Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [15]
The speaker crackled. Imagining some seasoned Imperial veteran frantically scrolling through a tutorial for standard Rebel-contacting procedures, Luke switched to an Alliance frequency. “All fighters, maintain defensive formation. Shields up. We don’t know what they’re going to do.”
Musical fragments and garbled voices echoed across the Flurry’s bridge, and then: “Alliance battle group, this is Commander Pter Thanas of the Imperial Navy. Declare your purpose here.” The brassy voice rang with authority.
For three days in hyperspace, Luke had vacillated between pretending ignorance and admitting the real situation. Captain Manchisco raised an eyebrow as if to ask, “Well?”
“We intercepted a message Governor Nereus sent to the Imperial Fleet, which is, ah, mostly in airdock at the moment. It sounded like serious trouble. As I said, we came to help you if possible.”
Luke cut transmission and realized from spasms shooting down his calves that he’d stood up. Frustrated, he lowered himself onto the big chair again. He’d rested plenty in hyperspace. On his intergroup channel, the Gunships checked in. Their pips showed blue on the black status board. Outside his viewscreen, they formed up in pairs.
Near his elbow, Leia’s voice spoke softly from over on the Falcon. “Luke, be subtle. You’re dealing with Imperials. They’re going to see us as hostiles and chase us away.”
“They’re not chasing anybody at the moment,” Luke pointed out. “They’re about to be wiped—”
“No wonder nobody picked up the standard distress transmissions,” said the dry, crisp voice of Imperial Commander Thanas. “Alliance battle group, we would be grateful for assistance. I am coding a status report twenty cycles below this frequency.”
“Well, all right,” observed Han.
Only someone who already considered himself beaten would accept marginally identified reinforcements. Luke glanced at Communications Officer Delckis, who opened the channel Thanas indicated. Within moments, a small percentage of the swirling dots on the status board turned yellow-gold for the Imperials. Luke whistled softly. All six ovoids and most of the sandstorm still gleamed threat red.
The BAC started spitting information. Commander Thanas had less firepower than the invaders, and 80 percent of it was concentrated in a single Carrack-class cruiser. Not a big ship, with only a fifth of the crew that a Star Destroyer carried, but it outgunned the Flurry several times.
“You sure you want to do this?” muttered Manchisco.
Luke touched a call button that would send Rebel pilots scrambling up ladders. Fueled and pulled out into the bays during the last day in hyperspace, the fighters were launch ready.
“Reading your formation,” Luke told his Imperial counterpart. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. Calming, he reached inside himself for a leading from the Force. A hunch, as others called it …
Thanas said, “Can you—stand by—” A weird warbling whistle drowned out the Imperial commander.
Luke drummed his fingers against the console. When Thanas came back, his voice still sounded smooth and controlled. “Sorry. Jamming. If you could throw a cone of ships into the gap between the Ssi-ruuk’s three central cruisers, it could inspire them to retreat. It would buy us time.”
Ssi-ruuk. Luke filed the aliens’ name at the back of his mind. Something underneath consciousness finally made a suggestion. “Commander Thanas, we’re going to sweep down from solar north just spinward of those three cruisers.
“Set course,” he murmured aside.
Captain Manchisco’s navigator reached for his nav computer. “Valtis,” the Duro gargled in Standard around thin, rubbery lips, “establish eight-seven norrrth, six spinwarrrd.” The Virgillian pilot finger-hopped corrections onto his computer. Luke felt the Flurry break dormancy. Deck panels transferred engine vibrations to his feet and command chair. The access hatch, which they’d left open for ventilation, slid shut.
Thanas spoke again after another minute. “That’s within