Over the years, Luke had found himself in any number of situations where flinching at a bit of surprise information could be the difference between life and death at the end of an Imperial blaster barrel. It was only his instincts, finely honed during the intense years of war that followed his initial departure from Tatooine, that kept him from reacting when the hotel staffer nonchalantly informed him that Han's ship, which he had believed was safely stored back on Belnar, was currently approaching the system. Reaction or not though, he couldn't just stand there as Imperial pilots poured through the lobby on their way to waiting ships and shuttles. Distracted though they were by injuries and the prospect of an exciting capture, one of them might recognize him and then they would have real trouble.
Stepping briskly backwards into a turbolift, Luke double checked to make sure the doors were closed before pulling out his comlink. "Lando?" he said softly.
"Yeah?" Lando's voice was relatively quiet as well, and the fact that he didn't acknowledge Luke by name tipped off the young Jedi that the other man was in no situation for a confidential conversation. "Can it wait? We're checking in on our, um, ship."
"Not really. I heard they spotted a bird approaching the system." He emphasized the word bird, hoping Lando would understand.
"A what? Oh." Lando's voice flattened. "Hang on." There was a muffled conversation, and then he heard Lando thanking someone. "Meet you at the room in five."
Luke punched in the floor number for their room level, his mind racing. It could be a false alarm, some other unlucky soul in a YT-1300 who was about to get blasted out of the sky for looking like the galaxy's most famous smuggler. For a brief moment he even wondered if Han had somehow gotten away and tracked them to Belnar and then Kuat…but that was preposterous. He couldn't sense Leia, and Han never would have left her behind.
"That bastard!" Lando spat, as Luke entered the code and pushed his way into their shared room. "That Huttslime bastard."
Chewie, who must have been briefed on the situation by Lando as Luke made his way to the room, dropped a few invectives of his own in a tone that made Luke glad he didn't understand Shyriiwook. Aunt Beru might have returned from the dead to wash his ears out just for listening to the curses.
"Care to fill me in?" he asked mildly.
"Esenta," Lando raged. "There's no other explanation. He stole my…" Chewie interrupted with a roar. "Han's ship."
"Are you sure?" Luke had heard little enough information about the supposed Rebel incursion that he was unwilling to take Lando's word on faith. "Maybe it isn't even the Falcon."
"Oh, it is." With a grim look on his face, Lando gestured towards the holoprojector. Luke hadn't even noticed it was on, and focused with interest on the scene before him.
"Turn up the volume," he said, leaning in to get a closer look.
A YT-1300 freighter, with the telltale modifications and scars of the Millennium Falcon, juked inexpertly around a pair of TIE fighters as a reporter breathlessly filled in viewers from the safety of a newsroom. "Moments ago," she intoned, "it was confirmed that the approaching ship is the Millennium Falcon, owned by notorious rebel Han Solo and best known for its role in ambushing a number of government and civilian vessels. The ship has not yet opened fire, but local troops are taking no chances…what's that, Dale?"
The shot shifted to the newsroom, where an attractive blonde had one finger to her ear, listening to a transmission from one of her colleagues in the field. She took the opportunity to flash a broad smile at her viewers, leaning slightly forward to give a better glimpse of her famous décolletage—rumored by many in the industry to be the sole reason she got her current position. "All right, Dale, let's listen in. For those of you just joining us, our senior military analyst Dale Fatillo just reported that the Millennium Falcon is broadcasting a message on an open frequency."
With a slightly bemused smile, Luke cranked up the volume.
"Please!" a voice begged, the accent a curious amalgam of Coruscanti elite and Outer Rim drawl, "I'm not Han Solo. I am Lieutenant Governor Okshir. I was sold this ship by a man on Belnar."
"Told you," Lando said sharply.
"And I am not with the Rebellion. Please do not shoot me!"
The screen flashed back to the anchor, who looked like she was trying to hide a giggle at the man's plight. "Well, Dale, that's not an ideal situation, is it? If you're just joining us, we're following a breaking story…."
Luke switched off the sound, turning back to Lando. "What's the word on our ship?"
"Which one?" Lando replied, reaching across for the remote. With a flick of his finger, Luke sent it sailing across the room to land on a bedside table.
"The one you were trying to shake loose," Luke clarified, "The Juanita."
"They released it. But we can't leave now, not with the Falcon coming in."
"Master Luke!" Threepio burst through the door between the two rooms. "Oh, thank the Maker you're here. Artoo has connected to the hotel's computer and reported that the Millennium Falcon has been captured."
