SIX

Save for the lining of golden wax, the rows of shine-balls stuck to the ceiling, the random tunnel openings, and the lack of even a vague sense of up or down, the interior of the spherical hangar resembled all the spaceports Han Solo had visited on a thousand unknown, out-of-the-way planets scattered across the galaxy. There was the usual collection of battered transports, the usual cargo of stolen goods on open display, the usual dregs-of-their-species smugglers bustling in and out of their vessels, working harder to make dishonest livings than they would have at honest jobs.

Han felt a swell of nostalgia rise inside, and he found himself missing the days when he could debark in such places and know that nobody was going to mess with him and the Wookiee. Of course, now he had a Jedi Knight wife, a pair of Noghri, and a refitted battle droid to back him up, but it just wasn’t the same. Chewbacca had been his co-conspirator as well his best friend, a pain-in-the-neck conscience at times but also a comrade-in-arms who understood the betrayals and disappointments that had turned Han into the wary, bitter smuggler he’d been when Leia came along and rescued him from that aimless life.

“At least we’ve solved one mystery,” Leia said. She pointed at a duraplast pallet filled with crates labeled RECONSTRUCTION AUTHORITY—SANITATION. “That may explain why it’s been so hard to track down the RA supplies shrinkage.”

“I don’t know,” Han said. He eyed the giant bugs that seemed to be crawling across every surface. “This pile of rocks isn’t big enough to take everything that’s disappearing.”

The more Han watched the activity around the transports, the more he felt his skin crawl. The bugs were marching in and out of the vessels completely unescorted, off-loading cargo, foodstuffs, even vital ship’s tools, and stacking them at the base of the boarding ramps. Instead of stopping the insects, the crews were doing the same thing in reverse, on-loading huge stoneware crocks, balls of multicolored wax, and many of the same tools and foodstuffs the bugs were unloading. And nobody seemed upset about working at cross purposes. In fact, save for the care they took to avoid crashing into each other, they barely seemed to notice one another at all.

Han spied the sleek gray wedge of a Horizon-class space yacht resting about halfway up the “wall” of the docking vault, its landing struts sunk well past their feet in the waxy substance that coated the chamber. The boarding ramp was lowered and a big Tendrando Arms Defender Droid was standing beside it, her massive torso and systems-packed limbs at odds with her cherubic face and smiling mouth.

“There’s the Shadow,” Han said. He brought the Falcon’s nose around and started toward an open berthing space on the wall next to Mara’s ship. “Let’s go say hello.”

Leia shook her head. “It doesn’t feel like there’s anyone aboard.”

“No?” Han scowled; it wasn’t like Mara to leave the Shadow open and unattended—although with Nanna there, that wasn’t really the case. Basically a bodyguard version of Lando’s successful YVH battle droid crossed with a TD Nanny Droid, the Defender was more than capable of guarding the ship. Even the bugs seemed to realize that; every now and then, one would stop by and sweep its antennae across the ramp, but they never attempted to enter. “Probably in the cantina already.”

Han swung the Falcon’s stern “up” along the wall and landed in the open berth. The struts sank into the wax and seemed to hold the ship fast, but he fired the anchoring bolts anyway. Microgravity could be tricky; it was impossible to tell which way it was pulling until something started to slide.

Han rose and strapped on his blaster. “Okay, let’s go see Nanna. Maybe she can fill us in.”

They lowered the boarding ramp and reeled back as a wave of warm, too-sweet air rolled through the hatchway. The vault was filled with a blaring cacophony of ticking that immediately sent a rivulet of sweat rolling down Han’s spine. Half a dozen bugs appeared at the bottom of the ramp and started to board. They had deep orange thoraxes, pale blue abdomens, and feathery, meter-long antennae. Han’s stomach turned queasy, but he started down to meet them.

Leia caught him by the arm. “Han? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Han swallowed hard, then continued down the ramp. He was not going to be intimidated by a memory of the Kamarians. Besides, these guys were only about waist height, with four skinny arms, scrawny legs, and a stubby set of mandibles better suited to steadying loads than rending flesh. “I’m okay.”

