Luke paced along the map-lined wall. "How hard can it be to find her? Zathron doesn't cover his tracks."

"We're doing what we can, Master Skywalker," Captain Jeffersom said. His patience was rapidly crumbling. "It's a big galaxy, and she could be anywhere. Now please let me do my job."

"Right. Sorry." Luke resumed his anxious march.

A light flached on Jeffersom's desk. He picked up the receiver. "Captian Jeffersom." His eyes widened. "All right. Can you send it here?" Luke couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but from the look on Jeffersom's face, it wasn't good. "Thank you. We'll keep you posted." He hung up with a heavy sigh. "That was the Senate. They've received a ransom video."

Luke stood still for the first time in an hour. "Can I see it?"

Jeffersom hesitated. "Yes, but..."

"But what, Captain?"

"I was warned that some of the content is...disturbing."

"I can handle it."

"If you're sure." Jeffersom pushed a few buttons on his keyboard. A blue- and-white image of Leia materialized in front of them.

Even through the grainy image quality, the bruises were painfully bright. Her nightdress was torn and stained, her hair wild. She crouched on the ground, shaking.

"Say something," a faint voice hissed. Leia shook her head weakly. A reptilian foot swung into the picture, contacting her side with an all-too-audible thud. Reluctantly, Leia looked up at the camera. Her face was lined with pain and dirt.

"Luke, listen to me," she struggled to say. "Please-" The image jumped. A cut in the recording. "-save me." The tiny blue Leia glanced at something out of the frame with faint defiance before sinking back into a ball. A hooded man knelt beside her.

"Hello. I am Zathron. For the sake of your Senator, I encourage you to follow these directions exactly. At 7:00 this morning, send one man with two million credits in cash to the Ninth Street warehouse. Use the entrance on the east side of the building. Failure to comply with these conditions will result in further discomfort for lady Organa."

The message fizzed out. "There was something missing," Luke said. "She was trying to tell me something." He put a hand on his forehead as if he had a headache.

"I noticed that, too."

Luke glanced at the Captain's desk clock. "It's 6:21. Who's bringing the money?"

Jeffersom looked away. "No one is."

"What do you mean! They have to!"

"The Senate has a very strict policy against negoitating with terrorists like Zathron. Maybe, if you had time, you could call for an appeal."

"We don't have time! Can't we forget the money, then, and send a team in to get her?"

"But department regulations..."

Luke leaned across the desk. There was something strange in his eyes, a mix between anger, fear, and desperation. "I don't give a damn about department policy," he said quietly. "That was my sister on that tape. And if you won't help me, I'll go alone."

"I'm sorry, Master Skywalker. I didn't know." He turned away, to the pictures on his desk. One in particular caught his attention. The young girl in the image smiled at him, clinging tightly to the strings on her swing and she soared above him. Suddenly, he recognized the emotions in Luke's face. A long-buried pocket of the same feeling welled inside him. He stood up.

"Gentlemen, arm yourselves. We're going on a rescue mission."