by Timothy Zahn
“It could be a trap,” Lando warned.
“Or he could be ready to deal,” Han countered. “Keep your blaster ready.”
“No kidding.”
They were halfway to the archway when they heard it: a short, deep-toned thud like a distant crack of thunder. It was followed by another, louder one, and then a third. The conversational din of the casino faltered as others paused to listen; and as they did so, the Coral Vanda seemed to tremble a little.
Han looked at Lando. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he muttered.
“Turbolaser bursts hitting the water,” Lando murmured grimly. “Ferrier’s dealing, all right. Only not with us.”
Han nodded, feeling a hard knot settle into his stomach. Ferrier had gone ahead and made a deal with the Empire … and if the Imperials got their hands on the Katana fleet, the balance of power in the ongoing war would suddenly be skewed back in their favor.
And under the command of a Grand Admiral …
“We’ve got to find that ship dealer, and fast,” he said, hurrying toward the exit. “Maybe we can get him out in an escape pod or something before we’re boarded.”
“Hopefully, before the rest of the passengers start panicking,” Lando added. “Let’s go.”
They’d made it to the archway when their time ran out. There was a sudden thunderclap, not distant this time but seemingly right on top of them, and for a second the coral reef outside the transparent hull lit up with an angry green light. The Coral Vanda lurched like a wounded animal, and Han grabbed at the edge of the archway for balance—
Something caught his arm and pulled hard, yanking him out of the archway to his right. He grabbed reflexively for his blaster, but before he could draw it strong furry arms wrapped around his chest and face, pinning his gun hand to his side and blotting out all view of the sudden panic in the corridor. He tried to shout, but the arm was blocking his mouth as well as his eyes. Struggling uselessly, swearing under what breath he could get, he was hauled backwards down the corridor. Two more thunderclaps came, the second nearly throwing both him and his attacker off their feet. A change of direction sideways—his elbow banged against the side of a doorway—
A hard shove and he was free again, gasping for breath. He was in a small drinks storage room, with crates of bottles lining three of the walls almost to the ceiling. Several had already been knocked to the floor by the Coral Vanda’s lurching, and out of one of them a dark red liquid was oozing.
Lounging beside the door, grinning again, was Ferrier. “Hello, Solo,” he said. “Nice of you to drop in.”
“It was too kind an invitation to turn down,” Han said sourly, looking around. His blaster was hovering in front of a stack of crates two meters away, right in the middle of a thick and strangely solid shadow.
“You remember my wraith, of course,” Ferrier said blandly, gesturing at the shadow. “He’s the one who sneaked up onto the Lady Luck’s ramp to plant our backup homing beacon. The one inside the ship.”
So that was how Ferrier had managed to get here so fast. Another thunderclap shook the Coral Vanda, and another crate tottered too far and crashed to the floor. Han jumped back out of the way and took a closer look at the shadow. This time he was able to pick out the eyes and a glint of white fangs. He’d always thought wraiths were just space legend. Apparently not. “It’s not too late to make a deal,” he told Ferrier.
The other gave him a look of surprise. “This is your deal, Solo,” he said. “Why else do you think you’re in here instead of out where shooting’s about to start? We’re just going to keep you here, nice and safe, until things settle down again.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Calrissian, now—he’s another story.”
Han frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m tired of him getting in my way,” Ferrier said softly. “So when the Coral Vanda finally gives up and surfaces, I’m going to make sure he’s right up there in front, trying valiantly to protect poor Captain Hoffner from the evil stormtroopers. With any luck …” He spread his hands and smiled.
“Hoffner’s the guy’s name, huh?” Han said, fighting his anger down. Getting mad wasn’t going to help Lando any. “Suppose he’s not on board? The Imperials won’t be happy about that.”
“Oh, he’s aboard,” Ferrier assured him. “Getting a little stircrazy, though. He’s been sort of locked in our suite since about an hour after we sailed.”
