Showdown At Centerpoint Read online

  cone and the six lesser ones, down over the base of the chamber, blanketing

  the Falcon in bolts of blazing glory as it swept past the ship, out and up

  and in toward the point of the conical chamber, racing toward the pinnacle,

  blasting out its energy, making the very walls of the cone shimmer and shake

  with its power. And again. And again. And again. Until the power burst did

  not meet in a point, but instead reached the top of an open cone, and

  exploded as a ring of light-with the blue skies of daylight visible above.

  Chewbacca, still stunned and amazed, began to realize what was happening.

  The conical chamber of the planetary repulsor was transforming itself,

  opening itself out, opening out its apex point to give itself a clear shot

  at the sky. Another power burst swept over the ship. Another. Another,

  another, another, eaeh burst riding up to the top of the now-open cone and

  forcing it open wider and wider and wider. Chewbaeea checked the shield

  displays and saw that, for a miracle, they were holding. That was, no doubt,

  less a testimony to the strength of the shields t han it was to the

  characteristics of the energy sweeping past the ship. The power bursts were

  flowing over the shields, not attempting to penetrate them. But Chewbacca

  was past worrying about such things. Whether or not they survived, or were

  burnt to a cinder, was out of his hands, of anyone's hands. This titanic

  machine would do whatever Anakin had ordered it to do, and nothing could

  stand in its way. Chewbacca thought of the endless megatons of rock and

  stone and dirt the chamber had to be slamming out of the way, the massive

  shock waves that had to be reverberating throughout the whole vicinity.

  There had been a whole series of underground tunnels leading to the hidden

  entrance to this place. Surely all of them had collapsed, along with the

  Drallist building that sat atop them. The Drallists had been searching for

  the planetary repulsor. By now, beyond doubt, the planetary repulsor had

  found them, destroyed them as they had attempted to destroy the New

  Republic's government. Chewbacca found a rough justice in that thought, and

  smiled to himself. Jacen came into the cockpit and slipped into the pilot's

  seat, his father's seat, straining to see what was happening. The boy seemed

  very small, and very fright- ened-and yet controlled, adult, serious. There

  was no time now to feel the terror of the moment. That could come later.

  That was what nightmares were for. The boy looked up and saw what was

  happening, saw the job that the roiling, seething energies were doing. "It's

  opening/' Jacen said, his voice full of wonder. "And it's getting higher."

  Chewbaeea looked up. He hadn't noticed that, but Jacen was right. The walls

  of the cone were getting taller, even as they spread wider. Perhaps that was

  to insure the stone and earth it shoved out of the way did not tumble down

  into the cavern. Perhaps it was for some other reason altogether. Who could

  know what the makers of this stupendous device had intended? Chewbacca

  turned toward Jacen and pointed toward the outside of the ship, then held

  his hand out, palm down, at the height of a smali child's head as he let out

  a worried growl. "Anakin's still a!l right," said Jacen. "I can feel him.

  He's out there"Jacen pointed toward one specific point in the perimeter of

  the chamber wall-"and he's scared-maybe even more scared than we are-I mean

  more scared than Jaina and me-but he's all right." In the midst of his own

  fear, Chewbaeea managed to find a little bit of a laugh. A clever recovery

  on Jacen's part. The child knew that Wookiees did not like admitting to

  fear, and had found a way to avoid offending a Wookiee who was downright

  terrified. Any rational being would be terrified by all this. Chewbaeea

  pointed to the back of the Falcon and made another interrogatory-sounding

  noise, "They're all okay back there," said Jacen. "Aunt Marcha woke up, and

  I think she'll be okay. Except Q9. He's still dead-or off, or shorted out,

  or whatever. He's not moving, anyway," Chewbacca nodded. They were lucky any

  of them were alive. If Q9 could be repaired, Chcwie would attend to it

  later. If not-well, one casualty seemed a very low price indeed for riding

  out this storm. Another pulse of energy swept over the Falcon, a bit rougher

  ride than the last one. The ship bounced once or twice and spun about a few

  degrees to starboard. Chewbacca growled thoughtfully. A reminder, that was.

  A reminder that they were nowhere near close enough to the end of this to

  talk about living through it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Down the Hatch Thrackan Sal-Solo, self-proclaimed Diktat of the Corellian

  Sector, leader of the Human League, stared at the bottle in front of him and

  gave serious thought to the idea of getting himself good and drunk. There

  seemed precious little else he could do. besides wait. Thraekan had never

  been much good at waiting- which was ironic, for he had spent much of his

  adult life waiting. Waiting for a superior to resign or retire or be

  arrested, waiting for a plot to mature, waiting for the time to be right,

  waiting for the long-awaited offer of the succession from Dupas Thomree,

  Diktat of Corellia'-waiting until the day Thomree died, and that fool

  Gailamby had taken his place instead. Waiting for the Empire to wake up and

  understand the danger represented by the damnable Rebels, waiting for the

  Emperor to strike back from the hammer blows the Rebellion gave the Empire,

  waiting for Thrawn's con-terstrike to succeed. Waiting, all of it, in vain.

