"I know."

She sliced off the tape, finished attaching a cutout sole of cu-pa leather to the broken ruin of Leia's boot, and handed it back, folding up and pocketing the knife, one-handed again, with the quick economy of a longtime jury-rigger. The face that had been Cray Mingla's had changed.

Look as she might for the features of the young scientist she had known, the woman who had given up her body to Callista that she herself might seek her lover on the Other Side, Leia could see only the lost Jedi, the woman her brother so deeply loved. in colorless starlight, no trace of Cray's blond remained in the thick ma.s.ses of Callista's hair.

Dark with the darkness, in daylight it would be the soft, medium-brown that it had been turning when last she'd seen this woman with Luke.

Her gray eyes were mostly hidden in the shadows of level dark brows.

"I don't think Luke understands that, really." Callista moved her head a little at some sound on the other side of the great black gun muzzle, pointing skyward in the center of the station's open roof. It was only one of the other Therans setting up a small but powerful electroheater to make supper, calling out to a couple of the young women of the troop. The evening wind had stilled. Bd, the troop Listener, a twig of a man who might have been thirty or fifty, pa.s.sed like a shadow among the riders who spread blankets, cleaned weapons, spoke softly among themselves all around.

The Force was a dark sea, sounding in the night. Leia wondered if Callista could feel it as she could.

"People have tried to use him," Callista went on, "from the moment he put out his hand and summoned his lightsaber to come to him. Vader wanted to turn him. Palpatine wanted his services. Palpatine's clone managed to enslave him for a time. But Luke is strong, stronger than he knows. And Luke has a single purpose. I suppose you could say that he has a pure heart."

She folded her arms, more relaxed than Leia had seen her toward the end there, in Luke's presence. Her breath made a smoke of diamonds as she spoke. "Luke doesn't hunger after power. In some ways I don't think he understands those who do."

"No." Leia had never thought of it in those terms, but she recognized that Callista was right. Luke had never sought to be a commander of anything except a wing squadron. He wasn't the tactician Han was.

At the Jedi Academy, all he sought was to teach, to learn, to further the ways of the Force for all. He wanted a Jedi Order so that he could be part of it, not for the sake of having pupils at his beck and call.

"But you understand."

"Then you understand why I had to leave."

Leia sighed, a whisper of regret. "Yes." In a way, she had always understood.

There was silence for a time, the crystals of the high peaks catching the fragmented glare of the bitter stars. "I'M like Luke," Callista went on, speaking softly, almost to herself. "I never wanted power.

Only to learn. Only to be with other people who understand. But people use those who have our power, Leia. Vader wanted to use you.

If he hadn't spoken of his intention to do so, I don't think Luke would have been angry enough to go after him, to fight him to the death. You told me how Thrawn and Pellaeon tried to kidnap your children, how C'baoth wanted them as weapons of his own ambition. I've seen how hard you try to teach Jacen and Jaina to listen to their own hearts, to have a sense of fairness, of justice. So they won't be p.a.w.ns. So they won't be twisted.

But for a long time they'll be weak, because they're children, and it's easy to influence children by love and hate and lies."

"Yes," said Leia again. She pulled on her boot, drew more closely about her the thick coat of rough-woven raw majie that someone had lent her, and walked over to the parapet beside which Callista sat. She had told the younger woman of her dream and of the fear that had followed her since.

"I want them to be happy," she said, and leaned her cheek on the wind-scoured metal of the beam. "I want them to be children, to have the birthright of their innocence. But at the same time, I know they can't just follow any path they want. With their powers in the Force, i have to teach them to distinguish lies from truth, to seek justice the way my father... the way Bail Organa sought justice. I have to... to protect the next generation from them. The way I have to protect the present generation from myself."

Looking down at the woman still seated against the parapet, she saw in the lost Jedi's starlit eyes the understanding of what she meant.

Of the darker fear that lay wrapped in the images of the dream.

"To protect this generation from yourself," said Callista gently, "you have to embrace the way of the Jedi, Leia. Not flee it. Luke is right."

