would be asleep in no time. He began to sing.
"Now what are they crying about?" Leia said, sitting up sharply and looking
toward the bedroom. "Maybe I should go and see."
Winter reached out to touch her wrist, stopping her. "It'll be all right.
They're tired, they're frightened, they're anxious. Bear with them. And
since you're new to them, they'll be testing your limits every moment,
finding out how they can manipulate you. Don't teach them that you'll come
running every time they make a sound. Children learn those sorts of things
very quickly."
Leia sighed and looked at her personal servant. For years Winter had advised
her in many things, and she was usually right. "Looks like I'm the one who
needs to learn things quickly."
"Every part of it is a learning process. You must balance your love for them
with their need for stability. That's what parenting is all about."
Leia scowled as hidden concern began to drown out her happiness at having
the children back with her. "I might be doing this all by myself."
Winter's gaze seemed incisive, and she asked the question that had been on
her mind for hours. "Where is Han?"
"He's not here--that's where he is!"
Not wanting Winter to see her flustered outrage, Leia stood up and turned
her back. Over and over, she had imagined possibilities of Han hurt, lost,
attacked ... but she found it safer to believe other possibilities. "He's
flying around in the Falcon with Chewbacca. He should have been back two
days ago. He knew when the twins were coming home, but he couldn't bother to
be here! It's bad enough we've been practically nonexistent as parents for
the first two years of their lives, but he can't even spare the time to
greet Jacen and Jaina when they finally come home."
Han had felt the razor of Leia's words many times, and her tongue had grown
more precise with years of diplomatic practice. A small part of her was glad
he was not here to bear the brunt of her anger. But then again, if he had
been here, she would not have had cause for such anger.
"Where did he go?"
Leia waved her hand, trying to sound casual. "Off to Kessel, to see if he
could convince any of the old spice miners to join the New Republic. He
hasn't bothered to call since he left."
Winter gazed at her, not blinking. Winter's intense periods of thought
always unsettled Leia. "Let me tell you this, Leia. I think I'm right. If it
were anyone else on a mission like this, two days overdue and no contact for
a week or so, you would be concerned. Very concerned. With Han, you are
making an assumption that he is just being irresponsible. What if something
happened to him?"
"That's crazy." She turned away again, to keep Winter from seeing that the
same worries had been plaguing her.
Winter's grave expression did not change.
"According to the reports I have seen, Kessel is relatively hostile
territory. Not only the spice mines, but the Imperial Correction Facility,
with some powerful defenses in place to keep prisoners from escaping. The
entire system has been out of contact with us for some time."
Winter paused, as if accessing other memories. "When Mara Jade and Talon
Karrde unified some of the smugglers two years ago, Jade noted that Kessel
might cause certain problems. Shouldn't you check with a diplomatic contact
there to make certain nothing has happened to the Millennium Falcon?"
Leia blinked her eyes, annoyed at Winter's suggestion, though she had
thought of it herself dozens of times. "Seems like overreacting, doesn't
it?"
Winter regarded her calmly. "Or are you just unwilling to show your concern
because it would embarrass you?"
* * *
The private communications chamber looked different in the bustle of a
bright morning on Coruscant. The last time Leia had stood inside the room
Now, as she looked out the mirrored walls, Leia watched minor functionaries
hurrying to daily assignments, administrative and service personnel who had
probably worked in Imperial City for years, caring little for what overall
government ruled the galaxy.
Not long ago, Leia thought, the Alliance had been made up of the bravest and
most dedicated fighters, those willing to die for their ideals. How could
the New Republic degenerate into bureaucracy so quickly? She thought of
heroes she had known, like Jek Porkins and Biggs Darklighter, who had died
to destroy the first Death Star; she hoped their spirit still remained
somewhere in the new government.
At the transmission console Winter made a small noise to attract Leia's
attention. "This has been difficult, Leia, but I think I have a contact. The
entire city of Kessendra seems to be abandoned, but I was able to obtain
communications codes for the Imperial Correction Facility. With further
inquiries I have tracked down a person who seems to be at least nominally in
charge of what passes for a government there. His name is Moruth Doole,
originally in the administration of the prison. Somehow he is now overseeing
the spice-mining operations.
"There seems to be quite a bit of chaos there. My first contact was with the
garrison station on Kessel's moon. Everyone seems quite alarmed at being
contacted by the New Republic. I was bounced to several others before Moruth
Doole finally agreed to speak with us. He is waiting for you now."
