"... about this," said Libby slowly, completing her sentence. She had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, and suspected that, unless she was actually already dead, her immediate future held the strong prospect of a change of underwear.
Mal hauled back on the thrust lever and brought the Sparrow to a dead stop.
Shaggus barked angrily, and at length; he shook his long woolly arms in the air above his head. Mal waved him down.
"What the fuck was that?" said Libby.
"Space worm, I think," said Mal. "I've heard about them, but I never thought I'd see one."
"Did it just do what I think it just did?" she said.
"Depends," said Mal. "Do you think it just swallowed us whole?"
"That was how I saw it," she said.
"Then yes," he said. "You're right, it just swallowed us whole. Reared up out of its lair and snatched us right out of space. I heard tell, one time, of a guy who flew his ship right down the throat of one of these things, set down to make repairs, and flew out again before it could..." He broke off.
Libby stared at him. "You seem to be taking this remarkably calmly," she said at last. "A monster the size of—well, it's so huge I have nothing to compare it with—has just swallowed us whole and you're just sitting there playing word games."
"Telling tales, actually," said Mal. "Tall tales, I suspect."
"Well, now you're playing word games," she chided him. "We've just been eaten, dammit!"
Shaggus whuffled at them both.
Mal shrugged. "But look where we are," he said. He pointed out of the cockpit window. In the brilliant glare of the Sparrow's spotlights, the slimy gullet of the space worm stretched away before them. It was ridged, and as they watched, muscular peristaltic contractions slowly rolled down past their position.
"Yeah," she said, "we're inside a worm."
"We're still airborne, though," said Mal.
"So we're airborne inside a worm," she said. "What's your point?"
"We're quite safe here," he told her. "We must be in a vacuum, so there's no danger of corrosive gasses, at least not in the short term. We're airborne, so this thing can't swallow us down into its stomach, or wherever its digestive fluids might be. We're undamaged, so we can hold this hovering position for several hours—which should be more than enough time to make the repairs we need to make. We're a good safe distance from the walls, because this thing is so big. And we're inside a worm, so even the Imperium is unlikely to look for us here."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"You wanted somewhere safe and quiet," he told her, "and I delivered." He grinned at her.
"But," she said, slowly and quietly, stressing each word, "we are inside a fucking worm!"
"I know," he said. "Ain't it cool! And on the plus side, think of the fishing you could do with bait like this. There's always a bigger fish!"
"Shaggus," she said desperately, "tell him. Tell him that we are inside a worm."
Shaggus looked at her and shrugged. He grunted something softly at her, then shrugged again.
"What..."
"Shaggus is right," said Mal. "You seem to be a little hung up on the whole worm thing. We are just in another hostile environment, with a few unique characteristics. Sure, we're surrounded by living tissue, but we are in no immediate danger." He said his last few words very deliberately and succinctly.
Shaggus whuffled something.
"Well yeah," said Mal. "Sure. If it moves, things become interesting. But for now it seems quite content to sit back and try to digest us."
Libby looked back and forth from Mal to Shaggus. Then she looked out the window again. Finally she met Mal's level gaze, and slumped back into her seat.
"You're right, of course," she told him. "We're safe, it seems, despite the 'whole worm thing'. Sorry."
"Hey, no problem," said Mal. "It's not every day you get swallowed by a worm, after all!" He grinned at her.
"There is one question, of course," she said.
"Which is?"
"How do we get out again?"
Mal shrugged. "Let's worry about that when we're ready to leave," he said. Tapping a few buttons, he engaged the auto-pilot and programmed it to maintain its current hovering position.
Shaggus sniffed, and whuffled a question at Mal.
"You smell it too, huh?" said Mal. "Don't know what it is. One thing at a time, okay?"
Libby sniffed, and blushed hotly. She stood up awkwardly.
"If you'll excuse me," she said, with as much dignity as she could muster, "I shall be back shortly." She walked gingerly out of the flight deck.
Mal and Shaggus looked at each other.
"You know," said Mal, "if we ever mention this, there's a good chance she'll kill us."
