Han, Chewbacca, and Salla Zend stood together on the windswept landing platform, watching Phantasm’s ramp extrude from the ship. Moments later a figure with long black hair appeared and started down the ramp. Spotting Han, she waved.
“That’s her, c’mon!” Han told Salla. Chewie was already loping forward, growling a friendly greeting.
“Solo!” the newcomer cried. “Chewbacca!”
“Xaverri!” Han called back, jogging toward her. It was so good to see her again!
When they reached each other, he grabbed her shoulders, but she flung her arms around him and hugged him, hard. Han hugged her back, but he carefully kissed her forehead, rather than her mouth. After Xaverri greeted Chewie with a big hug and a Wookiee head-rub, she turned back to Han and Salla. “Xaverri, I want you to meet Salla Zend,” Han said as the two women stood regarding each other. “Xaverri, this is Salla, smuggler and expert mechanic.”
“Hi, pleased to meet you!” Salla said, sticking out her hand.
“My pleasure,” Xaverri said, shaking hands. “Any friend of Solo’s is a friend of mine.”
Han was vastly uncomfortable. I’ve never had two girlfriends meet each other before, he thought. The Corellian wondered whether Xaverri would want to take up their relationship where they’d left off, months before. Salla, he knew, would likely take a dim view of that.
But, hey, she doesn’t own me, he thought defensively. It’s not like we’re married or anything.
Still, he was careful to walk beside Salla as he picked up Xaverri’s bag and they started across the permacrete of the landing field together.
Later, over flatbread and traladon-cheese appetizers at Han’s favorite Corellian eatery, he explained his plan to Xaverri.
When he’d finished, she regarded him searchingly. “Let me get this straight. You want me to create a holo-illusion of a whole bunch of smuggler vessels coming straight at these Imperial Capital-class ships. You want the illusion to be real enough, and last long enough, to cause the Imp vessels to be fooled into turning to fire on the fake fleet. Have I got it right?”
“That’s it,” Han said. As she’d detailed the plan, he’d realized just what he was asking. Xaverri had never created anything on this scale before. Probably no one had.
Xaverri shook her head, her long black hair sliding over her shoulders. “You don’t ask much, do you, Solo?”
“Hey,” Han said, trying to grin, “think of it as a challenge. Your greatest illusion ever!”
“Any holo-illusion requires projectors,” Xaverri said. “What can we use for them?”
“I was thinking we could get all the tri-dee projectors from the casinos,” Han said. “You know, the ones that they use to project shows onto the screens in the gambling areas, so people can watch the shows while they lose their shirts.”
Xaverri frowned. “Maybe,” she said. “But even if we could create the image of the fleet, the Imp sensors would tell them right away it was an illusion. They’d ignore it.”
“Maybe we could jam their sensors?” Salla suggested. “After all, we can jam transmissions going out. Isn’t there some way to jam what’s going in?”
The magician was looking at the smugglers with her eyes wide. “You know something,” she said, “I think I’m getting an idea …”
Han leaned forward. “Yeah? What?”
She sipped her drink, thinking, then replied, “I think we may be able to use the traffic-control buoys to send false data to the Imps. So they’ll see the holo-illusion, at the same time as their sensors pick up data that tells them what they’re seeing is real!”
Salla was excited. “Great! That sounds perfect!”
Xaverri smiled at her. “But I’ll need help building all this. Slicers to help reprogram the traffic-control buoys, techs to build the projectors for the illusion. Do you know any good slicers and techs?”
Salla grinned back and impulsively reached out a hand. The two women clasped hands over the table. “You bet I do, Xaverri,” the tall smuggler said. “Shug and I will help.”
Chewbacca let out a loud, emphatic roar that caused a passing wait droid to drop a food tray and scuttle back into the kitchen.
“Chewie says, include him in, too,” Han supplied the translation with a grin. “Xaverri … I know you probably gave up a fancy booking to come here and help us. I want you to know I—we—all appreciate it.”
“Hey, Solo, it’s a chance to hurt the Imperials,” the magician said. “How could I refuse?”
When Han and Chewie arrived for the promised big briefing of their combat pilots, they found most of the smuggler pilots and crews assembled in the auditorium of The Chance Castle. Mako was already onstage, exchanging jokes and jibes with his audience. When he saw Han and Chewie, the senior smuggler rapped his knuckles on the rostrum to get his audience’s attention.
“Okay, all of you, listen up!” he shouted.
Silence descended. “Listen good, you spacebums,” Mako said, the pride and affection in his voice as he regarded his troops taking away any possible sting from his words. “ ’cause your lives, and the lives of those you’re flyin’ with, may be at stake here.”
Mako paused, surveying them all, seeing that he did, indeed, have their full attention.
“Here’s how we’re gonna pull this little trick off. We can’t be sure when the Imps are going to attack, but we’ve got a pretty good idea of the battle plan they’ll follow. That’s ’cause the Imperial Navy has standard battle plans for just about any situation, and they’re trained to follow them, no matter what. Old Han here used to be an Imp officer, and he’ll back me up on this. Right, Han?”
