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“Very well,” reported the sultry voice of Natua Wan. Along with several other recently recovered Jedi Knights, the Falleen had insisted on being part of the rescue mission. Of course, Corran and Mirax Horn had also wanted to participate in the assault, but they were under constant observation and would only have drawn unwanted attention to the mission. “But something seems wrong with our overlay software. These path reports make no sense.”

Natua’s use of the plural gave Han a sinking feeling. “Reports?”

He turned toward the center of the chamber, where an oversized holopad was projecting a schematic of the interior of Detention Center 81. Near the heart of the holograph lay a web of green and yellow squiggles so filled with squares and rectangles that Han could not find the end or beginning of either line.

“Blasted circuit heads!” Han turned to R2-D2, who was plugged into the holopad, feeding it data transmitted by the tracking bugs. “You’ve got an interpretation problem. Did you check for a code algorithm?”

R2-D2 tweedled a sharp reply, which C-3PO promptly translated as, “Artoo-Detoo reports that he has already defeated the GAS code.”

Another series of tweets followed. C-3PO ignored them and continued to look at Han.

“What else?” Han asked.

“My apologies, Captain Solo,” C-3PO said. “But Artoo suggests that if you are unable to recognize a random progression, perhaps you shouldn’t be leading this mission.”

“A what progression?” Han left the viewport and went to stand at the holograph. “You mean this data is good?”

R2-D2 gave an affirmative whistle.

Han stared at the path reports, watching in growing concern as the colored lines changed directions at right angles, usually staying on the same plane, but occasionally descending or climbing as much as four levels. The pods did not seem to be moving toward any particular location, simply making random turns and floor changes that repeatedly crossed their own paths. Clearly, they were taking precautions to prevent the pods from being tracked back to their storage facilities.

“They’re on to us,” Zekk said.

Tall and square-shouldered, he was standing on the opposite side of the holograph with his fiancée, Taryn Zel. With Zekk’s black hair and chiseled features and Taryn’s fiery-eyed beauty, they were a handsome couple—and one that sent a sad pang through Han’s heart every time he caught his daughter glancing in their direction. It was more envy than jealousy that made Jaina keep sneaking looks at how close they always seemed to be standing. Han knew. Her thing with Zekk had always been more “fighting buddy” than “big love,” and she had told him that she was glad he and Taryn seemed so happy together. But Han could also see that Zekk’s happiness reminded Jaina of her breakup with Jag—of how the stars always seemed to be conspiring against them, pushing them into situations where they found themselves obliged to choose between duty and each other.

Han was no Jedi, of course. But it seemed to him they kept finding themselves in the same mess because the Force was trying to tell them that love didn’t work that way. They couldn’t keep putting everything else ahead of their relationship—not the Jedi Order, not the Empire, not even their family. It was all or nothing. When two people wanted to be together, they had to lock card values and push all-in together. In the game of love, that was the only way to win.

But Han knew better than to say any of that to Jaina. Even he knew it wouldn’t be appreciated after she had already broken up with the guy. Besides, who wants to take romantic advice from her dad?

“Captain?” asked a flirty Hapan voice. “Oh, Captain?”

Han turned his gaze on the speaker and found himself looking through the holograph into Taryn Zel’s gray-green eyes. “Yeah?”

Taryn shook her head in exasperation, then asked, “Are we still doing this?”

“Sure,” Han said. “Why not?”

Taryn flashed a coy smile and said, “Good.”

But Zekk was not so enthusiastic.