by James Luceno
Leia planted her hands flat on the podium and let her gaze roam the audience.
"I won't mince words. New Republic Senator Elegos A'Kla tried to sue for peace and was brutally murdered. The New Republic Defense Force tried and failed to save Ithor, Obroa-skai, and scores of other worlds. The Hutts have apparently struck a deal with the Yuuzhan Vong that allows the invaders to occupy and utilize Hutt worlds for resources essential to the invasion.
"Now I ask the Consortium to decide which course it will pursue.
"I do not make this request lightly, for there's a chance, however remote, that the Yuuzhan Vong will leave the Hapes Cluster undisturbed, in which case you will be fighting for a cause rather than survival. If forced, the New Republic will wage this battle alone, but the odds of victory will be greatly enhanced by military support from the Consortium."
She took a breath and showed the palms of her hands. "I can promise nothing in return for such support, for the future is uncertain. But I urge all of you to consider carefully whom you wish to have as galactic neighbors, and as well to recall what Emper or Palpatine was able to achieve by dimming the light of so many worlds with his own shadow.
"I thank you all for attending to one forced to resort to words to express what her heart contains."
The hall couldn't have been more silent if it had been catapulted into deep space.
"Delegate Miilarta," Ta'a Chume said, "Ambassador Organa Solo. Ambassador Solo, Lol Miilarta of Terephon."
Leia extended her right hand with practiced gracious-ness, and Miilarta shook it. "Charmed, Ambassador," she said, then lowered her voice to add, "I can assure you that Terephon will vote to render aid."
Leia smiled with her eyes. "The New Republic thanks you."
Miilarta bowed smartly and moved down the reception line. In the formal way that typified such functions, Leia introduced her to the New Republic's ambassador to the Consortium, then turned back to Ta'a Chume, who introduced the equally beautiful female delegate from Ut, the world that had sent a song on the occasion of the Consortium's visit to Coruscant.
Standing behind Leia, C-3PO whispered into her right ear, "Delegate Miilarta brings the count to thirty-one worlds, Mistress. You are effectively halfway to completion."
Leia glanced down the reception line, which-with husbands, wives, mistresses, and children-wound nearly to the grand entrance of the Fountain Palace, home to the Hapes royal family.
"Tiring of the formalities, Ambassador?" Ta'a Chume asked from behind her veil.
Leia turned slightly to regard her. "Not at all."
"You mean to say that you don't find the process somewhat-how shall I put it?-antiquated?"
"Actually, it makes me think of Alderaan."
"Alderaan? You surprise me, Leia. Equating a former cynosure of democracy to a matriarchy founded by pirates. What can you be thinking?"
Leia smiled to herself. "In the interest of getting things done, the New Republic had dispensed with ceremony. But I sometimes miss the pomp and circumstance of the Old Republic, and Hapes feels like a fond memory frozen in time."
The scarlet half-veil kept secret Ta'a Chume's expression, but her tone of voice belied a bemused grin. "Why, how sweet of you to reduce our way of life to mere nostalgia."
"You mistake my meaning, Ta'a Chume-with purpose, I think." Leia swept her eyes over the reception room. "This might have been my life, if not for the Empire. The grandeur, the propriety . . . the intrigues."
Ta'a Chume's eyes narrowed. "Ah, but it could easily have been yours, my dear. It was you who chose Han Solo over my son."
Leia looked at Chume'da Isolder, who stood tall, impeccably dressed, and incurably handsome at the head of the reception line. Yes, she told herself, / chose a two-fisted rogue without a credit to his name over a scion of pirates with pockets deep enough to finance his own war. And thank the stars for that. Childhood memories were one thing, but examined in the light of middle age they surrendered some of their charm. Leia could no more imagine herself a proper princess than she could an actress or an entrepreneur. She glanced over at Teneniel Djo-hands folded in front of her and chin lifted in regal deportment- and shuddered at the thought of standing in Teneniel's thousand-credit slippers.
And yet even while she was thinking it, apprehension nibbled at her contentment. With Han off on his own, distant in more ways than one, the future they forged had grown formless and clouded. She hated having to worry about him, but in fact, she missed him terribly, and the trappings of royalty, the glance down a path not taken, left her feeling cold and alienated.
