“Sounds like dreaming to me.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You were right, Han—he's hiding. He doesn't want to be found.”
Han pulled a pillow over his head. “Let him hide, then. I could sleep at night.”
“I just want to know why. I don't understand what's happening.” And I need to know that he is there if I need him, she thought.
“He'll tell us when he's ready,” Han said, drawing Leia down into the comforting circle of his arms.
“Sleep, my princess. Mornings always come too soon.”
Chapter 3
The broad, curving viewpanes of the staff conference room, high in the restored remnant of the Imperial Palace, looked out toward the oldest and busiest of the three spaceports serving Imperial City.
For safety and security reasons, neither the landing nor the launch patterns brought ships anywhere near the rebuilt administrative complex. But it was still possible to watch their comings and goings, and—for the sharp-eyed—to identify familiar types and even individual vessels. On more than one occasion Leia had come to the conference room to watch the Millennium Falcon leave on a mission or watch impatiently for its return.
Rarely, though, did any of the activity at Eastport actually demand the attention of those in the staff conference room. Only the largest ships, the occasional crash landing and explosion, or a full-power launch abort could be heard through the transparisteel. So when the viewpanes began to hum in sympathy with the sound bearing on them from outside, both Leia and Ackbar glanced up from their work to see why.
They saw a bright spherical shape three times the size of an ordinary transport descending toward the spaceport. Three much smaller escorts circled it like planets around a star. At the bottom of the spherical vessel, waves of atmospheric distortion rolled out of scalloped depressions in its hull.
“I believe that ship is using Aradian pulse-lifters, undampered,” said Ackbar. “Remarkable. Look how slow and steady the descent is. I shall have to have a closer look at that vessel.”
“It appears the Duskhan delegation is finally here,” Leia said. “I guess they don't put their space-ports in family neighborhoods over in the Koornacht Cluster.”
“Are you not going to go greet Ambassador Spaar?”
“First Administrator Engh is there, with a protocol droid,” Leia said.
“I see,” said Ackbar. “Sending a message?”
“Only that they have to understand that President isn't a ceremonial title,” Leia said. “But I'm not singling them out. I'm slighting everyone from now on. There are just too many ambassadorial missions arriving each week. I was spending half my day waiting in arrival lounges.” Her face wrinkled with annoyance. “Especially when someone postpones his landing three times, and always at the last minute.”
As she spoke she quietly refolded the blue triangle of Walallan vellum which a courier had placed in front of her a few moment before, and set it aside.
The act did not escape Ackbar's notice, since only one of his eyes was trained on the window. “Is that the letter from Senator Peramis?”
Leia nodded. “And?”
“It's pretty humble,” she said.
“Excellent.”
She nodded again. “I wish I had Behn-kihlnahm's gift. He almost never leaves thumb bruises on the throats of his vict— of the people he's persuading.”
“You must find out where he buys his gloves,” said Ackbar. The Duskhan transport was on the ground now, and the escorts were disappearing one af ter another into a landing bay near the top of the sphere. “Do you have meetings scheduled with Nil Spaar?”
“In ten days.”
“That long? You should allow the First to handle some of the smaller worlds on your schedule. Not merely meeting their delegations—the entire admission process.”
“Showing them that they're going to be second-class members of the New Republic? I don't think so.”
“There must be a way to shift some of the weight you're carrying to other shoulders.”
“I'll take suggestions,” she said. “But Nil Spaar asked for the delay. He's never been to Coruscant before. He said he wants to explore a bit before negotiations occupy him.”
“I see,” said Ackbar. “Perhaps he's the one sending a message.”
“I'm not sure,” Leia said. She reached out and pulled a datapad across the tabletop toward her. “Well, Admiral—now that it's operational, what shall we do with the Fifth Fleet?”
“A trickier question than I thought it would be,” admitted Ackbar. “Tig Peramis has shown us what we can expect if there is even the appearance of gunboat diplomacy.”
