10

Luke saw Wedge reach for his blaster. He yelled, “No!”

Too late.

The chief saw Wedge go for his weapon, turned slightly, and shot at him. The blast sizzled between Luke and Wedge, missed Luke by centimeters. He smelled ionized and burned air as he jumped to the side—

Wedge didn’t have any choice. His blaster beam caught her square in the center of mass and knocked her sprawling.

The burned smell grew stronger and more unpleasant.

By the time Luke got to her, the chief wasn’t going to be answering any questions ever again.

“Well. I guess we know who rascaled the droid,” Luke said, his voice quiet. “I would have liked to know why.”

Wedge shook his head. “Maybe we can find out. I’ll see what the operations computer has on her.”

“Do that.”

It was only a few minutes later that the Millennium Falcon put down on the moon. Once it was stowed out of sight inside the hangar, the hatch opened and the ramp came down. Lando and Chewie walked down the ramp, followed by Threepio. Where was—?

There she was. She looked terrible. She walked as if she were a thousand years old.

“Leia?”

Her face was a study in misery. Luke moved to her, hugged her, but she was limp in his arms. “What happened?”

“Boba Fett got away,” she said.

Behind them, Lando said, “Yeah, and we were lucky to get away ourselves. The place was thick with TIE fighters. I’m sorry, Luke. I tried.”

Chewie nodded and said something.

Luke nodded. He turned, one arm still around Leia. Holding her thus brought up all kinds of conflicting emotions. As if he didn’t have enough to sort out about Vader and the Force and the dark side, how he felt toward Leia was another whole unprobed universe.

“Come on,” Luke said to her. “We’ll figure something else out.”

Leia was depressed, but the news of the malfunctioning droid broke through the blanket of despair shrouding her. It frightened her.

When Wedge and Lando came back from checking on the former crew chief through the opcomm, they looked grim.

“What?” she asked.

“Well,” Wedge said, “it seems there was a transfer for ten thousand credits into the chief’s account a few days ago, just after Rogue Squadron arrived here. Lando managed to access the account, using, uh, a borrowed command override code.”

“And …?”

“The money came from a dummy corporation,” Lando said. “I managed to backwalk it through two more dummy corporations. Wound up with something called Saber Enterprises. Last I heard, Saber was a front organization for the Empire’s secret undercover antiespionage operations.”

“You think somebody paid the chief to rig the droid to shoot Luke?” Leia said.

“Seems awfully coincidental to me otherwise,” Lando said.

Leia nodded. “It’s got Vader’s gloveprints all over it.”

Luke shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“He wants me alive,” Luke said. “He wants me to join the Empire.”

“Maybe he changed his mind,” Lando said.

Leia stared off into the distance. This was bad. She’d lost Han, maybe forever—no, don’t think that—and she didn’t want to lose Luke, too. He was too important, not just to the Alliance, but to her.

She loved Han, but she loved Luke, too. Maybe not in the same way, but she didn’t want to see him hurt. She had a feeling about this, an … intuition. This attempt on Luke’s life was just the tip of something much larger, something hidden under a great depth of murky water. She had to find out what it was and stop it.

“There was another thing,” Lando said. “The chief’s account had a pending file of credit in it from the same dummy corporation.”

“Meaning what?” Luke asked.

“Meaning there was probably going to be another transfer of funds. My guess is that the ten thousand was just a down payment. If you had gotten blown up on that run, I’d also guess that a much larger amount would have wound up in the chief’s account. Sure brings up a lot of questions, doesn’t it?”

Lando looked at Wedge.

“She was going to shoot Luke,” Wedge said. “Second rule of self-defense is to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Leia turned around and looked at Lando. “What is the first rule?”

“Be somewhere else when the shooting starts.”

They looked at each other. What did all this mean?

Xizor knew that exercise was necessary, was essential for optimum health—and it helped keep underlings in line if they knew you were physically powerful. He practiced martial arts now and then, but he knew that wasn’t enough. And exercise bored him. He hated to do it. Thus it was that he sat in the myostim unit when Guri came to see him. The unit was simple enough, a sensor field coupled with an adjustable, computerized electromyoclonic broadcaster. Turn it on, set the level, and the myostim unit worked the muscles, forcing them to contract and relax in sequence. You could get stronger just lying there, develop powerful mass without having to do any heavy lifting. A great toy.

