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  “Oh my—those orders are certainly going to interfere with our duties,” C-3PO said. “Perhaps if I apologize—”

  “Don’t even think about it, Codejob.” Han smiled and winked at Allana, then added, “This game is just getting started.”

  He activated the tactical display and winced—as he always did—at the dense field of yellow FIXED FACILITY designators that immediately popped into view. There were so many stations, platforms, and habitats floating around Coruscant’s satellite shell that piloting a starship through the orbital layers was only slightly less nerve-racking than navigating a speeder across the Big Snarl at the height of Crash Hour.

  An instant later vessel transponder codes began to appear between the facility designators, all in “friendly blue” since the Falcon was not involved in an armed conflict with anyone. Without a control ship to coordinate and pass along a constant stream of situation reports, R2-D2 could only access the data from the Falcon’s own sensor arrays, which made the tactical picture necessarily incomplete. But the display already showed dozens of civilian codes scrambling to clear the area, and Han spotted a new Nargi-class pursuit frigate moving to cut off the Falcon’s escape route.

  A new voice, this one sharper and more insistent, came over the comm speakers. “Light freighter Longshot, this is the Galactic Alliance pursuit frigate Fast Death. Respond immediately, or we will take measures to ensure that you do.”

  Han ignored the challenge and continued to climb. A massive KDY orbital defense platform flashed past to port as the Falcon entered the planet’s satellite shell. Han studied the display until he found a huge wheel station orbiting nearby, then swung onto a course that put the facility between him and the Fast Death.

  The voice returned. “Longshot, your evasive action has been noted. We are now declaring you a suspect vessel in flight. If you continue on this course, we will apprehend you forcibly.”

  “Then stop talking about it and do something,” Han groused.

  The Fast Death vanished from the display as the huge wheel station drifted into a direct line between the Falcon and the frigate. Han queried the designator code. To his delight, the station was listed as PharmCom Orbital Processing Plant One. Pharmaceutical production facilities were usually several kilometers across, more than large enough for his purposes. All he had to do was hide behind the station until the Fast Death came around one side looking for him, then he’d blow ions out the other.

  Unfortunately, the Fast Deaths skipper had a better idea. As the processing plant began to swell in the Falcon’s forward canopy—a huge durasteel web of white rings held together by dozens of glittering yellow spokes—R2-D2 let out a series of contact tweedles. Han turned his attention back to the tactical display. Swarming past the station’s rim were a dozen XJ5 ChaseX starfighters. And they were probably all equipped with the latest in ship-disabling System Burner ion torpedoes.

  “Blast and double blast!” Han growled. “He’s not falling for it.”

  “Uh-oh,” Allana said. “Does that mean I should ask Grandma for the backup plan?”

  Han shook his head. “Not yet, sweetie. We still have a few tricks up our sleeves.”

  Han rolled the Falcon into a wingover, and suddenly it was not the wheel station swelling in front of them, but the hazy yellow disk of Coruscant’s day side.

  “That’s trick number one,” Han said. “Now, why don’t you pick out a new transponder name for us?”

  “Any name I want?”

  “As long as it’s on the list,” Han said.

  “Affirmative, Grandpa.” Allana began to scroll through the possibilities, her little boots kicking the air in excitement, then she announced, “Got it!”

  “Go ahead and send it to Artoo,” Han said, swinging toward the gleaming canister of a luxury habitat complex. “And tell him to switch over in three, two …”

  The habitat’s apparent size swelled up so quickly that even Han thought he might crash into it. The facility’s automated shielding system began to broadcast an emergency message, warning him to decelerate or change course. He did neither. When they were close enough to see startled faces staring out the viewports, he pushed the yoke down and dived underneath the habitat.

  An instant later Han pulled back up on the other side of the station and finished the count, “… one.”

  R2-D2 gave an acknowledging tweedle. By then, the planet itself was coming up so fast that Han had no time to check the display to see the Falcon’s new name. He rolled the upper hull toward the ChaseXs and began to flee toward the far side of the planet.

