CHAPTER THREE
The massive durasteel door shook noticeably and began to rise upward from the ground with a loud metallic screech. Outside in the blazing heat of Tatooine's twin suns stood a Jedi Knight dressed in indigo robes and a billowing indigo cloak with the hood up over his head. He waited patiently with his eyes closed until the door's ascent reached two meters, then strode calmly inside the palace compound of the crime lord Jabba the Hutt.
Luke Skywalker kept his eyes closed as he passed through the portal. With an almost imperceptible wave of his right hand he projected a pulse of electromagnetic energy to jam the weapons detectors installed just inside the door. The devices did not sound the alarm, and Luke slid his hands back into the opposite sleeves of his robes. He continued to scan his surroundings in the Force as he paced deliberately ahead.
After a moment he heard another loud metallic screech and the thick blast door began its creaking descent. Only then did Luke open his eyes in the dark, gloomy corridor. It was as grimy and unpleasant as he had expected. It stank worse than shaak dung. And the stains of blood on the walls and floor were hardly inconspicuous.
Just as the heavy door slammed closed behind him with an enormous boom he sensed the two figures approaching. Luke took a deep breath and sighed. He hadn't really expected Jabba to make this easy, but he'd still held out hope. If nothing else, though, it would give him one last chance to ensure he was in the right frame of mind.
The two short, rotund, green-skinned Gamorrean guards waddled up with their armor clanking and their vibroaxes brandished at him. The pig-snouted aliens snorted something to him in their language.
"I don't want a confrontation," he said quietly.
The guards pointed their axes straight at him and snarled a warning.
"Back down," Luke said softly. "This is a fight you can't win."
The guard on the left took a swing – and both vibroaxes were torn from their wielder's grips and smashed into uselessness against the stone walls of the corridor. Luke's hands hadn't moved.
"Allow me to pass," Luke said. "I don't wish to harm you."
The guards squealed in indignation, curled their hands into fists, and charged him.
Luke's hands slashed out from his sleeves and flew toward one another like a clap stopped in midair. The two Gamorreans were thrown together with the strength of powerful shoves – and their helmeted heads collided with an echoing clang. The unconscious bodies of the guards flopped backwards in opposite directions, clattering to the stone floor and leaving the way unobstructed for the Jedi Knight.
Luke again tucked his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robes and paced forward. Yes, he was in the right frame of mind for this mission. He felt no anger at Jabba or his minions. He felt no impatience to rush in with his lightsaber blazing. He felt no urge to fight – only the desire to rescue Captain Solo and get out of here. He felt no dark emotions, and that knowledge made him smile.
The last time he'd been on Tatooine he hadn't maintained his emotional control, and it had been the first step toward his bigger failure. When he and Mara had discovered that their friends Gars Von Krindlemeier and Ralli Gialla were being held prisoner by the Hutt Criminal Syndicate in Mos Eisley, Luke had allowed his impatience to cloud his judgment. Against direct orders from their Masters he and Mara had infiltrated the prison to rescue them. Although they'd managed to get their friends out of the compound, while being chased through the streets of the city by the Hutt's goons Gars and Ralli had ignored Luke's warning and run into a trap – and both of them had been killed. The pain Luke felt at the loss of his former lover nearly had driven him into a lethal rage. He knew that if Mara hadn't been there to stop him he would have drawn upon the dark side of the Force to kill.
That night he and Mara had driven away the pain of their loss in the blissful unreality of passion, but before they'd had any time to think about – much less talk about – the feelings that they'd felt, they'd been called to Gimna 3. There Luke had dueled the Sith Master, and by taunting Luke that she had turned Danaé's former Master, Oga Trill, to the dark side, and that Danaé herself was next, she had goaded Luke into a blind fury. He'd relinquished his control and fought her with the power of his anger and hate – with the power of the dark side of the Force. But the Sith Master was stronger in the dark side, of course, and she'd defeated Luke easily by cutting off his right hand.
The only reason Luke wasn't dead was because Master Obi-Wan had arrived at the last possible second to block the mortal blow.
Involuntarily Luke clenched the fingers of his cybernetic right hand inside the sleeve. By sending Luke away from the duel, Master Obi-Wan had sacrificed his life to save his apprentice's. Luke knew that had he been able to maintain his composure during his fight with the Sith Master, the outcome would have been different. Fighting together against the Sith Master he and Master Obi-Wan might have prevailed – or at least they both would have escaped alive. Instead Luke had lost his control, given in to the dark side, and killed Master Obi-Wan. Not directly with his own blade, perhaps, but he'd caused his beloved Master's death all the same.
