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“It’s a pickup, Solo, an extraction. There are details, but that’s basically it; you make contact with some people and take them where they want to go, within reason. They won’t be expecting you to drop them anywhere risky. Even your stunted attention span ought to suffice for that.”

“Where’s the pickup?”

“Orron III. That’s mostly an agricultural world, except that the Authority has a data center there. That’s where your passengers are.”

“An Authority Data Center?” Han exploded. “And how do I get into a place like that? It’ll look like the Espos’ Annual Picnic and Grand Reunion. Listen, toots, I want that stuff from you, but I want to live to a ripe old age, too; I plan to sit in a rocker at the Old Spacemen’s Home, and what you’re suggesting will definitely exclude that option.”

“It’s not so terrible,” she replied levelly. “Internal security’s not especially bad, because only two types of vessels are cleared to land on Orron III—drone barges for the crops and Authority fleet ships.”

“Yeah, but in case you haven’t noticed, the Falcon’s neither.”

“Not yet, Solo, but I’ll change that. We have a barge shell, hijacked it in transit. That wasn’t much of a trick; they’re robot hulks, and they’re pretty dumb. I’ll fit the Millennium Falcon with external control couplings and set her in where the command/control module usually goes, and partition into the hold space. My people can mock up the hull structure so it’ll con the Espos, port officials, or anybody else. You land, contact the parties in question, and off you go. Average ground time for a barge is about thirty hours, so you’ll have plenty of leeway to get things done. Once you’re in transit, you ditch the barge shell and you’re home free.”

He thought hard about that one. He didn’t like anyone messing with his ship. “Why pick me for this thrilling honor? And why the Falcon?”

“Because you need something from me, for one thing, so you’ll do it. Because, for another, even though you’re an amoral mercenary, you’re the hottest pilot I know; you’ve flown everything from a jetpack to a capital ship. As for the Falcon, she’s just the right size, and has computer capacity to spare, to run the barge. It’s a fair deal.”

One thing had him puzzled. “Who’s the pickup? It sounds like you’re going to an awful lot of trouble for them.”

“No one you’d know. They’re strictly amateurs, and they pay well. What they’re doing’s no concern of yours, but if they feel like telling you, that’s their decision.”

He gazed up at the ceiling, which was patterned with glow-pearls. Jessa was offering everything he needed to make the Authority ripe for the plucking. He could give up gunrunning, petty-cash trips to backwater worlds, all that low-ante stuff.

“Well,” coaxed Jessa, “do I tell my techs to get busy, or do you and the Wookiee plan to teach the galaxy the folly of crime by starving in poverty?”

He brought his chair upright. “You better let me break the news to Chewie first, or your wrench jockies will be nothing but a mound of spare parts for the organ banks.”

Doc’s organization—now Jessa’s—was nothing if not thorough. They had the factory specs for the Millennium Falcon, plus complete design holos on every piece of augmentative gear in her. With Chewbacca’s help and a small horde of outlaw-techs, Han had the Falcon’s engine shielding removed and her control systems exposed in a matter of hours.

Service ’droids trundled back and forth while energy cutters flared, and techs of many races crawled over, under, and into the freighter. It made Han jittery to see so many tools, hands, tentacles, servogrips, and lift-locks near his beloved ship, but he gritted his teeth and simply did his best to be everywhere at once—and came close to succeeding. Chewbacca covered the things his partner missed, startling any erring tech or ’droid with a high-decibel snarl. No one doubted for a moment what the Wookiee would do to the being or mechanical who damaged the starship.

Han was interrupted by Jessa,