by Greg Rucka
Solo realized he was about to get shot. There was nothing he could do, no place to move the speeder, no other direction to turn. The human had him dead to rights.
Beside him, Ematt was on one knee in his seat. Raising his own carbine to his shoulder, he fired. Solo was certain he’d missed, but the human bounty hunter staggered and fell, his own shot going wild. The speeder tore forward as Solo brought it through the turn, accelerating back in the direction of the hotel. They flew past the entrance just as the Gran and the droid emerged. Chewie fired once, the bowcaster’s bolt exploding over the bounty hunters’ heads, then ducked down to avoid return fire. Solo, on the rear-screen projection, saw the Gran go down, pelted by rubble. The droid loosed a salvo at them, one of the bolts skipping off the tail of the speeder. The vehicle dipped, and Solo jerked the yoke and brought it back under control.
“I hope you have a plan,” Ematt said.
“Yes, we have a plan,” Solo said. “We go to the port, we go to our ship, we leave. That’s the plan. It’s a good plan.”
“It’s not a very good plan.”
“I can take you back to your hotel if you’d like,” Solo said.
“No, thank you,” Ematt said. “We’ll try your plan.”
Solo swung the speeder onto the main drag and opened the throttle to full. Buildings and vehicles blurred past. He checked the rear screen again, catching his breath. Chewbacca was reloading.
“She sold us out,” Solo said.
The Wookiee snarled angrily.
“Then how else did they know where to find us?” Solo demanded.
“I can think of a couple of ways,” Ematt said, settling back in his seat. “Betrayal isn’t the only option.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the one I’m used to.”
“I feel sorry for you, then. Trust is as precious as it is rare, but you only get it by giving it.”
Ematt was sounding an awful lot like the old man had.
“Trust isn’t given, it’s earned,” Solo said. “Like friendship.”
“You must be very lonely,” Ematt said.
Solo didn’t respond.
“THAT’S THE SHIP,” Beck said.
“Yes, ma’am.” The stormtrooper beside her, a corporal now commanding the squad in Torrent’s place, sounded dubious, even through the speakers on his helmet. “It doesn’t look like much, ma’am.”
Beck nodded slightly, agreeing. The ship was a YT-1300, as Captain Hove had reported. To her eye the ship hadn’t seen a good day since it came off the Corellian Engineering line all those years ago. Paint seemed an afterthought to its owners, and the innumerable dents and scratches along the hull made the ship look not as much used as abused.
Another of the squad stepped up and pointed a handheld scanner at the vessel, taking a quick reading from stem to stern. “They’ve modified the IFF transponder,” the trooper said. “Lot of noise. Can’t get a positive ID. It’s broadcasting as Lost and Found.”
“Take its silhouette and send it up to Vehement,” Beck said. “I want a positive identification.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beck pulled her comlink and keyed it. “Sergeant, this is Beck. We’ve found the ship. Report.”
There was a burst of static, then Torrent’s voice came through, oddly smooth in the absence of his helmet’s speakers, even over the comlink. She could hear the howl of a speeder engine and the wind.
“As you predicted, Commander. The bounty hunters headed directly to another of the berths, then proceeded from there into the city. I acquired a swoop bike to follow them. They went to a low-rent hotel on the Motok southside, near the edge of the dome, and entered the building. I remained outside behind cover, and you were right, ma’am. Wasn’t more than three minutes later the two we encountered on the promenade exited with a third human, the hunters in pursuit. I wasn’t able to positively ID, but I’m certain it’s Ematt.”
“They’re being pursued?”
“Not at the moment, though two of the bounty hunters are certainly going to follow.”
“Only two?”
“I had to exercise initiative to execute your plan as required, ma’am.”
“Discreet, I trust?”
“Very discreet, ma’am.”
“Which ones?”
“The Gran and the human had to be neutralized to allow the quarry to escape.”
Beck didn’t bother fighting the smile she felt, though she kept it small. “Let me know when they reach the port.”
“Understood.”
She paused. “Very good work, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Beck tucked her comlink away, then turned to the trooper with the handheld. “Anything?”
“Coming in now, Commander. Ship is identified as…the Millennium Falcon. Owner of record is a Corellian wanted on multiple counts, everything from smuggling to impersonating an Imperial officer. Name of Han Solo. Ship has a registered copilot, a Wookiee known as Chewbacca.”
The trooper turned the handheld to Beck, showing her the screen where two file images of a human and a Wookiee were slowly rotating.
“The two from the promenade,” Beck said. “Excellent. Corporal, I want all Imperial units on this location immediately. When they arrive, position two squads around this ship. The remaining units are to take cover outside of the bay to cut off their retreat. Make it very clear that the units outside the bay are to remain concealed until I give the order. We don’t want to scare them off before they’re in our trap.”
The stormtrooper nodded, his helmet tilting up and down slightly, then moved off quickly to call in the other squads. Beck gazed at the ship a moment longer, then began a slow walk around it, examining it from all sides. She disliked it on principle and disliked its owner even more as a result. A ship, she felt, should reflect pride of ownership. A ship should gleam. A ship should be maintained in the best of all conditions. This ship looked as neglected as she had been in her own childhood. She felt no sympathy and no pity for what she planned to do to its owners. As for the ship itself, it would be best to impound it as Imperial salvage and melt the whole thing down.
