STAR WARS

The Jedi Academy Trilogy

Volume 1

Jedi Search

By Kevin J. Anderson

As the war between the Republic and the scattered remnants of  the

Empire continues, two  children-the Jedi twins??will  come into  their

powers in a universe on the  brink of vast changes and challenges.  In

this time of  turmoil and  discovery, an extraordinary  new Star  Wars

saga begins....

While Luke Skywalker  takes the  first step toward  setting up  an

academy to train a new order  of Jedi Knights, Han Solo and  Chewbacca

are taken prisoner on the planet

Kessel and forced  to work  in the  fathomless depths  of a  spice

mine. But when Han and Chewie  break away, they flee desperately to  a

secret Imperial research laboratory surrounded  by a cluster of  black

holes??and go from one danger to a far greater one. ...

On Kessel, Luke  picks up the  trail of his  two friends, only  to

comeface?to?face with a weapon so awesome,  it can wipe out an  entire

solar system. It is a death ship called the

SunCrusher, invented by  a reclusive  genius and  piloted by  none

other than Han himself. ...

About the Author

For the past ten years Kevin J. Anderson has worked as a technical

editor and  writer  at the  large  government research  lab,  Lawrence

Livermore National Laboratory ... which  he insists has nothing to  do

with the  large  Imperial  research lab,  Maw  Installation,  in  Jedi

Search. He is also the author of 18 science fiction or fantasy  books,

including three co?written with  DougBeason for Bantam??Lifeline,  The

Trinity Paradox, and Assemblers of  Infinity. His works have  appeared

on numerous Best of  the Year lists, as  well as preliminary or  final

ballots for the  Nebula and  Bram Stoker  Awards. In  addition to  the

three novels in  the "Jedi  Academy" trilogy, he  is also  at work  on

various other Star Wars projects, including The Illustrated Star  Wars

Universe,  an  art   book  featuring  25   new  paintings  by   artist

RalphMcQuarrie showing  daily life  on the  planets in  the Star  Wars

Universe. He is also editing  three anthologies of short stories,  the

first of which??Tales from the Star Wars Cantina??tells the stories of

all the bizarre characters from the Cantina scene.

Dedication

To my editor

Betsy Mitchell,

forgiving me the opportunity to play

insuch a vast and entertaining universe

and for helping shape my work into

thebest it could be.

JEDI SEARCH

The black hole cluster near Kessel  reached out for the Millennium  Falcon

with jaws  of  gravity,  drawing  it  close.  Even  in  the  mottled  blur  of

hyperspace, Han Solo  could see the  huge distortion as  a bruised  whirlpool,

trying to suck them down to infinity.

"Hey, Chewie! Don't you think that's too close?" He stared at the Falcon's

navicomputer, wishing they had  chosen a course that  would take them a  safer

distance from the Maw. "What do you  think this is, an old smuggling  mission?

We got nothing to hide this time."

Beside him, Chewbacca  looked disappointed and  grunted an excuse,  waving

his hairy paws in the stifling air of the cockpit.

"Yeah, well  we're on  an official  mission this  time. No  more  skulking

about. Try to act dignified, okay?"

Chewbacca groaned  a  skeptical reply,  then  turned to  his  navigational

screens.

Han felt a pang at  returning to his old haunts,  reminded of when he  had

been just  on the  other  side of  the law,  running  spice, being  chased  by

Imperial scout ships. When his life had been free and easy.

On one of those frantic missions, he and Chewbacca had practically  shaved

the bottom plating off  the Falcon, taking a  shortcut and skimming closer  to

the Maw cluster of  black holes than had  ever before been recorded.  Sensible

pilots avoided the area, using longer paths that kept them clear of the  black

holes, but the Falcon's speed  had carried them to  safety on the other  side,

making the  Kessel run  in under  twelve parsecs.  But that  "guaranteed  sure

thing" mission had ended in disaster anyway; Han had dumped his load of  spice

just before being boarded by Imperials.

This  time,  though,   Han  was  returning   to  Kessel  under   different

circumstances. His wife Leia had  appointed him an official representative  of

the New Republic,  an ambassador of  sorts, though the  title seemed  somewhat

honorary.

But even an honorary title had its advantages. Han and Chewbacca no longer

had to dodge  scout ships, or  duck under  planetary sensor nets,  or use  the

secret compartments  under the  deck plates.  Han Solo  found himself  in  the

unlikely, and uncomfortable, position of being respectable. There was no other

word for it.

But Han's  new responsibilities  weren't just  quaint annoyances.  He  was

married to Leia--who could have imagined that? --and he had three children.

Han leaned back in his flight chair and locked his hands behind his  head.

He allowed a wistful smile to cross his face. He had visited the kids as often

as he could, in their protective isolation  on a secret planet, and the  twins

were due to come home to Coruscant  in a week. Anakin, the third little  baby,

had filled him with wonder as he tickled the tiny ribs, watching an expression

of amusement cross the infant's face.

Han Solo, a father figure?  Leia had said a long  time ago that she  liked

"nice men"--and that was exactly what Han was turning into!

He caught  Chewbacca  looking  at  him  out of  the  corner  of  his  eye.

Embarrassed, Han sat up straight and frowned down at the controls. "Where  are

we? Shouldn't it be about time to end this jump?"

Chewie growled an affirmative, then reached out with a furry paw to  grasp

the hyperspace controls.  The Wookiee  watched the  numbers tick  away on  his

control panel; at the appropriate moment he hauled backward on the lever  that

dropped them back into normal space.

The mottled coloring of hyperspace fanned into starlines with a roar  that

Han felt more than heard; then  they were surrounded by the expected  tapestry

of stars.

Behind them the spectacle of the Maw looked like a garish finger  painting

as ionized gas  plunged into multiple  black holes. Directly  in front of  the

Falcon, Han saw the blue-white glare of  Kessel's sun. As the ship rotated  to

align them with the ecliptic, Kessel itself came into view, potato-shaped  and

maned with the tendrils of escaping  atmosphere, orbited by a large moon  that

had once housed a garrison of Imperial troopers.

"Right on target, Chewie," Han said. "Now let me have the controls."

Kessel looked like a wraith coasting along its orbit, too small to hold on

to its own atmosphere. Huge generating factories constantly processed the  raw

rocks to release oxygen and carbon  dioxide, making it possible for people  to

survive outside with simple breath masks instead of total environment suits. A

good portion of the newly manufactured atmosphere escaped into space,  wisping

behind the small planet like the tail of a giant comet.

Chewbacca barked a short, nasal comment.

Han nodded. "Yeah, it looks great from up here. Too bad it's so  different

when you get a closer look. I never liked the place."

Kessel was a major planet for spice production and seat of heavy smuggling

activities, as well as the site for one of the toughest prisons in the galaxy.

The Empire had controlled spice  production except for what smugglers  managed

to steal from  under Imperial noses.  But with  the fall of  the Emperor,  the

smugglers and the prisoners in the Imperial Correction Facility took over  the

planet.

Kessel had laid low  during the depredations of  Grand Admiral Thrawn  and

the recent resurrection of the Emperor,  keeping quiet and trying hard not  to

be noticed, answering no one's request for help.

A low growl rumbled in Chewie's throat.

Han sighed and shook his head, "Look, I'm not happy about going back there

either, buddy. But things are different now,  and we're the best people to  do

it."

With the civil war ended and the New Republic once again firmly seated  on

Coruscant, leaving scattered groups of Imperial warships to fight each  other,

it was time to reopen negotiations. Better to get them on our side than to let

them sell out wherever they can,  Han thought, which is what they'll  probably

do anyway. As representative of the new unified smugglers, Luke's old  nemesis

Mara Jade had tried to contact Kessel and been flatly rebuffed.

The Millennium Falcon approached Kessel, firing aft thrusters to help them

catch up with the planet's motion, preparing for insertion into orbit. On  the

helm's scanner screens, Han checked their approach. "Vectoring in," he said.

Chewie made a quick comment and pointed at the screens. Han looked down to

see blips already  in orbit around  the planet, emerging  from the  blanketing

clouds of the atmosphere. "I see 'em. Looks like about a half dozen ships. Too

far away to determine the types."

Han brushed aside Chewie's uneasy growl. "Well, then we'll just tell  them

who we are. Don't worry. Why do you think Leia made such a fuss about  getting

us proper diplomatic ID signals and everything?"

He switched on the New Republic beacon that automatically pinged out their

identification in  Basic and  several other  languages. To  his surprise,  the

orbiting ships changed their vector in unison and increased speed to intercept

the Falcon.

"Hey!" Han shouted, then realized he had not switched on the audio pickup.

Chewie roared.  Han toggled  the  switch on.  "This is  Han  Solo of  the  New

Republic ship Millennium  Falcon. We are  on a diplomatic  mission." His  mind

raced, wondering what words a real diplomat would use. "Uh, please state  your

intentions."

The two closest ships raced in, first growing indistinct points of  light,

then taking on shapes. "Chewie, I think you'd better get our forward deflector

shields up. I've got a bad feeling about this."

He reached  for the  communications  switch as  Chewbacca brought  up  the

shields, but then he looked through the front viewport. The two incoming ships

roared toward him  at unbelievable speed,  spreading out on  either side.  The

sight of their squared-off solar panels and central pilot compartments  turned

Han's blood to ice water.

TIE fighters.

"Chewie, get over here. I'm taking  the laser cannon." Before the  Wookiee

could reply, Han  hauled himself  up the  access tube  into the  gun well.  He

grabbed on  to the  gunner's chair,  trying  to reorient  himself in  the  new

gravity field.

The TIE fighters  came in for  a two-pronged attack,  spreading above  and

below the Falcon and firing their lasers. As the ship lurched from the impact,

Han managed to throw himself into the gunner's chair, grabbing for the harness

buckle and strapping himself in. One of the attacking ships swooped  overhead,

and the Falcon's sensor panels howled with the sound of Twin Ion Engines, from

which the TIE fighter  took its name.  The enemy vessel  fired again, but  the

beams streaked harmlessly through space.

"Chewie, take  evasive  action!  Don't just  fly  straight!"  The  Wookiee

shouted something  from below,  and  Han yelled  back. "I  don't  know--you're

piloting, you figure it out!" Obviously Kessel had not rolled out the  welcome

mat for them. Had some vestige of the Empire taken over the planet? If so, Han

needed to get that information back to Coruscant.

Other ships were approaching now, and  somehow Han didn't think they  were

coming to help.  Up ahead, the  two TIE fighters  swooped up in  a tight  arc,

executing a complete one-eighty  and roaring back for  a second attack on  the

Falcon.

But this time Han had managed to  strap himself in and power up the  laser

batteries. On  his scope  the TIE  fighter made  a digitized  target,  growing

larger. The enemy ship came closer  and closer. Han tightened his grip  around

the firing levers, knowing the TIE pilot  would be doing the same. He  waited,

feeling sweat build up on his neck. He realized he was holding his breath. One

more second. One more  second. The targeting cross  showed dead center on  the

starboard wing of the fighter.

The instant Han pressed the firing button, Chewbacca threw the Falcon into

an evasive  roll. The  laser blasts  went wide,  spraying toward  the  distant

stars. The TIE fighter's shot also missed, streaking in the opposite direction

and coming perilously close to striking the second TIE fighter.

The second fighter managed to readjust his aim quickly enough that his two

shots scored the Falcon's shields. Han heard sparks spraying from the  control

panels. Chewie bellowed a preliminary damage report. Aft shields gone. Forward

shields still  holding well.  That meant  they had  to take  the TIE  fighters

head-on.

As the first fighter swung around for  a third pass, Han swiveled his  gun

turret as far as it  would go and stared at  the targeting screen again.  This

time he would  forget about finesse  and perfect accuracy.  He just wanted  to

blast the sucker. His lasers were fully charged, and he could afford to  waste

a few shots, as long as this wasn't going to be a prolonged battle.

As soon  as the  targeting cross  touched the  image of  the fighter,  Han

squeezed his firing buttons  at full power, strafing  his deadly laser  across

the path of the incoming ship. The  Imperial fighter swooped in but could  not

change its course quickly enough, plowing  through the shower of laser  bolts.

The ship erupted  into a flame-flower  of exploding fuel  tanks and  expanding

atmosphere.

Han and  Chewbacca shouted  their triumph  in unison.  Even euphoric,  Han

didn't sit around patting himself on the back. "Let's go after the other  one,

Chewie." The second  TIE fighter swerved  outward in a  long trajectory,  then

headed back toward Kessel. "Hurry, before those reinforcements can get  here."

He wondered if perhaps he and  Chewbacca shouldn't turn and flee  immediately.

But part of him refused to let anybody take potshots at the Millennium  Falcon

and just walk away from it.

Chewbacca increased speed, closing the gap between the Falcon and the  TIE

fighter. "Just get me one good shot, Chewie. One good shot."

He was in an unmarked modified light freighter--why would the TIE fighters

come out shooting  at them  in the  first place? Was  it the  New Republic  ID

beacon? What was going  on at Kessel? Leia  sat around thinking about  details

like that, analyzing the possibilities, and coming up with scenarios. With her

tremendous load of  diplomatic duties,  she was becoming  more and  more of  a

thinker each day, trying to solve  things by committee and negotiation. But  a

political solution wouldn't work if an  Imperial TIE fighter came in  shooting

at you.

Another ship soared up from behind  as they chased the TIE fighter  toward

Kessel. Han shot off a few bursts from his laser, but they all missed; then he

turned his attention to the ship  tailing them. The Falcon had no  operational

shields back there. Chewbacca  called out again from  below; then Han got  his

second surprise for the day. "I see it, I see it!"

An X-wing fighter approached from the  rear, slowly gaining on the  Falcon

as they neared Kessel. Han took another potshot at the TIE fighter. Even  from

this distance the X-wing fighter  seemed old and battered,  as if it had  been

repaired many times.

"Chewie, contact the X-wing and tell him we'd appreciate whatever help  he

can give us." Han pressed  his back against the  firing chair and focused  his

attention on his target.

The fleeing TIE fighter  soared into the wispy  tail of atmosphere  behind

the planet. Han could see  a bright pathway as the  speed of the ship  ionized

the gas. Then the X-wing fired on the Falcon from behind. The lasers scored  a

direct hit, incinerating the protruding sensor dish mounted on the top of  the

ship.

Han and Chewie  shouted at each  other, scrambling to  figure what to  do.

Chewbacca took  the Falcon  into a  tight  dive closer  to the  atmosphere  of

Kessel. "Turn us around!  Turn us around!" They  had to get their  unprotected

aft section out of the X-wing's line of fire.

The X-wing shot again, burning  metal on the hull  of the Falcon. All  the

lights went out inside the ship. From the lurch of the cabin Han knew the  hit

had been a  bad one.  He could already  smell something  burning below  decks.

Emergency lights clicked on.

"We've got to get out of here!"

Chewbacca barked the Wookiee equivalent of "no kidding."

They ducked into the atmospheric tail, buffeted by the suddenly dense  gas

particles pelting the ship. Around them streamers of heated gas glowed  orange

and blue. The X-wing came in from behind, still firing.

Han's mind raced.  They could skim  around Kessel in  a tight orbit,  then

slingshot back out  of the system.  With the  black hole cluster  so close  at

hand, no  one  would risk  jumping  into hyperspace  without  intensive  prior

calculations, and neither he nor Chewie could spare the time to do them.

With the  Falcon's sensor  dish  slagged, Han  couldn't  even send  out  a

distress call or try to sweet-talk the traitorous commander of the X-wing.  He

couldn't even surrender!  Talk about  being stuck.  "Chewie, if  you have  any

suggestions--” He stopped talking as his mouth dropped open.

As they swept around Kessel, Han detected wave after wave of fighter ships

launching from the garrison moon,  raising a defensive curtain the  Millennium

Falcon would never be able to cross.

He saw  hundreds of  ships of  every size  and make  imaginable,  salvaged

warships and stolen  pleasure cruisers.  Reaching the safety  of numbers,  the

second TIE fighter did another tight loop  to join the rest of the group.  And

they all came in shooting with a  blur of turbolaser bolts that looked like  a

fireworks display. Despite the  motley appearance of  the Kessel fleet,  Han's

sensors showed  that their  weapons  worked just  fine. The  attacking  X-wing

scored a direct hit. The cabin shook.

The Falcon took a turn upward as Chewbacca tried to flee the oncoming wave

of ships. Han sent a barrage of laser fire into the cluster and was  gratified

to see the engine pod  of a small Z-95  Headhunter fighter burst into  flames.

The snub  fighter  dropped out  of  the  attacking fleet  and  wobbled  toward

Kessel's atmosphere. Han hoped it would crash.

Seeing that it would serve no purpose to keep firing against  overwhelming

odds, Han dropped back down the access shaft of the gun turret to the  cockpit

to see what he could do to assist Chewbacca.

Then the fleet of ships began pummeling them.

The X-wing fired again, scoring a second direct hit. A firestorm of  laser

blasts struck their forward deflector  shields. Chewie slewed the Falcon  from

side to side in a futile evasive maneuver. Han settled himself into the  other

pilot's chair just in time to see the indicator lights for the forward shields

wink out. They were now unprotected from the front and from behind.

Another hit  rocked them,  and  Han's chest  smacked against  the  control

panel. "There goes the main drive unit. We're space-meat in the next  barrage.

Take us down, Chewie. Get us into  the atmosphere. It's the only thing we  can

do." Chewbacca started to express his disbelief, but Han grabbed the  controls

and sent them lurching down toward Kessel.  "It's gonna be a bumpy ride.  Hold

on to your fur."

The swarm of attacking  ships whirled in space  as the Falcon plowed  into

the white atmosphere of Kessel.  Han grabbed his seat  as the ship struck  the

clouds. He suddenly felt the buffeting  winds caused by gouts of air  escaping

into space.  From his  control panels  and the  stench leaking  from the  back

compartments, Han knew that his maneuvering capabilities would be minimal.  By

the groaning sounds  from his copilot,  he knew the  Wookiee had realized  the

same thing.

"Think of it this  way, Chewie. If  we land this thing  in one piece,  our

skill as pilots will be  legendary from one end of  the galaxy to the  other!"

Han said with a humor he did not  feel. “I knew I shouldn't have come back  to

Kessel. ”

The Falcon was going down. Both Han and Chewbacca fought to keep a  steady

downward course that would not burn them up in the insubstantial atmosphere.

Kessel's main defensive fleet swept into orbit and prepared for an orderly

descent.  One   sleek,   insectile   ship,   which   Han   recognized   as   a

black-market-built Hornet Interceptor, peeled  off, streaking downward in  the

Falcon's backdraft.

Chewbacca saw it  first. The ship,  aerodynamically perfect, slid  through

the atmosphere like a vibroblade, ignoring the heat generated on its hull. The

ship fired surgical strikes of  turbolasers at the Falcon's maneuvering  jets,

disabling them further.

"We're already crashing!" Han bellowed. "What  more do they want?" But  he

knew: they wanted the Falcon to be destroyed on impact, all occupants  erased.

Han suspected he didn't need any help from the Hornet Interceptor.

As  they  plunged  downward,  the  Falcon  approached  one  of  the  giant

atmosphere factories,  a huge  smokestack mounted  on the  surface of  Kessel,

where immense engines catalyzed the rock  and cooked out gases into a  cyclone

of breathable air.

The Hornet Interceptor fired again. The  Falcon lurched from a near  miss.

Chewbacca's face was grim. His fangs showed as he concentrated on keeping them

alive.

"Chewie, pull  as close  to  the plume  as you  can.  I've got  an  idea."

Chewbacca yowled, but Han cut him off. "Just do it, buddy!"

When the Hornet tried to  outflank them, Han swept  the ship aside as  the

towering plume of atmosphere boiled into the sky. The Hornet Interceptor tried

to second-guess his move, but Han  lurched sideways again, driving the  Hornet

into the roaring upward flow of wind.

An aileron  strut in  the delicate  insectile wing  snapped off,  and  the

Hornet spun into the cyclone. Other parts of its hull broke apart as the  ship

tried to escape but  lurched deeper into  the danger zone. Han  gave a cry  of

triumph as the ship exploded  into flames that were  pulled to tatters by  the

atmosphere factory's vortex.

Then the surface of Kessel rushed up at them like a gigantic hammer.

Han fought with the controls. "At least we'll have a soft landing with the

new repulsorlifts we installed," he said. He grabbed at the panel, priming the

controls. Chewbacca barked at him to hurry. Han activated the repulsorlifts as

he simultaneously heaved a sigh of relief.

Nothing.

"What?" He slammed  his fingers  on the switch  again and  again, but  the

repulsorlifts refused to operate. "I just  had those fixed!" Han yelled  above

the noise  of screaming  wind as  he fought  to bring  the Falcon  under  some

semblance of control. "Okay, Chewie, I am definitely open for suggestions!"

But Chewbacca  had no  time to  answer before  the ship  crashed into  the

rugged surface of Kessel.

The towers  of Imperial  City rose  to the  sky, high  above the  shadowed

surface of the planet  Coruscant. The cornerstones of  the towers had been  in

place for more than a thousand generations, dating back to the formative  days

of the Old Republic. Over the millennia higher and higher structures had  been

built on top of the ruined foundations.

Luke Skywalker stepped  onto a  shuttle-landing platform  that jutted  out

from the scarred, monolithic face of the former Imperial Palace. Gusts of wind

whipped around him, and he pulled back the hood of his Jedi robe.

He looked  into the  sky,  pondering the  thin  layer of  atmosphere  that

protected Coruscant from space beyond.  Wrecked ships still rode in  haphazard

orbits, debris  from  the  vicious  battles when  the  Alliance  had  recently

recaptured the planet from Imperial control  during civil war in the  remnants

of the Empire.

Higher than  the tops  of  the towers,  kite-like hawk-bats  rode  thermal

currents rising from  the canyons  of the city.  As he  watched, one  hawk-bat

swooped down, down, into the dark crevasses between ancient buildings, finally

emerging a moment  later with  something cylindrical  and dripping--a  granite

slug, perhaps--in its claws.

Luke bided  his time,  using  a Jedi  meditation  technique to  quell  the

anxiety inside him. As a younger man he had been fidgety and impatient, filled

with uncertainty. But Yoda had taught  him patience, along with so many  other

things. A true Jedi Knight could wait as long as necessary.

The New Republic Senate  had been in  session for only  an hour, and  they

would still be working  on mundane issues. Luke  wanted to startle them  after

they had been talking for a while.

The immense metropolis of Imperial City bustled around him, little changed

now that it was the seat of the  New Republic instead of the Empire; prior  to

that it had been capital of  the Old Republic. The capitol building,  formerly

Emperor Palpatine's palace, was made of polished gray-green rock and  mirrored

crystals, sparkling in the hazy sunlight  of Coruscant as it towered over  all

other structures, even the adjoining Senate building.

Much of Imperial City had been laid  waste during the months of civil  war

following the downfall of  Grand Admiral Thrawn. The  various factions of  the

old Empire had fought  over the Emperor's home  world, turning vast  districts

into graveyards of crashed ships and exploded buildings.

But the tide of battle  had turned, and the  New Republic had driven  back

the vestiges of the Empire. Many Alliance soldiers now turned their efforts to

repairing the damage, his friend Wedge  Antilles among them. Top priority  had

been given to rebuilding the former  Imperial Palace and the Senate  chambers.

The Emperor's  own  construction  droids  ranged  through  the  battle-scarred

wastelands, automatically  scraping up  raw materials  from the  wreckage  for

conversion into new buildings.

In the distance Luke could see  one of the enormous droids, forty  stories

tall, wrecking a half-collapsed  building shell and plowing  a path where  its

programming had deemed  a new elevated  transport path should  be routed.  Its

girder arms toppled the stone face of the building, pulling free metal support

structures and feeding the debris into a processing mouth where the  materials

would be separated and new components extruded.

During the previous year of violent strife, Luke had been whisked away  to

the resurrected Emperor's stronghold  in the galactic core,  and there he  had

allowed himself to learn the dark side.

He had become the Emperor's chief lieutenant, just like his father,  Darth

Vader. The struggle had been great within him, and only with the help, and the

friendship, and the love of Leia and Han had he been able to break free. ...

Luke saw a diplomatic  shuttle dropping down from  orbit with its  locator

lights rippling in  a complex  sequence. Its jets  turned off  with a  whining

sound as it coasted toward a landing pad on the far side of the palace.

Luke Skywalker had been through the fire now.

Inside, his heart  seemed a  diamond-hard lump. He  wasn't merely  another

Jedi Knight--he was the only remaining Jedi Master. He had survived tests  and

rigors  more  potent  than  routine  Jedi  training  prepared  him  for.  Luke

understood more  about  the Force  now  than  he had  ever  dreamed  possible.

Sometimes it terrified him.

He thought of  the days  when he  had been  idealistic and  adventuresome,

riding the Millennium Falcon and dueling blindly with a practice remote as Ben

Kenobi watched. Luke remembered also the skepticism he had felt as he  swooped

down upon the first Death Star during the Battle of Yavin, trying to locate  a

tiny thermal-exhaust port; Ben's voice had spoken to him then, telling him  to

trust in the Force.

Luke understood much more now, especially why the old man's eyes had  held

such a haunted look.

Another hawk-bat swooped down  into the dark maze  of the lower levels  of

buildings, flapping its wings as it climbed back up, holding a squirming prize

in its claws.  As Luke  watched, a  second hawk-bat  dove in  on an  intercept

course, grabbing the prey out  of the first's grasp.  Far away, he could  hear

their cawing sounds  as they  slashed and tore  at each  other. The  squirming

prey, no longer  heeded, fell through  the air, buffeted  by rising  currents,

until it struck  ground somewhere  in the  alley dimness.  The two  hawk-bats,

locked in mortal combat,  also fell as they  struggled with each other,  until

they too smashed into an outcropping of the abandoned lower levels.

A troubled  expression crossed  Luke's  face. An  omen?  He was  about  to

address the New Republic Senate. The time had come. He turned and walked  back

inside the cool corridors, pulling his robe tightly around himself.

Luke stood at the entrance to the Senate assembly chamber. The room  swept

down to  a giant  amphitheater in  which  sat the  inner circle  of  appointed

senators and outer rows of  representatives from different planets,  different

alien races.  Realtime holos  of  the proceedings  would be  broadcast  around

Imperial City and recorded for transmission to other planets.

Sunlight filtered through the fragmented  crystal segments in the  ceiling

high overhead, fanning  out the  spectrum in a  rainbow effect  over the  most

important people at the center of the room, scintillating around them as  they

moved--designed, Luke knew, by  the Emperor himself to  strike awe into  those

observing him.

As she spoke now on the central dais, Mon Mothma, the New Republic's Chief

of State, seemed uncomfortable in the  grandeur of the assembly chamber.  Luke

allowed a smile to cross his face as he remembered the first time he had  seen

Mon Mothma  describing  the plans  of  the second  Death  Star as  the  Rebels

approached Endor.

With her short reddish hair and soft voice, Mon Mothma did not look like a

tough-as-nails military commander. As a former member of the Imperial  Senate,

Mon Mothma seemed to be more in her element now, trying to forge the pieces of

the New Republic into a strong, unified government.

Beside Mon Mothma sat Luke's sister Leia Organa Solo, straight-backed  and

listening to every moment  of the proceedings. Leia  had been performing  more

and more important diplomatic activities with each passing month.

Around the dais sat  the members of the  Alliance High Command,  important

figures in  the Rebellion  given  roles in  the  new government:  General  Jan

Dodonna, who had led the Battle of Yavin against the first Death Star; General

Carlist Rieekan, former commander of Echo Base on the ice planet Hoth; General

Crix Madine, an  Imperial defector  who had  been invaluable  in planning  the

destruction of the second  Death Star; Admiral Ackbar,  who had led the  rebel

fleet in the  Battle of Endor;  Senator Garm  Bel Iblis, who  had brought  his

Dreadnought ships against Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Battlefield credentials did not necessarily imply that these brave leaders

would be gifted politicians as  well, but since the  hold of the New  Republic

was still shaky, as the recent devastating  civil war had shown, it made  good

sense to keep military commanders in positions of power.

Finishing her speech, Mon Mothma raised her hands. For a moment it  looked

as if she were about to give a benediction. "I call for any new business. Does

anyone wish to speak?"

Luke's timing had been perfect. He stepped into the light at the  entrance

archway and drew back his hood. He  spoke softly, but used his Jedi powers  to

project with  sufficient strength  that everyone  in the  entire  amphitheater

heard him.

"I would address the assembly, Mon Mothma. If I may?"

He walked down the  steps with a gliding  stride, quickly enough that  the

others would  not  lose patience,  but  with enough  grace  to imply  his  own

strength of character. Appearances could deceive, Yoda had said, but sometimes

appearances could be very important. As he descended the long ramp, Luke  felt

all eyes turn toward him. A hush  fell over the assembly. Luke Skywalker,  the

lone  remaining  Jedi   Master,  almost  never   took  part  in   governmental

proceedings.

"I have an  important matter to  address," he  said. For a  moment he  was

reminded of when  he had walked  alone into  the dank corridors  of Jabba  the

Hutt's palace--but this time there were  no pig-like Gamorrean guards that  he

could manipulate with a twist of his fingers and a touch of the Force.

Mon Mothma gave him a soft, mysterious smile and gestured for him to  take

a central position. "The words of a Jedi Knight are always welcome to the  New

Republic," she said.

Luke tried not to look pleased.  She had provided the perfect opening  for

him. "In the  Old Republic," he  said, "Jedi Knights  were the protectors  and

guardians of all. For a thousand generations  the Jedi used the powers of  the

Force to guide,  defend, and provide  support for the  rightful government  of

worlds--before the dark  days of the  Empire came, and  the Jedi Knights  were

killed."

He let  his words  hang, then  took another  breath. "Now  we have  a  New

Republic. The Empire appears to be defeated. We have founded a new  government

based upon the old,  but let us  hope we learn from  our mistakes. Before,  an

entire order of Jedi  watched over the Republic,  offering strength. Now I  am

the only Jedi Master who remains.

"Without that order of  protectors to provide a  backbone of strength  for

the New Republic, can we  survive? Will we be able  to weather the storms  and

the difficulties of  forging a new  union? Until now  we have suffered  severe

struggles--but in the  future they  will be seen  as nothing  more than  birth

pangs."

Before the other senators could  disagree with that, Luke continued.  "Our

people had a common foe in the Empire, and we must not let our defenses  lapse

just because we have  internal problems. More to  the point, what will  happen

when we begin  squabbling among  ourselves over  petty matters?  The old  Jedi

helped to mediate many types of disputes. What if there are no Jedi Knights to

protect us in the difficult times ahead?"

Luke moved under  the diffracting  rainbow colors from  the crystal  light

overhead. He took his  time to fix  his gaze on all  the senators present;  he

turned his attention to Leia last.

Her eyes were wide but supportive. He had not discussed his idea with  her

beforehand.

"My sister is undergoing Jedi training. She  has a great deal of skill  in

the Force. Her  three children  are also likely  candidates to  be trained  as

young Jedi. In recent years I have come  to know a woman named Mara Jade,  who

is now unifying  the smugglers--the  former smugglers," he  amended, "into  an

organization that can support the  needs of the New  Republic. She also has  a

talent for the Force. I have encountered others in my travels." Another pause.

The audience was listening so  far. "But are these  the only ones? We  already

know that  the  ability  to  use  the  Force  is  passed  from  generation  to

generation. Most of the Jedi were killed in the Emperor's purge--but could  he

possibly have eradicated all of the descendants of those Knights? I myself was

unaware of the potential power within me until Obi-Wan Kenobi taught me how to

use it. My sister Leia was similarly unaware.

"How many people are abroad in this galaxy who have a comparable  strength

in the Force, who are  potential members of a new  order of Jedi Knights,  but

are unaware of who they are?"

Luke looked at them again. "In  my brief search I have already  discovered

that there are indeed  some descendants of  former Jedi. I  have come here  to

ask"--he turned to gesture toward Mon Mothma, swept his hand across the people

gathered there in the chamber--"for two things. ”

"First, that the New Republic officially sanction my search for those with

a hidden talent for the Force, to seek  them out and try to bring them to  our

service. For this I will need some help."

Admiral Ackbar interrupted, blinking  his huge fish  eyes and turning  his

head. "But if you yourself  did not know your power  when you were young,  how

will these other people know? How will you find them, Jedi Skywalker?"

Luke folded his hands in front of him. "Several ways. First, with the help

of two  dedicated droids  who  will spend  their  days searching  through  the

Imperial City  databases,  we may  find  likely candidates,  people  who  have

experienced  miraculous  strokes  of  luck,  whose  lives  seem  filled   with

incredible  coincidences.  We  could  look  for  people  who  seem   unusually

charismatic or those whom  legend credits with  working miracles. These  could

all be unconscious manifestations of a skill with the Force."

Luke held  up  another finger.  "As  well,  the droids  could  search  the

database for forgotten descendants of known Jedi Knights from the Old Republic

days. We should turn up a few leads."

"And what will you yourself be  doing?" Mon Mothma asked, shifting in  her

robes.

"I've already found several  candidates I wish to  investigate. All I  ask

right now is  that you  agree this  is something  we should  pursue, that  the

search for Jedi be conducted by others and not just myself."

Mon Mothma sat up straighter in her central seat. "I think we can agree to

that without further  discussion." She  looked around to  the other  senators,

seeing them nod agreement. "Tell us your second request."

Luke stood taller. This  was most important to  him. He saw Leia  stiffen.

"If sufficient candidates are found who have potential for using the Force,  I

wish to be  allowed--with the  New Republic's blessing--to  establish in  some

appropriate place an intensive training center,  a Jedi academy, if you  will.

Under my direction  we can help  these students discover  their abilities,  to

focus and strengthen  their power.  Ultimately, this academy  would provide  a

core group that could allow  us to restore the  Jedi Knights as protectors  of

the New Republic." He drew in a deep breath and waited.

Senator Bel Iblis raised himself slowly to his feet. "A comment, if I may?

I'm sorry, Luke,  but I  have to raise  the question--we've  already seen  the

terrible damage a Jedi can cause if he allows himself to be swayed by the dark

side. We just  recently fought  against Joruus  C'baoth, and  of course  Darth

Vader nearly caused  the death of  us all. If  a teacher as  great as  Obi-Wan

Kenobi could fail and let his student fall  to evil, how can we take the  risk

of training an entire  new order of  Jedi Knights? How many  will turn to  the

dark side? How many new enemies will we make for ourselves?"

Luke nodded somberly. The question had been working at the back of his own

mind, and he had pondered it deeply. "I  can only say that we have seen  these

terrible examples, and we must learn from them. I myself have touched the dark

side and come through stronger and more wary of its powers than ever before. I

agree there is a  risk, but I  cannot believe the New  Republic will be  safer

without a new force of Jedi."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Bel Iblis stood a moment longer,  as

if he meant to say something else, but instead he sat down, looking satisfied.

Admiral Ackbar got to his feet and applauded with his flipper-like  hands.

"I agree  that  the  Jedi's request  is  in  the best  interests  of  the  New

Republic," he said.

Jan Dodonna  also stood.  After narrowly  surviving the  Battle of  Yavin,

Dodonna had treated Luke with complete trust. "I agree as well!"

Soon all the senators were standing. Luke saw a broad grin on Leia's  face

as she too stood. He  felt the rainbows around  him from the crystal  ceiling,

seemingly full of power, and he felt warm inside.

Mon Mothma sat, nodding  gravely. She was  the last to  stand up, and  she

raised her hand for silence. "I give you my hopes for the rebirth of the  Jedi

Knights. We will offer whatever help we can. May the Force be with you."

Before Luke could  turn, applause from  the audience rolled  like a  storm

through the chamber.

Leia's quarters  were among  the most  spacious and  accommodating in  the

Emperor's abandoned palace--and  the room echoed  with emptiness. Leia  Organa

Solo,  formerly  a  princess,  currently   the  New  Republic's  Minister   of

State--felt tired and worn as she returned to  her rooms at the end of a  long

day. The high point  had been Luke's triumphant  address before the  assembly,

but that  was merely  one detail  in  a day  filled with  problems.  Confusing

contradictions in multilingual  treaties that even  Threepio couldn't  fathom,

alien cultural restrictions that made diplomacy nearly impossible--it made her

head spin!

As Leia looked around her quarters, a frown etched her face. "Illumination

up two points,"  she said, and  the room  grew brighter, driving  some of  the

quiet shadows  farther  away.  Han  and Chewbacca  were  gone,  ostensibly  to

reestablish contact with the planet Kessel, although she believed it was  more

of a vacation for  him, a way  to relive the "good  old days" of  gallivanting

across the  galaxy. Sometimes  she  wondered if  Han ever  regretted  marrying

someone so different from himself, settling down with diplomatic entanglements

on Coruscant. He  tolerated endless receptions  during which he  had to  dress

nicely in clothes that obviously  made him uncomfortable. In conversations  he

had to speak with a measured tact that was completely foreign to him.

But Han was off having  fun at the moment,  leaving her stuck in  Imperial

City. The New Republic's Chief of State,  Mon Mothma, gave Leia more and  more

assignments, letting the fate of planets hang on how well she accomplished her

tasks. So far Leia had performed well, but the seven years since the Battle of

Endor had been filled with many  setbacks: the war against the alien  Ssi-ruuk

Imperium, the resurgence of Grand Admiral Thrawn and his bid to reassemble the

Empire, not  to  mention  the  resurrected  Emperor  and  his  gigantic  World

Devastator machines. Though  they seemed  to be  enjoying a  time of  relative

peace at last, the constant warfare had left the New Republic on shaky ground.

In a way it had been easier when they had the Empire to fight against,  to

unify all the factions of the Alliance.  But now the enemy was not so  clearly

defined. Now Leia and the others had to re-forge links between all the planets

that had once  been crushed  under the Imperial  boot. Some  of those  worlds,

though, had suffered so much that now they wanted to be left alone, given time

to lick their wounds and heal. Many wanted no part of a galaxy-wide federation

of planets. They wanted  their independence. But  independent worlds could  be

picked off one by one if other powerful forces ever allied themselves  against

them.

Leia walked into her bedchamber  and stripped off the diplomatic  clothing

she had worn  all day.  This morning  it had been  crisp and  bright, but  the

fabric lost its  vigor after too  much time  under the rainbow  lights of  the

grand audience chamber.

Within the  next week  or so,  Leia would  have to  arrange meetings  with

ambassadors from six different  worlds in an effort  to convince them to  join

the  New  Republic.  Four  seemed  amenable,  but  two  insisted  on  complete

neutrality until their planets' specific issues were addressed.

Her most  difficult  task would  be  two  weeks hence,  when  the  Caridan

ambassador would arrive. Carida was deep  in territory still held by  vestiges

of the Empire, home of one of the primary Imperial military training bases.

Even  though  Emperor  Palpatine  was   dead  and  Grand  Admiral   Thrawn

overthrown, Carida refused to face reality.  It had been a major victory  that

the ambassador agreed  to come  to Coruscant at  all--and Leia  would have  to

entertain him, no doubt smiling pleasantly the entire time.

Leia turned on  the controls of  the sonic bath  and set it  for a  gentle

massage. She eased herself into the chamber, letting out a long sigh,  wanting

just to blank out the troubles from her head.

Around  her,  fresh-cut  flowers   from  the  Skydome  Botanical   Gardens

brightened the  room  with their  faint  perfume.  Mounted on  the  wall  were

nostalgic scenes from the  planet Alderaan, pictures of  the planet where  she

had grown up, the  planet Grand Moff Tarkin  had destroyed to demonstrate  the

power of his Death Star: the  peaceful, sweeping grasslands that whispered  in

the wind, the soaring kite creatures that ferried people from one smooth tower

city to another,  the industry and  deep settlements built  into the walls  of

wide cracks plunging into Alderaan's crust  ... her home city rising from  the

center of a lake.

Han had procured those  pictures for her just  last year; he wouldn't  say

where he had found them. For months  the images wrenched her heart every  time

she looked at them. She thought of her foster father, Senator Bail Organa, and

her childhood as a princess, never suspecting her true heritage.

Now Leia  looked  on  those  pictures with  bittersweet  fondness,  as  an

indication of Han's love for her. He  had, after all, once won a whole  planet

in a card game and had given it to her for the other survivors of Alderaan. He

did love her.

Even though he wasn't here now.

After  only  a  few  minutes   the  sonic  bath  unknotted  her   muscles,

revitalizing and refreshing her.  Leia dressed again,  this time in  something

more comfortable. In the  mirror she looked at  herself. Leia no longer  spent

the meticulous time  with her hair  that she had  when she was  a princess  on

Alderaan.

Since then she had borne three children, the twins, who were now two years

old, and recently a third baby.  She was able to see  them only a few times  a

year, and she missed them terribly.

Because of  the potential  power carried  by the  grandchildren of  Anakin

Skywalker, the twins and the  baby boy had been  taken to a carefully  guarded

planet, Anoth. All  other knowledge of  the planet had  been blocked from  her

mind, to prevent anyone from prying it out of her thoughts. During their first

two years, Luke said, Jedi children were most vulnerable. Any contact with the

dark side could warp their minds and abilities for life.

She activated  the small  holodais  that projected  recent images  of  her

children. The two-year-old twins,  Jacen and Jaina,  played inside a  colorful

sculptured playground  artifact.  In  another image  Leia's  personal  servant

Winter held  the new  baby, Anakin,  smiling at  something out  of view.  Leia

smiled back, though the static images couldn't see her.

Part of that long loneliness would soon be over.

Jacen and  Jaina  could  now  use  some of  the  Jedi  powers  to  protect

themselves, and Leia could shield the twins as well. Within little more than a

week--no, it  was  exactly  eight  days--her little  boy  and  girl  would  be

returning home.

Knowing that the twins were coming to stay lightened her mood. Leia  eased

back into  the  self-conforming  chair  as she  turned  on  the  entertainment

synthesizers, playing a  pastorale melody  written by a  famous composer  from

Alderaan.

The door chime sounded, startling her  from her reverie. She glanced  down

to make  certain  she  had remembered  to  dress  herself, then  went  to  the

entryway.

Her brother Luke stood in the shadows, cowled in his brown hood and cloak.

"Hello, Luke!" she said, then gasped. "Oh, I forgot completely!"

"Developing your  Jedi  powers  is  nothing to  take  lightly,  Leia."  He

frowned, as if scolding her.

She gestured him to come inside. "I'm sure you'll have me make it up  with

extra practice sessions."

When seen from a distance, the huge construction droid moved at a plodding

pace, lifting its immense support pods only once every half hour to shuffle  a

step forward. But standing  right beneath it, General  Wedge Antilles and  his

demolition teams saw the construction droid as a blur of motion, its thousands

of articulated  arms working  on structures  to be  disassembled. The  walking

factory plowed  deeper  into  the  morass  of  collapsing  and  half-destroyed

buildings in an old sector of Imperial City.

Some of the droid's  limbs ended with implosion  wrecking balls or  plasma

cutters that  sent  explosive jolts  into  the walls.  Collector  arms  sorted

through the rubble,  yanking out  girders, shoveling  boulders and  steelcrete

into dispensing receptacles. Other raw wreckage was scooped directly into  the

churning mandibles  and conveyor  belts  that brought  the resources  down  to

elemental separators,  which in  turn  pulled out  the useful  substances  and

processed them into new building components. The heat rising from its internal

factories rippled in  mirage-like waves,  making the immense  machine glow  in

Coruscant's star-filled night.

The construction droid  continued to  work its way  through the  buildings

damaged from the devastating firefights during the recent civil warfare.  With

so much to repair or destroy, sometimes the droid's collector arms and  debris

nets were not sufficient.

Wedge Antilles looked  up just in  time to see  a packed receptacle  split

from its moorings. "Hey, keep back, everybody! Under cover!"

The demolition team scrambled  under the protection  of an outcropping  of

wall as the debris  fell twenty stories. A  rain of boulders,  transparisteel,

and twisted rebars crashed with explosive force into the street below. Someone

yelped into the comlink, then promptly silenced himself.

"Looks like this  main building is  going to go  any minute," Wedge  said.

"Team Orange, I want you to keep at  least half a block away from that  thing.

There's no telling what that droid's going to do, and I don't want to shut  it

down. It takes three days to reinitialize and get it working again." Wedge had

not been thrilled with using the outdated and unpredictable technology of  the

construction droids, but  they did seem  to be  the fastest way  to clear  the

wreckage.

"I copy, Wedge," the Orange Team Leader  said, "But if we see any more  of

those feral refugees, we're going to have to try and rescue them--even if they

are faster and hide better." Then the comlink channel broke into chatter as he

ordered other team members to move.

Wedge smiled. Even though he, like Lando Calrissian and Han Solo, had been

promoted to the rank of general, Wedge  still felt like "one of the guys."  He

was a fighter pilot at heart, and he liked it that way. He had spent the  last

four months in space  with the salvage crews  there, hauling wrecked  fighters

into higher orbits where they would pose no risk to the incoming ships. He had

salvaged the  vessels not  too badly  damaged and  self-destructed those  that

posed too great a hazard in the orbital traffic lanes.

Last month Wedge had requested a ground assignment for a change, though he

loved to fly  in space. Now  he was in  charge of almost  two hundred  people,

supervising the four construction droids that churned through this section  of

the city,  restoring it  and erasing  battle scars  from the  war against  the

Empire.

The construction droids  each had  a master  plan deep  in their  computer

cores. As  they repaired  Imperial  City in  swaths,  the droids  checked  the

buildings  in  front  of  them,  fixing  those  that  needed  minor   repairs,

demolishing those that didn't fit into the new plan.

Most of  the  sentient  life  forms  had  been  evacuated  from  the  deep

underworld of the ancient  metropolis, although some  creatures living in  the

darkest alleys could no longer be classified as fully human. Shabby and naked,

with pallid skin and sunken eyes, they  were the descendants of those who  had

long ago fled to Coruscant's  darkest alleys to escape political  retribution;

some looked as though they had not  seen the sun their entire lives. When  the

New Republic returned to Coruscant, an  effort spearheaded by the old  veteran

of Yavin 4, General Jan Dodonna, had  been to help these poor souls, but  they

were wild and smart, and eluded capture every time.

The streets--or what  had been  streets centuries  ago--were covered  with

dank moss and  a lush growth  of fungus.  The smells of  decaying garbage  and

stagnant water swirled around them  anytime Wedge's team moved.  Microclimates

of rising air and condensing moisture  created tiny rainstorms in the  alleys,

but the dripping water smelled no fresher than the standing pools or  gutters.

Wedge's teams deployed floating repulsor-lights,  but clouds of settling  dust

from the demolition work filled the air with thick murk.

The construction droid paused in its  work for a moment, and the  relative

silence sounded like a  thud in Wedge's  ears. He looked up  to see the  droid

extending two of its big wrecking-ball  arms. It swung the balls with  mammoth

force, toppling  the  wall  in  front  of  it.  Then  the  droid  levered  its

support-pod legs forward to take a step into the collapsing building.

But the side of the  wall did not slough  inward quite as Wedge  expected;

something inside had been reinforced more  than the rest of the building.  The

construction droid tried to step down, but the wall would not yield.

The titanic droid began making loud,  hydraulic sounds as it attempted  to

regain its balance.  The forty-story-tall mechanical  factory tilted  sideways

and hung poised on the verge of toppling. Wedge jerked out his comlink. If the

construction droid fell, it would take out half a block of buildings with  it,

including the area where he had just sent Team Orange to take refuge.

But then a dozen of its arms locked together and extended to the  adjacent

wall of buildings, splaying out, breaking through in places, but steadying the

droid's weight just long enough for it to regain its balance. A rustling noise

came over the comlink as Wedge's teams let out a collective sigh of relief.

Wedge tried to see by the light of the shimmering aurora overhead and  the

floating lights they  had strung. Hidden  behind an edifice  indistinguishable

from the rest of the buildings stood solid metal walls, heavily reinforced but

buckled and ruptured by the enormous foot of the construction droid.

Wedge frowned.  The demolition  teams  had encountered  a lot  of  ancient

artifacts in the  ruined buildings, but  nothing that had  been so  powerfully

shielded and hidden. Something told him this was important.

He looked  up  with  a  start  to see  that  the  construction  droid  had

reoriented itself and returned  to the reinforced building  that stood in  its

way. Bending down its scanner-dome head,  the droid inspected the tough  walls

of the shielded room, as if analyzing how best to rip it to shreds. Two of the

explosive electrical claws extended downward.

The construction droid  knew nothing  about what  secrets these  buildings

might contain. The droid  merely followed the blueprint  in its computer  mind

and carried out its programmed modifications.

Wedge felt an agonized moment of indecision. If he shut the droid down  to

inspect the mysterious  building, it would  take three days  to reset all  the

systems and power it up again. But if the droid had indeed uncovered something

important, something the  Cabinet should  know about,  what would  a few  days

matter?

Blue-white lightning flickered  on the  ends of  the construction  droid's

explosive claws as it reached toward the shielded walls.

Wedge picked up  his comlink and  made ready to  shut down the  droid--and

then his mind blanked. What was the code?

Beside him  Lieutenant Deegan  saw his  moment of  panicked confusion  and

snapped the answer. "SGW zero-zero-two-seven!"  Wedge instantly keyed it  into

the comlink.

The droid froze just  as it was about  to discharge its electrical  claws.

Wedge heard the hissing rumble as the factories inside went into standby mode,

powering down and  cooling off. Wedge  hoped he had  made the right  decision.

"Okay, Purple and Silver Teams come on in with me. We're going to do a  little

exploring here."

Summoning a cluster of floating lights to follow them, the teams converged

at the foot of the construction droid and then moved into the wreckage.  Loose

dust flickered down.

They scrambled over the rubble, careful not to cut themselves on shattered

transparisteel and  protruding metal.  Wedge heard  the skittering  sounds  of

small life-forms  hiding in  the  new cracks.  The  patter of  falling  stones

continued to fall as the collapsing walls shifted and re-shifted. "Watch  your

backs--this place is still falling apart," Wedge said.

Ahead a  wide cave-like  gash had  opened in  the heavily  shielded  room,

showing only  a  lightless interior.  "Let's  go  in. Nice  and  easy."  Wedge

narrowed his  eyes at  the shadows  around them.  "Be ready  to retreat  at  a

moment's notice. We don't know what's in there."

A deafening screech  sounded far  above, reverberating in  the night.  The

demolition teams jumped, then  forced themselves to relax  when they found  it

was only the cooling construction droid  venting waste heat. Wedge stepped  to

the edge of the darkened  hole. The buckled crack  in the wall was  completely

dark, showing nothing.

The moment  he  poked his  head  into  the darkness,  the  monster  lunged

forward, all fangs and spewing saliva.

Wedge cried out and stumbled back, bouncing against the jagged edge of the

opening as the locomotive of claws and fur and armored body plating charged at

him. Before he  could straighten  his thoughts--before he  could even  imagine

shouting an  order to  his troops--a  spiderweb of  crisscrossed blaster  fire

erupted into the night. Most of the beams struck home with a smoking hiss into

the creature's body. A second round of blaster fire lanced out.

The monster roared in explosive  surprise and pain before collapsing  with

enough force to start a small avalanche in the debris. Its death sigh  sounded

like steam escaping from a furnace.

Wedge slumped to  the ground  and suddenly  felt his  heart begin  beating

again. "Thanks, guys!"

The rest of them  stood, frozen in surprise  and terror, gawking at  their

own reflexively drawn blasters and at  the heaving, dying hulk of the  monster

that had dwelled within the shielded building.

The thing looked like a  huge armored rat with  spines along its back  and

tusks coming out of its mouth. It had the tail of a krayt dragon, flicking  in

its final convulsions  as black-purple  blood oozed around  burned craters  of

blaster wounds in  its hide.  "Guess it got  hungry waiting  in there,"  Wedge

said. "Your fearless leader needs to be a little more careful from now on."

He sent the bobbing lights through  the opening to illuminate the  chamber

ahead. Nothing else seemed to be moving inside. Behind them the giant  armored

rat shuddered with a last groaning sigh, then sagged.

In pairs they pushed  through the opening into  the isolated chamber.  The

metal-plated  floor  was  strewn  with  cracked  bones  and  skulls  from  the

sub-humans that lived in the city's lower levels.

"I guess it found something to eat after all," Wedge said.

On the far side of  the dark room, they  found another tunnel from  deeper

underground where a  grate had been  peeled aside. The  grate was rusted,  but

bright score marks from  large claws showed where  the rat-thing had torn  its

way through.

"Not it--a she," Lieutenant Deegan said. "And now you can see why she  was

so upset." He pointed to the corner where the worst damage had occurred.

Broken blocks  of building  material lay  piled on  the rat-thing's  nest.

Bright smears of blood  showed where three of  the creature's young--each  one

the size of an Endorian pony--had been crushed by the boulders.

Wedge stared for a moment before he  looked around the rest of the  gloomy

room. Adjusting the light-enhancers on his  visor, he could see dark  gadgets,

consoles, bed-platforms with manacles  and chains. Parked  and dormant on  two

stands were glossy black Imperial interrogation droids; secret computer  ports

stared gray and dead like amphibious eyes.

"Some sort of torture center?" Lieutenant Deegan asked.

"Looks like it," Wedge answered. "Interrogation. This could yield a lot of

information the Emperor didn't want us to have."

"Good thing you  shut down  the construction droid,  Wedge," Deegan  said.

"It's worth the delay."

Wedge pursed his lips. "Yeah, good thing."

He looked at the cruel interrogation  droids and the torture equipment.  A

part of him wished he had never found this place.

The sculpture on Leia's crystal table jittered forward, stopped, then rose

into the air.  The figure  was a fat  man with  spread palms and  a grin  wide

enough to swallow an X-wing fighter.

The dealer had  assured Leia that  it was a  genuine Corellian  sculpture,

that it would  make Han think  fond memories of  his own world  just as  Han's

images of Alderaan did for her.  Upon receiving the anniversary gift, Han  had

thanked her  profusely, but  could  barely control  his laughter.  He  finally

explained that the statue  was a trademarked figurine  stolen from a chain  of

cheap Corellian eating establishments. ...

"Keep concentrating,  Leia,"  Luke  whispered into  the  silence,  leaning

closer. He watched her  intently. Her eyes were  focused in the far  distance,

not seeing the  sculpture at  all. The  statue continued  to levitate,  rising

higher off  the table;  then suddenly  it bumped  forward to  topple onto  the

floor.

Leia heaved a  sigh and slumped  back in the  self-conforming chair.  Luke

tried to cover his disappointment as he remembered his own training. Yoda  had

made him stand on his head while balancing rocks and other heavy objects. Luke

had received  other training  from  the twisted  Joruus  C'baoth, and  he  had

learned the depths of the dark side from the resurrected Emperor himself.

His sister's training had been much  less rigorous, and more haphazard  as

she continually rescheduled lessons  to accommodate her increasing  diplomatic

duties. But Leia concerned  him: he had  been working with  her for more  than

seven years now, and she seemed to be blocked, having reached the limit of the

powers she  could  master.  Given  her heritage  as  the  daughter  of  Anakin

Skywalker, Leia should  have been easy  to train. Luke  wondered how he  would

manage to instruct a large group of  students at his proposed Jedi academy  if

he could not succeed with his own sister.

Leia stood and picked up the fallen statue from the floor, setting it back

on the  table.  Luke  watched her,  keeping  his  face free  of  any  downcast

expression. "Leia, what is it?" he asked.

She looked at him with her dark eyes and hesitated before answering. "Just

feeling sorry for myself, I guess. Han should have arrived on Kessel two  days

ago, but  he  hasn't bothered  to  send a  message.  That's no  big  surprise,

considering him!" But Luke saw more wistfulness than sarcasm in her eyes.

"Sometimes it wears on me not to have my own children here. I've been with

the twins for  only a fraction  of their lives.  I can count  on one hand  the

number of times  I've visited  the baby.  I haven't had  time to  feel like  a

mother. The diplomatic chores won't give me a rest." Then she looked  directly

at him. "And you're about to go off  on your great Jedi hunt. I feel like  I'm

missing out on life."

Luke reached out to touch her arm. "You could become a very powerful  Jedi

if you would only devote some concentration to your work. To follow the Force,

you must let your training be the focus of your life and not become distracted

by other things."

Leia reacted more strongly than  he had anticipated, drawing away.  "Maybe

I'm afraid of that, Luke.  When I look at you,  I see a haunted expression  in

your eyes, as  if a vital  part of you  has been burned  away by the  personal

hells you've walked through.  Trying to kill your  own father, dueling with  a

clone of yourself, serving the  Dark Side for the  Emperor. If that's what  it

takes to be a powerful Jedi, maybe I don't want the job!"

She held  up her  hand to  stop him  from saying  anything until  she  had

finished. "I am doing important work for the Council. I'm helping to rebuild a

whole republic of a thousand star systems.  Maybe that is my life's work,  not

being a Jedi. And  maybe, just maybe, I  might want to fit  being a mother  in

there, too."

Luke looked at her, unmoved. No one could read his expressions anymore; he

was no longer innocent. "If that is your destiny, Leia, it's a good thing I'll

start training other Jedi soon." They stared at each other in an uncomfortable

silence for a few moments. Luke  looked away first, retreating from that  line

of conversation.

"But you still need to protect yourself  from the Dark Side. Let's work  a

little more with shielding and your inner  defenses, and then we'll call it  a

night." Leia nodded, but he could sense that her spirits had sunk further.

He reached out with his fingers to touch her dark hair, drifting over  the

contours of her head. "I'm going to try to probe your mind. I'll use different

techniques, different touches. Try to resist me, or at least pinpoint where  I

am."

Luke let his eyes fall half-closed,  then sent faint tendrils of  thoughts

into her mind,  deftly touching  the topography of  her memory.  At first  she

didn't react, but then he could feel her concentrating, building an  invisible

wall around his probe. Though slow, she succeeded in blocking him off.  "Good,

now I'm going  to try different  places." He  moved his touch  to a  different

center. "Resist me if you can."

As he kept  probing deeper,  Leia became better  at fending  him off.  She

parried his attempts with greater speed and stronger force as he guided her to

put up barriers. He grew more pleased  as he worked with her, touching  random

spots in her  mind, trying  to take  her by surprise.  He could  feel her  own

delight with her improving abilities.

Luke reached to the back of her mind, an area of deep primal memories  but

little conscious  thought. He  doubted  he could  get any  defensive  reaction

there, but no attacker would be likely to strike at such places. Her  thoughts

were like a  map laid  out in  front of  him, and  Luke touched  inward to  an

isolated nub in her mind. He pushed--

And suddenly felt as if a giant  invisible palm had planted itself on  his

chest and shoved backward. Luke stumbled to keep his balance, taking two steps

away from her. Leia's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

Luke said, "What did you  do?" in the same moment  Leia said, "What did  I

do?"; then both answered, "I don't know!" simultaneously.

Luke tried to reconstruct what he had  done. "Let me try that again.  Just

relax."

She seemed anything but  relaxed as he probed  her again, reaching to  the

back of her  mind, finding  the isolated  nub among  her instinctive  centers.

Touching it, he found himself knocked away again with physical force.

"But I didn't do anything!" Leia insisted.

Luke allowed himself to  smile. "Your reflexes did,  Leia. When a  medical

droid taps your knee,  your leg jerks whether  you want it to  or not. We  may

have just stumbled upon  something a potential Jedi  has that others don't.  I

want you to try it on me. Here, close your eyes and I'll give you an image  of

what I did to you."

"Do you think I'll be able to?" Leia asked.

"If it truly is instinctive, all you need to do is find the right spot."

"I'll try." Her face wore a skeptical expression.

"Do, or do not. There is no try. That's what Yoda always said."

"Oh, stop quoting him. You don't need to impress me!"

Leia touched her brother's temples, and he took a deep breath, using  Jedi

relaxation techniques to drop his guard.  He had erected so much mental  armor

in the past seven years that he hoped  he could still let her inside. He  felt

the touch of her thoughts, delicate mental fingers tracing the contours of his

brain. He directed her search toward the back, where primitive thoughts slept.

"Can you-“ Before he  could finish his question,  Leia stumbled backward  into

the self-conforming seat. "Wow! I  found the nub, but  when I touched it,  you

knocked me off my feet."

Luke felt wonder tingle through him. "And it was completely unconscious on

my part. I  wasn't aware  of doing  anything." Luke  touched his  lips as  new

thoughts raced through his mind. "I need to try this on other people. If  it's

completely a reflex  reaction, this could  be a very  useful test for  finding

people who have latent Jedi powers."

Next morning,  the  metropolitan  shuttle skimmed  over  the  rooftops  of

Imperial City, like a bus on the thermals rising from chasms between the  tall

buildings. The strip  of buildings  newly erected by  the construction  droids

looked like a gleaming stripe through the ancient city.

Admiral Ackbar piloted the  shuttle himself, holding  the controls in  his

articulated fin-hands as he watched the  skies with his widely set fish  eyes.

Behind him, strapped  into their seats,  rode Luke Skywalker  and Leia  Organa

Solo. The bright dawn spread long shadows in the lower levels of the city.

Ackbar leaned  forward  to  the  comlink. "General  Antilles,  we  are  on

approach. I can see the construction droid up ahead. Is everything cleared for

our landing?"

"Yes, sir," Wedge's  voice sounded  clearly from the  speaker. "There's  a

good spot just to the right of the droid that should be perfect for landing."

Ackbar cocked his head to peer through the curved viewplate, then  brought

the  metropolitan  shuttle  in,  aligning  it  with  gaps  in  the  buildings,

descending to the unexplored street levels.

Wedge came out to  meet them after Ackbar  had settled the shuttle  beside

the  powered-down   construction  droid.   Ackbar  emerged   first  into   the

rubble-strewn clearing, tilting  his domed  head up to  look at  the strip  of

sunlight coming from high above. Luke and Leia stepped out side by side as the

vehicle hummed into it’s standby-cooldown mode.

"Hi, Wedge!" Luke called. "Or should I say, General Antilles?"

Wedge grinned. "Wait until you see what the demolition crew found. I  just

might get promoted again."

"I'm not  sure  you'd want  to,"  Leia said.  "Then  you'd be  stuck  with

diplomatic duties."

Wedge motioned for them to follow. The construction droid blocked out  the

sun. Luke could hear teams scrambling up access ladders and automated lifts on

the outer shell of the droid.  Maintenance crews were taking advantage of  the

shutdown time  to check  the internal  factories and  resource processors,  to

modify some of the programming inside the droid's computer blueprint.

The stripped carcass of a large beast  lay in the rubble just outside  the

opening of the shielded  room. Wedge gestured to  it. "That thing attacked  us

last night,  and  my  team  killed  it.  Sometime  when  we  were  up  in  the

construction droid's pilot lounge, napping  and cleaning up, other  scavengers

came out and  stripped the  meat off its  bones. Too  bad. The  xenobiologists

might have wanted to classify it, but now there's not much left."

Wedge ducked inside the  breached metal walls of  the shielded room.  Luke

could hear people shuffling and banging  inside. He saw Leia wrinkle her  nose

at the strange smells wafting out.

Luke's eyes took a moment to adjust to the glowing yellow illumination  of

the floating lights  posted around  the chamber. Something  powerful had  gone

berserk in here.  At first  he saw broken  equipment scattered  on the  floor,

wires torn out, smashed computer terminals. Long claw marks gashed the  walls.

A black spherical Imperial interrogation droid  lay split open in one  corner.

He saw Leia's eyes fix on it, and  he sensed a wave of revulsion pass  through

her.

Several people from  Wedge's team had  wrestled a heavy  metal grate  back

into place against one wall and  were now laser-welding it into it’s  channel.

The grate had been horribly bent.

"More excitement last night," Wedge said. The welders looked up from their

work, waved  to Wedge,  then  bent back  to their  beams.  "The mate  of  that

rat-creature came back up through the tunnels, found its companion killed, and

smashed everything it could."  He frowned. "Ruined most  of the old  equipment

here, but we still might  be able to salvage  something. The Emperor kept  the

place under  tight security.  Seems  to be  some  kind of  deep  interrogation

facility."

"Yes, indeed," Ackbar said, striding through the wreckage. Broken  circuit

boards crunched under his  wide feet. "We  wouldn't want any  of this to  fall

into the wrong hands."

Luke's attention drifted over to a tangle of wires and flat  sheet-crystal

readers on the floor. His forehead  furrowed with concentration as he went  to

look more closely. "Is that what I think it is?" he mumbled.

"What did you say, Luke?" Leia asked, following him.

He didn't answer  her as  he bent over  the equipment,  pulling wires  and

cables and trying to sort  through the mess. "It  looks like there were  three

separate units here. They're  probably all destroyed." But  he felt a  growing

excitement within  him. Maybe  they  would be  able  to piece  the  components

together.

"What is it?" Leia asked again.

Luke uncoiled one of the cables  and found an intact sheet-crystal  reader

at the end. It looked like a glassy silver paddle longer than his hand.  "I've

read about this in my research on  the old Jedi Knights. The Emperor's  hunter

teams used it to seek out Jedi who were hiding during his great purge."

He found a  second intact  sheet-crystal paddle, then  picked the  control

pack that looked the least damaged.  With his cyborg hand, Luke brushed  aside

some of the dust, then jacked the cables into either side of the pack, holding

the paddles, one in each hand. He flipped the power switch on the control pack

and was gratified to see a warm flurry of lights as the unit went through  its

initialization diagnostics.

"The Emperor's teams used equipment like this as sort of a Force detector,

for his henchmen to  read the auras  of people they  suspected of having  Jedi

talent. According to the records, the  remnants of the Jedi Knights held  this

thing in great fear--but maybe we can use it to restore the Jedi."

He grinned, and for a moment he  felt like the fresh, excited farm boy  he

had been back on Tatooine. "Hold still, Leia. Let me test this on you."

She stood back, alarmed. "But what does it do?" Both Wedge and Ackbar  had

stepped over to watch.

"Trust me," Luke said. He held the sheet-crystal paddles at arm's  length,

bracketing Leia. When  he tripped  the scan switch,  a thin  slice of  coppery

light traced down Leia's  body from head  to toe. Suspended  in air above  the

control pack, a  smaller echo of  the copper scan-line  reappeared in  reverse

motion, assimilating the data and constructing a tiny hologram of Leia.

