At What Price
Part Two
"No, Artoo. Captain Solo doesn't want the lifters realigned. They're fine. He was quite specific when he said he didn't want us to touch anything." See Threepio explained in response to his smaller counterpart. He and Artoo Detoo were by the holographic game board, enjoying an hour or so of recreation while their human masters were away on other business. Threepio did not mind being left behind; the excitement of the last few days had been quite enough for him. However, Artoo appeared to have acquired a taste for adventure and was already bored with the game they were playing. Now he wanted to give the Falcon a major overhaul.
Threepio listened carefully to the little droid's screech of electronic explanation and nodded in agreement. "Yes, the ship did shudder badly on landing. However, I believe Master Luke was piloting." He gestured to the waiting game pieces. "It's your turn."
Artoo's game character, a particularly ugly little green reptile, hopped across three board segments and throttled Threepio's major character.
"Artoo!" The golden droid announced indignantly. "That's an illegal move!"
Equally as indignant Artoo let out a screech of whistles.
Threepio shook his head. "No, I don't think cheating makes a game more exciting, it…"
"But it makes it a lot more interesting."
"Oh my..." See Threepio turned in surprise at the whispered tones to find the intruder standing just inside the entrance to the passenger compartment. He internally adjusted his scanners and guessed by Artoo's squeal of enquiry that the astrodroid had not detected the alien's presence either. The creature was tall, well over two metres, humanoid; its skin was fish-like, constructed of scales that seemed to constantly shift colour and hues. Threepio had never seen its likes before.
"Sir," Threepio attempted to compose himself. "May I enquire how you gained access to this ship?" He adjusted his scanners again. Although his optics told him the alien was there, his internal system could detect no trace of him. Fleetingly, Threepio recalled stories and legends he had heard concerning a rare species; the Y'iami, the people who lived but did not live, the people who could pass a sensor and leave no trace, hidden by their shield of scales. Was this being such a creature?
The intruder smiled, his thin blue lips pulled back to reveal a toothless mouth. No humour reached the black eyes. "I had a little help," he confessed, his voice was low and soft and it vibrated gently in the droids' auditory centres. He stepped into the compartment, leaving the door clear for his companions to enter.
"Oh my..." Threepio uttered again, as two stormtroopers stepped out from behind the creature. It took a few seconds for him to realize his scanners had also failed to detect the hidden soldiers. "Oh my..."
Tired of standing around in the street, Han cut across the road, avoiding several speeders, and ducked into the market. Glancing across the road to the cantina, he noticed the two Imperials leave the building and stroll along the street. Again he wondered if they were His contacts and what their motivation was. His eyes drifted back to his time piece and he noted he still had half an hour before Luke and Leia were due back.
He looked around the various stalls deciding to take a walk around the market himself. If he was lucky he would bump into the Gruesome Twosome and they could all head back to Falcon. He needed to discuss the last hour's events with some one and the princess might have some ideas; besides he wanted to see Chewbacca and find out what had happened to his back up.
Plunging his left hand into his trouser pocket and keeping his right free to hover over his holster, Han sauntered further into the shopping precinct.
Luke stood at the dirt streaked fourth floor window and watched as the clouds gathered once more, obscuring his vision of the Crystal Towers. The glittering, clear crystal structures were the reason he was on this planet and he felt like cursing them. It began to rain again and Luke turned from the window wondering which was the more miserable - himself or the weather?
"Listen," he began, speaking to Rogan. "I've been pretty patient. But it's time you told me what this is all about, and why you can't just take me back to the space port. I have friends there."
"I can't," was his reply. "Not just yet."
The boy's voice did not sound like it came from directly behind him. Luke turned fully to find Rogan standing at the door, holding a blaster on him. His own blaster! Luke's finger's instinctively moved to his holster to establish what his eyes told him. Rogan certainly was an accomplished pick pocket, which confirmed his fumbled effort to take Leia's purse was indeed an attempt to attract their attention. "Now what?" Luke asked as calmly as he could, though his mouth had just dried.
Rogan grinned with devilish delight. "Now you stay here for while."
The door slid shut and there was a cycle of clicks as the lock was activated.
