Star Wars

Corellian Trilogy

book 3

Shutdown at Centerpoint

by Roger McBride Allen

Chapter1 Approach Honored Solo, we are running out of time!" the voice

squawked from the comm unit. "We will be entering atmosphere soonest if our

approach is not controlled!" The intercom gave out a strangled squeal.

Either the comm circuit up to the ship's control cabin was on the verge of

giving out again, or else Han had just gotten lucky, and Dracmus was about

to lose her voice. That would be a blessing. Han slapped the answer switch

and tried to stay focused on his work. "Keep your shirt on, Dracmus," he

said, shouting just a bit. "The comm unit send-circuits needed work as well.

Tell honored Pilot Salculd that I'm nearly done." Why did the universe

require all shipboard repairs to be on the rush? What I wouldn't give to

have Chewbacca here, Han thought. "What shirt?" the voice asked worriedly,

"Should shirts be worn? Is this for safety?" Han sighed and pushed the

answer button again. "It's an expression. It means 'be patient,'" he said,

struggling to keep his own patience. Dracmus was a Selonian, and most

Selonians did not like being in space. Understandable for a species that

mostly lived underground, but having an agoraphobic being in command was

enough to drive anyone crazy. Han Solo made the last hookup, closed down the

last of the inspection hatches, and crossed his fingers for luck. That ought

to do the trick, he told himself. It had better, it was about time that

something worked properly. If the coneship he was aboard was a fair example

of the breed, Selonian spacecraft weren't much for reliability. Han engaged

the power switch and waited for the inverter system to energize. Han was

starting to question his own sanity in volunteering to help fly this

particular coneship down out of free space to the surface of Selonia. He

could have said so long and good luck and ridden down with Leia on the

Jade's Fire. But when a job needed doing, and no one else could do it,

volunteering was not really all that voluntary. He hadn't had much choice in

the matter. He couldn't have left Dracmus high and dry. He had obligations

to her, and to her people. And Dracmus had made it clear they had to get

this ship down. Her people couldn't afford to abandon any spacecraft, no

matter what shape the craft was in. The nameless coneship might be a piece

of space-going junk, but Dracmus had assured Han that it was better than

anything else the Selonians had at the moment. Or, more accurately, it was

better than anything that the Hunchuzuc Den and their Republicists had.

"Hurry, Honored Solo!" Dracmus called again. Why couldn't that intercom

break down the way everything else did on this ship? Han hit the answer

button again. "Stand by, Dracmus. Pilot Salculd-watch your power settings!"

Knowing he was with the Hunchuzuc would have been a bit more useful if Han

had had some clear idea about who or what the Hunchuzuc Den was. All he knew

for sure about them was that the Den was part of an amorphous faction of

Selonians who lived on Corel-lia, and that, so far as Dracmus knew, they

were still allied to a pro-New Republic alliance of Selonian Dens called the

Republicists, and that he was mixed up with them. Dracmus was a member of

the Hunchuzuc, and she had either kidnapped Han or rescued him from Thrackan

Sal-Solo-or both. Han was still not sure. The Hunchuzuc seemed to be having

a fight with the Overden, the leadership on Selonia proper, a fight that was

going on in parallel with the Republic's battle against the rebellions in

the Corellia system, though the two fights did not seem to be directly

related to each other. The Overden was on the Absolutist side, which wanted

absolute independence For Selonia. But even if the Ilunchuzuc were

Repubiicist and the Overden were Absolutist, Han was coming to the

conclusion that neither side much cared about principles, either way. Each

was primarily against the other. But Han did know a few things for sure. He

knew that Dracmus had saved his life, and that she had taken risks to treat

him well. He knew that a member of his own family-Thrackan Sal-Solo-had

treated Dracmus's people with the utmost cruelty. By Selonian standards,

that alone was enough to brand Han himself as a villain, a killer, a

monster. Yet Dracmus had given Han every benefit of the doubt. She had

treated him with decency and respect. If that was all Han knew, it was also

all he had to know. "When will it be working?" Dracmus called, her voice

growing more strident. "The planet is getting closer!" "That is the idea

when you're trying to reenter," Han muttered to himself. Decency and respect

to one side, there was no denying that Dracmus could be one major pain in

the neck. Han pressed the answer stud again and spoke. "It's working now.

Tell Salculd the inverter is back on-line. Have her power up the control

circuits and let's see how it goes." "We shall do so, Honored Solo,'" said

the faint, worried-sounding voice from the comm unit. "Saieuld says she is

initiating control circuit power-up." Han was kneeling down in front of the

inspection hatch, and a low-powered hum made him think he might be just a

bit too close to the inverter array. He stood up and backed away. The hum

faded out after a moment, and the array's indicator lights came on, showing

normal operation. Han pressed down the answer button again. "Don't hold me

to this," he shouted, "hut I think it's working. The spare parts off Mara's

ship did the trick. We ought to be able to get underway anytime you like."

"Good to hear, most Honorable Solo," Dracmus said, the relief in her voice

almost painfully obvious. "Very good to hear indeed. We shall proceed at

once." The indicators flickered a bit to show the inverters were drawing

more power. "Take it easy up there," Han said. "Throttle up nice and slow,

all right?" "We are doing so, Honored Solo. And we shall hold at one-third

power. We have no desire to overload our systems again." "That's very

reassuring," Han said. "But 1 think I'd better head up there and keep an eye

on you just the same." Han crossed to the access ladder and climbed up to

the nose cabin of the coneship. The coneship was just that-a fat cone, with

the engines at the base and the control cabin in the point. The nose itself

was nearly all transparent transplex, affording a spectacular overhead view.

The pilot, Salculd, lay flat on her back, looking up and out at the sky

ahead. For a human pilot, it would not be the most comfortable way to work.

Of course, Selonians were most decidedly not human. Salculd looked over to

the lower deck access hatch as Han climbed out of it. She gave him a toothy

smile and then returned her attention to her work. She looked comfortable

enough. Dracmus was pacing at the rear of the cabin, looking anything but

cairn or relaxed. Though they were fairly standard bipeds, Selonians were

taller but thinner than humans. Their arms and legs were shorter, and their

bodies rather longer. They could manage equally well walking on two feet or

four. Retractable claws in both their hand-paws and foot-paws made them

impressive climbers and diggers. Their tails were only about half a meter

long, but they packed a major wallop when used as a club-as Han had reason

to know. They had long, pointed faces, and their entire bodies were covered

in sleek, short-haired fur. Dracmus was dark brown. Salculd was mostly

black, but her belly fur was light brown. They both had bristly whiskers

that were as expressive as human eyebrows, once you got a little practice in

interpreting them. They also had mouths full of very sharp teeth. Han had

been able to interpret the teeth with no practice at all. In short, they

were elegant and impressive-looking creatures. "How does all go?" Han asked

Salculd the pilot, speaking in his rather labored Selonian. Salculd did not

speak Basic. "All is well. Honored Solo," Salculd replied. "At least until

the next subsystem flips out." "Wonderful," Han said to himself. "Everything

be well, Honored Dracmus?" he asked in Selonian. "Fine, line, all is fine,

until we crash and die," Dracmus replied. "Glad we have a consensus," Han

muttered to himself. "It is good to plan ahead like that," Salculd said.

"Here 1 was just going to land the ship the regular way. Now 1 arn knowing

that I will fail and we will crash. It is most comforting." "That is enough,

Pilot Salculd," Dracmus snapped. "Concentrate all attention on your duties."

"Yes, Honored Dracmus," Salculd said at once, her tone of voice most

apologetic. Salculd was a fairly experienced pitol, and knew her ship at

least reasonably well, if not as well as Han would have preferred. Dracmus,

on the other hand, was trained to deal with humans, and incompletely trained

at that. When it came to ship handling, she had ' no experience, no

knowledge, and no skill. Even so, she commanded the ship-not just in

deciding where it would go, but down to the last detail of every maneuver.

Salculd could not, or would not, overrule her. Dracmus was of higher status,

or seniority, or something, relative to Salculd, and that was that, insofar

as either of the Selonians was concerned. Neither seemed much concerned by

the fact that Dracmus had only the slightest understanding of space

operations, or by the fact that during the raid on Selonia she had

repeatedly ordered the ship to do things it could not, and come alarmingly

close to getting them all killed. Saiculd might have a smart mouth, and an

irreverent attitude, but she followed all of Dracmus's orders-no matter how

boneheaded-with alarming dispatch. It took some getting used to. Han took

his own place in the control seat next to Salculd. He had done his best to

adjust the padding to fit a human frame, but the seat would never be

comfortable. Han lay back and looked up. The view out the transparent nose

of the coneship was nothing less than spectacular. The planet Selonia hung

big and bright in the sky, filling the middle third of the field of view.

Selonia had smaller oceans than Corellia, and the land mass was broken up

into thousands of medium-sized islands, more or less evenly spaced across

the face of the planet. Instead of two or three large oceans and four or

five continental landmasses, Selonia's surface was a maze of water and land.

Hundreds of seas and bays and inlets and straits and shoals separated the

islands. Han remembered reading somewhere that no point on land anywhere on

Selonia was more than one hundred fifty kilometers from open water, and no

point on the water was more than two hundred kilometers from the nearest

shoreline. But there was more to the view than the spectacular planet. Mara

Jade's personal ship, the Jade's Fire, hung in space a kilometer or two

away, her bow hiding a bit of the planet's equatorial region. She was a

long, low, streamlined ship, painted in a flame pattern of red and gold. The

ship looked fast, sleek, strong, maneuver-able-and Han knew she was all of

those things. He wished, not for the first time, that he was aboard her, and

not just because the Fire was a better ship. Leia was aboard the Fire, along

with Mara Jade. After Dracmus had managed to blow out nearly every system on

board the coneship, the Fire had rescued them and provided Han with the

spare parts he needed to repair the craft. Now the Fire was preparing to see

the coneship to a safe landing. Han did not like Leia being on one ship

while he was on the other, but the arrangement made too much sense. Mara,

not yet completely recovered from her leg injury, still needed some looking

after, and she needed a copilot, at least until she recovered. Space knew

the Selonians, Dracmus and Salculd, needed all the help they could get.

Besides which, Leia spoke Selonian-spoke it better than Han, for that

matter-and given recent events it made more than a little sense to have at

least one speaker of the Selonian language aboard each ship, in case of

difficulties at the landing field. The plan was for the two ships to fly

toward Selonia in formation and land side by side. But even if it all seemed

perfectly reasonable and harmless for Leia to stay on Mara's ship while he

flew in the coneship, Han didn't have to like it. He didn't need to ask what

could go wrong. So many things had gone wrong already. A bright light

flashed on and off from the forward port of the Fire. Leia was using the

landing lights on the Jade's fire to send Mon Calamari blink

code--combinations of long and short flashes to form the letters of the

Basic alphabet. The technique was slow and clumsy, but the normal com

channels were jammed and it beat not being able to talk at all. READY TO

BEGIN ENTRY, Han read. SIGNAL WHEN YOU arE ready. "They say they are ready."

He turned to Salculd. "Are we prepared?" "Yes," said Salculd. "Very well,"

Han said, "Honored Dracmus," he said in Basic, so that Salculd could not

understand. "You will now do what I say. Stop pacing, take your seat, and

instruct Salculd to accept orders from me. I would then ask you most kindly

to shut up until we are on the ground. I want you to give no orders and say

nothing. I just want you to sit quietly. Or else I tell the Jade's Fire that

escorting us is a suicide run. I will instruct them to leave us here." It

was all bluff, of course, hut Dracmus was panicky enough that she wasn't

likely to think it through. "But-" she protested. "But nothing. I know blink

code and you don't. I can talk to the Fire and you can't. You nearly got us

killed ordering this ship around before, and I'm not going to put up with

that again." "I must protest! This is robbery of the worst kind!' Han

grinned. "Actually, it's more like piracy. Or you could call it a pretty

miid form of hijacking. And I might add that if you don't know robbery from

piracy, you have no business running a ship." Dracmus glared at Han, about

to protest-but then she shook tier head. "So be it. I must accede. Even to

my eye, my ship orders were none too good, and I wish to live some more."

She shifted to Selonian. "Pilot Salculd! You will obey the orders of Honored

Han Solo as you would rny own, and do so until such time as we reach the

ground." Salculd sat up in her seat and looked from one to the other before

grinning even more widely than before. "Yes, Honored Dracmus!" she said. "I

obey with pleasure!" "See that you don't find too much pleasure in obeying,

Salculd," Dracmus growled. "Honored Solo, if you would proceed." "Take your

seat," Han said to Dracmus in Selonian. "We all must strap in and prepare

for acceleration. Salculd, you will fly a standard approach to the in-tended field of landing, starting on my command. Is that understood?" "Yes,

indeed," Salculd said. "Absolutely." Han picked up the handlight placed next

to his seat for the purpose, and signaled back to the Fire. BEADY FO

COMMENCE EMNTRY MANEUVERZ, he signaled, managing to spot every mistake just

after he made it. "Someday I gotta take the time to brush up on this stuff,"

he muttered to himself. we are jus'i about beady ourselves, Leia signaled

back. TAKING POSITION TO YOUR STERN. WILL FOLLOW

YOU IN.

"Ha, ha, ha." Han said. "Glad 1 married such a humorist." He shifted back to

Selonian. "Very well, Salculd, take us in. With much care." As he watched,

the Jade's Fire came about on her long axis, putting her stern toward the

coneship. Salculd edged the throttle upward, transferring minimum power to

the engines. As the coneship began to accelerate toward the planet, the Fire

drifted back, falling astern off the port side. As the faster, more

maneu-verable ship, and the one that was easier to control, it made sense

for the Fire to go in second, where she could keep watch on the coneship.

But even the spares on board the Fire had not been enough to patch up the

coneship's stern detector grid. The coneship was, and would continue to be,

all but completely blind astern. All she had was one wide-angle holocam set

in the base of the cone, between two of the sublight engines. It would be

useful during the final approach and landing, but even with the main engines

off, its resolution was so poor that the Jade's Fire would be lost to view

if she drifted only a few kilometers away. Once the engines came on, the

stern holocam view could only get worse. In other words, Han might-or might

not-be able to see the Fire's blink code signals if she signaled again. In

theory, he could use the coneship's running lights to send blink code of his

own, but he would not be able to see the lights himself, rendering it just

that much harder to send accurate code. Han was hoping the question of

signaling wouldn't come up. The poor visibility to the stern made for

another good reason to have the Fire go in second. Better to have a ship you

trusted at your back. At least a ship you more or less trusted. Han had

managed to put to rest most-but not all-of his reservations regarding Mara.

He could think of no reason, no motive, for her acting against Han and Leia

and the Republic, and there was no hard evidence that she had done so. But

she had never explained her actions to his satisfaction, either. She had

been in the right piaces at the right times-and ihe wrong places at the

wrong times-a bit too often in recent days. On the other hand, if she had

wanted to do real damage, Mara was too much of a pro to let things be

bungled. And the opposition had certainly done some bungling, thank the

stars. Not everything had gone their way. Say whatever else you might about

the woman, but Mara was competent. And that was a compelling argument. No,

Han told himself as the Jade's Fire was lost completely to forward view.

Leave ii be. They really had no choice but to trust Jade. He watched as the

Fire came into somewhat fuzzy view on the stern viewscreen. It was time to

forget everything else and remember that the main thing was to get this

crate down onto the surface. "Now, Salculd, it is your task," he said. "Do

well." "I will," Salculd said. "Don't worry about that." The ship chose that

moment to lurch to one side, and Salculd grabbed frantically at the

controls. "Sorry, sorry," Salculd said. "Stabilizer overcompensating. All

right now." "I can't tell you what a comfort that is," Han said. For a

moment he considered the idea of shoving Salculd out of the pilot's station

and taking over, but he knew better than that. The controls were set up for

a Selonian, and the coneship had so many idiosyncra-sies it made the

Millennium Falcon look like a standard production ship. It might be an

alarming thought, but unless things got really hairy, it was probably safest

to trust Salculd. Saiculd edged the throttle up just a trifle more and the

coneship moved just a bit faster in toward the planet. At least the coneship

was not such a relic that it relied on ballistic reentry, using friction

with the atmosphere to slow itself down. It could make a nice, civilized

powered reentry. At least Han hoped so. Most spacecraft were designed to

survive at least one ballistic reentry, but not this thing. The planet moved

closer. In another few minutes Salculd would have to turn the ship over and

point its engines forward to slow the craft. That was the part that worried

Han. Once they were decelerating, they would be at their most vulnerable.

The coneship's fragility was far from the only source of danger. Someone on

Selonia had sent a whole fleet of Light Attack Fighters up to meet the

Bakuran ships. The Bakurans had done a fair amount of damage to the LAFs,

but Han had to assume that whoever commanded them would have the sense to

hold some of them in reserve. And as Dracmus assured him that the Hunchuzuc

had no such ships, it only made sense to assume that whoever it was who did

have Light Attack Fighters might take a dim view of the coneship's arrival.

Thingb could get sticky. Han had worked on the assumption that there would

be trouble, and done his best to plan accordingly. The Jade's Fire could

provide a certain amount of covering fire, if push came to shove, but the

other ship would be an uncertain protection at best. The coneship was

completely unarmed, and had no shields at all. It didn't even have enough

reserve power to hook up any weaponry-a moot point in any event, as there

was no practical way to dismount any of the Jade's weapons or attach them to

the coneship. Han had looked into it. Short of standing in the airlock and

taking potshots at any attackers with his hand-blaster, there was not much

he could do. But Han was used to working with nothing. Even a ship as

decrepit as this one could play a few tricks if need be. He had found a way

to rig up a defense that might provide some measure of protection if things

got hot. Of course, sometimes, when you worked with nothing, nothing was

exactly what you got. And sometimes, if you got into a fight with people who

had better hardware, those other people won. Not a happy line of thought

when you were on board a flying practice target headed into a war zone. And

his thoughts didn't get any happier a few minutes later when Leia sent that

attack warning.

CHA PTER TWO

Landing Leia Organa Solo, Chief of State of the New Republic, sat at the

navigator's station aboard the Jade's Fire, watching the coneship drift in

toward the planet Selonia. She had been a fool to let Han stay aboard that

bucket of bolts. But she knew perfectly well that there had been no chance

at all to get him off that ship, once he had decided he owed something to

the Selonians on board. But what, exactly, was he getting them into? Leia

was forced to think not just like a wife but like a politician. She could

not see any way of avoiding it, but there was no question that Han was being

drawn in by these Selonians-and that Leia was being drawn in as well. It

would be easy, all too easy, for the New Republic to find itself on one side

or another of a light it had no business in. It would be even easier to get

tempted into bargains with these Hunchuzucs, bargains that had a few too

many hidden strings attached . . . "He'll be all right, Leia," Mara said.

"We'll stay right with them, all the way down. The Fire can offer them more

protection than you think." "Hmmm? What? Oh, yes," Leia said, pointlessly

embarrassed. It was somewhat mortifying to be reassured by Mara Jade, of all

people. Somehow to have Mara assume that Leia was worrying about her

husband's safety when she was really thinking about the politics of the

situation made it even worse. Was she so callous that calculation of

political advantage even pushed aside worries about her husband? So

calculating that even Mara Jade was capable of more concern for Han? But

Leia told herself, rather firmly, that she had more sense than that. She had

no choice but to think on more than one level. What good would it do Han if

she got so tied up in sentimental worrying that she failed to foresee the

dangers ahead? "Han will be all right," Leia said again, trying to convince

herself as much as her companion. "If anyone can get that tub down to the

surface, he can." "If anyone can," Mara agreed, none too reassuringly. Mara

was at her usual post, at the pilot's station, guiding the Jade's Fire down

toward the surface. She frowned and adjusted the thrust controls a bit,

slowing them down again. "Trouble?" Leia asked. Mara shook her head without

taking her eyes off the viewport. "Nothing we can't handle, but I don't like

being behind the coneship. That Sefonian pilot needs a flying lesson or two.

If she hits the brakes like that too many times, she's going to get our nose

assembly right up her stern." "Can we back off a little?" "Not if we want

them to stay in visual contact with us. That stern holocam has no resolution

at all. We might be too far back for it to see us as it is-Burning stars,

she doesn't know how to fly!" Mara pulled her joystick violently up and to

the right. "She's doing the pitchover maneuver way too early-and without

shutting off her engines. Nearly clipped her." Leia watched as the lumbering

bulk of the coneship began its turnover, flipping end over end to direct its

sublight engines toward the planet and slow its descent. It was painfully

obvious that the pilot was not managing very well. The ship was lurching

abruptly from one attitude to the next, pausing at intermediate stages of

the maneuver instead of moving smoothly from a nose-to-planet attitude

direct to stern-to-planet. It only made it worse-much worse-that the pilot

was doing it under power. Leia was a pretty fair pilot, and she would have

been very reluctant to try doing it that way. Mara was forced to fly two

more evasive patterns just to keep the Fire from crashing into the other

ship. Finally she backed the Fire off by five kilometers. "They're going to

be nose-on to us anyway," Mara said. "They'll be able to see us reasonably

well." "With a little luck," Leia said, a bit doubtfully. The Fire had

first-rate detection systems, and could have tracked the coneship halfway

across the Corellian system, but all the eoncship had was straight visual.

Leia peered out the Fire's viewport and managed, with great difficulty, to

spot the tiny dot that was the coneship. The bright bulk of the planet's

dayside loomed up behind the ship, rendering it all but invisible. How easy

would the Fire be to see. a little spot of red against the blackness of

space? Mara wasn't even using the main viewscreen anymore, but watching her

detector displays. She wasn't relying on visual detection. Oh, well. As long

as at least one ship could see the other, things should be all right "Trouble!" Mara announced. "Leia, weapons and shields to standby, fast!"

Leia ran the power-up routines as quickly as she could. She ran quick checks

on the ship's turbolasers and shields. "All weapon and shield systems

functional and on-line," she announced. "What's happened?" "Power up the

defense tracking systems and tell me," Mara said. "All the nav systems can

tell me is that a bunch of blips just showed up out of nowhere." "Light

Attack Fighters," Leia announced as the defense trackers came on. "A double

flight of them, twelve in all, coming in from right over our stern. Must

have dropped out of a high polar orbit." Mara shook her head as she stared

down at the navigation display. "We can handle them, but it won't be easy.

Not with the coneship to cover." "We're too far off to extend our shields

toward the coneship." "And we're going to stay that way," Mara said sharply.

"I'm not getting any closer to that pilot than I have to-especially in

combat. She's already nearly rammed us twice. Get close enough to provide

shield cover, and we'll all be dead. Covering fire is the best I'm going to

be able to do. How soon until the LAFs get here?" "Firing range in thirty

seconds." "Stand by for combat maneuvers." "No! Wait! We have to blink-code

to Han, warn them!" "You've got twenty-five seconds," Mara said, steel in

her voice. There was no point even trying to argue. Leia reached for the

landing light controls and flipped them back to blink-code mode. She forced

herself to take a full five seconds to compose her message, and then sent it

three times, in rapid succession. "Done," Leia said. "Good," Mara said.

"Hang on." Han was almost too busy trying to keep from being flung out of

his chair to notice the flashing lights visible in the overhead viewport.

"Smooth and gentle, Salculd! Not sudden!" he shouted as he tried to

concentrate on the blink code-not easy to do when the ship he was on was

flailing about like a cornered bantha. The trouble was that Han was only

marginally better at reading code than he was at sending it. Even under

perfect conditions, he might have had problems. He struggled to catch it

all. At least Leia used the special word-end signal between words.

Otherwise, he'd have never gotten anywhere. "B-A-N-D-I-something-something

word ends," he muttered to himself. "Bandi? Bandits! Oh, great!" He tried to

concentrate on the next word. Missed something -R-O-M word ends. Burning

suns, Leia, do you have to send so fast? Missed something -E-H-l-N-D word

ends J-A-D-E-S-F-I-Han missed the end of it as the coneship bobbled about

again, but he had read enough to know the score. Bandits, enemy fighters,

were headed this way, coming from behind the Jade's Fire. And either by bad

luck or good timing they were heading in right as the coneship was at its

most vulnerable. Han glanced over at the Selonians. You didn't have to be an

expert at reading Selonian expressions to know that they were both scared

silly, Salculd only slightly less so than Draemus. Han reminded himself she

did not speak Basic. There was no point at all to telling Salculd about the

bandits until she had the ship under control. Han was sure she hadn't even

seen the blink-code message. Good. Let her work. Let her work. The coneship

slowly lumbered around into braking position, its fat stern pointed almost

precisely straight down at the planet, but canted just slightly into the

ship's direction of travel, so the braking run could kill the craft's

forward momentum as well. Han checked his instruments, doing his best to

make sense out of the Selonian notation. By some miracle or other, Salculd

seemed 10 have gotten them into the right position, and at the right

attitude. "Good, good," he said as calmly as he could. Probably they had

just a few seconds left before the bandits jumped them. But trying to rush

Salculd would be worse than useless at this point. If she got any more

scared, she might freeze completely. "Now then, Salculd, one other matter.

Is time to, ah, lest our defense plan. You will bring the ship to spin,

please, of three spins per minute." "Test?" Draemus sputtered. "But you said

it was a one-time-only trick." Han had been hoping no one would bring that

up. At least Dracmus had spoken in Basic. There was still a million-to-one

chance Salculd hadn't caught on. "Quiet," he said in Basic before switching

back to Selonian. "Make the spins, please, Honored Salculd. Make sure all is

weli, in case needed." It was clear that Salculd did not believe him-but it

would seem she was willing to pretend she did, at least for a little while.

"Yes, yes," she said, "of course. Commencing axial spin." The ship began to

rotate around its conical axis, so the stars pinwheeled across the sky. Han

studied the overhead view, as best he was able. He could just about spot the

Fire, and the bandits were almost certainly sma ller, and coming from

behind. There was no way he could find them, especially with the ship

spinning like a top. He gave it up. No point in worrying about things he

could not change. "Disable internal damping," Han said calmly, casually. The

inertial dampers prevented anything more than a few percent of a ship's

acceleration and motion from being felt by those aboard. Without them, the

occupants of a ship accelerating to light speed could be squashed to jelly.

No one liked turning them off-but sometimes you had to do what you didn't

like. "But if we cannot restart inertial damping-" "Worry about such later!"

Han snapped. He knew better than Salculd what it might mean if they couldn't

get the dampers back on. But they would have to live long enough for the

problem to come up. "We need to use centrifugal effect if plan is to work,

and inertial damping cancels it out. End damping!" Salculd inhaled nervously

and reached out her hand to cut off the inertial damping system. All of a

sudden, Han felt his weight double, then triple, as the dampers stopped

compensating for the ship's deceleration. A moment later he felt the

disorienting sensation of the ship spinning. "Confirm all inner airlocks

sealed," Han ordered. "All inner airlock doors sealed. Pressure in locks,"

Salculd said. '"Honored Solo, must we truly-"Quiet! We must. Be ready for

next step! Maintain course, maintain thrust, unless I order otherwise!" Han

struggled to concentrate on the spinning starfield overhead. If this was

going to work, it would take exact timing. But how could he time anything if

he couldn't see? Maybe he would get lucky and the Jade's Fire would signal

the all clear. And maybe he would wake up and discover the whole nightmare

trip to Corellia had just been a dream. If only wishing could make it true.

He had done his best. Now all they could do was hang on and see how it came

out. "Rear, ventral, and dorsal shields to full, forward shields to one

quarter," Mara ordered. "Divert shields as needed for ship safety." Leia

worked the shield settings. "Shields conligured as ordered." "Good," Mara

said. "Maintain turbolasers at standby. We arc going to hold this course and

speed. Act like they aren't there. They can't know how good or bad our

detectors are. They've never seen this kind of ship before, but I know LAFs.

They have the gear to detect turbos going on-line, but not shield

activation. If we keep the guns off and stay on course, they might decide we

can't see them." "What good does that do us?" Leia asked. "They might blow

right past us and zero in on the eoneship. My guess is that whoever is on

those LAFs is targeting the Hunchuzuc, not us." "But Han is-"Safer this

way," Mara said, watching her displays. "We can handle seven or eight of

them at once, but not twelve. Not in a direct engagement. But if the LAFs

don't engage us, we'll have nice, clear forward view shots right up their

stern plates while they're focused on the coneship. We can pick off three or

four of them before the rest bring fire to bear on us. Set up the targeting

system for tracking follow-fire. If they engage us directly, we return fire.

If they go past us, commence fire when they are three kilometers past us.

Understood?" "Yes, but-"No buts," Mara said. "This ship fights my way, or

not at ali." Leia gave in again. Mara had far more experience at this sort

of fight than she did. "Very well," she said. "Stand by. Here they come."

Leia watched the stern detector displays as the LAFs came in, directly

behind the Fire's stern, trying to hide in the detection shadow produced by

the sublight engines. They were trying to sneak up. From that bearing they

wouldn't even show up on most ships' detectors. The LAFs swept in, their

images in the detection screen breaking up just a bit due to interference

from the sublight engines. Leia tensed up as they swept through the optimum

firing range, and felt herself relax just a trifle as they swept on, past

the Fire. But she didn't relax too far-not when they were passing her by to

take a crack at her husband's ship. The LAFs flashed past the Fire, zeroing

in on the coneship. "The coneship!" she cried out. "It's spinning up. They

must have got our warning." "Let's hope Han's idea works better than it

ought to," Mara said. It wasn't the most tactful thing to say, even if Leia

had been thinking the same thing herself. But there was no time. "Coming up

on three kilometers distance," she said. "Commence fire," Mara ordered. "Not

unless they fire first!" Leia said. "Maybe they're just here to throw a

scare into us, or they might be on escort duty. No way to tell with

communications jammed." "All right," Mara said, the doubt plain in her

voice. "You can make that-But the first flash of turbolaser fire from the

lead LAF shut down the argument. Leia released the safeties on the Fire's

follow-fire circuits and started selecting targets, aiming first for the LAF

that had opened fire. "Here they come!" Han .shouted in Basic, forgetting

for a moment to speak in Selonian. Salculd got the message all the same. She

looked up through the viewport at the tiny spots of light in the sky, and

understood precisely what was going on. She let out a most undignified

squawk. The whole slowly spinning cone-ship lurched to one side and came

close to heeling over into a disastrous tumble. "Calmness!" Han shouted. "Be

calm, alert. Throttle down all engines. End all thrust. Stand by to open

outer airlock doors on my command." "Throu-throttling down ali engines,"

Salculd said. "Ready on the airlock doors." "Wait for it," Han said,

watching the LAFs come closer. Weight faded away as Salculd powered down the

engines. With the inertia] dampers off-line, and the engine thrust gone, Han

found himself in zero gee for the first time in a long time. Han knew people

who had spent half their lives in space without experiencing zero

gravity-and with the flip-flops his stomach was doing all of a sudden, he

could understand why. But there was no time for that now. Not with a sky

full of Light Attack Fighters heading in. "Be ready, ready." he told

Salculd. The lead LAF fired and caught them with a glancing blow to the

starboard side, slamming into the hull like a giant fist. "It's all right!"

Han shouted, having not the least idea if it was or not. "It's all right.

Stand by on the airlock doors. Wait for it. Be ready-" The Jade's Fire's

forward quad turbolaser blazed away, tracking the lead LAP across the sky.

The LAP broke off its attack run, trying to fly an evasive pattern and

escape. For a moment it managed to break out of the tracking pattern, but

the Jade's Fire regained a positive lock and poured in fire again. The LAF's

shields flared and blazed for a moment before giving way altogether. The

fighter exploded, a blossom of fire that flared up and was gone. Leia fed

two new targets to the follow-fire system, and got busy herself with the

manual guns, reading the detection screens for herself. But the rest of the

LAFs were not going to be such easy pickings. They had their rear shields

powered up to maximum, and did a better job of evasive maneuvers, good

enough to completely bamboozle the follow-fire systems. But not good enough

to fooi Leia. She settled in with the manual controls and began looking for

targets. She concentrated her fire on the toughest shots, the LAFs closest

to the coneship. She got a lock on one and fired, holding the guns on target

long enough to burn through the shields and blow the fighter to bits. Just

then the coneship cut its engines, allowing it to drop straight for the

planet's surface. It threw the LAFs off, if only for a moment or two. Leia

shook her head and sighed. Not much of an evasive maneuver, but probably the

best Han could manage with that clunky piece of junk. But suddenly her

detector displays showed a cloud of debris blooming out from the coneship in

all directions. Fear stabbed at her heart. That one hit on the cone-ship's

hull couldn't have done that much damage, could it? Could the craft be

breaking up before her eyes, with Han aboard? She had no desire to watch the

death of her husband-but then something happened to one of the LAFs, and

then another, and another. As they swooped in close to the coneship, they

bounced and skittered and wobbled off course. Two of them lost power, and

the third was rocked by a small explosion amidships. Leia got a target lock

on one of the survivors and fired, catching a piece of him before he managed

to get his shields up. Leia tried to track to a new target, but the LAFs had

plainly decided lo take the hint and accept the fact they weren't welcome.

They scattered, hightailing out of there in all directions. But how in the

blazes had-Suddenly she understood. Of course. Of course. "Mara! His trick

worked! Get us out from behind Han, fast! New course, five or six kilometers

to one side of him, and try to overtake him if you can. It's not going to be

so safe to be behind him for a while." She smiled, relief flooding over her.

She should have known Han wouldn't give up without a fight. Han listened

closely as the last of the junk went lumbering out of the airlocks, banging

and clattering and thudding and reverberating through the ship. There was no

air in the locks left to transmit noise, of course, but there was on the

other side of the interior bulkheads-a fact that had made itself known with

every bit of broken-down hardware that had slammed around the locks. Han had

spent half a day policing the ship, looking for every bit of surplus or

broken hardware he could. Buckets of bolts, worn-out spare parts, garbage

from the galley, unidentifiable bits of machinery that had been sitting in

the hold for who knew how long-he had thrown all of it into the locks. And

all of it had tumbled out into space when the locks were opened, thrown

clear by centrifugal force. Result-a cloud of slow-moving space junk left

right in the path of the attacking LAFs. And the LAFs had quite sensibly

configured their shields for maximum power aft, to defend against laser

blasts from the Jade's Fire-leaving them with minimum power forward. But

plowing through a cloud of hits and pieces of broken meta! and plastic at a

closing speed of something like a thousand kilometers an hour was very far

from a good idea. However, piling a ship into a planet was an even worse

one. "Good!" Han said. "They're gone! But we are not out of this yet.

Reestablish inertial dampers and cut ship spin." "At once, Honored Solo,"

Salculd replied. There was an odd shimmering sort of vibration as the

inertial field came back on and weight returned. The ship's ungainly spin

slowed, and stopped-and then started up again in the opposite direction-and

started lo get faster. "Salculd!" Han called out. "This is no time for the

playing of games!" "I am not doing so, Honored Solo. Failure in lateral

attilude control system. I cannot shut it off!" "Oh, for-" Han scrambled up

out of his seat and dove for the main circuit breaker box. He yanked it open

and tripped the lateral attitude control breaker by hand. That killed the

thrusters that were producing the spin-but also killed the ones that fired

in the opposite direction, and could bring it to it halt. He slapped the

access door shut and returned to his seat. "Hope everyone is liking lo

spin," Han announced in Selonian. "We are to do it for a while. Saiculd!

Restart to main sublight engines-and nice, slow throttle-up, please!" "At

once, Honored Solo," Salculd replied. She reached for the throttle controls

and began adjusting them. Nothing seemed to happen. "Not that slow, Salculd.

We need to do some braking!" Salculd looked a! Han, and the panicked !ook

that had seemed on the verge of fading away was there in full force, and no

doubt. "No activation!" she announced. "Engine initiator not responding!"

"Horror!" cried Dracmus. "We incinerate for certain." "Quiet, Dracmus, or I

send you out the airlock. Salculd, try again!" Han said. "Firstly confirm

you have power to all engine systems." "Board shows all power systems fine

and lovely," Salculd said. "Board says is working, but it not." "Not

helpful," Han said, jumping up. "Off I go again. Keep trying, and listen to

the comm!" Han rushed for the ladder to the lower decks and clambered down

as fast as he could. As soon as he reached the lower deck, he smelled smoke.

There was trouble, big trouble. That one hit from the LAF must have hit

something in the transverse power coupling. Han jogged around the

circumferentia! corridor until he reached the proper access hatch. It was

sealed, praise be. The bad news was the smoke was coming off the painted

metal on the hatch. Han checked the readouts. They showed there was still

pressure in there, if the numbers were to be believed. The temperature gauge

was pegged at the high end. He worked the hatch controls to pop the

compartment's spill valves. They should have operated automatically once

fire broke out. Obviously they hadn't. But even if the automatics were out,

at least the manual controls were still working. There was a sort of clank

and a thud from behind the hatch, and then a roaring hiss that faded off

into nothing as the air in the compartment vented into space. The ship

lurched slightly to one side before the inertial dampers corrected for the

off-center thrust. Han resealed the spiil valves. The hatch had a manual

spill valve of its own that allowed pressure between the two sides of the

hatch to equalize without opening it up. Han burned his fingers getting the

safeties off, and then popped the hatch valve. The corridor was suddenly

filled with a roaring, thundering rush of air that almost knocked Han over.

Han looked around, and, for a miracle, spotted a fire extinguisher within

reach right where it was supposed to be. He peeled off his shirt and wrapped

it around his left hand, then look the extinguisher in his right. He grabbed

the manual hatch control with his left hand, and the shirt instantly began

to smolder. He pulled the lever and swung the hatch open. A blast of heat

struck him in the face; he ehecked his grip on the extinguisher. If the

renewed supply of oxygen started something burning, he wanted to be ready

for it. But he did not want to try doing emergency repairs on equipment that

was covered with spray foam if he could possibly avoid it. Not that spray

foam could have made things much worse. Han stood in the hatchway, stared at

the compartment, and felt sick. The initiator was just not there anymore.

There was no need for the extinguisher. Anything that could have burned

already had. Han looked down at the blackened deck plates. The compartment

was just under the outer hull, ft looked as if the LAF's turbolaser hadn't

quite burned through the hull, but it had clearly come close. The entire

compartment was still hot, but was cooling rapidly now, the metal pinging

and clinging as it gave up its heat to space. But Han wasn't here to see

what happened after an equipment bay fire. Think, Han told himself. Think as

fas! as you ever have. The coneship had a very awkward engine-start system,

and one that had caused plenty of trouble already on this trip. More modern

systems worked differently, but on this bucket, the initiators served as

massive capacitors, storing up huge amounts of energy and slamming it all

out at once to get the sublight engines over the power threshold where their

energy reaction was self-sustaining. With the initiators out, the sublight

engines could not restart. And without those engines the coneship was going

to drop like a slone, a shooting star aimed straight for the planet. They

had to restart those engines. They had to. But there was no other system in

the ship with anything like enough power to let the sublights reach their

minimum start-up energy. Even if they overloaded every single-Wait a

second. Thai was it. It was unlikely it would work. But it definitely

wouldn't work if he didn't give it a try. And give it a iTy fast. They were

in free fall, heading straight for a spot that was going to have a new

crater in a few minutes. Han stepped back out of the initiator compartment

and rcsealed the hatch. Where would the repulsor feedback dispersal system

be on this tub? Useless to ask Salculd. She was so close to the edge she

probably wouldn't remember where the pilot's station was. She had given him

a tour of the ship when he had first come aboard-that was it! Just on the

other side of the main power room. Perfect. Han rushed back down the

circumferential corridor the way he had come and found the right access

panel on the wall. He pulled it open and traced the connections. Good. Good.

For a wonder, they were all standard hookups. He tripped the breaker by

hand. Cable. He needed power cable. Stores room. They had all but cleaned it

out to fill the airlocks with junk, but there had to be something left. He

charged down the corridor and threw open the hatch to the stores room.

Nothing. Down to the bare walls. Utterly empty. Han started to swear to

himself and at himself with impressive fluency, but there was no time for

such indulgences. Think, Think. Life support. Main power to life support. No

sense keeping it on. They were all going to be dead in about five minutes

anyway if he didn't get some power cable. Life support. Where could he kill

power to life support? Right! Cut it right at main power and yank the cable

from there. Han rushed back to the main power room, threw the hatch open,

and went inside. Not everything was labeled, and what was labeled was in

Selonian, of course. He struggled to sort out what was what. There! If he

was reading the labels right, that junction was main device for rue blowing

of air MEANT FOR BREATHING, and thilt One was CLEANSING OF AIR FROM

POLLUTANTS FOR PLEASANT BREATHING. A little verbose, perhaps, but clear

enough. He found the circuit breakers on the junctions and slammed them off.

Han could hear the fans and blowers dying all over the ship. He yanked the

power cables out of their sockets and pulled them down off their cable

guides. He pulled the other ends of the cables, and then found a label

reading power input herk from the powerful INITIATORS WHICH ARE IN ANOTHER

COMPARTMENT. He pulled the cables running from the destroyed initiators and

plugged in his borrowed life-support cables. He snaked the cables out into

the corridor, praying they would reach, and gave thanks when they did. He

made sure the repulsors were off-line, then yanked the lines running to the

rcpulsor feedback dispersal unit and plugged in his borrowed cables. He

stepped back and double-checked his work. "Okay," he said to no one at all.

"That ought to work. I thi nk." He turned and ran for the ladder up to the

command deck. "Something's wrong," Leia said, watching her detector screens.

"The spin has reversed instead of stopping, and they haven't restarted their

main engines." "Maybe they took some bad damage from that hit," Mara said.

"Can we dock with the ship and get them off?" Leia asked. "Not before they

hit atmosphere," Mara said. "There's nowhere near enough time. Besides, that

cloud of debris they threw out is stil! traveling with them. We'd get hit

the same way the LAFs were." "A tractor beam, then," Leia said. "We could

set that up and-"And what? That ship isn't all that much smaller than this

one. The tractor on this ship doesn't have a tenth the power to hold that

ship. If we tried it, more than likely they'd pull us down instead. I'm

sorry, Leia. There's nothing at all we can do." Deep in her heart, Leia knew

Mara was right. But it felt wrong to give up without a fight. They had to do

somtgt;ihing, "Stay close," Leia said. "Get as close as you can without

getting into the debris cloud and take up station keeping." "Leia, there is

nothing we can-"Suppose they get temporary control, or slow just enough

thai they can abandon ship?" Leia asked. "We need to be close enough to get

in and help." Mara hesitated a moment. "All right. But we won't be able to

hold station keeping long. We're about five minutes from atmosphere right

now, and once we hit it-well, that will be the end of things." Leia knew

that. Without shielding, without braking from the engines, the coneship

would turn into a meteorite, a streak of fire that burned across the sky

before crashing in the planet. "I'll stay close as long as I can," Mara

said. "But it won't be long." "Do it," Leia said. But even as she urged Mara

onward, she wondered why. What good would it do to watch from closer in as

her husband was incinerated? "Out!" Han shouted at Salculd as he came up out

the hatch to the command deck. "Out of pilot chair now! I take over." "But

what are you-"No time!" he snapped. He sealed the hatch, just in case they

lived long enough to worry about air leaks. "I must take over. No time to

explain what to do. Out! Move!" Salculd moved, undoing her seal restraints

and bailing out of the pilot's station. Han dove into the vacated seat and

checked the status board. Good. Good. Repulsors showing full power in

reserve. "Switching on rcpulsors!" he announced. He adjusted them for their

tightest beam and maximum range. "Honored Solo! The repulsors cannot work at

this range!" Dracmus said in Basic. "They arc only effective within two

kilometers of surface!" "I know that," Han said. "They need something to

work against before they can set up a repulsion effect. But at these speeds,

they'll encounter a fair amount of resistance from the top of the

atmosphere. I know, I know, not enough to slow us down-but enough to start

large power transfers through the feedback dispersal loop." "But what good

does that do?" "I've taken the disperser out of the loop and run the cables

through the initiator, power intake on the engine power system. The feedback

energy is just accumulating in the repulsor system. When the power level is

high enough, I'll reset the feedback power breaker and dump the energy right

into the initiator intake on the engine power systems." "What?!" "Jump-start

it," Han said. "I'm going to jump-start it." There was a moment of dead

silence in the control cabin before Dracmus let out a strangled moan and

covered her face with her hands. "What is going on?" Salculd demanded in

Selonian. "I go to start engines by accumulating repulsor feedback power and

dumping through initiator manifold," Han replied. "But feedback buildup will

destroy repulsors!" "Get even more destroyed by crashing into Selonia," Han

said in his awkward Selonian. "This not work and you have idea, you try

yours. Hang on." The idea was crazy. Han knew that. But not doing anything

at all would be crazier still. Even a million-to-one shot was better than no

chance at all. He watched the feedback charge accumulator display as the

excess energy built up in the repulsor system. The more power, the better

the chance of restarting the engines-unless he accumulated so much power the

repulsors simply blew out. The closer they got to the planet, the more

resistance the repulsors encountered, and the faster the feedback

accumulated. But of course, the farther they fell, the less time they would

have to put on the brakes, if and when the engines did light. Han knew that

even the maximum power output he could hope for would be borderline minimum

to get the sublight engines going-and he was going to gel exactly one

chance. Whether or not this stunt worked, it was going to blow out the

repulsors and the feedback accumulator and half the other systems on the

ship. Han checked his estimated flight path meters. Twenty seconds from the

average top of the sensible atmosphere-though the tops of atmospheres had a

nasty habit of not being where they were supposed to be, raising and

lowering depending on storms and tides and solar heating. But twenty seconds

was the outside, the longest he could possibly wait. The repulsors were not

likely to provide much more charging of the accumulator if they were being

melted off. It was going to be a tough call, a threading of the needle

between competing disasters. Han checked the altitude and acceleration

displays. The coneship was gathering speed, terrifying speed, with every

second. Even if he got the engines lit, there might not be time to slow the

ship before piling it in. "Honored Solo! Hull temperature suddenly

increasing!" Salculd cried. "Atmosphere's here a little early!" Han said.

"Hang on! We're going to jump this thing and see what happens." One chance,

Han told himself. Exactly one chance. For a fleeting moment he thought of

Leia, watching from the Jade's Fire and unable to do anything. He thought of

his three children, off somewhere in the care of Chewbacca and Ebrihim the

Drall. No. No. He could not die. Not when they ali needed him. One chance.

The ship bucked and shuddered as the atmospheric buffering shook it hard

enough to get past the inertial dampers. One chance. Han waited as long as

he dared, then one moment longer, then one more. And then-He slammed down

the relay reset switch as hard as he could, dumping all of the feedback

energy directly into the engine start manifold. He stabbed down on the

engine start button-and felt a horrifying lurch, just as a low, rumbling

explosion shook the ship from base to apex. That would have to be the

repulsors blowing. For a long, sickening moment, nothing else happened. But

then the engines now certainly arc initiated kuij.y indicator came on, and

Han had three good engines. Three? Not four? One of them must have been

blown out by that LAF fighter. Han had been afraid of that. But even if he

had one less engine than he had hoped for, that was three more than he had

expected. Ignoring all his own advice on the subject, he brought the

throttle up fast. There wasn't time to nurse the engines. There was a

distant bang and sudden flurry of violent vibrations that faded almost

before they started, but the engines were holding. At least for now. At

least for now. Han watched the acceleration meter, the velocity gauge, and

the none-too-reliable altitude meter. For a wonder, the displays were all in

standard units, and not some obscure Selonian format he had never seen

before. But what he was seeing was by no means reassuring. He had flown

enough reentries to know at a glance that they were far from out of trouble.

The best they were going to manage was a controlled crash. Han risked a

glance out the viewport and saw that the Jade's Fire was still staying

close, somehow. Mara was some kind of pilot. Now if only he had a view that

would show him the direction he was going. Unfortunately, the ship was

flying stern-first, and the stern holocam, which might have shown him at

least a vague idea of where he was heading, had given up altogether at some

point in the proceedings. On the bright side, air friction was slowing down

the ship's axial spin. Finally it stopped altogether, which at least made

piloting the coneship that much easier. It was about time something got

easier. Han watched his velocity and altitude gauges, and knew just how much

trouble he was still in. He had to shed some more speed. He had no choice in

the matter. There was a way to do it, but it had its own drawbacks. And

making it work without maneuvering thrustcrs was not going to be easier. He

would have to do all his steering by playing with the thrust of the main

engines-not simple when he was already juggling their thrust vectors to

compensate for the missing engine. Still, it was doable. Maybe. He eased

back just a trifle on the thrust to number three engine, and the coneship

slowly pitched back, until it was flying at about a forty-five-degree angle

of attack. It was still falling straight down, but now its nose was pointed

an eighth of a turn away from the vertical. If Han had it figured right,

that ought to start the coneship developing a bit of aerodynamic lift, in

effect causing it to work like an airfoil. The coneship began to move

sideways as well as down, and every millimeter of lateral movement came

straight from the energy of their f all. The ship began to bang and shudder

violently, but every crash and rattle was that much more excess energy

expended. "Honored Solo!" Dracmus protested above the racket, "You have put

us in lateral flight! Where are you taking us?" "I haven't the faintest

idea," Han said. "But we have to go lateral to shed some speed." "But

suppose we land outside the zone controlled by my Den?!" "Then we have a

problem," Han shouted back. Dracmus did not reply to that, but she had a

point. Landing completely at random on a planet in the midst of civil war

was not exactly prudent. Han pushed it from his mind. The job of the moment

was getting this thing down in one piece. Down where, they could sort out

later. He checked his gauges. They were still falling like a rock-but like a

slower rock, a gliding rock. And hull temperatures were actually falling,

just a trifle. Maybe, maybe, they were going to make it. Of course, landing

on the sublight engines, rather than on the now-dead repulsors, and landing

blind would be challenges in their own right. It would be at least another

ninety seconds before he had to worry about such things. He checked the

gauges and shook his head. The lateral flight trick was slowing them down,

but nowhere near enough. At this rate, they'd be lucky to drop below the

speed of sound before they hit. There was no way around it. He was going to

have to get something more out of the engines. What about that fourth

engine, the one that had refused to light? Maybe it was just its initiator

link that had been blown off. Maybe the engine itself was still there, if he

could just get it to come on. Maybe if he tried a parallel backfeed start.

With the other engines up and running, he could borrow part of their energy

output and back-flush it through the unlit engine. It might work. Han reset

the power flow from the number two engine, routing five percent of it

through the initiator lines to engine three. He stabbed down the button

marked

PRESSING HERE WILL CAUSE ENGINE NUMBER FOUR TO START.

A weird high-pitched squeal cut through the clamoring roar that filled the

command deck, and the cone-ship began to oscillate wildly as the engine lit

and died and lit and died. A display indicator came on, announcing ENGINE

FOUR NOW OPERATING NICELY, but It went out again, then popped on and faded

one more time before coming back on and staying that way. Four engines. He

had four good engines. He might come out of this alive-after all. But then

he checked his altitude, and found good reason to doubt it. They were only

three kilometers up. Han realized that he would have to shed all of his

lateral speed immediately if he was going to set this thing down. He pitched

the ship around until it was flying flat on its side, the thrust axis

parallel to the ground. The planetary horizon swooped into view and kept

going right past, until Han was flying exactly upside down, his feet pointed

at the sky and his head pointed at the ground. He throttled all the engines

up to maximum, and just a bit beyond, and held it there, until the ground

stopped rushing past from side to side and was simply coming straight at

him. Zero forward velocity, or close enough. But plenty of velocity in the

direction of down. Han pitched the concship over again, until he was flat on

his back, looking at the sky, and made sure the engines were cranked up to

maximum power. There was nothing else he could do. "Hanging on!" he shouted

in Selonian. "Be strapped in and braced. We are going to be hitting hard!"

Green lights started to flash all over the propulsion status display. In

most ships that would have been a good thing, but not on this crate. To a

Selonian. green was the color of danger, disaster. The engines were running

full out. at or beyond the point of catastrophe. Han wanted desperately to

see if he could bully or tempt just a little bit more out of them, but did

not dare. No point in coming this far just to have the ship detonate a half

kilometer off the ground. Maybe, maybe, they had slowed down enough to make

this a survivabie crash. Han cut power to all systems and diverted it all

into the inertial dampers. There was no way the dampers could absorb all the

energy of impact, but they would soak up some of it. Maybe if they were

running at max power, it would be just enough. And that was it. That was

all. There were no tricks left. Nothing left to do but hold on and watch the

numbers in the altimeter evaporate. Han had not the faintest idea where they

were about to land. There had not been time, in his one quick glance at the

ground, to do anything more than see that it was there. He had seen water,

flat land, and some good-sized hills, but which of them he was about to hit,

he had no idea. One kilometer up. Eight hundred meters. Seven hundred. Five

hundred. Four hundred. Three fifty. If only the repulsors were still

working. Too bad he had been forced to fry them to a crisp starting the

engines. Three hundred. How accurate was that altimeter, anyway? Two

hundred. One fifty. One hundred meters up. Seventy-five. Fifty. Han braced

for the impact and resisted the impulse to shut his eyes. Zero. Negative ten

meters. Not all that accurate. But every extra meter was another fraction of

a second for the coneship's engines to slow them down. Neg twenty. Neg

fifty-SLAM!! A hundred crazed banthas jumped onto Han's chest all at once,

driving him down into the padding of the pilot's flight station. Dracmus

screamed, a startling, high-pitched ululation. A metal bulkhead tore itself

apart somewhere in the ship with a terrible metallic shriek, and a dozen

alarms started hooting at once. The overhead viewport held together,

somehow, and Han could see the sky was filled with smoke and steam-and mud.

Huge gobs of sodden earth splattered down on the viewport, covering it all

but completely. Han hit the alarm cutoff, and was astonished by the sudden

near-silence. But for Dracmus moaning in fright, and the plopping sounds of

the last of the mud raining down on the ship's hull, all was quiet. They

were down, and alive. A sudden flurry of water, falling in a single thin

sheet of droplets, fell on the ship, washing some-but far from all-of the

mud off the viewport. Han got to his, feel, feeling more than a little

wobbly. "That one was close," he said in Basic, to himself as much as

anything. "Come," he said in Selonian. "We must leave ship. Might be-" He

stopped dead. Half his Selonian seemed to have faded away, at least for the

moment. After that close a call, it was a wonder he was calm enough to

remember his own name. But he couldn't think of the words for "chemical

leak," or "fire." or "short circuits." "Bad things," he said at last. "Might

be bad things on ship. Must leave now." The two Selonians, both of them

clearly shaken up, got to their feet and followed Han down the ladder to the

lower deck and over to the main hatch. Han punched at the open button, and

was not the least bit surprised when nothing at all happened. The ship they

had risked their lives to land, the ship that the Hunchuzuc needed so badly,

was a write-off. A complete loss. Han knelt down, fumbled with the access

panel for the manual controls, got the cover off, and turned the hand crank.

