Showdown at Centerpoint (25 page)

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. That one had been just a bit
too
close. There were times when the advantages of being a Jedi Master could turn around and bite you, no doubt about it. A regular fighter pilot without the power to use the Force wouldn’t have felt any moral obligation to risk his own life while using the Force to spare his enemies. Luke smiled faintly to himself.
One of these old days, his moral obligations to spare life were going to get him killed.

Artoo whistled again for his attention. Luke reconfigured his power levels back to normal distribution and leaned back in his pilot’s seat. “All right, Artoo,” he said. “What is it?”

Artoo took control of the main status display screen and showed him. The display paged to communications status, and Luke saw it there for himself. “The communications jamming is down!” he said. “But why—”

But Artoo answered Luke’s question before Luke could finish asking it. The screen cleared again, and Artoo began playing back a message he had recorded even as Luke was chasing off the LAFs.

A grinning, stylized human skull with a knife between its teeth appeared on the screen, with a blaring shout of triumphal music behind it. Luke recognized the skull. The symbol of the Human League. The skull faded out, to be replaced by the only somewhat more pleasant features of a smiling Thrackan Sal-Solo.

But Luke was not smiling as he listened to what the man had to say.

I
t was evening, and Kleyvits and Dracmus were just on the point of leaving. Han had lost count of the number of times they had come to call, asking if Leia had changed her mind yet. This had to be the third or fourth visit already today. Clearly, they did not know when to give up.

Leia, Han, Mara, and the Selonians were all in the living room of the prison villa, standing up, saying their pointless diplomatic good-byes, when suddenly the com system in the corner came to life, all on its own. A blare of static filled the room.

Han was startled enough to jump half a meter in the air, but the others took it all a bit more calmly. “Relax, Han,” said Mara. “Someone out there has just used the auto-on system, that’s all.” It was possible to turn most com systems on by remote control, so that the authorities could make an emergency announcement.

The flat-field screen came on, showing a crazy-quilt of shifting, scrambling color. Then the image settled down to show a grainy image of a huge grinning skull. It appeared to a thunderously loud and distorted musical accompaniment. The graininess and distortion told Han that the signal was being broadcast by a transmitter
that wasn’t quite up to the job, some piece of equipment that was being pressed into service.

Even as he judged the technical quality of the broadcast as a matter of reflex, it took Han a moment to realize the full implications of the system’s power-on. “Hey, wait a second!” he said. “This means the jamming is down! Now we can—”

“Shhh! Quiet,” Leia said. “If it’s worth it to Thrackan to shut off the jamming just to make an announcement, it has to be important. I want to hear it.” She hit a button on the com system’s control panel, setting it to record the message, then sat down in front of the com screen.

“How are you knowing it is Sal-Solo who—” began Dracmus, when the skull image faded away and, sure enough, there was Sal-Solo himself, seated in what looked like the control room of a small military craft of some sort, smiling with every bit of the warmth and kindness of the skull his image replaced. There was something awkward, a bit clumsy about the setup, as if it had been improvised. The image wobbled a bit, as if it was coming from a handheld holographic recorder.

“Greetings to all of you throughout the Corellian system,” Thrackan said as a bit of static scrambled his image for a second. “I am Thrackan Sal-Solo, Diktat of Corellia. I have ordered that all communications jamming be turned off, so that I might inform all those in the Corellian system—our friends and enemies alike—of two very important new prizes that Human League troops, acting under my command, have won First, let it be known that we have gained control of Drall’s planetary repulsor. The New Republic kept even the existence of this extremely powerful device secret from you, the people of the Corellian system—”

“Because we didn’t know it existed,” Han muttered.

“Shhhh!” hissed Leia.

“—but now it is our possession. Soon we will control the repulsor on the planet Corellia as well. I understand that these devices are unknown to all of you.
Suffice it to say that with these powerful weapons we shall be able to protect ourselves from all our enemies, whoever they may be.”

Dracmus turned to Kleyvits. “The League now has the Drall repulsor?” she demanded. “What will this mean?”

“The second prize that we have won is of a more personal nature,” Thrackan went on. “We have rescued the three children of Leia Organa Solo, Chief of State of that same New Republic.”

Han felt the blood drain from his face, felt his heart turn to ice. He looked to Leia and saw the same horror there.

“We have saved them from the aliens who held them prisoner,” Thrackan went on. “They are safe, here, with me now. I look forward to my chance to return them to their mother. First, of course, she must make her whereabouts known to us. She herself must come out of hiding and confirm her recognition of the Corellian Sector’s freedom. I offer this video imagery to prove that I have the repulsor, and have the children safe.”

“Of all the low-down, dirty, rotten—” Han growled. “The
lies
that man tells!”

The screen went dark again, and then showed a vast, silver cylindrical interior space, as seen from the bottom. The image was a bit wobbly still, and the resolution was not all it could be, but the picture was clear enough for all of that. The holocam panned about to show an assault boat—and the
Millennium Falcon
—sitting at the bottom of the cylinder. Men in uniforms walked purposefully about the two ships. The holocam panned up, to show six huge cones rising from the floor, and a seventh, larger than the others, in the center of the chamber, with the sky visible through the top of the chamber.

“It is at least most certainly identical-ish to our own repulsor—” said Dracmus, before Kleyvits cut her off with a warning glare.

The holocam view swung back down to the floor of the chamber and zoomed in to a group of forlorn-looking figures sitting and standing in a confined space.

The view faded away, and then the image brightened to show a closer view of the sad-looking group.

It was the children, held inside a force field containment, with Chewbacca, Ebrihim, and a Drall Leia did not know held in an adjacent containment. The cam moved from face to face, showed a close-up of each of them. Jacen, looking sad but determined; Jaina worried, her gaze straying to Anakin; Anakin glaring straight at the cam. His face was streaked with tears, and he looked snuffly, as if he had just calmed down after crying. The cam moved along to show Thrackan, smiling coldly.