Han stopped midway down the ramp. He folded his arms across his chest and assumed a stance wide enough to block the ramp, then forced himself to glare down at the lead bug. In addition to the smooth green balls of its two main eyes, it had a trio of ocular lenses atop its head, leaving him uncertain as to which set of eyes he should meet.

“Where do you fellows think you’re going?”

The lead bug stared up, ticking its mandibles nervously, and emitted a soft drumming from its chest.

“Burrubbubbuurrr, rubb.”

It dropped to all sixes, lowering itself to about knee height, then dipped its antennae politely and shot between Han’s legs.

“Hey!” Before the bug could continue up the ramp, Han spun around and caught it by the undersized wings on its back. Some insects had a habit of hiding eggs wherever they could, and he didn’t want any infestations aboard the Falcon. “Hold on!”

The bug spun its head around to meet Han’s gaze, then pointed at his hands and gently clacked its mandibles. “Ubburr buurr ub.”

“Captain Solo,” C-3PO said helpfully, “I do believe the insect is requesting that you release it.”

“You understand this stuff?” Han asked.

“I’m afraid it’s only an educated guess,” C-3PO said. “This form of their language is as obscure as the dance—”

“Then not a chance.”

“Han,” Leia said, “I don’t sense any danger here. Until See-Threepio figures out how to communicate—”

“I am communicating.” Han fixed his gaze on the nearest of its eyes and said, “I don’t know who you think I am, but no one boards the Falcon until I say so.”

The other five bugs dropped to all sixes, then slipped to the underside of the ramp and continued toward the hatchway.

“No!” Han flipped the insect he was holding off the ramp, then started after the others. “Stop them!”

The Noghri stepped in front of Leia and placed themselves squarely in the door, crouched for action. The bugs swung back to the ramp’s upper side and tried to squeeze aboard the Falcon anyway. The first pair were knocked away by a pair of quick Noghri kicks.

The remaining trio of insects stopped where they were and dropped into a six-limbed crouch. Their antennae fell flat against their heads, and a soft little “rrrrrrrr” began to come from their chests. Someone else might have described the sound as meek, but Han knew better than to assume. Bug minds did not work the same way as those of other species.

BD-8, the Solos’ battle droid, appeared behind the Noghri and pointed his blaster cannon over Meewalh’s shoulder. “Do not be alarmed!” With the full jacket of laminanium armor and red photoreceptors in a death’s-head face, he still resembled the YVH droid from which he had been refitted. “Intruders identified. Permission to fire?”

“No!” Leia snapped. “Stand down! Return to leisure station.”

“Leisure station?” BD-8’s tone grew doubtful as the other bugs continued up the ramp. “Ma’am, we’re being boarded!”

“We’re not being boarded,” Leia said.

“Not if I can help it!” Han said.

He snatched another of the bugs and, in the low gravity, sent it spinning twenty meters across the hangar. Cakhmaim and Meewalh removed the last two, grabbing a mandible and executing quick twists that sent the insects tumbling away.

Han nodded his approval. “See?”

A bitter odor began to waft up from the floor. Han looked down to see two of the dislodged bugs standing beside the ramp on their four front limbs, their abdomens raised so they could squirt greenish fluid on the sides of the ramp.

“What the garzal?” Han cried.

“Ubbub bubbur,” the bugs drummed.

“Bubbur yourselves!”

Han raised his arms to shoo them away. They continued to squirt, and C-3PO picked that moment to interrupt.

“Captain Solo, we seem to have another visitor.”

The droid pointed past Han’s shoulder.

Han turned around to find a tall, bald-headed figure with large, buggy eyes and a pair of thick tusks approaching the Falcon’s boarding ramp. In his hands, he carried a rag and a spray canister.

“Great,” Han said. “Now an Aqualish.”

“That can’t be good,” Leia said. The Aqualish were an aggressive species known across the galaxy for picking fights—and jumping into the middle of them. “What’s he want?”

“To wash the viewports, it looks like,” Han said. The Aqualish reached the base of the ramp and started forward toward the bugs. “What do you want, Fangface?”

The nickname was despised by Aqualish, but it was better to take an aggressive tone with them. They were less likely to start a fight with someone who did not intimidate easily.

