At last Augwynne consented to heal the Nightsister, and placed her palm over the Nightsister’s leathery face, then sang long and softly until the Nightsister’s eyes opened. The creature lay on her cushions, looking up at them from green eyes cracked to mere slits. Han could not tell if she were sick or merely feigning illness. She looked as trustworthy as a viper. He suddenly realized that he would have preferred her dead.
“Han,” Leia said uncomfortably, looking at the Nightsister, “I’m really worried about Luke. He should be back by now.”
“Yeah,” Han said. “I’m worried, too.”
“I, I can’t feel him. I can’t feel his presence anywhere,” she choked. “I have to go look for him.”
“You can’t,” Isolder cut in. “It’s too dangerous out there right now. Just because Gethzerion has left, it doesn’t mean that the others have gone. The Nightsisters can’t be far away.”
Augwynne studied Leia with eyes dulled from fatigue. “Isolder is correct. You can’t go out. The Jedi left over the cliff, and I doubt that he could have survived. Even if he is only hurt, he is still beyond your grasp.”
Artoo appeared in the doorway, swiveled his eye around and whistled.
“Artoo,” Han asked, “what’s up? Did you get any readings on what’s causing the darkness?” He listened carefully to bleeps and whistles, unable to decode the droid’s answer, but Artoo raised up on his wheel pads, leaned forward and showed a split-image holo.
Gethzerion stood under a light, chest heaving from exertion, gazing up at her holo camera. “Zsinj, what is the meaning of this?” She waved her hands, indicating the sky.
Warlord Zsinj, a pudgy human, reclined in a large captain’s chair, while colored monitor lights flashed behind him. The warlord, a balding man with a large gray moustache and penetrating eyes, smiled. “Greetings, Gethzerion. It’s so good to see you again after so many years. This … darkness … is my gift to you: It is called an orbital nightcloak, and I thought a nightcloak sounded like an appropriate gift for the Nightsisters. It’s really quite fun. The cloak consists of thousands of satellites chained in a network—each designed to distort light, bending it in toward the satellite. It’s quite a marvelous toy.”
Gethzerion glared at him, and Zsinj continued. “You told my men over two days ago that you had Han Solo. You will release him to me today. If you do not, the nightcloak will remain in place, and Dathomir will begin to cool. By this time tomorrow, you will have snow in your valleys. Within three days, all plant life will wither. In two weeks’ time the temperature will drop to a hundred degrees below zero. You and everything on your world will die.”
Gethzerion bowed her head in token of acknowledgment so that her hood concealed her face. “And if we release Han Solo to you, will you remove the nightcloak?”
“On my word as a soldier,” Zsinj said.
“Your reputation is widely—regarded,” Gethzerion said. “Have you considered our offer to you? Our offer of service?”
“Indeed,” Zsinj said, leaning forward in his chair with interest. “I have considered where I might place you in my organization, and I regret that I can’t seem to find a suitable position.”
“Then perhaps you will consider offering us a position outside your organization,” Gethzerion said.
“I don’t understand.”
“You are at war with the galactic New Republic. It is a foe so widespread that you cannot defeat it. I have foreseen it. Therefore, perhaps you would consider giving us access to travel to the New Republic worlds. You could name the star cluster. There the Nightsisters would carve out a niche for themselves, carving into the heart of your enemies, never to bother you again.”
Zsinj folded his hands in his lap, sat thinking again. He studied Gethzerion’s face for a long moment. “It is an intriguing offer. How many of your sisters would need transport?”
“Sixty-four,” Gethzerion answered.
“How soon would you be ready to leave?”
“In four hours.”
“We will work the exchange this way,” Zsinj said. “I will drop two transports on your grounds in four hours. One ship will be unarmed, the other will be armed to the teeth.
“You will bring Han Solo to the armed transport, alone. The transport will depart with General Solo, and you will then be free to board the remaining ship, and leave for a destination that I will choose. Agreed?”
