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He took up his usual position at the routing board, assigning incoming supplies and checking duty lists. He would spend the night working there.

“May I wonder, Mistress Leia …”

She chewed a rubbery bite. “Go ahead, Threepio.”

“If you would permit me to make a personal inquiry …” He trailed off again. Leia thought she knew what was coming.

“Is it possible,” he said, “that Captain Solo will be permanently absent from our … operation? I had rather thought he might appear, or at least communicate, by this time.”

The soypro stuck in her throat. “The last time he called in, he didn’t know exactly where he was going.”

She eyed the protocol droid’s gleaming finish. Was that a touch of corrosion on his left shoulder? She’d sent him outside the dome several times, grateful for an assistant who didn’t need to breathe. Duro-stink wasn’t toxic to most species, but the atmosphere had gotten significantly worse over the last few decades, and now working outside without rebreathers was nearly impossible. Masking up had become habit for most of them.

“Why do you ask? Han hasn’t exactly been respectful to you, over the years.”

C-3PO let his arms hang at his sides. “Recently, I was given a reason to take some pride in our ongoing relationship. I was surprised to learn that on Ruan, he was greeted as something of a hero by my cyborg counterparts.”

“Say that again, Threepio?” She rocked forward. Han, a droid hero? “Where did you hear that?”

“After we returned to Coruscant.” C-3PO reached out expansively with one arm. “There was a HoloNet story you might have missed, since you were somewhat preoccupied. On Ruan, several thousand droids held a peaceful demonstration against the Salliche Ag establishment, which had meant to deactivate them—”

“I remember that,” she broke in. “Vaguely.” Something about droids being warehoused, so that if the Yuuzhan Vong arrived, they might be presented as a peace offering. Obviously, Ruan didn’t intend to resist the invaders.

“In the subtext,” he said, “I found additional references to someone that the droids had called a ‘long-awaited one,’ the ‘only flesh and blood’ who would be able to help them. As it turned out, Captain Solo did save them from imminent destruction. In our recent flurry of activity, I neglected to mention—”

“Good heavens,” Leia said softly. “Whatever was he thinking?” She’d love to rub his nose in that little tale.

Actually, she’d love to rub his nose against hers. It’d been so long.

Did his long silence mean that an enemy had found him? But he had Droma’s help, now. He’d made it plain that he didn’t want hers.

If he was dead, and their last words had been scornful taunts, she would regret it for the rest of her life. She was almost tempted to stretch out with the Force, looking for him.

No. He could be on the other side of the Mid Rim by now. If she reached out and felt nothing, she would fear the worst. She finished her meal in silence, then assembled her dishes for C-3PO to recycle.

“Whatever happens, I’ll take care of you,” she promised. “I need you.”

Then she frowned at the datapad beside her elbow. Before she could turn in tonight, she had to check on the secondary rock-chewer crew. She needed to make sure Abbela sent off her weekly burst to the main Duros orbital city, Bburru, and then renewed their request for better satellite data. Then there was Gateway’s still-nonfunctional bakery. Its staff had requested a shipment of salt and sucrose, anticipating a cereal crop. Ruan had sent this year’s surplus burrmillet seeds as a goodwill gesture—and then slammed the door on accepting any more refugees.

Also, SELCORE still hadn’t delivered that mining laser.

No wonder she hadn’t had time to go looking for Han. She would’ve given everything to see him, the way he’d been before tragedy tore them apart. He’d matured so much from the scoundrel she’d come to love, although he’d never lost the glimmer in his eyes, or the quirk to his lips—till he lost Chewie. Suddenly, he was Han with the itchy