by Alex Wheeler
A shadowy, translucent figure appeared before them, his face masked by a hood. "Luke Skywalker, we finally meet."
"Who is that?" Luke said, staring at the hooded man. He turned to the alien. "Who sent you?"
Taking advantage of their distraction, the Glymphid was creeping away. Han clamped a hand on his shoulder, and dug a blaster into his back. "Not so fast, buddy. How 'bout you stick around while we watch this. Then you're going to answer all our questions."
"I don't know anything," the alien squeaked. "I swear."
"I've been hunting you for a long time," the mysterious figure said. His voice was narrow and pinched. "I believe you know a friend of mine, X-7."
Leia gasped. X-7 had been a skilled assassin hired to kill Luke, and he'd nearly succeeded, more than once. X-7 had been dead for months—but the man who sent him was still out there. Rezi Soresh, the Imperial Commander who'd devoted himself to destroying Luke. Apparently he hadn't given up.
"Meeting you proved rather inconvenient for him," the man continued. "Hopefully, our encounter will end more happily. For me, at least. Now, down to business." He clapped his hands together sharply. His hologram faded into a harsh red landscape of rocks and craters. The camera settled on a group of twenty people, huddled together behind a fence bristling with electric current. Men and women held each other. Small children clung to their mothers' knees. Their faces all bore the same expression: Terror.
"These are some of the passengers of the Arkanian ship Endeavor. Settlers—one hundred men, women, and children—headed for a new life on a new world. I'm afraid I forced them to take a slight detour. I'm sure they're eager to get on their way again—and they can. As soon as you deliver yourself to me. At the end of this holorecording, you'll find a set of galactic coordinates. You have twelve standard hours to reach them—or I promise you, all my guests will die an extremely painful death. You will not tell anyone else about this. If you disobey these instructions, the poor settlers will die." The camera zoomed in on a small child's face, his muddy cheeks streaked with tears. "All of them." The hooded figure wagged a finger at them.
Leia kept her eyes fixed on Luke. She could imagine how he felt. Whenever she closed her eyes at night, she still saw herself on the bridge of the Death Star, watching her beloved Alderaan on the viewscreen. Giving Vader and Governor Tarkin what they wanted hadn't helped, even though she'd told only a half-truth. It hadn't stopped them from proceeding with their "effective demonstration." It hadn't saved Alderaan.
She knew what it meant to have all those lives in your hands, and to be unable to save them. It didn't matter how many people told you it wasn't your fault. It didn't matter if you knew, logically, there was nothing you could have done. If anything happened to those settlers Luke would never forgive himself.
Leia knew that better than anyone.
"Don't think that you can disobey me just because I'm halfway across the galaxy," the man said. "As of now, I'm watching you. And my reach is further than you might expect. Perhaps you'd appreciate a little demonstration."
But he didn't move. He didn't do anything. "Impressive," Han sneered.
And then the Glymphid screamed.
"What did you do to him?" Leia cried.
"Nothing!" Han shouted, as the alien began shaking in Han's grasp. He dropped to the ground, jerking and twitching. His eyes rolled back in his head. Snorts of pain exploded from his snout.
"We have to help him!" Luke exclaimed. He knelt by the alien's side, but there was nothing he could do.
A wracking shudder tore through the Glymphid's body. A long, low sigh wheezed out of his lungs—and then, nothing.
Luke pressed his ear against the alien's still chest, then rose, looking somber. "He's gone."
"Explain to me again what we're doing here?" Lune Divinian said, hoisting a load of duracrete blocks over his shoulder. The Yavin 4 sun was beating down with unusual strength. Sweat matted his shirt to the back of his neck.
"We're offering crucial assistance to the effort to destroy the Empire," Ferus Olin reminded him.
"We're building 'freshers," Div argued. "Not exactly heroic labor."
Ferus lowered himself down to the ground with a soft grunt. "All labor is heroic," he said. But the words rang slightly hollow. His muscles ached with the strain of the heavy lifting. Even his bones ached. It was tempting to call upon the Force to help ease the job along. But they were working on a heavily trafficked path. Anyone could pass by and catch him calling on his old Jedi skills. Ferus couldn't risk it.
