Twelve
Ben Skywalker sat stunned and shaken, trying to figure out what he had just felt. It had come to him through the Force, a blast of alarm and determination and hope so powerful it had stolen his breath, and then … nothing. No wave of searing pain, no tearing in the Force, no reaching out in farewell, just a cold emptiness in the place in his heart where he usually carried his father.
“Ben?” Tahiri Veila’s voice came from close beside him, urgent and confused. “Ben!”
A hand punched his shoulder, then pointed into the blue miasma beyond the cockpit. A pear-shaped ball of rock and ice came spinning into view, as large as a mountain and so close that Ben could have leapt onto it from the nose of their little Miy’tari Scout. It was the third asteroid to emerge from the plasma in as many minutes, and a barely perceptible gravity field suggested the cloud concealed hundreds more. Ben used the craft’s maneuvering thrusters to ease the Miy’tari backward, navigating as much by Force and feel as by sight and sensor, his gaze dancing from the luminescent murk beyond the canopy to the infrared display to the StealthX distress beacon blinking on the navigation screen.
“What was that?” huffed Tahiri. She was in her early thirties and had wavy blond hair, piercing green eyes, and a trio of faint scars on her brow—relics of being tortured by the Yuuzhan Vong when she was only fourteen years old. “This is no time to be daydreaming.”
“Sorry,” Ben said. “I just felt … I don’t know what. But it was bad.”
“Bad?” Tahiri asked. “Be specific, Skywalker.”
“It was my father,” Ben said. “Something happened to him. I felt it.”
“Something as in … dead?”
“How would I know?” Ben asked. He wanted to shout, but that was his fear working on him, trying to rob him of his ability to think and act. “I felt a wave of alarm and … I guess, hope. Then I didn’t feel anything. He just isn’t there.”
Tahiri’s face went neutral—a bad sign. She was trying to hide her feelings.
“That could mean a lot of things,” she said. “And right now we don’t have time to worry about any of them.”
She turned her eyes forward again, and he followed her gaze out into the blue fog beyond the canopy.
“That’s going to be hard,” he said.
“I know it is,” Tahiri said. “But we have our own mission, Ben, and our own problems. Whatever has happened to your father, you know what he expects of you.”
Ben took a deep breath, centering himself. A Jedi couldn’t lose focus, not when that would endanger him, his mission partner, and everyone counting on them.
Finally he nodded and checked his sensor display. Nothing.
“Our sensors are as blind as I am,” Ben said. “This would be a lot easier if we could go active.”
Tahiri’s voice turned mocking. “You think?” she asked. “Fighting a close-quarters pirate assault would be easier than dodging a few asteroids?”
“Well, it would be faster,” Ben said, shrugging. “And more satisfying.”
A shadow appeared to starboard, a nugget of darkness that rapidly began to swell as it tumbled through the foggy luminescence. Ben eased off the thrusters and watched as the nugget became a boulder and the boulder a monolith. He would have felt a lot more confident of being able to avoid trouble had he been using the Miy’tari’s ion drives rather than its maneuvering thrusters. But even through the plasma cloud, the drives would light up the sensor arrays of anyone lurking in ambush.
Finally, their R9 astromech droid—Ninette—tweedled an alert and displayed the asteroid’s projected course on the navigation screen. Ben came to a dead stop, then watched in awe as a three-kilometer mass of pure, dark nickel–iron tumbled across their travel vector.
Almost immediately, the hair on his arms stood on end. He double-checked the asteroid’s projected course on the navigation screen. Seeing no indication that Ninette had misjudged either its size or course, he scanned the plasma cloud for more shadows. He saw none, but the hair on his arms started to prickle. He glanced over at Tahiri and found her staring out the forward canopy, her expression blank and distant.
“You feel that?” he asked.
Her gaze dropped toward the deck, and she nodded. “Coming up under us.”
Ben fired the thrusters again and rolled the Miy’tari ninety degrees up on its side—then cringed when he saw a ball of speeder-sized durelium crystals whirling up beneath them. He slid the power glides forward and pulled the yoke back, and the scoutboat slid forward, the nickel–iron asteroid now seeming to drop away beneath its belly.
