Han eyed her warily when she re-entered the cockpit.
"You still mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad at you?" Leia asked obtusely. She strapped herself back into one of the passenger seats and braced herself for their imminent exit from hyperspace.
For all the Emperor's boundless firepower and rage, he had failed to effectively blockade tiny Lasan. This was partly due to the planet's remoteness and partly due to its dense, rocky rings, which disrupted any possible coordination between ships. The planet's armada worked small, concealing their ships behind asteroids and picking off approaching vessels. The Empire had to trickle in and spread their forces thin, spreading carnage and destruction but falling short of the sweeping victory promised on the galactic broadcasts. The capital still stood strong.
Leia gripped her armrests as Han and Chewie merrily swerved their freighter through the floating debris and ice crystals. There were no landing codes. There had been one transmission from the hidden fleet, who had accepted Han's forged ship serial number with no comment. They burned through the atmosphere and the ground raced up to meet them.
The second phase of the mission was underway.
It was deceptively cold in sunny Lasan City. The colorless sky was bright and clear, but an icy wind twisted down from the glaciers that loomed overhead, biting through Leia's jumpsuit. She shoved her hands into its cavernous pockets as they made their way across the crowded bazaar.
Chaos reigned. The capital was bursting at the seams, packed tight with refugees from Lasan's razed plains. The vendors had to shout out their prices to be heard above the din, which only made the throngs of shoppers, beggars, and hustlers scream louder. However, there was no sign of Imperial presence, as promised by the fearsome Lasanese nationalists. They had joined the Alliance to Restore the Galactic Republic almost as an afterthought, after years of fighting off Imperial incursions alone – when the Emperor had belatedly been told about the troublesome little planet in the fringes of Wild Space and had tripled the pressure. Corralled into their last stronghold, it had finally occurred to the Lasanese to ask for help.
Han had stacked a gravsled with the crates of explosives, now labeled as Fertilizer in Chewie's laboriously scrawled letters, which he pushed through the narrow alleys with ease. They didn't talk. The militia leader they were seeking would be disguised as a farmer, in one of the stalls along the fringes of the market. Look for guroots, they'd been told, and so they looked. But every farm stall sold guroots, so they kept walking.
"Over there," Han said, finally. Ten paces away, three vendors crouched under a makeshift awning. On the tarp spread out in front of them, a measly offering of half a dozen wrinkled guroots drew no takers. They walked up to the stall and inclined their heads in greeting and spoke their coded offer. Powerful fertilizer. Triple your crops. Results in just three weeks.
Their leader stepped forward. At first, he seemed stooped and diminutive in his dusty tunic, but he had the look Leia had come to know well: the hardened, abstract stare that seemed to look through her, watching the war play out on every surface around him like an invisible screen. There wasn't much else to say. When – the Lasanese never said if – the militia succeeded in pushing the Empire's forces back, it would become another foothold in the Alliance's growing resistance, a nexus in their efforts to organize the Outer Rim.
The Lasanese also never said thank you.
"This will serve us well," the man said, when the crates were cracked open behind the awning. All three of the fighters seemed entranced by the glittering purple powder. It was enough for thousands of bombs.
He gave Leia his encoded message for the Generals, which she memorized with the old Alderaan mnemonics. The lids went back on the crates.
"May the force be with you," Leia heard herself saying as they left.
Han glanced at her in surprise. "The Kid's rubbing off on you," he accused.
They were walking back through the market, unencumbered by gravsleds or explosives, when Han suddenly grabbed her elbow. Before Leia could react, she found herself forcefully steered off the street and into a nearby alley, where he shoved her behind a large rainwater barrel. His grip was like a vise. Since he was looking not at her, but over the rusted rim of the container, she trusted he'd seen some danger she hadn't – even though she had also been on high alert, casting her perceptions out in every direction. Peripheral vision, patterns, projection, just like she had been trained before she left her father's court for fathomless Coruscant. She'd sensed nothing.
She tugged her arm away. He clamped down harder.
"Thought I saw someone I know."
Though he kept his voice low, Leia's heart stopped. She craned her neck up, his features in shadow above her. "Do you think we were followed?"
After a moment, he shrugged and released her.
"I don't know. I said I thought I saw someone."
Leia waited for him to say something else. Something glib or stupid, which would cede command back to her. But instead, he lapsed into silence. He continued to observe the thoroughfare they'd just ducked out of, but if he was scanning the street for danger, it was imperceptible. He merely slouched against the dirty wall like he lived there. Han had a talent, Leia had noticed recently, when Chewie had been late returning to an open hangar and they'd had no choice but to loiter in plain sight, for disappearing into the scenery. Not for the first time, she wondered how a person came to learn this skill. The swagger could vanish in an instant, like casting off a coat, and when she stole another glance at his face, she saw no familiar moon jockey – only a stranger. The urge to demand action faltered.
Meanwhile, Leia was just lucky to be shorter than the barrel. She settled for keeping watch on the alley while he made up his mind, looking for anything that didn't fit, looking for escape routes. It was quieter here than the main market street. Only a few stragglers wandered past, their eyes low to the ground, anxious to be on their way.