It looked  different from  the small  holo of  Leia that  Artoo Detoo  had

projected for Ben Kenobi. Instead, it was a wire-frame silhouette of her body,

with color-coded lines tagged to readings  that projected a column of  numbers

in the air. Surrounding the outline was a corona of flickering blue, faint but

definite.

"Can you  understand  anything  from that,  Luke?"  Admiral  Ackbar  said,

peering closer.

"Let's get another one for comparison." This time Luke pointed the paddles

at Wedge, who flinched as the coppery  scan line ran up and down his  uniform.

When his  wire-frame holo  appeared  beside Leia's,  most of  the  color-coded

details were similar--but his image showed no blue corona.

"Now let's  try you,  Admiral." He  extended the  paddles toward  the  Mon

Calamarian, adjusting the control pack to take Ackbar's alien physiology  into

account. When his scanned image appeared, it too lacked the blue aura.  "Leia,

would you do it to me, just so we can be more sure?"

Leia handled the  equipment reluctantly, as  if uneasy to  touch a  device

that had been used by those who had designed the interrogation droid. But  she

operated the scanner easily, holding the sheet-crystal paddles on either  side

of Luke.

His image bore the bright corona.

"This is very valuable," Luke said.  "You don't need any particular  skill

with the Force to use this equipment.  We can find people with Jedi  potential

just by scanning them. It  will be a great help  in finding candidates for  my

academy. Maybe some good will come of this device after all these years."

"Very good, Luke," Ackbar said.

Luke pursed his lips. "Wedge, I want to try something. Would you relax for

a minute and let me do a mind touch on you?"

"Uh,"  Wedge  said,  then  saw  his  team  members  looking  at  him.   He

straightened. "Whatever you say, Luke."

Luke wasted no  time, reaching  out to  touch Wedge's  temples, running  a

mental probe over the  surface of his  mind, back to  the primitive area,  the

surprising nub in the contour of thoughts--

But when Luke touched it, nothing happened.

Wedge probably didn't even know he  was being probed. Luke pushed  harder,

but he triggered no reflexive counteraction, no uncontrolled push as Leia  had

given him.

"What was that all about?" Wedge asked. "Did you do anything?"

Luke smiled. "I just strengthened a theory  of mine. We have gotten a  lot

closer to bringing back the Jedi Knights."

At least the ship didn't explode on impact.

That was  the  first  thing  Han Solo  thought  as  painful  consciousness

returned. He blinked his eyes, listened to the hissing of atmosphere streaming

through breaches in the Millennium Falcon's hull. Somehow they had survived  a

crash landing. He wondered what planet he was on.

Kessel!

His eyes widened as he saw red splashes across the control panels. His own

blood. His leg felt  as if it were  on fire, and he  tasted liquid tin in  his

mouth. As he coughed, more  blood splashed out. Han  had not managed to  strap

himself in before the crash. It was a  good thing he had not stayed up in  the

gun well. From  his skewed  vantage he  could see that  the ship  had spun  on

impact, with the top gun well crushed beneath them.

He hoped Chewbacca  had fared  better. Turning his  head, Han  felt as  if

shards of ground  glass were rubbing  his spine. In  the copilot's chair,  the

Wookiee lay  motionless, his  pelt matted  with discolored  blood oozing  from

wounds hidden by his shaggy fur.

"Chewie!" he managed to croak. "Say something, okay?"

Han heard the thud of a small explosive charge on the primary hatch;  then

someone from outside managed  to hot-wire the ramp.  The rest of the  Falcon's

air spurted  into Kessel's  thin  atmosphere. "Great,"  he mumbled.  With  the

shattering pain in his ribs, it had already been hard enough to breathe.

Heavy footsteps marched up the ramp. Han wanted to pull out his blaster or

at least knock a few  enemies down in a fistfight.  But he could barely  raise

his eyes, expecting to see  an orderly column of white-armored  stormtroopers.

That would be an appropriate end to a day like this.

Instead, the intruders  wore a  hodgepodge of armor,  some parts  modified

from prison-guard uniforms, other plates adapted from stormtrooper  equipment.

None of it  made any sense  to Han, but  his mind had  already maxed out  with

things that should never have happened.  A TIE fighter and an X-wing  fighting

side by side? Against him?

The boarding party wore oxygen masks  fitted over their faces to let  them

breathe the  thin atmosphere  of Kessel.  Their voices  were muffled  as  they

shouted orders to each other.

One man, looking scarecrowish with  impossibly long arms and neck,  strode

into the  Falcon's cockpit.  Han  felt recognition  stir  inside him,  but  he

couldn't pinpoint a name. The scarecrow wore armbands from an Imperial prison,

but at his side he carried a modified double-blaster that was patently illegal

on most planets. The scarecrow turned wide-set, flinty eyes on Han.

"Han Solo," he said.  Though the breath mask  covered his lower face,  Han

could tell  the man  was grinning  widely.  "You're going  to wish  you  never

survived landing on Kessel."

With a flash of memory, the  scarecrow's name came to Han. Skynxnex.  That

was it! But Skynxnex had been  locked up in the Imperial Correction  Facility,

barely avoiding a  death sentence.  Questions had  just begun  forming in  his

mouth when Skynxnex brought  an armored fist down  on Han's head, sending  him

back into unconsciousness...

Kessel. Spice. His  thoughts mixed into  nightmares as he  fought to  come

back to himself. Han had always been  proud to boast that the Falcon had  made

the Kessel run in record time, but he rarely recounted the whole tale, that he

had actually been  fleeing Kessel  with a  full load  of spice  in his  secret

below-decks compartments, when Imperial tariff ships had tagged him.

Han got the shipment,  as always, from Moruth  Doole, the froglike man  in

charge of skimming black-market spice  from Imperial production quotas.  Doole

was some sort of official in the gigantic Imperial prison complex, from  which

came most of  the spice-mine  laborers. The Empire  maintained strict  control

over the spice output, but Doole managed to keep quite a little side market of

his own.  Han Solo  and Chewbacca  had run  spice for  him, whisking  it  past

Imperial patrols and putting  it into distribution  channels run by  gangsters

such as Jabba the Hutt.

But Moruth  Doole had  a habit  of stringing  along his  helpers until  he

decided he could gain  bigger favor by turning  them over to the  authorities.

Han had never been able to prove  it, but he suspected that Doole himself  had

tipped off the tariff ships on the Falcon's flight away from Kessel, providing

the exact coordinates where Han planned to enter hyperspace.

Han had been  forced to jettison  his entire cargo  of glitterstim  spice,

worth a fortune,  just before  being boarded. When  Han tried  to circle  back

later and retrieve the floating cargo, the Imperials had given pursuit. During

the chase he had  desperately skimmed closer to  the gravity influence of  the

immense black hole cluster than the navcharts claimed was possible. One of the

tariff ships had  been lost in  the swirling maelstrom  of hot gases  plunging

into a  bottomless singularity.  But the  Falcon had  survived, breaking  into

hyperspace and fleeing to safety.

Temporary safety. The  lost cargo  of spice  alone had  been worth  12,400

credits and Jabba the Hutt had already paid for it in full. Jabba had not been

pleased. ...

The thought of all those  months frozen in carbonite, motionless,  hanging

on Jabba's  wall, made  him shiver.  The cold  was black  around him,  and  he

couldn't see. His teeth chattered together--

"Cease your  thermal  convulsions!" a  raspy  metallic voice  snapped.  It

sounded like  a plasma  saw  cutting through  rock.  "The temperature  in  the

medical  center  has  been  lowered   to  minimize  surgical  shock  to   your

metabolism."

Opening his eyes,  Han stared up  into the bullet-like  face of a  medical

droid. Most of the metal  was a primary green,  but a black hooded  attachment

extended over its  optical sensors. Segmented  mechanical arms reached  toward

him, displaying a wide variety of out-of-date medical implements, all of  them

sharp. "I  am  the  prison medical  droid.  I  have not  been  programmed  for

anesthetics or  the  niceties  of  making you  comfortable.  If  you  fail  to

cooperate, your treatment will only be more unpleasant."

Han rolled his  eyes back.  This was a  far cry  from traditional  medical

droids who were programmed  specifically with the  patient's comfort in  mind.

Han tried to move. Around  him the prison medical  center was white and  cold,

with gleaming medical appliances  and empty bacta tanks  mounted on the  wall.

Han vaguely sensed several guards standing near the doors. When he turned  his

head, the medical droid reached out with cold metal hands to clamp against his

temples. "You  must remain  motionless.  This will  hurt.  A great  deal.  Now

relax--immediately!"

Out of sight on the other side of the room, Chewbacca let out a great roar

of pain.  Han  was  relieved to  know  the  Wookiee was  still  alive.  Before

treatment, at least.

Han winced as the medical droid began to work on him.

Chewbacca shook him awake  with a hairy,  enthusiastic, and grateful  hug.

Han groaned and blinked his eyes, but the room was so dim he had to stare  for

a few minutes before anything came into  focus. His entire body felt as if  it

had been beaten instead of healed.

Chewbacca groaned and hugged him again. "Take it easy, Chewie! You'll send

me back to that medical droid!" Han said. Instantly, the Wookiee released  his

grip. Han mentally assessed how he felt. He sat up, flexed his arms, then  got

to his feet. Two, no three of his ribs, as well as his left leg, tingled  with

the maddening bee stings that indicated  where bone knitters had repaired  the

fractures. Han remained weak, but replacement-nutrient solutions had  probably

brought him back up to nominal levels.

Chewbacca also looked scruffy and haggard. Patches of fur had been  shaved

from his body, and Han could discern lumpy scars where medical droids had made

quick patchwork with  no finesse.  After treatment the  two of  them had  been

tossed into this dank place. Finally, Han took a deep whiff of the air  inside

the chamber. "What  died in  here?" He suddenly  realized that  wasn't just  a

joking comment.

Chewbacca answered by pointing to the  hulking form that occupied a  third

of the  space in  the  cell. Han  blinked  again to  be  sure his  vision  was

adjusting properly.

The thing  was  huge  and hideous--part  crustacean,  part  arachnid,  and

judging from the rows  of dagger teeth, entirely  carnivorous. Its claw  hands

were as big as a human was tall,  and its jointed body armor was covered  with

scab-like bumps.  The only  good thing  about it  was that  it was  dead.  The

carcass reeked.

The first  time  Han had  been  near a  rancor,  he had  been  blind  from

hibernation sickness  after being  thawed  in Jabba's  palace. Jabba  fed  the

monster below his throne room with his enemies--or anyone else at random.  Han

had seen many  more rancors  on the planet  Dathomir during  his courtship  of

Princess Leia.  One  of the  beasts  had somehow  died  here in  the  Imperial

Correction Facility. The rancor  had decayed as  far as it  was going to,  and

then mummified the rest of the way.

The prison itself, from what Han knew of it, was a cross between a zoo and

a correctional  facility,  because  the  different  life-forms  had  different

degrees of  sentience.  The only  factor  in common  was  that they  were  all

violent.

Their cell was gigantic,  as far as cells  went--large enough to hold  the

rancor and give it room to maneuver. Brittle, moldy bones lay scattered around

the floor, many of which had been gnawed and pulverized, as if in a  desperate

attempt by the starving  rancor to find  more food. Green  and blue smears  of

slime oozed down  the walls.  Tiny dripping sounds  were the  only noises  Han

could hear.

"How long have we been here, Chewie? Do you know?"

Chewbacca didn't know.

Han ran it  over again  in his  mind. They had  come to  Kessel, they  had

identified themselves both by name and with a New Republic call sign. A  fleet

of ships had come out  to attack them--TIE fighters  and X-wings and a  motley

bunch of other ships.  Obviously, the people  in charge of  Kessel were up  to

something, and they didn't want the New Republic to know about it.

Then he remembered  scarecrow-like Skynxnex, who  had boarded the  crashed

Falcon. Skynxnex  had been  a thief  and  an assassin,  the primary  point  of

contact between Moruth Doole and the spice smugglers. Skynxnex had wrangled  a

nominal post as a prison guard in  the correction facility, but now he  seemed

to have changed jobs ...

Han heard the  click and  hum of the  deactivation field  around the  cell

doors, and  then a  grating whirr  as  hydraulic lifts  hauled the  huge  door

upward. As the  door raised,  garish white light  flooded into  the room.  Han

clapped a hand over his eyes. He hadn't realized the cell was so dim.

"Get ready, Chewie!" Han whispered. If there weren't too many guards, they

could rush them, slug their way out, and escape. But then he felt a twinge  of

pain from his recently broken ribs,  and dizziness washed over him.  Chewbacca

leaned weakly against one of the damp walls of the rancor's cell and groaned.

Well, maybe  if there's  only one  guard,  who has  poor eyesight  and  is

recovering from weeks' worth of dysentery ...

"Never mind, Chewie. Let's see what they have to say."

The skeletal figure standing in the door was obviously Skynxnex. As  Han's

eyes adjusted to the  light, he could see  four other guards behind  Skynxnex,

wearing not-quite prison uniforms, patches of body armor to protect  sensitive

areas but showing no rank or insignia.

"So, Han  Solo, I  trust  you appreciate  our ...  hospitality?"  Skynxnex

asked.

Han smirked  and looked  behind him  at the  dank cell,  the dead  rancor.

"Yeah, you guys are really turning Kessel  into a resort world. Just like  the

planet Ithor."

Skynxnex followed his gaze to the  mummified monster. "Ah yes, during  the

turmoil when we took over  the prison, someone forgot  to feed the rancor.  It

was a  pity. Months  passed before  we  remembered him.  A double  pity,  too,

because by the time we thought of him, we had plenty of Imperial prisoners  we

needed to dispose of. That  would have been fun to  watch. Instead, we had  to

send them all into the spice mines."

Skynxnex smiled  for just  an instant;  then his  face took  on its  flat,

mechanical composure again. "I hope the medical droids helped you recover from

your crash  injuries. It's  important  that you  both  are healthy  enough  to

withstand interrogation.  We want  to learn  exactly why  you came  to spy  on

Kessel."

It occurred to Han that for once  he could actually tell the truth and  be

completely open about his mission. "Ready when you are, Skynxnex." Somehow  he

was afraid the truth wouldn't be good enough in this case.

The gangly man allowed another flash of  a smile. "So you do remember  me,

Solo? Good. Moruth Doole will want to talk to you immediately."

Han raised his eyebrows. That meant  Doole was still alive, still  running

things--but Han had no idea how the pieces fit together. "I'd love to talk  to

old Moruth. It's been a long time. He was a good buddy of mine!"

Skynxnex snickered at that, then stopped. The other guards behind him also

chuckled. "Yes," Skynxnex  said, "I  do believe  I've heard  him mention  your

name. Several times."

The lift took them out of the  main cell-block areas, along a tube to  the

outer corners of the  correctional facility. They  rocketed skyward along  the

angled metal tracks. Looking  through the scratched  transparent walls of  the

elevator, Han could  see that  the prison  itself was  a massive  tan-and-gray

edifice made  of plasteel  and  synthetic rock.  The  flat front  face  sloped

backward at about  a forty-five-degree  angle; elevator  turrets glided  along

each of the corners.  A glassed and mirrored  substructure protruded from  the

slanted face, housing the administrative offices and prison personnel.

In the racing elevator car Skynxnex watched both of them with flickers  of

amusement, keeping  his  modified  double-blaster trained  on  them.  The  two

guards, armed  with more  conventional weapons,  also stood  tense and  ready.

Seeing this, Han felt ironically impressed. He didn't know what he had done to

instill such fear in these people.

Both Han and Chewbacca  had been strapped  into stun-cuffs, a  restraining

fixture across the wrists that  sent paralyzing jolts of electricity  directly

into the nervous system, proportional in strength to the amount of struggle  a

prisoner exerted.  Han controlled  himself well  enough and  received only  an

unpleasant tingle along his forearms. As  usual, Chewbacca could not keep  his

temper in check and managed to stun himself into a stupor.

When the  elevator  doors  opened,  Skynxnex  prodded  the  two  prisoners

forward. Han complied and walked easily ahead, trying to put a  self-confident

spring in his step. He'd  had his troubles with Moruth  Doole, and he did  not

trust the man  a bit--but  as far  as he knew,  there was  no powerful  grudge

between them.

Skynxnex escorted them through administrative  offices, many of which  had

been ransacked or burned.  They went past  a broad anteroom  to a huge  office

faced by giant  windows that looked  out upon  the barrens of  Kessel. In  the

distance Han could see the crumbled salt flats. Great jets from the atmosphere

factories sent gouts of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon dioxide into the  pinkish

sky, keeping the planet barely habitable. Powerful radiation shields in  orbit

filtered out a large  percentage of the deadly  X-rays and gamma rays  pouring

from the nearby Maw. If not for the precious spice, no one would bother trying

to live on Kessel.

The original  sign on  the desk-unit  announced this  to be  the  warden's

headquarters, but someone had  crossed out the previous  ID tag and mounted  a

hand-lettered sign in Basic: Doole's  Place. On the wall  to the right of  the

desk-unit hung a man captured in  final throes of agony, frozen in  carbonite.

Doole had taken a lesson  from Jabba, displaying some  old nemesis for all  to

see. Han  shivered  just  to  look  at  the  trophy.  Next  to  the  window  a

barrel-shaped form  stood  silhouetted by  the  garish light.  Han  recognized

Moruth Doole immediately.

Doole was a Rybet, squat  and soft-skinned. His bright-green coloring  and

tan highlights looked  like worm  stripes up and  down his  cheeks, arms,  and

shoulders. His skin was dry,  but so smooth it  looked slimy. As always  Doole

dressed in the  skins of  less-fortunate reptiles. His  waistcoat looked  like

something from an ancient history  vid. Doole sported a bright-yellow  cravat,

which meant he was in mating  readiness, though Han couldn't imagine where  on

the planet Doole would ever find a willing female of his own species.

Doole turned around, displaying a much-changed face, jittered with nervous

tics and paranoia. His Rybet eyes were overlarge, lantern-like, with  vertical

slits--but one of his  eyes was now  milky white, like  a half-cooked egg.  He

wore a mechanical focusing device over his other eye, strapped onto his smooth

head with brown leather straps.

Doole fiddled with his mechanical eye, and the lenses clicked and  whirred

into place, like a camera  unit. His Rybet fingers were  long and wide at  the

end, showing signs  of vestigial  suction cups as  he adjusted  the focus  and

pressed his face close to Han's. The  blind eye stared milkily off in  another

direction. After a long  inspection he finally hissed  in recognition. "It  is

you, Han Solo!"

Han frowned. "Been hitting  the spice too heavily,  I see, Moruth.  Always

gets the eyesight first."

"It wasn't spice that did this," Doole snapped, tapping the contraption on

his eye.  He  drew in  another  long sputtering  breath  that sounded  like  a

carbonated drink spilled on hot coals. "Why are you here, Solo? I want you  to

tell me, but maybe I want you to resist  just a little bit so I can make  this

hurt."

Chewbacca roared in  anger. Han  tried to spread  out his  hands, but  the

stun-cuffs zapped him.  "Wait a  minute, Moruth!  You'd better  explain a  few

things to me. I don't quite know--”

Doole didn't hear him, rubbing his splayed hands together and smiling with

his squishy lips.  "The hardest part  is going to  be restraining myself  from

having you dismembered right here where I can watch."

Han felt his heart pound. "Can we be reasonable for just a minute? We were

business partners, Moruth, and  I never crossed you."  Han didn't mention  his

suspicions that Doole had crossed him in that last spice run. "I apologize  if

I did something to upset you. Can we work it out?"

He remembered his conversation with the  hit man Greedo in the Mos  Eisley

cantina. Once offended, Jabba  the Hutt had never  been interested in  working

anything out. He hoped Doole would be more reasonable.

Moruth Doole stepped backward,  fluttering his long-fingered hands.  "Work

it out? What are  you going to do,  buy me a droid  replacement for my eye?  I

hate droids! Because of you, Jabba tried to have me killed. I had to beg  them

to take only  my eye. I  had to beg  them to take  my eye!" He  jabbed at  his

boiled-egg blind side.

Skynxnex shambled closer  to Doole,  lowering his voice.  "I think  you're

confusing him, rather than  frightening him, Moruth.  Maybe he really  doesn't

know what happened."

Doole sat down  at his  desk and straightened  his lizard-skin  waistcoat,

regaining his composure. "When you dumped your load of spice, Jabba blamed  it

on me! He put out a contract on my life. All because of your cowardice."

Chewbacca roared in outrage.  Han barely kept his  anger in check.  "Jabba

put out  a contract  on  me too,  Doole. Greedo  tried  to assassinate  me  on

Tatooine. Boba Fett captured me on Bespin and I was trapped in carbonite, just

like your friend there"--he gestured to the gruesome trophy on the  wall--"and

I got sent to Jabba anyway."

Doole waved a hand in dismissal. "Jabba's men had already infiltrated  the

spice-mining operations, and he wanted to  expose me, so his own people  could

procure the glitterstim directly.  One of his  hit men fried  my eye and  half

blinded the other. He was about to do more, but Skynxnex killed him."

At the doorway the scarecrow smiled with pride.

"Jabba forced my hand, and I had to act. We staged the prison revolt.  The

warden himself was Jabba's man, but half of the guards were on my side. I paid

them well, you see. Luckily, the Empire was thrown into chaos right about  the

same time. We took Kessel for ourselves. There were a few other upstart  slave

lords on the other side  of the planet, but they  didn't last long. I've  been

stockpiling spice  supplies  and building  up  a massive  defense  fleet  with

everything I can  scrape together. Nobody--and  I mean nobody!  --is going  to

come here and take things away from me."

Doole grabbed his head  with his long fingers  in a gesture of  weariness.

"Everything was going  just fine  before you  had to  get Jabba  angry at  me!

Everything was safe.  I knew just  how to play  the game. Now  I'm jumping  at

shadows, afraid every moment."

Doole stared at  Han with his  mechanical eye. "But  ruining my life  once

isn't good enough for you,  is it? You come  back here broadcasting a  message

from the New Republic. Somehow I thought  remnants of the Empire would try  to

grab the spice mines back first, but big governments are all the same. You are

a spy, a particularly  inept one. Did  you think you could  just fly into  our

space, look around, and go back to your Republic with all the information they

need to come take  us over?" He slapped  his palm on the  desktop with a  damp

splat. "We'll strike the first blow by killing their spy, and we will be ready

to blast  them out  of  the sky  the  moment your  attack  ships come  out  of

hyperspace!"

"You haven't got a chance!" Skynxnex sneered.

Han allowed himself to  smile, then actually chuckled.  "You boys have  it

all wrong. Absolutely wrong." Chewbacca grunted his agreement.

Skynxnex scowled. Doole stared at Han in silence for a moment. "We'll  see

about that."

Doole reached  into the  pocket  of his  waistcoat  and withdrew  a  small

ancient-looking key, which he inserted into  one of the drawers of the  former

warden's desk. He fumbled with the lock, then opened the drawer. Reaching  in,

he pulled out an armored strongbox. He hefted the strongbox to the table, then

dug in another pocket of his waistcoat to extract a second key.

Han watched,  his curiosity  piqued,  as Doole  opened the  strongbox  and

withdrew a smaller sealed container. Doole meticulously slipped both his  keys

back into his pockets before looking at Han.

"I'd like to spend time interrogating  you thoroughly, but I want to  know

exactly when the New Republic plans to  come in and take over, how many  ships

they are sending, what type of forces they will use. I'll get the  information

now, but I may  have time to  enjoy interrogating you  later, just on  general

principle."

Doole placed his  webbed Rybet palm  on the top  of the sealed  container.

With a slight hum a beam of light curled around his fingers in an ID scan; the

small container burped as the airtight seal  was broken. The lid slid away  to

reveal a padded interior compartment.

The box was  filled with  slender, black-wrapped cylinders  about half  as

long as a finger. Han recognized them immediately. "Glitterstim," he said.

Doole looked at him. "The most potent form of spice. With it I'll be  able

to read the truth of what you say. Your errant thoughts will betray you."

Han felt a sudden sense  of relief. "But what if  I don't have any  hidden

thoughts to betray?"

Skynxnex struck Han's head with the back of his hand, sending him reeling.

Chewbacca tried to stagger  forward, but the  stun-cuffs silenced his  bellows

and made him sway dizzily, barely able to keep his balance.

Doole selected one of the slim black cylinders and held it in his fingers.

With a deft motion he peeled off the opaque outer wrapper and withdrew a  thin

bundle of transparent glassy fibers. As Doole held the inert glitterstim up to

the light pouring through the broad viewing window, the light-sensitive  spice

began to scintillate and glow from within, ripening.

Han watched until it was  ready for Doole to  consume. He swallowed a  dry

lump in his throat.

Doole  opened  his  mouth  when  the  segment  of  glitterstim  glowed   a

pearlescent blue. He  extended his sharp  purplish tongue to  wrap around  the

crystalline fibers,  which  he  drew  back into  his  mouth.  The  glitterstim

crackled and fizzed;  as Doole  flexed his lips,  tiny sparks  seeped out  the

corners.

Han stared  as  Doole closed  his  blind  eye and  breathed  deep,  watery

breaths. The spice would act on Doole's  mind, pump up his latent powers.  The

automatic focusing  gears  of  Doole's mechanical  eye  clicked  and  whirred,

spinning around as it tried to make  sense of the visions pouring through  the

Rybet's mind. Then Doole turned to face Han and Chewbacca.

Han winced as he  felt tiny fingers clawing  around in his brain,  picking

through the  lobes  of  memory,  images  he  had  stored  in  his  thoughts...

searching, searching.  He tried  to shrink  away  but knew  he could  keep  no

secrets from anyone pumped on glitterstim. Skynxnex chuckled, then immediately

fell silent, as if afraid of directing Doole's attention to himself, where his

own brain could be picked.

Han felt  anger  growing, outrage  that  Moruth Doole  could  dissect  the

private moments he  had with  Leia, could observe  the births  of Han's  three

children. But the spice effects lasted only a few moments, and Doole would  be

concerned mainly with learning why Han and Chewbacca had come to Kessel.

"I really was telling you the truth, Doole," Han said quietly. "We are  on

a peaceful  mission to  reestablish diplomatic  contact with  Kessel. The  New

Republic is trying to open up trade and welcome you. We came in peace, but you

just declared war on yourself by shooting down their first ambassadors."

Chewbacca growled.

Skynxnex stiffened, then  took a few  awkward steps forward.  "What is  he

talking about?"

Han raised his voice. "Read the truth in my mind, Moruth."

The Rybet's  mouth  hung  slack,  and Han  could  see  glitterstim  sparks

sputtering around his cheeks.  He felt the tiny  probing fingers crawl  deeper

and deeper into his mind, scrabbling  around. Doole was frantically trying  to

find some proof of his suspicions as the spice enhancement faded away.

But Doole could find nothing; there was nothing to find. The only thing he

did learn was the power of the  Alliance forces that would be arrayed  against

him. A  fleet that  had  succeeded in  overthrowing  the entire  Empire  would

certainly be sufficient to destroy a ragtag outlaw operation on Kessel.

"No!" Doole wailed. He whirled to glare at Skynxnex. "What are we going to

do? He's telling the truth!"

"He can't be!" Skynxnex said. "He's a--he's--”

“The spice doesn't lie. He's here for exactly the reasons he said. And  we

shot him down. We took him prisoner.  The New Republic is going to come  after

us, and they'll wipe us out."

"Kill the two of them now," Skynxnex said. "If we work fast, we can  cover

everything up."

Han felt sudden fear return. "Now, wait a minute! I'm sure we can fix this

with a  few careful  messages.  I am  the  ambassador, after  all!  Diplomatic

credentials and everything. I wouldn't want a simple misunderstanding--”

“No!" Skynxnex said, keeping his attention fixed on Doole. "We can't  risk

that. You know what Solo has done before. He knows you tipped off the Imperial

tariff ships to go after him."

Actually, Han hadn't been certain until that very moment. "Now, there's no

need to panic," he said again. "I can talk to the New Republic Senate. I  know

Mon Mothma personally, and my wife Leia  is a cabinet member, and--” His  mind

whirled, trying to  think of how  Leia would  handle this. Many  times he  had

watched her smooth diplomatic problems. She had a finesse with words, a way of

approaching other people's concerns and stroking them, delicately  maneuvering

opposing sides into a compromise. But right now Leia wasn't with him.

"Yes, I think I agree," Doole  said, tapping a finger against his  swollen

lips. Han let out a  sigh of relief. "I agree  with Skynxnex. I'll review  the

battle tapes, but I  don't believe you transmitted  any messages after  coming

out of hyperspace. One  of our fighters shot  off your subspace antenna  dish.

The New Republic has no  way of knowing you  arrived safely. With no  evidence

they will conclude you got swallowed up by the Maw."

Doole began to pace  in front of the  large viewing window. "We'll  delete

any mention of  you from our  records. Instruct all  my mercenaries to  forget

about the attack. Yes, that'll be the safest alternative!"

"You're making a big mistake!" Han said. He could barely restrain his urge

to yank at the stun-cuffs.

"No," Doole replied, tapping his squishy-tipped fingers together. "I don't

think so."

Chewbacca bellowed a loud string of guttural words.

"My best bet would  be to kill  you right away,"  Doole answered; then  he

rubbed his fingers  against his blind  eye. "But  you still owe  me for  this,

Solo. Even if you worked every day  for a hundred years, it would never  repay

me for the loss of my eye. You  both are going down into the spice mines,  the

deepest  and  most  distant  tunnels.   They've  been  needing  quite  a   few

replacements lately."

Doole grinned with his wide froglike mouth. A final flicker of blue sparks

rippled at the corner of his lips.

"No one will ever find you down there."

The former Imperial  Information Center  lay buried deep  beneath the  old

palace, covered by layers of shielding walls and guarded by tight security  at

every entrance. To keep the temperatures within tolerable limits for the great

data archive machines, vast heat-exchanger systems and powerful cooling  units

filled the room with a background roar.

Hunched  over  fourteen  consoles  were  lumpy  dull-gray  slicer  droids,

hardwired into  the terminals  as  they meticulously  hacked at  the  security

encryption codes and backup  viruses set up in  the Emperor's mainframes.  The

slicer droids had been  working for a full  year, ferreting out vital  tidbits

from  the  labyrinthine  databases.  Already  they  had  exposed  twenty-three

Imperial spies in deep cover trying to sabotage the burgeoning New Republic.

The hum of the cooling units  and the motionlessness of the slicer  droids

blanketed the  Center  with an  echoing  emptiness. Lonely  and  fidgety,  the

protocol droid See-Threepio paced back and forth, his servomotors whirring, as

he viewed the room with his optical sensors for the hundredth time.

"Haven't you found anything yet, Artoo?" he said.

Jacked into one of the information ports, Artoo-Detoo bleeped an impatient

negative and  continued  whirring  as he  tunneled  through  the  overwhelming

amounts of information.

"Don't forget to double-check everything," Threepio said, and began pacing

again. "And don't be afraid to  follow unlikely leads. Master Luke would  call

them hunches. This is very important, Artoo."

Artoo hooted indignantly.

"And remember to  check every  planet from  the Old  Republic. The  Empire

didn't necessarily have time to update its information on all of them."

This time Artoo did not bother to reply but continued to work.

A moment later Threepio heard the  outer doors open, and a shadowy  figure

moved toward them with silent grace.  As always, Luke Skywalker wore his  Jedi

cloak, but this  time the hood  was draped casually  over his shoulders.  Luke

walked with an eagerness in his step.

Threepio was glad to see a  resurgence of the excited boyishness that  had

so characterized young Luke when the droids first met him after they had  been

purchased from the Jawas on Tatooine. Of late Luke's eyes had not been able to

hide the haunted look and the barely contained power of a Jedi Master.

"Master Luke! How good of you to check on us!"

"How's it going, Threepio? Found anything yet?"

Artoo beeped an answer, which Threepio translated. "Artoo says he's  going

as fast as he can, but  he wishes me to remind  you of the enormous amount  of

data he must inspect."

"Well, I'll be leaving in a few hours to follow up on some earlier leads I

uncovered by myself. I just  wanted to make sure  you two have everything  you

need before I take off."

Threepio straightened in a gesture of surprise. "Might I ask where you are

going, Master Luke?"

Artoo chittered and Luke turned to  him. "Not this time, Artoo. It's  more

important that you stay here and continue the search. I can fly by myself."

Luke turned to answer Threepio's question.  "I'm going to Bespin to  check

on somebody there, but first  I want to go to  an old outpost called Eol  Sha.

I've got reason to  believe that at  least one lost  Jedi descendant might  be

there." With a swish of his cloak, Luke turned to depart from the  Information

Center. "I'll check back with you when I come home." The door slid shut behind

him.

Threepio spoke immediately to Artoo. "Punch up the data on Eol  Sha--let's

see where Master Luke is going."

Artoo obliged, as  if the  idea had  been in  his own  circuits. When  the

planetary  statistics  came   up  on   the  screen   accompanied  by   ancient

two-dimensional images, Threepio raised his golden mechanical arms in  horror.

"Earthquakes! Geysers! Volcanoes and lava! Oh my!"

When Luke emerged from hyperspace, the starlines in the viewport  funneled

into  points.   Suddenly  brilliant   pastel   colors  splashed   across   the

universe--magentas, oranges,  and  icicle-blues  of  ionized  gas  in  a  vast

galactic ocean known  as the  Cauldron Nebula.  The automatic  dimmers in  the

pilot's compartment muted the glare. Luke looked at the spectacle and smiled.

Leaving the hyperspace node,  he punched in the  coordinates for Eol  Sha.

His modified passenger shuttle arced through the wispy gas, leaving the nebula

above him as the  engines kicked in. The  double wedge-shaped craft  descended

toward Eol Sha.

He had  wanted  to  take his  trusty  old  X-wing, but  that  ship  was  a

single-person craft, with  room for only  an astromech droid  in the back.  If

Luke's hunches about Jedi descendants proved correct, he would be bringing two

candidates back to Coruscant with him....

According to outdated records, the settlement on Eol Sha was established a

century before by  entrepreneurs who intended  to use ramjet  mining ships  to

plow through the  Cauldron Nebula and  scoop up valuable  gases. The  mineship

pilots would distill the gaseous harvest into pure, rare elements for sale  to

other outposts.

Eol Sha  was  the  only  habitable  world  close  enough  to  support  the

commercial venture, but  its days were  numbered. A tandem  moon orbited  very

close to the  planet, spiraling in  on a  death plunge as  gravity dragged  it

down. Within  another hundred  years the  moon would  crash into  the  planet,

smashing both into rubble.

The nebula mining scheme had never paid off. The incompetent entrepreneurs

had not  counted  on the  true  costs of  ramjet  ships and  the  unremarkable

composition of the Cauldron's gases. The outpost  on Eol Sha had been left  to

fend for itself. At about that time the Emperor's New Order had begun, and the

Old Republic had crumbled  to pieces. The  few survivors on  Eol Sha had  been

forgotten in the chaos.

The outpost  had  been  rediscovered  two years  ago  by  a  New  Republic

sociologist who had visited them briefly,  recorded his insights, and filed  a

report recommending immediate  evacuation of the  doomed colony--all of  which

was promptly  forgotten  in the  already  blossoming bureaucracy  of  the  New

Republic and the depredations of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

The item that  had attracted Luke's  attention, though, was  that a  woman

named Ta'ania --an  illegitimate descendant  of a  Jedi--had been  one of  the

original colonists on Eol Sha. Luke would have suspected the Jedi's  bloodline

had ended there, except for one small detail.

According to the sociologist's report, the leader of the ragtag colonists,

a man named Gantoris, was said to be able to sense impending earthquakes,  and

he had miraculously survived as a child  when his playmates were killed in  an

avalanche. Somehow  Gantoris escaped  injury while  the others,  a mere  arm's

length away on either side of him, had been crushed.

Luke attributed many of  these stories to  exaggeration in retelling,  for

even someone with a great deal of Jedi potential could not control such things

without  training--as  he  himself   knew.  But  still   the  clues  and   the

circumstantial evidence led him to Eol Sha. He had to follow every lead if  he

was to find enough candidates for his Jedi training center.

Luke took the  modified shuttle  on a figure-eight  trajectory around  the

looming moon and vectored in on the remnants of the outpost on Eol Sha.  After

crossing the terminator where  the planet's night fell  into day, Luke  looked

out the viewport at the scabbed and uninviting surface of the planet.

His hands worked the controls automatically.  As he swooped low, he  could

see the decrepit and  shored-up habitation modules that  had been battered  by

natural disasters for decades.  In the near distance  hardened mounds of  lava

sprawled around a volcanic  cone from old eruptions.  Curling smoke rose  from

the heart of the volcano, and  glowing orange smudges showed where fresh  lava

seeped through cracks in its side.

Luke took the shuttle past the battered settlement and beyond a stretch of

cratered, jumbled terrain.  The shuttle  settled onto the  rocky hardpan,  and

Luke exited through flip-up doors behind the passenger seats.

The air of Eol Sha smoldered in his nostrils, filled with acrid  sulfurous

smoke and chemical  vapors. The  gigantic moon hulked  on the  horizon like  a

platter of  beaten brass,  casting its  own shadows  even in  daylight.  Murky

clouds and volcanic ash hovered in the air like a hazy blanket.

When Luke  stepped away  from the  passenger shuttle,  he could  feel  the

ground hum beneath his boots. With senses heightened from the Force, he  could

touch the incredible strain  the close moon placed  on Eol Sha, squeezing  and

tearing it with tidal  forces that grew  worse each passing  year as the  moon

spiraled  closer.  A  hissing  white  noise  permeated  the  air,  as  if  the

innumerable steam vents  and fumaroles  breathed out  gasps of  pain from  the

world.

Pulling the dark cloak about him and securing the lightsaber at his  belt,

Luke strode across the rough terrain  toward the settlement. Around him  small

craters and deep pits  dotted the ground, encircled  by white and tan  mineral

deposits. Sounds of gurgling steam came from deep beneath them.

Halfway to the settlement Luke fell to his knees when a jolt went  through

the ground. The rocks bounced and the  earth rumbled. Luke spread his arms  to

keep his balance.  The tremors rose,  then fell, then  increased again  before

stopping abruptly.

Suddenly, the random craters around  him crackled, then belched towers  of

steam and scalding droplets of water. Geysers, all of them--he had walked into

a field of geysers, triggered by the earthquake to erupt simultaneously. Steam

rolled over the ground like a dense fog.

Luke pulled the hood over his head for protection and took shallow breaths

as he trudged forward. The  settlement was not far away.  On all sides of  him

the geyser field continued to gasp and howl, gradually lessening as the spumes

declined in intensity.

When Luke finally emerged from  the steam, he saw  two men staring at  him

from the doorway of a  rusted and ancient prefab  shelter. The outpost on  Eol

Sha had been built  from modified cargo  containers and modular  self-erecting

shelters. By the looks of the  hovels, though, the maintenance subsystems  had

failed decades  before,  leaving the  forgotten  people  to eke  out  a  crude

existence. The rest of the settlement seemed deserted and quiet.

The two men  stopped their work  shoring up a  collapsed entranceway,  but

they didn't seem to know how to react to the presence of a stranger. Luke  was

probably the first new person they had seen since the sociologist had  visited

them two years earlier.

"I have come to speak with Gantoris,"  Luke said. They looked at him  with

bleak expressions. Their clothes appeared worn and patched, sewn together from

pieces of other garments. Luke's gaze held one of the two men. The other shied

back into the shadows. "Are you Gantoris?" Luke asked softly.

"No. My name is  Warton." He fumbled  for words; then they  came out in  a

rush. "Everyone is gone. There's been a rock slide in one of the crevasses. It

buried two of our youngest, who went out to spear bugdillos. Gantoris and  the

others are there, trying to dig them out."

Luke felt a  stab of  urgency and grasped  Warton's arm.  "Take me  there.

Maybe I can help."

Warton allowed himself to be nudged into motion, and he took Luke along  a

winding path through jagged  rocks. The second man  remained behind among  the

collapsing shelters. Luke  and Warton descended  through switchbacks down  the

steep wall of a crack in the  ground, a split wrenched apart by tidal  forces.

Down here the air seemed thicker, smellier, more claustrophobic.

Warton knew exactly where to find the other survivors in the maze of  side

channels and partial  landslides. Luke  saw them  shoulder to  shoulder in  an

elbow of the  crevasse, scrambling  over newly  fallen rock,  working to  haul

boulders aside. Every one of the thirty people there wore the same  implacable

expression, as if  their optimism  had burned away  but they  could not  allow

themselves to give up  their duties. Two  of the women  bent over the  rubble,

calling into the cracks.

One man worked with twice  the effort of the  others. His long black  hair

hung in a braid on the left side  of his face. His eyebrows and eyelashes  had

been plucked away, leaving his broad face smooth and angular and flushed  with

his exertion. He shoved rocks aside, which the other people hauled away.  They

had already  managed  to clear  some  of the  debris,  but they  had  not  yet

uncovered the  two victims.  The dark-haired  man paused  to glance  at  Luke,

failed to  recognize him  or understand  his presence,  then returned  to  his

efforts. By the way Warton and the others looked to him, Luke guessed the  man

must be Gantoris himself.

Before Warton had taken him to the base of the rockfall, Luke stopped and,

with a quick glance, took in the positioning of the boulders. He let his  arms

fall to his  sides, rolled  his eyes back  in concentration,  and reached  out

through the Force, using the strength he found there to feel the boulders,  to

move them, and to keep  other rocks from doing  further damage. When Yoda  had

trained him  to lift  large stones,  it had  been merely  a game,  a  training

exercise; now two lives depended on it.

He paid no  attention to the  astonished sounds as  the colonists  stepped

back, ducking out  of the way  as Luke mentally  hurled boulder after  boulder

from the top of the rock pile, tossing them into other parts of the  crevasse.

He could feel life down in the shadowy depths, somewhere.

When the rocks began to show splashes of blood, and he exposed a pale arm,

part of a  shoulder hunched in  the secret shadows  of the avalanche,  several

people rushed forward. Luke made an extra effort to keep the unstable pile  of

rocks steady enough for the rescue  operations. He continued to remove  fallen

boulders.

"She's alive!"  someone  shouted,  and several  helpers  rushed  into  the

debris, brushing away stones and hauling free a young girl. Her face and  legs

were battered and bloody, one arm was obviously broken; she began weeping with

pain and relief as  the rescuers pulled  her out. Luke knew  she would be  all

right.

Near the girl, however, the young boy had not been so lucky. The avalanche

had crushed him instantly. The boy had been dead long before Luke arrived.

Luke continued to  work grimly, until  they had excavated  the body.  Amid

sobs of grief, he released himself from his semi-trance and opened his eyes.

Gantoris stood directly in front  of him. Barely suppressed anger  seethed

beneath his controlled expression.

"Why are you here?" Gantoris asked. "Who are you?"

Warton stepped up beside Luke.  "I saw him walk  out of the geyser  field.

All the geysers went off at once, and he just strode out of the steam." Warton

blinked in awe as he looked at Luke. "He says he has come for you, Gantoris."

"Yes--I know," Gantoris muttered to himself.

Luke met the other man's  eyes. "I am Luke  Skywalker, a Jedi Knight.  The

Empire has fallen, and  a New Republic  has taken its place."  He drew a  deep

breath. "If you are Gantoris and if you have the ability, I have come to teach

you how to use the Force."

Several of the others walked up, bearing the broken, rag-doll body of  the

dead boy. The man carrying the boy  let his stony expression flicker for  just

an instant.

The look on  Gantoris's face seemed  a frightening mixture  of horror  and

eagerness. "I  have  dreamed of  you.  A dark  man  who offers  me  incredible

secrets, then destroys me. I am lost if I go with you." Gantoris straightened.

"You are a demon."

Surprised, especially after  his efforts  to save the  two children,  Luke

tried to placate him. "No, that isn't it."

Other colonists gathered  around the  confrontation, finding  a focus  for

their anger  and suspicion.  They looked  at Luke,  at this  stranger who  had

arrived in time to usher in the death of one of their dwindling number.

Luke glanced at  the people around  him and decided  to gamble. He  stared

directly into Gantoris's eyes. "What can I do to prove my intentions to you? I

am your  guest, or  your prisoner.  What I  want is  your cooperation.  Please

listen to what I have to say."

Gantoris reached out to take the body of the boy in his own arms. The  man

who had  been  carrying him  looked  forlorn and  lost  as he  stared  at  the

bloodstains on his sleeves. Gantoris nodded back to Luke. "Take the dark man."

Several people reached forward to grasp Luke's arms. He did not struggle.

Bearing the dead boy, Gantoris led a slow procession out of the chasm.  He

turned once briefly to glare at Luke. "We will learn why you are here."

Leia stood in the  private communications chamber, heaving  a sigh as  she

glanced again at  the chronometer.  The Caridan  ambassador was  late. He  was

probably doing it just to spite her.

Out of deference  to the ambassador,  she had reset  her clock to  Caridan

local time.  Though  Ambassador Furgan  had  suggested the  transmission  time

himself, it seemed he couldn't be bothered to abide by it.

Two-way mirrors  displayed  empty  corridors  outside  the  communications

chamber. At this late  hour most sensible people  were deeply asleep in  their

own quarters--but no one  had ever promised Leia  Organa Solo that  diplomatic

duties kept regular hours.

When such obligations  crept into  her schedule, Han  usually grumbled  at

being awakened in the depths of  the night, complaining that even pirates  and

smugglers kept their activities to more civilized time slots. But this evening

Leia's alarm had awakened  her to empty  and silent rooms.  Han still had  not

called.

A cleaning  droid puttered  along the  corridor, polishing  the walls  and

scouring the two-way mirrors; Leia watched its lamprey-like scrubbers do their

work.

With a burst of static from  poorly tuned holonet transmitters, the  image

of Ambassador Furgan  of Carida formed  in the center  of the receiving  dais.

Maybe the poor transmission quality was deliberate--yet another rude reaction.

The chronometer told Leia that the ambassador had made his transmission a full

six minutes past the time he himself  had insisted on. Furgan made no  attempt

to apologize for his tardiness, and Leia studiously avoided calling  attention

to it.

Furgan was  a barrel-chested  humanoid  with spindly  arms and  legs.  The

eyebrows on his squarish face flared upward like birds' wings.

Despite the Emperor's known prejudice against nonhuman species, apparently

the Caridans  had been  acceptable enough  to secure  the Emperor's  business,

since Palpatine had built his most important Imperial military training center

on Carida.

"Princess Leia,"  Furgan said,  "you needed  to discuss  certain  planning

details with me? Please be brief." He crossed his arms over his broad chest in

clearly hostile body language.

Leia tried not to let  her exasperation show. "As  a matter of protocol  I

would prefer if  you could address  me as minister  rather than princess.  The

planet on which I was a princess  no longer exists." Leia worked hard to  keep

the scowl off her face.

Furgan waved her comment aside as if it were of no consequence. "Very well

then, Minister, what did you wish to discuss?"

Leia took a deep  breath, quelling the hot  temper rising behind her  cool

expression. "I wanted  to inform  you that Mon  Mothma and  the other  Cabinet

members of the New Republic will be  hosting a formal reception in your  honor

when you reach Coruscant."

Furgan bristled. "A frivolous reception? Am I supposed to give a warm  and

glowing speech? Make no mistake, I am  coming to Coruscant on a pilgrimage  to

visit the  home  of the  late  Emperor Palpatine--not  to  be pampered  by  an

upstart, illegitimate  band  of  terrorists.  Our  loyalty  remains  with  the

Empire."

"Ambassador Furgan,  there is  no  centralized Empire."  It took  all  her

effort not to rise to the bait. Her dark eyes burned with obsidian fires,  but

she smiled instead  at the ambassador.  "Nevertheless, we will  extend to  you

every courtesy in the confidence that your planet will find a way to adapt  to

political reality in the galaxy."

The Caridan's holographic image  shimmered. "Political realities  change,"

he said. "It remains to be seen just how long your rebellion will last."

Furgan's image fizzled into static as he cut the transmission. Leia sighed

and rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the headache lurking behind her

eyes. She left the communications chamber discouraged.

What a way to end the day.

Deep underground in the Imperial Information Center, all hours looked  the

same, but See-Threepio's internal  chronometer told him it  was the middle  of

Coruscant's night. A pair  of repair droids worked  at dismantling one of  the

great air-exchange  systems that  had burned  out. The  repair droids  dropped

tools and discarded pieces  of metal shielding  with reckless abandon,  making

the echoing chamber sound like a war zone. Threepio much preferred the humming

loneliness of the previous day.

Buried in their own universe of  data networks, the hunched slicer  droids

worked undisturbed.  Artoo-Detoo  slavishly  continued  his  days-long  search

without pause.  With  a loud  clatter  the  repair droids  dropped  an  entire

three-bladed fan  assembly. "I'm  going to  give those  droids a  piece of  my

mind!" Threepio said.

Before Threepio could  march off, Artoo  jacked out of  the data port  and

began chittering and whistling. In  his excitement the little astromech  droid

rocked back and forth, bleeping.

"Oh!" Threepio said. "You'd better let me check that, Artoo. It's probably

another one of your false alarms."

When data scrolled up on the screen, Threepio could see nothing that would

have  captured  Artoo's  interest--until   the  other  droid  recompiled   the

information  to  emphasize  his   point.  A  name   popped  up  beside   every

entry--TYMMO.

"Oh, my! It  does appear suspicious  when you  look at it  that way.  This

Tymmo person seems a likely candidate indeed." Threepio straightened, suddenly

at  a  loss.  "But  Master  Luke  isn't  here,  and  he  gave  us  no  further

instructions. Whom can we tell?"

Artoo bleeped,  then whistled  a  question. Threepio  turned to  him  with

offended dignity. "I will not wake Mistress Leia in the middle of the night! I

am a protocol droid, and there is a  proper way to go about these things."  He

nodded in affirmation of his decision. "We will inform her first thing in  the

morning."

The levitating breakfast tray brought itself  to Leia's table on the  park

balcony high  in  the  Imperial towers.  The  sun  gleamed on  the  city  that

stretched across the  entire landmass  of Coruscant.  High in  the air  flying

creatures rode the morning thermals.

Leia scowled down at the food the breakfast tray presented to her. None of

it looked appetizing, but she knew she had to eat. She selected a small  plate

of assorted  pastries  and sent  the  breakfast tray  on  its way.  Before  it

departed, the tray told her to have a pleasant day.

She sighed and  picked at her  breakfast. She felt  exhausted mentally  as

well as physically.

She hated to feel  so dependent, even  on her own  husband, but she  never

slept well while he  was away. Han  should have arrived  on Kessel three  days

ago, and he was due back in two days.

She didn't want  to cling, but  it disappointed  her that he  had not  yet

transmitted so much as a greeting.  With diplomatic duties that kept her  busy

at all hours, they saw  too little of each other  even when they were both  on

the same planet.

Well, the  twins  would  be coming  home  in  another six  days.  Han  and

Chewbacca would be back  by then, and their  entire lifestyle would change.  A

pair of two-year-olds running  around the palace would  force Han and Leia  to

look differently at many of the things they took for granted.

But why hadn't Han gotten in touch? It shouldn't have been so difficult to

send a holonet communiqué  from the Falcon's cockpit.  She wasn't quite  ready

yet to admit she was worried about him.

With  a  greeting  signal  from  the  archway  of  the  park  balcony,  an

older-model protocol  droid marched  into view.  "Excuse me,  Minister  Organa

Solo. Someone wishes to see you. Are you accepting visitors?"

Leia set  down her  breakfast  pastry. "Why  not?"  It was  probably  some

lobbyist  wanting  to  complain  to  her  in  private,  or  a  panicked  minor

functionary who needed her to make a decision on some uninteresting detail, or

one of the other senators trying to hand off some of his own duties.

Instead, with a flourish of  his vermillion cape, Lando Calrissian  walked

through the arch.

"Good morning, Madame Minister. I hope I'm not disturbing your breakfast?"

He flashed a broad, disarming smile.

Seeing him, Leia felt her mood  immediately lighten. She stood up and  met

him near the archway. He gallantly kissed her hand, but she was not  satisfied

until she had  given him  a friendly  hug. "Lando,  you're the  last person  I

expected this morning!"

He followed her back to the table overlooking the skyline of Imperial City

and pulled up a chair, sweeping his cape over its back. Without asking,  Lando

took one of her untouched pastries and began to munch on it.

"So what brings you to Coruscant?"  she asked. She realized how eager  she

was just to have  a normal conversation  without diplomatic entanglements  and

hidden agendas.

Lando brushed crumbs from his  mustache. "I just came  to see how you  all

are doing in the big city. Where's Han?"

She grumbled. "That seems to be a sore subject this morning. He and Chewie

went off to Kessel, but I think they just used it as an excuse to go joyriding

and remembering their glory years."

"Kessel can be a pretty rough place."

Leia avoided his eyes. "Han hasn't bothered to call in six days."

"That's not like him," Lando said.

"Oh, yes, it is--and you know it! I suppose we'll have words when he comes

back day after  tomorrow." Then she  forced an artificial  air of  brightness.

"But let's not talk about that right now. How can you find time to trot around

visiting   people?   A   respectable   man   like   yourself   has   so   many

responsibilities."

Lando averted her  gaze this time  and began fidgeting.  He stared at  the

expanses of gleaming  new buildings  visible through the  metropolis. For  the

first time Leia noticed  a slight scruffiness to  his appearance. His  clothes

seemed a bit ragged  around the edges,  the colors faded as  if from too  much

wear.

He spread his hands, then took another breakfast pastry. "To tell you  the

truth, I'm ... um, in between engagements  right now." He gave her a  lopsided

grin, but she frowned back at him.

"What happened to  your big  mining operation  on Nkllon?  Didn't the  New

Republic replace most of your destroyed machinery?"

"Well, it was still a lot of work, and not paying off--bad publicity after

the Sluis Van attack, you know. And Nkllon is a hellish place--you were there.

I just needed a change."

Leia crossed her arms  and looked at him  skeptically. "All right,  Lando.

The appropriate excuses are logged and recorded. Now, what really happened  to

Nkllon?"

He squirmed. "Well, I lost it in a sabacc game."

She couldn't keep  herself from  laughing. "So  you're out  of work?"  His

expression of wounded pride was obviously faked. Leia considered for a moment.

"We could always reactivate your commission as a general in the New  Republic.

You and Wedge were a great team on Calamari."

His eyes widened. "Are  you offering me  a job? I  can't imagine what  you

would want me to do."

"Formal receptions, state dinners...  plenty of wealthy backers  wandering

around," Leia said. "The possibilities are endless."

Just then the  old protocol  droid shuffled  through the  arch again,  but

before he could  announce his business,  See-Threepio and Artoo-Detoo  bustled

around him, making a direct path to Leia. "Princess Leia!" Threepio could  not

contain his  excitement.  "We've found  one.  Artoo, tell  the  princess.  Oh,

General Calrissian! What are you doing here?"

Artoo  launched  into  a  series  of  electronic  sounds,  which  Threepio

dutifully translated. "Artoo was  checking the records  of various winners  in

different gambling  establishments  throughout the  galaxy.  We seem  to  have

encountered a man who has extraordinary luck at the Umgullian blob races."

Threepio handed a hardcopy printout of the winning statistics to Leia, but

she passed it on to  Lando. "You're better trained  to understand this than  I

am." Lando took the page  of figures and stared at  them. He didn't appear  to

know what he was looking for.

Threepio added his own  commentary. "If it is  displayed only as wins  and

losses, Mr. Tymmo's record shows nothing out  of the ordinary. But when I  had

Artoo plot the magnitude  of wins, you  will note that  while Mr. Tymmo  loses

quite often in minor races, in every instance when he bets more than a hundred

credits on a particular blob, that blob wins the race!"

Lando tapped the sheet  of numbers. "He's right.  This is pretty  unusual.

I've never seen  the Umgullian blob  races myself,  and I'm no  expert in  the

nuances, but I'm inclined to say that these odds are next to impossible."

"This is exactly  the sort of  thing Master  Luke asked us  to look  for."

Threepio moved  his arms  up and  down, whirring  the servomotors  until  they

whined in protest.  "Do you  think Mr.  Tymmo could  be a  potential Jedi  for

Master Luke's academy?"

Lando looked at  Leia with  questions in his  eyes. He  had obviously  not

heard of Luke's  recent speech. But  Leia's eyes sparkled.  "Someone needs  to

check this out. If it's just a scam, we need a person who knows his way around

gambling establishments, Lando, isn't that a job you could do?"

She knew his answer before she even asked the question.

The cracked  and gasping  wastelands of  Kessel always  made Moruth  Doole

hungry. Staring out the  landscape window, Doole's  mechanical eye focused  to

the far distance.

Kessel's surface was whitish  and powdery, with  a few hardy  transplanted

weeds trying to  survive in  the crevices.  Great plumes  from the  atmosphere

factories gushed into  the pinkish  sky in a  losing battle  against the  weak

gravity. Unseen  radiation  from  the Maw  crackled  against  the  atmospheric

shields. The garrison moon housing Kessel's defense fleet was just setting  on

the horizon.

Doole turned from the window and went to an alcove in the former  warden's

office. Time for a snack.

He withdrew a  cage of  fat and juicy  flying insects,  pressing his  face

close to the mesh so  he could see better with  his dim eyesight. The  insects

had ten legs, iridescent body cases, and succulent abdomens. They panicked the

moment he moved the cage.

Doole rapped spongy  fingers on the  mesh, stirring them  up. The  insects

flew around the confined space in a frenzy. Somehow terror released a  hormone

that made their meat sweeter. He licked his swollen Rybet lips.

Opening the mesh  door, Doole thrust  his entire head  into the cage.  The

insects fluttered around his eyes, his ears, his cheeks. Doole's sharp  tongue

shot out again  and again,  spearing the insects  and slurping  them into  his

mouth. He snapped up three more, then paused to swallow.

Their squirming legs  tickled the inside  of his mouth.  Giving a sigh  of

pleasure, Doole lapped up another pair. One insect flew directly into his open

mouth, and Doole swallowed it whole.

Someone knocked  on his  door  and marched  in  before he  could  respond.

Wearing the insect cage  over his head, Doole  turned around to see  Skynxnex,

his gangly arms and legs jittering. "I have a report, Moruth."

Doole extricated his head from the  insect cage, then sealed the  opening.

Three bugs managed  to escape and  flew to the  wide picture window,  flinging

themselves against  the transparisteel.  Doole decided  to catch  them  later.

"Yes? What is it?"

"We have finished overhauling the Millennium Falcon. All identifying marks

are  removed,  replaced  with  fake  serial  numbers.  We  made  a  few  other

modifications in  addition  to  the  regular  repairs  it  needed.  With  your

permission I'll  have  it flown  up  to the  garrison  moon where  it  can  be

incorporated into our space navy.  Light freighters aren't the best  warships,

but with a good pilot they can still cause plenty of damage--and the Falcon is

closer to a fighter than a freighter."

Doole nodded.  "Good, good.  What  about our  work  on the  energy  shield

generators? I want them functional as soon  as possible, just in case the  New

Republic comes after us."

"Our engineers on the moonbase think  they can reroute the circuits so  we

won't need all  the parts  we're missing.  Kessel will  be impregnable  before

long."

Doole's single eye lit up with  eagerness. "Have Han Solo and his  Wookiee

gone into the mines yet?"

Skynxnex  tapped  his  fingertips  together.  "I've  reserved  an  armored

personnel transport and will make the delivery personally within the hour." He

fingered his double-blaster. "If they  try anything, I want  to be the one  to

deal with it."

Doole smiled. "I look forward to them  rotting in the dark." He waved  his

splayed hands. "Well, what are you  waiting for?" Moving with his jerky  walk,

Skynxnex left the warden's chambers.

Doole smiled at the thought of his revenge on Solo, but uneasiness  tugged

at him. The New Republic seemed far away and insignificant, but from his  scan

of Han's  mind, he  knew the  magnitude of  firepower that  could be  directed

against him.  Not  since Doole  had  taken  over the  prison  facilities  from

Kessel's upstart slave lords had he felt such impending doom.

Under the  old system  it had  been so  much simpler.  By blackmailing  or

paying off prison guards, Doole had managed to set himself up as a kingpin  of

spice smuggling right under the Empire's  nose. He sold maps and access  codes

for Kessel's energy  shield, fostering  small-time spice  operations on  other

parts of the planet.  Hapless entrepreneurs would work  their new mines,  then

sell the product in secret to Doole.  Once the spice veins began to play  out,

Doole (acting  as  a  loyal  prison official)  would  "discover"  the  illicit

operation and report it to his  Imperial contact. When Imperial troops  raided

those illegal mines, Doole's  handpicked guards made  certain that anyone  who

could point  a finger  at Doole  never survived  capture. The  other  helpless

lackeys would be put to work in the primary mines. It was a win-win  situation

for Doole.

During the prison revolt  Doole targeted his primary  rivals and made  the

toughest guards  go after  the  worst smugglers  until they  slaughtered  each

other. This left Moruth Doole in charge, with Skynxnex as his right-hand man.

Doole had captured  the warden,  sending him to  work in  the spice  mines

until he was  broken. Then,  for the  entertainment value,  Doole had  planted

spice grubs in his body.  As the grubs chewed up  his insides, the warden  had

gone through marvelously theatrical convulsions, in the middle of which  Doole

encased him in carbonite, using freezing equipment that had once been used  to

prepare violent and dangerous prisoners for transport.

Reminiscing always aroused him. Reaching into a drawer of his desk,  Doole

withdrew the bright-yellow  cravat that  signified his readiness  to mate.  He

secured it in place, then  drew in a long hissing  breath as he refocused  his

mechanical eye and glanced at his reflection. Irresistible!

Doole rubbed  his  palms along  his  ribs to  straighten  the  lizard-skin

waistcoat, then strutted out of his office, down the corridor. He entered  the

secure wing, keying in the access code that only he knew; then he sucked in  a

deep breath. Flicking his tongue in and  out, he could pick up the  pheromones

from the air.

Inside their  cubicle-cells,  the captive  Rybet  females huddled  in  the

corners, trying to  hide in  the shadows.  Doole's yellow  cravat seemed  very

bright in the dimness.

Alone on Kessel, Moruth Doole had been frustrated for many years. But  now

that he  ran the  planet, he  could afford  to have  dozens of  female  slaves

shipped from his homeworld. Sometimes the females did not cooperate, but after

years of working in the correctional facility, Doole had plenty of  experience

in dealing with unruly prisoners.

Lately, his only difficulty had been in choosing among the females. As  he

sauntered down the narrow corridor, setting  his mechanical eye to high  focus

and peering  into the  cells,  Moruth Doole's  writhing  lips formed  a  huge,

lustful smile.

Kessel's landscape rushed beneath the armored prisoner transport. Han Solo

could see  only a  narrow strip  through the  window slits  in the  prisoners'

compartment. He and Chewie  had been strapped into  their seats and linked  to

resistance-feedback electrodes  that  would  knock them  unconscious  if  they

struggled too  much.  Chewbacca  had  even more  trouble  with  the  full-body

restraint than he had with the stun-cuffs.

Skynxnex hunched over the pilot controls, circling the transport away from

the battlements of the Imperial Correction  Facility. An armored guard sat  in

the copilot's seat, directing his blaster rifle toward Han and Chewie.

"Hey, how about pointing out some  of the landmarks, Skynxnex?" Han  said.

"What kind of tour is this, anyway?"

"Shut up, Solo!" Skynxnex said.

"Why should I? I bought a full-price ticket."

Skynxnex sent a painful jolt through the restraining electrodes. Chewbacca

roared. Han muttered, "There goes your tip, Skynxnex."

The scarecrow guided  the transport around  a huge open  pit that  plunged

deep into  the  ground.  Rusted  girders and  support  structures  stood  like

skeletal fingers propped up in  the whitish barrens. It  took Han a moment  to

realize this  was  a  shaft bored  into  the  crust by  the  giant  atmosphere

factories, chewing  through the  rocks and  dissolving out  oxygen and  carbon

dioxide to replenish  the constantly fading  air. After the  huge factory  had

sucked out the viable breathing gases, it had left access to an entire network

of underground tunnels for spice mining.

Skynxnex set the prisoner transport down on the rocky ground and fitted  a

breath mask over his nose and mouth; he gave another mask to the guard.

"What about us?" Han said.

"You won't be out  very long," Skynxnex  said. "A little  light-headedness

will do you good."

Punching  a  button  on  the   control  panel,  Skynxnex  released   their

restraints. Han stretched his sore arms.  Instantly, the guard snapped up  his

rifle, and Skynxnex whipped out his modified double-blaster, both pointing the

deadly barrels directly at Han.

Han froze. "Just ... stretching. It's okay. Calm down!"

When Skynxnex opened the side door to the transport vehicle, Han felt  his

ears pop.  Moist  air  flashed  into white  vapor,  wafting  in  the  rarefied

atmosphere next to the open pit.

Han felt oxygen being stolen from  his lungs. Instinctively, he drew in  a

deep breath, but  that helped  little. He and  Chewbacca stumbled  out of  the

craft as Skynxnex and the guard prodded them.

At the  rim of  the crater  they found  an elevator  cage on  tracks  that

plunged deep  into the  pit.  Skynxnex seemed  to  be moving  with  deliberate

slowness. Unable to breathe, Han tried  to hurry, stumbling into the  elevator

cage and gesturing  Chewbacca after him.  He gasped and  wheezed. Black  spots

began to appear in front of his eyes. When he did manage to breathe an  entire

lungful of the thin air, the cold of Kessel bit into his chest.

"A few  years ago  we had  the atmosphere  factories running  full  tilt,"

Skynxnex said, his words muffled behind the facemask. "Doole figured it was  a

frivolous waste of energy."

The guard shut  the wire  mesh door,  and Skynxnex  operated the  elevator

controls. The cage descended at a rapid clip until the window of sky shrank to

a small spot of blue light high above.

They saw openings into the rock wall sealed off with steel doors. At  each

level a ring  of light encircled  the pit,  but many of  the illuminators  had

either burned out or been broken.