Shaggus whuffled in agreement.
"The Imperator wishes to speak with you, my lord," said the trembling comms officer.
"Very well," said the Muff calmly. "Please inform him that I am on my way to the audience chamber." Slapping his swagger stick against his leg, he turned and marched briskly off the bridge before the comms officer could reply. His ever-present Honour Guard gave him several paces head-start, then followed him from the room.
Out in the hallway—oblivious to the presence of his crimson shadows—Muff Aleeto Farquhar let out an excited yelp. "Me," he exclaimed. "The Imperator wants to speak with me! Woohoo!" He began to scurry down the corridor towards the privacy-shielded audience chamber, almost skipping in his glee. "Momma Farquhar's little boy. Ha! If only that fat bastard Krigwalla could see me now! It's almost a shame I had him killed! Oh, but..." The Muff's pace faltered. "What if it's bad? What if he's decided to remove me from command? What if somebody else is his favourite?"
He stopped outside the door of the audience chamber. His palms were suddenly sweaty, and he wiped them carefully down his dark grey uniform trousers, clamping his swagger stick under his arm as he did so.
He could hear his mother's voice, echoing out of the past. You'll never amount to anything, boy, she had said to him. Your daddy was a worthless loser, and you're just the same.
"No, momma," he said softly, "look. I'm a Muff now! Please, not the closet again, I'll be..." He suddenly straightened and looked around quickly. Apart from his ever-present honour guard, the corridor was empty.
He sighed.
"Chin up, 'Leeto," he told himself. "Be a man!" He took a deep breath, then keyed the door controls and marched into the dark chamber beyond. The crimson-armoured Troopers stationed themselves either side of the door as it hissed closed.
"Oh my! I don't know where the Sparrow learned to communicate," said Seepy Weepy primly, "but she is quite rude."
"Look, metalhead," said Mal impatiently, "I don't care how rude she is. Just ask her if she can isolate the problem."
"Oh, I see," said Seepy. "That's where she picked it up." He turned back to the computer port of the Sparrow, and jacked back in. He stood motionless for a few seconds, then unplugged again. "It seems," he said, "that the secondary power coupling has been polarised. I think it will need to be replaced."
"Well, of course it will need to be replaced," said Mal. He walked across the cargo bay to where Shaggus had opened a couple of panels and was probing around in the wiring behind them.
"Shaggus," he said quietly, "when you've finished there, it might be a good idea to replace the secondary power coupling. No rush, though."
Seepy stared at the human in amazement. "Impossible man," he muttered to himself as he wandered back to the galley.
Muff Aleeto Farquhar knelt on the holo-scanner pad and bowed his head. "What is thy bidding, my master?" he asked in as deep a voice as he could muster.
The holographic projection of Imperator Lizzard Palpator—Barth Sifyllous, Hard Lord of the Stiff, despotic overlord of the galaxy, and loving grandfather—shimmered into focus in the air before the kneeling Muff. His face was enshrouded in darkness, and the dim light shining up from below turned his every wrinkle into a chasm, his eye sockets into shadowy craters. His was truly a fearsome visage.
"Speak, Muff Farker," intoned the Imperator, his voice deep and booming.
"Uh, 'Farquhar', sir," said the Muff carefully. It would not do to appear to be correcting the Hard Lord. He was not known for his forgiving nature.
"'Farquhar'? Are you sure?" said the Imperator.
"I, uh, could be wrong," said the Muff meekly.
"No matter," said the Imperator. "Now, Muff Farker, why have you called?"
The Muff swallowed. "You called me, your Excellency," he said.
"Did I?" said the Imperator? "Did I indeed? Well, what did I call about?"
There was a sudden flare of light, and Muff Farquhar squinted against the glare. After a second, the holographic projectors compensated for the new light levels in the Imperator's office, and the Muff could open his eyes again.
No longer forced to sit with his face right in front of the holo-scanner, the Imperator was leaning back in his chair, blinking his eyes back into focus. Without the shadows, without the frightful illumination from below, Imperator Palpatine looked like a kindly old man in his seventies. Only the small scar which tugged at his lower lip hinted at an adventuresome past.
