“IS THAT YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND?” LEIA ASKED HAN WHILE THEY were waiting for Dr. Parlay Thorp.

Han realized that he was absently toying with the archaic transponder and shoved it back into the pouch pocket of his cargo pants. “Habit forming.”

“Maybe we should buy you a strand of worry beads.”

“Ha, ha.”

Leia hadn't smiled when she made the suggestion, and Han's laugh was equally flat. Clearly, the brief communication with Luke had troubled her. She had barely said a word during the entire trip to Obroa-skai.

“We don't have to do this, you know,” Han said quietly. “We'll explain to Thorp that something's come up and go directly to Coruscant. We can pick up the search right here when everything's straightened out.”

For a heartbeat Leia looked as though she was considering it. Then she sighed and slumped down in the waiting room chair, folding her arms across her chest. “I'm sorry for my mood. Luke sounded concerned but politely ordered me not to join him just yet.”

“Maybe we should buy you a strand of worry beads.”

Leia laughed shortly. “Besides, there's a much better reason for seeing this through.”

Han followed her nod to Allana, who was standing by the waiting room's tall windows gazing at Aurora Medical's spacious landing field. The Falcon was parked within sight, C-3PO watching over her, much to his discontent. Personal droids weren't permitted in the research building, where the Solos were scheduled to speak with Thorp.

“She's not back to her old self,” Leia continued. “But at least she's back to being excited about our adventure.”

“You don't think she's taking this ‘adventure’ a bit too seriously?”

Leia frowned. “Not in an unhealthy way. Why, you're not taking this seriously?”

“No, I am. I'm having a great time—well, except for Taris.”

“I think the trip has brought the three of us closer.”

A smile formed slowly on Han's face. “Back to better days.”

“That was the idea, wasn't it?”

Sudden conversation in the corridor drew their attention to a smartly attired gray-haired woman who was approaching them with a determined stride, smiling broadly and extending her thin right hand before she even reached them.

“Princess Leia—or is it Chief of State Organa? I'm afraid I don't know how to refer to you. I'm Parlay Thorp.”

“Leia will be fine.”

“Leia, then,” Thorp said, shaking hands and turning to Han. “Captain Solo. What a pleasure to meet you.”

Han was surprised by the strength of her grip. “Dr. Thorp.”

“And this must be Amelia.”

Allana shook her hand, as well. “Look outside, there's the Millennium Falcon.”

Thorp allowed herself to be led to the windows.

“My goodness. I've seen the ship countless times on the HoloNet, of course, but to see her in person after all these years …” She turned slightly to face Han and Leia. “What memories she stirs.”

Han joined her at the window. “She was already called Millennium Falcon when you got her?”

Thorp nodded. “I couldn't come up with a name like that.”

“Dax Doogun said something about her having been a medical ship.”

“Yes. But even with her white hull spruced up and stenciled with symbols, the Falcon never really looked the part. Not with that dorsal-mounted cannon.”

“The laser battery was already installed?”

Thorp nodded. “It didn't have the lower cannon.”

“I was, uh, forced to make some upgrades.”

“So I've heard. Otherwise she looks very much the way I remember her. I liked that she was decades old and still limber.” She turned to Han again. “And I respect the fact that you haven't restored her. The dents and rust spots give her character—like age lines in a face. Not that you'll see many of those at Aurora,” she added in a conspiratorial tone.

“We've noticed,” Leia said.

Thorp sighed elaborately. “Yes, we specialize in restoring youth to the envelope and doing what we can to keep the contents in good working order. I like to say that our clients literally buy time for themselves. But even with organ and hormone replacement, we have yet to significantly extend the life spans of most species. For exorbitant sums of money, we can prolong life in humans by twenty-five, fifty, sometimes as much as seventy-five years. But the fact remains that, as a species, we are biologically programmed to decline early on, and that programming appears to be unalterable.” She glanced at Allana. “Boring grown-up stuff, right?”

“Sort of,” she said.

Thorp laughed. “Honesty can be so refreshing. In any case, my area is research. I leave the actual hands-on rejuvenation procedures to Aurora's more gifted professionals.”