Chewbacca hung on to the  bars of the elevator  with his long hairy  arms,

panting for air.  His pink  tongue protruded,  turning purplish  from lack  of

oxygen. Han, shivering and dizzy and starved for breath, slumped to the bottom

of the elevator.

When the elevator abruptly stopped, the  jolt slammed Han's head into  the

mesh. As he looked down through the open cage floor, he saw the pit continuing

immeasurably far below them.

"Get up!" Skynxnex said, kicking him.  "No time to sleep. Come on,  you'll

get a breath of fresh air inside."

With some help from Skynxnex, Han managed to haul himself to his feet. The

smaller guard had much more difficulty manhandling Chewbacca forward.

Opening the gate of  the elevator, they  had access to  one of the  sealed

metal doors. Skynxnex cranked the hatch, and all four of them staggered into a

small tiled chamber.

Han could barely see anymore. His ears buzzed. His eyesight was a  mixture

of black specks, roaring blood, and dim shadows of the objects around him. But

as soon as Skynxnex sealed the door, glorious oxygen flooded the chamber.

Before the captives  could recover,  the guard  shoved the  barrel of  his

blaster rifle under Chewbacca's chin, and Skynxnex held his own weapon against

Han's head. "Almost there," Skynxnex said. "No funny stuff now."

Han, happy just to be breathing  again, couldn't dream of doing  anything.

At least not yet.

On the other  side of  the airlock  was a  large muster  room filled  with

lethargic-looking workers ready to begin their  shift in the spice mines.  The

muster room had been blasted out of solid  rock, and a tall bank of bunks  ran

along one side of the room. An  empty eating section with long tables took  up

the central area.

Cameras stared down at the activity  from perches on the walls. Guards  in

hodgepodge stormtrooper uniforms waited behind  screens in the control  rooms.

Other guards kept an eye  on the people moving about  in the muster area.  All

the workers  looked pale  and haggard,  as if  they had  been underground  and

underfed for years.

A burly man strode up  to meet them, keeping  his eyes fixed on  Skynxnex.

The man had a lumpy face, a lumpy chin covered with bristly black stubble, and

lumpy arms  as if  his massive  muscles had  all been  attached at  the  wrong

places.

"You brought me two more?" the man said. "Only two? That's not enough." He

reached out to grab Chewbacca's hairy arm. Chewbacca roared and flinched away,

but the lumpy man didn't notice. "Well,  the Wookiee's worth three men, but  I

don't know about the other one. This doesn't take care of half the people I've

lost."

Skynxnex glowered at him. "So stop losing people," he said with a voice of

ice, then nudged Han. "This is Boss  Roke. He's in charge of breaking you.  He

gets extra points with Moruth Doole to make your life miserable."

"He doesn't seem  to be  doing a  very good job  of keeping  track of  his

workers," Han said.

Roke flashed him a withering glare. "Something's taking my men down in the

deep tunnels. I've had two more missing since yesterday. They vanish without a

trace--no locators, nothing."

Han shrugged. "It's hard to get good help these days."

Skynxnex pulled out his double-blaster and shoved it in Han's face  again,

but he spoke to Boss Roke. "Get thermal suits for these two. We'll watch  them

while they get into uniform."

Roke snapped  his fingers,  and  two guards  went rummaging  through  some

cubicles. "The human won't be difficult, but the Wookiee--we don't carry  much

in that size."

In the end the guard found a large misshapen suit that had once been  worn

by some alien creature that had three  arms, but it fit Chewbacca well  enough

after they sealed off the third arm;  the empty sleeve and glove dangled  down

his chest.

A heater-pack between the shoulder blades powered the whole thing to  keep

them warm down in  the frigid mine  tunnels. Han was relieved  to see a  small

breath mask attached to the suit.

Skynxnex backed toward  the elevator.  The guard had  already entered  the

airlock chamber. One last time, as if  he felt he hadn't used enough  tiresome

threats for one afternoon, Skynxnex  pointed the double-blaster at Han.  "Next

time maybe Moruth will let me use this."

"If you clean up  your room without  being told, and if  you eat all  your

vegetables," Han taunted, "then he might let you have a special treat."

"Shift alpha, ready for work detail!"  Boss Roke bellowed into the  muster

room, and dozens  of weary people  shuffled to squares  painted on the  floor.

Roke pointed to two empty squares. "You two, positions eighteen and  nineteen.

Now!"

"What, no new-employee orientation?" Han asked.

With a sadistic grin on his face, Boss Roke shoved him toward the squares.

"It's on-the-job training."

At some unspoken signal the workers  mounted breath masks on their  faces.

Seeing this, Han and Chewbacca followed suit. A big metal door on the far side

of the wall slid open to reveal an illuminated chamber a hundred meters  long,

in which  floated  a  centipede-like  mine transport  of  little  cars  linked

together by magnetic attractors.

A high-pitched tone pinged through  hidden speakers, and the workers  took

their seats on one of  the floating mine cars.  As people climbed aboard,  the

separate sections of the cars swayed back and forth.

Chewbacca grunted a question. Han  looked around, blinking. "I don't  know

any more about this than you do, buddy." Now that Skynxnex had departed, he no

longer needed to  continue his blustering.  Fear started to  trickle into  his

limbs.

Boss Roke took a seat in the pilot car; other guards were stationed evenly

throughout the open tram. All the  guards wore infrared goggles. Every one  of

the prisoners  sat  motionless.  Behind  them the  metal  door  slammed  shut.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for something.

"Now what?" Han mumbled to himself.

All the  lights went  out.  Han and  Chewbacca  plunged into  an  absolute

suffocating blackness like a blanket of tar.

"What the--” Han drew a sudden deep breath. The blackness was palpable. He

couldn't see a  thing. Beside  him Chewbacca groaned  in alarm.  He heard  the

other workers moving, shuffling. Han's ears strained as his imagination  tried

to understand what was going on. He heard a clunking, sliding sound. "Hold on,

Chewie," he said.

A metal door at the opposite side  of the chamber opened up. The sound  of

its movement  along rough  metal tracks  echoed in  the enclosed  space.  Wind

rushed around their ears as the air  spilled outward into the mine tunnels  of

Kessel.

In a sudden panic Han pushed his breath mask tighter against his face just

as he felt the  atmosphere grow thin.  The fleeing air  took with it  whatever

heat had remained, making his exposed skin tingle with cold.

The  mine  cars  lurched  on   their  repulsorlifts,  picking  up   speed.

Acceleration slammed Han into his hard, uncomfortable seat. He could hear  the

air roaring past  his head, feel  the tunnel walls  around him. The  transport

whipped around a curve, and Han grabbed the cold metal railing to keep himself

from flying out of  his seat. The mine  cars whisked along, tilting  downward,

then lurching sideways. He had no idea how Boss Roke could possibly see  where

he was going unless the whole system was computer controlled.

Behind them, just after they had passed under an echoing archway, a  heavy

metal door slammed shut with a sound like an avalanche of scrap metal.

Han couldn't understand  why the spice  miners didn't string  up at  least

some cheap illuminators as guideposts along  the tunnels. But then it came  to

him like a slap in the face: the realization that since glitterstim spice  was

photoactive--made potent  in the  presence of  light--it obviously  had to  be

mined in total darkness or else it would be ruined.

Total darkness.

Han and  Chewbacca would  spend their  days  at hard  labor in  the  mines

without ever being able to  see each other, or where  they were, or what  they

were doing. Han had to blink his eyes just to make sure they were open instead

of closed--not that it made any difference.

A shiver went down his  back. Boss Roke had  said that some unknown  thing

deep in the mines  was preying on helpless  workers, snatching them  unawares.

How could  anybody  run  from  a carnivorous  attacker  while  surrounded  was

complete darkness?

The quality of the sound changed off and on. As Han's mind grew accustomed

to processing information  through his  ears, it became  obvious whenever  the

rushing mine car passed side tunnels, because of the sudden hole in the  wind.

Breathing through the mask,  he could smell nothing  other than flat  recycled

air.

The mine car wobbled from side to side, rocking as somebody moved about in

the seats, climbing over the individual cars. The person slowly clambered over

one seat back, then another, approaching their position. Han thought he  heard

someone breathing, straining, growing nearer.

"You there! Number fourteen! Sit down!" a guard shouted.

Number fourteen? Han thought. How could  the guard possibly see which  one

had been moving  about? Then he  remembered the infrared  goggles. The  guards

could probably  see  everyone,  bright silhouettes  against  the  backdrop  of

blackness.

The car stopped jostling for a  few moments, but then the rocking  started

again. The mysterious person kept moving toward them. Somebody heaved  himself

over the seat to the empty spot right behind Han and Chewbacca.

"Hey, I told you to sit down!" the guard shouted.

"This is my new seat," a voice said.

"That's your  new seat!"  the guard  said, strangely  repeating the  words

before he fell silent.

Han forced himself not to speak.  Since he couldn't see anything  himself,

the intruder must be just shifting about,  unable to tell where he was  going.

Or could he have his own set of infrared goggles? Had Skynxnex or Moruth Doole

hired some assassin to get rid of Han and Chewbacca while no one was watching?

A quick slash  from a vibrator  knife? A  shove that knocked  him off  the

floating transport, abandoning him down in the empty labyrinth of tunnels?  In

the darkness Han would never be able to  find his way back. He wondered if  he

would starve, freeze, or suffocate first. He didn't want to find out.

He heard the faint, echoed breathing  of someone speaking behind a  breath

mask, leaning closer. Beside him Chewbacca bristled in anticipation.

"Are you really from the outside?"  the voice said. "I haven't been  above

ground for years." It seemed hopeful, soft, and tenor, but muffled behind  the

breath mask and the rushing wind. Han couldn't tell if it was the voice of  an

aged man, a  deep-voiced woman,  or a  quiet and  meek clerk  from the  former

Imperial prison.

Han's mind pictured a skeletal old  man with long scraggly hair,  tattered

beard, and ragged clothes. "Yeah, we're from  out there. A lot of things  have

changed."

"I'm Kyp. Kyp Durron."

After  a  moment's  hesitation  Han  introduced  himself  and   Chewbacca.

Suspecting some kind of trap, he decided not to give too much information. Kyp

Durron seemed to sense this and  talked about himself without asking too  many

prying questions.

"You'll get to know everybody here. That's just the way of it. I've  lived

most of my life on Kessel. My parents were political prisoners, exiled on this

planet when the Emperor started cracking down on civil unrest. My brother Zeth

was taken off to the Imperial military training center on Carida, and we never

heard another word from  him. I got  stuck here in the  spice mines. I  always

thought they'd come back and haul me to Carida too, but I guess they forgot."

Han tried to imagine Kyp's life going from bad to worse. "How come  you're

still down in the mines?"

"During the prison  revolt they didn't  much care who  ended up here.  Now

most of the workers are the old Imperial prison guards. Nobody thought to  let

me out when they changed everything up top. I've never been important enough."

Kyp made a sound that  must have been a bitter  laugh. "People say I  have

good luck in all sorts  of things, but my luck  has never been good enough  to

let me have a normal  life." He paused, as if  gathering hope. In that  moment

Han wished he could see the stranger's face. "Is it really true the Empire has

fallen?"

"Seven years ago, Kyp," Han said. "The Emperor was blown up with his Death

Star. We've been fighting battles ever  since, but the New Republic is  trying

to keep  everything  together.  Chewie  and I  came  here  as  ambassadors  to

reestablish contact with Kessel." He  paused. "Obviously the people of  Kessel

weren't interested."

Han snapped his attention to the front as he heard something happen to the

cars ahead. The front car split off; he could hear it echo with a  diminishing

swoosh down one  of the side  tunnels. A  few moments later  another two  cars

separated themselves  and  went  down  another side  tunnel  as  their  sounds

diminished in the hollow distance. The rest of the floating mine car continued

down the main tunnel.

"They're separating the mining teams," Kyp said. "I wanted to be with you.

Tell me everything."

"Kyp," Han said with a sigh, "it  looks like we'll have plenty of time  to

give you the details."

The audio  hum of  the mine  cars' repulsorlifts  deepened. Han  felt  the

breeze on his face dwindle as they  slowed. His hands and face were numb;  his

ears tingled with the cold, but the  rest of his body seemed comfortably  warm

in the heated thermal suit.

The guard who  had shouted at  Kyp spoke when  the floating cars  stopped.

"Everybody out. Link up. March to the work area."

The remaining  cars swayed  as  the prisoners  climbed  off and  stood  in

silence on the crumbled ground. Their  equipment grated against each other  in

the darkness, and their boots scuffed the dirt. A pandemonium of little sounds

echoed in the claustrophobic tunnel, making  the blackness press in even  more

heavily.

"Where are we going?" Han said.

Kyp grabbed a loop on Han's belt.  "Just hold the person in front of  you.

Believe me, you don't want to get lost down here."

"I believe you," Han said. Chewbacca made his own noise of agreement.

When the work detail  had lined up,  the front guard  began to march  them

along. Han took small  shuffling steps to keep  from stumbling over rubble  on

the floor, but he still tripped into Chewbacca several times.

They turned to  pass through another  tunnel entrance. Han  heard a  faint

thump and a yowl of pain from the Wookiee. "Watch your head there, buddy,"  he

said. He heard the rustle of fur inside a thermal suit as Chewbacca bent  down

to pass through the arch.

"Here's the rail,"  the guard  said. "Stop here,  take your  time, and  go

down."

"What's a rail?" Han asked.

"Once you touch it, you'll figure it out," Kyp answered.

The noises he heard made no sense  to Han. He couldn't determine what  was

actually  happening.  He  discerned  sliding  sounds  of  fabric,  bitten-back

outcries of surprise or fear. When Chewbacca shuffled up, he voiced a guttural

complaint, shaking his entire body in refusal.

The guard  lashed  out with  something  hard that  struck  Chewbacca.  The

Wookiee roared  in  pain and  swung  his arm  trying  to hit  the  guard,  but

apparently smacked  only the  rock wall  instead. Chewbacca  grew more  upset,

flailing right and left. Han had to duck to keep from being battered.

"Chewie! Calm  down! Stop  it!"  The Wookiee  slowly regained  control  of

himself at the sound of Han's voice.

"Do what I tell you!" the guard shouted.

"It's okay," Kyp added his own encouragement. "We do this every day."

"I'll go first, Chewie," Han said, "whatever it is."

"Down there," the guard snapped.

Han bent over, fumbled with  his hands, and felt a  big hole in the  floor

like a trapdoor to lower tunnels, with piled rubble all around it. His fingers

found a cold metal railing about the size of a typical steel girder,  polished

smooth and plunging downward, like a slide or a metal banister.

"You want me to ride that?" Han asked. "Where does it go?"

"Don't worry," Kyp said again. "It's the best way down."

"You've got to be kidding!"

Then he heard Chewbacca  laughing, a nasal, chuffing  sound. That made  up

Han's mind for him. He sat down on the metal rail and wrapped his legs  around

it, placing his hands behind his hips and gripping the rail as best he  could.

The slippery fabric of the thermal  suit immediately started him sliding.  The

darkness grabbed at him as he picked up speed. Han imagined sharp  stalactites

just centimeters above his head, waiting to  take off the top of his skull  if

he sat up  at the  wrong moment.  He continued  to accelerate.  "I don't  like

this!" he said.

Suddenly the rail disappeared beneath him, and he tumbled onto a mound  of

powdery sand. Another two workers scrambled  forward to yank him clear of  the

end of the rail. He brushed dust off his thermal suit, though he couldn't  see

the dirt anyway.

A few moments  later Chewbacca came  down with a  long, echoing howl,  and

shortly after that came Kyp Durron and  the guard. "Line up again!" the  guard

said.

Chewbacca grunted and huffed a few  words. Han snorted. "Don't tell me  it

was fun!"

The guard marched them ahead. When the ground dropped out from under them,

they splashed into a  shallow lake. The pressure  of the water pushed  against

the legs of Han's suit. The captive  miners sloshed ahead, holding on to  each

other in their blindness.

The water  had  a  sour,  brackish  smell,  and  Han's  stomach  clenched,

anticipating a drop-off  that would  plunge him  in over  his head.  Chewbacca

whined but kept his comments to himself.

Under the water something  soft and fingerlike  poked against Han's  legs.

Other contacts nudged at his feet, prodding and coiling around his calves.

"Hey!" He  thrashed about  with  his feet.  The ghostly,  touching  things

swarmed about him.  Han pictured  soft blind  grubs, hungry  in the  darkness;

their mouths  would  be filled  with  fangs,  waiting for  something  to  eat,

something helpless in  the dark--as he  was. He splashed  again to drive  them

away.

"Don't call attention to yourself," Kyp Durron said in a low voice.  "That

will only bring more of them."

Han forced himself not to overreact,  to walk with gliding, even  strides.

None of the other prisoners cried out; apparently, no one had been eaten alive

yet, though the small probing fingers  or suckers or mouths continued to  play

around his legs. His throat felt very dry.

He wanted to drop to his knees when they finally reached the tunnel on the

other side  of the  subterranean lake.  Behind them  dripping water  and  tiny

splashing sounds echoed in the grotto.

An unknown time later  they arrived at the  actual spice-mining area.  The

guard withdrew  an apparatus  from  his pack,  making shuffling  and  clinking

noises as he did so. Unseen, he set it up along the walls of the tunnel.

"We have to go deep to get the good spice deposits," Kyp said. "Down  here

the glitterstim is fresh and fibrous, instead  of old and powdery like in  the

higher mines. The spice veins are laid in crisscross patterns along the  walls

of the tunnel, never going much below the surface of the rock."

Before Han  could say  anything else,  a high-pitched,  teeth-jarring  hum

pounded against the  tunnel. Chewbacca  roared in pain.  Then a  skin of  rock

along the inner tunnel sloughed off. The guard had used an acoustic  disruptor

that penetrated only a few  inches into the rock,  crumbling it down. "Get  to

it!" he said.

Kneeling on the rubble-strewn floor, Kyp  showed Han and Chewbacca how  to

sort through the crushed  rock, feeling with  cold-numbed fingers through  the

broken pebbles and debris to pluck  out strands of glitterstim, like tufts  of

hair or asbestos fiber.

Han's hands felt raw from  the work and the biting  cold, but none of  the

other prisoners  complained.  They  all  seemed beaten.  He  could  hear  them

breathing and  gasping as  they  continued to  exert themselves.  Han  stuffed

fragments of  glitterstim into  the gathering  pouch  at his  hip. He  felt  a

sinking feeling, like a knife twisting inside him. He could be at this job for

a long, long time.

After the team finished sifting through  the rubble, the guard moved  them

farther down the tunnel, then activated  his acoustic disruptor to bring  down

another section of the wall.

As they huddled  in the tunnel,  picking at broken  rock, Han could  think

only of his aching knees, his burning fingers.  Of how nice it would be to  be

back with Leia again. No  one had told him how  long a shift was--not that  he

had any way of telling time in the darkness. He grew hungry. He grew  thirsty.

He kept working.

During a lull Han  felt a tingle  go up his spine.  He looked, knowing  he

could see nothing in the dark. But his ears, now attuned as his primary sense,

picked up a  distant rustling,  a thousand whispering  voices growing  louder,

picking up speed like a hydrolocomotive  bulleting down a tube. A pearly  glow

seemed to seep out of the air.

"What--his"

"Shhh!"  Kyp  answered.  The  prisoners  had  stopped  working.  A   faint

glittering dazzle  like a  dense cloud  of faint  fireflies shot  through  the

tunnel, humming and chittering.

Han ducked.  Around him  he heard  the  others also  falling flat  on  the

debris-covered floor.

The glowing thing shot down the hollow tube, rolling and roiling. Once  it

passed them and  went beyond the  point where  they had mined  spice from  the

walls, the glowing thing suddenly curved  right and plunged straight into  the

solid rock, vanishing like a fish falling back into a dark pool.

Behind them, along  the curving lengths  of the tunnel,  tiny blue  sparks

flickered from the exposed spice that  had been activated by the light  source

whizzing past. The blue sparks sputtered and flickered, and quickly faded.

Han's eyes  ached from  the  sudden barrage  of  light--a light  that  was

probably too dim for him to have seen under normal circumstances, but his eyes

had been yearning in blackness for hours now. "What was that?" he shouted.

He heard Kyp panting beside him.  "Nobody knows. It's about the  fifteenth

one I've seen over the years. We call them bogeys. They've never hurt anybody,

or so we think, but nobody knows what's grabbing those people down in the deep

mines."

The guard himself seemed shaken, and Han could hear a quaver in his voice.

"That's enough. End of shift. Let's make our way back to the cars."

That sounded like a good idea to Han.

When the string of mine cars returned  to the long holding grotto and  the

metal door closed behind them, Han heard the sound of weapons being drawn. All

workers were ordered to strip out of their thermal suits. Han could understand

the precautions--with a brief mental boost from stolen glitterstim, a prisoner

might be  able to  stage an  escape... although  Han had  been to  the  barren

surface of Kessel and wondered where an escapee might go.

When the standard  lights finally  came back  on, the  blinding glare  was

enough to make Han crouch over, as if  someone had punched him in the gut.  He

shielded his eyes.

He felt a hand  take him and  lead him into the  muster room. "It's  okay,

Han. Just follow me. Let your eyes get used to it. There's no hurry."

But Han  was in  a hurry  to  see what  Kyp Durron  looked like.  He  kept

blinking away tears and  forcing his pupils to  contract enough that he  could

make sense  out of  the brilliant  images showering  around him.  But when  he

finally discerned Kyp's form, he blinked again--this time in surprise.

"You're just a kid!" Han saw a  dark, tousle-headed teen who looked as  if

he cropped his own hair  with a blunt object. He  had wide eyes surrounded  by

dark rims, and his skin was pale from  years of living in the darkness of  the

spice mines. Kyp was wiry and tough looking. He stared at Han with hope and  a

little intimidation.

"Don't worry," Kyp said. "I do the best I can."

Kyp reminded him of the brash  and wide-eyed young Luke Skywalker Han  had

first met in  the Mos Eisley  cantina. But  Kyp seemed tougher  than Luke  had

been, not quite  so naive.  With the  rough life Kyp  had had,  growing up  on

Kessel and locked in the spice mines without anyone to watch over him, it  was

no wonder the kid had a hard streak in him.

At the moment  Han couldn't decide  which he hated  more--the Empire,  for

inflicting such  hardships  on  Kyp  and  his  family,  or  Moruth  Doole  for

perpetuating them ... or himself, for getting Chewie and him into this mess in

the first place.

Night on Eol Sha offered little rest. Falling darkness fought against  the

simmering orange  glow  from the  nearby  volcano,  the pastel  blaze  of  the

Cauldron Nebula,  and the  looming spotlight  of the  too-close moon.  Hissing

blasts from the geyser field broke the quiet at irregular intervals.

Luke sat alone in  the cramped storage module  Gantoris had given him  for

sleeping accommodations. Never intended as a  living area, the module had  few

comforts: a basin of filmy water and a cloth-covered mound of dirt for a bed.

Gantoris took a perverse pleasure in telling Luke that it had been one  of

the dead boy's favorite  places to play. Either  the refugees blamed Luke  for

not being able to save both children, or perhaps Gantoris just wanted to  keep

him off balance.

Luke had  his lightsaber  and all  the  powers he  had learned  from  Jedi

training, should he decide to escape. But that was not the reason he had  come

to Eol Sha. Cupping his chin in his hands, he stared out at the hostile night.

He needed  to  convince  Gantoris to  listen  to  him, to  see  the  need  for

rebuilding the Jedi Knights--but  why would someone  from an isolated  colony,

with no conception of galactic politics, bother to care?

If Gantoris was indeed a descendant  of the long-ago Ta'ania, Luke had  to

make him care.

When the other people  drifted to their quarters  for the evening,  Warton

brought him a steamed bugdillo to eat. Luke poked at the glossy black shell of

the crustacean, splitting open  the cracks in its  multiply segmented body  to

get at the pinkish meat. That afternoon a boy had been killed trying to  spear

these small creatures. ...

At any time Luke  could leave the battered  module, walk to the  passenger

shuttle on the far side of the geyser field, and retrieve his own rations; but

he didn't want to leave, not until Gantoris agreed to come with him. Luke  ate

the sour-tasting meat, chewing in silence.

"Come with me." Gantoris stood silhouetted in the square doorway of Luke's

quarters.

Luke blinked and came  out of his trance,  refreshed and surprised to  see

the gray morning light shining through  cracks in the module. Without a  word,

he stood up and stepped outside.

Gantoris wore the faded  uniform of a trader  captain. It fit him  poorly,

but he carried himself with pride. The uniform must have been passed down from

generation to generation as  the hopeful colonists waited  for the ramjet  gas

miners to return and make their settlement a booming town.

"Where are we going?" Luke asked.

Gantoris handed him a woven pouch, then  slung a similar one over his  own

shoulder. "To get food." Tossing his thick black braid behind him, he  marched

toward the geyser field.

Luke followed across the  rugged terrain, sidestepping the  lime-encrusted

network of geysers  and steam vents.  The planet  of Eol Sha  hummed with  the

tidal strain, like fading vibrations from a struck gong.

Gantoris moved with  outward confidence, but  Luke sensed trepidation,  an

uncertainty in him. Luke decided this might  be a good time to talk about  the

Force and its powers. "You must have learned something about the order of Jedi

Knights," he began. "For a thousand  generations they served the Old  Republic

as  guardians   and  keepers   of   order.  I   believe   one  of   your   own

ancestors--Ta'ania--was the daughter of a Jedi. That is why I've come to  you.

She was among the people who established this colony on Eol Sha.

"The Emperor hunted  down and killed  all the Jedi  Knights his  assassins

could find, but I don't believe  he could have traced every descendant,  every

bloodline. Now the Empire has fallen and the New Republic needs to reestablish

the Jedi Knights." He paused. "I want you to be one of them."

He gripped Gantoris's shoulder. The other man flinched, and pushed  Luke's

hand away. Luke's voice took on a more pleading tone. "I want to show you  the

powers of the Force, the  infinite doors it can  open. With this new  strength

you'll be able to help hold the  entire galaxy together. I promise we'll  take

your people and move them to a safe planet, one that will seem like a paradise

after Eol Sha."

Luke realized he was proselytizing.

Gantoris  looked  at  him  with  dark,  unfathomable  eyes.  "Empires  and

republics mean nothing to me. What have they cared for us before? My  universe

is here, on this world."

He stopped in front of the wide  opening to a geyser and peered into  it's

depths. The creeping stink  of rotten eggs wafted  into the morning air.  From

his hip pouch Gantoris withdrew a battered old datapad and consulted a  column

of numbers that looked to be some sort of timetable. "Here. We will go  inside

the geyser and harvest."

Luke blinked. "Harvest what?"

Without answering  Gantoris lowered  himself over  the lip  of the  geyser

hole. Luke shrugged off his Jedi cloak and left it beside the geyser rim, then

followed the other man  underground. Was Gantoris just  trying to see if  Luke

would follow him down into the belly of the geyser?

The shaft was a narrow, winding chimney through porous rock, a pipeline to

gush superheated water. Colorful mineral  deposits sparkled white and tan  and

blue, powdery  in his  hand. Luke  found plenty  of footholds  as he  followed

Gantoris into the honeycombed  passages. The rock felt  warm and slimy.  Acrid

vapors rising from below stung his eyes.

Gantoris worked his way into a side crevice. Luke asked, "What do you want

me to do?"

In answer Gantoris  wedged himself deeper  into a crack  and shrugged  the

woven pouch off his  shoulder. "Look in the  dark pockets, the ones  protected

from the  scalding water."  Gantoris  dug his  fingers  into a  crevice,  felt

around, and pulled out a handful of  rubbery tendrils. "With the heat and  the

mineral deposits, the  lichens have a  rich growing ground.  It takes a  great

deal of processing, but we can make something edible out of this. On our world

we don't have many choices. My people must take what we can find."

Luke likewise removed his pouch and began to search in the cracks, probing

with his prosthetic hand. What if  something poisonous lurked in the  crevices

to sting him?  He could  read ominous  intentions from  Gantoris but  couldn't

pinpoint them. Was Gantoris looking  for a simple way  to kill the "dark  man"

from his dreams?  On his  third try  Luke found a  mass of  spongy growth  and

yanked it out.

Gantoris looked over his shoulder at Luke. "It would be better if we split

up. If you stay by me,  you will find only my  leavings. I can never feed  our

people that way." Gantoris's voice changed to a mocking tone, and his forehead

crinkled, raising his  shaven eyebrows.  "Unless your  Force can  miraculously

create a banquet?"

Keeping his handholds, Luke edged over to another crack as Gantoris worked

deeper into his own fissure, turning  a jagged corner. A flurry of  uneasiness

shot through him, but Luke began to search among the crevices.

The lichen wasn't difficult  to find, and Luke  quickly filled his  pouch,

crawling through narrow  openings. Perhaps  Gantoris had expected  him to  get

lost among the fissures. But  even disoriented underground, Luke could  always

retrace his path. He had heard nothing from the other man, and, deciding  that

he had fulfilled his obligation, Luke began to work his way back to where they

had split up.

When he reached the joined passage,  Luke saw that Gantoris was no  longer

there. He crawled deeper into the fissure, looking for the other man, all  the

while expecting a trap but confident he  could deal with it. He would have  to

impress Gantoris with his Jedi abilities.

The passage  ended  in a  blocked  wall of  eroded  stone. The  smells  of

sulfurous smoke grew stronger, engendering  a deep sense of claustrophobia  in

him. Luke recalled the two children  buried under the avalanche, bright  blood

splashed on the bottoms of the fallen rocks. The ground around him hummed with

barely contained murderous energy--what  if another earthquake happened  while

he was wedged in the narrow cracks underground?

Gantoris was nowhere in sight. "Gantoris!" he called, but heard no answer.

Looking up the shaft of daylight poking through from the surface, Luke finally

saw the man's silhouette nearly at  the top. Gantoris scrambled up the  jagged

walls, climbing as fast as he could manage, leaving Luke behind.

He was fleeing something.

Luke sensed rather  than heard  the buildup  of pressure  deep within  the

planet, the  water table  heated  against magma  crouching near  the  surface,

coming to a boil, rising up, finding the most direct way to escape.

Gantoris had carried his own timetable. The geysers must erupt at  regular

intervals. He intended to trap Luke  underground, where he would be cooked  to

the bone by curtains of superheated steam.

Luke grabbed for  a handhold and  hauled himself up,  scrabbling with  his

boot for a place to  rest his foot. He clambered  up the bumps and corners  of

the chimney leading up. The heat increased around him, making it difficult  to

breathe. He gasped  and blinked burning  tears out of  his eyes. Steam  curled

upward, as if seeping out of the very rocks.

His foot slipped and he nearly  plunged downward, but his prosthetic  hand

flashed out, grabbing on  to an outcropping  and refusing to  let go. When  he

finally regained his balance, the outcropping crumbled to pieces.

Luke had lost precious seconds. The light above shone brighter, urging him

on. He held on  to another corner,  crawled up another  few feet, reached  out

again.

Briefly he saw a shadowed head peer down into the geyser chimney, watching

him. Gantoris. But he offered no help.

Luke clawed his way up, ignoring his torn flightsuit, climbing as fast  as

his limbs could carry him. Then he ran out of time.

He heard the explosion deep beneath him,  the rumbling roar of a plume  of

boiling water rushing to the surface. Luke braced himself and knew he had  one

chance.

He had done this  in Cloud City  on Bespin, and  during his training  with

Yoda, and other times.  As the jet  of steam and  deadly water blasted  toward

him, Luke gathered his  strength, his concentration,  and sprang straight  up,

hurling his body out of the geyser  shaft. He used the Force as a  springboard

to throw  himself high  and free,  just as  if he  were lifting  an  inanimate

object.

Luke shot out of the  geyser chimney, flailing his  arms as he dropped  to

the rugged ground.  He tucked his  shoulder and rolled,  striking with  enough

force to knock the breath from him.

A second after he hit  the ground, a wall  of steam and superheated  water

belched from the  geyser. Luke shielded  his exposed flesh  from the  scalding

droplets and waited for the blast to dwindle.

The geyser eruption lasted several  minutes. When Luke finally crawled  to

his knees, he saw Gantoris and the other people of Eol Sha walking toward him,

their faces grim, as usual.  They had set him up,  trapped him, tried to  kill

him.

But the anger faded quickly. Hadn't Luke challenged Gantoris to test  him,

to let him prove  his intentions? Luke gathered  his drenched Jedi cloak  from

the geyser rim and waited for them.

Gantoris crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. His face looked  wide

and bleak without eyebrows or eyelashes. "You passed my first test, dark man."

Luke sensed both eagerness and  terror from the man.  "Now come and face  your

last trial."

As the people stepped forward to take  him again, Luke did not resist.  He

had decided  to take  whatever  risks proved  necessary  to rebuild  the  Jedi

Knights.

He hoped the risks would be worth it.

* * *

It was like a religious procession. With Gantoris in the lead, the  people

of Eol Sha began a long march up the slope to the cracks of lava. Luke  walked

straight and proud, determined not to show fear, though the people had already

proved their murderous intentions. Despite his  Jedi training, he was in  very

real danger. The oppressive moon hung overhead like a gigantic fist.

Spires of lava rock jutted out of the hillside like rotten teeth. Gantoris

did not slow his pace  when the slope took a  steep turn, but he stopped  when

they reached a sheltered opening in the volcano wall. Overhead a pall of smoke

and ash hung in the air.

"Follow me inside," Gantoris told Luke. The others filed past,  continuing

along the rugged path.  Luke stepped after him.  He needed to earn  Gantoris's

respect, if not trust. In this circumstance Gantoris was making all the rules.

Gantoris strode  confidently  down  the  narrow  passage  into  the  dense

shadows, a lava tube  blasted through the  side of the  cone to ease  pressure

from an ancient eruption.  Up ahead a  fiery orange glow  lit their way.  Luke

felt growing anticipation mixed with dread with each step they took.

The lava tube  spread out, revealing  a boiling lake  of fire. Though  the

fissure opened to the sky, and other openings let in gusting cross-drafts, the

chamber felt like the blast of an oven. Luke ducked his head, trying to shield

his face with the damp Jedi hood, but Gantoris seemed unaffected.

Squinting through noxious gases belching  from the lava, Luke watched  the

other people arrive on the far side of the chamber, lining up and waiting. All

faces turned toward him.

Gantoris had to raise his voice  over the growling sounds of the  churning

magma. "Walk across the fire, dark man. If you reach the other side safely,  I

will allow you to  teach me whatever  you wish." Without  waiting for a  reply

Gantoris disappeared back into the darkness of the lava tube.

Luke stared  after  him for  a  moment,  wondering if  Gantoris  could  be

serious--but then he noticed  dark objects in the  blaze of bright lava.  Hard

stepping stones of denser rock  that did not melt  but made a precarious  path

across the lake of fire.

Was Gantoris testing his courage? What did the man want, and what did  his

dreams of a demonic "dark man" portend?

Luke swallowed, but  his throat was  dry as parchment.  He stepped to  the

edge of the simmering lava. The  stones beckoned, but common sense warned  him

to go  back, to  return to  his  shuttle and  fly away.  He could  find  other

candidates for his Jedi academy. Threepio  and Artoo must have uncovered  some

leads by now, and  he himself had another  possibility on Bespin. Luke  hadn't

even tested Gantoris yet; why should he risk his life for someone who might or

might not actually have Jedi potential?

Because he had to. Forming a new order of Jedi Knights would be difficult,

and if  he flinched  from the  first  test of  his own  powers, how  could  he

consider himself worthy of attempting such a task?

Impossible heat swirled around him. Stepping to the edge of the fire, Luke

looked at the broken  sky above him. Then  he set his foot  down on the  first

stepping stone.

It supported  his  weight. Luke  looked  ahead,  fixing his  gaze  on  the

opposite side. The gathered people kept watching.

Lava bubbled around him, belching noxious gases into the air. He tried  to

breathe in shallow gasps. He took another step. The other side seemed very far

away.

Blinking irritated tears  from his eyes,  he counted the  stones ahead  of

him. Fourteen more. Luke stepped to the next one.

Gantoris appeared on the far side, joining the other refugees of Eol  Sha.

Luke didn't expect them to cheer him on, but they remained too eerily silent.

Another step. Around him the lava gurgled like the belly of a giant beast,

a hungry beast.

Luke moved to another step, then  another. A tendril of euphoria began  to

rise within him. This wasn't as difficult  as he had feared. He would be  able

to pass this test. With reckless courage  and speed, he strode to the  halfway

point.

Then the  lava  began to  bubble  and  hiss more  forcefully,  gushing  as

something stirred  below. The  volcanic  chamber throbbed  with a  sound  that

drummed from just below his range of hearing, but enough to vibrate his teeth.

He felt his stomach plunge with  apprehension. He tensed, waiting to see  what

horror awaited him. Something lived within the lake of lava. Something moved.

Suddenly a serpent-like  creature burst  above the  surface, hissing  like

rocket fuel caught on fire.

The fireworm  had a  triangular head  and pointed  ear tufts.  Crystalline

scales armored every inch of its body. Its wide eyes were jewels glowing  with

a fire  of their  own. Insulated  air intakes  sucked in  the hot  atmosphere,

filling bladders deep  within the creature's  core and making  it rise to  the

surface of the lava pool, huge and fierce. The silicon armor plates  glittered

like mirrors in the firelight.

Luke kept his precarious  balance on the  stepping stone, avoiding  sudden

death in the molten rock, then leaped  to the next rock. As the fireworm  rose

and coiled above him, he  knew he could never  outrun the monster. He  stopped

and found secure footing. Instinctively,  he drew his lightsaber, igniting  it

with a snap-hiss. The green glow of his blade fought against the fiery  orange

of the lava chamber.

On the far side of the lava  lake, the gathered people of Eol Sha  watched

in silence, unmoving.

The fireworm glared down at Luke with  its viper's head. It opened a  vast

metallic mouth  and  spewed  congealing  lava at  the  wall.  Armored  intakes

continued to suck air,  raising coils of the  behemoth's body to the  surface.

Luke held up his  lightsaber, but it  seemed pitifully small  to fight a  lava

dragon.

With an  ultrasonic bellow  the  fireworm dove  beneath the  magma  again,

splashing molten  rock  into the  air.  Luke  danced from  stepping  stone  to

stepping stone, trying  to avoid the  deadly firefall. Globs  of lava set  his

Jedi cloak on fire, but Luke managed to yank it over his shoulders and toss it

into the bubbling pool, where it burst into bright flames.

He held his lightsaber in front of  him. His eyes widened. He reached  out

with his Jedi senses, trying to second-guess the creature. His every nerve was

tuned, ready to respond, but he saw only the restless surface of the lava.

"Where are you?" he whispered.

The fireworm's head exploded out of the lava on the other side, rearing up

to strike.  It plunged  down, opening  its  huge mouth  to reveal  fangs  like

stalactites. Luke whirled, bringing up his lightsaber and dancing back to  the

previous stepping stone.

As the fireworm  struck, Luke slashed  with his humming  green blade.  But

when the lightsaber  smashed against  the mirrored armor  plates, the  glowing

green edge refracted  into a  thousand components,  splitting and  ricocheting

around the chamber.  Sparks showered  all around  him. The  energy blade  that

could supposedly slice  through anything  broke only one  small silicon  armor

plate.

On the other side of the chamber,  the people of Eol Sha ducked to  escape

the flying shards of  green power. Splintered rock  fell into the magma  lake.

Luke knew he could not use the lightsaber against the monster again.

The fireworm yowled in surprise more than pain, then dove for refuge under

the lava. Luke crouched,  desperately trying to figure  out what he should  do

next. He turned, ready to  run to the other side  where the people waited  for

him.

The fireworm would  return any  minute. He didn't  know how  much time  he

would have.

Suddenly, the  creature  launched itself  out  of the  lava,  roaring  and

hissing and  making sounds  too  horrible for  Luke  to describe.  He  turned,

lightsaber in hand  and ready to  die in  battle--but now the  monster had  no

interest in him at all.

Gouts of acrid  smoke poured from  the chink in  the silicon armor,  where

lava ate  its way  into the  fireworm's body  core. The  creature writhed  and

tossed, spewing  lava  into  the  air. Molten  rock  devoured  the  fireworm's

internal organs like acid, killing it from the inside out. Burning within, the

fireworm thrashed in agony, spraying lava as flames and foul smoke boiled  out

of the tiny breach  in its armor.  When the fiery rock  burned through to  the

fireworm's inflated air bladders, the creature exploded.

Splatters of hardening lava rained down.  Luke managed to deflect most  of

the burning chunks with  the Force, but some  scorched his back and  shoulder.

The fireworm's death throes churned waves  in the molten rock, then  gradually

subsided.

Luke raised his eyes, blinking in  disbelief. The people of Eol Sha  still

waited for him.

Most of the stepping stones had  been washed away in the turmoil.  Nothing

but impassable lava remained between him and Gantoris. He could not finish his

journey. Giddy with  terror and a  backwash of possibilities  from the  Force,

Luke stared at the impassable river of flames between him and his goal.

He thought of the  potential for his proposed  academy, for the return  of

the Jedi Knights. The New Republic needed him. He had to complete his promise.

He would gather candidates to teach the ways of the Force. He would. Without a

doubt in his mind, still throbbing with the Force after his battle against the

fireworm, he closed his eyes.

Luke walked across the lake of fire.

He did not think about  it. The lava refused to  touch his feet. Only  the

Force burned bright around him. One  step after another, he strode across  the

flaming rock, letting himself see nothing but his goal until he stood again on

solid ground  on the  far side  of the  lake of  fire, with  Gantoris and  his

people.

When he reached safety, he nearly collapsed with relief, but he could  not

allow himself to show a change of expression. He tried not to think about what

he had just done.

Gantoris stood before  him, an expression  of awe on  his broad face.  The

others backed away, but Gantoris remained  motionless. He swallowed as he  met

Luke's gaze. "I will abide  by my promise." He drew  a deep breath. "Teach  me

how to use this mysterious power within me."

Without a thought Luke  reached forward with  trembling hands and  touched

Gantoris's head. He  sent mental fingers  inward, probing to  the back of  the

other man's mind, searching  until he found the  mysterious nub in  Gantoris's

subconscious, and pushed--

The strength of his  reflexive reaction knocked Luke  backward so that  he

had to catch his  balance before tumbling into  the lava. Gantoris did  indeed

have the Jedi  potential, enough to  make him a  formidable candidate for  the

Jedi academy.

Luke allowed himself a sigh of relief. The terror and the testing had been

worth it. He took  Gantoris's hand, then looked  at the gathered survivors  of

the abandoned colony.

"We will find a new home for your people. But first you will come with  me

to Coruscant."

Lando  Calrissian's  ship,  the  Lady  Luck,  received  clearance  from  a

bored-sounding traffic controller to  land in the spaceport  of Umgul. As  the

ship coasted through the misty atmosphere,  Lando was amazed at the number  of

private ships, space yachts, and luxurious ground skimmers bustling around the

landing center.

Lando cruised with the  other traffic over  flatlands surrounding a  broad

river on  his way  to  Umgul City.  Fleets of  sail  barges drifted  over  the

sluggish river. Looking down, he could see flashing lights and gyrating bodies

that spoke of wild parties on the barge decks.

A moist planet, but cool, Umgul was frequently blanketed by dense fog  and

low-hanging clouds; even now, in the middle of the day, wisps of mist  drifted

up from  the river  and spread  across the  lowlands. Though  unremarkable  in

resources and strategic importance, Umgul had earned galactic fame as a sports

center, home of the renowned Umgullian blob races.

The Lady Luck followed  her designated vector to  a spaceport carved  into

limestone bluffs rising above  the river. Accompanied on  either side by  tiny

two-person pleasure skimmers, Lando brought his ship through the cavern mouth.

He barely managed to avoid hitting  a blue zeppelin full of tourists.  Inside,

hairy attendants wearing bright-orange vests  directed the Lady Luck into  her

parking stall by waving handheld laser beacons.

Lando turned to  the two droids  next to him  in the pilot's  compartment.

"Are you boys about ready to have fun?"

Artoo  beeped  something   Lando  could  not   understand,  but   Threepio

straightened in indignation. "We are not here to have fun, General Calrissian.

We are here to assist Master Luke!"

"I'm here as a private  citizen going to the  blob races." Lando jabbed  a

finger at  him. Being  in close  quarters with  Threepio for  only a  day  had

already been enough for  the prissy droid  to get on his  nerves. "You are  my

protocol droid,  and  you'd better  play  the part--or  I'll  have you  run  a

complete diagnostic of all the sewage-control systems on Umgul City."

"I ... understand clearly, sir."

As the Lady Luck's ramp tongued out,  Lando stepped into the chaos of  the

Umgullian reception center. Voices blurred by background noise made  perpetual

announcements over the intercom systems. Roars from departing vehicles  echoed

in the grotto. Acrid  smells of exhaust fumes  and engine-fueling ports  stung

Lando's nostrils.

Nonetheless, he held his head high and strode down the ramp, swirling  his

cape and beckoning the two droids to follow. "Threepio, can you understand any

of those announcements? Figure out where we're supposed to go."

Threepio scanned  the data  walls that  listed services  offered by  Umgul

City. Text scrolled out in several languages. Four stubby vendors rushed  over

to  the  new   visitor,  pushing   trinkets  and  souvenirs   at  Lando.   The

scruffy-looking  hucksters  were  Ugnaughts,   the  ugly  little   maintenance

creatures that filled the lower levels of Cloud City.

"Why not bring a baby  blob home for the  kids, sir?" The Ugnaught  thrust

out a greenish, oozing mass that looked like a fist-sized wad of phlegm.

"How about some blob candy, sir? Best in the city! My secondary mate makes

it at home." The gelatinous blob candy  looked identical to the baby blob  the

first Ugnaught had offered.

"Good-luck charm?" said a third Ugnaught. "Works for all religions!"

Lando waved them away. "Threepio, where are we going?"

"Adjusting for local time, sir, I believe there is an important blob  race

beginning in less than one  standard hour. The Umgullian mass-transit  systems

will take us  directly to the  blob arena. I  believe the mass-transit  access

is--” The  four  Ugnaught  souvenir  vendors began  falling  over  each  other

offering to guide the fine gentleman  to the arena. “--to our left."  Threepio

gestured to a brightly painted tunnel entrance.

"Come on,"  Lando said  and,  without looking  back,  walked over  to  the

mass-transit entrance.  The disappointed  Ugnaughts hurried  off to  hunt  for

other customers.

The mass-transit trip  was like  a roller-coaster ride  without wheels.  A

slim tube-like  car shot  through  the tunnel  up to  the  top of  the  bluff,

splashing through  high-rising  fog and  rushing  over woodlands  where  trees

crammed into notches in the weathered limestone. The ground was a crazy  quilt

of  bright  signs  describing  tourist  attractions,  eating   establishments,

pawnshops, and high-interest, no-questions-asked gambling loans.

At the great entry kiosks to the  blob arena, streams of people and  other

creatures pushed  in, paying  their credits  and obtaining  seat  assignments.

Lando paid for himself but argued with the ticket-taking computer over whether

his two droids were companions (and thus needed to buy tickets) or subservient

information-processing attendants;  Lando won  the argument,  though  Threepio

seemed insulted at being classed as little more than an appliance.

The blob-racing stadium was  a vast sinkhole that  had collapsed into  the

top of the bluff, a  circular pit in the  rocky ground. The Umgullian  stadium

management had carved thousands of seats, stalls, pits, and sockets out of the

sloping rocky walls to accommodate all manner of bodily configurations.

Giant whirring  fans had  been mounted  around the  rim of  the  sinkhole,

generating a hefty  breeze to shove  back the encroaching  fog that pushed  in

from all sides, driving it into the open air, where it dissipated.

After pushing  his way  along the  crowded halls,  Lando found  his  seat,

pleased to see  that it  had a  good view  of the  entire "blobstacle  course"

below. The  odds panel  in front  of  his seat  listed information  about  the

fourteen blob challengers for the day's  first heat and also counted down  the

twenty minutes remaining before the next race would begin.

A grin spread across Lando's face as  he took in the smells of treats  and

condiments, saw whirring robotic drink dispensers drifting through the stands.

He was enjoying this already. It brought back plenty of old memories.

As baron-administrator of Bespin's Cloud City, Lando had spent much of his

time in the high-class casinos, watching the tourists and high rollers. He had

never seen blob racing before,  but the excitement in  the air made his  heart

beat faster.

Threepio fidgeted, looking at  the crowd. A  white ursine creature  nearly

knocked him over as it  pushed its way to a  seat farther down the  mezzanine.

Lando couldn't forget the primary reason  why he was here, though. Mounted  to

Artoo's body core was  the power pack of  the Imperial Jedi-detecting  device,

and Lando kept the sheet-crystal detector paddles secured to his own side.

"Okay, Artoo. Let's see  if we can  find our friend  Tymmo. Jack into  the

stadium computer and see if he's bought a ticket or placed a bet. If so, let's

find out where he's seated."

The announcer's voice  echoed around  the arena. "Sentient  beings of  all

genders--welcome to the galaxy-renowned blob  races of Umgul! Before we  begin

this afternoon's first heat, we'd like  to call your attention to next  week's

special gala blob derby  to be hosted  in honor of  a visiting dignitary,  the

Duchess Mistal from our sister planet Dargul. We hope you'll all attend."

The apathetic reaction from  the crowd told Lando  just how many  visiting

dignitaries Umgul must host throughout the year.

"For this afternoon's event we'll be running fourteen thoroughbred  racing

blobs through  a  twelve-point  blobstacle course  that  has  been  thoroughly

inspected and certified  by the galactic  racing commission. All  data on  the

age, mass, and viscosity of our racing  blobs is available at the terminal  in

front of your seat."

Lando smiled grimly at that. Umgul  City claimed to run clean blob  races,

and cheating was a capital offense. "What does he mean by "thoroughbred racing

blobs"?" he asked.

Threepio heard him. "This  species of blob has  several variants that  are

used for different  purposes throughout  the system.  Some upper-class  people

actually keep them as pets. Others  have seen certain medicinal value in  blob

treatment, such as letting a blob  ooze across one's back for massage  therapy

or soaking one's aching feet in the warm gelatinous mass."

"But these are racers?"

"Yes, sir, bred for speed and fluidity."

The announcer  finished reading  several  standard disclaimers.  "At  this

point we officially  declare all betting  substations to be  closed. The  odds

computer will post final probability tables,  which are now available at  your

terminals. We  shall  begin  the  race  in  just  a  moment.  Please  enjoy  a

refreshment compatible with your biochemistry while you wait!"

Hearing a ratcheting sound,  Lando directed his attention  to the rear  of

the playing field.  Conveyor mechanisms raised  the blob platforms  to a  high

ramp, stopping in front  of a gate  that held the oozing  blobs back from  the

launching slide. The fourteen  separate chutes in  the steep, lubricated  ramp

were designed to boost a blob's momentum at the starting signal.

"On your mark!" the announcer said.

Lando could sense a blanketing hush through the stadium as the  spectators

craned forward, staring at the chutes and waiting for the blobs to emerge.

A loud electronic tone reverberated through the air, like a bullet hitting

a brass bell,  and suddenly  the gates flew  open. The  ramps tilted  forward,

spilling the multicolored blobs down the lubricated chutes.

Fourteen syrupy  masses  tumbled  and oozed  pell-mell  down  the  slides,

striking the low walls and slithering as  fast as they could to the bottom  of

the ramp. The  blobs showed  a range of  colors, primarily  grayish green  but

laced with bright  hues. Variegated strands  of vermillion stood  out on  one,

turquoise on  another, lime-green  on a  third. Each  blob had  a  holographic

number imprinted  in its  protoplasm;  the number  somehow stayed  upright  no

matter which way the blob oriented itself.

With the chutes equally lubricated,  all fourteen blobs struck the  bottom

of the ramp at about the same time. When the low walls no longer separated the

tracks, the frantic blobs began to  make their way helter-skelter around  each

other, gushing forward into the blobstacle course.

One contender,  Blob  11--a  dark-green specimen  laced  with  a  striking

amethyst pattern--burst onto  the flat  of the track  with pseudopods  already

extended, as if trying to  scramble away the moment it  hit the bottom of  the

ramp. It squirted forward, clenching itself together and oozing its body  core

ahead.

The amethyst blob had  pulled a small  lead by the time  it hit the  first

obstacle, a tall metal screen with a wide mesh. Blob 11 hurled itself onto the

mesh grid  with its  full body  and began  to push  its entire  self  through,

dribbling in a hundred tiny segments out  the other side, where it flowed  its

gelatinous mass back together again. It managed to push itself halfway through

before the next blob struck a different  part of the screen. Lando decided  to

cheer for the amethyst  blob, though he  had no money riding  on the race.  He

still liked to root for winners.

The second blob  took a different  tactic, concentrating its  body into  a

narrow streamer that spouted through one  of the mesh holes, pouring its  mass

to the other side.

The amethyst blob finished reassembling itself on the bottom of the  grid,

took no time to rest, and pushed onward.

By this time all the other blobs were struggling to get through the  first

obstacle. The amethyst blob frantically  mushed ahead, increasing its lead  as

if fleeing in terror.

"Go!" Lando shouted.

The second major obstacle proved more  formidable. A tall ratline made  of

chain links led  up to  another steep, lubricated  slide that  dropped into  a

sharp, banked curve.

Blob 11 reached the bottom of the  ratline and extended a pseudopod up  to

the first loop of chain, wrapping the jellylike tendril onto the flexible rung

and extending  another  pseudopod again  and  again  until it  flowed  like  a

tentacled amoeba, desperately  hauling its amorphous  form upward faster  than

gravity could slurp it back down.

The amethyst blob slipped,  and a large segment  of its body mass  drooled

downward, barely  connected  to the  main  core by  a  thin stream  of  mucus.

According to the official  rules posted in front  of Lando's seat, the  entire

body mass of a  blob had to get  to the finishing circle;  it could not  leave

portions of itself behind.

The second and third blobs reached the bottom of the ratline, also  trying

to scramble up.

The amethyst blob hovered on the  ratline, sagging as it worked to  siphon

its precariously balanced appendage back into  the main core. The chain  links

began to work through  the soft organic material,  but the blob moved  faster,

finally drawing itself up,  and hooked over another  loop of chain. Behind  it

the next two blobs managed to ascend to the second level of chain loops.

Back at the first blobstacle, the  last of the blobs squeezed through  the

mesh and began creeping at top speed toward the ratline.

Blob 11 reached the top of the  ratlines and, coiling its mass, shot  onto

the steep, greased slide, rolling  and spinning and tumbling. Its  holographic

number remained upright all the while. The blob reached the high banked  curve

at the bottom of the slide, rebounded, and gushed toward the next blobstacle.

The crowd  was roaring  and shouting  now. Lando  felt exhilaration  burst

through him. He decided he'd have to return to Umgul when he had more time  to

relax, to make a few real bets.

"Excuse me, sir, but are we expressing enthusiasm for Blob Eleven?"

"Yes, Threepio!"

"Thank you, sir.  I just  wanted to be  certain." The  droid paused,  then

amplified his voice. "Go, number eleven!"

The second and third blobs reached the top of the ratlines simultaneously,

and both leaped onto the lubricated slide, squirting down at an alarming rate.

Many of the spectators jumped out of their seats and screamed with excitement.

The two blobs tumbled  next to each other,  grappling with pseudopods  and

rolling. The steep, banked curve rose up in front of them like a wall.

"Oh, I can't watch!" Threepio said. "They're going to crash!"

The two blobs both  struck the corner at  the same instant and  splattered

into each  other, forming  one  giant ball.  The  crowd roared  with  absolute

delight.

"Total fusion!" the announcer cried.

The spectators continued  to cheer. The  two blobs had  combined into  one

much larger mass, and they seemed to  be working at cross purposes, trying  to

lumber over to  the side of  the track and  out of the  way of other  oncoming

blobs. Meanwhile, the amethyst blob increased its lead.

"Those two are out of the race," Lando muttered.

Artoo returned, bleeping with excitement. "Excuse me, sir," Threepio said,

"but Artoo has  located our man  Tymmo. He has  indeed come to  the races  and

placed a very large bet. We have his seating assignment. We can go see him now

if you wish."

Lando was startled to  be interrupted during the  race; then he jumped  to

his feet. "We found him already?"

"Yes, sir. And as I said, he has  placed a very large bet, if you take  my

meaning, sir."

"Let me guess," Lando said. "On Blob Eleven, right?"

"Correct, sir."

"Looks like he's done it again," Lando said. "Let's go."

They pushed past other spectators who had not bothered to take seats, then

emerged into the flagstoned halls. Lando allowed Artoo to lead, puttering down

near-empty interior corridors. Lando was reluctant, wanting to see the outcome

of the competition. "Hurry up, Artoo."

The little droid hummed downhill toward  the lower levels of the  sinkhole

stadium. Through a graffiti-scrawled archway  they passed into the section  of

least expensive seats filled with  desperate-looking people, the ones who  had

staked everything  on guessing  the winner  of just  one race.  Somehow  Lando

hadn't expected a  winner as lucky  as Tymmo  to be in  the low-rent  section.

Maybe he was trying to keep a low profile.

Though support pillars and debris screens  crowded the view this far  down

in  the  crater,  Lando  could  see  that  Blob  11  had  increased  its  lead

substantially, a full obstacle ahead of the remaining nine blobs. Farther back

on the track two blobs lay motionless  and rubbery in a bed of desiccant,  too

slow to cross the deadly obstacle before they suffered terminal dehydration.

The surviving blobs worked at  stringing themselves through a sequence  of

metal rings dangling on ropes, each  swaying and trying to extend a  pseudopod

to the  next ring  before the  pendulum motion  stretched it  to the  breaking

point.

The amethyst blob had already crossed the desiccant trap and the rings and

was now oozing precariously over a  long bed of sharp spikes that  continually

poked through its outer membrane. Tireless, Blob 11 threw itself forward  with

wild abandon, not heeding the spears jabbing through its body.

Artoo whistled, and Threepio pointed to a man three benches down. "General

Calrissian, Artoo says this is the man we want."

Lando squinted at Tymmo. Young and attractive, but with a fidgety, furtive

look, he had a disreputable air. Though his blob was winning by a wide margin,

he did  not  seem elated.  The  other people  around  him cheered  or  wailed,

depending on where they had cast their bets, but Tymmo just sat and waited, as

if he already knew the outcome.

Blob 11 dragged the last of itself off the bed of nails, tugging to remove

a few clinging strands  from the spike  points. The nails had  slowed it to  a

crawl just in  front of the  next obstacle--a slowly  turning propeller  blade

with razor edges.

The amethyst blob poised itself but  seemed too panicked to plan the  best

way through  the spinning  blades.  It squirted  forward, elongating  to  gain

speed, then shoved  its body  into the gap  between the  whirring fan  blades.

About a quarter of  the blob made  it through before  the sharp edges  slashed

through, bisecting it.

Mucus squirted  but clung  in one  long, liquid  thread on  the  propeller

blade. One  segment  of the  blob  waited safely  on  the other  side  of  the

blobstacle. The remaining three quarters hunched, then lunged through the next

gap in the blades. This time half of its mass passed successfully through, and

the second segment oozed forward to rejoin  the first small mass. The rest  of

Blob 11 made it through with only a nick in its posterior portion, but as  the

fan blades spun around again, droplets of slime on the edges congealed into  a

small lump  and  dropped  off,  rolling to  safety,  where  all  the  portions

conjoined once more.

The crowd cheered. Some of the  losers in the lower levels began  throwing

drink containers  against  the  guard  mesh in  front  of  them.  Blue  sparks

flickered from  the electrified  wires.  Tymmo hunched  forward in  his  seat,

keeping one hand  in his pocket.  Lando wondered  if he carried  some kind  of

weapon.

Tymmo looked around, blinking his eyes in alarm as if he suspected he  was

being watched. Lando winced, knowing that his fine clothes and rich cape  made

him appear painfully out of place in the lower levels. Tymmo noticed Lando and

the two droids, tensed, then forced himself to watch the end of the race.

Blob 11 approached the final blobstacle, hauling pseudopods over the rungs

of a ladder as it dripped down.  It seemed burned to exhaustion, but still  it

pushed on as if demons were chasing it. Its bright amethyst tracings had faded

to mere speckles. Reaching the top of  the ladder, the blob descended into  an

array of wide funnels that had exit holes of varying sizes, many of which were

sealed shut.  The  amethyst blob  thrust  extensions of  itself  into  various

funnels, poking around  until it found  one with  a large enough  hole in  the

bottom.

Behind, the nearest other blob began negotiating the bed of nails in front

of the  whirling propeller.  Choosing  an acceptable  funnel, Blob  11  dumped

itself into the cone and pushed. A  pasty stream ribboned out the narrow  end,

rolling and piling  on the ground  as the blob  re-collected itself. The  thin

strand of blob went on and on, coming out in spurts near the end until finally

the tail plopped  out of the  funnel. Blob  11's entire body  shimmered as  it

trembled with exhaustion. It charged toward the finishing circle and looked as

if it intended to keep going.

The crowd continued to cheer, but the race was clearly over. Lando watched

Tymmo. The other man adjusted something in his pocket.

Blob 11 came to a sudden halt  in the finishing circle. Blob wranglers  in

coveralls rushed onto the track with  wide shovels and a levitating barrow  to

scoop up the exhausted thing  and return it to  the blob pens for  rehydration

and a long rest. The audience then  began to root for which blobs would  place

and show.

Tymmo slid out of his seat and  flicked a quick glance from side to  side,

but Lando  had already  stepped behind  a support  pillar. Tymmo  jostled  the

spectators still watching the rest of the  race, making his way toward one  of

the cashiering stations where other winners had already queued up. Most of the

winners jumped up and down, chattering  with shared excitement; even the  more

reserved ones  wore  broad  grins.  Tymmo, though,  showed  only  a  metallic,

unreadable expression. He seemed very nervous.

Lando and the two droids eased  themselves into the line, butting  through

the crowd. Tymmo kept glancing back, but  he did not see them again. Over  the

loudspeakers the announcer listed the order of winners in the blob race.

Lando pulled the cable  jacks to the sheet-crystal  Jedi detectors out  of

his sleeves and plugged them into the power pack on Artoo's body. He slid  the

flat paddles into the  palms of his  hands, ready for a  chance when he  could

scan Tymmo to  confirm whether or  not he had  the bluish aura  of a  possible

trainee for Luke's academy.

Threepio seemed very excited. "Why don't we just go up to him and tell him

the good news, General Calrissian?"

"Because something's fishy here," he said, "and I want to make sure before

we get ourselves in too deep."

"Fishy?" Threepio asked, then  looked around as if  to locate any  aquatic

spectators at the blob races.

"His turn is next at the terminal. When he keys in his betting chit, it'll

take a minute to  process and cash in  his winnings. He's effectively  trapped

until the  transaction  is done,  unless  he wants  to  throw away  a  lot  of

credits."

Of course, Lando remembered,  cheating was punishable  by death on  Umgul,

and Tymmo might be happy  enough just to get away  with his life. What had  he

been hiding in his pocket?

As Tymmo stepped up to the  terminal and inserted his chit, the  announcer

broke through the background noise to  remind everyone once again of the  next

week's races in  honor of  the visiting  duchess from  Dargul. Tymmo  flinched

visibly, but keyed in his ID code and inserted his account card to collect his

winnings.

"Come on,"  Lando  said,  stepping  out of  line  and  moving  toward  the

cashiering station. He  flicked the  power switch  on the  scanning pack;  its

warm-up hum vanished in the background noise.

Tymmo looked intently at the  display on the cashiering station,  punching

in his access code and transferring his winnings as quickly as he could. Lando

stepped up beside  him and  swept either  side of  the man  with the  detector

paddles before Tymmo realized what was happening.

Tymmo looked  up, saw  Lando  holding something  that  might have  been  a

weapon, saw the two droids that  might have been armed mechanical  bodyguards,

and panicked just as the terminal ejected his account card and called for  the

next customer.  Tymmo  snatched  his  card and  fled,  scattering  a  pack  of

Ugnaughts as he ran into the crowded stands.

"Hey, Tymmo, stop!" yelled Lando. The man was swallowed up in the surge of

spectators exiting the stands after the race.

"Sir, aren't we going to follow him?" Threepio asked.

Other spectators  had  turned to  stare.  The next  winner,  grinning  and

oblivious, stepped up to the cashiering station.

"No." Lando shook his head. "We've got  a reading for now. Let's check  it

out."

In a shadowed corner, not caring if anyone saw what they were doing  since

nobody would  understand  it anyway,  Lando  watched  the power  pack  of  the

Imperial detector reconstruct a  holographic aura mapping  of Tymmo. As  Lando

had unfortunately expected, Tymmo's reading showed a perfectly normal outline:

no bluish haze of Jedi potential, nothing at all out of the ordinary. "He's  a

fraud."

Threepio seemed disappointed. "Can you be certain, sir? I should point out

that many  people were  standing around,  and they  could have  disturbed  the

readings. You also scanned him very  quickly, and none too closely.  Remember,

too, that  the detector  itself is  extremely old  and may  not be  completely

reliable."

Lando gave the protocol droid a skeptical frown, but Threepio's  arguments

did have some merit. He should take the trouble to be sure. Besides, Lando was

enjoying himself on Umgul  so far. "All  right, we'll check  him out a  little

further."

Relieved that the New Republic would pick up the tab, Lando relaxed in his

spacious hotel accommodations. From the dispenser he ordered a cold punch-like

drink popular on Umgul and  went to the balcony  to watch thick evening  mists

curl along the streets.  He sipped the drink,  unable to remove his  perplexed

frown or smooth his creased forehead.

"Could I get you anything  else, sir, or shall I  power down for the  time

being?" Threepio asked.

"Please do!" he said, realizing how nice it would be to keep the  protocol

droid quiet for a while.  "But leave the circuit open  in case Artoo tries  to

get back in touch."

"Certainly, sir."

Posing as  a maintenance  droid, Artoo  had gone  poking around  the  blob

stables to see if he  could uncover anything out  of the ordinary. The  little

astromech droid had tuned his communication frequency to Lando's comlink so he

could send a message.

