by Timothy Zahn
“Now if we just had something to do with it,” Leia said, looking futilely around the room. Years of moving around the galaxy with the Rebellion’s Supply and Procurement section had gotten Winter into the habit of traveling light, and there simply wasn’t anything else in here that they could use.
Another volley of shots came from outside, followed by a faint splintering sound. The regular wooden bedroom doors would be down soon, leaving only the inner security doors. Leia looked around the room again, desperation starting to cloud her thoughts. The wardrobe, the bed, the memento chest; that was it. Nothing but the security doors, the transparisteel windows, and bare walls.
Bare walls …
She was suddenly and freshly aware of the lightsaber clutched in her hand. “Han—why don’t we just get out of here?” she said, the first cautious wisp of hope flicking through her. “I can cut us through the wall to the next suite over with my lightsaber. And we wouldn’t have to stop there—we could be halfway down the corridor before they get that door down.”
“Yeah, I already thought of that,” Han said tightly. “Problem is, they probably thought of it, too.”
Leia swallowed. Yes—the Imperials would certainly be ready for them to try that. “How about going down, then?” she persisted. “Or up? Do you think they’d be ready for us to go through the ceiling?”
“You’ve seen Thrawn in action,” Han countered. “What do you think?”
Leia sighed, the brief glint of hope fading. He was right. If the Grand Admiral had planned this attack personally, they might as well open the security door and surrender right now. Everything they could possibly come up with would already have been anticipated in exquisite detail, with counters planned for each move.
She shook her head sharply. “No,” she said aloud. “He’s not infallible. We’ve outthought him before, and we can do it again.” She turned around to look at Winter and the twins, still sleeping under the window.
The window …
“All right,” she said slowly. “What if we go out the window?”
He stared at her. “Out the window to where?”
“Wherever we can get to,” she said. The blasters outside were pounding at the security doors now. “Up, down, sideways—I don’t care.”
Han still had that astonished look on his face. “Sweetheart, in case you hadn’t noticed, those walls are flat stone. Even Chewie couldn’t climb it without mountain gear.”
“That’s why they won’t expect us to go that way,” Leia said, glancing at the window again. “Maybe I can carve out some hand- and footholds with the lightsaber—”
She stopped, giving the window a second look. It hadn’t been a trick of the room’s lighting: there were indeed a pair of headlights approaching. “Han …”
He swiveled to look. “Uh-oh,” he muttered. “More company. Great.”
“Could it be a rescue team?” Leia suggested hesitantly.
“Doubt it,” Han shook his head, studying the approaching lights. “It’s only been a few minutes since the shooting started. Wait a minute …”
Leia looked back. Outside, the headlights had begun to flicker. She watched the pattern, trying unsuccessfully to match it with any code she knew—
“Captain Solo!” Threepio spoke up, sounding excited. “As you know, I am fluent in over six million forms of communication—”
“It’s Chewie,” Han cut him off, scrambling to his feet and waving both hands in front of the window.
“—and this signal appears to be related to one of the codes used by professional sabacc players when dealing with—”
“We’ve got to get rid of this window,” Han said, throwing a look back at the door. “Leia?”
“Right.” Leia dropped her blaster and scrambled to her feet, lightsaber in hand.
“—cheating by third or fourth parties to the game—”
“Shut up, Goldenrod,” Han snapped at Threepio, helping Winter and the twins out from under the window. The lights outside were getting rapidly closer, and now Leia could make out the faint shape of the Falcon in the backwash of light from the city lights below. A memory flickered back: the Noghri kidnapping attempt on Bpfassh had used a fake Falcon as a lure. But the Imperials wouldn’t have thought to use a sabacc player’s code … would they?
It almost didn’t matter. She would rather face enemies aboard a ship than sit here waiting for them to walk in on her like this. And well before they got on board, she ought to be able to sense whether it was Chewbacca out there or not. Stepping to the window, she ignited her lightsaber and raised it high—
And behind her, with a final explosive crash, the security door blew in.
