Tatooine Ghost

by Troy Denning

  The canopy dimmed against the sapphire flash of an incoming turbolaser strike, and Leia’s pulse stopped. She steeled herself to vanish in the crash of heat and light she had been half expecting to take her since the Rebellion began, then saw the tiny block of the assault shuttle silhouetted against the blossom of a distant eruption.

  “What was that?” Leia gasped.

  Chewbacca’s rumbled answer made her stomach go hollow.

  “They blasted it?” Han cried. “The brandy alone was two thousand credits!”

  “It does eliminate our bribery plan.” It was a bit of a struggle to keep her voice even. “What now?”

  Han answered by laying a wall of laser bolts in front of the TIEs. “The shuttle, we can outrun,” he said. “But we need to check those fighters. Just don’t—”

  “Hit anything.” Leia activated her range finder. “I know.”

  At this range, the TIEs were little more than blue barbs of ion efflux. She brought her sensor-augmented sights on-line, and the claw-shaped images of three TIE interceptors appeared on her targeting display. She set her lead ahead of the TIEs an extra length, then another one. She added another half length to be certain, and squeezed the triggers.

  The quad laser cannons fired in diametric sequence to minimize discharge shudder. Even so, the turret shook. Leia checked her sights, found the interceptors still trying to cut them off, and fired again. The Falcon was still at maximum range, and the bolts took an eternity to reach their destination. Most winked out well ahead of the TIEs, but some—Han’s, she hoped—merged with the blue glow of the starfighters’ ion drives. She fixed her gaze on her targeting display and continued to fire, praying that none of the images vanished. The Imperials were accustomed to smugglers running and generally did not work very hard to chase them down, but they would prove a lot more determined with any vessel that actually destroyed one of their own craft.

  The distance between Han’s bolts and the TIEs continued to diminish on Leia’s display. She cut one of the lengths out of her own targeting lead, and their fire turned to an impenetrable storm. The Imperials lost their nerve and turned toward the Falcon so they could bring their own guns to bear.

  “Barge drivers,” Han sneered. “What kind of plastiheads is the Empire recruiting for pilots these days?”

  The TIEs opened fire, and tiny lances of green light stabbed out of Tatooine’s yellow glow. The lines faded to nothingness kilometers shy of the Falcon, but distant blossoms of laser energy began to burgeon against the shields almost before Leia could disengage the lead adjustment on her sights.

  Han’s laser cannons began to stitch space alongside the TIEs. Leia followed his lead, and they forced the trio back toward the Star Destroyer. The image on her targeting display switched to true size, and the interceptors became thumb-sized blurs coming dead-on. Chewbacca continued ahead, keeping the assault shuttle between the Falcon’s tail and the Chimaera’s guns.

  They were going to make it, Leia saw. No Star Destroyer in the galaxy was a match for Han and Chewbacca together. Once Leia and Han forced the TIEs into the Falcon’s rear quarter, Chewbacca would hide behind them and dive into Tatooine’s atmosphere, and the Chimaera’s big guns would be useless—unless Pellaeon cared to attack a whole planet to stop one vessel.

  And even the Imperials would not do that, not unless they knew the true identity of the Regina Galas.

  The TIEs kept closing, swelling to the size of fists in Leia’s display. She grew bolder, timing her shots to seize the area vacated by their dodges, forcing the interceptors to slip farther into the Falcon’s rear quarter with each swing. Han shaved his attacks even closer, nearly scorching their solar wing panels, daring them to try to cut off the Falcon.

  Then the blast-tinting went black, though not quickly enough to spare Leia a moment of flash blindness as another turbolaser strike—this one much closer than the first—erupted. Her shoulders hit crash webbing as the shock wave bucked the Falcon. Again her pulse stopped, and she hung suspended in that last infinitely long instant between life and atomization, and she did not realize she was still holding her triggers open until the synthetic rumble of the targeting computer announced the destruction of a TIE interceptor.

  Leia cursed and released the triggers, struggling to blink the blast-dazzle from her eyes and not quite able to believe they had survived the strike.

  “Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

  Chewbacca cut her off with an astonished yawl.

  “The Chimaera hit it?” Leia gasped. “By mistake?”

