CALAMARI EVAC'

by Jason Grant (3/97)

This features a brief Star Trek/ Star Wars crossover. This is purely to demonstrate that the D-B agents shown herein are available for cross-reality rescue missions and children's parties. This is their story.

The Star Trek universe
Looking like a particularly enthusiastic grappling hook, the enormous structure that was the space station Deep Space Nine floated close to the wormhole leading to the mysterious Gamma Quadrant.
She was caught off-guard when the fabric of normal space tore asunder, admitting the battle scarred New Republic Blockade Runner , the Lucky Fire. The compact vessel established a holding pattern next to the station, and opened hailing frequencies.
It was a momentous occasion for Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager, lost somewhere in the unexplored Delta Quadrant, 75,000 light years out from known space. She was in her early forties, a bun of hair stacked on her head like an v-150 ion cannon emplacement. Her jaw dropped and tears welled up in her eyes.. She had never expected to see this sight again in her lifetime.
"My Goodness. All this way in eight weeks. Even at Warp Nine, this would have taken seventy years."
Beside her in the bridge's command chair, the Lucky Fire's acting captain Praedmo. About ten Standard Years her senior, he had the dull grey-green pigment of an adult Rodian, the large translucent eyes, and mohican-like set of green bristles on his hairless skull.

Captain Janeway, Acting Captain Praedmo

The Lucky Fire rescue vessel delivers the USS Voyager crew to Deep Space Nine.

He gestured out the port and twisted his snout up at her.
"I held up my part of the deal. Now you do yours."
She glanced down at him. "Are you sure this is all you want? You've pulled off the first interdimensional rescue mission in the Federation's history, after all. We could offer you an exchange of technologies, knowledge of each other's cultures; we have so much to offer each other."
"Quit stalling lady."
Janeway smiled and gave a resigned sigh. "Okay. Your hyperdrive beats the sh-"
"Stang." He corrected calmly.
"I'm sorry. Your hyperdrive beats the stang out of our warp drive. Happy now?"
"Ecstatic." Prad jerked a suckered digit at the closed lift-tube behind them. "Now get the frag off my ship."
The Rodian's abruptness was due to the well deserved feeling that he had come off worse out of the whole deal. Several weeks previously and still on home turf, he and his crew had encountered a mysterious spatial anomaly. Whilst attempting evasive action, the Blockade Runner had been engulfed and overwhelmed by a pulse of artificially-generated tetrion energy, and the stricken vessel had found itself pulled unwillingly into the Star Trek universe.
Captain Janeway had raised her hand guiltily, apologised profusely, and thumbed a lift back to the Alpha Quadrant.
His crew had probably been declared `Missing In Action' long ago. To top it all, he still had to relocate the dimension gateway in order to return home.

Captain Janeway, Acting Captain Praedmo

The Star Wars universe
During the height of the Galactic Civil War between the tyrannical Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance, there were a number of specialist commando groups who existed outside the normal chain of command. One was General Madine's elite D-B rescue team. It's agents waded happily into situations too dangerous even for the Heroes of Yavin. Staffed and outfitted for trouble, the Lucky Fire was a D-B ship.

