In her eight-year-old granddaughter’s lap lay a pale ball of fur named Anji, the last of the nexu cubs Leia had been forced to orphan at the pet expo three weeks earlier. The cub’s four eyes gleamed in the flickering light of the vidwall as she kept watch over the Solos’ modest apartment, but she held her spine quills flat against her fur and her toe claws retracted into her paws. Clearly the little creature felt content in her new home—even with dulled quills, clipped claws, and a dental implant that prevented her from biting hard enough to draw blood. The sight of the creature with Allana brought a lump to Leia’s throat, for Jacen had been just as loving and gifted with animals, and it made her happy to know that some of the good in her son had survived in his daughter.

Anji raised her head and began to scent the air, prompting Allana to frown and turn toward Leia’s end of the couch.

“Grandma, you can’t be sad. It makes Anji think something’s wrong.”

A tear welled in Leia’s eye, but she smiled and reached out to stroke the nexu’s fur. “I’m not really sad, Allana.” She opened her heart to the Force and let flow the joy that raising Allana brought her. “Sometimes I remember sad times, but having you here makes your grandfather and me very, very happy … and nothing will ever change that.”

Allana considered this, her brow furrowing in the same two places Jacen’s had at that age. Leia thought for a moment her granddaughter was going to ask whether Anji made her happy, too.

Instead, a cloud of fear came to Allana’s gray eyes, and she asked, “Even if I get sick and go crazy like Barv did?”

Leia’s heart suddenly felt like it was skipping. “Sweetheart, you’re never going to get sick—not like Barv and Yaqeel. You’ve never even seen the Maw.”

“But I’m in hiding, just like they were.” As Allana spoke, she shook her head, her long black-dyed hair swinging back and forth. Anji’s quills came up, and the cub began to look around for trouble. “And I don’t want to live in carbonite. Not ever.”

“Oh, Allana, you don’t need to worry about that.” Now Leia understood. She and Han had been on edge all afternoon because the Jedi Council was still trying to decide how to respond to the arrest warrants for Bazel and Yaqeel. “That’s not going to happen to you.”

“How do you know?” Allana demanded.

“Because you’ve got Anji.” It was Han who said this, returning to the room with a tray of hot chocolates. “Kid, do you really think she would let anyone put you in carbonite?”

Allana’s eyes brightened, and Leia immediately felt the girl’s fear dissipating into the Force.

“ ’Course not,” Allana replied. She began to stroke Anji’s head, and the little nexu settled back into her lap and began to growl in contentment. “She’d knock ’em flat if they even thought about it.”

“I have no doubt.” Leia flashed Han a smile that said nice save. As a grandfather, he seemed to have a Force-like sense of what Allana needed to hear to feel safe and loved, and—not surprisingly for Han Solo—it had nothing to do with logic. “That must be why your grandpa asked your mother to let you keep Anji.”

Allana’s eyes widened, and she turned to Han. “Forever?”

Han smiled and said, “Nothing’s forever, kid. But for as long as Anji’s happy and doesn’t start eating our friends, yeah.”

To Leia’s surprise, Allana did not seem troubled by Han’s blunt truthfulness. She merely hugged the little cub, then smiled up at Han.

“Thanks for convincing her, Grandpa.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Han put the tray on the beverage table in front of the couch, then sat down on Allana’s opposite side. “Your mother used to ride rancors when she was a girl. It wasn’t that hard to convince her you could handle a little thing like a two-hundred-kilo forest predator.”

Allana’s eyes got even bigger. “My mom rides rancors?”

“Used to ride rancors. That was a long time ago.” Leia took a pair of mugs off the tray and passed one to Allana, then shot Han a warning scowl behind their granddaughter’s back. “And the rancor was tame.”

Allana’s head swung around toward Leia. “They have tame rancors?” she gasped. “Can I ride one?”

“Sure thing, kid,” Han said, smirking at how Leia’s strategy had backfired. “The next time we’re on Dathomir, we’ll find you a nice big one.”

“Really?” Allana continued to look at Leia. “You won’t say no?”

Leia narrowed her eyes at Han. “Of course not, sweetheart. I promise.” It was a pretty safe promise to make; Dathomir was one of the last places she expected to visit anytime soon. She picked up the vidwall remote and passed it to Allana. “In the meantime, grandpa’s program has already started. Do you want to change the feed for him?”

“Yeah.” Allana pointed the remote at the signal receiver. “The Perre Needmo Newshour is coming up!”