"Ah, that's much better," he said cheerfully. His voice was normal-sounding, too, now that he was not speaking directly into the microphone—with just a hint of a rhotacistic speech impediment, courtesy of his scarred lip. "Sowwy, Muff Farker, we've been having some pwoblems with the lighting here in the Capitol building." He squirmed back into his large leather armchair and rested his hands lightly on the wide desk—real wood, Farquhar noted with interest. Behind the Imperator, a large picture window flickered back to life, showing a restful forest scene.
"Now, where were we?" He squinted down at a notepad—real paper too; such extravagance!—which sat on the desk. "Ah, yes. What plaything can you offer me today?"
"Uh..." Muff Farquhar blinked slowly. He had no idea how to respond to that.
"Oh, sowwy," said the Imperator with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. "Wong page. I have many, many, many things to think about." He flipped the top page of the pad over and peered at the next sheet. "Here we are," he said. "Muff Farker, uh..." He squinted more closely. "'Farquhar'," he pronounced carefully. "Muff Farquhar, what is the news on those naughty Webels?"
"The Webel, uh, Rebel base on Hoff has been overrun, my Lord," said the Muff, grateful to be back on firm ground. "Many top-ranking Rebels have been captured, and we are currently following..." The Muff swallowed nervously, then took a leap of faith. "We are following their leader, and will..."
The Imperator frowned? "Isn't it a stwange time to be playing party games," he asked.
"Party games?" asked the Muff. He felt his stomach contents roiling slowly, and he knew this conversation was not doing his ulcer any favours.
"'Follow the leader', Muff Farquhar," said the Imperator. "I do wish you would pay attention!"
"I said..." The Muff reined in his sudden flare of frustration, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, my lord, my mistake. I meant we are pursuing the Rebel leader, and hope to have him apprehended shortly."
"Vewy good," said the Imperator with a friendly smile. "Vewy, vewy good! I haven't had news this good since my pwoctologist told me it was just a mild case of pimples!"
"Uh..." said the Muff again, dropping his gaze uncertainly to the floor.
"Now, what news on this new Jubbly menace?" said the Imperator. "Lord Vapour's weport came as quite a shock, I can tell you. We thought they were gone—to have them weturn after all this time is a little twoubling!"
"Yes, my Lord," said Farquhar. He had the horrible feeling that he must have missed a very important memo, because this was the first he'd heard that there might be a Jubbly involved. "We are, uh, looking into it, my Lord."
"Hello, my little love muffin," said the Imperator. Muff Farquhar looked back up, but the Imperator had turned away from the holo-scanner and was addressing somebody else in the room. The faintest whisper of a female voice was picked up by the microphone, but the Muff could not make out any of the words.
"Wight away, my little blue snuggly-wuggly," said the Imperator. He started to stand, but the female voice stopped him. "Oh yes." He turned back to address the holo-scanner. "Keep up the good work, Muff Farker," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, some vewy important Imperial business has, uh, come up!" He giggled, and cut off the holo feed just as something—someone—blue moved into the edge of the field of view.
The audience chamber went dark.
Libby was finishing up in the engine room. She had finished testing all of the relays—they had all been functioning perfectly—and was trying to lock the hyperdrive engine cowling back into place. She pushed the lever firmly, and turned it, but it hit the edge of the latch and would turn no further. She tried again, with no luck.
Suddenly Mal was behind her. "Here," he said, "let me help." He put his arms around her and gripped the lever.
"Let go," she said irritably, shrugging him away from her.
He backed off. "Hey, sorry Princess. There's no need to get all excited."
"It would take more than having you breathing down my neck to get me excited," she told him. She half-turned to look at him.
"How about if I breathed in your ear instead?" he asked.
"I doubt that would do it either," she said.
"Well I'm sorry," he said, "but I really don't have time for anything more at the moment."
She sighed and shook her head, feeling her cheeks flush hotly. "You really are impossible, aren't you," she said. "I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain."
