by Timothy Zahn
“Yeah.” Han took a deep breath and handed Leia his blaster. “All right. Give me the lightsaber. Okay; ready . . . go.”
He ducked out from cover and charged for the ship, crouching down as he ran to avoid the blaster fire crisscrossing the crater—the other Republic reps, Leia noted as she and Wedge followed, doing a good job of keeping the rim attackers busy. Inside the ship she could see a hint of movement, and she gripped Han’s blaster a little tighter. A half second in the lead, Han reached the ramp; and swerving suddenly to the side ducked under the hull.
The aliens must have realized instantly that their trap had failed. Even as Leia and Wedge skidded to a halt at opposite sides of the ramp, they were greeted by a burst of blaster fire from the open hatch. Dropping to the ground, Leia squirmed as far back as she could under the ramp, firing blindly into the hatch to discourage those inside from coming down after them. Across the ramp, Wedge was also firing; somewhere behind her, she could hear a faint scrabbling across the ground as Han got into position for whatever sabotage he was planning. A shot blazed past from above, narrowly missing her left shoulder, and she tried to back a little farther into the ramp’s shadow. Behind her, clearly audible through the blaster fire, she heard a snap-hiss as Han ignited her lightsaber. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself, not knowing quite why—
And with a blast and shock wave that knocked her flat against the ground, the whole ship bounced a meter in the air and then slammed back down again.
Through the ringing in her ears, she heard someone give a war whoop. The firing from the hatch had abruptly stopped, and in the silence she could hear a strange hissing roar coming from above her. Cautiously, she eased away from the ramp and crawled a little ways out of concealment.
She’d been prepared to see the freighter leaking something as a result of Han’s sabotage. She wasn’t prepared for the huge white gaseous plume that was shooting skyward like the venting of a ruptured volcano.
“You like it?” Han asked, easing over beside her and glancing up to admire his handiwork.
“That probably depends on whether the ship’s about to blow up,” Leia countered. “What did you do?”
“Cut through the coolant lines to the main drive,” he told her, retrieving his blaster and handing back her lightsaber. “That’s all their pressurized korfaise gas floating away.”
“I thought coolant gases were dangerous to breathe,” Leia said, looking warily at the billowing cloud.
“They are,” Han agreed. “But korfaise is lighter than air, so we won’t have any trouble down here. Inside the ship is another matter. I hope.”
Abruptly, Leia became aware of the silence around them. “They’ve stopped shooting,” she said.
Han listened. “You’re right. Not just the ones inside the ship, either.”
“I wonder what they’re up to,” Leia murmured, tightening her grip on the lightsaber.
A second later she got her answer. A violent thunderclap came from above them, flattening her to the ground with the shock wave. For a horrifying second she thought the aliens had set the ship to self-destruct; but the sound faded away, and the ramp beside her was still intact. “What was that?”
“That, sweetheart,” Han said, pulling himself to his feet, “was the sound of an escape pod being jettisoned.” He eased cautiously away from the relative protection of the ramp, scanning the sky. “Probably modified for atmospheric maneuvering. Never realized before how loud those things were.”
“They usually take off in vacuum,” Leia reminded him, standing up herself. “So. Now what?”
“Now—” Han pointed “—we collect our escort and get out of here.”
“Our escort?” Leia frowned. “What esc—?”
Her question was cut off by the roar of engines as three X-wings shot overhead, wings in attack position and clearly primed for trouble. She looked up at the white tower of korfaise gas . . . and suddenly understood. “You did that deliberately, didn’t you?”
“Well, sure,” Han said, looking innocent. “Why just disable a ship when you can disable it and send up a distress signal at the same time?” He gazed up at the cloud. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “sometimes I still amaze myself.”
“I can assure you, Captain Solo,” Admiral Ackbar’s gravelly voice came over the Falcon’s speaker, “that we are doing everything in our power to find out how this happened.”
“That’s what you said four days ago,” Han reminded him, trying hard to be civil. It wasn’t easy. He’d long since gotten used to being shot at himself, but having Leia under the hammer with him was something else entirely. “Come on—there can’t be all that many people who knew we were coming to Bpfassh.”
“You might be surprised,” Ackbar said. “Between the Council members, their staffs, the prep crews at the spaceport, and various security and support personnel, there may be up to two hundred people who had direct access to your itinerary. And that doesn’t count friends and colleagues any of those two hundred might have mentioned it to. Tracking through all of them is going to take time.”
Han grimaced. “That’s great. May I ask what you suggest we do in the meantime?”
“You have your escort.”
“We had them four days ago, too,” Han countered. “It didn’t do us a lot of good. Commander Antilles and Rogue Squadron are fine in a space battle, but this kind of stuff isn’t exactly their area of expertise. We’d do better with Lieutenant Page and some of his commandos.”
“Unfortunately, they’re all out on assignment,” Ackbar said. “Under the circumstances, perhaps it would be best if you simply brought Councilor Organa Solo back here where she can be properly protected.”
“I’d love to,” Han said. “The question is whether she’ll be any safer on Coruscant than she is here.”