She stood, unfolding herself to her lanky height, her crimson clothing almost black in the star glimmer and the pallid glow reflected from the shining stones. Nights on Nam Chorios, without benefit of warming oceans, were unbelievably cold, even in this summer season. Leia huddled her gloved hands in her armpits and wondered how the Therans managed, night after night, under the open stars.

"There's a woman in Hweg Shul named Taselda, a small-time Jedi adept who came to this planet centuries ago, seeking power. The way I came."

"Beldorion spoke of her," said Leia. "Was he her partner?"

"They came here together. After this long, telling lies to themselves, to each other, to everyone, I'm not sure exactly what took place.

They were both adepts, but neither had much power. Only one of them had sufficient training to make a lightsaber, but I don't know which.

I don't think either of them has the capacity for it now. Like me, they came here seeking an easy answer."

"I didn't think Hutts could be born strong in the Force."

"Don't underestimate the Force, Leia," said Callista.

"Anyone-anything-can be born in its light. There's a tree on the planet Dagobah that's strong in it. Sea slugs in the oceans of Calamari use it to draw plankton into their mouths until they grow to be bigger than starfighters. But they haven't the sentient mind to learn to use it beyond that. And that is for the best."

She sighed.

Suddenly sure of it, Leia said, "You were the slave Liegeus spoke of weren't you? The one Beldorion sold or traded to Dzym."

Callista stood so silent for so long that Leia feared she'd angered her, but in time she nodded. "Having been Taselda's slave before," she said.

"I let myself be enslaved, because I was so hungry, so desperate.

She used me, as Beldorion would have used me, had I been any good to him.

As he'd have used you."

Leia nodded again. The pain in Callista's face was frightening to see, and she felt anger stir in her again, this time not anger at Ashgad specifically, but at them all: Beldorion, the Rationalists, Moff Getelles, all those who grabbed for petty goals and broke and ruined lives in the process, not seeing anything beyond their own wants. But it was sour anger, like brittle ice above a still well of endless grief.

"As long as I can be manipulated like that," Callista went on, "as Long as I can be used-as long as I lack my own power in the Force-I am a prime candidate for the dark side. I'm standing in its shadow now.

If there is a way for me at all, I have to follow it alone. I will love Luke until the day I die and beyond, but I will not pull him into that shadow with me. Please, Leia. Make him understand."

"What do we have? Han Solo strode into the bridge still stripping off the helmet and gloves of his e-suit, registered immediately the blinking red lights over the comm board, the worried note in Chewbacca's growl that had summoned him and Lando back onto the ship in double-time. Outside, terrible stillness lay over the pitch-black lava plains of Exodo II, the eternal dust that lay around the bore holes of the ghaswars that were the planet's most plentiful life form stirring uneasily in the glare of the Millennium Falcon's lights. The wrecked scout cruiser they'd traced there had been in much the same shape as the Corbantis had been, save that the engines had been long cold, the crew' dead of radiation poisoning, asphyxiation, cold, and ghaswar bores.

Chewbacca rumbled a reply and put up the readout.

Han stared at it, aghast. "That's gotta be wrong."

Lando came striding down the corridor. He'd taken off his e-suit and was combing his crisply curling black hair. He'd been badly shaken by the bodies on the destroyed cruiser and more so by the evidence that it, too, had been destroyed by the tiny, knifelike missiles that had cut up the Corbantis and almost demolished the Falcon. "I've had a look at those barometric readings, old partner, and if we want to get off this planet before the next atmostide we'd better..."

His voice trailed off. He stood staring at the screenful of data the Wookiee had transferred to the main viewer.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?"

"What's it look like?" demanded Han shaken. "It's an invading fleet, coming out of hypers.p.a.ce and heading right this way."

"Artoo-Detoo, what in heaven's name do you think you're doing?"

Threepio toddled after his counterpart as the astromech wheeled into life again the moment the doors of the impound bay were shut, heading over to the access panel by the door. "Honestly, ever since poor Captain Bortrek installed those extra interface circuits you have been behaving in a most extraordinary fashion! You know as well as I do that with these restraining bolts we're not going to be able to leave the room!" Artoo merely tweeped a request.

"Why?"

