by Timothy Zahn
“Signal the Relentless, Captain,” Thrawn ordered him, swiveling back around again. “Tell Captain Dorja I need a five-hundred-man caretaker crew for the next six hours.”
Pellaeon looked down into the portside crew pit. Here and there one could see a crewer sitting properly at his station or an officer standing more or less vertically. But for the most part the crewers were collapsed limply in their seats, their officers leaning against walls and consoles or lying trembling on the deck. “Yes, sir,” he said, stepping back to his chair and keying for comm. “Will you be postponing the Coruscant operation?”
“No more than absolutely necessary,” Thrawn said. “History is on the move, Captain. Those who cannot keep up will be left behind, to watch from a distance.”
He glanced back at the door through which C’baoth had departed. “And those who stand in our way,” he added softly, “will not watch at all.”
CHAPTER
13
They came in to Coruscant in the dead of night: ten of them, disguised as Jawas, slipping in through the secret entrance that Palace Security had carefully sealed and that Luke had now just as carefully unsealed. Getting to the Tower unseen was no problem—no one had yet had the time to do anything about the Emperor’s limited maze of hidden passageways.
And so they filed silently into the suite behind Luke … and for the first time Han found himself face-to-face with the bodyguards his wife had chosen to protect her and her children from the Empire.
A group of Noghri.
“We greet you, Lady Vader,” the first of the gray-skinned aliens said in a gravelly voice, dropping to the floor and spreading his arms out to his sides. The others followed suit, which should have been awkward or at least crowded in the narrow suite entryway. It wasn’t, which probably said something about their agility. “I am Cakhmaim, warrior of the clan Eikh’mir,” the Noghri continued, talking toward the floor. “I lead the honor guard of the Mal’ary’ush. To your service and protection we commit ourselves and our lives.”
“You may rise,” Leia said, her voice solemnly regal. Han stole a glance at her, to find that her face and posture were just as stately as her voice. The sort of authority stuff that usually kicked in his automatic disobedience circuits. But on Leia it looked good. “As the Mal’ary’ush, I accept your service.”
The Noghri got to their feet, making no more noise than they had getting down. “My lieutenant, Mobvekhar clan Hakh’khar,” Cakhmaim said, indicating the Noghri to his right. “He will lead the second watch.”
“My husband, Han Solo,” Leia responded, gesturing to Han.
Cakhmaim turned to face him, and with a conscious effort Han kept his hand away from his blaster. “We greet you,” the alien said gravely. “The Noghri honor the consort of the Lady Vader.”
The consort? Han threw a startled look at Leia. Her expression was still serious, but he could see the edge of an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks,” Han growled. “Nice meeting you, too.”
“And you, Khabarakh,” Leia said, holding her hand out to another of the Noghri. “It’s good to see you again. I trust the maitrakh of your family is well?”
“She is very well, my lady,” the Noghri said, stepping forward from the group to take her hand. “She sends her greetings, as well as a renewed promise of her service.”
Behind the Noghri, the door opened and Chewbacca slipped inside. “Any trouble?” Han asked him, glad of a distraction from all these pleasantries.
Chewbacca growled a negative, his eyes searching the group of aliens. He spotted Khabarakh and moved to the Noghri’s side, rumbling a greeting. Khabarakh greeted him in turn. “Which others will be under our protection, Lady Vader?” Cakhmaim asked.
“My aide, Winter, and my twins,” Leia said. “Come; I’ll show you.”
She headed toward the bedroom with Cakhmaim and Mobvekhar at her sides. The rest of the aliens began to spread out around the suite, giving special attention to the walls and doors. Chewbacca and Khabarakh headed off toward Winter’s room together, conversing quietly between themselves.
“You still don’t like this, do you?” Luke said from Han’s side.
“Not really, no,” Han conceded, watching Chewbacca and Khabarakh. “But I don’t seem to have a lot of choices.”
He sensed Luke shrug. “You and Chewie could stay here,” he offered. “Lando, Mara, and I could go to Wayland by ourselves.”