  “To make a point.” Han’s laser cannons opened up again. “She didn’t like her TIEs being pushed around.”

  Leia checked her display and found the last two interceptors weaving wildly as they rushed for the Falcon’s forward quarter. She swung her turret around but was too distracted to open fire safely. Something here did not make sense.

  “Pellaeon would never destroy his own interceptor,” she said. “The Empire is too short of good fighters.”

  “A lesson the survivors’ll never forget.” Han’s cannon bolts were dancing around the lead TIE in a tightening web of light. “If there are any.” Finally, the interceptor had no place left to maneuver and flew into a dash of laser energy, exploding in a white cloud of fire and light. “He’s using us as a training mission. I hate that.”

  “Han, you said don’t hit—”

  “Change of plans.” Han began to fire at the last TIE. “Now we make it cost them.”

  Leia joined in, forcing the TIE into Han’s stream of fire. It bobbed and weaved in ever-smaller oscillations, but maintained discipline and continued on course—no doubt mindful of the lesson the Chimaera had delivered earlier.

  Finally, it turned directly toward the Falcon, and the space beyond bloomed into brilliant smears of color as it opened fire. Leia kept her eyes fixed on the targeting display and held her triggers down, spraying bolts at the interceptor in tightening spirals, trying not to think about how large its image was growing, or how her display kept dimming, or why the turret’s blast-tinting had gone black.

  Finally, the TIE had no room left to maneuver. The pilot broke high, his wings and spherical cockpit rotating so smoothly that Leia did not realize he had changed attitude until the cannon bolts stopped coming.

  “He’s yours!” Han yelled over the intercom. “Roll me up, Chewie!”

  Leia raised her cannons and thumbed the automatic lead active, but the TIE was already too far ahead. She managed only a few more shots before the computer designated it out of range.

  “That’s it, he’s been recalled,” Han said. “They aren’t going to give us any more trouble.”

  Leia checked the tactical display and saw the assault shuttle still trailing them. No match for the Falcon’s speed, it was out of range and steadily falling farther behind, but it was coming.

  “You’re sure about that?” Leia asked.

  “I’m sure. Experience isn’t much good to dead pilots.”

  “What about assault troopers?”

  As Leia spoke, the shuttle broke off pursuit and angled for the planet. Chewbacca was quick to parallel its course, keeping the shuttle between them and the Star Destroyer, now traveling more or less in the direction they wanted to go. Leia kept waiting for the shuttle to turn toward the Chimaera, to weave or bob or try anything to give the turbolasers a clear shot, but it only continued its dive toward the planet, still angling in the Falcon’s direction.

  Leia swung her turret around, unsure whether she should thank the shuttle pilot or open fire.

  Han figured it out before she did. “Chewie, cut behind them! Go sandside, fast!”

  Chewbacca didn’t ask why. He brought the Falcon around so sharply that Leia had to close her eyes against the starspin, and then Han began yelling for her to bring her guns to bear.

  Leia opened her eyes again and wished she hadn’t. Space was flying past the canopy in a flashing whirl of stars and sand as Chewbacca spiraled toward Tatooine. She still had no i
dea what Han wanted her to be ready for, but she focused on the display and swung her cannons toward the assault shuttle.

  Half a dozen blips appeared at the edge of the tactical screen, and her heart had barely finished falling before the interceptor symbols confirmed what Han had realized two moments before. Another flight of TIEs was coming fast from the blind side of the planet.

  Leia forced her attention back to the firing display. With the Falcon gyrating so wildly, the turret broke into a nauseating whirring spin-dance as the servomotors struggled to keep the shuttle centered in the crosshairs.

  “I have a lock.” Noticing that Han had not yet opened fire, she asked, “Should I—”

  “Not yet,” Han said. “Chewie, see that sandstorm? The really big one?”

  An affirming grunt came over the intercom. Leia glanced out and saw only dizzying smears of yellow and stars whirling against a violet backdrop and felt instantly sick to her stomach. She fixed her gaze on the targeting display and hoped she was wrong about why Han had pointed out the sandstorm.

