Star Wars - The Final Exit Read online

  Overhearing the boy, Ross snapped, “Kierra, check the sensors!”

  Abruptly, the interior corridor lights went dark. “I suggest that you all duck!”

  A tremendous explosion erupted near the aft of the ship and forest perimeter, accompanied by the afterburn blast of an outgoing starfighter. Dodging churned up roots, debris, and stone particles, Ross slid under the ramp, diving for cover beneath the freighter’s hull. Sparks and molten debris scattered about his head and shoulders. singeing his clothing and hair. Thrashing wildly, he swiped the heated material from his skin. Nearby, Brandl was helping the frightened boy to his feet, whispering encouraging words to the traumatized child.

  “Damage report.”

  “They got us, boss,” Kierra pined. “Concussion missile.” There was a brief pause as she analyzed the incoming data. “Shields are out. Engines are at 70 percent. There’s a good chance the ion coils may seize if we push them too far.”

  “Can we lift off?”

  “With you at the reins, flyboy,” she chuckled, “anything’s possible.”

  Protectively embracing the boy against him, Brandl whispered. “As long as we don’t make ourselves known, he will pass.”

  “Look,” Ross barked, “this is all very touching, but that last pass was just to get an approximate location. Next time —” he snorted anxiously, “forget it, I’m not waiting around for next time. Let’s scratch gravel, now!”

  Agitated by the sudden turn of events. Brandl cupped the boy’s face in his hands. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “Then …” Brandl stammered, “how did you know?”

  Playfully holding his father’s hands, Jaalib smiled. “Otias told me the truth a long time ago. He let me watch the holos of your stage work. Mother didn’t like it at first, but she came with me and she cried the whole time.” Sadly, the boy glanced away, avoiding Brandl’s eyes. “When we saw you in the settlement common, as soon as we got home she started to cry. So I knew it was you.” Staring at Ross, the boy frowned, knowing the inevitable parting was soon at hand. “Will you ever come home?”

  Brandl cradled Jaalib’s smooth cheeks and gently kissed the child’s forehead. “I can make no promises.”

  Jaalib forced a smile. “I understand. Otias said that you had other important roles to play, parts that a small world like Trulalis could never offer.” Clinging to his father’s presence, the boy whispered. “When I’m old enough, I’m going to act offworld too. Otias said that he would help.” He hesitated. “I want to be as great as you are, father.” The thin film of tears returned, threatening to spill over his cheeks. “I won’t ever forget you.” Using the thick canopy of the forest as a shield, Jaalib sprinted down the trail and vanished into the night shadows.

  “They never told him the truth,” Brandl swallowed desperately, fighting back his emotions.

  “Why didn’t you tell him?” Ross snarled, sealing the outer hatch.

  “You give me credit for courage? A man of courage is a man of conviction, Captain Ross.” Brushing past the Corellian, the Jedi whispered, “I lost mine the moment I chose to believe in old legends.”

  Throwing himself into the acceleration seat, Ross frantically began throwing the flight controls. His hands moved diligently across the console with consummate skill. Roused by the threat of a hostile starfighter swinging in on the sensor scope, he initialized the booster ignition, cradling the crippled ship in his hands. A low whine engulfed the flight cabin in static echoes and vibrations as the ion drive labored to lift the freighter. The metallic rattle of the deck plates reverberated through every corridor and in the spacious cargo bay.

  “Oh,” Kierra groaned, “that sounds bad.”

  “Never mind how it sounds, get started on bringing the shield generators on line!” Struggling to maintain control of the freighter, Ross brawled with the partially ionized throttle, maximizing the power output through the damaged engine.

  “The hard part will be getting through the atmosphere,” Brandl whispered, glancing over the readout screens.

  “We may never get off the ground!” Ross grumbled. “Kierra, where is he?”

  “One Z-95 Headhunter, headed right for us and according to my readings, the ship exceeds the normal weight ratio for its class.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning more concussion missiles. He’s fully loaded.”

  “Power up the main sentry turret,” Ross mumbled, concentrating on the hampered freighter. “When will the shield generator come on line?”

  “Give me five more minutes. Hydraulic pressure is building to functional levels.”

