Rebirth: Edge of Victory II

by Greg Keyes

  As he went carefully through the maze of deadly tides, Han was at least confident that there were few beings in the galaxy who could follow him. If an uninformed Yuuzhan Vong ship was tailing them, the invaders were as good as destroyed.

  Thus, it was several days before his barely repaired Falcon made its final approach to the secret base they had named simply Shelter. It was a patchwork construction, largely put together from the pieces of the infamous Maw installation, which in its own time—the days of the Empire—had been a top-secret weapons facility. The facility itself had been blown to bits by its erstwhile commander, Admiral Daala, but using the wreckage, along with modules imported from Kessel—and with the help of some well-heeled friends—Han and Leia had managed to facilitate the construction of a space station.

  As a location, the Maw was just too good to abandon, especially when a safe house was needed.

  “Not much to look at,” Han muttered, watching the rough cylinder gain resolution and reveal its makeshift nature. The base of it was an asteroid fragment, but living modules, a power core, and a rudimentary defense system rose obviously from its surface.

  “But it’s something,” Leia said, over his shoulder. “It’s a start. I never thought you could have pulled together the alliance it would take to build it, but there it is. Good work, Captain Solo.” Leia smiled and slipped her hand into Han’s.

  “I … Thanks. But look what happened when I was out here. Anakin was nearly killed on Yavin Four, and we didn’t have the slightest idea of what was going on.”

  “Anakin is safe on the Errant Venture, as safe as he can be anyway. Jaina’s on Coruscant. Jacen’s with us. I think we’ve done as well as we can, Han.”

  “Maybe. Well, let’s see what they’ve done with the place.”

  Lando Calrissian met them in the functional if unappealing docking bay. Someone had given it a coat of yellow paint, covering the mismatched plating it was built of, which was an improvement over the last time Han had seen it.

  “I like what you’ve done to the Falcon,” Lando said easily, as they stepped down the landing ramp. “The mottled yellow patches against matte black. Very stylish.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve always had an eye for the trendy,” Han replied.

  “And the beautiful,” Lando remarked, switching his gaze to Leia. “You’re more bewitching than ever.”

  “And you’re as glib as always,” Leia replied.

  Lando smiled his famous smile and bowed slightly at the waist.

  “The Falcon—” Han began.

  Lando waved his hand. “Think of it as done. We may not have much here, but we have what it takes to patch that old hunk of junk one more time, I think.”

  He scanned over their lived-in clothes and Jacen’s bloodstains. “The same goes for the three of you. Visit the ’fresher and my MD droid, please. When you’re done, I’d be pleased if you would join me in my stateroom for food and drinks, before we meet with the others who have come.”

  “The Hutt representative made it safely, then?” Leia asked.

  “It was tight at times,” Lando said, “but we got him here.”

  Han cleared his throat. “We can talk about that later,” he said. “Jacen, Lando’s right. You ought to have that cut looked at. And, Leia—”

  “My legs are fine,” she assured him.

  “Why don’t you let the medical droid take a look anyway? It certainly can’t hurt.”

  “There’s plenty of time,” Lando said. “If you’ll just follow me?”

  To Han’s relief, the MD droid didn’t find much on Leia or Jacen to complain about, and so an hour later, freshened and in new clothes, the three of them followed one of Lando’s droids to his stateroom. When the door opened, however, Han couldn’t repress a grin.

  “Why am I not surprised?” he asked.

  “Welcome to my humble home away from home,” Lando said. “Not up to my usual standards, I’ll admit, but it’s comfortable enough.”

  The chamber beyond might have been imported from one of Lando’s casinos or luxury barges. The stone of the asteroid had been annealed, etched, and planished to resemble Naboo tile, and the floor was of finest polished Kashyyyk wood. The appointments were all old Coruscant—pre-Empire—comfortable, decadently upholstered in philfiber brocades.

  “Have a seat. The droid will bring our drinks.”

  A shiny new SE-6 domestic sidled up and took their orders.

