From the corner of his eye, he saw Threepio stiffen. “I hope I didn’t offend you, sir,” the droid said anxiously. “That was certainly not my intent.”
“You didn’t offend me,” Luke assured him. “As a matter of fact, you might have just delivered Ben’s last lesson to me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Luke sipped at his drink. “Governments and entire planets are important, Threepio. But when you sift everything down, they’re all just made up of people.”
There was a brief pause. “Oh,” Threepio said.
“In other words,” Luke amplified, “a Jedi can’t get so caught up in matters of galactic importance that it interferes with his concern for individual people.” He looked at Threepio and smiled. “Or for individual droids.”
“Oh. I see, sir.” Threepio cocked his head toward Luke’s cup. “Forgive me, sir . . . but may I ask what that is that you’re drinking?”
“This?” Luke glanced down at his cup. “It’s just something Lando taught me how to make a while back.”
“Lando?” Threepio echoed, and there was no missing the disapproval in his voice. Programmed politeness or not, the droid had never really much cared for Lando.
Which wasn’t very surprising, given the circumstances of their first meeting. “Yes, but in spite of such a shady origin, it’s really quite good,” Luke told him. “It’s called hot chocolate.”
“Oh. I see.” The droid straightened up. “Well, then, sir. If you are indeed all right, I expect I should be on my way.”
“Sure. By the way, what made you come up here in the first place?”
“Princess Leia sent me, of course,” Threepio answered, clearly surprised that Luke would have to ask. “She said you were in some kind of distress.”
Luke smiled and shook his head. Leave it to Leia to find a way to cheer him up when he needed it. “Show-off,” he murmured.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
Luke waved a hand. “Leia’s showing off her new Jedi skills, that’s all. Proving that even in the middle of the night she can pick up on my mood.”
Threepio’s head tilted. “She really did seem concerned about you, sir.”
“I know,” Luke said. “I’m just joking.”
“Oh.” Threepio seemed to think about that. “Shall I tell her you’re all right, then?”
“Sure,” Luke nodded. “And while you’re down there, tell her that she should quit worrying about me and get herself back to sleep. Those bouts of morning sickness she still gets are bad enough when she isn’t worn-out tired.”
“I’ll deliver the message, sir,” Threepio said.
“And,” Luke added quietly, “tell her I love her.”
“Yes, sir. Good night, Master Luke.”
“Good night, Threepio.”
He watched the droid go, a fresh flow of depression threatening again to drag him down. Threepio wouldn’t understand, of course-no one on the Provisional Council had understood, either. But for Leia, just over three months pregnant, to be spending the bulk of her time here . . .
He shivered, and not from the cool night air. This place is strong with the dark side. Yoda had said that of the cave on Dagobah-the cave where Luke had gone on to fight a lightsaber duel with a Darth Vader who had turned out to be Luke himself. For weeks afterward the memory of the sheer power and presence of the dark side had haunted his thoughts; only much later had he finally realized that Yoda’s primary reason for the exercise had been to show him how far he still had to go.
Still, he’d often wondered how the cave had come to be the way it had. Wondered whether perhaps someone or something strong in the dark side had once lived there.
As the Emperor had once lived here. . . .
He shivered again. The really maddening part of it was that he couldn’t sense any such concentration of evil in the Palace. The Council had made a point of asking him about that, in fact, when they’d first considered moving operations here to the Imperial City. He’d had to grit his teeth and tell them that, no, there seemed to be no residual effects of the Emperor’s stay.
But just because he couldn’t sense it didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t there.
He shook his head. Stop it, he ordered himself firmly. Jumping at shadows wasn’t going to gain him anything but paranoia. His recent nightmares and poor sleep were probably nothing more than the stresses of watching Leia and the others struggling to turn a military-oriented rebellion into a civilian-based government. Certainly Leia would never have agreed to come anywhere near this place if she’d had any doubts herself about it.
Leia.
With an effort, Luke forced his mind to relax and let his Jedi senses reach outward. Halfway across the palace’s upper section he could feel Leia’s drowsy presence. Her presence, and that of the twins she carried within her.