  Waiting for things that had never happened, waiting for sweet victories that

  had melted away into bitter, humiliating defeat. Thraekan grabbed the bottle

  by the neck, like an enemy he was trying to strangle. He stood up and walked

  around his desk, out of his office, and out into the corridor of the dig

  headquarters. The dig HQ was not as large or as comfortable a place as the

  old headquarters, but at least it was secure. Thrackan would have preferred

  to keep his headquarters in the underground bunker in the countryside on the

  far side of the city- but the Human League had been forced to abandon that

  supposedly secret location. The blasted Selonians had yanked their

  compatriot, Dracmus, out of there, along with Thrackan's traitor cousin, Han

  Solo. It hadn't taken much imagination to realize that a group that could

  take two prisoners out of an underground bunker could just as easily put one

  bomb in. So Thrackan had been forced to withdraw from there, and they were

  minus one headquarters. Call it another debt on the account Thrackan was

  drawing up against Han Solo. Sooner or later, Han Solo would pay for all of

  it. Thrackan walked out of the building and out into the fading light of

  twilight. He watched the second-shift men coming on duty, headed for their

  work underground. A number of them saw him and cheered. Thrackan forced a

  smile onto his face, put his hand to his forehead, and gave the boys a

  small, Informal sort of salute. He made no effort to hide his bottle. That

  was one nice thing about his boys. He didn't have to pretend he wasn't

  human, that he didn't like a drink now
and again. Or even a drink more often

  than that. Now if only his boys were good at finding things. They were still

  searching for the Corellian planetary repulsor. It had to be hidden in the

  tunnels somewhere beneath them. It had to be. Or things were going to get

  very sticky indeed. Except things were already sticky. Solo had escaped.

  Leia Organa Solo had escaped. The Bakurans had busted through the

  interdiction field, somehow. They were loose in the system, and might have

  already seized control of Centerpoint. Things were not going according to

  plan. At least he had managed to accomplish a little bit of revenge,

  already. Lcia Organa Solo might have escaped, but others never would. With

  any luck at all, history would record that Governor-Gen- eral Micamberlecto

  had died of injuries he suffered during the initial attack. But even if the

  true story of the Frozian's demise came out, Thrackan wouldn't much mind.

  Terror could be a very useful tool. But killing the Governor-General was

  incidental. The stakes were much higher than that-and Thrackan knew just how

  dangerous a game he was playing. He knew more of the real story than anyone

  else in this star system. He knew how much of a bluff it all was. He knew

  how many dangers surrounded him from all sides. He had claimed to control

  the starbuster plot. For the moment, at least, it suited the purposes of the

  starbuster's real masters to let him go on claiming it. It provided them

  with additional cover, an extra level of protective deception. Not that they

  could do anything about it at the moment, but more than likely they believed

  Thrackan would keep to his side of the bargain, and back off his claim when

  the proper moment came for them to reveal themselves. They could believe

  what they wanted. Thrackan had no intention of doing any such thing. The

  starbuster's masters also believed that Thrackan would turn over the

  planetary repulsor on this world as soon as he found it, in return for

  granting Thrackan a free hand on the planet Corcllia. They could go on

  believing that, too, if they wished. Thrackan had other plans. The masters

  of the starbuster had told all the rebel leaders that the planetary

  repulsors were superb defensive weapons, nothing more. Thrackan knew better.

  Thrackan knew it would suit the starbuster's controllers just fine if no one

  ever got the things working, so long as the controllers sat on top of them

  and kept anyone else from getting near them. But Thrackan knew the repulsors

  were weapons of denial, blackmail weapons, weapons of threat that worked

  best if they were aimed, but never fired. Let the other rebel leaders, the

  dirt-grubbing Selo-nian Overden or those bumbling fools, the Drallists,

  think what they might. Let the scramble-brains on Ta- lus and Trains believe

  what they were told about the repulsors. Thrackan knew better. He knew the

  masters of the starbuster plot had double-crossed them all. And Thrackan

  also knew that a double cross was nothing more than the necessary first step

  toward a successful triple cross. But none of it would do any good unless

  his people could find the repulsor and get it operational. If the

  dirt-digging Selonians could do it, surely humans could do at least as well.

  "Diktat Sal-Solo! Diktat!" Thrackan turned around to see General Brimon

  Yarar, the man in charge of the dig, jogging toward him. "What is it,

  General?" "News, sir. Maybe big news. The Drall planetary repulsor just came

  alive." "What?!" "Just now, sir. The jamming is still in place, of course,

  so we can't get any more information. But our sensors just picked up a huge

  jolt of repulsor activity coming from Drall. Unfocused, uncontrolled, but

  it's there. The Drallists have got the thing working." "I don't believe it,"

  Thrackan said. "I can't believe it. The Selonians, maybe. They're good at

  underground work. The Overden has some good technicians. But the DralHsts?

