Rebel Stand: Enemy Lines II (8 page)

“I’d appreciate that, Control. Thank you.”

“Control out.”

Leia leaned back. “So far, so good. No challenges, no sign of Yuuzhan Vong intrusion.”

“I don’t know,” Han said. “It’s always these little worlds that get you in trouble. Like Tatooine. I’m still living that one down.”

Leia gave him an arch look. “You’re complaining?”

“No. Well … No.”

She grinned, refusing to rise to the bait. “You’d better be nice to me. I know where you live.”

“I’ll be nice.” He raised the timbre of his voice into a fair imitation of the control officer Leia had just been talking with. “Yes, Your Highness. If you wish, I can get you a cup of caf.”

Leia just sighed and ignored him.

Han called over his shoulder, “We’re going to pick up an escort in a minute. You guys should probably get in the pod now.”

“Understood, General.” That was the voice of one of their two passengers; Han didn’t know which. The two women were Intelligence operatives; Han and Leia had met them just before the mission began and, once they set down on Vannix, would probably never see or hear from them again. The operatives would be setting up a resistance cell. Though this was, by comparison with Kuat, a backwater world, in the eyes of the resistance, every world should have resistance cells, as many as the planet’s resources and the danger it faced from the Yuuzhan Vong warranted.

“The pod” was a unit installed where one of the
Millennium Falcon
’s five escape pods had been. Outwardly, it looked exactly like an escape pod, though more decrepit than most, the better to discourage people from trying to use it in an actual emergency. But its thruster and other systems had been yanked, replaced by a sophisticated unit designed to thwart life-form sensors. Trying to launch the pod would result in an authentic-looking
SYSTEM FAILURE
message. Concealed in its floor
was a hidden hatch that would permit access to the
Falcon
’s exterior. It was a convenient and reusable way to smuggle personnel such as two insurgents assigned with the task of setting up a resistance cell on Vannix.

The
Falcon
, of course, possessed shielded smuggling compartments adequate in size to hold the two Intelligence officers and a lot of gear besides. But Han, even after all these years, was reluctant to share that secret with anyone he didn’t intimately trust. “If you’re going to have to admit to carrying a hold-out blaster,” he had told Wedge, “carry two and admit to one.” So Wedge had arranged for the installation of the false pod.

“General,” Han said. “When are they going to stop calling me General?”

“When are they going to stop calling me Princess?”

Han shook his head. “Maybe when you become queen. Hey, there’s our escort.”

   The escort, a pair of Kuat Drive Yards’ licensed variations on the TIE interceptor, silver with red strips to distinguish them from the more somber and ominous colors of the old Imperial starfighters, flanked the
Millennium Falcon
all the way through the atmosphere and to ground level in the midst of a sprawling city. Curiously, the city’s high-population residential districts, characterized by monolithic housing blocks that could have been transplanted whole from Coruscant, were at the city’s perimeters. The buildings seemed to form a defensive wall around the city.

The homing beacon drew the
Falcon
to a district of landing bays and warehouses near the city’s government center, and a welcoming party of military officers and distinguished
civilians. As they settled into their visitors’ bay, Leia could recognize the spare, clean, red-and-white uniforms of the officers, the outrageously baldricked and epauletted and bemedaled civilian dress of the others.

Once all systems were shut down, Han joined Leia, C-3PO, and R2-D2 at the top of the main access ramp. As the four of them descended the ramp, the largest of the humans waiting for them—a woman sporting the most elaborately and gaudily decorated of the civilian outfits, and with a column of gray hair adding half a meter to her height—drifted toward them with all the stately majesty of a Tatooine sail barge. “Leia!” she called. “Leia, it’s so grand to see you alive and well!”

“Addath.” Leia’s tone was so warm as she embraced the larger woman that Han couldn’t tell whether her affection was genuine or not. “I was so happy to hear that you survived.”

“And I, you.” Addath beamed down at the smaller woman.

