Project Tantiss

“Acknowledged, Admiral,” Covell’s voice said, a little too dryly, and Pellaeon felt a tight smile at his lip.  It had only been two weeks since the top Fleet and army commanders had been let in on the secret of the Mount Tantiss cloning project, and Covell was one of those who still hadn’t adjusted completely to the idea.  –The Last Command

----------------------------------------------------

General Covell watched disinterestedly from the relative vantage of the Chimaera’s hangar bay as the Lambda-class shuttle sailed through the open airlock before settling delicately to the deck below.  Disinterestedly, and with more than a little irritation.  Pomp and ceremony were grand and fine for brass-types like Pellaeon and Thrawn; but Covell was a soldier first, and he hated this kind of Fleet handholding.

He remembered to force a smile on his face just before the shuttle door hissed open and the access ramp began lowering.  Beyond the shuttle through the airlock there was only the blackness of deep space—but a moment later the distant edge of the Star Destroyer Bellicose floated into view, followed shortly by the Relentless and Captain Harbid’s famous Death’s Head.  It’s a gathering of the top Fleet commanders, Covell realized, and he soured a little more.  The last time this many captains had been brought together had been more than six months ago, right after the Chimaera had found Thrawn floating around in the Unknown Regions: when Thrawn (and Pellaeon with him) had revealed himself to the Empire.

The question was, what was the big reveal this time?

A burst of steam brought Covell back to the matter at hand as the shuttle’s ramp finished its descent.  The steam cleared; and a moment later the heavy boot-steps of Captain Brandei descended down onto the Chimaera.  “Captain Brandei,” Covell greeted, offering Brandei a salute proper for the captain of an Imperial Star Destroyer.  “Welcome aboard the Chimaera.”

“Thank you,” Brandei acknowledged, looking Covell over.  “General…Covell, isn’t it?  I believe it was your men who assisted the Judicator with that raid on Tanaab a few years ago.”

“That’s correct,” Covell said, surprised but pleased Brandei had remembered.  “We gave the Rebels a good rout then, didn’t we?”

“And we will again, General,” Brandei promised.  He glanced around the hangar.  “Forgive me, but I had expected Captain Pellaeon to meet me.  Is he unavailable?”

“He’s waiting with the other Fleet Commanders in the Chimaera’s conference room; the Judicator was the last ship to arrive.  If you’ll follow me?”

With Brandei beside him Covell led the way out the hangar bay towards the nearest turbolift.  “I must confess I was surprised when we received the Chimaera’s summons,” Brandei admitted, following Covell down one of the main corridors.  “Most Fleet communications are done over the HoloNet.”

“I hardly think this is a standard Fleet communication,” Covell muttered darkly.

“Mmmm,” Brandei agreed noncommittally.  “I don’t suppose you’ve any idea what it is, then?”

Covell shook his head.  “I don’t; though even if I did, you don’t imagine Grand Admiral Thrawn would want me sharing that information prematurely, do you?”

“Of course,” Brandei said, clearing his throat.  “It’s only…I’m reminded of the summons one used to receive under Lord Vader.”

Covell knew what Brandei was getting at.  “Thrawn isn’t Vader,” he pointed out, even as they came to the end of the corridor and Covell keyed for a lift.  “And even if he was, he wouldn’t have called the whole Fleet here just to see you…reprimanded.”

“I am to be reprimanded, then?”

Covell tried hard not to roll his eyes.  “Thrawn doesn’t blame you for the incident at the Katana skirmish, Captain,” he assured the other man.  “Not for the destruction of the Peremptory, nor for the loss of the Katana either.  At least, as far as I know.”

He was saved from further comment by the arrival of the lift.  “That said,” he added anyway, “I wouldn’t recommend another failure on that scale again--not if you want a future in the Empire.”  He indicated towards the lift.  “If you’d step inside?”

They spent the rest of the trip in silence, Brandei looking darkly over in Covell’s direction.  When the lift finally came to a stop and opened up on one of the upper levels, Covell was sure Brandei would have spat blaster bolts at him if he could.  Luckily it was only a short distance to the main doors that led into the Chimaera’s conference room.  Covell opened the door and waved Brandei inside.

A circular table filled the bulk of a circular room, shiny and black, with seating for about a dozen people available around it.  Most of the seats were already taken, either by other Star Destroyer captains or else top commanders in the Fleet.  And at the main seat at the other end of the table…

“Ah, Captain Brandei; General Covell,” Grand Admiral Thrawn greeted, smiling across at them.  “Please, come in.”

He indicated them to the two remaining chairs that were unattended at the table.  “I believe that’s everyone, Admiral,” Captain Pellaeon observed from where he stood behind Thrawn.

“Then maybe we can finally get on with it,” Captain Dorja growled from his chair halfway around the table.  “If you’ll forgive my impatience, Admiral.”

“Of course, Captain Dorja,” Thrawn said, that usual polite smile on his lips.  “I can appreciate your eagerness to learn why you’ve been called here.  Why you all have been called here.”

He pressed a button, and a holographic map suddenly appeared above the table in front of them.  “This map shows the current division of Rebel and Imperial space in the galaxy,” he identified it for them.  “As you can see, the Empire currently holds roughly one-fourth of its former territory, and is on pace to lose more every year.”

“With all due respect, we already know this, Admiral,” Captain Aban of the Bellicose spoke up.

“The question is, how to reverse it?”

“Indeed,” Thrawn’s eyes glimmered.  “Most of you should be aware of the Sluis Van operation several weeks ago, during which the Chimaera led an attack on a Rebel shipyard.”  From where he sat on Covell’s left side, Covell saw Brandei nodding grimly.  “What most of you may not have known was that a significant component of that operation was a cloaking shield, used to sneak our fighters into the shipyard without detection.”

An operation which failed, Covell recalled; but he decided to keep the comment to himself.  “You’re referring to the Tantiss Project,” Covell said.  “Yes, we all know about it.”  Indeed the Tantiss Project had been one of the better-kept secrets in the Fleet over the past couple months, though Covell had been able to scrape together enough to figure it out.  “And I take it this cloaking shield is your plan for finally taking back the Empire?”  Some plan, he added to himself, given how famously unreliable cloaking shields were.

Thrawn turned to look at him.  “The Tantiss Project, yes.  A part of the plan; but only part.  General Covell, for the past several weeks it has been standard operating procedure for you to recommend your best infantry troopers and mechanized operators following a successful operation.  Everyone at this table has been subjected to the same requirements.  Have you never wondered at it?”

“Of course I’ve wondered about it,” Covell gritted, glancing past Thrawn’s shoulder at Pellaeon and catching the other’s warning look, “and truth be told I don’t appreciate losing my best men after every op to some Fleet pet project.  What’s that have to do with this?”

“The Empire’s greatest military weakness since Endor has not been the loss of the Emperor, or Darth Vader; it has not been a matter of equipment, or technology, or funds.  And now that we have most of the Katana fleet, it is not a matter of ships.  No.  It has been a matter of manpower.  We have been forced to conscript unwilling and often unqualified cadets to sufficiently fill our ranks.  I have found a way to remedy that.”

Thrawn pressed another button on the table.  “Show them in, commander.”

The door to the conference room unexpectedly slid open.  Covell turned in his seat, to watch eight stormtroopers come marching into the room and take position along one of the curved walls.  “What’s going on, Admiral?” Aban asked cautiously.

“I’ll show you,” Thrawn said.  “Troopers, remove your helmets.”

Covell watched the others look in fascination as slowly but succinctly the troopers reached under their chins and stared to remove their helmets.  One-by-one they lifted them up…

“No,” someone gasped.  “Impossible.”

Covell just stared quietly.  “Clones,” he broke the silence at last, scanning up and down the row of identical faces above the stormtrooper armor.  “You’ve been making clones.”

“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed.  “For the past two months I have been gathering our best men—troopers, starfighter pilots, starship operators—and sending them to a special facility for duplication.  What you see before you is the result.  Soon we will have more than enough qualified men with which to strike back at the Rebellion.”

“When you say a special facility…” Dorja trailed off.

 “I mean a cloning facility, yes.”

“And where were you able to find enough Spaarti cloning cylinders to do this?”

Thrawn shrugged fractionally.  “The same place I found the cloaking shield General Covell finds so impractical.  For now its exact location will remain a secret, for obvious reasons.”

Brandei stood up and started examining the nearest stormtrooper closely.  “They look so real,” he murmured.

Covell caught Thrawn scowl slightly, though he doubted Brandei noticed.  “They are real, Captain.  As real as you or me.”

“Mmmm.  And when do we start getting them on our ships?”

“As it happens,” Thrawn told him, “you already have.”

There was a sudden silence, even more pronounced than the one a few moments ago.  “I beg your pardon?” Dorja coughed.

“For the past month I have been reassigning clone units to compliment those already aboard your ships.  Including yours, Captain Brandei.  The Katana skirmish,” Thrawn paused a moment, “there were clones among both your shock troops and fighter pilots for that operation.”