  “Well hurry it along. At this rate, we won’t even get into space before he catches us.” Ross stared into the underlying blanket of the lower atmosphere, shrouding his departure in the frenzy of night mist. “What can you do about fixing the ion drive?”

  “Think happy thoughts,” Kierra replied. “We have no cargo. We have no surplus material. And,” she added with a hint of feminine pride, “this ship has always been under its weight ratio. We’re lighter than a Gamorrean brain sack.”

  “How long before he intercepts us?”

  “Let’s just say I’m putting up the shields now.”

  Abruptly, the modified light freighter shook with the impact concussion of another direct hit. Bucking beneath the powerful blow, the Kierra drifted beneath the cloud cover as the destructive energy ricocheted over the aft shields, dissipating harmlessly against the hull.

  “Damage?” Ross panted.

  “The shields took it,” Kierra replied wearily, still accessing the information from her multiple systems. “But the hydraulic level is already dropping. We won’t survive much more of that.”

  Angling across the stratosphere, the Headhunter aggressively continued its pursuit. Hampered by the thickened atmosphere of Trulalis, it swayed from side to side, approaching for another strafing run.

  Arming the lower turret, Kierra interfaced with the sentry gun, timing a sporadic burst across the forefront of the attacking ship. Not expecting retaliation from the crippled freighter, the fighter stuttered through the atmosphere, its left wing section erupting into flames. Avoiding the turret’s deadly accuracy, the Z-95 dropped back, barrelling out of range. “That should keep his head down for a while.”

  “Not long enough,” Ross argued. Eluding Brandl’s cautious eye, he grumbled, “If there’s something in your Jedi survival book, now’s the time to spring it.”

  Brandl nodded, his face notably drained and haggard. Reaching inside the fold of his robe, he again produced the peculiar capsule. The cylindrical-shaped device was cleverly fitted for concealment as a hydrospanner or mechanic’s tool. Staring at the object, Ross recognized it from their brief excursion at the theater. As he watched, fascinated, the control head flashed intermittently from a hidden power cell.

  “What’s that?” Kierra crooned. Intrigued by the odd unit, her optical orb brightened, extending the focus on the transmitter.

  “It’s a transponder,” Brandl replied. “And it’s been transmitting for nearly an hour.” The Jedi sighed with effort, leaning against the broad back of the acceleration chair. In the harsh light of the flight cabin, his arrogance could not hide the gaunt cheeks and stress lines that had begun eroding the handsome visage of a once proud man. The morbid signs of resignation and surrender were easily read in his noble face.

  Without warning, the Headhunter broke off the chase, banking sharply toward the planet. Its aft engines betrayed haste, glowing with the throttle thrown full open as the fighter vanished into the dense cloud cover above the planet. Suspicious, Ross glared at Brandl, feeling the constriction of fear in his throat. “What’s the catch?”

  “You had better prepare yourself,” Brandl whispered.

  The proximity alarms blared, sending a deafening echo into the freighter’s corridor and accessways. Exploding with tactical data and imminent warnings of ship-to-ship collision, the sensors closed on t
he gigantic structure of the massive Imperial Star Destroyer, newly emerged from hyperspace.

  As the Star Destroyer moved across the viewscreen only a scant 100 meters from him, Ross slumped against the back of his chair, defeated before one shot could be fired. Slowly, scores of turbolaser batteries turned on them, targeting his freighter. Still hampered by a faulty ion drive, the Kierra bucked and lurched toward the Star Destroyer.

  “Have they got us?” Ross moaned, massaging his eyes and forehead.

  Kierra snickered nervously. “Does Boba Fett enjoy his job?”

  “Could we outrun them?”

  “We couldn’t even out-think them at this point, flyboy. They’ve got us locked in tight.”

  Resting his head and arms against the flight console, Ross sighed, accepting the inevitable. “You’ve managed to sign my death warrant!”

  “On the contrary. I’ve guaranteed your reprieve.” The Jedi’s mouth hinted at a sly grin.

  “I have a price on my head! An Imperial bounty!”

  “You are about to discover that the Emperor is quite generous, especially when one of his citizens sees fit to return his property.”