  When Han did check the tactical display, his heart fell. The ChaseXs were still hot on his tail, and closing quick. But the Fast Death remained on station, hanging back with no apparent concern about keeping the Falcon in tractor beam range.

  “Bloah!” He slammed a palm against the yoke. “They’ve got another one.”

  “Another what?” Allana’s voice was small and frightened.

  Han immediately regretted his outburst, and explained in a gentler voice, “Another frigate, kiddo. That’s why the Fast Death isn’t following us.”

  “Now is it time to ask Grandma about the backup plan?”

  Han had to bite back an irritated reply. “Not yet, sweetie. Grandpa just needs to raise the stakes, that’s all.”

  Allana’s eyes grew curious, but before she could ask Han to explain, a scratchy new voice came over the cockpit speaker. “You’re not fooling anyone, Star Princess. We know who you are.”

  Han grimaced and glanced over at Allana. “You picked Star Princess?”

  “You said to pick any name I wanted,” she reminded him. “And Star Princess is pretty.”

  “I think it’s a very wise choice, Mistress Allana,” C-3PO said. “Statistical analysis shows that the planetary patrols are thirty-four percent less likely to open fire on vessels with endearing names.”

  Allana shot Han a triumphant smile, but before she could gloat, the scratchy voice began to threaten them from the comm speaker again.

  “This is your last warning, Star Princess … or whatever you want to call yourself—Captain Solo.”

  R2-D2 gave a warning whistle, and the Falcon’s lock alarms suddenly shrieked to life.

  “Heave to,” the voice ordered, “or that tub won’t have a working circuit left.”

  “The savage!” C-3PO gasped. “I don’t think we have any choice, Captain Solo. If you don’t do as he orders, Artoo and I will be—”

  “Not happening in this lifetime, Threepio.” Han glanced over at Allana. “Do you think you can still find Saba in the Force, or should I have Wilyem—”

  “I’m the copilot!” Allana informed him. “I can find her.”

  “Then do it.” Han turned his attention back to the tactical display. The second frigate had shown up dead ahead—and the ChaseXs were driving them right toward it. “And tell Saba sooner is better.”

  Allana frowned. “I can’t tell her anything, Grandpa. The Force isn’t a comlink.” She closed her eyes and began to concentrate. “After living with Grandma so long, you really should know that by now.”

  Han smiled. “You’d think.” He activated his intercom microphone, then said, “Dordi, Zal, time to bluff. Bring up your guns and targeting computers.”

  “Can we shoot?” Zal asked—or maybe it was Dordi—Han couldn’t tell.

  “No, you can’t shoot!” Han snapped. “What are you, crazy? I’ve got Amelia on board!”

  “So she getz to do all the shooting?” Dordi—or maybe it was Zal—asked.

  “Nobody gets to shoot,” Han retorted. “Well, except Wilyem. But not until I say so …and you can’t hit anything. Clear?”

  “Of course I can hit something,” Wilyem rasped back. “I’m a Jedi.” A chorus of sissing broke over the intercom speaker.

  Before Han could snap at the Barabels to get serious, the voice of a very irritated task force commander came over the flight deck speaker.

  “Quick End command to
the Star Princess—or whatever you’re calling yourself at the moment. Have you lost your kriffing mind, Solo?”

  Scowling at the foul language, Han looked over and motioned Allana to cover her ears.

  “This isn’t funny anymore, Captain,” the commander continued. “My sensor officers tell me you’re powering up your laser cannons. And we keep getting lock alarms. If I hear that your missile bays …”

  The commander’s threat was drowned out by the startled cries of a dozen ChaseX pilots—a mixture of cursing and status declarations. “Lock, lock!” “Someone’s on my six!”

  “What the blazes?” cried a starfighter pilot. “We’ve got …break, break, break! Stealths!”

  In the instant of silence that followed, Han activated his intercom again. “When you’re ready, Wilyem,” he said calmly. “And don’t—”

  “—hit anything. This one—”

  The Barabel’s reassurance was cut off as the task force commander’s furious voice came over the flight deck speakers again.

