Apocalypse (9 page)

It was going to be a tough run—maybe the toughest run Han Solo had ever made. The Sith were going to send the best pilots they had, and in the dense fog their Force abilities would more than neutralize the Hapan advantage in equipment and training. The sooner the convoy ran for the safety of the Battle Dragons’ turbolaser umbrella, the better its chances of survival would be.

Han activated the intercom and opened a channel to the
Falcon
’s rear freight ramp. “Are we loaded yet?”

The din of a hold being loaded quickly came over the cockpit speaker, then Leia said, “Almost, Han.”

“That’s what you said ten minutes ago.”

“Ten minutes
is
almost,” Leia said. “We’re working as fast as we can back here.”

“Well, work faster,” Han said. “I don’t like this fog. Things can hide in it.”

“Things like
us
, Captain Solo,” a silky Hapan voice said. “Will you stop worrying? You’re beginning to show your age.”

“Sweetheart, you’re confusing age and experience again,” Han replied, deliberately using a term that would rile a proud Hapan woman like Taryn Zel. “And my experience tells me that if you don’t get moving back there, we won’t
have
a chance to hide. We’ve been on the ground thirty minutes already.”

Leia’s voice came over the speaker, sharp as a vibroknife. “Han, how many students are we collecting?”

“Three hundred and twenty-two,” Han replied. He had been over the logistics of the operation a hundred times, trying to convince himself they could get it done before the Sith arrived from their not-so-secret staging base in the Colsassan moons. “But that’s only twenty-six point eight students
per transport
. It shouldn’t take—”

“And how many family members do they have?” Leia interrupted.

“Nine hundred and twenty-three,” Han said. “It still shouldn’t take—”

“And support staff?”

“Twelve hundred, give or take,” Han said. “But they were supposed to be—”

“And how many thousands of tons of matériel are we loading?”

“Don’t talk to me about the matériel,” Han said. “I wanted to vape that stuff.”

“And replace it with what?” Leia demanded. “The academy is moving—perhaps permanently. People are going to need a place to sleep. The students are going to need training equipment. The technicians are going to need tools and parts, and we don’t have the resources—”

“All right, all right,” Han interrupted. He knew Leia’s side of the argument as well as his own. With the GA government in the hands of
the Sith, the days of unlimited funding were gone. The Jedi Order was going to need everything it could carry off of Ossus. “I just wish we didn’t have to take
everything
.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t insisted on waiting until the last minute,” Taryn pointed out. “Commander Luvalle wanted to start this operation four hours ago.”

“What she
wanted
to do was spoil Luke’s play on Coruscant,” Han retorted. During the planning session, he and Luvalle had butted heads repeatedly, with the commander arguing that thirty minutes on the ground wasn’t enough time, while Han insisted they couldn’t begin the evacuation until
after
the Jedi had launched the attack on Coruscant. “How sure are you
she
isn’t Sith?”

“Quite sure, Captain Solo.” There was a coolness in Taryn’s voice that suggested she had better things to do than defend the commander’s reputation. “If you don’t mind, we’re busy back here. Princess Leia will inform you when the cargo is stowed.”

A sharp
pop
sounded from the speaker, and then the intercom fell silent. Han’s jaw dropped, and he spun around in the pilot’s chair, looking toward the back of the flight deck where R2-D2 was monitoring the comm station.

“Did you hear that?” he demanded. “She deactivated me!”

R2-D2 spun his dome toward the front of the flight deck, then emitted a long series of urgent whistles.

“What’s wrong?” Han demanded. C-3PO was out on loan, helping Raynar Thul figure out exactly what Abeloth was—and, with any luck, where she had disappeared to—so Han didn’t have anyone to translate the little droid’s beeps and whistles. “If she used a blaster on that intercom station, she’s riding out of here in a strut well!”

An alert chime sounded from the main display, and Han turned around to find a message from R2-D2 scrolling across the screen.
THE NEWS IS WORSE THAN THAT. VHORK LEADER REPORTS THAT A WING OF SKIPRAY BLASTBOATS HAS RECENTLY EMERGED FROM HYPERSPACE
.

Han’s heart began to pound ferociously, but he forced himself to remain calm. Vhork Squadron—named for a giant Daruvvian hawk that took a dim view of airspeeders encroaching on its territory—was the best starfighter squadron in the Hapan Royal Navy, and that was why they were flying top cover for the mission.