"Hey!" Luke ran to portal and pulled on the handle. It didn't budge and he kicked it hard with anger and frustration. "Damn!"
He leaned against the door and surveyed the room. It was sparsely furnished with a sagging sofa and a scored, cup marked table. The decorative paper was peeling from the walls, and it smelled musty and damp. He returned to the window and stared into the street below, watching the small figure of Rogan dash from the building and disappear around a corner further down the road.
Luke turned his attention to the window latch. It was locked and looked fused but he tried to force it nonetheless, and failed. He removed his jacket and wrapped it around his fist. He took a hard punch at the glass.
"Ow!" The glass remained solid and the shock wave of the punch rippled up his arm.
He unwrapped his jacket and gently massaged his wrist, trying to disperse the pain. Again he looked around the room for anything which would aid an escape. There was nothing. It would appear that his imprisonment here was not a coincidence, that Rogan had intended this all along. But, how did the youth know him? How did the youth plan this? Who was Rogan?
Luke threw himself onto the sofa. Why did Rogan save him from Imperial hands only to lock him in here? Was the boy a junior bounty hunter looking for a reward? What was happening with Leia? How was Han faring with the deal? Would the Corellian find out what had happened to himself and Leia?
So many questions. So few answers.
Their work was complete. The droids' memories had been erased; the automatic log recording of their entry had been wiped. They had learned all they could.
Itael followed the troopers back through the ship towards the hatch, briefly glancing into the passenger compartment as he passed. It was only then the cylinder caught his eye.
"Wait," he called to his companions, as he re-entered the lounge area, and lifted the object from the acceleration chair. He turned the lightsaber in his hands, and a shudder of revulsion rippled through him. A Jedi!
Itael turned to the troopers. "Yavaire did not mention a Jedi." There was anger in his voice, and disgust.
The lead trooper shrugged within his armour. "Skywalker is a farmer who carries a 'saber. There is no evidence that he is Jedi."
As the soldiers turned to leave, Itael dropped the weapon back onto the chair and wiped his hands upon his tunic, as though to rub off the feel of the saber's touch. Though they said the boy was not Jedi, the sword vibrated with it's owner's unnatural power. It was an unpleasant sensation.
Swallowing his nausea Itael followed the Imperials from the ship. He was unsettled, and concerned at this unexpected find.
As in the cantina Han couldn't keep his eyes from watching the minutes creep past on his chronometer. He was back at the agreed point to meet up with the princess and Luke, but there was no sign of either one. The market across the road was beginning to close for the day, the shoppers had dwindled and several of the stalls had their shutters down.
He tapped his foot on the sidewalk, drove both hands deep into his pockets to warm them and started to whistle a nonsensical, unmusical tune. If he stood here much longer he was going to get a proposition. He stared over at the market hoping to see his two friends emerging full of apologies. There were plenty of people leaving, but not the two he was looking for.
Gathering his growing anger Han returned to the market. It was quieter now, the crowds having dispersed, and Han hoped this would aid his search. A waft of cooked Marave berries tickled his nose and his stomach rumbled; reminding him it had been several hours since he had eaten. He found the bakery stall keeper closing up for the night and spotted two remaining tarts lying on the display trays.
"Can I have those?" He pointed to the tarts, his other hand fishing in his vest pocket for some cash.
The keeper lifted them, wrapped them, and handed them to Han. "Ten," he told the Corellian.
Han counted out the cash, took out a tart and chomped down, relishing the sweet taste. Again he glanced around looking out for Luke and Leia.
"You haven't by any chance, seen a dark haired woman and a blonde kid?" He asked the stall keeper.
The man gave Han a withering look. "Sir, I've served many people today."
"Yeah," Han agreed, understanding the other's point. "But she's all 'hoity toity', and he's all 'wonder and amazement'."
The stall keeper glanced over at the opposite stall appearing thoughtful. "Was the woman wearing a blue jump suit, her hair braided? The boy wore a yellow jacket?"
Han nodded vigorously, pleased by the positive answer.
