Star Wars - Ambush At Corellia

by Ambush At Corellia (by Roger MacBride Allen)

  Governor-General Micamberlecto' 5 Republic-installed government might as well have been in another sector of the galaxy for all the control it had over events. It was quite obvious that it was all but completely disconnected from the day-to-day management of the planet. Graft, corruption, hidebound tradition, and sheer cussedness on the part of the bureaucracy seemed set to prevent any chance of reform.

  And if the capital planet was in this sort of shape, what was the rest of the sector likely to be?

  Worse, the economic situation made the political climate look promising. The cities of Corellia were falling apart.

  There was no work anywhere, and no prospect of workhardly helpful for a trade-based economy that had cut itself off from most of the outside universe for half a generation or more. And it was, of course, the economic misery that made the place such a fertile breeding ground for discontent.

  But none of that mattered just now. There was something else. Nothing that Kalenda could put her finger on just yet, but something was about to happen. Something big. She could sense it, feel it, almost taste it. She had never been wrong when she had such feelings in the past. Who knows, maybe she had some small ability in the Force that let her know when something was up. Whatever it was didn't matter just now.

  What mattered was that the Chief of State-if she was still alive-was about to wander into the middle of chaosand Kalenda had to assume that she was the only surviving NRI agent, the only New Republic security force of any kind on the planet. Kalenda knew that the NRI had been planning to insert any number of agents into Corellia Maybe all of them had gotten through, or maybe none. It was, for obvious reasons, best that she know nothing. That way, there was nothing she could tell either.

  It had crossed her mind that there weren't really any other NRI coming in, but that her higher-ups had told her there were in order to provide a headache for the opposition in the event that she, Kalenda, was captured. Best not to worry too hard about such things. Life in her line of work was enough of a wilderness of mirrors without her erecting new ones on her own. It was safest to assume she was the only one who had made it. That left her with the question of what she should do, and that question was easy.

  She had been sent here to gather intelligence, but Kalenda had decided she knew more than enough already. She had to concentrate on keeping the Chief of State alive until the trade summit, when her official entourage-and security team-would arrive.

  But to keep Leia Organa Solo alive, Kalenda would have to keep herself alive as well. That was the tricky part. She had to assume that the CDF or PSS were smart enough not to assume that she had died in the crash, and were on the lookout for her specifically, and for NRI agents generally.

  Presumably, they would also have the sense to be keeping a watch on Organa Solo's family, in order to monitor their activities, if nothing else. Whether or not they would interfere if someone else took a potshot at the Chief of Stateor whether they would make a try for her themselves-was impossible to say.

  In any event, they would not be likely to welcome an NRI agent popping up in their midst. They might even decide she was a good excuse for a provocation, and grant themselves the license to stir up trouble. All of which meant that Kalenda did not dare make an approach to Organa Solo's party.

  So all she could do was watch from a distance, try not to get caught herself, and hope that some way to contact them would present itself. Maybe, just maybe, she could even do some good from a distance, though she could not imagine what, just at the moment.

  But for now, all she could do was wait. Wait and watch, and hope they showed up soon.

  * t Long hours later Kalenda was starting to worry in earnest.

  Night was coming on, and no matter how good infrared systems got, they were never as good as visible light. And theIR system on her purloined macrobinoculars wasn't that good to start with.

  Over and over again, she would spot spacecraft on approach, feel her heart start to race, zoom in with the macrobinoculars-and spot a ciaft that looked nothing like the Falcon. She was starting to wonder exactly how she was going to manage overnight surveillance, when one more ship came into view. Kalenda lifted her macrobinoculars to her eyes one more time, expecting to be disappointed again-and suddenly her heart was racing.

  It was not one ship, it was six. There was the Millennium Falcon, quite unmistakable, in the center of the formation, with five Pocket Patrol Boats flying in a standard six-boat escort formation. The aft portside boat wasn't there. Or maybe it was just hidden from view by the Falcon. Kalenda fumbled a bit with the controls to get a better view. She belatedly thought to hit the record button on the macrobinoculars. She might well want to review this imagery later on.

  No, the sixth boat was definitely not there.

  Kalenda instantly jumped to a dozen conclusions, and then forced herself to stay focused on what she was seeing.

  There would be plenty of time for guessing later.

  The Falcon and her escorts swept past the public landing bays, lit their repulsors, and came to a stop in midair over the military part of the field-by chance, the part Kalenda was closest to. Three of the escorts broke formation and landed, each boat at the point of a tidy isosceles triangle, while the two other PPBs remained on station in midair.

  The Falcon eased downward on her repulsors, coming to a smooth landing at the exact center of the triangle formed by the grounded boats. That was not the way a ceremonial escort acted. Something had happened. But what?

  Kalenda shifted herself about a bit to get a better look at the Falcon, and was rewarded with a rather nasty cut on her forearm from a bit of razor grass she hadn't noticed before. She cursed absentmindedly and zoomed in as tight as she could on the Falcon. She seemed undamaged, as best Kalenda could tell from rather extreme range.