Now with Threepio  quiet Lando could  finally think. He  went over to  the

room's courtesy terminal and punched in a request for information. The  screen

automatically displayed a complete schedule for  the next three weeks of  blob

racing, but Lando selected another menu.

The Umgullian Racing Commission was fanatical about being forthcoming with

all information relating to  the races and the  blobs themselves. A sample  of

protoplasm was taken from each blob before and after any race, then  subjected

to rigorous analysis, the results of which were available to the public.

With help from the  information assistant built  into the terminal,  Lando

was able to collate the before-and-after tests for all of Tymmo's  high-stakes

winners. He didn't know what  he was looking for,  but he suspected some  drug

used to urge the blobs to greater speed, some incentive that would affect only

the winners.

"Run a correlation," Lando  said. "Is there  anything unusual about  these

particular winners? Something found in these blobs, but not in the others?"

Tymmo bet only once in a while, and if his manipulation was subtle enough,

Lando could imagine that the Umgullian  racing commission might have missed  a

tiny modification.  But Lando  knew that  one variable  tied these  particular

winners together apart from the other blobs. Since hundreds of people bet  and

won on each race, the  commission would have no reason  to look at only  those

particular races where Tymmo had cashed in.

"One minor anomaly found in all cases," the information assistant said.

"What is it?"

"Faint traces of  carbon, silicon,  and copper in  the post-race  chemical

tests of each winner in this subset."

"This wasn't noticed before?" Lando asked.

"Dismissed  as  irrelevant.  Probable  explanation:  minor   environmental

contaminants from the blobstacles themselves."

"Hmmm, and these same traces show up on every one of the winners?"

"Yes."

"Do they show up on any of the other blob tests, winners or losers, in any

race?"

"Checking." After a pause the terminal answered, "No, sir."

Lando looked  at  the  test  results.  The  amounts  of  contaminant  were

absolutely trivial, nothing that should  have had any effect. "Speculation  on

what might have caused this?"

"None," the terminal answered.

"Thanks a lot," Lando said.

"You're welcome."

Threepio sat bolt upright, startled out of his recharging state.  "General

Calrissian! Artoo has just contacted me." Threepio bumped the comlink with his

golden finger, and bleeping noises burst  through the speaker. "Mr. Tymmo  has

appeared at the blob corrals, disguised as a blob wrangler. Artoo has verified

his identification. What could he be doing there?"

"Let's go," Lando said. "I didn't expect him to try again so soon, but now

we've got him, whatever he's doing."

Lando grabbed his cape and slung it over his shoulders before he swept out

of the room. Threepio raised his hands in alarm but shuffled off as fast as he

could, his motivators whirring.

The two ran through the darkened, misty streets of Umgul City. Around them

blockish limestone dwellings rose high,  stacked upon each other like  cracker

boxes, lacquered to a high gloss with moisture sealants. Streetlights hung  at

the street  intersections,  shedding a  pearly  halo into  the  mist.  Workers

climbed on scaffolds, tearing  down old banners that  advertised the visit  of

one dignitary and putting  up new ones welcoming  the Duchess Mistal to  Umgul

City.

Lando sprinted up the cobblestoned streets with Threepio scurrying stiffly

behind. Steep  thoroughfares climbed  the bluffs.  Ahead and  adjacent to  the

sinkhole arena, they could see a large lighted structure where the blobs  were

kept and monitored.

Lando ducked through a service entrance to the blob corrals, and  Threepio

followed. Strange  smells, damp  and  musty, filled  the air.  Cleanup  droids

chugged through the halls, while  others checked temperature controls for  the

blob pens. The lights had been  dimmed for the evening, encouraging the  blobs

to rest.

"Threepio, do you know where we're going?"

"I believe I  can locate Artoo,  sir," Threepio said,  and turned in  slow

circles before he pointed the way.

Down another level they reached a shadowy chamber cut into the  limestone.

The lights inside  had been  set to  their lowest  illumination, and  moisture

generators kept  the  room  damp  and  clammy.  "Artoo  is  in  here,  General

Calrissian."

"Okay, be quiet. Let's see what's going on."

"Do you  really think  Mr. Tymmo  could be  cheating, sir?  Even with  the

threat of capital punishment?"

Lando frowned at him. "No, I'm  sure he has a perfectly legitimate  reason

to be wearing a blob wrangler's uniform, slipping into the blob corral late at

night, and skulking around in the darkness."

"What a relief, sir. I'm glad to hear he may yet be a Jedi candidate."

"Shut up, Threepio!"

They crept through the entrance into a room lined with blob pens. Banks of

about twenty small enclosures blocked his  line of sight in the shadowy  room.

Within each pen a gelatinous blob burbled and vibrated as it rested.

From the far  side of the  room came a  rattling noise: a  blob pen  being

eased open. Lando crept silently down the rows of blob enclosures, letting his

eyes adjust to  the dimness.  In the  shadows of the  far row  of pens,  Lando

spotted a human form. He recognized Tymmo's build, his furtive movements,  his

lanky dark hair. Tymmo hunched over  a cage, reaching inside, doing  something

to the blob in front of him.

Lando leaned  close to  Threepio and  breathed words  in the  faintest  of

whispers, knowing he  would not be  overheard in the  general stirring of  the

blobs. "Enhance your optical sensors so you can make out what he's doing,  and

record everything for later playback. We may need proof if we're going to  get

this guy."

Before the  droid could  answer, Lando  clamped his  hand over  Threepio's

mouth to keep him silent.

Threepio nodded and turned to stare at the man in the shadows.

With a whirring sound  Artoo-Detoo puttered down  the walkway between  the

pens. Tymmo looked up, startled, but  Artoo carried a cleaning attachment  and

scrubbed the floor under the pens. He whirred right by Tymmo, ignoring the man

just as a cleaning droid would do.  Lando nodded in admiration for the  little

astromech.

Tymmo turned back to his work, shaken by Artoo's appearance and apparently

wanting to be out of there as soon as possible.

"Sir!" Threepio cried. "He just implanted a small object in the protoplasm

of that blob!"

Tymmo whirled and  grabbed at one  of the pockets  of his jumpsuit.  Lando

didn't need greater illumination to recognize a blaster being drawn.

"Thanks a lot,  Threepio!" he  said as he  tackled the  droid. An  instant

later a blaster bolt sparked off the wall near where they had been standing  a

moment before. "Come on!"

He scrambled to  his feet and  ran over  to where Tymmo  had been  hiding,

ducking to take advantage of the cover the blob pens offered. Another  blaster

shot ricocheted through the dimness, missing them by a wide margin.

"Artoo!" Threepio wailed. "Sound  the alarms! Call  the guards! Alert  the

corral owner! Anybody!"

Tymmo shot at them again, and  Threepio gasped as sparks erupted close  to

his head.

"Oh, dear!"

Inside the corral the blobs awakened  and stirred, rearing up against  the

bars of their pens.

He heard Tymmo crash into the corner of a cage. They reached the pen where

Tymmo had been meddling. Lando  kept his head low.  "Threepio, see if you  can

tell what he planted in that blob."

"Do you really think that's wise right at the moment, sir?"

"Do it!" Lando had his own blaster drawn, scanning the shadows for Tymmo's

form. Ratcheting alarms rang out. "Good work, Artoo," Lando mumbled.

Seeing a hunched, moving form, Lando risked a shot on stun but missed.  An

indignant series  of electronic  noises  told him  he had  almost  deactivated

Artoo. "Sorry about that."

By firing his blaster Lando had given away his position. Tymmo shot  back,

but his energy bolt spanged off the  wall. Lando fired again, and as the  stun

beam expanded outward, he saw several blobs  in its path curl up and  condense

sideways.

"A shoot-out at the blob corral," Lando  said to himself. "Just the way  I

wanted to spend my vacation."

Threepio stood next to the pen trying to determine exactly what Tymmo  had

been doing. The blob itself, riled  by the disturbance, reared up against  the

bars, leaning into the  cage door. Dim light  glinted off Threepio's  polished

body, offering a  clear target; but  this time when  Tymmo fired, his  blaster

bolt incinerated the lock on  the pen. With the  pressing weight of the  blob,

the door flung  open, and the  entire gelatinous mass  dumped onto  Threepio's

head, oozing down his  body. The droid's muffled  cries of panic came  through

the wet protoplasm.

Seeing Tymmo's form move  through the shadows,  Lando sprinted after  him.

The other man  made for  the archway  exit as  fast as  he could  move in  the

murkiness. "Tymmo! Hold it right there!"

Tymmo turned  to glance  in Lando's  direction,  then put  on a  burst  of

reckless speed. At  that moment  Artoo scuttled  out of  the shadows,  placing

himself directly in  the running  man's path.  Tymmo crashed  into the  droid,

somersaulted into the air, and landed on his back.

Lando pounced, grabbing Tymmo's blaster arm and yanking it behind his back

until the weapon dropped free. "Good job, Artoo."

Tymmo thrashed and struggled as the  alarms continued to sound. "Get  away

from me! I won't let you take me back to her!"

"Help me! Help!" Threepio cried. He waved his arms, frantically trying  to

wipe blob material from his outer shell.

Guard droids and human security officers scrambled into the grotto. Lights

flared on as somebody upped the illumination. Tymmo fought more frantically.

"Over here!" Lando called.

The guard droids took possession of Tymmo, clamping their restraining arms

around him. Another reached  out to grasp Lando,  and he suddenly realized  he

had no good reason to be in the blob corral either.

"What in the bleeping  miasma is going  on here!" a  deep voice roared.  A

hirsute man who looked as if he  had dressed hurriedly strode into the  corral

area. "And shut  off those  blasted alarms!  They're upsetting  my blobs,  and

they're giving me a headache."

"Over here, Mr. Fondine," one of the human guards answered.

The  man  came  over  to  see  Tymmo  struggling  in  the  guard   droid's

straitjacket grasp. Lando  caught his  attention. "I've  uncovered a  possible

sabotage of the races, sir. This man here has been tinkering with the blobs."

The man gave Tymmo an acid glance,  then turned back to Lando. "I'm  Slish

Fondine, owner of  these stables. You'd  better tell  me who you  are and  why

you're here."

Lando realized, with  some surprise,  that he  had nothing  to hide.  "I'm

General Calrissian,  a  representative  of  the  New  Republic.  I  have  been

investigating this man, Tymmo, as part of an entirely different mission, but I

believe you will be very interested to study his track record of wins."

Tymmo glared at Lando. "You'll never take me back to her! I couldn't stand

that--you don't know how she is. I'll die first."

Slish Fondine shushed him with a wave of his hand. "That can be  arranged,

if what the general says is true.  On Umgul cheaters are executed." The  alarm

sirens finally fell silent.

"Will somebody please help me!" Threepio cried.

Fondine saw  the droid  struggling  with the  dripping greenish  mass  and

rushed over to assist him. Brushing the protoplasm back up into the main mass,

Fondine shushed and cooed the blob. "Easy now." He spoke to Threepio as  well.

"Stop struggling! The  blob is  as afraid of  you as  you are of  it. Just  be

calm." He lowered his voice. "They can sense fear, you know."

Threepio tried  to remain  still as  Fondine gently  coerced the  blob  to

reincorporate back toward its pen. Threepio suddenly grew excited again. "Sir!

I've just  found  a  near-microscopic electronic  object  inside  this  blob's

protoplasm. Magnifying ... it appears to be a micro-motivator!"

Lando suddenly understood  what Tymmo  had been  doing. A  micro-motivator

implanted in the blob could send  out a powerful internal stimulus, provoke  a

frantic  flight   response   in  any   creature.   If  tuned   properly,   the

micro-motivator could  give a  blob the  speed born  of absolute  terror.  The

gadget was  so tiny  that Tymmo  could  self-destruct it  after the  blob  had

successfully won a  race, leaving  only minuscule  traces of  a few  component

elements in the blob tissue. And no one would ever know.

Slish Fondine glared daggers at Tymmo.

"That is vile blasphemy against the whole spirit of blob racing."

Tymmo squirmed. "I had to have the  money! I had to get off planet  before

she gets here."

In exasperation Lando said,  "Who are you talking  about? Who is she?"  He

freed himself from the guard droid's grip.

Tymmo's eyes goggled at Lando's question. "Didn't she send you to get  me?

I saw you spying  on me at the  races. You tried to  catch me, but I  escaped.

I'll never go back to her."

"Who?!" both Lando and Slish Fondine bellowed in unison.

"The Duchess Mistal, of course. She  clings to me every second, she  blows

in my ear, she won't let me out of her sight--and I couldn't stand it anymore.

I had to get away."

Lando and Fondine looked  at each other  without comprehension, but  Artoo

trundled up, chittering  an explanation.  Threepio, extricated  from the  blob

mass, stepped forward to translate.

"Artoo has  run  a  check. The  Duchess  Mistal  of Dargul  has  posted  a

million-credit reward for the safe return of her lost consort--apparently,  he

ran away  from her.  The man's  official  name is  Dack, but  his  description

precisely matches that of Mr. Tymmo here."

Tymmo hung his head  in misery. Fondine crossed  his arms over his  chest.

"Well? What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Yes, I'm Dack." He  heaved a huge sigh.  "The Duchess Mistal reached  her

age of marriage two  years ago and  decided to find  the perfect consort.  She

advertised across the galaxy for likely candidates, and she received  millions

of applicants. I was one of them. Who wouldn't want the job? She was rich  and

young and  beautiful. All  the  consort would  have to  do  is live  in  total

opulence and be doted upon by the duchess."

Tears sprang  to  Tymmo's  eyes.  "My  particular  talent  was  electronic

wizardry. I built those micro-motivators from scratch. When I applied for  the

consort position, I knew my odds were  small. But I succeeded in hacking  into

the central  computer  in  Palace Dargul,  sabotaging  the  other  applicants,

planting an algorithm  so that  the computer  would spit  out my  name as  the

perfect choice."

Slish Fondine looked nauseated at the  mere concept of cheating in such  a

heinous manner.

"The duchess and I  were married, and everything  seemed exactly as I  had

expected--at first. But  the duchess was  convinced I was  her perfect  match,

fated to be with her  forever. Every waking moment of  the day she refused  to

let me move more than arm's length away from her. She would wake me up at  all

hours of the night, find me during her  meal breaks. She would trap me in  the

gardens, in the libraries."

Tymmo's eyes grew wild, shining with panic. "I thought she would get tired

of me--or at least used  to having me around--but it  went on for more than  a

year! I couldn't sleep, I jumped at shadows. I was a wreck, and that made  her

feel sorry for me ... so she clung even tighter!

"And I couldn't leave!  On Dargul they mate  for life. Life! She'll  never

give up searching,  and she'll never  take another  mate as long  as I  live."

Tymmo looked as if a scream hovered on his lips. "I'll never be free of her! I

had to escape."

"Well, it looks like you've finally  found a way out," Slish Fondine  said

in an angry voice.  "As an admitted scam  artist, you'll be promptly  executed

under the laws of Umgul."

To Lando’s surprise  Tymmo didn't even  try to defend  himself. He  seemed

resigned to his fate.

But Lando wasn't so sure about the idea. "Let's think about this a minute,

Mr. Fondine. Did you say there's  a million-credit reward for his safe  return

to the duchess, Artoo?"

Artoo chirped an affirmative.

"Now, Mr. Fondine, think of what a  wonderful gift of state this would  be

for the upcoming visit of the duchess,  returning her consort in time to  ease

her loneliness."

Tymmo groaned in misery.

"On the other hand, if you were to execute him, knowing he is her  missing

consort, things  could  get very  unpleasant  between Umgul  and  your  sister

planet. Might even be cause for war."

Fondine's face darkened with the possibilities, but his honor had been  so

offended that the choice was not clear to him. He sighed. "We will leave it up

to the prisoner himself. Tymmo, or Dack, or whatever your name is--do you wish

to be executed or returned to the Duchess Mistal?"

Tymmo swallowed hard. "How long do I have to think about it?"

"It's not a trick question!" Lando said.

Tymmo sighed. "Can I at least be allowed to rest until she gets here?  I'm

going to need all my strength."

The Lady Luck cruised out of the huge grotto of Umgul's spaceport,  rising

above the mists  into the sky.  Slish Fondine had  insisted, out of  fairness,

that he would transfer half of the duchess's reward into Lando's account  when

she arrived.

No longer penniless,  Lando would have  seed money to  invest in some  new

operation, some other scheme  that could excite him.  He had tried the  molten

metal mines on Nkllon, and the Tibanna  gas mines on Bespin. He wondered  what

he might find next.

Though he had tried his best to  track down a worthy candidate for  Luke's

Jedi academy, he hated to return empty-handed to Coruscant. But he knew  there

would be others.

Threepio remained uncharacteristically silent as the Lady Luck burst  into

hyperspace, heading home.

Images of starships whirled  through space like  pinpoints of fire  around

Coruscant. The  holographic map  of the  system showed  the locations  of  all

vessels in range  and plotted  approved approach  orbits on  a huge  spherical

grid.  Data  terminals  spewed  information   on  vessel  sizes  and   landing

requirements, keeping track of anyone reporting impaired control. A scattering

of red danger zones  marked debris clouds  of wrecked ships  that had not  yet

been removed from the battle over Coruscant.

Dozens of space-traffic controllers stood at their stations around the 3-D

map  of  the  planet,  pointing  at   images  with  light  pens  and   drawing

safe-approach vectors or prioritizing landing patterns. One of the war-damaged

spaceports on the  western end  of Imperial City  had just  been brought  back

on-line in the last week, and much  of the shuttle traffic was being  rerouted

there to ease the burden on landing platforms around the Imperial Palace.

Leia Organa Solo stood beside one  of the traffic controllers. Seeing  how

busy the woman was  directing space traffic,  Leia tried not  to ask too  many

questions, but she found it difficult to wait.

"There's something." The traffic controller reached up with the light  pen

to indicate  a squarish  violet icon  used for  Small Starship--Type  Unknown.

"Could that be the one you're  waiting for, Minister Organa Solo? Just  popped

out of hyperspace. Unable to determine previous vector."

Leia felt a surge of excitement. "Yes, that's the one. Have they requested

clearance yet?"

The traffic controller touched a  receiver implant at her temple.  "Coming

in now. The pilot sends only her name. Sounds like some kind of code. Winter?"

Leia smiled. "No, that's her real name. Give her clearance to land on  the

top northside platform of the Imperial Palace, my authorization." She drew  in

a deep breath, feeling her heart pound faster. "I'll go meet her  personally."

She turned and took two  quick steps away before  she remembered to thank  the

traffic controller for her help. "Come on, Threepio," Leia said as she bustled

past him.

The protocol droid snapped to attention,  then hurried after her with  his

stiff-legged gait. He  had returned to  Coruscant with Artoo  and Lando  three

days earlier and spent four hours in a luxurious lubricant-and-scrubber  bath.

Now he  gleamed like  new, with  all traces  of blob  mucus removed  from  his

finish.

Leia heard Threepio's motivators humming as he followed. She ignored  him,

lost in her own  conflicting thoughts. Han should  have been back from  Kessel

two days ago, but still she had  heard no word from him. He'd probably  fallen

in with some of his old smuggling buddies, had too much to drink, gambled  far

into the late hours, and completely forgotten about his other obligations.  It

was a good thing Chewbacca had sworn a blood oath to protect him, because  Han

was going to have to  face her when he  got back, and he  was going to need  a

Wookiee's protection. How dare he forget something like this?

For now, Leia would welcome her twin children home. Alone.

Standing on the top deck of the palace, Leia craned her neck and  searched

the hazy skies. Coruscant's aurora shimmered through the twilight, eclipsed by

the complex matrix of the great orbiting shipyards.

"Threepio, tell me  the minute  you see  them coming."  The breeze  tossed

loose strands of hair in front of her eyes.

"Yes, Mistress Leia. I'm searching." In  an imitation of a human  gesture,

Threepio cupped two  golden hands around  his optical sensors  as if it  would

help him focus better. "Don't you think it would be wiser for us to step  back

slightly from the edge?"

Leia held her breath. Her children were coming home. They had not set foot

on Coruscant for nearly  two years, but  now they would be  back to stay.  She

could be a real mother to them, at last.

Just after their birth the twins  had been sequestered on a secret  planet

uncovered by Luke and Admiral Ackbar. It was a world unrecorded on any  chart,

but habitable and protected. Luke and Ackbar had established a heavily guarded

base there, leaving  Leia's trusted servant  Winter behind to  watch over  the

Jedi children.

She suspected Luke had given the children a bit more than just Winter  for

protection, though.

During their protective isolation Leia had managed to visit Jacen,  Jaina,

and Anakin every few months,  usually with Han in  tow. At a prearranged  time

Winter would pop out  of hyperspace in a  long-distance shuttle. Without  ever

knowing their destination,  Leia and Han  would climb aboard  the shuttle,  be

sealed in the back  passenger compartment, and Winter  would take them to  the

protected planet. The New  Republic Senate was  appalled at Leia's  mysterious

movements, but Luke and Ackbar had silenced their objections.

Leia hoped she  would be  able to  find the time  to visit  her baby  boy,

little Anakin, now that she had the twins to watch over. It would be a tragedy

if she had to be even less of a mother to the baby than she had been to  these

two.

"There it is, Mistress Leia!" Threepio pointed up at a flickering point of

light that grew brighter every second. "A shuttle is coming down."

She felt a spasm of anxiety mixed with a thrill of excitement.

The shuttle approached, winking red and green lights in the twilight  sky.

It circled the  former Imperial  Palace, then activated  its repulsorlifts  to

come down with a  gentle sigh on the  landing platform. Angular and  bug-like,

the shuttle bore no markings, no indication of its planet of origin.

With a hiss of equalizing pressure,  the hatch of the shuttle's  passenger

compartment split open, gently extending a ramp.  Leia bit her lip and took  a

step forward, squinting into  the sharp shadows. The  shuttle blocked most  of

the breeze, leaving the area still and silent.

The young twins  stepped out side  by side and  waited at the  top of  the

ramp. Leia stared at Jacen and Jaina, both self-composed and dark-haired, with

wide avid eyes and small  faces that looked like the  ghosts of Han and  Leia.

After a second's hesitation  Leia ran up the  ramp, gathering the children  in

her arms. Both Jacen and Jaina hugged their mother. "Welcome home!" she  said,

whispering.

She sensed fear and  reservation in them; Leia  realized with a pang  that

she was a virtual stranger to them. Winter had been their nanny for as long as

they could remember. Leia had been just a visitor whenever she could find time

in her duties. But  she would make  it up to them.  She promised herself  that

much.

All the outstanding obligations rose up in her mind, haunting her with the

specter of duty.  She still  had to  deal with  the Caridan  ambassador and  a

thousand other delicate  tasks to hold  the New Republic  together. Dozens  of

planetary systems  were on  the verge  of joining  the Republic  if a  skilled

representative--Leia herself--showed good faith by making a visit of state. If

Mon Mothma summoned Leia to  help ratify a treaty, or  to take her place at  a

state dinner,  how could  Leia refuse?  The fate  of the  galaxy hung  in  the

balance, clearly dependent on what she did.

How could mere  children take  precedence over that?  And what  kind of  a

mother did it make her even to think about it?

"Where's Daddy?" Jacen asked.

Anger went through Leia like a spear of ice. "He's not here right now."

Winter finally worked her way back from the pilot compartment. Leia looked

up at her friend and confidante, and warm memories washed over her.

Winter had  had snow-white  hair for  as long  as Leia  could remember,  a

serene face  that rarely  allowed even  a  twinge of  anger to  show  through.

Noticing Han's  absence, Winter  raised her  eyebrows, filling  her face  with

questions, but she remained silent.

"Where's baby Anakin?" Jaina asked.

"He has to stay with me for  a while longer,"Winter said, nudging the  two

children down the ramp. "Come, now, we'll take you to your new home."

The two children dutifully marched ahead, with Leia following close beside

them. Threepio didn't  seem to  know what  he was  expected to  do during  the

reunion,  so  he  just  followed,   waving  his  arms  and  making   flustered

exclamations.

"How long we stay here?" Jacen asked.

"Where's our room?" Jaina said.

Leia smiled at the questions and took a deep breath before answering them.

From now on she had a feeling she would be hearing a lot of questions.

When Leia finally kissed  the twins good  night, Threepio couldn't  decide

whether mother or  twins looked more  exhausted. Leia pushed  loose dark  hair

away from her eyes as she stood at the doorway to their room and blew  another

kiss.

After adjusting his servomotors to allow a little more flexibility in  his

joints, Threepio hunkered down between the  twins' beds. He had already  taken

care of  important details  such as  providing  fresh cups  of water  for  the

children and installing small night-lights in the dark corners.

"You two be good for Threepio," Leia  said. "He'll stay here until you  go

to sleep. You've had  exciting things happen  today, and we'll  do a lot  more

tomorrow. I'm so glad  to have you  back." Leia flashed  a heartfelt smile  at

them, showing joy even through the weariness on her face.

"I'm certain I  can handle this,  Mistress Leia," Threepio  said. "I  have

reviewed most of the  available child psychology  databases, except for  those

recommended by the Emperor, of course."

Leia's answering look seemed to carry  a bit of skepticism, which  puzzled

Threepio.

"Don't wanna go sleep," Jacen said, sitting up in bed.

Leia still smiled. "But you need your rest. Maybe Threepio will tell you a

bedtime story if you're good." She waved  once more, then faded back into  the

main living area.

The children had indeed  had a busy day.  After their journey with  Winter

they had been taken on a quick  tour of the Imperial Palace, then shown  their

new quarters. Even with her duties as  Minister of State, Leia had managed  to

redecorate the twins' bedchamber in warm, soothing colors.

Threepio would have offered his own assistance in the project, but at  the

time he  had been  with Lando  Calrissian at  the blob  races. Thinking  back,

Threepio would have preferred the decorating chores.

Several times during  the tour  Leia was interrupted  by insistent  calls,

documents that needed to be authorized, brief conversations that could not  be

delayed. Each time Leia looked guilty, as if realizing this was an  indication

of things to come.

The twins, though  filled with  excitement and  wonder of  the new  things

around them, grew cranky  as they became tired.  They had been overwhelmed  by

too much strangeness in  one day, given a  new home, and told  to sleep in  an

unfamiliar room. According to the information Threepio had recently  uploaded,

it was perfectly normal for the children to cause minor difficulties.

"Don't wanna bedtime story," Jacen said, crossing his small hands over his

chest and looking defiantly at Threepio.

"No story," Jaina echoed.

"Of course you do," Threepio insisted. "I have scoured the collected works

of children's literature on  thousands of planetary  systems. I have  selected

what I believe will be a truly  enjoyable story. It is called The Little  Lost

Bantha Cub, a classic that has  been popular for generations with children  of

your age."

He had been looking forward to  telling this story, recalling how much  he

had enjoyed telling the Ewoks of  his adventures with Master Luke and  Captain

Solo. He had even  selected some very exciting  sound effects for  appropriate

points in the Bantha Cub  story. Threepio had never  actually been close to  a

live bantha  during  his  time  on Tatooine,  but  bantha  riders--the  Tusken

Raiders--had dismantled  him during  their  first attack  on Master  Luke.  He

supposed that gave him some small claim to expertise.

"Don't wanna story!" Jacen repeated.  Both children had unruly dark  hair,

and the  deep brown  eyes of  their  mother. Right  now the  young boy  had  a

determined and stubborn look on his face  that Threepio had often seen on  Han

Solo.

Threepio realized that the issue  at hand had very  little to do with  the

actual story. According to  his new information on  young children, the  twins

were right now  feeling displaced  and helpless. With  so many  things out  of

their control, they needed to exert their  power, to insist on some tiny  spot

of stability.  Jacen needed  to see  that he  could have  some effect  on  his

surroundings. Right  now the  boy was  very upset;  Jaina, picking  up on  her

brother's distress, seemed on the verge of tears.

"Very well,  young Master  Jacen. I  will tell  you the  story some  other

time."

Threepio knew just the trick  to keep the twins  happy and let them  drift

off to  sleep.  He  was, after  all,  fluent  in over  six  million  forms  of

communication. He could sing lullabyes in any number of languages, any  number

of styles.

He selected a  few that  were guaranteed to  please the  twins. Jacen  and

Jaina would be asleep in no time. He began to sing.

"Now what  are they  crying  about?" Leia  said,  sitting up  sharply  and

looking toward the bedroom. "Maybe I should go and see."

Winter reached out to touch her wrist, stopping her. "It'll be all  right.

They're tired, they're frightened, they're anxious. Bear with them. And  since

you're new to them, they'll be  testing your limits every moment, finding  out

how they can manipulate you. Don't  teach them that you'll come running  every

time they make a sound. Children learn those sorts of things very quickly."

Leia sighed  and looked  at her  personal servant.  For years  Winter  had

advised her in many things, and she was usually right. "Looks like I'm the one

who needs to learn things quickly."

"Every part of it is  a learning process. You  must balance your love  for

them with their need for stability. That's what parenting is all about."

Leia scowled as hidden concern began to drown out her happiness at  having

the children back with her. "I might be doing this all by myself."

Winter's gaze seemed incisive, and she asked the question that had been on

her mind for hours. "Where is Han?"

"He's not here--that's where he is!"

Not wanting Winter to see her flustered outrage, Leia stood up and  turned

her back. Over  and over, she  had imagined possibilities  of Han hurt,  lost,

attacked ... but  she found  it safer  to believe  other possibilities.  "He's

flying around in the Falcon with Chewbacca. He should have been back two  days

ago. He knew when  the twins were  coming home, but he  couldn't bother to  be

here! It's bad enough  we've been practically nonexistent  as parents for  the

first two years  of their lives,  but he can't  even spare the  time to  greet

Jacen and Jaina when they finally come home."

Han had felt  the razor of  Leia's words  many times, and  her tongue  had

grown more precise with years of diplomatic practice. A small part of her  was

glad he was not here to bear the brunt of her anger. But then again, if he had

been here, she would not have had cause for such anger.

"Where did he go?"

Leia waved her hand, trying to sound casual. "Off to Kessel, to see if  he

could convince any of the old spice miners to join the New Republic. He hasn't

bothered to call since he left."

Winter gazed at  her, not  blinking. Winter's intense  periods of  thought

always unsettled Leia. "Let me tell you  this, Leia. I think I'm right. If  it

were anyone else on a mission like this, two days overdue and no contact for a

week or so, you would be concerned.  Very concerned. With Han, you are  making

an assumption that he is just being irresponsible. What if something  happened

to him?"

"That's crazy." She turned away again, to keep Winter from seeing that the

same worries had been plaguing her.

Winter's grave expression did not change.

"According to  the  reports I  have  seen, Kessel  is  relatively  hostile

territory. Not only  the spice  mines, but the  Imperial Correction  Facility,

with some powerful  defenses in  place to  keep prisoners  from escaping.  The

entire system has been out of contact with us for some time."

Winter paused, as if accessing other  memories. "When Mara Jade and  Talon

Karrde unified some  of the smugglers  two years ago,  Jade noted that  Kessel

might cause certain problems.  Shouldn't you check  with a diplomatic  contact

there to make certain nothing has happened to the Millennium Falcon?"

Leia blinked  her eyes,  annoyed at  Winter's suggestion,  though she  had

thought of it herself dozens of times. "Seems like overreacting, doesn't it?"

Winter regarded  her calmly.  "Or  are you  just  unwilling to  show  your

concern because it would embarrass you?"

* * *

The private communications  chamber looked  different in the  bustle of  a

bright morning on Coruscant. The last time Leia had stood inside the room  had

been to contact the infuriating Caridan ambassador in the dead of night.

Now,  as  she  looked   out  the  mirrored   walls,  Leia  watched   minor

functionaries  hurrying  to  daily  assignments,  administrative  and  service

personnel who had probably  worked in Imperial City  for years, caring  little

for what overall government ruled the galaxy.

Not long ago, Leia thought, the Alliance  had been made up of the  bravest

and most dedicated fighters, those willing to die for their ideals. How  could

the New Republic degenerate into bureaucracy so quickly? She thought of heroes

she had known, like Jek Porkins and Biggs Darklighter, who had died to destroy

the first Death Star; she hoped  their spirit still remained somewhere in  the

new government.

At the transmission  consoleWinter made  a small noise  to attract  Leia's

attention. "This has been difficult, Leia, but  I think I have a contact.  The

entire city of  Kessendra seems  to be  abandoned, but  I was  able to  obtain

communications codes  for  the  Imperial  Correction  Facility.  With  further

inquiries I have tracked down a person  who seems to be at least nominally  in

charge of  what passes  for a  government  there. His  name is  Moruth  Doole,

originally in the administration of the  prison. Somehow he is now  overseeing

the spice-mining operations.

"There seems to be quite a bit  of chaos there. My first contact was  with

the garrison station on Kessel's moon.  Everyone seems quite alarmed at  being

contacted by the New Republic. I  was bounced to several others before  Moruth

Doole finally agreed to speak with us. He is waiting for you now."

"Go ahead," Leia said. Winter  checked her board, then initiated  contact.

Leia stepped into the transmission field.

A small hologram of  a froglike creature appeared  above the dais.  Static

caused by  poor  transmission equipment  on  the Kessel  end  smeared  Doole's

coloring into yellowish green. His archaic waistcoat and bright-yellow  cravat

made him look a comical figure.

"You must be Minister Organa Solo?" Doole said. He spread his hands toward

her image  in a  placating gesture.  She noticed  that he  wore some  sort  of

mechanical  contraption,  a  focusing  mechanism  perhaps,  over  one  of  his

lantern-like eyes. "I am  extremely pleased to hear  from a representative  of

the New Republic, and I apologize for any difficulty in getting in touch  with

me. We've had  some social  turmoil over  the past  couple of  years, and  I'm

afraid we have not yet managed to quell all disturbances."

His fleshy amphibian lips stretched upward in what must have been meant as

a smile. A long,  sharp tongue flicked  out as he spoke,  but Doole talked  so

quickly that Leia could not get a word in edgewise. In her years of diplomatic

service Leia had learned not to count  too much on reading body language  from

nonhumans, but could this be a sign of nervousness?

"Now then,  Minister,  how  can I  help  you?  Believe me,  we  have  been

considering sending  a  representative to  establish  relations with  the  New

Republic. I would like to extend an  invitation for you to send an  ambassador

to our world, in the  interests of maintaining harmony.  On Kessel we like  to

think of the New Republic as our friends."

Doole stopped talking abruptly,  as if he realized  he had said too  much.

Leia frowned inwardly but controlled  her expression. Moruth Doole was  saying

exactly what she wanted to hear, giving perfect political answers without  her

having to  ask  the questions.  Odd.  What  was he  thinking?  "Actually,  Mr.

Doole--I'm afraid  I don't  know your  proper title.  How do  you wish  to  be

addressed?"

Doole stared with his one eye  and fiddled with the mechanical lenses,  as

if he had never considered the  question before. "Uh, Commissioner Doole  will

do nicely, I think."

"Commissioner Doole, I welcome your offer of openness and cooperation, and

I hope we have not already acted prematurely. One of our representatives  went

to Kessel more than a week ago, but we have heard nothing from him. He was due

to return three days ago. I am contacting you to see if you could verify  that

he did indeed arrive safely?"

Doole raised his long-fingered hands to his cheeks. "A representative, you

say? Here? I am aware of no such arrival."

Leia kept her face placid, though her heart grew cold. "Could you check to

see if  his  ship, the  Millennium  Falcon  arrived? We  had  some  difficulty

tracking down a  person in  charge just moments  ago. Perhaps  he reported  to

someone other than yourself."

Doole sounded doubtful.  "Well, of course  I can check."  He punched at  a

data terminal  unseen beyond  the  fringe of  the transmission  field.  Almost

immediately--too fast,  Leia thought--Doole  straightened.  "No, I  am  sorry,

Minister. We  have no  record of  a  ship called  the Millennium  Falcon  ever

arriving in Kessel space. Who was piloting the ship?"

"His name is Han Solo. He is my husband."

Doole straightened in  shock. "I'm terribly  sorry to hear  that. Is he  a

good pilot? As  you may know,  the black  hole cluster near  Kessel makes  for

extremely hazardous flying conditions, even in  hyperspace. The Maw is one  of

the wonders of  the galaxy, but  if he was  to take a  wrong path through  the

cluster ... I hope nothing happened to him!"

Leia leaned deeper into the transmission field. "Han is a very good pilot,

Commissioner Doole."

"I'll muster a  search team  at once,  Minister. Believe  me, Kessel  will

offer whatever assistance we  can in this matter.  We'll scour the surface  of

the planet and the moon, and we'll search space for any disabled ship. I  will

inform you immediately of any progress we make."

Doole reached forward to the controls of his holotransmitter, then paused.

"And of course we look forward to formally receiving any other ambassador  you

choose to  send.  I  hope  the  next time  we  speak  will  be  under  happier

circumstances, Minister Organa Solo."

As Moruth Doole's image fizzled into static, Leia let her stony expression

fall into a scowl of confusion and suspicion.

Winter looked up from her controls. "I detected no outright contradictions

of fact, but I am not convinced of the total truth of what he was saying."

Leia's gaze focused on  something far away.  Anxiety twisted her  insides,

and she felt very foolish for  being angry with Han. "Something is  definitely

wrong here."

When Han Solo's temper  finally snapped, he hauled  off with a  roundhouse

punch that knocked  the guard backward.  Han leaped on  the man, punching  him

again and again in the chest and stomach, cracking his knuckles on the scuffed

stormtrooper armor.

The other guards in the muster room scrambled toward him, knocking Han  to

the floor.  Behind the  transparisteel  observation cubicles,  shift  monitors

sounded the  alarm  and summoned  assistance.  The  door slid  open  from  the

communal areas, and four more guards charged in, drawing their weapons.

Chewbacca let out a  thunderous Wookiee roar and  waded through the  other

guards, yanking  them  off Han's  back.  His life  debt  to his  partner  took

precedence over common sense.

Han continued to  swing, yelling  incoherently at  his captors.  Chewbacca

smashed two of the guards' heads  together and dropped their limp bodies.  The

reinforcements looked up at the Wookiee, and they goggled as they saw the wall

of fur and muscle in front of them. They drew their weapons.

Young Kyp Durron bent  low and dove  into the knees  of the closest  armed

guard, knocking him to  the floor. Kyp  scrambled out of  the way, yanking  at

boots and legs, tripping two more men.

With  nothing   to   lose,   other  prisoners   joined   in   the   brawl,

indiscriminately punching anything nearby, guards or other prisoners. Many  of

the captive spice miners were themselves former prison guards who had been  on

the wrong side during Moruth Doole's rebellion--and the other prisoners  hated

them.

With a whoop of energy, blue arcs of a blaster set on stun lanced out  and

knocked Chewbacca flat on his back, where he coughed and groaned and tried  to

raise himself on his elbows.

The alarms kept ringing, a throbbing sound that increased the chaos in the

muster room. More  guards rushed  out of the  communal area.  Blue stun  bolts

rippled through the  air, mowing  down the  rioting prisoners  and taking  out

other guards at the same time.

"Enough!" Boss Roke  shouted into a  microphone on his  collar. The  voice

exploded through the muster-room speakers. "Stop it, or we'll stun you all and

then dissect you to learn what's wrong with your brains!"

One more stun bolt was fired, dropping two struggling workers to the floor

like sacks of gelatin.

Han yanked himself free of the guards and rubbed his split knuckles. Anger

continued to seethe through his mind, and  he had to work double time to  calm

himself so he wouldn't get shot.

"Everybody  to  the  bunks!  Now!"   Boss  Roke  said.  His  lip   curled;

bluish-black stubble looked like a smear of  dirty oil on his chin. His  lumpy

body seemed coiled and dangerous.

Kyp Durron lifted himself up,  but as he caught  Han's gaze, he flashed  a

smile. No matter what their punishment would be, Kyp had enjoyed lashing out.

Two very uneasy  guards hauled Chewbacca  to his feet,  draping his  hairy

arms over their shoulders. Another  guard wearing a battered old  stormtrooper

helmet trained his gun on the  Wookiee. Chewbacca's arms and legs twitched  as

if still trying to struggle, but the  stun bolt had thrown his nerve  impulses

into turmoil.  The  guards  tossed him  into  one  of the  holding  cells  and

activated the  door before  Chewbacca could  engage his  muscular control.  He

sagged to the ground in a flurry of mussed brown hair.

His eyes dark with anger, Han  moved with taut readiness. He followed  Kyp

to the line of metal  bunks. The guards brushed  themselves off and glared  at

him. Han climbed into his uncomfortable sleeping pallet. Around him the  metal

rods holding the mattresses and bunks apart seemed like another cage.

Kyp climbed to the upper bunk and leaned down. "What was that all  about?"

he said. "What set you off?"

One of the guards rapped a stun stick against the side of the bunk.  "Keep

your head inside!"

Kyp's face popped back  into his own  area, but Han  could still hear  him

moving. "Just touchy, I guess," Han  mumbled. He felt a hollow sorrow  inside.

"I just realized that today is the day my kids are coming home. I wasn't there

to be with them."

Before Kyp could  acknowledge, Boss Roke  flicked on the  sleep-generating

field that  pulsed around  the bunks  and  sent Han,  still resisting,  on  an

endless plunge into dull nightmares.

Standing outside the doorway of  the spice-processing annex, Moruth  Doole

fitted an infrared attachment into place over his mechanical eye. He hissed in

his own uneasiness, flicking his tongue in  and out to taste the air, to  keep

himself safe.

The recent transmission from Solo's woman made him very nervous about what

the New Republic might do to him. In the warm darkness of the spice-processing

rooms, he could relax. Looking at the blind and helpless workers that did  his

bidding hour after hour made him feel stronger, more in control.

The heavy  metal door  thudded  into place,  sealing  out the  light.  The

secondary entrance  slid  open to  a  womblike vault  that  glowed in  his  IR

attachment, warm and red from the body heat of the workers. Doole took a  deep

breath, sniffing the musty dankness of the gathered life-forms.

He looked at the blurry orange  images crouched over the processing  line.

They stirred, silently afraid of his  presence. That made Doole feel good.  He

strode in among them, inspecting their work.

Hundreds of blind  larvae, pale  and wormlike with  large sightless  eyes,

fumbled with four  slender arms to  handle the delicate  spice crystals.  They

wrapped the fibrous  segments in  opaque paper  and loaded  them into  special

protective cases, which would then be ferried up to the shipyard and  transfer

base on  Kessel's moon.  With  the larvae  working  comfortably in  the  total

darkness necessary  for  spice processing,  Doole's  operation ran  much  more

smoothly than it had under Imperial control.

The brief  telepathic boost  offered  by glitterstim  spice had  made  the

substance a valuable commodity tightly controlled by the Empire. Other planets

had a weaker form of  spice, sometimes known as  the mineral ryll, but  Kessel

was the only place where  glitterstim could be found.  The Empire had kept  an

iron fist  around  Kessel's  spice production,  keeping  the  glitterstim  for

espionage and interrogation  purposes, as well  as checks on  loyalty and  the

granting of security clearances.

But there had always  been a vast demand  on the invisible market:  lovers

wanting to  share  an  ephemeral telepathic  link,  creative  artists  seeking

inspiration, investors  trying to  obtain inside  information, scam  operators

wanting to dupe rich clients. Many smugglers delivered the spice to Jabba  the

Hutt and other gangster distributors.

But the Empire no longer  controlled spice production. Doole had  expected

to have no further problems--until Solo came back.

Doole had  been waiting  for the  call  from Coruscant  for days.  He  had

rehearsed his  answers over  and over,  knowing exactly  what he  should  say.

Perhaps he had rehearsed too much, coming up with snap answers that might make

Minister Organa Solo suspicious.

Skynxnex told Doole  he was overreacting,  that they just  needed to  play

their part. Solo and the Wookiee had been safely exiled to the spice mines. No

one would ever find  them. But there  was always a  chance something could  go

wrong. Maybe it would be  best if he just ordered  Solo killed and got rid  of

all the risks.

Doole walked along the  rows of larval workers.  His vision in the  blurry

infrared was not much worse than the normal eyesight from his mechanical  eye.

The caterpillar-like larvae  bowed in  silence, working  slavishly. Doole  had

taken them from the egg sac and raised them here, centering their existence on

processing spice. He was a god to them.

As Doole  passed,  one of  the  largest males  reared  up in  a  defensive

posture, waving his frail arms as if to ward off Doole from his territory.  To

his shock Doole noticed that the  male larva had nearly reached maturity.  Had

time gone by so  quickly? This one would  soon shed his skin  and emerge as  a

strong adult.

Doole would have to kill  him well before that.  The last thing he  needed

right now  was  competition--even  if it  did  mean  killing one  of  his  own

children.

Boss Roke stood  in the muster  room with  hands on his  hips, giving  the

workers a lumpy, appraising  smile. "We lost another  team yesterday. A  guard

and four workers, down in  the deep new tunnels." He  waited for that to  sink

in, but most of the prisoners had already noticed the missing workers.

"The samples brought up earlier show that this could be one of the richest

strikes of  spice we've  found, and  I'm  not going  to let  incompetence  and

superstition cheat me out of a big  payoff. I need some volunteers to go  down

with me to the lower tunnels and check it out--and if I don't get  volunteers,

I'll pick them anyway." Boss Roke waited. "Don't all volunteer at once."

He scanned the room. Watching  him, Han knew that  because of his part  in

the brawl the  day before,  he would  be one of  those picked.  But he  didn't

mind--not  if  his  suspicions  were  correct.  Rather  than  give  Roke   the

satisfaction of  coercing him,  Han stepped  forward. "I'll  volunteer.  Beats

another day of getting dirt under my fingernails."

Roke looked at him in surprise, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"I'll go along,  too." Kyp  Durron stepped beside  Han. Han  felt a  happy

warmth swell up inside him, but he  pushed it back. He didn't want to  explain

anything, not just yet.

Chewbacca yowled in surprise, then grunted a question about Han's sanity.

"What did he say?" Boss Roke asked.

"He's volunteering, too," Han said.

Chewie let  out an  uncomfortable  snort of  denial  but made  no  further

argument.

"One more volunteer," Roke said, then  scanned the room. "You, Clorr."  He

pointed to a former prison worker who had done a lot of damage in Han's brawl.

"I'm taking one guard and you four. Suit up. Let's go."

Roke didn't waste any time.  By now Han had grown  used to pulling on  his

thermal suit and adjusting the breath mask.  He switched on the power pack  to

start warmth pulsating through his suit. Chewbacca looked ridiculous with  his

suit's empty third sleeve limp and taped flat against his torso.

Kyp and Chewbacca kept staring at Han, wondering what he had in mind.  Han

moved his  hands slightly  to quell  their questions  for the  time being.  Of

course he had a plan.

One of  the other  guards, looking  fidgety and  uncomfortable, shifted  a

blaster rifle from shoulder to shoulder.

"Let's go!" Boss Roke said, and clapped his hands.

The four volunteers and the  second guard lined up  at the opening to  the

long metal chamber that housed the floating mine cars. They entered, and  Boss

Roke disengaged three  cars from the  long train.  Roke and the  guard sat  up

front, while the others crammed into the remaining two cars.

"Hey, how about  some of those  infrared goggles?" Han  called. "If  there

really is something out there, we'll need to be able to see where to run."

Roke  contemptuously  put   his  own  goggles   over  his  eyes.   "You're

expendable." He activated the guidance system on the front car's controls. The

lights went out, and the opposite door groaned open, flooding the  compartment

with cold, thin air.

"So much for that idea," Han said,  then scrambled to put his breath  mask

in place.

The unenthusiastic prisoner, Clorr, groaned  in dismay. Then the  floating

cars lurched  into  motion, gaining  speed  until they  bulleted  through  the

tunnels. The air whooshed as the car  sped close to crumbling rock tubes  from

which generations of spice miners had peeled glitterstim deposits.

When the wind of their passage drowned out other noises, Kyp leaned closer

to Han,  speaking through  his breath  mask. "Okay,  so tell  me what  we  got

ourselves into."

Han shrugged. "I have  an idea, and if  I'm right, we can  all get out  of

this mess."

Chewbacca made a skeptical sound but ended in a question.

"Think about it, Chewie. People have been disappearing off and on from the

same place--what  if they  found a  way to  escape? They've  been working  new

tunnels, going into unexplored areas looking for spice, then suddenly a  bunch

of them don't come back. You and  I know there are plenty of abandoned  shafts

from the illicit miners that slipped through Imperial security. This planet is

honeycombed with entrances to the spice tunnels."

Han paused, hoping they had already figured it out. "Roke's teams  usually

have one guard and five blind prisoners.  What if they came around the  corner

and suddenly found  an opening to  the surface, letting  them see again.  They

could overpower the guard and make their way to freedom.

"Once Roke discovers the way out, though,  he'll block it up and we  won't

have another chance. If we're ever going to get out, if I'm ever going to  get

back and  see Leia  and  the kids,  I've  got to  try.  I thought  maybe  this

desperate gamble would be worth it."

"Sounds like a good chance," Kyp said.  "I've been down here so long,  I'm

willing to try anything."

Chewbacca agreed, but with somewhat less enthusiasm.

They plunged down and down,  whipping around sharp corners. Several  times

Han thought the rocky walls brushed within  a handbreadth of his head, and  he

tried to crouch  down inside the  car. He  didn't want to  imagine what  would

happen if  Chewbacca's head  struck  an outcropping  at  the speed  they  were

moving.

In the black spice mines Han rapidly  lost all conception of time. He  had

no idea how long they  traveled, how far they went,  or how fast the  floating

cars moved through the tunnels.  Boss Roke brought the  vehicle to a stop  and

called for  the prisoners  to  dismount. The  guard noisily  unshouldered  his

blaster rifle.

Han paid extra attention to the  small noises he heard, building the  best

mental picture possible of where Boss Roke and the guard were standing at  all

times. That was  something he would  need to know  if he had  to make a  quick

escape. But they had  gone down so  deep now, he could  not imagine finding  a

passage to the surface.

"Follow me," Boss Roke said. "I want one prisoner up front ahead of me and

the guard taking the rear."

Han heard a shove and a gasp,  then someone stumbled forward. Was it  Kyp?

No, from the unpleasant groan he determined that the point man would be Clorr,

the former prison worker.

Boss Roke rustled in  his pack, withdrawing some  piece of equipment.  Han

heard an electronic clicking and pinging sound. It was some sort of  detector.

Han strained his ears, listening to the tones change as Roke moved the scanner

from side to side.

"Spice  all  around  us,"  Roke  said.  "Just  as  we  thought,  and   the

concentration seems even higher up ahead. Move forward."

Clorr stumbled  into the  blackness,  followed by  Boss Roke.  Han  walked

blindly. He felt Kyp taking hold of his waist, and he heard Chewbacca's breath

echoing behind his breath mask.

As they went  farther, the  tunnels grew  colder and  colder. Han's  naked

fingers crackled when he bent them. He turned up the heat in his suit, but the

warmth comforted him little.

The electronic  clicks from  Roke's detector  grew louder.  "Concentration

increasing," he said. "These are some of the densest, freshest veins of  spice

we've ever uncovered. There'll be a lot more work for you prisoners to do."

The detector  clicked,  and they  shuffled  ahead. Other  than  their  own

noises, the spice tunnel  seemed a mouth  of silence. Han  thought he heard  a

sudden scuttling noise farther down the passage, something massive that moved,

stopped, moved again, then slowly began to come back, as if stalking. Up front

Clorr muttered to himself, but Han heard Boss Roke shove him onward.

"The reading  gets  stronger right  up  around the  corner."  Boss  Roke's

gravelly voice carried a childlike hint  of excitement. "I'm going to have  to

recalibrate this sensor."

Han heard the distant skittering sound again, but it seemed farther ahead.

It wasn't a noise that anyone in  their party had made. It sounded like  sharp

metal points ticking against glass.

The tenor of shuffling human footsteps changed as they turned the  corner.

"Spice reading is off the scale!" Boss Roke cried.

Suddenly Clorr screamed.

"Hey!" Roke said.

Clorr screamed again, but the sound  came from much deeper in the  tunnel,

as if something had yanked him away and fled, carrying him to a secret lair.

"Where are--” Roke said, then he, too, gave a startled shout.

Han heard booted feet turning around, running back. Han nudged Kyp  aside,

back the way they had come. "Watch yourself!"

Boss Roke stumbled into  Han, then fell backward.  Han reeled against  the

rocky wall but kept his balance. Roke clawed at the floor, desperate to flee.

"Turn around!" Han shouted to Kyp, giving the young man a push toward  the

floating cars. "What  is it?" he  yelled to  Boss Roke. He  heard the  pointy,

ticking sound again, moving closer, skittering like many sharp legs that ended

in stiletto claws.

Roke screamed, then gave an oooof! as the air was knocked out of him.  Han

heard a thud as the man hit the ground, but Roke clambered to his feet  again,

or at least to his knees, crawling forward.

As Han started to run, Roke grabbed his leg and held on. Han tried to jerk

free, shouting, "Stop it! We've got to get out of here!"

But before Roke could let  go, something behind him--something very  large

and very, very close--grabbed Roke and yanked him backward, breaking his grip.

Roke's fingernails were like claws  as he tried to  grasp the slick fabric  of

Han's thermal suit, but with a quick  whisking sound he was dragged away  down

the tunnel, still gurgling and crying out.

In the darkness Han could see nothing at all.

"Run!" Han shouted.

Chewbacca roared, then  plowed like  a demolition vehicle  into the  guard

behind him. Kyp followed the Wookiee and  leaped over the fallen man, but  Han

stumbled on him, sprawling  flat on the broken  rocky floor. Nobody could  see

anything.

The guard scrambled to his knees and started thrashing and pummeling as if

Han were the  enemy. But  Han, blinded  and desperate,  grabbed for  something

else. He snatched at the infrared goggles on the guard's face and pulled  them

free.

The walls were closing in around  him. The screams and sounds of  panicked

fleeing and  the tick  tick  noise of  the  approaching monstrous  thing  made

claustrophobic thunder around him.

The fallen guard's wail of sudden blindness and dismay was muffled by  his

breath mask. He clutched  at Han, but  Han knocked the  breath mask free.  The

escaping oxygen  made a  whistling sound.  The  guard had  to release  Han  to

replace his mask.

Han scrabbled forward.  He had to  see. They needed  to find the  floating

cars so they could get away. "Run, Chewie! Straight ahead! Make sure Kyp  goes

with you!"

He slapped the  goggles over his  head. He heard  the scuttling,  thumping

sounds of the sharp, scampering legs again. Had an army of the things come  to

attack, or was it just one very large specimen with many legs?

Looking through the goggles,  he could see the  bright blob of the  fallen

guard's infrared  signature  and  the  fleeing brilliant  shapes  of  Kyp  and

Chewbacca. He  heard the  thunder of  hard, pointed  legs coming  back up  the

tunnel, stampeding down on them.

The guard moved, clambered  to his feet, and  began stumbling behind  Han,

but the man  could not  see. He  weaved back and  forth and  struck the  wall,

smacking his head on a hard outcropping. Running, monstrous feet came  closer,

like a patter of meteorites pelting the side of a ship. The guard screamed.

Han turned around to watch him, but  he saw nothing else in the  blackness

of the tunnel, no shape, no signature, no body heat from any creature--nothing

that was alive.

The guard suddenly  froze, as if  a giant invisible  hand had grabbed  him

from behind. Then Han saw,  to his horror, the  silhouette of a long,  spindly

leg reaching around in front of the guard's waist and another one clipped over

his shoulder,  totally black,  like a  cutout from  the infrared  form of  the

guard. The man struggled and wailed.

The guard  yanked  at  something--his  blaster  rifle.  Han  gasped  as  a

brilliant  lance  erupted  in  the   pitch  darkness,  striking  against   the

multi-legged thing, illuminating it  for the shaved  splinter of a  heartbeat.

Han saw what  seemed to be  a writhing mass  of sharp twigs,  a rat's nest  of

spindly legs and claws and fangs  intermixed with eyes--many, many eyes.  Then

the creature absorbed  all the light,  plunging the tunnels  back into  opaque

blindness.

The guard was lifted high in the  air and turned around. Other shadows  of

the icicle  legs wrapped  around him.  The glowing  rectangle of  the  thermal

suit's battery pack burned brilliantly in  the infrared, but one of the  sharp

claws thrust into  x like a  stinger. Sparks flew  into the darkness,  leaving

glimmers in front of Han's eyes.

As Han ran  backward, stumbling and  tripping, he saw  the man's  infrared

outline grow  dim as  he became  as cold  as his  surroundings. The  creature,

whatever it  was, must  be draining  or feeding  on energy,  on body  heat  or

anything it could find in the cold empty tunnels.

"Keep running!" Han yelled, now that he could see the forms ahead. He made

out a dim  glow of warmth  still radiating from  the floating mine  transport.

"The car's right in front of you, Chewie! Get on it!"

The Wookiee bumped into the metal side of the vehicle and dragged  himself

to a stop. Chewbacca reached over and  grabbed Kyp, hauling him into the  seat

of the car.

Then Han  heard  the  clacking, scrambling  footsteps  behind  him  again,

charging down  the tunnel.  He was  the next  one in  line. He  dashed  ahead,

gasping, tripping on debris and bumping into walls he could not see. His blood

had turned to ice water.

Chewbacca fumbled along the control panel of the floating mine car, trying

to distinguish the buttons in  the dark. Han kept  running. The sounds of  the

sharp legs grew louder, rumbling.

Han risked a  glance over  his shoulder. Though  he could  hear the  thing

charging at top speed after him, he could see nothing in the darkness, nothing

at all. He reached the floating car and leaped in. "Just punch return, Chewie!

Hit anything!"

Chewbacca hit the start button,  and the car pivoted  on its axis to  move

back in the direction they had come.

The galloping sounds of the ice-pick-legged creature skittered faster  and

faster. The floating mine  car picked up speed,  but the creature kept  coming

behind it. Han still couldn't see it with the infrared goggles.

With a loud spang something struck  the back car, rocking it sideways  and

slamming it against the  side wall of  the tunnel. Sparks  flew as it  scraped

along the rocks, but the vehicle continued to accelerate.

Han heard a hollow roar behind them, and then they left the noises farther

and farther away. The creature ceased chasing them. The darkness rolled  ahead

like a great black vacuum.

Han knew  they  were  automatically  heading  back  to  the  muster  room.

Chewbacca groaned and roared at him. Kyp sat panting in terror. "What did  you

see?" Kyp asked.

"I don't know," Han said. "Nothing like I've ever seen before."

Chewbacca chuffed  in anger  and  annoyance and  immense relief,  and  Han

sighed. "I agree. This wasn't one of my smarter ideas."

Luke Skywalker showed Gantoris  the wonders of the  universe. He took  his

passenger into orbit in the modified shuttle, letting the man look down on the

doomed planet of  Eol Sha.  The too-close  moon hung  above the  world like  a

raised fist against a curtain of stars.

Igniting the  shuttle's sublight  engines, Luke  soared into  the  blazing

wonder of the Cauldron  Nebula as Gantoris stared  out the viewports into  the

chaotic, glowing gases. Then they plunged down the endless,  other-dimensional

hole through hyperspace, shortcutting across the galaxy.

To Bespin.

During the uneventful trip  Luke began telling  Gantoris about the  Force,

about the training the candidates would undergo at the proposed Jedi  academy.

Now that he had agreed to come  along, Gantoris seemed willing and even  eager

to understand  the strange  echoes  and feelings  that  had touched  his  mind

throughout his life.

The hum of the shuttle's powerful  engines and the giddy, abstract  swirls

of hyperspace  were  conducive to  beginning  a few  exercises  for  awakening

Gantoris's potential. Luke was surprised at the man's powers of concentration,

at how he could close his eyes  and sink into his mind undistracted. Luke  had

been an impatient young man during his  own Jedi training; Gantoris had had  a

much harsher upbringing, making him grim and enduring.

"Reach out  and  feel  your  mind,  feel  your  body,  feel  the  universe

surrounding you. The Force stretches around and through everything. Everything

is a part of everything else."

Luke paid close attention to what he asked Gantoris to do. Obi-Wan  Kenobi

had spent some time training Luke, and Yoda had spent much more. But Luke  had

also undergone the abortive training of Joruus C'baoth as well as learning the

powers of the dark side during his time with the resurrected Emperor.

Luke could not forget that Obi-Wan's training had also transformed  Anakin

Skywalker into Darth Vader. Would it  be worth bringing back the Jedi  Knights

if the price was the creation of another Vader? Gantoris's ominous dreams of a

"dark man"  who would  show him  power and  then destroy  him made  Luke  very

uneasy.

By the time Luke brought the shuttle  out of hyperspace on an approach  to

Bespin, he thought  Gantoris might  be overwhelmed  with new  sights. But  the

stern man gawked  out the  viewports like  a child,  awed by  the roiling  gas

planet where  Lando Calrissian  had once  run  Cloud City.  The sight  of  the

swirling planet suddenly brought back some  of the greatest horrors in  Luke's

life. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the sting of those memories.

Gantoris, in  the  passenger compartment  behind  him, bent  forward.  "Is

something wrong? I just sensed a strong flow of emotions from you."

Luke blinked. "You could detect that?"

Gantoris shrugged.  "Now that  you've taught  me how  to feel  and how  to

listen, it  came  through very  clearly.  What's  disturbing you?  Are  we  in

danger?"

Luke opened his eyes  and looked out  at Bespin again.  He thought of  his

friend Han Solo kidnapped  and frozen in carbonite  for delivery to Jabba  the

Hutt; he thought of the  duel with Darth Vader on  the catwalks of Cloud  City

that had cost Luke his hand. And, worst of all, he recalled Vader's deep voice

pronouncing his terrible message. "Luke, I am your father!"

Luke shuddered, but he turned to  look back into Gantoris's dark eyes.  "I

have powerful memories of this place."

Gantoris kept his silence, asking no further questions.

Airborne  mining  installations  rode  Bespin's  wind   currents--floating

automated refineries, storage tanks bobbing  above the clouds, and  facilities

to scoop  valuable gases  from the  cloud  banks. Not  all of  these  floating

installations  had  proved  profitable,  though.  The  drifting  colossus   of

Tibannopolis hung empty, a creaking ghost town in the sky.

Luke tracked the  derelict floating  city on his  navigation screens.  The

construction hovered over the dark clouds as a storm gathered. The city tilted

due to malfunctioning repulsorlift generators.

"Is that where we're going?" Gantoris said.

The roof,  decks,  and sides  of  Tibannopolis  had been  picked  over  by

scavengers hauling away scrap metal. It  looked like a skeleton of its  former

self, with buckled plates and twisted  support girders in a broad  hemisphere;

dented ballast tanks hung below. Numerous antennae and weather vanes protruded

from the joints.

"We're going to wait for someone here," Luke answered.

He brought the shuttle down on  a primary landing deck that looked  sturdy

enough to support  his ship.  The crisscrossed structural  beams were  covered

with scaled plating,  but in  some spots the  seams had  bent upward,  popping

their welds.

Luke emerged from the  shuttle, and Gantoris joined  him. The other  man's

long dark hair whipped around him like a mane, no longer braided, but he stood

proudly in  his hand-me-down  pilot's outfit.  His black  eyes glittered  with

wonder.

The high wind gusting through the  carcass of Tibannopolis made a  moaning

sound. The swaying metal groaned as  rusted joints rubbed against each  other.

The wind  had  a bitter  chemical  tang from  trace  gases wafting  to  higher

altitudes.

Black birdlike creatures with triangular heads clustered in the open  gaps

of buildings, nesting on stripped girders. As Luke and Gantoris moved forward,

the flying creatures stirred and rustled leathery wings. Their mouths  snapped

open and closed with croaking sounds.

Below and around  Tibannopolis, the clouds  had turned the  smoky gray  of

impending thunderstorms. Flashes of lightning  rippled through the cloud  bank

below.

"What now?" Gantoris asked.

Luke sighed and gathered  some inflatable blankets and  a sleep roll  from

the passenger shuttle's storage compartments. "We've spent two days cooped  up

in the ship. I have no way of knowing when Streen might come back, and I think

we should try to get a good rest."

"Streen?" Gantoris asked.

"The man we're waiting for."

The storm came through that night  and rinsed off the exposed surfaces  of

Tibannopolis, causing  fresh blooms  of rust  and patina  on the  construction

alloys. Luke  and Gantoris  had found  shelter in  the decaying  buildings  of

Tibannopolis, resting  on the  slanted floor  because of  the derelict  city's

tilt.

Awash in a Jedi trance more restful than sleep, Luke paid little attention

to his surroundings but kept a small  window open in his mind, ready to  flick

him back to wakefulness.

Gantoris surprised him. "Luke, I think someone's coming. I can sense it."

Luke became instantly  awake and  sat up  from under  the sheltered  metal

alcove, looking out  at the washed-clean  swirls of clouds.  It took his  mind

only a  moment to  locate the  approaching  presence of  a human--but  he  was

impressed that Gantoris had been able to sense the distant stranger at all.

"I was practicing," Gantoris said, "reaching out and looking with my mind.

There isn't much around here to distract me."

"Good work." Luke tried to keep  the pleased expression from his face  but

failed. "This is the man we've been waiting for."

He used  his  sense to  focus  on a  black  shape approaching  across  the

skyscape of  rising gases.  Luke  saw an  amazing cluster  of  lashed-together

platforms and  bulbous  tanks  held  aloft by  balloons  and  maneuvered  with

propellers that stuck out at all angles. The hodgepodge vehicle drifted toward

them, riding the winds.

Luke smiled at  the bizarre  construction, while Gantoris  stared in  awe.

They could make out  the silhouette of  a single man standing  at the helm  as

buffeting breezes  rippled trim  sails  at the  sides  of the  main  platform.

Streen, the gas prospector, was returning home.

Luke and Gantoris made their way down to the landing platform to wait  for

him. As the collection of gas  tanks, balloons, and flat walkways  approached,

Streen finally noticed them.

At the  controls of  his contraption  he swerved  and circled  around  the

ruined city, as if frightened and reluctant to land. But somehow, seeing  only

the two of them waiting, he regained his nerve and rode the breezes in.

