Razor's Edge: Star Wars (Empire and Rebellion) (3 page)

“The whole crew took a vote.” Han tossed and caught the data card. “I'll get this sent as soon as we come out of hyperspace.”

“Thank the crew for me,” Leia said, trying to be cool and cutting but knowing she just sounded grumpy. “And Han, don't mention to anyone else that Arnot Station is where we're meeting Davit. Not yet. Just that it's the nearest port we can reach.”

Han frowned. “All right. Got a reason for that, or just paranoia?”

“Paranoia,” Leia admitted. She couldn't shake the feeling that the less was said about the meeting with Davit, the better. And restricting as much information as possible might help her isolate the intel leak once they got back to the fleet.

Han said, “Welcome to the club, Your Worship,” and sauntered away.

Leia wanted to call a cutting remark after him, but her head hurt too much at the moment to let her think of a good one. She was even too disgruntled to watch the movement of Han's hips as he walked away down the corridor. Not that she should be watching that at all, she reminded herself.

She took a deep breath, composed her thoughts, and then, deliberately using the all-ship comm this time, gave the crew the update on the hyperdrive's status and their intention to head for Arnot Station.

“Solo.”

“What?” Han was sitting on his heels on the floor of the main engineering bay, checking the sensor diagnostics for the alluvial dampers. He glanced up to see Kifar Itran looming over him.

Han swore wearily under his breath and pushed to his feet.

Itran was a big man with a strong build, so much so that he might have had ancestors from a world with higher-than-normal gravity. His facial features and heavy brow were equally strong, and his skin had a faint orange tint to it, echoed in streaks in his short shock of brown hair. “Was this your idea?” he asked belligerently.

That kind of attitude was about all Han needed right now. He was tired, and he had gotten lightly singed when the energy pulse had lit up the laser cannon controls. He also didn't like being cornered against the panel behind him. He took a step forward, making Itran fall back. Han stepped past him and leaned his hip against the workbench. “You want to argue about the dampers again? It's working.”

“Not about that. I know you went up to talk to Her Highness.”

Han eyed him, trying to decide if the “Her Highness” was sarcasm or Itran's idea of how one politely referred to Leia Organa. Han had no problem with sarcastically addressing Leia, but he preferred to do it to her face, when she could take a shot back at him. Itran kept his expression straight, so Han decided he didn't have to take any precipitate action. He said, “So?”

“Was it your idea to go on to this station? We should be staying put, calling for help from the fleet.”

Han gestured pointedly around at the panels, some of which were still smoking. “Nice that you think we should stay put and give the Imperials a chance to find us, but the rest of us want to live.”

Itran persisted, “Was it your idea?”

“The Princess doesn't need me to get ideas. She knows what she's doing.” Han had run into this kind of trouble off and on. He knew he had never matched the Alliance's profile of a new recruit and that to them he looked an awful lot like somebody who would sell them all to the Empire for a quick credit. Telling them that it was just another job to him didn't help. Telling himself it was just another job didn't help, either.

“From what I've heard, this whole mission was your idea.”

“You heard wrong.” Han wasn't going to clarify that. He didn't want to be in this conversation, and he sure as hell wasn't going to go into detail about what was said and decided in Alliance meetings to which Itran had clearly not been invited. He made his expression deliberately bored. “Either say what you want to say, or go find something else to do.”

“I just think it's suspicious. You're involved in this mission and we get hit by Imperials. I've heard you've got a lot of influence with the Princess. Maybe you're using it for your own purposes.”

Such as getting myself blown up or captured by Imperials?
Han wondered. Itran was angry, and looked like he wanted somebody to blame for it.

“You think I'm the one giving orders on this ship?” Han responded. “Why don't you go ask her about that?” He hoped Itran would be just that dumb. He wasn't sure how many of the rebels who worked with Leia knew the calm façade concealed an impressive temper, but Han enjoyed watching it in action. It was on his list of things he found the most attractive about Leia Organa.