Covell saw Brandei’s face pale, and he felt a slightly satisfied smile appear on his own—though whether it had paled at the reference to the Katana skirmish, or rather the prospect of a bunch of clones running around his ship, Covell couldn’t say.  “Clones,” Brandei repeated.  “On my ship, without my knowledge.”

“The Judicator is yours to command,” Thrawn reminded him, a hint of threat to his voice, “but it is my ship.  As are all of yours.  Do not forget that.”

“Of course, Admiral,” Brandei swallowed quickly.  “Forgive me.”

From behind Thrawn Pellaeon took a sudden step forward.  “Captain Aban,” he noted, “you’ve been awfully quiet the past few minutes.”

“I have,” Aban admitted, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  He looked up at Thrawn.  “You said you grew these men in two months.”

“Less than that, actually.  But yes.”

Aban shook his head.  “I don’t see how that’s possible.  All the records from the Clone Wars say it takes at least three-to-five years to grow a clone.  Longer, if you want it to actually fight.  It’s impossible to raise a stable clone in less than two months”

Brandei glanced at him in surprise.  “How do you know so much about cloning?”

“I was part of a task force put together by Darth Vader after Hoth,” he explained.  “Admiral, you haven’t answered my question.”

Thrawn shrugged again.  “I’m aware of the usual limitation.  I have found a way around it.”

“How?” Aban pressed.

“For obvious reasons, Captain, that too shall remain a secret for now.”

Covell cleared his throat.  “So, clones.  This is the other part of your grand plan for defeating the Rebellion.  A clone army.  Is that right, Admiral?”

“Again, only a part of my plan.  You sound as if you disapprove, General.”

Covell sighed.  “No one at this table can deny your superior military mind,” he tried.  “Your leadership has helped stem the tide of the Rebel onslaught these past months.  But a war isn’t just won by whoever has the most ships or the most men.  There are certain logistical problems that come into play.  How exactly are we supposed to feed all these new troops of yours?”

This time there was nothing typical or polite about the smile that spread across Thrawn’s face.  “Ah, but there again is yet another part of my plan.  There is a reason you all specifically were brought to this meeting, to be the first to hear of our new cloning operation.”  He started pressing more keys; and now the holograph over the table twisted and turned into a much more elaborate map of the galaxy, filled with supply lines and outpost markings.  “Over the past month I have been developing a detailed strategy for defeating and destroying the Rebel threat that still plagues the galaxy.  Each of you will be a major lynchpin in the initial thrust of that strategy.

“Let me tell you about the Ukio operation.”

Mission Over Myrkr, Part 1

“Good afternoon, Admiral,” Karrde nodded in greeting, taking it in stride. “This is an unexpected honor. May I ask the purpose of your call?”

“Part of it I’m sure you’ve already guessed,” Thrawn told him. “We find ourselves in need of more ysalamiri, and would like your permission to harvest some more of them.”

“Certainly,” Karrde said, a funny feeling starting to tug at the back of his mind. There was something strange about Thrawn’s posture…and the Imperials hardly needed his permission to come pull ysalamiri off their trees. “If I may say so, you seem to be running through them rather quickly. Are you having trouble keeping them alive?”

Thrawn raised an eyebrow in polite surprise. “None of them has died, Captain. We simply need more of them.” —Heir to the Empire

----------------------------------------------------

“Our supply lines continue to be harassed by the attacks of Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Admiral Ackbar was saying, pointing on the holographic map hovering a couple inches over the table. “Thirty-six attacks in the past week alone: that’s a thirty-three percent increase from the week before, and a seventy-one percent increase from the week before that. We have not yet seen the major thrust of his offensive, but it is clear the Empire is building up to its primary campaign,” he concluded.

Leia studied the map, doing her best to make sense of it. She wasn’t nearly as good at reading these things as Ackbar was. “How soon, Admiral?” Mon Mothma asked quietly from the seat beside Leia.

Ackbar gave the Mon Calamari equivalent of a shrug. “Difficult to say at this point. At the rate he’s going, I would anticipate Thrawn’s full offensive will begin somewhere between two and four weeks from now.”

“Two weeks,” Mon Mothma repeated, the lines on her face looking even deeper than usual. “You’re certain?”

“Based on our analysis so far,” Ackbar confirmed. He paused. “Of course, I haven’t had as long to review the data as I would have liked.”

Leia cast a sideways look down the table, where Councilor Fey’lya sat silent and alone at the far end. It had only been a few weeks since Fey’lya’s embarrassing political defeat during the Katana skirmish; and even though Ackbar had been cleared of his false accusations two days later—thanks in no small part to the work of that slicer, Ghent—the admiral was understandably still feeling a little rankled.

But dwelling on the past wouldn’t get them anywhere now. “Where do you think the main thrust will occur?” she asked, trying to bring him back to the matter at hand.

Ackbar looked at his aide. “We’re not sure at this point,” Commander Sesfan said. “Conventional wisdom suggests Mrisst will be his most likely target.”

“Mrisst?” Admiral Drayson spoke up, the doubt evident in his voice. “Are you certain? Mrisst’s only real asset is its university. I don’t see what possible military value such a world would hold.”

“Military value, no,” Sesfan agreed, “but Mrisst is sufficiently close to Coruscant to be of considerable strategic value. From Mrisst the Empire would have a significant forward base from which to launch an attack against us.”

“Or it could be used as a feint,” Ackbar added. “Mrisst’s strategic position would require us to send a considerable portion of the sector fleet to defend it, leaving Coruscant itself vulnerable to attack.”

“I see,” Mon Mothma said, and those lines started getting a little deeper. “Are there any other possibilities?”

“We’ve also identified the Dolomar and Farrfin systems as likely targets for a first strike.” Sesfan sighed. “Of course, these are all guesswork. Thrawn may just as likely hit someplace we haven’t even considered.”

“What about these clones of his?” Drayson asked. “It seems to me they’re the real threat. Have we made any progress on figuring out where he’s getting them?”

“I have asked Colonel Derlin to put together a complete plan for locating and eliminating Thrawn’s cloning facility,” Ackbar said. “He’s still in the process of compiling it.”

And even once he finished, it would take weeks—if not months—to find wherever Thrawn was hiding his cloning tanks. “I think we need to stay focused on the most immediate issue for the time being,” Leia said, “namely, preparing our frontline defenses for whenever Thrawn’s main assault comes.”

“I agree,” Ackbar said. He looked pointedly at the handful of empty chairs around the table. “Perhaps before we go further we should wait until everyone arrives?”

“If you’re referring to General Bel Iblis, he won’t be attending,” Mon Mothma responded quickly. A little too quickly, in Leia’s opinion. “Garm is currently out on an assignment in the Borderland Regions, at my request.”

“His expertise could most certainly be useful here,” Ackbar pointed out, “but I wasn’t talking about the General. I was referring to Councilor Organa Solo’s brother and husband. Shouldn’t they be in this meeting, too?”

Leia hesitated, her eyes lingering on Fey‘lya; but she brushed her concerns aside. Surely no one here was associated with Delta Source. “They’d be here if they could, Admiral,” she said, “but right now Han and Luke are following up on an assignment of their own.”

“I don’t recall seeing anything about that in the daily briefings,” Drayson said.

“It’s more of a personal assignment,” Leia explained nebulously, choosing her words carefully. Just because no one here was part of Delta Source didn’t mean she should share any more information than necessary. “Don’t worry, I expect them back in a couple days.”

“Then we will wish them luck,” Mon Mothma said; but Leia could sense the other woman studying her carefully. Clearly she didn’t like being kept in the dark any more than Drayson did. “In the meantime, we have our own matters to attend to. I believe we were discussing the Mrisst response plan. Admiral: proceed.”

* * *

“I can see them, all right,” Han confirmed, shifting his position to get a better grip on the macrobinoculars. “I make out five shuttles, plus at least thirty techs. It’s definitely a party.”

Lying beside Han in the underbrush, Luke did a scan of his own at the scene before them. Of course, without the macrobinoculars he couldn’t see much. “Five shuttles?” he repeated. “You’re sure?”

“I know how to count, kid,” Han reminded him.

Luke considered. “Mara said there were only two shuttles the first time.”

“Then I guess they’re stepping things up,” Han said. “Or else Mara remembered wrong.”

“Maybe,” Luke allowed doubtfully. That wasn’t the Mara he knew: the one that could go two days without sleep and still blast a vornskr off his back. Dimly Luke thought back to that first trek across Myrkr, and the days spent avoiding the local predators and, later, Imperial patrols. At the time, he’d silently promised himself he’d never return.

But the universe still had ways of playing with him. “So what’s the plan?” he asked Han, peering through the trees at the distant shapes of the Imperial techs moving among the Myrkr foliage.

