Galaxies Apart
Twenty-Five
The Millennium Falcon dropped from hyperspace.
Site Zero provoked very different reactions in those on board. C3PO and R2D2 lacked the capability to make an aesthetic judgement on a piece of stellar furnishing no radically different from the kind they were used to witnessing day in, day out.
Besides, Threepio was far too busy complaining - to a pretending-to-be-too-busy-to-listen Artoo, of course - that no-one had been courteous enough as yet to re-attach his legs.
Han Solo, ordinarily a man so seasoned he was practically a herb, nonetheless felt himself a little impressed at the scale of what he saw. He had one thing on his mind: how this station was going to allow him to correct the damage done to his past.
Leia filled his thoughts, as ever more than by all rights she should have done. Han Solo had deserved his scoundrel reputation when it came to women, but a few days in her company and he'd never been able to erase her from his mind.
Hearing from Kyp that they had always been destined to be together – seeing that holo of them standing beside one another, so comfortable – it explained that feeling. It just didn't make it any easier to live with.
But for the first time in years he could think of getting her back without that horrible certainty that it would never happen.
Chewbacca, as ever, said little. Even Han couldn't work out what his co-pilot was thinking sometimes. In the last five years the Empire had strengthened their hold on Kashyyyk, his home planet, subjugating the entire indigenous population to slavery.
That included Chewie's entire family...
Kyp Durron had been here before. This part of space seemed still to vibrate with the intensity of Master Skywalker's death throes.
He could almost feel-
No. Not almost. He could feel…
"I don't believe it…" he choked, pointing. They all saw it.
"I thought you said this place was off the map," Han remarked.
"It's him," Kyp said excitedly. "Luke is here, now."
A hell of a coincidence, Han thought. His hands automatically shifted to rest on the controls for the Falcon's turbolasers. If someone thought they were pretty cute by pulling a hoax, he'd be ready. A glance across at Chewie reassured him that his co-pilot was likewise less than convinced by the timing.
"Open a channel!" Kyp urged.
"Relax, kid," Han returned with an easy air he didn't quite feel. "All in good time. Now, let's put those Jedi tricks to good use. Can you be sure that's Skywalker?"
"I…don't understand."
Han smiled. "Just smuggler's paranoia. Humour me."
Durron didn't seem to fully comprehend what merited Han's concern. Solo supposed it was something to do with the Force, and let it go. He knew the kid wouldn't make him go ahead just on his say so; he was young, a little naïve, but not stupid. Han could imagine the two of them getting along.
"Let me contact them," Kyp offered. "I'll be able to tell you then. For sure."
Han nodded. Chewie flicked the comm switch.
"This is the Millennium Falcon," Kyp transmitted. "I repeat: this is the Millenium Falcon. Do you copy?"
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"-do you copy?"
Since they'd dropped out of hyperspace Yoda had insisted they complete thorough scans of the station for life. He'd welcomed any interruption to the tedium of listening to incessant beeps from the Corvette's main sensor banks.
The transmission had attracted Mara Jade to the cockpit within seconds. He wasn't surprised. The woman was like a coiled spring.
As to their sudden neighbors...Luke frowned. How did Solo manage to find a place like this? What did he want?
They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms. After Yavin, Solo had too many bad memories attached to him.
"Falcon, this is Privateer," he glanced out of the cockpit at the battered old freighter, knowing better than to take it at its face value. "I have you loud and clear. What has you way out here?"
Those last three words had been chosen carefully. You'd better explain how in the worlds you managed to be out here...
The comm was silent for a moment. It seemed they'd gotten the message.Luke prepped the guns. Mara noticed the movement and shot him an approving glance. If Luke hadn't been so tense he'd have fainted on the spot.
"Falcon, do you copy?" he repeated himself.
As he spoke he sent a quick burst to the manoeuvring thrusters. The ship began a slow spin that would shortly bring them into a prime attacking position.
"Tell you what, kid," a different voice rattled over the comm, "if you don't break off that attack posture, I'll remind you just what the Falcon can do to a tin can like yours."
"Just minimising my risks, Han, old buddy," Luke returned easily, arresting his ship's rotation but keeping his hand over the weapons systems controls.
"Been a long time," Han's voice continued. Luke could detect no malice in the words or the tone. "Believe it or not, we've got a lot to talk about, kiddo."
"You might be right," Luke predicted. He was about to add something to that when he became aware of Yoda's presence in the Privateer's cockpit. Luke blinked. The little Jedi Master seemed...a little frail. All the more surprising given the sheer amount of the Force in this place; personally he'd never felt better.
