Star Wars: The New Rebellion (63 page)

The red shots looked like a spray of blood coming from the base of the destroyer. They were hitting the shields. He could feel the pattern, knew what they were doing. They were shooting in an ever-narrowing margin, getting closer, and closer, and closer, until all the shots converged into one big one right at the
Yavin
’s most vulnerable point.

The weak spot in the shields.

It would only take a few moments.

Wedge gripped the laser cannon. He hadn’t fired a shot yet. It felt as if he only had one.

The Star Destroyer’s shots were getting closer together. Near the gunports, people were screaming. The
Yavin
wouldn’t hold together much longer, but the base of the destroyer was in the wrong position. Wedge kept the cannon pointing at the Star Destroyer’s weakest spot.

The destroyer loomed overhead, filling his entire vision. His hands were sweating on the cannon handles. He kept moving the cannon, waiting, waiting, waiting—

And then it was in position. He held his arms steady, punched the trigger, and watched the single shot fly.

It was long and thin. It soared in the space between the Star Destroyer and the
Yavin
, red against the destroyer’s scarred white surface. For a moment it looked as if the shot would ricochet off the shields, and then bounce back and forth between the two ships like a ball caught in a narrow corridor.

But it didn’t. It hit the weak spot, which glowed bright red. Wedge grabbed his helmet and shouted into the mouthpiece, “Dive! Dive! Dive!”

The red glow spread and there was a small pop at the
first explosion. Then the
Yavin
dove. Wedge turned his chair so that he could see.

The Star Destroyer exploded: white and red and yellow against the blackness of space. A flower opening, a lightning bolt expanding, a fire starting and ending all in the space of a heartbeat. Beautiful and terrible at the very same time.

No lives lost, though.

He breathed a sigh of relief. The cries in the nearby cabins had grown. There was probably a lot of damage, and they still had the TIE fighters to deal with.

But the worst was over.

This battle was won. But he wondered what was happening with the war.

A
rtoo had apparently seen a structural map of this moon. He was leading the droids with some type of purpose. The corridors were sloping upward. The sound of rolling wheels was deafening. One astromech droid was a handful. Hundreds of them were—well—terrifying.

More and more joined the group all the time. Some had scorch marks. Others had dents in their chrome surfaces. Still others had parts hanging out of their sides. They came from side corridors, and each time, another astromech droid would query about the Red Terror. The red gladiator droids hadn’t been seen by any of them except an ancient astromech unit, one that had been old during the Clone Wars. It claimed that it had seen red droids shooting at each other in a cloud of smoke, more and more red droids approaching that area all the time.

The astromech droid who heard this news bleebled in astromech glee and had passed the word to the other droids. This parade of astromech droids assumed the Red Terror were destroying one another.

A ripple of blerps ran through the astromech droids, rather like a wave carried on the Mon Calamari sea.
Something concerned them. When Threepio reached the spot, he understood. Large signs in more than thirty languages, warning all unauthorized droids to stay away on pain of memory wipe.

A large spotlight shone on the corridor and the lighting got considerably brighter beyond that spot. One-way mirrors lined the wall.

Artoo ignored the sign, dodged the spot, and continued into the light. His chrome glistened. He had never looked so determined, with his wheels forward, and his blue-and-silver body tilted at a jaunty angle.

The astromech droids followed, splitting up around the spot, flowing around it like water around a stone. Warning sirens started to go off, and Threepio glanced behind him. He was bringing up the rear. If the Red Terror hadn’t defeated itself, it would be here shortly, and he would be the first target.

He shoved his way through the sea of short droids. “Excuse me,” he said, pushing them aside. “Pardon me. Excuse me. Pardon me.”

They parted a little to let him pass. He made it halfway through the grouping, but still hadn’t reached Artoo. Ahead, he could see Artoo, his jack extended as he worked the opening on a locked door.

“Oh, dear,” Threepio said, and shoved forward harder. Threepio wormed his way around the spotlight, and continued shoving past the damaged astromech droids, following Artoo like an injured army following a demented leader.

Just as Threepio reached the front of the group, the door opened and Artoo slid inside with a triumphant bleeble. Threepio slipped in beside him.

And stopped.

Droid parts hung from the ceiling. These were not preassembled parts, but used pieces. The remains of droids who had come this way before and died. Several
golden heads swung from the rafters, and so did more than one cylindrical headplate from an astromech droid.

“Artoo,” Threepio said, his voice warbling, “perhaps we should reconsider. I’m sure we’ll find Master Cole and he’ll have a legitimate plan of action. You can’t do this on your own.”

“You certainly can’t.” A man stood in front of the one-way mirrors. Threepio hadn’t seen him in the room’s semidarkness.

Several astromech droids piled in the door behind Threepio. Artoo continued forward, heading toward a large computer array.

