Eight

Leia’s dream began as it ended, with a gauze pad dragging across her torn face. The distant shriek of decompression sang in her ears, and the biting cold of thin air chewed at her nose and cheeks. Her head was spinning, her lungs aching, and she felt herself dropping into hypoxic oblivion. But she could not reach up to close her faceplate. Someone was kneeling on her arms, holding her motionless while the gauze drank up her blood.

Not yet, Jedi Solo, a woman’s voice was saying. I need more. Just a little more.

Then Leia awoke as she always did, floating in the blue liquid warmth of a bacta tank, with her pulse pounding in her ears and angry knots slithering in her stomach. An outdated FX-4 medical droid stood at the monitoring station next to the tank, but there was no one else in the room. Not even Han.

The droid rotated its mushroom-shaped dome in her direction. There was a momentary delay as a central monitoring computer translated the FX’s query from droidspeak into Basic, then a stilted gender-neutral voice rippled through the auditory buds sealed into Leia’s ears.

“Good afternoon, Jedi Solo. Do you know where you are?”

Before answering, Leia took a second to calm herself, trying to sort out how much of the dream had been memory and how much had been misinterpretation—or even pure fabrication. Clearly, her subconscious mind was trying to warn her about something, to make her understand that she had been betrayed. But dreams should seldom be taken literally—and, really, what would anyone want with her blood? The warning had to be about something else, something that could be symbolized by blood.

“Jedi Solo, can you answer me?” the droid asked. “Do you know where you are?”

Leia sighed at the droid’s insistence, then swirled her hand through the green fluid in which she was floating. “I’m in a bacta tank.” She spoke directly into her breath mask, which had an integrated microphone that would relay her words to a speaker on the tank exterior. “In a hospital somewhere.”

“An infirmary,” the droid corrected. “Sarnus has no true hospitals.”

Sarnus. Of course. The planet was deep in the Chiloon Rift, the location of Lando’s refinery. She remembered that much.

“You are in the Recovery and Close-monitoring Unit,” the droid continued. “Room Ten, Floor Five.”

“What happened to me?”

“You arrived with facial trauma, multiple fractures in your left arm, and a concussion,” the droid informed her. “But your recovery is well under way. Your arm has mended incredibly fast. Both of your eyes have been repaired and are completely functional. Your nose has been reconstructed according to visual references obtained from the infirmary’s historical library. Your facial lacerations have been closed—”

“—and are expected to heal without visible scarring,” Leia finished. “I have a feeling I’ve heard this before.”

“Excellent,” the droid replied. “The symptoms of your concussion seem to be receding. What else do you recall?”

Leia thought for a moment, fighting to retrieve any memory associated with Sarnus. “I recall being in an office with Lando and … Han.”

As she spoke her husband’s name, Leia’s heart climbed into her throat, and she found herself close to panic. Could that be what her dream was about? Could Han be the blood that was taken from her? She had no memory of what had happened to him after the astrolith impact—but that was no comfort, as she could not recall what had happened to her, either.

“What else do you remember about the meeting?” the droid asked. “Who else was there?”

Leia did not even try to recall. “Stop trying to diagnose me,” she ordered. “Just tell me where my husband is.”

“Captain Solo is on his way—”

“Then he’s okay?” Leia asked. “He’s not hurt?”

“He no longer requires bacta immersion to continue healing,” the droid said carefully. “And since there is a shortage of tanks, he has been in the staff lounge, waiting for you to awaken. Chairman Calrissian and two other gentlemen are with him. Your protocol droid asked to be alerted as soon as you were available. Are you not available?”

“They’re here?” Leia was more relieved than disquieted, of course, but she was disquieted. Bacta-tank wraps were not exactly modest. “In the hospital?”

“Yes, coming down the corridor,” the droid confirmed. “Though we are an infirmary, not a hospital. I am concerned that you have forgotten that so soon. Do you recall what we were talking about a moment ago?”

“That Han is on his way with three other men. Please raise the privacy shield.” Leia reached out in the Force and felt not only Han’s familiar presence but that of the young miner who had accompanied them from Brink Station and—much to her surprise—that of her brother, Luke. “This tank does have a privacy shield, doesn’t it?”