“Nothing, friend.” The Aqualish spoke in the gravelly voice typical of his species. “Just to help you out.”

Han and Leia exchanged puzzled glances. Friend was not usually a word you heard from an Aqualish.

“We’re not your friends,” Han said.

“You will be.”

The Aqualish waited until the bugs finished squirting, then shooed away the one on his side of the ramp and sprayed a harsh-smelling foam over the same area.

“That stuff better not be corrosive,” Han warned.

Aqualish could not smile—the need had probably never arisen during their evolution—but this one lifted his head and managed to seem like he was.

“It’s not.” He tossed the spray canister to Han. “You need to clean that mess up.”

The Aqualish pointed at the far side of the ramp, where the other worker had squirted its goo, then started to wipe the area he had already coated. Han sprayed a thick layer of foam over the side of the ramp, filling the air with a smell somewhere between rotting fruit and burned synfur.

“Tell me again what I’m doing?”

“When you tossed the workers off, they marked you,” the Aqualish explained. He tossed Han the rag. “Now you have to start over, or they’ll call their soldiers and tear your ship apart to see what you’re hiding.”

“Start over?” Leia asked.

“Transacting,” the Aqualish explained. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Uh, maybe,” Han said. “You mean like trading, right?”

“More like taking,” the Aqualish said. “They take what they want. You take what you want. Everybody’s happy.”

The insects started up the ramp again.

“Boarding imminent,” BD-8 reported. “Permission to—”

“No!” Leia said. “Stand down.”

Han finished wiping the foam away, then stood up to find the six insects lined up on the ramp below.

“They’re not going to lay eggs or anything?” he asked.

“No, they only do that in the heartcomb,” the Aqualish assured him. “Just let them bring out whatever they want, then take back whatever you want to keep. It’s a lot easier—and safer.”

“If you say so.” Han stepped aside to let the bugs pass. “Okay?”

The lead worker responded with a single mandible clack, which was simultaneously echoed by the rest of the squad.

“That would be an affirmative,” C-3PO offered helpfully.

The bugs started up the ramp.

Han jumped down beside the Aqualish and returned the spray canister and rag. “Sorry about that Fangface stuff.” He reached for his money. “What do I owe you for the help?”

“Nothing, friend.” The Aqualish waved a dismissing hand. “It happens to everyone the first time.”

“Really?” Han’s mind began searching for angles, trying to figure out what kind of swindle the Aqualish was trying to pull. “Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re a pretty helpful guy for your kind.”

The Aqualish watched the last bug disappear into the Falcon, then nodded. “Yeah. I don’t get it, either.” He turned and started back toward his own vessel. “This place just makes me feel good.”

Han, Leia, and the others spent the next hour returning to the Falcon most of what the bugs carried off. At first, the work was confusing and frustrating—especially after they had carried the same crate of protein packages aboard for the seventh or eighth time. But eventually order emerged, with the ship’s crew leaving anything they could bear to part with at the foot of the ramp and stacking whatever they wanted to keep in the forward hold. Toward the end, the bugs even started to add balls of wax and jugs of some amber, sweet-smelling spirit to the Falcon’s stack.

Finally, the only item under contention was Killik Twilight, a small moss-painting that had once hung outside Leia’s bedroom in House Organa on Alderaan. Designed by the late Ob Khaddor—one of Alderaan’s foremost artists—the piece depicted a line of enigmatic insectoid figures departing their pinnacle-city home, with a fierce storm sweeping in behind them. Han had no idea why the bugs were so taken with it—apart from the subject matter—but every time he put it on the keep stack, an insect would deposit a jug of spirits or a shine-ball in its place and carry it back down the ramp again. Han was about ready to start exterminating. The painting was Leia’s most prized possession, and he’d almost died trying to recover it for her on Tatooine.

A bug emerged from the Falcon carrying Killik Twilight in its four arms and stopped about halfway down the ramp, peering over the top of the frame. Han, waiting at the bottom, folded his arms and sighed.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

Instead of continuing down the ramp, the worker jumped to the floor and disappeared behind the disordered heap of crates and spare tools stacked next to the Falcon.