The hammer-headed vessel edged away from Sochi orbit, nosing on full power into open space. The supralight engines kicked in, wrapping the fabric of hyperspace snugly around the corvette.
In contrast to his attitude to the Starfleet captain, the Rodian Chief of Security waited apprehensively by the bridge turbolift doors. His friend and superior, the vessel's real captain would retake command of his crew in the next few moments, most probably anxious to know why his two weeks away from the ship had been extended a further fourteen.
The circular hatch rolled aside to admit the D-B officer, Captain Nick Winters.
Unruly blond hair, yellow stubble on his face, and a penchant for casual brown and white spacer's garb, black sleeveless jacket. Your typical Corellian.
Prad stood to attention beside his captain, uncomfortable at the dressing down he would surely receive.
"How was your honeymoon, sir."
"Fine, fine. A bit longer than I anticipated, but I suspect you are aware of that."
"Well, we had some problems, sir."
"I'll bet. I saw external damage on the hull as we docked."
Impossibly, the green alien managed to stand even straighter as he replied. "There is a full acount in the logs."
"Chaos to the logs!" Winters' snapped, waving his arm for emphasis, making his friend flinch involuntarily. "You've been gone for months. We thought you had pulled a Skywalker and crashed on some planet. I want to know what the hell happened, and I want to know now!"
"It's a little complicated, sir. We encountered a dimension trap as we departed the Sochi system."
"Oh yeah?" Nick asked warily and a bit quieter. "What happened?"
"This ship on the other side of the `trap' tries to disperse it with a phased tetrion pulse - don't ask why - and we get whacked by it. It disrupted our power system and we fell through the hole." Prad shook his head at the memory. "No time even for a distress call, we just got sucked straight in. Anyway, the crew of this Federation starship apologised and offered to help us get back, but we didn't think it was a good idea to leave them and their slow-ass piece of guauno warp-drive alone in deep space."
"Keep going."
"Some kind of mishap had stranded them away from their home turf, and they were four years into a seventy-five year return journey. It was only a few thousand light years, so we left the USS Voyager in their Delta Quadrant and gave them a lift home."
Winters regarded his Chief of Security critically, barely managing to reign in his temper as the other related his tale. "While you were playing Rescue Ranger, I was contacting next-of-kin and informing Alliance Command that we had lost a combat vessel. There will have to be a Board of Inquiry, of course."
There was a buzzing noise from one of the consoles. "Captain. We are getting a priority signal from Alliance Command." The corvette's Ithorian communications officer turned in his chair, shock in his eyes and tone. "Sir, it's a Situation Blue."
Prad looked from one to the other, puzzled. "Not good, presumably."
Nick shrugged. "Did Command happen to mention what a `Situation Blue' is?"
The Ithorian hammerhead nodded gravely. "Assist in planetary evacuation. The allied world of Calamari is facing imminent Imperial assault."
Silence settled over them as they considered this. There had not been serious incident involving the Empire for several months now, not since the Imperial forces had started fighting amongst itself in a bitter civil war for control of the galaxy.
Gradually, all eyes turned to the captain, awaiting his command.
"Take us out of lightspeed and calculate the jump to Calamari. Estimated time to arrival in the combat zone."
The human at the navigation console answered this one: "Not much longer than five Timeparts, sir."
"I want the ship on Yellow Alert just before we emerge from hyperspace. Then proceed at full sublight to the planet. Try to avoid detection. Same way we did Kolaris."
"Got it."
The captain levered himself from the chair, grimacing as his dead legs tingled. "I'll be on the cargo deck. Have Operations and Engineering meet me there."
"Yes sir."

For a ship only a hundred and fifty metres in length, the belly hold was pretty impressive. The lighting fixtures were not too bright, but illuminated the place well.