Itran's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Sorel emerged from behind the tall set of sensor connections a few meters away and said, “Kifar, you're off duty. Why don't you go get some rest?”

Itran hesitated self-consciously. He'd obviously had no idea that the engineering chief had been within possible earshot. He said, “Sure,” and turned to go.

As Itran vanished into the back of the bay, Sorel joined Han. “What was that about? Is he that mad about the dampers?”

“No. Something else.”

Sorel sighed. “He's new. He's been working on the supply transports, mostly in the Outer Rim. I don't know that he's ever been in a firefight. The first time is never easy.”

The engineer was right about that, at least, Han reflected. And maybe that was all it was.

Leia had no problem staying awake for the next hour or so, while the
Gamble
came out of hyperspace, the transmission was sent to Madine on the Alliance fleet, and the nail-biting worry began as the ship rumbled, hesitated, then finally made the next jump that would hopefully leave them within easy sublight distance to Arnot Station. Only when they were back in hyperspace did she drift off.

“Princess.”

Leia bolted upright to see Sarit standing in the hatchway. She had been having a nightmare in which she was on the terrace of the summer palace on Alderaan, talking to Lieutenant Esrai, when the whole scene dissolved in an energy blast that Leia was somehow unaffected by. The dream had ended in a vivid image of her looking down to find Esrai's blood on her hands. Reality gradually reasserted itself, and she realized she had slumped over in the chair, her cheek feeling tight and scratchy where it had pressed against the old cracked simulated leather of the headrest.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” Sarit said, “but General Willard is awake and asking for you.”

“Yes, thank you.” Leia checked the time on the console. They should be coming up on Arnot Station soon, the ship hadn't exploded, and her headache, while still present, no longer felt as though some giant riding animal was stomping on her brain. She pushed to her feet, yawned so hard her jaw cracked, and tried to push her raveled braids back into order. After a moment, she gave up. There was no one on the ship who was going to be scandalized by the fact that Princess Leia's hair looked like a small creature had been living in it.

Leia went to the next cabin and found Sarit checking over General Willard with a diagnostics scanner. The general was sitting up on the bunk, propped against pillows; his forehead and temple showed the ugly purple of bruises, and he looked as if he had aged a decade. But he focused on Leia as she stepped into the cabin, and said, “Good to see you, Princess.” His voice sounded raspy and weak.

“I'm glad you're awake.” Leia smiled. She was sure he needed more sleep, but it was a relief to see him coherent and well enough to sit up.

“He isn't to get up or agitate himself until I can get him to a medical facility with a full scanner setup,” Sarit told her.

“I won't let him get agitated,” Leia promised. Sarit sounded a little shaky himself, and she wondered if he had had a chance to sit down since the attack. “But I do need to talk to him in private. Why don't you take a break and get some rest before we reach the station?”

The medic blinked, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Oh. Oh, yes, I suppose I could.”

Sarit wandered out into the corridor, and Leia pushed the release to close the hatch behind him. She sat down on the stool next to the general's bunk. “How do you really feel?”

“Terrible,” he admitted. “Denlan and Esrai?”

Leia squeezed his hand. “I'm sorry.”

Willard took a deep, shuddering breath, then winced and half lifted a hand to his head. “Blast it. I was afraid of that, when Sarit wouldn't tell me how they were.” He looked up at Leia. “What's our situation?”

“It's not terrible, but it's not good, either,” she said, and gave him a quick rundown on the condition of the crew and the ship, and of what they were doing to remedy it. She told him about her decision to head on to the station once they finished the emergency jump, and to send the message to Madine to ask for the
Millennium Falcon.

“Sorel thinks we have at least three to four standard days of repairs ahead of us, so I knew we needed a backup ship in case we have to leave the station in a hurry.” Then she leaned forward. “Vanden, someone knew where the
Gamble
would be, when we would be at our most vulnerable, while receiving that HoloNet transmission. That light corvette knew exactly when to come out of hyperspace to hit us.”