The hatch swung reluctantly open, and jammed up twice before it swung wide

enough for them to get out. Han stuck his head out first and looked around.

It looked like they had landed square in the middle of a shallow pond-and

splashed it dry on impact. The bottom of the pond was completely exposed,

but for one or two puddles here and there. The mud was steaming here and

there, letting off the heat produced by the ship's impact. It was a

beautiful, perfect spring day. Somehow, the picturesque meadows and

woodlands that surrounded the splashed-out pond made the mud and the mire

and the mess of the landing seem just that much more out of place, just that

much more absurd. The coneship had buried itself at least a half meter into

the soft mud of the pond bottom. What had been a meter and a half drop from

the hatch to the ground was suddenly a lot shorter. Han sal down on the edge

of the hatch and hopped down-only to sink in over his ankles in the thick

mud. He lifted his left foot up out of the muck, nearly losing a boot in the

process, and planted it as far away from the ship as possible before pulling

his right foot out. He squelched out of the pond basin toward dry land and

saw a Selonian, an older-looking female with graying dark brown fur and a

moody look in her eyes. "That's a Hunchuzuc coneship, be it not?" the

Selonian asked, watching Dracmus and Salculd stagger out of the craft.

"That's right," Han said, a bit distractedly as he slogged through the mud.

That was the Sclonians for you. A spaceship crash-lands in a pond in front

of one, and what was the response? Not shock, or surprise, or fear. Not

"hello," not "what an amazing escape," not "are you all right?" No. The

first thing to worry about was what Den was involved. "Hmmph," said the

Selonian. "This is Chanzari land. We be Republicists, Hunchuzuc allies."

"Good," said Han, still struggling toward shore. "Glad to hear it." Han half

climbed, half crawled out of the pond basin, and paused there a moment. The

old Selonian looked at the ship and shook her head. "Coneships," she said,

her torre derisive. "The Hunchuzuc are foolhardy. Selonians do not belong in

space." Han looked at the Selonian for a long moment. "You know," he said,

"I'd just about worked that out for myself." He turned his back on the

coneship and staggered off toward the other side of the clearing, where the

Jade's Fire was settling in for a nice, calm, sedate landing.

CHAPTER THREE

At the Source Tendra Risant sat in the pilot's station of the Gentleman

Caller, and wondered if it was going to be all right, wondered how it could

be all right. She had done her part, however little that might be. In purely

objective terms, all was well. She had used the radionics transmitter to

tell Lando of the fleet hidden in the Sacorrian-system. His friends had

gotten the news, and it might well prove vital to them. She knew Lando was

alive, and well, and that he was glad she was in-system. But none of that

eould change the fact that she was stuck out here, and no one could get to

her. She looked through the forward viewport at the bright star of Corell,

dead ahead. Unless that interdiction field went down, it was going to take

her months to cross the distance from here to there. It was worth it, she

knew that. She had more than likely saved lives, many lives-perhaps even

Lando's life. But the thought of more months alone on this ship was more

than she could bear. But the people Lando was with, the Bakurans, had asked

her to send them more information. There was not much she could tell them

that she had not said already-but she would tell them what she could. She

switched on the radionics transmitter and set to work. The Bakuran light

cruiser Intruder fired her main forward turbolaser battery three times, and

three times Pocket Patrol Boats exploded. "Very well," said Admiral Hortel

Ossilege. "You may hold your fire. Bring the turbolasers to their stowed

position and power them down. Make sure our friends can detect what you are

doing. We have shown we can hurt them at will. Now we extend an invitation

to leave. Let us see if our friends out there understand that we plan to

play rough if they stay." A reasonable tactic, Luke Skywalker thought,

feeling none too happy about it. A show of overwhelming force might convince

the surviving defenders to withdraw. After all, the odds of a handful of

fighters defeating the Inmider and her sister ships, Sentinel and Defender,

and all their fighters were almost zero. On the other hand, the Rebels had

faced such odds more than once in the war against the Empire, and had

emerged victorious. Good training, strong motivation, good equipment, good

intelligence--and plain good luck-could even up the odds quite a bit. There

was no such thing as certainty in war. Luke Skywalker stood next to Admiral

Ossilege on the bridge of the Intruder. As always when he agreed with the

man, he did not feel comfortable doing so. Luke glanced at Lando Calrissian,

standing on the other side of Ossilege, and the look on his face told Luke

that Lando shared his concerns. The tactics were sound, even conservative.

The enemy forces consisted of little more than twenty or so PPBs. There was

nothing much to be gained in wiping out such a small force. If Ossilege

could convince them to withdraw without exposing his own forces to needless

casualties, that would be all to the good. Very sensible and cautious.

Except that Ossilege was not a cautious commander. If it seemed he was

trying something careful. Luke had a hunch that it was merely a cover for

something madly audacious to fol-low. Ossilege had shown a tendency to dare

too much rather than too little. When he played a conservative game, the

odds were fair that what appeared to be caution was just an elaborate

preparation for a very large gamble indeed. Or had losing the Watchkeeper to

the Selonian planetary repulsor cost him his nerve? Ossilege was a small,

wiry-looking man, who favored dress-white uniforms that set off his

collection of medals and ribbons. He was a dried-up, self-important little

man who seemed to have little patience for anyone or anything. He looked to

be a comic-opera caricature of an admiral-but Luke had never met as

hard-edged, as cold-blooded, a military commander. No one found it relaxing

to spend time in the presence of Admiral Ossilege. Of course, with the

massive, overwhelming bulk of Centerpoint Station dominating the sky outside

the viewports, Luke would have felt a little edgy even if the Watchkeeper

hadn't been destroyed. "There they go," Lando announced, pointing toward a

cloud of tiny dots lifting away from one of the docking bays of Centerpoint.

The defending fighters were withdrawing. "Decided they couldn't do any good

against us, I guess." "Or perhaps they decided we wouid be unable to do

Centerpoint any harm," said Ossilege. "A wise tactician retreats from an

indefensible position in order to preserve his forces. But a wise tactician

will likewise avoid expending his forces needlessly in the defense of the

impregnable." "What are you saying?" asked Luke. Ossilege gestured toward

Centerpoint. "We are dismissing the enemy fighters because they are so small

in comparison to us. But, proportionately, we are far smaller in comparison

to Centerpoint. It is, somehow, the source of power that can impose an

interdiction field over an entire planetary system. What other powers might

it have?" "No way to know," said Lando. "I figure the one thing we can count

on is being surprised. And I doubt that many of the surprises arc going to

be pleasant." Just at that moment, a service droid wheeled up from behind

them and came around to stop in front of Lando. "And here's a surprise now,"

Lando muttered. "Yes, what is it?" he asked the droid. "Begging your pardon,

sir, but Lieutenant Kalenda wishes to see both you and Master Skywalker,

sir. A new message from Source T has come in." Lando looked worriedly at

Luke. "That ought to make me happy," he said. "But I have the feeling she's

not calling in just to chat." He turned toward the service droid. "Lead the

way." Source T was Tendra Risant. Lando and Luke had met Tendra on her home

world of Sacorria, one of the so-called "Outlier" worlds of the Corellian

Sector. The local authorities had kicked Lando and Luke off Sacorria almost

immediately after meeting Tendra. As they followed the droid down to the

cruiser's com section, it crossed Lando's mind, not for the first time, that

Tendra would be vastly amused to learn that Bakuran military intelligence

had given her a name as ridiculously pompous as Source T. Lando had met

Tendra while searching the galaxy for a rich wife. Tendra was certainly well

off enough to qualify as rich, and it was certainly within the realm of

possibility that she would make a good wife for Lando-if they could get

together in the same place at the same time long enough to get to know each

other. But even if they had not had the time to fall madly, passionately in

love with each other, the two of them had very definitely made a connection

with each other, established a solid bond, something that they could build

on, someday, if the universe gave them that chance. As best he could piece

together, Tendra had some-how managed to spot some sort of military buildup

in the Sacorrian system. Connecting the buildup to the interdiction field,

she had decided she had to get word to Lando, Toward that end, it would seem

she had gotten her hands on a spaceship, bribed her way off Sacorria, and

crashed it into the Corellian interdiction field. None of that would have

done anyone much good, but for one other fact-Lando had given her a

radionics communications set. The radionics set did not use any of the

standard comlink frequencies, but instead sent and received messages on a

modulated carrier wave in the radio band of the electromagnetic spectrum.

The radionics signals were completely immune to the system-wide jamming, and

were likewise completely undetectable to anyone using comlink equipment. The

downside was that like all other forms of electomagnetic radiation-infrared,

visual light, ultraviolet, gamma ray, X ray, and so on-radio band radiation

traveled at the speed of light. Tendra's messages to Lando, and his replies,

therefore likewise crawled along at the speed of light, and were highly

susceptible to interferenee. She was still aboard her ship, the Gentleman

Caller, at the outskirts of the Corellian system, ambling gradually in

toward the inner system at speeds that were distinctly sublight. It took

long hours for her messages to reach him-but it could well take long, weary

months before her ship could cross the same distance. Unless, of course,

they could bring down the interdiction field. And that was what they were

here to do. They arrived at the com section. He and Luke waited as the

service droid extended a data probe and plugged into the security port by

the com section door. Lando's original radionics set was still aboard his

ship, the Lady Luck, but the Intruder's tech staff had had no trouble at all

putting together their own radionics set from the plans and spec sheets the

Lady Luck also car-ried, and had actually managed to make their transmitter

more powerful, and their receiver more sensitive. But it wasn't radionics

Lando had on his mind. He was concerned with Tcndra. As if the situation

with Tendra wasn't complieated enough, there was the small matter of the

aetual information she was broadcasiing to Lando. It was enough to give the

intelligence staff fits. The security system beeped its clearance code, and

the hatch to the com section slid open. Lando looked inside before entering

and let out a small sigh. There she was, as if the mere thought of anxious

intelligence officers was enough to su mmon one. Lieutenant Be-lindi

Kalenda, of New Republic Intelligence, was waiting for them, and she did not

look happy. "Didn't anyone ever tell your lady friend how to count!" she

demanded the moment the hatch slid shut. Kalenda had never been much for

small talk, and she was just about at the end of her tether now. "What's the

problem now, Lieutenant Kalenda?" Lando asked wearily. "The same as always.

Numbers, that's the problem," Kalenda said. She was a somewhat odd-looking

young woman. Her wide-spaced eyes were glassy, almost milky, and a bit

off-kilter. She was almost, but not quite, cross-eyed. She was a bit

darker-skinned than Lando, and her black hair was done up in a complicated

sort of braid piled on top of her head. The scuttlebutt was that she had at

least some small skill in the Force, or at least that her intuition was

good, and her hunches tended to play out, that she seemed to see more than

most people. In any event, she had an odd way of seeming to look past your

shoulder at something behind you, even when she was glaring right at you-as

she was right now. "Numbers. We still have no idea how many ships arc

waiting out there at Sacorria." "We wouldn't know there were any ships at

all there, if not for Lady Tendra," Lando said sharply. "Maybe your NRI

operatives on Sacorria know more about ship spotting, but did any of them

have the initiative to get into the Corellian system and let us know about

them?" Kalenda looked woodenly at Lando. "1 never told you there were NRI

agents on Sacorria," she said warily. "And I never told you I used to be a

smuggler, but you know it just the same," Lando snapped. "Don't treat me

like a fool. If you didn't have agents there, someone wasn't doing their

job." "Let's try and get back on track here," Luke said, attempting to

smooth things over a bit. "What's wrong with Lady Tendra's message?" "We

have sent three follow-up queries asking her to give further details of the

types, sizes, and numbers of ships she saw. Her latest message seems longer

and more detailed, but once you weed out all the qualifiers and caveats, we

still have nothing but the vaguest sorts of estimates." "She can't tell you

what she doesn't know," Lando said, wondering how many times he would have

to tell that to Kalenda before she would believe it. Or when he would stop

being frustrated by the intelligence group reading messages intended for

him-and reading them first. "But we have to know more than we do!" Kalenda

said. "Whose ships are those? How many are there, and how well armed are

they? Who commands them, and what are their intentions? You'll have to

transmit again, and ask for more information." "I won't," Lando said

sharply. "I don't care what your psych teams say about her responding best

to me. She told you all she can, and I'm not going to help you harass her

anymore." "But we need more-" "The trouble is, she doesn't have any more,"

he snapped. "You have all the details you're going to get. Did you expect

Tendra to be able to tell you the fleet commander's middle name by looking

at ships in orbit through macrobinoculars? She's given us a warning, and a

very useful one. She's given you all the information she can, and there are

limits on how far we can press her." "And there are also limits to how many

messages you can ask her to send," Luke put in. "Every time she sends us

one, the odds of her being detected go up." Kalenda looked at Luke sharply.

"Detected? How? By whom?" "Think about it," Lando said. "You're the

intelligence officer. The way she's broadcasting is secret, but it's not

hidden in any way. She's broadcasting in clear, without any coding or

encryption. Anyone who had the right sort of gear for scanning radio-band

frequencies could lock in on her radionics transmission in a heartbeat. You

did it easily enough. Then they'd not only know that we know about the ships

tucked away in orbit of Sacorria, they'd be able to triangulate back and

zero in on her location, the same way we did." "What difference would that

make?" Kalenda asked. "Plenty, if we're talking about the people who control

the interdiction field. They'd want to silence her. Say they switched the

field off for thirty seconds. With good targeting and good planning, that

would be enough time for a ship to drop into hyperspace, pop out next to the

Gentleman Caller, blow Tendra out of the sky, and then return to base before

the field went back up." "But she broadcasted constantly for days without

anything happening to her," Kalenda objected. "She didn't have any choice.

She had to transmit until I responded. Now she doesn't have to take that

chance. Your radionics broadcasts are much more powerful than hers, and

they're closer to anyone listening in the inner system. If the opposition

spots your transmissions, they'll know to look for her." Kalenda's face was

expressionless. Had she known all this, and elected to risk Tendra's life on

the chance of getting more information? Or had it not occurred to her? That

seemed unlikely enough in an officer as sharp as Kalenda seemed to be-though

the last few days had been hard on all of them. Lando half expected her to

offer excuses, to lie and say she hadn't thought it through. But even if

Kalenda played a cagey game, she didn't play a dishonest one. "It's never

easy," she said, "figuring the balance. I knew the risk was there, but I had

to weigh the danger to her against the consequences if she had some bit of

data without knowing about it-something that could save dozens, or hundreds,

or millions of lives. If I had her here., and I could do a proper

debriefing, I'm sure she could tell us all sorts of useful things." "But you

don't have her here," Luke said. "No, I don't," Kalencia agreed. "Even with

a standard comlink I could get somewhere. But this business of waiting hours

and hours for an answer, and then waiting hours and hours for her to hear

the next question-it makes it impossible to get anywhere. If I had a comlink

we could scramble so there was at least some chance of keeping it

private-then we could get somewhere." "That's a lot of ifs," Luke said.

"Let's leave them all out. What are the odds on your being able to get

anything more out of Tendra as things stand?" Kalenda sighed and shook her

head. "Just about zero," she said. "But the stakes are so high." "So high

you had to try," Luke said. "I understand. But if it can't be done, it can't

be done." Kalenda smiled humorlessly. "That doesn't sound like a Jedi

attitude," she said. "Even Jedi know their limits," said Luke. Kalenda

nodded reluctantly. "Very well," she said. "There are a large number of

warships parked in orbit of Sacorria. That's al! we're going to get out of

Source T." "Al! right then," Lando said. "Let's leave it there. We're coming

up on Centerpoint Station. Figuring it out ought to be enough to keep us

busy right there." Kalenda looked toward Lando again, and this time her

glance seemed to meet his. "Thai's an understatement, if ever I heard one,"

she said. It didn't take Belindi Kalenda long to confirm that idea.

Centerpoint was so absurdly big, so complex, and so unlike anything in her

experience, that it was all but impossible to know where to start. Over the

next day or so the Bakuran fleet moved in on Centerpoint, advancing very

slowly. If Ossilcge was merely pretending to be cautious, he was doing a

good job of it. He moved his ships in carefully, pausing repeatedly in his

approach to scan every bit of the station to the limits of the Bakuran

detection systems. Not that Kalenda could blame him for caution. Not when

Centerpoint could have swallowed the Intruder whole through the smallest of

its sally ports. But even from the closest range Ossilege was willing to

risk, the scan results weren't good enough to satisfy Kalenda. She sat at a

scan station in the intruder's intelligence section, sifting through the

endless, inconclusive images of Centerpoint. It seemed as if the place was

deserted, but go try to prove a negative. The enemy could have hidden a

whole fleet of Star Destroyer-type warships in there, and a whole army of

stormtroopers. If the ships were properly powered down to standby, and if

the enemy was using the right sort of shielding, there would be no way to

detect them. What made it even more worrisome was that the enemy had shown

almost no large ships so far. They had to be hidden somewhere. That was part

of why Kalenda had wanted better numbers from Source T. If she had gotten

good, hard data from Source T about the types of ships she had seen at

Sacorria, she would have some idea of what might be lying in wait inside

Centerpoint. For that matter, Centerpoint might not even need ships to

defend itself. She had spotted fifty or sixty points on the exterior of the

station that might be weapons ports. The station was an incredible amalgam

of familiar and alien, modern and ancient. There was no way to know how long

a given object had been there, or who had built it, or if it still operated.

She ran the images across her scan screen, one after the other. Armored

portals and hemispherical blisters, long cylindrical objects on what looked

like aiming platforms, attached to complicated plumbing and wiring. Some of

them might be massive covered-over turbolascr sites. And those Phalanxes of

dark circular openings. Some could be missile batteries. And some might be

refueling stations or docking faeilities for refreshment bars. There was no

way to tell. They would have to send in a team. The Lady Luck launched

itself out of the Intruder's landing bay, and lifted off into the blackness

of the sky and toward Centerpoint. "Why do I always get handed these jobs?"

Lando asked no one in particular as he guided his ship toward the station.

"Maybe it has something to do with the way you volunteered," replied Gaeriel

Captison from the seat behind the copilot's station. Lando didn't feel too

happy about having her along, but she had insisted. The ex-Prime Minister of

Bakura had been granted full rights to speak for her government by the

present Prime Minister, and she had been determined to join the scouting

party, so that the Bakuran government was properly represented. Much to

Lando's regret, Threepio was also along for the ride, in case any

translation was needed. "I had to volunteer," Lando growled. "Once Luke

volunteered, I knew he was going to need his wing-man." Luke had launched

first, in his X-wing. He was flying about two kilometers ahead of Lando,

just close enough for easy visual tracking. Kalenda, in the copilot's seat

of the Lady Luck, gave Lando an odd look. Of course, all of her looks were

pretty odd, so maybe it didn't mean much of anything. Or maybe she was

wondering why a man who had worked so hard to establish a reputation as a

devil-may-care adventurer, the sort who only looked out for himself, was

sticking his neck out. Again. "Somehow, I think a Jedi Master would be able

to take care of himself," she said, "Maybe," Lando said. "And maybe not.

Let's just say that I owe him one," "Who in the galaxy doesn't?" Gaeriel

asked. "Actually, Lady Captison," said Kalenda, "you're the one I most wish

weren't here." "Thanks for that compliment," Lando muttered. Kalenda winced.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. Whal 1 meant was that Captain Calrissian and

Master Skywalkcr have military training. They're more likely to be ready

for-for whatever we find. Not really the job for an ex-Prime Minister."

"There are other skills in the universe besides knowing how to shoot and fly

and fight without getting killed," Gaeriel said. "If we get lucky, there

might be someone reasonable on that station. Someone we can negotiate with.

If so, having a trained negotiator with plenipotentiary powers on hand might

be a good thing." "We're going to have to get really lucky for that to

happen," Lando said. "So far we haven't found many people who are

particularly reasonable in this star system." Luke Skywalker felt good. He

was back at the controls of his X-wing, alone, except for R2-D2 riding in

his socket in the aft of the fighter. Maybe Mon Mothma wanted to push him

into a position of leadership. Maybe circumstances were pushing him that

way-or maybe the whole universe was pushing him that way. But right now, at

this very moment, it was just Luke, his droid, and his X-wing. Nearly all

pilots loved the solitude, the distance, of flying, and Luke was no

exception there. Flying was, in and of itself, a pleasure, an escape from

his worries and cares and duties. Not that the escape would last for long.

There was, as always, a job to do. Luke looked toward the massive station.

Indeed, they were now close enough that he would have been hard-pressed not

to look at it. It all but filled the X-wing's viewports. Luke could scarcely

believe his eyes. He had seen all the reports. He knew how big Centerpoint

was, or at least he had read the numbers-but somehow, numbers did not

express the hugeness of the object hanging in the sky, Centerpoint Station

consisted of a huge sphere, a hundred kilometers across, with a massive

cylinder stuck to each pole of the sphere. The station was roughly three

hundred kilometers from end to end, and rotated slowly around the axis

defined by the two polar cylinders. To judge by looking at the entire

exterior surface, it had been built almost at random over the millennia.

Boxy things the size of large buildings, pipes and cables and tubes of all

sizes running in all directions, parabolic antennae and strange patterns of

conical shapes sprouted everywhere. Luke spotted what seemed to be the

remains of a spacecraft that had crashed into the exterior hull and then

been welded in place and made into living quarters of some sort. At least it

looked that way. It seemed like a rather ad hoc way to add living space-and

adding living space seemed more than a bit redundant for something the size

of Ccnterpoint. And yet none of that spoke of the real size of the thing. It

was, after all, the size of a small moon-by some standards, maybe even the

size of a largish one. Luke had been on worlds smaller than this station.

This station was large enough to be a world, large enough to contain all the

myriad complexities, all the variety, all the mystery of a world. Large

enough that it would take a long time indeed to get from one end of it to

the other. Large enough that you could live your whole life there without

seeing all of it. Thai was Luke's definition of a world a place too large

for one person to experience in a lifetime. Luke had been to countless

worlds, and yet he knew he had never seen all there was to see on any of

them. People tended to label a world, and leave it at that, as if it could

be all one thing. But that was wrong. Another part of Luke's definition was

that a world couldn't be all one thing. It was easy to say Coruscant was a

city world, or that Mon Calamari was a water world, or that Kashyyyk was a

jungle world, and leave it at that. But there could be infinite variety in

the forms of a city, or an ocean, or a jungle-and it was rare for a world

really to be all one thing. The meadow world would have a mountain or two;

the volcano world would have its impact craters; the bird planet would have

insects. And Centerpoint Station was big, so big it was difficult to judge

the scale of the place. Space provided few visual cues available on the

ground to tell the eye how big things were. Apart from the questions of

size, the idea of a spinning space station was disconcerting. Spinning was

something that planets did, and they did it slowly. Centerpoint Station was

spinning at a slow and stately rate, but you could see it moving. The

techniques for producing artificial gravity on a station or ship without

spinning the object on its axis had been old at the founding of the Old

Republic. Luke had never seen such a thing as a spinning space station. It

seemed, somehow, not part of the natural order of things. An absurd thought,

of course. What was natural about starships and space stations? But there

was something else, something more fundamental than size or spin, bothering

Luke about the station. The station was old. Old by any human standard, old

by the standard of virtually any sentient being. So old that no one knew how

long ago it had been built, or who had built it, or why. And yet, it was not

truly old at all. Not compared to the ages of planets, or stars, or the

galaxy. Even ten million years was not so much as an eye blink to the four or five-or six-billion-year-old planets and stars and moons that filled the

universe. But if what seemed ancient to humans was all but newly minted in

the eyes of the universe, then surely all the endless generations of

remembered galactic history were nothing more than an eye blink of time. The

birth, the rise, the fall of the Old Republic, the emergence and collapse of

the Empire, the dawn of the New Republic, all shrank down into a single

brief moment, compared to the immensity of time on a truly galactic scale.

"-uke ou the-"I'm here, Lando, but your signal is breaking up badly." "-our

signa caking up t-Luke sighed. Another nuisance. With normal communications

stili utterly jammed throughout the Corel-lian system, the Bakurans had done

their best to improvise a laser com system that sent voice signals over

low-power laser beams. It did not work well, hut it did work. Maybe they

would have done better to use a version of Lando's radionics system, but it

was too late to think of that now, "Arloo, see if you can clean that up a

little." Artoo booped and bleeped, and Luke nodded. "Okay, Lando, try it

again. How do you read me?" "Much better, -anks, but 1 won't mind when we

can go ba-to regular com systems." "You and me both." "Well, I'm not

holding my breath. But never mind that now. Kalcnda spotted something. Look

at the base of the closest cylinder, -ight where it joins the sphere.

There's a -inking light -ere. See it?" Luke peered through the viewscreen

and nodded. "I see it. Hold on a second while I get a magnified view." Luke

activated the targeting computer and used it to get a lock on the blinking

light, then slaved his long-range holocam to the targeting system. An image

popped into being on the fighter's main viewscreen. There was the blinking

light-next to a large outer airlock door that was opening and shutting, over

and over again. "If that's not an invitation to come on in, I don't know

what is," Luke said. "We all agree with that back -is end," Lando's voice

replied. "Even Golden Boy understood what it meant, and he's incoherent in

over six million forms of communication." Luke grinned at that. There had

never been a great deal of love lost between C-3PO and Lando, and the last

few weeks had not done much to endear the droid to the human, "Glad it's

unanimous," Luke said. "The question is, do we accept the invitation?"

CHAPTER FOUR

Child's Play Anakin Solo stared at the featureless silver wall for a full

minute, and then thumped twice, hard, at one particular spot on it. Sure

enough, an access door popped open, revealing another purple-and-green

control keypad with a five-by-five grid of keys. Anakin frowned at the

keypad, as if trying to decide his next move. The experimental droid Q9-X2

watched Anakin carefully-which was really the only prudent way to watch him,

when one thought about it. Q9 found Anakin's skill with machinery, his

seemingly instinctive ability to make devices work, even when he had no idea

what the devices were, to be rcmarkahly disconcerting. It seemed to have

something to do with this Force business that was so important to this group

of humans. The theory seemed to be that Anakin's talent in the Force had

somehow given him the ability to see inside machines, to manipulate them

from the outside, down to the microscopic level. Not that Anakin was

infallible, by any means. He made mistakes-and sometimes he cjuite

deliberately made machines do things that no one else would want them to do.

But one could learn a lot about an unknown device by watching Anakin figure

it out. Thus, the droid had two purposes in watching the child-first was at

least to attempt to prevent him from doing too much damage as he wandered

from one piece of machinery to the other. His other duty was simply to

record what the chile did when he started fiddling with the hardware he

found. It was a full-time job-a more than full-time job really. Q9-X2 drew

most of the duty, thanks to hi; built-in recording systems. But even a droid

had tc recharge once in a while, and besides. Q9-X2 did no want to spend all

day. every day preventing this mos peculiar child from pushing the wrong

button anc melting the planet. If nothing else, the constant strair would be

too much for his judgment circuits. At least ii might be, and that came to

much the same thing. Perhaps not the most straightforward thought process,

jusl there, but it was enough of an argument to get him t break from

Anakin-watching once in a while, and tha1 was more than good enough. Anakin

punched a code into the access panel, and ; low chime sounded. Past

experience had taught Qc that this sound was not a good sign. It seemed to

be J sort of warning bell. "That will do, Anakin," said Q9. Anakin looked

around in surprise, as if he hadn' known Q9 was there. "Q9!" Anakin shouted.

"Oh!" If the droid had been programmed to do so, lit would have let out a

sigh. Q9 had been with him foi hours now, so it seemed unlikely the child

could bt surprised by his arrival. On the other manipulator Anakin hadn't

shown much sign of acting talent. Ql. had heard of the phenomenon known as

absentmind edness, but he hadn't had any reason to believe i really existed

until he met Anakin. "I think it would blt; best if you stopped examining

that machine unti Chewbacca or one of the others can take a look at it.'

"But I've almost got it working!" Anakin protested "Do you know what it

does? Do you have any idee what it does?" "N-n-no," Anakin admitted, quite

reluctantly. "Do you remember what happened the last time you heard that

chime and you kept going?" "A trapdoor opened," Anakin said, suddenly

finding reasons to look everywhere but at Q9. "Yes. A trapdoor opened. Under

me. And I fell into a waste disposal ehute. If I had not managed to jump my

repulsors to high power in time and bounce back up, what would I be right

now?" "Mashed down to a ten-centimeter cube. Unless the machine had melted

you down by now." "Quite right. But Chewbacea only found that out afterward,

didn't he?" "I helped him," Anakin protested. "Yes, you did. And we need you

around to help him more. So what would we do if the trapdoor was under you

this time?" Anakin's eyes grew wide with alarm. "Oh," he said. "Maybe I'd

better stop and let Chewie look." "Maybe you'd better," agreed Q9. "Come on,

let's go find the others." Anakin nodded. "Okay," he said, and turned back

the way they had come. Q9 followed after on his repulsors, relieved that

Anakin had decided to be cooperative-this time. Q9-X2 had been designed with

the capacity to learn new behaviors by trial and error, but he had never

expected to use that capacity to learn practical child psychology. The

skills required to handle Anakin with even marginal success were taking up

an inordinate portion of system resources. Q9 decided he was going to have

to perform a partial memory wipe on himself, and free up some capacity, when

this was over. If it ever was over. As they came out of the side passage and

into the central chamber, Q9 reflected that this situation was starting to

look rather permanent. They were a motley crew, all of them holed up in this

huge and alien place. Anakin and Q9 paused at the exit from the side passage

and looked around. Seen from this vantage point, the rcpulsor chamber seemed

too large and obvious for a hiding place, but, from the surface, Q9 knew

just how difficult it would be for outsiders to find this place. It was

shielded from every detection system that Q9 knew about-with the exception

of Anakin Solo. He had found this chamber-and Us identical twin on

Corellia-with no trouble whatsoever. And there were good reasons for hiding

the chamber. It contained the planetary repulsor that had propelled Drall

into its current orbit, unknown millennia ago. Likewise with Corellia and,

no doubt, with the other inhabited worlds of the Corellia system-Selonia and

the Double Worlds, Talus and Trains. Each of them had a hidden chamber like

this one. Each of them had a planetary repulsor like this one. And each of

them had been transported into the Corellian system long, long ago, by some

long-forgotten race for some long-forgotten reason. But now the hunt for the

repulsors was on. The party in the repulsor chamber had been cut off from

outside contact for some time, but the last information they had was that

the rebel forces on at least some and probably all of the inhabited worlds

were actively searching for the repulsors. The reason was not entirely

clear. While the repulsors would make powerful and effective weapons, they

were not war-winners, not by any means. According to Ehrihim, a planetary

repulsor could be used to knock out a ship in orbit-but it would be hard to

aim and unwieldy to use. There would be the element of surprise, but only

the first time the repulsor was used. There were other, simpler, cheaper,

more reliable ways of shooting down enemy spacecraft, and many of them were

available to the rebel groups. So why were they expending precious time and

effort in the middle of a war in order to find weapons of marginal utility?

Q9 gave it up. He had come to that point in the analysis two hundred

thirty-nine times before, and it didn't seem likely that an answer that did

not spring to mind any of those times would do so on the two hundred

fortieth attempt. Instead, he admired the strange and massive forms that

made up the main planetary repulsor chamber. The chamber itself was a huge

vertical cone, just under a kilometer from lop to bottom, the walls of which

appeared to be gleaming, perfect metallic silver. At the base of the conical

chamber were six smaller cones of the same silver material, each just over

one hundred meters tall. They were spaced evenly around a circle centered on

the axis of the pyramid. In the exact center of the chamber's base was a

seventh, larger cone, twice as tall as the others, but with the same slender

proportions. Passages to side chambers were spaced around the circumference

of the chamber, and vertical shafts in the floor of the chamber led to a

series of lower levels they hadn't even started to explore. It was a huge,

artificial, gleaming, impersonal alien place-and a ramshackle, improvised,

crude, homey-looking campsite was sitting right in the middle of it. right

by the base of the central cone. No doubt to human or Drallish-or even

Wookiee-eyes, the camp looked incongruous enough. To the droid's eyes, it

looked absurd. The Millennium Falcon was there-and it had been a very close

job flying it into trie concealed topside entrance. The Duchess's hoverear

was parked alongside it. A line with washing on it was strung between the

Falcon's topside parabolic antenna and a spike antenna on the roof of the

hovercar. Chewbacca was trying to use as little power as possible, to reduce

the chance of detection. Even the Falcon's clothes drier was off for the

duration. Folding chairs and tables were set up to one side of the two

vehicles, and the children, tired of the close confines of the Falcon, had

moved their sleeping pads outside and under the ship. As always, the

children had arranged their beds so they could all sleep together-the twins'

beds close together, with Anakin just a bit farther off. 09 could see all

the rest of the party from here-Jacen and Jaina carrying some sort of gear

out of the Millennium Falcon; Chewbacca the Wookiee, sitting at his camp

chair, fiddling with some recalcitrant bit of hardware or other; and the two

Drall, Ebrihim and his aunt, Mareha, the Duchess of Mastigophorous, at the

other end of the table, hunched over their own work. The two Drall, like all

of their species, were rather short by human standards, Ebrihim being just

about Jacen's'height. They were short-limbed and thick -bodied-downright

plump, in fact-and covered with thick brown fur. As Q9 had learned, to human

eyes they tended to look like stuffed toy animals. Some humans found them

hard to take seriously-but failing to take Drall seriously was always a huge

mistake. They were sober, serious, levelheaded beings in general. Even if

Ebrihim was found to be a bit Highly by Drallish standards, his aunt was one

of the most commonsensical beings Q9 had ever met. No doubt Anakin's latest

somewhat unnerving discovery would give them something else to work on, give

them another piece to the puzzle they were struggling to put together. They

intended to develop a useful understanding of the repulsor's control system.

All in all, Q9 felt, the two Drall had the hardest job of anyone in the

camp. The hardest job besides waiting, of course. And they were all doing

that. "Come on, Q9," said Anakin. "Quit dawdling." Another bit of child

psychology to note down-no matter how slow they might be when one was

waiting for them, no caregiver had ever moved fast enough when it was the

child doing the waiting. "Coming, Anakin." Jaccn set down the crate he was

lugging out of the Fa/con, looked up, and saw Q9 and Anakin heading back to

camp. "Finally," he said. "I thought they'd never get back. Now we can eat."

"Darn. We can? Maybe we can get them to stay away a little longer." Jaina

set down her own crate and waved to Anakin. Her little brother waved back.

"Come on, the survival rations aren't that bad." "They aren't that good,

either. Especially the nine millionth time in a row. I think they call them

survival rations because no one knows if you'll survive eating them." "Ha

ha. Very funny. I think you've told me that joke nine million times-and it

wasn't so good the first time." "Sorry," Jaina said, sitting down on her

crate. "Not much new inspiration here." "I know, I know," Jacen said.

"Things here don't change much." He could have gone and checked the

Millennium Falcon's chronometer, but without that and Chewbacca's rigid

insistence that they all eat and sleep at normal intervals, there was no

elue at all to how much time had passed. The light in the chamber was

unchangeably bright, coming from some diffuse and undefinable source in the

upper reaches of the cavern. There was no sound at all from the massive

cavern, except the sound of their own moving around and talking. But every

sound anyone made produced a series of faint, distant echoes, whispering

down from the top of the chamber for long seconds afterward. And the echoes

of every sound mingled with all the others, Anakin's laughter blending with

Chewbacca's growl or the whir of a machine, or the bang of a camp chair

bumping into a table merging with the low, serious voices of the two Drail

in conversation with each other. Whenever the camp was busy and active,

there was a constant whisper of background echoes reverberating down from

above, just enough to make the chamber seem less foreboding and empty. But

five or ten seconds after they stopped moving or talking, the chamber would

fall silent again, and the stillness would seem to shout louder than any

noise how strange this place was, how old its flawless gleaming silver

walls, how alien and powerful its capabilities. Night-or what they pretended

was night-was the hardest. With the silver walls still gleaming in the

unchanging light, they would go to bed-the children to their sleeping pads

in the shadow of the Falcon, Chewbacca to his usual shipboard bunk, the two

Drall to foldout beds in Aunt Marcha's hovercar, and Q9 plugged into a

charge stand. Then, all would be so quiet that the slightest noise seemed to

echo forever. A cough, a whisper, Ebrihini's muttering snore-or Anakin

crying in his sleep-seemed to carry up to heaven and come down again and

again. It was not the best way to live, Jacen reflected. But in a sense, it

was not a way of life at all. It was a way of waiting. All of them, even

Anakin, seemed to know things could not last this way forever-or even for

very long. There was a war being fought out there, and sooner or later, one

side or the other would find this place, and after that-After that, no one

even pretended to know what would happen. "Sit up properly, Anakin," said

the Duchess Marcha, "and stop banging your foot against the table leg. The

noise is bad enough, but the echoes will drive me to distraction." She shook

her head and looked toward her nephew, Ebrihim. "Honestly, nephew, I do not

understand these human children. What does Anakin gain by slouching over and

making such irritating noises?" "I have not dealt with them long enough to

obtain a clear answer, dearest aunt. However, I might add that it would seem

that even human parents do not understand the purpose behind much of what

human chil-dren do-and that in spite of having once been children

themselves." "Somehow, that docs not surprise me. I suppose our own young

ones can be some trouble, but I must say I have no recollection at all of

your misbehaving as badly as Anakin does." "Don't talk like I'm not here!"

Anakin shouted indignantly. These Drall grown-ups were worse than regular

human grown-ups for pushing kids around. "I was just thinking about stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Jaina asked. All of them ganging up on him, even the

other kids. "Just stuff." Anakin said, frowning fiercely. "Well, Anakin,

there is certainly nothing wrong with thinking," said Aunt Marcha. "I'm sure

the universe would be a better place if we all indulged in the practice a

bit more. If you could do your thinking without the banging, that would be a

great help. All right?" "All right," Anakin said, still feeling kind of

grouchy. But he knew he was lucky they had stopped asking questions when

they had. Because of all that Jedi stuff, he would have had to tell the

truth if they asked more, or his brother and sister would catch him fibbing,

and then he'd be in even more trouble. Sometimes Jacen and Jaina acted just

like grown-ups. If he had told them he had been thinking about that control

panel Q9 had told him to stop fooling with, they all would have yelled at

him. He knew he could get it to do something. Something big, and important.

What, exactly, he wasn't sure. But something. He could feel that. It was

like the control panel was calling to him, asking him to hurry back and set

the machinery free, let it go out and do the work it was supposed to do. But

it didn't matter. They hadn't asked him about it. So he could think about it

all he liked. "Come, dearest aunt," said Ebrihim to the Duchess. "It is

late. Everyone else is asleep. We have made great progress, but we can do no

more with our researches tonight." The two Drall were sitting in the

hovercar. reviewing their notes for the day. And Ebrihim was right. They

could go no further for the moment. "Whatever progress we have made is only

the barest start toward understanding this place," the Duchess replied. "We

have some idea of how the alien keypads are laid out, and what-some of the

button markings and color coding seem to mean. But going from there to

operating this place, and shutting it down safely-a machine that has been

operating for at least tens of thousands of years and perhaps much longer?

We have no idea how the system draws its power. Suppose we do learn how to

turn it off. Where does the power go once it is not coming here? If it is

some sort of geologic energy tap, as I suspect, we might set off massive

seismic disturbances. I think it most probable that this chamber is but one

part of a much larger system. I suspect this is merely the nozzle, if you

will, for a propulsion system woven into the very being of this world. We

are dealing with a device that can move a planet. A device of that power

could also destroy a planet, if it was not used properly. I do not see any

way of learning all we need to know in any reasonable period of time."

Ebrihim smiled faintly and let out a short bark of a laugh. "Unless, of

course, we simply instruct Anakin to find the main control panel and then

set him loose on it." Marcha's eyes widened in horror. "Do not say such a

thing, nephew. Not even in jest. Jokes like that have a way of coming true."

Anakin's eyes snapped open so suddenly it startled him. He was, quite

abruptly, wide awake and staring up at the under hull of the Millennium

Falcon. He sat up quietly and looked around. Jacen and Jaina were still

sound asleep. Chewbacca was a deep enough sleeper that Anakin didn't even

worry about him. Ebrihim and Aunt Marcha were in the hoverear. Anakin turned

and looked in that direction. All the car's lights were out. the windows

darkened, and the hatch was shut. That left Q9. The droid spent most nights

in standby mode, partially powered down, plugged into a portable charging

stand between trie hoverear and the Falcon, with his back to the larger

craft. Anakin also knew that the bulk of the Falcon would block nearly al!

of the droid's sensors. So long as he kept the ship between himself and Q9,

he ought to be able to sneak away without any problems. Moving as silently

as he could, he pushed back his blanket and rolled over so he was on his

hands and knees. He crawled out from under the Falcon, and.into the endless

bright light of the repulsor chamber. Anakin blinked once or twice as he got

to his feet. Strange to be sneaking around in light as bright as day. But

there was no time to worry about that kind of stuff. Someone might wake up

any second and notice he was gone. Padding along in his bare feet, clad only

in his underwear, Anakin moved straight out for the perimeter of the huge

chamber, glancing over his shoulder now and then to make sure that he was

keeping the Falcon between himself and Q9. He reached the perimeter and

trotted unhesitatingly into the closest tunnel entrance. The passage he

wanted was almost on the other side of the chamber from here, but that did

not worry him. The others might get lost in the side passages, but not

Anakin. He could feel which way was the right way. He moved unerringly

through the complicated maze of passages, taking every turning and passage

with absolute confidence. He eould feel the panel getting closer. Closer.

And there it was, just as he had left it, the initial keypad open and

waiting. He stared at it for a minute, then reached out his hand and held

it, palm down, over the pad. He closed his eyes, reached out, and fell the

interior of the pad, tracing the eireuits, the logic paths, the potentials

and safeties that were inside the machine. It had been asleep for so long,

so very long, waiting for someone to wake it up. And now. Now was the time.

He knew, knew with absolute certainty, how to make it work. No Q9-X2 here to

tease him, or make him worry about trapdoors and stuff. He knew. He was

sure. Anakin Solo reached out and pressed the center button of the

five-by-five grid. The green button turned purple. Good. He paused for a

moment, and then, stretching his fingers as far as they would go. he pressed

all four of the corner buttons at once. They turned orange, not purple. He

frowned. That wasn't quite what he had expected, but never mind. Move on.

Starting at the top and moving counterclockwise, he pressed the center

button of each outer row in turn. These did indeed turn purple. That made

him feel a bit better. The keypad made the chiming noise again, but this

time it wasn't just once. It kept going, over and over and over. Anakin

closed his eyes once more and held his palm over the keypad. Yes. Yes. That

was it. Starting from the bottom right, and moving clockwise, he pressed

each of the corner buttons in turn. Each turned from orange to a reassuring

purple as he pressed it. He paused, only for a moment, just before he pushed

in the last one. Was this such a good idea? He was going to get in trouble

for this, he knew that much. But would it be so much trouble that it

wouldn't be worth it? No. He had to do it. There was no turning back now. He

pushed in the last orange button. It turned purple, and suddenly the chiming

noise was louder and higher-pitched. There was a low-pitch hum from behind

Anakin, and he turned around. A section of the floor was sliding away. For a

moment he wondered if he had been wrong about trapdoors. But then a whole

complicated console rose slowly up out of the floor, a strange-looking

control panel, all in the same silver stuff as the chamber itself, in front

of a stranger-looking little seat that looked as if it were intended for a

being that bent in different places from a human. Hopping with excitement,

all doubts forgotten, Anakin sat down in the odd little chair and did not

even notice that it was adapting itself to his body, reforming itself,

lifting him up and moving him forward so he would be able to reach the

controls more comfortably. He stared at the instruments for a full minute,

then extended his arms and spread his fingers out as far as they would go.

He shut his eyes and reached out into the intricately, beautifully

complicated universe of switches and paths and controls and linkages behind

the knobs and levers and dials that covered the control panel. Power

ratings, capacitance stowage, vernier control, targeting subsystems, safety

overrides, shielding constraints, thrust balancing. What they all were, what

they all meant, how they all worked, and worked together-all of it flowed

into him, as if the ancient machines were speaking to him, telling him their

story. He knew it all. He knew it all now. Anakin put his hands on the

control panel and felt it all flow through him. Wake it up. He had to wake

it up. The whole system had slept for so long. It wanted to come awake, to

revive itself, to do its proper work. He moved as if he were asleep, in a

dream, moving to what his ability in the Force told him he could do, not to

do what needed doing, or what he ought to do. He knew, somehow, the

compulsion, the desire to make the system come on, was within himself, that

the machinery was nothing more than machinery. But it fell as if it were the

machine whispering to him, not his own in-stincts and abilities urging him

on. Pull that long lever to start the initiator process activator. Twist

that dial to bring the geogravitic energy transfer system on-line. Tap in

that command sequence at the standard five-by-flve keypad to clear the

safeties. Somewhere, deep below him, the ground shuddered slightly, and a

low, powerful hum began to build. The chiming noise grew more and more

intense, becoming louder and louder, the chiming coming faster and faster. A

flat spot on the control panel twisted and shimmered and then started to

swell upward, to form itself into a handle like a spacecraft's joystick.

Anakin reached out to it with his left hand, barely aware of what he was

doing, not noticing that the handle was lorming itself, reshaping itself, to

fit itself to his hand. A graphic display appeared in the air over the

handle. a hollow wireframe cube, made up of a grid of smaller cubes five

high, five across, and five deep. All the smaller cubes were transparent,

but, as Anakin watched, one cube, in the far lower left corner, turned

green. Slowly, carefully, he pulled back on the joystick. The solitary green

cube turned purple, and suddenly the three transparent cubes it touched

turned green. The corner cube turned orange, the second layer turned green,

and a new layer of cubes turned purple. The colors spread out until the

entire five-by-five-by-five grid shifted through green to purple to bright,

glowing orange. The ground trembled again, and the hum of power grew deeper,

and. somehow, more emphatic, more solid, the sound of massive energies

waiting to be unleashed. Anakin let go of the joystick. At the moment he

did, the chiming slopped. The control chamber was suddenly silent as the

power hum dropped away into lower and lower frequencies, until it was so

deep a tone it was below the threshold of hearing. The joystick melted away,

flattened itself back down into the control panel. And there, in the blank

space at the center of the panel, a new button created itself, flowing up

out of the panel surface, shaping itself into a disk about six centimeters

across and a centimeter high. As he watched, the button shifted its color,

changed from silver to green, green to purple, purple to orange, plain

orange to a throbbing, pulsating orange, pulsing from the color of molten

iron to the ciull near red of a dusky sunset. The chamber was silent. Anakin

stared in open-mouthed fascination at the final button, his eyes wide, the

light of the throbbing orange button throwing weird and shifting colors onto

his clothes, his face, his eyes. The button. The button was there. It called

to him, or else his own compulsion, his compulsion to make machines work, to

make machines do, called from deep inside himself. He did not know. He did

not care. He reached out his left hand. He held it poised over the button

for a moment. And then he pushed it down. Lightning flared out from the apex

of the central cone in the great chamber, lancing out toward each of the

lower cones, slamming into them with sparks and fire. Thunder, deafeningly

loud, the sound of the earth eracking open and splitting itself apart,

roared out through the great chamber. Blinding light exploded out from the

lightning strike to reflect off every silver surface, flooding the chamber

with brilliance. The lesser cones answered back, sending their own

thunderbolts hack to strike at the top of the center cone, blasting it into

incandescence. Then, as suddenly as it had been there, the lightning was

gone, and the cones were as they had been, unaffected by the massive power

that had played around them. The sound of the thunder echoed through the

chamber, reverber-ating back and forth like the angry war cry of some

long-forgotten god. The chamber shuddered and shook with the thunder.

Chewbacca, aboard the Falcon, was thrown from his bunk as the ship' bounced

and lurched along with the chamber. He was halfway to the ship's control

room before he eame fully awake and realized the ship was on the ground. Not

just on the ground, but under it, in a sealed chamber, with no hope of

escape. Shields. The Falcon's shields would provide at least some

protection. He had to get everyone aboard, and fast. He turned and headed

for the open access ramp. The twins had gotten out from under the ship. They

were on their feet and struggling to stay that way as the ground bucked and

heaved under their feet. Chewbacca shouted for them to get aboard, but the

echoes of the thunder were so loud that even his voice did not carry. He

waved his arms, gesturing for them to get aboard. Jacen saw him and nodded

vigorously. He grabbed his sister's arm and pulled her toward th e ramp. The

simple effort of trying to move at all was enough to knock them both off

their feet. But they kept on moving, crawling toward the access ramp. The

shaking of the around seemed to ease off, even as the echoing roar faded

away. But Chewhacca had no illusions that things would stay quiet for long.

He rushed down the ramp even as the twins were crawling up it. The others.

He had to get to the others. Moving as if he were on the deck of a

storm-tossed ship in the sea, he made his way to the far side of the ship.

The hovercar had toppled over on its side. As he moved toward it the side

hatch popped open and Kbrihim came crawling out, half carrying, half

dragging his aunt Mareha. She seemed to have a bad cut on the left side of

her head. She looked half-stunned. Somehow, without even knowing how he did

it, Chewbacca crossed the distance to the hovercar. He reached out and

lifted Mareha away from Ebrihim's side, then tucked her under one arm and

lifted Ebrihim down to the ground with the other. He shouted at Ebrihim to

get aboard the Falcon, and pointed toward the ship. Either Ebrihim could

understand what Chewbacca was saying or else he understood the gesture. He

nodded and started toward the ship. The ground had all but stopped moving,

and Ebrihim was to walk more or less without being knocked over. Chewbacca

looked toward the ship himself and saw Qy, down and inert, slumped over next

to his charging stand. Still carrying Marcha, he moved to the charging stand

and examined the situation. The droid looked completely dead and motionless.

Chewbacca pulled at the cable connecting the droid to the charger, but the

connection seemed to have gotten jammed somehow. Chewbacca yanked harder,

and the cable snapped. He scooped the droid up in his free hand and headed

for the Falcon. At that moment the lightning struck again, blasting out from

the central cone toward the six smaller cones that surrounded it. Chewbacca

looked up involuntarily to see the dazzling bright display, but then

realized his mistake and looked away before he could be blinded by the

light. The light he could look away from, but the sound, the overwhelming

sound-there was nothing he could do to shut that out. He hurried toward the

ship as the lesser cones answered back to the master, sending their own

bolts of fire back toward the central cone. The noise redoubled, louder than

ever, and the ground bucked harder, nearly knocking Chewbacca over. The

Falcon was bouncing on its landing jacks, riding their shock absorbers.

Chewbacca staggered around to the far side of the ship and got to the entry

ramp. He had to time his rush up the ramp between the buckings and surgings

of the silver surface of the ground. Judging the moment to be right, he

rushed aboard ship. He hit the switch to raise the ramp, then got to the

lounge. He set the Duchess Marcha and Q9-X2 down on the deck as gently as he

could. Ebrihim had already produced a first-aid kit from somewhere, and

knelt down next to his aunt. The two Drall, the droid, the twins-Chewbacca

suddenly realized that Anakin wasn't there. He had half assumed the youngest

child would be with the twins. He turned and headed toward the door.

"Anakin's safe!" Jacen shouted over the thundering din, clearly reading

Chewbacca's thoughts from his action. "He's in some sheltered side tunnel. I

can feel him in the Force. He's not hurt, and he's feeling more scared we'll

be mad at him than scared he'll get hurt. I think he set this off."

Chewbacca just stood there and stared at Jacen for a moment, unsure what to

do. He had sworn to protect the children above all else. If Anakin were

indeed safe, then he could button up the ship and wait this thing out. But

if-if-Anakin were in danger, then what could he do? Search all the endless

side corridors for him during this massive disturbance? But if he did that,

he would be exposing the ship, and those aboard her, to greater danger. He

would have to get the shields raised and lowered so he could go in and

out-and no one besides him knew the ship well enough to keep the shields up.

"lo keep the others safe, he would have to stay here. Very well. It was not

certain, it was not perfect, but it was the best judgment, the best decision

he could make under the circumstances. If he had judged wrong, and harm came

to Anakin as a result, then, he knew, his own life would be forfeit, and

rightly so. It took him but a moment to think it all through. But thought

was nothing without action. He rushed for the cockpit and activated the

Falcon's, shields at full strength. The sound faded away somewhat as the

shields engaged. Chewbacca tried to activate the ship's rcpulsors to raise

her up off the heaving deck of the chamber, but they would not engage. He

checked the propulsion readouts. Every propulsion system was offline. He had

no idea why. But there was no time to worry about that now. He needed to get

the ship up off the deck before it was bounced apart. Even without the

propulsion systems, there was a way to do that. Chewbacca worked the shield

controls, shifting power away from the upper shields to the lower ones,

extending the lower shields as far as they would go, and softening them, so

they formed a gradual thickening membrane rather than a hard edge-if only

the trick would work. The Falcon hesitated a moment, and then rose up off

her landing jacks to rest on a cushion of softened lower-side shields. The

bouncing and bucking and heaving of the deck was still there to be felt, but

the shields smoothed it down and gave the ship a chance to ride it out. He

set the shields to self-compensate and maintain their betting. He could at

least hope the shields would protect them against what was happening, but he

would not be able to do more than hope until he knew what was going on. All

he knew for sure was that it seemed to be happening above them all. He

looked up, just as another spectacular cycle of lightning bursts flashed

back and forth between the tops of the cones, and then another, and another.

The cycle was clearly growing faster, and more powerful. There was no way of

knowing what sorts of energy and radiation those bolts were putting out.

Chewbacca could do little more than hope that the Falcon's shields would

protect those inside against it all. The lightning transfers grew faster and

faster, more and more powerful, until all the cone-tops were a constant

blaze of light, joined together by spikes of fire. Then, it seemed, the

cone-tops drew the fire in, absorbing the energy that flowed around them.

