The Crystal Star (26 page)

Tigris followed his lord, wondering what this honor meant. Perhaps Lord Hethrir had finally decided to

allow him to be a helper.

Lord Hethrir gestured to the copilot's seat.

Tigris took his place, his heart swelling with pride. It did not matter that he could not fly a starship.

Perhaps Lord Hethrir planned to teach him.

"Never hesitate," Lord Hethrir said softly, "when I give you an instruction." Tigris flinched. He clamped

his hands around the armrests of the seat, so he would not tremble.

"Do you understand?" "Yes, Lord Hethrir. But Anakin was so very upset--" "Never hesitate when I give

you an instruction." Tigris fell silent.

"Do you understand?" "Yes, my lord," Tigris whispered.

Lord Hethrir turned his attention to launching the starship, ignoring Tigris. Tigris could hear, faintly from

the end of the hallway, the sobbing of Anakin.

The starship rumbled beneath them, then lifted off through the worldcraft's thin blue band of atmosphere.

The bright blackness of space and stars surrounded them.

Lord Hethrir's silence stretched on like the starship's course through space. Tigris thought of speaking,

then thought better of it. He watched Lord Hethrir fly the starship, he let his gaze rest longingly on the

smaller lightsaber Hethrir carried, and he tried not to listen to Anakin's crying.

Finally even Anakin fell silent. The only sound was the engines' faint vibration, almost too low to be a

sound.

Hyperspace leaped toward them and streaked around them. Tigris gasped. Hyperspace thrilled him. He

wished, someday, to try to explore it, to put on a pressure suit and go out in it, though many said that was

impossible. Some said it would drive one mad; some said it would drive one to death.

Back at his room at the lodge, Han sank into the couch. The glass doors to the terrace hung slightly ajar.

Heavy, hot air flowed over him. Han was exhausted and distressed. He pushed the doors wide open and

breathed the humid night scents of Crseih Station. He wished for the cool and fresh night air of home.

Threepio hovered worriedly nearby, fussing about having no food to prepare, nothing to serve, and no

money to buy dinner with.

"There is not even a sip of wine or a cup of tea, Master Han," Threepio said.

"Never mind, Threepio," Han said. "It doesn't matter." "Tea is always good after a shock." Threepio

bustled away, hoping for better luck finding provisions in Luke's room.

After Threepio left, Luke shook his head.

His silence had lasted all the way back from Waru's compound. Han's experience distressed him.

"You should never have gone to Waru alone!" Xaverri said. "You should have waited, as I asked you to.

You should have returned with me, as I asked you to." She laughed bitterly. "But of course you never,

ever did as I asked." "Excuse the hell out of me!" Han said.

"ally were there all alone, I was worried about you!" "I have been with Waru all alone--truly alone, not

with a thousand supplicants looking on--almost every day for a hundred days. Waru trusts me.

If you keep behaving this way, Waru will stop trusting." "The Ithorian family trusted Waru, and look what

it got them." Sorrow swept over him, and terror. In his mind, the memory of the Ithorian family

transmuted itself to his own family. Though he knew it would never happen, he could not wipe away the

image of him and Leia, Jaina and Jacen, begging Waru for help and placing Anakin on that altar. Though

the oppressive heat made him sweat, he shuddered.

He had risked his own life a thousand times.

He had never felt vulnerable, as he felt vulnerable now.

The kids are on Munto Codru, Han reminded himself. Jaina is dismantling some chrono; and Jacen is

making friends with some critter that we'll find out later is maybe just a little bit venomous; and Anakin is

watching everything, taking in everything, looking for mischief to get into.

Leia is watching over them, and Chewbacca is keeping watch over them all. They're fine, they're safe.

But he could not stop shivering.

"Did you know what was going to happen?" he asked Xaverri, in sudden fury. "Did you know Waru was

going to murder that kid?" "I knew--" Han jumped up in shock, but Xaverri raised one hand, palm out,

and stopped him.

"I knew another person would die. I cannot know when. I cannot know who. I did not know the Ithorian

youth would die. It is impossible to know which subjects will die when they submit their lives to Waru.

