The Black Fleet Crisis_ Tyrant's Test Part 16

"I need a copy I can take with me." As he spoke, Luke reached out with the Force and gave the senior specialist a gentle nudge.

Manes stared blankly for just a moment. "What am I thinking," he said.

"You'll want a copy you can take with you. I'll get a datacard."

"Thank you."

Less than five minutes later, Li Stonn was climbing into his rented speeder, the datacard securely tucked away. But he did not immediately drive away. Sitting at the controls, Luke reached out into the listening post and found its two occupants excitedly discussing their surprise visitor.

The event had given both such inexplicable pleasure that he hated to take those memories away from them, but he had no choice. He had already blocked the machine records of his visit from being written to the logs. Compressing a nerve here, a blood vessel there, Luke brought on a moment of unconscious paralysis, and in that moment swept the memories from their minds.

Akanah had not yet returned to the skiff, nor had the 'service depot's tow dolly come to claim it. Taking advantage of the privacy, Luke locked himself inside while he reviewed the information on the datacard.

The situation in Koornacht Cl.u.s.ter had escalated to a high level of precariousness. New Republic forces had clashed with a Yevethan fleet at Doornik 319 while trying to enforce a blockade, and dozens of Fleet recon probes had been destroyed on deep penetration mis sions. Five battle groups of an expanded Fifth Fleet had actually moved into the cl.u.s.ter, and smaller units were actively searching for the former Imperial s.h.i.+pyards. So far the Yevetha had not responded to the intrusions, but it seemed inevitable that they would.

But the real source of concern for Luke was the first confirmation that J't'p'tan--referred 'to by its catalog name, FAR202019S--had been involved in the fighting.

The recon s.h.i.+p sent there had identified a Yevethan thrusts.h.i.+p in orbit before being fried; though the probe had completed only thirty-four percent of its ground scan, the destruction of the H'kig commune, estimated at thirteen thousand strong, was listed as "probable."

Balancing that bleak prospect, at least in part, was the report from Doornik 319 that the Yevethan wars.h.i.+ps were carrying hostages taken from the destroyed colonies. If the Fallana.s.si had not died on J't'p'tan, they were now prisoners of the Yevetha, aboard one of the more than six hundred s.h.i.+ps of the Duskhan League fleet--a fleet that could at any moment be hurled against the New Republic forces challenging Nil Spaar's sovereignty.

Suddenly Luke's journey to Koornacht seemed joined to Leia's crisis at home, and in a way he had not antic.i.p.ated. If he had a part to play in what was coming, the flow of the Current pointed to J't'p'tan, not Coruscant. Perhaps everything that had happened was part of a larger tapestry he had not yet been able to glimpse.

But even without that understanding, he knew that he had to go on, not turn back.

With both his and Akanah's day bags slung over his shoulder, Luke rode the slidewalk back to Starway Services, where the lights and sounds emanating from the covered work bays told him that some of the mech crews were chasing a completion bonus. A few minutes later, depot manager Notha Trome awoke with a start from the nap he was taking on his office floor.

"Li Stonn's s.h.i.+p should be given top priority," he said aloud, as though it were a revelation that had come to him in his sleep. A minute later, he repeated that declaration in front of the yard boss.

"I want half," is all the yard boss said, taking the berth slip and signaling for the tow dolly.

Outside the depot, Luke nodded to himself, satisfied.

Then he turned and looked out on the nightscape of Taldaak. It was time to find Akanah. He did not fully understand what her part in these events was, either, but his tumultuous life had taught him to respect what looked like coincidence. For the first time since leaving Coruscant with Akanah, he believed that his destiny and hers were bound together, and that whatever lay ahead on J't'p'tan awaited both of them.

Akanah stood on the dockwalk looking up at a sleek curving hull bearing the name Jump for Joy in a flowing royal blue script. It was the best stars.h.i.+p in port, at least for Akanah's purposes--a Twomi Skyfire, barely a year old. Six places, the lines of a fighter, and the engines of a racer.