"Archon Thane," Ta'a Chume was saying, "Ambassador Organa Solo. Ambassador Solo, Archon Beed Thane of Vergill."
Robust, fully bearded, head and shoulders taller than Leia, Thane was one of the Consortium's few male delegates. He glowered as he stepped in front of her. "Ambassador Solo," he said, slurring his words. "The infamous Jedi."
Ta'a Chume stiffened. "I would caution you to keep a civil tongue, Archon. Or have you perhaps sipped too freely of the drink we provided?"
Thane nodded in a bow. "Your pardon, Most Revered Ereneda," he said, using the title reserved for Hapan queen mothers, past or present. "Your generosity has certainly undone me."
Leia reached out with her feelings. Thane wasn't drunk; he was merely acting drunk. "I am not a Jedi, Archon," she told him. "As to my infamy-it is certainly your prerogative to think what you will."
He swung to her. "Spoken like a Jedi calmly, in full possession. A statement weaker minds might be inclined to embrace as the full truth."
"Careful, Archon," Ta'a Chume seethed under her breath. "I'm certain you don't wish to cause a scene."
Leia folded her arms across her chest. "A scene is precisely his wish, Ta'a Chume. Why deny him his fun?"
Thane vouchsafed a thin smile. "I happened to be on Coruscant when you went before the senate to deliver the same speech you made us sit through tonight. How it must have vexed your Jedi nature to be ignored."
"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time, Archon-"
"If he has a problem with the Jedi, he can address his concerns to me."
Tenel Ka was suddenly standing alongside Leia, her hand resting lightly on the rancor-tooth-inlaid grip of her lightsaber. Querulous and stubborn by nature, Tenel Ka had always been quick to take on a fight, and just now her gray eyes were boring into Thane's.
But the archon stood his ground, smiling nastily. "Why, it's the Dathomiri who rejects her Hapan heritage, yet deigned to save the royal family from the machinations of Ambassador Yfra." His gaze moved up and down the reception line. "Isn't this the happy group."
A crowd had begun to form around Thane, and conversations throughout the vast room began to subside. Out of the corner of her eye Leia saw Prince Isolder making a direct line for the center of the commotion.
"We have only the ambassador's word that the Yu-uzhan Vong can't be dealt with," Thane was telling everyone within earshot. "And if what she says about forming a united front is true, why is the New Republic divided about where to deploy its fleets and to which systems it should render aid?" He turned through a circle as he spoke. "Is this what we want for the Consortium-a factioned leadership? As archon of Vergill I say we remain neutral until such time as the invaders make certain their plans for the Consortium, either by word or force of arms."
He gestured toward Leia. "She comes to us, asking a favor and bringing only the gift of a warning. Why not the gift of the quick-recharge turbolaser technology the New Republic has withheld for so many years?"
"That'll be enough, Thane," Isolder said angrily. "This isn't the time or place for a political debate. If you can't abide by the rules of decorum-"
"You'll toss me out of your palace?" Thane cut him off. "You'd sooner host the descendants of those Jedi who killed your ancestors than someone who dares speak the truth in your presence?"
"Enough," Isolder snapped.
But Thane was far from finished; he played to the crowd once more. "He pr
efers the company of a daughter who has denounced her Hapan heritage ..."
Tenel Ka took a forward step, only to be blocked by her father.
"... and a speaker of half-truths like Ambassador Solo-"
Demonstrating uncanny speed and precision, Isolder backhanded Thane across the face, knocking him into the crowd and drawing blood from his lower lip. Instantly Isolder's longtime friend and former bodyguard Captain Astarta was at his side, flinging a thick braid of red hair over her shoulder and positioning her hands to parry or strike, as need be.
Two of Thane's supporters had rushed to take him by the arms and stand him on his feet, but now he threw them aside, wiped his hand across his mouth, and snorted a laugh at Isolder.
"The spurned suitor to the rescue."
Leia's heart sank. She could feel Isolder battling to control his rage. As angry as she was at him for allowing himself to be provoked, she couldn't help but dread Thane's next move.
"My seconds will call on you in the morning, Chume'da Isolder," the archon of Vergill said with complete sobriety.