  “Stimcaf,” Leia said. “If I have to discuss anything, I want to be at least half awake.”

  “I have another theory on that,” Han said. “I know you, Lando. Surely you have some Corellian whiskey around this dump.”

  “Only the best, Han, though the best isn’t as good as it used to be.”

  “What is?”

  “Besides us?” Lando said. “Not much.”

  Jacen ordered mineral water.

  “Another sober fellow,” Lando remarked. “But I think I’ll join Han.” He leveled his intelligent gaze at Jacen. “And you, young Jedi. How are things with you?”

  “Very well, thanks,” Jacen said politely.

  “You’ve got a lot of your mother in you. Fortunate choice your genes made.” He paused. “I understand you’re hot property these days. I think you’ve even outdone the old man when it comes to the bounty you’d fetch.”

  “That’s not funny, Lando,” Han said.

  Lando raised his eyebrows mildly. “I didn’t say it was. Just making an observation. As you said, you know me.”

  “Only too well.”

  Lando made a wounded face, then brightened. “Ah, here are our drinks.” He took his glass and raised it. “To the old times, and to better ones.”

  They drank. Han grimaced. “Boy, you weren’t kidding. Whyren’s Reserve this ain’t.”

  “There have been better years, I’ll grant you that.” Lando’s voice softened and became more serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t make the funeral, Han. Some of my people got trapped near Obroa-skai when the Vong took it. I couldn’t leave them hanging.”

  “I know,” Han said, taking another drink. “I heard. That’s what he would have wanted you to do.”

  “And you, Lando,” Leia said. “How are things with you and Tendra?”

  “Hey, we’re making do. Losing Dubrillion wasn’t a lot of fun, but I’ve managed to spread my assets out over the years. I’ve still got the operation on Kessel, though it’s attracted some attention lately.”

  “Yuuzhan Vong?”

  “Nah, just pirates and profiteers. And I’ve been approached by the Peace Brigade.”

  That got Han’s attention. “Really?”

  “I sent them packing. They didn’t have the clout to back up their demands, and they knew it.”

  “Yes, but what did they want?” Leia asked.

  Lando chuckled. “The usual. Help hunting down Jedi, though they must have known who they were dealing with. Mostly I think they wanted guards for one of their convoys.”

  “What sort of convoy?”

  “It seems that the Brigade has expanded. They’re not just in the business of hunting Jedi anymore—they’ve taken over the trade routes in Vong-occupied territory.”

  “They’re supplying them?”

  “And their subject populations. Sure. Somebody has to.”

  “Of all the vile …” Leia couldn’t even finish, she was so disgusted.

  They shifted to small talk. The whiskey was warming, and Han felt his shoulders relax a little.

  “Well,” Lando said, when their glasses were dry. “Our allies, such as they are, are waiting. We’re probably as fashionably late as we can afford to be.”

  “Lead the way,” Han replied.

  Three beings awaited them in a conference room that evinced none of the luxury of Lando’s suite—it was clinically spare. The most striking of the trio was a young Hutt, reclining with a bored expression and an impatient twitch in his thickly muscled tail. Next to him sat a human woman in her mid-thirties. Her skin was almos
t as dark as Lando’s, her hair clipped and with severe bangs. She wore a formal business smock, black with a raised white collar. She looked serious, but the female Twi’lek another turn around the circular conference table looked positively grim.

  “How thoughtful of you to finally show up,” the Hutt remarked.

  “Happy to be of service,” Han replied, keeping his voice neutral. “And you’d be?”

  “Bored,” the Hutt replied.

  Han frowned and raised his finger, but Lando cut in smoothly. “Han Solo, meet Bana. He’s here on behalf of the Hutt resistance.”

  “And an investor in this … place,” Bana added. “Despite which I’ve been ill treated. Kept in closed quarters for the journey. Very inhospitable.”

  “You understand our desire to keep the location of Shelter a secret,” Lando said.

