Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis 1 - Before the Storm

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  Chewbacca shook his head and growled his disgust.

  “I thought you'd understand,” Han said plaintively. “Chewie, they replaced the cushions on the acceleration couches.” His tone was rich with indignation. “Don't they understand why people keep old furniture around the house? That's not my Falcon. It feels like I'm sitting in somebody's else's ship. I tell you, I'm gonna have to take a whole day to go around with a wrench and start loosening things—” Somewhere in the middle of Han's tirade, Chewbacca stopped listening to him. He stood straighter and cocked his head while attending to a sound from farther away. Finally he grabbed Han by the shoulder and gave him a little shake to interrupt him.

  “Arroora,” the Wookiee said chidingly.

  “What?” Han said, twisting around to look toward the gardens. “I didn't hear her.”

  Together they hurried down the walk toward Leia's voice. They found her on the back lawn, tailor-sitting on the grass with a datapad in her lap. Nearby, all three children lay side by side on their backs, with eyes either closed or staring blankly upward. “I thought you'd be back long before this,” Leia said, with a hint of impatience in her voice. “I had to postpone an appointment with Senator Noimm.”

  Han looked down, embarrassed. “Sorry, honey,” he said, sitting beside her and reaching for her hand. “There were problems at the yard.”

  “And I'll bet you caused most of 'em,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Right, Chewie?”

  The bronze-furred Wookiee looked away, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and scratched his head distractedly.

  “It's okay, Chewie,” Han said. “I'll rat on myself, so you don't have to.” He nodded toward the children, who had neither moved nor made a sound since he and Chewbacca had arrived. “What did you do to them, kill them?”

  Jaina giggled at that, spoiling the effect.

  “It's an exercise,” Leia said.

  “What, to see who can levitate the longest?”

  “Bite your tongue,” said Leia sharply. “They're working on feeling the Force flowing through the grass, through each separate plant, without disturbing the flow. It's one of the Jedi disciplines of moving lightly, leaving no sign.”

  Chewbacca growled.

  “Don't look at me, Chewie,” said Han, lying back in the grass. “The best discipline I know is the sentence 'Wait till your mother gets home.’ ”

  Leia smiled and poked him with a forefinger. “I feel like I hardly know enough myself to be their teacher,” she said with a sigh, “but I have to do what I can.” More loudly she added, “All right, children, that's enough.”

  One after another, Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin sat up. Jacen plucked a blade of grass and started trying to whistle through it, drawing a glare from his sister and a look of injured surprise from his younger brother.

  “Tell me what you learned,” Leia said.

  Jaina looked toward her parents. “The grass doesn't mind being walked on, but it does feel it.”

  “Everything that's alive can feel what happens to it,” said Leia. “That's an important truth to remember. Anakin? Jacen? What about you?”

  Anakin laced his fingers behind his neck as a pillow.

  “I don't know if I learned something or made it up.”

  “Tell us.”

  “Well—I was looking at the clouds. And I thought I could feel the grass looking at them, too. Like they were wondering if it was going to rain.”

  “I'm sure the grass is aware of the weather,” Leia said. “But wondering is something conscious beings are blessed with.”

  “Or cursed,” said Han.

  “I learned that the grass thinks Jaina smells bad,” Jacen said impishly, giving his twin a push and rolling away from her. “Can we go in the pool, Mother?”

  “All right,” she said, accepting that the exercise was over. Three small bodies scrambled up from the grass and ran fleet-footedly toward the courtyard and the vortex pool.

  “I can go watch them,” Han said, sitting up.

  “Stay. They'll be all right,” Leia said, shielding her eyes. “Chewie, you look even taller than usual from down here. I hope your mate is bigger than me. Did you have as hard a time as my dear husband did, letting someone else work on his jalopy?”

  Chewbacca crouched down, sitting on his heels with an easy balance that reminded Han that his friend came from an arboreal planet. Lifting his face to the sky, he growled proudly.

  “Oh, right, fine, you're the practical one, and I'm the hot-tempered one,” Han said. “Have you ever heard such character assassination?”