If she was going to leave Utharis--if she was going to leave Luke behind- -the means to do so was before her.

She had already been aboard and a.s.sured herself that the pilot a.s.sist system was the equal of the luxury appointments. Autolanding, autonavigation, crash and collision-avoidance overrides, voicea.s.sisted preflight--despite an advertising campaign heavy on images of danger and adventure, the Skyfire had been designed to make the occasional pilot comfortable at the controls.

More importantly, Jump for Joy should be able to outrun any other s.h.i.+p in port, except perhaps the snub fighters belonging to the Utharis Sector Patrol. That kind of speed could be useful in a war zone. Luke had already totted up Mud Sloth's shortcomings in combat, and they were numerous enough to give Akanah pause.

She moved a step to her right and looked down the side of the sprint.

A pretty s.h.i.+p, she thought, and sighed. And it would be so easy to take it.

But leaving now meant abandoning the greater part of her purpose with her goal in sight but not yet achieved. Luke was open to her now--beginning to understand, beginning to change. More time. All I need now is more time. If she was there when the next test came, she might see the transformation. Luke was that close--aware of the flow of the Current, almost able to read it, nearly ready to join "It's a beauty, isn't it?" a man said, coming up beside her. He was wiping his hands on a cloth, as though he had been doing some work somewhere out of sight.

Akanah had felt his presence moments before he spoke, but allowed herself to startle girlishly. "Oh! I didn't see you. Yes, it's beautiful- -it looks like it's ready to leap into the air at any moment."

Even in the darkness, Akanah could feel the man beaming with pride.

"Would you like to see the inside?"

Akanah laughed at him silently, realizing his intent.

"I don't think so," she said. "I need to be getting home."

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Have you ever had s.e.x in hypers.p.a.ce?"

This time she could not contain her bubbling laugh of bemus.e.m.e.nt.

"Yes," she said, and melted away into the night.

The skids of the fleet launch kissed the plating of the flight deck so gently that Plat Mallar could scarcely feel the vibration under him.

"Contact," he said, reaching overhead to the auxiliary control panel.

"Grapples on. Systems to standby.

Shutting down engines."

"All right!" said the check pilot. "That's good enough. Come on out, Mallar, and I'll give you your scores."

With a sigh of relief, Mallar released the double harness with a sharp poke of his fingers. Climbing out of the flight couch, he made his way to the egress hatch at the back of the simulator's cabin.

He had just flown an imaginary approach and landing to the number two flight deck of the carrier Volant, his tenth exercise of that session and his eighteenth of the day. His flight suit was dripping with perspiration, his shoulders aching, his feet half numb from being confined in flight boots that weren't yet broken in.

The launch was the larger of the two boats used for intrafleet travel and had proven the harder for Plat to master. A fleet gig was similar in size to an X-wing or TIE interceptor, and he had had little trouble getting one in and out of the enclosed s.p.a.ce of a combat flight deck.

But a fleet launch was two and a half times longer and a full meter taller than a gig, and Plat had hit two simulated E-wings and the flight deck roof three times before he made the adjustment.

"Like going through adolescence all over again," he had muttered to himself after making the c.o.c.kpit shake violently for the fourth time.

But the last exercise had felt good to him--good enough to allow him to enjoy his break. He paused at the top of the simulator's ladder to remove his helmet, then swung his leg over and slid down the handrails on his heels. The check pilot, Lieutenant Gulley, met him at the bottom.

"Well?"

"You have a nice touch when you're not putting holes in the bulkheads," Gulley said. "I'm going to qualify you for the gig now. Come back offs.h.i.+ft and spend a few more hours working the launch, maybe hitchhike with me or One-Eye on a few runs, and I should be able to qualify you for the launch soon enough. " He handed Plat his updated identifier disc.

"We're done?"

"You're going on duty," he said. "Get yourself down to Blue Deck and report to the flight controller.

Your first pa.s.senger should be there by the time you check in."

A grin spread across Plat's face. "Yes, sir," he said, saluting.

