Star Wars_ The New Rebellion Part 14

Its energy stores?

He couldn't tell. But he couldn't let them keep b.u.mping it. The X-wing was his only way off the planet.

He gripped his lightsaber tightly in his right hand and started toward the bubbles.

With a large sucking sound, the mist around him disappeared. A bubble three times the size of the X-wing rose from the ground to hover over Luke, its pink strands stinging him, sending rivulets of pain through him. His body instinctively reacted, forcing him to his knees, his arms wrapped around his head.

The attack was eerily quiet. Except for the disappearance of the mist, he had not heard a sound. Even when the little bubbles b.u.mped against the X-wing.

Each touch of the strands left his skin numb. This was not a solution. He kept his head protected, but shifted position so that he could peer through his arms. Above him floated the giant bubble. It appeared hollow inside.

The strands continued to stab him, constant coordinated movements designed to numb him inch by painful inch.

The edges of the bubble were jagged, and the strands came from the inside, like strings hanging from the inside of a tent. The jagged edges were-Teeth! They were teeth!

The bubble stung its prey until it couldn't move, and then raised it into the hollow part of the bubble and chewed.

Luke's lightsaber hummed on with a rush of power. He swung his arm upward, slicing off half a dozen strands. They fell around him like live wires, stinging him each place they touched.

His muscles felt odd, as if he hadn't used them before. But he kept slashing, moving as quickly as his wounded body would let him.

The bubble's only reaction was to sting him harder. Each touch of a living strand sent more pain into him. He jolted. His body was cold and burning at the same time. He could barely get his breath.

But he concentrated all of his energy into his arm, into swinging the lightsaber. More strands fell around him, slapping the hard ground in the eerie quiet.

The gaping mouth got closer. Its breath was chill and white - the source of the mist. It accented the cold he felt, made the numbness spread. It was all he could do to keep moving, keep fighting. His shoulder ached, his hand barely closed, and he had no feeling left in his neck and face.

He could see the strands stinging him, but he could no longer feel them.

What an odd way to die. Here, alone, no R2. No one even knowing-I feel cold, death. His own voice echoed in his mind, along with the memory of Yoda's.

That place... is strong with the dark side of the Force.... Your weapons.

.. you will not need them.

And little Anakin's: We made the room hot.

Luke envisioned all the heat within him flowing upward and out, into the center of the bubble creature. The creature started to float away, but Luke sent more warmth, and more.

Then, with a great, ear-deafening pop, the creature exploded, followed by a dozen other pops as the little bubbles exploded as well.

Pink globs rained around him, sizzling as they hit the ground. Some hit him, making the numbness complete. He tried to build a shield around himself with the Force, but it was too late.

His body collapsed onto a pile of pink stuff. He watched, horrified, as the pink goo ate into his flight uniform, and headed for his precious, frozen skin.

FIFTEEN.

Leia sprawled on the center of her bed, flimsies spread before her. She wore an old pair of fighting pants, and one of Han's shirts. Her hair was loose except for two braids in front to keep it from falling in her eyes.

The bed, a large, soft mattress, piled high with pillows and blankets, was the safest place in their quarters. She and Han spent much time in the chamber, and she felt his presence strongly there. No one else came into the room without invitation, not even the children.

Sometimes she felt as though it was the only place she could be herself.

On this afternoon, she was there because it was the only place she could be completely alone and undisturbed. She also felt that she needed Han's presence, however superficially, while she studied the hard copies in front of her.

The election results.

From Gno's expression when he had called that morning to let her know they had arrived, she had known the news was bad. She had asked for hard copies, and then retreated to her rooms. If she had remained in her office, she would have been bombarded by well-wishers, worriers, and gloaters. She needed time to process the information on her own.

The elections had been held quickly, just as she had planned. A few places complained that they didn't even have enough time to mobilize the electorate (Exactly what we want, Gno had said), and others requested permission to grieve for the lost senators before replacing them. That request was denied. The swifter the business of government moved, the better. Sometimes even funerals were places for politicking of the kind that Leia and her supporters had hoped to avoid.