For a moment he held the partial contact, keeping it light enough to hopefully not wake her any further, marveling again at the strange feel of the unborn children within her. The Skywalker heritage was indeed with them; the fact that he could sense them at all implied they must be tremendously strong in the Force.
At least, he assumed that was what it meant. It had been something he’d hoped he would someday have a chance to ask Ben about.
And now that chance was gone.
Fighting back sudden tears, he broke the contact. His mug felt cold against his hand; swallowing the rest of the chocolate, he took one last look around. At the city, at the clouds . . . and, in his mind’s eye, at the stars that lay beyond them. Stars, around which revolved planets, upon which lived people. Billions of people. Many of them still waiting for the freedom and light the New Republic had promised them.
He closed his eyes against the bright lights and the equally bright hopes. There was, he thought wearily, no magic wand that could make everything better.
Not even for a Jedi.
Threepio shuffled his way out of the room, and with a tired sigh Leia Organa Solo settled back against the pillows. Half a victory is better than none, the old saying crossed her mind.
The old saying she’d never believed for a minute. Half a victory, to her way of thinking, was also half a defeat.
She sighed again, feeling the touch of Luke’s mind. His encounter with Threepio had lightened his dark mood, as she’d hoped it would; but with the droid gone, the depression was threatening to overtake him again.
Perhaps she should go to him herself. See if she could get him to talk through whatever it was that had been bothering him for the past few weeks.
Her stomach twisted, just noticeably. “It’s all right,” she soothed, rubbing her hand gently across her belly. “It’s all right. I’m just worried about your Uncle Luke, that’s all.”
Slowly, the twisting eased. Picking up the half-filled glass on the nightstand, Leia drank it down, trying not to make a face. Warm milk was pretty far down on her list of favorite drinks, but it had proved to be one of the fastest ways to soothe these periodic twinges from her digestive tract. The doctors had told her that the worst of her stomach troubles should begin disappearing any day now. She hoped rather fervently that they were right.
Faintly, from the next room, came the sound of footsteps. Quickly, Leia slapped the glass back on the nightstand with one hand as she hauled the blankets up to her chin with the other. The bedside light was still glowing, and she reached out with the Force to try and turn it off.
The lamp didn’t even flicker. Gritting her teeth, she tried again; again, it didn’t work. Still not enough fine control over the Force, obviously, for something as small as a light switch. Untangling herself from the blankets, she tried to make a lunge for it.
Across the room, the side door opened to reveal a tall woman in a dressing robe. “Your Highness?” she called softly, brushing her shimmering white hair back from her eyes. “Are you all right?”
Leia sighed and gave up. “Come on in, Winter. How long have you been listening at the door?”
“I haven’t been listening,” Winter said as she glided into the room, sounding almost offended that Leia would even suggest such a thing of her. “I saw the light coming from under your door and thought you might need something.”
“I’m fine,” Leia assured her, wondering if this woman would ever cease to amaze her. Awakened in the middle of the night, dressed in an old robe with her hair in total disarray, Winter still looked more regal than Leia herself could manage on her best days. She’d lost track of the number of times when, as children together on Alderaan, some visitor to the Viceroy’s court had automatically assumed Winter was, in fact, the Princess Leia.
Winter had probably not lost track, of course. Anyone who could remember whole conversations verbatim should certainly be able to reconstruct the number of times she’d been mistaken for a royal princess.
Leia had often wondered what the rest of the Provisional Council members would think if they knew that the silent assistant sitting beside her at official meetings or standing beside her at unofficial corridor conversations was effectively recording every word they said. Some of them, she suspected, wouldn’t like it at all.
“Can I get you some more milk, Your Highness?” Winter asked. “Or some crackers?”
“No, thank you,” Leia shook her head. “My stomach isn’t really bothering me at the moment. It’s . . . well, you know. It’s Luke.”
Winter nodded. “Same thing that’s been bothering him for the past nine weeks?”
Leia frowned. “Has it been that long?”
Winter shrugged. “You’ve been busy,” she said with her usual knack for diplomacy.