Han walked out onto the stage and nodded exaggeratedly. “Mako’s right!” he shouted, because his voice wasn’t amplified the way Mako’s was. The senior smuggler motioned to the Corellian to come over and share the podium. Han did so.
“So, the standard plan for this kind of operation has them rendezvous and deploy fairly far out. If we’re lucky, we’ll pick them up on our sensors. If not, we may have to scramble to get to our ships. Everyone prepared to do that?”
All the smugglers agreed, with a shout, that they were prepared.
“Good,” Han said. “So they’re gonna deploy, maybe fix any last-minute problems. Then the Imps should make a microjump through hyperspace, so they’ll arrive pretty close to the far side of Nar Shaddaa, but well out of weapons range. By that time, we’ll be in our ships and launched. Each ship is gonna go to its hiding place among the debris, or lose itself in regular space traffic. A couple of smaller fighters, like Roa in his Lwyll, are gonna do recon. The bigger ships will fly false transponder codes, and the fighters will be either in cargo bays of the big freighters or clamped on to their hulls. The rest of us will just be innocent little spacers, and properly panicked when the Imps zoom into view. Right, gang?”
“Yeah! Right!” they yelled, loving the idea of getting the drop on the arrogant Imperial Navy.
Mako took over again. “Okay, at that point the Imps will send in their pickets for a quick look around.”
One of the captains in the front row waved a taloned paw. “What’s a picket, Mako?”
Han and Mako looked at each other and sighed.
“Sorry,” Mako said. “Pickets are the bigger recon ships and their recon TIE fighters, okay? We expect there will probably be two bigger recon ships, probably Carrack-class light cruisers. Each can carry four recon TIE fighters. Taken together, they’re called the pickets. Okay?”
“Okay!” yelled the smuggler.
Mako grinned evilly. “Now, the Imps aren’t expecting us to put up any kind of organized resistance, and we don’t want to disappoint them, do we, fellow sentients?”
“No!” shouted the smugglers.
“Okay, then. We want to keep the Imps where we want them, right?”
“Right!”
“Okay, then. To do that, we’ve got to show them exactly what they expect to see. That way we can predict what they’ll do, because they’ll follow those Imp guidelines I told you about. When the Imp Admiral sends in his recon ships and then the skirmish vessels, which will follow a few minutes behind the recon ships, he’ll be expecting us to think that this is the big attack.
“He’s going to sit back with his big Capital-class ships in their nice little regulation wedge, and he’ll expect this disorganized band of bozos to come out fighting with everything we’ve got, since we’re not smart enough to hold back. That Admiral is figuring we’ll take the recon pickets—the Carrack-class vessels—and the skirmish ships—most likely customs corvettes—to make up his whole attack force.”
“We’ll show ’em we’re not dumb!” yelled a smuggler from the back.
“That’s right, we’re gonna show ’em. What we’re gonna do is make it look like we’ve thrown everything we have against the first Imp ships to cruise up to Nar Shaddaa. That’ll be those recon ships and, approaching more slowly, the skirmish ships. Look here, and we’ll show you.”
Mako nodded at Han, and he took up the narrative, while Mako used a holographic image and pointer on the large tri-dee screen to illustrate the battle plan for their troops.
“All right,” Han said, “as you can see from Mako’s diagram, we’re gonna split up our ships into two groups, the First Strike Element and the Main Strike Element. The First Strike Element will be all the small ships without exceptionally heavy armament, plus a couple of the merc captains with those modified Customs patrol ships. So, listen up. I’m going to read the ship and captain names of the First Strike Element, while Mako puts your names up on the display.”
Han read off the list. “Okay, then. Before we’re through, you people will know where you have to go, and what you have to do, and when you have to do it. What we’re here for today, as we said, is to show you what part you’re going to play in the Big Picture.”
Mako handed Han the pointer, and then took over. “Okay, now for the Main Strike Element. That’s gonna be all our big ships, plus the freighters with heavy weapons, and the starfighter squadrons. We’ve got six Y-wings, some Cloak-shape fighters, and assorted types of Z-95 Headhunters. Here’s the list.”
As Mako read off the list of the Main Strike Element, Han kept augmenting the holographic display. Soon the huge tri-dee screen in the casino auditorium looked like an elaborate pattern of different colored lines and squiggles, interspersed with three-dimensional representations of ships.
“Okay, so now you people know which Strike Element you belong to. Anyone not know?”
Several newcomers raised their hands, or paws, or tentacles, and were hastily assigned to one or the other element. Mako then went on: “The First Element will attack first, just like it sounds. Stay in the pairs we’ve assigned you to, please! Two ships can cover each other and are more than twice as effective as two single ships!”
Han leaned close to the podium. “And, everyone … watch out for the turbolasers on the Imp cruisers. They can blast you out of space with one shot. Keep your ships dodging whenever you’re in range of the bigger Imp vessels. Got that?”