“Of course,” the droid responded. “Our equipment here is seldom more than twenty years out of date.”

A band around the middle of the tank turned opaque, concealing Leia from mid-thigh to just below her armpits. An instant later the door to the room slid open, and Han stepped into view. He was not quite hobbling, but he was moving slowly and using a cane. He paused briefly, his eyes betraying his concern as he turned toward the bacta tank. His face was a red mesh of half-healed laceration scars, both eyes were black, and his nose was covered by a protective guard. He gave her a lopsided grin, then stepped over and pressed his palm to the wall of the tank.

“Hi there, Princess.” Han’s voice sounded a bit tired and hollow over the bacta tank’s comm system. “You’re looking good.”

Leia chuckled into her breath mask. “Not if I look anything like you.” Pressing her own hand to the tank interior, she paused to see if Han’s presence triggered the same kind of fear she had experienced in her dream. The only thing she felt was relief at seeing him alive. Whatever the dream was about, it wasn’t him. “Han … how bad is it?”

Han’s expression turned grim. “Leia, we need to get these guys.” He finally removed his hand from the wall of the bacta tank. “They murdered almost thirty thousand beings.”

Leia was stunned. She recalled sensing a certain malevolence in the Qrephs, but she had not realized that they were capable of this magnitude of evil. How could she have missed that? She could not help feeling partly responsible—because she had missed it, and she hadn’t stopped them.

“Count me in,” she said. “But I can’t believe the Qrephs expect Lando—or us—to roll over. Do they really think controlling production in the Rift is worth the trouble they’re bringing down on themselves?”

“Good question. We were just about to discuss that ourselves,” Han said. He turned and motioned toward the door. “Come on in, fellas.”

Lando entered first, looking far less battered than Han, but still moving stiffly and holding a protective arm over his ribs. Omad Kaeg followed behind him, grim but uninjured. Luke followed, looking calm and determined in his gray flight suit, then C-3PO and R2-D2.

“Oh, dear,” C-3PO lamented. “You look absolutely terrible, Princess Leia. I do hope these outdated first-aid droids haven’t been interfering with your recovery.”

The FX droid spun around and shot a burst of static at C-3PO.

“Well, I fail to see why you should be offended,” C-3PO replied. “You are outdated.”

Leia ignored the droids and turned to Luke. “I hope you didn’t come all this way just to send me home to recover,” she said. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

Luke smiled. “The thought never crossed my mind,” he said. “Actually, I came to deliver that background report you and Han wanted on GET. But I think I’m going to stick around and try to figure out what the Qrephs are really doing in the Rift.”

“How so?” Leia asked.

“The Rift is valuable,” Luke replied. “But it’s hardly worth making an enemy of the Jedi.”

“Maybe the Qrephs miscalculated,” Kaeg suggested. “Maybe they thought they wouldn’t be blamed for the sabotage. Or maybe they didn’t realize how the Jedi would react to mass murder.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Kaeg, but that is extremely unlikely,” C-3PO said. “In any intellectual contest, the odds of a Columi miscalculating the opponent’s response are—”

“Thank you, Threepio,” Luke interrupted, “but the odds don’t matter.” He tripped the FX-4’s circuit breaker to prevent it from making a record of their conversation, then assigned R2-D2 to prevent any eavesdropping by the central monitoring computer. “This is about more than trying to corner the Galactic metal markets, I’m very sure. It’s bigger than that.”

“And you’re sure of that why?” Leia asked.

“I’ll fill you in more completely later,” Luke said. “But Lando and I were talking, and I don’t think we can ignore the possibility of Sith involvement. The Ship sighting on Ramook may be nothing more than a coincidence, or it may hint at what’s really going on in the Rift. The only thing we know for sure is that the Qrephs are up to something out here we don’t understand—and we’d better figure it out quick, before it becomes any more of a problem for the rest of the galaxy.”

“More of a problem?” Han asked. “You mean the Rift isn’t the only place they’re blighting?”

