Something was different. As Wedge surfaced slowly, his subconscious warned him that something was different. Awareness finally returned, and with it realisation... the pain had all but gone. He lay still, not chancing his luck, the numb ache from his muscles warning him that if he moved the misery would return. But for the moment it was gone: the fiery agony that had eaten at his arms and chest had dulled to a nagging sting; his head no longer felt as if someone were trying to crush it.

For a moment he lay perfectly still, relishing the sensation.... then fear slammed at him, his stomach turning leaden. The intricate memory of the agony crashed in on him, too fresh in his mind for him to ignore it. Goddess, but he couldn't go through that all again! Please, he couldn't... A small voice of conscience insisted, coldly, that he would have to. And after the fear and the conscience, washed the guilt. He had broken.... he had given them information.... Nothing important, really, honestly. Not when you looked at it in the cold light of day! But the truth remained, sitting heavily on him... he had broken.

But it had bought him more time, hadn't it? They'd obviously given him some sort of medical attention.... Sure, he thought despondently, so they can beat up on you again without you passing out. If only he could stop being so damned scared... this waiting terrified him more than the thought of the torture. The longer he was left the more terrible the memories of what he'd been through, grew: sapping at his strength, slowly eating away at his soul.

The door finally opened. Fear surged. Then the serenity that he'd experienced before trickled in, calming the panic, boosting his courage enough to endure the terror. It can't be any worse than its already been...

Carefully he sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor. As expected his back protested, but once he was upright the objection subsided. He glanced at his arms, seeing the remnants of a blue/green gel and beneath that a freshly regenerated layer of fragile skin. Then he lifted his head, looking at the officers who walked into the cell, fixing his gaze on the Major. A droid wobbled down the stairs behind them, moving across to him. Wedge sat perfectly still as the unit pressed a sensor against his neck.

Daevith watched the Rebel. There was defiance in his eyes again, as well as fear. It was written across his face, in his posture. Mentally, the Major shook his head, respect for the man's courage vying with annoyance at his temerity. You will talk, Lieutenant-Colonel, he promised silently. You will tell me everything that I want to know....

 The droid turned. "Well?" Daevith demanded.

"The subject's health has improved sufficiently."

Daevith allowed himself a small, tight smile. He moved forward as the droid tottered up the stairs, Fremen and Nawe positioning themselves either side of the steps until called upon. Insolently, the Rebel pushed himself to his feet. "Are we in a mood to be more agreeable, Lieutenant-Colonel?" Daevith asked him, "Or do we have to apply persuasion, yet again?"

Wedge said nothing, not moving as the Major reached out, taking hold of one of his wrists, roughly pulling his arm, twisting it to inspect the burn. It can't get any worse than it's already been, Wedge repeated silently to himself... but despite his resolve the terror was beginning to build.

The Major dropped the wrist, grasping the other one, "Almost healed, I see. It would be such a shame if we had to undo the work that the medi-droid has, so successfully, done, don't you think, Colonel?" He let the wrist go.

"Lieutenant-Colonel," the Rebel corrected, gazing back at him, his expression unreadable.

They faced each other down for a moment longer, then Daevith said, "You have already told us about your mission. And as we are both aware, your home base will have been evacuated by now, so there is no longer any point in asking you about that...."

With an effort Wedge managed to keep the relief from showing on his face. He'd done it! He'd stalled them long enough! It didn't matter what happened now, he'd given the base enough time to evacuate. The knowledge gave him a renewed strength.

"All that really remains, therefore, is the attack on the Death Star at Yavin. And, of course, the supply ship you were meeting." Daevith turned away. Fremen and Nawe took a sudden step towards him. For a brief instant he wondered why, turning back towards Antilles: receiving the full force of the Lieutenant-Colonel's fist on his jaw. He stumbled backwards, hand flying to his face as the other two leapt for the Rebel.

Tasting the bitter, metallic, tang of blood in his mouth, he took his hand away. Smudges of red pooled in his fingers. He could feel his jaw and lip already beginning to swell. He turned back to Antilles, who struggled valiantly, if in vain, against the grip of Fremen and Nawe. "That, Lieutenant-Colonel," he told the Rebel, his voice tight with anger, eyes flashing venom, “was an incredibly stupid thing to do!"

The lingering spark of defiance pulled a grin across Wedge's lips. Then he doubled over gasping for breath as the Major's fist slammed into his stomach. The two officers dragged him upright, holding him immobile as Daevith punched him again.

