Star Wars_ Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor Part 12

"...they'll be in the guns.h.i.+ps' line of fire, and the guns.h.i.+ps in theirs." Han was already doing so, swinging high to place the Falcon squarely between the enemies behind and those in front. The TIEs' cannons would do even less to the distant guns.h.i.+ps than they were doing to the Falcon, but the guns.h.i.+ps had to hold fire on their missilies, and Han was starting to let himself believe that he just might get the Falcon clear. "This isn't exactly my first sc.r.a.pe, y'know."

"Could've fooled me. How we doin' up there?"

"Not bad," Han admitted-then changed his mind as another salvo from the TIEs rocked the s.h.i.+p. Hard. "But they're gaining on us-pretty soon they'll be close enough that those cannons will start doing real damage. And the guns.h.i.+ps are wheeling to join up on the tail chase when we pa.s.s them in about five seconds, at which point we're pretty well f..."

"Pull up!"

"What?"

"Climb, dammit! Full power!"

"You can't even see out there!"

"I know this planet like your rear knows your pants, flyboy. Climb or die."

"You want to come up here and drive? No, forget I asked."

Han gritted his teeth and hauled back on the control yoke. The Falcon lurched and bucked and whipped for the sky fast enough to overload its inertial compensators; acceleration squashed him into the pilot's couch and pinned him there, and he caught himself indulging an uncharitable fantasy that one particular Mindorese had failed to secure herself and had fallen and broken something.

Preferably her mouth.

The pursuing TIEs climbed with them, spreading wide to open a window for the guns.h.i.+ps, which obliged by launching a spray of concussion missiles. The Falcon's missile-lock alert blared. Han cursed under his breath as he forced the yoke forward and twisted it to yank the s.h.i.+p into a looping spiral. Just then the whole sky flashed scarlet and the whole s.h.i.+p thoommed with magnetic resonance harmonics that sounded, to Han's all-too-experienced ear, like a near-miss by a really, really big turbolaser blast. "Where the h.e.l.l did that come from?"

Leia's voice, from the ventral turret: "Quarter-roll to your left and you'll see it."

Han kicked the s.h.i.+p through the quarter roll, got a look at what Leia was talking about, and started swearing. He kept on swearing for some considerable time, even while wrenching the s.h.i.+p through ridiculously violent evasive maneuvers as the whole sky kept flaring around them and the s.h.i.+p rang with a near-continuous whang-ng-ng-ng like a Ruurian beating a dinner gong with all fourteen hands.

The sudden climb he'd undertaken on the redhead's advice had cleared them over the horizon of a vast rounded mountain that bulged up into the orange sky, like some kind of young volcanic dome that hadn't yet blown its crater, and the whole blasted place was studded with rings of huge turbolaser towers, which were powerful enough that the interference from Mindor's atmosphere had no effect except to spread the blasts wide enough to vaporize his entire s.h.i.+p, instead of just blowing holes in it.

"Oh, brilliant. Oh, this is just great," Han shouted into the intercom. "You sent us straight for their main base!"

"Quit whining. Those turbo batteries'll keep the TIEs off our tail, and probably dust some of the missiles, too."

She was right, which only made Han hate her even more. No one that annoying had any business being right about anything.

"There should be three parallel box canyons about five klicks off your left front. See them?"

"Yeah." Three long gouges in Mindor's crust, shallow at this end and deepening as they extended off to planetary east until they came to sudden ends-looked like maybe three pretty good-sized chunks of meteorite had come in at the same time a few years back. "Now what?"

"Hug the deck straight in to the right-hand canyon. Once we're below ground level, there are side canyons and caverns and all kinds of places to hide. Blast some rocks, kick up some dust, and you won't have any trouble losing these guys. There's too many places to look, and they've got bigger problems than us."

Han gave a slow nod as he nosed the Falcon into a screaming dive toward the canyons through the storm of intersecting cannon and turbolaser fire. "Not bad," he admitted grudgingly. "You do seem to know your way around."

"What do you think kept us all alive out here? Good looks?"

"Nah," Han said. "I figured it was your winning personality."

A hundred-some planetary diameters from mlndor, the Slash-Es were moving.