Leia's hands shook as she sorted through the information before her. She checked the planets represented by critically injured senators first.

Most had decided to follow the senators' wishes and allow them to vote by proxy. Those places that hadn't, where it was uncertain whether or not the senators would be able to function in public again, voted in politicians whose records seemed, at least on the surface, to mirror those of the officials they were replacing.

The trouble rested in the hundred other planets whose senators had died.

Despite the haste, despite the precautions, only fifteen percent elected someone with the same political cast. On all the rest, former Imperials were voted into office.

Thanks to the bombing, former Imperials held a simple majority in the Senate.

Enough to defeat any proposal that required a voice vote, but not enough to win in each instance.

Just because these people had lived within the Empire didn't mean they would all vote the same.

Or at least, she hoped they wouldn't.

But if they did, she would have to fight for each and every important vote. The Senate had become a political body now, not a place of colleagues.

That night, she would have to respond to the results, and do so in her most diplomatic manner. She couldn't alienate the new representatives by a.s.suming they would oppose her, and she had to rea.s.sure her own supporters at the same time.

She put her head down on one of the pillows, crumpling half the flimsies beneath her weight. More and more she longed for the days of the Rebellion, days when most crises found an answer in the unplanned use of a blaster, in the ingenuity of the fight, in the strength of the fleet and the feeling of fighting for truth, goodness, and justice.

She was good at subtlety. Luke had told her that. Han had told her that.

She knew it. She had proved it a hundred times.

But she had always been a direct woman. She preferred directness in herself, in her friends. The business of setting aside that directness for the correct thing to say left her exhausted.

Especially now. She could see the future of her government, and directness was not a part of it. As the former Imperials gained power, the Rebels would have to tone down their language for fear of insulting their colleagues. The history of the Rebellion would be changed slightly to show that the leaders of the Empire were the only ones who were corrupt. And with each subtlety came a small lie. The lies would acc.u.mulate until the truth was lost.

She sat up and pushed the flimsies away. She wouldn't stand for this. Her speech tonight would be a warning that the policies of the Empire would never replace the policies of the New Republic. She would remind everyone whom they served now, and how important the ideals they had fought for so hard, and so many times, were.

Have you ever thought, sweetheart, that you're the one who's being unfair?

She frowned at Han's imaginary voice, just as she had frowned at him when he said that. The Empire had been their enemy; always would be.

But the Empire was dead.

Then who set off the bomb?

It angered her that the investigations were going more slowly than the elections had. She had hoped that the criminal or criminals would have been brought to justice by now. But it seemed the more she studied this, the more out-of-control she was.

The secret to using your powers, Leia, is to let go of what you know. Let the Force guide you. Luke's voice was as clear as if he were in the room.

Several giddy times, in his exercises, she had parried all the attacks of the seeker remote while blinded. She had fought in a number of battles, feeling the Force flow through her and guide her. Luke claimed that she had done the same in diplomatic situations, although she had not felt that way.

Perhaps she would have to do that now.

She pushed herself off the bed. Letting go of those emotions was harder than anything she had tried. Since she was eighteen years old, she had fought the Empire. It had destroyed her home, murdered her beloved father, and given her a twisted birthright from an evil man, a birthright she had tried to cleanse by naming her youngest son after that evil man's good side. She had been tortured, shot, and wounded in explosions. She had lost friends over and over again to the Empire.

And now she was expected to coexist with them.

Someday we must move beyond Rebellion and into true government. Mon Momma's words. Perhaps Mon Mothma was the person to move them to true government. She had laid the foundations. Her strengths were in persuasive abilities, and in her talent at looking long-term.

Leia rubbed her hands on her torn military pants. She was unwilling to give up any symbol of her Rebellion. The Rebellion had replaced all that had existed before. The Empire had destroyed her home and friends. The Rebellion had given her a new home, new friends. The Empire had murdered her family. The Rebellion had given her a new family.

She couldn't abandon that. She couldn't let go. For if she let go of her hatred for the Empire, she might lose the love she had found in the Rebellion.

