PROLOGUE

The shot seemed to come from the sun, knocking Vader's TIE fighter into an uncontrolled spin away from the slight gravity around the Death Star. His wingman's fighter exploded against the side of the trench.

"What?" he demanded of no one in particular. But the answer was obvious. As the fighter spun, he saw the smuggling freighter skim over the surface of the station, guarding and clearing the way for the one remaining X-Wing – the X-Wing piloted by someone who called out to Vader's Force sense like a clarion...or a warning alarm.

My death begins today.

The thought did not trouble him; in fact it seemed something of a relief. What waited could not be worse than the lava, or the suit that had followed it.

But his concern now was with that freighter. He hadn't felt it coming at all, could sense nothing of its pilot. Was it simply that the Other drowned it out?

No... no, this one was a blind spot in the Force. He would mean trouble. Vader carefully stabilized the TIE, started to lock his guns on the freighter (a shame; he would have liked to examine the ship more closely, as it was a well-put-together machine), and prepared to fire.

There was no sound when the Death Star blew, at least not this far out in space. Vader saw a flash of fire, then froze as he felt the deaths of thousands of men he had served with and commanded. He had little sorrow for the upper echelons – Tarkin particularly would have no grief wasted on him – but the pilots and guards, the mechanics and workers...Vader had not cared for their project, but they had served under him, and he was responsible for them. He felt them ripped away as if part of himself had been there with them. For a moment, he was incapable of doing anything other than holding his hands to the crown of his helmet, trying to shut out their dying screams. Then the shockwave hit, and the TIE was thrown clear, spinning off into deep space.

He re-stabilized by instinct before realizing that it was pointless. This TIE was specially designed and could handle somewhat greater distances, but he was far from any Imperial base, and he somehow doubted the Rebels would take kindly to a landing on Yavin IV. And he sensed that he couldn't hide himself, not for long, not with the Other, the one-who-called, anywhere nearby.

He was dead.

This time, the thought brought no relief. He would die, alone in the cold of space, with no one to even notice his absence. A fitting punishment, perhaps, but unacceptable nonetheless. If he were to die in anonymity, he would at least be warm. He adjusted the navigational controls, and set course for Yavin's sun. The Son of the Suns, he thought (with all the bitterness the phrase always evoked), would return home to die.

A light flashed on his communications board. He almost didn't answer it; he was too focused on deciding how to die. But something...some other sense...

He leaned down, and touched the speaker curiously. "Vader," he said.

Silence. Then, slow surprise. "My Lord?"

"Yes."

"We've lost contact with the Death Star."

"The Death Star was destroyed by the Rebel force on Yavin."

More silence, longer. Finally, the stranger said, "My Lord, this is a grievous blow."

Vader had had enough of the conversation. "Identify yourself, your vessel, and your location."

"I'm sorry, sir. I am Captain Reotti, of Prison Camp One-A. We were moving several prisoners to the Death Star, under Governor Tarkin's orders. As a shield against Rebel attacks."

The fury rose in Vader. Even dead, Tarkin made his mind burn with it. A foolish, dishonorable, dangerous...

His thoughts stopped abruptly. "Captain Reotti?"

"Yes?"

"Please repeat your station."

"Prison Camp One-A, my Lord. Previously located on Naboo."

The name of the world was enough to send his blood coursing through what was left of his body. Naboo. Her world. And Palpatine had a prison camp there...a prison camp whose existence Vader had been kept ignorant of. He no longer imagined the impossible – that SHE would suddenly appear again, miraculously risen from the ashes of her funeral fire, whole and beautiful – but it was an interesting puzzle. Interesting enough, perhaps, to delay his death. "What is your current location, Captain Reotti?"

"Currently two light days from the position we are tracking you in. But we were attempting to contact the Death Star because we have had an engine malfunction. We will need time to repair our hyperdrive...or we will need to come at sublight speeds. Either way, we're two days distant from you, my Lord."

Vader nodded. "I will find my way to you, Captain. Send your coordinates. It would be wise to have medical personnel on hand."

The coordinates came through, and Vader did the calculations in his head. He would have to lower his metabolism considerably, but that was much easier now than it had been before the machinery. He made the adjustments, then slipped into a deep meditative state, trusting in the Force and Captain Reotti to bring him out when the time came.

Just before he crossed the threshold of consciousness, he felt the strange, inexplicable presence again. But then he was deep under, and knew nothing at all.

---

Amidala sat quietly in a darkened alcove.

Captain Reotti had seen to it that she was given a full-sized stateroom with a porthole – he was a kind man, in his own way, if not terribly perceptive – but she had been unable to sleep in the soft bed, and the streaking of the stars outside had held no charm for her. The ship was dismal. Its destination would undoubtedly be more so. She wanted to return to Naboo, to the cool blue depths where Camp One-A had been hidden inside Gungan shields. The water held a comforting oblivion that deep space never seemed to carry for her, and she wanted to sink into it.

My Leia. My beautiful little girl.

She lowered her head, pressing her hands against the back of her neck. Palpatine had made a special call just to tell her about Alderaan. He thought he was simply taunting her with the knowledge that her final haven no longer existed, that Ani had stood by and watched it destroyed for the punishment of a Rebel spy. She hoped that she had not let on anything else.

She knew that she should be mourning the whole world – the rolling hills, the gentle plains. Millions of souls had been lost. Bail Organa had been taken from the galaxy. But there was only one soul she wept for, one that mattered to her. Leia's little face, round and pixie-ish, so like Ani's that it was a wonder anyone who saw her didn't jump to all the right conclusions...her lisping little voice...the fine brown hair...Leia admiring herself in a pane of transparisteel, Leia chattering away to a bird that had landed on a window beside her crib, Leia playing with her old royal makeup and giggling at the sight of herself "all paint-y upped."

She had fought the hysteria successfully, but she was tired and hollow, and when Reotti had chosen fifty prisoners, she'd simply gone along docilely. She wondered in a distant way if this was Palpatine's idea, or if heads would roll. And she wondered if Ani would be waiting at the end of the voyage for her.

She hoped so.

She would trade every ideal she'd ever had right now, just to sink into his embrace and never come out of it. It was a horrible impulse. He had stood there and watched Leia's world destroyed, been a party to it, even if only by inaction. She wanted to kill him for it. But she wanted him to hold her first. Just long enough to feel her whole heart beating for the first time in twenty years.

She was too tired to be confused by it. She felt what she felt. There was little to be gained by analyzing it or chastising herself for it.

The ship shuddered, and suddenly the starlines vanished, replaced by the thick blackness and tiny points of light that marked the eternal midnight of deep space. She felt a vague stirring of puzzlement, maybe even full-fledged curiosity. There had been no effort to organize the prisoners, so they were not approaching their destination. They had simply stopped.

A strange, tickling sensation crept across Amidala's arms, making the tiny hairs stand on end. She could feel it in her scalp as well. It was like walking through a thunderstorm, just before the lightning began. She could even almost smell the ozone.

"Ani?" she whispered.

No one answered.

For the next four hours, no one came to her, but her mind was gradually beginning to reassert itself. There was a question to answer, a problem to solve, and she responded to it as naturally as she would respond to a treatment for an illness. She came to the conclusion that they had engine troubles, but that didn't explain all the clacking armor on the floor outside. Stormtroopers were mobilized, and there was a great deal of shouting.

A battle had been lost.

The station Palpatine had bragged to her about, the one that had destroyed Alderaan, the one the prisoners were being brought to shield...it had been destroyed in turn. She didn't know this with absolute certainty, but it made the most sense.

A moment's fierce joy rose up in her, and she quashed it. She didn't want to feel joy so close to Leia's death...especially since Ani had been on that station as well.

That sobered her. Had she lost them both? Was Luke still out there, someplace?

She let the last possibility soothe her as much as it could. Luke, safe on Tatooine, probably bored but certainly protected with Owen and Beru. She pictured him as well as she could – Ani's hair and eyes, her own face. Maybe he would be small, as she was. She went to the bed, and tried to dream it, but succeeded only in bringing back her last moments with Leia. It was still a kind dream, and she didn't know that she'd slept for nearly thirty hours until Captain Reotti was standing beside her, clearing his throat loudly. No Imperial officer would have dared touch Lady Vader; Amidala could at least take comfort in that knowledge, though the extreme aloofness made her feel lonely. When she opened her eyes – noting the time and date in a surprised second – she saw Reotti silhouetted against the porthole. "My Lady," he said. "I think you should come with me."

She followed him out into the corridor, quiet during sleep hours, and into an infirmary. In the middle, a temporary oxygen tent had been set up. Droids worked inside of it, creating an effective wall.

"We retrieved his TIE fighter this morning," Reotti said. "He'd put himself in some kind of stasis for a long voyage without proper life support, and we're reviving him. I thought you might like to be here."

Amidala almost asked, Who? But that would have been absurd. The question was, Who else?

The walls of the oxygen tent collapsed, and the droids parted to begin the cleanup. There, in the middle of the circle they'd left, was Ani...or whatever Ani was hiding behind.

Amidala felt her hand rise to her lips, heard herself gasp. He was encased, head to toe, in some kind of mechanical armor, and his head was covered with a grotesque mask that looked like a skull. The soft sound of the respirator that kept him alive filled the small room.

For a long moment, they simply stared at one another.

Then, in a burst of courage and desperation, she ran to him.

---

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

STAR WARS

EPISODE V

THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

It is a dark time for the Rebellion.

The Death Star has been destroyed, but the
Empire has grown even more powerful in the three
years since. Imperial troops have driven Rebel
forces into hiding, and the Rebellion's numbers
have dwindled, as the gentler touch of the resurrected Lady
Vader has soothed the open wounds of angry citizens.

Evading the dreaded Imperial Starfleet, a
small band of Rebels, held together by
Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa, has taken refuge
on the remote ice world of Hoth.

Lord and Lady Vader, obsessed with finding
the two Rebel leaders, have dispatched
probe droids into the far reaches of space...

---

Amidala sat quietly in her spacious quarters aboard the Super Star Destroyer. She waited for her husband to return from the bridge, hopefully with some news that would lead them to the Rebels…and their children. They had been searching fruitlessly for far too long. It was time for things to start happening, and she didn't need to be Force-sensitive to realize that.

She had waited so long for this. So very, very long. The last two decades of her life had been filled with little besides the personal torture of knowing the danger her children lived in, of knowing there was always a chance they would be discovered…of not knowing how they were, or if they were even still alive.

Then there were the thoughts of him. Her Ani, or Vader, or whatever he chose to call himself. She had never shaken the belief that she would have made the difference, if only she had been able to see him or talk to him after he first left…there was no evil so deep that it could have kept him apart from her…

And now – finally and inexplicably – she had been given that chance.

Amidala had never truly entertained the thought of leaving Anakin again. Every single objection she had had eventually fallen by the wayside. Some of them were more difficult to swallow than others, but nothing was important enough for her to risk being anywhere else. She had already tried being apart from him, and that had been an abject failure for her family, for the entire galaxy. Never again. Whatever let her be by his side was enough for her.

And if her position helped her find her children, and bring down Palpatine, all the better.

Those were the ultimate goals. That she would find the twins and bring them home, and together, they would dispose of the Emperor. She could finally atone for bringing him to power, and the galaxy would stop paying for her political and personal mistakes.

She and Anakin had discussed their…plans…for the Emperor on more than one occasion. Amidala had quickly realized how ineffective the Rebellion would be in destroying the Empire. It disheartened her a bit – her children's lives were wrapped up in that cause, and she had lost many friends to it. But despite the victory at Yavin, the simple truth was the Rebellion didn't have the resources or the popular support to create anything more than a minor uprising. Palpatine was too smart and the Imperial military too large for them to ever be victorious.

And even if they were, what then? The Alliance was little more than a rag-tag group of outcasts and criminals – if it weren't for Leia, Mon Mothma and a few others, they'd have no credibility at all. Did they actually expect that they could form a New Republic? That they could unite themselves, much less a fractious galaxy? Though she had great faith in her children's skills, she knew this was beyond them.

She and Anakin were in the proper position to wield real power, to create real change. The military, the regional governments – he could bring most of them under his control with little difficulty. And she, of course, had become so popular with the masses that they'd be more than willing to support them when the time arrived.

It was ironic. Anakin had told her on more than one occasion that there was no room for compassion when attempting to take over and run an Empire – yet it had been her compassion that had put her in this position, and forced Palpatine's hand in the process.

Anakin had been furious at her for circumventing his authority when they went to Trika 4. His reason for going there was simple – to restore order to a planet that had fallen into riotous crime after a long famine. Little thought was spent on giving the Trikans any real assistance, and Amidala soon found herself rectifying that oversight.

Shock was the reaction she received from the people when they saw her handing out supplies and food in the camps, expressing sorrow and sympathy for their plight. It was simply unheard of for any Imperial to do such a thing. And she had the nerve to claim to be acting in Lord Vader's name. She still wasn't sure exactly what possessed her to do it (besides a true yearning to help). She had been certain that her transgression would not be tolerated.

But it was. Anakin knew that taking back the supplies or otherwise trying to undermine what she had done would be far more trouble than it was worth. So he grudgingly left her to control the mission, for the sake of simplicity.

By the end of the week, word that "Lady Vader" had saved the people of the planet had spread halfway across the galaxy.

By the next week, Amidala found herself repeating similar feats in as many systems as she could fit in her schedule.

It felt wonderful to be able to make a difference to those who had suffered so long under Palpatine's rule. But it wasn't enough. She knew that the Emperor was not fond of this arrangement – she knew he was using her to his own ends. The minute the risk of keeping her outweighed her usefulness... for now, though, she was helping solidify his support – and, he hoped, leading him to new apprentices through her search for her children.

That would never happen, though – they would never follow him, she wouldn't lose them the way she lost her husband. Instead, they would be the last piece necessary to destroying him and his Empire. She had no doubt she and Anakin could stay ahead of him long enough to accomplish that – they had so far. He wouldn't even realize what happened before his world came crumbling down around him.

She would finally beat Palpatine at his own game.

The sound of the door opening startled her. She turned and stood to face Anakin as he entered their quarters. "Is there any news?"

"I believe we've found them," he replied. "We are heading for the Hoth system now."

Amidala felt a satisfied smile come to her face. It was just a matter of time.

---

Her smile lit the gray military quarters, and Vader wished to return it. But they had experimented somewhat with ways for her to live easily in his atmosphere – the hyperbaric, heavily oxygenated air of his sterile spaces – and nothing had quite worked yet. He could not simply respond to her without a good deal of rather involved preparation.

A wave of anger at the injustice of it at least served to quell the desire to smile. "We are approaching Hoth at top speeds," he said. "It is my hope to take the base with minimal damage. The troops are under instructions to bring the Rebels to us as prisoners."

She nodded. They both knew their quarters were, in all likelihood, bugged. They dared not speak of their plans here. "Soon," she said. "Soon, it will be over."

"Yes, my love. Soon." Their eyes met, hers never faltering to search. She always knew where he was looking, despite the opaque lenses.

Soon.

When she had returned to him, he had understood his purpose for the first time. He had understood what he was meant to do, and why this path had opened before him. He had understood it as soon as he'd seen the way the people responded to her, the way she wanted to build the galaxy.

He would clear the way for Amidala.

So she could rule without challenge.

And the Maker himself wouldn't be able to help anyone who dared oppose her.

---

The glare off the snow was blindingly bright, making it impossible to distinguish sky from horizon, or horizon from tundra. Luke stared into it, trying, with no noticeable success, to readjust his goggles to cope with it. The tauntaun he rode seemed to be doing marginally better. She was used to it.

A flash of even brighter light, white on white, broke the afternoon, and Luke drew his electrobinoculars from their loop on his utility belt. It was a neverending job, watching the sky here. Many things fell out of it. It was probably another false alarm, but they couldn't take chances. There weren't enough people here to begin to survive an Imperial assault. He raised his wrist and spoke into the comlink. "Echo Three to Echo Seven. Han, old buddy, do you read me?"

The pirate answered immediately, but irritably. "Yeah, I'm here."

"No life signs," Luke said automatically. It was the same every day. He and Han had volunteered for the afternoon patrol, and there wasn't any room for schedule relief.

"No kidding," Han said. "Leia's the only one crazy enough to decide to live here."

Luke rolled his eyes. Han was free to go any time. Han knew it. Luke knew it. Leia knew it, but she seemed bound and determined to annoy him into actually acting on it. Luke didn't understand her at all. At first, all had been well. But then Lady Vader had appeared on Trika, and several Rebels had mentioned that she might make a valuable ally on the inside. Leia had gone stiff and pale, and had responded by calling Lady Vader "the worst kind of traitor." Ever since, she'd been thoroughly defiant toward any conciliatory gesture, any chance of making peace with the Empire rather than achieving victory over it. Mon Mothma was as firm in her rejection of Lady Vader, but gentler in her handling of people. Leia seemed to want to dare people to defect...and some had taken her up on it.

Luke had decided two years ago not to brave her wrath by bringing it up, but he himself was not averse to Lady Vader's actions. If she could bring some kindness into the Empire, then maybe part of the war could be avoided, or at least the devastation of it lessened. He'd tried to find information about her, but she was as much a blank slate as Vader himself. She was referred to as his "wife of twenty-three years," but of her whereabouts until Trika, or her identity before she became Lady Vader, nothing at all was mentioned. Luke supposed it was out there to be found, but too much searching would come to Leia's attention.

"You still there, Kid?"

"Yeah. I just saw a meteorite hit. I better check it out before I come in tonight."

"You can add it to the rock collection by the generators." Han cut off the communication, and Luke caught a slight motion on the far horizon.

The tauntaun was twitching its head back and forth nervously, making a clicking noise in its throat. Maybe it would be better to just go back. Get a fresh mount, not so skittish...

The tauntaun reared up, and Luke almost lost his seat. "Hey, girl. What is –?"

But he never finished the sentence. Swimming up from the landscape, like living snow itself, a white creature with red eyes and sharp claws lunged at Luke.

He was knocked from the back of the beast, into hardpacked snow that bit at the exposed parts of his skin.

The creature howled into the sky.

Luke reached for his blaster, but the creature took another swing at him, knocking off his aim and throwing his blaster uselessly into a snowbank.

He saw the third blow coming too late to duck.

He fell unconscious into the snow.

---

Han stormed through the base, impatiently ripping his goggles and hood away, cursing under his breath as a blast of cold air hit him. Just once, he wished he could come inside and have it be warmer than it was out there.

At least he'd be out of here soon. He was silly – sentimental – for staying as long as he had. The Rebellion's numbers were dropping on an almost daily basis. And none of those deserters had bounty on their heads. No, they had just given up, and bailed out. Got tired of fighting for a galaxy that seemed to care less and less. If people were happy living under a dictatorship as long as Lady Vader shook their hands and smiled at them--or at least made them believe she was smiling behind her veils--who were they to argue? Who were the Rebels to risk their lives day in and day out trying to change their minds?

Chewie howled at him loudly, and Han frowned at him. The ship looked like it was in pieces – well, even more than usual. He had hoped that Chewie would have gotten further during his watch. The Wookiee yelled again, this time waving his blowtorch for emphasis.

"Relax, will you! I'll be back in a minute to help you out. All right?"

Chewie just grunted in annoyance.

Han ignored him and continued to the operations center of the base to check in…and to check out. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it. He'd miss the friends he had made in the Rebellion, but he was sure they'd understand. But Leia…

Leia.

She would scratch his eyes out for certain. Sometimes, he thought his fear of her was what kept his fear of Jabba in check.

But that wasn't entirely true or fair, and he knew it. He hadn't stayed out of fear, or even out of some misguided loyalty to the great Rebel cause.

Did she even know that she was the reason he stayed? She certainly didn't act like it. That woman was more difficult, more frustrating than anyone he had known in his life. He couldn't begin to figure out what was going on in her head half the time, and often wished he could find a way to stop caring. But he couldn't, no matter how she acted. He kept thinking that he could get through to her, make her open up…

It wasn't that he didn't understand what she had been through. Han supposed that the destruction of one's planet would be more than enough to drive most people crazy. But Leia had never been most people. She had kept going at full throttle, a feat that he admired greatly. They eventually became very good friends, which he appreciated – he hadn't had a real friend besides Chewie in years. Sure, there were always little sparring matches and disagreements, but he thought they had really started to become close.

And then everything changed. Something was driving her crazy – something she refused to share with anyone.

He shook his head, suddenly realizing that he was standing outside the operations center, doing nothing. He marched in to give his report.

"General, all the sensors are in place, but there's no sign of life out there." From the corner of his eye, he saw Leia turn to him.

"Commander Skywalker reported in yet?"

"No, he's checking out a meteorite that fell nearby." She was openly staring at him now. He glanced at her briefly, then continued. "General, it's time for me to leave, I can't stay anymore." She turned away in a huff. Wonderful. "If I don't pay off Jabba the Hutt, I'm a dead man."

The General gave him a resigned smile and extended his hand. "A death mark's not an easy thing to live with. We hate to lose you, Han." Han shook the man's hand and thanked him.

He headed slowly over to her, bracing himself for a fight. "Well, Princess, I guess this is it."

Her expression was blank. "That's right."

Han was completely taken aback – she couldn't even pretend that she cared? "Well, don't get all mushy on me," he snapped. "So long." He blew out of the room, angry and confused, the way he always seemed to feel when he was around her these days.

He hadn't gotten two steps down the hall before he heard her calling after him. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Now that she had his attention, she seemed to be at a loss for words. "I thought…I thought you had decided to stay."

He tried to shrug nonchalantly. "I changed my mind."

"Han, we need you here."

He rolled his eyes. "We need?"

"Yes! You know that. We can't afford to lose any more people like you."

"And you, Leia?"

"Me?" She blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd had enough of this. "Probably not," he replied, and again tried to get away from her.

But she was still hot on his heels. "And what exactly is it that I'm supposed to know?"

Han stopped and turned around. "Look, Leia, I don't need another one of your lectures on my loyalty to the Rebellion. I've been more than loyal, and definitely more loyal than anyone else here. I stayed years longer than I had to." He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Don't you ever wonder why –"

She didn't hear the question. "Fine. Leave. Far be it from me to hold you back from your life as a smuggler. It doesn't make a difference – whether you leave, or if you all leave."

"What is wrong with you, Leia?" He was shouting now, and several people in the hallway jumped, and then tried to look as though they weren't listening as they walked by. He barely noticed them; his eyes bore into hers.

To his great surprise, she fell silent. Then she looked away.

"Leia?"

"You don't know." Her voice was as low as he had ever heard it. "You don't know what this has been like." She closed her eyes for a moment. "You couldn't possibly understand. Nobody does."

Han had the vague feeling he should still be angry at her, but his curiosity at her change in demeanor got the better of him. And he did want to know, want to help. "Understand what?" he asked gently. "I wish you would tell me." Leia stared at him quietly, but seemed unable to say anything more. "You know, whatever this is that's bothering you is eating you alive. You've got to talk to someone." She started shaking her head vehemently. "Is it about…about all that stuff that happened before? I know that Vader –"

Her head snapped up. "You don't know anything," she said sharply. "I don't need your help, and I don't need you to stay. You want to leave? Then go. Don't try to put this off as my problem."

The anger came back at him in a rush. "Fine! Go crazy, I don't care." The words felt hollow – he was still intrigued by whatever had triggered those quiet moments – and she looked a little hurt, which surprised him. But his fury and confusion didn't allow him to sort any of it out. So he just turned and walked away. This time, she didn't follow him.

---

THE REBEL MESS HALL

"Hey, she's back on!"

Dak rolled his chair across to the holoproj, with its scrambled visuals and terrible audio. Still, there was no mistaking Lady Vader, with her flowing red veils and long red gown. There was almost as much speculation about what her face really looked like as there was about her husband. In her case, everyone figured she was a beauty. Little glimpses could be seen...the turn of a cheek, the deep shadow of an eye, the imprint of a full lip. There wasn't a guy Dak knew who didn't have his own idea what she looked like under there, and each of them pictured her as what he perceived as perfect beauty.

Though Dak would never admit it to anyone, half the time including himself, he pictured her as looking just like Princess Leia. Which would be an exceptionally bad idea to express anyway, when he thought about it.

"What's she doing?" he asked.

"Who cares?" one of the other pilots – Terlik – said. He was smiling, and leaning forward eagerly.

"Be careful," Risa Nelva said, giving Terlik a dark look over her shoulder. Women weren't immune to Lady Vader, but they seemed a bit slower to worship her.

Terlik waved it off. "No one's deserting. I don't see why she can't let us enjoy the show."

Risa paused, her face a mask of disbelief, then laughed aloud. "You're actually more afraid of Princess Leia than you are of Lady Vader's husband?"

"She's actually here; he's actually not."

Dak settled in to watch. The figure of Lady Vader appeared to be kneeling beside a small boy, and through the cracked static, he heard her say, "Peace, child, what troubles you?"

Yuruo, a young Deridian pilot with deep blue hair, just shook his head, his eyes never leaving the flickering figure. "How does that work, do you think? The two of 'em?"

Risa rolled her eyes. "I think that's an inappropriate thing to talk about."

They ignored her. "I mean really, can you see them together?" Terlik wrinkled his nose. "Wonder if she gets under that mask of his."

"Guys..." Risa said, her voice a low warning.

They continued ignoring her. "Yeah," Dak said. "Gotta see that homecoming. Surprising him by showing up all indecent...you know, without the veils..."

"Yeah, and he –"

The holoproj was abruptly discontinued, and Dak knew before he turned to the door exactly who he would find there.

Princess Leia stood, white framed in white (Risa had once quipped that she wished Leia's hatred of the Vaders would at least prompt her to stop dressing as monochromatically as they did), her lips a thin, angry line. Her face was as white as her uniform, except for two bright firespots high on her cheekbones. She stared at them for a long moment, her eyes shifting from one to the next. When she caught Dak – and it definitely felt like he was caught, trapped in a tractor beam – he thought laser beams might well shoot out at him and fry him on the spot. Worse, he felt deeply and personally ashamed.

She spoke at last, her voice clipped. "Has anyone seen Commander Skywalker?"

"No, ma'am," Risa said. "He hasn't come in here yet."

Another circuit with those cutting eyes. "Very well. I'll see if he's contacted Captain Solo. If Commander Skywalker does come here, tell him to see me immediately." She turned on her heel and left.

The pilots looked at each other guiltily, and Risa sniffed disdainfully. "Don't look at me," she said. "I told you not to talk about that."

With a flip of her hair, she followed the Princess out.

---

A loud, satisfying crash sounded in Han's ears. Sure, it was childish to be throwing his tools all over the Falcon, but he couldn't think of anything more productive to do at the moment. Except maybe yelling at Chewie. "Why'd you take this apart now?" He got no response. "I'm trying to get us out of here and you – forget it. Just forget it."

"Excuse me, sir?"

Great. Unlike Chewie, these mindless droids never knew when to shut up or leave him alone. "What do you want, Threepio?"

"It's Princess Leia, sir. She's been trying to get you on the communicator."

Han was overcome by annoyance. What could she possibly have to say to him now? "I don't want to talk to her."

"Well, Princess Leia is wondering about Master Luke. She doesn't know where he is."

"I don't know where he is."

"Nobody knows where he is."

He frowned. "What do you mean nobody knows?" Han tried to figure out how long it had been since he had gotten back to the base…it felt like hours. "Deck Officer!" The droid tried to say something again, but Han quickly shut him up. "Do you know where Commander Skywalker is?"

The man stared, shrugged. "I haven't seen him. It's possible he came in through the south entrance."

A sinking feeling settled in Han's stomach. "It's possible? Go find out, it's getting dark out there." The man turned quickly, leaving Han pensive and worried. He was already sure that Luke wasn't on the base – he never missed checking in, and he wouldn't be this hard for Leia to find. The Rebels had all received dire warnings about the nights on Hoth, about not falling into the trap of thinking they had gotten used to the cold. If Luke was still out there…

"Excuse me sir, but might I inquire... what is going on?"

Han said something dismissive to Threepio, and headed for the main hangar.

The officer soon followed him in with his report. "Sir, Commander Skywalker hasn't been seen at the south entrance. Maybe he forgot to check in –"

Well, that settled it. "Not likely. Are the speeders ready?"

"Not yet, we're having trouble adjusting them to the cold."

Would nothing go his way today? "Then I'll have to go on a tauntaun."

"Sir, the temperature's dropping too rapidly."

"That's right, and my friend's out there in it." He had no intention of listening to any of their warnings anyway. No matter how much they annoyed him, or how ridiculous the situations they got into, Han knew he was always bound to help out the few friends he had.

"Your tauntaun will freeze before the first marker."

"Then I'll see you in hell!" Han spurred his tauntaun, and rode out into the dangerously cold night on Hoth.

---

It is a pleasant dream that has come to him several times in the last few years, a dream of a voice he knows and loves, a dream where he feels safe and desperately wanted. The voice is gentle and low.

The dream changes suddenly, and he is alone...but he can hear her still, calling out to him. "Luke? Luke? I need to find you! Where are you, my precious son?"

And he wants to run to her, but he feels – no, he knows – that to do so will destroy everything and...

The dream ended and wakefulness returned.

The first thing he was aware of was a painful sense of pressure on the underside of his eyes, and the taut pulling of the muscles in his cheeks. There was a heaviness in the crown of his head, and a warm, frightening tingling in his scalp.

After that, there was a strange sound, neither hum nor buzz, that overlaid the sound of the wind outside. Like an aural veil, it seemed to both interfere with his ability to perceive, and separate him from everything around him.

Finally, Luke noticed his feet...or rather, noticed that he didn't notice them. His legs were stretched and tugged like pull candy, but the pain stopped in a seeping line above his ankles. He couldn't seem to find his feet along the paths of his nerves.

He opened his eyes.

At first, he didn't quite process what he was seeing, but it became clear quickly enough. He was upside down. Everything had a funny, shimmery look, because of the pressure on his eyes.

From the blood rushing up against them. Great. Not going to help my response time.

With a painful effort, he bent his neck and looked up. His feet were still attached to him – thank the Maker – but they were frozen in two or three decimeters of clear ice. He'd need to...

His lightsaber was gone. He hadn't even realized he was reaching for it until his hand came across the empty loop in his belt. He let his head back down, and scanned his surroundings.

The creature that had attacked him was sitting several meters away, eating the tauntaun. Luke felt a moment of grief – it had been a good beast – but he didn't have time to get sentimental. He put the creature out of his mind. His goggles still hung from his jacket by one frayed strap. Nothing seemed to be on the snow...

But there. Poking out of the snow, just out of reach. The black handle of Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber.

For all the good it's doing me, it might as well be back in Ben's house on Tatooine.

But thinking of Ben gave him the answer. Let go your conscious self...Use the Force, Luke.

He hadn't tried this before, but there was little choice. He reached out his hand, and concentrated on the saber.

Nothing happened.

Except that the creature glanced over and noticed that he was awake. It growled and stood. Luke had to get out of here, and now.

It belongs to you. It wants to be in your hand. Call out to it.

It wasn't Ben's voice. It was Luke's own, in some way that he didn't understand. He relaxed, and held out his hand again. He could feel an energy flowing through his arm, a stream that didn't travel along his blood vessels or his nerves, but along some other, elemental pathway that seemed hungry for it. The saber began to shake in the snow, to pull out a few centimeters.

The creature took a step toward him, distracting him, and he lost his hold. He struggled, pushed the advancing creature from his mind. The energy came back into him.

The creature moved more quickly, swung its giant arm again...

Just as the lightsaber flew into Luke's hand and ignited. He arced it quickly through the ice (hoping against hope that he would miss his numb feet), and fell to the ground, swinging the lightsaber on the ice creature in the same motion.

It screamed and stumbled backward, bleeding from the stump of its arm, staining the ground red. Then it fell beside the tauntaun.

Luke tried to stand, but his feet wouldn't hold him properly. He staggered from side to side, no longer focused, no longer thinking, just needing, in the most visceral way, to leave this place of blood and pain, even if it meant his death out on the tundra.

He stumbled out into the frozen sunset.

---

"My Lord, we are making good time to the Hoth system."

Vader nodded curtly at the young captain (Piett, he believed; a decent man, and therefore a rare commodity in the upper echelons of the military). "I will prepare my shuttle for landing," he said.

Piett didn't even blink at the strange practice, simply saluted and went on his way. Vader had made certain to actually do maintenance on the ships in his private fleet often enough that he could disappear to the hangar without raising eyebrows. Amidala always smiled and laughed when he gave this reason. "Ani," she would say, and why the name never infuriated him coming from her lips he didn't know, "expect what you like from the men, but don't tell me that's the only reason you come to me covered in engine grease in the evenings."

Vader didn't disabuse her of the notion that he was recapturing childhood memories – it made her happy, and that was his priority – but in fact, he took little pleasure in maintaining the over-specialized, over-centralized technology that Palpatine favored. What pleasures he was able to take from his talent, he took from the captured Rebel ships, which were old and needed maintenance badly, but which were built to be weapons, transportation, and occasionally even living quarters. They were machines that both needed and pleased him. But they were not kept in a place he needed to develop a habit of coming to. The hangar where they were stored was bugged.

He entered the hangar that housed TIE fighters and shuttles, passed his own fighter without a glance – no one would dare check to see if he had actually altered it in any way – and went to a shuttle in the far shadows. It had been in need of repairs to its hyperdrive for some time, but Vader had seen to it that it continued to slip to the bottom of the priority list. He hit a button on the remote built into his wrist, and the gangplank lowered. He couldn't see into the shadows, but he didn't need to. He went inside.

The first thing he saw was the shimmer of the emergency lights on the deep red veils she wore (they had agreed that it would be unwise to allow anyone to see her – there were still those who remembered Queen Amidala and the Jedi she had married, and that was not a memory that would be useful to their cause), then the smooth turn of her ankle somewhere beneath. The lights came up, and he saw her all at once, the scarlet angel who had won the heart and the soul of the galaxy.

As she had won his, long before they truly knew her.

But this was not a place for tenderness. There were such places, and there were moments of great tenderness between them, when the walls of his chamber rose around them, and she wore the flexible face shield (ironically enough, an application of Gungan technology) that allowed his touch while still allowing her to breathe the air...That she would still accept his kiss – that she had, in fact, made rather elaborate arrangements to accommodate it – both astounded and humbled him, and filled him with deep gratitude. But this was a place for other concerns.

"Have you confirmed that they are there on Hoth?" she asked.

That the Rebels were on Hoth was not in question. "I have sensed Luke there. He used the Force, and his signature is distinctive."

"And Leia? Is Leia there?"

"I find it unlikely that she would be absent." A tense silence fell between them. The lie – the huge, horrible lie she had told – was still a wound between them, and would not be fully salved until they were all together again. He had suspected Luke's existence, so somehow it was not as terrible to discover that secret...but to have a child he never dreamed of, to have Leia taken from him without so much as a whisper in the Force...it was intolerable. But, just as she had laid aside many of her own...disagreements...with him, so had he laid aside his anger at her over this. He waited for the stinging to go away, then went on. "She will not come to us easily, Amidala. Her resistance to any sort of authority is considerable."

"She'll listen," Amidala said softly. The veils shifted, and Vader could tell by her posture that she was biting her lower lip. "She has to."

"Amidala, you must be prepared for certain unpleasant things. The twins have set themselves among our enemies and there will be fighting."

"But An...my Lord..." She stammered on it. She had never called him "Vader," and he didn't think she ever would. "I don't want them hurt. I will protect them, if it comes to that."

"I have no wish to hurt either of them. But if one or the other of them engages us in a fight, we will need to end it."

She turned her face up to him. He could see the vague outlines of her features under the veils, and her eyes were probing his. "I know," she said after awhile. "But if they...if they're hurt badly, it…defeats the purpose of this."

"They will not be hurt badly, or killed. They will return with us. I will see to that."

"And then I'll speak to them." Her eyes moved restlessly around the shuttle. "Maybe I should try to speak to Leia first. Surely, she doesn't want to prolong this war unnecessarily."

"Her behavior thus far doesn't support that assessment. Let me bring them to you, Amidala. Then you can explain the situation to them. You will win their support. And without them, the Alliance will unravel, and we shall have peace at last."

"And then we go after Palpatine," she said firmly. Vader simply prayed that no one had thought to bug this shuttle over the past week. "The four of us, together. He won't be able to stand against us all."

"Yes."

Her eyes became focused, and turned on him. "But I mean it, Ani. I will protect them."

"Of course you will," he said. "I would expect nothing less."

---

ECHO BASE, HOTH

"Any word yet from Commander Skywalker or Captain Solo?" Leia asked the on-duty ensign at the command center comm station, walking up behind him.

The ensign, a fresh-faced pale sort with dark blond hair like Luke's – Leia suddenly felt a pang at the latter's continued absence – tapped a few keys on his console, then a moment later shook his head at the Princess. "We've received no transmission since Captain Solo's initial report an hour ago. Would you like me to –"

"Contact me immediately if there is any change in the situation," Leia cut in crisply, turning on her boot heel and walking briskly out of Command, towards the main entry hangar, leaving the young ensign with an only slightly perplexed expression on his face. After all, this was typical behavior for her of late...

A human lieutenant ran up to her in the corridor, which was empty at this late hour, falling into step with Leia, trying to match her quick, steady pace. "Princess," he said, breathing heavily, not even drawing a glance from Leia as she continued her stride. "I've received word from General Rieekan that it will be time to seal the security doors soon. The blizzard outside is worsening." As per typical evenings on Hoth. But that had no soothing effects on the Princess.

"Am I also to understand that Commander Skywalker and Captain Solo have yet to return to base?" she returned coolly, quickening her pace towards the front hangar, still not visually acknowledging the lieutenant.

Undeterred, the lieutenant – Alchar – continued to match her pace – but his voice took on a decidedly more hesitant tone. "That is correct, Your Highness. But despite the unquestioned importance of the Commander and the Captain to the Alliance, the safety of those who currently are here must be taken into consideration...and the General has agreed to send a scouting team out early tomorrow morning, once the blizzard has passed, to conduct a search for them..."

Morning...why not just wait until next week, for all the chances they'll be alive by then...

"That, and the chances of Solo and Skywalker's survival are considered minimal enough to not be worthy of consideration against the safety of those here at the base?" Leia replied, her voice becoming deceptively soft. She stopped suddenly, fixing the lieutenant with a fiery opal gaze, which visibly brought him up short.

"Tell the General this, Lieutenant Alchar," Leia continued in the same tone to the officer, whose face was starting to redden from factors other than the cold. "I am aware of the importance of and intend to ensure the safety of those stationed here; so far, it has not been threatened. Commander Skywalker and Captain Solo have been and are extremely invaluable to the Alliance –" and to me... "– and I will not see their lives lost and have such a potentially damaging blow placed on the Alliance because their comrades were afraid to brave the cold a little longer than necessary...which they themselves have already done to an extended degree tonight out there. The doors will remain open for the time being, until they return – or it has been decreed by myself that the chances of danger to the base outweigh those of their survival." Whichever comes first...

The officer swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Princess," he said, turning away and running down the corridor.

If only Luke hadn't just had to check that meteorite...a rock from space, which we get every day on Hoth, of all things...! It wasn't the first time Luke's curiosity had gotten him into trouble since Leia had known him. It just hadn't endangered his life – or that of his friends, however indirectly – like this before.

Slowing her pace – suddenly she was no longer in a hurry to arrive at her destination – she arrived at the hangar a few minutes later. Like all hours of the day the cavernous expanse of the main snubfighter hangar was abuzz with the activity of droids and sentient beings alike, all mulling around performing the daily tasks inherent to their existence – the number was smaller at this late hour, but still far from empty. But despite being surrounded by so many, Leia still felt a keen, biting sense of aloneness seeping through her brain like the cold through her gloves. So many here, and she was still at heart as alone as if she were in deep space...even with Luke and Han around it was still like this...

She'd told herself this was the way she wanted it. For a time, she'd masqueraded it as self-reliance, not allowing outside help from anyone – but pragmatism had fizzled that out fairly quickly. This way, no one would pry at her about the jagged splinter in her soul that had been plaguing her for the last two years – reopening the wound she'd had ever since she'd seen that awful transmission intercepted by the Alliance, from the Lady to the Lord Vader...The one she had not told a soul about, the one she still saw unwillingly replayed with razor-sharp clarity in her mind's eye.

The unmistakable mechanical breathing, recognizable even through the initial white fuzz of static. "I have warned you repeatedly not to contact me on this frequency. I cannot guarantee its security, my Lady."

The static resolving itself into a familiar beautiful red-clad figure, for the first time the face with the familiar full lips, defined chin and delicate cheekbones – and Leia's own eyes – seen unshrouded by its typical red veils...Leia remembered her heart freezing in her chest...

The musical laughter that had responded, reverberating through Leia's soul as it awakened bell-clear memories of lullabyes, sung in whispers by that same voice to a little Princess in her crib. "You worry about me far too much, my love. When are you expected to arrive in-system?"

She clenched her fists tightly against the memory as she continued walking, much like she had when she'd initially reacted to this revelation of her true and horrific heritage. Only this time the gloves on her hands kept her sharp nails from cutting deep, bleeding wounds into her palms.

You worry about me far too much, my love...

No, it couldn't be bad enough that her own mother had betrayed her, returned to him...she had actually called him, unhesitatingly, "love"...no matter if he was in fact Leia's...was her...

As always, she knew the end to that sentence, even if she never did allow herself to complete it. Even after all this time, was she still fighting the truth?

No, she assured herself. She was fighting the Empire, and they were the Empire, her greatest enemy (no matter what connections they had to her; it wasn't like she'd asked to be born). She couldn't afford to spend her effort fighting anything else.

As Leia strode through the hangar, not looking at anyone else, she could still sense the sudden knife-edged silence in areas as she walked past people. She heard the unmistakable increase in heated...gossipy...murmurs that officers and duty techs exchanged the moment they thought she was out of their earshot. She knew it was about her; there was nothing else there could be, particularly now that her temper was known infamously throughout the Rebellion. Leia felt a heat rise in her cheeks as she experienced this; after some time she'd become somewhat adapted to it, but it still sparked a reaction in her she was too tempted to act on and one she would rather not acknowledge had come from her mind.

Maybe it hadn't come from her, but from him.

There were a lot of things which – or whose – origin she didn't care to acknowledge, she thought.

She had a very active loathing for gossip of any sort – more often than not Leia found it to be the misguided child of too many idle wandering minds...which the Alliance certainly didn't need. There had been enough wandering as it was.

It had been little wonder, then, that she'd been ready to eat a lightsaber blade when she'd seen a few certain pilots watching a holoreel of a certain popular, traitorous...high Lady of the Empire...speculating on certain "special" activities they thought she performed for her husband...

She'd nearly choked on the barely stifled, angry burst that had risen from her core.

Aside from the obvious annoyance a superior might typically have at the sight of his workers engaged in such an unproductive activity during duty hours, the process had struck Leia as thoroughly revolting on more than one front, or maybe just multiple facets of a larger one – and an extremely personal one at that, which was the main source of her anger at witnessing it. It was bad enough they actually seemed to approve of her, and what she was doing...

How dare they have the gall do that…a part of her, the base central core of her anger, had declared...

The idea that she probably would willingly subject herself to that black monstrosity in such a manner...the idea that something related to that was one of the primary reasons Leia existed...

A familiar chirping gratefully jerked Leia from her unpleasant reverie, for a brief moment prompting a small smile: hers and Luke's droids. Bless the two of them; they'd been outside for the past hour with Artoo's small radar dish, sweeping its signal through the blanketing snow. The signal more than likely was not strong enough to penetrate the blizzard, but it was good of them to try.

Leia wondered if they were missing her friends as much as she was.

The squat form of Artoo Detoo trailed in through the still-open base security doors following a muttering See-Threepio, who was lamenting how the water from the snow in his circuits would most certainly impair his higher cognitive functions.

Leia wished she could find as easy an excuse as melted snow.

She leaned back against the fuselage of an X-Wing near the base's entrance, flicking her gaze to the thick durasteel doors that would, when closed, shut out both the frigid Hoth weather and the beasts that accompanied it. She could just barely make out the rapidly darkening sky in sporadic bursts between the blowing whiteness, and knew what it meant for the still unreturned Han and Luke. The familiar furry leviathan form of Chewbacca the Wookiee, Han's copilot – and best friend – for once not working on the Millennium Falcon to stand vigil for his companion, standing near a pile of machine parts not far away, let out a low, mournful growl: he knew what it meant too.

She knew it was time to close the doors. They should have long since been closed, truthfully; the evening blizzards had already started, more intense than usual, and even now various Rebels in the hangar were bundling tighter in their winterized clothing, trying to avoid the swirls of blustering snow that were making their way in.

Was she merely delaying acceptance of the inevitable with her actions? She briefly wondered. That Luke and Han were not in fact returning?

They'd been through so much, so many scrapes together that to have something like this claim the lives of two of them...it just wasn't right.

But then a lot of things weren't.

She wouldn't accept the possibility they would be gone from her life forever...

And something hit her just then, like a soft yet firm blow to the chest; and then it was as if a burst of clarity had displaced the protective lens she'd kept over her eyes, the one that had shielded her from all the horrifying possibilities she didn't want to acknowledge. Leia's lips tightened to the point where they nearly disappeared, as reality finally forced itself to be acknowledged, if at least only temporarily.

Delaying things wouldn't change the possibility that Han and Luke might not return. That she might be left alone without those she cared about in the universe.

It wouldn't change the fact that the woman she'd cared about more than anything as a little girl was not with her, instead collaborating with a government Leia had made it her life's purpose to destroy, returning to the man who had hurt them all. The man that was Leia's father.

Briefly moving her eyes to the side, she recognized the gray parka-clad figure of Colonel Bren Derlin several meters away, as one of the on-duty officers jogged up to him, his excited voice carrying over just enough for Leia to overhear.

"Sir, all the patrols are in. But we've still not he–" Derlin raised a hand, casting a brief look at Leia, and she heard no more. But she knew what they were talking about.

Leia looked towards the doors once more and tightened her lips for a moment, knowing the decision she had to make.

Artoo and Threepio shuffled their way – well, with Artoo it was more rolling – towards her. Artoo let out a brief series of beeps. "Mistress Leia...Artoo says he's been unable to pick up any signals," Threepio translated, resting the tips of his gold-plated fingers on Leia's forearm. "But he is willing to admit that his own signal may not be strong enough to penetrate the storm. Certainly not far enough to abandon all hope."

Colonel Derlin made his way up to her a moment later; Leia forced herself to meet his soft gray eyes. "Your Highness," he said gently, as if perhaps he were concerned he might arouse the Princess's legendary temper. "There is nothing more that can be done tonight. The shield doors must be closed."

She was making the decision that she knew could very well mean the life or death of two men she cared for deeply. Yes, somehow, she felt it a little easier now to admit she actually did care for Han Solo – but she regretted that it took the possibility of his death, his no longer being in her life, for her to admit that.

Derlin and the young officer stood there expectantly, awaiting her decision.

The Princess closed her eyes and nodded slowly to Derlin, looking away from them quickly.

"Close the doors," Derlin ordered the officer next to him, who moved quickly to comply.

Leia saw Chewie look at her, surprised at the understanding in his deep brown eyes. Somehow she'd expected it to be a look of betrayal instead, that it was her decision potentially condemning his life friend to a cold, lonely death. (Leia, for a heartbroken moment, pictured the image of a near-frozen Han and Luke, banging on the closed shield doors in the night...the howling of the night's winds drowning out the sounds to any who might have heard them.)

But perhaps she'd misjudged the Wookiee code of honor – that Chewbacca would instead acknowledge the fact that it had been Han's own decision to return outside to search for his comrade, that Han would accept his fate as consequences of his own actions. Leia tried to take comfort from this, and their shared pain over the situation, but after a moment she found she simply just couldn't look at the Wookiee anymore. Let alone take any comfort from him.

Threepio, of course, could always be counted on...

"Artoo says the chances of Masters Han and Luke's survival are approximately seven hundred and twenty-five...to one," he told Leia softly.

With a low mechanical rumble, the huge doors began to slowly slide shut.

Leia and Chewie kept their eyes on the diminishing gap between the doors, hoping that in this last moment two familiar figures would suddenly appear in the snow-covered darkness, running through the blizzard.

The doors moved even closer together. Artoo let out a subdued beep, and Chewie averted his gaze from the exit, propping his furred forehead against a nearby bulkhead.

Smaller and smaller the gap became...

