from four different directions, lasers blazing. The Intruder's shields held,
at least under the initial onslaught. Captain Semmac brought the nose of the
Intruder up and accelerated, trying to get out of the crossfire. The
Intruder's main guns began to return fire, concentrating on the closest of
the four frigates. The ship's nose came down hard as Semmac attempted to
break free, but the frigates adjusted course to stay with the Intruder,
matching her move for move. Ossilege frowned. Something was wrong. The
frigates were pouring laser fire into the Intruder, but it was having no
effect. There should have been local burn-throughs, the shields should have
been weakened here and there. Ossilege checked the power levels from the
frigate's lasers. Why were they so low? Unless-unless ' the lasers were just
there as a deception, a distraction. And come to think of it, how were the
frigates able to absorb so much fire from the Intruder! He brought up a
close-up view of the nearest frigate on his tactical display and felt his
blood run cold. Its windows were painted on. Painted on over what looked
like solid durasteel. He slapped down his comlink. "Captain Semmac! Those
frigates are camouflaged robot rarnships! Their guns are harmless. They are
merely trying to get in close enough to- But it was too late. The first of
the ramships fired its high-boost engine and accelerated at terrifying
speed, directly at the Intruder, a multimegaton battering ram headed
straight in at them. It struck just forward of the bridge. "Okay!" Jacen
said. "I have him back." "Good," said Technician Antone. "Great. Let's get
back to it." Anakin came back into the compartment and looked long and hard
at each of them before he took his seat again. "Okay," he said. "Ready."
"Good, good," said Antone, forcing a smile onto his face. "Then let's start
the power initiation sequence." "No," said Anakin. The sweat was standing
straight out on Antone's forehead. "Anakin, please. Try to understand. This
isn't a game. Lots of people-lots and lots of people- are going to, to die
unless we fire this repulsor at exactly the right time in exactly the right
direction," "I know that," said Anakin. "But it isn't aimed just right. It's
too heavy. Too heavy somehow." "What do you mean, too heavy?" Antone asked.
"Gravity!" Jacen shouted. "He means gravity! Those instructions you got are
for the repulsor on Selonia! The gravity is different there." "Right!" said
Anakin. "Too heavy." Antone thought for a minute, muttering frantically.
"Sweet stars in the sky. He's right! He's right!" He checked the countdown
clock. "And we've got ten minutes to recalculate the aim from scratch."
Antone grabbed one of the other techs by the shoulder and shoved him at
Anakin. "Run him through the power initiation sequence and the rest of it,
and we'll retarget just before we fire." And with that, Technician Antone
raced frantically away to find a desk and a datapad. The second and the
third robot ramships slammed into the Intruder, sending the ruined hulk
pinwheeling across the sky. The fourth ram missed, but that did not matter.
The ship was dead already. Ossilege picked himself up off the deck and
staggered back over to his chair. Gaeriel had managed to stay in hers.
Belindi Kalenda climbed to her feet and looked around in shock. They were
the only ones left. Everyone else on the flag deck was dead. Ossilege didn't
even bother looking down to see if anyone had survived on the bridge. Most
of it wasn't there anymore. "ABANDON SHIP!" the overhead speaker shouted.
"ALL HANDS, ABANDON SHIP!" "I can't feel my legs," Gaeriel announced. "I can
see they're bleeding, but I can't feel them, and I can't move them."
Ossilege nodded, not really knowing why. Spinal damage, he thought. She must
have been slammed around hard by those impacts. Admiral Hortel Ossilege
realized that he was holding his left hand over his stomach. He lifted his
hand away for a moment and saw the red, open wound. Astonishing that he
wouldn't feel something like that. "ABANDON SHIP!" the automatic voice
called again. Ossilege looked from himself to Gaeriel Captison, to Kalenda.
"Go!" he shouted at Kalenda. "We can't make it. You can. Go!" Suddenly he
felt very weak. "But-" Kalenda began. "But I have a gut wound and the Prime
Minister cannot walk. We would not survive the trip to the escape capsule,
and if we did we would not survive until pickup. Go. Now. That is an order.
You-you have been a good officer, Lieutenant Kalenda. Do not waste yourself
now over a pointless gesture. Go." Kalenda looked as if she were about to
say something more, but then she stopped. She saluted Ossilege, bowed to
Gaeriel, and then turned and ran. "Good," said Ossilege. "I hope she makes
it." "We have to blow the ship," Gaeriel said, her voice barely more than a
whisper. "Don't let her be captured." Ossilege nodded to her. "Yes," he
said. "You are right. But we must wait. Give the survivors time to escape.
Wait until we are in deep among the enemy ships. Take them with us.