“Doogun mentioned that some of your research was conducted in the Outer Rim.”

“In the Tingel Arm, yes, and with the Millennium Falcon to thank for some of my discoveries.”

A door slid open behind them, and a Ho'Din physician stepped into the room.

“I'm sorry for intruding—”

“You're hardly intruding, Dr. Sompa,” Thorp was quick to say. “Allow me to present Han Solo, Leia Organa Solo, and their daughter Amelia.”

Sompa inclined his tressed head in a courteous bow. “I'm charmed and humbled. I must say, however, that I'm somewhat surprised to see you here. Frankly, both of you look wonderful for your ages.”

“Lial,” Thorp started to say when Leia interrupted.

“You don't think my husband could use some … restoration, Dr. Sompa?”

Sompa trained his eyes on Han. “Well, I suppose we could do something with the chin and creases, as well as take some of the lop-sidedness out of the mouth. In other respects Captain Solo appears to be very fit, if a few pounds overweight.”

“Hey, I'm wearing the same pants I've worn for thirty years.”

“He's not kidding about that,” Leia said.

“Of course, it's what's inside that counts,” Sompa went on. “We would have to do scans—”

Allana's tittering burst forth as contagious laughter, leaving the Ho'Din looking confused and possibly embarrassed.

“I'm sorry, Lial,” Thorp said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I'm afraid Princess Leia was having a bit of fun with you. The Solos haven't come for a rejuvenation consultation. They're tracing the history of Captain Solo's famous YT-Thirteen-hundred freighter, the Millennium Falcon.” She turned and pointed out the window. “There— alongside the yacht. The mostly gray ship with the outrigger cockpit.”

Sompa's confusion deepened.

“I owned the Falcon ten years before she came into Captain Solo's possession.”

Sompa opened his mouth in understanding, and he moved to the window and spent several moments staring at the ship. “A YT-Thirteen-hundred, you say?”

“Made by Corellian Engineer—”

“What year?” Sompa said, turning to them abruptly. “What year was it manufactured?”

“I'm not certain of the exact year,” Han said. “Probably a bit more than a hundred years ago.”

Sompa looked at Thorp. “Who owned the ship prior to you, Parlay?”

“I was just about to tell the Solos the story of how I came to own her.”

Sompa swung back to the window. “A ship like that … it's like a survivor from another era …”

“She's a survivor, all right,” Han said. “Forty years ago you could find several dozen YT-Thirteen-hundreds on nearly every major world. Now they're classics.”

“Han uses the terms classic and relic interchangeably,” Leia said, taking Han's arm at the same time.

Sompa looked at Thorp again. “I would love to hear that story at some point, Parlay.”

“Would you? I'm surprised, Lial.”

“Yes, well, I'll leave you to your guests, then.” He turned briefly to Han and Leia. “A pleasure. Enjoy your time at Aurora.”

Thorp waited for Sompa to leave. “A very odd being. But brilliant and very dedicated.”

“And in a rush,” Han said.

“Normally, he is extraordinarily patient.” Thorp shrugged. “Aurora's gardens are beautiful this time of year. Suppose I tell you my tale there?”

“I'll lead,” Allana said and hurried through the door.

The university I attended required that once we received our medical degrees and had interned in medcenters, we spend three years bringing our skills to distant worlds. Many physicians opted to devote all three years to one world in particular, but I had other plans. Bolstered by university grants, contributions, and private donations, I founded Remote Sector Medical, which gradually attracted young physicians who might have had careers in archaeology, linguistics, or exploration had they not chosen medicine. A small fleet of aging starships took us on mercy missions to worlds in the Mid and Outer Rims, distributing medicines, administering inoculations and immunizations, and performing surgeries. We brought our expertise to planets ravaged by plagues and beset by natural catastrophes, and in the end there was scarcely a procedure we wouldn't undertake. It was during this period that I learned to pilot, and long before I completed my three years of compulsory service I realized that I would never be content with a residency in some state-of-the-art medcenter or in private practice on some wealthy world. In fact, I longed to be able to venture even deeper into the galactic arms, where many populations were in dire need of medical care as a result of being ignored by the Empire. Trade had fallen off, many formerly healthy economies were in ruins, and the Emperor had little to offer but lip service, while his Imperial forces focused on strengthening the Core.

