[Legacy Of The Force] - 04(96)

“Shields, we grazed her shields,” Leia muttered.

Their new course wasn’t much better. The Falcon flashed through a squadron of starfighters, at right angles to their course, too fast for Han to have anything but a vague impression of them.

“Shields up,” Han shouted. “What the brix is going on?”

Leia remained cool. “Sensors say it’s a Bothan Assault Cruiser and six squadrons of Howlrunners.”

And the squadron Han had flown through was turning in the Falcon’s wake. The capital ship gunners, doubtless caught unawares by the proximity of the Falcon when they arrived, now begin firing turbolaser batteries. Han sent the Falcon into a dizzying spiral of evasive maneuvering. “Sweetheart, Lando, I hate to ask…”

Leia unbuckled. “Yes, we’ll go shoot down the bad furry people for you.” Then she and Lando were gone.

The first shots from the pursuing Howlrunners battered at his rear shields, and Han growled. He’d had a beautifully restored, intact Millennium Falcon in his hands for ten minutes before someone was trying to shoot her to pieces again. “Threepio!” he shouted. “Get up here, operate the sensors and comm board.”

“Yes, Captain Solo.” The protocol droid, rocking wildly back and forth as Han’s maneuvers nearly took him from his feet, managed to slide into the seat Leia had vacated. Very prudently he strapped himself in. “If I may ask, sir…”

“Don’t.” Han rolled ninety degrees to starboard and arced around to a course straight out from the planet. Laserfire from the pursuers bracketed the Falcon, missing by meters. But now he could hear the Falcon’s own turbolasers firing.

“…what’s happening, sir?”

“Bothans have sent a task force to destroy or capture the shipyards here,” Han said. “They must have jumped straight at Gyndine and let the planet’s gravity well yank them out of hyperspace. That’s why they appeared so close.”

“Your pursuers are ten in number-no, nine. Someone appears to have scored a hit, and one of them is heading in a different direction.”

Distantly, Han could hear Lando’s shout of “Nice shooting!” He grinned. That was his lady, always blowing up people who intended to cause him grief.

“And,” C-3P0 added, “you’re getting a message.”

“From the Bothan ship. Demanding surrender.”

“Well … no, actually. It’s from a Captain Ural Lavint.”

Han grimaced. Jacen had, through circuitous means via Winter Celchu, via Iella Antilles, all because he no longer had any direct communication access to his parents, recently sent word that this Lavint wanted to get in touch. I Ian had heard of her, a crusty old smuggler from the Corporate Sector, but had never met her. “Tell her I can’t talk flow.”

“Oh, it’s not live. It’s recorded. I’m saving it both to the Falcon’s computer and to my own memory. I believe in redundancy.”

“You don’t say.” Something belatedly occurred to Han. “Communicate with the personnel on the repair station and tell them to get out, to jump in the closest escape pod and get down to the planet’s surface.”

“Oh, I already did that, sir. Master Lando communicated those instructions to me through ship’s intercom. By the way, you are down to seven pursuers. If I calculate it correctly, that’s one damaged, two destroyed.”

Han sent the Falcon into another series of jinking, juking moves. The hammering his rear shields was taking lessened, but he could see the protocol droid’s head whipping back and forth on his metal neck.

“Sir, Master Lando requests a little more stability.”

“Does he?”

“Well, that’s what I interpret from the rather florid language he’s employing. Six pursuers. Two damaged, two destroyed. I-I say! The rest are breaking off!”

Han glanced over at the sensor screen. C-3PO was right: the remaining half squadron of Howlrunners was disengaging, turning back toward the planet. “We’re not their mission,” he said. “But we ran when they appeared, and like neks, they chased us. Until their commander figured out we were a waste of time.” He leveled off. “Leia! Come plot me a course. Let’s get out of this system.”

Leia’s voice was artificially sweet. “Shall I bring you a bottle of ale, too? Maybe your slippers?”

Han grimaced. “Didn’t mean it like that.”



While they were in hyperspace, Han reviewed the message Lavint had sent him, then he put it on one of the large displays for everyone to see.

It seemed to have been recorded by the cheapest variety of pocket holocam. The image of the woman’s leathery face, when stretched to fill the large display, was heavily pixilated. “Greetings,” she said. “I’m sending you this message to do you a big favor and hope you’ll do me one in return.”