Chapter Six
Brought to you by Kahlua, ennui, weird experiences in desert environments, and at some point Concerta XR.
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Leia watched in resentful silence as the speeder bikes were hidden behind some kind of old-fashioned camouflage netting. Apparently, the rest of the journey would be on foot. She wondered how far they'd gone from the ambush site, and whether they'd left tracks.
As if it weren't bad enough being bound at the wrists with a blaster trained on her at all times, Leia's captors next decided to throw a black cloth bag over her head so that she couldn't see where she was going. One of them was guiding her along the terrain, but roughly, and she kept stumbling. Her exposed forearms were covered in scratches, and she was sure her clothing was stained and torn by now. Her hair was surely a disaster.
It wasn't vanity that caused Leia to consider her appearance. She was thinking of ways to draw attention to herself, should the opportunity arise. A disheveled woman in fancy diplomatic dress in the middle of the woods was probably not something the local farmers, or hunters, or whoever she thought she might encounter out here were used to seeing.
Then again, if her captors felt comfortable parading her around at gunpoint wearing a doubtlessly conspicuous sack over her head, it wasn't likely they were expecting to be seen. She scowled. The inside of the hood smelled musty, and her breathing stifled against the fabric, making her face feel overly hot. She was beginning to be painfully thirsty when finally, she heard the footsteps around her halt. She was shoved to a sitting position, the hood was pulled partway up, and a canteen was pressed against her lips. At first she resisted drinking from it, thinking of poison and drugs, but her guide was insistent, nearly chipping her teeth. Her thirst won over her paranoia, and she gulped sloppily. Water dribbled down her face and she wiped her chin with her shoulder, meanwhile trying to spy out her surroundings from beneath the hood. A furry white hand blocked her vision almost immediately, yanking the cloth back into place.
Several moments passed in such quiet that Leia jumped when she heard a distant whistle. Suddenly, she was dragged back to her feet and pulled along at a quickened pace. It wasn't much further before she heard a door open, and was guided indoors. The abrupt change in light left Leia feeling even more blind, but after going through a few more doors and down some echoing hallways, the cloth was removed from her head. She looked around, swiftly; her immediate conclusion was that she was in some sort of bunker. Duracrete walls surrounded her, dimly illuminated by sparse industrial lighting. The only features of the room they were in were a couple of old metal chairs and a battered table.
Speaking in Bothan, the one who'd been guiding her pushed her lightly against a wall, indicating that she should stay there. She obeyed, displaying an attitude of meekness and thinking evil thoughts.
Somehow, Hayat had managed to coerce Han into following him back to HQ without an argument or a major confrontation with the medical staff. The ex-smuggler's famously limited patience, however, was quickly wearing thin.
"I've been waiting long enough, now how 'bout some answers?"
"Captain Solo, calm yourself," the older, female Bothan instructed, with an air of condescension that sent Han's nostrils flaring.
"I'll be calm when you tell me what the hell's goin' on!" he retorted.
"The chief is going to fill you in, that's why we're here," Hayat whispered under his breath.
"She's taking her sweet time," Han replied, not bothering to whisper. He turned back to the chief. "When are you gonna let me use your comm channel? Sometime this cycle, I hope?"
"We have closed off all communications with the Alliance," the chief responded, "so as not to risk disclosing the nature of this encounter or the location of your base."
"They don't even know that Leia-"
"The Alliance knows nothing, but they are sure to notice the disruption soon enough," the chief said. "If Intelligence indicates that this situation will be ongoing, we will send an emissary to a secret location and relay the information from there."
"Paranoid, aren't we?" Han scoffed.
The chief's fur ruffled, which seemed to be a plain enough indication of annoyance. "Captain Solo, we are risking the destruction of our planet merely by virtue of your presence here. Bothanel is in a unique situation. Our relationship with the Empire remains open; they do not yet suspect us, but given the precarious position we find ourselves in, the risk of exposure is high."
Han couldn't think of anything sarcastic to say in response. The Bothan woman was talking sense.
"My name is Maynn. I am the chief of global police intelligence on Bothanel." She extended a large, furry hand, and Han took it.
"Han Solo," he replied, "freelance pilot."
