by James Luceno
And suddenly something shot past him, spitting laser fire and twisting back and around in some kind of insane variant on a drunkard’s-walk evasive maneuver. The TIE fighter caught a direct hit and blew into a spectacular cloud of fiery gas. Wedge finished his turn, just as Rogue Five’s second target fighter did likewise.
“All clear, Wedge,” a familiar voice called into his ear. “You damaged?”
“I’m fine, Luke,” Wedge assured him. “Thanks.”
“Look—there it goes,” Han’s voice cut in. “Over by the Frigate. It’s one of Lando’s mole miners, all right.”
“I see it,” Luke said. “What’s it doing out here?”
“I saw one stuck onto the Star Cruiser back there,” Wedge told him, swinging back on course for the Frigate. “Looks like this one’s trying to do the same thing. I don’t know why.”
“Whatever it’s doing, let’s stop it,” Han said.
“Right.”
It was, Wedge saw, going to be a close race; but it was quickly clear that the mole miner was going to win it. Already it had turned its base around toward the Frigate and was starting to nestle up against the hull.
And just before it closed the gap completely, he caught a glimpse of an acridly brilliant light.
“What was that?” Luke asked.
“I don’t know,” Wedge said, blinking away the afterimage. “It looked too bright for laser fire.”
“It was a plasma jet,” Han grunted as the Falcon came up alongside him. “Right on top of the bridge emergency escape hatch. That’s what they wanted the mole miners for. They’re using them to burn through the hulls—”
He broke off; and, abruptly, he swore. “Luke—we got it backwards. They’re not here to wreck the fleet.
“They’re here to steal it.”3
For a long heartbeat Luke just stared at the Frigate … and then, like pieces clicking together in a puzzle, it all fell into place. The mole miners, the undermanned and underdefended capital ships that the New Republic had been forced to press into shipping service, the Imperial fleet out there that seemed to be making no real effort to push its way past the system’s defenses—
And a New Republic Star Cruiser, mole miner planted firmly on its side, that had just fired on Wedge’s X-wing.
He took a moment to scan the sky around him. Moving with deceptive slowness through the continuing starfighter battle, a number of warships were beginning to pull out. “We’ve got to stop them,” he told the others.
“Good thinking,” Han agreed. “How?”
“Is there any way we can get aboard them ourselves?” he asked. “Lando said the mole miners were two-man ships—the Imperials can’t possibly have packed more than four or five stormtroopers in each one of them.”
“The way those warships are manned at the moment, four stormtroopers would be plenty,” Wedge pointed out.
“Yes, but I could take them,” Luke said.
“On all fifty ships?” Han countered. “Besides, you blast a hatch open to vacuum and you’ll have pressure bulkheads closing all over the ship. Take you forever to even get to the bridge.”
Luke gritted his teeth; but Han was right. “Then we have to disable them,” he said. “Knock out their engines or control systems or something. If they get out to the perimeter and those Star Destroyers, we’ll never see them again.”
“Oh, we’ll see them again,” Han growled. “Pointed straight back at us. You’re right—disabling as many as we can is our best shot. We’re never going to stop all fifty, though.”
“We don’t have fifty to stop, at least not yet,” Wedge put in. “There are still twelve mole miners that haven’t attached themselves to ships.”
“Good—let’s take them out first,” Han said. “You got vectors on them?”
“Feeding your computer now.”
“Okay … okay, here we go.” The Falcon twisted around and headed off in a new direction. “Luke, get on the comm and tell Sluis Control what’s happening,” he added. “Tell them not to let any ships out of the orbit-dock area.”
“Right.” Luke switched channels on the comm; and as he did so, he was suddenly aware of a slight change in sense from the Falcon’s cockpit. “Han? You all right?”
“Huh? Sure. Why?”
“I don’t know. You seemed to change.”
“I had half a grip on some idea,” Han said. “But it’s gone now. Come on, make that call. I want you back on the quads when we get there.”
