precarious grip on the wall and plunged into the crevasse.
Ahead, Kyp encountered a blocky, rubble-strewn glacier field. More widely
spaced now, the laser beacons seemed to give up and let foolhardy
turbo-skiers
choose their own path. Kyp wobbled as he struck hummocks of ice and snow. He
raised the repulsorfield to skim higher over the surface.
As the crusty glacier grew rougher, clogged with grainy blown snow, Han
muttered complaints and curses through gritted teeth. He kept his balance
somehow, but Kyp had lost ground. Han found himself breathing the boy's
wake,
pushing closer and faster--and suddenly the race meant something to him
again.
Afterward, while sitting around in a cantina and swapping stories, he would
somehow convince himself that the whole thing had been a great deal of fun.
Feeling a bit of the recklessness he had just cursed Kyp for, Han pulsed
the jets, lunging forward in an adrenaline-filled burst of speed that
brought
him side by side with Kyp.
A snowfield sprawled in front of them, sparkling white and unsullied by
other turbo-ski tracks--even though it had not snowed for more than a month
in
this arid frigid climate--demonstrating exactly how few people had been
foolish enough to attempt the dangerous path.
Ahead, the roped-off receiving-and-rescue area lay like a sanctuary
communications gear, warming huts, powered-down medical droids that could be
reactivated at a moment's notice, and an old hot-beverage shop that had long
since gone out of business. Home free--they had made it!
Kyp glanced sideways at him, his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. He
crouched down and blasted his skis at full power. Han hunched over to
decrease
his air resistance. Pristine snow flew around him, hissing in his ears.
The line of laser beacons switched off like metallic eyes blinking shut.
Han had no time to wonder about it before the smooth blanket of snow ahead
bulged, then sloughed inward.
A crunching, grinding sound accompanied the straining of massive engines.
Gouts of steam erupted from the collapsed snowfield as the glowing red nose
of
a mechanical thermal borer thrust into the open air. The screw-shaped tip
continued to turn as it chewed its way out of the solid ice.
"Look out!" Han yelled, but Kyp had already veered off to the left side,
leaning hard on one deflector pole and jabbing at the air with his other.
Han
punched his stabilizing jets and streaked to the right as the mammoth ice-
processing machine chewed the opening of its tunnel wider, clutching the
walls
with clawed tractor treads.
Han skimmed past the gaping pit, feeling a blast of hot steam across his
cheeks. His goggles fogged again, but he found his way to the steep ice
waterfall, the final obstacle before the finish line. The edge of the
precipice flowed with long tendrils of icicles like dangling cables that had
built up over centuries during the brief spring thaws.
Kyp launched himself over the edge of the frozen river, igniting both ski
jets. Han did the same, tucking his poles against his ribs, watching the
packed snow fly up to strike the bottoms of his skis with a loud slap that
echoed along the ice fields in unison with the sound of Kyp's landing.
They both charged forward, then slewed to a stop in front of the cluster
of prefab huts. Kyp peeled down the hood of his parka and started laughing.
Han held on to his deflector poles, feeling his body tremble with relief and
an overdose of excitement. Then he, too, began chuckling.
"That was really stupid, kid," Han managed at last.
"Oh?" Kyp shrugged. "Who was stupid enough to follow me? After the spice
mines of Kessel, I wouldn't consider a little turbo-ski slope too dangerous.
Hey, maybe we could ask Threepio to tell us the odds of successfully
negotiating that slope when we get back."
Han shook his head and gave a lopsided grin. "I'm not interested in odds.
We did it. That's what counts."
Kyp stared across the frozen distance. His eyes seemed to follow the
arrow-straight lines of nonreflective water conduits ringed with pressure
joints and pumping stations.
"I'm glad we've had so much fun, Han," he said, staring into something
only he seemed to see. "I've done a lifetime's worth of healing since you
Han felt uncomfortable at the thick emotion he heard in Kyp's voice. He
tried to lighten the mood. "Well, kid, you had as much to do with our escape
as I did."
Kyp didn't seem to hear. "I've been thinking about what Luke Skywalker
said when he found my ability to use the Force. I only know a little bit
about
it, but it seems to be calling me. I could do a huge service to the New
Republic. The Empire ruined my life and destroyed my family--I wouldn't mind
getting a chance to strike back."
Han swallowed, knowing what the boy was trying to say. "So you think
you're ready to go study with Luke and the other Jedi trainees?"
Kyp nodded. "I'd rather stay here and have fun for the rest of my life,
but--was
Han said in a soft voice, "You deserve it, you know."
But Kyp shook his head. "I think it's time I start taking myself
seriously. If I do have this gift of using the Force, I can't let it go to
waste."
Han gripped the young man's shoulder and squeezed hard, feeling Kyp's
rangy frame through his bulky gloves. "I'll see that you get a good flight
to
Yavin 4."