“Thanks, kid.”

Han took his hot chocolate, then leaned back and wrapped his free arm around Allana’s shoulders. The ritual had started one day when a bad dream interrupted her nap, and she had come and curled up beside Han. The next day she had appeared as soon as the program started. The day after that she had been waiting on the couch when the Solos entered the room. After that, Han had started to bring in three hot chocolates instead of one Gizer ale, and a tradition had been born. Leia sometimes worried about such a young mind being subjected to so much news, but one of the reasons she and Han liked The Perre Needmo Newshour was that at least a third of the items were good news. Besides—as Allana herself had pointed out—the Chume’da of the Hapan Consortium needed to know how the galaxy worked.

Allana thumbed the remote, and the cartoon spiders on the vidwall were replaced by the much-wrinkled image of Perre Needmo, an elderly news anchor. His Chevin face seemed to be all snout, save for his beady eyes, gray lips, and square yellow teeth. He had two tufts of unruly silver hair, one covering the crown of his narrow skull, the other hanging from his barely discernible chin.

As expected, the top story concerned the events in which the Solos had been involved that day. A small inset of the Jedi Temple hung in the bottom corner of the vidwall as Needmo’s baritone voice rumbled from the ceiling speakers.

“… legal crisis continued today when Jedi Knights Saav’etu and Warv fell victim to paranoid delusions.” File images of Yaqeel and Bazel appeared in the corners of the vidwall. “According to witnesses at the scene, the pair began to behave oddly outside the Jedi Temple and were quickly whisked inside by Han and Leia Solo. The matter escalated shortly afterward, when a GAS special tactics squad attempted to execute an arrest warrant for the two Jedi Knights. The squad was left standing outside a hangar door. The Jedi Council is said to be considering at this hour whether the Order is obligated to honor the warrant. An in-depth analysis of the precedents and constitutional implications follows this report.”

The images on the vidwall were replaced by a close-up of Jag’s crumpled limousine speeding across Fellowship Plaza.

“No one was injured in the incident,” Needmo continued, “but a diplomatic airspeeder was badly damaged when Jedi Warv was sedated and fell on the roof.”

Leia glanced over and saw her granddaughter frowning in concern. “Allana, you know that Barv and Yaqeel wouldn’t want you to be worried about them, don’t you?”

Allana nodded. “ ’Course I do. They’re my friends.”

When her frown did not disappear, Han asked, “Why do I hear a big but coming?”

Allana rewarded him with a big smile. “ ’Cause you’re pretty smart, Grandpa,” she said. “Maybe Barv doesn’t want me to worry, but I can’t help it. He and Yaqeel are my friends.”

“I worry, too, sweetie,” Leia said. “But we have to try not to. Master Cilghal is working very hard to help Barv and all of the other sick Jedi Knights, and there’s no one more capable. She’ll figure it out.”

The reassurance did little to lift the cloud of doubt from Allana’s brow. “Not if the Jedi Council gives them to Chief Daala.”

Leia started to say that the Masters would never do that, then stopped herself. Obviously, that wasn’t true. The Council wouldn’t still be in session if the Masters weren’t at least considering turning Bazel and Yaqeel over to Daala, and Allana was smart enough to realize that.

Leia looked to Han and found no help there. Earlier, he had wanted to storm into the meeting so they could argue the case themselves. But Leia had insisted that their presence would only be an unwelcome distraction, that they had to trust Kenth and the other Masters to reach the correct decision on their own. Now, after five hours of suspense, she was beginning to wonder whether she had made the right call.

Leia would not have blamed Han if he had just left her hanging, watching with an amused smirk as she tried to come up with a reassuring answer for Allana. And maybe with something less important than their granddaughter, he would have. But there were a handful of things that Han Solo never gambled with, and Allana was one of them.

After a brief silence, he just squeezed Allana’s shoulder and said, “Hey, even if the Jedi Council does give Barv to Chief Daala, it won’t be forever. We’ll do everything we can to get him back. Okay?”

“You promise?” Allana asked. “We’ll work just as hard as Master Horn and his wife, right? Everyone knows they’re not giving up until they get Valin and Jysella back.”

“Yes, just as hard,” Leia said. “We won’t give up, either.”

“And that’s a promise, kid,” Han added.

For Leia, any doubts about letting Allana see the news vanished. She and Han were raising more than their granddaughter. They were raising the heir apparent to the Hapan throne, and Leia could imagine no better way to prepare Allana than to show her how Han and Leia Solo responded to adversity and uncertainty.

