Part 16 (1/2)

she said. ”You'd better get back forward and start getting ready.” Han let out a sigh. ”Right,” he said. He gave her a kiss and headed back to the c.o.c.kpit, but hesitated just outside the sealed hatch. He felt a strange sort of relief now that he had told her. The danger-if there was danger-hadn't decreased at all, but at least the secret was out. He didn't like keeping things from Leia.

But enough of that. Han wasn't much interested in introspection in general, and right now he had other things to worry about. He slapped at the b.u.t.ton, the hatch slid open, and Han dropped, rather heavily, back into the pilot's chair.

It was time to go to work.

Han checked the navicomputer's countdown clock again.

They were getting close. Only a few more minutes until the drop out of hypers.p.a.ce. Chewie had checked over all the crucial systems twice, paying special attention to defense and weapons. Short of pulling into a s.p.a.cedock and doing visual checks, they were as ready as they were going to be.

And so, presumably, were their friends in Corellia No doubt they knew the Falcon's arrival coordinates every bit as well as the Falcon's own navicomputer. Maybe better, given the computer's somewhat checkered history in the reliability department. If there were any surprises-to put it more baldly, if there was someone interested in a.s.sa.s.sinating the chief of state-they would almost certainly make their moves moments after the s.h.i.+p dropped out of hypers.p.a.ce .

So why let them? Why take the chance? What point in following Corellian Traffic Control regulations if it meant getting jumped? Han made a decision. ”Chewie-scratch everything I said before. Touchy traffic control or not, we're going to drop out of hypers.p.a.ce twenty seconds early.” That earned Han the expected roar of complaint. ”I don't care how far it takes us out of the arrival zone. We can blame it on the navicomputer, and let the New Republic pay the fines. I'm still not happy about the situation, and I'd rather be off course than pop into normal s.p.a.ce lined up in some pirate's crosshairs.”

Chewbacca nodded his agreement and asked a question in a slightly lower-pitched growl.

”Yeah, I thought about staying in hypers.p.a.ce longer and arriving closer to the planet,” Han said. ”But I figure it's smarter to come in behind our arrival point, rather than ahead of it. Besides, the sooner we're in-system and can report our arrival and position, the sooner we can call for help if we need it.

Chewbacca thought it over for a moment, then nodded his a.s.sent.

”All right, then,” Han said. He reached over and switched on the intercom. ”Everyone all right back there?” he asked.

There was a raucous chorus of yeses from the younger set and then leia spoke We re fine Han Almost time9 ”Just about,” he said. ”I'm going to drop us in twenty seconds early, just to be on the safe side.” Han kept his voice casual, knowing that the kids could hear and not wis.h.i.+ng to alarm them. He wanted to sound like some routine matter, rather than a major change in plans.

”That sounds fine,” Leia said, her voice every bit as relaxed as his own. ”I was about to suggest that myself.”

”Glad to hear it”' he said. ”See you on the other side.” He flicked the intercom back to the off position, and doublechecked the switch setting. This would be the perfect time to leave it on by accident. If things did get hot, he didn't want the kids back there listening in.

Han spread out his right hand, flexed his fingers twice, and grasped the lightspeed control levers. He reached out with his left hand and cut off the automatics on the navicomputer, but left the countdown display running. ”Okay, Chewie, I'm dropping us out of light speed at minus-twenty seconds. Stay on top of it.” The numbers clicked downward, and the seconds melted away.

Han watched the countdown clock, and pushed the lightspeed control levers forward just as the clock hit the twenty-second mark. The universe reappeared as the viewport filled with starlines that rapidly downs.h.i.+fted into the familiar points of light, the stars of Corellia The stars of home.

For a moment, and only for a moment, Han allowed himself the luxury of glorying in the stars he had known and loved as a child. He picked out two of the constellations that had been there in the sky when he was growing up.

Memories of his youth burst, unbidden, into his mind. The warm summer nights, staring up at a sky full of inviting stars that seemed to be pulling at him, calling to himA warning growl from Chewie brought Han back to himself. He blinked, and found that his hands were already on the proper controls. He made ready to get under way.

But before he could act, the com system lit up. ”Unknown vehicle, you are in a restricted area. This is Corellia Traffic Control. Identify immediately,” a rather brusque voice demanded.

Han responded with the little white lie he had at the ready.

”Corellia Traffic Control, this is Millennium Falcon.

We had a slight navigational error. Now preparing to proceed to designated entry coordinates.”

There was a slight pause before they got an answer.

”Very well, Millennium Falcon. proceed at standard transit velocity to designated rendezvous coordinates and hold there for further instructions.”

Rendezvous coordinates? They weren't supposed to rendezvous with anyone. Did someone on Corellia have a surprise waiting for them? ”Will comply, Corellia Traffic Control,” Han said, looking at Chewie. By the expression on his face, it was clear that the Wookiee had caught the slip as well. ”Looks like they're telling us more than they intended,” said Han. He confirmed the Falcon's fix on the planet Corellia, a gleaming blue-and-white marble in the sky, did an offset calculation to the rendezvous coordinates, and lit the sublight engines. ”There we go, Chewie. On course for target point. let's see if there's a reception committee.”