There was a long moment of silence, and Han could imagine Ackbar’s huge eyes swiveling in their sockets, “I’m not sure I appreciate the tone of that question, Captain.”
“I don’t much like it either, Admiral,” Han told him. “But face it: if the Imperials are getting information out of the Palace, they might just as easily be able to get their agents in.”
“I think that highly unlikely,” Ackbar said, and there was no missing the frostiness in his tone. “The security arrangements I’ve set up on Coruscant are quite capable of handling anything the Imperials might try.”
“I’m sure they are, Admiral,” Han sighed. “I only meant—”
“We’ll let you know when we have further information, Captain,” Ackbar said. “Until then, do whatever you feel is necessary. Coruscant out.”
The faint hum of the carrier cut off. “Right,” Han muttered under his breath. “Bpfassh out, too.”
For a minute he just sat there in the Falcon’s cockpit, thinking evil thoughts about politics in general and Ackbar in particular. In front of him the displays that normally monitored ship’s status were showing views of the landing field around them, with special emphasis on the areas just outside the hatch. The underside swivel blaster was extended and ready, the deflector shields set for hair-trigger activation, despite the fact that the things weren’t all that effective inside an atmosphere.
Han shook his head, a mixture of frustration and disgust in his mouth. Who’d ever have thought, he marveled to himself, that the day would come when I was actually paranoid?
From the rear of the cockpit came the sound of a soft footstep. Han turned, hand automatically dropping to his blaster—
“It’s just me,” Leia assured him, coming forward and glancing at the displays. She looked tired. “You finished talking with Ackbar already?”
“It wasn’t much of a conversation,” Han told her sourly. “I asked what they were doing to find out how our pals with the blasters knew we were coming here, he assured me they were doing everything possible to find out, I managed to step on his toes, and he signed off in a huff. Pretty much like usual with Ackbar these days.”
Leia gave him a w
ry smile. “You do have a way with people, don’t you?”
“This one’s not my fault,” Han objected. “All I did was suggest that his security people might not be up to keeping these guys out of the Imperial Palace. He’s the one who overreacted.”
“I know,” Leia nodded, dropping wearily into the copilot’s seat. “For all his military genius, Ackbar just doesn’t have the polish to be a good politician. And with Fey’lya nipping at his heels . . .” She shrugged uncomfortably. “He just gets more and more overprotective of his territory.”
“Yeah, well, if he’s trying to keep Fey’lya away from the military, he’s got the wrong end of the blaster,” Han growled. “Half of them are already convinced that Fey’lya’s the guy to listen to.”
“Unfortunately, he often is,” Leia conceded. “Charisma and ambition. Dangerous combination.”
Han frowned. There had been something in her voice just then . . . “What do you mean, dangerous?”
“Nothing,” she said, a guilty look flicking across her face. “Sorry—talking out of turn.”
“Leia, if you know something—”
“I don’t know anything,” she said, in a tone that warned him to drop it. “It’s just a feeling I have. A sense that Fey’lya has his eye on more than just Ackbar’s job as supreme commander. But it’s just a feeling.”
Like the feeling she had that the Empire was up to something big? “Okay,” he said soothingly. “I understand. So. You all done here?”
“As done as I can be,” she said, the tiredness back in her voice. “The rebuilding’s going to take some time, but the organization for that will have to be handled from Coruscant.” She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “Convoys of replacement equipment, consultants and maybe extra workers—you know the sort of thing.”
“Yeah,” Han said. “And I suppose you’re anxious to get right back and start the ball rolling.”
She opened her eyes and gave him a curious look. “You sound like you’re not.”
Han gave the outside displays a thoughtful scan. “Well, it’s what everyone’s going to expect you to do,” he pointed out. “So maybe we ought to do something else.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. Find somewhere no one would think to look for you, I guess.”
“And then . . .?” she asked, her voice ominous.
Unconsciously, Han braced himself. “And then hole up there for a while.”
“You know I can’t do that,” she said, her tone just about what he’d expected. “I have commitments back on Coruscant.”
“You’ve got commitments to yourself, too,” he countered. “Not to mention to the twins.”
She glared at him. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
She turned away from him, an unreadable expression on her face. “I can’t be out of touch, Han,” she said quietly. “I just can’t. There’s too much happening back there for me to bury myself away.”
Han gritted his teeth. They seemed to be running over this same territory a lot lately. “Well, if all you need right now is to keep in touch, how about if we go some place that has a diplomatic station? You’d at least be able to get official Coruscant news there.”
“And how do we make sure the local ambassador doesn’t give us away?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m talking like this,” she muttered. “It’s like we’re back being the Rebellion again, not the legitimate government.”
“Who says the ambassador has to know?” Han asked. “We’ve got a diplomatic receiver on the Falcon—we can tap into the transmission on our own.”
“Only if we can get hold of the station’s encrypt scheme,” she reminded him. “And then plug it into our receiver. That may not be possible.”
“We can find a way,” Han insisted. “At least it would buy Ackbar some time to track down the leak.”
“True.” Leia considered, slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. The New Republic’s encrypt codes are nearly impossible to break.”
Han snorted. “I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart, but there are slicers running around loose who eat government encrypt codes for breakfast. All we have to do is find one of them.”
