“Any problems with the tow cable?” he asked, sliding into the copilot’s seat.
“Not so far,” Han said, leaning forward and looking all around them as the Falcon cleared the trees. “The extra weight’s not bothering us, anyway. We should be all right.”
“Good. You expecting company?”
“You never know,” Han said, giving the sky one last look before settling back into his seat and gunning the repulsorlifts. “Karrde said there were still a couple of Chariots and a few speeder bikes unaccounted for. One of them might have figured that a last-ditch suicide run was better than having to go back to the Grand Admiral and report.”
Luke stared at him. “Grand Admiral?” he asked carefully.
Han’s lip twisted. “Yeah. That’s who seems to be running the show now for the Empire.”
A cold chill ran up Luke’s back. “I thought we’d accounted for all the Grand Admirals.”
“Me, too. We must have missed one.”
And abruptly, right in the middle of Han’s last word, Luke felt a surge of awareness and strength fill him. As if he were waking up from a deep sleep, or stepping from a dark room into the light, or suddenly understanding the universe again.
The Force was again with him.
He took a deep breath, eyes flicking across the control board for the altimeter. Just over twelve kilometers. Karrde had been right—those ysalamiri did, indeed, reinforce one another. “I don’t suppose you got a name,” he murmured.
“Karrde wouldn’t give it to me,” Han said, throwing a curious frown in Luke’s direction. “Maybe we can bargain the use of that Star Cruiser he wants for it. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Luke assured him. “I just—it’s like being able to see again after having been blind.”
Han snorted under his breath. “Yeah, I know how that is,” he said wryly.
“I guess you would.” Luke looked at him. “I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier … but thanks for coming after me.”
Han waved it away. “No charge. And I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier”—he glanced at Luke again—“but you look like something the proom dragged in.”
“My wonderful disguise,” Luke told him, touching his face gingerly. “Mara assures me it’ll wear off in a few more hours.”
“Yeah—Mara,” Han said. “You and she seemed to be hitting it off pretty well there.”
Luke grimaced. “Don’t count on it,” he said. “A matter of having a common enemy, that’s all. First the forest, then the Imperials.”
He could sense Han casting around for a way to ask the next question, decided to save him the trouble. “She wants to kill me,” he told the other.
“Any idea why?”
Luke opened his mouth … and, to his own surprise, closed it again. There wasn’t any particular reason not to tell Han what he knew about Mara’s past—certainly no reason he could think of. And yet, somehow, he felt a strangely compelling reluctance to do so. “It’s something personal,” he said at last.
Han threw him an odd look. “Something personal? How personal can a death mark get?”
“It’s not a death mark,” Luke insisted. “It’s something—well, personal.”
Han gazed at him a moment longer, then turned back to his piloting. “Oh,” he said.
The Falcon had cleared the atmosphere now and was gunning for deep space. From this high up, Luke decided, the forest looked rather pleasant. “You know, I never did find out what planet this was,” he commented.
“It’s called Myrkr,” Han told him. “And I just found out this morning. I think Karrde must have already decided to abandon the place, even before the battle—he had real tight security around it when Lando and I first got here.”
A few minutes later a light flashed on the control board: the Falcon was far enough out of Myrkr’s gravity well for the hyperdrive to function. “Good.” Han nodded at it. “Course’s already programmed in; let’s get out of here.” He wrapped his hand around the central levers and pulled; and with a burst of starlines, they were off.
“Where are we going?” Luke asked as the starlines faded into the familiar mottled sky. “Coruscant?”
“A little side trip first,” Han said. “I want to swing by the Sluis Van shipyards, see if we can get Lando and your X-wing fixed up.”
Luke threw him a sideways glance. “And maybe find a Star Cruiser to borrow for Karrde?”
“Maybe,” Han said, a little defensively. “I mean, Ackbar’s got a bunch of stripped-down warships ferrying stuff to the Sluis sector already. No reason why we can’t borrow one of them for a couple of days, is there?”
“Probably not,” Luke conceded with a sigh. Suddenly, it felt really good to just sit back and do nothing. “I suppose Coruscant can do without us for a few more days.”
“I hope so,” Han said, his voice abruptly grim. “But something’s about to happen back there. If it hasn’t happened already.”
And his sense was as grim as his words. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother with Sluis Van, then,” Luke suggested, feeling a sympathetic shiver. “Lando’s hurting, but he’s not in any danger.”
Han shook his head. “No. I want to get him taken care of—and you, buddy, need some downtime, too,” he added, glancing at Luke. “I just wanted you to know that when we hit Coruscant, we’re going to hit it running. So enjoy Sluis Van while you can. It’ll probably be the last peace and quiet you’ll get for a while.”
In the blackness of deep space, three-thousandths of a light-year2 but from the Sluis Van shipyards, the task force assembled for battle.
“The Judicator has just reported in, Captain,” the communications officer told Pellaeon. “They confirm battle ready, and request order update.”
“Inform Captain Brandei that there have been no changes,” Pellaeon told him, standing at the starboard viewport and gazing out at the shadowy shapes gathered around the Chimaera, all but the closest identifiable only by the distinctive patterns of their running lights. It was an impressive task force, one worthy of the old days: five Imperial Star Destroyers, twelve Strike-class cruisers, twenty-two of the old Carrack-class light cruisers, and thirty full squadrons of TIE fighters standing ready in their hangar bays.
And riding there in the middle of all that awesome firepower, like someone’s twisted idea of a joke, sat the battered old A-class bulk freighter.
The key to this whole operation.
“Status, Captain?” Thrawn’s voice came quietly from behind him.
Pellaeon turned to face the Grand Admiral. “All ships are on line, sir,” he reported. “The freighter’s cloaking shield has been checked out and primed; all TIE fighters are prepped and manned. I think we’re ready.”
Thrawn nodded, his glowing eyes sweeping the field of running lights around them. “Excellent,” he murmured. “What word from Myrkr?”
The question threw Pellaeon off stride—he hadn’t thought about Myrkr for days. “I don’t know, Admiral,” he confessed, looking over Thrawn’s shoulder at the communications officer. “Lieutenant—the last report from the Myrkr landing force?”