“Tell me about it,” Leia said dryly. “I don’t know, Winter-I really don’t. He told Threepio that he misses Ben Kenobi, but I can tell that’s not all of it.”
“Perhaps it has something to do with your pregnancy,” Winter suggested. “Nine weeks ago would put it just about right.”
“Yes, I know,” Leia agreed. “But that’s also about the time Mon Mothma and Admiral Ackbar were pushing to move the government seat here to Coruscant. Also about the time we started getting those reports from the borderlands about some mysterious tactical genius having taken command of the Imperial Fleet.” She held her hands out, palms upward. “Take your pick.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to wait until he’s ready to talk to you.” Winter considered. “Perhaps Captain Solo will be able to draw him out when he returns.”
Leia squeezed thumb and forefinger together, a wave of anger-filled loneliness sweeping over her. For Han to have gone out on yet another of these stupid contact missions, leaving her all alone-
The flash of anger disappeared, dissolving into guilt. Yes, Han was gone again; but even when he was here it seemed sometimes like they hardly saw each other. With more and more of her time being eaten up by the enormous task of setting up a new government, there were days when she barely had time to eat, let alone see her husband.
But that’s my job, she reminded herself firmly; and it was a job that, unfortunately, only she could do. Unlike virtually all the others in the Alliance hierarchy, she had had extensive training in both the theory and the more practical aspects of politics. She’d grown up in the Royal House of Alderaan, learning about systemwide rule from her foster father-learning it so well that while still in her teens she was already representing him in the Imperial Senate. Without her expertise, this whole thing could easily collapse, particularly in these critical early stages of the New Republic’s development. A few more months-just a few more months-and she’d be able to ease off a little. She’d make it all up to Han then.
The guilt faded. But the loneliness remained.
“Maybe,” she told Winter. “In the meantime, we’d better both get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
Winter arched her eyebrows slightly. “There’s another kind?” she asked with a touch of Leia’s earlier dryness.
“Now, now,” Leia admonished, mock-seriously. “You’re far too young to become a cynic. I mean it, now-off to bed with you.”
“You’re sure you don’t need anything first?”
“I’m sure. Go on, scat.”
“All right. Good night, Your Highness.”
She glided out, closing the door behind her. Sliding down flat onto the bed, Leia readjusted the blankets over her and shifted the pillows into a more or less comfortable position. “Good night to you two, too,” she said softly to her babies, giving her belly another gentle rub. Han had suggested more than once that anyone who talked to her own stomach was slightly nuts. But then, she suspected that Han secretly believed everyone was slightly nuts.
She missed him terribly.
With a sigh, she reached over to the nightstand and turned off the light. Eventually, she fell asleep. A quarter of the way across the galaxy, Han Solo sipped at his mug and surveyed the semiorganized chaos flowing all around him. Didn’t we, he quoted to himself, just leave this party?
Still, it was nice to know that, in a galaxy busily turning itself upside down, there were some things that never changed. The band playing off in the corner was different, and the upholstery in the booth was noticeably less comfortable; but apart from that, the Mos Eisley cantina looked exactly the same as it always had before. The same as it had looked the day he’d first met Luke Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi.
It felt like a dozen lifetimes ago.
Beside him, Chewbacca growled softly. “Don’t worry, he’ll be here,” Han told him. “It’s just Dravis. I don’t think he’s ever been on time for anything in his whole life.”
Slowly, he let his eyes drift over the crowd. No, he amended to himself, there was one other thing different about the cantina: virtually none of the other smugglers who had once frequented the place were anywhere to be seen. Whoever had taken over what was left of Jabba the Hutt’s organization must have moved operations off Tatooine. Turning to peer toward the cantina’s back door, he made a mental note to ask Dravis about it.
He was still gazing off to the side when a shadow fell across the table. “Hello, Solo,” a snickering voice said.
Han gave himself a three-count before turning casually to face the voice. “Well, hello, Dravis,” he nodded. “Long time no see. Have a seat.”
“Sure,” Dravis said with a grin. “Soon as you and Chewie both put your hands on the table.”