They had barely cleared the asteroid before an irregular circle of shadow appeared ahead and began to swell in their forward canopy. Ninette chirped a navigation alert, and Ben looked down to discover that they were now traveling directly toward Ohali Soroc’s distress signal. It was impossible to tell whether the source of the signal was floating free or coming from the surface of an asteroid, but the signal was growing rapidly stronger.
Ben brought the Miy’tari to a dead stop, then said, “I think we’ve found the crash site.”
“What makes you think Jedi Soroc crashed, Ben?”
“Sorry,” Ben said, realizing he was speaking as though they were responding to a mere accident. “It appears we’ve found the source of the distress signal.”
Tahiri nodded. “That much I agree with,” she said. “Let’s see if anyone else is here.”
Ben checked the sensor display just long enough to identify the drifting masses of half a dozen nearby asteroids, then carefully began to extend his Force awareness to the surrounding area. He kept expecting to feel a sudden prickle of danger sense racing down his spine. He and Tahiri had been searching for Ohali Soroc for weeks without finding any hint of her or her StealthX, so it seemed very suspicious to have the signal activate just after they had sent a message to the Jedi Council reporting their decision to break off the search and go to Sarnus.
Ben was far from surprised to feel the dim, hungry presences of a dozen hunters waiting patiently for their prey to arrive—and apparently unaware that their prey was now stalking them. He reached out more strongly in the Force, taking careful note of the position and mood of each of the presences that he felt.
After a minute, Ben said, “I have three groups of four beings, arranged at seventy-five, a hundred eighty, and two hundred ninety degrees, surrounding the distress beacon.”
“Same here,” Tahiri said. “It feels like they’re in two-seat fighters, two craft at each spot, just waiting for someone to respond to Ohali’s distress signal.”
Ben thought for a moment, then nodded. “And none of them feel like Force-users,” he added. They had found no reason so far to suspect Sith involvement in Ohali’s disappearance. But because their initial mission in the area had been to investigate a Ship sighting on the planet Ramook, they were being careful to avoid excluding the possibility. “Those pirates—or whatever they are—don’t even know we’re here.”
“Then we’d better keep it that way,” Tahiri said. “So far, the plasma is masking us fairly well, but this thing is hardly a stealth fighter. Let’s shut down everything we can, then try to look like a hunk of nickel–iron asteroid.”
Ben frowned. “And do what?”
“The same thing as the pirates,” Tahiri said. “Wait. It’s the only way to figure out what they’re after.”
Ben was quick to shake his head. “That could take days,” he said. “It’s better to hunt them down, then follow the signal to Ohali’s StealthX and learn what we can from its memory chips.”
“What makes you think the whole StealthX is down there?” Tahiri asked. “I don’t see why they would bother towing the whole starfighter in here when all they need is the astromech, the pilot’s seat, and the rectenna array.”
Ben frowned. “You don’t?” he asked. “Haven’t you been reading the technical updates?”
Tahiri’s ears reddened. “I may have skipped a few,” she admitted. “What am I missing?”
“The distress signal has a dead-man switch now,” Ben explained. “Anytime the seat comes out of the cockpit or the astromech is ejected from its socket, the astromech activates both beacons automatically. That way, if you take a big hit and your StealthX comes apart, the rescue teams still have a chance of finding you—or at least your astromech. It’s been that way for a year.”
“Okay, so the distress signal would have gone off earlier if the StealthX had been disassembled outside this cluster,” Tahiri said. “That still doesn’t make going after our would-be ambushers the smart play. They have six craft, and this Miy’tari is hardly a top-notch starfighter.”
“They’re pirates, Tahiri,” Ben said. “We can handle them.”
“We think they’re pirates,” she said. “Ben, the last status report we received was days ago. For all we know, those are Chiss out there.”
Ben could hardly argue. Their last contact with the civilized galaxy had come when the Jedi Council sent a message telling them that Ben’s father would be joining the Solos and would like to arrange a rendezvous. So far, scheduling a rendezvous in the Rift had proved problematic, mostly because events had been escalating so fast.
When Ben remained silent, Tahiri continued, “And whoever they are, they managed to capture a Jedi StealthX. It would be foolish to underestimate these guys, Ben.”
Ben exhaled in frustration. “And we’re not in StealthXs, I know,” he said. “But the longer we sit here, the better the chance of them stumbling across us by accident.”