“You sure you got the right guy?”
Ferrier shrugged. “If not, the Grand Admiral has only himself to blame. He’s the one who supplied me with the name.”
Another blast rocked the ship. “Well, nice talking to you, Solo, but I’ve got a deal to close,” Ferrier said, regaining his balance and hitting the door release. “See you around.”
“We’ll pay you twice what the Empire’s offering,” Han said, trying one last time.
Ferrier didn’t even bother to answer. Smiling one last time, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.
Han looked at the shadow that was the wraith. “How about you?” he asked. “You want to be rich?”
The wraith showed its teeth, but made no other reply. There was another thunderclap, and they were jerked hard to the side. The Coral Vanda was a well-built ship, but Han knew it couldn’t stand up to this kind of pounding for long. Sooner or later, it would have to give up and surface … and then the stormtroopers would come.
He had just that long to find a way out of here.
The Chimaera’s turbolaser batteries fired again, and on the bridge holo display a short red line dug briefly into the sea near the tapered black cylinder that marked the Coral Vanda’s position. For an instant the red line was sheathed in the pale green of seawater suddenly flashed into superheated steam; and then the pale green spread outward in all directions, and the Coral Vanda rocked visibly as the shock wave passed it. “They’re stubborn, I’ll give them that,” Pellaeon commented.
“They have a great many wealthy patrons aboard,” Thrawn reminded him. “Many of whom would rather drown than give up their money under threat of force.”
Pellaeon glanced at his readouts. “It won’t be long until they’re at that choice. Main propulsion’s been knocked out, and they’re developing microfractures in their hull seams. Computer projects that if they don’t surface in ten minutes, they won’t be able to.”
“They’re a shipful of gamblers, Captain,” Thrawn said. “They’ll gamble on the strength of their ship while they seek an alternative.”
Pellaeon frowned at the holo display. “What alternative could they possibly have?”
“Observe.” Thrawn touched his board, and a small white circle appeared on the holo in front of the Coral Vanda, extending backward like the path of a crazed worm. “There appears to be a path here beneath this section of the reef that would allow them to evade us, at least temporarily. I believe that’s where they’re heading.”
“They’ll never make it,” Pellaeon decided. “Not the way they’re bouncing around down there. Best to be sure, though. A shot right at the entrance to that maze should do it.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said, his voice meditative. “A pity, though, to have to damage any of these reefs. They’re genuine works of art. Unique, perhaps, in that they were created by living yet nonsentient beings. I should have liked to have studied them more closely.”
He turned to Pellaeon again, gave a short nod. “You may fire when ready.”
There was another clap of thunder as the Imperial ship overhead flash-boiled the water near them … and as the Coral Vanda lurched to the side Han made his move.
Letting the ship’s motion throw him sideways, he half staggered, half fell across the storeroom to slam into one of the stacks of crates, turning at the last instant so that his back was to them. His hands, flung up over his head as if for balance, found the bottom corners of the topmost crate; and as the force of his impact shook the stack, he brought the box tipping over on top of him. He let it roll a quart
er rotation toward his head, then shifted his grip and shoved it as hard as he could toward the wraith.
The alien caught it square on the upper torso, lost his balance, and crashed backward to the floor.
Han was on him in a second, kicking his blaster out of the wraith’s hand and jumping after it. He caught up with the weapon, spun back up. The wraith had gotten clear of the box and was scrambling to get back to his feet on a floor now slippery with spilled Menkooro whiskey. “Hold it!” Han snapped, gesturing with the blaster.
He might as well have been talking to a hole in the air. The wraith continued on to his feet—
And with the only other option being to shoot him dead, Han lowered his aim and fired into the pool of whiskey. There was a gentle whoosh; and abruptly, the center of the room burst into blue-tinged flame.