Leia frowned. “I don't want us afraid to show the flag where it might help cooler heads prevail.”
“Then I would like to send the new fleet into the Seventh Security Zone,” said Ackbar. “I know of several worlds which would welcome even a short visit from a New Republic ship. And I can think of at least five pins on the trouble map where a legitimate government has asked for our help, on matters where even Senator Peramis can't object if we intervene.”
“Give me an example.”
“There was a new one this morning,” Ackbar said, folding his hands. “The Right Earl of Qalita Prime is appealing for help in dealing with pirate raiders. Six ships have been attacked within a month, four of them successfully. The cargo syndicates are threatening to stop supplying the planet.”
“Good. Very good! Go ahead and put together a patrol itinerary for the Fifth Fleet,” said Leia. “Make sure it's heavy on tea parties and rescuing lost children. If there's anyone else in the Seventh Security Zone who thinks the way Senator Peramis does, I want his fears put to rest.”
“I can have an itinerary ready before the end of the day.”
They talked for several minutes more, discussing the deployment of the rest of the New Republic's space-going forces. The Second Fleet had been on patrol the longest without home leave and shipyard services, while the First Fleet had been enjoying the perks of serving as Coruscant's defense force for nearly as long.
On Ackbar's recommendation, Leia agreed to recall the Second Fleet and to send the First Fleet to replace it along the crucial border patrol routes the crews called Thunder Alley.
“It should have been done sooner,” said Ackbar, “but we have had too few pieces to move about the board. I have limited myself to rotating individual vessels back to the yards, out of fear some enemy would take advantage. But if we hold the Fifth Fleet here a few days longer, we can make the exchange without leaving either the capital or the frontier unprotected.”
“Do you think there's an enemy still out there?”
Leia asked. “Someone with both the means and the will to take on the entire New Republic? I find myself much more worried about our stability than our security.”
“You have that luxury—I do not,” Ackbar said. “And remember that Admiral Daala is still alive, and has the resources of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Core worlds to draw upon. She can only grow stronger as time passes, and may well have spies in Imperial City.”
At that moment Leia's comlink chirped. “Leia?” It was Tolik Yar. “You're needed here at the Senate. There's a problem with Y'taa petition.”
Leia stood up from the table. “I'm on my way.”
She turned toward Ackbar and said, “We can take up the rest this afternoon, when you have an itinerary for me to approve.” Then she smiled. “You may find that some of the information you need is over at Eastport.”
“I am almost certain of it,” Ackbar said gravely.
Leia's bodyguards fell in beside her as she left the room. The guard changed four times a day, but somehow they all seemed the same—tall, broad-shouldered, alert-eyed, and silent. Leia had nicknamed them the Sniffer and the Shooter.
The former was plugged into a backpack full of electrical and chemical sensors. It was his job to make sure no bomb, poison, pathogen, radiation, or micro-droid harmed her. He preceded her around
corners, through doors, and into closed spaces.
The latter wore combat armor, a personal shield, and a SoroSuub blaster rifle with backpack generator.
Since Leia refused to wear a personal shield, it was his job to place himself between her and any would-be assassin, shield her, and strike down her attackers.
Han had gotten the chief of security to order the protection and had won a reluctant promise from Leia to accept it.
But Leia had never adjusted to the guards' presence, which seemed ever more unnecessary. And, paradoxically, she found that the presence of her personal guards didn't make her feel safer—just the opposite, since they were a constant reminder that someone might want to kill her.
So she had learned to pretend they weren't there, even when they shared a liftcar, a scooter, or a slidewalk with her. She didn't want to learn their real names or to become friendly with them—her promise didn't extend that far. She wanted them to be furniture.
The only time she acknowledged their presence was when the Sniffer silently signaled an alarm. Then she would let the Shooter guide her to whatever sheltered spot he chose, and would wait there until the Sniffer satisfied himself that there was no threat. It happened often enough that it no longer startled her, but infrequently enough that it was only a minor annoyance.
