DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ROGUE SQUADRON

COMMANDER WEDGE ANTILLES (human male from
 CoreIlia)
CAPTAIN Tvcno CELCHU (human male from Alderaan)
CAPTAIN ARIL NUNB (human male from Sullust)
LIEUTENANT CORRAN HORN (human male from CoreIlia)
LIEUTENANT PASH CRACKEN (human male from
  Contruum)

OORYL QRYGG (Gand male from Gand)
NAWARA VEN (Twi'lek male from Ryloth)
RHYSATI YNR (human female from Bespin)
ERIS~ DLARIT (human female from Thyferra)
GAVIN DARKLIGHTER (human male frons Tatooine)
RIV SHIEL (Shistavanen male from Uvena III)
ASYR SEI'LAR (Bothan female from Bothawui)
INYRI FORGE (human female from Kessel)
M-3PO (Emtrey; protocol and regulations druid)
WHISTLER (Corran's R2 astromech)
MYNOCK (Wedge's R5 astromech)

ADMIRAL ACKBAR
 Calamari)

ALLIANCE MILITARY

 (Mon Calamari male from Mon

ALLIANCE INTELLIGENCE

GENERAL AIREN CRACKEN (buman male from Contruum)
IELLA WESSIRI (human female from CoreUia)
WINTER (human female from Alderaan)




X / D RAMATIS PERSONAE

CITIZENS ON CORUSCANT

FLIRY VORRU (human male from CoreIlia)
Dmic WESSIR1 (human male from CoreIlia)
BORSK FEY'LYA (Bothan male from Bothawui)
HALLA ETrYK (human female from Alderaan)
QLAERN HIRV (Vratix from Thyferra)

CREW OF THE PULSAR SKATE

MIRAX TERR1K (human female from CoreIlia)
LIAT TSAYV (Sullustan male from SullusO

IMPERIAl. FORCES

YSANNE ISARD, DIRECTOR OF IMPERIAl. INTELLIGENCE
 (human female from Coruscant)
KInTAN LOOR, INTELLIGENCE AGENT (human male from
 Churba)
GENERAL Evm DERRICOTE (human male from Kalla)

Commander Wedge Antilles would have preferred the cere-
mony to be private. Rogue Squadron had come to mourn the
passing of one of its own on the week anniversary of his
death. Wedge wanted the gathering to be small and intimate,
with Corran Horn's friends all being able to share remem-
brances of him, but that was not possible. Corran's death
had come during the liberation of Coruscant. That made him
a hero from a company of heroes, and while a small memo-
rial might have been what Corran himself would have
wanted, it was not heroic enough for a figure of his posthu-
mous stature.
    Even though Wedge had known things would not go
quite the way he wanted, he had not anticipated how out of
control they would get when he requested permission to hold
the ceremony. He had expected a number of dignitaries
would come to the pseudogranite barrow that marked where
Corran had died when a building collapsed on top of him.
He even anticipated people lining the balconies and walk-
ways of nearby towers. At the very Worst he imagined people
might gawk from the beds of hovertrucks.
    His imagination paled beside that exercised by the bu-
reaucrats who organized the memorial service. They took a




2 / STAR WARS: X-WING                                             THE K~VTOS TRAP / 3

ceremony based on heartfelt grief and made it into the focal
point of mourning for the entire New Republic. Corran
Horn was a hero--this they proclaimed loudly--but he was
also a victim. As such he represented all the victims of the
Empire. It didn't matter to them that Corran would have
rejected being labeled a victim. He had been transformed
into a symbol--a symbol the New Republic needed badly.
    Rogue Squadron likewise underwent iconization. The
unit's pilots had always worn orange flightsuits in the past,
or, as supplies became harder and harder to find, whatever
had been handy. Corran's flightsuit had been green, black,
and grey, since he'd brought it with him from the Corellian
Security Force. In homage to him, that color scheme was
used to create new uniforms for the squadron: evergreen
overall, with dark grey flank panels, black sleeves, leg stripes,
and trim. On the left sleeve and breast rode the Rogue
Squadron crest. It had also appeared on the evergreen
hawkbilled caps designed by a Kuati, but Wedge had vetoed
their addition to the uniform.
    The makeup of the Squadron had also been adjusted.
Asyr Sei'lar, a Bothan pilot, and Inyri Forge, the sister of a
dead squadron member, had both been added to the squad-
ron. Wedge would have gladly welcomed them, and they had
been crucial to the success of the mission to liberate Corus-
cant, but they had been pressed upon him for political rea-
sons. Likewise, Portha, a Trandoshan, had been made a
member of the squadron despite his inability to fly. He was
attached to the unit as part of a previously nonexistent secu-
rity detail. Each of them was appointed by bureaucrats as a
reward to various constituencies in the New Republic, and
Wedge hated their objectification.
    The ceremony grew out of all proportion until special
grandstands had to be grafted to the nearby buildings and
color-coded for the various levels of access people were to be
accorded. Holocams had been stationed at various positions
so the ceremony could be recorded and replayed on countless
worlds. Despite the very real fears about contracting the
highly contagious Krytos virus, the stands were packed to
overflowing.

    He looked up from his position on the reviewing stand
and out at Rogue Squadron. His people were bearing up well
despite the bright sunlight and unseasonably warm weather.
The recent rains had raised the general level of humidity until
clothing clung and the very air lay like a smothering blanket
over everyone. The thick air seemed to deaden sounds and
suppress emotions, and Wedge was tempted to allow himself
to imagine that Coruscant somehow also mourned Corran's
passing.
    In addition to the members of Rogue Squadron, Cor~
ran's other friends stood on the platform nearest the barrow.
Iella Wessiri, a slender, brown-haired woman who had been
Corran's CorSec partner, stood next to Mirax Terrik. De-
spite being the daughter of a notorious Corellian smuggler,
Mirax had managed to become friends with Corran. Mirax,
who had known Wedge since they had both been kids, had
tearfully confided in him that she and Corran had planned to
celebrate the liberation of Coruscant together. He could see
she'd fallen hard for Corran, and the lifeless expression on
her face made his heart ache.
    The only one who is missing is Tycbo. Wedge frowned.
Captain Tycho Celchu was a long-standing member of
Rogue Squadron who had served as the squadron's executive
officer. He'd surreptitiously joined the mission to Coruscant
at Wedge's request and had been instrumental in bringing the
planet's defenses down. His action was the latest in a string
of heroic missions Tycho had carried off during his Rebel
career.
    Unfortunately, Alliance Intelligence had developed evi-
dence that indicated Tycho was working for the Empire.
They blamed him directly not only for Corran's death, but
for the death of Bror Jace, another Rogue Squadron pilot
who had died early on in the Coruscant campaign. Wedge
had not been fully apprised of what the evidence was that
they had against Tycho, but he did not doubt the man's inno-
cence for a second. Still, his innocence might mean nothing
in the long run.
    In spite of the liberation, Coruscant was not a pleasant
or stable world. A hideous epidemicrathe Krytos virus--was




ravaging the non-human population of the planet. It had
struck at the non-humans in the Rebellion and was hard
enough on some species that even coming down to the planet
was an act of extreme bravery. Bacta, as usual, could cure
the virus, but the Rebellion's entire store of bacta was insuffi-
cient to cure everyone. This resulted in panic, and resentment
against humans for their apparent immunity to the disease.
    The memorial service had become an important event
because Coruscant's population needed something to unite
them and to get their minds off their suffering, even if only
for a moment. The fact that Rogue Squadron had humans
and non-humans working together in it showed the strength
of unity that had allowed the Rebellion to prevail. Non-
humans coming together along with dignitaries from various
other worlds to mourn a dead human acknowledged the debt
the Rebels owed humans. Speakers devoted themselves to
exhorting their fellows to labor together in building a future
that would justify the sacrifices made by Corran and others.
Their words raised things to a philosophical or metaphysical
level meant to soothe away the anxieties and worries of the
citizens.
    Those were noble messages, to be certain, but Wedge felt
they were not the right messages for Corran. He tugged on
the sleeves of his uniform jacket as a Bothan protocol subal-
tern waved him forward. Wedge stepped up to the podium
and wanted to lean heavily upon it. Years of fighting and
saying good-bye to friends and comrades weighed him
down--but he refused to give in to fatigue. He let his pride in
the squadron and his friendship with Corran keep him up-
right.
    He looked around at the crowd, then focused on the
mound of pseudogranite rubble before him. "Corran Horn
does not rest easy in that grave." Wedge paused for a mo-
ment, and then another, letting the silence remind everyone
of the true purpose of the ceremony. "Corran Horn was
never at ease except when he was fighting. He does not rest
easy now because there is much fighting yet to be done. We
have taken Coruscant, but anyone who assumes that means
the Empire is dead is as mistaken as Grand Moff Tarkin was

in his belief that Alderaan's destruction would somehow
cripple the Rebellion."
    Wedge brought his head up. "Corran Horn was not a
man who gave up, no matter what the odds. More than once
he took upon himself the responsibility of dealing with a
threat to the squadron and to the Rebellion. Heedless of his
own safety, he engaged overwhelming forces and by sheer
dint of will and spirit and courage he won through. Even
here, on Coruscant, he flew alone into the heart of a storm
that was ravaging a planet and risked his life so this world
would be free. He did not fail, because he would not let
himself fail.
    "Each of us who knew him has, in our hearts, dozens
and dozens of examples of his bravery or his concern for
others, or his ability to see where he was wrong and correct
himself. He was not a perfect man, but he was a man who
sought to be the best he could be. And while he took pride in
being very good, he didn't waste energy in displays of ram-
pant egotism. He just picked out new goals and drove him-
self forward toward them."
    Wedge slowly nodded toward the rubble pile. "Corran is
now gone. The burdens he bore have been laid down. The
responsibilities he shouldered have been abandoned. The ex-
ample he set is no more. His loss is tragic, but the greater
tragedy would be letting him be remembered as a faceless
hero mouldering in this cairn. He was a fighter, as all of us
should be. The things he took upon himself might be enough
to crush down any one person, but we all can accept a por-
tion of that responsibility and bear it together. Others have
talked about building a future that would honor Corran and
the others who have died fighting the Empire, but the fact is
that there's fighting yet to be done before the building can
begin.
    "We have to fight the impatience with the pace of
change that makes us look nostalgically on the days of the
Empire. Yes, there might have been a bit more food avail-
able. Yes, power outages might have been fewer. Yes, you
might have been insulated from the misery of others--but at
what cost? The security you thought you had froze into an




icy lump of fear in your gut whenever you saw stormtroopers
walking in your direction. With the liberation of Coruscant
that fear can melt, but if you forget it once existed and decide
things were not so bad under the Emperor, you'll be well on
your way to inviting it back."
    He opened his hands to take in all those assembled at the
monument. "You must do what Corran did: fight anything
and everything that would give the Empire comfort or secu-
rity or a chance to reassert itself. If you trade vigilance for
complacency, freedom for security, a future without fear for
comfort; you will be responsible for shaping the galaxy once
again into a place that demands people like Corran fight,
always fight and, eventually, fall victim to evil.
    "The choice, ultimately, devolves to you. Corran Horn
will not rest easy in his grave until there is no more fighting
to be done. He has done everything he could to fight the
Empire; now it is up to you to continue his fight. If he is ever
to know peace, it will only be when we all know peace. And
that is a goal every one of us knows is well worth fighting
for."
    Wedge stepped back from the podium and steeled him-
self against the polite applause. Deep down he would have
hoped his words had been inspiring, but those gathered
around the memorial were dignitaries and officials from
worlds throughout the New Republic. They were politicians
whose goal was to help shape the future others of their num-
ber spoke about. They wanted stability and order as a foun-
dation for their constructions. His words, reminding
everyone that fights were yet to be waged, undercut their
efforts. They had to applaud because of the situation and
who he was, but Wedge had no doubt most of them thought
him a politically naive warrior best suited to being a hero
who was feted and used in holograph opportunities to sup-
port this program or that.
    He could only hope that others listening to what he had
to say would take his message to heart. The politicians re-
quired stability, and the way they acquired stability was to
ignore instability or patch it over with some quick fix. The
citizens of the New Republic would find their politicians as

distant as the Imperial politicians before them. With their
new-won freedom, the people would be able to let their lead-
ers know what they thought, and might be tempted to pro-
test if things did not move swiftly enough in the direction the
people wanted.
    A rebellion against the Rebellion would result in anar-
chy or a return of the Empire. Either would be disaster.
Fighting for progress and against reactionary forces was the
only way to guarantee the New Republic would get a chance
to flourish. Wedge dearly wanted that to happen and hoped
the politicians would look past their efforts to gather power
to themselves long enough to take steps to provide real sta-
bility and a real future.
    Over at the grave site an honor guard raised the squad-
ron flag, then backed away and saluted. That signaled an end
to the ceremony, and the visitors began to drift away. A
cream-furred Bothan with violet eyes crossed to where
Wedge stood and nodded ahnost graciously. "You were quite
eloquent, Commander Antilles." Borsk Fey'lya waved a
hand toward the departing masses. "I have no doubt quite a
few hearts were stirred by your words."
    Wedge raised an eyebrow. "But not yours, Councilor
Fey'lya ?"
    The Bothan snoted a clipped laugh. "If I were so easily
swayed, l could be convinced to back all sorts of nonsense."
"Like the trial of Tycho Celchu?"
    Fey'lya's fur rippled and rose at the back of his neck.
"No, I might be convinced that such a trial was not neces-
sary." He smoothed the fur back down with his right hand.
"Admiral Ackbar has not convinced you to abandon your
petition to the Provisional Council about this matter?"
    "No" Wedge folded his arms across his chest. "I would
have thought by now you would have engineered a vote to
deny me the chance to address the council."
    "Summarily dismiss a petition by the man who liberated
Coruscant?" The Bothan's violet eyes narrowed. "You're
moving into a realm of warfare at which I am a master,
Commander. I would have thought you wise enough to see




that. Your petition will fail. It must fail, so it shall. Captain
Celchu will be tried for murder and treason."
   "Even though he is innocent?"
   "Is he?"
   "He is."
    "A fact to be determined by a military court, surely."
Fey'lya gave Wedge a cold smile. "A suggestion, Com-
mander."
  "Yes?"
    "Don't waste your eloquence on the Provisional Coun-
cil. Save it. Hoard it." The Bothan's teeth flashed in a feral
grin. "Use it on the tribunal that tries Captain Celchu. You'll
not gain his freedom, of course--no one is that eloquent; but
perhaps you will win him some modicum of mercy when it
comes time for sentence to be passed."

2

High up in a tower suite, up above the surface of Imperial
Center, Kirtan Loor allowed himself a smile. At the tower's
pinnacle, the only companions were hawk-bats safe in their
shadowed roosts and Special Intelligence operatives who
were menacing despite their lack of stormtrooper armor or
bulk. He felt alone and aloof, but those sensations came nat-
urally with his sense of superiority. At the top of the world,
he had been given all he could see to command and domi-
nate.
  And destroy.
    Ysanne Isard had given him the job of creating and lead-
ing a Palpatine Counter-insurgency Front. He knew she did
not expect grand success from him. He had been given ample
resources to make himself a nuisance. He could disrupt the
functioning of the New Republic. He could slow their take-
over of Coruscant and hamper their ability to master the
mechanisms of galactic administration. A bother, minor but
vexatious, is what Ysanne lsard had intended he become.
    Kittan Loor knew he had to become more. Years before,
when he started working as an Imperial liaison officer with
the Corellian Security Force on CoreIlia, he never would
have dreamed of finding himself rising so far and playing so





deadly a game. Even so, he had always been ambitious, and
supremely confident in himself and his abilities. His chief
asset was his memory, which allowed him to recall a pleth-
ora of facts, no matter how obscure. Once he had seen or
read or heard something he could draw it from his memory,
and this ability gave him a gross advantage over the crimi-
nals and bureaucrats with whom he dealt.
    His reliance on his memory had also hobbled him. His
prodigious feats of recall so overawed his enemies that they
would naturally assume he had processed the information he
possessed and had drawn the logical conclusions from it.
Since they assumed he already knew what only they knew,
they would tell him what he had not bothered to figure out
for himself. They made it unnecessary for him to truly think,
and that skill had begun to atrophy in him.
    Ysanne Isard, when she summoned him to Imperial Cen-
ter, had made it abundantly clear that learning to think and
not to assume was the key to his continued existence. Her
supervision made up in severity what it lacked in duration,
putting him through a grueling regimen that rehabilitated his
cognitive abilities. By the time she fled Imperial Center, Isard
had clearly been confident in his ability to annoy and con-
found the Rebels.
    More importantly, Kirtan Loor had become certain that
he could do all she wanted and yet more.
    From his vantage point he looked down on the distant
blob of dignitaries and mourners gathered at the memorial
for Corran Horn. While he despised them all for their poli-
tics, he joined them in mourning Horn's loss. Corran Horn
had been Loor's nemesis. They had hated each other on
CoreIlia, and Loor had spent a year and a half trying to hunt
Corran down after he fled from CoreIlia. The hunt had
ended when Ysanne Isard brought Loor to Imperial Center,
but he had anticipated a renewal of his private little war with
Horn when given the assignment to remain on Coruscant.
    Of course, Corran's demise hardly made a dent in the
legion of enemies Loor had on Imperial Center. Foremost
among them was General Airen Cracken, the director of Alli-
ance Intelligence. Cracken's network of spies and operatives

had ultimately made the conquest of the Imperial capital pos-
sible, and his security precautions had given Imperial
counterintelligence agents fits for years. Cracken---or Kra-
ken, as some of Loor's people had taken to calling the
Rebel--would be a difficult foe with whom to grapple.
    Loor knew he had some other enemies who would pur-
sue him as part of a personal vendetta. The whole of Rogue
Squadron, from Antilles to the new recruits, would gladly
hunt him down and kill him--including the spy in their
midst since Loor presented a security risk for the spy. Even if
they could not connect him with Corran's death directly, the
mere fact that Corran hated him would be a burden they'd
gladly accept and a debt they would attempt to discharge.
    Iella Wessiri was the last of the CorSec personnel Loor
had hunted, and her presence on Imperial Center gave him
pause. She had never been as relentless as Corran Horn in
her pursuit of criminals, but that had always seemed to Loor
to be because she was more thorough than Horn. Whereas
Corran might muscle his way through an investigation, Iella
picked up on small clues and accomplished with ~lan what
Corran did with brute strength. In the shadow game in
which Loor was engaged, this meant she was a foe he might
not see coming, and that made her the most dangerous of all.
    Loor backed away from the window and looked at the
holographic representation of the figures below as they
strode across his holotable. The ceremony had been broad-
cast planetwide, and would be rebroadcast at various worlds
throughout the galaxy. He watched Borsk Fey'lya and
Wedge Antilles as they met in close conversation, then split
apart and wandered away. Everyone appeared more like toys
to him than they did real people. He found it easy to imagine
himself a titanic--no, Imperial--presence who had deigned
to be distracted by the actions of bugs.
    He picked up the remote device from the table and
flicked it on. A couple of small lights flashed on the black
rectangle in his left palm, then a red button in the center of it
glowed almost benignly. His thumb hovered over it for a
second. He smiled, but killed the impulse to stab his thumb
down and gently returned the device to the table.




    A year before he would have punch6d that button, deto-
nating the explosives his people had secreted around the me-
morial. With one casual caress he could have unleashed fire
and pain, wiping out a cadre of traitorous planetary officials
and eliminating Rogue Squadron. He knew, given a chance,
any of the SI operatives under his command would have
triggered the nergon 14 charges--as would the majority of
the military command staff still serving the Empire.
    Loor did not. lsard had pointed out on numerous occa-
sions that before the Empire could be reestablished, the Re-
bellion had to die. She had pointed out that the Emperor's
obsession with destroying the Jedi Knights had caused him to
regard the rest of the Rebellion as a lesser threat, yet it had
outlived the Jedi and the Emperor. Only by destroying the
Rebellion would it be possible to reassert the Empire's au-
thority over the galaxy. Destroying the Rebellion required
methods more subtle than exploding grandstands and plan-
ets, accomplishing with a vibroblade what could not be done
with a Death Star.
    Rogue Squadron could not be allowed to die, because
they were required for the public spectacle of Tycho Celchu's
trial. General Cracken had uncovered ample evidence that
pointed toward Celchu's guilt, and Loor had delighted in
clearing the way for Cracken's investigators to find yet more
of it. The evidence would be condemning, yet so obviously
questionable that the members of Rogue Squadron--all of
whom had indicated a belief in Tycho's innocence at one
level or another--would decry it as false. That would in-
crease the tension between the conquerors of Imperial Center
and the politicians who slunk in after the pilots had risked
their lives to secure the world. If the heroes of the Rebellion
could doubt and resent the government of the New Republic,
how would the citizenry build confidence in their leaders?
    The Krytos virus further complicated things. Created by
an Imperial scientist under Loor's supervision, it killed non-
humans in a most hideous manner. Roughly three weeks af-
ter infection, the victims entered the final, lethal stage of the
disease. Over the course of a week the virus multiplied very
rapidly, exploding cell after cell in their bodies. Their flesh

weakened, sagged, and split open while the victims bled from
every pore and orifice. The resulting liquid was highly infec-
tious, and though bacta could hold the disease at bay or, in
sufficient quantities, cure it, the Rebellion did not have access
to enough bacta to treat all the cases on Coruscant.
    The price of bacta had shot up and supplies dwindled.
People hoarded bacta and rumors about the disease having
spread to the human population caused waves of panic. Al-
ready a number of worlds had ordered ships from Imperial
Center quarantined so the disease would not spread, further
disrupting the New Republic's weak economy and eroding
its authority. It did no good for human bureaucrats to try to
explain the precautions they had taken for dealing with the
disease since they were immune, and that immunity built up
resentment between the human and non-human populations
within the New Republic.
    Loor allowed himself a small laugh. He had taken the
precaution of putting away a supply of bacta, which he was
selling off in small lots. As a result of this action, anxious
Rebels were supplying the financing for an organization bent
on the destruction of the New Republic. The irony of it all
was sufficient to dull the omnipresent fear of discovery and
capture.
    There was no question in his mind that to be captured
was to be killed, yet he did not let that prospect daunt him.
Being able to turn the Rebels' tactics back on them struck
him as justice. He would be returning to them the fear and
frustration Imperials everywhere had known during the Re-
bellion. He would strike from hiding, hitting at targets cho-
sen randomly. His vengeance would be loosely focused
because that meant no one could feel safe from his touch.
    He knew his efforts would be denounced as crude ter-
rorism, but he intended there to be nothing crude about his
efforts. Today he would destroy the grandstands around the
memorial. They would be nearly empty, and all those who
had left the stands would breath a sigh of relief that they had
not been blown up minutes or hours earlier; but everyone
would have to consider congregating in a public place to be
dangerous in the future. And if he hit a bacta treatment and




distribution center tomorrow, people would also have to
weigh obtaining protection from the virus against the possi-
bility of being blown to bits.
    By choosing targets of minimal military value he could
stir up the populace to demand the military do something. If
the public's ire focused on one official or another, he could
target that person, giving the public some power. He would
let their displeasure choose his victims, just as his choices
would give direction to their fear. Theirs would be a virulent
and symbiotic relationship. He would be nightmare and ben-
efactor, they would be victims and supporters. He would
become a faceless evil they sought to direct while fearing any
attention they drew to themselves.
    Having once been on the side attempting to stop an anti-
government force, he could well appreciate the difficulties
the New Republic would have in dealing with him. The fact
that the Rebellion had never resorted to outright terrorism
did not concern him. Their goal had been to build a new
government; his was merely to destroy what they had cre-
ated. He wanted things to degenerate into an anarchy that
would prompt an outcry for leadership and authority. When
that call went out, his mission would be accomplished and
the Empire would return.
    He again took up the remote control and returned to the
window. Down at the memorial he could see small pinpricks
of color that marked passersby on their way to and from
other places. He glanced at the holograms striding across his
holotable and saw that none of the people were of conse-
quence. He followed the course of one woman, allowing her
to clear the blast radius, then pressed the button.
    A staccato series of explosions went off sequentially
around the memorial. To the south the grandstands teetered
forward and started to somersault their way into the depths
of Imperial Center. A half-dozen people who had been seated
on them fell like colorful confetti. One actually grabbed the
edge of the platform next to the barrow and hauled himself
up to safety, but a subsequent blast tossed him back into the
pit from which he had narrowly escaped.
   Other explosions twisted metal and shattered transpari-

steel windows in the surrounding buildings. Grandstands
clung to the sides of buildings like mutilated metal insects
with bleeding, moaning people clutched in their limbs. Dust
and smoke cleared to show the central ferrocrete ring around
the memorial had been nibbled away, with a huge chunk of it
dangling perilously by a reinforcement bar or two.
    Loor finally felt the blast's shockwave send a tremor
through his tower. The hawk-bats flapped black wings to
steady themselves, then dropped away from their perches.
Wings snapped open, sending the creatures soaring into a
slow spiral that would take them down to the blast site. Loor
knew enough of them to know the hawk-bats would first
look to see if the holes in the buildings revealed previously
hidden granite slugs, but when deprived of their favorite
prey, they would settle for the gobbets of flesh left behind by
the victims.
    "Good hunting," he wished them, "eat your fill. Before I
am done there will be more, much more for you to consume.
I shall let you feast on my enemies, and together, here on a
world they call their own, we shall both thrive."




3

It seemed to Wedge that the mood of the Provisional Council
was as dark as the room in which they met and as sour as the
scent of bacta in the air. The dimly lit chamber had once
been part of the Senatorial apartments Mon Mothma had
called home before the Rebellion and her role in it forced her
to go underground. It had been redecorated in garish reds
and purples by Imperial agents, with green and gold trim on
everything, but the paucity of light quelled the riot of color.
    A desire to hide signs of Imperial occupation of the
apartments was not the reason for keeping the room dim.
Sian Tevv, the Sullustan member of the Provisional Council,
had been exposed to the Krytos virus. While there was no
evidence he had contracted the disease, he had undergone
preventative bacta therapy and had some residual sensitivity
to bright light. The Council made a concession to him by
lowering the light, and another to the non-human members
of the Council by circulating a light bacta mist through the
air to prevent possible contagion. This increased humidity
seemed to please no one, save perhaps Admiral Ackbar, but
he looked grim for his own reasons.
    Primarily because I'm actually here. Wedge knew his
petition was doomed to fail--Borsk Fey'!ya had said as much

at the memorial ceremony, and various other councilors had
repeated the warning in the two days since then, including
Admiral Ackbar and Princess Leia Organa. In fact, Wedge
knew, the only reason he was being given a chance to address
the Council was because of his status as a liberator of Corns-
cant.
    The Council had arranged three long tables in a half-
hexagonal formation, with Mon Mothma in the middle,
flanked by Princess Leia and Corellia's Doman Beruss.
Ackbar and Fey'lya anchored the far ends of the two angled
tables. This left Wedge to stand in the open area before the
Council, as if he were on trial. This is exactly what Tycho
will face if I do not succeed here today; therefore, I must
succeed.
    Mon Mothma inclined her head toward him. "I need
not introduce to you a man who has appeared before this
Council previously and who has been so instrumental in the
New Republic's success. Because Commander Antilles may
end up discussing highly sensitive material, this will be an
executive session of the Provisional Council. Everything said
here is confidential, and reporting of it will result in possible
criminal charges."
    Doman Beruss smiled. "Ah, to have cases before we
have a Judiciary, now that is civilization!"
    Even Mon Mothma smiled at the remark, then set her
face again into a mask of solemnity. "Please, Commander,
speak your mind."
    Wedge took a deep breath, then began. "I have come
here today to ask you to prevent a gross injustice from being
enacted. Captain Tycho Celchu has been arrested and will be
tried on murder and treason charges. The evidence against
him--what little of it I know about--is circumstantial and
weaker than the defenses Ysanne Isard left behind here.
Tycho is a hero of the Rebellion. If not for his efforts, we
would not be here right now, and I would be dead. The man
he's accused of killing is someone whose life Tycho saved on
numerous occasions--Corran would have long since been
dead if Tycho wanted him dead. Tycho is innocent, and to




put him through this trial after all he has endured would be
cruelty on a truly Imperial scale."
    Mon Mothma nodded slowly. "I appreciate your frank-
ness, Commander, and have no doubt you believe everything
you've told us. Before we can make any sort of decision, it
would be useful for us to have a better grasp of the facts
surrounding the situation." She pointed to a green-eyed man
whose hair had shifted from its original red to mostly white.
"If you would, General Cracken, please bring the Council up
to date with what you have learned concerning Captain
Celchu."
    Cracken walked over to stand next to Wedge. "I hope
Commander Antilles will forgive my contradicting him on a
couple of points. Some of this information has been devel-
oped recently, and because the circumstances surrounding
the investigation are tricky, I have not had a chance to brief
him on them."
Wedge dropped his voice to a whisper. "Nice ambush."
"That's the last thing I want to do, Commander."
Cracken cleared his throat. "Tycho Celchu is a native of
Alderaan who graduated from the Imperial Naval Academy
and was made a TIE fighter pilot. Subsequent to the destruc-
tion of his homeworld which he had the misfortune of wit-
nessing via holonet communications with his family--he
defected from Imperial service and joined the Rebellion. He
joined us just after the evacuation of Yavin 4, served with
distinction at Hoth, and accompanied Commander Antilles
on the assault on the Death Star at Endor. He is one of a
handful of pilots who entered and escaped the Death Star.
    "Slightly less than two years ago Celchu volunteered for
a covert scouting mission to Coruscant. On the way back
out, he was captured and sent to Ysanne Isard's Lusankya
facility. Little is known about this prison, except that people
who have come from it have routinely been brainwashed into
becoming Imperial agents who commit acts of murder and
mayhem when bidden to do so by Isard. Tycho is unique
among those who have been to Lusankya in that he retains
some memories of having been there. Prior to his appear-
ance, former inmates revealed their connection to this place

only after they had been activated, done their damage, and
were captured by our forces."
    Wedge shook his head. "I'm sure General Cracken will
not mind my pointing out that Tycho did not escape from
Lusankya. Isard transferred him to the penal colony at
Akrit'tar, and he escaped from there to return to us."
    "Thank you, Commander, I was just getting to that."
Cracken's expression betrayed neither amusement nor irrita-
tion, which somehow made Wedge think things were not
going to go well for Tycho. "Upon his return, Captain
Celchu was debriefed, and his debriefing, in fact, indicated he
recalled almost nothing of his time at Lusankya. We could
find no indication he had been brainwashed by Isard. How-
ever, we had never detected brainwashing in any of her other
little bio-weapons. We were left in the unenviable position of
having to assume the worst about Captain Celchu. Com-
mander Antilles, believing then as he does now in his friend's
innocence, struck a bargain with his superiors to get Celchu
assigned as his executive officer. Security was maintained, for
the most part, and the incidents where it was not betrayed no
Imperial leanings on the part of Captain Celchu."
    Cracken frowned. "Unfortunately we have developed
evidence that suggests Celchu has betrayed Rogue Squadron
and the New Republic. In the case of Corran Horn, Tycho
Celchu had access to the command code for the Headhunter
Horn was flying at the time of his death, and Celchu had
gone over the fighter, without supervision, just prior to
Horn's flight. Horn confronted Celchu before they headed
out; Horn threatened to uncover his treason, so Celchu had
him killed. He waited until after the shields had been
brought down, but we have pretty well determined Isard
wanted us to take the planet and inherit the virus, so killing
Horn after her goal was accomplished only makes sense.
    "The Horn case is not the only death to which we can
link Captain Celchu."
    Wedge's jaw dropped in surprise. "What? You can't
mean Bror Jace?"
   "Indeed I do."
   "Nonsense. The Empire killed him."




    Cracken nodded. "Agreed, but the way they got him
was unusual. Previously we believed he happened to have
been trapped by an Interdictor Cruiser out looking for smug-
glers. However, we have been forced to amend that view
following the defection of the Imperial Interdictor Cruiser
Black Asp. Captain Iiilor indicated in her debriefing that the
Black Asp was directed to go to specific coordinates to inter-
cept Bror Jace as he headed back to Thyferra. He was a bit
late in arriving, but showed up exactly where he was ex-
pected to. They tried to capture him, but his ship exploded
during the fight. The arrangements for Jace's journey home,
including the plotting of his course, were made by Captain
Tycho Celchu."
   "By my order."
    "Yes, Commander, by your order--which does not
mean Isard could not have warped Celchu enough to make
him betray your people."
   "But, again, that's circumstantial."
    "We have more." The Alliance Intelligence chief
shrugged. "Horn told you, Commander, that he'd seen
Celchu here on Coruscant talking with a known Imperial
operative, Kirtan Loor. Horn had worked with Loor for
years on CoreIlia, so the chance of a mistake in his identifica-
tion are minimal. In backtracking Celchu's time here on Co-
ruscant--granting that you ordered him to come here,
Commander--we have periods of time for which we cannot
account. Moreover, we have uncovered a number of banking
accounts in which large numbers of credits have been accu-
mulated. These accounts add up to approximately fifteen
million credits, which means Celchu was being paid by the
Empire."
    "What?" Wedge couldn't believe what he was hearing.
There was no way, just no way Tycho was an agent in the
pay of the Empire. "If he was one of Isard's sleeper agents,
why would she be paying him?"
    "Commander, for years I've been trying to fathom her
mind, and I have been unable to do so. If I had to guess,
however, I would say that creating those accounts was a
precaution to let us uncover Tycho at some point or, as it

stands now, a means to guarantee he will be tried for his
crimes."
    "But she has no interest in seeing justice done, which
underscores how ludicrous all these charges against Tycho
are." Wedge brought his head up. "If Isard wants a trial, you
know conducting it will be to her benefit, which is yet one
more reason not to go ahead with it."
    Borsk Fey'lya tapped a talon against the tabletop. "Or is
she providing more evidence than we need to convict so we
will be convinced Ceichu is being framed? If we are con-
vinced he is innocent, we could exonerate him, raise him into
a position of trust, and find ourselves again fodder for her
schemes."
    Wedge winced. He hated Fey'lya's wheels-within-wheels
reasoning because it came down to a core problem with
Tycho's case: either he was innocent and being made to look
guilty, or he was guilty and being made to look innocent
through a clumsy frame. The evidence served both explana-
tions well, and sorting good data from bad was a task that
could easily defy completion. Everyone could agree some-
thing was not right in the whole situation, but assigning
blame and assessing truth was not going to be easy.
    And no matter what happened, Tycho would end up
being stigmatized, reviled, and ostracized. He would be de-
stroyed by it all, and that was something he did not deserve.
    For Wedge it was simple to separate fact from fiction,
but he knew that was because he was starting from a deep
belief in Tycho's innocence. Wedge didn't have a Jedi's in-
sight through the Force---he just knew Tycho. They'd fought
side by side through some of the most harrowing battles the
galaxy had ever seen. They'd shared hardships that others
could not have even imagined, and they shared good times
that others could only envy. Wedge knew Tycho could no
more betray the Rebellion than he himself could, but looking
around at the Council, he realized that even his conduct
might not be seen as above reproach.
    "I still do not believe the evidence General Cracken's
people have gathered is anything more than circumstantial."
Wedge studied the members of the Council. "For any trial to




go forward, especially as quickly as this trial is being pushed,
is reckless and negligent. I know we all want swift justice if
Tycho is guilty, but trying him on these charges right now
can only hurt him and, ultimately, the New Republic."
    Doman Beruss, her light eyes glinting coldly in the dim-
ness, opened her hands. "Your opinion, Commander Antil-
les, is respected but not universally held. "['he evidence is
sufficient in any jurisdiction of the galaxy to call for a trial."
    Wedge's eyes narrowed as he sensed a transparisteel bar-
rier descending between his argument and the Council's will-
ingness to act. He knew he had to do something to get them
to open their eyes, so he decided to take a chance. "This
evidence may demand a trial, but at least delay it until there
is time to scrape things down another layer or two and find
out what's really going on. I think it is the minimum courtesy
you ()we someone like Tycho Celchu, and that's an opinion l
do not need to keep private."
    Borsk Fey'lya's head came up and his fur rippled like a
storm-wracked ocean. "Are you threatening to use your
status as hero to oppose us?"
    Ackbar answered for Wedge. "He was doing nothing of
the kind. Because Captain Celchu is facing a court martial,
the trial and everything surrounding it is a military matter,
and Commander Antilles knows unauthorized discussions of
same violate regulations and oaths he took when he became
an officer."
    "Begging the Admiral's pardon," Wedge growled, "I
was threatening to go public with my feelings about the trial.
I still am. And if expressing my opinion about an injustice is
not allowed in the Alliance military, I can always resign my
commission."
    That bombshell certainly had an effect, but not entirely
the one he expected. While Ackbar looked disappointed,
Borsk Fey'lya smiled victoriously. The other councilors re-
acted with horror or a grim acknowledgment of his bold
stroke. If they had thought his speaking out against Tycho's
treatment would attract attention, his resignation because of
it would undoubtedly be an action with a much higher pro-
file.

    Leia leaned forward. "Chief Councilor, I suggest we re-
cess for an hour. I would like a chance to speak with Com-
mander Antilles, if I might."
    "Please." Mon Mothma stood and gave Wedge a look
that combined pride with frustration, anger with sympathy.
Wedge felt not exactly pitied, but as if there was more going
on than he had access to. He knew that was true, of course--
he was just the leader of a fighter squadron, and these were
the leaders of a new nation. But he hated to think their per-
spective could somehow justify what they were going to do
to Tycho.
    General Cracken left the room last and closed the doors
behind himself, leaving Wedge alone with Princess Leia. In
all the time he'd known her, she'd never looked so saddened.
"If you want to convince me to save my career, I appreciate
the effort, but I'll stand by what I said just now. You can't
talk me out of it."
    She remained seated and slowly shook her head. "I
know that, so I'm not going to try. It's important to me that
you know I think Tycho is innocent, too. I've known Winter
for as long as I can remember, and she's terribly fond of
Tycho. tf she can remember nothing that's the least bit am-
biguous about him, then I can't imagine there's anything sin-
ister to uncover. You and I both know that the trial will be
rough on Tycho, anti unfair."
"Then help me convince them to stop it or delay it."
"I would if I could, but I can't." A deep frown creased
her brow as she plucked at the fabric of her pale green gown.
"The reason I asked for the recess is so I can tell you what's
going to happen after someone here decides that we have
been suitably courteous in listening to you and that we need
to move on to new business."
    Leia chewed on her lower lip for a second. "Mort
Mothma will thank you for coming to us, but she will point
out that Tycho is being tried in a military court. The Pro-
visional Council has nt~ authority to interfere with the way
the military deals with violations of the code of military jus-
tice. Until there is a conviction, and punishment is decided




upon, there is nothing the Council can do, and even at that
point it is an open question whether or not we can interfere."
    "But there has to be a chance to appeal a convic-
tion .... "Wedge hesitated, then nodded. "Councilor
Beruss's comment about a lack of a Judiciary . . . that was
meant to forestall this argument, yes?"
    Leia nodded. "In simple terms, yes, but we haven't yet
had time to make decisions concerning the structure of such
a body, much less its jurisdiction and duties. For example,
would an appeal go to the New Republic courts first, or
would it be sent to the courts on the defendant's homeworld,
or the victim's homeworld? Putting together a government is
not easy, and the process is not pretty or without pain. There
are casualties all over the place."
   "And Tycho will be one of them."
    "Unfortunately, yes, he may be." Leia's shoulders
slumped with fatigue. "You may not realize how fragile the
New Republic is right now. With her Krytos virus Ysanne
Isard has succeeded in driving a wedge between the human
and non-human members of the New Republic. There have
been accusations that some of us knew the virus was here
and encouraged people to return to their native worlds spe-
cifically to spread the disease and kill off whole planetary
populations. There are others who accuse us of not doing
enough to get bacta to those who need it. If we do try to get
as much as possible here to save as many people as possible,
we drain the military of their supply. If Isard hits back, or
Warlord Zsinj decides to strike at us, we can be devastated.
Trying to buy up supplies of bacta has driven the price higher
than ever before, and to make matters worse, the Ashern
rebels on Thyferra have managed to damage production,
limiting the supply at a time when the demand couldn't be
higher."
    She looked up at him. "It's a good thing we don't have a
Treasury Ministry in place, because they'd tell us we're bank-
rupt."
    When Wedge realized his mouth was hanging open he
clicked it shut. "I had no idea .... "
   "Of course not. Nor does anyone else outside the Coun-

cil. Things are so dire that I'll be heading off to try to open
relations with Hapes and ask them for help--and that's
something that's so secret I'll deny even knowing you if it
gets out."
   Wedge nodded. "Already forgotten."
    Leia mustered a weak smile. "Frankly speaking, there is
a remote possibility that we can secure enough bacta to save
many of the people who are afflicted by Krytos, but not all.
Even if we cure 95 percent of the cases, those we don't cure
will amount to millions of fatalities--non-human fatalities.
The resentment against the government will rise until the
Alliance falls apart. When that happens, someone like War-
lord Zsinj or Ysanne Isard or who knows who else is lurking
out there can come in and sweep up the pieces."
    She shrugged her shoulders. "That shouldn't have any-
thing to do with Tycho, but it does because Tycho is a hu-
man, accused of a heinous crime against a fellow Rebel and a
man who is now a hero. If we do not bring him to trial
quickly and let the trial take its course, we will be accused of
favoring a human. People will suggest that were Tycho a
Gotal or Quarren, we'd have tried, convicted, and executed
him inside of a day. That charge is baseless, but it's critical
we avoid any appearance of favoritism."
    "So Tycho gets offered up as a sacrifice to keep the Alli-
ance together?"
    "I would have preferred being able to put Ysanne Isard
on trial for having the Krytos virus created and spread, but
she got away--how, I don't know, but she did. We probably
could scoop up a double-handful of Imperial bureaucrats
and put them on trial for past activities, but then the entire
Imperial bureaucracy would go into hiding and any chance
we had of trying to govern the galaxy would go away."
    That comment brought Wedge up short. The notion of
using the enemy to administer the territories of the new gov-
ernment struck him as wrong, but then he realized the Alli-
ance military had always welcomed defectors from the other
side into its ranks. Experience was enough to forgive past
sins, especially when things were so critical. "You're right,
creating a government isn't easy or pretty."




