• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1319 0

He hadn’t had time to check on Karrde lately, though the barked commands over the open channel told him the information broker was still alive, at least.

He made the largest of the freighters, dodging its insignificant defensive lasers with ease, and once there looped around to face his pursuit, a determined snarl on his face.

He blinked. There was nothing there. Not a single coralskipper had followed him.

“Sir,” C-3PO said, “the commander of the Yuuzhan Vong warship Sunulok has called his ships back. If we do not answer his hail, he will commence hostilities in sixty seconds.”

Han checked his sensor display. The coralskippers had retreated to the vicinity of the interdictor, which was now at a stop relative to the Falcon. He estimated he was outside of the Sunulok’s tractor range—barely.

He eased back half a klick, to see what would happen. The ships didn’t budge, though he noticed Karrde hadn’t had any such reprieve. Off to his port, that battle raged on. It looked like Karrde was losing.

“Better let me talk to ’em, Threepio,” Han said. “I don’t think letting them speak to a droid is going to make them any happier.”

“Indubitably, sir.”

Keeping a careful eye on both the viewport and sensor displays, Han keyed on the comm.

“Sunulok, this is Princess of Blood. You ready to surrender, yet?”

The Yuuzhan Vong were not.

“This is Warmaster Tsavong Lah. You waste my time with nonsense,” the warmaster grated.

“Hey, you called me. What do you want?”

“You deny me visual, skulking coward,” he said. “But it avails you nothing. You are Han Solo, and your vessel is the Millennium Falcon.”

Well, I wonder who he bought that information from? Han thought. So much for the anonymity of piracy. “You’re callin’ me a coward?” Han exploded. “You’re the scum who had his underlings cut my wife.”

“She was not worthy to fight me. Neither was your Jeedai son.”

“Listen, scars-for-brains, I couldn’t care less how you explain your weak knees and yellow belly. We had a good fight going here. You want to finish it, or you want to call it quits? Either way is fine by me.”

“Jacen Solo is with you. I want him. Alive. When I have him, you’re free to go.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll just put him in an escape pod and send him over.”

“Dad?” Jacen’s voice came up from the intrasystem channel. “Dad, maybe it’s not a bad idea. If I can get him to duel me …”

Han ignored Jacen and turned to C-3PO. “You got a read on that radiation signature yet?”

“Yes, sir, but I’m afraid it’s not very helpful. It’s very low grade—the cargo pod contains liquid hydrogen enriched with tritium.”

“Cheap reactor fuel,” Han grumbled. “Industrial waste. I was hoping for a cargo of ion mines, or something.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” C-3PO said.

“Infidel,” Tsavong Lah roared. “There is no sign you are preparing an escape pod.”

Han’s jaw dropped. “This guy doesn’t have any sense of humor at all. He really thinks …”

Well, let him think it, then. He opened the channel for a reply. “Just give me a sec, will you? He is my son, after all.”

“You have two minutes.”

Han chewed his lip, thinking furiously.

Leia called up from below. “Han, couldn’t you put a concussion missile in the escape pod?”

“Nah, they’ll catch that,” he said. “Waste of a missile we’ll probably need.”

“It’s got to be me, Dad,” Jacen said. “I’m going back there.”

“Oh, no you’re not.” Han swung on C-3PO. “Jettison both escape pods. Now. Right now. Aim them both at the Vong ship.”

“Sir, I’m not sure which—”

“There,” Han said, pointing. He cut the engines back in and began creeping back toward the freighter and the Yuuzhan Vong ship it nearly eclipsed. Two escape pods suddenly went tumbling across his field of vision.

“Hopefully, it’ll take ’em a few seconds to figure out there’s no one on board,” Han said. He fired his forward lasers. “Goldenrod, take a deep breath. If this doesn’t work …”

“But, sir, I don’t breathe, of course I—oh, no!”

Anakin, Tahiri, and Corran followed the Givin through the cramped corridors of the Yag’Dhul space station, their footing upset by ever-more-violent explosions.

“Do you have any idea