The man grinned, and there was something about the grin which dampened Han's enthusiasm. "Yeah, I noticed those two." He pointed across at the closing ornament stall. "They went over there. The woman had her purse snatched, the kid ran after the thief..." He paused.
"And?" Han prompted.
"An Imp patrol came by and picked up your lady friend."
A chill passed through Han. Did this mean the Empire knew they were here and why, or was the princess just plain unlucky to have been recognised? "And Luke?" Han pressed. "What about the kid?"
The keeper shrugged. "Didn't see him again."
"Thanks," Han numbly acknowledged the man. He turned from the stall, dropping the remaining tart into the dirt and litter of the day. He had just lost his appetite. He quickly left the market and began to run back to the slums, to the docking bays, to the Falcon. He hoped his suspicions were wrong, he hoped he would find Chewie, he hoped he would find Luke. Mainly he hoped he would be able to figure out exactly what was going on.
The sudden slap caught him, hard on the cheek. He reeled back, surprised and hurt, as the sting from his cheek brought quick tears to his eyes. But from lessons past he remained standing, his hands clenched behind his back, his finger nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his composure, fought the cry of pain which balanced on his lips.
"I wanted the boy first!" Lieutenant-General D'anti barked at his son, who stood rigid before him.
"It wasn't my fault, sir." Rogan tried to explain events as calmly as he could as the light tears spilled down his crimson cheek, tried to hide his own success behind the failure of his given task. "The wrong patrol appeared. I had to think quickly."
The Imperial officer glared at the teenager, watched faint trembles ripple through Rogan's tense muscles. "And tell me, boy, what do I do with the Alderaani princess? She is experienced, toughened. I'll learn nothing from her, and the Alliance would have paid Yavaire any ransom he desired to get her back! Now he, also, has the wrong package." D'anti paused, trying to force the anger from his body as he weighed up the situation. He turned his back on his son and stared out of his office window at the sprawling city.
"Tell me," he continued, somewhat calmer. "What was Major Yavaire's reaction?"
"He wasn't pleased." Rogan answered, truthfully, recalling the Major's outbursts after the Corellian had failed to show for the meet and after he learned he had the wrong hostage.
D'anti turned, a slight smile tingeing his lips. "And his plans now?"
Rogan swallowed, feeling stifled in his father's office, feeling trapped by the man's presence. "He's going along as planned. As well as confirming who their negotiators were the Corellian's log and droids told Yavaire's men that Solo saved Skywalker's life above the Death Star. Yavaire thinks this means that Solo has a fondness for the farmer, so he intends to use Skywalker against him instead of the princess. "
The General considered this information; the Major certainly was taking a gamble; a gamble D'anti was going to ensure he lost. He was going to pull the rug from under Yavaire's feet, put an end to his illegal trade in surplus arms; the major's dealings offended D'anti's military ideals. It would appear Yavaire now valued money above the Empire he had sworn to protect, that Yavaire now stooped to the level of the Rebels to fill his pocket, would sell arms to his own enemies for financial gain. There was also the matter of his son's loyalties that Yavaire had corrupted, and then there were the added bonuses to be had from ending the officer's career at this time: imprisoning the Alliance representatives and collecting a promotion and… "The money?"
"Hidden. Neither the droids nor the log could say where. Nor did they say how much Solo was given." Rogan reported, dutifully.
D'anti regarded his son, hearing a slight tone with the sentence. Was it possible the boy was lying? It was difficult, at times, to know what was going through his son's mind, what motivated him. He had worked with the boy for the past year after his men had discovered the rebellious runaway on the city streets, after he had learned of the contacts his son had made, the skills Rogan had perfected. The boy was an ideal little street informer for Imperial Security. He had thought he had worked the defiance out of the youth. It might be prudent, in the near future, to repeat some of the lessons they had studied together.
He smiled at teenager. "Thank you, Rogan." His tone was one of dismissal. "You may go."
Rogan nodded briskly and turned on his heels. Relief flooding him; relief at escaping his father's stifling presence, relief that his father appeared to have accepted his explanation of the day's events. But there was a creeping sense of fear. He was scared: scared of the pressure he had accepted when he started down this path, scared of jeopardizing the lives that hinged upon this deal going through, but most of all he was scared his father would discover exactly what his son had been planning. His father, who had never stopped to question why his son had run from him.
