Star Wars: Choices of One

by Timothy Zahn

  And hope the E-Web gunner couldn’t shift his aim fast enough to nail him before the grenade went off.

  He was five steps from the blasterfire when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw two of the Troukree leave their firing positions and break into a run toward the stairway. One of them pulled ahead.

  Abruptly, LaRone realized that both aliens were on an intersect course with his own vector. “Get back!” he shouted.

  But it was too late. The Troukree in front came to a sudden halt right at the edge of the E-Web’s fire arc. He spun around as the second alien continued running toward him.

  As LaRone reached the fire arc, the second Troukree leapt up into the waiting hands of the first and was hurled up into the air in a gymnast’s shoulder throw.

  His body crossed the line of blasterfire directly above LaRone’s head just as LaRone charged through.

  The Troukree might have screamed as the bolts tore into his body. Or maybe it was a scream of anger from the alien operating the E-Web. LaRone didn’t know. All he cared about in that split second was putting his grenade directly under the center of the E-Web’s tripod. He threw the explosive, then put his hands out to catch himself as his momentum carried him toward the cellar’s back wall.

  And as his palms hit the permacrete the grenade exploded. LaRone bounced back off the wall, staggering as the grenade’s shock wave hit him, and spun around, drawing his E-11.

  The blaster wasn’t necessary. As the explosion faded, and his helmet’s audio protection eased back, silence again descended on the cellar.

  Taking a deep breath, LaRone looked across the floor. The dead Troukree was lying where he’d fallen, his body half torn apart with multiple blaster wounds, his companion crouched over him. To LaRone’s right Marcross rose from behind his barrier, looking first at the two Troukree and then at LaRone.

  Faces weren’t visible through stormtrooper helmets, but LaRone had been with the others long enough that their body language was as clear to him as open expressions would have been to anyone else.

  It was very clear that Marcross was feeling the same awe and humility about the Troukree’s sacrifice that LaRone was.

  Exhaling a sigh, LaRone started back across the room. The crouching Troukree looked up as he approached, and a dozen different words of sympathy or compassion flashed though LaRone’s mind. But every one of them felt somehow shallow, blasé, or inadequate.

  In the end, he could think of only one thing to say. Focusing on the Troukree lying dead in front of him, he lifted his hand in salute. “Well done, soldier,” he said quietly.

  The trip back to the redoubt seemed longer than it ever had before.

  “Incredible,” Quiller murmured as LaRone rounded the barrier and came up beside him. “I’ve seen stormtroopers sacrifice themselves that way for each other. But never an alien. At least, not for someone they barely even knew.”

  LaRone nodded. “You were the one who said we were going to make stormtroopers out of them.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Quiller agreed soberly. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” He gestured. “If the scout gave them our setup here, we should probably think about moving.”

  “Yes, we should,” LaRone agreed, looking around the cellar.

  The problem was that there wasn’t anywhere else to go. All the biggest kegs had already been lined up to create the redoubt and the firing nests for Marcross and the Troukree, and it would take a dangerous amount of time to reposition them. More serious was the fact that anywhere else they tried to go would move them closer to either the demolished stairway or the supply lift.

  Which, so far, the attackers had ignored. Could they possibly be unaware of its existence? Or were they planning something special from that direction?

  He frowned as a new sound filtered through his helmet and his thoughts. A dull thudding sound, like someone tapping on a wall.

  Or on the side of a bacta tank.

  He turned toward the tank parked beside the supply lift door. Sure enough, Grave’s eyes were open above the breath mask, the back of his hand tapping against the transparisteel. Slipping off his helmet, LaRone circled the redoubt barrier and crossed over to him. He keyed the system to draw the fluid back into the supply tank, and when the level was low enough he popped the lid and swung it open. “Welcome back,” he greeted Grave as he carefully took the breath mask off the other’s face. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” Grave said, his voice weak. “I was going to say that you’re making one jink of a lot of noise out here. You have any idea how hard it is to sleep through all that?”

