Star Wars, page 19
The more independent she became, the less likely she was to hurt others. Including herself.
And then a couple of laserbrains and a walking carpet had saved her from the Death Star.
Maybe I shouldn’t even try, Leia thought. Thinking of the Death Star made her think of Vader, and that made her recoil in disgust. She could not escape her own heritage.
But…Han hadn’t seemed to care. The entire galaxy would revile her if the truth was out, but not Han.
And she couldn’t even give him the one thing he asked of her: time. The very thing the war had supposedly granted them.
Bitter bile rose in Leia’s throat. She didn’t want a medal or a prestigious appointment, but she longed for the freedom to accept at least a little joy. She had never really considered before that it wasn’t something bestowed by peace at the end of war; it was something waiting for her to claim, if only she could allow herself to do so.
A flurry of ice crystals wafted through the climate simulator. She was getting cold, and when some of the Halcyon staff came through with carts full of frothy hot drinks, sweet and thick with something creamy, Leia took a cup eagerly, sipping and relishing the burn.
Wrapping her hands around the cup, Leia knew she had to find a way to lower her walls. A true partnership—not just for a mission or a war, but for life—was somewhat new to her. As open as Leia often was, she compartmentalized so much. She had to find a way to let Han past the walls she’d spent the entire rebellion building.
She just wasn’t sure how.
CHAPTER 29
HAN
A HONEYMOON SUITE WAS NO fun alone.
Han tossed pillows at the Droid Link Panel built into the wall until he triggered it. D3-O9’s voice chirped through the comm speaker, her round white-and-bronze head bobbing in a greeting on the screen.
“Good morning! As a reminder, I am unable to see into your cabin, although you can, of course, see me.”
Han looked down at himself. He hadn’t really considered the possibility of the video screen displaying his lack of clothing.
“What is there to do on this ship?” Han asked from the bed.
D3-O9 straightened up, squaring her shoulders and leaning forward eagerly. “The Halcyon provides a wide range of activities for your enjoyment!” The display changed to a map of the ship, highlighting each section as she spoke about it. “There is, of course, the chance to mingle with guests and play holo-sabacc—”
“I’m not in the mood for company.” No one’s except Leia’s, anyway.
“Ah, in that case, I can suggest a peaceful meditation in the climate simulator or even a round of vigorous exercise in our exercise room. That room was developed with—”
“I’m also not in the mood for clothes.”
The display featuring the ship’s map disappeared, showing D3-O9’s face again. It was fascinating, really, the way logistics and protocol droids could express emotion—particularly shock—despite faces made of metal. Han liked to make a game of it.
“In that case, sir, may I suggest you stay in your spacious suite and enjoy the viewport?” D3-O9’s voice was somehow scandalized and chastising at the same time.
Han got up from the bed to look out the viewport. It was probably a good thing that the vidscreen was one-way only.
“Of course,” D3-O9 continued, “as we are in hyperspace, the view is somewhat…”
“Boring,” Han finished.
“Hyperspace routes may look the same, but they do represent a wonder of science and technology,” D3-O9 started.
“Yeah, yeah.” Han crossed over to the Droid Link Panel and disconnected it. A small part of him was impressed. He hadn’t felt the shift to lightspeed at all. Still, being in hyperspace when they were supposed to be slowly cruising through a meteor storm reminded him of his wife’s…it wasn’t fair to call it a betrayal, even if it felt like one.
Han pushed the thought away. Food. Food would be good. Some more of that brown stuff—it was delicious. He dressed quickly and headed out the cabin, to the turbolift, and down to Deck Four, where the Crown of Corellia called its sweet siren song of pastries. Voices made his head turn, and he saw Kelad and Zalma walk out of the engineering corridor, Wozzakk trailing behind them. The chief engineer was talking with the former prisoner, heads bent together. They were so wrapped up in their conversation that they didn’t even notice Han staring at them. Wozzakk, however, did, and the Ugnaught engineer paused to speak.
“Don’t you worry,” he told Han. “I’ve got big eyes on that one.”
“Some punishment,” Han said. “Guy looks happier than I’ve ever seen him. He got exactly what he wanted—a chance to look at and work on the Halcyon’s engines.”
“Big eyes,” Wozzakk said ominously. “Don’t trust a passenger in the engine room.” He watched mournfully as Kelad and Zalma disappeared behind a door marked for the crew only.
“Yeah, me neither.”
“Better follow,” Wozzakk said, picking up his pace in an almost comical way with his short legs. Before he got to the door, though, Han heard the Ugnaught mutter, “Don’t like the way he looks at my tractor beams. They’re not his.”
Han shook his head. Most ships this size had tractor beams to aid shuttles and supply loaders in reaching the bay. As ships had increasingly smaller targets upon which to land, tractor beams were a safe and efficient means of docking, either to load smaller vessels onto a larger ship, like this one, or to maneuver a larger ship like the Millennium Falcon to a small slip on a planet.
Of course, a piece of tech didn’t exist that couldn’t be corrupted and used for some other means. He himself had once used the Falcon’s in a desperate attempt to slingshot a meteor, and that had been epic. But it had taken the Empire to turn a tool into a weapon. Imperial Star Destroyers had corrupted tractor beams from something helpful and useful into a way to trap innocent ships.
