Authors: Timothy Zahn
The mechanical clanking started up again, heading right. Mara responded by going left, moving to a spot beside the hauler’s nose where she could duck under it and escape out the other side as soon as the AT-ST came into view.
But it didn’t come into view, nor did it seem to be coming closer. In fact, as Mara listened, it seemed to her that the AT-ST was actually getting farther away.
And then, suddenly, she understood. Ducking under the hauler’s nose, she ran out the other side.
Caaldra was no longer hunting her. Instead, he was driving the big combat machine due south across the landing field. Even as Mara came into sight of it, the AT-ST plowed its way through the low landspeeder fence and headed into the largely deserted city streets.
Mara hissed between her teeth. So Caaldra had recognized her trap and declined to take the bait. On this side of town the streets were fairly narrow but relatively straight, giving the AT-ST that straight-line speed advantage Mara had already noted. All Caaldra had to do was get a few blocks ahead of her and steal a landspeeder, and he’d be away before she could catch up.
Or so he apparently thought. With a final look at the departing AT-ST, Mara turned and sprinted for her Z-10. Two minutes later she was in the air and heading south.
She’d thought Caaldra might try to change direction once he was out of immediate sight of the spaceport, hoping to shake off her pursuit. But while there were a few small clusters of taller structures, most of the buildings in this part of town were only two or three stories high, providing little visual cover for such hide-and-search games. As Mara rose above the parked ships, she
could see the AT-ST still plodding its way south in the distance. Kicking her drive to full atmosphere power, she gave chase.
Unfortunately, the same low buildings that provided little cover for the hunted did likewise for the hunter. Moreover, the Z-10’s only weapon was a small auto blaster whose fire control was programmed awkwardly into the ship’s sensor package. If Mara was going to win this, she would have to get in the first shot, and to get it in from point-blank range.
And with the AT-ST’s array of viewports and view-screens providing a complete 360 view, the only insertion angle that offered her any chance was directly above her target. Climbing into the sky, Mara leveled off; and as she caught up with the AT-ST she rolled the Z-10 over into a nosedive directly above it and started down.
She was lining up the auto blaster’s crossmarks on the AT-ST’s entry hatch when she saw the light blaster cannon turret riding the command module’s left side swivel around to point upward at her. Instantly she swung the control yoke over, wrenching out of her dive and trying to pitch over to the AT-ST’s right side where that particular weapons cluster couldn’t target her.
But the Z-10’s systems hadn’t been designed for such a tight maneuver. She was a fatal half second too slow; an instant later the ship bucked beneath her as the engine section took a direct hit.
She was going down.
She fought the crippled ship the whole way, managing to turn what would otherwise have been an instantly fatal nose-first crash into a hull-ripping belly skidder. Her momentum carried her two entire blocks, the grinding of metal against permacrete stabbing into her ears the whole way.
But at last the grinding quieted and the wild bucking slowed to a stop. Breathing hard with reaction, wincing at the acrid smell of smoke and burned metal and leaking fluids, she climbed out of her seat. The ramp had been crushed in the landing, but three quick slashes with her lightsaber provided her an exit through the transparisteel canopy.
Her skid had dropped her about three blocks south of where Caaldra had taken out her engines. Climbing carefully out of the ruined ship, she turned to look north, fully expecting him to have taken the opportunity of her crash to change direction, either back north to the
Happer’s Way
or west toward the palace that she knew was his ultimate destination.
But he’d done neither. The AT-ST was still clanking its way toward her, its chin blasters tracking back and forth across the street like an alert sentry walking the line.
Apparently Caaldra had decided to pass up escape in favor of revenge.
The crippled ship disappeared below the level of the buildings around it, and a second later LaRone heard the distant sound of metal skidding along permacrete. “It’s down,” he bit out, looking around. In the distance to the south he could see a parked landspeeder transport, its complement of stormtroopers probably spread out through the buildings of that neighborhood. No other vehicles or personnel were in sight. Possibly no other vehicles or personnel were in the area.
No one but the Hand of Judgment.
“Out,” he snapped to Luke as he swiveled the speeder truck around. “You, too, Solo. Go get your friend—we’re going to see if we can help that pilot.”