Mako resumed. “Remember, fellow smugglers, that mixed in with these bigger Imp recon and skirmish ships will be dozens of TIE fighters. They’re fast, real fast, and they have okay lasers, but they’re fragile. One good hit, and they’re blown to pieces. They’re too fast for a lock-on, so you’ll have to shoot by eye. Take your time and lead your targets. Since most of your freighters have some weapon that can shoot behind you, use that one to keep the TIEs off you while you hit the picket ships. You with me?”
“Yeah!” the crowd yelled. “Kill those TIEs!”
“Okay, so this is still early in the battle. We’re gonna hit the recon pickets with what they’re going to think is everything we’ve got. With luck, we’ll drive off a couple of these Imperial picket ships, kill some recon TIEs, maybe even disable one of the Carrack-class ships, though even Lando wouldn’t bet on our chances to do that.”
Mako paused for the general laugh this remark occasioned. Someone yelled at the young gambler, “Hey, Lando, what odds are you giving?”
Han took over again. “Somewhere in here the Imp commander will commit his lighter skirmish vessels, order them to increase to full speed and attack, ’cause he’s thinking that he’s seen all we’ve got, and now he’s going in for the kill. He’ll most likely hold the big cruisers back for now, saving them, planning to bring them in when he goes to strafe Nar Shaddaa. When the pickets, then the skirmish vessels, engage you, it’s critically important for everyone to stay in your assigned position! Here’s where you get your chance to hit them hard from one side to overload a shield. Then you or your partner can score some damage and then both of you get out! Those of you with missiles or torpedoes can really hurt these light Customs corvettes.”
Han gave his troops a long, serious look. “Guys, by now it’ll be pretty confused up there; civilian ships caught up in this’ll be trying to run, and all of our lighter stuff except the fighters will be mixing it up with the Imps. Don’t lose track of what’s going on! Stay in position! Stay focused! Be sure to keep someone on your ship listening to the comm for instructions, in case we have to move you off your assigned positions. You got that?”
“Yeah, we got it!” came a few voices. Han put on a very shocked face and cupped his ear.
“Hey, am I gettin’ old and going deaf, or what? I asked if you guys got that?”
“Yeah! We GOT it!” they yelled, much more forcefully.
“That’s better,” Mako said, taking over again. “Okay, let’s move on. Frankly, fellow sentients, we’re expecting you to clean up on the Imp picket and skirmish ships; we’ll have the advantage of numbers and this is our home ground. We’re expecting to kill at least half of them, which is gonna surprise the blazes out of that Imp Admiral. But when he gets over being shocked and upset—and has gained a little more respect for us—”
Mako paused dramatically, and the hall was filled with shouts of “Oh, yeah!” and “We’ll teach him some respect!”
“We sure will!” Han yelled, then stood back to let Mako continue.
“Okay, but this Imp Admiral ain’t gonna stand there with his jaw dropped for very long, I hate to tell you. No, what he’s gonna do is think, ‘How DARE they?’ and he’ll send in his heavy Capital-class ships. We can expect at least two or three big bulk cruisers, with maybe a Dreadnaught or two to help. These big boys will have thicker shields and armor, and more and bigger guns. Frankly, fellow sentients, we’ve only got a handful of ships that are even capable of challenging ’em, let alone hurting them.”
A considerably sobered silence fell over their audience. Han had worried that at this point they might lose them, but nobody got up and left, much to his relief.
“But,” Mako said, “here’s the trick. If we can really hurt even one or two of those heavies, the Imps will almost certainly withdraw, since they won’t be able to complete their job, and it’s standard Imperial doctrine to cut your losses and run if you can’t win.”
“So how do we hurt them, Mako?” yelled a human smuggler.
“Good question. We’ve worked out a strategy that we think will do the trick. Listen closely, guys. When those big guys come at us, we’ll pretend to give way. I’ll pass the word over the comm to fall back between Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta. But by Doellin’s halter, don’t everyone turn in formation and zoom away the instant the Imp cruisers attack! No, we’ve got to make this look good, or the Imps’ll get suspicious!”
“So what do we do?” yelled one wag—a Bothan. “Hang around and invite them over for a drink?”
Mako glared at his heckler. “Get serious, clown. What we’re tellin’ you to do is to fall back, but do it like it was your own idea, not following orders. Turn tail and run like terror-stricken rabble, that’s just fine. We want them to chase you. Got that?”
“Yeah!” they yelled.
“Hey,” yelled the wag, “we can fake bein’ scared, specially if we are!”
Laughter followed.
“Okay, good,” Mako said, “right around here”—he used the pointer to indicate a point in space close to Nar Shaddaa, on a straight line between the moon and the planet—“we’re going to have our own big ships waiting. And we have a little surprise for our Imperial friends.” He turned and gestured into the wings of the stage. “Xaverri, please step out here.”
