Chapter 7

It took some effort, but Han had finally found a repair he could afford. He planned to disconnect the indicator panel to the Falcon's shielding controls and then color-coordinate the lights properly, replacing the haphazard color scheme that was the result of years of random scrap-yard parts. Chewie had already positioned an empty packing crate out in the brighter light of the docking bay as a temporary workbench, and Han was looking forward to digging in with a relish, glad to at last have something constructive to do.

Before he could start, he needed to requisition the series of replacement lights, and that meant swallowing any knee-jerk resentment he felt toward Leia's new boss. While the thought stuck in his craw like a fork gone sideways, he suspected that Lieutenant Krate was just as much a pawn as she was in whatever vindictive game High Command was playing. Besides, now that Han was officially signing up, that made Krate his superior as well and he might as well get used to it.

Intending on making it a quick trip, Han set out in the direction the Supplies depot, attached to the adjacent and much larger docking bay. As he passed through the hallways, there was a noticeable new energy in the air — a tension even greater than what had greeted Han upon their return to the Alliance Fleet the day before. Runners, both human and mechanical, were racing down the white corridors, and more than once Han had to step out of the way or risk a collision.

What the hell is going on here?

Han came to an abrupt halt when he arrived to find a crowd of soldiers and other personnel already packing the entrance to the Supplies section. In stark contrast to the tense silence elsewhere, these men had the jaunty air of veterans, joking and talking loudly as they waited. The line was long and didn't appear to be moving, so Han decided to hang back, lean against a corridor wall, and watch from the sidelines. He felt a bit frustrated that his plans for the day might be foiled by this development, but it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. Besides, with any luck he might even spot Leia within the crowd.

"Captain Solo."

At the sound of his name, Han straightened up away from the wall and turned to recognize the sandy-haired and bearded figure of General Crix Madine approaching. He was the youngest of the High Command staff, and someone Han hadn't seen in nearly two years.

"General," Han greeted with a smile. "Long time, no see."

They'd met back when Leia's cell of the rebellion was stationed on Argus. Han was paid to transport the general through a particularly tricky blockade to reach another cell on the Inner Rim planet of Moorja. They'd talked during that trip, and although he'd never gotten to know this general on the same level as Rieekan, Han had judged him to be of similar caliber and he'd liked that in the man. Ferrying such a high level VIP had served as Han's excuse to build another make-shift cabin next to Chewie's in the rear hold, although since then the only other VIP to use the space had been Princess Organa, which was just a happy coincidence.

"I heard what happened to you after Hoth and I'm glad to see you're back with us, Captain," the man said in welcome as he reached out to shake Han's hand in a strong grip. "I also understand you've finally signed up."

Resuming his relaxed pose against the wall, Han nodded as they both glanced toward the press of soldiers ahead of them. "Yeah, well, I figured it was probably time to make it official."

"You couldn't have picked a better time. We need every man we can get. We need leaders."

That comment drew Han's attention back, but he held his tongue. He could sense a recruiting speech coming, and after a moment he was proven right as the general continued.

"I remember how you handled yourself back on Moorja when things went toes-up. You were good with a blaster, you kept your head, and the men listened to you. That's a combination that isn't easy to come by."

Han's gaze went back to the raucous crowd blocking the corridor, and only then did he begin to notice the sort of equipment being distributed to the men: helmets and camouflaged dungarees, weapons and spare energy packs, bush gear and field rations.

Sweet holy Kest, they know!

The realization sent a shiver up his spine. This wasn't just another exercise — this was a strike team preparing for immediate deployment.

They know where the Death Star is…

"What…?" Han began, but then stopped. It was crazy to ask. It was crazy to even think it.

"What's that?" Madine prompted, given Han an expectant look. Maybe he'd guessed at where Han's thoughts had led him, or maybe not.

Oh Kest, they've found it.

Han drew a deep breath, feeling as if he was about to dive into the deepest, darkest pool of water with no clear way of getting back out.

"What do you need?" Han heard himself ask.

Madine's blue eyes met Han's, and the general's well-groomed beard couldn't hide his look of satisfaction. "We need someone to lead this team right here. Somebody who's good at clandestine operations and can think of his feet. I've already got the plans and transport for the operation, but I'm still missing a leader. We lost too many back on Hoth. I'll have to do it if we can't find someone else fast, but that will leave a vacuum back here at the command center when we can least afford it."

Han was only half-hearing now as his eyes raked over the crowd in desperation.

Where the hell is Leia?

"They're leaving tonight," Madine finished in a lower tone, his expression suddenly grim. "Time is running out."

Han's heart was pounding so hard that it sounded like a tympani drum in his ears. He needed time to talk with Chewie or, hell, even Lando. He needed someone to talk him out of what he was considering, and then he realized none of them would even try — everyone he would have turned to for that voice of reason was already wholeheartedly committed to the same course. They were prepared to leave him behind once again, but this time he had a choice.

Oh Kest…

"All right, I'll do it."