Chapter Twenty-Five

"You have absolutely no right!" Leia yelled as the ship vibrated to life and lifted off. "Even in the Empire there are laws against kidnapping!"

"How is it kidnapping if I brought you to your dad?" Han asked, both reasonably and irritably.

"HE IS NOT MY FATHER!" Leia screamed furiously.

"Could've fooled me," Han muttered, turning on his heel and stalking out of the hold before she could shoot off another sentence. He closed the door behind him and headed for the cockpit, hoping Vader was in a better mood than his daughter.

Han wandered into the cockpit, where Vader and the redhead – what was her name? Mara Jade? -- were sitting in the pilot and co-pilot seats, respectively, staring out at the looming shape of the Executor. Behind them, Piett, Jix and Polor were engaged in a game of sabacc, while Luke watched them with interest.

Han sat down. "Deal me in." He looked over at Luke. "Want to play, kid?"

Luke glanced furtively at Vader, who hadn't moved, then looked back at Han. "I'm not really sure how," he admitted quietly. "Wedge tried to teach me, but . . ."

Han waved him down to the floor. "Let a master show you how it's done," he invited, earning a snort from Jix and a chuckle from Polor. Piett stayed quiet. Han never would have guessed, but Piett had the best sabacc face of them all.

Luke slid shyly to the floor beside Han as the captain picked up his cards. Han held out the cards for Luke to study. The boy looked confused for a moment, then surprised, and finally happy. He nodded at Han.

Han gave him a weird look – the cards weren't that interesting – but kept his peace and began to play. He'd explain the game to the kid after the round was over.

Luke nearly fell over when Vader spoke to him inside his head.

Nice hand.

When he had recovered his wits, Luke managed to reply. What?

Solo's got a good hand. He's got this game wrapped up if he can end it before the cards shift.

Doesn't he need twenty-three points? Luke asked, quickly adding up Han's cards over his shoulder. He's only got twenty.

That's closer than Jix and Polor are, and Piett hasn't a hope in hell with the cards he's got now. He needs a shift to happen quickly if he's to win.

Oh. What's the card on the far left called? I haven't seen it before.

Master of Sabres. Tell him to play his Ace of Flasks.

Which one's that?

The one second from the right.

Luke poked Han.

"What?" Han growled over his shoulder.

"Play that one," Luke said, pointing to the card Vader had indicated.

Han stared at him. "Are you crazy?" He discarded one Luke recognized as a negative eight of Staves and the Master of Sabres.

As soon as his hand left the cards, the ones still in his hand shifted. His hand now added up to negative six. Han made a funny noise in his throat that sounded to Luke like a bitten-back swear word.

Serves him right, Vader said in the back of Luke's mind.

Luke glanced up at the big black menace sitting in the pilot's seat above them, his back to the game. He hadn't moved a muscle.

How do you know all this? Do you play?

There was a pause.

I used to. It annoyed Obi-Wan. Now . . .

He didn't say any more. He didn't have to.

Leia paced the hold she was locked in, fuming. Every time she glanced out the small porthole, the huge gray bulk of the Executor had come closer, and she was beginning to fret. Once she was on that giant ship, there would be no chance of getting off until Vader allowed her to, at the destination of his choice.

Not there was much chance of getting off this one, locked up as she was, but still, she felt a lot better when it was just six hostile people, rather than thousands.

She sighed and slid down the wall, burying her head in her arms for a good cry.

Han and Piett stood behind Vader as the Sith expertly guided the shuttle into his private docking bay aboard the Executor. Polor and Luke sat near the back of the cockpit. Luke seemed to trust the doctor quite a bit – perhaps because he had taken care of him after the loss of his hand, or because the quiet doctor had that effect on people, or both. Whatever the cause, the kid visibly relaxed as Polor struck up a small conversation.

The boarding ramp lowered with a hiss. Mara Jade was the first one off the ship, her backbone as stiff and straight as a durasteel rod. She has issues, Han thought as he followed her, watching her bark at one of the attending officers.

Piett and Polor came down next, with Luke. The kid looked like a nerf caught in speeder lights, Han thought. He couldn't blame, him, really. This was still enemy territory to him.

Vader escorted the Princess down the ramp next, Jix following in their shadows. Her Worshipfulness's colour was high, and her chin was stuck in the air in a defiant gesture. Han rolled his eyes at her arrogance.

Vader moved to talk to Piett, and Han noticed the Princess's eyes immediately start to dart around the docking bay, looking for an escape route, he assumed.

Oh, no, you don't.

He strode over to her. "Pleasant flight, Your Highnessness?"

She glared. "Go away, you stupid nerfherder."

"You wound me, Princess. Can't we have a civilized conversation for once?"

Her glare turned wry. "What's a civilized conversation?" she asked.

"No idea," Han replied cheerfully. He noticed Vader striding across the bay, Luke, Jix and Polor at his heels. "You'd better go," he said jerking his head in their direction.

Her jaw set mulishly.

He frowned at her. "Do I have to carry you again?" he asked.

Her glare returned full force, but she began to walk albeit slowly, after her father and brother. Han was supposed to check in with his squadron, but he figured he'd better go with her. He had no doubt that she'd "get lost" and "accidentally" end up in an outgoing shuttle.