24
Like a gem in the void. Drifting across space in a disregarded sector of the galaxy was a contrast unlike any other in creation. The immense blue gas giant of Endor was perhaps the single richest planet in sheer beauty. She herself was a lovely sapphire blue with green and violet clouds storming across her atmosphere and thin lazy wisps of white ice thrown up by the turmoil below floating on the denser gasses in bands between the green and the violet storms. She possessed no rings but did have a dozen or so closely spaced and richly endowed moons. One was covered in great hectic sheets of ice that, due to the circumstances of the moon's gravity and differences in temperature, moved at the incredible pace of sixty kilometers per day. The effect was to make it appear as a self-sustaining snowball, perfectly round and brilliantly white. Another was a desert of the finest red ruby crystals ground to the most uncompromising sand. Still another was endowed with a perfectly blue ocean of liquid nitrogen fifteen kilometers thick without a single outcropping of rock.
All her moons were thus endowed with the exception of what had to be a stray asteroid caught in her gravity. Still, this barren rock could not have been better placed. It had an impressive gravity well that attracted meteors, comets, and asteroids unto itself; consequently, it acted as a shield to its more delicate sisters to some spectacular effect. Even now, a comet smashed into its surface, sending up flames and ice like a corona about itself while the forest moon behind it remained safe enough that those beings on it and those working above it could stop briefly and marvel at its fierce beauty.
Above the forest moon a great, menacing crescent of lifeless gray durasteel hung in a moment of rare fragility. Attracted by Endor's seclusion and her abundant energy, the Empire had started construction of a new Death Star to take advantage of first the energy radiating from the Endor itself, but also the intense solar radiation from her blue giant sun. The forest moon made a perfect base for the deflector shield being both hospitable and easy to hide in. And so protected, provided for by the moon's bounty, and unthreatened by anything the system had to offer the 160-kilometer diameter planetoid began to form.
Endor herself barely noticed this unsightly blemish to her exquisite facets.
Work was frantic, even for Imperial standards. The Commander, Moff Jerjerrod, often was found working alongside slaves and engineers desperately trying to meet the Emperor's timetable. All were pushed to the brink, but few were executed; Jerjerrod had need of every man he had, such waste was impossible. Despite all that work was going quite well. The first Death Star had been both smaller and cruder; and yet construction was proceeding smoother and cleaner. The first Death Star had so completely fouled Depayer's orbit, where it had been constructed, that landing upon its surface had been rendered impossible trapping the builders there for eternity. No such consequences were even hinted at so far at Endor. The first Death Star had taken years to design and more to build. This one Bevel Lemelisk had redesigned in days and was taking about two years to construct with only a fraction of the manpower. It was going well, but not well enough. The timetable required the superlaser operational within weeks. It would take roughly triple the time required to do that.
The Moff now stood in hangar dock one. It was a small hangar by the standards of the Death Star, but it was empty, ornate, and, most importantly, finished. Only about a fifth of the utility ring was operational and those sections were in patchy, disconnected clumps scattered about the equator. When approaching this hangar one could not help but notice the holes and scaffolding that dotted the surface. Directly beside this dock was the much larger hangar reserved for Imperial class Star Destroyers. So far behind it was that men still worked in space suits despite its well-lit, cavernous appearance.
But however tight the schedule, no matter how grave the consequences, no Imperial officer in his right mind would greet Darth Vader without some ceremony. Pulling much-needed officers and troops from hard pressed work; Jerjerrod had filled the hangar with Stormtroopers, technicians, and engineers making a small but impressive parade ground. He was actually glad the hangar beside was unsuitable for this task; filling it up with people would have brought work to a standstill. While the Lambada-class shuttle approached and all snapped to attention, he hoped fiercely that the Dark Lord of the Sith would overlook the gaping holes and the dangling wires.
The shuttle landed in its graceful way, and the boarding ramp had barely lowered fully to the floor when Darth Vader fairly stormed out of the ship. His black robes flared to reveal his protective armor. His menacing helmet voiced his even breathing. And every bit of him conveyed a sense of agitation and annoyance that was so typical of his reputation. The flowery greeting the Moff started to recite was cut short without so much as a skip in Vader's stride.
Jerjerrod made his apologies both for himself and his men and tried to reassure Vader enough so that this grim lord might become more amenable company and let him get back to work. Vader would have none of it, "The Emperor does not share your optimistic appraisal of the situation," he growled darkly. The Commander faintly wondered if the man ever spoke in any other fashion; certainly his reputation would not sustain that he did.
Faced with this unnerving representative of the Emperor himself and what had to be the hard facts of his opinions, Jerjerrod decided the truth was his only defense. "But he asked the impossible," he had wanted to appear more stoic in front of his men but his voice came out sounding plaintive and desperate, "I need more men."
What Vader said next chilled the Commander's blood (and he would have wagered all those aboard the station). "Then perhaps you can tell him when he arrives." The dark helmet leaned forward almost conspiratorially.
"The Emperor's coming here?" he heard himself babble quite unable to stop himself. If the Emperor were in the slightest bit displeased his life would be forfeit. The one hundred story tower on the north pole of the Death Star that housed the Emperor's throne room and chambers had yet to be even started. That and hundreds of other details flashed through his mind as Vader voiced the displeasure of his master. His mind was so focused that every syllable drilled into his being; chiseling out an epitaph.
"That is correct, Commander. And he is most displeased with your apparent lack of progress."
In a near state of panic he offered, "We shall double our efforts!"
Vader appeared unimpressed. "I hope so, Commander, for your sake. The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am." He pronounced this last carefully, sarcastically. Not one sentient being had to be reminded of the Emperor's wrath. His temper was both violent and short with a twisted sense of humor to boot. No one in control of their senses would cross him intentionally lest they become fodder for his amusement.
Vader turned from the now breathless Moff and stormed off to meditate in his chambers. He would rarely emerge until Palpatine's arrival a few days later. But when he did invariable someone fell to the floor clutching his or her throats and struggling for air.
I need more men, Jerjerrod thought frantically. He dispersed the small company to their duties, and made his way to the control room where his gaze fell upon the three Star Destroyers that had brought Darth Vader here. They would soon find themselves with empty brigs and deserted engineering sections. Every last droid would soon be working around the clock alongside already exhausted slaves, techs, officers, and prisoners alike. There was simply no other way. "Call the Devastator, the Drumhead, and the Accuser," he ordered. "We need every man they can spare."
The fall of the Empire was now only a possibility not a definite idea. Therefore, it carried on as though its victory over rebels and insurgents was inevitable. Its civilians worked a normal day, its military smugly dispatched its duties, and its policies came, as though from an omniscient god, solely from the Emperor. The Star Destroyer Drumhead was no different with perhaps the exception of its assignment. Guarding the new Death Star was hardly ordinary.