Streen did not land  his vehicle, merely  bringing it to  the edge of  the

landing platform and  lashing it to  support posts mounted  at the rail.  Luke

held on to the fiber-chains and helped Streen secure his vessel.

No one  spoke.  Streen  kept surreptitiously  slipping  glances  in  their

direction.

Luke sized him  up. Streen was  approaching old age,  bearded, with  brown

hair so intermingled  with strands  of gray  that it  had turned  to a  creamy

color. His skin bore a leathery look, as if the rough winds and harsh open air

had sucked something essential out of his flesh. The prospector was clad in  a

well-worn jumpsuit  studded with  pockets, many  of which  bulged with  hidden

contents.

As Streen  stepped onto  the  landing area,  four  of the  black  birdlike

creatures fluttered up from  roosts among the  platforms, venting stacks,  and

gas tanks of Streen's vessel, returning  to the jungle of construction  frames

in the floating city.

"Tibannopolis hasn't been inhabited for years," Streen said. "Why have you

come here?"

Luke stood tall and faced the man. "We came to see you."

Gantoris stood patiently  beside Luke Skywalker,  feeling odd to  be in  a

different position now. He had joined the Jedi to learn from him, swept up  by

his visions of a restored order of Jedi Knights and the powers they could  tap

through the Force.

This time Gantoris listened as Skywalker began to tell Streen of his plans

for an academy, of his need for  potential candidates who might have a  talent

for using the Force.  He watched the skepticism  on Streen's face, similar  to

what he himself must have shown at  first. But unless Streen had suffered  the

same dark  dreams or  premonitions, this  hermit on  Bespin should  be a  more

open-minded listener than Gantoris himself had been.

Streen hunkered  on  the corroded  surface  of the  landing  platform  and

squinted into the sky before looking back  to Skywalker. "But why me? Why  did

you come here?"

Skywalker turned instead to Gantoris. "There are many valuable  substances

dissolved in Bespin's atmosphere  at various layers.  The floating cities  are

huge mining operations that remain  in place as they  draw gas from below  the

cloud layers. But Streen is a cloud prospector. At certain times some storm or

a deep atmospheric upheaval will make  a cloud of volatiles belch up,  waiting

to be siphoned off. Streen goes out  on the winds with his tanks, looking  for

the treasure.

"Bespin has  computerized  satellites to  detect  these outbursts  and  to

dispatch company men--but Streen always gets there first. He somehow knows  an

upheaval is going to happen before it does. He is there waiting with his empty

tanks to  siphon off  whatever  comes bubbling  up and  sell  it back  to  the

independent refineries."

Skywalker squatted next to the hermit.  "Tell me, Streen--how do you  know

when a gas layer is going to rise? Where do you get your information?"

Streen blinked and fidgeted. Now he looked even more frightened than  when

he had first seen the strangers waiting  on the landing platform. "I just  ...

know. I can't explain it."

Skywalker smiled. "Everyone can  use the Force to  some extent, but a  few

have a stronger innate  talent. When I  form my Jedi academy,  I want to  work

most closely with those who already have the talent but don't know how to  use

it. Gantoris is one of my candidates. I think you should be another one."

"Come with us," Gantoris added. "If  Skywalker is right, think of all  the

things we could accomplish!"

"How can you be  sure about me?"  Streen asked. "I  always thought it  was

just luck."

"Let me touch  your forehead," Skywalker  said. When Streen  did not  move

away, Skywalker tentatively  reached forward  with his  fingers, brushing  the

man's temples. Gantoris couldn't figure out what Skywalker was doing until  he

remembered the test Luke had performed on him down in the lava chamber.

Skywalker's face looked blank and lost in concentration for a moment, then

suddenly he jerked backward  as if his  body had been  burned. "Now I'm  sure,

Streen. You do have the talent. There is nothing to fear."

But Streen still looked nervous. "I came out to this place because I  need

to be alone. I'm not comfortable around people. I feel them pressing in around

me. I like people. I'm lonely, but ... it's very difficult for me. It's all  I

can do to be  around them just while  I deliver my cargo.  Then I have to  run

away.

"Seven or  eight  years  ago,  when  the  Empire  took  over  Cloud  City,

everything got much worse. The people were agitated. Their thoughts were  full

of chaos." He looked  up at Skywalker  in dismay. "I  haven't spent much  time

with people for eight years."

Gantoris could sense  the man's  emotions winding  toward panic--and  just

when Gantoris felt  certain Streen  would refuse,  Skywalker held  up a  hand.

"Wait," he said. "Why not  just watch us train for  a while? Maybe you'll  see

what I'm talking about."

As if pleased  at having an  option that did  not require him  to make  an

immediate decision, Streen nodded. He looked toward his floating platforms and

gas tanks with a palpable stab of regret, as if wishing he had never come back

to Tibannopolis. Gantoris could feel an echo of the other man's emotions,  the

yearning for freedom that Bespin's clouds offered, the solace of being alone.

"Show me  your  new  Jedi  exercises,  Master.  Teach  me  other  things."

Skywalker seemed to  flinch at  being called "Master,"  and Gantoris  wondered

what he had done wrong--was not Luke Skywalker a Jedi Master? How else  should

he be called?

Skywalker brushed aside the comment. He pointed to the thicket of  girders

and rusted metal  bars in which  flocks of the  leathery black creatures  made

their homes, chittering  and moving  about in  the afternoon.  Far below,  the

clouds thickened into what could become another storm.

"Those flying creatures," Skywalker said. "We will use them."

Streen stiffened. His  face grew dark  and ruddy. "Hey,  don't disturb  my

rawwks." Then  he lowered  his eyes,  turning away  as if  embarrassed by  his

outburst. "They've been my only company all these years."

"We won't harm them," Skywalker said.  "Just watch." He lowered his  voice

to speak as  an instructor  to Gantoris. "This  city is  a complex  mechanism.

Every girder, every  metal plate,  every life-form  from those  rawwks to  the

airborne algae sacks and  everything around us, each  has its own position  in

the Force. Size matters not. Tiny  insects or entire floating cities, each  is

an integral part of the universe. You must feel it, sense it."

He nodded to the derelict structures around  them. "I want you to look  at

this city, imagine  how the pieces  fit together, find  the girders with  your

mind, tell me what you can sense  and how one thing touches another. When  you

think you have found the intersection where  a rawwk and girder touch, I  want

you to reach out and push with your mind. Make a little vibration."

Skywalker curled his forefinger around his thumb and stretched forward  as

he nodded toward a lone rawwk sitting on the end of a weather vane. He flicked

out his  finger, as  if to  shoo away  a gnat,  and Gantoris  heard a  distant

pinnngg. Startled into the air, the rawwk  flapped its wings and cried out  in

alarm.

Gantoris chuckled and, eager to try,  flicked his own finger in  imitation

of what the Jedi had just done. He imagined seeing a whole flock of the rawwks

take flight--but nothing happened.

"It is not that easy,"  Skywalker said. "You aren't concentrating.  Think,

feel yourself doing it, envision your success--then reach out with your mind."

More serious this time, Gantoris pursed his lips and squinted, looking for

his target. He saw a delicate many-branched antenna on which five rawwks  sat.

He pictured the antenna, knowing his target, and stared. He took a deep breath

and pushed.  He  still didn't  quite  know what  he  was doing,  but  he  felt

something happening in  his mind,  something working, some  outside ...  force

linking him and the antenna.

He watched as the antenna slowly  swayed. The rawwks stirred but  remained

on their perches. Anyone else watching might have assumed the wind had shifted

at that moment, but Gantoris knew he had done it.

"Good attempt.  You  have  the  right idea,  but  now  close  your  eyes,"

Skywalker said.  "You're letting  your sight  blind you.  You know  where  the

antenna is, you know where  the rawwks are. You can  sense their place in  the

Force. You don't need to see with your eyes. Tighten your focus. Feel it, know

what you want to do."

Skeptical, Gantoris  closed his  eyes; but  as he  concentrated, he  could

indeed see vague  outlines of  what he had  just looked  at, tiny  afterimages

imprinted on  the Force  with tendrils  reaching out  and connecting  them  to

everything else.

He reached out  with his fingers  to make the  flicking gesture again  but

hesitated. He realized he did not  need that either. Flicking the fingers  was

simply an example for Skywalker to  make his point. Whatever actions he  made,

waving  his  hands  or  muttering  spells  were  just  so  much  mumbo  jumbo.

Understanding the Force was what allowed him to do what he needed.

Pleased with this sudden insight, Gantoris kept his eyes closed and folded

his arms. He flicked out an imaginary finger, feeling the metal, picturing his

fingernail striking the hard surface. In his head he heard the hollow bong  as

it struck, then opened his  eyes to watch the  five rawwks burst into  flight,

cawing at each other as if casting blame.

"Good!" Skywalker said.  "I'm impressed. I  thought this was  going to  be

much more  difficult." Still  grinning,  he looked  at  Streen, who  had  been

watching them in silence. "Would you like to try it? You have the potential. I

could show you how."

Streen balked. "No, I ... I don't think I could do that."

"It isn't  as  difficult as  it  looks,"  Gantoris said.  "You'll  feel  a

different strength come into you."

"I don't want  to," Streen said  again, defensively. Then  he lowered  his

eyes and patted his pockets, as if  looking for something he didn't expect  to

find. Gantoris thought he was just making distracted movements.

The old man swallowed, then looked back at Skywalker. "If you teach me how

to use this... sense  I have--can you also  teach me how to  switch it off?  I

want to learn how  not to feel the  people around me, not  to be bombarded  by

their moods  and prying  thoughts and  sour ideas.  I'm tired  of having  only

rawwks for company. I'd very much like to be part of the human race again."

Skywalker clapped him on the shoulder. In his dark jumpsuit he looked like

a benevolent god. "That much I can show you."

Luke watched as  Streen cut  loose the fiber-chains  holding his  floating

hodgepodge ship  to the  Tibannopolis docking  area. Standing  on the  docking

platform, he gave  his ship  an unnecessary shove  out into  the breezes.  The

empty barge  of platforms  and  balloons, propellers  and gas  storage  tanks,

drifted out to be caught up by swirling air currents.

Streen had emptied the pockets in his jumpsuit and now looked at Luke.  "I

know I'm not coming back. That old life is over."

The three of them climbed aboard  Luke's passenger shuttle and made  ready

to depart Bespin. Luke felt a glowing satisfaction, not just to be leaving the

gas planet that held so many dark  memories, but to have both passenger  seats

filled, to have two new candidates for his Jedi academy.

He raised the shuttle off the  landing platform, then began a steep  climb

toward orbit.  Below  them,  in the  opposite  direction,  Streen's  abandoned

platform continued drifting on  its own, widening the  gap between it and  the

derelict city.

Streen looked out the passenger window, staring with a bleak sadness  that

struck Luke's heart with pity. Below, the ghost town of Tibannopolis was truly

empty again.

Then Luke  watched something  amazing  happen. The  city came  alive  with

movement, swarming  as tiny  black  figures took  to  the air.  Thousands  and

thousands of rawwks that had made their home with Streen suddenly took flight,

departing the abandoned metropolis in a huge flock that kept coming and coming

and coming, spreading out among the clouds in a farewell salute to Streen.

Looking out the window and watching this, Streen smiled.

Skynxnex inserted a new charge pack into his double-blaster, smiled at the

weapon, then thrust it  into the holster. "Thank  you, Moruth," he said.  "You

won't regret this."

Doole tapped his spongy  fingers on the former  warden's desk. One of  the

loose iridescent insects fluttered around the room, battering itself again and

again on the wide landscape window.

"Just try not to make a mess of it," Doole said. "I want Solo gone and all

traces removed.  Nothing left.  It's only  a  matter of  time before  the  New

Republic comes nosing around. We've got to be absolutely clean. Is the  energy

shield functional yet?"

"We're testing  it this  morning, and  our engineers  are confident  it'll

work. Solo and the Wookiee will be dead by then," Skynxnex said. "My  personal

guarantee."

Doole's lips curled like a rubbery  gasket stretched out of shape.  "Don't

enjoy yourself too much."

Skynxnex smiled back at him and turned to leave. His black eyes glittered.

"Only as much as necessary," he said.

The mine car  roared through the  tunnels in total  blackness. Han had  no

choice but to trust the computer guidance system.

Chewbacca had  found the  accelerator button  and punched  it  repeatedly,

trying to get farther away from the multi-legged horror deep in the mines.

Han gripped the  sides of  the car  with hands  gone white  from cold  and

terror. Each time they shot past  a gaping side tunnel, his imagination  heard

noises of skittering  legs and scythe-like  claws reaching out  to pluck  them

from the passing car.

"Our course is taking us back to  the muster room," Kyp said. "This  could

be our chance to escape."

"Where else  should  we  go?"  Han asked.  He  felt  his  heart  pounding.

Chewbacca groaned a question,  and Han translated it.  "Do you know any  other

way out of these tunnels?"

"I don't," Kyp said, "but maybe I could find one."

Han fought to contain a sudden fit  of shudders. "I don't know about  you,

but I'm in  no mood to  go wandering through  dark tunnels feeling  for a  way

out--not with that thing chasing after us." The thought of a freezing death in

the energy-draining fangs of  the monster made the  option of imprisonment  in

the spice mines seem not so terrible after all.

Before they could form  some sort of alternative  plan, the floating  mine

cars coasted to a halt in the long holding chamber. The metal door at the  far

end slammed shut  behind them. With  his infrared goggles,  Han could see  the

activation controls on the wall  next to an inner  door. His knees were  weak;

his hands trembled as he punched access for the muster room.

Light flooded  around  them, and  the  three survivors  staggered  inside,

holding each other. Chewbacca used his hairy arms to keep both Han and Kyp  on

their feet.

Dazzled, Han cupped his hands over  his eyes and let the infrared  goggles

dangle on his neck. "Boss Roke is  dead," he croaked to no one in  particular.

"There's a monster in the tunnels. It attacked the guard. We barely got away."

"Han--” Kyp said.

Chewbacca sniffed, then roared in anger.

Han fought to  focus his vision.  He heard people  rustling in the  muster

room. He saw only  shadows in the  glare. Finally, he could  make out a  tall,

gangly form with dark hair and sunken eyes on a skull-like face.

"Glad you're back, Solo," Skynxnex said  from the other side of the  room.

He drew the double-blaster at his hip.

Everything seemed to move slowly  for Han. He had  not yet come down  from

the boost of adrenaline caused by utter terror. Han saw the gun, saw Skynxnex,

saw the man's cadaverous face. Doole had sent his henchman to kill them.

Han wasted no time,  shoving Chewbacca backward.  "Back in, Chewie!  We've

got to get out of here!" He yanked Kyp through the open doorway. Chewbacca let

out a yowl  and lunged  into the  dark chamber  where the  floating mine  cars

waited.

"Hey!" Skynxnex began  to run in  long, leaping strides  that carried  him

across the muster room. Han sealed the  door in his face, scrambling the  lock

mechanism.

"It'll take him a second to figure the access code. Get in the car,  now!"

Han leaped onto the swaying pilot seat. "Looks like we're going to try one  of

those alternatives you wanted, Kyp."

He powered up the rocking  vehicle. From the other  side of the door  came

pounding and then  the sounds  of blasters  striking the  metal. Skynxnex  was

going to disintegrate his way through. They had to get to the relative  safety

of the tunnels right away.

Han punched up the  computer guidance system and  let the vehicle go.  The

great metal door on the far side of  the long holding tunnel slid open with  a

grinding sound as the mine car  accelerated back down the central tunnel  from

which they had just come.

"I hate to go back there," Han  said. Chewbacca roared a comment, and  Han

nodded. "Yeah, I hate even worse to be blasted."

"Do you know Skynxnex?" Kyp asked, regaining his breath.

"We're old buddies," Han said. "That's why he wants to kill us."

The floating car rushed through the half-open metal gate just as the  door

from the muster room melted open, spilling a wedge of light into the tunnel.

"They're only going to be a minute behind us," Han said. With his infrared

goggles he could see the pilot controls now--but none of the coordinates meant

anything to him. The only  exit he knew of was  back through the muster  room.

"Any ideas, Kyp?"

"It's an automated course," Kyp said. "If  I had time to think and get  my

bearings, I might be able to figure out something."

"We don't have that luxury right now."

The great metal door did not close behind them after they passed  through.

Wind whipped past their ears as Han kept his finger on the accelerator button.

From behind they heard shouts, other  people climbing into waiting mine  cars.

Han leaned over the controls, but the repulsorlifts could go only so fast.

Unable to see, and without any  knowledge of the labyrinth of  underground

tunnels, Han did not dare fly the car manually. He would have to hope he could

get far enough ahead so that Skynxnex could not follow ... but then what? They

would be lost  in the cold,  dark maze. How  many other multi-legged  monsters

waited for them in the shadows?

The sound of another mine car came  roaring up behind them. Han had  three

cars linked together, hauling three riders  with only one engine. If  Skynxnex

and the others took one car each,  they would travel faster. They would be  in

blaster range within moments.

"Solo!" Skynxnex bellowed.

"Hold on!" Kyp said.

Han instinctively braced  himself as the  computer guidance system  yanked

them to the  left-hand fork  in an unseen  tunnel, then  plunged them  steeply

downward. Before Han could  wonder if they had  lost their pursuers, he  heard

the echoing whine of repulsorlift vehicles soaring down the tunnel after them.

"I'm open  to suggestions,"  Han  said. He  looked  behind them  with  his

infrared goggles and saw the glowing target of Skynxnex and two other  piloted

vehicles. In the cold darkness his own body heat would be just as apparent  to

the pursuers.

Chewbacca held on to Kyp,  pushing him down to  safety in the second  car.

The Wookiee reached  behind him, fumbling  with the catch  to the empty  third

car. Skynxnex and the two guards closed the gap. With a growl at the pursuers,

Chewbacca decoupled the magnetic bearing from the third car.

Suddenly released, the empty  car swung out  behind them, dropping  toward

the ground. Skynxnex cried out as he swerved up to avoid a collision.

The other two guards both curved  to the left, battering into each  other,

but somehow all three pursuers kept their balance. They roared after Han.

"Nice try, Chewie," Han said.

Skynxnex pulled out his modified double-blaster, powered it on, and aimed.

When he fired,  the two barrels  sent their beams  out at slight  intersecting

angles to  each other.  A short  distance  beyond the  muzzle, the  two  beams

coalesced and phased, forming a staccato series of bursts, each one containing

a brief impulse of power ten times  that of a single blaster beam. Though  the

weapon looked impressive,  it was  almost impossible  to aim,  and most  other

users--even hardened criminals--had  dropped them  in favor  of more  reliable

weapons.

The phased double  beam poured  out, striking  the ceiling  of the  tunnel

ahead of Han. The explosion of heat and light blinded him through the infrared

goggles. Somehow Kyp  reacted with molten  speed and yanked  the floating  car

sideways. Miraculously, they swerved around  the debris that fell from  above,

struck only by the patter of small pebbles.

"Everybody okay?" Han said.

Chewbacca grunted. "So far," Kyp said.

Han turned to look as Skynxnex zoomed safely through the tiny avalanche he

had caused. Falling rocks  and debris pelted the  next car, though, making  it

spin out of  control. The  car struck  the rough tunnel  wall in  a shower  of

sparks, then exploded, spewing shards of metal everywhere.

"One down," Kyp said.

Echoing sounds came from the open tunnel mouth ahead. Through the infrared

goggles Han could see  other spots of  warmth, a caravan.  They shot past  the

side tunnel just as another train of floating mine cars emerged.

"They've got reinforcements!" Han said in dismay. But then he saw the cars

were all linked together--another mining party  on its way back to the  muster

room at the end of a shift.

Skynxnex and the other  guard plowed right  into them. Their  accelerating

cars rode up and over, knocking three  hapless workers out of their seats  and

leaving them blind and lost in the tunnel. The driver of the work train slewed

out of the way, ramming into the rocky wall of the tunnel.

Skynxnex spun in the air but somehow kept his seat. The second guard fared

even better, pulling up beside Skynxnex as  they zoomed away from the site  of

the wreck and the shouting work crew.

Han had no idea where they were  going, but they were getting farther  and

farther away from anyplace good.  With Skynxnex and his double-blaster  behind

them, they had no choice but to keep fleeing deeper into the tunnels.

Ahead in the inky blackness a sudden clump of pearlescent glitters  sprang

out of a bare rock  wall, wavering in the  air. Then the luminescence  started

traveling down  the  tunnel  away  from  them, as  if  trying  to  outrun  the

approaching cars.

"Another bogey!" Kyp cried.

Their floating  car followed  the  bogey, closing  the  gap. But  as  they

neared, the swirling glowing thing accelerated, as if taunting them by  flying

ahead, whipping around curves  just in front  of them. By  the faint glow  Han

could actually see the winding curves of rock.

Skynxnex and the other pursuer zoomed along in their wake.

"Uh-oh," Kyp said. "I think I just  figured out what course we're on.  All

this feels very familiar."

"What?" Han said. "How can you tell?"

"The most  recent  set  of  destination  coordinates  in  this  navigation

computer was programmed  by Boss  Roke. We're going  back down  to where  that

monster was!"

The glowing bogey roiled ahead of  them, dipping up and down but  refusing

to pop back  into the  spice-covered walls. As  it rushed  along, the  bogey's

bodily illumination  activated  threadlike  veins of  glitterstim,  leaving  a

patchwork of blue sparks in their wake.

In a long, straight  stretch of tunnel  Skynxnex fired his  double-blaster

again.

As if he could sense the blast coming,  Kyp rocked the car to one side  as

the intense pulsed bolt shot down  the tube, passed through the bogey  without

harming it, and struck a  distant wall. The impact  blew open a huge  aperture

into another grotto.

Seeing an escape, the bogey ducked through the new opening.

"Put it on manual," Kyp said. "Let me fly it." By now their eyes had grown

accustomed to the bogey's  glow, and they could  actually see where they  were

going.

"I don't want a free  return trip to where  that monster is waiting."  Han

relinquished the controls. Without a moment's pause Kyp launched the car  into

the wide-open section of wall that led to an unknown maze.

"This is the same series of tunnels," Kyp said.

As they plunged  into the  new grotto,  something long  and fibrous  stung

Han's face like a sharp wire whipping past him.

The bogey shot into  the vast chamber, flying  across the darkness to  the

far wall. Upon striking  the rock face,  though, it did  not melt through  and

vanish as the  first bogey had  done days earlier.  Instead, the glowing  ball

stuck on the rough rock surface. It  glittered and spangled and pulsed, as  if

struggling.

Another whip-like strand struck Han's face  as they flew through the  air.

Around the  bogey  in the  glow,  wide veins  of  spice fizzled  blue  as  the

illumination activated  them.  The light  crackled  and spread  outward  in  a

network, geometrical criss-crossings along the wall.  All of the spice in  the

chamber began to race around in long  lines as the light increased in a  chain

reaction. The pattern looked familiar.

"Like a web!" Han said.

The bogey struggled frantically as the  spice around it grew brighter  and

brighten. Han saw long fibers  of free-hanging glitterstim draped through  the

open air  of the  grotto. From  behind them  Skynxnex fired  again in  a  long

continuous blast that missed them in the wide space. The powerful pulsed  beam

struck the far ceiling of the chamber,  making it erupt with hot broken  stone

that poured down from  the roof of  the tunnel. The  images in Han's  infrared

goggles were blindingly bright.

The bogey stretched and struggled as parts  of the spice web tore away  in

the avalanche, yanking portions of the glow with it.

Then Han saw the monstrous  creature rise up from  its lair on the  grotto

floor--a huge spider made of blown glass, all sharp edges, with a hundred legs

and a thousand eyes. The bristling legs moved in a blur as it clambered up the

debris toward the glowing bogey struggling in the spice web.

Han wrenched the floating car around, ready  to plow his way out and  away

from the monster that had almost captured  him in the tunnels--even if he  had

to fly right down Skynxnex's throat.

On the rocks below, tossed aside like wadded sheets of used paper, lay the

crumbled forms of Boss Roke, Clorr, and the guard, frozen solid and drained of

every drop of their bodily energy.

The creature must lay down deposits of spice as its web to capture bogeys,

Han thought, or any  other warm creature  it can find  down in these  tunnels.

That was why  light activated  the glitterstim spice--to  trigger the  bogeys'

capture in the trap.

Skynxnex and  the pursuing  guard roared  into the  grotto. The  scarecrow

fired again,  paying  little  attention  to where  he  was  going.  His  blast

ricocheted off the wall, activating more spice.

The spider-thing glowed  a dull blue  with electric arcs  crawling up  and

down its  needlelike  limbs,  as if  the  creature  itself were  made  out  of

activated spice. Attracted to the approaching heat source, it reared up.

Skynxnex did not see it until he  had driven his floating mine car  nearly

into the grappling-hook claws.  In the last instant  Skynxnex pointed his  hot

double-blaster down and fired at the voracious creature--but the energy spider

absorbed the blaster's power and snatched out with a dozen limbs.

Skynxnex tried to leap out of the doomed car, but the spider thing speared

him with a sharp leg, raising his scarecrow body higher. With the last of  his

strength, Skynxnex flailed his arms as his body grew cold.

The multi-legged creature began to feed.

The pursuing guard rebounded sideways as  he struck a thick mass of  spice

fibers dangling from the  ceiling. The glitterstim sparked  and glowed in  the

growing illumination. As the guard saw Skynxnex captured, saw the huge  energy

spider and the collapsing ceiling of the grotto, he whirled his floating  mine

car around and fled back out the cavern entrance as fast as he could go.

Han, though, saw an open passage in the ceiling and noticed a dim  trickle

of light coming from it.  He wanted only to be  out of there before the  thing

came  scrambling  after  them,  clawing  its  way  up  glasslike  strands   of

glitterstim. ...

"Up there!" Han urged.

Kyp plunged the car upward into the ceiling opening and suddenly came upon

another network of tunnels. But these catacombs looked man-made. At last,  one

of the illicit mining shafts dug  by spice smugglers searching to find  active

veins.

Han let out  a whoop  of delight.  "This is it!  We're out  of here  now!"

Chewbacca clapped him on the back, nearly belting Han out of the pilot's seat.

They raced  upward.  The  distant  daylight  pierced  through  the  jagged

obstacles of  the passage.  Han did  not want  to slow  down. Kyp  accelerated

toward the light.

The floating car  burst into  the thin open  air of  Kessel, where  watery

light blinded  them like  a supernova.  Blinking and  struggling to  see,  Han

yanked off his goggles and took back  the pilot controls. He evened out  their

trajectory above the flat, desolate surface of the small planet.

Off to their  right he  saw the towering  stack of  an atmosphere  factory

gushing white steam and air vapor into  the sky. "That way," Kyp said.  "We'll

be able to find a ship."

"Good idea," Han said.

As they approached the enormous  construction, flying low enough to  avoid

notice, he kept an eye out. Moruth Doole would not know of their escape  until

the lone surviving guard returned to the muster room and made his report. Han,

Kyp, and Chewbacca would have a few moments to get a head start, but not  very

long.

Adjacent to the atmosphere factory, Han did indeed see a broad landing pad

with four craft on it. Two of the ships were local landskimmers and useless to

them--but the others  were small supply  shuttles, spaceworthy enough,  though

they wouldn't go fast.

Holding the breath mask against his face, Han pointed with his other hand.

"Down there. Get one of  those ships and we're  away from Kessel." He  grabbed

Kyp's shoulder. "We can go home."

When Luke returned  to Coruscant,  he had a  joyous reunion  with Han  and

Leia's two-year-old children, whom he had not seen for some time, not since he

and Ackbar had set up the secret, protected planet for them.

He waited in Leia's living quarters, playing with the twins, tossing  them

in the air and juggling them using  his Jedi powers. Jacen and Jaina  squealed

in delight,  giggling and  intuitively trusting  that their  Uncle Luke  would

never let them fall.

Children were a wonder to him. Raised with his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru on

the parched  world of  Tatooine, Luke  had had  little time  for playing  with

children because the life  of a moisture  farmer was wrapped  up in such  hard

work.

When he left Tatooine with Ben Kenobi, Luke had joined the Rebel Alliance,

spending time as a fighter pilot and in Jedi training with Yoda. He never  had

time or opportunity to see children--and now he felt as much pleasure  playing

with them, watching their wide-eyed innocence, as they seemed to enjoy  having

him around.

"Faster! Faster!" Jacen cried.

Instead, just to tease him, Luke stopped the boy cold in the air,  letting

him hang motionless as Luke orbited Jaina around him. The little girl squealed

and stretched out her hand, trying to grab her brother's ear as she spun.

Tiring of  that, Luke  let Jaina  drift  into a  cushioned seat  while  he

reached out to  catch Jacen as  the boy  descended, holding him  in his  arms.

Jaina squirmed and reached her pudgy arms up, wanting to be held too.

Luke made faces at  the little boy, puckering  his lips and wiggling  them

back and forth.  He spoke in  a funny head-cold  voice that sounded  something

like Yoda's. "The Force is  strong in this little  one, hmmmm? Yes!" But  then

Luke wrinkled his  nose and noticed  something he didn't  need Jedi powers  to

understand. "Or maybe that's not the Force I sense. Leia, I think you need  to

perform a motherly duty." He held Jacen in front of him.

Threepio bustled into the  room. "Allow me  to take care  of that, sir.  I

have been getting a great deal of practice in the past day or two."

Luke smiled at the thought of  Threepio trying to manage squirming  twins.

He noticed the droid looked a bit scuffed and battered. "Was that part of your

protocol programming?"

"My manual dexterity  is sufficient  to the task,  Master Luke."  Threepio

flexed his golden motorized fingers, then  took Jacen from Luke's grasp.  "And

believe me, I enjoy  these duties much more  than gallivanting through  space,

getting shot at by Imperial fighters, or getting lost in asteroid fields."

Leia came into the  room. She forced  a smile that Luke  could tell was  a

mask. She  looked very  tired. It  wasn't  just the  strain of  combining  her

diplomatic duties with being  a mother; something  else deeply concerned  her,

but she hadn't said anything. Luke did  not pry--he could have reached in  and

taken the secret from her  mind, but he would not  do that to his sister.  And

she might even  have figured out  how to block  him by now.  He would let  her

broach the subject in her own way.

"The prep unit will have the meal ready in just a few minutes," Leia said.

"I'm very glad you're back, and the twins seem to be pleased too."

Luke realized that  he hadn't seen  Han since his  return; but because  of

their busy schedules, seeing Han and Leia  in the same place at the same  time

was a rare occurrence anyway. It was a wonder they had somehow managed to have

three children! Could Han's  absence have something to  do with Leia's  hidden

concern?

Luke picked up Jaina with the Force  again, raising her into the air.  She

giggled and began flailing her arms and  legs as if swimming through the  open

spaces of the room.

"Leia, I need your help in a couple of bureaucratic matters," Luke said.

"Sure." She smiled wryly at him. "What can I do?"

"I still need to contact  Mara Jade and a  handful of other possible  Jedi

candidates. But now that  I have two  trainees here and  waiting, I've got  to

find a place where we can begin our Jedi studies. And I have to find it soon.

"I've spoken with Streen and Gantoris, and it's clear to me that Coruscant

is not appropriate.  Streen doesn't  like to be  around people,  and he's  not

going to be very  comfortable anywhere in Imperial  City. All of Coruscant  is

covered with metropolis, buildings on top of buildings.

"And--” He hesitated, but  this was a private  conversation with Leia;  he

could not hide any of his worries  from her. "There is some danger about  what

we might do. Who am I to be teaching all these Jedi potentials? I have no  way

of knowing  what might  trigger a  disaster like  one of  the Emperor's  Force

storms. It would be better if we found someplace isolated, a place of solitude

where we can conduct our training without interference."

"And in safety." Leia's dark eyes met  his, and he knew that both of  them

were thinking  of  Darth  Vader. "Yes,  I  agree.  I'll try  to  find  you  an

appropriate place."

"And while you're looking," Luke continued, "we also need to relocate  all

of the  people on  Eol Sha.  There's only  about fifty  of them  left on  that

outpost, but the planet is doomed. When  I took Gantoris, I promised we  would

find a new home for the survivors. See what you can do."

"For a  group of  people  that small,  it  shouldn't be  difficult,"  Leia

answered. "Anyplace sounds better than the planet they're leaving."

Luke laughed. "Or you could always have Han win another planet for them in

a card game!"

She looked at him as if stung. Yes indeed, he thought. It was something to

do with  Han. He  bounced Jaina  up  in the  air again,  touching her  to  the

ceiling, then letting her fall back down.

Suddenly Lando Calrissian burst into  the room unannounced. "Leia!  Winter

just told me that Han hasn't come back yet. Why haven't you talked to me about

it?"

Startled, Luke let Jaina fall and barely managed to catch her in the air a

handbreadth above the  hard floor. Jaina  giggled deliriously, confident  that

the whole thing had been planned.

Lando looked upset and angry as he  glared at Leia, planting his hands  on

his hips, pushing  back the  cape to  hang behind  him. Then  he noticed  Luke

standing in the room. "Luke, are you going to do anything about this?"

"I don't know what you're talking  about--but I think Leia was just  about

to tell me."

Both men looked at her. She sighed and sat down. "Yes, Han is missing.  He

went off to Kessel  about two weeks  ago, but now he's  four days late  coming

back. He never contacted me, so yesterday I got in touch with Kessel. I  spoke

to someone who seems to be in charge, a Rybet named Moruth Doole.

"Doole says that Han and Chewie never arrived. Kessel has no record of the

Millennium Falcon. Doole suggested  they might have gotten  lost in the  black

hole cluster."

"Not Han!" Lando said. "And  not in the Falcon. He  knows how to fly  that

thing almost as well as I do."

Leia nodded. "All through the  conversation I sensed something wrong  with

the way Doole was acting. His answers  were too pat, and he seemed nervous.  I

had the distinct  feeling he was  expecting my  call and had  already made  up

appropriate excuses."

"I don't like that," Lando said.

"Well, if Han is missing and you knew since yesterday, why didn't you send

out a fleet of New Republic scouts?"  Luke said. "A formal search party?  What

if he is lost in the Maw somewhere?"

Leia sighed. "Think about  it, Luke. If I  mobilized an official force,  I

could create a galactic incident just when we're trying to get Kessel into the

New Republic. And besides," she admitted,  "you know Han. There's a very  real

chance he's just goofing around. He forgot his kids were coming back. Maybe he

found a good  game of sabacc  or started talking  old times with  some of  his

spice-smuggler buddies--that's why he wanted to go on the mission in the first

place."

"We'll go look for him ourselves," Lando said.

Luke could tell by the way Leia's  face brightened that this was what  she

intended to ask all along. "We'll go  snoop around," he said. "There won't  be

any official dispatch or record of our mission."

Lando said, "We'd better take the Lady Luck. She's just a privately  owned

yacht with some pretty good punch in her engines."

Leia stepped forward and plucked Jaina out of Luke's lap and cradled  her.

"I'll watch over Gantoris and Streen while you're gone."

Luke nodded  and spread  his hands  wide. "You  see, that's  why you're  a

diplomat--you think of details like that. Just  don't let the two of them  get

into any trouble."

"We should take Artoo with us," Lando said. "That little droid sure helped

me out at the blob races."

Luke had heard of  Lando's exploits with the  scam artist Tymmo. "You  can

tell me all about it on our way there. Leia's waited long enough."

"Let's go to Kessel," Lando said.

They managed to steal the second shuttle.

Han and Chewbacca  wasted precious  time in the  first cargo  ship on  the

atmosphere factory's landing pad, trying to cross-circuit the controls as  Kyp

Durron kept watch in the open hatch.  The air was cold on their exposed  skin,

and they didn't know how much stray radiation from the Maw actually penetrated

the atmospheric shield;  the sounds  of breathing hissed  behind their  breath

masks. No one had seen them. Yet.

After only  a  few  minutes,  Han  accidentally  triggered  the  shuttle's

automatic lockout systems.  He slammed  his hand  on the  panel. "Should  have

known I couldn't beat the high-level security interlocks!"

Chewbacca pulled  off  an  access  plate  and  tossed  it  into  the  back

compartment with the sound of a  crashing landspeeder. Roaring in his  Wookiee

language, he began  yanking wires out  of the controls  and jamming them  into

override ports, but the few lights  still functioning on the panels  continued

to burn red.

"Forget it, Chewie. We'll try the other  ship," Han said. "I think I  know

what I did wrong last time."

Kyp kept  watch on  the tiny  doors of  the atmosphere  factory's  massive

stack. "Still no movement from inside. We're clear."

They raced across the open spaces of the landing field to the second cargo

shuttle, an old Imperial model with  scarred armor and long planar wings  that

made it look  like a mechanical  flying fish.  Han and Chewbacca  had flown  a

similar Lambda'-class shuttle on  their guerrilla mission  to Endor; but  this

model looked even  older. Prison  facilities must  have low  priority for  new

equipment acquisitions, he thought.

Chewbacca opened the hatch, and Han ducked inside, moving straight to  the

controls. The Wookiee  clambered after him  as four guards  marched into  view

around the perimeter of the atmosphere stack. The squad wore  cobbled-together

uniforms of old stormtrooper armor and thermal suits from the mines.

Kyp plastered himself  to the  wall just  inside the  open hatch.  Looking

across the landing field, he saw that they had forgotten to close the  doorway

on the  first shuttle,  and  now their  tampering  was painfully  obvious.  He

swallowed. "Better hurry,  Han. We've got  company, but they  haven't seen  us

yet."

"If this doesn't work, we're in deep bantha dung," Han muttered,  punching

up the command screens and removing the access plate to the security override.

The squad of  guards marched on  what was probably  a routine patrol.  Han

glanced up to see them through the shuttle's windowport, but the reflectorized

transparisteel would prevent them from  observing the pilot's compartment.  He

wondered how many times a day the guards walked around the circular  perimeter

of the atmosphere stack. He hoped they were sleepwalking by now.

He tried to fire up the shuttle's  engines. The control panel gave him  an

ERROR message. "Bantha dung it is, then,"  he said. But he had one more  thing

to try.

The lead guard suddenly stopped and gestured toward the open hatch in  the

first shuttle. He tilted his head to speak into his helmet comlink, then  went

cautiously forward. He took  another guard with him,  while the remaining  two

drew their weapons and spread out, looking from side to side.

"Oh boy," Kyp said.

Han rewired the security circuit, feeding the password-checking mechanisms

back into themselves; then he snapped the  plate back on. "Let's try it.  Kyp,

get ready to  close the hatch.  If this works,  those guards are  going to  be

upset. If it doesn't work, I'm going to be upset."

The two  guards poked  their heads  out of  the first  shuttle,  gesturing

wildly. They had seen the sabotage.  The other two jabbered into their  helmet

radios, then sprinted toward the second shuttle, drawing their weapons.

Kyp slapped the button that slammed  the hatch shut. All the guards  began

running, pointing their blasters at the shuttle.

Han punched the start controls. With a merciful whine and hum, the engines

ignited. Power surged through  the shuttle. Han gave  a whoop of triumph,  but

Chewbacca knocked him back  into the pilot's seat  as he furiously worked  the

controls with his big hairy hands to lift them off the pad.

The guards fired blasters at the shuttle. Han heard the sizzling thumps as

the beams struck, but the ship's armor could withstand attack from minor  hand

weapons.

At the base of the atmosphere stack,  doors opened and an entire squad  of

guards boiled out like  Anoat lizard-ants in mating  season. One bright  laser

bolt splashed  across the  transparisteel  directly in  front of  Han's  eyes,

dazzling him. "Time to leave this party," he said.

Chewbacca raised them off  the ground, maneuvering  the shuttle away  from

the other vehicles on the landing pad.

Two guards wrestled a blaster cannon into place, erecting it on its tripod

and cranking  up the  aim point.  Chewbacca  growled, and  Han took  over  the

controls. "I know.  That thing  could be  real trouble  if we  don't get  some

altitude fast."

A flurry of hand-blaster bolts pinged against the lower hull. Han flew the

ship higher, adjacent to  the gigantic stack, spiraling  upward and using  the

curving walls as a shield. The guards  managed to fire only one shot from  the

blaster-cannon, but the beam scattered wide as Han corkscrewed up, keeping the

stack between him and the troops.  Below, the guards ran around the  perimeter

to keep within  firing range, but  Han flew  the shuttle beyond  the reach  of

small weapons fire.

"We're out of here!" Han said. "Punch it, Chewie!"

Then the  massive laser  turrets  mounted on  the atmosphere  tower  began

firing at them.

"What!" Han cried.  "What are  they doing  with weapons  on an  atmosphere

stack? It's a factory, not a garrison!"

One brilliant green bolt struck the starboard planar wing of the  shuttle,

sending the vessel into a roll.  Han and Chewbacca grappled with the  controls

as they spun, and Kyp clung to the supports of the pilot's chair.

They careened into the gushing white updraft from the stack, knocked  from

side to side by manufactured air dumping into Kessel's atmosphere. "Hang  on!"

Han yelled. He did not want to crash on the planet again.

At the shuttle's top acceleration, he  took them along the stream of  air,

roaring upward like  a boat riding  the rapids. Green  blasts from the  turret

lasers continued to streak up, but by  riding the center stream, Han kept  the

shuttle in the blind spot of their targeting mechanisms.

They zoomed toward the fringes of  the atmosphere. Han looked at both  Kyp

and Chewbacca.

"Well, so much for sneaking out of here. Now Moruth Doole is going to know

we escaped."

As if on  cue the  shuttle's comm crackled,  and they  could hear  Doole's

croaking voice in the background. "Is this it? Did you get the right  override

channel this time?"

"Yes, Commissioner."

"Solo! Han Solo, can you hear me?"

"Why, it sounds like my old friend  Moruth Doole!" Han said. "How are  you

doing, buddy? I hope you feel better than your assistant Skynxnex."

"Solo, you  have caused  me more  grief than  any other  life-form in  the

galaxy--including Jabba the Hutt! I should have squashed you when I had you in

my office."

Han rolled his eyes. "Well,  you missed your chance,  and I don't plan  on

giving you another one."

Doole chuckled, a  hissing heh-heh-heh  laugh like  a fat  man choking  on

sand. "You won't get away. I'll mobilize everything against you. Better  start

thinking about the afterlife now."

Kyp squinted out  the port, as  if deep in  concentration. The  atmosphere

thinned around the  fleeing ship at  the far limit  of where Kessel's  gravity

could keep hold. He saw Kessel's moon and suddenly shivered uncontrollably. He

blinked in confusion.

Chewbacca bellowed  into the  speaker mesh.  "You tell  him, Chewie,"  Han

said, then switched off the radio.

Kyp scrambled forward and grabbed the controls, activating the maneuvering

rockets and making the shuttle lurch forward with enough force to slam Han and

Chewbacca against  their  seats. Kyp  tumbled  backward, unable  to  keep  his

balance in the acceleration.

"What did you do that for?" Han demanded, glaring at Kyp.

But Chewbacca made an alarmed noise  and dragged Han back to the  console.

Just below  them the  atmosphere  shimmered and  crinkled as  an  impenetrable

ionized screen appeared, blanketing the planet.

"They've got their energy  shield operational!" Han  said. The workers  on

Kessel's moonbase  had repaired  the protective  screen that  blocked off  the

prison planet. If Kyp hadn't punched  their acceleration exactly when he  did,

they would have  been sizzled  in the  bath of  power or  trapped beneath  the

shield, unable to escape.

"How did you know?" Han said, looking over his shoulder at Kyp. Kyp picked

himself up off the floor, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "Never mind.

Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just get us away from Kessel."

Han spun  around  to the  shuttle's  controls. "Chewie,  contact  the  New

Republic. No waiting  this time. They've  got to learn  what's going on  here,

just in case we don't make it back."

The Wookiee  bent  over  the  comm controls  as  Han  struggled  with  the

navicomputer. Han gawked at the task in  front of him. "Damn! This thing's  an

old five-hundred-X model! Haven't seen one  of these outside a museum. I  hope

they gave us a scratchpad to do backup calculations. That might be faster  and

more accurate!"

Chewbacca moaned and  pounded his hairy  fist on the  console with  enough

force to buckle the panels. Han flashed  a sidelong look at him. "What do  you

mean we're being jammed? Who's jamming us?"

Kyp turned to the side viewport, said in a low voice, "Here they come."

The garrison  on  Kessel's moon  spewed  fighters, dozens  of  rejuvenated

battle craft,  armored freighters,  slim and  heavily armed  X-wings, and  TIE

fighters. Many of the ships must have  been damaged during the recent war  and

then salvaged. Now Doole had also gotten his planetary defense shield  running

again. Kessel would be a veritable stronghold against any attack.

Streams of X-wings  and Y-wings coursedout,  flanked on either  side by  a

squadron of TIE fighters. They roared through the wispy tail of atmosphere  in

Kessel's orbital wake,  leaving a  glowing window  of ionized  gas from  their

sublight engines.

"Strap yourselves in," Han said. "This is  going to be a hell of a  ride."

He reached for the controls, preparing to  fight, then felt a boulder drop  in

his stomach. "What? This ship is unarmed!" He frantically scanned the console.

"Nothing! Not a single laser! Not even a slingshot!"

Kyp held  the back  of Han's  pilot chair,  bracing himself.  "We stole  a

supply ship, not a fighter. What did you expect?"

"Chewie,  pump  everything  into  our  shields--and  I  mean   everything,

including life support. We've got enough air in here to last longer than  this

ship is likely to hold. Boost shields until they're off the scale. We're going

to have to outrun them."

The first wave of TIE fighters  soared in, their Twin Ion Engines  howling

over the cockpit's  feedback speakers.  Laser spears shot  out, pummeling  the

shuttle, but the shields held. X-wings attacked from the rear.

"Can't this ship go any faster?" Kyp asked. The lights dimmed as Chewbacca

reinforced the shields.

"Like you said, kid, we stole a  cargo shuttle. This isn't a racing  ship,

and it sure isn't the  Falcon. Get ready for a  jump to hyperspace as soon  as

this fossilized navicomputer gives an answer." He stared at the readout,  then

pounded on the panel. "It'll be another ten minutes before it coughs up a safe

trajectory. Damn! The black hole cluster is screwing up the calculations."

Chewbacca interjected a loud, bleating comment.

"What did he say?" Kyp asked.

"He said our shields are going to fail in about two minutes. I wish I  had

weapons--I'd even settle for a  rock to throw out  the window!" His eyes  were

wide and suddenly empty of hope. "There's no way we can last long enough,  and

Doole sure won't  take prisoners a  second time.  Sorry I got  you into  this,

kid."

Kyp bit  his lip,  then turned  to  point out  the front  windowport.  "Go

there."

The Maw.

Swirling clouds of  gas looped into  the bottomless pits  of black  holes,

making space look like a tangled skein of incandescent yarn. Gravity waited to

tear apart  any ship  that came  too  close. The  inexorable Maw  cluster  was

destined to  swallow up  the Kessel  system itself  in only  another  thousand

years--but Han didn't want to feed its appetite any sooner than that.

Chewbacca roared something  that needed no  translation. "Are you  crazy?"

Han asked.

"You said we're dead anyway."

Four Y-wings fired simultaneously on the port side of the shuttle, rocking

it. A shower of sparks blasted from the comm unit, and Chewbacca struggled  to

reroute the circuits.

"There are supposed to  be safe paths through  it," Kyp said. "There  must

be."

"Yeah, and about a million paths that are sudden death!"

"It'll be flying  a razor's edge  all the way  through." Kyp's young  eyes

looked immeasurably old  as he  stared at  Han. "Do  we have  a better  chance

staying here and fighting?"

The enormous gravity wells of  the Maw made a  maze of all the  hyperspace

and normal space  paths through the  cluster. Most of  the routes were  either

dead ends or went right down the gullet of a black hole. "We'd never find  the

right course," Han said. "It'd be suicide."

Kyp gripped Han's shoulder. "I can show you the way."

"What? How?"

A TIE  fighter looped  overhead,  rotating in  flight  and firing  at  the

hijacked shuttle.  Cruisers from  the moonbase  approached, closing  the  gap.

Against the capital-ships' turbolasers, the escapees would be vaporized within

moments. Chewbacca groaned as their rear shields weakened and failed.

Han scrambled with the controls; both he and Chewbacca tried to  reinforce

weak points by  draining the stronger  shields up front.  Lights in the  cabin

dimmed as the shields gulped more power.

"I helped you navigate through the dark spice tunnels when we were running

from Skynxnex, didn't I?" Kyp said. "I knew when Doole was going to switch  on

the energy shield! I can find the right path into the Maw."

"That still doesn't tell me how, kid!" Han shouted.

Kyp wore an embarrassed  expression for a moment;  then he spoke  quickly.

"This is going to sound like a hokey old religion--but it works! An old  woman

who spent part of her sentence in the spice tunnels told me I had some sort of

tremendous potential. She showed me how to use something called "the power" or

"the strength" or something."

"The Force!" Han cried in relief. He wanted to grab Kyp and hug him.  "Why

didn't you say so? Who was this woman?"

"Her name was Vima-Da-Boda. Down in the  spice mines she taught me only  a

few things before the guards hauled her away. I never saw her again, but  I've

been practicing what  she taught  me. It's  helped a  few times,  but I  don't

really understand how."

"Vima-Da-Boda!" Han said, remembering the withered fallen Jedi he and Leia

had found  on Nal  Hutta.  During her  guilt-ridden hiding,  Vima-Da-Boda  had

somehow spent time  in the  spice mines,  long enough to  train Kyp  in a  few

essential skills. Han hoped that would be good enough.

"I don't like this," Han said.

Another pair of  fighters soared  by, firing  repeatedly. "But  I like  it

better than our other options right now."

He altered  course,  swinging  around  and  heading  straight  toward  the

seething cluster of black holes. He hoped the shuttle's weakened shields would

last long enough to get them there.

The first of the capital ships  reached them and fired, looping  overhead,

then returning, as if to ram them.  The shape of the attacking freighter  made

Han's blood turn to water,  and he stared in silent  dismay for a full  second

before he managed to cry out. "That's the Millennium Falcon! That's my ship!"

The Falcon came straight at them, firing again and again as the  shuttle's

forward shields tried to compensate for the pummeling. At the last moment  Han

wrenched the  stolen  shuttle into  a  steep dive  so  the Falcon  scraped  by

overhead. One of  the shots passed  through the wavering  shields to scar  the

armor of the shuttle.

"That does it!" Han said. "Now I'm  mad. Chewie, at my order drop  shields

and dump everything into thrust. Pump every last erg into our engines and take

us straight  into the  Maw." He  glanced down  at his  readouts. "Shields  are

failing in less than a minute  anyway, and the navicomputer needs another  six

to finish its calculations. Blasted five-hundred-X models!"

Another wing of fighters  strafed them, then roared  by, leaving a gap  to

their  rear  as  a  huge  Lancer  frigate  closed  the  distance.  A  wave  of

system-patrol craft  and Carrack  cruisers  followed, ready  to bring  a  full

armada of turbolasers to bear. Moruth Doole was taking no chances this time.

"Go, Chewie!" Han said.

The Wookiee  dropped  shields and  channeled  all power  to  the  sublight

engines. The shuttle burst forward in an unexpected spurt of speed,  startling

the pursuing ships.

"Surprise is only going  to help us  for a few  seconds," Han said.  "Then

we're on our own."

"By that time we should be in the grip of the Maw," Kyp whispered.

"If you're not right about this, kid, we'll never know it."

Curtains of incandescent  gas blazed  in front of  them, swirling  residue

heated by friction as it spiraled in complex orbits through the Roche lobe  of

one black hole  and down the  gullet of another.  Deadly X-rays filled  space,

forcing  the  transparisteel  to  dim  itself  to  protect  the  eyes  of  the

passengers.

"Only a complete idiot would try something like this," Han said. Chewbacca

agreed.

The Kessel ships poured on additional acceleration, desperately trying  to

catch the escapees before  Han could reach the  Maw cluster. Han hunched  over

the controls, white-knuckled, as if to increase their speed by sheer force  of

will.

The fighters unleashed a laser firestorm, but the Maw's huge gravitational

distortions spread out their focus  and sent them on  long arcs away from  the

target.

"Let's just hope these guys aren't idiots too!" Kyp said. Han drove toward

the blazing shreds of hot gas.

The Kessel ships pursued until the  last instant, then peeled off at  full

thrust with their maneuvering engines, letting their prey go to certain death.

Han's ship plunged into the gravitational jaws of the black hole cluster.

Leia suppressed a dignified smile as she led Gantoris into the  projection

chamber. The dark-haired man stared in his puppet-like way as he tried to gawk

at everything at the same time.

Gantoris  was  resplendent  in  a  new  uniform,  tailored  to  match  the

generations-old pilot suit he had worn as leader on Eol Sha. Leia had loaded a

tailor droid with  patterns from  the archives  and presented  the uniform  to

Gantoris as a gift. He had been delighted, puffed with admiration.

Even after getting to know  him, Leia felt uncomfortable around  Gantoris.

Though Luke assured her of the strong Jedi potential in the man, Leia did  not

like the thought of the deadly "tests" Gantoris had given Luke before he would

agree to leave Eol Sha. Gantoris had  lived a hellish life, she admitted,  but

he seemed too intense, his dark eyes fiery pits of contained fury. He had  the

look of a man accustomed to power suddenly shown how small he is in the  grand

scheme of things.

But the other side of Gantoris  intrigued Leia. She watched him flick  his

eyes back and forth,  craning his head  to stare at  the tall building  spires

rising to the fringes of Coruscant's  atmosphere. He gaped in astonishment  at

the sparkling  audience  chambers, at  the  minor personal  amenities  in  the

quarters Luke had obtained for him. He had never before seen or even  imagined

things that Leia considered commonplace.

Now, as they  entered the projection  room, Gantoris stared  at the  giant

windows that  filled  the  walls  with  broad  vistas  of  Coruscant  and  the

centuries-old buildings  that girdled  the world.  The two  of them  were  not

really high  enough  for such  a  view, Leia  knew;  the projection  room  was

actually a  deep  internal chamber,  and  the "windows"  were  high-resolution

screens displaying images  from cameras  mounted at  the top  of the  Imperial

Palace.

"What is this place?" Gantoris asked.

Leia smiled, folding her  arms over her  robe. "Right now  this is just  a

room. In a moment, though, I'll give you a new world."

She stepped to the control  dais in the middle of  the room and called  up

images she had compiled from the archives, records left over from Old Republic

surveys and the dossiers compiled during the Alliance occupation.

The window screens flickered, and the images changed, startling  Gantoris.

He whirled as the landscape suddenly showed a completely different planet. His

eyes grew wide and panicked,  as if Leia had  just transported him across  the

galaxy.

"I'm showing you a new home. This  is Dantooine, the place we have  chosen

for the people of Eol Sha."

Around them  the window  screens displayed  vast plains  of grassland  and

spiky trees.  Purplish hills  rolled across  the distant  horizon. A  herd  of

small, hairy beasts roamed across the savanna; in the air a cluster of  bright

balloon-like things, either  plants or rudimentary  animals, drifted about;  a

few had  snagged  on pointed  branches  of the  spiky  trees. Two  moons,  one

lavender and one greenish, soared overhead.

"We established one of our first Rebel  bases on Dantooine. It has a  mild

climate, abundant life-forms, plenty  of water. A few  nomadic tribes roam  up

and down  the coasts  of  the ocean,  but  for the  most  part the  planet  is

uninhabited."

Leia had used Dantooine as a decoy when Grand Moff Tarkin interrogated her

aboard the  Death Star.  To save  her  beloved planet  of Alderaan,  Leia  had

divulged the location of  the old Rebel base  on Dantooine rather than  naming

the real  base on  Yavin  4; but  Tarkin  destroyed Alderaan  anyway,  because

Dantooine was too remote  for an effective demonstration  of the Death  Star's

power. Now, though, Dantooine  could be put  to use again, as  a home for  the

refugees of Eol Sha.

"Do you think your people would like  to live on a place like this?"  Leia

raised her eyebrows.

Gantoris, who had so far seen only  his own blasted world, the gas  planet

of Bespin, and the city-covered surface of Coruscant, seemed impressed.  "This

looks like a  paradise. No volcanoes?  No earthquakes? Plenty  to eat, and  no

sprawling cities?"

She nodded.  Before Gantoris  could say  anything else,  the door  to  the

projection room opened. Leia turned, surprised to see the Chief of State,  Mon

Mothma, coming to join them.

The auburn-haired woman walked with a sure step that made her glide across

the floor. The leader of  the New Republic extended  a hand to Gantoris.  "You

must be one of Luke Skywalker's first Jedi trainees. Please let me welcome you

to Coruscant and wish you the best of success in becoming part of a new  order

of Jedi Knights."

Gantoris took Mon Mothma's hand and nodded  to her with a slight bow;  but

Leia caught a fleeting impression that he considered himself a leader  meeting

an equal.

"Mon Mothma,"  Leia said,  "I was  just showing  Gantoris some  images  of

Dantooine. We are considering moving the refugees from Eol Sha to our old base

there."

Mon Mothma smiled. "Good. I'm  aware of the plight  of your people, and  I

would like to see them safely on Dantooine. I always thought it was one of our

most pleasant bases, not quite as  rigorous as Hoth or Pinnacle Base,  without

the dense jungles of Yavin  4." She turned to  Gantoris. "If this world  meets

with your approval, I'll direct Minister  Organa Solo to begin the  relocation

work immediately."

Gantoris  nodded.  "If  these  are  representative  pictures,  this  place

Dantooine would be a perfect new home for my people."

Leia felt a surge of relief. "I  was thinking of putting Wedge ... I  mean

General Antilles in charge of the relocation duties. He's been supervising the

reconstruction of  the lower  city levels  for months,  and frankly,  I  think

that's a waste of his talents."

"I  agree,"  Mon  Mothma  said.   Though  buried  under  more   diplomatic

entanglements and bureaucratic decisions than  Leia could imagine, Mon  Mothma

somehow maintained a calm energy. "Also, my calendar just reminded me that the

Caridan ambassador will  be arriving  in two  days. Are  all the  preparations

going smoothly? Can I offer my assistance in any way?"

"Just plan to be there. That's the most  I can ask of you. I have  decided

to move the reception to the Skydome Botanical Gardens, rather than holding it

here in the  Imperial Palace.  Since Ambassador  Furgan seems  hostile to  our

cause, I  didn't want  to exacerbate  his reactions  by receiving  him in  the

former seat of the Emperor's government. In fact, the ambassador is trying  to

disguise his mission here as  a mere pilgrimage to  visit the site of  various

Imperial landmarks."

Mon Mothma nodded slightly but gave a smile. "At least he's coming. That's

the best signal of all."

"I suppose." Leia remained skeptical.

"By the way, I never received your report on Han's mission to Kessel. That

was a brilliant idea to send him instead of a formal ambassador. Han can speak

to those people in their own  language, and reopening the spice channels  away

from the black market might  do wonders for the new  economy. Did he have  any

success?"

Feeling awkward, Leia dropped her gaze to the floor. "He has been delayed,

Mon Mothma, so I  don't have any  information at the moment.  I'll give you  a

full report as soon as he gets back. Let's hope his mission is a success."

"Agreed." Mon Mothma's expression hinted that she suspected there was more

to Leia's story, but she asked no further questions. "I have to go debate with

the Ugnaught representatives  about salvage  rights for the  wrecked ships  in

orbit around Coruscant. I'm afraid  it's going to be  a long afternoon, and  I

just wanted to greet you while I had the chance. Gantoris, it was a pleasure."

Mon Mothma turned to go  but flashed a glance back  at Leia. "By the  way,

you're doing a fine job, Leia. Too often in government we get inundated by  so

many dissatisfied  interest groups,  so many  complaints, that  we forget  the

things we're doing right. You are doing a lot of things right."

Leia couldn't  cover anembarrassed  smile.  If only  she hadn't  lost  her

husband, she might have been a lot happier.

* * *

The twins began bawling in unison as soon as Winter stepped onto the  ramp

of her unmarked  shuttle. Leia's  personal servant stopped,  keeping her  back

turned to Jacen and Jaina, and then slowly faced them.

Leia gripped the  shoulders of the  two children, but  they still  treated

their mother as  a stranger,  even after several  days. She  held on  tightly,

which she realized  might not have  been the best  thing to do,  but she  felt

suddenly possessive of the twins.

Winter's face was cold  and impassive beneath  her white hair.  "Children,

stop crying this instant."

Jacen snuffled. "We want you to stay, Winter."

Winter thrust out  one hand,  pointing her finger  like a  spear at  Leia.

"That is your mother. I was only taking care of you. You are big children now,

and it's time for you to be at your own home. I have to go back and take  care

of your baby brother."

Leia kept herself from  trembling. She had known  Winter a long time;  the

woman had total recall of anything she had ever seen or heard, and she  rarely

showed any sort of  emotion. Now Leia  thought she could  detect a sadness  in

her, a sense of loss as she finally gave over care of her two wards.

Leia knelt beside the twins. "You'll be staying with me now, both of  you.

And your daddy should be home soon. We'll have lots of fun together."

The twins turned to look  at her; Winter took  that moment to slip  inside

the shuttle. Before Jacen and Jaina noticed she had gone, Winter activated the

doors, sealing herself inside.

Leia stood beside the children on the windswept landing pad. The shuttle's

repulsorlifts whined, powering  up. Leia stepped  backward, nudging the  twins

with her. "Out of the  way now. Back where it's  safe." Jacen and Jaina  still

sniffled, on the verge  of crying again.  In her untrained  way Leia tried  to

send them calm, loving thoughts.

She spoke  into a  comlink on  the  lapel of  her robe.  "Grant  departure

clearance to  unmarked  shuttle  on  top northside  platform  of  the  Palace,

authority of Minister Organa Solo."

The orbital traffic  controllers acknowledged, and  Winter's shuttle  rose

from the platform, pivoted, then angled into the sky. Leia raised her hand  in

a farewell salute. "Wave to Winter," she said.

The twins flailed their pudgy arms  in the air. Winter flashed the  lights

in the  shuttle at  them; then  the orbital-burn  rockets kicked  in, and  the

vessel shot into the aurora-streaked distance.

"Come on, you two,"  Leia said to them.  "I've got a lot  of lost time  to

make up for."

Streen sat atop the ruined and abandoned skyscraper where he had made  his

home. When Luke  brought him  to the yammering  mass of  Imperial City,  where

millions of people covered  the planet with all  their thoughts and all  their

feelings, Streen had  begged for  a place where  he could  have some  solitude

until they moved off-planet to their Jedi training center. Luke showed him the

abandoned parts of  the city, and  Streen had selected  the tallest  building.

Being high up reminded him of the clouds of Bespin.

Now Leia brought the twins with her, keeping a firm grip on each of  their

hands as she led them into the barely functional lift, which took them to  the

rooftop. They walked out onto the upper platform where Streen sat alone on the

edge. The old man dangled his feet over the sides, unperturbed by the unbroken

kilometer drop below him. He looked  up and out at the unrelenting  cityscape,

the geometric spires  of sprawling buildings.  He watched the  tiny shapes  of

hawk-bats riding thermals.

Leia walked across  the rooftop.  She had  never been  afraid of  heights,

although with the young  children at hand  she felt an  alt different kind  of

fear, a stomach-clenching paranoia of the millions of things that could  bring

danger to her  children. Jacen and  Jaina wanted to  dash to the  edge of  the

platform and look over, but she refused to release her grip.

Upon hearing them approach, Streen turned.  Leia noted that he still  wore

his many-pocketed jumpsuit,  not wanting  to change  into the  warmer or  more

comfortable clothes she had offered him.

"We just came to  check on you,  Streen. With Luke gone  I wanted to  make

sure there was nothing else you needed."

Streen paused a moment before answering. "What I'd like is solitude, but I

fear there's no  place I  can have  that on this  entire planet.  Even in  the

quietest places on Coruscant,  I can still hear  a constant hum of  whispering

thoughts and voices. It'll be very difficult for me here, until I learn how to

block it out. The Jedi Master promised to teach me how to do that."

"Luke should be back shortly," Leia said.

They approached the edge,  and Leia insisted on  standing a safe  distance

away. But Jaina pulled forward to the  full reach of Leia's arm, to where  she

could peer over the edge and gape all the way down. "That's far!" Jaina said.

"Too far to fall," Leia told her.

"I won't fall."

"Me neither," Jacen said.  Then he insisted on  straining forward to  look

over the edge as well.

Streen stared  at them  with a  kind of  wonder. "You're  better than  the

others. The children's minds  are simple and  straightforward, and they  don't

bother me. It's  only when  thoughts are complex  and filled  with a  thousand

subtexts that  it makes  my head  ache.  And you,  Minister Organa  Solo,  are

quieter and more focused than most other people."

"Luke taught me how to control my own mind. I don't leak out the  thoughts

and feelings that bother you so much. I keep from broadcasting them to  anyone

else."

Streen gave a  wan smile,  then stared  out at  the vast  sky. On  various

parabolic courses,  blinking  lights  of  incoming  and  departing  diplomatic

shuttles traveled across the sky.

"I hope  all the  Jedi trainees  can learn  to be  as silent  as you  are,

Minister. I'd very much like  to be around other  people, part of a  community

like yourself and the Jedi Master. How long will it be, do you think?"

He looked deeply into her eyes, and she pulled the children away from  the

edge. "Soon," Leia said. "As soon as possible."

She vowed  that  she would  find  a place  for  Luke's academy  before  he

returned from Kessel. It  had to be the  right place, and she  had to find  it

without delay.

Leia and Threepio insisted on giving  the twins a warm ripple bath  before

bedtime. Leia ran the water as  Threepio checked to make sure its  temperature

was perfect.

Leia shooed Jacen and Jaina toward the rippling water. Jacen balked.  "Put

bubbles in first!"

"I'll put the  bubbles in while  the water's still  running. Now just  get

in."

"Winter puts bubbles in first," Jaina said.

"Well, this time  we'll do it  a little different,"  Leia explained a  bit

testily.

"I want bubbles now!" Jacen cried.

"Dear me!  Perhaps we  had  better put  the  bubbles in,  Mistress  Leia,"

Threepio said.

But the twins' defiance had awakened Leia's own stubbornness. "No, I  told

you to get in the bath. I don't care how Winter did it. This is the place  you

live now. Sometimes we do things differently."