  “Sorry,” LaRone apologized as Brightwater came up beside him. “I wish I could promise it won’t happen again.”

  “You ready to stop loafing and join the party?” Brightwater asked.

  Experimentally, Grave shifted his shoulders, the movement sending little ripples through the half-full tank. “Sorry,” he said, wincing. “Not quite.”

  He looked back at LaRone. “But maybe there’s something I can do from the sidelines. Fill me in, and let’s see if we can come up with something clever.”

  LUKE WAS STILL WATCHING THE KIDNAPPERS FROM THE EDGE OF HIS guard niche when the cavern abruptly thundered with a violent explosion.

  Reflexively, he ducked back, his ears ringing with the sound, a wash of musty-smelling air flowing past him. The air flow faded away, and he eased back to the edge of the niche and looked out—

  —to find that the entire cavern was on the move.

  His first impulse was to duck back again in case one of the kidnappers looked his way. But it was clear that none of them had the slightest interest in anything that might be going on in the vehicle tunnel. Everyone he could see was racing toward the right-hand part of the cavern. From the flow of dust and smoke and the fading reflection of light on the far wall, Luke guessed that that was the direction the explosion had come from.

  Only from the tone of the shouting voices he could hear now that the echoes had faded away, the kidnappers didn’t seem all that distressed by the blast. In fact, he could hear at least one whistle that sounded decidedly triumphant.

  Had they been expecting the explosion? Had they planned it?

  Had it been a trap for the help LaRone had said was on the way?

  Luke grimaced. Of course—that had to be it. They’d set a booby-trap, and whoever it was had walked straight into it.

  It was up to Luke now.

  A last man ran past the tunnel, and now there was nothing but buildings and drifting smoke in Luke’s sight. He gave it another five-count, just to be sure, then slipped out of the niche and moved up to the edge of the cavern.

  The place was considerably bigger than he’d realized. It was 150 meters long at least, and 20 meters or more from floor to ceiling. At the end of the cavern to his right were the results of the explosion: a frozen dune of crumpled and shattered metal on the floor, with a darkened and scored wall behind it. Most of the kidnappers were still headed in that direction, with a few of them already there and starting to pick their way cautiously through the rubble.

  But not all of them. As Luke turned to look in the other direction, he saw that there were still three men at the other end of the cavern. They were huddled together, apparently in deep conversation, near the foot of a staircase leading up to a small structure set against the wall near the ceiling.

  Hurriedly, Luke backed again into the tunnel until he was out of their sight. Moving across to the left side of the tunnel, he returned to the cavern and again peered around the corner.

  The men had finished their conversation. One of them was walking back in Luke’s general direction, while the other two remained by the stairs.

  Luke frowned, an unpleasant sensation tugging at him. The two men weren’t just standing there, and they weren’t simply talking together. One of them was speaking on a comlink, his free hand fiddling restlessly with a knife belted at his side. The other was standing close to him, obviously listening in,
his body tense, his eyes turned upward.

  Suddenly, with the kind of utter certainty that Luke was slowly learning to associate with the Force, he realized the truth. The small room at the top of the stairs was where Ferrouz’s wife and daughter were being held.

  The first man put away the comlink and drew his knife. He turned it over in his hands a few times, saying something to the other man. Then, waving it one last time as if for emphasis, he slid it back into its sheath.

  And both men started up the stairs.

  Luke swallowed hard, half a dozen possibilities flooding in on him. Maybe the attack team Stelikag had sent had succeeded in killing Governor Ferrouz. Maybe they hadn’t, and had decided he was out of their reach. Or maybe someone had decided that they no longer needed either Ferrouz or the hostages.

  But one thing was certain, as certain as the flash of insight that had told Luke where the hostages were. The two men were heading up to confront Ferrouz’s wife and daughter, and kill them.