Han smirked as he crossed the corridor toward the dining room. Okay, maybe the Falcon wasn’t entirely “innocent.” But it was still true that the Empire corrupted everything it touched.
And Han feared Kelad would do the same.
“General Solo?” a voice called. It was the Pantoran woman who’d been assigned as Leia’s attaché. “Have you seen Princess Leia?”
“Need her for another interview?” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, and Han immediately regretted snapping at Riyola; it wasn’t her fault that Leia was willing to do everything for everyone except herself.
Riyola cringed. “I’m sorry. No, I just wanted to tell her about the agenda for guests on Madurs.” She paused, flushing indigo over her blue cheeks. “I really am sorry. I know it’s your honeymoon, and I—”
“Forget it,” Han said. He headed into the dining room, but Riyola followed him.
Despite the early hour—was it early? Han wasn’t sure. It felt early—the dining room was full. He flagged down one of the wait staff and asked about the pastries with the brown stuff inside.
“Those are banchock hand pies,” the server informed him. “A delicacy from Synjax. We like to feature the local dishes you’ll encounter at the worlds we visit.”
“Yes, those. Give me six of them. In a box.”
The server had the grace to not even blink at the extravagant order. As she left, Riyola chuckled. “Well, you know what you like.”
“I do.”
Riyola shifted uneasily while they both waited for the server to bring Han his order. Han wanted to tell her that she could just leave, but she seemed intent on lingering. “I was not assigned only to serve Princess Leia,” she said finally. “I am happy to help make your journey better. You’re clearly upset by something, but I would like to—”
“I’m not upset,” Han said quickly.
Riyola’s yellow eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t press the matter.
“I just want pie,” Han added.
The dining room bustled with activity. They could see the server who’d taken Han’s order darting around, helping others. She glanced up and nodded at them, indicating that they were still a priority.
“It’s so busy,” Riyola commented. “A part of me wants to jump in and help the servers. But it wouldn’t be a help. I would just get in their way. An essential part of teamwork is knowing when to offer aid and when to trust others to handle the task at hand.”
“Well, they could ask for help if they needed it,” Han muttered. He paused, mulling over his own words, then added, “Might get me my pie quicker.”
“It’s harder to ask for help sometimes,” Riyola mused. “Especially if you’re used to doing it yourself.”
“Some things shouldn’t be done alone.”
The server brought Han’s pastries, and after thanking her, Han opened the box, grabbed the top one, and stuffed it into his mouth as he turned to leave. Riyola followed.
“You’re right—some things should not be done alone. The banchock hand pies, for example,” the Pantoran said. “Did you know they take a full standard week to make? The filling has to be mashed and sweetened before it is fermented at a precise temperature. The final days are crucial, often requiring adjustments to the mixture hourly. Painstaking labor over so many days requires a full staff of chefs to work together.”
Han swallowed drily—one of the six pastries was gone before Riyola had even finished speaking. “They’re very good.”
Riyola smiled. “Most things are when they are created in harmony with others.”
“Uh-huh.” Han crossed over to the turbolift. Leia needed a lecture about working with others, not him. He’d come for pastries; he had his pastries. “If I see my wife, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her,” he said, stepping into the lift and reaching for another pie as the doors closed in Riyola’s face.
By the time he got back to the cabin, there were only two pies left. Leia turned around as he entered, the door sliding closed behind him.
“Hey,” she said.
Han put the box on the table by the door. “Your attaché wanted to go over the next day’s activities with you.”
“She can wait.” Leia’s voice was quiet, almost meek.
He could see that she was nervous. She hesitated, taking a step toward him, then lingering back.
That would not do.
“You know,” Han said. “I’ve seen you command control centers, shoot stormtroopers point-blank when they had us cornered, and stand in front of Darth Vader without so much as weak knees. But I’ve only ever once seen you afraid.”
Leia shot him a confused look.
Han snorted. “Don’t you remember? You were shaking like a leaf.”
A flush rose on her cheeks as she recalled the moment Han spoke of—the two of them in the Millennium Falcon, just before they’d kissed for the first time.
Leia took a step closer, her jaw set stubbornly. “I was not shaking.”
“Positively quivering.” He stalked across the cabin to her.
“Not with fear!” Leia was in his face now, her chin pointed up at him defiantly.
“Then what made you tremble?” Han brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles, and Leia crumpled against his touch.
“Leia,” he whispered. “I don’t ever want you to be afraid, but I especially don’t want you to be afraid to talk to me.”
He brushed aside a lock of Leia’s hair that had escaped her braid. The nerves that had wound her up tight melted with the soft, relieved sigh that escaped her lips. She leaned against him, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.
“You should know by now,” he murmured, “no matter how many times you push me away, I just keep coming back.”
“Stubborn scoundrel,” Leia said without looking up, her breath warm on his neck.
“Stubborn scoundrel who came back with pie,” Han pointed out.
