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certain that every ship within a hundred thousand kilometers would know which vessel they were. “And check that CorSec agent’s pockets. I saw him stealing a datapad.
Falcon
out.”

FOUR
    The park-checkered city of Coronet had barely receded beneath the
Falcon
’s tail when Han swung south over the sea and slammed the ion throttles full forward, beginning a long arcing climb that would carry them over the pole to the opposite side of the planet. The comm speaker quickly erupted into vitriolic curses as Corellian Control protested both the unlawful trajectory and the over-city shock wave, but Han ignored the impoundment threats and disengaged the nacelle melt-safeties. After the send-off CorSec had given them, flying a standard launch pattern would be about as safe as jumping into a Sarlacc’s pit.
    The Arcona’s golden eyes remained fixed on the temperature readouts. “I thought you had experience at this sort of thing.” Because of the difficulty his compound eyes had making out distinct shapes, he was wearing a small optical scanner that read the display data and fed it into an earpiece in auditory form. “Every rookie smuggler in the galaxy knows you can’t outrun a ship in orbit. They’ll cut you off every time.”
    “You don’t say?” Han tried to look surprised. “Because of the gravity drag?”
    “And 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.
    “You 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.”
    “One 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 onthe 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.
    “Y-you’re at a hundred and t-t-twenty percent spec,” he stammered.
    “You 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.”
    “Military alloys,” Leia explained. “We can go to one forty, or so Han tells me.”
    “Maybe more, if I wanted to push,” Han bragged.
    “Don’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.
    “I 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?”
    “No need,” Han said. “I trust you.”
    “Yeah?” 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