With shields up and using sensor stealth protocols, the Blockade Runner slipped by the orbitting Star Destroyers undetected, and slotted right into the atmosphere.
As the small ship levelled out close to the emerald and blue ocean, a massive space cruiser flew past them in the opposite direction, making tracks for the sky. Her proximity shook the smaller craft.
Nick hailed the Mon Cal vessel. "This is the Alliance ship Lucky Fire. What can we do to help?"
A gravelly voice came over the bridge speakers: "Lucky Fire, we left people on the launchpad of Coral City. It is on your heading. If you could get them and proceed to the rendezvous point. Hurry please, they are in the path of a World Devastator."
"World wha-? Okay, we're on the way."
In truth, Nick had no idea where the rendezvous point was, but he knew better than mentioning this over an open channel. The Empire were sure to be monitoring all communications.
"Maximum speed to Coral City."
The Ithorian saw it first, studying his sensor readouts carefully. "Sir, the scanner scope shows a blip the size of Dantooine!"
"We have visual contact. What the frag is that?" Prad was looking out the forward port, his face slack. Nick followed his gaze and stopped breathing for a moment.
The hammerhead continued excitedly. "We've been painted. I am getting multiple scans from three separate World Devastators."
Nick stammered a query. "T-Tactical?"
Prad turned to his own station. "They know we're here, but I don't think they give a stang. They are not taking any offensive action, not even course changes. Sensors read matter-antimatter conversion of an impossible magnitude. The Devastators are consuming the city whole."
"Bla'deck?" Nick decided to forget formality and addressed the Ithorian by name, "Any sign of the civilians?"
"Yep. Computer reckons there are about fourteen hundred people down there. They'll be safe for at least another twenty units."
"Fourteen hundred! Better give me a visual."
Hidden holoprojectors in the walls and floor put together a black wireframe image which contrasted against the aqua and white colours of the bridge and outside view. The Mon Cal civilians were gathered on a large round platform of rusty brown steel plates, and that was held up by twin steel supports intertwined with each other and several metres thick. There was a small space at the centre of the platform for the corvette's landing gear. The platform itself jutted from the city proper, and there were a large number of still intact domes and silver spires visible beyond the group. Beyond these structures, was like looking onto the surface of a star. Roiling energies of blinding and coruscating scarlet scarred the vision of anyone who looked too close. The very architecture of Coral City was being sucked out of it's foundations into the gaping rectangular maw of the nearest Devastor. Those refugees were going to be toast, but cramming that many within the tight confines of a ship meant to carry a maximum of 165 beings would take time, more than they had.
Blood draining from his face, Nick started to see a downside to this assignment. Surely his little CR90 wasn't expected to do this by itself?
"Tactical, how many Alliance ships are in-system."
Prad turned from his screen, his face determined. "Sir, we are the only Republic vessel still in planetary interface. The three Mon Cal cruisers are making a run for hyperspace, with one having sustained damage. We are on our own for the moment."
Nick Winters had been in tighter spots, but as a field agent, not a captain. Badly out numbered and outgunned as they were, he didn't know if he could accept responsibility for saving over a thousand Calamarians against those odds. "Stang, we have a skeleton staff of ten, and no time to work with." He realised aloud. "Prad, any suggestions?"
The Rodian came from a race of predators and bounty-hunters. His thought processes could plough through moral considerations when necessary actions were required."
"Only one option, but it's nuts. We take the whole platform with us?"
"Continue."
"We lock tractors onto it, extend our shields around it, and literally take it with us. Ripping it away from it's support stanchions could be messy, but...
" Prad and Nick exchanged shrewd glances as the crazy plan mentally fell into place. "You're right, it's nuts. I'll use the ULAV and take care off the supports." Nick stood, and headed for the lift-tube. "Prad, you have the Bridge. Hold position here, and wait for my signal."
Prad gaped back, but quickly took Nick's abandoned chair. He leaned towards the voice pickup. "This is a Blue Alert. All personnel report to belly hold and prepare to take on refugees. Better get sidearms and breathmasks. Lt. Torres, please report to the Bridge; Lt. Sharp, meet the captain by the ULAV with explosives and rappeling gear. Bridge out."

