The repairs took longer than expected, much
to Tol Sivron's frustration, but the prototype
was finally ready to approach, and attack, the
nearest planetary system.
Sivron shifted in his seat, pleased to observe
the stormtrooper captain giving all the right
orders. Delegating responsibility was the first
lesson of management. He liked sitting in the
pilot's chair while others did the work.
Squat, bald Doxin leaned forward from one of the
other chairs. "The target is coming into view,
Director Sivron."
"Good," Sivron said, looking at the streaked
atmosphere fuzzing around the planet and its
close — orbiting moon.
"There seems to be significant ship
activity in the area," Yemm, the Devaronian,
said. "I'm tracking and documenting it for posterity.
We'll want a careful record in case we
need to file a report on the performance of this
prototype."
"It's a Rebel base," Tol Sivron
said. "No doubt about it. Look at those ships.
Look at its position. This must be where our
prisoner Han Solo came from."
"How can you be sure?" said Golanda.
Sivron shrugged. "We need to test this Death
Star, right? We've got a handy target right here
— coms it might as well be a Rebel base."
The stormtrooper captain sat at the
tactical station. "We're picking up numerous
alarms from the moonbase. It appears to be some
sort of military installation."
A flurry of ships departed from a large opening
in the moon, spewing a random collection of
well — armed and fast cruisers around Kessel.
"They can't get away from us," Tol Sivron
said. "Target the planet. You may fire when
ready." He smiled, and his pointed teeth formed a
serrated edge against his lips. "I've got a good
feeling about this."
Doxin grinned in breathless delight. "I never
thought I'd get a chance to see this weapon in
action."
"It's never been calibrated, you know,"
Golanda said with a sour expression.
"It's a planet — destroying superlaser,"
Doxin shot back. "We can turn that whole world
into rubble. How well does it need to be
calibrated?"
"Targeting now," the stormtrooper captain
said.
In shielded firing chambers below, lit only
by flickering blazes of colored light from complex
control panels, other stormtroopers functioned
as Death Star gunners, after having been told
to scour the instruction manuals.
"What's taking so long?" Tol Sivron
fidgeted against the uncomfortable fabric of the command
seat.
Suddenly the white — noise background hum of the
operating systems dropped an octave.
The lights dimmed on the panels as the
prototype consumed an incredible amount of energy.
Out the front viewport, past main support
struts that arched like giant steel rainbows over their
heads, smaller superlaser beams fired out of the
Death Star's focusing eye, phasing together at the
intersection point. The green beam gained in power
and lanced out in an immense blast, greater in
diameter than a starship.
Its target erupted in a blaze of smoke,
fire, and incandescent rubble.
Tol Sivron applauded.
Yemm took careful notes.
Doxin let out a cry of triumph and
amazement.
"You missed," Golanda said.
Tol Sivron blinked his small dark eyes.
"What?"
"You hit the moon, not the planet."
He saw she was right. The moon that had served as
a garrison for the fighter ships had exploded
into fragmented rubble that was raining down in
spectacular meteor showers on the planet
Kessel.
The fighter ships that had evacuated from the
moonbase swarmed about in a flurry, like
fire — mantids disturbed from their nests during
mating season.
Tol Sivron coiled and uncoiled his naked
head — tails, feeling tingles along his nerve
endings. He leaned back in the chair and waved a
clawed hand in dismissal.
"That can be corrected. The target was
irrelevant. At least now we know the
prototype is fully functional." He nodded
approvingly. "Just as all the progress
reports said."
Sivron took a deep breath, feeling the
thrill build within him. "Now we can put this
weapon to use."
Leia was amazed that Mon Mothma still clung
to life. Anxiously, she stood over the deathbed
of the Chief of State, looking at the
kaleidoscope of medical apparatus and
life — support systems that refused to let Mon
Mothma die.
The auburn — haired woman had once
been such a fiery rival of Leia's father on the
Senate floor; now she could no longer stand on
her feet. Her skin was gray and translucent,
thin as crumpled parchment on a framework of
bones. Her eyelids struggled open as if they were
heavy blast doors. Her eyes took a long
time to focus on her visitor.
Leia swallowed, feeling hot lead in her
stomach. She reached out with trembling fingers to touch
Mon Mothma's arm, afraid that the slightest
pressure could cause bruises.
"Leia ...," Mon Mothma whispered, "you
came."
"I came because you asked me to," Leia said.