"When you suckered me into joining up with this Rebellion, this isn't exactly the kind of work I had in mind," Div complained.
It wasn't what Ferus had in mind, either. After hiding out for two decades, he was eager to act. It had been a hard decision to join the Rebellion, as he couldn't risk anything interfering with his primary mission, protecting Leia. But in the end, there was no real choice. If he didn't do everything in his power to destroy the Empire, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. And he knew Div felt the same.
Which didn't mean he'd signed up for 'refresher building.
"It's going to take them a while to trust us," Ferus said. "Surely you can understand that."
They had both seen what happened when a rebellion trusted too much, too fast. That made it all too easy for enemies to slip under the radar and ruin everything.
"I just don't see how this is helping anyone," Div said. "If we told them what we could do—"
"We can't," Ferus said. "You know that." The Rebels weren't the only ones slow to trust. No one could know that Div had once been a Force-sensitive child, groomed to be a Jedi. As no one could know that Ferus had grown up in the Jedi Temple, training with the great Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda himself. "Besides, just because they want to keep us out of the loop doesn't mean we need to let them."
He spied a scruffy redhead making his way through the woods, and flagged him down. Jono Moroni spent most of his time on the Rebel Base doing janitorial work alongside the droids. He was a quiet man who kept to himself, and few people seemed to even notice him. But Ferus's Jedi Masters had long ago taught him the value of silent observers. Jono faded into the background, which meant he saw more than people knew. And he wasn't unwilling to pass it along.
"Good afternoon, Jono," Ferus called out. "How goes it?"
"Couldn't be better," Jono said. Over the last few weeks, Ferus had grown to truly respect the man. He was unfailingly friendly and cheerful. It was clear nothing made him happier than serving the Rebellion. And it turned out that he was only quiet because no one ever bothered to speak to him. Once you got him going, he could talk for hours.
Ferus peppered him with questions about the weather and his recent bout of Balmorra Flu. Gradually, he moved the conversation in the direction he needed it to go. "Things must be busy over at Massassi Station, given what's going on now?" It was a safe question—things were always busy at the Rebel Base station.
Jono nodded eagerly. "Course, I shouldn't talk about it."
But Ferus needed him to talk about it. And so he reached out with the Force and loosened Jono's tongue. "You'd like to tell us about it," Ferus suggested pleasantly.
"I'd like to tell you about it," Jono echoed in a fuzzy voice.
Div looked disgusted. It was one thing to use the Force against one's enemies. Using it to wring information from a friend…Surely that wasn't the Jedi way. But Ferus wouldn't allow himself to feel guilty. He couldn't help the Rebels unless he knew what help they needed.
Still, such decisions were easier to make in the old days. As a Jedi Padawan it had been simple to know the right thing to do. Right was whatever his Master told him it was. Only after leaving the Temple had Ferus learned the joy of deciding such things for himself. But, like all true joys, it came with a healthy dose of terror. Div knew that, too, in his own way.
"Could be I heard something, while I was mopping up," Jono said hesitantly.
Ferus gave him an encouraging nod.
"Rebel scouts intercepted an encrypted Imperial transmission," Jono confided. "The Imperial High Command is having some kind of top secret meeting in a few weeks, out in the middle of nowhere. Emperor's going. Darth Vader, too. And because they're doing it in secret, they're traveling light. Only a couple Star Destroyers. Sounds like General Dodonna thinks this could be our chance to take down the Empire, all in one shot."
Div scowled. "Great. A top secret mission to take out the Emperor and Vader, and you know where we'll be? Building 'freshers."
Ferus frowned, but for a different reason. "Thank you, Jono. Always good to talk to you. Now it might be nice for you to go back to your quarters and lie down for a bit."
Jono furrowed his brow, looking slightly confused. "Kind of hot out here," he said. "Think I might head back to my quarters and lie down for a bit."
"Sounds like a good idea," Ferus said. I'm sorry, friend, he thought, as Jono wended his way through the forest and disappeared into the trees. You deserve better.
But he'd learned something—possibly something crucial. "What do you think?" Ferus asked Div.