Artoo explained.

"I don't see that," protested Threepio. "I don't see at all how removing that panel, even if I could do it, would save poor Master Yarbolk from being put out the airlock. If we're discovered, as we surely will be, we could get into terrible trouble!"

Artoo pointed out that as troubles went, being dissected for one's microprocessors and later paid for at a ninety-five percent discount to one's owners was as terrible as it got.

"I'm really not programmed for this kind of thing at all! Oh, why will not anyone believe me!" Threepio pressed one forefinger against the center of the access plate above the door panel and thrust, with all the strength of his hydraulic arm joint. Never, in any circ.u.mstances, would he have exerted his strength against living flesh of any variety, but metal was metal, and not being up to military standard, this metal buckled along the edge sufficiently for him to get his fingers under the plate and pull it free. Artoo proceeded to deliver a string of instructions.

"Honestly, I think those additional circuits disrupted your logic modifiers! Green wires connected to coaxial links-you don't possess coaxial links! Oh." Threepio flipped open one of the silvery gray add-ons screwed to his counterpart's side. "Well, I'm sure that they aren't good for you."

Nevertheless, he hooked the links into the green wires, and listened to the flow of bleeps, twitters, and chirps that Artoo-Detoo poured into the quarantine ship's internal relay system.

"Artoo-Detoo, that is a patent untruth!" declared Threepio indignantly.

"First you disable the opening mechanism on the doors of air-lock three, then you cause the system to believe that those doors have been opened...

and even should you help Master Yarbolk escape from that airlock, that doesn't do us any good, you know. We're still unable to leave this hold while we have the restraining bolts on, and he is still unable to get off this vessel."

The golden protocol droid turned away, arms folded in the human-form expression of indignation and uninvolvement. "I won't have anything further to do with this."

Artoo made a sad little noise, but no request to be unhooked from the access hatch. Indeed, he produced small blips and whirrs every now and then, which indicated to Threepio that the astromech was still monitoring something in the QEC's main computer. It became clear what it was when he rocked a little on his wheels and tweeted excitedly.

The next moment the doors of the impound hold opened, and Yarbolk hustled inside.

"I owe you," he whispered excitedly, fishing in his pocket and producing a magnetic bolt extractor and a pair of wire snips.

"Brothers, I owe you plenty. This whole ship stinks! The Big Green Fish only knows who paid that captain how much to put me out the airlock.

Maybe she thought the order was on the up-and-up."

"It could be," surmised Threepio, as the Chadra-Fan popped the restraining bolt from his golden chest. "Artoo here claims there is a traitor, or at least a major information leak, on the Galactic Council."

"And the Rebels have taken Coruscant," muttered Yarbolk, going to work on Artoo. "Tell me something I don't know. You went and blabbed that Ashgad had kidnapped Lady Solo. Is that true?"

Threepio hesitated, belated visions of galaxywide coverage cascading into his deductive logic circuits.

"Because if it is, you better keep d.a.m.n quiet about it, my tinny friend, if you don't want her getting what I nearly got. And as for a traitor on the Council-Fish, i figured that one out weeks ago! Loronar buys and sells Senators and governors in the Republic and out of it. All it takes is a few strategic contributions to good causes. Hold that door, would you, Threesie? It's gonna close again once I get Artie unhooked .. ah.

Thanks."

He looped up the wires and coax cables into the interface box on Attoo's side and replaced the strip of silver s.p.a.ce tape that had held its hatch closed. "All those Senators have blind spots. Pet causes. Like 'order in the galaxy' or 'the rights of all sentient species' or 'the rights of one obviously superior sentient species to put all other sentient species straight whether they want to be put straight or not."

And it's Loronar's business to know what those blind spots are."

He was hurrying down the corridor as he spoke, furry feet making no sound, wide nostrils snuffing softly. Once he halted, pushing the two droids back into the niche of a bay door. Two Sull.u.s.tan guards walked by, weapons slung casually over their shoulders, bodies slumped with fatigue.

"Thank your lucky nuts and bolts the whole ship's understaffed and occupied with those Aqualish smugglers up in the holding area.