After a moment of reflection, Gethzerion nodded, “Yes, yes. That would be quite adequate. Thank you, Lord Zsinj.”
Both holographs faded, and Han looked around the room at the faces of the witches. “Bah!” one old woman growled. “Both of them are liars. Gethzerion does not have Han or anything else to offer Zsinj, and Zsinj has no intention of releasing this planet or of letting Gethzerion leave.”
“Did you read him,” Augwynne asked, “or is this a guess?”
“No, of course I couldn’t read him,” the old woman said, “but Zsinj lies so poorly, one does not have to.”
“He’s no diplomat, that’s for sure,” Leia said.
Augwynne shot her a curious glance. “What do you mean by that?”
“Simply that Zsinj is rumored to be a pathological liar, yet even with all his practice, he sure seems transparent.”
“Yes,” Augwynne said. “I agree. Plots within plots. Perhaps this Zsinj is more devious than you imagine.”
“Maybe Zsinj is bluffing,” Isolder said. “He’s built his orbital nightcloak, but those satellites up there would be pretty easy to knock down.”
“You’re right—” Leia agreed. “What did Zsinj say? He called it a chain of satellites.”
“Meaning it can be broken,” Han said. “Like a string of lights in sequence. You shoot down one or two satellites, and the system could collapse.”
“I could go up and knock out some satellites with my fighter,” Isolder said. He was volunteering for tough duty, Han knew. Zsinj had well over a dozen destroyers up there to protect his nightcloak. A lone fighter didn’t stand much of a chance, unless it could knock out some satellites and then run for hyperspace.
“It doesn’t sound like much of a weapon,” Leia said, considering. “Any planet with spaceflight capabilities, or even a radio to call for help—”
“Would be able to fight against them,” Augwynne said. “And so the weapon is good only for subjugating planets like Dathomir, primitive worlds without technology. Here, it is adequate.”
“Three days,” Isolder grunted, staring into the fire.
“What’s in three days?” Augwynne asked.
“We only need to make it through three more days,” Isolder said, “and my fleet will arrive. If we can take control of this planet, even for a single day, we could evacuate.”
“We don’t have that long,” Han argued. “In three days, if that orbital nightcloak stays up, this planet will pretty much be a chunk of ice. And don’t forget, this is still my planet. I’m not going to let that happen!”
“Yeah,” Isolder admitted, “I’m sure you’ll think of something. But even if you don’t, at least we could get the people off.”
Augwynne said hopefully, “Do you think so? Our people are very scattered.”
“And when temperatures start hitting a hundred below,” Leia said, “they’re going to hole up in caves, burrowing as deep as they can get.”
Han considered. There was no way they could wait for three days. Someone needed to get up there soon and take out some of those satellites, bring down the nightcloak long enough to stall Zsinj. With a great deal of luck, Han thought, I might even be able to fly Leia out of here. He imagined flying through the satellite net, blowing away a few satellites, then trying to blast free of the planet. But the fact was, once he began firing on those satellites, he’d have to vector off to follow their orbital path, and he’d have to maintain a slow attack speed to hit those satellites.
Considering the firepower up there, whoever tried to take out those satellites would be committing suicide.
> He looked at Isolder, and the prince stared at him, and Han knew they were waiting for one another to volunteer. “Should we draw straws?” Han asked.
“Sounds fair enough,” Isolder admitted, biting his lower lip.
“Wait a minute,” Leia said. “There’s got to be another answer! Isolder, what about your fleet? You left the same time that they did. Is there any possibility that they could get here sooner?”
Isolder shook his head. “If they stay to the prescribed route, no. Those ships are worth trillions. You don’t fly that kind of equipment through hazardous routes.”
Isolder was right, of course. More than one general in history had sent fleets through proscribed routes, hoping to shave a few parsecs off their trip so that they could win some advantage through surprise, only to find that their entire fleets got wiped out by flying through an asteroid belt.