  She could see no sign that the modified freighter had been in a recent fight. But she could not know for sure. Maybe she would be able to tell more when they all disembarked. She focused her attention on the ship's gangway.

  At last it swung down, and she could see the tiny figure of Han Solo and the rather less tiny figure, even at this distance, of Chewbacca the Wookiee, coming down the gangway, each carrying a fair-sized piece of luggage. There was something cautious, even edgy, about their body language, as if they had had one nasty surprise already and were expecting another. Kalenda chided herself anew for reading too much into the situation. Maybe the only thing worrying them was the astronomical fees the spaceport charged.

  Almost before the two of them reached the ground, the three children hurtled down the gangway and onto the surface of Corellia It was plain to see they were glad not to be cooped up anymore. Then, last of all, came the Chief of State of the New Republic, Leia Organa Solo, carrying a medium-sized bag. Kalenda let out a sigh of relief, feeling tension ebb away that she hadn't even been aware of. Organa Solo was alive and well. That was the main thing. Now if only Kalenda could make sure Organa Solo stayed that way.

  She kept watching.

  Han Solo waited until his wife was off the ship, and then punched in the lock controls. The gangway swung shut, and the Falcon switched herself into standby mode. Kalenda watched as an open ground car rolled up.

  Organa Solo stepped away from the ship-and then hesitated a moment. She stopped walking, and frowned, a bit uncertainly. She looked around, apparently scanning the horizon-and then stopped, staring straight at Kalenda. For a terrible moment Kalenda was certain that Organa Solo had spotted her, decided she was a sniper or a terrorist, was going to shout a warning to her family, alert the local security forces. Kalenda wanted to dive for cover, run for it, but she knew better. Staying absolutely still was much more likely to keep her alive. And besides, what were the odds that even a Jedi adept would be able to seer sense-a single watcher from that sort of range?

  Especially since all that Organa Solo did next was shrug, frown again, and head for the ground car. Kalenda let out a sigh of relief.

  The rest of the patty started
following Organa Solo toward the groundcar. They all seemed calm enough. Kalenda began to decide that she was wrong, that she had been imagining signs of trouble.

  But then she noticed Solo talking with the Wookiee.

  Or, more accurately, the way he was talking with the Wookiee.

  Kalenda was a pretty fair lip-reader, but she knew better than to trust her skills at this extreme range. Besides, even if she could manage to catch what Solo was saying, there was not the slightest hope of understanding the Wookiee.

  But it is a truism that throughout history, no pilot has ever talked flying to a colleague without using his hands. There was something very close to a conventional nomenclature and grammar of hand movements used to describe flight and encounters with other craft.

  And Han Solo was, beyond question, using his hands to help describe a spaceside dogfight. He might not be sending Kalenda's message, but she was certainly intercepting one.

  A most important one.

  Kalenda watched in fascination as Solo's hands bobbed and weaved through the air, following each other, then breaking off to show two craft-or two sets of craft-on a collision course with each other. He pointed up into the sky, at the PPBs still hovering overhead on point guard, then put his hands together in a ball before pulling them apart with his fingers spread. So. A PPB had blown up.

  The Wookiee was shaking his head no, disagreeing on some point, making his own gestures.

  Then Organa Solo managed to round up the last of the children. Solo and the Wookiee stopped their conversation, plainly not wishing the children to hear. Organa Solo got the kids onto the ground car, and signaled the driver to start moving.

  The ground car pulled away, and Kalenda scrambled to her feet, nearly beheading herself on the stand of razor grass before she remembered and ducked. If she was to have any chance of following them, she was going to have to get back to her own landspeeder on the double and position herself on the road leading out of the spaceport, where she could pick them up as they headed into town. It would be a hell of a note if she had managed to spot them there and then lost them. She scrambled back toward her landspeeder, feeling more worried than ever.

  Someone had already made a try for the Chief of State.

  She was in no doubt about that. Things were going to blow.

  Things were going to blow on this planet, and the Chief of State of the New Republic was going to be standing right at ground zero when they did.

  And there was not a bloody thing Belindi Kalenda could do about it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE Learning Curve ando Calrissian stepped out of the hatch of the Lady Luck onto the surface of the planet Azbrian feeling a lot less cocky than he had back on Leria Kerlsil. The encounter with the life-witch had done a first-rate job of focusing his attention on the number of things that could go wrong with his marriage scheme. Luke was right behind him, and this time both of them were carrying comlinks, and the droids were not locked up on the ship. Lando knew how lucky he had been on Leria Kerlsil. He had no desire to push his luck a second time.

  He stepped out of the ship and looked around. The Lady Luck sat in the middle of a gently sloping pasture of some sort. There was a herd of placid-looking black-and-white, eight-legged beasts a few hundred meters away. They were munching on the low, bushy green plants that filled the field, and every now and then one of them would raise its bead and make a long, low thrunning noise for no apparent reason. A fence separated them from the field in which the La} stood, and though they did not look like the sort of creatures made for jumping or attacking, none of that fooled Lando. The way his luck was going, they would all leap over the fence and savagely attack Luke and him in the next moment.

