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“Maybe we’re all wrong about this chamber.”

“I am more and more convinced by the moment,” said Lobot. “I can barely reach from one grip to the next—even if the Qella are larger than we are, it seems inconvenient to scatter controls over such a large area.”

“Maybe this is where they hung prisoners, or maidens, or honored sacrifices, like figureheads on the bow.”

“I think that unlikely.”

With a grin and the faintest puff of thruster gas, Lando began a slow rotation, until he was floating upside down in relation to the others. “You know, Lobot, they look even more like handholds this way—handholds and footrests. I wonder—” He craned his neck back until he could see the outer face of the chamber. “Artoo, how many of the rectangular patterns are there?”

A moment later, Threepio relayed the answer. “Artoo informs me that there are twenty-seven.”

“Are there any extra projections that aren’t part of those twenty-seven?”

Threepio consulted with Artoo, then reported, “There are none, Master Lando.”

“What are you thinking, Lando?” asked Lobot.

Grabbing a projection with his left hand, Lando used that leverage to turn himself so his back was to the inner face, allowing him to reach out and grasp the next projection with his right. His legs were twenty centimeters too short for him to reach the bottom corners of the rectangle. “I’m thinking ‘seating capacity, twenty-seven.’ Though Wookiees and Elomin would be more comfortable than I am.”

“A theater?” Lobot asked, turning himself around as Lando had.

“Maybe. And maybe the show won’t begin until the audience is seated. Artoo, Threepio—get on over here and find a place to grab on.”

Artoo towed Threepio to the inner face and waited until the protocol droid had grasped a projection with his working hand. Then the little astromech droid took up position beside his counterpart, using a grappling claw to seize hold.

Moments afterward, the chamber was plunged into absolute darkness.

“Lights, Artoo,” Lobot said quickly.

“No,” said Lando. “Wait. It’s their show.”

Shortly, all four curious spectators could see a brightening glow opposite them—a glow that seemed much farther away than the outer face of the chamber. As the glow continued to increase, it sharpened and separated into several distinct bright masses. Then, in the span of a few heartbeats, everything before them snapped into vivid, brilliantly lit focus.

Those same hearts skipped a beat at the sight. Human senses insisted that they were no longer inside the vagabond. They were suspended in darkness, looking out upon a beautiful ruddy brown planet painted with sparkling blue oceans and cloaked in a partial veil of lacy white clouds. A brilliant but pale yellow star illuminated the planet’s face, which was sculpted by the wandering lines of black mountains and dark green stains spreading outward from the rivercourses. Two moons—the smaller one dusty gray, the larger a startling red—crept along their invisible orbits.

Lando found himself feeling awe, vertigo, and that peculiar panting breathlessness that those who have tasted the cold bite of space are prone to. “Homeworld,” he whispered to himself. “The centerpiece exhibit. As though they knew they would never see it again.”

“Lando, I feel like I’m spacewalking,” said Lobot, also in a whisper. “At least, I think this is what spacewalking would feel like. Is it real?”

“No. It’s not quite right—it’s more real than reality,” Lando said. “But you’d have to have been there yourself to know that the proportions are wrong, that everything’s too big and too close together, that the planet’s too bright relative to the star, time is compressed, and so on. None of which matters. In every way that matters, it’s flawless.”

Lobot turned his head toward the droids without taking his eyes off the panorama. “Artoo, what do your sensors tell you about what’s before us?”

Even Artoo’s long answer seemed respectfully muted.

“Artoo says that the outer face of the chamber is still in place,” said Threepio,