The Last Command (10 page)

“As opposed to, say, the Filvians?” Mon Mothma nodded slowly. “Interesting point. That might indicate the illusion is one that can’t be maintained for very long.”

“Or that the power requirements are exceedingly high,” Ackbar added. “If the Empire has learned a method for focusing nonvisible energy against a shield, it could conceivably weaken a section long enough to fire a turbolaser blast through the opening. But such a thing would take a tremendous power output.”

“And should also show up as an energy stress on the shield,” Mon Mothma pointed out. “None of our information suggests that was the case.”

“Our information may be wrong,” Ackbar retorted. He threw a brief glare at Councilor Borsk Fey’lya. “Or it may have been manipulated by the Empire,” he added pointedly. “Such things have happened before.”

Leia looked at Fey’lya, too, wondering if the thinly veiled insult to his people would finally drive the Bothan out of his self-imposed silence. But Fey’lya just sat there, his eyes on the table, his cream-colored fur motionless. Not speaking, not reacting, perhaps not even thinking.

Eventually, she supposed, he would regain his verbal courage and a measure of his old political strength. But for now, with his false denunciation of Ackbar still fresh in everyone’s minds, he was in the middle of his species’ version of penance.

Leia’s stomach tightened in frustration. Once again, the Bothans’ inflexible all-or-nothing approach to politics was running squarely counter to the New Republic’s best interests. A few months earlier, Fey’lya’s accusations against Ackbar had wasted valuable time and energy; now, when the Council needed every bit of insight and resourcefulness it could muster—including Fey’lya’s—he was playing the silent martyr.

There were days—and long, dark nights—when Leia privately despaired of ever holding the New Republic together.

“You’re right, of course, Admiral,” Mon Mothma said with a sigh. “We need more information. And we need it quickly.”

“Talon Karrde’s organization is still our best chance,” Leia said. “They’ve got the contacts, both here and on the Imperial side. And from what Luke said in his last message, Karrde sounded interested.”

“We can’t afford to wait on the convenience of a smuggler,” Ackbar growled, his mouth tendrils stiffening with distaste. “What about General Bel Iblis? He was fighting alone against the Empire for several years.”

“The General has already turned his intelligence contacts over to us,” Mon Mothma said, a muscle in her cheek twitching. “So far, we’re still integrating them into our own system.”

“I wasn’t referring to his contacts,” Ackbar said. “I meant the General himself. Why isn’t he here?”

Leia looked at Mon Mothma, her stomach tightening again. Garm Bel Iblis had been one of the early forces behind the consolidation of individual resistance units into the all-encompassing Rebel Alliance, and for years had formed a shadowy triad of leadership with Mon Mothma and Leia’s own adoptive father, Bail Organa. But when Organa died with his people in the Death Star’s attack on Alderaan—and as Mon Mothma began subsequently to draw more and more power to herself—Bel Iblis had left the Alliance and struck out on his own. Since then, he had continued his private war against the Empire… until, almost by accident, he had crossed paths with fellow Corellian Han Solo.

It was Han’s urgent request that had brought Bel Iblis and his force of six Dreadnaughts to the New Republic’s aid at the
Katana
battle. Mon Mothma, speaking words about burying past differences, had welcomed Bel Iblis back.

And had then turned around and sent him to bolster the defenses in the outer sectors of the New Republic. As far from Coruscant as he could possibly have gone.

Leia was not yet ready to ascribe vindictiveness to Mon Mothma’s decision. But there were others in the New Republic hierarchy who remembered Bel Iblis and his tactical genius… and not all of them were quite so willing to give Mon Mothma the benefit of the doubt.

“The General’s expertise is needed at the battlefront,” Mon Mothma said evenly.

“His expertise is also needed here,” Ackbar retorted; but Leia could hear the resignation in his voice. Ackbar himself had just returned from a tour of the Farrfin and Dolomar defenses, and would be leaving in the morning for Dantooine. With the Imperial war machine on the move, the New Republic couldn’t afford the luxury of burying their best line commanders away in ground-side offices.

“I understand your concerns,” Mon Mothma said, more gently. “When we get the situation out there stabilized, I fully intend to bring General Bel Iblis back and put him in charge of tactical planning.”