  “I understand the insult involved. You imply I might sell the information? My people are fighting for their lives. There is no dealing with the Yuuzhan Vong, neither in goods nor information. They are a mad species, and such sensible things mean nothing to them.” He drew his sluglike body straighter.

  “No insult was intended,” Leia soothed.

  The Hutt cocked his head. “You are Princess Leia. You were present when my cousin Randa died.”

  “I was,” Leia agreed. “He died bravely.”

  “This is Numa Rar,” Lando continued, introducing the Twi’lek.

  “It is an honor to meet you,” the woman intoned, her pale blue head-tails twisting together.

  Jacen spoke for the first time since entering the room. “I recognize you,” he said to Numa Rar.

  “Yes. I was a student of the late Daeshara’cor.”

  “You may have heard of the resistance on New Plympto, in the Corellian sector,” Lando said. “Numa is a leader of that resistance.”

  He turned to the human woman. “Opeli Mors,” he said. “A representative of the Jin’ri trade syndicate.”

  “Interesting,” Han said. “I’ve never heard of that organization.”

  “Nor have I,” Leia added.

  Opeli Mors gave a brief, businesslike smile. “We are a relatively new concern. We formed to meet the needs of refugees soon after the fall of Duro. We welcome the opportunity to expand.”

  “War profiteers,” Leia said.

  “No business can operate without an income,” Mors said. “Governments have the luxury of taxation. We do not.”

  “I know your type,” Leia replied, her voice climbing several degrees with each word. “Profit is one thing. You people gouge until there’s nothing left, then abandon your charges when they can no longer pay.”

  “Not true. We underwrite charity cases with monies we make from those who can afford our services. If we could operate on an entirely altruistic level, we would.”

  “I’ll bet. What were your bosses before the invasion? Racketeers? Pirates?”

  A slight line appeared on Mors’s forehead. “I came here in good faith.”

  “Let’s all just calm down,” Jacen said, reprising the role of mediator he had performed during the crisis at Duro. “Why don’t we just get the preliminaries out of the way?”

  “I’ve all but begged to move this along,” Bana said.

  “Mom?” Jacen said.

  Leia was politic enough to know that her son was right. She nodded, sat, and folded her hands together.

  “After the fall of Duro, Tsavong Lah, the Yuuzhan Vong warmaster, promised that if all of the Jedi in the galaxy were turned over to him, he would invade no more of our planets. A lot of people have taken him at his word.”

  “What concern is this of mine?” Bana asked.

  “The Jedi protect even your kind, Hutt,” Numa snarled suddenly.

  “But if I see clearly where our friend is going with this, it’s the Jedi who now need protecting.”

  “Not this Jedi,” the Twi’lek replied. “I do not ask for rescue, only for help in my struggle.”

  “If you would let me continue?” Leia said mildly.

  “Go on, please,” Numa said, though she did not seem in the least chastened.

  “Yes, we’re trying to establish a network to get Jedi off worlds that are hostile to them to places where they can be safe. But Luke Skywalker’s plan is much more comprehensive than that. We also want to be able to get Jedi into occupied systems—systems like yours, Bana.”

  “For what purpose?” Opeli Mors asked.

  “To help where they are most needed. To connect with underground and intelligence networks. What we are after here is not a Jedi rescue network, merely one that lets Jedi move about in relative safety.”

  “And these Jedi—they would fight with my people against the Yuuzhan Vong?” Bana asked.

  Leia and Jacen exchanged glances. Jacen cleared his throat. “Aggression, as such, is not the Jedi way. We would help, yes.”

  “Yes? You will run weapons to us? Supplies?”

  “The network could be used for that, too,” Han said. “As I see it, anyway.”

  “I should hope so,” Bana replied. “The fortunes of our family are not what they once were. When we spend money, we want a return.”

  Numa spoke again, dismissing the Hutt with a flick of her lekku. “I have heard, Jacen Solo, that you yourself attacked and humiliated the warmaster. Is this not aggression? Does not Kyp Durron even now take the fight to the enemy?”

