Aftermath: Empire's End (Star Wars: Aftermath #3)(32)

Luke, she wants to cry out. But her words won’t come. Her mouth is sealed, a hand pressed over it. One by one, stars go dark again, winking out of existence as if by a hand slowly closing over them— “Leia!”

She gasps and wakes. Han. It’s just Han. He’s by the side of the bed, rousing her, gently shaking her shoulder.

The dream recedes like a wave going back to sea.

“Hi,” she says, her mouth tacky, her eyes full of sleep. Her middle twists, too—it’s not the baby. It’s some unseen fear uncoiling. The remnants of the dream haunt her—but they break apart like a sand castle as she sits up and clears her head, doing as Luke taught her to do.

Breathe in, breathe out. Be mindful of the world, the galaxy, and your place within it. Everything will be okay. The Force will be your guide.

“You sleep like the dead these days,” he says.

“And probably snore like a Gamorrean.” She blinks and regards him. He’s fully dressed. That means he’s been up for a while. She senses something coming off him: a restlessness, a fear of settling down that only leaves him more unsettled. An image forms clear in her mind: Chewbacca. Han misses his copilot. And why wouldn’t he? Those two have been together for so long, he should probably be married to that lovable hair-suit instead of her. “It’s early. You’re awake.” He’s always slept like a scoundrel: one eye open, ready for whatever may come. He said he used to sleep in fits and starts whenever he could grab a little shut-eye. And he has a hard time calling this place home. Home for him has always been the Falcon.

Even still, he’s not a morning person. But since Kashyyyk, since saying goodbye to Chewie, this is how he’s been. He goes to bed after her. Wakes up before her. Like an animal in a cage, pacing, pacing.

But today, a new feeling: He’s worried.

“You need to see something,” Han says.

“Can it wait?”

“I don’t think it can, sweetheart.”

—

HoloNet News.

It’s been a long night, and Mon Mothma thought they had gotten somewhere. If the Empire was on Jakku, she had to take careful, measured steps to see the shape of the threat that awaited them. That meant sending probe droids to scout. Maybe a ship built for stealth flown by one of their best pilots. It meant trying to see if they had anybody at all on Jakku who could report in—seeing what was going on in orbit didn’t give a sense of what was happening on the ground. Was it an occupation? Were they even on the surface? Could they be looking for something? Or someone?

Now all the careful planning, all their consideration—

Gone. Shattered.

There, on the holoprojector, stands Tolwar Wartol. He, like other Orishen, has smooth skin peppered with uneven, asymmetrical, disconnected plates—the plates are smooth and catch the light like black mirrors. The HoloNet is presently replaying a speech he just gave here on Chandrila, down in the Eleutherian Plaza. His supporters gathered to hear him. He spoke with passion, his nose-slits flaring, his bisected lower jaw giving his mouth the look of a blooming flower whenever he hit the speech’s talking points.

And oh, what a speech it was.

Mon, Auxi, and Ackbar had all settled their plan and were—just before sunset—ready to break for the day and attempt to catch a few scant hours of sleep before putting actions in motion to study the Empire more. Then a call came in from Sondiv Sella: You need to turn on HoloNet News.

The first thing Wartol said to the crowd—and to the civilized galaxy, thanks to the reach of the network—was this: “The Empire has been found.”

With those words spoken, Mon’s heart froze in her chest.

What? How? How could he know…?

Presently, HoloNet News is repeating his speech. This is the third go-round. His name is trending. His popularity, surging.

On the screen, Senator Wartol is saying:

“Chancellor Mon Mothma has discovered where the bulk of the Imperial forces are hiding, and it is on a distant world near the Unknown Regions. A world called Jakku.” Then comes the accusation: “You did not know this information, and I did not know it, either. Because the chancellor has been sitting on that information—nesting upon it like a serpent hoarding precious treasure. Why didn’t she say anything? What did she plan to do with this knowledge? If the New Republic is to be free of corruption, offering a government that belongs to the galactic citizens, should there not be total transparency and accountability? Secrets separate us. I would seek to demolish that wall of secrets, my friends. We must be partners in this!”

The crowd cheers. Joyous rhetoric from a man painting himself as the savior—everyone likes to be sold easy promises, don’t they?

He goes on to outline his plans for the chancellorship: transparency, a strong central military, and policies that will ensure “everyone’s voice will be heard.” He continues on: “We see the Empire now and we must act. The chancellor wishes for us to sit on our hands. And every moment she waits, the Empire grows stronger, like an infection we thought had been beaten back—if we do not intensify the cure, the disease will return. It will attack once more, just as it attacked on Chandrila. Can we afford to pursue peace before the war is done? Can we afford such soft hands steering our nascent democracy? I think not, my friends…”

“Turn it off,” the chancellor says.

Auxi does.