CHAPTER 30
LEIA
“OKAY, THIS MIGHT NOT BE too bad,” Han admitted the next day, when the Halcyon orbited around Madurs. From the viewport in their cabin, they had a prime glimpse of the blue-white frozen planet, sparkling like a diamond against the blackness of the universe. This part of the moon was illuminated not only by the system’s sun but also by the gas giant planet the moon orbited, a swirling mix of purple and silver. Riyola had uploaded new itineraries into everyone’s datapad, with information on the twinkling architecture of the ice palaces and a special planned excursion to ride in submersible vehicles to view edonts, vast underwater creatures larger than most spaceships.
Han turned toward Leia. “But why does it have to be an ice world?” he groaned. “We got enough of that on Hoth.”
“On the bright side,” Leia pointed out, “there are no tauntauns.”
“Have I mentioned how bad those things smell?”
“Maybe once or twice.”
“Because it’s bad.”
“I’ve heard.”
“The inside is worse than the outside.”
“Yes, that also has been confirmed.”
“It’s just—”
Leia thrust the day bag into Han’s arms, and he took the hint, lugging it onto his shoulders. Although they were only going to be on the moon for three days, Leia had packed multiple outfits, unsure of how formally she would be greeted. Madurs was sending local shuttles to cart passengers from the Halcyon onto the moon’s surface, although not all of the guests had opted to spend a night in one of the galaxy-renowned ice palaces. Leia adjusted the long cloak made from gwendle wool, draping it around her shoulders. Despite being relatively thin, the white cloak embroidered with silver thread was as warm as any coat she’d ever donned, and elegant enough—she hoped—to impress the prime minister of Madurs. She left the wide hood down and the material pooled at her back then melted over her shoulders. It was too warm now for the full effect, but Leia knew that white was her color, both a fashion choice and a conscious political commentary to remind others of the Alderaanian royal family and the atrocities the Empire had committed against her homeworld.
As Leia and Han headed down the corridor and toward the turbolift that would take them to the shuttle loading area, Leia went over everything she’d researched about Madurs and its prime minister. Dreand Yens was a few decades older than her, somewhere between her parents’ and Mon’s age. In some of the images on the HoloNet, he appeared almost fatherly, with a warm smile and kind eyes. More recent images showed his age in a harsher way. He had perpetual bags under his eyes, and streaks of gray at his temple. Leia had seen it before—the stress of political office wore on a person, aging them before their time.
D3-O9 stood at the bottom of the turbolift, helping to guide guests to the shuttle. “Ah, Princess Leia,” the droid said. “And Han.”
“What happened to ‘General Solo’?” Han muttered to Leia as they headed toward the Madurs shuttle.
“I imagine she got to know you a little better.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Leia stood on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. “Have you, by chance, conversed with Deethree when I wasn’t around?”
“A little,” Han said. “She answered that comm unit display and told me about the ship.”
“Did you insult the ship?”
“Not really.”
“Well,” Leia said, “she ‘didn’t really’ insult you back, did she?”
Han cast a look over his shoulder, glaring as D3-O9 bustled to the front of the group. “Thank you all for promptly arriving at your shuttle launch,” the droid said, amplifying her voice. “We are now ready to begin the boarding process of the local shuttle to Madurs.”
The droid stepped aside, allowing all the passengers to enter the shuttle. It was a large vessel, comfortably seating more than two dozen guests and their hand luggage. D3-O9 stepped on board once everyone was settled inside.
“The Madurs local shuttle is entirely remotely operated, but please be assured that it is a perfectly safe loading vessel, with the remote loaders on Halcyon aiding in the operation as an additional precaution.”
Leia knew that these small orbit-to-surface shuttles were usually fairly simple, operated by a droid or remotely, but it was a nice touch for the Halcyon to add in its loader beams.
“Overkill,” Han muttered to her. “Bet Kelad talked them into that. Bet they’re letting him help on the bridge with the loader beams.”
“Are you jealous?” Leia asked, gazing up at him.
“I have more experience flying than he does. They should give me a shot at the controls.”
Leia laughed softly as D3-O9 started talking about safety procedures during the launch. “As this shuttle has not had a chance to be inspected by the Halcyon to ensure it is up to Chandrila Star Line’s standards, I want to further inform you of additional materials we have added to this vessel for your safety and comfort.”
“You don’t even know for sure Kelad is on the bridge,” Leia told Han, continuing their conversation.
“I know he’s not in the brig, and that’s reason enough to be angry.”
Leia shot him a look, but he ignored it.
“Please also note,” D3-O9 continued at the front of the shuttle, her voice cheery. “In the event of emergency, supplies are available for your safety.” D3-O9 held up breathing apparatuses and a long vest with thermal heat disks attached that would provide warmth when activated. It wasn’t a full spacesuit, but it would be enough to keep someone safe long enough for a rescue crew to reach them. “These are located in these crates, along with explosive evacuation flare shells to help locate survivors.”
“Are we going to need those?” an elderly man asked. He turned to his companion. “I told you we shouldn’t have come here. I signed up to go to Synjax, not an ice moon. Synjax shuttles don’t need emergency equipment.”
