Enemy Lines II_ Rebel Stand - Aaron Allston [23]
“The pod” was a unit installed where one of the Millennium Falcon’s five escape pods had been. Outwardly, it looked exactly like an escape pod, though more decrepit than most, the better to discourage people from trying to use it in an actual emergency. But its thruster and other systems had been yanked, replaced by a sophisticated unit designed to thwart life-form sensors. Trying to launch the pod would result in an authentic-looking SYSTEM FAILURE message. Concealed in its floor was a hidden hatch that would permit access to the Falcon’s exterior. It was a convenient and reusable way to smuggle personnel such as two insurgents assigned with the task of setting up a resistance cell on Vannix.
The Falcon, of course, possessed shielded smuggling compartments adequate in size to hold the two Intelligence officers and a lot of gear besides. But Han, even after all these years, was reluctant to share that secret with anyone he didn’t intimately trust. “If you’re going to have to admit to carrying a hold-out blaster,” he had told Wedge, “carry two and admit to one.” So Wedge had arranged for the installation of the false pod.
“General,” Han said. “When are they going to stop calling me General?”
“When are they going to stop calling me Princess?”
Han shook his head. “Maybe when you become queen. Hey, there’s our escort.”
The escort, a pair of Kuat Drive Yards’ licensed variations on the TIE interceptor, silver with red strips to distinguish them from the more somber and ominous colors of the old Imperial starfighters, flanked the Millennium Falcon all the way through the atmosphere and to ground level in the midst of a sprawling city. Curiously, the city’s high-population residential districts, characterized by monolithic housing blocks that could have been transplanted whole from Coruscant, were at the city’s perimeters. The buildings seemed to form a defensive wall around the city.
The homing beacon drew the Falcon to a district of landing bays and warehouses near the city’s government center, and a welcoming party of military officers and distinguished civilians. As they settled into their visitors’ bay, Leia could recognize the spare, clean, red-and-white uniforms of the officers, the outrageously baldricked and epauletted and bemedaled civilian dress of the others.
Once all systems were shut down, Han joined Leia, C-3PO, and R2-D2 at the top of the main access ramp. As the four of them descended the ramp, the largest of the humans waiting for them—a woman sporting the most elaborately and gaudily decorated of the civilian outfits, and with a column of gray hair adding half a meter to her height—drifted toward them with all the stately majesty of a Tatooine sail barge. “Leia!” she called. “Leia, it’s so grand to see you alive and well!”
“Addath.” Leia’s tone was so warm as she embraced the larger woman that Han couldn’t tell whether her affection was genuine or not. “I was so happy to hear that you survived.”
“And I, you.” Addath beamed down at the smaller woman.
Han decided that Vannix’s Senator was a distinguished-looking woman. She was not pretty, but she carried herself with grace and dignity. In contrast with the overwhelming gaudiness and complexity of her garments—Han was surprised that there were no blinking lights or mechanical toys running about among the crimson ruffles and pleats, golden bows and ribbons—her makeup was understated, merely illuminating and directing attention to her large, intelligent eyes.
“Addath, you never had the opportunity to meet my husband, Han Solo.”
“No, but I know him well—doesn’t the entire New Republic?—from the holodocumentaries and histories, biographies, and holodramas based on his exploits.” Addath’s expression turned sober. “Allow me to offer my condolences about young Anakin and Jacen. I suspect that their sacrifice means that countless thousands of others will live, and that is