“Hey!”

Han rushed to the other side to cut off the bug’s escape, but it was nowhere to be seen. He glanced back at its buddies—waiting for this last bit of “transacting” to be completed—but they only turned their oblong eyes away and pretended not to notice. Han sneered, then knelt down to peer behind the Falcon’s landing struts.

Nothing.

“Blast!” Han slowly turned, his pulse pounding as he searched for the bug. Halfway up the hangar wall, he saw the Skywalkers emerging from a passage with Saba Sebatyne and a black-furred Ewok, but no sign of the thief. “Huttslime!”

“Han?” Leia appeared at the top of the boarding ramp, her arms loaded with provisions that she and the others were stowing again. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Han answered. “The bugs are getting sneaky.”

Leia put her load aside. “Define sneaky, Han.”

“Nothing to worry about.” A soft rustle sounded from the transaction pile. Han peered over a stack of raw protein packages and saw a slender insect foot sliding behind a crate of Endorian brandy. “I’ve got everything under control.”

Han slipped around the stack of packages, then pulled the crate aside and found the worker bug cowering with Killik Twilight in its four hands.

“Uub urr,” it thrummed.

“Yeah? Two can play that game.”

Han pulled the painting from its grasp, then turned to find Ben rushing up ahead of Luke and the others.

“Uncle Han!” He raised his elbow in an old smuggler’s greeting Han had taught him. “Dad said you were here!”

“Good to see you, kid.” Han touched his elbow to Ben’s. “I’d love to talk, but I’m in the middle of a contest of wills.”

Leaving Leia to slow down the bug and greet Luke and the others, Han carried the painting onto the Falcon, then knelt on the floor and opened a smuggling compartment.

“That’s a funny place to put Aunt Leia’s painting,” said Ben, who had followed him aboard.

“Tell me about it,” Han said. He slipped the painting into the compartment, closed the cover, and stood. “Now let’s go see your mom and—”

The bug appeared in the corridor, sweeping its antennae along the floor. It passed Han with a polite rumble, then stopped and began to pry at the secret panel. When the compartment would not open, it sat down and began to clack its mandibles.

“All right! You don’t have to call your buddies.” Han knelt on the floor beside the bug. “Just get out of my way.”

Han opened the panel. The insect pulled the painting from the compartment and turned to leave, then let out a startled rumble when it found Saba and her Ewok companion coming up the corridor. The Ewok snatched the painting from the bug’s hands, turned it over, and spat on the back.

“What the blazes!” Han turned to Saba. “Is this guy a friend of yours?”

“Tarfang and I have made no killz together,” Saba said. “But he can help us.”

“Yeah?” Han watched doubtfully as Tarfang placed the painting on the floor. “How?”

The Ewok glared up at Han and jabbered something in the squeaky language of his species, then motioned Han and the others toward the boarding ramp.

“Listen up, Cuddles,” Han said, “I don’t know who you think you are, but on the Falcon—”

“Uncle Han, look!”

Ben pointed at Killik Twilight. The bug stood holding the painting in its hands, running its antennae over the back where the Ewok had spit. It repeated the gesture several times, then emitted a sad little hum and returned the painting to the smuggling compartment.

Han looked back to Tarfang. “How’d you do that?”

The Ewok’s only answer was an indignant snort. He spun around and started for the boarding ramp, no longer seeming to care whether Han or anyone else followed.

“Touchy little fellow, isn’t he?”

“Tarfang is not a nice being.” Saba started after the Ewok. “But his captain can help us find Jaina and the otherz.”

Han caught up to her outside, where C-3PO informed them that Luke and the others had gone on ahead with Tarfang. Despite Saba’s assurances that Killik Twilight was perfectly safe now that someone had spit on it, Han asked the Noghri to stay with the painting.

They dropped Ben at the Shadow with Nanna, then joined Luke, Mara, and Leia outside the blast-pocked, carbon-scored disk of a small YT-1000 transport. A smaller cousin to Han’s own YT-1300, the YT-1000’s cockpit sat atop the hull where the Falcon’s upper laser cannon turret was located; there was no lower turret at all. For defense, the vessel had only four short-range blaster cannons spread evenly along the rim of its hull.

