by Troy Denning
Leia smiled. It was an obvious honesty test, with the Chiss asking for information their spies had probably already supplied.
“Luke and Mara took Tesar Sebatyne, Tekli, my son Jacen, and Tahiri Veila,” Leia said. “We plan to take the rest with us when we go.”
“You give your word?” the Chiss asked.
“Certainly, if your commander will give his word that the Chiss will cease their attempts to force the Colony to depart Qoribu,” Leia answered. She doubted the standoff would be resolved so easily, but it was worth a try. “In any case, we will be leaving a senior Jedi to monitor the situation.”
There was another pause, then the Chiss said, “Obviously, I lack the authority to negotiate on behalf of the Ascendancy.”
“Obviously,” Leia said.
“But the offer will be passed to the appropriate Aristocra. Until then, we are honored to accept your offer of assistance. Please proceed to the coordinates I transmit and begin a two-kilometer grid search.”
“Copy,” Leia said. “And thank you for allowing us to help.”
“My commander asks me to express his gratitude for your assistance,” the officer replied. “Out.”
The coordinates appeared on the navigation display.
“We’re not going to find anyone up there,” Juun complained. “That’s practically out of orbit!”
“Juun,” Han said. “You’re supposed to be a smuggler.”
“I am a smuggler.” A catch came to Juun’s voice. “At least I was until I lost the XR-eight-oh-eight-g.”
“Then you should know we’re not going anywhere near there.” As Han spoke, he was swinging the Falcon away from Qoribu’s dark mass onto a heading that would carry them generally toward the area they had been assigned. “We just gotta make it look good.”
Lowbacca opened his eyes to a vast banded darkness and was instantly back above Qoribu, shivering inside the cold stink of his EV suit, anchored to a ronto-sized hunk of ice and dust in the planet’s ring system. The blackness around him was filled with blue needles of ion discharge—Chiss rescue ships still searching for survivors—and a steady rain of battle debris was plunging into the gas giant’s thick atmosphere, igniting a spectacular display of crimson cloud-blossoms.
Jaina continued to touch Lowbacca through the battle-meld, helping him push back the loneliness and despair that she herself had experienced when she went EV at Kalarba. Alema assured him they would reach him soon. Zekk worried about his life-support status. The heads-up display inside Lowbacca’s helmet showed low batteries, no water, and thirty minutes of air— three times that if he returned to a hibernation trance. Another presence urged him to stay alert and be ready.
Lowbacca thought for a moment this last presence was Tesar, but it felt older, fiercer, less familiar . . . Saba!
Be ready! There would be only one chance.
Lowbacca disengaged his tether-line safety sleeve and poised his thumb over the quick release gate. He was ready.
With his other hand, he pulled himself down to the iceball, then grabbed the anchoring bolt and used it to slowly spin around, looking for the telltale halo of an approaching vessel. He saw only the ion trails of craft passing on the oblique, and that puzzled him. Jaina and the others would be coming in StealthXs, but they were even more cramped than standard XJs. How were they going to pick him up . . .
The question vanished from Lowbacca’s mind. There was a dark shape about a hundred meters ahead, its canopy and one weapons-arm protruding above the sea of iceballs that formed Qoribu’s ring system.
It was probably just an empty wreck. Or maybe Lowbacca was seeing things. His EV suit was automatically holding his oxygen consumption at a minimum, feeding him just enough air to keep him functional, and hallucinations were common under such circumstances. Jaina had told him she spent several hours talking to Yoda when she went EV Unfortunately, she had not been able to understand anything he said because he spent the whole time speaking in Gamorrean.
Lowbacca slowly spun himself toward Qoribu, keeping a careful watch at ring level. He found another dark shape about the same distance away, this time pointed in his direction, standing on edge with two weapons-arms protruding above the surrounding surface. A flash of entry fire on Qoribu briefly lit the cockpit, silhouetting a helmeted head.
The cold suddenly began to seep into Lowbacca’s bones. He reached out with the Force, extending his awareness in all directions, and found himself surrounded by living presences.
