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“Crew deck here. You’re the one who called over?”

“Affirmative.”

“Tell me again what caused the breach. All I’ve got is a report that sounds like miniature mynocks.”

“Didn’t someone get you a sample?”

“Not if you don’t have one.”

“I don’t.” Jacen explained as little as possible. When he got to the point about the moth creatures pupating on the outside of sleeping huts, there was a long silence.

He flicked the comlink. “Crew deck, did you get that? They’re singing in here, and—”

“Copy,” a voice that hadn’t spoken before said. “We’re calling ahead, about decontamination.”

The refugees close enough to hear Jacen’s comlink turned their heads.

“Believe me,” Jacen said, “nobody brought a pupa.”

“Not deliberately,” the comlink voice said, “but one egg, stuck to one hairy Ryn, will restart the cycle—and our dome’s taller than yours. Put a flock of moths up there out of reach, and you’ll bring down the whole operation.”

Jacen clutched the link, leaning against Jaina and swaying with the crawler’s motion. Other than Randa, most of the other passengers at this end of the cavernous hold seemed to be Ryn. If Jacen couldn’t have told that by looking, he could’ve figured it out by the odor. If it bothered him, it must be driving the Ryn out of their minds. Several of them had raised their arms and were rotating in place, actually dancing.

Jacen murmured into the comlink, “Ryn are almost compulsively clean. There won’t be white-eye eggs or anything else on them.”

“Maybe you’re convinced,” the crewer said. “A furred species is tricky to decontaminate. We’ve got a sealable refugee processing area inside Gateway dome. Only problem is, we don’t have any UniFumi stockpiled—SELCORE usually ships their decontam chemicals with every boatload of refugees. High-energy irradiation would work, but it could cause skin damage. And low-energy lamps won’t get through fur. So they’re going to have two choices. We can strip-and-dip everybody in med-lab disinfectant, but I can’t guarantee that won’t make them sick. Or we can shave and irradiate.”

The Ryn next to Jacen honked softly. He turned aside and muttered to three others.

“Isn’t there something else?” Jacen asked, uncomfortably aware that he was surrounded by several hundred sleep-deprived Ryn, who’d just left all their belongings behind—again.

“We can separate out the Vuvrians and Vors,” the voice continued. “Hairless folks can zip through a fast irradiation, and we’ll send them on their way.”

Jacen curled against the hatch. “Why are you asking me? Where’s Captain Solo?”

“He seems to have lost his comlink. You’re next in charge.”

Jacen thumbed off the comlink, hoping SELCORE’s administration would come up with a better idea. The engine thrummed rhythmically under his feet. Some of the Ryn were now stamping out that rhythm as others sang. Jacen flexed his knees, swaying against Jaina.

“That doesn’t sound good,” she muttered.

The comlink chirped again. “Solo?”

He raised it. “Here.”

“We’ve got word from someone named Mezza. They’re refusing to be dunked in med-lab juice, not that I blame them.”

“Me, neither,” Jacen said. “And don’t discriminate against Ryn. Whatever goes for them, goes for Vors and Vuvrians and humans. And the Hutt,” he added, glancing down. Randa had curled up in a bulbous spiral.

The song ended. Someone started a new one. Two verses later, Jacen got another announcement via comlink.

“Finally found the other Solo. He says fair’s fair, same treatment for everybody.”

Well done, Dad. Jacen murmured to Jaina, “I don’t care if they shave me.”

“Me, neither. I’ve seen buzz-cut female pilots.”

When the shaking and thrumming died away, something clanged against the hatch. Jacen tried to move back. The mob behind him pushed in the opposite direction. He braced against a bulkhead. Fortunately, the crew had moved a ramp up to the hatch, so when it opened, he didn’t fall headlong. Crewers called commands, directing the debarking refugees to fan out and keep moving. Ryn streamed around the prone Hutt.

The