The Great Throne Room was empty save for Petrine, the two figures standing before him, and four red-clad guards standing at the now-closed door.

"Vader?" Petrine prompted.

"Yes, my master." Darth Vader inclined his head several degrees. "The battle station will be ready to be moved to its new location in another two weeks, and the bait has been spread before the Corellians. They, or the Rebel Alliance, will soon be sending an agent to Claudio to investigate."

"Good." Petrine nodded. "But it must be Solo."

"You have threatened his very existence, my master," Vader said. "He will rise to the bait."

"Oh, yes," Petrine agreed with smug complacency. "You see how very easy it is to snare a Tseboran Jedi, my friend? Your worries have been for naught."

"Yes, Master." Vader bowed again, a small feeling of relief spreading through him. It was comforting to have an unqualified success to report to his quick-tempered, all-powerful overlord.

Petrine's basilisk stare traveled to the man standing beside Vader. "You understand your part in this scheme, my son?"

"Yes, Sire."

Petrine's expression warmed a little. "Soon, my son," he purred, "very soon, you will be able to take your position at Our side as Our Heir. But first, it is necessary that we ensure your safety. Solo and Skywalker must become Our loyal servants as Vader has done, and Yoda must die."

"Yes, Sire."

Vader kept his eyes trained on the hem of Petrine's robes and prudently hid a snort of derisive amusement. The boy. Always the boy. The boy had to be carefully concealed from the eyes and ears of the galaxy lest someone do him harm or his head be turned by the toadying of sycophants. The deception had begun the instant the boy had been conceived. No matter that the apparent lack of an Heir caused more confusion and gave rise to opportunism within the imperial government. Petrine was obsessed with the idea that the boy not be recognized until the last Jedi, the Master of Dagobah, had been destroyed.

Petrine had made it his life's work to send the ancient teacher on to the other side of the Veil so his son would rule unchallenged. Yet, even with the boy, Petrine's raging paranoia showed. The boy had been trained by both Vader and Petrine as a Dark Jedi, but there were still secrets and plans that Petrine had not revealed. "Time enough," Petrine had said. "The boy will have allmy knowledge before I go to my funeral pyre."

Vader's eyes, under the face mask, glittered with bitter delight. Petrine was afraid, afraid of this son around whom all his hopes and expectations of the future were woven. Living, Petrine would brook no possible threat to his absolute control of the Empire. Vader had made a secret bet with himself many years ago when he realized which way Petrine's wind was blowing--would he actually yield to the boy those secrets or would he take them with him into the Void? Vader was betting that Petrine would delay overlong.

Popping out of hyperspace above Corell, Lorge and Thel suffered their second case of heart failure.

"What the hell's goin' on?" Lorge yelled, pointing at the star cruiser bearing down on the Jin Lorel.

"Turn her around!" Thel screamed frantically. "Just turn her around and ask stupid questions later!"

Under Lorge and Thel's quick, competent handling, the ship made a hundred and eighty-degree turn and shot back into hyperspace.

"It's that son-of-a-bitch Solo," Lorge said, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "That's the only logical explanation."

"Huh?" Thel looked up from his side of the console.

"Who else do you know who's cuddled up to the rebellion?" Lorge asked in the voice of sweet reason. "Why else would the Imperials be sitting on Corell?"

Thel thought about that for a moment, then a comprehending look appeared on his face. "Yeah, that's it. That's gotta be it." He flexed his fingers. "Just wait till I get my hands on him. Next time he'll think twice about sticking his nose in somebody else's business."

Lorge sneered. "Whatnext time?"

For Han Solo, the next two weeks sped by in a blur. The mornings and early afternoons were devoted to aerial and ground training. The Corellian pilots took to pattern flying with boisterous zest, learning with a speed that left Han breathless and exhilarated. Drawing on his memories, Han created some unorthodox maneuvers to confound any enemy. The Corellian pilots entered into the creative process, and soon Han found his morning blackboard sessions being infiltrated by the Alliance pilots as well. The two groups began to practice against each other. Han was a little skeptical at first; the Corellians were turning out to be as devious and unprincipled as fighter pilots as they were as traders and smugglers. There were outraged screams from the regular pilots as the Corellians joyfully "killed" them in wholesale numbers, but there were no actual casualties, and the Alliance pilots came back determined to best the freighters.

Han's evenings were spent with Yoda and Luke; he and the Tatooinian honing their skills under the master's vigilant direction. One exercise began when the Master of Dagobah tied one of Luke's hands to one of Han's, thrust a lightsaber into their bound hands, then bombarded them with seeker balls. They spent the evening struggling for individual mastery over each other and the saber while Yoda chortled with sadistic glee and the seeker balls zapped them with electrical charges. When they were able to coordinate their efforts into one fluid movement on the saber, Yoda added more seeker balls, then allowed them sabers for their free hands. There were more evenings of confusion as they learned to coordinate, cooperate, and anticipate. Hours spent on precision gymnastic endurance trials reduced Han to puffing for breath, in spite of the fact that he had always prided himself on his physical condition. It did his ego no good to discover that Luke was able to get through the exercises with a lot less strain. Gradually, though, he found himself building up his endurance and enjoying himself in the process.