Leia never moved her eyes from the gap, even as it disappeared.

The doors came together with a solid steel clang. At that very moment Chewbacca raised his head in a mournful howl, which echoed throughout the hangar, nearly overcoming the clang of the doors themselves.

"Although Artoo has been known to make mistakes...from time to time." Leia looked incredulously at Threepio, but he had already turned away, muttering "Oh dear, oh dear," to himself.

"Don't worry about Master Luke," Threepio consoled Artoo. "I'm sure he'll be all right. He is quite clever, you know. For a human being, anyway."

Despite the vaguely disparaging remark it had included, Leia fervently hoped his sentiments were right.

But, maybe, tonight was a night for accepting the things that hurt you.

---

He was going to die. Or maybe he was already dead.

Luke couldn't quite decide which was true. He wasn't even sure if it really mattered.

He couldn't feel anything. His legs had gone completely numb from his experience in the cave…and since he couldn't see more than a step or two ahead of him, he couldn't tell if he was moving or not. He was trying – but to what end? He couldn't pretend that he knew which way the base was. So, if he wasn't dead yet, he would be soon anyway.

Luke felt himself become dizzy, felt himself…fall? The impact never came; there was only a dull awareness that he wasn't standing any more. He started to roll over, mostly as an attempt to settle the spinning in his head. Eventually, he felt like he was right side up again, and started going through the motions of walking.

It wasn't long before he fell once more, straight on his face. This time he felt the impact. This time he didn't bother to fight it. He would die out here, covered by the snow. The white sheet that appeared before him slowly faded to black, and Luke felt himself slip away.

"Luke…"

His name. Somebody was saying his name. And with the voice came a sudden, if limited, warmth. It didn't really do much to thaw out his body, but it brought back a touch of his awareness, and made him realize that he wasn't alone out there in the snow.

"Luke!"

Luke summoned strength from that flicker of warmth, and it was enough for him to lift his head out of the snow. And he saw…

It couldn't be.

"Ben?" The Jedi's spirit almost blended fully into the gray skies behind him. But he was definitely there, looking both somber and concerned as he stared down at Luke.

"You will go to the Dagobah system."

His voice came through so clearly, despite the wind and snow... it was as though he was speaking from within Luke's mind. "Dagobah system," Luke repeated.

"You must bring Leia with you, Luke. Once there, you will both find Yoda, the Jedi Master who instructed me."

Before Luke could question his directions, the warmth left him, and he was freezing again. No, don't leave. "Ben?" He saw his hand shakily reach out before him, towards a vision that was already fading. "Ben!" Lost and alone again, Luke passed out in the snowy bank.

---

Han could barely see him, unmoving and becoming covered by the falling snow. He veered wildly between relief and dread – he had found Luke much more quickly than he had anticipated, but it could still be too late.

"Luke!" he cried as he impatiently dismounted his tauntaun. He rolled Luke over, grimly noting the bleeding and bruises that covered his face. "Give me a sign here." He leaned in closely to listen for Luke's breathing. Of course, he couldn't hear much of anything, what with the wind – and the unceasing mewling of his tauntaun. He stood to stare at his steed in annoyance…

…which turned to disbelief as the animal promptly keeled over and died.

A string of curses sprung to Han's lips, as he wondered for the hundredth time that day what he could have possibly done to deserve all of this nonsense.

"Ahh," he grumbled angrily. He could worry about that once he and Luke survived this mess.

Grabbing Luke roughly by the arms, he dragged him slowly over to the tauntaun. At least he'd get some use out of this animal.

"Ben…Dagobah…Leia…"

Good, so he was still alive, and even almost conscious. Maybe he had gotten here in time after all. Han unhooked Luke's saber from his belt, and clumsily ignited it.

"Leia…Dagobah…"

He sliced the animal open lengthwise. "Hang on, kid." Luke continued his babbling and Han tried to ignore his own revulsion as he pushed Luke under the animal. "And I thought they smelled bad on the outside," he moaned to himself. With a final shake of his head at his run of bad luck, Han set about building the shelter.

---

The morning sun washed Hoth with a cold pink light, and the four pilots of Rogue Squadron skimmed off in a widening fan across the ice.

The snowspeeder was a two-man craft, but Zev was in it alone, as he almost always was. They did drill with two-man teams, because it would be necessary if they ever had to go into battle here, but there just weren't enough men to double up on a regular basis.

It wasn't worth it. The numbers were going down so fast, and now...Solo and Skywalker, probably dead. It would be the deathblow to the Alliance. Princess Leia could tighten her grip as much as she wanted to, and people loved her and would stay for her sake even if she didn't, but it would take what little morale there was left.

And, on top of it, the Empire was getting more tolerable. Zev's own little sister had gotten a surgery she'd needed for years when Lady Vader had heard of her illness. The streets were cleaned up on Galarn. Crime was down. There was food on every table.

Sure, as long as you know to keep your mouth shut, to look the other way when people disappear, and most important, to never ever question anything...

Zev blinked it away. He wasn't going to leave the Rebellion. He knew it. But so many of the guys he knew had just thrown it in. They knew that all would be forgiven, if they just swore loyalty and kept to it. They knew they'd be watched. They didn't plan on doing anything that would get them into trouble.

A light flashed on his comm panel, and he focused his attention back on the cold morning. His morose mood was broken by a wave of fierce hope. "Echo Base," he said into his transmitter. "I've got something! Not much, but it could be a life form."

He guided the speeder toward the energy source he was tracing. A hunched, snow-covered dome twinkled up out of the tundra. A small figure appeared against the sun glare.

They'd done it.

They'd really done it, or at least one of them had.

He switched the channel on his transmitter to the emergency channel that Solo and Skywalker would most likely be on. "This is Rogue Two. This is Rogue Two. Captain Solo, do you copy? Commander Skywalker, do you copy? This is Rogue Two."

No answer for a moment, and he had a minute of wondering if it was an illusion, then a sharp crackle of static filled the cockpit.

"Good morning," Solo said. "Nice of you guys to drop by."

Zev smiled in relief, all thoughts of desertion leaving his mind as if they'd never been there. He switched back to the Command channel. "Echo Base...this is Rogue Two. I found them. Repeat, I found them."

---

Leia leaned forward slightly, reaching out to brush a section of blond hair away from Luke Skywalker's unscarred cheek.

He'd been removed from the bacta tank some time last night, early on in Hoth's sleep cycle, after spending the entire day in its healing fluids. Han and the droids had disappeared shortly after, leaving Leia alone to keep vigil over Luke's bedside. The medic droid had placed Luke here in an isolated section of the base's cramped infirmary, away from any prying eyes. After being removed from the tank there had still been residual scarring on his face that even bacta could not heal; the 2-1B droid had applied a healing mask to that side of his face, the white, plasterlike surface molded to fit perfectly. It was to be just worn overnight, so it should be coming off soon.

Leia didn't like the mask at all. The sight of Luke's face half-bare, half-covered by a mask brought up thoughts of certain people she'd rather not ever think of again in her life. So she sat on his left side, away from the mask. If she sat in just a certain way, she didn't have to see the awful thing – but if she moved even the teensiest bit, or Luke turned his face a bare hint...there it was.

Luke was lucky to have even survived, the on-duty droid had declared when Han had carried Luke's snow-caked, half-frozen form into the infirmary. It wasn't the attack from the wampa itself – Luke had been fortunate the wampa had slashed him where he had; the scarring would probably remain and had been quite gruesome, but the blood loss and nerve damage from the blow had been minimal. The danger had come from lying in a weakened state so long in the deathly cold night blizzards – had Han found him even a few minutes later, Leia might be visiting Luke in the base's cold makeshift morgue instead of here.

Leia's lips tightened. Han.

She just couldn't decide how she felt about him. Every time she thought she finally had him pegged, he went and changed things again. When she'd thought he was going to die, she thought perhaps she'd finally started to feel something more than their relatively cool friendship –but when he'd come back, arrogant pride and all, that door had slammed shut again. Leia put aside what she'd felt as that purely situational, panicked attachment which people usually experience when in danger of long term, even permanent, separation. At times she questioned herself as to why she'd kept pushing so hard for him to stay with the Rebellion – though at this point, the Alliance could use all the leadership it could get. Han Solo was brash, stubborn, prideful to the point of suffocation –

(just like you...)

–but Leia still knew a part of her, beneath all the icy layers (which had, appropriately, earned her among those staffed at the base the nickame "the Ice Princess") she'd built up around herself ever since she'd seen that intercepted transmission, there was a layer that Solo sometimes actually seemed to pierce. That admitted its vulnerability to the notion he'd no longer be a constant in her life.

Maybe that was why she had trouble admitting anything. No one liked admitting vulnerability, least of all Leia Organa.

But in any case – after all that talk in the South Passage of having his own life to follow, of him belonging elsewhere – Han had gone out and saved Luke, risking his life on a flimsy chance his friend would still be alive...yet again forcing Leia to alter her perceptions of him...

(I knew there was more to you than money!)

But he was gone again now, leaving not a second after Luke had been given a clean bill of health – as if he had finished his business at last, and there was nothing left to keep him here, and Leia had made no move to stop him.

(Nothing left. Not that you'd willingly admit to him, anyway.)

So she'd come in here to watch Luke – she didn't want him left alone again (it was as if an unseen-before-now motherly tendency had awakened in her at the sight of Luke's scarred, doll-like face). Leia also reveled in the silent companionship he offered: his mere presence was like a calming salve to her emotional wounds and best of all, there was no voice of his playing the role of conscience, trying to tell her to just open up to her problems. There was only peaceful silence. Nothing to preoccupy her thoughts, leaving them free to wander...but like children, idle thoughts tended to wander where you'd just as soon not have them go...

She sighed. Maybe silence wasn't such a good thing.

Leia shifted uncomfortably in her seat – and suddenly, there it was. That wretched healing mask. The mask that served, aside from healing, the additional purpose of hiding a mass of disfigured grotesqueness beneath, something terrible enough that it could not be allowed to behold the light of day...

No. She was thinking of someone else. Not Luke.

Connections rose unbidden in her mind, to figures unbreakably connected to her yet from whom she'd have given her right hand to sever herself. Images of the Lord and Lady Vader swam through her mind atop a wave of revulsion.

Above all else she'd felt violated...contaminated when she'd learned it was their treacherous blood that flowed through her veins, a filth in her Leia knew no amount of sonic showering would remove. She wanted to smash something every time she saw a clip of an Imperial news story, heard others chattering about the latest great deed the "First Lady of the Empire" had done. But something about that transmission had changed something inside Leia, and she knew outbursts would no longer be effective as a release of her anger, this was something buried away, omnipresent, always eating away at her. She knew she couldn't afford to be prone to outbursts anyway, if she hoped to remain a leader of the Alliance. Even now though, she knew the primary reason she was still commanding was not because those beneath her respected her – but because they feared her.

A mandate by fear. Like the Empire...Like Vader.

Of all the things to be heir to...

She moved her hand away from Luke's face and clenched her fist, stilling the hot bubble of anger she felt rising from a bitter knot in her stomach.

Luke's eyes opened then, the bright blue in them cloudy for a moment, then clearing as they focused on her. "Leia?"

"I'm here," she said quietly, leaning forward and instinctively stroking his face again. Not a romantic caress; it just felt right to do it.

Luke smiled at her just then, and Leia felt another sense of unease in her gut. She was well aware of Luke's feelings for her; he was too honest to hide them even if he'd wanted to. But as much as Leia loved him – yes, she would admit that much; she found oddly it didn't make her defenses bristle a bit – her heart simply didn't lie with him that way. And the concept of telling him, of hurting him – that did bristle.

There was no denying the bond that had formed between them their three years together, ever since he'd charged bumbling into her detention cell on the Death Star. After spending only a short amount of time with him she'd felt an instinctive connection toward him, and he to her, one she didn't understand to this day – but knew that she would be lost without. She trusted him more than anyone she knew. She just wasn't in love with him.

She forced herself to look at that half-masked face, into those innocent blue eyes that always seemed so familiar to her, like an echo from a past life...

She thought back to last night, when she'd believed she'd never be able to see them again...she was thankful for whatever hand had decreed that was not to happen.

"I heard you," he said quietly.

"Heard me?" She hadn't said a word aloud since she'd come in here.

"When I was unconscious," he explained. "Just now, I heard –" His face scrunched a moment, and he reached up to the mask. "Can we take this off?"

"Well, it's been on there long enough," Leia quipped lightly, prompting a small smile from Luke. "Do you want me to...?" She trailed off, hoping Luke wouldn't make her fulfill what she'd just unthinkingly volunteered. But Luke nodded.

It's just a mask. Nothing you should fear.

Leia exhaled a slow breath and, reaching out slowly, placed her fingers under the edge of the mask and began to gently pull. A new image blossomed in her mind just then, superimposed over Luke's face: one half of the head the skull-like masked visage of Lord Vader (only incomplete, with blazing blue eyes burning out from where the opaque lenses should have been...); the other half the naked, familiar face of his devoted wife. It shocked Leia; why in the galaxy should she make that sort of connection? Luke was nothing like those figures. It must be the facemask, she decided. That at least explained Vader.

But why would her mind conjure up any connection between Luke and her own mother, the woman who was a traitor to her own bloodline? Something about Luke's features, the way they –

The flash was gone, as Leia pulled the mask free of Luke's face. She set it aside out of sight, as grateful to be rid of it as Luke apparently was.

"Thank you," Luke said, thankfully rubbing his now free cheek. There was a bit of scarring and probably some soreness there still, but it was hardly grotesque, and would certainly lessen with time.

"You were saying that you heard me," Leia prodded gently. "What did you hear?"

"When I was unconscious," he explained. "I heard you – what you were feeling–"

Leia's lips formed a small smile. "I'm sorry I woke you."

His eyes softened in obvious discomfort. "You were in pain, Leia."

Leia stifled a swallow, but her lips still tightened. She didn't question Luke's new mysterious abilities; he was party to a power she now knew – bitterly – she must also be heir to, but she had a justified reason for rejecting what Luke had embraced so fondly. He wanted to be like his father. Leia didn't exactly get to enjoy that notion.

Luke had, in his healing sleep, managed to pick up her tumult of emotions – Leia chided herself for not maintaining her mental shields; with all the tumultuous emotions she'd been feeling, it would have been a surprise if she hadn't been practically sending out her emotions on a wide-band subspace signal. But if he'd managed to pick up something clearer, more definite...

"Who was hurting me?" she asked.

"I don't know," Luke admitted, a sad smile flitting across his lips. "I didn't see anything I understood – I only knew you felt like someone had betrayed you. Someone you cared about. There were some flashes of color, of black and red..." He shook his head. "It's gone now."

Leia grimaced inwardly. "You didn't see anything else?"

"No. I felt you in pain, and that woke me up here. But...but what I saw, Leia..." He looked down and placed his hands on one of Leia's, holding it.

Leia squeezed his hand back, through the contact returning the warmth Luke had given her – as much as she could give, at least. "I'm fine, Luke," she soothed, affording her friend as warm a smile as she could manage. "I'm just fine."

"You're very strong. I've always loved that about you," Luke said, prompting a small smile from the Princess. "The Force flows strong in you, Leia."

"I know," she murmured grimly.

"That must be why he asked me to bring you..."

Leia's brow furrowed in inquiry.

"I saw Ben," Luke explained to her.

"Ben? You mean General Kenobi?" There weren't that many Bens she and Luke had encountered in their lives.

Han had told her of how Luke had been mumbling names and words when he'd recovered him..."Ben" had been one of them, then something like "Dagobah"...and her own name. Leia had been tempted to just put it off as the hallucinations of someone in shock – but now, after he'd read her emotions so effectively, without even trying, she wasn't so sure.

"When I was outside…in the snow," Luke continued hesitantly, as if he were in fact concerned Leia might think he had been hallucinating. "I saw him."

"But he's been dead for three years," Leia said gently, disgust rising briefly as she remembered witnessing on the Death Star as Vader's red blade sliced down, through the old man's robes. "Vader killed him, Luke. How could you have seen him?" She was saying it as much for her reassurance as his; she had little doubt of what Luke had seen, and had a vague inkling of what it could mean. After all, Kenobi had taught Vader, long ago...so he probably knew any number of secrets of Leia's dark heritage...

"I saw him," Luke insisted. "He must have been in spirit form; he seemed almost translucent...and he was glowing. He spoke to me. He wanted me to go to this planet...Dagobah, I think," he continued, frowning. Leia sat like a stone statue, waiting for him to continue. "To learn from the Jedi Master who had instructed him."

"Another Jedi? He managed to survive the purge?" Leia felt a sense of guilt at thinking of the terrible Jedi Purge, knowing it was her direct ancestor that had been the main driving hand of it...

No. She should not feel responsible for something he did. There was nothing she could have done about it.

"Don't ask me to explain it," Luke shrugged. "I only know what Ben told me. He told me I was to go to Dagobah...presumably as soon as possible..."

"Are you going to go?"

"I don't see that I have any choice."

"But what about the Alliance?" A sharp pang of disbelief went through Leia's chest. Luke couldn't leave them now...he himself was a large rallying point for Alliance morale; the innocent farmboy who'd risen from obscurity to take out the Empire's mightiest superweapon. If he, Luke Skywalker, the Alliance's greatest hero, were to leave the Rebellion – leave me... – what message would that give those in the Alliance who already had their doubts about it? How many more would leave? Han himself had already left, and she was sure wind of that would be spreading through the base soon..."What could you do alone on Dagobah that could possibly help us here?"

"If I'm trained as a Jedi," Luke explained, fixing her with those clear blue eyes of his, "I'll have a better chance to be able to help the Rebellion. I'm doing nothing sitting here hiding on Hoth, Leia...you've seen it, the numbers we're losing. We're losing this war. If I can become a Jedi...that may be enough to turn the tide. It might bring others back to our side again."

"And it will make you a greater target for the Empire," Leia pointed out coldly, her eyes flashing in pain at him.

Luke's lips formed a hard line; he was aware of that perhaps even more than she was. "It may be enough, Leia. If it can it's an opportunity I don't want to risk because I was afraid to risk my own life." Leia stifled a swallow: it was the same thing she'd told the ensign in the corridor two nights ago. Luke wouldn't have known, but it had the same effect nonetheless. "And hopefully," he continued, his gaze at her softening, "I won't have to do it alone."

Leia stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"He told me to bring you with me, Leia," Luke said quietly. "I've felt your power, so I'm certain Ben is aware of it. I assume he means for Yoda – that was the Master's name – to train us both."

Leia was incredulous. It would be folly for Luke alone to leave the Rebellion; but Leia was a leader of the Alliance. For just a moment, she began to allow herself to consider the possibility that the snow had seeped through Luke's brain a bit more than previously thought. Though she was certain Luke would never do it, it was almost as if he were asking her to run away with him...she couldn't dare lead Luke on like that, even under the premise of Jedi training. (Which Leia was none too keen on beginning, anyway.) And she had duties to the Rebellion, however dwindling it might be. She could hardly –

"How ya feelin', kid?" a cocky, cheerful voice suddenly interrupted, abruptly killing the conversation between the two others in the room. As it turned out, Leia would reflect later, that would be the only positive side effect. She forced herself to look away from those pleading eyes of Luke's, avoiding having to answer him as she pulled away in surprise at the unexpected arrival.

Leia forced herself to keep the shock at his unexpected appearance out of her gaze as she beheld the form of Han Solo – apparently as confident as ever, a brash twinkle in his hazel eyes. Again, he'd turned the tables on Leia's little judgments, upsetting them completely. He strode through the door to Luke's room, trailed by the familiar forms of Chewbacca, Artoo and See-Threepio; where they'd been until now Leia had no inkling. The two droids went over to Luke, congratulating him on his quick recovery.

Han gave an amused smile as he saw Leia pull away from Luke so quickly – there was a flash of something – no, it couldn't have been jealousy – in his eyes, his uncouth mind no doubt conjuring up some twisted fantasy. Well, let it, she thought, as she placed some distance between herself and the new arrival.

"You don't look so bad to me," Han continued, sitting at Luke's bedside, sliding himself into the seat Leia had just vacated moments before. "You look strong enough to pull the ears off a Gundark."

"Thanks to you," Luke said, giving his friend a half-smile.

"That's two you owe me, Junior," Han informed him, knowing full well that nickname annoyed Luke. Han turned to Leia, who now stood against the far wall, her arms crossed in an imposing posture. "Well, Your Worship," he said, his cocky smile widening. "Looks like you managed to keep me around for a while longer."

"I had nothing to do with it," Leia informed him curtly, folding her arms tighter across her torso. "General Rieekan thinks it's dangerous for any ships to leave the system before activating the energy shield around the base."

"That's a good story," Han nodded, leaning back against the wall next to Luke, and folding his hands back behind his head. "I think you just can't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight."

Even Luke rolled his eyes at that one; Leia stifled the urge to do the same, shaking her head in mock sympathy.

"I hope you washed yourself after sticking your hands in whatever pile of poodoo you pulled that delusion out of, laserbrain."

Chewbacca let out an urf-urf-urf of laughter; Han shot him a betrayed look. "Laugh it up, fuzzball," he said, walking over and putting his arm around Leia, squeezing her shoulder. "You didn't see us alone in the South Passage. She expressed her true feelings for me," Han added to a visibly surprised Luke.

Annoyance shot up like hot magma in the Princess, bringing heat and color to her cheeks. She curled her fists into tight little balls, as Han released her, grinning smugly. How dare he have the gall to make such a comment..."Why you...stuck-up, half-witted..."

Han began laughing; Leia immediately went to stand over by Luke's bedside again – cutting a pose that would have made Vader proud, yet only seemed to serve to amuse Han further.

"Half-witted?" Han laughed. "I'm not the one leaving my insults half-finished in the air, Princess. Must have hit pretty close to the mark to get her that riled up, huh, kid?" he added to Luke. To his credit, the Tatooine man kept his silence: any smart man confronted with the Princess's temper would have.

Well...not any smart man.

Leia glared at Han. A vicious idea for revenge came unbidden into her mind; no doubt from her Vaderish side.

She knew it would be unfair to use Luke's feelings for her that way; but at that moment she would have given anything, just to see that smug grin wiped off of Han's face. She nodded slowly, her mouth hanging open ever so slightly, moving her arms out of their crossed position to stand her hands on her hips.

"Then I suppose you don't know everything about women, do you."

And with that Leia gripped Luke's face firmly and pulled it to hers; she gave Han only a cursory glance as she crushed her lips on to Luke's, whose eyes widened at the sudden gesture. Leia held the contact despite the sudden wave of sickness, of plain wrongness that seemed to rise in her the moment their lips made contact...

It appeared to have the desired effect. Han's posture didn't change, but his eyes seemed to Leia, watching out of the corner of her eye, to narrow and harden to two opal shards as he witnessed the seemingly passionate exchange. Good. Even Chewie and the droids – Threepio, at least – seemed to be gaping.

A static crackle issued on the room's intercom system. "All command personnel report to Command Center," the muffled, monotonous voice directed.

Incredibly grateful for the interruption, Leia tore her lips away from Luke's, momentarily meeting his eyes to still the questions she knew were in their depths. Fighting away the bitter taste in her mouth as she shot a caustic look towards Han Solo, she strode coolly out of the room, leaving one flustered young man and four flustered witnesses behind. "Take it easy," she heard Han mutter to Luke as he followed Leia out.

Leia forced herself not meet Luke's gaze one last time before she passed through the exit – and found herself instantly regretting it.

As if some part of her knew, somehow, that it was going to be a very long, troubled time before she would ever see him again.

---

Han wasn't exactly command staff – hell, he wasn't exactly, technically, in the Alliance – but no one had ordered him out of a meeting so far, or, for that matter, looked surprised to see him at one. So he followed Leia out of the infirmary when the announcement came, glad for the chance to go. Chewie tagged along at his side, the only sane creature in the whole place.

What kind of game was she playing? Luke? After all this time, he was supposed to believe...

Didn't matter. Any idiot could see that she hadn't much been enjoying that little liplock. To Han's great surprise, Luke didn't look like he'd much liked it, either.

He was only a few steps behind her by the time they got to the Command Center. Whatever game she was playing was done. Here, she was in command, and everyone knew it.

Rieekan looked up from a console screen when they came in. The general's face was tired – must have been up all night, after that little stunt of mine, Han figured – and he looked like he could use a year's leave. "Princess," he said. "We have a visitor."

Leia's mouth tightened even more than usual, and she crossed the room in four irritated steps. Han followed, and looked over her shoulder at the blinking green light on the console.

Riekkan pointed to it as if they couldn't see it. "We've picked up something outside the base in zone twelve, moving east. It's metal."

Han didn't think Leia's face could get more despondent, but she must have been entertaining some hope of a quiet day, because her eyes suddenly grew even more sunken, her cheeks ashier. "Then it couldn't be one of those creatures that attacked Luke."

"It could be a speeder," Han tried, hoping to ease her mind. "One of ours."

The communications officer looked at him like he was crazy. Of course – he'd just questioned her ability to do her job. "No. Wait – there's something very weak coming through."

Leia crooked a finger at Threepio, and he obediently clattered over to the comm station and listened to the faint string of beeps. After about fifteen seconds, he looked up. "I am fluent in six million forms of communication." (Han bit his lip; it wasn't time to quip that Threepio needed a new opener.) "This signal is not used by the Alliance. It could be an Imperial code."

Could be? Han shook his head. "It isn't friendly, whatever it is. Come on, Chewie, let's check it out."

Rieekan nodded, and, as Han and Chewie headed out, gave a vague command to a few guards to follow them.

The trip wasn't long – whatever it was, was traveling fast. It had a scent. It was out of zone twelve, and had crossed into zone four, just east of the base, when Han and Chewie caught up with it.

There was no mistaking Imperial technology, Han thought as his heart sank, even with a droid he'd never seen before. It had one possible purpose, and it was built to fulfill it efficiently. Four legs that might have been some use on the floor of a cave hung down like tentacles as it hovered over the snow, but everything else was in action. Sensors spun. Transmitters buzzed. An antenna was trembling. Something was beeping with a regularity that was maddening.

But it was sensitive. Chewie stood slowly, trying not to catch its attention, but it "saw" him immediately, and fired a deadly volley. Chewie dove for cover. Han decided that it was time to disable the thing's sensors.

He took advantage of the momentary distraction of Chewie's predicament, and fired quickly. No one – sentient or not – outdrew Han Solo.

This thing was no exception.

His blast hit squarely at the base of the antenna, and he had time to think, That'll do it, before the whole machine began to tremble and spark. Then it blew itself into pieces.

Just great.

Han put his blaster back, and stared at the pile of scrap metal with more than a little frustration. Imperial technology. Better to self-destruct than compromise the mission. The same thing they expected out of their army. Chewie barked a question, and Han shrugged. He got out his comlink and signaled the base. Nothing about this was going to make Leia happy.

"Afraid there's not much left," he said, without preliminaries.

There was a pause, and he could almost see her there, closing her eyes slowly, then opening them again. "What was it?" she said after a moment.

"Droid of some kind." Han tried to find a way to word this so that it wouldn't sound like he was trying to wriggle out of responsibility for its destruction, couldn't, and just spit it out. "I didn't hit it that hard. It must have had a self-destruct."

To Han's surprise, Leia didn't sound like she was ready to rip his head off. Her voice simply sounded like she was putting the pieces together to form the puzzle she'd known the solution to before she sent them out. "An Imperial probe droid."

Han agreed. "It's a good bet the Empire knows we're here."

---

"We'd better start the evacuation," Riekkan said.

Leia looked at him dully. Evacuate? Retreat?

Surrender?

To her horror, there was a part of her that just gave a sigh of relief at this last. Yes, surrender. Give in and let it be. Nothing more you can do. You've lost, it's over.

She wondered briefly if that was her mother's voice, then shut the thought away. Evacuation wasn't surrender; it was the only way to avoid surrender. And Han was right. If it was a probe droid, it'd probably had a good idea of where they were since it was in orbit. It would only have come this close for confirmation. The Empire was undoubtedly already on its way.

"Do it, General," she said. "I'll get the rendezvous point set up."

---

Piett handed Admiral Ozzel the third maintenance report he had been ordered to do that shift. The man's pettiness was amusing to Piett – Ozzel wasn't pleased that Vader hadn't taken his advice about Hoth, and was making his subordinate pay through a series of mundane and useless tasks. Eventually, Piett thought he might say something, and they could get past this nonsense. He hoped so.

Ozzel barely glanced at the report before handing it back to Piett. "That's fine, Captain. Perhaps you could do a weapons check."

"Sir?"

"Yes – I know how sure you are that the Rebels are on Hoth, Captain. I want to be certain we are fully prepared for battle if…when we find them."

Piett knew that it would probably be best to just turn away, but found himself saying, "I was simply carrying out my orders to report any unusual findings from the probes, sir."

"And even though there are hundreds of systems left to search, we are now decided on Hoth." Ozzel gave him a barely concealed smirk. "I hope you are prepared for the consequences when Vader realizes he was sent on a fool's errand."

Piett couldn't help but start at that thought. He knew he had followed proper procedure, and that he was right to report his findings…but there was always the chance that the Rebels wouldn't be there. And it was unlikely that Lord Vader would be particularly understanding about it.

But he wasn't about to admit that Ozzel had gotten to him, though he knew he was starting to tread a thin line in his demeanor toward his superior officer. "Have you been given any reason to believe that they aren't on Hoth, sir?"

"Indeed, Admiral."

Piett and Ozzel whirled around, their argument instantly forgotten. Lady Vader stood before them.

Piett was surprised to see her on the bridge; she only made appearances here on rare occasions. Her presence was most often felt in the less official parts of the ship – in the lounge, in the mess halls – places where she could interact with the officers away from Vader's command. It was awkward at times, since no one knew exactly how to address her (Was she their superior? Could she give them orders?), but she never seemed concerned with that.

Of course, being the wife of Darth Vader basically gave her the run of the ship. The general consensus was to do whatever she said, treat her with the utmost respect, and hope and pray that she didn't speak ill of you to her husband. Over the last few years, the infamous stories of Vader's temper had split along two lines – on what he did to those who annoyed him, and on what he did to those who dared to do anything that upset his wife.

Ozzel recovered first, and managed to stammer, "L-Lady Vader. I apologize for not noticing you earlier. Is there anything I can assist you with?"

Piett was certain he could see her smile, though making out anything underneath those veils was nearly impossible. "Yes, Admiral, I believe you can. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I would like to understand your concerns about Hoth."

Her voice was kind – it was almost a request instead of an order. Ozzel scrambled for an answer. "My Lady, I was simply relaying the fact that our droids have not yet finished their extensive search…we may yet find something else…"

She nodded. "A sensible concern." She turned to Piett. "Yet, you are more certain that they are there?"

Piett swallowed hard. "I believe our findings are indicative of a military base. And Hoth is a remote system, which would make it more appealing to the Alliance."

Again, he thought he caught the shadow of a smile. He hoped he wasn't staring too hard. Unlike Vader, who didn't seem to want people to imagine there was anything under his mask, Lady Vader seemed to invite curiosity. Seemed to want to draw people in.

Finally, she said, "Captain, I appreciate your efforts." Piett nodded. "And Admiral, your caution is reasonable, but we must be prepared to act when an opportunity presents itself. It is critical that we find the Rebels and reach them before they move on to another location." After a short pause, she added, "It would be most unfortunate if we were to lose them because the correct information was withheld or not listened to." Her voice had hardened slightly, leaving an implication hanging in the sentence's wake that made both men cringe. "Do you understand, Admiral?"

"Yes, My Lady," Ozzel replied. A moment of strained silence followed. "Do you require anything else?"

"No," she said, and her warm personality came through again. "I simply came up here to observe the goings-on, and perhaps see how our officers are holding up. Idle curiosity."

Both men bowed slightly as she turned to walk away. She soon had an ensign explaining something to her about the sensors, while the rest of the bridge watched anxiously, also hoping for a chance to show off.

Ozzel turned to Piett, and the two stared at one another without saying a word. Neither could tell what Lady Vader had thought of their conversation, or what would get back to Darth Vader. It was strange to fear such heavy retribution from so kind a woman. It was a powerful combination – no wonder she was held such a high position in the Empire.

Finally, Ozzel dismissed him. Piett spent his time off-shift reading every report that came from Hoth.

HOTH, ECHO BASE

Barely controlled excited scurrying seemed to be the activity of choice at the small linked connection of snow-coated caverns and tunnels that served as the central hiding place of the Rebel Alliance. Parka-clad humans and non-humans alike, as well as various models of droids, hurrying about: performing last-minute repairs on starfighters, troop transports; preparing weapons emplacements, loading up anything in the base that wasn't bolted down into the nearest ship large enough.

Much scurrying, indeed. If one did not bother to look closer and observe the expressions on those running about, one might have thought the excitement to be just that: the adrenaline surge, the high emotional rush that most sentient beings experience when they're about to enter battle. And not have noticed the thick, almost palpable sense of apprehension that pervaded the atmosphere.

The Empire was coming. This base had a particularly efficient grapevine, so everyone on the base had become aware of this fairly quickly after the probe droid's discovery. They also knew that in the inevitable battle that was to come that whatever force they managed to muster here against the Empire – in this case, a small group of volunteer fighter pilots –would be essentially self-sacrifice, a suicide mission for those involved. A diversion, in hopes that the Empire's death messengers would be focused enough on it – and taking the base – that there was a chance that the majority of the Rebels stationed here could make their escape towards the main fleet's planned rendezvous point, sectors away in space somewhere. (Wherever that turned out to be; the senior staff was understandingly keeping mum about that particular point.) The Rebels here didn't have the means to fight off a full-fledged Imperial assault – it hardly made sense to store all a krayt dragon's eggs in one chamber; only part of the Alliance's forces were stationed here. So they were going to have to do what they'd done three years earlier when the base on Yavin had been discovered – pack up, fast, and get the hell away from it as quickly as they could. Only this time, there was no afterglow of intense triumph to boost the morale of the beings here.

The mood, under other circumstances, might have been different. They might have been excited. They might have been ready to fight. But many simply were in doubt. If the Rebels hadn't been losing so many numbers, so many of their ranks discreetly making their way over to the Empire to congregate at the sound of the beautiful Lady Vader's deceptively comforting words like they would a siren, seeking solace from the conflicts of the civil war under her protective scarlet wing...If their own leaders had not been so distracted...Even the Princess herself, once a stalwart figure of stability, the mouth that once spilled forth words that became a rallying point for so many oppressed beings alike was now barely speaking at all, and when it did it was like a bitter tonic, daring people to face it and stay or go.

And many went. Even now many wanted to leave – and would have, were it not for the imminent conflict. Some tumultuous minds wondered briefly if the Lady Vader would be part of the force that was undoubtedly en route to Hoth, and what decision they would make were they to ever face her...If she were to hold out that small white hand of hers – would they spit on it and thrust it away, like the Princess had ordered them to do, or would they reverently grasp it, following it to a new life under the government they'd once fought against?

One man, who'd had little care in his life for whoever controlled the galaxy or the conflict being waged for that cause, and therefore little care for the Vaders themselves, had decided to spite the conflict and leave nonetheless.

Han Solo stood atop the twin sensor prongs that made the nose of the Millennium Falcon, frowning at the open panel of circuits at his feet, tapping the visibly well-used hydrospanner in his hand against his hip. A technician might have been able to pinpoint the problem that currently plagued his ship and even perform the operation necessary to rectify it, but Han wasn't interested. Even if there had been technicians available that weren't already working on "more critical tasks," he'd not have let any of them lay a finger on his vessel. So he and Chewbacca, who was currently running repeat ship diagnostics in the freighter's side cockpit, seeing if he could locate the snag from that end, were the only ones working on the spacefaring junk heap.

Actually, they knew what the problem was. But for the first time, perhaps because it had amazingly never managed to occur before, or because there were other certain things weighing rather heavily on his mind, Han wasn't entirely sure how to solve it.

The sublight drive didn't work. Actually, it did work...but the computer in the cockpit just simply refused to communicate with it. A connection had failed somewhere along the route from the engines to their corresponding operations consoles in the cockpit. Either way, left unmaintained it meant Han's continued stay here, which he had no desire to do even if it weren't for the Empire breathing down their necks.

Not for the first time Han cursed the weather of this dismal planet. If the cold weather had caused failures in the running of the Rebels' frequently maintained snowspeeders, then it shouldn't have been surprising that the Falcon's hodgepodge collection of seldom-inspected parts would succumb to the frigid temperatures and snow and leave Han stranded here. Through a series of trial and errors whose proof of existence was in the newly scored burn marks on his hands – the mark of temperamental circuits blowing in his face – the human and his Wookiee copilot had determined the kink in the circuit pathway from the sublight to the cockpit was somewhere in the bulkhead near the nose of the vessel. Only they weren't certain exactly where.

Han was only grateful the hyperdrive had – so far, apparently – escaped any damage. He didn't plan on being on this planet when the Imperials arrived, in fact hopefully several parsecs away and in the process of moving even further. But if the sublight didn't work, he wouldn't even manage to break Hoth's orbit.

He bit his lip as he bent down to adjust one of the loose connections in the open panel, trying not to think of a certain pair of bright, haunting sable orbs that appeared in his mind every time he'd hoped he'd found any solace in thinking of leaving this godforsaken place.

Leia. The one pillar of uncertainty in his single-minded determination to leave the Rebellion and never look back. Even his friendship with Luke wasn't truly reason enough for him to stay – he genuinely liked the kid, and would miss the idealistic naïveté that hadn't existed in Han's life till he'd met Luke – but if there was one thing Han had learned in life, it was that you couldn't always afford to keep the friends you might happen to make (in his case, though, there really hadn't been that many). If the time came to leave them behind, you couldn't afford a wave of regret coming up and clouding your judgment.

You don't think I'm fool enough to stick around here, do you?

Besides, the kid was smart, Han had assured himself. He could make it without Han's help – even if he had just saved his life out there in the snow. But Luke had a good solid mind, and Han had no doubt he would be able to learn on his own.

But Leia...Han genuinely worried for her, however much the tough smuggler self in him had scorned that self-admission. Her growth over the last few years had been almost the exact inverse of Luke's: while Luke had developed from an uncertain, lonely boy into a maturing young man, Leia had over time begun to lose the smart-tempered fire Han had grown to love to a bitter, pained and increasingly isolated nature. He sensed she would only get worse as this war continued – that if someone didn't stop her, she'd spiral herself down into a pit of self-destruction worse than any Imperial battle station garbage chute. And that, probably no one would be able to help her out of.

He wished to hell he knew what was eating at her, he thought as he picked up a welder and melted two wires in the open panel together to complete a severed connection; the one he believed to be the missing link between the engine and the cockpit. But no, Leia seemed perfectly content to alienate herself from her few remaining friends and comrades, bottling whatever acid flowed boilingly in her away, refusing to tell anyone what it might be. She hadn't even told Luke this, and she was closer to him than anyone. Han admired Leia for her strong-willed self-reliance, but this was getting ridiculous.

Three years ago he wouldn't have turned a second look at the obviously despairing Princess – her problems were not his to deal with. But something in him had changed, and now, whenever he looked at her, it became increasingly difficult to look away from her again. Her problems, somewhere along the line, had become his problems.

I ain't in this for your revolution, and I'm certainly not in it for you, Princess.

But if she didn't want his help...well, you definitely couldn't give something to Leia Organa if she didn't want it. Luke wasn't the only one who'd learned anything in the past three years.

And anyway, his life was on the line here. Even now Han was certain Jabba's minions were scouring the galaxy, searching for the well-recognized saucer-shaped freighter, which would make whoever brought it in to the crime lord instantly wealthy.

So he'd forced himself to look away from her yet again, shunting the haunting image of those suddenly beautiful brown eyes out of his mind. And, unlike Yavin, he truly was going to leave this time.

Han finished his welding job and flipped the panel shut. He gestured to Chewbacca to turn the lever to feed power into the new circuit. "All right, that should do it," he shouted. "Try it..." He leaned forward...

And leapt straight back as the top of the panel exploded in a flurry of bright blue sparks that suddenly leapt upward, burning Han's face and jacket and adding to the burns already on his hands. Han let out a loose string of Corellian swear words under his breath, futilely trying to wave the sparks away.

"Turn it off!" he shouted frantically to Chewbacca, who moved his furry paws in a flurry to comply – but the sparks continued to fly, and to make things better, the hangar's fire alarm had started to go off, its punctuated shrieks drawing attention from everyone in the vicinity. "Turn it off!" Han yelled again.

The sparks continued, and Han's face grew redder, not just from the sparks. That was the last time, he decided firmly, that he would allow himself to get distracted by thoughts of stubborn Princesses (of all things...) when his freedom and life lay on the line.

This definitely was not his day. Next time, he would be the one in the cockpit, and would leave the welding to Chewie.

---

Luke shook out his blond hair and zipped up the orange pilot suit, casting a final look around the infirmary that had been his home for the last several days.

He wouldn't miss it, he thought. In a little while, not long after he left this place, he would be flying with Rogue Squadron in the upcoming battle, this time as their leader. He felt a sense of excitement course through him at the thought of piloting again after being snowbound and grounded for so long – judging from the incredulous looks from other Rebels in the briefing room as he'd unhesitatingly volunteered to be one of those few that would see battle, he was probably one of a very few on base that actually looked forward any to the impending conflict. But what he'd told Leia in the infirmary still held true: he'd spent too much time sitting on his duff (Luke smiled inwardly at the unintentional Han Solo mannerism) at the base as it was, and now he had a chance to actually be useful to the Rebellion again. Luke knew he was a good pilot, probably the best the Alliance had – he might as well put those skills to use for a greater good than simply preserving his own life.

The bulky Two-Onebee droid, his only companion in the room, watched with blinking optical lights as his only patient prepared for his quick departure. Luke brushed off his suit and swung his already packed rucksack over his shoulder, practically jumping up from the hard bed. The droid's arms clicked in a gesture of concern – Luke sighed inwardly; it seemed everyone here, even the droids now, had been becoming as much of an overworked worrywart as Threepio lately – which it soon voiced to the young human.

"Sir, it will take quite a while to evacuate the T-47s," the electronically modulated voice began, referring to some of the rather larger bits of medical equipment in the infirmary, large analytical computers that were bolted to the bulkheads – somewhat valuable equipment; it was understandable there would be some regret over leaving it behind.

"Don't worry about the heavier equipment," Luke told the droid, flashing it a quick smile as he began to walk out the door, tucking his flight helmet under the crook of his arm. "There's plenty of time to get the smaller models into the transports."

The droid's servomotors whirred, perhaps comforted by the reassurances from its superior. "Take care, sir," it said, turning its head to follow Luke to the door.

"Thanks," Luke replied with another quick smile, and was out the door and on his way to the fighter hangar.

---

Luke had begun searching for Leia as soon as he'd gotten out into the corridor. He even made a few unnecessary detours en route to the main snubfighter hangar, hoping to run into the young woman and hopefully get some kind of a response from her on the whole Dagobah thing...he wished for the umpteenth time that Han hadn't interrupted them when he had when he'd been talking to Leia, but what was done was done.

And there was no Leia in sight anywhere. The discomforting notion that she might actually be trying to avoid him flashed briefly in Luke's mind – but it was soon overshadowed by the sight of another friendly face not far away. (And she was probably on her way to the command center on the other side of the base at a time like this, he decided.)

"There's got to be another reason for it – check it at the other end," Han Solo was saying to a small scanning droid, both of them standing atop the front of the main saucer section of the Falcon. The odd droid, which resembled a pair of old macrobinoculars on a set of wheels, chattered and wheeled away to comply. The Corellian smuggler suddenly caught Luke's eye and smiled as the Tatooine man neared the familiar ship. "Wait a second," he gestured to the droid, half-sliding, half-jumping down off the top of the ship to meet Luke, who now stood just under the ship. (There was little sign that Han had ever been trying to repair the ship, only a couple of still-open hatches on the its nose; Luke had heard the fire alarms from the infirmary, but hadn't known it was Han's actions that had set it off.)

It occurred to Luke just then that this could be the last time he ever spoke to Han Solo. His blue eyes flicked around, taking in the details of the ship, Chewbacca not far away from him, and his friend standing in front of him. It seemed only a week ago that he'd first walked into the Mos Eisley Cantina with Ben Kenobi and encountered the gruff, standoffish smuggler.

And now Han was leaving, and Luke was going off into battle, to quite possibly even die – Luke felt Leia's absence even more keenly at not having said goodbye to her – they'd been through more together already than most people needed to see in their lifetimes. Three years really was too short a time, he thought, as a mass of fur suddenly surrounded him in a rib-crushing hug.

"Ease off a little, would you Chewie?" Han's voice came down. "I've saved this kid's life enough already."

The Wookiee let out a distinctly amused grumbling, settling to simply ruffle the Tatooine man's slightly shaggy blond mop instead. "I'll miss you too, pal," Luke said genuinely to Chewie, returning the ruffling gesture – at least as much as he could, considering that he was barely tall enough to even reach the Wookiee's head.

"How you feelin', kid?" Han asked, a flicker of regret in his gaze betraying his otherwise conversational tone.

Luke gave a wan smile. "I'm fine."

It was as if everything they would have said to each other had already been said. Leia might roll her eyes at the two of them and make a remark about how males of a species were so jittery over opening up to one another, but that didn't totally explain the thick silence between Han and Luke. There just simply wasn't a way to resolve three years' worth of memories and emotions in an encounter that only lasted a few seconds. It wasn't like Luke's incredulous, surly reaction of three years prior; he'd grown since then. He'd come to know the idea that Han wasn't always going to be around – that one way or another he'd wind up leaving – but somehow, some part of him had turned to what had happened at Yavin as a sign of hope. That if Han did leave, he'd always return, charging in with the sun at his back, to save his friends.

And maybe he would. But he wouldn't be the presence in his friend's life that he had once been. Luke hadn't noticed up till this point how much he had actually looked up to Han, admired his independence and carefree nature. The onetime smuggler had taught Luke any number of invaluable lessons – but the time for teaching was over, obviously, and graduation was coming sooner than Luke had hoped.

"You're crazy for wanting to fly out there against that invasion force, Junior," Han told him pointedly, "but then it wouldn't be the first time you got into trouble."

"I learned from the best."

"Oh no, kid, that's one thing you definitely can't pin on me. You were getting yourself in too deep long before that crazy old wizard left you with me. I'm the one who winds up cleaning up after your screw-ups.

"It wasn't that long," Luke protested lamely.

"Luke."

Luke bowed and shook his head. "Fine."

"And you know this time I won't be able to come back and shoot the Empire's cronies off your back if you do get into trouble."

Luke blinked at Han once, but otherwise remained motionless. "I know."

"So keep your head out of trouble, you hear me? You've run up too high a tab on me as it is. I'm getting too expensive for you."

"I'll try."

"Great." Han's mouth tugged upward a bit in one corner in the now-famous Solo smirk, his hazel eyes softening ever so slightly for a moment. The two friends stood silently facing one another for several moments, neither of them evidently willing to take the step that would likely lead to the end of their association with each other.

Han decided to take that first step. "Be careful, kid."

Luke's smile was genuine, but not as open as it usually was. "You, too."

"Oh, and another thing, Luke..."

"Anything," Luke promised.

"When you make it back to the Fleet," Han said – Luke was grateful he hadn't said "if" – and the smuggler's eyes suddenly turning to fix off on a far distant point, as if perhaps he were looking for someone who wasn't there, then focusing back on Luke as if he were content that that certain someone wasn't there to hear him. His voice became soft, almost conspiratorial. "Promise me you'll say –" he cut off suddenly, as if maybe he'd changed his mind about something, and smiled enigmatically. "Promise me you'll keep an eye on Her Worship for me."

Luke briefly questioned himself why on Hoth Han would be asking him that – why couldn't he say goodbye to Leia himself – then it hit him, leaving him feeling only slightly foolish. He knew Han was probably fond of Leia beyond the visible surface course of their love/hate friendship; he'd seen how they'd acted when they talked to one another, the exchanged glances between them when they thought no one else was looking (who were they fooling, anyway?)...but Luke had usually succeeded in putting it out of his mind. His crush on Leia – however deep the feelings behind it ran – was definitely not justification enough for turning his best friend into an unneeded rival – inside his mind or out. "Of course," Luke said. "You have my word, Han."