"Delusions, huh?" he asked. "Admit it, you think I'm alright?"
"You're a good pilot, yes," she said.
"No," he told her. "Well, yes I am, but that's not what I mean and you know it. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. She turned back to the locking lever, and savagely twisted. She jerked her hand back, and winced; she'd pinched her finger between the lever and the clasp. Angrily she jammed the sore finger between her lips and sucked on it.
"Here, let me look at that," Mal said, concerned. He gripped her hand gently and examined her finger.
"Let me go," she said.
"You're trembling," he told her.
"I am not," she said. "Now let me go, my hands are all dirty."
Mal looked at them. "So they are," he said. "We'll have to wash them before we apply a bandage."
"I don't need a bandage," she told him. "I'll be fine."
He lifted her hand for a closer look, then leaned in and gently pressed his lips to her sore finger. "Perhaps that will do, then?" he asked, meeting her gaze.
She didn't pull her hand away.
"You do like me a little, don't you?" he persisted.
"I happen to like nice men," she said.
"Hey," he said, somehow managing—despite his grin—to sound genuinely hurt. "I'm 'nice men'!"
"No you're not," she said. "You're a scoundrel."
"Scoundrel?" he mused. He pressed his lips to her finger again. "Yeah, I like the sound of that." He looked up at her. His face was bare inches from hers. He stared into her eyes, and she stared back. The moment stretched. Mal began to lean forward, towards her, angling his head slightly. She closed her eyes. His nose brushed hers, and he felt her breath on his lips, hot and sweet.
"Good news, sir," said Seepy Weepy loudly, tapping Mal on the shoulder. "Shaggus has replaced the secondary power coupling and says we are ready to leave."
Mal jumped, and turned towards the excited 'bot. The moment passed, the mood evaporated, and Mal felt Libby's slender hand pull away from his. He turned back, but she had slipped away.
"Great," he muttered. "Just great."
"Oh yes," said Seepy. "We can finally leave this awful place."
Mal glared at him for a second. Then he locked closed the hyperdrive engine cowling—there was a trick to twisting the lever at just the right angle—and stalked away.
Seepy stared after him.
"What did I say?" he wondered aloud.
"Are you ready?" asked Mal. He was in the pilot's seat, gazing thoughtfully out of the cockpit at the insides of the worm.
Shaggus grunted in the affirmative.
Libby nodded. "Of course—but how do we get out?"
"That's easy," said Mal. "Watch this."
He flexed his fingers a couple of times, then carefully gripped the Serendipity Sparrow's control joystick and disengaged the autopilot. With gentle movements, he rotated the Sparrow slightly, and manoeuvred her closer to the wall of the living tunnel in which they were trapped. He fired the hover jets, blasting the moist flesh with superheated plasma. The Sparrow spun away, and he cut the engine again. Suddenly there was movement all around them. Responding to the sudden pain, the space worm opened its cavernous mouth and effectively coughed the Sparrow out into empty space. She tumbled for a few seconds, then Mal asserted control and flew them out of range of the monster.
"See," he said. "Nothing to worry about."
There was a clunk against the window. Mal glanced up, and came eye to lens with an Imperial Probe 'bot. It studied them for a second through the plasteel, then whirled and sped away at great speed.
"That, on the other hand," he added, "could be a small problem!"
"Things are gonna get bumpy again, aren't they?" said Libby.
"Apparently," agreed Mal. He wrenched the control stick over and took the Sparrow in the opposite direction from that taken by the 'probe bot.
"I'd better go make sure Seepy is strapped in," said Libby.
As she stood to leave, Mal reached out and touched her arm lightly. She stopped and looked at him.
"Strap yourself in too," he said. "It's likely to be a little less bumpy back in the galley."
"I'd rather be in here," she said. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Okay," said Mal. "Don't be long; we need to leave in a hurry." As she walked quickly from the room, Mal smiled.
Shaggus whuffled something at him. Do you know what you're doing?
"Don't worry," said Mal. "Everything will work out. Nobody's going to get hurt."
Shaggus snorted. What about Lurk?