Tahiri cocked her brow. “Really, Ben? You don’t think we’d sense them coming?” She reached over and squeezed his arm. “I know you’re worried about your father. But if he needed help—if there was anything he thought you could do to help—you would feel it in the Force.”
Ben looked away. He wasn’t so sure—and that was the problem. He simply didn’t know what had become of his father. Did the cold hole in his heart mean that Luke Skywalker was lying unconscious somewhere, his life seeping out of him in breaths and warm red drops? Or had his father simply drawn in on himself, hiding his Force presence from some dark being powerful enough to come hunting for him?
After a moment, Ben turned back to his mission partner. “What about Ohali?” he asked. “She could be alive and hurt down there.”
“Did you feel her Force aura when you reached out to find our ambushers? Because I sure didn’t.” Tahiri removed her hand. “Ben, you’re letting your emotions influence your judgment, and you know better. We need to let things play out here.” She paused and flashed him a smile. “Then we’ll see if the Grand Master of the Jedi Order really needs us to rescue him.”
Ben sighed in frustration, but nodded. “Okay, deal.”
Three hours later, he glanced at the sensor display and was dismayed to see a pair of dark blobs converging on their Miy’tari. He activated the reverse thrusters and began to back out of their path, only to have his neck tingle with danger sense as a third asteroid appeared on the display, rising up to block their retreat.
Ben deactivated the reverse thrusters and fired the forward thrusters, but he had his doubts about whether the tiny air jets could move them away quickly enough to escape damage.
“Ninette, give me a collision analysis on those three asteroids,” he ordered. “How much distance do we need to be safe?”
Ninette answered immediately with an alert tweedle, followed by a message on the display. IF YOU WISHED TO BE SAFE, YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE FLOWN US INTO A PLASMA CLOUD FILLED WITH ASTEROIDS.
A red bogey dot appeared on top of the tactical display.
AND IT WOULD BE PRUDENT TO CHANGE COURSE. WE CURRENTLY HAVE A 53 PERCENT CHANCE OF COLLIDING WITH THE UNKNOWN TRANSPORT.
The red dot vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“Unknown transport?” Tahiri demanded. “What transport?”
PRELIMINARY MASS AND SIZE ESTIMATES SUGGEST THE CRAFT IS CEC YT-1300 TRANSPORT, HEAVILY MODIFIED FOR SPEED.
“The Falcon?” Tahiri gasped.
IDENTITY IMPOSSIBLE TO CONFIRM AT PRESENT TIME. The bogey dot reappeared, weaving its way down the display at breakneck speed. CONTACT APPEARS TO BE CONCEALING ITS APPROACH BEHIND ASTEROIDS.
“It’s the Falcon,” Ben said, keeping one eye on the sensor display. “Has to be. Only Han Solo would be crazy enough to come in here that fast.”
Then six more dots flared to life, two at each of the locations where Ben and Tahiri had sensed lurking ambushers. All six craft began to converge on the Falcon’s vector, with one pair swinging around to cut off the transport’s retreat and the other two positioning themselves for a crossfire attack from opposite flanks.
“I’m beginning to think it wasn’t us they were trying to bait,” Tahiri said, reaching for the drive ignition. “Maybe your aunt and uncle have been giving the pirates a harder time than we realized.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Ben clasped her arm to stop her from igniting the drives, then glanced down at the sensor display, watching the three asteroids behind them drift ever closer to a collision with one another. “I’ll handle the drives. You take weapons.”
Tahiri saw where he was looking, then smiled. “Smart boy.” She started to bring the Miy’tari’s weapon systems online. “If you time this right, those pirates will never know what hit them.”
“Let’s hope they’re the only ones.”
Ben watched his sensor display as the asteroids drifted closer, then ignited the sublight drives as the last sliver of darkness vanished between the closest two. The Miy’tari chugged and hesitated as the engines shuddered to life, and Ben could not help cringing as the dark globs on the screen merged into one huge clump.
The white glow of an impact detonation lit the miasma beyond the Miy’tari canopy, and the sensor display filled with static. Ben slammed the throttles the rest of the way forward and felt the Miy’tari buck as the extra fuel collected in the still-cool ignition chamber. He pulled the throttles back, giving the igniters a chance to clear.
By then the miasma outside was fading to blue, and he could hear asteroid gravel pinging off the hull.
