Chapter
5

That evening Han found himself in a seamy dive in Coruscant’s underworld—a casino that literally had not seen sunlight in more than ninety thousand years because layer upon layer of buildings and streets had been constructed over it, until the casino became wedged like a fossil in its layer of sediment. The moist air down here smelled of decay, yet for many races in the galaxy, those bred for life beneath ground, the underworld provided a habitat that they could thrive in. Deep within the gloomy shadows of the casino, Han could make out many pairs of large eyes, furtively watching.

Han had asked to get into a high-stakes card game and had worked his way up through three lesser games, but he had never been prepared for anything like this. To his left sat a Columi counselor in an antigrav harness, with a head so large that the blue, throbbing, wormlike veins around his cerebrum were far longer than his scrawny, useless legs. The Columi’s vast intellect had made him one of the most feared gambling opponents in the galaxy. Across from Han sat Omogg, a Drackmarian warlord known for her incredible wealth. Her pale blue scales were polished to a high gloss, and green clouds of methane inside her helmet hid her vicious teeth and snout. To his left sat the ambassador from Gotal that Han had seen the day before, a gray-skinned, gray-bearded creature who played with his eyes closed, relying on the two huge sensory horns atop his head to probe the other players’ emotions, hoping to read their minds.

Han had never played sabacc among such company. In fact, Han had not played sabacc in years, and now sweat poured down his body, moistening his uniform. They played a variation on the game that hailed back millennia, a variation called Force sabacc. In normal sabacc, a randomizer built into the table periodically altered the values of cards, giving the game an intensity and excitement that had kept it alive for generations. But under the rules of Force sabacc, no randomizer was used. Instead, the randomness of the game was provided by the other players. After drawing the first card for a hand, each player had to call out if his or her hand would be light or dark. The player who played the strongest light or dark hand would win, but only if the combined strength of his or her chosen side won. For example, if Han chose to play a dark hand while all others played light, he would surely lose. Han stared at his cards, mixed cards—the two of sabers, the Evil One, and the Idiot. Altogether, a weak hand in the dark suit, and he didn’t think it would be good enough. Han had won the last several pots by playing cards from the light arcana. Perhaps it was just superstition, but he felt that it wasn’t a good time to be switching to the dark suit. Still, Han could only take the cards he had been dealt.

“I will call your bet,” the Gotal whispered to Han, not opening his red-rimmed eyes, “and I’ll raise you forty million credits.”

Behind Han, Chewbacca whined, and Threepio bent close and whispered in Han’s ear, “May I remind you, sir, that the odds are sixty-five thousand five hundred and thirty-six to one against anyone winning eight hands in a row?”

He didn’t have to say it aloud, but Han finished for him: And they are significantly less when the hand looks like this. “I’ll call,” Han said, pushing forward the deed to the mineral rights of a dead star system whose name only the Columi could pronounce. “And I’ll raise you eighty million.” He pushed over a stock chip that held a large percentage interest in the spice mines of Kessel. Han’s nervousness must have overwhelmed the Gotal, for the ambassador suddenly shielded his left sensory horn with his hand.

The others saw how the Gotal registered Han’s sheer desperation and eagerly called the bet. “Would anyone like to call the game now?” Han asked. He hoped they would wait until another round had been dealt.

“I’ll call the game,” the Gotal said. Each player laid his cards on the table. The Gotal was playing a dark suit, but for the moment his was weaker than Han’s. The two others were playing light suits and could potentially beat Han. They waited for the dealer droid, which was bolted to the ceiling above the table, to give each of them a last card.

Overhead, gears squeaked as the arms of the ancient dealer rotated to place one in front of the Columi. The Columi touched it. The heat from his body activated the microcircuits in the card so that it displayed its picture and Han’s heart nearly stopped: The commander of coins, the commander of flasks, and the queen of air and darkness. At twenty-two points it was nearly an unbeatable hand. Han only hoped that the combined strength of the dark hands might outweigh it.

