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Han scowled. “She had to have left fingerprints on my blaster. She pulled it to her with the Force, caught it in her hand.”

“Her left hand, you said.” Jag’s voice was thoughtful.

“Yeah.”

“She has to have finally accepted prosthetics,” Jag considered. “Though the custom is to obtain prosthetics identical to your original limbs, down to every mole and fingerprint whorl, that’s not because of some unbreakable law of cybernetics. She could have gotten replacements without identifying features.”

Leia shook her head, clearly unhappy. “So there’s nothing to prove Alema was ever there.”

Han snorted. “Nothing but a damaged and repaired hyperdrive.”

“Which still isn’t proof.” Zekk gave Leia an apologetic shrug. “We really don’t have any forensic means to distinguish between the cuts of different lightsabers. But why do you need proof? We believe you.”

“Because I’m not sure I believe myself at this point. I couldn’t even feel her in the Force. Only Lumpy. I mean, Waroo.” Leia looked around guiltily, caught in the act of using a childhood nickname abandoned by its owner. Fortunately, Waroo was not in the hangar. “I don’t even know how she escaped.”

“I have an idea.” Jaina frowned, thoughtful. “But it’s pretty weird.”

“Let’s go with weird. Much better than nothing.” Han paused to refill his tumbler, then waved the bottle around, a want-one? gesture.

Jag nodded. “I’ll have one.”

Zekk looked at him, startled. “Colonel Clean Living accepts a brandy when he might have to fly later in the day?”

“Who is it who says I need to learn to unclench before I lock permanently into a full-body grimace? Seems to me it was a tall Jedi with too much hair.” Jag accepted a tumbler from Han and gave the older man a nod of thanks before sipping.

Jaina gave Zekk and Jag an admonishing look. “Back to the subject. Instead of this attack of Alema’s being some new tactic, a new piece of the puzzle, maybe it’s actually an old one with a new coat of paint.”

Leia leaned back in her chair, which gave off a metallic creak. “Let’s hear it, sweetie.”

“Remember when Jacen and Ben went to Brisha Syo’s asteroid? Ben had a fight with an evil Mara phantom.”

Han and Leia exchanged a glance. Han shrugged. “You’re saying we just fought a phantom.”

“A phantom wouldn’t leave fingerprints, Dad. A phantom could vanish instantly from a sealed freighter.”

Han shook his head. “But Brisha Syo is dead. Her mother, Lumiya, is dead.”

“Right, Dad. But we’re getting reports that Alema is now piloting a craft that resembles an ancient Sith meditation sphere.”

Han stared accusingly at his daughter, then at the liquor bottle. “Sacred brandy, you’ve failed me. My daughter is talking and I don’t understand her anymore.”

Jag smiled. “Like her father, she’s prone to skipping steps when describing her reasoning.” He gestured to quell any protest from Jaina. “She means, the only Sith we’re aware of in all this mess is Lumiya, and we know Alema has been associating with her. Alema probably inherited the Sith ship from Lumiya. What else did she inherit? Perhaps some sort of weird Sith Force technique?” He swirled his tumbler and took another sip. “Plus, I’m not convinced there even was a Brisha Syo.”

It was Zekk’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Jaina’s voice was soft but insistent. “Stay on target, Jag.”

“I’m on target. I’ll discuss Brisha Syo later.”

Leia considered. “So why was I seeing Alema but feeling Waroo?”

Her daughter shrugged. “I don’t know. But I suspect that your instinct not to cut her down was a very good one.”

“She’s going to use this technique again. And she’ll get better with practice.” Jag set his empty tumbler on the table, shaking his head at Han’s silent offer of a refill. “So our need to find her is more pressing than ever. Especially in light of the fact that she’s the number one suspect in the murder of Mara Jade Skywalker. We don’t want the Grand Master to devote more and more resources to hunting her down, not with the civil war becoming bloodier, more