Mal shrugged. "Lurk is playing hard to get, and I'm not sure why. As I see it, it's the lady's choice."
Shaggus whuffled doubtfully.
After a couple of minutes, Libby returned to the flight deck and buckled herself into her seat.
"All set," she said. "Let's go."
Mal simply nodded, and accelerated out of the shadow of the planetoid into the shifting chaos of the asteroid field. For several minutes, a tense silence filled the flight deck of the Sparrow as Mal flew an erratically looping path through the field, carefully avoiding numerous potential collisions.
"Shaggus," he said at last, "program the coordinates for the rendezvous point into the hyperspace computer. I want to be able to make the jump just as soon as we get clear of these rocks."
Shaggus whuffled, and began to tap buttons on the hyperdrive console. His large hairy fingers were surprisingly dextrous as they danced across the controls.
Calculating, he grunted.
Mal threw the Sparrow into a tight, coiling spiral to avoid a large, tumbling asteroid, and then, suddenly, they were in empty space once more.
"Piece of..." he began, and was cut short by a pained shudder as a laser blast splashed across their hull.
"Shit," he finished. "Damn THIGH Fighters are on us already." He angled away from the incoming Fighters, and continued flying evasively.
Libby clenched the arm of her seat tightly between her fingers. If this rocking and jarring kept up for much longer, she was going to be sick. She suddenly envied Seepy Weepy's ability to power himself down at a moment's notice.
The light flashed on the hyperdrive console.
"Hold on to your seat, Princess," said Mal—oblivious to the fact that she was way ahead of him there. "Here goes nothing."
He hit the hyperdrive button. The hyperdrive engines powered up, whined, and then died away again—exactly as before.
"So it seems," said Libby mildly. "Would it help if I got out and pushed?"
"It might," muttered Mal. He thumped the button again, in case it had been asleep the first time. Again, nothing happened. Libby turned in her seat to look at him.
"No hyperdrive?" she asked.
"It's not my fault," he said petulantly. "It's not my fault."
"We have them now," said Admiral Muzzel. Standing on the bridge of the IPD Bermuda, with Muff Farquhar on one side, and Captain Pyotrovich on the other, the Admiral stared closely at the tactical screen as the newly visible freighter was herded slowly but surely towards them by a circling pack of THIGH Fighters.
"Excellent, Admiral," said Muff Aleeto Farquhar. He tapped the tip of his swagger stick against his gloved palm.
"Prepare the attractor beams," said the Admiral. "Lock onto them the moment they come into range."
"Yes sir," said the Captain. He turned on his heel and strode away to relay the orders.
"There'll be nothing to stop us this time," said the short Muff. "The Imperator will be very pleased with our efforts here today."
"Yes sir," said the Admiral tightly.
Shaggus growled something at Mal. She can't take much more of this.
"Tell me something I don't know," said Mal.
Shaggus paused and looked at him. The square root of forty-two is six point four eight, he whuffled at last.
"What?" said Mal, shooting his huge furry co-pilot a puzzled look.
You told me to tell you something you don't know, said Shaggus.
"Now is really not the time for you to develop a sense of humour," said Mal.
"What did he say?" asked Libby.
"Trust me," said Mal, "that is one of those questions that is best not pursued." The Sparrow rocked and shuddered around them.
"So what are we going to do?" she asked. "The Sparrow can't take much more of this."
"Yeah," said Mal, "so I've heard."
"What?" said Libby. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked from Mal to Shaggus, and back to Mal.
Now see what you've done, Shaggus growled.
"Me?" said Mal. "You started this. Everybody hold on!" He threw the Sparrow into a sudden roll, and when he straightened out again, they were headed straight for the imposing bulk of the Imperial Planetary Dominator which had doggedly followed them from Hoff. He accelerated.
"Uh," said Libby as she stared in dismay at the rapidly approaching battle cruiser. "What are you doing?"
"I'm taking the fight to them," he said.
"Are you mad?" she asked. "There's no way we can take on something like that."
"Yeah," he said, "but do they know that?"