All three of them were going to be separated during the battle: Han going off to wherever he was going to go, Leia in the command center, and Luke going off into battle. (Perhaps separated for the last time ever, but Luke didn't dwell on that.) He briefly thought back to after he'd destroyed the Death Star, how the three of them, even then only newfound friends, had paraded through the base together, their arms linked the whole time... were he alone he might have considered shedding a tear or two, but he wasn't about to do that now.

(Maybe Leia was right about the closed-up emotional tendencies of males after all.)

He resolved he would survive this, and he would manage to get himself and Leia to Dagobah somehow – even if he had to wait to be reunited with her until he arrived at the rendezvous point. But he would, he swore to himself.

Han just nodded at Luke, and clasped him briefly on the shoulder. Silence reigned between them for a few more long moments, and it felt as if the tension were building up to burst –

Luke deflated the bubble by giving one last half-smile to his friend...and then turning away, not daring to look back.

Now be brave, and don't look back…

---

General Carlist Rieekan saw the waving hand of the sensor tech from across the command center. His lips tightened almost invisibly as he made his way over to the young man, who was staring wide-eyed at a small grid-style tactical layout of the star system. Hoth was a deceptively peaceful-looking sphere of blue in the center of the grid...and not far away, the group of red dots coming in on just the other side of the asteroid belt...

"Sir," the tech said, looking up slowly at Rieekan, pointing with a stylus to the red dots, "we've got a fleet of Star Destroyers coming out of hyperspace in Sector Four."

Several others in the room looked up in vaguely concealed alarm; most had been preparing for this moment for some time. Rieekan could understand the feeling though – even if he wouldn't be able to allow himself to be prone to it as well. "Reroute all power to the energy shield," he ordered a lieutenant standing not far behind him. The officer moved to comply.

The muscles in his jaw clenched a bit as he sank into thought for a moment. "We've got to hold them off until all of our transports are safely away," he said, almost to himself – then moving his blue-gray gaze back to the other officer next to him, issued the obvious and expected mandate of action.

"Prepare for ground assault."

The Empire was here, he thought as the scurrying began around him once more, as he signaled through the comm system for Princess Leia to report to the command center immediately. Now it was only a matter of time before people began to die.

---

There was a shimmer over the world when she wore the face shield, a shifting pattern of golden light that reminded her of swimming underwater at the lake near her parents' home, coming up into the late afternoon sun to a warm hug from her father. The shield was an unattractive contraption – she couldn't imagine how Ani could bear the sight of it – but it did always bring up that brief, pleasant memory.

Not that it didn't have its own pleasant memories now, though they weren't quite as innocent.

She smiled, and ran her hand down the side of Ani's cheek. There had been an instant of revulsion the first time she'd seen him, with the deathly pallor of his skin and the permanent rictus of the scarring. But she had resisted the impulse to shrink away, and when his lips had found the hollow of her neck, the place he'd always kissed her first when he planned to seduce her (not that she'd ever needed much seducing), when his breath and his deep and mesmerizing voice stirred across her skin, her nerve endings had recognized him, and she'd burned with the braided flame of passion, tenderness, and love that had written his name on her soul years ago. After a month, she'd needed his kisses – real kisses, not brushes of his lips against her hands, or the touch of his two real fingers on her own mouth – so badly that she'd built this contraption, this Gungan shield that sparked between them and allowed the touch of his lips on her own, even while they were denied the chance to breathe the same air.

His lips moved to the tip of her nose, the flexible shield distorting as his weight moved against it. "Alas," he said, "there is little time, my love."

"I know. But I'll steal my kisses when I can. It's not quite as easy as slipping into the shadows anymore."

He returned her smile as well as he could, then began to reattach the breathing apparatus of the suit. Amidala had learned to replace the mask without the help of the medical droids, and she did so with nimble fingers, sparing one last kiss to his poor head before she sealed him away.

The floor shuddered beneath them, and Ani's shoulders stiffened. "We've come out of lightspeed."

Amidala didn't comment. She didn't like the tone of his voice. It was the low, dangerous tone that preceded his...

The times that he...

"We were to approach from the far side of the planet. We are early."

A soft tone sounded, and a light flashed beside the chamber controls. Someone was petitioning entrance – it was considered a rare and dangerous task, but Amidala had never actually heard Ani complain about it, at least not any more than any other husband would complain when interrupted from his wife's company. Amidala dashed for the veils, tossing them over her head, shield-mask and all, as the jaws of the chamber opened.

General Veers stood uncertainly in the outer quarters, his hands neatly behind his back. "Lord Vader?" he said.

"Yes, General?"

"We've come out of lightspeed in the Hoth system..."

The tone grew lower, more dangerous. "Yes?"

Veers cleared his throat. "We have found an encampment, but it is heavily fortified, and guarded by an energy shield. Aerial bombardment will be impossible."

"The Rebels are alerted to our presence. Admiral Ozzel came out of lightspeed too soon."

Amidala's hands went cold. This man had refused to believe the information he had been given, he had questioned Ani's judgment, and now he had committed a strategic error that would cost lives. The twins' lives, possibly.

Veers stammered. "Admiral Ozzel thought that surprise was..."

Ani didn't bother letting him finish the sentence. "He is as clumsy as he is stupid."

It was a death sentence. Amidala felt her nails digging into the flesh of her hands. She chanced a glance at Veers. His face was pale and stiff.

Then she heard Ani's voice in her mind, He has cost us our children.

And that was all. The rage rose in her mind as well. She would not see Leia's eyes again, or touch Luke's hand, not today. There would be no arguments, no convincing, no alliance. There would only be a bloody battle, and the twins might not be there at the end of it. Because Admiral Ozzel was clumsy and stupid.

Ani activated the viewscreen to the bridge, ignoring Veers completely. Ozzel was leaning over a console, Piett a few steps behind him. Ozzel looked up and began giving his report, some officious sounding announcement...

Then he stopped. His face went red and he grasped at his throat. Ani looked past him. "Captain Piett?"

Piett stepped forward, sparing Ozzel a horrified glance. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Prepare for –"

Ozzel stammered forward, reached out with both hands and gagged, "My Lady... Cle...men…cy..." He gasped in a breath, and Amidala knew that Ani had loosened his grip.

She turned to him, glanced at Ozzel nervously, then turned back. She was angry. What was it she was meant to do? There was something. Her role was...she was supposed to...

An old voice fought its way up, arguing laboriously with the instinctive raw anger that wanted her to wring Ozzel's throat herself, and not from a remote location. The voice was calm and cool, like the ocean depths. Her role was not to exact vengeance. Her role was to show the rewards, the advantages, of establishing firm control of the galaxy.

He was looking at her with his head tipped slightly. "What are your wishes, my Lady?"

"My..." Ozzel grabbed at Piett's sleeve – he was breathing, but in great discomfort – then lurched forward toward the transmitter again. "...Lady Va... my..."

"There is little point in killing him now," she said. "The damage is done."

"You are quite certain, my Lady?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Ani waved his hand, and Ozzel pulled in a noisy breath. "You are an ignoramus and a coward, Admiral."

"Yes..." Ozzel fell his knees and vomited. "My Lord..."

"Captain Piett?"

Piett looked up again. His eyes had followed Ozzel to the floor. "Yes?"

"Prepare ground troops, and blockade the shipping lane. You are in command now, Admiral Piett."

"Yes, my Lord," Piett said quietly. He didn't look pleased with his promotion, but he went about his duties.

"Ozzel," Ani said, his voice rolling like soft thunder that sent a most inappropriate (and inconveniently timed) wave of desire through Amidala's heart.

Ozzel crawled forward, weeping. "Yes, my Lord?"

"You will accompany General Veers to the surface, and participate in the conflict you have necessitated." He turned to Veers. "Assign him to a front line fighter."

"Yes, my Lord." Veers disappeared.

"We will regret letting him live," Ani said when they were alone. "You have too much compassion."

"You didn't need to ask me."

He didn't answer that. "He is a liability. He will cost lives."

"He sought clemency. Had I refused..."

"I recognize the political necessity, Amidala. But we will come to regret it."

---

"Your Highness, they've assembled."

Leia turned and nodded, and the young captain returned to the hangar to await the scheduled briefing. A briefing where she would lay out the plans to send a good number of them to their deaths.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she decided to stay in her small, cold office for a few more minutes to collect her thoughts. She was their leader – she had to focus on other things. Such as the fact that this plan was their best, and perhaps only, chance to get the majority of these people off the planet.

But the small comforts she used to find had grown increasingly elusive. Before, there was a necessity and inevitableness about what she was doing, about this fight against the Empire. Now? Now she wondered if these people she was sending to die were quite so willing to give their lives to this cause. Or if the cause itself was still quite so noble. What if she were battling her personal demons at the cost of so many people's –

A loud crash from the hangar snapped her out of her reverie. She knew, without asking, that it had to be Han or Chewie, trying to get the Falcon off the ground before the attack commenced. Leia was rather angry that Han hadn't bothered to say goodbye to her…but it didn't matter. What could she have said to him anyway? "Good luck"? "I'll miss you"?

They're my parents! They're my parents, and I hate them and I don't know what to do about it!

Leia shook her head against the thought, against the curious and recurring impulse to just flat-out run to Han and bare her soul to him. Ludicrous. He would never understand. And she had never been one to do that anyway.

She strode out of her office, careful not to turn in Han's direction as she headed towards the circle of her troops and officers. They were talking in low, suspicious tones to one another; only a few stopped when they noticed her approach.

Leia took her position in the center, stood straight, clasped her hands tightly behind her back, and launched into her orders. "All troops except for the attack squadron and the ground personnel will assemble at the north entrance. The transports are authorized to leave as soon as they've been fully boarded. We will send nearly every available fighter out with the transports, to give you cover during the evacuation. The remaining fighters will attempt to protect our shield generator on the surface, and provide another target for the Empire to center on."

The rumbling began again, louder and more insistent. They knew that the few who had volunteered for surface duty were headed for a suicide mission. And the rest of them might not fare much better. Finally, one of them decided to speak up. "They can't protect the generator. And what are our fighters supposed to do against a Star Destroyer?"

Leia paced in his direction, ignoring the murmurs of assent that followed the question. "Our ion cannon will provide cover. We only need to buy you some time. After clearing the Imperial Fleet, you will immediately head to the rendezvous coordinates."

"There just aren't enough of us to do this," grumbled someone in the back that she couldn't see. "There won't be half of us that get out of here alive."

"And even when we do," said another man, "you know it won't be long before they wind up at the rendezvous – how hard will it be for one of them to follow one of us?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "We won't survive this. And this madness may only be the beginning."

Leia felt their eyes on her. Accusing. Skeptical. Frightened. She understood – all those emotions were mirrored in her as she stood there before them.

"I won't lie to you. We're outnumbered and outgunned. This will be a difficult battle. But don't tell me that this effort isn't worth it. I'm not about to sit here and wait to be captured by the Empire. I'm not about to give up just because they think they have us caught.

"We've fought too hard and too long to just give up, to surrender now. We can escape. We can survive this. But I need you." She turned to all of them. "We need each other." She drew up her shoulders and tightened her hands behind her. "If any of you would rather wait here for certain death, you are welcome to."

There was silence.

"Then are you ready to fight for our survival?" she urged loudly.

A roar came up from the group – not as forceful as she would have liked, but a positive sign nonetheless. She dismissed them, and watched them try to prepare their ship and themselves for what was to come.

---

They were staring at him. Laughing at him. Maybe not overtly, but he wasn't blind. And he knew what he would have thought if he were one of these ground troops, and saw an Admiral forced to perform such menial and dangerous duties. Being on the front lines of a Rebel assault was not a responsibility that someone of his station should ever have to endure.

But it was either endure their amusement, or return to a certain death at Vader's hand. And he had never heard of someone successfully appealing to Lady Vader's sympathy twice – usually because Vader made sure they didn't get the chance.

Was this humiliation worse than death? Ozzel, away from the immediate danger of having to make that exact determination, couldn't be sure.

He had dedicated his adult life to the Empire. Part of his adolescence too. The Academy had been the most difficult experience of his life – but he had been proud the day he graduated. It had taken so long for him to climb through the ranks to the position he was in now. He didn't have the benefit of high connections, and knew that he didn't possess a great deal of natural ability. But he had made it anyway.

Or so he thought. How would his reputation ever recover from this embarrassment? Would Lord Vader even allow him the chance to do so?

Ozzel sighed angrily as the transport disembarked from the Star Destroyer, bringing the forces down to the surface of Hoth. Studiously avoiding the faces of the other men, his eyes fell upon the Imperial insignia. The symbol of everything he believed in and fought for.

Were the Vaders now the embodiment of that symbol? How could that be? How could the glory of this wondrous, galactic Empire now be subject to the whims of a woman – a woman! – and her subservient husband?

It sickened him, and it had before…the incident. Ozzel wondered at times what the Emperor could possibly think of what they were doing. It was an idle thought, but sometimes it consumed him. Surely, if the Emperor realized what was happening, he would not stand for it.

If only the Emperor knew…

He wasn't the only one who felt that way. Before coming aboard the Executor, he had been able to speak a little more freely about his opinion on the Vaders. Not much more, but enough to know that not everyone had fallen under her spell, or given in completely to their fear of the husband. That not everyone appreciated the gentler face she had put on the Empire, or the popularity and loyalty she wielded.

For him, for those who thought like him, the Emperor – the secret and shadowy leader that he was – had grown immeasurably, into almost a mythic figure. Maybe because he was the only conceivable way to get around, or go above, the Vaders. The only real way to take the Empire back out of their clawing hands, and return true order and respect to the galaxy.

This latest…event was simply the last straw for him. To be forced, on the bridge, in front of everyone, to beg for pity from an indifferent woman, while her husband insulted him and choked him and…

He let the anger roll through him, and felt his cheeks burn. In the end, there was nothing to be done about it. He would just have to live through this torment, and hope that a better day was coming, for him – and the Empire.

---

Luke tucked his helmet under his arm, more or less ignoring the piteous glances and sympathetic smiles he got from people as he tried to make his way to his snowspeeder. Under other circumstances, Luke might have found it all amusing – even when he had left to face the Death Star, he hadn't received this kind of treatment. Maybe they had forgotten, but he knew what it really meant to go on a suicide mission. And he didn't think this was one.

Sure, they would be badly outnumbered. But whatever kind of ships the Empire sent for ground duty, chances were the Rebels would have the faster and more maneuverable crafts. A small advantage, but one that might be enough to give the others the time they needed – and make this battle more than the Imperial target practice many anticipated. Maybe.

Luke finally reached his speeder and jumped quickly up the ladder. As he was about to swing into his pilot's chair, he froze.

On the co-pilot's chair were Dak's helmet and neatly folded jumpsuit.

Luke's shoulders slumped as he threw his own helmet down with an angry grunt. Another desertion. Another one gone.

That there was a recognizable custom for such an event was disheartening. But Dak wasn't the first person to leave his Rebellion gear neatly and conspicuously tucked somewhere that they were supposed to be themselves. Uniforms, weapons, rations – they would be found stacked on beds, in chairs at briefings, on tables in what served as the mess hall. Someone would report the new deserter to Leia, she would order that a search be conducted, nothing would be found, and eventually everyone tried to get back to their routines. It was almost a non-event.

Almost. Every person that left took a little more fight out of their spirits. Made their work that much harder. Made it that much easier for another person to think about leaving.

At least there was no evidence yet of any deserter actually turning traitor on them. The Rebellion's secrets had essentially remained safe. Luke couldn't imagine what a grievous blow that would be, if someone were to give them up to the Empire…

Luke sunk into his seat, and looked idly to the other pilots that were preparing to leave. How convenient it would have been if Leia had somehow confused the flight plan and there was an extra person hanging around to come join him. No such luck.

He initialized the engines, put his helmet on, and closed his hands around the controls. For a moment, he tried to call on the Force to center his thoughts and prepare him to go into battle alone. He saw that he was being waved out of the hangar.

It was time to face the Empire.

---

Dak rode into the sharp crystal sky, clutching his tauntaun's neck and letting her go wherever she would. He had taken his snowgear and his goggles, and they sat heavily on him. He'd once read a story about a man whose penance was to carry a sun from world to world, its burning weight bowing him over for all eternity. He understood what that would feel like now.

The tauntaun paused, sniffed, veered. Dak let it.

Often, in the past, he had looked upon the deserters with contempt. Didn't they have any commitment? He felt no guilt about enjoying Lady Vader's antics because they meant nothing to him. He was a Rebel, a member of the Alliance. The fact that there was one Imperial he liked – at least marginally – didn't change that. Those others...obviously, they'd never really meant it, or were cowards or traitors.

The notion of a sudden, drowning despair had never occurred to him. He had never felt it; hence, it did not exist. But this morning, Dak had begun to feel...dizzy? No, not dizzy. But like dizzy. Like he'd been walking across a solid plain, and the ground had suddenly opened, just a crack, just a glimpse of the endless chasm underneath. The sensation was physical, like a thousand tiny feather-dusters working enthusiastically behind his forehead.

There was nothing at all gradual about it. One moment, he had been a half-nervous, half-excited young soldier about to go into battle, less listening to Princess Leia than watching her pretty mouth move in the bright snowlight, and imagining touching those shiny lips...just with his finger, to see what they felt like, if they were as he imagined them...Then the panic, the brief realization that she could die today (his own death did not occur to him immediately), and he saw her lying in the snow, her blood soaking her white uniform a deep scarlet, and the gruesome turn of the image had done it. She would be dead in the snow, dead in the scarlet gown spreading in the ice, and Dak saw Lady Vader standing above her, living in scarlet, and the bottom fell out of his world, because he couldn't tell the difference anymore.

People die here, people die there; people are kind here, people are kind there. We're all dying and killing and there's no difference and who says the Republic was any better?

The next moment, the world around him had become unreal and unlivable. Sounds were mere echoes in the ice, and he had to concentrate to understand what was being said – it was as if everyone had suddenly started speaking another language, one he knew, but hadn't spoken for many years. He wondered if the others had felt this way. They had dropped out, one after another, and had they taken away the cover that led over the abyss? Unraveled the tarp thread by thread? Pulled supports out from under the floor? The last felt right to Dak – he felt as if he'd been walking along happily, along a floor that had once been solid, only occasionally annoyed that his friends and partners kept disappearing, and had suddenly plunged through into an unimagined dungeon. Everything had left his mind except for the need to escape it.

"Doesn't matter," he whispered to his tauntaun. "Doesn't matter. One more deserter. War's over."

The tauntaun didn't answer him. She just hopped, and crested a small rise. The tundra spread out before them, a vast plain beyond the range of the Rebel base. In the far western distance, he saw the fuzzy sweep of the nightline shadow falling across the world, and he urged the animal toward it.

The worst part all of this was that it was true. It didn't matter. The war was lost. The others had already deserted, or at least enough to make a dent in the fighting forces, because even if the leaders stayed, you can't fight a war from a control room.

Go back.

He shook his head. Not possible. He'd already deserted. Luke would have found his things already, and they would know he was disloyal. They would know what had gone through his mind. He would not be trusted, or welcome. And they might be dead by now.

Then find the Empire. Kneel before Lady Vader and swear allegiance. She always arranges for amnesty.

That wasn't possible either. He thought of his friends, of the people who had died for the Rebellion. He couldn't spit on their memory like that.

He lifted his head. A fine mist had settled on the inside of his goggles. He took them off thoughtfully, ignoring the blades of icy wind that sliced at his face. They belonged to the Rebellion. He shouldn't have taken them. He tossed them aside, and rode on.

Ten miles later, he tossed aside the parka as well.

---

The walkers were lined up on the horizon, tiny gray dots from here, but nearby they would be towering, lumbering monstrosities. Heavily armed and armored, but not hard to trip up if you could get past the laser blasts – lazy, overconfident predators.

In other words, standard Imperial technology.

Luke turned up his forward shielding. The base wouldn't stand long against the AT-ATs if they got there (slow-moving trumps stationary), but there was a pretty good shot at stopping at least half of them. "Wedge?"

"I'm here."

"You have a gunner?"

"Yeah. Jenson?"

Jenson's thin voice piped up. "Here. Something wrong with Dak?"

"Dak decided to skip the party," Luke said briefly.

"Dak! No, there must be some mistake!"

"Cut the chat, Jenson," Wedge said.

"Yeah. Right. Sure." But Luke could hear that Jenson wasn't all right. He wondered if the boy's X-Wing would show up at the rendezvous point on autopilot, with a helmet and gloves in the seat.

No time to think about that now. "We have to scatter their firepower, Wedge. How many of us are there?"

"Twenty fighters, all told."

"How many with gunners?"

"Fourteen."

"Better than I thought." Luke turned his transmitter to universal, and spoke to the small group. "Pilots, fan out and put forward shields at maximum. We're going straight at them. And when we get there, we go for the legs."

There was general assent to the order. Most of them had gotten used to taking orders from Luke. Leia had gotten in the habit of giving her less pleasant orders through him, because (she claimed) he knew how to make them sound like suggestions.

"Gunners," he went on, "be ready with cables when you get there, but right now, you need to work with your transmitters. Turn up the frequency until you start to get feedback..."

"Aw, come on...That'll hurt...we need to hear..."

"If we're getting feedback, so's the Empire. They'll get it on their bands. More important, their tracking system runs on sound as well as movement. If they're not looking straight at us" (and they never are, he thought with some satisfaction) "we can confuse them by throwing a lot of sound around. It'll bounce on the ice, too. Should have them chasing shadows. Use your comlinks for communication."

"Good thinking, Luke," Wedge said.

"Let's do it."

Luke took his place at the center of the fan, and decided to turn up his own transmitter frequency. It would be distracting, but he didn't have much choice.

Hoth flowed out beneath him. The walkers took shape, then loomed above him.

Then the shooting started.

The sound-shadows were working – at least marginally; the Empire was shooting between and behind the snowspeeders as often as at them – but the firepower was intense. A blast hit beside Luke, and a hot rain of melted snow blurred his vision. He spun it off.

His comlink beeped. "Skywalker."

"Jenson and I are going for the first one," Wedge said.

"Don't tell me about it. Do it."

Wedge's speeder suddenly shot across the snowfield ahead, cutting a straight line at the lead walker. Luke watched long enough to see Jenson release a cable that attached itself to the "knee" of the machine, then set about trying to figure out how he was going to take the next one without a gunner.

A blast came straight at him, and he dropped his strategic planning. Small crafts were emerging from the belly of one of the AT-ATs – they looked like land-bound TIE-fighters of some kind, small and agile, and piloted by real men, with eyes not easily duped by sound-shadows.

"Luke?" someone called into a comlink.

"I see them."

"What are they?"

"I don't know! But they're hostile. Keep low and keeping heading for the walkers. They'll have to shoot at their own stuff to get you there." One of the crafts – he decided to call them TIE speeders, for lack of a better term – spun at him, firing, and he had to bank the his snowspeeder sharply to avoid the blast. Where was the intelligence report on these things?

Probably sitting in an empty chair someplace, with someone's folded jumpsuit.

Still, it wasn't Imperial style. The Emperor had always built things bigger and bigger; it was always something you could count on.

Someone else at the top is making strategic decisions.

The thought was his own. He had no illusion of it belonging to an otherworldly visitor. But it was a true thought. He knew it in his bones as soon as it came to him. Not Lady Vader – she'd made it plain that she had little interest in what she referred to dismissively as "those matters," but maybe...

Another blast hit the wide steel fin that balanced the snowspeeder in the air, and Luke cursed himself. He didn't have time to figure out what these things implied about the structure of the Imperial hierarchy. He just needed to figure out how to get away from them.

He leaned the speeder into the turn forced by the hit, and swung in a one-hundred-eighty degree turn to face his attackers. There were three of them. He could see white stormtrooper armor through the cockpit windows on two of them. The third seemed to be piloted by an officer.

A blast came from the one at Luke's far left, and kicked up a plume of snow and ice. The one at the center would have had a direct hit, except for the heavy shielding at front. Luke watched the laser dissipate against the energy field, knowing that it could have been his death. He fired back, more out of revulsion than any thought of hitting anything, and scored a hit on the fin of the TIE speeder that had shot him. It wasn't as well-shielded as a Rebel craft, and an engine belched out black smoke.

Down to two.

But one was circling behind him, leaving him trapped.

He dove the speeder down toward the snow plain, hoping that they would fire at him and hit another target in the process. One fired (the officer, Luke thought), but nothing at all was hit. He tried to slip under the craft in front of him, but the fire was now steady, and they had him between them like a bead on a string.

A blast came at him, and he pushed the speeder up. To his horror, he was directly under the "head" of one of the walkers, and looking straight into its gun sight. If the Imperial gunner had been glancing out around the gun, Luke would have been dead. But apparently he was using readouts, and this close, the sensors didn't pick Luke up. He dove down again. This couldn't go on forever.

"I'm on it, Luke!" Wedge called through the comlink, and a moment later, the Rebel speeder blasted through, and one of the TIE speeders fell into the snow, trailing fire.

"Thanks, Wedge. Go for the walker. There are more inside. I can handle the last one."

"On it."

Luke turned to face the other TIE speeder, which was retreating rapidly. He chased it almost to the battle line, then it veered toward the slight rise that led to the ice cliffs. Luke aimed, steadied his gun...

Then felt a surge of dizzy unreality wash over him. He looked up to the sky, something there pulling at his mind like a leash. The battle disappeared suddenly, and the only thing he could think of was Aunt Beru. She was making dinner, and he was late, and she would be very worried. He had to go home.

He clenched his teeth. Stop it. Home is gone. Dead is where you're going to be if –

The speeder rocked as another blast hit it, striking the control fin again. This time, Luke was going faster, and the machine bucked out of his control. He had never in his life lost control of a vehicle he was flying, and he didn't realize what was happening until it was too late to gain it back.

He did the best he could, easing the fighter down into the snow. He popped the cockpit and got out, grabbing a bag of gear before it could turn into a target.

The main battle line was coming toward him – how far across the horizon did these walkers stretch? – but it would be a good five minutes before it reached him. The TIE speeder turned toward him aggressively, and he had time to see that it was the one piloted by the officer before it started firing at him.

Not knowing what else to do, he drew his lightsaber and ignited it, hoping that it had the energy to deflect this much power. The first blast hit, almost numbing his wrists with the force of it, then the second. He saw his lightsaber moving, but it had become a part of him, and he had become a part of the Force (he hoped), and it didn't feel like he was doing anything consciously at all.

The fourth blast bounced back at the TIE speeder, knocking it off course. Luke sliced at its engines as it went by, and he had time to register it going down toward the ice cliffs before the shadow of the AT-AT walker fell over him. There was a great crash of steel on steel as it stepped on his disabled snowspeeder and crushed it into scrap metal.

Luke looked over his shoulder. They were too close to the base. They wouldn't be able to stop half the walkers. Only two lay smoking on the tundra. The other Rebel snowspeeders were engaged with their Imperial counterparts. From the distance, Luke could see only a handful of Rebel crafts even trying to attack the walkers. He couldn't tell who they were.

He knew it wouldn't make a difference in the end. How could it? But he had to do something, had to stop at least some of the troops from making it to the base. He rummaged in the gear he'd salvaged, and found the tow-line. There was also a standard grenade. He'd expected the latter; it was standard gear. The former was more than he could have hoped for. He took it, and aimed it at the walker's belly. The line leapt into the bright morning light.

A strange vision entered his mind, a vision of a high stone wall, and people in long coats, and a line fired into a ledge and he is/she is a little frightened of how high it really is here on the wall above the cliff but he/she can't let any of the others know because after all it is his/her Palace...

The hook lodged in the metal of the walker, and Luke towed himself up. What was happening in his mind? What was making these visions come? First Ben, then...then everything. He wanted to get to Dagobah now, had to get there, because someone there would have answers.

He reached the end of the tow-line, and drew his lightsaber. There wouldn't be shielding here, at least not against this kind of assault. The metal sliced easily. He tossed the grenade in, hoping that he was somewhere near a navigational system rather than causing an ineffectual explosion in an empty storeroom. There was no help for it.

He released the cable, and let himself fall.

And fall.

And fall.

He didn't know how high the walkers were, and he was only vaguely aware of hitting the snow. He fell down, dazed.

The battle moved beyond him. The walker he'd sabotaged only made it fifty more yards.

---

Ozzel sat in the cockpit of the ridiculous leisure craft he'd been sent out in, cursing himself, General Veers, and both Vaders.

He was at the bottom of some sort of ice trench, and he certainly couldn't climb out of it. He would need to call for rescue. As if he hadn't swallowed enough humiliation for one week at their hands.

It would have been better to just die. He should never have begged for his life. Better to die proud than live in this wretched state.

He took out his blaster, thinking that it might be better than the comlink. To be beaten, not only by a Rebel, but by some mere boy waving a...

He lowered the blaster.

A lightsaber.

A Jedi weapon. Or Lord Vader's.

The boy in the snowfield must have gotten that thing and learned to use it somewhere.

The Jedi were supposed to be extinct. What few had remained after the Clone Wars had been rooted out of the holes they had hidden in and killed. They had been seditious from the start, a lying, sneaking fifth column that held too much power for the galaxy's good. And who had been charged with eliminating them?

Why, the Emperor's right hand man, of course. Lord Vader.

It all came back to Vader.

Ozzel could think of two scenarios that would get a Rebel boy a lightsaber.

The first was that a Jedi had lived and trained a successor. It made sense. A Jedi had given him the weapon, taught him to use it. Perhaps the Jedi were secretly gathering again, preparing for a strike against the Empire. Perhaps there were more Rebels with these weapons.

The second possibility was infinitely more disturbing. The Jedi, after all, had been mostly eliminated once, and a good strike would wipe out any chance they had of returning. But there was also the possibility that the boy had gotten the lightsaber from the one person left in the galaxy who still carried one himself. From Lord Vader.

Either way, it came back to Vader. Either he had betrayed the Empire before by allowing the Jedi to live and thrive...or he was plotting betrayal now.

Ozzel put his blaster back in its holster, and tapped the homing beacon. He would be fully in order when they came to get him. He would ask to be taken to the medical frigate on a Star Destroyer other than the Executor, and from there, he would contact the Emperor.

For the first time since his humiliation on the bridge, Ozzel was certain that he had a reason to be alive.

---

The chair Amidala was sitting in faced a view that brought forth a brief wave of emotion in her heart as she beheld it, bringing back memories of a point in her life to which time's passage had wrought a bittersweet mold.

The massive transparisteel viewport in the sleeping quarters of the Lady Vader offered one of the greatest interstellar vistas on the Executor, spanning a good part of the starboard bulkhead of her spacious sleeping room. It was one of the luxuries the Lord had bestowed on his wife, knowing she had years ago begun to share her husband's love for the starry heavens, and that it was the closest thing she had to beholding a sight of natural beauty. She had grown up on a world full of lush life and color; now she and this room were the sole spot of color remaining from that world, transplanted into a harsh, gray environment, left to thrive almost on their own. The view she beheld now reminded her of a long-ago memory of that world; stark, gray lumbering ships poised against the back drop of the otherwise peaceful vista of a planet. Hoth looked almost nothing like her Naboo, but her mind couldn't help but make the connection nonetheless.

Occasionally the tiny grayish form of a Rebel troop transport would shoot up from the planet, fleeing frantically past the blockade of Destroyers amid a flurry of green fire, much like a silvery Royal transport decades in the past had done.

Even now troops were clashing down there, their blood marring the once virgin white snow. She felt a degree of guilt at not feeling more remorse over those lost lives...she regretted every one of them – for all were fighting for a cause they believed in – but they didn't have near the impact they would have had years ago. She prayed the blood of her own flesh and blood was not being spilled, and that was all she prayed for. That they would all live so she could touch them once more. Prisoners would be taken once the base was secured, and her husband would be going down there to oversee the process.

He had promised her he'd bring the twins back to her were he to find them. But Amidala more and more found her desire to go down to the frosty surface of the planet intensifying, the desire to see them. She found herself wondering just how effective Anakin would be, how much force he might potentially need to use in getting them to return (especially Leia) without her there...

Anakin would no doubt protest her intention to accompany him to the planet. She knew of only one way to tell Anakin she was going with him.

Amidala leaned forward in her chair and lightly pressed her fingers against the cold viewport once more, as if to reach out and touch the cold, bleak sphere of the Rebel planet, hanging only a few thousand kilometers away. As if by doing this she could touch it, touch the people on it...

It would be the closest she had been to her children in nearly two decades. And she planned to get even closer, if she could help it.

The chair she was sitting in, a small plush reddish thing, was one of the few pieces of comfortable-looking furniture that existed in the spartanly furnished military quarters; most of them for the comfort of Amidala herself, as Ani's suit precluded any real need for physical comfort. He had allowed her a certain degree of latitude in furnishing this room: it was her own to do with as she chose. He'd even conceded to a bit of retouching of the main room of the quarters itself, to make it feel more like a place that was their home instead of a place he simply stopped by when he was off duty. Right now he was probably on the bridge, in the center of action, as he always liked to be. She had wanted to be up there as well, should any new information on the children arrive, but Anakin had pointed out that a sudden appearance by her on the bridge now would only spark suspicion among those smart enough among the crew; certainly not something that was needed when so many eyes already were on them. It all came down to the heavy stakes that were their children's lives...

Amidala was certain the notion of her wanting to go to the surface would have occurred to Anakin – after all it was their children they were going after – but she knew he'd not bring it up on his own. He'd avoid a confrontation on this matter with her if he could help it. She knew he feared for her safety in a potentially hostile environment, and would refuse it if she brought it up. She dearly appreciated his concern – there was no question they still loved each other, though it was comforting to be reminded – but her conscience wouldn't let her stay away willingly, knowing her babes were down there, so close to her...

She did have her own methods of persuading him. She just wasn't eager to use them against him, to circumvent his decisions. She had done it to an extent before, such as with the Trika 4 incident, and she remembered the rift that had existed between them (however briefly) afterwards, and had no desire to have something like that come between them now. Too much else already lay in that gap. But then, there hadn't been nearly as big a personal stake there as there remained here now.

She was going, there was no question of that.

Amidala had heard little about the battle. From her quarters she'd that seen a couple of transports had already made it through the blockade – at the cost of a crippled Star Destroyer – but that in itself provided very little information as to the situation on the surface. She was certain the twins yet remained on the planet, however. After all, Leia was a central leader of the Alliance, and Luke was one of their best fighters...neither of them would run from the battle before they knew their use had ended, which would not be so until the still-ensuing battle had been ended.

Amidala felt a cold lump collect in her gut at the thought of her son. Luke was a good pilot, she knew (she'd been with Anakin when he'd first read the Intelligence reports of the identity of the pilot that had destroyed the Death Star); he would most certainly have been one of the ones the Rebellion would send out to meet their forces, but it also meant he probably had a better chance of survival than any Rebel flying out there. So surely he was fine...and certainly Anakin would tell her if he sensed anything had happened to Luke...

She closed her eyes against the thoughts, against the image of the white planet. Down there, on that world, a battle was being waged, one that could mean the inevitable rebuilding of their family, or its permanent dissolution...

As always in the blackness, her mind began seeking refuge in a familiar, terrible haven. Memories...

(a finger, firm yet gentle, fingering a damp section of hair away from her cheek so he could look at her...a voice, deep and sensual when spoken in low heated tones, tickling pleasantly at the very ends of her nerves...)

"My Lady."

She sighed and opened her eyes and looked up at her reflection in the viewport just as the armor-clad figure of her husband materialized in it as well, striding through the entryway to her room, dissipating once more her bittersweet recollections.

For a moment she locked eyes with it, as always penetrating through the dark lenses to find the blue that was so long and so often hidden beneath them; the deep, soul-drowning blue that years of concealing behind lenses had not diminished in the slightest. As always when he and his intense presence were near she felt that terrible desire to be with him...

But she shunted it away, even now ashamed of her weakness. (What would Leia think, were she to know of this?) That hadn't happened in decades, a brief glance at the suddenly annoying bed blatantly reminded her, and not even Gungan shield technology could ever allow it to truly happen again.

She smiled weakly and walked towards him, stopping directly in front of him and turning to face the viewport again. Amidala took the monstrous gauntlet of his right hand and placed it on her shoulder; he made no move to remove it, but let it rest there with a tenderness anyone but she might have been surprised at. It had taken her time to become accustomed to his touch; knowing it was him, but still the hand of a machine touching her...but despite the lack of flesh somehow he still managed to come through, the gentleness that had been unmistakably that of the man who had permanently branded himself on her...she reached up and laid her hand on his. He placed his other hand on her left shoulder. It was the hand that still contained a last few mangled remnants of flesh, and Amidala almost fancied she could feel echoes of a long-extinguished warmth in its contact, even through the leather glove.

"What is the situation down there?" she began, her eyes still fixed on the reflection. An odd sight the two of them made; the fearsome, mechanical leviathan and the diminutive, red-clad nymph, the background of the starry void passing through them. (A novice might have made the comparison of them being as unalike as night and day...but it was more like midnight and sunrise, she thought: one coming in subtly behind the other, warming its chill with the barest touches of warmth and light...)

"The Rebel force has mounted a credible resistance to our forces, but the destruction of their shield is imminent," he continued, as Amidala lightly moved her left thumb in circles around the fabric of the back of the glove, caressing it. "I will depart for the surface the moment it is confirmed."

Amidala said nothing, only waited in silence a moment. He mirrored her silence (except for the involuntary breathing of his respirator) and by the sudden thickness in it she knew well why; he knew what she was waiting for him to do. For a little while she just stood there focusing her thoughts on the forever unaltering metronome of his breathing, allowing it to serve as a guide for them to flow along in an equally calm manner, enough so that she could say what she knew she was going to say.

"I'm going with you," she said, dispatching any preamble.

She could almost sense the intensifying in his foreboding nature; he removed his hands from her shoulders and she turned to face him, looking upward into his face mask.

"The Rebels will likely be hostile and not take kindly to our arrival, love," he told her, the reluctance faintly evident in his tone. "I will not allow those under me to unnecessarily endanger themselves in such an environment."

"But I'm not one of your troops, Lord," she replied, her veils swaying slightly as she shook her head. "I am your wife."

"And as such it is still my responsibility to ensure your well-being."

"And as my husband, is it not the same for me?" she shot back quickly.

"It is in my duty to willingly risk my life for the Empire. And you would be in a far more vulnerable position than I would be. Any endangering of your life is a risk I am unwilling to take, my love."

"I'm afraid it isn't your risk to take. I'm not so fragile, love. It is not as if I am unskilled and defenseless, you will remember." Even when he had first known her she had been anything but. Gentle and kind almost to a fault, yes, but not fragile and defenseless.

"I do not consider this cause worthy enough to risk losing you," he told her, looking away from her out the viewport.

Even for our children?

She took his hand again and held it to her face. "Come now. I'd be with you the whole time. Surrounded by you and however many garrisons you think you might need. It would be foolish to take such an inflammatory strike towards the second in command of the Empire with him and his well-known powers so close by."

She had a point. Who better to guard the Lady Vader than the great cunning warrior, her husband himself, with his widely-feared powers and fiercely intense loyalty to his wife? The moment anyone even thought of taking a strike at her, he would act.

"You may well need me if you ever want to persuade them," she pointed out. "I may be able to coax them to our side willingly, and I would think it would be in the Empire's best public interests at this point to attempt to do so with minimal bloodshed." Them could only mean one thing to either of the couple.

"Assuming you will have any influence left at all," Anakin reminded her coolly. "You may have been the woman she remembers, but that is not who she will see when you stand before her."

An imaginary vibroblade sent a cold stab through Amidala's chest. She and Anakin had discussed the notion that Leia would be none too happy to be reunited, particularly once she discovered her ties to Anakin; even worse, her mother's own willing consorting with that very figure and the symbol he embodied which was completely polar to what she embodied. Luke might be willing, even eager, to see her, as he had no memory of his mother that Leia had, but Leia...

I will still be a traitor in her eyes.

Possibly the greatest pain a mother could endure was that of being spurned by the being she'd borne from her own flesh, by her own tears and sweat. And yet Amidala found she was willing to endure it, if it meant even only a brief contact with her babies again. Even if they weren't babies anymore.

"You wouldn't deny me the right to at least see them, would you? After all that's happened?"

One of his hands clenched just noticeably, and she was almost sorry she'd said it. She knew he hadn't forgotten all the trouble and loss he'd inflicted on her in her life, and having it thrown right back at him could be none too comfortable. She didn't like using his guilt against him this way, but for him it was a relatively small price in the scheme of things. So much in her life had been lost because of choices he had made, and were he to fail in bringing them back now – he would cost her even more.

"You once told me you would not presume to deny me anything unreasonable so long as I was happy in the end," she went on. Those words he had spoken to her before his transformation, and so much was different now from then...but the love that was the foundation of that promise still remained. So many promises he had broken to her, and he would have no desire to break yet another..."I do not consider this to be an utterly unreasonable request, my Lord." She pinned her eyes on his, trying not to let her sympathy for the pain in the blue hidden underneath quell her resolve.

The fire in her eyes and words brooked no room for discussion. Anakin knew when he had lost a battle, but was always reluctant to admit it. He'd never been able to argue with her on any point for long. He continued to stare in silence out the viewport and she knew she'd won, even before he spoke again.

"Very well. You will accompany me. But," he said, turning back to her, raising a finger, "you do not leave my side. Not for anything."

She smiled, wrapping herself in the folds of her scarlet robes. "I wouldn't have it be any other way, my love."

Just then, the communicator on his wrist beeped.

---

They were down to three.

One technician, a young woman Leia didn't know, sat listening to Imperial communications. General Riekkan was scrambling back and forth among the monitors, shouting ineffectual orders at pilots who had no choice but to fly reactively as they shot into orbit, diving away from Imperial fire.

At least they hadn't lost any transports.

Yet.

"We have to send them out two at a time," Leia said.

Riekkan shook his head. "No."

"We have no choice. There are still five transports in the hangar. We'll never get everyone off if..."

Riekkan took her shoulders. "Your Highness, we only need one more."

This didn't sink in right away, and when it did, it should have brought relief, but instead, it made Leia want to scream. Each transport held fifty people. That meant that there were at least two hundred fewer people here than there had been when they'd arrived. Instead of screaming, she pressed her lips together, then pushed out a breath in a sharp, plosive sound that seemed very, very loud. "Fine. Just fine."

She could feel the rage beneath her breastbone, a physical thing, a sharp-cornered cage with a small, carnivorous creature beating at the bars. It set her nerves on edge, sending waves of blinding energy through her body, energy that she didn't know what to do with.

Except for her hands. Her hands knew. Hitting and firing a blaster weren't enough for them. They wanted to crush, to tear, to gouge. She felt it as an unbearable itch in her palms.

(the more you tighten your grip, the more systems will slip through your fingers)

Her words echoed back to her and mocked her. She had fought herself until she was weary to the bone to keep from tightening her grip, to beat her demons and not become the enemy she fought...the enemy in her blood. But they were slipping through her fingers anyway. Each day she would come, and a face she expected wouldn't be there, and the creature in the cage would lean through with its sharp little teeth and gnaw at her heart until she thought she might go mad. Didn't it matter to anyone else? Didn't it matter at all?

It matters. Hold on, because it matters immensely.

The voice was an external thing, a soft, lilting man's voice with a cultured Coruscant accent. She had only heard it on old newsvids, but she thought she recognized it. For some reason, she had begun to speak to herself in General Kenobi's voice.

Perfect. Just perfect. Like it wasn't crazy enough before.

The floor rocked, and a fine veil of snow slipped down from the ceiling.

The Empire was approaching.

---

Han wasn't sure if he was annoyed at Chewie for making mistakes, or if Chewie was making mistakes because Han had been short-tempered with him ever since the Falcon had started being uncooperative.

Probably the latter. Almost definitely.

So, I won't yell at Chewie anymore.

Something sparked, and Han pushed away from the lifter he was working on. "Hey, no! That one goes over there!"

Chewie growled, low in his throat. It wasn't anything that could be translated into Standard, but the message was clear: Get out of my hair.

Han threw his hands in the air in frustration, and stalked off.

Something hit the base, hard enough to shake snow off the ceiling, and Han immediately forgot about the Falcon, about Chewie, and about who was to blame for what. He was across the hangar in three strides, and headed for the command center.

He knew perfectly well that Leia wouldn't have left yet, and if no one took the trouble to actually put her on a transport – and strap her in if necessary – she'd wait here for Vader to show up, just for the chance to take a pot shot at him.

By the time he got to the command center, it was a wreck. Snow spills had left drifts across smoking and sparking computers, and monitors lay in shards across the floor. Only Riekkan and Leia were left at their posts.

Well, Riekkan, Leia, and Threepio, who never seemed to leave Leia's side when he could help it. Taking Leia would mean taking Threepio, because – despite her frequent annoyance – Leia would jump in front of a blaster to save the irritating droid. Go figure.

Another blast shook the room, and a snowslide dusted Leia's shoulders. She jumped to one side in surprise, and slid on the cluttered floor. Han caught her. "You all right?"

"Why are you still here?"

Good damned question, Han thought, but tried not to snap it at her. "Looked like the command center got hit."

She blinked rapidly, and waved him off with a brief chop of her hand. "You got your clearance. You should have already left. With everyone else."

To hell with you, then. I'll turn around, leave, and never look back. "I'll go as soon as I get you to that transport."

Threepio clattered across to them. "Your Highness, we must leave. It's the last transport."

She turned irritably to Riekkan. "General..."

"I have my own X-Wing to get off-planet, Your Highness. You need to go."

Her brows drew in on each other, and Han could see how tightly her fists were clenched, even under the thick gloves. Her hand hovered at her side for a moment, then she grabbed her blaster decisively and drew it.

"Leia, what do you think you're –"

She turned the blaster on the main computer, and melted the circuits across the panel, then turned to the backup.

Riekkan was standing in front of it. He looked at her once, and didn't bother to argue before stepping away.

Leia blasted the backup computer. The command center was now a total loss. She looked around the room disdainfully. "But they won't get our records," she said. "Not a chance."

A tremendous shock hit the building, and part of the ceiling caved in. A warning alarm went off at the East entrance, and was suddenly and completely broken off.

"We're going," Han said, and took her elbow. He was maybe the only one who would dare grab her when she was in a mood like this; even Luke would have kept his distance. "Now."

He led her toward the door. She looked back over her shoulder. "Send out the evacuation code signal to whoever is left. And get out of here, General!"

"Come on!"

"Wait for me!" Threepio wailed behind them. "Please!"

Han didn't wait, but didn't need to. He could hear Threepio clacking and complaining only a few yards behind him as he made his way to the south hangar, from which the transports were taking off. Leia shook herself free of his hold on her elbow, but that was all right. She was running with him now.

Another blast hit, rocking the ice corridor. They were inside the base now, and every hit sent shivers of heat and pressure through the structure. A huge chunk of the ceiling shook loose; Han skidded to a stop and pulled Leia back before it could fall on him. He only had time to reach over her and shield her before the avalanche of snow and smaller shards fell after it. He could feel the debris pelting his jacket, and he had a fleeting moment to curse himself for an idiot. He could have been out of here yesterday. Or the day before. Or months ago. He could have gotten out before they blew the Death Star.

There's a reason you never wanted to be a hero and this is it, old buddy. Getting buried in ice until the Empire finds you ain't going to be a pleasant way to go.

Then the ice stopped falling, and there was only a dusting on his back. The main part of the cave-in was a meter ahead of them. Broken ice blocked the corridor from floor to the place where the ceiling had once been. No way he was going to get her over that and get back to the Falcon before the Empire showed up.

He raised the comlink on his wrist. "This is Solo," he said, turning around and heading toward the north hangar. "Take off. We're blocked. I'll get her out on the Falcon."

Leia started to say something, for once thought better of it, and followed him. They nearly ran down Threepio, who was making his way laboriously across the debris. Han heard him wail, "Where are you going?" but didn't answer. Threepio had enough logic circuits somewhere in his processors to figure it out.

As they ran, they could hear the Imperial troops coming in. Sounds carried around the place in a strange and confusing way. The clack-click of stormtroopers' feet seemed to be following them along the ceilings, and the blaster fire in the north hangar sounded like it was coming from the walls around them.

Then the other sound.

He couldn't tell where it was any more than he could tell where the others were. It was faint. It came through twice, disappeared, came through again. Hiss-shush. Hiss-shush.

Vader.

Damn.

Not that Han was more bothered by Vader than by a legion of stormtroopers – he'd heard that Vader had some not-exactly-standard abilities, but he figured that was probably just Imperial propaganda. It was Leia. She'd –

She was headed back toward the icefall, blaster raised. "Get back here!" he yelled, hoping that the echoes would confuse the Empire, too. "Leia!"