Wait-wait for Source A." "Source A?" Gaeriel asked, her voice vague and
weak. "Source A," said Ossilege. "We have to wait for Admiral Ackbar." "One
hour, Luke!" Lando shouted. "Let's get out of here while we're still in one
piece each!" "Copy that, Lando," said Luke. "Back the way we came, and
fast" "What's going on?" Tendra asked. "Why are we retreating?" "We're not
retreating," said Lando as he heeled the Lady Luck around. "We're following
Ossilege's plan. A plan so simple that even we could follow it. Get in, do
as much damage as you can for one hour, and then get out of the way." "Get
out of the way for what?" "For Source A, my dear Source T." "What are you
talking about?" Lando laughed out loud. "It's not much of a code name
system, but there it is. Source T for Tendra, Source A for Admiral Ackbar.
Ossilege started getting coded hyperwave messages from him the minute the
jamming field went down. Ackbar had spent every waking moment since we left
Coruscant trying to put some sort of task force together. It sounds like he
wasn't able to get that big a fleet together, but twenty-five modern ships
with modern weapons-well, that ought to do some good out here. Especially if
the opposing force is already pretty banged up and disoriented and out of
formation and pointed in the wrong direction." Lando dodged the Lady Luck
around the shot-up wreck of a modified B-wing, and ran at top speed,
straight for Centerpoint Station. "I think we'll head for the north end of
Centerpoint, thank you very much. The end that doesn't fire interstellar
death rays." "But what about Admiral Ackbar? What's the rest of the plan?"
"Well, that's pretty simple too. When Admiral Ackbar does his precision
hyperspace jump, he'll land right on top of them, and they'll never know
what hit them. And our ships don't want to be sitting in the shooting
gallery." "When does he show up?" Lando checked the ship's navicomputer and
the chronometer. "Uh-oh," he said. "Right here. And right now." The piece of
empty space in front of them was suddenly ablaze with the flaring light of
starships coming in out of hyperspace, ships t
hat were streaks of blazing
white, flashing into existence and screaming past the Lady Luck to either
side, over her, under her, so close that they could almost hear the
nonexistent winds of space rushing past them as the ships roared by. It was
an incredible sight, a beautiful sight-and a terrifying one. Lando clenched
his teeth and wrapped his hands around the flight stick. He held on for dear
life, forcing himself by sheer strength of will not to try to dodge the
oncoming ships, for fear of flying smack into one he did not see. And then
they were past, and then they were gone, And then Lando slowed the Lady to a
reasonable speed, and breathed. And then the war was over, for Lando, and
for Ten-dra. Gaeriel Captison was starting to feel the pain. Not in her
legs, of course, but everywhere else. Admiral Os-silege sat beside her,
barely conscious himself, bleeding badly. Gaeriel thought she could smell
something burning behind her. Not that such things mattered anymore, of
course. In spite of everything, somehow Ossilege had managed to open up the
control panel set into the side of his chair, the ship's self-destruct. He
had flicked up all of the safeties and pushed down all of the buttons. All
but the last. He was waiting, still waiting, still watching his tactical
displays. They were barely working, but they would not have to work well at
all to show him what he needed to see. "There!" he said. "There! Ships
coming in! They're here." "It's time, then," said Gaeriel. "You're a good
man, Admiral Ossilege. You did your duty. You held th em. You stopped them.
Well done." "Thank you, ma'am. I was-I was proud to serve with you." "And I
with you," she said. "But now it's time to go." She thought of her daughter,
Malinza, left all alone in the universe. She would be cared for, of that
Gaeriel had no fear. Perhaps-perhaps the universe would compensate for all
the sorrow of her young life, and bring her nothing but good as she grew
older. It was a comforting thought, Gaeriel decided. A good thought to go
out on. "I can't-I can't move my arm," said Ossilege. "I can't push the
button." "Here," said Gaeriel. She looked up and saw at least three Triad
ships were near. She smiled and reached over. "Here," she said again. "Let
me." The explosion lit the sky, tore a hole across the Triad fleet. For a
few glorious seconds a new light blazed up, a pillar of fire brighter than
all the stars in the sky. "Oh, sweet stars in the sky," said Tendra. "That
was the Intruder. They're gone. They're all gone. It's over." Lando looked
down at the ship chronometer again, then to Centerpoint Station, and then
toward the distant dot of light that was Drall. "No it isn't," he said. "But
in one minute and twenty seconds, it will be. Maybe for a lot of people."
"Antone!" Jaina shouted. "Now! Now! We have to do it now!'1 Technician
Antone came rushing back in, his eyes buiging out of his head. "I can't," he
said, and held up the datapad. "It's still running. The last part of the
problem is still running. It won't be done for another five minutes at
least. Twelve million people. Twelve million people." Antone sat down on the
floor and covered his head with his hands. "We're doomed!" Threepio moaned.
"If they control the starbuster, our enemies will destroy us all." Jacen
Solo stood riveted to the spot, his eyes as wide as they could be. Everyone
in the chamber was rooted to the spot. Twelve million people. They had one
chance to make this work, and it would fail because they couldn't give the
right numbers to a seven-year-old kid. "Wait a second," he said to himself.
"Who needs numbers?" He turned toward his brother, still seated at the
console. "Anakin," he said. "It felt too heavy, right? Can you fix it? Can
you close your eyes and feel it? Make it feel right, make it go right?"