It mattered little to the Lieutenant this morning. His job today was something more befitted to a boson or an Imperial Stormtrooper. A fresh graduate from the Academy, his superiors found it suitable for him to do the most mundane of tasks. Take this for example, prisoner transfer from the ship's brig to an unfinished section of the Death Star. Apparently they needed to give this guy the royal treatment, the Lieutenant fumed. He strode up to a door reinforced with hull armor plate, making it strong enough to take the full force of a turbolaser blast. "Lasck!" he barked in the intercom. "Get up, you're needed!"
The door slid open to his command, and a robust man stood at a workbench in manacles. A full head taller than the Lieutenant, he had to stoop inside his cell to stand at all. At the ends of his long arms were a pair of oversized hands that barely fit through the manacles he had donned to greet the Imperial. With his short, graying hair and his sharp green eyes, his otherwise chiseled features managed a very severe, if unkempt, look. Without a word his expression alone told the Lieutenant that he would broker nothing but the hardest of facts. He stood quietly beside the shell of a hyperdrive casing. The Lieutenant marveled briefly that a prisoner would be allowed access to such a thing and, more importantly, the tools to handle one. Those kinds of tools were given only to the most skilled of technicians and could easily free any prisoner despite the rugged walls. Otherwise the decor was sparse and functional. The prisoner looked appraisingly at him.
It was time to get to business. "Let's go," the Lieutenant said, and prisoner Daub Lasck fell into step. They arrived at the hanger only to find all Lambada class shuttles were otherwise disposed. The Lieutenant was hardly fazed. "Over there!" he ordered. He led them towards the TIE bombers.
Commandeering a pilot, he then stuffed the prisoner into the bomb bay and took the bombardier's station in the cockpit. The TIE left the Drumhead and headed towards the continental arrowhead that was the Executor Super Star Destroyer.
"TIE bomber state your mission," the COM squawked. The necessary protocol to pass the deflector shield began as always, crisp, clear, and slightly hostile. The pilot spoke briefly with the control on the Executor.
"Sorry, sir, there appears to be a line," the pilot said.
"Great," the Lieutenant grumbled. "I'm needed back on the bridge."
The pilot rolled his eyes beneath his helmet. Bridge officers were not made to perform the duties of an errand boy.
The Lieutenant seemed to sense the unspoken derision. "I have a section to lead," he said defensively. When the pilot didn't respond he added, "The weapons array is my responsibility back aboard. If they don't need direction they need my help, so I'd just assume that we make this quick."
The pilot stifled a groan as he listened to this fantastic speech.
It was mercifully cut short when the COM squawked to life, "TIE bomber, follow shuttle Quadrona through the deflector shield in formation with you're designated escort." The pilot turned sharply towards the shuttle passing by the COM tower of the Executor. Passage was accomplished with the escort of no fewer than three TIE fighters.
They landed in the utility ring about the equator of what was to become the single largest synthetic moving object ever made. They were received in a frantically rushed manner. Everyone aboard seemed more focused, more intense, than seemed possible, but there was still too much to do to skip a single detail. The pilot signed the logs while the Lieutenant retrieved the prisoner. Lasck emerged, cold, covered in frost in fact, but also resolute. No shivers rattled his body, no gagging for air, not even apparent relief from what had to be a suffocating, claustrophobic ride.
A Stormtrooper appeared before Lasck had even the chance to thaw his mantle of frost. "He an alien?" the trooper asked. He indicated Lasck's blue skin and white lips. "I was told to escort a human," he checked a datapad, "Daub Lasck?"
The Lieutenant snorted derisively. "He's warming up and lacks the sense to shiver." He indicated the open bomb bay hatch.
"And he survived?" the trooper asked. "I wasn't aware that was even possible."
"Captain Lasck holds little regard for the traitors among his siblings," replied the Lieutenant. This was more than an idle boast; Captain Rook Lasck was in fact the commander of the Drumhead itself. Daub Lasck was his younger, seditious brother. When Rook discovered his brother's treason, he had demanded Daub's execution, but the Emperor himself had granted only imprisonment under Rook's spiteful eye. It was widely regarded amongst his peers that Captain Lasck's career had been ruined by the scandal, and the Emperor sought to make an example of them both. The truth could only be speculated on past that.
The Lieutenant knew only that much, few knew more. As for what Daub Lasck had done or what motivated him to treason, he neither knew nor did he care. The only thing he really wanted to know was why Daub required a nursemaid outside of his cell. Another curiosity was what made Daub important enough to merit the workshop in his cell or, for that matter, the necessity to move him at all.
The Trooper immediately began to fill in a few of those gaps. "I need him for hyperdrive work and you bring him here half frozen!" he snapped. "I don't have time to thaw him."
"Then don't," the Lieutenant replied. "Let's just get moving, and he'll get warm enough."
The Trooper regarded the Lieutenant malevolently through the impassive face of his helmet. But he resigned himself to the reality that the Lieutenant was entirely right. "We'll march then," he ordered. He indicated the main hall entrance.
The main hall was as an impressive sight as any in the Empire. Sectioned off, it nevertheless completely encircled the utility ring. Under normal operation, blast doors sealed off every fifth section in case of an unexpected emergency. During an actual emergency every section was sealed off at hundred meter intervals; however the entire ring was wide open to provide for the construction. The first step into the great hall made one first impressed by the size of it then terribly dizzy as the eye tried in vain to seek out the end of it. Each doorframe ran in concentric rings into infinity until the imperceptible curve of the Death Star caused a doorway to slide around an imaginary corner. One could walk the entire circumference in this manner. In fact, many Stormtroopers had actually run it. All troopers aboard had already marched it at least once. So it was to the Lieutenant's dismay that the Stormtrooper turned directly down this endless cavern. To the sides were construction equipment and Imperial Army hardware. AT-ATs could be seen kneeling in their storage containers. They merely awaited the order to invade to fill up with troops and disembark. Some were outfitted with heavy lift equipment to help with construction. But otherwise each was identically placed and postured; rendering all hopes of some telltale landmarks futile. Their regimental order only made that fact more ominous.
Through this durasteel realm they marched until the Lieutenant lost count of the corridors they had passed and doors he had walked through. "How much further is it?" the Lieutenant asked.
The trooper simply could not help himself when his face split into a grin, "Don't worry, Lieutenant, only forty more blast doors to go."
The Lieutenant just about crumpled in a heap on the spot. To his credit, he merely allowed a disheartened moan to escape his lips. Then, just as his shoulders sagged and his posture slumped, the trooper made an abrupt turn. They finally arrived.
The Stormtrooper marched onward to the workmen while the Lieutenant found a place to sit and collect himself.
Daub Lasck, for his part, appeared unphased. Thawed at least, but he appeared as dispassionate as before.
