chapter twenty-two

With a swarm of pincer-winged Miy’tils nibbling at the forward shields and a Nova-class battle cruiser chewing on the stern, Leia was jerking the pilot’s yoke around at random, just trusting to the Force and blind luck to get the Falcon through the storm of enemy fire. How Han had done this for forty years without getting them blasted to atoms—or at least developing a nervous stomach—was beyond her imagining. She only hoped she was a good enough pilot to see them through until the Alliance’s rescue fleet arrived … and that she had not been wrong about it coming.

Golden shimmers of dispersal energy began to appear a few meters ahead, a sign that the Falcon’s shields were overloading. Leia ignored the flashing maelstrom long enough to glance at the copilot’s seat, where Han sat hunched over a disassembled shield-adjustment panel. C-3PO stood next to him, trying to hold the panel steady against the control board while Han worked.

“How are those shield repairs coming?”

“Even I can’t splice a moving target,” Han complained. “Hold still, Threepio!”

“It’s not my fault,” C-3PO replied. “Holding still is quite impossible while Princess Leia continues to evade enemy fire. The Falcon’s inertial compensators are simply inadequate for this kind of maneuvering.”

The Falcon lurched forward as a turbolaser struck the rear shields, and then an alarm chime sounded from the control board, announcing a desperate need to redistribute the shield power.

“I’m trying,” Han muttered to the chime. “I’m trying!”

Leia swung wide to avoid a flight of concussion missiles. The Falcon shuddered as the Noghri, operating the cannon turrets, cut loose with the quad cannons. The Miy’til that had launched the attack erupted in a boiling sphere of flame.

C-3PO squawked in alarm. “That’s my hand, Captain Solo!”

“Stop whining,” Han ordered. “It didn’t even burn through.”

“I’m still going to require a new metacarpal covering,” the droid complained. “Perhaps we wouldn’t need to evade so wildly if Princess Leia were to travel in a direction opposite the enemy.”

“I can’t, Threepio,” Leia said. At the moment, she was flying away from the usurpers at a right angle, doing her best to keep the Falcon pointed toward the growing yellow crescent of Hapes’s third moon, Megos. “We’ll get caught in the crossfire.”

“Crossfire?” C-3PO asked. “Between whom? I didn’t see a friendly fleet exit hyperspace behind us.”

“It will be here,” Leia said.

“Sure, any day now,” Han added.

Leia could hardly blame Han for his skepticism. The Alliance rescue fleet should already be attacking, and the brief brush of Force contact she had felt earlier was hardly confirmation of its existence. But nothing else made sense. She had sensed Jaina and Zekk watching as the Falcon departed the Kiris Asteroid Cluster, which could only mean that the Galactic Alliance had been waiting for the right opportunity to pounce on Corellia’s secret assault fleet.

So why weren’t they pouncing?

A turbolaser strike erupted close to port, throwing the Falcon sideways and slamming C-3PO into the back of Leia’s seat. The droid bounced off and crashed to the deck, leaving a tangle of broken wires sparking in an empty control board socket.

“Oh, dear,” C-3PO said from behind Leia. “I seem to have pulled the shield-adjustment panel away from the control board. Now it’s going to take Captain Solo twice as long to make repairs!”

“Forget it, Threepio.” The fusing pen gave a soft snap as Han deactivated it. “We never had a chance.”

The resignation in Han’s voice worried Leia more than any amount of yelling or cursing would have. It almost seemed as though he did not believe they would get out of this—as though he did not think she was a good enough pilot to save them.

“Sorry I missed your signal about the message thing,” Han said to Leia. “Getting the control board shot up is going to cost us.”

“No, Han, I’m sorry,” Leia replied. With the tactical display still showing no sign of the Alliance Fleet, she was beginning to wonder if she had been right to urge Tenel Ka to stand firm in the first place. “But I’m not giving up.” She put one hand on the throttles. “Do you see any reason I shouldn’t push the engines hard?”

“You mean aside from the leaking coolant line and the number four vector plate getting sticky?”

“Yeah.” Leia almost took her hand off the throttles—she hadn’t noticed the sticky vector plate. “I mean aside from those two problems.”