Leia spun around, catching a brief glimpse through the smoke and sparks of two men pushing aside the memento chest and diving to the floor as Han grabbed her arm and yanked her to the floor. A covering volley of blaster fire spattered against the wall and window as she shut down her lightsaber and scooped up her blaster again. At her side Han was already returning fire, ignoring the danger as he crouched half protected by the wardrobe. Four more Imperials were at the doorway now, adding their contribution to the rapid splintering of the wardrobe. Leia clenched her teeth, firing back as well as long practice and the Force would let her, knowing full well how futile it was. The longer this firefight went on, the greater the chance that a stray shot would hit one of her babies—
And suddenly, unexpectedly, something touched her mind. A mental pressure; half suggestion, half demand. And what it told her …
She took a deep breath. “Stop!” she shouted over the din. “Stop shooting. We surrender.”
The firing hesitated, then came to a halt. Laying her blaster on top of the shattered wardrobe, she raised her hands as the two Imperials on the floor got cautiously to their feet and started forward. And tried to ignore Han’s stunned disbelief.
The balustrade near the rightmost stairway erupted in a cloud of chips and stone dust as the concentrated fire of the security guards finally broke through it. The answering fire from the landing caught one of the guards as the balustrade collapsed, sending him flopping backward to lie still. Mara eased an inconspicuous eye around the corner, peering through the debris and the blinding flashes of blaster bolts, wondering if in all the mess they’d managed to take out the Imperial they were trying for.
They had. Through the clearing smoke she could make out the shape of a body, scorched and dust-covered. “They got one,” she reported, turning back to Bel Iblis. “Three to go.”
“Plus however many there are upstairs,” he reminded her, his face grim. “Let’s hope the legendary Solo luck extends to Leia and the babies and anyone else up there they take hostage.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned hostages,” Mara said.
Bel Iblis shrugged. “A hostage screen is their only way out of here,” he said. “And I’m sure they know it. Their only other option is to go up, and I’ve already told Calrissian to scramble some fighters to close off the airspace above the Palace. With the turbolift blocked, this stairway is it.”
Mara stared at him, an icy shiver running abruptly through her. What with all the rush and commotion since this thing had started, she hadn’t had time to pause and consider all the nuances of the situation. But now, Bel Iblis’s words and her own distant memories had combined in a blinding flash of insight.
For a handful of heartbeats she stood there, thinking it through, wondering if it were real or a construct of her own imagination. But it held up. Logical, tactically brilliant, with Grand Admiral Thrawn’s fingerprints all over it. It had to be the answer.
And it would have worked … except for a single flaw. Thrawn obviously didn’t know she was here. Or didn’t believe she’d really been the Emperor’s Hand.
“I’ll be back,” she told Bel Iblis, stepping around him and hurrying back down the hallway. She rounded a corner into a cross corridor, eyes studying the carved frieze running along the top of the wall. Somewhere along here would
be the subtle marking she was looking for.
There it was. She stopped in front of the otherwise ordinary-looking paneling, glancing both ways down the corridor as she did so. Skywalker and Organa Solo might accept her past associations without any qualms, but she doubted anyone else here would be quite so blasé about it. But the corridor was deserted. Stretching up to the frieze, she slid two fingers into the proper indentations, letting the warmth of her hand soak into the sensors there.
And with a faint click the panel unlocked.
She slipped inside, closing the panel behind her, and looked around. Built more or less parallel to the turbolift shafts, the Emperor’s private passageways were by necessity narrow and cramped. But they were well lit, dust-free, and soundproof. And, more importantly, they would take her past the Imperials on the presentation landing.
Two minutes and three staircases later, she was at the exit that opened out onto Organa Solo’s floor. Taking a couple of deep breaths, preparing herself for combat, she stepped through the panel and out into the hallway.