“That thing flew here?” Han gasped.

An indignant Ewok voice chuttered from inside the vessel’s shadowy entrance.

“He says it came straight from Regel Eight,” C-3PO translated.

Tarfang stepped into the light and jabbered at Han some more.

“I’m certainly glad we don’t fly on this ship!” C-3PO said. “He says not everyone has credits to waste on repairs!”

Leia stepped to Han’s side. “We apologize, Tarfang.” She flashed one of her old diplomat’s smiles, a bland show of teeth that could have meant anything. “Han didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Yeah,” Han said. “I was just amazed by your bravery.”

Tarfang eyed Han for a moment, then growled deep in his throat and waved them up the ramp.

Han turned to Luke and Mara. “You sure about this?”

“Not really,” Luke said. He smiled and clapped Han on the shoulder. “We weren’t expecting you and Leia.”

“Yeah, well…anybody can bust up a pirate ring,” Han said. “But Jaina—we figured you’d need the help.”

“We might,” Mara said with a laugh. She kissed him on the cheek. “Good to see you, Han.”

They exchanged greetings all around, then climbed the boarding ramp into a surprisingly tidy air lock with all proper emergency equipment neatly stowed in a transparisteel rescue locker. Beyond the hatch, the interior of the main access corridor was lit only by two of the waxy shine-balls the bugs used for illumination. By the green glow, Han could see that the durasteel floor panels had been sanibuffed a little too well. There was a telltale shadow where the “invisible” seams came together over the smuggling compartments.

Tarfang was waiting a few steps up the corridor. He grunted and waved them into the main cabin. Given the ship’s dim lighting, Han expected to find some fierce, dark-loving being like a Defel waiting inside.

Instead, kneeling in front of an open engineering panel was a little jug-eared Sullustan in a set of carbon-smeared utilities. He was busy soldering powerfeeds to a new master control board, though Han could not imagine how even a Sullustan could see to work by the light of the single shine-ball stuck to the wall above him.

Tarfang went to the Sullustan’s side and, coming to attention, cleared his throat.

“Go on.” The Sullustan spoke without looking away from his work. “I’m listening.”

Tarfang launched into a lengthy explanation, gesturing at Saba and Luke even though the Sullustan’s attention remained fixed on the control board. Finally, the captain finished the attachment he was working on and turned to his visitors.

“I’m Jae Juun, captain of the XR-eight-oh-eight-g.”

“XR-eight-oh-eight-g?” Han asked. “What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a Galactic Alliance registration number, of course.” Juun frowned and squinted in the direction of Han’s voice, but Han was standing well back in the shadows, where even a Sullustan’s sensitive eyes would have trouble with the contrast between light and darkness. “You haven’t heard of the XR-eight-oh-eight-g?”

“Should we have?” Leia asked.

Juun pasted on a small Sullustan smirk. “Not if I’ve been doing my job.”

“You’re succeeding beyond your wildest dreams,” Han said.

Leia grabbed the back of his elbow and squeezed in warning, but the Sullustan merely smiled in pride.

“Tarfang tells me you’re looking for someone to help you catch your friends.”

“To find them,” Luke corrected.

“I see. Well, it makes no difference.” Juun cast an annoyed glance in Tarfang’s direction. “I’m afraid my first mate sometimes exceeds his authority.”

Tarfang asked something in a disbelieving tone.

“It’s not the mate’s responsibility to raise funds,” Juun replied. “You let me worry how we’re going to pay for that vortex stabilizer.”

“A warp vortex stabilizer?” Han asked. “For a YT this old? It can’t be easy to come by one of those out here.”

“Not at a fair price,” Juun agreed. “I’ve had one brought in, but I’m two hundred credits short of the shipping fees.”

“Not if you help us, you’re not,” Han said, stepping into the light. “We can pay you the two hundred credits.”

Juun’s mouth fell. “I knew that was your voice!” He turned to Tarfang. “Why didn’t you tell me Han Solo was with them?”

Tarfang sneered in Han’s direction and prattled an answer.