"I think we're wasting our time out here when we could be—"
"No," Ferus said impatiently. It was growing harder and harder to remember the sweet, young boy Lune Divinian had once been. He'd grown into a hardened, cynical young man. A good man—but often, it seemed like he wanted to pretend that goodness didn't exist. Much as he wanted to pretend that his connection to the Force no longer existed. Ferus could understand that. When you'd had great power as a child, only to watch it disappear as you grew, it was tempting to forget you ever had it at all. Ferus had spent many years trying to rebuild his connection to the Force, but he knew he would never regain all he'd lost. "Put aside your impatience and your bitterness. Take a moment. What do you think about what we've just learned? What do you feel?"
Div sighed with irritation, but he did as he was told.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he looked up, a few moments later, his eyes were bright and clear. "Something's off," he said. "But I can't put my finger on it. That kind of information, just falling into the Rebellion's lap…?"
"I agree," Ferus said. "It's almost too easy."
"We are due for some good luck," Div pointed out.
"Not likely," Ferus mused. It would be nice to believe that the galaxy had finally smiled upon the Rebellion. But doubt gnawed at him. Something felt very wrong about this news. A great pressure seemed to weigh down on him, as if the dark side was settling on Yavin 4, thickening the air, spreading its poison.
"Maybe it's time for us to get out," Div said. "You think something bad's coming, I can tell—seems like a good time to get out, while the getting's good. Go save the galaxy from somewhere else."
"You don't mean that," Ferus said.
Div opened his mouth—but shut it again, before arguing.
"We've got some time," Ferus said. "We can figure this out."
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then we do whatever we have to do to keep the Rebels from flying straight into it," Ferus said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He told himself there was no reason for the dark chasm of hopelessness that had opened within him.
At least the princess is far away from here, Ferus reassured himself. Whatever happens, she'll be safe.
CHAPTER FOUR
Han, Luke, Leia, and Chewbacca gaped at the dead Glymphid.
Luke cleared his throat nervously. "You don't think…I mean, there's no way a holorecording could…"
"Coincidence," Han said, watching the holoplayer like it was going to bite him. "Had to be."
Chewbacca growled in agreement.
"I've heard of delayed-release poisons," Leia said. "Maybe activating the holoplayer triggered something?"
"Maybe we should leave before it triggers something else," Han suggested.
Luke stared at the coordinates that the hooded man had given them. "This is halfway across the galaxy," he said. "Even if we leave right now, we might not make it there in time."
"That's assuming we go at all," Han said. "You want to walk straight into a trap?"
"I'm not going to just leave those people to die!" Luke said indignantly.
"And I'm not looking to die with them," Han shot back. "Self-sacrifice isn't in my vocabulary, kid."
"Then I'll go without you," Luke said.
"Oh, yeah?" Han grinned. "In what ship?"
Luke glared at him, furious. Whenever he let himself believe that Han cared about anyone but himself, something like this would happen.
"Let's slow down," Leia said. "We should contact the Rebel base, let them know what happened, see what they—"
"No!" Luke exclaimed. "Didn't you hear Soresh? If we disobey him and tell anyone what's happening—"
"It's a bluff, kid," Han said. "No one's watching."
"How do you know?" Luke asked. He glanced at the dead alien. "I bet he didn't think anyone was watching, either, And now look at him. I'm not going to let anyone else die because of me."
"This is not your fault," Leia insisted. "And if anything happens to those hostages, that's not your fault, either. You can't control what some maniac decided to do."
"Maybe I can't control it," Luke agreed. "But I can stop it. And I'm going to." None of them understood, maybe because it hadn't been their name on the holovid. This was all happening because of him. Because for whatever reason, this insane Imperial wanted Luke Skywalker, and was willing to kill. Enough people have died to protect me, Luke thought. Images of his aunt's and uncle's smoldering bodies, of Darth Vader's lightsaber slicing through Obi-Wan Kenobi, flashed through his mind.
Enough.
"Fine," Leia said. "But you're not doing it alone."
Chewbacca hooted with enthusiasm. He was always eager for battle. Which left only one.
Leia fixed Han with a steely glare. Stubbornly, he met her gaze. Then he sighed.