“We crash the party, that’s what,” Han said as he ran the macrobinoculars over the group again. “That shuttle closest to the right—it looks like they’re almost finished loading their ysalamiri. That’s the one we’ll try.”

It had been Han’s idea—well, Han’s idea combined with something Ghent had said. According to Ghent Thrawn had visited Myrkr on at least two prior occasions, to collect some of those ysalamiri creatures for the Chimaera. But it was Han who was the one to openly wonder whether the Empire would ever be coming back to collect more. It was a possibility too intriguing to pass up.

Fortunately the two of them hadn’t had to wait long: it was on their third day on Myrkr, otherwise spent keeping a low profile in the cantinas of Hyllyard City, that the Star Destroyer finally showed up. “Not the Chimaera,” Han had guessed, staring up at the approaching shape with his macrobinoculars. That was hardly a surprise: there were plenty of ships in the Imperial fleet, and it had probably been too much to hope Thrawn would come himself. But it was a Star Destroyer, and that meant it was time for action.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Han said, bringing Luke back to the present. He pushed himself up, brushing the leaves off his shirt with his free hand. “We better circle back to the speeder bikes first and grab the charges.”

“Sounds good,” Luke said, starting to push himself up as well. He paused. “And I think we better hurry,” he added, listening closely. “It sounds like a pack of vornskrs has started taking an interest in all this activity in their forest.”

Han’s hand dropped almost subconsciously to his blaster. “You sure?”

“Definitely,” Luke nodded. He was sure, all right: in the distance he could just make out the distinctive cackle/purr. “I’d remember those sounds anywhere.”

“Terrific,” Han said, checking the trees around them. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any read on how close?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

But Luke shook his head. Out here, in the middle of the ysalamiri-infested forest, his Jedi senses were as dark as they’d been the first time. “Well, it would have been nice, anyway,” Han said with a shrug. “Let’s get moving.”

It was a quick five-minute jog back to where they’d hidden the speeder bikes in the brush. While Han dropped off his binoculars and grabbed the backpacks Luke cast another look out into the forest. Those cackle/purr combinations were definitely getting louder, he realized, but Luke couldn’t see anything out there yet. They must still be several hundred meters away. “Ready?” Han asked, coming up beside him.

“Ready,” Luke confirmed, taking the proffered pack and slinging it over his shoulders. “It should be back this way.”

Together they started on a long circle around the Imperial encampment, brushing past the foliage and overhanging vines as Han angled for an approach that would bring them up along the camp’s southern edge. As they went it was hard for Luke not to think about that last journey through the Myrkr forest, with Artoo dragging behind him and Mara bringing up the rear; half-wondering when she would finally decide it would just be easier to kill the two of them and be done with it. But she hadn’t, and they’d all ended up all right. Mostly.

As they got closer Luke began to pick up a new sound, still distant and indistinct through the trees: the modulated chatter of Imperial stormtroopers. “You sure they won’t have set up a perimeter?” Han asked pointedly.

“No,” Luke admitted. “But if what Mara told me is accurate, the metallic content of the trees should mess up any sensor readings. And I haven’t seen any patrols yet.”

A minute later they could begin to see the rising wings of the nearest shuttle, just sticking up out over the treetops. Luke started to scan for any nearby life-signs with the Force, before remembering how useless it would be. Fortunately Han was already on top of it. “Hold on a sec,” he said, waving his hand. He peered between the trees ahead. “I can spot at least two stormtroopers. Just to the left of that cluster of vines—see ‘em?”

Luke came up behind him. “I see them,” he said, peering over Han’s shoulder. “Should we try the next shuttle?”

“We could,” Han said doubtfully. “No reason to think it won’t have a guard too, though. Wait…you hear that?”

It took Luke a moment. “Is that blaster fire?”

“Sure sounds like it,” Han nodded. “Coming from back the way we just came. My guess is your vornskr pals finally found the camp.” He leaned in closer towards the clearing. “Those troopers hear it too. See?”

Luke saw, all right. The two stormtroopers had started conferring with each other, and even though Luke couldn’t make out what they were saying he could definitely hear the urgency in their voices. A moment later the two of them hurried off towards the west, their blaster rifles out and ready. “I don’t think we’re going to get a better opening than this,” Luke observed.

“No argument here.” Han cast one more look around the forest. “Okay, we’re clear. Go.”

Doing their best to stay low, the two of them jogged through the trees towards the shuttle. Han had them pull up just short, ducking behind the nearest tree trunk and checking the clearing. But other than a couple scattered crates there didn’t appear to be anyone nearby. “Looks clear,” he whispered back to Luke. “Stay close, kid.”

Luke nodded, following him past the trees and out the forest canopy into the small clearing the Imperials had made. Han had been right, he saw: no fewer than five shuttles were parked in the gaps between the trees, their ramps down as gray-clad service techs scurried back and forth from the shuttles to the forest. On the far side Luke could see a couple people doing something to one of the tree branches—probably in the process of removing its ysalamiri, he realized. As for Han and Luke’s little part of the woods…with the exception of a few scattered packing crates, it was empty and quiet for the moment.

Luke’s thoughts were interrupted as the air was punctuated once again with the distant sound of blaster shots, coming away from somewhere on their left. “It’s vornskrs, all right,” Luke said. He couldn’t see anything—whatever was going on must be happening deep in the forest—but he could certainly hear the angry roars that were starting to join the cacophony of blaster fire.

“Beats Ewoks for a distraction, anyway,” Han said, pulling up behind the nearest stack of crates. “Looks like most of the stormtroopers are out in the forest trying to clean up that mess. We should be able to make it to the shuttle’s ramp before anyone notices.”

Luke tried reaching out with the Force a second time, hoping to get a read on anybody in the shuttle. But even out of the forest, the ysalamiri effect still blocked his senses. “Then let’s go,” he said, trying to ignore the distinct feeling they were going in blind. This was how Han usually worked, anyway. “I’m right behind you.”

Han nodded, then ducking low sprinted across the clearing towards the waiting ramp. Luke followed after, half-expecting to hear an angry shout or a blaster shot to greet them. But they made it without incident, reaching the foot of the ramp and finally scrambling up inside. As Luke reached the top he saw Han already had his blaster out, scanning the dark corners for any sign of a pilot or other personnel. But the shuttle interior, too, was empty.

Han holstered his blaster and led them down into the cargo hold, where several rows of crates had already been stacked. Past the cargo hold he found an unassuming row of storage lockers against the far wall, well-hidden from any potentially prying eyes that might wander back. The lockers were, of course, locked; but Han’s hot-wiring skills were, if not quite legendary, at least well-suited to the challenge. It took him only half-a-minute to get one sliced and open. “Voila,” he beamed, before casting a look inside. “Hmm. Looks cozy, anyway.”

“Reminds me of those smuggling compartments on the Falcon,” Luke agreed, giving the locker a scan of his own. It would be cramped, but there should be enough room for the both of them.

“Or that storage shed Karrde kept you holed up in,” Han added, replacing the locker’s access panel as best he could. Luke knew it wouldn’t fool a really close inspection, but it would have to do. “Maybe when we’re done here you can pay it a visit.”

Luke didn‘t answer, his attention on the ramp behind them. Was it his imagination, or was that the sound of footsteps starting to come up? “Come on, let’s get settled in,” he suggested, choosing a spot and sitting down. “It’s going to be a long wait.”

* * *

The wait, it turned out, wasn’t as long as he’d expected. It was thirty minutes according to the chronometer on Han’s wrist when they finally heard the last footsteps on the ramp and the muffled chatter of the pilot heading for the cockpit. A moment later came the grinding of servomotors as the entry ramp was raised and the ship sealed shut. “Here we go again,” Han said ominously.

He was cut off by a rising whine as the pilot activated the shuttle’s repulsorlifts, and with a slight rumble of the deck beneath them the shuttle took off. “How long do you think it will take them to reach the ship?” Luke asked, shifting into a better position in his corner.

Han shrugged in the locker’s dim light. “My guess is twenty minutes from take-off to touch-down,” he said. “The question is, how long will it take them to unload everything?”

“It should be a couple hours,” Luke told him, “at least, if they’re anything like the crews they had on the Chimaera a few weeks back.”

“Oh. Right,” Han said, and Luke knew he’d forgotten about his and Mara’s little rescue mission. “Well, we won’t need nearly that much time. I say twenty-five minutes tops to get down to the main reactor, ten minutes to plant the charges, and another twenty-five to get back. Factor in an additional five for any unforeseen problems, and we should be done in just over an hour. Listen,” he added, placing an ear against the outer bulkhead. “Sounds like we’re already entering the upper atmosphere.”

Luke nodded distantly. He’d noticed it too; but he’d suddenly noticed something else. A sensation had filled him, an awareness he hadn’t experienced in three days.

The Force.

Luke took a breath, reached out gently to touch it with his mind. It felt good, like a reunion with an old friend, or being able to see after being trapped in the dark for a long time.