"Yes," said Libby tightly, "I'm pretty sure that they do!"
"Hey, we fought our way out of the Death Tube, didn't we?"
"Because they let us escape, remember?"
"Besides," said Mal, "they certainly won't be expecting it, will they?" He glanced at her, and winked, then pushed the throttle smoothly forward and accelerated to full speed.
"But..."
"Trust me," he said, "I know what I'm doing."
Shaggus whuffled softly: I hate it when you say that!
"They're accelerating to full attack speed," said Captain Pyotrovich, the disbelief plain in his voice.
"Well, this is certainly unexpected," said Muff Farquhar. "I've never heard of a lone freighter attacking a Planetary Dominator before. Still, this should make it that much easier to get an attractor lock on them."
"Uh, actually..." began the Captain nervously.
"Shouldn't it, Admiral?"
"Actually, sir, no," said the Admiral, staring down at the Muff. "Attractor beams are designed to trap escaping vessels, drag them in, and hold them. They are almost entirely ineffective against vessels accelerating towards us."
"What?" said the Muff dangerously. "Who designed these things? Why hasn't this fault been rectified?"
"It's never come up before, sir," said the Admiral. "As you so astutely pointed out, nobody ever accelerates towards a Planetary Dominator."
They stared out the forward plasteel view port of the IPD Bermuda's bridge. The tiny freighter was within visual range now, skimming past the enormous hull of the Bermuda. It was inside the firing arc of most of the hull-mounted guns, and the pursuing THIGH Fighters had stopped firing, lest they hit their own ship. It was heading directly towards the bridge.
"It, uh, it's going to hit," said the Muff.
"Oh shit," said the Captain. He ducked instinctively. The small freighter shot over the bridge of the Planetary Dominator, so close that there was a loud clang as it clipped the protruding edge of the battle cruiser's bridge. Then it was gone from view.
The Admiral did not flinch.
"Did they go to hyperspace?" he asked.
Captain Pyotrovich straightened sheepishly and studied the tactical display for a moment.
"No," he said.
"Did they cloak, or something?" asked the Muff, his voice a little more shrill than usual. "I never heard of a ship that large having a cloaking device, but who knows what the Rebels have cooked up."
"Er, no," said the Captain. "They're still right there." He tapped the display with his index finger. "They never left our sensors." He tapped a few buttons, calling up a replay of the last few seconds. "It seems that they shot over our bridge—and then just stopped, behind us. According to these readings they've engaged some sort of magnetic clamping device, and locked themselves to the back wall of our bridge. And the readings are confirmed; reports are coming in from at least three THIGH Pilots who have a visual on them."
The Admiral frowned and examined the display.
"What do you think they're doing?" he asked. "Do they think our only means of tracking them was by looking out the window?"
"It almost seems that way, sir," agreed the Captain.
"Recall the THIGH Fighters," said the Admiral. "Leave them alone; let them think they have us fooled."
"What are you doing, Muzzel?" said the Muff. "This is our perfect opportunity to capture them!"
Admiral Muzzel stared at the tactical display for a few seconds, until the urge to glare ferociously at the annoying little Muff had gone away. He was not used to having his orders questioned. He was not used to having to bite his tongue around some psychopathic officer with delusions of invincibility and no active combat experience.
"Respectfully, sir," he said, "I must disagree."
The Muff tilted his head back slightly to stare up into the Admiral's eyes. He waved his swagger stick in the air. "Did I hear you correctly, Admiral?" he said loudly, his face turning red. "Are you proposing to let these Rebel scum escape, after everything we've done to catch them?"
"Not at all, sir," said the Admiral calmly. Temper tantrums did not scare him. "I am merely suggesting that we currently have an enormous advantage over our prey. They seem to think that do not know where they are; I am suggesting that we put the situation to good use."
"Yes," said the Muff. "By capturing them."
"To what end?" asked the Admiral, still calm.
"To make them talk, of course," said the Muff. He frowned at Admiral Muzzel as though he thought the man was an idiot. "To interrogate them. To strip them naked, and play with needles and electricity and pain-enhancing drugs. To get out the hot irons, and the pliers. To make them scream, and scream, and..."
