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“Old friends who put bounties on their heads?” Jag continued in the same mild tone of voice.

“Well,” said Grees, “there were reasons behind it. Very good reasons, actually.”

“And now there aren’t,” said Emala. “So now we’re partners again. And in a way, partners with you, too.”

“So it would seem,” Jag said. “It looks as if the life of adventure suits you all, considering how long you’ve known the Solos.”

Grees’s whiskers bristled, but Emala said, “Well, some beings just age better than others.”

“That’s it!” said Leia. “You’re too young!”

“Flatterer,” said Emala.

But Leia shook her head. “It’s not about flattery, Emala. It’s about the simple fact that all three of you are younger than you were when we first met you.”

Beside Leia, Han was nodding. “You’re right. There was something—wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

“Clean living,” said Sligh.

“Yep!” said Emala. “Helping out partners and doing the right thing.”

“That’s poodoo,” Han said, growling. “Your ears!”

“What about them?” said Emala, looking impossibly innocent.

“They’re way too big. And Sligh—take off that coat. Now.”

Sligh looked offended and clutched the coat tighter around his frame. “Why should I do that?”

“Sligh, please. Humor Captain Solo. I’d be very appreciative if you would.” Jag smiled.

The three exchanged glances, and the overly large ears drooped. “Okay,” muttered Sligh.

He removed the coat and stood before them with his blue-furred torso exposed. “See? Nothing wrong with—”

“Turn around, please,” said Jag.

Muttering in Squibbal, Sligh turned around. His fur—thick, silky, and shiny with good health—sported small spots of lighter blue all along his back.

Allana said in a delighted tone of voice, “You’re like a nexu! One color when you’re a baby, another when you’re grown up!”

“We’re not fuzzlings, Fuzzling,” Grees said. “We just … got younger.”

“You don’t just get younger.” Jag wondered if he heard a trace of resentment in Han’s voice.

“Getelles,” said Leia. “Oh no … You didn’t …” She looked at Han, her eyes wide.

“The drochs,” Han said. “Did that sleemo manage to smuggle drochs out?”

Jag felt a punch of cold apprehension in his gut. Of course he knew about the Death Seed plague, carried by the insects of Nam Chorios known as the drochs. He imagined that nearly everyone in the galaxy knew about the horrific creatures. They drained the life energy of their victims, causing necrosis and finally death. Ever since this discovery there had been a strictly enforced policy that under no circumstances were drochs permitted to leave Nam Chorios.

Several years ago, Getelles had been working with a company on Antemeridias to take over the Meridian sector. Part of the plan involved releasing the drochs on anyone who wasn’t on his side. He’d been sitting quietly for many years, rebuked, fined, and penalized, but still keeping his seat.

But Jag didn’t understand how Leia had made the jump from the Death Seed plague to eternal youth.

“From my understanding,” said Jag, “the drochs siphoned life energy. They didn’t give it back.”

“They did if you ate them,” Han said.

The Squibs were doing their best to put on sabacc faces throughout this conversation, but apparently they weren’t fooling the Jedi Knight present. Leia glowered at the rodents, who unconsciously pressed in closer to one another.

Han closed the distance between himself and Grees in two strides, grabbed the Squib by his coat lapels, and lifted him up. “Does Getelles have drochs?”

“Dad! Put him down, please!”

The voice was young and earnest. Han paused, glanced down at his adopted daughter, then put Grees down. He didn’t let go of the collar, though, and he repeated his question in a deceptively calm and measured voice.

“Does Getelles have drochs?”

“Well, not in the way that you’re thinking,” said Emala, casting a quick glance at Allana. “He isn’t breeding them.”

“So he’s got dead ones?” Allana asked.

Sligh sighed and scratched one of his overly large ears, which, presumably, he would grow into, as Anji