"How can you expect to command respect when you show none yourself?" General D'anti stared down at the thirteen year old before him. "When you enter these premises I expect you to dress appropriately. You have the uniforms I had tailored for you."
"But, Dad I…" Rogan stammered, dismayed by his father's greeting.
The general's forehead came down in a scowl, his eyes became slits. "What did you call me?"
Rogan swallowed with difficulty. "Uh, 'Dad'."
"Did you hear nothing of what I said? Respect, Rogan." D'anti turned from the child. "While in this building you will address me as General, or sir. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Rogan whispered staring at his father's back, his eyes filling with tears of hurt. He had been looking forward to joining his father on Xalan, he had seen little of the man as he grew up, could not understand why his mother never joined her husband at his postings. He had been excited about getting to know his sire, of learning about a section commander's life, of sharing the fun and secrets he saw his friends enjoy with their fathers. However, he had been with D'anti for six months and had found the man cold and withdrawn, a man who hid behind rules, regulations and respect, a man who placed those same values on his son, and who was swift to punish the least misdemeanour.
"Now," D'anti continued, his back still to Rogan. "What did you wish to see me about?"
Rogan glanced at the school score card in his hands, at the grades he had achieved during the tests. He slipped it back into his pocket. "It can wait. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, General."
D'anti never heard the tone of Rogan's voice, never saw the pain in his eyes, never saw resignation replace pain as the youth left the office.
It had begun, after all his planning, it had begun.
Luke was at the window again, his frustration growing by the minute. Less than a centimetre of glass separated him from freedom and he could not break through the toughened material. He stared down onto the darkening street, watching the people and their activities; the prostitutes selling themselves on the street corners, the drug pushers palming their wares into other hands, ragged children playing in the mud.
He was about to turn, saddened, from the scene when he noticed a figure jogging up the road. He peered into the twilight and recognised the runner.
"Han!" He breathed, resting a hand against the glass. "Han!" He shouted and began to pound on the window. "Han!"
Oblivious to his young friend the Corellian ran on toward the docking bays.
With a last fierce thrust Luke struck the pane of glass with as much strength as his anger and frustration could muster. He was rewarded only with pain.
He turned from the window, unwilling to look any longer at the scenes below, unwilling to look upon his snatched freedom. At least Han still had his liberty, there was some conciliation with that fact.
He sat upon the sofa, curled his legs under him and dragged his jacket over his body. He might as well get some sleep since he wasn't going anywhere tonight and he might require all his strength and alertness tomorrow.
Cautiously Han approached the open door of the docking bay. He drew his blaster and carefully peered around into the bay. There the Falcon sat still and silent - her hatch open. He peered in further, trying to see beyond the bulk of the ship. It was quiet, but Han felt uneasy. He had secured the hatch when he, Luke and the princess left earlier that day. He distinctly remembered repeating the locking code to Luke so the kid could use it if they got split up.
With that thought, he holstered his gun and strode angrily toward the ship.
"Luke!" He roared. "Luke!"
There was no reply, no meek face appeared either at the hatch way or the cockpit window. Han drew his gun once more.
"Chewie?" Han called again, changing the name and his hopes as he started up the ramp. "Chewie! Are you in here?"
Han gripped his blaster tighter as the silence continued.
"Threepio?" He tried.
His anger dissolved back into cautiousness and he crept aboard the ship and slowly made his way to the passenger compartment where the droids had been left. A sense of relief briefly waved through him when he saw they were seated by the game board.
"Threepio?" He questioned the droid's uncharacteristic silence. Then he noticed the droid's optical lights were deactivated. He glanced at Artoo and saw the same. The droids had been shut down. Quickly he reached behind the golden machine and switched him on, steeling himself for the inevitable outburst.
Threepio's lights flickered on and he glanced up at Han. "Captain Solo!"
"Who shut you down, Threepio?" Han quickly asked before the droid could launch into his usual verbal stream.
"Who, sir?
"Yes. Who?"
"Who what?"
"Who shut you off!" Han barked in exasperation.
