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Nearby rested the Falcon, the tunnel-tube junction still clamped to her side, and the Espo assault craft. Doc had guided both stuffy, overcrowded ships into quick contact with Jessa, and they’d been directed to this latest hide-out world.

Chewbacca was still onboard the Falcon, surveying the damage done to her since the last time he’d seen her. A new yaup of inconsolable sadness echoed from the ship each time he found another item of damage.

Doc, rather than reiterate his explanation, said, “Youngster, check the ’droid out for yourself. There.” Outlaw-techs were just offloading Bollux’s mutilated, beam-scorched form from the ship. An entire segment of his cranium had been shot away by Uul-Rha-Shan. At Doc’s order, his men brought over the repulsor-lift handtruck with the ’droid strapped to it. With force bars and pinch-jacks, they prized open the plastron.

And there sat Blue Max, unscathed, running off his own power pack. Han leaned over him. “Uh, Maxie?”

The computer’s voice still sounded like a child’s. “Captain Solo! Long time no see. In fact, long time no see anything.”

“Gotcha. Sorry; things were really jumping this trip. Is Bollux in there with you for a fact?”

In response, he heard the unhurried drawl of the labor ’droid coming from Max’s grille, sounding strangely high-pitched through the vocoder. “Right enough, Skipper. Blue Max was in direct link with me when the disrupter hit me. He pulled all my essential information and basic matrices down here, safe and sound with him, in microseconds. Imagine that? Naturally, I’ve lost a lot of specifics, but I guess I can always relearn camp sanitation procedures if I have to.” The voice became dejected. “I suppose my body’s unsalvageable, though.”

“We’ll get you a new one, Bollux,” Doc promised. “One for both of you, a custom puff; you have my word. But now you have to go; my boys will make sure all that circuitry in there remains stable.”

“Bollux,” Han said, and found himself with nothing to say. He hit that problem from time to time. “Take it slow.”

“I always do,” the vocoder drawled.

“G’bye, Captain Solo!” Blue Max added.

Jessa, shading her eyes, pointed to the assault craft. “There’s a problem we won’t solve in the shop.”

A dark-skinned figure sat by the ship’s ramp, head bent to his chest. “He took his uncle’s death pretty hard,” Jessa continued. “Rekkon was quite a man; losing him would be hard on anybody.” She looked to Han. Han was studiously looking elsewhere. He saw the boy’s head come up from his private grief; he bore a startling resemblance to Rekkon.

“What do we do with him?” Jessa went on. “Most of the prisoners will find a new life somehow, even Torm’s father and brother. The majority of them will leave the Corporate Sector; a few hotheads plan to take it to the courts, as if they had a prayer. But the boy’s by far the youngest you rescued, and he’s got no one now.”

She was watching her father expectantly. Doc’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t goggle at me, girlie. I’m a certified businessman and criminal. I don’t collect strays.”

She giggled. “But you never turn them away, either. And you always say there’s always room for one more at the table, we’ll just—”

“—scramble the eggs,” he anticipated her, “and water the soup. I know. Well, I suppose I could at least talk to the lad. He might have some usable aptitude, hmm, yes. Atuarre, you worked with his uncle quite closely; would you mind coming with me?”

Doc went off with all three Trianii at his side. Pakka turned and flipped Han a parting wave, his other pawhand caught up in his father’s.

Jessa looked at Han. “Well, Solo, thanks. See you around.” She turned to go.

He couldn’t stifle an involuntary “Hey!” She turned back with a cant to her head that let him know he’d have to talk fast. Which he did. “I put my life—my one and precious life, mind you—on the line for your father—”

“—and all those other fine people,” she cut in, “including your good friend Chewie—”

“—and went through a couple of types of hair-raising situations, and all you have to say is thanks?”

She evinced shock. “Why, you