   "But it's what we have to do."
    The logic of her argument was inescapable, but Wedge
bristled at it and didn't want to back down. "Perhaps re-
signing is something I bare to do."
    Leia shook her head. "No, no it's not. You're not going
to resign, Wedge."
    "Why not? The war's over. There have to be a half-
dozen fueling depots I could buy and operate here on Corus-
cant or back on CoreIlia." He knew he was letting himself be
a bit petulant, but to acquiesce seemed like abandoning
Tycho. I won't do tbat without sufficient reason.
    "You won't resign, dear heart, because of the same sense
of responsibility that makes you threaten to resign." Leia
smiled at him. "Cracken's people have been doing more than
looking into Tycho's activities. Turns out that Warlord Zsinj
hit a Thyferran bacta convoy and stole a fairly big shipment.
An Ashern rebel was on the convoy and got word out to us
about the location of the space platform where Zsinj has the
convoy docked. The bacta will save a lot of people, but get-
ting our operatives in and back out means someone very
good is going to have to be flying cover for our strike. Rogue
Squadron will be leading the way."
    Wedge nodded. "Resign and doom millions, or stay and
watch a friend be destroyed. Not much of a choice."
    "Not so, my friend, it is indeed quite a choice. Not an
easy one."
    "Oh, the choice is easy, Leia, but living with the result
will not be." Wedge swallowed past the lump choking him.
"You'll let the Council know I've reconsidered my resigna-
tion."
    "I'll tell them that you meant the suggestion as a way to
underscore your concern for Captain Celchu." Leia nodded
solemnly. "According to Cracken you'll be briefed inside a
week and then head out. May the Force be with you."
    "I'll save the Force for Tycho." Wedge's eyes became
slits. "No matter what sort of reception Zsinj has for us,
what Tycho's going to face will be a million times worse."

4

The prison uniform Tycho Celchu had been given looked
enough like a flightsuit that Wedge Antilles could almost
imagine his friend being free again. The black jumpsuit had
red sleeves and leggings that started at elbow and knee re-
spectively. They also ended well shy of wrist and ankle so the
fabric would not interfere with the operation of the binders
Tycho wore.
    Wedge shuddered with anger and embarrassment. ! will
see you free again, my friend.
    Tycho looked up and smiled. A bit taller than Wedge,
but with the same lithe build, Tycho was a handsome man
whose blue eyes appeared brighter than Wedge would have
thought possible. Tycho held his hands up in greeting to
Wedge and Nawara Ven, and almost made it seem as if the
binders were not hampering him. He waited patiently as a
guard in a control room opened the transparisteel barrier
separating him from the visitation center, then shuffled in
past his escort.
    Wedge rose and started across the sparsely furnished
white room, but Tycho's guard brandished a Stokhli Spray
Stick. "Keep away from the prisoner, Commander."
  Wedge felt a hand on his left elbow and turned back to




face the Twi'lek who had accompanied him to the detention
center. "Commander, we're not allowed physical contact
with Tycho--no one is allowed to touch prisoners. It's secu-
rity."
   Wedge frowned. "Right."
    Nawara Ven skewered the guard with a pink-eyed stare.
"You've done your duty here, now I require you to leave us
alone with my client and my droid here."
    The heavyset guard's eyes narrowed, then he tapped the
Stokhli Spray Stick against the palm of his other hand. "I'm
going to be right out there. Anything funny happens, and
you'll be spending a lot of time with this traitor." He turned
and headed back out to the far side of the transparisteel
barrier.
    Wedge dropped into one of the four chairs around the
table in the middle of the room. "How are you doing? Is that
guard causing you trouble? Because if he is, I'll do something
about it."
    Tycho sat across from him and shrugged. "Voleyy isn't
so bad, he just doesn't like things to get odd on his watch.
Other guards are worse, and if I weren't in solitary confine-
ment, I think the general population would have already
tried and executed me."
    "What?" Tycho's comment caught Wedge by surprise.
"What do you mean by that?"
    "I thought it was rather self-explanatory." Tycho shook
his head, then smiled up at his friends. "You have to remem-
ber, I've been charged with murder and treason. There are
guards here who are just waiting for an excuse to show the
New Republic how deep their patriotism runs. Some of the
prisoners think they could win a pardon by saving the Re-
public the cost of a trial. I shouldn't think that would come
as a surprise to you, Wedge."
    "No, I guess it doesn't, but your reaction to it does. If I
were in your boots, I'd be angry and outraged."
    "That's because you've never been a guest in the Em-
pire's correctional system." Tycho sighed and Wedge read
weariness in the way his shoulders sagged. "All the anger

and outrage I can muster won't get me out of here any faster,
and it could get me in trouble."
    "But aren't you angry about being imprisoned for some-
thing you didn't do?"
  '~Yes."
    Wedge opened his hands. "Then why don't you show it?
You can't keep it bottled up inside. It'll tear you apart."
    Tycho took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
"Wedge, you've always been my friend and you've supported
me with no questions asked, but what I'm enduring now is
really no different than what I endured while being under
house arrest. Sure, I can't go flying, can't head out to Borleias
with Mirax to save Corran's tail, and I'm not free to walk the
streets of Coruscant as your hole card, but nothing has really
changed. Since my capture by the Empire right here on Co-
ruscant I've been their prisoner. I've never really escaped the
Empire because they managed to make others suspicious of
me. I was outraged then and have been since, but protesting
wouldn't do me any good. The only way I can be free, truly
free, is for the Empire to be destroyed. I know, as it falls
apart, someone somewhere will have the information that
will set me free."
   "And if they don't?"
    Tycho cracked a smile. "You figured out a plan to take
Coruscant away from the Empire. Springing a friend from
prison shouldn't be that hard for you to manage."
    Nawara Ven cleared his throat. "Let's not be adding
conspiracy to the charges against you."
    Tycho nodded. "As you wish, Counselor. How's my de-
fense going?"
    "Good and bad." Nawara Ven sat at the end of the table
and a little green and white R2 unit rolled up beside him.
"The best thing we have going for us right now is that Whis-
tler here has joined our defense team."
       "But I'm accused of killing Corran Horn. He and Cor-
ran were partners. Why would he want to help defend me?"
   The droid keened a reply.
   Wedge smiled. "Ah, he did know Corran well."
   The Twi'lek nodded. "Well enough to decide Horn was




wrong about you, Captain Celchu. If Horn was wrong about
your being a traitor, that means someone else killed him.
Since you've been framed for the murder, if Whistler does
nothing to help you, he's ensuring that his friend's murderer
is getting away. Having Whistler on the team is unbelievably
useful because of the specialized circuitry and programming
he has. It allows him to wade through a lot of law enforce-
ment data, including Imperial files."
    Tycho shifted around in his chair, making his binders
click against the edge of the table. "I hope the bad news
doesn't obliterate the good."
    Nawara's braintails twitched lethargically. "Corran had
reported to Commander Antilles that he saw you in the
Headquarters talking to Kirtan Loor. You said you were
speaking with," Nawara glanced at his datapad, "a Duros
Captain Lai Nootka."
    Tycho nodded. "Right. He flew a freighter called $tar's
Delight. I was negotiating with him for spare parts for the
Z-95 Headhunters I'd bought."
    "Well, no one can seem to find him or his ship. The
prosecution can introduce ample evidence that Kirtan Loor
was here on Coruscant, that Corran would have recognized
him, and that knowing you were exposed, you had to take
steps to cover yourself."
    Wedge frowned. "If the only way out of that trap is to
find Nootka, we'll find him."
  Whistler tooted a dour message.
    Rogue Squadron's commander rubbed his eyes for a mo-
ment to ease their burning. "Fine, fine, there are 247 uniden-
tified bodies of Duros here on Coruscant, and the possibility
exists that the Imps caught him, killed him, and dumped him
so we'll never find him. We can still try to find the ship. The
log might have an entry in it about the meeting."
    Tycho gave Wedge a smile. "You're more nervous than I
am, Wedge."
    "That's because I don't think you understand what's at
stake here, Tycho." Wedge got up and began to pace. "Your
trial is going to go forward and go forward quickly. It's
going to be used to show that the New Republic can be just

as hard on humans as the Empire was on non-humans. I have
to tell you, if Nawara here weren't already a lawyer, I'd be
looking for the best non-human counsel I could find for you.
The judges here are going to feel pressure to convict to seem
fair; I want the fact that your defender is non-human to
make them worry about how your being found guilty will
look."
    "Captain, you might want to look into more competent
counsel than me."
    Tycho shook his head. "No, Nawara, I want you. I've
read your file and I know you. This is going to be hard
enough without having a lawyer who wants the case for the
notoriety."
    "Tycho's right, we need you. The squadron is behind
Tycho, and having you represent him means the rest of us
don't feel entirely impotent." Wedge's dark eyes narrowed.
"Do you see a problem with defending him?"
    The Twi'lek hesitated for a moment, then answered.
"I've defended a lot of people in criminal cases, but the
stakes have not been this high before, nor the opposition so
tough. Emtrey knows all the regulations, so having him in
court with me means I'll have a good grasp on the differences
between military law and civil law, but it would be better for
you to have someone who doesn't have to rely on a droid for
that stuff. The fact that I was down with the first stages of
Krytos during the alleged murder means I can't be called as a
witness of fact in the case--at least, I'd not call me, but the
prosecution might have other ideas."
    He tapped a button on his datapad. "The prosecutor is
Commander Halla Ettyk. She's 34 years old and from Alder-
aan. She had gained quite a reputation as a prosecutor there
and happened to be off Alderaan to depose a witness in a
case when Alderaan was destroyed. She joined the Rebellion
and was part of General Cracken's counterintelligence staff.
She may not have prosecuted any cases over the last seven
years, but that's not going to dull her skills. Captain, you
don't happen to know her or have a family vendetta with her
family or anything that could let me suggest she has a conflict
of interest, do you?"




   "Nothing, sorry."
    "What about the tribunal?" Wedge stopped pacing,
crossed his arms, and looked down at the Twi'lek. "The sub-
poena I was served with yesterday indicated General Salm,
Admiral Ackbar, and General Crix Madine were going to
serve as judges. Salm has never liked Tycho. Can't you get
him removed?"
    "Trying to get him replaced is tricky. If he does not
recuse himself, he clearly thinks he has no conflict of interest.
If we suggest he does and we fail to remove him, we've
poisoned him. The other thing to keep in mind is that Salm
was present at the first battle of Borleias and saw Tycho
flying an unarmed shuttle and rescuing pilots, including me.
He's got to weigh what he remembers against the evidence he
hears, and we'll be sure to remind him of Borleias."
    Tycho nodded. "I'm willing to take my chances with
Salm. What do you think of the other two?"
    The Twi'lek shrugged. "Ackbar agreed to have you serve
as Rogue Squadron's executive officer and has remained neu-,
tral regarding this prosecution. Crix Madine came over fron~~
the Imperial side around the same time you did, Captain.
Given his work planning covert missions for the Empire, I
would have to guess he has met Iceheart and is aware of the
work she has done. He knows of your reputation and, being
a Corellian like Commander Antilles, has an appreciation of
bravery and audacity."
    "You're forgetting, Counselor Yen, that Corran Horn
was Corellian, too."
    "No, Commander, I've not forgotten that fact. I'm
counting on it to motivate General Madine to seek the peo-
ple truly responsible for Corran's death."
    Wedge nodded. "So that's the line of defense: Tycho's
been framed?"
    "The truth always is the best defense. Their evidence is
all circumstantial, so we can slip someone or several some-
ones in to raise doubt about who actually committed the
crime." Nawara Ven pressed his hands fiat on the table.
"This trial will be played as much to public opinion as to the
judges. It's going to do no good if the people think Captain

Celchu is guilty while the court lets him off. Everyone knows
how twisted and full of plots the Empire was. The mention
of Kirtan Loor and Lusankya allows us to bring up Ysanne
Isard. I can show that Captain Celchu's pattern of activity is
all wrong by showing what Isard does do with her people. I
can even point to the bombing as likely residue of her evil. If
we have public opinion looking at Captain Celchu as the last
victim of Imperial intrigue, a Rebellion hero being destroyed
by a bitter and vengeful Empire, we have a lot of maneuver-
ing room in the aftermath of the trial."
    Nawara Ven's explanation made sense to Wedge, but he
didn't like all it entailed. Fighting enemies who were shoot-
ing back was one thing. Winning a court case was quite
another--one akin to politics, and Wedge knew he'd utterly
failed in that arena at the Council meeting. Waging a public
relations war to win the hearts and minds of a planet for a
man who was already being entered into the pantheon of evil
with Darth Vader, Prince Xizor, Ysanne Isard, and the Em-
peror himself--well, that was a battle no one could consider
easy.
    Wedge nodded toward the lawyer. "What happens if
Tycho is found guilty?"
    "Hard to say. There's no clear appeals system set up.
Unless the judges reverse their decision, he'll be stuck."
    Tycho raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by
stuck?"
    "This is treason, Captain, and murder." Nawara Ven
shook his head as Whistler moaned. "Given the mood of the
people and the nature of your crime, if we lose, the New
Republic will put you to death."




5

As Wedge entered the darkened briefing room, the pilots of
Rogue Squadron broke from the knot surrounding Nawara
Ven and took their places. Some of their expressions were
difficult to read. Riv Shiel, the Shistavanen wolfman, wore
his perpetual impenetrable frown. Gavin Darklighter, the
youngest of the pilots in Rogue Squadron, seemed fairly
cheerful, but the hardness of the flesh gathered at the corners
of his eyes betrayed the pressure most of the rest of the unit
felt.
    Wedge stepped behind and past Aril Nunb, then paused
with the holoprojection table in front of him. "I appreciate
your getting here so quickly. I had hoped we'd get at least a
week's liberty after the conquest of Coruscant .... "
    The fiery-haired lieutenant in the front row, Pash
Cracken, shrugged. "We've not had that much to celebrate,
sir."
    "I know." Corran's death, then Tycho's arrest, had un-
dercut the Rogues when they should have been enjoying their
greatest triumph. While everyone else on Coruscant was ju-
bilant about the world's liberation, the Rogues felt still en-
slaved by Tycho's plight. The contrast between the
congratulations they got from others and the way they felt

inside remained sharp enough to slice them up emotionally.
To save themselves, the squadron members had rallied
around Tycho and were determined to prove his innocence.
That provided them a sanctuary and sense of control, though
it did nothing to endear them to others who thought Tycho's
guilt was indisputable.
    "The one thing we do know, people, is that the source of
our problems lies on the Imp side of things. We should also
realize that what we're suffering is nothing compared to
what hundreds of thousands of people out there are suffer-
ing." Wedge pointed a finger toward Nawara and Riv Shiel,
then glanced back at Aril Nunb. "Three of our own came
down with this Krytos virus, but they got quick treatment
with enough bacta to knock it out. Bacta is in high demand
right now, but supplies are very short."
    Erisi Dlarit, the dark-haired pilot from Thyferra, pressed
a hand to her own sternum. "I know the cartels are produc-
ing as much as they can--at least the Xucphra group is. I
have personally sent messages to my grandfather to let him
know of the need for bacta here."
    "Thanks, Erisi, every bit of help we can get is vital."
Wedge folded his arms across his chest. "Warlord Zsinj hit a
bacta convoy heading out from Thyferra. I believe it was
from the Zaltin group, Erisi, not your family's corporation.
Zsinj took the bacta to a storage facility, but a member of the
Ashern rebel group . . ."
   "Terrorists!" Erisi spat.
    "... happened to be crewing aboard the Zaltin ships.
He managed to get a message out concerning the location of
the space station Zsinj is using." Wedge nodded toward Aril,
and the Sullustan punched up a holographic image of the
station on the holoprojector. The station consisted of a
central disk with thick expanses of living quarters above
and below the horizon. Slender towers rose from the mid-
dle of the disk, suggesting the station had been impaled on
spears. Three wedge-shaped launch-and-recovery causeways
stabbed out into space from the central disk like spokes
meant to connect up with a nonexistent rim.
  "This is an Empress-class space station located in the




Yag'Dhul system. Basic armament is ten turbo-laser batteries
and six laser cannons. It also has the capability of housing up
to three squadrons of TIEs, though the usual complement is
only two dozen fighters. The bacta is being held here, and
we're going to get it away from them."
    As Wedge continued his briefing, little glowing icons ap-
peared to hover around the station. Each represented a ship
and entered the display as its part in the operation was ex-
plained. "We will be leading two squadrons from General
Salm's Defender Wing to pull a quick strafing run on the
station and get them to scramble their fighters. The squad-
rons we'll have with us are Warden and Champion--you
remember them, they saved us at Borleias."
    The Gand toward the back raised a three-fingered hand.
"As Ooryl remembers it, Commander Antilles, Defender
Wing flies Y-wing fighters. Provoking TIE fighters to come
out and attack Y-wings would seem to Ooryl as potentially
dangerous for Defender's pilots."
    "Your concern is noted, Ooryl, and has been taken into
account. Guardian Squadron, the third of Defender Wing's
component parts, has been refitted with B-wings. This adds
considerable firepower to the wing. We'll pull the TIEs out
and away from the station and the B-wings will drop on
them and help us kill them. The Y-wings will continue in
toward the space station and start working on its defenses
with their ion cannons.
    "Following us in will be a half-dozen assault shuttles
and then enough bulk-cruisers to haul the bacta away. This
is a hit, hold, then run operation."
   Gavin smiled. "Sounds like a dew-run."
    "Maybe." Pash Cracken leaned forward in his chair.
"Where's the Iron Fist supposed to be?"
    Wedge shook his head. "I've been given no data con-
cerning the Iron Fist." Warlord Zsinj's flagship was one of
the Super-class Star Destroyers created by the Kuat Drive
Yard's shipworks before the Empire collapsed. The ships
were, for all intents and purposes, fleets unto themselves.
They carried 144 fighters, had a crew of over a quarter of a
million people, and bristled with over a thousand missile

launchers, ion cannons, and turbolaser batteries. Though the
Rebel fleet had managed to destroy the Executor at Endor,
everyone knew that ship had died because of luck, not skill.
    If the Iron Fist showed up at Yag'Dhul, the operation
was doomed. Wedge knew it, as did all of the pilots in the
room. "While I am as concerned about the appearance of
Iron Fist as any of you, I know the bacta is too valuable to
risk on an operation that could be so easily jeopardized. I
have to assume that Intelligence has the Iron Fist located and
that it won't interfere with the mission. If it does show up, all
we can do is pull out." And hope no one gets left behind.
    Rhysati Ynr, the blond woman sitting next to Nawara
Ven, raised her hand. "Do we just fly cover when the assault
shuttles go in, or are we going to land and go in-station,
tOO?"
    "Right now we're just flying cover. If things change,
you'll be the first to know." Wedge sighed. "We're heading
out in twelve hours, so you're now all under security quaran-
tine. Report to your quarters, get your gear, and go to the
hangar. Once there you'll get a more specific briefing and run
through a basic simulation of the exercise before we leave.
Any other questions?"
    Gavin looked around nervously, then nodded. ,,sir,
won't Nawara's heading out on a mission compromise Cap-
tain Celchu's defense? I mean, shouldn't Nawara be here
setting things up?"
    A question I asked myself. "Your concerns, Gavin, are
valid, but not terribly important in the face of what we're
doing here. We're already one pilot light because of Corran's
death, so we need everyone we can get. The fact is that ob-
taining the bacta is far more important to the future of the
New Republic than Tycho's trial, so that is our priority."
    "Besides, I have Whistler and Emtrey doing a lot of com-
puter fact-finding for me right now." Nawara sat forward
and slapped Gavin on the shoulder. "The lawyering part of
all this comes later. It occurs to me that if we do get the bacta
and things begin to calm down, someone might start listen-
ing to reason instead of political pressure, and this case will
be dumped in some black hole, where it deserves to be."




    "May the Force be with you in that regard." Wedge
smiled openly. "If that's it, get going. Everyone should be in
the hangar in an hour at the very latest."
    As the pilots started to leave the room, Wedge caught
the eye of a black-and-white-furred Bothan female. "Sei'lar,
if I could have a moment of your time."   "Yes, Commander."
    He watched Asyr as she waited for the others to leave,
then walked toward him. There was no overt challenge in
her stride, though the fire in her violet eyes did reveal a
strong streak of Bothan pride running in her. Splotches of
white fur covered her from throat to belly, gloved her, and
slashed down from her forehead over her left eye to her
cheek. They almost succeeded in diluting the predatory
power in her petite frame. She stopped before him and
snapped to attention.
   "At ease, Sei'lar."
   "Thank you, sir."
    "You might want to reserve your thanks until you've
heard what I have to say." Wedge looked down on her and
saw her fur ripple with irritation. "Two things I want to
discuss. The first is Gavin."
    Asyr blinked with surprise that flowed out into her fur.
"I was under the impression that pairing among members of
the squadron was not prohibited. Nawara and Rhysati, and
Erisi and Corran . . ."
    "I'm not under the impression anything was going on
between Erisi and Corran."
   "But her reaction to his death . . ."
    "They were close, but not in that way, as I understand
it." Wedge frowned for a moment. Mirax Terrik had been
crushed by Corran's death and had confided in Wedge that
she and Corran had chosen to begin dating once the con-
quest of Coruscant had been accomplished. Though Corran
had never revealed his feelings about Erisi or Mirax to
Wedge, Corran's attraction to Mirax had been fairly easy to
spot, which led Wedge to believe Erisi was out of the picture.
    "Regardless of what was or was not happening between
Erisi and Corran, or what is or is not happening between

Rhysati and Nawara, the big difference between those situa-
tions and your situation with Gavin is that Gavin's barely
seventeen years old. He's very young and hasn't had the ex-
periences that your education at the Bothan Martial Acad-
emy has afforded you. He's not a stupid young man--he's
actually fairly intelligent--but his upbringing on Tatooine
has left him a bit idealistic."
    Asyr's violet eyes sank into crescents. "Are you ordering
me to stop seeing him?"
Wedge laughed. "No, not at all. You've only been out
twice----"
   "Have you had someone watching us?"
    "No, and that's just the point." Wedge opened his
hands. "Gavin is so taken with you that his enthusiasm isn't
always kept under control. While he remains very circum-
spect about private moments you have shared, he is very
happy to let others know how much fun you're having to-
gether doing all the things you have done. It's all very inno-
cent and natural, but it's also a sign of his falling in love with
you. He may not quite be there yet, but he'll be hurt badly if
you pull away from him abruptly after too much longer. I
don't want to see him hu~, so if you don't really care for
him, let him down easy and now, please."
    Asyr's chin came up and defiance blazed in her eyes.
"What makes you think I might be toying with him?"
    "The second thing I want to discuss with you does,
Sei'lar. I wonder if you don't have another agenda that
you're working on." Wedge met her hot stare unflinchingly.
"You graduated near the top of your class from the Bothan
Martial Academy but never formally entered the military.
Your records are decidedly sketchy, but I would imagine,
given your age, that you were recruited into the Martial In-
telligence Division of the Bothan military in an effort to re-
plenish the supply of spies who died securing the plans to the
second Death Star. The fact that you were already here on
Coruscant when our operation arrived suggests the Bothan
government had its own goals here on Coruscant."
   "But you forget, sir, that I did help organize and partici-




 pate in the operations that cleared the way for the Rebel
 Alliance to take the planet."
     "I never accused you of being stupid, Sei'lar. Quite the
 contrary, I think you are very intelligent. You saw an oppor-
 tunity that had to succeed and you did your best to make it
 succeed." Wedge let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
 "That self-same intelligence is why I want you in this squad-
 ron.
     "The fact is, Sei'lar, who and what you are makes you
 very valuable and desirable. I want you here in Rogue Squad-
 ron. I think you are an incredible asset to the Rebellion. Flip
 a bit, though, and it's easy to see that your Bothan masters
 also find you quite useful. That means, sooner or later,
 you're going to have some decisions to make."
   Asyr glanced down. "Decisions about Gavin."
    "And about your loyalties to your planet and your na-
tion."
   "Or my squadron."
    "Exactly." Wedge nodded slowly. The pressure is not on
you right now, but it will come. Borsk Fey'lya likes having a
Bothan in Roque Squadron, but at some point he'll want to
exert control over you.
    Her head came back up. "Do you want me to make
those decisions right now?"
    "I want you to make them when you feel they need to be
made. I trust you, and I want to continue to trust you. If you
find you can't be part of the squadron, you can walk away
and I'll have been proud to have you as one of us."
    Asyr arched an eyebrow. "No threat of retribution if I
betray you?"
    Wedge shook his head. "If you decide to betray us, I
can't imagine we'll survive long enough to avenge ourselves
on you. On the other hand, Rogues tend to take a lot of
killing, so you can't be sure of how things will turn out."
    "I'll keep that in mind." Asyr smiled and Wedge took it
for a good sign. "And, Commander, concerning Gavin, there
is no hidden agenda. His wide-eyed way of looking at every-
thing is refreshing and, perhaps, even energizing. I've lived a

long time in the shadows, so moving into the light feels very
good. I'll do nothing to hurt him."
    "Good." Wedge waved her toward the door. "Go get
your stuff and get to the briefing. I'm trusting you'll see the
holes in this plan and help us plug them before Zsinj accom-
plishes what the Empire could only dream about: the de-
struction of Rogue Squadron."




6

Corran Horn let his joy at again being in the cockpit of a
starfighter consume him. It did not matter to him that he did
not know how he'd gotten into the ship. He did not let the
fact that he was flying a TIE Interceptor concern him. He
thrust aside anxiety born of his ignorance of his location.
None of those things were germane to his present situation.
    The only relevant facts in his life were these: he was
flying and, he knew, if he flew well enough he would be
allowed to fly again. He had no idea how he knew his perfor-
mance would be rewarded with more flight time--that fact
seemed as fundamental to him as his need for air and food
and sleep. His desire to continue flying blazed hot in his gut
and burned from him the annoyance at the squint's ineffi-
cient controls and sluggish reaction time.   "Nemesis One, report."
    It took Corran a moment to realize the comm unit call
had been directed at him. He glanced at his scanner win-
dows. "One is clear."
    "One, we have two eyeballs vectoring in on a heading of
239 degrees at a range of ten kilometers. They are hostiles.
You are free to engage and terminate them."
  "I copy. Nemesis One outbound." Corran hit the left

rudder pedal and swung the ship around onto the proper
heading. The starfield whirled around him, then froze in
place again. He could recognize none of the constellations,
but that did not concern him. His mission was to destroy the
enemy, and that he would gladly do no matter where he
found himself.
    His breathing reverberated loudly in the full helmet he
wore. The sound came rhythmically. It betrayed no nervous-
ness. It was not the quickened breathing of prey, but the
strong steady respiration of a predator on the hunt. He had
already killed more TIE starfighters than he cared to remem-
ber; these would just be two more.
    And yet, in the back of his mind, he knew he could not
actually remember his previous kills, and this amnesia began
to nibble away at his emotional well-being.
    With a thumb he flicked the Interceptor's quad lasers
over to dual-fire mode, then pulled back on the steering yoke
and brought the ship up in a slight climb. A quick starboard
snaproll onto his head turned the climb into a dive, and
suddenly he was upon the eyeballs. His index finger tight-
ened on the trigger and a stream of verdant laser-bolts sliced
through the lead eyeball.
    Because of his angle of attack, the bolts scored black
furrows in one wing, then pierced the ball cockpit from the
top. On the other side they freed the wing, but the ship's
explosion shattered the hexagonal panel. It blasted debris
into the flight path of the second TIE, causing it to roll to
starboard and dive. The maneuver succeeded in saving the
second ship from a collision with its dying wingman, but
dropped it straight into Corran's sights.
    Corran cut the throttle back by a quarter, matching
speed with his prey. The pilot he hunted juked right and left,
but made none of the hard breaks and sharp turns needed to
shuck Corran from his tail. Without remorse, but full of
contempt, Corran flicked the squint's lasers over to qua&
fire, then impaled the TIE fighter on his crosshairs and hit the
trigger with a delicate twitch of his finger.
    The four green laser-bolts converged and merged into
one a nanosecond before they burned the top from the cock-




pit, sheering it off just above the engine assembly. Corran
imagined he could see the pilot's blackened body in silhou-
ette for a second, then the eyeball exploded and seared that
image into his brain. Exultation at having been victorious
swept through Corran, though in its wake came the feeling
that those two pilots had been so inexperienced that he had
not really fought them, but had just slaughtered them.
    "Nemesis One, we have two uglies at five kilometers,
heading 132 degrees. They are hostile. Engage and termi-
nate."
    "As ordered." Corran brought the squint up and
around, then punched the throttle to full power. He wanted
to close quickly so he would be able to get a look at the ships
he faced. Uglies were hideous, hybrid spacefighters cobbled
together from various salvage parts. Smugglers and pirates
used them fairly often. He couldn't pinpoint how he knew
that, but he did know he'd fought uglies before. Given that
he was alive, he assumed they had not proved too much of a
problem for him.
    Something about that assumption niggled in the back of
his mind. He knew it was not incorrect. He was a good pilot
and he knew it, but his assuming superiority seemed wrong.
He hadn't made the assumption on the basis of the fact that
uglies seldom had the performance characteristics of the
fighters from which they were created. He realized he'd as-
sumed anyone flying uglies would be pirates or smugglers,
and had instantly assumed they were his inferiors. While he
could find no facts to dispute his assumption about his foes,
he knew there was something wrong with his having made it.
    A warning klaxon blared in the cockpit, alerting him
that one of the uglies had gotten a torpedo lock on him and
had launched a proton torpedo. Corran banished thoughts
about his enemies' combat-worthiness, rolled the ship up
onto its port wing, then dove. His abrupt maneuver hurled
his ship onto a course at right angles to the one he'd been
traveling previously. The proton torpedo, which was travel-
ing roughly twice as fast as he was, shot past his starboard
wing and started on a long loop to head back at him.
  A proton torpedo has thirty seconds of flight time. I

can't outrun it, but I can out-maneuver it. Corran smiled. Or
deal with it more directly!
    He reversed the squint's thrust and hit the port rudder
pedal. This threw the Interceptor into a flat spin that brought
the nose around to face back along his flight path. Where the
proton torpedo had been coming straight at his back before,
now it was coming straight in at his cockpit. He killed the
thrust and glanced at his scanner monitor--750 meters and
closing fast.
    At 400 meters he flicked the lasers over to dual-fire and
tightened his finger down on the trigger. Pairs of laser-bolts
burned green through space seeking the torpedo. One bolt
hit the torpedo at 250 meters out. It failed to destroy it, but
did melt its way into the body and ignite a fuel cell. The
subsequent explosion pitched the torpedo off course. When
the onboard computer calculated the torpedo would not hit
its target, it detonated the warhead, but the Interceptor re-
mained a hundred meters outside the blast radius.
    Switching thrust forward again, Corran throttled up to
full and punched up profiles of the uglies. One was an X-T1E.
It had the body of an X-wing fighter with the hexagonal
wings from a TIE starfighter. Corran found the ship hideous
to look at and would have dismissed it immediately except it
had launched the proton torpedo.
    The other ship looked fairly ridiculous. It mated a TIE's
ball cockpit with the engine pods from a Y-wing. This partic-
ular hybrid was rare because it combined the TIE's lack of
shields with the Y-wing's lumbering, slothful handling. Cot-
ran knew this type of ugly was often referred to as a TYE-
wing, though DIE-wing was a common nickname for it as
well.
    Corran cut his Interceptor on a course that shot him past
the X-TIE, then broke on down into a series of maneuvers,
twisting and turning, that left the TYE-wing far behind. The
X-TIE hung with him long enough for Corran's scanners to
pick out details. X-wing fighters had two torpedo launching
tubes in the nose and four lasers, one mounted on each end
of the stabilizers that supplied the ship with its name. Lack-
ing those S-foils, the X-T1E had replaced one proton torpedo




 launch tube with what Corran guessed would be a laser can-
 non.
    Undergunned and overmatched. Cotran rolled his way
down through a corkscrew dive that lengthened his lead on
the X-TIE and the TYE-wing. The X-TIE's pilot began to
pull the fighter's nose up, as if he intended to return to his
wingman's side and the safety the TYE-wing would provide
him. Corran watched him turn away, then inverted and
pulled the Interceptor through a tight turn and shot back up
and in at the X-TIE's exposed aft.
    Clearly unaware of Corran's maneuver, the X-TIE's pi-
lot inverted and headed back toward the TYE-wing. Corran
saw the pilot's head come up as he scanned space for signs of
the Interceptor. Coming in from behind made spotting the
squint difficult. The pilot never managed it, though Corran
did see the R5 unit's head swivel around and spot him.
    Corran hit the trigger and walked laser fire from stern to
nose on the ugly. Two bolts blew the R5's flowerpot head
off, theft.two more punctured the cockpit, exploding it into a
cloud of transparisteel and duraplast fragments. The last
bolts hit forward and touched off a proton torpedo's fuel
cells. The fuel's detonation filled the slender craft with fire
and sent the nose spinning wildly off into space.
    Pulling back on the yoke, Corran brought his nose up
and spitted the DIE-wing on the crosshairs. The ugly began a
roll, so Corran matched him and tightened up on the trigger.
Green laser-bolts slashed at one of the Y-wings, but the ugly
flashed on past beneath him. Corran prepared to invert and
loop, but a hail of angry red laser-bolts sliced across his flight
path.
    "What? Who?" He kicked the squint up on its right
wing, wrenched the wheel right, and tugged back on the
yoke. The maneuver pulled him sharply out of line with his
previous course, but he wasn't content with just doing that.
He broke again, to port and up, then searched his scanner
monitor for whomever had shot at him.
    The scanners reported two ships, both of them X-wings.
"What's going on here?"

"Nemesis One, we have two hostiles. X-wings. It was an
ambush. Engage and terminate."
    Ambush me, will you? Corran translated his outrage
into fluid maneuvering. Cutting and jumping, he bounced his
Interceptor through a series of jukes that shook the X-wings
from his tail and brought him around on the DIE-wing.
Without really thinking about it, he pumped laser-fire into
the ugly's ball cockpit, then pulled up and away as the misbe-
gotten fighter exploded.
    Two on one--same odds I've had all day. Despite that
hasty assessment, he knew the odds were actually quite dif-
ferent in this battle. The squint's speed and maneuverability
gave it an edge over the X-wings, but they had shields. They
could take more damage than he could, and the ability to
survive damage had a very direct relationship with the ability
to survive in combat. More importantly, the two X-wing
pilots seemed determined to operate together. They flew in
tight formation and seemed familiar enough with each other
that he wasn't so much fighting two foes as one meta-foe.
    The X-wings came around on a vector that brought
them straight at him. Corran knew head-to-head passes were
the most deadly in dogfighting, and given the enemy's superi-
ority of numbers, he had no intention of engaging in such a
duel. He cut his throttle back and dove at a slight angle so he
would pass beneath their incoming vector. They made a
slight adjustment in their courses, apparently content to get a
passing deflection shot. Corran then goosed his throttle for-
ward, forcing them to sharpen their dives, yet before they
could get a good shot at him, he had passed beneath them
and had started up again.
    One X-wing inverted and pulled up through a loop to
drop on Corran's tail while the other broke the other way.
The second X-wing's looped out and away from the Inter-
ceptor, momentarily splitting the two fighters. Corran knew
the second pilot had made a mistake and instantly acted to
make the most of it. Cutting his throttle back, he turned hard
to starboard and then back again to port.
    Corran's sine-wave maneuver brought him back on
course, but the X-wing that had been following him now




hung up and out in front of him. The X-wing's pilot had
continued on his course, assuming the Interceptor had been
trying to evade him. It wasn't until he shot past the Intercep-
tor and it dropped into his aft arc that he realized his error.
    Corran throttled up and closed with the X-wing. You're
mine now, all because your buddy made a mistake. He
pushed the Interceptor in to point-blank range and started to
fire---then he saw a blue crest on the X-wing's S-foils. It
appeared to be the Rebel crest with a dozen X-wings flying
out away from it. Though no words accompanied the crest,
Corran knew they should have.   Rogue Squadron!
    The second he recognized the crest, his finger fell away
from the trigger. He didn't know why he didn't fire. Fear
crystallized in his belly at the sight of it, but he knew he
wasn't afraid of the Rogues. It was something else. Some-
thing was wrong, hideously wrong, but he could not pierce
the veil of mystery surrounding that sensation.
    Suddenly something exploded behind him, pitching him
forward. He slammed hard into the steering yoke, crushing
his life support equipment and driving the breath from his
lungs. His chest burned as he tried in vain to catch his breath.
He caught the fleeting scent of flowers, then a painful bril-
liance filled the cockpit. He waited for the pain in his chest
and the fire in his lungs to consume him, but those sensations
dulled, and his ability to focus on them or anything else
eroded.
    A woman's voice spoke to him. "You have failed, Neme-
sis One. You are weak." Her words came tinged with anger,
bitten off harshly and clearly meant to hurt him. "Had this
been other than a simulation, your atoms would be floating
through space and the rabble would be laughing at you. You
are pathetic."
    Corran's right hand rose toward his throat and pressed
itself against his chest. The shattered remains of his life sup-
port gear prevented him from touching his breastbone, but
he knew something was missing, something that should have
been laying against his flesh. He did not know what it was,
but he knew he would draw comfort from it.

  In its absence, despair flooded through him.
    "I had thought you worthy, Nemesis One. You told me
you were, didn't you?"
    Though he recalled no such declaration, he confirmed it.
"I did. I am."
    "You are nothing unless I say you are something. Now I
say you are nothing, nothing but a failure!" In the light he
saw the silhouette of a tall, slender woman. The sight of her
made him shiver more than her words. He knew he feared
her, but he also wanted to please her. Pleasing her was very
important to him, the only thing that was important in the
world. "You have failed me and yourself."
    "Please," he croaked, but her silhouette gave no indica-
tion she had heard him.
  "One more chance, perhaps."
  "Yes, yes."
  "If you fail again . . ."
Corran shook his head adamantly. "I won't, I won't."
"No, for your next failure will be your last, Nemesis
One." The silhouette folded its arms together. "Disappoint
me again and what is left of your life will be spent in agoniz-
ing atonement, disgrace, and, after a long time, death."




