Part 6 (1/2)
She switched on the comlink and started talking.
”Dartmakers out of luck with frequently iced manifolds.
Dartmakers Out of luck with frequently iced manifolds. Dartmakers out of luck with frequently iced manifolds.” She chanted the words as if they were some sort of mantra, a magic spell that could save her life.
And with any luck, that would be exactly right.
Speaking of communications, it might be that the Y-wings were trying to reach her. She hit the scan command on her com panel and sent it sniffing for all the standard frequencies. Nothing. Not that she expected it.
Fighter pilots rarely tried to chat with the people they were attempting to kill.
The Y-wings were splitting wide, trying to get her in a spherical cross fire. If they managed that, it was going to be all over in short order. Well, if they couldn't talk to her, maybe she could talk to them.
Kalenda punched in what had been the standard channel for the general fighter command link last time she had been briefed.
”Y-wing fighters! This is the X-TIE you are pursuing.
Please hold your fire! I am not hostile. I am on a courier mission.” Another laser, blast streaked out. This one caught her X-E amids.h.i.+ps. The Ugly shuddered, bucked and swayed, and the interior lights dimmed, but the s.h.i.+elds heldhis time. A whole bunch of the lights that had been amber abruptly clicked over to red. The next hit was going to do plenty of damage. She twisted the X-E through a oneeighty and dove straight for the closest pair of Y-wings. She flew right between them and managed to get outside the formation-and then instantly wished she hadn't.
A Mon Calamari star cruiser had appeared from out of nowhere and was bearing down on her. If she had been inside the Y-wing cross fire, the cruiser wouldn't have dared fire on her. Now, however, the cruiser could blaze away as she liked. And there was the cruiser's forward turbolasers turning ponderously about, bearing down on her.
Kalenda went vertical, flipped her s.h.i.+p through ninety degrees, and punched for sky, trying to move faster than that gun turret could.
Hopeless, of course, but she had to go down fighting. She punched back to the NRI frequency and spoke, perhaps for the last time.
Strange that her last words were going to be a nonsense phrase.
”Dartmakers out of luck with frequently iced manifolds.
Dartmakers out of luck with frequently iced-” Suddenly a giant, invisible hand grabbed at her X-E and grabbed at it hard. She was nearly thrown up against her restraint harness and banged her helmet against the inside of the canopy. Momentarily stunned, she needed a moment to regain her senses. A near miss.
It must have been a near miss from the cruiser. She slammed over the joystick, trying to heel the s.h.i.+p over to port, trying to go evasive one last time. But the X-E only shuddered and moaned, and the cabin was suddeuly full of the smell of something burning. Then she got it. She cut the engines, pulled her hands off the joystick, and breathed a sigh of relief.
A tractor beam. They had caught her with a tractor beam.
She shut her eyes and slumped back against her seat back. She started breathing again, not realizing she had stopped for a little bit there. ”Praise be to the dartmakers,” she said to no one at all.
”Praise be to the dartmakers, and may their manifolds never ice up again.
Bakura.
Even in all the years of peace since the invasion crisis, Bakura had maintained its powerful defense forces.
There had been no sign of a renewed attack from the Ssi-ruuk, but on the other hand, there had been no warning at all before the Ssi-ruuk's first attack. It would be a long time before Bakura let down her guard again.
Which led to the inevitable question of why the New Republic had let its guard down. Part of the answer was that it hadn't. Though the fleet and the surface forces were far smaller than they had been during the war against the Empire, they were still formidable fighters.
They were simply committed elsewhere at the moment, or else undergoing repairs. The Mons Calamari s.h.i.+pyards were doing big business these days. If the revolt in Corellia had happened six months earlier or three months later, the New Republic could have sent a ma.s.sive fleet.
And, truth be told, Luke had a hunch that Mon Mothma cotdd have raised a New Republic force if absolutely necessary. It would have been risky and expensive, and would have left this outpost or that with minimal defenses for a while, but it could have been done.
But Mon Mothma was not just a strategist. She was a politician, and a good one. Good politicians know how to make use of a crisis, how to use one problem to solve several others. By sending Luke and Lando to call on the Bakurans, she was killing a multiplicity of birds with one stone. She was indeed conserving Republic resources, so that she could deal with other potential crises that might erupt. But she was also appealing to the Bakuran psychology. Bakura was near the borders of the New Republic, and its citizens were often fearful of being forgotten, left out of the equation. If Mon Mothma's guesses were correct, asking them for help would encourage Bakurans to retain close ties to the Republic, making them feel needed, committed to the cause.
And there was another matter. She had, not so very long ago, told Luke that it was only a matter of time before he entered the political arena, and she was perfectly capable of using this opportunity to give him a hearty shove in that direction. Going to Bakura was not a job for a hero who charged in with his lightsaber at the ready. It was a job for a negotiator. Mon Mothina was forcing Luke to act not like a lone swashbuckler, but like a leader, a representative-a politidan.
Mon Mothma was very good. There was no doubting that.
Luke sat up. Enough of this. It was ridiculous for him to be moping around this way. There was too much to do, too much to get ready for. He needed to know more. It was high time to get that briefing from Threepio.
He was on the verge of pus.h.i.+ng the intercom b.u.t.ton to summon Threepio when the intercom came on all by itself-with Threepio on the line. ”Master Luke.” Anna please come to the c.o.c.kpit. Artoo is pa.s.sing us a feed from the military sensor net.
There's some sort of intercept taking place. A flight of Y-wing fighters are attacking some peculiar combination of an X-wing and an oldstyle TIE fighter.”
Lando's voice came on, very excited. ”It's an X-TIE Ugly, Luke!
And the only s.h.i.+pyards that can put those together-”
”-are in Corellia,” Luke said, finis.h.i.+ng Lando's thought as he ran out of his cabin toward the c.o.c.kpit.
The c.o.c.kpit hatch was open and he dove through it.
”Tell Artoo to contact the intercept fighters!” he said. ”Tell them to call off-”
”No need,” Lando interrupted. ”Whoever is on that thing must have done some fast talking for himself. The Y-wings ceased fire and the cruiser Naritus slapped a tractor beam on her. They're taking her aboard.
And before you can tell me to do it, yeah, we're changing course. That's got to be someone with news.”
Luke dropped back into the copilot's seat and punched up the audio com channel to his X-wing.
”Artoontact the cruiser and request permission for us to come aboard.”
Artoo replied with an affirmative-sounding triple beep. Luke leaned forward and peered eagerly through the viewport of the Lady Luck The Naritus was nowhere near, of course, and it was going to take some time to get there, but maybe now they were going to get some information.
”Turn this thing around, Lando. Let's get moving.”
Kalenda knew her problems weren't over, not by a long shot. Not when she was sitting in a cell in the cruiser's detention block, rather than at a table in its briefing center. Not that she could blame the captain of the Naritus for viewing her with more than a little suspicion.
She was, after all, traveling without any papers or proof of her ident.i.ty; the NRI did not send its agents out on undercover missions with photo ID. Even if she had carried ID, it would have been phony from top to bottom, matching her cover story from the time of her entry into the Corellian system. But she had ditched that long ago, of course. That ident.i.ty was blown, and blown big.
So all they had was a frazzled4looking young woman in a rumpled jumpsuit, both woman and jumpsuit badly in need of cleaning. But Kalenda was not about to ask for a shower or a fresh set of clothes.
Not yet. So far they had just given her a quick pat-down, checking for weapons. They hadn't thought to search her clothing all that caretully, and she didn't want this crowd finding that datachip.
No.
She had her orders regarding that.