The clawcraft reappeared on the Falcon’s tail. “We’ve detected no other craft-“
“Do you ever?” Han interrupted. “She said they were Jedi pilots-Luke and Mara Skywalker, to be exact. You coming or not?”
There was a moment’s silence, then the two clawcraft began to drop back. “Your request lies outside our mission profile, but we have been authorized to wish you good luck.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Han grumbled.
“You’re welcome,” the Chiss replied. “We could have shot you down.”
The Falcon continued to descend, then finally broke out of the fog into a twisting, ice-walled shaft that was much narrower than it had appeared on the terrain scanner. Han gasped and pulled the ship in a spiral so tight it was almost a spin.
“Oh, dear!” C-3PO cried.
“Relax, circuit-brain.” Han spoke between clenched teeth. “I’ve got us under control.”
“That isn’t what concerns me, Captain Solo. We have a safety margin of point-“
“Threepio!” Leia barked. “What does concern you?”
C-3PO’s golden arm stretched toward the viewport. “That.”
It took a moment for Han and Leia to see the faint orange glow building in the depths of the shaft.
“Okay.” Leia sighed. “That kind of concerns me, too.”
“Relax. Everything’s under control.” Han activated the intercom. “Juun, you ready back there?”
There was a short delay, followed by the electronic screech of someone speaking too close to the intercom microphone. “Yes, Captain, if you think this is going to work.”
“It’s going to work,” Han said. He checked the power levels on the Falcon’s tractor beam and saw that they were holding at maximum. Still, he asked, “Are you sure you’re ready?”
There was a short pause, then Tarfang jabbered something sharp.
“Tarfang assures you that he and Captain Juun are very prepared,” C-3PO translated. “He adds that if your geejawed plan fails, it’s your own fault; you shouldn’t try to blame it on them.”
“It’s going to work,” Han said.
He started to address the rest of his passengers, but Kyp cut him off.
“Of course we’re ready.” Kyp’s voice came over the comm channel rather than the intercom, an indication that he was already in his vac suit and buttoned up tight. “We’re Jedi.”
Han glanced over at Leia. “I hate it when he does that,” he growled. “You ready?”
She nodded gravely. “As soon as you tell me how you’re going to get past that swarm.”
Han grinned. “Who says I’m going to?”
They rounded a bend and, about two kilometers below, saw the first haze of the dartship swarm filling the shaft. Han pointed the Falcon’s nose at them and accelerated.
“Han?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to impress me.” Leia pinched her eyes shut. “I’ve never thought you were fainthearted. Not even once.”
Han chuckled. “Good. Just want to keep-“
Juun’s voice came over the intercom. “Captain Solo, I have a question. “
“Now?” Han asked. The swarm of dartships had thickened to a gray-and- orange cloud. ‘Wow you have a question?”
“I can’t find the activation safety,” Juun said.
“There isn’t one!” Han said. “Just activate… now!”
“But the CEC maintenance manual clearly states that every freight-moving apparatus shall have-“
“Flip the kriffing switch!” Leia yelled.
The shaft’s blue walls vanished behind the swarm, and bolts of red energy began to streak down into the shaft as Cakhmaim and Meewalh cut loose with the quad laser cannons.
“That’s an order!” Han added.
Juun flipped the switch.
The cabin lights dimmed, and every display on the flight deck winked out as cockpit power dwindled to nothing. Even the quad lasers started to dribble beams of blue light.
“Han?” Leia’s voice broke with fear. “We don’t have any status displays. I can’t monitor our shields. Is it supposed to do that?”
“You bet,” Han said proudly. “When I reversed the polarity of the tractor beam, I had to feed it every spare erg of power I could find.”
All Han could see ahead was the cloud of dartships, so close now that he could make out individual exhaust trails curving toward the Falcon’s nose.
“But not the shields, right?” Leia said. Canopy bulges began to appear atop the closest dartships, some with antennae waving inside,
and propellant trails began to stab out from the swarm. “Please tell me we’re not drawing on the-“