7

The reversion to realspace brought Wedge and the Rogues
out into a situation that just seemed like another simulator
run, with one minor variation. As he expected, Wedge saw
the space station slowly revolving in a star-stained void. Way
off toward the right, closer to the yellow star burning at the
center of the solar system, sat Yag'Dhul. The planet's grey
cloud cover made it only slightly more colorful than the
Givin who called it home.
    The only variation from the opsims was the appearance
of a flight of four TIE starfighters patrolling the area around
the space station. Mynock, the R5 unit in Wedge's X-wing,
immediately screeched out a warning when he noticed them
off to port. Wedge glanced at his monitor, noted how the
TIEs moved into an attack formation, and smiled.
    Action beats inaction every time. He keyed his corem
unit. "One flight, on me. Rogue Twelve, take the Defenders
in."
   "As ordered," Aril Nunb replied.
    Committing only one flight of fighters against an equal
number of TIEs, especially when he could have had two
dozen Y-wings and seven more X-wings join the fight, might
have seemed the height of arrogance, though Wedge knew it

was quite the opposite. While TIE pilots seldom managed to
amass the experience of their Rebel counterparts, they were
quite competent, and more than capable of killing in a dog-
fight. Warlord Zsinj's pilots had proved to be good fighters in
the past, and Wedge expected them to be nothing less in this
engagement.
    The reasons he only pulled one flight from his formation
to deal with the TIEs were twofold. First, and most impor-
tant, their operation demanded that the threat to the station
caused it to scramble its fighters. The X- and Y-wings were
to draw the TIEs out and away from the station to a point in
the system where the B-wings would come in. The B-wings
were in hyperspace, already on their way, so if surprise were
to be achieved, Zsinj's troops had to be lured into position in
a timely manner.
    The second reason to match forces with Zsinj was be-
cause having too many fighters involved in a battle tended to
wreak havoc on the efficacy of the pilots. The difference be-
tween a good pilot and a bad one, all other things being
equal, came down to situational awareness. A pilot who
could handle more variables, and keep track of more ships in
his mind would do better in combat than one who could only
deal with less in the way of distractions. Wedge had seen
statistical analyses that showed that kill ratios fell as the
number of fighters in a dogfight increased; so by keeping
the fight small, he made it easier for his people to grasp all
the aspects of the fight.
    "Three, you and Four have the trailers. Two, I have lead.
Target the second TIE."
    "As ordered, Rogue Leader." Rhysati Ynr led Erisi
Dlarit in a dive and sweeping turn that brought them around
toward the following pair of TIEs. Rhysati's attack vector
was intended to push the TIEs farther from the space station
and the rest of the Rebel force. Wedge saw the TIEs begin to
react to her maneuver, but they seemed content to let her
dictate the direction of the fight.
    Wedge flipped his weapon's controls over to lasers and
set them for dual-firing. He pumped his shields up to full and
picked the lead eyeball as his target. They started to close,


coming head to head, with their wingmen off starboard and
hanging slightly back, each formation being the mirror image
of the other. He smiled. Just where I want him.   "Rogue Two, do you have your target?"
    "Confirmed, lead." Asyr's voice came through the
comm unit cool and steady.
       "Get ready. On my mark, I'm going to foul your target.
Shoot immediately after that with a proton torpedo."
   "As ordered."
    "Three, two, one, mark!" Wedge rolled the X-wing up
and over in a barrel-roll to port. His target did the same
thing, sweeping his fighter across his wingman's flight path.
That momentarily blinded the second TIE and caused him to
shy. Wedge glanced at his monitor and saw a report of a
proton torpedo launch, then touched the starboard rudder
pedal a second before inverting the X-wing and making his
pass on the TIE fighter.
    Before Wedge applied rudder, the two ships had been
heading straight at each other. The rudder drifted the
X-wing's nose about ten degrees to starboard, pulling him
out of line with the TIE. The inversion flopped the
starfighter, bringing the nose back into line with the TIE.
Before Zsinj's pilot could react, Wedge's fighter streaked in
at him and started shooting.
    The first pair of red laser-bolts missed low, but the next
two pairs swept up and across the ball cockpit. One of the
TIE's lasers died in a cloud of duraplast mist. Wedge's third
shot lanced through the transparisteel viewport, igniting and
melting all manner of components and equipment. The TIE
starfighter rolled up on the starboard solar panel, then tight-
ened down into a screw-spiral before exploding.
    A second later a blue proton torpedo slammed into the
port wing on the second TIE. The black solar panel closed
around the torpedo like cloth around a thrown stone. The
torpedo itself punched through the panel and penetrated the
fighter's hull before detonating. The blast ripped the back
half off the cockpit pod, freeing the engines to soar further
in-system while the shattered husk of a fighter tumbled on
through the void.

   "Nice shot, Deuce."
   "Thanks for the setup, lead."
    Wedge brought the X-wing up and around to the origi-
nal heading and saw a proton torpedo from Erisi's ship
finish off a TIE. Farther along he saw streams of green
laser-bolts spraying out from the space station. At the ex-
tremes of range the fire did not seriously threaten the incom-
ing fighters, but it did keep them away long enough for the
station to scramble its TIEs. Zsinj's fliers boiled up and out
from the station and rose on an intercept course with the
Rebel fighters.
    "Lead, I have a dozen Interceptors and eight starfight-
ers."
    "I copy, Twelve." That should be everything they have,
unless they're holding something back. Keeping ships in re-
serve made little or no sense to Wedge, but he'd long since
learned that warfare and tactics seldom make a lot of sense
to the opposition. I just hope our run away from the station
looks believable.
    Aril Nunb led the Rogues and Y-wings up and away
from the station. The squints and eyeballs came on in pur-
suit, hot to thin the ranks of the Y-wings. The Interceptors
opened a lead on the TIE starfighters and started to close fast
with the Y-wings. Aril brought her X-wing over, and the rest
of the Rogues followed her through a loop that took them
back toward the Interceptors while the Y-wings continued
heading away from their pursuers.
    As the X-wing and Interceptor formations began to
spread out into clouds, the B-wings burst into realspace and
shot straight into the gap between the squints and the eye-
balls from the station. Wedge marveled at how each cruci-
form ship flew with its wings and fuselage whirling around
to keep the cockpit stable despite a wild series of maneuvers
and course corrections. Having flown a B-wing a few times,
he could appreciate the ship's firepower, but the way it
moved and flew made him feel less like a pilot than a driver.
    The B-wings slashed in at the Interceptors. Half of them
seemed content to attack using lasers or blasters, while the
other half employed ion cannons to take the squints out of




the fight without killing them. Blue ion-bolts caught In-
terceptors in full flight, sending electricity skitter-jagging
over the hulls. Laser and blaster fire ripped into other In-
terceptors, burning holes through solar panels and cockpits.
    The B-wing ambush scattered the Interceptors, but the
X-wings coming in at them did not break off ill pursuit. They
left that to the B-wings. The Rogues pushed on through the
crumbling Interceptor formation, shot past the B-wings and,
as One Flight reunited with the squadron, sailed on in at the
eyeball formation.
    The first pass came head to head. Static hissed through
the X-wing cockpit as TIE lasers stung his forward shields
repeatedly. Wave after wave of green light washed over the
shields, but Wedge ignored it. He concentrated instead on his
monitor and shifted the X-wing a bit to starboard, trapping a
TIE fighter in the center of his targeting crosshairs. He tight-
ened down on the trigger, pulsing kilojoules of scarlet energy
into an eyebali's cockpit.
    A roiling explosion shredded that ship. Wedge kicked
the X-wing up onto the starboard S-foil, then climbed up and
away from the expanding ball of gas. Letting his roll con-
tinue over the top, he dropped the X-wing into a dive, then
rolled out to port and came around on an arc between the
cloud of fighters and the station. He glanced off to starboard
and saw Asyr still with him, which prompted him to toss her
a salute. "Glad you stayed with me."   "That's my job."
    From his vantage point at the periphery of the battle he
could see a number of things that impressed him. The
Rogues had hit the eyeballs very hard, but Zsinj's people
regrouped in good order instead of scattering. Without
shields, the TIE starfighters were really no match for the
X-wings, but remaining together made them far more dan-
gerous than individual ships fleeing. Whoever the leader of
that squadron was, he was sharp enough to keep his people
together and head them out and away from the fray.
    "Rogue flights Two and Three, leave the flight of eye-
balls alone and join the Y-wings. One flight, we're watching
the eyeballs." Wedge hit two buttons on his flight console.

"Mynock, see if you can get me a frequency for the comm
unit communications between the eyeballs."
The droid hooted his understanding of the order.
While Wedge waited for the droid to get him that infor-
mation, he watched the B-wings finish off the squints and
head in toward the station. Wedge's monitor showed seven
Interceptors hanging dead in space. That number was im-
pressive, even in spite of the ambush, because blowing ships
up was far easier than taking their electrical systems down.
While he appreciated the fact that the pilots had not been
killed when their ships had been stopped, he knew the choice
to use ion cannons on them had been made for practical
rather than altruistic reasons.
    Each of those pilots will be debriefed, and what they
know will be added to our store of inl%rmation concerning
Zsinj. It is entirely possible some or all of them served on the
Iron Fist, and learning about the ship's condition is of vital
importance. It represents the core of Zsinj's might, and will
let us determine how truly dangerous he is.
    ]'he Rebel fighters all converged on the Empress-class
space station with the Y-wings in the lead. While ungainly,
the Y-wings were still not easy targets to hit. The station's
weaponry sent energy beams shooting out at the attackers,
but the incoming fighters supplied three targets for each
weapon system, overwhelming the crews defending the sta-
tion. Added to that was the ability of fighters to approach
while using part of the station to shield them from many of
the lasers. Using targeting data supplied by other ships, the
fighters were able to pop from cover and fire at targets that
had previously been unseen.
    The swooping, diving, rolling, and climbing cloud of
fighters boiled around the station like insects around a bright
light. Direct hits on a fighter would make the craft break off
and loop away until its shields were recharged, then head
back in. The battle to defend the station was lost from the
very start, but the fear Zsinj inspired in his people clearly
kept them fighting long after it made sense for them to do so.
    Mynock beeped, and Wedge saw a corem unit frequency
come up on his monitor. He punched the number into his




comm unit and keyed his microphone. "Starfighter flight,
this is Commander Antilles of the New Republic Armed
Forces. If you power down your weapons, we'll consider you
noncombatants. The same offer goes for the people on the
station."
    "I copy, Antilles." The voice coming back to Wedge
through the comm unit had the metallic echo commonly in-
jected in speech by Imperial equipment. "My flight is disarm-
ing itself. I'll pass your message on to the station chief, Valsil
Torr."
    "Obliged, starfighter." Wedge checked his sensors for
hostiles as he waited for a return message.
    "Antilles, Torr has the message and is powering down
his weapons. The station is yours. Be careful, though, he's a
wily old Twi'lek."
    Wedge smiled. Though the communications gear had
robbed the voice of any humanity, it couldn't kill the person-
ality in it. He might have been amazed that someone who
had just been shooting at him and his people would so
quickly offer helpful advice, but he'd long since learned that
warriors from all sides of any conflict had more in common
than not. "I copy the advice. I appreciate it."
   "One thing, Antilles."
   "Yes?"
   "If we surrender to you, will you haul us out of here?"
   "Don't want to be around when the Iron Fist gets here?"
   "Not especially."
    No surprise, that. Unlike the starfighters the Rebellion
used, the TIE fighters were not equipped with hyperdrives.
TIEs traveled between battles in the bellies of ships like the
Iron Fist. The flight of starfighters was trapped unless Wedge
arranged transport for them out of the system. Zsinj had a
reputation for being short-tempered, so leaving them behind
was tantamount to murdering them, and Wedge had no de-
sire to have their murders on his conscience.
    "Starfighter, surrendering to me means you'll lose your
ship."
    "That's a problem, Antilles. We're all mercenaries. We
lose our ships and we starve." The TIE pilot fell silent for a

moment, then continued. "Of course, no reason to eat and
live if you can't fly."
    "I understand, starfighter." Wedge thought for a mo-
ment. "I have an idea. If you hire on as guards to fly cover
for one of the freighters coming in, you can get out of here
and be free."
  "Freighters?"
  "Coming for the bacta."
  "Bacta. So that's what we were guarding."
    "And you can continue guarding it all the way to Corus-
cant, where it's needed. Give me your word you won't fight
against the New Republic in the future, and you've got a
deal."
  "You have it, Antilles."
    Right on cue, a dozen and 'a half bulk freighters and
specialty haulers started coming out of hyperspace and cruis-
ing in toward the space station. Most were blocky, squared-
off craft that had seen better days, but a few were more
elegant ships whose very designs were tributes to the roman-
ticism of space travel. One, a converted Baudo-class yacht,
glided through the void like a metal simulacrum of the Corel-
lian sea creature that gave the ship her name.
    "Starfighter, the Baudo-class yacht there is the Pulsar
Skate. I'll have the captain contact you on this frequency.
Stand by."
   "I copy."
    Wedge opened a channel to the Skate. "Skate, this is
Rogue Leader."
    "Mirax here, Wedge. We're fourth in line to head in.
What can I do for you?"
    "We have a flight of four eyeballs orbiting. They've left
Zsinj's service and need a ride out of here. Will you?"
"Sure. Not the first time I've hauled a ship for you."
No, the first one was Corran. "Thanks, Mirax. Mynock
is sending you their corem unit frequency, so I'll leave the
arrangements to you."
   "It will give me something to do while I'm waiting."
   "I copy." Wedge glanced at the chronographic display in




the corner of his monitor. "When we get back home, you
and I will sit down and talk, yes?"
    Weariness washed through Mirax's voice. "I'11 have to
offload the cargo first. Then maybe I can sleep. Haven't been
doing much of that lately. I will call you when I'm functional
again."
   "Promise."
   "I promise."
    "And keep that promise, or I talk your father into com-
ing out of retirement by telling him you're moping over the
death of his worst enemy's son."
    "Oh, Wedge, that's cruel." Light static hissed in Wedge's
ears as Mirax's voice broke. "There's no reason I shouldn't
mourn for Corran."
    "Agreed, but you don't have to do it alone. That's a
burden we all share, got it?"
    "I copy." Resignation tinged with relief fooded her
words. "See you back on Coruscant."
    "I am counting on it." Wedge looked out at the station
and his squadron patrolling around it. And, miracle of mira-
cles, it looks like everyone is going to make it back home
again.

8

Corran knew that once again being in the cockpit of a fighter
should have made him happy, but it did not. He could find
no fault with the fighter nor with being given a patrol mis-
sion. He'd done enough of those to expect boredom, and yet
even that wasn't giving him a problem. Just to be flying again
was enough to override boredom.
    The fact was, he realized, that he was unhappy. Some-
thing was gnawing away at him inside. Something was
wrong, and there was no way he could ignore it. It created an
anxiety in him that was out of all proportion with what he
was doing. It felt as if he weren't involved in a patrol at all,
but in some other mission with a hidden agenda he knew
nothing about.
  "Nemesis One, report."
  "One is clear, Control."
    The voice coming through the comm unit betrayed no
hint of deception or urgency, but Corran couldn't shake the
sickening feeling that he was being manipulated. He had a
natural aversion to being used, and he could feel unseen
hands all over himself, pointing him in a certain direction,
for reasons he could not fathom. He was surprised to find




himself less resentful of their agenda--whatever it was--than
of being manipulated.
    I'm reasonable. I don't shy away from difficult tasks. I
do what I am asked to do, within reason. Didn't I do
that... ? His thoughts dead-ended as he realized he
couldn't summon up specifc memories to back up his argu-
ment. He knew he had performed many dangerous missions,
but he couldn't pinpoint them. His inability to do so
wouldn't have concerned him, and in fact almost did not,
except that he kept feeling like a hologram being processed
by someone else's computer.
    "Nemesis One, we have two contacts on the heading of
270 degrees. They are ten kilometers distant. They are hos-
tile. You are free to engage and terminate them."
    "As ordered." Corran punched up the data on the in-
coming ships and displayed it over his monitor. Two TIEs.
The starfighters inspired no fear in him, and he would have
viewed them with utter detachment except that a random
thought shot off through his brain.
    Two T1Es aren't nearly as deadly as a single Ty-cho. The
connection seemed entirely logical to Corran: the similar
sounds created a link. The fact that Tycho Celchu had been
an Imperial pilot who flew TIEs reinforced it. Corran knew
Tycho had betrayed Rogue Squadron, and Corran had been
determined to see him pay. If I weren't here, I'd be there,
taking care of Tycho.
    Before he could begin to wonder where there was, Con-
trol's voice came through the comlink again. "We have addi-
tional information on the incoming ships. Transmitting
now."
    The image on the monitor shifted from a TIE starfighter
to an X-wing. An additional line of data beneath the fighter's
image informed Corran the ship was flown by Captain T.
Celchu. A jolt of adrenaline pulsed through his body, then
slammed into his brain. He couldn't believe his luck--the
coincidence of being able to fly against Tycho and avenge
Rogue Squadron was incredible. And I will make the most
of it.
   Corran inverted the TIE Interceptor he flew and dove.

The X-wings started to come after him, vectoring in on his
belly, so he inverted again, then pulled through a climbing
loop to starboard. He soared as the X-wings dove, neither
side wasting laser energy when the chances of hitting were so
small. Corran kept tightening the loop into a spiral that em-
phasized the squint's greater maneuverability, then streaked
away to underscore its superior speed as well.
    A light flicked on within the head's-up display, indicat-
ing one of the X-wings was trying for a proton torpedo tar-
get lock, but a quick climb, roll, and twisting dive broke the
lock and brought Corran out on a vector toward Tycho's
X-wing. Corran sideslipped the Interceptor to starboard,
then rolled up on the left wing and climbed in toward Tycho.
He flipped his lasers from quad- to dual-fire, assuming he'd
have to use multiple shots in multiple passes to bring Tycho
down. He led the X-wing, anticipating Tycho's break, then
hastily snapped off a shot that splashed energy over Tycho's
shields as the Interceptor overshot its target.
    No reaction. That isn't like Tycho at all. Corran rolled
up on the right stabilizer, climbed into a loop, then rolled
over and out to port. Another inversion took him into a dive,
but his scanners showed the X-wings hadn't stayed with him
past the first maneuver, much less through the second.
    Corran shivered. Tbey're bandling like TIE starfighters,
not like X-wings, and tbe pilot flying tbat first one isn't
Tycbo. He switched his targeting computer over to the sec-
ond ship and saw that X-wing was listed as being flown by
Kittan Loor. An immediate desire to rape that ship filled
him, but it did not deflect him from thinking. In fact, the
vehemence of his feelings about Loor swept him past the fact
that Loor and Tycho had been in collusion on Coruscant.
    It carried him far enough that he recalled Loor didn't
know how to fly any space ships at all, much less starfighters.
    Loor can't be tbere. Tbe chance that Tycbo and Loor
would show up where I couM attack and kill them is unbe-
lievable. Whereas before he had taken great delight in the
coincidence, now it became evidence that he was being
manipulated. The !ink between a TIE and Tycho had been
made in his mind before Tycho showed up as a pilot. While




he knew inferring causality from that relationship was not
strictly logical, his being manipulated meant it was more
than possible.
    Tycho is an enemy, so he was placed in one fighter. An-
other enemy was plucked from a list of my enemies and
placed in the second fighter. More anger flared through Cor-
ran and battered aside the blockages in his brain that had
kept him thinking of nothing outside the cockpit. The appar-
ent insertion of personal enemies into his situation told Cor-
ran two things. First off, I'm in a simulator, and second,
someone knows enough about me to know who my enemies
are. Pitting me against my enemies gives me some wish ful-
fillment, which is a good thing. It rewards behavior, but I
have to ask myself, is flying an Interceptor against X-wings
behavior for which I want to be rewarded?
    His stomach shrank and hardened into a rock that
threatened to explode volcanically. I'm flying an Imp ship
against Rebels. I don't want to do that. Corran immediately
realized that only his enemies--the remnants of the Empire--
would want him to feel good about attacking Rebels, yet few
Imps would take the time or make the effort to manipulate
him that way. Some would imprison him and the rest would
just kill him.
   Except one.
   Ysanne Isard.
    Injecting her into the jumble of thoughts bouncing
around his brain immediately started to impose order on his
mind. She was known and feared for her ability to warp
Rebels and turn them against friends and family. She had
been successful with Tycho Celchu, and he was not the only
success story to come out of her Lusankya prison. Her al-
tered agents had wrought havoc among the Emperor's ene-
mies, and his death had done nothing to cause Iceheart to
curtail her operations.
    The fog in Corran's brain began to evaporate. He re-
membered having met Isard after his capture. She'd vowed to
transform him into a tool of the Emperor's vengeance. This
simulator run--and the one before it---clearly was designed
to get him to attack Rebel symbols. Subsequent sessions

would further crush his resistance, training him to greater
and greater levels of efficiency while turning him against ev-
eryone he knew, loved, and respected.
    She would make me over into the human equivalent of
the plague she unleashed on Coruscant.
    Corran shook his head, then raised his hands from the
simulator's steering yoke and yanked his helmet off. Elec-
trodes taped to his head pulled away rather abruptly, taking
some hair with them, but he ignored the pain. The electrodes
fed my brain wave patterns to a computer. The patterns were
compared to data gathered from interrogations, so the com-
puter could recognize what I was thinking about and project
the proper clues into the simulation. Very good.
    He pulled the respiration mask from his face and let it
dangle against his chest. "This is Nemesis One. The game is
over. I won't betray my people."
    The star field on the screen in front of Corran vanished.
In its place he saw Ysanne Isard's head and shoulders. Her
mismatched eyes, the left one a fiery red and the right one an
ice blue, added venom to the woman's steely expression. Her
sharp, slender features might have made her seem beautiful
to some, but the fear her anger stabbed into his heart made
her more than ugly to Corran. Her long black hair had been
pulled back into a ponytail, yet she had let her white temple-
locks remain unbound as if that girlish affectation would
somehow soften her image.
    "You are under the impression, Corran Horn, that this
little victory is significant and hampers my efforts in some
way. It does not." An eyebrow arched over her arctic eye.
"You worked with the Corellian Security Force, so you can
understand how powerful certain interrogation techniques
can be. What you have endured so far is little more than
testing."
   "And I passed."
    "From your perspective that might seem true." Her eyes
sharpened. "From mine it merely means you have reclassified
yourself. You will require more time than others I have
worked with in the past, but here at Lusankya, time is abun-
dant."




    Corran shrugged. "Good, then I'll have abundant time
to plan my escape."
    "I doubt it." She sighed as if what she was about to say
hurt her in some way. "Were you easy to train, you would
find your stay here pleasant. As you are difficult, the next
step is for me to determine if you know anything I consider
valuable. Unfortunately this means sifting through a lot of
things I don't want to know. I hope your life has been inter-
esting, because my technicians have been known to resort to
cruelty when they are bored."
"They'll learn nothing from me."
lsard frowned. "Please, Horn, skip the bluster. We will
start with a level four narco-interrogation and work our way
down to level one if we must. You know you'll tell us what-
ever we want to know."
    Sheer terror froze the lump in Corran's stomach solid.
With a level four interrogation session he'd be remembering
things his mother had forgotten while she was carrying him
in her womb. ! will have no secrets. Hundreds of images
flitted through his mind as he sorted valuable memories from
the casual ones.
    This process, while agonizing, also brought a smile to
his face. Gil Bastra, the man who had created a series of
identities for Corran to use after he fled from CoreIlia, had
made sure the identities took Corran out into the outlier
worlds. From Loor they know everything about my days
with CorSec. Thanks to Gil there's very little valuable infor-
mation I can give her. I was out of circulation until I joined
Rogue Squadron, and I don't know enough about the Rebel-
lion to hurt it.
    "I see your smile, Horn. You may feel bold enough to
smile now, but things will change." Isard herself smiled, and
Corran found it a most forbidding thing. "When we are fin-
ished with you, smiles will be but a memory, and a painful
one at that."

9

Wedge laughed aloud, telling himself he was laughing at the
irony of feeling nervous, not because of being nervous. Here
he was, a celebrated hero and the sole survivor of both Death
Star runs, conqueror of Cornscant and leader of the most
feared fighter squadron in the galaxy, and at leila Wessiri's
door he felt nervous. Enough ice water ran in his veins, so the
rumors went, to replenish Coruscant's polar caps, yet he
found himself clearing his voice and hesitating before he
pushed the buzzer button at her door.
    On the way over from squadron headquarters he had
convinced himself he wasn't going to be asking her out on a
date, really. He'd spent the previous hour being harangued
by Erisi Dlarit concerning the Vratix terrorist and his where-
abouts after the raid on Warlord Zsinj's bacta store. He'd
done his best, over and over again, to explain to her that he
had no reports about the Thyferran native, but promised to
pass notice of her interest up to General Cracken. That really
was all he could do, but Erisi took a lot of convincing on that
point.
    The experience had been draining. There had been mo-
ments when he considered just cutting her off and ordering
her out of his office, but he could tell her concern about the




Vratix was based on her conviction that the insectoid crea-
ture was a terrorist and a potential hazard to anyone who
came in contact with it. He thought Erisi's reaction might
have been born from her frustration at not having been able
to do anything to prevent Corran's death. By making the
terrorist her responsibility, she might prevent another trag-
edy, thereby atoning for her lack of action in Corran's case.
Wedge found her motive noble, but her insistence exhaust-
ing. Corran's death and the misery of millions on Coruscant
had everyone in the squadron worn thin, and being dismis-
sive of Erisi's concerns would not help the situation.
    Corran's death had likewise affected Iella deeply. She
had been Corran's partner in the Corellian Security Force
and had fled CoreIlia at the same time he had. Her flight had
brought her to Coruscant, where she joined up with the
Rebel underground. Her reunion with Corran had been a
joyous occasion. It had been easy for Wedge to see how they
complemented each other and must have worked well as a
team.
    Those qualities that made her well-suited to working
with Corran were qualities Wedge found attractive. She was
thoughtful and stable, yet possessed of a good sense of hu-
mor and a fierce loyalty to her friends and to justice. Unfor-
tunately, her loyalty made her most zealous in helping the
prosecution find evidence against Tycho Celchu, but she ap-
proached the search so openly that Wedge couldn't find fault
with her in doing her duty as she saw it.
    He pressed the door buzzer, then tugged at the cuffs of
his jacket sleeves. I'm not asking her out. I'm just here as a
friend visiting a friend. Wedge shook his head. For the past
ten years, since the death of his parents and through his
association with the Rebellion, he'd really given little
thought to romance and relationships. He'd certainly found
companionship with a number of Rebel women, but he'd not
found a single companion, a partner, the way Han Solo or
Tycho Celchu had. He couldn't explain why not, nor did he
let it bother him--the nature of the Rebellion and his assign-
ments meant planning for anything long-term was silly, and

avoiding relationships meant the chances of getting hurt
when the unspeakable happened were much less.
    He'd seen Leia over the time Han Solo had been encased
in carbonite. She had been driven almost to the point of
recklessness in her attempts to free her beloved. He laughed.
Entering Jabba's palace meant she was driven beyond reck-
lessness. While he envied Han Solo the passion with which
he was loved, he dreaded the idea of being plagued by the
pain Leia had known.
    The door to the apartment slid open and Wedge's ner-
vousness slackened when Iella smiled. "Wedge. This is a sur-
prise."
    "A pleasant one, I hope." He glanced down at his hands
for a moment, then back up into her brown eyes. "I should
have called before heading over, but I was going to get some-
thing to eat and I thought, well, I hate eating alone
and . . ."
    The brown-haired woman's smile widened for a mo-
ment and carried on up into her eyes, then shrank as if the
corners of her mouth had slammed into walls and were re-
bounding. "I think you'd better come in." She turned away
from the door, and he followed the lithe woman down a
short corridor to a modest-sized parlor. The door closed au-
tomatically behind him, cutting off the brightest source of
light and sinking the room into a grey gloom.
    The man sitting in the corner chair looked every bit as if
he were constructed from shadow-threads and slivers of
grey. The sharpness of his features accentuated the gauntness
of his frame. His shoulders and knees poked like knobs
against the grey fabric of the jumpsuit he wore. A few
strands of black hair wove through the white and grey
combed over his largely bald head but did nothing to dis-
guise the shape of the skull beneath it. In fact, were it not for
the spark of life burning in the man's brown eyes, Wedge
would have believed him to be a mummified worker resur-
rected from some tomb in the bowels of Coruscant.
    Iella folded her arms across her chest. "Commander
Wedge Antilles, this is Diric Wessiri. He is my husband."
Husband! Wedge covered his surprise by taking a step




forward and extended his right hand toward Diric. "My
pleasure, sir."
    Diric inclined his head forward and shook Wedge's hand
with a long-fingered grip that was firm and even strong,
though the strength faded quickly. "The honor is mine,
Commander. Your exploits bring glory to your world and
fellow Corellians."
  "Glory wasn't our goal, sir."
    "Nonetheless . . ." The man smiled, then let his hand
drop back toward his lap. "Forgive me, Commander. At an-
other point I would engage you in a lively discussion, but
now I am somewhat fatigued."   "I understand."
    Iella walked to her husband's side and gently rested a
hand on his shoulder. "The Imps caught Diric up in a sweep
about a year ago. They interrogated him, broke his identity,
then imprisoned him. Six months ago or so they set up a bio-
research project and made Diric part of the slave-labor force.
They only used humans because the lab produced what we
know to be the Krytos virus." She gave his shoulder a
squeeze. "General Cracken's people had Diric in quarantine,
then debriefed him. I only learned he was alive when they
brought him here four hours ago."
"I should be going, then, and leave you two alone."
"No." The old man raised his right hand and gently
patted Iella's hand. "I have long been among Imperials and
other slaves. It is good to have normal people here to ease me
back."
    Wedge coughed lightly into his hand. "I don't think
you'll find my life normal at all."
   lella laughed politely. "Nor mine."
    "How fortunate. Normal can be quite boring." Diric's
head came up and he fixed Wedge with a steady stare. "And I
want you to know, Commander, if anything has happened
between you and my wife, I bear neither of you malice. I
have been dead for a year. While 1 dreamed of being alive
again, I do not bear a grudge against those who lived while I
was dead."
   Wedge held a hand up. "First, no titles."

    "Where they kept me, we joked that titles were for when
we were once again people. I use it to remind me I am again a
man. And I use it out of profound respect for what you have
done."
    "Don't. I'm just Wedge. Nothing I've done is the equal
of your enduring Imperial captivity, so titles don't apply
here. Second, Iella is intelligent, a wonder to work with, a joy
to be around, and above all else, loyal to her friends. In fact,
save one thing, she's just the sort of woman I could see my-
self growing old with. That one thing is this: she's married to
you. Her loyalty to you, her fidelity, has never been in ques-
tion. You are undoubtedly one of the luckiest men on this
planet."
    As he spoke, his mind raced on through thoughts and
dreams of what he might have had with Iella had Diric not
reappeared. It seemed as if the life they would never share
was flashing before his eyes even as his words killed it. The
romantic in him just wanted to hold onto how wonderful it
would have been, but the pragmatist knew from just looking
at Diric that things would have fallen apart in the end. Iella
had chosen Diric because he was a sanctuary. No matter
what her life held in store for her, he was someone who
would always be there to share her joys and ease her disap-
pointments. Wedge realized that he could not have given her
what Diric provided. It might have taken a long time for
their relationship to destroy itself, and they might have over-
come the difficulties, but Wedge knew he could never have
been as perfect a match for her as Diric was.
    Someday I'll find someone. Wedge smiled. When I'm
ready to settle down.
    Diric mirrored Wedge's smile and let his head sink back
contentedly against the chair's padding. "I am glad Iella
found friends as generous and honorable as you are, Wedge.
I do feel quite fortunate."
  "And I bet you're happy to be free."
    "Happy? Yes, though captivity wasn't as brutal as imag-
ined. They can only control your body, not your mind."
Diric shrugged slowly as if the effort were all but beyond his
ability. "I knew I would be free someday."




  "That's what Tycho says."
  "Who?"
    leila looked down at her husband. "The man who killed
Corran."
    "The man who is on trial for killing Corran," Wedge
corrected her. "Your wife is working with the prosecution
team."
    "Working to find the truth, mind you." Iella gave Wedge
a frank glare. "There's ample evidence to bind him over for
trial and to convict him."
    "And blasted little uncovered, st) far, to acquit him."
Wedge held his hands up. "However, discussing that case
was not my purpose for conling over here."
    Diric's bushy brows met over the bridge of his hooked
nose. "You think this Tycho is innocent?"
    "I know it. Tycho Celchu is as much a victim of the
Empire as you were."
    Iella gave Diric's hand a gentle squeeze. "Tycho was
once captured by the Imps. He's been working for them since
his supposed escape, though Wedge would tell you he's been
neatly framed."
    Diric looked up at her. "And you know Wedge is
wrong?"
    Her immediate response died in a moment of open-
mouthed hesitation. Iella's gaze flicked up at Wedge, then
back down again. "We have found a lot to indicate Captain
Celchu was an Imperial agent of extreme resourcefulness."
    "But there are gaps in the evidence." Wedge smiled
slowly. "Everything that condemns Tycho is available, but
those things that would acquit him have vanished. Given the
timing, the only force that could provide with one hand and
take away with the other is the Empire."
    Diric disengaged his hand from lella's and pressed it,
fingertip to fingertip, against the other hand. "This Tycho
must be something to earn such loyalty from you."
   "I feel about Tycho what Iella feels about Corran."
   "Hence the impasse between us."
    "Impasse, indeed. Still, Captain Celchu sounds fascinat-
ing." Diric's voice became wistful and Iella straightened up.

   "Don't even think it, Diric."
   Wedge raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter?"
    Anger creased Ietta's brow and put snap into her voice.
"He's going to meddle."
    The older man wheezed out a laugh and punctuated it
with a wet cough. "Meddle, is it? You see, Wedge, my voca-
tion in life is to seek out people who fascinate me. I study
them. I try to understand them. I share what understanding I
have with others."
    Iella's brown eyes narrowed. "On CoreIlia he found a
defendant in a case fascinating. He got to know her and
decided she was innocent."   "Was she?"
   Diric nodded solemnly.
    "He kept after Corran and me, constantly asking us lit-
tle questions that forced us to look beyond the scope of our
investigation. She had been framed, but we got the guys who
were responsible in the end." She frowned at her husband.
"That was a different case, it wasn't on Coruscant, and you
weren't weak as an Ewok cub at the time. You need to re-
COVCF."
   "I will, dearest."
    Wedge smiled as he heard all manner of meaning in
those words. Iella's sigh meant she heard at least some of
them and knew nothing short of house arrest would keep
Diric from meeting Tycho. Diric will make sure leila doesn't
let her desire to avenge Corran stop short of discovering the
truth of what caused his death. "Having a hobby will likely
speed your recovery."
   "A hobby, very good."
    "This man's hobby is going to be my nightmare." Iella
shook her head. "Antilles, didn't you say something about
food when you arrived here?"
    "I did indeed." Wedge jerked a thumb up toward the
ceiling. "There is an lthorian tapcaf about thirty levels up
that is supposed to offer some fairly exotic vegetable matter
and then . . ." He stopped as a tone sounded from the com-
link clipped to the collar of his jacket. "Hang on a second."




    He pulled the comlink free and flicked it on. "Antilles,
go ahead."
   "Wedge, it's Mirax."
    "Finally awake?" Wedge nodded toward Iella. "It's
Mirax."
   "Ask her if she wants to join us for food."
    "Will do. Mirax, I'm at Iella's apartment. She wants to
know . . ."
    "I heard, but it'll have to be another time." Mirax's tone
dripped seriousness. "I have a problem. It's on the Skate, and
I need you to get down here. Just you."
    Wedge frowned. Those fliers for Zsinj should have been
taken into custody a long time ago. "How bad is it? Are your
riders back and causing trouble?"
       "No, no, not that. That I could handle." Mirax sighed.
"Look, you know I usually haul rare items for folks, right?"
   "Right."
    "Well, at the station I picked up something that's very
rare, and as near as I can tell, if I don't get rid of it in the
right way, the New Republic will shake itself apart and a
scant few people will be alive to start rebuilding the future."

l0

Gavin Darklighter felt his gorge rising as the miasmal stench
from the darkened hovel stabbed through his nostrils and
into his brain. He reeled away from the doorway and fell to
his knees, puking up what felt like every last bit of food he'd
eaten since his return to Cornscant. His stomach muscles
clenched again and again, wringing his guts empty, but doing
nothing to soothe the prickly sensation in the back of his
throat that prompted him to heave once more.
    A piercing wail from a female Gamorrean drilled
through his skull and reminded him where he was and why
he was there. Gavin coughed once and spat, then croaked a
command to the black M-3PO droid behind him. "Emtrey,
don't let them go in there. Tell her I'll do all I can."
    Gavin wiped his mouth with his hand, then weakly
crawled up the hovel's exterior wall. He pressed his back
against the ferrocrete and slowly straightened up. He
coughed again and his body tried to make him heave yet
again, but he clenched his jaw and refused to vomit. Never
seen one that bad before. Though he hoped he never would
again see such a case, he knew that was one hope that had no
chance of becoming reality.
  The M-3PO droid succeeded in guiding the Gamorrean




female and her tusky children to the other side of the walk-
way, then turned back toward Gavin. The droid's nonstan-
dard clamshell head--a refit from a spaceport control
droid--canted slightly to the left. "Is there anything I can do
for you, Master Darklighter?"
    "I'11 be fine in a minute, Emtrey. Just keep them back."
Gavin again spat, trying to rid his mouth of the sour taste.
"Ask her when she last heard from her husband."
    The protocol droid swiveled his head around and
grunted the question out to the Gamorrean female. She re-
plied in subdued and broken tones, which Emtrey translated
for Gavin. "She says she and the children had been visiting
kin elsewhere. The last time she spoke to her husband it was
by comlink. He had sniffles, but was not alarmed. I'm gath-
ering, from the words she's using, sir, that there was some
domestic discord, which is why a lapse in communication
would not be surprising."
   "Got it, Emtrey. How long was she gone from here?"
    "A standard month, sir--she left well before the libera-
tion."
    Gavin nodded. A month meant the chances she'd been
infected by her husband were nil--if she had been, she'd
already be showing signs of the Krytos virus. "Tell her to get
to a bacta center for evaluation. She doesn't want the kids
sick."
    "I've told her, sir. She wants to know if Tolra will re-
cover."
    Gavin sighed and pushed himself away from the wall.
"Tell her he's very sick. The prognosis is not good, but we
will do what we can. Then call Asyr and tell her we'll need a
clean team here." He forced himself to smile. "And, Emtrey,
tell Tolra's wife she did the right thing. Tolra was brave and
smart, and together they saved many people."
    The words rang hollow in his ears, but he knew they
would not in hers. What he said was correct: when the
Gamorrean in the hovel recognized how sick he had become,
he sealed his home's entrances and scrambled the lock-codes,
preventing anyone else from getting in and becoming in-
fected. In that he had indeed saved many lives.

    Except for his own. Gavin forced his fists to unclench.
Had the Gamorrean used his comlink to summon medical
help, he might have been saved. That he was lucid enough to
entomb himself meant that he was not so far gone that bacta
therapy couldn't have helped him. He needn't have become
what Gavin had seen in shadows.
    The pilot realized the blame lay not entirely with the
Gamorrean himself. The black-market price for bacta was
astronomical, so far out of reach for the average citizens that
they could not imagine there was any bacta available for
them. Those who did summon help, or had it summoned for
them, were often so far gone that no therapy could help, so
they never returned. As a result, other citizens saw the
medivac units as thinly disguised extermination units that
took the sick away and destroyed them.   Ignorance is killing these people.
    Gavin forced himself to step forward and reenter the
Gamorrean's hovel. The fetid stink returned to his nose and
found accompaniment in the horrible sights and sounds that
greeted him. The single-room hovel itself was scarcely larger
than his own room in the squadron headquarters--and he
found that a bit cramped for one. It had two doors--the one
he'd opened using a lock-descrambling unit and a back door.
A heating plate and water spigot to the left of the doorway
marked the extent of the dwelling's kitchen facilities. The
refresher station stood farther along that wall, in the corner.
    Spattered blood covered all of it, sprayed along the
floor, up the walls, and across the ceiling. It had dried and
taken on a black hue, making the room look as if a shadow
had exploded. The explosion's epicenter lay in the back cor-
ner, on a raised black platform that glistened in what little
light made it in past Gavin.
    A wet, gurgling sound pulsed arhythmically from that
corner. On the platform, restrained by bedding twisted about
him while in the throes of agony, the mortal shell of the
Gamorrean named Tolra somehow clung to life. Gavin could
see where the flesh had split, allowing leg and arm bones to
protrude. The skin itself had thinned to a green-grey translu-
cency and hung in ragged ribbons from ribs and fingers.




    The Gamorrean seemed to sense Gavin's presence, be-
cause he turned to look at him. With a thick sucking sound,
like cold grease being slathered over machine gears, the skull
turned toward him while the fleshy sac encompassing it did
not. The Gamorrean's horns and tusks gashed his own skin,
then the thick muscles on the creature's neck snapped, leav-
ing the massive skull to 1oll unnaturally in a puddle of vis-
cous tissue.
    A chill settled over Gavin. Though he knew Tolra was
dead and that the disease had long since eaten away any
trace of sapience, he nodded toward the Gamorrean. "You
saved them. You did it. May the Force be with you."
    Shivering, he turned and walked from the room. He sat
down outside and stripped the filmplast covering off his
boots, then tossed them back through the darkened door-
way. He didn't bother to look up when a shadow fell over
him. "He's dead."
    Asyr crouched down beside him. "The clean team will
get here shortly. Are you all right?"
       Gavin thought a moment before he answered. "I will be,
and I think that scares me."   "No reason it should."
    "I think there is." He jerked a thumb toward the hovel.
"There is a Gamorrean in there who has been turned into a
mass of jelly. The disease killed him, but it did so in a way
that didn't let him die until he could experience every frag-
ment of pain possible. There's nothing left to him, but he was
still breathing when I went in there. He was so tough, he
probably lasted longer than a week in the end stages of the
disease."
    The Bothan stroked Gavin's cheek. "He fought the dis-
ease. That's good."
    "Sure, but the fact that we can find something noble in
this seems twisted." He shook his head. 'Tve seen more
death in my time with Rogue Squadron than I have ever seen
before, but nothing was so hideous as this. A year ago !
would have run screaming. Now I just clean my boots and
wait for guys with sterilizer units to show up. I'm changing
and I'm not sure I like it."