His failure had killed Master Obi-Wan. Luke doubted he'd ever forgive himself for that.
After Gimna 3 Luke had trained as Master Windu's apprentice until he'd succeeded in his Trials and become a Jedi Knight two months ago. Master Windu's greatest gift had been helping Luke gain a better understanding of his weaknesses as a Jedi. Like his father, Luke had a strong streak of impatience and impulsiveness that could lead him to frustration and anger when he didn't keep his feelings in check. Like his mother, Luke was deeply compassionate – and while that trait often was his greatest strength, it could be turned against him when it transformed into fear for his loved ones or hatred of those who had harmed them, as it had after Ralli's death and when Danaé was threatened. Now that Luke had achieved this greater self-awareness, he always remained vigilant of his emotions to ensure that he did not fail again.
A short time before his Trials Luke had been assigned to a six-week rotation with the Republic Navy. Deployed with Rogue Squadron at the front, Luke had participated in nearly continuous combat operations that proved to be the greatest test of his willpower as a Jedi since Gimna 3. In the frantic dogfights that were starfighter combat, it was far too easy to allow emotions like impatience and frustration and rage to come to the fore. But Luke had discovered that his newfound maturity was real, and he successfully had maintained his calm even in the worst skirmishes the Rogues had faced. Contrary to all his expectations, Luke had finished the rotation feeling more confident in himself, and more ready for the Trials, than he'd ever felt in his life.
In fact, he missed Rogue Squadron. Flying with them was actually fun.
Luke pushed those thoughts aside as he continued to pace slowly down the dimly lit corridor of Jabba's palace. He wasn't here to have fun. He was here to rescue Captain Solo – as quickly and easily as possible. Although Luke still held serious reservations about his twin's commitment to the Navy officer, he'd promised her right after Gimna 3 that he would help her rescue Han, and not even for a second had he ever considered not keeping his pledge.
If he could prevail here without violence, he intended to do so. There was no reason for bloodshed – unless the Hutt forced his hand. If that happened Luke would do what was necessary.
And when the mission was over Luke would see Mara again.
It had been two months since she'd infiltrated the palace in the role of a dancing girl. They hadn't been able to speak a single word to one another for the entire time. It was by far the longest period of silence between them in their whole lives. Even at the heights of their sometimes vicious rivalries in the Temple they'd never gone more than a few days without speaking – if just to hurl more insults. And since they'd first felt the stirrings of something more than friendship after Xixus and the Battle of the Trade Spine a year and a half earlier, they'd talked all the time. Constantly. Even after Gimna 3, when Luke had told Mara he wasn't ready to seek the Jedi Council's approval for their attachment until after they gained their Knighthoods, their closeness had hardly suffered. Mara had been deeply hurt for a few weeks, but she'd never really withdrawn from him as he'd thought she might. She never said it in words, but Luke knew why.
Mara loved him.
And Luke loved her. He loved her so much it hurt.
That thought terrified Luke more than anything in the universe.
Because lately, being someone Luke loved wasn't exactly a good thing. First Ralli had died, then Master Obi-Wan. Bryon had almost died too, but somehow miraculously had lived. Danaé had been forced to kill Oga Trill, who had fallen to the dark side and joined the Sith. His twin had lost the man she loved to enemy capture. His father had failed as a Jedi too, allowing his fear for his children to explode into raw hatred when he'd felt the pain all four of them had suffered on Gimna 3. His mother had been heartbroken by his father's betrayal, and although she'd quickly found the strength to forgive him and now seemed to cling to him for support more tightly than ever, Luke knew the dangers of the war for her children and the terrible burdens of the office of Supreme Chancellor were wearing down her spirit with crushing weight. And of course his father's unexpected failure had horrified Mara beyond comprehension, leaving her devastated in a way Luke had never imagined possible.
Sometimes it seemed as if his entire family was cursed. That maybe the Force wasn't with them after all, but against them.
So how could Luke possibly let Mara love him? In a sense she'd been a part of their family since his father had taken her as his Padawan. She'd always been welcome at the residence and joined in most family gatherings. Yet she wasn't a Skywalker, and now she was a Jedi Knight and not even a Skywalker apprentice. Maybe now she would be free from their curse. Maybe now she wouldn't be doomed to a life of pain like the rest of them. Maybe now the best thing for Mara would be freedom from the Skywalkers. So how could he let her love him?