...ei...a...ei...a...

The echo bounced through the corridor and Leia turned on him in fury. "Nice going."

"We're getting to the ship."

"Yes, Your Highness..." Threepio started.

"I've got a shot at Vader."

"Your Highness, this is madness!"

Han didn't much like taking Threepio's side, but dammit, this was crazy. "You've got a wall of ice and a bunch of stormtroopers on the other side of it."

She stood between Han and the icefall, and he could almost see strings tugging her in different ways. Finally, she put her blaster back in her belt. "Fine." She ran back toward him, and they got to the hangar door at last. Han keyed it open and shooed Threepio through. Chewie roared a reprimand for making him wait.

"Get her started!" Han yelled, then looked behind him. "Your Worship!"

Leia was standing in the door again, eyes boring down the corridor.

"You can't do it, Leia."

She shook her head and shot her blaster aimlessly at the wall. It caved.

"Good. Fine. Get on the ship."

She nodded impatiently, and pushed past him. He watched her running up the gangplank, a tiny figure in white with a crown of dark braids, and wondered why the hell he cared.

---

Leia resisted the urge to scream over her shoulder, Tell her she's nothing to me!

She didn't want to explain it to Han, and she didn't want to take the chance that they were right nearby. She didn't want Han and Chewie paying for her little family drama.

Besides, risking death to yell something nasty to her mother wasn't a very good way of proving how inconsequential she was. Her mind was beginning to cool with the flight. It didn't leave time for aimless anger.

She passed Threepio in the corridor of the Falcon, where he was staring at a flashing light and whistling something.

Chewie was in the cockpit, and Leia didn't need to understand Wookiee to know that the Falcon wasn't in any shape to outrun the Empire. Han brushed past her without a look

(Hey, I'm HERE!)

and took his place at the control panel. She followed and looked over his shoulder, though the ship's systems were such a mixed bag that she almost never knew what she was looking at.

Han started flipping switches. "How's this?" he yelled to Chewie.

Chewie shook his head and barked at length.

Another bank of switches. "This?"

Same reply.

Suddenly, it was too much. All this, and they'd be trapped in this tin can of a ship, waiting for the Empire to pick them off one at a time. Oh, except me. No, they won't kill me. They'll bring me to my adoring parents. But she was too busy to feel rage or fear. It was just annoyance. "Would it help if I got out and pushed?"

Han, unbelievably, flashed her a grin. "It might."

"Captain Solo?" Threepio's voice was less tentative than usual. "Sir, might I suggest that..."

Han punched the control panel (it lit up, miraculously), and gave Threepio a withering look. Chewie ran off toward another part of the ship.

"It can wait," Threepio said.

Leia glanced at the droid, wondering what had prompted him to interrupt Han in this sort of mood. It wasn't normal. She wished she could say that Threepio would never interrupt if it wasn't something of vital importance, but...

Han turned and went into the cockpit. Leia followed. Threepio clicked along behind, fretting to himself in a language Leia didn't know, though she did catch the occasional, "Oh dear, oh dear."

Leia dismissed him from her mind. "This bucket of bolts is never going to get us past that blockade."

"This baby's got a few surprises left in her, sweetheart." Han dropped himself into the pilot's seat.

Leia started to argue, but the ship rocked suddenly, and snow slumped across the viewport. Leia's eyes went to the closed hangar door. It was glowing...and then it wasn't there any more. Stormtroopers began to flow in.

A blast came from one of the Falcon's turret guns, scattering the squad and burning the large cannon they'd been hurrying to assemble. Chewie appeared in the cockpit and took the co-pilot's seat.

"Come on!" Han yelled. "Switch over, and let's hope we don't have a burnout."

A laser blast hit the shielding and exploded before Leia's eyes. She looked down at Han's hands, working the switches on the panel, and prayed, Don't let him lose this bet.

The engines hummed, fired, came to life. The Falcon lifted. Han flashed a grin at her. "See?"

"Someday you're going to be wrong – " Leia started, planning to finish with a sarcastic comment that she didn't really mean, but then the back wall of the hangar fell in, and a phalanx of stormtroopers pushed inside, something large and black following them. As the ice walls sped away, Leia saw something that dried up all her words, might dry them up for a long time.

Maybe she was wrong.

She had to be. After all,

(you worry about me far too much my love)

he wouldn't allow it.

But she could have sworn, in the last moment before the Falcon left the world of white to soar into the black skies above, that she saw a flash of the deep scarlet that marked the line between them.

---

"Wait here," was the command. "Once the base is secure, I will notify you." The stormtroopers that flanked her gave nods of assent. His head turned to her ever so slightly, but Amidala didn't acknowledge it in any way. He would never bring their argument out in the open, so his hands were tied. Once he walked off the ship, she was going to follow him. She knew that the group assigned to protect her wouldn't dare try to stop her. So they would all head into the base together, whether he liked it or not.

The door rose, blowing in a blast of frigid air and ice. Amidala winced against it, her thin red veils providing little defense. Her husband had almost laughed when she refused to change into something warmer. But these gauzy dresses and coverings were all her children really knew of her, and this was how she meant to face them. Whether or not the familiarity would be a help or a harm was a question she had refused to consider too closely.

Anakin strode purposefully down the ramp, and marched through a door that several troopers had just blasted through. After a calculated pause, she followed.

She could almost feel her guards' surprise, mixed with a touch of horror…Vader would probably be angry with them for ignoring his orders to wait. But no one wanted to be the one to run and grab her, as that probably wouldn't sit well with him either.

Good, let them be confused. It would make it easier for her to catch up.

"My Lady?" a brave soldier ventured. She didn't even pause, stepping high over the rubble and into the base.

She found herself in a cavernous hallway that seemed to stretch and echo endlessly before her. Anakin and his stormtroopers were almost at the end of it; behind her, her troops were scrambling out of the ship to stay by her side. She took a deep breath that chilled her to the core, and determinedly followed her husband.

---

Vader's pace increased steadily as they made their way through winding passages to the hangar. He knew she was behind him – he was surprised she had waited at all to ignore his warnings. Perhaps he should have stopped and waited for her, to ensure she didn't get into any serious trouble…but he didn't sense any danger. The Rebels were all but gone now. And what he could sense made it imperative that he hurry, even if it meant leaving her behind.

The children were about to leave.

A strong, almost magnetic Force-presence called out to him. There was no one else that it could be. They were both here. They were both near-by. And they both were trying to figure out how to get off this planet.

He felt nothing more specific than that, but he didn't need to. He could not allow them to escape. He would not fail Amidala again.

His own emotions about the children were worried and ambivalent – he needed them, but knew they would despise him; wanted to reunite with them, but worried at what he might be required to do if they refused to join him. But Amidala's feelings, as naïve as they might be, were clear and simple and unrelenting. She needed her children. And that was the end of it.

Another set of blasters rang out, another hole opened up. Vader stepped into the hangar and found a sole transport preparing to leave. It had to be the last one left – the battle was already over, and they had taken an extreme risk of getting caught by waiting this long. On any other day, they would have all been taken prisoner. But Vader was certain that the children weren't on the ship, so he continued to walk past it, ignoring the confusion of his men, who had begun firing on it.

Amidala also slipped past them, and was now directly behind him. He didn't say anything to her; he didn't need to. They both knew that any ship still here would be waiting for the last of the Rebel leaders. With this ship gone, the twins would not be able to escape the base.

---

Amidala finally reached her husband's side at the far end of the hangar. In her thoughts, she knew that she was starting to get carried away, but she didn't care. She had earned it.

She could see Leia's face in her mind perfectly. Her daughter's status as a monarch and a Senator meant there were many holo-images to be had, and Amidala couldn't get enough of them – already adoring the beautiful, mature woman her Leia had grown into.

And Luke…well, his face was harder to conjure up. All she had was a blurry picture or two from Imperial spies. Anakin had tried to show her what he had seen of Luke – a quick glimpse, then the doors closing as Luke fled the Death Star. That had never been close to enough.

Amidala snapped out of her reverie, wondering why they were still standing there. Then she realized that neither of them had a blaster. Annoyance shook her to her core, then a few of the soldiers, realizing that the Vaders showed no interest in the transport, left the small battle and hurried to catch up. Finally, someone shot at the door.

Nothing happened. This door was apparently reinforced.

Three troopers quickly lined up, and fired in unison. The blast seemed to rock the entire hangar for a moment – she felt Anakin reach out briefly to steady her – and then a dusty haze of snow seemed to be everywhere. She peered through it, noticing that the door had been destroyed, but part of the hallway just beyond it had completely collapsed.

The troops recovered and lifted their guns to fire again, but Vader raised a hand to stop them. As the rest of the troopers continued their fight with the now damaged transport, he simply stood there, silent.

And then she heard it, clear and ringing, despite the commotion behind them in the hangar.

"Leia!"

"...ei…a...ei...a..."

Her heart leapt into her throat. She reached out to touch the wall of ice that separated them, and whispered, "Leia?"

Her husband took her by the shoulder, and gently but firmly moved her aside. After a curt signal, another larger blast rocked the hangar. And another. And finally, the hallway was free.

And empty.

---

Vader led the final charge down the hallway that connected the two main hangars, with Amidala nearly matching him stride for stride.

He was so focused on getting to Leia that he almost didn't see a blaster shot fly down the hallway, hitting the side wall meters ahead of them. He quickly moved to shield Amidala, but she was already brushing him off, impatient to get through this latest cave-in and keep going. He was starting to wish that he had brought a blaster of his own, though he never carried one. Waiting for the stormtroopers to react was maddening.

Another blast. Another short run to a sealed door. The sound of a ship gearing for take-off.

"This ship must be stopped," Vader barked as they went to work on the hangar door. He wanted no confusion after letting the transport escape. "All prisoners are to be taken alive."

The door disintegrated, and Vader immediately felt his words were in vain. As they entered firing, the ship came fully to life, and flew out of the hangar.

---

Amidala knew the feeling too well. She resigned herself to it.

It was the feeling of her heart and soul being forcibly wrenched from her. As her children left Hoth, that was all she was left with. Anguish. Again.

She didn't think she could take it…but just as she thought she was about to go numb, she felt something. A weight on her shoulder.

She turned, and was stunned to see her husband's hand resting there, reassuringly. For him, it was an outrageous breach of the protocol they had established – comforting her, even in this small way, in front of his subordinates. Such a little thing, but it was enough to pull her out of the despair she was prepared to throw herself into at the thought of losing her children again.

She smiled, and hoped that he could somehow see it, even with the veils.

He gave a final squeeze, then turned to the troops and began snapping orders to them, and then on his comlink to the fleet. All available resources – Star Destroyers, TIE fighters, everything – were to disable and capture the Millennium Falcon, and bring the passengers directly to him.

Yes, they can still be captured. She hadn't lost them yet. They wouldn't be able to get past the fleet.

That is what she told herself all the way back to the Imperial transport. For her, at this point, there were no other possibilities.

---

Ozzel waited impatiently while the surgeon droid on board the Iron Will examined him for injuries and hypothermia. None would be found. Ozzel had protected himself quite assiduously after his crash on the surface. He had a reason to make sure he survived.

Your Highness, I bring you grave news, but it is, perhaps, not too late to act.

He successfully controlled the urge to smile as he imagined the Emperor's gratitude. That wouldn't do at all. He would need to appear sober and troubled by this.

As, of course, he was.

The danger to the Empire loomed much larger than his delight at the thought of Lord and Lady Vader, stripped of their authority (and possibly of their ludicrous costumes), being humiliated before all the galaxy, driven through the market square on Coruscant in their shame, no longer pristine and untouchable.

No, the danger to the Empire was Ozzel's real concern, of course. The rest was just a pleasant side effect.

He had expected some difficulty with being brought to the Iron Will rather than the Executor, but the worry had been baseless. He'd simply been picked up by the medical crew with the rest of the relatively undamaged field soldiers. They hadn't been able to provide him with officer's quarters on the transport, but it was a small indignity compared to the ones he'd already suffered. He'd just been glad not to be forced to offer an explanation. As a bonus, the commander of the Iron Will was a captain who would never, even in his most terrifying nightmares, contradict an admiral's order.

Your Highness, I bring you grave –

The lights snapped up to high, and the droid retracted its sensor arm. "You are unharmed, Admiral," it said. "You are cleared for duty."

Ozzel put on his uniform and straightened it as well as he could. He did not have a dress uniform here, but sometimes, when the situation called for it, such matters of protocol could be temporarily suspended. This, he thought, was one of those times.

He strode to the bridge. "Captain Sequi?"

"Yes, Admiral, Sir?" The captain turned to him, nose twitching slightly. "Are you well?"

"I've been cleared for duty, and must contact Coruscant immediately." For good measure, he added, "You, of course, will retain command of the vessel, unless a time arises when it becomes necessary for me to have direct authority."

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll require a private place for my communication, Captain."

"Oh, yes. Of course, Sir. I'll show you to my quarters." He looked over his shoulder. "You, Lieutenant, have command until I return."

He led Ozzel up a short flight of stairs and across a narrow hallway. The location of the commanding officer's quarters never changed from Star Destroyer to Star Destroyer, and Ozzel had hardly needed the guidance, just the entrance code, which Sequi keyed in with shaking fingers. "I do apologize," he said. "There was some confusion before the battle, and I'm afraid there is...a bit of disarray."

Ozzel went into the small room. It was hardly a disaster by civilian standards, but it was certainly unkempt by the standards of the Imperial Navy. "Unacceptable, Captain," he said, "but I have neither the time nor the inclination to reprimand you for it."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Return to the bridge."

"Yes, Sir."

Sequi left the room, and Ozzel turned on the communications equipment absently, mentally preparing himself for his first conversation with the Emperor.

Your Highness, I bring you –

Someone appeared over the projector, a housemaster of some sort. Ozzel glanced at him disdainfully. "I must speak with the Emperor," he said, keying in his identification. "It is both classified and of great importance."

"The Emperor chooses to whom he will speak."

Ozzel immediately realized his mistake, and dropped to his knees. "I am a supplicant," he said, following the rote introduction that every officer learned at the Academy, in case such an occasion should arise. "I beg forgiveness for the intrusion, but have urgent need to confer with the Emperor, and obtain his wise counsel."

The housemaster sniffed, and the display went dark for a moment.

Ozzel could hear his heart. It seemed to be in his sinuses. His vision was a little blurry.

The projector came back on, and this time there was no mistaking the figure. Small and bent with years and wisdom, pale white hand grasping a walking stick...oh, but he didn't look good. What would the galaxy do if this frailty were to take him away?

"What do you want?"

Ozzel blinked. The voice was hard and sneering.

"Your Highness? I..."

"Yes, Admiral?"

"I...I come here...I mean, I come to you with...grave news. But maybe we can...I mean, perhaps it isn't too late to act."

The Emperor raised his head slowly, and Ozzel stared into the hologram that represented the action. The eyes were deep, endless shadows, and suddenly Ozzel felt as if ice crystals were forming around the hairs in on his neck. Let me out of here! his mind screamed. Let me not look at him anymore!

The Emperor smiled, revealing pinkish teeth. "You find this uncomfortable, do you not, Admiral?"

There was no point in denying it. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Good. It is well that you are uncomfortable. Do you really believe you have news of which I am unaware?"

It came out quickly and forcefully. "I believe Lord and Lady Vader are plotting against you."

"Yes. Of course they are."

Ozzel's head snapped up. "You...know?"

"Yes. It has been so for many years. I also know they have a son, whom they are seeking."

A son? Ozzel pondered. A son? They have..."You are wise and aware of many things, Your Highness."

"Yes. I am. Have you any other news?"

Ozzel considered his approach carefully. "You say they have been plotting for many years."

"Yes. I do not require you to tell me what I have said."

"I believe that their plans are coming close to actualization. I believe they have developed ties to the Rebellion. And I know that Lord Vader has surrounded himself on board the Executor with those whose allegiance to you is, shall we say, open to question."

"I see. And what has brought you to this conclusion?"

"A boy on the planet where we just fought. Now that you have mentioned a son, clearly, it must be..."

"In what way is it clear?"

"He had a lightsaber. And someone has been training him to use it."

There was silence, and when the Emperor spoke again, his voice was thoughtful. "No...I do not believe that Vader could have trained the boy without my notice. But if he is wielding such a weapon, then you have brought me useful news."

Ozzel relaxed, not having realized how tight and tense he'd been getting. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"And this question of disloyal officers on board the Executor. You believe they would follow Vader?"

"I believe there are enough loyal to him to commandeer the ship, should he choose to do so. Many are loyal to...to the woman. I don't wish to be vulgar, but I suspect she wields something of an unhealthy attraction for them. Certainly that is true of the Executor's new commanding officer, Piett."

"Then you have been removed from its command?"

"Yes."

"That is certainly grave news to you. I give you the Iron Will."

Ozzel sat back, stunned. "Your Majesty, I am grateful. Would you have me command the fleet to attack the Executor?"

"No. Vader is still useful to me. He will find his way to his son. Once he does, I will deal with both of them. Meanwhile, Admiral...be prepared to strike, if Vader makes a direct move. I'll not have Vader or his woman undermine my authority."

"Of course not, Your Majesty."

"Be on your guard, Admiral Ozzel."

"As you wish."

---

He opened his eyes to solid whiteness, and groaned inwardly.

The same hand of fate slaps me twice.

He blinked his eyes against the white wall of snow, which covered his face – or, more accurately, he covered it – then becoming aware he was actually lying down in it.

Luke slowly lifted his face up from the imprint it had made in the hard, cold snow – the sudden burst of chill wind on his not-completely-covered, wet face cut him like a knife, causing him to inhale sharply.

The stench of burning wreckage – and the even sicklier sweet stench of what he knew to be burned flesh – came in just as sharply into his nose, causing his stomach to churn unpleasantly. It was a keen reminder of what had just transpired.

(It all brought forth flashes of a turning point in his life, though not one of the happier ones, and the only memory of his that was anything in comparison to this: beholding the smoldering ruins of his boyhood homestead on Tatooine, the grisly remains of the people he'd called Aunt and Uncle...)

At that moment he had sworn to himself that the Empire had a lot to answer for...now, as he saw the massive debris field of fragmented ships and bodies all around him, extending almost to the small ridge of mountains in the near distance, the reminder of so much lost, in battleground as well as in friends – he renewed that vow.

The Imperial battle line had moved past; the huge forms of the remaining walkers silhouetted gray against a somewhat lighter gray horizon, now unimpeded: there were no Rebel ships remaining to challenge them, having either been destroyed or retreated. Small in comparison, he saw the standing row of half-circles in the snow that was the main shield generator, not far away...

And then they weren't there at all.

Luke dove his face back down and dug himself deeper into the snow, feeling that familiar warning tickle in his mind once more just as the lead walker fired on the generator. The resulting blast was over half a kilometer away, but even so tiny fragments of shield generator landed around him, hot metal sizzling in the snow near him and singing small parts of his parka. (He became acutely appreciative of the pilot's helmet he was wearing; metal shards digging into his scalp wouldn't exactly have been appreciated at that moment.) The orange mushroom cloud shot up into the sky, sending sparks out in a radius across the horizon, their deadly trails stretching out away from the central fireball, making it look like an exploded sunset.

Under extremely different circumstances, Luke might have appreciated the deadly beauty of it. Now he only tightened his jaw in mild anger, knowing that it was the killing blow in this battle. Not that they'd expected to win, of course, but – one hardly appreciated the defeat of your cause smacking you in the face with its white-hot shards.

When the momentary firestorm had subsided, Luke lifted his somewhat dampened form from the ground and turned his gaze towards the thick column of black smoke twisting its way into the heavens, looking for all the world like a huge gnarled finger,

(twisting up from the ruins of the homestead...)

the walkers suddenly insignificant next to it. Soon they would be discharging troops, to claim the base, and capture or kill any Rebels unfortunate enough to have been left behind.

He had no desire to remain here.

He was alone on the battlefield, he saw: anyone else was either already dead or had gotten the hell out of here a long time ago. As he began trudging his way through the snow he passed the blackened hulk of a snowspeeder, the pilot nowhere in sight – probably somewhere in the remains of the ship – and briefly hoped Wedge and Hobbie had made it away from the battle safely.

The smoke of the burning wreckage was all around him, creating a queasy sensation in his gut. The dead were his only company.

I'd rather this time not be judged by the company I keep...

Han had probably made it out before the battle had started. But Leia, she would have been in command, right in the very heart of the base...

Luke saw a familiar rise some distance to the west of the generator. Over that rise, he remembered, was the entrance to the base, and some distance across the flat plain, he'd been told, was where the last starfighters were to be prepped for departure. But should he go there now, if Leia was still in the base...

A gust of wind, more chill and knifing than usual, came howling down from the nearby mountains, bringing a stinging cloud of snow into Luke's face. Dark clouds were beginning to gather in the dreary-looking sky. Another blizzard was on its way; he would have no time to go to the base and get back to his fighter before the storm hit. He knew all too well that he had no great love of being stuck out in these things, and this time there would be no bacta tank for him to recover in.

He'd have to settle for somewhat unconventional methods of detection.

He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, but couldn't feel her presence like he normally could. Luke shunted aside the rise in fear that accompanied the notion of her death – maybe she was too far away for him to sense her. After all, he wasn't exactly proficient at this sort of thing yet. Nonetheless he tried to reach out to her, sending probing tendrils of his mind out –

– and almost immediately drawing them back. For when he'd reached out he'd come in very close contact with an unexpected wall of darkness, pervading the area his mind was probing. It sparked a fear in Luke that he couldn't quite explain, and he quickly pulled his mind back. For at the same time he felt as if that darkness was moving, searching of its own accord...

Luke felt a very keen desire to move away from it, and he did so, increasing his pace towards the rise, and his distance from the walkers. He had no desire to be near them when the occupational force began its brutal task.

Even if Leia is there?

Stop the paranoia, another part of him added. She probably wasn't there, he decided: the senior staff would long since have cleared out. The reason he couldn't sense her was likely due to the fact she was already outside the system, safe and sound, and definitely outside his limited range.

So obviously, taking her to Dagobah at this point wasn't a viable option anymore. The best he could hope for now would be to meet her at the rendezvous point, and take it from there.

He finished ascending the rise, and stared out over the plain. The starfighters were directly ahead, small dark pinpricks barely visible in the increasing gusts of snow. He turned to look back in the base, doubt once again fighting to seep its way through his brain. Surely she would have had the sense to get out of there, and not stay behind and fight to the last man, like he knew she, especially in her recent emotional state, might definitely be tempted to do...

The doubt was quelled a moment later, however, when Luke became aware of a familiar hum, rapidly rising in volume, coming from the direction of the hangars. A second later, prompting a feeling of surprise in him, the Millennium Falcon burst from the side of the hill on his right, shooting out from its hangar and climbing into the blackening sky. At the same time he was relieved they had survived the battle, he felt a pang of loss at seeing it go, knowing that most certainly Han and Chewie were aboard it; he could feel the faint wisps of their presences...

But wait. There was something else, Luke thought, as he focused on the disappearing ship; a familiar echo in Luke's mind. He thought he felt it reach out briefly – not towards him, but towards the darkness that felt even closer than before. A short, punctuated burst of anguish aimed at it that Luke could only pick up an echo of, but that was still unmistakably Leia's.

So she was with Han. She was in pain over something, but she was with him. That was about as safe a place as she could be, Luke decided – he wouldn't have trusted anyone more with her care, and Han was a good pilot and fighter. He'd get Leia (and probably Threepio as well, if Leia had anything to say about it, Luke thought) to the rendezvous.

Another burst of wind blew a swirl of snow into Luke's face and howled in his ears; the storms were as good as here. He sped up his pace across the snow to the departure site, becoming more aware of the very real concern of the decrease in temperatures stalling his fighter from being able to take off – or, just as bad, having to try to fly through a solid barrier of white to get off the planet. Crashing into the ground or running into the face of a mountain wouldn't help him or the Alliance any.

The departure site was some distance away from the main bulk of the base, behind yet another rise, allowing for the possibility that the base might likely suffer extensive damage in the battle (which had turned out to be dead on), and that the steep hill might serve as a barrier for any weapons damage, and a shield from sight of any Imperial troops at the base, counting on the hope that no Imperial would want to dare venture out so seemingly unnecessarily far from the base in this climate.

It was much to Luke's relief, still, when he arrived at the departure site and discovered it was still there...however minimal. Which confirmed what he'd already suspected, that many of the Rebels were either dead – or in the clutches of the Empire. Only a few snubfighters and pilots remained. Those pilots scurried about towards their ships, not wanting to be caught in those same Imperial clutches. Wedge, Hobbie, and Janson as well, had indeed made it and were among the few (in fact made up the vast majority) there, and the four friends exchanged brief waves before jumping into their already prepped fighters. Luke felt a wash of guilt combined with relief: while he was grateful that as many of his friends had survived as they had, he had a feeling he'd lost a lot fewer friends than most that had escaped from here.

A loud and animated beeping issued from one of the fighters. Luke turned to it and – despite the situation – couldn't help but smile; Artoo-Detoo's dome swiveled around (being the only thing he could move, as he was already in his socket behind the cockpit of the fighter) excitedly at the sight of Luke.

A few moments later Luke was beside his own X-Wing, nearly bounding over the side ladder into the cockpit, which hissed mercifully shut after. Artoo let out a reassured beep: he'd been worried, not only for Luke, but that he might be alone. Luke could understand that, given the circumstances, and would just be glad to have some familiar company with him. The fighter's systems were already up and running, thanks to Artoo, and within a few moments Luke was up in the air, his snubfighter pointed towards the heavens. Luke cast one brief look back at the base that had been his home for the past several months, and sighed – it so often seemed that one way or another, the Empire was always chasing him from someplace he'd come to know, even if only grudgingly, as home.

"Artoo?" he asked.

A friendly beep in response.

"I want you to do a sensor sweep for me. How large is the Imperial blockade out there?"

A moment of silence followed, broken by a somewhat dismayed mechanical hoot, the reason behind which soon appeared in translation on Luke's display console. Four Imperial-class Star Destroyers, spaced evenly around their side of the planet – and in the middle of that formation, one extremely huge Super-class vessel...which according to Artoo's readings, was none other than the Executor itself. The flagship of the Imperial Fleet, and known to be the personal ship of the Lord and the Lady Vader themselves. Luke counted himself fortunate he'd not been among the ones who were likely captured – he now knew for certain what the earlier darkness he'd sensed had been. But if the Lady Vader herself was indeed down there, maybe she'd serve as a sort of protective buffer for the prisoners against her husband's more...negative actions. Maybe.

Either way, there was no truly safe way for his little ship to make it through that blockade. He might make it, but he was certain there had to be another way than just speeding his way through. There was no longer an active ion cannon to provide cover – not that there were any ships behind large enough to warrant such use of the weapon, nor any allies left to man it – and his little shields couldn't absorb the direct brunt of a Destroyer's turbolaser even for an instant. He'd be gone before he was even aware he'd been hit. Whatever lifted off the planet now was fair game, and the Empire knew it. He might lose more friends yet.

Unless of course, they didn't see you lifting off.

Luke slowed his fighter into a gradual arc and turned it around 180 degrees, and set off across the surface of the planet – low to the ground, hoping the clouds might obscure the Empire's sensors to his presence. He increased his sublight speed to several hundred kph, and it took him several minutes to get to the small planet's other side. This way, he would use the bulk of the ice world as a shield from the enemy's sensors. (And he wouldn't have to fight his way through anything; Luke knew he was a good pilot, but he wasn't certain he was that good a pilot.)

Soon his starfighter burst from the clouds, and the vast star-studded blanket of space opened up before him. Clear, open – and utterly free of Imperial ships. Only a few small moons, and those shouldn't cause him any trouble.

(That's no moon, it's a space station...!)

"Artoo, set a course for the Dagobah system."

The droid responded with a very confused bleep.

"No, we're not regrouping with the others. We're going to Dagobah."

Another moment, another beep, this time one slightly protesting. "It's not on the charts?" Luke asked in response to the translation that appeared in red lettering on his console.

No, the droid's response came.

Luke exhaled a sigh. He supposed he should have expected this; after all, if this planet he was supposed to be going to had a Jedi Master hiding on it, it wouldn't likely be a place you could just look up and find. Especially with the Emperor and the Vaders, the orchestrators of the extermination of the Jedi themselves (well, the Lord Vader anyway; Luke somehow couldn't reconcile the image of the supposedly gentle Lady with the idea of her cooperating in some of her husband's more violent acts) running things the way they were...

Should we go on to the rendezvous instead? the red letters crawled across the screen.

Luke was tempted to do just that. After all, Ben had asked him to bring Leia to Dagobah – perhaps it would just be best for him to go on to the rendezvous, get her and bring her back to the planet later. (Provided he found where it was, of course.) And after this latest, bitter defeat, the Alliance could use all the power it could muster...and two Jedi would be better for the Alliance's cause than one. And later was better than never.

Unless you were too late, that was.

He sighed again, ready to concede and just allow the little droid to take them to their planned destination.

Then his vision suddenly was obliterated; the brilliant starfield blotted out by an entirely new vision. The change was abrupt enough so that the notion that the Lady Vader, in all her scarlet loveliness, now stood before Luke where empty space had once been, didn't shock him nearly as much as it might have. Even when the darker, horrible death's-head form of her husband formed before her, placing a possessive hand on her shoulder, pulling her gently towards him, disregarding Luke completely.

She was faced away from Luke, but he could still see the same short, slender figure and dark mocha hair, tied up in the same veils of crimson that hid her face. When she, still in the Lord's grasp, turned to face him – causing his breath to catch slightly in his chest – he saw the same hauntingly familiar eyes he'd always seen. Only this time angry and hateful, without the quiet calm she possessed in the newsvids – and as he watched, she moved a small hand, white and delicate, up to part the veils from her face. All else was deathly silent, but for the metronome of the Lord's breathing...

He would have taken a step back, had he been physically able. The veils parted to reveal a sight both beautiful and terrible: Leia, half of her sculpted face unmarred and perfect as always, but the other...the other side, from just below her eye all the way to her throat, was a wretched, horrible mass of scars. Her eyes burned directly at him with despair and accusation, and he didn't know why...

The vision evaporated, leaving Luke gasping for breath. He even blinked his own eyes a few times, looking round the cockpit, to be certain he wasn't still hallucinating.

But that had been no hallucination. The timing was too perfect, too soon after his decision to abandon Dagobah. Besides, it had been far too vivid, and Luke never hallucinated. And why would he hallucinate something like this – Leia consumed with bitterness, maimed...and far worse, in the possession of the Vaders...

And what had been the cause of her looking at him that way? It had hurt him, the way her eyes, usually warm, had instead burned him like that...as if she were blaming him.

Was the Force, in its own strange way, trying to warn him of something? Against a potentially harmful decision? Ben had vaguely hinted at such matters in his brief training of Luke, but had never come out directly and said it...but then, there wasn't nearly so much that Ben hadn't in his own way been at least somewhat vague about.

No, he couldn't go to the rendezvous, he realized. He'd had warnings through the Force before, but none so strong as this. But there was only other one location it made sense for him to go, and he didn't even know for sure if the place existed, let alone where it was.

But then, it was as if an invisible, comforting hand suddenly placed itself on Luke's shoulder, relaxing him. Luke found himself opening his mind to the vastness of the Force – something he'd done only a few times before, and never to this extent – and his hands moved smoothly over the controls, inputting an entirely new set of coordinates as if he'd always known them, as if they had been ingrained into him long ago. Artoo let out a very decidedly perplexed raspberry, and Luke shook his head as the display translated the meaning of the sound, and began to bring his ship around in a wide arc to its new course.

"We're going to Dagobah, Artoo," he told the droid firmly. "We aren't going to the rendezvous with the others."

He had to go to the planet. Ben might be annoyed that he'd not brought Leia with him, but for all he knew Ben was the source of this prodding vision in the first place.

If so, I've seriously got to question his methods...

And surely he'd understand why she wasn't there, given the circumstances. It hadn't exactly been something Luke had been able to control.

(Luke questioned his own mental soundness for a moment, wondering at the bizarre concern of reassuring a ghost...)

"At least, I think that's where we're going," he added, more to himself than to Artoo, but the droid's response let him know perfectly well that he was well aware of Luke's additional comment. Luke had no real way of knowing whether the coordinates he'd input would go anywhere, let alone to this mysterious uncharted world he'd been summoned to, a world whose only proof of existence was that of the word of a disembodied Jedi (albeit one Luke trusted) and one whose only verification of whereabouts was a vague certainty from an equally mysterious Force Luke himself didn't entirely understand. Artoo would probably think him even crazier were he to know this; that his master had tossed out the coordinates that all but assured them a concrete, safe destination on such seemingly immaterial grounds.

Are you sure about this? the display came up.

Luke smiled. "It'll be all right, Artoo. And let's say we keep this on manual control for a while, okay? You'd get a break – and besides, I feel like doing some flying."

Artoo let out another dry remark, not entirely reassured, as Luke pushed forward the lever, propelling his tiny craft into the dimensions of hyperspace.

To Dagobah, he hoped.

As he settled back into his chair (for this time a restful sleep, he hoped), he wondered what was happening with Han and Leia just then.

---

Leia hadn't had time to strap in before take-off, so she just held on to the back of the pilot's seat, and hoped that the artificial gravity wouldn't decide to go flaky with everything else.

Han banked the Falcon sharply, and a burst of laser fire exploded in the space where they would have been. Another followed it, coming closer to their current position. Leia tried not to look at the proximity readouts on the control panel, but couldn't quite convince herself that the Star Destroyer follower them wasn't getting closer. She didn't need the readouts to follow the TIE fighters that it had spit out after them; she could see them through the viewport, close enough sometimes to catch a glimpse of the masked and helmeted stormtroopers who piloted them.

Flak from the explosions around them buffeted the Falcon, and Han was engaged in some sort of serious and energetic dance with the controls trying to keep them on course. He flipped switches, checked readouts, checked the viewport, flipped more switches, adjusted the course manually, then started the cycle again. Chewie howled at the top of his lungs, vibrating the whole cockpit, then went into a series of loud barks.

"I saw them!" Han barked back. "I saw them."

Leia cast her eyes down to the readouts. "Saw what?"

Han pointed vaguely at the viewport before moving to shield controls. "Star Destroyers, two of them. Coming right at us."

Leia saw them then, points of light in the dark. One was huge and hulking. A Super Star Destroyer. The other was dwarfed in its shadow. That's where my parents are. In that monster. Or it's where they live. It's...

No. There is no time for that.

Another blip appeared in the corner of the viewport, and steadily grew into a pod-shape that Leia recognized with horror. The last Rebel transport. It was accompanied by two Imperial shuttles and a squad of TIE fighters, and headed straight for the Super Star Destroyer. "Han, they've got one of ours!"

The frenetic dance didn't stop, and he didn't even look at the transport. "They're gonna have us if I don't get us out of here, Sweetheart."

She couldn't think of an argument, but the sight of that last transport being towed into the Empire's hands – the transport that had waited for those who held their ground longest, the most devoted ground staff – was hard to bear. They would be tortured, imprisoned...it would be better for them, more honorable, to die in battle, and

(if the Empire gets their information, we're sunk)

they would want it that way...

She bit it back. The Rebellion didn't operate that way. The Empire might kill its captured soldiers and defectors. The Rebellion didn't.

(lately, it would be a full time job, anyway)

There was an uneven clanking of metal on metal, which Leia heard but didn't really register until the panicked tug on her sleeve. "Your Highness!"

"Threepio..."

Han reached across the control panel. Threepio threw his golden hands in the air and broke his usual protocol by interrupting him in an urgent tone. "Sir, sir! Might I suggest –"

But Han was having none of it. He'd never had any patience with Threepio. He turned to Leia. "Shut him up or shut him down."

Leia was stunned into silence. He was often pushy and cocky, but he'd never presumed to give her an order before, and it was a cruel one. Threepio was irritating and fearful, but he was hers, dammit, and he was loyal and

(kindhearted)

and he was a help

(friend)

to her.

Threepio stopped talking on his own, but shot her a worried glance (of course, all of Threepio's glances looked somewhat worried).

Han didn't notice. Leia understood why he was doing this, and knew she was silly to let it sting. After all, Threepio was a protocol droid. His expertise wasn't likely to be useful here. He probably wanted to advise them on proper forms for surrender.

Han was already talking to Chewie again. "Check the deflector shield!"

Chewie barked something that didn't sound particularly hopeful.

"Great," Han muttered. "Well, we can outmaneuver them."

Without warning, he accelerated into the path of the behemoth Star Destroyer, banking the Falcon to its port. It didn't try to turn, but the smaller Star Destroyer did. Leia briefly saw a red light flashing. A whole section must have gone on alert.

Then Han dove and spun beyond them, and Leia saw, as he curved up again, that the two Destroyers were trying desperately to avoid a collision.

"Good flying," she whispered, hoping that the Rebel transport hadn't gotten caught in the accident, or at least hoping that she was really hoping it.

"Thanks. Count on the Empire to build something that can't turn around."

"We can't count on that forever."

As if to reinforce her point, six TIE fighters came around the floundering giants and began another volley of laser blasts. Han banked and spun again. Leia was beginning to feel queasy. The ship rocked from another hit.

"Prepare to make the jump to light-speed," Han told Chewie, not even looking back at Leia.

"But, sir!" Threepio moaned beside Leia, and she had a sudden, awful, sinking feeling. Threepio had been talking to the Falcon. Threepio did have something to say.

And it was too late for him to say it.

The ship rocked violently as another blast hit. "They're getting closer!"

Han gave her a wicked grin, and she could have cheerfully throttled him. Flirting? At a time like this?

"Oh, yeah?" he said, putting his hand on the hyperdrive lever. "Watch this." He pushed the lever up.

Leia obediently turned to the viewport and stared at the rushing TIE fighters and the star strewn blackness. But she knew perfectly well what was about to happen. Or rather, to not happen. "Watch what?" she asked.

Han's smirk disappeared, and he turned to Chewie in a moment of panic that even Leia could see. He pushed the hyperdrive lever again.

Nothing.

"I think we're in trouble," he muttered.

Threepio let out an exasperated electronic sigh. "As I have been attempting to tell you, the hyperdrive motivator is damaged. It's impossible to go to light speed!"

(that'll teach you to give me orders)

Leia rolled her eyes at herself. They were being chased by half the Imperial Fleet, and she was triumphant that her droid was right about why they couldn't escape.

"We're in trouble," Han said.

---

Piett's arm stung painfully as he slammed into a console, and then everything spun as he whirled past several of his officers – his officers – before clutching a rail and hanging on desperately. Through a small window, he could see a Star Destroyer pass by…for a moment, he thought he could see the faces of the people in that Destroyer, they were so close.

Please don't hit, please don't hit, please don't hit…

Piett closed his eyes and braced himself for an explosion. Instead, the ship suddenly righted itself, throwing everyone back to the side of the bridge they had started on.

A confused silence reigned for several moments, and Piett used the time to quickly straighten out his jacket and cap, reassuming some sort of command posture, and moving to the head of the bridge. "Status report," he asked of no one in particular.

"We just missed them, sir. The other Star Destroyers also avoided any damage."

His eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Where's the Millennium Falcon?" he snapped. The ensign jumped, then checked the sensors again.

Piett had to admit he had startled himself. His first thought should have been for the safety of his fellow soldiers. And he was glad that no one had been hurt…he shook it off. The moment had passed, and his priorities were now quite clear.

"The Falcon is just out of weapons range," the ensign reported. "The TIE Fighters have continued their pursuit, Admiral."

Admiral.

Admiral Piett. He had thought it would be several years – at least – before he would hear that. A thrill ran through him every time one of his subordinates said it.

But he couldn't show that. He had to start behaving like a commander and earn their respect.

And justify the faith that the Vaders had put in him.

"As soon as we have cleared the path of the other Destroyers, set a course to follow them."

"Yes, sir."

Piett stepped over to the main viewport, staring silently at the ensuing chase. What exactly was he supposed to be doing at moments like this? He no longer had to follow sensor reports or prepare recommendations; now he was the commanding officer. Should he order them to do something? Wait for them to speak up?

He took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind of doubts. After all, Lord Vader himself had promoted him, and made it seem like the natural course of action after the unfortunate incident with Ozzel. There was no pretense or ceremony to it, just a string of new commands, followed by a warning – "Do not fail me as Ozzel did, Admiral."

He would be a fool to say that Vader's words didn't terrify him…but at least he had been given this chance to prove himself. At least he knew that the Vaders had thought highly of him up to this point (he liked to think that Lady Vader had mentioned his efforts in finding the Rebels on Hoth). For him, dealing with them wasn't simply or solely about fear. He felt, as did many others he spoke to, that they had a purpose to what they were doing.

And purpose was something that was painfully absent from the Empire he loved. As time went on, the Emperor became more distant, and the Empire continued to slip into mediocrity, rote leadership, and inactivity. It was becoming a shell of what it once was – all of the structures and rules were still there, but it felt hollow beneath that surface.

Until the Vaders. Until Piett had seen for himself the way Lady Vader could connect with all types of people. Until he saw the way that Lord Vader had stood beside her (a remarkable action for someone of his rank) and saw the unusual powers he wielded. There was something there worthwhile, even if no one knew the particulars of it. Something that Piett was certain he wanted to be involved with.

"Admiral?"

"Yes, Captain."

"The ship seems to be headed for an asteroid field. We'll have no chance of following, sir. We will have almost no maneuverability, and will undoubtedly take on a great deal of damage."

Piett frowned deeply, trying to give the appearance of pondering his first real command decision. His mind was already made up however, as he had no intention of telling Lord Vader that he couldn't carry out his orders to pursue and capture the Falcon. "Captain, slow the ship down to one-quarter speed, and have all weapons officers destroy as many asteroids in our path as possible. We will continue on our course."

He noted with pleasure that no one looked surprised or doubtful of his decision. He placed his hands behind his back and turned back to his view of the asteroid field – of the galaxy. It seemed larger, grander now. And so did his place in it.

---

Han stared at the viewport in disbelief, almost frozen at this new development. Then a blast came from a TIE fighter, and his brain kicked back into gear. They were in trouble, it was his own damned fault, and he had to fix it before he got all of them killed.

Yeah, sure. But what the hell am I supposed to do?

He had to think of something. No way was he showing Leia that he was out of control here. She was already looking at him like she was sure he was the last thing she'd see, and she wasn't happy about it. Worse than that, somewhere, under the annoyance and irritation, Han thought he saw a glimpse of raw, unadulterated fear. From Leia, that bothered him more than anything.

"I'll fix it," he said.

"How?"

"Don't worry, I'll fix it." He got up, and gestured for Chewie to follow him, then touched Leia's shoulder. "Just keep us straight."

She looked at him blankly, then took the controls. She didn't like to fly (and Han thought the aversion had gotten worse in the last year or so), but she knew what she was doing.

No more time to worry about it, at any rate. Another fighter flew at them. Han ran back to the maintenance pit, Chewie at his heels.

He jumped over the edge and down to the engine room. Everything looked in order, but everything always looked in order. There was some steam coming from a broken stabilizer, but nothing that would account for losing the hyperdrive. He decided to tighten it anyway, to feel like he was doing something until he thought of something to do. "Chewie...toss me the hydrospanners."

Chewie handed him the tool he asked for, then lowered himself down to examine other parts of the engines. He growled that it was running too hot to work on, but they didn't exactly have time to let it rest just now, so it was an observation without any practical value.

"I don't know how we're going to get out of this," Han muttered.

Chewie didn't answer.

Han was leaning over to yet another level when the ship rocked violently. It wasn't the trembling shock of a laser blast spreading violently across an energy shield. It was an impact.

Chewie howled.

"Yeah, I noticed," Han said. "Something hit us."

He was already halfway back up when Leia called for him to come to the cockpit, and she was just sliding into the co-pilot's seat when he got there.

"Asteroids," she said, but she didn't need to. The asteroid field spread before them like a porous wall.

Damn. On top of everything else, this sector. Must have been a collision or –

He stopped thinking and slipped into the pilot's seat. Between the Empire and a bunch of rocks, he figured he'd take his chances with the rocks. He didn't need to turn around to know that Chewie had settled into the navigator's seat. "Set two-seven-one."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the technobabble hadn't fooled Leia at all. Her face was white and taut, but the fear was gone, replaced with even more irritation than usual...and, Han thought, a little exhilaration. "You're going in?" she asked incredulously.

Han shrugged. "Think they'll follow?"

There was no joking answer. An asteroid flew at them, and Han had to put his concentration into flying around it, but when he glanced at Leia again, she was simply staring thoughtfully at the flying rocks. "Yes," she whispered. "They will."

Han's eyes flickered to her again. He believed her. He had no reason to believe her, but he did. Not that it made a difference. He didn't have a choice. "I gotta go in anyway, Sweetheart," he said.

"But sir," Threepio said, "the odds of successfully navigating an asteroid field are three thousand seven hundred twenty to one."

"Never tell me the odds," Han muttered, but didn't try to tell Leia to shut the droid down. If he'd listened to the nattering droid in the first place, he might have gone in a more sensible direction.

Not that he'd ever admit that outside his own head.

The asteroids suddenly became more densely packed, and there was no time at all for talking or thinking, only flying. One asteroid the size of a house bounced off another, and Han had to dive away from it, then bank sharply to avoid another one that was coming up from beneath.

As he turned, he saw that Leia was right: The Empire was following.

A pinprick flash of light caught his eye, and he saw three TIE bombers bursting through the explosion. Behind them, the giant Star Destroyer blasted an asteroid out of its way.

"This could be bad," he said.

"Could be?" Leia's voice had taken back more of its acerbic tone, and Han was glad to hear it.

Another asteroid flew at them, and Han swerved around it. He spared a look back at Leia. "This might not be the best idea I ever had."

Two asteroids collided in front of them, sending out an explosion of smaller rocks, which buffeted the Falcon. Leia shook her head. "We're going to get pulverized if we stay out here."

There was no arguing with it, but Han couldn't think of a way out. It wasn't like he could just land somewhere...

That's it. I have to land.

"I'm getting closer to one of the big ones," he said, and barely heard her protest (though Threepio's was annoyingly loud).

The first big one he saw was jagged and likely to break. He crested it and dropped down behind it.

Think. Don't let the Empire see where you're going, or they'll just pulverize you along with the asteroid they're clearing out.

"Right," he said to himself.

"What are you doing?" Leia asked.

"Fixing this. Hold on." Finally, he saw the one he needed. "There. That'll do."

"Do for what?"

"Yeah." It was almost still, and he could see a gently carved crater, with a deep cave in it. Perfect. Decent hand at last.

"Excuse me ma'am," Threepio said somewhere behind him. "But where are we going?"

"I have no idea."

Han didn't have time to explain, if she hadn't figured it out yet. The landing would be tricky, but he could do it. He checked the scope again to make sure no Imperial ships were in eyeshot, then looped around, and eased the Falcon down across the surface. The mouth of the cave yawned before him. It would be a good fit.

The Millennium Falcon slipped into the shadows, and was swallowed.

---

Amidala and her husband stood in the lift, listening to it hum as it raced them to the bowels of the Super Star Destroyer. She frowned at him anxiously. "You didn't have to come with me, Anakin. I would much rather have one of us on the bridge overseeing the chase."

"I will return to the bridge as soon as this is over," he replied.

"It's hardly a real interrogation. We know where the children are, we have all the answers we need."

"If that were so, you would have allowed another officer to assume this duty for you." His arms folded in front of him. "Clearly, you have your own agenda here, Amidala, and while I also –"

"My own agenda?" she said, her eyebrow arched. "And here I thought that the children were our agenda. Forgive me."

His head snapped toward her, and Amidala suddenly had the strange feeling that she could see his eyes narrowing at her, his lips pursing in disapproval, his brow furrowing at her. The expression he always used to give her when she exasperated him.

But the moment quickly passed, as her head told her that all she was truly seeing was the mask. She was troubled by it, and she suddenly felt out of sorts. Not because she had thought she could see his face, but because she hated the later realization that all she could really see of him was the mask. Over time, she had managed to accept the necessity of Vader – of why he looked this way, and acted this way – but that was only by knowing in her heart that her Anakin was still there, that she could see him, and reach him. She resented reminders that things weren't always that simple.

The lift slowed to a stop. He stepped forward into the hallway, but she touched his arm to hold him back.

