Star Wars_ Planet of Twilight - Barbara Hambly [128]
The Comptroller shouldered her way past him to be in full view of the screen. “Is there no signal at all, or is there interference?”
“No signal at all, ma’am.” The extremely young midshipman in charge of the communications room saluted nervously. “The Courane and the Fireater, both out of Cybloc, both reported in as of three hours ago …”
“Where are they?” demanded Solo.
It had been a nightmarish flight to the Durren orbital base. By the time the Millennium Falcon had cleared the dense and stormy atmosphere of Exodo II, the advancing fleet had been close enough to pick them up on sensors. TIE fighters, of the old-fashioned LN type but perfectly serviceable, had been dispatched. While Lando, a good pilot but a less-than-reliable shot, had dodged and veered through the gas clouds of Odos and the nearby fringes of the Spangled Veil Nebula, Chewie and Han had manned the gun turrets, accounting for two of their pursuers before the thickness of the glowing dust clouds and the danger of floating chunks of ice the size of small moons, which swam up with horrifying unexpectedness from the shimmering soup of visual and electrical interference, discouraged pursuit. Han had geared and tinkered with the engine to reduce impulse power below the range of detection; and at greatly reduced speed, the Falcon had all but drifted out of the fighters’ range.
“Either they’re too shorthanded to risk a scout in this mess,” Solo had remarked, watching the engine vibration of the remaining two TIEs retreat into the distance—the only dependable means of detection on board—“or they’re in a hell of a hurry and don’t think we’re worth stopping for.”
“Or they think they got us with that last shot.” Lando was nervously calculating the probable locations of the huge ice chunks that were out there, somewhere, in the soaked screens of glittering whiteness that drifted everywhere in both visual and sensor pickup.
Chewbacca had growled and snarled a retort that they had gotten them with that last shot: That black chunk rapidly disappearing into the dust clouds was their rear starboard stabilizer.
Because of the extreme lightness of the floating ice mountains within the nebula compared to the density of the Falcon, seven or eight of these enormous blocks began to drift toward the smuggler vessel and followed it, like banthas in love with a speeder, for some distance, until out of range of the fleet’s sensors Lando was able to lay on a little more speed.
But it was not a pleasant journey. By the time they fetched up in the Comptroller of Durren’s office, Han was in no mood to be told that no vessels or crews could be released to him from the slender reserves still at the station.
“Captain Solo, if you please …” The Comptroller thrust her way around him, to face her communications officer again. “Have you attempted to contact Budpock base and inquire, Midshipman Brandis?”
“Budpock doesn’t know anything, ma’am. They say communications with Cybloc went dead about forty-eight hours ago, no reason given. There’s been a lot of static interference; nothing’s getting through. They sent a drone visual but it hasn’t come back yet.”
“Thank you, midshipman.”
Solo was reaching for the comm button and taking in breath to demand the whereabouts of the two ships out of Cybloc. For an elderly, diminutive, and rather stout woman, the Comptroller had very quick reflexes and cut the transmission before a word could be spoken.
“As you know, Captain Solo,” said the Comptroller, with quiet precision, “the Republic’s treaty with Durren specifies protection, not only of the existing majority planetary regime but also, as a backup, of the system itself. We have barely gotten the plague isolated on this base. The planetary government has only just regained a foothold in the capital and over the transportation and communication systems, and the insurgent faction is equipped with suborbital and supraorbital vessels that have already wreaked great havoc on this station. This is