Most of the worlds I yearned to visit were, for logistical and financial reasons, beyond the reach of Remote Sector Medical, but all that changed when I became the owner of the Millennium Falcon. The ship's military-grade hyperdrive put the entire galaxy within reach, and with donations continuing to pour in I was able to purchase a pair of aging medical assistant droids and outfit the ship with an array of diagnostic devices. As much as I had enjoyed my years as a volunteer, I loved being on my own and traveling when and where I saw fit. My peers from medical school jokingly refer to those years as my “fly-about period,” and in some sense that's precisely what it was—a period of learning and self-awakening.

In terms of destinations, I allowed myself to be guided by what I heard or overheard in spaceports, cantinas, tapcafs, and the like— wherever professional spacers exchanged information or gossip. I admit to having taken a private delight in their mistaking me for a pirate, smuggler, or bounty hunter, based on nothing more than the rough-and-ready look of the Falcon, with her formidable-looking laser cannon—even though it wasn't capable of firing. If anyone had put me to the test they would have recognized instantly that as a pilot I was not up to the measure of the ship, and could do little more than get myself from place to place.

It was at some cantina on Roost that I learned about Hijado, which is way out the Hydian Way, halfway to Bonadan. An old spacer told me that if any world was going to be in need of relief aid, it was Hijado. Though he refused to say why, the reason became obvious the moment the Falcon reverted from hyperspace in the Hijado system and the sensors alerted me to a convoy of Imperial ships that was departing the planet. What I first took to be atmospheric storms turned out to be smoke billowing from dozens of northern hemisphere population centers. As I drew closer, the Falcon's long-range scanners treated my eyes to the sight of squadrons of TIE fighters returning to their Star Destroyers on the completion of their strafing runs, and of small Hijadoan ships being obliterated on attempting to flee the destruction.

I had heard of recent attacks on the Imperial shipyards at Ord Trasi or Bilbringi—I don't remember which—and my first thought was that the Imperials had discovered a Rebel Alliance base. But Hijado seemed too remote to host a base, and chatter on the comm suggested other reasons for the assault. The chatter was coming from medical frigates waiting for Imperial permission to approach Hijado. It was typical of the Imperial commanders to do this: permit relief ships access once the damage had been done.

Medical teams aboard the frigates updated me on the scope of the devastation and the general plan for providing aid. While the Imperials hadn't leveled Hijado, many cities were beyond help and many areas were going to remain hot for years to come. The rescue teams had been denied permission to evacuate survivors, and medical facilities located in the secondary targets were already mobilizing. Regardless, with power stations and tech centers annihilated, the native civilizations had been set back several hundred years. Worse, the Imperials were installing a base downside to discourage attempts by insurgents to come looking for converts and enlistees.

Once the frigates had been granted permission to insert into orbit, I took the Falcon down into the roiling atmosphere. I scanned for distress signals originating from remote targets but found none, and so relied on visual data and on the Falcon herself to guide me to a place where I might be of some use—since she evinced an atmospheric tendency to pull to starboard.

I spied an area that looked to have been a victim of collateral rather than deliberate damage and put down in a denuded patch of ground, in hot, teeming rain. All around me buildings and houses were engulfed in flames—the fires energized by whatever fuels the indigenous human population used. Everywhere I looked I saw bodies being pulled from raging torrents of water or cascades of thick mud. As I emerged from the ship, a human of perhaps forty standard years disengaged from a group of others in the process of collecting bodies and approached the ship.

“Thank you for responding to our distress call,” he yelled over the driving rain in thickly accented Basic. When I told him that I hadn't received any distress signals, he said: “Through your ship, you mean.” I confirmed it, but he only nodded. I was here, he told me, and that was what mattered. His name, he said, was Noneen.

I followed him into the rain, asking if he knew why the attack had been launched.

“The Imperials didn't explain,” he said calmly.

It emerged, however, that the governor of the planetary sector was believed to have angered the Emperor, and Hijado was being made an example. It sounded all too familiar, and what with the number of dead surrounding me I must have allowed my despair to show.