Xaverri came out onto the stage, dressed in a pilot’s coverall. Her black hair was braided tightly to her head, and she wore little makeup. Han had suggested she wear her stage magician’s costume for this part of the presentation, but she had demurred. “No, Han. If they’re going to trust me and what I can do, I want to seem like one of them.”
“Pilots and crews … I want to introduce you to Xaverri. She’s the person who’s going to win this battle for us. Some of you already know her. For those of you who don’t know her, let me tell you that she’s the best in the galaxy at what she does. What she does is make illusions. Xaverri?”
With a graceful wave of her hand, Xaverri suddenly made the lights in the auditorium flicker, then, without warning, the air was filled with Kayven whistlers. The trick was part of her act, but even Han, who was expecting it, had trouble not ducking when one of the vicious flying creatures swooped directly at his head.
The audience of smugglers yelled and ducked, then when Xaverri made the whistlers disappear with a second wave of her hand, they broke into spontaneous applause.
Mako led the crowd in clapping and stomping his feet in appreciation. Xaverri stood there, smiling serenely, but not taking a bow.
“She’s good, guys,” Mako said. “And just for us, Xaverri is going to create her masterpiece. When we’ve got the big Imp ships here, where we want them”—he pointed to the spot again—“Xaverri is going to create the illusion that a really big fleet is coming at the Imps from the direction of Nal Hutta. Then, when the Imp ships turn to fire their forward guns at this phantom fleet, that’s when we’ll hit ’em in the flank and from the rear with everything we’ve got!”
Cheering broke out from the crowd.
Han stepped forward when the noise died down. “Just to let you know, Captain Renthal and her big ships will be waiting with Mako and the Main Strike Element. Captain Renthal”—he turned and extended a hand to her where she sat in the front row, a big, squarish woman with pale skin and close-cropped red-and-gold-striped hair—“please stand up.”
The smugglers clapped for her, too, which was surprising, because some of them had undoubtedly run afoul of Renthal’s Fist or other ships in her pirate fleet.
“Captain Renthal, your big ships will have to clear the path for your Y-wings, and our fighters and strike ships. Any of the smaller Imp cruisers between our force and the flanks of those Capital-class ships will be your target. Your heavy turbolasers and proton torpedoes must knock them out. We can’t make a run on heavy cruisers if we’re having to dodge fire from too many directions at once,” Mako said, for the benefit of the audience. He and Han had already gone over every part of the battle plan with Renthal many times.
Drea Renthal nodded. “I’ll do my part,” she said, in a clear, strong alto. “I was hired to keep the Imps from getting near Nal Hutta. After seeing your battle plan, I agree that this is the best way to accomplish that.” She turned to face the smugglers. “So you can count on me and my fleet to fight with you all the way!”
More cheers. Renthal pumped her fist in the air, and the crowd went wild.
“Okay,” Han continued when the noise had died down a bit, “the fighters without missiles or torpedoes will serve as escorts. You guys have got to keep those TIEs off us while we make our run.” The Corellian waved at the remainder of the smugglers. “The rest of us will go in and target one or two of the heavy cruisers. When the time comes, Mako will give you your orders. We’ll have to get in as close as we can to their rear and then let them have it with a concentrated volley right into the engines. Don’t hold back, let them have every bit of firepower you’ve got!”
Cheers broke out again from the crowd. Obviously, the realization that they’d have help from Xaverri’s illusion, and a well-armed pirate fleet, had lifted the smugglers’ spirits.
“Okay, fellow sentients,” Mako said, “one more thing. If what we’re tryin’ for here works, you clear out fast! Those cruisers make a pretty big explosion. You don’t want to get caught in it, right?”
“Right!” they roared.
“And …” Mako finished up, “if this doesn’t work …” He shrugged. “Well, we’ll just have to keep trying. It’s not like we can just give up and go away.”
The crowd regarded him, alert but sobered by his final words.
Han stepped back up to the podium. “Okay,” he said. “That’s the plan. We’ll go over it until you’ve got it down pat. Any questions?”
To Han’s amazement, over the next several days, Xaverri and Salla became the best of friends. He and Mako were busy staging repeated battle drills for their pilots and crews on the Nar Shaddaa defense squadron, so he didn’t have much time to hang out at Shug’s spacebarn, but every time he did go there, he found Salla and Xaverri working together on creating the illusionist’s “masterpiece.”
“It’ll only be good for about a two- or three-minute distraction, Solo,” Xaverri warned. “They’re going to see these ships swooping at them, real close, and they’re going to see data that corresponds to their visual sightings appear on their instrument panels. But I want these ships to appear close, so their reaction will be to turn all their vessels to bring their forward guns into play. That makes them vulnerable to your flank attack.”
Xaverri took a sip from a cup of stim-tea Han had brewed for Shug, Salla, Chewie, Jarik, and the other technician volunteers who were working on making Xaverri’s illusion a “reality.” “But these ships are going to appear such a threat because they’re going to be close. Within a couple of minutes, when the Imps realize that none of them has been hit by the blasts they’re seeing emanate from those ships, they’ll realize it’s a fake.”