    Asyr smiled gently at him. "It's called maturing, Gavin,
and not everyone likes it. Now me, I think you're maturing
very well."
    Gavin half-coughed a laugh. "Thanks, but I still have to
wonder if it's right that we can see something like that and
just continue on."
    "We continue on, my dear, because we must." Asyr's
voice developed an edge. "The Gamorrean, he summoned up
the strength to lock others out and protect them. That was
good. You and I, though, have a different mission. This dis-
ease doesn't appear to affect our species, so we have volun-
teered to help out during this public health crisis, but that is
not our primary purpose here. Our mission is to fly our
X-wings, to locate and destroy the kind of monsters who
would do this kind of thing to others. Doing that requires all
the maturity we can muster."
    "I know." He rubbed a hand along her spine, then
looked over to where Emtrey was conversing with an Emdee-
oh and two men carrying portable plasma-incinerator units.
The droid would take samples; then the men would burn
everything in the hovel, including the first five millimeters of
ferrocrete, to a white ash that would be vacuumed up and
disposed of safely.
    Gavin let Asyr help him to his feet. "You're right, of
course. I hope we can accomplish our mission. If we don't,
I'm afraid we'll have to take Coruscant down to bedrock,
and I don't think even that will erase the scourge of the
Empire from the galaxy."

I think even stormtroopers would find my men terrifyingly
efficient. From the dark security of the grav-car's interior,
Kirtan Loor watched as four Special Intelligence operatives
clad in civilian garb approached the building's door. As huge
and imposing as they were, they moved with a lethal fluidity
their armor normally hid. Almost casually, one of them
placed a thermite boring charge on the door lock and set it,
then accepted a blaster carbine from a compatriot and flat-
tened himself against the building's wall.




    A red light blinked three times on the thermite charge,
then a smoke-shrouded gout of white fire burst to hissing
life. The harsh light transformed the shadowed Imperial Cen-
ter street into a chiaroscuro landscape burned clean of imper-
fections but still full of menace. One of the operatives
punched a hooked prybar through the center of the fire and
yanked the door open, then his three compatriots dashed
through.
    The blue backlight of stun-fire strobed momentarily
through the doorway and gaps in the window shading. Loor
waited for a moment, then saw two more flashes. A human
figure appeared in the doorway and nodded in his direction,
then retreated into the shadows of the building's interior.
    Loor opened the grav-car's door and emerged. He gath-
ered a cloak about himself and pulled the hood up to conceal
his face from incidental observation. He strode forward pur-
posefully, but he imagined himself a pale imitation of Darth
Vader. Tall and skeletally slender, with dark hair, he had
been told he resembled a young Grand Moff Tarkin. While
that comparison had been one he had used to his advantage,
he would have preferred to inspire Vaderian terror in those
with whom he dealt.
    He squeezed past the two operatives at the doorway and
stepped over the drooling Ithorian lying in the center of the
antechamber. Beyond it, through a short corridor and past a
third operative, he arrived in a room that resembled a rodent
nest more than it did a human dwelling. It stank of mildew
and old, musty sweat, though the occupant's new terror
added piquant elements to the room's stale bouquet.
    Loor looked down at the small, balding man pinned to
the stained mattress by the muzzle of a blaster. "Your sur-
roundings are so miserable, I am almost moved to pity you,
Nartlo, but then, pity is wasted on the dead, isn't it?"
    "What are you talking about?" The man's brown eyes
bulged with terror. "I don't know you. What did I do?"
    "True, you do not know me, but you have brokered
some cure for friends of mine. It has been selling at a high
price, but they tell me that you have told them the market
has crashed. At the same time they noted that the supply of

cure you returned to them had gone from 95 percent purity
to 75 percent purity." Loor shook his head slowly, mourn-
fully. "My friends feel you have lied to and cheated them."
    "No, no, I didn't do that." Nartlo tried to claw his way
into a sitting position, but the operative beside the makeshift
bed kept him rooted in one spot. "I drew off some of the
bacta as a sample, but a deal went bad and I lost it. I didn't
figure they'd believe I lost it, so I tried to cover up what I'd
done. I'm sorry."
    "And stupid if you expect me to believe a story that was
ancient when the Old Republic was born." Loor let anger
into his voice and won a groan from his victim. Because of
the surveillance he had on Nartlo, Loor did know that the
story was not wholly false. Some of the bacta had been lost
when a deal went sour, but only some. The rest of the miss-
ing cure had been donated to an alien pleasure house for the
employees' own use. Nartlo had spent a week basking in
their considerable gratitude. "Tell me we won't find a
Rodian concubine's sucker-marks on your back if we strip
off your shirt."
    Nartlo accompanied his curling up into a fetal ball with
a low moan. "I owed some favors."
    "You gained some favors, more than you owed." Loor
took a step closer to the bed, forcing Nartlo to crane his neck
back to look up at him. "Now you owe me favors."
   "Anything you want, anything."
    "Good." Loor turned to the right and nodded at the
operative menacing the small man. The operative withdrew a
step and Nartlo coughed as the pressure eased on his rib
cage. "You told my friends that the market for cure had
crashed. Explain."
    "The Rebels picked up a lot of cure. I don't know when
or where, but it was recent and was really very quiet. Rogue
Squadron was involved, though, I know that much. I've been
selling some of your cure to people who do business with
people who work for people in the Provisional Council, see.
They've been buying to be able to keep themselves and their
supporters healthy--no matter the plague doesn't seem to
affect them."




    Loor smiled within the dark sanctum of his hood. The
New Republic government had put into place programs that
were designed to be fair to the victims of the Krytos virus.
The scarcity of bacta meant virtually all of the public supply
went to individuals who were infected, with the goal being to
save their lives. By curing them, public health officials could
limit the spread of the disease. Others, mostly those from
uninfected populations, argued that a prophylactic use of
bacta to prevent the spread to new populations would be
best. Public health officials argued that there was no proof
pre-exposure bacta therapy could prevent someone from be-
coming infected with the virus, but that did nothing to stem
the desire to get bacta and use it as preventative medicine.
    Nartlo swiped at spittle recking the corners of his
mouth. "Seems there's going to be enough now so the provos
think they won't need their own supply."
    Loor frowned. "Impossible. It would take a decade of
bacta cartel production to satisfy the demand here."
    "Could be, sir, could be, but right now the word is out
that the New Republic's government has things under con-
trol."
    "It's a lie, of course, but a good one." Loor slowly sank
down onto his haunches, letting his cloak pool around him.
"You believe this bacta supply exists?"
   "I think some does, sir, yes, sir."
   "You will learn about it. All about it."
    Nartlo's eyes grew large again. "I don't know as I can,
sir. Security is tight."
    "You owe me, little man." Loor's growl cowed Nartlo.
"You will go to your contacts and this time offer to buy cure
at a good price."
  "What if they don't want to sell?"
    "Tell them that they will find exposure of their previous
black market bacta dealings rather painful and embarrass-
ing. If that is insufficient, perhaps making an example of one
or more of them would be persuasive. I can and will do
that." Loor nodded toward the operative to his right. "Blast-
ers have more than just a stun setting on them, you know."

    Nartlo licked at dry lips with a dry tongue. "Yes, sir, I
know."
    "Good. I want to know how much they have, how long
they think their supply will last. I need to estimate when the
price will climb again."
   "I can understand that, sir."
    And with that information I can begin to project how
large a facility they would need to store it and how best to
destroy it. Loor began to smile. I could even just spread the
rumor that they have more than enough bacta to cure every-
one, then reveal the true amount they have in their stores.
The gap between what is hoped for and what is real should
create a lot of unrest. That is a suitable fall-back plan, and
one which I can pursue while seeking out and destroying the
containment facility.
    "And, Nartlo, you will try to find out whatever you can
about their storage, transport, and distribution network. If I
do go buying more bacta as a hedge against shortage, I
would prefer to go directly to the source. I would like to cut
out the middlemen, no offense intended."   "No, sir, none taken."
    "Good, good. I'm glad we understand each other." Loor
straightened up again. "I will be interested in hearing what
you can find out."
  Nartlo nodded enthusiastically. "You can count on me."
  "I am counting on you. See to it that you do not fail
me."
      "Yes, sir." The small man shivered. "But, sir, I was won-
dering . . ."  "Yes?"
  "How do I . . ."
      Loor laughed in as sinister a manner as he could man-
age. "We will find you. Have something for me in two days."
   "But that's not enough time."
    "But it is all the time you have, Nartlo." Loor turned
and swept from the room. The operatives crowded behind
him and the two at the door preceded him to his grav-car.
Loor climbed into the back, one of them got behind the con-




trols, and the other three disappeared into the night.
"Drive."
    Inertial forces pushed Loor back into the car's plush
upholstery. He began composing the report he would send
off to Ysanne Isard. The fact that the Rebellion had gotten its
hands on a new supply of bacta would not please her. She
had wanted the demand for bacta to bankrupt the Rebellion,
but Rogue Squadron's capture of more bacta meant it was
not nearly as pricey for the Rebels as Iceheart desired. The
only way to counteract that bit of luck was to locate and
destroy the bacta store, which was exactly what he intended
to do.
    The problem is that no matter how quickly I resolve this
matter, it will not be quick enough for her. It occurred to him
that her messages to him suffered little reduction in their
venom, despite having to be recorded and transmitted in-
stead of being delivered in person. He would have thought
that the distance between them would have insulated him
from her criticisms, but it had not. She seemed to have a
preternatural ability to point up to him errors he had made,
no matter how slight, and that kept him constantly off bal-
ance.
    He realized that if he told her he was having some of his
people train for a strike on the bacta facility before he knew
what that mission would take, she would point out that he
was wasting time and resources. He decided he would put
men into training for smaller missions that could serve as
diversions or that would, at the very least, provide the train-
ing framework upon which the bacta strike mission could be
built. Iceheart might maintain that he was wasting resources
that could be better used to locate the bacta facility in the
first place. But trying to argue that stormtroopers could be
used as spies was not the sort of blunder Isard would make.
    The gray-car broke free of sub-urban roadway and shot
up into the night sky. Countless towers flashed past, each lit
as brilliantly as the fire of the thermite charge, but not nearly
as harshly. tte wondered how many of the people and aliens
living in those towers were rejoicing over the secret word

that their worries about the Krytos virus would soon be over.
Many. Too many.
    Loor let his own laughter become a parody of the sound
he imagined echoing through those towers. It struck him that
laughter and sobbing were really not that different, and de-
cided that he would do his best to see to it that others gained
first-hand knowledge of this insight.
  Before they die of the virus for which I will destroy the
cure.




Admiral Ackbar sat back in his Council chair and tried to
pull serenity from the cool mist drifting down over him.
Grand Moff Tarkin, in one of his more expansive moods,
had once described politics to him as "soft warfare, the ele-
gant duel of lightsabers instead of the thunder of turbo-
lasers." Tarkin, with that description, had given no evidence
of finding political fights frustrating because of the posturing
and the treacherous riptide shifts of allegiances.
    Or the inability to come to grips with problems in a
direct manner. Ackbar had endured more reports on
microeconomic fluctuations on planets he'd never heard of
than any sapient creature could be expected to stand in one
lifetime. Slowly, in working through the reports, Borsk
Fey'lya and Sian Tevv were moving toward the matter that
had been bruited about on the Provisional Council's staff
level.
    Glancing over at the Bothan councilor, Ackbar could see
a feral gleam in Fey'lya's violet eyes. The Botharis thrive on
this soft warfare. Ackbar had already recognized in Fey'lya a
drive to lead or, when he had been outmaneuvered, a desire
to vault out in front to where the leaders stood so he was
placed among them. Ackbar had seen similar tactics among

warriors who sought promotion, but true warfare tended to
deal with such ambition in a most lethal fashion.
    Mon Mothma nodded toward the Elom councilor.
"Thank you, Verrinnefra, for bringing us up to date on the
economies of our newest worlds. Next on the agenda is the
matter of bacta. Borsk, you have a point to make?"
    The cream-furred Bothan stood opposite Ackbar. "The
recent mission which has liberated a supply of bacta and
brought it here to Coruscant is, of course, a great victory for
us and a great boon to the people here. For that we owe
much thanks and praise to Admiral Ackbar and his staff.
Their success also brings with it some burdens, not the least
of which is the need to take precautions to prevent Warlord
Zsinj from exacting retribution from us."
    Ackbar leaned forward. "Forgive me the interruption,
Councilor Fey'lya, but it strikes me that you are asking us to
deal with the undertow before the wave has crested."
   "Excuse me?"
    Princess Leia smiled. "I believe the Admiral is pointing
out that the supply of bacta brings with it far more pressing
problems than a possible attack by Warlord Zsinj."
    "More correctly, Princess, I meant to say that because
an attack by Warlord Zsinj has always been possible, both
before and after our strike, there have long been plans in
place to deal with such. I am more than willing to review
those plans, but I think the core problem with bacta needs to
be addressed more quickly than the surface issue of Zsinj.
Trouble is a vast ocean, and for us, bacta distribution is the
issue lurking in the depths."
    The Bothan's fur rippled. "There is indeed much to dis-
cuss on the matter of bacta distribution. With the supply we
now have, I~ think it should be possible to create centers for
preventative therapy to stop the spread of the virus. My peo-
ple tell me that an hour's mist therapy per week should be
sufficient to destroy the virus before it has a chance to incu-
bate. Creating centers that would allow that much treatment
would go a long way toward quelling the fear that has
gripped this world."
  Leia frowned. "I've seen no such reports concerning mist




therapy. The review of the data we captured from General
Derricote's lab does not show evidence of any testing in that
regard. In fact, the only data the Imperials had on the Krytos
virus showed massive amounts of bacta would be required to
cure patients--having the effect of draining our supplies of
bacta. There is no reason to suppose creating the centers you
advocate would do anything but waste more bacta."
    "Ah, Leia, I would have expected more compassion
froin you." Fey'lya glanced down at her. "If it were humans
who were dropping dead of this plague, you would be the
first to advocate creation of these centers."
    Leia's dark eyes flashed coldly. "And you think I do not
support your plan because it would save non-humans?"
    "I would like to think better of you, but I know you
have various constituencies to worry about. Like Admiral
Ackbar, you would like to see some of the bacta reserved for
use by our military. I understand this, for saving the lives of
our valiant warriors is certainly commendable. I fear, how-
ever, your hedge against the unseen means there are count-
less individuals who might sicken and die and never get a
chance to enter the military and fight for their freedom."
    Doman Beruss raised a hand. "I think, Councilor
Fey'lya, you do Princess Leia and every other human member
of the Council a disservice by even hinting that opposition to
your plan is based on an anti-alien bias."
    "All, but even you are prey to it, Councilor Beruss. You
refer to us as 'alien' and the Princess called us 'non-human.'
Why are we defined by you and in comparison to you? Hu-
manity certainly has contributed much to the Rebellion, but
it did so because the Empire had done all it could to suppress
and subjugate the species it saw as harmful and aberrant.
Humans--being those who learned their trade at the hands
of our Imperial masters--were the only people capable of
taking a leadership role in the actual Rebellion. The rest of us
contributed as we could, and made great contributions--
contributions that led to the successful conclusion of tile ma-
jor campaigns in the Rebellion.
    "I do not accuse you of being wholly unfeeling, but I
think your perspective in this matter is colnpromised."

 Fey'lya smoothed the fur on the top of his head. "I believe
 the matter of bacta distribution is one that should be decided
 by those of us whose people are prey to the virus."
    Ackbar rose from his chair and slapped a hand against
the table top. "In that case, Councilor Fey'lya, you will also
be required to recuse yourself from any decisions in this mat-
ter."
   "What?"
    "There is no known case of any Bothan being afflicted
with the disease." I have no doubt Iceheart wanted you
Bothans to survive so you could help split the Alliance. "_ul-
lustans and Shistavanens have been infected, leaving open
the very real possibility that Wookiees could find themselves
susceptible to the virus. Quarren have died from it, leaving
the Mon Calamari population vulnerable. I have heard of no
Elom who have become ill, but Twi'lek, Gamorrean, and
Trandoshan populations have, so the possibility of the dis-
ease jumping to the Elom is not out of the question."
    The Bothan's fur rose on head and shoulders, but
Ackbar ignored the signs of Fey'lya's anger. "Moreover,
from a public health standpoint, your plan of therapy centers
is more of a risk than it is a help. The facilities you suggest
would call for vast numbers of people congregating ill an
environment where contact with infectious fluids is not diffi-
cult to imagine. And, even if there were studies to show bacta
mist did kill the virus, using it carelessly promotes the chance
of a bacta-resistant strain of the virus being passed among
people who believe they are being protected from it. If such a
strain does appear, we will be powerless to stop the plague
from destroying the galaxy."
    The Bothan kept his voice low. "What, pray do tell,
would you suggest, then?"
    "First and foremost, we secure the water supply. We
have evidence to suggest the virus was introduced into the
planetary water supply, and for all we know, there are pock-
ets of virus frozen in the glaciers just waiting to be melted
before they become virulent again. Second, we continue the
intensive therapy to control and cure those populations we
know are infected. It is important to note here, I think, that




human medtechs have been tireless in caring for victims of
the virus. Their immunity to the disease certainly means they
have less to fear than others, but that immunity in no way
makes it incumbent upon them to help out the way they
have."
    Ackbar held a hand up. "Third and final, we need to
deal with the black market. The rumors of a supply of bacta
arriving on Coruscant have depressed the prices, but esti-
mates of how much we got from Zsinj are grossly high.
When the truth comes out, prices will begin to rise, and sell-
ing off portions of the supply will become very attractive. If
we don't have our supply depleted through profiteering, we
stand a good chance of buying enough time to obtain more
bacta from Thyferra and solving our problem once and for
all. If not, we will find ourselves bankrupt and dying of the
virus."
    The Bothan opened his hands. "So you think we should
just continue to proceed in the manner in which we have
gone about things so far?"
    "No, by no means." Ackbar looked around the room
and then up at the misting system. "We argue here whether
bacta-mist therapy has any value, yet we have a system in-
stalled here to protect us. All of us, including the humans,
know affluent members of our populations have purchased
bacta on the black market to use in their own preventative
therapy. And, I have no doubt, people have come to you
since the news of our victory has leaked out, asking you to
procure bacta for them. While I know none of us would
agree to such a thing, the perception that we might, and that
there is special treatment for some selected folks going on, is
one that will heighten the panic our people are feeling."
    Sian Tevv sniffed. "This virus is more than panic,
Ackbar. It is real and deadly."
    "Agreed, but our actions make it deadlier still. If one
person believes there is no hope for himself, that there will be
no cure when he needs it, he might not seek treatment. A
day's delay not only can cost him his life, but can infect his
family and friends. The fact is that if we project the image

 that says the virus can and will be defeated, everyone will do
 what they can to defeat it."
    Leia smiled. "It's the same morale-building technique
that kept us going during the dark days after Derra IV and
Hoth."
    The black-furred Wookiee councilor's bark flowed into
a murmur, and Leia's gold protocol droid translated. "Am-
bassador Kerrithrarr suggests treating the virus as an enemy
against which everyone is enlisted. With discipline and direc-
tion the spread can be minirealized."
Ackbar nodded at the Wookiee. "An apt analogy."
Borsk Fey'lya's eyes narrowed. "A military model might
well be sufficient to deal with the virus, but do you suggest
we use it to curtail black market trading? Having storm-
troopers breaking into private homes to deprive people of
bacta supplies will hardly endear us to our people."
    Mon Mothma shook her head. "No such thing is advo-
cated. General Cracken is devoting a certain amount of his
energy to this problem, and is working to put the New Re-
public Security Force together. The NRSF will replace the old
Imperial Sector Ranger force, and is meant to be a law en-
forcement and counter-insurgency force. It will be some time
before the force will be ready to administer all that needs to
be dealt with here, but we have an offer for dealing with our
law enforcement needs in the interim."
Mon Mothma used her comlink. "Please send Vorru in."
Ackbar saw the hackles go up on Fey'lya and felt his
own flesh crawl. The doors to the chamber opened, and
through them walked a small human with a thick head of
white hair. From his size, which was not that big, even for a
human, he could have easily been dismissed as benign, yet a
warrior's instinct told Ackbar that was just an image Vorru
sought to project.
    He'd met the man once before, when Fliry Vorru, then
an Imperial Moff, had been a guest of Tarkin. The two men
were physical opposites, but so alike in temperament and
spirit that Ackbar had wished they would turn on each other
and destroy one another. That didn't happen, though cir-
cumstances soon conspired to get Vorru sentenced to Kessel,




where he had remained until he had been freed and returned
to Cornscant as part of the Rebel operation to take the
planet.
    Vorru looked up and Ackbar read pure cunning in his
dark eyes. "I thank you for seeing me, esteemed Councilors. I
thank you for my freedom. I find myself in a position to
repay the debt I owe you."
    Leia's head came up. "You don't consider your part in
the liberation of Cornscant to have canceled that debt?"
    "If the truth be told, Princess Leia, I do not." Vorru
stiflened formally, then bowed his head. "The liberation of
the planet would have been accomplished more smoothly
and efficiently if not for the treacherous behavior of one of
my lieutenants. While I did not know Zekka Thyne was
working for Imperial Intelligence agents, I must accept re-
sponsibility for his actions. In effect, the liberation proceeded
without my help, so my debt to you remains."
    A pained expression passed over his face. "You brought
me here in the hope that I could revive Black Sun and turn it
into a force that would aid the effort to take Cornscant from
the Empire. I did what I could, but the fact is that the Impe-
rial effort to expunge the remnants of Xizor's organization
were as ruthlessly efficient as only Darth Vader's vengeance
could be. What little of the leadership remained was de-
stroyed in internecine battling. When I arrived here there was
a paucity of leadership and an insufficient amount of time to
once again establish control over the various factions present
on Cornscant. Durga the Hutt and others resist unification,
so Black Sun is effectively dead."
    Ackbar sat back in his chair. "I would have expected
more regret in your voice at that pronouncement."
    Vorru shrugged. "Black Sun was Xizor's dream, not
mine."
    Fey'lya folded his arms across his chest and remained
standing. "And your dream is . . . ?"
    "Freedom, the same as your dream." Vorru smiled.
"The Empire treated criminals the same way it treated you
Rebels. With the Empire's grip broken, you Rebels have be-
come the New Republic and have gained legitimacy. The

criminals who have long been repressed by the Empire are
not all evil, but many have been trapped in a cycle of lawless-
ness precisely because they knew they could expect no mercy
from the Empire. While they were not Rebels, they were no
less victims of Imperial repression.
    "To bring things to the point quickly, we no longer wish
to be treated as criminals. We want a chance to gain legiti-
macy and lead normal lives. For this we realize we need to
offer you something of value, and so we shall. We know the
ways of the black market. We know how to disrupt it and
break it. We know the ways of criminals and how to disrupt
their activities. We know the underworld of Cornscant and
we know how to bring to justice those you want to punish."
    Doman Beruss stared at Vorru. "You want us to make
you the Commissioner of the Cornscant Constabulary?"
    "I do not think you that foolish, Doman Beruss. I knew
your father and mother and I know you cannot be easily
deceived." A smile came readily to Vorru's face--a smile
Ackbar did not trust. "What I want is for my people to be
allowed to administer the law in the underworld here. Your
Security Force will have more than enough to do with the
areas of Cornscant where you can project power. We already
have various off-world populations forming their own mili-
tias and civil defense corps, so why not tolerate a similar
force created out of my people?"
    Mon Mothma arched an eyebrow at Vorru. "Very few
others have as colorful a history as you do, Fliry Vorru."
    "But some of those who have equally notorious back-
grounds are continuing in service to the government, though
the leadership and philosophy have changed."
    Ackbar slowly nodded. The realities of governing a vast
panoply of worlds necessitated using the Imperial govern-
mental apparatus to maintain communication and order.
While a wholesale replacement of the bureaucracy would
have been ideal, the fact was that, just as the Rebel military
had relied on people with Imperial training, so the govern-
ment was being forced to rely on clerks and administrators
who had faithfully served the Empire until it fell. While most
of these people had an allegiance to their jobs and not to the




government, the tacit clemency granted to them in return for
continuing to work did not sit well with many of the Rebels.
    Fliry Vorru presented an interesting case. He had di-
rectly contributed to the winning of Coruscant. While he
underplayed his contribution, Vorru could easily have turned
Rogue Squadron over to the Imperials, preventing the Rebel
conquest of the planet. His support, despite the betrayal of
subordinates, had facilitated the Rebel victory, making him a
valuable ally.
    And his request of us is an ally's request for trust.
Ackbar half-closed his eyes. Vorru's request also made sense
from a purely pragmatic position. While Cracken's law en-
forcement organization would soon be functioning fully, it
would never have been as effective in the underworld as
Vorru would be. The Palpatine Counter-insurgency Front,
black marketeering, and a dozen other problems needed at-
tention on Coruscant, and yet Cracken still needed to attend
to intelligence matters involving Warlord Zsinj and Ysanne
Isard, wherever she was.
    Vorru' opened his hands. "The question I place before
you is this: will you grant me and my people the trust we
have earned?"
    Leia's eyes hardened. "The Empire was a common en-
emy we had between us, hence our alliance. In acting against
them you have earned trust, but I suspect you see the account
more fully than we do."
    "This is true, Leia, but Vorru's point is well taken."
Mon Mothma pressed her hands gently against the table top.
"The fight against the Empire is truly what bound the Alli-
ance together. We must build on that basic level of trust if we
expect the Republic to thrive. As long as Fliry Vorru's people
are willing to abide by the conduct standards we set for our
law enforcement and militia forces, they will remain within
the bounds of our trust. If they step outside those guidelines,
they will be outside their lawful duty and will be dealt with
in a suitable manner."
     "You will find me a most able and loyal servant in this
 matter, Mon Mothma."
   "So I trust, Fliry Vorru."

   "So we must all trust," Ackbar murmured.
    Something dark flashed through Vorru's eyes as he
turned toward the Mon Calamari. "I would have thought
you above veiled threats, Admiral Ackbar."
    "I am above them." Ackbar's mouth dropped open in a
Mon Calamari grin. "I merely meant that we must take your
word concerning your loyalty because your previous masters
are all dead, and the greatest of them through our efforts. If
you choose to read a threat in that set of facts, I cannot stop
you from doing so."
   "But if I get out of hand you will destroy me?"
    "You have earned trust." Ackbar leaned forward and
gave Vorru a wall-eyed stare. "Spend it unwisely and I will
do what I must to settle your account."




12

All the while in the back of the grav-cab, Wedge tried to
puzzle out what Mirax had found on the Pulsar Skate that
could threaten the Alliance. With anyone else Wedge would
have made an allowance for hyperbole, but Mirax had never
been prone to melodrama. In fact, she tends to see issues and
emergencies rather clearly.
    Wedge shivered. Once before the Ashern rebels of
Thyferra had inserted a virus into bacta shipments that in-
duced an allergy to bacta in those who were treated with it.
This, in effect, left them without treatment for a whole host
of ills. If Mirax possessed evidence that the batch of bacta
stolen from Zsinj had been similarly contaminated, not only
would it doom millions of people to die from the Krytos
virus, but the withdrawal of the bacta from the health ser-
vices system on Coruscant would spark riots that would kill
many more people.
    That would surely rip the Alliance apart. Non-humans
would say that the bacta was being hoarded for use by hu-
mans in case the Krytos virus jumped species and began to
kill them. Humans would also be blamed if non-humans
were hurt or killed by the contaminated bacta, and any at-
tempt to blame the contamination on the Ashern rebels

would be decried as false and part of a human conspiracy,
since it was well known that the Zaltin and Xucphra com-
bines were run by humans.
   Let it be anything else but bad bacta.
    Wedge had the droid flying the cab let him off three
blocks and two levels from the hangar where Mirax kept the
Pulsar Skate. While he wanted to get there as quickly as
possible, the urgency in her voice kindled a desire for caution
in him. He'd learned a lot from Mirax's father, Booster Ter-
rik, about the need for caution, especially at those times
when events seemed to be moving too fast to allow any de-
lay. Wedge regretted the lack of a sidearm, but he did have a
comlink and took a moment to preset it to the squadron's
emergency frequency.
    He forced himself to slow down as he wandered toward
the hangar. He stopped to look at the holographic displays
set in shop windows or to read the latest news as it sped past
on the omnipresent news-scrolls. With each stop he looked
around and tried to spot anyone paying over much attention
to his presence. He saw no signs he was being followed, but
took the added precaution of wandering into a tapcaf, going
out through the lower level, then coming back up and head-
ing to the hangar.
    At the door Wedge announced himself. The computer
got a good voiceprint match, then opened the door. Wedge
stepped through into the security lock area. After the door
closed behind him, another door in front of him opened up
and allowed him into the hangar itself.
    A smile slowly spread across his face as he looked at the
Pulsar Skate. The modified Baudo-class yacht had the overall
shape of a broad-bladed dagger. The twin engines at the aft
formed an abbreviated hilt. The broadest parts of the blade
curved down to form gentle wings that swept up to a
rounded prow. The ship very much did resemble the Corel-
lian deep-sea skate for which it was named. It had sailed
through a lot of parsecs between the time its hull was first
welded and its current presence on Coruscant.
    He quickly crossed the darkened hangar floor and made
his way up the loading ramp. At the top of the gangway he




nodded to Liat Tsayv. The Sullustan returned the nod with-
out comment, and raised the muzzle of his blaster carbine
enough so Wedge could pass unmenaced. The normally
voluble Sullustan's grim silence gave Wedge a measure of
how serious Mirax thought the situation was and filled him
with a sense of dread.
    He made his way past the galley and crew lounge to the
hold. The hatch stood open, and through it he could see
Mirax sitting on a duraplast crate. She looked well, though
she still wore her brown hair in a long braid that she doubled
up and fastened at the back of her head. She'd started wear-
ing her hair that way since Corran's death and Wedge re-
membered her having done the same thing when her father
had first been sent away to Kessel. That's Mirax being seri-
ous and remote, wailing her feelings off so she doesn't have
to deal with the pain.
    A single red light provided all the illumination for the
hold, yet it did little more than illuminate a two-meter-wide
globe within which Mirax sat. Everything else remained in
shadow, yet from the way Mirax looked out into the dark-
ness, Wedge could tell something alive lurked there.
    A cold chill shot down his spine, and all manner of irra-
tional thoughts exploded in his brain. He paused in the
hatchway and stared out into the blackness, trying to see
what captivated Mirax's attention. He thought he saw red
light glint off a rounded black dome, which he translated
into Darth Vader's helmet. No, he's dead. It can't be him
again.
    Wedge smiled at Mirax. "I'm here. How are you do-
ing?"
    "I'm holding it together, Wedge, really." Her tone
matched the hopeful nature of her words, giving Wedge rea-
son to feel slightly relieved. "Thanks for getting here so fast.
I don't know who else could help me with this, but it turns
out you were their choice anyway."
    Mirax gestured off into the darkest part of the hold.
"Wedge Antilles, this is Qlaern Hirf, a Vratix native of
Thyferra and a proud member of the Ashern Circle."
   "The honor is ours, Commander Antilles." The voice

 from the shadows came deep and deliberate. Wedge heard
 his name pronounced with respectful precision; the hard
 sounds--the C in Wedge's title and the t in his name--were
 slightly abbreviated, as if snapped instead of spoken. Ooryl
 Qrygg, the squadron's Gand, produced similar sounds when
 he spoke, though even bringing to mind the image of the
 exoskeletoned pilot did not fully prepare Wedge for his first
 sight of the Vratix.
    Qlaern moved from the shadows and into the circle of
light slowly and benignly. The insectoid creature's head fea-
tured two bulging compound eyes, and Wedge realized it was
light reflected from one of these that his imagination had
transformed into Vader's headgear. The Vratix's bent anten-
nae dangled over its triangular face, and its curved mandibles
remained pressed one against the other.
    The Vratix's stalk-like neck broadened into a cylindrical
thorax and abdomen. The first of three pairs of limbs, which
hung from the point where the neck joined the thorax, con-
sisted of two trifold arms that ended in three long, delicate
fingers and a thicker thumb, and sprouted stout hook-claws
from the middle arm segment. The second and third sets of
limbs were legs, yet they were mismatched. The middle legs
connected with the body below what would have been the
ribs on a human. Longer and far more powerfully built than
the other pair of legs, their configuration led Wedge to imag-
ine the Vratix capable of great leaps and savage kicks in
combat. The last pair of limbs were certainly more than ves-
tigial, serving as they did to keep the Vratix's abdomen from
dragging on the ground, but they reminded Wedge of little
more than the landing gear on an X-wing: useful to have
when you need them, but built to be tucked away when work
had to be done.
    The Vratix body appeared to have a uniformly grey
color to it, but Wedge put that down to the lack of light in
the hold. The claws on its forearms were black, but with
lighter flecks, which led Wedge to believe the black color was
cosmetically applied, not something native to the creature
itself.




    "I am pleased to meet you, Qlaern Hirf." Wedge smiled
and extended a hand toward the Vratix.
    Qlaern's hand came in toward Wedge's, then moved
past it and came up. The Vratix brushed its fingers over
Wedge's face. The creature's flesh, which Wedge expected to
be cold and hard like armor, was dry and warm. While he
could feel the solidity of the exoskeleton beneath it, the scaly
texture of the skin covering the Vratix somehow made the
creature seem less alien to Wedge.
    Mirax reached out and brushed a hand over the flesh of
Qlaern's right foreknee. "The Vratix find both sound and
vision to be deceptive senses. As Qlaern reports it, both sight
and sound are things that are of the past the moment you
perceive them. Only touch reports information that is con-
current with the gathering."
    "Interesting perspective." Wedge shifted his hand
around to grip the Vratix's arm above the curved spikes.
"Qlaern, you are the Ashern agent who tipped us to the
presence of the bacta that Zsinj had captured?"
    "We are responsible for that occurrence." Qlaern tilted
his head to the right and then the left. "We would have
preferred to transfer the bacta directly to you, but this was
not possible. Our affluence is not such that we could present
our gift in the manner we wished."
    Wedge frowned. "I am not certain I understand what
you are saying."
    Mirax scooted over on the crate. "Sit down, Wedge.
This gets complicated."
   Wedge sat beside her. "Am I going to like this?"
    "Parts of it, sure." Mirax smiled weakly at him. "At
least, I think you will."
    Qlaern spread his forelegs slightly to bring his face down
to their level. "You know of our world."
    "Some. Thyferra is a world in the Polith system, quite
temperate in nature and an excellent world for agriculture.
Thyferra is where bacta is produced and distributed by Zal-
tin and Xucphra, the two corporations that have a monopoly
on the bacta trade. The corporations are decidedly feudal in

nature, with humans de facto governing a world where the
Vratix are the majority."
       The Vratix's head bobbed on the end of its neck. "Good.
Not as much as she who is Mirax knows, but good."
   "Please, tell me what I do not know."
       "We have insufficient time for that, we think." Qlaern's
head craned back as a sibilant hiss issued from its mouth.
   Wedge looked at Mirax. "Sarcasm? A laugh?"
   "I think so."
    "Forgive us, but so many times we find humans say
things they do not mean."
"Ah, then tell me what you believe I need to know."
"Much better." The Vratix settled a hand on Wedge's
knee. "The healing properties of bacta were discovered dur-
ing the days of the Old Republic. It was apparent to all that
bacta was a miracle cure for many ailments and infirmities.
The corporations which now control Thyferra and bacta
made narrow profits, but made them on a wider range of
sales. They set up many satellite manufacturing centers, all
under license, all with Vratix verachen overseeing the final
processes no matter where they took place. The thought then
was to beat competition by producing better bacta for less
than anyone else could."
    "You mean there once was competition for the bacta
market?"
    "For more time than there has not been, but all of it
before you were born. The Clone Wars made one thing abun-
dantly clear--a supply of bacta could heal even the most
grievously wounded soldiers and render them receptive to
mechanical replacement limbs. This meant they could return
to combat, saving the military the cost of training new war-
riors. As a pilot you know how much expense goes into
training, so the saving is clear."
    "And I know many a pilot, myself included, who owes
his life to bacta therapy."
    "So it is." Qlaern nodded solemnly. "The Emperor de-
cided that the only group that should have a guaranteed
supply of bacta was his military. He systematically sup-




pressed small manufacturers of bacta in favor of Zaltin and
Xucphra. They realized greater profits by letting the market-
place set the price and utilized Imperial soldiers to wipe out
independent growers and to round up all the verachen to
return them to Thyferra."
    Wedge frowned. "Twice now you have used the word
'verachen.'"
    "We are verachen." Qlaern tapped his free hand against
his thorax. "Bacta is an organic product made through the
blending of alazhi with kavare. Kavam is itself a compound
made of other ingredients. Alazhi, because it is grown, comes
in various potencies depending upon location, soil content,
rainfall, and even spontaneous mutation. Verachen oversee
the proper combination of these components into the bacta.
Each lot has a minimum potency, but sometimes the bacta
will be most potent and work extremely well. Such is the
batch we have presented to you as our gift."
    "Gift?" Wedge placed his hand atop Qlaern's hand.
"Please do not think me dense, but there are some things you
say as if you expect me to already understand them."
   "Forgive us. We have been foolish."
    "That's partially my fault, Wedge." Mirax added her
hand to the pile on Wedge's knee. "The Vratix are not ex-
actly a hive mind, but there does appear to be surface
thought exchange among Vratix who spend a lot of time in
close proximity to one another. The reason 'verachen' is plu-
ral is that while Qlaern here might be the supervisor in
charge of a batch process, Qlaern will have subordinates
who act almost as remotes, reporting back and receiving or-
ders on a subsensory level of some sort. Qlaern may have
been under the impression. you and I similarly shared
thoughts."
   "So you know what he's talking about?"
    "I think so--and, actually, Qlaern is not a he per se. The
Vratix can both father and bear young, depending upon
stages in their life cycle, which I guess is rather long." She
inclined her head toward the Vratix. "When it speaks of the
Clone Wars, it's speaking from life experience."

    "Huh?" Wedge smiled. "So, will you clear up this gift
thing for me?"
   "Sure, if you don't mind, Qlaern."
   "We are grateful for your aid."
       Mirax drew in a deep breath. "The Vratix have made
you a gift of the bacta and all that entails."   "Why me?"
    Qlaern's antennae twitched. "Your fame has made you
known to us. You are known as a fair and wise man who
values loyalty. This we value as well."
    Wedge's eyes narrowed. "I appreciate that, but I still
don't understand. What's in this for the Vratix?"
    The Vratix inclined its head toward Mirax. "This you
must explain, for you will do it better than we will."
    Mirax nodded, then took another deep breath. "The
Vratix are giving this bacta to you because they want you,
Wedge Antilles, to represent them before the Provisional
Council. They want to join the New Republic."
    "What?" Wedge's surprise at being asked to represent
the Vratix immediately faded beneath a sense of disaster.
Thyferra was the sole supplier of bacta, but the world had
steadfastly remained neutral in the civil war. Everyone be-
lieved that this was so they could gouge both the Empire and
the Alliance, thus enriching themselves while the war raged.
To keep Thyferra happy, the Alliance had even inducted two
of its human residents--one from a Zaltin family and the
other from a Xucphra family--into Rogue Squadron. Bror
Jace, the pilot representing the Zaltin corporation, had been
killed fighting against the Empire. Erisi Dlarit, the other
Thyferran, still flew with the squadron, and viewed the
Ashern as murdering terrorist monsters.
    And there's the problem. If the New Republic granted
the Ashern any sort of status, the Thyferran government
would react harshly and swiftly. Any hope of getting bacta
from the cartel--no matter how successful Erisi's backdoor
efforts in that regard might be--would die quickly and horri-
bly. If the bacta supply dried up, the Krytos virus would
ravage Coruscant and, quite likely, spread to other worlds
and kill billions of individuals.


    If I refuse the request . . . then what? Wedge looked
up at Qlaern. "The bacta you made available to us, there's
nothing wrong with it, is there? We're not in a situation
where you have to mix something else in for it to be effective,
such that if I refuse your request, the bacta will be useless or
harmful, are we?"
    Qlaern's mandibles clicked open and shut again. "There
was once a case where verachen fouled a batch of bacta. Tile
reasons for that action were sound. The results of that action
were unacceptable. The Vratix ask for your help, but cannot
do so at the expense of your people. The bacta, it is a gift to
you. So is this verachen."   "What?"
    "We have come here to Coruscant because we know you
cannot jeopardize your people by taking up our cause. As
verachen we have ways and means to mix up more than just
bacta, or to make bacta more effective. We are here to learn
of this Krytos virus and to stop it."   "But this virus could kill you."
    Qlaern shrugged. "Great risk is necessary to defeat great
evil. You know this."
    Wedge slowly smiled. "That I do. Your offer impresses
me, but I cannot act alone in this. I have people to whom I
must speak."
Mirax raised an eyebrow. "Not the Council, right?"
"No, not the Council, not right off. I only really have
one choice: General Cracken. If word of Qlaern's presence
gets out, or Erisi catches wind of the Vratix working with us,
Thyferra will hear about it quickly and we'll be stuck.
Cracken can provide security and whatever resources Qlaern
will need to do the job."
    Mirax smiled. "And it might distract him from perse-
cuting Tycho."
   "It might do that, indeed."
    The Vratix hissed sharply. "It is a beneficent balm that
soothes more than one wound."
    "Agreed." Wedge stood and clapped the Vratix on both
shoulders. 'Tm glad you're here, Qlaern Hirf, because

there're plenty of wounds to be found, and decidedly little
soothing going on. If you can do anything--anything more
than you've already done--to stop the Krytos virus, HI
gladly represent you before the Council and, if need be, even
take your case to Thyferra itself."