The two men pushed their way through the throng to the bar. The tinny overtures of the band, cramped into one corner of the room, sailed over the melee of chatter and laughter: mingling with the odour of stale sweat, beer and smoke. Lando turned his back to the bar, leaning against the rough wood, searching the crowd. The smaller, blond man dug into a pocket, pulling out some credits, waving them in the direction of the bar tender.

Lando Calrissian turned back as the being behind the bar finally thumped down two glasses of dark, amber liquid. The fluid slopped over the edge, running down the outside of the glasses. Vrad handed over the credits, picking up his beer, taking a mouthful. Swallowing, he pulled a face, glancing at Lando. Calrissian grinned, picking up his own glass, draining half of it, then wordlessly moved into the crowd again, Vrad following.

A group of spacers stood up, leaving a booth empty and the two men slid into it. "What now?" Vrad asked.

Lando shrugged, taking another mouthful of beer, "We wait!" he told him. “From what I remember, I was always waiting in this damned town..."

"How long did you stay here?"

"Too long! I'd just..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "sold... the Falcon to Han Solo and it was the first place I was able to get passage to. Took me months to get off this ball of dust.... But," he grinned, "it wasn't all work and no play. Used to be a gambling club along the street. They had the most incredible dancer I have ever seen... legs that started at the floor and went on up to paradise, skin the colour of lyna petals, eyes the colour of the morning sky on Demska... and a bodyguard who'd break you in two if you looked at her the wrong way." He shook his head, remembering. "She was something, all right! Mated, unfortunately for the few I saw try, to the local gang boss... That was where I met most of the people who'll help us by noticing when we disappear. And if we've dropped enough hints, it shouldn't be too long before...."

A dark skinned woman in a leather jerkin and trousers slid into the booth beside Vrad, her companion joining Lando, pushing a blaster into the General's ribs, below the level of the table. Lando glanced down, then up at the woman, grip tightening round the glass of beer. The woman looked at him, "You've got a nerve showing your stinking carcass in here again, Calrissian."

Vrad hid a smile by suddenly having to scratch his nose. He watched Lando switch on the charm, giving the woman a wide grin, "Couldn't keep away from you MaeLym."

"Stow it, Slime-worm! It might have worked on my sister... once. It certainly won't work on me!" Lando said nothing. MaeLym shook her head, giving a short, cold laugh, "Aren't you even going to ask how she is, you cheating bag of slime?"

"I didn't cheat on her," Lando said evenly. "And I told her I had to leave... and why!"

"Sure, you told her. She found the note you left!" She shook her head, "You didn't even have the decency to tell her to her face!"

"I didn't have time... the ship was leaving..."

"Just like you are, right now!"

Lando shook his head, "I can't MaeLym," he told her calmly. "Things are different now..."

"You can, and you will! Before Shaela finds out you're back here!"

"MaeLym...."

"Ma'am," Vrad began, cutting him off. She turned her head, glaring at him. "Ma'am, I have no idea exactly what happened the last time my friend was here, but I'd be indebted if we could come to some arrangement. It's very important that we stay here for the next three days."

"Who," she asked, coldly, "the hell are you?"

"MaeLym Latann," Lando introduced, his voice low, "Luke Skywalker."

The woman glanced from Kelin: her partner, to Vrad then smiled without humour, "Charmed, I'm sure!" She turned her attention back to Calrissian, "You have until the midnight bell... then things will start to get nasty! You picked the wrong sisters to mess around!" She slid out of the booth, her partner following, both of them disappearing into the throng without looking back.

"Well that was a good start," Vrad said, sounding unconvinced, "I think..."

"Maybe..." Lando replied, staring into his beer, deep in thought. "Maybe not.... Wasn't exactly the re-union I'd planned."

Outside Kelin grabbed MaeLym's arm, pulling her to a stop, "Don't you think may not have been such a good idea?"

 She glared at him, not quite believing what he'd said, "What?"

"What you said back there!" He lowered his voice, leaning close to her, "If that's the same Skywalker that the Empire are anxious to get hold of, then Calrissian could be with the Rebellion. They don't scare easily! You could just have made yourself some serious trouble!"

She yanked her arm free of his grip. "Rebellion!" she seethed, quietly. "Don't make me laugh! All he's ever been concerned about is himself!"

"Mae, people change! You have, Shaela has, I have! You were what, twenty-three? Shaela nineteen?" He took her shoulders in his hands, "Mae, all they need is three days. Hell, if the Rebel Alliance is sending people here... then the Empire is on the way out. Give the man a chance.... if not for Calrissian, then for Skywalker."

