Recovery by Troy Denning

I need him to convene a corruption panel.”
    â€œWithout good evidence?” A knavish smile came to Han’s lips. “I didn’t think you played dirty.”
    â€œI’ll make an exception,” Leia said. “This woman’s trying to outlaw my
children
.”

Chapter 7
    The black drop of a battered CEC YT-1300 light freighter swung into view outside the viewport, the efflux from its dilapidated ion drives flickering uncertainly against the dazzle of Coruscant’s night side. Though hardly the steady blue blast of his own ship’s overpowered sublight engines, Han doubted the wavering would give them away. The
Falcon
’s temperamental nature was too well known—and the possibility that she had taken battle damage on the journey home too high—for the contrast to draw more than a passing curiosity about what was wrong this time.
    The cannon turrets were another story. Fabricated on the Cinnabar Moon from a pair of abandoned escape pods, they were not going to fool anyone who took a good look—especially if that person expected the support posts serving as cannon barrels to swivel around and start firing.
    Han looked toward the front of the
Jolly Man
’s spacious crew deck, where Izal Waz sat at a communications station using a slave unit to fly the
Sureshot
onto Coruscant. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
    â€œYou suddenly think of a better way to spring their trap?” the Arcona asked.
    Han shook his head. “There isn’t one.”
    â€œThen stop asking.” Izal kept his attention focused on the systems display ahead of him, relying on computer keys and a pressure pad to control his battered ship. “She’s a piece of Jawa bait anyway.”
    The faint scent of ammonia permeated the air, and one of the milky bubbles that served Arcona as tears appeared in the corner of Izal’s eye. Leia, magnoclamped to the deck next to Han’s seat, cocked a brow and thumbed her fingers as though activating a credit chip. Han shook his head no. A wreck like the
Sureshot
wasn’t worth much, but there were some things no amount of money could replace.
    â€œThanks, Izal,” Han said. “If you ever need anything from us, let us know.”
    â€œYou’re doing it,” Izal said. “Just stop this Shesh woman and her Appeasement Vote.”
    A pair of Rendili light cruisers—on-station in Coruscant’s innermost patrol perimeter—drifted past the viewport, then the
Jolly Man
entered a controlled-access area and had to slow as inbound vessels were herded into narrow approach bands. Above and below these bands, dozens of New Republic frigates were lacing the darkness with rocket fire as they set a shell of orbiting space mines.
    As the traffic flow coagulated, Han and the three Barabels—crouched on the edges of their seats rasping in awe at Coruscant’s scintillating brightness—kept a close watch. If Shesh’s assassins were going to take the bait, this would be the logical place to stage an accident, but the
Sureshot
—flying under the
Falcon
alias
Shadow Bird
—passed through the mine shell unmolested. A few minutes later, crescents of sunlight started to reflect off the bottoms of orbital gun platforms. The traffic began to disperse as vessels fanned out toward their docking facilities.
    The
Sureshot
and
Jolly Man
descended into low orbit. The
Sureshot
began to drift across Han’s viewport as it turned toward the Eastport Docking Facility, where the Solos kept a berth under an assumed name.
    Finally, a collision alarm sounded from Izal Waz’s slave controls.
    â€œIzal?” Han asked. He kept his gaze fixed out the viewport, but could see nothing moving toward the
Sureshot
. “I don’t see anything.”
    â€œSomething small.” Izal punched a button to activate the
Sureshot
’s distress alarm, and the electronic tones of an all-channels emergency beacon