Recovery by Troy Denning Page B

and disappeared at random. Once, the tiny halo of an approaching vessel swelled into the backlit silhouette of a New Republic frigate. It vanished beneath the floor of the spinning cloud car and reappeared an instant later, less than a kilometer overhead and veering sharply away.
    At last, the
Jolly Man
’s blocky silhouette disappeared over Coruscant’s horizon. Han waited a few more minutes, then fired the attitude thrusters to stabilize their tumble. Shaken by their close call with the frigate—and all too aware that being bounced off a particle shield would demolish their little craft—he activated the transponder next, and then the navigation systems.
    It was at about that time Leia asked, “Why do I doubt those rescue launches are coming to help?”
    Not waiting for the traffic display to come on-line, Han pushed their nose down and fired the cloud car’s little ion drive. They streaked out of orbit like a meteor and began to buck and burn in the thickening atmosphere. Finally, he had time to glance at the jiggling screen. A pair of rescue launch symbols sat almost atop their own. Farther away, the
Jolly Man
was turning away from Coruscant, a quartet of Cinnabar Moon cloud cars rushing back to its launching bay. Behind them tumbled the blinking codes of nearly a dozen damaged rescue launches. The rescue ship itself was nowhere to be seen.
    Han opened a private channel to the
Jolly Man
. “You guys okay back there?”
    â€œOf course,” sissed a Barabel—Han thought it was Bela. “But one of those spilled mines changed course and struck the rescue ship, and the debris field has been very hard on her launchez. Only two escaped.”
    â€œNo need to worry about those,” Leia said. “We have them in sight. Have a safe journey home.”
    â€œWe will,” Izal Waz said. “We’re clear of danger now. May the . . . well, you know.”
    â€œWe do, and the same to you,” Leia said. “Thank you again, and send C-3PO back when you get a chance.”
    Han continued to accelerate until the hull temperature warning light came on—then went faster. The first towers appeared far below, their spires jutting through the clouds like spikes through a bed. The rescue launches began to drift back. Han thought they might be losing nerve—until they brought their tractor beams on-line. He began to juke and jink like a fighter pilot.
    The voice of a startled approach-control officer came over the comm speaker. “Cinnabar Moon cloud car five-three, what is the nature of your damage?”
    â€œDamage?” Han said.
    â€œFrom the mine spill,” Leia whispered over the seat. “He thinks we were hit.”
    â€œUh, no damage,” Han commed. “We’re fine.”
    â€œThen
slow down
!”
    Han checked the traffic display. “Negative, Control.”
    There was a puzzled silence, then a disbelieving supervisor growled, “Negative?”
    â€œThis is an emergency,” Han said. “My wife is, uh, having a baby.”
    â€œWhaaaaat?”
Leia managed to modulate her startled outburst into something resembling a scream. “It’s coming!”
    â€œWe can confirm that.” The voice was so gravelly it might have been human or Aqualish. “We been escortin’ ’em.”
    â€œVery well, cloud car,” the supervisor said. “We’ll clear a direct lane to Lamoramora Medcenter. Please follow the beacon on your traffic display . . . and slow down. You have the time to arrive in one piece.”
    â€œLike
you’d
know!” Leia snapped, playing her role. “Ronto brain!”
    A deep chuckle came over the channel. A winking safety beacon flashed past as they reached the towertops and dived into the clouds. Han shifted to instrument-flying and found himself plummeting through a canyon of display lines. A blue bar illuminated the route to Lamoramora, but the hoverlane was too