She screwed her face up, squinting at him, crossing her arms, "Since when did you get all emotional about the Rebellion?"

He grinned, sheepishly, "Since I discovered that I didn't have the guts to get myself killed...." He jerked his head in the direction of the cantina, changing the subject, "So are you going back in?"

"Hells, no!" Then she relented, "I'll let them stew for a while, get them when they come out."

The amphitheatre was full. Rows of pilots sitting talking, joking in friendly rivalry, waiting. A paper aerofoil soared from the back, looping gracefully to crash, nose down, on top of an unsuspecting head. The woman retrieved it from the floor, tenderly smoothing out the dents in the nose as her wingman looked on, then turned. The aerofoil's creator sat with his arms folded, gazing up at the roof, pretending to whistle. She waited until he glanced at her, then launched it back. It fell slightly shy of its mark, slicing past an oblivious nose. Her wingman nudged her in the ribs and she turned back, a hush beginning to fall as group by group the pilots realised that the Commanding Officer of the Jade Fleet had finally arrived, followed by a man in uniform, minus insignia. The C.O. stepped up to the lectern, "Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention, please!"

The remaining murmur of voices fell to a complete silence, the attention of every pilot in the hall turning to her. "Thank you," she began, looking round the arrayed faces. "My apologies to those of you who have only just arrived. I know that your journeys have been long, and that you must be tired and in need of a good meal... but this briefing is important."

"Many of you will have heard rumours of the existence of a third Death Star. It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that those rumours are true." She paused, waiting for the commotion to die down a little, then rapped her hand on the lectern, bringing their attention quickly back to her. "You have been assembled here for, what will probably be, the most important offensive the Rebel Alliance has ever mounted against Imperial forces. Two of these space stations have already been destroyed, your mission is to aid in the destruction of this third threat!" The atmosphere thickened noticeably, enthusiasm tinged with trepidation. Pilots slid forward in their seats, concentration centred on the coming information as she turned, inviting, "Governor Madine?"

The lights dimmed slightly as she moved to the side, sitting down. Madine stepped up to the lectern, clearing his throat, remembering all too clearly the last time he'd stood in front of rows of pilots, briefing them on how to kill a Death Star. Shaking off the memory, he pressed a remote. A three dimensional line representation of the Death Star sprung into life between him and the pilots, rotating slowly in space.

"This is the first of only two briefings, ladies and gentlemen, and the last time you'll gather in one group to hear the over-all plan. So pay attention! In all probability, you will be there to cause a diversion and cover the escape of Rebel agents who will be inside the station itself." The hologram changed, showing a solid representation of a small freighter. "This ship will be carrying our agents. Familiarise yourself with it people, memorise it. Under no circumstances has this ship to be fired upon by any of you, and its protection is paramount! The cargo it will be carrying must reach us. At this moment in time I'm not at liberty to tell you the nature of the cargo. You will, however, be given that information at your final briefing." He paused for a moment, letting them look at the ship, letting the information sink in. Then the hologram changed again, returning to Death Star.

"If, however, things don't go to plan, it will be up to you to destroy the space station. X-wing and Y-wing flights listen up. Your target will be this small thermal exhaust port below the main port." The holographic perspective zoomed in towards the surface. "It's going to be a rough trip. The port is only two metres in diameter and only an exact hit will slip inside." A murmur swept across the hall. Madine ignored it, continuing, "To reach it you'll have to fly along the length of this trench. It's heavily defended, and you're not going to have a lot of room to manoeuvre. The only good points are that its a long, straight approach to the target and you'll have covering fire to take out not only Imperial fighters but also what we can of the surface defenses, giving you as trouble free a run as possible."

"That's where the rest of you come in. These guys are going to have their attention fully focused on not ramming into the sides of the trench, or each other. They do not want to be worrying about being picked off by TIEs. Initially stay back, take out the Imperials as they emerge from the station. Then you can get as close as you need to, to defend the wings lining up for the run."

"A-wings! Odds are that some of the TIEs will get through and follow our fighters into the trench. When you get the order, drop towards the surface and in behind the TIEs. Keep it in short, sharp, bursts. Once you've taken your target out, get out. If you fire more than five rounds, get out, let someone else have a go. A TIE could have you locked and loaded inside of five rounds."

"Sir," someone asked, "Why just us? The fire power of a frigate is far superior."