“And when your grandfather decides to do something,” Leia added, “it’s pretty hard to stop him.”

“Yeah,” Allana said, nodding. “He’s as stubborn as a ronto in rut.”

Han snorted, and Leia’s brow shot up. “Where did you hear that?” she asked.

“I overheard Master Durron say it,” Allana said, looking worried. “Why? What’s a rut?”

“It’s when you keep doing the same thing over and over just because you’ve gotten used to doing it that way,” Han said. When Leia let her breath out in relief, he looked up and winked. “You thought Kyp meant something else?”

“Not at all,” Leia said. “What else could he have meant?”

Allana frowned first at her, then at Han. “I’m not a baby, you guys. Mom taught me how to tell when someone’s fibbing. You could have just said you’ll tell me later.”

Leia smiled. “And so we will.”

“When you turn fifty,” Han said.

Allana rolled her eyes and looked back to the vidwall, where the screen now showed an image of Melari Ruxon and Reeqo Swen walking away from the Temple without their robes or lightsabers.

“The crisis appears to be having an effect on Jedi morale as well,” Needmo reported. “Shortly after the incident, two apprentices were seen departing the Temple. In a subsequent interview with journalist Javis Tyrr, the two admitted they had resigned from the Order. Tonight we’ll examine whether those resignations are meant as a warning to Chief Daala, and how a mass resignation of Jedi Knights might affect the stability of the government. We’ll also discuss the Chief of State’s surprising assertion that, like high-ranking military officers, Jedi remain subject to government authority even after they resign.”

Melari and Reeqo were replaced by an image of Tahiri Veila in shock shackles and manacles, heavily guarded and being led into the Galactic Justice Center. Han came off the couch sputtering and spewing hot chocolate; Leia simply dropped hers.

“What the blazes?” Han shouted at the vidwall. “Now they’ve gone too far!”

“The former aide-de-camp to rogue-Jedi-turned-Sith-Lord Jacen Solo has been arrested on charges of atrocities against the galaxy,” Needmo reported. “A former Jedi Knight herself, Tahiri Veila has been accused of several crimes during the recent civil war, including the assassination of the Imperial Remnant’s popular head of state, Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon. We’ll have a rundown of the complete list of the accusations against her in the analysis segment of our program.”

“I can’t take it.” Han pointed at the remote in Allana’s hands. “Turn it off, sweetheart.”

Allana pointed the remote at the control receptor, and the vidwall paled back into a transparisteel viewport looking out over Fellowship Plaza toward the Galactic Justice Center. Han stood fuming for a moment, then turned to face Leia.

Before he could speak, Allana said, “I don’t understand. Did someone else kill Admiral Pellaeon?”

“No, dear,” Leia said. “There were a lot of witnesses, and they all say it was Tahiri.”

“Then shouldn’t she stand trial for it?”

Leia looked to Han for help, but he was still gnashing his teeth and shaking his head. She looked back to Allana.

“That’s a complicated question,” Leia said. “Unfortunately, lots of people are killed during wars. You know that.”

Allana nodded. “By soldiers,” she said. “On the other side. But I thought Tahiri was on my father’s side.”

“For much of the war, yes,” Leia said. “But not at the end.”

“But when Tahiri killed Admiral Pellaeon, she was on my father’s side, wasn’t she? And so was Admiral Pellaeon.”

“Not exactly,” Leia said. “Admiral Pellaeon wasn’t really on anyone’s side at that point.”

“So he wasn’t in the war?”

“Not officially,” Leia said. “From what we’ve been able to learn, he was still thinking about which side he wanted to be on.”

“Then Tahiri wasn’t supposed to kill him,” Allana insisted. “You’re not supposed to hurt people who aren’t part of the war.”

Leia smiled and shook her head at her granddaughter’s unrelenting logic. Allana was beginning to convince her that Tahiri should stand trial. Leia retrieved her dropped mug from the floor, then stalled for time by calling for C-3PO.

Finally, she said, “You’re going to make a great Queen Mother someday, Allana. Those are very astute questions.”

Allana beamed with pride, but said, “I recognize a Solo Slide when I see one, Grandma. Don’t try to put me off with flattery.”

This actually jolted Han out of his tantrum. “She’s got you there, Grandma.”

He looked around at the hot chocolate he had sprayed all over the room’s white decor, then shrugged, quaffed down what remained in his mug, and turned back to Allana.

“It’s like this, kid. You know what spies are, right?”

