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Kibbick was referring to a raid a month ago by a group of human Rebels on a slave ship preparing to leave the Ylesian system. It wasn’t the first such raid. Teroenza didn’t know who was responsible, but he couldn’t stop thinking that it had to be Bria Tharen, that wretched Corellian traitor and renegade.

Besadii had placed a sizable bounty on her head, but so far, no one had claimed it. Perhaps it’s time to talk to Durga about increasing the bounty on Bria Tharen, Teroenza thought.

Aloud he said, with exaggerated patience, “Your Excellency, while it’s true we don’t care about the slaves once they leave here, they’re still worth credits to us. And ships are expensive. Having big holes blown in them tends to render them unusable—or, at least, very expensive to repair.”

“Oh,” said Kibbick, his brow furrowing. “Yes, I guess that would be correct. Very well.”

Idiot!

“Which brings to mind something I wanted to say to you, Your Excellency,” Teroenza said. “Something that I hope you will mention to your cousin. We must have greater protection here on Ylesia. It is only a matter of time until we here on the planet are attacked again. These space-raids are bad enough, but if this Rebel group were to attack one of the colonies, you and I might conceivably be in danger.”

Kibbick was staring at the High Priest, obviously alarmed by the suggestion. “Do you think they’d dare?” he asked, his voice a trifle unsteady.

“They did before, Your Excellency,” Teroenza reminded him. “Bria Tharen, that ex-slave, led them. Remember?”

“Oh, yes, that’s true,” Kibbick said. “But that was over a year ago. Surely they’ve learned the futility of trying to attack this world by now. They did lose a ship in our atmosphere.”

Ylesia’s turbulent atmosphere was one of its best defenses.

“True,” Teroenza agreed. “But I would rather be safe than sorry, Your Excellency.”

“Safe than sorry …” Kibbick repeated, as though Teroenza had said something startlingly original and clever. “Yes, well … perhaps you have a point. We must be protected here. I will speak to my cousin about that today. Safe than sorry … yes, indeed, we must be safe.…”

Still mumbling, Kibbick went back to his records. Teroenza relaxed back into his sling, and allowed himself the luxury of another roll of his bulbous eyes.

Chewbacca and Mallatobuck’s wedding day dawned bright with promise and hope. Han, who had been told about the wedding only that morning, was glad that his friend was happy, but saddened at the prospect of losing him. They’d had a good couple of years together, though, and he figured that after a few years of marital joy, Chewie might be willing to come back and make occasional smuggling runs with him. Being a happy married guy was one thing, but being married didn’t mean you were dead, right?

He and Chewie barely had a moment to speak together before the bustle of the wedding plans took his friend off on other duties. Apparently Wookiees did not have “best men” companions the way humans did, but Chewie, in deference to Han, asked the Corellian to stand beside him. Han had grinned. “Okay, I get to be ‘best human,’ eh?”

Chewbacca roared with amusement, and told Han that was as good a term for it as any.

As he sat in a corner in Attichitcuk’s home, staying out from underfoot, Han thought about the only time he’d ever asked a woman to marry him. That had been Bria, when he was nineteen, and she was eighteen, and he’d been a lovestruck, moony-eyed kid, too young and dumb to know any better. Good thing for him that Bria had left him.…

Han opened the inner pocket of his vest and took out a much folded, aging piece of flimsy. Opening it, he read the first line:

Dearest Han,

You don’t deserve for this to happen, and all I can say is, I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t stay.…

Han’s mouth twisted, then he folded the flimsy again and shoved it back into his pocket. Until last year, just before the Battle of Nar Shaddaa, he’d thought that Bria must have gone crawling