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“Sir?”

“Sometimes it’s more painful to know the truth than not to know it.”

C-3PO paid close attention. “Put that way, it doesn’t sound so bad,” he started to say, then made a flustered gesture. “But this matter of stretching the truth is as confusing as ceasing-to-be!”

Han raised an eyebrow. “Ceasing-to-be? What’s a droid doing thinking about death? You can’t die.”

“Perhaps not the way a human can, sir. But I can be deactivated. And what will become of my memories, then—the memories of all I’ve accomplished and all I’ve been through?”

Han stared at him. “Did somebody loosen your motivator or something? If that’s all you’re worried about, we can download your memory to a data storage facility.” He narrowed his gaze with clear intent. “In fact, I just might be willing to arrange for that, Threepio—especially if you’ll agree not to say anything to Leia about Bilbringi.”

C-3PO tipped his head to one side.

“Immortality, Threepio,” Han said enticingly.

“But, sir—”

“It’ll be like having a clone on ice. Your mind winds up in a different body, but you don’t even know you were gone.”

“Oh, I’m confident I could adjust to a new body, sir. After all, I am a mind more than I am a body.”

“That’s the spirit, kid.”

“That’s the spirit,” C-3PO repeated excitedly, then came back to himself. “But, Master Solo, sir, about this ship on which you have passage. There’s something you should know—”

“It’s bound for Bilbringi?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Then that’s all that matters. Where’s it leave from?”

“Tenders and boarding shuttles are scheduled to depart from Launch Bay 4061 at thirteen hundred hours, local time. But, sir, if you’d just give me a moment to explain—”

“No time, Threepio,” Han said, glancing at a nearby time display. “And thanks—for everything. You won’t regret this.”

C-3PO raised both hands above his head in agitation. “But, sir,” he called out as Han was hurrying off, “it’s the Queen of Empire—a jinxed vessel if ever there was one!”

NINETEEN

Showolter grimaced as he watched the ooglith masquer captured on Wayland envelop and attach itself to Elan, extruding microscopic hooks and tentacles that inserted themselves into pores, sweat ducts, wrinkles, and folds. Naked, Elan had her back turned to him, but he could tell by her contortions and the involuntary flexing of her shipshape muscles that the process of donning the living mantle was excruciating—exquisitely so, according to Elan.

Alert to his curiosity, she had asked him to watch, in a manner that had managed to mix indifference with a hint of flirtation. He could endure only so much of her agonized moaning, however, and turned away to gaze out the safe house’s sole window at a stand of trees, whose high metal content made that part of Myrkr a challenge for transceivers and other communication arrays.

“All finished,” Elan announced stoically, and Showolter turned again to find her clothed not only in the Yuuzhan Vong second-skin but also in the robe he had originally handed her. She looked more human than ever.

Elan massaged her cheeks, forehead, and chin, as one might smooth away creases. “You see, Showolter? No trace of my markings, no evidence of who and what I truly am.”

Showolter realized he’d been holding his breath, and he let it out. “One size cloaker fits all, huh?”

“Why, are you interested in trying it on?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “Just wondering whether there are male and female versions.”

“Why should there be?”

He scratched his head. “Well, not every Yuuzhan Vong could have your shape.”

Elan glanced at Vergere, squatting nearby, and the two traded cryptic smiles. Vergere’s disguise amounted to no more than a loose-fitting garment that concealed her feathered torso and reverse-articulated legs. There wasn’t much that could be done about her exotic face, but with so many folks displaced from the Outer Rim, immigration and customs officials were getting used to seeing new species every day.

“Is there something wrong with my shape, Showolter?” Elan asked at last.

“Quite the opposite.” He laughed awkwardly.

“But surely you object to