“Well, then—no, I don’t.” Han sounded a little more hopeful, as though taking a desperate gamble with their lives on the line was all he ever needed to cheer him up. “Let her rip, sweetheart.”

Leia pointed the Falcon’s nose straight toward the dark interior of the crescent moon, then pushed the throttles past the overload stops and kept pushing until they would go no farther. She felt herself sink in her seat as the vessel’s acceleration tested the already overburdened inertial compensators, and they shot forward into the swarm of Miy’tils that had been harassing them.

As the Falcon careened through their midst, the star-fighters took close-range snap-shots, and space exploded into a wall of energy blossoms. The Noghri answered with the quad cannons, taking out four starfighters in half as many seconds. Then the Falcon was through the formation, with nothing but the crater-pocked sickle of Megos swelling rapidly in the forward canopy.

The Miy’tils launched a desperate volley of concussion missiles and turned to give chase—placing themselves between the Falcon and the Nova cruiser, exactly as Leia had hoped they would. Han activated the decoy launchers and the Noghri kept the quad cannons chugging, and the missiles started to vanish from the tactical display two and three at a time.

Fearful of hitting her own starfighters, the Nova quieted her turbolasers, and there was a moment of relative peace as the Miy’tils struggled to bring themselves back into cannon range and reacquire target locks. Leia kept their nose pointed straight ahead, adding gravitational pull to the ship’s acceleration, and the gap between the Falcon and Megos began to close more quickly than the one between the Falcon and the Miy’tils.

“Trying the old Solo Slingshot?” Han asked.

“A partial, anyway,” Leia said. “Seems like a good time to learn it.”

“Sure, why not?” Han replied. “You do know that it’s a pretty tricky maneuver at full acceleration, right?”

Leia nodded. “I thought it might be.”

“And if that vector plate sticks at the wrong time, you know the crater we drill is going to be about three kilometers deep?”

“I hadn’t actually done the calculations,” Leia admitted.

“I don’t think Captain Solo has, either,” C-3PO said from the deck behind her. “At our current acceleration and mass, the crater will be closer to five kilometers deep—assuming our nacelles don’t overheat and vaporize us first, of course.”

Leia was still digesting that cheery thought when a cold prickle ran down her spine. She glanced at the tactical display and saw that the Miy’tils were swinging hard to port, trying to open a clear firing lane for the Nova. She swung the yoke in the same direction, trying to keep the star-fighters behind them and banking toward the center of the moon—in the wrong direction for the Slingshot maneuver.

“Uh, honey?” Han’s voice was nervous and high. “That’s—”

A boiling cloud of brilliance erupted to starboard, engulfing the position they had just abandoned.

“—a nice save,” Han admitted. “Probably would have done the same thing myself.”

“If you say so, dear.”

Leia glanced at the tactical display and saw that the Nova had raised a wall of turbolaser fire alongside the Falcon, cutting off the route she needed to follow to complete her maneuver. The Miy’tils were still close behind, steadily closing the gap. Leia cursed the competence of the enemy commander and pulled back the yoke. The number four vector plate did not respond, putting the entire ship into a dangerous, weld-cracking oscillation.

Leia reached over to back the throttles off.

“Too late!” Han warned. “Can’t let them close the distance. We’ll have to do a partial Reverse Slingshot.”

“A partial Reverse Slingshot?” Leia asked. The bright side of the moon was slipping out of view, and now there was nothing but the pitch blackness of Megos’s dark side ahead. “Never heard of it.”

“ ’Course not,” Han answered. “It’s new.”

“New?” Leia had a sinking feeling. “Han, that vector plate is sticking again. Can’t you feel the vibration?”

“Just keep the nose up,” Han said. “You’re doing great.”

Doing great was no guarantee of survival, Leia knew, but hearing Han say it made her feel better about their odds. She continued to hold the yoke back, vibrating in her seat so hard she couldn’t even read the nacelle temperature gauge—which was probably just as well, given the coolant leak and how long they’d been flying at maximum acceleration.