Han decided that Vannix’s Senator was a distinguished-looking woman. She was not pretty, but she carried herself with grace and dignity. In contrast with the overwhelming gaudiness and complexity of her garments—Han was surprised that there were no blinking lights or mechanical toys running about among the crimson ruffles and pleats, golden bows and ribbons—her makeup was understated, merely illuminating and directing attention to her large, intelligent eyes.

“Addath, you never had the opportunity to meet my husband, Han Solo.”

“No, but I know him well—doesn’t the entire New Republic?—from the holodocumentaries and histories,
biographies, and holodramas based on his exploits.” Addath’s expression turned sober. “Allow me to offer my condolences about young Anakin and Jacen. I suspect that their sacrifice means that countless thousands of others will live, and that is how they will be remembered.”

“Thank you.” For once, Leia did not offer up her conviction that Jacen was alive somewhere. “Addath, I would not impose on your time, but our mission is an important one. I don’t have access to all the Senatorial records, so I have to rely on your help. We need an appointment with Presider Sakins as soon as we can arrange or connive one.”

Addath’s expression did not change, precisely, but Han saw something happen to it, all real cheerfulness disappearing, leaving only a shell behind. Addath took Leia by the arm and gently guided her around toward the ceremonial, flag-draped landspeeder waiting outside the visitors’ bay. As Han and the droids turned to follow, the military and civilian escort dropped into step behind them. “That will be difficult,” Addath said, her voice dripping with poisoned sweetness. “A week after Coruscant fell, Sakins looted the capital treasury, taking gems and other valuables dating back thousands of years—a tremendous fortune, and one easily transportable—and departed Vannix on the rickety but very comfortable military corvette that served as his personal transportation. He took his Presider-Aide, his mistresses, his children, and a number of his favorite financial supporters with him. I
doubt
he’ll be back.”

“Oh, dear,” Leia said. “Who is in charge of planetary government?” She boarded the oversized landspeeder
ahead of Addath; Han followed the Senator aboard and settled in beside her, separated from his wife by the Senator’s substantial girth.

“Well, that’s not exactly clear,” Addath said. She turned her attention to the landspeeder pilot. “Presider’s residence, please.” Then she returned her attention to Leia. “I’m more or less in charge of civilian matters. A crusty and not-too-bright naval officer named Apelben Werl heads up the military. We’re now campaigning for a runoff election that will decide which of the two of us will be the Presider. You’ve arrived at a good time; the election is in a matter of a few days. The famous Solos might be able to swing the election with a few well-managed public appearances, a few kind words.”

“Count on it,” Leia said.

   Two hours later—or forty, if you asked Han how long he thought it had been since they’d set down—they were left alone in quarters in the Presider’s residence. The rooms were lavishly decorated in the Vannix style, thick with ponderous cushioned couches and chairs in well-coordinated browns and golds, every surface covered—ankle-brushing carpeting below, draped curtains on the walls, tassels covering every centimeter of the ceiling and making it an ever-moving, almost organic overhead view.

But no viewports. Han settled down onto a couch beside Leia, felt a little alarm as he continued to sink for nearly half a meter. “Is this going to support me or swallow me?”

Leia smiled. “Grope around under the cushions and see if you encounter any digestive juices.”

“That’s the most revolting thing you’ve said all day.
And don’t these people believe in fresh air? Maybe a balcony?”

“Sure they do. They believe in other things, too. They’re known for the adeptness of their politicians and the skills of their snipers, characteristics that help keep one another in check.”

“Good point. So let me ask you something important.”

“Sure. But first—” Leia turned to the droids. “Artoo, how about some music? Something Coruscanti.”

R2-D2 whistled obligingly. Then from his interior wafted music, an ancient Coruscant chamber composition played mostly on strings.

Han, puzzled, opened his mouth to ask when she’d put a music module in the astromech, but Leia placed a hand over his mouth, placed a finger to her own lips.

Then Han heard his own voice coming from the droid, clear and as realistic as if Han were standing there. “So when we decide to settle down again, where would you like it to be?” Leia’s voice was next: “I’m not sure. What if I’m needed to help rebuild Coruscant?”

The real Leia, her voice a faint whisper, said, “
Now
we can talk.”

