait, Chewbacca, the others. We have to take

  them, too--Enara, Taratan, Noloth--stop, you thick-headed furball," Han

  bellowed.

  "Put me down, I'm not dead yet. Enara!"

  As Chewbacca reluctantly complied, Han saw that Enara was Still seated

  where she had been, though no longer doubled over. "Come on," he

  called to her.

  "There's room for you, too, isn't there, Chewie? How many of them can

  we get--" His words trailed off as he looked around the hold.

  None of the other prisoners had reacted at all to what was

  happening--they were scattered in their usual haunts and gatherings,

  sleeping, talking, sucking water from the drip-pipes.

  "What's happening?" he asked, taking two unsteady steps toward

  Enara.

  "Come on--our reservation here's expired."

  "I cannot go," Enara said. "Go, please--i am at my limit."

  "I don't understand."

  Enara shook her head sharply. When she did, the rest of the prisoners

  vanished, leaving only Enara, Han, and Chewbacca. Chewbacca whined

  unhappily and tightened his grip on his blaster.

  "Now you are inside," she said, "seeing as I do."

  "Where are the others?"

  "They were never here," she said. "They escaped at the transfer camp

  and were picked up by Star Morning. They are elsewhere now, safe. You

  can go."

  Chewbacca whined again and tugged at Han's shoulder.

  "That was--they were an illusion?" Han said, ignoring Chewbacca's

  urgings. "You were covering their escape? Never mind, it doesn't

  matter--you can leave now, too. There'sno one here to protect."

  "I must stay," she said softly. "Denied his prizes, Nil Spaar would

  try to replac
e them. Denied the security of their protection, he would

  seek security through the death of his enemies.

  Go, Han--I am not a prisoner here. I have chosen this freely. Go

  now."

  Turning away from them, Enara lowered her chin to her collarbone. An

  instant later, the hostages reappeared--including a crippled, dozing

  Han Solo, lying on the deck beside Enara.

  There was a cry from the Wookiee at the door, and then the achingly

  familiar roar of the Falcon's engines.

  "Enara--" Han said plaintively.

  Then his legs buckled under him. Chewbacca caught him cleanly before

  he hit the deck, and would not listen to his protests as he carried him

  away.

  Enara never looked up. Han's last glimpse of her was of a tiny woman

  with tangled hair, sitting crosslegged beside the man whose life she

  had just helped preserve.

  At just about the same time that the Millennium Falcon was roaring away

  from Pride of Yevetha behind a curtain of exploding firecracker mines,

  Mud Sloth was dropping out of hyperspace in front of the Fifth Fleet's

  flag group.

  Even as the forward pickets were relaying the contact to Intrepid, the

  gunship Warrior surged ahead, breaking formation to place itself on an

  intercept course.

  "Contact ahead," the tactical officer announced to the bridge. "Type

  not identified. Size class, F--possibly a probe of some sort. She

  came right out of the heart of the cluster."

  On the other side of the room, a blank display at comm three suddenly

  lit up with a string of numbers.

  "Receiving transmission from the contact--they're attempting to

  authorize a link."

  That drewWarrior's captain over to peer at the screen. "Sender code is

  valid, but it's coming over the air, unsecured--that's not a military

  transmitter," said the comm specialist. "Same with the authorization

  code--checks as valid but not current. Someone's trying to get in the

  front door without a key."

  "I'd like to know who," said the captain. "Identify the sender

  code."

  "Sir, it returns as classified."

  "Really," said the captain. "Take us to level two alert and authorize

  the link."

  The numbers vanished from the display, to be replaced by Luke

  Skywalker's face.

  "Captain," said Luke's holo. "Do you recognize me?"

  "I recognize who you appear to be," said the captain.

  "I have no information that that person was known or expected to be in

  this sector."

  "Very good, Captain. By now you should have an identification on this

  ship and an assessment of its threat potential."

  The captain looked away toward the tactical officer.

  "Transponder says it's civilian, yacht, skiff class, unarmed now

  confirming from direct scans. It's a Verpine Adventurer, sir."

  There were several snorts and chuckles around the room, "'Unarmed' is

  not confirmed, Lieutenant," the captain said, turning back. "A ship of

  that size could easily carry tactical munitions in its passenger

  compartment."

