Star Wars: Adventure Journal: Mist Encounter Read online

  MIST ENCOUNTER

  By Timothy Zahn

  The last two jumps had been marginal, skating the Starwayman right to the edge of known space and even a little bit past it. The theory, at least as far as Booster Terrik's fatigue-fogged mind could remember, was that no commander would be crazy enough to risk a Victory-class Star Destroyer chasing a nobody smuggler into uncharted territory.

  So far the theory hadn't worked. Maybe third time would be the lucky charm they so desperately needed.

  Or maybe third time would bring the Starwayman out of hyperspace just in time to smash itself all over a planetary-sized mass. There were reasons why jumping blind into unknown space was considered to be a stupid idea.

  Beside Terrik, his Borlovian partner Llollulion gave a five-tiered whistle. “Yeah, okay,” Terrik said, getting a grip on the hyperdrive levers and trying not to think about the unknown star system and its unknown planetary-sized masses directly ahead of them. “Let's see if maybe they were smart enough to give up this time.”

  He pushed the levers forward, and the mottled sky of hyperspace faded into starlines and then into a starry sky. Directly ahead, the system's star was a tiny distant disk blazing with yellow-white light. Bracing himself, Terrik peered into the aft display…

  And with a flicker of pseudomotion, the Star Destroyer appeared behind them. Terrik sighed, too exhausted even to swear. So that was that. He couldn't lose the Star Destroyer, he couldn't outrun it, and he sure as mynocks couldn't outfight it. The options had squeezed down to surrendering, or getting summarily blown to atoms.

  He could only hope that the latter option wasn't the only one the commander back there was interested in.

  Llollulion gave a sudden three-tiered warble. “You're kidding,” Terrik frowned, turning to look. “Where?”

  Llollulion pointed out the canopy to the right with his beard feathers. It was a planet, all right: full-sized, close enough to its primary for adequate warmth, its fuzzy edge evidence of a reason-ably thick atmosphere.

  And it was barely ten minutes full-throttle flight away.

  Llollulion warbled again. “You got it, partner,” Terrik agreed, throwing power to the sublight engines and turning the Starwayman hard to starboard. They couldn't escape, outrun, or outfight their pursuers.

  Maybe they could hide from them.

  “Target has changed course, Captain,” a voice called up from the crew pit. “They're making a run for that planet.”

  “Acknowledged,” Captain Voss Parck said through clenched teeth as he watched their quarry driving hard for planetfall. Of course the smugglers were making for the planet— what other options did they have? He'd anticipated this move from the moment the Strikefast had come out of hyperspace, and had already given orders to counter it.

  Orders which inexplicably had not yet been carried out. “Lieutenant, what's keeping those TIE fighters?” he barked toward the comm officer.

  “Hangar Bay Control reports they're having trouble getting them released from their racks, sir,” the officer said. “They have two free, but the rest—”

  “They have two free?” Parck cut him off. “What are they waiting for? Launch them!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Parck stalked down the walkway, swearing viciously under his breath. Between sky-headed techs who insisted on continually redesigning perfectly workable equipment and rule-bound officers who didn't have the brains to modify Standard launch-order procedure when necessary, the entire Fleet was sliding straight into the dump tubes.

  But that would be changing soon. Barely a week earlier the news had reached the Outer Rim that President Palpatine had declared himself Emperor of the newly restructured Empire, and had personally committed himself to taking charge of this mess. Some of the ranking officers of the Fleet had already gone on record expressing reservations about the whole situation; for himself, Parck had no doubt that Palpatine and his visionary politics would soon whip things into shape.

  A movement off the starboard bow caught his eye: the two TIE fighters, finally heading out in their belated pursuit of the smugglers. He looked back at the quarry ship, did a rapid mental calculation.

  “Tell Hangar Bay Control to get the rest of those TIEs in space,” he ordered the comm officer. “The quarry is going to make it down before these two catch up. We're going to have to smoke them out.”

  But smoke them out he would. That ship was carrying cargo he suspected was for one of the small but noisy resistance groups that had been springing up lately in opposition to Palpatine's New Order. The location of that group would be a fine prize to present to the new Emperor... and he and the Strikefast had not come all the way out here into Unknown Space only to lose that prize.

  They were into the upper atmosphere, and looking for a good place to hide, when Llollulion began picking up the power emanations.

  “Uh-oh,” Terrik muttered, throwing a quick look at the display as he fought the controls against the atmospheric buffeting. It was a power source, all right, sitting all by itself in the middle of an equatorial forest a quarter of the way to the planetary horizon. “Not good. Double not good.”

  Llollulion multi-warbled a question. “Because it's just the right size for a small-base power generator, that's why,” Terrik told him. “Out here in the middle of nowhere, that means either a smuggler or pirate base. Or maybe even a small Fleet exploratory outpost. Regardless, it's no one who's going to be happy to see us.”

  Still... Terrik bit thoughtfully at his lip. Those two fighters behind them were getting closer by the minute; even if he ran the Starwayman to ground right now they would be able to lock onto the ship‘s power plant before he could shut everything down. But if he ran past that other power source first, there was a chance it would baffle the pursuers' sensors just enough to let him slip away without his landing being pinpointed.

