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  They stopped in front of tank three, where a badly wounded woman of at least thirty years of age was floating inside. She was several centimeters taller than Leia and well muscled, and though there was something vaguely familiar about her face, she bore no resemblance at all to either Han or Leia. Most telling of all, her head was surrounded by a cloud of silky hair; like Leia, Jaina had left hers in a decontamination lock on Duro.

  Leia craned her neck, checking the other tanks for an occupant that could be her daughter. There was none; only a Selonian with an amputated tail.

  “This is Jaina?” Sal-Solo asked, clearly as doubtful as Leia herself. “She’s a little old to be your daughter, Han.”

  “She’s been flying for Rogue Squadron,” Han said. “You’d be surprised how space combat ages a girl.”

  And Leia finally understood. For some reason she did not yet know, Han and Dr. Nimbi were trying to get this woman off Corellia. Jaina was not there at all; none of her children were. Leia should have been relieved, but instead she felt let down and desperately alone.

  “… that right, Leia?” Han was asking.

  “Yes, of course,” Leia answered, with no idea whatsoever what she was agreeing to. “That’s true.”

  Han nodded assertively. “You see?”

  “Does space combat also change eye color?” the nurse asked, studying the data display attached to the mystery woman’s tank. “I seem to recall that Jaina’s eyes are brown, like her mother’s. This patient’s are listed as green.”

  “Cosmetic tinting,” Leia explained. Even if her heart was not in it, she knew what Han needed from her. “To make her harder to identify.”

  Sal-Solo looked doubtful. “What are you trying to pull, cousin? This woman can’t be your daughter.”

  “I could confirm her identity with a simple genetic test,” Dr. Nimbi suggested. “We could have the results in, oh, two days.”

  Sal-Solo glowered at the doctor, then turned to the nurse. “Check the admission data. Who’s the responsible party?”

  Han had not changed so much in his time away that Leia could no longer see through his sabacc face. He awaited the nurse’s response with a feigned air of disinterest, but his eyes were fixed behind her, where a reflection on the surface of tank two showed the data scrolling up the display. When the screen finally stopped rolling, its reflection showed several blank data fields. Han’s gaze shifted quickly back to the nurse.

  “She was admitted anonymously.” He stated it as though he knew it for a fact. “No name, no contact information.”

  The nurse’s jaw fell, but she nodded. “Not even notes about the receiving circumstances.”

  Han turned to Sal-Solo with a smirk. “That’s all the proof you need, Governor-General.” He pressed a finger to the bacta tank, and the green eyes of the woman inside fluttered open. “She leaves with us—or I inform every media station in the system that you’re holding our daughter against our will.”

  Sal-Solo glared at him. “I could prove that you’re lying.”

  “True,” Han said. “But could you prove it to the Yuuzhan Vong?”

  Sal-Solo’s face grew even stormier, and he turned to the doctor. “Can she be moved—now?”

  “We can lend them a temporary bacta tank,” Dr. Nimbi said. “As long as they change the fluid each time they stop for Leia, this patient should be fine as well.”

  Sal-Solo studied the tank, no doubt trying as feverishly as Leia to puzzle out what the woman inside had to do with the Solos—and of what interest she might be to whoever had sent Roxi Barl. Finally, a full minute after Leia had given up on the riddle, he made a sour face and turned to Dr. Nimbi.

  “I think I do see a certain family resemblance,” Sal-Solo said. “But you’ll sell the tank to them, not lend. I don’t want anyone coming to return it.”

  THREE

  The security hatch finally irised open, revealing the cavernous interior of the public berthing facility where the Solos had hidden the Millennium Falcon in plain sight. On any other planet, they would have rented a private bay in some very discreet luxury dock. But on security-obsessed Corellia, such measures inevitably drew more attention than they avoided. Leia and Han spent a moment studying the activity on the docking bay’s floor, then exited the cramped access lock.

  The hatch whispered shut behind them, and finally they were someplace where they could talk. Putting her growing fatigue out of mind, Leia caught Han’s arm and pulled him around to face her.