"I'm sorry, Anakin," she whispered, hoping that no one else was in the hallway to hear her. "I've been on edge about all of this. I don't even know what I really want to ask them…but we know that they knew our children...I just want to know what they know."

"As do I," he replied. Then he added, "I know this has been difficult for you, Amidala. But it will be over soon. In the meantime, if you wish to question the Rebels, I understand."

She nodded, and they left the lift and headed toward the interrogation cell.

There were only three Rebels in the room. The rest, she assumed, were still in the medical bay being treated for injuries sustained during the boarding of their transport. Two men and a women were seated on the floor, on the far side of the room, looking exhausted, defeated. Amidala's heart went out to them…these people had risked everything waiting for her children, delaying the departure of the last transport for them. That was not a crime as far as she was concerned, and as long as they were cooperative and helpful , she would personally make sure they didn't pay for trying to save the twins.

All three looked up and gasped when she entered the room – one of the men tried vainly to back away when he saw Vader. That was the reaction they normally received; she and Anakin had a tacit understanding that his presence was helpful to her in trying to win the Rebels clemency. Sometimes, they would all but run into her arms, telling her anything she asked, because Anakin did nothing more than stand behind her and breathe.

Amidala knew first-hand what could happen to some of these prisoners if they didn't let her help them. It was more than worth it to her to have them scared for a few moments if it would spare them imprisonment or torture or worse.

She walked across the gray, bleak cell and crouched in front of the three, meeting them eye-to-eye, hoping her posture and demeanor were calm and welcoming. Anakin stood further back, his shadow cast over her.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked.

The two men nodded slowly. The woman gave no answer.

"I'm here to ask you a few questions, and to offer you clemency. I hope you'll listen."

The younger of the two men couldn't take his eyes off Vader. The woman had affixed Amidala with a defiant glare. Both of them were rather young (the other man was considerably older) – they were probably around the twin's age…

"Tell me, did any of you know Luke Skywalker or Leia Organa personally while serving with them at Hoth?"

None of them answered.

"Please, you've been with them at that base for months. Surely, you must be able to tell me something about them."

"Like what?" the older man asked warily.

"Anything," Amidala said with a shrug. "Really…whatever you know about them…anything about what they're like…" Her voice trailed off. She realized how odd her question must have seemed to them, but didn't know how else to phrase it.

The older man was about to speak again, when the woman interrupted. "Don't answer any of her questions," she snapped. "Don't fall for this."

"Fall for what?" Amidala asked. "I'm not trying to fool anyone. If you cooperate, and answer my questions, you'll not be prosecuted. I'll see to it personally."

"And all we have to do is sell out the Alliance? And Luke and Leia?" the woman snorted. "What a generous offer."

Amidala felt her husband move, saw his shadow lengthen as he took several steps forward. "Do not doubt our Lady's intentions." He stared down at the younger man, who shuddered under his glare. "She is giving you far more consideration than you will receive elsewhere."

"Your loyalty to Luke and Leia is admirable," Amidala said, adding softly, "It shows that they are good leaders." She glanced at the woman. "But I don't believe that they would want you to sacrifice yourselves when I'm asking for simple information that will in no way harm the Rebellion."

"That's a lie," she replied through clenched teeth. "Why would you ask us for useless information?"

"Because it's not useless to me," she said simply. "But if you truly do not want to help me…"

Anakin stepped past Amidala then. The woman jerked sharply and was soon struggling to her feet. Actually, she was struggling against being brought to her feet. She kept up a futile fight as Anakin lifted her by shoulders with the Force. "What – what are you doing? Let me go!" The men looked at her in confusion and panic as they tried to figure out what was happening.

"You will come with me," Anakin said. He hit a button on the comlink on his wrist, and several stormtroopers quickly entered the cell. "Take her away," he ordered.

As a trooper grabbed her, Anakin released his grip, and the woman suddenly thrashed about in surprise. Several of the stormtroopers brandished their blasters at her.

"Wait!" the younger man pleaded. "Just wait…you haven't even asked us any real questions yet. How are we supposed to answer? Do you want to know where they are?"

"Don't!" the girl yelled angrily.

"I can tell them where Luke is. What difference does it make now anyway?" he replied.

Amidala shook her head. "We already know where they both are. The Falcon is within range of this Destroyer as we speak."

Both men started a bit at that declaration. Amidala frowned at them. "What? I assure you that they won't be harmed, we're simply trying to –"

"If I told you that you were wrong, and gave you the right information, would you give us all clemency?"

Amidala turned back to Anakin with a quizzical glance, wondering if he could determine if the man was lying. But Anakin hadn't moved, and seemed to be interested in what the prisoner was going to say...

"As long as you tell me the truth, you will all be spared," she said quietly.

"No!" the girl warned again.

"Luke's probably dead anyway," the older man said bitterly. "Do you think anyone survived the surface battle? So how exactly are we betraying anyone at this point?"

Amidala stood abruptly, almost stumbling backwards. "That's a lie," she spat out. "He's on the Falcon. With Leia."

The older man shook his head. "He decided to lead the surface battle to protect the shield generator. I'm sure you know how that wound up. When we left Hoth, we didn't think anyone had survived. Luke would have to be awfully lucky, I think."

"And where is the Princess?" she heard Anakin ask.

He shrugged. "I don't know. We waited for her, she didn't show up. I have no idea what happened to her."

Amidala gave herself a moment to try to process that information before abruptly turning and leaving the room. Her head was spinning. Luke wasn't on the Falcon? He might have been killed…

No!

But she did know how heavy the casualties were down on Hoth. And if Luke had been fighting instead of waiting in the control center…

"He's not dead, Amidala."

She glanced at her husband. "How can you be sure?"

"I would have felt it. I knew he was nearby when we were on Hoth. I didn't realize that he wasn't in the base."

Amidala let herself feel relieved…she did believe him. Still…"Now he could be anywhere. We've lost him."

"We will find him again," her husband replied quietly.

---

DAGOBAH

Yoda stood at the center of the stagnant pond, the water pooling around his waist and floating his robe around him in a muddy swirl. His hands were spread flat against the surface, caressing it, and his eyes were closed. That sort of sight wasn't needed for this.

He pulled his focus deep into himself, found the thread of the Force that connected him to all living things, and spread himself out into it. Dangerous, it was these days.

Dangerous because he was alone, but for Obi-Wan, who couldn't help him if he became disoriented.

Dangerous because it made him visible, should anyone cast an eye in his direction.

But mostly, dangerous because the Force was wounded, broken, ill. Living always, and a powerful ally, but bleeding from all the places where the Empire had ripped its allies away from it. And that was why Yoda stayed alive, despite the long years and heartsickness that had fallen on him: to tend and repair it. Around him, the living world of Dagobah breathed and pulsed, and gave him its strength, the strength of many things working together in harmony. He gathered it, and sent out tendrils – gently, always gently – into the fabric of the Force, weaving them together, creating a stronger place, spreading the healing as far as he could.

It responded, as it always did. Growing stronger, it was...Resilient. A moment's euphoria went through the old Master, and the Force seemed to glow around him. He pulled back, sensing the strange, ugly current of the Dark Side seeking out the healing places, its burning hands bent on tearing and destroying what was left. Slowly, Yoda became aware again of the clammy water around his waist, and the progress of a large spider as it crawled up his arm. He set it down on a leaf, and made his way to the shore.

"It cannot die."

"Exiled, it can be. Hurt." Yoda looked at the shimmering form of Obi-Wan Kenobi. "Need to take this form, you do not. Hear you, I can, when you do not speak in words."

Obi-Wan nodded non-committally. "Yes, I suppose. But young Luke needs to see this, and I ought to get some practice."

"Heh." Yoda starting making his way back home, leaning on his gimer stick to keep his footing.

"You seem not to approve," Obi-Wan commented, re-forming a few meters up the path.

"Coming alone, he is."

"Are you certain?"

"Difficult to see, he is not."

Obi-Wan kept his image still until Yoda had passed him, then re-formed again, near the door of the hut. "Perhaps it was unnecessary for him to bring Leia. She was never the one we intended to train."

Yoda slammed his gimer stick into the mud. "Changed, things have, Obi-Wan! Changed for the worse!"

"Surely, Amidala will not put Leia in danger –"

"Sure of nothing, I am, with Amidala." Yoda quieted himself, feeling the cold fingers of the Dark Side reaching into him through his fear and anger. "Put her in mortal danger, she will not. But she seeks, always she seeks. Her anger is with us, Obi-Wan."

"She knows we acted to save the children."

"In her mind she knows, but her mind seeks not."

Obi-Wan was silent, and Yoda could feel the eddies of sadness and confusion coming from him. He had been closer to both Anakin and Amidala than anyone, and the idea that they were both lost...it was hard for him.

Yoda knew that, and shared the sadness – he had come to love them both as well – but he knew they couldn't afford the sentiment. "Tell her, Amidala will. Tell her everything. Her family, she seeks, as Anakin did. Cares, she does not, how they come to her. Leia is no longer hidden, so trained, she must be, or stand against them, she will not."

Obi-Wan smiled. "I think you may be underestimating Leia. I watched her as often as I could. She is as stubborn as Anakin ever was, and she has set herself against him."

"But know she does not, what battle she must fight!" Yoda shook his head, and went past Obi-Wan to go inside. Obi-Wan formed again, beside the small fire, and Yoda went on speaking to him. "She will be a rock to him, and he to her, and seek, they will, to shatter one another. Matter, it will not, which one prevails, unless she understands."

"Perhaps the boy will be strong enough to destroy Vader before it comes to that."

"Vader perhaps. But Vader and his Queen?" Yoda saw Obi-Wan recoil from the phrase, and knew that he hadn't truly faced this yet. "Yes, Obi-Wan. Think, you must, what he will long for. Break away from Palpatine he may. Possibly destroy him, as destined, he was. But there will be another to set in his place, another from whom he will never seek freedom, for it is for her sake that all will be done."

"Surely Amidala is an improvement over Palpatine?"

"Heh. So will they think. But ever will the darkness grow, consume the galaxy, it will. Stopped they must be, Obi-Wan!"

"Can it be done?"

Yoda considered it. "Yes. Together. The boy, the girl. If neither falls, then stand a chance, they do."

Obi-Wan remained in his form, but faded a bit. After a long time, he spoke again. "I cannot conceive of Amidala destroying all our plans. I am heartsick, Yoda."

Yoda offered him compassion through the Force. "Yes, Obi-Wan. Heartsick, you are, as was Amidala. Acting from malice, she is not, though her anger is growing. Respite, she seeks, in the oblivion of the Empire. But afford such a luxury, you and I cannot."

Obi-Wan nodded, and Yoda did not feel the need to speak to him. No words would help.

Outside the rains began.

---

Well, at least there were no TIE fighters in here.

Leia tried long and hard to find something else positive – after all, there was little else to do – about being stuck in the bowels of a giant space rock on a crate with a defunct hyperdrive, complete with paranoid robot, and excessively arrogant smuggler. (Though to be fair to Chewie, he hadn't been much of a bother.)

There wasn't much to be done. Not that she could think of, anyway.

Her first inclination had been to wander around the ship – but it was bad enough being confined in such a small space for extended periods of time, with her temper as it was, with Han. There were only so many places to wander here without going in circles sooner or later, and she was bound to run into him somewhere. She wasn't going to avoid him, but then she had no plans of seeking him out, either.

(But if he comes here...Which was a possibility, of course...)

She'd even tried holding a conversation with Threepio to alleviate the mud-thick aura of...whatever this was... constantly in the air around her. But even Leia, who liked Threepio, had tired of him quickly, and found a way to discreetly dismiss him – let Han deal with him, she thought. For now, she enjoyed the relative peace of the now-silent, barely lighted cockpit. Even with all the shadows that always accompanied that aforementioned peace...

Leia looked once more out of the viewport she'd been staring out of for the last hour or so, the one that itself stared (rather disturbingly, she thought) only out into pitch-blackness. She thought that, somewhere not far away, she caught a white glimmer of a star interrupting the indefinite expanse of monotone...and another...

It was more pleasant to think about the stars than other things that were out there.

The Vaders' fleet was out there right now, so close she imagined at times she could feel the unchanging metronome of his breath hissing right over her shoulder, him lurking in the shadows just out of her sight – even here on the ship. She resisted the repeated urges to glance over her shoulder to confirm such a phantom's existence, knowing full well what doing so indicated.

Mad. They're driving me mad, and it's only going to get worse...

And she felt as if this whole chase were partly her fault.

They're coming to claim what they see as rightfully theirs, she thought with a chill that went through her like a hot vibroblade sliding through wax. Well, they're welcome to try. She knew such thoughts were somewhat petulant, but it did feel reassuring at times to spite the figures that had spawned her, even in this small manner.

What she wouldn't give to actually face at least one of them now, so she could look into their eyes (or mask) and spit on their tainted feet, daring her father's renowned temper to lash out against her. Would he strike down his own flesh and blood, especially with his

(angel)

beloved, supplicating nymph so close by? She wondered.

Or if she could just get a shot at him, maybe it would be worth it. For all he'd done to her. For tainting the once happy image she'd had of her life, and taking it away piece by piece as she watched powerlessly.

For taking her away from me. First her, then my innocence...then my life.

She wanted him to die knowing she hated them both. She wanted her to live, to see all the pain she'd caused her offspring on her own. If he meant enough to her to abandon her own child, then it would most certainly cause her pain to lose him.

Luke would tell her these feelings were of the dark side. She wondered where he was right now – hopefully far away from the Imperial Fleet, on the other side of the galaxy...she could rest in the comfort that there was one thing dear to her they hadn't taken away. Leia had tried to warm herself with that bit of light, but its job was hard-pressed.

She'd rather do anything than just be sitting here, waiting to either freeze to death or (worse) for the Vaders to come calling...to wait for her fate to be decided by how well others played their hands. Action was always more satisfying than idly pondering on something. Part of why she was so frustrated now – all there was to do was ponder idly.

"Hiya, Sweetheart."

Well, things did have a way of changing, if not always for the better.

Just go away, she thought at him.

She had the feeling those words would have been just as ineffective even if she'd used a Jedi mind trick to enforce them. In a way, though (though she'd never admit it to him) she was relieved by his arrival – her own train of thought before then was one she didn't mind escaping at all. Even if the means were somewhat less desirable than she'd have otherwise liked.

Han, for once without his self-assured cocky grin, strode (well, as much as one could in this confined space) into the cockpit. Without even asking – though Leia didn't know why he would have – he slid himself into the co-pilot's seat, apparently unperturbed by Leia stealing his normal spot. She didn't care one way or the other; she liked this chair. It was, unlike most spots on this ship, actually somewhat comfortable, and it didn't smell like Wookiee fur.

Whether it was because she had seen it so much and was perhaps growing conditioned to it, or because she knew that she had much greater concerns in her life than whether he was uncouth enough to continue flirting with her (though she did find it extremely out of place), she was actually surprised, and even a little concerned, at its absence.

But leave it to him to find a way to compensate for it.

"What, no stinging retort?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in controlled surprise.

"I figured I would let you off one time," Leia said, not looking at him. "I imagine you might need it."

Han laughed and propped his head on his forearm, leaning forward across the seats so his head was bare inches from Leia's. For several long moments his face remained in that proximity with hers, and Leia resisted the urge to flinch away. It wasn't as hard to resist as she would have liked...

"You? Letting me off? Not in a million supernovas. I'm not buying it, Princess."

"Maybe I'm not selling anything," she countered, a bit more acerbically. She eyed him caustically.

Maybe she should make a habit of trying to avoid him. On a ship this size, it would certainly be a feat it might take time to master. Something she was definitely willing to burn...

Among other things, she thought, as the caped form of Vader once more draped its shadow over her thoughts.

The corner of Han's mouth twitched slightly, and much to her relief, he pulled his head away. Leia was surprised he didn't have an immediate retort of his own. For a moment they sat there in silence, their eyes unmoving from each other – Leia had the odd impression of two ruffian types squared off against one another in a wide deserted alley, itching fingers poised over their triggers – each daring the other to be the first one to blink, to make the mistake...

But Leia had met her match in Han Solo, and after a moment she blinked, conceded defeat, gratefully turning her head back towards the blank viewport and slinking just a bit back into her chair. Ever since he'd come in here that view had become far more interesting, though nothing outside had changed that she could see.

"Shouldn't you be working on the hyperdrive?" she went on, when it was clear there would be no rejoinder, not wanting to flat-out tell him to simply buzz off.

"What? And deprive Chewie of his wonderful conversation with your droid?" Han smirked, chucking a thumb towards the rear of the ship. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Your concern for him is touching," she replied dryly. She dearly wanted to snap at him...but a significant part of her recoiled at the thought of further alienating him, even after all that she'd done without hesitation in that department already. Merely because he was the closest friend she had to her at the moment, she told herself. If it was Luke here instead of Han...

(that's not the same and you know it...)

"Aren't you worried you're depriving something else important by being here?"

His lips tightened; perhaps she'd unsettled him. She didn't know why; she'd put him off plenty of times before with much harsher words. Back at the south passage at the base, for example – that was one instance she actually regretted, but was too prideful to admit. "Evidently not you, Highnessness. If you've got any ideas, please, by all means, do tell me." He gestured expansively, emphasizing the sarcasm in his tone.

"I'd think you'd know better than to let me do that," she said, folding her arms tighter as she turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, jaw set in a firm line. "Why are you in here?"

"I thought you might be lonely in here. I came to talk."

(lonely...you have no idea...)

"And you thought you and your marvelous, winning charms could alleviate that loneliness, is that it?" She affected a bemused expression. Friend or not, she couldn't see him coming in here for any reason that didn't somehow include annoying her.

She really had no desire to talk to him; above all she just wanted him to leave. She glanced briefly up into the hazel eyes, visible as ever even in the dim lighting...as if they possessed their own inner fire that hinted at the passionate interior beneath. Those eyes unnerved her in more ways than one, and yet again she found herself looking away.

No doubt he's conjured his own reasons and fantasies as to why I'm behaving so. Her own mind, though, offered no original speculation itself either.

"There's only so many ways to avoid me on this ship, sister."

"Why would I need to avoid you?"

"You tell me."

Her eyes narrowed at him, and this time she had no problem looking at him. Odd how it always seemed to be the times he irritated her most that she found him easiest to deal with... "What are you insinuating? That you think you're a big enough concern of mine, at a time like this, with the Empire's dragons breathing fire down our bare necks, to go to the effort to avoid you?"

He simply shrugged, as if her last statement hadn't been coated with daggers. "Point conceded. If you'd actually made an effort, I might not have found you by now."

"Is there something you want, Captain Solo?"

The grin showed itself at last. "An attitude change would be a good start, though some adhesive strips for covering a certain someone's smart mouth would probably suffice for the moment."

"I don't know about the attitude change, but I'm certain there must be adhesive somewhere around here," she murmured thoughtfully, a spark of mischievous amusement creeping briefly into her expression. "After all, something has to be holding this rustbucket together."

"I meant for you, and you know it."

Her tension levels began to quickly rise. Oh, no, she knew where this was heading. And she didn't like the smell of it one bit. "Han, if you're just going to lecture me on how you find my attitude self-damaging and a pain in your behind, I can already tell you I don't care to hear it. If you don't like my attitude, go somewhere else."

"On this ship, Your Worship? Isn't that easy."

"I thought Corellians had no use for odds." She turned her chair around to face him. "I'm sure you'll find a way to beat them."

His hazel gaze narrowed at her a moment, stilling her mouth from further action. "You don't know how hard I've tried that." His voice had dropped a level, and its softness was enough to unnerve Leia further. "You know it's not as nice and easy to do that as you seem to think it is? I've tried. Over and over, Princess. And even if it were possible?" He shook his head. "I know you probably hate me now. But we used to be friends, Princess. It's like if Luke was doing this to himself," he said, though for a moment, she could have sworn he sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something "– I couldn't turn my back on him. I couldn't abandon him to something I knew would destroy him. But there's a big difference between you and Luke," he told her, "and that's that Luke wouldn't be content to stew in his own anger until there was nothing left. To try to repel away people who wanted to help him."

"I thought you told me you didn't want to help me."

"What is it you think I've been trying to do?" he shot back, whatever patience he'd carefully crafted beginning to wear through. "You think I keep doing this, coming after you, because I enjoy the exercise? Because it's good for my health?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, like he tended to do when particularly stressed – she probably saw more of that gesture than any of his other friends. Why does he keep coming back? she thought. "I've seen people talk about Lord Vader with less trepidation than they talk about the possibility of facing you."

It wasn't a comparison she appreciated at all. There was no way Han could know the personal impact that statement had on her, but that knowledge was negligible in waning the surge of familiar, cold fire that rose through her unbidden. Her eyes narrowed, the temperature in the cockpit actually seeming to drop a few degrees. "Never compare me to him," she said slowly, forcing herself to remain steady. "I mean never."

"Doesn't change the truth of it. Doesn't change the fact that you need help," he said, eyeing her suspiciously. Leia cursed herself for her outburst; if she kept this up then he would know...

But, part of her innocently inquired – would there in fact be anything wrong with having someone else know this? To share in her pain?

I am no friend by sharing this sort of pain with them.

"You've gotten soft," she said instead.

"Yeah. And what happened to you?" he reached out and took her gloved hand suddenly, gripping her wrist in a firm yet oddly gentle hold.

(...almost fancied she could feel echoes of a long-extinguished warmth in its contact, even through the leather glove...)

Leia yanked her hand away, suddenly and inexplicably repulsed. She saw the angry fire blaze in his eyes again as she did this, every time she showed an indication of further alienating herself.

But she saw something else – she saw the genuine concern in them, something she'd never seen – or allowed herself to see – before.

(And what happened to you?)

I wouldn't wish that knowledge on anyone.

She closed her eyes for a long moment and swallowed, staunching a swell of emotion.

"Let's just say my past is catching up with me – far faster than I ever wanted it to," she began, standing to leave, "and when it gets here I'd rather not see those I care for hurt by it." She clenched her fist at her side. "Don't follow me," she ordered him quietly, not offering any more elaboration to alleviate his perplexed expression.

I've already said far too much. But it had been, in a minor way, a relief to even say that. As if an almost imperceptible part of the weight crushing down on her was lifted...but it wasn't enough.

He made no effort to follow her when she stormed out at last. As she glanced over her shoulder, not even the phantom of Vader was there, only the muffled thud issuing from the cockpit, no doubt from Han releasing his anger by smashing his fist into a bulkhead.

He had heeded her wishes and was not following her – but as the shadows that had been dissipated by his presence quickly congregated back around her again, she began wishing rather fervently that he had.

---

"Once there, you will both find Yoda, the Jedi Master who instructed me."

The tingling sensation that accompanied the remembrance of those words flitted up and down Luke's spine and out through his fingertips. A Jedi Master. A real, live Jedi Master.

He still regretted not bringing Leia with him as instructed…but he had to admit that a part of him was a little bit glad. He wasn't sure if she would have understood how much all of this meant to him, and while he was usually indulgent of her rather dismissive – or downright hostile – attitude toward things Jedi, he was happy not to have to deal with that now.

Until seeing Ben, Luke hadn't admitted to himself how lonely he had been the past three years since leaving Tatooine. He cared greatly about his friends in the Rebellion, but there was a heavy – if noble – burden he had been forced to shoulder on his own…being the last Skywalker and the last Jedi. On both counts, he hoped desperately that he would be able to do the right thing, and make his father proud somehow.

But it was hard to become a Jedi in a vacuum, and self-teaching (when he was sure he didn't know anything) was completely unsatisfying. Knowing that he would now have a teacher…and it was Ben Kenobi's teacher! He couldn't have ever hoped to be so lucky, and –

Artoo began whistling excitedly and Luke glanced out of his X-Wing at the planet quickly approaching just ahead of him. "That's it. Dagobah." The droid gave him a series of agitated beeps. "No, I'm not changing my mind about this." Luke caught himself, and wondered at what point he had begun to sometimes understand and answer Artoo without the readouts.

"I'm not picking up any cities," he muttered to himself. He wasn't sure what to make of that, but he figured it could make some sense. After all, Ben had hidden out on Tatooine, so it wasn't surprising that this Jedi had also chosen a backwater planet to live on. As long as he was picking up some life readings – and he was getting plenty – things were fine.

More beeping, and Luke almost ignored it, except that the droid sounded almost worried. He smiled. "Yes, I'm sure this place is perfectly safe." Artoo snorted.

Almost as if in answer, the X-Wing entered the planet's atmosphere, and immediately hit turbulence. As his ship shook violently, Luke tried to get it back under control, or at least ascertain where it was headed. "I can't see a thing. Just hang on."

As Luke started his landing cycle, tree branches appeared out of nowhere, hitting his viewscreen and knocking his ship even further off-balance. For a second, Luke panicked, realizing he was much closer to the ground than he had thought, and there was no chance that his X-Wing would be ready to land. He braced for the crash.

Instead, water splashed up and over his hull, as they landed almost softly in a lake. Luke heaved a grateful sigh of relief.

Then he looked around.

Luke had always believed that Tatooine was the most desolate place in the galaxy. At least until he had lived on Hoth. This place threatened to overtake both of those planets for that honor.

It was an empty, disgusting-looking swamp. No cities? There were no people here at all, and he couldn't imagine why there would be.

In disgust, Luke opened the hatch and stood on top of his ship, trying to figure out if it mattered which way he went. "Just stay here, Artoo, I want to look around."

Before he even finished the sentence, the X-Wing groaned and shifted, settling into the floor of the lake. Luke felt himself wobble slightly, and was just about to turn to his droid when he heard a loud splash behind him.

"Artoo?"

"Artoo!" Luke startled himself with how alarmed he sounded, but there was no way he was staying here alone. "Where are you? Artoo!" He stared into the smoky waters, wondering if he should just jump in there after him. "Artoo?"

A beep, and then the droid's top lens poked out of the water. Luke relaxed, but felt his fear turn quickly into annoyance. "You be more careful," he said sharply. Artoo was already humming to himself and rolling away.

Luke hopped off his ship and into the water, climbing up onto a land embankment. What was he supposed to do? Just walk aimlessly across the planet and hope he stumbled across Yoda? He was tempted to leave until he could figure out exactly what was going on, but that would require getting his X-Wing out and running, and there was no chance of that right now.

What if I'm stuck here?

He pushed the thought away, trying not to let the situation get to him. Maybe Yoda would know some people who could help him. "I don't know, Artoo…"

Luke glanced down and gasped in horror as he saw a creature swim quietly behind his unsuspecting friend, and pull Artoo Detoo underneath the water. There was no time to react – by the time he had pulled out his blaster, the water was again still and the swamp was silent. He really was going to have to dive in – and fight a monster! – to save that droid.

He stood at the edge of the water, blaster ready, completely unnerved. Come on, Artoo, come on. Then, violently – Come on!

Luke jumped at a sudden movement in the water, and watched in amazement as Artoo sailed over his head like a rocket, landing with a loud crash within the forest. He found the droid lying on its head.

"Are you all right?" He was functioning at least, as his non-stop beeping attested to. Luke leaned down to help him back up, and was suddenly glad he hadn't gone after him in the lake. He had forgotten how heavy Artoo actually was. There was no way he would have been able to just grab him and pull him to shore. "You're lucky you don't taste very good," he said wryly. He looked over the droid – covered in some sort of gunk and a whole lot of mud, but fine otherwise.

With that excitement over, Luke felt the tingling, agitated feeling return. It was much stronger this time, and put his whole body on edge. The way he had felt when that strange vision had come to him earlier. A feeling he thought he might have had at one time or another his whole life, whether or not he knew what it was supposed to mean.

"I don't know," he muttered, squatting down to Artoo Detoo's level. "This has got to be a mistake –" a loud beep of assent "– but there's something about this place. I feel like I'm dreaming or something."

Artoo's only answer was to spit out some of the mud that was clogging his systems. Luke groaned. What a mess this was.

---

The cold mist of antiseptic spray was always a shock against his scalp, both revolting and comforting in its sudden, cleansing touch.

Above him, he could see the mechanical arms pulling his helmet upward into its sterilization chamber, as the pincers built into the back of his chair began daubing at the scars on his head. He was impatient with the process – he always was – but no matter how good the filtration in the suit, his own exertion always got the better of it eventually, and the smell would begin to work its way into the pneumatics, making him feel filthy. So he endured this procedure, twice a day, without fail, no matter what chase he was involved in.

Amidala had offered to do this, and Vader had thought it would be...pleasant…to replace the cold metal of the droid with his wife's warm hands. But when she had tried it, the image that had come to both of them was of the twins, as infants, in a small tub, as she washed them with a soft cloth. It was an unwelcome image on many, many levels, and since that day, she had simply come into the chamber with him, to talk to him and help pass the time as the droids did their work.

Today, her impatience matched his own. There was no room for pacing in the chamber so she simply stood and tapped her fingers on her crossed arms. Sometimes, she would forget the space limitation and take a step, only to find herself against a wall. Her gown and veils seemed to ripple even in the still air, as if vibrating with her heartbeat. The chamber was closed but not sealed – Vader used a respirator built into the equipment for this – so she didn't require her own air supply.

"Where would he have gone, if not with her?"

"It is possible, Amidala, that they do not regularly travel together. They may not have recognized their kinship."

"I know. I never should have let Bail adopt her. Never. I never should have allowed Obi-Wan and – and others – to convince me to separate them."

Vader let the silence spin out. He did not wish to discuss her decisions at the time of the twins' birth, nor did he want to open the door on her continued evasion of who the "others" might be. Other Jedi, no doubt. The Jedi had always considered it a wise course of action to shatter his family.

She stopped very suddenly, and turned to him, eyes wide above the veils. Her face was twitching, as if she were struggling mightily with herself. It had looked this way just before she'd said, "Ani, I told you a horrible lie, all those years ago..." He let her fight her battle; if he pushed her over the edge, she would regret it and place the blame on him.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, then turned away again.

A chime broke the stillness, and she reached for the chamber controls with what appeared to be relief. Vader did not stop her; the cleaning process was finished, and the presence he sensed beyond the door was one whose allegiance he wished to test anyway. He allowed Piett to enter before the droid had finished lowering his helmet. The last thing he felt before he was sealed into his suit was the soft breath of Amidala's veil against his cheek as she passed.

"Yes, Admiral?" she said.

Piett paused a moment – they all did when she addressed them directly in Vader's presence – then said, "My Lady. Lord Vader, we are pursuing the Millennium Falcon, but it has entered an asteroid field. We are taking losses in our flight squadrons."

The droids made the last adjustments to the helmet, and Vader turned to face the newly-made admiral. "Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral. I want that ship, not excuses."

Piett looked dubious, but said, "Yes, Lord."

"Are we in a position to minimize losses among the men without risking the Falcon?" Amidala asked abruptly.

Vader raised a hand, to give Piett permission to answer her directly. He considered it an intelligent question. Piett nodded. "My Lady, we have the firepower to destroy asteroids, but both our own men and the crew of the Millennium Falcon would be exposed to greater risk from such a destruction. Our best hope is to simply pursue them through."

And an intelligent answer. Piett should have had command of the Executor in the first place. "You are performing well, Admiral," he said. "See that it continues."

"Yes, Lord." Piett started for the door, then stopped halfway. Vader felt a certain nervousness coming off of him. "My Lord..." He turned to Vader again, then his eyes went to Amidala, and remained there. "My Lady. There is a matter of which I believe you should be aware."

"What is it, Admiral?" Amidala asked.

"Admiral Ozzel has been given command of the Iron Will."

"Unsurprising," Vader said.

"As commander of the flagship, I was tracking communications. He made direct contact with the Emperor's Palace on Coruscant, and was granted his new command by Imperial fiat."

So it begins.

Vader raised his head and met Amidala's eyes. Any traces of disagreement between them evaporated at this. Neither of them had failed to note that Piett had considered the move both threatening and directed against them; there had been no thought that Vader had been consulted, or that Ozzel's presence on the Iron Will was not hostile. Piett was not Force sensitive in any meaningful way, but he was one of the most observant officers in the Fleet. He had noticed. He may not have realized what he was noticing, but he'd known to report this, known it would be of interest.

"And you have taken it upon yourself to question the decisions of the Emperor?" Vader let his voice roll dangerously through the room, and he forced the door into the corridor to slide shut and lock. Beyond Piett, Amidala had stiffened her shoulders and was in a state of high alert. She recognized the rules of this particular engagement. If Piett failed this test, he would not leave the room alive.

"My Lord..."

"Admiral."

"I believed that..." Piett swallowed with an audible click. "I believe that Ozzel might pose a danger to yourself and her Ladyship."

"Ozzel is an incompetent fool."

"To speak more precisely, my Lord, I was troubled by the possibility that he has supporters in powerful positions. Supporters who could pose a more credible threat to you both."

"Cleverly spoken," Amidala said softly.

Piett's eyes suddenly flicked away from her, seeking Vader now. Strange. Vader reached out and touched the Force around Piett. His nervousness was spiking around him like a thunderstorm, and it was tied to Amidala somehow. She was reaching him in a way Vader was not.

She was asking Piett to declare himself a traitor.

He let the control of the situation slide over to her. Provisionally.

She took a few steps toward Piett. "Why," she asked, "would those in powerful positions on Coruscant be a danger to my husband?"

"My Lady," Piett choked, not looking at her. "You must realize that you and your husband have...enemies within the Empire."

"And you are offering to side with us against them?"

Piett did not answer. He stood between them, his eyes shifting back and forth. He trusted his guess – Vader knew that he would not have come this far if he had not trusted it – but he knew that if he were wrong, to speak the words Amidala was asking him to speak would forfeit his life.

"You were asked a question, Admiral," he said, moving forward, one hand raised.

"Yes," Amidala said, and Vader saw the shadowy motion of her veil being raised. The clear, crystalline lines of her profile glimmered in the room's dim lighting. "You were."

Piett turned for the last time, to face her, and looked into her deep brown eyes as she stepped into the light. Vader felt a rush of emotions coming from him: an unseemly attraction, quickly squashed, a superstitious dread, a puzzled search for meaning, a surge of hope and

(love?)

loyalty. And then, at last, full recognition.

Piett fell to one knee, and bent his head. "Your Majesty," he said. "I am ever at the service of you and your Lord."

Vader searched Piett's heart, and found no duplicity. "Very well," he said. "You may go. All will continue as it has, until you are instructed otherwise."

Piett rose. "Yes. Of course, my Lord."

Amidala reached over her head, and pulled the veil back down over her face. Piett gave her a smile before he left.

"A bold strategy," Vader said when he was gone.

"Let us hope it has better results than my boldness has had in the past." Her eyes went to the large viewport where rocks were hurtling toward the Star Destroyer, deflected by the shield only meters beyond. "If this was a misstep –"

"It was not."

She walked to the expanse of transparisteel, and spread her fingers out against it. "It will change, Leia. You'll have no need to fight anymore. Come home to me."

Vader went to stand beside her, and together, they watched the chase.

---

Han made his way back to the bridge with some trepidation. He had been in the cargo-hold of the ship, scavenging for supplies. He had found quite a bit that would be helpful under normal circumstances, but this wasn't the usual set of repairs. He certainly had never expected his hyperdrive to completely fail the way it had. Something told him that it would need to be replaced…but that wasn't an option right now, so he was just going to have to make the thing work.

He would have thought that should be enough to completely occupy his thoughts. But his mind kept wandering. Wandering to Leia.

"Let's just say my past is catching up with me – far faster than I ever wanted it to…and when it gets here, I'd rather not see those I care for hurt by it."

Her past? What did that mean?

He didn't believe for a second that she was referring to her life on Alderaan. Or on Coruscant as a Senator. Sure, her family had always had entanglements with the Rebellion, but beyond that, he thought she had led a relatively normal, royal life. And he had asked around on more than one occasion to make sure he hadn't missed a stray rumor or story. So those options didn't make sense to him.

Which meant that whatever happened, whatever had set her off, had occurred in the time they had known each other. Without anyone – not him, not Luke, not any of the other Rebels – having an inkling of it.

That thought was strongly (and surprisingly) dismaying to him. How could something so disturbing or painful happen to her without her so-called friends bothering to notice?

Irritation leapt up from the back of his brain. It was an expected voice, and it said, You can only be as good a friend as she lets you. You don't have to let her drive you both crazy about whatever this is.

He had the feeling that voice was right. But...on a level he was reluctant to admit to anyone, he was touched that she included him in the group of people she cared about. Didn't that mean that she was trying to keep him at arm's length for his own protection, not because she was simply trying to be difficult? And didn't that mean something?

He shook his head, trying to get back to more pressing matters. "Shut her down, Chewie," he called loudly as he entered the cockpit. "Let's see what we can do about this." Chewie growled in acknowledgement.

"Sir," Threepio inquired nervously, "I'm almost afraid to ask, but does that mean shutting me down as well?"

Han noted Leia bristling at the question, and he could feel her gearing up for another fight over that droid of hers. Forget it. Wasn't worth it as far as he was concerned. "No, Threepio. I need you to talk to the Falcon for me, figure out what's going on."

Her response was to frown at him. Apparently, she wasn't in a peace-making mood, despite his little overture. Maybe her earlier confession had put her back on the defensive? He hoped not.

But before he could deal with the question, the Falcon lurched forward and back for a few seconds. How strange…he had thought that this asteroid was big enough not to have tremors like this –

"Sir, it seems this asteroid isn't entirely stable."

Han didn't even bother rolling his eyes. Chewie already had Threepio halfway out the door.

Leia glanced at him furtively, but he caught it. There was a new tension between them because of the little she had managed to tell him earlier, and he didn't like it. His mind scrambled for some sort of joke – or anything to say – to break the awkwardness of the moment.

"Han," she began. "I –"

A new tremor rolled through the ship, stronger this time, throwing him into the captain's chair. Leia completely lost her balance, and Han grabbed her to keep her from falling, pulling her into the chair with him.

What is going on with this cave? he wondered. If this asteroid were completely unstable, they'd be forced to leave before finishing their repairs, something they couldn't afford.

He glanced out of the cockpit, and listened to the continued rumblings from outside. Leia squirmed slightly, and he shushed her without really meaning to. She shoved at his arms. "Let me go, Han."

On the Hoth base, that tone of voice would have noted an order, and everyone in the room would have jumped. But this was his ship, and he merely found it amusing. "Don't go getting all excited, sweetheart."

She rolled her eyes and snapped, "It would take a little more than being held by you to get me excited, Captain."

Han almost laughed out loud – it was rare for Leia to jump on an innuendo like that. And it opened up way too many easy comebacks for him, several of which would likely get him into huge trouble with her.

Smiling, Han abruptly stood them both up and set her on her feet. "Sorry, sweetheart. We don't have time for anything else." As he left, he could see Leia absolutely seething. Yup, the other responses would have undoubtedly gotten him killed.

Yet, despite all of it, he couldn't help thinking that maybe having her to himself until they got to the rendezvous wouldn't be a bad thing. Despite her reluctance, and his frustration, things suddenly felt as though they were moving between them.

Han knew it was unlikely he'd get a chance like this again. No matter how difficult it proved, he'd have to start making the most of it.

---

Luke stumbled back slightly as he tried, unsuccessfully, to pull the last emergency package out of the back of his cockpit.

This last piece had decided to make it its mission in life to add another annoyance to Luke's own life, it seemed, and was wedged very firmly in the narrow space between the back of his pilot's chair and the rear of the cockpit. It was his portable power generator, an absolute necessity for his survival here...which might be longer than he liked, considering at the moment he wasn't exactly brimming with ideas on how to get his snubfighter out of the soupy muck it was slowly sinking into. Luke gave one final yank on the generator, and it abruptly popped free –

– and nearly sent Luke flailing backwards off his precarious perch into the swamp. At the last moment he regained his balance, but not quickly enough to halt the distinctly amused beeping of a certain astromech droid nearby.

"Fine," Luke shook his head in exasperation as he shut the cockpit canopy, "we're even now." He walked down the snub's nose to the somewhat-stable ground on which he and Artoo had set up their camp: an open clearing in the dark, limp jungle filled with various crates of survival materials pulled from the inactive hulk of the X-Wing before it sunk too far down to retrieve anything. Luke set the generator down next to the crate of Alliance standard-issue emergency tools – the latter seemed extremely insufficient, all of a sudden; there was hardly anything in here that would make lifting his snubfighter out of the mud any easier. But then, who expected to be landing their fighter in a swamp, anyway? Of course there wouldn't be anything designed to help him...

He smoothed out the folded single-layer tarp that served as his makeshift chair, and prepared to relax and seat himself. But then Artoo chittered again, insistently, and Luke glanced at the generator, realizing just how long it had probably been since the droid had recharged. He smiled wanly and flipped on the generator, the minor bit of orange light and heat it provided lifting his mood somewhat. The only other light around him was a foggy gray mist. He doubted this area ever saw that much sunlight. It was its own essential greenhouse, thick and muggy. He stood up and hooked up the generator's outlet cable to Artoo's own power socket; almost immediately the droid twittered in satisfaction. As if in response Luke's own stomach grumbled; he leaned over and picked up the nondescript lap-size metal case across from him and opened it, taking out one of the rank of silver-wrapped ration bars lined up in it. He and Artoo would have their dinner, such as it was, together.

He unwrapped and tore a bite out of the bland bar, wincing slightly at the taste. Ah, field survival gourmet...

He raised the bar to the droid as if in a toast. "Cheers," he said, clinking an imaginary glass, then taking another bite, forcing the dry material down his throat – wishing he really did have a drink to wash it down with. Artoo moaned sadly and swirled his dome around, surveying the landscape around them. They certainly weren't the only living things in this area, but the things that were probably around them (the whatever-it-was that had tried to make a meal of Artoo, for example) made Luke wish they were.

"I'm beginning to think you're right about coming here, Artoo," Luke said. "If this Yoda of Ben's really does exist, if he was ever here, I can't imagine he'd have lasted long. But if that was the case, why would Ben tell me to..." He shook his head; he was just rambling now, and that wasn't a good sign. "I don't know. But it's almost as if..." He trailed off again, as he took another bite of his bar, taking in his surroundings once more, intrigued by them suddenly. He could swear he'd never seen this place before in his life, yet something about it...the feeling...it seemed to resound off a chord deep within him, undeniable yet unreadable...

(a low, familiar and soothing voice, a soft maternal hand caressing his cheek, shushing him gently, her warm flesh cradling him...)

"It's like there's something familiar about this place, Artoo...it's almost like..."

"Almost like what?" a croaking voice interrupted, prompting a shrill squeal from Artoo and nearly causing Luke to jump out of his skin; in a half second he and his blaster were pointed at the source of the voice. A frail-looking, trembling green figure – short, reaching to about Luke's knee, in tattered robes, his pointy-eared head hiding protectively behind gnarled fingers, stood not five feet from him. Luke wondered how the little guy had gotten so close without him noticing...

"Away put your weapon!" the creature cried, still hiding his head behind his hands, but peering out a corner of it just a bit. "I mean no harm. I – I simply wonder, for curious I am. Why are you here?"

Luke raised a cautious eyebrow, slowly lowering his blaster. After all, if things did decide to go hostile, the little guy would pretty much be carrying the short end of the stick in the conflict –literally, Luke saw; a twisted stick seemed to be in the creature's hand, propping him up. "I'm looking for someone," he said slowly.

The creature's timid demeanor evaporated, and it turned suddenly bright green eyes towards him, hobbling its way closer to Luke's camp. "Looking? Found someone you have I would say, mmm?" It laughed. Luke put away his blaster.

"Right," he said with an uncertain laugh. He was beginning to get the distinct impression this creature was going to be more of an annoyance than a threat. He supposed he could handle that...

"Help you I can, yes..."

Luke smiled. "I don't think so. The person I'm looking for is a great warrior." Though the moment he said it he became uncertain; after all, so far, this being was the only sentient being on this planet they'd encountered (and it even spoke Basic, at that); if he knew this Yoda...

"Warrior? Great?" The creature seemed to find this amusing; Luke didn't see why. "Make one great, wars certainly do not," it continued with a sniff, again reversing the normal word order of the sentence – why was it that he spoke like that? Luke wondered.

At that moment it seemed to find something of interest in the pile of crates; he threw one open and immediately began rummaging. Despite himself Luke felt an unbidden flash of annoyance; yes, Leia had told him all about the necessity of politeness when in contact with a new species (what species was this thing anyway? Not something he recognized...), but when that other species wasn't exactly making its own efforts towards common courtesy – in this case, respecting one's personal belongings – it certainly was hard...

"Would you get out of there?" Luke asked, stifling the annoyance and not being entirely successful. The creature ignored him, and continued happily throwing things out of the crate onto the muddy ground. Objects Luke needed if he were ever going to survive...now he was irritated. "You're just making a mess," he sighed in exasperation, picking up the tools – which now were coated in a thin greenish swath of mud – and gingerly placing them back in the box. The creature continued to pay him no heed.

It was one thing to be curious about a new being, as this fellow evidently seemed to be. But to utterly disregard someone when they were making repeated attempts at communication...

The creature stopped rummaging suddenly, holding up a small object as a trophy in apparent delight. The tip of it flicked on and Luke recognized the small shape of his emergency light. Something he definitely could not afford to lose; especially seeing as it was the only one he had. He reached for it, but the creature yanked it away protectively, eyeing Luke caustically. "Mine!" it declared. "Or help you I will not."

"I don't care. I need my lamp, especially if I'm going to get out of this mudhole."

The creature seemed to take offense at this, its pointy ears drooping slightly. "Mudhole? But my home this –"

Apparently the being had failed to notice that during this exchange, Artoo had quietly positioned himself not too far behind him, and had slowly extended his grasping arm, ready to seize the glowing light from the creature's hand. At the last second the creature caught the droid's whirring sound, and promptly whirled on Artoo, whacking him with his stick with one hand and fighting for possession of the light with the other – pretty well; Luke could hear the whirring increase as Artoo strained to get the light. "Mine!" the being shouted repeatedly, "Mine!" It finally yanked the lamp free, thunking Artoo with his stick and hmph-ing triumphantly. Oh, let him have it, Luke thought – he'd survived on less before, surely he'd find some way to manage without it. And maybe, now that the creature appeared to have what it wanted, it would leave him be...

"No. Stay and help you I will!" the creature declared suddenly as if in response; had Luke been thinking out loud? That wasn't something he usually did. "Find this friend, mmm?"

"I'm not looking for a friend, little fella. If you must know, I'm looking for a Jedi Master."

The ears on the creature suddenly perked up, and the creature's eyes widened as it stared up at Luke. "A Jedi Master, you seek?" it asked in apparent awe. Luke's own curiosity was piqued; judging by its reaction the creature was clearly familiar with or had at least heard of the Jedi. Maybe there was in fact one on this planet somewhere..."Why?"

"I was told I would find him here," Luke replied slowly.

The creature nodded emphatically. "Yoda. It is Yoda you seek, mmm?"

All of Luke's previous annoyance evaporated to the gray mists around him, and he immediately stooped down to the creature. So there was in fact someone named Yoda...and if this creature knew him, then he probably was not too far away..."Do you know Yoda?" Luke asked him eagerly.

The creature nodded even more emphatically. "Yes, yes! Take you to him I will, if you like," it replied, breaking out into a sudden fit of chuckles. "Come. Take you to Yoda I will, but first eat we must. Good food it is, not this gunk." He poked disapprovingly at the remains of Luke's ration bar. It began walking away into the mists, going a little ways before it stopped and turned back to Luke, waving the little lamp.

"Come on!"

Luke glanced at the creature uncertainly, then back at Artoo, who twittered softly. Luke exhaled and put his blaster in his holster, reaching for his father's lightsaber as well. For a moment Luke relished the feel of the cool metal of the hilt in his palm, wondering what his father had been thinking when he had wielded this same weapon…it was the only tangible connection (aside from his own presence, of course) Luke had to his father, but still speaking of a legacy he knew he had the duty to uphold. If not for himself...then for Anakin Skywalker. And if this little creature could lead him to it...

Luke stood up quickly, attaching the saber to his belt and quickly snatching a couple of rations (just to be on the safe side, he told himself). "Stay here and watch the camp, Artoo. I'll be back in a while."

The droid chittered loudly in protest and began wobbling back and forth on his wheels as Luke walked away, and who could blame him? He wouldn't like being alone any more than Luke did.

Any more than Leia, in her seething, closed-off emotional state, probably did...

Shunting his thoughts about how much he suddenly missed her – and wished she were here with him – out of his mind, he trudged off through the mud after the little creature, squinting through the gray fog.