The roaring thunder of the lightning faded away as the cone-tops flared and

flickered with energy, light of every color sparking and shimmering on their

surfaces. Just when Chewbacca thought the display had reached its climax, he

realized the scintillating colors W'cre flowing down the cones, toward the

bottom of the chamber-toward the Millennium Falcon. Chewbacca tried

frantically to activate one of the propulsion systems, any of the propulsion

systems-but ail of them stayed stubbornly off-line. Suddenly the entire ship

was balhed in lightning, a firestorm of sparks and flares that coursed

around the shields, sparking and flaring everywhere. Every circuit breaker

and safety cutoff in the ship tripped at once, and Chewbacca made no effort

to reset any of them. He had no desire to have any active circuits running

with that much power flowing around the ship. As suddenly as it had flowed

over the ship, the wave of power swept past it. Chewie craned his neck

around to watch the energy wave moving, just in time to see it incinerate

the hovercar, detonate Q9's charging stand, and set everything else left

outside ablaze. The blaze of energy swept on, swooping up the sides of the

chamber's conical interior wall, rushing up toward the apex of the chamber,

a ring of seething power that grew brighter, more powerful, more energetic

as it moved higher up the cone. The ring of fire merged into a single point

of raging power at the apex of the cone and exploded outward in a torrent of

light that streamed forth in all directions, blindingly bright. The walls of

the cone seemed to shudder, shake, expand as the power burst rippled through

them. Another stream of scintillating power coursed down the big central

cone and the six lesser ones, down over the base of the chamber, blanketing

the Falcon in bolts of blazing glory as it swept past the ship, out and up

and in toward the point of the conical chamber, racing toward the pinnacle,

blasting out its energy, making the very walls of the cone shimmer and shake

with its power. And again. And again. And again. Until the power burst did

not meet in a point, but instead reached the top of an open cone, and

exploded as a ring of light-with the blue skies of daylight visible above.

Chewbacca, still stunned and amazed, began to realize what was happening.

The conical chamber of the planetary repulsor was transforming itself,

opening itself out, opening out its apex point to give itself a clear shot

at the sky. Another power burst swept over the ship. Another. Another,

another, another, eaeh burst riding up to the top of the now-open cone and

forcing it open wider and wider and wider. Chewbaeea checked the shield

displays and saw that, for a miracle, they were holding. That was, no doubt,

less a testimony to the strength of the shields t han it was to the

characteristics of the energy sweeping past the ship. The power bursts were

flowing over the shields, not attempting to penetrate them. But Chewbacca

was past worrying about such things. Whether or not they survived, or were

burnt to a cinder, was out of his hands, of anyone's hands. This titanic

machine would do whatever Anakin had ordered it to do, and nothing could

stand in its way. Chewbacca thought of the endless megatons of rock and

stone and dirt the chamber had to be slamming out of the way, the massive

shock waves that had to be reverberating throughout the whole vicinity.

There had been a whole series of underground tunnels leading to the hidden

entrance to this place. Surely all of them had collapsed, along with the

Drallist building that sat atop them. The Drallists had been searching for

the planetary repulsor. By now, beyond doubt, the planetary repulsor had

found them, destroyed them as they had attempted to destroy the New

Republic's government. Chewbacca found a rough justice in that thought, and

smiled to himself. Jacen came into the cockpit and slipped into the pilot's

seat, his father's seat, straining to see what was happening. The boy seemed

very small, and very fright-ened-and yet controlled, adult, serious. There

was no time now to feel the terror of the moment. That could come later.

That was what nightmares were for. The boy looked up and saw what was

happening, saw the job that the roiling, seething energies were doing. "It's

opening/' Jacen said, his voice full of wonder. "And it's getting higher."

Chewbaeea looked up. He hadn't noticed that, but Jacen was right. The walls

of the cone were getting taller, even as they spread wider. Perhaps that was

to insure the stone and earth it shoved out of the way did not tumble down

into the cavern. Perhaps it was for some other reason altogether. Who could

know what the makers of this stupendous device had intended? Chewbacca

turned toward Jacen and pointed toward the outside of the ship, then held

his hand out, palm down, at the height of a smali child's head as he let out

a worried growl. "Anakin's still a!l right," said Jacen. "I can feel him.

He's out there"Jacen pointed toward one specific point in the perimeter of

the chamber wall-"and he's scared-maybe even more scared than we are-I mean

more scared than Jaina and me-but he's all right." In the midst of his own

fear, Chewbaeea managed to find a little bit of a laugh. A clever recovery

on Jacen's part. The child knew that Wookiees did not like admitting to

fear, and had found a way to avoid offending a Wookiee who was downright

terrified. Any rational being would be terrified by all this. Chewbaeea

pointed to the back of the Falcon and made another interrogatory-sounding

noise, "They're all okay back there," said Jacen. "Aunt Marcha woke up, and

I think she'll be okay. Except Q9. He's still dead-or off, or shorted out,

or whatever. He's not moving, anyway," Chewbacca nodded. They were lucky any

of them were alive. If Q9 could be repaired, Chcwie would attend to it

later. If not-well, one casualty seemed a very low price indeed for riding

out this storm. Another pulse of energy swept over the Falcon, a bit rougher

ride than the last one. The ship bounced once or twice and spun about a few

degrees to starboard. Chewbacca growled thoughtfully. A reminder, that was.

A reminder that they were nowhere near close enough to the end of this to

talk about living through it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Down the Hatch Thrackan Sal-Solo, self-proclaimed Diktat of the Corellian

Sector, leader of the Human League, stared at the bottle in front of him and

gave serious thought to the idea of getting himself good and drunk. There

seemed precious little else he could do. besides wait. Thraekan had never

been much good at waiting-which was ironic, for he had spent much of his

adult life waiting. Waiting for a superior to resign or retire or be

arrested, waiting for a plot to mature, waiting for the time to be right,

waiting for the long-awaited offer of the succession from Dupas Thomree,

Diktat of Corellia'-waiting until the day Thomree died, and that fool

Gailamby had taken his place instead. Waiting for the Empire to wake up and

understand the danger represented by the damnable Rebels, waiting for the

Emperor to strike back from the hammer blows the Rebellion gave the Empire,

waiting for Thrawn's con-terstrike to succeed. Waiting, all of it, in vain.

Waiting for things that had never happened, waiting for sweet victories that

had melted away into bitter, humiliating defeat. Thraekan grabbed the bottle

by the neck, like an enemy he was trying to strangle. He stood up and walked

around his desk, out of his office, and out into the corridor of the dig

headquarters. The dig HQ was not as large or as comfortable a place as the

old headquarters, but at least it was secure. Thrackan would have preferred

to keep his headquarters in the underground bunker in the countryside on the

far side of the city-but the Human League had been forced to abandon that

supposedly secret location. The blasted Selonians had yanked their

compatriot, Dracmus, out of there, along with Thrackan's traitor cousin, Han

Solo. It hadn't taken much imagination to realize that a group that could

take two prisoners out of an underground bunker could just as easily put one

bomb in. So Thrackan had been forced to withdraw from there, and they were

minus one headquarters. Call it another debt on the account Thrackan was

drawing up against Han Solo. Sooner or later, Han Solo would pay for all of

it. Thrackan walked out of the building and out into the fading light of

twilight. He watched the second-shift men coming on duty, headed for their

work underground. A number of them saw him and cheered. Thrackan forced a

smile onto his face, put his hand to his forehead, and gave the boys a

small, Informal sort of salute. He made no effort to hide his bottle. That

was one nice thing about his boys. He didn't have to pretend he wasn't

human, that he didn't like a drink now and again. Or even a drink more often

than that. Now if only his boys were good at finding things. They were still

searching for the Corellian planetary repulsor. It had to be hidden in the

tunnels somewhere beneath them. It had to be. Or things were going to get

very sticky indeed. Except things were already sticky. Solo had escaped.

Leia Organa Solo had escaped. The Bakurans had busted through the

interdiction field, somehow. They were loose in the system, and might have

already seized control of Centerpoint. Things were not going according to

plan. At least he had managed to accomplish a little bit of revenge,

already. Lcia Organa Solo might have escaped, but others never would. With

any luck at all, history would record that Governor-Gen-eral Micamberlecto

had died of injuries he suffered during the initial attack. But even if the

true story of the Frozian's demise came out, Thrackan wouldn't much mind.

Terror could be a very useful tool. But killing the Governor-General was

incidental. The stakes were much higher than that-and Thrackan knew just how

dangerous a game he was playing. He knew more of the real story than anyone

else in this star system. He knew how much of a bluff it all was. He knew

how many dangers surrounded him from all sides. He had claimed to control

the starbuster plot. For the moment, at least, it suited the purposes of the

starbuster's real masters to let him go on claiming it. It provided them

with additional cover, an extra level of protective deception. Not that they

could do anything about it at the moment, but more than likely they believed

Thrackan would keep to his side of the bargain, and back off his claim when

the proper moment came for them to reveal themselves. They could believe

what they wanted. Thrackan had no intention of doing any such thing. The

starbuster's masters also believed that Thrackan would turn over the

planetary repulsor on this world as soon as he found it, in return for

granting Thrackan a free hand on the planet Corcllia. They could go on

believing that, too, if they wished. Thrackan had other plans. The masters

of the starbuster had told all the rebel leaders that the planetary

repulsors were superb defensive weapons, nothing more. Thrackan knew better.

Thrackan knew it would suit the starbuster's controllers just fine if no one

ever got the things working, so long as the controllers sat on top of them

and kept anyone else from getting near them. But Thrackan knew the repulsors

were weapons of denial, blackmail weapons, weapons of threat that worked

best if they were aimed, but never fired. Let the other rebel leaders, the

dirt-grubbing Selo-nian Overden or those bumbling fools, the Drallists,

think what they might. Let the scramble-brains on Ta-lus and Trains believe

what they were told about the repulsors. Thrackan knew better. He knew the

masters of the starbuster plot had double-crossed them all. And Thrackan

also knew that a double cross was nothing more than the necessary first step

toward a successful triple cross. But none of it would do any good unless

his people could find the repulsor and get it operational. If the

dirt-digging Selonians could do it, surely humans could do at least as well.

"Diktat Sal-Solo! Diktat!" Thrackan turned around to see General Brimon

Yarar, the man in charge of the dig, jogging toward him. "What is it,

General?" "News, sir. Maybe big news. The Drall planetary repulsor just came

alive." "What?!" "Just now, sir. The jamming is still in place, of course,

so we can't get any more information. But our sensors just picked up a huge

jolt of repulsor activity coming from Drall. Unfocused, uncontrolled, but

it's there. The Drallists have got the thing working." "I don't believe it,"

Thrackan said. "I can't believe it. The Selonians, maybe. They're good at

underground work. The Overden has some good technicians. But the DralHsts?

They were never anything." In moments of honesty, Thrackan knew his own

Human League forces were not exactly the cream of society. Thugs, most of

them. Even with ail the help he got from the starbuster's masters, he had

not been able to recruit many high-quality people. He had learned to accept

that, and view his troops as the best tools he could lay hands on, if not

the best tools for the job. But, thugs or not, compared to the Drallists,

they were perfect gentlemen and leading scientists, every one of them.

Thrackan had at least been able to buy himself a few disgruntled

technicians, some ex-Imperial soldiers and administrators. Not the

Drallists. Whatever else you could say against the Drallish spe-cies, the

pompous little fools were relentlessly honest, upright, cautious people.

There had actually been some sort of discontent on Corellia, and probably on

Selonia and Talus and Tralus, around which to build a revolt. On Drall, the

rebellion had been, out of necessity, completely artificial. Even the Human

League wouldn't have taken on humans as low-down as the Drallists-and

Drallist technical capability was no better than Drallisl behavior. The idea

that they had been able to get a planetary repulsor up and running was

simply incredible-Wait a moment. Wait just a moment. Maybe the Drallists

hadn't gotten it running. Maybe someone else had managed that little trick.

Suddenly Thrackan had a shrewd idea who that might be-and if he was right,

he might just pick up a nice little bonus from all this. Because no matter

who had gotten the repulsor running, Thrackan Sal-Solo was willing to bet

they would not keep it long. He turned toward Yarar. "Get the best of the

repulsor tech crews together, along with a strike platoon." He lifted the

bottle to his lips and took a big swallow. A warm glow started to flow

through his insides. "We're going to pay a little call on the Drallists."

Luke watched the blinking light over the huge airlock chamber, and wondered

who was on the other side, asking them in. Or more accurately, wondered if

it would be wise to head on in. He and Lando had been debating the point for

five minutes now. Luke decided to turn the debate on its head. "Okay, just

for the sake of argument," he said, "suppose we don't go in that airlock.

What's the alternative?" "I don't know," Lando replied. "If we landed on the

other -ide of the sphere, or went in on the end of the farther cylinder, we

-ight be able to explore f-weeks before anyone caught up with us. And that

might -e a goo-idea." "How so?" Luke asked. ugrave;'You know me, Luke. I

think big." "That's for sure." Lando had made something like a career out of

building huge projects of one sort or another. Of course, the projects had a

bad habit of going bust for reasons that were no fault of Lando's, but that

was neither here nor there. "So this place is big. What do you think about

it?" "I thi nk something is wrong. I thought so the first time I saw this

place, and the closer -e get, the surer I am. I think big, but I also -ink

in function. Big makes sense for some jobs, but this is too -uch. That

station has a hundred, a -ousand times the volume it should for any job I

can think of that it might do, and the underlying design is all wrong. The

-oeals don't see -at something's wrong because the station has been here so

-ong. They take il for granted, think of it as a natural object. But trust

me. Something about that station feels wrong." Feels wrong. Lando had no

talent in the Force. Luke was sure of that. But that didn't mean his

intuitions couldn't be right. Luke shut his eyes and reached out, probing

with his Force ability, searching for the fee! of the station, of the beings

aboard it. He could detect exactly one sentient mind, a human. Only one?

Perhaps there were others, their minds shielded from him in some manner. He

reached out and touched the one mind he could sense, touched as gently as he

eouid. He discovered no sense of evil or bad intent. What he did find was a

powerful sense of fear and uncertainty. He probed toward the blinking light,

and the airlock door that was still opening and shutting. There was one mind

there, a human one, a young woman. And that mind still seemed worried and

afraid-but friendly enough, for all of that. "I say we accept the

invitation," Luke said. "You're right-we could spend weeks exploring on our

own. But J don't think we have weeks to spare. And 1 think the natives are

friendly. At least, there's one friendly one." There was a dead silence on

the line that lasted long enough for Luke to start wondering if the laser

com system had given out altogether. But then Lando finally spoke. "When

you're right, you're right," he said. "We have to take [he chance." "All

right," said Luke. He brought his throttle forward just a fraction and flew

toward the airlock, the Lady Luck right behind him. As they drew closer, the

light stopped flashing and the airlock door swung open wide and stopped

there. Luke had to do some tricky flying to line his fighter up with the

airlock and match lateral velocity as it rotated. Doing so while flying

inverted made it only slightly more difficult. Luke was used to flying in

all sorts of attitudes relative to his target, and with the station spinning

to simulate gravity, he had to make sure the X-wing's landing pads were

pointed straight out at the sky as he made his way into the airlock. The

closer Luke got to the airlock entrance, the bigger he realized it was. From

a distance, it had appeared of ordinary proportion, but in reality, the

thing could have handled the Imruder, the Defender, and the Sentinel flying

side by side. Luke's X-wing Hew in with as much room to spare as an insect

flying into Jabba the Hutt's wide-gaping mouth. Lando followed right behind

in the Lady Luck. Admiral Hortcl Ossilege was less than happy when the

Intruder's detectors picked up the massive, off-1he-scale repulsor burst

from Drall. Surprises were rarely welcome in a military operation, but

doubly so when one was this far behind enemy lines and dealing with forces

of such power. Lando Calrissian had warned him that his tactics of audacious

advance might get him in over his head. Well, so be it. There was no real

going back. Caution would gain him nothing. He would have to investigate

that repulsor burst. It was almost certainly another planetary repulsor. But

the burst seemed to have fired at nothing at all-almost like a flare shot

straight up in the air for no better purpose than to attract attention.

Ossilege frowned to himself as he stared at the detector screen.

Perhaps-perhaps-that was exactly what it was. With all conventional

communications shut down, how else to announce one had captured a repulsor?

A signal flare. But the enemy, the opposition, had kept their repulsor at

Selonia secret. That suggested the people holding this repulsor were on the

other side. Perhaps warning the other side that they were not the only ones

with such a mighty weapon. Not just a signal flare, but a warning shot,

perhaps. Clearly, Ossilege had no choice but to investigate. But the timing

could not have been worse. His ships had just taken up their positions

around Ccnterpoint Station. Gaeriel Captison and her party were now inside

the station, completely cut off from any communication with the Bakuran

forces. He could not abandon his position at Centerpoint or leave his people

behind. He would have no choice but to divide his forces. For the briefest

of moments, he considered sending nothing more than a flight of fighters or

an assault boat loaded with troops. But no. The opposition was likely to

move on the Drall repulsor as well. The Bakuran forces would have to go in

ready to fight, not just investigate. Ossilege smiled, his lips forming into

a thin line. Calrissian had, indeed, warned him against audacious action.

But Ossilege had been extremely cautious as he moved in toward Centerpoint

Station, and he had discovered something about caution he did not like it.

Ossilege turned toward the ensign standing next to him. "My compliments to

Captain Semmac," he said to her, "and relay my order to set course for

Drall. The Intnider is going to investigate that repulsion burst. Sentinel

and Defender will remain at Centerpoint." Ossilege looked back toward the

detector screen. "Someone has sent us an invitation. I think it is only

common politeness that we accept." Luke's X-wing and the Lady Luck floated

fifteen meters off the deck, moving slowly forward into the airlock, their

shields up and in formation so as to give each other cover. What good such

precautions might be up against a space station the size of a small planet,

neither of them asked. Luke brought the X-wing into a hover over the center

of the lock and swung the fighter around to cover the Lady Luck as she came

in. The Lady moved forward slowly, easing her way into the interior. The

airlock chamber was cavernously huge and profoundly dark. The Lady Luck's

landing lights came on and swiveled about, throwing a shifting spot of

brightness on the interior wall of the lock, but Luke was not able to make

much of what the spot revealed. The huge exterior airlock door lumbered

shut, sealing them inside. Now they were trapped, if they wanted to think of

it that way. Then the lock's own interior lights bloomed into life, coming

up slowly enough that Luke's eyes were not dazzled. The interior of the lock

was a half cylinder on its side, with the flat wall of the half cylinder

forming the deck. The deck was littered with debris, odds and ends of all

sorts. Bits of clothing, broken pieces of luggage, freight containers,

abandoned machinery, even a small spacecraft with all its access ports open

and its nose assembly removed. Obviously it had been cannibalized for parts.

"-ooks like -ome folks got out of here in a -urry," Lando said. "Looks

like," Luke said. What, exactly, had they been in such a hurry to get away

from? And had they made a run for it last week, or a hundred years before?

He didn't feel easy in his mind. "Listen, Lando, normally I'd say land the

ship with the passengers first and let the fighter fly cover. But with that

airlock door shui, there doesn't seem much point to it. I'll land first.

Maybe if it's a trap, they'll spring it on me first and then-" "Then what?"

"I don't know," Luke said. "But don't land until you're sure it's safe." "If

1 wait that long, we're -oing to be sittin-here in hover mode for a long

time," Lando replied. There didn't seem to be any good answer for that, so

Luke didn't try to offer one. "I'm headed down," he said. Luke eased back on

the repulsors and brought the X-wing slowly down onto the deck. He made a

nice smooth landing and was getting ready to undo his canopy and get out

when Artoo beeped furiously at him. "What? Oh!" Artoo was right-the airlock

chamber hadn't been pressurized. That could be a problem. Luke hadn't worn a

scalable flight suit, and he was not entirely clear on whether there were

pressure suits for all aboard the Lady Luck. But what was the point of

bringing them in here if they couldn't get out of their ships? Luke looked

around the airlock chamber again and noticed that the debris was all inside

a fairly well-prescribed perimeler. Why had everyone crowded together like

that in the midst of what seemed to have been a panicked departure? A burst

of light suddenly flared to life in the center of the airlock chamber's

roof. Four streaks of light split off from the center and slid down to the

four corners of the chamber. The streaks faded to darkness, and then the

light burst came to life again, before splitting up and sliding down to the

corners, and then the pattern repealed. It was as clear a signal as the

airlock door opening and shutting. Go down, go down, go down. Now Luke

understood. "Lando," he said, "bring her down. They're using a force bubble

pressurization system in here. I don't think they want to activate the force

field until you've landed." By using a force field system, they could avoid

constantly pressurizing and depressurizing the chamber-no small issue in a

chamber this size. "But then we'd both be trapped insi-the force field,"

Lando objected. "What's the difference? We're already trapped inside the

airlock." "There's a differenc e between being in a cage with a bantha and

climbing into the bantha's gullet," Lando muitered. "But all right, here we

come." The Lady Luck eased down on her repulsors and set down ten meters in

front of Luke's X-wing. The moment she landed, there was a shimmering in the

space over their heads. After a moment il settled down into a thin blue hazy

blur that surrounded the two ships, forming a hemisphere over them. A tunnel

formed of the same blue haze came into being just behind the Lady Luck.

Peering down it, Luke could see that it led to a more conventional-sized

inner airlock hatch. "Leading us [here every step of the way," Luke muttered

to himself. He heard a far-off, high-pitched hissing noise, and the body of

the X-wing creaked and groaned once or twice as ii adjusted to the change in

pressure. The hissing dropped in pitch down to a low roar of noise, and the

incoming air was whipping up some of the smaller bits of debris and throwing

them around, until the inside of the force field bubble was swirling with

bits of paper and dust and torn-up packing material. The X-wing rocked back

on its shock absorbers as the rush of air pushed at il. Luke watched his

exterior gauges as the roaring sub-sided. At least as far as his

instruments were concerned, it was perfectly normal air at perfectly normal

pressure. Of course, it could contain some deadly nerve gas the X-wing's

detectors couldn't sense, but if whoever was running the show here had

wanted to kill them, they could have done the job about a dozen times

already. Never mind. Time to get on with it. Luke popped the canopy of the

X-wing and let it swing up out of the way. He pulled his flight helmet off

and stashed it, then climbed up out of the pilot's compartment. He slid down

the side of the fuselage and dropped lightly to the ground. Relatively light

gravity here, he noticed. Of course, they were fairly close to the spin axis

here. The apparent force of gravity would be a lot stronger close to the

equator line of the sphere. The hatches of the Lady Luck swung open, the

egress ramp came down, and Lando, Gaeriel, and Kalenda walked down it,

closely followed by a rather agitated-looking Threepio. "I don't like this

place," the protocol droid announced. "Not one little bit. I'm sure we are

all in the most terrible danger here." "Yeah, whatever," Lando muttered.

"Besides, what was the last place you did like?" Threepio hesitated a moment

and cocked his head to one side. "A most interesting question," he said. "I

can't recall one, offhand. I shall have to consult my onboard archives." "Do

it later, Threepio," said Luke. "We might need you for other things."

"Certainly, Master Luke." Gaeriel and Kalenda looked around the airlock

chamber, and it was easy to tell the diplomat from the intelligence officer.

Kalenda knelt down to examine some of the broken-up debris and snatched at a

few of the bits of paper that were fluttering, no doubt in hopes of reading

some important clue. Gaeriel made s.Thveepio, the protocol and translation

droid, was close, and directed her attention to Ihe force field tunnel and

the hatch that would lead them to their host. Luke heard a beeping and a

blooping from the topside of his X-wing. "Don't worry, Artoo, I haven't

forgotten you." Back at a base, the normal thing was to use a winch to get

Artoo in and out of his socket in the stern of the X-wing. In the field, it

was possible for Artoo to get himself out, but the process was not very

graceful, and had ended with Artoo toppling over and landing with a crash on

more than one occasion. But when the pilot of the X-wing was a Jedi Master,

such awkwardness was not necessary. Luke reached out with his ability in the

Force and lifted Artoo gently into the air. "Do be careful, Master Luke,"

said Threepio. "It makes me nervous just to see you do that." Artoo let out

a long, low moan that echoed his agreement with Threepio. "Relax, both of

you," said Luke. "I could do this standing on my head." Artoo moaned again.

"Sorry," said Luke. "It's not nice to lease." Luke moved Artoo clear of the

X-wing and was just about to start bringing him down to the deck when the

hatch at the end of the force field tunnel began to lumber open. Everyone

stopped what they were doing and turned to look. Luke felt his hand move

toward his lightsaber, but then he pulled it away. No. All he knew for sure

was that he had touched the mind of a human who seemed to bear them no ill

will. Whoever was about to come through that door had not summoned them all

here to engage in single combat. They would be dead many times over by now,

if that was her intent. He saw Lando and Kalenda make the same reflex reach

for their own sidearms, and then pull their hands back. The doors rumbled

open, and a tall, thin, nervous-looking, pale-skinned woman came in. She

hesitated at the entrance for a moment, and then shrugged and walked toward

them at a brisk clip that seemed to say less about her eagerness to get lo

the end of the tunnel and more about her rather agitated state. Luke watched

her as she came closer. She was an attractive-looking woman with a long,

thin face, thick black curly hair that reached to her shoulders, and

prominent, expressive eyebrows. She looked worried as she came toward them,

her eyes moving from one member of the party to the next. But then the

worried look faded away to be replaced by one of pure bafflement as she

looked upward. "How are you doing that?" she asked. "And why?" "Huh?" Luke

asked, and looked up himself. "Oh!" He had nearly forgotten that Artoo was

still hanging in midair. If he had lost any more concentration, Artoo would

have crashed to the deck. Distracted by the sight of their hostess's

arrival, it would seem that Artoo had forgotten it himself. Luke willed

Artoo to move down and landed him gently on the deck. "It's sort of a long

story," he said. "I'll be!," the young woman said, giving Luke a long, hard,

quizzical look. "Well, anyway. I'm Jenica Sonsen, C-point COO Ad-Op."

"What?" Luke asked. Sonsen sighed. "Sorry. Force of habit. Centerpoint Chief

Operations Officer, Administration and Operations. Basically, I run the

place, these days. The C-point CE declared a bug-out right after the first

major flare incident, and the whole Exec Sec evaced along with practically

all the C-point civpop. I wish / could get out of here, but I was OOD when

the bug was called, so regs said I was stay-behind." Luke was about to ask

her what that meant when Threepio stepped forward. "Perhaps I might be of

help, Master Skywalker," said the droid. "She is using many terms that are

similar to the bureaucratic; argot of Coruscant. I believe that what

Administrative Officer Sonsen means is that Centerpoint's Chief Executive

ordered a full evacuation after the first flare disaster, and the entire

Executive Secretariat left along with most of the civilian populace.

Although she wished to leave with everyone else. Administrative Officer

Sonsen happened lo be [he Officer On Duty at the moment when the evacuation

was declared, and under those circumstances, she was automatically

designated the officer lo stay behind and serve as a caretaker," "She didn't

say anything about a disaster," Lando said suspiciously. "I beg your

pardon," Threepio said, "but she did refer to a 'major incident." That is a

common bureaucratic euphemism for a major catastrophe." "Hold it," Sonsen

said, "the tin box got it all correct, but I am right here. You could ask me

what I meant." "Only if you promise to speak Basic like everyone else,"

Lando said. Luke had lo smile. Lando never had had much use for bureaucratic

double-talk. For a moment it looked as if Sonsen were aboul to bite Lando's

head off, bul then backed down. "Maybe you've got a point. But I have to

know whal you're doing here. Your ships blew out of nowhere and then those

fighters bugged out too." "Were they your fighters?" Kalenda asked. "And

what government do you represent?" "The fighters you were shooting at? They

weren't Fed-Dub." "Fed-Dub?" "Sorry. The Federation of the Double Worlds.'

Kalenda nodded and looked to Luke, her gaze seemingly somewhere over his

left shoulder. "The Federation is the duly elected government of Talus and

Tralus." "You people still haven't told me who you are and what you're doing

here," Sonsen said. "Our apologies," Gaeriel said, speaking for the first

time, "I am Gaerie! Captiscm, plenipotentiary of the planet Bakura. This is

Captain Lando Calrissian, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, and Lieutenant Belindi

Kalenda, all of the planet Coruscant. We represent the New Republic and the

planet Bakura." She went on in a tone of voice that suggested she was

expecting argument, but wasn't going to put up with it. "We are," she said,

"taking possession of Centerpoint Station in the name of the New Republic."

"Well, good," said Sonsen. "It's about lime somebody did. Come this way and

I'll show you where everything is." She turned around abruptly and starting

walking down the tunnel toward the inner hatch. Gaeriel looked at Luke,

clearly taken aback. "She's not what we expected," she said. "Most things

aren't, around Luke," Lando said. "But if she's going to hand over the keys

to us, I think we'd better not let her get too far ahead." The four humans

and two dro ids found Sonsen waiting for them on the other side of the inner

hatch. "There you all are," she said. "Shall we start the tour?" Her tone

was utterly matter-of-fact, as if handing over space stations to more or

less allied forces was all part of the daily routine. "I can't show you all

of the station, of course, unless you all want to die of old age before

we're half done, but I can show you the basics. This way." She ushered them

all into a waiting turbovator car on the opposite side of the lock chamber.

They followed her in. Luke entered the car after everyone else, feeling

quite bewildered. The turbovator car was huge and scruffy-looking. All the

walls were covered with dings and scratches, as if the car had seen a lot of

heavy use moving cargo. There was a meter-wide porthole in the back wall of

the car, likewise a bit dinged-up, and another like it in the ceiling.

However, there seemed to be nothing but blackness to see. "Hang on just a

second," she said. "We have to move the car through an airlock. Pressure

difference. And. ah-well, something happened to the air where we're going."

She worked the controls, and the car lurched forward a few meters. They

heard a hatch seal behind them. There was the whir of air pumps and then,

through the viewport, they saw another hatch open before them. Sonsen pushed

another button and the car started to move, not up or down, but sideways.

Lights on the exterior of the car came on, showing the way forward. The

tunnel they were in was circular in cross-section, and dark pink in color.

The tunnel ahead trailed off into what seemed an infinity of darkness. Luke

felt as if they had been swallowed by some huge creature and were rushing

down its gullet, toward an appointment with the digestive system. "We might

as well start out with Hollowtown," Son-sen said. "It's what everyone always

wants to see first." "Hollowtown?" Lando asked. There was a second's awkward

pause before Sonsen spoke. "You're not all thai well briefed, are you?" she

asked. "Things have happened kind of fast," Luke said. "There hasn't been a

lot of time." "I guess not. Well, let me start from scratch. Hollowtown is

the open space in the exact center of the central sphere. It's a spherical

hollow about sixty kilometers across. Where you docked was just about at the

join between the North Pole-that's what the locals call the cylinders, the

North and South Poles-and the central sphere. We're now moving parallel to

the axis of rotation, sideways, in toward Hollowtown. We have to pass

through about twenty kilometers of decks and shells first. A shell is what

we call real high-ccihnged deck, anything over about twenty meters or so.

There are about two thousand levels all told. We're accelerating pretty fast

right now. faster than you think. We'll come up in Hollowtown in about five

minutes, and then start moving downslopc, toward the heavy-gravity areas.

Farther out from the axis you go, the more of a spin, and the higher

effective gravity, of course." "The spin must get to be an awful nuisance,"

Kalenda said. "Why haven't you shifted over to standard artificial gravity?"

"We've thought about it. Cap Con Ops-sorry-the capital construction

operations office-has done about a dozen studies on de-spinning the station

and using standard artigrav." Luke managed lo translate that last as

"artificial gravity" and tried to nod encouragingly. "So what do the studies

come up with?" "Too expensive, too complicated, too disruptive, and too many

unknowns. The station's structure might or might not respond well to the

shifted stresses. But it's your problem now. You can de-spin it all you want

as far as I'm concerned." "I take it you want out," Luke said. "Do I ever. I

was into real short-time when the first flare went whump. I was almost down

to counting the days on one hand-and then, well, you know the rest," "Lousy

briefing, remember?" Lando said. "Wait a second. You people don't know about

the ftaresT' "First we've heard of them," Luke said. "We just broke through

the interdiction field into the system a few days ago." Sonsen let out a low

whistle. "Broke through the interdiction field? That's something, all right.

I'll bet whoever is creating that field isn't real happy with you just now."

Kalenda frowned. "Hold it. You're generating the field." "What? What are you

talking about?" "The field. The interdiction field is centered on this

station. Centerpoint Station is generating the interdiction field. And the

communications jamming, for that matter." "Burning stars. It is?" "You

didn't know that," Lando said. It was not a question. "Nope. None of us here

did. Looks like my briefing wasn't so good either." Luke was getting more

confused by the minute. How could the people running the station not know

the station was creating the field? And what were these flares Sonsen was

talking about? It was becoming plainer and plainer that things were not as

they appeared. But it was also becoming progressively less clear how they

appeared in the first place. "I think we have a few things to talk about,"

said Luke. The turbovutor moved smoothly toward Hol-lowtown.

CHAPTER SIX

The View From Inside What you've got to understand about this place is that

no one understands it," Sonsen said. "We just live here. It's here, so are

we, and that's about it. No one thought much about why things were the way

they were. We didn't know why Centerpoint did most of the things it did, but

we knew what most of them were. At least we thought we knew, up until a

while ago. Up until the terrorists started showing us a few tricks." "We

just got here," Lando said. "What terrorists?" Sonsen shook her head. "I'd

love to know the answer to that one. There have been attacks-nasty ones. But

no one has claimed responsibility or made demands. Not so much as an

anonymous tip. We have suspects-the TraTaLibbers, the Two Worldcrs, and so

on, but they all denied having anything to do with it. Besides, if they

could pull off the stuff that's happened here, they wouldn't waste time

making threats. They'd just move in and take over. Of course, the station's

been cut off from everybody since the jamming started up. The investigators

on the ground could have wrapped up the case, solved it completely, and we

wouldn't know about it." Luke made a guess that TraTaLibbers meant the

Tra-lus and lalus Liberation Party, or some such. Two Worlders probably

meant some crowd that wanted separate governments for each planet. Guesses

were good enough. He had an idea what Sonsen meant, and he had a hunch the

groups in question were not worth worrying about. "Tell us about the altacks

themselves." Sonsen went to the turbovator car's viewport. "You'll be able

to see for yourself in a minute or two. Hollowtown used to be quite a place.

It grew enough food for the whole station, with a surplus. It had parks, and

nice homes, and lakes and streams. Green and blue, coo! and lovely. Then

someone started messing with the Glowpoint." "The Glowpoint being a sort of

artificial sun?" Luke asked. "Thai's right," said Sonsen. "And someone made

it go crazy." "Who normally controls the Glowpoint?" Lando asked. "No one.

of course," Sonsen replied, as if Lando had just asked where she kepi the

on-off switch for the galaxy's spin. "As I said, it's just there, the way

the whole station is. We didn't build it. I guess it was here when we got

here-whenever that was." "The Glowpoint is just there," Lando repeated.

"Anyone know how it works? How it gives off lighl?" "There arc theories of

one sort or another. One idea is that the Glowpoint draws its power directly

from the gravitational interrlux between Talus and Trains. But no one has

been able to come up with an instrument to test the idea. There's nothing

conclusive." "You don't know how the power source for half your food

production works?" Gaeriel asked. "No," said Sonsen. "Do you know how the

hyper-drive motors that got you here work?" Luke had to smile to himself.

Jenica Sonsen had a point. There was scarcely a human being alive who

completely understood every bit of technology he or she used. The

Centerpointers, it seemed, were just a bit more obvious about it. "Anyway,

we're coming up on Hollow town, if you want to get a look at it." The other

humans joined her at the viewport, leaving the two droids off by themselves

in the back of the ear. A spot of light began to gleam through the end of

the tunnel up ahead. "That's the Glowpoint," Sonsen said. "It's back to

normal, at least for the moment. That's what it used to be like ail the

time." The turbovator car moved closer and closer to the tunnel, giving the

illusion that it was moving faster and faster as it got closer to the light.

The humans in the group shielded their eyes against trie sudden brightness.

In a moment that seemed to take forever to arrive and then to happen all at

once, the turbovator car burst out of the end of the tunnel and, with a

stomach-dropping lurch, began to move straight downward. But no one in the

car paid much notice to the violent change of direction. They were too busy

looking at Hollowtown. Or what was left of it. The Glowpoint was just that,

a glowing point of light suspended in midair, in the precise center of the

huge spherical chamber. It looked like a miniature sun, warm, bright,

comfortable, inviting. But there was nothing comfortable about the landscape

below. Hollowtown had been burnt to a crisp, charred down to a blackened

land of ashes. Hazy clouds of dust floated everywhere. Luke could see the

skeletal remains of burned-out buildings, what had once been neatly planted

orchards that were now nothing but rows of incinerated tree stumps. A lake

had boiled dry, and the lake bottom was exposed, the remains of ruined

pleasure boats lying there like children's toys left behind when the water

was drained from the tub. It was a terrible place, a nightmare place, made

all the worse because it had so plainly been lovely, well tended, not so

very long before. "Normally I'd stop the car at one of the intermediate

stops and let you get out and look around," Sonsen said. "But there's just

about no free oxygen left in there. All of it got consumed in the fires. 1

don't know how we'll ever get breathable air in there again. For that

matter, it took some doing to get breathable air in this turbovator car. It

didn't use to have its own air source, just a compressor that pulled air in

from the outside. The air in the tunnel and near the spin axis was always

too thin to breathe. After the first flare, the techs installed a full air

system so I could still use the car. It's the fastest, easiest way from the

equator to the docking zone and the techsec. where I met you. The engineers

yanked the compressor and hooked up some air tanks and a carbon dioxide

scrubber." "What happened, exactly?" Lando asked. "The first flare was about

thirty or forty standard days ago," Sonsen said, her voice suddenly sad and

tired. "Up until then, everything you see here now was parkland, or

farmland, or luxury estates. It was beautiful to see. The Glowpoint would

shine down constantly. The farmers would use shadow-shields to block the

light and simulate seasons. From the inside of the shields, it could be as

light or as dark as you liked, just by twisting a dial. From the outside,

the shield could look like shadows, or like silver bubbles, or squares of

gold-however you wanted to set them. People decorated their shields all

sorts of ways. There was a special feeling, knowing it was always day

here-but that under every spot of gold was a secret little patch of night.

All of it gone now. Gone. Gone when the flare hit." "That was before the

jamming started. I came into the system about that time," Kalenda objected.

"I never heard anything about this. It should have been big news. The

biggest." "We tried to keep it as quiet as we could," Sonsen said. "The

Fed-Dub government was weak enough as it was. and what terrorists want most

is publicity. The Feds were afraid that if this got out, it could spark a

panic or even a rebellion here. And I guess they were right. We could keep

news of this"-she gestured toward the devastation out the window-"from

getting to the other worlds, but the refugees all had to go to Talus and

Tralus. The word spread, and we got our rebellions, all right. One on Talus,

two on Tralus. One group or the other-I don't even know which-landed a bunch

of fighters somewhere on the South Pole a while back, claimed the station

for themselves." Son-sen shrugged. "What was I going to do? Fight them off

by myself? I left them alone, and they did the same to me-until you chased

them off." "What do you mean, by yourself?" Gaeriel asked. "Are you the only

one still on the station?" Sonsen shook her head. "Probably not. It's a big

place. We tried to evac everyone, but my guess is someone got left behind. 1

haven't seen anybody, but that doesn't mean anything." "You keep talking

about the first flare," Lando asked, "'How many more were there?" "Just one

more. Two in all. The second happened just about a day or so before the

interdiction field and the communications jamming carne on. And don't ask me

what the point of a terrorist attack is when there's no one left to

terrorize, and there's nothing left to burn." "Uh-huh," Lando said, a bit

distractedly. "This station is exactly at the centerpoint, the barycenter

between Talus and Tralus, right?" "Right," Sonsen said, giving Lando another

strange look. "Were you people briefed at all'?" "I knew that much," Lando

said. "I just wanted to confirm it. The Glowpoint. It's at the exact center

of Holiowtown? And Hollowtown is at the exact center of the station?" "It

might be off by a centimeter or two. Feel free to get a measuring stick and

cheek if you want." Lando ignored Sonsen's sarcasm. He pointed out across

the huge spherical space, toward the far side of the rotation axis, and then

tilted his head back to look through the overhead viewport. "Those conical

structures coming up out of the North and South Poles, right on the rotation

axis. What can you tell me about them?" Luke looked through the overhead

viewport, and then through the forward view. Up until just a moment ago,

they had been too close to one cluster of cones to see it clearly, and the

other had been lost in the glare of the Glowpoint. But Lando seemed to have

spotted them in the moment they became visible. Almost as if he had expected

to see them. The two clusters seemed to be identical a larger central cone

surrounded by wha t looked to be six smaller cones, all with similar

proportions of height to width. Sonsen shrugged, a bit theatrically. "I can

tell you that one set is called the South Conical Mountains, and the other

is called the North Conicals. I'll let you figure out which is which. People

try to climb them once in a while, but even in the near zero-gee zone at the

spin axis, it isn't easy. Anything else of vital interest you need to know?

Like the names of the boats in the bottom of the lake bed?" "No," said

Lando, his mind clearly somewhere else. "I think that's all I need to know."

"Great," said Sonsen. ''Sometime I'll have to spend five minutes learning

everything important about your homeworld." "Hmmm? What? No, no. I'm sorry.

I didn't mean it that way. I mean, I think I know enough to understand

what's going on." "After five minutes? No offense, but our ITA people have

been trying for just a bit longer, and we haven't worked it out yet." "ITA?"

Luke asked. "I believe in this context, the reference is to Intclli-gence

and Technical Assessment," Threepio said in a helpful tone of voice. "I'm

sure you've got good people," Lando said, "and I didn't mean to sound rude

or condescending. It's just a question of viewpoint. You've been seeing this

thing from the inside out your whole life. I happen to be in a position to

see it from the outside and-" Just at that moment, Artoo let off a low,

unsettled-sounding whistle. His view lens swiveled up to take in an overhead

view, and then he turned to Threepio and let off a series of beeps and

whistles that were too fast for Luke to follow. "Very well, Artoo, I will

inquire, ihough it is very rude of you to interrupt." Threepio turned toward

Jen-ica Sonsen. "Pardon the intrusion, Administrator Son-sen, but my

counterpart wishes to know, rather urgently, if the two previous Glowpoint

flare events started suddenly, or if there was a gradual increase in the

Sight source's brightness." It was plain that Sonsen was less and less sure

of this crowd of visitors with every moment that passed. "Interesting droids

you've got," she said to no one in particular. "As best we're able to tell,

the brightness came up gradually, over the course of about half an hour. We

don't know for sure because no one who was in here to see it got out

alive-and of course all the recording instruments were destroyed as well."

Artoo rocked back and forth on his roller legs and whistled urgently, his

head whirling back and forth. "Oh, dear!" Threepio said. "I quite agree. We

must depart at once." "What?" Lando asked. "Why? What's going on?" Threepio

turned stiffly toward Luke and stared at him in surprise. "You have not

noticed? Oh! Of course. My apologies. Your eyes compensate so automatically

that you are unaware of the change. An interesting demonstration of the

difference in our perceptions." Lando glared at the protocol droid.

"Threepio," he said in an artificially, calm voice, "if the next words from

you are not an explanation of the problem, I am going to power you down

right now and permanently disable your speech center. What is the problem?"

Threepio seemed about to protest, then thought better of it. "it is, quite

simply, Captain Calrissian, that the visible light output from the Glowpoint

has increased six percent in the last five minutes." "Anakin!" Jacen could

fed his little brother nearby, and he knew perfectly well that Anakin could

sense Jacen's presence. But all the knowing back and forlh in the world, all

the ability to zero in on each other's location, did not do much good in the

current situation. For Jacen could also sense that Anakin was scared and

feeling guilty, feeling sorry for what he had done. It was a wonderful

paradox, in a sense. If there was ever a kid in the history of the galaxy

who dcseived to be in trouble, it was Anakin Solo, now, today. After all,

they had been trying to keep this place hidden. Anakin couldn't have made it

more visible if he had tried. But the sheer magnitude of what he had done

made it all but impossible to hold him responsible. Anakin couldn't possibly

have understood what he was doing, or he never would have done it. He was

just a little boy who liked to play with machines. Jacen thought back to a

few incidents in his own life when his parents had let him off easier than

they might have. Nothing this big, of course, but the point was the same.

Jacen had always thought those had been times he had gotten off easy, gotten

lucky. Now he was not so sure. Maybe it hadn't been him being lucky, but his

parents being understanding. "Anakin! It's all right! Nobody's mad at you."

Well, Chewbacca wasn't exactly thrilled with him, and Aunt Marcha wasn't all

that pleased with him for getting her hovercar vaporized or getting her head

cut open. If and when they ever got Q9-X2 working again, he was not likely

to express his gratitude for what Anakin had done. But no one was mad. Not

exactly. "Come on out," Jacen knew perfectly well it was no good chasing

Anakin or going in after him. He would just run away. hide again. Jacen

would have to get him to come out on his own. "I wanna stay here!" Anakin

called out. That was, strangely enough, a good first step. Jacen knew his

brother well enough to know he was asking to be talked out of what he had

just said. "Come on, Anakin," Jacen said. "You can't stay there forever/'

"Can so!" "But it's getting dark." For reasons best known to the beings who

had built this place, the steady, perfect illumination the chamber had

produced from out of nowhere when it was cone-shaped wasn't there anymore

now that it was open to the sky. And night was coming on. "What about food?"

Jacen went on. "Aren't you hungry?" "Weil,' maybe a little." "Maybe a lot,"

Jacen said. "Tell you what. Why don't you come get something to eat, and

then if you want to go back to hiding, you can." The suggestion made no

sense at all, of course, but that was all right. It gave Anakin a way to

save face, a way to back down. There was a long silence-and that was a good

sign too. Anakin was thinking about it. Jacen waited for a minute, and then

gave it another try. "Anakin? Come on back to the camp-to the ship-and have

some food." He couldn't really invite him to the camp. There wasn't much of

a camp left. Everything that hadn't been inside the Falcon had been burned

to a crisp. "Can I really come back and hide later if I want to?" Anakin

asked. "All you want," Jacen promised, knowing how easy it would be to keep

that promise. After all, Anakin hadn't needed permission to run away and

hide the first lime. He wouldn't need it the next time, cither, assuming

they didn't pul a round-the-clock guard on him or lock him up and weld the

hatch shut. And Jacen wouldn't put it past Anakin to manage an escape even

with a guard and a locked door. "Well, all right. Wait a second," After a

moment Anakin appeared at the entrance to the corridor. He paused there and

looked toward his big brother . "It's all right, Anakin, really.'' Of

course, thoic was very little that was all right, but Anakin knew what Jacen

meant. Anakin came forward, slowly at first, then suddenly he was running as

fast as he could. He threw his arms around Jacen and Jacen hugged him back.

"I'm sorry. Jacen. I didn't mean to do anything bad. Honest." "I know, I

know. But what you mean to do really doesn't count so much, sometimes. It's

what happens that matters." Jacen could almost hear his father telling him

the same thing. Suddenly he found himself thinking not of what his father or

mother would do-but about them. They were probably in trouble too, out

there, somewhere. The last any of them knew about their parents was that

they had remained behind, trapped in Corona House, when Chewbacca had gotten

the three children, Q9, and Ebrihim out. Were they still there? Or had Dad's

cousin Thrackan locked them up someplace else? Or had they gotten away,

somehow'.1 Jacen suddenly felt a wave of guilt pass over him. Why hadn't he

worried about them more, thought about them more? "I miss Mom and Dad,"

Anakin announced, with his face mashed up against Jacen's shoulder, his

voice a little muffled and a little snuffly. Jacen was surprised to hear his

brother say that just then. It would seem Anakin's mind worked a bit more

like Jacen's than Jacen had thought. "So do I." Jaccn said. "So do I. Come

on. Let's go back to the others.1' The two boys walked hand in hand toward

the center of the massive chamber. Anakin slowly settled down enough to take

an interest in his surroundings. He looked up toward where the top of the

conical chamber had been, toward where the sky was now. "Boy." he said.

"Things have really changed." "Yeah," agreed Jacen. "They sure have." He

looked up himself and was astonished all over again by the sight. The sky

was getting dark, and so was the interior of the chamber, but the silvery

surface did a good job of reflecting what light there was. It was probably

just about sunset, but there was no real way to know. All they could see was

a perfectly circular patch of dark sky, exactly overhead, right at the

zenith, with the gleaming shadows of the seven silver cones stabbing into

the edge of that perfect circle of night. Jacen could see stars starting to

peek through, here and there. They walked on, toward the Falcon, moving a

bit more carefully as they pic ked their way through the heaps of burnt-up

belongings. Everything that had been outside the ship was reduced to melted

puddles and to ashes. Jacen and Anakin paused again to get a look at the

Falcon. "The ship's broken again," Anakin said. It was not a question.

"Uh-huh. It looks like all the propulsion systems blew out before Chewbacca

could get the shields up." Anakin nodded slowly. "That isn't good," he said.

Jacen looked straight up, at the top of the cylinder, something like a

kilometer or two over their heads. Unless Chewbacca could get the ship

running, or unless someone could figure a way to walk straight up the side

of the smooth, slick, sheer, impenetrable walls. they were stuck down here.

"It sure isn't," Jaccn agreed. "Come on," he said. He almost told Anakin

they were all wailing for him. but then it occurred to him that would nol

exactly encourage his brother to Step lively. "Let's go in." The Duchess

Marcha of Mastigophorous sal in the lounge of the Millennium Falcon, feeling

downright gloomy. The company was not enlivening. Her nephew. Ebrihim, was

playing a dispiriled game of sabacc with Jaina, The fact thai Jaina had lost

several hands showed just how low her spirils were. Q9, or whal was left of

him, was propped up againsl Ihe far bulkhead of the compartmenl. He reminded

Marcha all too closely ot a mummified corpse no one had golten around lo

burying. She herself had a pounding headache, though she knew that she could

counl herself lucky to have no more serious complainls than that. It was a

miracle that none of them had been killed. Well, maybe Q9 hud been killed.

At least Chewbacca had not been able to revive him. Of course, it might not

matlcr that much who was alive and who was dead right now. They were trapped

here, and most of their rations had been outside the Falcon, either stored

on the hovercar or else in storage crates that had been stacked outside ihc

spacecraft to make room. The Falcon'?, emergency stores would lasl for a

while, but not forever. Marcha's besl guess, which she had not shared with

anyone, was that they had perhaps enough water for six days and enough food

for ten. And they might well be lucky if they were alive long enough to

worry about such things. She agreed with Chewbacca that it was all bul

certain that the repul-sor's violent awakening had wiped out the Drallists,

and good riddance, but there was bound to be someone who had been far enough

away to survive the disturbance and had noticed it. She saw two

possibilities. Perhaps Drall scientists would notice the seismic

convulsions, or the electrical disturbances or whatever, and come take a

look. However, thai seemed a trifle improbable, as there was, after all, a

war on, most public institutions had been shut down, and there were massive

travel restrictions in effect. Unpleasant as it might be to concede the

point, it seemed far more likely that a military group of some sort,

equipped to detect repulsion activity, would have seen a burst of repulsor

power bright enough to blow out their detector screens and corne to

investigate. It seemed most unlikely that it would be anyone pleasant who

arrived under those circumstances. And leaving behind the trifling problem

of the sort of thing most of the military groups in the system were likely

to do to captured enemy civilians, there was the question of what they could

do with the planetary repulsor, once it was in their possession. Lots of

unsavory people had been looking for the things for a long time. Marcha did

not know what they hoped to do with the repulsor, but she doubted it would

be anything good. AH she knew was that the enemy regarded the rcpulsors as

vitally, urgently important. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that

by handing this one over to the enemy, Anakin had lost the entire war,

single-handed. But these opinions, too, she kept to herself. Things were bad

enough already, and there was no sense making them worse right now, when

they would no doubt deteriorate on their own in due course. Their one hope

seemed to be that Chewbacca coutd get the Falcon's propulsion systems

working again. The Wookiee was working on the problem now, rooting around in

all the access panels, knee-deep in cables and burned-out parts. She could

hear him from here, banging and thudding about. He was doing his best, no

doubt, but Marcha had strong doubts that he would succeed. It seemed likely

that what had knocked them out was the initial massive burst of repulsor

power so strong that it had managed to jump across open circuits. In all

likelihood, a similar electromagnetic pulse had blown out Q9. No, the

situation was not good. Not one little bit good. And it seemed unlikely to

do anything but get worse. She heard the sound of footsteps coming up the

Falcon's entry ramp and looked up in time to see Jacen and Anakin come into

the lounge. Ebrihim and Jaina looked up as well. It would seem that

Chewbacca heard them also, as he appeared in the door and stood there a

moment or two after the two boys came in. "Hi, everyone," Anakin said. "I'm

back. I'm-I'm real sorry for what I did. I didn't mean to hurt anything-but

I did. I'm sorry." A miracle of understatement, that, Whai the child had

done might well have condemned millions to a life under tyranny, Marcha

could even at least imagine a scenario where loss of the repulsor meant loss

of the war for the New Republic, so damaging the New Republic's prestige

that it collapsed altogether. Quite a lot to put on one small child's

shoulders. "It'll be all right, Anakin," Jaina said. "We'll find a way to

fix it all. Don't you worry." Marcha exchanged a glance with her nephew, and

then with the Wookiee. Clearly neither of them was in any more of a mood for

empty platitudes than she was. But sometimes platitudes we're all one had

left. And there were times when a completely unreasoned, and unreasonable,

expression of optimism was absolutely necessary. "Of course it will be all

right," she heard herself saying as she stood up and moved a step or two

toward him. "Corne here, Anakin." Suddenly the child burst into tears,

rushed over to her, and flung his arms around her. "There, there.'^she said

putting her arms around him. "There, there." If she had known, exactly, what

she meant by the comforting words, she might have found them comforting

herself.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Seeing the Light I suppose I won't iike the answer if I ask you if this

thing can go any faster," said Lando. The turbo-vator car continued its

stately descent down to the equator line of Holiowtown and the nearest way

out. The Glowpoint had started brightening when they were just about at the

midpoint of their descent. Jenica Sorisen shook her head. "No, you wouldn't

like the answer," she said. "I had a feeling you'd say that." Lando looked

up through the turbovator car's overhead viewport. The Glowpoint was

dazzlingiy bright, but the question was, how much brighter and how fast was

it brightening. Could he judge it any better by looking at the ground, at

the reflected light, rather than at the source? He peered intemly at the

ground for a moment, then gave it up. Threepio, annoyingly enough, had been

right for once. The human eye was just too good at adjusting for changes in

brightness. There was no way he could make an eyeball estimate of how fast

it was getting worse. He could ask Threepio, of course, but even in the

midst of this crisis, there was a part of him that didn't want to give the

droid the satisfaction. Besides, Golden Boy would probably just start giving

a running report of brightness levels and drive them all crazy. 'I'd say

we're up to a twenty percent brightness increase," Luke announced. Of

course. With his Jedi control over his senses, he would he able to make that

sort of estimate. "But the brightness isn't all of it. As we go lower, we're

going to get into thicker air that can hold a lot of heat." Luke turned to

Sonsen. "How high a temperature can this car take?" he asked. Sonsen

shrugged. "How should 1 know? i doubt if anyone ever bothered to figure it

out. It's a glorified elevator, not a spacecraft. But it's definitely

getting hot in here." "There is indeed a significant temperature rise

already," said Threepio. "If you wish, I could gladly provide you with a

running account of-" "No, we would not wish," Lando said. "There's nothing

we can do about it anyway." He held the palm of his hand flat over the

interior wall of the elevator car, and then, very gingerly, touched it with

just the tip of his index finger. "The skin of this thing is getting warmer

though, and the heat is percolating through. No doubt about it." "How long

until we're out of here?" Kalenda asked. "Another five minutes or so,"

Sonsen said. "But there's a flaw." "What flaw?" Lando asked. This place was

clearly bad news. "There's a pressure differential between the equatorial

region of Hollowtown and Shell One, on the other side of the lock. No big

deal, maybe an eight percent differential, but it's enough that you have to

use an airlock. The main turhovator airlock jammed up during the second

flare. It was never meant to do more than match the slight pressure

differential between Hollowtown and Shell One. I managed to get it working

again after the flare, but it wasn't easy, and I'm not so sure my repair is

going to hold up." "So we're stuck," Lando said. "Heavens! We'll all be

roasted alive," Threepio said. "You speak when you're spoken to," Sonsen

said, obviously starting to share Lando's opinion of the protocol droid.

