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To Jacen’s surprise, Leia’s sinuous gray shadow-guard slipped forward. “Think about this,” Olmahk said in a low, mewling voice. “If the laser is fired, that will bring the Yuuzhan Vong down on us. That post should be mine. I claim it as my due, Lady Vader.”

Leia’s frown twisted sideways. “You’re probably right,” she said, but Jacen guessed she had every intention of firing it herself.

His memory served up a vivid image of the galaxy, tipping toward darkness. “Look,” he murmured, “I know you all think I’m crazy. But are you sure there’s no chance of negotiating? Mom, you’re a professional—”

“So I know when it won’t work,” Leia said wearily. “When your contact parties don’t come back alive, the enemy won’t talk. You don’t waste more contact parties.”

Still, maybe he could …

“Don’t even try it,” his mother added darkly.

Maybe she wasn’t a fully trained Jedi, but she had no trouble reading him.

She pushed up to stand again, then beckoned the Ryn clan leaders closer. “Mezza, Romany, you’ve done an excellent job of gathering people. If I don’t see you again, thank you. You’re in charge. May the Force be with you.

“Jaina, you’re with me. Jacen, you follow.”

Olmahk came alongside Jacen. They hurried back to the slabs that concealed their entryway.

Han listened carefully from under the fallen duracrete slab for two minutes before deciding to poke his head out. When he did, it was with a blaster alongside his ear.

Under the big emergency lights, nothing moved.

He knew exactly what Leia wanted to do: sabotage the Yuuzhan Vong operation herself, no matter what it cost her—or him. Call him selfish, but he wanted her alive. Not a dead hero. With or without that gorgeous hair, she had the spark that lit a fire in him.

He looked all around, then clambered out. He eyed all corners of the ruined building while Droma pulled himself out of the bolt-hole.

Then he edged close to the door and glanced out. The dome that had previously been a hive of activity was almost still. He heard clanking and crashing noises from some distance away, but the hum of voices had ended. He didn’t see any motion close by, either. He would have given a lot for a life-forms sensor.

And while he was wishing, a turbolaser would be nice.

Droma came up alongside him.

“It’d be shorter to cut close to the admin building,” Han murmured, “but …” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. By now, he just expected Droma to do that.

“Safer along the dome’s edge.” Droma holstered his blaster.

Han did the same. The Yuuzhan Vong were probably wearing battle armor anyway. One shot, and they’d hear him—and all come down on him.

He paused, shocked by his own thoughts. Where was the old Han Solo who would’ve charged right in?

Maybe he had died with Chewbacca. “Right,” he said. “Keep me in sight, but if they get me, tell Leia …”

Droma didn’t finish that one.

“Nah,” Han said.

Bending low, he sprinted to the next ruin, then slipped inside. One room was dusty; the other, cluttered with someone’s abandoned possessions. At least it had a back door. He emerged on the other side.

This time he spotted a massive, muscular-looking figure in black armor sauntering past, carrying an armload of survival gear—looked like two lamps and a small cooker. Han ducked back inside, spotted Droma slipping in through the front door, and caught his glance with a head shake.

He waited until the looter passed, then hustled on.

They made their way to the end of ruined Tayana, then stealthily through the tent city. At one point, hearing footsteps, he flattened himself on the ground and peered out a tear in one tent’s wall. A line of prisoners shuffled past, heads down. Someone was crying. Three Yuuzhan Vong followed the column—armored, unfortunately. Han clenched both fists, longing for the good old days, for Imperial stormtroopers with known weak spots in their armor—and for Chewie.

He’d lost half himself, but he still had his luck. They made it to within sight of the dome’s northwest entry. The last good cover was a