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“Ambassador,” the same raspy voice interrupted. “Governor-General Amer Tariq of Rhinnal on channel four.”

C-3PO pressed another tile, and a miniature image of Tariq rose from the holoprojector.

“Leia,” the elder statesman and noted physician began, “I’m so glad to see you safe and sound.” Tariq wore an impeccably tailored suit, whose mix of colors was too vivid for the holo.

“Thank you, Amer. Did you receive my message?”

“I did, Leia. But I’m sorry to report that I don’t have encouraging news. Rhinnal cannot possibly accept additional refugees at this time, even on a temporary basis.”

Leia was confounded. “Amer, if this is about funds—”

He gave his head a firm shake. “Don’t confuse Rhinnal with Ralltiir, my dear. It’s simply that the ten thousand refugees we received from Ord Mantell have strained our resources to the breaking point. Just yesterday we were forced to reroute more than two thousand to the Ruan system.”

Leia’s eyebrows went up. “Ruan is still accepting exiles?”

“More than accepting; Ruan is actually soliciting. In fact, I’m certain that Ruan would be willing and able to accommodate everyone you evacuated from Gyndine.”

One of a host of agricultural worlds managed by Salliche Ag Corporation, Ruan, on the edge of the Deep Core between Coruscant and the Empress Teta system, was by galactic standards only a short jump away.

“Let’s hope so, Amer,” Leia said.

“My humblest apologies, my dear.”

The transmission ended abruptly, and Leia collapsed into a chair. She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Maybe I’ll get some rest after Ruan,” she started to tell C-3PO when the comm tone sounded again.

“Yes?” she directed to the audio pickup.

“A transmission of unknown origin, relayed from Bilbringi.”

Leia sighed wearily. “What now?”

“I believe it’s your husband, Ambassador.”

A snowy image appeared on the communication console’s display screen. Leia recognized the forward cargo hold of the Millennium Falcon, though it took her a moment to recognize Han behind the beard.

“How do you like my new look?” he asked, stroking the salt-and-pepper growth.

“Han, where are you?”

He swiveled the navicomputer chair. “I’d rather not say just now.”

She nodded in a galled but knowing way. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I heard about Gyndine. Wasn’t too difficult after that. You’re still well known, whether you like it or not.”

“So are you, Han. And for all anyone knows, the Yuuzhan Vong could be hunting for you or the Falcon.”

Han’s brows beetled and his mouth formed a puckered O. “I’m not a complete blockhead, you know. That’s why I grew the beard and had the Falcon painted.”

Leia’s eyes widened. “Painted?”

“Anodized, actually. A lovely shade of matte black. She looks like a mortician’s delight.”

“What system are you planning to sneak into this time?”

“Sneak?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, I get it. You mean maybe instead of frolicking around out here, I should be devoting my time to saving planets.”

Leia huffed. “I’m not interested in saving planets, Han. I’m interested in saving lives.”

“Well, what’d you think I’m trying to do? This is all about finding Droma’s relatives and Roa, Leia. It has nothing to do with Ord Mantell or Gyndine or anywhere else. Besides, a man’s good for only one promise at a time, and I gave mine to Droma.”

Leia exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry, Han. I understand what you’re doing.” She smiled thinly. “At least we still have something in common.”

Han averted his gaze momentarily. “Speaking of which, was it you who arranged for Ord Mantell’s refugees to be transferred to Gyndine?”

“Yes—regretfully.”

Han gave her a lopsided smile. “You’re complicating my search, sweetheart.”

Leia’s frustration returned. “Am I? And who created such a muddle on Vortex that the local governor decided to renege on his promise to accept any refugees whatsoever?”

“I was only trying to—” Han’s image suddenly tilted to one side, as if the Falcon had been stood on end. “Hey, Droma, watch what you’re doing up there!” He turned back to the cam,