THE HUTT GAMBI(100)

Quickly Roa headed out for his assigned coordinates. He was one of the few pilots who was not assigned to fly with a partner. His assignment was to use the Lwyll’s fast speed to reconnoiter the movements of the Imperial fleet. He had a special channel that allowed him to report back to Mako.

As the atmosphere thinned around him, and the sky changed from blue-gray to cobalt, then to black, speckled with stars, Roa relaxed.

He’d always loved to fly, and the Lwyll was a joy to handle, quick and responsive.

Roa headed for his assigned coordinates, swooping past the limb of Nar Shaddaa, and reached them in only a few minutes’ flight time. As he approached his station, he anticipated hearing his headphones come to life with Mako’s message that he’d heard so often before: “All ships, return to base. This was a drill. All ships return to base after completing your drill …”

Seconds later, as expected, the aging smuggler heard Mako’s voice: “Attention. Attention. All you spacebums, listen up. This is it.

The Imps have appeared on our sensors. This is it. This is not a drill. Repeat, not a drill. This is the real thing, kiddies. Prepare to engage the enemy.” Roa’s eyes widened. Huh? Not a drill?

As Mako’s voice faded from his hearing, Roa stared, taut with fear, as the Imperial vessels popped out of hyperspace …





14


The Battle of Nar Shaddaa


The first thing Admiral Winstel Greelanx saw when Imperial Destiny emerged from its hyperspace microjump was a small scoutship turning tail and racing frantically away from him. The Admiral smiled dryly. I expect I’ll see a lot of that today…

The thought depressed him. It was going to be very difficult to manage to lose to this disorganized rabble. How in the galaxy was he going to manage it?

“Sir, the squadron has emerged from hyperspace,” his second-in-command, Commander Jelon, informed him.

Habit took over, and Greelanx found himself issuing orders automatically.

“Order the squadron to deploy.”

Greelanx knew what was happening, and did not bother to watch. The seven Capital-class ships arranged themselves into Greelanx’s stipulated fighting wedge—with the Destiny as the point of the wedge.

Then came two bulk cruisers, Arrestor and Liquidator, followed by the Peacekeeper and Pride of the Senate. The last two bulk cruisers, Enforcer and Inexorable, brought up the rear. The Dreadnaughts launched their TIE fighters, which moved to surround the wedge.

The two recon Carrackclass ships, Vigilance and Outpost, moved out in front of the squadron and launched their recon TIE fighters. The sixteen skirmish ships, Guardian-class Customs corvettes, were already in their shell-toms formation, ready to block any escape from the Smuggler’s Moon.

It all happened quickly and smoothly, without a hitch. Greelanx had drilled his commanders well on every point of his battle plan.

“Admiral, sir, the squadron has been deployed as ordered,” announced Jelon, scant minutes later.

“Very well. Order the squadron to proceed as planned.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The squadron moved forward at the specified speeds, with the pickets advancing on Nar Shaddaa at flank speed, the skirmish line advancing at cruising speed, and the capital ships advancing at flank speed.

Greelanx stared through the viewport of the bridge, then checked the long-range scanners, seeing that the moon Nar Shaddaa was surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pieces of debris. He wouldn’t be able to take his Capital-class ships through that sargasso, especially if the smugglers put up any resistance. When they reached the moon’s vicinity, he’d have to order them to alter their straight-on approach to swing wide of the floating debris.

Greelanx stood with his hands behind him, seeing the minuscule dot on the tactical “repeater” display that represented that tiny, panicstricken vessel he’d first seen. As the little scoutship approached the floating debris, two other small ships, freighters at a guess, joined it in its panicked flight.

The admiral sighed. His battle plan called for the entire engagement to be over in less than fifteen minutes. He had better get busy, figuring out how he was going to manage to lose …

For the first minute or so, it was all Roa could do not to panic and flee into hyperspace. The sight of the Imperial squadron emerging from hyperspace had rattled him badly. Even though he’d known, intellectually, that the Imperial squadron was going to contain dozens of ships, some of them so huge they dwarfed any ship he’d ever flown, that hadn’t prepared him for nearly flying right down their throats.

Almost without knowing he’d done it, Roa found himself turned around and heading back for Nar Shaddaa at top speed. He forced himself to take several deep breaths, and fought back the fear. The drill came back to him as the Lwyll streaked along. Report in. I have to report contact. I’m a scoutship, remember?