"Sure, son," another voice from the body of the hall answered, "but a ship the size of a frigate is a sitting duck for that thing. We saw that at Endor. Right, Sir?"

"Exactly," Madine confirmed. "The fire power of the Death Star is the same as about half the Imperial Fleet. Big ships can't manoeuvre fast enough. We proved at Yavin that small ships can get past their defenses, move too fast or their weapons to lock on and follow."

"Excuse me, Sir, but who'll be leading us in?"

"General Solo will, in the Millennium Falcon. He'll also be giving some of you the second briefing."

"What's the running order, Governor Madine?"

"Yet to be decided. That will be given to you at the second briefing. But I can tell you that the X-wings will be split into groups of three, as will the Y-wings. The rest of you will run in pairs. You'll be given your assigned places just before we leave to rendezvous with Admiral Ackbar's flagship at the jump off point." There was silence for a moment, then Madine told them, "Get some rest and something to eat. We'll be moving out within the next four hours." Madine ignored the grumble of surprise that washed through the hall as he looked to the C.O. who stood, motioning with her hand that he should continue. He turned back to the hall, "Dismissed!"

Yommo stepped into the Grand Moff's office. Anjouk turned, "Yes, Admiral?"

"Sir, we're getting some unusual reports from various listening posts. Rebel patrols seem to have gone out as usual, but not returned."

 Anjouk leaned forward, attention aroused, "What ships? How many?"

"The data indicates that over the past ten, fifteen hours, thirty of their usual surveillance patrols have been dispatched, that's approximately one hundred and twenty ships.... "

"In what sectors?"

"Straight across the board, Sir. Taking into account the places we have no evidence from.... there could be as many as two hundred and fifty: a substantial part of the Rebel fleet."

Anjouk frowned, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers against his lips, "What larger class ships have been mobilised?"

Yommo quirked an eyebrow, shrugging slightly, "That's the one unusual aspect, Sir. Only the small one man/two man ships are on the move. None of the frigates or carriers appear to have changed their usual position."

Anjouk's frown deepened. He pushed himself to his feet, striding across to the observation port, hand behind his back, deep in thought. What possible advantage could the Rebels hope to gain by sending only their small craft against a station of this size and power? True, Vader had informed the Emperor that only small ships had attacked the station at Yavin, but he had been unable to tell the Emperor exactly how the station had been destroyed... Assumptions had been made, leading to the introduction of the cloaked shielding around the exhaust ports. But the idea of anyone being able to drop explosives into a port only two metres wide, at the speed those ships had been travelling, was ridiculous. Finally he turned back towards Yommo, "It appears that we may be running out of time. Inform Major Daevith that we need the information from Antilles. I want the details of the destruction of Tarkin's station within the hour, if possible! He may use whatever force it takes.... if Antilles should die having given us the information, it is no longer of any consequence. The safety of this station is paramount! And if the Rebels are mobilising, I want a defence that will crush them."

Typical, bloody typical! Just her damned luck! The thunderstorm vented its wrath over the city. Rain pounded off the ground, running in tiny rivers along the edge of the road towards the drainage channels, people scurrying in each direction. MaeLym sheltered in a doorway across from the cantina, chewing on a candy bar, waiting for Calrissian and his buddy to finally leave the damned place. At last they appeared, pulling the hoods up on their waterproofs, moving off down the street. She darted between two landspeeders, splashing through the puddles after them. Pushing between them, taking another bite of candy, she asked, "You still here, Scuzzball?"

 Lando peered out from under the hood, sighing, "It isn't midnight yet!"

"Yeah, well, I've been thinking..." She stopped, pulling Vrad to a halt. "Is he with you," she asked quietly, stabbing in Lando's direction with the confectionery, "like part of the Rebellion, or are you using him as a means to an end?"

"General Calrissian and I are here to.... do some work," Vrad answered noncommittally.

She gave a low whistle, "General.... well I'll be damned. Never thought I'd see the day when you thought of anyone other than yourself, slimeball."

Lando regarded her from beneath the hood. There was unconcealed bitterness and sadness in his voice as he told her, "A run in with Lord Vader is enough to change anybody's mind. Made me see who my friends were."

She gave a short, sharp laugh, "Friends? What friends?" Before he could say anything she turned her attention back to Vrad, "You said you only needed three days?"

"Three days and we'll be out of your hair, MaeLym," the young man assured her.

"Well, then, you got your three days.... But only because I have no love for the Empire."

"Thank you, MaeLym."