Immediately a man in a simple coverall bearing the rank insignia of an Imperial engineer confronted them. "Lieutenant," he began excitedly, "This is him isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer he babbled on. "I can verify that a field will be generated, but I can't tell if navigation is getting a proper feed. Do you think that you can tell me if alignment is nominal?" The Engineer looked at his datapad and ticked off some detail. He erupted again in another furious babble of technical jargon. "We have structural faults and power flux all across the board. Mounts are cracking almost immediately after we remove the shims. And we are barely able to keep up with them before the whole structure shatters. Aught-six of the exhaust shows up radii and another aught-nine is blowing directly into the chamber..." This giddy burst of speech was all directed and Lasck.
Lasck did not even appear to gather his concentration even while the almost panicked engineer prattled on.
The Lieutenant saw fit to interrupt this senseless babble. "Now wait one moment!" he snapped. "Just who do you think this is?"
The Engineer only paused briefly and then refocused his attention on Lasck. The Stormtrooper turned to the Lieutenant, "The former Fleet Chief Daub Lasck of his Majesty's Imperial fleet." The Trooper looked again towards the still silent man. "He's one of the most skilled men alive."
"I can tell you that we do not have enough manpower to rephase it yet, but we do have enough to affect a shift." The Engineer stopped his speech. Looking intently at Lasck he now expected an answer to all his problems.
"It's installed backwards." The voice boomed across the chamber with a clamorous effect. Lasck's words, both simple and quietly spoken, had a visible impact on all in the chamber. Work, for a brief time, ceased. The words could be heard in echo so sudden was the silence. Lasck's voice was deep and even. He spoke with utter conviction. No one doubted the authority of it, including the arrogant Lieutenant who had escorted him here.
For a brief moment, silence thundered throughout the chamber. Then the Engineer shattered its pristine existence. "Aww damn!" he barked. He whirled on the crew behind him, "Didn't I tell you?"
A thousand voices boomed back, "NO!"
The Engineer feigned humility and roared, "It's not my fault!"
The voices began to laugh.
Clearly this was a team unlike the typical model. Imperial doctrine held that discipline be maintained at all levels of a project. Any deviation from doctrine was dealt with severely. It was one of the mandatory functions of every last Stormtrooper, officer, and subject of the Empire. Freedom bred contempt for the Emperor; consequently he would loathe abiding it.
So it was no large surprise when the Troopers in the room charged and leveled their weapons in practiced unison. It was a different story when nothing happened. The laughter continued unabated even while blasters tracked from target to target.
The Lieutenant was shocked at this display, "Why don't they fire?" he demanded.
"It is strange isn't it?" the Stormtrooper mused. "Even without the Emperor's will to guide them, this is the best crew in the fleet." He seemed astonished that anything of the kind was feasible. "They're just slaves, prisoners, and a speckling of engineers, but they still produce unlike any other team in the galaxy."
The Lieutenant would not hear of it. "Silence! Everyone back to work!" he bellowed. The laughter faltered only slightly. He drew his blaster pistol and leveled it at the Engineer. His thumb pressed the contact only in time to have his aim wrenched to the floor. He looked at his hand to discover that the blaster was gone.
A manacled hand was offering it to the Stormtrooper. Lasck had snatched it from his hand with the kind of speed his previous motions had not even hinted he was capable of. The Trooper took the blaster, and Lasck returned to his previous stance. "We'll need him," he said with the same flat authority.
"I certainly can live without him," the Lieutenant barked now enraged.
"I'll need him, Lieutenant," Lasck reasserted. "No one else has a line on what's wrong here." He paused a moment then added with a wry smile, "Would I lead you wrong?"
The Lieutenant regarded Lasck angrily for a moment then he realized that Lasck had more to loose than himself. "Fine," he said as though he were in charge. "It will be you're head not mine in the end." He would never know how wrong he was.
The engineer, still feverishly intent on his project, turned back to Lasck, "So?"
Daub faced the man and began an equally giddy burst of jargon that the Lieutenant only managed to follow in snippets. "First gather your tie-ins and take them to the ceiling. We need them out of the way so keep the slack all in the positive, vertical degrees of freedom. Get those heavy lifters in here and get them ready at the mounts to snare the pinions as we bring them about. Isolate the power grid and prepare for a system restart at the failsafe, and primary levels." He turned to the Stormtrooper hat had brought him here, "Will your men do a bit of heavy weapons tests in here if I point out the targets?"
The Stormtrooper was justifiably surprised, "What do you have in mind?"
"The shackles at the twelve shock points. Plus I need two anti-armor mortars off a scout walker to blow out the floor."
The trooper looked anxiously at the massive hyperdrive motivator that filled the room. Seventeen decks high and just as far across, if it were damaged there would be no replacing it easily. "Will it work?"
Daub frowned impatiently. "We will have to blow the floor out after you shoot out the pinions to allow that motivator room to rotate and to draw it into a proper spin so we don't have to blow the ceiling or walls. The second mortar will cause a pressure wave that will roll it back into alignment. The heavy lifters will catch the shackles wile we still have the systems off in the room so as not to affect a power surge and to do this in complete weightlessness. Those systems will automatically restart after they complete a diagnostic. That gives us twelve seconds to do it all. I've done this on every shakedown cruise of every Star Destroyer I've ever received from KDY. You won't feel a thing."
Work continued unabated. No distraction or setback could stop its intensity. Lasck did, in fact fix, the hyperdrive motivator in a minimum of time. After that he was tasked to fabricate, grind, and align the ten crucial crystals that made up the heart of the superlaser.
It was no small coincidence he was needed to do these things, or that he could do them at all. After months of frustration in orbit around Despayer, Grand Moff Tarkin had been forced to obtain his expertise to accomplish these very things aboard the first Death Star. That and a score of other details had needed his personal attention the first time around. Now, the numbers of problems were smaller, but the big ones could not be done without him. Bevel Lemelisk may have designed the Death Star, but Daub Lasck had made it work. It was a fact that Daub was no longer proud to admit. In a week he had taken the project from a standstill heap to a fully functioning planetoid. Now his magic was at work again.
He wondered if he should just let them kill him rather than fix this ugly heap, but he reasoned that it would only delay them not stop them. The first time around he had shown a number of people how it was done, and they would have few reservations for this job. It would take ten of those specialists to do what he could do by himself, but they would do it. Beside that it was a challenge then, and it was an only slightly diminished one now. He could barely resist throwing himself into it.
To satisfy his conscience Daub did sabotage the system slightly. The superlaser had enough power to destroy about any target (short of a star) it was trained on. But Imperial engineers insisted that it could only be fired once a day for planetary targets and once a minute for cruisers. Each target had to be individually selected and destroyed no matter what its size. Daub knew that with a simple light splitter and floating crystal facets that as many as six thousand targets at a shot could be destroyed, all that, without so much as a wasted wavelength of light. However he never told anyone this could be done.
With the first Death Star he had yet to believe that the main reactor would be rugged enough to withstand firing a single shot. Telling Grand Moff Tarkin as much, he had been casually dismissed. Then when Alderaan was destroyed, Daub came to realize how fatally wrong he was.