Willard frowned, absorbing her words. “It's more likely it's someone in our communications, isn't it? If Davit wanted to betray us, he could have done it at the meeting.”

“That was my thought,” Leia said. “Whoever betrayed us had to do so almost at the last moment, as if they didn't find out what the coordinates were until right after we did. Otherwise, the Empire would have sent more than one ship. I think the corvette was sent after us because it was the closest available ship, the only one that could get there in time.” She grimaced. “I know I don't have much to go on, except the timing.” And her instincts.

Leia didn't need the reassurance, but it was still gratifying when Willard said, “Yes, the intel more likely came from the fleet.” He tried to sit up straighter, and sank back with a groan. “We're going to have to figure out how to isolate this leak, find out who it is.”

“That will have to come later. At the moment we've done all we can.” If a traitor had managed to infiltrate the Alliance's chain of communication to and from the fleet, there was no telling what damage had already been done. But Leia didn't see anything she could do about it, at least at the moment. For now she had to concentrate on making certain the
Gamble
didn't come to harm or become yet another Alliance ship that vanished into space, its fate unknown. She glanced at the time again. “I should go and let you get some more rest. We'll be at the station soon.”

She started to stand, but the general caught her hand. His expression weary and rueful, he said, “I'm sorry I can't be more help.”

“You
have
been helpful,” Leia told him, and meant it. When your decisions affected people's lives, it was important to have the advice of someone who didn't always think you were right just because of who you were. Or who your father was.

Luke Skywalker was deep into the engine compartment of his favorite X-wing when he felt a large hand grip his ankle.
It's a good thing I know who that is,
he thought, resigned. “Chewie, I've got both hands in the proton torpedo launcher!” he protested. R2-D2, down on the deck beside the X-wing's cradle, beeped in annoyance at being interrupted. The little droid was connected by various cables to the astromech socket and had been running diagnostics.

Chewbacca rumbled a long comment. C-3PO, whom the Wookiee must have brought along to translate for him, said, “Master Luke, he says that it's important and you should get your little—uh, you should get down here right now.” The golden droid added, presumably to Chewie, “That was rude, you know.”

With a sigh, Luke slid out of the engine hatch and dropped to the deck. Pulling his protective goggles off, he asked, “What is it? I thought you were trying to get that isolator installed.” Turning around, he saw who was standing there and stopped short. “Oh, General Madine.”

Madine didn't answer immediately, his cool glance taking in snubfighter cradles and tech stations nearby, as if checking to see how many were occupied. The fighter repair bay for the
Independence
was normally crowded with pilots, techs, droids, and other support personnel, repairing damaged fighters, keeping up their maintenance schedules, or practicing in the simulators kept at the far end of the bay. But it was near the shift change, and few voices echoed around the big space. Wedge and the other members of Red Squadron were off on a mission; Luke should have been with them, but his X-wing's targeting computer had started to throw error codes at the last minute and his part in the mission had been scrubbed for now. Keeping his voice low, Madine asked, “Can you be ready to leave with Chewbacca immediately?”

“Yes, sir.” Luke glanced at Chewie. Wookiees didn't show concern the same way humans did, but his posture conveyed tension and impatience. “Do you want me to put together a squad?”

“No, just you,” Madine said. “Come aboard the
Falcon
where we can speak privately, and I'll give you the coordinates and explain.”

Luke didn't miss the significance of “aboard the
Falcon
where we can speak privately.” If Madine was worried about being overheard on one of the flight decks of the
Independence
 …

This can't be good.

As the
Gamble
exited hyperspace, there was a clunk that left Leia's hands white-knuckled on the arms of the comm chair in auxiliary control. Han was piloting, with Ilen as backup, and both men hurriedly worked over the consoles, shutting down the hyperdrive. Something deep inside the ship made the deck vibrate. An alarm started to shriek, and Han absently slapped a control to shut it down. Leia could see various readouts creeping up into the red again.