Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 07_ Conviction - Aaron Allston [160]
Luke looked overhead. “Jaina, who’s that up there with you?”
“You’ve got Zekk and Tyria Tainer.”
“Tyria, get down here.”
“Yes, Grand Master.” One of the StealthXs abruptly veered and descended on repulsors. Moments later it settled into place in front of the shuttle, its repulsors kicking up a small dust storm. The canopy rose.
Luke called up to the lean blond woman in the cockpit. “I’m stealing your starfighter.”
Her face fell. “Yes, Grand Master.”
Ben, returning to the bottom of the ramp, scowled at his father. “Dad, you’re in no shape to fly in combat right now. None of us should do it.”
Luke put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Your uncle Han, a very wise man—”
“Ha!”
“—once said, ‘Never tell me the odds.’ ”
“I wasn’t telling you the odds.”
“Well, don’t.”
Tyria dropped onto the road, walked over, and ruefully handed Luke her helmet. “It’s great to see you, Grand Master. Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” Luke headed off toward the StealthX. “See if you can teach my offspring not to be so protective of his elders, would you?” He donned the helmet, sprang with more effort than he cared to admit up onto the S-foil and then into the cockpit, and ran through an abbreviated checklist. As the cockpit came down, he gave Ben a thumbs-up. Then he engaged his repulsorlifts and was airborne.
As he started to rise, something shot out of a nearby dust cloud, a familiar ball shape with extrusions, red and menacing—Ship. It rose at a tremendous rate toward the dark sky. Luke could feel Abeloth within the craft. The pain she was experiencing was like heat radiating from her in the Force. The loss of Callista, the loss of Nenn, the unexpected blow of the tsil’s death, all in close proximity, had hurt her badly.
Heedless of the damage his thrusters might cause to surrounding crops, Luke tilted his StealthX back on its stern and put everything the starfighter had into acceleration. Jaina and Zekk dropped in behind him.
Brief reports flew at Gavar Khai like heat-seeking missiles.
“Two frigates destroyed, two crippled. Damage throughout the remainder of the flotilla. We’re still four minutes from being clear of the planet’s gravity well.”
“Communications restored with Captain Annax. Our gunship crews are drawing off the enemy starfighters so she and her units can escape.”
Khai stared, heat and rage building inside him, but did not let that anger emerge in his voice. He would save this emotion, cherish it for use later. “Order withdrawal of all our forces on Nam Chorios.” A smile he knew to be bleak crossed his lips as he did the responsible thing. “Order all forces that have been on the ground to go through full decontamination, with emphasis on droch detection, before reintegrating with the main force. Or we will destroy them ourselves.”
“Yes, sir.”
Khai’s frigate shook from a particularly forceful laser strike. Shield power was diminishing; laser hits were having a greater effect.
He would not run the numbers to gauge whether they’d last long enough to get him to safe hyperspace jump distance. He would trust in himself, in his commanders, in the Force.
But he knew he had just been mauled. He had relied too much on reports that the Jedi were fragmented, distracted by their political folly on Coruscant. He’d done so because he had wanted to believe it, wanted to think of his enemy as organizationally and tactically inferior.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Kyle Katarn’s voice crackled in Luke’s ears. “Gold One to all squadrons. New danger, new danger. Herkan Base is coming alive. Its weapons are now training on your location, Gray One.”
Luke gritted his teeth. Abeloth had somehow assumed control of that NovaGun station, a far-from-impossible task for one Force-user who could marshal others.