  “Don't worry, dear,” Leia said, patting his hand. “I won't let him change how I feel about you.”

  The Wookiee's first grunt was a retort, the second a question.

  “Of course—go ahead,” said Leia.

  Rolling his head from side to side on his neck, Chewbacca loosed a long, well-modulated growl. Before it was over, Han sat up with a start, staring at Chewbacca.

  “Go home?” he demanded. “Go home?”

  “Of course,” Leia said to Chewbacca. “You have a family of your own, a mate and a child. Your responsibility to them is every bit as important as the obligations you feel toward us. Tell him, Han.”

  “Huh? Look, who's going to help me put the Falcon out of order again?”

  Leia poked him in the ribs.

  “Ow!”

  “Try again,” she said.

  “I guess it's been a long time, pal,” Han said, wearing a rueful expression. “Family won't recognize you if you don't get back there soon and spend more time hanging around the home tree.”

  Chewbacca shook his head up and down as he answered.

  “Of course we understand,” Leia said. “You've been here taking care of our kids instead of on Kash-yyyk with your own. You really should be there for Lumpawaroo's coming-of-age. We insist you go. I feel bad that we've been so selfish.”

  The Wookiee answered with an uncharacteristically tentative growl.

  “No, we'll manage just fine,” Leia said. “The kids are safe here, and we're not going to be running all over the galaxy. And Luke is on Coruscant—”

  “Leia—”

  “—and he'll be helping us with the children. No, don't give it a second thought. You should leave as soon as you can pack. Tell him, Han.”

  Han nodded. “Leia's right, old buddy. It's a good time. Things are quiet. We'll miss ya, but you've been standing watch on our bridge long enough.”

  Subtle movements. of muscles under fur marked Chewbacca's relief and gratitude. “Rrargrarg?” he asked, cocking his head.

  “Shoot, pal,” said Han, showing an easy grin. But his face paled and his eyes widened as Chewbacca asked his second favor. “Oh, no—oh, no. You can't ask me that. I just got her back after a hundred and sixty-seven days on the hook.”

  Chewbacca's grunt was terse and snide.

  “I don't care if I said I hated new boots,” Han said. “I hate having someone else's feet in my boots even more. Friendship only goes so far.”

  “What are you talking about?” Leia demanded.

  “Aw, he's just trying to hold me to my own words. I don't have to be consistent if I don't want to.”

  With a peevish growl, Chewbacca stood and started to turn away.

  “Don't you move, Chewie,” Leia said sharply. “Han, come on! You should lend him the Falcon.”

  “Well, I don't want to,” Han said, getting to his feet and pacing nervously. “I don't want her bouncing around hyperspace without me. I want her where I know the worst thing that can happen is that some overeager mechanic with a torque wrench will come along and tighten all the connectors to spec. And you know how Wookiees fly—he'll redline it the whole way there and back.”

  Leia shook her head. “And you wonder why Jacen gives us a hard time.”

  “Arrarrarooerrr,” Chewbacca said plaintively to Leia.

  “You hear that?” Leia said. “Han, dear—how many years of Chewie's life have you t
aken so far? How long have you kept him away from Kashyyyk?”

  “Me? I didn't do it. It's that crazy Wookiee life debt stuff. I'd be glad to let him off the hook.”

  “The least you could do is let him go back a hero, in the ship both of you made famous. Think what that could mean to Chewie's son, to his mate. It might go a long way toward making up for Chewie's absence to know that he was doing something that mattered, to see him honored.”

  “I suppose,” Han said dubiously.

  “And he's your friend. You wouldn't want him to think you were willing to lend the Millennium Falcon to Lando—” Han shook a finger warningly.

  “That's different. That was war. And I still didn't like it.”

  “—but not to him. You wouldn't want him to think you were willing to lose the Falcon to Lando in a sabacc game, but you won't lend it—”

  “Her. Her, not it.”

  “—to Chewbacca for his homecoming. You wouldn't want to hurt his feelings like that, would you?”