Still, Leia never expected it to happen while she was walking along the Memorial Corridor, just outside the walls of the Senate Chamber.
One moment she was striding briskly past the holo statuary of the heroes of the Rebellion, robes flying, her mind sorting through what she knew about the Y'taa. Then, in an eyeblink, the Sniffer sharply raised his hands and the Shooter pushed Leia sideways into one of the niches where the pillar between it and the next offered cover.
Her heart was suddenly racing, and her thoughts raced with it.
Unreasoning fear brought back the memory of Tig Peramis, livid with anger, looking at her as Vader's daughter instead of as a royal child of Alderaan.
Was he angry enough to kill? Had Tolik Yar been tricked into betraying her? How horrible to be forced to be afraid here, on the doorstep of the New Republic's most famous symbol of freedom, the first structure to be rebuilt after Imperial factions turned Imperial City into a battle zone.
Then, just as suddenly, it was over. “Clear,” the Shooter said in his emotionless voice, moving aside to allow Leia to emerge from the niche.
Frowning crossly, Leia hurried after the Sniffer and demanded to know what had prompted the alarm.
“I detected a new energy field at the entrance to the Senate Hall,” the Sniffer said, pointing. “It became active as we approached.”
Still frowning, Leia strode a few dozen steps farther down the corridor, then stopped short and laughed despite herself. Hanging over the ornate double doors of the Senate chamber was a large holosign.
On appearance alone, the sign belonged in a factory, beside the entry to the work floor. The text it displayed cemented that impression. It read
882 DAYS WITHOUT A SHOT FIRED IN ANGER Remember, Peace Is No Accident
Wearing a smile that was broad enough to touch her eyes, Leia looked left and right for the perpetrators of the joke. “All right, 'fess up,” she called out.
“Whose handiwork is this?”
Tolik Yar emerged from the shadow of a pillar to Leia's left and showed a toothy, self-satisfied grin. “If it works for broken toes, bumped heads, and burned fingers, why not for higher stakes as well?”
“I like it,” Leia confessed. “But isn't it a bit—undignified? Behn-kihl-nahm will never let it stay.”
“Behn-kihl-nahm helped arrange for it to be installed,” said Tolik Yar. “And as for dignity—any senator more concerned with dignity than outcomes desperately needs to be reminded why we're here. Wouldn't you agree?”
“You are a gem, Tolik Yar,” she said, surprising him with a hug. She turned back and looked up at the sign. “I do agree. And I think we should have a little celebration when that number reaches a thousand.”
“I'll let it be known. In the meantime, good news—the problem with the Y'taa has unexpectedly been resolved. My apologies for interrupting your day.” He bowed deeply and backed away.
“Scamp,” she said. Her smile lasted all the way back to her desk.
The shipyard boss beamed broadly as he led Han Solo and Chewbacca into the hangar where a gleaming Millennium Falcon rested on its skids.
“You're going to be very happy, very happy,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “I only let my best mechanics touch her.”
“No droids,” Han said in a warning tone, surveying the ship's exterior. “You better not have used any droids. Droids don't understand creative engineering.”
“No droids,” the yard boss said reassuringly. “It was all hand work. Which is why the rebuild took so long, of course. The crew chief used to work on Corellian freighters at Toprawa. Stock, of course, nothing like what you have here. But at least he knows the model well enough to spot your modifications.”
Chewbacca stopped under one of the ship's forward-pointing mandibles and looked up at the equipment-studded hull plates. Pointing at one of the lower deflector emitters, he turned his head toward Han and loosed a plaintive howl.
“What?” asked the yard boss, his gaze quickly settling on the Wookiee's point of concern. “Oh, yes, we realigned all the emitters. You were getting interference nodes to port and starboard—left her vulnerable to a side attack.”
“You promised you wouldn't change anything,” Han said threateningly.
