Authors: Troy Denning
“Now!” he yelled.
Nothing happened, except that Roxi glanced away long enough for Han to hurl himself across the waiting room. She adjusted her aim and began to burn more holes through the half wall. Han returned fire. Now that his angle was better, at least he was making her cringe.
Then the repulsor gurney glided into view, moving sideways, no one pushing. Han’s jaw must have dropped. Roxi sneered, shook her head, and, not one to be fooled twice, nearly burned his head off.
The gurney caught her in the hip. Her weapon stitched craters across the ceiling, and she stumbled into the doorway. Han blasted her chest and shoulder, spinning her around so that she fell over the gurney. The repeating blaster clattered to the floor
inside the bacta parlor, where Dex could get at it. Cursing his luck, Han poured fire through the door and charged.
Dex lay dead between tanks one and two, the last wisps of smoke rising from a round hole in his chest. It was too small and perfect to be a blaster wound, at least an ordinary one. Han glanced around the room, searching for the source of his mysterious help.
The woman in tank three was watching him.
“You?” he asked.
The gurney moved again—it might have been settling on its repulsor, but Han didn’t think so.
Out by the monitoring station, the decontamination lock hissed open, and the sound of booted feet began to rumble down the corridor. Han ignored the clamor and gestured at the impostor on the floor.
“Him, too?”
The woman’s eyes fluttered closed, opened again, then fell shut and remained that way.
“Okay—must have been a ricochet.” Han was not sure he believed that, but it was what he intended to tell the CorSec investigators. “I owe you—whoever you are.”
Then the security squad was rushing down the corridor, yelling at Han to drop his weapon and hit the floor. He placed his blaster on the gurney and turned to find a pair of ruddy-cheeked boys poking Imperial-era blaster rifles in his face.
“Hey, take it easy.” Han reluctantly raised his hands. “I can explain.”
Temples aching, world spinning, stomach … churning. Leia returned. Someone yelling. Han, of course.
Head pounding.
Quiet
!
Han continued to yell, and someone snapped back. Leia opened her eyes and found herself staring into a sun. Which one, she did not know, but it was blinding and blue, and it moved from one eye to the other.
A gentle voice—a man’s—said she was coming to. To what?
There were silhouettes around her. A man standing at her side, the blue disk of a headlamp affixed to his brow. A woman behind a tray of medical instruments. Han and someone in a bulky jumpsuit still arguing over by the viewport. Another man by the closet in the corner of the room, turned half away, pawing through a shape Leia recognized as her travel satchel.
“Oo thurr …” Even to Leia, the words were weak and incoherent. “Thopp.”
“It’s okay, Leia,” said the man with the headlamp. “I’m Dr. Nimbi. You’ll feel better soon.”
“I thel fie.” Leia tried to point, but her arm felt as heavy as a durasteel beam. “Thopp thath theet.”
The headlamp went out, revealing a gray-eyed face with laugh lines and a familiar smile. “Better?”
Leia could see now that the man wore a doctor’s lab coat with
JASPER NIMBI
embroidered on the lapel. His assistant, a plump woman old enough to be the doctor’s mother, was dressed in a well-worn nurse’s uniform. The man poking through her satchel had the patches of a Corellian Security agent on his jumpsuit, as did the officer with whom Han was arguing.
“… released him?” Han was demanding. “He’s a killer!”
“The only deaths here are the ones you caused, Solo,” the officer replied. “And
his
identification has been confirmed as authentic. If we need to question Gad Sluggins again, we’ll know where to find him.”
“So would I,” Han retorted. “In the nearest Peace Brigade safehouse.”
“Political affiliations are no longer a crime on Corellia, Solo.”
In the corner, the agent at the closet removed a datapad from Leia’s satchel, glanced around at the others in the room, then slipped it into his jumpsuit pocket. Leia tried again to point. This time, the effort ended in a metallic clatter as her arm, strapped in place and connected to a tangle of intravenous drip lines, rattled the bed’s safety rail. She settled for lifting her head to glare in the thief’s direction.
“Shtop.” The word was almost recognizable. “Thief!”
Han immediately stopped arguing with the CorSec officer and came to her side. With hollow cheeks and bags under his eyes, he looked exhausted.
“You’re awake,” he said, perhaps overstating the case. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” Leia said. Everything ached, and it felt like she had a hot power-feed around her legs. “That agent is stealing.”
