Star Wars - Planet Of Twilight (12 page)

"Besides stripping my ship of everything but the space tape, you mean?

He grinned, understanding her attempt to head off a quarrel, and she grinned back. Silver space tape was a standing joke among colonists, as it had been among the Rebels Everything was held together with it, from household appliances to--allegedly--the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.

“No, it's serious.” The woman Arvid had pointed out as Umolly Darm moved over carefully to the side of Caslo's skimmer, small and trim and pretty with an ion cannon slung casually on her shoulder. She must have muscles like a rancor, thought Luke. "About six hours before the attack there was a . . . I don't know what. I've heard the Oldtim-ers talk about Force storms, and this must have been one of them.

Weirdest thing i've ever seen. Every tool came flying off the bench, whirling around the room like a cyclone. Boxes of crystals heaving and scattering rocks and jumping off the shelves. Down the street at the grocery it was like somebody hit the shelves with a dirtmover.

Tinnin Droo and Nap Socker were working at their smelter; it leapt up like a live thing, they say .... They don't think Socker's going to pull through, he was burned so bad."

Her blue eyes narrowed, troubled and darkly angry. “They always did say the Listeners had some kind of special power. I never heard of this kind of thing, never. They--the Oldtimers--say there used to be these Force storms, a hundred, two hundred years ago.”

“The Oldtimers say,” said Gerney Caslo with a sneer. “Like they say their Healers can cure a man of everything from petal fever to a broken leg just by laying hands on him.” He looked Luke up and down again.

“When'd you meet these Therans, friend. And what was they up to?”

Luke shook his head. “They attacked me with lances and pellet rifles when my ship came down, that's all,” he said. “I escaped.”

Six hours before the attack on the gun station.

At the very hour when he had used the Force to get himself away.

I knew it. The all-encompassing presence of the Force, the terrible strength of it, moving like wind around him, imbuing the very air.

He had caused the Force storm.

Yoda's voice came back to him, the rough green fingers pinching his arm. Its energy surrounds us and binds us You must feel the Force around you, between you and the tree, the rock, everywhere.

The old Jedi must have known. Callista must have known. He had thought he would be able to track her through the Force with his mind, but now he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure he could track anyone or anything on this world, with the Force like an intensity of light blinding his mind.

“Well, what's done is done,” said Gin philosophically. “Talking won't better it.”

“We can festering better it by breaking a couple of heads,” snarled Caslo, and pulled the skimmer away, the blue-white glare of the Aratech's lights flashing across the shiny black housings of his blaster rifle.

"They better be festering careful in the future, that's all I can say.

When Ashgad gets back from this conference of his . . ."

“Gerney's mouth's always been the biggest thing he's got,” explained Gin, swerving her bike to avoid the tether of an antigray ball the size of a small house. Dark vines hung down from it, ravelly clouds of nisemia thread blossoming from them like tiny clouds.

They were close to the lights of Ruby Gulch now and the crops that supported the town were everywhere in evidence, stunted bott and smoot making a dark patchwork of vegetation across the coarse, thin soil of the Oldtimer farms, and spiky towers of branswed and topato protecting the more fragile, higher-yielding plants of the Newcomers from whatever blights and diseases might inhabit the soil. The antigrav balls worked better still but, Luke suspected, were expensive. All the balls rode high, their tethers extended with the dropping of the wind.

“The rest of his family are decent folk, though. His cousin Bool-drum's got the biggest library in Hweg Shul, bigger than Master Ash-gad's, even. The offer's still open, to stay and work at my place awhile.”

Luke shook his head. “Thank you. If Mistress Darm can help me with finding a friend who might have come in through Hweg Shul, I'll be on my way.”

“As you please.” She nodded toward the two clusters of lights that marked the town, the tidy lines of the Newcomer dwellings set high on buttonwood pilings, and the dimmer, lower clumps of brightness that showed where the Oldtimers had their humbler abodes. “I got stew and beer back at the house, unless the pair of you want to go on to the Flowering Bott Pub with the rest of those louts and grouse about how this place would be paradise if only we could get trade in. It ain't never going to be paradise, you know, no matter what Seti Ashgad works out with whomever he made such a big deal of getting to talk with him.”