But she did love him and he loved her too. He couldn't deny that. In fact, deep down inside – in that hidden place where Luke kept the feelings he pretended he didn't really feel – he wanted to marry her. That part of him wanted to ask her as soon as this mission was over. He knew she would say yes. But his rational side reminded him of the horrible truth – that being a Skywalker was a curse, and he loved her too much to let her bear that burden, even if she would do so willingly. He couldn't let her love him – it was too dangerous.
Sensing the presence in the Force, Luke stopped walking and lifted his gaze up from the floor to see a tall, pale-skinned male Twi'lek blocking his path.
---
The sporadic firefights in the corridors of the Xixus military headquarters building had been intense, but Bryon's forty Special Forces troopers had prevailed easily. Although the enemy soldiers they'd encountered had worn the distinctive tan body armor and green fatigues of the brownshirts, their opponents certainly hadn't fought with the deadly precision of Argis' best legions. Either the despot was reaching the dregs of his armies or regulars had been dressed up in the elite armor in the hopes of achieving some psychological effect. Or perhaps the Vyhrragians already had withdrawn their top units from the planet and had left the weaker ones behind to die.
Bryon didn't really care. All that mattered was that everything was going according to plan, and their victory on Xixus was nearly achieved.
Bryon and his soldiers rounded another corner to see a massive blast door sealing their path. "We're here?"
"Yes, sir," said Kessa Brittin from just behind his shoulder. His personal aide for over a year now, the timid sergeant finally had stopped being intimidated by his mere presence. "We've reached the command center," she confirmed, holding her datapad up for him to see. "It's on the other side of the door."
Bryon glanced down at the screen and nodded. "Crossfire formation," he ordered in case the enemy chose to open the door on their own. Then he turned to his left. "Slice us in, Corporal."
"Yes, sir," the young man saluted. He rushed forward along the wall, relying on the rest of them to cover him. He quickly plugged his small datapad into the wall panel and began working at it with practiced speed. After only a few seconds he turned back to Bryon and nodded.
"Attack formation," Bryon directed, waving his hand to send two columns of black-armored soldiers toward the blast door. They set up flush to the wall with their blaster rifles aiming inside. "We want to take the room intact if we can," he reminded them. "Try not to hit the equipment."
His soldiers nodded their heads and waited for his order.
Bryon paused for a moment to consider his mental countdown. He was ahead of pace, but not by much. No time to waste. He met eyes with the slicer at the wall panel and nodded.
The two halves of the blast door slid open with a hiss and an immediate storm of blaster fire erupted from his soldiers. The screech of the laser bolts was deafening as volley after volley slammed into the room. A few stray bolts of return fire escaped toward them through the haze of the skirmish, but none of the shots came close to any of Bryon's troops.
"Take
control," Bryon ordered over the comlink. The soldiers in front crouched down and
advanced into the command center, while those in the rear kept their rifles
aimed to provide cover fire if necessary.
But they met no opposition, and soon Bryon strode triumphantly into the
spacious room. About twenty corpses
littered the floor, brownshirts and Vyhrragian generals alike.
A large semicircular console with eleven chairs faced the far wall,
which was covered floor to ceiling with a multitude of viewscreen
images of the fallen defenses of the planet and city. Across the room was another sealed blast door,
and along the walls were stations with all manner of command, control, and
communications equipment. And his troops
had managed to avoid damaging any of it.
"Well done, everyone," Bryon said, tugging off his helmet and setting it atop the console. His subordinates saluted or nodded as they went about the work of securing the room, shifting the computers to the Republic's command frequencies, and removing the slain enemies.
With his helmet tucked in his elbow, Will Graff arrived at Bryon's side. "That was almost too easy."
Bryon shook his head. "There's no such thing as too easy."
"Right," Will nodded.
"What? You've got a bad feeling about something?"
"No," Will said. "I just expected more resistance."
"So did I," Bryon agreed. "But we don't have a surrender yet, either."
"True."
Just then Bryon's mental countdown reached zero. "Hold on a sec," he said as he lowered himself into the chair at the center of the command console, leaned back, clasped his black-gloved hands behind his head, and propped up his booted feet on the edge of the console. "Perfect."
Will furrowed his brow. "What's going on?"
"Patience, my friend," Bryon smirked. "Patience."
Exactly ten seconds later the other blast door to the command center opened with a squeal and a hiss, and half a dozen Special Forces soldiers swarmed inside with rifles at the ready. "All clear," one of them called out.