  Luke nodded in agreement. "I'd appreciate it if you'd rendezvous with

  me and have your people inspect the ship. Once you've satisfied

  yourself that I am who I appear to be, and that we haven't replaced the

  refresher with a fusion bomb," he said lightly, "I trust you can

  arrange for a ride or an escort to the flagship. I am carrying some

  extremely important information for the fleet commander."

  The captain was well disciplined or stubborn enough not to bend.

  "Continue on your present course," he said. "Keep this channel open.

  We will rendezvous with you shortly." But when the link was

  closed, he turned to comm one. "Signal Intrepid, secure.

  Notify the general that Luke Skywalker is inbound."

  When the message had been sent, comm two craned his head around toward

  the captain. "This is good news, right, sir?"

  "I hope so, Lieutenant," the captain said grimly. "I dearly hope

  so."

  By the time Mud Sloth came to rest in slots thirty-nine and forty on

  Intrepid's forward flight deck, everyone in that section of the

  ship--and many elsewhere, in every other section--knew that Luke

  Skywalker was coming aboard.

  No official announcement had been made. The scuttlebutt spread among

  the officers and crew via two distinct chains of friendships and

  contacts--with equal rapidity, but slightly different flavors of

  meaning.

  Among the officers, it was styled as "Heard the big news?" To the

  crew, it was definitely good news.

  Luke could see it in the grins of the deck crew as they tied down the

  skiff and in the jaunty thumbs-up they offered to him as he clambered

  down out of the ship. When he turned and helped first Wialu and then

  Akanah down, the mood around him changed for a time. But soon he felt

  the focus shifting back to him again--a focus for hope and reassurance,

  for belligerent pride, even chauvinism and xenophobia.

  It's as though they think I'm here to win the war for them, Luke

  thought as he followed their escort off the flight deck. But it's the

  people they're nearly ignoring who I'm hoping can do that.

  He had wanted and asked for a private meeting with A'baht, but that was

  perhaps too much to expect.

  Either he was too much of a magnet, even among the officers, or

  A'baht's idea of "private" automatically included two spare colonels

  and an extra captain.

  Luke dealt with them by ignoring them. "What's the status of the

  conflict, General?" he asked; offering no introductions for his own

  companions.

  "The President has declared war on the Yevetha," said A'baht. "As a

  first step; we're preparing to return to Doornik Three-nineteen and

  take it away from them.

  We've also gotten more aggressive in searching for the remaining

  shipyards. And planning's underway for deeper penetrations of the

  cluster, all the way to the Yevethan homeworlds."

  "Are any of your forces currently engaged in hostilities?"

  "No. This is the lull before the storm," A'baht said.

  "Now, can I ask you to explain your presence? I assume that if you had

  been sent here by the President, we would have been notified in

  advance."

  "I've come here from J't'p'tan. On your charts, Doornik

  Six-twenty-eight-E. Before that--well, the full explanation would take

  too long, and I'm not prepared to share all of it in any case," Luke

  said. "But the part that matters is simple and straightforward. I'm

  here to offer you a chance to take that first step in a different

  direction."

  Even for someone with Luke's status, Colonel Cor-gan, Colonel Mauit'ta,

  and Captain Morano were a tough audience-especially when what was being

  peddled had the look of magic.

  "Do I need to defend the Jedi to you as well?" Luke snapped in

  response to the most recent expression of skepticism. "The nature of

  the universe transcends the definitions of science, and the

  possibilities of the universe exceed the limitations of technology."

  "I am not eager to risk the lives of my crew on tricks and i
nvisible

  forces that cannot be measured," said Morano.

  "You're apparently not eager to save the lives of your crew, either."

  "I prefer to trust what I know. We can win this war with the weapons

  we have."

  Loose objects were scarce on a ship rigged for combat, so Luke found it

  necessary to create some. Reach

  ing out with the Force, he ripped the decorations from the three officers' uniforms and deposited them in

  neat rows on A'baht's desk.

  "Now you know a little more about invisible forces," Luke said.

  "This is not helping," General A'baht said with a sigh.

  "I'm simply trying to remind them that the Force is as real as anything

  in this room--it's a mystery, but not a fantasy," Luke said. He

  pointed a finger in the direction of Morano, who was still staring

  wordlessly at the naked fabric where his service bars had been. "His

  way of winning this war means thousands, tens of thousands, of deaths

  on both sides--needless deaths."

  "Needless only if your trick fools the Yevetha," said Corgan, gathering