by Timothy Zahn
“So that’s it,” Tannis muttered as Mara eased him down into one of the other chairs. “It’s gone. It’s all gone.”
“Looks that way,” Mara agreed soberly, looking around. The comm system would be a good place to start, she decided. Unless the Commodore and his shadow ally had been paranoid enough to conduct all their business face-to-face, there should be records of their HoloNet calls to each other. Going to the panel, she gently moved the chair and the Commodore’s body aside.
He’d been in the process of setting up a HoloNet communication, she saw, when his broken body had finally given out. The contact number and frequency were meaningless to her, but the destination system was not.
Shelkonwa. Shelsha sector’s capital.
“Hand!” Tannis croaked. “Tac display—there.”
Mara turned. The visual display was off, but the main tactical display above the defense console was up and running. On it were seven red triangles: enemy fighters, closing rapidly with the base. Round Two, apparently, was about to begin.
Only this time, unlike Round One, there would be two sides to the battle.
Mara crossed to the defense console and sat down, a quick glance over the controls showing her options. The main lasers could handle three targets simultaneously, and there were more of the BloodScars’ favored proton torpedo launchers waiting in reserve. The lasers were already on standby; bringing them fully active, she got a grip on the firing sticks and waited.
The attackers were nearly to optimal range when they suddenly split formation, fanning out like a Victory Day air show. Mentally, Mara shrugged. Optimal range would have been nice, but then optimal merely meant preferred. Lining the double crossmarks on two of the attackers, she fired.
The lasers turned the targets into instant clouds of shrapnel. Mara shifted aim, a small corner of her mind wondering about this rival gang whose members were careless enough or overconfident enough to field fighters without even minimal shield capability. She fired again, and another pair of attackers went the way of the first.
Perhaps they were relying on their maneuverability to evade destruction, she decided as she again shifted aim. Certainly they had more than their fair share of nimbleness, twisting around madly as they tried to throw off the lasers’ computerized targeting lock. One of the banks of indicators, in fact, went a rapidly flickering red as they succeeded.
But Mara didn’t need the help of such technological toys. She had the Force, and all the maneuverability in the universe wouldn’t help her attackers now. Shifting the lasers to manual, she continued firing, coolly and methodically destroying the fighters one by one. In the distance she noticed that the sensors were picking up another incoming ship, this one freighter-sized, but the numbers showed it would arrive far too late to assist.
The last two fighters had turned to the attack now, and above her Mara could hear a crackling of laserfire as they made a final desperate strafing run against the bunker. Stretching out again to the Force, she felt the subtle anticipation of their future maneuvers and shifted her aim in response. She fired again, and now only a single attacker was left.
Once again she adjusted her aim … and paused. The fire control would be compiling all the relevant tech data on the attackers as the battle progressed, which she could take with her and study at her leisure. But a direct visual contact would be good to have, too. She shifted her attention briefly away from the combat, recognizing as she did so the inherent risk involved in allowing an enemy even a brief breathing space, and activated the visual display.
The sensors had taken a severe beating during the earlier bombardment, and the image that appeared on the screen was dark and grainy and badly distorted. But it was good enough. There was only one fighter anywhere in the galaxy with that profile and architecture.
The pirate base was being attacked by Imperial TIE fighters.
She stared at the image, her mind refusing at first to believe the evidence of her eyes. It was impossible—the Empire’s attention was completely absorbed with the Rebellion and domestic instability and alien unrest. By direct order from the Emperor himself, pirates and other raiders had been reclassified as a local and system enforcement problem. This couldn’t be any sort of official operation against the BloodScars.
Unless it was against Mara herself.
She felt her face hardening as she turned back to her fire-control stick and blew the last TIE fighter away. So that was how it was. This wasn’t just about some grand scheme to unite Shelsha’s pirates into a single massive gang. It wasn’t even about a link between pirates and the Rebellion. This one went straight into Imperial territory. Straight to the top.
She looked at the tactical display. The unknown freighter was too far out to be a threat, but it was still coming.
Time to go.
Tannis was slumped in his seat, his breathing rapid and shallow. “You up to one more short walk?” Mara asked as she crouched down beside him.
“I can try,” Tannis said weakly. “You get what you came for?”
“Oh, yes,” she said softly. Stretching out to the Force, she lifted him from the chair as gently as she could. “Just a few more minutes,” she said as she carried him toward the door. “We’ll get you into the Happer’s Way’s medical capsule—”
She broke off as he groped at her shoulder. “If I don’t make it,” he rasped, his eyes half closed as he gazed into her face, “bury me in space. You hear me?”
“You’re going to make it,” Mara said, the lie coming automatically to her lips even as a surge of frustration ran through her. She’d been taught a dozen Force techniques for self-healing, but nothing that could be used on others.
But while there was still life, there was still hope. “Just hang on,” she said, heading up the stairs.
They were across the field of rubble and nearly to the shell that had once housed the main command room when Mara heard the distant roar of a sublight drive.
And as she watched, the Happer’s Way rose from the ruins of the landing area. It turned leisurely around, as if the pilot was surveying the damage around him, then turned again and headed for space.
