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Mara watched him go and shook her head. “That’s a man with not enough to live for.”

“He’ll bounce back,” Luke said. “He’s young.” He fingered the device Jag had given him. “C’mon. Let’s see if Cilghal is still up.”

Returning to the Temple from a late errand, Jaina passed the lone Jedi performing guard duty at the building’s wide-open main entrance and walked into the main corridor.

Just leaving was a man wrapped up in a dark cloak. He kept to the left side of the corridor, away from her, not even appearing to notice her. She hesitated as they came abreast of each other, his upright posture, military bearing, and the unconscious arrogance of his stride causing bells to sound in her memory.

When he was one step past her she stopped and turned her head to look at him. “Jag?”

He stopped, too, but did not turn. His face remained completely hidden within the folds of his hood. But it was Jag Fel’s voice that answered: “Yes?”

“Were you just going to walk past? Not even say hello?”

“Yes.” And then he was gone, swallowed up by the Coruscant night beyond the doors.

GYNDINE SYSTEM TENDRANDO REFUELING AND REPAIR STATION

Hands on hips, Han stood in the lounge of the vehicle now parked alongside the Millennium Falcon. “You have got to be kidding.”

“If you’ll forgive me, Captain Solo,” C-3PO said, “Master Calrissian’s vocal mannerisms, though laced with humor, do not suggest that his basic thesis was in jest.”

Han glared at the gold-toned protocol droid, then returned his attention to his surroundings.

The lounge was, if not a thing of beauty, a testimonial to obsessive detail. The walls and ceiling were covered by thick velvety material in a dark blue that matched the deep carpet on the floor. Silver glow rod housings, polished to a dazzling level of reflectivity, protruded at tasteful intervals from the walls and ceilings. Furniture included four comfort couches, each with ceiling-mounted, semi-transparent privacy curtains that would glide into position or retract at the touch of a button. Controls for the couches’ temperature and vibration settings were mounted on silver panels inset in the velvet walls. Hanging chairs of woven plant-stalk, plated in a silvery surface, were suspended from the ceiling, gleaming tables stood nearby to bear the weight of platters of food, and a water fountain reproducing, in miniature form, a famous waterfall from the world of Naboo burbled in the center of the chamber.

Leia, beside Han, nodded. “It’s even more crass than the Lady Luck.”

Lando, facing them from across the room to view their first reactions to the pleasure pit, smirked. “She’s a bit like the Lady. An older model, a SoroSuub Twenty-four-hundred yacht. Her owner—her former owner—fell on hard times, and they got harder when he decided to win back his fortunes in a sabacc match I was sitting in on.” He shrugged. “We had a lot in common, including taste in luxury yachts, but not including the fact that he drinks while gambling. I won his craft and a year’s contract for his services as a salesman. He’s marketing my droids in the Outer Rim now—and conveniently, the yacht is still officially registered in his name, since I somehow haven’t found time to file the change-of-ownership documentation.”

“What’s her name?” Leia asked.

Lando modulated his voice to its richest, most seductive tones. “The Love Commander.” He stretched out the word love, an exercise in mockery.

Leia looked at him as though he could not possibly be telling the truth. At his confirming nod, she put her hands over her mouth, the better to restrain any laughter that might emerge.

Han shook his head. “I don’t want to say what I think of her as a vehicle, but as a disguise, she’s perfect.” He pulled his left arm from its sling and flexed his hand experimentally. Several weeks’ worth of medical treatments since he sustained the injury and a good night’s sleep had improved his condition somewhat, and his manner suggested he would soon be his old fighting self. “Let’s move our gear from the Falcon to the master cabin,” he told