"Thank you, sir."

Plat jogged through the corridors, helmet tucked under his left arm, until he rounded a corner and brushed against a round-bellied major.

"Is there a combat alert, pilot?"

Coming to a sudden stumbling stop, Plat whirled and saluted. "No, sir."

The dressing-down that followed cost him two minutes but did nothing to dampen his spirits. He showed his ID at the controller's window and collected the enabler key for fleet gig 021, then ran out across the flight deck to where it was berthed. For a long moment, he stood and stared at it unbelievingly.

"Is there a problem?"

Plat whirled, recognizing the voice. "Colonel Gavin. No problem, sir!"

"Then let's get going," Gavin said, moving past Plat and twisting the hatch release. "I'm your pa.s.sen-ger-and I've got an appointment on board Polaron."

With all possible care, Plat ran through the pre-flight checks and eased G-021 forward to the launch area, then out into s.p.a.ce. Picking up Polaroh's locator signal, he brought the gig around to the intercept heading and accelerated smoothly to the prescribed velocity.

"This what you wanted, son?" Gavin asked, leaning forward in his couch.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for the chance."

"No gunsights on a fleet gig. Nothing to fire the blood and feed that hunger for revenge."

"I know that, sir," said Plat. "But my being here puts a more experienced pilot in a c.o.c.kpit that does have gunsights and the firing b.u.t.tons to, go with them.

When the time comes, what he does, he'll be doing for me--if you look at it a certain way."

Gavin nodded. "That's right. That's just the way to look at it." He settled back against the acceleration cus.h.i.+ons, checked the readout on his command comlink, then glanced out the side viewport at Intrepid, rapidly falling away behind them.

"Oh, and there's one other thing worth remembering," the colonel said.

"You'll get a lot of c.o.c.kpit time in this duty--more hours in a single duty s.h.i.+ft than most pilots log in a week. Before you know it, you just might find yourself turning into one of those more experienced pilots." Plat heard Gavin's grin as he added, "But save the hammer-eights and counterbreaks for the simulator.

I don't want to hear that my gig pilots have been practicing combat maneuvers on inters.h.i.+p runs."

Plat Mallar smiled. "I'll remember, Colonel."

Han did not know whether it was a matter of contempt or carelessness, but he was neither blindfolded nor rendered unconscious for the transfer from the dirt-side prison to the brig of Pride of Yevetha.

All his captors did was bind his wrists to a bar behind his hips and give him an escort composed of two towering Yevethan nitakka. Then he was walked through a maze of corridors and chambers to a driveway where a three-wheeled, box-bodied transporter awaited.

From the open viewports of the transporter, he saw every detail of his surroundings and tried to memorize everything he saw--the route that led from the complex where he had been held to the port, the markings on the face of the gate that closed behind them, the design and function of the other vehicles sharing the road, the architecture and arrangement of the buildings they pa.s.sed.

He also studied the faces and physiques of not only the guards, but the gate proctor, the transporter driver; and any Yevethan pedestrians he could catch a good long look at. With the help of those examples, he made a start at learning to distinguish one Yevetha from another.

At the same time, Han's busy mind a.s.sessed the effectiveness of his restraints. The similarity to the bench in the audience room prompted Han to wonder if the method had been designed for Yevethan physiol-ogy-it seemed as though the bar would either prevent the murderous dew claw from emerging or render it useless if extended.

But the effectiveness of the bar depended on the priSoner being unable to either pa.s.s the bar under his feet or to simply slide a wrist out to one end. Yevethan physiology might not allow for either of those motions, b ut Han was confident that human physiology--even his less-than-ideally-limber variant-- would. He did not immediately test his theory, but he was buoyed by the thought that he could free his hands at any time and--as a bonus--have the bar to use as a weapon.

