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Droma bowed slightly. “The impossible-to-find item on every scavenger hunt list.”

Reck ignored the remark, squinted at Vergere, and shook his head. “I haven’t a clue.”

Vergere adopted a bashful expression. “I get that a lot.”

Reck moved down the line and gazed curiously at Elan. Shortly, a knowing smile began to pull at the corners of his mouth. He turned and waved a signal to his rail-thin confederate.

From a sturdy carry case the lanky man set at his feet, he extracted—by the scruff of its bristly neck—a nasty-tempered, sharp-toothed creature that looked like the offspring of a ng’ok and a quillarat. Han heard Elan’s sharp intake of breath and saw her eyes widen as the creature’s handler let the thing get a whiff of her. All at once a layer of skin seemed to peel back from Elan’s nose, cheeks, and neck and withdraw into the collar of the blouse Droma had found for her. Bulging as it rushed down her body, the layer of skin flowed out the hem of her skirt and down her bare legs to mass on the floor and slither off for safety, revealing Elan in all her tattooed splendor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Han saw Droma’s jaw drop in unabashed wonder.

“Got’cha,” Reck said, beaming.

Two men stepped in to take charge of Elan. At the same time, the creature who had sniffed out the ooglith masquer leapt snarling from its handler’s arms and went after the living sheath with a vengeance, snatching it with its razor-sharp teeth and shaking it around as if it were a slab of meat. The Yuuzhan Vong followed, grabbed hold of the creature, and shoved it and the shredded flesh-garment back into the carry case.

Reck couldn’t have been more pleased.

“That’s the thing about ooglith masquers,” he said to newly decorticated Elan, “they’re as easy to intimidate as …”

Reck’s words trailed off as his gaze settled on Han. Then he, too, went a bit wide-eyed, in a manner that mixed pleasant surprise with sudden disquiet.

“Han?” he said. “Han, it is you, right? Grayer, heavier, but, son of a gun, same off-kilter mouth and lady-killer looks.”

“Hello, Reck.”

Reck grinned broadly and gestured to Han’s chin. “I don’t remember that scar.”

“I could have had it fixed, Reck, but it reminds me that my past was real.”

Reck looked confused for a moment, then laughed as if he meant it. “Han Solo.” Shaking his head back and forth, he swung to his comrades. “Can you believe this? Han Solo.” By the time he came full circle, however, the smile had been replaced by a look of vexation. “Figures they’d put you in charge of these two.”

“That isn’t exactly the way it happened, Reck.”

“I’m sure.” He gestured to the Yuuzhan Vong’s carry case. “What do you think of the unmasker?”

“I’ll say this much, you don’t make many mistakes.”

Reck snorted. “Hey, they don’t let me.”

“Have you taken a look outside, Reck? How far do you think you’re going to get?”

“I only need to get as far as that Yuuzhan Vong ship.”

“If I were you, I’d start rethinking my loyalties.”

“Loyalties?” Reck said in exaggerated dismay. “What’s loyalty worth on the open market?” He laughed again, mordantly this time. “Guys like you break me up, Han. Profiteers without the guts to change sides suddenly calling themselves patriots. I know who’s coming out on top in this one, and I’ll do whatever I have to, to live happily ever after.”

“You’re talking treason, Reck.”

“I speak it fluently, friend.”

Han fought down an urge to throw his stiffened fingers into Reck’s windpipe. “Remember Chewbacca?”

“The Wookiee? Sure I do. Best of the best.”

Han swallowed. “Your new employers killed him. Pulled a moon down on him.”

Reck’s eyebrows arched. “The Wook was at Sernpidal?” He puffed out his breath and shook his head back and forth. “I’m sorry to hear that, Han—honest. But I had nothing to do with that op.”

“What about the op on Atzerri, Reck? That’s where Roa’s wife, Lwyll, died because of what the Peace Brigade set in motion.”

“Roa’s wife?” Reck blinked, then began to shake his head in protest. “That op wasn’t supposed to end like it did.”

Han’s eyes bored into him. “Does that make it easier