Crucible: Star Wars Read online

  Han.

  “Found him,” Leia reported. “He’s on the Moon.”

  This was one of those rare times Leia wished Han were Force-sensitive, so he would feel her presence nearby and know she was coming for him.

  “How does he seem?”

  “Drugged,” she said. “And pissed off.”

  Luke smiled. “Good. Pissed off is when Han is at his best.”

  He started to reach for the torpedo launchers—then Leia felt something dark and oily brush her in the Force.

  “Wait!”

  She pulled Luke’s hand away from the launchers, then tried to follow the dark tendril of Force energy back to its source. But the presence retreated as swiftly as it had appeared, and she was left with nothing but the chill it had sent down her spine.

  “We have Sith,” Leia confirmed. “And they know we’re here.”

  As she spoke, the Aurel Moon’s escort squadron was already going into stealth mode, deactivating their transponders and bringing their sensor negators online. They even deployed the efflux baffles that made their Bes’uliiks slower and less maneuverable—but far more difficult for conventional weapons to target.

  Fortunately for Leia and her brother, Jedi were not conventional weapons. She simply called up the ScragHull’s systems and began to disable the proton-torpedo guidance and propellant modules. Beside her, Luke closed his eyes and began to breathe in a steady rhythm, no doubt reaching out in the Force to search for their deadliest enemies—the unseen Sith.

  “Where are they?” Luke asked.

  “I couldn’t tell,” Leia said. “I only felt one touch, and it was faint. If we’re lucky, it’s only one or two.”

  Luke opened his eyes. “Let’s hope,” he said. “I can’t feel any Force-users now, so they’re probably waiting until we make our move.”

  Leia nodded. Now that they had been detected, the safe move would be to withdraw and find another way to rescue Han.

  But the safe move wasn’t always the right move.

  Leia looked over.

  Luke nodded. “Han wouldn’t turn back now.” He opened the launch tubes. “We won’t, either.”

  Leia felt the soft thump of ejector charges pushing proton torpedoes out of their carrying racks. Four slender white cylinders slid into view, gliding ahead of the ScragHull. Normally, the thrust engines would ignite once the torpedoes were a safe distance from the cockpit, but with their guidance and propellant systems disabled, the cylinders merely continued to glide.

  By then the Ormni was a looming wedge of durasteel, its gray hull blotted by the radiant squares of open hangar mouths. The steady stream of blasting yawls and ram galleys entering and leaving suggested that no battle alarms had yet been sounded.

  Leia glanced over and found her brother staring into the darkness above the Ormni, his gaze fixed on a cluster of tiny delta-shaped shadows that kept appearing and disappearing against the glow of passing tender craft.

  Without looking away, Luke said, “I’ll take starboard. You’re port.”

  “Good.”

  As Leia spoke, she opened herself to the Force and felt the cold, focused presences of perhaps ten pilot-and-gunner teams swirling above the Ormni. She used the Force to grab two of the proton torpedoes they had set adrift earlier, then accelerated them toward the left edge of the formation above them.

  The Ormni continued to swell as the ScragHull closed, growing so large that it stretched across the entire viewport. After a few moments of Force-use, she felt the oily brush of the dark side again, and this time it did not withdraw. No matter. Soon enough, the Sith would not be the only enemy who knew where to find Leia and her brother.

  The salvo passed above the Ormni. Leia guided her first torpedo into the nearest Bes’uliik and was rewarded with the symmetrical white blossom of scattering protons. The viewport dimmed as the ScragHull’s blast-tinting activated, and she felt the hot sharp surprise of two lives being torn from the Force—then felt it again as Luke’s first torpedo found its target.

  Leia put the deaths out of her mind and reached for a pair of alarmed presences near the back of the Mandalorian formation. A heartbeat later, the viewport darkened again, then darkened even more as Luke’s second torpedo also detonated, and four more Mandalorian auras dissolved into fiery anguish.

  A flashing tangle of energy erupted ahead: the remaining Bes’uliiks opening fire. With the ScragHull’s engines still inactive and no Force to help find their targets, the Mandalorian attacks were as ineffectual as they were desperate. Leia did not even bother to bring the spyboat’s nose up to reduce the likelihood of a cockpit strike.