  “Han, what’s going on?” A muffled clamor sounded inside the access lock as their CorSec escorts entered with their “daughter” and her portable bacta tank. “Who is that woman, and why did Nimbi want us to remove her from a medcenter she seems very much in need of?”

  “Because she may be in as much danger as you are.” Han squatted on his haunches in front of Leia, placing himself at eye level—and turning his back to any spymikes that might be aimed at them from the facility’s depths. “She did some things to help me during the firefight. I think she’s a Jedi.”

  “A Jedi?” Leia did not ask for details or reasons. The CorSec agents would be in the access lock only a few moments, just long enough for the security computers to scan their faces and confirm their identities. “We may not be doing her any favors. Whoever sent Barl is still on our trail.”

  Han glanced over his shoulder. “Where?”

  “Behind us, in the access lock,” Leia said. “You remember when I said that CorSec agent was stealing?”

  Han’s brow furrowed. “Yeah?”

  “I wasn’t hallucinating. My datapad is gone.”

  Now he looked angry. “That Ranat!”

  “Han, don’t say anything about it. The money was well spent.” The device had only been a cheap replacement for the one she’d lost on Duro, and there was nothing on it but a few half-finished—probably incoherent—letters to family and friends. “He also took two datachits and the recording rod.”

  “That’s money well spent?”

  “It is when you realize he didn’t touch my credit case,” Leia said. “Or the credit chips you left on the dresser.”

  “He’s a spy,” Han said.

  Leia nodded. “Not a very good one, but I think so. Probably working for the same people who sent Roxi Barl.”

  The hatch behind Leia began to hiss. Han glanced over her shoulder, then asked in a low voice, “What about the others?”

  “Only the one,” Leia whispered. She was fairly certain of what she said; the agent had been working as hard to hide his thefts from his officer as from them.

  The hatch stopped hissing, and two CorSec security men emerged with the mystery woman and her portable bacta tank. The guards were the spy and the same officer who had been in Leia’s room when she was awakened. She let her chin drop, less feigning exhaustion than allowing it to show. Despite the stim-shots and painkillers Dr. Nimbi had pressed on her, the effort of sitting upright was taking its toll.

  The hatch closed, and the officer said, “Go on, Solo. The rest of the detail will stay behind to hold the media back.”

  “Thank you,” Leia said, and she meant it. Without a wall of CorSec agents to keep the holocrews at bay, she felt fairly certain the journalists would have followed them aboard the Falcon. “I thought we were going to have stowaways.”

  “No need to worry about that,” the spy said. “We’ll do a search.”

  Han muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “over your dead body,” then led the way around the perimeter of the floor—no experienced spacer ever cut across a public docking bay—toward a shadowy disk resting between the blockier forms of two ancient transports. Though Leia had never been a fan of the Falcon’s new matte-black finish, she had to admit that it did as much to reduce the famous ship’s public profile as it did to hide the hull blemishes acquired over so many decades of rough use. Now, even when someone did happen to notice the vessel sitting in the murk, it would hardly draw a second glance.

  She wondered if that w
as what Han had intended when he chose the new color, or if it had just been a way of expressing his grief over Chewbacca’s loss. She might never know; they were no longer close enough that she could guess, and she was not comfortable asking. How sad was that, after defeating the Empire and having three children together?

  As they approached the Falcon, an anvil-headed silhouette with glittering yellow eyes emerged from between the landing struts, thin arms held casually out to the sides to show that his three-fingered hands were empty.

  “Captain Solo,” he rasped. “Glad to make your acquaintance.”

  “Not so fast, Twinkle-eyes,” Han said. “Just step away from the ship and go. We’re not giving interviews.”

  “Interviews?”

  The figure laughed coarsely and stepped into the light, revealing the salt-addicted Arcona who had exchanged glances with Leia in the hospital. He had a flat reptilian face with skin the color of durasteel and a cockeyed mouth that made him look half salted; over his threadbare tunic, he now wore a shabby flight tabard lined with dozens of fastclose cargo pockets.