  Hold it, Lando told himself as he picked his way through the bushy ankle-high plants. Get a grip. It wasn't that bad.

  It couldn't be.

  "Hey, Lando, snap out of it!"

  Lando turned and looked back toward Luke. "What is it?" he asked.

  Luke nodded in the direction of the farmhouse at the bottom of the gentle hillside. "Here comes the reception committee."

  "Oh, boy," Lando said, forcing a smile onto his face.

  "All right, here we go." He waved toward the two whiteclad figures coming toward them, and headed down hill toward them. A young man and a young woman. "Hello!" he called out.

  "Hello!" the young woman called out. "Is there something we can do for you?"

  "Great," Lando said under his breath to Luke. "Wrnn g landing coordinates. We've just landed on the wrong farm.

  He raised his voice and shouted back, "We're looking for the Condren Foreck place." The man and woman looked at each other in some puzzlement as the two parties drew near to each other. "I'm Condren Foreck," the woman said in her regular speaking voice, which turned out to be a bit high and squeaky. "But I'm afraid we're not expecting any visitors.

  "Who might you be?" the young man asked, in a tone of voice not all that far from belligerent.

  "I'm Lando Calrissian," Lando said. "This is my friend, the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker." Lando took a good look at Condren and her companion. She was a pale, reedylooking sort of woman, small and slight, with shoulderlength frizzy blonde hair that didn't seem much interested in staying under control. She was wearing a loose-fitting white ankle-length skirt and a plain white blouse. Her companion was a big, beefy-looking sort of fellow, sallowfaced, with his eyes perhaps just a trifle too close together.

  He was dressed in dirt-smeared white work clothes, and the frown on his face seemed to be permanent. Lando put him down as some sort of hired hand and forgot about him.

  "Lando Calrissian? Oh," said Condren, in a distracted sort of voice. "Oh, dear. And you've come all this way. I knew I should have contacted you again when, when, ah, things changed. But I never really thought you'd come, and things happened so fast, and well, um, I forgot. I'm sorry."

  "I don't understand," Lando said. "You should have contacted me when what changed?"

  "Things," Condren said, not very helpfully, looking vaguely toward her companion. "This is really awkward," she said, and then hesitated for a long moment that did not make things any less awkward. "Oh, dear," she said at last, and took the young man's hand. "Mr. Calrissian, this is Frang Colgter. My husband. We just got back from our honeymoon last week." * * * "I can't believe my information is this bad," Lando said as he watched the planet Azbrian slide under the Lady Luck's portside wing. They were leaving, and good riddance. The ship was on autopilot, and he and Luke were sitting in the cockpit, in the pilot and copilot's station, and watching the universe roll past. "I mean, what's next? A potential bride who has been dead five years? One that's male? A Wookiee?"

  "I understand that some Wookiee females are extremely romantic if you approach them the right way," Luke said, smiling.

  "Ah, you can afford to laugh," Lando said. "It's not your reputation that's going to pile it in if this stuff gets out.

  "Hey, my lips are sealed," Luke said.

  "Yeah, but those droids wouldn't mind spilling the beans," Lando said, hooking his thumb toward the wardroom, where Threepio and Artoo were. "And for that matter, I might not be able to resist telling the life-witch story myself," he admitted, shaking his head ruefully.

  "That was as close a call as I've ever seen," Luke said, still smiling. "Still and all, maybe you ought to think it over again. After all, she was beautiful, young-and single."

  "Oh yeah," Lando growled. "Beautiful, young-if you don't think of three hundred years old as old-rich, kind, gentle. But by the time you really get to know her, you're dead and she's on to the next lucky victim. No, the life-witch was bad enough. But this business with Condren Foreck on top of it-I grant it's not as bad, but it is embarrassing."

  "Come on," Luke said. "How were you to know? It could happen to anyone. She's the one who failed to recontact you when that Frang Colgter character popped the question. Not your fault." Lando rolled his eyes. "Sure. Anyone could land on the planet, meet with a rich young heiress to discuss the pr
ospect of matrimony, and then find out she's just back from her honeymoon. Right. No way. i'm the only one with that kind of luck."

  Luke laughed. "Well, you might have a point at that," he said. "But you're not giving up, are you?"

  "Of course not," Lando replied, trying to achieve just the note of wounded pride. "It'd take a lot more than this to make me quit." He thought for a moment and then shrugged philosophically. "On the bright side, I'm not exactly sure how much of a prize Condren would be. I'm not sure I could have lived with that squeaky voice. Anyway, we ve got to press on. We're expected."

  "On Sacorria, right?"

  "Sacorria it is," Lando said. "We pay a call on the Outlier planet Saconria in the Corellian Sector, and visit a young lady by the name Tendra Risant. Assuming she doesn't turn out to have six kids, three husbands, and a beard down to here.

  "That doesn't sound like a likely combination," Luke said with a smile.

  "Give it a chance," Lando growled. "In this universe, absurdity tends to a maximum. Especially when I'm around."