On a deeper level he had discovered the state he had allowed himself to slide into. Because of his actions, murder, on an unprecedented scale, was made possible. A newly formed contempt for the Empire reared its outraged head, and a more naive, more content Daub Lasck, died with the victims of Alderaan.
Daub had celebrated Alderaan's fate by joining the Rebel Alliance.
Too late to be a part of the Battle of Yavin he had been sent to a remote, freezing world to construct a base there. Echo base on Hoth he found a fitting place for himself. A return to basic survival, and a way to freeze out the contempt he held himself in. Out of a cold and merciless climate he forged an oasis to sustain life. Soon wild taun-tauns came to shelter in his caves. In turn he fed and domesticated them. When the immense Kuat Drive Yards 150 ion cannon arrived, he was called in to assemble and set it. In addition he put up a planetary defense shield, despite the Rebels from General Rieekan on down telling him that with the "150" that it was a waste of time and power.
When the Executor and half the fleet arrived over Hoth, his assertions had been vindicated. The shield had given them time to evacuate while AT-ATs fought their way to the power generator. But in the mad rush to get off world, he was left behind and captured.
His brother Rook could only marvel at what he considered a mental breakdown in his younger brother. More as a merciful gesture than as any selfish plot, Rook had asked for Daub to be, "relieved of his affliction" the euphemism for execution. But the Emperor was already constructing his next Death Star; rendering Daub's rather generous talents too valuable to waste. Rook was told to imprison Daub aboard his own ship the Drumhead until his talents were called on.
Work continued for a week unabated until the Emperor arrived. A brief pause was observed in his honor, but work continued only a few moments later. The work team was broken up, and was assigned an area instead of a solitary task to complete. The fifty or so workers of Lasck's gang found themselves in hangar 270. Directly above them was the immense superlaser dish.
Legend had it that on the day of Alderaan's demise this particular hangar was filled with spectators eagerly awaiting a show aboard this station's counterpart. They were duly impressed by what they witnessed that day. A cheer had risen amongst the Imperials, celebrating the station coming fully on line. The cheer roared for a few moments until the explosive pressure wave hit the outer magnetic field. The Death Star was equipped with a shielding system to protect it from flying debris and radiation: it failed. The magnetic field did push aside larger fragments, but a fine storm of sand and dust fairly blasted the entire station. Shielding did diminish the pressure wave; regardless, a warm, parched wind howled through hangar 270 with an eerie moan. This last "shriek" of Alderaan silenced the celebrating Imperials in the hangar. It was said that the first words spoken in the silence foretold of the price to be paid for this crime. The next day all those in the hangar were dead.
Years later, and with an entirely different perspective, Daub could reflect fitfully on the course of events that had led him back to an identically cursed hangar. From here the view into space was truly magnificent. Had he been afforded the privilege, he would have strolled to the edge of the protective field, and taken in the wonders presented here to their full effect. But the view did allow one to witness what had to be some kind of mistake. The fleet had, the day before, moved to the far side of the Sanctuary moon. Whatever protection the Death Star gained by its presence, was diminished by distance. Something was going on.
The crew noted this as they notched up another grueling day of work. This hangar was to be made ready to accept TIE fighters at the earliest moment possible. TIE fighter racks are easy to hang, but the systems around them must be intricately balanced. When a TIE is launched, it is dropped from the rack. It has to release cleanly from both its umbilical power source and the grapples to function properly. If the umbilical snags a stray fitting and is released before the grapples are fully opened then several seconds must be used to accommodate the computers skipping a beat. Then a repulsor field grabs it where it starts its engines and powers up. When full power is achieved the repulsor field is rotated and reversed, catapulting the TIE into space. An improper field can tear apart a fighter or force it into the bulkheads. In addition, the racks can drop the wrong fighter or more than one at a time. The field must be prepared to take on such accidents without damaging the fighters or the hangar.
Recovering a TIE was handled by an entirely separate system. A TIE would fly an approach pattern where a tractor beam would catch it and draw it into the hangar. Another tractor beam would grab it and hang it on the rack. Imperial pilots are never trained to land. Also, if a TIE drops into the repulsor field and a mechanical problem is discovered, the repulsor field must throw the craft back up to the racks.
Trying to get these two systems to operate simultaneously took a careful set up. If the tractor beams interfered with the repulsor fields, deadly wavelengths of energy would scatter about the room. The solution was a mechanical failsafe that allowed these separate systems to operate in different strata of the hangar. Tractor beams could only work in the upper third of the hangar, while the lower third was to be handled by the repulsor fields. This arrangement actually worked pretty well, but it was a plasteel ranchor to set up.
Daub was now testing it with a squadron of TIE bombers. This type, being the heaviest, meant that the racks would sustain any load put on it. "Okay, drop it," he said into a comlink. The landing claws opened, and the bulky TIE bomber under him fell away. For a few meters it continued down until the repulsor field caught it. It bobbed there gently for a moment then gave a violent buck. It passed through the ten meters of dead space, and into the tractor beam's area of influence, but it did not slow down.
The comlink squawked to life, "The tractor beams won't lock on! Get out of there!"
Daub did not move. Part of the reason was contempt, but the larger reason was he could not hope to outrun the speeding bomber. The TIE slammed into the rack with a thunderous clatter. Daub was thrown bodily upwards but he kept his grip on an old fashioned lever that manually controlled the grapples. Then as the fighter began to fall again he wrenched a lever with his weight to close the docking grapples again. His feet slammed back to the rack's catwalk. There was a sound of scraping metal, and then the rack gave a slight heave of tortured durasteel. Then quiet settled again.
One of the Wookee slaves roared at Daub.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "We simply have to get that tractor beam fixed."
They tried it again. Only this time three TIEs fell at once. A fourth was hung up on one of the clamps. The repulsor fields caught all three with ease. The fourth would rip itself free if the tractor beams did not work. "That's it," Daub said decisively, "until we have the fields aligned, we release all fighters manually."
The officer in the control booth was shocked by Daub's command. "You mean someone actually has to stand above the craft as it drops through a tractor field?" That kind of laborious action offended his automated way of life.
"We've been doing it for an hour, sir," Daub spoke as though to a petulant child, "we can certainly continue until the tractors are on line." Apparently Imperial doctrine was filtering down out of the palace itself now. In the last week, Daub had fixed problems that were directly tied to a universal distain for hard work. Even in the Rebel alliance, this magnitude of laziness was something quite rare. When he had first became an Imperial Chief, hard work had come with the territory. But now it appeared that the Imperial view was not far removed from Palpatine himself. Every wish had to be done without any grime whatsoever offending the responsible party's hands. He now considered himself fortunate not to be included amongst these spoiled brats, and continued to work.
