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 smaller, 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 think." 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 somt>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 fall.
     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 summon 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 b< 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 the 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 than 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.
     ù'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 think 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 difference 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 droids 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 what 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
picked 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."
     ù'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 and 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  ù  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  assault  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 difficult 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  straightforward.  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."
     ù'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, and 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 talk 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 his~hand 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
gave 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, ù 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 the 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 could 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 with 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 in 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," said 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 real 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 them. 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."