Which one of these bays is their ship in, Artie?"

Artoo cornered determinedly and made his way down a short pa.s.sage to a landing bay whose doors, surprisingly, stood open. They pa.s.sed inside, Yarbolk pausing to crank the doors shut manually from within.

The bay was tiny and almost completely filled by the lumpy ovoid of the Aqualish smugglers' vessel. Beyond the dark, silvery green egg of the ship, the magnetic field glimmered faintly around the oval shape of the entry port. Yarbolk hooked Artoo's coax links into the access hatch beside the bay door: "Figure five minutes should do us?"

Artoo tweeped.

"You can get that baby started in that short a time?"

Artoo tweeped again, indignantly.

"()kay, okay. Once you get it to turn over those things are candy to fly.

I doubt she's got the juice in her to make it to Cybloc, but I know a fellow' on Budpok who'll buy her, no questions asked, cargo and all. The proceeds should get me back to the Core, and you to Cybloc no problem."

"Not again," groaned Threepio, as he, Artoo, and Yarbolk hastened across the decking to the Aqualish ship. "I do hope we can arrive at a more convincing disguise this time. I must say that I am quite frankly becoming very tired of being treated as the potential personal property of every sentient being we meet."

"Not to worry." Yarbolk pulled the hatch shut behind them and twirled the locking rings-for a s.p.a.ce-going civilization, the Aqualish had some surprisingly primitive features on their ships. He toddled ahead of the two droids to the bridge, where he hooked Artoo into the computer core again and perched on the stool before the console, his furry little feet dangling.

"I have a plan-one that doesn't depend on you two pretending to be anything you're not."

Threepio said nothing, but in the portion of his central processing unit that formed opinions as protocol paradigms for communications facilitation, he reflected that he was heartily sick of plans.

They were undoubtedly doomed.

From the dense shadow at the base of the plateau, Luke looked up the striated cliff-face at the matte black jumble of Seti Ashgad's compound, and wondered how many of those glowing rectangles of yellow' and white denoted occupation. Was one of them Leia's prison? Or were they holding her somewhere in the heart of the house, within the rock of the plateau itself?

Shivering in the dense cold, he reached out with his mind, seeking to touch hers-Leia... - - but did not know if she could hear. In the darkness, the whisper of the Force around him was very strong, pressing on his mind, tugging at all his thoughts, so that he was hard put to keep it at bay. Even as there were ways of using the Force to keep from being seen, so it was possible to keep from making an image on certain types of sensors. Luke hoped that such minor use wasn't sufficient to trigger a reaction elsewhere on the planet.

What was happening elsewhere in the galaxy as a result of Leia's kidnapping-what other events that kidnapping would have been coordinated with-he didn't like to think.

He'd brought a toolkit from Croig's shop-leaving most of his slender finances to pay for it-and it didn't take long to rewire the alarm and spring the door-catches. His small glowrod showed him a permacrete parking bay containing a sleek black Mobquet Chariot, and by the stains on the floor there were two other speeders usually in residence, one of them with a faulty rear coil. Turbolift doors gleamed dully in the light.

Luke ran the beam along the wall, seeking a stairway door, and drochs the size of his thumb waddled and skittered out of his way.

The stairway, he thought, was going to be bad.

The Force was life, Yoda had said Connecting all living things.

What he felt, standing in the doorway to the stair and reaching up with whatever senses he could muster, Luke had never felt before and never wanted to feel again Life, thick and cloying. Life huge and all-encompa.s.sing-there couldn't possibly be that many creatures in the stairwell! Billions, billions.

The sense of life there was overwhelming, and yet there was something hideously wrong with it. Something ugly, evil, rotted. A dirty miasma, a sense of fermentation, swollen like cancerous tissue, rotted and foul.

Luke had no idea how to interpret this, no concept of what this meant, or even if his perception were accurate. He couldn't even tell if it was billions of lives he felt, or only one, huge and vile and waiting.

But Leia had to be up there The lightsaber hummed to life in his hand.

He maneuvered the little clip-on glowrod from the toolkit onto the front flap-pocket of his coverall, flicked it on.