"We're not stuck," she said to the others. "There's a personnel lock right

next to the turhovator airlock. It's smaller and simpler, and it got a lot

more use, so it's a real heavy-duty job. I'm sure it'll still be working. If

we can't get the turbovator lock running, we'll have to make a run for the

personnel lock." "But you did happen to mcnlion there's no oxygen left out

there," Luke said. "Even if there were any oxygen left, it would probably

kill you to breathe out there. Very high COa levels, plus all sorts of toxic

burn products." "Can we all make it into the lock at once?" Luke asked.

"Well, the lock is big enough," said Sonsen. "I don't think we should try

all of us at once. The lock is normally sei with this side closed. There's a

control panel on this side of the lock and it has to be operated by hand.

I'll have to open the lurbovalor door, run for the lock, and get it open. I

don't think it would be so smart to have everyone waiting on me getting the

door open. We should do it in two passes." "This is going to be

interesting," Lando said. Sonsen smiled humorlessly. "So it will. But we

might get lucky. Maybe the turbovator airlock will work." "Maybe it will.

But if it doesn't, and you have to run for the other airlock, I'll go with

you. I used to run a place called Cloud City. I had to go in and out of

toxic atmosphere a lot. If you run into trouble, it might be smart to have

some help along." "Lando, if anyone should go with her, it should be me,"

Luke said. "No," Lando said. "Your Jedi powers give you the best endurance.

We might all need your help. You'll have to watch everybody. All I want to

have to worry about is Sonsen and that airlock." Luke seemed about to

protest, but then nodded reluctantly. "Maybe you're right," he said. "And

the bad air won't bother the droids. That'll be some help." "It's not as if

Kalenda and I are helpless or anything," Gaeriel said. "No, ma'am, and I

didn't mean to imply that you were," Lando said. "But we don't have time to

do this politely. The fact of the matter is Sonsen has to go because she

knows the lock. Someone should go with her. I'm no hero, but someone who's

had toxic air training is the best choice to go with her. That makes it me.

And for what it is worth, next to Luke, we're all helpless. And I might add

that Lieutenant Kalcnda doesn't seem to be protesting the arrangement."

Gaeriel Captison looked from Lando to Kalenda's expressionless face. "All

right," she said. "I was in politics long enough to know when it's time to

back off." "We're getting lower," Luke said. "And the heating is starting to

move some serious air." Lando looked out the window. Luke was right. The

lower, thicker layers of air were heating at a different rate than the

upper, thinner layers. Hot and cold air at different air pressures was a

recipe for weather in any circumstance, but especially in a spinning,

inside-out world with a gravity gradient. Dust devils were spinning up

everywhere, miniature tornadoes, funnel clouds spewing Just and debris up

into the air. The wind began to howl as the car moved lower and lower, into

the nightmare dust storms popping up everywhere. A wall of gritty dust

enveloped the car, cutting off the view as the wind peppered the car with

thousands of small impacts that clicked and clattered on its exterior. It

seemed as if the winds abruptly reversed direction, and the outside world

reappeared as suddenly as it had vanished. They seemed to have crossed under

some sort of cloud deck. The car was moving along the inner wall of the

spinning sphere, from the spin axis toward the equatorial regions in a long,

swooping curve. By now the car was moving forward as much as it was down,

and the increase in apparent weight was more and more noticeable with every

moment. Lando realized his eyes had made a subconscious adjustment, deciding

thai the car was no longer proceeding down the side of a cliff, but down a

long hill that was getting less and less sleep wilh every moment. Some son

of till-tahle mechanism kept the lioor even as the car moved down [he track.

''Close now." Sonsen said. "We should start slowing in a minute." As it on

cue. trie car began 10 decelerate smoothly. Lando reached out a hand io

steady himself againsl the wall of the car, bul he thought better of it at

the last moment. Tic held his hand a centimeter or two back from the wall,

and tell plenty of heat that way. The car slowed even further, unlil it was

barely moving, maybe twenty-five centimeters a second. The swirling clouds

cleared again for a moment and revealed a large two-story building dircclly

ahead. "That's llie main entrance complex for Ihis secior." said Sonsen. The

turbovator's track led to a large sel of pressure doors, the sort lhat split

down the middle, wilh the two halves sliding apart to either side. "So let's

see what happens,'' she said. Til let the automatics try it first." The car

eased to a complete halt a meter or two in front of the doors, and then

nothing happened (or a moment. "Is it broken?" Gaeriel asked. "It just lakes

a liltle lime for the pumps 10 match pressure. Here we go." The pressure

doors started to move apart smoothly enough-but then jammed up when they

were only about a meter apart. "Blast it." Sonsen said. "Exactly what they

did before. Lei me try cycling them on manual and see if I get lucky." She

went to the panel by the car's door and twisted a dial that was poinied to

ALiro over to manual ovER-ride. She pressed another button marked oPEn

hoLlowtown SIDE AIRLOCK doors. The doors strained a bit, but didn't move any

farther apart. She pushed the cLOSE doors button-and the doors moved all of

three centimeters back toward each other before grinding to a halt. Sonscn

ran through the whole procedure again, but the doors refused to move more

than that three centimeters back and forth. "Thai's that," she said. "They

won't open far enough to get the car in. and they won't shut at all. The

inner doors won't open at all unless the outers are shut." "No emergency

override on that?" Lando asked. "No way to force inner doors open if the

outer ones are jammed?" "Nope," Sonsen said. "Why bother, when there was

supposed to he breathable air on both sides of the lock, and there's another

airlock ten meters away? I keep telling you people. This is a fancy

elevator, not a spacecraft system." "All right, then," said Lando. "Looks

like we get out and walk. Time to do a little getting ready." He pulled his

blouse off. pulled out his vibro-shiv, and started slicing the blouse into

ribbons. He saved one larger wad of cloth and stuffed it in his pocket along

with the knife. "Wrap one of [hese around your mouth and nose," he said. "If

you pass out, or your breathing reflex gets the better of you, a little

cloth might lilter out the worst of it. And if you have to breathe, if you

can't stop yourself, do it through your nose. It does a much better job of

cooling and filtering than your mouth." "Let's hope the personnel airlock

opens so fast that you've lost your shirt Tor nothing," Sonsen said. Lando

grinned. "It breaks my heart to mess up rny wardrobe when I don't need to."

he said, "but I think ! could deal with it just this once." Lando wrapped a

strip of cloth around his own mouth. "Where's the other airlock?" Lando

asked, his voice a bit muffled by the cloth. "You can't quite see it from

here," Sonsen said. "The window is too small. But it's about ten meters to

the left of the main airlock. It should be matched to pressure on the other

side, but it shouldn't take long at all to match-" Sonsen stopped talking,

and looked up at the ceiling of the car, where the air tanks were hanging.

"Match pressure," she said. "Wail a second. I jusi got an idea. We've got

air tanks up there. If we dumped the air into the car here, we could get air

pressure higher than the outside. Then when we opened the door, our air

would push out, inslead of the bad air pushing in-"And we'd have a pressure

curtain," said Lando. "Good idea! Then the second group could close the

doors after we go, and maybe still have some air to breathe." "Boost me up

there," Sonscn said. Luke knell down and made a slirrup out of his hands.

Sonscn put her hands on his shoulders to balance herself and stepped into

his hands. "Okay," she said, "up." Luke stood up as easily as if there was

no weight on him at all. "Whoa." Sonsen said. "Captain Cairissian, your

friend in strong. Sleady now. A little to the right-no, my right, your left.

Back a bit. Okay, good," Sonsen reached for the pressure regulator and

touched it gingerly. "Definitely getting hot," she said, "but not quite hot

enough to burn. Not yet." "I would suggest hurrying." Threepio said. "The

Glowpoinl has now increased its brightness by thirly-five percent." "How

about we leave that droid behind when we go?" Sonsen said as she cranked the

regulator up as high as it would go. A loud hissing started almost al once.

Lando worked his jaw and felt his ears pop, "You've got my vote." he said.

"I've lieen trying to leave him behind for years." "Forget it, both of you,"

Luke said. "I've been through a lot with Threepio." "All right," said

Sonsen. "That should do it. Lei me down." Luke lowered her to the ground.

"Okay." said Lando. "Administrator Sonsen-Jen-ica-what's the plan, exactly?"

'I'm going to open the door here," she said. "When I do, we should let a

good-sized blast of our air out, and that'll at least slow down the bad air

coming in. Lando and I will get out as fast as we can and run to Ihe other

lock. You"-she pointed at Gaeriel-"as soon as we are out the door, close it

again, by pressing this button here. Okay?" "Okay." "Once the door is shut,

the regulator will come back on and pump in clean canned air, but there is

still going to bo a lot of that junk out there in the mix. But no matter how

bad the air gets in here, breathe it. It's only going to be worse outside.

So breathe as best you can once that door is shut. Give us three minutes-no

more, no less-and then pop the door again ard come running. That will give

us time to get through the lock ourselves, get to the other side, and then

cycle the lock so the outer door is open. Get into the \ockfast. If the

droids can get there with you without slowing you up, great. If not, leave

them on this side, and we'll cycle the lock again for them once you're

through. They don't have to worry about breathing. Got il?" "Got it.'' Luke

said. "We'll be left behind for sure!" Threcpio said in his most theatrical

tones, and even Artoo let out a sort of low moan. Lando paid them no mind.

Not when this whole Hollowtown place was about to get burned to another

crisp. If only that were the worst of it. If the Glowpoint's flaring again

meant what he thought it did, a little thing like five people and two droids

being roasted alive wasn't going to matter much at all. "Okay,'' Lando said,

"tie your eloths over your mouth and nose, and then let's do one more thing

that might help us get through this in one piece. We need to get as much

oxygen into the bloodstream and lungs as possible before we go out there.

The high pressure will help, but we need to do more. Everybody, start

breathing in rapid, shallow breaths. I'll help you hold your breath a little

bn longer when the lime comes." Lando followed his own advice, and started

to breathe in fast, shallow, panting breaths. Not the healthiest thing to do

for long, bul it would help get him through the next few minutes. He looked

out ihc viewport at the swirling clouds of murky ash and soot ami shook his

head. "Don't brealhe this stuff al all." he said, around his panting

breaths. "I'vcn if il had all ihe oxygen you needed, that crud would

probably burn a hole in your lungs." Lando started to follow and kept up his

rapid, shallow breathing until he started to feel just this side of

light-headed. He only hoped he was remembering all ihe procedures properly.

"All right," he said "Artoo, you time it. Come after us in three minutes.

Let's do it." Sonsen tied her own cloth over her mouth and nose, looked

around to make sure everyone else had done the same, and then hit the door

oPEn button. The air blew out of the turbovator car with terrifying speed,

and then a blast-furnace wall of air rushed in, pulling a stream of noxious

dusi and smoke and soot with it. Sonsen dove Ihrough the dooi. and Lando

followed afiei her, already half blinded by the slinging. burning fumes thai

wore everywhere. There had been nothing they could do about eye protection.

Where the devil was Sonsen? Had he lost her already1 The air-if you could

call it air-screamed past in ihe howling wind and cleared the view for just

a moment. He spotted her, through watering eyes, heading toward the

building. The heal was nearly as bad as the poisoned air and the dust.

Already the sweat was streaming out of his body, dripping down his brow,

getting into his eyes, making it that much harder to see. He resisted the

urge to wipe his brow-and the urge to breathe. Amaz-ing how fast you wanted

to start again once you stopped. Never mind. Sonscn-Jenica-was at the

airlock, trying to work the very old-fashioned-looking controls-but the

metal buttons and knobs were already too hot to touch. Lando pulled the

torn-up piece of cloth out of his pocket-being careful to keep his

vibro-shiv from falling out-and handed it to her. She nodded gratefully, nol

wasting breath on words, and wrapped the cloth around her hand. She threw

back the spill lever, equalizing pressure between the interior of the lock

and the outside. It would seem the pressure was higher on the outside,

judging by the column of smoke and soot that got sucked into the lock.

Jenica threw back a big lever and the door swung out and open. She waved her

arm vigorously, urging Lando in-and he needed no urging. It was a big lock

compartment, capable of handling twenty or thirty people at once. That

wasn't good. The bigger the lock, the more air there would be to move, and

the longer it would take. The dust and smoke swirled around in the wretched

air as Lando stumbled into the oven-hot interior of the lock-and suddenly

realized that Jenica was not with him. He turned around to find her slumped

over by the lock entrance, face-down on the ground, coughing and retching.

His own lungs feeling as if they were about to burst, Lando forced himself

to go back outside after her. He grabbed her under the arms and dragged her

in, wishing mightily for enough breath to curse the too-high gravity here in

the equatorial regions of Centerpoint Station. Half blinded by the caustic

chemicals burning his eyes, Lando hauled Jenica Sonsen into the lock. He was

about to let her slump down onto the deck when he realized just how hot that

metal deck had to be by now. He threw her left arm over his shoulder and

held her up as he searched frantically for the inside lock controls. She

managed to take a bit of her weight on her own feet. Coughing horribly, she

pointed an unsteady finger over to one corner of the lock. Lando looked in

the direction she was pointing. There! He dragged himself over, Jenica still

draped over him. and pulled the close-lock lever, burning his hand in the

process. The metal was hot and getting hotter. It seemed to take forever for

the door to swing back shut. He had his finger jammed down on the air pump

button almost before the'door latches had closed, but the automatics cut in

at once anyway-nol pumping in good air. but dumping the bad stuff out into

the other side of the lock. Shell One, Jeniea had called it. The air pumps

whirred busily, stirring the ashes and soot up into a new blinding cloud of

dust. Lando's lungs were screaming for air, demanding that he breathe

immediately. He felt as if he were about to pass om. but he knew he did not

dare, if he tainted, his reflexes would start him breathing again-and that

would probably kill him. The pressure equali/.cd. and the far lock door

opened. The air outside was far colder than the stuff in the lock, and the

temperature difference was enough to make up a sharp little gust of wind as

the hot bad air expanded out into Shell One-and good cool air swept into the

lock chamber. Lando let go ol Jenica and dropped to his knees. He barely

noticed ihe burning heat ol the deck as he gasped for ;iir. coughing,

gagging, Ins lungs heaving. He pulled the cloth away from his mouth and

coughed harder, spitting out ihe horrid slime that seemed to have gotten

into his mouth, even if he hadn't been breathing thai mess. "Out." he said,

his voice little more than a weak creaking noise. "We need-get out-set lock

lor others." Jenica had collapsed next to him. She nodded, unable to speak

even that much. They helped each other to their feet and staggered out of

the lock chamber. The air here was a swirling mass of dreadful, suifurous

smoke-but there was air there too, good air. They could not breathe easily

just yet, not until the dust and smoke dispersed. But at least they could

breathe. Jenica went to the Shell One side control panel and pulled the

old-fashioned lever to swing the interior door shut. "Hold it!" Lando

shouted. He had spotted something. There was a rack of emergency equipment

by the lock door-including two smali tanks of oxygen with breathing masks.

Lando grabbed one, twisted the valve to stari the oxygen flowing, and threw

it into the lock. Most-or maybe all-of the oxygen would go to waste, of

course. But it didn't matter. Even at full flow, a bottle that size would

last ten or fifteen minutes before it went empty. But maybe just enough oxy

would blow around to do some good. Or maybe if they were all blinded by the

fumes, someone would still hear the hissing noise, and someone would find

the mask, and put it to his or her face. The door swung to, Jenica pulled

the lever to open the Hollowtown-side door, and that was that. She turned

around and slumped down on the floor with her back to the wall. Lando

grabbed the other oxy tank and sat down on the floor facing her. He opened

the flow valve and handed her the tank. Jenica put the breather mask to her

face and breathed in deeply--and was subdued by another wave of wracking

coughs. She tried it again, with better success. "Yuck," she said. "I didn't

mean to breathe any of that stuff, but something must have gotten in." She

handed the tank to Lando. He put the mask to his face and breathed in

deeply. The cool, elean oxygen felt wonderfully pure and sweet. "Is there

anything else we can do to help them in?" he asked. She shook her head. "Not

really. There's a viewport in the airlock here. The safeties won't let me

open both doors at once, but 1 might be able to set things to pop open the

hatch on this side before the chamber re pressurises. That might get 'em in

here a little faster. Thai's about all." It had taken all of ninety seconds

to get them in here. Ama/ing how much longer than that it felt. But if there

was company coming, they had best get ready. Lando took another deep breath

off the oxy tank and handed it back to Jenica. "Come on," he said. "Let's

get the lock set so you can pop the inner door early." "Yeah. We'd better. I

have a nasty feeling your triends might have it a little rougher than we

did." Jenica stood up and rubbed herface. Her hand eame away even dirtier

than it had been. "Burning stars, but I must be a mess." "You did look

belter before," Lando said with a smile. "Your face has about a centimeter

of dust on it." "Oh, a little soap and water will fix that," she said. "But

I don't even want to think what this has done to mv hair." Luke Skywalker

watched Artoo intently, waiting for the three minutes lo be up. Me forced

himself to calmness, to clarity, .ledi were nol impatient. Except sometimes.

This situation was gelling out of" hand. The temperature in the car had

jumped dramatically when the outside air had come in. All of them were

sweating profusely. And all of them-even ihe greal Jedi Master himself-were

having trouble brealhing. Kalenda coughed again and swore under her

brealh-what little breath she had. "How much longer?" she asked. Either the

smoke or the cloth over her mouth made her voice seem a bil murky, a bit

throaty. "About anolher thirty seconds. I think," Luke said. "Let's get

ready. Both of you out before me so I can keep an eye on you," he said.

Gaeriel seemed about to protest, but Luke cul her off. "It's no time to be

modest," he said. "My Jedi powers give me an edge you two won't have. If

they didn't, I've wasted my time with all that training for all these years.

Artoo, Threepio, you come after me. You watch me. Watch all of us. We might

need your help-but maybe we can move faster than you two can. If we get

there first, we're going to have to leave you on this side of the lock-but

we'll cycle the lock again as soon as we're through. All right?" Artoo

whistled and beeped and swung his head back and forth. "I quite agree with

Artoo," Threepio said. "We might be immune to the poisonous atmosphere. hut

the corrosive airborne chemicals and the rising temperatures could easily do

us harm. Please do not delay in getting us." "I won't," Luke said. "I

promise." Threepio nodded happily. "I am glad to hear it,"' he said.

Apparently the word of a Jedi Master was good enough even for a protocol

droid. "Kalenda-Gaeriel-are you ready'.1" "No, not really," said Gacricl,

coughing just a bit. "But I doubt I ever will be ready for (his sort of

thing. Let's go." Kalenda nodded and let it go at that. "Here we go," Luke

said, and hit the button. A new blast of burning-hot air struck at them as

the door opened. The winds were blowing more and more fiercely as the

Glowpoint dumped more and more energy into the system. Gaeriel stepped out

into the storm and was nearly blown off her feet before Kalenda could grab

at her. Luke stepped out into it and was nearly bowled over himself. The

heat was incredible, and the noxious gases seemed to eat into his skin, his

eyes. For a Jedi there is no pain, Luke lold himself. There is awareness.

There is calm. The three humans stepped around the side of the turbovator

car-and discovered they had been in the lee of the wind. The full force of

the corrosive gale blasted straight into their faces, utterly blinding them,

forcing them to jam their eyes shut. The wind carried finegrained sand, and

that slammed into them as well. Luke got one fleeting moment of good

visibility before ihe roaring wall of dust and cinders enveloped them, one

moment when he saw where the airlock hatch was-and saw that it was swinging

open for them. That one moment would have to be enough It would be worse

than useless to open his eyes in this storm. Not only would he he unable lo

see-his eyes would be destroyed. He would have to do it by dead

reckoning-and drag the others with him. He reached out with the Force and

found Kalenda and Gaeriel hand-in-hand, just a meter or two ahead of him.

They were headed in the wrong direction. They must have been turned around

by the wind already. Luke lunged forward into the wind and, using the Force

to guide him, grabbed Kalenda by the hand and yanked hard in the proper

direction. Kalenda came willingly enough, and Luke could feel Gaeriel in the

Force, feel her hesitate a moment and then follow along as well. Luke became

aware of a burning sense in his chest. Air. He needed air. And if he fell

the urgent need to breathe, the others must be in an agony to do so. Closer.

Closer. In his mind's eye, he could see the hatch. He knew, with all the

power and precision of his Jedi senses, exactly where it was. But thai did

not get him there any faster, did not give him the power to move

effortlessly against this deadly wind. There. They were there. He still did

not dare open his eyes, but he knew they were at the entrance to the lock.

He pulled Kalenda forward, pushed her in ahead of him, and shoved Gacricl in

as well before stepping in himself-and running smack into something metal,

something hard and angular and tall. He suddenly realized it was Threepio.

"It would seem Artoo and I got here before you after all. Master Luke!"

Threepio shouted over the howl of the sandstorm. A droid could speak in this

mess without wasting air or getting sand iii his mouth. Luke couldn't, and

he settled for a nod instead. Luke nodded and moved farther forward into the

lock, out of the stinging wind. He wiped the worst of the dust from his eyes

and risked opening them, just in time to see the lock swinging shut. There

was a sudden Marc of orange from behind him. He turned around. Gaeriel and

Kalenda were standing, eyes still shut, in about the midpoint of the lock

chamber, holding to each other, coughing miserably. And Gaerici's long

flowing w;hite dress was on fire-and Gaeriel did not know it yet. Luke

lunged for her and threw his body on the blossoming flames, trying to

smother them. His tlight suit was insulated and fireproof. He felt a brief

bloom of heat on his chest, and that was all. The fire died. He stood back

up and helped Gaeriel to her feet. A red-hot hit of debris, blown from

someplace where things were hotter still, must have gotten itself lodged in

the fabric of Gaeriel's dress. Rul how could it burn, with no available

oxygen? Luke heard a hissing noise from behind him and looked around. An

oxygen mask. Lando and Kalenda had thrown an oxygen mask into the lock

chamber-and Gaeriel had been standing right on top of it. Her dress must

have trapped the oxygen. A million-to-one shot, but one that had almost

killed Gaeriel. All of that flashed through his mind even as he was grabbing

for the mask. He tore the cloth strip off her mouth and put the oxy mask

over her mouth and nose. Still half blinded, and probably still unaware of

why Luke had knocked her over, she jerked away from the mask at first, until

she realized what it was. Then she grabbed for it greedily, opened her

mouth, and took in a deep, urgent breath. She started coughing almost

instantly. Luke handed the mask to Kalenda, who took two deep breaths

herself before handing it back to Luke. Luke pulled down his dust cloth,

exhaled the last breath he had breathed in back in the turbovator car, and

sucked in as much air as the mask had to give. He realized that he had been

seeing spots before his eyes, there toward the end. Even Jedi Masters have

to breathe, he told himself. He was just handing the mask on to Gaeriel when

the inner door swung violently open, and the air in the lock blasted out

into the chamber beyond in a lasi choking, blinding-but now harmless-cloud

of dust. They had made it. " "I was on fire?" Gaeriel asked, looking down at

the remains of her dress. Jeniea had led them all to a small infirmary near

the Shell One side of the airlock. Everyone had cuts and bruises and scrapes

and minor burns that needed attention of one sort or another. They all

needed baths and clean clothes as well, but those could wait just a bit. ''I

was on fire and I didn't know about it?" "A claim not many can make," Luke

said, laughing. "I apologize for knocking you over-"And / apologize for

throwing that oxy mask m there," said Lando. "Don't either of you

apologi/e." Gaeriel said, a bit tartly. She went over to the sink and

started scrubbing her hands. "The mask probably saved all our lives in

there. I was near passing out, and if I had fainted and breathed in much

more of that stuff than I did by accident-well, at best I'd have been in

here widi something a lol worse than a sore throat. And I'd much rather have

a bruised dignity than third-degree burns." "I think we were all pretty

lucky in there," Kalenda said in more serious tones as she sprayed some

quick-heal salve on Jenica's burned hand. "The way the temperatures were

rising, I don't think we'd have gotten out another live minutes later."

"What's it like in there now, Artoo?" Luke asked as Lando sprayed antiseptic

solution into the sand burns on his faee. "Ow! That stuff stings." "Hold

still," Lando said, dabbing ointment onto the worst of the burns. "Almost

done." Artoo. who had plugged himself into a dataport in the infirmary wall,

squeaked and whistled and buzzed and beeped in an agitated fashion. "Dear

me," said Threepio. "Things are rapidly getting worse in there." "What did

that Anoo thing say, for those of us who don't speak bird-whistle?" Jenica

asked. "Temperatures where we were ten minutes ago are up over the boiling

point of water and headed higher," said Threepio. "The surviving detectors

show hot spots closer to the Glowpoint well over five hundred degrees-and

there are probably temperatures much higher than that, except the detectors

are not there anymore to tell us." "Not good," said Lando. "Not good at

all." Jenica Sonsen nodded her head. "And it's also no terrorist attack,"

she said. "Even twice didn't make a great deal of sense-but three times?" "I

think you're very wrong there," Lando said. "Very wrong indeed. Bui I'm

afraid your people here weren't the intended victims, I think you were more

like innocent bystanders who got in the way." Jeniea turned and looked

sharply at Lando as she flexed the hand with the burn salve on it. "Captain

Calrissian-Lando-you said a few things earlier that made it sound like you

had an idea what this was all about. Maybe now would be the right time to

explain yourself." Lando let out a deep sigh. "1 think maybe you're right,"

he said. "But no one's going to like it much. E might even be wrong-but on

the other hand, it's all staring us in the face." "What is?" Luke asked.

"Centerpoint," Lando said. "Centerpoint is right in the middle of it all.

Think about it. There are three big, impressive, inexplicable technologies

at the middle of this crisis. The first, and the easiest to explain, is the

system-wide jamming. Impressive, bui all you really need for that is a whole

lot of power. And where does the jamming come from?" "Centerpoint," Jenica

said. "Without Fed-Dub even knowing about it-and we ran the place." "Or at

least you thought you did," Lando said. "Second up is the interdiction

field. Nothing incredible about it, beyond ils Size. But if you had a

powerful enough gravitic generator, you could do it. Where does it come

from?" "Centerpoint," Jenica said again. "And from what you were asking

about earlier, you thought it had something to do with the way we're right

at the balance point of gravilic potential." "Right. I have no idea how. but

it seems to me that Centerpoint taps into the gravitic output of the Double

Worlds. Now it seems someone has found a way to convert that power into an

interdiction field." "And the third unexplained technology?" Luke asked.

Lando looked straight at him. "The novamaker, of course. The starbusler. We

all wondered how it was done. We all wondered where the starbuster was. I'm

just about positive we're silling in it right now. I think the Glowpoint

flare means it's jusl about to go off again."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Meeting in Progress It was a lovely morning. The star Corell was rising in

the east. The lovely rolling hills and clean blue sky of Selonia were laid

out before them. The Hunchuzuc Den had put them up in a splendid hilltop

villa, clearly purpose-built for the use of visiting human dignitaries. They

had been comfortable and well cared for from the moment Mara Jade had set

the Jade's Fire down. "I am tired of waiting. Dracmus," Han said. "Patience,

Honored Solo. Waiting is not yet tired of you." "Whatever that means/' Han

growled. "Have you ever given a straight answer in your life?" "What,

exaetly. are you meaning by straight answer?" Han Solo turned to his wife,

who was sitting placidly al the breakfast table. "You see what I've had to

put up with?" he asked. Dracmus had come to pay her morning call, as she did

every day. And as he did every day, Han found himself wondering what the

point of the visit was. "Riddles. Incoherent riddles. Thai's all I ever got.

It's all we ever get." "Take it easy, Han," Leia said. "Palienee is the

hardest part of diplomacy." "But mine has reached its limits," Han said.

"I'm afraid i agree with Han," Mara said. "Things are moving too fasl

everywhere else for me to put up with waiting here any longer." "I'm still

not even sure why we arc here," I Ian said. "Right from the moment you

yanked me oul of that cell, I haven't known for sure if i was your partner

or your prisoner. Arc we prisoners? Hostages, maybe? Or are we here to

negotiate something? And if so, what?" "I'm afraid il is not that simple,"

Draemus said. "To my people, these things--partner, prisoner, hostage.

negotiator-are not so separate from each other as they are with your folk.

To my people, one might lie only one of these or all of them at once, or

some of them ehangingly over time." "So which is it?" Han asked, a very

clear warning note in his voice. A note Draemus plainly missed. "It is not

yet determined. You must understand that to my people consensus is being

all. Ambiguity has much use for us. if the issue is uncertain, then the

meeting can go on. for disagreement is more difficult if no one understands

the problem lully." "So is agreement," Han said. "There are people with guns

and ships out there who are shooting al our people. There is not much

ambiguity out there." "Please! Please!" Dracmus said. "Understanding your

impatience, but what you ask is nut our way. hoi my people-"Traditions make

lor an awfully handy set of excuses," Mara said. "Every time I have ever

dealt with a Sclonian who didn't want to do something, she's explained to me

how tradition made it impossible, or the ways of her people caused it to be

difficult to decide, or whatever excuse seemed handy. And my people always

had to be respectful of your ways, and accept the structure of your culture.

No more. This isn't some trade deal for luxury goods where you can leave us

hanging for six months on the off chance that your convenient traditions

will get us so frustrated that we give up and offer a better price. This is

war. This is survival. There is no time. It is time for you to accept the

ways of our culture before we are all wiped out. It is our way to speak

plain, to speak true, to choose a course, and to follow it." "Please!" said

Dracrnus. "You must endure. Things are being complex. Take time to solve

all." "But there is no time," Mara said, putting a hard-edged emphasis on

her words. "We cannot take what no longer exists, and we have run out of

time. Or rather, you have. I may be many things, but I will not be your

prisoner." "What is the meaning of your words?" Dracmus asked. "Inform

whoever it is you should inform that 1 am leaving. Jn one hour, I am going

to walk around to the landing pad on the other side of this villa. I am

going to get aboard the Jade's Fire and 1 am going to l]y away. My

companions are welcome to join me if they wish, but I will be leaving in any

eveni, I would also remind you that Leia and 1 escaped from the Human League

and flew the Jade's Fire off Corellia, while we were facing much heavier

opposition than anything I have seen here so far. Besides which, as my ship

is the one that brought the Chief of State of the New Republic to this

planet, the case could be made that an attack on it constitutes an attack on

the New Republic that you claim to recognize and support. In short, I would

not suggest trying to stop me. You will not succeed, and 1 will not be

responsible for any damage from the attempt." "But-but-"The only way to

prevent my departure is to have our group meet with someone in authority,

someone who will provide clear answers to our questions, someone with the

power to make decisions before that hour is up. If such a person does not

appear, I will leave-"And I'll be with her," said Han, and turned toward

his wife. Leia looked troubled and angry, but she nodded. "And so will I."

Dracmus looked from one of them to the other. "But-but-"But you have one

hour;" Mara said. "Vanish. Go make things happen." Dracmus looked positively

frantic. "I will be seeing what I can do. Please! Do not go." "One hour,"

Mara said. "Go. Move." Dracmus nodded, turned, dropped to all fours, and

rushed away as fast as she could. "It I didn't believe in the power of a

united front, I would have refused to go along with you," Leia said, her

voice testy, "You did some damage, but it would have been worse if I had

refused to play along. I'm a diplomat, and you're not. You should have let

me do the talking." "I've been letting you do the talking, and all it's

gotten us so far is an enforced vacation at this villa. I'm a businesswoman,

a trader. Negotiation is my stock in trade." "Do you call insulting our

hosts negotiating?" "Negotiating is the art of getting what you want," Mara

said. "It's not the arl of making the oilier side feel better." "They aren't

the 'other side.' They're our partners in this negotiation." "If they were

our partners, we wouldn't need to negotiate," Mara said smoothly. Han

noticed something. Mara's sharp tone, her apparent anger, her impatience,

had all vanished at the same time Dracmus did. They had all been

performance, posturing, for Dracmus's sake. Now she was calm, relaxed, as

she spoke. "Partners or opponents, I still don't think we'll get anywhere

pushing them around like that," Leia said. "We'll find out in about

fifty-seven minutes," Mara said as she poured herself another cup of tea.

"I've dealt with the Selonians before. Have you or Han?" "I speak the

language, and I've dealt with them socially. Rut I haven't done any real

negotiating." said Leia. "I haven't really dealt with them at all" said Han.

"Not since I was a kid back on Corellia." "Then there is something you both

have to understand/' Mara said. Leia seemed about to protest, but Han held

up his hand, asking her not to do so. "Go on, Mara," he said. "It's a little

hard to explain." Mara paused for a moment. "Think-think about a sabacc

game, where each player knows the other is bluffing, but they both keep

shoving chips into the pot, just to save face. Neither of them can back

down. Or two armies fighting each other, throwing endless troops into a

vicious battle over a useless bit of land. There are cases when humans

forget about the purpose of the competition, and the competition itself

becomes absolutely vital. Sometimes it's irrational. Sometimes it makes

sense. Sometimes it has survival value, or evolution wouldn't have given us

the tendency. Maybe, sometimes, you're thinking about the next hand in the

game, the next battle. Maybe if she knows you just won't quit, your opponent

will decide the fight isn't worth the cost. She'll give up-and you'll win

the next fight without even having to fight. Of course, most of the time,

it's not even a conscious decision. We do that sort of thing without even

thinking about it. It's a blind spot." "None of that sounds much like

Selonians," Han said. "No, it doesn't," Mara agreed. "I was talking about a

human blind spot. We're much more competitive and individualistic than the

Selonians are. All that stuff about consensus isn't just talk. They really

are that way. To oversimplify just a bit, they have a compulsion to reach

agreement, whether or not it makes sense, just as we sometimes feel we have

to win. whether or not it makes sense. It's something the Selonians can't

help doing in a situation like this. It's a blind spot ihcy have. If we just

waited until they were ready lor us, they could lake weeks or months or

years just 10 decide what they want tu ask us for. I had lo let them know

they'd lose everything; if they didn't ask for something right now." "Are

you sure lhat was wise'.'" Leia asked. "No. I'm not. Rut sometimes the

important thing is to make something happen. It almost doesn't matter what."

That 'almost' can cover a lot of ground." Han said. "1 suppose so. But maybe

it means we have the chance to choose our ground. Maybe il we can ligure out

what's going on around here, we can make some good decisions," Mara said.

"There's something we need to consider. Dracmus told us that all ihese

worlds have repulsors. and that someone from the outside was helping to

organize the search for them, Fine and good. You can use one to shoot down a

ship. Even better, from a military point of view. But you can shoot down a

ship with a lot of things that are a lot easier to get at, easier to

control, easier to aim and use. 1 don't think we have the whole reason

behind the scramble to grab the repulsor on CoreIlia. And don't forget

Dracmus said ihe rebels on the other worlds arc searching tor them-or else

they've found them already, and they are putting them to use." ''Using them

lor what?" Han asked. "I haven't the faintest idea," Mara said. "But you

don't try that hard to grab something you don't need urgently. Not in the

middle o! a war where you're trying to save your strength for when you need

it. We've seen all sorts of indications that the various rebellions regard

the repulsors as being hugely valuable. I'm starting to think the repulsors

are the whole reason there are rebels. In a sense, I don't think there are

any rebels at all. They're a front, a smokescreen, for the real enemy."

"What do you mean?" Leia asked. "I have a huneh that the repulsor searches

aren't because of the revolts," said Mara. "My guess is that the revolts are

happening as a cover for the repulsor searches. We're all fairly certain the

revolts were organized from the outside. Dracmus said as much, for what

that's worth. Besides, what are [he odds against rebellions on five planets

simultaneously just by coincidence? There had to be some coordination. We've

all agreed on that. I'm saying the organizing principle was the need to get

at the repulsors." "That makes sense if it's someone from outside doing the

organizing, an external force." said Leia. "I can't quite see our Human

League acquaintances making a first approach to their close personal friends

in the Selonian Overdcn to put this together. If some outside force did the

organizing, they could approach a dissident group on each planet, supply it

with money and expertise and so on. And we know the rebels are coordinating

with each other, at least to a certain extent. All of them participated in

that coordinated attack against the Bakuran ships." "But why would the

rebels cooperate with each other, and with this external force?" Han asked.

"What's in it for them?" Leia shook her head, "I can't say for sure, hut if

I were setting up the deal, I'd say something like, take our money and

information, cooperate with us. use your local people to dig up the repulsor

for us, hand it over to us, and when we kick the New Republic out. live you

a free hand on your own planet. But in we exchange we get your help-and

ultimate control over your planet's repulsor." "Except then you run the risk

of the rebels deciding that the repulsors are worth something," Han said.

"At a guess, something like that is what happened with the Human League,"

Mara said. "If this external force idea is right, then the externals would

be the ones running the starbuster-not the Human League. When the Human

League started tossing threats around, the external force couldn't have been

too happy about it." "If they even knew about it." Mara said. "They may be

completely external lo this star system. They'd have some representatives,

some observers, in-system. but once the jamming comes on, you can throw the

observers in jail and say whatever you want without anyone outside hearing

il. And once the interdiction iield goes on, outsiders can't get at you to

do anything about it. Sooner or later, the interdiction Held and the jamming

are turned off-but by then, Thrackan Sal-Solo is running the planet, maybe

the whole slar system, and the external forces can do what they like. And if

he's managed to grab a few of the repulsors by then, maybe he's got some

serious bargaining chips. Or maybe not. We don't even know what the

repulsors can be used for. let alone why they are so important.'' Leia

thought for a moment. "If all this is true, then the rebels themselves

aren't the problem. It's the repulsors, and the people who got the rebels

searching for them, [he external forces. It's obvious the externals don't

care about the rebel causes-the rebels are all against each other. The Human

League i.s mostly anii-Selonian and anti-Drall. as much as it is for

anything. So the externals are supporting them for some other reason-as a

way to get at the repulsors. Cut the links between ihe rebels and Ihe

external forces, gain con-trol ofl the repulsors, figure out how to use them

against the externals, and the rebellions ought to dry up and blow away."

"Fine," Han said. "Very nice and neat. But you've just given yourself a huge

lisi of jobs [here. I don't see how we could even start to accomplish any of

them." "But al least they're political jobs, intelligence jobs, not military

jobs," Leia said. "Considering we have no military assets at all in system,

that's good news. There's a military aspect, of course, but we're hoping to

get some help on that angle from the Sclonians." She glanced at Mara.

"Unless the Selonians call your bluff in another forty-five minutes." "1

wasn't bluffing," Mara said. "Do you have any clear idea of how the

Selonians lit into all this?" Han said. "Are the Overden and the Hunchuzuc

even still fighting each other? I haven't seen any signs of battle, 'or any

mention of it from Dracmus-and she's not so good at keeping secrets."

ugrave;'It wouldn't surprise me if they had stopped lighting," Mara said,

"but if they have, that's probably bad news for us. My impression is that

the Overden has indeed seized control of the repulsor--and the repul-sor is

a very powerful weapon. Selonians aren't much for lost causes. A lot of

times we humans fight on even when all hope is lost. Honor requires it, or

we're hoping for a miracle, or we're praying that a million-to-one chance

breaks our way. Not the Selonians. Typically, a fight between two groups

ends when one side or the other demonstrates they have a massive advantage

over the other. The Selonians on the losing side will then see there is no

point in going on, and request a negotiated settlement. More than that. They

will want to ally themselves with the winners." "And you think our noble

Hunchuzuc allies have decided that they've lost," Han said. "You think

they're dickering with the Overden. and we're part of the deal?" "Something

like that. Maybe the Overden wants us as bargaining chips, maybe as

hostages, maybe they want to negotiate directly with Leia. Of course we

don't even know for sure that it's the Overden and not the Hunchu/uc who

have the repulsor. Maybe our side won." 'It is most regrettable," said a new

voice, "but 1 fear that is not the case. The inestimable Mara Jade has

described the situation exactly." Han looked behind himself in surprise. The

newcomer had arrived in utter silence from inside the villa. She was an

older-looking Selonian, tall, but a little stooped over, her fur shot

through with gray, but her eyes bright. "1 am Kleyvits," she said, "and 1

speak for the Overden. We have won our Hunehuzuc sisters over to our cause."

She paused, and then smiled, displaying an unpleasantly impressive

collection of teeth. "And that means thai we have also won all of you."

Tendra Risant had had just about enough of waiting. It was time for a little

doing. The Gentleman Caller would be stuck in normal space, moving in toward

the first-distant inner planets of the Coieiiian star system for months yet.

assuming the interdiction field stayed up. Bui suppose it didn't stay up?

The Gentleman Caller was nol the fastest ship in the universe, but even a

slow ship would need only a minute or two in hyperspace to cover the

remaining distance to the inner system, 'Ten-dra knew belter than anyone

about that fleet waiting in orbit around Sacorria. It seemed quite likely

they would be headed this way. They would need the field to come down for

that to happen. They might or might not reactivate it once they were in. The

field might be down for just a very brief period. Therefore, it seemed

likely there would be a moment, maybe only a lew minutes, perhaps longer,

when she could activate her hyperdrive and get to where she was going-if

only she knew when that moment was. The navieomputcr had a gravitic field

indicator, one that was very definitely showing the effects of the

interdiction field. All she had to do was rig an alarm that would go off

when the field went down. Then it would merely be a question of computing

and making the jump before the field came on again. There were dozens of

things that could go wrong, any number of perhaps unwarranted assumptions.

But if she did nothing for much longer, she would go mad. She knew she had

to take charge of her own situation if she was going to hang on to her

sanity. But for the most part, she didn't think of it in those terms. She

just wanted to do whatever would get her off the ship. "Freen?! Zubbit!

Norgch! Norgchal. Normal. Normal processing resumes. Resumes? Reset! Reset!

Normal processing resumes! Wowser! Freen!" The stream of babble continued as

Q9-X2's head spun around three times, and a perfect forest of probes and

sensors and manipulator arms popped in and out of their compartment;,. "Not

quite," Anakin said, frowning a hit. He pushed the droid's main power button

off. All of the manipulators abruptly retracted into their compartments, and

his status lights went off. Anakin reached into Q9's interior and unplugged

a cable. "This one was in backward,'" he said. He plugged the cable back in

a nd turned the power back on. This time the droid powered up a bit more

sedately. His head spun around exactly once, his status lights came on, none

of his probes or arms came out. and he simply beeped twice and announced,

"Normal processing resumes." 'Well, I should hope so." said Ebrihim. "after

all the trouble we have been to in order to get you fixed." "Frixed? Flough

wuz I broken?" Q9 asked. "Expuse me. Voder sybems not quite stabilized. Once

moment." About half of his status lights went out for a few seconds and then

came back on again. "Let's try thai again. Fixed? How was i broken?" "Anakin

turned the repulsor on, and there was some sort of power surge," said

Ebrihim. "We were afraid we had lost you altogether-but Anakin and Chcwbacca

got you working again." Ebrihim found himself wondering if Q9 had actually

needed any substantial repair at all. It hadn't taken Anakin more than an

hour or two to do the job. Had Chewbacca left the work on O9 for Anakin as a

way of letting Anakin make amends for what he had done? Or was Anakin's

instinctive, near-mystical ability with machines so great that he could do

things Chewbacca. with his centuries of experience, could not? Chewbaeea had

only worked on Q9 for a few minutes at a time, when he was taking a break

from his work on the propulsion systems. Ah. well. Life was full of minor

mysteries that would never quite be solved, and Ebrihim's command of the

Wookiee language was not good enough to question Chewbacca on such a subtle

point. Not that it was ever wise to question the Wookiee toe-closely. "I am

grateful lo both of you-all of you-for repairing me," said Q9. "But what is

ihis about turning the repulsor on? That seems a most foolhardy act. Whose

idea was it?" "My idea," Anakin said, looking down at the deck of the lounge

compartment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble." "I am

relieved to hear it. I would be even more relieved to learn that you had

caused no trouble at all. I gather this was not the case?" "Oh, Anakin

managed lo do just a bit of damage," Ebrihim said breezily, "but we will

discuss that later. Right now I would suggest that you run a full set of

diagnostics on yourself. It might well be that you find that several

corrective adjustments need to be made." Q9 activated his repulsor pads and

floated up into the air to his normal hover height. "I shall do so," he

replied. "But I would suggest that someone else around here might want to

run some diagnostics and make some adjustments." With that, he floated

silently out of the compartment, "What did he mean by that?" Anakin asked.

"I think he was suggesting that little boys should try and learn from their

mistakes." "That's not what he said," Anakin objected. "No, my version was

more polite. But the advice remains good." Anakin looked from Chewbacca to

Ebrihim, "You mean I should think more before I work on a machine?" Anakin

asked. "That is precisely what 1 mean," Ebrihim said. "Precisely. Nov. run

along and play-with your toys, not with machinery." He watched the lad hurry

off to find his brother and sister. "Of course." he said to Chewbacea. "the

problem is that Anakin sees toys and machines as one and the same thing."'

Chewbacea nodded grimly as he put away his tools. "In any event," said

Ebrihim, "it is good to have Q9 up and about again. Thank you for your help.

And I think it is about time I relieved my aunt. My watch is about to

start." Chewbacca gave a yip and a hoot of polite dismissal and Hbrihim

turned and left the lounge. The two Drall had been taking turns on watch in

the Falcon"?, cockpit. The sensor displays there might well give them some

sort of warning if trouble showed up. By having the Drall take the watch.

Chewbacea had time lo keep up his work on his repairs to the Falcon.

Wookiees in general, and Chewbacca in particular, were not given to bursts

of optimism, but Chewbacca had made it sound as if he was close, very close,

lo getting at least some propulsion restored. Even if all they could do was

fly high enough to get out of this enormous trap of a cylinder and back up

to the surface that would be at least some help. Ebrihim entered the cockpit

and saw his aunt silting at the pilot's station. She was using a pile of old

clothes under her somewhat ample rump to boost her up high enough to see all

the instruments. She looked around as he entered. "Greetings, nephew. Q9

floated in a moment or two ago and made several insulting remarks. It is

good to see that he is operational again." "It is indeed, dearest aunt. Is

there anything to report?" She shook her head. "No, there is not. and for

that let us be profoundly grateful-" She stopped speaking and looked at the

overhead detector display. She stared at it. slock-still, for all of five

seconds. She shook her head. "It would appear I spoke too soon," she said

and then slapped down the red-alert siren. It started hooting loudly, loudly

enough for the children outside the ship to hear it and come running. "Aunt!

What is it?" Ebrihim asked. "1 should think that would be obvious," she

said, sludying the display. "It's a ship, ol course, coming in right on top

of us. But 1 am not so much interested in what it is. I would much rather

know who it is."

CHAPTER NINE

If and When It's amazing how much you can find when you know where to look,"

said Lando, studying the data that was flowing past, screenful after

screenful. "And it doesn't hurt to have someone as good at data searches as

Arloo. And, ah, well, even Threepio's language skills have been helpful."

Threepio turned his head rather briskly. "Helpful? I would say they have

been essential. You wouldn't have been able to translate a tenth of that

information without me." "Don't push it," Lando said. "Yes, you were a great

help, all right? There, I said it. But I was about to say that without

Administrator Sonsen, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere at all." Jenica

Sonsen smiled broadly and gave Lando a jab in the ribs that was probably

just a trifle harder than she had intended it to be. "Easy, all of you," she

said. "All I did was show you the log files." But the log files had told

them a lot-and led them in a lot of profitable directions. It was all down

there, very clear. Looking from here, it was easy to spot signs of something

going wrong. Station systems no one had even known about started coming to

life. Power fluctuations. Spikes and drops in various forms of radiation,

some of them significant enough to require the tempo-rary evacuation of

part of the station. The station re-pointing its spin axis, gradually

reaiming its poles in new directions. "The change in spin orientation. How

did you people explain that away?" asked Lando. "Centerpoint has always been

self-correcting," Jenica said. "The barycenter point isn't absolutely

stable. The station has always moved itself around a little to stay properly

oriented and positioned. It wasn't like it hadn't ever happened before."

"That lo one side,'" said Lando, "the main thing is that I've now pretty

much confirmed what I suspected the second I saw those conical forms in the

poles of Hollowtown. That form of six small cones around a larger one is the

exact geometry you need for a particular kind of old-style repulsor.

Actually, if you get down and take a look on the microscopic level, you'll

see exactly the same pattern, repeated over and over and over again, on the

surface of modern repuisor systems. Crudely put, we don't make one big

repuisor element like that anymore, because the bigger the repuisor, the

heavier the object has to be for the repulsor to work efficiently." Lando

brought up a wireframe diagram of Centerpoint and pointed to the image of

the repulsors. "These are pretty big, but on the other hand, planets are

pretty big too." "But all the inhabited planets have their own repulsors,"

Kalenda objected. "What did the builders of Corellia need this place for?"

"Because this isn't just a repuisor," he said. "This is a hyperspacc'

repuisor. This station was designed to open up a-a gate, a tunnel-through

hyperspacc. grab a planet, and pull it back this way. It acts as more of a

tractor beam than a repuisor, really, but that's the idea." "How?" Luke

asked. "How does it work?" Lando shrugged. "I don't know. But as

Administrator Sonsen has pointed out a time or two, knowing how it works

isn't always that important. It's knowing that it the station to report al!

the events, but the automatic logging reports I've found indicate there was

more of the same. Then there was a different sort of power flow shifts from

the automatic recording instruments that have kept up right until the

present moment-and they start at exactly the time the jamming and the

interdiction field come on. Then we get the second Glowpoint flare, and,

shortly thereafter, the second induced supernova." "But how could it be we

didn't feel any of that, or see anything?" Jenica asked. "You're talking

about a hugely powerful pulse of energy being shot off from this station. No

one saw anything. There wasn't any huge vibration or any burst of heat."

"This station is putting out a hugely powerful interdiction field and a

powerful jamming field right now. Can you feel either of those?" "The

pointing," Kalenda said. "What does the re-pointing show?" Lando brought up

a holographic projector, and threw up an image of the stars near to

Corellia. "The red spot at the center of the display is our position. This

is the pointing of Centerpoint's South Pole relative to the starfield before

things started happening." A blue line streaked out from the center of the

display and pointed toward nothing at all. "This is the pointing after the

first shift in spin orientation." A line of red lanced out and stabbed

straight through the heart of a star. "That is TD-10036-EM-1271," Lando

said. "The first star to go nova." Lando punched in another command, and a

shaft of gold streaked out and touched another star. "Thanta Zilbra," Lando

said. "The second star on the list. A population in the tens of thousands.

My guess is most of them are dead. I know logistics, and I don't see how

they possibly could have gotten everyone out in time. And this," he said,

"is where we're pointed now." A line of violet fire flashed out, and hit

another star, square and true. "That is the third star on the hit list we

got in the initial warning message. Bovo Yagen. I looked it up. One source

says one planet with eight million. Another says two planets with a total

estimated system population of twelve million on the planets, and who knows

how many stations and habitats and mining camps and so on. Centerpoint is

the starbuster, and it is getting set to blast that star and those planets

and all those people down to cinders and dust." "When?" Kalenda asked. Lando

hit another control button and a countdown clock appeared. "Artoo ran the

problem. We have to backtrack a little to account for how long the pulse

will take to travel through hyperspace, and how long it will take for the

chain reaction to take hold inside the star and build up to an explosion.

Centerpoint is going to have to send a tractor-repulsor hyperspace burst in

exactly one hundred twenty-three hours, ten minutes, and thirteen seconds

from now in order to keep to the schedule in the original warning message.

Twelve hours and twelve minutes after that, the chain reaction induced by

the energy pulse will bloom out of the star's core, and up it will go."

"Burning stars. Centerpoint-my home-is a weapon," Jenica said, her voice

full of shock. "And whoever controls it is going to have the power to

control the Corellian Sector-and maybe the whole galaxy," Gaeriel said. "Do

what we say, or we blow up your star." "Wait a second," Luke said. "There's

a piece that doesn't fit. If Centerpoint is the starbuster, then it's the

prize, the most important place in the Corellian system. Why the fuss over

the planetary repulsors? Why didn't the plotters worry about Centerpoint?"

"Three reasons," Lando replied. "The first is that they didn't try to get it

because they already had it-or at least had found a way to control it. I

figure there is some well-shielded, well-hidden control room on this

station. Someplace we wouldn't find it if we looked for a hundred years.

Probably there isn't anyone in it, any-way. All of it automated, set to

work off timers and remote control. Second reason might be plain old

misdirection. If you get everyone worried about the repul-sors, no one's

going to have time to go looking for the starbuster. And the third reason "Has been staring us right in the face," Kalenda said. "I think I just

figured it out. I haven't really worked with repulsor field theory since

school, but part of what makes repulsors work is that they can interfere and

resonate with each other, right? And you can use that interference between

two or more repulsor cells to provide steering and control. Power to a small

side repulsor cell can deflect the beam from the main repulsor." Lando

nodded. "Exactly. The planetary repulsors can jam Centerpoint's hyperspace

tractor-repulsor beam. They are the only repulsors strong enough to do it.