"Go ahead," Leia said. Winter checked her board, then initiated contact.
Leia stepped into the transmission field.
A small hologram of a froglike creature appeared above the dais. Static
caused by poor transmission equipment on the Kessel end smeared Doole's
coloring into yellowish green. His archaic waistcoat and bright-yellow
cravat made him look a comical figure.
"You must be Minister Organa Solo?" Doole said. He spread his hands toward
her image in a placating gesture. She noticed that he wore some sort of
mechanical contraption, a focusing mechanism perhaps, over one of his
lantern-like eyes. "I am extremely pleased to hear from a representative of
the New Republic, and I apologize for any difficulty in getting in touch
with me. We've had some social turmoil over the past couple of years, and
I'm afraid we have not yet managed to quell all disturbances."
His fleshy amphibian lips stretched upward in what must have been meant as a
smile. A long, sharp tongue flicked out as he spoke, but Doole talked so
quickly that Leia could not get a word in edgewise. In her years of
diplomatic service Leia had learned not to count too much on reading body
language from nonhumans, but could this be a sign of nervousness?
"Now then, Minister, how can I help you? Believe me, we have been
considering sending a representative to establish relations with the New
Republic. I would like to extend an invitation for you to send an ambassador
to our world, in the interests of maintaining harmony. On Kessel we like to
think of the New Republic as our friends."
Doole stopped talking abruptly, as if he realized he had said too m
uch. Leia
frowned inwardly but controlled her expression. Moruth Doole was saying
exactly what she wanted to hear, giving perfect political answers without
her having to ask the questions. Odd. What was he thinking? "Actually, Mr.
Doole--I'm afraid I don't know your proper title. How do you wish to be
addressed?"
Doole stared with his one eye and fiddled with the mechanical lenses, as if
he had never considered the question before. "Uh, Commissioner Doole will do
nicely, I think."
"Commissioner Doole, I welcome your offer of openness and cooperation, and I
hope we have not already acted prematurely. One of our representatives went
to Kessel more than a week ago, but we have heard nothing from him. He was
due to return three days ago. I am contacting you to see if you could verify
that he did indeed arrive safely?"
Doole raised his long-fingered hands to his cheeks. "A representative, you
say? Here? I am aware of no such arrival."
Leia kept her face placid, though her heart grew cold. "Could you check to
see if his ship, the Millennium Falcon arrived? We had some difficulty
tracking down a person in charge just moments ago. Perhaps he reported to
someone other than yourself."
Doole sounded doubtful. "Well, of course I can check." He punched at a data
terminal unseen beyond the fringe of the transmission field. Almost
immediately--too fast, Leia thought--Doole straightened. "No, I am sorry,
Minister. We have no record of a ship called the Millennium Falcon ever
arriving in Kessel space. Who was piloting the ship?"
"His name is Han Solo. He is my husband."
Doole straightened in shock. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Is he a good
pilot? As you may know, the black hole cluster near Kessel makes for
extremely hazardous flying conditions, even in hyperspace. The Maw is one of
the wonders of the galaxy, but if he was to take a wrong path through the
cluster ... I hope nothing happened to him!"
Leia leaned deeper into the transmission field. "Han is a very good pilot,
Commissioner Doole."
"I'll muster a search team at once, Minister. Believe me, Kessel will offer
whatever assistance we can in this matter. We'll scour the surface of the
planet and the moon, and we'll search space for any disabled ship. I will
inform you immediately of any progress we make."
Doole reached forward to the controls of his holotransmitter, then paused.
"And of course we look forward to formally receiving any other ambassador
you choose to send. I hope the next time we speak will be under happier
circumstances, Minister Organa Solo."
As Moruth Doole's image fizzled into static, Leia let her stony expression
fall into a scowl of confusion and suspicion.
Winter looked up from her controls. "I detected no outright contradictions
of fact, but I am not convinced of the total truth of what he was saying."
Leia's gaze focused on something far away. Anxiety twisted her insides, and
she felt very foolish for being angry with Han. "Something is definitely
wrong here."
When Han Solo's temper finally snapped, he hauled off with a roundhouse
punch that knocked the guard backward. Han leaped on the man, punching him
again and again in the chest and stomach, cracking his knuckles on the
scuffed stormtrooper armor.
The other guards in the muster room scrambled toward him, knocking Han to
the floor. Behind the transparisteel observation cubicles, shift monitors
sounded the alarm and summoned assistance. The door slid open from the
communal areas, and four more guards charged in, drawing their weapons.
