[Black Fleet Crisis] - 02(82)

“I don’t think so.”

“I wrote my father that it looked like a colony of squibs had moved into the Queen’s collection of braaken glass.” Leia laughed quietly and slipped an arm around Han’s waist. “Bail thought the braaken glass was hideous.

He understood.”

As they continued in an intimate silence, Leia cast her gaze about her at the sea, the beach, and the sky.

“This is nice, Han,” she said, as Anakin looked up from his sand sculptures and came running toward them.

“Thank you. I don’t feel quite so much like one of the squibs out here.”





Chapter 11


“Admiral!” The nurse-medic saluted smartly. “Can I help you, sir?”

    I was informed that Plat Mallar has been removed from the bacta tank,” said Admiral Ackbar, cocking his head slightly.

“Yes, sir—about two hours ago. He’s doing well.

Dr. Yintal was able to speak to him briefly.”

“Where is Dr. Yintal now?”

“Emergency, sir. There was an accident out at Biggs Field, just a short time ago—” “Yes,” said Ackbar. “I know.”

“Do you have any information about what happened, sir? All we’ve heard here are rumors—” “A student in a TX-sixty-five missed his approach and crashed on a taxiway,” Ackbar said. “Two other trainers and a command shuttle were hit by the debris. I have been told of three dead and sixteen injured.”

“Thank you, sir. That gives us some idea what to get ready for up here.”

“I will leave you to that in a moment,” said Ackbar.

“Did you say that Plat Mallar regained consciousness?”

“Just briefly, right after he came out of the tank. He and Dr. Yintal exchanged a few words. But the prisoner’s sleeping now.”

“Mind your words—Plat Mallar is not a prisoner,” Ackbar said sharply.

“I’m sorry, sir. I understood that he was an Imperial pilot, from an Imperial depot world—” “You are mistaken,” said Ackbar. “He is a brave young man who risked his life to try to help his people.

And I have taken a special interest in his welfare. I expect him to receive the very best care this facility can offer—is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the nurse-medic said contritely. “I understand, sir.”

“I would like to see him now. Is he still in Unit Number Five?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take you there—” “That is not necessary,” Ackbar said. “See to your preparations.”

The bacta tank in Intensive Care Unit 5 was vacant and drained. A young Grannan male lay in the IC bed nearby, monitor bands on his broad forehead, soft thorax, and left wrist.

Standing close by the bed, Ackbar leaned over the patient and studied him closely. Plat Mallar’s fingers were drawn up short into his skin-cuff, and his eye crease was closed and sealed with a thin bead of a glistening secretion. A clear gas tube pumped methanogen into Plat Mallar’s respiratory sacs; an opaque red tube carried his poisonous wastes away.

But his skin had regained the typical Grannan color and luster; despite the surroundings, he no longer appeared on the brink of death.

“Good,” Ackbar said to himself. “Good.”

Hoping that Plat Mallar’s sleep was as restful as it appeared, Ackbar moved the self-adjusting chair over beside the bed, then settled his large body into it. Setting his comlink on the bed beside him where he could reach it quickly if called, Ackbar placed his hands on his knees in a familiar and comfortable posture.

“Sleep, little one,” he said quietly. “Sleep and heal.

When you are ready, I will be here.”

Leaning forward across the control yoke, Han Solo peered sideways out the windshield at the steps leading to the main entrance to the General Ministry.

“Where are The Sniffer and The Shooter?” he asked Leia. “I don’t see them. You didn’t tell Nanaod you were coming back today, did you. Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No,” she said, gathering up her robes so that she could climb out.

“But I hope you’ll be at home when I get there. I might need you then.”

“We’ll be there,” Han said, nodding. “You sure you don’t need me to come up, now?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I’m just going to go do what needs to be done, and we’ll see what happens after that.”

The entrance to the Grand Ministry had once been the reception entrance to the Imperial Palace. Forty polished stone steps led up to triple metal-mosaic doors sheltered under a great cantilevered stone awning edged with eight stars—symbols of the founding signatories of the Declaration of a New Republic.