Han matched his volume to hers. “That’s the conversation we had coming back from dropping the Jedi kids off.”

Leia nodded. “I’ve been recording us from time to time for situations just like this. Each conversation is cued to a different piece of music. It’s much simpler than hunting down and exterminating all the listening devices that are likely to be planted here.”

“Politics …” Han shook his head. “Not my strength.
Care to let me know what we’re looking at here, so I have an idea of what to shoot at?”

Leia nodded and crooked a finger at C-3PO. The protocol droid moved up to stand before the couch, and, when Leia beckoned again, leaned forward until his golden head made the third point of a triangle with theirs. “Yes, mistress?”

“Have you been sampling the local information broadcasts?”

“I have.”

“Can you synopsize the Presider’s election and the candidate positions?”

“There are three candidates, but two are sufficiently out ahead of the third so far in pre-election polls that only their participation has any meaning,” the droid said. “Addath Gadan is a twenty-year representative of Vannix before the New Republic Senate, and Admiral Apelben Werl heads the planetary system’s navy. Since the abdication of the previous Presider, each has come to dominate, through political strategems, force of will, and calling due of personal markers, ever-greater portions of the planetary infrastructure. It is expected that the upcoming election will end the competition between them, but it remains possible that the loser in the contest will choose not to accept the election results and seize the government by force. Addath Gadan promotes an agenda of cooperation with and appeasement of the Yuuzhan Vong, while Admiral Werl favors military opposition. As is customary in politics, each supports the notion that her election constitutes a mandate of the masses related to these preeminent campaigning issues rather than a matter of personal charisma.”

“Nicely boiled down,” Han whispered. “Can you do the history of the Sith in thirty words or less?”

“Only in the most general terms, sir, and without including most pertinent dates and personality profiles—”

“Han, stop that.” Leia scowled at him.

“Sorry, easy target, I know.” Han sighed. “All right. We’ve actually accomplished our number one objective here. If they haven’t already, our two secret passengers will soon drag their crates of comm gear, weapons, and trade goods out of the
Falcon
and run off to begin setting up a local resistance cell. So we could leave tomorrow and consider this mission a success.”

“We could.”

“But not with your conscience clean.”

“Or yours either.”

“My conscience is
always
clean. But we
would
be leaving the planet in a situation where it might elect an appeaser to rule the government, which means the day after that the Yuuzhan Vong have another ally in their war on us.”

“That’s right.”

“So I expect you’ll want to stay for a few days.”

“That’s right.”

“And fire a political concussion missile right into the campaign plans of your friend.”

Leia nodded, her expression regretful. “Addath is not my friend. She’s just a politician whose skills I respect. I don’t owe her any ill will. But this is business, and it’s obvious that our interests have gone their separate ways … probably forever. We can’t let her win, Han. The only question is whether we can let this Admiral Werl win, either.”

Han couldn’t keep a grin from his face. “Election rigging is illegal, you know. Not entirely suited to a law-abiding politician from a good family.”

Leia’s smile matched his. “I’m not a politician anymore, Han. I’m just pretending to be one. I’ve come over to the scoundrel side of the Force.”

Han waited for a break in the recorded dialogue issuing from R2-D2, then scowled at the droids. “Hey, you two. Go take a walk. Give a couple of scoundrels some privacy here.”

“You’re the nosebleed guy, aren’t you?”

The voice came from the other side of the blue sheet separating Tam’s bed from the next one to his left. It was a boy’s voice.

“The ‘nosebleed guy’?”

A small hand pulled the sheet partway aside and Tam could see the speaker, a boy of perhaps twelve, brown-haired, blue-eyed, with a cleanly chiseled dimple in his chin giving him a surprisingly adult look. “They say that the scarheads did awful things to you and when you didn’t do what they wanted, it made you bleed so bad from your nose you almost died.”

“Well, it’s not as simple as that.” Tam shrugged, surprised that he wasn’t annoyed by the boy’s prying. “What they did to me makes my head hurt when I refuse. My head hurts, my blood pressure goes as high as if my body were a compression chamber. That can give me really bad nosebleeds. But the pain is the more dangerous part.”