Star Wars_ The New Rebellion Part 42

"Probably," Lando said.

Han didn't want to think about that. Not now. The cries had grown as the smoke cleared. Blue had worked her way closer to the Falcon. Her face was streaked with tears. Her eyes were glazed. She appeared to be working by rote.

"Listen," Han said. "I think we should set up the Lady Luck as a medical facility. It's nearly empty, so there's lots of room, and we can fly the most seriously wounded off the Run."

"Who's going to help smugglers?" Lando asked.

"Someone will," Han said. "I'll make sure of that. I think we need to coordinate this kind of effort with all the undamaged ships. We don't have the facilities on the Run to deal with this kind of tragedy."

"But the Luck-" Lando said.

"Is going to need refurbishing anyway," Han said. "I'm sure most of the stolen equipment is now no longer in prime condition." Lando nodded. He appeared beyond exhaustion. "I'll get her ready," he said.

"Thanks," Han said. He silently urged Chewie to go along with Lando, and then turned toward Blue.

She was gone.

He took a breath, unable to see her. He hoped she hadn't collapsed when he wasn't looking.

Then he saw her, sitting cross-legged on a pile of rubble, her arms cradling a charred body. Her tears had stopped, but she looked stricken, as if someone had stabbed her through the heart.

He picked his way over to her. Now that he knew what much of the debris was, he could recognize it: long crane pieces that went on binary load lifters; jacks for plugging into computer systems; wheels that belonged on R5 units. The droids blew themselves up to destroy their masters.

But how?

Why?

He stopped beside Blue. The body she held was nearly unrecognizable. It was missing an arm. It wasn't until Han crouched that he saw the face.

Davis.

His eyes were open, their final expression stunned horror. Han reached over and closed them.

Blue glanced at him then. Her face was still tear-streaked, but it looked as if she would never cry again. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way,"

she said, her voice flat.

Han felt cold. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what she was talking about. Still, he asked, "What wasn't?"

"Davis." She choked on the word. "You were supposed to trust him. He was supposed to take you out of here." Han's thighs ached. He wasn't used to crouching. "You knew him?"

"I loved him." Her voice was soft. "It wasn't true, you know. What Kid said. I wasn't a smuggler of hearts. I have one. Had one." She bowed her head. "This shouldn't happen to people."

"No," Han said softly. "It shouldn't happen to anyone." Maybe he had misunderstood her. Maybe that was what she had meant when he came over, that something like this was an unspeakable abomination, that the people who conceived of it were horrible beings.

"What happened, Blue?" She shook her head. "The credits, Han. You don't know what those kinds of credits do." The chill in his bones increased.

Davis did not look restful. He looked as if he had died in agony. Blue could probably see that too. "Tell me," Han said.

"You were supposed to trust him. I should have known you couldn't make such an easy leap. But I remembered you wrong, Han. I remembered you as a nice man, a competent man, but I forgot you were a loner. I forgot you liked to do things your way."

"Why was I supposed to trust him, Blue?"

"So you would go after the equipment. You were supposed to see a trade, and follow it to the source."

"What's the source?"

"Almania," she whispered.

Han leaned away from her. "Was Jarril part of this?"

"Not a willing part. When Seluss found out he had left, then we decided to use it. You would have come in handy."

"To whom, Blue?" She stroked Davis's burned head. He had no hair left on his scalp. Even in death, he looked vulnerable.

"To whom?" Han repeated.

"The credits, Han. You don't understand the credits."

"Yes, I do," he said. "I do." He understood. Credits made some people crazy. It made them forget the important things. It made them creatures without heart. No matter how much Blue protested, he didn't believe her.

She had no heart. Not if she could be a part of this.

"His name is Kueller. He wants your wife."

"Leia?" She nodded. "And her brother." Han frowned. "But why?"

"Because he hates the New Republic. He thinks it harms people more than it helps them."

"And he did this?" The anger seeped out of Han's voice before he could stop it.

Blue froze, her hand stopped in midcaress. She closed her eyes.

"Blue?"

"It was supposed to be a clean weapon, Han. It wasn't supposed to do so much damage."

"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" She shook her head. "I'm not that dumb. Really. I wouldn't let this happen to my friends. To Davis." Han clenched his fists. He wanted to hurt something. But he had to hold himself in check. "What does he want with Leia?"

"He wants her and Skywalker gone. He wants to be the master of the Force in the galaxy. He wants to lead all the planets."

"He wants to be Emperor." She shook her head. "He's a good man."

"They say Palpatine was once, too," Han said. He pushed up, unable to be close to her anymore.

"He's not like that, Han." Han shook his head. "You misjudged me, Blue.

Why wouldn't you misjudge this Kueller? You didn't see beyond the credits."

"I saved your life," she said. "So did Davis."