For a wonder, neither Luke nor Solo argued the point. A moment later LaRone was gunning the truck toward the crash site, following Brightwater on his speeder bike.
The crash had been north of them and, it turned out, two blocks farther west. LaRone guided the truck around the final corner, and found himself facing an extraordinary sight. Half a block ahead was the wreckage of the light freighter they’d seen go down, twisted and torn, billows of black smoke pouring out of its burning engines. Moving away from a gaping hole in the cockpit was the pilot, a young woman with red-gold hair.
And two blocks farther north was the towering bulk of an All Terrain Scout Transport, clanking its stiff-legged way down the street toward them all.
“What in the world is
that
doing here?” Quiller muttered.
“Brightwater—check it out,” LaRone ordered, gunning the speeder truck toward the wreckage, an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. The woman up there had to be Luke’s and Solo’s friend—it was the only reason why anyone would deploy an AT-ST against her. And now that she’d been identified and was on the edge of being caught, Luke’s and Solo’s own capture wouldn’t be far behind.
Clearly Marcross had followed the same line of logic. “We can’t get involved,” he said urgently from the rear of the speeder truck. “They’ve got her now.”
“What about Luke and Solo?” Grave asked. “We can’t let
them
get caught, too.”
“We may not have a choice,” LaRone said grimly. Still, they had to try. He swung the speeder truck wide in preparation for a U-turn back toward where they’d dropped off the two Rebels, hoping there was still time to get them back to the relative safety of the Suwantek. Ahead, Brightwater was approaching the AT-ST.
Without warning, the walker’s chin-mounted blaster cannons swiveled down and opened fire.
The sheer unexpectedness of the attack nearly cost
Brightwater his life. He twisted the speeder bike into a tight swerve as the edges of the salvo shattered his right steering vane and then raked along that side. Finishing the turn, he kicked the throttle to full power, the damage to his steering vane making his usually tight evasive maneuvering look more like a drunkard’s slalom. The AT-ST’s cannons fired two more bursts, both missing, before falling silent again.
But the walker was still coming.
Brightwater made it back to the wreckage just as LaRone brought the speeder truck to a halt and leapt out, bringing his E-11 up to guard position. “Hold it!” he snapped to the red-haired woman. She was young, he could see now, no more than twenty years old.
“I’m an Imperial agent,” she snapped back. “Level K-12; recognition code Hapspir Barrini. We’ve got a bandit in that AT-ST.”
LaRone felt his mouth drop open. But years of training instantly took over. “Understood, ma’am,” he said. “Orders?”
“Let’s start with some air support,” the agent said. “Get your group commander on the comlink.”
LaRone winced. “Actually, we’re not with the main group—”
“Just get them on the comlink,” the agent snapped.
“We can’t,” Marcross said grimly. “The AT-ST’s got full jamming going.”
“Then we’ll have to do it ourselves,” the woman said, glacially calm. “You—scout trooper—is your speeder still functional?”
“Functional enough, ma’am,” Brightwater said, swiveling back around to face the AT-ST lurching toward them. His armor, LaRone saw, was blistered along his right leg where the blaster cannons’ near miss had caught him.
“Do an evasive drive around his left side and try to
draw his fire,” the agent ordered. “If and when he turns the command module around to track you with his forward cannons, you, sniper, will go for the concussion grenade launcher on his right side.”
“Acknowledged,” Grave said, dropping the muzzle of his T-28 into firing position.
“If he doesn’t turn the module, or when he turns back around again,” she continued to Brightwater, “you’ll swing around and try for his drive engine radiator and exhaust vents. His transmitter’s back there, too—maybe you can knock that out and clear the jamming so we can get some backup. If the sniper was able to take out the grenade launcher, you should be relatively safe on that side, but watch out for the light blaster cannon turret on his left.”
“I can stay clear,” Brightwater assured her.
“Just remember that if we don’t nail the launcher, you’ll have that to worry about, as well,” the woman reminded him. “If it gets too hot, circle around the block and rejoin us here. You’re our only mobile force right now, and I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for nothing.”
LaRone felt a stirring of surprise. An Imperial agent who actually cared about the troops she had commandeered? That was something new.
“What about the rest of us?” Marcross asked.