"Just keep him out of my way," she said, starting to walk away. Despite her resolve to have nothing more to do with them, she hesitated after a few steps, running after them again with a sigh, "Wait!" They stopped, turning back towards her, "Look," she offered awkwardly as she reached them, "Skywalker, if there's anything I can do, I'd like to help. I meant what I said, I have no love for the Empire..."

Vrad glanced at Lando, who shrugged. Vrad smiled at her, "Call me Luke," he said, "And is there anywhere drier we can talk?"

Massaging his jaw lightly with one hand, Daevith rubbed a thumb across the healing wound on Antilles left arm, watching the delicate skin break and peel away. To his consternation the Rebel remained silent. Holding out his other hand to Fremen, he waited as the officer pulled his blaster free of the holster, dropping it, butt first, into the Major's hand. Daevith grasped it, thumbing it on, holding it millimetres away from the injury on Antilles other arm, "Now, Lieutenant-Colonel, you were about to tell me about the attack on the station at Yavin..."

Yommo wrinkled his nose in distaste at the stench as the door of the cell slid open, admitting him. Daevith turned away from the Rebel, displeasure quickly retreating from his face as he recognised the Admiral. Fremen and Nawe were already standing to attention, arms rigid at their sides, the Rebel momentarily forgotten. Daevith saluted, "Sir."

Yommo noted the Major's swollen, bruised mouth and jaw as he walked down the few steps into the cell, his gaze running across the body of the Rebel secured to the wall. Nausea rose into his throat and he swallowed it down, jerking his head towards the door, indicating that he wanted to talk outside. Daevith handed the blaster to Nawe before turning, following Yommo out of the cell.

The door closed, shutting off the pain and the terror. "I have come," Yommo began, "for a personal view of your progress with Antilles. We believe the Rebels may be mobilising. The Grand Moff wants the information about Tarkin's station within the hour!"
 
Daevith shook his head, "That won't be possible, Sir. The Lieutenant-Colonel is exceptionally... recalcitrant. Even to use the mind probe on him now would take time.... But given his current state," he admitted, "I believe we may be able to effectively use the probe soon. Please assure the Grand Moff that we are working as quickly as we can and that I will have the information as soon as possible." The Major smiled, "If the Grand Moff wishes, I have no objection to him inspecting our progress personally."

Yommo hid the distaste from his face, telling Daevith, "I will pass that information to the Grand Moff. I'm sure he will inform you of his intentions." He turned, leaving the Major to his duties, walking along the corridor towards the vacuum lift.

Leia prowled the corridors of the Che'Lan base, unable to settle. Her nervous wanderings had un-nerved Han and they'd argued.... Argued, when all she'd wanted was for him to put his arms round her, hold her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. And yet how could she blame him? She had been unable to find the words to tell him what was wrong, explain to him what she was feeling: because that would mean acknowledging that something had actually happened.

She'd successfully locked away the memories of her time on the Death Star, hidden them so deep within herself that she had thought them lost for ever. Even the nightmares had finally stopped. So when Han had told her that Wedge had been taken, and then when she'd been arguing the point with Luke, the true memories still hadn't been there. It had simply been the surface impressions, vague sensations, just as it had when she'd finally realised that Luke meant to hand himself over to Vader. And she had no idea why now, suddenly, Mothma's words should crack the defenses she had built up.... "Don't you think that I know what he's going through?" she had accused her brother. "I know better than anyone else here...." But in truth, she hadn't: because she'd buried those events too deep.

With the information that Lieutenant-Colonel Antilles can supply... Mothma's words haunted her. Or was it the thought of so many more worlds being destroyed as Alderaan had... The dark, evil image of Vader loomed in her mind, terrifying in its clarity after so long, overpowering her, draining her strength... And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base... She stumbled into the wall, leaning against it for support, pressing her fists against her forehead, hopelessly reaching for the Jedi meditation techniques, desperately fighting for calm. The image remained, paralysing her as the droid hovered ever closer.... And the agony: Gods, the agony.... But
she wouldn't tell him, couldn't tell him...

Vader.... her father. Only he hadn't known it, thought her a Princess of Alderaan... part of the Rebel Alliance... and a traitor Her legs gave way and she slid slowly down the wall to the floor, darkness filling her mind.

Then she felt a gentler, soothing presence. Luke...?

Someone was trying to ease her fists away from her face, the new presence in her mind telling her to let go. She relaxed, slightly, lifting her head, opening her eyes. Luke was kneeling beside her, his face troubled, concerned. And beside him, worried distress written in the tight line of his lips, the frown that creased his forehead... "Han!" she moaned, reaching for him.