  There was no time to think. No time to plan. The two men were on the stairs, and there was only Luke to stop them, and there was just a single opponent standing in Luke’s way.

  It was now or never. Ripping off his bulky hooded poncho and throwing it into the tunnel behind him, Luke rounded the corner into the cavern and charged at full speed toward the strolling kidnapper.

  The man spotted him instantly, a startled and slightly puzzled frown crossing his face. “Who are you?” he demanded as his hand dropped to his blaster.

  Luke’s answer was to put on an extra burst of speed. There were only ten meters separating them now. If he could cover the distance before the other got his blaster out …

  But the man was faster than he’d hoped. Before Luke made it three more steps he had the weapon clear and leveled at Luke’s chest. Luke saw his finger tightening on the trigger.

  Suddenly there seemed to be two images shimmering in front of Luke’s eyes. One was of the man and his blaster, the weapon pointed at Luke’s chest. The other was of the same man and same blaster, only this one had a hazy bolt shooting from the weapon in a dream-like slow motion. Reflexively, Luke brought his hands up from his sides, watching the bolt drifting toward him as he swung his lightsaber into position—

  As the blue-white blade snap-hissed into existence, the two images abruptly came together, and the slow-motion blaster bolt abruptly burst toward Luke at normal speed—

  —and ricocheted from the blade straight back into the man’s shoulder.

  The other bellowed with surprise and pain, his blaster flailing to the side as he jerked with the unexpected impact. He recovered his balance and tried to bring the blaster back on target.

  Luke slammed into him, his shoulder connecting solidly with the man’s chest and knocking him a full meter backward to land with a thud on the ground.

  The man swore viciously, again trying to bring his blaster to bear. Stepping hastily to the side, Luke swung his lightsaber again, slashing the blaster in half. The man rolled up onto his side, then collapsed again as Luke kicked him hard in the stomach. This time, he stayed down.

  For a second Luke just stared at him, his breath coming in quick heaves, the reality of what he’d just done flooding in on him. Good against remotes is one thing. Han’s mocking comment on their first trip together came drifting back. Good against the living? That’s something else.

  Luke had done it. He’d gone against the living. And he’d survived.

  He looked up at the stairs. The two men who’d been climbing had stopped one flight up from the floor and were staring down in openmouthed astonishment.

  But that wouldn’t last long. Squaring his shoulders, Luke took a step toward them.

  And ducked as a pair of blaster bolts shot past his head. He’d forgotten all about the mob of kidnappers at the other end of the cavern.

  Another bolt shot past, closer this time. Luke glanced down at the blaster he’d just cut in half, wishing too late that he hadn’t done that, and took off toward the stairs. There was a shed over that way, plus an abandoned and extremely rusty ore car. Either of them should give him cover while he tried to figure out his next move.

  Unfortunately, he already knew what that move was. He had to chase the two men up those stairs, and he had to do it fast enough to stop them. Even if it meant doing so in full view and full blaster range of the rest of the gang. Even if it meant taking a few blaster bolts along the way.

  Even if it meant dying in the attempt.

  Mara had made it perhaps a quarter of the way along the beam when she heard a shout from the cavern below.

  She froze, her eyes flicking toward the sound. Ahead, between the stairs and the vehicle tunnel, one of the kidnappers had drawn his blaster and was lining it up on a badly dressed and clearly insane figure that had appeared from nowhere and was running straight at him.

  She winced. Skywalker—that had to be LaRone’s contact Skywalker. He’d broken cover, like he’d been ordered not to, had charged in here alone, like any intelligent life-form should have known better than, and was about to pay the ultimate price for his foolishness.

  And there was nothing Mara could do to prevent it. Her hold-out blaster didn’t have nearly enough range to take out the kidnapper, and even if it had she couldn’t have risked using it. The minute she fired, the rest of the kidnappers down there would be on to her, and Ferrouz’s family would be doomed.