A tall figure in the same black battle armor stepped through the open portal and tore off her helmet. Cerule Starblaze's piercing blue eyes locked immediately on to Bryon's gleeful gaze as she shook out her damp, shoulder-length dark hair.
"Impressive," she scowled.
"Why thank you, Major," Bryon grinned. "How wonderful of you to join us."
---
Danaé paused next to a fountain on the broad stone plaza. The whooshing of the water rising four meters into the air and the splashing of the droplets falling back down into the pool filled her ears as she gazed at the building in front of her. Built from the same gray stone as the plaza, six columns marked the formal façade of the structure. It was an imposing piece of architecture in its own right. Which was no doubt the point, considering this was the headquarters building for the planetary government of Gimna 3. But that was not what gave Danaé pause.
This was the plaza where her father had succumbed to the dark side and had used its power to slay his enemies.
Where Mara's respect – love – for her Master had been sundered.
This was the building where Luke had lost his hand after feeling the dark side's temptations too.
Where Master Kenobi had been murdered by the Sith Master.
Where Danaé had found her missing former Master, Oga Trill, for the first time in a year.
Where she had learned that Oga had fallen to the dark side and become a Sith.
Where she had killed him.
This was where everything had changed for her family – forever.
Danaé closed her eyes and opened herself to the living Force, letting its soothing currents wash over her and calm her troubled memories. All around her now the plaza was teeming with life – human, aliens, birds, insects, fish in the fountain pools, small rodents in the trees, and much more. If she probed more deeply into the emanations of the plaza, she would be able to detect the lingering pain of the lives that had been lost here, lost to lightsabers and to the dark side's power. But Danaé did not need to feel that pain to remember. So she didn't.
After a long moment Danaé opened her eyes again and smoothed the creases from the jacket of the crisp green uniform she wore. Her fingers reached back to the tight bun on the back of her head and confirmed that the hairdo was holding in place just fine. And very subtly she squeezed her left arm to her torso for the reassuring feeling of her lightsaber hanging in its holster along her side. With a final deep breath she marched purposefully across the plaza toward the massive iron doors of the government building.
It didn't take her long to find the Ministry of Commerce on the third floor. Putting on her best bureaucrat's face she charged into the reception area.
"I'm Special Agent Binoke of the Republic Judicial Department, Agricultural Safety and Inspection Division," she announced in a gruff voice as she flashed her credentials to the flustered young man at the desk. "We have reason to believe a contaminated cargo has recently departed the planet. I need you give me all the information you can about the shipping container listed on this datacard."
The startled young man took the datacard from her outstretched hand and slid it into the computer console at his desk. "Of course, Agent Binoke," he said. "Let me see what I can do for you."
Danaé crossed her arms over her chest and glowered down at the young man. The poor civil servant was completely intimidated by her authority and demeanor. With a wry smile to herself Danaé decided she enjoyed this part of her investigation missions as a Jedi. This personality wasn't at all what she was really like – but it was interesting to pretend now and then.
Actually, it was kind of fun.
"Here we go," the young man gulped, still totally flustered. "I'll have the information copied to your card in just a moment."
"Thank you," Danaé said with a clear tone of surprise. "You're the most competent person I've dealt with all day."
---
"Jabba will have no visitors," Bib Fortuna said in heavily accented Basic. "You must go."
Luke slid his hands from the sleeves of his robes and interlinked his fingers. "I have traveled a great distance to see the mighty Jabba," he replied quietly. "I only wish to see him for a few moments."
"No," the Hutt's majordomo said. "You must go."
Luke frowned. "Your master will be disappointed to have missed me."
"I'm sorry, but Jabba sees no visitors," Fortuna insisted. "It's time for you to go."
Luke skipped his right hand through the air. "You will take me to Jabba now."
Fortuna blinked. "I'll take you to Jabba now."
"I am Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker. I must be allowed to speak."
"Yes. You must be allowed to speak."
Luke's hand skipped a final time. "Lead the way, and I'll follow."
"I'll lead," Fortuna said, gesturing Luke along the hallway, "and you'll follow."
Luke interlinked his fingers again. "You serve your master well, and you will be rewarded."
Fortuna led him straight to Jabba's throne room. As they walked down the last steps in the stairwell and passed through the stone arch into the room, Luke scanned the chamber with his eyes and the Force.
