Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [94]
“Task the Rubicon with plotting us a course through the Yarith,” Quip said when the three of them had settled into the cockpit chairs.
Zenn Bien swiveled to face him. “Why do that when we can just jump the Trade Spine?”
“Make certain registry telesponder and authenticators working properly at Yarith before continuing to Tungra,” Luufkin said.
She didn't question it. Being caught with a ship stolen from Imperial impound would get them ten to twenty at Carcel or somewhere worse. Better to be safe than sorry.
A few hours short of Lutrillia, they were going over plans for dismantling the YT when the proximity alert system issued an earsplitting howl and the ship began to shudder as if she were in the grip of a powerful gravitational field.
“Can't be a mass shadow!” Zenn Bien said, eyeing the star map even as she fought to control the ship. “We're dead on course!”
But the heavens were telling her something different. Stars began to appear in the neutral folds of hyperspace, only to elongate and resume form.
“Something's pulling us into realspace!” The yoke rattled in her hands, and every system added a harsh new sound to the chorus of alarms.
“Power down or ship will break apart!” Luufkin advised.
Quip nodded in agreement, and Zenn Bien's hands flew across the console, zeroing one system after the next. Beyond the curved viewport the starfield rotated madly, then stabilized, and she found herself staring at a large Imperial ship in stationary orbit above a desolate-looking planet. The ship had the dagger shape of a Star Destroyer but was considerably smaller, more lightly armed, and distinguished by a quartet of globes that bulged from the stern.
Zenn Bien watched the YT's IFF transponder cycle in a futile attempt to identify the vessel.
“Interdictor cruiser,” Luufkin said finally. “Prototype from Sienar Fleet Systems. Globes are gravity-well projectors.”
“Yes, the Imps have added something new to their arsenal,” Quip said.
Zenn Bien was speechless.
The cockpits enunciators crackled to life.
“YT freighter. Maintain your present course and identify yourself.”
Luufkin nodded. “Now we see if registry functions.”
“Imperial cruiser control,” Quip said into the headset, “we are Gone to Pieces out of Sriluur. Transiting to the Corellian Trade Spine.”
A moment passed before the voice said: “Gone to Pieces, no one apprised you when you filed your jump plan that the Yarith system is restricted space?”
“Sriluur spaceport control failed to advise us.”
“What is your cargo?”
“We're empty, control. Pilot, copilot, and navigator.”
“Hold at coordinates three-seven-dash-seven and prepare for inspection.”
Zenn Bien commenced reenabling the systems, then stopped. “The maneuvering thrusters are down. They must have failed when we were yanked into realspace.”
“Inform cruiser control,” Luufkin said, leaning forward in what seemed expectation.
The reply from the cruiser was slow in coming.
“Gone to Pieces, scans confirm that you are empty and unarmed. Our tractor beam will bring you in.”
Zenn Bien sat back in the chair. “Well, this is a first for me.”
Luufkin sat back as well. “No worries. Imperials are only human.”
And some of them were grown rather than born, Zenn Bien thought as a squad of stormtroopers formed up in the main hangar once the Interdictor's pincer cranes had the YT in electromagnetic lock. No sooner had she, Quip, and Luufkin been marched out than several of the stormtroopers marched in to perform a routine inspection. When the troopers reappeared, signaling an all clear, a human executive officer in a gray uniform approached, eyeing Zenn Bien and Luufkin in disdain while he closed on Quip.
“We're allowing you to continue on your way, Captain Fargil. Next time you may not be as fortunate.