  The Falcon shuddered and slowed abruptly. Leia wondered if they could have reached the outer edge of the atmosphere so soon, but there was still too much darkness outside, then Han was cursing and asking no one in particular if all the Chimaera’s pilots had a death wish. She saw the assault shuttle tumbling around the tactical display like a flitnat, connected to the Falcon by the invisible ribbon of a tractor beam that was pulling the two vessels slowly, steadily closer.

  “Now, Han?”

  “Not yet,” Han said. “Chewie, launch the—”

  A soft thud reverberated through the Falcon as two concussion missiles shot from their tubes, riding the tractor beam toward the shuttle.

  “Now, sweetheart!”

  Leia squeezed the triggers. The turret shook as the quad lasers loosed their fury. The center of the targeting display erupted into a dazzling glow, and her canopy darkened to black as the shuttle returned fire. All non-essential systems diverted power to the shields, and an ominous silence fell over the Falcon. She tried to aim down the tractor beam, but with the Falcon reeling half out of control, Leia was doing well just to hit the thing.

  Then the missiles vanished into the glow. The tractor beam twinkled out of existence, and the brightness behind the crosshairs dissolved into a fading starburst.

  Chewbacca wrenched the Falcon out of her tumble and dived straight for Tatooine. The tactical display showed the interceptors closing, but they remained well out of range. Leia brought her turret around and finally found the sandstorm Han had pointed out to Chewbacca—a raging swirl of amber that covered a tenth of the planet’s visible surface. Even from space, she could see clouds of turbulence eddying up far above the primary plane of the storm.

  Chewbacca sent the Falcon corkscrewing into a new helix of evasion. Leia checked her tactical display and found the TIEs still out of range and likely to stay that way. They could not cut off the Falcon without entering the atmosphere, a prospect even slower than taking the long route around the planet. Nor was the Chimaera, still sitting in a remote orbit, near enough to launch another boarding mission. There was only one thing the Star Destroyer could do to block the Falcon.

  A bright line of turbolaser strikes erupted ahead, trying not to hit the Falcon but to force her toward the approaching TIEs. Chewbacca flew directly at the nearest blossom. The shields crackled with sapphire energy as they passed through the dissipation turbulence; then the Falcon was plunging into Tatooine’s atmosphere, bucking wildly and engulfed in entry flame.

  Han was instantly out of his seat, half tumbling and half climbing up the access corridor as Chewbacca struggled to control the ship at an air velocity approaching meteoric. The Chimaera did not fire into the atmosphere—no doubt because the captain believed the Falcon was about to crash anyway.

  “Stay put.” Han started toward the main hold. “Pellaeon’s got to be as mad as a rancor. Those TIEs may follow us down.”

  “So where are you going?”

  “Flight deck,” he said. “When we slip into that sandstorm—”

  “Into the sandstorm?” Leia started to object, but saw the TIEs dropping into the atmosphere and knew they had no choice. “Okay, Han. Just don’t—”

  “Hit anything,” Han finished. “I know.”

  Chapter Two

  A yellow cloud of windborne sand howled through the streets of Mos Espa, etching goggle lenses with microscopic scratch marks and transforming the city into a warren of dome-shaped silhouettes. The squall was the dying remnant of the same sandstorm that had concealed the Falcon from Pellaeon’s TIEs, so Leia should not have been surprised to see two stormtroopers standing in the haze ahead… but she was.

  After all, Han had spent half the night bumping the Falcon blindly through two thousand kilometers of storm-filled canyons so Pellaeon would not know whether the “Regina Galas” had survived its plunge into the sandstorm. They had hidden the ship in one of Han’s former haunts, a huge but little-known smuggler’s cave thirty kilometers out in the desert. They had strung an antenna and spent the morning eavesdropping on local comm channels, listening for anything that might suggest an Imperial search. Only then, after hearing no hint of unusual activity, had Han broken his speeder bike out of the Falcon’s hold and gone into Mos Espa to arrange ground transport for everyone else.

  Leia should have known better. Pellaeon was an old-school officer, too careful and competent to make simple mistakes. Most Star Destroyer captains were, even in these days of strangled budgets and green crews.

  Han took her arm and guided her forward. “It’s okay to hesitate. They expect that.” A small synthesizer hidden inside his mouth gave his speech a raspy Devaronian quality. It also altered his vocal profile so it would be unidentifiable by anyone using voiceprint technology to search for Han Solo. “But don’t gawk.”

