It was worse than he’d feared. The crowd was huge, filling the entire street as humans and aliens continued to stream toward the building. He stepped out onto the balcony for a better look, and as he did so, a figure near the front of the crowd shouted and waved wildly as he pointed up. Automatically, Han’s hand dropped to his blaster&mdash
“Citizens of the New Republic,” a deep Bothan voice called from somewhere nearby. “I respectfully appeal to you for calm.” The crowd responded with even more noise, none of it sounding especially calm or respectful. Stepping to the edge of his balcony, Han craned his neck and looked down at the second-floor balcony beneath him. There he was: a distinguished-looking elderly male Bothan wearing the elaborate sign and signet of a clan leader. “No clan leaders on this part of Bothawui, huh?” Han muttered, straightening up again. He was no expert, but it sure didn’t look like the sort of mob that a little Bothan sugar-talk would do much for.
Which suggested the smart thing would be for him to get back inside and back to Leia. Just in case. Giving the crowd one last look, he started to turn away.
***
The front of the crowd had reached the Combined Clans Building now, the people behind them pushing and jostling past and filling in around the sides. Resting the stock of his blaster rifle against his shoulder, Navett squinted experimentally through the macrobinocular sight running along the barrel. Almost time …
And then, just as he’d known they would, the Bothans sent a representative onto the lower balcony to talk to the mob. The figure lifted his hands for silence-without any noticeable effect, of course-and Navett was just beginning to line up his crosshairs when another figure appeared, this one on the upper balcony.
A human? Frowning, Navett shifted his aim upward and tightened his focus . .
And felt his eyes widen in disbelief. Han Solo-it was Han Solo. Hero of the Rebellion, New Republic shipping liaison, and general all-around troublemaker. And there he was, standing on a balcony right in front of him.
Navett had always considered himself to be leading a charmed life; but sometimes even he couldn’t believe his own luck.
“Navett?” Pensin’s voice came excitedly in his ear. “Up on the top balcony-“
“I see him,” Navett said, striving to sound cool and professional. Han Solo himself. This was just too good to be true.
“So which one do we do?”
Navett smiled tightly. “Both, of course. You’ve got a spare, don’t you?”
“Well, yes-“
“So we do both,” Navett told him. “And we start with Solo. Give me a count.”
“Right,” Pensin said. “Five seconds, four, three-“
***
Han had been gone only a few seconds when the door suddenly bounced open again. “Councilor Organa Solo,” Secretary Orou’cya said, breathing heavily. “We desperately need your assistance. There is a mob moving on this building.”
“Yes, I know,” Leia said. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Defend us, of course,” the Bothan snapped, jabbing a hand at the lightsaber hanging unobtrusively beneath her loose overjacket. “Are you not a Jedi?”
Leia suppressed a sigh. There were still so many people out there who refused to see Jedi in any role except that of armed defender or combatant. “Perhaps I could try talking to them,” she suggested gently.
“Askar Clan Leader Rayl’skar has already gone to do that,” Orou’cya said, fur rippling’ with nervous impatience. “Please-they may break in at any time.”
“All right,” Leia said, standing up. So much for there being no clan leaders on this pan of Bothawui; but this wasn’t the time to bring that up. “Threepio, you’d better come, too.”
“Me?” the droid gasped, cringing back as only Threepio could do. “But-Mistress Leia-“
“I might need you to translate,” Leia cut him off. “Let’s go.” They had to buck the general flow of Bothans streaming upward as they descended the main stairway. “Mistress Leia-there seems to be some considerable concern among the residents here,” Threepio called over the hurrying feet and the rumble of the crowd outside. “Might I suggest we reconsider our strategy?”
“There won’t be any trouble,” Leia assured him, grabbing hold of one of his arms to keep them from getting separated. “Most of the time the most these demonstrators have done is to throw spoiled fruit and stones. If I can persuade them that their concerns are being considered, maybe I can get them to disperse without even doing that much.”
They reached the bottom of the stairway, easing through the three-deep cordon of Bothan guards blocking off the lower end, and hurried toward the front doors. “I merely thought we might wish to reevaluate,” Threepio continued, his rapidity of speech increasing with his nervousness, which was increasing with roughly every other step. “There are two balconies we could speak from, after all, and even spoiled produce properly placed can be hazardous to the inner workings of a droid-“