Jaina began to cry.

"It's all right!" Leia said. "It's still a nice bath. Look." She  splashed

her hand in the warm water. "It  doesn't make any difference when you put  the

bubbles in."

"I put bubbles in?" Jaina asked.

"If you get in, you can add the bubbles."

Jaina promptly climbed into  the water and held  out her hands. Leia  gave

her an  amber-colored sphere  that  would dissolve  in  the agitation  of  the

ripples.

Jacen jumped into the ripple bath. "Now I put bubbles in!"

"Too late," Leia said. "Next time it'll be your turn."

"Perhaps we should let them add another sphere of bubbles?" Threepio said,

bending over to situate the children in the water.

Jacen used both of his hands to fling water into the droid's face. "I want

home!"

"This is home, Jacen. You live here now. I'm your mother."

"No. I want home!"

Leia began to wonder why her  diplomatic skills were failing her now.  The

twins began splashing  each other.  It looked like  light play  at first,  but

suddenly--for no apparent reason--they both  began to cry. Perhaps this  would

be good preparation for meeting the Caridan ambassador, Leia thought.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the two continued wailing. Threepio, growing

more and more flustered,  frantically tried to  determine what the  difficulty

was.

Leia wished she knew where Han was.

The stolen shuttle plummeted into the Maw. Maelstroms of hot gas  buffeted

them from side to side as Kyp fought to guide Han along their tenuous  course.

The  safe  path  was  convoluted  and  treacherous  where  the   gravitational

singularities canceled each other out.

The Maw itself was one of the wonders of the galaxy. The very existence of

a black hole  cluster seemed astrophysically  impossible and had  led to  much

conjecture  about  its  origin.  Old  Republic  scientists  cited  probability

arguments, that among the near-infinite stars in the universe, something  like

the Maw had to occur at least once.

Other speculations,  including those  voiced by  superstitious  smugglers,

suggested that the Maw had actually been built, assembled by a vastly powerful

ancient race that had created the black holes in a barely stable configuration

to open gateways into new dimensions.

At the moment, Han Solo cared only that the Maw was likely to be the cause

of his death.

The shuttle's interior was  dark and hot and  stuffy. The wild colors  and

blazing light made psychedelic  fireworks outside the  ship and weird  shadows

inside. All lighting, life support,  and temperature regulation had been  shut

down to increase power to the failing shields.

Han sweated in the pilot seat,  watching the navigational controls he  had

relinquished to  Kyp.  Though  he  had  been  fighting  for  his  life  almost

constantly during the past  week, he missed  Leia very much.  She had no  idea

what had happened to him, and she  must be terribly worried--but no doubt  too

proud to show it. Han  hated even more to know  that his children had  finally

returned from their sanctuary planet, and he hadn't been there to greet them.

But he would never  see any of  them again if  the shuttle didn't  survive

passage through  the  Maw.  Everything depended  on  Kyp  Durron's  mysterious

abilities.

Kyp struggled with the controls, guiding  the shuttle through some of  the

most delicate, most difficult  maneuvers Han had ever  seen--and Kyp kept  his

eyes closed! The  young man seemed  to be  seeing through a  different set  of

eyes, looking at  some path not  apparent with normal  vision. Staring at  the

deadly black holes all around the shuttle,  Han wanted to close his own  eyes,

too.

Kyp continued  to negotiate  the implacable  obstacle course  intuitively,

threading through fragile points of  stability. Chewbacca sat frozen with  his

own tension, afraid to disturb the young man's concentration.

Sparks flew  on one  of  the far  control panels  as  a shield  gave  out.

Chewbacca growled as he  jammed long fingers down  on the controls,  rerouting

and spreading the  remaining protection evenly  around them. If  a single  gap

appeared in the shields, the X-rays and fiery gases would tear them apart.

Kyp didn't flinch. "Coming up  on the end of  this ride," he said  without

opening his eyes. "There's a gravitationally safe island in the middle of  the

cluster, like the eye of a storm."

Han felt relief  rush through him.  "We'd better hide  there for a  while,

recharge the power sources and make a few quick-and-dirty repairs."  Chewbacca

grunted his agreement.

"And take a good long rest," Kyp said.

Han noticed a sheen of perspiration  on his forehead. Despite his  outward

calm Kyp  seemed  to  be concentrating  enormously,  straining  his  fledgling

abilities. "We still have to find our way back out, you know."

The swirling ionized gases  parted like a curtain  thrown aside to  reveal

the gravitational  oasis in  the cluster's  core,  a safe  haven for  them  to

recuperate before returning to Coruscant.

"Made it!"Han said in a whisper.

But someone else had already found the hiding place.

Orbiting a small rocky island in the center of the Maw hung four  gigantic

Imperial Star Destroyers, bristling with weaponry.

Within a moment of their arrival swarms of TIE fighters poured out of  the

Star Destroyer hangar bays in a truly impressive show of force.

Han stared, unable to speak. They had just escaped execution at the  hands

of Skynxnex, the  energy-spider attack  in the  spice mines,  battle with  the

entire space fleet of Kessel, and destruction in the gravitational maze of the

Maw. Now  the shuttle's  shields were  failing, they  had no  weapons--and  an

Imperial armada had just been launched at them.

"The way things are going, we'll end up accidentally destroying the galaxy

before suppertime," Han  said. "Kick all  the engines back  on, Chewie!  Let's

turn this thing around. Kyp, find us another path out!"

"There aren't many paths to choose from," Kyp said.

The ship shuddered as  if someone had kicked  it from behind; then  sparks

sprayed out. Chewbacca groaned in dismay.

Han looked at the readouts. "All our shields just went out." He stared  at

the four Star Destroyers  and the waves of  TIE fighters and TIE  Interceptors

surging toward them.  "I feel  like we've got  a big  targeting cross  painted

right on our hull," Han said. "They can  wipe us out with just a potshot."  He

glanced around,  searching for  something  hard enough  to  kick; he  found  a

bulkhead and lashed out at it.

The comm  crackled, and  for  a moment  Han expected  another  threatening

message from Moruth Doole, but the ionized gases and distortions of the  black

holes would ruin any transmission passing through the outer shell of the Maw.

Gruff words spilled out  of the speakers.  "Imperial shuttle, welcome!  It

has been a long time since we  received word from the outside. Please  provide

your security access code. Our TIE squadron is coming to escort you."

Han stiffened, remembering that they  had stolen an old Imperial  shuttle.

They would have a  few seconds before they  were blown out of  the sky. But  a

security access code? He had to think fast.

Han toggled the transmitter switch. "This is Imperial shuttle, uh... Endor

coming in.  We've, uh,  had a  rough ride  through the  Maw, and  most of  our

computer systems are down. We request assistance." He paused, then  swallowed.

"Just how long has it been since you got news from the outside anyway?"

A loud click came  from the other end.  The TIE fighters continued  toward

them. Han  squirmed,  knowing his  bluff  couldn't  work, that  they  were  an

unprotected target to be blown away by itchy Imperial trigger fingers.

The voice  came back,  gruffer and  crisper this  time. "Imperial  shuttle

Endor, we repeat --what is the security access code? Transmit immediately!"

Han turned to his copilot. "Chewie, how long until we get those shields?"

The Wookiee had removed the access panels on the side power  compartments,

yanking out masses of wires as he strung them through his fingers and tried to

straighten the  connections. Chewbacca  sniffed to  find burned  circuits.  It

would be a long  time before they had  the systems even marginally  functional

again.

Han opened  the transmitter  circuit  once more.  "Uh,  as I  said,  we've

sustained substantial computer damage. We are unable to--”

“Unacceptable excuse! The code phrase is verbal."

"Just checking,"  Han said.  "The  code phrase  is--”  He looked  to  Kyp,

desperately hoping that the young  man would be able to  pull the code out  of

the air, but even Luke Skywalker was  unlikely to do something like that.  Kyp

could only shrug.

"Uh, the  last code  phrase we  have  is RJ'-TWO  stroke ZZ  stroke  eight

thousand.

Awaiting your confirmation." He clicked off, then looked at Chewbacca  and

Kyp, spreading his hands. "It was worth a try."

"Improper response," the gruff voice snapped.

"What a surprise," Han mumbled.

The transmission continued.  "You have  obviously not been  sent by  Grand

Moff Tarkin.  Shuttle Endor,  you are  to be  taken prisoner  immediately  and

brought aboard  Imperial Star  Destroyer Gorgon  for deep  interrogation.  Any

attempt at escape or resistance will result in your being destroyed."

Han wondered if he should bother to acknowledge, then decided against  it.

He was puzzled by the  mention of Grand Moff  Tarkin, the brutal governor  who

had built  the first  Death Star.  Tarkin had  been destroyed  along with  his

doomsday weapon ten years  before. Could these people  have been out of  touch

for that long?

The shuttle lurched as if a giant invisible hand had grabbed it. Han could

hear the metal plates groaning as pressure constricted the outer hull. "It's a

tractor beam," he said.

The giant arrowhead  shape of  the flagship  Star Destroyer  loomed up  at

them. Chewbacca groaned something, and Han agreed. He had had a feeling  about

this, too.

"Don't even bother,  Chewie. We could  never break that  tractor beam,  we

could never run out of  here fast enough, and  we could never survive  another

passage through the Maw."

A squadron of TIE fighters surrounded the hijacked shuttle like a  cocoon,

making it impossible for them to deviate  from the direct path of the  tractor

beam. The Star Destroyer Gorgon opened  its huge receiving bay to swallow  the

prisoners. TIE fighters streaked up and into the cavernous metal mouth.

Han remembered being taken captive aboard the first Death Star in much the

same way,  flanked  by  Imperial starfighters,  fighting  against  a  powerful

tractor beam. But that time he had been flying his own ship, and they had been

able to hide in the Falcon's secret storage compartments. Now they didn't even

have uniforms  to steal;  they wore  only the  thermal prison  suits used  for

working in the spice mines of Kessel.

"We're not going to make a very good impression," Kyp said.

The four Star Destroyers  hovered over a  cluster of interconnected  rocky

bodies at the very center of the Maw. Other constructions and skeletal  debris

orbited low to the asteroid archipelago.

Han wondered again what all this was.  A staging area? A secret base?  Why

would the Empire have squandered so much firepower to protect the little clump

of rocks below?

The tractor beam lifted  the shuttle into the  Gorgon's bay and hauled  it

over to an isolated landing area. As the shuttle came to rest, Han heard faint

groaning and ticking sounds, like a chorus of mechanical sighs of relief  from

the battered  ship.  Armed stormtroopers  hustled  into position,  running  in

regimented columns  that showed  they were  still well  drilled, still  highly

trained. They carried old-model blasters held at the ready.

"We'd better see what they want," Han said. "Any bright ideas?"

"Only dim ones," Kyp answered with a shake of his dark head.

Han sighed in resignation. "Let's go out together. Hands up and move  very

slowly."

Chewbacca grumbled  that he  had  no particular  aversion to  dying  while

fighting, if they were going to be executed anyway.

"We don't know that," Han said. "Let's go."

Chewbacca, the most intimidating, took the central position while Han  and

the smaller form of Kyp Durron  flanked him. They walked out and  surrendered.

The stormtroopers  instantly  directed their  weapons  toward the  three.  Han

wondered how he could  have earned himself such  an unrelenting streak of  bad

luck.

At a signal for attention the  back ranks of stormtroopers snapped  erect,

shouldering their weapons, while  the front ranks held  unwavering aim at  the

prisoners. Han watched as doors at the rear of the landing bay slid open and a

tall woman strode through, accompanied by a bodyguard on each side.

She had a  slender build  and precise  movements. She  wore an  olive-gray

jumpsuit and black  gloves. She  marched forward, paying  little attention  to

those around her, as if the troops  were mere fixtures. She fastened her  gaze

on the prisoners.

Her most striking feature was a full head of hair that billowed around her

shoulders and disappeared to some unknown  length down her back. Her hair  was

the color of hot  copper and seemed  to crackle with an  electric life of  its

own. Her  eyes were  green and  piercing, like  turbolaser bolts.  She  walked

straight toward them. Han saw the insignia  at her collar and was taken  aback

to recognize the rank of a full admiral.

Han had attended the Imperial academy  himself when he was young and  knew

that a woman reaching  the rank of admiral  was unheard of. Emperor  Palpatine

had had a well-known prejudice against nonhumans, but he sustained more subtle

discrimination against  women,  rarely promoting  even  those who  passed  the

rigorous tests. For this woman to have the rank of full admiral--especially of

a small  fleet  of Imperial-class  Star  Destroyers--was remarkable.  Han  put

himself immediately on guard; this was no person to be trifled with.

She stopped at the  foot of the  ramp and looked stiffly  up at them.  Her

features were as finely carved and as  cold and rigid as a statue's. Her  lips

barely moved as she spoke.

"I am Admiral Daala,  in charge of the  fleet guarding Maw  Installation."

She flashed her green glance to each of them in turn. "You three are in a  lot

of trouble."

Luke and Artoo had little to do as Lando Calrissian piloted the Lady  Luck

toward  Kessel.  A  nebulous  haze  of  escaping  atmosphere  surrounded   the

potato-shaped rock, while the jagged garrison moon rode in its close orbit.

"Welcome to the garden spot of the galaxy," Lando said.

Luke thought of his home planet of  Tatooine, the Dune Sea, the Great  Pit

of Carkoon, the Jundland Wastes. "I've seen worse," he said. Artoo bleeped  in

agreement.

Lando leaned closer  to the viewports.  "Yeah, well don't  make any  hasty

judgments. We haven't looked  at this place  up close yet."  He opened a  comm

channel. If  Kessel had  a  good tracking  network,  the station  should  have

pinpointed the  Lady Luck  the moment  they came  out of  hyperspace.  "Hello,

Kessel! Is anybody listening? I'm looking for someone named Moruth Doole. I've

got a business proposition for him. Please respond."

"Who is this?" a startled-sounding voice broke in. "Identify yourself."

"Name's Tymmo, and if  you want any other  information, have Doole ask  me

himself." Lando grinned at Luke. They thought using the fake name of the  scam

artist from the blob races  added another bit of  irony to their mission.  "In

the meantime my associate and I have some money to dispose of--half a  million

credits, to be exact-so run along and fetch Doole."

The speaker remained  silent, evidently while  the communications  officer

conferred with  someone;  then  the  answer  came  back.  "We're  transmitting

parameters for  a holding  orbit, Mr.,  uh, Tymmo.  Follow these  instructions

precisely. Our energy  shield is currently  operational and will  disintegrate

you if you make an unauthorized attempt to land. Do you understand?"

Luke looked at Lando,  and they both shrugged.  Lando spoke into the  comm

channel, "We'll wait right here for Doole to roll out the welcome mat. But  if

he takes too long, I'll go spend my cash somewhere else." He laced his fingers

behind his head and leaned back in the pilot's chair. Below, Kessel filled the

viewports. It was Lando's job to fast-talk them into places, while Luke  would

keep his eyes and Jedi senses open for any trace of Han.

Before leaving Coruscant they had  doctored up false personal  backgrounds

for themselves, removing any  mention of the New  Republic but keeping  enough

hints at  shady  dealings  and  fast  transactions  to  provide  corroborating

evidence. Luke would remain nameless, if at all possible.

A raspy  voice finally  burst out  of the  speakers. "Mr.  Tymmo? This  is

Moruth Doole. Do I know you?"

"Not at the moment ... but I've got a large and liquid credit account that

says you might want to."

They heard a  bubbling intake  of breath. "And  what might  that mean?  My

communications officer said something about half a million credits?"

"I recently hit  it big at  the Umgullian  blob races. I'm  looking for  a

place to invest the  credits, and I've  always thought there  was money to  be

made in spice mining. You willing to talk?"

Doole barely paused. "Half  a million credits  is certainly worth  talking

about. I'll send  a flyer  escort for  you. They'll  take you  through a  safe

corridor in the energy shield."

"I look forward to meeting you face-to-face," Lando said.

Doole only made a hissing, froglike sound.

Lando left the  Lady Luck on  the landing pad  of the Imperial  Correction

Facility, surrounded by  scout vehicles,  ground transports,  and other  ships

that had been cannibalized for functional  parts. He stood dressed in  finery,

smiling and  bright-eyed. Beside  him Luke  wore a  nondescript jumpsuit  from

which all insignia had been removed.

A squad dressed in hodgepodge  stormtrooper armor and prison uniforms  led

Luke, Lando, and Artoo-Detoo  toward the enormous  trapezoidal edifice of  the

correction facility. The  brooding mass  of the  prison seemed  to throb  with

years of pain and punishment, working  at Luke's enhanced senses. He  remained

silent, on  guard. At  least  the escorts  kept  their weapons  holstered  and

behaved in as welcoming a fashion as they could manage.

They rode the tube  elevators that climbed the  sloping front wall of  the

prison. Through  the  transparisteel Luke  watched  the wastelands  of  Kessel

spread hopelessly in front of them.

When the elevators opened  into the mirrored administrative  substructure,

the guards motioned  them to  follow. Clerks,  bureaucrats, and  seedy-looking

functionaries bustled through the  halls, looking busier  than they wanted  to

be. Luke wondered if Doole had staged this activity as an impressive show  for

Lando; but the frantic scrambling seemed more chaotic than efficient.

Moruth Doole himself met them in one of the corridors. The squat amphibian

rubbed his splayed hands  together and bobbed his  head at them. A  mechanical

contraption covering one eye focused and refocused itself.

"Welcome, Mr. Tymmo!" Doole said. "Let me apologize for our turmoil  here.

You haven't picked a very good time  to visit. Yesterday I lost my  right-hand

man and my primary shift boss in a tunnel mishap. Please excuse me if I seem a

bit ... flustered."

"Quite all right," Lando said,  shaking Doole's extended hand. "I've  been

administrator of several large mining operations myself. Sometimes the  planet

itself doesn't want to cooperate."

"Very true!" Doole said, opening and closing his mouth like a young  rawwk

begging for food. "Interesting way of looking at it."

"I hope the disaster  didn't hurt your spice  production too much?"  Lando

said.

"Oh, we'll be back up to full output in no time."

Lando gestured to Luke.  "My associate is  here to help  me check out  the

details of spice mining and to advise  me on its potential as an  investment."

He took a deep breath. "I know I must have taken you by surprise. Tell me,  is

there any part of your operation that I might invest in?"

Doole motioned  for them  to  follow toward  his office.  His  lizard-skin

waistcoat rippled in the uncertain light of the corridors. "Come in, and we'll

talk some more." Doole waddled ahead, turning his head from side to side as if

he had trouble seeing  where he was going.  Inside the former warden's  office

Doole indicated for them to take a seat. Artoo idled beside Luke.

Glancing around the office, Luke noticed the carbon-frozen man hanging  on

one wall; the  life-support indicator  lights on  the control  panel were  all

dark. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

Doole sputtered a hissing laugh. "A former rival. He used to be warden  of

the prison here, before  our little revolution  brought genuine capitalism  to

the spice-mining industry." He sat down heavily behind the desk. "May I  offer

you any refreshment?"

Once seated, Lando folded his bands in his lap. "I'd rather talk  business

first. If  our negotiations  look promising,  maybe we  can celebrate  with  a

drink."

"Good policy," Doole said, rubbing his  bands again. "Now then, I've  been

thinking ever since  your transmission,  and I  may well  have something  that

could be the perfect  investment. It so happens  that just before his  demise,

our shift boss uncovered an  exceptionally rich deposit of glitterstim  spice.

It'll take a good amount of money and effort to make repairs in the  collapsed

tunnel and to exploit this resource, but  the payoff can be greater than  your

wildest dreams."

"I have some pretty wild dreams," Lando said, flashing his broadest smile.

Luke interrupted with  a stern,  skeptical voice.  "Those are  extravagant

claims, Mr. Doole. Would you allow our Artoo unit to tap into your network and

inspect the profits-loss  picture of your  operations for, say,  the past  two

years? That will give me  hard data on which to  make a recommendation to  Mr.

Tymmo."

Doole squirmed on being  asked to open his  records, but Lando pulled  his

credit-transfer card from his pocket. "I can  assure you the droid will do  no

damage to your data system, and I'd be  happy to give you a small deposit,  if

it would make you feel more comfortable. Say, five thousand?"

Doole was trapped between his own uneasy wish for confidentiality and  his

need to appear aboveboard in front of a potential big investor--not to mention

wanting the five thousand credits for its own sake.

"I suppose that would be all right.  But I can give your droid access  for

only five minutes.  It shouldn't  need any  more time  than that  to find  the

information."

Luke nodded. "That'll  be fine,  thank you." Artoo  wouldn't waste  effort

checking out bogus  profits-loss reports  anyway. He  would begin  immediately

trying to track  down any  record of Han  Solo, Chewbacca,  or the  Millennium

Falcon.

Humming forward, Artoo jacked into the terminal port beside Moruth Doole's

desk. His data-link arm whirred as  it accessed the information buried in  the

prison complex's computer.

While they waited, Lando continued his discussion with Doole. "I'd like to

see all aspects of your spice mining and production. I'm sure you can  arrange

a tour immediately. Let us observe firsthand how the business works. Including

these collapsed tunnels of  yours--maybe I'd like to  invest in repairs, if  a

good payoff seems likely."

"Uh," Doole said, looking behind him as if to find an excuse. "As I  said,

now is not a very good time.  Perhaps we could arrange a more convenient  time

for you to come back--” Doole spread his squishy hands.

Lando shrugged eloquently  and stood  as if  to leave.  "I understand.  If

you're not interested, I can go someplace  else. This money is burning a  hole

in my account.  I want to  do something with  it, right now.  There are  other

spice mines on other planets."

"Ah, but they are sources of ryll spice, not glitterstim--”

“They are still profitable."

Artoo  withdrew  and  chittered  to  Luke.  Though  Luke  only   partially

understood the droid's language,  he heard enough to  know that Artoo had  not

found Han,  nor  anything  particularly  incriminating as  far  as  Doole  was

concerned. If the information  banks had held any  record of the Falcon,  they

had been wiped clean.

"Well, what's your droid's opinion?" Doole asked, hearing the bleeps.

"He finds nothing out of the ordinary," Luke said. He exchanged a dejected

glance with Lando.

Doole stood  up, beaming.  "All  right. I  understand your  concerns,  Mr.

Tymmo. Sometimes inconvenience  must take  precedence in  business matters.  I

wouldn't want you to  leave Kessel with  any doubts. Come,  I'll show you  the

spice-processing line, then we'll arrange a tour of the newly opened tunnels."

He burbled off, leading  the way as they  followed, still looking for  any

sign of Han.

A floater car took them  across the surface to  the entrance shaft of  the

collapsed tunnels. Luke and Lando ducked  involuntarily as they sped into  the

narrow corkscrew passage.

"This was the site of an  illegal mining operation back when the  Imperial

Correction Facility was in full control," Doole said, raising his voice  above

the sound of  the speeding engines.  "The perpetrators were  caught, and  this

access shaft was  sealed off  until a  recent avalanche  opened everything  up

again."

Doole took them  down into a  wide grotto  where part of  the ceiling  had

fallen in. Wan light  spilled down, illuminating the  open areas. Workers  had

strung lights around the perimeter as they hammered and hauled broken rock.  A

crew of thirty or so milled around the chamber, shoring up walls and  removing

debris. The tunnels out of the  grotto had been blocked by portable  pneumatic

doors that sealed the rest of the tunnels in blackness.

"This is a rare opportunity, Mr. Tymmo," Doole said. He had grown more and

more loquacious after showing them the spice-processing rooms where the  blind

larvae packaged glitterstim.

"Spice must be mined in total darkness, so we almost never get to see  the

tunnels in direct illumination. But the avalanche let in sunlight that spoiled

all this glitterstim anyway.  We sealed off the  other shafts to preserve  the

rest."

"So what really happened here?" Lando asked, looking around.

"Tectonic disturbance," Doole said.

Luke could  see the  blackened marks  where powerful  blaster strikes  had

scored the stone walls, and  he knew there was much  more to this than  simple

seismic activity.

He felt a surge  of startled fear from  Lando. "What's that thing!"  Lando

pointed to the other side of the grotto.

Buried under a  pile of jagged  rubble, dozens of  glassy spear-like  legs

protruded at  all angles.  Dim jewel-like  nodules dotted  the spherical  body

core, eyes glazed in death. The rest of the body seemed to be made entirely of

fangs. Falling chunks  of rock had  crushed it, and  the creature's  whip-like

legs lay askew as if it had tried to flail the boulders aside.

Doole strutted over  to the carcass.  "That, my friends,  seems to be  the

thing that  creates the  spice  itself. It's  the  first such  creature  we've

encountered, but there  must be others  deep in the  tunnels. We're getting  a

xenobiologist to  study  it.  The  bulk  of its  body  seems  to  be  made  of

glitterstim itself, and the strands we pull from the tunnel walls are what  it

uses as a web." Doole stopped short of actually touching the fallen monster.

The guard in charge of dissection joined them. He nudged one of the  sharp

crystalline legs  with  his boot.  "We  want to  see  if we  can  extract  raw

glitterstim from the web sac and spinnerets in the dead body."

Doole bobbed his head up and down. "Wouldn't that be something? Absolutely

pure glitterstim!"

Lando nodded noncommittally.  Luke, playing  his part,  fished around  for

more information.  "So how  does  this affect  your  safety record?  Did  this

creature prey on any of the miners?"

"Yes, it killed several,  including the shift  boss and my  assistant--the

ones I told you about. How many bodies have you found so far?" Doole asked the

guard.

"Three fresh ones and two old ones,  and we think it killed a bunch  more.

There's a big Wookiee and some other prisoners still unaccounted for."

Doole scowled at the guard, but quickly regained his false smile.

Luke felt cold  upon hearing  the news.  Of course,  there was  no way  of

knowing whether the Wookiee in question was Chewbacca--the Empire had taken  a

great many slaves from the Wookiee  homeworld of Kashyyyk, and many  survivors

could well have been  shipped off to  Kessel. Luke met  Lando's gaze, and  the

other man shook his head ever so slightly. "Very interesting," Lando said.

"Come on,  there's more  to see,"  Doole said  as he  strode back  to  the

floating cars. "I hope all this is impressing you."

"Certainly is," Lando said. "You have an amazing operation here, Moruth."

Luke remained  silent. All  day long  he had  been straining  his  senses,

searching for some echo of Han or Chewbacca, but he had found nothing.  Plenty

of others wallowed in pain and misery here, but Luke found no hint of the ones

he sought.

Han Solo might never have reached  Kessel, and he was certainly no  longer

there. At least not alive.

The admiral's quarters on an  Imperial-class Star Destroyer were  spacious

and functional, and they had been Daala's only home for more than a decade.

Year after  year she  operated in  a vacuum,  alone as  always,  following

Tarkin's parting instructions with no further  input from the Grand Moff.  The

great  distortion  of  the  Maw  itself  blacked  out  all  external   holonet

transmissions. Her fleet  had been  isolated, and the  crew on  her four  Star

Destroyers had fallen into a  routine, but Daala did  not relax her grip.  She

was afraid to wonder  about events outside in  the galaxy, confident at  least

that she could count on the  Empire with its unbending rules, sometimes  cruel

but always clear-cut.

But now, in her turmoil, she was glad her quarters were sealed and locked,

quiet and empty, so no  one could see her like  this. It would ruin her  image

entirely. Everything had  been cut-and-dried before  the interrogation of  the

new prisoners. ...

Daala punched  up the  recording  and watched  it  again, though  she  had

already replayed the sequence a dozen times. She could mouth the words as  the

prisoner spoke them, but this tiny image  could not convey the impact she  had

felt when watching him firsthand.

The man, Han Solo,  sat strapped in a  nightmarish, convoluted chair  with

steel tubes and wires and piping tangled around him. The gadgetry looked sharp

and ominous--most  of  it  served  no  purpose  other  than  to  increase  the

prisoner's terror, and in that it proved effective.

On the recording,  Daala stood  by Commander  Kratas, the  captain of  her

flagship, the Gorgon. She  could smell the prisoner's  fear, but his  demeanor

was full of bluster and sarcasm. He would crack easily.

"Tell us where you come from," Daala said. "Is the Rebel Alliance  crushed

yet? What has happened in the Empire?"

"Go kiss a Hutt!" Solo snapped.

Daala stared  woodenly at  him for  a moment,  then shrugged,  nodding  to

Kratas. The commander punched a control pad, and one of the metal bars  across

the restraining chair hummed.

The muscles  in Solo's  left  thigh began  to  spasm, jittering.  His  leg

bounced up and down. The spasms grew worse. He had a puzzled, confused look on

his face, as if he couldn't understand why his own body was suddenly  behaving

so strangely. The involuntary seizure clenched the muscles under his skin.

Daala smiled.

Kratas adjusted one  of the  controls, and  Solo flinched  as the  muscles

along the left side of his rib cage also began spasming, tightening his  body,

but the chair would not let him move. Solo fought back an outcry.

The seizures were not so painful  as they were maddening. Daala had  found

that a  most  effective  interrogation  technique  was  simply  to  induce  an

unrelenting facial tick that made the eyes blink over and over and over  again

for hours without end.

"Tell us about the Empire," she said again.

"The Empire is  in the  garbage masher!" Solo  said. Daala  could see  the

whites of his eyes as Solo tried  to look down at his rebellious leg  muscles.

"The Emperor is dead. He died in the explosion of the second Death Star."

Daala and Kratas both snapped their heads up. "Second Death Star? Tell  me

about it."

"No," Solo said.

"Yes," Daala said.

Kratas adjusted another button. The bars in the labyrinthine chair hummed,

and Solo's  right hand  began twitching,  his fingers  scrabbling against  the

smooth metal, jittering and shaking. Solo tried to look everywhere at once.

"The second Death Star?" Daala asked again.

"It was still under construction when we  set off a chain reaction in  its

core. Darth Vader and the Emperor were on board." Solo resisted, but he seemed

to delight in telling the news.

"And what happened to the first Death Star?" Daala said.

Solo grinned. "The Alliance blew it up, too."

Daala was  skeptical  enough  that  she didn't  believe  him  entirely.  A

prisoner would say anything,  especially a defiant one  like this. But in  her

gut she feared it  might be true--because it  explained other things, such  as

the years of silence.

"And what about Grand Moff Tarkin?"

"He's in a billion atoms scattered across the Yavin system. He burned with

his Death Star. He paid for the lives of all the people on Alderaan, a  planet

he destroyed."

"Alderaan is destroyed?" Daala raised her eyebrows.

Kratas increased the  power vibrating  through the chair.  Tiny pearls  of

sweat appeared  on  his  own  forehead. Daala  knew  what  the  commander  was

thinking: during  all these  years of  isolation they  had been  assuming  the

Emperor would maintain  his iron  grip, that  the fleet  of all-powerful  Star

Destroyers and the  secret Death Star  would cement Imperial  rule across  the

galaxy. The Old Republic had lasted a thousand generations. And the Empire ...

could it have fallen in just a few decades?

"How long since the explosion of the second Death Star?"

"Seven years."

"What has happened since?" Daala finally sat down. "Tell me everything."

But Solo seemed to gain inner strength and clammed up. He glared with  his

dark, angry eyes.  Daala sighed.  It was  like a  rehearsed show  they had  to

perform. Kratas adjusted the controls until Solo's entire body was a writhing,

spasming mass of twitching  muscles, as if a  storm were happening inside  his

body.

Gradually, the prisoner spilled the entire story of the other battles, the

civil war, Grand Admiral Thrawn, the resurrected Emperor, the truce at Bakura,

the terrible conflicts in which the waning Empire had been defeated again  and

again --until finally  she had  Kratas release him.  The loud  humming of  the

chair suddenly stopped,  and Han Solo  slumped into exhausted  bliss at  being

freed from the onslaught of his own muscles.

Daala motioned outside the  door of the holding  cell, summoning a  glossy

black interrogation droid that floated  in with hypodermic needles  glistening

like spears in the  dim reddish light.  Solo tried to  cringe back, and  Daala

could see the fear in his eyes.

"There," Daala said. "Now the  interrogator droid will confirm  everything

you told us." She got up and left.

Later she  had  found  out that  Solo  was  indeed telling  the  truth  in

everything he said.  Alone in  her quarters,  Admiral Daala  switched off  the

recording.  Her  head  pounded  with  a  gnawing,  throbbing  ache  like  dull

fingernails scraping the inside of her skull.

One of the Maw Installation scientists, learning that the new prisoner had

actually been on board the completed  Death Star, demanded to speak with  him.

Daala would send the scientist this interrogation report--after she edited it,

of course. Sometimes it  was impossible to keep  these prima donna  scientists

happy. They had such a narrow view of things.

Right now Daala had  greater worries. She  had to decide  what to do  with

this new information.

In her quarters Daala  stood between two  full-length curved mirrors  that

projected a reflection of her body, head to toe. Her olive-gray uniform showed

no wrinkle,  only crisp  creases and  near-invisible seams.  Through a  strict

regimen of exercises and drills,  she had not added  a fraction to her  weight

during her long assignment; her appearance, though older and harder now, still

pleased her.

Daala wore her bright admiral's insignia  proudly over her left breast:  a

row of six  scarlet rectangles  set above  a row  of blue  rectangles. To  her

knowledge she was  the only woman  ever to wear  such a rank  in the  Imperial

Navy. It had  been a special  promotion, given directly  by Grand Moff  Tarkin

himself, and it was possible the Emperor did not even know of it. He certainly

did not know about the Maw Installation.

Her coppery hair flowed over her shoulders, rippled down her back to below

her hips. More than a  decade ago Daala had  arrived at Maw Installation  with

her hair  cropped short  and bristly,  part of  the humiliation  the  Imperial

military academy inflicted upon female candidates.

After being sealed inside the Maw,  though, Daala was placed in charge  by

direct  order  from  Tarkin.  Asinine  regulations-for-the-sake-of-regulations

meant nothing to her anymore. She refused to cut her hair, as a gesture of her

own independence:  rank  had  its  privileges.  She  felt  Tarkin  would  have

approved. But Tarkin was dead now.

Turning, she  dimmed the  lights, then  activated the  door. Outside,  two

bodyguards snapped  to  attention and  continued  staring ahead.  Despite  Maw

Installation's isolation, Daala insisted on peak performance, regular  drills,

war-gaming sessions.  She had  been  trained in  the Imperial  military  mold;

though the system had  done its best to  squash her ambitions, Daala  followed

its tenets.

Beneath their armor  the two guards  were well built  and attractive;  but

Daala had not taken a lover since Grand Moff Tarkin. After him fantasizing had

been enough.

"Escort me to the shuttle bay," she said, stepping into the corridor. "I'm

going down to the Installation." She strode off, hearing the bodyguards  march

behind her, weapons ready.  "Inform the duty commander  that I have a  meeting

with Tol Sivron." One of the bodyguards muttered into his helmet comlink.

She strode down the corridors, pondering  the complexity of her ship,  the

troops, the support personnel. In the  Imperial fleet a single Star  Destroyer

housed thirty-seven thousand crew and ninety-seven hundred troops, but because

of the  secrecy  of the  Maw  Installation, Tarkin  had  assigned her  only  a

skeleton crew--people without  families, without connections  to the  outside,

some recruited from worlds devastated by the early battles of the Empire.

Even under rigid discipline,  though, her crew had  been trapped here  for

eleven years with no  furloughs, no R  and R other  than the meager  amusement

facilities available on board. Her troops had grown weary of the entertainment

libraries--restless, bored, and angry at being placed on standby alert for  so

long without word from the outside. They were well armed and itching to go out

and do something--as was Daala herself.

At her fingertips Daala had the might of sixty turbolaser batteries, sixty

ion cannons, and ten tractor-beam projectors, one of which had just been  used

to capture the battered  Imperial shuttle. Inside the  hangar bays the  Gorgon

alone carried six  TIE fighter  squadrons, two  gamma-class assault  shuttles,

twenty AT-ST walkers, and thirty AT-ST scout walkers.

Three more identical ships,  the Manticore, the  Basilisk, and the  Hydra,

orbited Maw Installation, also  under Daala's command.  Years ago Moff  Tarkin

had taken  Daala herself  to  the Kuat  Drive Yards  to  watch her  four  Star

Destroyers under construction.

Tarkin and Daala had flown a small inspection shuttle around the  enormous

superstructures being assembled in orbit. The two remained silent for the most

part, staring at the enormity  of the project. Around  them in space the  tiny

lights of workers,  transport vessels, rubble  smelters, and girder  extruders

made a hive of activity.

Tarkin had placed a hand on her  shoulders, squeezing with a grip made  of

steel cords. "Daala,"  he said,  "I am  giving you  enough power  to turn  any

planet to slag."

Now, aboard the Star Destroyer  Gorgon, Admiral Daala entered a  personnel

lift that took  her and  her bodyguards from  the command  quarters below  the

bridge tower to one of the hangar bays. She did not announce her arrival  when

the doors slid open. Daala  was pleased to see  her troops bustling about  the

TIE fighters,  the shuttles,  and service  vehicles. After  so many  years  of

boredom, her personnel kept every system functioning perfectly.

Only months after the completion of Maw Installation, Daala had noticed  a

malaise creeping through the personnel. Part of it was because of her, she was

sure; commanded by the only female flag officer, assigned to baby-sit a  bunch

of scientists in the most protected spot  in the galaxy, the troops had  grown

lax. But a  few graphic  executions and  continual threats  kept Daala's  crew

constantly on edge, honing their skills  and making it inconceivable for  them

to shirk their duties.

That tactic had been  one of Tarkin's prime  lessons. Command through  the

fear of  force rather  than force  itself.  Daala had  180,000 people  at  her

disposal, not counting the weapons  designers in Maw Installation itself.  She

did not want to waste them.

She glanced up and down the hangar, her molten-metal hair trailing  behind

her.  Inside  an  electromagnetic  cage  that  shielded  the  entire   vessel,

technicians scoured the battered Imperial shuttle Endor that had been  brought

in by the new captives. Endor-what kind of name was that? She had never  heard

the term  before. The  technicians  would be  checking for  service  markings,

locator beacons, and course-log files.

For a moment Daala considered taking  the battered shuttle itself down  to

Tol Sivron, the chief scientist of Maw Installation; the effect would probably

shock him into paying attention to her for once. But that would be a  childish

gesture. She let  the technicians continue  their work and  chose instead  the

Imperial shuttle Edict.

"I can pilot this myself," she said to her bodyguards. "Leave me." On  the

flight down she wanted time alone. She  knew what Sivron would say on  hearing

the news, but this time she would not let him get away with it.

The bodyguards dropped back and to the  side as Daala stepped up the  ramp

into the shuttle. She  moved with quick, habitual  movements, powering up  the

engines, running  through the  automated checklist.  She mounted  the  headset

nodes to her  temple and to  her ear, listening  to her course  vector as  she

raised the Edict from its pad and arrowed it out through the magnetic  shields

that closed off the hangar bay from the vacuum of space.

Surrounding her was the colorful, deadly shell of gases swirling into  the

endless gullets of black holes. Below hung Maw Installation itself, a  cluster

of planetoids crammed  at the exact  center of the  gravitational island.  The

surfaces of  the  barren rocks  touched  in some  places,  grinding  together.

Immense bridges  and bands  held  the asteroids  in  place. Access  tubes  and

transit rails connected the cluster of drifting rocks.

Under Grand Moff Tarkin's direction Imperial constructors had ferried  the

rocks across space and through the  obstacle course into the Maw. The  insides

of the asteroids were hollowed out into habitation chambers, laboratory areas,

prototype assembly bays, and meeting halls.

If we present the  citizens with a  weapon so powerful,  so immense as  to

defy all conceivable attack against  it, a weapon invulnerable and  invincible

in battle, that shall become the symbol for the Empire. Daala had read a draft

of the  communiqué Tarkin  had sent  to the  Emperor, urging  the creation  of

superweapons. We  may  need only  a  handful  of these  weapons  to  subjugate

thousands of worlds, each containing millions upon millions of beings. Such  a

weapon must have force great enough to dispatch an entire system, and the fear

it shall inspire will be great enough for you to rule the galaxy unchallenged.

After getting permission for his scheme, Tarkin had used his new authority

as Grand Moff to put together this super-secret think-tank installation, where

he could isolate the most brilliant scientists and theoreticians, giving  them

orders to develop new  weapons for the Emperor.  Since Tarkin took credit  for

everything without citing his sources, the Emperor himself did not know of the

installation's existence.

The workers and architects who built the place had boarded a return  ship,

thinking their job  finished, but Daala  had reprogrammed their  navicomputers

herself with an incorrect course  out of the Maw.  Instead of flying to  their

freedom, they had plunged straight  into the mouth of  a black hole. No  loose

ends.

The secret of Maw  Installation had been protected.  After Tol Sivron  and

his teams proved the initial concept of the Death Star, Grand Moff Tarkin  had

taken one of the Installation's top  scientists, Bevel Lemelisk, to the  Outer

Rim to oversee actual construction of the first production-model Death Star.

Tarkin's last words to the Maw scientists had been a challenge: "Good. Now

create an  even more  powerful  weapon. Surpassing  the  Death Star  may  seem

inconceivable, but we must maintain our superiority, we must maintain a  sense

of fear among the citizens of the Empire. The Death Star is terrible. Think of

something worse. That is your reason for existence."

Tarkin gave  them  nine  years to  develop  his  next-generation  ultimate

weapon. And now, since Tarkin was dead  and no one else knew Maw  Installation

even existed--Daala  could  make her  owndecisions,  plan her  own  course  of

action.

Finally reaching the  small gravity  field of  the central  administrative

asteroid, Daala secured the shuttle Edict in the docking bay. She stood beside

her shuttle,  breathing deeply  of the  dusty, exhaust-laden  air and  already

wishing she could be back on the gleaming and sterile decks of the Gorgon. She

would deal with Tol Sivron quickly, then return.

A contingent of stormtroopers  assigned to ground  duty bustled to  assist

her. "Follow me," she said.  A show of force  would smother any protests  from

the scientist administrator.

She  did  not  announce  her  arrival  but  strode  directly  through  the

anterooms, startling  the various  clerks and  administrative assistants.  The

stormtroopers stood at attention. The clerks stared at them, then slowly  took

their seats again and refrained from making any outbursts.

"Tol Sivron, I need to speak  with you," Daala said, entering his  office.

"I have some important news."

The scientist administrator's office was cluttered, but with all the wrong

things.  More  a  bureaucrat  than  a  scientist,  Tol  Sivron  required   the

theoreticians and designers  to build  concept models and  tiny prototypes  of

their ideas, which  Sivron left on  shelves, on furniture,  in alcoves.  Daala

guessed that Sivron played with them as toys during dull moments.

Around the office lay piles of proposals, design studies, regular progress

reports, charts  of  optimized  parameters that  the  scientist  administrator

required in hardcopy. His clerks studied  these reports, then wrote their  own

reports summarizing them and referencing still further documents. Daala didn't

believe the administrator read any of them.

"Tol Sivron swiveled  his chair to  look at her  with a bored  expression.

"News? We haven't had any news in a decade."

Sivron was  a  Twi'lek,  pasty-faced  and  hairless,  with  two  whip-like

head-tails that dangled from his skull. The tentacles fell over his  shoulders

like two  skinless  blood-eels  sucking  the back  of  his  cranium.  Sivron's

close-set pig-like  eyes  and  mouthful of  jagged  teeth  heightened  Daala's

disgust. Twi'leks  were generally  a disreputable  lot, slinking  around  with

smugglers and acting as henchmen for  crime lords like Jabba the Hutt.  Though

Daala rarely questioned Grand Moff  Tarkin's decisions, she didn't  understand

how Tol Sivron had obtained his position here.

"Well, we have news today. We captured three prisoners who blundered  into

the Maw  in a  stolen Imperial  shuttle. We  have put  them all  through  deep

questioning, and I see no reason to doubt the veracity of this information, as

unpleasant as it may seem."

"So what is this unpleasant information?"

Daala kept her  face absolutely rigid.  "The Emperor is  dead, the  Rebels

have won. A  few warlords  tried to  put the  Empire back  together, but  they

merely caused years of civil war. A new Republic is now the primary government

in the galaxy."

Sivron sat up in shock. In a nervous gesture his head-tails coiled  behind

his neck. "But how could that happen? With our Death Star design--”

“Grand Moff Tarkin built one Death  Star, but the Rebels managed to  steal

the plans, and  somehow they discovered  a flaw, a  thermal-exhaust port  that

allowed one small fighter access to the reactor core. The Rebels destroyed the

Death Star and killed Tarkin."

"I'll assign a team to look over  the plans so we can correct this  flaw!"

Sivron said, a matter of pride to him. "At once!"

"How is that going to help anything now?" Daala snapped. "Tarkin had Bevel

Lemelisk with him on  the outside. After the  first Death Star was  destroyed,

the Emperor  himself  asked Lemelisk  to  design  a larger  model,  this  time

eliminating the known flaw. The second Death Star was still under construction

when the Rebels destroyed it."

Sivron scowled, as if trying  to figure out how  he could solve a  problem

already several  years old.  As the  years  stretched out  with no  word  from

outside, Sivron had sent  self-destructing drones through  the fiery walls  of

the Maw, carrying  coded transmission  bursts, updates for  Tarkin. Daala  had

strict orders not to leave Maw Installation, and so they waited. And waited.

Daala's primary  mistake  had been  overestimating  the abilities  of  her

mentor, Tarkin.  She  had graduated  from  the Imperial  military  academy  on

Carida, one  of the  toughest training  grounds for  military service  in  the

Empire. She had excelled in every curriculum, defeated many warriors in single

combat, used her strategic skills to wipe out entire armies in war games.

But because she was  a woman, and because  female officers were  extremely

rare in  Imperial military  service,  the Caridan  academy assigned  Daala  to

difficult, thankless jobs, while they promoted the less talented men--men  she

herself had bested time and again--into positions of authority.

Out of  frustration Daala  had created  a false  persona in  the  computer

networks, a pseudonym  under which she  could make suggestions  that would  be

listened to.  After a  handful of  these truly  radical ideas  paid off,  Moff

Tarkin had  come to  Carida to  find this  brilliant new  tactician -comb  his

detective work had uncovered Daala instead.

Luckily, Tarkin was more innovative  and open-minded than the Emperor.  He

quietly reassigned Daala  to his  personal staff, took  her to  the Outer  Rim

territories on his fleet of Star Destroyers, and let her work with him.

They became lovers, two like minds, hard in spirit and unforgiving. Though

he was older than she, Tarkin had  a power and a charisma that Daala  admired.

Gaunt and tireless in his quiet viciousness, he had a self-confidence so great

that he did not flinch even in the presence of Darth Vader.

To keep Daala hidden, Grand Moff Tarkin gave her four Star Destroyers  and

charged her with the task of guarding  Maw Installation. But now that she  had

obtained  new  information   from  the  captives,   everything  was   changed.

Everything.

Sivron stared at  her with  anger glowing in  his eyes.  "Where are  these

captives now?"

"In detention cells on  board the Gorgon. They  are recuperating from  the

... rigors of interrogation."

"What if someone  comes looking  for them?" He  turned to  glance out  the

transparisteel window on his office wall.

"They were escapees from the spice-mining operation on Kessel. They had no

idea where they  were going.  They'll be presumed  lost in  the Maw--I  myself

can't understand how  they survived  the passage  through the  cluster in  the

first place."

"Why didn't you just dispose of them?" Sivron asked.

Daala maintained her patience with an effort. This was yet another example

of Twi'lek shortsightedness. "Because they are the only link with the  outside

we've had in a  decade. Qwi Xux  has already requested  an interview with  the

prisoners to ask them for details about the actual Death Star. We may need  to

pump them for further information--before we decide what to do next."

Sivron blinked his piggish eyes.  "What to do? What  do you mean? What  is

there to do?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "We can take the new Sun Crusher  and

destroy the New Republic system by system."  She stared at him with her  green

eyes, not blinking.

The Twi'lek squirmed. "But  the Sun Crusher isn't  finished yet. We  still

have tests to run, reports to file--”

“You have  been procrastinating  for two  years. You  are behind  schedule

thanks to your  bureaucracy and  ineptness. Grand  Moff Tarkin  is not  coming

back, and you no longer  have an excuse to delay.  I need the weapon now,  and

I'm going to take it."

Her mind kept replaying the words Tarkin had told her while inspecting the

Kuat Drive Yards. I am giving you enough power to turn any planet to slag. And

with the newly designed Sun Crusher  weapon, she could bring the New  Republic

to its knees.

"If Solo is telling the  truth," Daala said, "then  my fleet could be  the

most powerful remnant of the Imperial Navy." She picked up one of Tol Sivron's

small models. "We can't just wait here  any longer. Now it's our turn to  show

them what we can do."

The Caridan ambassador arrived with his entourage on the recently repaired

west landing platform, far  from the Imperial  Palace. His diplomatic  shuttle

looked like  a glossy  black  beetle, bristling  with  weapons that  had  been

remotely neutralized before the ship was allowed to approach Coruscant.

On the landing platform Leia waited to greet Ambassador Furgan with a full

contingent of New Republic honor guard. The wind picked up, blowing around the

tall buildings,  as if  trying to  push  the Caridan  delegation back  in  the

direction it had come. She  wore her formal government  robes as well as  rank

insignia for the Alliance forces.

Carida, with its powerful  military training center, was  one of the  most

important strongholds  still loyal  to the  Empire. If  she could  crack  open

negotiations with them, her coup would not be soon forgotten. But the  Caridan

system was going to be  a tough jewel-fruit to  crack, especially with a  rude

and icy ambassador like Furgan.

The shuttle's hatch hissed  open as the denser  air of Carida rushed  out.

Two stormtroopers marched down the ramp, shouldering ceremonial blaster rifles

equipped with bayonets. Their white  armor gleamed from meticulous  polishing.

They moved like droids, walking off the ramp and stepping to either side, then

freezing in position as a second pair of stormtroopers followed them down  and

waited at the end of the ramp.

Ambassador Furgan strode down, stubby-legged and self-important, as if  to

ceremonial music. His uniform  was spattered with  more badges, insignia,  and

ribbons than any person could possibly have earned in a lifetime.

After two more stormtrooper officers followed the ambassador down,  Furgan

drew a deep breath, looking into the distance and ignoring Leia.

"Ah, the air of Imperial Center."  He turned toward the waiting  reception

committee, beetling his thick brows. "Smells a bit sour now, though. The taint

of rebellion."

Leia disregarded the comment. "Welcome to Coruscant, Ambassador Furgan.  I

am Minister of State Leia Organa Solo."

"Yes, yes," Furgan said impatiently.  "After Mon Mothma's words about  the

extreme importance  of  Carida, I  expected  her to  send  more than  a  minor

official to greet me. A slap in the face."

Leia had to fall  back on some of  Luke's temper-controlling exercises,  a

Jedi mind-blanking technique that allowed her to quell the surge of anger.  "I

see you have not taken the time to familiarize yourself with the structure  of

our government, Ambassador. Though Mon Mothma  is the New Republic's Chief  of

State, the Cabinet  is the  actual governing body,  of which  the Minister  of

State and my subordinate diplomatic corps comprise perhaps the most  important

arm."

Leia stopped herself, angry  with Furgan for goading  her, and angry  with

herself for  letting him  manipulate  her into  petty  games. Mon  Mothma  had

instructed her  to extend  every diplomatic  courtesy to  the ambassador.  She

wished Han or Luke were there beside her.

"Mon Mothma has  a great many  other duties,  but she has  arranged for  a

brief face-to-face meeting with you later in the day," Leia said. "Until then,

would you like  me to show  you to your  quarters? Some refreshment,  perhaps,

after your journey?"

Furgan's eyes looked like small, overripe berries as he directed his  gaze

at her. "My bodyguards  will go to  my quarters first.  They will sweep  every

inch of the  rooms, every  appliance, every wall  and floor  to remove  hidden

listening devices or assassination tools. The remaining guards will be with me

at every moment. They will provide my food and drink from our own supplies  to

ensure against any possibility of poisoning."

Leia was appalled at his  insinuation. She stopped herself from  insisting

that Furgan's  actions were  not necessary,  since that  would no  doubt  play

directly into his hands. Instead, she showed him a small indulgent smile.  "Of

course, if such things make you feel more comfortable. ..."

"In the meantime,"  Furgan said, "I  would like an  immediate tour of  the

Imperial Palace. Arrange one. I came on a pilgrimage to see my Emperor's  home

and to pay my respects."

Leia hesitated. "We hadn't planned on-“  Furganheld up a hand. Beside  him

the stormtroopers snapped even more stiffly to attention. The ambassador  took

one step closer to Leia, as if trying to look intimidating. "Nevertheless, you

will arrange it."

That afternoon Mon Mothma stood in the dimmed audience chamber, waiting at

the base of  the holoprojector's  controls. Though  she had  a thousand  other

duties to attend to, Carida seemed the likeliest flash point of resistance  to

New Republic stability. She had made it clear to Leia that she considered  her

sacrifice of time an investment to avert a possible war.

Without moving  Mon  Mothma  seemed  to fill  the  room  with  her  quiet,

commanding presence.  Leia never  ceased admiring  her subtle  but  undeniable

power, which Mon Mothma managed to exhibit even without Jedi training.

Leia followed Ambassador Furgan as he strode down the ramp to the base  of

the holoprojector.  Grumpy, he  looked behind  him to  where his  stormtrooper

bodyguards waited at the entrance to the chamber. Furgan had refused to  leave

them behind,  and  Mon  Mothma  had refused  to  let  even  disarmed  Imperial

stormtroopers near her. The power  play had been brief  and sharp, but in  the

end Mon  Mothma  allowed  the  stormtroopers  to  wait  within  sight  of  the

ambassador, though outside the chamber.

But she had also won a seemingly minor concession. Mon Mothma required the

stormtroopers to remove their helmets while they remained in her presence. The

soldiers stood  unmasked, holding  the skull-like  helmets under  their  arms,

revealed to be humans, young cadets dressed in armor but with their  anonymity

taken away.

"Stand right there, Ambassador Furgan," she said without formally greeting

him. "I would like to show you something."

The holoprojector  shimmered,  and  the  known  galaxy  filled  the  room,

billions of  star-specks  flung  in  swirling  arms  throughout  the  enclosed

chamber. The lights automatically dimmed as  the sea-spray of stars came  into

focus. At the doorway the stormtroopers craned their necks to stare up at  the

huge image. On the chamber floor both Mon Mothma and Ambassador Furgan  seemed

insignificant.

"This is our galaxy," Mon Mothma said. "We have meticulously plotted every

recorded system. These stars"--she waved her hand, and a wash of blue spangled

across the arms of the galaxy--"have already sworn their allegiance to the New

Republic. Others have remained neutral, though not unfriendly to our cause." A

sprinkling of green appeared among the stars.

"The darkened  area  is  what  remains  of  the  Ssi-Ruuk  Imperium."  She

indicated a splotch covering  a portion of  one spiral arm.  "We have not  yet

fully explored their worlds, though it has been seven years since Imperial and

Alliance forces joined hands at Bakura to drive out the invaders.

"Finally," Mon Mothma said,  "we know of these  systems that still  remain

loyal to the fallen Empire."  A much smaller splash  of red dusted the  image,

concentrated primarily toward  the galactic core,  from which the  resurrected

Emperor had launched his  forces. "As you can  see, your support is  dwindling

rapidly."

Furgan did not seem impressed. "Anyone can paint dots on a map."

Inwardly outraged, Leia marveled at the  quiet way Mon Mothma handled  the

situation. Her voice did not  grow louder; she merely  looked at him with  her

calm, deep eyes.  "You are welcome  to speak  to any of  the ambassadors  from

these worlds to confirm their allegiances."

"Ambassadors can  be  bribed as  easily  as colors  can  be changed  on  a

projection map."

This time Mon Mothma's voice grew just a bit brittle. "There are no bribes

that can change the facts, Ambassador Furgan."

"If that  is  the  case,  then sometimes  the  facts  themselves  must  be

changed."

Leia could not  keep herself  from rolling  her eyes.  In a  way this  was

amusing, but it seemed like a waste  of time. Furgan was as unchangeable as  a

man frozen in carbonite.

The entire planetary surface of Coruscant had been covered with layer upon

layer  of  buildings,  rebuilt,   demolished,  and  rebuilt  again.   Galactic

governments changed  over the  millennia, but  Coruscant had  always been  the

center of politics.

The complex construction  patterns and towering  metal and  transparisteel

pinnacles made weather difficult  to predict. Occasionally, unexpected  storms

coalesced out of water evaporating from millions of exhaust vents,  condensing

and rising from the skyscraper forests, making small squalls that dumped  rain

down upon the hard surfaces of the buildings.

As the various  diplomats gathered  in the Skydome  Botanical Gardens  for

Ambassador Furgan's reception, a sudden  flurry of raindrops pattered down  on

the transparent panes, masking the bright curtains of Coruscant’s aurora.

In the distance, near the horizon, the rebuilt Imperial Palace stood  like

a cobbled-together  cathedral and  pyramid, showing  signs of  many  different

eras. Leia had  not wanted Furgan's  reception to  be held in  any place  that

recalled the fallen Emperor's opulence and grandeur.

The Skydome Botanical  Gardens rested  on the  level roof  of an  isolated

skyscraper. Constructed by an Old  Republic philanthropist who had grown  rich

by establishing the Galactic News Service, the giant terrarium was a carefully

tended  place  with  compartmentalized  environments  to  house  and   display

otherwise extinct or exotic flora from various systems in the galaxy.

Leia arrived with Threepio and  her two children in  tow just as the  rain

began to fall  against the transparent  ceiling. As Leia  stepped through  the

door, she  held herself  defensively, her  justifications on  the tip  of  her

tongue. She knew  the presence of  the twins might  cause a stir  at a  stuffy

diplomatic reception, but she did not care.

Throughout the day Furgan had  pushed her around, complaining,  demanding,

acting generally rude. Leia had given up all of her time with the twins to  be

with the ambassador, and she decided that  it was no longer worth the  misery.

She might be an important Cabinet member in the New Republic, but she was also

a mother,  still trying  to adapt  to  the new  demands on  her time.  In  her

quarters while changing clothes for the reception, Leia had felt her simmering

resentment come to a boil.  If she was going to  be gone all the time  anyway,

she might as well have left Jacen and Jaina with Winter!

Besides, Threepio accompanied them, and he was a protocol droid. He  could

watch the twins and also  help out with the fine  points of the reception  and

translation if need be.

Since Han had disappeared, she was worried to the point of nausea much  of

the time. Luke and Lando had sent no word yet. She needed to have some  stable

point in  her  life. Leia  almost  hoped  someone would  challenge  her  about

bringing the twins, so she could lash out.

When she passed through the door, Furgan's stormtrooper goons stopped her.

The still-helmetless stormtroopers looked uncomfortable at meeting her eye  to

eye, but they stood  firmly in her  path. Behind them an  equal number of  New

Republic guards stood at attention, watching the stormtroopers.

"What is  the problem"--she  glanced at  the stormtrooper's  insignia  and

deliberately misread it--"Lieutenant?"

"Captain," he corrected.  "We're checking everyone.  A precaution  against

assassins."

"Assassins?" she said, deciding to be amused rather than upset. "I see."

One of the  stormtroopers removed a  handheld scanner and  played it  over

Leia's body, testing  for hidden weapons.  Leia icily submitted  to the  scan.

"This is for the  ambassador's safety," he said.  He looked disapprovingly  at

Jacen and Jaina. "We weren't informed there would be children attending."

"Are you afraid one  of them is going  to murder Ambassador Furgan?"  Leia

stared at  the man's  naked,  pale face,  scowling  until he  flinched.  "That

doesn't say  much for  your skills  as  a bodyguard,  does it,  Captain?"  His

flustered fidgeting was worth any amount of inconvenience he might cause  her,

Leia thought.

"Just routine precautions." The captain  scanned Jacen and Jaina,  showing

visible discomfort at having to  do so. When his  task was complete, he  still

refused to move aside.

Leia crossed her arms over her chest. "Now what?"

"Your droid,  Minister," the  captain said.  "We need  to run  a  complete

systems check. He could have assassin droid programming."

"Me, sir?" Threepio said."Oh, my! You can't be serious."

Leia rolled her  eyes at  the mere thought  of the  prissy protocol  droid

being an assassin.

"And how long will this complete systems check take?"

"Not long." The captain took a different scanner that trailed disconnected

leads.

"Mistress Leia, I object!" Threepio's voice carried an edge of panic.  "If

you will recall,  I have been  maliciously reprogrammed in  the past! I  never

want to trust a strange probe again."

Leia spoke  to the  droid but  let  her gaze  bore into  the  stormtrooper

captain's eyes. "Let him do it Threepio. And if your programming is altered in

the slightest, this man will be responsible for a galactic incident that could

well lead to war--a war  in which his own home  system of Carida would be  the

prime target for the combined forces of the New Republic."

"I will be very careful, Minister," the stormtrooper said.

"Indeed, sir, you will!" Threepio insisted.

When they  finally managed  to  get through  to  the reception  area,  the

rainfall dwindled  to  a trickle.  People  wandered along  the  tour-paths  to

observe the brilliant and  bizarre shapes of alien  plant life. As the  guests

stepped  through  force-field   environmental  barriers,   the  humidity   and

temperature changed  drastically  to  provide proper  growing  conditions  for

various types of plants. Tiny placards displayed scientific names written in a

dozen different alphabets.

Holding their mother's hands, Jacen and Jaina stared with amazement at the

people garbed in diplomatic finery, the exotic plants from distant worlds.

In a bright desert  scenario at the center  of the chamber, a  monstrously

large tentacle-cactus served hors d'oeuvres, waving its thick stalks back  and

forth and displaying  tiny sandwiches,  fruit slices,  sausages, and  pastries

stuck on its long spines. Guests snatched snacks from the spines whenever  the

tentacle-cactus waved in their direction.

Stocky Ambassador  Furgan seemed  the center  of attention,  but  everyone

looked at him  from the  corners of  their eyes  rather than  speaking to  him

directly. Feeling her  political obligations,  Leia sighed  and walked  toward

him, the children trotting beside her.

Furgan fixed his gaze on the twins  and drained the drink he was  holding.

She watched as  he held  the empty glass  to a  pump flask at  his right  hip.

Furgan depressed the button and squirted himself a new drink of honey-greenish

liquid. Of course, she thought, anyone paranoid about poisons would bring  his

own supply. He wore an identical flask on his left hip.

"So, Minister Organa  Solo, these  are the  famous Jedi  twins? Jacen  and

Jaina, I believe you named them? Don't  you have a third child as well,  named

Anakin?"

Leia blinked, unnerved that  Furgan knew so much  about her family.  "Yes,

the baby is  elsewhere--safe and protected."  She knew he  could not  possibly

have uncovered the location of the  sheltered planet, but a mother's  instinct

magnified her fear.

Furgan patted Jaina on the head. "I hope you protect these two as well. It

would be a shame for such sweet children to become political pawns."

"They are very safe," Leia said, suddenly feeling helpless. Keeping an eye

on the ambassador, she turned the twins around. "You two take Threepio and  go

play now."

"It will  be  a very  educational  experience for  them,  Mistress  Leia,"

Threepio said, bustling the children off to look at the plant exhibits.

Furgan continued his conversation with Leia. "If you want my opinion, it's

too bad the  Emperor didn't manage  to wipe  out all of  the Jedi.  Incomplete

tasks always end up causing trouble."

"And why are you  so afraid of  the Jedi Knights?"  Leia said. Though  she

disliked this  line of  conversation, she  might glean  some information  from

Furgan.

The ambassador took a long  sip from his drink.  "My feeling is that  with

our sophisticated technology,  we should  not cringe  in fear  of sorcery  and

bizarre mental powers that belong only  to a few random individuals. It  seems

elitist. Jedi Knights? They were like strongmen for a weak old government."

Leia took up the  debate. "The Emperor  whom you revere  so much was  very

powerful in the Force, as was Darth Vader. How are they so different?"

"The Emperor is entitled  to special powers," Furgan  said, as if  stating

the obvious.  "After all,  he's the  Emperor. And  Vader turned  out to  be  a

traitor in the end. As I understand it, he was the one who actually killed the

Emperor. All the more reason to outlaw such powers."

Leia knew he must have seen Luke's widely broadcast speech to the Council.

"Nevertheless, the Jedi have managed to  survive, and the entire order  of

Jedi Knights will be restored. My brother will see to that. Within a few years

the new Jedi Knights will fill the same role as the old, as protectors of  the

Republic."

"Too bad," Furgan said,  turning away to seek  other conversation, but  no

one seemed to want to talk to him.

Threepio lost track of the twins almost immediately, when they decided  to

play hide-and-seek among the flora exhibits, crawling under guardrails too low

for Threepio to  manage, then chasing  each other around  areas marked DO  NOT

ENTER. When the droid called for them to come back, Jacen and Jaina  developed

a selective hearing difficulty and continued to dash away.

He chased  them  through  a  grove of  mucus  trees  that  dripped  yellow

pollinated ooze all over his polished body shell; but at least the slime  left

a trail of footprints for him to follow. Threepio wailed in dismay when he saw

the small footprints leading directly into the "Carnivorous Plants" area.

"Oh, my!" he said, imagining bloodthirsty shrubs already digesting  pieces

of the  small  children. Before  he  could  sound an  all-out  alarm,  though,

Threepio heard Jacen's high-pitched giggles, joined by his sister's  laughter.

Using directional  locators,  Threepio  bustled  back to  the  center  of  the

exhibit.

Sitting in the middle of the giant tentacle-cactus, the twins played  with

the waving fronds, oblivious  to the thorns. Somehow  they had blithely  eased

their way past the  dagger-like points and  made a pillow  out of the  central

mass of fine new bristles.

"Master Jacen  and  Mistress  Jaina,  come out  of  there  this  instant!"

Threepio said in a  stern voice. "I must  insist!" Instead, Jaina giggled  and

waved to him.

In a tizzy  Threepio wondered how  he could rescue  the children from  the

great plant without dislodging any of the hors d'oeuvres.