“If you’re trying to impress me, please don’t,” Tahiri said. “If that energy bloom gets any closer, it’s going to incinerate us, not hide our approach.”
“No worries,” Ben said, easing the throttles forward. Nothing happened. “Okay, now you can worry.”
A loud clang reverberated through the hull, and a damage alarm began to chime. Ben ignored it and pumped the throttles again, then pushed them to their overload stops. This time the Miy’tari shot forward like a missile. The pinging of the asteroid gravel grew less frequent, but streamers of white heat began to streak past the canopy as rubble continued to overtake them.
Another loud clang reverberated from the stern of the ship.
Ben forced the throttles past their overload stops, clear to the end of the lever channel, then sank back into the pilot’s chair. The nacelle temperatures climbed into the danger zone, and Ninette began to tweedle warnings about everything from hull friction to fuel volatility.
“Better.” Tahiri’s gaze remained on the tactical display. “And don’t ease off. We have no time to waste.”
Ben glanced at the tactical display and saw that Ninette had designated the Falcon a friendly YT-1300. The six newcomers had been changed from unknown bogeys to enemy bandits, but the astromech was still working to identify the type of craft. Judging by how quickly they were closing with the Falcon, it seemed clear they were starfighters.
Ben reached out in the Force, searching for his aunt or father—any Jedi at all—and felt two male presences. One was confident and calm and familiar enough that Ben recognized it as Lando Calrissian. The other presence was reckless and excited and so cocky it had to be Han Solo—except that it felt a few decades too young.
Tahiri glanced over. “Ben, your uncle doesn’t happen to have any long-lost sons …”
Ben laughed, despite the situation. “I doubt it. They would have to be before Leia.”
Tahiri winced. “Right.” She shook her head, then added, “But it’s not impossible, I guess.”
“What’s not impossible?”
“That there could be two men in the galaxy brash enough to fly a beat-up old YT-1300 like it was a starfighter.” Tahiri sighed. “I just hope he lives long enough to meet me.”
“Uh, okay … I’ll see if we can arrange that,” Ben said, not quite sure what to make of Tahiri’s comment. “Right now let’s take the starboard bogeys with missiles, then hit the tail-chewers with our laser—”
Ben stopped when all six bogey symbols vanished from the tactical display.
“What the kark?” Tahiri demanded. “Stealth fighters?”
“Have to be Bes’uliiks,” Ben said, making the logical assumption. “Ninette had trouble making an ID so we know they can beat our sensors. And they didn’t disappear until they had closed to attack range, so they were deploying exhaust baffles.”
Tahiri’s expression grew hard. “Mandalorians.” She practically spat the word. “They get one chance, Ben. If they don’t surrender—”
“We take them out,” he finished. “Mandalorians always fight dirty.”
Ninette whistled an alarm, and Ben looked down to discover that one of their vector plates was starting to melt. He backed off the throttles to let their control surfaces cool before initiating combat, then looked over to find Tahiri arming their small complement of concussion missiles. With just four missiles and a pair of blaster cannons mounted beneath its belly, the Miy’tari was no match for six heavily armed Bes’uliiks—which simply meant they would need to make every attack count.
Ben checked his sensor display and was more than a little surprised to see the Falcon continuing toward the distress signal. Lando and his companion would have had to be flying sensor-blind to miss the Bes’uliiks when they powered up, so they certainly realized they were flying into an ambush. And yet here they were, proceeding as though this was a standard rescue operation.
What did they know that Ben and Tahiri did not?
Ninette chirped a comm notification, then a stern female voice began to speak over the cockpit speaker. “This is Galactic Exploitation Technologies security team five-niner hailing the Millennium Falcon. Acknowledge or prepare to accept incoming fire.”
The challenge was answered immediately by Lando Calrissian’s smooth voice. “No need to worry about us, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re prepared for whatever you bring.”
“I’m nobody’s sweetheart, Calrissian, least of all yours,” the woman replied. “Power down and prepare for boarding.”
“I’m afraid we’re unable to comply,” Lando said. “We happen to be responding to a distress signal. Maybe you heard it?”
“Of course we heard it,” the woman shot back. “We’re the ones who activated it.”
“You faked a distress call?” Lando asked, feigning outrage. “Don’t you know that’s a violation of the Galactic Navigation Accords?”