The dealer dealt the final card to the Drackmarian. A picture of a Jedi Knight blossomed under her touch—Moderation, upside down. The fact that Moderation had been dealt upside down reversed the Drackmarian’s light hand, twisted it so that power was added to the dark hands of Han and the Gotal. Han’s heart leaped. This could turn it, this could turn the whole game. But under the rules, the Drackmarian could choose to discard one card. She pushed the upside-down Moderation card away, keeping her light hand at only sixteen points.

The mechanical arms shifted over to the Gotal, dropping a seven of staves onto his deck. It was a minor card, but it served to strengthen the dark hand. The Gotal held the queen of air and darkness, Balance, and Demise. He came in at negative nineteen points. Han felt a surge of elation, realizing that the dark hands would probably win. The Gotal must have sensed Han’s elation and mistaken it to mean that Han believed he personally had won. The Gotal looked at Han’s winnings jealously, then discarded his seven of staves. Since his dark hand now totaled below negative twenty-three points, the hand was declared a bust, meaning that the dark arcana would automatically lose—unless Han could hit a natural twenty-three, either positive or negative.

Han studied his cards again. The Idiot was worth nothing, the two of sabers was worth two points, while the Evil One was worth negative fifteen. Han’s best chance to win would be an idiot’s array—he could keep his Idiot card, plus the two of sabers, plus a three of any suit—thus making a literal twenty-three. He figured the odds of getting a three were pretty bad—about one in fifteen, but it was the only shot in town.

The mechanical hands rotated over Han, squeaking suddenly loud. The metal hands pulled out the top card from the deck, set it on the table, and Han reached out hesitantly, touched it. The second Endurance card blossomed under his fingers. Negative eight points. Han looked at his cards in disbelief, discarded the two. At negative twenty-three, he had a natural sabacc.

“You’ve won!” Threepio shouted, and the Gotal ambassador collapsed and began making small barking noises that Han guessed could only be sobs. The Columi regarded Han coldly from enormous black eyes.

“Congratulations, General Solo,” the Columi said in a clipped tone. “I regret that this game has become too expensive for my tastes.” The engines on his antigrav unit fired, and he began to maneuver carefully from the room, taking care that his enlarged brain did not collide with any of the furnishings.

The Gotal ambassador pushed himself from the table, lunged away into the shadows of the underworld.

“You arrre verrry rrrich, hhoooman,” the Drackmarian warlord hissed through the speakers of her helmet. She set two gigantic paws on the table, scraping her talons over the ancient black metal. “Toooo rrrich. Youuuu mmmay nottt mmake ittt outtt of the underrrworld alllive.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Han said, slapping his hand against the blaster holstered at his side and gazing into the warlord’s helmet. He could make out dark eyes, gleaming like wet stones through the green clouds of gas. Han pulled all of the credit chips, stock certificates, and deeds into a single enormous pile. Over eight hundred million credits. More credits than he had ever dreamed of owning. Yet still not enough.

The Drackmarian reached across the table, and her claws dug into his wrist. “Sssstop,” she hissed. “Annnotherrr hhhannnd.”

Han considered, trying to appear calm. His mouth and tongue felt dry, but rather than lick his lips, he downed a mug of Corellian spiced ale. “Double or nothing?” he asked.

The Drackmarian nodded, and the methane tubes leading to her helmet jiggled. Among the opponents that Han had been playing, she alone might possess what he wanted. A world. With so much money on the table, Omogg could offer nothing less than a habitable world.

Omogg whispered to a security droid in the shadows at her back, and the droid swiveled guns toward Han, then popped open a vault in its belly. The Drackmarian pulled out a holo cube. “Thisss hasss been in fammmily forrr mmmany generrrationsss,” the Drackmarian said. “It issss worth two poinnnt four billion creditssss. I will ssssell you onnne-third interesssst in it nnnow. If you winnn the next gammme, you will ownnnn the plannnnet. If I winnnn, I will ownnn both the plannnnet annnd the creditssss.” She clawed a button on the cube, and the image of a planet appeared in the air. Class M, nitrogen and oxygen atmosphere. Three continents in a vast ocean. The holo began rotating through a series of shots of two-legged herd beasts squatting to graze on a wide purple plain, a bluish sun setting over a tropical jungle, a flight of dazzling birds sweeping over the ocean like colored glass spilling across a blue tile floor. Perfect.

