Refugee: Force Heretic II (41 page)

May the Force be with you, Jag
, she thought.
Wherever you are
.

Catching sight of the nearer of Bakura’s two moons, Jag pulled his clawcraft up and away, aiming with full throttle toward it. He didn’t need to look back to know the fighters were following; the space ahead of him was puffing with bright explosions from their misfired shots.

He brought the clawcraft in steeply to the northernmost part of the moon, hoping to find some form of cover that might help him evade his pursuers. The closer he drew, the less likely this seemed. He brought his ship around from its almost perpendicular descent, speeding off across the surface of the moon. The ground was smooth and rolling, and looked to Jag to be made of an immense lava flow that had long since cooled. But it offered him no place to hide—and right now, that was all that mattered.

He jinked and swerved continuously in a bid to avoid both fire and tractor beams, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up indefinitely. He cursed himself again; this little maneuver of his had put him in a worse situation than he’d been in before!

Without warning, the surface of the moon dipped sharply ahead of him, and the smooth ground he’d been following became a motionless waterfall that poured into a huge canyon easily fifty kilometers wide and at least a couple deep. Crags appeared out of the shadows, along with large rocky outcrops that jutted from the walls of the canyon like crimson fists. The V’sett fighters followed effortlessly, no longer trying to shoot him out of the sky. They were obviously intent on capturing him now. They must have realized that eventually they would get him; they just had to be patient.

He brought the clawcraft down, getting in as close as possible to the floor of the canyon, swerving frantically
to avoid mineral deposits protruding from the canyon floor. Ten meters wide and at least three times that high, they looked like enormous petrified trees. And there were plenty of them, too, forcing Jag to bring all his flying experience to bear just to avoid hitting any. It was only when he inadvertently collected one with a shield that he realized it didn’t matter whether he avoided them or not: the “tree” dissolved into a powder that silently washed over his viewport. After this he didn’t even bother trying to fly his way between these bizarre-looking protrusions; he just flew in a straight line, bringing down whatever was in his path. Hopefully, he thought, the resulting dust would be enough to blind his pursuers—even if it afforded him only a moment or two, at least it would be
something
.

The canyon suddenly narrowed, though, and he knew he would have to climb out sooner rather than later, or wind up smashing straight into a wall. He brought his ship up, aiming for a rocky outcrop on the uppermost ridge of the canyon wall. Two bony fingers of rock stabbed out into the sky, as if pointing to the battle taking place overhead. If he could make it back up to the main battle, he might just be able to get help from the others in the squadron to get these fighters off his tail …

Realizing his intentions, the fighters opened fire again. Rock exploded from the canyon wall nearby; debris rattled against his shields. He aimed between the fingers of rock, but miscalculated the space between them and clipped one on the way through. He called out in alarm as the ship rolled out of control out into the space above the moon.

He emerged from the spin battered and barely in control. The two V’setts on his tail negotiated the hail of debris and kept coming. He jerked his clawcraft from side to side in a desperate attempt to avoid their grasping
tractor beams, but his collision with the rocks had allowed them to gain on him. It would only be a matter of seconds now before—

A white blur streaked up past his viewport. His sensors barely had time to register the Y-wing as it flew within meters of him, torpedo ports firing. The enemy Ssi-ruuvi pilots didn’t have time to deactivate their tractor beams before they sucked in the proton torpedoes. One instantly exploded; the second took a hit that sent it spiraling wildly back to the surface of the moon, where it flowered in a brief and silent explosion.

Jag’s rear scopes were clear again, but his little jaunt to Bakura’s moon hadn’t come without a price. His damaged thruster complained with a stutter and a whine as he pulled hard around. The Y-wing swooped back to match vectors with him. The pilot—the same one Jag and his wingmates had rescued at the beginning of the battle—waved through her canopy. The gesture had little joy in it, though, and a quick scan told him why.

The Bakuran Defense Fleet was in bad shape.
Sentinel
had been hit by heavy bombing and its shields were down.
Defender
was standing defiant but without enough fighters to have any real effect on the battle. The Ssi-ruuvi forces rapidly mopped up any fighters it launched. Outnumbered and taken by surprise, Bakura lay open to attack.