  “Captain Solo, please tell me that those Jedi StealthXs did not just target Bolt Squadron.”

  Han checked the tactical display and saw that the StealthX gambit had done its job. The Fast Death was finally moving off station, accelerating past the PharmCom wheel station to provide cover for its starfighter squadron. At last, the time had come to stop pushing. Han opened his own comm channel.

  “StealthXs?” He looked over at Allana and winked. Then he signaled her to reach for Leia in the Force by pinching his eyes shut and miming the ignition of a lightsaber. “What StealthXs, Commander? The only starfighters around here are your—”

  The flight deck lock alarms suddenly began to wail again. Then the Falcon bucked sharply as a much-weakened proton torpedo—the one Wilyem had just dumped out the aft loading bay—detonated a couple of kilometers off their stern. Holding the yoke with one hand and scratching his comm microphone with the other, Han immediately put the Falcon on a corkscrewing course for the Quick End. Trailing out of the modified escape pod bay in the Falcon’s aft, he knew, would be long tails of flame and atmosphere. To sensors and naked eyes alike, the trail would look like the Falcon had suffered a catastrophic hull breach.

  “Solo!” the commander bellowed. “What the blazes just happened?”

  “You tell me!” Han shot back. He opened the emergency channel, then continued, “One of your clowns just put a proton torpedo into our stern! This is the Millennium Falcon declaring out-of-control emergency!”

  Declaring a false emergency was, of course, just the sort of thing no good spacecraft pilot ever did. At every rescue station on this side of the planet, crews would be scrambling and tractor ships cold-firing their ion engines. But as far as Han was concerned, getting Bazel and the other barvy Jedi Knights safely off Coruscant was an emergency—and Daala had left them no other choice.

  Even so, the task force commander clearly remained suspicious—even as the Falcon continued to corkscrew toward him. The double-nosed needle of the Quick End’s sleek blue hull was already the size of a finger in the forward canopy, and still the vessel showed no sign of moving.

  Han looked over and found Allana’s gray eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. Her mouth was hanging open and, though she was trying not to show her fear, he could tell by her pale cheeks that she thought they were probably going to crash.

  And what if they did? Han would never be able to forgive himself. But his job now was to stay on course …and help her learn. He closed the comm channel for a moment, then spoke to her in his best no-big-deal voice.

  “That’s a pretty tough guy, huh?”

  Allana nodded. “Is he going to let us ram him?”

  “I don’t know,” Han said. “What do you think?”

  She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Who can tell?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to have to find out who he is, aren’t we?”

  Allana studied the spinning shape outside the viewport for a moment longer, watching in silence as at it grew to the length of a Wookiee’s arm, then finally tore her gaze away and looked over.

  “We are?” she asked.

  “You bet,” Han said, giving her a dip of the head that was more confident than he felt. “A guy like that, you don’t want to bluff twice.”

  Han opened the emergency channel again, then began to scream into the microphone. “Quick End, clear us a lane! We’re out of control! I say again, clear, clear, clear!”

  By now the frigate was as long as a Wookiee was tall, its ends vanishing from sight each time they spun below the Falcon‘s control console. But the commander sounded as cool as a wampa when he replied.

  “Solo, this smacks of a trick,” he said. “If you think—”

  “Trick?” Han yelled. “You think I’d pull something this crazy with Amelia on board?”

  “Your daughter’s on board?” The commander paused for a moment. Like most of the galaxy, he had no idea of Allana’s true identity, believing Allana to be Amelia, the Solos’ adopted daughter. “Surely, you don’t expect me to—”

  Allana opened her mouth and, taking a cue as well as her grandmother, let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Daddy! We’re doomed!”

  “I’m glad you said it, Mistress Amelia!” C-3PO added. “Captain Solo always trips my—”

  “Oh, blast!” the commander cursed, speaking over C-3PO. “Hold on, we’re moving.”

  The frigate was, indeed, drifting out of their path—and not a moment too soon. The Falcon passed less than a hundred meters behind the vessel, so close that the wash from its big Slayn & Korpil ion drives sent the transport flipping away from the planet in a true out-of-control spin.