When the Rebels arrived, Daub was afforded a perfect view out the hangar. He recognized all the ship types, but was surprised to see that the Alliance actually had them. The Mon Calamari cruisers were added to the Rebel inventory after his capture. If those are piloted by actual Mon Calamari crews, he thought, those should be some tricky ships to pin down. His speculation was quickly confirmed. Just as the ships approached the Death Star, they sharply veered away from it; making the huge ships appear as nimble as their fighter escorts. Daub briefly wondered why they would dart away like that until he saw the shimmer of the Death Star's deflector shield in the cruisers engine plumes. Beyond that he saw the massed fleet of Star Destroyers that had moved to the far side of Endor the day before.
The Imperials aboard the Death Star, meanwhile, scurried about with singular focus. Fighters launched from other hangers, but this one held TIE bombers and incomplete racks to hold them; therefore, they would be launched a bit later. One pilot and his bombardier ran into the hangar and stared at the TIEs in the racks. "Can we launch?" he bellowed at Daub.
The controller in the command deck answered instead. "Not without manual index and release."
The pilot did not even appear to digest the information before he ran up the catwalks to the top register of the racks. More pilots and their bombardiers followed. "You!" he shouted at Daub, "Pull the release when we get inside." Daub moved to the lever as he was bidden while the pilot dropped into the top hatch of the TIE beneath him. The bombardier had scarcely leapt from the catwalk when Daub pulled the lever and the TIE bomber fell away twenty meters to the repulsor field below. The bombardier fell the entire distance just above the hull of the TIE and slipped neatly through the hatch to a muffled thud in the cockpit below.
Daub looked down through the hatch to see the bombardier's legs and an arm were skewed of at impossible angles. The hapless Imperial's helmet had fallen off his head, so that Daub could see the dazed expression on his face. Daub gave him a sweet smile and a thumbs up to send him into battle. Just then the hatch closed and the TIE bomber raced into space without the pilot ever looking back to see what had happened.
The other crews were too focused on their tasks to see what Daub had done. But there was someone who had witnessed this little crime. A Wookee named Kabayoth woofed out great gusts of laughter as a crew dropped into a TIE near him. Through his laughter he slammed the hatch shut over the crew. Then, with one strong heave, he pulled the power umbilicus from the TIE. Then he pushed the release lever and the TIE fell to the repulsor field below.
The pilot was surprised to find all his systems in standby mode. He tried to turn them on, but a systems restart commenced instead of powering up. Knowing that would take several seconds he tried to signal the control booth to halt the launch. The man in the booth was about to comply when he saw the racks index over with the next bomber. The bomber in the racks immediately began to fall as soon as it reached the launch position. Being good at his job, he knew he had no choice but to launch the one below before the other one dropped on it. Since the inertial dampeners were in restart, the crew of the first one was hurled out of their seats as they were flung out of the hangar. The second TIE clipped the trailing edge of the first one's solar panels; adding a tumbling motion to the launch. The controller was unable to shut off the launch sequence in time to prevent the second TIE from being hurled into space right after the first. But because it had clipped the first one, the tail of the TIE hit the repulsor field first, pitching it end over end as it raced out the hangar.
The first TIE did not even get full power back before it smashed into the backside of the same deflector shield all the Rebel ships had managed to miss. The second one never regained enough control of his tumbling craft before he did the same.
The controller was trying to get a handle on what had to be the worst hangar accident in Imperial history, when he noticed the black uniformed crews of the bombers dropping like some nightmare rain from the racks above. He soon realized that he had still not turned off the launch cycle when the crew's bodies hit the repulsor field and immediately bolted off into space. "The slaves!" he shouted. "The slaves are throwing the crews off the racks!" He was about to shut down the launch cycle when a Wookee burst into the room, wrenched him from his seat, threw him through the clearplaz view port into the repulsor field, and from there, the repulsor field wrenched him out into space.
The Wookee roared to his mates to hurry and take whatever craft they could find. Then he left the control room to join them.
Above in the racks, the last of the Imperial crews had been disposed of. And the newly freed slaves rushed onto the TIE bombers. Few stopped to gaze at the fine fight that was raging outside. Hatches snapped shut, and erratic launches began. Two were safely out of the hangar when Kabayoth ran up to Daub as he pulled the release for a third. We should go now, my friend, he growled.
"Not until more are safely away," Daub replied. He launched two more when he saw the next one was empty and no one was on the rack to man it.
Kabayoth motioned below and behind him. Further back in the hangar, a shuttle was filling up with the newly freed slaves. The shuttle powered up just as the last Wookiee ran up the closing entry ramp. The shuttle smoothly rose above the repulsor field that would have sent it spinning out of control, and pirouetted to face the space beyond. Then the large wings dropped and the engines roared smoothly to life. That's all of them, Kabayoth said. We need to get out of here.
Daub dropped into the cockpit of the TIE bomber and powered up the controls. It was here that he realized that Kabayoth would either have to stay and pull the release handle, or he would have to do that himself. Then he had an idea. He made a quick inventory of the TIE's ordinance: twelve space bombs. "Get in!" he shouted at the Wookee.
Kabayoth did as he was told, and Daub shut the hatch above them. "Get in the bombardier's seat, and target ninety degrees left and right." Kabayoth dropped into a seat that was several sizes too small and began to feverishly work the controls. Meanwhile Daub ran his engines to full power and isolated the craft's computer power from the outside umbilical trying to break the two grapples holding the TIE to the rack. He really didn't expect them to give one bit (he, after all, had built them,) but it was worth trying before he took it to the next step. When the grapples still did not break he told Kabayoth, "Fire left and right!"
Kabayoth was confused, Fire? he growled dazedly.
Just then an immense, green turbolaser bolt backlit the cockpit followed by the explosion of one of the Mon Calamari cruisers. Both sat in stunned silence for a long moment while the TIE's engines screamed at full power. The Death Star was fully operational.
Kabayoth broke his astonishment first and immediately fired two space bombs. They fell out of the ordinance pod and streaked towards the walls on either side of them. Space bombs were some of the most devastating ordinance a starfighter could ever hope to carry. Designed during the Clone Wars, the small, arrowhead shaped warheads, were slow by the present standards; therefore, they were easily shot down. But they contained enough explosive energy to cripple any capitol ship with a single hit. Not even concussion missiles could claim such effective destructive force. Detonating two of these dangerous relics less than two hundred meters on either side of a flimsy TIE bomber was simply too dangerous to consider ordinarily. The walls supporting the TIE racks blew outwards into the hangars to either side of the one Daub and Kabayoth were in. Before they were done the space bombs would sever critical power links in the Death Star's utility ring, rendering the Death Star immobile. The racks fell away from the smashed walls, trapped TIE bomber and all, and Daub's TIE began to drag the racks towards the hangar opening. Daub tried to keep the TIE in a full climb to compensate for the added weight of the racks, but they edged closer and closer to the repulsor field that Daub knew would tare the TIE apart. He judged that he could drag the racks in flight if he had to, but the bomber had to be in tact to do that. The explosions from the space bombs were getting closer to the bomber as well, and the shock waves would easily smash them as well.