Guri seemed to materialize from nowhere.

Xizor lifted an eyebrow as his thighs clenched into hard knots, relaxed, then contracted again.

“The first attempt on Skywalker’s life has failed. The bribed crew chief is dead.”

Xizor nodded as his calves hardened and softened under the electrical stimulus.

“No surprise. We knew the boy was extremely lucky.”

“Or skillful,” Guri said.

Xizor shrugged as his feet tightened and slackened. “Either way. I’ve had some thoughts about the matter. Allow our agents to proceed, grease bearings as necessary. Be certain it looks as if they are in the employ of the Empire, linked directly to Vader. If they get Skywalker, good. If not, I have another idea that might be even more beneficial to us.”

“As you wish.”

He gestured with one arm as the stim wave began to move back up his legs toward his belly.

“This is not our only concern. We have a business to run.” He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again there was a sharp edge to his voice. “Ororo Transportation.”

Guri nodded.

“I do not believe the Tenloss Syndicate knows that Ororo is trying to take over our spice operations in the Baji Sector. I suppose we could make them aware of it and allow them to handle it, but that doesn’t suit me. I want you to go there and meet with Ororo. Indicate our … displeasure at their ambition.”

Guri nodded again.

“Before you leave, put in a comm to Darth Vader. I would like to see him at his convenience.”

“Yes, my prince.”

“That will be all.”

She left, and Xizor watched his bare stomach ridge under the hard stim contraction, forming symmetrical and rounded rectangles. No fat coated those muscles.

Sending Guri to deal with Ororo was necessary; greed never slept, and it was incumbent on Xizor to make certain that everyone knew that to cross Black Sun was to court ruin. Guri by herself would probably be enough to knock the transportation company’s leaders back into line, but Xizor never used a wrist slap when a hammer fist was called for. If you damage an enemy, you should damage him enough so that he cannot retaliate; that was a simple truth.

He had plans for Ororo, plans that would not only chastise them for their stupidity but would also further Xizor’s aims on other fronts. Everything in the galaxy was interlinked; a spark here could become a conflagration there, if you knew how to fan it properly. He was always looking for links, always checking to see how an event on that side of the galaxy could be made to serve his ends on this side. As in a tridimensional hologame, there were small moves that would add up to larger ones; a push at precisely the right place and exactly the right time could, in theory, topple a mountain. And it was his business to know when and where to push.

Yes. Ororo would pay for its temerity, and in ways it could not begin to imagine.

He leaned back and allowed the myostim machineries to make him stronger.

Darth Vader stared at the hologram of Xizor’s human droid Guri.

“Very well,” he said. “Tell your master I will see him. I have business on the Emperor’s skyhook. Have him meet me there in three standard hours.”

Vader broke the connection. What did Xizor want? Whatever it was, he did not believe for a moment that it was to serve the Empire—unless it served Xizor first.

The Dark Lord of the Sith stalked through the bowels of his castle to where his personal shuttle was kept. He could have taken the turbolift to the skyhook; most passengers and cargo were moved to the giant orbiting satellites through their tethers to the surface of the Imperial Center; but he had not stayed alive this long by taking foolish chances. Skyhook lifts seldom malfunctioned, but they were vulnerable to attack, from within and without. No, better to be in control of his own armored craft, where the dark side could be unleashed—along with laser cannon—if need be.

As he walked through one of his spare hallways, Vader considered another problem. For now, the Emperor did not want him to hunt for Luke Skywalker, at least not personally. While the Emperor had not yet spoken of it directly, the construction of the new and more powerful Death Star was behind schedule. Those in charge offered many excuses—material, workers, constantly changing plans—and the Emperor was growing impatient. Vader was fairly certain that it would be only a matter of time before the Emperor sent him to oversee the lagging project. It was amazing how a general who would drag his feet while out of the Emperor’s sight would suddenly learn how to run when paid a visit from one who could call upon the dark side. Those Imperial officers who scoffed at the Force did so out of ignorance.