The alien leaped backward out of the fire, screaming something in his own language which Han was just as glad he couldn’t understand. The wraith’s momentum slammed him up against a stack of crates, nearly bringing the whole pile down. Han fired twice into the crate above the alien, starting twin waterfalls of alcohol cascading down around his shoulders and head. The alien screamed again, got his balance back—
And with one final shot, Han set the waterfalls on fire.
The wraith’s scream turned into a high-pitched wail as it twisted away from the blaze, its head and shoulders sheathed in flame. More in anger than pain, though, Han knew—alcohol fires weren’t all that hot. Given time, the wraith would slap out the fire, and then very likely break Han’s neck.
He wasn’t given that time. Midway through the wail the storeroom’s automatic fire system finally sputtered into action, the sensors directing streams of fire foam straight into the wraith’s face.
Han didn’t wait to see the outcome. Ducking past the temporarily blinded alien, he slipped out the door.
The corridor, which had been crowded with panicking people when he’d first been grabbed, was now deserted, the passengers on their way to the escape pods or the imagined safety of their staterooms. Firing a shot into the storeroom lock to seal it, Han hurried forward toward the ship’s main hatchway. And hoped he’d get to Lando in time.
From far below him, almost lost among the shouts and screams of frightened passengers, Lando could hear the muffled hum of activated pumps. Sooner than he’d expected, the Coral Vanda was surrendering.
He swore under his breath, throwing another quick look over his shoulder. Where in blazes had Han gotten to, anyway? Probably hunting for Ferrier, wanting to see what the slippery ship thief was up to. Trust Han to run off and play a hunch when there was work to be done.
A dozen of the Coral Vanda’s crewers were busy taking up defensive positions inside the ship’s main hatchway as he arrived. “I need to talk to the captain or another officer right away,” he called to them.
“Get back to your room,” one of the men snapped without looking at him. “We’re about to be boarded.”
“I know,” Lando said. “And I know what the Imperials want.”
That one rated him a quick look. “Yeah? What?”
“One of your passengers,” Lando told him. “He has something the Empire—”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got a description, though.”
“Wonderful,” the crewer grunted, checking the power level on his blaster. “Tell you what you do—you head aft and start going door to door. Let us know if you find him.”
Lando gritted his teeth. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” the other retorted. “Go on, get out of here.”
“But—”
“I said move it.” He pointed his blaster at Lando. “If your passenger’s got any sense he’s probably already ejected in an escape pod, anyway.”
Lando backed away down the corridor, the whole thing belatedly falling together in his mind. No, the ship supplier wouldn’t be in any escape pod. He probably wouldn’t even be in his stateroom. Ferrier was here; and knowing Ferrier, he wouldn’t have deliberately shown himself like that unless he’d already won the race.
The deck rocked slightly beneath his feet: the Coral Vanda had reached the surface. Turning, Lando hurried aft again. There was a passenger-access computer terminal a couple of corridors back. If he could get a passenger list from it and find Ferrier’s room, he might be able to get to them before the Imperials took control of the ship. Breaking into a quick jog, he turned into a cross corridor—
They were striding purposefully toward him: four large men with blasters at the ready, with a thin, white-haired man almost hidden in the center of the group. The lead man spotted Lando, snapped his blaster up, and fired.
The first shot was a clean miss. The second sizzled into the wall as Lando ducked back behind the corner.
“So much for finding Ferrier’s room,” Lando muttered. Another handful of shots spit past his barricade; and then, surprisingly, the firing stopped. Blaster in hand, hugging the corridor wall, Lando eased back to the corner and threw a quick look around it.
They were gone.