And it meant Han was right. On their last trip they’d determined the planet’s ysalamiri effect ended roughly twelve kilometers above the planet. They were indeed entering the upper atmosphere.

“We back online?” Han interrupted into his thoughts.

Luke nodded slowly. “Good,” the other said, leaning away from the bulkhead. “Don’t take this the wrong way, kid, but without the Force you’re not a whole lot of good in a fight.”

“No offense taken,” Luke assured him, using the Force to scan the area around them. Of course, stuck in a shuttle several kilometers above a planet, there wasn’t a whole lot for him to sense at the moment. “Let’s just hope they haven’t gotten a chance to install any ysalamiri in that Star Destroyer’s hangar areas yet.”

“You said you didn’t encounter any on the Chimaera,” Han pointed out, but his mood seemed pensive to Luke. “What do you suppose they want with this stuff, anyway?”

Luke frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this is a lot of ysalamiri,” Han said. “There must be thousands of these things they’re bringing back. If they‘re not putting them on their warships, what are they doing with them?”

“I don’t know,” Luke admitted. It was a question that had crossed his mind, too. “But that’s not our concern right now,” he reminded Han, an old adage ringing in his head. This one a long time have I watched, Yoda’s words echoed. All his life has he looked away to the future, to the horizon…never his mind on where he was, hmm? What he was doing! “Our concern is getting on that Star Destroyer, planting the charges, and then getting off. We’ll worry about those other questions later.”

He sensed more than saw Han’s grim nod. Fingering the lightsaber hanging from his belt, Luke settled in to wait.

Mission Over Myrkr, Part 2

“We‘ll find out soon enough,” Thrawn told him, turning to look over his shoulder. “Rukh?”

The silent gray figure moved to Thrawn‘s side. “Yes, my lord?”

“Get a squad of noncombat personnel together,” Thrawn ordered. “Have them collect all the ysalamiri from Engineering and Systems Control and move them down to the hangar bays. There aren‘t nearly enough to cover the whole area, so use your hunter‘s instincts on their placement. The more we can hamper Skywalker‘s Jedi tricks, the less trouble we‘ll have taking him.” —Dark Force Rising

----------------------------------------------------

Han, as it happened, was right again: it was just past twenty minutes when they felt more than heard the slight clank as the shuttle settled to the Star Destroyer’s hangar deck. “Now what?” Luke asked.

“Shh!” Han hissed, listening at the locker door. “Okay,” he said finally. “Sounds like they’re shutting down their systems and preparing for unloading. You recall anything else from your little trip aboard the Chimaera?”

Luke thought for a moment. “If this ship is anything similar, there should be a supply service area one deck down. It was pretty quiet when Mara and I rescued Karrde. It might be a good place to head for”

“Yeah, well, we won’t be going that far,” Han said. “Wait—that sounds like servomotors. They must already be starting the unloading process.”

Luke listened. A moment later he could indeed hear the sound of footsteps on the ramp outside. “You’re right. I sense three people coming aboard, plus the shuttle crew. Do you want to try taking any of them out?”

Han shook his head. “Let’s let them get started if we can. What we really need is some kind of disguise…” He broke off, a funny look appearing on his face as he stared at something over Luke’s shoulder. Luke followed his gaze; and noticed for the first time the pair of tech coveralls hanging behind him. “Perfect,” Han said, replacing the funny look with his usual grin. “Pass me one, would you?”

Luke reached up and handed one of the coveralls to Han. “This is your big plan?” he asked doubtfully, even as he started getting into the other one.

“Why not?” Han challenged, slipping one leg into the coveralls. “No one’s gonna think twice about a couple of maintenance techs down at the reactor levels.”

“I suppose,” Luke allowed doubtfully. It beat stormtrooper armor, anyway. “All done,” he said, tucking his lightsaber into his tunic and zipping up the front. The coveralls felt rather bulky over his usual clothes.

“Same here,” Han said, listening again at the door. “We’re all clear,” he reported. “Come on.”

Together they slipped out of the locker. The cargo hold was currently empty, but Luke could see the techs had already moved a couple of crates off the shuttle. “You sense anyone?” Han whispered back.

But Luke shook his head. “I’m getting too much interference from the ysalamiri to get a reading.”

“Well, we’ll have to risk it. Here, help me with this gravsled.”

Together the two of them grabbed the gravsled parked along the wall and started loading one of the crates up onto it. It took them only a couple seconds, and then Han was pushing the sled back towards the shuttle’s main entrance. “Remember: look casual,” he urged, putting on his best “innocent me” expression. “We’re just a couple of service techs going about our business. Nothing to be concerned about.”

They reached the end of the cargo hold and came up to the shuttle entrance. The ramp was already lowered, and as they started down Luke could spy a couple of other techs moving around on the deck below. “Hey!” someone called, and a young man in the uniform of the deck officer started hurrying towards them. “What are you two doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Han grumbled, putting on just the right mix of boredom and impatience. “We’re unloading the shuttle. Is there a problem?”

“There certainly is,” the deck officer said. “Shuttle crews are supposed to stay aboard their shuttles until the unloading is complete. Or did you forget basic fleet procedure?”

Silently, Luke berated himself. They’d had the same rule aboard the Chimaera when he and Mara had paid their little visit. He had, in fact, completely forgotten.

As usual, Han took it all in stride. “Yeah, we know. We got orders to help out anyway.” He shrugged. “But if you don’t want it, we’re happy to head back up and lounge around for the next hour.”

For a heartbeat the deck officer glared at him, and Luke was afraid he was going to take Han up on the offer. “We’re understaffed as it is, anyway,” he decided at last, waving them on. “This batch is going up to Deck 95. The lift’s the third door on your right.”

“We know where the lift is, thanks,” Han said, pushing the gravsled past the deck officer.

“Leia’s right, you know,” Luke whispered as they slid past. Even without the Force, he could still feel the deck officer’s eyes on them. “You really do have a way with people.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Han countered. “He said third door, right?”

It took them only a couple minutes to summon a turbolift car and get the gravsled into the lift. “I take it we’re not really going all the way to Deck 95?” Luke said as Han keyed in their destination.

Han shook his head. “Engineering levels for us, kid. I figure we can find a convenient storage closet to dump this stuff into along the way.”

The main reactor was located in the aft of the ship, several decks below the command and systems control sectors and not too far from the Star Destroyer’s brig and detention center. Fortunately the main hangar bays were also located in the ship’s aft, and it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before their car finally came to a halt. “Here we are,” Han said as the lift door slid open. “Last stop.”

Together the two of them pushed the gravsled off the car and into the main corridor. “Which way?” Luke asked, casting a look around. He could see a handful of crewers, pilots, and maintenance techs moving in either direction, but nobody paid them any particular mind.

Han cast a look of his own. “This way,” he decided, gesturing to their left. “If this Star Destroyer’s anything like the ones I’ve seen, there should be a supply room about a hundred meters down.”

Luke glanced at him. “When were you ever in Star Destroyer’s engineering levels?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, kid. Come on, let’s get moving.”

Quickly they set off, the gravsled gliding between them. Luke risked a surreptitious glance at some of the Star Destroyer’s crew as they went, searching for any signs of suspicion. But there was none he could detect. Han had been right: no one seemed to be thinking twice about a couple of service techs moving about the reactor levels.

Eventually they came to the supply room Han had in mind. Thirty seconds to drop off the gravsled in an inconspicuous corner, and then they were back in the main corridor. “See?” Han said, pulling out a data pad that had been in one of his pockets to consult a ship schematic. “Couldn’t be easier.”

“We’re not out of it yet,” Luke reminded him. He glanced over Han’s shoulder at the data pad. “Which way now?”

“Still to the left, looks like,” Han said, pointing. “Right now the main reactor’s below us. We should be able to get in through one of the service entrances along here.”

They started back down the corridor, occasionally consulting the data pad for guidance. Dimly Luke wished Mara was with them. Whatever her faults, she seemed to know the layout of a Star Destroyer like the back of her hand.

“This is it,” Han finally decided, consulting the data pad one last time as they came upon an unmarked door. He looked at Luke pointedly. “You getting anything on the other side?”

Luke hesitated. “There’s definitely a couple people moving around on some of the lower levels,” he said, “but we should be okay for the time being.”

Han nodded. “Then let’s get to it,” he said, handing Luke the data pad for safekeeping. Han hit the door panel, and then slipped through as it slid open. Luke followed after.

It was, not surprisingly, impressive. Luke had never seen the main reactor to an Imperial Star Destroyer before, though he’d seen the equivalents on smaller ships many times; and he had to admit those other ships couldn‘t hold a candle to the flagship of the Imperial war machine. Twenty meters wide and at least seven stories high, the reactor descended down into the depths below them like an artificial abyss. Moving his gaze downwards Luke could see a myriad of cables and conduits at various levels, branching off the main column in all directions. “This is it?” he asked, though there was no doubt in his mind.