Han began sweating again. “What’s it called?”

“Daaathommmirrrrrr,” the Drackmarian breathed.

“Dathomir?” Han repeated, mesmerized. Chewbacca growled in warning, placed a restraining claw on Han’s arm, begging him to be cautious.

Threepio leaned close and his prissy vocalizers cut through the clouds of smoke. “May I remind you, sir, that the odds are one hundred thirty-one thousand and seventy-two to one against you taking nine hands in a row?”

•     •     •

When Leia answered her door chimes at the Alderaanian consulate, she found Han there, bathed in sweat, his hair a mess, his clothes looking baggy. He reeked of smoke and he smiled at her enormously, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with joy. He had a small box in his hand, wrapped in gold-colored foil.

“Look, Han, if you’ve come back to apologize, I forgive you, but I really don’t have time for this now. I’m supposed to meet Prince Isolder in a few minutes and some Barabel spy wants to talk to me—”

“Open it,” Han said, shoving the box into her hand. “Open it.”

“What is it?” Leia asked. She suddenly realized that the box wasn’t just wrapped in gold-colored foil, it was wrapped in gold.

“It’s yours,” Han said.

Leia untied the strings, pulled the foil open. It was a registry chip, one of the old kind with a holo cube built in. She thumbed the switch, watched the planet materialize in the air before her, a scene from space showing the planet: Thin pink clouds shone at the edge of the terminus, dividing night from day, and generous storm clouds swirled out from the ocean. In the background, four small moons hovered. She studied the continents, green with life, vast purple savannahs, exquisitely small ice caps at the poles. “Oh, Han,” she said, her breath coming ragged with excitement. Her whole face seemed to be lit up, glowing. “What is its name?”

“Dathomir.”

“Dathomir?” She frowned in concentration. “I’ve heard of it … somewhere. Where is it located?” She suddenly turned all business.

“In the Drackmar system. I won it from warlord Omogg.”

She looked at the holo, watched it sequence into its first picture: giant green herd beasts, possibly reptilian, grazing on a blue plain. “This can’t be in the Drackmar system,” Leia said with certainty. “It’s only got one sun.”

She went to her console, locked into Coruscant’s computer network, asking for the coordinates to Dathomir. It must have taken the huge computer banks some time to locate the files, for they waited nearly a minute before coordinates came up on screen. Leia looked into Han’s face, saw his manic joy turn into a frown. “But, but that can’t be!” Han said. “That’s in the Quelii sector—warlord Zsinj’s territory!”

Leia smiled regretfully, rubbed Han’s hair as if he were a kid. “Oh, you sweet, shaggy nerf-herder. I knew it was too good to be true. Still, it was kind of you to offer. You know, you really are so kind to me!” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

He stepped back in shock. “The … the Quelii sector?”

“Go on home and get some sleep,” Leia said, as if distracted. “You won’t do yourself any good thinking about it. This ought to teach you never to play cards with a Drackmarian.” She escorted him out the door of the Alderaanian consulate, and Han stood for a moment, rubbing his eyes, trying to keep awake and think at the same time. He looked up at the towering buildings above him, and the sunlight was thin, as if he were locked deep under a jungle canopy.

He had imagined that Leia would love her new world, had imagined how she would collapse in his arms with joy. He’d planned to wait till that moment, then ask her to marry him. Yet now all he had won was a worthless piece of real estate, and Leia had tousled his hair as if he were a kid brother. I probably look pretty stupid right now, Han thought. Stupid and grungy. He jingled the money in his pocket, enough credit chips so he could get the Falcon out of hock. Fortunately, Chewbacca had had the foresight to pull that much out of the pot. Nearly two billion credits won and lost. Han was feeling too old to cry—almost. He stumbled back through the gray streets of Coruscant to a small apartment that he kept onplanet, just hoping for some sleep.

