Leia found his hand, squeezed it. He squeezed back, to show that he wasn’t mad. Though she probably already knew that. “We’d better get going,” she told Mon Mothma, using her grip on Han’s hand to start steering him away from the table. “We still have to collect our droids before we leave.”
“Have a good trip,” Mon Mothma said gravely. “And good luck.”
“The droids are already on the Falcon,” Han told Leia as they wove their way around the various conversations that had sprung up between the Councilors and staff members. “Chewie got them aboard while I came here.”
“I know,” Leia murmured.
“Right,” Han said, and left it at that.
She squeezed his hand again. “It’ll be all right, Han. You, me, and Luke together again—it’ll be just like old times.”
“Sure,” Han said. Sitting around with a group of half-furred, half-size aliens, listening to Threepio’s precise voice all day as he translated back and forth, trying to penetrate yet another alien psychology to figure out what exactly it would take to get them to join the New Republic—“Sure,” he repeated with a sigh. “Just exactly like old times.”4
C H A P T E R 6
The waving alien trees shied back like some sort of huge tentacles from the landing area, and with the barest of bumps Han set the Millennium Falcon down on the uneven ground. “Well, here we are,” he announced to no one in particular. “Bimmisaari. Fur and moving plants a specialty.”1
“None of that,” Leia warned him, unstrapping from the seat behind him and running through the Jedi relaxation techniques Luke had taught her. Political dealings with people she knew were relatively easy for her. Diplomatic missions with unfamiliar alien races were something else entirely.
“You’ll do fine,” Luke said from beside her, reaching over to squeeze her arm.
Han half turned. “I wish you two wouldn’t do that,” he complained. “It’s like listening to half a conversation.”
“Sorry,” Luke apologized, climbing out of his seat and stooping to peer out the Falcon’s nose window. “Looks like our reception committee coming. I’ll go get Threepio ready.”
“We’ll be there in a minute,” Leia called after him. “You ready, Han?”
“Yeah,” Han told her, adjusting his blaster in its holster. “Last chance to change your mind, Chewie.”
Leia strained her ears as Chewbacca growled out a curt reply. Even after all these years she still couldn’t understand him nearly as well as Han could—some subtle level of harmonics in the Wookiee’s voice, apparently, that she had trouble picking up.
But if some of the words were less than distinct, the overall meaning came through crystal clear. “Oh, come on,” Han urged. “You’ve been fawned over before—remember that big awards thing back at the Yavin base? I didn’t hear you complaining then.”
“It’s all right, Han,” Leia put in over Chewbacca’s response. “If he wants to stay aboard with Artoo and work on the stabilizers, that’s fine. The Bimms won’t be offended.”
Han looked out the nose window at the approaching delegation. “I wasn’t worried about offending them,” he muttered. “I just thought it’d be nice to have a little extra backup along. Just in case.”
Leia smiled and patted his arm. “The Bimms are very friendly people,” she assured him. “There won’t be any trouble.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Han said dryly, pulling a comlink from a small storage compartment beside his seat. He started to clip it to his belt; changed direction in midmotion and fastened it to his collar instead.
“Looks good there,” Leia said. “Are you going to put your old general’s insignia on your belt now?”
He made a face at her. “Very funny. With the comlink here, all I have to do is casually switch it on and I’ll be able to talk to Chewie without being obvious about it.”
“Ah.” Leia nodded. It was a good idea, at that. “Sounds like you’ve been spending too much time with Lieutenant Page and his commandos.”
“I’ve been spending too much time sitting in on Council meetings,” he countered, sliding out of his seat and standing up. “After four years of watching political infighting, you learn the occasional value of subtlety. Come on, Chewie—we’ll need you to lock up behind us.”
Luke and Threepio were waiting when they got to the hatchway. “Ready?” Luke asked.
“Ready,” Leia said, taking a deep breath. With a hiss of released airseal the hatchway opened, and together they walked down the ramp to where the yellow-clad, half-furred creatures waited.
The arrival ceremony was short and, for the most part, unintelligible, though Threepio did his best to keep up a running translation of the five-part harmony the whole thing seemed to have been written in. The song/welcome ended and two of the Bimms stepped forward, one of them continuing the melody while the other held up a small electronic device. “He offers greetings to Distinguished Visitor Councilor Leia Organa Solo,” Threepio said, “and hopes your discussions with the Law Elders will be fruitful. He also requests that Captain Solo return his weapon to the ship.”
The droid said it so matter-of-factly that it took a second for the words to penetrate. “What was that last?” Leia asked.
“Captain Solo must leave his weapon aboard the ship,” Threepio repeated. “Weapons of violence are not permitted within the city. There are no exceptions.”
“Terrific,” Han murmured into her ear. “You didn’t tell me this one was coming.”
“I didn’t know this one was coming,” Leia countered quietly, giving the two Bimms a reassuring smile. “Doesn’t look like we’ve got any choice.”
“Diplomacy,” Han growled, making a curse out of the word. Unfastening his gun belt, he wrapped it carefully around the holstered blaster and set the package up inside the hatchway. “Happy?”
“Aren’t I always?” Leia nodded to Threepio. “Tell them we’re ready.”
The droid translated. Stepping aside, the two Bimms gestured back the way they’d come.
They were perhaps twenty meters from the Falcon, with the sounds of Chewbacca sealing the hatchway coming from behind them, when something abruptly occurred to Leia. “Luke?” she murmured.
“Yes, I know,” he murmured back. “Maybe they figure it’s just part of the proper Jedi’s outfit.”
“Or else their weapons detector doesn’t read lightsabers,” Han put in quietly from Leia’s other side. “Either way, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“I hope so,” Leia said, forcing down her reflexive diplomatic misgivings. After all, if the Bimms themselves hadn’t objected to it … “Good skies, would you look at that crowd?”
They were waiting where the path exited the trees—hundreds of Bimms, standing perhaps twenty deep on both sides of the way, all clothed in the same tooled yellow. The official reception committee shifted to single file and started down the gauntlet without giving the crowd a second glance; bracing herself, Leia followed.
It was a little strange, but not nearly as uncomfortable as she’d feared it would be. Each Bimm reached out a hand as she passed, touching her with a feathery lightness on shoulder or head or arm or back. It was all done in complete silence, and complete order, with the aura of perfect civilization about it.
Still, she was glad that Chewbacca had decided not to come. He hated—rather violently—being pawed by strangers.
They passed through the crowd, and the Bimm walking nearest Leia sang something. “He says the Tower of Law is just ahead,” Threepio translated. “It’s the location of their planetary council.”