Han glanced toward the stone door, realized he was waiting for Luke, and he shook his head. It wasn’t like a Jedi to leave them all hanging, and Han felt more than a little worried. He fought the impulse to run down the mountain, shouting Luke’s name. Leia folded her arms across her stomach, almost in a fetal gesture.
Han felt pulled in several directions at once—he wanted to find Luke, even if only to find him dead. He wanted to fly out of here and blow some satellites out of the sky. But what he did was go to Leia, wrap his arms around her shoulders.
She began to sob, her chest heaving. “He’s not here,” she said. “I can’t feel him. He’s not here anymore.”
“Hey,” Han said, wanting to offer some words of comfort, knowing that he could say nothing. Leia’s ability to sense Luke’s presence, to touch his feelings and know his thoughts, was too strong to doubt. Leia began shaking, and Han kissed her forehead. “It will be all right,” Han said. “I’ll … I’ll—” He could see no way out, nothing left that he could do.
Suddenly, something shoved its way into his consciousness, as if an invisible hand had pushed through his skull. It was an odd sensation that left him feeling violated, dizzy. Very clearly, an image formed in Han’s mind, a vision of dozens of men and women in orange coveralls, standing in a well-lighted room. They were looking up curiously, gazing around at walkways above them. On the walkways stood stormtroopers with blaster rifles. Han recognized the prison.
General Solo, Gethzerion’s voice crawled through his mind. I hope you will find this amusing. As you see, I am here at the prison with dozens of your kind below me. I trust that you are a compassionate man, a caring man. I suspect you are.
As you know, I have struggled through various means to cause you to come to me. Perhaps this will convince you.
A hand waved in front of his face, a hand partly concealed by a black robe, and Han perceived that he was viewing the scene through Gethzerion’s eyes. The stormtroopers looked at her waving hand, began firing into the crowd. Men and women screamed and scattered, trying to run from the blaster fire, but the gates back to the cell blocks had closed, and they could not escape.
Han threw his arm in front of his eyes, tried to blind himself to the atrocities, but the vision persisted. He could not close his eyes against it, for the vision remained even when his eyes shut. Nor could he turn away, for the images followed him: a woman ran shrieking below the parapet, and Han saw Gethzerion’s hand go up, blaster aimed as if he were staring through the laser sights, and she snapped a shot into the woman’s back. Gethzerion’s victim spun with the impact of the blast, then collapsed, stunned, as Gethzerion pulled off another shot. A man beside the dying woman raised his clasped hands, pleading for Gethzerion to spare them. The witch fired high into his right leg and the prisoner was thrown to the floor to die slowly as he bled to death.
These fifty people are already dead, Gethzerion said, forcing Han to continue viewing the murders. They die because of your stubbornness. When my stormtroopers finish with them, I will round up five hundred more just like them, bring them to this room to die.
But you can save them, General Solo. I will send a Nightsister to pick you up at the foot of the fortress in my personal hover car. If you are not there to meet her in one hour, then those five hundred people will die, and you will get the privilege of watching. If you do not surrender after that, you will watch the deaths of another five hundred, and another. As I said, I trust that you are a compassionate man.
At first Leia thought Han was crying when he backed away, covering his eyes with his arm, but then he gasped for breath and his muscles went rigid. He gazed around the room, unseeing, and she’d never witnessed such a look of utter desolation in his eyes.
She took his hand and said, “Han! Han! What’s happening?” but he did not respond.
“It is a sending,” Augwynne said. “Gethzerion is speaking to him.”
Leia looked at the old witch. Augwynne had removed her headdress and now sat on a stool by the fire, looking like nothing more than a dowdy old woman.
Han gasped and pulled his hands from his eyes, stood looking around the room. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
He turned and ran, leaping blindly down the stairs. “Han, wait!” Leia called.
She chased after, followed the echoing retreat of his footsteps down the corridors. Artoo whistled for them to wait, but Leia ignored the droid. Han ran outside, pushed his way through the crowd of commoners that huddled by the doors, and took off at a full run.
Leia stood on the stone landing and watched him disappear, swallowed by the shadows. Isolder came out with the flashlight, pointed its powerful beam at Han’s back.