“You really shouldn’t go to this meeting,” Isolder said. “I don’t like the idea of you traveling alone in the underworld.”

Leia smiled tolerantly at the prince. He was, after all, interested only in protecting her, but after tripping over his bodyguards for the past two days, she was beginning to wonder if he weren’t overly protective. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ve handled his kind before.”

“If his information is so important,” Isolder said, “then why hasn’t he given it to you already? Why insist on this meeting?”

“He’s a Barabel. You know how paranoid predators get when they’re convinced someone is hunting them. Besides, if he really does have information about attack dates and battle plans, I’ll need that information before we go to the Roche system. The Verpines have got to be warned.”

Isolder studied her with his clear, profound gaze. He wore a yellow half cape, an enormous golden belt, and wide golden bracelets that accented the bronze color of his skin. He stepped forward, rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, and Leia’s skin tingled at the contact. “If you insist on going into the underworld, then I am coming with you.” Leia started to object, but he touched his finger to his lips. “Please, allow me this. I suspect you are right. I suspect that nothing will happen, but I could not live with myself if anything should happen to you.”

Leia studied his eyes, wanted to object, but there had been threats against her life. Isolder hinted that factions on Hapes would object to the union, and already she had heard reports through the New Republic spy networks that warlords on the far side of the galaxy were making efforts to sabotage the union. They didn’t want the Hapan fleets adding their ships to the New Republic. Leia was already getting a taste of what it would be like to be the queen mother, wielding her might.

“All right, you can accompany me,” Leia said, and she admired Isolder for having the courtesy to ask to accompany her. Han would have demanded it. She wondered if Isolder’s good manners were a natural part of his personality or if they had become ingrained simply because he was reared in a matriarchal society where women were shown greater respect. Whatever the case, she found it charming.

He took Leia’s arm, and they strolled out to the curb, flanked by Isolder’s amazon bodyguards, to wait under the marble porte cochere for Leia’s hover car. Old Threkin Horm came humming up the street in his repulsor chair. The broad streets here were fairly empty at this time in the morning, a couple of Ishi Tibs strolling, an old droid painting the lampposts. Threkin greeted them casually, as if he just happened to be passing by, but he did not volunteer to leave. Instead, he thumbed the switch that stopped his chair and just sat, waiting for the hover car. “I hear that it’s such a nice day up top,” Threkin said, nodding toward the towering buildings above them, hover cars moving through slants of sunlight, “that I’m almost tempted to go sunbathing. Almost.”

Isolder tenderly gripped Leia’s arm, and Leia suddenly wished that Threkin would just get lost. She looked up at Isolder, and he smiled down as if sharing her thought.

“Ah, here’s your car now!” Threkin said. A black hover car plowed down the street, slowed, swerved in close. The tinted glass in the passenger’s window shattered as someone shoved a blaster barrel through.

“Down!” one of Isolder’s bodyguards shouted, and the woman leaped in front of Leia as the first volley of red bolts cut through the air. One of the bolts caught the woman in the chest, lifted her and threw her back. Gouts of blood glittered in the air, and Leia smelled the familiar stench of ozone and charred flesh.

Threkin Horm cried out and hit a button on his repulsor chair—he went hurtling south as fast as if he were in a land speeder, shouting at the top of his lungs.

Isolder pushed Leia back behind one of the broad pillars of the porte cochere and was a blur of motion as he whipped off his belt. Part of it—a small gold shield—he held in his left hand, and from somewhere he drew a small blaster. Leia heard a humming noise and a second volley issued from the car—but the red flaming bolts hit the air in front of them, exploded harmlessly.

A thin, blue, circular haze shimmered before Isolder, white at the edges, like a ring around a moon on a cold night. Personal shielding, she realized. Leia was suddenly conscious that the remaining amazon bodyguard was behind her, taking momentary advantage of the shielding to shout into a hand-held comlink for a backup.

A burst of blaster fire whizzed past Leia’s head, hitting the marble above them, and Leia turned. The droid that had been painting on the corner fired a blaster at them.