  It was worth a try, anyway. “Hang on; I'm changing course,” he warned Llollulion, throwing the Starwayman into a flat sideways slip. “You got the triad on line yet?”

  The Borlovian warbled an affirmative. “Okay,” Terrik said. “Soon as those fighters get in range, see what you can do about taking them out.”

  They had reached the forest and were flying at treetop level by the time Llollulion opened up with the Starwayman's laser triad; and it was quickly apparent that the pursuing TIE fighters hadn't spent nearly enough time in atmospheric combat training. A half dozen exchanges of intense laser fire, and Llollulion warbled a seven-tiered whistle of triumph.

  “Yeah, great,” Terrik growled, feeling a drop of sweat roll down his cheek as he hunched over the controls. One of the TIE fighters was already a blazing mass of rubble in the forest far behind them, and the other was spinning out of control a hundred meters to starboard, rapidly heading downward toward the same oblivion.

  But the Starwayman had taken some damage, too, and they were almost to the unknown power source dead ahead. The inhabitants there were surely alerted to the approaching ships by now. If they weren't interested in receiving company...

  The second TIE fighter disappeared into the trees with a tremendous crash; and an instant later the Starwayman was shooting over a small clearing. Terrik caught a glimpse of a single small house, something that looked like a storage shed on one side and a pair of large metallic boxes on the other—

  And then they were past, over forest again and heading for arising line of crevice-pocked cliffs in the near distance. Llollulion warbled urgently— “Give me a second, will you?” Terrik growled back, throwing the Starwayman hard to the left. “I didn't forget we're going to ground. What, you want me to land right next to that place back there?”


  Llollulion subsided, grumping audibly to himself. But Terrik didn't care.

  The trick had worked— maybe— and that was all that counted.

  The Starwayman was in one of the cliffside caves, shielded from sight and powered down, before the next wave of TIE fighters went burning past overhead.

  “This is not,” Captain Parck's voice came darkly in Colonel Mosh Barris's ears,” precisely the news I wanted to hear, Colonel. You absolutely sure about this?”

  “Yes, sir,” Barris said, gazing at the tall rectangular boxes that stood beside the house they'd found in the clearing, a sour taste in his mouth. “The markings on the power generators alone show that much— our 3PO translator droid has never seen anything like them.”

  “That doesn't necessarily prove anything,” Parck persisted. “These nearer edges of Unknown Space have surely been penetrated by the occasional trader or smuggler. This could easily be the home or retreat of such a Human or known alien, who just happened to pick up a couple along his way.”

  “That's possible, sir,” Barris said. “But I think it unlikely. The buildings themselves appear to have been constructed out of local materials, but a fair number of the contents are also of unknown origin. My guess is that we're looking at the survivor of a shipwreck here.”

  “Who then wandered off somewhere and died,” Parck grumbled.

  “Or else ran when he heard us coming, “ Barris said. “We can't tell how long the place has been deserted. Either way, we're stuck with the fact that it's definitely an alien encampment.”

  There was the faint hiss of a sigh in Barris's ears. A sigh, and the hint of a curse beneath it. “And therefore stuck with the UAE Orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” Barris agreed, silently seconding the captain's curse. The Unknown Alien Encounters section of the standing orders were a relic from the glory days of the Republic, when a new alien species was being discovered every other week and the Senate was falling over itself in its eagerness to throw full membership privileges at every shaggy or lumpy creature a Dreadnaught or Carrack cruiser happened to stumble across. The modern Fleet had no business handling such chores, and even less interest in doing so, and the High Command had repeatedly said so.

  Barris had heard rumors that Emperor Palpatine had privately assured the High Command that the burden of the outmoded contact orders would soon be revoked.

  But for the moment they were still on the lists, and far too many of the Senators supported them. Which meant there was nothing to do but obey them.

  “Very well,” Parck growled. “Looks like you're going to be spending at least one night down there— better have your men make themselves comfortable. I'll have a tech analysis team put together and sent down to take a look. Keep an eye out in case your castaway comes back.”

  “We will,” Barris assured him. “What about the smugglers?”

  “The TIE fighters are still looking for them,” Parck said. “If they haven't spotted the ship by the time you finish there, we'll switch to a ground search.”

  “Colonel Barris?” an anxious voice cut in on the circuit. “This is Lieutenant Kavren at the TIE fighter crash site just west of the encampment. Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I really think you'd better come see this.”

  Barris frowned across the clearing, to where the lights of the search crew could occasionally be seen illuminating the tendrils of evening mist that were beginning to waft through the trees. He wouldn't have pegged Kavren for the excitable type, but there'd been a definite queasiness in the man's voice. “I'll be right there,” he said. “With your permission Captain?”

  “Go ahead, Colonel,” Parck said. “We'll talk later.”

  The reflection of the lights from the mist was somewhat deceptive, but it was still no more than a three-minute walk from the edge of the clearing to the blackened slash where the TIE fighter had blazed to the ground and its fiery death. A few more seconds in the air, Barris thought sourly, and there wouldn't have been anything left of the alien encampment for them to study. Pity.