A lull fell in the  conversation, the type of  pause that often occurs  in

forced social situations. During the quiet Ambassador Furgan made his move. "I

require your attention!" he called.

Leia watched him suddenly  step away from her.  Not knowing what he  might

do, she tensed, ready for anything.

The few conversations stuttered to a halt. All eyes turned to the  Caridan

ambassador. Mon Mothma had  been chatting with General  Jan Dodonna, the  aged

tactician who  had planned  the strike  on the  first Death  Star. Mon  Mothma

raised her eyebrows, curious at Furgan's call for silence. Jan Dodonna stopped

telling his tale and held his hands in mid-gesture as he stared.

Furgan took his empty glass and dropped it to his hip, filling it from the

left hip flask this time.  Leia wondered if he  had already emptied the  right

flask.

Raising his glass high, he took one step toward Mon Mothma, grinning. Leia

watched in disbelief. Was the rude ambassador going to propose a toast?

Furgan  looked  around  the  enclosed  Skydome,  making  certain  he   had

everyone's attention. Even the patchy rain had ceased. "To all gathered  here,

I wish to he heard.  As ambassador of Carida, I  have been empowered to  speak

for the Imperial military  training center, my planet,  and my entire  system.

Therefore, I must deliver a message to you all."

He raised  his voice  and raised  his  glass. "To  Mon Mothma,  who  calls

herself leader of the New Republic--” With a vicious sneer he hurled his drink

into her face. The  honey-green liquid splashed on  her cheeks, her hair,  her

chest. She  staggered  back,  appalled.  Jan  Dodonna  caught  her  shoulders,

steadying her; his mouth gaped open in astonishment.

The New Republic  guards at the  door immediately drew  their weapons  but

somehow refrained from firing.

“We denounce your foul  rebellion of lawbreakers  and murderers. You  have

tried to impress  me with the  number of other  weak-minded systems that  have

joined your Alliance, but  no amount of rabble  can erase your crimes  against

the Empire."

He smashed his empty glass  on the floor and  ground the shards under  his

boot heel. "Carida will never surrender to your so-called New Republic."

With a flourish Furgan took his entourage and stormed off. At the  doorway

the gathered stormtroopers triumphantly placed the white helmets back on their

heads, hiding their faces, and followed  the ambassador out. The New  Republic

guards stared after them, weapons ready but not knowing what to do.

After a  shocked silence  the  crowd erupted  into  a babble  of  outraged

conversations. Leia ran to the Chief of State. Dodonna was already swabbing at

Mon Mothma's damp robes.

The sticky drink drying on her face,  Mon Mothma forced a smile for  Leia.

Into the rising hubbub of indignation she said, "Well, we didn't lose anything

by trying, did we?"

In her disappointment Leia could not answer.

The tinny voice of Threepio burst  over the background noise. "Excuse  me,

Mistress Leia?"

Leia frantically looked  around for  thetwins, afraid  Furgan had  somehow

kidnapped them during his diversion, but  was relieved when she saw Jacen  and

Jaina standing with their faces pressed against the curved window looking  out

at the skyline of Imperial City.

Finally, from the  corner of her  eye, she noticed  a golden arm  flailing

about in alarm.  Somehow Threepio  had gotten tangled  in the  tentacle-cactus

exhibit; even from  across the  room Leia could  see how  badly scratched  his

plating had become. Hors d'oeuvres lay scattered about the floor.

"Could anyone assist me in getting free from this plant?" Threepio  cried.

"Please?"

Han Solo seemed  to be drowning  in a  syrup of nightmares.  He could  not

escape  the  drugged   and  painful   interrogation,  as   the  hardened   and

porcelain-beautiful face of Admiral Daala stared at him and pummeled him  with

questions.

"Just put him over here," a woman's trilling voice said. Not Daala.

His body was being dragged like luggage across a floor.

"We have  been ordered  to  stand guard,"  said  a fuzzed  voice  filtered

through a stormtrooper helmet.

"Stand guard, then, but  do it outside my  lab. I want to  talk to him  in

peace." The woman's voice again.

"For your  own  protection-“  the stormtrooper  began.  Han  felt  himself

dropped to the floor. His limbs didn't seem to remember how to bend.

"Protection? What is he going to do-he doesn't seem to have the energy  to

sneeze. If you left any  unscrambled memories in his head,  I want to pick  at

them without any interference."

Han felt himself hauled upright again, his arms wrapped behind him.  Cold,

smooth stone pressed  against his back.  "Yes, yes," the  woman's voice  said,

"chain him to  the column. I'm  sure I'll be  safe. I promise  to stay out  of

reach of his fangs."

He heard the marching  boots of stormtroopers leaving  the room. His  mind

became active long before his body  figured out how to respond. He  remembered

parts of the interrogation, but not all of it. What had he told Admiral Daala?

His heart began pounding harder. Had  he divulged any crucial secrets? Did  he

even know any crucial secrets?

He was fairly certain he had told  her the basic events about the fall  of

the Empire and the rise of the  New Republic--but that caused no harm, and  it

might even lead  to benefits. If  Daala knew  she had no  chance, perhaps  she

would surrender. And if banthas had wings ...

His eyes finally opened grudgingly, letting light slam inside. He flinched

away from returning vision, but eventually his eyes focused. He found  himself

in a  spacious room,  some kind  of  laboratory or  analysis center,  not  his

detention cell on the Gorgon. He heard singing and the sound of flutes.

Han turned his head to  see a willowy alien woman  standing in front of  a

device that seemed to be a combination musical keyboard and data-entry pad. He

had heard her voice arguing with the stormtrooper. She hummed a complex string

of notes as her fingers played on the musical keys; in front of her a rotating

blueprint of a three-dimensional triangular shape  took form, like a shard  of

glass capped with a tetrahedron and some sort of energy pod dangling from  the

lower point. With each tone the woman processed, additional lines appeared  on

the complicated diagram.

Han worked his tongue around in his  mouth and tried to talk. He meant  to

say, "Who are  you?" but his  lips and  vocal cords would  not cooperate.  The

sounds came out more like "Whaaaaa yuuuurrrr?"

Startled, the  female alien  fluttered her  slender hands  around the  3-D

geometrical image. Then she pranced over to where Han lay. She wore a badge on

her smock, imprinted with  her likeness and glittering  holograms of the  kind

used for cipher-locks.

She was an attractive  humanoid, tall and slender,  with a bluish tint  to

her skin. Her gossamer hair seemed like strands of pearlescent feathers.  When

she spoke, her voice  was high and  reedy. Her eyes were  wide and deep  blue,

carrying an expression of perpetual astonishment.

"I've been  waiting  for you  to  wake up!"  she  said. "I  have  so  many

questions to ask you. Is it true that you actually set foot on the first Death

Star, and you got a  look at the second one  while it was under  construction?

Tell me what it  was like. Anything  you can remember.  Every detail would  be

like a treasure trove to me."

The babbled questions came at him too quickly to assimilate. What did  the

Death Star have  to do with  anything? That  was ten years  ago! Instead,  Han

focused his gaze past her.

Pastel gases glowed on the other side of the broad window, swirling around

the insatiable mouths of the black holes. He counted all four Star  Destroyers

in orbital formation high above. That meant he must be somewhere in the little

cluster of planetoids in the center of the gravitational island.

And he was alone. Neither Kyp nor Chewbacca had ended up here with him. He

hoped they had at least survived Daala's vicious interrogation. He worked  his

mouth, trying to form words again. "Who are you?"

The alien woman touched her badge with one of her long-fingered hands. "My

name is Qwi Xux. And I know that you are Han Solo. I've read a hardcopy of the

debriefing you gave Admiral Daala."

Debriefing? Did she mean  the interrogation, the  torture chair that  made

his entire body spasm?

Qwi Xux's entire  demeanor seemed  superficial and distracted,  as if  she

were paying only a  small amount of  attention to details  while she kept  her

mind preoccupied with  something else.  "Now then,  please tell  me about  the

Death Star. I'm very eager to hear what you remember. You're the first  person

I can talk to who was actually there."

Han wondered if the interrogation drugs were still muddling his brain,  or

if there really was  a reason why  someone should want him  to talk about  the

defunct Death Star. And  why should he tell  this Imperial scientist  anything

anyway? Had he divulged anything important to Daala? What if she took her four

Star Destroyers and attacked Coruscant?

"I've already been interrogated."  He was pleased to  hear his words  come

out clearly enough to be understood this time.

In one  bluish hand  Qwi  held up  a short  printout.  "I want  your  real

impressions about it,"  she continued. "What  did it sound  like? What did  it

feel like  when you  walked down  the corridors?  Tell me  everything you  can

remember." She wrung her hands in barely restrained excitement.

"No."

His response apparently shocked Qwi enough  that she took a step  backward

and let  out a  startled musical  squawk. "You  have to!  I'm one  of the  top

scientists here." Her mouth hung partly  open in confusion. She began to  pace

around the pillar where he had been  bound, forcing Han to turn his head.  The

effort nearly made him pass out.

"What good does it do to withhold information?" Qwi asked. "Information is

for everyone.  We build  on the  knowledge we  have, add  to it,  and leave  a

greater legacy for our successors."

Qwi struck him as  being impossibly naive. Han  wondered how long she  had

been sheltered in the middle  of the black hole  cluster. "Does that mean  you

share your information with anyone who asks?" he said.

Qwi bobbed her  head. "That's the  way Maw Installation  works. It is  the

foundation of all our research."

Han barely managed a grin  of triumph. "All right,  then tell me where  my

friends are.  I came  in here  with  a young  man and  a Wookiee.  Share  that

information with me, and I'll see what I can remember about the Death Star."

Qwi's uneasy  reaction  told him  that  she had  never  before  considered

anything but clear-cut cases.

"I don't know if I can tell you that," she said. "You don't have a need to

know."

Han managed a shrug. "Then I see how much your own code of ethics means to

you."

Qwi glanced toward  the door, as  if contemplating whether  to summon  the

stormtroopers after all. "It is in my charter here as a researcher that I have

access to all the data I need. Why won't you answer my few simple questions?"

"Why won't you  answer mine?  I never signed  your charter.  I'm under  no

obligation to you."

Han waited, fixing his  eyes on her as  she fidgeted. Finally, Qwi  pulled

out her datapad and hummed as she keyed in a request.

She looked at him with wide deep-blue eyes that blinked rapidly. Her  hair

seemed like a  glittering waterfall of  fine down spilling  to her  shoulders.

When she whistled again, the datapad gave a response.

"Your Wookiee  companion  has been  assigned  to  a labor  detail  in  the

engine-maintenance  sector.  The  physicist  formerly  in  charge  of  concept

development and implementation always swore by Wookiee laborers. He had  about

a hundred of them taken from Kashyyyk and brought to the Installation when  it

was formed. We don't have many left.  It's hard and dangerous work there,  you

know."

Han shifted his position, still finding it difficult to move. He had heard

rumors that Wookiee slaves had been put to work during the actual construction

of the first Death Star. But Qwi spoke of these things with simple frankness.

"What about my other friend?" Han asked.

"Someone named Kyp Durron--is that him?  He is still aboard the Gorgon  in

the detention area,  high security.  I don't  see much  of a  report from  his

debriefing, so apparently he didn't have much to tell them."

Han frowned, trying  to assess  the information, but  Qwi became  animated

again. "All right, I've shared the  information you wanted. Now tell me  about

the Death Star!" She stepped closer to him but remained well out of reach.

Han rolled his  eyes but saw  no reason not  to. The Death  Star had  been

destroyed long ago, and the plans were safely locked inside the protected data

core of the former Imperial Information Center.

Han told Qwi about the corridors, the  noises. He knew the most about  the

hangar bay, the detention  area, and the garbage  masher, but she didn't  seem

much interested in those details.

"But did you see the core? The propulsion systems?"

"Sorry. I was just running interference while someone else knocked out the

tractor-beam generators." Han pursed his lips.  "Why are you so interested  in

all this anyway?"

She blinked her eyes. "Because I designed most of the Death Star!"

Before she could notice  Han's shocked response, she  trotted over to  the

near wall and worked a few controls that turned a section of the metal plating

transparent. Suddenly  a dizzying  panorama replaced  his narrow  view of  the

bright gases.  He  could  see the  other  clustered  rocks that  made  up  Maw

Installation.

"In fact,  we've still  got the  prototype Death  Star right  here at  the

Installation."

As Qwi  spoke,  a  gigantic wire-frame  sphere  as  large as  any  of  the

asteroids rose behind the  shortened horizon of the  nearest planetoid like  a

deadly sunrise. The  prototype looked like  a giant armillarysphere,  circular

rings connected  at  the poles  and  spread out  for  support. Nested  in  the

framework  and  superstructure  hung  the   enormous  reactor  core  and   the

planet-destroying superlaser.

"This is just the functional part," Qwi said, staring out the window  with

admiration in her eyes. "The core, the superlaser, and the reactor, without  a

hyperdrive propulsion system.  We didn't see  any need to  add the  structural

support and all the housing decks for troops and administrators."

Han found his voice again. "Does it work?"

Qwi smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "Oh yes, it works beautifully!"

Kyp Durron felt like an  animal trapped in a cage.  He stared at the  dull

confining walls  of  the detention  cell.  Illumination came  through  slitted

grills in the ceiling,  too bright and  too reddish to  be comfortable on  his

eyes. He sat on his bunk, stared at the wail, and tried not to think.

Leftover pain still throbbed through his body. The interrogator droid  had

been vicious in finding  the pain stimuli in  his body, damping endorphins  so

the slightest scratch  seemed like  agony. The sharp  hypodermic needles  felt

like spears as  they plunged into  his flesh; the  will-breaking drugs  flowed

like lava through his veins.

He had begged his memories to divulge some detail the interrogators  would

find useful, if  only to stop  the questioning--but Kyp  Durron was nobody,  a

hapless prisoner who  had spent most  of his  life on Kessel.  He didn't  know

anything to  tell  the  Imperial monsters.  In  the  end they  had  found  him

worthless.

Kyp stared at the self-making meal the door dispenser had given to him. By

opening the lid of the pack, he spontaneously heated the textured protein main

course and  chilled  the synthetic  fruit  dessert;  after a  short  time  the

utensils themselves began to break down and could be eaten as snacks. But  Kyp

could find no spark of hunger inside him.

His thoughts drifted again to Han Solo's predicament. Unlike Kyp, Han knew

a great deal about  the New Republic  and had many  secrets to divulge.  Han's

interrogation would have  been far  more thorough  than his  own. And  Admiral

Daala's ministrations had been worse than anything Kyp had experienced  during

his years in  the Imperial  Correction Facility. At  least down  in the  spice

mines he knew how to avoid calling attention to himself.

Since the age of eight,  Kyp had lived on  Kessel, coping with the  rules,

the torturous work, the  miserable conditions under the  old Imperial rule  or

under the chain of usurpers and slave lords such as Moruth Doole. His  parents

were dead, his brother Zeth conscripted away to the stormtrooper academy,  but

Kyp had learned how to lie low, to survive, to endure.

Not until Han Solo's arrival, though, had he considered escape. Han showed

that a small, determined group could break free of a prisoner's shackles. That

they had  stumbled  into  an  even  worse  situation  inside  the  Maw  seemed

irrelevant.

Piloting the stolen shuttle,  Kyp had used his  fledgling powers to  steer

them safely through the  black hole cluster. In  the years since the  withered

Vima-Da-Boda had taught him the fundamentals of her Jedi skills, Kyp had  made

little use of his own affinity for the Force.

He remembered Vima-Da-Boda's face as shrunken  and leprous; and she had  a

habit of huddling in corners, of pulling shadows around herself as if to  hide

from immense  prying  eyes. The  fallen  Jedi  had a  guilty  conscience  that

suffocated her like a blanket, but she had  taken the time to teach Kyp a  few

things before the Imperials whisked her away. "You have great potential,"  she

had told him in one of her last brief lessons.

Kyp had paid little attention to that, until now.

He stared  fixedly at  his  untouched meal.  Perhaps if  he  concentrated,

focused his  abilities on  manipulating something,  moving a  tiny object,  he

could turn that skill into an escape.

Escape! The word rang through his heart, conjuring images of hope. He  was

not certain how he did  what he did. Sensing  the best route through  darkened

spice tunnels seemed perfectly natural to him. When flying the shuttle through

the fiery  gas clouds,  he had  listened to  the mysterious  whispering  voice

directing him. Kyp turned and  altered course, spinning and whirling  whenever

it seemed right.

But now that he needed to make use  of the Force, he didn't know where  to

begin.

He fixed his gaze on the flimsy foil covering of the instant meal,  trying

to bend it. He  pushed with his  mind, picturing the  thin metal twisting  and

crumpling into  a  ball--but  nothing  happened.  Kyp  wondered  how  much  of

Vima-Da-Boda's ramblings had been simple superstition and craziness.

His parents had  no special sort  of powers.  On the Deyer  colony of  the

Anoat system, they had both been outspoken local politicians. Upon hearing  of

a growing rebellion against the Emperor's rigid policies, they decided to work

from within, speaking out against Palpatine  to make him more moderate  rather

than overthrow him  entirely. They resoundingly  protested the destruction  of

Alderaan--but their efforts  had only gotten  the two of  them and their  sons

Zeth and Kyp arrested.

Kyp remembered that  night of  terror, when the  stormtroopers had  melted

down the door of the  family dwelling even though  it was unlocked. The  armed

soldiers marched into the living quarters, kicked over the fragile fiber-grown

furniture. The stormtrooper captain read an arrest order through the  filtered

speaker  in  his  helmet,  accusing   Kyp's  parents  of  treason;  then   the

stormtroopers drew their blasters and stunned the two astonished adults. Kyp's

older brother Zeth had tried to protect  them, so the troopers stunned him  as

well.

Kyp, with tears streaming down his face, could only stare in disbelief  at

the three crumpled  forms as  the stormtroopers linked  stun-cuffs around  his

wrists. He still couldn't imagine how they had considered him a threat,  since

he had been only eight years old at the time.

Kyp and his parents were taken to Kessel, while fourteen-year-old Zeth was

hauled off  as a  brainwashed  recruit to  the  Imperial military  academy  in

Carida. They had never heard from Zeth again.

After  little  more  than  a  year  Kessel  went  into  enormous  internal

upheavals, with prison revolts, the  Imperials overthrown, slave lords  taking

over. Kyp's parents had died during  the commotion, executed for being on  the

wrong side at the wrong moment.  Kyp himself had survived by hiding,  becoming

silent and invisible. He had rotted in  the darkness of the tunnels for  eight

years, and now he had escaped.

Only to be captured again.

Somehow,  it  seemed,  the  Imperials  were  always  there  to  wreck  his

aspirations. On Deyer the stormtroopers had stolen him away from his home;  on

Kessel they had  thrown him  into the  spice mines. Now  that he  and Han  had

finally escaped, the stormtroopers had clamped around him again.

Kyp's anger  focused into  a projectile,  and he  tried again  to use  his

ability on the meal tray. He pushed, and  a drop of sweat fell into his  eyes,

blurring his vision. Had the tray moved, jerked a little? He saw a small  dent

in the textured protein patty that formed the main course. Had he done that?

Perhaps anger was the key to focusing his latent energies.

He wished Vima-Da-Boda  had spent more  time instructing him  down in  the

mines. He concentrated  on the walls,  on his narrow  surroundings. He had  to

find some way of escaping Han had already proved that it could be done.

Kyp vowed that  if he did  manage to get  away, he would  find someone  to

teach him how to use  these mysterious powers. He never  wanted to be left  so

helpless again.

Looking at the delicate, birdlike Qwi  Xux, Han somehow could not  imagine

her as the developer of  the Death Star. But she  worked willingly in the  Maw

Installation, and she had admitted her role in a matter-of-fact way.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" he finally said.

"This is  what I  do. This  is  what I'm  best at."  Qwi nodded  her  head

absently, as if considering her answer. "Here I have a chance to grapple  with

the greatest  mysteries of  the cosmos,  to solve  problems that  others  have

claimed are unsolvable. To see my wild ideas take shape. It's very thrilling."

Han still could not understand. "But how  did this happen to you? Why  are

you here?"

"Oh, that!" Qwi said, as if suddenly understanding the question. "My  home

planet was Omwat, in the Outer Rim. Moff Tarkin took ten young Omwati children

from various cities. He placed us in intense forced-education camps, trying to

mold us into great designers  and problem solvers. I was  the best. I was  the

only one who made it through all the training. I was his prize, and he sent me

here as a reward.

"At first  I  worked  with Bevel  Lemelisk  to  bring the  Death  Star  to

fruition. When  we  had the  blueprints  completed, Tarkin  took  Bevel  away,

leaving me to create newer and better concepts."

"Okay," Han said, "so I'll ask you again, why do you do this stuff?"

Qwi looked at  him as  if he  had suddenly  grown stupid.  "It's the  most

interesting thing I can  imagine. I have  my pick of  the challenges, and  I'm

usually successful. What more could I want?"

Han knew he wasn't getting through.  "How can you enjoy working on  things

like this? It's horrible!"

Qwi took another  step backward, looking  baffled and hurt.  "What do  you

mean by  that? It's  fascinating  work, if  you think  about  it. One  of  our

concepts was  to modify  existing molecular  furnace devices  into  autonomous

"World Devastators" that could  strip raw materials  from a planet's  surface,

feed it into huge  automated onboard factories,  and produce useful  machines.

We're quite proud  of that  idea. We transmitted  the proposal  off to  Tarkin

shortly after he took Bevel with him."  Her voice trailed off. "I wonder  what

ever happened to that idea."

Han blinked in astonishment. The terrifying fleet of World Devastators had

attacked Admiral  Ackbar's home  planet, laying  waste part  of the  beautiful

water world before the juggernauts were destroyed. "The World Devastators have

already been built," Han mumbled, "and put to very efficient use."

Qwi's face lit up. "Oh, that's wonderful!"

"No, it isn't!" he shouted into her face. She sprang back. "Don't you know

what your inventions are used for? Do you have any idea?"

Qwi backed off, straightening up  again defensively. "Yes, of course.  The

Death Star was to be used to break  up dead planets to allow direct mining  of

the heavy  metals  trapped  in  the  core.  The  World  Devastators  would  be

autonomous factories combing  asteroids or  sterile worlds to  produce a  wide

range of items without polluting inhabited planets."

Han snorted and  rolled his  eyes. "If  you believe  that, you'll  believe

anything. Listen to  their names! Death  Star, World Devastator--that  doesn't

sound like something for peacetime economic development, does it?"

Qwi scowled and turned her back on it. "Oh, what difference does it make?"

"The Death Star's  first target  was the planet  Alderaan--my wife's  home

world! It murdered  billions of  innocent people. The  World Devastators  were

turned loose on  the inhabited  world of  Calamari. Hundreds  of thousands  of

people died. Those efficient factories of yours manufactured TIE fighters  and

other weapons of destruction, nothing else."

"I don't believe you." Her voice did not sound confident.

"I was there! I flew through the rubble of Alderaan, I saw the devastation

on Calamari. Didn't  you read  about it  in my  interrogation report?  Admiral

Daala pressed me over and over again for those details."

Qwi crossed her slender  bluish arms over her  chest. "No, that wasn't  in

your   debriefing   summary,   which   you   so   melodramatically   call   an

"interrogation.""

"Then you didn't get the whole report," Han said.

"Nonsense. I'm entitled to all data." She stared at her feet. "Besides,  I

only develop the concepts. I make them work. If someone on the outside  abuses

my inventions, I can't be held responsible. That's beyond the scope of what  I

do."

Han made a  noncommittal sound,  simmering with anger.  Her words  sounded

rehearsed, like something that had been drilled into her. She didn't even seem

to think about what she was saying.

Qwi flitted back to her 3-D display panel, tapping on the musical keys and

humming to sharpen the long, angular image she had been constructing when  Han

opened his eyes. "Would you like to  see what I'm working on now?" Qwi  asked,

studiously avoiding any mention of the previous discussion.

"Sure," Han said, afraid that  when she no longer  needed to talk to  him,

Qwi would send him back to his detention cell.

She gestured to the image of the small craft. Four-sided and elongated, it

looked like the long shard of a firefacet gem. From the diagram he could see a

pilot's compartment with  space enough  for six people.  Small lasers  studded

strategic areas;  the bottom  of the  long point  carried a  strange  toroidal

transmitting dish.

"Right now we're working  on enhancing the armor,"  Qwi said. "Though  the

craft is  not  much  larger than  a  single-man  fighter, we  need  it  to  be

completely impervious  to attack.  By introducing  quantum-crystalline  armor,

where only a few layers  of atoms are stacked  as densely as physics  permits,

laminated on top of another thin film just as tough but phase shifted, we  can

be confident that nothing will harm it. Not so much as a dent."

Han nodded  to the  laser  emplacements; he  couldn't  see well  from  his

vantage chained against a  support pillar. "Then why  add the weaponry if  the

ship is indestructible?" He had visions  of a fleet of these things  replacing

the TIE fighters; a small force of indestructible assault craft could fly into

any New Republic fleet and carve the ships up at their leisure.

"This craft is highly maneuverable, and small enough not to be noticed  on

a system-wide scan, but they still might encounter some resistance.  Remember,

the Death Star was the size of a small moon. This accomplishes through finesse

what the Death Star brought about through brute force."

With a cold fear inside  Han did not want to  know the answer to his  next

question. How could  she compare this  small ship  to the Death  Star? But  he

couldn't stop himself from asking, "And what is it? What does it do?"

Qwi looked  at the  image with  awe, pride,  and fear.  "Well, we  haven't

actually tested it yet, but the first full-scale model is basically completed.

We call this concept the Sun Crusher, tiny but immensely powerful. One  small,

impervious craft launches a modulated resonance projectile into a star,  which

triggers a chain reaction in the  core, igniting a supernova even in  low-mass

stars. Straightforward and simple."

In his horror, Han could think of nothing to say. The Death Star destroyed

planets, but the Sun Crusher could destroy whole solar systems.

Luke and  Lando  stood with  Moruth  Doole  high inside  one  of  Kessel's

atmosphere stacks.  They  held the  rusted  guard railing  at  the edge  of  a

catwalk, staring down the dizzying drop. Leaning into the stack, they breathed

the manufactured air boiling into the sky;  it reminded Luke of the great  air

shaft in Cloud City.

Doole shouted into  the roaring  background noise. "According  to one  old

Imperial study, there's only enough raw material in Kessel's crust to keep the

atmosphere in  equilibrium  for  a century  or  two  at our  present  rate  of

consumption." He shrugged, hunching his bumpy shoulders in a sort of  seizure.

"A few years ago the  output was higher so that  the slaves could walk  around

and breathe the air--but what's the point in allowing that?"

Lando nodded  sagely, as  if still  interested, while  Luke said  nothing.

Doole had been their tour guide for an entire day, talking more than even  the

long-winded senators on Coruscant. Doole  wanted Lando's half million  credits

and went  about extolling  Kessel's  virtues like  a representative  from  the

planetary chamber of commerce.

Wherever Doole took them, Luke strained  his Jedi senses, reaching out  to

find some sign  of Han  or Chewbacca.  But Luke could  feel no  tickle in  the

Force, no ripple of his friends' presence. Perhaps they were truly dead  after

all.

Lando continued his  conversation with  Doole, shouting  into the  rushing

wind that rose through the  stack. "A lot can change  around here by the  time

the air  runs  out.  What matters  is  what  you accomplish  during  your  own

lifetime."

Doole's hissing laugh was swallowed by background noise. He reached up  to

lay a hand on  Lando's shoulder. "We  think alike, Mr.  Tymmo. Who cares  what

happens after we're space dust? I'd  rather squeeze Kessel dry while I've  got

it in my fist."

"You seem to have such an enormous operation. Why are you still running it

solo?" Lando asked.

Doole flinched at the term "solo," and Luke knew Lando had chosen his word

carefully; both of them caught the Rybet's reaction. "What do you mean?" Doole

asked.

"Well, when the Imperial confiscation of spice ended, I would have thought

you'd open all  your markets,  get a  thousand representatives  to spread  the

product. Jabba the  Hutt is  dead. Why  didn't you  link up  with the  unified

smugglers under Talon Karrde and Mara Jade? That must have hurt your profits."

Doole pointed one gummy-ended  finger at Lando.  "Our profits are  growing

enormously, now that we get all the glitterstim, rather than just what we  can

steal from under Imperial noses. And after being so long under the yoke of the

Empire, I didn't want  to get into  the same position  with the New  Republic.

Everybody knows that Jade and Karrde are just puppets."

Seeing Lando's  skepticism,  Doole  waved  his  hands.  "Oh,  but  we  are

considering it, of course. In fact,  I've already spoken with a minister  from

the New Republic, opening up a line of communication that may eventually  lead

to an alliance."

"Sounds like good news," Lando said in a noncommittal voice.

Doole led them back along the  catwalk to the access doorway, where  Artoo

waited. Shutting the heavy door behind  them, Doole paused a moment for  their

ears to  adjust to  the sudden  silence.  "As you  can see,  a great  deal  is

changing around here. You, my friend, have chosen a good time to join in."

"If I decide to invest," Lando said firmly.

"Yes, yes, if you decide to invest. The truth is, this could be even  more

important, Mr. Tymmo. Since the death of Skynxnex, I'll be needing a new,  er,

assistant for running the spice mines."

Lando fluffed the  cape behind him  in a self-important  gesture. "If  I'm

investing half a million credits,  Doole, I'd expect to  be more of a  partner

than an assistant."

Doole practically kowtowed. "Of course. Trivial details can be worked out.

I'll also need a new shift boss. Maybe your companion here would be interested

in the work?" He looked at Luke, squinting with his egg-white eye.

Luke met the  Rybet's mechanical  eye and stared  into the  focus-changing

lenses, trying to pry some secrets  from Doole's brain. Luke said, "I'll  have

to think about it."

Doole ignored him, focusing his attention back on Lando. "Now then, you've

seen practically everything. Is there anything else I can show you?"

Lando looked to Luke, who pondered  a moment. Thoughts of the jagged  moon

and its security base  kept troubling him.  If Han was  not on Kessel  itself,

perhaps he was imprisoned on the moonbase.

"Aren't you worried about attack from remnants of the Empire?" Luke asked.

"Or consolidation forces from the New Republic?"

Doole brushed aside the comment. "We have our own defenses. Don't worry."

But Luke persisted, trying  to sound like  a cautious business  associate.

"If we're going to invest, we should see these alleged defenses. We know about

the energy shield left by the Imperial Correction Facility. But do you have  a

fleet of any sort?"

Doole began  to  sputter,  but  Lando took  charge.  "Moruth,  if  there's

something you don't want us to see ..."

"No, no, it's no trouble at all. I'll just have to arrange a shuttle up to

the moonbase. I don't want you to think we have anything to hide!"

Doole bustled off to  arrange for the shuttle,  leaving Luke and Lando  to

exchange skeptical glances.

Lando did not like the idea of leaving the Lady Luck behind on the landing

pad of  the Imperial  Correction Facility,  but Doole  continued to  play  the

gracious host. Luke silently tried  to console him as  they lifted off in  the

short-range shuttle, but  Lando kept  looking out the  small window  as if  he

would never see his ship again.

Kessel's moon approached, looking like a hollowed sphere with most of  the

rock scooped out to house a large internal hangar and the enormous  generators

and transmitters that  created the  protective energy  shield surrounding  the

planet.

After they landed,  Moruth Doole  strutted out of  the shuttle,  gesturing

them to follow with an impatience that made Luke curious. Doole stood  waiting

for them as  Artoo worked his  way down the  ramp and into  the giant  grotto.

Behind a transparent atmosphere-containment screen,  Luke could see stars  and

the trailing wisps of gas looping around the black hole cluster.

Doole seemed  prouder of  his defensive  fleet than  he was  of any  other

aspect of the Kessel operations. "Follow me."

He waddled across  the rock floor  of the hangar  bay, leading them  along

rows and rows of fighter craft arranged in seemingly random order. They passed

ships Luke found  familiar and  others so exotic  he could  not even  identify

them. He called  on his  knowledge as  a fighter  pilot to  assess the  fleet:

X-wings, Y-wings, powerful Corellian Corvettes, a single B-wing, TIE fighters,

TIE interceptors, four TIE bombers,  several Skipray blastboats, gamma  -class

assault shuttles. In space, like prizes around the ragged opening of the moon,

hovered larger attack ships--three Carrack cruisers, two big Lancer  frigates,

a single Loronar strike cruiser.

"After we  drove  out the  Empire,"  Doole  said, "I  placed  the  highest

priority on a defensive fleet. I bought every fighter I could find, no  matter

what its condition, and hired experienced mechanics from the Corellian  sector

of Nar Shaddaa."

He grinned  with  his amphibian  lips.  "We  just got  the  energy  shield

operational again two days ago. I can heave a big sigh of relief now. With the

shields finally  up  and  our new  fleet  as  a backup,  Kessel  is  safe  and

independent.  We  can  set  glitterstim  prices  across  the  galaxy   without

interference from anybody."

"Sure is a lot of ships," Lando agreed. "I'm impressed."

Luke recalled how much trouble  the New Republic had obtaining  sufficient

fighting ships during  Admiral Thrawn's guerrilla  campaigns. If Moruth  Doole

had been pulling all the strings he  could to obtain every functional ship  in

the sector, no wonder supplies had been so limited.

"We should be  able to  defend against  spice pirates,  don't you  think?"

Doole said.

They kept walking along  the rows of parked  ships. Suddenly Lando  froze,

and Luke felt  a surge  of shocked emotion  from him.  Artoo began  chittering

wildly. Luke  looked around  until  he saw  one  modified light  freighter  of

Corellian manufacture--a ship that looked decidedly familiar.

"What is it?" Doole asked, looking down at the droid.

Lando took a  moment to regain  his composure. He  rapped his knuckles  on

Artoo's top  dome.  "Stray  cosmic  ray, I  suppose.  Occasionally  these  old

astromech units  frazzle a  circuit." He  swallowed. "Could  I speak  with  my

assistant for a moment in private, Moruth?"

"Oh, uh, of course." Doole discreetly backed away. "I'll go make sure  the

mechanics are prepping  the shuttle for  our return to  Kessel." He turned  to

Luke and forced humor into his tone.  "Now, don't go talking your boss out  of

making an investment here!"

The moment  Doole moved  out of  earshot, Lando  nodded excitedly  to  the

freighter. "That's  the Falcon,  Luke! I  know her  like a  krabbex knows  its

shell!"

Luke looked at the  ship, recognizing it himself  but wanting more  proof.

"You positive?"

"It's the Falcon, Luke. I owned  her, remember, before Han stole her  from

me in a sabacc game. If you look, you can see the streaking scar on top  where

I knocked off  the subspace antenna  dish trying  to zip away  from the  Death

Star."

Luke also noticed  scorch marks from  a recent space  combat. "They  could

have changed the markings, wiped  the memory core. Is  there any other way  we

can prove it?"

"Just get me inside the cockpit. Han's made some modifications to the ship

nobody else would know about."

When Doole returned,  Lando said, "My  assistant wants to  be sure  you've

been doing thorough maintenance on these  ships. If you're not taking care  of

them, they don't make much of a defensive fleet. Let's take a look inside  one

at random ... say, that Corellian ship over there."

Doole seemed taken by surprise, glancing at the Falcon. "That one? Uh,  we

have plenty of top-notch fighters you can check out. That one is something  of

a ... piece of junk."

Lando waggled his  finger. "If you  choose the ship  for us, Moruth,  that

contradicts the whole point of a random inspection, doesn't it? Open this  one

up. Go on."

Reluctantly, Doole worked the external controls that dropped the  Falcon's

ramp. Lando took the lead, followed  by Luke, while Artoo puttered so  closely

behind Doole that he nearly ran over the Rybet's heels.

Inside, Lando strode to the cockpit, ostensibly to check out the  systems.

Running his fingers lovingly over the stained, worn surfaces, he flicked a few

switches. "Ion-flux stabilizer checks out as optimal, so does the stasis-field

generator. Should we go back and  check out the power converter? Those  things

are notorious for breaking down in Corellian freighters."

Lando backed down  the narrow  corridor leading  from the  cockpit to  the

central living section  of the ship.  Turning left toward  the entry ramp,  he

stepped carefully on  the main  deck plates. From  the control  panels he  had

unlatched the hidden locks, and when he stomped on the appropriate plates with

his boot heel, they popped up, revealing the seven secret compartments Han had

personally installed as spice-smuggling bins beneath the floor.

"Caught you, Doole, you bastard!"Lando grabbed him by the yellow cravat at

his throat. "What have you done with Han and Chewbacca?"

Doole seemed completely astonished, flailing his splayed hands in the air.

"What are  you talking  about?" he  croaked.  As Lando  glared down  into  the

Rybet's huge  eyes, Doole  slipped one  of his  hands into  his waistcoat  and

yanked free  a  small "hold-out"  blaster  pistol.  Luke saw  it  and  reacted

instantly, shoving with his mind and using the Force to hurl Moruth Doole away

from Lando.

The blaster  went  off,  sending  a deadly  beam  ricocheting  around  the

Falcon's corridor. Doole fell backward, then  scrambled to his feet. He  fired

at them again, but his mechanical eye had no time to focus, and the beam  went

wide. Doole dove down the ramp,  bellowing for the guards. His mechanical  eye

fell off, clanging and rolling  across the floor. He  scrambled after it in  a

panic, feeling blindly with his hands.

Luke smacked the door  controls, raising the ramp  and sealing the  hatch.

"We should have kept him as a hostage,"  he said. "Now it's going to be a  lot

more difficult to get out of here."

Outside, Doole  raised  the alarm.  Guards  scrambled through  the  parked

ships, drawing blasters, fastening their armor.

"Artoo, get to the computer!" Luke said.

Lando jumped  into the  chair behind  the  controls. "I  doubt we  can  do

anything for Han anymore. We need to get  back and tell Leia. She can bring  a

full-scale occupation  force  to Kessel.  We'll  go  over this  place  with  a

high-res scanner."

"If we get out of here alive," Luke said.

"Artoo," Lando called, "jack into the copilot's computer and tie into  the

hangar controls." The astromech  droid chittered his  willingness to help  and

rolled toward the navicomp console.

Outside in the  hangar, security  horns sounded. People  ran around  every

which direction, not  knowing where  to go.  Luke saw  immediately that  these

mercenaries had  far  less  experience working  together  than  the  sloppiest

Imperial regiment. But the  moment Lando lifted the  ship off the  landing-pad

floor, everyone had an unmistakable target.

"Artoo, get  that  door  field down!"  Lando  shouted.  Using  maneuvering

thrusters, he edged the ship forward, picking  up speed as they rose over  the

other parked fighters. Pilots  scrambled into their ships,  ready for a  space

battle. In orbit around the moon, the capital ships did not yet seem aware  of

the situation.

Lando accelerated toward the wide hangar opening to space. They could  not

see the invisible shield. Artoo bleeped and whistled, but the sounds were  not

positive. "Get the shield down!" Lando insisted.

Artoo's interface  jack  whirred  as  he  worked  with  the  hangar  bay's

computer, trying to skirt the password controls.

"We need the shield down now, Artoo!" Luke said.

The Falcon's rear thrusters  kicked in and  they lurched forward,  gaining

speed. "Come on," Lando said to the ship. "You can do it. Do it one last  time

for Han."

Artoo bleeped in triumph  a moment before they  shot through the  opening.

Luke flinched, but the shield dropped just in time. Alert lights began to wink

on in  the  big  battleships  riding in  orbit.  Weapons  systems  warmed  up,

targeting modules locked on to aimpoints.

The Millennium Falcon soared into open  space as, behind them, the  Kessel

forces scrambled in pursuit.

Hunched in  his dark  robes,  Tol Sivron  came to  visit  Qwi Xux  in  her

research room. He drew in a long, hissing breath, and his head-tails  twitched

with uneasiness as he stared at her setup. The Twi'lek administrator gave  the

impression of never having set foot inside an actual laboratory  before--which

seemed odd to Qwi, since he was in charge of the entire installation.

Qwi stopped  her  musical calculation  with  an atonal  squawk.  "Director

Sivron! What can I do for you?"

Tol Sivron  demanded regular  written  reports, feasibility  studies,  and

progress summaries; he hosted a weekly  meeting among the scientists to  share

their ideas and their work in a frank and stimulating exchange.

But Tol Sivron did not make a habit of visiting.

He shuffled around the room, poking at things, kneading his knuckles,  and

looking at the  standard equipment  as if  deeply interested.  He brushed  his

clawed fingertips  over  the  calibration gauge  of  a  weld-stress  analyzer,

muttering, "Mmm hmmm, good  work!" as if Qwi  herself had invented the  common

instrument.

"I just came to commend you for your consistently fine efforts, Dr.  Xux."

Sivron stroked one of  the vermiform head-tails draped  around his neck;  then

his voice grew stern.  "But I hope  you are about  finished with your  endless

iterations on the Sun Crusher project.  We're past Grand Moff Tarkin's  target

date, you know, and we  must move soon. I insist  you write your final  report

and get all  the documentation in  order. Submit it  to my office  as soon  as

possible."

Qwi blinked at him in annoyance.  She had submitted five separate  "final"

reports already, but  each time  Sivron had asked  her to  rerun a  particular

simulation or to  retest the  structural welds  in the  Sun Crusher's  quantum

armor. He never gave  any reasons, and  Qwi got the  impression that he  never

read the reports anyway. If it had been up to her, the Sun Crusher would  have

been ready  for deployment  two years  ago.  She was  getting bored  with  it,

wanting to move on to a new design  she could start from scratch and get  back

to the enjoyable, imaginative work again.

"You'll have the report by this evening, Director Sivron!" She would  just

send a repeat of the last one.

"Good, good," Sivron said, stroking his head-tail again. "I just wanted to

make sure everything is in order."

For what? Qwi  thought. We're not  going anywhere. She  hated it when  the

administrators and the military types kept  sticking their noses in her  work.

Without another word Tol Sivron left.

Qwi stared after him, then activated  the rarely used privacy lock on  her

door. Returning to  her imaging terminal,  she continued trying  to crack  the

wall of passwords in front of her. She did like challenges, after all.

Qwi could not stop thinking about what Han Solo had told her. At first  it

was a new puzzle to solve, but then she finally began paying attention. To her

all the prototypes she  developed were abstract  concepts turned into  reality

through mathematical music and brilliant intuitions.

She kept  telling  herself  that she  did  not  know, or  care,  what  her

inventions were used for. She could certainly guess, but she tried not to. She

didn't want to know! She blocked those thoughts before they could surface. But

Qwi Xux wasn't stupid.

The Death  Star was  supposed to  be used  to break  apart depleted,  dead

planets to provide access to  raw materials deep in  the core. Right! Had  she

thought up that excuse  afterward? The World Devastators  were supposed to  be

immense wandering factories  taking useless rubble  and fabricating scores  of

valuable industrial components.  Right! Tarkin  had been with  her during  the

immense pressure of her original training.  She knew what the man was  capable

of.

And the new  Sun Crusher was--"What?"Han  had said, raising  his voice  so

that it hurt her fragile ears. "What  in all the galaxy could the Sun  Crusher

be used  for  other than  to  completely wipe  out  all life  in  systems  the

Imperials don't like? You don't even  have a bogus excuse like rubble  mining.

The Sun Crusher  has one purpose  only: to bring  death to countless  innocent

people. Nothing more."

But Qwi could not possibly have the responsibility for lives on her hands.

That wasn't part of her job. She just drew up blueprints, toyed with  designs,

solved  equations.  It  exhilarated  her  to  discover  something   previously

considered impossible.

On the other  hand, she  was perfectly  aware of  what she  was doing  ...

though feigned naiveté  provided such  a nice  excuse, such  a perfect  shield

against her own conscience.

In the Maw databanks Qwi had  discovered the complete "debriefing" of  Han

Solo--protected by a  password she  had easily broken--full  video instead  of

just a  transcription.  Sivron and  Daala  had indeed  kept  much of  it  from

her--but why?

As Qwi watched the entire torture session, she could not believe her eyes.

She had  never suspected  the information  had  been taken  from him  in  that

manner! The words on paper seemed so cool and cooperative.

But on a  deeper, professional level  she was outraged  at Admiral  Daala.

Access to data was supposedly open to  all Maw scientists. She had never  been

denied a single  information request  in twelve  years inside  the black  hole

cluster! But this was even  worse. She hadn't just  been denied access to  the

full report--she had been deceived into thinking Han's debriefing held no more

data.

But information is meant to be shared!  Qwi thought. How can I do my  work

if I don't have the pertinent data?

Qwi had little trouble breaking through the various passwords. Apparently,

no one had  expected her  to bother  looking. She  read the  full report  with

sickened astonishment: the destruction of Alderaan, the attack on Yavin 4, the

ambush of the  Rebel fleet over  Endor, the huge  hospital ship and  personnel

carriers blown into micrometeoroids by the second Death Star's superlaser.

"What did you think  they were going  to be used for?"  Han had said.  Qwi

closed her eyes to the thought.

Focus on the problem. It had been a mantra of her childhood. Be distracted

by nothing else. Solving the problem was the only important thing. Solving the

problem meant survival itself. ...

As a  child she  remembered  spending two  years  in the  sterile,  silent

environment of the orbital education sphere above her homeworld of Omwat.  Qwi

had been ten standard years  old, the same age  as her other nine  companions,

each selected from different Omwati honeycomb settlements.

From orbit  the orange  and green  continents looked  surreal, blurred  by

clouds and dimpled with canyons, blemished by upthrust mountains--nothing like

the clean maps she had seen before.

But beside Qwi's  educational sphere orbited  Moff Tarkin's personal  Star

Destroyer. It had been a mere Victory class ship, but powerful enough to  rain

death and ruin down on Omwat if the students should fail.

For two years  life for Qwi  had been an  endless succession of  training,

testing, training,  testing, with  no other  purpose than  to cram  the  total

knowledge of engineering  disciplines into pliable  young Omwati minds--or  to

burst their brains  in the process.  Tarkin's research had  shown that  Omwati

children were  capable  of  amazing  mental  feats,  if  pushed  properly  and

sufficiently. Most of the young minds  would collapse under the pressure,  but

some emerged like  precious jewels,  brilliant and creative.  Moff Tarkin  had

wanted to test that possibility.

The gaunt, steel-hard man had stood in his dress uniform during  important

examinations, staring at the surviving  Omwati children as they wrestled  with

problems that  had stymied  the Empire's  best designers.  Qwi remembered  how

alarmed they had been when one of  her classmates, a young male named  Pillik,

suddenly fell to  the floor in  some kind  of seizure, grasping  his head  and

screaming. He  managed to  climb  to his  knees,  weeping, before  the  guards

grabbed him. He  still grasped for  his examination paper  as they hauled  him

away, yelling that he wanted to finish his work.

In silence Qwi and  her three surviving classmates  went to the window  of

the  educational  sphere  so  they   could  watch  as  turbolasers  from   the

Victory-class Star  Destroyer  obliterated Pillik's  honeycomb  settlement  in

punishment for his failure.

Qwi  could  not  be  distracted  by  consequences.  If  her  concentration

faltered, everyone would die. She had  to lock away all caring. Problems  were

pure, and safe, to be solved for  their own sake. She could not allow  herself

to think beyond the abstract challenge at hand.

In the end Qwi had been the only one of her group who made it through  the

training. She  received  no instruction  in  biological sciences,  saving  her

memory space  for  more  physics, mathematics,  and  engineering.  Tarkin  had

whisked her off to the new Maw Installation and placed her under the  tutelage

of the great engineer Bevel Lemelisk. Qwi had been in the Maw ever since.

Problems had to be solved for their own sake. If she allowed herself to be

distracted by feelings, terrible things would happen. She remembered images of

burning  Omwati  cities  winking  like  faraway  campfires  from  orbit,   the

laser-ignited wildfires that swept across  the savannas of her world--but  she

had too many calculations to finish, too many designs to modify.

Qwi had salved her conscience by laying the responsibility on others.  But

the truth was,  she created  devices that had  directly caused  the deaths  of

entire civilizations, the destruction  of whole worlds.  With the Sun  Crusher

she could wipe out solar systems with the push of a button.

Qwi Xux had a lot of thinking to  do, but she didn't know how to go  about

this kind of pondering. This was an entirely new and different type of problem

to solve.

Chewbacca stood like a statue, refusing  to move and daring the keeper  to

use his power-lash again.

The keeper did.

Chewbacca roared at the pain lancing  across his skin; his nerves  writhed

in the aftermath of the  charge. He raised his  hairy arms, seething with  the

desire to rip the fat, placid man's limbs from his spherical torso.

Fourteen stormtroopers leveled their blasters at him.

"Are you going  back to work,  Wookiee, or do  I have to  nudge the  power

setting up  a  couple more  notches?"  The keeper  tapped  the handle  of  the

power-lash against his palm, gazing at Chewbacca with a bland expression.  His

complexion was dusty-looking  and bloodless, as  if no hint  of life had  ever

passed beneath the skin.

"Any other  time I  might  have enjoyed  the  challenge of  breaking  you,

Wookiee. I've been here fourteen standard years with an entire crew of Wookiee

slaves. We lost a few during the process, but I cracked them all, and now they

follow orders and do their work. But Admiral Daala insists that everything  be

in top-notch condition for mobilization by tomorrow."

He flicked the  sizzling green  tip of  the lash in  the air  in front  of

Chewbacca's face, singeing some  of the fur. Chewbacca  peeled back his  black

lips and growled.

"I don't have time to play games  right now," the keeper said. "If I  have

to waste any more time disciplining you, I'm going to dump you out into space.

Do you understand?"

Chewbacca considered roaring in his  face, but the keeper looked  serious.

At the very least Chewbacca  had to survive long enough  to find out what  had

happened to  Han.  A  long time  ago  Han  had rescued  Chewbacca  from  other

enslavers, and he  still owed  the man a  life debt.  He gave a  low grunt  of

acquiescence.

"Good, now get back to that assault shuttle!"

Chewbacca wore gray work coveralls with pockets to hold engine  diagnostic

tools and  hydrospanners.  None  of the  tools  could  be used  as  a  weapon;

Chewbacca had already checked that much out.

The gamma-class assault  shuttle took up  a good portion  of the  Gorgon's

lower hangar bay. Chewbacca had  a small databoard listing the  configurations

for the tractor-beam  projector and  the deflector-shield  generators. He  had

worked on other ships before, and he knew the Falcon inside out thanks to  the

many on-the-spot repairs he and Han had been forced to make. With the specs on

the databoard he could easily service decades-old Imperial technology.

On the rear of the assault  shuttle Chewbacca checked the exhaust  nozzles

of the thrust reactors and grudgingly tested the blaster-cannon mountings.  In

the front of  the vessel a  convenient boarding hatch  allowed access for  the

command crew, but Chewbacca opted for the more rigorous method of popping open

and climbing through one of the foldaway launch doors used to disgorge  zero-G

stormtroopers during a space assault.

Inside, he had access to the engineering level, where he tinkered with the

power modulators and the life-support systems.  He restrained his urge to  rip

out  circuits  and  damage  the   equipment--the  keeper  would  execute   him

immediately, and such a minor  sabotage would accomplish nothing. Even  subtle

damage was likely to be discovered in the initial checkout procedure.

The assault shuttle's spartan passenger section held only benches for  its

complement of spacetroopers, as well as power-coupled storage compartments for

their bulky zero-G armor.

Up front Chewbacca powered up and  checked out the command console, did  a

test run of the twin-tandem flight  computers ... and thought about  uprooting

the chairs on which the five members of the command crew would sit.

Outside in the Gorgon's  hangar bay the fat  keeper shouted and lashed  at

the air. Chewbacca felt a surge of anger upon hearing cries of agony from  the

other cowed Wookiee slaves. He knew nothing about his fellow captives; he  had

been held in  a separate  cell, and  they were not  allowed to  speak to  each

other.

Chewbacca wondered how long it had  been since these exhausted slaves  had

touched the branches of their home trees.

"Get working!" the keeper  yelled. "We have  a lot that  needs to be  done

today! Three hundred ships on the Gorgon alone!" And Chewbacca knew the  three

other star destroyers  had an equal  number of TIE  fighters, blastboats,  and

assault shuttles.

Chewbacca clenched his  fist around  an upraised storage  lid, bending  it

noticeably. He wanted  to know why  Admiral Daala insisted  on such  desperate

speed.

Qwi Xux did not like to be  muscled around by stormtroopers. In her  years

at the Maw Installation, she had learned to ignore the rigid troopers marching

around  the  corridors  in  white  armor,  in  endless  robotic  training  and

formations that made no sense  at all. Did they  all have faulty memories,  or

what? Once she learned something, she didn't need to keep drilling,  drilling,

drilling. Qwi paid  little attention  to them anymore--until  a squad  marched

into her laboratory and insisted that she follow them.

Only moments earlier Qwi had shut down her illicit database searches,  and

she had disengaged the privacy lock on  her lab's entryway. She had no  reason

to think the stormtroopers suspected anything, but she still felt  unreasoning

terror.

The troopers folded around her in a protective bubble as they marched  her

along the tiled corridors. "Where are  you taking me?" Qwi finally managed  to

ask.

"Admiral Daala wishes to see you,"  the captain said through the  filtered

speaker on his helmet.

"Oh. Why?"

"She'll have to tell you that herself."

Qwi swallowed a  cold lump in  her throat and  put a haughty  tone in  her

voice. "Why couldn't she come to me herself?"

"Because Admiral Daala is a busy person."

"I'm a busy person, too."

"She is our commanding officer. You aren't."

Qwi asked no further  questions but followed in  silence as they took  her

across an access  tube to another  asteroid in the  main conglomeration,  then

aboard a small shuttle in the landing bay.

When they arrived  aboard the Star  Destroyer Gorgon, Qwi  could not  keep

herself from staring in wide-eyed  fascination. Though the enormous ships  had

hung in the sky above Maw Installation for as long as she could remember,  Qwi

rarely had an  opportunity to board  them. Her stormtrooper  escorts took  her

directly to the Gorgon's bridge.

The trapezoidal command  tower rose high  above the arrowhead-shaped  main

body, giving a panoramic view overlooking the vast landscape of the ship.  Qwi

stood and stared out the front viewport toward the cobbled-together collection

of rocks that made up Maw  Installation. For a moment she remembered  watching

from the orbiting educational sphere as Moff Tarkin obliterated Omwati  cities

far below. ...

Command crew bustled about their stations,  intent on their work as if  in

the middle of an important drill. In the corridors stormtroopers marched by at

a brisk pace. Overlapping intercom messages peppered the air. Qwi wondered how

the troops could be so busy after a decade of doing nothing.

Admiral Daala stood by her command console, staring at the deadly swirling

gases that blocked  her from  the outside. Qwi  saw her  trim, perfect  figure

masked by an aurora of  chestnut hair that flowed  like a living blanket  down

her back. When Daala turned  to face her, some of  the hair remained where  it

hung, wrapping around her waist while other strands arced behind her.

"You wanted to see  me?" Qwi asked. Her  reedy voice quavered despite  her

efforts to control her nervousness.

Daala looked at  her for a  moment, and  Qwi had the  impression of  being

placed under  a magnifying  lens  in preparation  for dissection.  Then  Daala

suddenly seemed to recognize her. "Ah! You  are Qwi Xux, in charge of the  Sun

Crusher project?"

"Yes, Admiral." She paused a moment, then blurted, "Have I done  something

wrong?"

"I don't know. Have  you?" Daala answered, then  turned back to the  broad

window, staring out at her other ships. "I can't get any straight  information

out of Tol Sivron, so I'll tell you directly. If you have any further work  to

do on your Sun Crusher, finish it now. We are mobilizing the fleet."

Daala misinterpreted Qwi's shocked  silence. "Don't worry--I'll  authorize

whatever assistance you need, but everything must be done within a day. You've

had two years longer than  Grand Moff Tarkin gave you.  It is time to put  the

Sun Crusher to use."

Qwi took a deep  breath, trying to keep  her thoughts from spinning.  "But

why now? Why such a rush?"

Daala whirled back at  her, wearing a sour  expression. "We have  received

new information. The Empire lies wounded and vulnerable on the outside, and we

can't just sit here and wait. We  have four Star Destroyers, a full fleet  the

Rebellion knows nothing about. Since the  Death Star prototype is not  capable

of hyperspace travel, it is useless to us in this operation--but we will  have

the Sun Crusher. Your  beautiful Sun Crusher." The  lights of the fiery  gases

outside glimmered in Daala's eyes. "With  it we can destroy the New  Republic,

system by system."

All of Han's warnings echoed as loud as screams in Qwi's head. He had been

right about everything.

Daala dismissed her, and  Qwi stumbled as  the stormtroopers escorted  her

back toward the waiting  shuttle. Qwi would have  to make her decision  sooner

than she had expected.

In her own quarters  images of planets scrolled  in front of Leia's  eyes.

Statistics, populations, resources-cold data that she had to absorb and assess

to make her decision. She rejected most of the worlds out of hand; others  she

marked as possibilities. So far nothing had  jumped out at her as the  perfect

place for Luke to establish his Jedi academy.

It hadn't seemed  like such a  difficult request, since  the New  Republic

encompassed so many possible  planets. She had found  Dantooine as a new  home

for the survivors from Eol  Sha--why was an academy  site causing her so  much

trouble?

After meeting Luke's first two trainees and seeing how unusual they  were,

Leia suspected  the Jedi  studies would  require complete  isolation. She  had

spoken again to Gantoris  and Streen in  the past day  and was discouraged  to

find both of  them feeling miserable  and abandoned. If  only Luke would  come

back soon--with Han!

As she thought of other places, Leia pondered how Yoda had trained Luke on

the swampy planet of Dagobah, a  place completely devoid of other  intelligent

life. Her brother would want someplace similar for his own trainees.

Okay, what about Dagobah itself? she  thought, putting a fingertip on  her

lower lip. The  swamps had  hidden Yoda for  centuries, and  it was  certainly

isolated from  the mainstream  of  galactic traffic  ...  but Dagobah  had  no

appropriate facilities  either.  They would  have  to erect  an  academy  from

scratch. Mobilizing the New Republic  construction forces, Leia could get  the

job done  in short  order--but she  wasn't  sure that  was the  right  answer.

Somehow she felt the right site would jump out at her. Because the restoration

of the Jedi  Knights meant so  much, Luke  would be very  selective about  the

proper site. She just hadn't found it yet.

The message center buzzed. Again. Though it was barely midmorning, she had

already lost count of the interruptions. With a sigh Leia answered it,  seeing

the image of another minor functionary take shape in the central focus.

"Minister Organa Solo," the  functionary said, "I'm sorry  to call you  at

home, but we need you to decide  on a meal selection for the Bimmini  banquet.

The deadline is today.  The choices are grazer  fillets with tart sauce,  nerf

medallions with sweet fungi, broiled dewback-“

"I'll take the nerf medallions. Thank you!" She switched off the receiver,

then calmed herself before returning to the images of the planets.

In the bedchambers Jacen burst into loud  sobs, joined in a moment by  his

sister. Threepio cooed sounds  of consolation, then began  another one of  his

lullabies, which set them to crying louder. Part of Leia wanted to hurry  into

the children's room to see what was the matter, while another part of her just

wanted to seal their door so she could have a little more quiet.

On the morning after the reception at the Skydome Botanical Gardens,  both

children had come  down with  a cold.  Slight fever,  congestion, and  general

crankiness--the type of frequent minor illness the twins would no doubt suffer

for another few years--but Leia didn't want  to just abandon them to the  care

of Threepio.

After some refresher  programming, the protocol  droid had proved  himself

capable of caring  for the  two-year-olds. But  Leia felt  a defensiveness  in

herself. She was their mother; while it was a new set of responsibilities  for

her, Leia did  not want  a droid to  watch them  all the time,  no matter  how

competent his programming.  The children had  already spent so  much of  their

lives with Winter that Leia wanted to make up for lost time--if her  political

duties would only give her the chance!

Before she  could call  up the  file on  another planet  to consider,  the

message center buzzed again. "What is it?" she said, mustering every scrap  of

civility she still possessed. She did not recognize the alien administrator in

the image.

"Ah, Minister Organa  Solo, I  am calling from  the office  of the  deputy

assistant minister  of industry.  I was  told you  might be  able to  offer  a

suggestion about a type of music that would be appropriate to play during  the

arrival of the Ishi Tib delegate?"

For a moment Leia reconsidered her time  as a prisoner of Jabba the  Hutt.

At least the slug-like  crime lord had  not required her  to do anything  more

than sit there and look beautiful....

Before she finished signing  off, a message came  in from Admiral  Ackbar.

Though she liked the  Calamarian admiral, she found  it difficult to keep  her

temper from boiling. How was she supposed to get anything done with all  these

interruptions?

"Hello, Admiral--can I  help you quickly?  I'm in the  middle of a  rather

large project right now."

Ackbar nodded graciously, swiveling  his big fish eyes  to the front in  a

gesture of courtesy. "Of course, Leia.  I apologize for the interruption,  but

I'd like to solicit your  comments on the speech I  have just written. As  you

remember, I  am giving  it before  the  Cabinet tomorrow,  and you  agreed  to

provide me with  data on  the rezoning of  embassy sectors  in the  devastated

areas of Imperial City. I did write the speech without your input, but I  need

to have the information before tomorrow. I've marked clearly where you need to

add your thoughts. Would it be possible-“

"Of course, Admiral. I'm sorry I haven't been more attentive. Please  send

it to my personal network address, and I'll get to it right away. I promise."

Ackbar nodded his salmon-colored head.  "Thank you, and I apologize  again

for the interruption. I'll let you get back to work."

When he signed off, Leia could do  no more than sit with her eyes  closed,

hoping for a  few moments of  silence. In  quiet times, though,  she began  to

worry too much about Han....

The door chime sounded. Leia almost screamed.

Mon Mothma stood at the doorway in her flowing white robes. "Hello,  Leia.

Do you mind if I come in?"

Leia stuttered, trying to regain  her composure. "Uh, please!" Mon  Mothma

had never come  visiting, never shown  the slightest inclination  to make  any

sort of social call. Though calm  and quietly charismatic, the Chief of  State

had always distanced herself from anyone else.

During the early days of the Rebellion, Mon Mothma had sparred with Leia's

father Bail Organa on the  floor of the Senate. Mon  Mothma was a new  senator

then, a firebrand insisting  on rapid and sweeping  changes that dismayed  the

seasoned and cynical Bail  Organa. Eventually, though,  they joined forces  to

oppose Senator Palpatine in  his quest to become  President; when they  failed

and Palpatine proclaimed himself “Emperor." Mon Mothma began to speak of  open

rebellion. A  horrified Bail  Organa had  not seen  the need  until after  the

Ghorman Massacre, when he finally realized that the Republic he had served for

so long was truly dead.

The death of Bail Organa and the destruction of Alderaan had affected  Mon

Mothma deeply. But she had never hinted that she wished to become friends with

the daughter of  her old  rival. "What  can I do  for you,  Mon Mothma?"  Leia

asked.

Mon Mothma looked  around the  private quarters,  fixing her  gaze on  the

sweeping landscapes  of Alderaan  mounted on  the walls,  the grasslands,  the

organic-looking tower cities, the underground settlements. The faintest  sheen

of tears seemed to film her eyes.

"I learned  that  your  children  are  sick, and  I  wanted  to  offer  my

consolations." She fixed a sharp gaze on  Leia. "And I have also learned  that

Han and Chewbacca never returned from their Kessel mission. I wish you  hadn't

tried to hide that from me. Is there anything I can do?"

Leia looked down. "No. Lando Calrissian  and my brother Luke have  already

gone to see what they can find. I hope they bring back news soon."

Mon Mothma nodded. "And I  also wanted to commend you  on the job you  are

doing. Or perhaps console you is the better word."

Leia could not hide her surprise. "The reception for Ambassador Furgan was

a disaster!"

Mon Mothma shrugged. "And do you think anyone could have performed  better

than you did? You did a perfectly adequate job with the Caridans. Some battles

simply cannot be  won. Given the  Caridans' potential for  galactic mayhem,  I

think getting a drink thrown in my face is a relatively minor debacle."

With a faint smile Leia  had to admit that the  Chief of State was  right.

"Now, if only I could find a place to house Luke's Jedi academy, I'd feel like

I'm making some progress through this whole morass."

Mon Mothma smiled.  "I've been thinking  about that too,  ever since  Luke

made his speech. I believe I have a suggestion."

Leia's dark eyes widened in surprise. "Please!"

Mon Mothma indicated the data terminal in Leia's living chamber. "May I?"

Leia gestured for her  to use the system.  Though a life-long  politician,

Mon Mothma set to work on the database; she was obviously no stranger to doing

her own research.

When images of the  new planet crystallized in  the projection zone,  Leia

felt the tingle of  excitement creep through her.  The confident feeling  that

this was  the  right  place grew  in  her  heart. She  wondered  how  she  had

overlooked something so obvious.

"Consider," Mon Mothma said, smiling. "It has everything he could possibly

need--privacy, good climate, facilities already in place."

"It's perfect! I don't know why I didn't think of it myself."

The message center buzzed again.

"What?" Leia barked at the caller. She realized she should have been  more

restrained, but she had reached  the end of her  fuse. Mon Mothma remained  at

the data terminal, watching from outside the field of view.

The caller  also dispensed  with tact.  "We need  your report  right  now,

Minister Organa  Solo. The  orbital debris  committee is  deliberating on  the

disposition of  wreckage around  Coruscant. You  were supposed  to attend  our

discussions this morning-“

Leia recognized  the  functionary  as  Andur,  the  vice-chairman  of  the

committee. "My aide has already canceled my appointments for today. I'm  sorry

I was unable to attend."

"We received your  cancellation, but  we didn't receive  your report.  You

agreed to write a summary and distribute  it to us at this session. It's  past

due! Sick children do not make the New Republic stop functioning."

Seeing red,  Leia  remembered  standing in  Jabba's  palace,  holding  the

pulsing thermal detonator in her hand, waiting for it to explode and kill them

all. Five, four, three, two...

Somehow she restrained  herself. Perhaps  spending a  day with  Ambassador

Furgan had toughened her calluses. "I may be the Minister of State, Mr. Andur,

but I am also a mother. I have to do both jobs--I can't sacrifice one for  the

sake of the other. My children need me now. The committee can wait."