But Noneen only said: “Don't mourn for us. There was no dying here; only going.”

At the time I interpreted the words as merely poetic, little realizing the import they would take on in the coming weeks, months, and, ultimately, years.

In what amounted to a local week, I assisted in the retrieval of more than five hundred bodies, all of which were ritually burned in the remains of a place of worship. When not rooting about and helping to haul corpses, my droids and I tended to wounds, burns, and broken bones in the small clinic the Falcon became. It took some time to set in, but gradually I realized that I had yet to encounter an elderly person among the injured or the dead, and I asked Noneen about it.

At first he didn't understand my question. Then he pointed to a woman perhaps a bit older than he was and said: “Magan has one hundred one stellar cycles.” Then he pointed out a slightly older-looking man. “Sonnds has one hundred forty cycles.”

Since I already knew that Hijado's year was roughly equivalent to Coruscant's, the ages Noneen quoted had to be wrong.

“How many cycles do you have?” he asked me. When I told him twenty-eight, he said that he would have thought I had many more.

Now, I don't know many young women who enjoy hearing that they look older—much older—than they actually are. But Noneen was right. Those of his people who were my chronological peers looked much younger. Still, I found it difficult to accept. Data on Hijado wasn't very extensive, but it was an established fact that the planet's human population had migrated from the Core several millennia earlier. So either Hijado's humans had evolved into longer-lived beings, or there was something about the now ravaged planet that had granted them unusual longevity.

Within a month of my arrival Noneen and the others were already rebuilding their homes. If they had grieved for the dead, they had done so in private, for I had yet to see so much as a tear shed by anyone. Then one afternoon while I was collating the data I had compiled on the group's rapid ability to heal—physically and emotionally— Noneen and several others returned from a trek into the forest with a dozen or more huge vats of tree sap, all of which had been colored with fruit extracts, clay, and ground minerals. Without bothering to consult me, they were soon painting the Falcon with the saps, turning her from white to deep red, and replacing the medical symbols with enigmatic sigils. When they were done, the ship sported a snarling mouth and a row of fanged teeth, clenched fists at the tips of the mandibles, and flaming feathers covering her dorsal surface. The laser cannon had become a kind of fiery flower; the cockpit an angry eye.

When I finally asked Noneen for an explanation, he told me that the Falcon was being prepared.

“Prepared for what?” I asked.

His response was matter-of-fact: “Vengeance for those who went.”

If he meant literal vengeance on Hijado's Imperial base, he had some news coming, and I provided it. “First of all,” I told him, “I'm a healer, not a soldier.”

“I am also a healer,” he said. “What difference does that make?”

I told him that I dealt in saving lives, not sowing death.

“By avenging those who left,” he said, “we will be saving lives.”

I told him I wasn't a combat pilot, and that the droids weren't capable of executing more than basic maneuvers.

“But you can fly us over the Imperial base,” he said.

I admitted I had enough skill for that, and then I lowered the boom. I told him that the laser cannon wasn't operational.

That seemed to stop him cold, but only for an instant. He said: “If it was constructed to be a weapon, then it will function as one.”

My mind raced. I hadn't seen a single weapon among Noneen's people. Tools, of course, but no weapons, and certainly nothing that was going to power a discharged laser cannon. So I asked myself, what was the worst that could come of my executing a fly-by over the Imperial base? The Imperials' scanners would show the Falcon to be harmless—even wearing the ferocious mask Noneen's group had applied. They would warn us to steer clear of the base, and that would be the end of it.

“If I agree to do this,” I said, “will you permit me to live among you for a period of time?”

He assumed I had no home of my own, which was true of course, but had nothing to do with my request. I told him I wanted to learn how it was that he and his people lived as long as they did.

“There is no technique,” he said, surprising me. “We simply live as long as we wish to live.”

I didn't reveal my suspicions that there was a lot more to it. I was still convinced that the secret was in the food or the water, or lurking in some endocrine gland Noneen had that I didn't. I did make it clear that I wanted permission to take blood and tissue samples— permission to break the seal, as Noneen would have said.