  Holding his head in his hands as though trying to massage away a headache, Han looked from Leia to Chewbacca and back to Leia again. He squinted, frowned, chewed his lower lip, shook his head. His mouth worked, and he made a noise that sounded something like “Not fair.”

  “What?” said Leia. “What did you say?”

  Han cleared his throat and looked straight at Chewbacca. “I said I guess if we need a lift somewhere while you're gone, either the president or the princess can probably arrange something.”

  Chewbacca crowed his delight and rushed forward to hug Han. “But you'd better take care of her!” Han added quickly, squirming uncomfortably in the Wookiee's crushing embrace. “I want her back without a scratch, d'you hear me? Not a scratch. And fill the tanks before you leave Kashyyyk. I'm not paying for your conjugal visits.”

  The only response Chewbacca made was to ruffle Han's hair while he showed a toothy openmouthed grin.

  When Chewbacca was gone, Leia drew Han into a gentler and more agreeable embrace. “I'm proud of you,” she said. “He'd never say anything to either of us, but he still hasn't stopped feeling awful inside about the kidnapping of the kids.”

  Han did not have to ask Leia how she knew about Chewbacca's private pain. “It wasn't his fault.”

  “You'll never convince him of that. He feels guilty for failing us. And he feels guilty for neglecting his own. He really needs to go home and get his confidence back.” She drew back and smiled up at her husband.

  “And from what I hear, looking after Wookiee children is good practice for looking after Jedi children.”

  “Maybe I should go with him.”

  “You don't need to,” she said, and kissed him.

  “Yeah, well, fine,” Han said. “I'll tell you this much, though. Luke'd better come teach the kids how to flap their arms and fly. Because I'm never giving Jacen the codes to the Falcon. Not in my lifetime, anyway.”

  “Why? Didn't you start piloting everything in sight as soon as you could?”

  “Of course I did,” Han said indignantly. “Why do you think I'm worried?”

  The unmarked office of Admiral Drayson lay buried inside five security perimeters and hidden behind a curtain of misinformation and plausible deniability.

  The section he commanded had no publicly known name. The private name—Alpha Blue—was known only to the dozen officials with the very highest clearances, and appeared nowhere in either the government's or the military command's data records. Those whom Drayson commanded carried no Alpha Blue identification cards and passed under no Alpha Blue insignia on the way to their jobs. They wore the insignia of a variety of unremarkable units, or—like Drayson himself—no insignia at all, and took their pay as quartermasters' mates and second gunners, ion mechanics and civilian clerks.

  Given that context, Drayson was just a little surprised the morning he entered his office and found someone already there, uninvited and unannounced—-someone who did not work for him and yet was bold enough to sit in Drayson's chair, with his feet up on the corner of Drayson's desk.

  “Well,” Drayson said. “Lando Calrissian. You're lucky I didn't shoot you.”

  Lando grinned. “I was counting on your being too curious how I got in to shoot me right away.”

  “I said shoot you, not kill you. Blowing apart your knee would have been sufficient,” Drayson said. “Now, please get out of my chair.”

  “Oh, if you insist,” Lando said, vacating the chair with a flourish that left it slowly spinning. “I was just following my dear mother's advice.”

  “On breaking and entering?”

  “On avoiding stress. 'Never stand when you can sit down, and never sit when you can lie down.’ “

  “I see,” Drayson said, stopping the rotation of his chair with a hand and dropping into it. “I haven't heard anything of you in some time—”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Not since Mara Jade showed such surprising resistance to your charms.”

  “How kind of you to remember.”

  Drayson steepled his fingers. “My own theory is that you've been consoling yourself by spending the reward from Duchess Mistal in sabacc halls and on pleasure couches. Anything left of it?”

  Lando smiled and sat on the edge of the desk.

  “I'm sure you could tell me to the half-credit. You never have forgiven me for the fact that because you and your Chandrila goons could never catch me and the Falcon, have you? Or for the fact that you caught so many of the dumb and clumsy smugglers, I made a fortune on my Chandrila runs. I really should have given you a share.”