    Nawara hit a couple of keys on his datapad, calling up
the deposition Pash had given him earlier. He let his eyes
track over the Rylothean script, but did so only to cover his
surprise at Ettyk's choice of lead witness. He had fully ex-
pected her to start with Iella Wessiri or General Cracken to
establish a connection between Tycho and Imperial Intelli-
gence. Instead, by calling Pash first, she appeared to want to
firmly set up Tycho's having the motive, means, and oppor-
tunity for killing Corran, then work backward into the larger
treason picture.
    I should have seen that coming. Since the great public
hue and cry about the case had pushed the treason angle,
that was the vector he'd expected Ettyk to take in presenting
her case. He'd thought she'd establish the treason, then show
that Corran's murder was necessitated to cover the treason.
By coming at it the other way around and establishing the
murder, she got treason by implication, and all the evidence
she presented after that just went to bolster a fact she had
previously proved.
    "This pitches our defense into the Bright Lands," mut-
tered Nawara.
    Tycho leaned over toward him as Pash stepped into the
witness box and was sworn in. "What do you mean?"
    "There is ample circumstantial evidence to show you
killed Corran. Emtrey could convince a jury of droid-haters
that you certainly could have killed Corran. I could baffle a
jury by pointing out how many others could have done the
job, but the Tribunal is going to be tough." Nawara nar-
rowed his pink eyes. "I had hoped we'd have to fight over
treason first, since it's a weaker charge, but we'll have to deal
with this first."
    Tycho gave Nawara a confident smile. "You'll get me
out of this."
   "I will."
    Ettyk moved out from behind the prosecution table with
the supple ease of a taopari stalking prey. "Lieutenant
Cracken, your service record has already been appended to
the transcripts of this trial, so I will not ask for a recitation of
your numerous citations and awards won in service to the

Alliance. I would, however, like you to think back to the
events that led up to the night when Coruscant fell to our
forces. Can you do that?"
    "Yes." Pash nodded and a lock of red hair curled down
over his forehead.
    "Good." Ettyk gave him a polite smile. "Where were
you at that time?"
   "Here, on Coruscant."
    "And you were present on Coruscant as part of an as-
signment given to Rogue Squadron?"
   '~Yes.'~
    "Did that assignment include orders that posted Captain
Celchu to Coruscant?"
    Pash shook his head. "I only know my orders for the
assignment, Commander. My orders contained nothing that
referred to Captain Celchu."
    "So, at the time you left your base to travel to Corus-
cant, you expected Captain Celchu to be where?"
    "Objection!" Nawara stood. "The question is irrelevant
and the prosecution has provided no foundation to show the
witness could answer it."
    Admiral Ackbar nodded slowly. "Sustained on the rele-
vance grounds. Lieutenant Cracken's expectations are imma-
terial, Commander Ettyk."   "Yes, Admiral."
    "And you, Counselor Ven, need not stack objections.
We'll take them as they come in, shall we?"
    Nawara nodded. "1 appreciate the court's admonition
and I shall remember it." He returned to his seat and forced
himself to breathe slowly. You aren't going to win this case
with the first witness. Be careful but not so eager.
    "Lieutenant Cracken, there came a point during the op-
eration here on Coruscant in which the squadron's personnel
were drawn together, correct?"
  ~'Yes."
    "And Captain Celchu was not among those people, cor-
rect?"
  "He was not there, no."
  "But there was news of him, was there not?"




  Pash leaned back in the witness chair. "Yes."
    "One report was that an attack by Warlord Zsinj on the
base at Noquivzor had hit Rogue Squadron's staff hard and
that Tycho Celchu was among the missing."
  "Yes."
  "Who delivered that report?"
  "Commander Antilles."
    "After hearing that report, you believed what about
Captain Celchu?"
    Pash glanced down at his hands. "I thought he was
dead. He was listed as 'missing in action,' but you learn that
really means 'dead, and we don't have enough pieces left to
fill a thimble, so we can't prove it.' I expected we'd get con-
firmation of his death fairly quickly."
      Ettyk gathered her hands at the small of her back.
"There was another story told about Captain Celchu, yes?"
   "Yes."
   "Who told that story?"
  "Lieutenant Horn."
    "What did Lieutenant Horn say about Captain
Celchu?"
  "Objection, hearsay."
    "Exception, Admiral: The statement Lieutenant Cracken
will relate was told against Lieutenant Horn's best interest."
    "What?" Nawara Ven's jaw dropped open. "How is
what Corran said about the defendant going to be against
Corran's best interest?"
    Ettyk smiled. "Lieutenant Horn prided himself on his
observational skills, and when he related the story of what he
had seen, he made it into a self-depreciating tale. Given his
position of authority in the squadron, this was against his
best interest."
    "Admiral, that is a gross misuse of the hearsay excep-
tion."
    "You won't be able to keep the story out--Commander
Antilles filed it as part of a report concerning the operation
here on Coruscant."
    Nawara's lip curled back in a snarl and gave Ettyk a
view of his sharpened teeth. "If you want to bring that story

in, by all means, lay the proper foundation and call your
witnesses in order." You may indeed succeed in bringing this
stuff in, but I'm going to make you work for it.
    Admiral Ackbar leaned over and consulted with General
Madine for a moment, then straightened up and nodded.
"The objection is overruled."
    Nawara felt his lekku twitch. "Admiral, this leaves me
grounds for an appeal."
    "It may indeed, Counselor Ven, but the ruling stands."
Ackbar pointed toward the witness. "Lieutenant Cracken,
you will tell the court what Corran Horn said, as best as you
can remember."
    Pash nodded as a frown gathered on his face. "Corran
said he'd seen Tycho on Coruscant on the same day Warlord
Zsinj hit Noquivzor."
    "And what did he say Captain Celchu had been doing
when he saw him?"
   "Talking with someone in a cantina."
   "Who was he speaking with?"
    "Objection. The question calls for a conclusion based on
facts not in evidence."
   "Please, Commander, rephrase your question."
    "Yes, Admiral." Ettyk glanced back at Nawara for a
moment, then looked over at Pash. "Whom did Lieutenant
Horn say he saw in conversation with Captain Celchu?"
   "He said it was Kirtan Loor, but--"
   "That's quite enough, Lieutenant, thank you."
   "But--"
    Admiral Ackbar looked down from the bench at Pash.
"I'm certain Counselor Ven will allow you to finish your
answer under cross-examination."  "Yes, sir."
    "Now, Lieutenant, I want you to recall when it was that
you saw Captain Celchu after the report of his death."
    "Three weeks ago. He showed up and saved us from
stormies trying to kill us."
    "Did his presence cause you to reevaluate Lieutenant
Horn's story?"
  "No, I don't think so."




    "No?" Ettyk's expression sharpened. "You had been
told Captain Celchu was dead, then you saw him again. You
learned he had, in fact, been on Coruscant at the time Horn
said he'd seen him. Did that not give you cause to wonder
about what Horn had seen?"
    "Things were very busy at the time. Desperate. I was
given orders. I didn't think about things I didn't have to
think about."
    "Not even a bit? Not even when your orders included
taking precautions to keep a traitor in your midst from get-
ting information out to Imperial sources?"   "That was normal for a covert op."
       "But you had to wonder if there wasn't really a traitor in
your midst, correct?"   "No."
    "No?" Ettyk's head came up. "You're a friend of Cap-
tain Celchu's, aren't you?"
    Pash hesitated. "I'm in his squadron. I know him. I
know what he's done. He's saved my life."
   "And you think you owe him something?"
   "I said he saved my life."
    "And you don't want to be testifying here against him,
do you?"
   "No." The response came emphatic and strong.
    "And, in fact, I had to compel your testimony with a
subpoena, didn't I?"
   "Yes."
       The prosecutor looked up at the Tribunal. "I'd like per-
mission to treat this witness as hostile."   Nawara winced. "Not good."
   "Why not?" Tycho asked in a whisper.
    "In direct testimony the questions are supposed to be
open and nonleading. On cross-examination you get to lead
the witness toward the answers you want." Nawara
scratched at his throat. "A witness who is forced to answer
questions always leaves the impression he's covering some-
thing up, so it makes even innocent things seem condemning.
Pash is trying to do my job for me, but he's just making it
tougher."

    Ackbar waved a hand toward Ettyk. "Permission is
granted to treat Lieutenant Cracken as hostile."
    "Thank you, Admiral." Ettyk smiled. "Now you're a
smart man, Lieutenant Cracken. You attended the Imperial
Military Academy under a false identity your father created
for you, correct?"
   "Yes."
    "And the operation that took you to Coruscant involved
your arriving under a false identity, correct?"
   "Yes."
    "So you have some understanding of what it takes to
operate covertly in a hostile environment, just as any spy
would, correct?"   "Yes."
    "It would be natural for a smart man like you to use
what you had learned to try to check and see if you could
detect any signs of a spy in your midst, correct?"   "It would seem that way."
    "It really was that way, wasn't it, Lieutenant?" Halla
Ettyk opened her hands. "You certainly found yourself eval-
uating people and trying to decide how much you could trust
them, yes?"
  Pash's frown deepened. "Yes."
    "And Captain Celchu figured high on your list of sus-
pect individuals, didn't he?"
   "On a scale of one to infinity he ranked about a five."
   "But that was higher than anyone else there, correct?"
   "You're making it sound wrong."
   "I move for the answer to be stricken as nonresponsive."
    "So ordered." Ackbar again looked down at Pash. "Just
answer the questions, Lieutenant."
      "The ranking you gave Captain Celchu was higher than
anyone else's ranking, wasn't it, Lieutenant?"  Pash nodded reluctantly. "Yes."
    "Thank you. Now, on the night, two weeks ago, you
were preparing to fly a mission that would aid in our con-
quest of Coruscant."
  ~�Yes."
  "What was that mission?"




       "Five of us were going to fly cover for the rest of the
squadron as they tried to bring the planetary shields down."
   "To do that you needed fighters, correct?"
   '~Yes."
   "And you had them?"
   ~'Yes."
   "Where did they come from?"
    Pash took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Cap-
tain Celchu had purchased them during his time here on
Coruscant."
   "And he had even flown a mission here, correct?"
   "Yes, the mission where he saved us."
    Ettyk turned back to the prosecution table and studied
the datapad. Iella Wessiri came around to face her. "That
night you witnessed a conversation between Captain Celchu
and Corran Horn, did you not?"
   "I did. I wasn't a party to the conversation, though."
    "But you did overhear it?" Ettyk turned and spitted the
witness with a forthright stare.
  The pilot hung his head. "Yes."
    "Did you hear Captain Celchu tell Lieutenant Horn that
he had checked over the fighter Horn would be using?"
   "Yes."
    "And did you hear Lieutenant Horn threaten to work to
expose Captain Celchu's treason once he returned from the
mission?"
   "Yes." Fatigue dragged at the red-haired man's reply.
    The prosecutor smiled. "And what was Captain
Celchu's response to that threat?"
    "He said he had nothing to fear from Corran's investiga-
tion."
   "As if he knew there would be no investigation?"
      Nawara stood quickly. "Objection! It calls for specula-
tion and is inflammatory."   "Sustained."
Ettyk turned and nodded to Nawara. "Your witness."
Nawara hesitated for a second. The evidence Halla Et-
tyk had laid out so far came as no surprise and was circum-
stantial. All she had gotten from Pash was that he had seen

Tycho and Corran exchange some harsh words. That would
go to motive, and some of the comments did cover opportu-
nity to fix Corran's fighter, but without the Headhunter there
was no evidence of tampering.
    All he could accomplish on cross-examination would be
to ask Pash to recount Tycho's explanation for the meeting
where Corran saw him talking to Kirtan Loor. Tycho had
explained he'd been speaking to a Duros trader, Lai Nootka,
not Kirtan Loor. Nawara knew Ettyk would object to Pash's
repetition of Tycho's explanation on hearsay grounds. With-
out being able to call Lai Nootka--or putting Tycho on the
stand--there was no way to get at that whole subject.
    Unless I called Kirtan Loor and he denied ever meeting
Tycho! He put the chances of that happening at something
just under the chances of the Emperor showing up and grant-
ing the Rebels one and all an Imperial pardon.
   "Counselor Ven?"
    Nawara looked up at Admiral Ackbar. "Sorry, sir. I
have no questions of this witness at this time." The Twi'lek
resumed his seat.
  "Very well. Next witness, Commander Ettyk."
    Ettyk stood once again. "The state calls Erisi Dlarit to
the stand."




14

Corran Horn felt as clumsy as the Trandoshan dragging him
through the interrogation center's corridor. The injection an
Eradee droid had given him back in his isolation cell had
already begun to take hold. He had it in his mind that at least
part of the concoction used was skirtopanol and that was not
good. The one time he'd been under its influence, back dur-
ing an exercise at the Corellian Security Force Academy, he
confessed to all sorts of minor transgressions from his child-
hood. That would have been merely comical, but one of his
father's cronies was overseeing the interrogation seminar and
supplied his father with the text of his confession.
    I don't think Iceheart will . . . When he started he'd
had a full thought there, but the very image of Ysanne Isard
that sprang into his mind killed things. Corran knew enough
to know the drugs were working the way they were supposed
to. He started to moan from fear and frustration, which
earned him a backhanded cuff from his guard.
    The blow and the dry-rot scent of the Trandoshan com-
bined with his fear to bring memories rushing full-blown and
terrible back into his mind. He saw little holographic images
hovering in the air before him. Three figures, two men and a
female Quarren, sat at a table in the darkened corner of a

tapcaf. The two men---one of them his father--were deep in
conversation. His father showed his agitation in the way he
poked a finger at the smaller man and the color rising in his
face.
    Into the picture walked a Trandoshan bounty hunter
wearing a bulky dust-cloak thrown over his shoulders. The
lizard-man strode past the table and on up toward Corran
until his green, scaly face eclipsed sight of Corran's father.
The Trandoshan, Bossk, stepped back, slapping a power
pack into the blaster carbine he'd produced from beneath the
cloak. He spun slowly and sprayed red blaster bolts back and
forth over the trio at the table.
    The Quarren all but exploded into a black mist. Cor-
ran's father caught two shots high in the chest, slamming
him against the back of the booth. As he slid from sight, the
little man to whom he had been speaking tried to dive for
cover. Unfortunately for him, the Trandoshan's fire blasted
the table into flaming splinters and half-melted metal and
still hit him. The little man took three bolts in the torso and a
fourth that blew the back of his head off.
    Corran saw himself in the scene. He saw no transition,
no arrival. He just was there, kneeling in the blood, sur-
rounded by burning bits of table. He held his father's body in
his arms. He wiped the Quarren ichor from his father's face
with a borrowed rag, all the while willing his father to open
his eyes and announce he would be fine.
    The two blackened holes in his father's chest sta~:ed up
at him. At first they reminded him of a viper's fang marks,
then they blinked. One became an icy blue and the other a
volcanic red. The world blurred for a moment, then all the
colors flowed together and became solid white, as they did
when he was in hyperspace.
    Then he reverted and found himself standing before
Ysanne Isard in a predominately white room.
    She frowned. "It fascinates me how all of our interroga-
tion sessions with you end up coming back to your father's
death. There are countless psychiatric advocates who would
find your preoccupation with your father's death to be grand




justification for adherence to disciplines as useless as Jedi
training. I do not."
    Corran blinked his eyes. He couldn't recall going from
the corridor to the interrogation chamber, nor being bound
to the man-form that held him upright. The straps at his
shoulders, and across his chest, waist, wrists, and ankles all
pinched and chafed in such a way that he knew he'd been in
restraints for quite some time. He couldn't remember any-
thing but seeing his father die again, yet his throat felt raw
enough that he knew he had to have been speaking or shout-
ing or screaming.
    Isard turned, presenting him her profile, and nodded to
unseen minions beyond a mirrored wall. "What I have
learned so far is a great deal of gossip that might be suitable
for embarrassing the Corellian Diktat, but that sort of infor-
mation is hardly in short supply. You have not ensconced
yourself highly enough in the councils of the Rebellion to be
of use to me--at least, I do not believe you have. It is entirely
possible you have managed to resist interrogation in certain
areas."
Corran shook his head. "You got the wrong guy."
"Then I will just have to make you into the right guy,
won't I?" Her eyes narrowed with irritation as she faced him
again. "Had Gil Bastra not sent you to the outlier worlds,
you would have become part and parcel of the Rebellion.
You would have found yourself in General Cracken's confi-
dence and I would have found you very useful in that regard.
Then again, it is possible that he set you in Rogue Squadron
so you could watch Tycho Celchu and uncover his ties to
me."
   "No.'~
    "No? Cracken must have done that. You were his agent,
yes?"
    Cotran shook his head adamantly. "No. I wasn't a spy
for Cracken."
    "Were I inclined to believe anything, I might be inclined
to believe you in this case. Unfortunately I need proof." She
stepped aside as the Trandoshan wheeled in a device that
bristled with probes and danced with the colorful illumina-

tion of an ever-changing light array. The probes had been
fitted on a concave surface that could easily close over him
and the rack to which he was bound. Corran caught the stink
of ozone as the Trandoshan brought the device closer. He
didn't like the fact that he heard a click down at his feet
when the lizard-man finally nudged the device into place.
    Isard smiled in a manner that made Corran want to
shrivel up and die. "This is a variant on a design Darth Vader
created to torture, among others, Han Solo at Bespin. As you
know, humans have a number of different types of neural
receptors. This device is designed to stimulate three of
them--the original only worked on the pain receptors. I have
found that adding stimulation for the heat and cold receptors
is most effective in getting what I want out of those I interro-
gate."
    Corran wanted to snap off some quip, but fatigue and
anxiety prevented him from mustering the required concen-
tration.
    "So, now we begin, Lieutenant Horn. Just tell me what I
want to know .... "

"... and I won't have to ask the court to let me treat you
like a hostile witness."
    Iella Wessiri almost felt sorry for Erisi Dlarit as Halla
Ettyk tried to coax cooperation out of her. In going over the
depositions before the trial opened, Iella and Halla had
agreed that members of Rogue Squadron would be hostile
and resistant to anything that made them speak against
Tycho Celchu. Halla had decided, therefore, to bring them
up first and get them out of the way before she brought in the
investigators and other witnesses who could attest to Tycho's
involvement with the Empire. Halla had pointed out that
Nawara Yen would probably end up calling all the Rogues
back to the stand, but by the time he did that, their positive
affirmations about Tycho would sound hollow and unsup-
ported to the Tribunal.
    "Flight Officer Dlarit, how did you come to be on Co-
ruscant two weeks ago?"




    Erisi brought her chin up and her blue eyes flashed defi-
antly. "Corran Horn and I were inserted into Coruscant un-
der the guise of being a Kuati telbun and his mistress. For the
entire journey to Coruscant and the subsequent week, we
were together almost constantly. We were good friends and
talked a great deal."
   Halla Ettyk nodded. "So you were confidants?"
    "We shared confidences, yes." The black-haired woman
smiled politely. "It is difficult to keep secrets when you are
living in such close proximity with someone."
"And Corran Horn felt free to discuss things with you?"
"Objection: relevance."
leila glanced over at Nawara Ven. The twitching of his
braintails betrayed some nervousness, but the Twi'lek was
objecting at all the places Halla had predicted he would. She
said he had talent. She didn't think he could win the case,
and his decision not to cross-examine Cracken wasn't what
Halla had anticipated.
    Halla looked up at Admiral Ackbar. "This is founda-
tional, Admiral. She was living with Corran Horn for a con-
siderable portion of the last part of his life. I would suggest
this would qualify her to give opinions on his demeanor."
   "Overruled."
    Erisi frowned briefly. "We discussed many things rather
openly and frankly."
    "How would you characterize the conditions under
which you spent time with Lieutenant Horn?"
    The Thyferran pilot shrugged. "I saw him in combat,
during which he was calm and a leader. A hero. I saw him in
regular circumstances as well. He could be funny and com-
passionate and, well, attractive. I saw him in all different
ways and situations."
    "On the night Coruscant fell, how would you character-
ize him?"
   "Anxious and agitated."
  "And what was the source of his irritation?"
    Erisi chewed her lower lip for a moment. "Corran
said . . ."
   "Objection." Nawara Ven stood. "This is hearsay."

    Halla Ettyk took a step forward. "! would ask for an
excited outburst exception, your honor. She has already tes-
tified that Horn was anxious and agitated."
    The Twi'lek stepped up beside Halla. "My learned col-
league certainly understands that being agitated and saying
something in no way makes it subject to the excited outburst
exception."
   "Sustained."
    Nawara smiled slightly as he returned to his bench, but
Halla's expression just darkened. "Very well. Flight Officer
Dlarit, did you speak with Lieutenant Horn before you took
off on the mission that evening?"
   ~Yes."
    "You stated he seenled anxious and agitated. Did you
find his state of mind unusual?"
   "Objection, counsel is leading the witness."
   "Rephrase the question, Commander."
    "Flight Officer Dlarit, how did Lieutenant Horn's state
of mind strike you at the time?"
    Erisi tugged at a wisp of hair behind her left ear. "Anxi~
ety I could understand. We were all anxious to get going and
to see if the mission would succeed or not."
   "And his agitation?"
   "That wasn't like Corran."
    "Had you seen or heard anything that, in your mind,
explained his agitation?"
    The witness hesitated. "I saw Corran speaking with
Captain Celchu. 1 couldn't hear what they were saying, but I
saw them speaking together. Then Corran came over and
spoke with me."
   "And you concluded?"
"Something in their conversation had set Corran off."
Iella glanced down at the datapad on the prosecution
table. Halla had gotten out of Erisi all she expected the wit-
ness to admit--testimony showing Corran to be out of sorts
as a result of his conversation with Captain Celchu. When
they had deposed Erisi they had learned the nature of her
conversation with Corran. While Halla would have loved to
get that testimony in, hearsay prevented it. The excited out-




burst exception wasn't something she had expected to suc-
ceed.
   Halla smiled at Nawara. "Your witness."
    The Twi'lek stood. "Flight Officer Dlarit, how long was
it between the time you reported speaking to Corran and the
previous time you had spoken to him?"   "An hour."
    "Now, you just testified that you saw Corran speak with
Captain Celchu. Did you see Lieutenant Horn speak with
anyone else before speaking with Captain Celchu?"
   "No."
    Nawara's head came up as if her answer surprised him.
"You didn't see Lieutenant Horn speak with Mirax Terrik?"
    Erisi shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose I did. I saw
them standing near each other and saw her run off, but I
don't recall any conversation."
    "But you do concede that they may have spoken to each
other?"
   ~'Yes."
    "So, as nearly as you know, Lieutenant Horn might
have had multiple conversations that could have set him
off?"
    "I suppose so." Erisi blinked a couple of times. "That
could be it."
    The Twi'lek bowed his head. "Thank you, Flight Of-
ricer, that's all I have for you."

Corran felt like a block of burning ice caught in a lightning
storm. His flesh felt on fire while his bones seemed chilled to
absolute zero. Every pain receptor in his body strobed on
and off on a near-constant basis. The pain would start at his
feet and move up in a wave, or descend on him like a rain
shower, or pummel him with randomly delivered jolts.
    He would have welcomed death but for the horror of
spending eternity with the memory of such pain so fresh.
    He heard a hiss, and the rack retracted from what he
had taken to calling the Inducer. Corran hung limp from the
restraining straps and welcomed the constant, unrelenting,

unshifting pain the straps caused as they sank into his flesh.
Sweat poured down over his face and stung fiercely where he
managed to bite through his lower lip, but even that sensa-
tion was a relief from what he had just been through.
    Ysanne Isard entered the interrogation chamber and
waved the Trandoshan out. "I would find you fascinating if
you knew more, Horn." She glanced at the mirrored panel
on the wall. "Your tolerance for pain is remarkable."
    Corran would have shrugged, but every ounce of energy
in his body had been exhausted in screaming answers to the
questions fired at him during the session. He couldn't re-
member what he had said. He recalled that in those few
moments of lucidity which he could touch between pulses of
agony, he had tried to focus on the cold or heat. Locking into
those sensations had seemed to dull the pain somehow. Now,
in the absence of pain, he doubted that observation was cor-
rect, but it had been a sanctuary into which he had retreated,
and that was a very small victory.
    She posted her fists on her hips. "You present a problem
for me. You don't know enough to be useful, and your posi-
tion within the Rebellion is so low that you are hardly vital.
If I return you to them, they will likely treat you much as
they are treating Celchu now. You won't have even the free-
dom he had before his arrest. This does not incline me to
send you back.
    "On the other hand, you would be perfect to mold into
my own avenger. Your resistance to pain will make your
rehabilitation into a right-thinking Imperial time-consuming,
but not impossible. Your core discomfort with the unlawful
n~ture of the Rebellion is a foundation on which I can build
you anew into the tool I need. I can form an Avenger Squad-
ron around you that will go after and destroy Rogue Squad-
ron. Using a Rogue to destroy Rogues, that would be
delicious."
    Corran summoned strength from reserves he didn't
know he had and smiled. "You won't live long enough to see
me turn on my friends."
    "Good, anger directed at me, excellent." She politely
applauded him. "Hate me all you want. I'll turn your hatred




for me into hatred for those who haven't saved you from me.
You won't be the first broken that way, and you'll not be the
last."
  "I won't break."
    "Ah, but you will. They all do." She nodded solemnly as
the rack hissed and slowly lowered him toward the Inducer.
"And when you break, I will put you back together again,
and in gratitude you will do all I ask, without question or
regard for loyalties you once held dear."

15

It was probably in a place like this that Rogue Squadron
plotted the conquest of Imperial Center. Kirtan Loor ducked
his head beneath a series of moist, moldy pipes and followed
his guide deeper into the rusted-out bowels of Imperial Cen-
ter. Loor had been driven deeper into the planet-wide city
than he thought possible, then had gone several kilometers
farther through a hot, wet labyrinth that had him imagining
he'd passed through the core of the world and was now
working his way up and out the other side.
    The Special Intelligence operative leading him through
the maze cut to the left and through an oval opening hacked
through the wall of the access tunnel. The opening seemed,
at first glance, as if it was chopped through the wall; but
when Loor grabbed its edges as he climbed through the hole,
the striations he felt made him wonder if it hadn't been nib-
bled out of the ferrocrete. Unless I can find a way to use it, I
don't want to know what chewed this hole.
    The low, wide area into which Loor stepped stank of
rust, stagnant water, and mildew. The few standing puddles
had an oily slick on them that phosphoresced slightly. The
weak light supplemented the temporary floodlights the oper-
atives had arranged to display their motley collection of air-




speeders. All in all the tableau was unremarkable and
unlikely to attract attention from anyone save a truly desper-
ate airspeeder thief.
   And wouldn't he be surprised at what he got.
    The dented and dinged airspeeders, which were of a va-
riety of years and makes, had been carefully worked over by
the operatives and transformed into a half-dozen flying
bombs. The hollow spaces in the chassis had been filled with
explosives. Designed to be flown by remote from a compan-
ion airspeeder, they would be driven like proton torpedoes
into the various bacta storage facilities around the world.
    An operative came walking over to Loor, unable to keep
a smirk from his square face. "As you can see, we are pre-
pared to go at any time. We have completed our initial elec-
tronic sweep of the target sites and have found them negative
for counter-remote tactics or equipment."
    "Very good." The Empire had long ago perfected pre-
cautionary measures to take against bombs that might be set
to detonate by remote. The easiest of these was to broadcast
strong signals on a variety of comlink frequencies of the sort
used by Rebel terrorists to detonate such bombs, causing a
premature detonation while the bombs were still in the at-
tackers' keeping. Broadcasting from patrolling airspeeders in
hostile areas had even detonated explosives in bomb facto-
ries that Intelligence had suspected existed, but had not been
able to pinpoint for a more surgical strike. The harm done to
innocents in the area when the bombs went off had been seen
as just punishment for the failure of the people to report the
Rebels working in their area.
    Although they had been unable to detect similar
counter-remote tactics in the bacta storage areas, Loor's peo-
ple had decided against detonating the bombs by remote.
Getting an airspeeder into position and leaving it there long
enough for the setup team to get away provided a window
for discovery and deactivation. Even though that window
would be small, it was felt to be too risky; they intended to
hit a number of sites in rapid succession, and if the Rebel
forces discovered one bomb and sent out a warning, it would
make hitting the others far more difficult. Moreover, the fact

that they could not detect anti-remote equipment in their
reconnaissance sweeps could have been explained by nothing
more sinister than someone forgetting to turn the devices on
that day.
    The plan they had hit on was actually fairly simple.
Commercial speeder-ferry vehicles were not an uncommon
sight on Imperial Center, hauling broken air- and land-
speeders to repair shops. Using a tractor beam and a simple
remote-slave hookup, repair techs regularly flew speeders
throughout the city. Using a speeder-ferry to haul a vehicle to
the right area, then having someone fly it by remote into the
building, was seen as a clean way to deliver the bombs. Since
the remote-slave hookup was in common use by these sorts
of vehicles, it couldn't be jammed without causing dozens of
legitimate disasters, so Loor knew their delivery method was
safe from interference.
    Contact detonators had been rigged in the various
panels and bumpers on each vehicle. The explosives would
be triggered when the detonators were compressed with the
force of an airspeeder slamming into a building. While a
head-on collision with another airspeeder at significant ve-
locity could cause the bomb to go off, the chances of that
happening were relatively small. Regardless, the amount of
explosives packed into the vehicles meant that any explosion
in the general vicinity of the target would do substantial
damage and, if not destroy the store of bacta, at least make
its distribution difficult.
    The operative looked up at Loor expectantly. "When
will we be given the signal to go?"
    Loor looked at his wrist chronometer. "Rumor has it
that Mon Mothma is going to announce the particulars of
the bacta distribution plan approved by the Provisional
Council in fourteen hours or so. I am debating whether we
should use these vehicles to punctuate her speech, or let pub-
lic anticipation build for a day or so before striking."
    Loor kept his tone light, as if the decision to be made
was of little consequence. He preferred going off sooner
rather than waiting, but he was fairly certain that Ysanne
Isard would want him to wait. So far he had gotten no word




back from her on this plan--or on any of my plans. This
meant the decision was truly up to him, but he knew it didn't
have to be made until an hour or two before the assault
would take place.
    The Intelligence agent frowned. "Contact me on a secure
frequency three hours before the scheduled start of Mon
Mothma's speech. Assume the operation will go off during
her speech. When you call me, I will either cancel the assault
and reschedule, or let you go. If you do not reach me, you are
on?~
    "Very good, sir." The operative waved a hand toward
the airspeeders. "If you care to inspect our handiwork?"
    Loor shook his head. "You have ever been efficient be-
fore, Captain. I see no reason to doubt your preparedness
now?~
   "Thank you."
       "Of course." Loor smiled slowly. "And, speaking of effi-
ciency, your people dealt with Nartlo, yes?"
   "As you ordered, sir."
   "Excellent."
"Yes, sir. I'll have someone conduct you back now, sir."
The operative waved another of his plainly clothed men
over and Loor followed that operative out through another
exit from the underground bunker. Loor found this route less
odious, and the use of a series of turbolifts meant it took less
time to get back into more hospitable regions of the city.
After taking leave of the operative, Loor worked his way up
and through the city. He constantly checked his surround-
ings and back-trail for sign of pursuit, but found none.
    The prospect of destroying the Rebels' bacta supply
pleased him, but not for the reasons most Rebels would
ascribe to him. He took no delight in the fact that the de-
struction of the bacta would cause the deaths of millions,
even billions. As odd as it seemed, even to him, their lives
meant nothing. Since he did not know them, they were num-
bers, and Kirtan Loor had never been one to be terribly emo-
tional about numbers.
   Destroying the bacta would be a victory in the war he

was waging against the Rebellion. He and his people were
outnumbered, out-gunned, and under-resourced, but they
were winning. So far they had struck when and where they
wished. Just the fact that they were able to assemble an ar-
mada of bombs on Imperial Center without detection was a
triumph in their battle against General Cracken and his
forces.
    Oddly enough, Loor realized that he was playing a game
to sudden death, and it was more likely to be his death than
that of his foes. Still, he now understood the secret thrill that
kept the Rebels going. They had been the insects repeatedly
stinging the bumbling giant that was the Empire. Yes, the
giant had swatted them and, in some cases, had hurt them
badly, but it could never kill all of them. The defiance they
showed the Empire now burned in his veins, and while it did
not make him think he was immortal or unstoppable, it did
drive him with a desire to do more and more to torment his
enemy.
    He also knew that his efforts would not reestablish the
Empire. That was not the goal Ysanne Isard had in mind
when she set him up on Imperial Center as the leader of a
pro-Palpatine movement. What he was doing would weaken
the Rebellion and allow other forces to tear it apart. Whether
those other forces included a warlord like Zsinj blasting his
way into Imperial Center and taking it over, or the product
of some other scheme Iceheart was undoubtedly planning,
did not matter. Isard wanted to destroy the Rebellion, and
that was the goal he intended to help her reach.
    He smiled. He had been given a great responsibility, and
his success would create a power vacuum at the heart of the
Empire. Isard maintained her goal was not the resurrection
of the Empire, but the destruction of the Rebellion; still, it
seemed obvious to him that the recreation of the Empire was
a natural consequence of eliminating the Rebellion. When
the Rebellion collapsed, if he did things well, he would be in
position to help restore the Empire. While he knew better
than to make himself a direct rival to Iceheart, he also knew
she wouldn't live forever.




    Nor will I, but if I live longer than she does, the Em-
peror's throne might well be open to me. Loor smiled and
sniffed proudly, but the scent of the city's lower reaches tar-
nished his fantasy. He glanced down at his feet and saw a
glistening fungoid residue that seemed to shift colors as he
watched it. Immediately desirous of returning to his eyrie
and washing away the stink of Imperial Center's darker
reaches, he fished a comlink out of his pocket and called for
one of his guards to meet him with his airspeeder.
    Loor did his best to scrape the goo off his shoes against
the side of a building, but it clung tenaciously. He chuckled
to himself, thinking of it as true Rebel scum. He made no
headway in his battle with it and wondered if a lightsaber
would be able to damage it. He'd concluded it would not by
the time his airspeeder slid up to the curb and the rear gull's-
wing door swung up.
    Loor started into the passenger compartment, then
caught himself. Inside, nestled in the corner, a smallish,
white-haired man pointed a blaster pistol at him. "Sorry,
wrong speeder. My mistake."
    "No mistake. Get in." The man sighed. "Get in or my
other people will shove you in."
    Given no choice, Loor entered the vehicle and folded
himself into one of the jumpseats. The door closed behind
him, leaving the two of them alone in the speeder's darkened
interior. Loor raised his hands and clutched the safety straps.
"Is there any purpose in my putting these on, Moff Vorru?"
    Fliry Vorru nodded his head graciously. "Very good,
Agent Loor. Yes, by all means, strap yourself in. I do not
anticipate this being a rough ride, but things can get turbu-
lent here on Imperial Center."   "So I have noticed."
    "I'm certain you have." Vorru set the blaster pistol on
the seat beside him, then tugged at the grey cuffs on his
midnight-blue jacket. "And I'm no longer a moff, merely a
colonel in the Imperial Center People's Militia."
    "Natty uniform. I'm sure it will show you off at your
best when you hold a news conference and announce my

capture." Loor tried to force a smile on his face, but it hardly
seemed worth the effort. "Quite the coup for you."
    "Indeed, it could be." Vorru yawned in an exaggerated
fashion. "The question remains as to whether or not that is
necessary."
   "Excuse me?"
    "You present me with a problem, Agent Loor. Your
Palpatine Counter-insurgency Front is one of the reasons my
militia was created. As long as you are a threat, the Provi-
sional Council needs me. Without you, all we can do is go
after petty black marketeers and other criminals."
   "All of whom you currently control anyway."
   "You overestimate my abilities."
    Loor raised an eyebrow. "Do I? You found me quickly
enough."
    Vorru shrugged. "More by happenstance than anything
else. I was in the process of consolidating my hold on the
black market in bacta and had Nartlo under observation,
since he had a source I could not isolate. My people had your
people under observation when they visited him last night.
We continued watching and were led to this vehicle. Your
people are good at disguising themselves--by the way, the
blond hair and goatee really do distance your appearance
from that of Tarkin. Changing the appearance of a vehicle is
not as simple."
    The little man smiled. "I had no idea who we had found
until we checked the records on this vehicle. The registration
is utterly benign and ordinary, with no sign of slicing on the
datafile at all. That indicated to me that the registration had
made it into the computers through legitimate means, and
that meant Imperial Intelligence. Since you had turned Zekka
Thyne against me, I had made it my business to learn about
you then, surprise, surprise, here you are."  "I hope I don't disappoint you."
    "It's possible, but we'll see." Vorru frowned. "Normally
I'd not have picked you up so early, but Nartlo indicated that
he'd given you the locations of the Republic's bacta reposito-
ries. I immediately became suspicious--he maintained you
were just a bacta dealer, but those containment centers just




ache to be hit by the PCF. I tried to determine if Nartlo was
lying to me, but you had anticipated I'd do that."
Loor smiled. "You used skirtopanol on him."
"Yes, and the convulsions were rather hideous."
"Convulsions? Hmmm. We gave him a supply of lo-
tiramine and told him it would prevent him from getting the
Krytos virus. I included strict dosing instructions. If he went
into convulsions he must have taken four times the recom-
mended amount."
    "Some people assume that if one pill is good, more is
better."
   "He died?"
   "Cerebral hemorrhage."
    "He was useful, which is why we didn't just kill him
outright. The 1otiramine would have made interrogation dif-
ficult for the Rebels, and some of the information he had
about my operation would have had them baring off in all
sorts of wrong directions."
    Vorru nodded. "Though he claimed no knowledge of a
planned assault on the bacta stores, that is what you are
planning, yes?"
    Loor looked around the passenger compartment. "I
would have thought General Cracken would resort to more
professional methods of interrogation."
    "He would, and will, if you do not choose to cooperate
with me." Vorru crossed his legs and plucked at the crease in
his slacks. "If I don't get answers from you, I will tell
Cracken I have uncovered a plot to assault the current cen-
ters. He'll put precautions into place that will prevent your
success while moving the bacta to new locations. You will
lose and I will win."
    "And you have a plan that will result in some other
outcome?"
    Vorru smiled. "You will now be working for me. You
will hit targets I give you and you will hit them when I want
them hit. I am not unsympathetic to your war against the
Rebellion, I just wish to kill yet one more mynock with a
single laser-blast."

    Of course, it should have been obvious. Loor nodded.
"You would do what Prince Xizor could not."
    "Xizor relied too much on his personal abilities and not
enough on the ability to read others."
    "Having made Black Sun over into the People's Militia,
you'll be in position to assume power if the Rebellion fal-
ters."
    "But I have no desire to see the Rebellion fail. I just want
to see the Rebellion's leadership fail. Manipulate the Bothans
and appease them, frustrate the Alderaanians until they
alienate the other humans with their constant reminders of
how their world was martyred for the Rebellion, let the
black market bankrupt the Republic so someone who has
monetary reserves can come in and bail things out--"
   "That being you."
    "Of course." Vorru nodded. "Ysanne Isard may have
injected the Krytos virus into Imperial Center, but the Rebels
injected a more deadly virus into Imperial Center before that:
me. They saw me as someone who could be a brake on the
predations of the underworld here, but they forgot the Em-
peror himself had seen me as a rival for power once upon a
time. What they forgot, I never have. Now the Emperor is
dead and I am here on his world.
    "The question for you, Agent Loor, is this: how do you
want to destroy the Rebellion? Do you want to blast it apart,
or distract it until it, too, sickens and dies? What you will
find growing up in its place, I can assure you, will be to your
liking."
    The Intelligence agent pressed his lips together in a thin
line. My refusal to go along will mean my death, so my
choice is obvious. And, as with Ysanne lsard, Fliry Vorru will
not live forever.
  Loor nodded slowly. "What do you want?"
    "I want you to hit only one of the six repositories at this
time--the one just south of the Senate district. My people
have already managed to steal most of that supply anyway,
so your attack will cover our tracks and leave us to profit
from the spike in black market pricing. I will give you other
targets as we go along to further my aims."




