The shadows in the bay were deep, but they didn't move. She heard no breathing, saw nothing glinting in the darkness.

She was alone.

Someone was watching her.

Surveillance? But all the obvious signs of it were ruined. The broken walkways around the doors, the shattered gla.s.s. Something terrible had happened to this place, and she didn't know what it was. But she knew it precluded the standard forms of surveillance.

She took a deep breath, unwilling to leave the Alderaan, but knowing that she had to. Maybe the sense she had gotten had come from Luke.

Maybe it had come from Kueller.

It had probably come from Kueller. He wanted her here. He had shown her Luke, had sent her messages right from the start. And her arrival had been too easy.

Perhaps that made her the most nervous of all. Someone should have noticed her. Someone should have prevented her from flying onto Almania.

Someone should have come after her by now.

But she had no choice. She was on this course. Together she and Luke would be stronger than Kueller.

She had to remember that.

The key, of course, would be to find Luke.

Before Kueller killed him.

FORTY-ONE.

Wedge stood in the command post of the Yavin, his legs spread, his hands clasped behind his back. His station was on a slight rise, with a bar below him. The Mon Calamari Star Cruisers these days were fancier than the ones he had first served in. These new ones were built from scratch, unlike the earlier models, which had been redesigned over pleasure yachts. The new ships had round command centers that took advantage of all parts of s.p.a.ce. The command center was a clear bubble in the center of the ship, with catwalks crossing it. The catwalks were made of thin diamond-shaped mesh, which gave him an imperfect vision of the area below as well as above.

Despite the fact that his people had designed them, Admiral Ackbar had argued against these newer-model ships, saying that they allowed an attacker to find the command center more easily. Wedge, on the other hand, liked them. They gave him the same feeling he had had as a fighter pilot, a feeling that only a thin wall of material separated him from the vastness of s.p.a.ce.

It also gave him great perspective, allowing him to remember that in s.p.a.ce battles, as opposed to ground battles, the attacks could come from any position: above, below, behind, or sideways. So many commanders forgot that after years out of a fighter pilot's chair.

And it had been too long since Wedge was responsible only to himself.

Sometimes he missed those days.

"General, a fleet of ships has just left the planet's surface," the lieutenant on the lower level said.

"Keep me apprised," Wedge said.

"I think, sir, that we should reactivate the droids," said Sela, his second in command. She was a thin, nervous woman who had been a crack shot and an invaluable a.s.sistant on Coruscant. She had yet to prove herself in a battle command.

"We can fight without them," Wedge said.

"Begging the general's pardon, but our support services are hampered without their presence." Wedge nodded. "But President Organa Solo went to some trouble to let us know about the droids. I think we should respect her choice. "

"President Organa Solo does not command the fleet," Sela said.

Wedge debated whether or not he should call her on her breach of military etiquette. Finally, he decided on the soft approach. "President Organa Solo has led more troops into battle than you have ever seen, Major. I have learned, over the years, to pay attention to her suggestions." Sela sighed, clearly understanding the rebuff. "Yes, sir."

"However, Major, if you can find a way to duplicate the droids' services without reactivating them or pulling essential personnel, I will be grateful." Sela smiled and nodded. "Yes, sir." - She turned and hurried along the catwalk, as if his order had been her intention all along.

"Sir," said Ginbotham, a Hig, from below. He was a slender blue creature whose piloting skills were renowned. "Those ships are moving toward us quickly."

"How quickly?" Wedge asked.

"They're moving faster than anything we have, sir."

"They appear familiar, sir," said Ean, a Mon Calamari. "I think they're Imperial."

"What?" Wedge asked. "How is that possible?"

"Their design, sir. They're Victory-cla.s.s Star Destroyers, modified Imperial style."

"They?" Wedge asked, not liking the sound of this. He had gone up against Wcfory-cla.s.s destroyers before. They had their weaknesses, but those weaknesses were hard to breach. "How many are we looking at here?"

"Three by my count, sir," said Ean. "Along with a full complement of TIE fighters. Although there's something odd about the fighters. "

"Figure out what that is," Wedge said. "Let Sela know that we need Awings out there, and quickly." He took a deep breath. He had not expected this. A ragtag fleet of some sort, perhaps, cobbled together from various other ships. Or maybe even a home complement. But not Star Destroyers, nor so many.

This Kueller had trained military personnel operating some of the most powerful ships in the galaxy. How had he come by all of this? And so quickly?

And why did it feel so wrong?

Wedge didn't have time to reflect on the answers. He gave the instructions to follow command pattern 2-B, and almost belayed that order. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

"Get Sela back into the command center. And get me General Ceousa," he said.

"We're breaking communication silence then, sir?" asked Ean.

Wedge nodded. He needed to know if Ceousa's instruments showed the same squadron heading toward them, if somehow Kueller had manipulated their technology. Leia, and the message she had sent with his staff, had implied that somehow Kueller had messed with the droids. Maybe he controlled the scanning equipment as well.

Still, Wedge had to prepare for a full-scale battle.

For the first time in years, he was nervous.

He hated being caught by surprise.

His entire military zoomed through s.p.a.ce. Several thousand troops and ground personnel. He had never expected to use them.