  Allana let out another scream, this one even more convincing than the last, and C-3PO began to preach their doom again. Han merely clenched his teeth. Determined not to let Allana’s lessons start becoming too memorable, he bit back a string of curses as he fought to bring the vessel back under control.

  “It’s going to take a few minutes to catch you on your present trajectory,” the commander announced. “But you’re going to be fine, I promise. We’re already preparing to deploy our rescue skiffs.”

  “Uh, thanks …”

  Han brought the yoke to center and began to ease the vector plates into a neutral position, then glanced over to find Allana settled back into her seat, looking over at him with a big grin on her face. He mouthed the word, Grandma? She gave him two big thumbs-up, and Han began to bring the Falcon out of her corkscrewing spin.

  “We appreciate the help,” Han commed. “But it looks like our damage-control team is bringing things under control.”

  “Your damage-control …?”

  The commander trailed off, leaving his question to hang.

  Han waited a moment for him to continue, then shrugged at his comm unit and began to adjust his jump calculations for the rendezvous with Leia.

  A few seconds later, the nav computer beeped its readiness, and the commander said, “Before you go, Captain Solo, I’d like to ask you a question.”

  “Sure,” Han said. He swung the Falcon around to the proper bearing and began to accelerate toward jump speed. “Ask away.”

  “You don’t have any of the Jedi patients aboard, do you?”

  “With Amelia aboard?” Han retorted. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “In all honesty, Captain Solo,” the commander said, “the thought has crossed my mind.”

  “I’ll bet.” Han grinned. “But in all honesty, they’re not aboard. I’m just taking my daughter for a little joyride.”

  “She must be quite the thrill seeker,” the commander replied. “I trust she’s had her fill of excitement for the day?”

  Han glanced over at Allana, who gave an emphatic nod. “I think so,” he reported. “Listen, I’ve got to go, but do you mind if I ask you a question first?”

  “Feel free to ask.”

  Han glanced over at Allana and winked. “Who are you?”

  The commander
considered the question so long that Han was beginning to think he was stalling, still searching for some way to turn the situation around.

  Then, finally, he asked, “Why do you want to know?”

  “No big deal,” Han said. “I just want to know where to send the thank-you note.”

  The commander was not amused. “Why don’t you wait and give it to me in person?” he replied coldly. “We’ll be meeting again soon, Captain Solo. Of that, I’m quite certain.”

  The comm speaker fell silent, leaving Han with the impression that he had just added another entry to his long list of enemies. It was kind of a good feeling, knowing that he was still young enough to make them. He shrugged, then looked over at Allana.

  “How’s your grandmother doing?” he asked.

  “She’s on her way,” Allana reported. “Time to head for Shedu Maad.”

  Han smiled, then glanced back at R2-D2. “Are those jump coordinates ready?”

  The droid answered with an affirmative whistle.

  “Good,” Han said. He turned back to Allana, then nodded at the controls. “You do the honors, kid.”

  Allana’s eyes grew big, and she leaned forward to push the lever forward. This time, the hyperdrive worked perfectly, and stars stretched into lines.

  AHRI RAAS WOULD HAVE TO DIE, AND IT WAS GOING TO BREAK VESTARA’S heart to kill him.

  He had been lying next to her all morning, in their usual place on the river beach, and not once had he looked in her direction. Considering what she wasn’t wearing—and how hard he had been trying since yesterday to behave naturally—his attitude told her everything she needed to know. Yuvar Xal was going to make a move against Lady Rhea—and it would be soon.

  The battle was going to be a terrible waste, of course. Only fifteen members of the Eternal Crusader’s crew remained alive, and even a short power struggle would reduce that number by half. There wouldn’t even be enough survivors to need a leader. But the planet’s jungle of being-eating plants had devoured Lady Rhea’s stature as surely as it had the expedition itself. Xal was finally within reach of deposing her, and when Sith saw a weakness, they pounced. They were like fangflowers that way, always thirsting for a kill.