Mara watched it go, her heart sinking. So that was it. Her freighter was gone; and from the fires she could see burning at that end of the complex it was clear that all the rest of the ships had been destroyed.
She and Tannis were marooned.
But there was still that other freighter-sized ship she’d seen making its cautious way toward the planet. If the pilot was actually foolish enough to land in the middle of all this devastation, she could commandeer the crew and get out of here.
Unless the ship represented Round Three of the attack against her. In that case, she would simply kill everyone aboard.
Beside her, Tannis stirred. “Why’ve we stopped?” he murmured.
Mara focused on him, his burned face and labored breathing. No, she couldn’t wait for the freighter. She had to get help to him now.
And then, finally, the obvious answer occurred to her.
Most of the command center building was in ruins, but the entrances to the three survey tunnels where Caaldra had taken refuge were still open. The dust from the attack had obscured any footprints he might have left, but a meter into the left-hand tunnel she found a recent handprint.
There was no lighting, but the floor was smooth enough and the tunnel itself angled down at a reasonably shallow slope. Two gentle turns later, perhaps a hundred meters from the entrance, they reached a dimly lit area and the emergency escape ship she’d hoped to find, a compact Starfeld Z-10 Seeker. The ship was already prepped—clearly, Caaldra had been planning to get out this way until he’d noticed the undamaged Happer’s Way and decided to take it instead. Getting Tannis into the medical capsule and keying for emergency treatment, Mara engaged the repulsorlifts and sent them moving cautiously down the tunnel.
The fires had mostly burned themselves out as Han and the others picked their way carefully across the rubble-filled base. “Nic
e to see the Empire taking some interest in pirates again,” he commented to no one in particular.
“This wasn’t about dealing with pirates, Solo,” LaRone said grimly. “This was about covering up a plot.”
Han scowled. He hadn’t really believed it was that simple, either.
“What kind of plot?” Luke spoke up.
“Someone’s been recruiting pirates,” Marcross said, his voice even darker than usual. “Someone, as you can see, with high Imperial connections. Very high connections.”
“Who?” Luke asked.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” LaRone said. “Quiller?”
“Nothing moving, either above or below,” the pilot’s voice said from the comlink in Han’s belt. “That freighter we saw taking off on our way in must have been carrying the last survivors.”
“No sign of the Falcon?” Han asked.
“Not yet,” Quiller said. “I wouldn’t worry, though. He probably just wanted to make sure the Reprisal was well on its way before circling back.”
Han grimaced. Yes, that was exactly what the big, dumb Wookiee was probably doing. “Let me know the minute you spot him.”
“Will do,” Quiller promised. “LaRone, I’m reading some deep tunnels ahead of you, survey-sized and fully operational. There might be more people or weaponry down there that I can’t scan for.”
“As long as it stays down there, it can’t hurt us,” LaRone said. “Just keep an eye out. We have a hot map yet?”
“Just coming up,” Quiller said. “Looks like the only place still drawing power is north and a little east of the attack’s epicenter. Single small room on the surface, larger complex beneath it. Some kind of bunker or redoubt, I’m guessing. I’ll talk you in.”
The underground complex was indeed a bunker, professionally laid out. Narrow stairs led down to a large command room, with side doors leading off three of its walls. There was a single dead body in view, slumped in a chair near the communications console. “Fire control’s still on standby,” Grave reported, leaning over one of the consoles.
“Duty barracks over here,” Brightwater said, looking into one of the side rooms. “Beds don’t look slept in, though. The Reprisal must have taken them by surprise.”
“Sloppy,” Grave said.
“They’re pirates,” Brightwater reminded him.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Han asked, stepping to one of the other doorways and looking inside. This one was a small armory, with racks of blasters and grenades standing ready for whenever an enemy got tired of aerial bombardment and decided to get a little more personal.
“Let’s start by finding out who the last person was they were talking to,” Marcross said, crossing to the comm panel.
“Good idea,” Han said, looking around. The others were gathering around Marcross, their backs to him and Luke. He caught Luke’s eye, nodded over his shoulder at the armory, then wandered over toward the group surrounding Marcross. Luke looked puzzled, but nodded back and started edging his way toward the armory. “Find anything?” Han asked as he came up behind LaRone.
“We have their last communications setup,” LaRone said, gazing over Marcross’s shoulder. His voice sounded odd through the stormtrooper helmet.
“Well?” Han asked, craning his neck to see.
“None of your business,” Marcross said, shutting off the display with a quick twitch of his finger.
But not before Han had caught the name of the system. It was Shelkonwa, Shelsha sector’s capital. The same place where Luke had said Leia was trapped. “So we’re going to Shelkonwa?” he asked as casually as he could.
“We’re going to Shelkonwa,” Marcross said, his voice stiff. “You’re going wherever you want. In your own ship.”
“You can leave as soon as it’s back,” LaRone added. “Again, thanks for your assistance back there.”
“No problem,” Han said … and with a rush of tangled emotions, he suddenly realized that that was it. If Luke was right about Leia being trapped on Shelkonwa, there was absolutely nothing he and Chewie and the kid could do about it. The Imperials would have the whole planet interdicted by now, and there was no way the Falcon could run that kind of blockade. Not every Imperial was as stupid and gullible as Captain Ozzel.