Too large and cumbersome to follow the Falcon, the Nova had to break off and turn in the opposite direction. But the Miy’tils continued to close the distance, and soon they began to pound the rear shields again. Leia could do little to stop them. With the Falcon shaking like a Neimoidian under interrogation and the moon’s dark surface coming up rapidly, she had to concentrate all her efforts on simply retaining control of the ship.

Finally a sliver of star-dappled velvet appeared along the top of the Falcon’s canopy. Leia continued to hold the yoke back, her relief growing as the sliver slowly became a twenty-centimeter band of open space hanging above a dark and undulating horizon.

“Couldn’t have done it better myself!” Han exclaimed, even more relieved than Leia. “Okay, now you can level off.”

A staccato rumbling sounded from deep in the ship as the Miy’til laser cannons finally broke through the shields and began to hammer at the hull armor, then Megos’s horizon suddenly grew jagged and stretched toward the top of the Falcon’s canopy again.

“A mountain range!” C-3PO cried. “That will certainly complicate our escape.”

“Complicate?” Han turned to glare at the droid. “If it were me flying, you’d be back there yelling, We’re doomed, we’re doomed!”

“Quite likely,” C-3PO admitted. “But Princess Leia is a Jedi.”

Leia would have thanked the droid for his vote of confidence, except she was pretty sure it would seem misplaced in about three seconds. She continued to hold the yoke back, trying to will the Falcon to pull up faster—then noticed a jagged notch of starlight showing through the mountains ahead. She pushed the yoke to center position. The vector plate came unstuck, and the ship finally stopped vibrating.

“Uh, Leia,” Han said. “That part about leveling off? You can forget—”

“Too late!” Leia swung the Falcon toward the notch, coming in at an angle so the nose pointed at the mountain on the far side. “Launch missiles!”

“Missiles?” Han looked forward and saw the gap opening before them, then reached out and flipped an arming switch. “Why not?”

He depressed a pair of LAUNCH buttons, and two blue circles appeared in front of the cockpit, then rapidly shrank as the missiles raced away. Leia rolled the Falcon up and banked into the notch with their pursuers still close behind. She was too busy flying to see what happened next, but by the time the Falcon reached the starfilled wedge at the other end of the gorge, the hammering on her stern had stopped.

As they shot out of the canyon, the moon’s surface fell away, and Leia finally had time to risk a glance at the tactical display. The Miy’tils were gone, either destroyed when the missiles filled the gorge mouth with debris or momentarily outmaneuvered. Leia stayed within a kilometer of the surface for a few seconds to be certain no Miy’til survivors were going to pop up from behind the mountain range, then pulled the yoke back and pointed their nose away from the moon.

They had just started to climb when space ahead broke into crooked snakes of iridescence. The proximity alarm blared to life, and the viewport was suddenly packed with blue halos—all growing steadily larger.

“What the blazes?” Leia gasped.

“I think your fleet showed up,” Han said. “And in the wrong place!”

Leia glanced down and found her tactical display growing more crowded by the moment. Frigates, cruisers, and Star Destroyers were reverting from hyperspace at the rate of two or three per second, all pouring starfighters into space and accelerating toward Megos at full power. The name ADMIRAL ACKBAR appeared under a Star Destroyer at the rear of the formation, and suddenly Leia understood why it had taken the Alliance so long to attack.

“That’s Bwua’tu!”

“Figures,” Han grumbled. “What Bothan makes a straightforward attack when he can try something tricky like coming out from behind a moon instead?”

“Well, at least they cared enough to send the best.” Leia pushed the Falcon’s nose down and started back toward the moon. Continuing to approach a reverting fleet at this velocity was not an option. Even if Bwua’tu realized they were not on an attack run, the chance of a head-on collision with one of his capital ships would still force him to blast them to atoms. “What do you think? Find a crater to hide in?”

“At this velocity, we’d make a crater,” Han said. “No time to decelerate.”

“You mean—”

“Yeah,” Han said. “We have to do the whole Slingshot.”

“Back through the battle?” Leia asked. “With no rear shields?”

“Relax,” Han said. “At this speed, we’ll be on the other side of the fighting before the gunners get a lock on us.”

“Which means they’ll be firing at our stern,” Leia pointed out. “Where we don’t have any shields!”