“Yes, but this is Han Solo!” The Sullustan rose and thrust a hand out. “The XR-eight-oh-eight-g follows all your procedures, and I’ve memorized all your combat maneuvers from the history vids.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t trust everything I see in those holovids,” Han said, allowing the Sullustan to shake his hand. “Now, about that help…”

“I’d like to help you.” Juun’s voice grew disappointed, and he turned back to his work. “But it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Proper?” Han echoed. That particular word encompassed everything he hated about Sullustans. “Why not?”

“Because I have an arrangement with our hosts, and evidently they don’t want you to find your friends.”

Tarfang groaned and slapped his brow.

“We can’t ignore the wishes of our business partners,” Juun said to the Ewok. “We have a deal.”

“A deal you can’t keep until you find two hundred credits,” Han said. “How long are they willing to wait?”

“We are facing a bit of a dilemma,” Juun admitted.

“What if we were to buy a copy of your charts?” Luke asked.

Juun shook his head. “My charts wouldn’t help you. Your friends went to Yoggoy.”

“And you don’t know where Yoggoy is?” Luke asked.

“Nobody does,” Juun said. “The Yoggoy are very proud and secretive. They hide the location of their nest from outsiders.”

Saba glared down at Tarfang. “Then why did you say you could help us find our friendz?”

Tarfang jabbered an answer.

“Because the XR-eight-oh-eight-g has been assigned a cargo for Yoggoy,” C-3PO translated, “and when a ship is assigned a cargo for Yoggoy, it is also assigned a Yoggoy to serve as its navigator for the trip.”

“Fine,” Leia said. Even she seemed to be losing patience. “Help us get a cargo, and we’ll pay you for consulting.”

Tarfang rattled off a long response, which C-3PO translated as, “Tarfang suggests you simply give Captain Juun the money. They’ll check on our friends and give us a report when they return.”

“Sure they will.” Han turned to the others, then nodded toward the door. “We’re wasting our time here.”

Luke motioned Han to wait, his gaze fixed on Tarfang. Han realized for the first time that Mara was no longer with them; under circumstances like these, she had an uncanny knack for slipping away unnoticed.

Finally, Luke turned back to Han. “Tarfang’s not trying to swindle us, Han. He really does want to work out an honest deal.”

Tarfang snarled something at the Jedi Master.

“He wasn’t stealing your thoughts,” C-3PO said to the Ewok. “Master Luke is not a thief.”

Tarfang whirled on the droid and yapped a command.

“Very well. But I wouldn’t blame him if he used his lightsaber on you.” C-3PO turned to Luke. “Tarfang is threatening to remove your eyes if you do that again.”

“Oh, that scares him,” Han said to the Ewok. “You want to make a deal? Here it is: two hundred credits to get us a cargo.”

To Han’s surprise, it was Saba who answered. “He can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because Lizil wouldn’t allow it,” Luke said. “He—or she—doesn’t want us to find Jaina and the others.”

“They,” Juun corrected.

Luke frowned. “What?”

“They,” Juun said.

The Sullustan continued to work, soldering what looked like the rear hold powerfeed onto the main cabin output. Han would have said something, but he had long ago learned never to tell another captain how to maintain his own ship. Besides, anyone who looked at the Falcon’s main control board would probably have just as many doubts about his work as he was having about Juun’s.

“Lizil isn’t their leader.” Juun looked up from his work, dragging the hot tip of his soldering iron across the flux-inhibitor circuitry. “Lizil is them.”

“They all share one name?” Leia asked.

“In a sense, but it’s more than that. The way they think of it, they’re all Lizil together. Lizil is the nest, but so are all of the members.”

“They don’t have an individual sense of identity?” Leia asked.

“I think that’s so,” Juun said. “But I’m not really current on my xenobiological definitions.”

Tarfang chortled something helpful sounding.

“Master Tarfang says that it’s only important to remember that when you say Lizil, you might be talking about the entire nest or any of its members.”

Tarfang chattered something impatient.

“And you’ll never be sure which,” C-3PO added.

“Cozy,” Han said. “So why doesn’t Lizil want us to find Jaina?”

When Juun hesitated, Tarfang let out a long, urgent chitter.

“But nobody said it wasn’t secret,” Juun countered.