Mon Mothma had the ability to set those pa.s.sions aside.

But that had been part of the reason she had stepped down.

Our leadership must be strong and dynamic. We need someone like you, Leia.

Strong and dynamic. Full of pa.s.sion.

Full of anger.

Fear, anger, and hatred belonged to the dark side. How many times had Luke told her that?

And where was Luke? Chasing some phantom. Just as Han was. Her children were on Anoth, Winter with them. Whenever Leia needed guidance, the people closest to her were gone.

The house computer bonged.

Her irritation flared. "I told you that I didn't want to be disturbed."

"Just so, madam," said the house computer, using Han's voice but not his syntax. Leia's irritation fled in the face of her amus.e.m.e.nt. Anakin had been messing with the controls again. "But you have a persistent visitor who claims that he is here with a dire emergency. He threatened to disa.s.semble my circuits if I did not contact you."

"Really?" she said, unable to reconcile the words with the voice. "Does our mysterious visitor have a name?"

"He claims to be one Lando Calrissian." Anakin not only had tampered with the computer's voice, he also had tampered with its memory. The computer should have recognized Lando's name at least. Good thing the little mechanical whiz wasn't home, or he'd get a hearing from Leia. Of course, he would just blame Jaina, who often wasn't completely blameless in all of this. The difference was that Jaina meticulously covered her tracks.

"Let me see a visual," Leia said.

A holographic projection of a man hovered before her face. He wore his trademark cloak, his dark smuggler's boots, and a flashy satin shirt. His black hair was cut close to his head, but that was the only change Leia saw. Except for the frown not hidden by his carefully trimmed mustache.

"Send him in," she said.

She left the bedroom and went into the living suite. Lando's practiced flirtations were, for the most part, a thing of the past, but Leia scrupulously avoided any situation that would give him an excuse to flirt with her.

The main area of the living suite had been redecorated on Jacen's whim.

He had complained that none of the chairs was comfortable-something Han had agreed with-and the two of them scoured the Imperial Palace for more suitable seating. Now none of it matched (Comfort is more important than looks, Mom), but it was all well-used. While she waited for Lando, Leia stood in front of the puce couch that Winter mercifully had covered with a white duvet.

He burst through the door and glanced around, almost as if he didn't see her.

"Where's Han?" No "h.e.l.lo, Leia, how's the galaxy's most talented princess?"; no "You're looking beautiful today." If she hadn't seen that expression before, she would have thought this Lando was an impostor.

"He's not on Coruscant. Can I help you, Lando?" Lando shook his head.

"We've got to find him, Leia. It's critical." A frisson of fear ran along her spine. "Tell me, Lando."

"I've been trying to reach you for days."

"The communications array has been overloaded since the bombing."

"I know." Lando put his hands behind his back and paced the room. His expression was as dark as it had been in the carbon-freezing chamber that horrible, horrible day when Han had nearly died, and Lando learned that Vader had betrayed him. "Where's Han?"

"You tell me what the problem is first." He stopped pacing, and glanced at a painting Jaina had done when she was two. Even though he was staring at it, he didn't seem to be seeing it. "I found a smuggler's ship that belonged to an old colleague of ours. It was abandoned, and had clearly been sabotaged. The smuggler was in it. He'd been slaughtered." The fear that had run along Leia's back had moved to her stomach.

"He had just come from Coruscant. And when I checked his logs, I found these messages." Lando gave her a small hand-held computer. She tilted it toward the light.

CARGO DELIVERED. FIREWORKS SPECTACULAR.

SOLO KNOWS. WE CAN COUNT ON HIS INVOLVEMENT.

She handed the computer back, careful not to show her sudden shakiness.

"Whose ship did you find this on?"

"A smuggler named Jarril. Did you know him? "

"Han left a few days ago looking for him." Leia sank into the puce couch, letting its softness enfold her. "Why do you think this is an emergency, Lando?"

"Jarril was killed because of this message, and Han is mentioned."

"You think Han might be next?"

"What do you think, Leia?"

"I'm concerned about the 'fireworks.' "