by Timothy Zahn
“Point,” she had to concede. “All right. You have a ship for me to use?”
There was a tap at the door. “I will in a minute,” Karrde said, crossing to the door and pulling it open.
It was Skywalker’s sister. “You wanted to see me?” she asked.
“Yes,” Karrde nodded in greeting. “I believe you know my associate, Mara Jade?”
“We met briefly when you arrived on Coruscant,” Organa Solo nodded. For a moment her eyes met Mara’s, and Mara wondered uneasily how much Skywalker had told her.
“I need Mara to go on an errand for me,” Karrde said, glancing both directions down the corridor before closing the door. “She’ll need a fast, long-range ship.”
“I can get her one,” Organa Solo said. “Will a reconnaissance Y-wing do, Mara?”
“That’ll be fine,” Mara said shortly.
“I’ll call the spaceport and make arrangements.” She looked back at Karrde. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” Karrde said. “I want to know if you can throw together a tech team and get it into space tonight.”
“Councilor Fey’lya’s already sending a team,” she reminded him.
“I know that. I want yours to get there first.”
She studied him a moment. “How big a team do you want?”
“Nothing too elaborate,” Karrde told her. “A small transport or freighter, perhaps a starfighter squadron if you can find one that doesn’t mind risking official wrath. The point is not to have Fey’lya’s presumably handpicked crew the only ones there.”
Mara opened her mouth; closed it again without speaking. If Karrde wanted Organa Solo to know that his own people would also be coming, he would tell her himself. Karrde glanced at her, back at Organa Solo. “Can you do it?”
“I think so,” she said. “Fey’lya has built up a lot of support in the military, but there are enough people who would rather have Admiral Ackbar back in charge.”
“Here are the coordinates,” Karrde said, handing her a data card. “The sooner you can get the team moving, the better.”
“It’ll be gone in two hours,” Organa Solo promised.
“Good,” Karrde nodded, his face hardening. “There’s just one more thing, then. I want you to understand that there are exactly two reasons why I’m doing this. First, as gratitude to your brother for risking his life to help Mara rescue me; and second, to get the Imperials off my back by eliminating their chief reason to hunt me down. That’s all. As far as your war and your internal politics are concerned, my organization intends to remain completely neutral. Is that clear?”
Organa Solo nodded. “Very clear,” she said.
“Good. You’d better get moving, then. It’s a long way to the fleet, and you’ll want as much head start on Fey’lya as you can get.”
“Agreed.” Organa Solo looked at Mara. “Come on, Mara. Let’s get you your ship.”
The comm beside Wedge Antilles’ bunk buzzed its annoying call-up signal. Groaning under his breath, he groped in the darkness and slapped in the general direction of the switch. “Come on, give me a break, huh?” he pleaded. “I’m still running on Ando time.”
“It’s Luke, Wedge,” a familiar voice said. “Sorry to drag you out of bed, but I need a favor. You feel like maybe getting your people into some trouble?”
“When aren’t we in trouble?” Wedge countered, coming fully awake. “What’s the deal?”
“Get your pilots together and meet me at the spaceport in an hour,” Luke told him. “Docking Pad 15. We’ve got an old transport; we should be able to fit all your X-wings aboard.”
“It’s a long trip, then?”
“A few days,” Luke said. “I can’t tell you any more than that right now.”
“You’re the boss,” Wedge said. “We’ll be there in one hour.”
“See you then. And thanks.”
Wedge keyed off and rolled out of bed, feeling a stirring of old excitement. He’d seen a lot of action in the decade he’d been with the Rebellion and New Republic; a lot of flying, a lot of fighting. But somehow, the missions he remembered as being the most interesting always seemed to be the ones where Luke Skywalker was also involved. He wasn’t sure why; maybe Jedi just had a knack for that.
He hoped so. Between politics on Coruscant and cleaning up after Imperial raids across the New Republic, things were getting more and more frustrating around here. A change would do him good.
Keying on the light, he pulled a fresh tunic out of his wardrobe and started getting dressed.