Asteroid cl.u.s.ters had been drifting toward them, accelerating as they came, following lines of gravitic interaction between the Slash-Es' gravity-well projectors and the thousands of gravity stations scattered through the asteroids. This effect had been clearly visible on the heads-up displays of the Lancer's starfighter pickets, which was what had sparked the idea in Captain Tirossk, who, as the senior commander still active in the theater, was now unexpectedly in command of the entire RRTF.

As he explained it to Wedge and Tycho in encrypted transmissions, the combined effects of the inbound asteroid cl.u.s.ters and the gravity wells would produce semicoherent planetoids. With seat-of-the-pants reckoning, Wedge and Tycho had guesstimated that a dozen of these planetoids, moving in the proper orbits, would be enough to clear a brief hypers.p.a.ce window that might allow some of the task force to escape. The Lancer's navigational computer had put the minimum number at closer to eighteen hours .. . and the window would open only briefly and unpredictably several times until it finally stabilized, if all went well, in about twenty hours.

However, all was not going well. Very little was going well.

Asteroid impacts on Taspan's stellar sphere had already begun, owing to the ongoing perturbation of the asteroids' unstable orbits, and radiation levels were rising. The Imp officers directing the TIE fighter wings had known what was up the instant they detected the Slash-Es moving out of planetary interdiction configuration-and they had a seemingly limitless supply of Interceptors piloted by an equally seemingly limitless supply of suicidal psychopaths, which meant that the Slash-Es were doing their best to perform this delicate and intricate set of maneuvers while plowing through clouds of enemy fighters that swirled and spat plasma blasts as if somebody had armed a swarm of Gamorrean thunder wasps with laser cannons.

For the original model of CC-7700s, this would have been a suicide mission, and a brief one at that. The Slash-E series, however, was clad in the latest carbon-nanofilament armor to supplement their six s.h.i.+eld generators; they had eight quad turrets each and their power output had been upgraded to nearly the level of a Clone Wars-era turbolaser. Further improvements included a pair, dorsal and ventral, of 360-degree proton torpedo turrets and a staggering number of anti-starfighter cl.u.s.ter bombs-essentially shaped charges set into the hull that would explode outward into clouds of bomblets when they sensed the approach of enemy fighters-all of which meant that the only way TIE fighters could have a serious shot at taking out a Slash-E was to swarm it in enough numbers to overload its defenses so that a few could slip in for full-speed headers. But even a direct impact wouldn't generate enough kinetic energy to take out a CNF-armored frigate unless the TIE was traveling at very close to its maximum reals.p.a.ce velocity.

Making sure no TIE reached that cataclysmic velocity on an intercept course with one of the Slash-Es was the job of the X-wing pilots.

Though the RRTF fighters were outnumbered hundreds to one by the TIEs, they had a few advantages that shaved the odds a bit. First, the Imperial forces could not make a full-commitment a.s.sault, because that would have required pulling fighters from all over the system, which would have exposed their gravity stations to the RRTF's capital s.h.i.+ps. Second, the Interceptors had to focus all their firepower on the Slash-Es to have any hope of taking them out; they had very little to spare for dogfighting. Third, despite being at a substantial disadvantage in speed and maneuverability versus the Interceptors, the X-wing-the Incom T-65 s.p.a.ce Superiority Starfighter-had one key feature no TIE fighter could match. It was rugged.

This went deeper than the combat defenses loaded onto this model; it was a feature of quality construction and attention to detail, and it meant that the X-wing could survive certain physical stresses that would rip the collector panels off a TIE. Like, for example, the extreme tidal stress created by a very close pa.s.s through a very steep gravity well.

Which was why each new wave of Interceptors found itself under fire from flights of X-wings, whipping out from around the gravity-station planetoids a great deal faster than X-wings were supposed to be able to whip. Rogue Squadron had the point, and their path between the planetoids became a looping chain of gravity-a.s.sisted slingshots that could, with no more than a twitch of the controls, send them toward whichever one or two or three of the five Slash-Es the Imps had decided to concentrate on.

Even with all these advantages, the overwhelming odds took their toll. Some X-wings were lost to friendly fire, as they were traveling too fast for the Slash-E gunners-or even their own superb reflexes-to react as they swept through the quad turrets' fields of fire. Some were lost to simple collisions, flying at near-relativistic speeds through very, very crowded s.p.a.ce. Almost half of the Twenty-third's Green Squadron was taken out by a ma.s.s of asteroids that didn't co-here into a planetoid as quickly as the navicomps had predicted.