"But it goes deeper than that. The planetary repulsors can work as

amplifiers, not just as jammers. In practice it would be the devil to

manage, but, in theory, you could tune all the planetary repulsors into a

single network slaved to Centerpoint. That would provide Centerpoint with

even more power and range than it has now. Right now, Centerpoint gets its

power by tapping a little bit of the gravitic potential of Talus and Tralus.

Suppose it could tap into Selonia, and Corellia, and Dratl? For that matter,

I haven't quite worked out the geometry of it yet, but with all five planets

and Centerpoint in the network, you could probably tap into the star

Corell's gravitic potential. If I'd designed this system back whenever it

was designed, I'd make sure that was possible. Just imagine Centerpoint with

that much power. It would be able to strike at any point in the galaxy. The

masters of Centerpoint could grab any planet they wanted and pull it into

this system-or drop into a star, if they wanted. Centerpoint could blow up

any star its masters chose. It could set up an interdiction field or

communications jamming over the whole galaxy-or any part of it its masters

ugrave; wanted to isolate. It could probably do a lot of other things we

haven't even thought of yet." "A lot of things that didn't make sense are

starting to make more sense than I'd like," said Luke. "But using the

repulsors for jamming. How would that work?" "That's a lot simpler," Lando

said . "If any of the planetary repulsors fired a properly tuned beam at

Centerpoint, it would disrupt the aim and the tuning of the tractor-repulsor

beam;" "Could the planetary beams actually move Centerpoint itself?" Luke

asked. "Not enought to make any difference," said Lando. "Centerpoint's more

powerful than any of the plancta-ries. If the planetaries pushed Centerpoint

off its present position, Centerpoint could just push it back. But any one

of the planetaries can shut Centerpoint down by sending out a jamming

signal." "AH right," Kalenda said. "Now we know all this. What do we do

about it?" Lando turned his hands palms-up in a gesture of helplessness.

"Not much. We don't know it's being controlled, or from where, or how. We've

got a rough idea of what the system is, but we're nowhere near understanding

how to operate the system." "There must be some cable we can cut, some

control system we can smash," Jenica said. "I bet there is-but I don't know

where it is. And we won't find out unless we search every deck and shell and

compartment on this station. And even if we found the control system, I'm

not so sure we could smash it. Remember this system is robust enough that

it's been up and running since before the Old Republic." "Then we could blow

up the whole station," Gaeriel said. "With what?" Kalenda asked. "We have

one light cruiser and two destroyers. None of them are carrying any bomb

powerful enough to destroy something three hundred kilometers from end to

end. Maybe, if you gave the Bakuran engineers enough time, they might be

able to rig fixed-point detonators powerful enough to wreck the interior

pretty thoroughly. With enough time. But not with only one hundred

twenty-odd hours to do it." "Well, there's one thing we can do," Luke said.

"Get the word out. Tell our people what we've found out. If we can find Han

and Leia and Chewbacca, if we can find our allies on the worlds here, and

let them know what we know, that's a start. If they can get to a planetary

repulsor in time, and if they can figure out how to run it, and if they can

jam that hyperspace tractor-repulsor beam, then maybe we can save some

lives." Lando shook his head. "That's a lot of ifs, Luke," he said, the

doubt heavy in his voice. "I know," said Luke. He looked up at the countdown

clock, the clock that showed how long Bovo Yagen had to live. The seconds

were melting away. "And it's going to take all the ifs we have to beat that

when up there." The ship dove down into the repulsor chamber, moving fast

and aggressively, but not so fast that Ebrihim wasn't able to see the

insignia painted on the underside of its fuselage as he looked up at it. A

stylized human skull with a knife in its teeth. "Human League!" he cried

out. "Can we get the shields up?" "No!" Aunt Marcha shouted. "The children

are still outside. We have to wait for them to get aboard." Ebrihim hopped

up into the copilot's chair and turned toward the weapons controls as the

enemy ship dropped down to a fast, assault-style landing. Burly figures in

combat gear were tumbling out of the attack boat's hatches even before it

had stopped bouncing on its landing legs. Weapons. Ebrihim did not know much

about such things, but he had to try. There had to be some sort of

auto-system to let the turbolasers-Suddenly huge hands were scooping him up

out of the seat, tossing him out of the way. Chewbacca scrambled into the

copilot's chair and started powering up the defense systems. Power began to

surge through the Falcon's weapons. "The children are aboard!" Marcha

shouted. "Raise the access ramp. Activate the shields!" Chewbacca hit the

ramp close button and reached for the shield controls-but it was too late. A

trooper with a very powerful-looking blaster was looking up at Chewbacca

from below the cockpit. The Falcon was surrounded by troops standing inside

the shield perimeter. Chewbacca tried the shields anyway. The lights in the

cockpit surged for a moment as power went to the shield generators, but

nothing else happened. Chewbacca roared in frustration. Shield jammers. They

must have attached shield jammers to the hull, preventing the shields from

forming. A tall, heavyset, bearded figure stepped out of the assault boat

and walked toward them, a most unpleasant smile on his face. "Sal-Solo,"

Ebrihim said. "It's him." "That's our dad's cousin?" Anakin asked. Ebrihim

turned around and realized for the first time that the children had crowded

their way in. All of them, the entire party, were there, in the cockpit.

"That is his cousin and yours, child," said Marcha. "But I doubt you will

gain much joy from knowing him." Ebrihim tried not to listen. There was

something that had just flitted across his mind, at the thought of their all

being together. Wait a moment. That wasn't true. They weren't all together.

But if he, Ebrihim, assumed they all were here, then surely their friends

outside might make the same mistake. Ebrihim had an idea. Not even a plan,

just an idea that would give them options, advantages. Maybe enough so that

there would still be a way out of this. It was a long shot, but still it was

a chance that could turn this thing around. That was the good news. The bad

news was in two parts. First, they only had a few seconds to put it in

motion. And two, his idea relied completely and entirely upon Q9-X2.

Thrackan Sal-Solo could not have been happier. It was a gift from the gods,

an absolute gift from the gods. He strode about his new possession, admiring

it, thinking of all it could do-and do for him. At last he had his hands on

a planetary repulsor. He had gambled everything that he would get to one in

time. He had thought it would be the one on Corellia. That he ended up

grabbing the one here on Drall was but a slight irony. He had one. That was

all that mattered. He had one in time to control the situation. He looked

up, admiring the view straight to the surface, that sharp-edge circle of

blue, kilometers above his head. He looked down a bit, at the massive,

graceful cluster of cones that made up the repulsor array itself. AS1 his.

All his. His eyes strayed lower, to the Millennium Falcon. What a bonus,

what a magnificent and glittering extra prize it was. Grabbing the Falcon by

itself would have been enough to humiliate Han Solo, to pay him back for the

crime of escape. But to find Han's Wookiee and his children aboard as

well-what could be better? There were two absurd Drall as well, but they

were no prize at all compared to the children. The children represented not

just a chance for personal vengeance, but something else, something more--an

opportunity. If he handled it right, a war winner. Now, suddenly, he could

control, could manipulate, Leia Organa Solo herself. Now she would have to

come to the bargaining table, because she had no choice. And once she came

to that table, Thrackan was cer-tain she would leave with nothing at all.

He would force her into a bargain that would leave the New Republic with its

heart torn out, so badly injured, so utterly discredited, that it could not

survive. Of course, the recent destruction of Thanta Zilbra and the coming

destruction of Bovo Yagen might well accomplish that on their own. A galaxy

that saw that the New Republic could not prevent such a disaster would be a

galaxy that lost faith in the New Republic. It would be a galaxy thai

realized revolt against the New Republic was possible. That would be all to

the good, of course. But better, far better, if the galaxy saw Thrackan

Sal-Solo as a central figure in bringing the New Republic down. The man who

dared to grab the Chief of State's children and hold them hostage-that would

be a man to fear, a man to reckon with. Now he would be that man. But

holding them would do no good unless Han Solo and Leia Organa Solo knew

about it. The communications jamming would have to come down. That was easy

to accomplish. An encoded radionics command to the hidden control station on

Ccnterpoint would shut down the com jamming in short order. No doubt the

people who had built the hidden control center took a dim view of Thrackan

controlling it in their stead--but they should have thought of that before

sending in operatives who couki be bribed, operatives who would betray their

masters. But now, now, the last piece of the puzzle had dropped into place.

He had a planetary disrupter, and alone of all the rebel leaders in the

Corcllian system, he knew what a planetary repulsor could do. Being able to

smash a ship was trivial compared to the ability to hold the starbustcr plot

hostage. Thrackan knew it would take time-perhaps a long time-before his

technicians would be able to operate the repulsor, but even that did not

matter. For now he was in a position to bluff things out, to pretend he con trolled the repulsor. That ought to be more than enough to get what he

wanted. More than enough. Admiral Hortel Ossilege watched on the long-range

scanners as the Human League assault boat dove down the mouth of the

repulsor. The image was grainy and blurry; the scanners were working at

maximum range, which meant the assault boat was far beyond the maximum range

of the Intruder's weaponry. It was galling to be beaten to the punch.

Frustrating. Infuriating-But it would not do to show it. It would not do at

all. And one had to admire the nerve, the audacity, of the assau lt boat's

commander, quite literally diving his whole ship down the barrel of a weapon

that could have reduced his craft to dust and rubble in milliseconds. Even

if the Intruder had been capable of atmospheric operation or planetary

landing, he could not have risked it with a move like that. Not when the

Intruder represented such a huge fraction of the firepower on the Republic's

side of the equation. Ossilege envied his opponent's freedom to take

chances. But, speaking of taking chances, he faced a repulsor precisely like

the one that had smashed the Watch-keeper down to nothing at all. He had to

assume this repulsor would be just as powerful within a short period of

time-if it was not so already. After all, someone had turned it on. More

than likely, that someone knew how to aim it and fire it as well. And, it

occurred to him, more than likely that someone was an ally of the Human

League. If that was so, then the assault boat hadn't been taking chances,

but had flown in to take possession of a planetary repulsor that had been

located and activated by Human League agents. And yet. And yet. That was a

fast, hard assault landing, not a slower, safer arrival at a secured base.

Al-most as if the other side had been as surprised as Ossilege himself.

Almost as if they had been trying to do what he had been trying to do-take

advantage of an unexpected opportunity. Ossilege had the feeling the story

was not over. Something else was going to happen here, something more was

going to change. And change could usually be exploited. Besides, it was just

one small assault boat. There could not be more than twenty or thirty people

aboard it, at most. Surely the Intruder ought to be able to lake on a force

that small, no matter how powerful the weapon they controlled. Ossilege had

always been a great believer in the idea that weapons mattered far less than

the people who used them. The Intruder carried a small force of assault

troops, and she carried her own assault boats. Perhaps the Intruder would

not be able to attack the repulsor in a frontal assault, but there were

other forms of atlaek. Forms that took a bit more time, and a bit more

fines.se, but could work just as well, if one was audacious. Ossilege turned

to the ensign at his side. "My compliments to Captain Semmae. The Intruder

will move into an orbit synchronous with the planet's rotation, well out of

line-of-sight from the repulsor site. We will await developments here while

we commence preparations for a ground assault." The ensign saluted and

scurried away. Ossilege stared at the image of the planetary repulsor in the

scanner screen. He raised his hand and offered up a small, mocking salute to

the commander of the assault boat. "You have won the first round," he said

to the screen. "But let us not forget the main event is still to come."

CHAPTER TEN

Casting the Stone Luke stepped out into the huge airlock where the Lady Luck

and his X-wing were waiting, and breathed a sigh of relief. Jcnica had taken

them on a roundabout route, but they had gotten here faster than he had

thought possible. And with that clock counting down toward the death of Bovo

Yagen, there was no time at all to waste. He thought he knew what he had to

do next, but he had to be sure. He had to check. The others watched as Luke

found a packing crate that had been abandoned on the airlock deck and sat

down on it. He shut his eyes and concentrated, forcing himself to take it

slow, to be sure, to extend his senses as far as possible. "Leia is on

Selonia," he said at last as he opened his eyes. "No doubt about it. I can

feel her there. My guess is that Han is with her, and probably Mara Jade as

well. The three children are on Drall, and if what Kalenda told us is right

about how they all escaped from Corellia, that probably means Chewbacca and

the Falcon arc there with them. I can get a sense of a mind that's probably

Chewbacca, but I can't be sure. Not at this range. And I might add that all

of them seem worried. It's hard to explain, but-but I get the sense, the

feeling, that all of them-Leia and the kids, and the people with them-are

all prisoners of one sort or another." "Then we'd better get cracking and

bust them out," Lando said briskly. "You go to Leia," Lando said. "Take

Artoo and the X-wing. Figure out the coordinates for the kids' location on

Oral! and give them to me. I'll fly Gaericl and Jenica back to the Bakuran

fleet, where they can inform Admiral Ossilege of what we have learned.

Gaeriel should get back to her post on the ship, and Jenica is our expert on

Centerpoint. She ought to be of some help if things get rough. After I've

dropped them off, Lieutenant Kalenda and I will fly on to Drall and see what

we can do about getting to Chewbacca and the kids." Jenica looked toward

Lando. "You're not very optimistic, are you?" "We don't know how to find the

Drall repulsor," Lando replied. "I don't care how good an engineer Chewbacca

is, there isn't going to be any way for him to work on a repulsor he can't

get to. We have to rescue them, of course, but unless they're sitting right

on top of a repulsor, I don't see how finding Chewbacca is going to help us

get one." He turned back to Luke. "Leia is by far the better chance. She's

on a planet where they've got a working repulsor, and it's probably

controlled by the people holding her. All you have to do is let her know

what's going on, and then hope she can talk her captors into jamming

Centerpoint." Luke smiled faintly. "Yeah. Easy. Should be a piece of cake."

Jenica rubbed her chin. "It all nearly makes sense," she said thoughtfully.

"But I don't like the fact that we're leaving Centerpoint unguarded." "I

don't think the loss of the overwhelming force represented by two small

ships, two droids, and five people is going to matter that much," Lando

said. "What are we going to be able to do, anyway? Wait for someone to land

and then sneak up and kick them in the shins?" Jenica cocked her head a bit

to one side and nodded. "Point taken. I guess I don't know what more we can

do." Luke stood up and nodded. "In that case," he said, "I suggest we do

what we can, right now." "We have you, but we'll not keep you long," said

Kleyvits, speaker for the Overden. She sat at a table opposite Mara, Leia,

and Han. Dracmus sat at Kleyvits's side, demonstrating simply by her

presence that her clan had submitted to the victors. She did not look happy

to be there. "We need merely come to certain straightforward agreements, and

then all may be on their way." "We're not going to come to your agreements,"

Leia said wearily. The morning had lengthened into late afternoon, and they

were in the sumptuous interior of the prison villa. For prison it had proved

to be. The Overden had thrown a force field around the Jade's Fire, and

guards around the force field. Leia could see the ship on the landing pad,

just outside the door, but there would be no escape aboard her this time.

"Even if we did wish to reach agreement, we could not do so while you were

detaining us. Even if we did, it would be pointless. My government would

never ratify any agreement made under duress." "How can you be under duress

when you will be free to go as soon as we are agreeing?" "We are under

duress now," Leia said, her voice and manner calm, imperious. "And we will

not agree in any event. Therefore, the point is moot." "I ask you again to

be reconsidering," Kleyvits said. "All we ask is that you are acknowledging

reality. We are free. We are no longer of the New Republic. We

have thrown you off. We are our own place, our own planet. We ask merely

that you are recognizing this fact." "You are no freer now than you were

under the New Republic," Mara said, her voice cold. "There was no dictator

over you, no one telling you how to think and feel and act. You have thrown

off no tyranny. It is not freedom for Selonia you ask her to recognize. It

is the dominance of the Overden." "Hey, I'll tell you what," Han said.

"Let's give them what they want. Complete freedom. Complete freedom from

trade, from interstellar commerce, from imports. Complete freedom from

travel off-planet. Total embargo. How does that sound?" "It sounds quite

pleasant to us of the Overden, who wish to be free of anti-Selonian

influence. Is that not so, my dear friend? Speak for the Hunchuzuc. Do you

not agree that complete isolation would be the greatest of blessings?" "Oh

yes, eminent Kleyvits," Dracmus said in a mournful tone, clearly feeling

miserable and humiliated. "There could be no doubt that all the people of

Selonia long to be isolated from the outside universe." "What about all your

friends and relations on Corel-lia, where you lived all your life?" Han

asked. "They will rejoice with me in knowing we are free of all outside

influence," Dracmus said, staring down at the table. "I'm afraid you're no

good at lying. Honored Dracmus," Han said. "I've seen dead people who were

more convincing." Dracmus looked up worriedly, and risked a quick look over

at Kleyvits. "Please be in no doubt at all about my sincerity, Honored

Solo." "Don't worry on that score," said Han. "I have no doubts at all." "I

insist that we return to the main point," Kleyvits said, clearly a bit put

off by Dracrnus's performance. "Recognize the freedom of Selonia under the

guidance of the Overden or never leave this planet alive." "You've got

yourself a deal," Leia said. Kleyvits looked toward her eagerly. "Then we

have persuaded you?" "Absolutely," said Leia. "We pick the second choice,

the one about not leaving alive. Go ahead and kill us all right now."

Kleyvits sighed wearily, and extended her claws to drum them on the

tabletop, making a rather unsettling clicking noise. It was hard to miss

just how sharp those claws were. "I can see," said Kleyvits, "that we are

going to be here for a while." Thrackan Sal-Solo sat in the copilot's seat

and watched intently as the pilot brought the assault boat up to the rim of

the huge cylinder that was the planetary repui-sor. Slowly, slowly, slowly

up and over. The assault boat hung motionless in the air for a moment, then

spun slowly about, until its nose was pointed directly at the two bright

spots of light on the evening horizon. Talus and Tralus. Thrackan could not

spot it with the naked eye from this distance, but he knew that, with just

the slightest of magnification, he would be able to see Centerpoint there as

well. All was in readiness. Ail he had to do was press the button, command

the radionics system to send its signal, and then order the pilot to bring

them back down into the repulsor. Then it would simply be a matter of

waiting for the radionics signal to cross the distance between here and

Centerpoint to reach the control center. The automatic control center would

shut off the jamming, and that would be that. He would not even have to come

up here again to transmit the broadcast over com channels. The com signal

wouldn't be blocked by the repulsor or require line of sight. Most

convenient. Simple, really. Thrackan was not generally of a poetic turn of

mind, but it occurred to him that what he was about to do was to cast a

stone into a pond, square into the middie. The ripples would move out from

where the stone struck, out in all directions. Some of the consequences he

could predict, but he knew, if anyone did, just how risky a game he was

playing. The ripples might well spread out in directions he had not

considered, touch on shores he did not expect. He wanted to turn off the

communications jamming because it served his own. purposes, but being able

to communicate would serve many other purposes beyond his own. Sonic

consequences he could predict. Once the jamming was down, the original

controllers of the starbustcr plot would immediately use the primary com

system to send the command shutting down the interdiction field. They would

move into the Corcllian system and run right up against the Bakuran ships.

That suited Thrackan fine. Lei the two sides battle it out. Let one side

defeat the other. The winner, whoever it was, would be weakened by the

fight, and Thrackan's own forces would have an easier time of it in the

final confrontation. He was also just about certain thai the system's

original controllers would lock out the subsystem Thrackan had been using,

preventing him from manipulating the system any further. They would not want

the jamming back on. So be it. That meant Thrackan's enemies here in the

Corellian system wouid suddenly be able to communicate with each other,

exchange information. They wouid learn things about each other, and about

Thrackan-but they would learn them too late. He was not worried about that.

But what of the consequences he had not imagined1.' What unknown risks was

he about to lake? There was, clearly, no way to know. But there was one

thing he did know. Shutting off the communications jamming wouid allow

Thrackan Sal-Solo to tell the whole Corellian system that he had Han Solo's

children. Han Solo would hear it, and know it, and he helpless to do

anything about it. What sweeter revenge could there be? Thrackan pushed the

button. The command signal went out. Ossilege watched on the Intruders

long-range scanners as the assault boat hovered just barely into view over

the top of the repulsor, turned itself slightly, and then floated back down

out of sight. He looked toward the Intruder's chief gunner and saw the man

shake his head. "I'm sorry, sir. There just wasn't time to set up a shot.

Not at this range. Especially with atmosphere in the way. If he had stayed

there another thirty seconds-The chief gunner left the thought unfinished,

but Ossilege understood. He sighed. If that assault boat had stayed there

long enough for the Intruder to set up the shot, then this war might be over

right now. "Boy, you get out of touch for five minutes and everything

changes," said Lando as the Lady Luck flew clear of the mammoth Centerpoint

airlock. "Where's the In-truder!" "What's the Intruder!" Jenica asked.

"Biggish sort of thing. A ship. A Bakuran light cruiser. It should not be

hard to miss, but I can't spot it." "Have you looked in the last place you

had it?" she asked. Lando smiled. "I did, just now, and it wasn't there. But

I bet I find it in the last place I look." "So where is it?" "At a guess,

something has happened, and Admiral Ossilege has charged off as bravely as

possible to do something about it, whether it needs doing or not." "I'm not

sure I appreciate your tone, Lando," said Gaeriel. "I'm not sure I

appreciate the way Ossilege takes chances," said Lando. "But the question

is. what do we do now?" "I'm not sure," Gaeriel said. "Life is going to be a

lot easier if and when we get communications back." She thought a moment.

"Can we get a laser comlink with cither of the two destroyers?" "Not

easily," Lando said. "It'd probably be easier and faster just to ily over to

the closest ship, dock, open the hatch, and ask what's going on." "Then

let's do that," Gaeriel said. "We can decide what to do when we know more."

"A very sensible attitude, that," said Lando. "We're on our way." Jaina let

out a sad sigh. Things were very bad. The prisoners sat, sad and forlorn-and

rather crowded-in the mobile stockade, unable to do anything but watch as

the Human League troopers and technicians unpacked their gear, obviously

getting ready to settle in for a long stay. The mobile stockade was really

nothing more than a force field generator designed to stay outside the force

field itself, so that those held in the field could not get at the

generating machinery. The force field was transparent, however, and those

inside could see the generator, plain as day, straight in front of them.

This did not sit well with Anakin, to put it mildly. The idea that he eould

sec but could not touch the device that was holding them prisoner seemed to

upset him far more than the fact that he was a prisoner. The other two

children tried to keep him as dis-traded as possible, but it was not easy.

On the bright side, struggling to keep Anakin cheered up distracted them

from their own worries. The two Drall, Ebrihim and Marcha, seemed to have

decided that being locked up gave them a chance to catch up on a decade or

so of family gossip-and they clearly had an enormous family. They sat there,

for hour after hour, discussing the doings of this cousin, the money

problems of that uncle, the scandalous failure to divorce of that great-aunt

twice-removed and her fifth husband. Chewbacca paced back and forth, from

one side of the hemispherical force field containment to the other. He was

forced to watch the Human League techs poking around the Millennium Falcon,

wandering around on the upper hull, opening the access panels, and studying

the interiors. Once or twice, a League tech would open a panel and laugh out

loud at what he saw. It was diffic ult to restrain Chewbacca at those

moments. He would pound his fists on the force field and roar his

frustration, but doing so gained him nothing more than slightly singed fur

on his hands and upper arms. Perhaps only the two Drall were calm and

settled enough to deal with the situation rationally when Thrackan Sal-Solo

marched over from the assault boat. Jaina certainly wasn't in any mood to be

reasonable. A Human League tech was by his side, carrying a holographic

recorder. "Good afternoon to al! of you," said Thrackan in that voice that

was so close to her father's, and yet so far away. Cousin Thrackan-strange

and unpleasant to think of him that way, Jaina told herself, but that was

what he was. "Hello," said Jaina, and Jacen muttered a hello as well. Anakin

took one look at his father's cousin and burst into tears-and Jaina couldn't

blame him. It was upsetting just to look at-at Thrackan. He looked so much

like their father-just a little darker, a little heavier, the hair a

different shade. The beard helped make him seem at least a little different

from Dad, but somehow that only made the similarities more upsetting. It was

like looking at-at a dark side version of her father, the way he could have

been, if anger and resentment and suspicion had taken hold of him. "Make

that child stop crying," Thrackan said, as if Jaina could make Anakin quiet

with a wave of her hand. "I can't," she said. "He might calm down in a

minute, but he's scared of you." "There's no reason to be scared of me,"

said Thrackan. "Not yet." That was less than comforting. Jaina knelt down

and gave her little brother a hug. "It'll be all right, Anakin. honest,17

she whispered to him, hoping that she was telling the truth. "Why arc you

here?" Jacen asked, glaring at Thrackan. "What do you want?" "Not much at

all, not much at all," Thrackan said. "1 merely need some pictures of all of

us together." Chewbacca roared, growled, and bared his teeth, then gestured

for Thrackan to come into the stockade containment. Thrackan smiled. "1

don't speak your barbaric language, Wookiec, but I understood that. No,

thank you. I can get quite close enough to you for my purposes from outside

the force field." "Why do you want holos of us?" Aunt Marcha demanded.

Thrackan smiled. "I should think that would be obvious, even to a member of

your species. I am in the process of turning off the jamming of

communications. When the jamming is off, 1 will broadcast the holos to

demonstrate that you are my prisoners. While I doubt anyone will much care

what happens to a pair of rotund Drall or a psychotic Wookiee, I would

expect that the children's parents will be inspired to more reasonable

behavior if they knew I had their children-and a planetary repulsor."

Marcha, Duchess of Mastigophorous, drew herself up to her full height and

glared at their jailkeeper. "You are on the verge of a most serious error,"

she said. "For your own safety, I urge you to reconsider this act/' Thrackan

laughed out loud. "You are scarcely in a position to make threats, Drall.

Save your breath." "Very welt. May the consequences be on your head alone.

Honor required me to say what I did. But a wise being can tell a warning

from a threat." For the briefest of moments, the bland smile flickered off

Thrackan's face, but then it was back, as calm and meaningless as ever. "I

need say no more to any of you on this subject," he said. "Now I want the

three children on this side of the stockade, closest to me, and you three

aliens on the far side." "Why-" Ebrihim began. "Because I wish it!" Thrackan

snapped. "Because if you do not obey, I can manipulate the force field to

make the stockade half the size it is. Because I can shoot you all dead if

I' so choose." Thrackan paused, and smiled. "Because I can and will harm the

children if you do not," he said. "Now go to the other side." The two Oral!

and the Wookiee exchanged looks with each other. It was clear they had no

real choice. They moved to the opposite side of the stockade. Anakin had

more or less settled down by this lime, and Jaina urged him to his feet.

There was always one sure way to distract Anakin, and that was to have him

watch someone use a machine. And of course there might be other benefits to

watching the procedure. "Look, Anakin," she said. "Watch what the man does."

Anakin nodded and wiped his nose. The three children stood as close as they

could to the edge of the field and watched intently as the technician knelt

down by the stockade's force field generator. He pulled a very old-fashioned

metal key out of his pocket, shoved it into a slot on the generator, and

turned it a quarter turn to the left. Then he changed several of the set tings on the device. A new force field, a vertical wall running across the

middle of the stockade field, and separating the adults from the children,

came into being. He turned the key back a quarter turn to the right and

pulled it back out. "Ah, Diktat, sir. it might also be wise to intensify the

fields somewhat, so that they are more plainly visible on the holographic

recording." "Will it make the prisoners themselves harder to see?" "Very

slightly, sii, but they will be quite recognix-able, and the sight of the

force field will make a very clear visual statement that they are prisoners.

It will make your words stronger.'' "Very well," Thraekan said. "Make the

adjustment." The technician turned a dial, and the force field turned a

trifle darker. "Very good," said Thrackan. "Very good indeed. "Now, then.

Take your ho!o recorder and shoot," he said. "Gel a nice long sequence of

each face in turn, and then a wide shot of all of us together. I don't want

there to be any chance of someone not being sure I have the children, or of

someone thinking that it's been faked in some way." The technician lifted

his holographic recorder to his face and set to work, recording the image of

each unsmiling face in turn, then taking a wide shot of Thrackan with all

ihe prisoners. At last he was done. "That should do it. Diktat Sal-Solo,"

the tech said. "Very good," said Thrackan. "I.el's go get the transmitter

set up and get ready to send that out." "What about setting the force field

back, sir?" Thrackan looked at the stockade for a moment. "Leave it," he

said. "It might be wise to keep the children separate from the aliens. It

might make it harder for them to scheme together." With that, he turned and

walked away, the technician following behind. Jaina watched as the two of

them walked away. "Did you see enough of what the tech did?" she asked

Jacen. "Not really,1' he said. ''I don't think I could manipulate the

controls with the Force, anyway. I don't have that kind of fine control. And

besides, the tech had that key." "Anakin, what about you?" "I could do

something if I could get at it," he said. "Change some stuff. But you need

that key to turn a field on or off, or cut all power. You saw him. Have to

have that key to turn it off." "No hope there, then," Jaina said. "Hush,

child," said the Duchess Marcha from the other side of the vertical force

field wall. "There is always hope-particularly against an opponent who

believes everything can be won with bullying." Jaina went over to the

vertical wall, the other children trailing after. "Has he really made a

mistake, Aunt Marcha?" she asked, wanting comfort and reassurance as much as

information. "Oh. yes," she said, "very much so, child," Chewbacca laughed

gently, a small growly noise, and then let out a yip and a hoot. The Wookiee

looked around to make sure no Human League trooper was close enough to

watch. Then he moved up as close as he could to the vertical wall and opened

the palm of his hand. He had a pocket comlink. Jaina looked up at Chewbacca

with a wild grin. "I should have known," she said. "With all that long fur,

you could hide practically anything on your body. And besides, who's going

to frisk a Wookiee?" Chewbacca chuckled again at that question. "But what

good does that do us?" Jacen asked. 'That thing doesn't have any range at

all. Not more than a few kilometers." "You're forgetting someone who is

quite nearby," Ebrihim said. "Someone who has built-in communications

equipment." Ebrihim smiled to himself. "Someone who is probably getting most

tired of waiting." Q9-X2 was most definitely tired of waiting-in itself a

remarkable accomplishment in a droid. Any other droid would have simply

turned itself off after setting an implanted timed wake-up command in its

standby circuits. Not Q9. He was afraid of missing something. Not that there

could be much to miss when stuffed upside down into one of the Falcon's

hidden smuggling compartments. Q9 found thai he was more bothered by being

confined than by being inverted. It would have been more pleasant to have

been right-side up, but time had been'exceedingly short, and this had been

the first place they had found where he could fit at all, in any

orientation. Ebrihim's instructions had been simple enough, and did not

require Q9 to stay turned on. Wait at least fourteen hours. Do not emerge

until it is safe to do so. At that time, examine the ship and the situation

as best you can. Determine the best method for coming to our aid, and cany

out thai method. Rather on the vague side, but the intent was s

traightforward. The execution would be tricky, as most of Q9's sensors had

to be extended out of his body before he could use them, which meant they

were less than helpful while he was upside down in a tight-fitting storage

bin. He could have stayed powered down, but he was simply too agitated for

that. Q9 had run some diagnostics and analyzed his on-board service log. He

knew exactly how close he had come to being destroyed by Anakin's activation

of the repulsor. Droids were rarely reminded of their own mortality in quite

that way. Now, shortly thereafter, 09 had ample time to consider the notion

of his own destruction. It had nearly happened in the recent past, and the

odds seemed fairly high that it would happen in the near future. Under the

circumstances, deliberately shutting oneself off seemed the height of folly.

Suppose one component had failed, or was on the verge of failing, and his

diagnostics had missed it? Suppose he loaded a timed wake-up event, went

into standby, and then the wake-up command was never implemented? In short,

he had no desire to turn himself off when he was not confident he couid turn

himself back on again. Clearly, it was an absurd state of affairs, but there

it was. Q9 was afraid to go to sleep. He settled in to wait some more.

Gaeriel Captison stood on the hangar deck of the Sentinel, next to the Lady

Luck. "I don'l think there's any argument about what we should do," she

said. "We go on to Drall, and rendezvous with the Intruder."

ugrave;'Absolutely,'5 said Lando. "If someone has already found a repulsor

there, that is the place to be."' "Not for me it isn't." said Jenica.

"Sentinel and Defender are keeping watch on Centerpoint Station, and I'm the

closest thing to an expert on Centerpoint they're going to get. 1 stay

here." Lando nodded. "You're right," he said. "Lieutenant Kalenda, what

about you?" Kalendu cocked her left eyebrow up a bit and shook her head

slightly. "A tough call," she said. "But at this point, I'd say my place is

with Admiral Ossilege." So you can keep an eye on him? Lando wondered. "Good

enough," he said. "Get aboard, then." "What about me?" Threepio asked.

"Shall I continue on with you? It is more likely that my language skills

will be more useful on a trip to Drall than here." Lando was sorely tempted

to refuse and leave Threepio behind. But the irritating thing was that the

droid might be right. Suppose they got to the repulsor and encountered Drall

who didn't speak Basic? "Get aboard," he growled. Threepio trotted up the

access ramp. Gaeriel and Kalenda said their farewells to Jenica and boarded

the Lady Luck. Lando waited jusl a mo-ment before going aboard. There was

something more he wanted to say to Jenica Sonsen, something he might not get

the chance to say again. And by the amused look on her face, it seemed as if

she was expecting him to say something. In fact, she said it first. "Is this

the part where you tell me how you never met anyone like me, and how you

want to get to know me better? That sort of thing? Maybe something about how

we've been through a lot together, we've made a connection, and we shouldn't

just let it drift away? Some nice, smooth line a lady couldn't help but fall

for?" Lando couldn't quite tell if she was mocking him or daring him,

warning him off or urging him on. The strange thing was it didn't matter. He

had been shot down in romance plenty of times before, but there was a little

piece of him that felt quite sure this would not have been one of those

times. But this time, there wasn't going to be a this time. Lando sighed and

shook his head. "There was a time, not very long ago, when I would have said

those words, and meant every one of them--at least, while I was saying them,

even if I sort of forgot them later. The problem is, I did say something

very like them to another lady, very recently, and I did mean it at the

time. The funny thing is, for the first time in my life, I'm catching myself

jy/// meaning it. I might even mean it for a long, long time. So I'm afraid

I'm going to have to back off." Jenica looked surprised-though not half as

surprised as Lando felt. "You know," she said, "that might be the classiest

speech of its kind on record. I think you've got yourself a very lucky lady

out there, and I don't mean the Lady Luck." She stuck out her hand to shake,

and Lando took it. "Take care of yourself, Lando. I must admit I almost wish

you had made a play for me--just so I could know for sure what I would have

done about it. Now I guess I'll never know." Lando smiled back, his

broadest, most charming grin that showed every tooth in his head. "Neither

will I," he said. "You take care of yourself too." He let go of her hand,

boarded the Lady Luck, and made his way to the pilot's station. Gaeriel was

waiting in the starboard observer's seat, and Kalenda was at the copilot's

station. "So," said Kalenda as she ran the preflight check, "is she going to

let you call her?" Her eyes never left the instruments, but there was just

the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Lando wasn't sure, but he

thought he heard a very un-ex-Prime-Ministerial giggle from behind him as he

sat down. "Excuse me?" he asked. "Call her. You asked if you could look her

up after this was all over. Did she say yes or no?" Lando felt himself

blushing. Had it been that obvious? Was his reputation that bad? "Urn, ah,

well-if you have to know, she asked if J was going to ask, and I said I

couldn't. Promises made elsewhere." This time Kalenda did turn away from the

instruments, to look straight at him. "You're kidding," she said, that

disconcerting over-her-shoulder gaze of hers throwing him more than a little

off. "Ah, no," said Lando. "I'm not. I don't know why I should tell you any

of this at all, but that's what happened. Trader's Honor." Kalenda let out a

low whistle and shook her head. "Well'then, Madame Prime Minister. It looks

like our little bet is off. Captain Calrissian, why don't you get us out of

here?" "Uh, um-right, yes," said Lando. He finished his own preflight check

and gently lifted the Lady up onto her repulsors. There were definitely

times and places when he realized that he still had a lot to learn about

women. The Lady Luck left the hangar deck, gathered speed, and headed for

Drall-and for the Intruder. Luke Skywalker eased the X-wing's throttle up to

maximum thrust and kept it there. The dance of the orbits had put Selonia

just about as close to Centerpoint and the Double Worlds as it ever got, but

the distances were still great-and he was in a hurry. He, too, had wondered

what the absence of the Intruder had meant, hut he had no lime to worry

about it. He had a job and a duty. Bovo Yagen, and its millions of people.

Now, at last, they had at least a hope of saving them. And if-if-they could

stop the destruction of Bovo Yagcn, it might well mark the beginning of the

end for the starbusler plot and the rebellions on the worlds of the

Corellian system. But the galaxy had little interest in ifs. The universe

concerned itself willi what did happen, not with what might. They had a

slender chance here, but that was all. And the survival of those twelve

million people might well depend nn how fast lie got to Selonia, and Lei a.

Twelve million people. Luke remembered thinking, not so long ago, that in

the galactic lime scale, what happened here scarcely mattered at all. All of

recorded history, all the days of myth and legend before that time, were a

blink in the cosmic eye. But twelve million people, twelve million lives.

That many hopes, that many dreams and pasts, that many families, that many

memories and histories that would vanish as well, as if they had never been.

All the unborn generations that would never be born, all the promise, ali

the potential, that would be gone, stolen from the galaxy's future. Surely

it was wrong to destroy a star, something that old. that big, that powerful

and complex and beautiful, just for the sake of some transient political

advantage. Luke smiled. No one was going to use supernovas as weapons. Not

during his eye blink of history. Not if he could help it. Artoo beeped and

whirred in tones of warning, and Luke checked his display screens. "Oh,

boy," he said, "company." A flight of eight Light Attack Fighters was

climbing out of orbit to meet him. It was not the sort of trouble Luke

needed just now. Maybe he could scare them off without getting too involved.

Luke eased back the throttle of the X-wing and zeroed out his shields

completely, shunting all the surplus engine and shield energy to his weapons

system. Artoo let out a twittering squeal of protest. "Take it easy, Artoo.

I'll have the shields back up before we're in range of their weapons.'' Luke

had flown against LAFs not so long ago. He knew what they could do-and what

they could not. The LAFs were overmatched by the basic X-wing, but not to

the point where he cared to take his chances against eight LAFs

single-handed. The best way for Luke to win this fight was to avoid it

altogether. The trick now would be to convince them that Luke and his

enhanced X-wing fighter put together were unbeatable rather than just very

good. Luke reached out with the Force, extending his senses as far as he

could, touching the minds of the Selonian fighter pilots, seeking not to

manipulate their emotional state but to judge it. The Selonian temperament,

with its desire for group consensus, was not one much given over to the

strains of battle. They did better when fighting alone, on behalf of a

group, rather than as part of a group fighting side by side. He felt at once

that the Selonian pilots were nervous, jumpy, unsure. From two or three of

their minds he detected the sensation of returning to a place of doom and

fear. At a guess, those were veterans of the recent fight against the

Bakurans, veterans who had just barely come back. It was enough. If Luke did

this right, then everyone would come back from this one. They might not

enjoy it, but they'd be alive. Luke checked his power displays. Weapons

power was at maximum. Luke shifted all his shield generation power and

weapons-charging power into the propul-sion system, and throttled up to a

hundred twenty percent of maximum rated thrust. The X-wing leapt toward the

LAFs at terrifying speed. Two of the LAFs fired at him, panicky unaimcd

shots that went completely wild. One of them nearly shot his own wing-man.

Luke knew the chance he was taking, flying without shields. If one of those

random shots turned lucky and managed to connect-well, that would be too

bad. Best to 117 to get this over with before anything like that could

happen. This one would require all his skill, all his ability in the

Force-and a fair amount of luck as well. Luke disengaged the firing

computer, shut his eyes, and aimed the X-wing by feel, by instinct, through

the Force. Once, twice, three times, he fired. Three turbolascr bursts leapt

out. One, two, three, the bursts hit the LAFs, catching each of them square

on the ventral weapons pod. Suddenly three of the LAFs could fly, but could

not fight. It was flying, and shooting, intended to send a message. / am

faster than yon, bigger than you, have better weapons than you, and can

.shoo! from farther away. I could destroy you all if I chose io do so. I do

not so choose. Do not make me change my mind. The three veterans got the

message right away, it seemed, reversing course immediately and heading for

home. Two of the other LAFs hesitated for a moment, then followed the

others. That left three to deal with, and three was a lot better than eight.

On the other hand, it left him facing the three pilots who were hardest to

scare. The three of them were headed for him in a face-on triangle, one

fighter at each angle of the triangle. They were rapidly closing to firing

range. Luke throttled back enough to let him put his forward shields back

on, but he didn't switch power back to weapons charging. One way or another,

this engagement would be over before his weapons systems ran out of stored

power. Suddenly Artoo began to whistle excitedly, and a text message began

to scroll past Luke's display screen, much too fast for Luke to follow.

"Artoo, what is it?" The droid's half-frantic beeping and whistling sounded

in Luke's headphones. Luke checked his de-lector display, saw the three LAFs

closing fast, and made a quick, easy decision about priorities. "Artoo,

later/" Luke said. "I've got another problem right now. Whatever it is. it's

going to have to wait." These three pilots weren't easy to scare, but they

weren't the best tacticians, either. They were bunched up too close, too

tight. A shot that missed one of them was almost bound to hit one of the

others. Maybe he could use that. But he would have to do it before he got in

under their firing range. Still unwilling to kill without need, Luke thought

fast. Suddenly he thought he saw a way. He switched the fire control

selector from LASER to TORPEDO, and rapidly punched in a series of commands,

reprogram-ming one proton torpedo for distant proximity fusing. Suddenly all

three LAFs fired at once, concentrated volley fire. It would seem the LAF

pilots were managing to coordinate their fire in spite of the communications

jamming. Maybe these pilots knew their business better than he thought. The

laser blasts slammed into the X-wing, and Luke gave thanks that he had

thought to reactivate the shields when he did. The X-wing's forward shields

handled the multiple hits, but just barely. Luke knew he had to get out of

here, and fast, if he was going to live through this. One last trick. He

fired the reprograrnmed proton torpedo square into the center of the LAF

formation. The X-wing shuddered slightly as the torpedo leapt away. Part of

what Luke was counting on was the element of surprise. No one used proton

torpedoes in fighter-to-fighter encounters. They were slower and less

accurate-but more powerful-than turbolasers, intended for use against bigger

targets. The three LAFs fired in volley again, the incoming laser blasts

streaking past the outgoing torpedo. Luke's X-wing shuddered from stern to

stern as the second laser volley slammed into it. Luke checked his shields

and shook his head. The next volley would punch through his shield for sure.

Luke cut his engines, letting the X-wing move on its own forward momentum

alone. Let them think he had lost engine power. It might make him that much

harder to find when-The proton torpedo exploded precisely in the middle of

the LAF formation, lighting up the sky. no doubt blinding the pilots, at

least for a second or two, and, with any luck, scrambling half their

instruments as well. Luke reengaged his engines, accelerating at maximum

power, right into the blast of the proton torpedo, right through the middle

of the opposing fighter formation. The X-wing bucked and slammed and

shuddered as it flew straight into the explosion's shock wave, its weakened

shields offering just barely enough protection. Luke flew into the blast of

the torpedo, hanging on for dear life as he rode the maelstrom. Then,

suddenly, it was over. He was through, clear, safe. Luke checked his

detector screens. Two of the LAFs were tumbling, clearly disabled, at least

for the moment, while the third seemed to be in only marginal control. One

of the disabled fighters seemed to be starting to recover as he watched, but

Luke knew better than to stick around to sec how it all came out. He came

about on a new heading, straight for Selonia. Luke breathed a sigh of

relief. That one had been just a bit too close. There were times when the

advantages of being a Jedi Master could turn around and bite you, no doubt

about it. A regular fighter pilot without the power to use the Force

wouldn't have felt any moral obligation to risk his own life while using the

Force to spare his enemies. Luke smiled faintly to him-self. One of these

old days, his moral obligations to spare life were going to get him killed.

Artoo whistled again for his attention. Luke reconfigured his power levels

back to normal distribution and leaned back in his pilot's seat. "Alt right,

Artoo," he said. "What is it?" Artoo took control of the main status display

screen and showed him. The display paged to communications status, and Luke

saw it there for himself. "The communications jamming is down!" he said.

"But why-But Artoo answered Luke's question before Luke could finish asking

it. The screen cleared again, and Artoo began playing back a message he had

recorded even as Luke was chasing off the LAFs. A grinning, stylized human

skull with a knife between its teeth appeared on the screen, with a blaring

shout of triumphal music behind it. Luke recognized the skull. The symbol of

the Human League. The skull faded out, to be replaced by the only somewhat

more pleasant features of a smiling Thrackan Sal-Solo. But Luke was not

smiling as he listened to what the man had to say.

CHAPTER E LE V E N

The Ripples Spread It was evening, and Kieyvits and Dracmus were just on the

point of leaving. Han had lost count of the number of times they had come to

eali, asking if Leia had changed her mind yet. This had to be the third or

fourth visit already today. Clearly, they did not know when to give up.

Leia, Han, Mara, and the Selonians were all in the living room of the prison

villa, standing up, saying their pointless diplomatic good-byes, when

suddenly the com system in the corner came to life, all on its own. A blare

of static filled the room, Han was startled enough to jump half a meter in

the air, but the others took it all a bit more calmly. "Relax, Han." said

Mara. "Someone out there has just used the auto-on system, that's all/' It

was possible to turn most com systems on by remote control, so that the

authorities could make an emergency announcement. The flat-field screen came

on, showing a crazy-quilt of shifting, scrambling color. Then the image

settled down to show a grainy image of a huge grinning skull It appeared to

a thunderously loud and distorted musical accompaniment. The graininess and

distortion told Han that the signal was being broadcast by a transmit-ter

that wasn't quite up to the job, some piece of equipment that was being

pressed into service. Even as he judged the technical quality of the

broadcast as a matter of reflex, it took Han a moment to realize the full

implications of the system's power-on. "Hey. wait a second!" he said. "This

means the jamming is down! Now we can-"Shhh! Quiet,'' Leia said. ''If it's

worth it to Thrackan to shut off the jamming just to make an announcement,

it has to be important. I want to hear it." She hit a button on the com

system's control panel, setting it to record the message, then sat down in

front of the com screen. "How arc you knowing it is Sal-Solo who-" began

Dracmus, when the skull image faded away and, sure enough, there was

Sal-Solo himself, seated in what looked like the control room of a small

military craft of some sort, smiling with every bit of the warmth and

kindness of the skull his image replaced. There was something awkward, a bit

clumsy about the setup, as if it had been improvised. The image wobbled a

bit, as if it was coming from a handheld holographic recorder. "Greetings to

all of you throughout the CorelHan system.1' Thrackan said as a bit of

static scrambled his image for a second. "I am Thrackan Sal-Solo, Diktat of

Corcllia. I have ordered that all communications jamming be turned off, so

that 1 might inform all those in the Coreliian system-our friends and

enemies alike-of two very important new prizes that Human League troops,

acting under my command, have won. First, let it be known that we have

gained control of Drall's planetary repulsor. The New Republic kept even the

existence of this extremely powerful device secret from you, the people of

the Coreliian system-"Because we didn't know it existed," Han muttered.

"Shhhh!" hissed Leia. "-but now it is our possession. Soon we will control

the repulsor on the planet Corellia as well. 1 understand that these devices

are unknown to all of you. Suffice it to say that with these powerful

weapons we shall be able to protect ourselves from all our enemies, whoever

they may be." Dracmus turned to Kleyvits. "The League now has the Drall

repulsor?" she demanded. "What will this mean?" "The second prize that we

have won is of a more personal nature," Thrackan went on. "We have rescued

the three children of Leia Organa Solo, Chief of State of that same New

Republic." Han felt the blood drain from his face, felt his heart turn to

ice. He looked to Leia and saw the same horror there. "We have saved them

from the aliens who held them prisoner," Thrackan went on. "They are safe,

here, with me now. I look forward to my chance to return them to their

mother. First, of course, she must make her whereabouts known to us. She

herself must come out of hiding and confirm her recognition of the Corel-Man

Sector's freedom. I offer this video imagery to prove that I have the

repulsor, and have the children safe." "Of all the low-down, dirty, rotten-"

Han growled. "The lies that man tells!" The screen went dark again, and then

showed a vast, silver cylindrical interior space, as seen from the bottom.

The image was a bit wobbly still, and the resolution was not all it could

be. but the picture was clear enough for all of that. The hoiocam panned

about to show an assault boat-and the Millennium Falcon-sitting at the

bottom of the cylinder. Men in uniforms walked purposefully about the two

ships. The hoiocam panned up, to show six huge cones rising from the floor,

and a seventh, larger than the others, in the center of the chamber, with

the sky visible through the top of the chamber. "It is at least most

certainly idcntical-ish to our own repulsor-" said Dracmus, before Kleyvits

cut her off with a warning glare. The holocam view swung back down to the

floor of the chamber and zoomed in to a group of forlorn-looking figures

sitting and standing in a confined space. The view faded away, and then the

image brightened to show a closer view of the sad-looking group. It was the

children, held inside a force field containment, with Chewbacca, Ebrihim,

and a Drall Leia did not know held in an adjacent containment. The cam moved

from face to face, showed a close-up of each of them. Jacen, looking sad but

determined; Jaina worried, her gaze straying to Anakin; Anakin glaring

straight at the cam. His face was streaked with tears, and he looked

snuffly, as if he had just calmed down after crying. The cam moved along to

show Thrackan, smiling coldly. Leia choked back a sob, and Han felt a lump

in his own throat. Thrackan had them. Thrackan had stolen children, Han's

children. Thrackan had kidnapped his own flesh and blood. But then Han felt

his sickness at heart, his fear, his horror, turn to cold, hard anger,

clear-sighted anger. Thrackan wanted them scared, and shocked. But already

Han was determined not to give Thrackan what he wanted. The holocam panned

to the second Drall, and then, at last, to Chewbacca. There was something in

Chewbacca's stance, in Chewbacca's expression, that gave Han hope. Chewbacca

stood tall, he looked at the holocam, bared his fangs at it. He didn't look

or act remotely beaten. Han knew Chewie-and that was not a Chewbacca who

thought he was beaten. In that instant Han knew, knew beyond doubt, that

Chewbacca still had a trick or two up his sleeve. Or at least he would have,

if he wore clothes. The image faded away and returned to the original shot

of Thrackan in the ship's control room. "That -ould be proof enough f-all

that I speak the truth," Thrackan said, as another ripple of static whipped

through the broadcast. "I await the answer of the Chief of State, and as

Diktat of the Independent Sector of Coreilia, I call upon all Corellians to

grant me their true allegiance." The skull-and-dagger image came back up,

there was another blare of martial music, and the screen went dead.

"Han-Han-he's got our children. He's got our children, and we-we can't do

what he says. We can't." Leia looked to her husband, her eyes full of tears.

"I know." said Han, the words tearing at his insides. "It wouldn't do any

good, even if we tried." What good would it do, even, if Leia .said the

words, even if she confirmed Corellian independence? At the very least, she

would be driven from office, more than likely arrested on a charge of

treason, and tiic agreement repudiated-and that would be nothing more than

simple justice. It was plainly obvious thai Coreilia could not be allowed to

break away, or else the whole New Republic might well collapse. Even a

failed attempt, a failure that managed to seem noble and heroic, that looked

like patriots struggling to throw off tyranny, would badly weaken the New

Republic. Perhaps weaken it fatally. And how many would die in a new round

of wars and rebellions? How many children of other parents would be murdered

in those battles? "\ know we can't,"1 Han said, the words ashes in his

mouth. "But how can we let him have them?" "This is most horrifying, and

most bad!" said Dracmus. "Thrackan turns even more deeply against his own

blood, his own Den and clan." Kleyvits turned toward Draemus. "What is it

you are saying, Hunchuzue?" It was plain that "Hunchuzuc" was not meant as a

compliment when it came from Kleyvits. "Know you not, eminent Klcyvils?

Thrackan Sal-Solo is of the blood of Han Solo, of Leia Organa Solo's

children! Close as two clans of the same Den! He threatens his own!"

"Impossible!" Kleyvits said. "How could any being do such a thing? I am

astonished! Astonished by so many things. Thrackan asks that you confirm

your recognition of Corellian independence! Have you indeed recognized his

claim? I do not understand, and I must." "Thrackan Sal-Solo lied," Dracmus

said, the disgust plain in her voice. "He said things that were not true,

for his own gain. Half of what he said was false, or else truth phrased to

make lies seem true." "Impossible again! He said that-"Quiet! Both of you!"

Mara shouted. "It is possible, and he has done it." She gestured with her

arm to indicate Han and Leia. "He has done it to this man, and this woman,

and their children. Respect their shock and sorrow. Be gone! Give them time

for shock, for grief, a nd take your foolish debates elsewhere!" "No!"

shouted Han. All his anger at his cousin, his blazing hot fury at the

villainy of his own relation, suddenly found a new target, one closer to

home, one that he could strike at and do some good. Suddenly he found words

that were weapons, weapons that could strike at the bumbling, seemingly

reasonable, manipulative, dissembling enemy who stood before him. "Stay

where you arc! You, Kleyvits. How dare you sneer at Thrackan Sal-Solo,

because he holds those of his blood hostage for gain? You do the same! You

hold us!" "But-but-you are not of my family, not of my blood!" Han stabbed

his finger at Dracmus and spoke. "She is of your blood, and you hold her

spirit hostage by holding us, by forcing her to collaborate with you in

goading us, harassing us. "She has saved my life, and I hers. She has risked

her life for mine, and I have risked mine for hers. She has vouched for me

with your folk. She has granted me her protection. We have lived and fought

together. No, it is not blood-but it is family. We have claims on each

other, of duty and respect. We were allies against you and your Overden. Now

you force her to spit on her allies, against her will, for your own

amusement." "Honored Solo, please--no more!'' Dracmus said. "There is much

more, much more," Han said to Dracmus. "Your people speak the truth and have

no skill in lies. Can you say, with honesty, that anything of what I say is

wrong?" Dracmus suddenly seemed smaller, sadder, pushed down. "No," she

said, "I cannot." Suddenly Han was inspired. Suddenly he had an idea, a

hunch, an instinct. It might be wrong-but if it was right-if it was right,

and he understood the Selonians properly . . . Yes. Yes. "Then let us have

more truth," Han said. "You, Kleyvits. Speak now of your repulsor. Who

operates it? Whose hand-paws are on the controls?" Kleyvits looked

suspiciously at Han. "Why, those of good Selonians, of course." "But whose

Selonians?" Han demanded. "Are they yours? Are they of the Overden?" There

was a moment's deadly silence, and Kleyvits stood stock-still, only her eyes

moving, back and forth from Han to Dracmus. Then her whiskers twitched once,

involuntarily, and the claws of her hand-paws extended just a hairbreadth

before retracting. "I must say no more about that," she replied. Han felt an

angry jubilation, a moment's brutal glee. He" had won. He knew it. But he

could not play the next card in this hand of sabacc. Only Dracmus could turn

it over. This was (he crucial moment. Dracmus could choose not to hear what

she had heard, or else-"You are wrong, eminent Kleyvits," Dracmus hissed

from behind clenched, fully exposed, needle-sharp teeth. "You arc wrong down

to the depths of your dishonored soul. You must, indeed, say more about it.