If we get the situation stabilized
, Leia amended silently, again feeling her stomach tighten. So far, the offensive was going uniformly the Empire’s way—

The thought broke off in midstride, a sudden belated awareness flooding in on her. No—it wasn’t her
stomach
that was tightening….

Ackbar was speaking again. “Excuse me,” Leia cut him off, getting carefully to her feet. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to get down to Medical.”

Mon Mothma’s eyes widened. “The twins?”

Leia nodded. “I think they’re on their way.”

The walls and ceiling of the birth room were a warm tan color, with a superimposed series of shifting lights that had been synchronized with Leia’s own brain wave patterns. Theoretically, it was supposed to help her relax and concentrate. As a practical matter, Leia had already decided that after ten hours of looking at it, the technique had pretty well lost its effectiveness.

Another contraction came, the hardest one yet. Automatically, Leia reached out with the Force, using the methods Luke had taught her to hold off the pain coming from protesting muscles. If nothing else, this whole birth process was giving her the chance to practice her Jedi techniques.

And not just those having to do with pain control.
It’s all right
, she thought soothingly toward the small minds within her.
It’s all right. Mother’s here.

It didn’t really help. Caught in forces they couldn’t comprehend, their tiny bodies being squeezed and pushed as they were driven slowly toward the unknown, their undeveloped minds were fluttering with fear.

Though to be perfectly fair, their father wasn’t in much better shape.

“You all right?” Han asked for the umpteenth time since they’d come in here. He squeezed her hand a little more tightly, also for the umpteenth time, in sympathetic tension with her hunching shoulders.

“I’m still fine,” Leia assured him. Her shoulders relaxed as the contraction ended, and she gave his hand a squeeze in return. “You don’t look so good, though.”

Han made a face at her. “It’s past my bedtime,” he said dryly.

“That must be it,” Leia agreed. Han had been as nervous as a tauntaun on ball bearings ever since the labor started in earnest, but he was making a manly effort not to show it. More for her sake, Leia suspected, than for any damage such an admission might do to his image. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Han threw a look to the side, where the medic and two Emdee droids were hovering around the business end of the birth bed. “Looks like we’re getting close, sweetheart.”

“Count on it,” Leia agreed, the last word strangled off as another contraction took her attention. “Oh…”

Han’s anxiety level jumped another notch. “You all right?”

Leia nodded, throat muscles momentarily too tight to speak through. “Hold me, Han,” she breathed when she could talk again. “Just hold me.”

“I’m right here,” he said quietly, sliding his free hand into a comfortable grip under her shoulder.

She hardly heard him. Deep within her, the small lives that she and Han had created were starting to move… and abruptly their fluttering fear had become full-blown terror.

Don’t be afraid
, she thought at them.
Don’t be afraid. It’ll be all right I’m here. Soon, you’ll be with me.

She wasn’t really expecting a reaction—the twins’ minds were far too undeveloped to understand anything as abstract as words or the concept of future events. But she continued anyway, wrapping them and their fear as best she could in her love and peace and comfort. There was another contraction—the inexorable movement toward the outside world continued—

And then, to Leia’s everlasting joy, one of the tiny minds reached back to her, touching her in a way that neither twin had ever responded to her nonverbal caresses before. The rising fear slowed in its advance, and Leia had the sudden mental image of a baby’s hand curled tightly around her finger.
Yes
, she told the infant.
I’m your mother, and I’m here.

The tiny mind seemed to consider that. Leia continued her assurances, and the mind shifted a little away from her, as if the infant’s attention had been drawn somewhere else. A good sign, she decided; if it was able to be distracted from what was happening to it—

And then, to her amazement, the second mind’s panic also began to fade. The second mind, which to the best of her knowledge had not yet even noticed her presence…

Later, in retrospect, the whole thing would seem obvious, if not completely inevitable. But at that moment, the revelation was startling enough to send a shiver through the core of Leia’s soul. The twins, growing together in the Force even as they’d grown together within her, had somehow become attuned to each other—attuned in a way and to a depth that Leia knew she herself would never entirely share.

