Leia frowned. “Has it been that long?”
Winter shrugged. “You’ve been busy,” she said with her usual knack for diplomacy.
“Tell me about it,” Leia said dryly. “I don’t know, Winter-I really don’t. He told Threepio that he misses Ben Kenobi, but I can tell that’s not all of it.”
“Perhaps it has something to do with your pregnancy,” Winter suggested. “Nine weeks ago would put it just about right.”
“Yes, I know,” Leia agreed. “But that’s also about the time Mon Mothma and Admiral Ackbar were pushing to move the government seat here to Coruscant. Also about the time we started getting those reports from the borderlands about some mysterious tactical genius having taken command of the Imperial Fleet.” She held her hands out, palms upward. “Take your pick.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to wait until he’s ready to talk to you.” Winter considered. “Perhaps Captain Solo will be able to draw him out when he returns.”
Leia squeezed thumb and forefinger together, a wave of anger-filled loneliness sweeping over her. For Han to have gone out on yet another of these stupid contact missions, leaving her all alone—
The flash of anger disappeared, dissolving into guilt. Yes, Han was gone again; but even when he was here it seemed sometimes like they hardly saw each other. With more and more of her time being eaten up by the enormous task of setting up a new government, there were days when she barely had time to eat, let alone see her husband.
But that’s my job, she reminded herself firmly; and it was a job that, unfortunately, only she could do. Unlike virtually all the others in the Alliance hierarchy, she had had extensive training in both the theory and the more practical aspects of politics. She’d grown up in the Royal House of Alderaan, learning about systemwide rule from her foster father-learning it so well that while still in her teens she was already representing him in the Imperial Senate. Without her expertise, this whole thing could easily collapse, particularly in these critical early stages of the New Republic’s development. A few more months-just a few more months-and she’d be able to ease off a little. She’d make it all up to Han then.
The guilt faded. But the loneliness remained.
“Maybe,” she told Winter. “In the meantime, we’d better both get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
Winter arched her eyebrows slightly. “There’s another kind?” she asked with a touch of Leia’s earlier dryness.
“Now, now,” Leia admonished, mock-seriously. “You’re far too young to become a cynic. I mean it, now-off to bed with you.”
“You’re sure you don’t need anything first?”
“I’m sure. Go on, scat.”
“All right. Good night, Your Highness.”
She glided out, closing the door behind her. Sliding down flat onto the bed, Leia readjusted the blankets over her and shifted the pillows into a more or less comfortable position. “Good night to you two, too,” she said softly to her babies, giving her belly another gentle rub. Han had suggested more than once that anyone who talked to her own stomach was slightly nuts. But then, she suspected that Han secretly believed everyone was slightly nuts.
She missed him terribly.
With a sigh, she reached over to the nightstand and turned off the light. Eventually, she fell asleep.
A quarter of the way across the galaxy, Han Solo sipped at his mug and surveyed the semiorganized chaos flowing all around him. Didn’t we, he quoted to himself, just leave this party?
Still, it was nice to know that, in a galaxy busily turning itself upside down, there were some things that never changed. The band playing off in the corner was different, and the upholstery in the booth was noticeably less comfortable; but apart from that, the Mos Eisley cantina looked exactly the same as it always had before. The same as it had looked the day he’d first met Luke Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi.
It felt like a dozen lifetimes ago.
Beside him, Chewbacca growled softly. “Don’t worry, he’ll be here,” Han told him. “It’s just Dravis. I don’t think he’s ever been on time for anything in his whole life.”
Slowly, he let his eyes drift over the crowd. No, he amended to himself, there was one other thing different about the cantina: virtually none of the other smugglers who had once frequented the place were anywhere to be seen. Whoever had taken over what was left of Jabba the Hutt’s organization must have moved operations off Tatooine. Turning to peer toward the cantina’s back door, he made a mental note to ask Dravis about it.
He was still gazing off to the side when a shadow fell across the table. “Hello, Solo,” a snickering voice said.