    "Consider it done. Tonight, during Mon Mothma's
speech?"
    Vorru's face blossomed in a broad smile. "Ah, you have
a taste for irony. Splendid. I think our alliance will be most
profitable for the both of us. I anticipate doing business with
you, Agent Loor, will be an ongoing pleasure."

16

Iella Wessiri smiled at Diric as she settled into the witness
chair. Diric was in the court for the first time and actually
looked excited by the crush of people. The bailiffs had let
him sit right behind the prosecution table because that put
him in close proximity to where she sat when she wasn't on
the stand.
    The ashen hue of Diric's flesh betrayed his fatigue, but
the trial had piqued his interest. If not for the fire that put
into his brown eyes, she would have remained adamantly
against his attending the trial. She felt the trial had to be on
the Palpatine Counter-insurgency Front's list of targets, and
she didn't want Diric exposed to their violence. The sheer
savagery of their strike at a bacta containment facility the
previous night had left her shaken and, secretly, pleased to
have Diric where she could see him.
    Halla Ettyk stood. "Iella Wessiri, could you please tell
the court about your personal employment history over the
last eight years?"
    "I joined the Corellian Security Force just about a stan-
dard year before the Emperor dissolved the Senate. I worked
there for six years, moving up into the Smuggling Interdic-
tion division, where I partnered for two years with Corran




Horn. Approximately two years ago Corran, Gil Bastra, my
husband Diric, and I all fled CoreIlia before our division's
Imperial Liaison officer, Kirtan Loor, could trump up
charges and arrest us. From Corellia Diric and I came to
Coruscant and remained in hiding for a year. We had enough
money that we didn't need jobs, so I did nothing during that
first year here. Subsequent to my husband's disappearance,
about a year ago, I joined the Alliance organization here on
Coruscant and aided Rogue Squadron in bringing the shields
down. Since then, for the past two weeks, I've been assigned
to your office as chief investigator on this case."
    The prosecutor nodded. "So, you worked with Corran
Horn for two years."
"I partnered with him for two years."
"Describe what you mean by partnering."
leila shrugged slightly. "It's akin to being married to
someone in that you have to trust them completely. Your life
is in your partner's hands in dangerous situations. The only
way you can build up that level of trust is by getting to know
one another. The job means you're together a great deal--in
any given week you could easily see more of your partner
than you do your own family. Some partners get to know
each other so well that they almost get this Gotal-sense of
being able to read each other's moods and react in situations
without a word being spoken."
    "Describe for us, please, your relationship with Corran
Horn."
    "We were close, very close. About six months after I
started working with him, Corran's father was murdered.
That event crushed Corran and I helped him through it. He'd
been an only child and his mother had died previously, so he
felt alone. The fact that Kirtan Loor freed his father's mur-
derer had Corran burning for vengeance, but Loor's Imperial
ties meant Corran couldn't do anything, and that frustrated
him. Gil and I worked at calming him down, and he came
around. The point is that when you help someone through
such a difficult time, you get to see his heart and get to know
him very well."

    Halla Ettyk glanced at her datapad. "How well did you
know Kirtan Loor?"
    "He became our Imperial Liaison about a year before I
was partnered up with Corran. I found him to be aloof and
distant. We didn't socialize--he made no effort to get to
know the rest of us after work and didn't socialize during
office celebrations. He seemed to delight in frustrating inves-
tigations. In the three years I worked in the same office with
him, I got to know him well enough to avoid him as much as
possible."
   "Did you become good at avoiding him?"
    "Yes. He's fairly easy to spot, especially because of his
height, and if he became too obnoxious, I could always re-
treat to the female officers' refresher station and he'd not
follow me."
    "You mention his height. How would you characterize
his appearance overall?"
    "Rather distinctive." Iella brushed her light brown hair
away from the side of her neck. "He prided himself on look-
ing like a younger, taller Grand Moff Tarkin, and he wasn't
far wrong in that. He definitely stood out in a crowd."
    "Would you say Corran Horn knew Kirtan Loor as well
as you did?"
   "Objection, counsel is leading the witness."
   "Sustained. Rephrase the question, Commander."
    "Yes, Admiral. How well could you say Corran Horn
knew Kirtan Loor?"
   "Objection. That calls for speculation."
    "I'll allow it. Overruled." Admiral Ackbar nodded
toward lella. "You may answer the question."
    "I'd say Corran knew Loor as well as I did. Corran
seemed to know where Loor would be before Loor did, and
he programmed Whistler to give him a sign if Loor was
around and he'd not noticed yet."
    "Thank you." Again Ettyk checked her datapad. "Please
describe for us the kinds of materials you have reviewed dur-
ing your investigation."
    Iella started ticking things off on her fingers. "l have
interviewed witnesses, I have listened to comlink recordings




and read transcripts of same, I have looked at physical evi-
dence and reviewed reports prepared by forensics concerning
same, and I've reviewed the file evidence available."
  "What sorts of things are in that file evidence?"
    "Reports by Commander Antilles, Lieutenant Horn, and
Captain Celchu about their time here on Coruscant."
    Halla hit two buttons on her datapad. "I've now
downloaded into the court's evidentiary computer a report
by Lieutenant Corran Horn that I would like entered into
evidence as People's exhibit 34. You have reviewed this re-
port?"
   "I have."
   "What does it say concerning Kirtan Loor?"
    Iella looked straight at Halla Ettyk. "In it Lieutenant
Horn reports that he saw Captain Celchu in conversation
with Kirtan Loor at a cantina called the Headquarters."
    "Based on your experience as Corran's partner, how
would you characterize the nature of this report?"
    "Typical Corran: concise, to the point, and unequivocal
in his statement of facts."
    "And, based on your experience, how would you char-
acterize Corran's identification of Kirtan Loor?"
    "He was absolutely certain he'd seen Captain Celchu
talking with Loor."
    Ettyk smiled. "So there was nothing in the report, noth-
ing in your experience that would lead you to question Lieu-
tenant Horn's identification of Kirtan Loor?"
    Iella hesitated. "Actually, there is one little detail about
which I do have a question."
    Surprise flashed across Halla's face, but she smothered it
quickly. "Move to strike as nonresponsive, your Honor."
    The Mort Calamari's barbels twitched beneath an open
mouth. "No, Commander, you asked one more question
than you should have, and now you have to live with the
consequences. Do you have anything else for this witness?"
    "At this time, no sir, but I reserve the right to recall
her."
   "Understood. Your witness, Counselor Men."
   Iella straightened up in the witness box and tried to calm

herself, but she felt her guts begin to knot up as the Twi'lek
stood. Her heart started pounding a bit faster. She'd never
liked being cross-examined, and she expected no mercy from
Nawara Ven, especially after Halla made her mistake.
    "Agent Wessift, in your time with the Corellian Security
Force, have you ever performed an investigation into a mat-
ter of treason?"
   "No, but I have worked murder cases before."
    "I know. You've worked many murder cases, haven't
you?"
   "Yes."
    "And some have been easier to investigate than this one,
haven't they?"
    Iella nodded. "Yes." Though Nawara Ven kept his voice
low and his demeanor easy, she didn't like the way he started
nibbling in around the edges. He was projecting an aura of
calm control, running the trial, and she knew that was bad.
Once he got into a rhythm and she started moving along
with him, he could turn and surprise her, and get admissions
out of her that would give the wrong impression to the Tri-
bunal.
    "How long would you say the average murder investiga-
tion you worked lasted?"
  "You'd have to be more specific."
  "How long before an arrest?"
    Iella shrugged. "Less than a week. If you don't have a
suspect in custody by that time the trail can get very cold."
      "The investigation itself, though, might go on longer
than that, correct?"  "Sure."
    "Because there are details to check, lab reports to read
and analyze, witnesses to depose, more facts to be checked,
and the like, correct?"
  "Yes."
    The Twi'lek smiled. "That takes a long time to do,
doesn't it?"
  "That depends."
  "Say you want to do it right."
  "I always want to do it right."




   "Of course, but haste can make for sloppy work, can't
it?"
    "Yes."
    "So a hasty investigation is potentially a sloppy one?"
    "Yes."
    Nawara Ven nodded. "So would you characterize two
weeks from murder to trial as fast, in your experience?"
   Iella nodded reluctantly. "It's faster than most trials."
    "Have you ever been involved in a case that went to trial
as quickly as this?"
    She shook her head. "No."
    The Twi'lek looked back at the datapad on his table.
Iella saw lights flicker across the front panel on Whistler,
then Nawara nodded and looped a braintail back over his
shoulder. "I want to call your attention to People's 34. How
long after the incident described was the report made?"
    Iella glanced at the small datapad monitor in the corner
of the witness box. "There is a two-week gap between the
incident and the filing of the report."
    "Now, in your experience as Corran Horn's partner,
would you say he was usually prompt in filing his reports?"
    "Yes." Iella glared at Whistler. "But sometimes there
were delays, and the two weeks you mention were fairly
busy."
       "Is that the only reason, being busy, that you believe
Lieutenant Horn delayed filing his report?"    "Objection, calls for speculation."
    "Counselor Ven is asking the witness what she believes,
not what she thinks the victim thought. I'll allow it. Over-
ruled."
    "Because we believed Captain Celchu was dead on No-
quivzor, there seemed no way the report could be true, so
there would have been no reason to file it." Iella leaned for-
ward in her seat. "However, the minute Corran learned Cap-
tain Celchu was alive, he made that report."
    "I understand that." The Twi'lek flashed her a smile full
of pointy teeth. "In your time as his partner, had you ever
known Corran Horn to make a mistake?"
    "He was only human."

    Ven's expression darkened. "Perhaps you can expand on
that answer for those of us who are not human."
    Iella blushed and glanced down at the floor. What a
thing to say, especially here and now! "I mean, yes, he did
make mistakes."
    "Thank you. Now, you alluded to something in the re-
port that left a question in your mind about the veracity of
Lieutenant Horn's identification of Kirtan Loor. What was
that?"
    Her stomach folded in on itself. "Corran describes Loor
as wearing a hooded cloak and following Captain Celchu out
the back of the cantina as Corran entered it. Corran recog-
nized Loor from his height and his gait, but he never actually
saw his face."
    "And as good as Corran was, you think that his making
an identification without seeing the individual's face leaves
room for him to be mistaken?"   "Yes."
    The Twi'lek nodded. "Thank you for your candor.
Nothing further."
   Ackbar looked at the prosecutor. "Redirect?"
   "No, Admiral."
    The Mon Calamari nodded down at Iella. "You are ex-
cused, Agent Wessiri. I am going to recess the court at this
time. The Provisional Council is meeting to discuss a number
of problems and I must be there. I may, in fact, recess the
trial for a week. I assume, from the question you asked ear-
lier, Counselor Ven, you would not mind having the extra
time for investigation of the case?"
    Iella, returning to her place at the prosecution bench,
watched Nawara's grey profile as he nodded. "l welcome the
time to continue to prepare my defense."
  "Commander Ettyk, you have no objections to a delay?"
  "No, sir."
  "Very good, court stands adjourned for one week."

leila entered Halla Ettyk's office. "Diric's in the outer office,
lying down. I hope you don't mind. The crush of people




leaving the court was a bit much, but the bailiffs didn't seem
to want to let him catch his breath. In fact, they weren't too
interested in letting me bring him along with me here to the
office."
    The black-haired prosecutor shook her head. "Not a
problem, but get him a special visitor's identification badge."
    Iella frowned as she slipped into a nerfhide chair in front
of Halla's transparisteel desk. "What's going on?"
    Halla set a comlink down on her desk. "I just heard
from Admiral Ackbar's aide, Commander Sirlul. The reason
for the abrupt adjournment was more than a routine meeting
of the Provisional Council. It appears, in the wake of the PCF
assault on that bacta storage site, we've had a bomb threat
here. They aren't sure who made the threat or how real it is,
but they want a week to reinforce the courthouse complex."
   "I see."
    Halla nodded solemnly. "Just as well--it gives me a
week to shore up my case."
    Iella winced. "I'm sorry for what I said in there. I don't
want to have Corran's killer get off, but--"
    "Not your fault. Admiral Ackbar was right--I asked one
more question than I should have. I tried to make sure there
was no question that Corran had been right, and I was too
smart for my own good." She shrugged. "At least nothing
got said about the Duros that Captain Celchu says he was
meeting with that night. Right now the Tribunal just knows
that Corran might have been mistaken about his identifica-
tion. If the Duros is brought in, they'll be free to wonder how
much Kirtan Loor in a cloak looks like a Duros in a cloak."
    Iella's eyes narrowed. "We all knew Celchu claimed he
met a Duros that night."
    "So it seems, but all those stories get traced back to
Celchu himself, so anyone else bringing it up gets it stricken
because of the hearsay rule. The only way that comes in is if
Tycho takes the stand."
  "What if the Duros testifies?"
    "What's the likelihood of that happening? There's no
evidence Lai Nootka ever was on Coruscant, as nearly as we
can tell. Moreover, there was some history between Corran

and Nootka--Corran got him out of an Imperial prison on
Garqi, wherever that is. Why would Nootka run from the
man who saved his life?"
    Iella opened her hands. "Maybe he was just following
Tycho."
    "Fine. Let's assume that meeting was as innocent as
Tycho has tried to make it out to be. It doesn't make the least
little bit of difference. The bribe data alone is enough to
show he was working for the Empire. Corran believed Tycho
had met with Kirtan Loor; his threat to dig into Tycho's
background because of that belief is our motive for the mur-
der."
    "But why kill Corran when you can show he's wrong
about the meeting just by producing Lai Nootka?" leila
frowned. "Tycho always seemed confident of his innocence,
which meant he either had Nootka where he could deliver
him, blowing apart the foundation of Corran's threatened
investigation, or---"
    "Or he could be innocent?" Halla shook her head.
"Don't plot a course into that black hole."
   "But that black hole might be the truth."
    "Sure, but we're not the triers of fact in this case, the
Tribunal members are. We just have to present to them the
best case we can muster, and the defense has to knock it
apart." Halla's brown eyes narrowed. "You're not going to
start in on me about wanting to make sure your partner's
killer really is caught, because HI tell you we've got him
beyond a reasonable doubt."
  Iella shrugged. "And if I don't want to be reasonable?"
      Halla winced, then sat back in her white high-backed
chair. "Idealists should not be in this business, you know."
   "And your point is?"
    "The Duros thing has bothered me, too. I can grant that
Tycho might have pulled that name from Corran's file just to
annoy him, but that would be very risky for him to do. The
trail Tycho has left has shown him to be very careful, so I
don't see him throwing out that sort of taunt. Therefore I can
imagine that he really did meet with Lai Nootka. And if




that's true, I have to wonder about our inability to find
Nootka or any record of his presence here on Coruscant."
    "So even though you believe Tycho was working for the
Empire, you think Nootka's disappearance may be evidence
of someone making sure Tycho's perfidy is obvious?" Iella
frowned. "Who? Why?"
      "Good, obstruction-of-justice questions to answer."
Halla sighed. "You want to find Nootka, right?"  "If you don't mind."
    Halla sat forward and fingered a small black wafer of
silicon. "Do it. And take this--it's a code chip that will let
you bring your airspeeder into the upper-level security ga-
rage. You can take the turbolift down to the court from
there. It'll save Diric from having to go in and out with the
courtroom crowds from now on."
    Iella accepted it from her and smiled. "Things are just
going to continue getting crazier, aren't they?"
    "I'm afraid so." Halla visibly shivered. "I'm very much
afraid so."

17

Aided by the Trandoshan's healthy shove, Corran flew
through the darkened doorway. Unable to see anything, he
curled himself into a ball and hoped he didn't land on his
head. He smashed his shins into something hard, then
bounced down onto his right shoulder before continuing his
roll. He hit more things, most of which cried out, and all of
which gave way, then came to an abrupt stop against some-
thing very solid.
    Corran opened his eyes and in the dim light made out
the smiling, bearded face of a positively huge man. He'd
come to rest against the man's shin and thigh--clearly the
man had dropped to one knee to stop Corran's tumble
through the room. Back along his flight path Corran heard
the muttered curses of people he'd knocked down.
    The bearded man stood and dragged Corran to his feet.
"Quite the entrance."
    "I had help in making it." Corran plucked at the shoul-
ders of his tan canvas tunic and tried to settle it in place. The
bulky garment extended all the way to his knees. The sleeves
ran to mid-forearm, but that was because the shoulder seam
started well below the curve of his deltoids. Naked beneath
it, Corran felt a little uncomfortable. He knew that was part




of the psychological war waged by Isard on him and the
other prisoners--deny them human clothing and you deny
them a little piece of their humanity.
    The big man nodded. "The Trandoshan doesn't like any-
one. I'm Urlor Sette." He offered Corran his hand. Sette was
missing the last two fingers of his right hand but didn't seem
bashful or embarrassed about it.
    Corran met the man's firm grip with a solid one of his
own. "Corran Horn."
    "Glad to make your acquaintance." Sette pointed off to
the left. "Come on, I'll take you to the Old Man." The big
man's voice carried with it equal measures of respect and
affection, reminding Cotran of how he'd often called Gil
Bastra "the Old Man."
    Must be the nominal leader among the prisoners here.
Corran realized that his being thrust into the general
Lusankya population could have been another ploy by Isard
to get him to reveal information he'd not given up during
interrogation. Because he did not have a clear memory of
what he had actually said while being chemically debriefed,
he didn't know what she might be looking to confirm or
uncover. For all I know, this is an elaborate charade. I will
have to be on my guard.
    Urlor led Corran out of the area near the doorway and
deeper into the cell complex. It appeared to have been
ground and drilled out of solid rock. Thick dust coated the
floor and hung in Urlor's wake like ground-covering fog. The
irregular rock walls and ceiling had pockets of luminous
lichen clinging to them. Their lime-green light gave the dust
an eerie glow, and greyed out the flesh of those standing
about.
    Corran followed Urlor into a side chamber with an en-
trance low enough that even he had to duck his head. Beyond
the threshold the big man straightened up and moved aside.
On the opposite side of the circular room, barely six meters
from the entrance, an older, white-haired and bearded man
sat up and hung his legs over the edge of a hammock braided
together from darkened strips of tunic canvas. Corran imme-
diately had a vague sense that he'd seen the man before, or a

holograph of him, but if so, it was a long time ago, and he
couldn't place him.
   "Sir, this is Corran Horn. They just delivered him to
US."
    The older man stood and straightened his tunic, then
peered closely at Corran. He felt as if under the scrutiny of
his first drill instructor at the Corellian Security Force Acad-
emy. The effect was not wholly unpleasant in that it rein-
forced the leadership role into which the old man had been
cast. "Come here, son, let me see you close up."
    Corran closed the gap between them and felt Urlor drop
in behind him, ready to prevent him from doing any harm to
the old man. "I'm with Rogue Squadron, a lieutenant."
    "You have the look of a pilot about you--size, anyway.
You've got a good leader in Antilles--assuming Skywalker's
not back in charge there."
    "No sir, he isn't. Wedge Antilles is still in charge, and is
a commander now."
       The older man nodded, then squinted at Corran's face.
"You're from CoreIlia?"   "Yes, sir."
   "Did I know your grandfather?"
    Corran shrugged. "His name is Rostek Horn. He was
with CorSec."
    The old man shook his head and straightened up again.
"No, I was thinking of someone else, from the Clone Wars. I
don't recall Rostek Horn, though I might have met him once
or twice. It's possible."
    Though the man qualified his statement, Corran felt he
was being polite instead of indecisive. Although his age had
given him white hair and wrinkled skin, clearly the man's
mental faculties were not suffering from the ravages of age.
The old man knew exactly who it was he thought Corran
looked like, and he also knew that he'd never met Corran's
grandfather. That clarity of mind impressed Corran, as did
the mannerly qualification of his firmly voiced denial.
    The old man extended his hand to Corran. "My name's
Jan." His dark eyes flicked up toward Urlor. "Despite what




he will tell you, there's no rank here. That was for when we
were people. Now we're just here."
    "Pleased to meet you, sir." Corran shook the man's
hand and found his grip firm even though his hands were a
bit bony.
      Jan sat back in the hammock. "You say Antilles has
finally accepted a promotion?"   "Yes, sir."
    "He always seemed level-headed. Good officer material.
And who's commanding the fleet?"
    Corran hesitated. "I'm not sure how much of that you
want me to discuss, sir."
    A smile spread across Jan's face. "Very good, my boy. If
you're in here it's because Isard has sucked you dry like the
spider she is, but caution is good." He glanced down. "It's
just that some of us have been in here since Yavin and, well,
we wonder about how the war is going. We've had others
through here who have told us a lot. We know, for example,
that the Emperor is dead and with him another Death Star.
And we know about the Ssi-ruuk. But news has been pretty
spare in the last year and a half--you're the first military
man who's not an Imp who has ended up here for about that
long. The few civilians who've been here have been interest~
ing, but their knowledge of how the Rebellion is going has
been filtered through lmp news sources."
    Urlor landed a hand heavily on Corran~s right shoulder.
"Imps would have us believe Rogue Squadron is dead and
gone. Died at a place called Borleias."
    "Sure, in some Imp's lum dream." Corran turned, slip-
ping from beneath Urlor's grip, so he could see both men at
the same time. "Rogue Squadron did get hit hard at Borleias,
but that was more the product of bad intel going in than it
was anything the Imps actually did to us. The fact is, though,
that inside a month after we got bloodied, we were back and
took Borleias away from the Imps. And, from there, we
staged for the invasion of Coruscant."
    His smile grew broad as pride swelled inside him.
"Rogue Squadron went into Coruscant and managed to
bring the shields down. I don't remember much, but I know

our fleet arrived and I was evacuated by Isard as she fled the
planet, so I have to figure the New Republic now rules Co-
rnscant. It's ours."
  "It is yours because we gave it to you."
    Corran looked to his right, toward the doorway, and
saw an obese man squeezing his way through it. The tunic,
which was black like the man's thinning hair, could barely
contain the man's bulk. Anger filled the man's brown eyes
for a second, then melted away as he straightened up and
tugged at the hem of his sleeves. "You inherited a sick world,
a dying world."
    Jan bowed his head in the heavy man's direction. "This
is General Evir Derricote, late of Imperial service. He is the
ranking Imperial here among us."
    Corran immediately realized that a secondary reason for
the lack of titles among the Rebel prisoners was to allow
them to further differentiate themselves from the Imps in
Lusankya. "I'm Corran, and I was at Borleias."
    "Then you saw me smash the little invasion fleet you
sent against me."
    "Yeah, I did, and I lost friends at that battle." Corran
balled a fist and arced it toward Derricote's bullet head, but
it never landed. Urlor lunged forward, grabbed the collar of
Corran's tunic, and hauled him backward. Corran's feet left
the floor and the canvas rasped against the flesh of his arm-
pits as the big man held him up. "Hey! That hurts!"
    Urlor kept his voice even. "There's a rule--if we beat up
on Imps, the staff here beats up on the Old Man."
    What I almost did. Corran's mouth hung open as if to
let the twisting sensation in his stomach a chance to escape.
He nodded once and Urlor put him back down. Corran
turned to Jan and bowed his head. "I won't let it happen
again."
    "Spirit is good, Corran, very good." Jan coughed lightly
into his hand. "The general here was the one who told us of
Rogue Squadron's defeat at Borleias. He left out your appar-
ent return and victory."
    Derricote sniffed. "Had I still been on Borleias there
would have been more Rebel blood shed."




    "Not likely. We pinpointed the power generator at the
Alderaan Biotics facility and severed the conduit that sent the
auxiliary power to your shield generators and ion cannons. A
handful of TIEs survived our second raid, and those pilots
surrendered when they flew home and found their base in
our hands." Corran shrugged. "And as for Coruscant, the
fact that you use the word 'inherit' to describe what we did,
well, it means that the world is ours now. It might be sick,
but it's better off in our hands than it ever was in yours."
   "I doubt the dying think that."
"I doubt the dying blame the Rebels for their problems."
Derricote shrugged, and a shiver ran through the layer
of fat around his middle. "It does not matter to me who they
blame. When the histories are written, this shall be but a
momentary disturbance in the Empire's epic."
    Jan rocked to his feet. "That will be up to the historians
to determine, won't it, General?"
    "When I get out and put together my memoirs, you will
fare well, Jan." Derricote ducked his head and slid his body
back out through the doorway. He paused halfway through,
and Corran thought for a moment he might have been stuck,
but the fat man turned to look at Jan again. "Before I forget
what I came here for, a batch is ready."
    "Thank you. I'll have Urlor organize a party to help you
decant it." Jan nodded at Urlor and the large man stooped to
force Derricote from the doorway, then followed him out.
The older man smiled. "The general is a recent addition to
our population, but he has proved himself useful in that he's
good with biotics. He's managed to ferment a relatively mild
ale here, providing us with a forbidden pleasure that many of
us had forgotten."
   "You trust him and drink it?"
    Jan shrugged. "He drinks enough of it that if it were
lethal, he'd have long since been dead. Despite being proud
of his Imperial service, he seems somewhat perplexed by his
imprisonment here. He thought he had fulfilled the parame-
ters of a project for Iceheart, but she disagreed and he's
here."

    Corran nodded. "I can understand his confusion. I don't
know why I'm here either."
    "It may be temporary. We get a lot of transients who are
transferred out in bulk. Traffic into and out of Lusankya
seems to be relatively rare."
    "That's not good news. If this place is truly a backwater
planet, the chances of our being found by the Alliance are
tiny."
    Jan fingered the knots in the braided canvas cord that
gathered his hair into a ponytail. "I've been here for, as
nearly as I can determine, seven years, and no one has found
me yet." His laugh came warm and natural, not tinged with
the sort of madness Corran had heard in Derricote's laugh.
"There's always tomorrow."
    "Right." Corran sighed and looked around the small
chamber. "Urlor's acquainted me with one rule. Are there
others?"
    "We do what we're told when we're told to do it. Ra-
tions are not great but are not starvation fare, either. Pro-
duce is seasonal but not so peculiar as to let us pinpoint
where we are. I think there's an agrocombine maintained to
supply us, though none of us down here ever see it. We as-
sume there are lower grade prisoners who are used to main-
tain it, but we're in the deepest level, which has the highest
security. At least that's where we think we are. Could be
there's something more stringent, but I've not seen it."
   "What do they have us do?"
    "Hard labor make-work." The old man sighed. "Big
rocks are made into little rocks, little rocks are made into
gravel, and gravel is moved from one point to another. It is
painfully and mind-numbingly boring, designed to crush
hope and make the days meld one into another. It drives
some of the men insane."
  Corran lowered his voice. "Anyone ever escape?"
  "Not quite that insane, son."
  "No one has tried?"
  "Few have tried, no one has made it."
  "To your knowledge."
  Jan's mouth opened, then he shut it and nodded. "To my




knowledge--you are correct. At any rate, no one has made it
since I've been here."
    Corran frowned. "Those who have tried, they get
brought back here?"
    "Parts of them, anyway." The old man pointed vaguely
off deeper into the caverns. "The Imps have a chamber
where they keep the skulls and other relics of their dead. We
smuggle ours into the mines where we work and bury them."
"So escape is impossible?"
    Jan winked at him as he dropped his voice into a con-
spiratorial whisper. "I never said impossible, I just said it
hadn't been done successfully."
    Corran laughed quietly. "I'm with Rogue Squadron. Im-
possible is our stock in trade, and success is what we de-
liver."
    Jan slapped him on the shoulder. "Now I'm thinking it's
a pity I didn't know your grandfather. With a grandson like
you, I'm sure we would have gotten along famously."
    "I have a feeling you're right, sir." Corran nodded sol-
emnly. "And being his grandson, I'm going to do everything
I can to get out of and off of this rock."
    The old man smiled. "From the moment I saw you, Cor-
ran Horn, I somehow expected nothing less."

18

Wedge felt more trapped by wearing a dress uniform and
being in the witness box than he ever had in action against
tile Empire. He didn't see Halla Ettyk as a simulacrum of
Ysanne Isard or an enemy warrior with whom he would be
doing combat. The pleasant expression on her face belied
either of those descriptions. Moreover, Wedge knew he had
entered her arena--for him to think about defeating her here
was as foolish as for her to imagine she could best him in a
dogfight.
This is all about survival--mine and Tycho's survival
The prosecutor looked up from her datapad. "Com-
mander Antilles, how did you come to be on Coruscant be-
fore our forces had taken possession of it?"
    "My squadron and I were inserted into Coruscant in a
pathfinder capacity. We were here to evaluate the world from
a number of points of view to determine if, how, and when
the Alliance might want to attempt to take it."
    "I see. What was the security classification on this oper-
ation?"
    "The highest. If it had been known that we were coming
or that we were here, we would have been dead."


      Halla nodded sagely. "In preparation for sending your
squadron out, what role did Captain Celchu play?"
   Wedge shook his head. "He played no part."
   "Why not?"
    "Objection." Nawara stood at the defense table. "Calls
for a conclusion."
"It goes to the witness's state of mind, Admiral."
Admiral Ackbar shook his head. "Counselor Ven, please
do not object to questions calling for answers that Captain
Celchu's commanding officer should know. Overruled. You
may answer the question, Commander."
    Wedge nodded. "Captain Celchu was seen as a security
risk by General Cracken, so he was not involved in the prep-
aration for the mission."
"Then how did Captain Celchu end up on Coruscant?"
This is not going to sound good. Wedge sighed. "I do
not like covert missions. The things you don't know always
seem to be the things that get you into trouble. If any of our
people got picked up on the mission, it would be logical for
the Imps to conclude there were more of us present, and hunt
us down. I wanted someone on Coruscant whom I could
trust to get me out of difficult situations."
   "So you chose someone that Alliance Intelligence did not
trust."
    "I chose Tycho for a number of very good reasons, Com-
mander Ettyk. He had been to Coruscant before and knew
his way around."
   "But he was captured on Coruscant, correct?"
   "Yes."
       "And imprisoned in a place the Empire uses to create
covert operatives, correct?"   "So I have been told."
    Halla smiled slightly and gave him a slight nod. Wedge
felt it was the sort of salute one pilot might toss another for a
good shot--the sort of salute that came with the promise of
destruction on the next pass. A wave of heat washed over
him and he wanted to loosen the collar of his dark green
jacket. Can't. Don't want to let her know she's beginning to
get to me.

    "Commander Antilles, why did you feel you needed
your own person operating independently on Coruscant?"
    "If things went bad and some or all of General
Cracken's operation here on Coruscant was uncovered, we
would be in dire straits."
    "Did you have a reason to suppose there was a chance
the operation would be compromised?"
   'Tm not certain I understand the question."
    "What reasons did you have to fear your operation
might be compromised to Imperial Intelligence?"
    "There is always a risk of such betrayal with any covert
operation. Certainly the fact that we were going to be on
Coruscant had to suggest that was a possibility."
    "And you knew, as you just told us, that Captain Celchu
had been captured on Coruscant, so that was certainly in
your mind, yes?"
Wedge frowned. Where is she going with this? "Yes."
"And there were other incidents involving Rogue Squad-
ron where betrayal had been previously mentioned, cor-
rect?"
   "I am not certain I understand what you mean by that."
    "Please characterize for the court the first mission to
Borleias."
    "It was an unmitigated disaster. I lost people, the Alli-
ance lost people, and we didn't take the planet."
    Halla glanced down at her datapad. "And there was an
investigation conducted upon your return to determine if
your mission had been betrayed to the enemy, was there
not?"
    "Yes, but Tycho was never implicated, never under sus-
picion."
    "I know---still, your mission to Coruscant was staging
from Noquivzor, which was where the mission to Borleias
staged from, was it not?"
  "Yes."
    "So the spectre of a chance that whoever might have
betrayed your first mission to Borleias could betray your mis-
sion to Coruscant certainly existed, did it not?"
  "Yes."




   "Hence your precaution."
   "Yes."
"And yet you would tell us that you had no cause to
suspect Captain Celchu of collusion with the enemy?"
    Wedge blinked as Halla shifted her aim to a new target.
"I had no reasons to suspect Tycho of anything."
    The prosecutor's head came up. "You did not find the
circumstances of Bror Jace's death the least bit suspicious?"
"Excuse me?"
    Halla folded her arms across her chest. "I believe, Com-
mander Antilles, you were present in the courtroom for the
testimony of Captain Uwlla Iillor in regard to the mission to
capture Bror Jace. At the time of his death did you not con-
sider the possibility that news of his travel to Thyferra had
been leaked to the Empire?"
   "No."
   "Not at all?"
    "Well, not in any substantive way, and certainly not
with Tycho being the source of the leak."
    Halla narrowed her eyes. "Who obtained the permis-
sions and filed the flight plan for Bror Jace's trip to
Thyferra?"
   "Tycho did, by my order."
   "Did you approve the flight plan?"
    Wedge hesitated as he felt pressure building up in him-
self. "No."
   "Did you know the flight plan?"
   "No."
    "To the best of your knowledge, did anyone in your
squadron outside of Captain Celchu and Bror Jace know that
flight plan?"
  Wedge's hands pulsed into fists. "No."
    "Captain Iillor testified that her ship, the Black Asp, had
been given specific orders as to where to go and when to be
there to encounter Bror Jace. How could they have gotten
that information, do you think?"
    "A spy, I suppose. I don't know. Espionage is not really
my stock in trade."

    "So you would have a difficult time determining if some-
one was a spy or not?"
    Wedge glanced down. "You're good at twisting my
words, Commander. I know Tycho wasn't working for the
Empire."
    Halla's eyes narrowed. "You may have felt that, Com-
mander Antilles, but tell me truthfully, when Corran Horn
told you he'd seen Captain Celchu speaking to an Imperial
Intelligence operative, tell me you didn't wonder, just for a
heartbeat, if everything General Cracken and others had said
about Tycho Celchu wasn't true."
    Wedge closed his eyes. When Corran had come to him
on Coruscant and reported what he had seen, Wedge had
been unable to cover his shock. I said to him, "That's impos-
sible, Corran." I followed up with the explanation about
Warlord Zsinj having attacked Noquivzor, but the first thing
out of my mouth had been a denial of what I feared might be
true. Just for a second I allowed myself to accept what he
said. I refused to let myself believe what he had said, but I
knew I could not prove his statement to be absolutely false.
    The leader of Rogue Squadron nodded and refrained
from looking over at Tycho. "Yes, for a heartbeat, I did al-
low myself to consider what Lieutenant Horn said. I rejected
it just that quickly."
  "On what grounds?"
  "I knew Tycho wasn't a spy."
      Halla raised an eyebrow. "You didn't know Zekka
Thyne was working for the Empire, did you?"  "No, but I never truly trusted him."
    "Your opinion of him and his treacherous nature was
based on what?"
  "His history and . . ." Wedge caught himself.
  "And?"
  "His demeanor when ! saw him."
    Halla Ettyk opened her hands. "Were there no other
factors in your forming your opinion of Thyne?"
  Ven stood. "Objection, relevancy, your Honor."
  Admiral Ackbar looked down at the prosecutor. "Corn-




mander, this does seem a bit far afield from where you
started."
  "It is relevant, your Honor. I'm closing in on my point."
      "Proceed, but be aware I will strike this line of inquiry if
you don't bring us to that point quickly."  "Yes, sir."
  "The objection is overruled."
      Ettyk nodded toward Wedge. "Commander, were there
no other factors in your forming your opinion of Thyne?"
   "Not really."
    "Lieutenant Horn's opinion of Thyne was not important
to you?"
    "It was, and it was a factor, though Thyne's hostility to
Corran was more indicative of trouble than anything else."
    "But you felt your observations of Thyne justified
Horn's opinion of the man?"
   "Yes."
    "So, when Thyne turned out to be an Imperial plant you
had not detected, but whom Horn had warned you about,
didn't you have to reconsider Captain Celchu's position in
regard to what Horn thought about him?"
    Wedge shook his head. "To be honest, Commander,
there was so much happening at the time Thyne was revealed
to be a traitor, that I could only consider one thing: getting
my mission done. We had just received word that we had to
bring the shields down so our fleet could invade. Mind you,
Tycho passed that message to me. If he were an Imperial
plant, he could have withheld that information and set a trap
for our fleet."
    "So then, Commander Antilles, you are not of the opin-
ion that the Empire gave us this world, infected as it is with
the Krytos virus, to destroy us?"
    "I have no idea, Commander Ettyk, what was in the
mind of Ysanne Isard at the time we took Coruscant."
    "I see." Halla Ettyk took a datadisk from leila Wessiri
and exchanged it for one in her datapad. "But you do not
discount that possibility, correct?"   "I cannot discount it."
   "And you cannot discount the possibility that Captain

Celchu was working for the Empire in helping give Corus-
cant to the New Republic."
    "Yes I can." Wedge nodded solemnly. "I know Tycho. !
know he's not a spy. I trust him."
      "And you trusted Zekka Thyne until proved wrong
about him, didn't you, Commander?"  "No, that's not the way it was."
    "Perhaps not to you, Commander, but it was to one
man." Halla Ettyk shrugged casually. "Corran Horn. And
now he's dead."

Outside the courtroom, Wedge slumped against the cold
stone wall. Nawara tried to rehabilitate me as a witness, but
the damage was done. I wanted to be in there and help
Tycbo, but I didn't. He hammered a fist against the wall.
"Sithspawn!"
    He straightened up immediately as a woman closed to
within inches of him. She held up a comlink and nodded to a
holocam-carrying lthorian. "This is Zaree Lolvanci, Kuati
First Holo-News, and I'm standing here with Alliance hero,
Commander Wedge Antilles. How does it feel, Commander,
to know that your testimony is what will convict Captain
Celchu?"
    Before Wedge could gather his wits enough to answer, a
body sliced between the holojournalist and him. Wedge felt a
strong grip on his upper arm and heard a firm voice reply to
the question in his place. "Commander Antilles's only inter-
est in this matter is seeing justice done. He has every confi-
dence that his faith in Captain Celchu will be vindicated
when the defense presents its case. Until then, any specula-
tion on the outcome would be premature and possibly preju-
dicial. And he has no further comment."
    Wedge let Diric Wessiri guide him past the Ithorian and
on through a security checkpoint, where two guards stopped
the reporter and her holographer. Diric steered him to a
bench and sat beside him. "Odious people, the holoshills,
aren't they, Commander Antilles?"
  "They don't make a very good first impression . . ."




"No, but it tends to last." The older man smiled at him.
"How are you holding up?"
    Wedge nodded. "I think I will be able to recover. Just
need some time." He regarded the slender man closely.
Though his flesh still seemed a bit ashen, spirit and fortitude
shone in his eyes. "Thank you for saving me."
    "! am glad I was able to help." Diric gave him a smile
that appeared artificial only in that it looked as if Diric had
to consciously work at remembering how to smile. "Iella was
afraid something like that would happen. She sent me after
you."
    "I'd have thought she was happy with the turn of events.
Commander Ettyk ate me alive."
    "No, she wasn't happy." Diric patted a tunic pocket. "I
have a pass that can take us up to the secure parking area.
We can get in my airspeeder and leave here. Iella said she
would be willing to join us later for dinner, if you wish."
    "I doubt I would be very good company." Wedge
glanced back toward the courtroom. "I wanted to end
Tycho's persecution with my testimony, and all I did was
leave the impression that even I think he was a spy."
    "Not at all." Diric tapped Wedge's thigh with a finger.
"First of all, the Tribunal judges know you and know how
difficult that was for you. All Commander Ettyk really did
was establish that Tycho was on Coruscant at your request
and that the possibility of betrayal was in your mind."
       "Sure, but she also made it sound like I wouldn't know
who was a spy and who wasn't."
   "Why would you?"
   "What?"
    Diric opened his hands. "As you said, ferreting out spies
is not what you do. No one expects you to have been able to
spot him as a spy if he was, and you certainly couldn't if he
wasn't. And, between you and me, I don't think he is a spy."
   "Thanks."
    "None necessary. I've had a number of conversations
with Captain Celchu in jail and I find him thoroughly lik-
able. If he's a spy, well, then all of us are suspects." Diric
held a hand up. "I would also like to point out that I have

attended many trials in my time, and you did no worse on
the stand than many people I have seen. You see your perfor-
mance as hideous because you were hoping to put the state's
case away with one telling shot. Unfortunately the case
against Tycho isn't a Death Star. It isn't going to go away
that easily. Nawara Ven knows what he's doing, though, and
he'll do a good job."
    Wedge stared down at his hands. "I'd like to believe you,
but I feel the way I did at Yavin, when Luke told me to pull
up out of the trench on the Death Star. Luke was right, there
wasn't anything else I could do, but to abandon the effort at
that point, it just didn't feel right."
    "I understand that, but Luke Skywalker was correct and
the Death Star was destroyed."
    "Yes, but Biggs Darklighter died. If I'd stayed in there,
maybe--"
    "Maybe he would have lived and you would have
died?" Diric shook his head ruefully. "And you probably
think that if you had been flying the night Coruscant was
taken, Corran would still live?"
    I hadn't thought about it, but, yes, that notion has been
bouncing around in the back of my mind. "It's not that I
have a death wish, you know."
    "I know that very well, Wedge. I have seen this survi-
vor's guilt in Iella, in Corran and his father, and in others."
He pressed a hand to his own chest. "Even I have known it.
We all have friends and acquaintances who meet with what
we see as an untimely death. With me, because I do nothing,
I wonder why it wasn't me who died. I wonder what I have
done to survive. With you and others who actively oppose
evil, you wonder what it is that you could have done to
prevent another person's death. Those questions have no an-
swers-at least none outside the philosophical realm. For me
they are a point of departure for thought, but for you and my
wife they are just sources of frustration and regret.
    "This is why, of course, my wife is working so hard to
uncover who caused Corran's death. That's the only way she
will be able to defeat the frustration and assuage her feelings
of guilt. She hated what you were put through on the stand,




because you are her friend, but her loyalty to Corran de-
manded she sit through it and help Commander Ettyk, if
need be." Diric shook his head. "Fortunately she did not
have to help. You two are enough alike that I imagine you
can see how much that would have hurt her."
    "Yeah, I can see it." Wedge rubbed at his temples with
both hands. "And I can understand the frustration. I have to
wonder if there was a way to prevent Corran's death."
    "Undoubtedly there was, Wedge, but it was not open to
you. If Captain Celchu was a spy, then General Cracken and
Winter and leila all missed the signs of it."   "But Corran didn't."
       Diric's smile returned more naturally. "As much as I
valued Corran as a friend, he was not always right."   "So Whistler has indicated."
       "And no one knew him better." Diric patted him on the
leg. "Maintain your faith in your friend. He deserves it."
   "Again, thank you."
    "No thanks are necessary. So, would you like me to take
you somewhere? We can eat or drink and leila can join us."
    Wedge thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"There should be another two hours of testimony today,
shouldn't there?"
   "Yes. Winter was called after you were."
    Watching Winter testify has got to be hard on leila. They
were even closer than leila and I became, and with Winter
and Tycho being together . . ."Iella will need you there,
because Winter's testimony is going to be tougher on her
than mine."
   "But you shouldn't be alone right now."
    "I won't be." Wedge jerked a thumb toward the east.
"I'm going to go down a level, then over to the Galactic
Museum via the walkway. I'll spend some time in the Crimi-
nal Gallery, visiting old friends, then I'll come back here
when court is adjourned for the day and take you up on your
offer. I have a feeling that when today is over, Iella isn't
going to want to be alone either. No matter how this turns
out, I do consider her a friend, and I want to make sure she
has no reason to doubt that at all."