But Kueller was prepared. Despite what he had said to Yanne, he planned for all contingencies. He was just surprised that his weapon hadn't worked. For the first time, it had failed to work in the way it was designed. Someone else had died. The droids hadn't been delivered to the right place.

Brakiss would pay.

Later.

Kueller had to concentrate on the battle now.

Although Leia Organa Solo's nearness was distracting. He had felt her ship break through the atmosphere, but he hadn't checked on her since.

She wouldn't be hard to find. Her Jedi powers radiated from her like a searchlight.

He would concentrate on her after he had defeated her fleet.

He almost wished he was with his people.

Almost.

But he knew the risks that entailed, and he didn't need risk now. Not with his objective so close.

Whatever happened in s.p.a.ce mattered less than his defeat of Skywalker and his sister. Once they were gone, the galaxy would be his. It would take only an instant, and every threat to him would disappear.

If Brakiss hadn't betrayed him again.

"Sir," said Gant, his advisor. "Commander Bur wants to know if you will be commanding from below." Kueller smiled. His people never knew what he would do. "Tell Commander Bur that I have full faith in his ability. And that I will be watching."

"Yes, sir," said Gant.

That would be warning enough. His people knew that Kueller judged failure harshly. If he got even a whiff of loss from his favorite commander, that commander would die. Kueller would never lead a fleet in a traditional sense. He'd often felt that leaders who bothered with the trivia of who shot whom lost the battle. But he would lead as best he could from below.

All he cared about was that the battle went his way.

He didn't care who survived, as long as no one from the New Republic landed on Almania.

No one except Leia Organa Solo, that is.

FORTY-TWO.

Han was frantic for Leia. More bombs on Coruscant. She might be dead by now. The entire planet might be in flames.

He hoped she had gotten the children away.

He backed away from Blue, from another old friend who had never been a friend at all, leaving her with Davis's body. All around them, the cries and the screams continued. Lando was powering up the Lady Luck. Han's repairs at least allowed that.

Chewbacca was beside him. Han didn't know how much Chewie had heard.

"We have to get out of here. Coruscant was the intended target," Han said.

Chewbacca moaned.

"But we can't leave these people like this." Han's brain was moving faster than his mouth. He wanted to be gone, wanted to be outside the Run so that he could contact Coruscant and find out if anyone had survived.

Find out if Leia had survived.

His hands were shaking. All he could see was his beautiful wife, her white dress torn and scorch-marked, her hair falling around her ears, her nose bleeding, her body bent with the strain of carrying a senator three times her own weight. Leia during the last bombing. She might have collapsed if he hadn't taken her from there.

He wasn't there to rescue her now.

Chewbacca was talking to him. Han hadn't heard much more than the last yowl.

"Yeah, I know, buddy. They need us here. Find out how many ships still work, how much rescue power we have here. Then let's load up the Falcon.

I want to be one of the first ships off the Run. We can find out about Coruscant then." Chewie moaned.

Han nodded. "We'll check Kashyyyk too. I'm sure your family is fine.

There aren't many droids, at least that I remember." Chewie agreed with Han's recollection, and then walked off into the smoke to check on the availability of the other ships. Han took a deep breath, grateful for his mask. The smoke, though thinner, still filled the air. The air-filtration system on Skip 1 had never been good. He wondered how many would die from smoke inhalation alone.

A few of the smugglers with medical experience were working their way through the rubble, separating the survivors into groups. Han knew what they were doing, even though he deplored it. They were separating those who were likely to survive the next few hours from those who weren't.

With limited medical resources, those who were likely to survive would have to receive treatment first. The cuts and bruises would wait, of course, but the risky procedures would wait as well. Better to save several lives than lose them, and the person being operated on, by wasting time.

Time. This could be happening all over. It might be occurring on Coruscant even now.

Leia.

He climbed back over the rubble, resisting the urge to pull his blaster and shoot Blue out of existence. Doing that would only fuel his anger.

That kind of revenge would only make matters worse.

But it would make him feel a little less helpless.

Because he knew, despite the efforts of the medical teams, and the other survivors, that this scene of devastation would be repeated all over the Run. Skip 1 had droids, but so did Skips 2, 3, 5, and 72. He would wager even Nandreeson's skip, Skip 6, had several droids. Only there the loss of life might have been minimal, given the fact that Nandreeson was gone.

Han climbed the ramp to the Falcon. Inside he detached seats, and made room on the floor, filling tiny storage areas with nonessen-tial items.

He would be able to carry a large group of wounded.

He hurried down the ramp. The smoke was even thinner now. Across the devastation, he saw Lando loading stretchers of wounded onto the Lady Luck. Chewie was talking to the Sull.u.s.tans who had sprayed the last of the fires. They were nodding as they spoke.

Han stopped near one of the few medical workers. "I can take a shipload of the critically wounded," he said. "Let's load them up." The medic's face was covered with soot and blood. He kept wiping his hands on the antiseptic wipes in his medical kit, but even then Han could see that the wipes were doing little good. The medic had several pairs of gloves in the kit, too, and he pulled them out each time he worked on a patient.

"I don't even know where to start," the medic said.

Han's stomach was churning. For each life this man saved, he would lose another. The choices were impossible. They were not choices anyone should ever be required to make.