“Okay,” Han said cautiously. “So Vhork Squadron is moving to engage, right?”

R2 gave a negative chirp, then followed it with an explanatory note:
INTERCEPTION FAILED. THE ENEMY ACTIVATED A JAMMING DEVICE AND DROPPED INTO THE ATMOSPHERE. VHORK LEADER REPORTS THREE TARGETS ELIMINATED, BUT THE OTHER BLASTBOATS ESCAPED, FORTY-SEVEN SECONDS AGO
.

“And they’re just telling us now?”

VHORK SQUADRON IS ATTEMPTING TO REACQUIRE THE ENEMY, AND HER MAJESTY HAS DISPATCHED FOUR MIY’TIL WINGS TO SUPPORT THE EFFORT
.

“Okay, plot a launch vector and have the starfighter wings assemble at the other end. We’ll bring the Sith to
them
.”

R2-D2 gave a confirming tweedle, then Han slapped the activation switch on the
Falcon
’s comm unit and opened a channel to the rest of the convoy.

“Listen up …” He relayed the details of the report he had just received. “My guess is we’ve got about five minutes before those blastboats pop out of the rift valley and start vaping anything with an ion drive. So get your cargo stowed, your hatches secured, and launch …”

Han checked his primary display for the vector.

“… local north at a seventy-degree climb.
Don’t
stray out of that ascension corridor, or you’ll be entering the free-fire zone.”

“What free-fire zone?” a Hapan pilot asked. “No one mentioned any free-fire zones in the briefing.”

“Plan B,” Han said. “Our fighter cover is going to zone defense.”

“Plan B called for us to drop into the rift valley and wait for an escort,” a second pilot reminded him.

“This is the
new
Plan B,” Han replied. “Trust me, the last thing you want is to be down in that valley with a bunch of Sith hunting you in the fog.”

Han tried to raise Leia again on the cargo hold intercom, but all he got was dead air. “Blast!” He turned to R2-D2. “Take a holo.”

The droid spun his dome around until the cam lens was pointed in Han’s direction. When the red
RECORD
light activated, Han began to speak.

“Leia, we’ve got a bunch of blastboats on their way. We need to be locked down and launched in five minutes. And while you’re at it, reactivate the intercom back there!” He paused until the
RECORD
light darkened, then addressed R2-D2 himself. “Show that to Leia—and
don’t
let her ignore you. Get in her way if you have to.”

Another alert chime sounded from the main display, and Han turned to find another message from R2-D2.

FIVE MINUTES CUTS THE ESCAPE SAFETY MARGIN TO ZERO
.

“I hate to break this to you, Artoo,” Han said, “but we never
had
a safety margin.”

UNDERSTOOD. EVACUATION PROCEEDING AS PLANNED
.

The droid retracted his interface arm and started down the access corridor toward the main cabin. Han began to prep the
Falcon
for a hot launch. The fusion core was already on standby, so he slowly began to feed it more fuel, trying to preheat the inner housing to minimize temperature stress when the big laser cannons began to suck power. At the same time, he brought the targeting computers online and engaged his active sensors. The Sith would be using the Force to find their targets anyway, so he had nothing to lose by pinging electromagnetic signals off their hulls. Finally, he activated the ion drive and brought the throttles up until the
Falcon
dropped her nose and began to rock and shudder on her struts.

Beyond the viewport, the blocky gray shape of a departing transport began to move through the fog on the invisible cushion of its repulsor drives. A few hundred meters ahead, a trio of blue circles flared to life and began to glow more brightly as a second vessel activated its ion engines, preparing, like Han, for an emergency launch that would turn a wide swath of Jedi academy grounds into a kilometer-long furrow of charred dirt. Given the tons of Jedi equipment that the convoy would be leaving behind on the parade ground to be captured, Han wished he’d thought to instruct all of the transports to make emergency launches—but it was already too late. The gray rectangles of two more transports began to rise through the fog, and another set of ion engines flared to life off to port.

An alert buzzer chimed from the
Falcon
’s control panel, and Han glanced over at the tactical display to see a line of jamming static rolling out of the nearby rift valley. He hit the general-quarters
alarm—and that was when he saw Taryn Zel’s reflection in the viewport.