Chiss presences.
Leia set their new waypoint and transferred it to Han’s display. “There, I think.”
Han glanced down at his screen. “You think, or you’re sure?”
“Sure?” The word emerged from Leia’s dry throat in a high-pitched croak. “What do you think? The coordinates just popped into my head.”
The navigation schematic showed a yellow destination icon hanging on the inner edge of Qoribu’s ring, about as far from the Falcon’s assigned search area as it was possible to get.
“Sorry for asking,” Han said. “But we’re only going to get one shot at this.”
When Han continued on their current trajectory, Leia sighed and reached out to her daughter, then began to recite the coordinates in her mind.
But Jaina was in no mood to be bothered. Leia sensed only an overwhelming urgency and determination—and perhaps an irritated admonishment to stop wasting time.
“Han, just go. Something’s not right.”
“Okay.” Han swung the Falcon toward the new waypoint, then pushed the throttle forward and activated the intercom. “Battle stations back there. This might get rough.”
“Battle stations?” Juun gasped. “Do you remember that your cannon turrets are nonfunctional? Your gunners won’t be able to hit a thing!”
“Have some faith, Shortwave,” Han said. “You’d be surprised what Noghri hit when they can’t aim.”
“This has happened before?”
“Sure,” Leia said, only half listening. “It seems like something’s always broken down just when you need it most.”
To her surprise, the Chiss did not immediately demand to know why the Falcon had drifted off course. In fact, she detected no sign they had even noticed. Thankful that Raynar had not felt threatened by their sensor dish, Leia locked it on their destination and began a passive analysis of the vicinity.
“The Chiss are being awfully quiet,” Han said. “Better take a sensor reading on our destination—but don’t go active. We don’t want to give away where we’re going.”
“Good idea,” Leia said, vaguely affronted that Han had felt it necessary to tell her the copilot’s job. “There are some unusual mass concentrations in the vicinity, but no EM or propulsion emanations.”
Han glanced over and gave her a crooked grin. “You’ve been reading my mind again, haven’t you?”
“Princess Leia does that?” Juun sounded worried—or embarrassed. “She reads minds?”
“Sure,” Han said. He frowned at the Sullustan’s reflection in the cockpit canopy. “All the best copilots do.”
Leia found the Juun’s embarrassment a little disturbing, but decided it was better not to contemplate the source. The Sullustan had probably been admiring her procedure or something.
“Speaking of mind reading, I can’t get that infrared reading you were thinking about,” Leia said. “Too much background radiation from Qoribu.”
“Not good,” Han said. “And the Chiss aren’t sending—”
C-3PO clumped onto the flight deck. “Captain Solo, you seem to have forgotten about the cannon turrets when you declared battle stations,” the droid said. “We should probably turn around now, before anything unfortunate happens. It would be much safer.”
“Juun!” Han barked. “Do you know where the circuit breaker is on a threepio droid?”
“Of course.”
“If he says another word about turning around or being doomed, trip it.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Please don’t,” C-3PO said. “My poor circuits have already been overstressed by the deterioration of Captain Solo’s reflexes, and the current folly isn’t helping matters.”
Juun stood on his chair.
C-3PO stepped away. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “I’ll be the routine of bravery, I assure you. Go ahead. Fly us straight into that planet, and you won’t hear another word from me.”
“Tempting offer,” Han grumbled.
Finally noticing the Falcon’s direction—or bothering to address it—the Chiss flight controller opened a channel.
“Millennium Falcon, this is Rescue One. Explain your course deviation.”
Leia reached forward to open a reply channel, then thought better of it and lowered her hand. “Let’s see if they’re serious.”
“The Chiss?” Han asked. “You want to see if the Chiss are serious?”
“I have a feeling,” Leia said. “Just—”
“—trust me,” Han finished. “I know.”
Juun’s eyes widened. “Does everyone on this ship read minds?”
“Why, no,” C-3PO confessed. “I don’t.”
The Falcon continued toward the web of ion trails crawling across Qoribu’s dark face for another second, then the Chiss controller’s voice came over the comm again.
