# C H A P T E R 30

KARRDE WALKED AROUND the mass of stone to where the crumpled nose of the Chariot assault vehicle poked out, a sense of slightly stunned disbelief coloring his vision. “One man,” he murmured.

“Well, we helped some,” Aves reminded him. But the sarcasm of the words faded beneath the grudging respect clearly there behind it.

“And without the Force, too,” Karrde said.

He sensed Aves shrug uncomfortably. “That’s what Mara said. Though of course Skywalker might have lied to her about it.”

“Unlikely.” A motion at the edge of the square caught his eye, and Karrde looked over to see Solo and Skywalker helping a distinctly shaky-looking Lando Calrissian to one of the airspeeders parked around the perimeter. “Took a shot, did he?”

Aves grunted. “Came close to taking one of mine, too,” he said. “I thought he’d betrayed us—figured I’d make sure he didn’t walk away from it.”

“In retrospect, it’s just as well you didn’t.” Karrde looked up, searching the skies. Wondering how long it would take the Imperials to respond to what had happened here today.

Aves looked up, too. “We might still be able to hunt down the other two Chariots before they get a chance to report,” he suggested. “I don’t think the headquarters people got any messages away before we took them out.”

Karrde shook his head, feeling a deep surge of sadness rising through the sense of urgency within him. Not until now had he truly realized just how much he’d come to love this place—his base, the forest, the planet Myrkr itself. Now, when there was no choice but to abandon it. “No,” he told Aves. “There’s no way to cover up our part in what happened here. Not from a man like Thrawn.”

“You’re probably right,” Aves said, his voice taking on a sense of urgency of its own. He understood the implications of that, all right. “You want me to head back and start the evacuation?”

“Yes. And take Mara with you. Make sure she keeps busy—somewhere away from the Millennium Falcon and Skywalker’s X-wing.”

He felt Aves’s eyes on him. But if the other wondered, he kept his wonderings to himself. “Right. See you later.”

He hurried away. The airspeeder with Calrissian aboard was lifting off now, heading back to where the Falcon was being prepped for flight. Solo and Skywalker were heading over toward a second airspeeder; with just a moment’s hesitation, Karrde went over to intercept them.

They reached the craft at the same time, and for a moment eyed each other across its bow. “Karrde,” Solo said at last. “I owe you one.”

Karrde nodded. “Are you still going to get the Etherway out of impoundment for me?”

“I said I would,” Solo told him. “Where do you want it delivered?”

“Just leave it on Abregado. Someone will pick it up.” He turned his attention to Skywalker. “An interesting little trick,” he commented, tilting his head back toward the mass of rubble. “Unorthodox, to say the least.”

Skywalker shrugged. “It worked,” he said simply.

“That it did,” Karrde agreed. “Likely saving several of my people’s lives in the bargain.”

Skywalker looked him straight back in the eye. “Does that mean you’ve made your decision?”

Karrde gave him a slight smile. “I don’t really see as I have much choice anymore.” He looked back at Solo. “I presume you’ll be leaving immediately?”

“As soon as we can get Luke’s X-wing rigged for towing.” Solo nodded. “Lando’s doing okay, but he’s going to need more specialized medical attention than the Falcon can handle.”

“It could have been worse,” Karrde said.

Solo gave him a knowing look. “A lot worse,” he agreed, his voice hard.

“So could all of it,” Karrde reminded him, putting an edge into his own voice. He could, after all, just as easily have turned the three of them over to the Imperials in the first place.

And Solo knew it. “Yeah,” he conceded. “Well … so long.”

Karrde watched as they got into the airspeeder. “One other thing,” he said as they strapped in. “Obviously, we’re going to have to pull out of here before the Imperials figure out what’s happened. That means a lot of lifting capacity if we’re going to do it quickly. You wouldn’t happen to have any surplus cargo or stripped-down military ships lying around I could have, would you?”

Solo gave him a strange look. “We don’t have enough cargo capacity for the New Republic’s normal business,” he said. “I think I might have mentioned that to you.”

“Well, then, a loan, perhaps,” Karrde persisted. “A stripped-down Mon Calamari Star Cruiser would do nicely.”

“I’m sure it would,” Solo returned with more than a hint of sarcasm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The canopy dropped smoothly down over them and sealed in place. Karrde stepped back, and with a whine of repulsorlifts, the airspeeder rose into the sky. Orienting itself, it shot off toward the forest.

Karrde watched it go, wondering if that last suggestion had been too little too late. But perhaps not. Solo was the type to hold debts of honor sacred—something he’d probably picked up from his Wookiee friend somewhere along the line. If he could find a spare Star Cruiser, he’d likely send it along.

And once here, it would be easy enough to steal from whatever handlers Solo sent with it. Perhaps such a gift would help assuage Grand Admiral Thrawn’s inevitable anger over what had happened here today.

But then, perhaps it wouldn’t.

Karrde looked back at the ruins of the collapsed arch, a shiver running through him. No, a warship wasn’t going to help. Not on this. Thrawn had lost too much here to simply shrug it off as the fortunes of war. He would be back … and he would be coming for blood.