  But with the Aurel Moon carrying Han away and at least one Sith out there who could target the ScragHull, continuing to glide was no option. Leia hit the engine igniters. As Luke brought up the shields, enemy cannon bolts began to converge on the little spyboat.

  Leia went into an evasive roll, then gave the control yoke over to instinct, jinking and juking without conscious thought, simply trusting to her training and the Force to keep the spyboat out of trouble. A steady patter of cannon bolts blossomed against their forward shields, but many more glanced off harmlessly or missed altogether.

  In the blink of an eye, the distance between the ScragHull and its attackers had closed to mere kilometers. Leia opened the launch tubes again and felt the soft thump of torpedoes being expelled. She grabbed two in the Force and accelerated them toward the enemy. At this distance, the exhaust baffles did little to conceal the Bes’uliiks’ efflux, and she could see the Mandalorian starfighters as they approached head-on, a half dozen faint blue halos growing steadily larger and brighter as they weaved and bobbed closer.

  But where were the Sith? Leia could find no sign of them on her tactical display. She turned her attention back to the Mandalorians, reaching out in the Force and guiding a torpedo toward the largest halo. The Bes’uliik vanished in a white bloom of light and anguish. By then Leia had found another pair of targets near the back of the formation. The mercenaries felt as terrified as they were angry, confounded by Jedi weapons and sorry they had sold their lives so cheaply.

  Leia gave them no chance to surrender. These were Mandalorians, and Mandalorians expected no mercy because they gave none. She merely held on to their fear until it vanished in a flash of pain and heat.

  By that point Luke had destroyed two more Bessies himself, and the last pair was flashing past in a blazing storm of color and damage alerts. R2-D2 reported an overloaded forward shield generator and a breach in the ScragHull’s upper cannon turret.

  But where were the Sith? Leia had no time to search for them. The Aurel Moon was accelerating away, and weapon ports were opening along the Ormni’s hull. The last two escorts were wheeling around to attack the ScragHull from behind, and the tactical display showed five distant patrol teams rushing back to join the fight.

  Clearly, the shock-and-awe phase of the attack was over.

  The Ormni loomed ahead, a massive durasteel wall mottled by the bright ovals of external operating lights. Its tender craft were scattering, their ion tails lacing space with long threads of blue light.

  Leia eased back on the yoke, bringing up the ScragHull’s nose, and the Ormni’s turbolasers opened up, filling the void with billowing blossoms of fire. Leia let the Force guide her hands, barely aware of the yoke slamming to and fro as the little spyboat dodged through the stabbing forest of flame. R2-D2 reported that the forward shield generator was operating at 50 percent and the upper laser cannons remained operable, though the turret was stuck at 190 degrees.

  “Set all cannons to automatic fire,” Luke ordered, “and open a hailing channel to the Aurel Moon.”

  Leia raised her brow. “You’re going to negotiate?”

  “I’m going to threaten,” Luke said calmly. “Artoo, lock a torpedo on the Aurel Moon as soon as you can resolve a target.”

  R2-D2 let out a three-note whistle of disbelief.

  “Of course I know Han is aboard,” Luke said. “J
ust do it.”

  Leia was also surprised by the order, but she had no time to question it. The ScragHull lurched as one of the Bes’uliiks slipped a cannon bolt through the rear shields and gouged a divot in its hull armor. Leia rolled the craft upside down, using the still-functional belly turret to discourage their pursuers. The spyboat shuddered as the dual laser cannons began to fire.

  R2-D2 gave a READY chirp for the hailing channel, and Luke spoke into his throat mic. “Jedi pursuit boat hailing the Aurel Moon,” he said. “Acknowledge.”

  The cockpit speaker remained silent. The Ormni, which now appeared to be floating upside down ahead, drifted high enough to provide a clear view of space beyond. The Aurel Moon’s crescent-shaped hull was shrinking fast as the yacht’s big ion drives pushed her into a starless abyss between two plasma clouds.

  R2-D2 reported a target-lock with a single chirp, and Luke launched the torpedo.

  Leia watched with dropped jaw as the torpedo shot away in a flash of white heat.