19

Gavin shifted his shoulders uneasily and tugged at the cuffs
of his dress jacket. I feel about as comfortable here as Com-
mander Antilles did on the witness stand.
    Asyr slipped her arm through his as the tether-lift
stopped and the doors opened. "It's not going to be that bad,
Gavin. Liska Dan'kre, our hostess, is an old friend of mine.
We schooled together before I went off to the Academy."
    "If she's hiring a skyhook for this party, she must be
filthy rich."
    Asyr purred contentedly. "Rich, yes, but you'll find
nothing filthy about her." She led Gavin from the lift box
onto the entry platform which overlooked the whole of the
skyhook's disk. "Impressive, isn't it?"
    "Yeah." The circular skyhook actually formed a bowl
with several pathways spiraling down through forested
depths to a central courtyard. A kilometer in diameter, the
floating garden flew high over the mountain district of Co-
ruscant. Off to the northeast, beyond the Manarai Moun-
tains, Gavin saw the top of the Imperial Palace. "I can't
believe I'm here."
    Asyr looked up at him, puzzlement riding openly on her
face. "What's wrong?"




    Where to begin? "Nothing, really, I suppose. It's just
that, well, on Tatooine we had no skyhooks. They weren't
deemed safe enough--one good dust storm blows up out of
the nastier regions and it would pull one of these skyhooks
from the sky."
    The Bothan patted his hand. "The repulsorlift genera-
tors are more than sufficient for keeping this skyhook aloft.
Don't worry about that."
    "Then there's the jungle." He gave her a weak smile.
"You weren't with us on one of our duty stations, but it
looked a lot like this. I got shot there. My stomach is already
acting up because of it."
    Asyr rubbed her hand over the faint trace of a scar on
his belly. "I've seen what the bacta left you for a souvenir,
remember, love?"
   Gavin blushed. "Yeah."
    "And I think you're not nervous about that as much as
you're nervous about being here among my people." She
raised a finger and pressed it to his lips to forestall a com-
ment. "I know you're not bigoted--if you were you'd not be
here--but you've even said yourself that most of your life has
been spent among humans. It's not unusual to be anxious
when outnumbered--I feel it whenever we go to places
where humans predominate."
    Gavin's shoulders sagged a centimeter or two. "I should
have realized . . . I'm sorry."
    "Don't be." Asyr smiled broadly. "Come on, let's make
an impression on my friends."
    Gavin brought his head up and smiled. "As you wish,
Asyr, so shall it be."
    Together they descended from the entry platform and
started off on a path that took a long, 1ooping spiral down to
the central courtyard. The guests at the party were mostly
Bothans, and all of them stared at the couple as they walked
past. Gavin knew that had to be because of the high-necked,
sleeveless gown Asyr wore. Woven of iridescent blue and
purple thread, the color shifted and shimmered with her ev-
ery movement. The garment clung tight to her slender body,
but the fact that the skirts had been slit from ankle to high on

her thigh meant she was not hampered while walking. She'd
loosely draped a simple blue stole, woven from the metallic
thread used in her dress, across her back and through her
elbows, completing the outfit.
    Other Bothan females wore similar gowns, but none so
well. Though he was not wholly adept at reading Bothan
body language and facial expressions, the rippling of fur on
necks and shoulders of those they passed by told him that
Asyr's gown was making quite an impression indeed. Gavin
thought he looked pretty sharp in his Rogue Squadron uni-
form, but he was a black hole compared with a supernova,
and quite content with that role.
    As they reached the courtyard, a lithe female Bothan
with black and tan markings excused herself from a circle of
individuals who were listening to Borsk Fey'lya holding forth
on something. She wore a gown similar in design to Asyr's,
though it had been made of cloth of gold and had been
accented with jet beadwork in the form of stripes. She
beamed broadly as she approached them. "Asyr Sei'lar, you
are a vision!"
    Asyr gave her friend a big hug. "Thank you for the invi-
tation, Liska."
    Liska pulled back and looked up at Gavin. "And you are
Asyr's friend."
    Gavin executed a semiformal bow. "Gavin Darklighter
of Rogue Squadron, pleased to make your acquaintance."
He took her hand in his and shook it gently.
    Liska sighed contentedly, then smiled at Asyr. "So man-
nerly, no wonder you find him so attractive. How did you
meet him?"
    Asyr hesitated for a moment. "I was part of an opera-
tion in Invisec before the liberation. We met then."
    Gavin smiled. "She was trying to get me executed as an
example to the Imps."
  "You always did play a little rough, Asyr."
    Asyr shrugged. "Luckily he had Nawara Ven defending
him, so the execution was delayed. Imps showed up, Gavin
saved my life and I his in the ensuing firefight. Not much
more to tell than that."




    "Quite the first date, Asyr. It's a wonder he dared go out
with you again." Liska linked her arm through Asyr's. "You
never seemed to get into this sort of trouble when I've been
there to keep you safe."  "True enough."
    Liska looked up at Gavin. "I'm going to steal her away
for a moment or two, just to get caught up. You don't mind,
do you?"
    Gavin gave her a big smile and shook his head. "Not at
all--seeing you again is all she's talked about since the invi-
tation came. I'll just find myself something to drink."
    Asyr reached out and gave his right hand a squeeze.
"Won't be but a minute."
    "Have fun." Gavin watched Liska lead her away, then
looked around, surveying his surroundings. Knots of individ-
uals-almost exclusively Bothans---dominated the land-
scape. About the only place they were not predominant was
at one bar where a couple of humans, two Ithorians, and a
handful of other non-Bothan individuals seemed to have
taken up residence. Gavin drifted off in that direction, keep-
ing his strides even and his head up even though something
in his belly made him want to hurry over there.
  He looked at the bartender. "Lomin~ale, please."
    A short, balding man smiled over at him. "You should
drink the expensive stuff--the Bothans are paying for it."
    "Perhaps, but I like lomin-ale." Gavin accepted the
frothy green glass of ale, sipped, then licked the foam off his
upper lip. The ale was good, though not nearly cold enough
for his tastes. Bothans don't seem to like particularly cold
drinks, so that's not a big surprise, I guess.
    The shorter man offered Gavin his hand. "Herrit
Gordon, Ministry of State."
   "Gavin Darklighter, Rogue Squadron."
    Herrit shook his hand firmly. "Glad to meet you. I did a
tour of duty with the Diplomatic Corps on Bothawui, so they
felt they had to invite me." He pointed off toward a woman
who looked positively dowdy amid a circle of Bothan fe-
males. "That's my wife, Tatavan. She learned to speak
Bothan, so she's quite popular among the Bothans."

    "A useful skill, I have no doubt. I only know a few
words." Gavin sipped his ale again. "I came with Asyr
Sei'lar. She's a friend of Liska Dan'kre."
    "I know the family. I liaised with her father on
Bothawui. Minor nobles, but they have a thriving trade busi-
ness to support them, so they wield a bit more power than
might be imagined by their place in the formal hierarchy."
   "Powerful, really?"
   "She was able to bring you, wasn't she?"
    Gavin frowned and drank again, killing the need for an
immediate reply. I know she didn't bring me as a trophy--
she told me that much and I believe her. "You make it sound
as if she's trying to annoy some of the folks here."
    "Not the impression I meant to make, I'm afraid. Asyr is
something of a renegade. She went to school with Liska and
some of the others."
  "I know. She told me."
    "I'm sure she did. That school, however, was meant to
prepare her for a life as a trader or in a governmental posi-
tion. Without her family's permission she transmitted an ap-
plication to the Bothan Martial Academy and was accepted.
She did very well there, and her family is very proud of her
accomplishments, but they wonder when she will abandon
what they see as adventurism and get a real career."
    Gavin's smile returned to his face. "I doubt that will
happen very soon. Asyr seems very at home in the squad-
ron."
      "Don't underestimate the pull of the Bothan family
structure. Their families are very tightly bound together."
   "Nothing wrong with that."
    Herrit nodded, then looked toward his wife and paled.
Gavin followed his gaze and saw a trio of male Bothans
approaching them. The leader stood as tall as Gavin, though
he did not have Gavin's bulk. Creamy white fur and golden
eyes contrasted with the black uniform he wore. His subordi-
nates wore similar uniforms, but their fur was a motley riot
of orange and black.
    The lead Bothan stopped right in front of Gavin, but did
not offer a hand in greeting. "I am Karka Kre'fey, grandson




of General Laryn Kre'fey. You were with Rogue Squadron at
Borleias?"
    "I was." Setting his ale on the bar, Gavin aped Karka's
stance by grasping his hands together at the small of his
back. "Is there something I can do for you?"
    "Reports on the assault suggest my grandfather was
poorly prepared for the assault and made foolish decisions in
the battle."
   "And?"
    The Bothan's golden eyes burned with anger. "I would
know if you feel these reports are correct."
    Gavin ignored the gasp from Herrit. "In my opinion,
they are."
    Karka's open-handed slap arrived with no warning and
caught Gavin over the left cheek, snapping his head around.
Gavin staggered back a step, but the bar kept him from going
down. He grabbed onto it with his hands, then straightened
up slowly. He wanted to shake his head to kill the ringing in
his ears, but he stopped himself and instead looked Karka
hard in the eyes.
    "I understand your being upset over your grandfather's
death."
   "I am upset because you have besmirched his honor."
   "Be that as it may, don't slap me again."
   "Or?"
    Herrit stepped forward. "Please, let's not have an alter-
cation here."
    Gavin reached out and grabbed Herrit by the back of the
neck. He directed the diplomat back to his place at the bar.
"We're not going to have a fight, sir."
      Karka's lip curled back in a snarl. "You have sullied the
honor of the Kre'fey family. I challenge you to a duel."
   Gavin shook his head slowly. "No."
   "You refuse to accept?"
   "I will not fight you."
   "Then you are a coward."
    Gavin laughed aloud. Just a year previous he would
have leaped on Karka and done his best to pummel him, but
his time with Rogue Squadron had changed him so that was

not an option. Actually, it is an option, but not one I'm
compelled to choose. In the last year Wedge and Corran and
even Tycho had impressed upon him the fact that what oth-
ers thought and said didn't matter---it was the person inside
and what he thought of himself that mattered. That's what
allows Tycho to endure everything he's going through. He's
got a quiet kind of courage that doesn't require boasts and
defenses because it's the courage that kicks in when it's really
needed.
    While part of him still wanted to know the satisfaction
of using his fist to disassociate Karka's teeth from their sock-
ets, another part of him reveled in his freedom to ignore the
challenge. Because he would not allow himself to be aroused
by the Bothan's taunts, those taunts had no power. They
became pitiful in their efforts, and transparent. And ignoring
them hurts Karka more than any physical damage I could
inflict upon him.
    Gavin met Karka's molten stare. "Call me a coward if
you wish, I don't care. You are not my enemy. My enemy is
the Empire and its remnants. Maybe you can't see that. Your
grandfather could. Strikes me that you honor his memory
more by continuing his crusade than in trying to hide mis-
takes he may have made." He extended his right hand
toward the Bothan.
    Karka stared at it as if it were a snake, then snarled and
spun on his heel. His subordinates fell into step with him,
prompting a sigh of relief from Herrit as they departed.
    The bartender plopped a fresh 1omin-ale on the bar for
Gavin. "To your health, sir."
    Herrit clinked his lum mug against the glass. "You han-
dled that well. Sorry I got in your way."
    "No blood, no report." Gavin worked his jaw around
and heard it pop. "I'll be feeling that tomorrow."
  Asyr appeared at his side. "What happened?"
  Gavin shrugged. "Nothing, really."
    Herrit smiled. "Just a couple of boys getting some exer-
cise."
  Asyr looked up at Gavin. "Exercise?"




      He smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I gave that maturity you
were talking about a workout. Felt pretty good, too."
   "If you want to leave, we can."
    Gavin shook his head. "No, stay and see your friends.
Have fun. I don't think there's going to be any more excite-
ment tonight."

The fact that Borsk Fey'lya was nowhere to be seen heart-
ened Admiral Ackbar greatly as he entered Mon Mothma's
living quarters. The presence of General Cracken confirmed
that the reason he had been summoned was business, but
that everything would be conducted informally. Whatever
action needed to be referred to the Provisional Council
would be in its own good time.
    Had he thought Mon Mothma possessed a Bothan's
sense of subtlety, he would have assumed the way her apart-
ments had been redecorated were designed to encourage a
sense of well-being in him. Diaphanous blue and green
drapes rippled gently in front of the windows--the move-
ment being caused by the air conditioning, though it did
suggest the windows behind the drapes were open. The car-
peting had a rich aquamarine hue to it, and the tile pattern
used to decorate the lower half of the wall had a nautical
motif. The upper part of the wall matched the carpet in
color, but the recessed oscillating lights in the ceiling gently
picked up and sparkled from the rainbow pinpoints worked
into the paint.
    Even the furnishings were more to his liking than most.
Painted in greens, browns, and blues, they had an organic
and flowing shape to them. They lacked the pure symmetry
that most humans seemed to prefer. The table in the center of
the room, for example, could have been water that had been
poured out on the ground, frozen, and then placed atop legs.
The lack of sharp edges and jagged corners somehow drained
tension from the room, and Ackbar felt himself relaxing.
    Mon Mothma smiled in warm welcome. "I thank you
for coming so quickly after I sent for you. I know the trial is
your primary concern and is occupying much of your time."

    "The trial is indeed a concern of mine, but I consider it a
cove, when my real concern is the ocean of security for the
New Republic." Ackbar opened his hands. "l must compli-
ment you on the decor--I find it most pleasing. You grew up
in one of Chandrila's port cities, did you not?"
    "Yes, my mother was the governor there. I learned to
love the Silver Sea. I find that making my home over in the
image of where I lived in better times is good for my sanity."
    "You have done a wonderful job." Ackbar looked
around the room again. "It is a pity to bring the discussion of
difficult times into such a beautiful place."
    "There are always compromises that become neces-
sary." Mon Mothma waved Ackbar to a floating chair fash-
ioned after a fan of blue seaweed. She seated herself in a
similar chair, and General Cracken joined them by dragging
over a green coral chair. "There are some things that have
come up that could require Council activity, but I think it
would be better to present them to the Council as fait accom-
pli."
    Ackbar's barbels twitched. "Insulating the Council from
a backlash?"
    "And preventing the chance for people to profit from
what we are going to be doing, materially or politically."
Mon Mothma sighed heavily. "There are times ! can see
glimmers of what made the Emperor decide to dissolve the
Senate. I reject that course of action, but I can certainly feel
its allure. I especially hate it when action that is necessary is
delayed so various individuals can set themselves up to reap
the benefits of doing what they have no choice but to do. Not
the way it was when we had to deal directly with the Em-
pire."
    "I have ridden the crest of that wave myself, Mon
Mothma. Being a rebellion was much more simple than be-
ing a government." Ackbar settled back into his chair and
folded his hands into his lap. "What is it you would have of
me?"
    Mon Mothma looked at General Cracken. "You might
want to give the Admiral some of the background on this."
  Cracken nodded. "Though the pro-Palpatine terrorists




last struck ten days ago, that attack has had a chilling effect
on our bacta distribution efforts. The Krytos virus is begin-
ning to spread a bit more quickly than we projected when we
got the bacta from Warlord Zsinj. People are balancingtheir
fear of the disease against their fear of being at ground zero
of a terrorist attack. Black market prices for bacta are begin-
ning to climb again because, in effect, the PCF attack has
made our bacta off-limits to a lot of people. The demand for
bacta from other sources is thus increasing, and so are the
prices."
    Ackbar gave Cracken a wall-eyed stare. "Vorru and his
militia have not been able to crack down on the black marke-
teers?"
    "Vorru claims his people are concentrating on keeping
the PCF under wraps. They're reacting to every rumor they
get and, though we have not released this information to the
public, they have uncovered a couple of bombs that our peo-
ple think were created by the PCF. I do not for a minute
think Vorru is playing everything entirely straight, but his
people are maintaining order in a sector we had no chance of
controlling."
   "And how does this concern me?"
    Mon Mothma nodded. "General Cracken has been in
charge of some ultra-secret researches into the Krytos virus.
Details of them have been kept even from me, but their con-
tinuation requires a quantity of ryll."
    The Mon Calamari pressed his hands together. "And
that will require an expedition to Ryloth."
    "Precisely. Aside from getting the ryll, I think this will be
an excellent opportunity for us to open some diplomatic
channels with the Twi'leks, even if it is only at a very low
level."
   "And you will want Counselor Ven to go."
    "Yes." Mon Mothma smiled. "All of Rogue Squadron,
in fact. Commander Antilles made quite an impression there
several years ago, and the contribution of Nawara Ven to the
taking of Coruscant has attracted a lot of attention on
Ryloth. This notoriety will add weight to our negotiating
position."

    "So you need me to delay the trial and release Rogue
Squadron to this duty."
    The leader of the New Republic narrowed her eyes. "Is
there a problem with this? Surely you can find a reason to
grant a continuance in the case."
    Ackbar's mouth dropped open in a silent laugh. "Find a
reason? I could find a school of them, Chief Councilor. I
applaud General Cracken's ability to uncover so much so
quickly about Captain Celchu's involvement with the Em-
pire--the pace of discovery is remarkable. The trial is mov-
ing with such alacrity that there is no way the defense has
adequate time to prepare. Counselor Ven is doing his best,
but this is clearly the most difficult assignment he's been
given since joining Rogue Squadron."  "So this is not a problem?"
    "No, though I suppose the continuance cannot be
granted on the grounds that Rogue Squadron is going off on
a secret mission to Ryloth?" When silence met his question,
Ackbar opened his mouth in a smile. "1 was being facetious.
It was a joke."
    Cracken laughed, but Mon Mothma just smiled. "For-
give me, my friend, but as General Cracken will attest, I have
not heard many things that make me laugh of late."
    "I understand." Ackbar sat forward. "I will, of course,
clear Rogue Squadron for the mission. Will you be wanting
Erisi Dlarit to fly that mission?"
    "I should think so. Is there a reason we would not want
her on it?"
    Ackbar shrugged. "Since she is involved in pushing the
Xucphra corporation to sell us a great deal of bacta, I would
think putting her in jeopardy on a mission would be contra-
indicative."
    Mon Mothma looked at her Intelligence director. "Is she
in danger on this run, General?"
  Cracken frowned. "We anticipate no trouble."
    Ackbar blinked his eyes. "And if the mission is betrayed
to the PCF?"
    "We have the Imperial spy, don't we? Isn't that why
Captain Celchu is on trial?"




    "Yes, Chief Councilor." Cracken's dark eyes sharpened.
"What the Admiral is suggesting is that we cannot be certain
Captain Celchu was the only spy in service to the Empire.
The potential for betrayal does exist here and on the Ryloth
side of things. While sending her out might endanger her,
holding her back might be taken incorrectly by officials on
Thyferra, dooming that deal."
    "But if she dies, that could also hurt us." Mon Mothma
shook her head. "The lack of clear-cut decisions is what
makes this job so difficult. The Thyferrans seem to set great
store by Erisi Dlarit's flying with Rogue Squadron. I suppose
we will have to let her go."
    Ackbar nodded. "I concur. That is the tide on which you
should sail."
    "And you, General Cracken," Mon Mothma said, "will
have to make certain security around this mission is not
breached. We cannot afford to have the mission disrupted,
nor can we afford to lose Erisi Dlarit."
    "Of this, I am aware." General Cracken nodded sol-
emnly. "I understand the gravity of the situation. If there is a
leak, we'll find it--find it and eliminate it. The New Republic
can afford for us to do nothing less."

20

"I am fairly certain, Colonel Vorru, that I do not like this
turn of events at all." Kirtan Loor peered down at the
smaller man but clearly did not have quite the intimidating
effect on him that Loor wanted. "I invited you here to inform
you of my plan as a courtesy, not to allow you to veto it."
   Fliry Vorru shrugged. "Ah, but I have vetoed it."
    No! "No! I cannot allow this." Loor's hands balled into
fists. "My agreement with you was to let you select domestic
targets that help weaken the New Republic's government. I
have abided by your decisions in any case where the target
was of that sort. This is not one of those cases."
    Loor stalked around his darkened office, flitting like a
moth around the circle of light that anointed Fliry Vorru and
made his white hair shine brilliantly. "The destruction of
Rogue Squadron has been a priority with me since well be-
fore they took Imperial Center, and now, now they are
within my grasp. I have a squadron of X-wings here on Im-
perial Center that I will use to attack Rogue Squadron's base
and destroy them on the ground. It will be perfect and will
allow me to finish a mission that has taken far too long to
complete."
  Vorru leaned back in Loor's tall chair and put his booted




feet up on the surface of the desk, scattering a stack of data-
cards. "What were once your priorities do not matter to me.
I deem this attack too risky. Cracken will suspect I leaked
information about Rogue Squadron's impending mission to
you."
    "No, no he won't." Loor's fingers itched to be punching
data up on his datapad--or to be strangling you, Vorru. "I
uncovered evidence of a run to Ryloth based on fluctuations
in the secondary ryll-derivatives black market. I traced it
back to a woman in the medical corps who's been making
extra money producing her own brand of patent medicine.
It's mostly lure, with ryll and a drop or two of bacta in it--
useless, of course, but she's begun to raise the price. It's as-
sumed that when Rogue Squadron brings the rytl back to
Coruscant, its effectiveness against the virus will be touted
and her medicine will be in high demand. I can give her to
you and you can point her out as the leak."
    "Suggesting that a quack producing a folk remedy led
you to Rogue Squadron is what will get me implicated."
    "Nonsense." Loor slapped his hands against his hips in
frustration. "You know as well as I do that Ryloth is as dark
a den of iniquity as exists this side of Varl. The Twi'leks have
not supported the Rebellion in any great numbers, so the
most prominent Twi'lek in the New Republic is Nawara Ven.
The Republic has to use him as their negotiator and, lo and
behold, the prosecution asks for and gets a continuance of
the case. That leaves plenty of time for Rogue Squadron to
make the trip to Ryloth and back. The only obvious assump-
tion is that they're going to make the trip."
    Loor shook his head. "I've known where Rogue Squad-
ron has been stationed for a while now. This is my opportu-
nity to hit them right at a time when the failure of their
mission will severely hurt the New Republic."
    "Your reasoning is flawless, Agent Loor, but that con-
cerns me not at all." Vorru's dark eyes glittered. "I even find
your devotion toward the elimination of Rogue Squadron
admirable. However, your taking action against Rogue
Squadron does not suit me at this time; therefore you cannot
launch your assault."

  "And if I choose to ignore your advice?"
    Vorru twisted his head slightly sideways. "Do you really
want to test me, Kirtan Loor?"
    Loor hesitated, losing his chance to snap back a defiant
answer. Anyone else asking that question would have filled
the words with impending doom, but Vorru asked it in an
easy tone, as if asking a child if she were certain she wanted
to do something that was obviously dangerous. His expres-
sion, his posture, bore no obvious menace, and yet Loor
found himself more fearful of Vorru than he would be of a
buzzadder coiled and ready to strike in his place.
  "Testing you would get neither of us anywhere."
    "I always thought you were more than reasonable."
Vorru swung his feet off the desk and swiveled the chair
around so he could stand. He withdrew a datacard from
inside his militia tunic and tossed it on the desk. "You and
your people have been good and have done nothing of im-
port for nearly two weeks. I have found you a new target."
    Loor exchanged places with Vorru, spun the chair
around, and dropped into it. He pulled himself around to
face the desk and saw Vorru's shadowed form standing op-
posite him. Loor shoved the datacard into his datapad,
punched up a directory, then opened the file labeled "tar-
get.die." The architectural renderings of a building showing
stress points filled the small screen.
      The Intelligence agent looked up. "It's small. I don't see
bacta storage areas or barracks facilities. What is it?"  "A school."
    "School?" Loor frowned. "You mean a training acad-
emy?"
  "No, a school. For children."
  "Children of the Rebel leadership?"
    "Hardly. They've been too busy to breed." Vorru shook
his head quickly. "This is just a normal school, with normal
children--some aliens, but mostly human."  "Why?"
    "Why? Because the students are drawn from the local
population."




    Loor's frown deepened, and confusion made his voice
tenuous. "No, why hit a school?"
    "Come now, Agent Loor, you didn't expect to get great
results without inflicting great pain, did you?" Vorru laughed
lightly. "You probably thought you could cling to some
shred of honor. By hitting factories and military facilities and
places where adults congregated, you could put fear into
them. By hitting bacta distribution centers, you could make
parents concerned about the welfare of their children, but it
would be the Krytos virus that killed the children, not you. Is
that it?"
   "I . . . perhaps ..."
    "Perhaps nothing, that is exactly what you were think-
ing. And because of it, your efforts would have been for
naught." Vorru leaned forward, supporting his body on both
arms. The light from above hid his eyes in black triangles.
"Threaten a child and you will unite the parents against you.
Kill a child and those who have lost it will retreat in mourn-
ing. Those around them will feel their pain and likewise look
to their own families. They will keep their children close and
out of schools. This will shatter the Rebellion's ability to
indoctrinate the young. It also makes the Rebellion look un-
forgivably weak. People will demand things be done and it
will be left to me to do them."
    And one of the things you shall do is use me as a scape-
goat for your evil. The illusion of control over his own situa-
tion evaporated in a heartbeat. To Loor his future was clear:
He would carry out more and more heinous missions for
Colonel Vorru; then, eventually, Vorru would betray him. He
would remain alive and free until Vorru had no further use
for him, then he would be broken and displayed as proof of
Vorru's virtue.
    It struck Loor as almost comical that he could see
Vorru's desire to strike at a school as evil, yet his desire to hit
Rogue Squadron was nothing more than duty. The differ-
ence, ultimately, was that the strike at Rogue Squadron
would advance the cause of the Empire, while the strike at
the school would only strengthen Vorru's position. We are

not as far apart as ! would like to think, but neither are we as
close as Vorru sees us.
    Nor am I as stupid as he thinks I am. Loor hit a button
on the datapad and read the list of materials needed to un-
dertake the operation. "When?"
    "A week. There will have been no news of the trial in
that time, so this will really attract attention."
    Loor's head came up. "Will you need me to sacrifice
some of my men to your militia?"
    "Not immediately." A shadowed smile spread across the
small man's face. "I have several troublesome individuals
who need to die in an airspeeder explosion. The chemical
composition of the explosives will match those in the school
bombing. That will send Cracken's people off in a direction I
want and leave you free to operate."
  "Will you be selecting another target for us?"
    Vorru straightened up, retreating into shadow. "No.
Just go ahead and pick out a half-dozen targets you want to
hit and I'll pick one or two from your list. I'll use them as
tests for my subordinates to see if they can figure out how we
can profit from these things. Competition will keep them
sharp."
  "I would imagine."
    "I'm certain you would, Agent Loor." Vorru sketched a
mock salute. "I look forward to the results of your handi-
work."

Wedge looked around the lab set deep in the bowels of the
Imperial Palace complex. "So this is where the Krytos virus
was developed?"
    General Cracken nodded. "You noticed, when you came
in, that the place is kept under negative pressure. If the seals
are breached, air flows in, not out. It precludes the possibility
of pathogens getting out."
    Wedge frowned. "But I thought the Krytos virus could
not be spread by air, only by fluid contact--in drinking wa-
ter or when someone came in contact with bodily fluid from
an infected person."




    "That's absolutely true, but in this lab they were manu-
facturing a virus that had never existed before. They wanted
something that would mutate relatively quickly so it could
spread between species. With that sort of thing the chance of
a spontaneous mutation that would let it become airborne
and still remain infectious is one that must be guarded
against." Cracken led him on through a throng of white-
coated lab assistants to a back room where Qlaern was using
its hands to enter information into a datapad. A number of
droids worked in and around the room, apparently orches-
trated by a Verpine droid that looked much like a metal
avatar of the Vratix.
    Qlaern drew its hands back to its thorax as Wedge en-
tered the room. "Commander Antilles, we are pleased to see
you." The Vratix's right hand came out and gently brushed
Wedge's cheek.
    Wedge stroked the Vratix's arm in return. "The honor is
mine. You know, I expect, that my squadron will be leading
the expedition to Ryloth."
    "Yes, of this we are aware. We also know that Mirax
will be traveling with you."
    "Right." The trip to Ryloth from Imperial Center would
take five days, and that was a bit long to be trapped in the
cockpit of an X-wing. Ten of the squadron's X-wings would
be loaded aboard a modified Rebel Transport, the Courage
of Sullust. Wedge would travel with Mirax in the Pulsar
Skate, with his X-wing ensconced in the cargo bay that
would, if things went as planned, be filled with ryll for the
return trip. The X-wings would fly escort out of Ryloth; then
they would be loaded aboard another transport after the first
leg of the journey, for the rest of the trip to Coruscant.
    Airen Cracken patted the Vratix on the shoulder. "As
you asked, I have brought Commander Antilles. You have
something to tell him?"
    "Yes, of course." Qlaern rested both hands on Wedge's
shoulders. "We have analyzed the virus and various medici-
nal preparations. Ryll will have some effect against the virus.
Its efficacy varies widely. We have been pursuing the reason
for this. We have been advised that ryll is classified in a

number of different grades by the Twi'leks. Most of the ryll
available off Ryloth is of the lowest grade."
"They don't export the best, I can understand that."
"Good. The rarest grade of ryll is known as ryll kor. It
makes up approximately three percent of all ryll. The com-
pound contains in it trace elements that appear to work
against the virus, but exactly how and why we are not cer-
tain. We need as much ryll kor as we can get."
    Wedge nodded and patted the backs of the Vratix's
hands. "How will I know it?"
      "The ryll kor tastes . . ." Qlaern stopped. "You would
not be able to differentiate the taste, we think."
   "Probably not."
  "Kor absorbs light except in the ultraviolet range."
  Wedge glanced at Cracken. "Meaning?"
    "It looks black, like charcoal, except to someone who
can see in the UV range." Cracken smiled. "I have some gear
that will be able to sort kor from ryll that's dyed black. You
might check, though, perhaps your Gand can see in the ultra-
violet range."
    Wouldn't surprise me. He doesn't breathe or sleep and
can regenerate severed limbs. "I'll ask Ooryl if he can help
me in that capacity." He looked back at Qlaern. "HI get you
your kor."
    "Do that, Wedge Antilles, and we shall cure the dis-
ease."
    And then I'll be bound by my promise to represent you
to the Provisional Council. Wedge smiled and brought
Qlaern's right hand up to feel his face. "We'll be back before
you know it, I promise. And you know I keep my promises."




21

Corran Horn shuffled along in line with the other prisoners.
He affected the dull-eyed, hopeless stare most of them dis-
played for their guards. He moved when told to move and
stopped when told to stop. In no way should any of the
guards in stormtrooper armor conducting them to the mines
have noticed anything out of the ordinary about him. To
them he should have appeared to be just like all the other
prisoners being herded to the mines.
    He hoped against hope the facade he put forward fooled
them, because as dull and soporific as he might seem on the
outside, he was seething and anxious on the inside. After
only a week in the general population he had decided to
make his first stab at escape. He had briefly discussed his
plan with Jan and found the man's insights useful, but he had
ignored Jan's entreaties to put off his attempt.
    The prospect of being killed in his first try did daunt
Corran, but not as much as he thought it should have. He
had a hunch that he wouldn't be killed if he was captured.
He knew that was foolish, and that he had no factual basis
for making that judgment, but it felt right. During his career
with CorSec, and as a pilot with Rogue Squadron, he'd gone
with gut feelings before, and won more times than he'd lost.

    Although he did not have any facts to support his feel-
ings about escape, he did have some circumstantial evidence
that made him optimistic. First and foremost was the fact
that he wasn't dead yet. He couldn't imagine Ysanne Isard
keeping him or anyone else around unless they were useful.
As long as he did not prove to be more of a bother than he
was worth to Iceheart and her plans, he'd be kept alive.
    Second, and it was a rather bizarre fact, was the method
of return for the unsuccessful escapees. Most of them came
back as fire-blackened skeletons, or parts thereof. The only
way to match them up with the people who had escaped
would be through genetic testing. Since that was unavailable
to the prisoners, they had to assume the bodies were, in fact,
those of the escapees. However, since confirmation was im-
possible, Isard could have simply picked a prisoner out of the
less secure prison levels, and had him burned beyond recog-
nition and dumped in the high security area. As long as she
could identify who had escaped, returning a close match
would be pretty easy, and the high-security prisoners would
be left imagining escape was impossible.
    Third and finally, Corran saw that Jan really did care for
the men under his control. His fear for Corran's safety was
genuine, and not based in any fear of retribution against
himself. As the leader of the Rebel contingent, Jan felt re-
sponsible for the other Alliance prisoners. He'd seen enough
people die in the fight against the Empire that he wanted to
prevent people from throwing their lives away needlessly. He
clearly believed that some day, that day being sooner rather
than later, the Alliance would find them and free them, and
he wanted as many of his people alive on that day as possi-
ble.
    As wonderful as Jan's care and concern was, it also tor-
tured the older man. Corran could clearly see Ysanne Isard's
fine hand in that. By letting Jan take responsibility for all the
Rebel prisoners, she created dozens and dozens of avenues to
attack him. With each one of them who went away or died, a
little piece of Jan died. How he had endured that much pain
for so long Corran could not imagine, but he hoped, by




taking responsibility for himself, he could ease the burden on
Jan's shoulders.
    Seventy paces from the cave mouth they passed the
opening to the latrine. The fixtures in it were rudimentary,
but did include a water spigot so a minimum of hygiene
could be observed. Thirty paces beyond it, about halfway to
the mine complex, the line of prisoners passed through a
barred gateway that was locked closed at night. Corran
thought its presence was unnecessary, since the Imps had
placed infrared detection units at both ends of the corridors.
Then again, those units aren't really that hard to defeat, es-
pecially if the people monitoring them are as alert as the
guards marching through the dust with us.
    A full 203 paces from the mouth of the cavern complex,
Corran passed through what had once been a ship's hatch-
way and into the prisoners' workstation. Rumor among the
prisoners had it that Lusankya dated from before the Clone
Wars and incorporated parts from various ships that had
been blasted to pieces in a naval action beyond the atmo-
sphere. The scavenged hatch and the condition of the old,
worn tools did suggest a certain amount of antiquity to the
facility, but that conclusion came so easily that Corran was
disinclined to trust it. If that's what Isard wants us to think
about ber Lusankya, then I don't want to think it.
    Beyond the hatch they proceeded down a steep grade to
a long rectangular cavern that had five tunnels shooting off it
like fingers off the palm of a hand. All the fingers ended in
doors that were cobbled together from ship bulkhead panels
and held closed by chains and locks. The tunnels were big
enough to allow a small mining droid to pass through them,
but the doors were always shut when the prisoners came into
the room, so Corran never saw the droids digging out the ore
they processed.
    At the far end of the chamber from the entryway sat
several piles of huge boulders. Men would work on them
with heavy sledgehammers, bit by bit breaking them down
into smaller rocks. Other prisoners would carry those
smaller rocks to the middle of the chamber, where more pris-
oners would smash them with smaller sledges. Yet more pris-

oners with shovels and screens would sift the debris, pitching
back the larger stones. The resulting gravel would then be
hauled in buckets to a conveyor belt that carried the gravel
up and away. At the top of the conveyor belt the gravel
disappeared through a heavy steel grate.
    No one knew much about what lay beyond the grate.
They knew air was blowing out of it because they could see a
fair amount of dust blown back into the air around the con-
veyor belt. Most of the prisoners assumed the belt led to a
blast furnace where the gravel was melted down, or a mixing
container where it was being made into ferrocrete. Corran
argued that it was just as likely that the gravel was being
dumped into hovertrucks and taken out to pave walkways in
some Moff's garden, and if that was true, the grate was all
that stood between them and freedom.
    All of the prisoners knew what they were doing was
simply make-work, but the Imps had taken the precautions
necessary to prevent work stoppages. ]'he conveyor belt's
workings had been sunk into the ground so the prisoners
couldn't get access to the motor and sabotage it. Steel fibers
had been woven into the length of the belt to keep it strong
and had been tightened so virtually no slack appeared in the
belt on its return trip to the depths of the mine's floor. A
railing had even been set up to prevent prisoners from acci-
dentally falling onto the belt or getting caught in the mecha-
nism.
    Corran dumped his bucket of gravel into the maw of the
container bolted on the conveyor belt. Hunnning away
loudly, the belt started the gravel on its twenty-meter journey
to the grate. Corran watched it go for a second, then allowed
the next man in line to bump him out of the way.
    Heading back to where Urlor was shoveling gravel into
buckets, Corran took a quick inventory of the guards watch-
ing over them. A full squad of men in stormtrooper armor
guarded them, providing one trooper for every ten of the
eighty prisoners in the work detail. Six of the troopers car-
ried blaster carbines. The other two crewed an E-Web set up
just inside the hatchway, making any attempt to rush out of
the mine suicidal. The sharp slope up which the prisoners




would have to charge would slow them enough that the two-
man heavy blaster would cut them all down. Though none of
the guards were as big as stormtroopers, nor seemed as well
disciplined as the Empire's shock troops, even they would
have been enough to quell a prisoner revolt.
    Urlor tossed a shovelful of gravel toward Corran's
bucket but missed with half of it. "Don't do this, Corran."
He kept his voice low enough that the rattling chuffof gravel
pouring through a screen hid it from outsiders. "Wait. Learn
more."
    "This is learning." He winked at the bigger man.
"Guards have their blasters selected for stun."
    Jan looked over from the end of the screen he was hold-
ing. "You'll risk your life on the flick of a thumb?"
    Corran tapped himself on the chest. "Rogue Squadron,
remember."
    "Corellian, more like." Jan shook his head. "None of
you have any respect for odds."
    "Why respect what you have to beat?" Corran gave
each of them a nod. "Trust me, I have to make this run."
    Urlor dumped a final shovel's-worth in the bucket.
"May the Force be with you."
    "Thanks." Corran, letting the bucket dangle down be-
tween his legs, started the awkward, hunched-over Rybet-
walk back toward the conveyor belt. His plan was simple:
he'd dump his bucket, then hop over the railing and ride the
belt up to the grate. Up there, at least as viewed from the
work floor, there appeared to be enough shadowed space to
conceal him. If he could then get down through the grate, or
find a hidden passageway out, he'd be free.   "You there."
  Cotran looked over at the guard pointing at him. "Me?"
  "Come here."
Why me? Cotran shuffled over toward the man. "Sir?"
"Don't question me, prisoner." The guard, clad in the
lighter weight scout version of the armor, loomed over him.
"As for the reason I picked you, you're new and need a
lesson."
  Without warning the guard brought the blaster carbine

up and around in a one-handed backhand stroke that caught
Corran over the right ear. Stars exploded before his eyes and
the clank of metal on skull started a fierce ringing in his ears.
A flange on the barrel cut his ear and split his scalp, while the
force of the blow spun Corran around to the left.
    Pain overrode panic. As Corran whirled he held on tight
to the bucket, brought it up, and let it fly when his tormentor
came into view again. The gravel-filled container smashed
into the guard's faceplate. The man's head snapped back as
the blow knocked him from his feet. He stumbled backward
as the bucket flew on comet-like, spraying out a gravel tail.
    Corran's vision cleared and seconds seemed to take
hours to pass. The guard's carbine, the muzzle glistening
with his blood, hung in the air. Corran knew he could snatch
it before it hit the ground and burn down the two closest
guards in a heartbeat. Half the guards in the detail would
have been accounted for. Getting the rest would be difficult,
but the other prisoners could swarm them. They'd take the
guards' weapons and . . .
    And die trying to clear the E-Web. Or die trying to fight
our way out of the belly of this prison. All of them will die,
and their deaths will be on my head, if I grab that gun.
    He heard the whine of a blaster and saw something blue
shoot past him. All the prisoners dove for the floor. They
shrank into a huddled carpet of dirty arms and legs, ducking
their heads to avoid recognition, yet peeking out to see what
would happen.
  All of them went down save for one.
  Jan.
  Eyes filled with horror and pride, he nodded to Corran.
  Cotran, understanding, nodded back.
    The stun-bolt caught Corran square in the middle of his
chest. It did to his nervous system what an ion-bolt did to a
machine. In one instant every nerve in Corran's body fired,
instantly wracking him with pain, burning him up, shak-
ing, crushing, and freezing him. All of his muscles con-
tracted, bowing his back, grinding his teeth, and kicking him
up into the air with a little hop. His limp body's impact on
the ground probably hurt, but his nervous system couldn't




route reports to his brain properly, so he really didn't know
how he felt.
   Except it's not good.
    He saw Jan crouching over him. "I'll see they get you
help."
    Corran wanted to nod, wanted to blink, wanted to do
something to let Jan know he heard him, but he couldn't.
About half the time he'd been hit with a stun-bolt before--in
training exercises and a couple of times with CorSec in the
field--he'd lost consciousness. The times he hadn't, he'd
wished he had, because the feeling of helplessness created by
being trapped inside a body that didn't work was worse than
any pain.
    The medical team called for by the guards arrived rather
quickly, bringing with them a repulsorlift stretcher. After
they loaded their unconscious comrade on it, they reluctantly
draped Corran over the man's legs, leaving Corran's head
dangling and his hands and feet scraping along the ground as
they hauled the two individuals out of the mine.
    Staring down at the floor, he couldn't see much on the
trip out. The medtechs wrestled the stretcher into a lift, and
the one to the right of the door, at the foot of the stretcher,
punched a button and started the box ascending. Corran
heard three tones, which he took to mean they had ascended
three floors, then the lift stopped and the medtechs again
struggled to get the stretcher out of the lift.
    They floated Corran on through corridors that appeared
much more modern and maintained, if floor tile was any
indication, than the rest of the facility. Finally they brought
the stretcher to a stop in a place where he caught the familiar
scent of bacta, and unceremoniously dumped him to the
floor. He rolled onto his left side, his cheek pressed against
the cold flooring.
    He caught snatches of the conversation between the
medtechs and the Emdee droid that would be caring for the
guard, but the ringing in his right ear made it difficult for him
to catch everything. Moreover, he wasn't certain he could
trust any sensory inputs, because what he was hearing
through his left ear was simply impossible.