There was no problem getting the midnight transport off Coruscant; Leia’s authorization guaranteed that. But a freighter with a cargo consisting of a dozen X-wings was unusual enough to spark comment and speculation … and it was inevitable that the speculation would eventually reach the ears of one of Fey’lya’s supporters.
By morning, he knew everything.
“This goes well beyond internal political infighting,” he snarled at Leia, his fur rippling back and forth like short stalks of grain caught in a succession of dust devils. “It was blatantly illegal. If not treasonous.”
“I’m not sure I’d go quite that far,” Mon Mothma said. But she looked troubled. “Why did you do it, Leia?”
“She did it because I asked her to,” Karrde put in calmly. “And since the Katana fleet is technically not yet under New Republic jurisdiction, I don’t see how any activity related to it can be considered illegal.”
“We’ll explain proper legal procedure to you later, smuggler,” Fey’lya said acidly. “Right now, we have a serious breach of security to deal with. Mon Mothma, I request an executive order be made out for Solo’s and Skywalker’s arrest.”
Even Mon Mothma seemed taken aback by that one. “An arrest order?”
“They know where the Katana fleet is,” Fey’lya bit out. “None of their group has been cleared for that information. They must be sequestered until the fleet has been entirely brought into New Republic possession.”
“I hardly think that will be necessary,” Leia said, throwing a look at Karrde. “Han and Luke have both handled classified information in the past—”
“This is not the past,” Fey’lya interrupted her. “This is the present; and they have not been cleared.” His fur flattened. “Under the circumstances, I think I had best take personal charge of this mission.”
Leia threw a look at Karrde, saw her own thought reflected in his face. If Fey’lya was able to personally bring back the Katana fleet—“You’re certainly welcome to come along, Councilor,” Karrde told the Bothan. “Councilor Organa Solo and I will appreciate your company.”
It took a second for that to register, “What are you talking about?” Fey’lya demanded. “No one’s authorized either of you to come along.”
“I’m authorizing it, Councilor,” Karrde said coldly. “The Katana fleet is still mine, and will remain so until the New Republic takes possession of it. Until then, I make the rules.”
Fey’lya’s fur flattened again, and for a moment Leia thought the Bothan was going to launch himself physically at Karrde’s throat. “We will not forget this, smuggler,” he hissed instead. “Your time will come.”
Karrde smiled sardonically. “Perhaps. Shall we go?”
CHAPTER
27
The proximity alert warbled, and Luke straightened up in his seat. After five days, they’d made it. “Here we go,” he said. “You ready?”
“You know me,” Han said from the pilot’s seat beside him. “I’m always ready.”
Luke threw a sideways glance at his friend. To all outward appearances, Han seemed perfectly normal, or at least as close to it as he ever got. But beneath the casual flippancy Luke had noticed something else over the past few days: a darker, almost brooding sense that had been with him since they left Coruscant. It was there now; and as he studied Han’s face, Luke could see the tension lines there. “You all right?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, sure. Fine.” The lines tighte
ned a little further. “But just once I’d like them to find someone else to go off on these little jaunts across the galaxy. You know Leia and I didn’t even get a day together? We didn’t see each other for a whole month; and we didn’t even get a day.”
Luke sighed. “I know,” he said. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve been running full speed since we blasted out of Tatooine with the droids and Ben Kenobi way back when.”
Han shook his head. “I hadn’t seen her for a month,” he repeated. “She looks twice as pregnant as she did when she left. I don’t even know what happened to her and Chewie out there—all she had time to tell me was that those Noghri things are on our side now. Whatever that means. I can’t get anything out of Chewie, either. Says it’s her story, and that she should tell it herself. I’m about ready to strangle him.”
Luke shrugged. “You have to face it, Han. We’re just too good at what we do.”
Han snorted. But some of the tension left his face. “Yeah. Right.”
“More to the point, I guess, we’re on the list of people Leia knows she can trust,” Luke continued more seriously. “Until we find that information tap the Empire’s got into the Imperial Palace, that list is going to stay pretty short.”