They raced for the opening until the racks caught on either side, the fighter slid downwards. Daub felt his hopes drop with the descending racks, and for a moment he was sure this was the end of it all. Then the long dreaded repulsor field caught them. The bomber shot forward, snapping the grapples cleanly off the racks. And, just like that, they were free.
Daub was at first so surprised he only remotely registered controlled flight. Escape, so long cherished and yet so fleeting an opportunity, bordered on an incredible (if not an impossible) reality. But resolve soon brought his stunned senses into line. He tried to locate the other escapees, but discovered the explosion had damaged his targeting sensors. He heard small impacts on the hull and turned to see in his rear view screen, to his amazement, that the hangar opening was now hurling the racks out of the Death Star after them. He pitched up and watched as the junk bounced off the deflector shield to his frenzied amusement. "Do me a favor, Kabayoth."
Kabayoth roared an accommodating question.
"Never let me do that again," Daub sighed. He glanced at his hands to discover that they were violently trembling. He held one up to his eyes and willed it to the stillness of a calm mind.
I could never be so lucky again, Kabayoth roared. Thank you, my friend.
"We're not home yet, Kabayoth. Keep an eye open for trouble," Daub replied. As if to prove his point, the Death Star fired again. Another one of the Calamari ships detonated in reply. "Blast, they're being slaughtered," he sighed.
We have the COM system up and running, Kabayoth offered. He switched it on to the open frequencies to demonstrate.
There was immediately a babble of excited voices, which Kabayoth narrowed down to a few to listen to. "Shuttle Tongstex, identify cargo and destination," an Imperial controller ordered. In some remote corner of his mind, Daub found the Imperial's relentless enforcement of order somewhat hysterical. He gave a derisive snort without knowing it. Even amidst what had to be the largest engagement of ships since the Crescent Core War, this lone controller found it necessary to maniacally fill his logbook. People can be so blind some times.
There they are, Kabayoth roared pointing off to Daub's left. It was the shuttle full of Wookiees that had left the hangar before they did. There was maybe a Rodian or even a Twe'lek aboard, but neither Kabayoth nor Daub had any illusions that there was any aboard that could pass for an Imperial. Even as he watched, five TIE bombers hovered around the shuttle in a protective circle. Daub guessed there was not any aboard those that could bluff their way out of this one either.
"Control, this is Gamma lead," Daub said over the Imperial channel. "We are escorting shuttle Tongstex to the moon's surface for reinforcements to the legion there." Perhaps the Imperial monster could be lulled back to contented ignorance of their situation.
The controller sounded thunderstruck, "In case you haven't realized, we have a full blown engagement right in front of us. No shield passage will be allowed until the Rebels are wiped out."
It amazed Daub that the officer could grasp the situation so fluidly. Certainly he was aware of the explosion he had left in his wake. "I have my orders, control," Daub said as sternly as he could. In all his years as an Imperial Chief, he had learned that orders could be questioned at the very most, but never ignored. Then the chain of command began to line up into a workable lie, "Signed by, Grand Admiral Yeats, himself."
"I have my orders directly from the Emperor," the controller replied. From the sound of his voice, he spoke through clenched teeth. "You will not be allowed to pass through the shield until the threat is eliminated." There was a pause then the controller spoke again. "Grand Admiral Yeats will be arrested shortly, and you are ordered to heave to for an inspection."
Daub was frantically trying to think a way out of this when the Rebel fleet sharply veered back towards the Death Star. The COM system squawked back to life, "All ships! The deflector shield is down! Destroy all rebel ships, and prevent any starfighters from entering the superstructure of the Death Star!" It sounded like the same controller, but the man sounded near panic now.
The shuttle plunged at once for the relative safety of the sanctuary moon. Her escorts of TIE bombers followed in a protective ring. Kabayoth breathed a prayer of thanksgiving, May you find the way to the rustling limbs of Kashyyyk. He bade them a fond farewell after so many years together, then he turned to his own pilot, What now?
Daub Lasck raked his TIE bomber towards the battle raging above Endor.
"Captain Lasck," the bridge officer called out.
Captain Rook Lasck walked over to the man below in the control center. Calmly, he lowered his attention to the officer. The battle was going well for him. He had his sector secured, his fighter elements were still at combat strength, and he had heavily damaged a Rebel Corvette. He was looking forward to the news that the Corvette was destroyed or that the Rebels were surrendering. Instead he saw the man below wearing an astonished gape. "Yes, Lieutenant?" Rook spoke without the unease he felt looking at the man.
"Sir, the deflector shield is down!" The Lieutenant sounded close to despair.
Rook at once galvanized himself into action. "COM officer, call the fighter forces to break off whatever they are doing to set up a fighter screen about the Death Star."
The reply was a bit longer than usual in coming, but the wavering voice of the young man came back, "Yes, sir."
Rook found himself enraged at the younger man's unprofessional reply. He marched to the man's station. Growling through clenched teeth, "I expect you to hurry up, Ensign," he made sure he focused his full rage at the man. An energy not unlike a ferocious heat radiated from him in terrifying waves.
Fear bloomed in the Ensign's eyes even as he performed his orders. "Sir, the fighters are breaking off to protect the Death Star."
Still glaring down at the younger man, Rook continued, "Raise Admiral Piet. Tell him that we stand to move into position to repel the Rebels if they approach the Death Star."
Once again, the reply was slow in coming, "Sir, the Admiral reports that he has too much to deal with right now."
Rook widened his eyes in astonishment. What was happening? "Helmsman!" Rook shouted and wheeled to face the man. "Bring us closer to the Death Star, set up a perimeter orbit." He turned back to the hapless COM Officer, "Alert all commands. See if any will lend any support." He turned again, "Tactical! I want that Corvette destroyed NOW!"
The COM Officer piped up, "Sir, Captain Palleaon of the Chimaera says he will lend his support."
"Only one ship?" Rook asked dazedly. Ordinarily, he could have counted on at least ten other commands responding to the call especially in a fleet action. He did not wait for a reply, "Helm, get us moving. Tactical, what about that Corvette?"
In reply the Drumhead shuddered under a hail of turbolaser, and ion cannon fire. He looked out the view port to see the Rebel Corvette race past the prow of his own hull. It was firing every weapon it could bring to bear at him. He saw an opportunity. Starships have the least amount of armament arrayed directly aft due to the necessity to place engines there. In affect, the Corvette's Captain had just exposed his most vulnerable side to him. Not only were fewer weapons pointed his way but also Rook now had a clear shot at the Rebel's most vital systems. "Tactical! Open up with everything you got on that…"
The rest of his order was lost in a crescendo of turbolaser and ion cannon fire. Over the Drumhead a Mon Calamari cruiser rolled inverted at point blank range. The organic looking ship positively danced away from him; performing maneuvers more akin to a starfighter than the immense cruiser it was. It rolled below his bow and sped away from the Imperials with its engines protected under its distinctive stern; spitting turbolaser fire spitefully behind it.