  “He did it to save my life,” Leia said.

  Jacen squared up his shoulders. “I don’t agree with Kyp’s tactics, nor does Master Skywalker.”

  “Then you would not agree with mine,” Numa said. “Perhaps it was a mistake for me to come here.”

  Jacen studied her for a moment. “Your Master must have warned you of the dark side.”

  “Fear of the dark side is a luxury the people of New Plympto cannot afford. Will you help us or not?”

  Anakin would agree with her, Jacen thought glumly.

  “We will do what we can,” he told her. “We will bring medical aid and food, help evacuate those who must leave. We will not come in as guerrillas. And avoiding the dark side is not a luxury. It is a necessity.”

  She did not reply to that, but in the Force Jacen felt her unrepentant.

  “Mors?”

  The woman stared at the table for a moment, then her gaze found Han’s. “Personally, I would like to help,” she said. “But my superiors—well. We could supply troops and ships, of course, of the sort experienced at the kind of activity you’re planning, but—”

  “But we’ll have to pay,” Leia said.

  “Something, yes.”

  “Look,” Han said. “The New Republic isn’t in on this. They won’t fund it.”

  “You built this station.”

  “Out of our own pockets,” Lando said. “Even the Hutts contributed.”

  “Ah, but they stand to gain. Whatever our friend there may say, he knows your Jedi network is one of the slim hopes his people have for survival.”

  “You’re in the same escape pod,” Leia snapped. “You think the Yuuzhan Vong will tolerate your business when they’ve conquered the entire galaxy?”

  Mors shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s why I have been authorized to offer you the loan of one ship, at no charge. We’ll consider it an investment.”

  Han nodded. “Well, that’s something.” He glanced around the table. “Why don’t we see if we can find some more common ground?”

  Han slouched into the kneading chair in the quarters Lando had provided. Though not as opulent as Lando’s, they were more than comfortable.

  “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be defeatist,” Leia said.

  “I’m not. I’m being realistic. Somebody has to be, because your brother sure isn’t.”

  “Don’t start in on Luke again.”

  “Look, I’m glad he finally decided to do something,” Han said, “but he could have chosen something doable. ‘Make me a great river, Han, a stream to carry the en
dangered, the wounded, the weary to safety.’ Very poetic. But how do we pay for it? Everyone in the room wants to take and take, but they don’t want to give.”

  Leia’s expression softened and she stroked her fingers on his cheek. He closed them in his own hand and kissed them.

  He started to embrace her, but before he could complete it, she drew back from him a little, though gently.

  “We will find the money, Han.” And her eyes held a fire brighter even than that day on the Death Star when they first met. It burned through him like a blaster bolt. He nodded, and tugged her again, and this time she did not resist.

  TEN

  Nen Yim contemplated the mass of cells through an external maa’it, at a magnification of several hundred times their actual size, and for the first time in many cycles felt a minute amount of hope. She could not be certain, but she thought there were signs of regeneration; the mass had grown large and infinitesimally more massive. If so, her new protocol seemed to be working. Unfortunately, it would be some time before she could be sure, and though she was short of every resource imaginable, time was the commodity she had in least supply.

  She noted the results in her portable memory-qahsa, then moved on to the next batch of trials. Before she could get a good start, however, her door burred softly, indicating a request for admittance to the shaping quarters. She moved to the villip on the wall and stroked it to life.

  The face that appeared was the prefect Ona Shai, commander of the worldship. Her eyebrows had been cut into a series of vertical ridges, and one of her ears had been sacrificed to the gods.

  “Prefect Shai,” Nen Yim said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I desire admittance, Adept.”

  Nen Yim dithered, inwardly. There was no time to hide her work, but then, no one else on the Baanu Miir was likely to comprehend what she was doing, much less recognize it as heresy.

  “Please enter, Prefect.”

  A moment later the door burred a different tone, and Nen Yim opened it by exposing her wrist to its chemical sensor.