The cargo bay was the lowest deck of the Blockade Runner, and usually full of crates and small craft. As Nick strode into it, there was now a gathering of several Rebels on the left, talking with each other, an air of apprehension over the group. They all wore the standard combat garb of the D-B team: mottled inner-city urban camouflage fatigues, black tops and boots, E-11 blaster rifles and breathmasks hanging from their hips. To the right, a third of the wall would soon lower to become a boarding ramp.
Just past it, sat a small repulsor-lift bubble car with a rear-facing blaster cannon. The Ultra Light Assault Vehicle, ULAV, was an antiquated Imperial model, retrofitted fopr Alliance use.
Nick Winters and his comrades now worked for the New Republic government, but whenever a situation turned hostile, he, like most of his crew, immediately switched to the old references, of Rebels and of being in the Alliance. New Republic? That was for peacetime.
No sign of his bondmate. He was about to ask one of the crew, when he spotted her inside the craft. He popped the canopy.
"Out." He ordered. "I need you here to oversee the evacuation."
"I'm going with you."
"Uh-uh, I don't need you distracting me."
"Hey, I'm a D-B agent too, y'know?"
Nick Winters realised he had wasted too much time already and climbed into the front seat. One of the crew opened the wall, and Nick guided the ULAV away from the ship. Once clear of the ramp, the little craft dropped like a stone!
"Arghh." Sharp moaned as the ULAV hit the water with a stomach churning impact. Nick said nothing, his lips pursed tightly with unspoken irritation.
The Rebel agent swerved the craft around, allowing it's weak repulsors to act against the choppy water, nosing it towards the distant platform where it towered over them.
Blue and white clouds were peppered through the aqua heavens, only the dirty brown blockade runner and the top of the nearest World Smasher spoiling the view.
The ULAV moved over the waves with the grace of a wave-skimmer, her repulsors doing a poor job of keeping them dry. Water splashed across the front and side ports, affecting visibility.
Sharp decided to get an idea of what was going on. "So, are you going to tell me why I have a lap full of Detonite?"
Because it suits you? Nick thought, but as he was no longer in the mood for friendly banter, simply said. "I'm going to ram the platform stanchions, then get out and set explosives around them."
"Not in that order I hope."
Nick wouldn't rise to the bait. "Once the platform is untethered, Prad can come in and lock tractors onto it."
"We're taking it with us?" She was a little surprised, especially considering the size of the construct.
"No time for a proper evacuation. That Devastator is eating up the city too much and too quickly for us to act sensibly."
Sharp considered this as her husband poured in the speed. "Nick darling? I've been thinking. Wouldn't concussion grenades be useful about now?"
"If you can conjure them up, darling, I'll be glad to use them."
The lieutenant smiled sweetly to herself. The rough water tossing them from side to side was unlikely to improve his mood, so she tried to be diplomatic as she pointed out that the little craft came with concussion grenade launchers. As standard.
Nick fired two of the glowing spheres at the distant struts jutting from the salty ocean. They exploded spectacularly, sending clouds of orange flame rolling across the surf. He decided his partner deserved a response. "I didn't know. I didn't build the drokking thing."
He fired two more, another explosion. This time the structure actually moved, tilting slightly. Nick emptied the launcher, sending the last two grenades on their way. One of the consoles started alarming, something Sharp recognised it immediately. Hull integrity. The little craft wasn't designed to slam onto hard ocean surface continuously at high speed. Something was starting to give.
"We got problems." She said.
"Make a list."
"I mean it!"
Above them, the sky disappeared as they sailed under the landing area. Nick jettisoned the canopy and squinted against the face full off spray. Sharp stood in the cramped craft and fired a magnetic grapple upwards. Behind her, Nick also unstrapped himself from the seat restraints, and stood up, activating the comlink in his hand.
"Lucky Fire, this is Winters. Do you copy?"
Sharp threw an arm around his waist, the cable went taut, and both Rebels were jerked from the doomed ULAV. The tug made Nick lose the comlink, and he lost sight of it as it plopped into the water below them.
The repulsor craft impacted mightily against the support struts with a deafening explosion, a wave of noise and superheat washing over them and sprinkling the surrounding water with still-burning fragments of plastic and metal. The shockwave slammed the couple into the nearest barrier of metal, leaving them stunned on the end of their cable, several dozen metres under the damaged platform.

Prad watched the underside of the platform brighten with fiery flares momentarily, and the area with the refugees lurch dangerously. A couple of unlucky Mon Cals could be seen falling off the edge, dropping into the ocean.
"Mister Kaeshi, take us in." He told the navigator. "And try to establish a tractor lock as soon as you can."
"Aye sir."
"The captain is no longer transmitting, sir."
Prad accepted this news with barely a nod. "Tactical. Time to Devastator intercept?"
The Klingon woman looked at the console recently vacated by the Rodian. "Uh, twelve time units."
"Okay. Take us in, but do it carefully."