It was several, long minutes before Han spoke again.
"I just don't like coincidences, that's all. And back there at the spaceport..." He straightened up. "Maybe I'm imagining things. Let's take a different way back."
The different way back led them through an equally loud series of crowded streets, which spit them out at the other end of the landing field. The tall grasses here lay dead and flat, either crushed by ships or stamped down by travelers. Without a word, they both quickened their pace through the open ground. It was a relief to reach the Millennium Falcon, to look over their shoulders one last time and slam the hatch shut behind them.
"Your Captain got a little paranoid," Leia announced to Chewie once they'd safely sailed past the asteroids, because no explanation seemed to be forthcoming, and she couldn't bear the silence any longer.
Han waved away his co-pilot's quizzical bark. "Better safe than sorry," he threw back at her. Though he took it upon himself to reply, he didn't bother looking up from the controls. Leia couldn't see his face, hunched forward as he was. "Isn't that what your Esteemed Leader always says?"
"Since when do you listen to Mon Mothma?"
"I don't," he answered automatically, punching in codes more with more violence than seemed necessary. "In fact, if it was just me, I'd – "
She pounced.
"What do you mean, if it was just you?"
"Listen, Sweetheart, I didn't blast you out of the Death Star just to have you go down in some dump. When I save someone's life, I – "
As soon as he launched into this tirade, Leia knew exactly where they were going. This was well-trod territory – and yet she found herself ensnared, drawn forward in her seat. It felt good, almost, to surrender to the grooves of this argument, to stare daggers at the back of his head and let her pulse race. "Don't flatter yourself," she retorted, cutting him off when he raised his voice. "You'd still be on there if I hadn't found a way out."
Han finally twisted around in his seat to face her.
"Is that right? And whose ship flew you off the damn thing? In fact – "
A loud howl interrupted them. Neither had noticed Chewie's growing frustration, and now the Wookie didn't just address his captain – he included the Princess in his admonishments, jabbing a long, exasperated arm from one to the other. Han and Leia stopped at once, dropping their eyes like chastened children. This wasn't the first time Chewie had intervened. Leia tried to compose herself. Unfinished heat lingered in her cheeks, where her temper had been snuffed out. She discreetly pressed her cold fingertips to the flushed skin. Making a scene, this was called in the Palace. Back then, when she risked a royal scolding, she could count on winning – this scene, however, never ended in her favor. It never ended at all, no matter how many times they played it through.
In front of her, Han sighed. All the tension seemed to have burned off him too, and in a calmer tone he said:
"I promised to get you back safe, that's all."
They spent the rest of the trip in a truce.
The argument, and their nerves, stayed safely shelved. Han offered to make her dinner while Chewie stayed up at the controls. She could rehydrate noodle bricks as well as anyone else, but he liked to pretend that there was an art to it. Bet they don't teach you this at finishing school or some other nerf-brained comment had accompanied his early demonstrations. He was, however, very good at turning space-dried vegetables and flat-pack condiments into enjoyable toppings. She'd admitted this to him once, and had been exuberantly rewarded with more noodles than she could eat.
"Who did you think you saw out there?" Leia finally asked, once they were settled on the curved acceleration couch with their bowls.
Besides her, Han stiffened mid-chew. "I told you already, there's a bounty out on me."
"I know, but who – "
"Lots of people I don't want to run into," he grumbled evasively. Before she could reply, he hurried to add, "But it was nothing. And even if it was, Jabba's clowns aren't anything I can't handle. Don't you worry." The last part came more forcefully. He patted the blaster strapped to his thigh for emphasis.
Leia considered the familiar holster, the heavy belt and the heavy DL-44 always at the ready. It was the same weapon he'd used on the Death Star, and in every disaster since then, as well as for light-hearted target practice with the recruits on base. It was harder to remember if she'd ever seen him without it. Picturing that felt wrong somehow, like she was undressing him.
She returned her attention to her meal. His explanation wasn't entirely reassuring, but Leia was too tired to probe further. Let him be paranoid. Let him boast. They all had bounties on their heads. He'd already made the three masterfully random jumps that would prevent any unwanted followers, real or imagined, from tracking them. Next time they planned a meeting with a representative of the intergalactic black market, she'd show Han the picture and ask if he knew her. Leia imagined the interrogation, Han at the far end of the briefing table. How well? How far, exactly, did you get with her? How many times?.
She set down her empty bowl with a sigh. It had been a long day, and the mission had gone well. A success – a minor, but no less valuable, success. And not just for the Alliance's larger goals; she couldn't help but tally it as another piece of evidence in the case she was building for High Command. The one that would prove she was capable of more than just desk work and bunkers. That might persuade them to let her help, to put everything she had towards their victory…
Han changed the subject. "Five more hours or so," he said, checking his chrono.
She stifled a yawn.
"… Until we can get you out of that jumpsuit."
The Princess flashed him a look that would have made a grown duke tremble, but he only waggled his brows at her from across the small couch. Leia responded with a magnanimous eye roll. Not worth taking the bait, she decided. They'd only just calmed down. She was tired, and she couldn't wait to get it off either.