“Yeah.” Han grimaced. “Someone told me the Imperials call it Delta Source. You got any ideas who or what it might be?”
Luke shook his head. “Not really. Got to be close in to the Assemblage, though. Maybe even to the Council. One thing’s for sure—we’d better get busy and find it.”
“Yeah.” Han stirred and reached for the hyperdrive levers. “Get ready …”
He pulled the levers; and a moment later they were again in the blackness of deep space. “Here we are,” Han announced.
“Right.” Luke looked around, an involuntary shiver running up his back. “Dead center in the middle of nowhere.”
“Should be a familiar feeling for you,” Han suggested, keying for a sensor scan.
“Thanks,” Luke said, “but getting stuck between systems with a dead hyperdrive isn’t something I want to get familiar with.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Han said innocently as he keyed the comm. “I was talking about Tatooine. Wedge?”
“Right here,” the other’s voice came over the speaker.
“Looks like we’ve got a target at oh-four-seven mark one-six-six,” Han told him. “You ready to fly?”
“Ready and eager.”
“Okay.” Han took a last look out the viewport and keyed the cargo hatch release. “Go.”
Luke craned his neck to look in the direction Han had indicated. At first all he could see was the normal scattering of stars, achingly bright against the total blackness around them. And then he saw them: the softer glow of a ship’s running lights. His eyes traced the empty space between them, his brain forcing a pattern to the lights; and suddenly the image coalesced. “It’s a Dreadnaught, all right.”
“There’s another one just past it,” Han said. “And three more to port and a little below.”
Luke nodded as he located them, a strange tingle running through him. The Katana fleet. Only now did he realize just how little he’d really believed in the fleet’s existence. “Which one do we check out?” he asked.
“Might as well take the closest,” Han said.
“No,” Luke said slowly, trying to focus on the vague impression tingling through him. “No. Let’s try … that one over there.” He pointed to a set of running lights a few kilometers farther away.
“Any particular reason?”
“I don’t really know,” Luke had to admit.
He could feel Han’s eyes on him. Then the other shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Sure. We’ll take that one. Wedge, you getting all this?”
“Copy, transport,” Wedge’s voice confirmed. “We’re shifting into escort formation around you. So far it looks clean.”
“Good,” Han said. “Stay sharp anyway.” He keyed the transport’s intercom into the circuit and glanced at his chrono. “Lando? Where are you?”
“Just inside the cargo hatch,” the other answered. “We’ve got the sled loaded and ready to go.”
“Okay,” Han said. “We’re heading in.”
They were approaching their target Dreadnaught now, close enough that Luke could see the faint outline of reflected starlight that marked the edge of the hull. Roughly cylindrical in shape, with a half dozen weapons blisters arranged around its midsection and a bow that he’d heard once described as a giant clam with an overbite, the ship looked almost quaintly archaic. But it was a false impression. The Dreadnaught Heavy Cruiser had been the backbone of the Old Republic’s fleet; and while it might not look as sleek as the Imperial Star Destroyer that had replaced it, its massive turbolaser batteries still packed an awesome punch. “How do we get aboard?” he asked Han.
“There’s the main docking bay,” Han said, pointing to a dim rectangle of lights. “We’ll take the ship inside.”
Luke looked at the rectangle doubtfully. “If it’s big enough.”
His fears proved groundless. The entrance to the docking bay was larger than it had appeared, and the bay itself even more so. With casual skill Han brought the transport in, swiveled it around to face the opening, and put it down on the deck. “Okay,” he said, keying the systems to standby and unstrapping. “Let’s get this over with.”
Lando, Chewbacca, and the four-man tech team were waiting at the cargo hatchway when Han and Luke arrived, the techs looking somewhat ill at ease with the unaccustomed blasters belted awkwardly to their sides. “Checked the air yet, Anselm?” Han asked.
“It looks fine,” the head of the tech team reported, offering Han a data pad for inspection. “Better than it should be after all these years. Must still be some droids on housekeeping duty.”