Miffed, the  vice-chairman raised  his  voice. "It  would have  been  much

easier to complete  our deliberations if  you had been  here rather than  home

playing nurse--couldn't you hire  a medical droid to  take care of your  kids'

runny noses? This is an important issue we're dealing with, affecting the fate

of all space traffic approaching and leaving Coruscant!"

Leia stiffened. "This is  an important issue I'm  dealing with here,  too!

How can you expect me to care about the whole galaxy if I don't even care  for

my own family? If  you wanted mindless devotion  to duty without caring  about

people, then you should have stayed with the old Empire!" She reached for  the

controls. "My  report will  be issued  to you  in due  time, Mr.  Andur."  She

switched him off before he could say another word.

At the end of her outburst,  Leia slumped into her self-conforming  chair,

suddenly remembering her guest. Her face turned scarlet with embarrassment.

"That committee meets weekly, and there's no reason why they couldn't have

waited until next time," she said in a simmering, defensive voice. "I'm really

not going to  let any  important negotiations  go down  the drain.  I know  my

duty."

Mon Mothma  nodded, sharing  one  of her  placid, heart-felt  smiles.  "Of

course you won't,  Leia. I  understand. Don't worry  about it."  The Chief  of

State looked at Leia with what seemed to be a new and surprising respect.

Leia sighed and stared at the planetary image on the data terminal. "Maybe

I should go off and spend a few  months at the Jedi academy myself as soon  as

Luke gets it under way--though I know that'll never happen. Taking a  vacation

from Imperial City is about as easy as walking away from a black hole. Affairs

of state swallow up my entire day."

She caught herself complaining and quickly added, "But of course restoring

the order of the Jedi Knights is  very important. I have the potential to  use

the Force and so do the twins. But  thorough training will take a lot of  time

and concentration-two commodities I don't seem to have."

Mon Mothma looked at  her gravely, then  squeezed Leia's shoulder.  "Don't

worry too much. You have other important things in store for you."

Han rolled over with a groan in the detention cell. The hard ridges on the

surface of his bunk--Han thought  of them as "discomfort stripes"--made  sleep

itself a nightmare.

He awoke  from a  dream about  Leia,  perhaps the  only enjoyment  he  had

experienced in three weeks. The dim  reddish light filtered down, hurting  his

eyes without providing useful illumination.

He blinked his eyes open, hearing  people move outside his cell door,  the

clank of  stormtrooper  boots  on  the floor  gratings,  muffled  voices.  The

cyberlock clicked as someone activated the password code.

He sat up, suddenly alert. His body ached, his mind still buzzed from  the

interrogation drugs, but he  tensed as the  door opened. He  had no idea  what

this was, but he felt certain he wouldn't like it.

Corridor light flooded in, and Qwi Xux stood beside an armed stormtrooper.

She looked battered  and abused by  her own  thoughts, which gave  Han a  smug

grin. He hoped she had lost a  lot of sleep after learning of the  devastating

use to which her inventions had been  put. She might be able to fool  herself,

but she couldn't fool him.

"What, have you come back  to discuss a few more  moral issues, Doc? Am  I

supposed to be your conscience?"

Qwi crossed her pale-bluish arms over her chest. "Admiral Daala has  given

me permission to  interrogate you  again," she  said coldly,  though her  body

language did not match her tone. She turned to the guard, her pearlescent hair

sparkling in  the  dim  corridor.  "Would you  accompany  me  inside  for  the

interrogation, Lieutenant? I'm afraid the prisoner might not cooperate."

"Yes, Dr. Xux," the guard said, following  her into the cell. He slid  the

door partially closed behind him.

While his back was turned, Qwi withdrew a blaster from the utility  pocket

on her smock, pointed it at the  guard, and fired a stun blast. Rippling  arcs

of blue fire surrounded him, then faded as he crumpled to the floor.

Han leaped to his feet. "What are you doing!"

Qwi stepped over the fallen stormtrooper. The previous day she had  seemed

more fragile;  the Imperial-issue  heavy  blaster pistol  looked huge  in  her

delicate hand. "Admiral Daala is mobilizing  this entire fleet in less than  a

day. She plans to take  the Sun Crusher and her  four Star Destroyers to  wipe

out the New Republic. Your friend Kyp Durron is also scheduled for termination

this afternoon." She raised her feathery eyebrows. "Does that add up to enough

of an excuse to escape as soon as we can?"

Han's mind reeled. At the moment all he could think of was seeing Kyp  and

Chewbacca again, then getting back to  Coruscant so he could be reunited  with

Leia and the twins. "I don't have any appointments I couldn't be persuaded  to

cancel."

"Good," Qwi said. "Any questions?"

Han smirked as  he began to  pull on his  disguise of stormtrooper  armor.

"No, I'm used to doing this sort of thing."

Kyp could sense the difference in  the air--his first indication that  his

efforts to focus the Force  were actually accomplishing something. He  studied

every slight change in  air currents, in the  sluggish odors around the  cell,

the myriad tiny sounds that echoed through the metal walls.

Stretching his mind through invisible webs of the Force, Kyp could feel  a

surge from the guards when they walked past his cell. He could sense a  twinge

each time  someone  dispensed  the  food tray  through  the  door.  But  their

attitudes had changed.  Over the whole  ship he could  catch faint ripples  of

activity, tension, growing anxiety.

Something was about to happen.

Closer at hand, he understood  a deeper gut-wrenching truth. The  emotions

had been so clear in  the guard stationed beside  his door the previous  sleep

period. Kyp Durron was not to be part of whatever activity the Star Destroyers

were preparing. A young man  from the spice mines  of Kessel could provide  no

useful information; they had no reason to keep him alive.

Admiral Daala had  already scheduled  Kyp's termination. He  had not  much

longer to live. His lips  curled back in an angry  snarl. The Empire had  been

trying to destroy him all his life, and now they were about to succeed.

When he heard  voices outside  his door, he  sensed the  barrage of  their

uneasiness, the  curdling plans  of  violence behind  the forefront  of  their

minds.

He had no way to defend himself! Despairing, Kyp slid his head against the

cool metal wall  of the door,  trying to pick  out a few  select words of  the

conversation.

“…. scheduled for execution this afternoon."

“... know  that. We  are ...  take him.  Admiral ...  authorization  right

here."

“... irregular. Why ... want him?"

"Weapons test ...  target ...  new concept ...  vital to  the fleet's  new

armaments ... right away!"

“... need specific ... only a general authorization."

"No ... good enough!"

The voices rose, but Kyp couldn't make out more of the words. He tried  to

decipher three voices  talking all at  once. Kyp  made ready to  lash out  the

moment the door slid open. He knew he would be cut down by blaster fire in  no

time--but at least it would  be over, and he would  be shot on his own  terms,

not the Empire's.

“... check with ... first. Wait-“

Suddenly Kyp heard  a thump and  a muffled blast.  A heavy object  smashed

against the doorway.  Kyp flinched  back as the  door whisked  open. The  dead

stormtrooper guard sprawled  backward into his  cell with a  clatter of  white

armor. A smoking hole oozed steam from the waist joint in the brittle uniform.

Another stormtrooper  stepped inside  holding the  still-warm blaster  pistol.

Beside him stood a willowy alien  woman, looking delicate but outraged at  the

same time.

"I hope that  was sufficient authorization,"  the stormtrooper said,  then

pulled off his helmet.

"Han!" Kyp cried.

"I really hate red tape," Han said, nudging the dead guard with his  foot.

"Think you can fit into this uniform, kid?"

"No, I don't want one of the slow old ones!" Qwi snapped at the keeper  of

the  Wookiee  work  detail.  Through  the  narrowed  field  of  view  in   his

stormtrooper helmet, Han watched the delicate woman play the part of a  tough,

impatient researcher.

The rotund man glanced at his  hairy charges, unintimidated as if he  were

accustomed to being shouted  at by prima donna  scientists. The keeper's  face

looked like pale, wet clay.

Han fidgeted,  sweating  in  the  cramped uniform.  The  helmet  had  nose

filters, but the suit still  smelled of body odor  from its former owner.  The

stormtroopers  at  Maw  Installation  lived  in  their  uniforms  and   likely

disinfected the interiors much less often than they polished the exteriors.

The keeper shrugged, as  if Qwi's impatience did  not concern him.  "These

Wookiees have been  worked hard for  over a  decade. What do  you expect  from

them? They're all slow and worthless."

Han could see that most of the other Wookiees wandering around the  hangar

bay had patchy fur and stooped  shoulders, bringing them almost to the  height

of a human. These slaves looked as  if their will had been crushed over  years

of harsh servitude.

"I don't want to hear your excuses," Qwi said. She tossed her head, making

the feathery pearls of her hair shimmer.  "We've been ordered to get a lot  of

work done before the  fleet departs, and  I need a  Wookiee with some  energy.

Give me that new prisoner you have. He'll do the work."

"Not a good idea,"  the keeper said, wrinkling  his pasty forehead.  "He's

unruly, and you'd have to  double-check his work. Can't  trust him not to  try

sabotage."

"I don't care how unruly he can get!" Qwi snapped. "At least he won't fall

asleep on the job."

On the far side  of the bay  a tall Wookiee stepped  out of a  gamma-class

assault shuttle. He straightened from  the cramped quarters and looked  around

the bay. Han  had to force  himself not to  yank off his  helmet and call  out

Chewbacca's name.  The  Wookiee seemed  ready  to strike,  barely  restraining

himself from flying into a suicidal rage. With his bare hands Chewbacca  could

dismantle five or six TIE fighters before the stormtroopers took him down. The

keeper glanced at Chewbacca, as if considering.

"I have authorization from Admiral Daala herself," Qwi said, holding out a

curled hardcopy bearing Daala's seal.  Han glanced at the other  stormtroopers

standing guard  in the  engine pool.  He  could not  invoke the  same  violent

"authorization" he had used to spring Kyp Durron from his cell.

Beside Qwi Xux, Kyp--wearing  the smaller of  the two stolen  stormtrooper

uniforms-stood stock-still. Han knew  the kid must be  terrified, but Kyp  had

snapped to attention  and done everything  Han suggested. Han  felt a rush  of

warmth inside, and he hoped  Kyp could get out of  here to the normal life  he

deserved.

"All right, but you take him at  your own risk," the keeper finally  said.

"I won't be  responsible if he  ruins whatever  you have him  working on."  He

whistled and motioned for a pair of stormtroopers to bring Chewbacca over.

The Wookiee growled in anger, glaring around with hard, dark eyes. He  did

not recognize  Han,  nor  did he  know  Qwi  Xux. Chewbacca  glared  at  them,

resenting another assignment.

"A little more cooperation!" the keeper  yelled, then struck out with  his

energy lash, burning a smoking welt across Chewbacca's shoulder blades.

The Wookiee howled and snarled but somehow restrained himself as the other

stormtroopers hauled out their  blasters, ready to stun  him if he went  wild.

Han tensed, clenching  his fists as  much as the  armored gloves would  allow.

More than anything he wanted to shove the generating handle of the energy-lash

down the keeper's throat and switch it on full power.

But instead Han stood at attention, doing nothing, saying nothing. Like  a

good stormtrooper.

The four of them marched out of the hangar bay. The keeper ignored them as

he strode to the  other captive Wookiees  and began to  strike left and  right

with his energy-lash, venting his anger. Han felt his stomach knotting.

Chewbacca kept looking from side to  side, as if searching for his  chance

to escape. Han  just hoped  they could get  someplace private  before the  big

Wookiee decided to tear them all apart.

The doors closed, leaving them in a harshly lit white corridor.  "Chewie!"

Han said, pulling  off his  stormtrooper helmet. After  breathing through  the

sour nose filters, even the musky scent of a Wookiee smelled sweet to him.

Chewbacca bleated in  delighted surprise and  grabbed Han in  a huge  hug,

wrapping hairy arms around him and lifting  him off the floor. Han gasped  for

breath, grateful for  the protection  of the armor.  "Put me  down!" he  said,

trying to stop himself  from chuckling. "If somebody  sees you, they'll  think

you're killing me! Wouldn't that be a stupid reason to get blasted?"

Chewbacca agreed and lowered him back to the floor.

"Now what?" Han asked Qwi.

"If you can pilot us out of here, we can escape," Qwi said.

Han grinned. "If that's our only problem, we're home free. I can pilot any

ship--just give me the chance."

"Then let's get out of here," she said. "Time is running out."

* * *

When they boarded the shuttle back down to Maw Installation, Han could ask

no further questions. Surrounded by other stormtroopers rigidly minding  their

own business, neither  he nor Kyp  could speak with  Qwi. Casual  conversation

seemed forbidden.

Qwi fidgeted, looking at the shuttle walls, the narrow windows showing the

deadly barrier  of the  Maw itself  with its  secret pathways--if  they  could

escape.

Han desperately wanted to  see Leia and the  twins again. They filled  his

thoughts more and more,  preoccupying him at times  when he should have  fixed

every iota  of attention  on  the peril  around him.  He  ached to  hold  Leia

again--but thinking of  her while  he wore  a stormtrooper  uniform seemed  to

taint the emotion.

Beside him  sat  Kyp,  unreadable  behind a  stormtrooper  mask.  But  the

eyeholes  of  the  helmet  continued  to  turn  toward  Han,  as  if   seeking

reassurance. Han wished he had more to offer--but he did not know Qwi's plan.

Why were they returning to Maw  Installation, rather than just stealing  a

ship and racing off into  space? It would be a  breakneck run, no matter  when

they started--and Admiral Daala's attack preparations grew more complete  with

each hour.

Han had to  warn the  New Republic  of the  disaster about  to befall  it.

First, he had  been concerned about  the concentration of  space power  around

Kessel--but the  fleet of  four  Star Destroyers  and the  Maw  Installation's

secret weapons looked infinitely worse  than whatever Moruth Doole had  pieced

together from the scrap heap.

Chewbacca wore  mechanic's overalls,  looking like  a worker  assigned  to

perform  maintenance  on  some  piece  of   equipment  down  in  one  of   the

laboratories. He made grunting sounds to himself, content to be reunited  with

his friends but anxious for action.

Qwi remained uncommunicative, keeping her thin bluish hands folded in  her

lap. Han wondered if he had gone too far in his accusations of her naiveté and

the evil nature of her work. He wished he knew what she was thinking.

When the shuttle  landed in one  of the Installation's  asteroids and  the

stormtroopers disembarked, Qwi led Han, Kyp, and Chewbacca away from the rocky

hangar through a  tunnel high  enough to allow  the movement  of ships.  "This

way," she said.

Han did not recognize where she was taking them. "Aren't we going back  to

your lab, Doc?"

Qwi froze in mid-step before turning  to him. "No, never again." Then  she

moved on.

When they  reached  a tall  metal  doorway guarded  by  two  stormtroopers

standing at attention, Qwi  took out her badge  again, flashing the  imprinted

holograms in the light. The stormtroopers straightened to attention.

"Open up for me," Qwi said.

"Yes, Dr. Xux," the head guard said. "Your badge, please?"

She handed him her badge with a barely controlled smile. Han began to grow

uneasy. These guards recognized Qwi by sight, and she seemed more  comfortable

now than she had been during other  parts of their escape. Was this some  kind

of treachery? But to what  purpose? He and Kyp  turned toward each other,  but

the stormtrooper helmets kept their expressions unreadable.

"The Wookiee is here  to do heavy maintenance  on the engines--a  complete

coolant overhaul before tomorrow's deployment of the fleet," Qwi said.  "These

two guards are specially trained to  prevent him from acting up. This  Wookiee

has caused some damage before, and we  can't afford delays." Han tried not  to

cringe. Qwi was talking too quickly, letting her nervousness show through.

"Just give me the  proper authorizations," the guard  said. "You know  the

routine." He slid her badge  through a scanner to log  Qwi in, then handed  it

back to her. The stormtrooper seemed unconcerned, as if glad to be posted here

rather than in the middle of frantic preparations for deployment.

Qwi went to the door's  data terminal and punched  up a request, then  she

handed him  the hardcopy  printout of  Admiral Daala's  permission again.  Han

wondered how many times she was going to use the same piece of paper!

"There, you'll  see the  approved  work request  for  the Wookiee  with  a

notation for special handlers. It's been authorized by Tol Sivron himself."

The guard shrugged. "As  usual. Let me scan  the service numbers of  these

two troopers. Then you're free to go in." He entered Han's and Kyp's  numbers,

then worked the door controls.

The great steelcrete doors ground to each side, revealing a hangar lit  by

levitating globes of light.  Overhead, wide rectangular  skylights let in  the

eerie glow of swirling gases around  the Maw. Qwi stepped inside the  chamber,

and her whole demeanor changed, as if she had suddenly turned breathless. Han,

Kyp, and Chewbacca followed.

The guard worked  his controls, and  the doors slid  closed, sealing  them

inside. Qwi visibly relaxed.

Han stared up at a  ship like none he had  ever seen before. Smaller  than

the Millennium Falcon, this craft was oblong and faceted, like a long shard of

crystal. Its own repulsorlifts kept it upright, with an actual ladder  leading

to the open hatch. Defensive lasers bristled from the corners of its facets.

The armor  plating  was multicolored  and  shimmering, like  a  constantly

changing pool of  oil and molten  metal. At  the lower vertex  hung the  oddly

fuzzy torus of an immensely powerful resonance-torpedo transmitter. Though not

much larger  than  a  fighter  craft,  the  Sun  Crusher  hummed  with  deadly

potential.

"We're going to steal that?" Han cried.

"Of course," Qwi  Xux said. "It's  the greatest weapon  ever devised,  and

I've spent eight years of my life designing it. You didn't expect me to  leave

it here for Admiral Daala, did you?"

The Millennium Falcon's  sub-space engines  flared white hot  as the  ship

blasted away from Kessel's garrison moon.  A swarm of fighters streamed  after

it, peppering space with multicolored blaster fire. Large capital ships  began

to nose into the Falcon's flight-path like sleeping giants roused by  stinging

insects.

Lando Calrissian did his best to dodge the concentrated blaster fire. "The

sublight engines are still optimal. Either  Han's been maintaining her with  a

real mechanic for  a change,  or Doole reconditioned  her for  his fleet,"  he

said. "Let's see how well the weapons systems work."

A pair  of  wasp-like  Z-95  Headhunters  streaked  after  them,  shooting

fire-linked banks of  triple blasters;  close behind  followed three  battered

Y-wing long-range fighters.

Luke spun around and  whistled in surprise.  "Headhunters! I didn't  think

anybody used those anymore!"

"Doole couldn't be choosy, I guess," Lando said.

The Falcon rocked with  several direct blaster hits;  the fresh and  fully

charged shields held, though, for the moment.

Lando dropped the  blaster cannon  through its ventral  hatch, then  fired

back at the  pursuers. After five  prolonged shots, Lando  managed to hit  the

exhaust nacelle of a Y-wing,  forcing it to break  formation and peel off  for

repairs.

"One down--only about a thousand more to go," Lando said.

The Z-95 Headhunters pummeled  them with repeated blaster  fire, as if  to

punish the Falcon.

"Go down close to the planet  and skim the atmosphere," Luke said.  "Let's

burn them up in the energy shield."

Lando set  course  for  the  lumpy  world  of  Kessel  as  he  voiced  his

complaints. "We can't  detect that energy  shield either. How  do you know  we

won't get disintegrated ourselves?"

"We've got better reactions than they do."

Lando didn't seem  convinced. "I've  already almost flown  into an  energy

shield once during our attack on the Death Star. I'm not anxious to repeat the

process."

"Trust me," Luke said.

Kessel swelled in front of them, pockmarked and wreathed in a cottony halo

of escaping air. "We're getting close."

Luke held the back of the  pilot chair, his eyes half-closed. He  breathed

regularly, reaching out, sensing the  pulsing power generated as a  protective

blanket by the garrison moon.

"Don't fall asleep on me, Luke!"

"Keep flying."

The Headhunters swooped after, flanked by the remaining pair of Y-wings.

"The aft deflector shield is starting  to feel the pounding," Lando  said.

"If these guys get any closer, they're going to fly up my exhaust ports!"

"Get ready," Luke said.

Kessel filled  their  entire  viewport now,  boiling  with  its  turbulent

thin-air storms, tiny  plumes from the  numerous atmosphere factories  tracing

lines above the landscape.

"I'm ready, I'm ready! Just say the word and I--”

“Pull up, now!"

Lando's tension helped him react like a spring-loaded catapult. He  hauled

up on the controls, ripping the Falcon straight up in a tight cartwheel. Taken

by surprise, all four of the attacking ships splattered into clouds of ignited

fuel and ionized metal as they slammed into the invisible energy shield.

"Missed it by a couple of meters at least," Luke said. "Relax, Lando."

Artoo bleeped, and Luke  answered him after looking  at the expression  on

Lando's  face.  "No,  Artoo,  I  don't  think  he's  interested  in  an  exact

measurement."

They soared just  above the  atmosphere on a  tight orbit  that took  them

around Kessel's poles. The curtain  of stars rolled out  from the edge of  the

planet as the landscape sped beneath them; then they looped back into space in

a mad dash to escape.

They ran straight into the wave  of fighters belching out of the  garrison

moon.

Yelling in surprise, Lando launched  a pair of Arakyd concussion  missiles

from the front tubes. The density of approaching ships was so great that  even

the wild shots scored twice, taking out a TIE fighter and a blast boat,  while

the hot debris cloud destroyed a heavily armed B-wing.

"Let's not get cocky because we took  care of a couple of ships. I've  got

only six more missiles."

"We will not surrender now," Luke said.

"No, I just mean we're running, not fighting. At least the engines are  in

tip-top condition," Lando said. "The Falcon hasn't been this pampered since  I

owned her."

"How fast can we get out of here?" Luke asked.

Jacked next  to the  copilot's chair,  Artoo chittered  and bleeped.  Luke

glanced down and saw  rows of flickering red  lights on the navigation  panel.

"Uh oh."

"What is  he saying?"  Lando said.  He  flicked his  gaze from  the  ships

swarming by the front  viewport to the little  astromech droid. "What's  wrong

with him?"

"The navicomp's not working," Luke said.

"Well, fix it!"

Luke had already dashed  around the bend  in the corridor  to pry off  the

access panel to the Falcon's navicomputer.  He glanced at the boards,  feeling

his heart sink  into a  black hole  as deep as  the Maw.  "They've pulled  the

coordinate module. It's not here."

Lando groaned. "Now what are we going to do?"

In response to  Lando's concussion  missiles, the  Kessel fighters  formed

into tighter battle groups, striking at the Falcon with a firestorm of blaster

bolts. Luke had to shield  his eyes from the  blinding flashes of near  misses

and deflected hits.

"I don't know, but we'd better do it as fast as we can."

"They're from the New Republic!" Moruth Doole fumed in his rage,  stomping

up and down.  "They'll go  back and  report everything!"  He straightened  his

mussed yellow cravat to regain his composure, but it didn't work. He wanted to

squash the escapees like a pair of  bugs to eat. Spies and traitors! They  had

led him along, lied to him, taunted him.

"Send out every  ship we  have!" he screamed  into the  open channel  that

broadcast to his forces. He  had managed to make it  to the command center  on

the garrison moon. "Surround them, crush  them, smash into them. I don't  care

what it takes!"

"Sending out every ship  might not be a  good strategy," responded one  of

the captains. "The pilots don't know  the formations, and they'll just get  in

each other's way."

Doole's mechanical  eye lay  in  pieces scattered  about  the top  of  the

console, and he could not  see well enough to put  it back together. With  the

blurry focus  of  his  one  half-blind  eye,  Doole  could  not  identify  the

dissenting mercenary.

"I don't care!  I don't  want to  lose these like  we lost  Han Solo!"  He

pounded his soft  fist on the  console, jarring the  pieces of his  mechanical

eye. The primary lens bounced, then slid off the edge to shatter on the floor.

The Falcon ran straight toward the Maw, leaving Kessel behind.

"We'll be all right," Luke said. "I can use the Force to guide us  through

on a safe path."

"If there is a safe path," Lando muttered.

Sweat stood out  on Luke's  forehead. "What other  choice do  we have?  We

can't hide anyplace else, we can't outrun all those fighters, and we can't  go

into hyperspace without a navicomp."

"What a great selection of options," Lando said.

Finally mobilized, the capital  ships came after  them, firing ion  cannon

blasts powerful enough to clear a path through an asteroid field. The two  big

Lancer frigates made a  deadly web in  front of the  Falcon with their  twenty

quad-firing laser  cannons; but  the  Lancers were  sluggish, and  the  Falcon

increased its lead.

Somehow the other capital  ships anticipated their run  to the black  hole

cluster and converged  ahead of  them as  Lando pushed  the Falcon's  engines.

"Come on, come on! Just squeeze a little more speed out."

Ten system patrol craft, originally  designed for maximum speed to  combat

smugglers and pirates, surged past the Falcon and lined up in a blockade.  But

in the three-dimensional vastness of space, Lando managed to slip under  their

grasp. Laser blasts erupted all around them.

"Our shields are edging the redlines," Lando said.

Three Carrack-class  light cruisers--midway  in  size between  the  Lancer

frigates and the larger Dreadnaughts such as the ones in Bel Iblis's lost Dark

Force--formed a triple-pronged pincer, right, left, and top.

In hot pursuit behind the Falcon came the jagged ovoid of a Loronar strike

cruiser, the largest ship in the Kessel fleet. As the chase plowed through the

net of system  patrol craft,  the strike  cruiser harmlessly  took stray  fire

meant for the Falcon.

Lando stared out the viewport windows  at the horrifying spectacle of  the

Maw and the  giant battleships moving  to meet them.  Artoo bleeped  something

that even Luke could not translate.

"Only a complete idiot would  go into a place  like that," Lando said.  He

squeezed his eyes shut.

"Then let's just hope they're not idiots, too," Luke said.

Admiral Daala stood  in the  bridge tower  of the  Star Destroyer  Gorgon,

looking out at her fleet and feeling the energy build inside her. The time was

at hand! The Empire might have fallen, but with it went all the people who had

squashed her. Now she could show her worth. Daala could fight her own battle.

She gazed at the misty colors of the Maw and the clump of  strung-together

rocks that had spawned  the weapons for her  assault. In formation the  Hydra,

the Basilisk, and  the Manticore powered  up, waiting to  spring out upon  the

galaxy with swift  and deadly precision.  The New Republic  would fall to  its

knees.

She had no interest in ruling  the former Empire herself--Daala never  had

any such aspirations. Her main intent right  now was just to cause them  pain.

She licked her lips, and  her hair hung heavy  down her back, serpentine  like

the demon for whom her flagship had  been named. Grand Moff Tarkin would  have

been proud.

Commander Kratas, the man who ran  the subsystems of the Gorgon, spoke  to

her from a communication terminal. "Admiral  Daala, I have a priority  message

from the detention level!"

"Detention level? What is it?"

"The prisoners Han Solo and Kyp  Durron have escaped! One guard was  found

stunned in Solo's  detention chamber, and  another is dead  in Durron's  cell.

Both were stripped of their armor. We are attempting to question the  survivor

now."

Daala felt  a jolt  of anger  disrupt the  eagerness singing  through  her

veins. She drew herself up taller, raising her eyebrows and focusing  intently

on Kratas. "Track the  service numbers of the  stolen uniforms. Maybe  they've

logged in somewhere." Her orders came like staccato laser blasts.

Kratas consulted his terminal, spoke  into the comlink. Daala clasped  her

hands behind her back and paced, barking orders to the bridge personnel.  "Put

together a search party immediately. We'll comb every deck of the Gorgon. They

can't have gotten off the ship. There's no place else they could have gone."

"Admiral!" Commander Kratas said. "The surviving guard claims that one  of

the scientists from  the Installation  came to see  Solo. Qwi  Xux. The  guard

insists that Dr. Xux had an authorization directly from you."

Daala's jaw dropped; then  she clamped her lips  together in a  bloodless,

iron line. "Check on the Wookiee! See what's happened to him."

Kratas queried  the  database.  "The  keeper says  that  the  new  Wookiee

prisoner has been requisitioned and taken to a higher-priority assignment." He

swallowed. "Qwi  Xux  was  the  one  who  requisitioned  him.  She  used  your

authorization code again."

Daala's nostrils  flared,  but then  another  thought struck  her  like  a

crashing asteroid. "Oh no!" she said. "They're after the Sun Crusher!"

Alone in the guarded  hangar holding the Sun  Crusher, Han clambered  into

the hatch. "Can't remember the last time I had to use a ladder to get inside a

ship! Pretty primitive for such a sophisticated weapon."

"It  works."  Qwi   hauled  herself   up  the  rungs   behind  him.   "The

sophistication is inside. All the rest is just window dressing."

Han sat  down in  the  pilot's chair  in the  cockpit  and looked  at  the

controls. "Everything seems  to be labeled  the way it  should be, though  the

placement is a  little odd. What's  this for?  Wait a minute,  I'll figure  it

out."

Kyp  reached  the  top  of  the  ladder,  paused,  then  pulled  off   his

stormtrooper helmet. "Those mask  filters stink!" he  said, then with  obvious

pleasure tossed  the  skull-like  helmet  to the  floor  of  the  chamber.  It

clattered and bounced  like a severed  head. Kyp's dark  hair was curled  with

sweat and mussed from the confining helmet, but his face shone with a grin.

Chewbacca swung  into  the compartment,  ducking  his head  and  squeezing

through the narrow hatch. He looked at the skylights in the chamber's ceiling,

then growled at the shape of a Star Destroyer orbiting overhead.

Han dropped his  own helmet to  the floor  of the cockpit.  Kyp kicked  it

under the seat and  out of the  way. Han touched  the Sun Crusher's  navicomp,

switching it on. "This thing is in  better shape than the Imperial shuttle  we

stole. Are all the coordinates burned into the database, Doc?"

Qwi nodded, sitting down primly and strapping herself into her seat.  "The

Sun Crusher has been ready to go for years. We've just been waiting for orders

from the Empire. Good thing nobody came back, right?"

Han pursed his lips, scanning the controls. "Everything here looks  pretty

standard," he said. "I won't have much time for practice."

Chewbacca gave an  ear-splitting Wookiee bellow  of challenge. Below,  Han

heard the heavy  armored door grind  open and then  clattering footsteps as  a

squad of stormtroopers charged into the chamber.

Standing at the door, Kyp  stuck his head out  of the narrow hatch.  "Here

they come!"

"Seal that hatch, kid," Han shouted. "We're in here for the duration  now!

Chewie, have you found the weapons controls yet?"

In the copilot's chair, Chewbacca ran his huge hands over the buttons  and

dials. Finally finding  what he  wanted, he let  out a  yowl. Defensive  laser

cannons mounted at different targeting angles swiveled as he tested the aiming

mechanisms.

Small thuds banged  against the  Sun Crusher's hull  as the  stormtroopers

fired their blaster rifles,  causing no damage. Han  looked at Qwi. "We  don't

even have the shields on!"

"This armor will  hold against anything  they can throw  against us,"  she

said with a smug smile. "It was designed to."

Han grinned and cracked  his knuckles. "Well, in  that case let's take  an

extra few seconds and do this  right!" He worked the controls, activating  the

repulsorlift engines. The interior  of the Sun Crusher  wobbled as the  entire

craft rose into the air, floating on its repulsor cushion. Outside they  could

hear the faint screeching of an alarm.

"Chewie, point those  laser cannons  straight up. Let's  give ourselves  a

twenty-one-gun salute--right through the roof!"

The Wookiee roared to himself; then,  without waiting for Han to give  the

order, he fired all of the Sun  Crusher's weaponry at once. Kyp scrambled  for

his seat, strapping himself  in. Qwi stared  at the roof  of the cockpit  with

wide eyes.

The ceiling of  the hangar chamber  blasted outward under  the barrage  of

laser energy. Some  of the  larger chunks  of rubble  fell downward,  clanging

against the Sun  Crusher's hull, but  most of the  skylights burst into  space

with the outrushing of contained air that spewed into the Maw.

Stormtroopers, flailing their arms and  legs, were sucked out through  the

breach, flotsam among the rock and  transparisteel debris in low orbit  around

the  clustered  rocks.  Their  armor   might  protect  them  against   massive

decompression for a few minutes, but every one of them was doomed.

Han raised the Sun Crusher up,  accelerating through the escape hole  they

had blown through the top of the  chamber. They shot into open space, and  Han

felt an exhilaration he had not felt since they had first arrived at Kessel.

"Here goes nothing!" he said. "Now for the fun part."

Staring down at the Installation  from the Gorgon's bridge, Admiral  Daala

felt her stomach  knot. For years  her entire  duty had been  to protect  that

small clump of  planetoids, to pamper  the scientists. Grand  Moff Tarkin  had

said these people held the future security of the Empire, and she had believed

him.

Daala had  been stepped  on, abused,  taken advantage  of at  the  Caridan

military academy.  Tarkin had  rescued her  from that.  He had  given her  the

responsibility and the  power she had  earned through her  own abilities.  She

owed Tarkin everything.

She would avenge him  by destroying the New  Republic as she caused  their

star systems to go supernova one by one. They could hide nowhere. At the  same

time, she would make her mark on the history of the galaxy, a warlord who  had

succeeded where an  entire Empire had  failed. The thought  made Daala's  pale

lips curl upward in a grim smile.

As she watched, Daala saw the puff of an explosion on one of the rocks  of

Maw Installation.  Then  the tiny  form  of the  Sun  Crusher streaked  by,  a

characteristically  angular  speck  fleeing  the  confines  of  the  planetoid

containing it.

"Red alert!" she shouted. "Mobilize all forces. They have the Sun Crusher,

and we can't let them take it away. That is our most valuable weapon!"

"But ... Admiral," Commander  Kratas said, "if  the technical reports  are

correct, nothing can harm the Sun Crusher."

"We  must  find  some  way  to  capture  them.  Mobilize  the  other  Star

Destroyers. We'll try to blockade them,  cut off their escape. Release  enough

small fighters to overwhelm them."

She fixed Kratas with her gaze. Her  hair seemed to rise by itself, as  if

threatening to become a garrote for  his throat. "Make certain you  understand

this, Commander. I don't care how many  losses we take, we cannot forfeit  the

Sun Crusher. That  one weapon is  worth more to  me than all  six TIE  fighter

squadrons onboard this Star Destroyer. Retrieve it at all costs."

Three Star Destroyers closed in behind the stolen Sun Crusher.

"Didn't take them long to figure something was up," Han said.

Clouds of TIE fighters spewed out  of the launching bays of the  Manticore

and the Gorgon, swarming toward them in formations so dense that Han could not

see through  them.  Flashing,  splattering laser  bolts  struck  like  pelting

raindrops on the viewscreen.

"I always wanted to see if I could fly blindfolded," Han said.

"What are they doing? Trying to smother us or just confuse us?" Qwi said.

The Sun Crusher, undamaged,  rocked left and right  from the pummeling  of

blaster strikes. "No, but  they can wipe out  our external weaponry--in  fact,

they already have," Han said, checking the readouts. "Every one of our  lasers

is offline."

"We just have to outrun them then," Kyp said.

Another Star  Destroyer,  the Basilisk,  unleashed  its squadrons  of  TIE

fighters in wave after wave out of the launching bay.

"Those ships are going to clog space so we can't even move!" Han  wrenched

the Sun Crusher's controls, trying to  dodge but just squeezing his eyes  shut

most of the time.  "Whoever heard of a  traffic jam in the  middle of a  black

hole cluster?"

Kyp grabbed his shoulder. "Watch out, Han."

The fourth and last Star Destroyer reared up between them and the  outside

universe, blocking  their passage.  The  Hydra lanced  out with  its  enormous

turbolaser cannons, aiming  concentrated firepower at  the single small  ship.

The remaining three Star  Destroyers pressed in from  behind to cut off  their

escape through the maze of the black hole cluster.

"Now what?" Kyp asked. The great arrowhead shape of the Hydra filled space

in front of them.

"Qwi, you said this armor could take anything, didn't you?" Han asked.

"Everything I could test it with."

"All right, hold  on. Time to  accelerate for whatever  this fancy toy  is

worth." He jammed the  control levers back. The  sudden force shoved the  four

escapees back into  their seats as  the Sun Crusher  surged forward,  straight

toward the Hydra.

The huge battleship grew larger and larger, filling their entire field  of

view, and still expanding. Great green turbolaser bolts shot out at them,  but

the cannons could not  refocus their aimpoints fast  enough to compensate  for

the ship streaking directly at them.

"Han, what are you doing?" Kyp cried.

"Trust me," Han said. "Or actually, trust her." He nodded toward Qwi.  "If

she messed up her  test measurements, we're  all going to  be one big  organic

pancake!"

The Hydra's trapezoidal bridge tower rushed toward them, directly in their

path. One suicidal  TIE fighter  rammed into the  Sun Crusher  to deflect  its

course, but merely exploded upon hitting the invincible quantum armor. Han had

no trouble compensating for the error in trajectory.

"Look out!" Qwi yelled.

Details of the bridge tower filled their view now as they screamed  toward

the Imperial battleship. Han could actually see the windows of the bridge, the

tiny figures of  the command crew,  some of them  paralyzed in horror,  others

fleeing madly.

"Han!" Qwi and Kyp screamed in unison. Chewbacca gave a wordless roar.

"Right down their throat!" Han said.

The armored Sun  Crusher tore through  the Hydra's control  bridge like  a

bullet. Flying debris sprayed in their wake. The ship shot out the other side,

shredding the superstructure on its way out.

The impact, the inferno,  and a sound like  a thousand gongs knocked  them

into a temporary stupor.  Han finally whooped. "We  made it!" Behind them  the

great battleship erupted in flames.

"You're crazy!" Qwi said.

"Don't thank me yet, Doc," Han said.

Burning, out of control, the decapitated Hydra wheeled backward,  drifting

helplessly toward the gravitational trap of  one of the black holes. A  flurry

of escape pods shot out of the crew decks, but the low-power lifeboat  engines

could not generate  sufficient acceleration  to take  them free  of the  black

holes, and their trajectories began to spiral in.

The lower decks  and the  immense hyperdrive  engines of  the doomed  Star

Destroyer began to explode  as it toppled  into the unstable  trap of the  Maw

cluster. Clouds of belching flames stretched out and elongated, mingling  with

the swirling gas as the Hydra began its infinite plunge into the singularity.

"We're not home free by a long shot," Han said as he soared into the  soup

of ionized  gas.  "Okay, Kyp,"  he  said. "Now  it's  your turn  to  take  the

controls. Get us out of here."

Moments later  the other  three  Star Destroyers  rallied behind  them  in

howling pursuit.

On the  Gorgon's bridge,  Admiral Daala  watched in  horror as  the  Hydra

crumpled into destruction, its command bridge  blown apart from the impact  of

the Sun Crusher. The battleship's only survivors would be the fighters in  the

six TIE squadrons; otherwise, all hands would be lost.

Though her  expression was  carved  in ice,  hot  tears burned  unshed  in

Daala's eyes. Thousands of  people crashed to their  deaths as the Hydra  fell

like a great slain dragon into the black whirlpool.

Glinting with  its  maddening  invincibility,  the  Sun  Crusher  streaked

through the wreckage, arrowing for the outer wall of the Maw.

"After them!" Daala snapped. "Full pursuit."

Failure crashed down on her like an anvil. She had been hiding in the  Maw

for too long, drilling her troops, putting them through practice exercises and

dress rehearsals--but that  had not been  enough. In her  first actual  battle

Daala had lost a quarter of her command--against four escaped prisoners!

Grand Moff  Tarkin would  have  struck her  sharply  across the  face  and

relieved her of her rank. Daala's cheeks stung with the imaginary blow.  "They

will regret the day they ever unleashed us!" she whispered.

But without  the Sun  Crusher, her  plans to  spread havoc  among the  New

Republic would fall apart.  She took a  deep, sharp breath.  No time to  panic

now. Think fast. Make decisions. Salvage the situation.

The communications dais shimmered,  and an image  of Tol Sivron  appeared.

The transmission  flickered  with staticky  disruptions  caused by  the  laser

blasts flashing around  them. "Admiral  Daala! If  you intend  to deploy  your

fleet, I insist that you take the scientists of Maw Installation with you."

Not bothering  to  turn  and look  at  the  image of  the  Twi'lek,  Daala

continued to watch  the Hydra's fiery  death. She thought  of all the  run-ins

she'd had  with  the  administrator--Sivron's incompetence,  his  delays,  his

excuses, his insistence on reports and tests ad nauseum. "You're on your  own,

Tol Sivron. It is time we do our duty as Imperial soldiers."

Tol Sivron flicked his  head-tails straight out  behind him in  agitation.

"Are you just going to leave us  undefended? What about the orders Grand  Moff

Tarkin gave you? You are  supposed to protect us! At  least leave one of  your

Star Destroyers behind."

Daala shook her head,  making coppery hair stream  around her. "Tarkin  is

dead, and I'm making all the decisions now. I need every ounce of firepower to

deal a fatal blow to the New Republic."

"Admiral Daala, I must insist-was Daala  yanked out the blaster pistol  at

her hip and pointed it  at Sivron's image on  the communications dais. If  the

Twi'lek had been on the bridge in  person, she would have killed him; but  she

would not destroy valuable  equipment in a fit  of anger. Keeping the  blaster

pointed directly into Tol  Sivron's image, as if  to threaten him, she  strode

forward. "Request denied, Director Sivron," Daala said, then disconnected  the

dais. She turned back to watch her fleet, undisturbed.

"Commander Kratas, we are  going to leave  the Maw in  pursuit of the  Sun

Crusher. Recall all TIE fighter squadrons, now!"

Kratas gave the  order, and she  watched as the  tiny ships streamed  back

toward their bays.  Daala fidgeted,  hating the  delay. "Have  all three  Star

Destroyers link into  the same course  computer. I will  call up the  specific

coordinates from my own personal records, coded to my password."

The  last  time  anyone  had  left  Maw  Installation,  it  had  been  the

construction engineers--and they had been given the wrong course, dooming them

to fall into one of the black holes. This time, though, Admiral Daala and  all

the firepower at her disposal would  spring out upon the unwary galaxy,  ready

to take it back.

The Sun Crusher vibrated from a  thousand stresses as it rode the  razor's

edge of gravity through the maelstrom of the Maw.

Kyp Durron sat at  the simplified controls, next  to the watchful eyes  of

Han Solo, but Han didn't dream of interfering with Kyp's intuition, no  matter

how nightmarish the path ahead seemed.

Kyp half closed  his eyes  as he  looked through  a mental  vision of  the

perilous maze to safety. He jerked  the ship to starboard, then plunged  down,

frantically avoiding unseen obstacles. Han kept a firm, reassuring pressure on

the kid's shoulder. Hot gas blazed around them like hell's furnace.

Qwi Xux stared at Kyp and his blind piloting, her dark-blue eyes wide  and

her face transfixed with terror.

"Don't worry," Han  said. "The  kid knows what  he's doing.  He'll get  us

through, if anybody can."

"But how is he  doing it?" Qwi's voice  sounded flutey, like  high-pitched

notes played by an amateur performer.

"Not in any way your  science can explain. I'm  not sure I understand  the

Force myself,  but I  don't  question it.  I  used to  think  it was  a  hokey

religion, but not anymore."

Abruptly the curtains  of gas  parted in front  of them,  peeling away  to

reveal the black infinity of open space. At last they were free of the Maw!

In their mad run away from the  forces of Kessel, Luke and Lando tried  to

push through the  clustered capital  ships. They  winced simultaneously  every

time a bolt impacted the Falcon's shields.

The mammoth form of the Loronar  strike cruiser lay directly across  their

path, cutting them off from a dubious escape into the Maw. The ten ion cannons

mounted in front of the strike cruiser belched destruction at them.

One bolt struck the Millennium Falcon dead on, and their systems flickered

as sparks flew out of the control panels.

Lando grabbed  at the  overrides  and yelled  to  Luke, "Our  shields  are

failing, and these guys don't want to take prisoners."

"Just get us into the Maw," Luke said. "It's our only chance."

"I never thought I'd  be keeping my fingers  crossed for that to  happen!"

Lando hunched over  the controls. "Artoo,  see if  you can pump  up the  front

shields. We're going to take quite a pounding from that strike cruiser when we

pass by. One good hit and we're fried."

"Wait," Luke  said,  squinting  at  the  swirling  gases  ahead  of  them.

"Something's coming out!"

The thorn-like form  of the Sun  Crusher streaked away  from the  cluster,

leaving a  trail  of  hot  gases.  A  few  moments  later  three  fully  armed

Imperial-class Star Destroyers charged out of the Maw like banthas on fire.

Han's sigh of relief turned  into an exclamation of  dismay as he saw  the

array of  Kessel's battle  fleet  massed in  front  of them,  weapons  already

blazing. "Where did all those ships come from! They can't still be waiting for

us!"

Exhausted from his piloting ordeal, Kyp  said, "Han, why is it that  every

time we escape, we end up in a worse situation than the one we left?"

"Just good timing, kid." He slammed his fist down on the armored controls.

"This isn't fair! They should have given us up for dead days ago!"

Chewbacca yowled and jabbed his hairy finger at the viewport, pointing  to

a ship at the vanguard of the gathered attack forces. The Millennium Falcon.

Han's lip curled  downward. "I'm going  to get that  slime merchant  who's

flying my ship. Don't we have any of our laser cannons still operational?"

After rechecking the banks of instruments, Chewbacca grunted a negative.

"Then we'll ram them like we did that Star Destroyer."

"Han," Kyp said, "it looks  to me like those  other ships are chasing  the

Falcon. They're shooting at it."

Han  leaned  forward  to  take  a  closer  look.  Qwi  agreed  with  Kyp's

assessment. "That light freighter doesn't appear  to be part of the  attacking

fleet."

Green turbolaser bolts streaked toward  the Falcon from the system  patrol

craft, the big  strike cruiser,  and the Carrack-class  light cruisers.  Han's

expression changed immediately. "Hey,  what's going on  here? They better  not

blow up my ship!"

Then Daala's Star Destroyers emerged behind them, plowing their way out of

the clutches of the Maw.

"Look on the rear screens, Han!" Kyp said.

The Star  Destroyers  Gorgon,  Basilisk,  and  Manticore  burst  out  like

monsters leaping from a closet, giant demons loaded with destructive  weaponry

from the fallen Empire.

The pell-mell  mercenary  forces of  Kessel,  already firing  their  laser

cannons at  the Falcon,  ran headlong  into the  Imperial fleet.  Some  peeled

sideways, turning to flee back toward the sanctuary of Kessel. Others panicked

and opened fire on the Star Destroyers.

Admiral Daala tried  to control  the actions of  her entire  fleet from  a

single station on the bridge. Encountering  the strange warships on the  other

side of the Maw shocked her, but she reacted quickly. "Shields up! This was  a

trap. The Rebels had their forces here waiting."

How had Han Solo deceived her interrogation droid? Had the Rebels  somehow

found out about the Installation and  sent Solo inside with a cooked-up  story

to lure Daala's fleet out where they could be destroyed?

She saw the enemy fleet opening fire on her ships, but they were no  match

for her firepower. After all, Grand Moff Tarkin had given her enough  weaponry

to slag whole planets.

"Battle stations! Let's mop up this rabble once and for all." She  pointed

to the conglomeration of fighters swarming across her path. "Open fire!"

* * *

Luke and Lando spared a  moment to glance at  each other as the  crossfire

erupted around them.

"This could be our chance to get out of here!" Lando said.

"Yeah, they might not  even notice us leaving,"  Luke said. "But where  in

the universe did those Star Destroyers come from?"

Suddenly a  beep  sounded  from the  Falcon's  comm-channels,  distinctive

because it sounded so innocent amid  the warning tones of overloading  systems

and failing shields.  Artoo whistled,  calling attention to  it. Lando  looked

down.

"We're getting a message over the Falcon's private comm frequency."  Lando

frowned. "How would anybody know to transmit that? How would anybody even know

the Falcon's private code?"

Then Han Solo's  angry voice burst  over the speaker.  "Whoever is on  the

Falcon better have a damned good reason for flying my ship!"

"Han! Is that you?" Lando said. A sudden thrill surged through Luke.

"Lando?" Han  said  after a  pause.  Over the  speakers  Chewbacca's  roar

drowned out Han's own exclamation. "What are you doing here?"

In space around them, blinding lances  of light flashed as the weapons  of

two fleets were brought  to bear. Like rival  krayt dragons in mating  season,

the Kessel and Imperial forces slammed into each other in a total free-for-all

space brawl.

"Han, listen to me. Luke is here, too," Lando said. "We've got to get away

from Kessel, but the Falcon's navicomputer is disabled. We can't make the jump

into hyperspace."

An explosion rocked them from the  starboard side, but most of the  Kessel

fighters concentrated their  firepower on  the much larger  threat of  Daala's

Imperial fleet. Though hopelessly outmatched, the three Carrack cruisers lined

up and began to blast the Basilisk.

Over the private comm channel Han  spoke to someone else behind him,  then

answered Lando. "We can dump the  coordinates to your navicomp, and we'll  fly

tandem back to Coruscant."

Lando checked the computer, saw the numbers scrolling through, and  raised

a fist in triumph. "Got it! Artoo, get ready to go."

"You'd better keep my ship safe, Lando," Han said. "On my signal."

"You have my  word, Han." Lando's  hands flew over  the Falcon's  familiar

controls.

"Ready to enter hyperspace!" Han said.

The Kessel forces  flanked and  attacked the far  larger Star  Destroyers,

pummeling the Imperial ships with blasts from their ion cannons and turbolaser

banks. But the Star Destroyers disgorged  their own squadrons of TIE  fighters

to butcher the unregimented forces from Kessel.

"On your mark, Han!"

"Punch it!"

The last  thing  they saw  was  Kessel's massive  Loronar  strike  cruiser

exploding under the  concerted fire from  the Manticore and  the Gorgon.  They

watched the  flaming hulk  reel  and ram  into  the Star  Destroyer  Basilisk,

causing the bottom of the arrowhead hull to buckle and burn.

Then the universe filled with starlines.

The reunion was everything Han  had imagined. He had  spent a lot of  time

thinking about it during the long hyperspace flight back to Coruscant.

Leia and the twins met him the  moment the Sun Crusher and the  Millennium

Falcon touched down side by side at the high landing platform. Han backed  out

of the Sun Crusher's hatch  and began climbing down  the ladder, but Leia  ran

forward and hugged him before he managed to get all the way down.

"Glad I'm back?" he asked.

"I missed you!" she said, kissing him.

"I know," he said with a roguish smile.

She put her hands on her hips. "What? You didn't miss me?"

Han turned away  sheepishly. "Well, first  we crashed on  Kessel, then  we

were stuck in the spice mines, then we got captured by a bunch of Imperials in

the middle of a black hole cluster. I really didn't have a whole lot of-“

When Leia looked as  if she were  going to punch him,  Han reacted with  a

grin. "But even through all that I don't remember more than about two  seconds

when I didn't miss you with all my heart."

Leia kissed him again.

Artoo trundled  down the  Falcon's  ramp, and  Threepio bustled  to  greet

him."Artoo-Detoo!  I'm  so  glad  you're   back.  You  wouldn't  believe   the

difficulties I've had while you were gone!"

Artoo bleeped something nobody bothered to translate.

Kyp Durron and Qwi Xux climbed down from the Sun Crusher and stared out at

the endless spires  and towers of  Imperial City, the  metropolis of  glinting

transparisteel and alloy that  stretched to the horizon.  Above them the  tiny

lights of shuttles winked across the sky. "Now that's a city!" Kyp said with a

sigh.

Qwi looked  overwhelmed.  The  Sun  Crusher  would  be  transferred  to  a

high-security hangar for study by the scientists of the New Republic.

Qwi did not like abandoning it, but she had no choice.

Han strode over to his two children, bending his knees and gathering Jacen

and Jaina into his arms.

"Hey, kids! Do you remember your daddy? It's been a long time, huh?"

He  mussed  their  hair  and  stared  down  at  them  with  the  wide-eyed

astonishment he always felt  when seeing how much  they had grown between  the

visits Winter arranged to the hidden  planet of Anoth. Now, though, Jacen  and

Jaina's two years of isolation and protection were over, and the children were

home to stay, leaving only baby Anakin in need of special protection.

Jacen nodded; then a moment later Jaina nodded as well. Han wasn't sure he

believed their answer, but he hugged them anyway. "Well, if you don't remember

me, I'll try to make it up to you from now on."

* * *

A  puffed-up  official   wearing  the  bright   uniform  of  an   offworld

administrative office finally cornered Lando in a high-brow diplomatic lounge.

The  official  held  an   armored  briefcase  similar   to  the  type   credit

investigators carried, and he  had the same pinch-faced  demeanor of a  person

being given a mission whose importance he drastically overestimated.

"Are you Lando Calrissian?" the official said. "I have been attempting  to

locate you for several  days. You've made my  job most difficult." He  bustled

forward.

Lando saw that  he could not  slip out  the back entrance  of the  lounge.

Beside him at the table Han raised his eyebrows. Both of them had gone to  the

lounge to relax and settle down  after their long debriefings by the  Alliance

High Command.

Unfortunately,  the   lounge   catered  to   bureaucrats   and   political

functionaries, and served only  cloyingly sweet drinks.  Han and Lando  sipped

theirs slowly, trying to keep from grimacing.

Lando had heard rumors about an investigator trying to track him down  and

had managed to avoid him thus far. He feared some debtor coming after him,  or

a complaint regarding the  tibanna gas mining operations  he had abandoned  on

Bespin or the hot metal mines he had recently lost on Nkllon.

"Yes, you finally caught me," Lando said with a sigh. "What do you want? I

can get the best legal representation in the galaxy here in Imperial City."

"That won't  be necessary,"  the investigator  said, heaving  his  armored

briefcase onto the table, then fiddling  with the cyberlock. "I'll be glad  to

be rid of this."

He lifted the lid  of his case, and  glittering light sparkled out.  Other

people in the  lounge turned  to gape.  The briefcase  brimmed with  carefully

sorted packets of firefacet gems and shimmering chrysopaz.

"I am from the planet  Dargul, and this is the  reward owed to you by  the

Duchess Mistal for the safe return of  her beloved consort Dack. You can  have

them appraised, but  I am told  these jewels are  valued at approximately  one

million credits. Plus the briefcase, which is worth another forty."

Lando stared, hunched over the briefcase  and dazzled by its contents.  "A

million?" he said.

"A million, plus forty for the briefcase."

"But I was only supposed to get half of the reward."

The investigator reached into his pocket.  "I neglected to give you  this.

It is  a message  wafer for  you from  Slish Fondine,  the owner  of the  blob

stables where you assisted apprehending our  consort Dack." He handed Lando  a

small rectangular object.

Lando turned it over in his hand, frowning, then ran his fingernail  along

the crease in its center. He cracked  the message wafer open, then folded  the

two halves back to stand it upright on their small table.

An image of the blob-stable owner wafted up. "Greetings, Lando Calrissian.

Since you are listening  to this message, I  will assume you've received  your

reward. I'm happy to  say that your suggestion  of not executing the  criminal

Tymmo has  proved  advantageous  to  all  concerned.  Duchess  Mistal  was  so

delighted to receive her consort back that she insisted on paying you the full

reward, as well as offering to build a subsidiary blobstacle course for me  in

the main stadium on Umgul. We are already hiring creative engineers to  design

even tougher blobstacles for  the new course, which,  at the Duchess  Mistal's

request, will be called the "Dack Track."

"I am forwarding these  firefacet and chrysopaz gems  to you and hope  you

will spend the reward wisely. Why not come to Umgul and do some gambling?  I'd

be happy to be your host."

As the message dissolved into wisps  of light, Lando could do little  more

than stare open-mouthed at his fortune.

Han laughed, then gestured for the  short investigator to sit down.  "Join

us for  a drink.  In fact,  here--you can  have mine!  It's too  sweet for  me

anyway."

The investigator  shook his  head, the  hard expression  remaining on  his

face. "No, thank you. I don't think I would enjoy that. I'd rather get back to

my work." With that the investigator left the lounge.

Han clapped Lando on the shoulder. "What are you going to do with all that

money? Still thinking of investing it in spice mining?"

Lando came back to reality with a streak of defensiveness. "I hate to  say

this, but when Moruth Doole  showed us around, I  was rather impressed by  the

potential there.  Spice  has plenty  of  good uses,  too-perfectly  legitimate

alternatives in psychological  therapy, criminal investigation,  communication

with alien races, even artistic inspiration and entertainment. You knew  that,

Han, or you wouldn't have run spice yourself in the old days."

"You've got a point, Lando."

But Lando's imagination kept working on the problem. "I don't see why  the

spice mines have to be run as some sort of slave-lord operation. A lot of that

could be automated.  Even if there  are more of  those energy spiders  running

around, we could just use super-cooled  droids down in the deeper tunnels.  No

big investment. I don't see what the problem is."

Han looked  at him  skeptically, took  a  gulp of  his sweet  drink,  then

puckered his lips. "Uh-huh."

"Besides," Lando said, "I'm in the market  for a new ship. I had to  leave

the Lady Luck stranded on Kessel. I may never get her back. What am I supposed

to do for the time being?"

Seeing the eager stares from the others in the lounge, Lando snapped  shut

the lid of  the armored briefcase.  "Well, anyway, it's  wonderful just to  be

solvent again!"

"Everybody in!"Wedge  Antilles called  inside  the echoing  Imperial  City

spaceport. "Let's get ready to go."

The last of the New  Republic colonization specialists, sociologists,  and

survival instructors hauled  their personal packs  up the ramp  of the  medium

transport. The ninety-meter-long ship  occupied the better  part of an  entire

bay in the supply  sector, but the  group needed a  transport large enough  to

haul the  Eol Sha  survivors and  their  meager possessions,  as well  as  the

supplies necessary to set up a new home on Dantooine.

Wedge kept  track  of the  final  details  of the  operation,  skimming  a

checklist on his datapad. At least this was a better assignment than  knocking

down ruined buildings--for  the time being.  He was glad  to be flying  again,

even if it was only a sluggish transport carrier instead of a fighter.

But he knew tougher assignments lay in the near future. Admiral Daala  and

her three  Imperial Star  Destroyers had  devastated the  Kessel system,  then

vanished into hyperspace. The New Republic had sent its best trackers to  find

where she had gone  to hide. Han  insisted she was  bound to make  destructive

guerrilla strikes, popping out of hyperspace  and blasting a random planet.  A

loose cannon like Daala would not  follow a predictable overall strategy.  The

entire New Republic had to be on its guard.

Chewbacca insisted that a  New Republic occupation force  head out to  the

Maw Installation to free the other  Wookiee slaves. The Alliance High  Command

also wanted to get their hands on any other plans and prototypes remaining  in

the secret weapons  lab. So  much for relaxing  and picking  up pieces,  Wedge

thought. Things are going to get a lot more interesting.

But right now his assignment was to get the people of Eol Sha to safety on

their new homeworld.

When everything checked out onboard, Wedge noticed Gantoris standing alone

beside supply containers piled next to  the wall. The displaced colony  leader

looked tall and powerful, but didn't seem  to know how to react to seeing  the

relocation ship leave.

"Don't worry," Wedge called,  "we'll take your people  to their new  home.

After living with volcanoes  and earthquakes all  their lives, Dantooine  will

seem like a paradise to them."

Gantoris nodded, furrowing his smooth forehead. "Give them my greetings."

Wedge waved to  him. "You  just go  and become the  best of  the new  Jedi

Knights."

Luke looked deep into the eyes of Kyp Durron, searching for the core of  a

Jedi. The younger man flinched but continued to meet Luke's gaze.

"Are you nervous, Kyp?" Luke asked.

"A little. Should I be?"

Luke smiled as he remembered boasting to Yoda that he wasn't afraid of his

impending Jedi training. "You will be," Yoda had said, "you will be!"

Han interrupted them,  clapping his  hand on Kyp's  shoulder. "You  should

have been there to watch  him zipping through the  dark spice tunnels. And  he

navigated us right through the Maw with his eyes closed! This kid has a lot of

potential, Luke."

Luke nodded. "I was about to do that  trick in the Maw myself. I know  how

difficult it must have been."

"Does that mean you'll take me for your Jedi academy?" Kyp asked. "I  want

to know how to use  this power I have.  While I was sitting  in a cell on  the

Star Destroyer, I vowed never to be helpless again."

Luke withdrew the power pack and sheet-crystal sensor paddles from the old

Imperial scanner that had  once been used to  detect Jedi descendants.  "Let's

try this scanner first."

Untangling the  cords, Luke  stretched out  the sheet-crystal  paddles  on

either side of Kyp. "This won't hurt  or anything. It just maps the  potential

of your senses."

He tripped the  scan switch  on the  control pack,  and a  narrow line  of

coppery light  traveled down  Kyp's body  as  a smaller  image of  the  copper

scan-line reappeared  in  reverse motion  in  front of  them,  digitizing  its

analysis of Kyp Durron.

Kyp's reproduction hung in the air, bathed with the pale-blue corona  Luke

had found on the others  with genuine Jedi potential.  But the aura waxed  and

waned, knotting itself, turning darker,  growing brighter, streaked with  red,

then becoming tangled.

"What does that mean?" Kyp said.

"He's okay, isn't he?" Han seemed eager to have his protégé accepted.

Luke wondered at the anomalous  mapping, disturbed because he didn't  know

how to  interpret  it.  The shimmer  could  be  a result  of  faulty  scanning

equipment, since the instrument had been  roughly treated and could no  longer

be calibrated--or it could be that because  of the strain and pressure on  Kyp

for so many years, he hadn't quite sprung back to his full potential yet.

"I see a  lot of power  there. A lot,"  Luke said, and  Kyp sighed at  the

reassurance. "Let me try one other test."

Luke stretched out his hands to touch the curly black hair on Kyp's  head.

"Let him do what he needs to," Han whispered to the young man. "Trust him."

Luke closed his eyes and  sent a tendril of thought  to the back of  Kyp's

mind where the  deep primal memories  hid, leaving little  room for  conscious

thought. Luke  touched inward  to the  isolated nub  in his  subconscious.  He

pushed--and suddenly found himself hurled backward, tossed aside like a  piece

of fluff in a Bespin wind storm. He landed flat on his back on the other  side

of the room, gasping.

Han and Kyp  ran toward  him as  he struggled to  prop himself  up on  his

elbows. Luke shook the daze from his head.

"I'm sorry!" Kyp said. "I don't know what I did! I didn't try to. Honest!"

"What happened?" Han said. "What does that mean for Kyp?"

Luke blinked,  then  smiled  at  the others.  "Don't  worry  about  me.  I

triggered that myself." He shook his head. "Kyp, you have amazing power!"

Luke stood up and gripped the young man's hand. "You're definitely welcome

to train at my academy. I just hope I know how to handle it when you come into

full control of your abilities!"

EPILOGUE

Luke Skywalker, Jedi  Master, stood atop  the Great Temple  on the  fourth

moon of Yavin.

Below his feet lay the empty  throne room and grand audience chamber  with

skylights open to the sun. Garbed in a new Jedi cloak, wearing his  lightsaber

at his side,  Luke felt warmth  bathing him. Spicy,  lingering scents rose  as

steam from the lush rain forest below.

The ancient ruins left behind by  the vanished Massassi race sprawled  out

in great geometrical edifices, now overgrown by voracious jungles. Luke  stood

on top of the ziggurat that had once been a towering lookout station when  the

Rebel base had been housed on Yavin 4.

In the sky a swollen  sphere of pale orange filled  most of his view,  the

looming planet Yavin. The bloated  gas giant had been  a shield for the  Rebel

base as  the  first  Death  Star  orbited  into  position  to  fire  with  its

planet-destroying superlaser. The Yavin base had been abandoned by the  Rebels

years before. But many of the broken stone structures were still serviceable.

With the unleashed might of the  Maw fleet, and the expected  depredations

of Admiral Daala, the  New Republic desperately needed  a strong force  beyond

pure military might, a group of guardians to maintain order in the galaxy.

Luke intended to bring together  everyone he could, immediately--not  just

Gantoris and Streen, but also Kyp Durron, Mara Jade, several of the witches of

Dathomir, Kam  Solusar, and  others he  had encountered  since the  Battle  of

Endor. And the  search for new  people with  Jedi potential would  have to  be

intensified. He needed candidates, as many as possible.

The top levels  of some of  the flat-roofed Massassi  structures had  been

clear enough for Luke to land his ship. On the broad courtyard once used as  a

launching pad by the  Alliance, Luke's old X-wing  fighter lay cooling in  the

rising mists from the Yavin jungles.

When Mon Mothma and Leia had offered Luke the abandoned Rebel base, he had

jumped at the chance.

To begin his  actual training, Luke  tried to recreate  all the  exercises

Yoda had  taught him  on Dagobah,  as well  as the  practice sessions  Obi-Wan

Kenobi had  begun.  Luke  also  had the  ancient  Jedi  Holocron,  the  visual

historical database Leia had taken from the resurrected Emperor's  stronghold.

He had studied the information from the hidden repository of Jedi knowledge on

Dathomir. He  had  many tools,  and  his students  carried  inside  themselves

doorways to great power.

But again Luke worried. If one  of his trainees--or more than one!  --fell

to the dark side, would he himself have  the power to bring him back? And  who

was  this  "dark  man"  who  haunted  Gantoris's  dreams  with  prophesies  of

destruction?

As Luke looked across the sweeping vista of dense wilderness, he saw  wide

burned scars where fires had ravaged the rain forests. But the ecology of  the

moon  struck  back  with  a  vengeance,  healing  itself.  Dense  clusters  of

sharp-smelling blueleaf shrubs, Massassi trees, and climbing ferns clogged the

ground in an impenetrable mesh that stretched  as far as he could see,  broken

only by scattered temple ruins poking through the greensward.

The alien constructions  left behind  by the Massassi  seemed filled  with

secrets and knowledge of their own. Luke  blinked his eyes and felt the  power

of the place around him, the wonder, the mystery of it all. He could not  wait

to begin bringing his students here.

It was the perfect place to train a new order of Jedi Knights.