From beside him Rook heard his First Officer say in a stunned voice, "We can't do that." Rook, knowing that every word his First Officer said was true, drove a fist through the man's face in a vicious backhand without even looking.
"Helm, get us moving!" Rook bellowed.
When nothing seemed to happen he wheeled towards his First Officer. The man was nursing a broken nose, but he was able to report, "We have lost all three main engines. We are progressing at best possible speed with the four emergency engines, but number five has sustained damage and is only able to give twenty percent thrust."
At least the man was performing his duty. Rook could see that his entire crew was working again as an Imperial ship required, but they seemed frantic, terrified as if some keystone of their training was missing. It was at that moment that Captain Rook Lasck knew that the Emperor had to be dead.
Where are you taking us? Kabayoth asked.
Daub was pointing the TIE directly at the nearest Star Destroyer. And it would appear that it was no place to be. While its mates were exploding or taking heavy fire, this one was fending off no fewer than two Calamari cruisers, a frigate and one of the Rebels's heavily armored transports without much difficulty. Even the massive Super Star Destroyer Executor was in more trouble than this thorny hinge in the Imperial flank. Beyond, another Star Destroyer was limping in, apparently to support it. "That has to be the Rampage," Daub replied motioning towards the stolid Star Destroyer. "I tightened up its defense screen two months ago. We can approach, release our bombs, and be clear before they are the wiser I think."
I may be able to manage it. But pass under her belly. They may think we are trying to land, Kabayoth suggested.
It struck Daub as the correct approach, and so he obeyed Kabayoth without protest. "When do you want to release them?" Daub asked.
As close as we can. Otherwise they will shoot them down before they reach the target, and we will be fair game, Kabayoth replied.
Just then, a B-wing rushed at them. Daub tried to veer out of the way, but the Rebel scored two direct hits on the TIE bomber. "We're fair game now," he mused without humor. The console lit up in a festive array of colors, mostly red to tell him of system wide disaster. The flight controls became erratic and the rear view screens blanked out. "We're slowing down."
I can release them now, Kabayoth offered.
But fate appeared to favor them today. Just as the B-wing was about to get a better fix on them and finish the job, a TIE Interceptor rushed in and scored a near miss on the Rebel. The B-wing pilot shifted his attention towards the more immediate threat and broke off to deal with the Interceptor. While he did that the Star Destroyer sent out two TIE Fighters to escort the stricken Bomber in. "Gamma Lead, this is flight delta," a voice said over the COM. "We will escort you aboard now."
Daub would have thanked them to keep up appearances, but his ability to transmit was shot away by the Rebel.
The B-wing pilot tried two more times to attack them, but each time Daub's fighter escort drove him away. Slowly, the bow of the massive Star Destroyer slipped over them. Daub rolled the bomber to point the release hatch directly at the ship. His escort lead asked, "Gamma, are you having flight control difficulties? We can tractor you in if…"
"Now!" Daub said. A proton torpedo would have had difficulty in piercing the hull, but a space bomb could go far beyond that. The result was that the first one almost completely tore off the bow of the ship, completely smashing the primary sensor array. The huge ship pitched up as if it had struck some massive rock. Almost at once, concentrated fire became wild flailing about space. The Star Destroyer limping in to aid the Rampage started to take some hits inadvertently sent its way.
All by itself, that one space bomb had shifted the balance of force on the Imperial flank. But Daub and Kabayoth still had nine more.
"What is that fool doing?" Rook asked as one green flash of turbolaser lanced out and struck out his forward deflector generator. Aimed shots were rarely so fortunate, but this one stray shot had almost been the death of him. It could have just as easily shot out his entire bridge; consequently, he counted a small favor despite his protests otherwise.
The Tactical Officer spoke up, "The Chimaera is coming forward to defend us with her forward array."
Rook considered this for a second, "Very well. Tell Captain Palleaon to take a station directly ahead of us at three kilometers, and we will cover his advance." He gazed out the bridge window at the fighting in front of him. "Are those rebel ships in range yet?"
His first Officer answered, "They have slipped out of our line of sight, sir. The Rampage is directly between them and our own batteries."
"Does the Chimaera have a shot?" Rook knew that if the Rampage was sending stray shots at his deflector arrays, then he could hardly count on it to take out a pair of Rebel ships that had crippled his own ship. Even if he survived this engagement, the Drumhead was destined for months of space dock repairs. As a result he considered his Rebel opponents more seriously than ever. Unrelenting firepower had to be brought to bear on whatever target presented.
"No sir," the Tactical Officer reported. "Her only shots would be met by interference from the Rampage's deflector shields."
Rook found himself breathing easier now. His crew had rallied themselves back into fighting shape. Aggressive initiative was still missing, but he could supply that in abundance.
Kabayoth released another bomb immediately after the first. It landed in the secondary hangar of the Rampage, and destroyed its entire compliment of assault troops. Their weapons added to the blast and began to collapse the interior spaces of the kilometer long ship. Imperial gunners now rushed to close doors and seal bulkheads. They found themselves putting out fires and fighting for their lives in very short order. They had scarcely arisen to the task when two more impacts shut down the power grid forward of the main hangar.
The TIE Interceptors were now frantically trying to shoot down the bomber but Daub's erratic controls could not keep Kabayoth and himself still. Still green laser fire scorched past the bomber. "We have to take care of those fighters," Daub grunted as he struggled to control the TIE.
Drop closer to the Star Destroyer and we'll try to clear them off with a space bomb blast, Kabayoth suggested.
Daub again found this to be the best thing to do. Turbolaser fire from the Rampage had ceased entirely now that all aboard were now fighting for the life of the ship so their only worries were the fighters and the disintegrating craft around them. The TIE interceptors followed in close pursuit. Kabayoth released another bomb and the blast sent their bomber skittering away from the blast as though kicked aside.
The TIE Interceptor was caught directly in the blast and flew right into the explosion. He did not emerge. His partner managed to maneuver over the blast and scored a hit on one of the bomber's solar panels.
Kabayoth dropped three more bombs in the main hangar, and the resulting blast still did not consume the tenacious TIE Interceptor.
If we can get to the reactor cover, we can detonate this heap below us, Kabayoth growled.
"I need a few more seconds," Daub told him just as another hit rocked their craft. Tantalizingly ahead of them loomed the dome of the Star Destroyer's reactor cover. If they could reach it the remaining two bombs could cause the Rampage to explode. But he had only one more second before a more direct hit took them out.
Then a tremendous flash of orange light transfixed everyone fighting before the Death Star.