Luke stood up, letting Han move in. The Corellian lifted her, murmuring gently and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly, not wanting to lose him again, head against his shoulder, fighting back the tears. He carried her along the corridor, Luke following behind, to the guest quarters. Setting her down, gently on a sofa, he knelt beside her, holding her.

She clung to him for a moment longer, then pulled back, looking at him. The bemused look of dread on his face brought home, once more, why she loved this man so completely and unconditionally... She leant forward, kissing him deeply, then rested her head against his shoulder, savouring the smell of him. He held her, running his fingers gently through her hair.

"Leia?" Luke questioned, softly.

She frowned, not moving, trying to sort the feelings into words. Then began, slowly, "On the Death Star.... before you arrived.... what happened... I.. I tried so hard to forget... to simply convince myself that it didn't happen.... But it did. And hiding it has only made things worse. Because I know exactly what Wedge is going through, right now. The terror, the pain, the doubt..." She sat up, looking from Luke to Han. She searched her lover's face, running the back of her fingers gently down his cheek. "I'm sorry... I couldn't tell you before. It was too.... painful.."

He captured her hand, pulling it to his chest, kissing her on the forehead. "But I can tell you now," she continued, "I have to." She looked back at Luke, "Because if I don't it's going to destroy me...."

MaeLym shovelled a forkful of food into her mouth. She looked at Vrad who had glanced at the clock. "What?" she asked, unable to hide the vicious streak in her tone, "You don't like my cooking?" Kelin shot her a warning look.

"No, it's wonderful," Vrad answered, fork poised, "but Lando's been gone a while...."

"Probably squandering your funds in the casino..." Mae began. Kelin kicked her under the table. "What?" she demanded, glaring at him, "I'm telling it as I see it!"

"Quit grousing," he shot back, "You're ruining my dinner." He turned to Vrad, "You must excuse my wife, Luke..."

Mae brandished the fork at him, "Don't make excuses for me...” The front door opened and they looked round, Lando appearing from the hall.

"Change of plan, Luke," he told the younger man, his voice tight with dismayed irritation, "Bouush is here?"

Vrad looked at him in alarm, "Since when?"

"Arrived before we did. Must just have been luck...." Calrissian didn't sound convinced. Mae looked from Lando, to Vrad, back to Lando. "But our contact won't be here until tomorrow!" Vrad was saying, his voice dark with concern.

"Who's Bouush?" Kelin asked, unable to miss the anxiety evident on both Rebel's faces.

"Bounty hunter who's after Luke. We thought we'd given him the slip..."

Vrad pushed back his chair, pulling the waterproof from over the back as he stood up. "You can stay here," Kelin offered glancing across at Mae, who nodded quickly.

But the blond Rebel shook his head. "Thank you. It's appreciated. But we'd only be putting you in danger... and if we can get a hold of our contact, he might be able to make it sooner." He moved with Lando towards the front door, pulling the waterproof over his head. Mae rose with Kelin, following them. “Look," Luke told them as Lando pressed the door release, "Thanks for....."

A humanoid figure pushed through the opening door, rifle against its shoulder, shoving Lando backwards with a foot against his chest. Mae watched in paralysed horror as Calrissian lost his footing, crashing against the wall. The rifle swung round towards Kelin. There was no sound, but her husband stumbled backwards, tumbling unconscious to the floor as the stun charge hit him. She saw Luke turn, start to move, then something thudded against her chest, pushing her backwards. The last thing she saw before she hit the floor was Lando leaping for the bounty hunter as he turned the rifle on Luke.

The message had arrived: Lando's kidnap scenario on Demerin had swung into action. The foundation laid, Lando and Luke had disappeared, and Bouush’s ship had just blasted off Ffonsim. Han and Luke raced across the hanger towards the Millennium Falcon, Luke signalling to Jomanock and Gabhaan. The Falcon's ramp was already lifting as they ran inside. The two fighter pilots didn't bother to acknowledge, turning instead to their ground crews warning them that they were ready to go, canopies hissing closed.

Han stopped dead as he hit the flight deck, seeing Chewbacca's new colouring for the first time. Blinking away the initial shock, he slid into the seat, his partner already half way through the start procedures. "Nice paint job, Buddy," he quipped.

Chewbacca ignored him, the Falcon thrumming into life around them as the engines kicked in. Han finished his checks, pulling the headset on. "Control, this is the Falcon. Ready to lift."