That happy thought lasted only until they reached the s.p.a.ceport, where the transport was met by more guards and one of the Yevetha who had been present for Barth's execution. The moment the Yevethan official first saw Han clearly, he barked angry words and cuffed one of the guards sharply across the face. Almost immediately, another guard moved behind Han and wrapped a thick strap around his upper arms, just above the elbows. With it in place, the escape Han had planned was quite impossible.

"An understandable but quite dangerous oversight," the Yevetha said to Han in Basic. His diction was excellent, his delivery almost irritatingly smooth. "The guard detail at the palace is not accustomed to handling human prisoners."

That same Yevetha led the way across the rough pavement of the s.p.a.ceport ap.r.o.n to where a delta-type Imperial shuttle waited on its skids. Han was surprised to see that the two Yevetha already seated in the c.o.c.kpit wore no more clothing than any of the others--no pressure suit, not even a helmet. He filed that fact away as he climbed into the spartan cabin.

One guard and the Yevethan official climbed in after him, and Han realized that he was to have a traveling companion. The guard sat beside him on the long portside bench, the official opposite him.

"I am Tal Fraan, proctor cogent to the viceroy."

"I'm sure your mother's very proud of you," Han said. The hatch was secured from outside, and the idling whine of the engines increased sharply. He noted that the engines sounded tight and smooth--much better than the typical Imperial offerings.

Tal Fraan loosed an open-mouth hiss that Han thought might be a laugh.

"Tell me, did you enjoy thinking that you might escape?"

Han said nothing and directed his gaze out the viewport as the shuttle began to climb.

"Do you know that we have no prisons?" Tal Fraan said. "In a city of more than one million, on a planet of nearly seven hundred million, there is not a single Yevethan jail, penitentiary, or stockade. We have no need of such things. There is no equivalent in our language for convict or incarcerate."

"I guess that'd be one of the often overlooked advantages of summary execution," said Han; "Keeps the taxes down."

"So true," said Tal Fraan, with no apparent awareness of Han's ironic tone. "That you choose to sustain those who harm you was a great puzzlement to me for some time."

"It can't have been a complete surprise," said Han.

"The place you kept us looked a lot like a prison to me."

"Those you call Imperials made up for this lack of experience on our part," Tal Fraan said. "The cell in which you were kept in the grand palace was built by the overlords during the occupation. And the Imperial stars.h.i.+ps are well equipped in this regard, as you will see."

"If this is just a goodwill tour, you could save yourself the trouble," Han said. "I've already visited an Imperial detention center."

"Yes, I know," said Tal Fraan. "I have studied your past. I learned a great deal from it. It is how we know how important you are to your people. There are so many stories about you, Han Solo--more than are told of any Yevetha, even the viceroy. I wonder why you permit it."

He paused a moment, then continued. "This is also how we knew that Lieutenant Barth was not important. There were no stories of his life and heroics.

I was not surprised when you let him die."

Han's hot flash of anger overwhelmed any good intentions he had not to be drawn into Tal Fraan's game. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h--you think you understand us, but you haven't the first clue," he snapped. "What you did to Barth makes him important to us--just like what you did to those colonists all over the Cl.u.s.ter made them important to us. We're not like you--we remember our dead. That's why our fleet isn't going away."

Other than a twitch of his forebrow ridges, Tal Fraan showed no outward reaction whatever to Han's outburst. "I have an interesting question for you, Han Solo--do you think that your mate would be willing to fire through your body to kill my master?"

"Is that what this is about? Is that why I'm being moved?" Han looked out at the swiftly darkening sky enveloping the shuttle, at the rich array of bright stars piercing the curtain. "When you can answer that question yourself, Proctor, then you really will understand us as well as you think you do."

"So coy," said Tal Fraan. "Is the answer that distasteful to you?"

"All I'm gonna say is this," Han said, relaxing against the back of the bench and turning a quietly murderous gaze on the Yevetha. "When your last morning arrives--and it'll come sooner than you think--I hope the fates give you a moment to realize that everything that's happened, you brought on yourself."

"You are kind to show such concern for me," Tal Fraan said, nodding and smiling generously. "We will have to talk again. You have been most helpful."