“I promised we'd put her right, and that's what we did,” the yard boss said, leading the way to the boarding ramp. “First we took her apart down to the frame, then we took the frame apart—we have holos, you'll have to see how twisted some of the ribs and stringers were. Structurally, she's about fifteen percent new.”
Han walked right past the boarding ramp, continuing to circle the ship as though doing a preflight check. “Yeah, well, she's had a few bumps. Never failed me in the clutch, though.”
Chewbacca voiced his agreement in a defiant guttural growl.
Frowning, the yard boss came back down the ramp and fell in behind them. “Well, that's a small miracle, considering what we found under the access panels. How you serviced her systems the way she was, I'll never know. When we built her back up, all the cables were properly tagged and bundled, all the mechanicals shock-mounted, all the electricals grounded and pulse-shielded—”
“I knew I should have been keeping an eye on you,” Han said. “Probably added a couple of tons to her displacement—”
“She's three hundred kilos lighter.”
“I would have done it all myself, you know. But there just isn't time anymore.”
Chewie grunted expressively.
“Yeah, I couldn't stand to see her all in pieces, either,” Han agreed. “Not with someone else's hands in her guts. Autopsies and rebuilds don't want to be around either one.” He paused, looking up at the drive matrix. “Say, is that a Seinar Systems augmentor?”
“It is.”
“Well, I'll be a—” His expression softened to wonder. “We tried for years to get one of those on the black market. Remember, Chewie? But every time we got a lead on one, it turned out to be pre-Imperial junk, or something pulled out of the wreck of a TIE fighter, with the scorch marks painted over. How did your—”
The yard boss smiled. “Don't ask, General.”
Chewbacca yawned a comment under his breath, and Han answered with a crooked smile. “Yeah, I guess there're a few advantages to wearing a braid.”
He cocked his head at the yard boss. “So are there any more surprises?”
“A few,” the yard boss said, reclaiming the role of tour guide. “We replaced your missing escape pods. Upgraded the tractor beam generator to a Mark Seven, and the hyperdrive motivator to a Series Four-oh-one—”
“Holy mother of meteors.”
“—Replaced all the sensor lenses. Duplicated an original YT-
1300 battery regulator from Corellian specs—”
“That was probably a mistake.”
“—Recarpeted the holds and crew quarters. Fixed the sticky latch on the Number Two storage locker. Recharged the sanitizer in the refresher.” He smiled. “Want to take her for a spin?”
Gesturing with one furry hand, Chewbacca registered his vote.
“Yeah, all that history gone. It won't be the same Falcon without the creaks and the shakes,” Han said.
“No, it won't,” said the yard boss. “She'll be about twenty percent faster, ten percent more efficient, and a hundred percent more reliable.”
“Keys in the ignition?”
The yard boss nodded. “The security system's been reinitialized for you—just enter new authorization codes.”
Han looked at Chewbacca. “I think Leia can get by without us for a little longer. Let's wring her out a little.”
“Have fun,” the yard boss said, his self-satisfied smile restored to full brightness. “You're already cleared for orbit.”
Waving their ID cards at the scanners, Han and Chewbacca entered the grounds of the presidential residence in full stride and in the middle of a full-blown argument.
“I know, I know, she's perfect,” Han said. “I know, we couldn't have gotten her into that kind of shape in a year of weekends. So what? I hate perfect.”
Chewbacca shook his head and uttered a long, whining growl that bespoke his frustration.
“I am not being unreasonable. How can you say that?” Han demanded, raising his hands in disgust. “Weren't you paying attention? Were you even listening while we were landing?”
Jerking his head back sharply, Chewbacca grunted a sharp retort.
“That's right—hardly a sound. She's as tight as a new boot,” Han said, stopping and turning on his friend. “Listen, buddy, I hate new boots. I like my boots covered with scuffs, worn just this side of falling apart, with room for my toes and a little roll in the heels. All those noises they took out, that's how I used to know when I was pushing her. How am I gonna know how hard we're hit next time we're in a scrap?”
Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis 1 - Before the Storm Page 5
