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said.
    “I’m not the one—!” He bit back the words. He couldn’t stand here and argue with her. She couldn’t hear. She’d win. He scooped her into his arms. She was light and warm. “You’re coming with me,” he said.
    “I can’t, Han,” she said, but she didn’t struggle. “I’m fine. Really.”
    “I don’t want you to die because you don’t know when to quit,” he said as he stepped past the wounded.
    Either her hearing was coming back or she could read lips. “I’m not going to die,” she said.
    His heart was pounding against his chest. He cradled her close. “Lady, I wish I were as sure of that as you are.”

    Jarril stopped running when he reached the hangars. He had seen activity all around the flight bases, but he figured it wouldn’t reach his ship yet.
    He was right.
    Although he probably didn’t have much time.
    He had left the ship, the
Spicy Lady
, in the far corner of the hangar, behind two larger ships. The
Spicy Lady
was small but distinctive. Brown, shaped like the
Millennium Falcon
crossed with an A-wing, she was of Jarril’s own special design. She was built for carrying cargo, but if things got difficult, he could jettison the storage unit and let the fighter ship move on its own. The fighter could be remote-operated; he could lead a pursuer on a wild-goose chase with the fighter while in reality he was on the storage ship with all the cargo. He had only had to use that scenario once, and fortunately he’d been able to recover the fighter part of the ship later.
    He was never so relieved to see anything in his life.
    He had to get off Coruscant before they put a clamp on space travel. And they would, once the source of that explosion was located. He had to get back to the Run before anyone noticed he was missing. He was afraid someone already had.
    This part of the hangar appeared to be empty. Odd. If he were in charge of Coruscant, he would close down access to and from the planet immediately. But the New Republic did things democratically, not logically.
    He only hoped he had piqued Han’s interest enough. They wouldn’t have another chance at a conversation.
    He hurried across the platform to his ship. Then he dropped the ramp and climbed in. It felt strange to enter an empty ship. Usually he traveled with Seluss, a Sullustan. They had started in the business together. Seluss was supposed to cover for him while he was gone.
    The
Spicy Lady
smelled of cool processed air. He had left the interior pressurized, a mistake he didn’t usuallymake. This time it didn’t matter, though. It would be easier for him to leave.
    He would pilot out of the storage section. Safer. If the Coruscant command gave him any troubles, he would separate the sections and let them worry about the fighter while the storage unit escaped. He had just slid into the pilot’s chair when he heard something behind him.
    He stiffened but did not turn. He might have been mistaken about the sound.
    No. There it was again. The hollowy inhale of someone breathing through a mask.
    Jarril swallowed. As he turned, he put his hand on his blaster.
    Two stormtroopers faced him, blasters already trained on him. “Where do you think you’re going?” one of them asked. The voice was unrecognizable through the helmet’s mouthpiece.
    Then Jarril realized they weren’t stormtroopers. They were wearing his cargo. He recognized the battle scorch on the helmet on the right.
    They must have come on the ship wearing other clothing. They had put on the stormtrooper uniforms to scare him? He wasn’t afraid of stormtroopers. At least, not stormtroopers wearing his own haul.
    “I think it’s high time to leave Coruscant, don’t you?” Jarril asked. He wished he knew whom he was addressing.
    “We plan to leave,” the other trooper said, “after you tell us your business here.”
    “I was visiting an old friend,” Jarril said.
    “Strange time to be visiting,” the first stormtrooper said.
    “Strange time to be