  They were never anything." In moments of honesty, Thrackan knew his own

  Human League forces were not exactly the cream of society. Thugs, most of

  them. Even with ail the help he got from the starbuster's masters, he had

  not been able to recruit many high-quality people. He had learned to accept

  that, and view his troops as the best tools he could lay hands on, if not

  the best tools for the job. But, thugs or not, compared to the Drallists,

  they were perfect gentlemen and leading scientists, every one of them.

  Thrackan had at least been able to buy himself a few disgruntled

  technicians, some ex-Imperial soldiers and administrators. Not the

  Drallists. Whatever else you could say against the Drallish spe- cies, the

  pompous little fools were relentlessly honest, upright, cautious people.

  There had actually been some sort of discontent on Corellia, and probably on

  Selonia and Talus and Tralus, around which to build a revolt. On Drall, the

  rebellion had been, out of necessity, completely artificial. Even the Human

  League wouldn't have taken on humans as low-down as the Drallists-and

  Drallist technical capability was no better than Drallisl behavior. The idea

  that they had been able to get a planetary repulsor up and running was

  simply incredible- Wait a moment. Wait just a moment. Maybe the Drallists

  hadn't gotten it running. Maybe someone else had managed that little trick.

  Suddenly Thrackan had a shrewd idea who that might be-and if he was right,

  he might just pick up a nice little bonus from all this. Because no matter

  who had gotten the repulsor running, Thrackan Sal-Solo was willing to bet

  they would not keep it long. He turned toward Yarar. "Get the best of the

  repulsor tech crews together, along with a strike platoon." He lifted the

  bottle to his lips and took a big swallow. A warm glow started to flow

  through his insides. "We're going to pay a little call on the Drallists."

  Luke watched the blinking light over the huge airlock chamber, and wondered

  who was on the other side, asking them in. Or more accurately, wondered if

  it would be wise to head on in. He and Lando had been debating the point for

  five minutes now. Luke decided to turn the debate on its head. "Okay, just

  for the sake of argument," he said, "suppose we don't go in that airlock.

  What's the alternative?" "I don't know," Lando replied. "If we landed on the

  other -ide of the sphere, or went in on the end of the farther cylinder, we

  -ight be able to explore f- weeks before anyone caught up with us. And that

  might -e a goo- idea." "How so?" Luke asked. ugrave;'You know me, Luke. I

  think big." "That's for sure." Lando had made something like a career out of

  building huge projects of one sort or another. Of course, the projects had a

  bad habit of going bust for reasons that were no fault of Lando's, but that

  was neither here nor there. "So this place is big. What do you think about

  it?" "I thi nk something is wrong. I thought so the first time I saw this

  place, and the closer -e get, the surer I am. I think big, but I also -ink

  in function. Big makes sense for some jobs, but this is too -uch. That

  station has a hundred, a -ousand times the volume it should for any job I

  can think of that it might do, and the underlying design is all wrong. The

  -oe
als don't see -at something's wrong because the station has been here so

  -ong. They take il for granted, think of it as a natural object. But trust

  me. Something about that station feels wrong." Feels wrong. Lando had no

  talent in the Force. Luke was sure of that. But that didn't mean his

  intuitions couldn't be right. Luke shut his eyes and reached out, probing

  with his Force ability, searching for the fee! of the station, of the beings

  aboard it. He could detect exactly one sentient mind, a human. Only one?

  Perhaps there were others, their minds shielded from him in some manner. He

  reached out and touched the one mind he could sense, touched as gently as he

  eouid. He discovered no sense of evil or bad intent. What he did find was a

  powerful sense of fear and uncertainty. He probed toward the blinking light,

  and the airlock door that was still opening and shutting. There was one mind

  there, a human one, a young woman. And that mind still seemed worried and

  afraid-but friendly enough, for all of that. "I say we accept the

  invitation," Luke said. "You're right-we could spend weeks exploring on our

  own. But J don't think we have weeks to spare. And 1 think the natives are

  friendly. At least, there's one friendly one." There was a dead silence on

  the line that lasted long enough for Luke to start wondering if the laser

  com system had given out altogether. But then Lando finally spoke. "When

  you're right, you're right," he said. "We have to take [he chance." "All

  right," said Luke. He brought his throttle forward just a fraction and flew

  toward the airlock, the Lady Luck right behind him. As they drew closer, the

  light stopped flashing and the airlock door swung open wide and stopped

  there. Luke had to do some tricky flying to line his fighter up with the

  airlock and match lateral velocity as it rotated. Doing so while flying

  inverted made it only slightly more difficult. Luke was used to flying in

  all sorts of attitudes relative to his target, and with the station spinning

  to simulate gravity, he had to make sure the X-wing's landing pads were

  pointed straight out at the sky as he made his way into the airlock. The

  closer Luke got to the airlock entrance, the bigger he realized it was. From

  a distance, it had appeared of ordinary proportion, but in reality, the