by Kathy Tyers
“Shore leave,” wheezed the nearer one, straightening his stiff, high round collar.
“Authorized?” Luke asked. Surely their commanding officer had more sense than to—
The Calamarian waved a finny hand. “Of course, Commander. Our rotation came up. We’re as tired as anyone else. But these strangers spotted us.”
“So you killed two of them?”
“Commander, they were charging us! Ten of them! They fired first, Commander.”
Luke wanted to go back to Endor. “One of you come with me.”
“Sir?” The Calamarian backstepped, clenching his blaster.
“That’s an order,” Luke said quietly. “Follow close, so I can cover you.”
Slowly the tall alien wormed out of his hiding spot in the gantry. A blaster bolt zinged in from across the way. Luke whirled and deflected it, then shouted, “Hold your fire! Chewie, beat their heads together if you have to!”
A Wookiee roar echoed across the empty area between ship and gantry.
“All right,” said Luke. “Come on.”
Walking a little more slowly, this time—the Calamarian wouldn’t move any faster—Luke retraced his steps toward the gunship. He avoided the spot where the bodies lay. “Chewie, where are you?”
Another burst of blaster fire flashed in, then another. Luke leaped and spun, parrying without thought.
Just as suddenly, the firing stopped. A weird creaking groan came from the gantry ahead … and the unmistakable roar of a furious Wookiee. Luke held up his saber to get a better look. The metal tower rocked violently. High overhead, several dark forms clung to struts in the black night. Blasters clattered to the ground.
“Good work, Chewie,” Luke called. He adjusted his grip on the saber. “Okay,” he shouted, “everybody down. Get a good look. This is a Mon Calamari. Not a Ssi-ruu. Look at him!” He heard scuffling noises, but no faces appeared in the green-lit circle. “Come on,” he called, losing patience.
After three seconds of silence, he heard Chewbacca whuffle.
Then out they came, ten humans—eight males and two females—dressed in an assortment of loose, bulky coats and warm hats. None appeared to be armed, now. One male, shorter and thinner than the others, pointed at the Calamarian. “He’s right—it’s not a Flutie,” he said. Luke recognized the voice. This was the man who’d tried to warn him away.
A larger man pushed forward, squinting. Green light flattered nobody, but Luke guessed this character wore dark circles under his bulging eyes in any light. “Quiet, Vane.”
The thin man shut his mouth but shuffled closer to Luke and the Calamarian. Tessa Manchisco stepped into the circle of light. Her eyes reflected green anger.
“This pad is blocked off for the use of Alliance crews,” Luke said sternly. “Why are you here?”
Dark-circles crossed his beefy arms. “This is our planet, sword boy. We’ll thank you to keep critters like that fish—and that hairy one—off of it.”
Chewbacca edged toward that side of the gang.
Luke needed information, and he needed it quickly. Had these ruffians been sent in by the Empire, or were they acting alone? The thin Bakuran stood close enough for Luke to attempt probing his mind, briefly. Luke felt certain his motives were good enough that he didn’t risk drifting toward the dark side.
Still, he hesitated before focusing his attention tightly toward the thin man, opening himself to listen for the man’s feelings (confusion, fear, embarrassment, suspicion …). He thrust past them into memory.
He didn’t have to search very deeply. “A little something, direct from the governor’s office,” had been promised if they hung out close to Pad 12 and made certain the Ssi-ruuk didn’t infiltrate Bakura by way of that closed-off Alliance landing area.
Luke broke off the contact and lowered his lightsaber. “Go home.” He hoped his voice sounded as disgusted as he felt. “Tell Governor Nereus that we’ll police Pad Twelve ourselves.”
No one moved.
A deep, throaty rumble started from Chewbacca’s direction. Picking up the cue, Luke added, “Go on. You still haven’t seen a Wookiee get really mad.”
The thin man slunk out of the green-lit circle toward the bodies. One by one, the others followed. Soon a bedraggled little group shambled toward Pad 12’s main gate, carrying their comrades.
No sooner had they passed through the gate than the main bank of lights lit up again.
Someone must be watching from the Imperial garrison, only a few kilometers south. And Spaceport Security was unquestionably busy at Pad 2, or 6, or 9. On Imperial business.