She glanced across at Luke again. “No place ever is, if you're not restful in your heart.”

She swung her bike in a long loop, heading toward the high-standing Newcomer houses with their bright lamps.

She was right, of course, thought Luke. But he doubted her opinion was that of the majority of Newcomers, nor should it be. They had a right to live in comfort, to have their children grow up with proper medical attention, to avoid the grinding, horrible labor of primitive agriculture and stagnant economy.

They were a minority on the planet, the majority of whose population did not want their world to become part of the Republic. Nothing Seti Ashgad said to the Republic's representatives would alter that.

But while their speeders were tinkered together from scrap and their clothing consisted of makeshifts and hand-me-downs, somebody, Luke noticed, had thought it worth his while to provide every single one of those Newcomers with the very latest in blasters, rifles, and ion cannons.

RESPOND AT ONCE

INCOMING 77539 - CCNP-XTTN-5057943,QQ7 to RRNP-XXY79 SCRAMBLE CODE 9 RT. HON. EXLCY LEIA ORGANA SOLO EXTREMELY URGENT RESPOND AT ONCE

INCOMING 77601 CCNP-XTTN-5057943,QQ7 to RRNP-XXY79 SCRAMBLE CODE 9 RT.

HON. EXLCY LEIA ORGANA SOLO EXTREMELY URGENT RESPOND AT ONCE

INCOMING - 77610 - CCNP XTTN-5057943,QQ7 to RRNP-XXY79 SCRAMBLE CODE 9 RT. HON. EXLCY LEIA ORGANA SOLO CRITICAL IMMEDIATE

RESPONSE IMPERATIVE

“Son of a . . ”Han Solo tapped back to the beginning of the message queue and scanned it again. Twelve scramble 9s. He punched into the first of them, though he knew the comm screen would give him nothing but gibberish, and he was right.

“Where's Goldenrod when you need him?”

At the far end of the terrace, Chewbacca groaned a question.

“Nothing.” Solo paged through the queue again, as if he thought a message would manifest itself saying, DON'T WORRY ABOUT A THING, WE'RE 50 HOURS LATE BECAUSE THE ENTIRE DIPLOMATIC MISSION just STOPPED OFF ON CYBLOC XI1 SO I COULD BUY MYSELF A PAIR OF SHOES. HOME SOON. LOVE, you.

In my dreams, thought Han.

He glanced at the chronometer. It was a few hours after noon, the bright, misty daylight of the resort moon Hesperidium already losing its strength. Above the dark-leaved trees with their neon-bright clusters of gold and scarlet fruit, the sky was fading to its characteristic rosy lavender, the dark edges pricked already by the more prominent stars.

There was no possible way he could continue to deceive himself.

Even taking into account the worst imaginable outcome of the conference with this Ashgad character, even taking into account an emergency detour to Coruscant, even taking into account an unscheduled Council session and a harangue by Councillor Q-Varx of the Rationalist sympathies and inexhaustible rhetoric--and why wouldn't she have at least sent a message to that effect.--Leia was late.

Very, very late.

Chewbacca hauled himself out of the terrace pool and shook, spattering water in all directions. Behind him among the realistically engineered rocks, Winter glided fishlike with the giggling twins in the mild water while Anakin patted solemnly all around the pinkly glowing field of his confinement bubble. laina had lately become fascinated with knotting and braiding, and the long leathering of the Wookiee's mane and arms bore random macrames of her efforts. Dripping, Chewbacca padded to Han's side. He grovled another query, his voice low, for the twins understood Wookiee almost as fluently as did their father.

“I can't even do that,” replied Han softly. “That was part of the cover. She's supposed to be here with us, not in the middle of the Meridian sector meeting with a guy who isn't even the elected representative of his planet.”

Chewie asked something else, tilting his great head, blue eyes glittering worriedly under the overhang of his brow.

“What would Ackbar be able to tell me?” Han spread his hands. “If he knew anything he'd have contacted me already. With a leak someplace in the Council, and the Rationalists and the Rights of Sentience Party ready to split the Council in half, he can't go through regular channels any more than we can.”

The Wookiee rumbled deep in his chest.

“I know.” Han closed his fist, brought it down with surprising restraint--softly, a slow-motion blow--on the thick glassite of the tabletop beside which he stood.

