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don’t say?” Han tried to look surprised. “Because of the gravity drag?”
    â€œAnd air friction and accumulated velocity and things like that.” The Arcona glanced over his shoulder at Leia. “This is Han Solo, isn’t it?
The
Han Solo?”
    Han glanced over his shoulder and saw Leia shrug.
    â€œYou know, I’ve been wondering myself.” Her eyes drooped and Han thought she might be falling asleep, then she added, “But when I checked, that’s what his identichip read.”
    â€œOne of them, anyway,” Han said, glad to hear an echo—no matter how faint—of Leia’s sharp wit.
    They reached the other side of the planet. Han pulled back on the yoke, nosing the
Falcon
straight up. The nacelle temperatures shot off the gauges as the ion drives struggled to maintain velocity, and the Arcona’s slanted mouth fell open.
    â€œY-you’re at a hundred and t-t-twenty percent spec,” he stammered.
    â€œYou don’t say,” Han replied. “Bring up the tactical display and let’s see how things look.”
    The Arcona kept his scanner fixed on the temperature gauges. “One twenty-seven.”
    â€œMilitary alloys,” Leia explained. “We can go to one forty, or so Han tells me.”
    â€œMaybe more, if I wanted to push,” Han bragged.
    â€œDon’t,” the Arcona said. “I’m impressed enough.”
    The Arcona brought up the tactical display, revealing a drop-shaped swarm of blips streaming around the planet in pursuit. He plotted intercept vectors. A web of flashing lines appeared on- screen, all intersecting well behind the dotted outline showing the
Falcon
’s projected position.
    â€œI guess rookie smugglers don’t know everything,” Han said with a smirk. “Plot a course for Commenor.”
    He waited a few seconds to be certain none of the
Falcon
’s pursuers had any tricks up its own drive nacelles, then diverted power for the rear shields and kept an eye out for surprises. Though he had plenty of questions for his new copilot, he stayed quiet and watched him work. Han had certainly seen more gifted navigators, but the Arcona’s approach was sound, and he used redundant routines to avoid mistakes.
    After a few moments, he transferred the coordinates to Han’s display. “Want to double-check?”
    â€œNo need,” Han said. “I trust you.”
    â€œYeah?” The high corner of the Arcona’s mouth rose a little more. “Same here.”
    The Arcona validated the coordinates, and Han initiated the hyperdrive. There was the usual inexplicable hesitation—Han had been trying for the last year to run down the cause—and his alarmed copilot looked over. Han raised a finger to signal patience, then the stars stretched into lines.
    They spent a few moments checking systems before settling in for the ride to Commenor, then Han had time to consider his temporary copilot. He had not missed the lightsaber hanging inside the Arcona’s ragged flight tabard, nor the significance of the mind game he had played on CorSec agents. Still, while there were now enough Jedi in the galaxy that Han no longer knew them all by name, he would have heard about an Arcona Jedi—especially a salt-addicted Arcona.
    â€œSo,” Han asked. “Who are you?”
    â€œIzal Waz.” The Arcona turned and, smiling crookedly, extended his three-fingered hand. “Thanks for taking me aboard.”
    â€œWaz? Izal Waz?” Han shook the hand. “Your name sounds familiar.”
    Izal’s gaze flickered downward, and he released Han’s hand. “Anything’s possible, but we haven’t met.”
    â€œBut I
do
know the name,” Han said. “What about you, Leia?”
    He turned to look and found her chin slumped against her chest. Though her eyes were closed, her brow was creased and her hands were twitching, and it made Han’s