You must say a great deal more." "I-I must say no more-"Who?" 'Dracmus

demanded. "Who controls the repulsor? We capitulated because you had shown

your power. But the power was not yours! It is dishonor! Who?" "I must say

no more-"I will be ANSWERED1" bellowed Dracmus, a Dracmus who suddenly

seemed the size and spirit of an enraged Wookiee. Her eyes blazed, her fur

bristled. Her claws were out, her teeth were bared, and her tail-stump

iashed with anger. "WHO?' "It is-they are-they are-the-the Cast-outs. The

Sacorrians. The Selonians of the Triad.'1 "Sweet burning stars,'1 Mara

whispered. "The Sacorrians. The Triad. I don't believe it." The room was

silent again, but the silence seemed to echo from every corner, to shout at

them all, to fill the room with its deadly emptiness. "If an ourworlder, a

human skilled in lies, had told me such a thing. I would join with the

honored Jade and refuse to believe it,'' Dracmus said, speaking at last,

speaking in a voice as low, as quiet, as threatening and ominous as far-off

thunder. "But you, a Selonian, speak the words, Klcyvits. and I am forced to

believe. The words sicken me. The truth fills me with revulsion." Kleyvits

dropped to all fours and cringed at Dracmus's feet. Plainly, it was no empty

ritual. It was Kleyvits submitting to Dracmus and begging for mercy. "Rise

up," snarled Dracmus. "Rise up and come with me. Others must be sickened by

the truth. Others must hear. And then the days of the Overden will be over."

Klcyvits got up on her hind legs and bowed deeply to Dracmus. Dracmus did

not acknowledge the bow, but turned and left the room, her head held high,

the humans forgotten. Kleyvits followed after her, head down, shoulders

slumped, the roles of victor and vanquished utterly reversed. And, suddenly,

the humans were alone. "I don't understand," said Han, drastically

understating the case. "1 had a hunch there had to be some ringers brought

in. 1 figured it had to be outsiders who had researched its operation that

were actually running the repulsor. I figured that would make Kleyvits look

a little bad-but nothing like that. What happened?" "I'll explain later,"

Mara said. "Right now, see to Leia." Han turned toward his wife, who had sat

back down in one of the splendid, luxurious chairs that filled this

splendid, luxurious prison of a villa. She was sobbing quietly to herself,

the tears falling quietly. "Oh, Han. Our children. That man has our

children." "I know," said Han. "I know. But he is not going to keep them. I

promise you that we will get them-But suddenly Leia was on her feet, looking

up, an eager, faraway look in her.eyes, the change in her demeanor

bewilderingly fast. Han exchanged a glance with Mara, and it was plain they

were both wondering, for a fleeting moment, if Lcia had suddenly become

unhinged. But Han should have known better. Leia was made of sterner stuff

than that. "It's Luke!" she said. "Luke is coming this way. I can fee! him,

reaching out with the Force to me. He's homing in on me." "How soon is he

coming?" Han asked. "How fast will he-Han's question was answered even as

it was drowned out by the roaring thunder of a fast, low-flying aircraft.

The tremendous noise filled the room, rattled the windows, and knocked

several knickknacks off side tables. The sound receded as suddenly as it had

arrived, as Luke's X-wing buzzed the villa. Han rushed out the open doors

and saw the X-wing flying off into the distance before swinging around to

make another pass. The X-wing came in low and slow this time, circling the

villa. Lcia and Mara had joined Han outside, and all of them were

frantically waving their arms, as if there was some mad chance that Luke

would miss them, after flying in directly on top of them with pinpoint

accuracy. The X-wing made one long, slow circuit around the perimeter of the

villa, firing one or two bursts of turbolaser fire to encourage the guards

to be on their way. The guards took very little convincing. By the time the

X-wing set down next to the Jade's Fire, they were all headed straight for

the nearest spot on the horizon. The canopy of the X-wing swung open, and

Luke climbed out as fast as he could and jumped to the ground. He threw his

arms around his sister, and then around Han. Mara hung back from these more

effusive greetings, but at least managed a sincere-looking smile for Luke.

"Oh, Luke, it's been so long, and so much has happened!" said Leia, giving

him yet another hug. "That it has, Leia, that it has," said Luke. "I don't

know that it's been all that much time," said Han, "but I'll go along with

the part about a lot happening." The last time they had seen Luke, he was

bidding them all farewell on their way to a nice, quiet family vacation on

Corellia. Han hadn't expected to encounter anything more exciting than a

walk down memory lane, or anything more deadly than an excessively dull

diplomatic reception. Things had not turned out as expected. It did seem a

lifetime ago since they had seen Luke, but how long had it really been? A

few weeks? A month or two, at most? The constant changes from planet to

planet, the differences in length of day and time zone, all made it hard to

keep track. All he knew for sure was that it seemed as if everything had

been happening at once for a long, long time. Luke looked up from his

embrace with Han and Leia, and nodded to the other party present. "Hello,

Mara," he said. "It's good to see you." "Good to see you too, Luke," she

said, and it seemed to Han as if the hard edge of her voice was just a

trifle softer than usual. "I wish the occasion could be happier," Luke

replied. "I saw Thrackan's broadcast. I don't know what to say, except I'm

sorry. We'll get them back. Leia. I promise we will." "I know we will,

Luke," said Leia. "1 know. But thank you." "Look," said Mara, "no offense to

anybody, hut Luke's chased off all the guards. I'll bet we can crack open

the force field around \\\J Jade's Fire pretty quick if we tried. Shouldn't

we be escaping along about now?" Luke shook his head. "Let's get your ship

clear, by all means. But I think it might be smart if you stayed right here

for now. If I've got this worked out right, we're going to need a lot of

help from the people who were holding you, and we'd better slay where they

can find us." "Why? What?" asked Han. "What's happened?" "A lot," said Luke.

"Most of it bad. Though maybe there's some good news, as well, buried

underneath it all. And that's where our Selonian friends come in." Han

looked at Luke, and sighed wearily. "It never is simple, is it? Come on,

kid. Let's head inside. I think it's just about time we all sal down and

compared notes." "Q9! Q9! Come in! Q9! Are you there?" "Of course 1 am

here,'' Q9 replied. "I'm here, right where you left me, upside down in a

storage bin. Where else would I be?" The droid had grown quite tired of his

hiding place, and become quite irritable as a result. "An interesting

rhetorical question," said Ebrihim, his whispered voice coming in via the

droid's cornlink system. "But never mind. Suffice to say that we would like

you to come over here, now, if you would." "With pleasure," replied Q9. "Or

more accurately, I will take great pleasure in getting out of this smuggling

compartment. However, I will come to you, assuming I can get to wherever it

is you are being held." "We arc quite nearby, within sight of the ship."

"Very good. But let us discuss a point or two before I come. My built-in

surveillance gear detected the cessation of jamming quite some time ago. It

is two hours since I monitored Thrackan Sal-Solo's broadcast.

Parenthetically, I must add that none of you were looking your best in that.

But in any event, why have you waited until now to call me?'1 "We have been

waiting for the Human League troopers to go to sleep. The last of them

turned in about an hour ago. It would seem they are now all quite soundly

asleep, on board the assault boat." "Why have they not posted a guard? Why

are they so lax?17 Ebrihim laughed. "We arc at the bottom of a sheer-sided,

kilometers-deep pit; we arc being held inside a force field; and of the two

ships available, one is nonfunctional, and the other is full of enemy

troops. I expect they simply felt rather secure in their situation." "It

could be a trap,'1 said Q9. "They could be trying to lull you into a false

sense of security." "They are the ones with a false sense of security. They

do not know we have a comlink, and they are unaware of your existence."

"Where did you get the comlink?'' Q9 asked suspiciously. 'T did not know

that you had one. How do I know you are Ebrihim? How do I know you aren't a

Human League agent posing as Ebrihim? How do I know this is not a trap to

lure me out of my hiding place?" Q9 could hear the sound of Ebrihim sighing

wearily. "Q9, I do believe that you have developed a paranoid streak." "You

would develop one too, if your main circuits were shorted out by a maniac

child, and you were barely given a chance to double-check your repairs

before you were stuck in a dark hole for a day. I have been in an inverted

position for all that time, wondering what could happen to me next. I have

come up with quite a number of alarming possibilities." ''I see," said

Ebrihim, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. "That is most

unfortunate. Let me see if I can put your mind somewhat at ease. We did not

tell you we had a comlink because we were somewhat pressed for time when we

were captured. I myself did not learn that Chewbacca had concealed the

comlink on his person until long after we were off the ship. As for the

other matter, I am indeed Ebrihim. The receipt of sale shows that I paid

twelve hundred and fifty Drallish crowns for you. However, in reality, at

the last minute 1 managed to t alk your owners into a discount for cash of a

hundred crowns, a detail which I forgot. When I inadvertently reported the

higher amount as a deduction on my taxes, you pointed out the discrepancy to

,me and threatened to turn me in if i did not correct it. Ai the time I

seriously considered selling you for the eight extra crowns I was forced to

pay in taxes as a result. There have been many times when I have regretted

my decision to keep you instead. Does that satisfy you?" "I suppose so," Q9

said doubtfully. "Very good then. Now stop acting like a mentally unbalanced

victim of paranoid dementia and get the blazes over here as quickly and

quietly as you can. Ebrihim out!" "No need to be so irritable about it," Q9

said to himself, knowing full well Ebrihim had shut down his comlink. "I see

nothing demented in my effort to insure my own self-preservation." He paused

for a moment. "On the other hand, there is something distinctly peculiar

about a droid that has started talking to itself. Master Ebrihim may well

have a point concerning my mental state. Ah, well." Q9 gently activated his

repulsors, so they pushed the camouflaged cover up off the smuggling

compartment. He let the cover get about a third of a meter high, and then

lowered power to the port side repulsor, causing the lid to slide down to

that direction and fall to the deck with a ioud clunk, it was more noise

than Q9 would have preferred to have made, but he had little choice in the

matter. Q9 extruded a pair of manipulator arms and slowly pushed himself

straight up out of the compartment, until his body was completely out of the

hole. He rotated his body around on the ball-and-socket joints of the arms

until his base was pointed straight down. Then he activated his repulsors

again and drew the two arms back into his body. It was a distinct relief to

be right side up again, and out of that hole. Q9 floated around the Falcon's

circumferential corridor until he came to the access ramp. The ramp was open

and down, which saved him the trouble of opening it himself, and saved that

much more noise as well. However it did represent lax enough security that

Q9 could not help but worry anew that it was all an elaborate trap. But if

it was, he had already revealed his position, and he was as good as caught,

anyway. He might as well press on. He moved down the ramp and out onto the

wide expanses of the repulsor chamber's interior. It was dark, the chamber

lit only by the dimmest of starlight. Q9 switched over to infrared, and

suddenly the chamber was ablaze with illumination. He moved forward about

thirty meters from the Falcon, and then stopped. He spun his upper dome in a

complete circle, scanning the interior. As Ebrihim had promised, the

prisoners were indeed easy to spot. Six warm bodies inside a force field

were a fairly obvious target. Obvious enough that Q9 was not exactly

thrilled to be moving toward it. He consoled himself with the notion that he

himself was probably a first-rate target in infrared anyway. He completed

his scan, and got a good range and bearing on the assault boat as well. Just

as well to keep a sensor pointed in that direction. Q9 floated briskly

toward the force field containment and came to a stop precisely one meter

from its perimeter. "I'm here,11 he said. "Now what do you want?" It was not

easy to judge Drallish expressions in infrared, but it would seem that

Ebrihirn was glaring at him. "Most beings would find that obvious," he said.

"I want you to get us out of here!" "Of course," said Q9. "To pose a

rhetorical question, what else would you want?" Q9 rotated his view dome

left and then right. "Any suggestions on how I might accomplish that?"

"Around the other side," Ebrihim said. "The control panel for the

containment is on the children's side of the dome." "Ah. So it is," Q9 said,

realizing that he was suddenly feeling quite cheerful. He floated briskly

around to the other side of the containment, and saw the control panel on

the outside, and the children on the inside, watching him. "Good evening,

children," he said, in a most lighhearted tone of voice. "How are all of you

this evening?" He bobbled up and down on his repulsor, in rough imitation of

a little bow. Anakin regarded him gravely for a moment or two, and then

turned to his brother and sister. "Q9 is acting weird," he announced. "Am

I?" Q9 asked. "A moment please, while I run a behavioral diagnostic." Q9

activated the appropriate routines and ran them against his action log for

the past hour. "You're quite right, young Anakin. I am behaving somewhat

erratically. It might well have something to do with being roasted alive and

being stuck in a storage bin for hours on end, but that's all as may be.

We're all friends here. In any event, rest assured that my actions and

reactions are still within acceptable limits. Quite so." "It is one of the

flaws of the Q9-series design," Ebrihim said, speaking to the children in a

quiet voice from the far side of the vertical wall that divided the

containment. "At times, they do not respond well to periods of extended

stress." "But then, who does?" Q9 asked. "He may exhibit fairly drastic mood

swings for a time, but he should settle down after a while," Ebrihim said.

"We'll just have to deal with him as he is for the time being." "Great,"

said Jacen. "We're counting on a manic-depressive droid to break us out of

here." "And break you out I shall," said Q9. "Just tell me how." He spun his

view dome about to check again on the assault boat, and then spun it back, a

bit abruptly. "But be quick about it, before the guards have a chance to

awaken." "Yeah," said Jacen. "Right. Anakin is the one to ask." "Ah, yes,"

Q9 said. "Anakin, master of all machines. Just tell me what to do, and I

shall do it. So long as pushing the wrong button doesn't drop the planet

into the sun, or any such trivial inconvenience." "Q9," said Ebrihim. "You

must control yourself. Settle down. It is most important." "My apologies,"

said Q9. Strange how they were all fussing over him now, when most of the

time they barely gave him a moment's notice. That is, when they weren't

actively against him. "Interesting," he said. "I already seem to be slipping

back into a depressive paranoid phase." "Just-just try and keep your

thoughts ordered and balanced," Ebrihim said soothingly. "Anakin, get him

started." "Ah, okay," Anakin said. "The control panel's turned away from us,

but I think there's a big slot for a sort of metal key right in the middle

of it. Can you see it?" "How did you know that was there if you can't see

it?" Q9 asked suspiciously. "I saw the other guy using it," Anakin said,

glancing toward Jacen a little doubtfully. "It's there, right?" "Yes, it

is." "Ebrihim said that sometimes you can use your manipulator arms to pick

locks and stuff. Do you think you could pick that one?" Q9 extruded a

close-up view cam on the end of a flexible arm. It carried a small

illuminator light at its end, right next to the cable. He switched on the

illuminator and brought the cam to bear on the lock. He examined it

carefully, from several angles, then turned off the illuminator and

retracted the close-up cam. "No," he said. "Oh," Anakin said. "That's not

good." "Is that it?" Q9 asked. "Can I go now?" "No!" Anakin said. He shut

his eyes and extended his hand out toward the control panel. "I can almost

do it, but I can't see the controls the way I can see the inside." He shook

his head and opened his eyes. "Read me what the labels say. Read me all the

buttons and switches." Q9 extruded the close-up cam again and turned on the

illuminator to examine the display. "It is a most archaic system of

controls," he said. "The first dial is labeled main power select-that's the

one with the lock on it. The selector can be set to off, single containment,

DOUBLE CONTAINMENT, Or QUAD CONTAINMENT. It is set to double. Below that is

a dial marked overall intensity. It is marked off from one to eleven, and is

set to eight point five." "Twist that one down as far as it will go," Anakin

said. Q9 extruded a manipulator arm and twisted the dial to the left as far

as he could. "It will not turn any lower than the'point marked two. I would

conjecture that it cannot be turned lower without the key." "Right, right,"

said Anakin. The boy reached out his hand and probed cautiously at the force

field. He seemed to be able to push his hand slowly into it, but only by a

few centimeters. "No, no," said Anakin. "Still too strong. Read me the other

controls," he said. "There are three dials. The first is lit up. It reads

DOUBLE CONTAINMENT LEFT SIDE RELATIVE INTENSITY.

The dial is marked from one to eleven, with the dial set at the center

point, six. The other two dials appear to control quad mode settings. As we

are clearly in double mode, the quad settings are not of any consequence."

"Twist the double level to one side as far as it will go-" Q9 did so, and

the force field forming the children's containment promptly darkened, so

much that the effect was plainly visible even in the near darkness of the

repulsor chamber. "Turn it the other way," Anakin said. Q9 did so, and the

field faded away again, until it was completely invisible, even in infrared.

Anakin pushed at the field again, and it gave a bit more this time-but even

pushing as hard as he could, he could not get out. "Any more controls on

that thing?" Anakin asked. "That is all," Q9 replied. "Thought so," Anakin

said. "Couldn't feel anything else." "Then why did you ask me?" "Because I

wanted to be sure!" Anakin said. "Don't act so weird, okay?" "Am I still

behaving strangely?" Q9 asked, "Or do you just want me to think I'm behaving

strangely? Is that your plan?" "Q9, we don't have lime for this," said

Jacen. "Later. Whatever it is you're doing, do it later. All right?" Q9

looked at him suspiciously. "I am not 'doing' anything besides following

orders." "Never mind," Anakin said. "Q9-is it all as low as it can go? So it

makes the field as weak this side as it can be?" "As low as it can go

without the key, yes." "All right," said Anakin. "Hope it's good enough.

Here goes." He extended his arms in front of him and spread out his stubby

fingers as far as they would go. He shut his eyes and stepped forward, until

his hands were in contact with the force field. "Gotta move slowly," he

reminded himself. Pushing slowly, gently, he thrust his hand deeper and

deeper into the weakened force field. The field around his hands began to

shimmer and spark, brightly at first, but then fading away, until Anakin was

standing in a pushed-out bubble of the force field, a bubble that was marked

by dim, shimmering flickers of power. Anakin pushed farther on, but seemed

unable to make further progress. "Help me," he said to his brother and

sister. Jacen and Jaina stepped cautiously forward into the extruded bubble

of the force field. Jacen shut his eyes and stretched out his hands. He

frowned and shook his head. "I don't see what you are-Oh, I get it." He

pushed out his hands farther, and Jaina did the same. The bubble lit up

again with shimmers and sparks that did not light up quite as much as they

did the first time, and that faded away more quickly and more completely.

"Try again, Anakin," said Jaina. Anakin pushed on the force field with just

his left hand this time, with slow, steady pressure that stretched the field

farther and farther. And then, moving quite slowly and gently, he bunched up

his fingers into a fist and extended just his index finger. He pushed

forward with his finger, stretching the field farther and farther until, at

some gradual and indefinable moment, the tip of his finger was through and

outside the field, on the other side. "Jacen, take my hand," said Anakin.

"Jaina, take his." Jacen grabbed his brother's right hand in his left, and

Jaina took Jacen's right in her own left hand. Anakin pressed onward, until

his whole finger, his whole arm, his shoulder, his head, his chest, were

through. He leaned forward, pushing slowly, steadily forward. He lifted his

left leg up, forcing it gently up and through the field. The field sparked

and shimmered for a moment as his leg slipped clear of it and he set it down

on the outside. His right leg seemed to move through more easily. And then,

but for his right arm, he was through, and on the outside. He kept moving

forward, very slowly, leaning forward as he pulled, dragging his brother's

arm out through the field. The field sparked and shimmered with greater

violence when Jacen's hand touched it. Jacen winced, and almost flinched

backward. There was the crackle and spark of static electricity as his hand

moved forward through the field. It was as if the field was resisting him

more than his brother, and it was plain to see from the expression on his

face that it was far from a pleasant sensation. The field seemed reluctant

to let his head come through, and sparks and fire flickered about his face.

His head broke through quite abruptly, and he let out a little grunt of pain

as it did. His hair sprang straight out from his head, alive with static

electricity, something that had not happened to Anakin. The sparks flared

and flickered about him as he forced one leg and then the other through the

field. Jaccn gasped with relief as his body broke free of the field. Anakin

still held his left hand, and the two boys moved slowly out from the field

as Jacen pulled Jaina's hand through the field. Sparks shimmered again, but

in a deeper, duller, angry color. "Ow!" Jaina said. "It's-it's like fire."

"Just keep coming," Jacen said. "Your hand is free of the field. Keep your

eyes shut. It's easier that way, believe me. Keep coming. Keep coming.

There's your arm free. Here comes your head. Hang on! Hang on! Almost free.

All right, your face is clear. That's the worst part. You should see your

hair! No, don't open your eyes yet, but it's sticking straight up from your

head. Good. Good. Now push your leg through. Steady. Easy does it. Good.

Good. Now the other one. Up, over, through. Good. Just the foot to come whoops!" Jaina tumbled down onto her brother as she broke free of the field,

and Jacen went down, taking Anakin with him. The stretched-out part of the

force field shimmered and sparked one last time, and then retracted, shrank,

pulled back, merging smoothly back into the rest of the field, as if there

had never been such a thing as a distortion in the field's surface. "Boy,

that hurt," Jaina said. "Like getting a shock all over my body." "I think it

was worse for you than me," Jacen said as the three children disentangled

themselves from each other and helped each other up. "Did it hurt you at

all, Anakin?" he asked his brother. Anakin shook his head. "Nope. It sort of

tickled a little bit. Well, it didn't feel nice like tickling, but sort of

like that."' "That was impossible, of course," said Q9. "What you just did

was quite impossible. No one can walk through a force field that way." "We

didn't go through it, really," Anakin said. "It was more like we went

between it. Stretched it out until there was room between the field, sort

of. Then I just pushed the parts apart, and went through. That's all." "Ah.

That's all. Thank you. That makes it all quite clear, I assure you."

"Anakin-what about Chewbacca and Ebrihim and Aunt Marcha?" asked Jaina.

Anakin shook his head. "I don't think I can do it from this side," he said.

"Not to pull people through. It's harder to do, the bigger and heavier you

are." "Can you do anything with the control panel?" Jaina asked. Anakin went

over and looked at the panel, put his hand over it, and shut his eyes. He

concentrated, focusing his attention deep inside the device. At last he took

hishand off and opened his eyes. "No," he said. "But you can make all sorts

of machines do whatever you want," Jaina protested. "Yeah, but that's easy,"

Anakin said. "Real little stuff I can move around. I can make stuff do what

it's supposed to do. But the lock insides are too big. And the lock's doing

what it's supposed to do. It's already working." "I couldn't ask for a

clearer explanation," said Q9. "But I take it you can't get the others out?"

"No," said Anakin. "Not without the key." "I see you had this all carefully

planned out in advance," Q9 observed. "The plan was that you would be able

to pick the lock," Ebrihim said, rather severely. "But that is all to one

side. If we indeed cannot get out, obviously the children must attempt to

escape on their own. With your help, of course, Q9." "What?" Q9 asked. "How?

How are we supposed to get away?" "By flying away in the Millennium Falcon,

of course." "Wait a second," said Jacen. "You want us to fly the Falconl"

Chewbacca looked at Ebrihim, made a yawping sound, and then bared his teeth

and shook his head. "I agree that it is foolhardy and dangerous," Ebrihim

said to Chewbacca. He turned to the three children. "But it is nonetheless

the best of many bad choices. Chewbacca, you yourself said the repairs to

the Falcon were all but complete. I feel quite certain that you would have

no trouble explaining to the children what still needs to be done. And I

have no doubt at all they could perform the repairs. "As for the rest of it,

we three in here have far, far less value as hostages, and Thrackan knows

it. The three jewels are already outside this force field stockade. Anakin,

Jacen, Jaina-the danger would be great if you tried to escape on your own.

But I sincerely believe that the danger to you, and to ourselves, and to

others, would be much less than if you stayed. Thrackan is a cruel and

heartless man, and I do not wish you in his clutches. As I see it, there are

only two possibilities. The first is that your mother goes along with what

he tells her to do." "She'd never do that," Jacen said. "I quite agree. But

if she did, I believe your uncle would decide you were too valuable to give

up. He would keep you, in hopes of extracting further concessions. And every

time she g ave in, he would have more reason to hold on to you. I believe

you would be permanent prisoners." "And if Mom did give in to him because of

us, a lot of other people would get hurt," said Jaina. "And killed," added

Jacen. "Precisely. The second, more likely possibility is that your mother

would refuse his demands. She would do so fully knowing the consequences,

and it would break her heart. But she would refuse him, all the same. Sooner

or later, your cousin Thrackan would either become so angry and frustrated

that he would take it all out on you-or else he would threaten to torture

you, or actually do so, in order to get what he wanted out of your mother."

"Torture?" Jaina said. "I hadn't thought of that." "Would he really?" Jacen

asked. "I think it quite possible. Even likely." Q9 looked from his master

to the children, and back again. There was something unstated here,

something he nearly said himself, before thinking better of it. No one was

saying that it would be better for the children to have a clean, quick death

in a crash rather than be the unwilling pawns in a cruel game. A cruet game

where many others would suffer, a game that could only end with the pawns

being destroyed at the exact moment it suited their master. How noble, how

brave of them all to say nothing at all about it. How odd that he, Q9, was

having such peculiar and emotional reactions to everything. Just that moment

a new and terri-fying thought crossed his mind. "Half a moment," he said.

"What about me?" Ebrihim looked toward Q9 and chuckled to himself. "Oh,

you'll go with them, of course. What else could you do? What, exactly, do

you expect Thrackan Sal-Solo would do to you if he woke up in the morning to

find the chidren gone and you here?" Q9 thought that one through, and did

not care one little bit for the conclusions he reached. "I might have

known," he said. "It's clear now that it's all been a plot against me." "It

seems to me there are other beings worse off than you in all this," Ebrihim

said. "But never mind that. Go, and go now. The longer you delay, the

greater the dangers will be." "But we don't know what's wrong with the ship,

and we don't know how to fix it," Jaina protested. Ebrihim held up his hand

with the comlink in it. "We have this comlink in here, and you children can

use Q9's built-in comlink to communicate with us until you re-establish the

link to the Falcon's comm system. I'll have the comlink. Chewbacca can tell

me what to do, and I'll tell you. We'll walk you through it. You can do it."

Chewbacca nodded his agreement, and made an encouraging little burbling

snarl. "It's nice for you to say," said Jaina to Ebrihim, "but that doesn't

mean you're right." "I'm sure you can do it. Now you must go," said Ebrihim.

"The guards could awaken at any moment. We have no choice in the matter.

Go!" The three children looked at each other for a moment, and then, moving

as one, they turned and headed for the ship, leaving so suddenly and quietly

that Q9 was taken by surprise. He hovered, motionless for a moment, before

he swiveled his view dome about and realized they were gone. He raised

himself up on his repulsors and took off after them. Admiral Ossilege

himself met the Lady Luck when she landed on the hangar deck of the

Intruder. He waited, resplendent in his customary dress-white uniform, and

watched as the Lady's hatch swung open. "Greetings to you all,'1 he said as

Lando, Gaeriel, and Kalenda disembarked, Threepio following behind. "I trust

your information is as interesting as you promise, I find it most ironic

that the moment we are at long last able to speak over the comlinks, we must

worry about being overheard." "I think you'll agree that it's all worth

hearing-and that it's worth being sure we keep it to ourselves," Lando said.

"Let's get to someplace where we ean talk." "Of course," said the admiral.

"We shall go to my private quarters. He glared at Threepio. "That can stay

aboard your ship, I think," he said to Lando." "Well, really, how

inconsiderate-" Threepio began, but Ossilege frowned fiercely enough to

silence him. "The rest of you, come this way." Lando glanced toward Kalenda,

but she just shook her head. No doubt the same thought had crossed her mind.

The admiral spent so much of his lime on the bridge, it had never occurred

to either of them that he even had quarters. But he did have them, and he

led the group to them in short order. Lando had always prided himself on a

sense of design, a knack for knowing what looked right. It was instantly

plain to his practiced eye that Ossilege's stateroom suite was a jarring

display of op-posites-the opulent up against the spartan, the huge and

magnificent against the small and thrifty. The room itself was

spectacular-the cream-colored walls and deep blue carpets, the sheer size of

it, twice the size of any other stateroom on the ship. A huge circular

viewport, two meters across, took up most of one bulkhead, and out of it

Lando could see a breathtaking view of Drall framed against the night sky.

The indirect lighting was warm and even, coming from every side so that it

was impossible to cast a shadow in the room. The personal appointments to

the room, on the other hand, were barely there at all. A camp cot sat in one

corner, with a fold-up night table by its side. The cot was made up with

sharp-edged precision, the pillow plumped up and set precisely in the

centerline of the bed, exactly over the point where the covers and sheet

were perfectly folded back. Somehow, the perfection of it all told Lando

that Hortel Ossilege made his own bed in the morning, despite any number of

valet droids and human servants. He was not the sort of person who would

trust anyone else to make his bed properly. There was an alarm clock, a

portable comm unit, and a reading light on the night table, and a single,

largish book as well. Whether the volume was a novel of some sort, a weighty

historical tome, ugrave; a Bakuran religious text, or the Bakuran Navy

regulation book, Lando could not tell. There were absolutely no other

personal items at all in the room. Whatever else he did own was presumably

hidden away behind the closet doors. In the far corner near the door was a

spartan, utilitarian desk with a small, neat stack of work waiting for the

admiral on one side, and a much larger, but equally neat stack of work

already done on the other. There were a few writing instruments lined up

neatly to one side of the desk, a desk lamp, a datapad, and another comm

set. Nothing else. The desk was positioned so that when the admiral sat

behind it, as he did now, the splendid viewport was behind him. That was the

sum total of furnishings in the room. Indeed, there were no other chairs in

the room beside the one behind the desk, but even as Lando was noticing

this, a gunmetal-gray service droid trundled into the room, carrying three

folding chairs on its back. It set the chairs in front of the desk with

surprising speed and efficiency, and then was gone. The three visitors sat

down facing the desk, and Ossilege stared at them expectantly. "Tell rne,"

he said, "all about Centerpoint." Lieutenant Kalenda cleared her throat and

spoke, a bit nervously. "The long and the short of it is that Centerpoint is

the starbuster. It is the device used to make stars go nova." "I see," said

Ossilege, in about the same tone of voice he would have taken if Kalenda had

just told him the evening dinner menu. "And we also arc pretty sure that the

planetary repulsors are the way to shut Centerpoint down." "Indeed?" he

asked in the same calm tone. "Most interesting. Perhaps," he said, "you

could provide me with a few details."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Incoming The alarm buzzer squawked wildly in the tiny sleeping cabin of the

Gentleman Caller. Tendra Risant leapt up out of bed, her heart pounding. She

scrambled to her feet, getting herself entangled in the sheets and nearly

falling flat on her face before she got herself sorted out and headed for

the control room. She didn't recognize the alarm. What in the burning suns

had broken down this time? She reached the control room and checked all the

displays, but saw nothing but a green board. Then she woke up the rest of

the way and remembered. She had installed this alarm herself. The one that

went off when the Gentleman Caller's navicom-puter detected the interdiction

field going down. The interdiction field going down! Suddenly her mind was

racing. One part of her was suddenly afraid. The field coming down could

mean any number of things, many of them not good. But all that was beyond

her control. Later she could let her imagination run wild, let herself

speculate about what it all meant. Right now the field coming down meant

exactly one thing. She could get moving at last. She scrambled into the

pilot's seat and set to work. Tendra had had very little practice with

navicom-puters before boarding the Gentleman Caller, but she certainly had

plenty of time to practice with the one on the ship since then. Working as

fast as she could, she set up the problem, getting a fix on her present

location and a precise grid reference on her intended target point, letting

the navicornputer massage the numbers and come up with the proper values for

the jump in and out of hyperspace that would get her there. She knew where

she was well enough-she had had plenty of time to practice finding that out

too-but the question of where to go she had never quite decided. It had

seemed simpler to keep the naviconiputer updated with all the potential

destinations, so that she could decide at the last minute if there was a

change in the situation. Except, now, it was time to make a decision, and

she was far from decided. But she had to move fast. Whoever controlled the

interdiction field might well be able to bring it back up again at any time.

She dithered for a moment longer, and then made up her mind. Centerpoint.

She would go to Centerpoint. The last she had heard from Lando, it had

seemed he was heading that way. She suspected that meant very little when

dealing with Lando, or in time of war, let alone both, but she had to choose

someplace. She punched in the proper settings and flipped the navicornputer

over to automatic operation. The display came on, showing a thirty-second

countdown clock. The clock started moving, and the seconds melted away. For

half a moment Tendra considered the idea of getting set to jump to

hyperspace on manual if the automatics failed. That was the way the heroes

always did it in the holovids, after all. But no. The holovid heroes were

always seasoned pilots of the spaceways, or else they were the most

naturally gifted pilots the galaxy had ever seen. Besides, they were always

backed up by that most powerful of allies-cooperative scriptwriters. Life

didn't work that way. She couldn't count on it all turning out right by the

last scene. Besides, this was exactly the second time she had ever flown a

hyperspace jump. If something went wrong with the automatics, and they

decided to shut down rather than proceed, it would be prudent of her to take

their word for it. Better to sit out here for another month or two, going

half mad with boredom, rather than have the hyperspace motors blow up under

her or kick her out into the far side of the galaxy. She checked the

countdown clock. Fifteen seconds. It had been a hell of a long ride so far,

and even if this worked, and she got into the Corellian system, even if her

navicomputer was dead-on and she arrived right at Centerpoint's main docking

collar, there were no guarantees that this ride was over quite yet. Ten

seconds. And what about Lando? Was he all right? Was he anywhere remotely

near Centerpoint? Would she even be able to find him? It was the middle of a

war, after all. Things were not likely to be all that well organized. Five

seconds. What was she doing here, anyway? Why had she climbed into an

overpriced secondhand starship to go chasing after some smooth-talking

ladies' man she had met exactly once? She had always thought of herself as a

levelheaded sort of person. Right now the evidence was strictly to the

contrary. Three seconds. This was crazy. She was about to jump into a war

zone. She ought to abort the jump to light speed, reverse course, and head

back home to Sacorria, where it was safe. Two seconds. No. Too late for

that. If she did, she would spend the rest of her life wondering what if.

One second. Instead, she was about to find out. Zero. The cockpit viewport

exploded into life as the sky filled with starlines, and the Gentleman

Caller made the big jump to light speed. Suddenly Tendra Risant didn't have

the time to worry about anything at all. Ossilege stood up from behind his

desk, turned, and paced the room thoughtfully. He paused in front of the

viewport, and now gave a long, hard look at the planet Drall. He had no

interest when it was just a lovely sight, thought Lando. Now that it has

great military significance, though-now he wants to take a look at it. "So

if I understand you correctly," he said, turning to face the others, "the

planetary repulsors are of far greater significance than .we-thought. If we

possessed one in time to deflect the hyperspace tractor-repulsor shot from

Centerpoint-then that would save all the good people of Bovo Yagen--and

perhaps, just incidentally, win us the war. Do I have that about right?"

"Just about right, sir," said Lieutenant Kalenda. "However, it is more than

a question of possessing the repulsor. It is knowing how to use it. And I'm

not entirely sure Thrackan Sal-Solo is able to control it." "But they fired

it already." "Not really, sir. It was an-an uncontrolled start-up. There was

a massive burst of unregulated repulsor radiation, that's all. The Selonian

repuisor shot was much more controlled. And there's another reason. Remember

his assault boat went into the repulsor after it was fired. We're only

assuming it was his techs who fired it." "After seeing that broadcast he

made, I'll tell you who I think set it off," said Lando. "And who might that

be?" Ossilege said, smiling coldly, indulgently. An expression that said he

had already rejected whatever Lando was about to say. "The children," Lando

said. "I think they managed to turn it on by accident. The repulsor burst

attracted Thrackan's attention, the same as it did yours, and he got there

first." "Don't be absurd," Ossilege said, all but openly sneering. "How

could children activate a planetary repulsor?" "I don't know. It's possible

Chewbacca did, but I doubt he would be so careless as to allow an

uncontrolled burst like that. Maybe the two Drall did it. But someone in

that group is the one who pushed the button." "1 doubt it. I believe it was

some of SaS-Solo's people who activated the repulsor, an advance team if you

will. I believe they somehow captured the children whilst in the process of

searching for the repulsor. But all this is beside the point. Sal-Solo has

the repulsor now. And I have a marine assault force preparing to go in and

take it from him. It is just before local dawn at the repulsor site now. The

marines plan to go in just after sunset tonight-though I may push that

forward if circumstances merit. They are holding tactical exercises and

running simulations right now." "Why not go in now?" Lando asked. "I asked

Commander Putney, the assault troops' commanding officer, that same

question, some hours ago. i assure you Putney is feeling as much anxiety as

you to go at once, but it's not that simple. The main problem is that, as

per my orders, their assault boats were combat-loaded for a prolonged

exploratory sortie onto Centerpoint, in case that proved necessary. That is

a wholly different mission than a quick-strike attack against a small force

in a fixed position. It simply takes time to unload the boats from one

mission profile and repack for another. There are other factors. The marine

commander believes that going in during darkness will be to their advantage.

He has also worked out the relative time zones, and the effects of changes

in local time and duration of day. He calculates that the Corellians in the

repulsor will be at their most tired, their most sleep-deprived, just about

at local sunset this evening. Suffice to say that although you and I are

actually in agreement on this point, and wish the attack to happen sooner,

there are cogent reasons for the delay. The risks are obvious-but I believe

that once all the factors are weighed, our best chance for success is to

wait." "And you're either right, or you're wrong, with no way to know for

sure until it's too late. Then you're a genius for guessing right, or a

monster and a fool for guessing wrong. I don't envy you that sort of

decision, Admiral. They stuck me with a generalship once, a long time ago,"

said Lando. "I didn't care for it. Mostly because of decisions just like

this one. You have my sympathy." "Thank you, Captain Calrissian. Given our

past differences, that was most generous of you to say." "Believe me, every

word was sincere. But we haven't touched the main question. Do any of you

believe that our friend down there, the very high and mighty Thrackan

Sal-Solo, is now able to operate that repulsor? Or, if not, will he be able

to soon?" "Hard to tell, really," said Kalenda. "My working theory is that

the outside force running this thing sent in technical teams, intending to

have their own people control the repulsors and not trusting to the locals.

Sal-Solo would have been given enough techs to cover one repulsor. Has he

kept those techs home, or has he brought them along? How good are they? Do

they know what they are doing? What sort of shape is the repulsor in? Was it

damaged by the uncontrolled startup?" Kalenda shook her head. 'There are too

many variables." "Hmmph. Someday, an intelligence officer will answer a

question with an answer, instead of a new collection of questions. The

Selonian repulsor is up and running. The Drall repulsor is a question mark.

What about the Corellian one, or the units on Talus and Tra-lus?" Kalenda

shook her head. "We have no indication that they are functional. But that

doesn't mean a thing. That they haven't been used might mean they haven't

been found yet, or that the technicians have their finger on the button,

just waiting for their big moment." "Murk and muddle," Ossilege said. "All

of it murk and muddle. Nothing clear, nothing absolute, no one clear enemy

you can point your finger at and say it's him! Attack! What do you make of

it, Madame Prime Minister? You have sat there, quite silent, for a while

now." Gaeriel leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms thoughtfully.

"You have pointed your finger square at the chief difficulty. There are too

many enemies, and they are too vague, too uncertain, too diffuse. I think

that is part of a deliberate tactic. It is meant to confuse us, distract us,

get us looking in all the wrong directions. And, I am afraid, it has worked.

We have heard so many conflicting stories, dealt with so many contradictory

claims, that we no longer know what is real. All I know for sure is that we

have not met the real enemy yet. I no longer believe the rebellions have any

reality. The rebel groups are essentially fakes, all of them. Some are

wholly artificial, and some are tiny little splinter groups, fringe

organizations that the real outside force has pumped up with money and

support. The partial exception is the Human League. It was a real

organization-but it got financed by the same outsiders as the rest of the

rebels. And 1 feel quite confident that the Human League is now as much in

rebellion against its paymasters as it is against us. The outsiders, the

external enemy, set all this in motion in order to grab the Corellian Sector

and damage the New Republic. But the Human League and Thrackan Sal-Solo have

decided to grab Corellia for themselves. "We haven't seen the real enemy

yet. We've only seen their frontmen, their stooges, their stand-ins. But I

think that the end of the communications blackout means that we are going to

meet the real enemy, and very soon." There was a discreet bleep from the

intercom set on the desk. Ossilege turned and walked back to the desk. "Yes,

what is it?" he asked. "Sir," said a voice on the comm unit, "we've just

detected the interdiction field coming down. It is fading away very rapidly,

and is already below the threshold to permit hyperspace travel." "Is it

indeed? Then I think we can assume someone or other is about to do some

hyperspace travel. All stations on all ships to standby alert. I want the

detection officers sharp." "Yes, sir. Sir, there is another matter. The

moment the field came down, we received another communication from Source A.

He is on the-"One moment." Ossilege stabbed a button down on the comm,

cutting off the speaker. He picked up the comm's handset. Rare to see a

handset, thought Lando. Even rarer to see one used. Most people were glad to

talk to the empty air with their hands free, rather than holding a hunk of

plastic to the side of their head and talking into it. But handsets had the

great advantage of keeping those nearby from hearing the conversation. And

Ossilege had clearly never been one for letting anyone know anything unless

they needed to know it. "All right, go ahead." Ossilege listened. "Is he

indeed? By all means, put him through. No, no, voice only is fine. But one

moment please." Ossilege put his hand over the handset's speaker. "My

apologies to you all. If I had not promised otherwise, I would gladly

include you all in this. But I gave my word to keep discussions with-ah-this

source-private." Gaeriel stood up, and Lando and Kalcnda took their cue from

her. "Of course, Admiral. We understand. Your word must be your bond."

"Thank you for your understanding, Madame Prime Minister. Lieutenant

Kalenda, Captain Calrissian. We will continue this discussion later." "I

wish I could head up to the bridge and watch the show," said Lando as the

three of them stepped out into the corridor. "Why can't you? In fact, I

think I'll go myself," said Gaeriel. "Well, uh, yeah, but you're an ex-Prime

Minister and the plenipotentiary and all that," said Lando, a bit hurriedly.

"You're a very official person. I'm just some guy who's along for the ride."

"Lieutenant Kalenda?" Gaeriel asked. "Arc you coming?" "No, ma'am. Not just

now." "I see," said Gaeriel, though it was clear she did not. "I seem to be

missing something. I should think you'd both be most eager to get up there

and see what's going on." "Well, yes, we are," Lando admitted. "But the last

thing a bridge crew needs during a crisis is off-duty personnel playing

tourist," or uninvited high-ranking guests breathing down their necks and

jiggling their elbows, he thought, though he never would dare say such a

thing to her out loud. "I see," said Gaeriel. "I expect that military

etiquette would preclude my going as well, wouldn't it?" The woman was

sharp. You had to give her that much. "Ah, well, yes, ma'am." "In that case,

to hell with military etiquette. I will go to the flag deck, which is

designed with the purpose of letting those in it observe without

interfering. I will not bother anyone. I will not get it into my head to

start issuing freelance orders. But I am going up there to see what is going

on." "My, my apologies, Gaeriel-ma'am, Madame Prime Minister. I meant no

offense," Lando said. At least not so much that you need to bite my head

off. Gaeriel Captison sighed wearily. "And none taken," she said. "My

apologies to you. That was uncalled for on my part. But, by all that's

sacred, this is my mission. I'm the reason this ship is here. Luke Skywalker

came to me and asked me for help, and I got it for him. And my government

named me as plenipotentiary, empowered to make all decisions in its name. I

am entitled, I am honor-bound, to see everything, know everything, before I

make those decisions. But they all coddle me here, insulate rne, keep all

the awkward facts and unimportant details away from me. It was a relief to

go to Centerpoint and nearly die of smoke inhalation. At least I was doing

something. And now Centerpoint is going to incinerate another star in three

days time, and the interdiction field has just dropped, and the devils of

dark space alone know what that means, and I'm supposed to just go to my

cabin and sit quietly in polite ignorance because going to the flag deck

isn't the done thing?" "You've got a point," said Lando. "And you two should

see it all too, but you're not going to, because it would be rude?" "Yes,

ma'am. It sounds ridiculous, but-"It sounds ridiculous because it is

ridiculous," Gaeriel said. She looked from Lando to Kalenda and back again.

"I order you to accompany me to the flag deck, right now." Lando glanced at

Kalenda. He was just about certain that Gaeriel Captison had no legal

authority under any interpretation of space law at all, to issue him an

order, and he was only slightly less sure that she had no right to issue

orders to Kalenda, either. But who was going to tell that to an ex-Prime

Minister and plenipotentiary? "Very well, Madame Prime Minister," he said.

"If you insist." Gaeriel grinned. "Oh, I do, I do," she said. "So let's get

going," she said, and led the way. Kalenda and Lando followed, and they let

her get a few steps ahead, and then a few steps more. Once she was safely

out of earshot, Lando leaned over toward Kalenda and spoke in a low voice.

"Well, I put my foot in it that time," he said. "That you did," Kalenda

said, her voice just as low. "But on the bright side, at least we get to see

what in blazes is going on out there." "Sounds good to me." "On another

subject," Kalenda whispered, "do you have any idea what that Source A

business is about?" What indeed, Lando thought. There was something about

the idea of a casual question from an intelligence officer that didn't quite

ring true with Lando. She was not the sort of person who ever asked

questions without a reason. Was it a trick question? Was she trying to see

if he knew more than he should? Or did she just see him as a good analyst, a

good guesser, a good source for informed speculation? Or was she just making

conversation while he was getting paranoid? Not that it mattered what she

was or was not after-Lando had no information. He had a guess or two, but

that didn't count. The second he had heard the words "Source A," he had

immediately thought of the brilliantly original idea of calling Tendra

Risant Source T. That brought an immediate idea to mind as to who Source A

might be. But he knew better than to stick his neck out. "You're the intell

officer," he said, "your guess is as good as mine. Probably better." "Oh,

come on. You can do better than that." "Okay, okay, I do have a guess or

two, I admit it. I just think I'd like to keep them to myself. Even I don't

quite believe them." Kalenda laughed. "Fair enough," she said. "But I've got

a feeling I have the same idea you do. Come on, let's hurry and catch her

up, before she has us thrown in the brig for disobeying a direct order."

Tendra Risant figured she had to be the first one in. She had to be. It

didn't take much of a guess to figure that whoever had dropped the field had

done it to jump their own ships in, or that the ships would be at the ready.

But even so, she would get there first. The Gentleman Caller was old and

slow, to be sure, but how many other inbound ships were there likely to be

inside the interdiction field? It was not until after the automatics

activated the hyperspace drive that it dawned on her that being first might

not be the best idea when jumping into a war zone. After all, she knew for a

fact that there were warships waiting in-system, at least some of them in

the vicinity of Centerpoint-the spot she was headed for. The crews of those

ships would be able to detect the interdiction field going down every bit as

well as Tendra could-better, in fact. And they would know that meant

ships-warships, enemy warships-coming in. So the incoming ships would be on

alert, because the Bakuran ships would be on alert, with their weapons at

the ready-in short, a fearful muddle of everyone on alert. And she would get

there first. All of a sudden, that didn't feel like anything to be quite so

pleased about. For fleeting seconds Tendra considered aborting the run and

bailing out of hyperspace early. But if she knew two things for sure, one

was that she was not a particularly skilled or practiced pilot, and the

second was that, lacking skill or practice, the odds on surviving an

uncalculated jump out of hyperspace were near zero. Besides, she didn't have

much more than fleeting seconds to think about it. The hop she was making

was not long at all. In fact, the navicomputer was already counting down the

final few seconds before the drop back into real space. There was little

Tendra could do besides check her seat restraint and instrument display, and

hang on for the end of the ride. The navicomputer counted down to zero, and

suddenly the viewport was a blaze of light once again, the starlmes flaring

down into the all-but-unchanged stars of the Corellian system. The stars

were the same, but not the rest of the sky. There, dead ahead, was the

heart-stoppingly lovely sight of the Double Worlds, two blue, white, and

green globes seen in quarter phase, their cloud tops and oceans and

continents bright and clear and beautiful. And there, directly and exactly

between them, the strange shape of Centerpoint, a white-gray sphere with a

fat cylinder stuck on each end. Her destination was in sight. Tendra all but

sobbed in relief. She had made it. She had made it. After all the endless

days and weeks, time that seemed as long as months or years, she was no

longer alone, cut off from the outside universe. She was here. And soon she

would be able to get off this damned ship, stretch her legs a bit on

something besides one little bit of ship corridor, eat something besides "Unidentified ship! This is the Bakuran destroyer Sentinel Respond at once

or be fired upon!" Tendra would have jumped right through the viewport if

her seat restraints hadn't held her down. It had been so long since the com

system had been of any use that she almost forgot how to use it. But that

"almost" had best not come true if she wanted to live through the situation.

She concentrated for a moment, remembered what button to push, and spoke.

"Ah, um, hello, Sentinel This is, ah, Tendra Risant aboard the Gentleman

Caller!" "Stand by, Gentleman Caller. Please activate your standard identity

code transponder." "What? Oh!" Tendra reached over and flipped the

appropriate switch. The transponder would transmit the Gentleman's identity

whenever queried by a standard traffic control system. "I forgot that thing

was off. Hasn't been much use for a while." "True enough, Gentleman Caller.

You are cleared to proceed, but are cautioned not to approach within one

hundred thousand kilometers of Centerpoint Station. There will be no

warnings if you approach closer. Sentinel out." That sounded ominous, and it

definitely put a crimp in her travel plans. But it didn't take much thought

to realize there was not much point in arguing with a destroyer. Nor did it

seem the moment to call them back and ask if they knew where Lando was. But

then how was she going to find Lando? And where should she go, if not to

Centerpoinl? But, at that moment, the Gentleman Caller's, detection system

chimed for her attention. Tendra paged her main display to the appropriate

screen to see what was up. And suddenly where to go was the least of her

problems. Getting away from where she was, in any direction at all, had just

become a top priority. All of a sudden she had company out here. Lots of it.

The view from the Hag bridge was certainly informative. There was no doubt

about that, but what he could see from there did not exactly make Lando

happy. The main screen was showing the tactical schematic display from the

Sentinel, relayed back to the Intruder. It showed the Sentinel, the

Defender, the relative positions of Talus, Tralus, and Centerpoint-and at

least fifty unidentified ships, with more appearing at every moment. "The

Sacorrian fleet," Lando said to Kalenda. "The Triad fleet that Tendra warned

us about." "But what are they doing here?" Kalenda demanded. "Whose side arc

they on?" "I think a better question might be, 'Who is on their side?' "

said Admiral Ossilege, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere al all. "I

expect they will change their minds in a hurry, but right at the moment,

that fleet is in search of the people who have caused them the most trouble

in this system-and I'm afraid our little squadron does not meet that

qualification." "But who's caused them more trouble than we have?" Gaeriel

demanded. "The Human League," Kalenda answered. "The Human League hijacked

their whole operation-or at least tried to." "Exactly," said Ossilege. "The

Sacorrians, or at least the Triad who rule that world, they were the ones

behind it all." "The Triad?" Gaeriel asked. "That is the name given to the

oligarchy, or joint dictatorship, that rules Sacorria, so-called because

there are three of them. One human, one Drall, one Selonian. No one knows

anything about the three dictators-not even their names. "In any event, they

discovered the secret of Centerpoint, and the existence of the repulsors. I

expect it was the Drall who found it, buried in records in some ancient

archive. The Dral! keep excellent records. But that is not important. They

recruited malcontents on the various worlds to front revolutions for them,

with the intent of creating chaos and confusion -something they could hide

behind while digging up the repulsors. They timed the revolts to coincide

with the trade summit on Corellia, with the hopes of catching as many big

fish as possible in-systcm. That part of the plan certainly worked. I expect

the other revolts were set to go off at the first report of trouble on

Corellia." "How do you know all this?" Kalenda asked. "I know almost none of

it," Ossilege said, "if you require a person to have proof, evidence,

witnesses, documents before they know a thing. I am guessing. But if my

guesses are wrong, I, frankly, would be astonished." "But you're saying that

something went wrong with the plan,'1 said Lando. "Has there ever been a

plan more complicated than crossing the street where something didn't go

wrong?" Ossilege asked. "But yes, something did go wrong. And the something

was named Thrackan Sal-Solo. Somehow or another, he inveigled his way into

the inner reaches of the starbuster plot, and he betrayed it. I expect the

Triad sent him technicians, and he either bribed or tortured them, or

perhaps both, until they agreed to work for him. Those technicians were able

to put him in control of Centerpoint's jamming capabilities, and the

interdiction system, but not its starbuster mode." Lando thought for a

moment and nodded. "That makes sense. The starbuster seems to be running on

automatic pilot right now, anyway. Somebody-this Triad, I guess-worked out a

whole detailed program for it, with stars to shoot at and the times to do

it, and so on. Then they just set it running, and it hasn't stopped yet.

There must be some way to transmit a stop code, once they got what they

wanted. I don't suppose you've figured out how that is transmitted, have

you?" Ossilege smiled coldly. "Not as yet," he said. "But, in any event,

getting back to Sal-Solo. In the first public message regarding the

starbuster, he declared that he, not the Triad, controlled the device. He

laid claim to th e Corellian system-indeed, the Corellian Sector-in his own

name, not in the name of the Triad, and made impossible demands for no

better reason than to throw everyone into confusion. Then he activated the

interdiction field and the communication jamming." "But what was the point

of it all?" Lando asked. "He had to know that sooner or later all those

ships out there would show up, one way or the other." "I'm starting to pile

guesses on guesses here, but my hunch is that he understood the real power

of the planetary repulsors, something none of the other rebel leaders did.

