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“Fixing,” Han retorted. He opened a compartment in the Falcon’s hull and removed a laser torch. With a single flick he coaxed a small beam from it, as easily as any Jedi might awaken his lightsaber. “This plating here needs to be replaced.”

The Jedi regarded the tool. “I’m not much of a mechanic,” he hedged. He took it from Han and switched it off, hoping the older man would get the hint.

“Just cut off those rivets. How hard could that be?” Han’s voice faded off as he disappeared into the hold.

Kyp shrugged and pulled out his lightsaber. He switched it on and removed the half-melted fasteners with a few deft flicks.

“I see you’ve found yet another appropriate use for your Jedi abilities,” a caustic female voice observed.

He turned to face Leia. The older woman was still lovely, despite the weight of grief and worry in her eyes. Her brown hair was thick and glossy, and she wore it in a straight, simple style that made her look remarkably like her eighteen-year-old daughter.

Kyp produced his most disarming smile and enhanced it with the subtle nudge that had so disconcerted Jaina. He got the vivid impression of his effort striking an invisible wall and splattering like a mynock colliding with a Star Destroyer.

The Princess sniffed and spun on her heel. For no reason that Kyp could fathom, he fell into step with her.

Leia ignored him as she waded into the crowd of refugees, dispensing comfort. In a remarkably short time, the crowd had been herded through the initial registration and dispersed into small groups. Hapan landspeeders glided off toward the parklands beyond the city. The refugees who’d been injured during the escape from Coruscant lay on narrow white pallets. Medical droids rolled with quiet efficiency between the rows.

The collective suffering rolled over Kyp in waves. He fought back the memories—his home destroyed, his family dispersed, his childhood lost to slavery.

He noticed Leia watching him, her dark eyes narrowed in speculation. “There’s a need here,” she said. “One you understand better than most. Maybe you could make yourself useful for a change.”

Kyp smiled faintly, but shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not here, at least. Not this way.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “For some people, doubt can be dangerous. On you, it’s an improvement. So what will you do next?”

He considered the question, and the answer that came to him was not the one he’d expected. Kyp had assumed responsibility for fighting this war—and not just fighting, but fighting in a way that set the direction for his fellow Jedi. He’d even told Jaina that their generation needed to establish a new order, a new relationship with the Force. Perhaps on some level he’d been envisioning himself in this role. With Jedi certainty, Kyp realized that this task would fall to another.

Yet there was a place for him, an important one. “No change comes without conflict,” he said slowly. “Perhaps my destiny is to be the irritant that forces the discussion, the blister that lets you know your boots don’t fit.”

To his surprise, Leia burst into laughter. She sobered quickly and fixed him with a challenging stare. “Not a bad analogy, but keep in mind the difference between a blister and a cancer. You’re a young man, and already you’ve been given more chances than most people get in a lifetime. A lot of people wonder why you’re still alive. The answer to that can be given in two words.”

“Luke Skywalker,” Kyp supplied without hesitation. “I understand how much I owe your brother.”

“Really? You have a strange way of repaying your debts,” Leia retorted. “You’ve done nothing to support him, and everything you can to spread dissension among the Jedi.”

The whir of repulsor engines made further speech impossible. They watched as two strangely designed vehicles lowered skillfully onto the crowded docks—round cockpits reminiscent of the old TIE fighters, and four movable arms that at present were spread like the limbs of crouching beasts.

“Chiss vessels,” Leia mused. Her face