“This is it,” Han agreed, waving him on. “You take this level, I’ll head a couple decks down. Remember to plant the charges a good distance away from each other or we won’t get the full effect.”

Without another word he started off down one of the catwalks that crisscrossed the chamber. Luke watched him go, an uneasy feeling stirring in the back of his mind. Han knows what he’s doing, he reminded himself. Setting the data pad aside, Luke sprinted towards the reactor and got to work.

Han had said it should take only ten minutes to plant the charges, but it must have taken Luke at least fifteen: finding a good place among the jumble of cables took a lot more effort than Luke had expected, and of course it was hard work to begin with, leaning over the railing and stretching across the catwalk. But plant his charges Luke eventually did, and he was just about to call Han on the comlink when… “Hold it!” a filtered voice ordered behind him.

Luke did just that, his emotions somewhere between frustrated and confused. How had someone managed to sneak behind him? “Hello?” he called tentatively, though he had a pretty good idea what to expect.

“Turn around,” the voice commanded.

Luke did just that, being sure to keep his hands visible. He wasn’t disappointed: four stormtroopers stood staring back at him, a little more than an arm’s length away. All of them, Luke noted, had blasters drawn—and all four of those blasters were currently pointed at him.

“All right,” the closest stormtrooper said, keeping his blaster trained on Luke. “Only authorized personnel are allowed in this area. What are you doing down here?”

“I was sent down,” Luke protested, taking the moment to scan the surrounding area with the Force. But he couldn’t sense anything nearby. “Some problem with the static damper,” he continued, indicating the data pad he had set aside. “I’ve got the work order for it right there.”

The stormtrooper paused—probably, Luke reflected, checking Luke’s story via his helmet comlink. “I’m not aware of any work order,” he said at last. “Let’s see some identification.”

“Sure thing,” Luke said. Keeping an eye on the stormtroopers, he reached a cautious hand into his coveralls.

Inside was his lightsaber.

The green-white blade flashed into existence, taking down the closest stormtrooper with a single swipe. Another swing and the next stormtrooper wasn’t far behind the first, collapsing to the deck before he even got a shot off. Luke got his lightsaber into a defensive position just as the remaining two dropped down and opened fire, their initial blasts bouncing wide. But even as they aimed for a second salvo a new sound punctuated the air—the higher pitch of a different model blaster—and then the two of them also slumped to the deck, dead.

Luke was just breathing a sigh of relief as the welcome figure of Han Solo came jogging up behind the fallen troopers, a still-smoking blaster in his hand. “Luke!” he called, giving him a concerned once-over. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Luke assured him, switching down his lightsaber. “You get your charges planted?”

“Just finished,” Han confirmed, moving his examination from Luke to the stormtroopers. “What happened here?”

“Just some surprise guests,” Luke said, tucking the lightsaber back into his tunic. “I guess they didn’t like me trying to blow up their ship.”

“Guess not,” Han agreed, a small frown on his face. “How’d they sneak up on you, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” Luke admitted, glancing around…and for the first time noticed the small gray-brown creature hanging from a conduit above them. “Ysalamiri,” he breathed.

Han followed his gaze. “Looks like ysalamiri, all right,” he said. “Funny place to put them. You gotta start paying better attention, kid.”

“No argument from me,” Luke agreed. Now that he thought to look for them, he could see several of the creatures scattered around the room. “Do you want to try to hide the bodies?” he asked Han, bringing himself to the more immediate issue.

Han shrugged. “I think beating a path out of here is a better plan at this point. Those charges have a thirty minute timer on them.”

“And it’s going to take at least twenty to get back to the hangar,” Luke finished, scooping up the data pad. “Okay. Then let’s get going.”

* * *

They’d made back to the lift without incident and were halfway down the corridor to the hangar bay when the first of the alarms sounded. They were distant at first, so distant Han thought for a moment he was imagining them; but a second later the overhead speaker started blaring, too. “I guess somebody finally stumbled on our handiwork,” he observed.

“Or else someone at Command got suspicious when four stormtroopers didn’t report in,” Luke said, looking up at the speakers. “How much time do we have left?”

Han checked his wrist chrono. “Eleven minutes. It‘s gonna be close.”

“Just be glad we ditched the lift when we did,” Luke suggested, consulting the data pad. “Lift cars are designed to lock down during an intruder alert.”

Han raised an eyebrow. “I take it you have some personal experience with that?”

The kid smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Han. Come on, looks like we’re here.”

They came up on the archway to the supply hangar and ducked through. The area was still jammed with shuttles and unpacked crates, but there was no sign of that deck officer anywhere. Or anyone else, for that matter. “Looks deserted,” Han noted, reaching into his coveralls and getting a grip around the blaster hidden there. “Everyone must have been pulled somewhere for the alert. You picking up anyone?”

Luke was quiet for a moment. “I don’t sense anything,” he said, a concentrated frown on his face.

“Perfect,” Han said, checking his chrono again. Eight minutes. “Follow me.”

He slipped past the arch and started jogging across the deck towards the welcome maw of the waiting shuttle. “Han—wait!” Luke hissed behind him, but it was too late. Han had barely made it halfway before a dozen stormtroopers suddenly appeared in a ring around him, emerging from where they’d been lurking behind the bay’s supply crates.

“Nice job, kid,” Han muttered, being sure to keep his hands were the stormtroopers could see them. A quick glance at the nearest trooper told him what he’d already suspected: all twelve had ysalamiri backpacks slung over their shoulders.

“I did tell you to wait,” Luke reminded him, coming up slowly behind him. He put on his best innocent/unconcerned expression. “Hey, what’s the problem here?” he called out. “Why are all the alarms going off?”

The stormtroopers didn’t answer; but a second later the familiar figure of the deck officer strutted out behind one of the service crates, another ysalamiri-equipped stormtrooper following behind him. “Well, well,” he grinned, a satisfied look on his face. “This is certainly a surprise. Luke Skywalker, I presume?”

Even out of the corner of his eye Han saw Luke’s grimace. “What are you talking about?” he tried anyway. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Please,” the deck officer waved a hand. “Who else would the Rebellion send on a mission to Myrkr?” He moved his gaze toward Han. “And that must make you Han Solo. The official holo images really don’t do either of you justice.”

“We’ll be sure to get them updated,” Han promised, studying the ring around them. “So you know who we are. Now you want to get out of our way before you get yourself hurt?”

The deck officer’s grin faded, replaced by a much harder expression. “Pardon me, Captain Solo, but we’re quite familiar with how ysalamiri work. Skywalker’s Jedi tricks are useless here.”

“You think they are, anyway,” Han agreed, but it was so much bluster on his part. Even he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how the ysalamiri affected Luke’s abilities. “You willing to bet your life on it?”

For a moment the deck officer hesitated, and Han caught the flicker of doubt that passed across his face. “Enough of this. Both of you will hand over your weapons and submit yourselves to our custody. If you resist we will be forced to fire on you.”

“We’re giving you one last chance,” Luke pleaded with him. “Let us go before—”

He was interrupted by a sudden beeping coming from Han’s wrist. “Too late,” Han sighed.

The deck beneath them suddenly shook violently as the first of the charges went off. The explosion rocked the entire ship, knocking most of the stormtroopers onto their backs. They started to scramble up, just as a second round of detonations sent them to the deck again. “What are you waiting for?” the deck officer screamed at them. “Blast them!”

But Han and Luke were no longer there. As soon as the first charges had gone off Han was half-crawling, half-sprinting across the deck towards the waiting shuttle, Luke not far behind him. A quick hand into his coveralls and Han had his blaster out and firing, catching the nearest stormtrooper square in the chest and knocking him to the deck for good. His second blast clipped the shoulder of another stormtrooper and sent his own tracking shot wide. Han threw his arm back, firing blindly behind them—

“Han!” Luke panted beside him, “the ysalamiri!”

Han understood. Pulling up, he took careful aim along his sights and fired. The single blast sizzled past the stormtrooper’s shoulder, sputtering against his backpack in a flash of sparks. There came a tiny shriek from the ysalamir slung there—

“Look out!” one of the stormtroopers cried out, but it was too late. With a snap-hiss Luke’s lightsaber sprang to life, bathing the hangar bay in its green-white light. A handful of blaster fire went off in Luke’s direction, easily deflected by the lightsaber humming in his hand; the next salvo was sent ricocheting back to its unfortunate originator. Another shot from Han’s blaster, and another ysalamir winked out…

“Pull back!” the deck officer instructed, his own blaster clutched in his hand. “All of you, pull back!”

The stormtroopers started scurrying back towards the hangar exit, laying down a carefully-executed cover fire. “That’s it, kid,” Han said, holstering his blaster and coming up beside Luke. “Let’s get out of here before they reconsider.”

Luke nodded, shutting down his lightsaber and following Han up the shuttle ramp. It took them only a minute to get the ramp closed and sealed. The command deck was empty, but luckily the shuttle’s pilot had kept the engines on standby; and it took Han even less time to get the engines fired up. “We all strapped in?” he asked Luke, fastening his own restraints.

