[Thrawn Trilogy] - 01(149)

Han turned around, to see Lando easing his way carefully into the cockpit, clearly running at half speed but just as clearly determined to make it. Luke was right behind him, a steadying hand on his elbow. “You heard all that?” Han asked him.

“Every part that mattered,” Lando said, dropping into the copilot’s seat. “I could kick myself for not seeing it long ago.”

“Me, too. You remember any of the command codes?”

“Most of them,” Lando said. “What do you need?”

“We don’t have time for anything fancy.” Han nodded toward the Frigate, now lying below them. “The mole miners are still attached to the ships. Just start ‘em all running.”

Lando looked at him in surprise. “Start them running?” he echoed.

“You got it,” Han confirmed. “All of them are going to be near a bridge or control wing-if they can burn through enough equipment and wiring, it should knock out the whole lot of them.”

Lando exhaled noisily, tilting his head sideways in a familiar gesture of reluctant acceptance. “You’re the boss,” he said, fingers moving over the comm keyboard. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Ready?”

Han braced himself. “Do it.”

Lando keyed a final section of code … and beneath them, the Frigate twitched.

Not a big twitch, not at first. But as the seconds passed, it became increasingly clear that something down there was wrong. The main engines flickered a few times and then died, amid short bursts from the auxiliaries. Its drive toward the perimeter fighting faltered, its etheric control surfaces kicking in and then out again, striving to change course in random directions. The big ship floundered almost to a halt.

And suddenly, the side of the hull directly opposite the mole miner’s position erupted in a brilliant burst of flame.

“It’s cut all the way through!” Lando gasped, his tone not sure whether to be proud or dismayed by his handiwork. A TIE fighter, perhaps answering a distress call from the stormtroopers inside, swept directly into the stream of superheated plasma before it could maneuver away. It emerged from the other side, its solar panels blazing with fire, and exploded.

“It’s working,” Wedge called, sounding awed. “Look-it’s working.”

Han looked up from the Frigate. All around them-all throughout the orbit-dock area-ships that had been making for deep space were suddenly twisting around like metallic animals in the throes of death.

All of them with tongues of flame shooting from their sides.

For a long minute Thrawn sat in silence, staring down at his status boards, apparently oblivious to the battle still raging on all around them. Pellaeon held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion of injured pride at the unexpected reversal. Wondering what form that explosion would take.

Abruptly, the Grand Admiral raised his eyes to the viewport. “Have all the remaining Cloak Force TIE fighters returned to our ships, Captain?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon told him, still waiting.

Thrawn nodded. “Then order the task force to begin its withdrawal.”

“Ah … withdrawal?” Pellaeon asked cautiously. It was not exactly the order he’d been anticipating.

Thrawn looked at him, a faint smile on his face. “You were expecting, perhaps, that I’d order an all-out attack?” he asked. “That I would seek to cover our defeat in a frenzy of false and futile heroics?”

“Of course not,” Pellaeon protested.

But he knew down deep that the other knew the truth. Thrawn’s smile remained, but was suddenly cold. “We haven’t been defeated, Captain,” he said quietly. “Merely slowed down a bit. We have Wayland, and we have the treasures of the Emperor’s storehouse. Sluis Van was to be merely a preliminary to the campaign, not the campaign itself. As long as we have Mount Tantiss, our ultimate victory is still assured.”

He looked out the viewport, a thoughtful expression on his face. “We’ve lost this particular prize, Captain. But that’s all we’ve lost. I will not waste ships and men trying to change that which cannot be changed. There will be many more opportunities to obtain the ships we need. Carry out your orders.”

“Yes, Admiral,” Pellaeon said, turning back to his status board, a surge of relief washing through him. So there would not be an explosion, after all … and with a twinge of guilt, he realized that he should have known better from the start. Thrawn was not merely a soldier, like so many others Pellaeon had served with. He was, instead, a true warrior, with his eye set on the final goal and not on his own personal glory.