With the battle raging three staircases below, she would have expected to find a secondary rear guard stationed near their bolthole. She was right: two men in the by-now familiar Palace Security uniforms were crouched against the walls with their backs to her, keeping watch on the far end of the corridor. The noise of heavy blaster fire coming from the other direction was more than enough to cover her quiet footsteps, and it was likely neither of them had any idea she was even there as she shot them down. A quick check to make sure they were out of the fight, and she was heading down the corridor toward Organa Solo’s suite.
She had reached it and was just starting to pick her way across the debris from the shattered outer door when the blaster fire from inside was suddenly punctuated by an explosive crash.
She clenched her teeth as the blasters of the defenders opened up, their noise mixing with that of the attackers. Rushing straight in without any attempt at stealth or cover would be a good way to get herself killed. But if she moved in more cautiously, someone in there was likely to be killed before she could get into firing position.
Unless …
Leia Organa Solo, she called silently, stretching out through the Force as she had earlier when Calrissian had gone for his blaster. No more certain now than she had been then that Organa Solo could even hear her. It’s Mara. I’m coming up behind them. Surrender. You hear me? Surrender. Surrender. Surrender.
And as she reached the outer door she heard Organa Solo’s shout, barely audible over the blaster fire. “Stop! Stop shooting. We surrender.”
Carefully, Mara eased an eye around the door. There they were: four Imperials standing or kneeling at the blackened edges of the doorway, blasters trained warily inside, with two more inside starting to get up from prone positions across the ruined security door. None of them giving the slightest bit of attention in her direction.
Smiling tightly to herself, Mara leveled her blaster and opened fire.
She had two of them down before the others even woke to the fact that she was there. A third fell as he spun around, trying in vain to bring his blaster to bear on her. The fourth was nearly to firing position when a shot from inside the room sent him spinning to the floor.
Five seconds later, it was all over.
There was one survivor. Barely.
“We think it’s the group’s leader,” Bel Iblis told Han as the two of them strode down the corridor toward the medical wing. “Tentatively identified as a Major Himron. Though we won’t know for certain until he’s conscious again. If then.”
Han nodded, throwing a quick glance at yet another pair of alert-looking guards as they passed. If nothing else, this little fiasco had sure gotten Security stirred up. About time, too. “Any idea how they got in?”
“That’s going to be one of my first questions,” Bel Iblis said. “He’s in intensive care—this way.”
Lando was waiting at the door with one of the medics when Han and Bel Iblis arrived. “Is everyone okay?” Lando asked, eyes flicking up and down his friend. “I sent Chewie up, but they told me I should stay here with the prisoner.”
“Everyone’s fine,” Han assured him as Bel Iblis stepped past Lando and pulled the medic aside. “Chewie was up there before I left, and he’s helping Leia and Winter set up in another suite. By the way, thanks for coming up after us.”
“No charge,” Lando grunted. “Especially since all we got to do was watch. What, you couldn’t have held off your little fireworks display for two more minutes?”
“Don’t look at me, pal,” Han countered. “It was Mara’s timing, not mine.”
A shadow seemed to cross Lando’s face. “Right. Mara.”
Han frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” Lando said, shaking his head. “There’s still something about her that bothers me. Remember back at Karrde’s base on Myrkr, just before Thrawn dropped in and we had to go hide in the forest?”
“You said you thought you knew her from somewhere,” Han said. It was a comment that had been stuck in the back of his mind all these months, too. “You ever figure out where?”
“Not yet,” Lando growled. “But I’m getting close. I know it.”
Han looked at Bel Iblis and the medic, thinking back to what Luke had said a couple of days later on their way off of Myrkr. That Mara had told Luke flat out that she wanted to kill him. “Wherever you saw her, she seems to be on our side now.”
“Yeah,” Lando said darkly. “Maybe.”
Bel Iblis beckoned them over. “We’re going to try to wake him up,” he said. “Come on.”