He exhaled hard. “Let’s go make sure the Falcon’s okay, Chewie.”
When Threepio wakened Leia early, she found a message from Luke: He’d taken Chewbacca to the spaceport to oversee ship repairs. She dressed hurriedly in the bathroom and braided up her hair. Scurrying back out, she caught sight of a tall human standing against the mural wall. She gasped and stopped in midstep. By dim room light, he glimmered faintly and washed out the real-time image of a sparkling city.
Luke had said he sometimes saw Ben Kenobi like this. Backing away, she squinted. This man didn’t look like the old general, nor anyone else she’d met before.
Whoever he was, he didn’t belong in her apartment. She eyed her blaster, just out of reach on the repulsor bed. It probably lacked a certain threat against apparitions, if this was one. “Who are you?” she demanded. “State your business.”
“Do not fear me,” the figure said softly. “Tell Luke to remember that fear is of the dark side.”
Who was this person, bringing messages for Luke into her allegedly private quarters? A Bakuran? An Imperial? “Who are you?”
The stranger stepped sideways into a darker spot, where his glow brightened. He was tall, with a broad pleasant face and dark hair. “I am your father, Leia.”
Vader. A chill started at her feet and shivered its way to her scalp. His very presence stirred every dark emotion she owned: fear, hatred—
“Leia,” the figure repeated, “do not fear me. I am forgiven, but I have much that I wish to atone for. I must clear your heart and your mind of anger. Anger is the dark side, too.”
Her blaster definitely wouldn’t help. Even when he’d lived, he’d deflected blaster bolts bare-handed. She’d seen him do it at Cloud City. “I want you to leave.” The dark chill froze her voice. “Disincorporate. Fade out, or whatever you do.”
“Wait.” He did not move away from the wall. If anything, he seemed to shrink in size and proximity. “I am no longer the man that you feared. Can you not see me as a stranger, not an old enemy?”
She’d lived too long with the fear of Darth Vader. “You can’t restore Alderaan. You can’t bring back the people you murdered, or comfort their widows and orphans. You can’t undo what you did to the Alliance.” Old pain jabbed her like a fresh wound.
“I strengthened the Alliance, although that was not my intent.” He extended a glimmering arm. The mellow voice sounded wrong. The mild, naked face didn’t look as if it’d hidden for decades behind a black breath mask. “Leia, things are changing. I may never be able to return to you.”
She glanced away. Maybe she couldn’t harm him with her blaster, but it would feel good in her hands. If she stretched, she could almost reach it. “Good.”
“There is no justifying … my actions. Yet your brother saved me from darkness. You must believe me.”
“I heard Luke.” She crossed her arms and clenched her hands around her elbows. “But I’m not Luke. Or your teacher. Or your confessor. I’m only your daughter by a cruel trick of fate.”
“Of the Force,” he insisted. “Even that served a purpose. I am proud of your strengths. I do not ask for absolution. Only your forgiveness.”
She set her chin and kept her arms crossed. “How about what you did to Han? Are you going to beg him for his forgiveness?”
“Only through you. My time here is short.”
She swallowed. Her throat felt
dry. “I can almost forgive you torturing me.” He bowed his head. “And the evils you did to other people—because those drove so many worlds into the Alliance. But cruelty to Han … no. If you want to go through me, you won’t get his forgiveness. Never.”
The figure shrank farther away. “Never is too large a word, my child.”
Darth Vader, lecturing her about virtue and eternity? “I will never forgive you. Dematerialize. Go away.”
“Leia, I may not speak to you again, but I’ll hear if you call me. If you change your mind, I will be watching.”
She stared. How dare he, after all his cruelties and perversities? Let Luke deal with him. She would not.
How did Luke stand knowing this was their father?
She rushed out of the bedroom. Morning light streamed through the main room’s long window, lighting yellow walls and dark flooring. Han pushed up out of the closest corner lounge. “You’re going to be late, Highness-ness.”
Threepio waddled toward her. “Are you ready, Mistress L—?”
She had seized up the Owner and shut off Threepio. Now she turned to watch the bedroom door. No one emerged. “He can’t do this to me,” she muttered. “To my life. He can’t do it!”