"Because you needed me to lure Leia to her death. That doesn't count, Blue."

"Han, please-" He shook his head, and backed away from her. Then he stopped when he realized something. "If this wasn't supposed to happen here, what went wrong?"

"I forgot," she whispered. "About the stolen droids."

"Stolen? From where?"

"Everywhere. Smugglers always steal droids. You know that."

"But these droids. The ones that blew. Where were they stolen from?" She raised her gaze to him as if he should have figured it out. As if he should have known. And he was afraid he did know, but he waited for her to say it anyway.

"Coruscant," she whispered. "They were stolen from Coruscant."

THIRTY-EIGHT.

The fleet continued moving forward. Kueller watched it on his screens, saying nothing. The room was dimly lit, the only true light coming from the screens and the lamps at the workstations. The dome showed the silent night sky. Hard to believe he would easily win a battle up there in a matter of moments.

Yanne had given the order. Kueller had watched the serial numbers scroll on his remote.

Too much time had pa.s.sed.

At first he wondered if the fleet was moving forward on momentum. Then he realized, as the wave of cold and death failed to wash over him, that nothing had happened.

"Yanne," he said to his a.s.sistant, figuring a double check was necessary.

"Did you give the order?"

"Yes, sir." The wave hit, finally, terrifyingly chill and weak, as if it had come from a long distance. It was oddly prolonged: a few deaths, then a few more, and then a few after that. He raised his arms, felt the power surge in him, but there was no satisfaction in it. The droids he had designed especially for the Coruscant fleet were somehow somewhere else.

Slowly he lowered his arms. Yanne was watching him curiously, as if he had never seen him before. Kueller was tempted to pick the old man up and break his thin neck as a sign of power. But he knew that would gain him nothing.

The ships were growing closer, ever closer. Too many of them. If he let them get too close, they would destroy Almania.

"I've deployed our ships," Yanne said.

"Good," Kueller said, ignoring Yanne's triumphant tone. The little man wanted Kueller to lose, wanted Kueller to be defeated. But Kueller wouldn't be. "I want the Imperial warships to be the first thing they see. I want them to think they're still fighting the Empire."

"Won't that give them a psychological advantage, sir?" Kueller smiled. "A psychological disadvantage, Yanne. The Empire becomes the enemy that never dies. They'll use strategies with the Empire they'd never use with us."

"And that's to our advantage?"

"Keeping the true nature of our attack hidden is always to our advantage." He leaned forward. "I will conduct the battle from here. I want you to discover what went wrong. Why our weapon didn't work."

"You relied too much on that one weapon," Yanne said.

Kueller shook his head. "The droids exploded, Yanne. But they exploded somewhere else. I want you to let me know where the damage occurred, and what happened on this fleet." Yanne watched him a moment. Kueller glowered at him. Finally, Yanne said, "Yes, sir." His att.i.tude needed work. He was a competent man who was about to walk the road that Femon died upon. But because he had served Kueller so well, he deserved a warning.

A symbolic warning.

Kueller raised a hand, and clenched it.

Yanne brought a hand to his throat. He was gagging, his tongue out, his eyes wide.

Kueller let go.

Yanne dropped to his knees, and remained there, gasping.

"You need to remember, my friend, that I am more powerful than you, and always will be."

"I... have never... forgotten... that, milord..."

"Your att.i.tude tells me otherwise. I value your opinion and your ideas.

See that I don't lose the wisdom of your council."

"Yes... sir." Yanne brought himself slowly to his feet. His neck carried bruises where Kueller's imaginary hand had been. "I... shall endeavor...

to... prevent the... loss."

"Excellent." Kueller turned his back on Yanne. "Carry out your orders."

"Yes, sir." Kueller felt Yanne stare at him a moment before leaving the room. When Yanne was gone, Kueller signaled one of the guards to him.

She bowed her head, clearly frightened. "Yes, milord?"

"Bring Gant to me. "

"Yes, milord." She clicked her heels and disappeared.

Gant wasn't nearly as talented as Yanne, and he didn't even fall into the same category as Femon. Neither of them did. But Gant would be Kueller's next choice for an advisor. Best to start training him now. Kueller had a feeling that Yanne wouldn't be with him much longer.

This time the cold felt as if someone were pelting her with ice cubes.

With a shaking hand, Leia put Alderaan on automatic, amazed that she was able to do that much as she felt death all around her. This wave wasn't as strong, but it lasted longer, which made it even more terrifying.

She couldn't pinpoint its location, but the feelings were the same: sudden shock and betrayal, followed by fear, and then nothing, except a broad expanse of chill.

She braced herself to see Kueller's face, but surprisingly, it didn't surface this time. Instead, she felt Luke.

It was a small sense: one of great pain and great effort, but it was a sense all the same. Luke was alive.