One can only attend, and watch, and wait." She sighed. "I would not have had you see that, without

warning. I could have warned you, if you had waited--z I asked." "Waru's a healer," Luke said

reasonably.

"No healer can succeed all the time. It's tragic, but people do die. Even young people." "You didn't see

what happened!" Han said.

"Waru didn't fail. Waru planned what happened. Waru--" His voice broke.

"Waru enjoyed it." "Do you believe, now, that Waru is no fraud?" Xaverri asked.

"I don't know if Waru is a fraud or not," Han said. No one who ever wanted to commit murder for profit,

or power, or excitement ever needed to invoke the supernatural. "And I don't care." He could barely

keep his teeth from chattering.

How can I feel so cold, when it's so hot in here? he thought.

But Han knew the cold at his core would never disperse until he could stop what was happening.

"I do know Waru is evil," he said.

"You can't know that," Luke said. "Not this soon." "Sure I can. I do. I know." "How?" "How should I

know? I don't know! How do you know what you know when you know it?" Han paused, frustrated.

"All I know is what I know!" "I think you're jumping to conclusions," Luke said.

"I jumped to nothing," Xaverri said, offended.

"I observed. I gained Waru's trust. I came to certain conclusions, and I requested your help." "Where did

that thing come from?" Han asked.

"What is it?" "When Crseih Station belonged to the Empire," Xaverri said, "the Procurator of Justice used

it as his headquarters. He used it as a prison for enemies of the Emperor. He used it as a torture chamber

for his own enemies. And he used it to perform savage rites..

"It is said," Xaverri said, "when people breathe their secrets in the darkness, that Waru appeared in

response to the Procurator's rites. It is said his sacrifices called Waru from empty space, and

strengthened Waru with the lives of people.

"It is said," Xaverri said, her voice falling to a whisper, "that they forged a pact, an alliance, that when

Waru is satisfied, Waru will reward the Procurator with absolute power." A chill crept up Han's spine.

Xaverri folded her hands in her lap; she closed her eyes.

"The Procurator of Justice is dead," Han said.

Xaverri opened her soft brown eyes and gazed at him.

"He's one of the survivors? The ones you've been tracking, and watching?" She nodded. "I have been

trying to catch up to him for a long time. I have discovered that he comes here. When he does, I will be

waiting." "But Waru's a healer," Luke said.

"I need not tell you," Xaverri said gently, "that a healer bears the knowledge to kill." "Do you have

proof?" "Han has seen the proof." "Luke, I'm sorry this isn't working out the way you wanted," Han said.

"But we have to stop this thing." Luke simply gazed at him, as stubbornly defiant as he had ever been as a

youth.

"If Waru's a manifestation of anything," Han said, "it's the dark side." "No," Luke said. "Not the dark

side." "How do you know that?" "I don't know." Luke smiled bitterly, ironically. "All I know is what I

know." "That's not much of an answer," Han said.

"I know what the dark side feels like. I know what it's like, to be in the dark side's presence.

This isn't it." Threepio returned from Luke's room.

"Master Luke, we having nothing to eat." "We'll go out, Threepio. Don't worry." "We cannot go out, sir.

We have no money." "Then we'll worry about it tomorrow." "Perhaps I should return to the Falcon, and

retrieve some provisions." "Go on, then!" Han said, unable to listen to Threepio for another second.

Threepio left, disappearing into the dark hallway.

"You shouldn't have sent him away," Luke said.

Han did not reply. He shivered deep and hard. The more he fought it, the worse it got.

Xaverri rose from the couch beside him and went to Luke.

"Leave us for a bit, Master Luke," she said.

Luke hesitated. He glanced from Xaverri to Han, and back again.

"He will be all right," Xaverri said.

"Only, please, leave us for a bit." Luke's robe swirled around him as he left Han's room and returned to

his own. The door closed.

Xaverri sat beside Han. She took his hand between hers. Her familiar warmth was the only relief in the

world from the cold of Han's shivering.