Han nodded. “A minute or three is all we can ask for, Xaverri. We’ll be really grateful for that diversion. We’ve contacted the pirate captain the Hutts hired. Drea Renthal. Her flagship, Renthal’s Fist, is gonna be hiding ‘behind’ Nar Shaddaa—that is, on the Nal Hutta side of the moon—along with the rest of her fleet. When those Capital-class ships come swinging around the moon, then turn to face your illusionary fleet, she and Mako are going to hit them hard.”
Jarik Solo wiped tiredly at his dirty face with an even filthier hand. “Han, what’s the strength of that merc fleet? Are they gonna be much help?”
Han nodded. “Yeah, Jarik. Renthal’s Fist is a Corellian corvette. She’s heavily modified, and heavily armed. Even has proton torpedo launchers in the front. Only problem is, they don’t have many torpedoes. Renthal can’t afford to miss.”
“How many other ships?” Xaverri wanted to know.
“Renthal also has a bulk freighter, Golden Dreams, that’s been converted to carry fighters. SoroSuub medium transport. Big ship. Not much shielding, though. She’ll launch her Z-95 Headhunters, then hang back, letting Renthal’s Fist carry the attack. Then there’s the Too Late Now and the Minestra. Too Late Now is a captured Imp patrol craft. Renthal replaced one of the laser turrets with an ion cannon, so hopefully she can knock out some of those bulk cruisers. Minestra is a Rendili Stardrive light corvette. Nice ship, modified so she has concussion missiles and ion cannons to go with her laser turrets.”
“That sounds like a pretty good force to me,” Xaverri said. “Of course, I barely know the difference between an ion cannon and a concussion missile.”
“When I first started smuggling, I barely did, too,” Salla said with a laugh. “But when the Imp patrols start shooting at you with ’em, you find yourself getting real knowledgeable real fast.”
The two women smiled at each other. Han still couldn’t get over how quickly they’d become friends. To tell the truth, he was a bit jealous. In many ways, Salla and Xaverri seemed closer to each other than either woman had ever been to him. He wondered whether they’d ever talked to each other about him. Compared notes, maybe?
The thought made his face redden. Jarik provided a welcome distraction. “Hey, Han … can I talk to you a minute?”
Han gulped the last of his stim-tea and stood up. “Sure, Jarik. Want to go into Shug’s office so we can be out of the way?”
“Yeah,” the youth said. “If we try to talk here, someone will run over us with an anti-grav lifter or something!”
The spacebarn was a hive of activity. Everywhere smugglers were fixing up their ships, in some cases modifying them, trying to squeeze extra speed out of their engines, or adding an extra quad laser or missile launcher.
Han and Jarik walked by Salla’s Rimrunner, and waved to Shug when he raised his face shield to wipe his sweating face. Han stopped to cup his hands around his mouth and shouted up at the master mechanic. “Looks good, Shug! You and Salla are sure gonna give those Imps a rude surprise!”
Whenever they weren’t working on helping Xaverri create her master illusion, Salla and Shug, with Rik Duel’s help, had been modifying Rimrunner, installing a pair of camouflaged concussion missile launchers in the stern. Salla’s smuggling ship was a CorelliSpace Gymsnor-4-class light freighter and, like virtually every smuggling ship in the business, was heavily modified. The ship looked rather like a flying wing or—if you wanted to be insulting and gain a punch in the nose from Salla—a mynock. Rimrunner was a fast, agile ship, and Salla was an excellent pilot. Han was counting heavily on her during the coming battle.
He knew that Salla would be in a much better position to do serious damage to the Imperial ships than he would. The Bria was a decent little ship, but nowhere near as fast as the Millennium Falcon or the Rimrunner. She was more lightly armed, too.
When Han and Jarik reached Shug’s office, they had to clear several odds and ends of greasy equipment off the chairs before they could sit down. Once they were comfortable, Han sighed. “Glad you wanted to have a talk, kid. This is the first time I’ve sat down all day, seems like. Organizing this battle has kept me and Mako hopping.”
“Yeah, I’ve been busy, too,” Jarik said. “When I wasn’t busy helping the Lady Xaverri, I’ve been helping Chewie with the Bria, or Shug with the Rimrunner.”
“Shug tells me you’re gettin’ to be a pretty good mechanic, Jarik,” Han said. “And you’re becoming a decent pilot and gunner. I’m going to be glad to have you flying with me as a gunner. Chewie’s good, but two gunners are more than twice as good as one.”
“Han … that’s … that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Jarik’s handsome young features were shadowed. “I … I’ve never been in a battle before.” He swallowed. “Last night, I fell asleep while I was cleaning carbon scoring off the Bria, and I … I had this dream. Nightmare, really.”
“Yeah? What about?”
“I dreamed we were fighting the Imperials, and”—he swallowed—“Han … we got blown up. I had a TIE in my sights, and I … I froze. I didn’t shoot. And then I saw the streak of green from the laser blast coming straight at me, and there was nothing I could do. I dreamed that I … died.”