“Great,” he muttered, taking a longer look. They were gone, all right, probably into one of the crew-only areas that ran down the central core of the ship. Chasing after someone through an unfamiliar area was usually not a good idea, but there weren’t a whole lot of other options available. Grimacing to himself, he started around the corner—
And yelped as a blaster bolt from his right scorched past his sleeve. He dived forward into the cross corridor, catching a glimpse as he fell of three more men coming toward him down the main corridor. He hit the thick carpet hard enough to see stars, rolled onto his side and yanked his legs out of the line of fire, fully aware that if any of the original group was watching from cover, he was dead. A barrage of blaster shots from the newcomers bit into the wall, with the kind of clustering that meant it was being used as cover fire while they advanced on him. Breathing hard—that crash dive had knocked the wind out of him—Lando got to his feet and started toward an arched doorway halfway down the cross corridor. It wouldn’t give him much cover, but it was the best he had. He had just made it to the doorway when there was a sudden curse from the direction of his attackers, a handful of shots from what sounded like a different model blaster—
And then, silence.
Lando frowned, wondering what they were pulling now. He could hear footsteps running toward him; flattening himself into the doorway as best he could, he leveled his blaster at the intersection.
The footsteps came to the intersection and paused. “Lando?”
Lando lowered his blaster with a silent sigh of relief. “Over here, Han,” he called. “Come on—Ferrier’s people have our man.”
Han rounded the corner and sprinted toward him. “That’s not all, buddy,” he panted. “Ferrier’s gunning for you, too.”
Lando grimaced. He hadn’t missed by much, either. “Never mind me,” he said. “I think they must have gone down the ship’s core. We’ve got to catch up with them before they reach the main hatchway.”
“We can try,” Han said grimly, looking around. “Over there—looks like a crewer access door.”
It was. And it was locked.
“Ferrier’s people got in,” Lando grunted, stooping down to examine the half-open release panel. “Yeah. Here —it’s been hot-wired. Let’s see …”
He probed carefully into the mechanism with the tip of his little finger; and with a satisfying click, the panel unlocked and slid open. “There we go,” he said. He got to his feet again—
And jumped back from the opening as a stuttering of blaster fire flashed through.
“Yeah, there we go all right,” Han said. He was against the wall on the other side of the opening, blaster ready but with no chance of getting a shot in through the rear guard’s fire. “How many people has Ferrier got on this ship, anyway?”
“A lot,” Lando growled. The door, apparently deciding that no one was going through after all, slid shut a
gain. “I guess we do this the hard way. Let’s get back to the main hatchway and try to catch them there.”
Han grabbed his shoulder. “Too late,” he said. “Listen.”
Lando frowned, straining his ears. Over the quiet hum of ship’s noises, he could make out the rapid-fire spitting of stormtrooper laser rifles in the distance. “They’re aboard,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Han nodded. The deck vibrated briefly beneath their feet, and abruptly the laser fire slackened off. “Subsonic grenade,” he identified it. “That’s it. Come on.”
“Come on where?” Lando asked as Han set off down the cross corridor.
“Aft to the escape pod racks,” the other said. “We’re getting out of here.”
Lando felt his mouth drop open. But he looked at his friend, and his objections died unsaid. Han’s face was set into tight lines, his eyes smoldering with anger and frustration. He knew what this meant, all right. Probably better than Lando did.
The escape pod bobbed on the surface of the sea, surrounded by a hundred other pods and floating bits of reef. Through the tiny porthole Han watched as, in the distance, the last of the Imperial assault shuttles lifted from the Coral Vanda and headed back to space. “That’s it, then?” Lando ventured from the seat behind him.
“That’s it,” Han said, hearing the bitterness in his voice. “They’ll probably start picking up the pods soon.”
“We did all we could, Han,” Lando pointed out quietly. “And it could have been worse. They could have blown the Coral Vanda out of the water—it might have been days before anyone came to get us then.”
Which would have given the Empire that much more of a head start. “Oh, yeah, great,” Han said sourly. “We’re really on top of things.”
“What else could we have done?” Lando persisted. “Scuttled the ship to keep them from getting him—never mind that we’d have killed several hundred people in the process? Or maybe just gotten ourselves killed fighting three assault shuttles’ worth of stormtroopers? At least this way Coruscant has a chance to get ready before ships from the Dark Force start showing up in battle.”