"Thanks, Threepio." The droid was a day late and a credit short, as usual, but Luke didn't have time for him at the moment. "Lando, how soon can we get out of here?"
"Did you not just hear me? We can't leave the Falcon." He turned around, searching for Chewbacca to give him back up. The Wookiee emerged from the 'fresher, grunting inquisitively. "It is the Falcon," Lando told him, "Tell Luke we can't just leave now."
Chewie warbled a response that Luke couldn't understand, but he took his meaning from the dejected look on Lando's face.
"He's going to blame me," Lando said desperately. "When we find him…he's going to kill me."
"At least you're admitting now that we are going to find Han and Leia," Luke said cheerfully.
"Yeah'," Lando agreed dejectedly. "I am."
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A slightly tense conversation with Han later, Leia slipped into a borrowed dress and boots and made her way down to the public entrance to the Imperial Palace to meet Alba and her friends. She had layered on eyeshadow and lipstick—also bequeathed by her new friend—in hopes that she'd fade into the crowds of human women descending on bars to spend their evenings getting smashed and talking about their significant others.
Four other women were standing with Alba in the enormous vestibule waiting for her. She noted with relief that they seemed to be similarly adorned in tight clothes and too much makeup. Alba greeted her with a kiss on each cheek and then introduced "Kim" to her other friends, who were more than willing to absorb a new member into their little clique as though they'd been friends for life.
Han had practically ordered her not to go out, demanding to know exactly what she planned to do if she was recognized or got into some kind of trouble. With a flourish, she jammed her small blaster into her waistband, covering it with her jacket. Her instinct was to pick a fight, but then she looked directly into his eyes. He wasn't trying to undermine her, she could tell. He was genuinely worried.
"We have to try to fit in," she had reassured him, grabbing his shoulders and hoisting herself up for a kiss. Lips interlocked, they lingered for a moment. "I promise, I'll be fine. It's just a quick drink with some girls. Maybe I'll learn something useful."
"Like what?" Han demanded, putting his hands on her shoulders.
"Like that these rooms aren't bugged," she reported smugly.
"How did you find that out?" he asked, but Leia simply put her fingers to her lips and smiled seductively.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she had asked with a wink.
She kept quiet, quickening her pace to keep up with the group as they chattered about boyfriends and problems at work. It was early evening, the purple shadows mixing with the neon lights of the local entertainment district to cast disguising shadows on the women. Leia had spent plenty of time here as a Senator, meeting fellow elected officials, lobbyists, and the occasional Rebel operative for a late night drink, but the streets felt alien to her. So many years of being on the run, based on planets ranging from glacial to tropical, had made her unaccustomed to the singular city life that Coruscant offered.
"Kriff." Wirtio, a tall dark skinned woman who worked in the kitchen that served the palace security detail, stopped as they reached a darkened doorway. "Don't tell me they closed Pasulo!"
"Looks like it," Alba said sadly. She turned to Leia. "This place made great namana-tinis."
"And Wirtio had a crush on the bartender," a husky brunette with a single crooked tooth that set off her brilliant smile added with a giggle. Her name was Xioma, Leia remembered.
"Rough luck," Leia noted softly.
Alba shrugged. "I said we should go to the Coronet," she announced. "As usual, I was right!" Leading the way, she plunged off down the sidewalk.
"It's a little creepy how everything keeps closing," Wirtio said to Leia as they walked. "I never thought the Rebellion would actually affect us here, you know?"
A million retorts sprung to Leia's mind, most of them centering on how Coruscant benefited from the Empire's oppression across the galaxy, but she held her tongue. Albeit with difficulty. Changing hearts and minds could come after she killed the members of the Ruling Council.
"Here we are!" Alba said, gesturing towards a doorway. Loud music poured out, a twanging female voice expressing dismay over the faithlessness of her lover to the accompaniment of far more experienced musicians. "And it sounds like open mic night! We may have some fun after all, girls."
"Alba has a thing for Corellians," Wirtio explained as they made their way towards one of the few unoccupied booths.
"I get that," Leia responded with a wink, sending Wirtio into a gale of laughter. Alba waved at the human waiter to come take their drink orders, and Leia settled back, willing herself to relax. The next few hours might just be fun.
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The gym was emptied before her arrival, as Isard had ordered. Unable to convince the Imperial powers-that-be that she needed her own facility, the Intelligence chief had been reduced to clearing out the vast room full of weights, treadmills, and bikes when she was ready for a workout. She eminently preferred to exercise in solitude, and if inconveniencing her inferiors was what it took, then so be it.