“Or you could take the Noghri with you,” Han suggested dryly. “At least out there you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing them.”
“No one will see us here,” a gravelly voice mewed at his elbow.
Han jerked, hand dropping to his blaster as he spun around. There was a Noghri standing there, all right. He would have sworn none of the half-sized aliens were anywhere near him. “You always sneak up on people like that?” he demanded.
The alien bowed his head. “Forgive me, consort of the Lady Vader. I meant no offense.”
“They’re great hunters,” Luke murmured.
“Yeah, I’d heard that,” Han said, turning back to Luke. Impressive, sure, but it was never the aliens’ ability to protect Leia and the twins that he’d worried about. “Look—Luke—”
“They’re all right, Han,” Luke said quietly. “Really they are. Leia’s already trusted them once with her life.”
“Yeah,” Han said again. Tried to erase the image of Leia and the twins in Imperial hands.… “Everything go all right at the landing pad?”
“No problems,” Luke assured him. “Wedge and a couple of his Rogue Squadron teammates were there to fly escort, and Chewie got the ship under cover. No one saw us come into the Palace, either.”
“I hope you sealed the door behind you,” Han said. “If another Imperial team gets in, Leia’s going to have her hands full.”
“It’s closed but not really sealed,” Luke shook his head. “We’ll have Cakhmaim seal it behind us.”
Han frowned at him, an unpleasant suspicion forming in his gut. “You suggesting we go now?”
“Can you think of a better time?” Luke countered. “I mean, the Noghri are here and the Falcon’s loaded and ready. And no one’s likely to miss Mara until morning.”
Han looked over Luke’s shoulder, to where Leia was just emerging from the bedroom with her Noghri escort still in tow. It made sense—he had to admit that. But somehow he’d counted on him and Leia having a little more time together.
Except that the Empire would still be making clones during that time …
He grimaced. “All right,” he grumbled. “Sure. Why not?”
“I know,” Luke said sympathetically. “And I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. How do you want to do this?”
“Lando and I will go get Mara out,” Luke said, all business again. Probably could tell that Han wasn’t in the mood for sympathy. “You and Chewie get the Falcon and pick us up. And don’t forget to bring the droids.”
“Right,” Han said, feeling his lip twist. It wasn’t bad enough that he had to leave Leia and his kids to go break into another Imperial stronghold—he had to have Threepio along yakking his overcultured metal head off, too. It just got better and better. “You got the restraining bolt Chewie rigged up?”
“Right here,” Luke nodded, patting his jacket. “I know where to attach it, too.”
“Just don’t miss,” Han warned. “You get a G-2RD droid going, and you’ll have to take its head off to stop it.”
“I understand,” Luke nodded. “We’ll meet you out where we hid the Noghri ship—Chewie knows the place. He turned and headed toward the door.
“Good luck,” Han muttered under his breath. He started to turn—“What’re you looking at?” he demanded.
The Noghri standing there bowed his head. “I meant no offense, consort of the Lady Vader,” he assured Han. Turning away, he resumed his study of the wall.
Grimacing, Han looked around for Leia. Okay, he’d leave tonight; but he wasn’t
going anywhere until he’d said good-bye to his wife. And in private.
The Emperor raised his hands, sending cascades of jagged blue-white lightning at his enemies. Both men staggered under the counterattack, and Mara watched with the sudden agonized hope that this time it might end differently. But no. Vader and Skywalker straightened, and with an electronic-sounding shriek of rage, they lifted their lightsabers high—
Mara snapped awake, her hand groping automatically under her bed for the blaster that wasn’t there. That shriek had sounded like the start of an alarm from the G-2RD droid outside her room. An alarm that had been suddenly cut off …
Across the room, the lock clicked open. Mara’s searching hand touched the data pad she’d been reading from before going to sleep … and as the door swung open she hurled the instrument with all her strength at the dark figure silhouetted in the doorway.
The impromptu missile never reached him. The figure simply held up a hand, and the data pad skidded to a halt in midair. “It’s all right, Mara,” he murmured as he took another step into the room. “It’s just me—Luke Skywalker.”