"What are you saying?" Ebrihim asked. "You want him to guessl" "Not guess,"
said Jaina. "Feel. Reach out to it, Anakin. Let go of your conscious
feelings. Reach out with the Force." Anakin looked at his brother and his
sister, and swallowed hard, and then he shut his eyes. "Yeah," he said.
"Yeah." Eyes still closed, he held out his hands for controls that weren't
there, controls that took form under his hands even as he reached for them.
Glowing grids of orange and purple and green appeared and flared up and
vanished around his head, but Anakin did not see them. Deep beneath their
feet, a deep, determined vibration began to build. They heard the crash of
thunder from the repulsor, and the sound of power being gathered, of
unimaginable force being channeled and focused and held in ready. The
joysticklike control materialized, slithering up perfectly into
Anakin's'grasp. He pushed the control stick slowly forward, and a cube of
perfect blazing orange appeared before his still-closed eyes. He made tiny,
imperceptible adjustments with the controls, and the orange cube flickered
once and grew brighter. He held the stick forward for a long, long moment-
And then he pulled it down, as hard as he could. The chamber shuddered with
power, and a stream of lightning blazed down the corridor and out into the
chamber. They could not see it in the control chamber, except for Anakin,
who saw everything perfectly from behind closed eyes. But those on the
surface and those in space could see it. They could see the repulsor thunder
and roar with repressed power, power that seethed and pulsed and flickered
in its eagerness to be set free. They saw the power in that repulsor that
built up and up and up. And they saw it leap out of the repulsor chamber,
tear across space, land square on the south end of Centerpoint, just as
practically every countdown clock in space reached zero, just at the moment
Centerpoint was to fire. The South Pole lit up with the energy that was
supposed to stream out invisible, unseen, undetected, into hyperspace, was
supposed to reach out across space and murder a star. But the repulsor beam
broke up the opening into hyperspace, defocused the beam, detuned it enough
that some small part of its energy was converted into visible light. The
South Pole of Centerpoint began to glow, began to throb and pulse with its
own power. The glow spread, expanding outward, stretching itself out into a
magnificent bubble of light, harmless light, that lit the skies of all the
Corellian worlds, gleaming, shining, blooming, growing-and then guttering
down to nothing. Lando Calrissian watched it all from the North end of
Centerpoint, and started breathing again. He hadn't even realized he had
stopped. "Now," he said to Tendra. "Now, it's over."
EPILOGUE
Epilogue I don't even know why you were so eager to have my fleet come
here," said Admiral Ackbar in his grav- elly voice. He turned and regarded
Luke Skywalker through his goggly eyes. They were on Drall. as Ackbar had
been curious to inspect the repulsor. "There was hardly any work left for
rny ships to do-thanks to Ad miral Ossilege and Gaeriel Captison." "Thanks
to them, yes, sir," said Luke. Luke thought of Gaeriel, thought of her
daughter, Malinza. Luke had promised Malinza he would take care of her
mother. How was that debt
to be paid? He thought of Ossilege, of the
difficult, impossible man who also had a knack for doing the difficult, the
impossible. "I will mourn them both for a long time to come. But we have
won. Thanks to them, and many others. And in large part thanks to those
three children, over there." Anakin and Jacen and Jaina were racing around,
climbing around the hummocks of dirt that the repulsor had forced up when it
had shoved its way out of the ground. They were being chased by a laughing
Jenica Sonsen and a Belindi Kalenda who was too busy making ferocious faces
to laugh. They were playing in the shadow of the repulsor. Once hidden
underground, the top of the cylinder now rose a hundred meters up out of the
ground. Han and Leia laughed out loud as their children turned the tables
and started chasing Sonsen and Kalenda. Mara watched the fun, smiling
quietly, and even Chewbacca was enjoying the show. Not far off, Ebrihim and
the Duchess Marcha were lounging on the ground, intent in conversation.
Judging by their eager, focused expressions, they were either talking over
some complicated matter of state or, more likely, dissecting some
particularly juicy bit of family gossip. It was probably the latter but Luke
hoped it was the former. The Duchess would need the practice. Lcia had told
Luke of her plan to appoint Marcha the new Governor-General of the Sector.
Dracmus sat by the two Drall, apparently so enthralled with their
conversation that she had fallen sound asleep. Luke heard a high-pitched
voice raised in protest behind him, answered by a rapid, high-pitched
twittering that sounded far from complimentary. He turned around to see
Artoo and Q9 at it again, bickering over some fine point of droid design or
other. Threepio was standing between them, trying to cairn them both down.
Luke had a feeling Threepio would meet with his usual degree of success.
"You know," he said, "it's the beings on this plain, the humans and the
Selonian and the Drall and the Wookiee and the droids right here. They're
the ones who won this war. Not the ships or the guns or the hardware."
"You're right, of course," said Admiral Ackbar. "But no one wins a war.
There are just different degrees of losing. The damage done on these worlds
is shocking. Shocking. It will take them many years to rebuild it all, to
Showdown At Centerpoint Page 31