The darkened edges of the room were filled with all manner of unsavory-looking individuals – gangsters, bounty hunters, mercenaries, and criminals. The center of the room was illuminated, and in the circle of light a young, red-skinned Twi'lek girl was dancing seductively to the naughty melody played by the band. Fortuna waved his hand to indicate Luke should proceed ahead into the room, and the Twi'lek strode eagerly toward Jabba's throne.
Luke paced out into the lighted circle. Immediately the crowd rumbled with surprise, the band stopped playing, and the girl stopped dancing. He smiled warmly to her as she frantically backed away into the crowd.
Then Luke turned to face the dais and brushed the hood of his cloak back off his head.
The massive Hutt took up most of the space on the dais. Within his easy reach were a hookah pipe, a tank of amphibian lifeforms, and a small, hideous Kowakian monkey-lizard that seemed to be some kind of sidekick. Several bodyguards stood nearby, their hands already on the handles of their holstered blasters. A silver protocol droid stood behind the dais, probably hoping he wouldn't be noticed – that's what Threepio would be thinking, anyway. And approaching to speak to the Hutt was the easily persuaded majordomo.
In the Force Luke could sense two familiar presences behind him. On the left Lando was cool and calm, ready for action with all the iron will and firm dedication Luke expected from the Navy Special Operations Division commando. That confidence was practically infectious, and Luke barely suppressed his smile. His twin sister was on the right, readying her weapon and trying in vain to be patient. Leia's sense of enthusiasm – and unrestrained longing – was equally palpable. And Luke couldn't blame her one bit. He now felt exactly the same way.
Because on the other end of the dais, where the Hutt's long tail was curled, sat Mara. She was dangling her legs over the edge and had her arms planted back. Combined with her astoundingly skimpy attire and dyed ink-black hair, the pose took his breath away. Although he knew full well she would despise this appearance with every fiber of her being, he also knew for a fact she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Mara must have picked up on his reaction to seeing her this way, because her green eyes sparkled deviously when they met his gaze – and then she grinned wickedly and licked her lips. Luke's heart skipped a beat, and it took all the willpower he'd ever mustered in his life to keep his concentration on the mission at hand.
Just then Fortuna finally reached the Hutt's side, but he never got a chance to explain himself.
"What is the meaning of this?" roared Jabba in Huttese. The small device Luke wore behind his right ear fed the translation into his tiny earpiece.
"This is Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker," Fortuna said in Basic. "He must be allowed to speak."
"You weak-minded fool!" Jabba backhanded his majordomo across the face. "He's using a Jedi mind trick."
"I am Luke Skwalker, Jedi Knight and friend of Captain Solo," said Luke easily. "I've come to bargain with you for his release. I'm sure we can reach an arrangement that is mutually beneficial."
Jabba laughed. "There will be no bargain. I like Captain Solo where he is – rotting in my jail."
"I'm willing to make you a very generous offer," Luke said after the briefest of pauses it took for the translation device to finish. "You will profit greatly from it."
"No bargain," Jabba repeated. "Captain Solo is not for sale."
Luke skipped his right hand in the air. "You will bring Captain Solo and the Wookiee to me."
The Hutt laughed again. "Your Jedi mind powers won't work on me, boy."
Luke shrugged. It'd been worth a shot. "I ask you to reconsider. I will leave with Captain Solo one way or another. You would be wise to avoid a confrontation with me."
"I've had Jedi Knights killed since before you were born," Jabba snarled. "And I'm more than willing to do it again in this case."
"You cannot win, Jabba," Luke responded with perfect calmness.
"You are too sure of yourself, Skywalker," Jabba said as the gathered minions around the other three sides of the room began to chuckle in anticipation. "You are greatly outnumbered."
Luke only smiled. "I don't think so. I warn you not to underestimate my powers."
"It's your funeral," the Hutt chortled. "I tire of this conversation, young Jedi. Now go!"
Luke stood in place, but his smile became a frown. He extended his hands outward in supplication. "You are making an unwise decision, Jabba. Release Captain Solo and the Wookiee to me now, or I will be forced to act."
"I said you're dismissed. Get out of my sight!" The murmur of excitement among the throng of criminals was noticeably louder.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Then, boy," Jabba shouted, "I shall enjoy watching you die." The Hutt slammed his hand down on the armrest of his dais and triggered the trapdoor directly beneath Luke's feet.
Luke did not fall.
During the colloquy with the crime lord Mara had sent him a mental image of the trapdoor to the rancor pit, and the Force had told him Jabba's intention the instant before the Hutt had acted. That was all the warning Luke had needed to use the Force to brace himself from the ceiling and floor so that he would levitate in place. When the stone floor gave way beneath his feet he stayed exactly where he was.