Han glanced at the comically frozen droid, then crinkled his mouth. “He who? Did you get a call from that captain guy?”
Flinging out her arms, she paced past the windows. “Oh, fine. That’s all you can think of, your petty”—she grabbed a couch pillow—“lousy”—she twisted it between her hands—“jealousy! Vader’s been here, and all you can think of is … acch!”
“Whoa, Princess.” He showed her his palms. “Vader’s dead. Luke burned him. I took a speeder bike out and saw the ash pile.”
Leia’s stomach hurt. “You saw his body. I just saw the … rest of him.”
“You’re seeing things too, now?” He stood hip-hitched, hands in his pockets, eyebrows raised. “Either you’re getting stronger in this Force stuff or Luke’s a bad influence.”
“Maybe both,” she said bitterly. “If I had to see ghosts, I could’ve put up with that Yoda of his. I would’ve enjoyed talking to General Kenobi. Who do I get?” Dropping the pillow, she struck the yellow wall with a fist.
“Easy,” he murmured. “It’s not my fault.”
“I know it isn’t.” Now her knuckles hurt, too. Frustrated, she pivoted to lean against the wall. She glared back across the lounge pit’s blue and green cushions toward her bedroom.
“What did he want?”
“You’re gonna love this. To apologize.”
Han gave a short, disbelieving laugh and ran a hand over his eyes.
“Yeah,” she said. “My sentiments exactly.”
“You know, you’ve been jumping at everything that reminded you of him. Now you’ve faced him down. Maybe the worst is over.”
“It’s not.” She let her shoulders sink. “Han, he’s still here. I’m …” Unable to finish the sentence, she shut her eyes.
“So what?” Han stepped closer and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, nobody gets to be as big a deal with the Empire as he was without a lot of strengths and abilities. You got ’em. You’re just using ’em differently.”
How could he be so insensitive? “Thanks a lot, Han.” She considered taking a swing at him.
“Leia?” He spread his arms. “I’m sorry too. I guess. Sorry I made a stink about that Alderaanian guy, anyway.”
She drew a long, slow breath and stayed against the wall. “Go away.”
“All right,” Han exclaimed abruptly, “okay! I can take a hint.” Glaring, he stalked around the lounge pit.
“Han, wait!” What had she done, venting her anger on the one person she shouldn’t hurt? He passed Threepio, then the darkened comm station, almost reaching the main door. “Han, it’s … it’s the Vader in me. I can’t help what I am.”
As the impact of what she’d said flooded through her, Han stopped beside the black console. He turned slowly. “No,” he said. “It’s the Skywalker in you.”
That name—Luke’s name—didn’t raise her hackles the same way. A fleeting thought flashed through her mind: What had Vader been like … before he was Vader?
“I’ll tell you one thing.” Han walked up to the edge of the lounge pit. “Governments need each other. Yeah. Planets do, species do. But so do people.”
Governments. She was going to be late for breakfast with the prime minister—“Yeah.” She paced back to his side. “Right. Anyway, he’s gone. He didn’t hurt me. Maybe he can’t hurt me any more.”
“That’d be good.” Han ran a finger around the tight braids pinned to her head.
She yanked out the pins and pulled off the end clasps. Han stood with his eyebrows at attention as she ran her fingers from scalp to ends and tossed her head. Her hair swung loose. “But I’m not going to forgive him,” she said softly.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He fingered the dark cascade, then wrapped an arm around her waist.
His shoulder made a firm, warm pillow. “I love you, Nerf Herder.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
He stroked the back of her head. “What makes you think I don’t?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, straightening her neck. She held her lips near his chin.
Accepting the invitation, he bent and kissed her. She felt her life energy draw up into the kiss until nothing existed but barely perceptible movements of Han’s mouth. She flattened her hands on his shoulders. His legs shifted toward her. All perception vanished but the taste of his breath. Her pulse quickened in her ears.
The comm center blatted behind him.
“Mmmf!” Han cried before she could disengage. Once he pulled free, he shouted, “No! It’s not fair!”
Laughing at her own despair, Leia pushed her hair behind her shoulders. “Want to get it? Or shall I?”