It would be a mercy, she thought.
Her comlink trilled. “Beck.”
“Five minutes out,” Torrent told her. “They’re moving fast.”
“Understood. When you arrive, assume command of the units on the promenade. You’ll lead them in on my signal.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beck finished her circuit around the freighter and saw that the reinforcements had arrived and were now being deployed as she had ordered. In total, she had more than forty stormtroopers in position and waiting, more than enough to deal with three enemies of the Empire. Beck took a moment to order a couple of the troopers precisely where she wanted them to wait, then took another look around the docking bay. With the stormtroopers in concealment, everything appeared as one would expect: mundane, even boring. A single door, recessed opposite the bow of the ship, led into the bay from the promenade. She paused to study the door and noted that the lights above it were glowing blue. That wouldn’t do, she realized; they’d left the door into the bay unlocked, something Solo and the Wookiee were bound to notice.
“Trooper,” she said. “Lock us in.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Beck took a position behind one of the landing struts to the fore of the ship, where she wouldn’t be spotted when Solo, his Wookiee, and Ematt arrived. Her stomach ached gently, in anticipation and excitement. This was, she reflected, turning out to be a very good day. The trooper at the door finished working the panel, and the lights went from blue to red, indicating the lock had been thrown.
No mistakes, Beck thought. Not this time.
Three and a half minutes later, Beck’s comlink called for attention again. She had it in her hand and brought it immediately to her ear.
“Beck.”
“Heading your way.”
“Get into position. Out.” She turned to address the wa
iting stormtroopers, raising her chin slightly to help project her voice clearly. “All weapons are to be secured on stun. We want them alive. I repeat, we want them alive. One is a Wookiee. It will take multiple shots to put him down. No one is to fire unless I give the order.”
There was the immediate muted clatter of stormtroopers in armor as each checked his E-11, making certain the blaster was set to stun.
“You are stormtroopers,” she said. “You are the keenest weapon in the Emperor’s arsenal. Do not fail him. Do not fail me.”
From her comlink, Torrent’s voice: “On approach. Twenty seconds.”
“Your status?”
“In position.”
“Wait for my order.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beck put her comlink away, drew her own blaster, and double-checked the setting, confirming she was locked on stun. This time there would be no mistakes. This time, there would be no Rodian willing to die to protect the Rebel Alliance. This time, everything was going to go as planned.
The lights over the docking bay doors switched from red to blue.
Beck raised her free hand and held it aloft. All around the docking bay she could sense the stormtroopers tensing with anticipation, with excitement. She was feeling it herself, her heart beginning to quicken in her breast. She closed her eye and switched her cybernetic one into full spectrum just in time to watch the door snap open, to watch her quarry walk into the trap.
The one identified as Solo was leading. He was tall and surprisingly handsome, wearing boots, trousers, an off-white shirt that looked like the tunic worn beneath an Imperial officer uniform, and a black pocketed vest over top. He turned as he entered and walked backward for an instant, speaking to the two who followed him.
“She’s fast,” Solo was saying. “You’ve never been on anything faster. We’ll be okay, I promise.”
The second one to enter was Ematt, and the datastream from Beck’s eye lit immediately with alerts as the cybernetics and the computer agreed on the identification.
WANTED FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE EMPIRE—EXTREMELY DANGEROUS—APPROACH WITH CAUTION.
All the things Beck already knew. And there he was, twenty meters away and coming closer. She fought the urge to hold her breath.
“She better be,” Ematt said. “Because she looks like she needs a tow.”
The Wookiee, taking up the rear, growled a response that echoed softly through the cavernous space. He was small for his species, yet still well over two meters tall, covered head to toe in a pelt that ranged from blond to chocolate brown, with touches of brass and gold, and was curly in places, straight in others. The bowcaster in his hands made him look that much more imposing.
“We’re going to be fine,” Solo said. “Trust me.”
Beck lowered her hand, giving the signal to the troopers to move, and before she’d finished the gesture she could hear them, see them, all going into motion. They stepped out from behind the landing gear, from where they’d been concealed behind the fueling pumps, the storage crates, the loadlifters, the mammoth generators for the magnetic shield that served as the roof to the bay, keeping Cyrkon’s savage atmosphere out; they slipped from the shadows at the far walls and rose up from where they’d been hiding in the scaffolding above. They moved in near-perfect unison, the sound they made terrifying and certain, and the thrill Beck felt as she came out of cover herself was as close to joy as she would ever allow herself.
The Corellian, Solo, reacted instantly with what was, to Beck, undoubtedly the quickest draw she had ever seen. His hand was empty and then it was moving, and then the blaster he wore on his thigh was free of its holster and in his hand and coming up. The Wookiee and Ematt weren’t as quick, but they were fast.
None was fast enough.
Beck already had her blaster pointed at Solo.
“It’s really not worth it,” she said.