Luke nodded. “Then let’s go. Sit tight.”

Han got a tight grip on the flight controls and pulled, and the shuttle lifted up off the deck. “Hang on,” he said, and then hit the throttle.

The shuttle bolted forward, passing through the atmospheric barrier with a jolt and dropping through the entry port into deep space. And not a moment too soon. The chrono on Han’s wrist started beeping again, and there was a flash as a third round of explosions went off behind them. “Nothing like cutting it close,” Luke observed.

“No argument here,” Han agreed, bringing them on a long loop around and watching as the detonations began engulfing the Star Destroyer’s stern. “Let’s do this again some time, okay?”

For a moment the two of them sat there quietly, watching out the front canopy as the Star Destroyer began drifting helplessly out of orbit. “They’re launching escape pods,” Luke noted, pointing towards a new group of signals starting to appear.

“And fighters,” Han added, watching as the drive tails of a couple TIE fighters appeared out of the forward bays. “We might as well get going.”

“Sounds good,” Luke said, turning his attention back to his monitor. “Are we heading back to Coruscant?”

“Not quite,” Han told him, typing in a few coordinates in the navicomputer. “I figured since we’ve now got our hands on a shiny Imperial shuttle, we might as well have some fun with it. You ever been to the Imperial supply depot in the Wistril system?”

It took the navicomputer only a couple minutes to get the course laid in. Reaching over to the hyperdrive levers, Han sent them rocketing off into hyperspace.

Kessel Run

Artoo chirped a suggestion. “Kessel’s a possibility,” Luke agreed. “I don’t know, though—last I heard Moruth Doole was still in charge there, and Han’s never really trusted him.” —The Last Command

----------------------------------------------------

Despite its pseudo-legendary status among the fringe element in the galaxy, Karrde had never actually been to Kessel. Not to the spice mines, certainly not to the Imperial prison. Never even been in the system.

Finally getting his first look at it out the Wild Karrde’s bridge viewport, Karrde didn’t think he’d been missing much. It had an off-center, almost misshapen silhouette—more like the brown, barren lump of an asteroid than an actual planet. Even without its reputation, Karrde wanted nothing to do with it.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. “Aves, signal our approach,” he instructed, scanning the bridge crew. “Has anyone here ever actually been to Kessel before?”

Lachton raised a hand. “I did a trip for Billey’s group once,” he said from where he was sitting in the copilot’s chair. “That was years ago, though.”

“What, you never did a Kessel Run in the sordid days of your youth, Karrde?” Dankin asked.

Karrde shook his head. “Kessel Runs always struck me as bad business: too much risk for too little profit. The Hutts were welcome to them.”

“Well, we’re here now, anyway,” Aves interrupted from the comm station. “Kessel Control acknowledges our approach. We’ve been cleared for one of the platforms on the south facility.”

“Wonderful,” Karrde said. When this was over, he promised himself, he was really going to give it to Torve. “Well, Dankin? What are you waiting for? Take us down.”

Dankin did just that, angling the Wild Karrde toward the main prison complex near the equatorial line. Up close Karrde noticed Kessel’s surface looked as barren as it had from orbit; with the exception of the prison itself and a couple other scattered settlements, there wasn't anything but red rocks in all directions. It was almost hard for Karrde to believe anything could survive out there, and he was partly right: Kessel’s atmosphere was usually too thin to sustain human life. But a combination of air factories and breath masks allowed the facility workers to endure at least a nominal amount of time on the planet surface. Even from up here Karrde could see a couple workers scurrying across the landing platforms along the main facility.

Dankin steered for the southern side, doing a quick loop before lowering the Wild Karrde onto an open platform. “Here we are,” he observed.

“Yes, we are,” Karrde agreed, glancing out the canopy. But the landing pad was currently empty. “Keep the engines on standby,” he suggested as Dankin started powering them down, “just in case.”

The other paused. “Are we expecting trouble?” he asked carefully.

“Not really,” Karrde said. “But I believe in being prepared.”

“Don’t listen to him, Dankin,” Aves urged. “Doole’s harmless enough. Karrde’s just feeling jittery, that’s all.”

“With Moruth Doole’s reputation, you should be feeling jittery, too,” Karrde suggested. “And for that comment, you can come with me. If you really believe Doole is harmless.”

“I said he was harmless enough,” Aves muttered back. But he got up from the comm station. “Keep an eye out, okay, Dankin?”

He followed Karrde out the bridge door and down to the Wild Karrde’s cargo bay. “We ready to go, Capt?” Chin asked from where he was waiting by the loading ramp.

“Just about,” Karrde said, checking his blaster’s power level before sliding it back in its holster. “Do you have the breath masks?”

“Right here,” Chin said, pulling out a clear-looking plastic apparatus. It was connected to a small canister by a thin tube. “And one for you,” he added, handing a second one to Aves.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it reluctantly and slipping it over his head. The mask was just large enough to cover his mouth and nose. “Let’s get this over with,” he added, attaching the canister to his belt before checking his own blaster.

Behind his mask, Karrde smiled. So much for Karrde being the only one who was feeling jittery. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Chin, if you please?”

Chin slapped the release, and the bay’s loading ramp lowered to the ground. Dimly aware of Aves trailing behind him, Karrde started down.

The landing platform was still empty, Karrde saw as they reached the bottom. “What, no one to meet us?” Aves’s voice came slightly distorted through his mask, glancing at the closed door that led into the facility.

“Apparently not,” Karrde said. Though if he knew Doole, the other was probably taking just as much time as necessary to get a proper welcoming party together. The question was, what would the proper welcoming party involve?

Even as he finished that thought, the door to the facility started sliding open. “Here he comes,” Karrde called softly to Aves. “Keep an eye out.”

Aves nodded, resting a hand casually on his blaster as he moved into position beside Karrde. The door finished opening, and out emerged the short, pudgy figure of Moruth Doole. “Well, well,” Doole said, positively grinning as he caught sight of them. “Talon Karrde. I almost didn’t believe it when they told me. Never thought I’d see your face around here.”

“I never expected to show it around here,” Karrde said, but he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. There were a couple of guards following behind Doole, doing their best to look intimidating. But only a couple. It looked like Aves had been right, after all: Doole didn’t plan on making trouble.

At least, not yet. “Hello, Moruth,” Karrde continued, studying him carefully over his mask. “How are things?”

Doole shrugged. “Can‘t complain. Things have been good for the spice business lately. But maybe you already knew that,” he added pointedly. “Maybe you’re here to do a little business yourself?”

Karrde wasn‘t amused. “Don’t play games with me, Moruth,” he interrupted. “I don’t deal in spice, and you know it. Stop messing around and go get Torve.”

Doole gave him a look of mock-surprise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I won’t tell you again, Moruth,” Karrde warned darkly. “I know you have one of my people down in the prison blocks. Now go get him and bring him up.”

For a couple of seconds Doole said nothing, just glaring at Karrde through fat, bulbous eyes. But at last he turned to one of his men. “Soren, have them bring up prisoner one-zero-one-seven,” he instructed.

Soren hesitated. “You sure, boss?” he asked, eying Karrde doubtfully. “We can pretty easily kick this guy out of our system, I think.”

“Don‘t think, Soren,” Doole advised impatiently. “Just do it.”

With a shrug Soren pulled his comlink from his belt and started speaking into it. Karrde couldn’t hear what he said; but it was clear Doole had indeed been expecting them, because it was only a couple minutes’ wait before the door to the facility slid open again. Two more of Doole’s men stepped onto the platform, while between them… “Boy am I glad to see you,” Fynn Torve commented, his hands restrained behind him.

“You should just be glad I’m willing to spring you out of this,” Karrde said, but he gave the other a careful once-over. He needn’t have been concerned. Torve certainly looked a little ratty to Karrde‘s eye, but no worse than he normally did. “All right, Moruth,” Karrde continued, returning his attention to Doole. “You wanted to do business? Let’s do business. How much?”

Doole cleared his throat. “This is an Imperial prisoner, Karrde,” he pointed out, as if such things mattered to him. “He has been properly charged with violating no less than six Imperial ordinances: smuggling of embargoed goods, false identification. The Empire has entrusted him into my personal care. What makes you think I’m willing to do business?”

“Because you’re a businessman,” Karrde said simply. “And because the Imperials won’t care two licks about a single prisoner lost in the bureaucracies on Kessel. I, on the other hand, care a great deal. So. How much?”

Doole studied him thoughtfully with his good eye. “Thirty thousand.”

Beside Karrde, Aves snorted. “The bounty’s only twenty,” Karrde reminded him.

It was Doole’s turn to snort. “Yeah, but I have to worry what happens if the Imperials do start caring. You know how this works, Karrde.”

“I do,” Karrde agreed, “which is why I’ll pay you twenty.” He raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Unless you want to start explaining to your clients why suddenly none of their shipments are being delivered.”