"Your wish is my command, Princess," Han said wearily. "But if we do this, we do it my way. We're not just delivering the kid up to the slaughter. We've got to be smart."
"Smart?" Leia raised her eyebrows. "I thought you said you wanted to do this your way."
Han lowered the Millennium Falcon into the atmosphere, surveying the moon's features.
There weren't any.
People talked about "the middle of nowhere," but Han realized that he'd never actually been there—until now. Soresh's coordinates had led them to the Sixela system, a forgotten wasteland deep in the Outer Rim. The moon of the third planet around the blue giant star was habitable but uninhabited, and Han could see why. There was nothing on the ground but rocks and dust. The instruments indicated only one concentration of life, a small outpost at the moon's equator. Han projected the image on the viewscreen. It was a cluster of small, fortress-like buildings surrounded by the electrified pens they'd seen on the holovid. Large laser cannon installations surrounded the pens, aimed at the prisoners. But there was no indication of any other weapons systems or planetary defense.
Han grinned. Whoever this Soresh was, he clearly didn't know how to lay an ambush. This was going to be a piece of puff cake.
"Pardon me, Captain Solo?" Luke's golden protocol droid walked stiffly into the cockpit. His astromech counterpart wheeled in beside him. "Are you absolutely sure you wish to take such a rash course of action?" C-3PO asked, for the hundredth time. "Perhaps if you would let me negotiate with the Imperial Commander? After all, I am a protocol droid, well versed in forty-seven forms of hostage negotiation—"
"You don't negotiate when someone's got a blaster to your head," Han said impatiently. "You use a bigger blaster."
The astromech droid, R2-D2, beeped and whirred.
"Yes, Artoo, I'm sure Captain Solo does know what he's doing. I simply wanted—"
R2-D2 issued a high whistle.
"Oh, really?" C-3PO said. "And when exactly is the last time you used a blaster?"
The astromech droid beeped a response.
"I most certainly will not," C-3PO said huffily. "Why don't you jam a restraining bolt in your—"
"Enough!" Han shouted. "I can't think with you two yammering in my ear."
"Certainly, Captain Solo," C-3PO said, offended but obsequious. "We'll leave it to you."
"Good," Han growled. He prepared the ship for landing. The laser cannons were armed and ready, and his blaster, as always, was by his side. "I've got some negotiating to do."
Han set the Falcon down on the moon, about half a klick from the hostages. A solitary figure stood in the red sand, waiting.
"Stay here and stay out of trouble," Han instructed the droids. Then he and Chewbacca disembarked. The air was thin and choked with dust, but breathable. The man standing before him wore a hood over his face and carried an ancient triple blaster. It hung loosely at his side.
"Greetings, Captain Solo," he said. "Welcome to my kingdom."
"So you're Soresh?" Han said.
The man nodded. He took a few steps toward the Falcon.
Han raised his own blaster and aimed it toward the Imperial. "How about you stay where you are and I stay where I am until this is settled," he suggested.
"I have no argument with you," Soresh said. "I trust you've brought Luke."
"I have," Han said. His finger tensed on the blaster trigger. He was the one who had come up with this plan—but that didn't mean he was sure it would work. Not that he would ever admit as much out loud.
"And where might he be?" Soresh asked, in a pinched voice.
"He might be inside the ship," Han allowed. As he spoke, an X-wing fighter roared into the atmosphere, laser cannons blazing. Right on time. Han grinned. "Then again, he might not."
A second X-wing followed on the tail of the first. They spiraled through the air, strafing the weapons embankments with carefully aimed bursts of laserfire. One after the other, the cannons exploded. The hostages cheered.
"You don't realize what you've done," Soresh said, raising his blaster.
But, distracted by the surprise attack, he moved too slowly. Han fired first, and his aim was true. Soresh flew backward, scorch marks spreading across his chest. The Imperial's shot went wild, sending a harmless burst of laserfire into the sky. He landed several meters away, kicking up a cloud of red dust. Han approached the body, blaster at the ready, but Soresh didn't move. His eyes gazed sightlessly up at the sky; his chest lay perfectly still. He was dead.