And he agreed to it.

The Imperial base was several hundred kilometers distant, close to many of Hijado's hardest-hit areas. Noneen stood in the cockpit behind me and one of the droids, while six others sat in a circle on the deck of the main hold. I had already observed one of these communal rituals, but neither then nor now was I able to determine the intent. Fifty kilometers out from the base, the Falcon let me know that the Imperials were scanning the ship, and shortly a voice barked through the comm, demanding to know who we were and where we were headed. By voice and telesponder I identified the Falcon as a medical ship and transmitted a bogus flight plan that would take us five kilometers north of the base. The comm went silent for a moment, then a different Imperial said: “Judging by the look of your ship, you've become a witch doctor.”

“Just trying to blend in,” I told him.

We were warned to maintain our heading, which was precisely what I planned to do. But Noneen said it was crucial that we fly closer to the base. Announcing that he was going up top, he hurried for the ladderwell that accessed the laser cannon turret, leaving me to come up with an excuse.

“My scanners indicate a storm along our heading,” I told the base, and requested permission to come about to a vector that would put us within three kilometers of the Imperials. Their response was just what I expected.

“There is no storm,” I was told. The Falcon's scanners were in error. I was warned a second time to maintain my course, and advised that I would be shot from the sky if I didn't obey. Chiming from the instrument panel had already apprised me that the ship was in weapons lock, but I also knew that by disappointing Noneen I would ruin my chances of being allowed to remain among his people. So I did something I'd never done before: I gave the Falcon full throttle and flew straight for the base.

I still have no idea how I managed to evade the Imperial laser bolts that streaked for the ship, particularly because I had my eyes closed for a good part of the run. I think, though, our luck had everything to do with the Falcon's astonishing speed and the Imperials' overconfidence.

After all, it was just an old freighter.

Before I knew it, we were fifty kilometers south of the base and Noneen had returned to the cockpit. I was so busy checking the threat screen for signs of pursuers that I scarcely heard him when he said that the mission had been successful, and that the base was gone.

I directed his attention to one of the scanners that showed the base to be exactly as and where it was when we left it, but he was adamant. The base was destroyed, and his people were avenged. If my way of looking at the world didn't restrict me to seeing in the moment, I would realize that the Imperials were gone.

I remember telling him that everything dies in time. And I remember him telling me that the base had left before its time.

On our return to the village, the Falcon was scrubbed clean of her mask, rubbed with oils enough to make a protocol droid envious, and adorned with flowers, inside and out. In small ceramic pots placed throughout the ship, sticks of fragrant incense burned. Though Noneen never said as much, I believe the ship became a kind of temple for his people. They would find the slightest excuses for visiting me—aches and pains, minor cuts and rashes—and they would submit without complaint to blood draws and scans performed by the medical droids.

My studies over the course of the next year turned up some remarkable findings. Noneen's people seemed to know beforehand when someone was about to die—though the term they used was leave. Noneen would sometimes say that this person or that was gone—even though I would be looking directly at the person, sometimes speaking with him or her. And sure enough, the person would die soon after, often without evidence of disease.

I asked him if his people had known before about the Imperial assault, and he said that they had. They saw the village gone.

Was this precognition the result of the Force? I wondered.

Noneen's answer was it might be.

Shortly into my second year of living among them, the entire village began to lapse into an uncharacteristically somber state. When I finally asked Noneen the reason, he told me that I was going. It was understood that I didn't realize I was going, and so everyone had kept it to themselves.

While I refused to believe it, I subjected myself nevertheless to every imaginable scan, all of which showed me to be in near-perfect health. Noneen, however, was insistent. I was going. But if I would allow a ritual to be performed on my behalf, it was possible that my leaving could be postponed for a time. I eagerly agreed to it, and when the ritual was completed Noneen told me that it had been partially successful.

Almost immediately I became terribly ill.

Had they done this to me? I asked myself. Was it a plan all along? Tests carried out by the droids eventually revealed that I had a congenital disease that had somehow gone unnoticed in almost thirty years of medical scans. By all rights I should have been dying, but I wasn't. Something was holding the disease in check. But for how long? I wondered.