Han had dropped her and the children off on
Coruscant, grumbling about having to go away again
with Lando, but promising to return in only a few
days. She would believe that when it happened. In the
meantime Leia was shocked to see the accelerating
decline of Mon Mothma's condition.
"Your children ... are safe now?"
"Yes. Winter is staying here to protect them.
I won't let them be taken from me again."
Leia would be even busier than before; she would
see less of Han, less of her children.
Momentarily she envied the peaceful life of a lower
functionary who could leave work at the end of the day and
go home, letting unfinished tasks wait for tomorrow.
But she had been born a Jedi and raised
by Senator Bail Organa. Her life had
been focused toward a greater destiny, and she could
not shirk either her public or her private
burden.
Leia took a deep breath, tasting the
nauseating chemicals that clung to the air, the
disinfectants, the medicines, the ozone smell of
atmospheric sterilizers.
She felt so helpless. Her excitement at
defeating the Imperial strike force and rescuing
her son seemed trivial in the face of Mon
Mothma's battle against the slow — acting poison.
Leia took little consolation in knowing that
Ambassador Furgan was no longer alive
to gloat.
"I ...," Mon Mothma spo
ke
ponderously, "have tendered my resignation to the
Council. I will no longer serve as Chief of
State."
Leia realized that empty encouragements would be
useless. She reacted in a way that
Mon Mothma had taught her to respond, thinking
of the New Republic first.
"What about the government?" she said. "Won't
the Council bicker with each other and accomplish
nothing because they can't reach a consensus? Who will they
look to for leadership?"
She looked down at Mon Mothma, and the
haggard woman blinked at her with shining, hopeful
eyes. "You will be our leader, Leia," Mon
Mothma said.
Leia blinked in shock and opened her mouth.
Mon Mothma found the strength to nod slightly.
"Yes, Leia. While you were away, the
Council met to discuss our future. My
resignation is no surprise to anyone, and we
voted unanimously that you should be my
replacement."
"But — was Leia said. Her heart pounded; her
mind whirled. She had not expected this, at least
not now. Perhaps after another decade or two of
dedicated service, then ...
"You, Leia, will be the Chief of State for the
New Republic. If I had any strength
left to give, I would give it all to you. You'll
need it to hold this newborn Republic of ours
together."
Mon Mothma closed her eyes and squeezed
Leia's hand with a surprisingly firm grip.
"Even when I'm gone, I will be watching over
you."
Speechless, Leia knelt at Mon
Mothma's bedside for a long time, far
into Coruscant's night.
Inside Maw Installation one of the members of
Wedge's Special Forces Team had
deciphered enough of the primary controls to sound the
facility — wide alarm. Through the intercom system
an unfamiliar voice barked, "Red alert, an
Imperial Star Destroyer has entered the
vicinity. Red alert! Prepare for attack."
Wedge stood next to Qwi inside her empty
old laboratory as they gaped at the scarred and
blackened hulk of the Gorgon. The mammoth
ship maneuvered into position over the cluster of
lashed — together rocks.
"Oh, my!" Threepio said. "I thought we were
supposed to be safe in here."
Wedge grabbed Qwi's pale hand. "Come on,
we have to get to the operations room."
They ran through the corridors. Qwi did her
best to lead him, though frequently she couldn't
remember which direction to go. Threepio, his
servomotors whirring, tottered after them as fast as
he could go. "Wait for me! Oh, why does this
always happen?"
Inside the operations room Wedge was relieved
to see that a dozen of his troops had gotten there
ahead of him and were already scrambling to operate the
controls. A few of the computer banks had
malfunctioned, but the rest had been jump — started.
Sensor arrays spilled data across their
screens.
Wedge put his hands on Qwi's shoulders,
pressing his face close to hers and looking into her
big eyes. "Qwi, try to remember! Does
Maw Installation have any of its own defenses?"
She looked up through the latticed skylight,
seeing the looming arrowhead shape of the Star
Destroyer. Qwi pointed up. "Those were our
defenses. Maw Installation depended entirely
upon Admiral Daala's fleet."
She hurried over to one of the deadened computer
consoles and used her musical keypad to whistle
her password into the system, hoping to bypass the
damaged circuits with her own files and select
some of the higher — order functioning routines. "We do
have shields," Qwi said, "if only we could
increase them."
Five harried technicians came over
to help her, using their own expertise to access the
generators and reinforce the protective force
field around the primary planetoids.
"That'll hold for now against an assault," a
tech said, "but this makes me very uncomfortable,
General Antilles. The power reactor is
already unstable, and we're placing a tremendous
drain on it. We could be sealing our own fate."