“So report me,” the woman replied. “Last chance, Calrissian. Power down.”
Ben and Tahiri were so close now that the Falcon was visible to the naked eye, a tiny fork-nosed disk riding a fan of ion efflux past the dusty gray face of a crater-pocked asteroid. The transport’s challengers were not yet visible, though Ben could see several long trails of swirling plasma that seemed to be converging on the same asteroid. He pointed the Miy’tari’s nose at a pair of trails to the Falcon’s starboard and pushed the throttles forward again.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Lando replied. “But I think you should hear what I have to say before you open fire.”
“I’m done talking, Calrissian,” the woman said. “And I’m not your sweetheart.”
“Only because we haven’t met yet,” Lando retorted. “And before you make that a permanent impossibility, you might want to consider something.”
As Lando spoke, Ninette reported that the Miy’tari had become the subject of an active sensor probe.
“I doubt it,” the woman said.
“Don’t be so sure,” Lando said. “You do know that your boss kidnapped Han Solo, right? That’s bound to make a whole bunch of Jedi really—”
“Calrissian’s stalling!” a Mandalorian voice interrupted. “It’s a trap!”
A flurry of cannon bolts erupted ahead and came streaming back toward the Miy’tari. Ben put them into an evasive roll and continued to close with the targets, but the Mandalorian gunners were good, and cannon strikes began to blossom against the forward shields in rapid succession. Ninette tweedled, and Ben glanced down to see a message scrolling across the display.
FORWARD SHIELD GENERATORS ALREADY 20 PERCENT OVER SPECIFIED CAPACITY. MIY’TARIS ARE NOT DESIGNED TO TAKE HEAVY FIRE.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ben muttered.
Now that the Bes’uliiks had opened fire, Ninette had designated them BES1 and BES2 on the tactical display. The information wasn’t much help. Their stealth qualities still made it impossible to achieve target-lock on them, and the constant stream of bolts coming from their cannons was a pretty good indication of their location.
Ben opened himself to the Force, and the Miy’tari whirled into an erratic, unpredictable spiral as his hands swung the yoke to and fro. The cannon bolts continued to stream toward them, but the number that flowered against their shields quickly dwindled by half.
FORWARD GENERATORS 40 PERCENT OVER SPECIFIED CAPACITY, Ninette reported.
Ben felt the bump of a missile being ejected from a launch tube. An instant later, its engine ignited, and the missile became a disk of white-hot exhaust.
“Follow that bird,” Tahiri said.
Her gaze remained distant and unfocused as she concentrated on their targets. Realizing that Tahiri was using the Force to guide the missile, Ben swung in behind its rapidly shrinking disk—then quickly lost sight of it in the storm of energy bolts coming their way.
A tiny pair of dark wedges appeared ahead, their bellies flashing with cannon fire as they tore through the plasma cloud. At least they weren’t attacking the Falcon, Ben thought. He activated the Miy’tari’s laser cannons and started to return the attacks.
Golden forks of dissipation static began to crackle across the Miy’tari’s shields, and the tiny wedges ahead swelled into hand-sized silhouettes with cockpit bubbles in the center. The lead Bes’uliik diverted its fire to the missile, apparently realizing that its stealth capabilities were no match for a Force-guided weapon. The hint of a smile crept across Tahiri’s face, and the lead Bes’uliik went into an evasive roll.
Ben reached out and found the Force presence of the second Bes’uliik pilot. He launched another missile and grasped it in the Force, gently guiding it toward its target. By then the enemy starfighters were the size of Wookiee heads, ringed by the flickering haloes of their baffled exhaust. The second Bes’uliik detected the missile coming its way and peeled away.
Too late.
A blinding white flash appeared ahead of the Miy’tari as Tahiri’s missile reached its target and detonated. An eyeblink later, the black delta of a half-crumpled Bes’uliik emerged from the other side of the explosion, wobbling and pouring the anguish of its badly injured crew into the Force.
In the next instant, Ben’s missile found its target. Instead of taking the detonation on his Bes’uliik’s sturdy beskar hull armor, the second pilot had made the mistake of turning his engines to the missile as he tried to evade. The blast tore through his exhaust nozzles into the engine nacelle, and the starfighter’s entire stern vanished in a ball of flame and flotsam.
