by James Luceno
"You have my word. What's more, we may have found a potential ally on Coruscant. Someone as yet unknown - though highly placed in the New Republic military or intelligence divisions - reached out to us through my agents."
"Interesting," Prefect Drathul allowed. "Learn the identity of this one."
"I will do so."
"One final question, Executor. Have we underestimated these infidels?"
Nom Anor scoffed. "Only their blind good fortune."
***
"We were lucky," Droma called down to Han from the roof of the Falcon . "Some minor scoring around the aft heat exhaust vents, but nothing a bit of plasteel and paint won't remedy."
"We don't have the time for that," Han said from the floor of Docking Bay 3733. "Besides, I like her scratched and imperfect."
The Falcon sat on its hard stand, umbilicaled to diagnostic monitors, pressurizers, and tanks of coolant and liquid metal fuel. They had spent more than two days going over the ship, inside and out, making repairs where necessary and generally tidying up. Droma had shown himself to be an able mechanic, although slightly better at intuitive problem solving than he was with hydro-spanners or macrofusers.
"Come to think of it, a paint job might not be such a bad idea," Han said a moment later. "After what happened in the Bilbringi system, opticals of the Falcon are probably plastered inside every Yuuzhan Vong warship and coralskipper."
"Provided the paint job turns out better than your beard."
Han frowned and grabbed hold of his chin. "You want to talk about follicle disasters, if those mustachios of yours get any longer, you'll be tripping on them."
Droma climbed down off the roof and jumped nimbly to the floor. Han tossed him a rag and watched as Droma cleaned his hands, then used the bristly edges of his hands to clean his velvety fur.
Aware of Han's gaze, Droma paused. "What?" he asked.
Han concealed a grin. "Nothing. How 'bout you unhook the outboard power feeds while I take care of the refueling lines?"
Droma shrugged. "Fine with me."
"Then I guess we're all set."
Droma studied him for a moment. "Will Leia be coming by to see you off?"
"I don't think so."
"A pity. I wanted to tell her good-bye."
"Next time," Han said, then quickly added, "Not that there's likely to be a next time."
"Well, then, tell her good-bye for me - the next time you see her."
Han scowled. "All I'm saying is that I don't want you making yourself too comfortable in the copilot's chair."
"I know better than to do that."
"I'm just trying to make clear that this isn't a permanent arrangement. You and me, I mean. It's just till we find your family."
Droma smiled faintly. "What happened to the tab I was running for you?"
"Look, chum, humans don't believe in life debts. When somebody does us a favor, we return it and the slate's wiped clean. I help you locate your clanmates, then we both go our separate ways, understand?"
"As opposed to what - my flying around the galaxy with you in this relic?"
Han sniffed. "You weren't saying that when we went after Reck."
"I was just being polite. I had you figured for the type who'd be sensitive about his ship."
"Sure you did."
They fell into an awkward silence, which Droma broke. "I'll see to the power feeds." He had started for the stern when Han called out to him.
"Hey, Droma. We'll find your sister, you know." Han allowed a grin. "Even if we have to search half the galaxy."