  “You’re one of the Emperor’s freaks?” Ross argued. “What were you doing on Najib… You were running!” Staring at the Imperial Star Destroyer, he gasped. “You were running from the Empire? Why?”

  “It no longer matters,” Brandl whispered. “The time has come to confront the darkness and forsake it for what it is … just so many shadows.”

  “Well some shadows can kill!”

  As they passed into the outer docking field, the freighter was engulfed in darkness. “Then let all be perfected in death.”

  Prying the forward deck plate from the flight console, Ross quickly unbuckled his blaster, stashing the belt inside with a hidden cache of thermal detonators and other illegal weaponry. Motivated by Imperial penalties for unauthorized equipment and arms, he retreated to a general utility closet in the corridor beyond the command cabin. Retrieving a small stash of blaster power packs, the flustered Corellian returned to the bridge to find Brandl peering curiously into the hidden compartment. “Kierra, make certain the shield housing is intact. I don’t want them finding your power cell.”

  “A girl’s got to have her privacy,” she quipped. “Good thinking, boss.”

  Closing the hidden panel, Ross tripped the contamination seal. If the Imperial sensors went over the ship, they would bypass this area for contaminated mechanic’s tools. Abruptly, the interior lights fluctuated as the power levels dropped, shifting to auxiliary mode. “All clear,” Ross hollered.

  “I’ve switched over my power couplings to a subordinate cell. Even if they do find my main generator, they won’t know what it is. But,” she teased, “that means I can’t eavesdrop over the comlink or scan the perimeter!”

  “For your own safety,” Brandl began, “I advise you not to mention Trulalis.”

  Remembering Brandl’s wife and son back on the planet, Ross nodded pensively. “Kierra. sweep all records and logs since we left Najiba, input data from a previous job. Where does that put us?”

  “We dropped that baby tris off on Tatooine, remember?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Ross replied wistfully. “Just erase the reasons and submit an addendum about engine trouble above Trulalis.”

  “Right, boss.”

  “And Kierra? Lose yourself. They’ll probably go over every centimeter of this ship.”

  “Is that a hint of concern in your voice, flyboy?”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled. Shrugging the tension menacing his shoulders, he walked through the corridor to the hatch and deactivated the seal.

  Before the ramp could fully lower two Imperial stormtroopers charged aboard the ship, leveling their weapons at Ross, shoving him against the hull wall. The force of the blow knocked the wind from his lungs and the Corellian doubled over, coughing desperately to catch his breath. Twenty or more stormtroopers were staggered outside the freighter, their weapons pointing into the ramp lift, trained on the dark Jedi.

  Undaunted by the show of Imperial might, Brandl scanned the parade of white-on-black armor, until he met the familiar face of an Imperial officer beyond the periphery of armed soldiers. Stepping aside, the Jedi allowed three stormtroopers to rush past him into the ship.

  “I trust you will cooperate,” the officer announced. Pompously, he adjusted the brim of his black cap. “If not for your own sake, then for the sake of your companion.”

  Disguising a hint of defeatism with dramatic poise, the Jedi proclaimed, “How can I cooperate?”

  “Think nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing until you are told.” Offering a hand to the panting smuggler, Brandl grinned slyly, his back to the Imperial entourage. “Captain Grendahl, you’ll find that I do nothing very well.”

  Grendahl’s face was menacing. “We’re scheduled to rendezvous with the Interrogator within the hour. Inquisitor Tremayne is eager to see you again, Lord Brandl … very eager.” Pointing to Ross, Grendahl demanded, “Take him to the isolation area for questioning.” Changing his demure with obvious fraudulence, Grendahl tipped his hat with mocking respect. “Please, Lord Brandi, your quarters have been prepared.”

  Massaging the bruises swelling on his chest and arms, Ross leaned his head against the antiseptically clean wall of the holding cell. Several hours had slowly passed, marked with isolated sessions of routine questioning. Abruptly, the door opened, admitting two stormtroopers and Captain Grendahl, who he recognized from the hangar bay. Pleasantly, the Imperial officer sat down across from him, setting a large datapad on the table between them. “Do you recognize this gentleman?” he asked, keying up a picture on the small screen.

