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“Money Lane!” Han shouted. “One hundred credits to whoever nails him!”

“You’re on!” Droma said.

Simultaneously, the two of them tightened their fingers on the trigger. The quad lasers loosed storms of red darts that peppered the rear of the enemy craft and perforated the cockpit, disintegrating the ship.

Han and Droma howled their joy as Han steered through a corkscrewing dive, zipping through the far-flung remains of the exploded ship. Swooping past the lead craft, Han inverted the Falcon and took her back into the storm.

Where it could be glimpsed at all, the land was dark red and studded with monolithic rock towers that were the sandblasted and wind-eroded remains of volcanic upthrusts. And yet despite their size, the swirling sand made the tors almost impossible to see.

Eyes on the terrain-following display and making the most of the Falcon’s maneuverability, Han aimed deliberately for the closest obelisk. Faking a climb, he stood the ship on its side and swerved to starboard while Droma triggered bursts from the belly gun. Unsecured items throughout the ship flew from their perches, crashed into bulkheads, or were sent rolling along the deck plates of the ring corridor. But two well-placed laser bolts caught the coralskipper at the cockpit seam, splitting it in two, as if struck by a chisel in the hands of a master stonemason.

Still, the three remaining coralskippers clung doggedly, chomping at the Falcon’s tail. Nap of the ground, Han weaved through a forest of storm-obscured spires and wind-sculpted stelae. The engines moaned and the ship vibrated as if on the verge of flying apart. Hiking power to the rear shields, he snap-rolled, then stood the Falcon on its side once more to narrow her profile as plasma streaked past them to both sides.

Droma lashed his tail around the seat to keep from being strangled by the seat harness. “At least warn me when you’re going to do that!”

Han leveled out and maneuvered through a ludicrously tight turn, feathering the engines until the Falcon was at a near stall, then shunting power to the thrusters and throwing the ship into a vertical reversement. Swerving to evade Droma’s fire, the trailing coralskipper flipped out of control and careened straight into an outcropping, shattering to bits.

The Falcon’s thrusters flaring, Han pulled up sharply, climbing out of the storm at high boost.

Neither of the surviving pair of fighters followed them back up the well.

They collapsed into their chairs as the stars lost their twinkle and swarmed around them as pinpoints of light.

“Nice shooting,” Han said after checking in with the threat assessor one final time.

Droma returned the grin. “Nice driving.”

The Falcon bucked. Indicators flashed and the console came alive with warning tones. Han and Droma fell silent once more and turned to the painful chore of assessing just how much damage the ship had sustained.

“The hyperdrive is viable but responding erratically,” Droma said a long moment later.

Han nodded glumly. “Must have suffered collateral damage when the power converter got hit.”

Droma tugged at one end of his drooping mustache.“We might be able to make Nar Shaddaa. It’s difficult to tell.”

“No,” Han said. “We can’t chance it.”

“Do we return to Sriluur?”

Han shook his head. “I doubt we’ll find the replacement parts we need. Besides, I don’t want to risk running into those coralskippers again.”

Droma called up star charts. “Kashyyyk, then. Two quick jumps and we’re there.”

Han ran his hand over his mouth. “Not a good idea.” When Droma didn’t respond, he said, “It’s not what you think. I can handle the memories. It’s just that Chewbacca’s family still consider themselves responsible for my well-being, and I can’t face that right now.”

“So where to?”

Han studied the displayed star charts and grinned, more to himself. “A little out-of-the-way place I know, where they’ll have everything we need.”

“Everything Han Solo needs,” Droma thought to point out.

“Maybe you’re right,” Han said. He turned slightly to regard