The Corellian looked like he was considering arguing the point. For a moment, she thought he might actually shoot her. Ematt and the Wookiee both pivoted, turning back to the exit to look for an escape. Solo started to turn with them, then stopped as Torrent—still without his armor but now with his E-11—stepped into the open doorway, the remaining stormtroopers from outside at his back. They flowed into the room like water, surrounding Solo, Ematt, and the Wookiee.
“It’s over,” Beck said.
Solo looked back at her. He sighed and reholstered his blaster.
“Yeah,” Han Solo said. “I guess it is.”
CHEWBACCA MADE A LONG, low, mournful noise, what would’ve sounded like a howl if there had been any volume behind it. It was the sound of despair, and frustration, and self-recrimination. It was a sound that said no good deed went unpunished.
If Solo had been a Wookiee, it’s the exact sound he’d have made at that moment, too.
The stormtroopers surrounding them didn’t move. He heard Chewie, behind him, make another, shorter and even gentler howl, and saw out of the corner of his eye as one of the troopers took Chewie’s bowcaster. They disarmed Ematt next, then came to Solo. Reluctantly, he slid his blaster free from its holster and handed it over.
“I’m going to want that back,” Solo said.
The stormtrooper didn’t say anything, just stepped back. A human male, maybe in his early forties, moved up from behind them and went to the Imperial officer who had done all the talking so far. They spoke for a moment, and Solo couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the man remained at her side. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
The officer strode forward, her blaster pointed pretty much directly between Solo’s eyes, but she held it in such a way that it seemed somehow like an afterthought. It was the same woman from the promenade earlier, but this time Solo could get a better look at her. She was almost his height, and pretty, too, in an icy-blond sort of way that the scar didn’t seem to diminish as much as that terrifying cybernetic eye did. She was brimming with arrogance and self-satisfaction; it was evident in everything she did, everything about her, from the way she moved to the way she spoke to the slight, contemptuous smile playing at her lips.
Solo thought he might just hate her on principle.
“My name is Commander Alecia Beck,” she said. “You are now prisoners of the Imperial Security Bureau. You are outnumbered, outgunned, and with no hope of escape or rescue. Any resistance will be met with force. I say this to make it clear: you have no hope.”
“I have a little hope,” Solo said, mostly to annoy her.
It worked. The woman stepped closer.
“No,” she said. “You are terrorists. You are rebels—”
“I’m not a rebel—”
“And you will meet the fate reserved for all enemies of the Empire. You will be interrogated. You will be broken. Then you will be executed.”
“You’ll never stop us,” Ematt said, behind Solo.
Solo fought the urge to roll his eyes.
The woman shifted her gaze from Solo over his shoulder, to look at Ematt. Her smile actually grew.
“Ematt,” she said. “How does it feel knowing your team sacrificed their lives, only for you to end up in my hands at the end? I should think that would hurt quite a bit.”
Ematt moved forward, coming shoulder to shoulder with Solo. “You will never stop us. We will not be broken. However long it takes, we will never stop fighting.”
Solo looked at Ematt. It wasn’t the words, or at least not the words alone; it was how Ematt said them, the conviction of them. It was absolute, and it was fearless, and for Solo—who at that moment wasn’t above feeling more than a little worried, if not outright scared—it was both surprising and admirable. He’d yet to find a cause he was willing to die for outside of his own skin, Chewbacca, and the Falcon. He didn’t like the Empire, but that was mostly because he didn’t like bullies, and as far as he was concerned, that’s all the Galactic Empire was: a collection of bullies who rampaged across the galaxy, pushing people around. Case in point, the Imperia
l officer now smirking at Ematt.
But Ematt believed what he was saying. He believed in what he was doing. And not just that, he believed that what he was doing was right and would prevail.
You had to admire someone with that kind of conviction, Solo thought. Either that or avoid him at all costs, and it was clearly far too late to do that.
“Never,” Ematt repeated.
The Imperial officer lunged suddenly, catching Ematt by the chin and pulling him forward. At the same time, one of the stormtroopers took hold of his arms. Beck’s smile vanished, and Solo took the opportunity to take a half step back, closer to Chewbacca.
“You will tell us everything,” Beck said. “By the time I am finished with you, you will be begging to tell me everything, Ematt.”
She released him, and the stormtrooper pulled Ematt upright again. Beck turned to the man standing beside her. “Binders on all of them. Search them. I want a transport immediately to move them aboard Vehement.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chewie tilted his head, and Solo felt hair brushing his ear as the Wookiee rumbled quietly.
“I’m working on it,” Solo said.
“Quiet,” one of the stormtroopers said.
“Sure, sure.” Solo looked around, trying to be subtle about it. There had to be a way out, but he wasn’t seeing it. With forty or more stormtroopers surrounding the three of them, much as he hated to admit it, they were out of moves. If he could get aboard the Falcon there were options. The ship was plated with military-grade armor that would easily shrug off the small-arms fire from the blaster rifles and keep them safe. There were a couple of other surprises packed aboard, too. But it meant getting to the ship, and he could already tell that Beck wasn’t about to let that happen. There was no way to get aboard without getting shot to pieces in the process.