As he reached the door providing access into the Solos’ building, Luke felt a little tickle of awareness, as though someone had materialized just behind him and brushed him with a feather. He turned to look.
No one actually stood behind him. But across the avenue, perhaps thirty meters away, standing on a pedestrian thoroughfare at about the same altitude, someone was watching him.
His watcher stood a few meters away from the nearest light source, wrapped up in a traveler’s cloak not dissimilar to the outer garments he and the other Jedi wore. Its hood was up, and the garment masked the wearer’s build. Luke could tell little more than that the wearer was of average height or taller and looked lean.
But something in this being’s posture reminded Luke of the image from his dream, and caused him to wonder if the watcher had features similar to long-dead Anakin Skywalker, with eyes turned a liquid yellow by anger and Sith techniques.
As Luke watched, the watcher turned, walked the few steps to the nearest doorway into its own building, and entered, vanishing into darkness.
Luke shook his head. He could go over there, of course. But it would take time, and he’d find nothing. Either the watcher was unrelated to Luke’s dream, or it was someone deliberately making contact as a warning or greeting. Either way, no evidence would remain.
Luke entered the Solos’ building.
After all the guests were gone, most of them returning to quarters at the Jedi Temple, and the Solo quarters were dark, Han and Leia lay wrapped in each other’s arms in their bedchamber.
That chamber was against an exterior wall of the building, just below the pedestrian walkway outside, and featured a broad transparisteel viewport that afforded them a view of the traffic lanes outside-or, if Han and Leia were close enough and ducked low enough, of the skies. It was a much thicker plate of transparisteel than most dwelling viewports featured, as was appropriate to a former Chief of State and her equally famous husband, either of whom might become the target of assassins or kidnappers. It was armor suitable to a naval vessel and one of the more expensive features of these quarters. But it was as clear as any more ordinary viewport, and, with the blinds opened, they could watch through it the endless, brilliantly colorful streams of traffic.
“You were pretty hard on Zekk,” Leia chided. “All evening long.”
“You think so?” Han considered. “I didn’t challenge him to any drinking games or ask him about all his failed relationships.”
“Good.” Leia nodded against his chest. “But you could have been … nicer.”
“Nicer to the man who’s chasing my daughter around? What sort of example would that set? I’m her father. Besides, he’s taking advantage of her.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, listen. Since she doesn’t believe that he’s after her, since she’s maintaining her we’re-just-good-friends-despite-anything-that-migh-thave-hap pened-before self-delusion, he can stay close and operate without her being aware of it.”
“He’s a good boy.”
“Where my daughter is concerned, nobody is a ‘good boy.’ Besides, nobody that tall should be referred to as a boy.”
“Well, if she likes taller men, it’s probably a preference she picked up from her upbringing.”
“Oh?” Han considered. “You think she’s more comfortable with taller men because of me?”
“No, because of Chewbacca.”
Han looked down at her. A sliver of blue light crossed over the bed and illuminated her eyes, which were open, her expression somehow both merry and artificially innocent.
Chewbacca, Han’s Wookiee copilot and best friend, had died more than a decade ago, at the onset of the Yuuzhan Vong war. After that, it had been years before Han could hear or speak his name without feeling a stab of pain in his heart. Now, of course, there was still sadness at his loss, but with it were years of more glad memories.
“You,” Han said, “should not mock Han Solo, hero of the galaxy.”
“I would never. I was mocking Han Solo, meddling dad and supreme egotist.”
“Now you’re in trouble.”
She laughed at him.
Chapter Five
CORUSCANT
TWO DAYS AFTER THE SOLO-SKYWALKER FAMILY DINNER, HAN SOLO sat on one of his living chamber sofas, a portable terminal in his lap, scowling at the display screen. Every so often he typed in a series of commands or used the voice interface, but each attempt he made was eventually greeted with a red screen indicating failure.
Leia materialized behind him, leaning over his shoulder, and read aloud the text on the screen. “OPERATION FAILED. YOU MAY BE USING CONNECTION INFORMATION THAT IS OUT OF DATE. Trying to straighten out your taxes?”