The call to Sluis Control was over well before they reached their target mole miner. “They thank us for the information,” Luke reported to the others, “but they say they don’t have anything to spare at the moment to help us.”
“Probably don’t,” Han agreed. “Okay, I see two TIE fighters running escort. Wedge, you and Rogue Five take them out while Luke and I hit the mole miner.”
“Got it,” Wedge confirmed. The two X-wings shot past Luke’s canopy, flaring apart into intercept mode as the TIE fighters broke formation and came around to meet the attack.
“Luke, try to blow it apart instead of disintegrating it,” Han suggested. “Let’s see how many people the Imperials have got stuffed inside.”
“Got it,” Luke said. The mole miner was in his sights now. Adjusting his power level down, he fired.
The truncated cone flared as the metal dead center of the shot boiled away into glowing gas. The rest of the craft seemed intact, though, and Luke was just lining up for a second shot when the hatch at the top abruptly popped open.
And through the opening, a monstrous, robotlike figure came charging out.
“What—?”
“It’s a spacetrooper,” Han snapped back. “A stormtrooper in zero-gee armor.4 Hang on.”
He spun the Falcon around away from the spacetrooper, but not before there was a flash from a protuberance atop the other’s backpack and the hull around Luke slammed with a violent concussion. Han rolled the ship around, blocking Luke’s view, as another concussion rocked them.
And then they were pulling away—pulling away, but with agonizing slowness. Luke swallowed hard, wondering what kind of damage they’d taken.
“Han, Luke—you all right?” Wedge’s voice called anxiously.
“Yeah, for now,” Han called back. “You get the TIE fighters?”
“Yes. I think the mole miner’s still under way, though.”
“Well, then, blast it,” Han said. “Nothing cute; just blow it apart. But watch out for that spacetrooper—he’s using miniature proton torpedoes or something. I’m trying to draw him away; I don’t know if he’ll fall for it.”
“He’s not,” Wedge said grimly. “He’s staying right on top of the mole miner. They’re heading for a passenger liner—looks like they’ll make it, too.”
Han swore under his breath. “Probably got a few regular stormtrooper buddies still in there. All right, I guess we do this the hard way. Hang on, Luke—we’re going to ram him.”
“We’re what?”
Luke’s last word was lost in the roar from the engines as Han sent the Falcon flying straight out and then around in a hard turn. The mole miner and spacetrooper came back into Luke’s line of sight—
Wedge had been wrong. The spacetrooper wasn’t standing by the damaged mole miner; he was, in fact, sidling quickly away from it. The twin protuberances on top of his backpack began flashing again, and a couple of seconds later the Falcon’s hull began ringing with proton torpedo blasts. “Get ready,” Han called.
Luke braced himself, trying not to think about what would happen if one of those torpedoes hit his canopy—and trying, too, not to wonder if Han could really ram the spacetrooper without also plowing into the passenger liner directly behind him. Ignoring the proton blasts, the Falcon continued accelerating—
And without warning, Han dropped the ship beneath the spacetrooper’s line of fire. “Wedge: go!”
From beneath Luke’s line of sight an X-wing flashed upward, laser cannon blazing.
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sp; And the mole miner shattered into flaming dust.
“Good shot,” Han told him, a note of satisfaction in his voice as he veered underneath the liner, nearly taking the Falcon’s main sensor dish off in the process. “There you go, hotshot—enjoy your view of the battle.”
Belatedly, the light dawned. “He was listening in on our channel,” Luke said. “You just wanted to decoy him into moving away from the mole miner.”
“You got it,” Han said. “I figured he’d tap in—Imperials always do when they can …”
He trailed off. “What is it?” Luke asked.
“I don’t know,” Han said slowly. “There’s something about this whole thing that keeps poking at me, but I can’t figure out what it is. Never mind. Our hotshot spacetrooper will keep for now—let’s go hit some more mole miners.”