“Millennium Falcon, I ask again. Explain your course deviation.”
Leia glanced over. Finding Han’s eyes narrowed in thought, she knew they were thinking the same thing.
“They’re afraid of scaring us off,” she said.
Han nodded. “It’s a setup.”
“Millennium Falcon, if you fail to reply—”
“Sorry about that,” Han said, activating his own microphone. “We’ve been kind of busy up here.”
“Doing what?”
Before replying, Han glanced over and mouthed their daughter’s name. Leia nodded and, allowing her alarm and suspicion to rise to the surface, reached out to Jaina.
“Uh, we think we’ve spotted some survivors,” Han said into the comm. “That’s why we weren’t answering—been busy getting the recovery equipment ready.”
“We haven’t detected any survivors on your course,” the Chiss said.
“We’re closer,” Han said. “And, uh, you don’t have a Jedi on board.”
“A Jedi found them?” There was a short pause, then the Chiss said, “Very well. Carry on with our gratitude.”
Han closed the channel. “That does it—they’re playing us,” he said. “Did you warn Jaina?”
“She already knew.” Leia’s stomach felt as empty and cold as the darkness outside the canopy. “She doesn’t care.”
Lowbacca could not see the StealthXs, of course, but he could feel them. They were no more than a thousand kilometers away, converging on him from four sides, coming in fast and hard.
No! Lowbacca thought into the meld. He fixed his gaze on the nearest of the clawcraft, then imagined its laser cannons flashing to life as his rescuers swooped in to pick him up. Ambush!
Jaina’s laughter echoed in his mind. But Saba seemed more curious. Lowbacca’s meld-connection was not as strong to th Barabel as it was to Jaina and the other strike team members, but he felt sure she was wondering how many clawcraft there were, whether the StealthXs could take them all. Lowbacca had never wanted to lie more than he did at that moment, to see a friendly face smiling down at him from a StealthX cockpit. But his rescuers had no chance of success. There had to be an entire wing of clawcraft hiding in the rubble around him, all waiting for a shot at the Jedi rescue team.
Jaina wished he would stop exaggerating, but Saba seemed sorry, and it was clear she did not like the thought of abandoning him. Lowbacca wasn’t worried. Clearly, the Chiss knew where he was.
Jaina’s frustration filled the Force, and Saba’s anger rose in reply. But Lowbacca could sense Jaina still approaching, feel her arming her weapons and selecting targets, determined to draw the Chiss off en masse. The Sword of the Jedi was not one to give up easily, not while there remained one sliver of hope.
Lowbacca knew what he had to do. He turned his wrist up, then opened the safety cover on the inside sleeve of his EV suit and revealed the emergency beacon activator.
“This is going to be bad, Han,” Leia said.
“How bad?” Han armed the concussion missiles.
“Worse than that.”
Jaina had lost too much during the war—Anakin, Chewbacca, Ganner, Ulaha, and on and on. She was determined to lose no more.
Then the steady ping of an emergency beacon sounded from the Falcon’s emergency speaker, and Leia looked down to see a bright yellow EV designator blinking over their waypoint. The tactical display instantly grew white with clawcraft, and Jaina’s frustration changed to shock.
“Lowie!” Leia gasped, saddened and relieved at once. “Thank you.”
She experienced a brief moment of warmth through the Force, then the feeling was lost as Lowbacca grew distracted and broke contact.
Han looked over expectantly. “Well?”
“It’s over,” Leia said. She reached out to Jaina and sensed her daughter’s disappointment—and Saba’s lingering fury at having had her orders disobeyed. “They’re on their way back.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Han swung the Falcon around to join them, then added, “The rescue team did everything it could. I hope Jaina knows that.”
“Me, too, Han,” Leia said. “But I don’t think—”
She was interrupted by the Chiss flight control officer. “Millennium Falcon, what is the status of your survivors?”
“Survivors?” Leia was confused for a moment, but that confusion quickly turned to anger as she recalled the excuse Han had made and realized she was being mocked. “I’m sure you’ve figured that out, Rescue One.”