They didn't have anything like a count on the enemy fighters they'd destroyed; the TIEs just kept coming. "These guys never stop!" Wes Janson groaned through his teeth during the far side of his twentieth or thirtieth bruising way-too-tight slingshot. "It's like all these beggars want to die!"

"They're already dead," Hobbie said from two hundred meters off Janson's starboard wing. "Think about it, Janson-no s.h.i.+elds. No hyperdrive. They can't hide and they can't run. All they've got is the chance to take us all with 'em."

That stopped Janson cold. For a moment, he had no words at all. Then he set his jaw and rolled his starfighter starboard.

"I've got it!" he said, pointing his X-wing toward a TIE flight and holding down his triggers. "I know exactly what we need."

"Yeah?" Hobbie said. "What's that?"

"A miracle."

"Seal that chatter!" Wedge snapped from the point. "And check your midrange scans."

When Janson did, he discovered that a brand-spanking-new Mon Cal-designed Republic battle cruiser had just dropped out of hypers.p.a.ce through that half-opened ma.s.s-shadow window, and was currently disgorging what appeared to be a full starfighter wing.

"Hot staggering..." For the second time in a few moments, Janson found himself entirely at a loss for words. "Where in eight Stalbringion h.e.l.ls did that come from?"

The comm crackled with the voice of the current director of Special Operations, General Lando Calrissian. "Did somebody order a miracle?"

The cavern Han had been directed to by the redhead was roomy, looked acceptably dry in the bleached glare from the Falcon's exterior lights, and was deep enough within a mountain that Han didn't have to worry about being detected. That didn't stop him from worrying, though.

First, he didn't like having a hold full of armed strangers, no matter how much they might hate the Empire. Second, this mountain looked way too much like a dormant volcano. And third .. . well, he just didn't much like parking in caves. Call him superst.i.tious. Somehow landing his s.h.i.+p inside a big hole in a rock never seemed to work out that well.

On the other hand, the Mindorese might have brought along something to eat.

He keyed the intercom. "Okay, everybody. Looks like we're clear. You in the hold? No offense, but pile your blasters and other weapons in the number-six hopper, will you? It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that I don't trust you."

The comm responded with the sound of the redhead's voice. "What about that Jedi? Where's he?"

"That's what we wanted to ask you."

"Like that, is it? Well, I'll tell you what-we'll down weapons and have our Jedi chat if you can help us out with bandages and bacta. I've got a lot of wounded in here."

"Fair enough. I'll be with you in a nanosec."

When he reached the forward cargo hold, the place looked like a field hospital way too close to the front lines. On the losing side.

People sat or lay sprawled every which way, some wrapping their own bandages, some twisting or moaning softly, others just staring blankly at the bulkheads as it they couldn't believe they were actually alive. Leia and Chewie were already hard at work treating the wounded. Han hurried over to Leia's side. "Hey, hey, hey, take it easy with the bacta, huh?"

"Han, he's hurt."

"Sure, I know. But he's not dying, is he? Do you know how much that stuff costs?"

A woman's voice came from behind his left shoulder. "You can bill me."

Han rounded on her, then stopped, making a face. "Oh, it's you."

"Yeah, it's me," the good-looking redhead said, and offered him a lopsided smile that made her, if anything, even better-looking. She stuck out her hand. "Aeona Cantor. You the pilot of this scow?"

"I'm the captain of this scow," Han corrected her, but then grinned and took her offered hand. Her hand was warm, and harder than it looked. He just didn't have it in him to bicker right now. Besides, Leia would probably think he was flirting. "Han Solo."

Her eyes widened. "For real? The Han Solo?"

He started to flush. "The only one I know."

"Wow." She looked impressed. "I mean, the Han Solo who supposedly outdrew Gallandro in a fair fight?"

"Well, y'know..." His face was getting full-on hot all of a sudden. "It wasn't exactly a fair fight-and I didn't exactly outdraw him. You shouldn't believe everything you see on the HoloNet."

"I don't," she said. "I always figured you shot him in the back."

"Hey, now..."

"That your weapon? BlasTech, huh? Kinda old-fas.h.i.+oned, isn't it?"