Mara frowned through the darkness, stretching out with her mind toward the intruder. It was Skywalker, all right. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“We’re here to get you out,” Skywalker told her, stepping over to the desk and turning on a low light. “Come on—you’ve got to get dressed.”
“I do, huh?” Mara retorted, squinting for a moment before her eyes adjusted to the light. “Mind telling me where we’re going?”
A slight frown creased Skywalker’s forehead. “We’re going to Wayland,” he said. “You told Leia you could find it.”
Mara stared at him. “Sure, I told her that. When did I ever say I’d take anyone there?”
“You have to, Mara,” Skywalker said, his voice laced with that irritating idealistic earnestness of his. The same earnestness that had stopped her from killing that insane Joruus C’baoth back on Jomark. “We’re standing on the edge of a new round of Clone Wars here. We have to stop it.”
“So go stop it,” she retorted. “This isn’t my war, Skywalker.”
But the words were mere reflex, and she knew it. The minute she’d told Organa Solo about the Emperor’s storehouse she had committed herself to this side of the war, and that meant doing whatever she was called on to do. Even if it meant taking them personally to Wayland.
With all those well-trained Jedi insights Skywalker must have seen that, too. Fortunately, he had the sense not to throw any of it back into her face. “All right,” she growled, swinging her legs out of bed. “Wait outside—I’ll be right there.”
She had time while dressing to sweep the area with her far less trained Force abilities, and was therefore not surprised to find Calrissian waiting with Skywalker when she emerged from her suite. The condition of the G-2RD was a surprise, though. From the way that electronic shriek had been truncated, she’d expected to find the guard droid scattered around the hallway in several pieces; instead, it was standing perfectly intact beside her door, quivering slightly with mechanical rage or frustration. “We put a restraining bolt on it,” Skywalker answered her unspoken question.
She looked and spotted the flat device attached to the droid’s side. “I didn’t think you could restrain a guard droid.”
“It’s not easy, but Han and Chewie knew a way to do it,” Skywalker said as the three of them hurried down the hallway toward the turbolifts. “They thought this would make the prison break a little less conspicuous.”
Prison break. Mara threw a glance at Skywalker’s profile, the word suddenly putting this whole thing into a new perspective. Here he was: Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight, hero of the Rebellion, pillar of law and justice … and he’d just defied the entire New Republic establishment, from Mon Mothma on down, to get her out. Mara Jade, a smuggler to whom he owed not a single thing, and who in fact had promised to kill him.
All because he saw what needed to be done. And he trusted her to help him do it.
“A nice trick,” she murmured, glancing down a cross corridor as they passed, her eyes and mind alert for guards. “I’ll have to get Solo to teach it to me.”
Calrissian brought the airspeeder down at what appeared to be an old private landing pad. The Millennium Falcon was already there, an obviously nervous and impatient Chewbacca waiting for them at the open hatchway.
“About time,” Solo said as Mara followed Skywalker into the cockpit. They were barely aboard, she saw, and already he had the freighter in the air. He must be as nervous about this as the Wookiee. “Okay, Mara. Where do we go?”
“Set course for Obroa-skai,” she told him. “That was the last stop before Wayland on that trip. I should be able to have the rest of it plotted out by the time we get there.”
“Let’s hope so,” Solo said, reaching around to key the nav computer. “Better strap in—we’ll be making the jump to lightspeed as soon as we’re clear.”
Mara slid into the passenger seat behind him, Skywalker taking the other one. “What kind of assault force are we taking?” she asked as she strapped in.
“You’re looking at it,” Solo grunted. “You, me, Luke, Lando, and Chewie.”
“I see,” Mara said, swallowing hard. Five of them, against whatever defenses Thrawn would have set up to protect his most vital military base. Terrific. “You sure we’re not being unsporting about it?” she asked sarcastically.
“We didn’t have a lot more than this at Yavin,” Solo pointed out. “Or at Endor.”