  “I’m no holojournalist,” the Arcona said. “All I’m looking for is a ride off this mudball.”

  Leaving the portable bacta tank hovering on its repulsor gurney, the CorSec agents drew their blasters and moved up. “Do as Solo says,” the officer ordered. “And give me your identichip.”

  The Arcona reached for a pocket as though to obey, then fluttered his fingers in the agents’ direction. “I’m not Corellian,” he said. “I don’t need an identichip.”

  “He’s not Corellian,” the subordinate said.

  “He doesn’t need an identichip,” the officer added.

  Leia’s jaw was already hanging open, but Han was not so easily impressed.

  “Cute trick. Now move along—and take your buddies.” He jerked his thumb at the two CorSec agents. “We’re not taking riders.”

  The Arcona showed a row of crooked fangs in what was probably a smile. “I’m willing to earn my keep, Captain.” He glanced in Leia’s direction, then his tabard fluttered open to show her the lightsaber hanging on his belt, and she felt something warm slither over her in the Force. “I’m a first-class YT-1300 copilot. Have one of my own, if I can ever get back to the blasted thing.”

  “Han.” Leia grabbed her husband’s arm. “I think—”

  Han pulled away. “In a minute.” He continued to glare at the Arcona. “I don’t care if you fly Star Destroyers, you’re not getting on my ship.”

  “Han!” Leia snapped. “Yes, he is.”

  Han started to argue, then seemed to see something in Leia’s eyes that made him think better of it. “He is?”

  Thankful she could still reach him, Leia nodded. “I think you should give him a chance,” she said. “I’m certainly not going to be much of a copilot.”

  The fact of the matter was that C-3PO, still hiding aboard the Falcon, could help with most of the copilot’s chores, but Han seemed to realize Leia was trying to tell him something else. He turned to the Arcona and studied him from top to bottom, contemplating his ashen complexion, threadbare clothes, and listing features.

  “Well, you look like a pilot,” Han said. “What’s the sequence for an emergency ion drive engagement?”

  “Warm circuits, actuate, power up,” the Arcona answered.

  Han raised his brow. “Emergency shutdown?”

  “Power down, then disengage.”

  “And where’s the vortex stabilizer found?”

  The Arcona’s flat head folded slightly inward at the center, then he raised his three-fingered hand and said, “You already know where the vortex stabilizer—”

  Han slapped the hand down. “Don’t try that stuff with me. Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

  The Arcona shrugged, then complained, “How should I know where the vortex stabilizer is? That’s not a crew-serviceable part.”

  Han actually smiled, then slapped the Arcona on the shoulder. “You’ll do.”

  “Thanks, Captain.” The Arcona did not seem all that relieved. He pushed between the CorSec agents toward the portable bacta tank. “I’ll take it from here, fellas.”

  The officer stepped aside, but the subordinate stood fast. “Our orders are to load the patient ourselves.”

  “That was before we had help,” Leia said. “And your orders were to see us off. No one said anything about snooping around on the Falcon.”

  She cast a pointed glare at the pocket containing her datapad. The subordinate’s face turned bright red, and he stepped aside so quickly he nearly fell.

  “Hmmm.” The Arcona smiled and, out of the corner of his tilted mouth, whispered, “Interesting technique.”

  He retrieved the repulsor gurney, then the agents returned Han’s blaster, and the group boarded together. C-3PO was waiting for them atop the ramp.

  “Oh, thank the maker you’re back!” he said, arms pumping madly. “I can’t tell you how many times I was forced to lower the retractable blaster—”

  “Not now, Threepio,” Han said, brushing past and starting for the cockpit. “Secure yourself for launch.”

  “But Captain Solo, you and Princess Leia have been all over the newsvids. They’re saying you killed three people, and quite a few of the commentators seem to think there should be some sort of legal inquiry—”

  “See-Threepio, we know,” Leia said, guiding her chair into the access ring. “This is …”

  She turned to the Arcona.

  “A friend of your doctor’s.” He plucked an eavesdropping device off the portable bacta tank and crushed it under his boot, then added, “There are more.”