Her best strategies were always developed when she used the vast strain on her physical resources to clear her mind. Today, as was the case since her second-in-command confirmed the Emperor's death, her focus was on the future of the Empire. She remained convinced that the current ruling authority was unsustainable. Running the Empire required charisma and vision—something Sate Pestage and his cronies lacked. They couldn't be gotten rid of soon enough.
But the real challenge was finding a way to discredit them in death. That was where the Rebels came in. Unlike her current commanders, who saw the Rebellion as a threat, Isard viewed them—especially Leia Organa—as an opportunity. She simply needed to find a way to leverage Organa's presence in the palace as a means of extending her own powers—which meant, of course, figuring out what the girl had planned.
Isard hated uncertainty. It was a given in her role, but sussing out her enemies plans was her most satisfying accomplishment. She intended to do no less with Organa, but with the added challenge that the princess couldn't be allowed to confirm that she was under surveillance. And more importantly, the Council could not be allowed to discover the Rebel infiltration.
Suddenly, she smiled. An idea had popped into her head. Which was rarely a good omen for anyone but Ysanne Isard.
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Alba had all but insisted on signing up to stand in front of the crowd and sing. It had taken all of Leia's acting skills to convince her colleague that she suffered from paralyzing stage fright. Announcing her presence in front of a crowd, even a drunken one, struck her as the height of foolishness.
A few shots of Corellian whiskey later, Alba had convinced the rest of her companions to join her on stage. Leia settled back into the dark booth, content to watch her new friends make fools of themselves. Alba stood at the front, beginning to belt out the words to a theme song from an old holofilm about a group of women taking revenge on their greedy employer. Leia chuckled slightly at the context. The holofilm, which was older than she was, probably hardly envisioned the Empire as the villain employer.
She left her attention drift around the room, catching snatches of conversation from the surrounding tables. The men next to them were celebrating a pending wedding, and Leia made special note to keep Alba away from them as the night wore on. She seemed exactly the type to go home with a prospective groom. On the other side, a pair of older couples was reminiscing about their days at university.
"Thank you for coming," she heard a smooth voice say. "Yes, I'm the owner. I do hope you're enjoying yourself."
She froze, not wanting to reveal herself by turning, but the voice sounded familiar. And not in a good way.
"A round for the table on me, gentlemen! Who is the lucky man?" The bachelors at the next booth roared their approval as Leia began to stand, ostensibly to search for a 'fresher.
"Hello." Too late. She looked up as the man reached her table, grimly confirming that it was indeed Wa-Janar. He looked her up and down lustily. "I think you still owe me a dance."
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Imperial Palace or no, Han Solo wasn't willing to sit alone in his bedroom on a night off. He emerged into the dormitory style hallway, following the sounds of chatter into a common room. There, he noted with a smile, the card games had already begun.
"Tocal Pandall," he said amiably, offering a hand to the unfamiliar young men and pulling some credits out of his pocket. "Deal me in?"
An hour later, Han was up 200 credits and his three companions were dead drunk. They had a contraband-looking bottle of cheap Alsakan brandy that they passed around surreptitiously as though they expected the late Emperor himself to appear at the door. Han took a few sips but mostly used the opportunity to relieve the men of their hard earned wages. And, as he smugly intended to inform Leia later, information.
Karl had been working in the Palace for only a few months, shifting between the powerhouse that keep electricity flowing through the residence and the security offices. A tech expert, he was unimpressed with the level of security in the building since the Emperor's demise—a point Han noted with some bemusement. He did make a point of remembering Karl's offhand comment that the security control rooms only had one checkpoint to get in from inside the Palace: a fact that Karl noted with professional disdain.
Joern approached his position with a bit more respect, in part because he'd been around long enough to have second and third hand contact with Palpatine. Frankly, the Emperor scared the crap out of him, and he'd learned early on to keep his head down and not ask questions. That habit continued now that Sate Pestage and his colleagues were running things, and Joern didn't anticipate ever changing his approach. His reticence to draw attention to himself was driven in part by the wife and twin daughters he supported back on Esseles. Han filed that bit of information as well.
"Well, gentlemen," Han said, standing up. Joern and Karl tried to emulate him, but collapsed back into their chairs. "It's been a pleasure."
He checked the chrono as he wandered back to the room. It was nearly time that Leia would be back, and he pondered whether he might be able to convince her to take advantage of the lack of bugs in their room. A slight smile crept onto his face as he approached their door. Then, suddenly, he frowned.
The door was cracked open. Someone had been inside. And as he gently pushed open the door, he saw that it was ominously empty.