“Well, yeah,” Han said. “Got any better ideas?”

Leia had to admit she did not. They were in a bad spot. Of course, they had been in bad spots a hundred times before. But this time, she was sitting behind the pilot’s yoke instead of Han … and he had never let her down.

Leia looked out the viewport and saw that they were already coming up on Megos’s light side. “How are our nacelle temperatures doing?” she asked.

“Not bad,” Han said. “We’re only thirty-seven percent over spec.”

“And you’re sure we can go to forty?”

“Sure,” Han said. “I just don’t know how long we can stay there.”

Leia considered reducing the throttles, but by then they were already crossing between Megos and Hapes, and a full view of the battle convinced her they would want all the velocity they could achieve. Space ahead was one big sheet of turbolaser fire, dotted by crimson knots of energy and the tiny slivers of distant ships jetting flame, vapor, and lives.

As the Falcon left the moon behind, a tightly packed screen of Battle Dragons—looking like stacked dashes at this distance—began to appear inside the conflagration. They were clustered in front of two thumb-sized eggs, slowly falling back toward Hapes and putting up such a wall of fire that the Corellian Dreadnaughts had been forced to abandon their penetration tactic and simply try to punch it out from short range.

“Looks like Tenel Ka trusted us.”

“Yeah—I just hope it didn’t get her killed,” Han said. “Bwua’tu took too much time getting here. There are a lot of broken ships floating around out there.”

Leia was too busy flying to check the display, but she felt certain the Bothan would disagree with Han’s assessment. From a strategic viewpoint, saving Tenel Ka would be a secondary goal to destroying the Corellian fleet, since the latter would be such a crippling blow that it might well end the revolt. But Leia did not point this out to Han; it would only make him feel angry and betrayed—and the truth was, she already felt angry enough for both of them.

Seeing that it would be impossible to slip past the battle outside turbolaser range, Leia swung the Falcon around behind the usurper fleet and watched in horror and fascination as the combat grew larger and brighter. Within seconds the inferno filled Han’s side of the canopy entirely, flashing and boiling so brilliantly that it was impossible to see the planet behind it.

The brilliance began to slip toward the back of the canopy, and still no one fired on the Falcon. Leia began to hope the usurpers were simply too busy to notice one little transport zipping past behind them—until her entire spine began to prickle with danger sense, and she knew they weren’t that lucky.

“Seal the hatches!” she ordered.

Leia rolled them up on their side, and the ship began to vibrate violently as the sticky vector plate caught again. A meter-wide shaft of blue fire stabbed past beneath the Falcon’s belly, then another shot by just an arm’s length above the canopy.

She pushed the yoke forward and felt it catch about halfway. The Falcon began to buck—then abruptly stopped when a turbolaser bolt hit the stern with a deafening clang.

Leia drew what she feared might be her last breath and turned to say good-bye to Han—then felt the yoke obey and saw stars whirling in front of them. A flurry of turbolaser bolts stabbed past harmlessly, growing thinner and more distant until they ceased altogether, and the sound of damage alarms filled the cockpit—which meant they still had air.

Leia drew back the yoke again. It was a bit sluggish, but the Falcon had stopped vibrating, and she quickly brought the ship under control.

Discovering that she was still looking at Han, she asked, “What happened?”

“Looks like a glancing strike to the starboard aft.” His voice was steady but determined, and his gaze was fixed on the control board. “I don’t think we even have the number three and four vector plates anymore … and maybe you’d better back off those throttles. We lost another coolant line.”

Leia dutifully throttled back, then realized the turbolaser attacks had stopped. “Han, that’s not what I mean. We’re still alive.”

Han finally looked up, smirking at the surprise in her voice. “Sure we are,” he said. “You’re a Jedi—remember?”

“Very funny,” Leia replied. She checked the tactical display and saw the reason no one was shooting at them. Bwua’tu’s fleet had finally rounded Megos and opened fire, ripping a hole in the flank of the usurper fleet that left no doubt about the final outcome of the battle. “But true. We just might survive this thing.”