  Maybe they were doomed anyway. Now that her attention had been drawn forward, she could see that there were two men climbing the stairs, their expressions and body language that of men preparing for murder.

  Cursing under her breath, she focused on the track in front of her. She would never make it in time. Not at her present speed. Probably not even if she stood up and ran.

  Ferrouz’s wife and daughter were going to die. And like Skywalker’s own impending death, there was nothing Mara could do about it. The man on the cavern floor ahead aimed his blaster and fired.

  And with the snap-hiss of a lightsaber, a blue-white blaze lanced out from Skywalker’s hands and deflected the shot straight back at the gunman.

  Mara felt her mouth drop open. Skywalker had a lightsaber? And actually knew how to use it?

  Then, without slowing down, Skywalker rammed his shoulder into the kidnapper’s chest and knocked him down. Before the man could recover the lightsaber flashed again, cutting his blaster in half. The gunman tried to get back up, and Skywalker kicked him, putting him down for good.

  Mara felt her lips twist. Hardly the tactic of a lightsaber artist. That first deflection must have been a lucky shot.

  On the stairway, the two would-be killers had stopped and were gawking at the scene below. The kid turned toward them.

  And nearly died right there as a pair of blaster shots lanced past him from the rest of Stelikag’s group at Mara’s end of the room.

  Mara came to a sudden decision. She couldn’t get to the men on the stairway, not in time. But Skywalker might be able to. If he had a blaster.

  Clenching her teeth, she hunched up onto her knees on the crane rail. Skywalker was a long way away, and even with a Force assist she was going to need all the upper-body strength she had. The figure below had resumed his run toward the stairs, and the two men there had broken their own mesmerized paralysis and were starting upward again.

  Drawing her hold-out blaster, Mara cocked her arm over her shoulder and threw it as hard as she could toward Skywalker.

  It clattered to the ground three meters in front of him, and for a second she thought he was going to just run straight past it. Then, abruptly, he stopped, and with the blaster bolts from behind starting to fill the air around him he stooped and picked up the weapon.

  And then, like a complete idiot, he paused and looked around him.

  Don’t look, Mara pleaded silently as she dropped flat onto the rail again. They’re watching you. Don’t look for me.

  But of course he did.

  And he spotted her.

  Mar
a winced, pressing herself tightly against the rail. Maybe Stelikag wouldn’t notice. Maybe he hadn’t tracked the direction the blaster had come from.

  But Stelikag noticed. Of course he noticed.

  “There!” she heard a shout from below her. “Up there.”

  And suddenly the bulk of the blasterfire that had been directed toward Skywalker sizzled through the air around Mara.

  She clenched her teeth. Now she was well and truly trapped.

  But at least Skywalker seemed to have figured out why she’d sent him a weapon. He was on the move again, running toward the stairway, the hold-out blaster spitting its small but deadly fire at the men on the stairs.

  The kid wasn’t a bad shot, either. One of the men jerked like a twitched puppet and dropped to his knees, clutching his leg. The other man took two more steps up to the next landing and dropped into the partial shelter of the guardrail. He yanked out his own blaster and trained it at his attacker.

  Suddenly Skywalker was dead center in the middle of a crossfire.

  Mara winced. Fortunately, the kid knew what to do in that situation. He continued running until he reached an abandoned ore car lying on its side near the base of the stairs. Dropping into a crouch in the partial shelter, he resumed his attack on the stairway.

  Only the attack couldn’t succeed … and as Mara looked below her again she realized with a sinking heart just how little time they had. About half of Stelikag’s remaining force had come to a halt level with her position and were standing or crouching in sharpshooter stances, keeping her pinned down with a steady rain of blasterfire. The rest of the crowd was heading toward Skywalker, moving slowly and warily but keeping up their attack on him as well.

  When they reached him, he would die. And then Mara, still lying here, would watch helplessly as Stelikag or one of his men climbed leisurely to the control cabin and killed Ferrouz’s family.