Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 05_ Agents of Chaos 02_ Jedi Eclipse - James Luceno [112]
Droma sat back, fingering his pale mustache. “Perhaps you want to hang around and spend some of the credits you just earned. Or you jump to Abregado-rae for the same purpose.”
“Maybe. But remember, you know that Fondor is likely to be attacked sometime soon, which means the Rimma is going to get real busy, real fast, from Abregadorae clear to Sullust.”
Droma frowned. “In that case, you’d want to be as far from Fondor as possible. You might even want to lie low for a while before going on a spending spree.”
Han and Droma looked at each other. “Tholatin,” they said at the same time.
Han straightened in his chair, taking hold of the control yoke while Droma interrogated the navicomputer.
“The best jump point for Tholatin is just Coreward of Fondor aphelion.”
Han cut his eyes to the star chart Droma put onscreen. With Fondor less than two months from aphelion, the jump point was relatively close to where the Falcon had reverted to realspace from the Gandeal hyperlane. Engaging the thrusters, he veered the ship through an abrupt climbing bank, away from the line of navigational buoys that would have directed them to Fondor.
Instantly the cockpit annunciator came to life. “Millennium Falcon, why are you altering course?”
“Uh, slight drive malfunction,” Han said, spicing his voice with false alarm. “But we should have things under control momentarily.”
“Maintain your present position, Falcon. You are entering restricted space. I repeat: Stay where you are. An escort ship will be dispatched to provide assistance.”
“Don’t bother sending an escort,” Han said, even as the Falcon was accelerating. “We’ll return to the holding point and make repairs there.”
“Negative, Falcon. You have entered restricted space. Return to original course headings immediately.”
Han increased the ship’s speed while the navicomputer aimed them for the remotest point of Fondor’s elliptical orbit. A host of capital ships, barges, tenders, and freighters came into view, all maneuvering toward various jump points. Abruptly, an indicator on the friend-or-foe authenticator flashed.
“IR emission and ion exhaust recognition,” Droma said excitedly. “Confirmation of the Trevee.” He called up a magnified view of the supplied coordinates, then pointed to the run-down, pod-shaped ship at the center of the display screen. “There!”
Han smiled in recollection of the opticals Baffle and the other droids had provided. “That’s her, all right.”
“Millennium Falcon,” the voice of fleet command and control barked. “This is your final warning.”
“Turn that thing off,” Han snapped.
Droma lowered the gain, then swiveled back to the console. “Deflector shields raised,” he reported without being asked. “Fire-control computer on-line.”
Han reached to his left for the servo that controlled the dorsal quad laser. When they could see the Trevee through the viewport, he tugged the throttle lever toward him, streaking the Falcon beneath the freighter, then barrel-rolled to port across the Trevee’s blunt bow.
“Now they know we’re here,” he said, decelerating to hang on the Trevee’s twin-thrustered tail.
“They’re scanning us,” Droma said. “Weapons powering up.”
“Give me a schematic of the ship.” Han glanced at the data Droma retrieved and tapped his forefinger against the display screen. “Their hyperdrive is just forward of the aft fin. Take over.”
Droma tightened his hands around the copilot’s yoke, gluing the Falcon to the Trevee’s stern. Han centered the quad laser’s targeting reticle over the freighter’s sleek stabilizer.
“Weapons fire!”
The words had scarcely left Droma’s mouth when blue hyphens of energy raced toward the Falcon, splashing against her forward deflector shield and jarring the ship without doing damage.
“Ion cannon,” Droma said. “They’re maintaining