"Freelance, indeed," the chief replied, a trace of humor in her voice. "I expect you'll want an update on your copilot, Chewbacca. We've been told he'll be fine, although he will be kept in a state of induced hibernation for several more days as part of his treatment. They expect no lasting ill-effects after a brief recovery period. And by the way, he is under constant guard by undercover operatives."
Han's shoulders sunk, releasing tension he didn't know he'd had, but his relief didn't last long. "What about Leia?"
"A scouting team has picked up a trail, and we believe we have pinpointed the location of her captors via satellite," Chief Maynn replied. "A rescue party is being outfitted as we speak and will depart shortly."
"What about us?" Hayat interjected. "Are we just going to sit here and wait?"
Maynn's fur ruffled again, and she turned her gaze on the younger officer. "You will do as ordered," she said.
"Wait a second," Han said, getting to his feet again, "you can't order me around."
"As it happens," Maynn continued as if he hadn't spoken, "your instructions, Hayat, are to accompany our guest Captain Solo in the rescue mission. It was against the Sovereign's wishes, but I gathered from his reputation that Captain Solo would not be obliged to watch from the sidelines." She glanced back at the one-time smuggler. "Please retrieve his weapon from the munitions locker and proceed to the briefing. It starts in twenty minutes, and you will leave immediately afterward."
"Why have they blockaded communications?" Mon Mothma asked, without a flicker of emotion to betray her calm demeanor.
"We don't know. Our last transmission from the Falcon reported that they had landed without incident. Presumably, they met with their emissary since they didn't call in to report any delays. The communications block was implemented several hours later, without warning or explanation."
"Do we have any reason to suspect that this is the Empire's doing?"
"We can't rule it out, but nothing specifically points to their involvement," Rieekan replied. "I could pull some of Rogue squadron from their current mission to respond."
Mon Mothma paused to consider this. "I think, general, that might be somewhat hasty," she said. "We may call the Empire's attention onto Bothanel in the process."
Rieekan frowned, considering.
"This is a delicate situation," she continued. "I think a more covert approach is called for."
"What did you have in mind?"
"I'll let Technical Officer Crisson explain the details," she replied, then glanced at a pale young man who had been seated silently beside her throughout the conversation.
"We expected that some of Bothanel's security measures might include a communications blockade or destruction of information, so we fitted the droid with a recording and relay device," the technician replied somewhat nervously, as if he had rehearsed the statement. "C-3PO is not aware of its presence, nor are our ambassadors. It's relayed to the Millennium Falcon's comm panel and uses the ship as an amplifier and transmitter. I designed it myself, specifically for the purpose of subverting Bothan technology, but…"
Crisson trailed off, eyes ticking towards Mon Mothma as if asking permission to continue.
"Go on," Rieekan prodded before the matriarch could interject.
"It's never been tested," Crisson concluded, deflating. "This is the first time we've even had a real-world opportunity."
"Have you received any transmissions not logged by the ambassadors themselves?"
"No, sir. Rather than transmissions, we receive a time-delayed continuous audio stream. Apparently, they powered down the droid and left it on the ship."
Mon Mothma shot Rieekan a meaningful glance.
"We might've seen that one coming," Rieekan smirked. "Can the droid be activated by remote?"
Crisson looked taken aback. "There might be a way, sir."
"Get to work on it right away. Allocate your department's resources as you see fit, but make this your number one priority."
"Yes, sir."
Han forced himself to sit through the briefing, gripping the side of his seat to keep from launching out of it and taking off. After he'd heard (translated by a handy earpiece that Hayat had passed to him) that last captured images showed Leia alive and unharmed, all he really wanted to know was where they had taken her. He didn't care about the numbers of entrances or exits, the size of the compound, the expected defenses. Well, he knew he should care, so he forced himself to listen, but his impatience was making it difficult. Given his blaster and his current mood, he felt he could probably take them all out single-handed.
I'm starting to sound like the kid, he thought to himself, and a grimace crossed his features.
"The location of the compound is programmed in to the global positioning devices in your gear. Good luck."
Chairs scraped the floor as Bothans got to their feet, but Han Solo was already halfway out the door.
A/N: Beta reader needed. I'm looking for someone better versed than I am with the ancillary characters in the Rebellion and in the SW universe in general. Someone mean and harsh. Please email me if you're willing to help out!
