Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy II: Assault at Selonia Read online

  TIME FOR BATTLE

  Han tugged at his bonds, but they held firm. “Nice fair fight, Thrackan,” he said. “A Selonian against a human with his hands tied behind his back.”

  Thrackan laughed. “I’m interested in entertainment, Han, not fairness.” He indicated the four guards, who, by this time, had positioned themselves in the four corners of the chamber’s upper level. “Shoot,” he ordered. All four of them aimed their blasters at the center of the chamber’s floor and fired simultaneously.

  The floor exploded in a gout of flame. Han flinched back from the blast, and felt stinging pains on his face and hands as he was peppered with micro-fragments of pulverized stresscrete.

  Han staggered back, half-blinded and half-deafened. “If you do not acquit yourself well, my troopers will fire again. At both of you. I would suggest you make the fight convincing.”

  Han shook his head and blinked, trying to get over the effect of the blaster shots at close range. “How am I supposed to fight convincingly with my hands behind my back?” he asked.

  Thrackan laughed again. “You can’t expect me to give you all the answers,” he said. “Show a little initiative.”

  Han’s vision had cleared enough now for him to see Dracmus, and it was plain that the Selonian was more than prepared to give a good fight. She had her mouth open, putting her needle-sharp teeth on clear display.

  ASSAULT AT SELONIA

  A Bantam Spectra Book / July 1995

  SPECTRA and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of

  Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  TM ® and copyright © 1995 by Lucasfilm Ltd. All rights reserved.

  Used under authorization.

  Cover art by Drew Struzan. Copyright © 1995 by Lucasfilm Ltd.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

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  For information address: Bantam Books.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-79616-5

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada.

  v3.1

  To Beth and Mike,

  who taught me to believe in

  the innocence of Richard III,

  the inevitable mortality of Bluebottle,

  and the perils of an inside straight.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  What Has Gone Before

  Chapter One: Family Ties

  Chapter Two: The Fabric Torn

  Chapter Three: Coming In, Going Out

  Chapter Four: The Flowers of Home

  Chapter Five: Seems Like Old Times

  Chapter Six: Meetings and Lies

  Chapter Seven: Trust

  Chapter Eight: The Hard Way

  Chapter Nine: Getting Involved

  Chapter Ten: Getting There

  Chapter Eleven: The Tale of Ratiocination

  Chapter Twelve: Under the Iceberg

  Chapter Thirteen: Yggyn’s Choice

  Chapter Fourteen: Underground Activity

  Chapter Fifteen: Posture and Repulsion

  Chapter Sixteen: Arriving Signals

  Chapter Seventeen: All Together Now

  Chapter Eighteen: On the Clock

  About the Author

  Also by this Author

  Introduction to the Star Wars Expanded Universe

  Excerpt from Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy: Showdown at Centerpoint

  Introduction to the Old Republic Era

  Introduction to the Rise of the Empire Era

  Introduction to the Rebellion Era

  Introduction to the New Republic Era

  Introduction to the New Jedi Order Era

  Introduction to the Legacy Era

  Star Wars Novels Timeline

  Author’s Note

  I would like, once again, to thank my editor, Tom Dupree, for all his kindness, encouragement, and determination. God knows he’s earned thanks. Without him, there would be no book, and believe me, I know of what I speak.

  I would likewise wish to thank my wife, Eleanore Fox, who whipped the manuscript into shape, and kept my nose to the grindstone while enduring a husband occupied in a galaxy far, far away for much of the last few months.

  When I read a book, I always like to know what is behind the dedications, and I find the cryptic ones a trifle frustrating. For those readers who feel the same way, a quick word regarding the dedication of this book, and of the previous volume, might well be in order.

  Taking it in order, Book One, Ambush at Corellia, was dedicated to Taylor Blanchard and Kathei Logue, on account of two things. First, I take at least half the credit for introducing them to each other. Second, by the time you read this, and assuming all goes well, I will have had the honor to serve as Taylor’s best man at their wedding. If that’s not worth a dedication, I don’t know what is.

  This book, Assault at Selonia, is dedicated to Mike and Beth Zipser. Beth was my eleventh-grade English teacher. Some lucky people can point to a teacher and say he or she was the one who made a difference, the one who set that person down the path that led to where they are. So with Beth. I can trace a lot of what I am back to her classroom.

  Many years after high school and college and all that, more or less by chance, I was sitting on the floor at some party at a science-fiction convention, and who but that same person should quite literally crawl up to me and ask if I was the Roger Allen who went to Walt Whitman High School in Bethesda. I answered in the affirmative, and it wasn’t long before we were both sitting in on the same monthly poker game. (And she’s a much better player than I am.) Mike has proved to be as good and true a friend as his wife ever since. They are good people, though I question their taste in neckwear. (I’m allowed one cryptic reference.) For those curious about the lessons mentioned in this book’s dedication, I invite you to study the novel The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey, the 1950s BBC radio program The Goon Show, and a friendly neighborhood game of seven-stud high-low poker, nothing wild.

