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“Genetic material?” Jag pressed.

Grees eyed him. “I’m not saying any more until I get paid for the information. You want it, it’s worth something to you, so we make a deal.”

“Not on your—”

Jag held up a hand, and Han fell silent. “I believe you were working for the Imperial Remnant. Which means me. Is that correct?”

They looked at one another and nodded.

“And did you officially terminate your employment? Or were you otherwise formally released from that contract?”

He knew he had them when they looked up, down, at something in some distant part of the ship, anywhere but at him.

“I see. So then you’re still working for me, and as part of that already-arranged deal, you need to tell me what you know. Because if you don’t, then I might have to do something very unpleasant to you. All simply as part of honoring the deal, of course.”

Sligh let out a pained sigh. Emala patted him. “All right,” Grees said. “Getelles has a few scientists working for him who also worked on that nanovirus that killed the little Hapan Chume’da—Allana, I think her name was.”

Jag heard the Solos gasp softly. Allana had gone very still.

“Go on,” Han said in a cold voice.

“Getelles is apparently all kinds of excited about the thought of doing something with drochs to prolong life.”

“And rejuvenate older beings,” said Emala.

“And rejuvenate older beings,” Grees added. “So we volunteered to be test subjects.” Seeing Han’s glower, he said, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It was an excellent opportunity to gather information to give to the Head of State. Once we got the information, we escaped. To tell him everything we knew via our good former partners, like we’re doing right now.”

“That’s not all,” pressed Jag. “You wouldn’t want to renege on your deal, now, would you?”

Grees scowled.

Emala sighed. “Better tell him, Grees,” she said.

Grees’s scowl deepened, and he fished in the pockets of his jacket. He pulled out a small, tightly sealed vial approximately as long as his finger. “As you can tell, the experiments were a rousing success. We’ve gotten the chance to live our lives all over again. We wanted the same for our people.”

“For the right fee,” said Han.

“Well of course,” said Sligh, puzzled at Han’s tone. “We’ll be able to spend our lives all over again in a very comfortable fashion.”

“And we want to do the same for our children,” said Grees. “They’re getting on in years, as well. We didn’t want to outlive them. Who wants that?”

It was uttered in a very nonchalant tone, and Jag was certain that Grees didn’t realize the impact those words had on Han and Leia. He couldn’t feel them in the Force, but he didn’t need to. The slight tensing of Leia’s slender frame, the sudden softness in Han’s eyes as he looked off to the right—these gestures told him that the Squibs’ words, spoken offhandedly, had struck deep.

The Solos had outlived two of their three children. And they would never have the chance to watch Anakin or Jacen live their too-brief lives over again.

Jag cleared his throat and extended his hand. The three Squibs stared at it as if it were an appendage they had never seen before. “The serum,” he said. “Give it to me, please.”

Grees clutched it to his chest. “Why? It’s ours! We went through a great deal to bring you that information, and this has nothing to do with you!”

“The Empire greatly appreciates your efforts, and you will be amply compensated. But that serum was developed in an Imperial laboratory, by Imperial citizens, for use of the Empire. I’m afraid it’s stolen property.”

“You can’t have it,” Emala said bluntly. “It’s for the children. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Neither, I am quite certain, was stealing Imperial property. I would prefer not to arrest you, but I will if I must.”

“What do you need it for? You have plenty of years ahead of you. Are you planning on giving it to Captain Solo?”

“Now wait just a—” began Han.

“No,” Jag said. “I have another use for it. A very important use that could help the galaxy. It doesn’t belong to you.”

When Grees