“You’re bluffing,” Doole said, but he didn’t quite sound like he believed it. “Even you don’t have that much pull in the smuggling community.”

“Perhaps. Would you care to find out?”

It was entirely a rhetorical question, of course, but Doole took a couple of seconds to consider it just the same. “All right,” he conceded. “Twenty. But I want it now, upfront. We don’t do installment plans.”

“We have the money,” Karrde assured him, his eye falling on the two guards standing behind Torve. “Gentlemen, if you please?”

Reluctantly, one of them released the binders around Torve’s wrists. “See you around, fellas,” Torve said, sauntering past them towards Karrde. They stood silently, glaring at him. “All right,” Doole insisted. “Now the money, Karrde.”

“Tell you what, Moruth,” Karrde said casually, waving a hand up into the Wild Karrde; and behind him clanked the solitary figure of Chin, a gravsled being pushed in front of him. “Why don't you throw in a couple crates of that spice, and we can make it thirty, after all?”

“Yeah?” Doole challenged. “I thought you didn‘t deal in spice.”

“Normally I don’t,” Karrde admitted. He gave Doole one of his sardonic smiles. “But since we’re here anyway, I think we can make an exception just this once.”

* * *

It took Doole’s men only thirty minutes to load the ten crates into the Wild Karrde’s cargo bay. Another fifteen to lift off and clear the upper atmosphere, and they were back in space.

“Well, that was fun,” Torve commented, leaning back in his chair as Lachton started running the lightspeed calculation. “Oh, and thanks for coming after me,” he added sheepishly.

“You’re welcome,” Karrde said, glancing at the sensor scope. “What happened, anyway?”

Torve shrugged. “I got nabbed, that’s what. The Imperial garrison at Joiol is a lot better at seeing through a phony ID transponder than I gave them credit for.”

“How nice for them,” Karrde said dryly. “What about the Etherway?”

“She should still be there. Impounded, I imagine. I assume you’ve got a plan for getting her out?”

“By rights I should make you come up with one yourself,” he said, giving the sensors another glance. “This is the second time you’ve gotten her impounded.”

“You just keep giving me the tough assignments,” Torve complained. But this time he noticed Karrde’s glance. “Something on the sensors bothering you?”

“Not yet,” Karrde assured him. “But I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you how easily Doole caved?”

“Yeah, that did seem a little quick, even for him,” Aves agreed. “You think he’s got something else up his sleeve?”

“Possibly. It seems to me—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the Wild Karrde’s proximity sensors. “Unidentified ship, coming out of hyperspace,” Dankin reported quickly.

Aves swore softly. “What kind of unidentified ship?”

“Checking now. It’s…” His voice got a little hard. “It’s a Lancer-class Frigate.”

An Imperial patrol. So Doole had indeed been keeping something up his sleeve. “Shields up,” Karrde instructed, rechecking the sensor display. It was definitely a Lancer, coming in on an intercept course that would bring it perfectly alongside the Wild Karrde’s current vector. Almost as if someone on the planet had warned it beforehand.

Still, Karrde reflected, they’d been lucky. It was only a Lancer, which indicated Doole was trying to work this for himself. If he’d simply informed Thrawn, it would most likely be the Chimaera they’d be tangling with right now.

“They’re opening fire,” Aves noted.

“Yes,” Karrde nodded. He could see the flashes on his own screen. “Lachton, how soon till the lightspeed calculation is ready?”

“I still need a couple minutes,” Lachton replied. Out the starboard viewport they could see the Lancer, its turbolasers firing frantically, begin to bear down alongside them.

“You don’t happen to have a plan for this, too?” Torve asked Karrde hopefully.

As a matter of fact, he did. “Balig, Corvus,” he called into the intercom, “are you two ready?”

“We’re all set here, Karrde.”

“Me, too, Capt,” Chin added after them. “I’m at the hatch now. You want me to start dumping?”

“Dumping?” Torve interrupted, giving Karrde a funny look. “Dumping what?”

“Not yet,” Karrde told Chin, watching as the Lancer grew larger out the starboard viewport. “Let’s wait till they’re a little closer. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the covert shroud gambit before?” he asked Torve.

“Not really,” Torve shook his head.

“Well, you’re about to see one in action.” On his sensors, Karrde could see the Wild Karrde was just coming within the Lancer’s tractor beam range. “Okay, Chin, I think we’re close enough. Go ahead and start dumping.”

There came an acknowledgment from the comm…and out the side viewport now a new cluster of shapes began appearing off the Wild Karrde’s starboard bow. “Those are shipping crates,” Torve realized after a moment. “Wait a second. Is he dumping the spice?”

“He is indeed,” Karrde confirmed.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think they‘re looking for spice-runners,” Torve said with the air of strained patience. “That’s not going to do us a whole lot of good.”

He was interrupted by a ping from the sensor display. “Tractor beam’s in range,” Dankin reported.

“Just watch,” Karrde advised Torve, looking out the canopy again and doing a quick count. “That should be enough of them, Chin,” he said into the intercom. “Go ahead and close the hatch.”

By this point the Lancer was almost on top of them, angling itself around the crates to get a better position with its tractor beam. The pinging from the sensor display started getting a little more urgent… “They’re going for a lock,” Dankin warned.

“Balig, looks like they’ve come up on your side,” Karrde said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Apparently Balig was more than ready; Karrde had barely spoken before the Wild Karrde’s starboard turbolaser started firing. But not at the Lancer. “Do you get it yet?” Karrde asked Torve.

“Not really,” Torve said, frowning. “It looks like he’s aiming for the spice crates…”

He was cut off by a flash off the starboard bow as one of the turbolaser blasts made contact. The nearest crate exploded, scattering spice and metallic debris into space in a blossoming red cloud. Karrde turned to look at Torve. “How about now?”

“I think so,” Torve said slowly, comprehension starting to appear on his face. Outside the viewport he could see the Lancer change its course as it attempted to move above the expanding cloud. “The particles from the spice should block the Lancer‘s tractor beam. With them between us and it, it won’t be able to get a lock.”

“Not in time” Karrde confirmed, smiling. “Behold: the covert shroud. Just a little something I read about recently in an obscure treatise on combat tactics.”

“Seems to me like it should be required reading,” Torve said, a smile of his own appearing on his face. Outside another of Balig’s blasts found its mark and another crate exploded, adding a second cloud to the first. “It’s a nice trick.”

“If it was required reading, the Empire would probably have come up with a counter by now,” Karrde pointed out. “Dankin, how are we doing?”

“We should be clear,” the other reported. “Assuming our lightspeed calculation’s ready.”

“It just came in,” Lachton said, wrapping a hand around the hyperspace levers. “We ready to go?”

“We are indeed,” Karrde said, taking one last look at the Lancer in the rear sensor display before coming up behind Lachton. “Chart a course for Joiol. We have a freighter to get back.”

A Diplomatic Mission, Part 1

Leia looked out the cockpit canopy at the Imperial Star Destroyer and eight Dreadnaughts arrayed against the beleaguered planet ahead. Clustering around it like mynocks around an unshielded power generator. It was to have been her last diplomatic mission before settling in to await the birth of her twins: a quick trip to calm a nervous Filvian government and demonstrate the New Republic’s determination to protect the systems in this sector. —The Last Command

----------------------------------------------------

It was the sound of the gentle beeping from her console that prodded Leia out of her light doze. “It’s okay, Chewie, I’m awake,” she assured Chewbacca as she opened her eyes. Above her, the blue swirls of hyperspace filled the Falcon’s cockpit canopy. “How long till we break out?” Leia asked, doing her best to stretch in the confines of the co-pilot’s chair.

Beside her in the pilot’s seat Chewbacca pointed at the timer on his display: one minute. “Threepio,” Leia said, leaning into the intercom, “we’ll be coming out of hyperspace in less than a minute. Why don’t you go get strapped in?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Threepio’s response came back promptly. Promptly, and with none of the hurt Leia would have expected—not after being condemned to the aft living areas for most of the trip.

Carefully, she cast a side-look at Chewbacca. The Wookiee didn’t have nearly the dislike Han had towards droids generally, or Threepio specifically; and Leia had always hoped all the effort Chewbacca had spent putting Threepio back together on Cloud City would have created some kind of bond between the two of them. But from time to time Chewbacca still seemed to have little patience for the droid’s personality—some form of distant loyalty, Leia guessed, related to his life debt to Han.

Chewbacca seemed to notice Leia looking at him. “All right, all right,” she said as he woofed a suggestion, moving to strap herself in as well. The restraints pressed tight across her pregnant stomach, and for a moment Leia rested a hand on her belly, feeling the pair of tiny lives surging within. It was a strange experience, having something growing inside you—two somethings, if the doctors on Coruscant were to be believed. Just a few more weeks, she reminded herself eagerly, reaching out with the Force to touch the two little minds.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a second ping from her console. “Ten seconds,” she reported, removing her hand and reading the timer off Chewbacca’s display. Beside her Chewbacca reached a hairy arm over and wrapped his fingers around the Falcon’s hyperdrive levers. The timer counted down to zero. “Now, Chewie.”

