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TWENTY-FIVE

With the exception of those in the Corporate Sector, few planetary systems had been exploited to the degree that Fondor had—especially for a system so close to the Core. That part of the Tapani sector had originally been designated a manufacturing and shipbuilding center precisely because of the surfeit of resource-rich asteroids and moons, and worlds ripe for abuse. But where the colossal corporations that dominated Bilbringi, Kuat, Sluis Van, and other shipbuilding centers made a pretense of picking up after themselves, no such efforts had ever been made at Fondor. With the space lanes perilous with free-floating construction debris, Fondor’s several small moons looking as if something had taken huge bites out of them, and the planet itself overcrowded, polluted, and corrupted by profiteers providing diversions for the millions of workers who had nowhere else to spend their hard-earned credits, the system was a blight on the Rimma Trade Route.

Many were quick to assert that Fondor’s nimbus of orbital docking stations and oblate zero-g construction facilities had never operated more smoothly than when the Empire had appropriated them, and in fact, conditions had clearly deteriorated over the past twenty standard years—more so since the arrival of the Yuuzhan Vong.

Emerging from the Gandeal hyperlane out past Fondor’s outermost moon, the Falcon was immediately detected and scanned by First Fleet command and control, which had been assigned the task of safeguarding the shipyards after the fall of Obroa-skai.

“Give them our actual transponder signal,” Han instructed Droma while he threaded the Falcon toward a pack of freighters and warships awaiting clearance to enter Fondor space. “It’s our best chance of getting through.”

“How could the Trevee have entered?” Droma asked while he flicked switches on the console.

Han snorted. “A ten-year-old slicer piloting a thirty-year-old Headhunter could penetrate military security. The Trevee could have legitimate business here, or whoever’s in charge of the Tholatin operation could have provided the crew with clearance codes.” He looked at Droma and grinned. “Look who I’m telling. The Ryn are probably pros at just this sort of thing.”

“Only by necessity,” Droma said ingenuously.

A crisp voice crackled from the cockpit annunciators. “Millennium Falcon, this is First Fleet control. Please state your point of origin and the nature of your business.”

“Gandeal,” Han said into his headset mike. “And it’s more pleasure than business. We’re supposed to rendezvous with friends who may have arrived ahead of us. Their ship is the Trevee. Nar Shaddaa registry.”

The communications officer at the other end of the link took a long moment to respond. “Pardon me for asking, Millennium Falcon, but am I speaking with General Han Solo?”

“That’s former general to you, Control,” Han said jocularly.

“A genuine pleasure to be talking with you, sir. As to your request, the Trevee received clearance a short while ago. Unfortunately, sir, they made their cargo drop in an area off-limits to unregistered ships—especially ships with the rectenna array and firepower rating yours boasts.”

“Just like I thought,” Han muttered to Droma. “They scammed their way in.” He reopened the comlink. “Control, can you at least tell us where the Trevee made her drop?”

“Negative, sir. I suggest you direct your request to Defense Force command downside. The best I can do from here is turn you over to Fondor command.”

“Understood, Control. And thanks for the help.”

“Stand by to receive routing and navigational beacon data.”

“Standing by.”

Han set his elbows on the console and regarded the misshapen moons and hundreds of active construction platforms that crowded local space. The bright, sweeping crescent of Fondor dominated the backdrop. “Well, this oughta be a snap. Only a couple of billion cubic kilometers to search—not to mention Fondor itself.”

Droma glanced at him. “We could initiate a drive-signature scan for the Trevee.”

Han thought about it. “Control said they’d already delivered their