"It's the Executor!" someone shouted aboard Rook's bridge. On the surface of the Death Star a column of orange erupted like volcanic plume from the space station. His attention had been fixed on the Rampage, but now he found himself unable to do anything more than gape at what had been eight kilometers of starship reduced now to smoldering metal. Staring in disbelief, he now found, to his surprise, that defeat was a very real possibility. How had this happened? All his life had led him to believe in the irresistible force of the Imperial Navy, and now one of its most potent instruments lay ruined above an insignificant moon at the hands of outmatched rebels. Where would this madness stop?
"Sir, the Rampage reports that a single TIE bomber is attacking it with space bombs and requests that we destroy it." The report stunned Rook even further, One of ours? He wondered if all this was some mass mutiny, but logic quickly dismissed that by the virtue that his own crew was still obeying him.
"Lend no fighter support to the Rampage and make sure that no Rebel fighters get into the superstructure of the Death Star," Rook told the COM officer. "If they can get the Executor, then they can get to the Death Star." He turned to his weapons officer a snobby little Lieutenant fresh from the academy. "Target that TIE bomber with turbolasers and vaporize it."
The Lieutenant rushed to obey his command, but in doing so knocked the real gunnery technician out of his seat to assume personal control. "This will be a tricky shot," he murmured. The Drumhead lashed out at the Rampage with lances of green light.
Never in all my years have I seen such an impressive display, Kabayoth growled. In front of them, just beyond the reactor, turbolaser fire was knocking off a section of the Rampage, while they remained utterly safe. Typically one did not linger near a target of a turbolaser, but there it was before them blossoming with furious detail, and close enough to touch. The reason for this safety was the Rampage itself. Flying close enough to literally scrape the hull with an outstretched arm, Daub struggled to keep the bomber from colliding with the larger ship. The Drumhead was behind and above the Rampage and therefore any attempt to shoot Kabayoth and Daub down from there, was blocked by the Star Destroyer they had crippled. If the gunners on the Drumhead had been patient, Daub would have risen above the hull to release his last two bombs and been in a clear line of fire. What must they be thinking to be so foolish? Kabayoth mused.
"They have to be desperate by now, Kabayoth," Daub reminded him. "Just as desperate as we are right now."
But events would soon prove this claim to be unfounded. Great hull plates of the Rampage were blasted free of the ship and were sent scattering down the length of the ship. Over the TIE bomber's hull but directly at the TIE interceptor chasing them. Before Daub had finished speaking, the Interceptor evaded more than thirty chunks of debris by rolling hard to his right and directly into a hull plate twelve meters across.
The B-wing pilot watched the whole display while he lined up on the interceptor. Seeing that the bomber was attacking the Drumhead, he reasoned that this was an ally to protect or an idiot to encourage. When the Interceptor smashed against the flying hull plate, he called out, "Whoa! TIE bomber, this is blue two. That bug on your tail has just been swatted." He had no way of knowing that his message was heard, but he did see the bomber rise and level off a bit before two more space bombs raced below it into the reactor dome.
The Star Destroyer split in two and detonated. In the confusion he lost track of the bomber that had single handedly brought down this titan.
Daub now raced for the surface at about one third of the top speed of the TIE bomber. It was as fast as it would go. No fighters pursued them, nor did the Drumhead or Chimaera target them. Faced with the total collapse of their flank the fleet was struggling to close in and repair the damage. In essence, he had made a clean getaway; covering his escape with the exploding Star Destroyer.
The TIE was in no shape to fight now. All weapons were expended or off line, power was intermittent, and control was close to gone. They had just began entering the atmosphere of the Sanctuary moon when a great pressure wave rolled over them and pushed the TIE straight down into it faster than it was ever designed to fly.
"Sir, sensors indicate massive power fluctuations within the Death Star," Rook's first officer reported. "It's going to blow!"
"By the stars they actually did it!" Rook said stunned. Never in his life had he expected his world to collapse like this. It was a revelation on the most unpleasant order, but that did not let him sit and stew over it while he sat in harms way. Without a target to defend his first responsibility was to his crew. "Get us out of here!" He commanded. "Jump into hyperspace if we can." Slowly the massive ship turned to face clear space to escape into. There was an agony of waiting for the helm to respond. Slowly the view of the uncompleted Death Star moved to the side while it slowly churned out its own destruction. Fighters dashed aboard their fleeing ship, but there were fewer of them than before. Seconds after the last fighter was retrieved, a mighty flash marked the end of the Empire.
The Drumhead heaved itself into hyperspace on only three of its emergency engines, but it was still a narrow escape. Cruising close to the Death Star, it narrowly missed being crushed by the pressure wave that its detonation caused.
They made it no more than four light years before they had to stop. The damage of the battle was too extensive to continue any further.
Rook, now in a rage, turned to his weapons officer. "You idiot!" he bellowed. "You just shot away our own flank guard back there!"
The Lieutenant tried to protest. "It was an impossible shot sir. I tried to bend our fire through the Rampage's deflector shield, but I was not aware that they had already gone off line."
Rook was not in the slightest bit satisfied with that answer. "You pushed aside more experienced gunners to take that shot, fool! They would have told you that a bit of patience is required." Rook clenched his fists ad set his jaw. "Lieutenant, I find your actions to be treason of the highest order. Guards! Shoot this incompetent fool dead where he stands!"
The Lieutenant saw fit to defend himself immediately. He yanked his blaster free of its holster, and pointed it at his Captain.
Rook moved with a preternatural speed that was mystifying, and the Lieutenant found the blaster pointed directly back at him before his thumb could have made the contact to fire. "Attempting to assault a superior officer, Lieutenant?" His tone was cold enough to freeze everyone on the bridge.
The Lieutenant could only babble, "How many times will you Lasck boys take a blaster from me?"
Rook froze. "What?" He sounded genuinely surprised.
"Your brother ripped that same blaster out of my hand on board the Death Star when I transferred him from the brig," the Lieutenant explained.
Something clicked in Rook's mind. "Daub?" It occurred to him now that his brother might have been aboard the Death Star. It was possible that he was dead, but Daub had an impressive ability to survive. On the one hand he wanted Daub to be safe for, Imperial or Rebel, he was his brother, but in the other case he knew that Daub could do too much damage to the Empire to abide.
The facts also were ominous. A lone TIE bomber from the Death Star had split the Rampage directly up the keel. It could have been anyone, but Daub had a talent for being that someone.
"How long until we are able to move again?" Rook asked his chief engineer.
Long ago in another life Daub had trained the man so Rook was not surprised when he said, "By this time tomorrow, if you need it, sir."
"Excellent, get right to work." He turned to his left, "COM, raise Coruscant. I need to contact Grand Admiral Plact and Mithras Lasck."
Rook turned to the Lieutenant. "And you did not kill him for taking your blaster?" Rook shook his head as though to an erring child, and shot the Lieutenant before he could respond.