Jarik’s face worked. He shivered. “Han … I’m scared. I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes. What if I mess up, and get us all killed, the way I did in my dream?”
“Jarik,” Han said, “if you weren’t scared, I’d be worried about you. The first time I went into real combat, as a TIE pilot, I was so scared I nearly upchucked in my helmet. Fortunately, I was already strapped in my cockpit, in vacuum, so I knew that if I did that, I’d choke and die. So I managed to hold it back. Then someone shot at me, and without even thinkin’ about it, I found myself shootin’ back. The training just … took over.”
“Really?” Jarik looked as though he didn’t know whether to find Han’s story reassuring or not. “But, Han … everyone says you’re brave. It’s the first thing they say about you—‘He’s got courage!’ Nobody ever told me I had courage. What if I’m a coward? How can I risk letting you all down?”
Han gave the youth a long, measuring look. “Jarik, you’re facin’ something that we all have to face. We’re not citizens here on Nar Shaddaa. We live outside the law, and that’s dangerous, by definition. Cowards don’t make it here on Nar Shaddaa. They get eaten alive.”
“Well, yeah, I can handle myself with a vibroblade or in a fistfight,” Jarik allowed. “But that’s not the same thing as just being blown to atoms. Boom, and you’re history.”
“Kid, I’ve watched you, and I can only tell you that I think you’ve got what it takes. Yeah, people do freeze sometimes in battle. But that’s why Mako and I have been gettin’ everyone out in their ships for all these battle drills.”
Han shrugged. “We did the same thing when I was with the Imps. You drill and you drill, and the reason for that is that anyone can freeze when faced with real combat. Even combat vets. But if you know the drill cold, chances are that even if your brain freezes, your hands and body won’t. They’ll go on autopilot, keep on doing what you’ve been drilled to do, even though your mind ain’t giving ’em instructions for a few seconds.
“But then, if you’ve drilled well, and know your stuff cold—and, kid, you know your stuff, I’ve watched you—then your brain is gonna click back in. The fear will still be there, but you’ll be able to work past it, around it. It won’t slow you down anymore. You’ll just keep on doing what you gotta do. And you’ll be all right.”
Jarik wet his lips. “But … what if I don’t? Maybe you should get another gunner, Han. I’d rather die than let you down.”
“If you want me to, I will, kid,” Han said. “But I’d rather have you. I know you, we work well together. We’ve drilled together. But it’s your decision. Just let me know, okay?”
The youth nodded. “Thanks. I’ll … think … about it.”
Han gave him a pat on the shoulder as he walked by. “Get some sleep, kid. We’re all gettin’ a little worn down.”
Jarik gave the Corellian a wan smile. “Okay, Han.”
Lando Calrissian hated getting dirty, but he was growing accustomed to it. Readying the Millennium Falcon for serious combat was a grimy, greasy job, but somebody had to do it. Last week, Shug had helped him find and install a “new” gun turret on the Falcon’s starboard side, aft of the cockpit, just above the boarding ramp. But there was still a lot to do. Han, Chewie, and Salla would have helped him, he knew that, but they were tied up either helping Xaverri prepare her holo-illusion, or fixing up their own ships.
Lando gathered that Xaverri and Han were a thing of the past. As he used a hydrospanner to tighten up the bolts on the new quad laser mounting, the young gambler found himself thinking about Xaverri. She was certainly a very fine woman, intelligent, attractive, sharp dresser, good sense of humor—all qualities Lando found irresistible. He wondered whether she’d have any interest in taking up with him where she and the Corellian had left off. It was obvious that she liked rogues and scoundrels, or she’d never have had a relationship with the Corellian.
Maybe I should try growing a mustache, Lando thought. Might give me a … rakish … air. The corners of the gambler’s mouth curved upward. Perhaps Xaverri would be interested in traveling with him, when this was all over.
Lando was considering going back to the Oseon system. He had a couple of moneymaking schemes he wanted to try. And he needed to sharpen his already considerable sabacc skills. There was a big high-stakes sabacc championship scheduled to be played on Bespin’s Cloud City in about six months. Lando very much wanted to play in that championship. But he’d need to raise a considerable stake to qualify, and the easiest, quickest way to do that was to head back for the Oseon. Things were looser there …
And it would be very agreeable, Lando decided, to have a lovely lady traveling companion.
Only problem was … was Xaverri still in love with Han? And how would Han feel about having his former girlfriend take up with his best buddy?
Well, Lando amended, his best human buddy. Han’s best friend was indubitably Chewbacca …
Immersed in fantasies of himself and Xaverri wining and dining in the finest resorts of the Oseon system, Lando managed to whack the knuckles of his other hand with the hydrospanner. Cursing, he started to suck the injured digits, but his hand was so dirty, he desisted.
“Master?” Vuffi Raa said, emerging from beneath the Falcon’s belly. The little droid carried various tools in each of his five-armed, tentacle-digited limbs. Its single red eye stared up at Lando. “Master, what happened?”