“You are being rockheaded,” Saba rasped. “Something is only secret if—”

“Hold on,” Han said to Saba. The Sullustan mind was as stubborn as it was methodical, and the Barabel would only delay things by browbeating Juun. “It is a bit unclear.”

Saba glared at Han out of one dark eye.

“There are your implied agreements and your tacit obligations.” Han turned to Juun. “Am I right?”

The Sullustan nodded rapidly. “Only captains understand these things.”

“True,” Han said. “But aren’t you smugglers, too?”

Tarfang grunted an affirmative.

“There you have it, then,” Han said. He looked back to Juun. “You have to answer me.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Han allowed some of the impatience he was feeling to show in his voice. “The Smuggler’s Code says so.”

Juun looked back to his work and casually asked, “The Smuggler’s Code?”

“Item seven?” Han prompted. “I swear to help other smugglers, as long as it don’t cost me?”

“Yes, of course.” Juun’s beady-eyed gaze flicked back and forth across the master control board. It was impossible that he actually knew the Smuggler’s Code—Han was making it up—but nothing embarrassed most Sullustans more than admitting they did not know proper procedures. “Item seven. I’d almost forgotten.”

“I think that clears things up,” Leia said. She flashed Han an approving smile, then sat on her haunches beside Juun. “So what’s Lizil trying to hide?”

Juun began to solder the forward loading door’s powerfeed to the forward loading door’s control circuit. “You have seen the Joiners?”

Han expected Leia to shake her head, but she seemed to sense something from her brother and allowed Luke to respond for her.

“You mean Lizil’s translators?”

“Not translators,” Juun said. “Joiners. They’re Lizil, too.”

Saba lowered her scaly brow. “How can that be?” she rasped. “Most of them do not even have six limbz!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Juun said. “They’ve been absorbed.”

“Absorbed?” Han was having trouble following the conversation now, probably because he had not yet seen any of these “Joiners.” “Absorbed how?”

“Mentally, I suspect,” Luke said, keeping his eyes on Juun. “Is it some sort of brainwashing?”

Juun shrugged. “All I know is that when someone spends too long in a nest, he gets absorbed.”

“You’re saying that my daughter thinks she’s some kind of bug?” Han demanded, taking a step forward. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

Juun jumped up and stepped behind Leia. “It’s not my fault!”

“Take it easy, Han,” Luke said. “We don’t know that has happened.”

“Do we know it hasn’t?” Han countered.

“Now you are being a rockhead,” Saba said. “We know nothing, not even where they are.”

Saba’s intervention reminded Han that he and Leia weren’t the only ones with a child at risk. Her son, Tesar, was one of the Jedi Knights who had followed Jaina into the Unknown Regions.

“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Han touched Saba’s back—then swallowed hard, remembering that touching a Barabel uninvited was a good way to lose an arm. “Sometimes, I forget they’re Jedi.”

“Not to worry.” Saba thumped a scaly hand down on his shoulder. “This one forgetz sometimez, too.”

A moment of silence hung in the air as they recalled all they had lost at Myrkr, Anakin and Bela and Krasov and the others, and Han thought he could almost feel Saba reaching for him in the Force, trying to lend him the strength to have faith in his daughter’s abilities, to recall that she was a Jedi Knight and an ace star pilot and a hero as big in her war as he and Leia had been in theirs. It was not an easy thing for a father to keep in mind, but it was true, and—as Leia always said—in truth there was strength.

“All right already,” Han said, motioning Juun back to the control board. “You can go back to work. I’m better.”

Leia gave him an understanding wink, then turned back to Juun. “What does Lizil need with a group of Jedi Knights?”

“I don’t know,” Juun said. “But they left with Unu.”

“Unu?”

“The central nest,” Juun said. “Your daughter and the others were met by an escort of Unu guards.”

“More bugs?” Han had a sinking feeling. “Great.”

“Then there’s an organization of nests?” Leia asked Juun.

The Sullustan nodded. “The Colony.”

Han thought he was beginning to understand. “How big?”

Juun pulled a datapad from beneath his utilities, then began punching keys. “I have heard three hundred and seventy-five names.”