There was a slight pause, then a deep and familiar voice sounded from the comm speaker. “My apologies, Princess Leia. I just wanted to confirm my understanding of the situation.”
Leia’s jaw fell, and she looked over to find Han having trouble keeping his own mouth closed.
“Jag?” she gasped. “Jagged Fel?”
“Indeed,” the reply came. “It wasn’t our intention to gloat.”
“Jag!” Han cried. “What are you doing here?”
“That would fall under the heading of military intelligence, Captain Solo,” Jag replied. “But rest assured, the Jedi Wookiee has been recovered. He’ll be treated with all the rights and privileges due any enemy combatant—as will the rest of your rogue Jedi, when we capture them.”
SEVENTEEN
IN EVERY BASE, THERE WAS a place like this, someplace dark and hot and deserted where a Barabel could go to hunt and clear her mind, someplace filled with the smell of local soil and the rustlings of alien prey. Saba was deep below the Taat nest, creeping down a crevice at a speed only a reptile would recognize as motion, her darting tongue stinging with the acrid odor of Jwlio’s fractured bedrock, her mouth filled with the bitter taste of Jaina’s insubordination.
Master Skywalker had allowed his niece to take part in the rescue mission only on the condition that Saba was in command. Yet when matters had grown difficult, Jaina had submitted—as always—only to her own emotions. Saba did not consider herself worthy to question Master Skywalker’s judgment, but she did fail to understand his wisdom in permitting the disorderliness that encouraged such behavior. Disobedience led to chaos, and chaos led to ineffectiveness.
The crevice opened into a cavity ahead, and the faint odor of meat that Saba had been following grew stronger. All her thoughts went instantly to the hunt, for the prey was often near its litter. She did not know what she was stalking, of course, but the smell suggested another predator. Herbivores rarely dragged fresh carcasses back to their lairs.
To her Barabel eyes, which saw well into the infrared spectrum, the entrance looked like a dark diamond opening into the cool gleam of Jwlio’s bedrock. She crept another step forward and heard the soft scr
atch of movement inside the lair. She waited, every muscle tensed to pounce on anything that poked its head out. She had been careful to mask her own odor by rubbing her scales in crevice dust, but such efforts were never entirely successful—and a worthy quarry usually smelled the predator long before the final attack.
Another rustle sounded from the cavity. Saba started steadily forward, a tenth of a meter at a time. If the prey had not fled or showed itself by now, it was not going to. The musty odor grew stronger, with just a hint of Killik sweetness, and she came to the entrance. The edge dropped away into a cold darkness that gave her the impression of a sizable emptiness. She stopped there for ten heartbeats, listening and testing the air with her tongue, twenty, fifty, a hundred.
No more rustles.
Saba slipped over the edge and crawled down a fissured rock face into a three-meter hollow. She could not sense any other presences in the area, but the spines along her dorsal ridge had risen on end, and that usually meant something exciting was about to happen. She continued across a floor of jumbled stones, licking the air, following her tongue toward the musty odor ahead. A few steps later, Saba peered over a boulder and found the source of the rustles.
A flat stone ahead was littered with about two dozen cuticle exoskeletons, all empty and split down the spine from molting. They ranged in size from smaller than Saba’s thumb to a little larger than her hand, and they were so light that even the unfelt movement of the cavern air made them quiver and rustle. Scattered among the empty shells were dozens of small bones, enough to make six or seven wabas. Most were stripped of their flesh and cracked open, but a handful in the center of the pile still had some meat on them.
Fresh meat.
Sensing that she was closing on her prey, Saba activated a glow rod and went over to the exoskeletons. They were a familiar dark blue, but with thick knobby chitin like that of Raynar’s guards. Starting to feel puzzled—and therefore short-tempered— Saba blew aside several of the smallest ones and shined her light into a tail-width cleft that ran a meter down the center of stone. It had been precisely cut, as though by a laser saw—or perhaps a lightsaber.