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Awakened from what amounted to a nap, the YT-1300’s engines powered up. Han clamped his hands on the control yoke and lifted the ship out of its hiding place, an impact crater on the dark side of Selvaris’s puny moon. He fed power to the sublight drives and steered a course around the misshapen orb. Green, blue, and white Selvaris filled the wraparound viewport.

Han watched Leia out of the corner of his eye. “Hope you remembered to look both ways.”

Leia shut her eyes briefly. “We’re safe.”

Han smiled to himself. The Yuuzhan Vong couldn’t be sensed through the Force, but Leia had never had any problem sensing trouble.

“I just don’t want to be accused of making any more illegal moves.”

She looked at him. “Only daring ones.”

Han continued to watch her secretly. Through all the rough-and-tumble years, her face had not lost its noble beauty. Her skin was as flawless now as it had been when Han had first set eyes on her, in a detention cell, of all places. Her long hair retained its sheen; her eyes, their deep, inviting warmth.

Han and Leia had experienced some troubled months following Chewbacca’s death. But she had waited him out; and wherever they traveled now, no matter how much danger they put themselves in—mostly at Han’s instigation—they were completely at home with each other. To Han, each and every action felt right. He had no yearning to be anywhere but where he was—with his beloved partner.

It was a sappy thought, he told himself. But undeniably true.

As if reading his thoughts, Leia turned slightly in his direction, lifting her chin a bit to show him a dubious look. “You’re in a good mood for someone setting out on a dangerous rescue mission.”

Han made light of the moment. “Beating Threepio at dejarik has made a new man of me.”

Leia tilted her head. “Not too new, I hope.” She placed one hand atop his, on the yoke, and with the other traced the raised scar on his chin. “It’s taken me thirty years to get used to the old you.”

“Me, too,” he said, without humor.

Exhaust ports ablaze, the Falcon rolled through a sweeping turn and raced for Selvaris’s binary brightened transitor.

THREE

Bent low over the swoopbike’s high handgrips, Thorsh threaded the rocketing vessel through concentrations of saplings and opportunistic Yuuzhan Vong plants, under looping vines, and over the thick trunks of toppled trees. He hugged the fern-covered ground when and where he could, as much for safety’s sake as to spare his spindly passenger any further torture from thorned vines, sharp twigs, and the easily disturbed hives of barbflies and other bloodsuckers.

But Thorsh’s best efforts weren’t enough.

“When do we get to switch places?” the Bith asked over the howl of the repulsorlift.

Thorsh knew that the question had been asked in jest, and so replied in kind. “Hands at your sides and no standing on the seat!”

Taking into account only the difference in heights, the Bith should have been the one in the saddle, with Thorsh scrunched down behind him, fingers clasped on the underside of the long seat. But Thorsh was the more experienced pilot, having flown swoops on several reconnaissance missions where speeders hadn’t been available. His large wedge-shaped feet weren’t well suited to the footpegs, and he had to extend his arms fully to grasp the handgrip controls, but his keen eyes more than made up for those shortcomings, even when streaming with tears, as they were now.

Thorsh kept to the thick of the large island, where the branches of the tallest trees intertwined overhead and provided cover. The swoop was still running smoothly, except when he leaned it hard to the right, which for some reason caused the repulsorlift to sputter and strain. He could hear the other swoop—to the east and somewhat behind him—weaving a path through equally dense growth. The four escapees would have made better progress out over the estuary, but without the tree cover they would be easy prey for coral-skippers. One skip had already completed two return passes, paying out plasma missiles at random,