  Ross laughed softly, recognizing the distinguished curves of his own face. “Would it help if I said I didn’t?”

  Grendahl smiled generously, “No.” Folding his hands against the table top, he sneered, “Interfering with an Imperial investigation is a crime punishable with imprisonment.”

  “An Imperial investigation?” Ross jeered. “It was a fight, and not a fair one,” he argued. “Two stormtroopers against a Jawa, come on.”

  “Never mind the odds,” Grendahl replied evenly. “You still interfered; however …”

  “However?” the Corellian scoffed, mocking the insipid officer.

  “However, I am authorized to extend a generous amnesty if you will cooperate and answer a few questions.”

  “Amnesty?” Ross chuckled. He scratched his head, agitated. “Imperial amnesty is about as valuable as a Wookiee dwarf with no hair.”

  Grendahl frowned, covering his dismay with shrewd professionalism. “You have the Emperor’s guarantee. Captain Ross. Help us with one short investigation and you will be cleared of all charges.”

  Stalling, Ross demanded. “He owes me money!”

  “I can’t promise you will get it,” Grendahl countered, “but you are entitled to 10,000 credits.” Grinning malevolently, he watched the smuggler’s startled reaction. “That’s 10% of the bounty offered for lsafe return.”

  Intrigued, Ross leaned over the edge of table. “You mean to say Brandl’s worth 100,000 credits?”

  Anxious to keep the smuggler’s attention, Grendahl silently acknowledged the query. “You’re lucky to even be alive, Captain Ross. Adalric Brandl is highly unstable, capable of inconceivable atrocities. However, his value to the Emperor makes him an essential resource. Where did you find him?”

  “Najiba.”

  Grendahl’s face darkened, perplexed. “Najiba has stringent ordinances restricting traffic through the asteroid belt.”

  “By the time I got there,” Ross explained, “no one cared about port control penalties. They just wanted him off the planet.”

  “Was there trouble? Was anyone harmed?”

  The Corellian shrugged casually. “I never left my ship,” he lied, “so I can’t really say.”

  “And where were you going?”

  “Mos Eisley, but,” Ross l
aughed, “considering my last visit. I only planned to take him as far as Anchorhead. After that, he was on his own.”

  “Did he ever mention his connection with the Emperor?”

  “Not until you had us in the tractor beam.”

  “The damage to your ship?”

  “We were attacked by pirates,” Ross replied rhythmically. “My hyperdrive failed and we just barely managed to arrive here.”

  Grendahl hesitated. “You keep accurate ship records, Captain Ross. Your flight log and manifests substantiate your story.”

  “Call it a throwback to my bounty hunting days,” Ross offered. “If

  you wanted your expenses, exact documentation was a necessity.”

  Tentatively peering into the room, a junior-grade lieutenant saluted Grendahl, ignoring the prisoner with him. “Captain Grendahl, sir, Admiral Etnam requests your presence on the bridge immediately, sir. Lord Brandl has been given the task of escorting the civilian to his ship.”

  “What!”

  Ross concealed a sly grin behind the collar of his duster. Feigning surprise, he rose from the chair and leaned against the glossy table, pondering how Brandl managed to arrange this escort.

  “Captain Grendahl,” the lieutenant whispered, appalled by the outburst. “Admiral Etnam’s instructions were quite specific. He is anxious to rendezvous with High Inquisitor Tremayne.” Being Etnam’s personal aide and fearing no reprisals from Grendahl, he nodded to the nearest stormtrooper and whispered. “Retrieve the prisoner.”

  Grendahl struggled to retain his composure, chafed by Brandi’s influence, which despite his moment of dishonor to the Emperor, still held weight, even with the intrepid character of Admiral Etnam. Nostrils flared, he hissed between grit teeth, “Very well.” Then to reestablish his ego in the company of those under his command, he straightened his hunched shoulders, erasing the sour scowl from his face. “You’re free to go, Captain Ross,” he growled. “The Emperor’s clemency can be bountiful and far-reaching; but the next time you meddle with an Imperial investigation,” he paused, “you may find yourself at the wrong end of Imperial justice.” Folding his hands behind his back. Grendahl started up the corridor. “Remember that the next time you consider beating the odds.”