"Falcon, control. Standby. Falcon consort, report."

"Control, Falcon consort, we'll be ready to lift in one minute," Jomanock told the Controller.

"Roger consort. Break. Falcon, lift at your discretion. You are number one."

"Roger, control. Lifting now."

The freighter eased off the ground, hovered for a moment above the deck, landing gear retracting, then Han slid her gently forward, swinging her round towards the mouth of the hanger. Stationary ships slipped past as he eased the Falcon out. Then they were free of the hanger, accelerating upwards. Lilac sky darkened slowly to black as they reached the outer atmosphere and headed towards the first jump point, the two X-wings close behind.

Chewbacca turned, and Han noticed for the first time the "scar" that ran from the centre of his forehead, down across his right eye. Chewbacca laughed softly at the look on Solo's face. Reaching into a pocket of the steel utility belt he now wore slung across his shoulder, he pulled out a patch, slipping it over his head and into place across his "injured" eye.

Han grinned, "You've looked better!"

Checking the co-ordinates again, Han finally locked them into the computer. Jomanock? Gabhaan? You set?"

"Aye, Sir!" Gabhaan responded.

"Ready when you are, Falcon!"

Han grinned, "Then let's do it!" The Falcon accelerated smoothly into hyperspace. He heard movement in the doorway and turned, giving Leia's Bouush attire an appreciative, low wolf whistle, quirking an eyebrow, "I'd forgotten how sexy you looked in that!"

Matching the raised eyebrow as he stood, moving towards her, she asked, "Weren't you blind the last time I wore this?"

Pushing away the ache that lodged deep inside him, trying not to think about this being the last time they might ever be together if things went wrong, he gave her a cheekily seductive smile, snaking his arm round her waist. "Oh..." he said as if suddenly remembering, "Yeah!" Drawing her towards him, he bent his head, kissing her. She wrapped her arms around him, curling her fingers through his hair. Finally they broke away, clinging to one other for a moment longer, looking at each other. She smiled, brushing her hand across his cheek and he captured it, pulling it close to his chest.

Antilles had eventually passed out again. The binders retracted, Fremen and Nawe catching the Lieutenant-Colonel, lowering him to the floor. And Daevith smiled.

The Rebel was finally in a fit state to succumb to the mind probe: all the signs were there, he had seen them countless times before. It had just never, previously, taken him this long to tame a Rebel. Usually they were singing by the end of the second day. But now, at last, he was so close to breaking Antilles that he could almost taste the success. And this time there was no doubt!

He turned to Fremen, "Get the medi-droid, we need Antilles conscious. And summon one of the interrogation droids." As the Lieutenant obeyed, Daevith told Nawe, "Inform Admiral Yommo that we will have the information the Grand Moff requires, within the hour." Nawe turned, marching out of the cell and Daevith was left alone with Antilles.

He opened his mouth, gently probing the tender, swollen flesh of his jaw and lip with his fingers, looking down at the dark-haired man's inert body. Antilles had been difficult. The Rebel had taken so much, endured the interrogation. The cracks were certainly there, but in all, he had remained intact. And now he would break.... but only because of a drug: the Mind Probe. And that was a sour taste in Daevith's mouth. The knowledge that he had been unable to thwart the essence of the Lieutenant angered him, dented his pride. And yet, now that it was almost over he found himself experiencing.... remorse. No, not quite: it was more akin to regret. But the emotion still baffled him.

The two X-wings dropped into normal space first, both pilots immediately scanning the area, finding nothing untoward. Moments later, the Falcon dropped into existence. "Conditions normal," Jomanock reported to Solo.

"That's what I like to hear," Han told him. "Now we just wait for Lando.."

As if on cue another battered ship dropped out of hyperspace, running in towards the Falcon and her escort. "Han, you old space bum, what have you done to my ship now?"

Behind Han, Leia shook her head as the Corellian grinned, "What do you mean ship, you pirate?" he quipped. Then asked, "Is that rust bucket you're flying ready to dock?"

"Ready as it'll ever be."

Jomanock watched, one eye on the sensor readings, the other eye on the two freighters as they slowly pirouetted, easing gently towards each other.

With a low thump the docking clamps engaged, Luke moving back through the Falcon towards the upper hatch. The elevator lifted him slowly up, the hatch twisting open. He looked up into the smiling face of Vrad. "You must be Skywalker," Luke grinned.

Vrad laughed, "Nice to see you again, Colonel." He moved back, out of the way as Skywalker stepped up into the ship.