After the split-second shock wore off exclamations of surprise exploded throughout the chamber.
"You should have bargained, Jabba," Luke said when the noise quieted a bit. He took a single long stride backward, away from the pit opened by the trapdoor and onto the solid stone floor of the throne room. At that sight and his words the room suddenly became deathly quiet. "That's the last mistake you'll ever make."
Jabba flailed his arms in outrage. "Guards! Seize him!"
His hands still extended outward, Luke frowned regretfully and flicked his wrists. Faster than the blink of an eye a pair of shining silver lightsaber handles launched out of his sleeves and into his palms from spring-loaded holsters on his forearms. Luke immediately activated the weapon in his right hand; in the stunned silence of the throne room the turquoise laser sword's snap-hiss was deafening. Simultaneously Luke tossed the other weapon toward the dais.
An audible gasp echoed in the room as the dancing girl Arica sprang to her feet atop the dais, extended her arm straight outward, and snatched the weapon into her palm. A violet laser sword ignited above her head – and a triumphant, chilling laugh erupted from her throat.
Then the blaster bolts began to fly.
---
Padmé stopped in the corridor and turned to her companions. "How do I look?"
"You look fine," Jenny insisted. "Really."
Padmé glanced at Sabé and Sarré, who both nodded. Behind them Jar Jar flashed her a wide grin and a very enthusiastic thumbs-up signal – and Padmé couldn't help but smile. "Something doesn't feel right, though," she said. "I just can't put my finger on it."
Sabé quirked a thoughtful frown. "What message are you trying to send them?"
Padmé ran her hands down the bodice of her formal royal-purple gown. "That I'm through with the politicking and the deal-making. That we need to act and act now."
"Take down your hair," Sarré said into the silence in the hallway.
Padmé blinked. "What's that?"
"Take down your hair. Time to cut the pageantry and get to work."
Padmé crushed her hands to the sides of her daughter-in-law's face and kissed Sarré triumphantly on the forehead. "You, my dear, are a genius."
"I have my moments," Sarré winked.
With Jenny and Sabé helping, it took less than a minute to remove the pins and clasps holding Padmé's elegant hairstyle in place. Then she ran her fingers through her tresses a few times until the long curls of brown streaked with gray hung loose around her shoulders. She propped her hands on her hips and smiled. "How's this?"
"Perfect," Jenny and Sabé said simultaneously.
"Right. I can take a hint," Padmé chuckled, turning on her heel and striding quickly toward the conference room.
She marched inside with her four friends on her heels and stopped at the head of the long rectangular conference table. Seated along its sides were twenty leading Senators, the chairs of the principal caucuses of delegates in the Republic's legislature. Some, including Firren of Sullust and Dirxon of Ralltiir, she counted as solid supporters. Others, such as Rylla of Ryloth and Mothma of Chandrila, were ambivalent at best about expanding the war effort. And a few, like Breena of Rodia and Zuusch of Froz, were hardly allies at all. But if Padmé was to break the stalemate in the Senate, she would have to start by achieving a consensus here.
"Thank you all for coming," Padmé said. "Let's get started."
She did not sit down.
"The progress of the war is unacceptable," she began. "We are gradually driving Argis back, but our commanders are greatly hampered by the Senate's unwillingness to allow the deployment of regional and sector fleets to the front. In our overall forces we have a tremendous superiority in numbers of personnel and warships. In the theater of war, by contrast, Argis' armada is nearly equal to ours. It will take far too long to prevail in these conditions. We simply must authorize a significant increase in our forces at the front. Those temporary redeployments will enable us to win a swift victory, and finally end this menace once and for all."
"But we take a great risk doing so," said Breena in her heavily accented Basic. "It leaves many sectors of the Republic vulnerable to the enemy's strike forces."
"It is a risk we must take," Padmé said. "We must evaluate the war not only in the short term, but in the long term as well. Shifting warships to the front will leave the interior exposed – I concede that. But we also will win the war much faster. So while there will be an increase in enemy attacks on systems outside the theater of war, those attacks will last for a much shorter interval than if victory is delayed by our current strategy. Accordingly, there will be far fewer total attacks before the war is won – and even now we cannot prevent most of the assaults by Argis' strike forces."