  “Luke!” she gasped. “What are you—”

  Luke raised a hand. “Wait. I need to …”

  He closed his eyes, and the blinding white sphere of a detonating proton torpedo appeared between the Moon’s twin ion drives.

  “Jedi pursuit boat hailing the Aurel Moon,” Luke repeated into his throat mic. “Acknowledge.”

  An instant later, the image of Craitheus Qreph’s pear-shaped head appeared above the cockpit holopad.

  “S-S-Sk-Skywalker!” the Columi spat. “Are you mad? That explosion cracked the viewport on our flight deck.”

  “And the next one will take out the entire deck,” Luke said calmly. “Artoo, lock two more torpedoes on the Aurel Moon.”

  Leia pictured Han imprisoned somewhere aboard the yacht and found her heart climbing into her throat.

  Craitheus sneered in derision. “You’ll never launch those torpedoes, Skywalker,” he said. “Then it would be you killing Han Solo, not us.”

  “Han dies either way,” Luke said. “The only question is whether we all die with him.”

  Craitheus’s eyes narrowed. “You’re offering a trade?” he said. “Our lives for Solo’s?”

  “And ours, of course,” Luke said. “You call off your Mandalorians and put Han in a rescue pod for us to pick up. Otherwise …”

  Craitheus’s tongue flicked into view between his thin lips. “You drive a hard bargain, Jedi.” The Columi’s head turned as he looked at something beyond camera range, and he said, “I’ll have to consult with my brother.”

  Luke started to nod, but by then the little ScragHull was passing the leading edge of the Ormni, and Leia’s spine had gone icy with danger sense. The last two escorts had dropped so far back that they were no longer landing effective shots, and no one else seemed to be hurrying to rush in.

  “Luke, he’s stalling!” she said. Where were the Sith? “Tell him it’s now or never.”

  As Leia spoke, she felt herself pulling the yoke and toeing the thruster-control pedals. They rolled left—just in time to see a hatch the size of the Falcon open in the Ormni’s top hull. Leia was expecting a flight of Bes’uliiks or a concussion missile to come streaking out of the opening. Instead, she saw a flock of silver birds spraying into the void on tails of rocket fire.

  The birds spread into a fan-shaped cloud and swung to block the ScragHull’s route. Leia pulled the yoke back farther, spinning and diving away from the strange flock. She had no idea what the things were—they looked like mynocks with jetpack tails—but it was clear that she didn’t want to fly into them.

  The flock swirled around to follow, but they were too slow to catch the ScragHull. Leia pulled out of her dive and started after the Aurel Moon again. The blue circles of the yachts’ big drive engines were still visible—perhaps the size of her thumbnails—but dwindling fast.

  Leia accelerated after them, crossing the immense breadth of the Ormni’s top hull in the span of a few heartbeats.

  Luke spoke into his throat mic again. “Last chance, Craitheus.”

  “Oh, I quite agree, Master Skywalker.” A sneer came to the tiny mouth on the Columi’s image. “Just not ours.”

  Luke scowled and reached for the torpedo launchers. Leia started to object, but as the ScragHull reached the far side of the Ormni, a bloated amber orb that Leia instantly recognized as a Sith meditation sphere rose into view. Covered in a web of pulsing red veins, it had four hideous wings connected to its body by a network of ugly brown struts. In the center of the sphere, an organic hatch was gaping wide, spitting balls of white-hot plasma in their direction.

  “Ship!” Luke hissed.

  He launched a torpedo, but it was too late. The white cylinder had barely cleared its launching tube before the first ball of white-hot plasma engulfed it. Leia jerked the yoke hard, spinning the ScragHull away from the detonation, then felt the spyboat leap sideways as the blast wave sent them tumbling.

  Leia hit the thrusters, trying to power her way back into control as they spiraled toward the Ormni. Somewhere behind her, R2-D2 shrieked in alarm as he crashed into a bulkhead, and the cockpit erupted in a frenzy of alarms and lights and sparks.

  The Ormni’s gray hull approached fast. Leia gave up on regaining control and reversed the thrusters, but the collision was inescapable. She turned to warn Luke to brace and saw him reaching for the torpedo launchers, then felt the thump of the ejector charges and … white.

