Recovery by Troy Denning Read Free Book Online Page B

the cockpit, a crazy line of laserfire chasing it along. Another X-wing came in firing, and he had to turn head-on to force it to pull up. When he could finally check the tactical display, he found a dozen starfighters circling the
Falcon
, with another dozen hanging back to cut off escape. The good news was that the second proton torpedo had already passed by, its propellant trail tracing a long arc away from the
Falcon
’s tail.
    â€œThey don’t want us dead,” Han said. The torpedoes had been fired with disabled homing beacons. “They’re forcing our hand.”
    A pair of battered X-wings streaked into view, the
Falcon
’s cannon bolts warming their shields. They collided in front of the cockpit, and a pair of rhythmic hisses, the first sounds Han had heard from the turrets, sounded over the intercom. Then pirates were all over the
Falcon
, coming in close and battering its shields from every angle. Depletion warnings and overload signals beeped and buzzed.
    The Barabel studied the instrument panel in helpless confusion. “Where is the load balancer?”
    â€œI’ll handle the shields.” Han jerked a thumb at the navicomputer. “Can you use that?”
    The Barabel bristled his scales. “We are good pilots.”
    â€œOkay—I didn’t mean anything by it,” Han said. “Plot a course to Commenor.”
    He pulled the
Falcon
out of its evasive pattern and turned toward the fast-freight. The cockpit shuddered and the lights dimmed as the starfighters landed a devastating volley, and a damage-control buzzer announced a hull breach in the number two cargo hold. Two more X-wings vanished from the tactical display. Han sealed the breached hold. Then, finally, the pirates began to stand off, keeping the pressure on but now concentrating on avoiding the deadly streams of light pouring from the
Falcon
’s cannon turrets.
    Han shifted more power to the rear shields and looked over to check on the Barabel’s progress. The calculations were almost finished, but the final coordinates lay closer to Corellia than Commenor. Han pretended not to notice, but cursed inside and searched his memory for some hint as to who Izal Waz and his Barabel friends could be working for. Not the Yuuzhan Vong, at least not directly; the Yuuzhan Vong hated Jedi. And certainly not for whoever had hired the pirates; they had killed too many. Maybe a hidden cabal of Dark Jedi, hoping to use Leia to somehow turn the war to their advantage.
    Han shifted the tactical scale so it would display only what a standard sensor suite might reveal, and the fast-freight vanished off the screen. Trying to make it appear that he was fine-tuning the data filters, Han quietly opened his own input to the navicomputer and began calculations for the trip to Commenor.
    The Barabel looked over. “They will know from our initial course we are going to Commenor.” He completed his calculations and sent them to Han’s display for verification. “This rendezvous is safer.”
    â€œSafer for you.”
    â€œFor you,” the Barabel insisted. “They are not after
us
.”
    The fast-freight appeared on the tactical display. Han pushed the
Falcon
into what he hoped would look like an evasive climb. The starfighters closed, hammering his shields, trying to drive him back toward the freighter. Han held his turn, trying to convince the enemy pilots he really had been surprised. The turret gunners made it look good by dispersing their fire to slow pursuit.
    Something popped in the life-support control panel, and an acrid stench filled the air. The Barabel pulled off the cover and smothered a burning circuit board with his bare palm, then looked over wide-eyed.
    â€œYou are trying to get us killed?”
    â€œThis needs to look good,” Han said.
    The
Falcon
bucked as the fast-freight, still too distant to see with the naked eye, locked on with its tractor beam. Han spun them