by Alex Wheeler
"I won't," Han said quietly.
But he was alone again.
"Minister Manaa," Leia said coolly, as the Delayan leader joined her at the Millennium Falcon. He had invited her to his office, but she felt safer on her own turf. There was always the chance he could turn on her like his deputy had—but if he did, he'd get an unpleasant surprise. Luke and Elad were carefully hidden, blasters at the ready, poised to fire at the first sign of trouble. The setup had been Luke's idea, but Elad had quickly agreed. It was sweet, Leia thought, the way Elad stayed so close by Luke's side, especially recently. It was as if he saw something of himself in Luke, and felt a special need to encourage and protect him.
No wonder: They weren't that different. Two fighters, willing to sacrifice themselves if need be.
Unlike Ferus.
She forced down her anger. This meeting mattered—Ferus didn't.
"Princess Leia," the Prime Minister said. "Always an honor."
She waited.
"So glad to see you've emerged safely from your ordeal," he said, giving her a goofy, hopeful grin. "The people of Delaya care deeply for your wellbeing."
"So I've seen," Leia said dryly.
"And, of course, I can only offer my deepest apologies for the behavior of Deputy Minister Lyonn."
Leia raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps I should offer you my deepest apologies. After all the trouble you went to, trading me to the Empire, it seems rather rude of me to have escaped."
Manaa twisted his face into an unconvincing mask of horror. "Surely you're not suggesting I had something to do with Lyonn's despicable plans? Delaya has always been a great friend to the Alderaan people!"
"So that's why you've shut them up in those filthy warehouses with barely enough food or water to last out the week?" Leia snapped.
The warmth drained out of Manaa's smile. "I've done everything I can for the refugees. But my first responsibility is to my own people."
"As my responsibility is to mine." Leia glared at him until he looked away. "Which is why you wanted me out of the way."
He met her gaze again, his eyes steely. The good-natured fool was gone. "You'll never prove it," he said coolly. "And even if you could, what good would it do? Imperial reinforcements are on the way. If I were you, I'd take my ship away—and never come back."
He was right. He'd broken no laws; she had no power here.
"Look around you, Your Highness," he added, gesturing to the smoggy air, the streets crowded with factories. The city was as ugly as Alderaan had been beautiful. "Delaya has long paid for Alderaan's success. I see no reason why we should now pay for its failures."
"If I were you, Minister, I would give the Alderaan refugees the refuge they've been promised. Food, bacta, clothing." She ticked the items off on her fingers. "There are those who will help fund the effort on my say-so. But that money is to go to the survivors. Not to the Delayan treasury."
"I don't see how you're in any position to give me orders," Manaa said, distaste in his voice.
"True," Leia admitted. "I'm an enemy of the Empire. As everyone who helps me is an enemy of the Empire."
"Exactly."
Leia felt like a krayt dragon toying with a woolamander. She hated this. But it was necessary.
"I can't imagine the Empire would take very kindly to your helping me," Leia said. "Much less collaborating with the Rebel Alliance."
"I haven't!" Manaa exclaimed. "I wouldn't!"
"And I'm sure Darth Vader will be very interested in your denials, especially once he receives anonymous reports of all your activities in support of the Rebels."
The blood had all drained from his face. "You wouldn't," he whispered.
"I'm sure Vader wouldn't blame innocent Delayans for the actions of its leader, but then…" Leia's chest tightened so much she could barely force the words out. Saying it out loud doesn't make it true, she promised herself. "The Empire didn't hesitate to fault the people of Alderaan for my actions, did they? I brought down their wrath on my planet…What makes you think I couldn't do the same to yours?"
Manaa's breath exploded from him in a miserable sigh. He sagged like a broken-down droid.
She was disgusted with herself. But she'd won.
"What do you want?" he asked, sounding defeated.
Leia told him.
"Well, it's done." Leia settled into the co-pilot's seat with a sigh. Chewbacca was down below, tinkering with the hyperdrive. Luke and Elad were doing calisthenics in the main hold. She and Han were alone in the cockpit.
"You made a deal?" Han asked incredulously.
"That was the idea," Leia said.
"I know, I just can't believe you're letting that dung grubber get away with it."
"Sometimes you have to make compromises," Leia told him.
"I don't have to do anything," Han pointed out. "Someone tries to get me, you better be sure I get them."
"Some of us try to take a longer view," Leia said. "We care about more than just the next payday."
"And some of us don't have a royal treasury to play with," Han retorted. "Or did you think I carted people like you across the galaxy for the fun of it?"
"I think you do it because you want to. Only reason you do anything," Leia said angrily. "Whatever you want, whenever you want. You're like a spoiled child."
"Hey, hold on there. If anyone here's spoiled, it's you."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you, sweetheart," he snarled. "You expect me to junk my whole life, just on your say-so? Spoiled."
"I don't expect anything from you but aggravation. You're just like him."
Han was lost. "Him who?"
"No one!"
Han never understood how they always ended up arguing—but usually he at least understood what they were arguing about. Not this time.