The whirring hum of repulsorlifts broke the quiet moment. Han looked up
as a messenger droid approached, streaking like a chromium projectile over
the
ice fields. The droid arrowed straight for them.
Han muttered, "If that's a representative from the turbo-ski resort, I'm
going to file a complaint about that ice-mining machine. We could have been
killed."
But as the messenger droid hovered over them, lowering itself to Han's
eye level, it snapped open a scanning panel and spoke in a genderless
monotone. "General Solo, please confirm identification. Voice match will be
sufficient."
Han groaned. "Aww, I'm on vacation. I don't want to bother with any
diplomatic mess right now."
"Voice match confirmed. Thank you," the droid said. "Prepare to receive
encoded message."
The droid hovered as it projected a holographic image onto the clean
snow. Han recognized the auburn-haired figure of Mon Mothma. He straightened
in surprise--the Chief of State rarely communicated with him directly.
"Han," Mon Mothma said in a quiet, troubled voice. He noticed immediately
that she had called him by his first name instead of his more formal rank. A
fist of sudden dread clenched his stomach.
"I'm sending you this message because there has been an accident. Admiral
Ackbar's shuttle crashed on the planet Vortex. Leia was with him, but she's
safe and unharmed. The admiral ejected her to safety before his ship flew
out
of control, directly into a large c
ultural center. Admiral Ackbar managed to
power up his crash shields, but the entire structure was destroyed. So far
at
least 358 Vors are confirmed dead in the wreckage.
"This is a tragic day for us, Han. Come home to Imperial City. I think
Leia might need you as soon as she returns." Mon Mothma's image wavered,
then
dissolved into staticky snowflakes that faded in the air.
The messenger droid said, "Thank you. Here is your receipt." It spat out
a tiny blue chit that landed in a puff of snow at Han's feet.
Han stared as the droid turned and streaked back toward the base camp. He
squashed the blue chit into the snow with the base of his turbo-ski. He felt
sick. The excitement he had just experienced, all the joy with Kyp, had
evaporated, leaving only a leaden dread inside him.
"Come on, Kyp. Let's go."
* * *
See-Threepio thought that if his fine-motor control had allowed it, his
entire golden body would be chattering with cold. His internal thermal units
were no match for the frozen polar regions of Coruscant.
He was a protocol droid, fluent in over six million forms of
communication. He was able to perform an incredible number of diverse
tasks--
all of which seemed more appealing at the moment than baby-sitting a pair of
wild two-and-a-half-year-olds who saw him as their plaything.
Threepio had taken the twins to the snow-play area at the bottom of the
ice slopes, where they could ride tame tauntauns. Little Jacen and his
sister
Jaina seemed to enjoy the spitting, cumbersome creatures--and the Umgullian
rancher who had brought the furry animals to Coruscant seemed delighted to
have the business.
Afterward Threepio had stoically endured as the twins insisted on making
a "snow droid" of him, packing layers of snow around his shiny body. He
still
felt ice crystals caked inside his joints. As he enhanced the output from
his
optical sensors, Threepio thought that his golden alloy had taken on a
decidedly bluish tinge from the low temperature.
On a sledding slope the twins spun around, giggling and shrieking as they
bounced against padded restraints in a child's snow skimmer. Threepio waited
for them at the bottom, then began the long trudge back up the hill so the
children could do it all over again. He felt like a low-capacity labor droid
with too little computing power to understand the drudgery of its own
existence. "Oh, how I wish Master Solo would get back soon," he said.
At the top of the ramp he secured Jacen and Jaina snugly into theirthe
seats. In tandem they looked up at him with rosy-cheeked faces. Humans
claimed
to find the winter chill exhilarating; Threepio wished he had outfitted
himself with more efficient low-temperature lubricants.
"Now, you children be careful on the ride down," he said. "I shall meet
you at the bottom and bring you back up." He paused. "Again."
He launched the children in the spinning snow skimmer. Jacen and Jaina
laughed and squealed as feathers of snow sprayed down the slope. Threepio
began to move with a rapid gait down the long ramp.
When he reached the bottom, the twins were already attempting to unstrap
themselves. jaina had managed to disconnect one buckle, though the attendant
at the equipment-rental station had assured Threepio that the restraints
were
utterly childproof.
"Children, leave that alone!" he said. He refastened Jaina's restraint
and switched on the hoverfield beneath the snow skimmer. He grasped the
handles and began to climb back up the slope to the launching platform.
When he reached the top, both twins shouted, "Again!" in unison, as if
their minds were linked. Threepio decided it was time to lecture the
children
about overindulgence in enjoyment, but before he could formulate a speech
with
the appropriate levels of sternness and vocabulary, a crowded shuttle
skimmer
arrived. Han Solo emerged, pulling back the hood of his gray parka and
balancing his turbo-skis on his left shoulder. Kyp Durron followed him out
of
the transport.