The kilometres-high World Devastator was taking it's own sweet time with consuming the city, it's presence intended to have more effect psychologically than to participate in the wholesale extermination of the planet's population. It's dark hull was littered with turbolaser emplacements, with which it could pick off the surviving refugees or the CR90 Blockade Runner at a moment's notice, but it's crew were happy to let these traitors watch unmolested.
The circular platform's anchor supports had been damaged badly with the efforts of the ULAV team, and was listing about ten degrees below horizontal. Panic-stricken Mon Cal and Quarren families keened in fear and knelt close to the rusting tiles, holding on for dear life.
Above them, the imposing bulk of the Alliance ship hovered close, it's freight-loading tractor beams hooking invisible fingers onto the platform surface, gradually straightening it back to horizontal. The corvette turned in the air, so it's ion engines faced towards the stricken city.
Below them, the stanchion was burned and twisted. If the Blockade Runner tried, it might be able to physically pull the platform free of it's supports. It might also tear the ship in half, which in turn would kill everyone in the vicinity.
Clambering hand over hand, Nick and Sharp moved round the weaker parts of the supports, placing fist-sized bricks of detonite explosive where they thought it would do the most good.
Nick was just setting the timer on his last device when he felt his hair stand on end, as if he was close to a powerful electric source. Sharp looked up too. Above them was a sheen of transparency, interstreaked with gold particles. The energy barrier separated them from the underside of the platform.
"Prad's got the shields up around the platform. That means they have to go."
"What about us?" the lieutenant asked, already knowing the answer. They couldn't go up, so they had to go down.
Silence settled over the landing platform. The Mon Cal citizens stood and watched the domes nearest to them being ripped apart by whatever forces the Imperial behemoths possessed. Ripped apart and sucked up. It seemed they were out of time.
The Lucky Fire had settled onto the platform and secured her magnetic landing struts before activating the almost spherical ray shielding around itself and the platform proper.
A crewman stood in the opening hatchway urging everyone to get down.
They ignored him. Most were silent, crying and sniffles as parents tried to comfort their children, a few people tried to implore the Alliance ship to get a move on, to depart this place.
The explosives below them blew, catching everyone by surprise! The entire mass of metal lifted almost a metre, and dropped just as suddenly, bowling people over. Several dozen refugees tumbled into and over the railings and fell screaming into the curved underside of the protective ray shield, fried to a blackened crisp as they splashed into the water.
The CR90 fired it's engines to a deafening full power, taking the now free platform away from the World Devastator, and kilometres out to sea.
As the more attentive Mon Cals realised their brief reprieve, they started to follow the directions of the humans who had come to save them. They picked up themselves and their relations, and staggered up the shuddering ramp into the belly hold.
The Rebel crew shouted for attention, and waved the lucky ones to follow them up to the next level.

Prad could not believe the plan was working. His ship was free of the city, speeding low over the emerald sea at maximum velocity. If everything went to plan, they might have time to load everyone aboard and lose the platform.
The Corellian navigator noted his readouts and attracted the Rodian's attention. "Chief, we have a big problem. We are losing altitude."
Prad response was curt. "That's why we have repulsors. Just increase the power."
"No good, sir. They need something to push against, and ours are-"
"Pushing against the platform." Prad realised that they were in a lot of trouble.
"Comms?"
The Ithorian was way ahead of him, his long multi-jointed fingers dancing over the necessary buttons. Bla'Deck relayed his actions verbally as he carried them out. "Initiating automatic sealup of bulkheads on Decks One, Two and Three. Now commencing Collision Alert warning." A klaxon echoed throughout the ship, followed by a synthesized computer voice: "Collision alert. Collision alert. All personnel and passengers brace for impact."
"Increase power to the acceleration compensator!" Prad ordered desperately, gripping his armrests tightly.
The view out of the main port showed the danger they were in. Where they would have previously seen the horizon, it disappeared above them somewhere as the Blockade Runner and it's unusual cargo succumbed to the planet's gravity, and hit the water nose first.
Prad exploded out of the chair and rolled across the floor, resting at the chair of Communication console. The Navigator joined him in a pile at the front of the Bridge, only the Hammerhead staying seated. Lights flickered, plunging the command deck into almost total darkness for a short moment. When brightness returned, the Bridge was bathed in the crimson glow of the emergency lighting.
"Red Alert. Red Alert." the ship's computer had clearly made it's own decision as to the situation, and was acting accordingly.

Elsewhere in the ship, the rest of the crew were struggling back to full consciousness, helped along by the ship's strident "Red Alert" anthem.
The crewman manning the boarding ramp pulled himself up the wall, and swayed, noting that the deck was sloping away from him, and rolling like a boat. All around him, refugees and Rebels were sprawled across the deck. The acceleration compensators were clearly on full power. He staggered to the hatch and looked out. He wasn't particularly cheered by what he saw.
The surface of the water was clearly above them, with barely half of the shield bubble still dry. Where the ray shielding was in permanent contact with the surrounding sea, the energy barrier coruscated and sparked distressingly.
A couple of the other crewmembers came across to him, nursing minor cuts and bruises. "What happened?"
"I think we've crashed. Get hold of a portable shield generator. We need to set up a blister shield across this hatch in case the bubble goes. I'll continue getting the people out there inside the ship."