"How you live your life is your business," she said, ice cold. "You can't commit to anyone but yourself? Fine. But don't think you'll get my respect."
"Where's all this coming from, Highness?"
She exploded. "Stop calling me that!"
Apologize, he told himself. It doesn't matter that you didn't do anything. Just apologize.
"You want me to stop calling you that?" He smirked. "Then how 'bout you stop sitting up there on your throne and judging us peasants?"
"I don't have a throne anymore," she said in a rough voice. "The Empire blew it up."
That stopped him.
He'd always thought of their arguments as an exchange of friendly fire. They fought the way children fight, backing off before drawing blood. Most of the time, he only said the things he did to get a rise out of her. He'd always assumed she felt the same way.
But this was different. There was true anger in her eyes. Like she meant every word.
"I fight for something greater than myself," she said. "So does Luke. Elad. But you? Nothing's greater than the great Han Solo, right? You don't care what the Empire does, if it doesn't directly affect you. Who knows if you care about anything."
"Don't tell me how I feel," he growled.
"Do you feel?" She laughed harshly. "In that case, I guess I'm wrong, you're not heartless. There's only one other reason for you to behave like you do. You're a coward."
Han slammed his fist down. "That's what you think, Princess?"
"That's what I think, Captain."
He stood up, fearing that if he stayed any longer, whatever was between them could break beyond repair. "I don't know who you're really mad at, Princess, but it's not me. Deal with it, don't deal with it, I don't care. But leave me out of it."
He stormed out.
It made a good exit line, there was just one problem: He wasn't sure he believed it. Sure, maybe she was picking a fight to make herself feel better. Or maybe she was just telling him what she really thought of him.
Maybe she was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
X-7 was a patient man. Impatience was for those who had an ever-growing collection of needs. They rushed from one thing to anot
her, always in motion, never satisfied. But X-7 had only one need: pleasing the Commander. He found it easy to remain still. To wait.
It was a useful skill for a hunter to possess.
But by the time the Millennium Falcon took off, X-7 was as close to impatient as he ever got. His prey was in sight, and he was like a coiled sand snake, ready to strike.
The Delayan communication system couldn't be trusted, especially with Vader's forces approaching the sector. X-7 forced himself to wait until he had returned to the ship. Then he forced himself to wait until he could slip away without anyone noticing. He sat patiently as Luke and Han bickered, as the protocol droid chattered and the Wookiee roared, as Han and Leia maneuvered around each other with icy politeness that barely masked their anger.
He waited until he got the privacy he required, and then he opened a secure channel to the Imperial Center and delivered news of his success.
"There is no doubt?" the Commander asked, barely disguising his eagerness.
"No doubt. The boy flies like no human I've ever seen," X-7 said, transferring his recording as they talked. "He was up to the task, I'm sure of it. And it's the only explanation for why the princess allowed a young, untrained recruit from the edge of the galaxy into her inner circle. Nor could she have lied under the influence of the serum. Luke Skywalker destroyed the Death Star."
"Then he must die," the Commander said. "And soon, especially if the Dark One is on the hunt."
"As you wish."
"Do it however you'd like," the Commander said. "But make sure you shift the blame to someone else. After the kill, you'll stay with the Rebels and continue reporting on their activities."
"Consider it done."
The day, like most days on Yavin 4, had been unbearably hot. But as the sun set, a cool breeze cut through the humid air. Chucklucks buzzed and twittered from the Massassi trees, and bellybirds swooped overhead, slicing through the golden sunset. On nights like this, it wasn't uncommon for some of the younger recruits to strike up a game of smashball in one of the clearings.
It also wasn't uncommon for Luke to take a swoop bike ride through the jungle, glorying in the wind on his face and the world rushing by. It reminded him of his days racing across the dunes on Tatooine—the only moments in his childhood when he'd truly been happy. As if pushing the swoop fast enough he could outrun life.
X-7 knew this, because Luke had confided in him. They were, after all, friends.
X-7 knew many things.
He knew which swoop Luke preferred to use.
He knew where on Yavin 4 a person could find ample quantities of explosive detonite charges.
He knew how to access Han Solo's bunk, and where its hiding places were. He knew where, for example, a person could hide ample quantities of detonite. Hide them precisely enough that Han would never suspect they were there—but that a cursory search of the bunk would quickly reveal them.
X-7 also knew how to rewire the ignition on a swoop bike, connecting it to the small packets of detonite tucked safely into the repulsorlift engines and the engine intake valve.
"Going out for a ride?" he asked, as Luke passed by. X-7 had positioned himself far enough from the swoop to avoid any shrapnel; close enough that he would be able to watch.
Luke grinned sheepishly. "You know I can't resist weather like this."
"I know," X-7 said. "It should be a memorable ride."
"Let's hope so," Luke said, hopping onto the swoop and waving goodbye.
Consider it done, X-7 had told the Commander, and he meant this literally. He had served the Commander for more than ten years, and never once had he failed to accomplish his mission. Once the order was given, its result was inevitable.
Luke Skywalker didn't know it yet, but he was already dead.