“Captain Solo.” She bustled onto the flight deck, with R2-D2 close behind. “We’re doing the best we can back there. If you think you can—”

She was interrupted by the distant thunder of accelerating ion engines. Han activated both sets of upper shields—forward and aft—and was still pushing the control glides to
FULL
when the fog grew crimson with shrieking cannon bolts. The
Falcon
reverberated with the crackle of shields taking hits, and the lights dimmed as power was diverted to the shield generators.

“Stang!” Taryn gasped. She spun and started back down the access corridor, already yelling back toward the main cabin. “Zekk, get those ramps up and take the belly turret. I’ll take top.”

“No, stay here and take the copilot’s chair.” Han had to yell loudly to make himself heard above the battle noise. “Have Leia take top turret. Artoo, hook yourself into the tactical net.”

Taryn paused two steps down the corridor and turned to meet his gaze in the viewport reflection. “But the Princess is—”

“A Jedi. And the Force is going to work a lot better than a targeting computer when our sensors are being jammed.” Han pointed at the copilot’s seat. “So sit.”

Taryn’s reply was lost to the deafening crackle of half a dozen simultaneous hits, and the entire flight deck strobed gold and white with dissipation static.

Taryn merely nodded and yelled something into the main cabin that Han could not hear, then hurried into the copilot’s seat and strapped in. Han checked the tactical display and found that the wall of jamming static had advanced to the edge of the academy grounds.

“Do we have everyone aboard?” he asked, still yelling to make himself heard.

Taryn shot him a tense look. “I hope so.” She fixed her attention on the ramp indicator lights, then finally nodded. “We must. The ramps are up, and I can’t imagine Zekk or Princess Leia leaving any Woodoos behind.”

Han activated the intercom again and was relieved to hear the voice of a young Jedi issuing orders in the cargo hold. There was still too
much noise to make out exactly what he was saying, but he seemed to be giving orders rather than shouting in alarm, and that was good enough for Han.

He opened the shipwide channel and said, “Grab something and hold on back there. This is gonna be a
very
rough ride.”

As he spoke, two columns of boiling blue ions appeared in the fog and shot skyward. A heartbeat later a dozen Sith-piloted blastboats opened fire on the fleeing transports, their efflux tails curving sharply as they turned to pursue. Han checked his tactical display and saw only one Sharmok left on the ground. It launched before his eyes, vanishing from the screen, then streaked past so low overhead that it left the
Falcon
rocking in thrust-wash.

Han pulled the yoke back and slammed the throttles forward. The
Falcon
leapt after the departing convoy, though not quickly enough to prevent a dozen blastboats from slipping into line between them and the last Sharmok.

“Taryn, retract the struts and bring up the belly shields,” Han ordered. “Leia, you and Zekk clear those Skiprays off that—”

A cacophony of lock alarms screeched to life, and a series of sharp thuds reverberated through the hull as cannon bolts stitched a line of hits across the
Falcon
’s belly armor. Taryn hissed something angrily in Hapan, then the cabin lights flickered as the lower shields finally began to absorb damage.

Han resisted the urge to blame Taryn for being too slow and settled for a muttered curse instead.

“Not my fault, Solo,” she said anyway. “You’re the one who said retract the struts first.”

“You hear me complaining?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Taryn said. “What
is
a three-fingered shenbit wrangler, anyway?”

“Seven fingers too slow,” Han replied. “Shift seventy percent of power to our rear shields, then arm the concussion missiles. See if you can get a heat-lock on one of those blastboats.”

As he spoke, all eight of the
Falcon
’s big laser cannons began to chug, and the blastboats ahead started to blossom into fireballs. At the same time, the crackle of stressed shield generators began to reverberate through the ship. Han held a steady course, giving Zekk and Leia
a stable firing platform that allowed them to destroy eight blastboats in as many breaths.

Finally, the load meters on both rear shields shot into the danger range, and Han knew they had run out of time. He rolled into an evasive helix, then activated the aft landing cams. He was not at all surprised to find a swarm of blue rings—blastboats silhouetted by their own exhaust plumes—glowing in the fog behind the
Falcon
. The gunners were obviously using the Force to aid their targeting, as his corkscrewing climb was doing nothing to diminish their accuracy.