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  precarious grip on the wall and plunged into the crevasse.

  Ahead, Kyp encountered a blocky, rubble-strewn glacier field. More widely

  spaced now, the laser beacons seemed to give up and let foolhardy

  turbo-skiers

  choose their own path. Kyp wobbled as he struck hummocks of ice and snow. He

  raised the repulsorfield to skim higher over the surface.

  As the crusty glacier grew rougher, clogged with grainy blown snow, Han

  muttered complaints and curses through gritted teeth. He kept his balance

  somehow, but Kyp had lost ground. Han found himself breathing the boy's

  wake,

  pushing closer and faster--and suddenly the race meant something to him

  again.

  Afterward, while sitting around in a cantina and swapping stories, he would

  somehow convince himself that the whole thing had been a great deal of fun.

  Feeling a bit of the recklessness he had just cursed Kyp for, Han pulsed

  the jets, lunging forward in an adrenaline-filled burst of speed that

  brought

  him side by side with Kyp.

  A snowfield sprawled in front of them, sparkling white and unsullied by

  other turbo-ski tracks--even though it had not snowed for more than a month

  in

  this arid frigid climate--demonstrating exactly how few people had been

  foolish enough to attempt the dangerous path.

  Ahead, the roped-off receiving-and-rescue area lay like a sanctuary

  communications gear, warming huts, powered-down medical droids that could be

  reactivated at a moment's notice, and an old hot-beverage shop that had long

  since gone out of business. Home free--they had made it!

  Kyp glanced sideways at him, his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. He

  crouched down and blasted his skis at full power. Han hunched over to

  decrease

  his air resistance. Pristine snow flew around him, hissing in his ears.

  The line of laser beacons switched off like metallic eyes blinking shut.

  Han had no time to wonder about it before the smooth blanket of snow ahead

  bulged, then sloughed inward.

  A crunching, grinding sound accompanied the straining of massive engines.

  Gouts of steam erupted from the collapsed snowfield as the glowing red nose

  of

  a mechanical thermal borer thrust into the open air. The screw-shaped tip

  continued to turn as it chewed its way out of the solid ice.

  "Look out!" Han yelled, but Kyp had already veered off to the left side,

  leaning hard on one deflector pole and jabbing at the air with his other.

  Han

  punched his stabilizing jets and streaked to the right as the mammoth ice-

  processing machine chewed the opening of its tunnel wider, clutching the

  walls

  with clawed tractor treads.

  Han skimmed past the gaping pit, feeling a blast of hot steam across his

  cheeks. His goggles fogged again, but he found his way to the steep ice

  waterfall, the final obstacle before the finish line. The edge of the

  precipice flowed with long tendrils of icicles like dangling cables that had

  built up over centuries during the brief spring thaws.

  Kyp launched himself over the edge of the frozen river, igniting both ski

  jets. Han did the same, tucking his poles against his ribs, watching the

  packed snow fly up to strike the bottoms of his skis with a loud slap that

  echoed along the ice fields in unison with the sound of Kyp's landing.

  They both charged forward, then slewed to a stop in front of the cluster

  of prefab huts. Kyp peeled down the hood of his parka and started laughing.

  Han held on to his deflector poles, feeling his body tremble with relief and

  an overdose of excitement. Then he, too, began chuckling.

  "That was really stupid, kid," Han managed at last.

  "Oh?" Kyp shrugged. "Who was stupid enough to follow me? After the spice

  mines of Kessel, I wouldn't consider a little turbo-ski slope too dangerous.

  Hey, maybe we could ask Threepio to tell us the odds of successfully

  negotiating that slope when we get back."

  Han shook his head and gave a lopsided grin. "I'm not interested in odds.

  We did it. That's what counts."

  Kyp stared across the frozen distance. His eyes seemed to follow the

  arrow-straight lines of nonreflective water conduits ringed with pressure

  joints and pumping stations.

  "I'm glad we've had so much fun, Han," he said, staring into something

  only he seemed to see. "I've done a lifetime's worth of healing since you

  rescued me."

  Han felt uncomfortable at the thick emotion he heard in Kyp's voice. He

  tried to lighten the mood. "Well, kid, you had as much to do with our escape

  as I did."

  Kyp didn't seem to hear. "I've been thinking about what Luke Skywalker

  said when he found my ability to use the Force. I only know a little bit

  about

  it, but it seems to be calling me. I could do a huge service to the New

  Republic. The Empire ruined my life and destroyed my family--I wouldn't mind

  getting a chance to strike back."

  Han swallowed, knowing what the boy was trying to say. "So you think

  you're ready to go study with Luke and the other Jedi trainees?"

  Kyp nodded. "I'd rather stay here and have fun for the rest of my life,

  but--was

  Han said in a soft voice, "You deserve it, you know."

  But Kyp shook his head. "I think it's time I start taking myself

  seriously. If I do have this gift of using the Force, I can't let it go to

  waste."

  Han gripped the young man's shoulder and squeezed hard, feeling Kyp's

  rangy frame through his bulky gloves. "I'll see that you get a good flight

  to

  Yavin 4."