Wedge's gaze flicked to Qwi and then back
to the soldiers. "Well, it's certain death if
we don't do something to protect ourselves now.
We've taken what we need. I think it's time
to leave Maw Installation. Have the ships prepare
for departure."
"If Daala will let us," Qwi said. "I
doubt she'll allow us to walk off now that we've
uncovered its secrets."
Wedge's eyes suddenly blinked in
realization. "We took one of the corvette
engines off — line for spare parts for the power
reactor! One of my ships is crippled and
can't move." He ran to the communications station and
switched on a narrow — beam to the disa4 corvette.
"Captain Ortola, launch all starfighter
squadrons from your bay — notow. Take all
personnel and shuttle over to the Yavaris or
one of the other two corvettes. Without
maneuverability, your ship is a prime
target."
"Yes, sir," Captain Ortola's voice
acknowledged.
The broad trapezoidal viewscreen at the
far end of the operations room surged with static, and
then an image of fiery — haired Admiral
Daala filled the screen. She leaned forward
into the viewing area. Her eyes seemed to throw
pointed javelins right into Wedge's heart.
"Rebel scum, you'll not leave Maw
Installation alive. The information contained in this
facility is now forfeit, tainted by your
sabotage. I'm not interested in your surrender
or your flight. Only your destruction."
Daala ended the transmission herself before Wedge
could formulate a reply. He shook his head at
the flickering static that faded into a dull gray.
He turned back to Qwi and felt his heart
pounding. "Qwi, are you sure there's nothing else
here we can use? Any other weapon?"
"Wait," Qwi said. "Chewbacca took a
team down into the maintenance bay to rescue the
Wookiee slaves. There were always several
assault shuttles or fighter ships being worked
on. Maybe those?"
One of the New Republic commandos snapped his
head up. "Assault shuttles? Probably
gamma class. They're nothing spectacular, but
they are heavily armored and well outfitted with
weapons, worth ten of our starfighters. It could be
a welcome addition in the battle. Daala's
got only one Star Destroyer against us, but she still
outguns the combined force of the corvettes and the
Yavaris."
The squad leader looked down at a scrolling
list of equipment on a data screen. "Just as
I feared, sir. These are old models. They
require a pi
loting droid to fly complicated
maneuvers, especially in this gravitational
environment. We could probably do it with
only one droid and cross — link to the separate
navigational systems."
At that moment, with heavy footfalls and buzzing
servo — motors, Threepio hurried into the
operations room, emitting a loud sigh of
relief. "Ah, there you are! I've finally found
you."
Wedge, Qwi, and everyone else turned
to look at the golden droid.
Threepio moved forward, his arms waving in
dismay as he negotiated a steep ramp into the
rock — lined maintenance bay. "I don't know why
everyone keeps treating me as if I were some sort
of ... property," he said.
Chewbacca grunted a sharp retort, and
Threepio snapped at him. "That's quite beside the
point. In actual fact, I — was
Chewbacca lifted up the golden droid and
set him bodily on the entrance ramp of a
gamma — class assault shuttle. The recently
freed Wookiee slaves, along with a group of
New Republic commandos, scrambled into the five
armored shuttles that remained in the bay. Each
ship had been maintained in perfect working order
by Wookiee crews.
From above sudden hollow thumps echoed through the
asteroid as the Gorgon pummeled them with
turbolaser blasts. Chewbacca and the other
Wookiees howled at the ceiling, their bestial
noises echoing louder than the thunder of attack.
Faint dust trickled down, split from the sealed
rock walls.
"I still think I'm going to regret this,"
Threepio said. "I wasn't designed for this
kind of work. I can communicate with other
tactical computers and coordinate your flight
paths, but putting me in charge of strategy — was
Chewbacca ignored him and climbed into the
vehicle. Seeing that his arguments were useless, the
golden droid shuffled up the ramp into the confines
of the assault shuttle. "But, then again, I am
always happy to help, where needed."
The other Wookiees, including stunted old
Nawruun, took their places in the gunnery
seats, ready to blast TIE fighters.
Chewbacca slumped into the assault shuttle's
too — small pilot seat and made Threepio
sit beside him in the copilot's chair. "Oh, very
well," Threepio said, and inspected the
computer, deciding how best to communicate with it.
More explosions from the Gorgon's attack
pounded through the thick walls, but those noises were
Champions of the Force Page 20