“Far from it,” Luke said. “Their holdings in the Galactic Alliance have more than tripled since they relocated to the Chiloon Rift—despite this being a very strange base from which to run a financial empire. The question is, why are they here?”

“You’re suggesting there’s something in the Rift that makes it all possible,” Leia surmised. “And you think it might be Sith.”

“Sith.” Han snorted in disgust. “Well, that might explain why the Qrephs aren’t too worried about Jedi. If they’ve got a bunch of Sith on their side, they might feel pretty confident about dealing with Leia and me.”

Leia frowned. “But it doesn’t explain the Mandalorians and the Nargons,” she said. “First, Mandalorians don’t like Sith any more than they like us. Second, if the Qrephs have an army of Sith at their disposal, why would they pay for mercenaries?”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Lando, who had been standing on the far side of the room listening quietly. “I’ve been running some figures since Luke and I talked. By the time the Qrephs pay for those big asteroid crushers of theirs and an army of Mandalorians to push everyone else around, they’re losing money on their Chiloon operation—and that’s assuming they aren’t paying for the pirates, too.”

“They’re protecting a secret,” Luke said. “That has to be it. If they don’t want anyone to know there are Sith here, they can’t have a security force armed with lightsabers running around, or a bunch of Force-sensitive pirates trying to drive miners out. They need someone else to do that—so they hire the Mandalorians.”

Han’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute. Are you saying Kesh is in the Rift? Is that their secret?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, but, no,” Luke said. “If Kesh were here, there wouldn’t be any Mandalorians or miners running around the Rift. The Sith would never take that chance.”

“If you say so,” Kaeg said, sounding a little doubtful. “So, what is this Kesh?”

“It’s the homeworld of the Lost Tribe of Sith,” Han explained. “But its location is a big secret, mainly because it’s so far outside the hyperspace lanes that the Lost Tribe was marooned there for five thousand years.”

“I see,” Kaeg said. “Then how unfortunate it is that Kesh cannot be here.”

“Why?” Leia asked.

“Because then we would know why the Qrephs wanted my share of the miners’ support cooperative,” Kaeg explained. “It would give them a seat on the RiftMesh Committee.”

Han frowned. “And that’s important why?”

“Because the RiftMesh isn’t static,” Lando said. “It’s constantly being expanded and repaired—and it’s the ’Mesh Committee that decides when and where.”

“So, if the Qrephs had a seat on the committee, they could influence which beacons to repair—and where to place new ones,” Kaeg said. “And even if they failed to win the vote, they would know the committee’s plans.”

Leia frowned. “I’m still not following,” she said. “How does knowing the committee’s plans keep people away from Kesh—or whatever the Qrephs are trying to protect?”

“Because it’s dangerous to operate beyond the RiftMesh,” Kaeg explained. “Too dangerous. Without a beacon signal, it is easy to lose your way—and it is impossible to summon help.”

“There aren’t many miners who like to operate out of touch in the Rift,” Lando added. “If the Qrephs know where the cooperative is putting new beacons, they can destroy the ones that are too close for comfort. That way, there isn’t much chance a tug captain could stumble across their secret.”

“And if one did, he and his crew would just disappear,” Kaeg said. “It may not be this Kesh that the Qrephs are hiding, but it must be something like it. Something big and immobile. We only need to figure out what.”

“Agreed.” Han nodded, then looked from the bacta tank to Luke and Lando. “I say we do it.”

Leia felt a lump form in her chest. There was a certain glee in Han’s voice that she never liked to hear, a mad enthusiasm that came only when he had decided to attempt something wild and dangerous that he would not be talked out of.

“Do what, exactly?” Leia asked.

Han continued to look at Luke and Lando, awaiting their replies.

“Han,” Leia said, trying not to sound worried. “Do what?”

Han continued to watch Luke and Lando.

At last, Luke shrugged, and Lando nodded.

“I guess I don’t have any better ideas,” Lando said.

“Better than what?” Leia demanded.

Han grinned, then finally looked back to her. “It’s okay,” he said. “I have a plan.”