It was, at the same time, one of the proudest and yet one of the most poignant moments of Leia’s life. To get such a glimpse into the future—to see her children growing and strengthening themselves in the Force… and to know that there would be a part of their lives together that she would never share.

The contraction eased, the grand and bittersweet vision of the future fading into a small nugget of ache in a corner of her mind. An ache that was made all the worse by the private shame that, in all of that flood of selfish emotion, it hadn’t even occurred to her that Han would be able to share even less of their lives than she would.

And suddenly, through the mental haze, a bright light seemed to explode in her eyes. Reflexively, she clutched harder at Han’s hand. “What—?”

“It’s coming,” Han yelped, gripping back. “First one’s halfway out.”

Leia blinked, the half-imagined light vanishing as her mind fumbled free of her contact with her children. Her children, whose eyes had never had to deal with anything brighter than a dim, diffuse glow. “Turn that light down,” she gasped. “It’s too bright. The children’s eyes—”

“It’s all right,” the medic assured her. “Their eyes will adjust. All right: one last push.”

And then, seemingly without warning, the first part was suddenly over. “Got one,” Han told her, his voice sounding strangely breathless. “It’s—” He craned his neck. “It’s our daughter.” He looked back at Leia, the tension in his face plastered over with the lopsided grin she knew so well. “Jaina.”

Leia nodded. “Jaina,” she repeated. Somehow, the names they’d decided on had never sounded quite the same as they did right now. “What about Jacen?”

“Offhand, I’d say he’s anxious to join his sister,” the medic said dryly. “Get ready to push—he looks like he’s trying to crawl out on his own. Okay…
push
.”

Leia took a deep breath. Finally. After ten hours of labor—after nine months of pregnancy—the end was finally in sight.

No. Not the end. The beginning.

They laid the twins in her arms a few minutes later… and as she looked first at them and then up at Han, she felt a sense of utter peace settle over her. Out among the stars there might be a war going on; but for here, and for now, all was right with the universe.

“Watch it, Rogue Leader,” the voice of Rogue Ten snapped in Wedge’s ear. “You’ve picked up a tail.”

“Got it,” Wedge told him, cutting his X-wing hard over. The
TIE
interceptor shot past, spitting laser fire as he went, and attempted to match Wedge’s maneuver. Blurring in barely half a second behind the Imperial, a pursuing X-wing blew him into a cloud of flaming dust.

“Thanks, Rogue Eight,” Wedge said, blowing a drop of sweat from the tip of his nose and checking his scanners. Temporarily, at least, it looked like their little corner of the melee was in the clear. Putting his X-wing into a slow turn, he gave the overall battle scene a quick assessment.

It was worse than he’d feared. Worse, for that matter, than it had been even five minutes ago. Two more
Victory
-class Star Destroyers had appeared from hyperspace, dropping into mauling position at point-blank range from one of their three remaining Calamari Star Cruisers. And at the rate the Star Destroyers were pouring turbolaser fire into it— “Rogue Squadron: change course to twenty-two mark eight,” he ordered, turning onto the intercept heading and wondering how in blazes the Imperials had managed this one. Making so precise a jump was difficult under ideal circumstances; to do so into the heat and confusion of a battle should have been well-nigh impossible. Just one more example of the Empire’s incredible new talent for coordinating their forces.

There was a warning twitter from the astromech droid riding in the socket behind him: they were now registering too close to a large mass to jump to lightspeed. Wedge glanced around with a frown, finally spotted the Interdictor Cruiser hovering off in the distance, keeping well out of the main battle itself. Apparently, the Imperials didn’t want any of the New Republic ships sneaking out of the party early.

Dead ahead, some of the Victory Star Destroyers’
TIE
fighters were sweeping up to meet them. “Porkins’ Formation,” Wedge ordered his team. “Watch out for flankers. Star Cruiser
Orthavan
, this is Rogue Squadron; we’re coming in.”

“Stay there, Rogue Leader,” a gravelly Mon Calamari voice said. “We’re too badly overmatched. You can’t help us.”

Wedge gritted his teeth. The Mon Cal was probably right. “We’re going to try, anyway,” he told the other. The advancing
TIE
fighters were almost in range now. “Hang on.”