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“Alcohol isn’t the answer,” he said.

The Codru-Ji studied him from behind the counter. “What’s the question?”

“How do you change the past?”

“Simple. By changing the way you remember it.”

“Yeah, I suppose I could get my memory wiped.”

The bartender nodded in understanding. “Another whiskey and you’d be well on your way.”

Han ran his hand over his stubbled jaw, then shook his head. “To nowhere.”

The bartender shrugged. “Suit yourself, pal.”

The bar at the Lady Fate Casino was almost empty, but the gaming tables were crowded with people celebrating their good fortune in escaping immolation—perhaps the longest shot any oddsmaker had ever posted. Han figured he, too, would have been in a mood to revel, if not for what had happened to Roa and Fasgo.

But what sense was there in dragging Leia down with him? She wasn’t to blame for their disappearance any more than Anakin was responsible for Chewie’s death—perhaps any more than Reck Desh was. So maybe it was time to forget about searching for Roa or the so-called Peace Brigade and return to Coruscant, where he might even be able to engage in something constructive.

He paid for the drink, tipped the Codru-Ji generously, and was headed for the exit when Big Bunji’s Aqualish lieutenant intercepted him.

“I see you made it off the Wheel in one piece,” Han said with elaborate disappointment.

“Good to see you, too, Solo. Boss B thought you might be found here.”

“Tell Bunji I want to thank him for leaving us behind.”

“He sends his apologies. In the haste of the moment, he completely forgot that he had guests.”

Han’s upper lip twitched. “I’ll be sure to tell that to Roa and Fasgo—assuming they survive whatever the Yuuzhan Vong have planned for them.”

The Aqualish nodded inscrutably. “Perhaps this will help, Solo. The boss has learned that the human you were asking about—the one called Reck Desh—has an operation planned for Bilbringi.”

Han’s expression went from anger to wary interest. “What sort of operation?”

“Unknown. Only that it involves the entire Peace Brigade.”

“When?”

“Imminently.”

“Bilbringi, you say.”

“That much is known.”

Han pushed his hair from his forehead and loosed a slow exhale. “Okay, tell Bunji thanks.”

The Aqualish gestured farewell and moved off, and Han returned to the bar to think. Presumably, the Happy Dagger was still docked on the Wheel, but there would be no way of knowing whether it had survived the attack without returning upside. The alternative was to find public transport to Bilbringi and nose around for clues as to what Reck was up to. Leia could probably pull the necessary strings to get him aboard a ship, but he couldn’t ask her without coming clean, and he wasn’t ready to risk that. Not yet, anyway.

But C-3PO … C-3PO could arrange for his passage on a Bilbringi-bound vessel.

As per Han’s discreetly relayed request, C-3PO rendezvoused with him at the entrance to the Ord Mantell spaceport.

“Nothing better than a prompt droid,” Han said smiling.

“I must confess, Master Solo,” C-3PO responded anxiously, “that I feel less than right about this—especially about mimicking Leia’s voice to arrange for your passage.”

“Come on, Threepio. You’ve done it before. You did it to fool Grand Admiral Thrawn’s forces.”

“That’s not very reassuring, sir. What’s more, that was a matter of protecting the princess from assassins. This is a matter of protecting you from … I’m not quite sure what, Master Solo.”

“I’m not asking you to lie, Threepio,” Han said, dragging the final word out. “I’m only asking you to overlook. If Leia doesn’t ask you about me, then there’s no need for you to say where I’ve gone.”

“But surely she will ask about you, sir.”

“Okay, but she might not ask directly if you have any idea where I went, or where I am.”

“But, sir, what if she does?”

Han considered it. “If she does, you tell her.” He regarded the droid for a moment. “You’d have to, wouldn’t you?”

C-3PO grew jittery. “It’s beyond logic.”

“Exactly,” Han said. “It’s beyond logic. You know, sometimes people are better off not knowing certain things.