“Astarta! Get the droid!” Isolder shouted. The prince’s shield couldn’t cover them in the crossfire, and they couldn’t count on the marble pillars for much protection. Leia lunged for the dead amazon’s blaster, fired off two quick rounds, enough so that the droid hid behind his lamppost. It was only then that Leia registered the oddly erect main body, the bullet-shaped head and long legs. An Eliminator assassin droid, model 434. Astarta joined her in opening fire on it.

The hover car stopped, and two men leaped out, firing. Leia knew that Isolder’s personal shield couldn’t hold for more than a couple more seconds. Personal shielding tended to provide minimal protection, because you couldn’t get a power source strong enough to deflect enemy fire and still last for more than a moment. The second danger came from the shield itself—the energy shield got so hot that the wielders risked frying themselves if they accidentally touched it. Isolder held the shield before him, lunged at his attackers.

Two more bolts whizzed past his head, and Astarta fired. Leia looked just in time to see the amazon’s single bolt hit the assassin droid at midtorso. Metal bits flew into the air, followed by a massive explosion as the droid’s power plant exploded.

The prince swung his shield as a weapon, and its energy field knocked his attackers backward. Blue sparks erupted in the air as it made contact. One man cried out and dropped his blaster, holding his burned face. Isolder raised the shield over his head, spun it and tossed it at the last attacker. The shielding caught the assassin in the chest, sliced through him like a lightsaber, and then Isolder stood alone with his blaster, aiming it at the remaining assassin, who was screaming in agony, clutching his face. He once had been a handsome man, Leia thought. Too handsome. A Hapan.

“Who hired you?” Isolder demanded.

The assassin screamed out, “Llarel! Remarme!”

“Teba illarven?” Isolder asked in Hapan.

“At! Remarme!” the assassin begged.

Isolder kept the gun leveled at the assassin a second longer, and the man shouted again. A piece of burned flesh tore away from his face. The man leaped into the gutter for his gun, and Isolder hesitated. The assassin fumbled for the gun, pointed it at his own face, and pulled the trigger.

Leia turned away. Suddenly Isolder’s bodyguard was pulling at Leia’s arm, yelling, “Inside, get inside!” and Isolder grabbed Leia, took her back into the house. There was an alcove by the door where guests could hang their coats, and Isolder pulled Leia toward the alcove, then stood protecting her, breathing hard and looking out into the hallway. The bodyguard, Astarta, had bolted the door. As on most of the consulates, Leia’s door was made of ancient blastplate and could withstand even a sustained assault. The bodyguard was yelling into her communicator again. Leia couldn’t understand Hapan, but the guard was making a lot of noise.

“Who sent them?” Leia asked.

“He wouldn’t say,” Isolder answered briefly. “He only begged me to kill him.”

Outside, through the walls, Leia could hear New Republic forces shouting as they sought to secure the area.

Isolder stood panting, listening intently, probably trying to eavesdrop on both his bodyguard and the police outside, make sure it was safe. He held Leia lightly, protectively, and her heart hammered. She pushed at him gently, and said, “Thank you for saving me.”

Prince Isolder focused on the sounds around him so strongly that at first he seemed not to notice that she was pushing him away. Then he looked down into her eyes. He lifted her chin and kissed her forcefully, passionately, and stepped in closer so that the entire length of him pressed against her.

Leia’s mind seemed to go white, and her whole body felt electric. Her jaw was trembling, but she kissed him long and slowly, the seconds ticking away far slower than the pounding in her chest. With each second she could think of only one thing, I’m betraying Han. I don’t want to hurt Han. But then Isolder whispered into her ear, demanding. “Come away with me to Hapes! Come see the worlds you will rule!”

Leia found herself crying, had never really imagined that she would let something like this happen. But at that moment, whatever attachment she had ever felt for Han suddenly seemed to become as insubstantial as fog, as a gentle white mist, and Isolder was the sun, burning it all away. With tears running down her cheeks she tangled her arms around Isolder and promised, “I’ll come with you!”