“Where is he going?” Isolder asked.
“To the Falcon,” Leia said, and she followed him.
They did not reach him until they got to the Falcon. By then he was already down under the right front sensor fork, working with Chewie on mounting the last generator. When he saw Leia and Isolder, he glanced up for a moment.
“Isolder, I need your help. We’ve got to get this ship flying and get out of here. Go back to the fortress and get that sensor array window.” Isolder stood a moment, as if to wait for further instructions, and Han shouted, “Now, damn you!”
Isolder took his light, ran off through the darkness.
“What are you doing?” Leia asked. “What’s going on?”
“Gethzerion just upped the ante on me,” Han said. “She’s killing innocent prisoners.” He finished bolting the last generator down, threw the wrench on the ground. “I’m sorry I ever brought you here! You were right. If I hadn’t come here, Zsinj wouldn’t have his orbital nightcloak up, Gethzerion wouldn’t be killing her prisoners! Zsinj, Gethzerion—these people don’t even know me. They’re fighting against Han Solo the New Republic general, against what the New Republic stands for!”
“So what are you doing?” Leia asked as he rushed inside the Falcon. “Running away? Is that your answer? Augwynne’s people are desperate. You’re supposed to be some kind of military genius—stay here and fight back. They need you and your blaster.” She followed him up the gangplank, and Han remained silent, but instead of heading for the tool compartments as she expected, he ran down to the command console, set the ship’s radio to standard Imperial frequency.
“Gethzerion?” he said quickly, and an unfamiliar voice answered.
“This is Prison Control. Do you have a message to relay to Gethzerion?”
“Yeah,” Han said. Sweat dotted his face. “This is General Han Solo, and I have an urgent message. Tell her I’m coming in. I surrender. Do you copy? Tell her not to kill another prisoner. I’ll meet her at the foot of the stairs to the fortress, just as she asked.”
“This is Control One, we copy you, General Solo. What of your companions? Zsinj has been asking about any traveling companions you may have brought with you.”
“They’re dead,” Han said. “They all died in the battle, not more than an hour ago.”
Han threw the mike down, pushed his way past Leia, hurried down the access tube. Leia stood, watching
his back for a moment, too surprised and confused to speak.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You can’t do this! You can’t just walk in there! Zsinj doesn’t want you alive. He wants you dead.”
Han shook his head. “Believe me,” Han said, “I’m not happy about it either, but it was bound to happen sometime.” He turned the corner, went to his bunk and angrily pulled up a mattress, exposing a hidden weapons locker that Leia had never seen. It held a nasty assortment of laser rifles, blasters, old-fashioned slug throwers—even a portable laser cannon. All the weapons were highly illegal, especially in the New Republic. Han reached under one of the rifles, pushed a button, and the bottom of the compartment rose, revealing a second hidden compartment filled with an odd assortment of grenades in various styles. Han grabbed a very small, but very deadly brand: a Talesian thermal detonator powerful enough to destroy a large building. It fit nicely in his palm.
“This ought to do it,” Han said, tucking the detonator down under his belt. Detonators like this were used only by terrorists, those who no longer valued their own lives as much as they valued the destruction of their enemies. Han couldn’t touch the thing off without killing himself. He pulled out his shirt so that it hung loosely over the detonator, concealing it.
“There, how does that look?” he asked calmly.
Leia couldn’t see a sign of the detonator, would never have known he carried it if she hadn’t watched him tuck it into his belt. Yet she couldn’t answer him. Her heart raced, and she couldn’t find her voice. She watched him through tears.
“Hey,” Han said, “don’t take it too hard. You’re the one who said I had to grow up, take responsibility for who I am. General Han Solo, hero of the Rebel Alliance. I figure if I play it smart, I can take out Gethzerion and all her damned cronies with her. I’ll have to leave it up to Isolder to do something about Zsinj. He’s a good man. You made a good choice. Really.”
Star Wars: The Courtship of Princess Leia Page 30