Of course, that was when the proximity alarm blared to life again. Ribbons of color danced across space ahead, then blue halos began to wink into existence and swell into the backlit forms of an oncoming fleet.

“Another one?” Han gasped. “What is this, a war?”

On the journey back from Terephon, the Rover had managed to beat the Ducha to Hapes by shaving safety margins and pushing hard between jumps. But Ben was still bringing up the comm systems when the Galney fleet slid out of hyperspace beside them and began to accelerate toward the battle. At this distance, the conflict was little more than a smudge of radiance flickering against the planet’s jewel-colored face, but Ben could feel it tearing at him inside; could feel all those lives fluttering out. It reminded him of why he had tried to hide from the Force when he was younger—of the constant sensation of anguish that was all he remembered about the war with the Yuuzhan Vong.

Except now Ben was older. He knew it was not the Force causing all that pain; it was people. He knew that people could be selfish and frightened and noble and brave, and when all those things got mixed up together, wars got started. That was why the galaxy needed someone like Jacen: to straighten things out so there wouldn’t be so much suffering.

The comm system finally completed its postjump diagnostics, and Ben started to set it to Tenel Ka’s command channel.

“Jedi Skywalker!” Ioli snapped. She turned her noseless face toward Ben. “What are you doing?”

His hand hovered above the input pad. “If Tenel Ka lets the Ducha come in behind her—”

“The lieutenant knows what will happen, son,” said Tanogo, the chief petty officer who operated the snoop station behind Ben. “She asked what you were doing.”

Ben glanced over his shoulder at the huge-headed Bith. “Opening a comm channel?”

“With the enemy so close we can read the names on the sides of their ships?” Tanogo riffled his cheek folds. “We wouldn’t last ten seconds.”

“But we’ve got to warn Tenel Ka!” Ben turned back to Ioli. “And we’re not going to reach her before the Ducha does.”

“Can’t you do something with the Force?” Ioli asked.

Ben shook his head. “It wouldn’t be specific enough. She’d know there was danger, and she might even sense I meant there was treachery. But it’s still just a feeling, and in the middle of a battle—”

“She’ll be feeling those concerns anyway.” Ioli let her breath buzz out, then said, “Very well—but we’ll do this with a voice recording. And bear in mind we’ll be sending it over the hailing channel.”

Ben frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“We have to be sure it gets to her,” Tanogo said from behind Ben. “And since the traitors may still have someone close to the Queen Mother intercepting messages—”

“—we want everyone to hear the warning,” Ben said, nodding. “It’s the recording part I don’t get. Why can’t I just—”

“Jedi Skywalker, do you really expect me to explain my orders?” Ioli demanded. “Tenel Ka is running out of time, so make your report brief and to the point.”

Ben cringed—more from the anger in her presence than the sharpness in her voice.

“Okay—sorry.” He opened a recording file, then spoke into the comm microphone. “This is Jedi Ben Skywalker with an urgent warning for the Hapan Royal Navy. Ducha Galney is a verified traitor coming to launch a sneak attack on the Queen Mother. Repeat urgent warning: Ducha Galney is a traitor. Take all precautions.”

Ben finished and looked over for Ioli’s approval, but found her returning the intercom microphone to its cradle.

She hooked a thumb toward the rear of the skiff. “The others are getting ready to go EV. Join them.”

“Copy.” Still stinging from the last time he had questioned Ioli’s orders, Ben unbuckled his crash webbing and rose—then realized what she intended to do and stopped between their seats. “Wait a minute—we have six people and only four suits.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she asked.

“Yes—I mean no,” he said. “I know you do. But there has to be another way.”

She looked at him with an expression that seemed more impatient than hopeful. “You have one?”

Unable to think while he was looking into her eyes, Ben let his gaze drop to the deck. Both she and the chief seemed so calm and focused, but he could feel their fear in his own stomach, a fluttering ball of Force energy that made him want to throw up.

When Ben did not answer quickly, Ioli said, “I didn’t think so.” She checked the chrono on the control panel. “The chief says I need to send your message in two minutes and twelve seconds to give the Queen Mother a fighting chance. It’s going to take you three to put on that suit.”

“What about a message beacon?”