Chewbacca pulled the levers back, and the blue swirls outside melted into starlines before settling into stars. Stars, and the distant orb of a green-white planet directly ahead. “No, I’ve never been to Obroa-skai,” Leia said in response to a question from Chewbacca. “I know Mon Mothma sent a delegation a couple years ago petitioning them to join the Republic, but I wasn’t part of that group.”

Chewbacca nodded and growled another question. “I don’t know if we‘ll be any more successful this time around,” Leia admitted. “But Mon Mothma felt we had to try. The events of the past month may have gone a long way toward convincing the Obroans the Empire is still a very real threat.”

Chewbacca didn’t answer, and Leia knew what he was thinking: with these new clone soldiers at Thrawn’s command, it wouldn’t be hard convincing anyone the Empire was still a threat. “Don’t worry, Chewie,” Leia continued, doing her best to soothe his concerns. “It’ll be fine.”

Chewbacca remained silent—thinking back, no doubt, to their last diplomatic mission together. But unlike that near-disastrous trip to Honoghr, she reminded herself, they weren’t exactly alone this time around. Glancing out the cockpit she could just make out the elongated noses and wingtip lasers of their X-wing escort, following in position behind the Falcon. Leia felt a small smile touch her lips. Han would probably have preferred they bring an entire task force, or at least a Star Cruiser or two…but Leia had more faith in the Millennium Falcon than the entire New Republic fleet combined.

Besides, at the rate Thrawn was going with his offensive, the Republic could find better use for a Star Cruiser these days. The thought wiped Leia’s smile off her face.

“Incoming ship,” the comm suddenly crackled, startling Leia. “This is Obroa-skai Space Control. Please identify yourself and state your business.”

Leia flipped a switch on her console. “This is Councilor Leia Organa Solo aboard the Millennium Falcon,” she identified them. “I have a conference scheduled with Premier K’cheng, to discuss Obroa-skai’s membership into the New Republic.”

“Of course, Councilor Organa Solo,” the voice at the other end agreed promptly. “Your meeting is known to us. Please proceed to the landing field; the beacon will guide you in. Premier K’cheng will meet you there. And welcome to Obroa-skai.”

“Thank you,” Leia said, even as Chewbacca’s display started flashing a new signal as it picked up the landing beacon. “They seem friendly enough,” she commented.

Chewbacca snorted. “Yes, I realize the Bimms did, too,” she said, casting another look out the canopy. Now that they were closer Leia could make out almost two-dozen ships above the planet, in various stages of coming and going. Most of the ships Leia didn’t recognize, but she did spy at least one or two familiar shapes: a couple streamlined personal yachts of the Sorosuub variety, plus at least one Corellian Corvette that made her think back for a moment to her old diplomatic ship, the Tantive IV.

But it wasn’t these that caught her attention. “Chewie, those three ships coming towards us on the port side,” she said, pointing. “Have you ever seen them before? They almost look like fighters.”

Chewbacca looked where she pointed and shook his head. He growled out a possibility. “Maybe,” Leia admitted hesitantly. But if the Obroans were sending an escort, why hadn’t they mentioned anything just now?

Apparently she and Chewbacca weren’t the only people who’d noticed. “Ah, Falcon?” Wedge’s voice came from the ship’s comm. “Any idea what those three Skiprays are doing?”

So that’s what they were. “Chewie and I were just discussing the same thing, Wedge,” Leia said. She’d heard of Skipray blastboats: Han had mentioned them a time or two when discussing his old smuggling days, and according to Luke Karrde used the ships a fair amount in his own organization. But for herself Leia had never seen one before. “Do you think it’s an escort?”

“Because an entire X-wing squadron isn’t enough?” Wedge suggested dryly. “Maybe. I wonder if—”

Leia felt a sudden flicker in the Force. “Look out!” she yelled at Chewbacca, just as a flash of laser fire shot out from the nearest Skipray. But the Wookiee’s reflexes were as quick as ever. Immediately he threw the ship into a sharp spin, weaving the Falcon between the incoming blasts. “Wedge—”

“We’re on it,” Wedge’s voice came back, suddenly tight. “Rogue Squadron, form up. Lock S foils into attack positions and move to assault pattern delta…”

“Hold it a sec, Rogue Leader,” Rogue Two interrupted. “We’ve got three new boogies coming in at one-seven-two mark eight.”

“I’m picking up two more on my scope,” Rogue Five added. “Moving into position behind us.”

“It’s an enclosure movement,” Leia realized, glancing out the canopy. She could indeed see three other Skiprays, coming in on their right. Meanwhile on her display two more blips were closing behind them. “Shields up,” Leia said, quite unnecessarily; a quick look revealed Chewbacca already had switched them on. She turned to look at him. “It looks like we’re in it now, Chewie. Do want me to take one of the quads?”

Chewbacca shook his head, his eyes focused on his controls…but Leia could see the concern there. The gun wells didn’t have nearly the shielding the cockpit had, and Leia knew Chewbacca would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

Outside a new pair of laser blasts flashed past the canopy, one of them making contact and causing a shudder to run through the ship. “Princess Leia!” the intercom crackled. “I do believe we’re under attack!”

That’s an understatement, Leia thought, almost hearing Han’s voice in her head. “Just stay strapped in, Threepio,” Leia suggested, returning her attention to her display. Wedge had moved most of his squadron to engage the incoming Skiprays, leaving Rogues Eleven and Twelve in back-up position to protect the Falcon. But one of the Skiprays appeared to have broken free of the X-wings and was bearing down on Leia and Chewbacca, its laser cannons still blasting away. A second shot made contact, causing another shudder through the ship. “Wedge!”

“Copy, Falcon,” Wedge’s tense response came back. “Eleven, Twelve, where are you?”

“Doing our best, Wedge,” Rogue Eleven replied, sounding even more tense. “Those two boogies behind us have got us tied up.”

Chewbacca roared in frustration as a third shudder ran through the ship, followed by a fourth. “Hang on, Chewie,” Leia urged, ignoring the red lines that started flashing on her display. She knew the kind of beating the Falcon could take—had seen it first-hand during that elaborate escape from Hoth all those years ago—but even the Millennium Falcon had its limits. A new line flashed on her screen. “Deflector shields just dropped to fifty percent,” she told him.

Chewbacca suddenly threw the ship into another spin, cutting hard to starboard and then diving in an attempt to shake their pursuer. “He’s still on us,” Leia said, studying the rear sensor display. The Skipray was almost directly on top of them, its laser fire splattering off the Falcon’s hull. “Upper deflectors below ten percent,” Leia called. “I don’t think they can take another hit!”

Without warning Chewbacca flipped the Falcon over, presenting its fully-shielded underside to their attacker. In the same motion he flipped the switch that released the hidden belly laser cannon: and grabbing the controls Chewbacca took aim and opened fire. The first salvo caught the Skipray completely unaware, spattering against its own forward deflectors. The Skipray tried to jitter to its left even as the second salvo made contact. The third salvo finally punched through, blasting the Skipray’s ventral fin into dust as it abandoned its target and dove desperately into an evasive maneuver. Chewbacca let out a triumphant whoop. “Good shooting, Falcon,” Wedge added over the comm.

“Thanks, Wedge,” Leia said. But the congratulations was short-lived, and they both knew it: already a second Skipray could be seen bearing down on them. They weren’t out of it yet. “Wedge, we’ve picked up another tail,” Leia told him, glancing out the canopy at the approaching silhouette. “Any chance you—”

She was interrupted as a fiery explosion lit the sky, taking the Skipray with it. “What in space?” Leia blurted, scanning the surrounding area. “What was that?”

“Not sure, Falcon,” Wedge started; but Chewbacca pointed at the display, a grave expression on his face. A new series of blips had appeared on their sensors, coming up quickly behind the Falcon. They were blips Leia recognized only too well.

TIE fighters.

Leia swallowed, staring at the new signals. They were TIE fighters, all right; she would recognize those H- shaped silhouettes anywhere. Behind them, just coming in out of lightspeed, was the equally-familiar shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer. “Wedge, we’ve got a new problem,” she said into the comm, and the stars spun as Chewbacca swung them on a new vector away from the incoming TIEs. “Star Destroyer inbound, plus at least one full squadron of TIE fighters.” She paused, but there was nothing to be done. “We’re going to have to abort the mission. Can you get the rest of your squadron out of here before…”

But Leia was interrupted again, this time as a new voice crackled on the comm. “Attention, Millennium Falcon,” the voice said, even as the TIE fighters roared past the Falcon and opened fire on the escaping Skiprays. “This is Captain Harbid aboard the Star Destroyer Death’s Head. Do you require assistance?”