And for perhaps the first time in his life, Karrde felt the unpleasant stirrings of genuine fear.

In the distance, the airspeeder disappeared over the forest canopy. Karrde turned and gave Hyllyard City one final, lingering look. One way or the other, he knew he would never see it again.1

Luke got Lando settled into one of the Falcon’s bunks while Han and a couple of Karrde’s men busied themselves outside getting a tow cable attached to the X-wing. The Falcon’s medical package was fairly primitive, but it was up to the task of cleaning and bandaging a blaster burn. A complete healing job would have to wait until they could get him to a bacta tank, but for the moment he seemed comfortable enough. Leaving Artoo and Threepio to watch over him—despite his protestations that he didn’t need watching over and, furthermore, had had enough of Threepio—Luke returned to the cockpit just as the ship lifted off.

“Any problems with the tow cable?” he asked, sliding into the copilot’s seat.

“Not so far,” Han said, leaning forward and looking all around them as the Falcon cleared the trees. “The extra weight’s not bothering us, anyway. We should be all right.”

“Good. You expecting company?”

“You never know,” Han said, giving the sky one last look before settling back into his seat and gunning the repulsorlifts. “Karrde said there were still a couple of Chariots and a few speeder bikes unaccounted for. One of them might have figured that a last-ditch suicide run was better than having to go back to the Grand Admiral and report.”

Luke stared at him. “Grand Admiral?” he asked carefully.

Han’s lip twisted. “Yeah. That’s who seems to be running the show now for the Empire.”

A cold chill ran up Luke’s back. “I thought we’d accounted for all the Grand Admirals.”

“Me, too. We must have missed one.”

And abruptly, right in the middle of Han’s last word, Luke felt a surge of awareness and strength fill him. As if he were waking up from a deep sleep, or stepping from a dark room into the light, or suddenly understanding the universe again.

The Force was again with him.

He took a deep breath, eyes flicking across the control board for the altimeter. Just over twelve kilometers. Karrde had been right—those ysalamiri did, indeed, reinforce one another. “I don’t suppose you got a name,” he murmured.

“Karrde wouldn’t give it to me,” Han said, throwing a curious frown in Luke’s direction. “Maybe we can bargain the use of that Star Cruiser he wants for it. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Luke assured him. “I just—it’s like being able to see again after having been blind.”

Han snorted under his breath. “Yeah, I know how that is,” he said wryly.

“I guess you would.” Luke looked at him. “I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier … but thanks for coming after me.”

Han waved it away. “No charge. And I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier”—he glanced at Luke again—“but you look like something the proom dragged in.”

“My wonderful disguise,” Luke told him, touching his face gingerly. “Mara assures me it’ll wear off in a few more hours.”

“Yeah—Mara,” Han said. “You and she seemed to be hitting it off pretty well there.”

Luke grimaced. “Don’t count on it,” he said. “A matter of having a common enemy, that’s all. First the forest, then the Imperials.”

He could sense Han casting around for a way to ask the next question, decided to save him the trouble. “She wants to kill me,” he told the other.

“Any idea why?”

Luke opened his mouth … and, to his own surprise, closed it again. There wasn’t any particular reason not to tell Han what he knew about Mara’s past—certainly no reason he could think of. And yet, somehow, he felt a strangely compelling reluctance to do so. “It’s something personal,” he said at last.

Han threw him an odd look. “Something personal? How personal can a death mark get?”

“It’s not a death mark,” Luke insisted. “It’s something—well, personal.”

Han gazed at him a moment longer, then turned back to his piloting. “Oh,” he said.

The Falcon had cleared the atmosphere now and was gunning for deep space. From this high up, Luke decided, the forest looked rather pleasant. “You know, I never did find out what planet this was,” he commented.

“It’s called Myrkr,” Han told him. “And I just found out this morning. I think Karrde must have already decided to abandon the place, even before the battle—he had real tight security around it when Lando and I first got here.”

A few minutes later a light flashed on the control board: the Falcon was far enough out of Myrkr’s gravity well for the hyperdrive to function. “Good.” Han nodded at it. “Course’s already programmed in; let’s get out of here.” He wrapped his hand around the central levers and pulled; and with a burst of starlines, they were off.

“Where are we going?” Luke asked as the starlines faded into the familiar mottled sky. “Coruscant?”

“A little side trip first,” Han said. “I want to swing by the Sluis Van shipyards, see if we can get Lando and your X-wing fixed up.”

Luke threw him a sideways glance. “And maybe find a Star Cruiser to borrow for Karrde?”

“Maybe,” Han said, a little defensively. “I mean, Ackbar’s got a bunch of stripped-down warships ferrying stuff to the Sluis sector already. No reason why we can’t borrow one of them for a couple of days, is there?”

“Probably not,” Luke conceded with a sigh. Suddenly, it felt really good to just sit back and do nothing. “I suppose Coruscant can do without us for a few more days.”