She extended a finger toward the culprit, but the man’s officer had stepped to the foot of the bed, and it looked like she was pointing at him. Han and the others exchanged glances and appeared concerned.
“Pharmaceutical illusion,” Dr. Nimbi said. “Her perceptions will clear within the hour.”
“I am
not
having delusions.” Leia continued to shake her finger toward the unseen closet. “The other one. Going through my bag.”
The officer pivoted around to look, exposing the now closed closet and an innocent-looking subordinate.
Han squeezed her shoulder. “Forget it, Leia. We’ve got more important things to worry about than someone digging through your underwear.”
“She doesn’t need to hear that
now
, Han,” the doctor said. He
turned back to Leia with a comforting smile. “How do the legs feel? Any better?”
Leia ignored the question and demanded, “What things, Han?”
Han seemed baffled. He glanced at Dr. Nimbi, then said, “Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry.”
“When you tell me not to worry, that’s when I worry,” Leia said. Han had always been one of those men who navigated life more by instinct than by chart—it was one of the things she most loved about him—but his instincts since Chewbacca’s death had been carrying him into some very dangerous areas. Or perhaps the territory only seemed dangerous, lying as it did always farther from Leia. “What’s wrong?”
Han still seemed worried, but at least he had the sense to ignore Dr. Nimbi’s admonishing shake of the head. “Well,” he began, “you
do
remember where we are?”
Leia glanced at the emblems on the CorSec officer’s jumpsuit. “How could I forget?”
And then it hit her. The Corellians were calling them by their correct names. There were two CorSec agents standing in her hospital room, and Dr. Nimbi—a Jedi sympathizer with enough experience in such matters not to slip—was calling Leia by her real name. Their cover had been blown.
Something started to beep on the equipment behind the bed.
Dr. Nimbi held a scanner over Leia’s heart. “Leia, you need to calm yourself. Stress only reduces the chance of your body overcoming the infection.”
The beeping continued, and the nurse took a spray hypo off her tray. “Shall I prepare a—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Leia reached out with the Force and nudged the hypo—clumsily, but enough to make her point. “Clear?”
The astonished nurse dropped the hypo on the tray and huffed something about pushy Jedi witches, then raised her nose and started for the door—where she was met by a rising din of excited voices. The MD droid was threatening to notify security and protesting that the media were not permitted in the isolation ward, but the intruders were paying no attention. A sudden glow poured through the door as a holocrew’s lights illuminated the
corridor outside, and the flustered nurse came stumbling back into the room.
“Great,” Han muttered. “Thrackan.”
A bearded man who—except for his gray hair—looked more like Han than Han did came bursting into the room, leaving a small swarm of assistants and holojournalists in the corridor outside. The man, Han’s cousin Thrackan Sal-Solo, glanced around briefly, saw that he was standing between Leia and the door, then moved forward so the holocams would have a view of her face. She slid down and tried to hide behind Dr. Nimbi, who recognized what she was doing and quietly positioned himself in front of her.
Sal-Solo scowled at the doctor, then looked Han and Leia over and nodded to the CorSec officer. “That’s them. Well done, Captain.”
“Thank you, Governor-General.”
“Governor-General?” Han repeated, trying not to scoff and, to Leia’s ear at least, failing. “You’ve come up in the galaxy, cousin.”
“The Five Brothers reward those who protect them,” Sal-Solo said.
“Yes—it seems reekcats always land on their feet,” Leia said.
Less than a decade earlier, Sal-Solo had held her family hostage in a failed attempt to establish an independent Corellian sector. More recently, he had inadvertently destroyed an entire Hapan battle fleet by using an ancient alien artifact called Centerpoint Station to attack a hostile force of Yuuzhan Vong. Given that Leia had been responsible for bringing the Hapans into the war, she was probably the only person in the galaxy who despised Han’s cousin more than Han did. And it did not help matters that Sal-Solo had been hailed as a hero for his foolish actions and, eventually, elected governor-general of the entire Corellian sector.
“What’s next?” Leia continued to glare at Sal-Solo. Han winced and drew his finger across his throat, but she ignored him. “Lose the war and become the New Republic Chief of State?”
Sal-Solo half turned toward the holocam outside the door. “My allegiance is to the Corellian system alone.” His voice was
stiff and self-conscious. “And you’d be smart to curb that lightsaber tongue of yours, Princess Leia. An insult to the man is an insult to the office.”
