Star Wars: The New Rebellion (27 page)

C
ole let the laser wrench fall from his hands. It landed with a clank in the X-wing. He faced the security guards, none of whom he recognized, and said, “My name is Fardreamer. I work here.”

Artoo had inched closer to the X-wing. He moaned.

“Only Kloperians are authorized on the new X-wings,” said the Kloperian guard. It was holding three blasters in its tentacles.

“Not exactly true,” Cole said. “A number of engineers work on the X-wings. I was supposed to check this one’s computer system.”

“Who gave the order?” the Kloperian asked.

“Luke Skywalker,” Cole said. “President Organa Solo’s brother.”

The Kloperian clucked. One of the human guards lowered his blaster. “Keep it on the suspect,” the Mon Calamari guard said. “We have no proof of his statement.”

“Besides, what would a hero of the Rebellion be doing giving engineering orders?” the Kloperian asked.

“When he believes someone is tampering with the equipment, he has the right to give orders,” Cole said.
He knew he was on a limb here, but he had to keep going. He had to talk them through this. They didn’t look friendly with those blasters trained on him. He almost felt as if he were back on Tatooine in the days of Jabba the Hurt’s regime. This didn’t feel like Coruscant at all.

“No one has been tampering with the equipment,” the Kloperian said.

“Someone has,” Cole said. “Look.” He nodded down toward the X-wing itself. The Kloperian slithered forward. It peered inside.

“I see nothing.”

“Then look again,” Cole said. “There’s a detonating device with an Imperial insignia inside the guidance computer.”

The Mon Calamari guard came over. It trained its huge eyes on the computer. “The Empire never announced its presence like this,” it said. “Such a device would have no need of an Imperial insignia unless someone was trying to lead us astray.”

“There are rumors that the new senate members, the ones who are former Imperials, were behind the bombing,” said another guard. “What if they weren’t? What if someone just wanted to make it look that way?”

The Kloperian prodded Cole with one of its blasters. “Who hired you to sabotage this X-wing, human?”

“No one,” he said.

“Skywalker?”

“Luke Skywalker is a hero of the New Republic,” Cole said. He could feel the shock down to his toes.

“Skywalker is above reproach,” the Mon Calamari said. “But he makes a good cover for this boy.”

“I don’t need a cover,” Cole said.

“Stop, boy. The more you say the more trouble you’ll be in. We caught you in the act of sabotaging this ship.”

“I haven’t done anything.” His voice was rising. Through the corner of his eye, he saw Artoo slowly move
away from him. He had to keep talking, just so that they wouldn’t notice Artoo. “I just discovered the problem in a reconditioned X-wing. I was checking to see if the same problem existed in a new X-wing. So I checked the prototype. If I were going to sabotage a ship, don’t you think I’d sabotage one someone was going to use?”

“I have no idea what you would do, boy,” the Mon Calamari guard said.

“He might have a point,” said the slight woman guard beside the Kloperian. She had said nothing until now. “We don’t know if he’s sabotaging or experimenting.”

Artoo had ducked behind one of the other X-wings. Cole had to be careful not to look directly at the little droid.

“That’s not for us to discover,” the Mon Calamari said. “Let someone with authority make that judgment.”

“By all means,” Cole said. “Contact General Antilles. He’ll want to know about this.”

“You know General Antilles?”

“No, but I work for him.”

“We’ll go to your supervisor,” the Kloperian said. “I’m sure he’ll inform us that you were not authorized to make these changes.”

Artoo had reached the wall. His small arm came out, and he jacked into the computer.

“Luke Skywalker said that if anyone was to question me,” Cole said, hoping that his half-truth wasn’t obvious, “I was to tell them to contact General Antilles.”

The Mon Calamari sighed. “We cannot ignore this.”

“We should,” the Kloperian said. “It’s an obvious lie.”

“Hey!” one of the other guards yelled. “What’s that droid doing?”

Cole didn’t even have a chance to answer. The Kloperian turned all three blasters on Artoo and fired at once. The blasts hit him full-force. Artoo screamed as bright red light surrounded him. The computer panel
flared, scorched, and popped as the interior overheated. Artoo’s jack shot out and the little droid rocked. Then, when the light faded, he listed to the right side. Tendrils of smoke floated from his head.

“Artoo!” Cole said. “Artoo!”

The droid didn’t answer.

He looked at the guards, feeling both an absurd sense of loss, and fear that Skywalker would never trust him again.

“That was the biggest mistake you could have made,” Cole said. “You just destroyed Luke Skywalker’s favorite droid.”

The Jawas gave them three blasters and one badly used speeder bike in trade for a handful of credits. They weren’t going to bargain at all until Davis spoke up. Then the Jawas launched into a heated discussion. Clearly, they were used to dealing with Davis.

Han wasn’t. He still didn’t feel as if he could trust the guy. But he had no choice.

For now.

The speeder bike hovered well, but it was sluggish on low. It barely fit into the corridor leading back to the
Falcon
. Chewie kept one paw on the speeder’s underside, guiding it through the corridor. None of them planned to mount it until they reached the tiny room where Han had first seen Davis.

Then Han would use the speeder as a diversion so that Chewie could blast his way to the
Falcon
. Han doubted Davis would help them once they reached the loading bay.

So he gave Davis the blaster that looked the most damaged. They had two blasters each, and Chewie had a blaster and his bowcaster. That would give them more
firepower than the Glottalphibs, and the speeder would give them surprise.