Leia choked back a sob, and Han felt a lump in his own throat. Thrackan had them. Thrackan had stolen
children,
Han’s children. Thrackan had kidnapped his own flesh and blood. But then Han felt his sickness at heart, his fear, his horror, turn to cold, hard anger, clear-sighted anger. Thrackan
wanted
them scared, and shocked. But already Han was determined not to give Thrackan what he wanted.

The holocam panned to the second Drall, and then, at last, to Chewbacca. There was something in Chewbacca’s stance, in Chewbacca’s expression, that gave Han hope. Chewbacca stood tall, he looked at the holocam, bared his fangs at it. He didn’t look or act remotely beaten. Han knew Chewie—and that was not a Chewbacca who thought he was beaten. In that instant Han knew, knew beyond doubt, that Chewbacca still had a trick or two up his sleeve. Or at least he would have, if he wore clothes.

The image faded away and returned to the original shot of Thrackan in the ship’s control room. “That—ould be proof enough f—all that I speak the truth,” Thrackan said, as another ripple of static whipped through the broadcast. “I await the answer of the Chief of State, and as Diktat of the Independent
Sector of Corellia, I call upon all Corellians to grant me their true allegiance.”

The skull-and-dagger image came back up, there was another blare of martial music, and the screen went dead.

“Han—Han—he’s got our children. He’s got our children, and we—we
can’t
do what he says. We
can’t
” Leia looked to her husband, her eyes full of tears.

“I know,” said Han, the words tearing at his insides. “It wouldn’t do any good, even if we tried.” What good would it do, even if Leia said the words, even if she confirmed Corellian independence? At the very least, she would be driven from office, more than likely arrested on a charge of treason, and the agreement repudiated—and that would be nothing more than simple justice. It was plainly obvious that Corellia could not be allowed to break away, or else the whole New Republic might well collapse. Even a failed attempt, a failure that managed to seem noble and heroic, that looked like patriots struggling to throw off tyranny, would badly weaken the New Republic. Perhaps weaken it fatally. And how many would die in a new round of wars and rebellions? How many children of other parents would be murdered in those battles? “I know we can’t,” Han said, the words ashes in his mouth. “But how can we let him
have
them?”

“This is most horrifying, and most bad!” said Dracmus. “Thrackan turns even more deeply against his own blood, his own Den and clan.”

Kleyvits turned toward Dracmus. “What is it you are saying, Hunchuzuc?” It was plain that “Hunchuzuc” was not meant as a compliment when it came from Kleyvits.

“Know you not, eminent Kleyvits? Thrackan Sal-Solo is of the blood of Han Solo, of Leia Organa Solo’s children! Close as two clans of the same Den! He threatens his own!”

“Impossible!” Kleyvits said. “How could any being do such a thing? I am astonished! Astonished by so
many things. Thrackan asks that you confirm your recognition of Corellian independence! Have you indeed recognized his claim? I do not understand, and I must.”

“Thrackan Sal-Solo lied,” Dracmus said, the disgust plain in her voice. “He said things that were not true, for his own gain. Half of what he said was false, or else truth phrased to make lies seem true.”

“Impossible again! He said that—”

“Quiet! Both of you!” Mara shouted. “It is possible, and he has done it.” She gestured with her arm to indicate Han and Leia. “He has done it to
this
man, and
this
woman, and their children. Respect their shock and sorrow. Be gone! Give them time for shock, for grief, and take your foolish debates elsewhere!”

“No!” shouted Han. All his anger at his cousin, his blazing hot fury at the villainy of his own relation, suddenly found a new target, one closer to home, one that he could strike at and do some good. Suddenly he found words that were weapons, weapons that could strike at the bumbling, seemingly reasonable, manipulative, dissembling enemy who stood before him. “Stay where you are! You, Kleyvits. How dare you sneer at Thrackan Sal-Solo, because he holds those of his blood hostage for gain? You do the same! You hold us!”

“But—but—you are not of my family, not of my blood!”

Han stabbed his finger at Dracmus and spoke. “She is of your blood, and you hold her spirit hostage by holding us, by forcing her to collaborate with you in goading us, harassing us.

“She has saved my life, and I hers. She has risked her life for mine, and I have risked mine for hers. She has vouched for me with your folk. She has granted me her protection. We have lived and fought together. No, it is not blood—but
it is family
. We have claims on each other, of duty and respect. We were allies against
you
and your Overden. Now you force her to spit on her allies, against her will, for your own amusement.”

“Honored Solo, please—no more!” Dracmus said.

“There is much more, much more,” Han said to Dracmus. “Your people speak the truth and have no skill in lies. Can you say, with honesty, that anything of what I say is wrong?”

Dracmus suddenly seemed smaller, sadder, pushed down. “No,” she said, “I cannot.”

Suddenly Han was inspired. Suddenly he had an idea, a hunch, an instinct. It might be wrong—but if it was right—if it was right, and he understood the Selonians properly … Yes. Yes. “Then let us have more truth,” Han said. “You, Kleyvits. Speak now of your repulsor. Who operates it? Whose hand-paws are on the controls?”

Kleyvits looked suspiciously at Han. “Why, those of good Selonians, of course.”

“But
whose
Selonians?” Han demanded. “Are they yours? Are they of the Overden?”

There was a moment’s deadly silence, and Kleyvits stood stock-still, only her eyes moving, back and forth from Han to Dracmus. Then her whiskers twitched once, involuntarily, and the claws of her hand-paws extended just a hairbreadth before retracting. “I must say no more about that,” she replied.