"I don't know, sir." Threepio responded beginning to sound more like himself, less confused.
"You have no idea?" Han questioned further. "What? Did they sneak up behind you?" There was a touch of sarcasm to his words.
"I have no memory, sir." Threepio informed him.
Han thought for a moment, his mind racing over the day's events, trying to find a link between everything; Chewie's disappearance, Luke's disappearance, Leia's capture, the failed deal, the Imperials and the deactivated droids. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"Chewbacca arriving back and asking after you."
Han was immediately more alert. "Chewie was here? When?"
"Before we were ordered to erase part of our memory and shut down."
"You remember that?"
"No sir. I assume that."
"Did he say anything?" Han questioned further placing his gun back in its holster.
"Who, sir?"
"Chewie!"
"Oh!" Threepio came as close to a negative shaking of the head as he could. "He merely asked where you, the Princess and Master Luke were. He left when I replied I did not. He did appear to be rather annoyed sir." He paused for a beat and continued. "By the way sir, where are the Princess Leia and Master Luke?"
Han crouched down by the Artoo unit. "The Princess is probably in an Imperial cell and Luke..." He shrugged. "Luke appears to have mislaid himself."
"Oh my!"
"Yeah my sentiments exactly, though I would have used stronger words." He re-activated Artoo and stood.
Immediately the little droid unleashed a screed of electronic chatter and tilted to look up at Han.
"What did he say?" Han asked, in the vain hope the little droid would have fared better than Threepio.
"He's asking where Obi-Wan Kenobi is."
Han looked numbly at the little droid. "He's dead."
Artoo let out an explosive burst of expletives.
Solo looked to Threepio in surprise.
"He says he has a message for him."
"Message?" Han was confused, where could the old man fit into all of this? "What message?"
"He says it's classified sir." Threepio hesitated and leaned closer to the Corellian. "Uh, sir? I believe Artoo doesn't remember anything from leaving the princess' ship, before we entered into Master Luke's service."
"Great!" Han announced. "Chewie doesn't turn up for a meet, Luke gets lost, the princess captured and to top it all I've got a couple of droids on ray hands with amnesia! It's not my day."
"Sir..?" Threepio began.
Han waved him silent. "Look, why don't the two of you renew your memory from the ship's log..." A dawning look of horror filled Han's eyes. "Oh no!" He dashed to the cockpit with the robots in close pursuit.
It was as he feared. The log detailed everything up to their arrival here. Everything after, including the mystery visitors, was blank. The log only picked up again as Han entered the ship.
"Well, at least she didn't lose too much. But who ever it was wanted their privacy while invading ours. Damn!" Solo burst with sudden realization. "That's why they picked up Leia! They know exactly who I was carrying and why we're here! But how did they get passed my security coding?" He turned to the robots. "Threepio, d'you know my coding for the log?"
"No, sir. But Artoo could very easily by-pass such a simple coding."
Han nodded mutely. To say they were in trouble was an understatement. Who ever they were dealing with had all the information, had all the aces and left Han chasing his tail in frustration. "Go ahead," he told the droids. "Renew your memory, I'm going aft." He started back, and then turned with another thought. "And watch what you're doing!"
He didn't wait for an answer. Half way along the corridor to the back cabins he stopped and crouched down. Carefully he prised his fingers under one of the floor panels and lifted it from it's place. He laid it against the wall and sat back on his haunches gazing at the boxes in the hidden hold.
A nice little pile, he thought to himself as he surveyed the boxes of precious metals and crystals.
Greed Solo? A small, whispering voice taunted at the back of his mind.
No. He firmly replied as he climbed down into the hold, and settled by the only box containing cash. Only my just payment for services rendered.
He opened the box and withdrew an amount of money and stuffed it into his pockets. He replaced the lid and was about to climb out when he heard soft footsteps.
He was about to pull his blaster when there was a soft, familiar growl. He jumped from the compartment as his partner entered the ship. "Where have you been?" He asked, suppressing his relief at seeing the Wookiee and nursing his annoyance at being left by himself for the deal.
The Wookiee rumbled out an answer and added a question of his own, a touch of anger in his words.