They went inside. Surrounding the ICU bed were half a dozen medics and Emdee droids, plus three of Ackbar’s top security officers. At Bel Iblis’s nod one of the medics did something to the treatment wrap around the Imperial’s upper arm; and as Han and Lando found places at the side of the bed, he coughed suddenly and his eyes fluttered open. “Major Himron?” one of the security officers asked. “Can you hear me; Major?”
“Yes,” the Imperial breathed, blinking a couple of times. His eyes drifted between the people standing around him … and it seemed to Han that he suddenly became more alert. “Yes,” he repeated, stronger this time.
“Your attack has failed,” the officer told him. “Your men are all dead, and we’re not sure yet whether you’re going to live.”
Himron sighed and closed his eyes. But that alertness was still in his face. “Fortunes of war,” he said.
Bel Iblis leaned forward. “How did you get into the Palace, Major?”
“Guess it can’t … hurt now,” Himron murmured. His breathing was becoming labored. “Back door. Put in … same time … private passage system. Locked from inside. She let us in.”
“Someone let you in?” Bel Iblis said. “Who?”
Himron opened his eyes. “Our contact here. Name … Jade.”
Bel Iblis threw Han a startled glance. “Mara Jade?”
“Yes.” Himron closed his eyes again, let out a deep breath. “Special agent of … Empire. Once called … Emperor’s Hand.”
He fell silent, and seemed to sink a little deeper into the bed. “That’s all I can permit right now, General Bel Iblis,” the chief medic said. “He needs rest, and we need to get him stabilized. In a day or two, perhaps, he’ll be strong enough to answer more questions.”
“That’s all right,” one of the security officers said, heading for the door. “He’s given us enough to start with.”
“Wait a minute,” Han called, starting after him. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think?” the officer retorted. “I’m going to have Mara Jade put under arrest.”
“On what, the word of an Imperial officer?”
“He has no choice, Solo,” Bel Iblis said quietly, laying a hand on Han’s shoulder. “A precautionary detention is required after an accusation this serious. Don’t worry—we’ll get it straightened out.”
&nbs
p; “We’d better,” Han warned. “Imperial agent, my eye—she took out at least three of them up there—”
He broke off at the look on Lando’s face. “Lando?”
Slowly, the other focused on him. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “That’s where I saw her before. She was one of the new dancers at Jabba the Hurt’s place on Tatooine when we were setting up your rescue.”
Han frowned. “At Jabba’s?”
“Yes. And I’m not sure … but in all that confusion before we left for the Great Pit of Carkoon, I seem to remember hearing her asking Jabba to let her come along on the Sail Barge. No, not asking—begging was more like it.”
Han looked down at the unconscious Major Himron. The Emperor’s Hand? And Luke had said she wanted to kill him …
He shook off the thought. “I don’t care where she was,” he said. “She still shot those Imperials off our backs up there. Come on—let’s go help Leia get the twins settled. And then figure out what’s going on around here.”
CHAPTER
10
The Whistler’s Whirlpool tapcafe on Trogan was one of the best examples Karrde had ever seen of a good idea ruined by the failure of its designers to think their whole plan through. Situated on the coast of Trogan’s most densely populated continent, the Whirlpool had been built around a natural formation called the Drinking Cup, a bowl-shaped rock pit open to the sea at its base. Six times a day, Trogan’s massive tidal shifts sent the water level inside the bowl either up or down, turning it into a violent white-water maelstrom in the process. With the tapcafe’s tables arranged in concentric circles around the bowl, it made for a nice balance between luxury and spectacular natural drama—a perfect drawing card for the billions of humans and aliens enamored of that combination.
Or so the designers and their backers had thought. Unfortunately, they’d rather overlooked three points: first, that such a place was almost by definition a tourist attraction, dependent on the vagaries of that market; second, that once the charm of the Whirlpool itself wore off, the centralized design pretty well precluded remodeling the place for any other type of entertainment; and, third, that even if such remodeling had occurred, the racket from the miniature breakers in the Drinking Cup would probably have drowned it out anyway.