Isolder returned a formal nod of assent. "My seconds will be waiting to greet them."
"Thus begins the schism," Ta'a Chume said in a sad, quiet voice as Thane and his supporters headed for the door.
NINE
"Punch it, Droma!" Han yelled as he veered the Falcon into an abrupt bank.
Muttering nervously to himself, Droma boosted power to the sublight drives and maxed the throttle. "We'll be fine venturing into Hutt space, you said. You used to do a lot of contract work up and down the Sisar Run, and Sriluur was like a second home, you said. Nothing to worry about, you-"
"Quit griping and give me an update on those ships!"
Droma swung to the display screen of the ship's friend-or-foe authenticator, which showed seven bezel-shaped icons closing fast on the Falcon's aft. "Yuuzhan Vong, all right."
Han glanced at the display. The scanners limned images of what might have been asteroids save for the distinctive bulges that were cockpits and the pitted noses characteristic of weapons emplacements and dovin basal housings. "Coralskippers."
"Coordinates for the jump to Nar Shaddaa coming in."
"Belay that," Han countered, throwing switches on the console. "There's no shaking those skips. Route power to the rear deflector shields and lock in a course back to Sriluur. I'd rather deal with them in atmosphere than out here."
Droma quickly applied himself to the task. "At least we won't have as far to fall."
"Thanks for the encouragement."
The Falcon whipped through a half-twisting loop, and the curve of the dun-and-ecru-colored world ballooned into view. Terrain-following data said they were traveling northward, looking out at a slice of the northern hemisphere just east of the planetary date line.
"Skips don't perform well in gravity," Han assured. "Have to rely on the antigrav capabilities of the dovin basals."
As if they had heard him, the enemy pilots began firing at extreme range, molten-gold comets streaming from the projectile and plasma launchers in the bows of their small craft. Two of the missiles connected and, even though weakened by distance, were powerful enough to rock the larger ship. The Falcon's sensor suite began screaming.
"Rear shields holding," Droma reported while he activated countermeasures and distortion systems. "For now."
Han took a steadying breath, vised his right hand on the throttle lever, and rammed it home. The light freighter surged into Sriluur's upper atmosphere, trembling as it continued its oblique dive. With arrant scorn for the planet's protective wrapping, the Yuuzhan Vong crafts plunged after.
"See what I told you?" Han exclaimed. "They stick like epoxy!"
The ship's indicators railed in protest as the Falcon plummeted into denser air, rolling and corkscrewing to evade the deadly fire that sought her. All caution forgotten, Han sharpened the angle of descent, sloughing control in exchange for added speed.
"You've got the bridge!" he told Droma.
Droma threw him a panicked glance. "What?"
Unfastening the straps that secured him to the pilot's chair, Han stood, spun on his heel, and started for the main ladderwell. He didn't make it past the cockpit hatch when ship-rattling impacts aft threw him to the deck and forced him to rethink the idea of getting to one of the gun turrets.
"Enable autotracking for the quad lasers," he said in a rush as he was scrambling to his feet. Buckling back into the chair, he donned a headset and began to call up targeting data on the weapons control display screen. "Let's see if we can't even up the odds."
Droma reached for the joystick that controlled the Falcon's belly gun while Han took hold of the controls for the dorsal gun. Data began scrolling across the respective screens. Han bracketed a coralskipper in the targeting reticle and squeezed the trigger on the control grip.
The enemy craft swallowed the bolt whole.
He pounded his fist on the console. "We've gotta give them more to worry about than laserfire!"
Abruptly he rolled the Falcon onto its back while Droma was still firing the belly gun. In an effort to keep up, the lead coralskipper drew deeply on the capabilities of its dovin basal and accelerated.
Again, Han brought the reticle over his target, but the coralskipper sped out of his sights in a flash.
He left the firing to Droma momentarily and peeled the ship away in a sweeping descending bank. Projectiles slammed against the rear shields, and plasma streaked between the ship's mandibles. Han rerouted power to the forward deflector and again increased the angle of their descent.
They ripped through a filmy blanket of high-altitude clouds and went spiraling downward. Far below them ocean and desert lay side by side. Storm systems shrouded Sriluur's western horizon, and to the north an expansive brown haze smudged the terrain.