By then the Miy’tari was past the point of initial engagement and was advancing on the surviving Bes’uliiks. Ben could feel their crews perhaps twenty kilometers directly ahead, a knot of nervous Force presences clustered in the tight diamond of a defensive formation. The Falcon was fifty kilometers to port, gliding past their flank, unmolested, silent, and blasting the area with target-locking sensor scans.
“We need to let them know who we are,” Ben said. “Without the Force, we’re the only craft they can find.”
“I’ve got it. You keep an eye on those Bessies.” Tahiri opened a hailing channel, then said, “This is Jedi Strike Force Beta ordering all four Mandalorian Bes’uliiks to leave the area immediately. Failure to comply will result in your swift destruction.”
Tahiri had carefully chosen her words to reveal the size and nature of the enemy forces in the area, but that message seemed lost on whoever was flying the Falcon. The old transport immediately began to decelerate and turn toward the distress signal, as though the pilot actually believed that a Jedi strike force had miraculously arrived just in time to save him from a Mandalorian ambush.
Or maybe that was Lando playing out their bluff.
During the tense silence that followed, Ben took a moment to study the asteroid from which the beacon seemed to be coming. As far as he could tell from their sensors and his eyes, it was an unremarkable hunk of nickel–iron covered in a dusty silver-white regolith and pocked by impact craters. If there was any reason that a Quest Knight should have been interested in it, that reason was certainly not apparent—and that tended to confirm the idea that Ohali’s StealthX had been deliberately brought here to bait a trap.
But for whom?
Finally, Ben felt the Mandalorian presences beginning to move—toward the Falcon.
“Blast,” he said to Tahiri. “They’re not buying it.”
Tahiri dropped her chin and studied him from the top of her eyes. “Ben, we’re flying a Hapan Miy’tari,” she said. “Do we look like a Jedi strike force to you?”
Ben shrugged. “A guy can hope.”
He studied the tactical display for a moment, wondering how far the Falcon would push the bluff before deciding to cut their losses and abandon the wrecked StealthX. Then Ben remembered: Lando was aboard the Falcon.
Lando Calrissian wasn’t the kind of gambler who cut his losses and ran. He was the kind who turned an opponent’s trap against him, then raked in the pot and left the other player sitting there wondering how he had lost everything he owned.
Ben pushed the Miy’tari’s throttles forward, then swung onto a vector that would place them between the approaching Bes’uliiks and the Falcon. Tahiri’s eyes instantly grew round.
“Uh, Ben, what did I say about trying to impress me?” She began to bring up damage and ordnance reports. “We can’t take fire to save the Falcon. Our shield generators are still cooling down, and we’ve fired half our missiles. And you know those laser cannons we’re carrying couldn’t even scratch a beskar hull.”
“Scratching is not what I have in mind.” Confident that the Mandalorian pilots would be eavesdropping on any communications to the Falcon, Ben opened a channel and said, “Millennium Falcon, this is Jedi Knight Ben Skywalker suggesting that you run for it. And that’s an order.”
Tahiri looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Suggesting an order?”
“Well, you know Lando,” Ben said, grinning. “You have to be careful how you talk to him.”
A moment later, Lando’s voice came over the cockpit speaker. “You want us to run for it, Ben?”
“That’s right,” Ben said. “And that’s an order.”
Lando chuckled. “Sure, kid, whatever you say.”
A fan of blue efflux flashed from the Falcon’s stern, and she shot across the face of the asteroid toward the far side. Ben slammed their own throttles past the overload stops again, shooting away in the opposite direction and drawing an immediate whistle of protest from Ninette.
THAT VECTOR PLATE IS ALREADY WARPED, AND THE ENGINE NACELLES ARE READY TO MELT.
“Good,” Ben said. “I want those Bessies to have trouble keeping up.”
As he spoke, a steady stream of cannon bolts began to flash past from the Miy’tari’s port side. He rolled into an evasive helix, then glanced down at the tactical display. A pair of Bes’uliik symbols had appeared on the screen, closing in from one flank. Passing beneath the other flank was the surface of the asteroid. The last pair of Bes’uliiks had also appeared on the display, turning to pursue the Falcon in the opposite direction.
“Ninette, are those positions based on estimates or sensor readings?” he asked.