  Leia nodded and turned back to C-3PO. “Help our guest secure the gurney for launch.”

  Seeing that her chair would prevent the bulky bacta tank from entering the access ring, Leia moved ahead. She was feeling terribly tired and weak, and her first instinct was to turn toward the main deck and stay out of the way. But she had been alone too much over the last year, and the thought of sitting by herself while Han and his new copilot solved their problems was more than she could bear. She needed to be with her husband—even if she was no longer quite sure he wanted her.

  The repulsor chair was fairly compact, and once she had lowered the telescoping pole on which the IV bags hung, there was no trouble guiding it up the outrigger corridor. But the cockpit itself already had four seats, so she had to settle for magno-clamping her chair in place just outside the door. To his credit, Han did not ask what she was doing there. He was so busy toggling switches and checking dials that Leia was not even sure he knew.

  The Arcona squeezed past and, taking the copilot’s seat, slipped into the start-up routine so smoothly that it was obvious he had been telling the truth about flying his own YT-1300. There were a few glitches as he encountered some of the Falcon’s modifications, but Leia could tell by Han’s patience how impressed he was. She tried not to be jealous.

  They were within thirty seconds of launch when the inevitable glitch finally came.

  “The ramp light’s still on.” Han pointed at a panel on the Arcona’s side of the cockpit. “That should have been checked off a minute ago.”

  “I thought I had.”

  The Arcona hit the reset. The light blinked off, then instantly relit.

  Han cursed, then activated the intercom. “Threepio, I think the ramp’s stuck again. Give it a check.”

  No acknowledgment came.

  “Threepio?”

  Han cursed. Leia began to unclamp her chair.

  “No, I’ll go.” The Arcona unbuckled his harness and rose. “You shouldn’t be back there alone. This could be trouble.”

  “Thanks.” Han unbuckled his crash webbing and loosened his blaster, then turned to Leia and said, “I’m glad you’re up here.”

  Leia smiled. “Me, too.”

  They waited in silence for nearly a minute before the ramp light finally went out and the Arcona returned.

  “It was just stuck,” he
said. “I banged the control panel, and it came up the rest of the way.”

  “Always works for me,” Han said, starting the repulsor drives.

  “What about Threepio?” Leia asked. She had an uneasy feeling—not danger sense, but of something that was not quite right. “Why didn’t he answer?”

  “I think he crossed some feeds connecting the bacta tank to the medical bank.” The Arcona slipped smoothly back into his seat. “His circuit breaker was tripped. I reset it.”

  “That’s a new one.” Han shook his head, then opened a channel to the spaceport traffic center. “Control, this is Shadow Bird requesting launch clearance.”

  Shadow Bird was the name under which they had berthed the Falcon.

  “Negative, Shadow Bird,” came the reply. “Stand by.”

  Han closed the channel. “What now?”

  He activated the external security monitors, and they all waited in tense silence, expecting to see a CorSec boarding party or a mob of bounty hunters come rushing out of the access locks.

  A few moments later, Control’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Corellian Security informs us there is no such vessel as Shadow Bird.” The message came over an open channel. “However, the Millennium Falcon is cleared for immediate departure.”

  “Acknowledged.” Han wasted no time engaging the repulsor drives and leaving the docking bay; someone had just made certain that every ship within a hundred thousand kilometers would know which vessel they were. “And check that CorSec agent’s pockets. I saw him stealing a datapad. Falcon out.”

  FOUR

  The park-checkered city of Coronet had barely receded beneath the Falcon’s tail when Han swung south over the sea and slammed the ion throttles full forward, beginning a long arcing climb that would carry them over the pole to the opposite side of the planet. The comm speaker quickly erupted into vitriolic curses as Corellian Control protested both the unlawful trajectory and the over-city shock wave, but Han ignored the impoundment threats and disengaged the nacelle melt-safeties. After the send-off CorSec had given them, flying a standard launch pattern would be about as safe as jumping into a Sarlacc’s pit.