"Something wrong, Master?"
Yoda ignored the question. "Aboard that vessel, who is?"
Luke frowned. "An old…acquaintance of mine. Han Solo."
"Aware of him, and of my good friend from Kashyyyk, I am. The other-"
"Luke Skywalker?" the first voice called again from the comm. "I need to talk to you."
Before Luke could move the little Jedi Master had scampered from the entrance to the cockpit and reached the controls to the comm station. "Feel you I can," he sent, "who are you, tell me?"
The Falcon didn't respond right away. "Who is this?" the first speaker eventually transmitted, puzzled.
Yoda told him. There was a muffled squawk of surprise from the other end of the comm.
"Yoda!" the voice spluttered. "Oh…of course…I'm so sorry, Master. Forgive me. It's just that-"
"Understandable, it is."
"I'm glad someone thinks so. What's going on?" Luke pleaded, unaware that he was echoing Han Solo's exact words at the same moment.
He was promptly ignored. "Millennium Falcon," Yoda continued, "to the aft docking bay, please follow us. Speak again there once docked, we will."
Instructions given, he deactivated the signal link. Noticing Luke's expression, he tilted his head. "What are you waiting for?"
Luke's reply was mercifully lost in Yoda's cackles.
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Mon Calamarians, dubbed by some 'the soul of the Rebellion', were undoubtedly excellent technicians and lieutenants. Crix Madine could see as much for himself from his own station as several members of the aquatic species milled around the bridge of the Alderaan with purpose and skill.
Decades of Imperial slavery had forced them into close proximity to Imperial systems and controls, and had awoken within the species an almost instinctual talent for operating crucial hardware and repairing it with supernatural speed.
Madine could think of no other race he'd rather have as the lifeblood of a ship, particularly with the Alderaan less than three minutes from entering the Endor system…and the biggest battle in recent history.
As for their suitability for command…he was less certain. Admiral Ackbar was a competent and an accomplished commander, no doubt about it. And yes, it was also true that on a ship like the Alderaan a tactical genius was not exactly a necessity to ensure victory.
Yet the fact remained; the Death Star would shortly be facing an Imperial Fleet which had a combined force of unimaginable power, and possibly the sole vessel in the galaxy which stood a realistic chance of success against the Alderaan in one-on-one combat. The Death Star. The original model. Less advanced than their own, but fully manned and operational in the field for five years.
Madine knew the Tarkin of legend, but more worryingly he knew the man himself. He would find a way to hurt the Rebels; of that Madine was certain.
Could Ackbar cope with that? Crix didn't know. On balance, the Rebels held huge advantages. The Imperials didn't know they were coming, after all. In all probability Alderaan would be at its leisure to drop from hyperspace, cruise around the perimeter, charge the superlaser and take out Tarkin's Star with one shot, thus leaving the way clear for a Rebel and Ssi-ruuk rout of the remaining Imperial forces.
Madine tried to contain his excitement at getting the chance to do just that. He wasn't stupid, though, and he wasn't letting himself get carried away with the feeling of absolute invincibility the Alderaan seemed to infect others with.
Ackbar, for one, he thought gloomily. To his left a gravel-toned Mon Calamarian announced that there were two minutes on the clock. The activity around him seemed, incredibly, to go up a further few notches.
Communication and synchronisation with the Ssi-ruuvi flanking ships was incredibly important-the Alliance wanted them, if it were possible, to take the attention away from the Death Star for the crucial first few moments. Long enough for the superlaser, inoperable in the eddies of hyperspace, to charge its capacitors and let fly straight through the heart of the Imperial fleet.
What if we win?
Crix still didn't know what the Alliance's policy was on any prisoners of war the Ssi-ruuk captured. No-one could be sure that entechment was more than an Imperial myth, but Madine for one knew that a lot rested on that issue being resolved. He did not want to replace one galactic tyranny with another.
Misgivings or not they were going into battle. Perfect personnel or not they had to go into battle, had to try to damage the Empire, to give hope back to the galaxy.
The first pre-combat rituals started up alongside him. Despite being aboard what amounted to a floating planetoid with a shield strength previously unheard of, some of his colleagues were preparing for the worst. Crix had learned over the years that there was nothing like a healthy terror of dying for keeping a man alive in combat.
He glanced at the chrono. In less than one minute, the fate of the galaxy would begin to be decided through what amounted, when you dispensed with the political veneer, to mass murder.
May the Force forgive us, he thought.