slowly depressing as their target drew near. “But I need to get Leia to a bacta tank. Eelysa, too; we only have a little while before that portable tank starts to pollute itself.”
Tesar turned from the canopy. “That is not an excuse?”
“Now, Captain?” interrupted one of the sisters. “Can we shoot now?”
There was nothing ahead but frigate, its massive hangar bay yawning open in the middle of the micropitted hull. A conical tractor beam projector hung down from the ceiling in obvious sight, but its ready backup was still tucked against the ceiling and barely visible.
“You can make both shots?” Han asked. “At once?”
“Of course,” the other sister said. “We are Jedi.”
Han checked the frigate’s weapons turrets—the two that he could still see—and found the cannon barrels still trained on the
Falcon
, not quite at maximum depression.
“Not yet.” He placed one hand on the throttles. “I’ll let you know.”
“The bacta tankz?” There was a rising note of urgency in Tesar’s voice. “They are the only reason, Han Solo?”
Han thought for a moment. Though it would have been more in a Barabel’s nature to demand—and demand only once—before simply taking control of the ship, Tesar had never even mentioned the possibility, not even as an argument proving his own trustworthiness. That was
very
Jedi.
Han nodded. “Yeah, the bacta tanks are the only reason.”
“Good.” Tesar was almost whispering now. “Then this one will tell you something else his Master would not wish. There will be bacta tankz at the rendezvous—and a safe place to use them.”
The frigate’s laser cannons reached their maximum depression, then disappeared out of sight behind the curve of the ship’s hull.
“Now, Captain?” a sister asked.
Han ignored her and asked Tesar, “
How
safe?”
“As safe as a nest in a ferrocrete den.”
They reached the entrance to the hangar bay. The lights outside the cockpit rippled as the frigate’s shields were lowered to admit the
Falcon
. Han hit the directional thrusters, and the shipbegan to tremble as it struggled to pivot in the tractor beam’s grasp. The cockpit passed into the bay.
“Now, ladies!”
The sisters were already bringing their turrets around. Given the vibrating ship, the precision timing, and the swift targeting, the shot would have been impossible for any typical pair of gunners. The two Barabels were not typical. In the same second, two volleys of laser bolts streaked out … and scorched holes through the opposite side of the bay.
Then the
Falcon
was pulled completely inside the frigate, and Han saw two little Vigilance starfighters—one hiding in each of the near corners—swinging their weapons in his direction. He brought the shields up, then another volley lashed out from his own laser cannons and hit the tractor beam projectors.
The bay walls spun past in a blur. Sheets of red flame washed over the cockpit canopy. Han thought the sisters had missed their timing, that the
Falcon
was tumbling out of control. A familiar
whumpf
reverberated through the cockpit, and blazing streaks of light lanced out from the cannon turrets to blossom against the walls in disks of fire. Han tipped the yoke against the spin and slowed the revolutions, then saw laser bolts stabbing starry darkness ahead and jammed the throttles.
He knew they had escaped by the laserfire suddenly webbing the darkness around them. Not bothering to check the tactical display—he
knew
the Y-wings and X-wings were coming—Han pushed the nose down and, corkscrewing wildly, transferred shield power aft.
“Okay, Tesar, give me our heading.”
The Barabel read off a set of familiar-sounding coordinates.
“Not those.” Han cleared the navicomputer and called up the second set. “The new ones. A ferrocrete den sounds good right now.”
The Barabel smiled, baring a set of teeth that could have stripped a rancor to the bone. “You will not regret this,
Tesar turned from the canopy. “That is not an excuse?”
“Now, Captain?” interrupted one of the sisters. “Can we shoot now?”
There was nothing ahead but frigate, its massive hangar bay yawning open in the middle of the micropitted hull. A conical tractor beam projector hung down from the ceiling in obvious sight, but its ready backup was still tucked against the ceiling and barely visible.
“You can make both shots?” Han asked. “At once?”
“Of course,” the other sister said. “We are Jedi.”
Han checked the frigate’s weapons turrets—the two that he could still see—and found the cannon barrels still trained on the
Falcon
, not quite at maximum depression.
“Not yet.” He placed one hand on the throttles. “I’ll let you know.”
“The bacta tankz?” There was a rising note of urgency in Tesar’s voice. “They are the only reason, Han Solo?”
Han thought for a moment. Though it would have been more in a Barabel’s nature to demand—and demand only once—before simply taking control of the ship, Tesar had never even mentioned the possibility, not even as an argument proving his own trustworthiness. That was
very
Jedi.
Han nodded. “Yeah, the bacta tanks are the only reason.”
“Good.” Tesar was almost whispering now. “Then this one will tell you something else his Master would not wish. There will be bacta tankz at the rendezvous—and a safe place to use them.”
The frigate’s laser cannons reached their maximum depression, then disappeared out of sight behind the curve of the ship’s hull.
“Now, Captain?” a sister asked.
Han ignored her and asked Tesar, “
How
safe?”
“As safe as a nest in a ferrocrete den.”
They reached the entrance to the hangar bay. The lights outside the cockpit rippled as the frigate’s shields were lowered to admit the
Falcon
. Han hit the directional thrusters, and the shipbegan to tremble as it struggled to pivot in the tractor beam’s grasp. The cockpit passed into the bay.
“Now, ladies!”
The sisters were already bringing their turrets around. Given the vibrating ship, the precision timing, and the swift targeting, the shot would have been impossible for any typical pair of gunners. The two Barabels were not typical. In the same second, two volleys of laser bolts streaked out … and scorched holes through the opposite side of the bay.
Then the
Falcon
was pulled completely inside the frigate, and Han saw two little Vigilance starfighters—one hiding in each of the near corners—swinging their weapons in his direction. He brought the shields up, then another volley lashed out from his own laser cannons and hit the tractor beam projectors.
The bay walls spun past in a blur. Sheets of red flame washed over the cockpit canopy. Han thought the sisters had missed their timing, that the
Falcon
was tumbling out of control. A familiar
whumpf
reverberated through the cockpit, and blazing streaks of light lanced out from the cannon turrets to blossom against the walls in disks of fire. Han tipped the yoke against the spin and slowed the revolutions, then saw laser bolts stabbing starry darkness ahead and jammed the throttles.
He knew they had escaped by the laserfire suddenly webbing the darkness around them. Not bothering to check the tactical display—he
knew
the Y-wings and X-wings were coming—Han pushed the nose down and, corkscrewing wildly, transferred shield power aft.
“Okay, Tesar, give me our heading.”
The Barabel read off a set of familiar-sounding coordinates.
“Not those.” Han cleared the navicomputer and called up the second set. “The new ones. A ferrocrete den sounds good right now.”
The Barabel smiled, baring a set of teeth that could have stripped a rancor to the bone. “You will not regret this,
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