She glared at the back of his head, willing the anger and hatred to flow. But all she felt was a quiet and strangely distant ache. “Your confidence is so very reassuring,” she bit out.
Solo shrugged. “You can get a lot of distance out of not doing what the other side expects you to,” he said. “Remind me sometime to tell you how we got away from Hoth.”
Behind them, the door slid open and Chewbacca lumbered into the cockpit. “Everything all set back there?” Solo asked him.
The Wookiee rumbled something that was probably an affirmation. “Good. Run a quick check on the alluvial dampers—they were sparking red a while back.”
Another rumble, and the Wookiee got to work. “Before I forget, Luke,” Solo added, “you’re in charge of those droids back there. I don’t want to see Threepio fiddling with anything unless Chewie or Lando is with him. Got that?”
“Got it,” Skywalker said. He caught Mara’s eye and threw her an amused grin. “Threepio sometimes has extra time on his hands,” he explained. “He’s taken an interest in mechanical work.”
“And he’s pretty bad at it,” Solo put in sourly. “Okay, Chewie, get ready. Here we go …”
He pulled back on the hyperdrive levers. Through the viewport the stars flared into starlines … and they were on their way. Five of them, on their way to invade an Imperial stronghold.
Mara looked over at Skywalker. And the only one of them who really trusted her was the one man she had to kill.
“Your first command since you resigned your commission, Han,” Skywalker commented into the silence.
“Yeah,” Solo said tightly. “Let’s just hope it’s not my last.”
“The Bellicose task force has arrived, Captain,” the comm officer called up to the Chimaera’s command walkway. “Captain Aban reports all ships at battle readiness, and requests final deployment orders.”
“Relay them to him, Lieutenant,” Pellaeon ordered, peering out the viewport at the new group of running lights that had appeared off to starboard and trying to suppress the growing sense of apprehension that was curling through his gut like wisps of poisoned smoke. It was all well and good for Thrawn to assemble the Empire’s seasoned elite for what amounted to an extended hit-and-fade attack on Coruscant; what was not so well and good was the possibility that the raid might not stop there. C’baoth was aboard, and C’baoth’s sole agenda these days seemed to be the capture of Leia Organa Solo and her twins. He’d already demonstrat
ed his ability to take absolute control of the Chimaera and its crewers, an arrogant little stunt that had already delayed this operation by several hours. If he decided to do it again in the thick of battle off Coruscant …
Pellaeon grimaced, the ghostly memories of the Empire’s defeat at Endor floating up before his eyes. The second Death Star had died there, along with Vader’s Super Star Destroyer Executor and far too many of the best and brightest of the Empire’s officer corps. If C’baoth’s interference precipitated a repetition of that debacle—if the Empire lost both Grand Admiral Thrawn and his core Star Destroyer force—it might never again recover.
He was still gazing out the viewport at the gathering assault force, trying to suppress his concerns, when a rustle of uneasiness rippled across the bridge around him … and even without looking he knew what it meant.
C’baoth was here.
Pellaeon’s command chair and its protecting ysalamir were a dozen long steps away—far too distant to reach without looking obvious about it. None of the other ysalamiri scattered around the bridge were within reach, either. It wouldn’t do to go running around like a frightened field scurry in front of his crew, even if C’baoth was willing to let him.
And if the Jedi Master chose instead to paralyze him like he had the rest of the Chimaera’s crew at Bilbringi …
A shiver ran up Pellaeon’s back. He’d seen the medical reports for those who’d had to recover in sick bay, and he had no desire to go through that himself. Aside from the discomfort and emotional confusion involved, such a public humiliation would severely diminish his command authority aboard his ship.
He could only hope that he’d be able to give C’baoth what he wanted without looking weak and subservient. Turning to face the approaching Jedi Master, he wondered if playing on this same fear of humiliation had been the way the Emperor had started his own rise to power. “Master C’baoth,” he nodded gravely. “What may I do for you?”
“I want a ship prepared for me at once,” C’baoth said, his eyes blazing with a strange inward fire. “One with enough range to take me to Wayland.”