“And pay him enormous sums of money?” Leia said dryly.
“Something like that,” Han agreed, thinking hard. “On the other hand, even slicers occasionally owe other people favors.”
“Oh?” Leia threw him a sideways look. “I don’t suppose you’d know any of them.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Han pursed his lips. “Trouble is, if the Imperials have done their homework, they probably know all about it and have someone watching him.”
“Meaning . . .?”
“Meaning we’re going to have to find someone who’s got his own list of slicer contacts.” He reached over to the console and tapped the Falcon’s comm switch. “Antilles, this is Solo. You copy?”
“Right here, General,” Wedge’s voice came back promptly.
“We’re leaving Bpfassh, Wedge,” Han told him. “That’s not official yet—you’re in charge of telling the rest of the delegation about it once we’re off the ground.”
“I understand,” Wedge said. “You want me to assign you an escort, or would you rather slip out quietly? I’ve got a couple of people I’d trust all the way to the end of the galaxy.”
Han sent Leia a lopsided smile. Wedge understood, all right. “Thanks, but we wouldn’t want the rest of the delegation to feel unprotected.”
“Whatever you want. I can handle anything that needs doing at this end. See you back at Coruscant.”
“Right.” Han cut off the comm. “Eventually,” he added under his breath as he keyed for intercom. “Chewie? We ready to fly?”
The Wookiee growled an affirmative. “Okay. Make sure everything’s bolted down and then come on up. Better bring Threepio, too—we might have to talk to Bpfasshi Control on the way out.”
“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Leia asked as he started the prelaunch sequence.
“I already told you,” Han said. “We need to find someone we can trust who has his own list of illegals.”
A suspicious glint came into her eye. “You don’t mean . . . Lando?”
“Who else?” Han said innocently. “Upstanding citizen, former war hero, honest businessman. Of course he’ll have slicer contacts.”
Leia rolled her eyes skyward. “Why,” she murmured, “do I suddenly have a bad feeling about this?”
CHAPTER
11
“Hang on, Artoo,” Luke called as the first gusts of atmospheric turbulence began to bounce the X-wing around. “We’re coming in. Scanners all working okay?”
There was an affirmative twitter from the rear, the translation appearing across his computer scope. “Good,” Luke said, and turned his attention back to the cloud-shrouded planet rushing up to meet them. It was odd, he thought, how it had only been on that first trip in to Dagobah that the sensors had so totally failed on approach.
Or perhaps not so odd. Perhaps that had been Yoda, deliberately suppressing his instruments so as to be able to guide him unsuspectingly to the proper landing site.
And now Yoda was gone . . .
Firmly, Luke put the thought out of his mind. Mourning the loss of a friend and teacher was both fitting and honorable, but to dwell unnecessarily on that loss was to give the past too much power over the present.
The X-wing dropped into the lower atmosphere, and within seconds was completely enveloped by thick white clouds. Luke watched the instruments, taking the approach slow and easy. The last time he’d come here, just before the Battle of Endor, he’d made the landing without incident; but just the same, he had no intention of pushing his luck. The landing sensors had Yoda’s old homestead pinpointed now. “Artoo?” he called. “Find me a good level spot to set down, will you?”
In response, a red rectangle appeared on the forward scope, a ways east of the house but within walking dista
nce of it. “Thanks,” Luke told the droid, and keyed in the landing cycle. A moment later, with one last mad flurry of displaced tree branches, they were down.
Slipping off his helmet, Luke popped the canopy. The rich odors of the Dagobah swamp flooded in on him, a strange combination of sweet and decay that sent a hundred memories flashing through his mind. That slow twitch of Yoda’s ears—the strange but tasty stew he’d often made—the way that wispy hair of his had tickled Luke’s ears whenever he rode on Luke’s back during training. The training itself: the long hours, the physical and mental fatigue, the gradually increasing sense of and confidence in the Force, the cave and its dark side images—
The cave?
Abruptly, Luke stood up in the cockpit, hand going reflexively to his lightsaber as he peered through the haze. Surely he hadn’t brought his X-wing down by the cave.
He had. There, no more than fifty meters away, was the tree that grew from just above that evil place, its huge blackened shape jutting upward through the surrounding trees. Beneath and between its tangled roots, just visible through the mists and shorter vegetation, he could see the dark entrance to the cave itself.
“Wonderful,” he muttered. “Just wonderful.”
From behind him came an interrogative set of beeps. “Never mind, Artoo,” he called over his shoulder, dropping his helmet back onto the seat. “It’s all right. Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll—”
The X-wing rocked, just a bit, and he looked back to find Artoo already out of his socket and working his way gingerly forward. “Or if you’d rather, you can come along,” he added wryly.
Artoo beeped again—not a cheerful beep, exactly, but one that definitely sounded relieved. The little droid hated being left alone. “Hang on,” Luke directed him. “I’ll get down and give you a hand.”
He jumped down. The ground felt a little squishy beneath his feet, but it was easily firm enough to support the X-wing’s weight. Satisfied, he reached out with the Force to lift Artoo from his perch and lower the droid to the ground beside him. “There you go,” he said.