He stopped abruptly. Both officers were staring at him—the Captain seemed to have gone a little pale—and he found himself hoping the sudden erection within his uniform trousers was not visible.
"I see," said the Admiral carefully. "I am sorry, sir, I was obviously mistaken. I thought the point of capturing them was to find out where their rendezvous point might be, and perhaps to locate other Rebel bases."
"Well, that too," said the Muff.
"In which case, taking this opportunity to attach a tracking device to their ship and following them once they detach, thinking they've escaped, might prove slightly more productive."
"Oh," said the Muff. "Yes, Admiral, I guess you have a valid point." He sounded disappointed. "Carry on."
With only the dim glow from the star field through the cockpit window to light her way, Libby felt her way carefully back to her seat. She was returning from the galley, where she had deactivated Seepy Weepy. The entire ship was powered down.
"There's something you don't see every day," she said, nodding towards the window. Outside, the rear wall of the Planetary Dominator's bridge structure stretched away from them, a vast metal plain. At its far edge, the enormous engine exhausts glowed white. She turned to Mal as she lowered herself into her chair. "Are you sure this will work?"
"Well, they've stopped shooting at us, haven't they?" he said quietly.
"I'll give you that," she said. "So now what?"
"So now they'll recall all their fighters and return to Hoff. It's only a short distance, but they'll make the journey via hyperspace anyway—it will save them a couple of hours—and we'll simply detach before they make the jump."
"What makes you think they'll return to Hoff?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Even the Imperium isn't going to just abandon a small army of Troopers."
"Fair point," she said.
"I have my moments," he said.
"Not often," she said, "but you do have them. So how will you know when they're going to jump?"
"Typically they dump their garbage before jumping to hyperspace. When we see that, we just hit the switch, and float away."
"With the rest of the trash," said Libby.
Shaggus snorted.
"Something like that," said Mal, refusing to take the bait.
"But what if they don't have enough garbage to be worth dumping?" she persisted. "After all, they've only gone about six hours since they dropped out of hyperspace around Hoff—and they would have emptied their trash compactors before that jump, wouldn't they?"
"Then we detach after they jump to hyperspace."
Shaggus snarled something: That could tear us apart!
"Isn't that incredibly dangerous," said Libby at the same moment.
"Hey," said Mal, "let's just wait and see, shall we? It's not like we have many options, anyway."
Silence fell across the flight deck, and the minutes ticked by.
"Mal," said Libby.
"Libby?" said Mal.
"What then?" she asked. "Where do we go after we detach?"
"I've been thinking about that," said Mal. "We need to find somewhere to get the hyperdrive repaired. There's an old buddy of mine who's gone semi-legit; he runs one of the Tibrogargan gas mines. I think he's our best shot."
Bad idea, snarled Shaggus. Have you forgotten what happened the last time we saw him?
"No," said Mal defensively, "but it's been a long time. I'm sure he has forgotten it."
"Forgotten what?" said Libby. "No, on second thoughts, don't tell me. But Tibrogar? From here? With no hyperdrive?"
Mal shrugged. "At maximum speed, the trip should take about three weeks. It's pretty far, but I think we can make it—and like I said, he's our best shot. Our only shot."
"Three weeks?"
"That should give us plenty of time to pick up where we left off in the engine room," said Mal. He grinned at her in the dark.
Libby made no reply.
"Besides, with three weeks up our sleeve, we might even get the darn thing fixed ourselves."
"Look," said Libby. She pointed out the cockpit window.
"They're dumping," said Mal. "Told you they would. Shaggus, disengage the magnetic clamps."
The Serendipity Sparrow drifted away from the bridge structure of the Imperial Planetary Dominator. The huge battle cruiser accelerated away from them, then suddenly contracted to a dot and was gone into the shifting void of hyperspace. The Sparrow powered up, then accelerated away in a different direction. The Imperial probe 'bot that clung to her hull remained undetected, its cloaking device rendering it virtually invisible.