“Great idea,” Tanogo said. “If recon skiffs carried message beacons.”

“Go, Ben.” Ioli pointed aft. “And that’s an order.”

“I can’t just leave you to die,” Ben said, remaining where he was. “I’m a Jedi.”

“You’re going to be a dead Jedi, because I am going to send this report in exactly—” Ioli checked the chrono again. “—one minute and fifty-two seconds.”

Tanogo grabbed Ben’s arm. “We’re scouts, son. This sort of thing goes with the shoulder patch.” He pulled Ben out of the cockpit and pushed him aft. “Go on, now. We’ll swing back and pick you up if we don’t get vaped.”

Ben stumbled aft, feeling guilty and confused, thinking it should be him and Jaina staying behind while the rest of the crew went EV. But after so many days sitting beside Ioli in the cockpit, he knew without asking that she would view any such offer as an insult to both her and her crew. Even with the Force, he and Jaina would not be able to handle the unfamiliar skiff as well as Tanogo and Ioli could. Besides, the Rover was their ship, so it was their duty to send the report—and in Admiral Niathal’s new military, an officer simply did not hand off her duty to someone else.

Ben reached the back of the cabin, where Gim Sorzo, the Rover’s Twi’lek gunner, was just sealing his neck ring. Jaina and Zekk—who had already been Force-hibernating inside evac suits to avoid straining the Rover’s limited life-support systems—were buttoned up and waiting outside the evacuation cabinet, where the last suit hung open and ready.

Ben stepped into the legs and shoved his arms down the sleeves, and Jaina depressed the emergency tab on the shoulder. As the suit sealed itself, Zekk slipped the helmet over Ben’s head and closed the neck ring. Less than a minute later, the helmet speaker chirped to confirm the suit’s spaceworthiness, and the three Jedi crowded into the air lock with Sorzo.

Ben had just closed the inner hatch when his own voice began to come over the helmet speaker. “This is Jedi Ben Skywalker with an urgent warning—”

“Line up,” Jaina’s voice cut in. “Blowing the hatch in three … two …”

As she counted, they hooked their tether lines to one another and arranged themselves for an emergency exit, with Jaina in front of the hatch and Sorzo behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Ben stood beside the Twi’lek, holding on to a grab bar with one hand. Zekk stood in the corner beside him, clutching the bar with both hands.

“One.”

Jaina hit the emergency release, and the outer hatch tumbled away in a cloud of smoke and escaping atmosphere. Jaina and Sorzo were drawn out of the lock directly behind it. Ben’s hold on the grab bar delayed him for the half a second it took Jaina and Sorzo to clear the exit; then his hand came free and he was sucked out the hatchway. His visor fogged instantly, and he felt the tether jerk as Zekk was pulled into the void behind him.

His stomach began to turn somersaults as they left the Rover’s artificial gravity behind, but all sensation of motion ceased. Ben listened as his own voice continued to come over his helmet speaker, urging Tenel Ka to “Take all precautions.” Then a soft click sounded as the suit’s comm receiver automatically switched to the Rover’s intercom channel.

“Watch your eyes,” Ioli’s voice warned. “Rover moving off.”

“Thanks,” Jaina said. “And may the Force be with you.”

“Same to you,” Ioli replied. “Rover out.”

The skiff’s ion engines flared to life, brightening space so intensely that Ben’s eyes hurt even through a darkened visor and closed lids.

The glow diminished a couple of seconds later, and Ben opened his eyes to find the fog cleared from his visor. The star-dappled void was whirling by at dizzying speed, and every once in a while he caught a glimpse of battle flash, or of his companions twirling around on their tether pivots.

Ben activated his suit thrusters and brought his own tumble under control, then spun himself toward Hapes. The Ducha’s fleet had already opened fire on Ioli and Tanogo, concealing the planet behind a wall of streaking energy. He could barely make out the Rover, a finger-length sliver of darkness trailing an efflux helix as Ioli tried to spiral her way to salvation.

A stripe of turbolaser fire touched the head of the spiral and blossomed into a boiling ball of flame. Ben could not tell whether the anguish he felt was in the Force—or in him.