Luke whistled. “Enough to stretch from here to the Chiss frontier. Now this is beginning to make some sense.”

“How do you figure?” Han asked.

“The situation isn’t complicated,” Leia said. “The Colony is rubbing borders with the Chiss empire. It’s pretty clear why the central nest might want a team of Jedi Joiners on their side—especially this particular team.”

“Jedi commandos are good equalizers,” Han agreed. “But what I want to know is how the Colony got them to come out here in the first place.”

Several moments passed with no answer, and finally their gazes began to drift toward Juun. Tarfang’s eyes darted from one to the other of them, and finally he jabbered an angry denial.

“Tarfang asks that you stop looking at them,” C-3PO said. “He denies any involvement.”

“That’s not what we were implying,” Leia said.

“But we do need your help,” Luke said to Juun. “Han needs your help. We must find our Jedi Knights.”

Juun considered this for a moment, then said, “Perhaps there is a way. There’s room in the forward hold. If we hide you in there—”

“Forget it,” Han said. “We’re flying our own ships.”

“I’m afraid this is the only practical way,” Juun said. “I’ll be relying entirely on the guide myself.”

Han shook his head.

“Han, I know it’ll be crowded,” Luke said. “But it sounds like the best plan.”

“No, Luke,” Han said, discreetly eyeing the control board. “It really doesn’t.”

Luke’s gaze darted to the board and away again almost immediately, but he was not quick enough to escape Juun’s notice.

“Why are you looking at the control board?” he demanded. “You don’t trust me to maintain my own ship?”

“Well, you did slip with your solder.” Han stooped down and pointed at a silver line angling across the board. “You’re going to have a short running across your flux inhibitors.”

Juun studied the line, then said, “It’s nothing to worry about. I followed all the proper procedures.”

“Yeah, but you slipped—”

“It’s more than adequate. I’ll demonstrate.” Juun slipped the master plug onto the supply prongs, then waved Tarfang to the far side of the cabin. “Close the main breaker.”

“Juun, I don’t think that’s a good—”

A sharp clack echoed across the room. Han barely managed to close his eyes before the ship erupted into a tempest of bursting lamps and sizzling circuits. Leia and the others cried out in shock. When the crackling continued, Han pulled his blaster and, opening his eyes to what looked like a indoor lightning storm, shot through the wire array just above the master plug.

The popping and buzzing quickly died away, and the main cabin was again plunged into its previous green dimness. Juun dropped to his knees in front of the control board.

“Not again!”

“What did I tell you?” Han asked.

Tarfang returned to the group and studied his crestfallen captain a moment, then looked Han in the eye and spoke sharply.

“He says the cost just doubled, Captain Solo,” C-3PO said. “You must pay for the damages you caused.”

“I caused?” Han protested. “I told him not to—”

“We’ll be glad to replace the wire array Han destroyed saving the XR-eight-oh-eight-g,” Leia interrupted. “And we’ll do anything else we can to help Captain Juun complete his repairs…per item seven of the Smuggler’s Code.”

“You bet,” Han said, catching Leia’s strategy. “It’s not as bad as it sounded, or the smoke would be a lot thicker.”

Juun looked up, his small eyes round with wonder. “This is covered under item seven?”

“Oh, yeah,” Han said. “But we’re flying our own ships.”

“I’m sure we can think of a way to follow Captain Juun.” Luke spoke in a tone that suggested he had already solved this problem. “We may need to install a couple of pieces of equipment when we repair the wire array.”

Tarfang raised a lip, then jabbered a demand.

“What kind of equipment?” C-3PO translated.

“The secret kind,” Luke said, glaring at the Ewok.

Tarfang lowered his furry brow and glared back for a moment, then finally said something that C-3PO translated as, “Captain Juun will be taking a big risk. It’ll cost you.”

“Fine,” Luke said. He stepped close to Juun and Tarfang, and suddenly he seemed as large as a rancor. “But you know who we are. You understand what it will mean if you try to double-cross us?”

Tarfang shrank back, but Juun seemed untroubled.

“Double-cross Han Solo?” the Sullustan asked. “Who’d be crazy enough to do that?”