I realized then that I was destined to remain with Noneen and his people for however long it would take to unravel the secret of their uncanny abilities. I became positively giddy with grandiose dreams. With all the progress the human species had made in the realms of science and technology, the secrets that would allow us to see into the future and perhaps extend our life spans had yet to be unlocked. And here I stood, poised to solve the mystery.

Save for one problem.

For months, I had been working up the nerve to ask Noneen how long he and his people would live, though I phrased the question differently. I said: “Are you here to stay?”

He gave his head a resigned shake. “We are going.”

“When?” I pressed, my voice betraying my utter sense of loss.

“Soon. Long before you leave.”

I doubled my efforts to learn everything I could about Noneen's people, but without success. And in the face of failure I'm afraid I morphed into more of a mad scientist than a medical practitioner.

Another year passed.

The Millennium Falcon had in large measure become part of the village landscape. But then one day the entire village turned out to clean the ship from stem to stern, removing the flowers and incense before coloring her with tree sap of the brightest hues I had ever seen them use. At least it wasn't war paint, I assured myself. Still, I found the sudden attention to be as worrisome as it was baffling.

By way of explanation, Noneen told me that the Falcon had disappeared.

“Gone like the Imperial base?” I asked him.

“Simply gone,” he said. “Moved on.”

There was nothing I could do. She had left.

Each morning for the next month I was amazed to find the Falcon resting on her landing gear, gaudy with paint but still there. I don't know what I expected to happen, but it wasn't until the Molpol Circus arrived on Hijado that I began to understand. Dax Doogun took one look at the ship and decided that he had to have her. And in fact the Falcon couldn't have looked more perfect for a circus. Dax's offer was generous beyond my wildest imaginings—more than enough to finance the medical and research center I dreamed of establishing on Hijado.

And how could I refuse, in any case, when the Millennium Falcon had already moved on?

“The research team I assembled remained on Hijado for ten years,” Parlay Thorp said from one of the garden benches. “Long enough, I might add, to see the Imperial base destroyed—an event Noneen and his people took in stride, since to them it had been long gone.”

“I take it you've put your discoveries to good use here at Aurora,” Leia said.

Thorp smiled faintly. “How I wish. But the truth of the matter is that we never discovered the key to their precognitive abilities or their longevity. In an effort to find some link to other long-lived species— Hutts, Wookiees, Gen'Dai, and Falleen—we carried out exhaustive studies, but found none. We considered the possibility that Noneen's people were tuned into the same sort of circadian rhythms to which many insectoid and saurian species respond, but the results were inconclusive. We thought that their health and longevity could be attributed to a naturally occurring form of bacta or bota, but found no evidence of that.”

Thorp looked at Leia. “I never entirely let go of my belief that they had the Force.”

Leia said nothing.

“After a group of Rebels destroyed the Imperial base, the Empire returned to make a further example of Hijado.” Thorp glanced at Allana. “I … don't know what became of Noneen and his people.”

“Maybe they were already gone,” Allana said, climbing up into Leia's lap.

“Perhaps they were,” Thorp said with a smile.

“And maybe they did have the Force.”

“Well, who knows,” Thorp said. “Perhaps someday we'll chance upon a sentient species that will provide us with the key to immortality. Until such time, there's little we can do but continue to rely on technology to extend our lives year by year.” She brightened somewhat. “Doctor Sompa recently had a human patient emerge from a coma that lasted for more than sixty years. The exception to the rule, of course. Even with beings frozen in carbonite.”

Han stirred uncomfortably in his chair. “Getting back to the Falcon …”

“Ah, yes. You're wondering how such a ship should find her way into the life of a young physician.”

“Someone gave it to you!” Allana said.

Thorp's eyes widened and she laughed. “You're absolutely right, Amelia. Someone actually gave it to me. He said it was a donation.”

“He,” Han said, sitting forward.

Thorp turned to him. “At the time he refused to tell me his name, but I eventually found out. Someone had done a poor job of clearing the Falcon's registry, which listed the owner as Quip Fargil. I've no idea where he ended up, but he was on Vaced when he gave me the ship. And I remember having the distinct impression that he was a soldier.”