It was just as well, Pellaeon thought, that they were only here to keep the enemy tied up. The Sluissi and their New Republic allies were putting up one terrific fight.
On his status board, a section of the Chimaera’s shield schematic went red. “Get that starboard shield back up,” he ordered, giving the sky in that direction a quick scan. There were half a dozen warships out there, all of them firing like mad, with a battle station in backstop position behind them. If their sensors showed that the Chimaera’s starboard shields were starting to go—
“Starboard turbolasers: focus all fire on the Assault Frigate at thirty-two mark forty,” Thrawn spoke up calmly. “Concentrate on the starboard side of the ship only.”
The Chimaera gun crews responded with a withering hail of laser fire. The Assault Frigate tried to swerve away; but even as it turned, its entire starboard side seemed to flash with vaporized metal. The weapons from that section, which had been firing nonstop, went abruptly silent.
“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “Starboard tractor crews: lock on and bring it in close. Try to keep it between the damaged shields and the enemy. And be sure to keep its starboard side facing toward us; the port side may still have active weapons and a crew to use them.”
Clearly against its will, the Assault Frigate began to move inward. Pellaeon watched it for a moment, then returned his attention to the overall battle. He had no doubt the tractor crew would do the job right; they’d shown a remarkable increase in efficiency and competence lately. “TIE Squadron Four, keep after that B-wing group,” he instructed. “Port ion cannon: keep up the pressure on that command center.” He looked at Thrawn. “Any specific orders, Admiral?”
Thrawn shook his head. “No, the battle seems to be progressing as planned.” He turned his glowing eyes on Pellaeon. “What word from Cloak Leader?”
Pellaeon checked the proper display. “The TIE fighters are still engaging the various escort ships,” he reported. “Forty-three of the mole miners have successfully attached to target ships. Of those, thirty-nine are secure and making for the perimeter. Four are still encountering internal resistance, though they anticipate a quick victory.”
“And the other eight?”
“They’ve been destroyed,” Pellaeon told him. “Including two of those with a spacetrooper aboard. One of those spacetroopers is failing to respond to comm, presumably killed with his craft; the other is still functional. Cloak Leader has ordered him to join the attack on the escort ships.”
“Countermand that,” Thrawn said. “I’m quite aware that stormtroopers have infinite confidence in themselves, but that sort of deep-space combat is not what spacetrooper suits were designed for. Have Cloak Leader detail a TIE fighter to bring him out. And also inform him that his wing is to begin pulling back to the perimeter.”5
Pellaeon frowned. “You mean now, sir?”
“Certainly, now.” Thrawn nodded toward the viewport. “The first of our new ships will begin arriving within fifteen minutes. As soon as they’re all with us, the task force will be withdrawing.”
“But …”
“The Rebel forces within the perimeter are of no further concern to us, Captain,” Thrawn said with quiet satisfaction. “The captured ships are on their way. With or without TIE fighter cover, there’s nothing the Rebels can do to stop them.”
Han brought the Falcon as close as he could to the Frigate’s engines without risking a backwash, feeling the slight multiple dips in ship’s power as Luke repeatedly fired the quads. “Anything?” he asked as they came up around the other side.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Luke said. “There’s just too much armor over the coolant-feeder lines.”
Han glanced along the Frigate’s course, fighting back the urge to swear. They were already uncomfortably close to the perimeter battle, and getting closer all the time. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. There’s got to be some way to take out a capital ship.”
“That’s what other capital ships are for,” Wedge put in. “But you’re right—this isn’t working.”
Han pursed his lips. “Artoo?—you still on line back there?” he called.
The droid’s beeping came faintly up the cockpit corridor. “Go through your schematics again,” Han ordered. “See if you can find us another weak point.”
Artoo beeped again in acknowledgment. But it wasn’t a very optimistic beep. “He’s not going to find anything better, Han,” Luke said, echoing Han’s own private assessment. “I don’t think we’ve got any choice left. I’m going to have to go topside and use my lightsaber on it.”