In complete contrast, the two giant
Sh’ner-
class
planetary assault carriers hung shining and impregnable above the battlefield. Their impenetrable shields had repelled everything thrown at them. Clusters of captured ships of all shapes hung nearby, waiting to be processed. Denied the basic dignity of dying in battle, hundreds of pilots trapped in durasteel coffins had only entechment to look forward to.

A triangular formation of seven V’sett fighters accelerated over the horizon of the small moon, coming up hard on Jag and the Y-wing. Jag urged his clawcraft to go
faster, but it had given him everything it could. Seven fully armed ships against his damaged craft and the old Y-wing was a foregone conclusion.

The jamming ebbed long enough for him to check in on his squadron.

“Twin Suns, report!” He juked to avoid a crippling energy blast.

“Three here.”

“Four.”

“Six.”

“Eight.” There was a slight pause. “Jag, they’ve got me.”

“And me,” Six said.

“Looks like I’ll have company, then,” Three said. “They’ve got me, too.”

Jag cursed. Apart from himself, that left just one pilot free—and he wasn’t sure how long he would last!

He watched with dismay as the Y-wing tried to dodge the incoming vessels, only to be jerked back in the clutches of seven combined tractor beams. The pilot went without a sound. Either her comm was down or she was sparing him her despair.

Jag vowed then and there that he would not share a similar fate. He would sooner blow his engines than allow his soul to be sucked out and squeezed into a battle droid. But how could he do that when there was a chance he and his pilots could escape? While there was life, there was hope.

Jag was so frustrated he wanted to scream to get it out of his system. He almost didn’t feel the tractor beams as they wrapped around his struggling clawcraft and started to drag it back into captivity.

Jaina watched from the rear of the column of survivors as they moved along the tunnels under the stadium with only the red glow of emergency lighting to guide them.

Despite the ferrocrete around them, she could hear the sound of paddle beamers and screams from up above. Although her lightsaber was still attached to her belt, she kept one hand on the weapon at all times. There was no evidence of immediate trouble, but she knew that pursuit wouldn’t be far behind.

The Ryn led the way, retracing their steps quickly but carefully, with Tahiri’s gurney never more than an arm’s length away. Water trickled ahead of them in snakelike streams, washing dust and debris down into the depths of the building and making the floor slippery and treacherous.

“I don’t think my circuits will stand another minute in this humidity, Mistress,” C-3PO declared after slipping for the sixth time. The complaint was directed to Princess Leia, but he’d made sure it was loud enough for all to hear.

“Stop your complaining, Goldenrod.” Han clapped the droid on the back, producing a metallic echo in the damp tunnel—as well as nearly causing the droid to stumble again. “You’ve been through worse than this and survived. Remember the incident with the stormtrooper uniform, last time we were here?”

If 3PO could have shuddered, Jaina was sure he would have done so from the top of his bronzed cranium to the base of his metal soles. “All too well, I’m afraid, sir,” he said, his servomotors whirring with each step and his photoreceptor eyes glowing sharply in the gloom. “Mine is not the kind of memory that allows me to forget easily.”

Jaina stopped listening when she heard a commotion ahead. Her lightsaber was out and ignited before she’d barely taken two steps through the stream of survivors in front of her.

“Princess Leia! Captain Solo! What are you doing here?”

Jaina knew that voice. “Malinza?” she said, pushing
forward. People made way for the buzzing, glowing blade. “You should’ve left long ago.”

“The exit was blocked.” The girl was at the front of the small group, blaster held down at her side. Vyram stood between her and their captives—a sullen Salkeli and a defiant Harris. Both were bound and gagged. “There are Ssi-ruuk everywhere out there!”

Jaina turned to Goure. “Is there another way out of here?”

“I’m not sure.” The Ryn sounded calm and unflustered, but the lashing of his tail betrayed his nervousness. “But
he
might know,” he said, pointing at Harris. “We followed him in here.”

She indicated for Malinza to remove his gag. “Well?”

“Well what?” he said, eyes blazing with anger.

“
Is
there another way out of here?”

“Why should I tell you anything? To
help
you?” He laughed lightly as he shook his head. “Don’t imagine that I’ll be doing that in a hurry.”