  And don’t forget to ante up.

  ROGER MACBRIDE ALLEN

  Arlington, Virginia

  January 1995

  What Has Gone

  Before

  It is a time of uncertain peace in the Galaxy. Fourteen years have passed since the defeat of the Empire and the death of Darth Vader. Leia Organa Solo, her husband, Han Solo, and their three children, Jaina, Jacen, and Anakin, accompanied by Chewbacca the Wookiee, have planned a family trip to Corellia, Han’s home world.

  Meanwhile, a group known as the Human League is conspiring to overthrow the New Republic’s government of the Corellian Sector. Some hints of the danger have reached New Republic Intelligence, and NRI agent Belindi Kalenda gives Han a cryptic warning about it. Kalenda herself travels to Corellia under cover, but her ship is promptly shot down by unknown assailants who plainly knew that she was coming. Kalenda survives the shoot-down.

  Meantime, Luke Skywalker has agreed to accompany Lando Calrissian on his search for a suitable wife, a search that carries him through a series of misadventures. Lando at last meets the charming Tendra Risant of the planet Sacorria
. However, heavy-handed local authorities force Luke and Lando to leave Sacorria almost as soon as they arrive.

  Upon arrival at the Corellian System, the Millennium Falcon is subject to a staged attack. Once on the ground, Leia engages a tutor for the children, a Drall named Ebrihim, and the family attempts to settle in. During a tour of a large archaeological site, the three children, led by Anakin’s power in the Force, locate a huge and strange installation of unknown age and purpose—an installation for which the Human League would seem to be searching.

  Mara Jade arrives at Corellia just as the trade summit gets under way. She is the bearer of a coded message for Leia and Han. It contains uncertain evidence that the senders deliberately touched off a recent supernova, and intend to set off more, in populated star systems, if their unspecified demands are not met.

  The Human League begins its long-planned revolt against the New Republic. The cities of Corellia erupt. Chewbacca, assisted by Q9-X2, Ebrihim’s irascible droid, manages to take the children to safety aboard the Millennium Falcon, but the ship is damaged and cannot escape into hyperspace. Chewbacca is forced to fly to Drall, Ebrihim’s home world.

  Once the revolt has scored some initial successes, Thrackan Sal-Solo, Han’s long-lost cousin and a man known for his guile and cruelty, reveals himself as the leader of the Human League. A powerful jamming system powers up, cutting off communications in the Corellian planetary system.

  Han manages to establish contact with Kalenda just before the jamming begins. He provides a diversion for her as she steals an X-TIE “Ugly” fighter and flies toward Coruscant with news of the catastrophe. Han, however, is captured by the Human League.

  Meanwhile, Luke and Lando fly into a huge interdiction field that surrounds all of the Corellian star system. The field, far larger than any in history, prevents travel through hyperspace anywhere in the system. Lando and Luke turn back for Coruscant to bring word. Leia is held hostage with the rest of the trade delegates at Corona House, the Governor’s residence. She does not know where the children, Chewbacca, Ebrihim, and Q9, aboard the Falcon, have gone, and Han Solo languishes in a Human League prison.…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Family Ties

  Hands tied behind his back, Han Solo stumbled as the guards shoved him into the gloomy audience chamber. He realized a moment too late that the floor of the central area was a half meter below the level of the entrance. Moving too fast to stop, he fell over the edge. His shoulder slammed down onto the hard stone floor.

  Han rolled over onto his side, then levered himself up into a sitting position. The guards who had shoved him into the chamber stepped back out and slammed the portal shut behind them. Han was alone in the echoing gloom.

  He looked around, wondering what was next. At least he was out of that cell. That was something. Not much, maybe, but something. And of course, whatever came next was not likely to be an improvement. In his experience, it was reasonably safe to be filed away in a cell. It was when you were pulled out that the trouble began.

  Han got himself up onto his feet and looked around. The walls and floors of the place were made of some sort of utilitarian dark gray stresscrete, and there was a dank scent to the air that suggested the windowless chamber was underground. The room was about twenty meters wide and thirty long, with the central floor set a half meter below a two-meter-wide platform that ran around the chamber’s perimeter. There were four heavy steel doors, one on each side of the chamber, each of them opening out onto the perimeter platform. Anyone who stood on the platform would be looking down at whoever was in the central area.

  The door he had entered was at his back, and he was facing a not quite thronelike chair made of dark wood on the opposite side of the perimeter platform. The chair was large and grand enough that whoever got into it would probably be taller sitting than standing. Han would have an eye-level view of the occupant’s knees. That chair told him a good deal about why he was here, and who was going to see him.

  Han continued his survey of the chamber. Aside from the throne chair, the place was undecorated, and poorly lit. Nor was it that well made. There were cracks in the floor, and whatever sort of stresscrete they had used in the walls was crumbly-looking. A rush job.