Still wishing he could suck his injured knuckle, Lando gritted, “Vuffi Raa, how many times have I told you not to call me ‘Master’!”
“Five hundred and sixty-two times, Master,” replied the little droid promptly.
Lando snarled. “I just whacked my knuckle, that’s all, you little junkheap. I’ll be all right. Let’s get back to work. We have to have the Falcon spaceworthy by tonight. Mako’s calling for another drill.”
“Very well,” Vuffi Raa said.
“Hey, Vuffi Raa?” Lando called.
Already on his way back under the ship, the little droid paused. “Yes, Master?”
Lando let the title slide this time. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay piloting the Falcon during this battle?”
“It will strain my circuitry, Master, because, as you know, I am programmed not to cause harm to living—especially sentient—beings. However, since you will be the one doing the shooting, I believe I can manage to fly. Just don’t order me to ram another vessel. Then I will be unable to comply.”
“I should hope not!” Lando exclaimed. “All right, little vacuum cleaner, back to work.”
“Yes, Master.”
Han and Mako had told almost no one the actual time that Greelanx was planning to attack. Some of the smuggler “High Command” knew that Han and Mako knew the timing of the operation, but they accepted the two ex-Imperials’ decision that it would be better for most of the smugglers not to know.
Lando, Shug, Salla, Rik Duel, Blue, and Jarik … all of them were aware that one of the times they went out on a drill, it would wind up being the real thing. The other smugglers did not know.
Han and Mako had to be careful in drilling their troops. They didn’t want the smugglers to get bored and lax, which might happen if they drilled too much. On the other hand, they knew that their smuggler squadron would need lots of practice. The key to having a fighting chance to defeat the Imperial fleet was for the smugglers to stick with the battle plan Mako and Han had devised.
The smugglers of Nar Shaddaa were all rugged individualists, unused to doing anything as part of a large, orchestrated group. “It’s like tryin’ to herd vro-cats,” Han told Xaverri wearily. “They keep thinkin’ they know better, and they want to question every blasted decision we make. What a pain in the rear!”
“Yes, but the last time you called a formation drill,” Xaverri pointed out, trying to encourage him, “they got into position and made their runs in one-third of the time it took them to do it the first time.”
“Yeah,” Han agreed with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. He sighed. “But it’s giving me gray hairs, honey.”
She grinned, and pretended to inspect his scalp. His hair was still very short from his visit to Admiral Greelanx. “Nope,” she announced, after a minute, “I don’t see any.”
He grinned back at her tiredly. “Well, I got gray hairs growin’ internally, then.”
She patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Solo. We’ll get through this.”
“I hope so,” he said. “And, Xaverri, honey?”
“Yes?”
“I want to thank you for comin’ here to help us. Without you, we wouldn’t have a chance.”
She gave him a roguish smile. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Just meeting Salla has made it all worthwhile.”
“Yeah, I noticed that you two have gotten real chummy,” Han said warily. “So … what do you two talk about while you’re laughin’ and workin’ together, anyhow?”
She chuckled. “You egotistical spacebum, Solo! You think we’re talking about you, don’t you?”
Han shook his head. “Me? Of course not!”
“Oh, yes, you do!” She laughed at his discomfiture. “Admit it, Solo!”
Han steadfastly refused to admit it. But inwardly he was wondering when this was all over, if he’d be able to take up with Salla where they’d left off. He’d seen Lando eyeing both Xaverri and Salla, and he knew Calrissian wouldn’t hesitate to move in on her if he thought Salla was looking around.
Did Salla really care about him? The way Xaverri and Bria had? He didn’t know. They never talked about that kind of thing. They had fun, good times, and they worked well together. Any discussion of inner feelings or a future together had never come up, by, Han suspected, mutual consent.
How did he feel about Salla, anyway?
Han wasn’t sure. Most of the time he was too busy to give the subject any consideration. He knew for a fact that he wasn’t ready to do what Roa was doing …
As he was sitting there in Shug’s spacebarn, Chewie came over to him and growled a reminder. Han looked up. “Oh! The briefing? I lost track of time!”
Quickly he and the Wookiee hastened back to The Chance Castle to the auditorium. Time for another run-through, so they could make sure each smuggler understood his, her, or its role in their strategy …
Two hours later Han caught up with Shug Ninx as the smugglers filed out of the auditorium. The half-blood was walking with Salla Zend. When Han caught up with them, Salla grabbed Han’s arm and squeezed it, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You were great,” she said. “You’re always great, Han. I swear, you’re a natural leader.”
The Corellian grinned, a little abashed. “Who, me?”
They walked out, and Shug said, “When’s the next drill?”
“Don’t know,” Han lied. “Mako will call this one. Is the Rimrunner ready? The holo-projectors in place? The traffic buoys ready?”
“Ready,” Shug confirmed. “I tell you, Han, when this is all over, if I’m not dead, I’m going to sleep for a week.”
Salla punched her friend’s arm. “Don’t talk like that, it’s bad luck!”
