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Han smiled, even though his anger deepened. “The dead man has no right telling you lies in your dreams. I’m going to your mother right now. She’ll be just fine.”

“He almost killed her the first time,” Anakin said, his voice small.

Han started. The Senate Hall, the droids, the messages, everything traced to Kueller. “Maybe he thinks that,” Han said, “but your mom is one of the toughest people I know. He scared her. He scared all of us. But he didn’t ‘almost kill’ her.”

“She was hurt.”

“Yes,” Han said. “She was. This ‘dead man’ of yours isn’t very nice. But we’ll get him, and we’ll make him stop giving you dreams.”

“Promise, Papa?”

“I promise,” Han said. “You be careful, Anakin, okay? Listen to Winter.”

Anakin nodded. “Love you, Papa.”

Han glanced at Chewie. Chewie stared at the controls as if he weren’t listening to the exchange.

“Me, too, kid,” Han said. It was the best he could do in front of Chewie. “See you soon.”

And then he signed off.

Chewie muttered. Han glanced at the readings. They had almost arrived. And not a moment too soon. The pain-filled sounds in the back were growing fainter. Han didn’t want to think about how many of his passengers were already dead.

Kueller was even going after his children. At least, he assumed the dead guy of Anakin’s dreams was Kueller. There seemed to be no other explanation.

Whoever he was, this Kueller had Force abilities. And he already held Luke prisoner. Which meant he was strong in the Force.

Like Vader.

Han clenched his fists. He had never been any match for Vader. The man had hurt him at every turn. The abilities that Luke, Leia, and the children possessed sometimes looked like magic to him.

But sometimes magic could be used against its owner.

“Chewie, see if you can find Mara Jade for me. Lando says she’s with Talon Karrde. Tell them I need their help.”

Chewie growled a query.

Han grinned at him. “A plan? Of course, I have a plan. Have you ever known me not to?”

Artoo-Detoo had several dents, but he had sustained no real damage. Some of the R5 units near him had clearly been damaged in their falls. Broken headlamps, shattered jacks, destroyed control panels were the most visible. He suspected there was even more he couldn’t see.

When he first arrived, he had beeped several inquiries, and received no response. Then the R5 next to him had moaned softly. That had started the conversation. The beeping in the room was so loud that it registered above the human tolerance level. These droids hadn’t talked with each other—some of them—in years. This room had existed for a long, long time.

Artoo bleeped and blatted, answering questions, and asking some of his own. The droids listened, then beeped some more. The whole room had the feeling of a political meeting. More and more droids stood. Others dusted each other off. Still others extended arms, opened their neighbors’ panels, and pulled out the detonators, tossing them to the ground. The crunching of detonators rose over the beeping din.

Then, slowly, the droids cleared a path for Artoo. As he slowly wheeled through their ranks, a few R2 models slid to the front of the line. They were the same model, make, and year as he was. They were rocking back and forth with excitement. Several other R2 units had picked up the rocking.

As more and more detonators appeared, older droids stood and reinitialized. An R5 picked up the rocking, followed by an R1. Soon most of the older droids were rocking and beeping, while the remaining detonators were pulled from the newer astromech units.

Artoo made his way to the opening, whistling an invitation to the others. An R5 unit jacked into the computer panel near the door, and slowly the door slid back.

The hallway outside was dark.

Then another sound rose over the beeping. It was the sound of rolling wheels. Artoo swiveled his head. All the R2 units of his generation were following him. Several R5’s were also in the mix, and so were a few R6’s.

Then he reached the door and went through. A loud chorus of whistles rose from the room—a droid cheer. Artoo joined