Star Wars Journal - Captive to Evil by Princess Leia Organa Read online

  Han Solo has refused to participate in the ceremony. Luke tried to talk him into it, but it didn’t do any good. So Luke came to me. He asked me to try. “Use your diplomatic skills,” he said.

  I told him that I’d rather use my blaster. But I really said it out of habit. The truth is, if I didn’t think the rat would torment me, I’d give Han Solo a big, fat kiss for coming back.

  I summoned Han to my chamber. As soon as he entered, he gave me a mocking bow and told me that he had come according to my “royal command.”

  He was trying to rile me, but I wasn’t about to be baited. I had mapped out my strategy. I would stay perfectly calm. I wouldn’t resort to insults and taunts.

  I urged him to reconsider his decision. At great personal risk, he had returned to fight. He had acted bravely and unselfishly. And I didn’t add the for once. See what a diplomat I can be?

  It was all in a day’s work, Han replied with a shrug. He blasted a few Imperial ships. No big deal. He’d done it before.

  No big deal? I felt my temper rise. I pointed out acidly that he could always pawn the medal for cash.

  Han didn’t even bristle at my swipe. He remarked mildly that he’d rather pass on the pageantry. All that swank meant less than the rump of a womp rat, I think was his elegant phrase. Well, he would know.

  I could feel irritation ticking away inside me, but I made another effort.

  Okay, I said. You might be a far cry from noble. But the least you can do is recognize it when it knocks on that thick skull of yours. This is a ceremony for all of the men who fought. Not just you.

  That’s when he surprised me. He told me the real reason he refused to attend. The ones who deserved medals, he said, were the ones who didn’t make it back.

  That stopped me. I just didn’t expect such a… generous sentiment from Han Solo. My anger left me in a rush. Now, I spoke to him as a comrade. Because even if he doesn’t want to be, he is. No matter how he tries to wiggle out of it. So I told him what was in my heart.

  The Rebellion has many heroes. But we have many battles. More men and women will die. And by honoring Han’s service, and Luke’s, we honor everyone who fought. It means something to the Rebel forces to have a ceremony, to stand in the throne room and see what they’re fighting for. All the structures of the Republic—councils and committees and ceremonies—have been banned by the Imperials. We have to keep our traditions alive. It’s part of our struggle.

  “That kind of thing always gave me the willies,” Han said with a shrug. “I don’t belong here, sister. I’m a pirate, not a hero.”

  But we’re all outlaws here. We’re Senators without a Senate. We’re renegade soldiers. Disgraced diplomats. And according to the Imperials, we’re a band of traitors.

  “I’m a princess without a planet, remember?” I said. “So consider yourself among friends.”

  Then he smiled at me in a way I usually find irritating. Somehow, I didn’t mind this time. One corner of his mouth lifted, as though to smile all the way would commit him too much. He took a step toward me.

  He was closer to me than I liked. “Friends?” he said. “Then shake my hand, Leia.”

  I gave his hand a good, firm shake. He held on. I tried to twist away, but his grip is powerful. He ran his fingers along the callouses I’ve developed. My hand isn’t the hand of a princess anymore.

  Then he had the nerve to tell me that he knew all along that I’d come around.

  All my irritation surged back. I snatched back my hand. One of these days, that man is going to swagger his way right into my fist.

  I dismissed him. I told him I would expect to see him at the ceremony that afternoon.

  Naturally, he couldn’t resist a parting shot: “For a princess without a planet, you’re awful free with the orders.”

  I fixed him with my best regal look. “That’s because I’m so good at giving them,” I said.

  I never quite feel that I’ve gotten the better of Han Solo. I hate that. But at least I got the last word.

  SEVENTEENTH ENTRY

  LOCATION: THRONE ROOM

  ANNEX/MASSASSI OUTPOST

  Han attended the ceremony. Until the last moment, I wasn’t sure he’d show up. I masked my relief when he appeared, side by side with Luke and Chewbacca. The three of them walked toward me, down the center aisle past all our troops. It was a proud moment.

  I was flanked by Willard, Dodonna, and the Rebel senators. A refurbished and shining Artoo was on the dais, along with a buffed and proud Threepio.

  As I presented the medals, I felt that strange current again. This time, it ran among all of us.

  I got that sensation of some deep knowledge that’s just beyond my grasp. Something I don’t understand.

  Trust it, a voice said. So I will.

  I started this account thinking that it would be a useful record of Rebel strategy in case I was captured or killed. Now it appears that I’ll survive—for a while, at least.

  I could destroy it. After all, the Death Star has been blown to bits. But now, my reasons for keeping it have changed. I want to remember every detail—good and bad. Someday, if the Force is willing, I’ll have some time to reflect.

  And I want Alderaan to be remembered.

  The future? Now, the strategy sessions will begin. All of our skills will come into play. Luke’s abilities as a pilot will be tested again. I’ll have more diplomatic missions to recruit more underground Rebel factions to join us. The more planets we can infiltrate, the stronger we will grow. Even though the destruction of the Death Star was a great victory, we all know that the Empire will strike back harshly. It won’t rest, but neither will the Rebellion.

  Already, Threepio has asked for some safe, diplomatic posting, as long as Artoo is along. But if Threepio craves safety, he’s in the wrong universe. Until the Imperials are conquered, no one is secure.

  Luke and I have the same feeling about Darth Vader—he isn’t dead. We’ll tangle with him again. And somehow, I suspect Han will be involved in our struggle. No matter how much he claims that he can’t wait to take off.

  At the banquet after the ceremony, the three of us sat together. We watched the party for a moment—everyone eating, drinking, laughing.

  “Sure, everybody’s happy now,” Han said. “But one day, Princess, this battle with the Death Star could seem like a walk in a space park.”

  I hate to admit it. But I know he’s right.

  “I’m ready for whatever comes,” Luke said.

  I turned. Our eyes met. I saw a familiar determination in his gaze. My own determination. We have both lost everything we knew, everyone we loved, to the Imperials. Luke and I are very much the same.

  Which means that maybe I’m not as alone as I thought.

  “I’m ready, too,” I said.

  And may the Force be with us.

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