On the Bridge, a light on the Tactical console flashed insistently. B'Elanna Torres pulled herself up the steeply inclined deck surface and managed to wedge herself between her seat and the console.
"Red Alert. Red Alert."
The Corellian was unconscious, and had a nasty head wound. Prad ignored his precarious command chair, and climbed round the corner of the room to reach the Navigation terminal. He used his access codes to change the console from Navigation to Command, and flicked through the damage reports to see how his ship was faring in the crisis.
"I'm flattening the underside shield, which should stabilise us somewhat."
The effect was almost instantaneous, with the corvette's nose noticeably rising. Everyone felt better with proper floor beneath them.
"Captain, is there anyone in Engineering?" Torres asked from her console.
That section covered the parts of the four decks at the rear of the ship closest to the ion engines.
Prad considered this. "Shouldn't be. I sent everyone down to the belly hold to help with the evacuation." With safer footing available now, he moved to stand by his new crewmember, while Bla'Deck tended to the the injured Corellian.
Torres checked the internal sensors to confirm that the Engineering decks were empty. "I want to seal off those sections, and pump out the atmosphere?"
"Any reason?"
"Our shield is working like a bubble, but we are still sinking. If we vent the air from Engineering, it might help to make us more bouyant."
"Okay, do it." Prad noticed the flashing light on her console. "What's that?"
Torres shrugged, "More Imperial ships coming out of hyperspace."
The Rodian pressed the appropriate buttons, and he smiled, his snout bobbing with good humour. "Those are ours. The Alliance Star Destroyer Emancipator and escort frigates! I'll send up a distress bouy."

The visible parts of Coral City had been totally destroyed. Reduced to their individual particles and sucked up inside the Imperial terror machines. Deep beneath the surface of the sea, in the lowermost bunkers of the Calamarian city, survivors huddled in semi-darkness.
Some of the people who had dropped off the platform into the water had swum down to these areas, and brought the two human Rebels with them. Nick watched the flickering monitor screens which showed the World Devastator heading out to sea, and heading slowly for the downed Blockade Runner.
"Why are they just sitting there?" Winters murmured to himself, shivering in his sodden coveralls. He pulled a blanket tighter round his shoulders. He repeated the query, a bit louder, growing more agitated as his ship delayed it's departure.
"Well fragging ask them." muttered his bride from a nearby chair, brushing damp hair from her face. She knew they couldn't; the Empire still monitored comm frequencies as normal procedure, and an attempt to use a comlink would only endanger the people around them. Even so, she drew back the sleeve on her sodden uniform, and contemplated the wristcom that was standard issue for D-B field agents.
"I think backup just arrived." A Mon Cal in a multi-layered robe announced, his big glassy eyes turning to face another screen. As they watched, a cloud of mosquito specks descended onto the Imperial craft. "X-Wing fighters and V-Wing speeder transports."

The Lucky Fire people in the cargo bay had an unending stream of mostly dazed people coming up the only ramp, and filling up the floors above. Their numbers had been boosted by some Calamarians anxious to volunteer their services.
It was becoming standing room only even down in the cargo bay, and one crewman squeezed past the last desperate refugees and worked his way onto the platform to get an idea of how many people were left. To his relief, there were less than a dozen people.
They were not filing into the escape ship however. All stood stock still, gazing somewhere beyond the security trooper's field of vision. Rogan strolled over to them, and turned to follow their gaze. The vast wall of a World Devastator blocked his view. It was like standing at the base of a cliff, it was so massive!
His eyes scanned upwards, drinking in the detail, trying to see the top. It went up for miles, and he almost fell over trying to see it all.
Recovering first, he moved round their number, patiently herding them aboard the starship, finally pausing to take a last look round the rusty platform. The reddish metal contrasted against the green-blue of the surrounding ocean, and the translucent gold of the shield holding those cold waters at bay. Because the shield was acting like a bubble, the surface of the sea was above eye level. He could see underwater just as if he was in a submersible. The shield was holding, but the way it fizzed and sparked continuously, he could tell it wasn't real happy about being in contact with liquid.
Then he saw something that chilled him to the bone.
A bit more ambitious than the rest, one of the salmon-headed aliens had pulled a something from his holdall, and put it over one shoulder. It was a Sorosuub Equaliser, portable four shot ion cannon.
"H-hey there." The Rebel stammered, putting up one hand and reaching for his blaster, "I don't think that's a good idea."
The amphibian ignored him and fired at the Devastator which had destroyed his home, the blue-white energy bolt not getting far before impacting on the deflector shield. The energy barrier went white and buzzed loudly for a long heart-stopping moment.

