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“More than two hundred,” Han said, nodding. “More of them lately, for some reason—almost one a week so far this year.”

“The security staff calls them ‘mad grannies,’ ” Leia said. “Some of them aren’t old enough by half—some aren’t even human. But they’re all firmly in love with the idea that they married the monster and gave birth to the heroes of the Rebellion.” She shook her head sadly.

“But there might be reasons we don’t know of for her not to come,” Luke said earnestly. “She may need to protect those who protected her. She might not want to face our questions. For all she knows, we curse her memory. That’s why we may have to find her. Please, Leia—let me look into your mind one more time. I have a signpost this time—a name.”

“And what if you find what you’re looking for?”

“Then I’m going away with the woman who brought me the name, to find the rest.”

Leia raised her hands in exasperation. “You see? You see? There’ll never be an end to it—you’ll never be able to let it go.”

“I just have to know the truth,” Luke said. “I don’t understand why you don’t feel the same way—”

“Listen to me—we’re never going to have a tidy family tree,” Leia snapped. “Why can’t you realize? We’re never going to know our parents better than we do right now. We’re never going to have fond stories of our grandparents to tell our children. We’re better off telling them about Owen and Beru, about Bail—the real people who cared for us, protected us, loved us like we were their own. You make too much of blood.”

“It’s more than blood—” Luke began.

“I don’t care,” Leia said, slapping the top of the bar with the flat of her right hand. The noise was so sudden and loud that it made Han jump. “You can’t invent a normal childhood for us, no matter how much you turn up about Mother and Father. And if you do find the truth, as you call it, you just might find you don’t like it very much. You might end up wishing you’d let them stay dead.”

“Could anything be worse than what we already know?”

“I’d rather not know the answer to that question,” Leia said curtly, pushing herself back from the bar so violently that her stool toppled to the floor as she slipped off it. “You and I are foundlings, Luke. That’s how it is, like it or not. Our family tree starts here—with this family, and these children. And they’re going to know their parents, and their uncle, and all our wonderful friends.”

Leia’s face and voice filled with a rising fury as she spoke, fury at the world, the past, at Luke, at all who stood as obstacles to her vision of what should be. “My children are going to have normal family stories to tell their children, little funny stories about everyday nothings, stories where no one dies too young or has to carry a burden of shame. I’m going to see to that, with your help or without it—”

Han approached from the doorway. “Leia—”

“Nothing matters more to me, do you understand?” she demanded, jabbing a finger in Luke’s face. “Nothing. So you do what you think you have to, brother—go wherever you have to with whoever you want to, chasing whatever shadow of a hint of a promise of a clue you like. I don’t care about any of it. Don’t ask for my help again. And don’t bring the past into this house. It’s all just pain and death. You wallow in it if you want to. I’ve had enough of it for ten lifetimes.”

Stunned by the vehemence of her outburst, both men stood mute as Leia stalked out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” Luke said at last. “You were right. I let myself think I know her better than you do.”

“I don’t know who’s right and who’s wrong, kid. I just know you’re both stubborn as tauntauns,” Han said. “And that this would probably be a good time to be leaving.”

Luke did not argue.

* * *

Like most small sport spacecraft with bold names, Akanah’s Verpine Adventurer offered few amenities, technical or personal.

It had no weapons, combat shields, or astromech droid, and its sublight speed rating was a meager 2.5. The navigational deflector array had been upgraded to the Block 3 standard somewhere during