---

Doing some of the work on the ship had seemed like a good idea. For one thing, Leia preferred being a member of the crew to being an unwanted passenger. For another, concentrating on a cracked generator took her mind off many, many other things.

She watched the soldering beam play along the fine crack in the steel, leaving first a bright orange line, then the clean, silvery bandage that was supposed to hold it together. She'd believe that when they jumped into hyperspace and away from the Imperial Fleet.

In the next compartment, she could hear Threepio and the Falcon conversing in a strange combination of whistles and beeps. Threepio made some kind of complaint to Han, who bellowed, "Well, of course I'll have to replace it!" The tone suggested to Leia that Threepio had given him a piece of information he'd never suspected.

She held the beam near the top for a moment, then pulled it away. The crack was as sealed as it was going to get. She pushed the generator back into the wall, and swung the access door shut. Too simple. She needed something that would take –

"Ow!"

She pulled her hand away, wrist hurting. She hadn't even been looking at the locking mechanism as she went to close it, and her hand had turned a fast half of its radius before she noticed that the handle wasn't moving with her. It was frozen in its original position.

Shaking the kinks out of her wrist, she took a tighter grip, and backed it up with her left hand.

Shove.

Nothing. She might as well have been trying to move the whole bulkhead.

"Come on, come on..."

Another shove at the mechanism did nothing to improve the situation, so she tried a slow, steady push, putting her entire body weight behind it. The strain spread across her chest, drawing her muscles tight and hard across her breastbone, so that she could feel each beat of her heart. The muscles in her abdomen shook, and the back of her neck took on a dull, throbbing ache.

She released her breath and opened her eyes.

It hadn't budged.

The rage flew up out of nowhere. Everything...the Rebellion...the deserters...her parents…and now, on top of everything else, she couldn't finish the simplest part of the only task she'd been assigned in her own rescue. She slammed her fist into the access door, over and over, and kicked the wall beneath it.

Stupid, idiotic, stop this…

But that train of thought only made her angrier. She couldn't even control herself? She was supposed to –

Large hands closed around her wrists gently, and she felt herself pulled away from the access door. "Hey, watch it, Your Worship," Han said, amiably enough. "We're trying to fix her, not break her."

He moved in front of her, blocking her view of the offending mechanism. Her rage cooled somewhat with it out of sight. "What else could possibly go wrong here?"

He shrugged, not letting go of her wrists, though his thumbs moved up and started to caress her palms. "You're wound up, Your Highnessness."

Leia stared coolly down at their hands, trying to make him see that his attentions were inappropriate (if not exactly unwelcome). "If you're going to stand there fondling my hands, you may as well call me Leia." She tried to spit it out acerbically, but the tone seemed not to have any effect.

Han smiled. "Leia, then. I think I can do that." He let go of her left hand, and used his free hand to pull the glove from her right. The rough skin of his thumb skated across the bowl of her palm, and he leaned in closer. She could feel his breath on her forehead, stirring the stray bits of hair that weren't caught up in her braids. "Leia. You want to calm down? You know you think I'm all right."

"Sometimes. Occasionally. When you're not..."

"Not what?"

"Not acting like a scoundrel."

He just blinked and shook his head at the old-fashioned word. "I like that," he said. "That's good. Scoundrel. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but he held tight to her, and she felt all her mental blocks straining, ready to break. The words were trying to fight their way up past her lips, but she clamped her mouth shut against them. "Let go." She spit the command out in small bites. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop that." She looked pointedly at their hands. He ignored her, so she decided to draw his attention more directly. "My hands are dirty."

He laughed, but didn't let go. "My hands are dirty too." His face grew more serious, and he drew still closer to her, and she could feel herself drawing closer to him. "What are you afraid of, Leia?"

"I'm not afraid..."

"You like me because I'm a scoundrel..."

For a moment, Leia was lost in his eyes, in the feel of his hands, but then another image intervened, an image she hated. She saw her mother, standing at her father's side, lulled by whatever was between them into abandoning the galaxy to suit her own needs. Mother, standing on a Star Destroyer, her hands caressed by the leather-clad thumbs of her husband... You need me to protect you, my love...

"NO!" she shouted, pulling her hands away and turning from him. The image didn't fade. She could see them, touching one another, slipping into dark oblivion together. Mother's voice, so high and soft, whispering to him...

There was silence from Han, even after nearly a minute. She turned back to him.

He was standing sullenly beside the access door, watching her with wounded eyes. Abruptly, he reached behind himself, worked the sticky locking mechanism – the door sealed with a thundering clang – and stalked off to the cockpit.

Leia felt some part of herself wrenched away and carried with him.

It was better this way. Better not to become...distracted.

(Distracted from what? Your ruminations about your parents? Your unhealthy obsession with them? What exactly is Han distracting you from, Your Worship?)

From, from...

Her head throbbed dully, and the palms of her hands tingled along the paths his thumb had traveled. She could still feel the space he had filled in the air beside her, humming like a loose wire.

I'm not giving my life into anyone else's control.

(Han's got zero interest in controlling you. It would bore him to tears. And for that matter, if you insist on looking at your parents, where do you think the control really is there?)

A shadow moved in the cockpit, and Leia could see Han in her mind, leaning over the controls, then slumping back into the pilot's seat. She thought of his breath on her skin, his voice in her ears.

She wondered, not quite idly, if this was what it felt like to her mother, seeing the man she loved

(loved?)

close enough to touch, feeling him needing her, feeling his hurt at her rejection.

I'm stronger than my mother.

(Oh really? So why is she the only one whose control you'll permit?)

She's not controlling me.

(Then why are you letting her interfere with your decisions?)

Suddenly, her head stopped hurting, and the phantoms around her, clamoring for her attention, dissipated. Why was she letting her parents do this to her?

She'd wanted Han holding her hands. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him back. She hadn't noticed those things until he'd actually touched her, but once she knew them, she couldn't un-know them, anymore than she could lose the knowledge she'd gained when the scarlet veils had dropped from her mother's face. But that had opened a route into hell. This...she didn't know where this route led, but she trusted Han not to let her get hurt.

"To hell with them," she muttered, and, before her resolve could falter, marched into the cockpit.

Han looked around bitterly, but she didn't give him a chance to look away. She bent over him, put her hands on his shoulders, and pressed her lips down on his.

He started to draw away in surprise, but that reaction ended quickly. His arms came up around her, and he started to return her kiss as he stood up, cradling her more securely in his arms. "Leia, what..." he managed.

"I'll tell you. Later. Kiss me now."

He seemed more than happy to oblige.

"Sir!"

Somewhere in the distance, Leia could swear she heard Threepio.

"Sir!"

Han broke away, with a pained expression on his face that Leia found funny, though she knew it was mirrored on her own. Threepio, oblivious to his etiquette violation (a major flaw in his programming, Leia thought, given his primary function), was waving his arms in an excited way. "Yeah?" Han said.

"I've isolated the reverse power flux coupling!"

Han smiled in a defeated way. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, sir."

"I better work on getting us out of here," Han said. "Hold that thought."

He left the cockpit.

"Sir..." Threepio started.

"Not another word, Goldenrod."

"Well!" Threepio exclaimed to no one in particular. "Impossible man!"

---

Her hands were clenched so tightly around the armrests of her chair that pain shot up to her elbows. She was leaned forward slightly, her mouth set in a thin line, her brow deeply furrowed. Her eyes were narrowed almost into slits, focused completely on the comm recorder her husband was about to activate. To play back Palpatine's message.

Palpatine.

Piett had been nervous when he informed her husband of the recording. Anakin was not surprised – he had expected that some sort of move would be made soon, and this was far less aggressive than he had anticipated for the opening salvo.

As for herself? She had only one reaction – fury.

Fury that flamed throughout her chest and set her nerves on edge. And it wasn't because of the message, or the threat that it undoubtedly carried. It was the mere mention of his name. Just the thought of him.

Her husband activated the player, and the frail form of the Emperor shook through the static and emerged before them. His arms crossed, as always, in his smug superiority; his face shrouded by the oversize hood; his tone condescending and mocking.

"My foolish apprentice. Did you really believe that I would be unprepared for this day? I have known of your scheming since the day you 'reunited' with your wife."

She only half-heard the words. Most times, Amidala was able to channel her anger into productive actions – actions that would eventually lead to Palpatine's dethroning – but there were moments when she could do little more than seethe.

"By the time you receive this message, significant steps will have been taken to remove the trivial threat that you – and those blind enough to follow you – might pose to the Empire."

No injustice or sorrow existed in her life, or in the galaxy, that couldn't be traced to him as the root cause. He took Anakin away. Forced her to give up and separate her children. Ruined her homeworld. Left her to rot in an Imperial prison for decades.

"It is unfortunate that you have so completely overestimated your power and your worth, Lord Vader."

Of course, she had never been blind to the fact that Anakin had chosen to side with him, and help him. That her husband had hurt her in such a way was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life.

"The forces you have managed to assemble are small, and will be easily contained by those still loyal to me."

But, honestly…how could she continue to resent her husband for something she had done herself, in a way? Anakin had argued with her that their situations were not the same, and she knew he was probably correct…but hadn't she gotten Palpatine elected as Chancellor in the first place? Supported his early policies? Fallen for all of his tricks and manipulations when the Wars started?

"And as for your worth to me…I believe it will be quite easy to acquire a new apprentice."

Both of them had been thoroughly used by him, and it left her with a tainted feeling that would never completely disappear until she – with her family by her side – rid the galaxy of his evil.

"If you should see your son on Hoth before I find him, let him know I am impressed that he has already acquired some skill…As you know, Lord Vader, I find it easier to begin training those who have had some Jedi instruction."

Amidala snapped out of her reverie, but said nothing. Her husband also bristled sharply.

"In the end, things have occurred as I once warned you they would. You have allowed your feelings for that woman to cloud your judgment, and it has led to the loss of everything I have provided you. But that is no longer my concern. This marks the end of your insurrection."

The imaged crackled and faded away.

"No," she whispered softly. "This marks the beginning." Her posture finally relaxed, and she sat back in the chair. "He won't get his hands on either of them. We'll find Luke before he even has a chance to make a move."

"Leia will be onboard shortly," he replied. "And I believe that once we have her…searching Luke out will become a much easier task."

Before she could ask him to clarify what he meant, a loud crash sounded from the outside. Another meteor had hit – and they felt the ship slow down even more.

"I should return to the bridge to supervise the pursuit," he said. She nodded, and he quickly left.

Amidala immediately stood and crossed the room to delete the message. The last pretense at a tie between her family and the Emperor was gone. Now, it was finally time to make him pay, and set things right.

---

Yoda sighed as the young one's complaining came forth again, filling the whole of his tiny home, even with the rain pouring outside.

"I'm sure the stew is fine," Luke Skywalker said from his position across the tiny central chamber of Yoda's home, his voice rippling through the calm core of the Force with which Yoda had surrounded himself. Yoda lifted his eyes to stare into the familiar blue ones tinged with impatience; looking into them was like looking into the eyes of the past. (No doubt Obi-Wan thought this as well; Yoda easily felt the strong, unwavering presence of his long-ago pupil nearby; only he had chosen not to manifest himself visually. Perhaps as heeding Yoda's earlier advice, or simply as a test to observe Luke's actions toward Yoda unbiased by his own presence.)

Only with this Skywalker it was different. The eyes of his father, set in the face of his mother. It was as if both Anakin and Amidala, two old friends now irrevocably lost by their own narrow-minded desires, looked upon him at that moment, though there was no way the boy could have known that.

And he was here alone, which disturbed Yoda more than almost all else. Come without his sister, whom left alone and untrained was even more dangerous than Luke. For she, while of great power like her father, was also filled with a great hatred against the parents whom she perceived as having wronged her; even now, reaching out to the battered and bleeding pulse of the Force, her anger rose out above all the other angry currents...if he could certainly sense them and if her father knew of her, as was unfortunately likely the case with Amidala at his side, no doubt he'd sense her. Angry and powerful, a deadly mixture which had claimed Anakin all those years ago – and now threatened his offspring.

It was more urgent than ever that the boy should be trained, for he was still possessed of a clean mind regarding his parents, even if it was a stubborn one.

His father's impatience, but his mother's stubbornness and calmly contemplative nature. He was more so like Amidala than any knew, including the Vaders themselves.

"But it's imperative that I speak to Yoda now. More so than you could know."

Presumptuous you are, young one. "How so, hmm? More important than nourishing properly yourself?"

Luke glanced absently down at the small clay bowl of rootleaf stew in his hands, waving just as absently at the mists of steam rising from the dish. "Much more. The lives of my friends depend on my getting in contact with Master Yoda."

"How know you this, young one?"

"Why do you care?" young Skywalker asked him.

"Impolite you are, hmm?" Yoda poked him sharply in the side with his gimer stick, causing the youth to flinch back (though not without shooting him a distinctly annoyed look) then chewed the other end thoughtfully. "No respect for your elders you have."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly and somewhat unconvincingly, shaking his head. "But respect for my elders isn't going to get me any closer to Yoda."

Few things in this dark day and age made Yoda laugh boisterously; but then there were certain things that couldn't help being laughed at.

Which didn't amuse Skywalker a bit; his voice rose directly along with the annoyance he clearly broadcasted through the Force. "What's so funny?"

"So focused you are on one thing. Not think about the little things, you do. Sometimes things that seem little wind up not so little in their accomplishments. Narrow-minded you are."

"Later on doesn't matter now, all right? I need to be able to help them now." The youth slammed down the bowl he'd been picking stew out of and sighed in exasperation. Yoda exhaled a sigh and leaned forward on his gimer stick, seeking out the presence of Obi-Wan once more.

A trial, this one was going to be, he thought, as he looked in regret at the hilt of the saber of the elder, fallen Skywalker hanging from the youth's waist. And he said as much to Obi-Wan.

"No more so than I was," Kenobi responded verbally, sharply drawing young Skywalker's head up in shock; he prepared to stand up but realized too late the lowness of the ceiling, paying for it with a solid thunk on the head.

"Too much like them, he is."

"More so like her he is, Master." Skywalker's ears perked quite noticeably at the use of the title.

"What frightens me most. Most damage her words will cause, on the ears of the ones most willing to listen. Who are like of mind as she. Afford to have him swayed by her, we cannot."

"Perhaps being of her like mind is not so bad as you think. Anger does not fill his heart, and she was always more calm of mind than my student."

"More dangerous the calculating mind...especially when combined with the impatience of his father, it is."

"Does it make it any different that he is the one we need to train, Master?"

"Master," Luke breathed quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. "It can't be...Yoda?"

He turned his gaze once more to the boy. "Impossible nothing is, young Skywalker."

"I'm so sorry," Luke said. "If I had known –"

"Changed your opinion, it would have?" Yoda pointedly interrupted, jabbing him once more with the gimer stick. "Dangerous your frame of thought is, young one. Hasty you are in making decisions. Narrow of mind. A Jedi cannot afford to be these things. Reckless you are."

"As was I, you recall," Obi-Wan spoke up in the boy's defense.

"As was his father," Yoda reminded him quietly.

"He is not his father, nor is he his mother."

"What about my parents?" young Skywalker piped up, but Yoda spoke on as if the question had never been posed.

"Yet to be seen, that is, Padawan." Yoda closed his eyes and let out a breath, opening them again to face Luke. "But right he is, young Skywalker. No longer choosy can I afford to be in whom I train. Were the Princess here I might afford it. But now her existence, and that of so much else, rests in even more peril than your own."

"I know. And I can help her – Ben, Master, I can change, if that's what you need, if that's what it takes to be a Jedi. I'll do it," he went on eagerly, passionately – he recalled another young Skywalker pleading like this so long ago, only this time the voice not so full of anger. "I'll do whatever it takes to help her."

Solemnity crept into the Jedi Master's heart, and into his tone. "Know that I do...and fear it most."

Silence filled the room with its heavy thickness, as Luke could only find a stunned, confused expression as his response.

---

I did it, Leia thought gleefully. I did it and I'm glad I did.

She sank into the pilot's seat with a smile. Let Chewie or Threepio come in and wonder what she was thinking about. At the moment, she might even be inclined to tell. I did it. I took my life back. It was right there in Han's kiss all along.

"So there," she whispered to her mother, sticking her tongue out playfully. "So there." She even laughed a little, and was still laughing when something wet and heavy plopped onto the transparisteel right in front of her.

She looked at it with vague curiosity. Then something in it pulsed, and she suddenly remembered that they were in unknown territory. And she noticed that the thing was gross. The laugh turned into a little scream, and she pushed away from the control panel. "Han!" she called.

"What?"

She got up and went into the corridor. Han was closing up one of the maintenance panels. "There's something out there," she said.

"What?"

"It landed on the cockpit window. I don't know what it is. Some kind of tentacle. It looked like suction."

His face fell. "Come on. We're going out."

"Out?"

"I just got this bucket back together. I'm not going to let something tear it apart."

"Then I'm going with you!"

For a wonder, he didn't argue. He just tossed her a breath mask, and she pulled it on, amazed that she wasn't spending precious moments obsessing over the obvious comparison. Chewie grabbed one as well, and the three of them went down the gangplank even before it finished lowering. Threepio was muttering something about staying behind to guard the ship.

She went out a little too quickly, and almost lost her balance. She'd have to remember that being lighthearted wasn't an excuse for acting lightheaded. She gathered herself and drew her blaster, going further into the cave. It was steamy in here.

Why would a cave on an asteroid be steamy?

She frowned and looked down. There was a light fog or mist around her ankles, and the ground under her feet gave strangely, as if she were walking on sods laid over loose snow. "The ground feels funny," she said to Han, who was picking his way along a meter or so to her left. "It doesn't feel like rock."

He glanced back at her, looking puzzled. She didn't like that. She had traveled widely, but until the last few years, it had been in the rarified atmosphere of diplomatic mutual handwashing. Since the Death Star, she'd depended on Han to be able to size up less-than-optimal surroundings (Luke having had even less experience than she had). She didn't like it at all that he didn't look sure of himself here.

There was a long, soft screech, and Leia looked involuntarily toward the rear of the cave, where Chewie was making his way around the Falcon. Something was descending and moving toward them, moving on the fog on membranous wings. Han raised his blaster, and the flash of the laser illuminated the cave in shades of red and gray. The flying thing fell near Han's feet, and he stooped to examine it.

"That's what I thought," he said. "Mynocks. Probably feeding on the power lines."

"Mynocks…" Leia repeated. There was something wrong with that, something she wasn't quite connecting to. Mynocks lived in a lot of atmospheres...

An asteroid wasn't supposed to have an atmosphere, at least not one this thick.

Panic birds began pecking at her stomach, and she caged them only with difficulty. Panic would not be helpful to her. "Han..."

The floor of the asteroid trembled a bit, and Han stood up, the puzzlement on his face fading into disgust...but disgust that seemed to hold some kind of idea, which was a relief to Leia, whatever the idea happened to be. She didn't have any of her own, except for the odd sense that something was really not what it seemed.

Han pointed his blaster at the cave floor, and she understood what he meant to do only a second before he did it. She only had time to say his name, to hope that he would stop before they irrevocably knew that they had to leave.

But it didn't stop him. He fired.

The response was immediate. The cave started thrashing and undulating. Han grabbed her elbow, and called to Chewie, pulling all of them back up the gangplank. He started to raise it, ripping off his breath mask as her ran toward the cockpit. "We're getting out of here!" he yelled back at her.

The panic birds broke out of their cage. Leia felt her eyes go wide. But she didn't respond to them with the despair or anger that had become her habit since she'd seen her mother's transmission. Instead, she answered as she would have all her life – by taking command. "I don't think that's wise," she said, catching herself as the ship tossed to one side. "The Empire is still out there –"

"No time to discuss this in committee!" Han cut her off.

Chewie brushed past her and threw himself into the co-pilot's seat. Threepio clattered up from wherever he'd been and installed himself at her side.

Don't start the engines, she thought. Don't start them. Whatever this is, what's out there is worse. Don't take me back out to them.

But she recognized that for what it was: suicide. She could feel the cave getting ready to go around them. At least against the Empire, there was a chance. And it would be better to die in battle than in hiding.

The engines kicked in, and Han lifted up the landing gear without even waiting for Leia to strap herself in. She grabbed hold of the back of his seat. Threepio grabbed hold of her.

The Falcon turned, and she saw how close they were cutting it. Far ahead, she could see the mouth of the cave, becoming narrower and narrower.

"The cave is collapsing!" Threepio cried.

"This is no cave," Han said.

Then Leia saw everything, and didn't know how she'd missed it. The walls were wet and red, and too perfectly smooth to be natural. There were no outcroppings. At least not until the mouth of the cave.

The mouth.

And those weren't outcroppings that were closing on them.

Han banked the Falcon and shot out between the teeth.

In the future, Leia would wish many times that Han had gone some other direction after escaping the cave. Any other direction, as long as she hadn't gotten a clear view of what they'd just left. She would never like to think about it.

But he didn't go another direction, and she saw it. As they sped away, trying to find a clear path through the asteroids, the impossibly large, eyeless head of the slug pushed its way out of the cave, snapping its giant teeth at them as if the Falcon were just an insect.

It missed them and went back into its lair, but Leia knew exactly how close that had been. There was no way to stay safe there, no way to hide inside that place.

But now, she was back on the outside. In the path of the Empire.

Headed straight into her parents' arms.

---

There had been a time in Luke's life when he would have considered this much rain nothing short of a miracle. On Tatooine, the occasional violent thunderstorm – occasional as in about once every eight years – had about half this volume, for the space of ten minutes. It was a spectacular ten minutes – he'd been in Anchorhead during the last one, and the lightning had arced across the darkened desert sky, hopping mesas like a demon transport, the rain kicking dust into the air and realigning the landscape of the dunes – and it had never occurred to him how quickly it could get boring to watch water fall from the sky.

The rain on Dagobah hadn't stopped in the six hours he'd been here. It had presided over the crash of his X-Wing, and droned on through his embarrassing first test before Yoda. It had whispered around the windows when Yoda revealed the truth, and underlain Ben's voice. And still, it poured. It showed no signs of nearing the end.

Luke had traveled enough for rain to lose its wonder and become ordinary; now it threatened to become...well, irritating. He was cold and wet, and his shoulder ached from some long-ago injury.

But he'd embarrassed himself enough tonight. He squatted outside the door of Yoda's hut, the rain soaking through his clothing and running off his hair and eyelashes in small waterfalls, and waited for Master Yoda to finish cleaning his kitchen.

Artoo rolled over to him, making sympathetic beeping noises, and bent forward. Luke had an absurd urge to lean forward himself, and touch his forehead to the droid's, just for the reasonable facsimile of human contact. Instead, he reached out his left hand, and patted Artoo just above the red light.

"I see the little droid is still with you."

Luke looked up. Ben was shimmering a few feet away, untouched by the rain. "We stick together," he said.

"The droid is more familiar to me than he once was." Luke didn't try to make sense of the obscure statement, and Ben went on almost immediately. "You think you've had a failure this evening, don't you?"

"Haven't I?"

"No, I think not. Your father did no better with Yoda on his first try."

"Really?"

"Really."

Luke bit his lip. "Ben...Yoda mentioned my mother. No one has ever mentioned her to me. Did you know her?"

"Yes, of course I did."

"Am I like her?"

"In some ways, very much."

This bit of non-information almost broke Luke's will to be patient. In all his life, no one had ever spoken of his mother to him. He couldn't remember ever asking about her, of course, but still...someone could have volunteered. "In which ways?" he asked, when the fit of impatience faded back.

Ben looked away from him. "You are a good leader, Luke, a naturally sympathetic commander. You try to solve problems, to make peace among your men. Those are good things, Luke, and they are your mother's legacy to you."

Luke looked down at his hands, and watched the rainwater flow over them. Why hadn't he asked about her? It wasn't that he'd never thought of her at all. To be fair, he'd thought of his father frequently after fights with Uncle Owen – thinking along the lines of "If it were my father instead..." – and he'd rarely fought with Aunt Beru, so he'd never needed to pretend that someone else..."What was her name?" he asked.

It must have been drowned out by the rain, because Ben didn't answer. All he said was, "How I miss them."

Luke didn't get a chance to ask again, because the door to Yoda's hut opened, and the old Master hobbled out. He turned his face up to the rain, then looked across at Luke. "Well, young one," he said. "Ready to begin, we are." Incredibly, he smiled.

Ben's image faded into the steam and the rain, and Luke was left squatting beside his new master, not knowing what was supposed to happen, or who he would be when it was over.

Yoda leaned forward. "Ah," he said. "Here, wisdom begins."

---

"Anger, fear, aggression, the dark side are they," Yoda said from his perch on Luke's shoulder. "Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. Consume you it will. As it did Obi-Wan's apprentice."

Luke stopped running. "Vader," he said.

Yoda nodded as Luke lowered him to the ground.

"Is the dark side stronger?" Luke asked.

"No. Quicker, easier. More seductive."

"How will I know the good side from the bad?"

Yoda sighed. "You will know. You must know."

"But how?"

"Hard to see, it is," Yoda admitted. "Judged by intent, it cannot be. Judged by appearance, it cannot be."

"I don't understand."

"Think, you do, that you can see the dark side in the Empire's ugliness. But beautiful can evil be! Seductive! Think, you do, that you can look at the ends they mean to accomplish and judge fairly. But the way of the dark side it is to corrupt what is good. Feel it, you must, padawan! Feel the chill of the dark side when it touches you. Know where the boundary lies, you must, or all is lost."

Luke, his body cooling from the exercise, opened his mind. And suddenly he could feel the chill. It wasn't a general sense, it was...directed somehow. Aimed at him. He looked toward it, and saw a gnarled tree, with roots that arched over the rocky entrance to a cave. "That tree," he said.

Yoda nodded, looking unhappy. "Strong it is with the dark side of the Force. Into it you must go."

Luke stared at it frankly now, his feet unwilling to carry him to a place where the Force was so twisted and threatening. "What's in there?" he asked, pulling his weapons belt on.

"Only what you bring with you." Yoda examined him carefully. "Your weapons. You will need them not."

That didn't feel true. Something was there, something strange and alien. Luke didn't want to be unarmed against it. He shook his head, and forced his feet to move him forward. He had to duck as he entered the cave.

It didn't look much different from other caves he'd been in (with the exception of the ice cave on Hoth). The smooth rock floor was littered with the debris of animals, and outcroppings of stone interrupted the various surfaces at irregular intervals. Small reptiles and rodents appeared to den here. But there was something about the cave. It was just all wrong.

He descended through the mossy tendrils, pushing lizards and other small creatures out of the way as he went. His blaster sat heavily on his hip; his lightsaber was lighter in his hand. There was nothing overtly threatening in the cave but...

But there was something. It hovered in the air around him. He was being watched by the eyes of infinity, and they caressed his skin like reptilian claws. He was glad of the reassuring weight of his weapons, no matter what Yoda said. He didn't want to be alone in here.

He didn't know how long he'd been hearing the sound before he really registered it. It was so out of place, but still somehow so familiar, that the surreal combination made it seem part of the dream he was walking through. But as he drew closer, he began to notice it. Soft, quiet, gentle...

Singing.

Luke drew up, hooking his lightsaber onto his belt. He felt puzzlement, of course, but underlying it was a deep sadness and an impenetrable sense of loss.

He came around a natural turn in the cave and saw her there. Her back was to him, and she was bending over something. A crib. He could see the rounded corners. She wore a blue dress, and her long, dark hair waved down her back. A single, shimmering sheath had draped down around her ear, hiding her profile, and the ends rested on the edges of the crib. Her voice was high and pure, and wordless lullaby was one that Luke remembered in his bones.

Mother, he tried to say, but nothing came out.

She seemed to sense him suddenly. Her shoulders went stiff, and her head tilted, just a little bit. She stopped singing, and seemed to listen.

"Mother," Luke managed to whisper. He didn't understand what he was seeing, but didn't care. He hadn't forgotten that this cave was a test of some sort, and he hadn't forgotten the sense of being watched. But it all seemed somehow unimportant.

His mother relaxed her posture, but didn't turn around. Instead, she seemed to forget that he was here. She started humming again.

"Please turn around..."

But she didn't. Luke tried to walk around her, to see her face. He didn't remember it, but he believed it would be beautiful, beautiful beyond all things. But as he walked, the scene before him turned along with him, so her back was always to him as she sang.

The humming slipped back into words. He didn't understand the language, but he seemed to get the idea that she wished him peace and solace, an end to the horrible conflicts that were pulling them apart. All he wanted, at that moment, was to sit in the shadows, and listen, and believe.

Maybe his eyes were closed, or maybe he wasn't looking when the shadow fell. Either way, quite suddenly, the sound of his mother's voice was covered with another sound, a horrible, gasping sound that Luke had heard in his nightmares since the Death Star. He had never heard it face to face in his waking life – Vader had been too far away to hear it in the docking bay – but he'd heard it in intercepted communications and security tapes, and he heard it always in the darkest part of night. The even, mechanical respiration slowly drowned out the melody of his mother's voice.

A rush of hate surged through Luke's body. Vader had already stolen his father, now he was stealing the first vision he'd ever had of his mother. It wasn't fair. It was intolerable. He rose from the shadows and ignited his lightsaber, turning toward the sound of labored breathing without looking.

Laser met laser in a loud and violent repulsion, and Vader advanced into the cave. Mother had stopped singing. Luke parried two blows from Vader, driving him back in anger and disgust. All he could think about was avenging his father, and saving his mother from whatever horror Vader had in mind for her.

Somehow, Vader was backed against a wall. He had a moment of distraction, and Luke took advantage of it. He swung his saber, full-force, at the armored monster. Sparks flew across the black chest as the control box erupted, and a moment later, Vader fell at Luke's feet. Triumph replaced rage, then worry replaced triumph. Mother had still not spoken.

Luke turned back to her. The crib was still standing in a strange green light, the babies inside of it

(babies?)

reaching helplessly into the air. Mother was sprawled out across the floor of the cave, her hands reaching out toward Luke.

Toward Vader.

Luke was just standing between them. He knelt beside her, and picked her up. Her hair still draped across her face somehow, but it didn't matter. A burned and blackened rip crossed her chest diagonally, the mirror of the wound Luke had dealt to Vader. She had stopped breathing, and lay completely motionless in his arms. " Mother..." he whispered. "Mother, no..."

Something thudded against his foot, and he saw the edge of Vader's helmet. A burst of fire exploded up from the faceplate, revealing the face under it, but Luke had no interest in looking. He saw only a blue eye before ignoring it again. It looked familiar, but what did that matter?

He let the helmet lie there beside him unnoticed, cradled his mother's body in his arms, and wept.

---

"My lord?"

Vader glanced over Piett's shoulder to the row of ensigns and petty officers that were standing at attention in a line on the far side of the bridge. He had instructed Piett to find a number of lower-level officers to carry out a new assignment, and only hoped that these dozen or so that were selected were competent enough to fulfill their mission.

Competent enough – and loyal enough.

A new consideration to be sure; one that he realized would effect every decision he made from now on. Every time he asked anyone to do anything, there was now an unstated, but paramount, question behind it – was the person willing to risk his life for this?

Vader strode purposefully to the men, and looked them over silently. They all seemed to feel the usual level of intimidation at his presence, but he didn't sense any true confusion about their purpose here, or about him as their commanding officer. That would do for now.

"Your orders are to capture the Millennium Falcon and bring its crew – alive and unharmed – before me. Whoever does so will be rewarded appropriately."

Just off to the side, Vader noticed Piett raise his eyebrows, a reaction that was quickly covered up. Apparently, he was worried at the implicit assumption that the Falcon would escape the Executor and this secondary plan would be necessary.

But this wasn't meant as a condemnation of Piett's performance to this point, no matter how the Admiral was taking it now. Vader had always made it a habit to have…other options…at his disposal whenever an important issue arose. And that was long before he had ever seriously contemplated moving against Palpatine.

At least now he had afforded himself the luxury of relying on other officers instead of the more unsavory types he had previously used. Having a portion of the fleet completely at his own disposal was a great benefit.

He turned his attention back to the officers. "You may use any methods you deem necessary, aside from deadly force. Dismissed."

The men nodded, and quickly left, heading off to implement whatever individual plans they had to capture the Falcon.

"My lord?" Piett began.

"Yes, Admiral."

"If the Falcon wishes to escape the fleet, they will be forced to leave the asteroid field eventually in order to find a clear path…once they do, I will not allow them to escape, my lord."

Vader nodded, indicating his approval of Piett's words. And then, as if to prove what the Admiral had said, another officer on the bridge spoke up.

"Admiral, my Lord – we have them."

---

Han didn't harbor any illusions about an easy getaway. Once he was clear of the questionable protection of the asteroid field, it would be a race for enough open space to jump to hyperspace. If he could make it that far without the Empire blowing them out of the sky, they had a fair chance of making it out of this. But it was iffy. Maneuverability and speed were his assets, but even he wasn't sure how far they'd go against half of the Imperial Fleet.

The fact that so many Star Destroyers were after him, rather than chasing the other Rebels to the rendezvous point, was a curiosity that he would have to consider at a later time. Better for the Rebellion, but that wasn't going to help the Falcon.

He could see the beginning of open space not far away, but the storm of rock in the asteroid field became more and more agitated as he approached it. A large rock careened toward him, and he barely had time to duck under it before it hit. It went on toward the Star Destroyer (Avenger, the readout on the control panel told him uselessly), only to shatter harmlessly on the hull of the behemoth. Imperial technology did what it was designed to do, Han had to give it that.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Threepio said from his perch behind Leia. "We're coming out of the asteroid field!"

Han bit back a remark. Threepio would surrender to the Empire without thinking twice, and it would never occur to him that they'd break him down for spare parts, or at the very least, completely erase his memory. Threepio irritated Han to no end, but even he didn't deserve that.

A bark from Chewie – no words, just a sound of desperation – told Han that they'd cleared the asteroid field, and the next hit to rock the ship was the sharp vibration of a laser bolt. It jolted to one side, and Han had to fight with the controls to keep on course.

No more time to waste. Space wasn't as clear as he'd like it for the jump, but it had to be done. "Ready for light-speed?" he asked Chewie.

There was wholehearted agreement.

Han pulled down firmly on the lever...

...and the engine made a wheezing, squeaking sound, then all but quit.

No time to panic.

He cut the sub-lights back in, only giving in to the panic long enough to shout, "It's not fair!"

Chewie banged on the control panel.

Leia sighed, and sank into her seat.

"It's not my fault," Han muttered, but he felt like it was. Somehow or other, it undoubtedly added up to being his fault.

Another blast shook the ship, harder than before.

Threepio was the only one watching the readouts. "Sir! We've lost our rear deflector shields!"

Damn. One more hit...

There was a flare of light suddenly, and Han's eyes were drawn to it, even in the middle of this. Two canons on the side of the Avenger were left in ruins.

A third cannon fired again, and this time, Han saw the whole thing, but didn't understand it at all. The Super Star Destroyer turned its guns on the Avenger and blasted the entire starboard armory. Another Star Destroyer swooped in, firing at the Super Star Destroyer...

"What the –"

Leia moaned, deep in her throat, and fell back into her chair, eyes wide, staring at the Super Star Destroyer.

It didn't matter what was going on. All that mattered was that the Empire was distracted. Han swooped around and moved into attack position. "Chewie! Put all power on the front shield!"

Leia got it first. "Han, don't try to attack, please, just..."

But there was only one chance, and Han had to take it. He had to get in the radar shadows, and the distraction would let him do it.

Another blast went out of the Super Star Destroyer, taking out another weapons array on the Avenger. The window wouldn't be very big.

Threepio piped up. "Sir, the odds of surviving..."

"Shut up!" Leia sounded more miserable than scared, and Han could see, from the corner of his eye, that her eyes were wide, and she was biting her lip. Her hand landed on his shoulder like an iron vice.

"This is it, Sweetheart," he said.

"I can't, Han…don't, please...if they capture us...please, don't let them take me away."

Even in the middle of this, Han heard her words, and recoiled from them. He knew she'd had it bad on the Death Star, but to just...

He didn't know what was terrifying her, but he knew that she was strong enough to get through it. He'd do everything he could to get them out of this in one piece, but he wasn't going to let her die, and he sure as hell wasn't going to help her do it. She might hate him for it, but she'd be alive to do it.

He looked at her, then leaned over and kissed her quickly. "It's the only way."

Then he turned away, and accelerated toward the Avenger.

---

Captain Needa was lost, utterly unsure of the situation.

Admiral Ozzel had given orders from the Iron Will, to fire at the Rebel ship on sight, with deadly force. His orders had come straight from Coruscant. "Enough gentle handling of this scum," had been the exact phrase. But as soon as he'd begun, the warning shot had come from the Executor, from Lord Vader. Needa gathered quickly enough that Vader disagreed with Ozzel. Perhaps he hadn't gotten word from the Emperor yet. Perhaps there was a communications problem.

He'd fired at the Rebel freighter again.

And the Executor had turned on him, fired against him.

He stared out at the edge of the asteroid field, where the freighter danced in the black of space.

"Sir!" an aide called. He turned. The aide saluted. "Sir, orders from the Executor. Take them alive."

"I..."

Needa turned back to the viewport, then looked at the Executor. It was firing on the Iron Will now. What in the name of the Imperium was happening?

An alarm sounded insistently, and Needa turned again, in time to see the freighter moving into attack position.

"What are they doing?" But that wasn't an order. "Shields up!" he shouted. "Shields!"

The freighter grew quickly in the viewport, a suicide run that Needa could think of no way to defend, even if he'd had his guns.

Then it veered up and out of sight.

The bridge was silent.

Finally, a technician spoke up. "They no longer appear on our scopes, Captain."

It took a moment for it to sink in. No matter what happened from now on with that ship, Needa was in deep trouble. Either it was destroyed, or it had escaped. Either was unacceptable. "They can't have disappeared," he said, hoping that his voice sounded surer than he felt. "They're too small for a..."

Another blast from the Executor rocked the Avenger, and the comm signal started to blink.

Well, there was one thing Needa still had control of, and responsibility for. He wouldn't let his crew suffer for this.

"Prepare my shuttle," he said. "I will take responsibility for this. And...discuss this situation with Lord Vader. Perhaps it can still be saved."

No one really believed it, but Needa went forward nonetheless.

---

Ozzel wondered morbidly just how far Vader's grip could possibly reach. In the short time they had served together, no distance had been far enough for his comfort. He would never admit it to anyone, but a large part of his relief in coming to the Iron Will was the knowledge that he no longer had to command under a cloud of terror. This was his vessel. He was in charge. He was safe. After all, whatever strange powers Vader had at his disposal couldn't possibly be felt from ship to ship.

At least he hoped not. But he couldn't continue to deny the shadowy feeling of a hand tightening around his throat. It was oddly painless, but his skin tingled and he had to take a deep breath or two to reassure himself that he was fine.

Besides, if Lord Vader were truly capable of such a thing, Ozzel had no doubt that he would be dead already.

That thought was strangely comforting. He stuck his fingers down his collar and tugged at it, convinced that he felt a little better.

He's not here.

He can't threaten you now.

Unless, perhaps, you counted firing on the Iron Will. Or, perhaps, starting an Imperial civil war.

"Sir?"

Ozzel's eyes shifted warily to the Captain before him.

"Your orders, sir?"

His orders.

Where had that Rebel ship gone anyway? He didn't care one way or the other about it, or who was on it, or why the Vaders would take such a patently aggressive move to protect it. He just needed that ship to reappear again, to at least give him the pretense of something to focus on.

Whether or not he fired on it again, or attempted to disable and board it, or simply pursued it…it didn't matter. As long as he had something to do that didn't involve directly dealing with the Vaders, he would be fine.

But the ship was completely gone. Not even a radar trace.

"Sir?"

"You will await my orders, Captain," he snapped in a panicked irritation. His eyes shifted to the Executor.

He should attack. Now. The Emperor had given him permission to do so if the Vaders made their traitorous intentions known. He could not let such a naked act of aggression against the Empire stand. The time had come for him to act.

"Captain, what is the status of the other ships?"

"Both the Avenger and Executor are on standby."

Ozzel swallowed hard, and the tickling sensation returned, almost causing him to gag. Perhaps the Vaders were not ready for a full-out conflict just yet. Maybe they were still waiting, and trying to feel him out.

Well, he certainly would not give the Empire's new enemies the chance to score an early victory. Ozzel knew that he could not prevail against a Super Star Destroyer – he would be easily outgunned and overwhelmed. If he could count on Needa and the Avenger to come to his defense, they might stand a chance…but how was he to know where their loyalties lay at this point?

"Stand down, Captain, all weapons."

A strategic retreat was the wisest option, once he determined what Vader had planned. Then he could make contact with the Emperor again, their forces could regroup, and they would properly deal with the threat presented.

He was sure that the Emperor, in his great wisdom, would understand his decision in this situation.

With another tug at his collar, Ozzel waited for Vader to make the next move.

---

Ani was in a rage.

Amidala avoided him, though she knew it would never turn on her – he would turn his anger on himself long before he turned it on her. She just didn't like seeing this side of him.

His rages had stopped being fiery years ago. There were no maddened cries, no bloody, impulsive massacres. No. Ani's rage was ice now, and as implacable as a glacier. It disturbed her.

She was disturbed enough. The Falcon had disappeared again.

She stood at the viewport, her hands splayed against it. So close! Again!

What if they were destroyed? What if Ozzel destroyed them? What if you saved his life only so he could kill your daughter?

It wasn't true. She knew it wasn't true. But what if?

A hatch opened, and four stormtroopers led an officer in. She didn't recognize him, and had no business with him. He went toward Ani.

What if they were simply destroyed trying to escape us? Then it would be our fault. Leia's blood would be on my hands.

She looked down at her hands, softly red in the secret space under the veil. Neatly polished fingernails (kept short to make sure she never tore Ani's thin skin), long fingers, lines beginning to creep along the surface. If I have killed my own daughter...

She heard a gasp, and turned. Too late.

The officer was on his hands and knees on the ground, his face strained with exertion. He fell forward and all movement stopped.

She felt her eyes go wide. What was I doing? Why didn't I stop that? Where was I...? But it all faded into a dumbstruck hum. "My Lord?" she said.

Ani didn't pay attention. "Apology accepted, Captain Needa," he said.

Her stomach seemed suddenly cold and slimy inside her body, and she thought she might be ill. "My Lord, I..."

But she was interrupted by Captain – by Admiral Piett. "My Lord, we've completed our scan. There's no trace of the ship."

"I see," Ani said, stepping toward him threateningly.

Don't just stand back!

Amidala forced her feet to move, and she stepped into Ani's circle, to a place where she knew he would both see and feel her. She said nothing, but she could see the nearly imperceptible shift in his stance.

Piett must have sensed the same thing, because he began to speak again, looking down. "If they made the jump into hyperspace, they could be halfway across the galaxy by now."

Amidala felt a moment of dizziness – despair. It had to be despair.

She could feel Ani pulling his rage in, as if it were an unruly pet on a tether. "Track every destination along their last known trajectory," he said, though Amidala knew as well as he did that it was an exercise in futility. "Admiral Ozzel appears to be departing. I suggest we do likewise. All commands loyal to us are to deploy." He turned to the pilots and officers he'd gathered earlier, who had been shifting uncomfortably since the ship was lost. "You will act individually. Learn all you can about Captain Han Solo. Try to discern his most likely course of action."

They all nodded smartly. Amidala sighed with some relief. The rage was coming under control. She'd been afraid that mention of Solo might set him off. The man was what Ani called "a blind spot," and it bothered him that he couldn't just read him.

"Yes, my Lord," Piett said. "We'll find them."

Ani turned on him, stared for a moment, then simply said, "Do not fail me again, Admiral."

Amidala's eyes fell to the still form of Needa on the floor. Ani caught it, and made a sudden motion with his hand. The troopers who had escorted Needa in now escorted him out. Ani looked away from her quickly.

She was glad. She didn't want to see his eyes right now.

---

Yoda balanced himself easily on the soles of Luke's feet, and waited for the boy to begin his full exercise. Beneath him, Luke struggled to maintain his handstand, wobbling occasionally, revealing lapses in his concentration.

Then, Luke settled down considerably, focusing and clearing his mind as he had been taught. The feet were now perfectly still. Good. He was beginning to truly grasp his lessons and instructions now.

Yoda silently shifted so that he was standing on one of Luke's feet instead of both. He had told Luke ahead of time not to expect much oral direction this time around – Yoda needed to see what his student was capable of figuring out on his own. Luke noticed that Yoda had moved, and began stretching his free leg out and away from the rest of his body. There was a pause, and Yoda tried to offer him encouragement. "Feel the Force, guide you it will."

Very slowly, Luke lifted a hand from the ground. "Yes, good," Yoda said. His arm shook for several moments before he regained his confidence. Once his arm was almost parallel to the ground, Yoda waited for him to choose other objects to levitate or balance. He found himself waiting for quite some time.

Yoda sighed deeply. Luke was at the most tenuous part of his training, right before he truly realized the power he had at his disposal. Most initiates at this stage of development became wildly erratic in the way they performed various skills. Sometimes things came so easily they were shocked and frightened, and then the very next task would prove overwhelmingly difficult. Frustration and confusion ruled for a period, and how the student handled those pressures was often a good indicator of what kind of Jedi he would be.

And perhaps, it was the biggest sign of a difference in the training of Luke and his father. Anakin had practically started his training in that awkward stage. He knew too early how powerful he was; he had used those powers with little effort for years before the Jedi found him. Though Yoda knew that Anakin had tried to fully trust his Master and his teachings, he was unable to shake himself of the notion that everything should have been easier, that instinct and impulse would carry him over. And that had made him impatient.

But Luke…this boy seemed to be on the other end of the spectrum. He still went into every training session thinking that he was practicing things that he shouldn't be able to do in the first place. He had still accomplished much, in an extremely short time, but he made tasks like these harder on himself because of his hesitations and doubts.

The boy was piling large stones on top of one another. This was a basic task that should have been very simple for someone of his potential. Or was Yoda asking too much of him?

Yoda shook his head. The father's overconfidence versus the son's doubt. Which was worse? Which was easier to correct? And what if Luke still wasn't immune to his father's mistake? Would convincing him to trust the power of the Force lead to the same temptation to use it improperly?

Luke now had three large stones carefully situated on one another; a fourth shook its way slowly above them.

"Guide your efforts, the Force will, if you allow it. Naturally, it must flow."

A buzzing and beeping suddenly came from the droid. Luke ignored him, and the last rock joined the pile. But Artoo apparently wasn't about to go unnoticed. His beeping became louder and more insistent, and he rolled over in front of Luke for emphasis.

Yoda had assumed that Luke would continue to disregard the noise and finish his exercise, and didn't feel the trembling until it was too late. "Concentrate, you must!" he admonished. "Concen–"

The rest of the word was lost in a yelp, and the master, his student, and the rocks fell unceremoniously to the ground in a jumbled heap. Yoda already knew that the boy's craft was finally settling at the bottom of the lake.

"Great," Luke muttered in disgust. "Now I'll never get it out."

Yoda shook his head sadly. Luke couldn't even see that he held the key to fixing the problem himself. "Always with you it cannot be done." Luke shot him an incredulous look. "Hear you nothing that I say?"

"Master Yoda. This is –" he gestured helplessly "– it's totally different."

"No!" he corrected sharply. "Only in your mind. Get past this hesitation, you must."

Luke stared into the murky waters of the swamp. "Okay," he muttered. "I'll try."

"Try? There is no try. Either do, or do not."

Luke nodded and Yoda watched his student intently. He felt Luke gather the Force around him, felt him direct it out towards the craft, felt it slowly begin to rise…

…and felt Luke allow the ship to essentially slip through his fingers, as he slumped over breathless, the picture of defeat.

Luke collapsed to the ground in front of Yoda. Sitting quietly, he murmured, "I just can't do it. It's too big…I can't."

"Size matters not," Yoda replied. "To the Force, insignificant, such things are. The Force is a powerful ally, if learn to use it correctly, you can." He directed Luke's attention to the forest behind them. "Present, the Force is, in all things. Between you and me, between you and the rock, between the water and the ship. Learn to listen to it, and feel its Light, you must."

Luke frowned and ran his hand through his hair. "You want the impossible from me." With that, he stood and walked away sullenly. Yoda watched him go.