Han glanced at the analysis, handed back the data pad, and nodded to Chewbacca. “Okay, Chewie, open the hatch. Tomrus, you drive the sled. Watch out for blank spots in the gravity plates—we don’t want you bouncing the sled off the ceiling.”
The air in the bay had a strangely musty odor about it; a combination of oil and dust, Luke decided, with a slight metallic tang. But it was fresh enough otherwise. “Pretty impressive,” he commented as the group walked behind the repulsorlift sled toward the main hatchway. “Especially after all this time.”
“Those full-rig computer systems were designed to last,” Lando said. “So what’s the plan, Han?”
“I guess we split up,” Han said. “You and Chewie take Anselm, Tomrus, and the sled and go check out engineering. We’ll head up to the bridge.”
For Luke, it was one of the eeriest trips of his life, precisely because it all looked so normal. The lights in the wide corridors were all working properly, as were the gravity plates and the rest of the environment system. Doors leading off the corridor slid open automatically whenever any of the group strayed close enough to trigger them, revealing glimpses of perfectly maintained machine shops, equipment rooms, and crew lounges. The faint mechanical noises of idling systems whispered behind the sound of their own footsteps, and occasionally they glimpsed an ancient droid still going about its business. To all appearances, the ship might just as well have been abandoned yesterday.
But it hadn’t been. The ships had been floating here in the blackness for half a century … and their crews had not left, but had died here in agony and madness. Looking down empty cross corridors as they walked, Luke wondered what the maintenance droids had made of it all as they cleared away the bodies.
The bridge was a long walk from the docking bay. But eventually they made it. “Okay, we’re here,” Han announced into his comlink as the blast doors between the bridge and the monitor anteroom behind it opened with only minor grating sounds. “Doesn’t seem to be any obvious damage. What have you got on the sublight engines?”
“Doesn’t look good,” Lando reported. “Tomrus says that six of the eight main power converters have been knocked out of alignment. He’s still running a chec
k, but my guess is this tub’s not going anywhere without a complete overhaul.”
“Ask me if I’m surprised,” Han countered dryly. “What about the hyperdrive? Any chance we can at least fly it somewhere in towing range of a shipyard?”
“Anselm is looking into that,” Lando said. “Personally, I wouldn’t trust it that far.”
“Yeah. Well, we’re just here to look the thing over, not get it moving. We’ll see what kind of control systems we’ve got left up here and that’ll be it.”
Luke glanced up at the space over the blast doors. Paused for a second look at the elaborate name plaque fastened there. “It’s the Katana,” he murmured.
“What?” Han craned his neck for a look. “Huh.” He looked oddly at Luke. “Was that why you wanted this one?”
Luke shook his head. “I guess so. It was just intuition through the Force.”
“Han, Luke,” Wedge’s voice cut in suddenly. “We’ve got incoming.”
Luke felt his heart jump. “Where?”
“Vector two-ten mark twenty-one. Configuration … it’s an Escort Frigate.”
Luke let out a quiet breath. “Better give them a call,” he said. “Let them know where we are.”
“Actually, they’re calling us,” Wedge said. “Hang on; I’ll patch it through.”
“—tain Solo, this is Captain Virgilio of the Escort Frigate Quenfis,” a new voice came over Han’s comlink. “Do you read?”
“Solo here,” Han said. “Calling from aboard the Old Republic ship Katana—”
“Captain Solo, I regret to inform you that you and your party are under arrest,” Virgilio cut him off. “You will return to your own vessel at once and prepare to surrender.”
Virgilio’s words, and the stunned silence that followed, echoed through the command observation deck above and behind the Quenfis’s bridge. Seated at the main board, Fey’lya threw a mocking smile at Leia, a slightly less insolent one at Karrde, then returned his attention to the distant X-wing drive trails. “They don’t seem to be taking you seriously, Captain,” he said toward the intercom. “Perhaps launching your X-wing squadrons would convince them we’re serious.”