"Solo," she said, "I understand. We will stop Waru, you and I together. He is powerful, but we will think

of a way. Now you must sleep, you must rest." She enfolded him in her arms. Unlike the heat of the

station, the warmth Xaverri gave him reached his center.

His thoughts slipped back to the old days. The terrible shivering slowed, and slipped away, and ceased.

Han fell asleep.

* * * Lord Hethrir's starship tunneled out of hyperspace. Normal space opened, bright with stars. Tigris

bathed in beauty.

The starship's shields formed, blocking out the intense radiation of the region.

A maelstrom of light blazed before them, barely dimmed by the shield: the cosmic whirlpool of a black

hole's accretion disk burned before them.

"I will be glad," Lord Hethrir said, speaking for the first time since lifting off, "when I can travel in

comfort. When I no longer need to hide my worldcraft from those lowborn thieves of the New Republic.

I dislike leaving my home behind." "My lord," Tigris said, "if I can be of service--if I can attend you--"

"No," Lord Hethrir said.

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord." "It will be some hours before we reach Crseih Station," Lord Hethrir

said. "I must--meditate. I must prepare for the child's purification." He rose. Tigris fumbled for his

harness, for he should not remain seated while Lord Hethrir stood.

Lord Hethrir gazed at him.

Is it my imagination? Tigris wondered.

Or is his expression kindly? Of course, he is thinking about the offering. Not about me.

"You must sleep," Hethrir said. "You may sleep across my door." Tigris was amazed. To sleep at his

lord's door was an honor. A small honor, to be sure--not the same as being promoted to Proctor, or

being permitted to serve him at table. But it was an honor nonetheless, the first one Lord Hethrir had ever

shown him.

"Thank you, my lord." He bowed his head.

Lelila prepared Alderaan for flight.

She fastened safety straps around Rillao, then she and Geyyahab and Artoo-Detoo secured themselves

in the cockpit. Lelila engaged the drive.

Alderaan came to alert around her. It displayed her surroundings, picking out each of the disabled ships,

charting a safe course past them.

Lelila felt guilty about leaving them, but Rillao was right. A few days this way or that would make no

difference to the sleeping passengers. A few days' delay for Alderaan might lose the children--all the

children--forever.

She sent an unsigned message, an SOS from the stolen ships, to General Han Solo.

Lelila the bounty hunter could not afford to think of asking the famous freedom fighter to come to her aid;

she could not afford to think of the touch of his hand, the warmth of his body in the night, his grief and

rage when he learned all that had happened.

Alderaan displayed its course to Chalcedon; Lelila accepted it. The ship powered forward.

Lelila shouted out a cry of resolution. Beside her, Geyyahab roared in harmony. Alderaan exploded

forward into hyperspace, plunging through the radial aurora.

Lelila and Geyyahab fell silent. They both felt better.

Han struggled against the terrible paralysis of sleep. Anakin was in danger. A great space-snake writhed

toward the child, who watched with interest and a complete lack of fear. The snake metamorphosed into

Boba Fett the bounty hunter, intent on kidnapping Han's children so Han would be in his power as well.

A reflection glinted off Boba Fett's helmet, gold as sunlight. A scarlet vein of blood streaked through the

reflection. The bounty hunter whispered a curse. The gold and red expanded, brightened, and transmuted

themselves into the shape of Waru, the alien that even Threepio could not place. Waru whispered a

promise to Anakin, and Han's child clambered to his feet and ran toward the being.

Han knew if he could run after Anakin, or shout, or move a single muscle, he could catch him, save him,

but the paralysis gripped him. He knew he was asleep, one twitch the wrong side of wakefulness; if he

had the power to do anything he could stop the terrible dream--"Solo! Solo, wake up!" The shaking

released him. The nightmare dissolved just before Anakin reached Waru's altar. Han sat up with a great

gasp of fear and relief.

Xaverri stopped shaking him, stopped holding him.

"A nightmare," Xaverri said. "A nightmare, not real." Light and shadows fell through the open glass doors:

strange light, stranger shadows.

"It could have been real, though," Han said.

"I know," Xaverri said softly.

He did not ask if she too had nightmares about Waru. He was still wrestling his own dreams.