“Well, you’re—” He looked her up and down and smiled crookedly. “Lovely.”
“But I’m not presentable.”
“It isn’t your usual image,” he agreed with a sad head shake. “I’ll get it.”
Leia backed aside. Han touched a control and then blinked. “Luke!” he exclaimed. “What’s up?”
“There’s been a little trouble,” said Luke’s voice.
Leia whisked back to Han’s side. Luke looked calm. She tried stretching out with the Force to feel his presence, but she couldn’t. She must still be too agitated. “I thought you were going to check on ship repairs,” she said.
“I didn’t think the comm center was secure enough to leave messages. Our Mon Calamari crew came downside for an authorized shore leave. Some Bakurans on the wrong side of the spaceport—at Nereus’s suggestion—spotted them and thought the Ssi-ruuk had landed. By the time I got here, the Calamari had blasted two in self-defense.”
“Oh, no.” Treaty papers burned in Leia’s imagination.
“Sorry I missed it.” Han grinned. “Looks like you made out all right.”
Luke nodded. “It was still dark enough that one lightsaber lit up the whole pad area. Once Chewie and I had both sides’ attention, and the Bakurans got a good look at our people, they declared a cease fire.”
Han raised one eyebrow. “Not bad, farm boy.”
“But, Luke.” Leia pushed her hair behind her shoulder again. “What about the injured Bakurans?”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Did I say injured? Sorry. Dead. Their families need formal apologies. Could you do it for me? You’re better at that kind of thing.”
Leia didn’t relish the idea, but he was right—she wanted it done correctly. “I will.” She tried stretching out for him again. What she touched frosted her blood. The crisis might be over, but in his deeper sense hid a dark disquiet. “Luke, what’s wrong?”
His cheeks colored. “Come on, Leia. This isn’t a secure channel.”
Luke was deeply afraid. What else had happened in the night? Han cocked an eyebrow at
her. She shook her head. “Later, then,” she said. “Han and I will go straight from here to the prime minister. I’ll apologize to him first. I’m also taking him Threepio and Artoo, to try translating.”
“Good. Artoo’s probably still in my bedroom, plugged in. Han, I’m leaving Chewie here to keep things calm. I’ll try to talk to Belden next, if I can find him.”
“Belden?”
“The senior senator. I have a feeling,” he said softly.
“About the shooting?” asked Han.
“Right. See you two later.” The image faded.
Han folded his arms. “I suppose the sooner we get on with it, the sooner we can get away from this planet with our skins.”
Leia stretched a hand toward the comm board. “I’ll send Prime Minister Captison a message that we’ll be late.” Good thing they’d been late. Otherwise, they’d’ve missed Luke’s transmission.
Frowning, she punched in Prime Minister Captison’s code. Maybe some day she would wish she’d accepted Vader’s apology. Anakin’s. Whoever he was. He had been polite.
Watching her, was he? Freshly furious, she shook her fist at thin air.
CHAPTER
11
Luke stepped out of the comm booth closest to pad 12, glad he hadn’t settled for the cantina’s nonvisual comm net. From watching Han and Leia’s faces, he felt sure they’d be all right. Better than all right. While he was on line, he’d also filed an incident report on the mainframe and looked up an address.
Chewie stood on watch. Luke grabbed a handful of arm fur and said, “Thanks, pal.” The Wookiee slapped Luke’s shoulder in reply, then stalked past the shabby cantina back toward the Falcon. A thorough investigation had assured them that nobody’d messed with it.
Captain Manchisco lounged against the cantina’s corrugated wall. “Heading out, Commander?” She must’ve cleaned up for shore leave, but gray spaceport dust had smudged her cream-colored shipsuit during the fracas. Three black braids still dangled jauntily on each side of her head, dusted with leaf fragments and twigs.
On board the Falcon, she’d declared that she (sensibly) offered her Duro navigator triple overtime to stay shipboard. Luke wished the Mon Calamari captain had thought of that. Credit-poor the Alliance might be, but its leadership would rather pay triple overtime than provoke incidents that cost Bakuran lives. “Say, how’s the Flurry?” he asked.
