The Jedi Academy Trilogy_ Jedi Search Part 12

Threepio would have offered his own a.s.sistance 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 ch.o.r.es.

Several times during the tour Leia was interrupted by insistent calls, doc.u.ments 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 cla.s.sic 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 fl.u.s.tered 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 a.s.sumption 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 embarra.s.s 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 amba.s.sador in the dead of night.

Now, as she looked out the mirrored walls, Leia watched minor functionaries hurrying to daily a.s.signments, 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 pa.s.ses 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 amba.s.sador 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 t.i.tle. 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p called the Millennium Falcon ever arriving in Kessel s.p.a.ce. Who was piloting the s.h.i.+p?"

"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 cl.u.s.ter near Kessel makes for extremely hazardous flying conditions, even in hypers.p.a.ce. The Maw is one of the wonders of the galaxy, but if he was to take a wrong path through the cl.u.s.ter ... 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 a.s.sistance we can in this matter. We'll scour the surface of the planet and the moon, and we'll search s.p.a.ce for any disabled s.h.i.+p. 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 amba.s.sador you choose to send. I hope the next time we speak will be under happier circ.u.mstances, 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, s.h.i.+ft monitors sounded the alarm and summoned a.s.sistance. 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 las.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+pyard 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 rehea.r.s.ed his answers over and over, knowing exactly what he should say.

Perhaps he had rehea.r.s.ed 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 G.o.d to them.

As Doole pa.s.sed, 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 compet.i.tion--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 superst.i.tion 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.