  Han had been in a lot of impressive places, and a lot of places that tried to be impressive. This place definitely fit into the second category. The Human League had clearly wanted a chamber that would overawe its prisoners as the Hidden Leader sat in judgment—or watched them die for the fun of it—but clearly the League hadn’t had the time or resources for a first-class job. All very interesting, but it wasn’t the sort of information that might help keep him alive.

  Han turned his attention back to the chair. That was obviously where the Big Man would sit when he got here—and Han had a very good idea of who the Big Man was going to be.

  There was really only one man it could be. His cousin, Thrackan Sal-Solo. Good old murderous, scheming, vindictive, paranoid Thrackan. That was the who, but what was the why? At a minimum, Thrackan wanted to get a look at Han. There was good news and bad news in that. Obviously, they had been keeping him alive for this meeting. But would they have any reason to keep him alive afterward? Did Thrackan have any further use for him?

  After all, Han had blown up half a squadron of Pocket Patrol Boats. That was offense enough to get a fellow executed most places, and this place was no better than most.

  Nor would his relationship to Thrackan do him any good. Once Thrackan had indulged his curiosity, he would be quite capable of killing Han on the spot.

  No, Han knew he wasn’t going to live through this because of family feeling. He would have to make himself seem valuable to Thrackan if he wanted to survive. But he had no intention of being the slightest help to Thrackan’s Human League.

  So how to seem to be valuable without actually doing these thugs any good?

  Han heard something moving on the other side of the doors behind the not-quite-throne. He had run out of time for thinking.

  Han backed away a step or two from the door. If Thrackan the adult was anything like the Thrackan of Han’s childhood, he was going to have to be careful, very careful, in the way he played this. Thrackan, as he recalled, had been quite young when he had started making a show of pulling the wings off insects and beating up smaller children. He had found out very early just how loudly a reputation for cruelty could speak. Here’s what I do to someone I’m not even mad at. What do you think will happen if I get mad at you? There were those in the Galaxy for whom cruelty, threats, and intimidation were art forms. Not Thrackan. He used them as blunt instruments, weapons. Which was not to say that he did not enjoy his work.

  The doors swung fully open and a double line of seedy-looking men in officers’ uniforms came in. One column turned and marched around the corner of the platform to the left of the throne, the other to the right. The two columns lined up on the perimeter platform to either side of the big chair, turned, and faced forward, eyes straight ahead, staring at each other across the center of the room, right over Han’s head.

  Judging by the insignia, which seemed to follow the old Imperial pattern, these were some very senior officers indeed. But today’s field marshals had, no doubt, been yesterday’s malcontents. Fancy uniforms and a forest of shoulder pips did not make the wearer a seasoned officer worthy of respect. These fellows were no more the equals of the Imperial officers of the past than a child with a toy lightsaber would be a match for Luke Skywalker.

  By the looks of their paunches, none of them had done any real training in years. Their bleary eyes, flushed faces, and unshaved jaws—and the smell of strong drink that wafted in with them—told Han that at least some of these very grand officers had been doing some fairly serious celebrating the night before. That was a bit premature. How could even the most drunken of fools think that the Human League had won already?

  Plainly, this crowd was not made up of Galaxy-class minds. They were here as window dressing, and nothing more. Han paid
them no more mind. He turned his attention back to the open door behind the big chair. There was a moment’s delay, either because the Great Man was running late, or because someone thought it made for a more dramatic entrance. But then, Thrackan Sal-Solo, onetime Hidden Leader of the Human League, and now the self-declared Diktat of the Corellian Sector—came into the room. He walked with the brisk, steady confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going, a man absolutely certain he could do the job at hand. Thrackan Sal-Solo stepped around the right-hand side of the big chair, came forward to the edge of the platform and paused there a moment. He stared long and hard at his long-lost cousin, and Han stared back.

  Han felt as if he were staring into a strange, distorting mirror. Thrackan wore Han’s face, or else Han wore his. Not that one could not be told from the other. Thrackan’s hair was darker, a black-brown shot through with gray. He was a few kilos heavier, and he had a neatly trimmed beard. Thrackan was perhaps two or three centimeters taller than Han. There was a harshness, a ruthlessness, not just in Thrackan’s expression, but in the set of his face, as if that look of anger and suspicion was the one his face fell into most naturally.

  But even those differences did little more than emphasize how much they were alike. Han felt as if that imaginary mirror were showing him the man he might have been. He did not like the idea. Not one little bit. This first meeting was a lot more disconcerting than he had expected it to be.

  It was not just Han who saw the resemblance. The uniformed types that lined the two sides of the room were obviously supposed to keep eyes ahead, but not one of them could resist the temptation to stare first at Han, and then at Thrackan. Small murmurs of astonishment filled the room.