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Ganner, the dark-haired and all-too-handsome Jedi Knight, was first of them. He waved at the crowd with all of Han’s poise but none of Han’s self-aware irony, and the smile he turned on some of the ladies in the crowd was nothing if not brilliant. Beside him was Alema Rar, the blue-skinned Twi’lek Jedi; a proficient organizer of rebellion and espionage, she had spent long periods disguised as a dancer, and she demonstrated a dancer’s ease and poise now as she smiled at the crowd. Next were Zekk, the former street urchin who had trained as a Dark Jedi before joining Luke’s academy on Yavin 4, and Tesar Sebatyne, male Barabel offspring of Saba.

Last but for Han and Leia were Tahiri Veila and Tarc, two worries for the Solos. Han shook his head. No, they weren’t worries; they were genuine heartaches.

Tahiri, a slender blond Jedi student, had been one of Anakin Solo’s closest friends. In recent months and weeks, they’d been closer than friends, had been on the verge of becoming something more. It had been Anakin who had rescued her from Yuuzhan Vong captivity; Anakin who had helped her overcome the brainwashing that nearly convinced her that she herself was one of the Yuuzhan Vong.

And then Anakin had died. Han could no longer maneuver his thoughts away from the memory. He felt something grip his heart and squeeze; the pain almost caused him to stumble. He spared a glance for Leia; she was looking at Tahiri, too, and the bleakness Han felt was reflected in her eyes.

Though dressed in Jedi robes, Tahiri was characteristically barefoot. There was little strength or pride in her posture now; Anakin’s death had hit her hard, possibly as hard as it had hit his parents. She was silent; once upon a time, there would have been no way, short of an order from Luke Skywalker, to shut her up.

Tahiri had one arm around Tarc, guiding him, lending him reassurance. Tarc was twelve, a boy of Coruscant chosen as part of Viqi Shesh’s kidnapping plot against Ben Skywalker. Viqi had chosen him as a distraction because of his extraordinary resemblance to the Anakin of a few years before, a resemblance so distressingly close that Han felt his stomach lurch each time he saw the boy’s perpetually mussed brown hair, icy blue eyes, and open expression.

It hurt merely to see the boy, but it would be cruel and wrong to abandon him, to reject him. It was a problem Han couldn’t solve with a blaster or fancy flying.

Han glimpsed a head of blond hair bobbing up and down as its owner pushed through the crowd. “Incoming flier,” he said.

And then Luke Skywalker was on them, embracing both Han and Leia, his grin youthful and infectious. “You picked a good time to visit,” Luke said.

“Your sister’s fault,” Han said. “We broadcast on the HoloNet to find out if you were still on Borleias. We got both confirmation and an invitation to accompany Lusankya. ‘Let’s go with Lusankya,’ she said. ‘More safety for our passengers’ ”

Leia gave him a cool look. “You really need to enjoy these rare occasions when you’re right.” Then she caught sight of something and her expression brightened again. “Mara!” She pulled free to embrace her late-arriving sister-in-law.

“Listen,” Luke said. “Wedge is getting quarters set up for you. You have time to clean up a little. But we all need to talk to you.”

Han gave him a curious look. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

“The Insiders.”

In as few words as they could afford, Han and Leia told the story of their time in the Hapes Cluster after the departure of Luke and Mara—of Jaina’s terrifying drift toward the dark side of the Force and Kyp Durron’s unexpected help on her behalf, of the skirmish that had left Han with a skull fracture from which he had barely recovered, of Ta’a Chume’s attempts to displace daughter-in-law Teneniel Djo and persuade Jaina Solo to wed Teneniel’s husband, Isolder. “The situation there isn’t resolved,” Leia said. “But Han and I couldn’t make it any better. We have to trust Jaina to make the right choices.”

They were in the biotics building’s mess hall rather than the Insiders