The small villa that had housed a succession of the Emperor Palpatine's concubines--one of several retained by the government of the New Republic to shelter diplomats it wanted to impress--had been thoroughly swept for listening devices before Leia and her family went to stay there for an ostensible vacation on what was arguably the most beautiful moon of the Coruscant system, but Han still felt easier talking on the terrace. The gurgle of the fountains among mossy stones and the soft singing of the warbleflowers, would have baffled even a long-range directional listening device.

“She should have listened to Callista,” he said. “She should have listened.”

In his heart, of course, he knew that Leia couldn't have heeded the warning. The Rationalist Party had spent too many months setting up the secret meeting with Ashgad--and had too much influence both in the New Republic and in the various fragments of the old Empire--for the whole matter to be jettisoned at the last minute on the strength of an anonymous note. Q-Varx, the Calamari Senator who headed up the party on that watery planet, had pointed out that, on the one hand, the case of the Newcomer minority on Nam Chorios could very well turn into a test case for the whole issue of planetary self-determination and, on the other, though Moff Getelles of Antemeridian was in no position militarily to go against the Republic fleet in the Meridian sector, it was too much to hope that he would not find some way of turning disaffection on that world to his advantage.

That was the problem, reflected Han, with power.

Even before he'd come into contact with actual pow'er, he'd concluded that people who wanted to rule the galaxy--or even some weedpatch township on Duroon--were idiots. As Lando Calrissian had discovered on Bespin, power tied you down. You could no longer follow your instincts or act on the spur of the moment All Leia could do, when Callista's message had reached her, was include her Noghri bodyguard in the party and run the risk of the hideous scandal that would result if they were discovered. Every precaution that could be taken had already been taken.

She should have run. Han touched the keypad again, and watched the long parade of scramble 9s--there were fifteen of them now--scroll past.

The face of Luke's beloved--the soft oval contours, the strong chin and full, decisive lips, the rain-colored eyes that were at once so old and so innocent--returned to his mind. The light, husky alto voice that was like a teenage boy's and the gawky grace of her long-boned body.

She'd disappeared almost a year ago. She knew Luke would go after her, thought Han. She wouldn't resurface lightly.

All that, Leia had known.

And had gotten on the Borealis shuttle anyway.

It was a kind of courage Han frankly wasn't sure he possessed.

He said again, out loud this time, “She should have run.”

The screen blinked again. Another scramble 9. From Coruscant, this time, a long block of text, in the purple lettering that meant very, very urgent. At the same time a green light went up over the fancifully carved, moss-padded stone doorway that led from the terrace to the house, and in what looked like an antique stone niche a decorative statue revolved to admit a round TT-SL droid on the end of its jointed limb.

The bronze lid blinked as the blue glass optical adjusted to read who was on the terrace. Then a very pleasant voice announced, "Two visitors in the vestibule, Captain Solo. They have declined to present credentials.

Would you like them to be admitted or would you prefer an observation first?"

“Admit 'em.” Han hated spying on his guests. If they came out the door shooting, he and Chewie could probably deal with the situation.

“It will be my pleasure.”

Chewie grumbled something and shook his mane. He disliked vestibule observation as much as Han did, and disliked tattletale droids, if possible, even more. Han laughed, and agreed, “Yeah, can't you just see all his little diodes sparkling with sheer delight?”

The laughter wiped from his face a moment later as the automatic door slid quietly back into its quasi-stone slot, and he saw who his visitor was.

He had a bad feeling about all this.

“Well, well.” The door of the airlock slipped open. “What have we got here?”

See-Threepio, who had advanced with hands extended in near-ecstatic welcome, pulled up short at the question. “As I explained over the viewscreen,” he reiterated, "this is a scout vessel detached from a .

. a major disaster, and we are on our way to the fleet base at Cybloc XII." As he spoke he was analyzing the broad-shouldered, fair-haired man with the scar on his lip who stood in the doorway, the man who, half an hour previously, had identified himself on the viewscreen as Captain Bortrek of the Pure Sabacc.

“Our pilot is unfortunately deceased . . .” He followed Captain Bortrek down the corridor to the bridge, the young man swaggering ahead, looking around him thoughtfully and whistling a little through his teeth.