Leia was on her own. But that was all right. She was smart and resourceful, and she had Chivkyrie and his buddies on the ground, and Mon Mothma and Rieekan and their friends on the outside. They’d get her away from Shelkonwa somehow, and then they’d bundle her off to some new hiding place halfway across the galaxy, where Han would probably never see her again.
And once Leia was out of the picture, his last reason for sticking around this crazy Rebellion would be gone.
He was free. Free to drop Luke back with his new friends, free to go square things with Jabba, free to get back to the simpler life he’d had before his meeting with Luke and old Kenobi at that Mos Eisley cantina. There would be no one chasing him; no one expecting him to do anything; no one giving orders except himself. It was over.
If he really wanted it to be.
He looked back around as Luke sidled out of the armory, wearing a studiously casual expression and gripping a blaster, pressed into concealment at the side of his leg.
Han sighed. No, it wasn’t over. Not yet. Luke and Leia were his friends … and even if he wasn’t ready to swear loyalty to Rieekan and this whole Rebellion thing, he still couldn’t walk out on his friends. “Actually, we were thinking about going to Shelkonwa, too,” he told LaRone. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t ride together.”
“I can think of a dozen of them,” Marcross retorted, turning around. His blaster settled down, not quite pointing in Han’s direction. “What’s so urgent on Shelkonwa?”
“And why can’t you get there in your own ship?” LaRone added.
There was nothing to do but tell them. Anyway, if it was going to be a problem, it would be better to have it out right here and now instead of on their way to Makrin City. “We have a friend there who’s in a little trouble,” he said. “Actually, it’s more than a little trouble. I figure that by now the whole planet’s probably been locked down.”
“The sector capital is locked down?” Brightwater echoed. “What did your friend do, rob the governor’s palace?”
“At the moment, she hasn’t done much of anything,” Han said, hoping it was more or less true. “The point is that you’re military—you might be able to get in through that. We can’t.”
For a long moment the room was silent. Then LaRone stirred. “So that’s it,” he said, as if some long-standing question had just been answered. “You’re Rebels.”
“Actually, we’re only loosely connected with them,” Han corrected.
“So you’re only partial traitors?” Grave asked acidly.
“Well, you’re deserters,” Luke pointed out.
It was very much the wrong thing to say. All four stormtroopers stiffened, and Han had no trouble imagining what their expressions were like behind those faceplates. “You call us that again, boy,” Grave said, his voice like crushed ice, “and you’d better be ready to use that blaster.”
“Put it down, Luke,” Han ordered. Would the kid never learn when to keep his mouth shut? “Anyway, that doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it matters,” LaRone retorted as Luke silently set his borrowed blaster down on the nearest console. “No matter what our current situation is, we’re still soldiers of the Empire.”
“And we swore an oath to defend it against people like you,” Brightwater added.
“Yeah, I know the oath you swore,” Han said, standing a little straighter himself. “I swore it, too, once.”
LaRone’s half-aimed blaster seemed to waver a little. “You were in the military?”
“Caridan Academy,” Han said, bittersweet memories flooding back. “Graduated with honor. Had a career ahead of me, they said.”
“What happened?” LaRone asked.
Han grima
ced. “I saw how the Empire treated people,” he said. “Especially nonhumans.”
This time all four blasters definitely wavered. “So did we,” Grave muttered.
“When did you … leave?” Brightwater asked.
“I didn’t leave,” Han said. “I tried to help, my superiors didn’t like that, and they threw me out. End of story.”
There was another pause. From their stances, Han had the odd feeling this was a discussion they’d already had.
“You Rebels are trying to tear down order and stability,” LaRone said at last. “Everything we’ve worked so hard to build since the Clone Wars.”
“We have no problem with order and stability,” Han assured him. “No one wants to destroy that. We just want to tear down the parts that are bad.”
“Why can’t they be fixed from the inside?” Brightwater countered.
“Because the people running things don’t want them fixed.” Han gestured toward the ceiling. “My partner Chewie was an Imperial slave. A lot of his people still are. You think the governors and Moffs and admirals want that changed?”
“Maybe the Wookiees are the lucky ones,” Grave murmured.
“You want to tell Chewie that?”
“No, of course not,” Grave said. “I was just pointing out it could be worse. Has been worse, sometimes.”
“There was an operation on Teardrop just before we parted company with the Reprisal,” Brightwater said, the words coming out with obvious difficulty. “Part of the reason we left, actually. It was a raid on a suspected Rebel cell in a small town in the hills.”
Han looked at Luke. Teardrop. Wasn’t that the place where they’d barely skated out from both a pirate gang and a Star Destroyer? “The Rebels were all gone,” he told the stormtroopers. “Before you ever got there.”
The air was suddenly tense again. “You know this for sure?” LaRone asked, his tone that of a man not sure he really wanted the answer.
“Very sure,” Han said. “Me and Luke had just pulled the last batch out when your ship showed up.”
“Did something bad happen?” Luke asked carefully.