She’d chosen the toughest objective for herself—Colony One. It boasted the largest warehouses, the most Pilgrims and the best defenses.
But Bria was sure that Red Hand Squadron could handle it. Especially with Han flying beside her. By now, Han was familiar with Jace Paol, Daino Hyx, and her other officers. He wondered if any of them realized that he and their commander were now a couple.
The assassinations would be starting any time on Ylesia, and the main attack was set for tomorrow morning (ships’ standard time, which had nothing to do with day or night on Ylesia) when the Pilgrims would be desperate for the Exultation, and amenable to taking orders from anyone who promised it to them ….
As Han and Bria ate supper that night in Retribution’s galley, Han’s attention was suddenly drawn to the external monitoring unit that showed the masses of gathering ships. A familiar shape—one he’d known from childhood—was moving into view.
He stopped chewing, then swallowed hastily, and pointed. “Bria! That big old Liberator-class transport! Where’d you get it?”
She looked at him and grinned. “Looks a bit familiar, doesn’t it?”
Han nodded. “I’d swear that’s Trader’s Luck! The ship I grew up on!”
She nodded. “It is. I was saving it for a surprise. The Corellian Resistance bought it a couple of years ago at scrap prices, and we’ve converted it into a troop carrier. We named it the Liberator.”
Han had heard that the vintage ship had been abandoned following Garris Shrike’s death. He looked at the old vessel, feeling his throat tighten.
He was glad to know that the Liberator now had a new life. “You’re going to use her to get the Pilgrims shipped to safety, right?”
“Many of them,” she agreed. “Your old home will take them to a new life, Han.”
He nodded, and finished his meal, his eyes seldom leaving the huge, antique vessel. Memories flooded him … memories of Dewlanna, mostly ….
Since the Falcon boasted only a few sleeping bunks, Han decided to stay the night in Bria’s cabin. They held each other close, each of them acutely aware that tomorrow they would be going into battle.
And in battles … people died.
“After tomorrow,” Han whispered to her in the darkness, “we’ll always be together. Promise me.”
“I promise,” she said. “Together.”
He sighed and relaxed. “Okay,” he said. “And … Bria?” “Yes?”
“You watch your back tomorrow, sweetheart.”
He could tell she was smiling, from the way her voice sounded. “I will.
You too, okay?”
“Sure.”
Hours later, Bria was awakened from a troubled doze by the soft chime of her cabin intercom. She came instantly alert, and, pulling on a robe, went into her adjoining office. The communication officer on duty told her she had an incoming message. “Send it through to me here,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face.
Moments later, Bria was facing her commanding officer, Pianat Torbul.
She stiffened to attention. “Sir?”
“Bria … just wanted to wish you luck tomorrow,” he said. “And to tell you …” he hesitated.
“Yes? Tell me what?” she prompted.
“I can’t be specific. But our intelligence reports that the Empire has something big underway. Really big. Something that could crush the entire Rebel Alliance in one or two engagements.”
Bria stared at him, in shock. “Some kind of secret fleet?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you,” he reminded her. “But bigger than that.”
Bria couldn’t imagine what he was talking about, but she’d grown used to the “need to know” system long ago. “Okay, so what does that have to do with this raid tomorrow?”
“It’s going to take everything we have, every resource we can muster, every credit we can scrape together, to deal with this,” Torbul said.
“Your mission was important before this … now it’s critical. Take everything you can get, Bria. Weapons, spice … everything.”
“Sir … that’s my objective,” she said, her heart beginning to thud. “I know that. I just … thought you should know. We’re dispatching several intelligence teams to Ralltiir to try and find out more. They’ll need credits for bribes, surveillance equipment …
you know the drill.”
“Of course,” Bria said. “Sir, I won’t fail you.”
“I know you won’t,” Torbul said. “I shouldn’t have contacted you, perhaps … you’re under enough pressure. But I thought you should know.”