  The whirring hum of repulsorlifts broke the quiet moment. Han looked up

  as a messenger droid approached, streaking like a chromium projectile over

  the

  ice fields. The droid arrowed straight for them.

  Han muttered, "If that's a representative from the turbo-ski resort, I'm

  going to file a complaint about that ice-mining machine. We could have been

  killed."

  But as the messenger droid hovered over them, lowering itself to Han's

  eye level, it snapped open a scanning panel and spoke in a genderless

  monotone. "General Solo, please confirm identification. Voice match will be

  sufficient."

  Han groaned. "Aww, I'm on vacation. I don't want to bother with any

  diplomatic mess right now."

  "Voice match confirmed. Thank you," the droid said. "Prepare to receive

  encoded message."

  The droid hovered as it projected a holographic image onto the clean

  snow. Han recognized the auburn-haired figure of Mon Mothma. He straightened

  in surprise--the Chief of State rarely communicated with him directly.

  "Han," Mon Mothma said in a quiet, troubled voice. He noticed immediately

  that she had called him by his first name instead of his more formal rank. A

  fist of sudden dread clenched his stomach.

  "I'm sending you this message because there has been an accident. Admiral

  Ackbar's shuttle crashed on the planet Vortex. Leia was with him, but she's

  safe and unharmed. The admiral ejected her to safety before his ship flew

  out

  of control, directly into a large c
ultural center. Admiral Ackbar managed to

  power up his crash shields, but the entire structure was destroyed. So far

  at

  least 358 Vors are confirmed dead in the wreckage.

  "This is a tragic day for us, Han. Come home to Imperial City. I think

  Leia might need you as soon as she returns." Mon Mothma's image wavered,

  then

  dissolved into staticky snowflakes that faded in the air.

  The messenger droid said, "Thank you. Here is your receipt." It spat out

  a tiny blue chit that landed in a puff of snow at Han's feet.

  Han stared as the droid turned and streaked back toward the base camp. He

  squashed the blue chit into the snow with the base of his turbo-ski. He felt

  sick. The excitement he had just experienced, all the joy with Kyp, had

  evaporated, leaving only a leaden dread inside him.

  "Come on, Kyp. Let's go."

  * * *

  See-Threepio thought that if his fine-motor control had allowed it, his

  entire golden body would be chattering with cold. His internal thermal units

  were no match for the frozen polar regions of Coruscant.

  He was a protocol droid, fluent in over six million forms of

  communication. He was able to perform an incredible number of diverse

  tasks--

  all of which seemed more appealing at the moment than baby-sitting a pair of

  wild two-and-a-half-year-olds who saw him as their plaything.

  Threepio had taken the twins to the snow-play area at the bottom of the

  ice slopes, where they could ride tame tauntauns. Little Jacen and his

  sister

  Jaina seemed to enjoy the spitting, cumbersome creatures--and the Umgullian

  rancher who had brought the furry animals to Coruscant seemed delighted to

  have the business.

  Afterward Threepio had stoically endured as the twins insisted on making

  a "snow droid" of him, packing layers of snow around his shiny body. He

  still

  felt ice crystals caked inside his joints. As he enhanced the output from

  his

  optical sensors, Threepio thought that his golden alloy had taken on a

  decidedly bluish tinge from the low temperature.

  On a sledding slope the twins spun around, giggling and shrieking as they

  bounced against padded restraints in a child's snow skimmer. Threepio waited

  for them at the bottom, then began the long trudge back up the hill so the

  children could do it all over again. He felt like a low-capacity labor droid

  with too little computing power to understand the drudgery of its own

  existence. "Oh, how I wish Master Solo would get back soon," he said.

  At the top of the ramp he secured Jacen and Jaina snugly into theirthe

  seats. In tandem they looked up at him with rosy-cheeked faces. Humans

  claimed

  to find the winter chill exhilarating; Threepio wished he had outfitted

  himself with more efficient low-temperature lubricants.

  "Now, you children be careful on the ride down," he said. "I shall meet

  you at the bottom and bring you back up." He paused. "Again."

  He launched the children in the spinning snow skimmer. Jacen and Jaina

  laughed and squealed as feathers of snow sprayed down the slope. Threepio

  began to move with a rapid gait down the long ramp.

  When he reached the bottom, the twins were already attempting to unstrap

  themselves. jaina had managed to disconnect one buckle, though the attendant

  at the equipment-rental station had assured Threepio that the restraints

  were

  utterly childproof.

  "Children, leave that alone!" he said. He refastened Jaina's restraint

  and switched on the hoverfield beneath the snow skimmer. He grasped the

  handles and began to climb back up the slope to the launching platform.

  When he reached the top, both twins shouted, "Again!" in unison, as if

  their minds were linked. Threepio decided it was time to lecture the

  children

  about overindulgence in enjoyment, but before he could formulate a speech

  with

  the appropriate levels of sternness and vocabulary, a crowded shuttle

  skimmer

  arrived. Han Solo emerged, pulling back the hood of his gray parka and

  balancing his turbo-skis on his left shoulder. Kyp Durron followed him out

  of

  the transport.