Perhaps this wouldn't be a test of Luke's trust or faith in the Force, since it was never hard to believe what one saw with his own eyes. But Yoda knew that this doubt could not be allowed to continue. He only hoped and prayed that after this, he would be able to keep his student from going too far in the other direction, on the road of impatience and overconfidence that his father tread so often.

Yoda closed his eyes, stretched out his hand, and beckoned the craft to come to him. And it did, slowly. The water bubbled and spread, revealing a wing, then the cockpit, and finally the landing gears. Water ran down it, and plants hung off of it as it flew over the lake to safe ground.

He guided it carefully, purposely positioning it to land next to a dumbstruck Luke, who simply stood there with his mouth agape.

Finally, Luke stumbled over to him, attempting to start a sentence several times before managing to utter, "I can't – I – I can't believe it."

"That," Yoda replied gravely, "is why you fail."

---

"If you won't mind my saying it again, I do have a dreadful feeling about this," Threepio's voice came from behind Chewie.

Staring out the cockpit viewport, for hundreds of meters in front of (or rather, "below" was probably a more accurate term) them, stretched the metal-white expanse of the back of the Star Destroyer's command structure. The Falcon rested there like a mushk tick on a bantha, its tiny metal structure hopefully inconspicuous against the tower's own infinitely larger one. It was a trick Han had heard about any number of times in smuggler circles but hadn't ever practiced: piggybacking on a much larger object, completely obscured from other pursuers by that object's massive sensor shadow. Best-case scenario, the Imperials probably thought the Falcon had long since made the jump to hyperspace and was long gone from here. Things had worked out about as well as could be hoped for, given the circumstances.

Threepio stood behind Chewie's seat, but the Falcon's perpendicular tilt made it so that he was really above him; Leia was in the small seat behind Han, leaned forward to watch the Imperial task force outside.

Of all the things that had malfunctioned on this ship, Han was grateful the artificial gravity generators had not been one of them; the idea of hearing a fallen Threepio and Chewbacca complaining about colliding with each other wasn't exactly the most fun thing he could envision happening. (Even though he certainly wouldn't have minded having to catch Leia if she happened to fall onto him again...)

As it was, the droid's pessimistic nattering was already wearing on Han's nerves, but he kept his mouth clamped shut for Leia's sake. Even if he didn't know she was sort of partial towards the robot, the look on her face at that moment – and the memory of fear etched upon it not long ago –

Please...please don't let them get me...

–it was enough to make him sit quiet and think for a while. The look on her face was still there, her eyes staring fixedly ahead. Who was out to get her? The Empire? The Empire had chased them any number of times before, and he'd never seen her get that painfully terrified look on her face. If anything the idea of facing the Empire usually bolstered the fiery spirit that had made her one of the most prominent leaders of the Rebellion; certainly not this. It was moments like these that coolly reminded Han that despite her newfound boldness, whatever was bothering Leia was far from being over and done with. He'd been spending time thinking over whether he should approach her and potentially threaten the new relationship they had...and if he should do it, how to go about doing it without making her angry again. He didn't want to see her angry at him – or angry at all period – but he didn't think she should be hiding from it either. That could be even more damaging than what she was going through now, and he wasn't sure he liked the idea of her doing that for the sake of him, of putting on a brave face for him. He wasn't sure he wanted that on his shoulders.

But he said nothing, and kept silent, trying to think of the obstacles that lay ahead. Not exactly pleasant musings, but he might as well attempt to do something constructive while he was otherwise just sitting.

Chewie, on the other hand, didn't seem so politely inclined.

He let out a distinctly annoyed braying sound in reply to the droid, which even to ears untrained in Wookiee-speak could only be translated as one meaning.

"I will not shut up, Chewbacca," the golden droid informed the Wookie crossly, throwing (as much as was possible) his stiff arms up in exasperation. "And I won't until someone listens to me –"

A flicker of movement in the Star Destroyer-infested starfield outside caught Han's eye, and he raised a hand to silence the droid – for once, surprisingly, it worked. As he watched one of the white forms of the other massive vessels began to slowly turn on its axis, and began slowly gliding across their field of vision. Even the monstrous green-gray hulk of the larger Super Star Destroyer, on which Leia's eyes seemed disturbingly and unchangingly fixated, seemed to begin signs of movement itself.

"Looks like the Fleet's beginning to break up again," he said, flipping on the auxiliary power systems. If the Imperials were about to start their little flame-fest again, Han didn't want to have to spend potentially well-used escape time warming the engines from a completely cold start. "Go back and get ready to release the landing claw, Chewie," Han chucked his thumb towards the back of the ship, flipping a few more switches on his console. "If the Imperials decide to take a little bit of target practice again I don't want to have a front row seat."

"You think they'll start firing on each other again?" Leia asked as the Wookiee moved to the back of the ship, shouldering his way past an insolent Threepio.

"I don't know what to think, sweetheart," Han told her, casting a semi-genuine half-smile up at her. "What I do know is that I want to be moving away from here if it happens again."

"I don't see how that will help anything at all; even if they did leave us alone we're stranded out here," Threepio's prissy, worried voice chimed in, finally drawing an annoyed (and completely ineffective) glance from both Han and Leia. "If we surrender at least the Lady Vader may be gracious enough –"

The immediate change in Leia's expression was too abrupt and huge not to notice.

Before Han could even ask, Leia's hand was at the switch on the droid's neck, and the lights in his optical circuits went dim, the droid's form slinking against the co-pilot's chair. For a moment she stared coldly at the robot, a coldness that seemed to evaporate as she turned back to Han.

It did, he admitted, give him a certain measure of pride to know that he was the first one to be able to crack through that first layer of ice that had covered her for so long, the one that actually managed to witness a bit of warmth from her – it was too beautiful to remain hidden like that. But he didn't want her to hide her feelings for his sake, either. He'd taken a lot of flak in his life, and that type of flak he certainly didn't mind shouldering for her.

"What did you have in mind next?" she asked, leaning her small frame further over the back of his seat, propping her porcelain face on her white-gloved hands. Her breath was close enough to rustle the hair by his temples, tickle his earlobe, and for one of the first times in his life he felt a renewed genuine affection at being a part of something special. Amazing how something so cold could so quickly become the biggest source of warmth in his life. His other smuggler associates, the ones who'd devoutly sworn to a life of solitude, didn't know what they were missing. However tenuous this bond-thing they had might have been, it was enough to start to sway Han Solo. (But he knew if he ever admitted that outside his head to anyone, he would never hear the end of it.)

If only he didn't feel that warmth coming at the cost of potentially hiding something else. Ice did melt, even on ice princesses, but it also had the likelihood of freezing over again if the circumstances were to change...

"Assuming the Imperials don't decide to start things up again – in which case we just flat break loose and get the hell out of here – it looks more like they're beginning to break up. Which means our chance to get out of here quietly has increased."

"How do you figure?"

"It means more than likely they're about to go to lightspeed, which means they'll be far away from here."

"You think they're searching for us?" she prompted quickly, perhaps a little more quickly than wouldn't have otherwise possibly been suspicious. Her eyes widened for a moment, but reverted again before Han could really contemplate the full meaning why.

"You're important, but important enough to send a whole fleet of Destroyers out all over the galaxy for? I doubt it. There's easier ways to do that, though I've never known the Empire to take the easier route." He didn't really believe all he said; the fact that the Empire had pursued them this far – charging through an asteroid field even – if they were willing to do that, they would most certainly continue to chase them. Whoever was leading this fleet was nuts...or there was something more about Leia than he knew; they certainly wouldn't be going to all this trouble just to get someone like Han himself. He was willing to bet the source of her continued ice princess charade was related somehow to the Empire and her fear of them pursuing her – but in what way? "Unless you can come up with a reason why they might go to so much trouble," he added, in as offhand a manner as could be collected.

Her lips tightened just visibly for a moment as he spoke, but she said not a word, still focusing on the huge ship. What was it that drew her attention so strongly to it? Shrugging inwardly in defeat, he continued. "It's possible they are still searching for us, I'll concede that – after all, they've spent the last several days doing it. But frankly, I don't care what they're doing or where they're going. If they want to scour all over the galaxy for us, at least they'll be doing it far away from us."

His combined attempts at being comforting and subtly prying didn't come off as smoothly as he hoped, but that was as far as he would go. He'd vaguely hoped this would be the clincher, that this would push things enough that she might finally tell him once and for all what had threatened almost constantly over the last three years to overwhelm her life. True, she did seem to be making progress against it, but if she kept this up she'd just slide back to where she was before. Maybe, in their newfound status as...as whatever they were, at some point she'd feel confident enough to tell him.

Fat chance, that, he snorted to himself.

Leia just nodded in response, briefly flicking her eyes towards his. "And then what do you plan to do?"

"Play the role, sweetheart."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean standard Imperial procedure," he explained, recalling a bit of information he remembered during his brief stint in the Imperial Academy. "If they follow it, they'll dump their garbage before they go to lightspeed. We detach, and just float away..."

"Like the rest of the garbage," Leia nodded, catching on; the flicker of amusement on her face was enough for Han to let the light verbal jab at his ship slide for now. "And then?"

"And then we find a safe port to hole up in and lay low for a while."

"Not too long," Leia reminded him. "I need to get back to the Alliance."

"I'm sure the Alliance won't mind you being a little late instead of not getting there at all – it's going to take a long time as it is to get anywhere without a hyperdrive, sweetheart," he pointed out. "I suggest you get used to being here for a while."

Obviously that didn't sit well with her; the flitting of annoyance across her features was noticeable. But to her credit she said nothing about it. "So what safe port did you have in mind?"

"That depends," he said, flicking the small nav display on. A tiny rough map of the sector appeared in front of them, casting a pale blue light on both their faces. Leia leaned in closer, squinting at the map's less-than-ideal resolution. Han frowned, moving his finger along the map. "It looks like we're in the Anoat system right now."

"Anoat. Not much there," she commented. Just a small Imperial colony, definitely not where they wanted to go; even if it was not Imperial, this far out into space it was highly unlikely they'd even have the facilities needed to replace an entire hyperdrive.

"No kidding," he muttered dryly, flipping a switch so a different version of the map appeared, with systems even further away from them, but still somewhat in the possibility for them to reach. There was of course Anoat, then Hoth, then Ison – another Imperial stronghold, with wanted photos of him, Leia, and the Falcon probably circulating everywhere in it; also out of the question. But a little further out from there...

Han smiled as an idea struck him. He zoomed in on the map, highlighting the system of Bespin, bringing up an only semi-up-to-date profile of it. "Lando," he said, remembering the old business associate of his from years before his association with the Rebellion. Tall and dark with a past to perfectly match, he and Han had been almost perfect business associates. Han stroked a thumb idly over the Falcon's main console and looked around the cockpit, remembering the primary source of the long silence between them. He and Lando hadn't exactly parted as bitter bloody rivals, but they certainly weren't the best of friends either.

He hoped whatever was left was enough to help him and Leia.

Bespin was technically under Imperial rule, as was nearly every known planet in the galaxy to some extent, but unlike those other planets, Bespin was under the governorship of someone who was willing to let those Imperial laws slide just a tad if he thought it would work in his favor. If somehow Lando could be convinced helping them was in their best interests...

"Lando system?" Leia asked, frowning at the absence of such a dot on the map, bringing Han quickly out of his musings. "Interesting name."

"No, a man. Lando Calrissian. An old friend – trouble maker, gambler, scoundrel. You'd like him."

"Thanks for the sentiment," Leia muttered.

"Don't take it personally, doll," he replied casually, throwing her a wink. "Bespin's pretty far," he continued thoughtfully, "but if you're willing to wait the extra time, I think we can make it."

Another flicker of movement outside; the Super Star Destroyer vanished in a wink of light into hyperspace, leaving a kilometers-long trail of garbage-debris in its wake. The relief in Leia's expression was almost palpable. Han felt a degree of relief himself (though doubted it was for the same causes as Leia's) – it looked as if they were breaking up after all. No more firefights for now; he wouldn't miss them. Even if it had been a pretty incredible show from their vantage point.

Leia focused in on a small part of the profile. "It's a mining colony?" she asked doubtfully. Han guessed she'd heard the stories about the colonies that sprung up around mining areas, the ones usually filled with gruff, unsanitary ruffian types you wouldn't trust as far as you could levitate them...but Bespin was certainly far from that, if the latest rumors Han had heard were any indication.

He nodded. "Tibanna gas mine. Lando conned someone out of it a while back," Han told her, not exactly prepared to give Leia the grittier details behind that particular acquisition; it would be hard enough to get Leia to willingly go along with this as it was. It had been years ago..."We go back a long way, Lando and me."

"Do you trust him?" Leia asked pointedly.

"No," Han shrugged, only slightly sheepishly. "But would I take him over the Empire? In a heartbeat."

She looked about to give another sly retort, but a sudden slow rumbling from outside killed it before it could get out of her mouth. As the two humans watched, a huge port seemed to grind open on the back of their Star Destroyer, releasing junk into space. Some of the pieces of machinery were small, others were huge enough they could probably easily have disintegrated the Falcon were they to collide with it, surviving the impact just fine.

Show time.

"All right Chewie, standby...detach," he said – and with almost perfect timing the fixed horizon of space was then spinning slowly about them, the Falcon floating free, hopefully still indistinguishable from the other space debris, the stream of which they were trailing the very end of, so to avoid possible collision. The star-speckled vista slowly spun around them as they drifted, further and further away from the Star Destroyer, now alone in space – the last other destroyer went to lightspeed as they watched. From here they could see the blackened spots on the hull, where the Executor's turbolasers had efficiently scored it. Han counted himself glad they hadn't been aiming for the engines...for now, they were home free.

"For now" being the operative words in that sentiment, of course.

It was evidently enough for Leia, though, as became evident when the now familiar (yet still new enough to be intriguing) touch of her lips pressed firmly and quickly on his cheek. Han couldn't help but smile a little bit at that, no matter how silly he probably looked.

"You've got your moments," she murmured softly in his ear, as Chewie returned from the back and seated himself in his proper place beside Han. "Not many of them, but you do have them."

Han cast another glance at her, a moment of bittersweetness in his heart. He didn't want to risk what he had with her, particularly not so soon after finding it in the first place. But maybe it was time to put his own selfishness aside and purposely dig deeper, if not for his benefit then hers. He would be doing her no good by helping her stay in her new and pleasant cocoon, especially one built of such fragile material as this.

Chances were she wouldn't like the outcome and neither would he. But he would find some way to do it, he decided, tightening his lips. And who knew. Maybe she would still want to continue with things afterwards, and with the possibility they'd be even stronger than before.

Han pushed forward the thruster levers, bringing the Falcon out around the edge of the debris field. When he'd set the sublight engines on autopilot on direct course for Bespin, he left the cockpit with the intent of going to his quarters, but not without meeting eyes with Leia again.

It would be a long time before they reached Bespin, and he had a lot of thinking to do in the meantime.

---

Luke left Artoo to clean up the X-Wing. He supposed Yoda would know that he was no longer where he said he would be – Yoda seemed to know everything he was planning to do almost before he did it – but he intended to go anyway. He had to return to the cave. The first of several failures here...he felt that if he could just go back and

(hear her voice again)

face the Dark Side again, this time with some understanding...

But I have no understanding! Why should I see my mother there? Why should she weep for Vader, reach for him even in death?

(Darth Vader...betrayed and murdered your father...)

Betrayed.

Luke stopped, halfway through a step. Had that been the betrayal, not some backstabbing scheme to grab power? Had Vader betrayed his father by seducing his mother?

The thought seemed both true and false, and Luke felt as if he'd walked into a cloud of swampflies. Skittering energy spread over his skin, and he couldn't focus his eyes. It wasn't true. But it was approaching truth.

He put his foot down carefully. He no longer wanted to go to the cave, but now he could see that he was already here. He must have been moving all along. His feet carried him toward the maw.

"Thought you'd come here, I did."

He stopped and turned away. Yoda was sitting on a log, his gimer stick dangling from his hand.

Luke drew himself up. "I'm sorry, Master. I know I should have asked."

"Hmmmph. Knew the answer already, you did, and planned not to heed it."

"Master..." Luke found it easier to walk away from the tree than he'd thought. He sat on a rock not far from Yoda. "Master, when I was there before, I saw...I saw things I didn't understand."

Maybe it was Luke's imagination, but it seemed like the old Master's face softened a bit. "Yes, yes. Often like that, visions are."

Luke almost blurted out the question he wanted answered. Yoda knew his parents, and he knew Vader. He would know. But if it wasn't true...what insult was he delivering to his mother, even to wonder such a thing? Instead, he stepped onto safer ground. "What are visions really, Master? Are they real? Symbolic?"

"Many things, visions are. The past, the future. Old friends and old love. New dangers. But always in motion, visions. See more, you will, if you look again. And less." Yoda slid down off his perch, and touched Luke's forehead. "Try, padawan. Let yourself feel the Force. What you need to see, it will show you."

Luke was irritated by Yoda's enigmatic speech, but felt a good deal safer seeking a vision in Yoda's presence than out of it. He closed his eyes, and began meditative breathing.

The first sensation, as always, was a heightening of his hearing and sense of smell. A small insect was chewing at a fallen log, and far away, a bird was flapping its wings against the mist. The ground smelled rich and dark. He could sense a current flowing around him, smooth and deep in some places, agitated in others. Yoda appeared here not as an obstruction or a creature of any kind. He was a whirl of energy, a magnet.

"Look past, you must."

Luke nodded, drawing himself away from that source of power. He was far into the Force now.

The mists began to grow brighter, then to part, just a little. He saw...spires and disks...

He must have frowned, because Yoda spoke up, "Seeing, you are. Do not pull away."

Luke took the advice, and went further ahead. He didn't know what this place was. As it became clearer, he could see speeders and ships, and the gaseous surface of a planet far below. It was beautiful. The clouds glimmered in gold and pink, and the city rose up like a vision of heaven.

Suddenly, a scarlet veil fell across it, seeming to drench everything in blood. The vision shifted, and instead of heaven, Luke saw a steaming hell. And...faces...

Chewbacca the Wookiee, grasping at his head.

Han Solo...Luke couldn't see what was happening to Han, but he could hear a scream of agony.

And he felt...he couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite see, but he knew Leia's presence deep in his blood. She was there, and she was frightened and angry and in danger.

He rushed forward, but the mists dissolved, and when he burst through the veil, he was on Dagobah again, Yoda's hand pressed firmly against his arm. The Master's face held no condescension, no doubt. For the moment, it wasn't even the face of a teacher – it was the face of a colleague. "What saw you?"

"I saw a city in the clouds."

Yoda nodded. "Friends you have there?"

Luke almost answered using his "normal" knowledge – Not that I know of – but that would have been a lie. He did know they were there. "They were in danger. Han and Leia."

Yoda blinked, and the teacher returned. "Knew she should have been brought here, I did."

"I'm sorry, Master. But...Master, they were in pain."

"It is the future you see."

"Will they die?"

"Always in motion, the future." Yoda appeared distinctly agitated, though he was asserting control much more quickly than anyone Luke had ever seen. "Not all. Not any, perhaps. Difficult to see."

"The Empire is there."

"Yes."

Something else came to Luke. "But, the veil. The scarlet veil. It's Lady Vader. She might be able to help them."

"Faith, you put in her, young Skywalker? Angel to you as well, is she?"

"No, not an angel, but...she's different."

"Different, yes. Less dangerous, she is not."

"Then I have to go to them."

Yoda turned away, hobbled a few steps toward the tree. Finally, he looked back at Luke. "Decide, you must, how to serve them best. But if you go, you will destroy all for which they suffer."

Luke didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't really need one.

---

"Come on, Princess, take a break." Han came up behind Leia, who was hunched over in the pilot's chair, going over sensor readouts and systems maps. "Chewie can take over for a while, and you need to get some rest."

Leia gazed at him sleepily before nodding. She had volunteered to take two straight turns at watch, and had been up for hours. She sought out Han's offered hand and pulled herself to her feet, stretching and yawning. "Are you sure Chewie doesn't mind?"

Han just rolled his eyes and laughed. "I think he can handle it for a couple of hours. Don't tell me you've been enjoying counting the stars as they go by."

"Actually, you have no idea how nice it is to have things quiet for awhile," she replied, her eyes dropping momentarily. Han silently disagreed – he knew exactly how nice that could be. Since leaving the wild scene outside the asteroid field absolutely nothing of note had happened to them. His sole desire was for the situation to remain that way until they finished their slow crawl to Bespin.

"At any rate," Leia continued, forcing a smile to her face, "care to keep me company for a little while? There's no chance of me going to sleep anyway."

"Of course, Your Highness," he said. "Lead the way."

She retook his hand, guiding him out of the cockpit and into the small lounge at the other end of the hallway. She walked through the doorway without reaching for the light switch, and headed toward a couch in the corner. He expected her to let go of his hand and collapse into it. Whatever her reasons were for not wanting to sleep, she couldn't continue to ignore the fact that she was physically exhausted. If she needed him by her side to get a little rest, he'd be happy to help.

But Leia came to a sudden stop, and simply stood there, a few steps in front of him, her fingers still intertwined with his. He watched her, waiting for her to say something…

Instead, she tentatively moved toward him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and leaned against him, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Han was (pleasantly) taken aback by the gesture, and it was a few seconds before he thought to pull her closer. "Are you all right, Leia?"

She paused, then whispered, "I'm so tired, Han. I'm so…this is so hard sometimes."

He stroked her soft hair and kissed the top of her head. Han hoped that he wouldn't have to press her, that she would continue and open up on her own – but they continued to stand there, holding each other in the dark, listening to each other breathe in the otherwise silent room, and he knew she was still reluctant to talk.

"Leia…Leia, please, tell me. It'll be all right," he whispered into her ear.

He couldn't actually see her face because of the way he was holding her, but he could feel her reaction. Her face was scrunched up, contorted – he imagined her expression, and she was struggling, attempting to make up her mind. Her hands tightened on his back, clutching his shirt and squeezing him closer. Her breath tickled his neck, and he thought she was trying to speak…

"Leia, come on. Trust me. I got you off the Death Star. I got you off Hoth. I can get you through this, whatever is. Let me help. Please."

Her fingers clawed more urgently, her nails beginning to pinch his skin through the shirt, and he could sense her brow furrowing deeply.

"They're my parents."

He barely heard her say it, she had spoken so softly. It took him a minute to realize that she had said anything at all.

Han had been building himself up to say the right words and give her the comfort and reassurance he knew she'd need – and now he couldn't even figure out what she meant.

As gently as possible, he asked, "Who are your parents?"

"They're my parents." Quieter this time, barely above a whisper.

"I – I don't understand. What do you –"

"They're my parents. That's why they've been chasing us."

"Chasing us?" he repeated. Then, all at once, it hit him, almost like a physical blow, seeming to knock him off-balance. "Chasing us! Leia?" He took her by the shoulders and pulled her back enough for him to see her. "Leia, are they, I mean, the Vad–"

"Don't!" she ordered. "Yes, yes, you're right." Her face was heavy with misery. "You're right. They're my parents."

Han tried to control his shock and disbelief, but doubted he was succeeding. All of the scenarios he had thought of hadn't even come close. There was no way to guess something like this. "But, how is that possible?" he managed.

"I'm adopted…" she began, her hands loosening their grip on his back and moving to rest lightly on his chest. "I've always known that. My – birth mother – I knew her when I was small, until she…disappeared. All that time, I thought she was dead. Then I saw a tape…She was talking to – to him. Her veils were off. I saw her face, and I knew. I knew right away it was her."

"I can't believe you've never told anyone this," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Han. I should have done something about it sooner – I should have told you as soon as we left Hoth. I've put so many people at such a high risk, and they didn't even know what the situation was. That was unfair, and I know –"

"That's not what I meant, Leia. I only meant that it must have been hell for you to keep a secret like that for this long." He shook his head to himself, thinking of the personal fear she'd lived with during that time, and how she had managed to hold herself, and most everyone else, together despite it. Unbelievable. "Well, at least we've lost them for the time being…what exactly do they want with you? What are they going to do?"

She shuddered in his arms and didn't speak. That was enough answer for him.

"Okay, it's okay. Never mind. I said I'd get you through this, and I will. And really, it doesn't matter much to me why anyone is after you. They won't get near you if I have anything to say about it."

"So…" she whispered nervously, "this doesn't change how you…what you think about me?"

"I think," he replied gently, "that you are incredibly brave, and strong, and I want to keep you safe. So, no, nothing much is different."

She smiled – her first genuine smile in who knew how long – and buried her face in his neck, pulling herself close to him. "I've been so scared of anyone finding out…I didn't know what to do. I'm so glad I told you."

"I'm glad you told me too. Once we get to Bespin, everything will work itself out."

Han wanted to believe that – a good part of him did believe it. But he also knew that the stakes had just been raised to unbelievable heights. They were no longer two Rebel fugitives on the run; he was now trying to keep the Vaders from their daughter. How could he possibly do such a thing by himself?

Leia smiled at him again, and leaned in for a kiss.

The "how" didn't matter. He would get them to Bespin, fix his ship, and they'd be long gone before the Empire knew which way to even start looking for them. He would keep her safe. No matter what.

---

Their arrival to the planet had been unexpected, but then Vader had seen no reason to give them prior warning.

Amidala was used to the looks of awe and wonder she received from the citizens of Cloud City as she strolled by them, no doubt, Vader thought as he strolled along just behind her – and to the side, like any decent bodyguard would – down the shuttle ramp and into the city. He had no problem being delegated to the position of a mere guard if it was for her; she was well worth that minor displacement of position, and certainly no one would question it.

Yes, after years of serving as a Queen, then Senator, of a small world and with a beauty that even now after all these years had not faded in the slightest, perhaps even grown, she would certainly be accustomed to the looks of awe and respect she was garnering...From people all over the galaxy as well as the throngs of people of the now evening sunset-tinted metropolis of Cloud City who had gathered in only vaguely subtle but respectively distant rows, definitely keeping their distance from her...and him, of course.

Respect was not the only thing that shone in their eyes. When those same eyes that remained awestruck by her supernatural beauty fell on him, awe of a different sort materialized there. After years he had become accustomed to it, but doubted she ever would become truly be comfortable with this. Fear towards her she would never become accustomed to, fear that always flowered when they received the cold reminder of his own presence, the reminder of who she really was…his wife, the wife of a monster. He felt guilty of this, knowing that were it not for his presence they would not have the same fear towards her that she had in no way earned.

(No way? She did choose your companionship of her own free will.)

(– and Vader was extremely glad of that.)

Years ago, or if things had gone differently, they might not have looked on him with such fear and revulsion now – even his beloved had done so the first moment she beheld his scarred form in this state. There had been a time that such wouldn't have even been a consideration, when others, (perhaps particularly females) might have envied Amidala's position at his side instead of feared it, when only a casual smile and a wink of Anakin Skywalker's once trusted, unmasked blue eyes instead of the cold strangling fist of fear was needed to cajole people over to their side...a side that, fortunately, his wife had no need to use such means to persuade people over to. She was still in their eyes whole, beautiful, and gentle...not in the least bit monstrous.

A flicker of motion – the swirl of a cape on the form of the person sent to greet them – from before them thankfully drew Vader from his reverie.

The man who stood before them, respectfully distant from the end of the twin ranks of stormtroopers that protectively flanked the path the Lord Vader and his Lady had used to enter the city on disembarking from their surprisingly unregal-appearing shuttle, was dark-skinned, well-dressed, and of a height roughly a head shorter than Vader's own. The same fear that glittered in the eyes of his citizens did not appear to be present in the dark eyes of Baron-Administrator Lando Calrissian; he did remarkably well at concealing that which Vader could easily feel emanating from him. He also seemed fairly impeccably groomed for someone who had had almost no warning of the Vaders' trip here; Calrissian was probably one of those types that enjoyed reveling their entire lives in their material finery, even when it was completely unnecessary to do so.

Almost immediately he was distrustful of the man; he could easily see him as the type that Han Solo might have at one time associated with and would seek out for aid again, even if he weren't already aware of that fact from the detailed profile Imperial Intelligence had collected on him. Any number of Imperial laws had been broken by this man, but that wasn't what disgusted Vader.

Former smuggler, dealer in illegal substance trafficking, and – what most truly raised the hackles of disgust inside Vader's core – slave trafficking as well. Cheap labor to use for running the less-than-legal lower levels of his Tibanna mining operation, no doubt. But that would have to be overlooked for now (though perhaps could be used later as a potential bargaining chip in their favor) and was not why the Empire was here...

And he wasn't in charge of speaking to Calrissian anyway. Amidala had insisted she be the one to negotiate with Calrissian, as one politician speaking to another (and perhaps thinking of his own less-than-diplomatic means of "negotiating"). She wasn't about to use force when she believed what they needed accomplished could be accomplished by lesser means – means which were less likely to potentially threaten what they hoped to accomplish. Having prior evidence to support this, Vader of course had deferred to his wife in this case. (And even were not this planet useful in obtaining their children, its vast repositories of Tibanna gas – the primary source of fuel in turbolasers and blasters – would be useful to the Vaders' side of the new Imperial civil conflict.)

But the twins were what mattered. Like it or not, this man was another necessary channel to take in the route to reuniting their family.

There had originally been some doubt as to whether the Millennium Falcon would come here – but once it was determined there were no other logical places for them to go in the quite limited range a lack of hyperdrive offered, especially ones where the captain of the ship in question had strong former personal ties, the Vaders' departure for the planet had been almost immediate.

Not that there was any real need for hurry, of course. As it was it might take the Falcon any number of weeks – perhaps even months – to arrive here. But the time spent here would not be time wasted; he and Amidala had things to accomplish here, threads of their plan that needed to be laid out in advance, before Leia arrived. This was their biggest chance yet and they would certainly not waste the advantage they had now.

Amidala stopped before Calrissian and the man instantly kneeled before her, hesitantly placing a light kiss on her proffered hand, his eyes momentarily flicking to her husband, who merely stared impassively at the exchange. He knew that if a lava pit hadn't failed to take Amidala from him, he certainly had nothing to fear here.

(And of course that thought, coming from someone like the Lord Vader, definitely carried a twin-edged connotation to its blade.)

"On behalf of Cloud City and the citizens of Bespin I welcome you and your Lord to our humble city, my Lady," Calrissian said with the appropriate degree of deference. "Anything you require of us that we are able to provide is instantly at your service."

Amidala, indicating for him to rise once more, bowed her head lightly to Calrissian, the light breezes of the planet's upper atmosphere rustling the waves of scarlet veils she perpetually wore. "I thank you for your generosity and hospitality on such short notice, Baron Calrissian. It is my hope that our transactions here will be of benefit to both our sides."

"As do I, my Lady. I consider it a great honor that you and your Lord have chosen to bestow your attention on a planet as lowly as ours."

"Perhaps the Empire under Palpatine –" Vader noted the distinct choice of her words in approval "– would have considered you lowly, but I assure you, Baron, my husband and I see each and every planet of the Empire as an invaluable resource in and of itself."

Vader permitted himself a small (and as always painful – and therefore brief) smile under the mask. As gifted in oratory as she was beautiful and beloved to him. As she had always been; it was a wonder the Empire had survived this long without her contributions.

"As expected the kindness and graciousness of the Lady Vader are exceptional to say the least."

The pattern of her facial veils shifted ever so slightly and Vader was certain his wife was smiling beneath them politely, though Calrissian had no way of seeing it. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Baron, though the kind words are indeed appreciated. However, my husband and I do have much business to attend to on your fair world, and it would also be appreciated if you would personally accompany us to where we may be allowed to begin."

"Our most advanced facilities have been indefinitely placed at your disposal, my Lady."

Amidala barely nodded and the three slowly began their procession – Amidala and Calrissian side by side, Vader himself directly behind his Queen – to the row of armored transports that awaited them, ready to carry them to their destination.

Where they would, at last, lay the final stone in the pathway that would bring their children to them.

---

Lando headed for Lady Vader's office with apprehension, and that annoyed him deeply. It had for the entire time the Vaders had been on Bespin. He hoped that he was still able to maintain the outward appearance of composure and ease, but the longer they stayed, the harder that became.

If they had come to shut him down, or arrest him, he wished they'd just hurry up and get to it already.

Instead, they seemed to sit around, doing nothing but make him nervous. After their initial arrival, they had requested living space for themselves and their entourage of stormtroopers, made some cursory inquiries about the city's layout and communications system, and then simply disappeared. Barely a word had been heard from either of them – the residents of Bespin who hadn't seen their arrival doubted that they were actually here.

Lando couldn't figure it out for the life of him. He had racked his brain continuously for anything – anything – that would attract this kind of attention from people this high up. He had carefully avoided such notice for most of his life. The only feasible conclusion that he had come to was that the Empire was about to start a major crackdown, the likes of which had never been seen before, anywhere. The illegal activity that went on in this city was so utterly insignificant…he didn't believe that he would make a particularly effective example to anyone, even with Lord Vader himself wringing his neck and shutting Bespin down.

But, they were here. So apparently his assessment was completely off base. And there was nothing he could do about it.

That was the worst of it, the part that really aggravated him. He couldn't remember the last problem he couldn't angle his way out of. But now, he couldn't picture such an effort being made on Lord Vader. Hedging around low-level investigators was one thing – facing the Empire itself was another thing completely.

So, Lady Vader had summoned him to her makeshift office, and he knew what was coming. He supposed it was a good thing that this would be coming from her and not her husband. Bad news from a pretty face – well, from what he assumed must be a pretty face – had to be better than quaking in fear of Lord Vader.

He buzzed for entrance, put his face into its normal, smiling façade, and hoped it would hold.

The door slid up quickly, and he found Lady Vader standing on the opposite side of the room. She was staring silently out the window at the clouds and traffic. "Come in, Baron Calrissian. We have much to discuss."

He stepped inside the door, and heard it shut. "I do hope you've found everything here to your satisfaction, my Lady. My staff is under strict instructions to cater to your every desire."

"Actually, I have quite enjoyed myself here," she replied. "This city offers much that is different from the usual Imperial accommodations."

Hmm. She sounded like she was smiling; he wished he could see how she was reacting to things. "I'm sure it does. Of course, we can't provide the kind of luxuries –"

"This place has color, and civilians, and a…life to it that I've never seen on a Star Destroyer. You don't have to worry about things you think you can't provide."

"Thank you," he said, frowning in confusion. "Then…what can I assist you with? I'm at your disposal."

"Actually, I only need to talk to you. I know you're waiting for me to do something terrible, but I have no such plans." She turned from her window and took a seat on a nearby couch.

He remained standing. "I'm glad to hear that," he replied unconvincingly.

"I've heard that you've done great things with this city – I know what it was like before you turned it around. You must be very proud of what you've built here."

"Yes –" Lando caught himself staring at those veils "– as you must be of what you and your husband have built in the Empire."

She sat up a little straighter, and let out an amused chuckle. "We haven't built what you think of as the Empire. We've only served it. And I'm sure you'd agree that there's a difference…I know what it's like to be responsible for something; I know how difficult that is. It's an enormous amount of work – and a ridiculous balancing act, from what I recall."

Lando smiled – a real smile – and sat on the edge of the couch. Maybe this was a more approachable situation than he had hoped for. "You know it is. There's always some problem or emergency I have to take care of…but in the end it's worth it. It's more than worth it."

"Of course." Her hands folded in front of her, and she took on a more thoughtful pose. "Which, finally, is the reason I brought you here. You must know that the Empire would not look kindly on what you have here, Baron."

"But you do?" he asked.

"I understand it. I appreciate it."

"Then…you're not here speaking for the Empire?"

"No. My interests here are strictly personal. But I would hate for my official position – or my husband's particular distaste for many of your 'practices' – to hurt Bespin unnecessarily. As long as you don't interfere with what I'm trying to accomplish, I'll be more than happy to extend you the same courtesy."

Now it was Lando's turn to laugh, though he didn't think it would help his situation. Was he really going to get a pass from the Vaders? What a bizarre notion. "Trust me, my Lady, I would never wish to get in your way."

"You don't believe me," she said, shaking her head a little. "When Captain Solo arrives, simply don't get involved. I can easily handle the rest."

"Han? Han's coming here?" This was getting stranger by the second. "I haven't seen him in years. What does he want?"

"Not your concern, Baron. In fact, Solo himself may not be of much concern to us. But those he travels with, his companions in the Rebellion – their importance to me cannot be overstated. Solo is my key to reaching those people, and he is coming to you, soon, to seek asylum." She stood from her seat, and retook her position by the window. "Grant his request, then stay out of the way. And once we leave, all of us will have gotten what we wanted."

Lando felt a small, but gnawing, sense of guilt growing in his stomach. Han was an old friend of his, one he had been in a lot of scrapes with. And Han was trusting him to help with the Empire breathing down his neck.

But, gradually, Lando felt his guilt giving way to logic. He had to protect his interests here, and he was being given a ridiculously easy way to do so. And Han wasn't even the focus of whatever was going on…Lando wasn't about to risk his city for a few Rebels he'd never met.

"My Lady, I said I was at your disposal, and I meant it. You won't have to worry about my interference with any of your business here."

She turned to look at him, and said quietly, "Well I suppose Solo's…curious…choice of friends is our gain then. You're dismissed, Baron."

Lando was taken aback at the sting of disapproval he heard in her voice, and almost said something to defend his decision, and stop the gnawing of his conscience.

Instead, he merely gave her a curt nod, and left the room.

---

"Have you ever been here before?" Leia asked as Bespin's thick upper cloud layer rapidly filled the Falcon's entire forward view, surrounding them completely.

Han turned the ship slightly to avoid a small gust of turbulence, breaking through the layer. "It was a long time ago. Before Lando ever got control of the place."

Leia raised an eyebrow, noting the subtle tensing of his jaw. "You're nervous about seeing him, aren't you?"

Han turned his eyes towards her a moment, flashing her a grin. "Sweetheart, if I can handle you, I've got nothing to worry about from Lando."

Leia folded her arms across her chest in an amused parody of her cold death's-head stance. "Looks like someone still doesn't know anything about women."

It wasn't the sardonic, biting tone she would normally have used. It was just simple, wry, amusement, something Leia hadn't freely felt in ages.

It was like an entire planet had fallen off her shoulders when she'd told Han. She was still going to be sore for a long time to come, having consigned herself to carrying the burden of that secret alone for so long...but the worst was gone, she told herself.

Then why did she feel as if she was unwittingly walking towards darkness again?

She looked at the planet once more, marveling briefly how much more beautiful it was up close. Sunset tinting the cloud-filled heaven full of oranges, reds, and pinks...they were in the upper atmosphere, she recalled from the brief summary she'd read earlier on the planet: lower down was the actual liquid gas sphere of the planet; the upper atmosphere was the only area of the planet breathable for most humanoid sentient life forms. Where several mining operations had been built in the pre-Empire days...including Cloud City.

An invisible icy finger placed itself between Leia's shoulder blades as she continued watching.

Stop it, she told herself. They'll control you no longer.

No longer.

Han's laugh brought her out of her thoughts. "With all fairness, Sweetheart, you are far from being the typical woman."

Leia was prepared to crack back a witty retort, but suddenly two odd twin-pod orange craft burst from the clouds and took up escort positions around the Falcon.

As if on cue, a sudden crackling came on their comm system. "Unidentified freighter, this is Cloud City Control. Identify yourself and your business."

Leia tightened a hand on Han's shoulder in a resurgence of her previous fear.

(Or maybe it was a fear of something new altogether? Luke would probably have said it was a prodding from the Force...

She bit her lip. She hadn't really, until now, thought about how much she actually missed Luke...)

"Don't say our actual names," she murmured in his ear. "If the Empire's still after us..." Though Han's friend was in charge of the place, she just wasn't ready to risk that.

Han, thankfully, just took it in stride. "I read you, Sweetheart." He flipped on the comm. "Cloud City, this is the unidentified freighter. I've got a message for Baron Calrissian. Tell him –" Han hesitated here, then suddenly smiled "–tell him that an old friend's here, and that perhaps we might play a few rounds of sabaac for my choice of his stock here. In the meantime we're hoping you'll have some place for us to park our little crate."

Leia stifled the urge to laugh at the cloud car pilot's perplexed reaction. A smile did escape, however. "Say that again, freighter?"

"Just tell Lando," Han said casually. "He'll understand."

"Let's just hope you do actually know this person," Leia muttered.

Chewie let out a few urf-urfs.

"Not you too," Han muttered himself. "Everything'll be fine. Trust me. It's been years, Lando's bound to have forgotten it by now." He didn't elaborate, and Leia didn't ask him to.

"Unidentified freighter, your request has been granted," the escort came back. Awfully quick, Leia thought. "Land on platform 327."

"Thank you," Han said curtly, flipping off the switch, then shooting a reassuring glance at Leia. For myself, or for him? "Don't worry. We go back a long way, Lando and me."

"Who's worried?" she countered calmly.

And then there it was.

Leia completely forgot her mood as the clouds vanished from around them, revealing directly in their path a huge (floating?) shape not unlike one of her childhood spinning top toys, the city's spires glinting the sunlight. As they neared the city she realized just how huge it was, and was duly impressed. Raised on Alderaan she'd learned to develop a higher appreciation for the beauty of nature than for artificially constructed structures...but this was an amazing sight to behold. Flying over the city itself was just as lovely; the entire skyline was filled with smooth spires, flowing together almost organically. Were it not for the frequent glints of metal, it might have been mistaken for a city on Alderaan.

They reached their platform and the cloud cars broke off in different directions, and the Falcon settled smoothly on the landing platform, a small duracrete surface in the middle of the city, adjoining another large spire. Han locked down the ship and quickly made his way to the landing ramp, with Chewie, Threepio and Leia following close behind. A crisp cool wind was all that greeted them as they disembarked, stinging Leia's cheeks slightly.

She tried to tell herself that was the only reason she felt cold. Something about this place didn't settle well with her at all.

She briefly flickered her eyes upward, near the top of the spire, several stories above them. She saw, of course, nothing.

"I don't like this," she murmured, almost to herself.

Before Han could respond, or Leia get in a quip about the lack of a greeting party, the doorway to the spire opened, and a tall, elegantly dressed man with dark skin and a hard expression strode out towards them, a small security entourage following. The long cape billowing out behind him reminded her uncomfortably of memories of her…father, and she wished fervently the man had worn something else. But it didn't bother her quite as much as it would have several weeks ago.

She guessed this was Lando.

"Why you no good, double-crossing swindler," the man came forth, stopping just a foot from Han's nose. No one moved a bit – except for the security team, which quickly moved into guard positions around their administrator. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here after the stunts you've pulled."

Han pointed at himself and gave an innocent "Who, me?" look, and Lando took one aggressive step closer...

Then let out a rush of laughter as his arms went around Han, clasping them in a familiar hug. "How you doing, you old pirate?" he asked Han, the stony attitude fading completely away. "I never thought I'd see you again! Now what's this about a hand of sabaac?"

"I'll tell you later," Han said.

"He seems very friendly," Threepio remarked, inclining a golden head towards Lando.

"Yes," Leia said slowly, eyeing the exchange between the two men. "Very."

There was more exchange of greetings, Han relaying to Lando the reason for their little impromptu visit. A few more chuckles, then Lando turned to Leia, a suave (or what he thought was suave) smile plastered on his face. She distrusted it immediately.

"I see at least if nothing else my friend's taste in traveling companions has improved considerably," he said warmly, wide brown eyes sparkling. He was handsome in his own way, Leia thought, and probably (with some basis) considered himself quite the ladies' man. She easily caught the boldly confident attitude that was a near-duplicate of Han's, minus the smart-mouthed brashness. "And who might you be?"

If you actually knew the full answer to that, I doubt you'd be so willing to make such shallow passes at me. "Leia," she told him simply, resisting the extremely inviting urge to state her full title and lineage, just to see the look on Calrissian's face. If he entertained any notions about wooing her, that would undoubtedly sober them.

"Then I welcome you, Leia." He brushed a kiss on her gloved hand, and Leia could almost visibly sense Han's sudden air of possessiveness, quickly putting an arm around Leia's shoulders and guiding her towards the door. She smiled at the act; in this aspect the jealousy was in its own way endearing. Chewie, Threepio, Lando and his entourage moved with them.

"We'll get to work on the Falcon right away," Calrissian said as he guided them into the spire, which Leia saw opened out into a lavish marble-laid corridor, with windows lining it all along its curving path. "I'll put her on top of the priority list. She's saved my life quite a few times, and she's definitely worth it. Now we'll see if we can't get you all some decent quarters..."

Leia nodded politely and almost absent-mindedly as they continued down the passage, Han and Lando in front of her, Chewie and Threepio trailing them. Lando almost immediately launched into a whole speech about the wonder and glory of his city and how he'd managed to turn it into a successful gas mining operation... Leia was grateful for all the years of political training Bail Organa had given her; she could deal with politicos like Calrissian in her sleep.

Not that she'd have to worry about that too much, it seemed. Han seemed to be having a high old time of it, chatting and laughing with Lando as if little time had passed at all. And who could blame him? With a Wookiee, a paranoid droid and an uptight Princess as his sole companions for the past long weeks in space, he'd be ready for some new companionship. Someone to engage in the casual routine of "guy talk" with once more. So Leia busied herself with studying the sights of the city, something of an art form in itself as they walked by, thinking about how much her father – Bail Organa, not Vader – might have appreciated getting a look at this city. She didn't talk to Chewie or Threepio at all.

So no one – including Leia – noticed as they went around a bend in the corridor, that the golden protocol droid was no longer there, until some time later.

---

Amidala slipped into the room at the top of the spire. She barely remembered to check for witnesses in the hall outside before she locked herself in and scrambled across to the window, throwing the veils back as she went. She couldn't bear having anything interfere with her vision. The room was spectacular, commanding a view of all Cloud City, but Amidala cared only for one view right now.

She hadn't felt so fully alive since the first time Ani had brushed his long fingers across her back, since the moment he had first bent down to her and given a shy and gentle kiss. The sensation had frightened her then, had been too much sensory input when she had been completely unprepared; now it exhilarated her. Every color was clear and bright, every sound, musical. She felt as though she could dance above the clouds. She could touch the frozen soil of the gas giant below and send forth a new spring, a wave of brilliant flowers spreading out from her fingertips.

She stood perfectly still, not moving a muscle for fear of revealing her presence too soon.

Far below, the gangplank of the Millennium Falcon lowered and Leia came out. Amidala's eyes passed over the pilot and the Wookie without acknowledgment.

Leia.

She was dressed all in white, an almost conscious repudiation of

(me)

Ani, but she didn't look pale or dull in the bright colors of Cloud City. She glowed, like a small star.

Her hair had reddish highlights that Amidala had never noticed in the vids. They caught the tone of Bespin's sun. The color was a gift from Winama. The tight, practical braids reminded Amidala of Shmi Skywalker. She couldn't see it from here, but she knew that Leia had her own eyes.

But mainly, it was Ani she saw, Ani as a child, round-faced, with delicate, inquisitive features. Ani, before the galaxy ripped him in two.

What am I doing?

The question screamed up from the void, the voices of all those she saw in Leia's face, all the loved ones who now walked only on the barren landscape of her own memory. Ani's voice, Winama's, Shmi's...the voice of a young girl with eyes not unlike Leia's, a girl who insisted that there were things she could not do.

What are you doing? Who have you become?

"I've become who I must be," Amidala whispered, her breath fogging the glass. "I do what I must."

On the landing platform, Calrissian swept the pilot into a friendly embrace.

For you, Leia. For Luke. For all those who were betrayed. I, too, will find the strength to do what I detest and become what I loathe, so I can create the galaxy I once believed in, to enforce the order of things as they should be.

Calrissian released the pilot, then whisked the group, and Leia, inside. Amidala was about to turn away – she'd seen what she'd come to see – when a glint of sun on metal caught her eye.

The droid might not have warranted her attention, except for the way it took a step backwards, looking insulted, when Calrissian ignored it. Then it shook its golden head, and began to pick its way up the platform. He was already several meters behind the others.

Amidala clasped her hands together, feeling high and gleeful. It was astounding, really, letting her feelings run free. She wished she could just call out, maybe run down onto the platform.

But that wouldn't do. If she could have done that, she'd have done it in order to get to Leia, not Threepio. But she could work with Threepio. She pulled the veils back over her head, and slipped out of the room.

Ani was standing outside, and she took his hands and kissed the side of his mask (he lifted his head in surprise). "Ani, I have an idea, but I have to go quickly. Don't do anything until I've come back and told you."

"If you wish, my Lady."

"Threepio is still with her."

"I see."