And at the end of these long, active days, both Han and Luke counted themselves lucky to do more than collapse into exhausted slumber.

"You sure you got the right place, numbwit?" Thel complained as the Jin Lorelwinked out of hyperspace above the outlying planet of the Cargeen system.

"Look, mouth." Lorge reached overhead to engage another set of stabilizers. "You've done nothing but bitch for the past two weeks. Now, I'm telling you--this is the place." He paused long enough to stab one finger at the nav computer. "Last planet in the Cargeen system. That's what Ithra said, right?"

Thel peered out the viewscreen. "What a dump."

"What'd you expect, Carnival?"

"You'd think the Conference would've found something less like a chunk of rock," Thel kept up his complaints. "Why'd they have to go find another bald rock to set up shop on?"

"'Cause it seems more homelike?" Lorge muttered with deadly sarcasm.

"Ah, shut up and drive, will ya?"

"I'm trying, I'm trying--but you keep interrupting me."

"I shoulda listened to my mother," Thel mumbled under his breath. "She said you'd drive me nuts in less than a year. Next time I'll know better. Why the hell didn't I listen to her? She always knows best. Maybe my cousin Del's still looking for a good copilot. I like Del. She knows when to keep her big mouth shut."

"Del can't fly her way out of a garbage sack, twinkle-toes."

"So who asked you?"

The Galadiersettled down on the Jerail airfield in a graceful swoop. As soon as his engines were quiet, Tad Rono snatched up his courier's bag and went in search of the Guildmaster. He halted once more when he heard engines overhead. Shading his eyes with his hand against Jerail's early afternoon sun, he watched several pinpoint-sized squadrons cut through the stratosphere in a convoluted maneuver, attacking and counter-attacking. Rono smiled. The Emperor had picked the wrong bunch to muscle in on this tire.

Rono found Gren in his office. "And how is the Conference faring?" asked the Guildmaster after sending a droid to summon Brynn.

Rono shrugged. "They've got things pretty much under control as far as I can see," he reported. "It's been touch and go for most of our people, but it's getting sorted out. Most of them have found some sort of employment to tide them over until we get Corell back. The kids are in school. Life goes on. Most of the Guild members have touched base with them now, and they'll send them here. We can expect another thirty-five to be pulling into Jerail over the next couple of weeks or so. The rest'll sit tight and wait for orders on Cargeen." He took a disk from his pocket and handed it to Ryo. "Here's both lists--who's coming and who's staying."

Ryo took the disk and called it up on the computer, nodding as he noted particularly odd comrades or some of the more promising apprentices and journeymen. Halfway down, he grinned. "I see the Terrible Two made it."

Rono chuckled. "They had quite a trip. Drank a couple of beers with them on Cargeen before I took off."

Brynn entered, wiping her hands on a shop rag. "I thought I heard Galadiercome in," she remarked to Rono.

"You gotta do something about her, Professor. That lousy hunk of scrap metal isn't going to take much more."

"Mmm," Brynn said, a thoughtful frown wrinkling her forehead. She stuffed the rag in her back pocket. "I'll take another look at her as soon as we're done here. Timmer's got a couple of engines he pulled. Maybe we can switch one for you." She brushed her hand across Ryo's shoulder in a gesture of affectionate greeting, then pulled over a chair and sat down.

Ryo pointed to the computer screen. "Guild members who've reported in to the Conference," he explained. "Rono says about thirty-five of them will be coming to Jerail over the next couple of weeks."

"Good. And what does the Conference have to say for itself?"

Ryo opened the sealed pouch that Rono had given him. "I haven't looked yet." He dumped the contents of the pouch out on the desk. Three communications disks rolled out, along with two handwritten letters. Ryo picked up the letters first, and verified the signatures. "Darbeen and Thintha." They were personal communications; he set them aside. "You done with the lists, sweetheart?"

Brynn touched the button to clear the lists, and Ryo inserted the first communication disk. Dril Morin's leathery features filled the viewscreen. There was an expression of deep displeasure on the old woman's face, and Ryo sighed. In her typically terse, forthright manner, the Conference President reiterated the complaints the Conference had lodged against the Guild, then launched into a new set concerning the inadequate report the Guildmaster had sent, and demanded a much more informative one. The Guild did not own Corell, she reminded Ryo, and the Guildmaster had damn well better confer with the Conference before he committed Corell to any action with the Alliance.

Removing the disk, Ryo eyed Rono with a disquieting stare.