“That’s crazy, and you know it,” Han growled. “Without a proper pressure suit—and with engine coolant spraying all over you if it works—”
“How about using one of the droids?” Wedge suggested.
“Neither of them can do it,” Luke told him. “Artoo hasn’t got the manipulative ability, and I wouldn’t trust Threepio with a weapon. Especially not with all the high-acceleration maneuvers we’re making.”
“What we need is a remote manipulator arm,” Han said. “Something that Luke could use inside while …”
He broke off. In a flash of inspiration, there it was—the thing that had been bothering him ever since they’d walked into this crazy battle. “Lando,” he called into the intercom. “Lando! Get up here.”
“I’ve got him strapped in,” Luke reminded him.
“Well, go unstrap him and get him up here,” Han snapped. “Now.”
Luke didn’t waste time with questions. “Right,” he said.
“What is it?” Wedge asked tensely.
Han clenched his teeth. “We were there on Nkllon when the Imperials stole these mole miners from Lando,” he told the other. “We had to reroute our communications through some jamming.”
“Okay. So?”
“So why were they jamming us?” Han asked. “To keep us from calling for help? From who? They’re not jamming us here, you notice.”
“I give up,” Wedge said, starting to sound a little testy. “Why?”
“Because they had to. Because—”
“Because most of the mole miners on Nkllon were running on radio remote,” came a tired voice from behind him.
Han turned around, to see Lando easing his way carefully into the cockpit, clearly running at half speed but just as clearly determined to make it. Luke was right behind him, a steadying hand on his elbow. “You heard all that?” Han asked him.
“Every part that mattered,” Lando said, dropping into the copilot’s seat. “I could kick myself for not seeing it long ago.”
“Me, too. You remember any of the command codes?”
“Most of them,” Lando said. “What do you need?”
“We don’t have time for anything fancy.” Han nodded toward the Frigate, now lying below them. “The mole miners are still attached to the ships. Just start ’em all running.”
Lando looked at him in surprise. “Start them running?” he echoed.
“You got it,” Han confirmed. “All of them are going to be near a bridge or control wing—if they can burn through enough equipment and wiring, it should knock out the whole lot of them.”
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p; Lando exhaled noisily, tilting his head sideways in a familiar gesture of reluctant acceptance. “You’re the boss,” he said, fingers moving over the comm keyboard. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Ready?”
Han braced himself. “Do it.”
Lando keyed a final section of code … and beneath them, the Frigate twitched.
Not a big twitch, not at first. But as the seconds passed, it became increasingly clear that something down there was wrong. The main engines flickered a few times and then died, amid short bursts from the auxiliaries. Its drive toward the perimeter fighting faltered, its etheric control surfaces kicking in and then out again, striving to change course in random directions. The big ship floundered almost to a halt.
And suddenly, the side of the hull directly opposite the mole miner’s position erupted in a brilliant burst of flame.
“It’s cut all the way through!” Lando gasped, his tone not sure whether to be proud or dismayed by his handiwork. A TIE fighter, perhaps answering a distress call from the stormtroopers inside, swept directly into the stream of superheated plasma before it could maneuver away. It emerged from the other side, its solar panels blazing with fire, and exploded.
“It’s working,” Wedge called, sounding awed. “Look—it’s working.”
Han looked up from the Frigate. All around them—all throughout the orbit-dock area—ships that had been making for deep space were suddenly twisting around like metallic animals in the throes of death.
All of them with tongues of flame shooting from their sides.
For a long minute Thrawn sat in silence, staring down at his status boards, apparently oblivious to the battle still raging on all around them. Pellaeon held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion of injured pride at the unexpected reversal. Wondering what form that explosion would take.
Abruptly, the Grand Admiral raised his eyes to the viewport. “Have all the remaining Cloak Force TIE fighters returned to our ships, Captain?” he asked calmly.
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon told him, still waiting.
Thrawn nodded. “Then order the task force to begin its withdrawal.”