"Nope, not yet," Biggs told the others. "Hold on, Luke. I'll be right
there."
A thin, mechanical voice sounded over the speakers. "Hang on, Artoo,
hang on!" Back at the temple headquarters, Threepio turned away from the
curious human faces which had turned to stare at him.
As Luke soared high above the station another X-wing swung in close to
him. He recognized Wedge's ship and began hunting around anxiously for his
friend.
"We're goin' in, Biggs-join up. Biggs, are you all right? Biggs!" There
was no sign of the other fighter. "Wedge, do you see him anywhere?"
Within the transparent canopy of the fighter bobbing close by, a
helmeted head shook slowly. "Nothing," Wedge told him over the communicator.
"Wait a little longer. He'll show."
Luke looked around, worried, studied several instruments, then came to
a decision. "We can't wait; we've got to go now. I don't think he made it."
"Hey, you guys," a cheerful voice demanded to know, "what are you
waiting for?"
Luke turned sharply to his right, in time to see another ship racing
past and slowing slightly ahead of him. "Don't ever give up on old Biggs,"
the intercom directed as the figure in the X-wing ahead looked back at them.
Within the central control room of the battle station, a harried
officer rushed up to a figure studying the great battle screen and waved a
handful of printouts at him.
"Sir, we've completed an analysis of their attack plan. There is a
danger. Should we break off the engagement or make plans to evacuate? Your
ship is standing by."
Governor Tarkin turned an incredulous gaze on the officer, who shrank
back. "Evacuate!" he roared. "At our moment of triumph? We are about to
destroy the last remnants of the Alliance, and you call for evacuation? You
overestimate their chances badly... Now, get out!"
Overwhelmed by the Governor's fury, the subdued officer turned and
retreated from the room.
"We're going in," Luke declared as he commenced his dive toward the
surface. Wedge and Biggs followed just aft.
"Let's go-Luke," a voice he had heard before sounded inside his head.
Again he tapped his helmet and looked around. It sounded as if the speaker
were standing just behind him. But there was nothing, only silent metal and
nonverbal instrumentation. Puzzled, Luke turned back to his controls.
Once more, energy bolts reached out for them, passing harmlessly on
both sides as the surface of the battle station charged up into his face.
But the defensive fire wasn't the cause of the renewed trembling Luke
suddenly experienced. Several critical gauges were beginning their swing
back into the danger zone again.
He leaned toward the pickup. "Artoo, those stabilizing elements must
have broken loose again. See if you can't lock it back down-I've got to have
full control."
Ignoring the bumpy ride, the energy beams and explosions lighting space
around him, the little robot moved to repair the damage.
Additional, tireless explosions continued to buffet the three fighters
as they dropped into the trench. Biggs and Wedge dropped behind to cover for
Luke as he reached to pull down the targeting visor.
For the second time a peculiar hesitation swept through him. His hand
was slower yet as he finally pulled the device down in front of his eyes,
almost as if the nerves were in conflict with one another. As expected, the
energy beams stopped as if on signal and he was barreling down the trench
unchallenged.
"Here we go again," Wedge declared as he spotted three Imperial
fighters dropping down on them.
Biggs and Wedge began crossing behind Luke, trying to draw the coming
fire away from him and confuse their pursuers. One TIE fighter ignored the
maneuvers, continuing to gain inexorably on the rebel ships.
Luke stared into the targeting device-then reached up slowly to move it
aside. For a long minute he pondered the deactivated instrument, staring at
it as if hypnotized. Then he slid it sharply back in front of his face and
studied the tiny screen as it displayed the shifting relationship of the
X-wing to the nearing exhaust port.
"Hurry, Luke," Biggs called out as he wrenched his ship in time to
narrowly avoid a powerful beam. They're coming in faster this time. We can't
hold them much longer."
With inhuman precision, Darth Vader depressed the fire control of his
fighter again. A loud, desperate shout sounded over the speakers, blending
into a final agonized scream of flesh and metal as Biggs's fighter burst
into a billion glowing splinters that rained down on the bottom of the
trench.
Wedge heard the explosion over his speakers and hunted frantically
behind him for the trailing enemy ships. "We lost Biggs," he yelled toward
his own pickup.
Luke didn't reply immediately. His eyes were watering, and he angrily
wiped them clear. They were blurring his view of the targeting readout.
"We're a couple of shooting stars, Biggs," he whispered huskily, "and
we'll never be stopped." His ship rocked slightly from a near miss and he
directed his words to his remaining wingman, biting down hard on the end of
each sentence.
"Close it up, Wedge. You can't do any more good back there. Artoo, try
to give me a little more power on our rear reflectors."
The Artoo unit hurried to comply as Wedge pulled up alongside Luke's
ship. The trailing TIE fighters also increased their speed.
"I'm on the leader," Vader informed his soldiers. "Take the other one."