"Which makes you the Bounty Hunter," Luke acknowledged the slender young woman standing behind Vrad, still in the Bouush costume.

 Medith smiled, "In person, Sir."

"Everything go okay?" Luke asked them.

"Better than we could have planned," Lando said, appearing out of the flight deck, walking along the cabin towards him, "but I'll fill you in later." There was a burble of indignation from the floor. They looked down to see Artoo's domed head appearing in the hatch. All four dropped to their knees around the little droid, lifting him the few inches from the lift into the ship. He rolled a little way down the cabin, then stopped, beeping excitedly as he saw the gold shape of Threepio. "Artoo!" Luke warned, "Threepio knows nothing! And he's not to be told anything." The droid sighed, rolling towards the other unit.

"Everything as it should be?"

"Sure is. The concealed compartment is beneath the floor of the cell, big enough for three people, as requested. Operated from a remote switch in the roof over there," Lando turned pointing at the ceiling. The lift was humming again and Leia slowly appeared with Chewbacca, a bag slung over her shoulder. The Princess smiled, reaching out to give Lando a quick hug of greeting, then turned to Vrad and the young woman. "General Solo's waiting to go, if you're both ready?" They nodded. She stepped forward, shaking their hands, "Thank you for your help."

"It was a pleasure, Ma'am," the young woman said.

"Likewise, Ma'am."

Lando also offered his hand, shaking theirs. "You guys did good," he assured them.

"It was fun, Sir," Medith smiled. Then blushed slightly as Lando grimaced, rubbing at his chest where she had kicked him.

"Yeah..." he said, not sounding to sure.

She turned, picking up the mask, leaving the rifle on the seat. Then stepping down onto the lift beside Vrad, descending slowly through the hatch into the Falcon. Lando waited, ensuring the hatch was sealed before walking towards the flight deck, Luke and Leia following. Chewbacca was already sitting in the co-pilot's seat.

"Once we get under way," Lando told them, sliding into the other seat, "I'll show you how things work and where they are." He picked up a hand mike, "Han, old buddy, you ready to disengage?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Jomanock dropped out of hyperspace, running in towards the sleek, white bulk of Admiral Ackbar's frigate, Command Ship of the Rebel Alliance fleet: giving an appreciative low whistle at her elegant lines, never having seen her before. "Narasann, this is Falcon Escort."

"Falcon Escort, Narasann, show ident!"

Jomanock punched a key on the computer, sending out a code that would identify his fighter on the Narasann's screen, differentiating him from the other small ships that he could see, "Ident coming your way now, Narasann."

There was a moment's pause, broken by Han Solo's voice, "Narasann, this is the Falcon, cruising in behind our escort."

"Identified," the Controller told them, "Falcon escort, route direct to hanger bay Five, midships. Falcon, follow them in."

"Hanger bay five, midships for the Falcon escort," Jomanock acknowledged, hearing Solo also repeating his instructions.

Medith gazed out of the Falcon's flight deck, pulling absently at the collar of her bounty hunter's gear. "That's a lot of ships," Vrad commented from behind Solo. The General grunted noncommittally.

"Something big must be going down..." Medith murmured. "Something real big." As she watched, another four ship flight of A-wings appeared, reporting in. "She's going to be crammed pretty full..."

 Han said nothing.

Finally they were gliding in through the mouth of the hanger, marshallers running out onto the floor to guide the X-wings and the Falcon in. Medith concentrated on Solo, watching what he was doing as he eased the Falcon round, following the marshallers instruction, settling the freighter gently on the floor of the hanger. Vrad stood up as Solo began the shutdown procedures, moving out of the flight deck. Medith rose slowly, lingering for a moment.

Finally she plucked up the courage, "General, I don't know what's going on. It may or may not involve the little charade we played out in Demerin." He turned to look at her and she swallowed, trying again, "I'm ground crew with Jade fleet. I'm an engineer at heart... but my family haul cargo for a living. I crewed one of their freighters for a season before going to college..." She took a deep breath, her mouth suddenly dry as he continued to look at her, "I..."

Vrad appeared in the door and she lost her nerve. Solo turned back to the console, finishing the shut-down procedures. "My co-pilot just transferred to General Calrissian's ship," he told her, stabbing at a switch with his finger, turning back towards her. "Think you can handle it?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed, a grin slowly spreading across her lips, "Yes, Sir!"

"I'll be giving a briefing in about an hour. Find out where it is and be there."