“Really?” Leia propped herself up on her free elbow until the holocam lights warmed her face. “In this case, I should think it is the man himself who is the insult.”
Sal-Solo glared at her in disbelief, then stormed over to the door and stuck his head into the corridor. “Clear the hall! Can’t you see this is an isolation ward?”
The holocam illuminated his face briefly before he palmed the activation panel and the door closed. He stood facing the wall until the corridor was finally empty, then turned to Leia with eyes as dark as black holes.
“You must have a death wish,” he said.
“You’re the one who wanted to play this out in the media,” Leia said. “Don’t blame me if you can’t handle it. Wouldn’t it have been easier to keep things quiet and ignore us?”
“Nothing would have suited me more—except maybe sending you off with a squad of Yuuzhan Vong infiltrators,” Sal-Solo said. “Unfortunately, the choice wasn’t mine. I didn’t know either of you was here until I saw on a newsvid that Han Solo had just killed three Corellian citizens.”
“Sorry about that,” Han said, not appearing sorry at all.
Sal-Solo gave him a dark look, then looked back to Leia. “There won’t be any charges, provided you—”
“Charges?” Han exclaimed. Even Leia could not tell whether he was angry or surprised; they been apart so long—and gone through so much alone—that she felt like she did not know him now. “For killing a bunch of Peace Brigaders?”
“They weren’t in the Peace Brigade,” Sal-Solo said. “CorSec Intelligence says they were local.”
“That doesn’t mean they weren’t Peace Brigade,” Han said.
“But they weren’t,” Sal-Solo said. “Roxi Barl is an independent contractor. She didn’t like orders, which rules out the Peace Brigade or anyone associated with the Yuuzhan Vong. Or so Intelligence tells me.”
“Then who
was
she working for?” Han demanded.
Thrackan shrugged. “That’s a good question. Fortunately, it’s also one that, as of an hour from now, will no longer concern me.”
Han scowled. “No?”
“Because you’ll be gone by then,” Thrackan said.
“Gone?” Han shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere until Leia can walk.”
Leia frowned. Their faces had been on newsvids all over the system, and he was talking about staying until she could
walk
. What kind of rocket juice had he been drinking while they were apart?
“Han,” Leia said gently. “We talked this over. You know I may never—”
Han whirled on her. “Until you
walk
, Leia.”
Leia recoiled, and Han hovered over the bed, staring into her eyes, not blinking, not breathing, not wavering, as though he could change what had happened on Duro—maybe even what had happened before that—through sheer force of will.
“Han, we can’t,” she said at last. “By now, bounty hunters and Peace Brigaders from all over the system will be converging on the medcenter. And even if Thrackan wanted to protect us, he couldn’t. It would give the Yuuzhan Vong too much reason to come see if Centerpoint is still operational.”
“And he’s just sending us on our way?” Han scoffed. “Straight into a Yuuzhan Vong patrol, that’s where he’s sending us.”
“He can’t, Han,” Leia said. “He can’t take the chance we’d break under torture and tell them Centerpoint isn’t working.”
Han considered this, then glanced at his cousin.
“If it makes you feel better, I could always have you killed,” Sal-Solo offered amicably. “That works for me.”
“And how do you think Anakin would like that?” Leia retorted. Their son Anakin was the only one who had ever been able to fully activate Centerpoint Station, and his absence was one reason the ancient superweapon wasn’t working now. “He doesn’t care for you much as it is, Thrackan. I doubt he’d be very helpful if you arranged the death of his parents.”
Sal-Solo’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “As long as we’re agreed, then. You’ll leave within the hour.”
“Han,” Dr. Nimbi said helpfully, “she can handle the journey if you stop at bacta parlors along the way.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Leia will be fine. It’s your, uh, friend I’m worried about.”
Han seemed confused. “Friend?”
“In tank three,” Dr. Nimbi said. “I don’t think you should leave her behind, not with all those bounty hunters and Peace Brigaders on the way.”
“Oh—right. Our
friend.
” Han glanced at Leia, and something roguish came to his eye, something sly and fun and conspiratorial that had not been there since before Chewbacca’s death. He looked back to Sal-Solo and sighed. “Look, I don’t mean to be difficult, but we can’t go without Jaina.”