Heir To The Empire Read Online Free PDF Page A

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.
    Han gave himself a three-count before turning casually to face the voice. “Well, hello, Dravis,” he nodded. “Long time no see. Have a seat.”
    “Sure,” Dravis said with a grin. “Soon as you and Chewie both put your hands on the table.”
    Han gave him an injured look. “Oh, come on,” he said, reaching up to cradle his mug with both hands. “You think I’d invite you all the way here just to shoot at you? We’re old buddies, remember?”
    “Sure we are,” Dravis said, throwing Chewbacca an appraising glance as he sat down. “Or at least we used to be. But I hear you’ve gone respectable.”
    Han shrugged eloquently. “Respectable’s such a vague word.
    Dravis cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, well, then let’s be specific,” he said sardonically. “I hear you joined the Rebel Alliance, got made a general, married a former Alderaanian princess, and got yourself a set of twins on the way.”
    Han waved a self-deprecating hand. “Actually, I resigned the general part a few months back.”
    Dravis