But Chewie already had the long-range pa.s.sive scanners doing a sweep-and the sweep didn't have to work very hard to find something.

There. Centered exactly on the Falcon's designated entry coordinates. No fewer than six faint blips, in a spherical formation. If the Falcon he come in where she had been supposed to, she would have been surrounded.

Han whistled softly. ”That's some rendezvous,” he said.

”Small military craft of some sort. It's hard for us to see them now, and if we didn't have the mil-spec sensors, we couldn't see them at all. But is that an honor guard for the chief of state, or did someone get the bright idea of arresting Leia?”

Chewie made a slightly derisive snort with a sort of interrogative noise at the end.

”Well, yeah, it could be me they want to arrest,” Han said. ”But those warrants should have expired years ago.

Believe me, I checked on it. But it doesn't matter. With six escorts waiting for us, we can't make a run for it anyway.

There's bound to be other patrol craft ready to cut off our escape.”

Chewie let out a low moan of agreement.

”All right, then. They have military-quality sensors, and they're getting data from Corellia Traffic Control. But I bet they think we have the standard commercial grid we're registered as having. And if they don't know how good our detectors are, they'll think we can't see them from way out here. So what do they do when they can see us and think we can't see them?” He watched for a moment, and got his answer.

”They move,” Han announced to Chewie, even though the Wookiee was watching the same image on his own screen. ”They move right toward us.

And that doesn't tell us a thing. Honor guard or bandits would do the same thing.”

Chewie burbled a protest.

”Yeah, you're right,” Han said. ”They got off the mark awfully fast. They couldn't have chosen a course and timed a synchronized maneuver like that in just a few seconds.”

Han thought for a moment. ”Preprogrammed,” he said at last. ”They just performed a preprogrammed maneuver, heading straight for us.

Except we're a million kilometers back of where we ought to be.

Chewie-cut main engines and give me rear detectors, fast!”

Most s.h.i.+ps had blind spots in the stern, where the thrust from the sublight engines effectively jammed any and all detection and visual frequencies. The Falcon had a much smaller blind spot than most, but she still had one. But by shutting down the sublight engines, she could bring her rear detector to bear.

Like most pilots, Han didn't like the maneuver because he was likely to need it at exactly the moment when he could least afford to have his engines off. Normally Han would have simply spun the s.h.i.+p around to bring the forward detector array to bear-but with a fleet of six armed and possibly trigger-happy s.h.i.+ps of questionable motive bearing down on him, it did not seem to be the time for violent maneuvers.

The sublight engines died with a low groan, which was normal, and a sudden thud, which was not. Chewie and Han exchanged glances, but then Han shrugged. ”This old crate comes up with new noises all the time,” he said, trying to sound optimistic. ”Probably nothing at all.”

Chewie was about to reply, but just then the rear detector came online, and suddenly a possible problem with the sublight engines wasn't on the top of the list anymore. There was company coming to visit, and it was coming at high speed, straight for the Falcon.

There were three of them, bearing down straight for the Falcon, close enough that Han could get a visual on them.

”Three Uglies,” he shouted, ”dead astern! I hate Uglies.” Han had reason to hate them. ”Uglies” were an unpleasant little specialty of the less reputable of the Corellian s.h.i.+pyards-patch-up jobs cobbled together from whatever wrecks happened to find their way into the sc.r.a.p heap. By the looks of them, two of the things-Han could not bring himself to call them ”fighters” or ”s.h.i.+ps' '-had started out life as X-wings. Now, however, the wings themselves had been stripped off, and the side s.h.i.+elds from a pair of early-model TIE fighters were welded on.

The third Ugly wasn't even that recognizable. It had a c.o.c.kpit section from a Corellian stock light freighter-one of the Falcon's sister s.h.i.+ps-bolted onto the fuselage of a badly damaged B-wing, with a turbo-laser cannon slung under the s.h.i.+p's belly. By the look of it, the laser had started life as a ground-based unit. It would have to be all but impossible for the gunner to aim with great accuracy, but with a cannon that size, the gunner would only have to get lucky once.

The problem with Uglies was that it was impossible to know their specs at all. The X-TIE fighters might have no s.h.i.+elds at all, or double-powered ones. Or one might have completely different armament from the next. None of the three of them was likely to be all that s.p.a.ceworthy, which meant that the pilots...o...b..ard had to be either stupid or suicidal, if not both. In any event, Ugly pilots weren't likely to be very good-and in a close-quarters dogfight, a bad and desperate pilot in an unreliable s.h.i.+p could be more dangerous than a skilled pilot who valued his own skin and knew what his s.h.i.+p could and could not do.