Leia said nothing. The Falcon lifted clear, and Han laid in a course for Coruscant, ready to risk a jump to maximum velocity if Corellian Traffic Control had the same idea as the would-be assassin now cooling rapidly in the engineering space below. But the vessel slipped through the shipping lanes and out to the jump point with no more than a routine automated transponder exchange.
“I should have asked how that guy found us,” said Han.
Leia didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “I’ll remember to leave you a moment for questions next time I stop someone trying to kill you.”
Han took the Falcon as close to maximum speed as he dared. They spent the three hours it took to cover the twenty thousand light-years to Coruscant watching readouts and indicators, hoping the drive would hold together. By the time they reached Coruscant space, the Falcon had developed an uncharacteristic vibration that made her frame feel as if it were rolling on a sea every few seconds with an unnatural regularity.
Leia leaned forward in her seat and checked drive temperatures and profiles with visible anxiety. “You sure she’s going to land in one piece?”
Han shrugged, knowing that wouldn’t fool her one bit. “No. But trust me.”
He picked up the Galactic City beacon at 750,000 kilometers and laid in a course to land at one of the public docking bays a long way from the center of the city-and unwelcome attention. What would they do if they knew who he was? Nothing. This was civilized space, where he might be asked some awkward questions about his Corellian sympathies, if anyone knew he had flown that mission with Wedge: but they didn’t, and so he could drop in openly as Solo, Captain H., anytime he liked. If they did know he’d fought against the Galactic Alliance, they might just invite him in for a few questions, and a tangled game with lawyers would follow.
This was Coruscant, a planet run by law and conventions. People didn’t disappear here-except in the criminal underworld.
But Han was cautious enough to stay with the anonymized transponder that identified the Falcon this time as a Tatooine freighter. There was a time when a visual check or a thermal signature would have betrayed her as a fighting ship, but she was old, and any number of eccentric traders flew modified fleet surplus warships these days. They had nice big cargo holds and handy defensive armament, which was just what was needed in some of the wilder parts of the galactic business community.
The console computer chatted silently with Galactic City ATC, swapping messages that blurred into streaks of illuminated text and symbols. The screen settled on a comforting message designed for human eyes: CLEAR TO DOCK AT BERTH BW 9842 TIME WINDOW 1245 TO 1545.
“Okay, prep for docking,” said Han.
“You never say that.”
“I never thought the drive might land without the rest of the ship before.”
Leia watched the console with a slight frown, white and green lights from the instruments reflecting on her face. Han found he was studying her for signs of dismay, as if her confidence alone would make for a safe landing. The Falcon was vibrating noticeably now: nothing spectacular, but a regular, barely perceptible movement like a missing heartbeat every five seconds or so, with a slight murmur of moving parts that a pilot would hear only if he knew the ship as well as he knew his own body. And Han knew the Falcon that well.
So did Leia. She glanced at him and winked. “It’ll be fine.”
“Dropping to sublight.”
“Sublight,” said Leia, confirming the helm order.
The Falcon murmured again. Han found his knuckles straining white under the skin of his right hand as he clutched the yoke. The more tightly he held it, the more the vibration felt magnified into something to worry about.
“Engaging maneuvering drive.” The drive kicked in with its own distinctive hums and resonance. Come on, baby. Just a regular landing. You’ve done a million of them. Stay in one piece. “Distance five hundred thousand kilometers.”
“Adjusting angle of approach.”
“Make twenty-four degrees.”
“Correcting to twenty-four.”
“Holding steady.”
The navigation display showed a neat grid of lines and numbers with the icon that represented the Falcon aligned on the course that represented a safe approach to the Galactic City landing strip. A rhythmic shiver intruded into the familiar layers of sound and vibration that Han knew without even thinking about it as normal.
“Don’t say it,” Leia said sharply.
“Don’t say what?”
“That you’ve got a bad feeling.”
“Never crossed my mind,” Han lied.
“Crossed mine.” Leia didn’t even look up from the control console. “Because I’ve got one, too.”