Controlling one gives him tremendous bargaining power with the Triad. He can

shut down their whole starbuster operation any time he wants to. I think he

was planning to be in control of one before he let in the Sacorrian ships.

And, in point of fact, he is in control of one." "But where did all those

ships come from?" Kalenda demanded. "Sacorria's a pretty small planet to be

able to throw that big a fleet around." "Quite right," said Ossilege, "but I

expect you'd be able to answer your own question, if you gave it a bit more

thought." Kalenda frowned, and then her eyes widened. "From here," she said.

"They come from here. That's why none of the Corellian rebels were able to

throw anything but LAFs and PPBs at us. The Sacorrians had the rest of their

ships." "But how did the Sacorrians get hold of them?" Lando asked. "And how

were they able to find crews for that many ships?" "My guess is that the

plain old-fashioned answer is that this is the Corellian Sector," said

Ossilege. "Practically everything is for sale-or for rent-in these parts.

Probably the Sacorrians bought or leased ships, and hired crews, from the

rebel groups they created, the rebel groups having stolen them from wherever

they could. Easy for them to arrange, when you recall that the Sacorrian

Triad owns the rebellions." "But probably the majority of the ships and

crews out there are ex-Corellian Defense Forces sold out to the highest

bidder," Kalenda said. "The spaceside CDF betrayed Governor-General

Micamberlecto wholesale, the first chance they got-after they shot up my

ship and threw a scare into Han Solo. And most of the CDF ships used to be

Imperial ships. Probably a fair fraction of the crew too. They're older

ships, but that doesn't mean they aren't good." "And what are you going to

do about them?" Gaer-iel asked Ossilege. "They've been continuing to arrive

while we've been talking here. There must be seventy-five of them out there.

Shouldn't we be getting back to Centerpoint to help out Defender and

Sentinel^" "No," said Ossilege. "We will do no such thing." "What?" Gaeriel

said. "What do you mean?" "The Intruder must complete her mission here

before rejoining the other ships. The assault on the repulsor is still our

top priority." "But Defender and Sentinel are outnumbered seventy-five to

two!" "And no one is shooting. Yet. Moving this ship toward the fleet could

be seen as an aggressive act. And if it comes down to a shooting war, I

doubt that seventy-five to three gives us much better odds. Frankly,

seventy-five ships is a lower number than I expected. Either our friend

Tendra Risant miscounted, or the Sacorrians have left a substantial reserve

of ships back home." "But if those ships move on Centerpoint-"Two ships, or

three, it will be impossible to stop them. Please try to understand. If we

lose all our ships, and control a repulsor, we win. But if we completely

wipe out the enemy fleet, and Thrackan Sal-Solo still controls this

repulsor, we have lost. And then the eight million people, or tweive million

people, of Bovo Yagen, on their one planet or two, depending on what report

you believe, will all die." Gaeriel seemed about to protest further, but she

said nothing. Lando understood how she felt. It seemed as if there should

have been some way to answer Ossilege. Unfortunately, of course, there

wasn't.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Evasive Maneuvers Han Solo paced the ground, back and forth, back and forth,

the gravel crunching underfoot. He almost tripped over Artoo once or twice,

until he managed to shoo the droid out of the way. "Go over this one more

time," he said, turning to Dracmus. The Selonian had joined Han, Leia, Luke,

and Mara for dinner on the grounds of the villa. By all rights, they should

have been lounging about the table, relaxing in the gentle breezes of

perfect twilight, after a first-rate dinner. But Han just couldn't do it. It

seemed utterly criminal just to be hanging around, lolling in the lap of

luxury, while the whole star system was falling to pieces. Everyone kept

telling him that there was nothing they could do but wait, but Han had had

enough of waiting about five minutes after Luke had told them about

Centerpoint. "I know I need to understand the situation," said Han, "but I

also know I'm completely lost. So please. Explain to me why it's in our best

interest to just sit here and wait Explain to me what it accomplishes."

"Yes," said Luke. "Please do. I'd like to hear this." "Very wellness," said

Dracmus, "let me be trying it again. You have to start with knowing the idea

that the three things that matter most to Selonians are honor, consensus,

and the Den. All else cornes behind those three. Everything, and far

behind." "All right, that much I get," said Han. "But what's that got to do

with why having the Triad Selonians on repulsor duty was such a big deal?"

"Merely everything, that's all," said Dracmus. "The Triad Selonians on

Sacorria descend from despised offshoot of a bloodline discredited long ago.

I will not be going into the whole history, but suffice to be saying that

the ancestors of the Triad Selonians disputed a just settlement in a matter

of vitalness, centuries ago. Some of them tried to lie and cheat their way

into a position of advantage over other members of their own Den. As a

consequence, the Den was split up into two groups-the victims of the fraud

and the nasty perpetrators. The perpetrators were kicked off Corellia by my

ancestors, the ancestors of the Hunchuzuc, and also removed from Selonia by

the Overden. So bad was the scandal that the victims formed a new Den under

a new name, because the old name was utterly dishonored. Even now I must not

speak it. It is obscenity, only to be used when time is right for splendidly

rotten insult. This name-losing had never happened to any other Den ever

before, and it has never happened again since." "It doesn't seem quite fair

to blame people for what their ancestors did," said Luke. "Is muchly more

fair for Selonians than humans, I am believing. Remember that the Den is

all. The Den lives on while the individuals die. Also recall that the new

individuals arc virtual clones of the old ones. You humans tend to think of

a Den as collection of individuals. But we are not like humans. In many

ways, we are more like highly intelligent social insects. We are

individuals, but the individual is completely in service of the Den. Well,

nearly complete. We are something closer than your families, but not quite

as close as the cells in the body." "That's going a bit far, isn't it?"

asked Mara. "And it still doesn't seem fair to kick everyone out for the

sins of the ancestors," said Luke. "Leia and I would be in very big trouble

if humans did that." Dracmus bowed very slightly to Mara, an almost

imperceptible movement. "Maybe analogy is too far. Maybe yes and maybe no.

But, Master Skywalker, when you bleed, do you worry how blood cells that go

out of you feel about leaving? If some of your blood cells are diseased, do

you think about what is fair to cells that are still healthy when you treat

the illness-or do you get your blood changed completely, just to be on the

safe side, just to make sure illness cannot come back?" Han resisted the

urge to start pacing again. "It's the story of my life with you, Dracmus,

but we've wandered off the point again." "Thought we were talking about how

humans different from us," Dracmus said. Han paused a moment, resisting the

temptation to lose his temper again. He collected himself and then spoke.

"I've got a feeling we're not going to get anywhere until we're all agreed

on this, so okay. I'll tell you my reaction, and then maybe we can move on.

I grew up with Selonians, and I never knew any of this. I admit it's

embarrassing, but-" "Be not muchly embarrassed, Honored Solo," Dracmus said

in a soothing voice. "Don't be forgetting the Selonians you met were

trained-and bred-for sole purpose of dealing with humans. Is our job to make

you feel comfy with us." "I know, I know. And they did a good job. I grew up

thinking that Selonians were just funny-looking humans with a few quaint

customs left over from the old days. But just to round this out, I should

have found out how it worked, even if your people didn't want me to know.

Back in my smuggling days, I made a career out of knowing what the other

side's worldview was like-and yet I grew up knowing nothing about the people

next door. It makes me wonder about the rest of my life, growing up on

Corellia. How much else did I not see?" "Probably quite a bit," said Leia.

"None of us ever really sees our own culture all that well." Han roiled his

eyes. "Gee, there's an original thought. But even all this is off the point.

What I was going to say was that it was embarrassing to find out how little

I knew about you, .but that right now I don't care about being embarrassed.

Treat me like a complete idiot, but make me understand what's going on. If

I've got this straight, now that Kleyvits has admitted to being in the pay

of the Triad, and admitted to smuggling some of them back onto the planet,

that changes everything, right?" "Right," said Dracmus. "Excellent!" "Great.

I'm glad. But how?" "Begging pardon?" "How. How does Kleyvits confessing

change everything?" "Because it means my Hunchuzuc were tricked. We gave in

under false pretenses. The Overden made us be thinking that the Overden ran

the repulsor, and had smashed the Bakuran destroyer all by themselves. All

was fraud," she said, her voice growing genuinely angry. "The Overden

achieved a consensus favorable to themselves by trickery and deception, and

by involving themselves with a dishonored and nameless Den. This is depth of

crime. Even worse, the nameless Den was linked to Triad, and Triad linked to

Sal-Solo, who kidnaps his own, steals children." "Guilt by association," Han

said. "How advanced and sophisticated." Mara looked up at Han. "Think it

through. In a group society run by consensus, guilt by association makes

some sense." "Anyway," said Dracmus, "Overden in bad. No way could it be

worse for them. You saw how Kleyvits caved in once the truth came out. That

will be happening every time Hunchuzuc demands the truth of Overden

Selonian. Overden will be losing so much face you'll be able to be seeing

the back of their heads from the front. Hunchuzuc will take over. Take over

consensus, take over much property-take over possession of the repulsor."

"But the Sacorrian Selonians are still the ones running the repulsor," Luke

objected. "Yes! And so we must wait. I know that human way-at least one

human way-to deal with such problem would be to give the Sacorrian Selonians

one chance to give up. If they didn't, in you go with all guns blazing

nicely. But maybe everyone gets killed. You seize the repulsor, but have no

idea where on switch is." Dracmus shook her head. "This is not Selonian way.

We will talk with Sacorrian scums, nasty though job will be. We arc talking

with them, right now. And we will talk to them. And talk to them. Finally,

pressure--peer pressure on Sacorrians to give up--will be too much, and they

will give up. And do more than giving up. They will cooperate with

Hunchuzuc, tell us how to run machinery, as part of their penance for being

on the losing side. This is how it will be. We just have to sit back and

wait." "Sounds terrific," said Han. "So what's the catch?1' "The catch is

all takes time. Everything I tell of will happen. Is inevitable. The trouble

is like in old Selonian saying. The agreed-to we do at once. The inevitable

can take a little while.' " "How big a little while?" asked Luke. Dracmus

shook her head. "An hour. A day. A month. A year." Luke frowned. "An hour we

have. Maybe even a day. But not much longer. Centerpoint Station is going to

fire at Bovo Yagen in just over eighty-four hours. Unless we fire a

planetary repulsor beam at Center-point at just the right moment, a whole

solar system dies." "And a whole Sector starts to panic and wonder who's

next, and a whole galaxy starts to wonder what the point is of a New

Republic that can't protect them," said Leia. "And I hate to say it," said

Han, "but they'd be absolutely right to start wondering." "Should I reset

the breaker now?" Jacen asked. "Not yet. Just a sec," said Anakin, a bit

absently. "One more of them to stick in." He was lying on his stomach,

propped up on one elbow, leaning over the open underfloor access panel. He

stared down into the morass of wires and cables and circuit boards for a

minute or two, then reached in and pulled another of the fist-sized

power-shunt transpacitors. It took a good solid yank to pull the thing out

of its socket. He held it up and stared at it for a moment, almost as if he

c ould see through it, into it. "Boy, did this get all melty inside." He set

it to one side. "Jaina, gimme the one from the hyperdrive." Jaina handed him

the last of the transpacitors they had gotten by cannibalizing the Falcon's

faster-than-light drive. Anakin plugged it into the socket, then reconnected

the power shunt board to the main sub-light engine circuit. "All right," he

said to Jacen. "Push the reset." Jacen was sitting by the next access panel

over, where the circuit breaker board was. He held his breath and threw the

switch back to the on position. There was the slightest of pauses, and then

the green status light came on. Jacen breathed a sigh of relief, then turned

to Q9. "It worked, Chcwbacca. We ought to have repulsors and sublight

engines now." Chewbacca's voice-an anxious yelp and a growl-answered,

sounding as if it came from a little bit out of the comlink mike's normal

range. There was something more than a bit incongruous about a Wookiee voice

coming from Q9's speaker. "Chewbacca says to hurry," Ebrihim said, quite

needlessly. "Okay, okay, we're hurrying,'1 Jacen said, getting to his feet.

He closed the panel over the breaker box while Anakin closed up the one over

the circuit board. "We're on our way to the cockpit now." The muffled sound

of a comlink being fumbled about came from Q9's speaker, and then a hoot

from Chewbacca and Ebrihim's slightly exasperated voice. "Give it back," he

said, apparently to the Wookiee. "I'll tell them." There was a slight pause,

and then Ebrihim's voice again, a bit louder and clearer. "Get moving as

fast as you can," he said. The sun will be rising soon, and I'm sure our

friend will be getting up as well." "All right, all right," muttered Jacen.

"Nag, nag, nag, all the time. Come on, Q9, let's go." "I still don't see why

you couldn't have taken the time to go get another comlink out of stores,"

said Q9, speaking in his own voice. "I don't enjoy being used as an

intercom." Jacen smiled as he headed for the cockpit. "It saved us the five

minutes of finding one and getting it tuned and matched to the one

Chewbacca's using. Believe me, we needed the five minutes. Don't worry.

We'll switch over to the ship's main com system in a minute." Jacen paused

at the entrance to the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. He had been in the

cockpit many times before, of course-but this was different, very different.

No one was keeping an eye on him this time, or making sure he didn't press

any buttons, or shooing him away. No. This time, he was here to fly the

ship. Fly her. The very idea terrified him. "Want to have a contest to see

which one of us is more scared?" Jaina asked. Jacen turned around and

smiled. His twin sister and

his little brother were behind him, all three of them standing fight at the

threshold of the cockpit. "I don't know," he said. "How close do you think

it will be?" "Not close at all. I bet I'm a zillion times more scared than

you." "Don't be so sure about that," said Jacen. "/ bet it's a tie." "I'm

not scared," said Anakin. "I'll fly her, if you want." "I might take you up

on that one if you weren't too short to reach the controls properly," said

Jacen. "Might I remind ail of you of the need for haste at this point?"

asked Q9. "I believe I have gotten over my recent bout with paranoia, but

let us not forget that there really is someone out to get us." "He's got a

point," Jacen said. He turned to Jaina. "Which seat do you want? Pilot or

copilot?" Jaina paused for a moment, and then smiled. "Like father, like

son. You take Dad's seat at pilot. He'd like it that way. I bet Mom would

too." Jacen smiled back at her, then climbed in and took his place at the

pilot's station, adjusting the seat up as high and as far forward as it

would go. Jaina did the same. "All right, Chewie," said Jacen, "we're

switching over to the ship's main comm system-now." He reached over to the

com panel and threw the appropriate switch. "That's a relief," said Q9. "Can

you still read us?" Jacen asked. An answering roar came from the overhead

speaker, and Jacen hastily turned down the volume. "Good," said Jaina. "All

right, Jacen. Seat restraint fastened?" "Definitely," said Jacen. He glanced

behind him and made sure that Anakin, seated in the observer's seat behind

Jaina, also had his belt on. Q9 had clamped himself to a stanchion.

"Everyone set?" "Not quite," said Jaina. "Those Human League guys are going

to come after us the moment we take off. Maybe we should sort of slow down

good old cousin Thrackan a little bit before we leave." "Wait a second,"

protested Jacen, but Jaina had already activated the fire controls for the

Falcon's ventral laser cannon. Jacen could hear the whir of the motors as

the cannon came out of the hull. "I figure one aimed shot at the force field

generator, and then I re-aim as fast as I can and take a crack at the

assault boat." "The force field generator? Suppose you miss and hit Chewie

and the Drall?" "I can't hit them. They're behind the force field, remember?

You just be ready to get us moving straight up on the repulsors the split

second I tell you to. I don't think we should try anything with the sublight

engines until we have a little room to maneuver." Jacen shook his head

doubtfully. "All right," he said. "But be sure you remember whose idea it

was to start shooting. Hold on a second." He studied his control boards for

a moment, and then flicked a series of power switches on. The ship gave a

sort of eager little shudder, and Jacen felt a low hum of power flow through

the ship. "There we go," he said. "Repulsors and sublight engines at

standby." "Chewie---get as close to the center of the containment as you can

and shield your eyes, and tell the others to do the same.1' A howl of

protest came over the intercom. "Will you relax?" Jaina said. "This will

work, trust me. You guys just get ready to run and hide as soon as the force

field goes down. Here we go." Jaina stared down at the gunnery display,

making minute adjustments to the ventral laser's aim. "One aimed shot," she

said again. "Either it works or it doesn't. Chewie-Ebrihim-Aunt Marcha-get

ready!" "And they all think I've been acting strangely," said Q9. "One shot,

on the count of three, then I re-aim on

the assault boat and shoot it up as best I can. Jacen, don't boost till I

tell you to, al! right?" "All right, fine! I heard you the first time!"

"Here we go," Jaina said again. "One-Jacen boosted himself up on his scat a

bit to see what was about to happen. "Two-Should he try harder to stop her?

Jaina was going too far, but there really wasn't time to argue.

"THREE!"

A blast of fire roared from the ventral laser cannon, catching the force

field generator square in the center of the control panel. It exploded in a

gout of fire that seemed to light up the entire repulsor chamber. The force

field winked out of existence. The blaze of light dazzled Jacen, but Jaina

had been watching her targeting screen. She swung the laser cannon around in

the general direction of the assault boat and fired again. The first shot

missed the boat completely, the blast of light bouncing off the reflective

walls of the chamber to ricochet around a dozen times before it dissipated.

She fired again, and hit the left rear landing skid of the boat, kicking the

body of the boat up a half meter or so before it slammed down to the decks

with a tremendous crash. She tried one more shot and missed completely

again. The blast bounced back and forth off the walls and floors of the

chamber. Jacen could see three figures, one large and two small, running for

the nearest entrance to the side caverns. Good. At least his sister hadn't

killed them outright when she blew up that generator. "Jaina, the way those

shots are ricocheting, you're more likely to hit Chewie than Thrackan." She

shook her head. "You're right," she said. "Go. Let's get out of here."

"Everyone hang on to something," said Jacen. "I've never done this before."

He pulled back on the repulsor power control, and the Millennium Falcon

lumbered up into the sky. Thrackan Sal-Solo went sailing out of bed and

crashed to the floor of his cabin. He lay there, half stunned for a moment,

and then scrambled to his feet. The room was pitch-dark for a moment, but

then the emergency lighting cut in. Thrackan had taken over the captain's

cabin in the assault boat, putting him in the only private space on board.

Even so, the cabin was small enough that it took him a minute to realize

that the deck was canted badly downward to the right and rear of the boat.

What had happened? He could hear shouting, panicking voices in the corridor.

He pulled on a robe and stepped out of his cabin. Thrackan stepped out into

a milling, chaotic throng, a tangled knot of frightened, confused men. He

spotted the boat's captain, struggling to get forward to the control room.

Thrackan grabbed the man by the shoulder. "Captain Thrag-what in blazes is

going on?" he demanded. "I don't know, sir," Thrag shouted back. He was

short, fat, and bald, and not the most appealing person to see in his

underwear this late at night, so long since his last shave. But there was a

clear-eyed, hard-headed sort of integrity about the man. He took orders from

Thrackan without being afraid of him. A rarity, that. "Some shots, and then

some explosions, at least two of them. One pretty far off, and the other

right under us. I think we lost one of the landing skids." "That can't be.

Let's get forward." The two of them shoved their way forward to the control

cabin. The captain hit the button and the hatch slid open, offering a clear

view out the forward viewport. "Burning stars," gasped Thrackan. "Look at

that," said Thrag. "I don't believe it." The force field generator was a

pillar of fire, the reflection of the flame glittering and gleaming from

every corner of the silver walls of the repulsor chamber. The force field

itself was gone, and the prisoners had vanished. There seemed little doubt

about where they had gone, either. There was the Millennium Falcon, rising

straight up off the ground, headed for the sky. "After them!" "But the ship

was hit by laser fire!" Thrag protested. "We have damage! We have to check

it first." "No! If the ship is damaged, we fly with damage! Fly! Go!" "That

would put the life of every man aboard at risk." "Every man aboard is at

risk of execution right now anyway, for dereliction of duty," Thrackan

snarled. "What about the man on watch? He should have been here. He should

have raised the alert. Where is he?" The captain laughed bitterly and hooked

his thumb toward the rear of the boat. "With the rest of the sleepy drunks

back there, would be my guess." "What are you saying?" "I'm saying look at

the crew your people sent me. Dregs and scum, all of them. By the time men

get posted to low-life duty like tending an assault boat, a lot of other

people have turned them down. What do you expect when you recruit thugs?"

"Weil, if they've all been rejected, then they won't be much missed when

they all get killed. Launch this boat now!" Thrag looked Thrackan straight

in the eye, and then saluted. "Very well, sir. But on your head be it," he

said, and sat down in the pilot's chair. Ebrihim had a very nasty feeling

that he had a large patch of singed fur somewhere in the small of his back.

In any event, there was the acrid smell of burnt hair, and there was

definitely a tender spot back there. However, this was not exactly the time

or the place to worry about such things. Besides, his lungs were about to

burst, and he was much more interested in catching his breath than in a lot

of idle chitchat about whether or not his back had caught fire. The three of

them-Chewbacca, Marcha, and Ebrihim-were hiding at the base of the cone

nearest where the Falcon had been. Had been. Ebrihim watched the Falcon

rising straight up into the freedom of the night sky, her way illuminated by

the glow of its repulsor pads, and fires lit by Jaina's marksmanship. Where

the ship had been. That was the key point. Nothing else mattered. Not

really. It was cold and hard to say it, but even if the Falcon crashed, even

if Thrackan Sal-Solo shot it down with the loss of all hands, this moment

was a great victory. For Thrackan Sal-Solo had been denied even the hope of

influencing Leia Organa Solo's decisions. But he had paid a price even

trying to use her kidnapped children against her. Ebrihim knew the Drall,

and he thought he even knew the Selonians and humans fairly well. His

attempt at blackmail had no doubt sickened and disgusted thousands, millions

of people throughout the Corellian system. It must have turned millions

against him, turned passive dislike into active resistance. It must have

gained sympathy for Leia-and for the New Republic. All that would have been

worth it for Thrackan, if he had succeeded in manipulating her, forcing her

to recognize Corellian independence. Even if she had been forced into a

public rejection of his demands, that would have done her tremendous damage.

A mother turning her back on her children-yes, Thrackan Sal-Solo could have

done a great deal with that. He hoped deeply, profoundly, with all his

heart, that the children survived. But even if they did not, they had

defeated their father's cousin, their enemy, simply by getting away.

"Good-bye," he said into the comlink, though they were almost certainly out

of range already. "Good-bye, and good luck. May-may the Force be with you."

As he watched, the assault boat lifted off and lurched up toward the sky.

There was no way to be sure, of course, but as best he could tell, the

assault boat had lifted with all hands aboard. That left the three of them

down here alone, even more stranded than they had been before. Of course,

Ebrihim had no doubt they would have plenty of company in the near future.

The question was-who would that company be? Jacen held the controls in a

death grip as the Falcon rode her rcpuisors up into the early-morning sky.

They came up out of the repulsor shaft, still moving straight up, but Jacen

knew better than to try to fly too high and too long on repulsor power

alone. He would have to make the transition to sublight engines--and make it

quickly. The repulsors were not intended for indefinite boost in the first

place-and Jacen knew just how much this ship had been through recently. He

put his hand on the sublight engine throttles, and pulled back on them as

slightly, and as gently, as he could. The Millennium Falcon took off like a

lightning bolt, streaking across the sky. Jacen pulled the Falcon's nose up,

trying to gain some altitude-or at least trying to avoid diving into the

ground. He swallowed hard and eased the sublights back just a trifle, and

then shut off the repulsors. The Falcon shuddered for a moment, but then

settled down to smooth flight-at least for a moment or two. Then she was

suddenly diving in toward the ground far below. Jacen pulled back up on the

stick, forcing her nose up, fighting to keep her from fishtailing all over

the sky. At last she seemed to stabilize as he got the feel of the controls.

But he kept his tight grip on the joystick and kept his eyes constantly

flitting back and forth between the viewports and the controls. "Well, we're

out," Jaina asked. "Now where do we go?" "I don't know," Jacen said. "We

never talked about that part, but-"Behind us!" Anakin shouted. "Look at the

detector screen!" Jacen had to look for a moment before he could even find

the detector screen. But once he did, he had not the slightest trouble

reading it. There was cousin Thrackan's assault boat, hot on their heels. A

blast of laser flared past the Falcon's starboard side, and Jacen flinched

involuntarily-jerking the ship's controls, and heeling the Falcon up and

flipping her over on her roll axis until the topside of the ship was pointed

down. The Falcon was suddenly climbing at about a forty-five-degree angle of

attack, but w ith the cockpit pointed down instead of up. The artificial

gravity system held them in their seats, but Jacen could look up and back

and see the ground where a piece of sky should have been. The accidental

maneuver seemed to have shaken Thrackan off their tail, at least for the

moment, but he would be back, no doubt about it. And he'd start shooting at

them again. "Shields up!" Jacen shouted. "Where-where are the shield

controls?" Jaina asked. "Chewie moved 'em when he rewired the cockpit,"

Anakin said from the observer seat. "Under your left hand, sort of. The

panel with the big red buttons." "Where? Where?" Jaina said. "I don't see

it." "I'll get it," Anakin said. He undid his seat restraint, hopped out of

his seat, and wriggled in between the two pilot stations. He reached in and

flicked the safeties off a row of red switches, stabbed his chubby finger

down on a big red button, and twisted two dials. "All right, now shields up!

Top, bottom, and forward shields at-um-twenty percent. Rear shields at

full." A dull crash and a shudder that ran through the whole ship told Jacen

that Anakin had gotten the shields up just in time-and that cousin

Thrackan's aim was getting better. Was he trying to shoot them down? Were

those warning shots? Or was he trying to disable them? So far, as best Jacen

could tell, Thrackan had just used the assault boat's chin guns, low-caliber

lasers intended more for antipersonnel work than ship-to-ship fighting. But

what did it mean? Jacen knew his dad would have been able to interpret the

shots, know just what Thrackan intended, and what to do about it. But his

father was not here, however devoutly Jacen might wish that he were.

Probably-probably-Thrackan was trying to disable the Falcon, not kill them.

The thought was not much comfort. Thirty seconds before, he had been

worrying about figuring out where to go. Suddenly he wasn't all that

interested in getting to anyplace at all. All he wanted to do was get away

from here, right now. "Shoot!" Thrackan shouted. "Shoot, damn your eyes!" "I

can't shoot them if I can't get a lock on them," Thrag growled. "The chin

guns don't have any sort of automatic target tracking. I can't fly a pursuit

and try for a pinpoint disabling shot at the same time. Maybe you're that

good, but I'm not." "We'll see how good I am," Thrackan said, climbing into

the copilot's chair. "Switch gunnery control to this station," "But it's

your own blood relatives!" Thrag protested. "I ordered you to shoot at them,

and I'm going to shoot at them myself. I'm not hypocrite enough to pretend

there's a difference there." Thrag turned his attention from his flying long

enough to look Thrackan up and down. "Do your own dirty work, then, and

welcome to it," he said, and switched over gunnery control. "But I never

thought I'd meet a man who thought it a special point of pride to shoot down

his own flesh and blood." Ossilege's ensign rushed onto the flag deck,

almost stumbling over his own feet in his hurry. "Sir, something's

happened!" Ossilege turned, raised one eyebrow, and regarded the young man

with a withering stare. "Thank you for that cogent and highly detailed

report," he said. "Ah, yes, sir. I'm sorry. At the repulsor. Something's

happened there. We detected several energy pulses that read like laser fire

and explosions, and then-then two ships came out of the repulsor, one in

pursuit of the other. They've just gained enough altitude for us to see them

over the limb of the planet. Both are being flown very badly, and one of

them seems to be damaged." "Two ships?" Kalenda said. "That's all there were

down there, unless someone is playing a very cagey game." Ossilege stabbed a

button on the flag deck's main console. "Putney here," said a slightly

high-pitched and nasal voice. "Commander Putney, this is Ossilege. It looks

like everyone has cleared out of the repulsor. Both ships have taken off."

"Why?" Putney asked. "We're not sure, but one ship seems to be pursuing the

other. We need to take advantage of the situation. They may or may not have

left troops behind, but even if they have, some of their troopers and most

of their firepower just headed off toward orbit. We are going to seize this

chance with both hands. I don't care if your assault boat is only half

loaded and your troops don't have their pants on. I want them headed toward

an assault-speed landing in the repulsor now." "Yes, sir!" Putney replied.

"Our heavy weapons aren't aboard, but if we're lucky, we won't need them. We

can launch in five minutes." "Do it in four," Ossilege said, and cut the

connection. He turned and gestured toward Kalenda. "Get me visual and

tactical on the two ships now," he ordered. Kalenda worked the controls with

lightning speed and brought up the imagery from the long-range visual

scanner and the tactical. The images of two ships appeared. Both were

clawing for altitude, the one in the lead flying erratically-and upside

down. "That's the Falcon," Lando said. "That's the Millennium Falcon, Han

Solo's personal ship. It's flying upside down, and I think the pilot must be

drunk, but I'd know that ship anywhere." "That's the assault boat behind

it," Ossilege said eagerly. "And it looks to have taken some damage." "Who

the devil is flying the Falcon1?" Kalenda asked. "It's not Chewbacca, I can

tell you that much," said Lando. "He could fly her better than that

blindfolded and with one arm in a sling-and I'm not speaking poetically."

"Then who is it?" "I have an idea, but none of you would believe me anyway,"

said Lando. "You didn't last time." Ossilege looked at him sharply. "You're

saying one of the children is flying that ship?" "You said it, I didn't,'1

Lando replied. "The assault boat is firing again!" Kalenda cried out.

"Direct hit-but they're still flying," Lando said. "They must have gotten

the shields up, somehow." Ossilege peered intently at the tactical screen,

trying to make sense out of the course projection, but the Falcon was flying

so wildly all over the map it was impossible to know for sure. "Where are

they going?" he demanded. "Where are they headed? Whatever course they're

trying to keep doesn't lead even remotely toward anything. Where do they

think they're going?" "Nowhere," Lando said. "Away. Out." "Do they know

we're here?" Ossitege demanded. Lando shook his head. "If they did, they'd

be heading toward us, or hailing us, or something. They're just flying in

whatever direction they happened to be heading in when the pilot managed to

get control of the ship." Ossilege was plainly excited, agitated-and just as

plainly trying not to show it. "Can we get a tractor beam on either ship? Or

both?" Kalenda checked. "Not quite. But even if they are not moving straight

toward us, they're moving in our general direction. We ought to have the

Falcon within tractor range in twenty seconds, and the assault boat in range

ten seconds after that." "Wait until they're both in range, and then get

tractor beams on both of them. Pull the Falcon in, but just hold the assault

boat where it is, at least for the moment." "Yes, sir," Kalenda said, and

set to work relaying the orders. "If we work this right," said Ossilege, "we

can grab the repulsor and Thrackan Sal-Solo, all at the same time." He

looked up to the main screen, still showing the Triad fleet forming up,

getting ready to do whatever it was here for. "Except for the trifling fact

of an enemy fleet massing for the attack, I think we might be in very good

shape indeed." The Falcon lurched wildly to one side as the assault boat

managed another hit. "Shields didn't like that one," Anakin said, watching

the defense display. "That's it," said Jaina. "I've had it. Let's give them

some of their own back. Powering up ventral laser cannon and setting for

aft-aim." "What?!" Jacen cried. "Are you out of your mind?" "I think you're

all out of your minds," Q9 said. "Quiet, Q9. Jacen, he's already shooting at

us! How could shooting back make things any worse?" "I don't know," said

Jacen, "but I bet we find a way." "Ventral laser on auto target seek. I've

got a target lock!" Jaina squeezed the trigger and the laser cannon blazed

away. "Hit him!" she said. "Shields absorbed the shot, but I made him back

off a little." "Shields down five percent!" Thrag said. "A nice clean shot,

and no mistake. If that had had any power behind it, we'd be a hulk in space

right now." "Shoot at me?" Thrackan said. "Those miserable whelps have the

gall to shoot at me? Activating main armament!" "But you'll blow them out of

the sky!" Thrag protested. "You need them alive!" "But I want them dead,"

said Thrackan Sal-Solo. "Main armament powered up and ready to fire." Jacen

risked a peek at the detector screen. "Jaina, he's not backing off, he's

bringing his main turret cannon to bear! We've got to get out of here. Hang

on!" Jacen pulled back up on the stick, pulling the nose of the Falcon up.

The Falcon climbed over its nose, into an inside loop, up and over before

pulling out of the loop, right on Thrackan's tail. "Anakin! Forward shields

to full!" Jacen shouted, and his little brother scrambled to reset the

switches, just in time to deflect a near miss from the assault boat's turret

gun. The Falcon bucked and shuddered, but her shields held. "We're i n

behind their shields! I have a shot! Hang on!" Jaina called. She fired

twice. The first caught the turret gun right at the join with the assault

boat's upper hull, blowing the gun clean off the hull. The second caught the

sublight engine array, smashing the sublight emitters down to nothing. The

assault boat was dead in space. Jacen had to stop cheering long enough to

keep from ramming the Falcon right into her stern. And then a giant,

invisible hand reached out and yanked the Millennium Falcon by the scruff of

the neck. "Assault boat has lost main propulsion. Tractor beam on!" Kalenda

announced. "Positive lock on assault boat. Provisional lock on Falcon.

Falcon attempting to break free. We can't hold Falcon for too long without

damage to her." Lando went to the flag deck com panel and punched in a comm

access code he had not used in a while. "Let's hope Han didn't go and change

codes on me," he muttered, then pushed the transmit key. "Lando Calrissian

to Millennium Falcon. This is Lando Calris-sian calling Millennium Falcon.

Shut down your engines and do not resist the tractor beam. We are taking you

aboard a Bakuran vessel, allied with the New Republic. Do you copy?"

"Lando?" came a young, eager voice over the com line. "Is that you? Is that

you?" "That you, Jaina?" Lando asked. "No, I'm Jacen," came the rather

irritated reply. "But Jaina and Anakin are here too. And so is Q9." "Who or

what is Q9?" Admiral Ossiiege asked irritably. "I haven't the faintest

idea," said Lando. "But it looks like we'll get the chance to find out." He

pressed the transmit key again. "Where are Chewbacca and the Drall?" "Still

in the repulsor chamber on the planet," Jacen answered. ''We'll have to send

someone to get them." Lando glanced at the flag deck's hangar status board.

"We've just launched our own assault boat to them," Lando said. "They'll be

all right." "Good," said Jacen. "We'll be really glad to see you, Lando."

"And I'll be glad to see you too," he said. "Oh-and one more thing. Nice

flying-and nice shooting. Your father will be proud." "Thanks, Lando!"

"Don't mention it," Lando said, and cut the connection. He looked up at the

main tactical display, where the fleet of the Sacorrian Triad was moving in,

slowly and carefully in toward Centerpoint Station, and the two lonely

destroyers that stood guard on it. From there, his eye shifted to a

countdown clock, showing the eighty-two hours remaining until Centerpoint

would fire at Bovo Yagen. "At least," said Lando to the dead microphone,

"he'll be proud of you if we all live long enough for him to hear about it."

And it occurred to Lando that he ought to make it his business to tell Han.

Now. Before it was too late. Captain Thrag sat in the smoky control cabin of

his assault boat, and laughed, but there was little joy or happiness in the

angry sound. "How have the mighty fallen, O mighty Diktat," he said. "They

have beaten you, beaten you completely. Shot down by children. Children so

young they probably had trouble seeing over the control panel." "Shut up,

Thrag," said Thrackan. "Shut up or I'll kill you on the spot." Thrag let out

one last chuckle and looked out through the assault boat's viewport. The

enemy ship's tractor beam was pulling them in. They would be aboard in a few

seconds' time. "The horrible thing is that you might even do it," he said.

"And why not? If there has ever been a man with nothing left to lose, you

are that man now. They have you, Diktat Sal-Solo." He nodded to the ship in

the viewport, the ship that was getting closer with every second. "Now they

have you, body and spirit." eyed and solemn, as they led Thrackan Sal-Solo,

Diktat of Corellia, away. "Our cousin is a very bad man," he said. Neither

of the other children could think of anything more to say. The Millennium

Falcon set down in the hangar deck of the Intruder, the tractor-beam

operator setting the ship neatly down. The three children powered down the

ship's systems as best they could, and made their way to the access ramp.

Anakin worked the controls, and the ramp came down. The three of them filed

down the ramp-and stopped dead at the foot of it. They had brought the

assault boat in first, and already the Bakurans were taking the Human League

troopers into custody. One by one, they were led out of the boat, hands on

their heads, and hustled out toward the detention block. The next-to-last

man out was a short, grubby-looking man, dressed only in his underwear and a

thin undershirt. All the other prisoners had looked scared or angry, but

this man was laughing. Laughing out loud. But the last man out, the last one

of all, was not laughing. Thrackan Sal-Solo came out of the assault boat,

walking straight and tall, hands at his side. He paused for a moment as he

stepped down onto the hangar deck, and looked around himself. He spotted the

three children by the Millennium Falcon, and the smooth, arrogant look on

his face melted away. A look of pure hatred, pure anger and malice, took its

place. The three children backed away a step or two, and Thrackan actually

took a step or two toward them before the guards grabbed him by the arms and

led him away. Anakin stood between his brother and his sister, holding each

of them by the hand. He stared, wide-"This is doing no good, Dracmus," Han

said. "You come. You tell us there might be progress. You go away. You come

back. You say it again. Around and around. There are people at war out

there. A whole star system could die while you go back and forth." "I am

knowing, I am knowing, I am knowing," said Dracmus. "But believe me, there

is nothing more we can be doing. We Hunchuzuc know the deadline. We are

trying. But it is a very delicate situation. Push the Sacorrians of the

nameless clan too hard, and they might commit suicide. Or die of shame. And

die of shame not expression, like with you people." Dracmus seemed ready to

offer an explanation of that statement, but then she caught Han's eye and

got back to the point. "The best thing you humans can do to hurry us along

is just to be here, looking impatient, checking the time, reminding us to

hurry. I go tell negotiators you impatient, time growing short, and they

work faster." Just then, there was an odd, muted sort of beeping noise

coming from Mara's pocket. At exactly the same moment Artoo suddenly kicked

up a fuss, whistling and chirping and spinning his view dome back and forth.

Mara looked confused for a minute, and then seemed to remember something.

She stood up, shoved her hand in the pocket of her coveralls, and pulled out

a comlink. "It's been so long since these things worked I forgot it was

there," she said. She pressed a stud on the side of the comlink, and the

beeping stopped. 'That's a call from the ship's monitoring systems. A high

priority message just came in." "Artoo," asked Luke, "are you getting it

too? The same message?" Artoo let off an affirmative-sounding trill. "Gotta

be the same one," Mara said. "I've got to go over to the Jade's Fire to read

my copy. Anyone care to tag along and see what it is?" Artoo confirmed it

was the same message the moment he plugged into the dataport on the cockpit

of the Jade's Fire. That saved having to decode it twice. The decryption

system on board the Jade's Fire was good, very good. It unbuttoned the

message in only a few seconds-a job that would have taken Artoo a good many

minutes. Mara, sitting at the ship's command station, hit the play button,

and a hologram shimmered into life a meter or so above the floor. It was a

full-length view of Lando, shown at about half life size. "Hello," he said

in a very solemn voice. "I don't know exactly what your situation is, so I

will send duplicate copies of this to all of you. A lot has happened. The

bad news is that the real enemy has finally shown up. It's the fleet from

the Sacorrian Triad. Luke knows about it. They are the real enemy.

Everything else-alt the rebellions-are not much more than diversions. The

fleet has a total of about eighty ships of all sizes, and they are

closing-very slowly-on Centerpoint. They seem to be timing it so they will

get to Centerpoint just as the Bovo Yagen shot goes off. We haven't

interfered with them-yet-and they haven't made any hostile gesture toward

our ships. I doubt that's going to last long, though. "That's the bad news,

and it's bad." The image of Lando paused for a moment, and then broke into a

broad smile. "The good news is very good indeed. Don't ask me how, because

we haven't had time to sort it all out yet, but the children have escaped

from Thrackan-and they did it aboard the Millennium Falcon. They flew the

ship. And before you can turn blue, Han, the Falcon doesn't have so much as

a scratch on her. But the punch line is-they captured Thrackan. Han, you

should have seen it. The kids flew a classic inside loop and put two

disabling shots right into Thrackan's stern. The Bakurans have taken

Thrackan prisoner. Anyway, I know you won't believe it, but the kids did it

all-"I don't believe it," Han.said. "Sssh!" said Leia. "-and they are all

safe and sound aboard the Intruder. Chewbacca and two Drall who got mixed up

in all this are being picked up from the repulsor right now. They're okay

too, as best we can tell. "But the real reason I sent this message is to ask

you to come here. Gaeriel Captison has called a council of war for eighteen

hours from now. We need you all there. Madame Captison wants a Selonian

representative as well. Please arrange that if you possibly can. Also, to be

blunt about it, the odds arc good we're going to need every scrap of

firepower we can get before the end of this. We need all of you, we need the

Jade's Fire, and we need Luke's X-wing. Send a return message as soon as

possible, reporting your intentions. But whatever you do, please hurry. We

are almost out of time."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Last Good-bye Leia Organa Solo, Chief of State of the New Republic, ran

full-tilt down the access ramp of the Jade's Fire, onto the hangar deck of

the Intruder, and nearly knocked over two of the honor guard as she rushed

forward to her children, flinging her arms around the twins. Anakin escaped

her first swooping hug simply because he was hopping too fast and too high

with excitement to be an easy target. But Han Solo was hard on the heels of

his wife, and he scooped Anakin clear up off the ground. Luke joined the

happy little knot of chaos, hugging the children, greeting them, tousling

Jacen's hair, tickling Jaina, lifting Anakin out of Han's arms to hold him

in his own. Threepio tottered around, offering his own greetings-and

generally getting in the way. "Anakin! Jacen! Jaina!" said Leia. "Oh, let me

look at you all." But then she threw her arms around all three of them, and

held them so tight it didn't seem likely she could see much of anything at

all. Lando Calrissian joined the tangle of welcome, throwing his arm around

Han, shouting a friendly insult in his ear, pounding him on the back, giving

Leia a kiss, teasing the children. The other new arrivals, Mara Jade and the

Selonian representative, Dracmus, followed. Admiral Ossiiege allowed himself

a thin, wintry smile as he watched the proceedings. "Not the most dignified

of entrances, eh, Madame Prime Minister? I would have expected more poise

from the Chief of State." Gaeriel probably could have managed some

commonplace comment about ceremony giving way to family, or that there were

other considerations besides dignity in the universe, but somehow she

couldn't bring herself to do it. She thought of her own little daughter,

Malinza, back home on Bakura. She looked to Luke Skywalker, lifting his

niece up onto his shoulders, and thought of how good he was with children,

and of all the things that might have been, but never could be now. But

still, the admiral seemed to be expecting some kind of reply. So she decided

to speak, and somehow, the truth slipped out. "I think it's beautiful," she

said, Admiral Hortel Ossiiege turned toward her and regarded her with frank

surprise. "Indeed?" he said. "Clearly, then, standards of beauty vary

greatly. Mine do not include noisy and unruly children." "Then I pity you,"

said Gaeriel, quite surprised with herself for being so blunt. "I know of

nothing else that brings more beauty into my life." Gaeriel Captison stepped

forward, leaving a stunned Admiral Ossiiege in her wake. She moved toward

the newcomers and offered them a simple, graceful bow. "Madame Chief of

State," she said. "Captain Solo. I bid you welcome to the Intruder, and wish

you much joy of this wonderful reunion." And with that, she knelt down in

her very official ministerial robes and gave each of the children a kiss.

Let the old sourpuss chew on that for a while, she told herself. Gaeriel had

had something of a wild streak in her youth. It was good to know it had not

completely abandoned her. "The situation is, in one sense, complicated and,

in another, quite simple," said Belindi Kaienda, addressing the council of

war gathered on the flag deck of the Intruder. And a motley crew this

council is, she told herself. To her immediate left was Ossilege in his

perfect dress-white uniform and his chestful of medals, Gaeriel Captison in

her ministerial robes, Lando Calrissian with a rather swell-looking purple

cape thrown over one shoulder of his burgundy blouse, and Han Solo in a

rather rumpled light brown shirt, with a utility vest worn over it. That

vest had obviously seen a lot of use over the years. Then came Solo's wife,

Leia Organa Solo, the Chief of State, in a plain blue shirt and dark slacks

borrowed from Mara Jade. All of the Chief of State's own clothes had of

course been lost, destroyed, or abandoned along the way in the last few

weeks. Next to Leia was her brother, Luke Skywalker, in his neatly pressed

and insignia-free flight suit. Behind him, against the wall, his two droids,

R2-D2 and C-3PO, stood by in case they were called on. Both of the two

Drall, Ebrihim and Marcha, wore nothing but plain brown fur-though both

seemed to have gotten bits of their fur cooked off in the last two days.

Then came the Wookiee Chewbacca, who seemed either moody or thoughtful-she

didn't have much luck reading Wookiee expression. Jenica Sonsen had managed

to find herself wedged in next to Chewbacca on one side and a

nervous-looking Selonian named Dracmus on the other. Sonsen did not look too

thrilled about her seating position. By her expression, she expected the

Wookiee and the Selonian to start arguing over light meat or dark at any

second. On the other side of Dracmus the Selonian was Mara Jade, looking

cool and elegant in a well-tailored but otherwise quite ordinary ship's

coverall. And, Kaienda reminded herself, she was there too, of course. The

last few days and hours had been so chaotic that it would have been easy

enough to forget her own existence. "To cover the simple side of it first,"

she went on, "the enemy is closing in on Centerpoint. They need to keep us

from interfering with the next starbuster burst-which, of course, we must

interfere with, no matter what the cost. Considering the number of lives at

stake if we fail, I do not think anyone will disagree with me when I suggest

that the destruction of our entire force would indeed be a low enough price

for victory. "And we must face the fact that we run such a risk. We have

three major combatant ships carrying a total of thirty-two flight-worthy

fighters. The enemy has at least eighty larger spacecraft. If all of them

carried a full complement of fighters-though I very much doubt they do-the

number of fighters on their side would be well up in the hundreds." The

numbers were daunting enough to cause a flurry of whispers and mutters

around the table. Kaienda waited for the murmuring to settle down, and then

continued. "We do have a few advantages I can tell you about. We have

managed some fairly good long-range scans of the enemy fleet. We've gotten

some good imagery of some ships. Most are not that large or that weli armed.

I can tell you that many of those ships are old, some predating the Imperial

period. I doubt that any of them are of post-war construction. They are

probably both dated and in relatively poor repair. Parts for many of those

ships are going to be hard to come by. They are all but certainly relying on

nonstandard and jury-rigged repairs. I would also expect the qualities of

their crews to be below average. Their pool of potential recruits could not

have been the best. Probably most are flying with a minimum of previous

training and experience. However, don't count too much on that. Some of

those crews are probably going to be as good as ours. We just don't know

which ones." "In short," said Admiral Ossilege, "we have better ships, but

the numbers are most definitely against us. However, we do have a plan for

dealing with the situation. We will come to that a bit later.1' He looked

over and nodded at Kalenda. "Continue," he said. "The complicated side of

the situation is that we almost, but not quite, control two of the

repulsors. To the best of our knowledge, none of the various front groups-I

don't think 'rebel groups' quite suits the case anymore-none of the various

front groups controls one at this time. I believe that was a major

miscalculation on the part of the Triad. They assumed that locating and

activating a repulsor would take much less time than it did." "Unless they

got the estimates exactly right," said Mara Jade, "and the Triad's people

are sitting on the Talusian and Tralusian and Corellian repulsors, just

waiting for the signals to push the button." "Exactly right," said Kalenda.

"Obviously, the Double World Talus and Tralus repulsors are the most

worrisome ones. If the enemy controls those, he has the ability to crush our

ships down to rubble in any millisecond he chooses." "But we don't think

they have that capability," Os-silege said. "Their fleet is moving in with a

great deal of caution. Their behavior is consistent with fears that we

control one or more repulsors, while they control none. In my considered

opinion, it is not consistent with their controlling any of the repulsors.

It is not even consistent with a bluff. If the enemy had the Talus or Tralus

rcpulsors operational, this battle would be over already." "That caution

might also explain why they haven't reactivated the interdiction field,"

said Mara. "They might want to be sure they have a way out of here." "That's

possible," said Jenica Sonsen, "but we don't think that's why it's still

down. We've run some numbers on how Centerpoint must operate, what it can

do, that sort of thing. The short form is that we don't think they can

reactivate it while Centerpoint is at this stage of powering itself up for a

starbuster shot. Too much power being diverted, too many systems busy. You

can turn on an interdiction field while the system is in standby. You can

turn one off at any time. You can leave it on while the system is powering

up. But you can't initiate an interdiction field while the Glowpoint is

charging. At least we think that's the case." "It damned well better be the

case," said Ossilege. "Our plans with Source A depend on it." "Excuse

please," s aid Dracmus. "What or who is a Source A?" "We'll come to that a

bit later," Ossilege said, a slight smile on his lips. "What about

Centerpoint itself?" Han asked. "Is there any weak spot that we know about?

Someplace where we might pile in a lot of firepower and get lucky? Blow the

place up?" "No, sorry," said Sonsen. "It doesn't work that way. Don't forget

that the Glowpoint is a containment vessel for an extremely powerful

reaction. It's very strong, and it's very good at absorbing and dispersing

energy, and well insulated. The figures we worked up show that the energy

levels in there at the moment are the equivalent of setting off a proton

torpedo at least once a second, and Centerpoint has been putting up with

that for days on end. And the rest of the structure is very strong, and very

old, and so well sealed and shielded that we've never been able to map most

of the interior. I'm told the Sentinel has landed search parties that are

doing their best to find the control system and shut the system down, but

that control system has kept itself pretty well hidden for at least a

thousand generations. I doubt they'll find it in just a day or two of

looking." "So the repulsors are our only hope," said Luke. "But then why

worry about the Triad fleet at all? Why confront it? Why not just withdraw,

get our ships out of harm's way, and concentrate all our effort into

activating the repulsors?" "Because the repulsors are not the only game in

town," said Ossilege. "That is an eighty-ship fleet out there, after all.

They could dominate this star system indefinitely, if they chose to do so,

and we left them alone. Or suppose, for example, they got to the repul-sors

on Drall and Selonia and grabbed them from us before we were ready to use

them?" "Let's talk about the repulsors for a minute," said Luke. "Where are

we with them? How about the Selonian repulsor? Dracmus?" The Selonian shook

her head mournfully. "There is no changing. I have been checking with our

people just before this fine meeting. The Sacorrian Selonians, the Triad

Selonians of the nameless Den, are weakening. They see the force of our

arguments. But they are not with us yet." "Is there any realistic chance of

their being persuaded before the next starbuster shot?" Ossilege asked.

Dracmus looked miserable. "A small one," she admitted at last. "Only a small

one. Our best people are working on the Triad Selonians. But we now think

perhaps they have received indoctrination in just such a circumstance. We

have tried everything, I assure you." "Have you tried cash?" Mara asked. "I

am begging your pardon?" "Cash. Money. A travel case full of credit notes.

You know. A bribe. Or make it sound nice. Call it a consulting fee. Tell

them you want to hire them, and will pay well." Dracmus looked absolutely

amazed. "This had never been occurring to us. We will try it at once."

"Good," said Mara. "And don't be cheap about it. Whatever you offer has got

to be cheaper than letting the Triad win." "What about our repulsor?" asked

the Drall, Ebrihim. "Have you made any progress with it?" "Our tech staff

has only had a few hours to work on it," said Ossilege. "It's early to

expect results. But rest assured, we have every person with pertinent

experience down there working right now." "That is not the case," said a new

voice, a stern female voice that was used to being heard and obeyed. It was

the other Drall. Marcha, the Duchess of Masti-gophorous. "It is not the

case, Admiral, and you know it not to be the case." "Duchess, might I ask

what you are talking about?" asked Ossilege. "The children," she said.

"Anakin in particular, but he works best when the other two are there to

help him, guide him." "Don't be absurd," said Ossilege. "What possible use

could they be? How could they possibly have any expertise? I would urge you

not to mistake a series of lucky accidents for ability. We do not have time

to waste on such nonsense. Move on, Lieutenant." Kalenda hesitated a moment.

It was not her place to contradict her superior officer. But on the other

hand, it was not his place to be a damned pigheaded fool. And Gaeriel

Captison had reminded her, not so long ago, that there was more to life than

adhering to military etiquette. "Sir, my apologies for discussing this in

front of others, but there may not be another chance, and the stakes are too

high. I believe you are making a mistake." "What!?" "Sir, it is my job to

analyze events and come to conclusions. I have analyzed the events

surrounding the children, and I have come to the conclusion that their

abilities are-are remarkable. They have been constantly underestimated,

their achievements constantly dismissed as exaggerated, or lucky accidents,

or remarkable coincidences. That is simply not true. It is not credible."

She pointed at Drall, plainly visible through the main bridge viewports.

"The plain fact of the matter is that you have a repulsor down there because

a seven-and-a-half-year-old boy found it for you, and turned it on. It is no

longer in the hands of our enemy-and our enemy is in the brig-because that

boy and his siblings managed to walk through a working force field, repair a

disabled starship, fly that ship into space, and shoot down a pursuing

spacecraft flown by a professional military pilot. I could go on for half an

hour, describing all the things that they could not possibly have done, but

the point will remain the same." Ossilege looked up at Kalenda, his

expression utterly unreadable. Was there anger seething under there? Was he

simply considering her words? Was he infuriated at the assault on his

authority, or simply wondering if she might be right? It was impossible to

tell. The man was completely inscrutable. "You argue most effectively,

Lieutenant Kalenda. You marshal your facts well. You will either go far as

an intelligence officer or end your career in the brig for insubordination.

I had intended to disembark all noncombatants on Drall in any event, and it

occurs to me that the shielded side chambers of the repulsor are probably

the safest place to be right now. Madame Chief of State, Captain Solo-if, as

Lieutenant Kalenda claims, your children might be of help, would you consent

to their being put to work?" "Absolutely," said Han. "Not that it matters

what we think. Get them within a hundred kilometers of trouble, and they'll

find it all on their own." "Madame Chief of State?" "We need all the help we

can get," said Leia. "Let them do their part." Ossilege raised his eyebrows

and looked hard at both of them, "Very well," he said. "Then let us move on.