Han hoped.

Han led the way up the corridor. The corridor had scorch marks from the Glottalphibs, and dried scales littered the floor. Han was glad for his boots; the scales dug into the soles like thorns. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if they dug into his foot.

Fortunately, Chewie’s fur and the tough pads on the bottoms of his feet prevented any serious injury.

The corridor was too hot and smelled of sulfur and dead fish. Han expected a Glottalphib to emerge at any moment, shoot them, and be done with it. Chewie clearly felt the same. His blaster was ready.

So far, Han had seen no sign of Seluss. The Sullustan must have found a way around the Glottalphibs.

“They’ve probably left,” Davis whispered.

“I doubt it,” Han said. Glottalphibs were known for their tenacity. They were also known for their love of glitter. They hadn’t been after material in the sand below.

They had been after Han.

And he wanted to know why.

Finally they reached the main corridor. It was dark. The door to the bay was closed.

The dead-fish smell was stronger here.

Chewie moaned.

Han noted his friend’s complaint about the smell, and this time had no response. It was a valid concern. A Glottalphib could hide here, and they wouldn’t see it. They couldn’t surprise it, not with all the noise they had made coming up the corridor.

Suddenly a light flared. Davis held a small glow rod and it filled the room like a fire. The walls were badly scorched, the stone desk shattered, but the three of them were alone.

The Glottalphibs had to be waiting outside the closed door.

Han glanced at Chewie. He was thinking the same thing.

Chewie brought the speeder into the corridor. Han mounted it. The engine rattled beneath the seat. The controls were loose in his hands. Jawas could fix equipment all right, but they weren’t great at fine-tuning. He sure hoped this thing went fast. If it didn’t, they’d all be dead in a matter of moments.

“Give me a moment to scatter them, Chewie. Then go out firing.”

Chewie nodded. Davis said nothing. Chewie put a paw on the door. Han gripped the speeder bike’s handles and revved it to low.

“Now, Chewie!” he said.

Chewie pulled the door open and Han turned the speeder bike on high. The engine rumbled between his thighs. Then the bike shot through the door, twice as fast as he had expected.

Immediately he had to dodge a binary load lifter. He pulled upward, and narrowly missed the wing of an outmoded cargo ship. A large wall loomed in front of him, and he realized it was Davis’s freighter. He pulled up again and circled as high as the speeder bike would let him.

Over the roar of the engine, he heard voices, shouting, and screaming. The Glottalphibs surrounded the
Falcon
. He dove the speeder down toward them, blaster in one hand, controls in the other, firing as he went.

One Glottalphib shot a mouthful of fire at him, and Han twirled the bike. Ground, ship, sky, ground, ship, sky, and suddenly he was heading toward the Glottalphib again. The ’Phib had to leap out of his way. Another ’Phib fired a blaster, and Han fired back, hitting the
’Phib in the mouth. It fell backward against the
Falcon
, and then Han couldn’t see it anymore.

The bike was still moving forward. He weaved between cargo ships, and rode under robotic arms. The front of the bike whapped a box, and the box burst open as he drove under it, showering him in Imperial blaster bolts.

By the time he got the bike turned, he was halfway across the bay and no use to Chewie at all. He couldn’t even see Chewie or the
Falcon
.

Han gripped the handle and headed back toward the
Falcon
, flying under wedge-shaped freighter edges, and beneath open cargo doors. The piles of boxes he soared past were impressive. Many were open and revealed stormtrooper helmets, Imperial-style blasters, and other equipment.

Smugglers were firing at him now, and many were shouting that he was crazy. The speeder was sputtering beneath him, but the controls still worked. He was able to dodge, but not for much longer.

The Glottalphibs still surrounded the
Falcon
, but they were all facing him now, both breathing fire at him and shooting blasters. He rose, then dropped, then moved sideways to avoid all the shots. He was shooting too, missing often because he was trying to evade, but occasionally connecting. Blasters reflected off Glottalphib hide; he had been lucky to hit that first ’Phib in the mouth. This would take precision shooting.

Then one Glottalphib fell forward, a bolt from Chewie’s bowcaster in its back. Another fell as well, another bolt in it. Davis snuck up behind the Glottalphib near the
Falcon
’s secured door, tapped the ’Phib on the shoulder, and blasted it in the mouth when it turned around.

A shot from behind spun the speeder bike. It looped around the edge of the
Falcon
. Han fought for control. If
he didn’t get it, the speeder would slam into the
Falcon
. He dropped his blaster and gripped the controls with both hands. He righted the bike, and looked up as it was heading for the door into the caves.

He pulled up and the speeder coughed.

“Come on, you bucket of bolts,” he muttered, slamming the engine with the flat of his hand.

The speeder coughed again, and flew above the doors, narrowly missing the rock walls.

He whipped it around, and saw a fifth ’Phib dead at Davis’s feet.

Other smugglers were still shooting at him. Chewie was shouting, saying they should all board the
Falcon
. Han aimed the bike toward the Falcon when the engine coughed a third time. It sputtered once, and died.

He flew off the speeder, unable to stop his own momentum. He brought his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his head. If he hit wrong, he would die. Simple as that.

The metal ground loomed. He tucked as best he could, then landed, scraping his elbows, the backs of his upper arms, his knees, and his shins on the metal. He was shouting, Chewie was roaring, and blaster bolts zinged around him.