“You’ll lay down cover fire and try to split his attention,” the agent said. “Fall back as he approaches and try to draw him past what’s left of my ship. I’ll be waiting for him here.”
LaRone looked at Grave. Skulking in the middle of burning wreckage in the path of a hunting AT-ST was not a good way to live to pension age. “Ma’am, if I may suggest—”
“Get moving,” the young woman cut him off, stepping back beside the wrecked ship and crouching down.
“If you can lure him close enough, I should be able to bring him down.”
Bring him down
? LaRone frowned in disbelief. Then, belatedly, he noticed the slender cylinder gripped in her hand.
A lightsaber.
He looked at her youthful face again, a sudden shiver running through him. An Imperial agent, a lightsaber—the rumors were true after all.
This woman was the Emperor’s Hand.
“You have your orders, stormtroopers,” he said between suddenly dry lips. “Move it.”
There were a dozen stormtroopers visible a block ahead, striding purposefully along the walkway, when Luke came to a sudden stop. “What’s wrong?” Han demanded, his eyes on the Imperials.
“Nothing,” Luke said. “We’re here.”
Han frowned, focusing for the first time on the dingy door and faded window menus beside him. A
tapcafe
? “She’s hiding
here
?”
“You think maybe we can get inside?” Luke pressed, nodding toward the approaching stormtroopers.
Han shook his head. Her Royal Highclassness, hanging out in a place like this? Luke’s mystic Jedi tricks must have popped a circuit breaker.
Still, anywhere out of sight of stormtroopers was a good place to be. Pulling open the door, he stepped inside—
And came to a sudden, disbelieving stop. Across the murky dining room and the clumps of alien heads, he saw her. Not just sitting in a back corner, either, trying to hide with a hood over her head. She was on her feet, moving deftly through the crowded room, serving drinks.
Her Royal Perfectness was actually dressed in a covergown, serving drinks.
“There she is!” Luke said excitedly.
“Yeah, I see her,” Han said, giving the room another, more careful look. There had been no abrupt silence or turned heads, but the air in the dining room had suddenly taken on a static charge. Everyone had spotted the new arrivals, and they didn’t seem at all happy about it.
“Well?” Luke asked impatiently.
Han braced himself. “Nice and easy,” he muttered to the kid. Keeping his hand as close to his blaster as he could without being obvious about it, he started threading his way between the tables.
He was halfway there when a pair of Adarians in dusty workers’ clothes stood up silently in front of him.
“Easy,” Han soothed, holding up both hands, palms forward. “Just dropped in to see a friend.”
“Han?” Leia called.
Han looked between the two Adarians to see her coming toward him, surprise and relief on her face. “We interrupting anything?” he asked casually.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she breathed, her eyes flicking past his shoulder to Luke. “Both of you. How did you know I was in trouble? Never mind—we have to get out of here.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Han said. “This place got a back door?”
“Yes—this way,” Leia said, taking Han’s arm. The two Adarians stepped aside, and Leia led the way between the tables and into the kitchen.
An orange-eyed Mungran female was waiting by the back door. “Safety in travel to you, Leia Organa,” she rumbled. “We will not forget you.”
“Neither will I forget you, Vicria,” Leia said, bowing her head to the other. “Someday, when the slavery of the Empire is finally over—”
“We’ll buy you a drink,” Han cut in. Taking Leia by the shoulders, he hustled her through the door. Beyond was an alley, narrow and poorly lit and—for the moment, anyway—deserted. “Come on,” he said, shifting his grip to Leia’s arm and dragging her toward the alley’s north end.
“Han, that was rude,” she said accusingly. “These people helped me hide—”
“You want to be standing there thanking her when Vader comes in the front door?” Han interrupted. “
That’ll
make good reading at her interrogation. Come on—Chewie’s waiting at the spaceport.”
They were nearly to the end of the alley when Luke suddenly grabbed Han’s arm. “Behind us—someone’s coming,” he hissed.
Han glanced around. As far as he could see the alley was still deserted.
But the kid had been right way too many times on this trip for Han to start doubting him now. “Over here,” he said, drawing his blaster as he pulled Leia toward a stack of trash bins at the side of the alley. Pushing her behind them, he pressed himself against her to give himself some cover as he peered down the alley.