  Kavren and four troopers were waiting as Barris reached them. The lieutenant's back was unnaturally stiff; the faces of the troopers grim beneath the brims of their black helmets. Lying in the grass at their feet was the limp form of the dead TIE pilot, his flight suit burned and torn.

  “We found it right here, Colonel,” Kavren said, gesturing down at the flight suit. “Several meters away from the main wreckage. Take a look.”

  Barris lowered himself to one knee beside the body. The helmet had been loosened from the neck of the flight suit, and the long front fastener opened. And the flight suit stuffed with—

  “What in blazes?” he demanded, frowning at it.

  “It's grass, sir,” Kavren confirmed, a slight trembling in his voice. “Grass, leaves, and a lot of those funny-smelling red berries. And that's all. The body's gone.”

  Barris looked around him at the trees and the tendrils of mist floating between them on the light breeze, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Have you looked for him?”

  “Not yet, sir,” Kavren said. “I thought it would be better to alert you first. If there are savages in the area...”

  He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't really have to. Like most officers of the Fleet, Barris had had his share of run-ins with native savages. “Major Wyan?” he called into his comlink, straightening up. “This is Colonel Barris.”

  “Yes, Colonel,” the major's voice came in his ears.

  “I want a troop perimeter set up around the encampment immediately,” Barris ordered. Something off to the side at the base of a bush caught his eye, and he stepped over for a closer look. It was the TIE fighter's survival pack, torn open. “We've got native savages out here.”

  “Understood,” Wyan said, his voice suddenly brisk and professional. He'd had experience with native savages, too. “There's a troop carrier almost ready to leave the Strikefast; I'll call up and have them put another squad of troopers aboard.”

  “Better make it a platoon,” Barris told him, crouching down beside the survival pack and pulling it open. “Looks like they've made off with the pilot's blaster, spare power packs, and concussion grenades.”

  “Terrific,” Wyan growled. “Primitives with weapons. Just what we need.”

  “Maybe they'll be considerate enough to blow themselves to pieces before they get to us,” Barris said, picking up the pack and standing up again.

  “We can always hope, sir,” Wyan agreed. “I'll get the security procedures started right away.”

  “Good. Barris out.” Barris stepped back over to the knot of troopers and handed the looted survival pack to Kavren. “I want the flight suit and its contents taken back to the encampment for study, Lieutenant. Then take some troopers and start searching the area. I want the pilot's body found.”

  “Sir, “ Major Wyan said, stepping up to the examination table and stiffening briefly in salute. “The security perimeter is in place.”

  “Good,” Barris said, glancing up through the roof of the transparent weather canopy at the sky. About time, too. Full night was here, and with nightfall inevitably came nocturnal predators. Not to mention unfriendly natives. “Any news from the search team?”

  “Still no sign of the pilot's body,” Wyan said. “They've found a lot of bits and pieces from the survival pack, though, scattered around like animals had been at it. Maybe our primitives just tore the thing apart without actually keeping any of it.”

  “Maybe,” Barris said. “But until we actually find that blaster, I suggest you continue to assume someone's pointing it at us.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wyan gestured at the table. “So that's what was in the flight suit?”

  “Yes,” Barris said, looking back at the collection of plant life spread across the examination table and the two techs still sifting through it. An odd aroma permeated the air, probably from the berries that had been crushed for analysis. “So far it seems to be just local grass and leaves and those berries. Some kind o
f religious ritual, maybe—”

  And without warning, there was the flash and thundercrack of an explosion from behind them.

  “Cover!” Barris shouted, spinning around and dropping to one knee as he hauled out his blaster. Halfway to the edge of the clearing a patch of grass was smoldering with the afterburn of the explosion; beyond it, troopers were running toward the closest part of the sentry line, blasters drawn and ready.

  Someone flicked a searchlight on behind Barris, the brilliant light sweeping across the forest and lighting up the thickening tendrils of mist flowing between the trees. Barris followed the spot of light with his eyes, gripping his blaster tightly as he tried to glimpse the enemy who was attacking them—

  And was slammed to the ground as a second explosion came from practically right behind him.

  “Colonel!” he heard Wyan shout through the ringing in his ears.

  “I'm all right,” Barris shouted back, twisting around on his stomach. A masterfully direct hit: the collection of grasses and leaves on the examination table was burning brilliantly, the table itself canted noticeably by the blast. On the ground behind it, the two techs were flat on their stomachs, doing their best to squeeze themselves into the grass.

  The general comlink channel had come alive with terse orders and reports. Barris kept out of it, staying where he was and bracing himself for the inevitable third explosion.

  But the inevitable failed to happen. “All perimeter troopers have checked in,” Wyan reported a minute later, crawling closer to Barris's side. “They're doing a complete search of the first twenty meters of forest, but so far there's nothing. Whoever they were, they seem to have gone.”

  “Considering no one apparently saw anything in the first place, the fact they don't see anything now is not a lot of comfort,” Barris retorted, getting cautiously to his feet and brushing himself off with his free hand.

  “It's getting pretty misty out there,” Wyan said. “Makes for poor visibility.”