Han dropped his hand to the blaster's grip and fiddled with it as though uncertain. "Uh, well..."

"I favor the Twenty-one myself." She nodded toward the number-six cargo hopper, where a weathered but exceedingly well-cared-for blaster belt lay on top. From the holster projected a custom KYD grip that showed an equal amount of wear, and even more care. "Go ahead," she said. "Feel free. Here..."

She reached over and pulled her blaster from its holster using only two fingers, nice and slow, plenty slowly enough that Han didn't feel like he needed to shoot her, then spun it around her finger and offered it to him b.u.t.t-first. "Give it a feel. Combat-action tournament model. Trigger-pull's smooth as bantha b.u.t.ter, and you can shoot the eyestalks off a terramoth at seventy-five meters."

Han took the weapon and weighed it in his hand. It was a nice piece, he had to admit. Beautifully balanced, and he said so.

She grinned. "Knew you'd like it." She nodded toward his holstered blaster. "D'you mind?"

Han shrugged and pa.s.sed it over.

She squinted into the DL-44's optical electrosight and whistled. "Nice. Modified for speed-draw, right?" She spun it around her finger. "Little barrel-heavy, though, huh? Wait, what's this custom work here?"

She took a close look at the gas chamber and collimator. "Oh, I get it-enhanced output. What does it generate, double power?" She gave him another look and that lopsided grin. "Don't you know that's illegal?"

He felt himself flus.h.i.+ng again. "Okay, give it back."

"Nah. I like yours better."

Han blinked. "What?"

"You can have mine. Fair trade. Even counting the custom work, mine's worth double this old relic. Call it even, huh?" She turned and walked toward a knot of her men. "Hey, Tripp, check this out-I just traded for Han Solo's blaster! Can you believe it?"

Han was the one who couldn't believe it. "Now, hold on a minute..."

"Han..." Leia caught his arm. "Look over there-isn't that Artoo?"

Sure enough, against the far curve of wall a couple of the Mindorese were trying to install a restraining bolt on a blue-domed 4- series astromech that looked suspiciously familiar. Leia moved toward them. "You-you there, where did you get that droid?"

"We found it abandoned. It's salvage," one of them snapped back.

"Salvage? Excuse me?" Leia drew herself up in a way Han recognized all too well, so it was his turn to catch her arm.

"Play it smooth, Princess," he said softly from one side of his mouth while the rest of it gave the Mindorese a rea.s.suringly stupid smile. "Low and slow. 1 don't trust these jokers."

"Han, I told you, these aren't the enemy..."

"And they aren't old friends, either." He caught Chewie's eye, over where the Wookiee was spraying foamcast around a Mindorese's injured ankle, and rolled his eyes with a slight sideways nod toward the number-six hopper. Before he turned back to his task, Chewie let one eyelid droop into half a wink. "Listen, how hurt are these guys, really?" Han asked Leia. "How long before we can dump them and get on our way?"

"Well..." Leia tilted her head, considering. "They're not as bad as you'd expect. Mostly superficial burns-it looks like that crude armor they make out of lava isn't so crude after all."

Han nodded grimly. "So: head shots."

"Han..."

"See what they're up to with Artoo," he said. He looked down with distaste at the KYD-21 in his hand, then jammed it into his holster.

Leia nodded. "Maybe I can help you with your salvage," she said in a friendly way as she came up to the men tinkering with R2's restraining bolt. Without waiting for a reply, she reached over and put her hand on the bolt-and on his hand, where he held it-and gave him a maybe overly warm smile. He flushed, just a bit, and smiled back.

"Uh, better be careful, lady," he said. "This little grubber may look harmless enough, but it can deliver a nasty shock..."

"Oh, nonsense," Leia said briskly as she deactivated the bolt with a decisive twist. "This droid's been with my family a long time. Artoo, power up. What happened to Luke?"

R2-D2 whistled an affirmative, and his dome swiveled to angle his...o...b..ard holoprojector toward the floor. It flickered to life-but the image was of Aeona Cantor. "No," Leia said. "We know about her. Where's Luke?"

The little droid whistled again, more insistently, and again showed Aeona. "Artoo..."

"No, let him run it," Han said, instinctively lowering his hand to his blaster-and then grimacing at the unfamiliar feel of the KYD's grip. "I want to see this."