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“A flight through the hedge tunnel, directly to the entry portal.”

Leia’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Princess Leia is correct,” C-3PO said as R2-D2 was mewling. “Please confirm that your statement was in jest.”

A slow grin took shape on Han’s face. “He’s serious—and he’s right.” He looked at Leia. “We can do it.”

Leia started to speak, but swallowed whatever she had in mind to say and began again. “Well, you said he’d think of something, and I guess he has.”

Han patted her left arm with affection. “Better tighten up your crash webbing. You, too, Goldenrod.”

C-3PO canted his head in apprehension. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d prefer to adjourn to the forward compartment with Artoo.”

“Suit yourself. But be quick about it.”

Han brought the headset mike close to his mouth. “Cakhmaim, get yourself to the forward cabin space with Meewalh.”

He sent the Falcon into a broad circle, from which they emerged staring directly down the throat of the hedge tunnel.

“You’re sure about this,” Leia said while Han was flipping switches on the console.

“No. But luckily we don’t have time to think about it.”

Han dropped the freighter lower and accelerated. The thorned half circle of mouth grew larger and larger in the viewport. Reflexively, Leia leaned back in her chair and clamped her hands on the armrests.

“Hang on,” Han said. “Hang on …”

And suddenly they were inside the maze.

But the Falcon wasn’t even all the way through the opening when the three of them realized that the ride was going to be worse than they had imagined. The resilient knitted branches knocked the ship harshly from one side to the other. The Falcon rattled and shuddered, in danger of being spun completely around. The longest of the thorns drew prolonged and deafening screeches from the hull. External components groaned and squealed as they were ripped away—cowlings, rectenna, fuel-driver pressure stabilizers … And ahead of them, the throat of the hedge maze was closing—narrowing as they watched.

“Fire the concussion missiles!” Han said.

Leia squeezed the trigger, sending one pair, then another streaking down the tunnel, tearing through the thorns and branches and ultimately exploding against whatever constituted the entrance to the dome.

“Angle the deflectors!”

Leia raised the forward shields as a boiling torrent of fire and debris came back at them, washing over the Falcon, stripping away more parts, and scoring and scorching the hull plates.

Then, suddenly, the ship broke through to a broad, wedge-shaped causeway formed by the limbs of great trees, whose leaf-bearing branches—now aflame—tangled toward the sky on either side. The foot of the causeway was a hundred meters high, but it tapered to an arrowhead as it rose, forming a thorn-hedged ramp whose point touched the massive, ruined hatch sphincter that had long ago enveloped the Great Door of the Senate.

Han fought to keep the ship stabilized as it skidded across the former plaza and raced into the second stretch of hedge. But the durasteel-hard branches prevailed, slowing, then snagging the spasming ship. Stalled, the Falcon came to a final rest angled to one side and ten meters from the missile-damaged entrance. While two of the landing disks were in touch with the paving stones, the entire port side of the ship was upended and held fast by the interlocked branches.

“Guess this is as far as we go,” Han said, staring straight ahead, with his hands still clenched on the control yoke.

Leia blew out her breath and swallowed hard. “Nothing like a quiet arrival.”

She, Han, and Harrar freed themselves from the chairs and staggered into the ring corridor, which was strewn with objects that had found their way there from all over the ship.

“We’ll clean up later,” Leia said.

Han uttered a laugh. “We could have Threepio do it.”

“I was hoping you would say just that, sir,” the droid said, as he, R2-D2, and the two Noghri appeared from the forward compartment, leaning against the corridor’s curving walls for support. “That would be a delightful chore.”

R2-D2 began