"Where was I?" Han burst, placing the floor plate back. "I was the one in the right place, buddy!" He turned on his heels and headed for his cabin. "You should have stayed put here when none of us showed. We've had company on board."
Chewbacca voiced his apology, explaining he had returned to the original meeting point. It would appear they had walked circles around each other. Following Han he aired his puzzlement.
"Huh?" Han stopped at the cabin door. "We couldn't both be at the right place and the wrong place at the same time. It doesn't make sense."
Chewbacca tried to explain.
"What kid?" Han's face darkened as the Wookiee continued with his tale.
"And you believed him?" He angrily hit the stud to open his door. "How could you be so gullible?" He entered and headed for the hydro-syth…
Chewie's next words made him pause, his hand hovering under the filters.
"He did? And you've never seen him before?" He let the clear, recycled liquid pool in his palms, then he splashed his face and neck. "You think he knows Badure?" He reached for a towel and dried himself.
Chewbacca shrugged.
"Something's goin on, Chewie. You're tricked into going to another bar, I narrowly escape a meet with Imps, Leia's captured, the kid's missing, someone's been on the ship and fiddled with the droids and the log - but the money's untouched. Things keep adding up, but nothing makes any sense!" He threw the towel down, his frustration and underlying fear betrayed by the action and his words. No matter how many times he repeated the day's events they never provided any answers.
Chewbacca barked out his sorrow and surprise, then a question.
Han considered for a moment. "That'd be no good. All the channels are probably being monitored. Besides, I already asked Dodonna who the contact was, but he wouldn't tell me. Not even Leia knows. General said he'd be too valuable to lose if one of us spilled if captured."
The Wookiee grumbled out his displeasure, and gestured to the floor.
"Yeah, I know. But, I didn't want to worry you." He looked distant for a moment, recalling sitting on the tree branch with Luke, then added; "I had other reasons for coming here."
Seeing Han's fleeting expression, Chewbacca rumbled quietly, before motioning to the floor again.
Han caught himself and followed his partner's meaning. "That? I took a little info money. I'm going back to that bar to ask a few questions." He glanced up at his co-pilot. "This time I want you there as back up, no matter what anyone else tells you!"
Leia slid her legs from the cold metal bunk, stood and stretched. She crossed the floor of the cell to the door, placed the side of her head against the hard surface and strained to listen for any sounds coming from the corridor beyond. From her time spent in the detention block on board the Death Star she knew it was a pointless task, but somehow it broke the monotonous boredom. She lifted her head and surveyed her holding pen - it looked exactly like her cell on the battle station and she wondered if Imperial designers ever had any sense of imagination.
Her lips curled into a vague smile and she returned to the bunk and sat down, her smile faltering as her despondency returned. Just over a week free from four black walls and she was a captive again. She had been marched into the Imperial headquarters, presented proudly by the lead trooper to a captain with fanatical glint to his eyes. He had gleefully informed her that General D'anti - whoever he was - would be notified of her capture, and if she had anything to say to do it now.
Somewhat numbed by the swiftness of the events, Leia could think of nothing and was removed to the detention centre. Now she had no idea how long ago that had been, could not even guess if night had fallen. In a cold, black cell every minute was exactly like the last. She curled her legs up onto the bunk and lay down, resting her head on her elbow. Glancing at the door once more, another small smile flickered as a memory of the previous week returned. The memory of waking from a light doze to find a short, harried stormtrooper standing in the open door of her cell. And this brought thoughts of Luke and Han.
Had Luke made his way back to the ship and to Han? Had the Corellian completed the deal? Were they contemplating another rescue? These thoughts abruptly ended with a sudden, terrible realization. If the Imperials knew she was here, then they knew who with and quite probably why! Han and Luke could quite well be in the neighbouring cells.
No, she wouldn't think that, couldn't contemplate that. There had to be some hope and, for some unknown reason, she knew that Luke and Han were that hope. They were still free.
Calmed a little, she closed her eyes fighting to keep further disconcerting thoughts at bay and forced herself to focus on trying to sleep. If her previous experience was anything to go by she would require all her strength in the days to come.