Amidala smiled, and imagined that Ani was smiling, then ducked into the turbolift and let it plunge down to the platform level. The speed made her lightheaded, but what of it?

This part of the City was solidly under Imperial control – more accurately, it was solidly under Ani's control; he was sending out Destroyers in a rotating schedule to keep an eye out for Ozzel – and she was able to make her way through the stormtroopers and officers without anyone stopping her. A few of the men bowed deeply. One called her "Your Majesty" as he opened a door for her.

The room she was headed for was a temporary barracks for a squadron of stormtroopers. It opened onto the city corridor that led from the platform to the lodgings Calrissian was planning to give to Leia.

The men jumped up at the sight of her, and stood at attention, though several of them were half out-of-uniform. She nodded impatiently to them, and scanned the room for something she could use. "Gentlemen, I need a droid with audio-mimetic capabilities."

One of them saluted, broke rank, and disappeared into an antechamber. He returned with a protocol droid not unlike Threepio himself. "Your Majesty," he said sharply, then handed her the control and marched back into line.

"Very good, soldier. This will do nicely." She called the droid over to her, the plan, such as it was, coming to her in bits and pieces. It seemed a little foolish if she thought of it too closely. But Threepio...well, perhaps foolish plans would work best on him. She glanced up at a monitor above the door, which was focused on the incoming Rebels (just in case Calrissian decided to try something stupid). The Wookiee lumbered past, then, at the far edge, Threepio appeared.

Amidala waved at the stormtroopers to stand back, out of the sightline from the door, then she spoke softly to the protocol droid. "Mimic an Artoo class astromech droid –"

"Yes, madam. Do you have a preference for the year?"

"I'm not sure of the year. Nothing that wasn't operating thirty-five years ago."

"And what will I say?"

"Something that does not indicate an Imperial presence. Comment on the weather."

"Very well." The droid began to emit a series of beeps and whistles.

Sure enough, Threepio stopped right in front of the door. "That sounds like –"

Amidala hit the control beside the door, then gave the droid a shove. It went out into the passage, leaving her face to face with a disappointed-looking See-Threepio, for the first time in many years. She grabbed his arm and pulled him in, shutting the door silently behind him.

"Hush, Threepio," she said.

"Oh, dear! Lady Vader, oh, if you are here, then...oh, my heavens!" He fretted and tried to get back to the door, but he wasn't very strong, physically, and Amidala was determined.

"Threepio," she whispered, "it's me, Padmé. I see you're still perfect."

"I have no memory...perhaps..."

Amidala looked over her shoulder at the stormtroopers, and raised her voice to a level they would hear. "Leave me with this droid. I will see to it."

"Ma'am, my Lady...your Majesty," one of them stammered, "it will warn the Rebels. We should destroy it."

"That was Palpatine's mistake all along. He destroyed too many things that could have been of use to him, if treated properly. Now, leave us."

"Yes, ma'am." The squadron formed up (some still half-dressed), and left the room.

"My Lady Vader," Threepio said, "I am programmed..."

"I know your programming, Threepio. I did quite a bit of it toward the end. Access seven-seven-oh-two-four-Padmé-three-ay."

Threepio's head tilted, and she could hear the microcircuits working as they found the path around at least part of the memory block (much of his memory had been wiped, but some of it, she hadn't been able to bear losing; it would have been too much like killing Ani's firstborn), then he dipped his head a bit. "Queen Amidala."

"Yes. Very good. I need to speak to my daughter."

"I'm sorry, Mistress Amidala, but I have been programmed to protect Mistress Leia's interests from the Empire."

"Programmed." Amidala gritted her teeth. Losing her temper at Threepio wouldn't get her anywhere. "I am not the Empire. I am Leia's mother."

"I simply cannot arrange such a meeting. It would violate my entire protocol structure."

"Her father built your protocol structure! For the Maker's sake, Threepio – for your Maker's sake in particular – you must bring her to me." It was pointless, of course, arguing philosophically with Threepio. He was so close to sentient that she felt a need to convince him she was right, but in the end, his programming would win out. Well, she hadn't come this far to be derailed by her own former naiveté. "Threepio, access the command structure in the file I referred you to. It should contain an override."

"Yes, Mistress Amidala."

"Good. I hereby override intervening protocols. Do not speak of my presence in this city, or the Empire's. Suggest to Leia that a walk in the public gardens on the fourth level would be pleasant. See to it that she is there in two hours."

"Oh, that's a fine idea. Mistress Leia has been very tense of late, and a pleasant garden stroll would be..."

"Threepio."

"Yes. But Mistress Leia can be a bit stubborn. She may be unwilling, regardless of your presence."

"So be convincing. If she seems unwilling, tell her you saw something suspicious there, and need her opinion on it. But bring her there."

"Yes, Mistress Amidala."

"Good." She touched his wrist. "I'm happy to see you again, Threepio. I've missed you."

"And I, you, Madam." He gave an electronic sigh. "How I wish Master Anakin were here."

Amidala considered telling him that he had his wish, but decided not to push her luck. "I know, Threepio," she said. "Now, go."

"Yes, my Lady."

He went back through the door, leaving her alone again.

But it was for the last time.

In two hours, she would have her family back.

---

The vision shattered, but Luke couldn't wake himself up.

It had been a long, exhausting day physically, and when he'd gone into meditation before sleep, he'd sent himself deep. Now, as the vision he'd had over and over – the vision of Han in agony – suddenly fragmented and blew itself out into ether, something more horrible bubbled up from underneath, like noxious swamp gas.

"Luke! Help me!"

He hears her voice, but he can't see her. He is standing in the red fog, his vision obscured by shifting crimson shadows. "Leia!"

"I'm here! Help me!"

He follows the sound of it, crashing through the underbrush, his feet sticking in the mud. Blood seeps up around his boots. At last, he comes to the edge of the swamp. In the waking world, it is mud interspersed with water. Here, it is blood and fire. Far on the other side, he sees her, a tiny white figure, sinking slowly into the mire.

He can't reach her.

"Luke! Han! Someone!"

But no one answers. Luke realizes that he can no longer hear Han screaming, but he can't sense him anywhere else either. Not strange. Han is

(...a blind spot in the Force. He would mean trouble...)

not always easy to see, but wherever he is, Leia isn't finding him. Luke dives into the gore, and tries to swim, but something beneath is pulling at him, dragging him back with gentle, silken threads...

There was a sharp jab at his chest, and he was brought rudely up into the waking world. Yoda stood over him, gimer stick poised to strike again. "Lost, you tend to become, young Skywalker. Focus, you must."

"I can't. Something's wrong, Yoda. Something's very wrong."

"Hmmmph. Wrong has something been for many years. Change it this evening, you cannot."

"I have to go to Bespin. Leia's in trouble." Luke stood up, throwing away his blankets and looking for his bag.

"You must not! Finish your training, you must!"

"I can't."

"Shifting, this vision is. Seeing it clearly, you are not. Help you here, I will. And Obi-Wan. Help you to understand it."

"By the time I understand it, Han and Leia could be dead. I have to go to them." He closed his eyes, and the blood-red water of the swamp seeped across his vision, casting a secret scarlet glow on everything. "Whatever is happening, they're in danger."

"As are you!" Yoda took a few steps forward, and planted his gimer stick firmly between Luke's feet. "Seeking you, the Empire is. Trying to lure you. They know that you –"

Luke shook his head. He wasn't going to let Yoda drag him into another debate about whether or not he was too focused on his friends, and not focused enough on his training. "I can't do this, Yoda. If my going there will get them out of danger, then I have to go."

"Remove Leia from danger, it will not. And if you also fall, all else is lost with you. All."

Something in what he was saying spoke to a deep, cool place in Luke's mind, but it was dull and far off. Closer to the surface, he smelled the burning blood of the vision, saw Leia's small hands clawing at the mud. He shook his head, his lips set tightly, and started to get his things together.

---

He shouldn't have been able to feel this way.

Yet, Obi-Wan watched Luke carelessly throw his bags into the cockpit of his X-Wing, rushing into the very heart of danger…and Darkness…and he couldn't deny it.

There was a heaviness in his heart. A churning in his stomach. A nervousness in his trembling hands.

If the situation weren't so dire, he knew that Yoda would have taken this opportunity to chastise him – again – for clinging so desperately to his corporeal form. A spirit didn't have a heart or a stomach. A spirit should be beyond apprehension.

And maybe Yoda would be right to say so. Kenobi had always harbored a secret hope that in his death he would find answers. Perhaps not all of them – he wasn't that arrogant – but enough to give him peace; enough to understand, finally, where he could have done things differently with Anakin, to see where he had gone wrong in the end.

Information that, of course, would be quite useful now.

/Continue to blame yourself, hmm?/ Yoda's voice intruded on his thoughts, bringing him back to the current problem. /Limited effects, our actions can have. Their own decisions, they will make./

A truism, Obi-Wan thought in irritation. One that offered very little comfort to him right now.

"Luke," he began somberly, "You must listen to us."

The boy shook his head impatiently, and ran underneath the craft to see how his droid's repairs were progressing. "I can't, Ben. I keep seeing that vision…she was begging me to help her. I can't just ignore that."

"You must not go, Luke," he replied. "There is more to this than you realize, and if you leave now –"

"If I don't leave, they'll die. There isn't much more to it than that." He tugged at the zippers on his jumpsuit and looked about for his helmet.

"You can't know that for certain. Even Yoda cannot see their fate."

"But I know I can help them! How can you ask me to turn my back on them?"

"I'm not asking you to do that. You don't realize the danger you're exposing yourself to," Obi-Wan glanced at Yoda. "You have little control over your powers, and that will only put both you and your friends at risk."

"Yes!" Yoda interjected. "To Obi-Wan, you listen. Remember your failure at the cave!"

That caused Luke to stop packing and stare thoughtfully at the two of them. "I remember. But you never explained to me what that vision meant." He waited for an answer, and upon receiving none, motioned to the droid to board the little compartment in the back of the ship. "Forget it," he muttered.

"No, wait!" Obi-Wan said. "If you stay, and complete your training, we promise to explain everything to you. But to leave now…"

"You have my word that I will return, and finish what I've begun," Luke replied. Yoda gave him a disappointed look. "I promise, Master Yoda."

"It is you and your abilities that the Vaders want. That is why your friends are made to suffer." Obi-Wan spared another look at Yoda before adding, "Maybe it is best that you understand why they want you, before running off without fully understanding what is –"

"Tell him, you may," Yoda interrupted, "and make things worse, it might. Make him sympathetic to them, you will. Afford that, we cannot."

Kenobi hated to speak about Luke as if he weren't standing right there, but the boy was apparently too frustrated to continue listening to their argument. He was almost ready to leave in any event, and apparently didn't believe that anything they said would change his mind.

"I understand that, Master," he said in a low voice to Yoda. "But perhaps it will buy us time?"

"Determined to leave, he is. And determined to fight them. If leave he does, without the desire to oppose the Vaders…lost all will be."

Luke grabbed a ladder rung to mount the X-Wing. "Do you have anything to tell me, or not? I know there are secrets being kept from me. But right now, Leia is more important."

Obi-Wan tried not to show the panic that was tearing him apart. Instead, he projected a sad, almost lost expression to the boy. "I don't want to lose you the way I lost Vader, Luke. But you leave me in a terrible position. I'm begging you to trust me, and have the patience to work through this."

"The last of the Jedi, you are. On this, all depends," Yoda added solemnly.

"And I'm just supposed to stay here and do nothing? And sacrifice Han and Leia?"

"If you honor what they fight for," Yoda said, poking his stick in the ground for emphasis, "yes."

Luke's eyes bulged and Obi-Wan sighed. Another non-comforting truth from Yoda.

And another Padawan about to slip away from him.

Luke finally climbed the ladder and situated himself in the pilot's seat, and began running the take off sequence.

"Please…don't give in to hatred and fear. No matter how tempting they may be. They always lead to the Dark Side." As the warning lights from the X-Wing bathed the swamp in red, he spared one last comment. "You must remain strong, Luke. Please."

"Mind what you have learned! Save you, it can!" Yoda added as the ship began to hover just above the ground.

"I will," Luke replied, yelling over the roar of the engines. "And I will come back. I promise."

With that, the cover of the cockpit came down, the thrusters ignited, and Luke headed for the stars.

The two Jedi stood silently, watching his ascent until he faded out of sight.

"We should have told him," Obi-Wan said softly.

"Helped, it would not have."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure if that was true or not. He could see the wisdom in both approaches. "We can only pray that we're right. That boy is our last hope."

Yoda heaved a deep, heavy sigh, and returned to his hut.

---

"You see, Your Highness!" Threepio exclaimed, in his oddly realistic imitation of glee. "It's really quite pretty here."

Leia sighed. She'd had a pounding headache for the past two hours, and she couldn't seem to think clearly through it. She'd been glad to leave Han and Lando to their boisterous talk. Her mind felt like crystal, and it was vibrating dangerously. "Yes, I suppose so. But you said you'd seen something questionable."

"I did? Yes, of course. I saw...oh, perhaps it was nothing at all."

"Threepio," Leia said, biting back her impatience, "I know you aren't programmed to lie. Did you see something suspicious or not?"

"Yes, of course. Something very suspicious. It's just a bit further." He clattered on down the path, which was made of metal that was painted to look like stones. About halfway down, he raised his arms. "Oh, yes. I remember. Here."

Leia hurried her pace and looked into the small alcove he was pointing to. There were white flowers, and red flowers, all arranged prettily on trellises. High hedges made it private. There was the soft sound of an artificially created wind, pulling this way and that among the leaves. There was something discomforting about it. In the back, there was a shadowy recess...

She put her hands to her temples, feeling suddenly like a pick was being driven through her skull. "Threepio, what is it? What did you see?"

"He saw me."

The shadows in the recess came to life, and a scarlet breeze drafted out from them. Leia knew what she was seeing – she wasn't insane, not yet – but she refused to acknowledge it. "Threepio," she said. "Why am I here?"

"It's not Threepio's fault," the wind said. "I activated programming that was suppressed in his memory."

At last, she could deny it no longer. When she spoke, her voice was flat and dull. "He was yours first."

"Actually," Lady Vader said, "he was your father's."

Suddenly, Leia understood what was discomforting about the wind. Oh, certainly, there was a fan somewhere, blowing a steady band of wind across the gardens. But here, this close, there was an undercurrent to it – an even, precise rhythm that she'd heard in her worst nightmares. She looked beyond her mother, and saw him standing there, the great shadow that her mother had emerged from.

She turned to run, but she felt a ghostly hand on her shoulder, willing her to stay, pulling her back into the alcove. "Let me go!"

Real hands touched her arms – small, warm hands, grasping at her in a desperate, sickening way. "My Leia, my Leia...we've searched for you for such a long time. Please, don't run. We mean you no harm."

She pulled away from all the hands, physical and ephemeral, jerking herself into the prickly hedge in the process. "Don't touch me!"

She hadn't said it to strike out; it was just an atavistic loathing of their touch. It made her both cold and feverish.

Lady Vader took a step back, and her hands disappeared beneath the veil. Her shoulders hitched in what could only be a sob.

Leia paused, her shoulders pressed into the sharp leaves, and listened to her mother cry. "I..." she started, but couldn't think how to finish it. She didn't want to be here. She had to –

The black-gloved hand clamped around her wrist with finality, and she looked, almost involuntarily, into the masked face of her father. "Sit down," he said. "You have been sought and found, and you are, at the moment, captured. This need not be unpleasant."

The words stopped there, but she heard the remainder anyway: But it can be if you choose. It can be very unpleasant.

"– stop it." Mother's voice was clear, if a bit thick. She'd said something before "stop it" – "any," maybe, or something in another language – but Leia couldn't make sense of it. She came around, and her fingers again made contact with Leia's wrist. They didn't seek as desperately this time, just rested there, as if she were touching a fragile but beautiful and expensive statue. "Leia," she said, then again, "Leia," and again, until Leia thought she'd be driven mad by the sound of her own name.

"Mother," she finally managed to say.

"Yes." Both hands clasped around hers, and Leia remembered, against her will, the comfort of her nursery. "Oh, Leia. My little girl. How I've longed to see you."

"You knew where I was."

"I was unable to come to you."

"Of course not. Not when you were so busy hunting me down."

"Not hunting. Searching." She moved her hands, then there was a blur of red gauze, and the veils were thrown back. Leia looked into her own eyes. "Things are changing, Leia. We don't have to be at war anymore. We've challenged Palpatine."

"We?"

"Your father and I."

"Don't call him that."

"Leia," Vader said, "there is little point in refusing to acknowledge the obvious."

She glared at him, then turned back to Mother. To Lady Vader. "I don't fight Palpatine," she said. "I fight all of you."

Lady Vader's face grew cool and set, though Leia had not thought such a thing possible a moment ago. A moment ago, she had been almost disgustingly soft. Now...Oddly, it was a face Leia found more to her liking, though one less likely to placate her. "It's a strange war you fight, Leia, if you don't care who your enemy is."

"My enemy is the Empire and everything it stands for."

"All it has ever stood for is Palpatine. We will make it stand for something else."

Leia resorted to sarcasm, surprised how easily it came to her in this situation. "Oh, so you'll use absolute power and tyranny to accomplish different ends. That makes everything all right."

"And your Rebellion," Mother said, her voice a saw. "What does it stand for? You will fight for anarchy? For the memory of an antiquated and corrupt Republic? Leia, I was there when the Republic still lived. You are fighting for the shadow of a dream. The reality...you have no idea what the reality was."

"I remember one reality," Leia said softly. "I remember that we ran from the Empire. I don't know how long, or where. But I remember you being frightened. I remember that, Mother."

"Everyone is frightened of change."

"Not everyone hides a child in a trunk to avoid change."

Mother's eyes widened in surprise. Good. Then she shook her head, as if she were shaking water out of her ears. "It doesn't matter. I held...certain naive beliefs." She waved her hand impatiently. "I no longer hold them."

"You were supposed to have died. Where were you all those years?"

"I was in prison, if you must know. At Palpatine's hands. Your father had me released when he found out."

"So naturally, you became the face of the new and improved Empire."

"I did what I needed to." Her face softened again. "Oh, Leia, please. I don't want to fight with you."

"I told you this was pointless," Vader said. "I have known this child for many years. She is stubborn and intractable."

Mother's lips twitched in something that was almost a smile, almost pretty. "She came by it naturally, my love."

Leia might have been won at that moment of strangeness. It was one point she simply couldn't deny – she could stand toe to toe with Vader, and she'd always had a sneaking enjoyment of those episodes (at least until he resorted to more arcane methods of trying to make her change her mind) because he never gave in. She stood there, suddenly wanting to ask other questions. She could feel them pushing up, wanting to explode out of her. It would have been easy to justify – you don't need to join them to demand answers to the nagging questions in your heart – and if she had started down that path...the questions, there were so many, and every one would lead to another... She might have been won at that moment, except for the very shared trait that had begun it. She kept firmly to her ground. And Vader continued his own argument.

"Nevertheless," he said, "I do not believe we will accomplish anything. We will return to the ship with Leia, and you can continue this conversation as you please. Meanwhile, we should prepare for Luke's arrival."

The ground opened beneath Leia's feet, and the heavens poured down fire. A great wind buffeted her against hot stone.

She was still, her hands clenching into fists. "Luke?" she repeated.

"Yes," Mother said. "He's on his way." She smiled again, this time genuinely pretty, but Leia no longer cared. She was too confused to care. "No matter what you may think, I'm glad the two of you found one another at last. When I separated you, I feared you never would, and you were so fond of each other as babies."

"Luke?" Leia said again. It seemed to be both the only word that made sense, and a totally new word, in a tongue she'd never heard before.

Mother was nodding vaguely, her face getting that glazed and ecstatic look again, when something suddenly seemed to occur to her. Her face was pale already, after the years behind the veil, but now it turned the color of curdled milk. "You don't know? You never made the connection? Obi-Wan never told him?"

Leia just stared at her.

"Obi-Wan was supposed to tell him. He was supposed to tell him everything, as soon as it was time. Certainly before he met you."

"That," Vader said, "has always seemed to me a highly unlikely occurrence."

Leia took no notice of him. She was still staring at her mother. When I separated you...You don't know?...Obi-Wan was supposed to tell him...

"Leia, you haven't...he's not..."

Leia found her voice, and it was a scream. "No! Never! You...how could you do that? How could you risk that?" She backed further into the hedge, not minding – or noticing – the scratches it was tracing on her cheeks.

Mother was starting to come toward her again, perhaps to draw her out, when sharp, quick footsteps broke the noise barrier of the wind and father's labored breathing. An Imperial officer appeared at the gate of the alcove, barely noted Leia with his eyes, and bowed to Mother. "Your Majesty," he said, then bowed slightly to Father, "My Lord." He looked to Mother again. "The operation has begun," he said.

Mother's eyebrows lowered. "What? I'm sorry, I don't..."

"Very good," Father said. "Leave us."

Mother shook her head. "Captain, please –" A glance at Father. She would put up a united front, though she seemed taken by surprise. "What stage of the operation have you reached?" The officer glanced nervously at Leia, so Mother said, "This prisoner is secure, Captain."

"The legion is in place," he said. "And Solo and the Wookiee are being brought to it." He saluted, and left the alcove.

Leia's mind came crashing back into place. Han. Han was in danger. She had to get to him.

She made a mad dive for the gate, though she knew she had no chance. No invisible hands this time. Her father caught her upper arms, his hands more effective than iron binders.

The prisoner was secure.

---

"No, no, no! That's not the way it went at all!" Han yelled back, laughing uproariously.

"Aw, get off it, Solo," Lando replied, through his own bout of laughter. "You know that if it hadn't been for you being…distracted…we never would have been caught."

"If it wasn't for me, we'd still be sitting in that cell, waiting for that guard – what was his name?"

Chewie roared something from the other side of the room, and both men nodded.

"Yup, that was it. I really thought he was going to kill us," Han said. He shook his head with the memory, and with the myriad of stories and scandals that came to mind with it. Seeing Lando again had lifted a burden from him, bringing back easier times – times when he was probably in a comparable amount of danger, but when he honestly didn't care. When he only had himself to think about, and nothing but his ship and his money to worry about.

A lifetime ago. It had to be.

"That wasn't the worst of it, though. Don't you remember the look on that garrison's face when we tried to leave the planet with –"

A beeping noise sounded softly in the room, interrupting Lando's tale. Han was still chuckling to himself as his friend looked to the gadget on his wrist. Lando's face immediately fell, and he stared at the message for a long moment before responding, and shutting off the noise.

"Let me guess," Han said in disappointment. "Responsibility calls."

A long sigh, and an apologetic look. "Afraid so. I'm supposed to meet with a group of investors now, to discuss a lot of boring numbers and projections." He stood to leave and suddenly a smile broke out on his face. "Why don't you join me? Both of you?"

Chewie laughed, and Han made a face. "Why would we want to sit in on your boring meeting?"

"Well, you might just find it interesting. And I could use a few people sitting on my side of the table."

"I'm supposed to intimidate them for you?"

"I was thinking mostly of Chewbacca. I don't think these guys are used to negotiating with Wookiees." He gave Han a playful hit on the arm. "Come on. At the very least, you'll get to make fun of me later after witnessing my businessman image firsthand."

Han shrugged. "Hey, why not?" Chewie grumbled in annoyance. "There's not much else to do around here for now, and who knows where Leia and Threepio went. We may as well keep ourselves occupied."

The trio stepped out into the hallway, and into the general bustle of the city. Han had gotten the feeling earlier that Leia was already tiring of the busy atmosphere in Bespin, but he was mostly bemused by it all, and by the fact that Lando, of all people, had managed to create and maintain it.

"…every day I've got a new thing to worry about," Lando was saying. "You wouldn't believe it. Labor on one side, developers on the other, the law pretty much everywhere –"

"Now that's the Lando I remember!" he interrupted. "I'll bet we both have some interesting stories about avoiding the Empire. You won't believe some of the stuff I could tell you about the last couple of years."

"I'll bet."

They walked down a long, almost empty hallway. The sounds of people walking and talking slowly faded, until they could only hear their own footsteps.

"The Empire has always been a concern here, but that should be changing soon."

Han and Chewie gave him puzzled looks as they reached the door to the conference room.

"I've just made a deal that should keep the Empire out of here forever."

The time it took the door to rise – seconds, probably less – was just enough for a warning siren to go off in Han's head, as he processed what Lando had said.

The room was filled with stormtroopers…it was all a sea of white. He could hear the klick-klack of armored footsteps coming down the hallway behind them. Chewie yelled.

Han had his blaster out and firing before any of the stormtroopers were able to make a move. He saw two fall forward, and another two thrown back into the wall. He hit another one before he saw them raise their rifles at him and open fire.

Chewie had taken Lando by his forearms and thrown him in the air, toward the oncoming troopers. He took out a good number of them in a loud crash, and they went sliding all over the floor.

Han was in a corner of the dead-end hallway, avoiding the blasts coming through the open door, and shooting down the hallway, trying to give Chewie some cover. He hit a stormtrooper that ventured out into the hallway. The next one out the door turned to Han, and hit him in the head with the back of his rifle.

Han had a few moments that registered before he blacked-out completely. He saw Chewie stunned by a shot, crashing to the floor. He saw Lando pull himself to his feet and walk over.

"I'm sorry, Han," he said quietly. "They got here just before you did. I had no choice."

His eyes closed briefly, but he forced them open, and squinted at Lando. "Where's Leia?"

"I don't know. I –"

"Where is she?"

"I…I'm sorry, Han."

Then, everything went black.

---

Amidala understood three things simultaneously: first, that Ani had arranged for the capture of the pilot and the Wookiee while she'd been out re-programming Threepio; second, that he had not done so with any thought of subterfuge – he'd simply assumed she would know him well enough to guess (she supposed he was right; she just been too distracted to think about it); and, third, that the pilot was Leia's lover. The notion of Leia having a lover was disturbing, almost beyond tolerance, but she had to tolerate it. She had to tolerate it because she recognized the look on Leia's face. She had felt it on her own face many times. Leia would face danger to herself with some degree of resignation. But danger to the pilot...she would react by fighting, clawing...

Rejecting, utterly, those who had placed him in danger in the first place.

Ani seemed to be reaching the same conclusion – his back had straightened, and he held his head in a position that had always (suit or no suit) shown irritation when his plans were interrupted by an unknown factor.

"Leia," she said, "we were telling the truth. We have no wish to hurt you."

Leia looked pointedly at Ani's hand, which was bending her wrist in what looked like an uncomfortable way. Her hand was beginning to swell, and was already fully immobilized.

"My love," Amidala said, not looking at Ani.

"She will run."

Amidala swallowed. She wasn't used to him contradicting her, any more than he was used to her contradicting him. When they disagreed, they kept it private. But he was right...this wasn't an Imperial matter. It was a family matter, and they shouldn't be giving one another implied orders.

Of course, they should also be communicating with one another about important tactical decisions, but that could wait until later. For now, they had to be on the same side. If Leia found a rift, she would use it to get away.

She's not a prisoner! She's your daughter!

Of course. But she was also a Rebel, and as stubborn as Ani had ever been. If Amidala had thought to do this with Ani twenty years ago – just take him and hold him, against his will if necessary, until he saw sense again – then they wouldn't be in the mess they were in now. I will find the strength. She closed her eyes and opened them again. "She won't run as long as the pilot is in our custody and alive."

Ani let go of Leia, as much in surprise as in agreement. Amidala had not generally favored taking hostages. She still didn't, but Ani had created the situation, and she might as well use it. It was better than watching her husband snap her daughter's wrist bones without even noticing he was doing it.

Leia pulled her hand away and began to rub the wrist vigorously, but her eyes were focused on Amidala. If she could have shot fire from them, Amidala was quite certain she'd be reduced to a pile of ashes already. "You..." But she stopped. Amidala bit down on any illusions that it was because she didn't want to finish the sentence. Illusions would cost all of them right now, and she couldn't afford any more. Leia didn't finish because she couldn't think of anything cruel enough to say.

"I'm sorry," Amidala whispered.

Ani's comlink beeped, and an officer reported that Solo was indeed in custody. Leia's head fell forward, as if she'd been struck, then she looked up again, her face cold.

That's me in there, Amidala realized. She isn't all Ani after all. She knows how to be angry in the cold.

It wasn't a comforting thought, so she set it aside. "Oh, Leia, I'm so sorry. It was never supposed to be like this."

"How, precisely, was it supposed to go?"

Ani stepped forward. "You were to show some gratitude for the sacrifices she made to keep you safe as an infant."

"Safe from you. And now she's handed me to you."

"Safe from Palpatine," Amidala corrected. "You were never in danger from your father."

Mistake. They looked at each other – Leia with anger, Ani with something that began to approach guilt. She had been in plenty of danger from her father.

Amidala tried to fix it. "It was my fault. Had I simply told the truth in the first place the...the more negative experiences wouldn't have occurred."

Leia paused for a moment, several emotions working their way across her face. "You're a master politician, Mother," she said at last. "I'll give you that. But you'll need to do better than that."

Ani leaned in on her. "You have crossed the boundary, Leia. This is no longer tolerable."

Amidala's instinct was to continue to take the blame, to serve as a buffer between them. This wasn't a love of pain on her part; she had simply seen, that, for a moment, Leia had stopped to think about what she'd said. It had made her look at the past differently. Ani's intervention had just steeled her again.

The clacking of hard boots on metallic cobblestones interrupted them for the final time, and Admiral Piett came into the alcove. He bowed deeply to Amidala. "Your Majesty," he said. "Luke Skywalker's fighter has entered the atmosphere."

Leia squeezed her eyes shut. "He'll never come to you any more than I will."

"But Leia," Amidala said, "you're already here."

A platoon of stormtroopers appeared beside Piett, and Amidala understood what they were for. She couldn't stand the thought of it, couldn't bear the idea that Leia – her Leia! – was so far from her at this point. But she recognized necessity. She looked to Ani. Ani would have the strength to do it.

He nodded, and looked at the stormtroopers. "Bring Princess Leia to our quarters and keep her under guard. If she is mistreated, I will hear of it, and I will be most displeased."

Leia, to her credit, was not enough of a fool to challenge his protection. The troopers formed around her, and they led her out.

"I am sorry, my love," Ani said. "I wish it had occurred as you had hoped, rather than as I had feared."

It wouldn't have been effective if she'd believed that he enjoyed being proven right, but it had never given him any pleasure to see others suffer because they had ignored his warnings. He had even grieved for his men on board the Death Star, and not once had he pointed out that, had his advice been heeded, those men would still be alive. Amidala herself hadn't learned of that advice until much later, when one of the few surviving officers – a man who had been injured in Leia's initial escape and shuttled to a nearby world before the battle – told her that Ani had loathed the station from the start. So when he told her that he hoped he'd been wrong about Leia, she knew he meant it, and it comforted her. "I know, Ani. I hate to see her captured like that. Beaten."

"I understand. But Luke is coming in. We must prepare for that meeting."

"Ani..."

"Yes, my love?"

"This...this was perhaps not the best approach. We are trying to bring them home, not intimidate them into giving us answers. Perhaps we...I mean, I think we should speak to them separately."

She waited for his outrage, but it didn't appear. "You're right, of course."

"And the pilot..."

Ani made a low, grumbling sound that did Amidala's heart good. It felt almost like the reaction of a normal father in a normal family, when his daughter brought home a man he didn't care for. "Something will be done about him."

"Don't give her an excuse for vengeance."

"It would hardly be an appropriate strategy to achieve our goals."

"I didn't realize until too late that –"

"Of course not. You, my love, are still surprised that she is not a toddler."

"Did you know?"

After a long pause, he said, "No. She blocks me, and he...he is a blind spot. I simply cannot see him at all. I was first aware of that at Yavin. I did not suspect. He is hardly her type."

"Is anyone?"

Ani's breathing cycle went through two-three-four-repetitions. "I suppose he is. But we have no time to discuss this."

With that, they were in full agreement again.

---

"Hold still, sir!" the doctor ordered in exasperation. "This will only take a second."

Han squirmed anyway, and a bit of the balm – at least, that's what he hoped it was – dripped down the side of his face. He reached up with handcuffed hands to wipe it off. "So, do you always fix up prisoners' scrapes and bruises before they're tortured to death?"

The old man frowned, creasing his already wrinkled face. "I don't particularly care what happens to my patients when I'm done with them."

"Probably a good view for an Imperial medic."

"I just follow my orders, and I was told to make you look presentable." Han felt him dab at the bruise on his face with a medicated pad. "You can't do that with a purple bruise on your forehead. So, stop moving around and let me finish."

"You treated anyone else today?" Han asked. "A female Rebel?"

The doctor responded with something that sounded like a snort.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if I have to treat her for anything, the morgue will be busy today."

Han fell silent, and let the man finish his work. That was the best bit of news he had received since regaining consciousness. Whatever the Vaders had in mind for Leia, they apparently had no intention of physically harming her – at least not yet.

Hell, he and Chewie seemed to be getting some type of royal treatment themselves. They were in one of Bespin's regular guest suites instead of a cell. Both were handcuffed and restrained, but no one had laid a hand on them. And now a doctor was there, healing the injuries they had sustained in the initial capture.

So this was what it was like to be the boyfriend of the daughter of two leaders of the Empire.

"All right, you're all set," the doctor said, removing his gloves and packing up his equipment. "If I were you, I'd try to stay out of the way of any other rifles."

As the doctor walked out the door, he almost ran into two stormtroopers that were entering.

Lando was behind them.

Han hadn't given Lando a second thought once he was captured – he only cared about getting out of there, finding Leia, and leaving Bespin. But now, the fury choked him, and he couldn't even think through what he wanted to say or do to him.

How could you?

HOW?

No. He didn't care about how, or why. About how Lando could have looked him in the face and called him a friend. Or why he found it so easy to destroy their lives. Or how…

"Get out of here, Lando," he growled. He almost didn't recognize his own voice, as tortured and strained as it sounded.

Lando didn't respond, but spoke to the one of the guards. "I have orders from Lord Vader to transport these prisoners."

"Yes, sir. We can accompany you –"

"That won't be necessary," Lando interrupted quickly. "I was told to use minimum personnel. Apparently, they still want most of this operation kept quiet."

The guard eyed Chewie warily, and motioned to two other soldiers, who immediately trained their blasters on the prisoners. The foot chains were undone, and Lando's troopers took them both by the arms and led them out of the room.

Han felt his focus return to where it needed to be. Once they got away from the main contingent of guards, he was certain he and Chewie could take care of Lando and his goons, even with their hands bound. As long as Chewie was quick, it wouldn't be a problem.

They walked slowly down the hallway, with Lando nodding to the guards as they went by. Without looking to either side, he muttered under his breath, "Don't try anything. I'm going to get you both out of here."

Han was stunned for a second. "Sure...buddy," he spat back.

They entered one of the larger cargo lifts, and as soon as the doors swished shut, Chewbacca reacted. He brought his arms high over his head, and slammed them down on the stormtrooper next to him, crumpling him to the ground, unconscious.

"No! Chewie wait –"

Lando's words weren't heeded as Han struggled with his own guard, hitting him with his forearms and trying to knock his blaster away. The lift came to a sudden, jerking stop, throwing both of them to the floor. Lando had hit the controls, and was still trying to explain something to them.

Chewie shoved the man against one of the walls, and pressed his arms against his neck.

"Wait," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm – I'm," he struggled and tried to wriggle away, "trying to help."

"Help!" Han yelled. "Chewie, just finish him off, we need to find Leia."

Chewie pressed harder, and Lando's eyes began bulging. "No…I…why do you think –" he stopped, his arms struggling in vain to move the Wookiee off him, "– they aren't – firing on you?"

It took a moment for Han to figure out what he meant, and then he turned to the trooper behind him. "What do you mean?"

"They're my…staff." A deep gasp. "I got you out."

"Fine, you want to help? Tell me where Leia is. Get us back to the Falcon."

Chewie finally relaxed his hold, and Lando collapsed, gasping desperately for air. "I don't know…I don't know where she is. But I'm sure the Vaders have her." He coughed violently before continuing. "You won't be able to get to her by yourself."

"We'll see about that. What was your plan then, anyway?"

"To call for help. You need the Rebels to come. You need a plan."

Han shook his head, but Lando continued. "The Vaders have half a fleet here. And more Imperial ships are heading this way." Lando, with difficulty, returned to his feet. "You're going to need help."

Chewie nodded to Han, and hit the button to get the lift moving again. "Try anything, and Chewie picks up where he left off."

"Han, I'm sorry, I didn't –"

Han silenced him with a murderous look.

Once they reached the proper floor, Lando led them to a small office. Han initiated a written message to the Rebels – those were harder to track than vocal or visual messages – asking for a backup team to help get them out of there, and warning them about the Imperial presence in the city. Lando remained silent the entire time.

Han finished, and turned to him. "I need weapons, and to see a layout of the city."

"Han –"

"I'm going after her. Now. Get me the stuff and stay the hell out of my way."

Lando merely nodded.

Hang on, Leia, Han thought. I'm coming.

---

Even through the haze of fear and urgency, Luke saw the beauty of Cloud City. The spires and disks rose above the sun-streaked clouds like an artist's dream, the graceful movement of the trafficways called to mind birds on an exotic shore. Luke had always believed that nature's designs were more beautiful than man's, but on Bespin, the two worked together to create a scene that took his breath away.

Focus.

He drew a breath, concentrated on the stale taste of the recycled air in the X-Wing's cabin, and let it out. There was no time to appreciate the power of the place. He could feel Han and Leia nearby, both in imminent danger. Leia's presence in his mind was nearly deafening. She wasn't in physical pain, but her mind was reeling. She was angry and afraid, and hurt in some deep way that he didn't understand.

No escort appeared from the city, which would have made him suspicious if he hadn't already known that things were badly amiss here. There was no hail for landing permits, no automated directive message. He finally had to simply find a landing platform, guide the X-Wing onto it, and land.

No one greeted him at the platform, either, but the door slid up soundlessly as soon as he approached it. He was being watched. He drew his blaster and went into the corridors of Cloud City, homing in on the pulsing energy in his mind that was Leia. Artoo followed him.

The city seemed to be deserted here, and a heavy, oppressive chord cut through the silence. He made his way down the empty hallway, certain at each doorway that an enemy would suddenly appear. They were there, naturally, in groups, just in case he chose a different path – he could feel them, like pointed weapons. In his mind, he practiced lightsaber parries from any angle of attack, and he kept his blaster at the ready for more conventional enemies.

If they appear from behind me, through one of the doors I've passed, go low, then draw the lightsaber to deflect fire and then attack.

Artoo whistled something softly, and Luke shushed him. He didn't have a scanner to read what the droid was trying to say.

If they attack from the side, fire as the door opens, before they have a chance to orient themselves to the hallway.

He looked through a window, and saw vast gardens in the center of the city, their beauty unmarred even by the darkness that wafted through them like a cold wind.

If they attack...

Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of stormtroopers on the march, their footfalls in perfect, echoing unison on the metal floors. Leia's presence was suddenly all around him. He ducked into a side corridor.

The platoon came around the corner in formation, and in the center, he saw her, dressed in blue, her hair in a simple braid. Not giving himself a chance to think, he ran out into the corridor and began to fire at the stormtroopers.

The platoon fired back, but they seemed to be aiming at the floor. A wall of smoke rose up.

"Luke!" Leia cried. "Luke, go back! It's a trap! Don't listen to them!" She was whisked around a corner, then suddenly appeared again. "Luke! Please! Don't listen! Whatever they say is a lie!"

She was dragged back into the other hall, and Luke went through the smoke to follow her. By the time he got there, the hallway was empty. It branched in several directions, and her presence was so all-encompassing that he couldn't tell which one she'd taken.

A door rose.

It's a trap.

(It doesn't matter. I am here because they are looking for me, and if I go, then they will let Han and Leia be.)

You know that's not true.

He did know. But there weren't many options. He went through the door.

It slid shut before Artoo could make it, but Luke didn't notice the droid's absence until much later. At that moment, he only noticed that his retreat was blocked. If this had been a mistake, he was stuck with it.

If they attack from the front, the blaster will serve for a small group, but draw the lightsaber as quickly as you can to deflect fire.

The corridor led down, into the working areas of the city, drawing toward the gardens he'd seen, but not along the paths of the citizens. The walls were lined with supplies and chemicals, and a stench rose from a level underneath. The pipes and power lines in the walls stood revealed. One line was smoking, and Luke noticed that a line of lights was out. With no surprise, he realized that the darkened lights led into the only corridor open to him at the next bend.

He followed the path, and, again, the door shut behind him.

Again, the corridor led down, taking him beneath the level of the garden. He could smell something earthy in the air. The machines that drove the artificial wind above were here, and their endless whirr drowned out any sound that might have come from the rest of the city.

If they attack from above...

The other effect of the machines was that the constant backflow of the exhaust filled the room with a cool, swirling breeze. Sight, hearing, and touch...all impaired in this room. Luke had only the Force to lean on, and the energy it brought him was so strong that he nearly staggered. There was a sense of victory in this room, of exaltation, but also of confusion and fear. Beneath it, though, was darkness and despair.

Vader. Vader is here. He is waiting to kill me as he killed my father. The wind covers up the respirator.

Luke drew his lightsaber. The blaster would be useless against Vader. The blade lit up a small area around him – which wasn't very useful, since he still saw nothing.

Something touched the back of his neck, something soft and light, like an insect's wing. He spun, but nothing was there.

He turned again, slowly, into the wind, and again felt the touch, steady now, covering his face. He batted at it with his lightsaber and it fell away.

He was bending to look at it when the low emergency lights came on.

The first thing he saw was the veil on the ground, red, but dark enough to be almost black in the low lighting. The mark of his lightsaber was an insult to its beauty. He stood slowly, suddenly not wanting to meet the eyes of the figure who stood on the catwalk above him, her gown flowing out into the wind, her uncovered hair a river of darkness.

Lady Vader smiled. "Welcome, my son," she said. "I've been waiting for you."

For that attack, Luke knew no parry.

---

She refused to look at him. She simply directed her gaze out the window, upon the early moonlight silver-washed city that had imprisoned her, her small fists clenched tightly about the windowsill – clenching harder every time she heard the metronome breathing behind her, despite the pain from the sore wrists, which she had refused any treatment for. The swelling had gone down somewhat, and nothing appeared to be broken. In her hands, at least...

Any minute now, Luke will probably be walking right into her hands...damn, you know how headstrong he is. Damn, you know he only listens when he feels like it...!

It hadn't been even a day since she'd found out, and she was already feeling protective of him. She'd always been protective in a way to him, really, but until now it had had no real focus, or reasoning...

She'd tried, earlier, to ignore them when they had both been here and it hadn't worked. Maybe with one of them temporarily gone it would be easier.

Leia tried to ignore the scornful snort a deeply buried part of her conscious mind made at that remark. After all, despite all the hatred she felt for her father...she had a shield, an advantage, against him that she lacked against her mother. Present in her earliest girlhood memories, Amidala had a latch through which she could slip and get under Leia's weakest skin, the skin of the girl that had loved her mother more than the sun that had shone on both of them.

And perhaps that made it worse, she thought. Her mother had loved her and abandoned her, but Vader had never loved her.

You worry about me far too much, my love...

And now that she knew what his view of love was, she decided that was probably the greatest gift he would ever give her.

She was certain that if he wanted to, Vader could crush those untrained shields of hers to dust –and yet he did not. Nor did he summon that incredible power of the Force she knew he possessed to lash out, to force her to face him.

She couldn't ignore him forever, but maybe she could ignore him long enough to make him go away...something else had to get his attention eventually, after all.

(This time, there was nothing in her head to contradict the scorning.)

"You may try to ignore me all you like, Princess; it will do you little good. I am surprised to see you continuing to waste your energy on such a futile enterprise."

(And yet you waste energy yourself in your attempts to break me out.)

His deep voice vibrated, almost pleasantly on a surface level, through her brain, making a direct emphasis on the title. She had noted the usage of this instead of her name or simply "daughter." He was little more used to this relationship than she was.

Keeping secrets from you, her beloved, as well? Well, my father, perhaps we have more in common than I thought.

And maybe there is some twisted semblance of justice floating somewhere around here.

If only she could make it show its face completely, not in just fleeting, ghostly wisps. Preferably in some sort of tangible form, one she could shape into a blunt, heavy ended weapon that she could smash this demon aside with, and save her lover and her...

Her sibling. The pieces of the clues of their relationship that floated in her head now were the same ones she'd had before the Vaders came along, and yet somehow, their few well placed phrases had made things come together with such quick clarity that Leia nearly berated herself for not finding out sooner.

Luke. There was hope in Luke. Like her, he was of them... and he was noble and good. (Could such darkness truly beget such pure good? she wondered.) And now he, along with Han, was about to be contaminated by their gloved grip...

She found herself unconsciously rubbing her wrists again. Vader hadn't broken them, but he had come close.

"Leia," the voice boomed more firmly...yet not really angrily. She firmly stilled a flinch.

There had been so much she'd wanted to know from him, about her. So much she'd been denied, so much that he would certainly know...

Like what exactly was so wonderful about him that she abandoned you to him, and now suddenly wants you back?

"I will not force you to face me," he said (which surprised her a bit, she admitted). "But you will speak to me."

Slowly, Leia turned around, meeting the shielded gaze of Vader. Part of her screamed against this (Don't succumb to him! Don't do things his way!), but the part of her that had never allowed anyone to tread or trample on her, especially Darth Vader, told it (in no uncertain terms) to shut up.

One thought rose above all others in her mind, requiring little effort to reach the top of her other thoughts. "You would think that after having such a strong hold on her for so long that you would find a better way to bend me, Lord."

The room became deathly cold, but still she held the stare despite her rapidly rising fear. She finally felt something from Vader, something akin to the first brushes of a hot, surging tide...but it vanished, whether by dissipation (unlikely) or shielding on his own part.

"Any hold I have is there of her own choosing," he said sternly, and Leia stilled another flinch. "That should be fairly clear to you." His voice was cold and despite herself had the effect of making Leia begin to feel as if she were two feet tall. Of all the things she hadn't expected it to sound like, it for all the world reminded her of a father chastising a daughter for some transgression or another. "And she may choose to see whatever she wishes."

"I'm sure that's convenient for you."

She hadn't intended to let it slip out. But it was there, and there was nothing she could do. Calmly as possible, she erected her mental shields to brace for the explosion she knew was coming.

Her wrists throbbed again.

Surprisingly, again, the explosion didn't come. He didn't even look at her; instead coming up beside her on the balcony, the evening light casting an uneasy surreal light on the mask. His fists rested at his sides – but perhaps a little more stiffly than usual.

"I have no intention of establishing a happy family relationship between us," he said, his view still fixed on the dusk. "You need not fear that. Even your mother knows too much has occurred for that to happen, particularly this soon. I don't even expect you to accept your position here as permanent. But I will expect you to obey, as will she. It will make things far less difficult for all of us."

Say nothing to him. It was futile to protest, anyway. She would have to find some way to escape from here...and maybe, just maybe Han was still okay. It occurred to her that her safety was secondary in comparison; if Han made it out, then that would almost be worth her imprisonment here.

How she missed his kisses at that moment; the warm arms that had remained open to her even when she'd tried to shut them...

A terrifying thought occurred to her then. Would Han be foolish enough to make an attempt at rescuing her? She put it out of her mind. Whatever happened, she wasn't exactly in a position to deal with it now.

She almost wished Vader had exploded. It was natural for someone to be put off guard occasionally, but he had managed to do it multiple times. It annoyed her.

She wanted him to explode somehow, so she could explode back. She wanted a reason to be able to scream at him...but then he decided he was going to be calm. And then, when she was finally feeling reasonable, he was crushing her wrists...

(Was it her imagination, or were they starting to swell up again? Maybe she should get treatment for them at some point...)

"I do...apologize for my earlier treatment of you," he said quietly into her thoughts, causing her to look up sharply. She'd never heard his voice this soft before, not even when it was the softness that usually was a prelude to a death threat. "I know it matters little to you, but it was never my intent to physically harm you."

A dozen potential responses, all decidedly sarcastic and some that would have certainly earned a lesser person death, flashed on the tip of her tongue so quickly she could almost feel the burning trail they left behind. And burn they did, very fiercely.

She forced herself to ignore him, instead focusing on what she knew should be the most important concern of hers, more so than her putting up with the Vaders. "What about Han and Luke?" she asked, pinning him with her stare, trying to force the field of battle back to her own side.

"Your...companion…has come to no harm