Chewbacca let out a thunderous Wookiee roar and waded through the other
guards, yanking them off Han's back. His life debt to his partner took
precedence over common sense.
Han continued to swing, yelling incoherently at his captors. Chewbacca
smashed two of the guards' heads together and dropped their limp bodies. The
reinforcements looked up at the Wookiee, and they goggled as they saw the
wall of fur and muscle in front of them. They drew their weapons.
Young Kyp Durron bent low and dove into the knees of the closest armed
guard, knocking him to the floor. Kyp scrambled out of the way, yanking at
boots and legs, tripping two more men.
With nothing to lose, other prisoners joined in the brawl, indiscriminately
punching anything nearby, guards or other prisoners. Many of the captive
spice miners were themselves former prison guards who had been on the wrong
side during Moruth Doole's rebellion--and the other prisoners hated them.
With a whoop of energy, blue arcs of a blaster set on stun lanced out and
knocked Chewbacca flat on his back, where he coughed and groaned and tried
to raise himself on his elbows.
The alarms kept ringing, a throbbing sound that increased the chaos in the
muster room. More guards rushed out of the communal area. Blue stun bolts
rippled through the air, mowing down the rioting prisoners and taking out
other guards at the same time.
"Enough!" Boss Roke shouted into a microphone on his collar. The voice
exploded through the muster-room speakers. "Stop it, or we'll stun you all
and then dissect you to learn what's wrong with your brains!"
One more stun bolt was fired, dropping two struggling workers to the floor
like sacks of gelatin.
Han yanked himself free of the guards and rubbed his split knuckles. Anger
continued to seethe through his mind, and he had to work double time to calm
himself so he wouldn't get shot.
"Everybody to the bunks! Now!" Boss Roke said. His lip curled; bluish-black
stubble looked like a smear of dirty oil on his chin. His lumpy body seemed
coiled and dangerous.
Kyp Durron lifted himself up, but as he caught Han's gaze, he flashed a
smile. No matter what their punishment would be, Kyp had enjoyed lashing
out.
Two very uneasy guards hauled Chewbacca to his feet, draping his hairy arms
over their shoulders. Another guard wearing a battered old stormtrooper
helmet trained his gun on the Wookiee. Chewbacca's arms and legs twitched as
if still trying to struggle, but the stun bolt had thrown his nerve impulses
into turmoil. The guards tossed him into one of the holding cells and
activated the door before Chewbacca could engage his muscular control. He
sagged to the ground in a flurry of mussed brown hair.
His eyes dark with anger, Han moved with taut readiness. He followed Kyp to
the line of metal bunks. The guards brushed themselves off and glared at
him. Han climbed into his uncomfortable sleeping pallet. Around him the
metal rods holding the mattresses and bunks apart seemed like another cage.
Kyp climbed to the upper bunk and leaned down. "What was that all about?" he
said. "What set you off?"
One of the guards rapped a stun stick against the side of the bunk. "Keep
your head inside!"
Kyp's face popped back into his own area, but Han could still hear him
moving. "Just touchy, I guess," Han mumbled. He felt a hollow sorrow inside.
"I just realized that today is the day my kids are coming home. I wasn't
there to be with them."
Before Kyp could acknowledge, Boss Roke flicked on the sleep-generating
field that pulsed around the bunks and sent Han, still resisting, on an
endless plunge into dull nightmares.
Standing outside the doorway of the spice-processing annex, Moruth Doole
fitted an infrared attachment into place over his mechanical eye. He hissed
in his own uneasiness, flicking his tongue in and out to taste the air, to
keep himself safe.
The recent transmission from Solo's woman made him very nervous about what
the New Republic might do to him. In the warm darkness of the
spice-processing rooms, he could relax. Looking at the blind and helpless
workers that did his bidding hour after hour made him feel stronger, more in
control.
The heavy metal door thudded into place, sealing out the light. The
secondary entrance slid open to a womblike vault that glowed in his IR
attachment, warm and red from the body heat of the workers. Doole took a
deep breath, sniffing the musty dankness of the gathered life-forms.
He looked at the blurry orange images crouched over the processing line.
They stirred, silently afraid of his presence. That made Doole feel good. He
strode in among them, inspecting their work.
Hundreds of blind larvae, pale and wormlike with large sightless eyes,
fumbled with four slender arms to handle the delicate spice crystals. They
wrapped the fibrous segments in opaque paper and loaded them into special