Allana’s eyes grew wary and frightened, and Anji rose in her lap and arched her back. Allana carefully set her hot chocolate on the table, then nodded.

“I know.”

A pained look came to Han’s face, but he pressed on. “I thought you probably did. Well, Tahiri was sort of spying for Jacen. And when she found out that Admiral Pellaeon didn’t want to bring the Imperial Remnant into the war on his side, Jacen gave her an order.”

“To assassinate Admiral Pellaeon?”

“That’s right,” Leia said, once again amazed—and grateful—for how well attuned Han seemed to be to their granddaughter. “Tahiri was following orders, just like any soldier.”

Allana’s frown remained. “Do soldiers always follow orders?”

“Almost always,” Han said. “When they don’t, they need a really good reason.”

Allana considered this for a moment, then cocked her head up at him. “Then you must have had a lot of really good reasons when you were a soldier.”

A laugh—a guffaw, actually—exploded from Leia’s belly. She reached down and mussed her granddaughter’s black-dyed hair.

“You don’t know the half of it, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but I always got the job done,” Han said. He winked at Allana. “Besides, nobody loves a yes-man.”

Allana nodded seriously. “Mom says the same thing,” she agreed. “I think that’s why she’s still so lonely. Hapan men are all yes-men.”

Leia had a sudden, sad glimpse of her granddaughter’s future: a smiling, redheaded woman standing beside a white throne, surrounded by beings of all species—Bothans and Hutts, Ishi Tib and Mon Calamari, even humans and Squibs—but somehow still alone. There was no man standing with her, no one like Han to whom she could turn for comfort or support. Allana Solo was going to live in a time of unprecedented peace and harmony, a time of prosperity for all the species of the Galactic Alliance. But she would be the one who kept it, the one to whom the rest of the galaxy turned when that peace was threatened.

That was the destiny for which the Solos were preparing her. Leia knew from their brief visits to Tenel Ka how lonely such an existence could be, how wearying and frightening it was every day. What Leia did not know was whether she had the courage to condemn Allana to that destiny, to doom her to a life in which her word steered the fates of worlds.

“… that right, Leia?”

Startled from her reverie, Leia forced a smile and nodded to Han. “Umm … if you say so, dear.”

Han frowned, puzzled and irritated. “I sure do,” he said. “We’re talking about her grandfather, after all.”

“Right. Prince Isolder was a good man,” Leia said. “And independent.”

Han shook his head in exasperation and started to chastise Leia for not paying attention, but Allana cut him off.

“It’s okay, Grandpa. You’re not always listening to Grandma, either.”

Han’s expression changed from irritation to guilt, and Leia patted Allana’s back.

“You’re quite the peacemaker, aren’t you?” she asked. “Don’t ever lose that, okay?”

“I won’t, Grandma,” Allana said. “But what were you thinking about just then? You felt so sad.”

Leia hesitated, dreading the prospect of trying to keep her vision hidden from Allana. Fortunately she was spared the necessity by C-3PO’s timely arrival.

“Please excuse the interruption, but—” C-3PO stopped three steps into the room and ran his photoreceptors over the hot chocolate sprayed over the couch, the beverage table, and the floor. “Oh, dear. I see Mistress Allana spilled her hot chocolate again.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me!” Allana thrust her cup toward him, sloshing more hot chocolate onto the couch. “Look.”

“I’m afraid Han and I are the culprits this time,” Leia said. “Where have you been? I must have called for you five minutes ago.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Princess Leia. I was answering the secure holocomm.” C-3PO turned to point down the hall toward the den. “Wynn Dorvan is asking to speak to you or Captain Solo. I tried to explain that you don’t take calls during The Perre Needmo Newshour, but he was most insistent. He seems to think you have been ignoring a message he sent.”

“The Wynn Dorvan?” Han asked.

Leia added, “As in Chief Daala’s personal assistant?”

“Yes, that would be the correct Wynn Dorvan,” C-3PO said. “Though I certainly understand your confusion. There are more than one hundred and seventy thousand Wynn Dorvans listed in the Coruscant directory.”

The Solos traded puzzled glances. They knew Wynn Dorvan from the days of the New Republic. As the underdeputy of tenolodium reserves, he had uncovered a lucrative skimming operation run by his own supervisor. Rather than ask for a cut—as many bureaucrats in his position would have done—he had risked his life to bring the matter to the attention of the New Republic Chief of State—who happened to be Leia at the time. After that, he had risen steadily through the ranks on the strength of his reputation. And now he was Chief Daala’s personal aide.