"I tried, sir," the courier said with a helpless shrug. "But you know Dril. She just won't listen to reason. The Conference is not listening to reason. They're still pissed as hell about the invasion, and they're expecting us to make good their losses." Ryo snorted to himself. The Guild had lost more money than the Conference ever dreamed of seeing at one time. "If the Imperials do blast Corell, we'll never be able to share parsecs with the Conference, let alone a planet."

Ryo rubbed the tense muscles on the back of his neck. "Good riddance," he growled. "The Guild'll stake out its own world. The Conference can have whatever they want--as long as it's on the other side of the galaxy."

Brynn and Rono smiled grimly. Ryo inserted the next disk. New text began to scroll across the screen--the reports made by incoming Guild pilots about where they'd been and what they'd seen.

"You might check out Lorge Tyne's report," Rono suggested. "The Port authority on Claudio tried to impound the Loreland arrest both Lorge and Thel just for being Corellian nationals."

Ryo skipped down the report until he found Lorge Tyne's, then read it carefully.

Claudio. Ryo thought for a moment. There was an Imperial naval base there. But there were naval bases on many planets, and Corellians had not been arrested or jumped by stormtroopers at any of them.

"Have you heard of any other ships meeting the same reception?" Gren asked Rono.

Rono shook his head. "That's why I suggested you check Lorge's report first. He and Thel volunteered for the squadrons. I told them to give me a few hours' lead time, then follow me here. I figured you'd want to talk to them yourself."

"Good. Have them report to me the minute they land." As he spoke, Ryo typed a request for a star map of the area. The solar system was otherwise uninhabitable, and the surrounding star systems were too far away to be more than titularly controlled by Claudio. For several long moments, Ryo stared at the chart.

"That's a lot of empty space out there, Ryo," Brynn commented quietly.

A sudden certainty filled the Guildmaster. "That's it!" he stated. "Claudio's got to be the main staging area." He traced the starlanes back toward the Core. "Sullust. Merovia. Denev. Dukan. Ezak." A tap on the viewscreen punctuated each name. "There's been an unusually heavy amount of traffic going into that quadrant over the past year, but nothing going further out. Everything stops dead at those places. The Imperials must be moving it themselves from there to Claudio, and then out to wherever the construction site is."

"I hauled a load into Denev myself," Rono offered. "Must have been a dozen other freighters come in the same day. It was a load of electronics if I remember, consigned to an outfit called Wilgoron. They had a huge warehouse, and I never got beyond the reception area. They sent their own trucks out to collect the stuff."

Ryo's fingertip trailed from Denev to Claudio, and the feeling of certainty grew. Once more, he tapped the dot that was Claudio. "It's there."

The Jin Lorelcame out of hyperspace over Jerail and prepared to land. Lorge was tense as he went through his descent routine, ready to leap over the nav computer and throttle Thel if the other man dared open his mouth. But for the first time in weeks, Thel didn't have any complaints.

"This ain't half bad," he said admiringly as he gazed through the viewscreen at the approaching planet. "Look at all that green."

Lorge relaxed and took a look for himself. "You're right." He made a course correction. "And look there, a lake."

Thel's optimism was transformed into his usual pessimism. "Uh-oh, tourists. Don't hit 'em, huh?"

Lorge's hands remained steady on the controls as a pair of X-wing fighters flew up to escort them. "You think they let just anybody in here, dummy?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

The comm unit crackled, and Thel flipped a toggle. "Identify yourself."

"This is the Jin Lorel,registry Corell XB7455921 CR 1," Lorge responded immediately.

"What's the password?" the voice from the X-wing demanded.

Lorge reeled off the complicated nonsense phrase, and the two X-wings arced off to resume their patrol duties.

"Suspicious, aren't they?" Thel grumbled.

"You'd be, too, if you had the Empire hot on your tail."

"I've had the Empire on my tail for the past two weeks, hotshot."

It was cold and dark. Han trembled and rubbed his hands over his arms to warm himself. No lights met his puzzled eyes, although he knew they had to be somewhere. Slowly he turned in a circle, his feet making no sound. He trembled from fear now, not the cold.

"Sohan," he whispered into the darkness. "Sohan, are you there?"

No reply answered his query; the only sound the fading echo of his own words. And still the stars stubbornly hid their faces.

"Sohan!" Han put all of his life force behind the summons.

And through the darkness came a sound like a breeze rustling through green spring leaves. Instantly, Han changed his call.

"Chanor?" he called. He put his hand out and took a hesitant step forward. "Chanor, is that you?" He took another step and froze as his extended hand brushed against something. He grabbed and came up clutching empty air.

"Damn it all," he snarled at the void. Irritation filled him. Taking a deep breath, he planted his feet slightly apart and put his hands on his hips. "I'm getting sick and tired of this garbage!" he announced to anyone who might be listening. "You've had me chasing from one end of this Force-be-damned galaxy to the other, playing hide and seek. Well, you can just stuff it. I'm going home!"

With that, Han turned around and stalked off.