“Did you find a rear gunner?” Han asked.
“Yeah, Rik volunteered to handle those rear missile launchers,” Salla said. “He says he’s a good gunner.”
“He’s right,” Han said. “But … don’t leave him alone in your ship, loan him money, or give him the security access codes to anything you value, okay?”
Salla grinned. “Yeah, we’ve been warned about him. Light-fingered even with his own kind, right?”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Han said. “Did I tell you we’ve got some good news?”
“No, what?”
“Mako had been planning to command the resistance from Renthal’s Fist. But a couple of days ago we realized we’d got lucky. Guess who got so wrapped up in motherhood that she forgot to send a pilot to bring her yacht back to Nal Hutta? And guess whose calls to her favorite pilots have somehow failed to go through, because communications between Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa are so overloaded these days?”
Salla began to grin. “You mean the Dragon Pearl is still here?”
“Yeah. And unlike her nephew, Jabba, Jiliac’s conscientious about keeping her combat-ready. She’s got six Headhunters, and we’ve checked ’em out. All in prime working order. We’ve got pilots for ’em, too. Plus a gunnery crew for Mako, and we talked Blue into piloting. Her ship is too slow to help us out much, but she’s a good pilot, too good to be wasted. That way Mako can concentrate on his tactical screens, keepin’ track of everything.”
Shug whistled softly. “That yacht will be a big help. Not too great on armor, but nice weaponry and good shields.”
“But if it gets shot up, Jiliac is going to have somebody’s hide for a wall decoration …” Salla mused. “I guess we have to take the chance, though. We need every bit of firepower we have.”
“Well, we’re keepin’ it quiet about who is actually gonna be aboard Dragon Pearl,” Han said. “And if Mako has to take a nice long vacation on Smuggler’s Run while Jiliac gets over it, he says he’s prepared to do that.” He grinned. “Blue promised him she’d make his stay … interesting.”
Shug shook his head, and Salla snorted. “I’ll just bet she will!”
Clad in a pilot’s pressurized flight suit, Roa stood on the permacrete of the landing pad, looking down at the beautiful blond woman who stood before him, tears in her eyes. “Take it easy, Lwyll,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
“Please …” she said, clutching his forearms with her hands, “please come back to me, Roa. Life wouldn’t be worth much without you.”
“I promise I’ll come back,” the older smuggler vowed. “The Lwyll is a good ship. She’ll take care of me, just like you would. That’s why I named her that.”
He leaned over and gave her a kiss. “Besides, this is just another drill, honey. You’ve come out here and kissed me good-bye eight times now, and I’ve always been back within half an hour or so. This is just like that.”
She nodded, but a tear broke loose and slid down her cheek. “I love you, Roa.”
“And I love you, Lwyll. I’m coming back, honey. I’m going to go straight. And we’re going to get married. You’ll see. It’ll be all right.”
She nodded. “Okay. You’d better go.”
“Right. Don’t want to be late for the drill!”
Grinning, Roa hoisted his stocky form up into the cockpit of the Lwyll, a modified Redthorn-class scoutship, fast and maneuverable, but lightly armed with only forward-firing triple lasers. The little ship looked like a needle-pointed cylinder, with a stubby delta wing. Almost as fast as a TIE fighter, the Lwyll possessed an overwhelming advantage in a dogfight—she had shields.
Roa looked down at his bride-to-be, standing on the permacrete, waving to him, and he grinned down at her, then gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Then he checked his instruments, strapped himself in, and put on his helmet. In order to achieve maximum speed and power to his weaponry, he’d elected to forgo diverting power to life support.
Easing forward on the throttle, then activating the belly thrusters, he sent his little ship climbing, climbing, up and away. Glancing down, he tried to make out Lwyll’s bright head, but she was lost in the distance.
Quickly Roa headed out for his assigned coordinates. He was one of the few pilots who was not assigned to fly with a partner. His assignment was to use the Lwyll’s fast speed to reconnoiter the movements of the Imperial fleet. He had a special channel that allowed him to report back to Mako.
As the atmosphere thinned around him, and the sky changed from blue-gray to cobalt, then to black, speckled with stars, Roa relaxed. He’d always loved to fly, and the Lwyll was a joy to handle, quick and responsive.
Roa headed for his assigned coordinates, swooping past the limb of Nar Shaddaa, and reached them in only a few minutes’ flight time. As he approached his station, he anticipated hearing his headphones come to life with Mako’s message that he’d heard so often before: “All ships, return to base. This was a drill. All ships return to base after completing your drill …”
Seconds later, as expected, the aging smuggler heard Mako’s voice: “Attention. Attention. All you spacebums, listen up. This is it. The Imps have appeared on our sensors. This is it. This is not a drill. Repeat, not a drill. This is the real thing, kiddies. Prepare to engage the enemy.”
Roa’s eyes widened. Huh? Not a drill?
As Mako’s voice faded from his hearing, Roa stared, taut with fear, as the Imperial vessels popped out of hyperspace …