Those who did not fear the power of Darth Vader were those who had never stood face-to-face with him.

Vader did not agree that the Death Star was the invincible and omnipotent weapon its designers had promised the Emperor. He had heard that tale before, and the ill-equipped Rebel forces had shown just how wrong that was with the first Death Star.

No, that was not strictly true. It had been Luke Skywalker who had struck the deadly blow, proving to Vader’s satisfaction that the Force was more powerful than the most sophisticated and deadliest technology. But—the Emperor did not agree, and there was nothing to be done about it. Nor was there anything to be done about being made to wait here. What the Emperor willed was so.

Vader reached the shuttle’s bay. A guard stood at the door.

“Is my shuttle ready to launch?”

“It is, Lord Vader.”

“Good.” The example he’d made of the technicians in charge the one time it had not been ready when he wished to use it had thus far been sufficient to keep that from happening again.

Vader swept past and marched toward his vessel.

Very well. He could not seek Luke out in person, but he could arrange for others to do so. Those wheels had already been put in motion. A very large reward and the gratitude of Darth Vader had been offered for whoever brought Skywalker to him alive. That would have to do for now.

“Why me?” Luke said.

They were next to the Falcon. Support techs from Rogue Squadron moved in and out of the ship, repairing damage done during the failed attempt on Boba Fett’s ship. The big makeshift building hadn’t gotten any warmer since they’d arrived.

Leia said, “Because it’s your homeworld and you’re the most familiar with it. Somebody needs to be there to keep an eye out for Boba Fett. You need to practice your Jedi skills, and you need a quiet place to do it. You’re the logical choice.”

Luke shook his head. He didn’t like it. And he didn’t think Leia was being completely frank with him.

“Can’t your Alliance business wait?” he asked.

“No. Take Artoo and go back to Ben’s house. Lando and Chewie and Threepio and I will meet you there as soon as I am done.”

Luke sighed. She was probably right, but that didn’t make it any easier. “All right. But you be careful.”

After Luke had taken off in his X-wing with Artoo—it was a long trip and they’d packed food and water for him, though he’d be ready for a shower when he got there—Leia spoke to Dash Rendar.

“Are you available for a job?” she asked him.

“Sweetie, I’m always available—if the money is right.”

“I want you to go to Tatooine and keep an eye on Luke.”

Dash raised an eyebrow. “Bodyguard? Sure, I can do that. Kid won’t like it if he finds out.”

“So stay out of sight,” Leia said. “Somebody tried to kill him, and I think they’ll try again. How much?”

Dash named a figure.

Lando whistled. “Man, you are a bandit, aren’t you?”

“The best don’t come cheap, Lando. In advance, Princess.”

Leia smiled. “You think so little of me, Dash? Do I look that stupid? One-third in advance, two-thirds when we arrive—if he’s still alive.”

“I can’t guarantee that.”

“I thought you were the best.”

Dash grinned. “I am. Half up front, half when you get there.”

“All right.”

After she’d paid Dash and he was gone, Leia turned to Lando.

“All right. Let me pose a hypothetical question.”

“If you don’t mind a hypothetical answer, go ahead.”

“What would be the best way to contact somebody high up in Black Sun?”

Lando stared at her as if she’d just told him she could fly by waving her arms. He shook his head. “The best way? Don’t.”

“Come on, Lando. This is important.”

“Princess, Black Sun is bad news. You don’t want to get into bed with them.”

“I’m not planning on getting into bed with them. I just want to rummage through their wardrobe chest.”

“What?”

Leia said, “Somebody just tried to kill Luke. Maybe it was Vader. Maybe not. Black Sun has a vast spynet of its own, older, maybe even wider than the Alliance’s. They can find out who is responsible.”

Chewie half grunted, half moaned something.

“I’m with you, pal,” Lando said. He exchanged glances with Chewie. “This is a big mistake.”

Leia continued. “But you have the connections and can put me in touch with them, right?”

“It’s still a bad idea.”

“Lando …”

“Yeah, yeah. I know a few people.”

She smiled. “Good. Where do we find them?”