The guard’s hand tightens around the baton. “The ship in that hangar belongs to General Solo.”
“He’s not a general anymore. And he’s letting us borrow it. Her.”
“Be that as it may, we have strict orders, and those orders are to ask you to turn around and go on your way.”
“You asked,” Sinjir says. “And we decline. Like the boy said: Move.”
“Sir, I don’t want this to get ugly.”
“Have you seen your face, guardsman? Too late to wish for pretty.”
Temmin feels the other guards—all four of them—encroach tighter behind them even as those in front grab their batons.
“Sir, we have orders—”
“Whose orders?” Temmin asks. “Who’s keeping us here?”
“The chancellor herself.”
Sinjir and Temmin look to each other. Both of their faces war with the question, Is this real? They’re both suspicious.
Temmin steps up, shirt pulled up, blaster revealed. “Guard, you better move now or me and my friend here—”
“Will leave peacefully,” Sinjir says, pulling Temmin back sharply. He protests, but Sinjir shushes him and continues: “We didn’t mean to step out of line, and please assure the chancellor we are returning to our quarters.”
Temmin tries to pull out of Sinjir’s grip, but the man’s eyes meet his. There’s an intensity there—and a message. That message is, Let it go.
The boy grits his teeth. He wants to charge past them…
But he doesn’t. He lets it go.
As they hurry away, Temmin hisses: “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Sinjir says. “But we’re going to find out.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where else? We have no other friends here. We have to see Leia.”
—
“Leia.”
Her name, spoken in the dark.
Luke. She reaches for him but doesn’t find him.
The dark, now lit with stars. One by one, like eyes opening. Comforting at first, then sinister as she worries, Who is out there, who is watching us? Hands reach for her, hands of shadow, lifting her up, reaching for her throat, her wrists, her stomach— Inside, the child kicks. She feels her baby turning inside, right-side up and upside down, struggling to find his bearings, trying so hard to find his way free of her. It’s not time, she thinks. Just a little longer.
“Leia.”
Luke, she wants to cry out. But her words won’t come. Her mouth is sealed, a hand pressed over it. One by one, stars go dark again, winking out of existence as if by a hand slowly closing over them— “Leia!”
She gasps and wakes. Han. It’s just Han. He’s by the side of the bed, rousing her, gently shaking her shoulder.
The dream recedes like a wave going back to sea.
“Hi,” she says, her mouth tacky, her eyes full of sleep. Her middle twists, too—it’s not the baby. It’s some unseen fear uncoiling. The remnants of the dream haunt her—but they break apart like a sand castle as she sits up and clears her head, doing as Luke taught her to do.
Breathe in, breathe out. Be mindful of the world, the galaxy, and your place within it. Everything will be okay. The Force will be your guide.
“You sleep like the dead these days,” he says.
“And probably snore like a Gamorrean.” She blinks and regards him. He’s fully dressed. That means he’s been up for a while. She senses something coming off him: a restlessness, a fear of settling down that only leaves him more unsettled. An image forms clear in her mind: Chewbacca. Han misses his copilot. And why wouldn’t he? Those two have been together for so long, he should probably be married to that lovable hair-suit instead of her. “It’s early. You’re awake.” He’s always slept like a scoundrel: one eye open, ready for whatever may come. He said he used to sleep in fits and starts whenever he could grab a little shut-eye. And he has a hard time calling this place home. Home for him has always been the Falcon.
Even still, he’s not a morning person. But since Kashyyyk, since saying goodbye to Chewie, this is how he’s been. He goes to bed after her. Wakes up before her. Like an animal in a cage, pacing, pacing.
But today, a new feeling: He’s worried.
“You need to see something,” Han says.
“Can it wait?”
“I don’t think it can, sweetheart.”
—
HoloNet News.
It’s been a long night, and Mon Mothma thought they had gotten somewhere. If the Empire was on Jakku, she had to take careful, measured steps to see the shape of the threat that awaited them. That meant sending probe droids to scout. Maybe a ship built for stealth flown by one of their best pilots. It meant trying to see if they had anybody at all on Jakku who could report in—seeing what was going on in orbit didn’t give a sense of what was happening on the ground. Was it an occupation? Were they even on the surface? Could they be looking for something? Or someone?
Now all the careful planning, all their consideration—