  Twelve

  Ben Skywalker sat stunned and shaken, trying to figure out what he had just felt. It had come to him through the Force, a blast of alarm and determination and hope so powerful it had stolen his breath, and then … nothing. No wave of searing pain, no tearing in the Force, no reaching out in farewell, just a cold emptiness in the place in his heart where he usually carried his father.

  “Ben?” Tahiri Veila’s voice came from close beside him, urgent and confused. “Ben!”

  A hand punched his shoulder, then pointed into the blue miasma beyond the cockpit. A pear-shaped ball of rock and ice came spinning into view, as large as a mountain and so close that Ben could have leapt onto it from the nose of their little Miy’tari Scout. It was the third asteroid to emerge from the plasma in as many minutes, and a barely perceptible gravity field suggested the cloud concealed hundreds more. Ben used the craft’s maneuvering thrusters to ease the Miy’tari backward, navigating as much by Force and feel as by sight and sensor, his gaze dancing from the luminescent murk beyond the canopy to the infrared display to the StealthX distress beacon blinking on the navigation screen.

  “What was that?” huffed Tahiri. She was in her early thirties and had wavy blond hair, piercing green eyes, and a trio of faint scars on her brow—relics of being tortured by the Yuuzhan Vong when she was only fourteen years old. “This is no time to be daydreaming.”

  “Sorry,” Ben said. “I just felt … I don’t know what. But it was bad.”

  “Bad?” Tahiri asked. “Be specific, Skywalker.”

  “It was my father,” Ben said. “Something happened to him. I felt it.”

  “Something as in … dead?”

  “How would I know?” Ben asked. He wanted to shout, but that was his fear working on him, trying to rob him of his ability to think and act. “I felt a wave of alarm and … I guess, hope. Then I didn’t feel anything. He just isn’t there.”

  Tahiri’s face went neutral—a bad sign. She was trying to hide her feelings.

  “That could mean a lot of things,” she said. “And right now we don’t have time to worry about any of them.”

  She turned her eyes forward again, and he followed her gaze out into the blue fog beyond the canopy.

  “That’s going to be hard,” he said.

  “I know it is,” Tahiri said. “But we have our own mission, Ben, and our own problems. Whatever has happened to your father, you know what he expects of you.”

  Ben took a deep breath, centering himself. A Jedi couldn’t lose focus, not when that would endanger him, his mission part
ner, and everyone counting on them.

  Finally he nodded and checked his sensor display. Nothing.

  “Our sensors are as blind as I am,” Ben said. “This would be a lot easier if we could go active.”

  Tahiri’s voice turned mocking. “You think?” she asked. “Fighting a close-quarters pirate assault would be easier than dodging a few asteroids?”

  “Well, it would be faster,” Ben said, shrugging. “And more satisfying.”

  A shadow appeared to starboard, a nugget of darkness that rapidly began to swell as it tumbled through the foggy luminescence. Ben eased off the thrusters and watched as the nugget became a boulder and the boulder a monolith. He would have felt a lot more confident of being able to avoid trouble had he been using the Miy’tari’s ion drives rather than its maneuvering thrusters. But even through the plasma cloud, the drives would light up the sensor arrays of anyone lurking in ambush.

  Finally, their R9 astromech droid—Ninette—tweedled an alert and displayed the asteroid’s projected course on the navigation screen. Ben came to a dead stop, then watched in awe as a three-kilometer mass of pure, dark nickel–iron tumbled across their travel vector.

  Almost immediately, the hair on his arms stood on end. He double-checked the asteroid’s projected course on the navigation screen. Seeing no indication that Ninette had misjudged either its size or course, he scanned the plasma cloud for more shadows. He saw none, but the hair on his arms started to prickle. He glanced over at Tahiri and found her staring out the forward canopy, her expression blank and distant.

  “You feel that?” he asked.

  Her gaze dropped toward the deck, and she nodded. “Coming up under us.”

  Ben fired the thrusters again and rolled the Miy’tari ninety degrees up on its side—then cringed when he saw a ball of speeder-sized durelium crystals whirling up beneath them. He slid the power glides forward and pulled the yoke back, and the scoutboat slid forward, the nickel–iron asteroid now seeming to drop away beneath its belly.