Droma glanced at the meteorological sensors. "That's a sandstorm!"
"How about that," Han said. "Some wishes do come true."
The words had barely left his mouth when the lead coralskipper dropped with mind-boggling velocity and was suddenly beneath the Falcon and firing up at her, plasma geysering from its gun emplacements.
Han pulled out of the spiral, yanked the throttle, and threw the ship up and over the coralskipper directly on his tail. A molten bolt from the craft below caught its squadron mate full on. The coralskipper shuddered as hunks of yorik coral flew in all directions. Then an interior explosion burst from the crystalline cockpit, and the crippled ship went into a helpless free fall, condemned to death by gravity.
The destroyed coralskipper's wingmate veered and glued himself to the Falcon's tail, battering it with projectiles and refusing to be unseated, despite a slew of daring turns and evasions Han took them through.
Han went for a pushover, but not in time. Something hit the Falcon like a hard clap on the back. Fighting with the controls, he succeeded in righting her, only to emerge from an end-over-end roll to find three more coralskippers attached to the ship as she entered the sandstorm.
The bristles on Droma's back stood up. "Another hit like that and you may as well plow us into the sand and let the Falcon be our gravestone!"
Projectiles raced past the outrigger cockpit. With the Falcon's Quadex power core roaring, Han pushed the ship to its limits, jinking and juking as the coralskippers continued to rake fire at them. He dropped the Falcon away in a power dive, leaving Droma struggling to adjust thrust bias and avert disaster as enemy missiles ranged closer.
All at once a mountain loomed before them. Han torqued the ship to starboard so forcefully that both he and Droma nearly sailed from their seats. The lead coralskipper pilot pursued them ferociously, obviously unable to hold the Falcon in his sights but firing anyway, perhaps in the hope of shaking Han's concentration.
Without warning, a plasma bolt sizzled through the overtaxed rear shields. A muffled explosion sounded from aft, followed by the sibilant hiss of the ship's fire-suppression system. An acrid smell drifted forward on exhaust fan curren
ts.
Han sniffed and shot Droma a wide-eyed glance. "What was that?"
Droma's eyes roamed over the console telltales. "Power converter."
Han winced. "Of all the rotten luck!"
He utilized more of the ship's amazing speed to improve their lead and leapt deeper into the swirling haze. The three coralskippers decreased velocity, waiting for the Falcon to come across their vector, but instead Han poured on all power, climbed, looped, and came around behind the trio.
Droma fired instinctively with the belly gun. With the dovin basal of the trailing ship too stressed to handle defense as well as guidance, the laser bolts sneaked through. The widespread burst caught the craft right on the nose, blowing it to nuggets.
Han hooted triumphantly as he sheered off and settled calmly into kill position behind the second craft. The coralskipper pilot, realizing the position he was suddenly in, climbed slightly, unintentionally placing himself in the overlapping field of fire between the Falcon's upper and lower batteries.
"Money Lane!" Han shouted. "One hundred credits to whoever nails him!"
"You're on!" Droma said.
Simultaneously, the two of them tightened their fingers on the trigger. The quad lasers loosed storms of red darts that peppered the rear of the enemy craft and perforated the cockpit, disintegrating the ship.
Han and Droma howled their joy as Han steered through a corkscrewing dive, zipping through the far-flung remains of the exploded ship. Swooping past the lead craft, Han inverted the Falcon and took her back into the storm.
Where it could be glimpsed at all, the land was dark red and studded with monolithic rock towers that were the sandblasted and wind-eroded remains of volcanic upthrusts. And yet despite their size, the swirling sand made the tors almost impossible to see.
Eyes on the terrain-following display and making the most of the Falcon's maneuverability, Han aimed deliberately for the closest obelisk. Faking a climb, he stood the ship on its side and swerved to starboard while Droma triggered bursts from the belly gun. Unsecured items throughout the ship flew from their perches, crashed into bulkheads, or were sent rolling along the deck plates of the ring corridor. But two well-placed laser bolts caught the coralskipper at the cockpit seam, splitting it in two, as if struck by a chisel in the hands of a master stonemason.
