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She shook her head. “We—”

“Leia, meet Droma,” he said in a rush, dragging the Ryn between them. “Droma: my wife, Leia.”

Leia blinked. “Droma? Who—”

“The corvette,” Han said to Luke. “Is it away?”

“No, Han—”

“Reck must be headed for the Yuuzhan Vong ship,” Han said, shooting Droma a look.

“Reck?” Leia asked.

“Peace Brigade,” Han said, as if one word. “They reclaimed the defectors.”

Luke regarded him with intense interest. “Defectors?”

Han turned to him and a fragile-looking Mara, clenching his fists in recall of what Elan had said about a Yuuzhan Vong–introduced illness.

“No time to explain.” He raced up the ramp.

Droma glanced at Leia. “Nice to meet you,” he said, then dashed up the ramp, stiff tail shaking behind him.

Luke looked at Leia in puzzlement. “Han, wait,” he started to say, when Leia laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“No, Luke, let him go.” She gazed up the ramp as Han and his accomplice were vanishing from view. “I’ve a feeling he needs this.”

Han let momentum carry him into the outrigger cockpit and clear into the pilot’s seat. He was flipping switches and toggles when Droma entered.

“You familiar with YT-1300s?” Han asked over his shoulder, both hands in ceaseless motion.

“Our caravan from the Corporate Sector included several 1300s—though that wasn’t something we bragged about.”

Han scowled and gestured to the copilot’s seat. “Strap in, scratch coat. This one’s something to brag about.”

Droma edged uncertainly between the rear chairs and settled into the outsize chair to Han’s right. “You’d have to be a person of considerable dimensions to fill this seat,” he said.

Han stopped what he was doing to look at Droma. And for a brief moment he had a vision of Chewbacca. Sitting tall in the seat, the Wookiee had a grin on his face and his big paws clasped behind his shaggy head. His black-tipped, cinnamon fur shone as if freshly shampooed and his teeth gleamed. He turned toward Han and boomed his delight in an earsplitting yowl, then woofed with laughter that reverberated throughout the ship.

Han’s chest filled with a tight warmth and his eyes brimmed with tears. He had to swallow to find his voice.

“You can say that again,” he muttered, swinging toward the viewport.

Droma assessed the cockpit as the Falcon powered up and repulsors moved her toward the hold’s magnetic transparency and the starfield beyond. “I thought you said you ran with a wealthy crowd.”

Han snorted a laugh and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That guy in the robe back there—that was Luke Skywalker.”

Droma looked impressed. “The Jedi Skywalker?”

“One and the same. My wife is Leia Organa.”

Droma scratched his head. “So your real name is Han Organa?”

“Solo,” Han growled in annoyance. “Han Solo.” When Droma just stared at him, he added, “You’re saying you haven’t heard of me?”

“I may have,” Droma allowed. “But we Ryn meet so many people.”

Han loosed a long exhale and concentrated on the business at hand. Local space was still frenetic with war craft and fire, but the real fighting had moved far afield of the starliner, out toward where an ovoid Yuuzhan Vong ship was defending itself against an onslaught of laser beams and proton torpedoes.

In the time it had taken Leia to dock the Falcon, the Peace Brigade’s corvette had managed to disengage from the Queen and just now was trading shots with a quartet of X-wings in a race for the far side of the largest of the nearby planetoids. Closer to the planetoid, over which a New Republic cruiser-carrier hung like a lightsaber, starfighters and coralskippers were matched in a tumultuous battle.

“Set the friend-or-foe authenticator to scan for Sienar Fleet Systems Martial-class shuttles,” Han directed Droma while he increased power to the Falcon’s drive.

Droma located the authenticator and initiated a scan. “Found one,” he reported almost immediately. “Making for the Yuuzhan Vong ship.”

Han compressed his lips. In the heat of battle the New Republic pilots hadn’t recognized the shuttle as an enemy. “That would be Reck,” he said.

“We’ll never catch