A panel on the Bridge exploded loudly, filling the cabin with acrid smoke. Everyone ducked instinctively, cringing from the white hot sparks that crashed across the consoles. "What the frag was that?!" demanded the Security chief loudly.
"Checking!" Bla'Deck reported, checking the ship's sensors. "We are taking incoming fire. Stang! We're losing the shield!"
More panels fizzled, orange fire licking across related terminals. White halon fire-retardent powder snowstormed from ceiling nozzles.
"Seal us up and standby for lift-off." Prad ordered immediately, slapping a ill-fitting breathmask to his face, and punching up the external cameras to see how many refugees were left on the platform. "Battle stations."

The trooper dived at the irrational Calamari, hitting him in the midsection and bearing him to the ground. Rogan wrapped one arm round the struggling alien, and slid his fingers into the deck grilles, holding on tight and shutting his eyes. "Stay down!" He snarled, "Stay the frag down!" He knew what was coming next..
Around them, the shield failed, evaporating into nothingness. Tidal surf slammed down from all directions, deluging the human and Mon Cal, and crashing into the Lucky Fire's already closing ramp.

"That's it, It's gone!" Bla'Deck reported, the room lurching, and the sound of the ocean hitting the lower hull echoing throughout the corridors. Hull breach alarms echoed throughout the ship.
"Get us sealed and get us raised." Prad repeated, his voice calm.
"I'm on it." The Ithorian's fingers danced over his panel, gratified as the CR90's engines pulsed with new energy.
Nick Winters had made a good decision when he put Prad in charge. Only a Rodian hunter could remain calm while the scannerscope showed one of the City Smashers a klick and half to the rear of his ship. It seemed the arrival of the Alliance escort fleet which had delayed the World Devastator's pursuit of the Lucky Fire. However, the external screens showed the two sentients still outside the ship, floundering about in the water.
Bla'Deck called over his shoulder. "Whatever you are going to do, do it fast. I don't know how long those X-Wings can delay that Devastator for."
Prad was already out of his chair, and disappearing through a hatch in the floor, leading down into the forward hold. "Raise auxilary shields, and angle them for an aft assault. I'll be in the forward hold."
That left the Ithorian alone on the bridge with B'Elanna.
She relayed what her sensors were telling her: "That Devastator is powering up it's weapons. Readings are going off the scale here. Y'know, we might-""
"Don't even think it, Torres." Bla'Deck interrupted firmly. "It won't work."
B'Elanna glanced up at him, her face a picture of innocence. "What won't?"
"The phased tachyon pulse you want to hit the Imps with. It's like a cure for all ills with you Starfleet people."
"Well, now that you mention it, a phased tachyon pulse might disperse incoming turbolaser fire."
The Hammerhead smiled smugly to himself as he fed more power to the shields. "Our ships have use a phased tachyon sensor array for years now, and they have never showed the slightest inclination to stop a laser bolt."
"So we are just going to sit here?"
"Till the Chief says otherwise. You can target weapon systems onto that big square fragger, if it makes you feel any better."
She knew he meant the Devastator, and swivelled the topside H9 turbolaser to face the approaching war machine. "Big square fragger, Aye."
"Don't get smart." The Rebel and the Maquis exchanged grins, then settled to wait for further orders.

"Target weapon systems onto that big square fragger." "Big square fragger, Aye."

Rogan and Prad could see the glistening emerald ocean surface was dropping away at a fast rate, through the still open hatch as the Blockade Runner started to accelerate. and they could tell the ship was heading for space. The vessel shuddered, presumably from incoming laserfire.
The Rodian left his subordinate perched on a crate, and moved to seal the hatch. The metal plate slammed shut with a heavy clang, and there was a short thhup as it hermetically sealed around the edges.
Prad put his wrist-comlink to his snout and keyed it. "Bridge, situation report please." The Hammerhead's voice issued from the tinny speaker, informing him that the ship was undamaged, and about to depart planetary interface. As well as that, all personnel were accounted for except for Captain Winters and Lieutenant Sharp.
"Understood. Inform the Emancipator that we have a team lost down there, then set course for Pinnacle Base. Prad out."
The Blockade Runner's eleven lightspeed engines flared to full brilliance, and propelled the heavily-laden CR90 into the relative safety of hyperspace.