  “You never have gotten over this notion that smuggling is an honorable line of work, have you?” Drayson asked, tipping back in his chair. “What makes you think I would have taken your dirty money?”

  “Because I knew what kind of chit the Admiral of Chandrila Defense Fleet was drawing,” Lando said. “Every good smuggler knows that bribes will get him places bravado won't.”

  For the first time, Drayson smiled. “You know, Baron, I really hate the fact that I can't help but like you.”

  “I know,” Lando said. “I have the same problem. I never thought I could be friends with someone who was so fond of rules.”

  “Well—life is full of surprises. Not that seeing you is one. To tell the truth—”

  “Oh, why start now?”

  “—I've been half expecting to see you since I heard that Lady Luck had docked upstairs. Though I didn't think it'd be with your feet up on my desk like you were taking over.” Drayson folded his arms over his chest. “So—what can I do for you?”

  “Wrong question, Admiral,” Lando said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I'm bored,” Lando explained simply. “I go in business, I make a little money, I lose a little money—the game isn't interesting anymore. Someone throws a title at me, and I pick up the pieces someone else dropped—until one day I realize I'm sitting behind a desk, turning into you. There's no challenge in smuggling, unless you want to go to the Core—and I'm too smart to be that dumb. And there's hardly a scrap anywhere in twenty parsecs worth getting dirty for. That's why I'm here.”

  “You're bored,” Drayson repeated.

  “Exactly. Find something interesting for me to do and I'll tell you how I got past your perimeters.” His 'expression was suddenly touched with regret. “I'm afraid there are a couple of security types you're going to have to let go, though.”

  “I see,” said Drayson. “Any particular reason you happened to find yourself afflicted by boredom at this moment in time?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Drayson pursed his lips. “I can't say anything more unless you come back in.”

  “Will I be sorry if I do?”

  “Aren't you always?”

  General Lando Calrissian and Admiral Drayson, chief of Alpha Blue, stood before a large briefing screen studying a holo image of a strange space vessel.

  The vessel's five cylindrical hu
lls, lying parallel to each other like a bundle of logs, were so dark in color that it was hard to see much detail. But the sensor's scale markings along the edge of the frame betrayed its size.

  “I give up,” Lando said finally. “I almost want to say it's Mon Calamari construction, but I don't think they ever built anything that big. What is it?”

  “The Teljkon vagabond.” When Lando's face showed no signs of recognition, Drayson asked, “Are you familiar with the legend of the Another Chance?”

  Lando cocked an eyebrow questioningly. “The Alderaan armory ship? Of course. Every smuggler in that sector has a story about seeing it. Which means that every smuggler in that sector is a bald-faced liar.”

  “You don't believe the legend, then?”

  “Revisionist history,” Lando said, shaking his head.

  “Explain.”

  “I just can't believe that when the pacifists took over Alderaan's Council of elders, they were cynical enough to pack all the weapons into a ship and send it hopping through hyperspace. They just had reason to wish they had done it, when the Empire came knocking a few years later.” Lando sighed deeply. “Believe me, I wish the legend was true. I wish they'd recalled Another Chance before the Death Star reached Alderaan. But it's just another shaggy-ghost-ship st ory.”

  “I agree,” Drayson said, reaching out and tapping the surface of the screen. “But this is a real ghost ship—probably the one that's kept the legend of Another Chance alive. This holo was taken by the New Republic frigate Boldheart, five years ago, right in the middle of that business with Admiral Daala.”

  Lando smiled wryly, remembering just how close “that business” had come to being the end of the New Republic.

  “Just after this image was taken, Boldheart fired across the vagabond's bow,” Drayson continued. “The vagabond fired back with some weapons we still don't understand, disabling Boldheart’s engines with one shot. Then it jumped into hyperspace. It wasn't seen again for almost two years. Bored yet?”.

  “No, go on.”

  Admiral Drayson turned away from the briefing display and walked back to a seat at the conference bar. “That was actually the second documented sighting. The first to spot it was a Hrasskis monitor ship working the Teljkon system.”