Luke flew just in front of Wedge, slightly to port side. Energy bolts
from the pursuing Imperials began to streak close about them. Both men
crossed each other's path repeatedly, striving to present as confusing a
target as possible.
Wedge was fighting with his controls when several small flashes and
sparks lit his control board. One small panel exploded, leaving molten slag
behind. Somehow he managed to retain control of the ship.
"I've got a bad malfunction, Luke. I can't stay with you."
"Okay, Wedge, get clear."
Wedge mumbled a heartfelt "Sorry" and peeled up out of the trench.
Vader, concentrating his attention on the one ship remaining before
him, fired.
Luke didn't see the near-lethal explosion which burst close behind him.
Nor did he have time to examine the smoking shell of twisted metal which now
rode alongside one engine. The arms went limp on the little droid.
All three TIE fighters continued to chase the remaining X-wing down the
trench. It was only a matter of moments before one of them caught the
bobbing fighter with a crippling burst. Except now there were only two
Imperials pursuing. The third had become an expanding cylinder of
decomposing debris, bits and pieces of which slammed into the walls of the
canyon.
Vader's remaining wingman looked around in panic for the source of the
attack. The same distortion fields that confused rebel instrumentation now
did likewise to the two TIE fighters.
Only when the freighter fully eclipsed the sun forward did the new
threat become visible. It was a Corellian transport, far larger than any
fighter, and it was diving directly at the trench. But it didn't move
precisely like a freighter, somehow.
Whoever was piloting that vehicle must have been unconscious or out of
his mind, the wingman decided. Wildly he adjusted controls in an attempt to
avoid the anticipated collision. The freighter swept by just overhead, but
in missing it the wingman slid too far to one side.
A small explosion followed as two huge fins of the paralleling TIE
fighters intersected. Screaming uselessly into his pickup, the wing man
fluttered toward the near trench wall. He never touched it, his ship
erupting in flame before contact.
To the other side, Darth Vader's fighter began spinning helplessly.
Unimpressed by the Dark Lord's desperate glower, various controls and
instruments gave back readings which were brutally truthful. Completely out
of control, the tiny ship continued spinning in the opposite direction from
the destroyed wingman-out into the endless reaches of deep space.
Whoever was at the controls of the supple freighter was neither
unconscious nor insane-well, perhaps slightly touched, but fully in command
nonetheless. It soared high above the trench, turning to run protectively
above Luke.
"You're all clear now, kid," a familiar voice informed him. "Now blow
this thing so we can all go home."
This pep talk was followed by a reinforcing grunt which could only have
been produced by a particularly large Wookiee.
Luke looked up through the canopy and smiled. But his smile faded as he
turned back to the targeting visor. There was a tickling inside his head.
"Luke...trust me," the tickle requested, forming words for the third
time. He stared into the targeter. The emergency exhaust port was sliding
toward the firing circle again, as it had once before-when he'd missed. He
hesitated, but only briefly this time, then shoved the targeting screen
aside. Closing his eyes, he appeared to mumble to himself, as if in internal
conversation with something unseen. With the confidence of a blind man in
familiar surroundings, Luke moved a thumb over several controls, then
touched one. Soon after, a concerned voice filled the cockpit from the open
speakers.
"Base One to Blue Five, your targeting device is switched off. What's
wrong?"
"Nothing," Luke murmured, barely audible. "Nothing."
He blinked and cleared his eyes. Had he been asleep? Looking around, he
saw that he was out of the trench and shooting back into open space. A
glance outside showed the familiar shape of Han Solo's ship shadowing him.
Another, at the control board, indicated that he had released his remaining
torpedoes, although he couldn't remember touching the firing stud. Still, he
must have.
The cockpit speakers were alive with excitement. "You did it! You did
it!" Wedge was shouting over and over. "I think they went right in."
"Good shot kid." Solo complimented him, having to raise his voice to be
heard over Chewbacca's unrestrained howling.
Distant, muted rumblings shook Luke's ship, an omen of incipient
success. He must have fired the torpedoes, mustn't he? Gradually he regained
his composure.
"Glad... you were here to see it. Now let's get some distance between
us and that thing before it goes. I hope Wedge was right."
Several X-wings, Y-wings, and one battered-looking freighter
accelerated away from the battle station, racing toward the distant curve of
Yavin.
Behind them small flashes of fading light marked the receding station.
Without warning, something appeared in the sky in place of it which was
brighter than the glowing gas giant, brighter than its far-off sun. For a
few seconds the eternal night became day. No one dared look directly at it.
Not even multiple shields set on high could dim that awesome flare.
Space filled temporarily with trillions of microscopic metal fragments,
propelled past the retreating ships by the liberated energy of a small
artificial sun. The collapsed residue of the battle station would continue
to consume itself for several days, forming for that brief span of time the
most impressive tombstone in this corner of the cosmos.