"But that is true only for the Republic as a whole," Mon Mothma pointed out. "Those sectors whose fleets are sent to the front will be the ones who are attacked precisely because of their weakness. Sitting here now, not knowing which systems will be affected by this strategy, we can take the broader view. But once the deployment decisions are actually made, we cannot expect those Senators to stand idly by in the face of imminent danger – perhaps imminent catastrophe – in their home systems."
"And that is why the policy must be adopted now," Padmé hissed. "War requires sacrifice. The entire Republic has suffered already. If we do not win the war with haste, the entire Republic will suffer even further. And some systems already have paid a heavy price; how quickly we forget the devastation of Alderaan, only a year ago. So long as the war continues, no system is safe. No world is secure. You know as well as I that many other planets will be attacked before this war ends. And while that is a tragic truth, we in the Senate have an obligation to make the difficult decisions that cannot be avoided. We must give our commanders the ability to win this war quickly. Otherwise the consequences will be worse for us all than if we do not."
"Yet you cannot dispute that the consequences will be even worse for those systems we fail to protect in the meantime," Zuusch exclaimed.
"We cannot protect everyone now," Dirxon shot back. "None of us is safe until Argis is defeated."
"But we are asking some of us to be far less safe than others," Zuusch growled. "Who will choose? Who will be accountable?"
"I will be accountable," Padmé said sharply. "As I am for the entire course of the war."
"Perhaps," Zuusch said. "But who will choose? You? The Senate? Some faceless admiral in the fleet?"
"The military commanders are in the best position to assess the needs at the front and the risks of redeploying the various sector fleets," Padmé insisted. "We cannot allow politics to influence into military strategy."
"A noble aim, Your Excellency," said Breena. "But military strategy unquestionably influences politics – galactic, sector, and system. To say that you are accountable for the commanders' decisions is not all that is relevant."
After nearly an hour of further debate and discussion Padmé could tell from the grimaces and frowns around the table that her hope of convincing even a bare majority of these prominent Senators to do what was necessary – if politically painful – was lost. Her options were fewer and fewer each week, and this meeting had turned into one more crushing defeat. At this rate she soon would have to take matters into her own hands. Maybe they didn't believe she would do it. Or maybe that's what they wanted, so she would be the only one to pay the political price.
Padmé scowled at the gathered Senators and slammed her palms in frustration to the smooth, cool surface of the conference table. "Very well," she said. "I see that we will reach no agreement today. Thank you for your time."
The Senators tipped their heads respectfully.
"Good day to you all," she said. "May the Force be with you."
Padmé spun on her heel and charged out into the corridor.
Sabé's rapid footfalls caught up with her first. "Padmé? Are you all right?"
"I will be," she snarled. "They want me to pay the price for this? Fine. But what they're forgetting is that I'll succeed. And when I do, I'll get all the glory. Let's see the looks on their faces then."
---
The two lightsabers igniting was Leia's cue. She yanked her blaster pistol from its holster and immediately began to shoot out the lights. Other blaster fire erupted around the room too – but of course that was aimed at the two young Jedi in front of Jabba's dais.
With three more shots Leia destroyed the last of the lighting discs and plunged the room into a deep darkness; only a handful of burning torches on the walls and a few guards' glowlamps provided a bit of dim illumination. Then she began to run toward the far wall to meet Lando.
The crowd in the throne room was already panicking. Shots rang out around her. Screams of rage and agony pierced the air. Gangsters ran past her in all directions, seeking any way to flee the sudden, deadly melee in the chamber. Leia charged forward as best she could, shoving her way through the unruly mob.
Suddenly a tall figure appeared in front of her with a blaster rifle pointed directly at her. Instinctively she shot the man squarely in the chest with three shots, sending his body collapsing to the ground in a heap. Leia surged forward in two long strides. Slapping her pistol back into its holster she scooped up the fallen ruffian's blaster rifle and bounded ahead toward the meeting point.
Lando was there when she arrived. "Let's go," he said brusquely. "This way."
Leia nodded and followed. They burst through an open archway and into a side corridor, running at top speed. A shot hit the wall at Lando's shoulder, sending chips of stone spraying into the air. Without hesitation Leia spun around and gunned down the goon who'd fired on them. She spun back around and rushed to catch up to Lando.
"Nice shooting," he said. Through the boars-tusk faceguard to his helmet she could see his impressed grin.
"Thanks," she said, her voice muffled by the helmet of the Boushh disguise. When Luke had arrived she'd turned off the Ubese translation device – any delay in her words could be fatal.
