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Han stirred his stew and gave Droma the look Jacen and Jaina had always called “the stare.”

“And Leia’s people locked him up already.”

“Now what?” Droma asked.

“The usual. Tried to get outside the dome, just to look at the ships. Just looking,” Han repeated, as Droma clambered back onto his stool.

Droma eyed his own bowl and spoon. Jacen, suspecting the Ryn was calculating range and elevation, slid his stool back.

Jaina and Leia had processed through, too. Han had convinced Jaina he would need an outside liaison with the people who processed through, and someone to keep an eye on Randa. At that, Leia decided she’d cover her own job better outside than in here. She’d left Olmahk in quarantine, to assist with security.

Jacen took the news philosophically. He’d hoped his parents would spend a little more time together, after so long.

“Twenty-three Ryn followed Jaina out,” Han was saying. “Leia found them flight suits, so at least they’ll stay warm until the fuzz grows back. I thought they looked pretty good.”

“You would.” Droma bristled. “You’re getting nearsighted.”

“Your mouth looks just as big as ever.”

Now Jacen spotted the soft light in Han’s eyes and a self-satisfied grin. Maybe his parents had found a few moments alone. In his opinion, they’d both made convenient use of their circumstances to keep from reuniting. There was something splendid about the universe when your mother and father loved each other.

“Someone ought to go back over to Thirty-two,” he said, “and get our belongings.”

The Ryn smoothed his mustachios. “Possessions? They’re just something to lose. I’m more interested in whether there are still spaceworthy ships over there.”

“Yeah,” Han said. “Figure out how to get them here, while you’re at it. If we leave Gateway in a hurry, it won’t be by crawler.”

Jacen clenched his fists at the sight of Thirty-two’s ruins. Synthplas scraps drooped between struts that arched like the ribs of a beast picked clean by carrion crawlers. Through those ribs, from a vantage near the remains of the entry gate, Jacen could see rows of blue-roofed huts through what used to be the protective dome.

Gateway’s driver had donned a chem suit before bringing still-quarantined refugees on board. He shook his head. “Good thing you weren’t in there when it started to breach.” His voice came filtered through the transparent faceplate.

“Actually, we were,” Jacen muttered.

He stepped into the overalls of his own rebreather-equipped chem suit. Over them went an orange jacket, gloves attached. He worked his fingers down into the gloves, which didn’t hamper his touch when he attached his soft helmet and anchored the clasps. SELCORE must’ve gotten the suits from a military source, he reflected.

“Ready?” he asked his team.

Droma had slid into his orange suit. Mezza, older and bulkier, struggled to bring hers over her head. Six other suited figures moved toward the crawler’s hatch.

“Scanning for life-forms,” the driver’s assistant said. He worked a few controls. “Negative in this line of sight, but be careful.”

Jacen hooked his lightsaber on the outside of his suit. Mutant fefze beetles were the only creatures known to have survived the collapse of Duro’s ecosystems.

He led down the crawler’s ramp. Each pair of the others pushed a repulsor cart. Their mission was simple: gather as many belongings as possible and get back before dark. Jacen, nominally in charge, would help wherever he was needed, then bring the Falcon over to Gateway while Droma followed in Thirty-two’s battered I-7 Howlrunner.

He moved out with a pair of tall, thin Vors who had volunteered for a duty that was much more dangerous for them, with their twitchy lungs. They also had their pride—but they looked almost skeletal in orange chem suits, except for the arms, plumped unnaturally by bunching their leathery wings into the sleeves.

His insulated boots crunched on dead moths as he strode up the first lane. Evidently Duro’s atmosphere did kill them. They wouldn’t spread overland to other domes.

Grateful for one small