Champions of the Force

by Kevin J. Anderson

  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