Threepio raised a golden arm. "Over here," he said. "Master Solo, over
here!"
"Daddy!" Jaina said. Jacen echoed her a fraction of a second later.
"Thank heavens," Threepio said, and started to unfasten the restraints.
"Get ready to go," Han said as he marched forward, his expression
unaccountably troubled. Threepio reached forward, about to begin his litany
of
complaints, but Han dropped the bulky turbo-skis into the droid's arms.
"Master Solo, is something wrong?" Threepio tried to balance the heavy
skis.
"Sorry to cut your vacation short, kids, but we have to get back home,"
Han said, ignoring the droid.
Threepio straightened. "I'm very glad to hear that, sir. I don't mean to
complain, but I was not designed for temperature extremes."
He felt an impact against the back of his head as a large lump of snow
splattered him. "Oh!" he said, raising his arms in alarm, barely managing to
keep hold of the skis. "Master Solo, I must protest!" he said.
Jacen and Jaina giggled as they each picked up another snowball to throw
at the droid.
Han turned to the twins. "Stop playing with Threepio, you two. We have to
get back home."
Down in the repair bays of the revamped Imperial Palace on Coruscant,
Lando Calrissian couldn't imagine how Chewbacca managed to cram his enormous
furry body inside the Falcon's narrow maintenance crawlway. Standing in the
corridor, Lando saw the Wookiee as a tangle of brown fur wedged between the
emergency power generator, the acceleration compensator, and the
anticoncussion field generator.
Chewbacca let out a yowl as he dropped a hydrospanner. The tool bounced
and fell with a series of ricocheting clangs until it landed in a completely
inaccessible spot. The Wookiee snarled and then let out a yelp as he banged
his shaggy head on a coolant pipe.
"No, no, Chewbacca!" Lando said, brushing back his sleek cape and
sticking his arm into the maintenance crawlway. He tried to point toward the
circuitry. "That goes here, and this goes there!" Chewbacca grumbled back,
disagreeing.
"Look, Chewie, I know this ship like the back of my hand, too. I owned
her for quite a few years, you know."
Chewbacca made a string of ululating sounds that echoed inside the
enclosed chamber.
"All right, have it your way. I can work the access hatches on the
outside hull. I'll retrieve your hydrospanner. Who knows what other junk
we'll
find there?"
Lando turned and made his way to the entry ramp, stomping down into the
cacophony of shouted requests and engine noises in the starship mechanic
bay.
The air smelled oily and stifling, tainted with gaseous coolants and exhaust
fumes from small diplomatic shuttles to large freighters. Human and alien
engineers worked on their ships. Stubby Ugnaughts clambered inside access
hatches and chattered at each other, requesting tools and diagrams for
fixing
troublesome engines.
Admiral Ackbar's carefully picked crew of Calamarian starship mechanics
oversaw special modifications to small vessels in the New Republic fleet.
Terpfen, Ackbar's chief mechanic, wandered from ship to ship, status board
in
hand, verifying requested repairs and scrutinizing the work with his glassy
fish eyes.
Lando pried open the access hatch on the Falcon's outer hull. The
hydrospanner clattered out and fell into his outstretched hands, along with
burned-out cyberfuses, a discarded hyperdrive shunt, and the wrapper from a
package of dehydrated food.
"Got it, Chewbacca," he shouted. The Wookiee's answer was muffled inside
the cramped access hatch.
Lando looked at the scorch marks along the Falcon's battered hull. The
ship seemed to be one massive collection of patches and repairs. He ran a
callused hand along the hull, caressing the metal.
"Hey! What are you doing to my ship?"
Lando jerked his hand away from the Falcon and looked around guiltily to
see Han Solo approaching. Chewbacca bellowed a greeting from the maintenance
crawlway.
Han's face reflected a thunderstorm of bad moods as he strode across the
debris-strewn floor of the mechanic bay. "I need my ship right now. Is she
ready to fly?" Han said.
Lando put his hands at his side. "I was just making some repairs and
modifications, old buddy. What's the problem?"
"Who told you you could make any modifications?" Han looked unaccountably
angry. "Chewie, we've got to fly right away. Why did you let this clown mess
around with my engines?"
"Wait a minute, Han! This used to be my ship, you know," Lando said, not
knowing what had provoked such anger in his friend. "Besides, who rescued
this
ship from Kessel? Who saved your tail from the Imperial fleet?"
See-Threepio hastened stiffly into the mechanic bay. "Ah, greetings,
General Calrissian," he said.
Lando ignored the droid. "I lost the Lady Luck rescuing your ship. I'd
think that deserves a little gratitude, don't you? In fact, since I
sacrificed
my own ship to save your hide, I thought maybe you'd be grateful enough to
give me back the Falcon."
"Oh, my!" Threepio said. "That is an idea that might warrant some
consideration, Master Solo."