“I hope so,” Han said, his voice abruptly grim. “But something’s about to happen back there. If it hasn’t happened already.”

And his sense was as grim as his words. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother with Sluis Van, then,” Luke suggested, feeling a sympathetic shiver. “Lando’s hurting, but he’s not in any danger.”

Han shook his head. “No. I want to get him taken care of—and you, buddy, need some downtime, too,” he added, glancing at Luke. “I just wanted you to know that when we hit Coruscant, we’re going to hit it running. So enjoy Sluis Van while you can. It’ll probably be the last peace and quiet you’ll get for a while.”

In the blackness of deep space, three-thousandths of a light-year2 but from the Sluis Van shipyards, the task force assembled for battle.

“The Judicator has just reported in, Captain,” the communications officer told Pellaeon. “They confirm battle ready, and request order update.”

“Inform Captain Brandei that there have been no changes,” Pellaeon told him, standing at the starboard viewport and gazing out at the shadowy shapes gathered around the Chimaera, all but the closest identifiable only by the distinctive patterns of their running lights. It was an impressive task force, one worthy of the old days: five Imperial Star Destroyers, twelve Strike-class cruisers, twenty-two of the old Carrack-class light cruisers, and thirty full squadrons of TIE fighters standing ready in their hangar bays.

And riding there in the middle of all that awesome firepower, like someone’s twisted idea of a joke, sat the battered old A-class bulk freighter.

The key to this whole operation.

“Status, Captain?” Thrawn’s voice came quietly from behind him.

Pellaeon turned to face the Grand Admiral. “All ships are on line, sir,” he reported. “The freighter’s cloaking shield has been checked out and primed; all TIE fighters are prepped and manned. I think we’re ready.”

Thrawn nodded, his glowing eyes sweeping the field of running lights around them. “Excellent,” he murmured. “What word from Myrkr?”

The question threw Pellaeon off stride—he hadn’t thought about Myrkr for days. “I don’t know, Admiral,” he confessed, looking over Thrawn’s shoulder at the communications officer. “Lieutenant—the last report from the Myrkr landing force?”

The other was already calling up the record. “It was a routine report, sir,” he said. “Time log … fourteen hours ten minutes ago.”

Thrawn turned to face him. “Fourteen hours?” he repeated, his voice suddenly very quiet and very deadly. “I left orders for them to report every twelve.”

“Yes, Admiral,” the comm man said, starting to look a little nervous. “I have that order logged, right here on their file. They must have …” He trailed off, looking helplessly at Pellaeon.

They must have forgotten to report in, was Pellaeon’s first, hopeful reaction. But it died stillborn. Stormtroopers didn’t forget such things. Ever. “Perhaps they’re having trouble with their transmitter,” he suggested hesitantly.

For a handful of heartbeats Thrawn just stood there, silent. “No,” he said at last. “They’ve been taken. Skywalker was indeed there.”

Pellaeon hesitated, shook his head. “I can’t believe that, sir,” he said. “Skywalker couldn’t have taken all of them. Not with all those ysalamiri blocking his Jedi power.”

Thrawn turned those glittering eyes back on Pellaeon. “I agree,” he said coldly. “Obviously, he had help.”

Pellaeon forced himself to meet that gaze. “Karrde?”

“Who else was there?” Thrawn countered. “So much for his protestations of neutrality.”

Pellaeon glanced at the status board. “Perhaps we should send someone to investigate. We could probably spare a Strike Cruiser; maybe even the Stormhawk.”

Thrawn took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “No,” he said, his voice steady and controlled again. “The Sluis Van operation is our primary concern at the moment—and battles have been lost before on the presence or absence of a single ship. Karrde and his betrayal will keep for later.”3

He turned back to the communications officer. “Signal the freighter,” he ordered. “Have them activate the cloaking shield.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pellaeon turned back to the viewport. The freighter, bathed in the Chimaera’s lights, just sat there looking innocent. “Cloaking shield on, Admiral,” the comm man reported.

Thrawn nodded. “Order them to proceed.”

“Yes, sir.” Moving rather sluggishly, the freighter maneuvered past the Chimaera, oriented itself toward the distant sun of the Sluis Van system, and with a flicker of pseudovelocity jumped to lightspeed.

“Time mark,” Thrawn ordered.

“Time marked,” one of the deck officers acknowledged.

Thrawn looked at Pellaeon. “Is my flagship ready, Captain?” he asked the formal question.

“The Chimaera is fully at your command, Admiral,” Pellaeon gave the formal answer.

“Good. We follow the freighter in exactly six hours twenty minutes. I want a final check from all ships … and I want you to remind them one last time that our task is only to engage and pin down the system’s defenses. There are to be no special heroics or risks taken. Make that clearly understood, Captain. We’re here to gain ships, not lose them.”

“Yes, sir.” Pellaeon started toward his command station—

“And Captain …?”

“Yes, Admiral?”

There was a tight smile on Thrawn’s face. “Remind them, too,” he added softly, “that our final victory over the Rebellion begins here.”