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“I don’t care if they sleep on top of each other. I’m more concerned about feeding them.”

“Just give them whatever you would’ve shipped to Thirty-two. I’m more worried about water.”

“We’ve got a well started, under the admin building.”

For ten minutes, they talked about supplying refugees with basic needs. Really, for someone who didn’t do administration, he’d managed fabulously. She told him so.

“Sometimes,” he drawled, “I still amaze myself. But Droma thought through a lot of it. Him and the clan heads, Mezza and Romany. And Jacen has been trying to keep the peace. Me, I’m the hope-of-rescue guy.”

She slid her arm around his waist. They’d climbed onto the top of a controller’s cubicle. Olmahk followed at a discreet distance. Among the milling Ryn, she spotted Jaina with a group of grizzled females, once again wearing her mask.

“How badly was she hurt, Han?”

“She ended up EV.”

The thought of her daughter drifting in frigid vacuum, in the middle of a battle, made Leia’s stomach churn again.

“We’ve got a decent medical facility. I could process her through decontamination quickly—”

“No,” Han said. “Only time will fix this. No special treatment for humans, and especially not our family. These Ryn have been kicked around for centuries. They’re not a big group, but they’re loyal to people who treat them decently.”

A pair of stretcher bearers stalked past, pushing a float cart loaded down with a young-looking Hutt.

“What’s he doing here?” Leia demanded.

Han shone that lopsided grin again. She felt she would never get enough of it. “He claimed that he wanted to defect, and hit the Vong where it hurts. But did you ever know a Hutt who could cooperate under pressure?”

Leia thought hard. “I’ll tell you if I remember any. I have an idea, Han. How many sick and injured have you got?”

He pursed his lips and stared out over the mob. She eyed his profile, cataloging features she’d loved half her life. Had he broken his nose again?

“Other than Jaina, mostly just scrapes and bruises from trying to kill the moth things. Why?”

“We’ll process the sick and injured as priority. Then we can include Jaina, unless she’d rather stay in quarantine indefinitely than get her head shaved. She’s at that age, you know. Young men are looking.”

He reached out and fingered the long coil of hair that hung forward over her blue uniform. “Can the old guys look, too?”

She touched his hand. “I … guess it’ll have to come off, Han.”

He shrugged. “It’ll grow. It’ll just take a while.”

“Will you stick around while it does?” She tried not to plead, but she wanted to.

He ran a hand over his unruly hair. “Hey, someday I might lose mine for good. We’ll call it a dry run.”

Then he winked, and she melted inside.

She led back down into the controllers’ cubicle. At the loudspeaking station, she punched in a sharp tone that silenced the roar of outside conversations.

“Attention, please,” she said. “This is Gateway administration. Welcome. We will try to settle you and meet your needs as quickly as possible. Stand by for a message from your own administrator.”

She pushed the comlink at him.

“What?” he demanded.

“Sick and wounded, back to the debarking area,” she muttered. Nerf herder!

He nodded and echoed the announcement.

Fifteen minutes later, Leia’s health administrator—fully suited—was explaining priority decontamination to a cluster of Ryn and Vors and five elderly humans.

Leia stepped back. She didn’t see Jaina. Han had gone out among the Ryn. Frowning, she climbed back up to the lookout perch. It took longer than she anticipated to spot Jaina along the south wall.

She clambered back down and made her way over. The odd odor of Ryn came from everywhere. She made another mental note: Plain-water baths. And something warm for all those poor Ryn to slip on, after the decontamination crew took their fur.

Fortunately, the supply ship carrying her mining laser had gotten through. She’d put the new laser to work, deepening the well under her admin building.