Lieutenant?" "Well, sir, to sum up, we have two objectives, neither of them

very easy. First is to defeat the Triad fleet and prevent it from dominating

this star system. Second is to do whatever we can to prevent Centerpoint

from firing again. I believe that covers everything we were going to

discuss, except for Source A-and I believe you wanted to cover that

yourself." Ossilege smiled broadly-and it was unusual to see any smile at

all on his face. He stood up and looked about at all the faces around the

table. "Source A," he said. "Source A, if I am not mistaken, is known to

several of you already. But let me tell the rest of you about him." If the

day had started with joyous reunions, it ended with tearful good-byes. "Do

you really have to go, Mommy?" asked Anakin, his voice a little snuffly, his

chin quivering just a bit. They were in the Intruder's hangar deck again,

the last load of noncombatants boarding the shuttle that would take them

down to the safety of the repulsor's shielded side caverns. "Yes I do,

dearest," Leia said, kneeling down in front of him, forcing a reassuring

smile onto her face. "And so do you. Everyone has a job today. I have to

help Daddy and Chewbacca fly the Falcon. You and your brother and sister

have to go down to the repulsor again, and see if you can make it work the

way we need it to." "I bet we can," said Anakin. "I'll bet you can too,

sport," said Han, tousling his son's hair. He was smiling too, but even

Anakin must have been able to see the pain in his eyes. And even Anakin knew

that everyone had to pretend that everything was fine. Leia looked up at

Jaina and Jacen. "You two take care of each other, and of Anakin, all right?

And do what Threepio and Ebrihim and the Duchess tell you to do. And be sure

to-be sure to-" Suddenly Leia stopped, her voice choked up. It was all too

ridiculous. She was going into battle, she was sending her children to

operate a machine that could move a planet around, sending them off to face

more responsibility than most intelligent beings ever dreamed of, she might

be killed and never see them again, and yet she was left with nothing to

tell them but the age-old motherly admonitions to behave themselves and

brush their teeth. "We will, Mom," said Jaina, her voice gentle and low.

"Don't worry, we'll do all the things we're supposed to do." "Fear not,

Madame Chief of State," said Threepio. "I shall take good care of them

all-assuming the Drall permit me." Leia threw her arms about her children,

shut her eyes, and squeezed them as tight as she could. "I love you all,"

she managed to say, before her voice choked up altogether. She held them for

as long as she could, and a little bit longer besides, until Han knelt down

beside her and gently pulled her arms back. "It's time to go," he said. "The

ship has to leave." Leia nodded, unable to speak. She kissed each of them

one last time, and Han did the same. The three children and Threepio walked

aboard the shuttle transport, and the shuttle transport lifted off. And they

were gone. There were plenty of other good-byes, of course, and none of them

were easy. Luke, Lando, Mara, Kalenda, Gaeriel, all of the others. They all

knew the odds were very much against everyone making it back. They all knew

some of these good-byes might be for more than a day or two. They might be

forever. And yet, they all understood that sort of good-bye. They all had

been there before, said good-bye to a comrade for an hour or a day, and then

never seen the comrade again. There was a code, a ritual, a sort of a

ceremony to it all, that made such good-byes, if not easier, at least far

more manageable, more understandable. But there was one other leave-taking

that had a different set of emotions behind it. There was one more person

Han had to see before he went into battle. And that person was in the brig.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the last frayed thread of the family

ties. Or maybe those family threads were stronger than he thought. Maybe

blood was stronger even than betrayal. Or maybe--though Han doubted it-he

just wanted to gloat. It didn't fee! that way, but you never knew. You never

knew. Whatever the reasons, he had come. The guard activated the door

control, and Han stepped into the detention cell. Thrackan was sitting on a

low bench set against the far wall of the room. "Hello, Thrackan," he said.

"Hello, Han. Come to see the rare specimen in his cage?" "I'm not sure why I

came," said Han. "For some reason I wanted to see you. So here I am." "And

here / am," Thrackan said, a cruel smile on his face. He lifted his head up,

threw his arms out wide, and stuck his chest out. "Here I am," he said

again. "Get a good look." "You shouldn't have done it, Thrackan," said Han.

"Oh, there are lots of things I shouldn't have done," Thrackan said. "I

certainly shouldn't have gone off in pursuit of those miserable, freakish

children. That was a fatal mistake. Fatal. But what specific act did you

have in mind?" "The children," Han said. "My children. You should not have

kidnapped the children. Never involve the innocent. Always protect your

family. Two of the oldest traditions of Corellia. I remember your sneering

at those ideas, saying it was no great sin in breaking them. But that was

just words. You didn't just talk about breaking those laws. You did it. You

did it. Thrackan, how could you?" "Easily," Thrackan said. "Far too easily.

They just fell into my hand. How could I not keep them? Why shouldn't I have

kept them?" "Because it was wrong, Thrackan." Thrackan sighed wearily and

leaned back against the wall. "Han. Please. I'm locked away in a cell. By

all rights, the longest part of my trial will be the reading of the charges

against me. The jury shouldn't even leave the box. There isn't even any

point to a jury or a trial at all. The sensible thing would be just to have

me taken out and shot. But I'm sure they will give me all the relentlessly

fair justice they can find to throw at me-and then lock me away forever.

I'll probably never have any freedom of action ever again. So there's not

much point in teaching me right from wrong. Not at this late date." "You're

beaten, Thrackan," said Han. "You've lost, and lost everything." Thrackan

chuckled. "True enough, Han. True enough. But I do have one consolation."

"What's that, Thrackan?" Thrackan Sal-Solo, would-be Diktat of Corellia,

gestured vaguely toward the outside of the cell, toward the universe beyond.

"The Triad fleet out there," he said. "Maybe I've lost, Han, but it does me

a world of good to know that you haven't won yet." He smiled in a chillingly

close imitation of Han's own lopsided grin, an imitation turned cold and

hard and cruel. "And I don't think you're going to, either." Han stared at

his cousin. Then, without saying another word, he turned and knocked on the

cell door. It slid open, and Han walked away. He still didn't know why he

had come.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Showdown at Centerpoint At last, at long last, it was time to board ship,

launch, and head out into space. But getting to that point was not easy. The

Bakurans needed all the firepower of the newly repaired Millennium Falcon,

and no one could argue that the Falcon needed a crew of at least three-a

pilot, a copilot, and a gunner-in order to provide the maximum firepower.

There was, of course, never even the slightest debate over who the pilot and

copilot should be. Han and Chewbacca belonged in those seats, and there was

no doubt about it. But more than a few people tried to talk Leia out of

sitting in the quad laser turret. It was not proper for a Chief of State to

go flying around taking potshots at enemy ships. But Leia was adamant. She

had had enough of being pushed around in recent weeks. It was high time she

paid a little of that back. The harder people tried to talk her out of going

on the mission, the more determined she became. Even Ossilege tried to talk

her out of it. But even Ossilege realized, eventually, that he had to back

down. But now she was aboard, Chewbacca was aboard, and the Millennium

Falcon was ready. Now was the moment. Han checked his status boards one last

time, confirmed his departure instructions, brought the repulsors on, and

flew out into the sky. Once well clear of the Intruder, he eased back on the

sublight engines and waited for the others to form up on him. They were

going into battle together-Han, Chewie, and Leia aboard the Millennium

Falcon, Mara Jade alone aboard the Jade's Fire, Lando aboard the Lady Luck,

and Luke in his X-wing. It made a certain amount of sense to put all the

non-Bakuran ships in one formation. It saved forcing the Bakuran fighter

pilots to learn how to deal with nonstandard ships in their formations. Han

had been aboard all of the other ships, and their pilots had been aboard

his. Perhaps more importantly, all four of the pilots knew each other,

trusted each other's skill. Han watched as the Lady Luck flew out of the

hangar doors and toward him. Suddenly Han felt good. They were flying into

danger, into battle, but what of that? He had done it before. He was behind

the controls of his own ship, in space, surrounded by friends. What was to

feel bad about? He saw the Lady Luck do a double barrel roll just as Luke's

X-wing launched. Han laughed out loud. He wasn't the only one feeling good.

He keyed on the com system. "Falcon to Lady Luck. Lando, you old pirate, the

idea is to fly in a straight line just at the moment. I think you just

wobbled off course a bit." "Aw, can't a guy have a little fun now and then?"

"Relax, both of you," said Luke as he pulled into position off Lando's

starboard wing. "We're going to get a chance to do all the fancy flying we

want today." The Jade's Fire launched, and Mara came on the line. "I don't

know about the rest of you," she said, "but I'd be just as happy if this

stayed nice and simple." Chewbacca cut off the ship-to-ship link, hooted

loudly, and bared his fangs. Han laughed. "All right," he said, "so she's a

spoil-sport. Any spoilsport who can fly the way she does can be my wingman

any day of the week." "How far have you gotten?" asked Anakin as he looked

over the gleaming silver control panel. It looked just the way he had left

it, after pushing one button too many a few days before. The technician's

name was Antone, and he was a thin, wiry-looking fellow, dark-skinned with

shoulder-length, shiny black hair that hung straight down on either side of

his face. He didn't answer at first, but instead gave Anakin a strange look,

a look Anakin had seen before. It was the look Anakin got from grownups who

had heard he was weirdly good with machines, but didn't quite believe it

yet. Antone glanced at Jaina and Jacen, and got an encouraging nod from both

of them. "I assure you, young Master Anakin is remarkably talented,"

Thrccpio volunteered. Antone seemed unwilling to take the droid's word, but

Ebrihim and Marcha and Q9 were there too, and somehow the presence of the

Drall seemed to convince Technician Antone to take things seriously and

cooperate. "I'd say we're stuck," he said, "except that might be saying too

much. It makes it sound like we'd been making progress and then stopped. But

we never got anywhere in the first place." "Not at all?Anakin asked. "Not at

all. The system won't respond to any commands we give it." "Sure it will,"

said Anakin. He sat down at the control panel and pushed his hand down onto

a flat, featureless spot on the console. He pulled his hand away, and the

surface of the console started to shift and rise up, forming itself into a

joysticklike shape-but one perfectly shaped to Anakin's hand. Anakin touched

the joystick, just touched it, and a hollow wireframe five-by-five-by-five

of cubes appeared in the air over the control panel. Anakin let go of the

joystick. It remained in place for a moment, then melted back down into the

console as the cube display vanished. "How did you do that?'1 Antone

demanded. He scooted Anakin out of the chair and pressed his own hand down

on exactly the same place on the panel. Nothing happened. Nothing at all.

Antone gave Anakin another strange look, and then comprehension dawned in

his face. "Burning stars," he said. "Burning stars. It must have imprinted

itself on your personal characteristics the first time you used it." "Huh?"

Anakin said. "What do you mean?" demanded Jacen, "It imprinted on him,

somehow. It locked in on his fingerprints, or his DNA, or his brain waves,

or something, and locked them into its memory. It'll only work for him."

Anakin's eyes lit up with a wild gleam. "Only for me?" he asked. "It's all

mine?" "There must be a way to let other users use it," Jacen objected.

"Yeah, probably," said Antone, "but we don't have time to look for them. We

have to work with what we've got." "Wait a moment," Ebrihim objected. "Are

you saying what 1 think you're saying?" Antone nodded solemnly. "Your little

friend here is the only person who is going to be able to operate this

control panel. And from what I've seen, and what you've told me, even if he

can make it work, I'm not sure he really understands what it does." "I

believe," said Threepio, "that you have just offered an excellent

summing-up." Gaeriel Captison watched Admiral Ossilege pace the floor of the

flag deck, and could not help but feel sympathy for the man. They were, for

the moment, alone on the flag deck, and that fact spoke volumes. He had told

everyone to go off and do his bidding, and now they were gone. Later,

perhaps, this place would be chaos, with aides rushing in and out, mountains

of message forms covering every flat surface, klaxons blaring and orders

bellowing out from the overhead speakers. But now it was quiet, empty, a

lonely place. And Ossilege must be an especially lonely man right now. There

would be decisions yet to make, orders to give, but now, for the most part,

his job was over. He had deployed his forces, issued his instructions, laid

his plans. Now all he could do was wait. "It isn't easy, is it?" she asked.

"You send them out to do your bidding, and off they go, following your

instructions, living or dying, winning or losing, because of what you

ordered." "No," he said, "it isn't easy. Everyone else knows what to do,

because I have told them. But who tells me?" For Ossilege, that was a

remarkable bit of introspection, bordering on self-pity. He himself seemed

to realize that had given too much away, for he stopped his pacing and sat

down in the admiral's chair. A chime sounded, and a deep, melodic robotic

voice spoke from the overhead speaker. "All outbound craft launched and

clear," it said. "Intruder getting under way in thirty seconds. All hands to

assigned battle stations." Ossilege sat motionless throughout the

announcement, not moving or speaking. Gaeriel could not tell if he was

listening to it intently or not even aware that the voice had spoken. The

chime sounded again, there was a change in the vibrations of the ship, and

the flag deck instruments started reporting forward movement. They were on

their way. "Tell me," Ossilege said at last, speaking after such a long

silence that Gaeriel jumped ten centimeters in the air. "The plan. Do you

think it will work?" The irony was almost too obvious. After endless weeks

of being trapped aboard the Gentleman Caller, wishing above all else to move

faster, get to where she was going sooner, Tendra Risant now had not the

slightest desire for her ship to go anywhere at all. The Gent floated

quietly in the darkness of space, in a stable free orbit of Corell-an orbit

that put her squarely between the Triad fleet and the two Bakuran

destroyers. She had not the slightest doubt that both sides were tracking

her, watching her go by. Probably both of them recognized her ship for what

she was-a civilian non-combatant, accidentally caught between the two

fleets. As long as she floated, unpowered, through space, she represented no

particular danger. But she also had no doubt at all that both sides would

fire immediately if they felt in the slightest way threatened by the

Gentleman Caller. And the Gentleman Caller was surrounded. There was no

direction at all she could find that wouldn't take her close to the path of

one ship or another. She did not dare maneuver, for fear of one side or the

other deciding she was a booby trap, a bomb or a weapon disguised as a

civilian ship. All she could do was sit here, and pray to whatever gods she

could think of that no one decided she was getting in the way. No one knew

exactly what was going to happen next, Tendra least of all. But whatever did

happen, she was going to have a ring-side seat for it. It has been said, by

more than a few observers, who have put it more than a few different ways,

that warfare consists of long stretches of boredom, interspersed with short,

sharp bursts of chaos and terror. Lando had been through battles enough in

his day to realize the truth of that description. Or, to put it another way,

it was a long, long flight from Drall to Centerpoint. Long enough that Luke,

aboard the X-wing, returned to the Intruder twice for brief rest periods as

they traveled. Luke, Jedi Master that he was, certainly could have toughed

it out, but Luke was not a fool. And only fools deliberately went into

combat worn and unrested. The others-Han and his crew, Mara, and Lando

-could all get up and stretch, set the autopilot, and sneak off for a nap.

Not Luke. They could have used a very brief jump through hy-perspace to

shorten the trip substantially, but there were reasons they did not want the

Triad fleet thinking too much about hyperspace. And they also wanted the

Triads to have their attention focused on the Intruder, the three trading

ships, and the Intruder's fighter escort. The more they looked there, the

less they would look in other directions. Lando punched up his own detector

system and tried to get an idea of how the Triad fleet was reacting. So far,

they didn't seem to be in the least bit distracted by the Intruder, The

whole fleet was still moving in toward Centerpoint at a slow, steady pace of

its own. Nothing substantially different from the last time he checked, or

the time before that. Soon, though. Soon. They were getting close enough to

start picking targets, planning their attack-Wait a second. Lando frowned

at his display. Had that been there before, or had he just missed it? A tiny

ship, civilian by the looks of what the detectors could tell him, right

smack in between Centerpoint and the Triad fleet. And wait another second.

Where could that ship have come from? Lando sent a signal querying the

Intruder's position board database for the last few days. He went back to

the time just before the interdiction field went down, and played it forward

from there. The tiny ship winked into existence before the Triad ships. But

how could anybody get here before the Triad, unless-Lando sat bolt upright.

Unless they were closer than the Triad ships, coming from much closer in.

From inside the interdiction field, for example. Lando finally had the sense

to try it the easy way. He sent the standard ship-ID query signal. Fifteen

seconds later he had his answer back. Twenty seconds after that he had

changed course and accelerated to his top sub-light speed in order to

intercept. It was a full minute later before he realized he should have

asked permission, a realization he came to mostly because his com board

started lighting up. He punched the transmit button. "Lady Luck to

Intruder," he said. "I've, ah, just spotted something. I'm just heading over

to investigate it. I'll be back with the fleet in good time for the main

event." "Intruder to Lady Luck," replied a rather fussy-sounding voice. "The

object you are on intercept for is an identified and uninvolved civilian

spacecraft. No need to investigate." "Well, I'm going to anyway," Lando

said. "She might not be as uninvolved as you think." Or at least, he

thought, she's not going to be uninvolved for long. To Ebrihim's eye, the

control room of Drall's planetary repulsor looked as if a bomb had hit it.

It was knee deep in crumpled bits of paper and discarded food containers.

Little knots of technicians were huddled in every corner of the room,

arguing over readings, debating what various arrangements of purple and

orange and green cubes and bars of light might mean. Handwritten labels were

stuck over about half the controls on the console. As the other half of the

controls seemed to appear and disappear and change shape and size almost at

whim, it was a trifle more difficult to label them. Jaina and Jacen were

asleep on cots in the next room over. Ebrihim and Marcha were still on the

go, in the thick of it, helping the techs order their readings, sketching

out the various transmutations of the control panel. Q9 usually seemed to

have two or three remote sensors out as he traced this signal or that

through the interior of the control system and took power readings, and he

and Threepio had found any number of things to bicker about. But all the

rest of them could work as hard and as much as they wanted. Anakin was still

in the center of it all, still going strong, working the controls as he was

asked, shifting the system' from one mode to another, helping the grown-ups

understand what all the buttons meant. He had that wild-eyed look in his

eyes that human children sometimes seemed to get when they had been up too

long or had been too stimulated for too long. Sooner or later it would all

be too much for him, and the poor child would simply keel over from

exhaustion. Ordinarily, it would already be time, and past time, to get the

child to bed, but under the circumstances they had to get as much out of him

as possible before-"Newses! I have good ncwses!" an excited voice shouted.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up as Dracmus rushed into

the room. "The Sacorrian Selonians! What a splendid idea this bribing was!

Must congratulate honored Jade on fine suggestion!" "They've agreed to

cooperate?" Ebrihim asked eagerly. "No, Honored Ebrihim!" said Dracmus in

the same gleeful voice. "They refuse! They delay! Maybe later they come

around, but not yet." "Then why are you so happy?" Marcha demanded. "Because

bribe suggestion gives them idea." She held up a datapad and waved it in the

air. "They still not willing to help with their repulsor-but they willing to

sell instruction manual!" "Lemme see that," Antone said, and grabbed at the

datapad. He turned it on and paged through it, grin-ning more and more

widely as he did so. He nodded enthusiastically. "This is it," he said.

"With what Anakin has shown us, and what this tells us about the notation-I

think-I'm not sure but at least I think, we can run this place." "You mean,"

said Ebrihim, "you think that Anakin can run this place for-" He stopped in

midsentence. "Oh, dear," said Threepio. "He's done it again. It often

happens when he stays up too late." Anakin was still sitting in the control

panel's chair, but his head was resting on the panel itself, and he was

sound asleep. Ebrihim nodded in wonder. Human children. Bizarre creatures.

Anakin had been wide awake and busily working not thirty seconds before.

"Ah, well," Ebrihim said. "The rest of us can keep working, but I suppose a

child has to get a good night's sleep if he's expected to save two or three

star systems in the morning." "Lando?" she asked. He was the first human

being she had seen in a month. "Tendra." And suddenly they were in each

other's arms, holding each other tight. "Oh, Lando. Lando. You shouldn't

have come. You shouldn't have. There are ships on all sides of us, and

sooner or later the shooting is going to start and-" "Hey, hey," said Lando.

"Shh. Take it easy," he said. "Take it easy. My ship is plenty fast enough

to get us out of here. We'll be all'right." "But it's too dangerous!" she

insisted. "It was too risky." "Come on," Lando said, stroking her chin and

giving her a big, warm smile. "I had to think of my image. How could I

possibly turn down the chance to rescue the damsel in distress?"

Tendra Risant was asleep when it happened. The first she knew that there was

anything going on was when a large booming noise echoed through the hull of

the Gentleman Caller. To say she found it a startling way to wake up would

be a massive understatement. She nearly jumped out of her skin. She sat up

in bed, listening fearfully. What was it? Had a meteor crashed into the

ship? Had something in the engine room blown up? Then she heard the whirring

noise of doors sliding open and air pumps working. The airlock! Someone had

docked with the Gentleman Callerl She scrambled out of bed and pulled her

robe on. Who was it? What did they want? A weapon. She needed a weapon. Was

there even a blaster on board the ship? She stepped out into the

corridor-and froze in her tracks. There he was, right in front of her,

grinning from ear to ear. "I tried to call ahead," he said, "but there

wasn't any answer." The hours crawled past. The Triad ships moved toward

Centerpoint, the Sentinel and the Defender kept up their guard over

Centerpoint, and the Intruder's little fleet of armed trading ships and

fighters moved in toward the Triad ships. Ossilege watched it all on his

status boards, hour after weary hour, alone on the flag deck. No one needed

to come here. Not until the battle began. Time was the enemy now, and time

was the ally. They had to thread this needle carefully, oh, so carefully.

Too soon, and they would give the game away, and all of Source A's efforts

would be in vain. Too late, and the other side would jump first, attack the

Bakuran ships and be done with it. And then there was the whole vexed

question of the rcpulsor. Would they have it, or wouldn't they? Would it

work, or wouldn't it? Were Calrissian's figures for the timing of

Centerpoint's next shot even accurate? They had checked over the figures a

dozen times, and they seemed correct. But what of the error no one saw, the

bad assumption that everyone agreed to without even realizing it? They were

the sort of questions that had plagued military commanders from the

beginning of time, and they were likely to keep on doing so for quite some

time to come. Time. That was the question. What was the proper time? There

was no way of knowing for sure. No way of reading intentions off a display

grid, no way of judging enemy morale and fighting prowess from a remote

infrared image. The ships moved closer to each other. Closer. Closer. At

last Admiral Hortel Ossilege stood up, walked over to the main display grid,

and inspected it carefully, studying each ship, each status report in turn.

Satisfied, or at least as satisfied as he was going to get, he returned to

the admiral's chair, sat down, and pressed the com button. "This is

Ossilege. Advise all ships via prearranged signal. Commence Operation

Sidestep exactly on the hour, thirty-five minutes from now." One hour after

Sidestep, it would be time for Source A. One hour, five minutes, and fifteen

seconds after Sidestep, Centerpoint would fire. Either they would manage to

deflect the shot, or they would not. One hour. They would have to hold for

one hour. He let go of the com button, and wondered if he had gotten the

timing right. "All right, Chewie," said Han, haif an hour later. "Jump off

in five minutes. Let's look sharp. Leia-time for you to get up to the turret

and strap in." Leia stood up from the observer's seat and nodded. "I know,"

she said. But she didn't leave. Not immediately. First she stepped forward,

pulled Han's head toward hers, and gave Han a kiss. A warm, lingering kiss

that did not so much end as fade gently away. "I love you," she said. "I

know," said Han. "And you know I love you." Leia smiled. "You're right," she

said. "I do." She stood up straight, reached over, and ruffled the fur on

top of Chewbacca's head. "So long, Chewie," she said. "See you on the other

side." And with that, she turned and left the cockpit. Han turned and

watched her go, then looked over to Chewbacca. "You know, Chewie," he told

the Wookiee, "there's a lot to be said for this being married business."

Chewbacca let out a low, rumbling laugh and went back to double-checking the

shield settings. Han checked the time. Four minutes to go. Luke Skywalker

sat in the cockpit of his X-wing and felt the old tingle of fear and

excitement starting to build. He reminded himself that he was a Jedi, that

Jedi were calm in battle, that there was no fear. But Luke, better than any

human being alive, knew that Jedi did not live in a world of absolutes and

abstracts, any more than other people did. It would be just as bad to force

all emotion from his life as to wallow endlessly in all his feelings. It was

time to fight. He was ready to do so. His Jedi abilities made him more

ready. That should have been enough. And it was. Luke glanced at his

chronometer. Three minutes. Mara Jade sat alone in the command center of her

ship. AJone. She had come to this star system with a pilot and a navigator,

Tralkpha and Nesdin. They had vanished, along with so many others, in the

first days of the war. Mara did not know if they were dead, or cap-tured by

one group or another, or hiding under some pile of rubble until it was safe

to come out. Mara knew war as well as anyone. She knew full well that it was

most likely that they were dead. They had been good at their jobs, and good,

honest people, both of them. And now they weren't there anymore, more than

likely executed for the simple crime of getting in the way of someone's

bloody ambition. If nothing else had happened to inspire her to fight, that

would have been enough. But, of course, plenty more had happened. And she

was going to start giving it back in about two minutes' time. "I'm not so

sure I did you any favor by rescuing you," Lando said, strapping himself in.

"Where you were, you might have been killed by accident. Now if you get

killed, it'll be because someone did it on purpose." Tendra shook her head

and smiled. "Trust me, Lando. If there is one thing I learned on board the

Gentleman Caller, it's that I don't want to die alone. I've had enough being

alone for a lifetime." Lando reached out a hand to Tendra, riding in the

copilot's seat. She took it, and held it tight. Neither of them said

anything more, but the silence in the cabin said more than enough. But then

the countdown alert beeped the one-minute warning, and there was no time.

Belindi Kalenda was already there, along with the rest of the flag staff,

but Gaeriel Captison just got back to the flag deck in time to strap herself

in. "I was in my cabin," she said, though Ossilege hadn't asked.

"Meditating." And thinking about my daughter. My daughter, Malinza, who has

already lost her father. Is this the day she stops having a mother as well?

"A good time for it," Ossilege said. "There will not be much leisure for

thought, starting in another thirty seconds." Gaeriel dug her fingers into

the arms of her acceleration scat, and stared out through the flag deck's

main viewport, out over the Intruder's main bridge level, and through the

bridge's forward viewport. The stars, she thought. The warm and inviting

stars. Was one of the ones she saw Bakura?'Probably her home's star was

nowhere near bright enough to be visible at this range. Home. She thought of

home, and longed to be there. "Ten seconds," the main speaker announced.

"All hands, prepare for the jump to light speed. Five seconds. Four. Three.

Two, One. Zero." And the stars lanced out into spikes of fire, starlines

that filled the viewport with a blaze of light-and then the starlines flared

away, and were gone, and the familiar stars of Corellia's sky were right

back where they had been. But now there were more than stars in the sky.

Ships. Ships of all sizes and descriptions had suddenly popped into

existence. The Intruder, the Sentinel, the Defender, and ail the lesser

ships had made simultaneous, precision minimum-distance hyperspace jumps

straight into the thick of the enemy fleet. Ossilege had hoped it would give

them the benefit of surprise, and it would appear that it had. The

Intruder's main laser cannon opened up at once, stabbing out at the ship

nearest her, a boxy, ramshackle old troop transport that had no business in

the middle of a combat fleet. The transport exploded in a bloom of fire, but

by then the main lasers had already found another target, a modern-looking

corvette about the size of the Jade's Fire. The corvette got her shields up

in time, but they were not intended to hold off intense short-range fire

from a light cruiser's gun. Her shields failed and she went up as well,

another blaze of hellfire glory. The Intruder'?, fighter screen winked into

existence around her, fifteen General Purpose Attack fighters that

immediately went over to the attack, blazing away at the smaller, lighter

craft in this part of the fleet. The Intruder's secondary battery began to

speak, blasting away at some target out of Gaeriel's view. A Triad ship

fired and caught a GPA coming out of a loop low over the Intruder's main

bridge. The fighter exploded, a blinding bright flash of light that heaved a

torrent of debris at the cruiser. The shields deflected most of it, and

slowed the rest of it. Loud crashes echoed throughout the bridge as debris

banged into the outer hull, but there did not seem to be any re al damage.

Except, of course, to the GPA and its pilot. The surviving fighters whirled

and dashed about, blasting the X-TIE Uglies and B-wing chop jobs out of the

sky. At last an opponent worthy of the Intruder hove into view, an old,

tough-looking ex-Imperial destroyer of a class Gaeriel did not recognize.

The ship was smaller than the Intruder, but quite possibly her match in

firepower. The Intruder opened up on her, directing all-guns fire directly

at the destroyer's forward laser turret. The destroyer returned fire from

her forward and rear turrets, but failed to concentrate her fire with any

effectiveness. The destroyer's forward battery blew up, and the Intruder

instantly redirected fire to her rear battery. The destroyer's overall

shields must have been damaged in the first explosion, for they gave way

completely after only a few seconds of concentrated fire on the rear turret.

The turret went up in a dramatic sheet of flame, and the destroyer was

disarmed. Gaeriel glanced over at Ossilege, and was astonished to see that

he was paying no mind at all to the fire and chaos outside. His eyes were

glued to the tactical display in front of him as he watched the overall

progress of the fight. He was letting the Intruders Captain Sem-mac fight

her ship, while he attended to the larger battle. "It's going well,"

Ossilege announced to no one in particular. At least, thought Gaeriel, it's

starting well. "Hang on, Artoo!" Luke cried out as he flipped his X-wing

over onto its back and then pulled its nose up, pursuing the X-TIE Ugly,

that was making a run in on the Lady Luck up ahead and above. "Lando, break

starboard and down, hard, on my mark. Three, two, one, MARK!" Luke broke the

X-wing down and to starboard a fraction of a second before the Lady Luck

did. The X-TIE Ugly, a monstrosity of a ship slapped together out of the

combined wreckage of an X-wing and a TIE fighter, was nowhere as

mancuverable as an X-wing. The Ugly fell into the trap, making a longer,

shallower dive in pursuit of the Lady Luck-and setting itself up for a

perfect shot from Luke. Luke fired, and the starboard TIE wing blew clean

off the Ugly, sending it tumbling out of control and out of the fight. It

took Luke a moment to find the Lady, and he was not surprised to see her

already in trouble again, trying to fight off a pair of what looked like

Light Attack Fighters with beefed-up engines and weapons. Heavy Light Attack

Fighters. It was nearly always a mistake to hang overpowered weapons and

propulsion on a design that wasn't meant to support them. That sort of

beefed-up compromise was usually nothing more than a collection of

weaknesses held together with wrap-wire and optimism. Luke decided to test

the theory by experiment. He poured fire into the closest HLAF from extreme

range, and caught it in the port-side engine, setting the fighter tumbling

out of control before the pilot could kill the starboard engine. The engine

flared over and started spewing thick clouds of vapor that enveloped the

HLAF. The vapor dissipated instantly in the vacuum of space, and the HLAF

was hidden inside a strange, fast-moving cloud tumbling across space. Luke

checked Lando, and saw he had dispatched the other HLAF himself. For the

moment their little patch of sky was clear. That meant it was time to move

elsewhere. "Lando!" Luke called. "I'm tracking a slow-moving destroyer

toward the rear of the formation. You have it?" "I was just about to call it

in to you, Luke," said Lando. "Let's go for it. Just what we're looking

for." The plan was for the attacking craft to move through the Triad

formation toward its rear, picking off targets of opportunity and trying to

get the Triad ships to reverse course and pursue. And never mind the obvious

flaw in trying to encourage eighty major armed vessels and all their

auxiliaries to chase you with all guns blazing. Sometimes you just had to

take your chances. "Off we go," Luke agreed. Anakin sat in the control

chair, listening intently to Technician Antone as he ran down the checklist.

"All right," said Antone, "that clears out the targeting sequence. We should

be locked on to the South Pole of Centerpoint. Ready for the power

initiation sequence?" "Don't think so," Anakin said, a little doubtfully.

"Something doesn't feel right." Antone shoved his long black hair out of his

eyes for about the ziflionth time and looked nervously at Anakin. "Feel

right?" he asked. "What do you mean it doesn't feel right?" "He does it all

by feel," Jacen said. "He knows by instinct and intuition. You've got an

instruction manual. You're the one who said you didn't think he understood

what it did." "Do so!" Anakin protested angrily, glaring at his brother. "Do

you, Anakin?" Jaina asked. She was plainly getting as fed up as Antone. "Do

you really understand or are you just showing off?" Anakin frowned deeply

and crossed his arms. "Stop being mean to me, or I won't help you anymore."

And with that, he hopped down off the chair and stalked away. "Oh, boy,"

said Jaina. "I suspect that young Master Anakin is overtired," Threepio

said. "He was up too late last night. He is often rather cranky the next day

on such occasions." Antone's eyes bugged out, and his jaw dropped open. It

was at least a full five seconds before he was able to speak. "He's cranky?

He's the-he's the only one who can-who can-" Antone gestured frantically at

the control panel. "The starbuster is going to fire in an hour, and you tell

me he's crankyT' "Take it easy," Ebrihim said. "But he's gone!" Antone said.

"He's the only one who can run the machine!" "You've been up all night,"

Ebrihim said. "You're overwrought. We'll get him back." "Yeah. Up all

night," said Technician Antone, nodding manically as he paced. "Maybe I'm

just cranky too." He turned and stopped his pacing to face the twins.

"Except that's not quite it. Actually, I think I'm in full-blown panic! I've

got relatives on Bovo Yagen," Antone went on, half raving. "If I get her

planet incinerated, my aunt is going to kill me." "Settle down," Ebrihim

said in a sterner tone of voice. "He can't have gone far. We need both of

you to make this work. Jacen, go and get your brother back. Calm him down.

And try to remember that the lives of twelve million people are riding on

one cranky seven-year-old saving them in an hour's time. So please. When he

comes back, let's everyone be nice to him." "All right," Jaina said, her own

voice turning a bit sulky. "But only for an hour." "Concentrate volley fire

on the forward airlock hatch!" Mara's voice called out from the ship-to-ship

link. "Those welds look nice and sloppy!" Fire poured from the Jade's Fire

into the lumbering, old, much-repaired Mon Calamari frigate that had ended

up fighting for the other side. "Copy that," said Han. "Leia, hang on. I'm

going to pitch over a bit to give you a clean shot." "I'm in the clear

already," Leia said. "Commencing fire." The quad laser turret started

shooting. The outer door of the airlock had gotten jammed open somehow in

the fighting. It began to glow red, then orange, then fire-white-and then

the inner hatch blew off, the ship's atmosphere streaming away into space.

The airflow cut off suddenly as a hatch slammed shut somewhere on the ship.

The frigate fired back, heavy volley fire straight into the Millennium

Falcon. The shield alarms went on almost at once, and then cut off just as

quickly as the Jade's Fire blew the frigate's main laser turret clean off

with a mini-torpedo. Disarmed and damaged, the frigate seemed to decide she

had had enough. She came about and boosted away for all she was worth. "Let

her go," Han said to Mara. "She's out of the fight, and that's all that

matters." "How long has it been?" Leia asked over the intercom. "About forty

minutes," Han said. "Watch out, a pair of B-wing Uglies coming in from

above." "I'm on them," Leia said, the strain in her voice plain to hear.

Fire lanced out of the quad laser turret. An explosion broke up one B-wing,

and the other decided that discretion was the better part of valor. If only

the Falcon could have the luxury of reaching that conclusion. Sooner or

later, one of those attacks was going to get through. "Mara!" Han called

out. "Let's keep moving through them." He reached over and cut out the

ship-to-ship comm link. "Another twenty minutes," Han said to Leia and

Chewie, "another twenty minutes, and it'll be over." And so it would. One

way or the other. "Defender reports damage to main armament, but secondary

weapons fully functional," said Kalenda. "Numerous minor hits, no major

damage so far." But a hundred minor hits could serve to weaken the ship

enough for the hundred and first to destroy it. Os-silege shook his head.

That was no way to think. Not for an admiral in the midst of running a

battle. "What of SentinelT' he asked. "Sentinel has partial loss of

propulsion. Explosive decompression of unspecified aft section, reported as

contained. All weapons functional, reports numerous successful engagements."

"Very well," Ossilege said as he studied his tactical display. Intruder had

taken a similar amount of damage. // was working, he thought. They were

paying a high price indeed, but it was working. Ossilege had assigned a lane

through the enemy formation to each big ship, and to each pair of smaller

craft. The idea was to drive through the enemy ships toward the rear,

keeping up a series of running engagements, intended to cause disruption as

much as damage. And it was working. The tidy enemy formations were

unraveling, and it seemed that half of them had reversed course to head off

in pursuit of their tormentors. "Sir! Captain Semmac reports four frigates

closing on Intruder. It appears to be a coordinated attack." "Does it

indeed? I was wondering how long it would take them to mount one. Very well.

Now we will see Captain Semmac's skills as a defender." Ossilege watched his

tactical displays. Four identical bulbous-nosed frigates were closing in

from four different directions, lasers blazing. The Intruder's shields held,

at least under the initial onslaught. Captain Semmac brought the nose of the

Intruder up and accelerated, trying to get out of the crossfire. The

Intruder's main guns began to return fire, concentrating on the closest of

the four frigates. The ship's nose came down hard as Semmac attempted to

break free, but the frigates adjusted course to stay with the Intruder,

matching her move for move. Ossilege frowned. Something was wrong. The

frigates were pouring laser fire into the Intruder, but it was having no

effect. There should have been local burn-throughs, the shields should have

been weakened here and there. Ossilege checked the power levels from the

frigate's lasers. Why were they so low? Unless-unless ' the lasers were just

there as a deception, a distraction. And come to think of it, how were the

frigates able to absorb so much fire from the Intruder! He brought up a

close-up view of the nearest frigate on his tactical display and felt his

blood run cold. Its windows were painted on. Painted on over what looked

like solid durasteel. He slapped down his comlink. "Captain Semmac! Those

frigates are camouflaged robot rarnships! Their guns are harmless. They are

merely trying to get in close enough to-But it was too late. The first of

the ramships fired its high-boost engine and accelerated at terrifying

speed, directly at the Intruder, a multimegaton battering ram headed

straight in at them. It struck just forward of the bridge. "Okay!" Jacen

said. "I have him back." "Good," said Technician Antone. "Great. Let's get

back to it." Anakin came back into the compartment and looked long and hard

at each of them before he took his seat again. "Okay," he said. "Ready."

"Good, good," said Antone, forcing a smile onto his face. "Then let's start

the power initiation sequence." "No," said Anakin. The sweat was standing

straight out on Antone's forehead. "Anakin, please. Try to understand. This

isn't a game. Lots of people-lots and lots of people-are going to, to die

unless we fire this repulsor at exactly the right time in exactly the right

direction," "I know that," said Anakin. "But it isn't aimed just right. It's

too heavy. Too heavy somehow." "What do you mean, too heavy?" Antone asked.

"Gravity!" Jacen shouted. "He means gravity! Those instructions you got are

for the repulsor on Selonia! The gravity is different there." "Right!" said

Anakin. "Too heavy." Antone thought for a minute, muttering frantically.

"Sweet stars in the sky. He's right! He's right!" He checked the countdown

clock. "And we've got ten minutes to recalculate the aim from scratch."

Antone grabbed one of the other techs by the shoulder and shoved him at

Anakin. "Run him through the power initiation sequence and the rest of it,

and we'll retarget just before we fire." And with that, Technician Antone

raced frantically away to find a desk and a datapad. The second and the

third robot ramships slammed into the Intruder, sending the ruined hulk

pinwheeling across the sky. The fourth ram missed, but that did not matter.

The ship was dead already. Ossilege picked himself up off the deck and

staggered back over to his chair. Gaeriel had managed to stay in hers.

Belindi Kalenda climbed to her feet and looked around in shock. They were

the only ones left. Everyone else on the flag deck was dead. Ossilege didn't

even bother looking down to see if anyone had survived on the bridge. Most

of it wasn't there anymore. "ABANDON SHIP!" the overhead speaker shouted.

"ALL HANDS, ABANDON SHIP!" "I can't feel my legs," Gaeriel announced. "I can

see they're bleeding, but I can't feel them, and I can't move them."

Ossilege nodded, not really knowing why. Spinal damage, he thought. She must

have been slammed around hard by those impacts. Admiral Hortel Ossilege

realized that he was holding his left hand over his stomach. He lifted his

hand away for a moment and saw the red, open wound. Astonishing that he

wouldn't feel something like that. "ABANDON SHIP!" the automatic voice

called again. Ossilege looked from himself to Gaeriel Captison, to Kalenda.

"Go!" he shouted at Kalenda. "We can't make it. You can. Go!" Suddenly he

felt very weak. "But-" Kalenda began. "But I have a gut wound and the Prime

Minister cannot walk. We would not survive the trip to the escape capsule,

and if we did we would not survive until pickup. Go. Now. That is an order.

You-you have been a good officer, Lieutenant Kalenda. Do not waste yourself

now over a pointless gesture. Go." Kalenda looked as if she were about to

say something more, but then she stopped. She saluted Ossilege, bowed to

Gaeriel, and then turned and ran. "Good," said Ossilege. "I hope she makes

it." "We have to blow the ship," Gaeriel said, her voice barely more than a

whisper. "Don't let her be captured." Ossilege nodded to her. "Yes," he

said. "You are right. But we must wait. Give the survivors time to escape.

Wait until we are in deep among the enemy ships. Take them with us.

Wait-wait for Source A." "Source A?" Gaeriel asked, her voice vague and

weak. "Source A," said Ossilege. "We have to wait for Admiral Ackbar." "One

hour, Luke!" Lando shouted. "Let's get out of here while we're still in one

piece each!" "Copy that, Lando," said Luke. "Back the way we came, and

fast\" "What's going on?" Tendra asked. "Why are we retreating?" "We're not

retreating," said Lando as he heeled the Lady Luck around. "We're following

Ossilege's plan. A plan so simple that even we could follow it. Get in, do

as much damage as you can for one hour, and then get out of the way." "Get

out of the way for what?" "For Source A, my dear Source T." "What are you

talking about?" Lando laughed out loud. "It's not much of a code name

system, but there it is. Source T for Tendra, Source A for Admiral Ackbar.

Ossilege started getting coded hyperwave messages from him the minute the

jamming field went down. Ackbar had spent every waking moment since we left

Coruscant trying to put some sort of task force together. It sounds like he

wasn't able to get that big a fleet together, but twenty-five modern ships

with modern weapons-well, that ought to do some good out here. Especially if

the opposing force is already pretty banged up and disoriented and out of

formation and pointed in the wrong direction." Lando dodged the Lady Luck

around the shot-up wreck of a modified B-wing, and ran at top speed,

straight for Centerpoint Station. "I think we'll head for the north end of

Centerpoint, thank you very much. The end that doesn't fire interstellar

death rays." "But what about Admiral Ackbar? What's the rest of the plan?"

"Well, that's pretty simple too. When Admiral Ackbar does his precision

hyperspace jump, he'll land right on top of them, and they'll never know

what hit them. And our ships don't want to be sitting in the shooting

gallery." "When does he show up?" Lando checked the ship's navicomputer and

the chronometer. "Uh-oh," he said. "Right here. And right now." The piece of

empty space in front of them was suddenly ablaze with the flaring light of

starships coming in out of hyperspace, ships that were streaks of blazing

white, flashing into existence and screaming past the Lady Luck to either

side, over her, under her, so close that they could almost hear the

nonexistent winds of space rushing past them as the ships roared by. It was

an incredible sight, a beautiful sight-and a terrifying one. Lando clenched

his teeth and wrapped his hands around the flight stick. He held on for dear

life, forcing himself by sheer strength of will not to try to dodge the

oncoming ships, for fear of flying smack into one he did not see. And then

they were past, and then they were gone, And then Lando slowed the Lady to a

reasonable speed, and breathed. And then the war was over, for Lando, and

for Ten-dra. Gaeriel Captison was starting to feel the pain. Not in her

legs, of course, but everywhere else. Admiral Os-silege sat beside her,

barely conscious himself, bleeding badly. Gaeriel thought she could smell

something burning behind her. Not that such things mattered anymore, of

course. In spite of everything, somehow Ossilege had managed to open up the

control panel set into the side of his chair, the ship's self-destruct. He

had flicked up all of the safeties and pushed down all of the buttons. All

but the last. He was waiting, still waiting, still watching his tactical

displays. They were barely working, but they would not have to work well at

all to show him what he needed to see. "There!" he said. "There! Ships

coming in! They're here." "It's time, then," said Gaeriel. "You're a good

man, Admiral Ossilege. You did your duty. You held th em. You stopped them.

Well done." "Thank you, ma'am. I was-I was proud to serve with you." "And I

with you," she said. "But now it's time to go." She thought of her daughter,

Malinza, left all alone in the universe. She would be cared for, of that

Gaeriel had no fear. Perhaps-perhaps the universe would compensate for all

the sorrow of her young life, and bring her nothing but good as she grew

older. It was a comforting thought, Gaeriel decided. A good thought to go

out on. "I can't-I can't move my arm," said Ossilege. "I can't push the

button." "Here," said Gaeriel. She looked up and saw at least three Triad

ships were near. She smiled and reached over. "Here," she said again. "Let

me." The explosion lit the sky, tore a hole across the Triad fleet. For a

few glorious seconds a new light blazed up, a pillar of fire brighter than

all the stars in the sky. "Oh, sweet stars in the sky," said Tendra. "That

was the Intruder. They're gone. They're all gone. It's over." Lando looked

down at the ship chronometer again, then to Centerpoint Station, and then

toward the distant dot of light that was Drall. "No it isn't," he said. "But

in one minute and twenty seconds, it will be. Maybe for a lot of people."

"Antone!" Jaina shouted. "Now! Now! We have to do it now!'1 Technician

Antone came rushing back in, his eyes buiging out of his head. "I can't," he

said, and held up the datapad. "It's still running. The last part of the

problem is still running. It won't be done for another five minutes at

least. Twelve million people. Twelve million people." Antone sat down on the

floor and covered his head with his hands. "We're doomed!" Threepio moaned.

"If they control the starbuster, our enemies will destroy us all." Jacen

Solo stood riveted to the spot, his eyes as wide as they could be. Everyone

in the chamber was rooted to the spot. Twelve million people. They had one

chance to make this work, and it would fail because they couldn't give the

right numbers to a seven-year-old kid. "Wait a second," he said to himself.

"Who needs numbers?" He turned toward his brother, still seated at the

console. "Anakin," he said. "It felt too heavy, right? Can you fix it? Can

you close your eyes and feel it? Make it feel right, make it go right?"

"What are you saying?" Ebrihim asked. "You want him to guessl" "Not guess,"

said Jaina. "Feel. Reach out to it, Anakin. Let go of your conscious

feelings. Reach out with the Force." Anakin looked at his brother and his

sister, and swallowed hard, and then he shut his eyes. "Yeah," he said.

"Yeah." Eyes still closed, he held out his hands for controls that weren't

there, controls that took form under his hands even as he reached for them.

Glowing grids of orange and purple and green appeared and flared up and

vanished around his head, but Anakin did not see them. Deep beneath their

feet, a deep, determined vibration began to build. They heard the crash of

thunder from the repulsor, and the sound of power being gathered, of

unimaginable force being channeled and focused and held in ready. The

joysticklike control materialized, slithering up perfectly into

Anakin's'grasp. He pushed the control stick slowly forward, and a cube of

perfect blazing orange appeared before his still-closed eyes. He made tiny,

imperceptible adjustments with the controls, and the orange cube flickered

once and grew brighter. He held the stick forward for a long, long moment And then he pulled it down, as hard as he could. The chamber shuddered with

power, and a stream of lightning blazed down the corridor and out into the

chamber. They could not see it in the control chamber, except for Anakin,

who saw everything perfectly from behind closed eyes. But those on the

surface and those in space could see it. They could see the repulsor thunder

and roar with repressed power, power that seethed and pulsed and flickered

in its eagerness to be set free. They saw the power in that repulsor that

built up and up and up. And they saw it leap out of the repulsor chamber,

tear across space, land square on the south end of Centerpoint, just as

practically every countdown clock in space reached zero, just at the moment

Centerpoint was to fire. The South Pole lit up with the energy that was

supposed to stream out invisible, unseen, undetected, into hyperspace, was

supposed to reach out across space and murder a star. But the repulsor beam

broke up the opening into hyperspace, defocused the beam, detuned it enough

that some small part of its energy was converted into visible light. The

South Pole of Centerpoint began to glow, began to throb and pulse with its

own power. The glow spread, expanding outward, stretching itself out into a

magnificent bubble of light, harmless light, that lit the skies of all the

Corellian worlds, gleaming, shining, blooming, growing-and then guttering

down to nothing. Lando Calrissian watched it all from the North end of

Centerpoint, and started breathing again. He hadn't even realized he had

stopped. "Now," he said to Tendra. "Now, it's over."

EPILOGUE

Epilogue I don't even know why you were so eager to have my fleet come

here," said Admiral Ackbar in his grav-elly voice. He turned and regarded

Luke Skywalker through his goggly eyes. They were on Drall. as Ackbar had

been curious to inspect the repulsor. "There was hardly any work left for

rny ships to do-thanks to Ad miral Ossilege and Gaeriel Captison." "Thanks

to them, yes, sir," said Luke. Luke thought of Gaeriel, thought of her

daughter, Malinza. Luke had promised Malinza he would take care of her

mother. How was that debt to be paid? He thought of Ossilege, of the

difficult, impossible man who also had a knack for doing the difficult, the

impossible. "I will mourn them both for a long time to come. But we have

won. Thanks to them, and many others. And in large part thanks to those

three children, over there." Anakin and Jacen and Jaina were racing around,

climbing around the hummocks of dirt that the repulsor had forced up when it

had shoved its way out of the ground. They were being chased by a laughing

Jenica Sonsen and a Belindi Kalenda who was too busy making ferocious faces

to laugh. They were playing in the shadow of the repulsor. Once hidden

underground, the top of the cylinder now rose a hundred meters up out of the

ground. Han and Leia laughed out loud as their children turned the tables

and started chasing Sonsen and Kalenda. Mara watched the fun, smiling

quietly, and even Chewbacca was enjoying the show. Not far off, Ebrihim and

the Duchess Marcha were lounging on the ground, intent in conversation.

Judging by their eager, focused expressions, they were either talking over

some complicated matter of state or, more likely, dissecting some

particularly juicy bit of family gossip. It was probably the latter but Luke

hoped it was the former. The Duchess would need the practice. Lcia had told

Luke of her plan to appoint Marcha the new Governor-General of the Sector.

Dracmus sat by the two Drall, apparently so enthralled with their

conversation that she had fallen sound asleep. Luke heard a high-pitched

voice raised in protest behind him, answered by a rapid, high-pitched

twittering that sounded far from complimentary. He turned around to see

Artoo and Q9 at it again, bickering over some fine point of droid design or

other. Threepio was standing between them, trying to cairn them both down.

Luke had a feeling Threepio would meet with his usual degree of success.

"You know," he said, "it's the beings on this plain, the humans and the

Selonian and the Drall and the Wookiee and the droids right here. They're

the ones who won this war. Not the ships or the guns or the hardware."

"You're right, of course," said Admiral Ackbar. "But no one wins a war.

There are just different degrees of losing. The damage done on these worlds

is shocking. Shocking. It will take them many years to rebuild it all, to

sort out all the loose ends." Luke nodded. But at least some of the loose

ends were being tidied up already. Admiral Ackbar brought news of the arrest

of one Pharnis Gleasry, a self-styled agent of the Human League, part of the

spy ring that had sliced its way into far too many government files back on

Coruscant. It had taken very little to get Gleasry singing like a bird. The

whole Human League spy ring back in Coruscant had been scooped up and thrown

in jail where they belonged. There was, of course, the question of what to

do about the next star on the starbuster list. The short-term solution was

to de-imprint the repulsor controls so they could be used by someone over

seven, be ready with the right targeting numbers, and simply fire this

repulsor-or the one on Selonia--as needed. Once it was too little, and too

late, the Sacorrian Seionians had indeed caved in altogether. The long-term

solution was to get the shutdown codes from the Triad. As the Triad was in

an understandably cooperative mood-what with the New Republic occupation

troops already on the way-that didn't seem likely to be too much of a

problem. Someone had started the completely false rumor that the New

Republic Navy was going to re-aim Centerpoint straight at Sacorria's sun,

and leave it that way through all the starbuster pulses until they got the

shutdown code. The rumor might well encourage cooperation. And then there

was the whole question of studying Centerpoint, and the repulsors on the

other three worlds. Who had built the Corellian system, and when, and why,

and what had happened to them? Well, some ends were looser than others.

Those mysteries might easily take centuries to be solved-if they ever were.

There was one other loose end that Luke took a personal interest in. But he

had a feeling that it would get sorted out without undue delay. "You know,"

said Admiral Ackbar, "you said it was the people here who won this war. I

can't help noticing two rather prominent names that seem to be missing. They

were on the transport with us. Where in the world have they gone to?" Luke

smiled. He knew exactly where they were, but he had a feeling they were not

much in the mood for company. "I wouldn't worry too much, Admiral. They're

both the sort who are pretty good at taking care of themselves." "Lando?"

asked Tendra as they wandered about on the churned-up land that the rise of

the repulsor had produced. It was not the loveliest of landscapes, but it

did have the advantage of providing a good deal of privacy behind every

hummock and furrow of ground. "Yes?" Lando asked. "What is it?" Tendra had

found herself on top of a higher than usual clump of loose rock. Lando

offered his hand, and she took it, used it to steady herself as she slipped

and slithered down into the next little furrow of ground. He did not let go

of her hand once she was on level ground, and she did not let go of his.

"Remember how I told you that a Sacorrian woman is not allowed to marry

without her father's consent, no matter how old she is?" Lando felt a little

flutter in his chest, a flutter of fear, and excitement, and interest, all

mixed up together. "Yes," he said, managing to keep his voice steady. "What

about it?" "Well," she said, "there's just one thing. We don't have to do

anything about it immediately, but there's something more I want to tell you

about that law. An interesting legal technicality. It's been well

established by many precedents that a Sacorrian woman is not bound by that

law-(/she is outside the Sacorrian system. If she were on, oh, Drall for

example." "Is that so?" Lando asked, quickly regaining his old equilibrium.

The idea needed time, and thought-but he definitely liked it at first

glance. He smiled, and looked at her lovely face. "Is that a certifiable

fact?" he asked. "It is," she said, smiling right back at him. "Then why

don't we get back to the Lady Luck and discuss the whole matter over

dinner?" he asked. "I've always found legal technicalities to be downright

fascinating."

Table of Contents

book 3

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER E LE V E N

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN