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“I am. That's why I only ordered a double.”

“Can I have a bite if it's good?” Allana said.

Han threw Leia a covert wink. “Sure you can, sweetheart. We can even split it if you want.”

That was one way of getting her to eat, Leia thought. Ever since they had heard from Quip Fargil, Allana—beside herself that her plan had succeeded—had scarcely stopped to breathe. It was Fargil who had suggested meeting at the Eatery, which was distant from the spaceport but advertised that its meals were home-cooked. As eager as C-3PO had been to join them, Han had asked him to remain aboard the Falcon.

A handsome, muscular man who looked decades younger than his seventy-six years, Fargil was sitting opposite Leia at the round table, tucking a napkin into the collar of his shirt. While he spoke in the archaic manner of some of the settlers they had met on Vaced, there was something almost sophisticated about him, and his hands were as soft as an executive's. His utility suit had come straight from one of the shops on Main Street; it was spotless—possibly right off the rack. Leia had noticed Han sit straighter in his chair when Fargil approached the table, and that Han was continuing to size him up at every opportunity.

“You know, we asked all over for you,” Han said. “But no one had even heard of you.”

“That's because you asked for Quip Fargil, and I haven't gone by that name in more than forty standard years. It was my name during the Rebellion.”

“Parlay Thorp said she thought you might have been a member of the Alliance,” Leia said.

“She was right—though a long way from where you served, Princess Leia. And maybe a couple of years earlier.”

“Who was your commander?”

“Our group was based on Tuerto. We received orders from a lot of different people—Mon Mothma, even Garm Bel Iblis once—but I never met either of them.”

“Mon Mothma,” Leia said in surprise. “Then you might have had indirect dealings with my father.”

Fargil hesitated for a moment. “Senator Bail Organa. No. But I knew of him, of course.”

Leia smiled through a sudden feeling of distrust. For the briefest instant she sensed that Fargil was on the verge of saying Anakin Sky-walker. But that couldn't be; Fargil would have been a teenager when Anakin became Darth Vader. How in any case would their paths have crossed? Still, there was more to Fargil's story than he was revealing, and Han had also picked up on it.

“I've got to say, Quip, you don't look a day over forty. What's the secret—something in Vaced's air or water?”

Fargil laughed to mask what seemed to be his embarrassment. “Simple genetics. My father's hair stayed blond until he was eighty years old.”

“Lucky you, huh?”

“At looking young?” Fargil said, a slight edge in his voice. “Doesn't matter a whole lot to me.”

“Is it true that you donated the Falcon to Parlay Thorp?” Leia said quickly.

Fargil nodded. “I gave her away.”

“Was she already called the Millennium Falcon when you flew her?” Han asked.

“Gone to Pieces,” Fargil said, then added: “That was her original name.”

In the moment it took Han to comprehend it, Leia watched his face pale. “Are you saying—”

“I renamed her. Fast as a bat-falcon, resilient enough to last a millennium.”

Han sat back as if he had just been sucker-punched and Allana said, “Wow a hundred times a hundred! Wait till I tell Threepio!”

“Our protocol droid,” Leia said for Fargil's benefit.

Han ran his hand down over his mouth in an attempt to calm himself. It shouldn't have come as a shock, Leia thought, but she understood what he was going through. It was one thing to have flown the ship, another to have named her.

“So who did you get her from?” Han said at last.

Fargil inhaled deeply. “Actually, I stole her from an Imperial impound facility in the Nilash system. Me and a Sullustan.”

“Why was she in impound?”

“The Imps had confiscated the ship from a Nar Shaddaa crime boss.”

Han's jaw became unhinged. “This is too much. Where did the crime boss get her?”

“Sorry, Solo,” Fargil said, “but that's as far back as I can take you. Someone on the Smugglers' Moon might