  Threepio raised a golden arm. "Over here," he said. "Master Solo, over

  here!"

  "Daddy!" Jaina said. Jacen echoed her a fraction of a second later.

  "Thank heavens," Threepio said, and started to unfasten the restraints.

  "Get ready to go," Han said as he marched forward, his expression

  unaccountably troubled. Threepio reached forward, about to begin his litany

  of

  complaints, but Han dropped the bulky turbo-skis into the droid's arms.

  "Master Solo, is something wrong?" Threepio tried to balance the heavy

  skis.

  "Sorry to cut your vacation short, kids, but we have to get back home,"

  Han said, ignoring the droid.

  Threepio straightened. "I'm very glad to hear that, sir. I don't mean to

  complain, but I was not designed for temperature extremes."

  He felt an impact against the back of his head as a large lump of snow

  splattered him. "Oh!" he said, raising his arms in alarm, barely managing to

  keep hold of the skis. "Master Solo, I must protest!" he said.

  Jacen and Jaina giggled as they each picked up another snowball to throw

  at the droid.

  Han turned to the twins. "Stop playing with Threepio, you two. We have to

  get back home."

  Down in the repair bays of the revamped Imperial Palace on Coruscant,

  Lando Calrissian couldn't imagine how Chewbacca managed to cram his enormous

  furry body inside the Falcon's narrow maintenance crawlway. Standing in the

  corridor, Lando saw the Wookiee as a tangle of brown fur wedged between the

  emergency power generator, the acceleration compensator, and the

  anticoncussion field generator.

  Chewbacca let out a yowl as he dropped a hydrospanner. The tool bounced

  and fell with a series of ricocheting clangs until it landed in a completely

  inaccessible spot. The Wookiee snarled and then let out a yelp as he banged

  his shaggy head on a coolant pipe.

  "No, no, Chewbacca!" Lando said, brushing back his sleek cape and

  sticking his arm into the maintenance crawlway. He tried to point toward the

  circuitry. "That goes here, and this goes there!" Chewbacca grumbled back,

  disagreeing.

  "Look, Chewie, I know this ship like the back of my hand, too. I owned

  her for quite a few years, you know."

  Chewbacca made a string of ululating sounds that echoed inside the

  enclosed chamber.

  "All right, have it your way. I can work the access hatches on the

  outside hull. I'll retrieve your hydrospanner. Who knows what other junk

  we'll

  find there?"

  Lando turned and made his way to the entry ramp, stomping down into the

  cacophony of shouted requests and engine noises in the starship mechanic

  bay.

  The air smelled oily and stifling, tainted with gaseous coolants and exhaust

  fumes from small diplomatic shuttles to large freighters. Human and alien

  engineers worked on their ships. Stubby Ugnaughts clambered inside access


  hatches and chattered at each other, requesting tools and diagrams for

  fixing

  troublesome engines.

  Admiral Ackbar's carefully picked crew of Calamarian starship mechanics

  oversaw special modifications to small vessels in the New Republic fleet.

  Terpfen, Ackbar's chief mechanic, wandered from ship to ship, status board

  in

  hand, verifying requested repairs and scrutinizing the work with his glassy

  fish eyes.

  Lando pried open the access hatch on the Falcon's outer hull. The

  hydrospanner clattered out and fell into his outstretched hands, along with

  burned-out cyberfuses, a discarded hyperdrive shunt, and the wrapper from a

  package of dehydrated food.

  "Got it, Chewbacca," he shouted. The Wookiee's answer was muffled inside

  the cramped access hatch.

  Lando looked at the scorch marks along the Falcon's battered hull. The

  ship seemed to be one massive collection of patches and repairs. He ran a

  callused hand along the hull, caressing the metal.

  "Hey! What are you doing to my ship?"

  Lando jerked his hand away from the Falcon and looked around guiltily to

  see Han Solo approaching. Chewbacca bellowed a greeting from the maintenance

  crawlway.

  Han's face reflected a thunderstorm of bad moods as he strode across the

  debris-strewn floor of the mechanic bay. "I need my ship right now. Is she

  ready to fly?" Han said.

  Lando put his hands at his side. "I was just making some repairs and

  modifications, old buddy. What's the problem?"

  "Who told you you could make any modifications?" Han looked unaccountably

  angry. "Chewie, we've got to fly right away. Why did you let this clown mess

  around with my engines?"

  "Wait a minute, Han! This used to be my ship, you know," Lando said, not

  knowing what had provoked such anger in his friend. "Besides, who rescued

  this

  ship from Kessel? Who saved your tail from the Imperial fleet?"

  See-Threepio hastened stiffly into the mechanic bay. "Ah, greetings,

  General Calrissian," he said.

  Lando ignored the droid. "I lost the Lady Luck rescuing your ship. I'd

  think that deserves a little gratitude, don't you? In fact, since I

  sacrificed

  my own ship to save your hide, I thought maybe you'd be grateful enough to

  give me back the Falcon."

  "Oh, my!" Threepio said. "That is an idea that might warrant some

  consideration, Master Solo."