“Shall I tell Master Dorvan that you’ll be happy to return his call after The Perre Needmo Newshour?”

“No, we’ll take it now,” Leia said, starting toward the den. “Stay with Allana.”

“And call the Ess-Nine,” Han added, waving a hand at the hot chocolate. “That stuff stains if you don’t get it up right away.”

Leia led the way down the hall to the extra bedroom that served as their den, then stepped over to the small holocomm unit in the corner. Floating above the holoprojection pad was the fist-sized head of a nondescript man, his only remarkable feature being the fact that not a strand of his brown hair was out of place.

“Hello, Wynn,” Leia said, folding her arms across her chest. “Isn’t the HoloNet a rather expensive way to comm across town?”

“That’s why nobody will think to monitor it,” Dorvan replied. “Is your end secure?”

“Scrambled and secure,” Han assured him. “What’s all this about? If Daala is trying to backchannel something on those arrest warrants—”

“Actually, Chief Daala doesn’t know anything about this matter,” Dorvan interrupted. “And I hope she never finds out. That’s why I’m using a scrambled holocomm unit.”

“We’re listening,” Leia said. “According to Threepio, you think we’ve ignored a message from you?”

“Regarding the Mandalorians,” Dorvan replied. “Are the Jedi trying to convince Chief Daala she has no other choice? As soon as those apprentices left the Temple, she instructed me to secure funding for a full company. I’ll be able to delay things for a week or so because she wants it kept off the ledgers, but beyond that—”

“Wait a minute,” Han said. “A company? Are you telling me Daala is about to send for an entire company of Mandalorians?”

“Of course,” Dorvan answered. “Haven’t you seen Head of State Fel in the last few days?”

Han and Leia exchanged glances, and Leia began to have a sinking feeling. Jag had some fairly rigid ideas about duty and honor, and he might have felt that carrying messages for Dorvan would create a conflict of interest for him.

After a second, Han said, “Oh yeah, that company.”

Dorvan’s head dropped. “He didn’t tell you.”

“Head of State Fel seems like a strange choice for a courier,” Leia said. “Especially when you’re obviously willing to risk direct contact with us.”

Dorvan looked up again. “He wasn’t actually a courier,” he explained. “I just made sure he overheard what Chief Daala was considering, so that I wouldn’t have to risk my job—and my freedom—by contacting you directly. Given Fel’s relationship with your daughter—”

“You assumed he’d do the right thing,” Han finished, his tone growing hard. “Me too.”

But Leia wasn’t so easily convinced. “Nice try, Wynn, but you can tell Chief Daala we didn’t fall for it.”

Dorvan’s brows came together. “Fall for what?”

“Her bluff.” Leia leaned closer to the hololens, so that her face would be appearing to grow larger at the other end of the connection. “You’re as honest as bureaucrats come, Wynn. You’d never betray Daala like this.”

“And surely not for free.” Han leaned down beside Leia, then flashed one of his smirky half smiles. “Like Leia said, nice try. You had me going there for a minute.”

Dorvan’s face reddened. “I am not bluffing!” he said. “And I would never do this for money.”

“No?” Leia asked. “Then why would you do it?”

“For the good of the Alliance, obviously!” Dorvan spat back. “Or am I the only one who thinks it would be a travesty for Chief Daala to drive the Jedi into disbanding?”

“Is that what she’s trying to do?” Leia asked.

“It’s certainly an outcome she’s willing to accept, if necessary. But I do think she sincerely believes the Order should be brought under government control.” Dorvan licked his thin lips, then added, “And frankly, considering recent events, I have to wonder if she might be right.”

“Then why talk to us?” Han demanded.

“Because even if Daala is right about that much, she’s wrong about everything else,” Dorvan said. “She thinks the Sith are no more than Jedi in dark robes, and that the only way to keep them from returning is to keep the Jedi under the government’s thumb.”

“And you don’t share that belief?” Leia asked.

“Would I be taking this kind of risk if I did?” Dorvan replied. “There are dark things out there in the galaxy, Princess Leia. I understand that. And I also understand that it’s a terrible mistake to confuse those dark things with the Jedi Knights who are trying to protect us from them.”

Leia considered this for a moment. “Let’s say I believe you for now—Daala is going to send for the Mandalorians. What is it that you want me to do with this information?”

“Use it, Princess Leia.” Dorvan’s face grew smaller as he leaned away from his own holocam. “Pass it along and use it.”