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“My mother once told me that when a Jedi is distracted, when she loses her focus, she becomes vulnerable.”

“I’m not a Jedi.”

“But you are as strong in the Force as any of them. What is it, Leia?”

Leia’s eyes narrowed perceptibly. “We’re in real danger, Isolder. We’re in danger of losing everything we’ve fought to attain since the defeat of the Empire.”

“Are you saying that the Yuuzhan Vong cannot be defeated?”

She took a moment. “I’m not sure. I see a long road ahead of us.”

“How clearly do you see this road?”

She shook her head. “Not clearly enough to know where all the rough spots lie.”

They resumed walking, without speaking. “Will you accompany me to Coruscant aboard my personal ship?” Isolder asked finally.

“What about Teneniel Djo?”

“She will remain on Hapes,” Isolder said flatly.

Once more the vision stormed through Leia’s mind, then abated. What light was she seeing? What world was she seeing?

“Of course I will,” she said after a moment.

With the Falcon safely docked, Han and Droma cleared Ruan customs and hastened for the spaceport terminal. If not for the crowds, they might have sprinted.

“Hold on a heartbeat,” Han said when Droma was about to navigate the crowd on hands and knees. Snatching the Ryn by the back of his vest, he set him on his feet, then decorously adjusted the fit of the frayed garment while he spoke. “Your clanmates wouldn’t be so desperate to get offworld that they’d hook up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers and mercenaries. They’re smarter than that, right?”

Droma tugged at his mustache. “They’re plenty clever, but even the quickest can be outsmarted when the situation looks hopeless. Both Gaph and Melisma detest confinement. Gaph was once in jail and—”

Han started shaking his head. “That’s not the answer I want to hear.”

Droma fell silent, then nodded in understanding. “My clanmates take up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers? They’re far too clever. In fact, I’m certain they’re still on Ruan—somewhere—and that we’ve arrived well in time to save them.”

Han exhaled. “That’s a relief.”

They had been having the same conversation since leaving Tholatin. The Weequay security chief had been too sly to supply them with the names of his cohorts who had gone to Ruan, or with the name of their ship. But the Ruan scam had come up several times in casual conversation among Esau’s Ridge’s mechanics and ne’er-do-wells, and Han had a pretty good idea of the caliber of folks he and Droma were dealing with. Even if the hijackers who had come to Ruan weren’t working directly for the Yuuzhan Vong, they were likely to be well armed and dangerous—much like the members of the Peace Brigade, with whom Han and Droma had tangled aboard the Queen of Empire, and with whom neither wished to tangle again.

Ruan spaceport had a pace all its own. With thousands of refugees pouring in from scores of occupied worlds, there were far more comings than goings, but Salliche Ag was somehow managing to keep the transfer process running smoothly and efficiently. Dozens of species-specific booths lined the terminal walls, and a fleet of surface vehicles waited outside the terminal to convey refugees to one camp or another. Locating refugees, though, was another matter. At a human-staffed information booth, Han and Droma discovered listings for over one hundred separate exile facilities, some only a few kilometers away and others on the far side of the world.

“Searching every camp’ll take longer than we’ve got,” Han fumed. “There’s gotta be an easier way.”

“Try the central data bank,” a droid voice said behind him. “Whoever you’re looking for might be listed there.”

Han turned and found himself face-to-face with an aged droid built roughly along human lines, though stocky and no taller than Droma. In sore need of paint and body work, the machine was long-armed and barrel-chested, with a rounded head that was as primitive in design as the servomotors that operated its limbs.

“Bollux?” Han said in disbelief.

The droid’s unblinking red photoreceptors fixed on him. “I beg your pardon,