  She looped a hand through Han’s elbow and did her best to fawn up at him as they approached the armored silhouettes. Though both she and Han were well hidden beneath the cowled cloaks and face coverings necessary to travel anywhere in even a mild sand squall, Leia felt as though she was parading past the Imperials in full Alderaanian Princess regalia. She and Han were two of the most famous faces in the New Republic, and she had no doubt that capturing—or killing—either of them would mean a hefty promotion for all those involved.

  If Han was nervous, she did not sense it. He strode straight for the troopers, his goggled gaze rising to the flashing sign over the door behind them.

  “Mawbo’s Performance Hall,” he said. “This is it.”

  “A dance house?” Leia gushed. “You take me to the nicest places.”

  Han looked at the stormtroopers pointedly. They returned his glare impassively from behind their dark lenses, then finally stepped aside. One even pulled the door open. Leia did not thank him.

  They found themselves in a large sand-grimed foyer where a single Weequay guarded the entrance to a dingy cloakroom. His face was typical for his species, oval-eyed and so gnarled it resembled a mask of wrinkled leather. From the back of his head hung a long fan of two dozen seclusion braids, one for each year he had been away from his home planet. He was dressed—absurdly and obviously uncomfortably—in a new shimmersilk cape and undersized tunic purchased, no doubt, for today’s event. Though he carried no visible weapons, Leia assumed by the way he kept his back to the wall that he had a large blaster pistol tucked beneath the cape—perhaps two. He was a Weequay, after all.

  “Here for the art inspection?” he asked.

  “That’s right.” Han pulled up his goggles, and Leia thought she saw a glimmer of alarm as he met the Weequay’s eyes. “Killik Twilight?”

  The Weequay shrugged. “Mawbo’s got lots of stuff to auction in there.” He extended a knobby-fingered hand for their cloaks. “Leave your covers here. She don’t want sand in the back.”

  Leia and Han stuffed their goggles and face coverings into their pockets and passed their cloaks over. With her skin dyed pale bl
ue and a pair of prosthetic lekku squirming down her back, Leia made a reasonably convincing Twi’lek consort to Han’s bald, behorned, sinister-looking, and very red Devaronian. Both disguises were courtesy of New Republic Intelligence, complete with retina-concealing contact lenses and false prints affixed to the pads of their fingers. So when the Weequay sniffed the cloaks, then grinned and reached out to Han with his free hand, Leia was astounded.

  “Thought I recognized that jet juice you call cologne, Solo,” the Weequay said.

  “Jaxal,” Han quickly added. “Solo Jaxal, remember?”

  A cold lump began to form in Leia’s stomach. Weequays used scent to communicate with members of their own clan, so they were especially good at remembering smells. Obviously, the Solos’ disguise designer had not anticipated that Han would meet a Weequay he knew in a Mos Espa “performance hall.” Neither had Leia.

  But the Weequay seemed to have no intention of betraying them. He merely nodded and tossed their cloaks on the pile behind him, then said, “Jaxal, that’s right. Sorry I forgot.”

  “Not a problem,” Han said. “Good to see you again, Grunts. I didn’t think you’d still be working Tatooine dives.”

  Grunts shrugged. “Where am I going? Just ’cause Mawbo frees you don’t mean she pays passage home. Got to earn that.” He glanced in Leia’s direction, clearly waiting for an introduction. When it did not come, he added, “I smell you’re still with that furball partner of yours. Where is he?”

  “He’s around,” Han said. Chewbacca and C-3PO were waiting at a local inn, in a rented room. “Funny place to hold an art auction.”

  Grunts nodded. “Mawbo’s doing a favor for the guy who came up with the big painting. He’s one of her old lovers.”

  “Isn’t everybody?”

  “Now that you mention it.” Grunts waved a hand toward a weapons locker at the back of the cloakroom. “You’re supposed to check your weapons.”

  “Already did,” Han replied with a straight face. “They’re working fine.”

  Grunts chuckled, then said, “Just keep them out of sight. Mawbo would whip me if she thought I’d missed them, and you know how she enjoys that.”