SENSOR READINGS. THE MANDALORIANS HAVE RETRACTED THEIR EFFLUX BAFFLES IN ORDER TO PURSUE.
Ben smiled. “Better and better.” He glanced over at Tahiri. “You should take the turret. They’re going to be behind us any second.”
“And do what, exactly?” Despite her question, Tahiri immediately swung her chair around and opened a deck hatch at the back of the cockpit. She slipped out of her seat and dropped into the little nose turret. “Try to dazzle them with armor deflections?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Ben said.
By then the Miy’tari had passed beyond the edge of the asteroid. The two Bes’uliiks dropped in behind them and began to hammer the rear shields with their blaster cannons. Tahiri opened up with their own weapons, pouring a constant stream of fire back past the Miy’tari’s stern—which, of course, did nothing at all to back off the Mandalorians.
Ninette started to whistle and chirp, scrolling a constant stream of warnings and reports across the main display, informing Ben of all manner of damage that he could feel just by the way the scoutboat was shuddering and jumping. The port vector plate was dripping away in molten beads of metal, and the overheated engine nacelles were beginning to burn their own linings. The shields were flickering in and out, resulting in a sporadic serenade of clangs and bangs as Mandalorian cannon bolts gnawed through the Miy’tari’s thinly armored hull.
Through it all, Ben kept one eye on the tactical display, watching with no small amount of envy as the Falcon’s heavier shields and more-powerful quad cannons forced her pursuers to maintain a healthier distance. Still, her pilot was no Jedi, and it was not long before she began to react a bit sluggishly.
Then the Falcon cleared the far edge of the asteroid and went into a tight circle, swinging around toward the back side. Ben mirrored the maneuver, dropping as close to its crater-pocked surface as he dared to prevent the Bes’uliiks from trying to cut across the curve and come up beneath the Miy’tari’s belly.
“Pull up—you’re raising a dust cloud down here!” Tahiri yelled from the nose turret. “And I’ve lost my firing angle!”
“One … second.”
Ben felt himself grinding his teeth, trying not to panic as a steep ridgeline appeared ahead. He had maybe three seconds before he hit it, but he had no way to know what was on the other side, and if he happened to come up in the wrong place …
The Falcon flashed past overhead, so close that Ben swore he glimpsed Lando Calrissian sitting in the belly turret, grinning wildly as he poured fire back toward his pursuers. The ridgeline became a towering wall of stone and dust, and still Ben held the yoke steady, for one more breath, until the Falcon’s two pursuers passed overhead in a river of flying cannon bolts and rippling efflux.
Ben pulled the yoke back, hard, putting the Miy’tari into a steep climb—and drawing a shocked scream as Tahiri suddenly found herself staring at a stone cliff streaking past just meters from her turret.
“Switch targets!” Ben rolled the Miy’tari around so the nose turret was facing the stern of the Falcon and her two pursuers. “Switch, switch—”
He did not need to give the command a fourth time. The Miy’tari’s little laser cannons began to chug again, and a Bes’uliik erupted in blue flame as the bolts burned through its drive engines. Another fireball erupted below as one of their pursuers slammed into the ridgeline. Tahiri whooped for joy, then fired again, this time for much longer. Finally she let out a second whoop as her bolts found their way into another Bes’uliik drive engine.
Ben dropped the Miy’tari’s nose and was dismayed to see the last Bes’uliik still chewing on their tail. Tahiri began to pour fire at its cockpit, gouging divots into its tough beskar hull and doing little else.
Then, suddenly, the Bes’uliik pulled up. Ben thought the pilot had decided to break off and head for home—until the long bright lines of two of the Falcon’s concussion missiles appeared on the tactical display. They merged with the target a heartbeat later, and the last Mandalorian starfighter vanished in a spray of static and light.
Ben yelled in triumph—then realized that his own cockpit was filled with shrieking damage alarms and the control yoke was shaking so hard he could barely hold on. He eased back on the throttles and glanced down to find his entire control board blinking and flashing with emergency alerts. He activated the hailing channel.
“Uh, Millennium Falcon, this is Jedi Knight Ben Skywalker requesting assistance,” he said. “I think we’re going to need a ride.”
“On our way,” Lando said. “And thanks, Ben. I haven’t seen flying like that since … well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen flying like that.”