Winters and the Coral City survivors watched the Lucky Fire on their sensor scope as she made the jump to lightspeed.
The Calamarian spokesperson, who had identified himself as Councillor Exarchos, pointed a damp flipper at the screen and interrupted the cheering.
"Hey! The Imperial machine just crashed into the water!"
Nick glanced over the sentient's shoulder, "Looks like my people started a fashion." The human and Calamari exchanged glances.
"Nah, this is too easy." They watched as the New Republic fighters zipped around the gargantuan World Devastator. Abruptly, the tiny ships turned tail and retreated to a respectful distance. Nick totally agreed with the tactic.
The councillor watched as another readout scrolled red hieroglyphic text across it's white surface. Nick couldn't see anything, his vision not equipped for the Calamari spectrum.
"I'm monitoring the comms frequencies." The councillor glanced up at the D-B officer. "It seems our people have no idea what has happened either."
Nick snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, right. They're just too polite to say so. The thing just cuts it's repulsors and smacks into the ocean for no reason? Hah, that's a Skywalker move if ever I saw one. Bet it wasn't deliberate either. I don't know if he's on board, but he's involved somehow."
"Well, the New Republic command ship just ordered all commandos to board the Devastators to assess the situation."
"Commandos, huh?" Nick slipped the blanket from his shoulders. "If Luke Skywalker is involved, that might not be a wholly sensible idea. Keep your people in the shelter, we'll go join the raiding teams. I think I saw some wave skimmers parked topside."

Some time later, several groups of green fatigued Rebel troops boarded the several Devastators, easily overcoming the limited defensive firepower.
A dozen commandos stormed the one nearest Coral City, firing grapple cables over the lip of a balcony high up on the Devastator's hull. The sight that met their eyes was a little surprising. Imperial stormtroopers. Dead. And riddled with laser blasts.
The Rebels exchanged wary glances; if it was a trick, it was a good one. Movement from a nearby hatchway had them dropping to the deck with power rifles ready.
Nick Winters strolled nonchalantly out to meet them. "Nice of you boys to drop by. This level is secure." He and the team leader grinned and moved together to grasp forearms; it was evident that they had met before.
The Special Forces trooper stepped back to appraise his friend. "Stang, should have figured you D-B humps would be here in the thick of things. Any more of your people inside."
"Just my partner."
The Rebel trooper gestured for his team to file inside, but even that simple instruction was countered as Lieutenant Sharp rushed out of the hatch, clasping a sensorpack in both palms, and her E-11 swinging against her thigh. "Uh Nick? Oh hi, Gazarian," she greeted, noting the other Rebel, "You may be right. I'm reading some high energy fluctuations. If Commander Skywalker is trying to help us out, then Devastator go boom sometime soon. I strongly recommend we get the frag away from here."
"We just got here!"
Nick opened his mouth to argue, but ultimately, he didn't have to.
"Hey, anyone here speak `growl'?" asked one of the younger commandos, clutching a comm-headset to his ear.
Gazarian took the comlink off his subordinate and spoke into it. "M. Falcon? This is Team Nine. Please repeat instructions in Basic. None of my team speak Wook--"
Everyone watched as his eyes widened. He looked up, and jerked his thumb back out to sea. "That's it, everyone off. Move!"
There were ominous rumblings within the depths of the Imperial vessel as the Alliance troops rappelled down to their waiting seacraft.
Behind them a surge in the City Smasher's repulsor field pushed half the vessel up into the air, and slammed it down like a disintergrating glacier, tons of water rising up and giving the fleeing Alliance skimmers a turbulent farewell.
Part of the armoured hull buckled and exploded outward in a golden flash of destruction, a chain reaction rippling along the metal surface. The same seemed to be happening with the two World Devastators visible on the horizon.
Nick gained the attention of his old friend and gestured to the airborne Alliance forces.
"Have a couple of those transport speeders meet me on Coral City. There are survivors in an underground bunker waiting for me to return."

It later transpired that the Devastator menace had been stopped by the efforts of Commander Skywalker working within the Emperor's stronghold on Byss. True, everyone had suspected the young Jedi's influence as soon as they saw the great machines inexplicably crash into the water, but most were too polite to say so.
The two separate elements of the Lucky Fire crew were reunited at Pinnacle Base a few days after a Force battle was waged there between the reborn Emperor Palpatine and the Skywalker siblings; and the Calamari refugees were relocated to a classified location. I could tell you. But then I'd have to kill you.

THE END (22/6/97)