“Stay back, Artoo,” the man said. The man was Brakiss, and Master Cole was not with him.

“Oh, dear,” Threepio said. “Artoo, do as he says.”

Artoo bleeped.

Several other astromech droids beeped in response, warning him not to continue.

Brakiss had a scrambler. “Stop, Artoo. I would love to leave your circuits intact—I’m sure you can give me a lot of interesting information—but I won’t hesitate to use this.”

“Artoo, do as he says!” Threepio shouted.

Artoo bleebled.

“I always thought you were a stubborn droid,” Brakiss said. He aimed the scrambler at Artoo. Then, the instant before he fired, he swiveled his body.

An astromech droid shimmered in silver light, bleeped fifteen times with fifteen different tones, and then stopped, going completely dead. Threepio had seen that before. No amount of resetting would bring it back. Its microprocessors would have to be cleansed. Any personality the astromech droid had was gone.

Artoo had stopped moving. His head swiveled.

Brakiss finally had Artoo’s attention.

Brakiss smiled. He leveled the scrambler at Threepio.
“Give me any more trouble, and your golden friend will be wiped.”

Threepio held himself up as best he could. Begging would do no good now. Threepio was on his own.

Artoo bleeped softly, sadly.

Threepio wrapped his arms around his head, and awaited a fate worse than death.

Kueller reached inside his robe and brought out the remote that Brakiss had given him so long ago. With his thumb, he shut off all the protections. Every droid made by Brakiss in the last two years would explode when Kueller punched in his identification code.

With both hands, Skywalker swung his lightsaber.

Kueller dodged, cursing his suddenly slow body. He needed just a moment to do the recognition. He held the remote up to his eye, hit the scan function, and a beam of light stabbed him as it identified his retina.

“Luke!” Leia shouted. “He’s got a new weapon!”

But Skywalker said nothing. He was moving as slowly as Kueller, coming forward, holding his lightsaber as if it were made of steel instead of light.

The remote shut off the scan light and a tiny panel went up, revealing the number pad. A five-number sequence for all of them. Very simple, Brakiss had said, to destroy them all. It was the small units that were hard. Kueller had to specify the unit-batch numbers. This one would be easy.

He stepped out of the light as he punched in the first number.

Leia was shouting.

Skywalker was moving.

Neither of them would reach him.

He punched in the second, and the third, wishing the dizziness would go away.

Leia raised her hand.

A white creature appeared behind Luke.

Kueller punched in the fourth number, and then the fifth.

The remote beeped its acceptance, and relayed the commands all over the galaxy.

A
rtoo bleeped again, this time with force.

“Nooooooo,” Threepio said, his eyes hidden.

A loud, long, sustained crash made him bring his hands down. Astromech droids were breaking through the one-way glass. It coated Brakiss. He was screaming and pulling glass shards from his hair. The scrambler was on the floor. Droids were converging on him, and without hesitating, he turned and ran through a side door. Droids followed, as his screams echoed through the hallway.

Artoo beeped in satisfaction, then went to the computer array and jacked in.

Threepio went around the deactivated astromech droid, and watched Artoo’s jack rotate. “Whatever are you doing?”

Artoo bleebled.

“How can you deactivate so many detonators from such a distance?” Threepio said. “Delusions of grandeur, that’s what you have. Delusions. We have to get out of here before Brakiss comes back. We have to find Master Cole.”

Artoo blapped at him, shushing him.

Threepio watched.

Then Artoo squealed.

“What? What?”

Artoo screamed, and Threepio waved his hands in distress. “What do you mean they’re being activated? Every new droid will explode! We’ll die here a thousand times over. They’ll never even find pieces of us!”

Artoo whistled, then bleeped commands.

“What panel? How can I push a command button if I don’t even know what panel?” Still, Threepio hurried over to the computer panel, looking for the small button that Artoo had described.

Artoo shrilled his response as Threepio found the button. Artoo would send the deactivation code, but Threepio had to press the emergency frequency. It would, they hoped, intercept any other message. It would prevent explosions from happening.

Artoo’s jack stopped rotating. As he pulled the jack from the socket, he bleeped.

Now
.

Threepio jammed his golden finger on the button once, twice, three times.

Nothing happened.

Artoo was staring at a display screen.

Threepio looked up.

Artoo started rocking back and forth. Then he shrilled a victory cry.

“We did it?” Threepio said.

Artoo bleeped happily.

“We really did it!” Threepio put his arm around his small friend. “We’re saved! Oh, Artoo, you’re a genius!”

Artoo burbled modestly.

“Well, I’m a genius too. After all, I did help you. I did listen to you, and you couldn’t have done it alone. Why,
if Master Cole and I hadn’t come here—” Threepio interrupted himself. “Oh, dear. Master Cole! He’s missing! We have to find him, Artoo, before something dreadful happens to him.”