“An Imperial?” Han said, steeling himself for bad news.

Thorp shook her head. “He had the look of a Rebel.”

“I'm telling you, Lestra, it's the same ship,” Lial Sompa's 3-D image said from atop the holoprojector built into the hardwood floor of the mansion study on Epica.

Oxic's expression of incredulity didn't change. Muting the study's audio feed, he glanced at Koi Quire. “Any history of mental illness in Sompa's family?”

“None that I'm aware of. We should at least hear him out.”

Oxic reenabled the audio pickups. “Lial, Corellian Engineering manufactured more than ten million YT-Thirteen-hundreds just in the first years of production.”

“I'm aware of that,” the Ho'Din said, showing some indignation. “But both Jadak's Stellar Envoy and Han Solo's Millennium Falcon came off the line at the same time. You don't find that the least bit significant?”

“I find it circumstantial,” Oxic said. “What's more, hasn't Solo had that particular YT forever?”

“No, he hasn't. He and his family are looking into the origins of the ship. That's why they visited Aurora—to ask Parlay Thorp if she knew who had owned it previously. Is it so hard to accept that Captain Jadak was one of the former owners?”

Oxic considered it briefly. “You're making a case that while Jadak has been searching for the ship forward in time, Han Solo has been searching into the past?”

Sompa shook his head tresses in exasperation. “Exactly.”

“There is an appealing symmetry to it,” Quire said.

“Here's another thing for you to consider, counselor,” Sompa said. “Jadak was a professional swoop racer. Any freighter he piloted would have been a fast one, and the Millennium Falcon is known to be one of the fastest ships of its kind in the galaxy.”

“Appealing and somewhat convincing,” Quire said.

Oxic muted the audio once more. “Do we have a clue as to Jadak's present whereabouts?”

“Not a whiff of a clue. If he contacted Rej Taunt, he did so by comm.”

“Have we checked incoming and outgoing communications?”

Quire laughed. “You can't be serious. Check Rej Taunt's communications?”

Oxic made a dismissive motion. “Forget I asked.” Audio reactivated, he turned to the three-quarter holoimage of Sompa. “Was Dr. Thorp able to provide Solo with any useful information?”

“Of possible use. She was executing one of her mercy missions on Vaced when she was given the ship by a human named Quip Fargil.”

“Vaced?” Oxic said, looking at Quire.

“Out past Bilbringi, I think.” She frowned in thought. “I'll have to check.”

“That, in any case, is where the Solos are headed,” Sompa said.

“Thank you, Lial.”

Oxic deactivated the holoprojector. Pressing the tips of his fingers together, he brought them to his lips. “How astronomical would the odds be?”

“That the Stellar Envoy and the Millennium Falcon are the same ship, or that Jadak and his partner are bound for Vaced?”

“Take your pick.”

Quire shrugged. “If they are the same ship, then just about anything is possible.”

“Let's suppose for the sake of argument that the ships are one and the same. If we could get our hands on the Millennium Falcon before Jadak does …”

Quire nodded. “Then Jadak would be forced to come to us to get what he needs from the ship.”

He watched Quire closely. “At worst all we'll have done is steal the wrong ship. Or would that be a problem for you?”

She thought for a moment. “I've always thought of the Falcon as Han Solo's ship. But he happens to be married to the woman who in some sense rescued my species. Were it not for Leia Organa, my people might still be drifting among the stars in stasis or enslaved on some remote world.”

Oxic narrowed his eyes. “If I knew your real name, I could compel you to help me.”

Quire gave him a look he hadn't seen before. “That's not even funny, Lestra.”

“I'm sorry. I'm simply trying to find a way to make this palatable.” He blew out his breath. “I wasn't suggesting that you and I carry out the theft personally.”

“That much was obvious. But that doesn't alter the fact your employees simply aren't up to this, Lestra. Not against a former general and a Jedi Knight. Four of them couldn't handle Jadak, and the rest of us failed to keep even one Colicoid in custody.”

“Perhaps it's more a matter of our being on hand to supervise them, Koi.”

“On Vaced.”

“Or nearby.”