“In case you hadn’t heard, your plan went horribly wrong. The P’w’eck were just a smokescreen for the Ssi-ruuk. You may have killed the Prime Minister, but it didn’t stop the consecration. Once it was completed, the invasion force moved in.”

Harris noticeably paled in the dim light of the tunnel. “Invasion?” He was at a loss for words, but not for long. “If Cundertol is dead, Bakura will need a strong leader. You might not like my methods, but I can get the job done. Set me free and—”

“It’s too late for that,” Jaina said. “There’s a good chance you might not survive the next hour, let alone take the Prime Minister’s job.”

“So now
you’re
in charge?” he sneered. “Is that the way it works, Solo?” He turned to Malinza and the other survivors. “Don’t you think it’s convenient that the
Galactic Alliance is here just in time to save us from a crisis we never knew we had? At a time when—”

“Save it, Harris,” Jaina cut in. “No one’s listening to you. There’s no mistaking what we all saw out there. The Ssi-ruuk are on Bakuran soil, and it’s partly your fault they’re here. You should have made sure of your new allies before selling your soul to them.”

“It wasn’t him who sold his soul,” said a new voice from the shadows farther along the corridor.

A tall figure stepped into the light. At first Jaina didn’t recognize him. His blond hair had been burned away; bruises and scorch marks blackened his skin. He wore the remains of ceremonial robes around him like rags, concealing his hands.

“The market for politicians,” Prime Minister Cundertol said, “is, perhaps unsurprisingly, quite small.”

“You?” Leia couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “But you’re—”

“Dead?” The big man smiled. “Not quite. Luckily, the blast only stunned me for a time. I woke up down here, disoriented and lost. I heard footsteps and saw Malinza, but I didn’t want to reveal myself until I knew what she was up to—and what exactly she was doing with Blaine. I thought Freedom might have kidnapped him as well as set the bomb. But I guess I was wrong about you, Malinza—and for that I must apologize.”

The girl nodded a wary acceptance. “It was Harris,” she said. “He set us up.”

“This is impossible,” the accused man said. “That bomb was—I mean, they said you were dead!”

“Well, they were mistaken.” Cundertol pulled his right hand from beneath his robes to reveal a blaster. “As I was mistaken to put my faith in you, Blaine. I can’t believe that you’re responsible for everything that’s happening to us today.”

Although the weapon pointed only at Harris, Jaina
instinctively tensed. Her lightsaber rose slightly. Leia’s Noghri bodyguards also moved, hissing in warning as they placed themselves between Cundertol and the Princess. Something about the Prime Minister wasn’t quite right. Jaina could sense it, even if she couldn’t define it. When she deep-probed him to see if he was a Yuuzhan Vong spy, she encountered a strange texture. His presence was unlike any she’d felt before.

As if her instincts, and those of her mother’s bodyguards, weren’t enough, she could feel Goure’s unease radiating palpably from him. He knew something, she was sure of it, but he couldn’t say anything with Cundertol there. She decided to keep her lightsaber activated until she knew exactly what was going on.

“You must forgive our surprise, Prime Minister,” Leia said. “But the last hour has been confusing, to say the least. You may have gathered that the P’w’eck peace plan was a sham for a Ssi-ruuvi attack—”

He nodded, keeping his eyes on Harris. “The Fluties have obviously been planning this a long time. I don’t suppose you have any idea how we can force them back?”

Jaina winced at the racist reference to the aliens. She’d heard it before, but on the lips of the Prime Minister it sounded especially crass and offensive.

“No doubt the defense fleet and
Selonia
are working on something as we speak,” Leia replied. “Unfortunately the comm channels are jammed, and there are Ssi-ruuk right behind us. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible. If we can get to the
Falcon
, that would be ideal.”

The Prime Minister nodded. “A sensible plan,” he said. “Blaine, you were about to tell us if you knew a way out of here, I believe, before I rudely interrupted.”

“And I’ll say to you what I said to her,” the Deputy Prime Minister answered, inclining his head toward Jaina. “Why
should
I help? The way I see it, I have absolutely
nothing to lose.” He glared balefully at Cundertol as he raised his arms up in front of him and rattled his binders.