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Jacen heaved himself up from the couch. “Good to see you, Dad. I came as quickly as I could after I got Threepio’s message.”

“I know you did.” Han gave him a confident nod, then started down the stairs. “Goldenrod, you haven’t gotten them anything to drink.”

“Well, Master Solo, the usual custom is—”

“Usual custom? These are my children.” Han smiled. “What will you have?”

Jaina shook her head. “Nothing, I’m good to go.”

“Jacen, you must want something.” Han turned to the protocol droid. “I think I’ll have—”

“It’s okay, Dad, I don’t want anything.”

Han frowned. “Well, I don’t want to be the only one drinking.”

Anakin raised his left hand, waving away any drink request, without turning from the viewport.

The elder Solo shrugged, uneasily, awkwardly, as if his joints needed lubrication. “Well, I guess I can wait until later.”

Jaina looked up at her father. “The message sounded pretty urgent. What’s going on?”

Han took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. He seated himself in a chair, then motioned to Jacen that he should be seated, too. Han then glanced at Anakin and made to wave him over to the couch, but Anakin couldn’t see the gesture.

Han waited a moment for Anakin to move, then, when he did not, just sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Look, I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s not easy . . .” He stared down at his clasped hands, rubbing one over the other. “Losing Chewie . . .” His voice failed for a moment, then he swallowed hard.

“It’s okay, Dad, we know.” Jaina gave her father a brave smile. “We all loved Chewie, too.”

Han ran his hand down his face. “Losing him, you know, made me think what else I had that I could lose. That scared me the way I’ve never been scared before. I mean, me, Han Solo, scared.”

Anakin’s chin rose. “Not an easy thing to admit for anyone.”

Their father nodded once, curtly. The gesture was accompanied by a flash of anger and grief that drilled into Jacen.

Jacen moved to stand at his father’s right hand, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder. “We understand, Dad, we really do.”

But his father had already shut him out. “Yeah, well, there’s nothing to understand.”

Jacen sighed. We may beat the Yuuzhan Vong, but will my family survive the battle?

CHAPTER FOUR

Leia Organa Solo slowly rose from her chair in the tiny briefing room. Leaning forward on the edge of the table, she posted her body up on her arms. Her head dipped for a moment, surrendering to the ache in her shoulders, but she looked up quickly enough. She knew the others in the room had to be just as tired as she was, but given the events unfolding, none of them could afford to rest.

Above a holoprojector plate built into the heart of the black table hung a representation of a rimward portion of the New Republic. New Republic worlds and the space between them glowed a soft gold. Up on her left, the Imperial Remnant had been shaded in gray, with the worlds little black pearls. Stabbing into the New Republic like a vibroblade were brown worlds and space. A string of them carved a wedge in the New Republic, just skirting the Remnant border.

“Data just keeps flowing in. The silence from Belkadan, Bimmiel, Dantooine, and Sernpidal should come as a surprise to no one since the Yuuzhan Vong have taken those worlds and they didn’t have much population on them to start. From Dubrillion we still get some reports, but those are becoming fewer and farther between. It does look as if Dubrillion is going to serve as the Yuuzhan Vong headquarters, at least in the short term. From Garqi we’re not getting much, but all indications are that the Yuuzhan Vong have landed, assumed control, and are putting programs into effect for whatever their ends are.”

Admiral Traest Kre’fey, a young Bothan whose violet eyes were flecked with gold, smoothed his snowy white mane. “Refugees are moving through Agamar fairly quickly. We are debriefing qualified witnesses, but your own story of what happened on Dantooine is typical of the sorts of reports we’re getting. The Yuuzhan Vong seem to be using proxy troops