They careened down a set of stone stairs three at a time and lunged into the guard station of the prison level. In a flash Lando raised his blaster rifle to his shoulder and began firing on the six Gamorrean guards armed with vibroaxes. Leia took aim at the pair of Rodians along the far wall, taking them out even before they had their weapons drawn. Quickly she and Lando scanned the room to be sure there were no other guards, then ran down the narrow hallway of cells.
"Which one?" asked Leia through her heavy breaths.
"Here," Lando said, pulling up at a thick iron door with a flurry of footfalls. "This one."
"Stand back," Leia ordered, aiming her rifle at the archaic metal lock. She squeezed the trigger twice, annihilating the lock in shower of sparks and shards of metal.
With a single long stride Lando planted his left foot and slammed a powerful roundhouse kick into the center of the door. It creaked open on its hinges.
For an instant Leia hesitated. She was finally going to see Han again, and she didn't want to do it through a mask. And she didn't want his first sight of her in a year to be this ugly disguise. "Go," she said to Lando in her muffled voice. "I'll be right behind you."
Lando looked at her quizzically, but obeyed.
Leia took a deep breath to calm her racing heartbeat. Then she ripped off her helmet and tossed it aside, and shook her head vigorously until her long brown hair cascaded down around her shoulders. Finally satisfied with her appearance, she ran through the open portal and into the cell.
---
Luke danced his turquoise blade in a brilliant pattern of arcs to deflect away the first incoming blaster bolts from Jabba's minions. Taking two strides away from the open hole to the rancor pit, he spun in a circle to slap away a few more shots.
He extended his awareness in the Force into full combat mode. The already frenzied chaos in the Hutt's throne room was no problem for him. Sensing intentions before the actions were taken, he saw patterns in otherwise inexplicable decisions, swung his lightsaber into position to parry shots before they were fired, and began to determine how best to redirect bolts back at his enemies.
On the dais Mara leaped into the air to avoid a swing of Jabba's thick tail. She tucked into a double roll that brought her down again squarely on her feet about two meters away from Luke. She flashed him a grin and continued to repel blaster fire with her blade.
Above their heads the last lights flickered out, and in the Force Luke sensed Leia beginning her charge across the room to meet Lando. Were he not so focused on the wild skirmish around him he might have sent her a wish of luck through the Force, but right now that would only distract them both. Instead he snapped his wrists and sent a blaster bolt straight into the chest of one of Jabba's guards at the dais who was taking aim at Mara.
As Luke continued to deflect the shots coming at him he noticed that a good number of the criminals and gangsters in the throne room were fleeing. Loyalty to a crime lord only ran so far – usually as far as the next paycheck – and few of these hooligans were willing to risk their own hides for the Hutt's. Luke smiled. That was going to make their job a lot easier.
Unfortunately the only access point to Jabba's prison level was a corridor off the throne room, down which Leia and Lando had just run. That meant that he and Mara had to hold control of the chamber until those two could spring Han and Chewie from the cell and get back here. Then the six of them would fight their way out of the palace to freedom.
Even as many of the thugs fled, though, those remaining began to act with increasing coordination as they fired upon the two Jedi Knights. It wasn't anything he and Mara couldn't handle, but it wasn't going to be easy either. Not against this many, in such a confined space, when they hoped to take as few lives as possible.
Luke's shimmering blue laser sword traced a looping arc through the air to slap away three more blaster shots. Then he felt Mara's subtle push in his mind. Without hesitation he opened his feelings to her, and instantly their minds fell into a deep, intense battle meld – a mental and spiritual union to which they had become increasingly accustomed. His perceptions were hers and hers his, and together their awareness of the raging violence around them was uncannily precise.
Mara thought it might be more effective to fight defensively for the moment, and the idea appeared in Luke's mind as clearly as if he'd thought of it himself. And he knew his agreement registered in hers the same way, because he knew when it happened, because they were one.
And then Mara was there physically too, back to back with him in the center of Jabba's throne room. One Jedi Knight in robes and cloak, the other in a few swaths and wisps of fabric, their blades working in perfect harmony to form a shield of light around them. They were a blinding dome of turquoise and violet, impervious to the onslaught being fired at them.
"So," she said aloud, "you like my new look?"
He smiled innocently. "New look? I hadn't noticed."
"I bet," Mara scoffed. "The clothes you can forget about, wiseguy. It's the hair I'm thinking about keeping."
"In that case," Luke smirked, "I hate it. The clothes were the part I liked."
The two lightsabers whirling and slashing around them, they shared a grin and a laugh. It was good to be together again, they decided. Very good indeed.