    Starting from above his head and continuing on down
toward his feet, he heard the dopplered sound of storm-
troopers--real, well-disciplined stormtroopers--marching
along. That was not remarkable in and of itself except in that
if they had been there, they'd have been marching over him,
and as messed up as he was, he was fairly certain he'd have
noticed that. The only other alternative was that they were in
a room below him, marching on the ceiling, and what that
meant was, at that time, well and truly beyond his ability to
comprehend.




22

Wedge thumbed his comlink on. "What do you need,
Mirax?"
    "Coming up on the Kala'uun Starport, Wedge. I thought
you might like to be up here on the bridge as we come in. It's
quite the sight."
    "On my way." He glanced around the cargo hold and
nodded at his R5 unit. "Hang on, Mynock, we're almost
there. Keep a scanner on these crates for me, will you?"
    The cylinder-headed droid beeped affirmatively. The R5
unit then exchanged some softer tones with the Pulsar
Skate's Verpine maintenance droid.
    No, they can't be talking about me. Wedge laughed at
his flash of paranoia and stepped out of the hold. The doors
crunched shut behind him. Letting a hand trail along the
corridor's ceiling, he made his way along the spine of the
ship to the bridge. He thought he might have been imagining
things, but heat from the atmosphere already appeared to be
bleeding in through the ship's hull. Scant wonder there are
Twi'leks that think of Tatooine as a suitable place to flee to
during the hot season here.
    He stepped down into the bridge and dropped into a
seat behind Mirax. "I'd forgotten how impressive this is."

    The tortured surface of Ryloth spread out before them
like the shams of a shattered earthenware vase. Black basalt
mountains thrust up into a dusky red sky. Centermost in
their view of the planet stood a massive mountain with a
huge tunnel cored into the interior at its base. The smaller
holes dotting the face of the mountain would have appeared
to be natural openings except for the regularity with which
they were arranged.
    Because the planet rotated on its axis once per year, the
same side of Ryloth always faced the sun. Kala'uun existed
near the terminus line--where day and night met--making it
one of the cooler sunside locations. Because of Ryloth's ellip-
tical orbit, the planet did have seasons, though most humans
could not tell the difference between summer and the cool
season since both were unbearably hot.
    "Yeah, impressive and impressively treacherous. Liat,
watch the crosswinds as we enter the tunnel."
  The Sullustan pilot chittered angrily at her.
    "I know you can't miss the rocks out there, I just want
to make sure we miss the rocks." Mirax smiled. "No heat
storm activity today, it seems, but the currents can still be
tricky."
  "Right."
    Liat Tevv took the Pulsar Skate down into the canyon
that led to the tunnel. Harsh winds had smoothed the stone
to the consistency of polished glass in some spots, and had
torn away huge dagger-like slabs in others. Smaller areas of
damage to the rocks--some graced with a splash of paint or
metallic debris--gave mute testimony to the need for care in
negotiating the approach to Kala'uun.
    The Pulsar Skate slipped into the approach tunnel with
plenty of room to spare on all sides. Liat flicked on the ship's
external running lights and floods, filling the dark tunnel
with jagged shadows. Up ahead a massive portcullis slowly
rose into the tunnel's ceiling. As they flew past it Wedge
guessed it was at least thirty meters thick and would require
a lot of pounding before it admitted unwanted visitors.
  Mirax glanced back at him. "Ever get the feeling that the




portcullis is as much for keeping folks in as it is for keeping
them out?"
    "Only when I'm on the inside of it." Three years had
passed since his first and last trip to Kala'uun, when he and
the rest of Rogue Squadron had arrived unbidden and in
pursuit of a Twi'lek. The circumstances of this trip were cer-
tainly more favorable. Even so, just to make certain there
were no grudges being borne against him, he'd put Emtrey's
scavenging abilities to good use and had him round up a
plethora of gifts for the Twi'leks.
    Mirax nodded. "Kala'uun is the one place my father
figures he didn't make out like a bandit. The Twi'leks are
tough negotiators."
    "I hope that skill holds for Nawara's efforts on behalf of
Tycho."
    Mirax's brown eyes narrowed. "I hope so, too, I think. I
know you believe Tycho had nothing to do with Corran's
death, but I can't be so sure. I wish I could, really, because
Tycho helped me save Corran at Borleias."
    "Don't forget that Tycho saved me and the rest of the
Squadron on Coruscant."
    "I've not forgotten that, but while he was saving you,
Corran and I were saving each other from the Empire and
the traitor in Fliry Vorru's organization." She patted Wedge
on the knee. "We've been over this a dozen times and I'm
getting better about it, I really am. I don't cry nearly as much
right now as I did."
    Wedge tipped her face up with his left hand and brushed
a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Hey, being sad
doesn't reflect badly on you at all."
    "Thanks." Mirax sniffed a little. "It's just that it seems
so ridiculous sometimes. We'd not even dated. We didn't
know each other that well. For his death to hurt this much
we should have been a lot closer."
    "That's the trick of it, Mirax, you were a lot closer than
you imagine. The two of you shared a lot of the same quali-
ties." Wedge smiled. "Your father and Corran's father were
mortal enemies. Why? Because they were a lot alike, too.
Both of you had strong relationships with your fathers,

which is reflected in how you turned out. Under different
circumstances old Booster and Hal Horn probably could
have been friends. You and Corran became friends because
you met under those different circumstances."
    She frowned for a moment. "You are probably right. I
could also help myself get over this, I think, if I could just
finally accept the fact that Corran's dead. Listening to the
comlink call when he went in, that was pretty nasty, but we
never found a body. I know it's stupid to make anything of
that, what with the building coming down on him and all,
but my father always said that if you don't see a body, don't
count on someone being dead. He did once--"
      "And it cost him his eye. I remember the story." Wedge
laughed lightly. "Now I remember it. That explains a lot."
   "What do you mean?"
    "Biggs, Porkins, Corran, my parents--I never saw their
dead bodies. Partly because of your father's story, I suspect,
and just human stubbornness, I find myself sometimes ex-
pecting to see them walk into my office."
    Mirax's face brightened. "Or you think you see them
walking along in a crowd. You catch a glimpse of them." She
glanced down. "Part of me thinks that we see them because
we don't truly believe they're dead. Maybe the barrier that
separates the living from the dead is permeable as long as
there is someone who doesn't accept death. Sithspawn, listen
to me. I'm talking like a glitbiter."
    "That's not a problem, Mirax, I understand." Wedge
leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "And I don't
think your theory is all that wrong. I don't imagine we can
bring people back to life by hoping, but letting their memo-
ries live on inside us is not a bad thing to do at all."
    The Sullustan cheebled something at Mirax, prompting
her to spin around in her command chair. She hit several
switches above her head, then punched a button on the con-
sole. "Landing gear deployed, repulsorlift drives engaged.
Kill thrust and set her down gently."
    Liat's melodic grumble accompanied the delicate thun-
der of the Pulsar Skate's landing. Mirax slapped a button on
the command console and Wedge immediately felt a rush of




warm air as the ship's gangway lowered itself. Mirax nodded
toward the aft and the opening. "After you, Commander
Antilles."
   "Thank you, Captain Terrik."
    Mirax smiled. "By the way, I think you look slicker than
a Hutt's slime trail in that native garb."
    "Thanks." Since the mission was diplomatic in nature,
Rogue Squadron had been supplied with clothes like those
their counterparts on Ryloth would wear. Because of the
planet's oppressive heat, the natives tended to wear loose,
bulky, hooded cloaks over their other garments. The nature
of the clothes they wore beneath the cloaks depended upon
their occupation. Twi'lek warriors tended to be clad in a
loincloth, wrapped leggings to the knee, fingerless gloves,
and a highly decorative bandoleer that did still serve a mar-
tial function. Their cloaks also tended to be abbreviated, as if
their whole costume was meant to show they were tough
enough to endure even the harshest of conditions on the
planet.
    Wedge's attire varied only slightly from that Twi'lek
warriors wore. His brown boots came up to his knees and
beige trousers had been tucked into them. To that he added
an emerald green loincloth and a bandoleer of the same
color. All of his battle ribbons and awards had been embroi-
dered on the bandoleer, starting with two Death Star repre-
sentations at his right shoulder and ending with a symbol
representing Coruscant near his left hip. The crests of the
Alliance and Rogue Squadron stood side by side over his
heart. His cloak was a darker green than his bandoleer and
had been lined with a shiny red fabric that formed two red
wings when he folded the cloak back behind his shoulders.
    He descended the gangway and looked up. Kala'uun
Starport occupied a colossal cavern which had been hol-
lowed out of the heart of the mountain that sheltered it.
Above his head lay level upon level of Twi'lek clan warrens,
comprising the living quarters and work areas of over
100,000 Twi'!eks. He could only guess at what the warrens
looked like--according to Nawara, few were the non-

Twi'leks who ever saw them, and those individuals were peo-
ple a clan had acknowledged as a friend.
    The Courage of SuUust had landed off the Skate's star-
board wing. Nawara Ven disembarked and came walking
over toward Wedge. They wore similar clothes, though
Nawara's loincloth, bandoleer, and cloak were all a deep
shade of purple. His cloak had been lined with a grey that
was slightly darker than his skin tone. "Are you ready, Com-
mander?"
  Wedge nodded. "Lead the way."
    Nawara did, and Wedge followed a step behind him and
one to his left. "It looks like our welcoming party. Is the
Shak clan still the Head-clan here?"
    One of Nawara's braintails ran back along his spine.
The tip of it jerked up and down in what Wedge had been
told was the Twi'lek equivalent of a nod. "Koh'shak is still
the master of the starport. It would appear, from the colors
of the individual next to him, that someone from the Olan
clan has chosen to greet us as well."  "Cazne'olan, perhaps?"
    Nawara shrugged. "Possibly. I don't know him. The
Olan clan and mine do not mix much--no animosity, just
little association with each other. His presence here could be
good or could be very bad."
    Wedge smiled, stepping up beside Nawara as they both
stopped before their hosts. Nawara Ven bowed deeply,
bringing both his braintails down to dangle limp by his
knees. Wedge aped his bow, then opened his hands and
pressed their backs against his thighs. The gesture was
slightly awkward but was meant to symbolize exactly what
the limp braintails did: a lack of negative feelings and
thoughts about the people in front of him. Without braintails
he had to rely on the universally peaceful symbolism of an
empty, open hand to make his intent clear.
    Wedge and Nawara straightened up at the same time,
then their hosts bowed to them. Scarlet cloth swathed the
corpulent Koh'shak. The gold badges of his office and clan
held his outer cloak closed at his throat, though his round
middle poked through the central opening. Wedge got an




eyeful of Koh'shak's red robe and a wide cloth of gold sash
pressed into the double duty' of containing his girth and sup-
porting a pair of Sevari flashpistols.
    Cazne'olan would have seemed thickset except by com-
parison with Koh'shak. His black cloak covered a bright
yellow robe and blue sash. The gold office and clan badges
he wore were smaller than Koh'shak's, but the craftsmanship
on them seemed more delicate and less overpowering.
Cazne'olan held his bow for a second longer than Koh'shak,
but straightened up with less effort.
    The heavier Twi'lek opened black-taloned hands. "In
the name of Kala'uun's Clans, I bid you welcome,
Nawar'aven."
    "In the name of my clan, I am pleased to be accepted at
Kala'uun." Nawara turned to his left. "I am pleased to pre-
sent to the Clans of Kala'uun my commanding officer .... "
    Cazne'olan stepped forward between Nawara and
Koh'shak, extending his hand to Wedge. "Nawar'aven, you
have no need to introduce Wedgan'tilles to us. We remember
him from his last adventure on our world."
    Wedge smiled and shook Cazne'olan's hand. "Good to
see you again."
    "And you." Cazne'olan took a step back and paused for
a second before his headtails began to twitch up and down.
"You have done much and learned much in the time since we
have seen each other. Not the least of which is learning how
to dress."
    Nawara glanced over at Wedge. "Commander, I did not
realize--"
    "No reason you should have Nawar .... "Wedge
hitched a moment. The way the Twi'leks ran Nawara's name
together, he couldn't be certain exactly what Nawara's clan
name was. When in doubt, go with indigenous custom.
"... Nawar'aven. It was an adventure the squadron had
well before you joined it. Suffice it to say it was resolved to
the satisfaction of all interested parties."
    "It was indeed, Wedgan'tiiles." Koh'shak stretched the
last syllable of Wedge's name into a whole sibilant phrase of

its own. "And now you are come here seeking satisfaction of
another kind."
    "Quite true, Koh'shak." Wedge half-turned and pointed
back at the two Alliance ships. "We have for you some won-
drous things drawn from the various worlds of the New
Republic." As he turned back to face the starport's master,
he noticed Nawara and Cazne'olan speaking to each other in
low tones, with their braintails convulsing wildly.
    Koh'shak closed his pinkish eyes and settled interlaced
fingers over the bulge in his middle. "I am certain what you
have brought will be impressive. Shall we begin our negotia-
tions?"
    His offer seemed a bit abrupt to Wedge, and the sur-
prised look on Nawara's face indicated he also thought
something was amiss. What's going on here?
    Before Wedge could venture a reply, Nawara gently
grabbed Wedge's right forearm. "While the Commander ap-
plauds your alacrity in seeing to his needs, we have been
traveling for days to get here. He chooses to invoke
twi'janii."
    Koh'shak's eyes popped open with the speed Wedge
would have expected if the starport master had felt a gun
being jammed against a spine. "! welcome Wedgan'tilles and
would have granted him twi'janii without reservation if I felt
he did not find our climate oppressive."
    "Open your eyes yet wider, Koh'shak." Cazne'olan ges-
tured toward Wedge. "He is a warrior in truth as well as
dress. Even in the hot season he would not be discomfitted."
    "Your courtesy in reminding me of that is appreciated,
Cazne'olan." Koh'shak's words came out light and even, but
the violent twitching of his braintails seemed to belie the
benign tone of the reply. "Wedgan'rilles, you and your peo-
ple are to consider yourselves our guests. We will see to your
pleasure, then to our business."
    "You are most kind," Wedge said, believing Koh'shak to
be anything but. I don't know what he has in mind as our
pleasure, but I'm certain his will be business, and I don't
anticipate that being much fun at all.




23

Elbows planted on either side of the dataterminal's key-
board, leila leaned forward and rubbed her hands over her
face. The jolt of excitement she had expected had come, but
it faded far too quickly. Fatigue and an unfocused fear
flooded through her in its wake. She could feel herself begin-
ning to slow down, but she refused to surrender.
    No, no giving up now. I won this one. She pressed her
fingers against her eyelids. I think.
    She had begun her quest to locate the Duros captain, Lai
Nootka, in a most organized and methodical way. She pulled
as much as she could about him from Imperial and Alliance
sources and compiled a profile of him based on that informa-
tion. The most complete Imperial record came from a planet
named Garqi where Nootka and his crew had been impris-
oned for several months on charges of smuggling for the
Alliance. Nootka's presence on the planet had been well doc-
umented, and the Prefect Barris, Nootka's Imperial adver-
sary, had paid dearly for his brush with the Alliance.
   Garqi was where Corran met Nootka.
    Alliance files were far more generous in the amount of
information they provided. Nootka had indeed moved ship-
ments for the Alliance, but he acted on their behalf only

when it suited him. He didn't appear to have firm ties to the
Alliance--not even as firm as those Mirax Terrik had.
Nootka's distance from the Alliance, yet willingness to work
with it, certainly put him in a grey area that might have been
why Tycho chose to trade with him.
    Iella's inquiries then went off in several directions at the
same time. She started a search for any records pertaining to
any of the aliases and various ship identification codes she
could find for the Star's Delight. She was less interested in
the Alliance material than she was the Imperial records, but
she did note that Nootka had not been off on missions for
the Alliance at the time Tycho said he met with him on Co-
ruscant.
    She also dug deeper into the person who was Lai
Nootka himself. The Duros were a race of tall, slender, blue-
skinned beings whose facial expressions seemed, to most hu-
mans, to be entirely dour. They remained aloof, and it was
often said that they lacked noses because they were disin-
clined to stick their noses into business that did not concern
them. Most Duros remained neutral concerning the Rebel-
lion, but a few brave individuals like Lai Nootka dared trade
with the Rebels. Only in this did Lai Nootka appear to be
different from the majority of his people, which made re-
searching him much easier.
    Iella's greatest triumph was in locating the series of
young-adult Duros novels from which Nootka drew inspira-
tion for his various aliases and the new names of his ship. He
had mixed and matched first and family names of characters
to create aliases for himself, and then for each alias, gave his
ship a name that was not associated with the corresponding
characters in the books; but everything had indeed come
from that pool of names. When none of the aliases she al-
ready had for him turned up an Imperial record, she tried
inventing additional aliases, using the process she imagined
Nootka himself had used to create his new identities. She
started pumping these possible aliases through the Imperial
computer and hoping for the best.
    The computer had reported back a lot of misses, but
finally she got a hit. Just four days before Tycho's meeting




with Lai Nootka, a modified CorelliSpace Gymsnor-3
freighter named Novachild entered the Coruscant system. A
Duros named Hes Glillto had been listed as the captain of
record. No departure for that ship or captain had been re-
corded, but this didn't surprise leila. The one record provid-
ing the information about his arrival was in a duty log filed
by Lieutenant Virar Needa of Orbital Solar Energy Transfer
Satellite 1127 after Coruscant had fallen to the Alliance and
after Tycho Celchu had been taken into custody.
    Though officially part of their duty, OSF;FS officers sel-
dom maintained or filed such logs, but from what she could
see Needa had been obsessive about it. The log had data
concerning incoming and outgoing ships that traveled in-
system during Needa's watches on the station. The lack of a
departure record for Novachild could have meant nothing
more sinister than that the ship had left while Needa was
sleeping, but Iella felt in her gut that was unlikely.
    She sat back in her chair and looked at the data on the
screen again. The fact that no other Imperial records men-
tioned the Novachild or Hes Glillto told leila the records had
been deliberately purged. And anyone with the access needed
to purge those records could easily manufacture and enter
the data that shows Tycho was in Imperial lntelligence's pay.
Or, Tycho himself could have doctored things to make it
look as if he had been framed.
    Iella slowly shook her head. The information she had
was intriguing but essentially useless. She could not prove
Lai Nootka and Hes Glillto were the same person. The
Novachild's arrival put it on Coruscant a couple of days
before the meeting Corran had witnessed, but she couldn't
exclude the possibility that the ship had departed before the
date of the meeting. Unless she could definitively place
Nootka on Coruscant at that time, she couldn't prove Tycho
was telling the truth.
    And I'm not so sure I want to do that. She sighed. Diric
had told her about some of the conversations he'd had with
Tycho. He was more convinced than ever of Tycho's inno-
cence, and his opinion did carry a lot of weight in her mind.
Even so, if Tycho had caused Corran's death, lella didn't

want him to be able to get away with it. I owe Corran that

    A familiar hoot brought her back to the present and
sparked a smile on her face. "Whistler!"
    The small green and white R2 beeped happily. Behind
him, tortling along, came Rogue Squadron's black, clam-
shell-headed M-3PO unit. "Good morning, Mistress."
    "Morning?" leila glanced at the chronographic readout
at the top of her datapad's screen. "I don't believe it. I've
been here eight hours. Diric will kill me."
    Emtrey's head canted to the left. "I would hope not,
Mistress leila. That would be a crime and--"
    "I was speaking metaphorically, Emtrey, not literally."
leila frowned at the droid. "I meant that he would be upset
with me."
  "Ah, I see."
      leila patted Whistler gently on his domed head. "So
what are you two doing here in the computer center?"
   Whistler warbled nonchalantly.
    "We can so tell her, Whistler." Emtrey's head righted
itself and thrust forward, giving leila a good view of the gold
eyes burning in the hollow of his face. "You do want the
truth to triumph, don't you?"
    leila nodded slowly. "Every day it seems I'm hearing less
and less of it. What have you got?"
    Emtrey pointed toward her dataterminal's I/O port.
"Whistler, hook in there and show her what we found."
    Whistler squawked rudely--a sound leila recognized as
one she'd often heard the droid use to chasten Corran. Her
throat thickened as melancholy tried to suck the life out of
her, but she shook her head. She looked up at Emtrey and
forced words out past the lump in her throat. "What have
you been doing?"
    "We have finished the tasks Master Ven set for us before
he left with the others, so we started going over transcripts
and noticed an underlying assumption everyone seems to
have made concerning the conquest of Coruscant."  "And that is?"
  "It is assumed that Ysanne Isard let us have the world




because she wanted us to have it, infected as it was with the
Krytos virus. The stresses possessing it has put on the Alli-
ance certainly are great, and the assumption is probably
valid, but there is no straight-line correlation between her
desire to let us have the planet and actions taken in the final
days."
    "I'm not certain, at this hour, I follow what you're say-
ing." Iella rubbed at her burning eyes with her left hand.
"Can you break it down and be more specific?"
    "Certainly." Emtrey glanced down at the R2 unit.
"Show her the current disease case grid."
    Whistler chirped happily. The data on the terminal's
screen vanished beneath a graph that plotted incidences of
sickness over time in red. A thick blood-red line quickly blos-
somed into a triangle with a steep hypotenuse, then leveled
out into a rectangle that began to flare upward again over the
last ten days. The disease had spread quickly at first, but had
plateauedmuntil recently.
    Iella nodded. "The plateau indicates the period when the
disease stopped spreading because bacta therapy managed to
keep it under control."
   "Exactly. The graph of fatalities has a similar profile."
   "I can imagine. This is pretty horrible."
   "True, Mistress. Whistler, now run the plus-six graph."
   "Plus-six?"
    "The projected disease report graph we would have seen
if the planet had fallen to the Alliance just six days later than
it did." The new graph exploded from the starting point and
spiked quickly off the top of the screen. "Projected fatalities
in this model are 85 percent of afflicted populations."
    Iella's jaw dropped open. "Whole alien populations
would have been wiped off Coruscant."
    "Exactly. This model, when broken down by species,
shows a complete depopulation of Gamorreans, Quarren,
Twi'leks, SuUustans, and Trandoshans. The chances of the
disease traveling off-world are incalculable, but the potential
for galaxy-wide extermination of some species cannot be dis-
counted."

    She blinked and rubbed at her eyes again. "Why are the
models so different?"
    Silvery highlights flashed from the edges of Emtrey's
black carapace as he raised his hands. "One reason is highly
speculative. First, it seems that in boiling off a reservoir to
create the storm that brought down the planet's shields, our
efforts destroyed a large amount of the virus present in the
planetary water system. Second, and far more germane to
our discussion, is the abbreviated incubation period our ar-
rival gave the disease. Had the Alliance arrived just a week
later, we would already have had a wave of deaths and a
whole new round of infections because of contact with
bodily fluids from the victims and the virus in the water
system."
    leila nodded slowly. "If we had been just a week later in
liberating the planet, there would have been no way to save
it. Non-human members of the Alliance would have fled,
dooming their own populations. Without non-human sup-
port, the Alliance would have foundered."   "That seems probable, Mistress."
    "Yeah." lella's brown eyes tightened. "So the reason the
Imps stopped our initial effort to shut down the shields was
to keep us from taking over the world too soon. For Iceheart
it wasn't a matter of if but when we'd take the world. And
since Tycho's contribution to our efforts were what enabled
us to bring the shields down before the time that would have
been optimal for Iceheart, we can suppose he wasn't working
for her."
Emtrey nodded and Whistler trumpeted triumphantly.
"Unless, of course, that's exactly what Iceheart wants us
to think." lella shook her head. "Not bad work, you two,
but it's about as helpful as what I found on Lai Nootka. I can
put someone who ought to be him flying something that
ought to be his ship here about the time Tycho said he met
with Nootka, but I can't prove it. I'd dearly like to believe
Tycho is being framed, but I don't see a good reason why
Isard would be devoting so many resources to getting some-
one who is really not that important."
  Whistler reeled off a series of sharp bleats.


    "Yes, I will tell her." Emtrey looked down at Iella.
"Whistler says discrediting Tycho will discredit Rogue
Squadron. If Tycho is convicted, Commander Antilles will be
distracted. Tycho's conviction could also cause an inquiry
into the events of the first assault on Borleias. He could be
blamed for the disaster, absolving the Bothan General of his
mistake, and that might make the Bothans feel they can grab
for more power."
    "I can follow that, but it's too risky a return for Iceheart
to take an interest in it. There has to be something else."
    "There is, Mistress Wessiri." Emtrey lowered his hands
to near his hips. "Whistler says Ysanne Isard would do it
because she's cruel."
    That idea landed in Iella's gut and sat there like one of
Hoth's frozen continents. "You know, Whistler, you may
have something there. Toying with an innocent man like that
is exactly what she would do, especially when it meant that
the Alliance was dancing to a tune she called. Of course,
that doesn't prove Tycho is innocent, but thwarting her is
enough to make sure I keep digging until I learn what's really
going on, one way or another."

24

Corran scratched at his right ear, flaking off some crusted
flesh. "Yeah, I know it sounds as if I got hit harder than I did,
but I'm convinced I'm right." He looked at Jan. "l think it's a
good shot at getting out of here, or at least one that has to be
explored."
   "I agree."
  Urlor shook his head. "Too far-fetched."
    "Which is why I want to test my theory when we're
down in the mine."
    Urlor's massive left hand stroked his beard. "Will you
give this foolishness up if your experiment fails?"
    Jan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Corran. "Will
you?"
    Corran hesitated before answering. Though he had not
blacked out, the Emdee droid had kept him in the infirmary
overnight for observation--at least Corran assumed it was
overnight, having had no way of judging the passage of time.
Corran had gone over in his mind what had happened and
came to two conclusions. The first, which no one doubted,
was that the guard had singled him out because someone had
mentioned his desire to escape. Though Corran hadn't men-
tioned it to anyone other than Jan and Urlor, the questions




he had asked of the inmates would have been enough to alert
even the most dense of individuals to his plans.
    The second thing he had concluded, and had spent the
last week attempting to convince Jan and Urlor was true,
was that they were all upside down. The technology for cre-
ating and negating artificial and real gravity was ancient.
Ships of all sizes and stripes could generate their own gravity.
Reversing the gravity in the complex would lead any escap-
ees to assume that by going up they'd be getting closer to the
surface and freedom when, in fact, they'd be getting farther
from it and killing their chances of escape. If Corran had
heard troopers marching past, any escapee would run full on
into at least one level occupied by soldiers. Even if he didn't
get captured, by the time he realized what had happened,
he'd have a long way to go just to get back to the prison
level, much less go beyond it to freedom.
    He shook his head. "No, I'll still go even if my experi-
ment is unsuccessful. I have no doubt that I'm right--the
experiment is just to convince you I'm right."
    Urlor folded his arms across his chest. "Why do you care
if we believe you?"
   "If I'm right, you can come with me."
    The big man held up his ruined right hand. "You'd find
a cripple of little use to you. I've learned to become patient.
I'll wait for you to come back."
    "You're wrong there." Corran looked at Jan. "How
about you?"
    The older man sat silently on his billet for a moment,
then shook his head rather firmly. "Forgive me. There is no
way I can go, but I allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy."
   "You're strong. You could make it."
    "I appreciate your assessment of me, Corran, but it is
overgenerous." Jan shrugged. "Besides, just as a desire to
keep me safe prevents our people from harming our Imperial
compatriots, so a desire to keep our people safe prevents me
from joining you. If I escape, Iceheart will kill the lot of us.
I'll remain here and keep them safe until you can bring help
back."
   Corran frowned. "So neither of you will go?"

    "No." Urlor shook his head. "You'll be on your own."
Unspoken in that sentence was the conviction there was no
way to guarantee that the Imps didn't have spies among the
Alliance prisoners.
    And my traveling alone means that if I'm a spy, I won't
be taking anyone else with me. "Don't worry, I'm no Tycho
Celchu, nor will I let myself be betrayed by one another
time."
    Jan's eyes narrowed. "Tycho Celchu? He was here once
for several months. They called him out one day and he
vanished. Was he a traitor?"
    "He's the reason I'm here. He gave the Imps override
code data on a Headhunter I was flying. They took control
and I'm here." Corran forced his balled fists open. "Isard
told me Tycho is on trial for my murder, so justice does
prevail."
    Urior scratched at his jaw. "Celchu was a sleeper, wasn't
he?"
    As much as Corran hated Tycho, that description sent a
shiver down his spine. Within the prisoner population were
individuals who were suffering severe shock from their inter-
rogations. Most were ambulatory, but not much beyond
that. In the brief time he'd been in the general population
he'd seen one or two of them recover to a certain extent, but
their attention spans and short-term memory were short and
shot respectively. They did seem to get better, but only grad-
ually.
    "I believed he was, but that must have been an act. If
you think about it, being a sleeper meant many people would
speak in front of him. When he recovered he'd have folks
trying to help him with his memory." Jan shook his head.
"When he got to the point where he should have been better,
they pulled him out and debriefed him. He had me fooled."
    "He had a lot of people fooled, Wedge Antilles in-
cluded." Corran nodded firmly. "He's not fooling folks any
longer, though. Just goes to show the Empire doesn't win
them all, not by a long shot. And if my experiment works,
we'll give them one more loss to account for."




In some ways Wedge was surprised by his reaction to the
display of hospitality Koh'shak put on for his benefit. He
found it both barbaric and somehow naive. An area had
been cleared near the Alliance ships. Opalescent glow-
stones--technological lamps designed to look like natural
stones--had been brought out from homes and arranged in a
circular pattern. While red and gold highlights played
through them, the illumination they produced was coldly
blue and white. It made the humans into pale ghosts and
rendered the Twi'leks as cyanotic ice creatures.
    Rogue Squadron and the ships' crews had been invited
to the celebration. The visitors arrayed themselves in a circle
that put them five meters from the outer edge of the glow-
stone circle. Twi'leks from various clans interspersed them-
selves among the visitors, with one who spoke passable Basic
acting as interpreter for two or three others. Wedge harbored
no illusions about what was going on--his people were being
interrogated, albeit politely. Their stories would be com-
pared at Twi'lek councils, and decisions would be made
about the future of Ryloth based on what the Twi'leks
learned.
    Servants passed around the outside of the circle, offering
the visitors food, drink, and gifts. The musicians who had
been assembled opposite him played a variety of string and
wind instruments producing notes that ran up and down on
a thirteen-note scale. Wedge found the music only marginally
painful, while Liat Tsayv and Aril Nunb seemed to be mov-
ing in sync with notes he couldn't hear. Out behind the cold
spectral light cast by the glowstones, life continued as usual
in Kala'uun. People walking by gawked for a moment or
two, and many braintails--or lekku, as Wedge had learned
they were called in Rylothean--twitched with silent messages
about the assembly.
    Wedge didn't really have eyes for much of what was
happening outside the visitors' circle, primarily because of
what was going on at its heart. A lithe, petite Twi'lek female
dancer spun and leaped through the air. Her tattooed lekku
lashed out like whips, then whirled down and enfolded her
like ivy. The tails of the loincloth she wore similarly clung to

her body, sliding away as she whirled, to reveal silken flesh
over taut and powerful muscles. She gave Wedge a pixie-
wink, prompting a smile from him, then she twirled off to
charm another of the visitors.
    Cazne'olan draped a braintail over Wedge's shoulder.
"Sienn'rha is the only positive thing Bib Fortuna ever accom-
plished. He stole her from her darkside family and meant to
present her to Jabba the Hutt. In preparation for that he had
her taught to dance as well as she does. She was saved from
Jabba by your Lukesky'walker. She always dances wonder-
fully, but this night she approaches perfection because of the
gratitude she feels to the Alliance."
    "She is spectacular." Wedge could not deny that he
found her dance exciting and even stimulating, but that both-
ered him just a bit. By seeing her as being so seductive and
beautiful, and reacting to her on a physiological level, it was
very easy for him to forget she was a living, thinking crea-
ture. That made it deceptively simple for him to see how the
Imperials found objectifying and dehumanizing other races
justifiable--if they seem like animals or appeal to you on an
animal level, clearly they are animals.
    Cazne'olan tapped him on the shoulder. "It would be
possible for a private dance to be arranged for you, my
friend."
  "I appreciate the offer, but . . ."
    Cazne'olan's voice dropped to a whisper. "Sienn'rha
asked me to convey that suggestion to you, on her behalf.
She is well aware of your history and considers you quite a
hero."
    "I see." Wedge considered for a moment all the offer
implied and felt sorely tempted. Sienn'rha's sensuous beauty,
from her full lips and dark eyes to her fluid and athletic
grace, hinted at pleasures he'd not had time to enjoy for . . .
If l can't remember off the top of my head, it's been well and
nigh too long. But is here and now, with Sienn'rha, the time
to change that?
    Wedge smiled at Cazne'olan. "Convey to her my pro-
found appreciation of her offer, and my sincere regret at
having to refuse. Ultimately I am here as a representative of




the Alliance. Perhaps some time when I am merely here as
myself .... "
   "She will understand, I think."
    "I hope so." Wedge frowned for a moment. "I have a
question to ask you about something you said a moment
ago."
  A lek twitched. "Ask."
    "You pronounce my name as Wedgan'tilles and Nawara
Ven's name as Nawar'aven, running them together. When
you mentioned Bib Fortuna, you distinctly broke his name
up. Why?"
    Cazne'olan nodded slowly and let his iekku slip from
Wedge's shoulder. "Bib Fortuna was a member of the Una
clan. Because of his predations on his own people, he was
cast out. The joining of personal and clan names is, among
us, a sign of belonging. Breaking the names apart is a state-
ment of the distance between that person and his people."
    Wedge nodded. "How do you decide what a name will
become? Nawara is a member of the Ven clan, but you make
his surname into 'aven' when you pronounce it."
   "And I know your surname is Antilles, but I break it in
twO."
   "Exactly."
    The Twi'lek laughed lightly. "Naming conventions are
determined by a venerable set of rules--superstitions al-
most-that transform names into auspicious omens. Ven, for
example, translates into Basic as 'silver.' Nawara would
translate roughly as 'speaker' or 'tongue,' either of which
suggests a gifted negotiator. However, if his name were pro-
nounced as Nawara'ven, because of peculiarities in
Rylothean, his name would mean 'tarnished silver.' By
changing the pronunciation slightly we retain the correct
meaning."
    "l'm impressed." Wedge smiled openly. "So, what does
my name mean, the way you pronounce it?"
    The Twi'lek shrugged. "There is no good, direct transla-
tion of foreign names, but Wedgan'tilles comes close to
'slayer of stars.'"
   "I like it."

       "It is much to be preferred to the alternative suggested
by the Basic pronunciation."   "Which is?"
   "Difficult to translate."
   "Give me a rough go at it."
    Cazne'olan's braintails twitched sharply. "Being gener-
ous, it is 'One so foul he could induce vomiting in a ran-
COt.' '~
Wedge shuddered. "I prefer your pronunciation, I
think."
    A gentle vibration running through the ground fore-
stalled further lessons about Twi'lek culture. He assumed the
vibration was produced by the raising of the portcullis, so he
looked off toward where the tunnel entered the Kala'uun
cavern. Boiling up out of it, in three pairs, came a half-dozen
Uglies. The X-wing fighter's distinctive S-foils jutted out
from the sides of a TIE fighter's ball cockpit. The stabilizers
had been fastened to a collar that surrounded the cockpit,
and as the fighters maneuvered and cavorted in the air above
the assembly, he saw the S-foils rotating around the cockpit,
making the design similar in principle to that of the B-wing
fighter in service with the Alliance.
    Never seen those before. Must be a homegrown Twi'lek
design. The S-foils collapsed into a single wing on either side
of the cockpit, then landing skids extended from the bottom
of the collar and the peculiar ships descended. They landed
in a rough semicircle facing the Alliance ships, easily menac-
ing all the visitors.
    One of the cockpit hatches opened and a huge Twi'lek
pilot emerged from the top of the sphere. He wore a black
Imperial flight suit, but a scarlet loincloth and cloak had
been added to make it seem closer to native warrior attire.
His lekku had been tattooed with a variety of sinuous and
serpentine shapes which Wedge supposed were Rylothean
glyphs, but he could not even guess at their significance.
    As the warrior strode over to the circle, the music died
and the servants shrank back. Sienn'rha stopped her dance
and retreated into Wedge's shadow. Wedge stood, with
Cazne'olan on one side and the great, lumpish Koh'shak on




the other. As the warrior came closer, Wedge saw he was
positively huge, easily forty centimeters taller than Wedge
and massing at least another thirty kilos. How he actually
managed to jam himself into the TIE cockpit Wedge couldn't
imagine.
    The warrior stepped through a quickly widening gap in
the circle, then stopped five meters from Wedge. "I am
Tal'dira, first among Twi'lek warriors. You, the lekku-less
who wears the clothes of a warrior, you are Wedge Antilles?"
    Wedge did his best to ignore the faint retching sound
Tal'dira made in the back of his throat as he pronounced
Wedge's name. "I am Wedgan'tilles."
    The Twi'lek warrior raised an eyebrow at Wedge's reply.
"And you have come here for ryll?"
    "I have come for ryll kor." Wedge's reply won a gasp
from Koh'shak and a !ekku-twitching from Tal'dira. "Is
there a problem?"
    "None, Wedge Antilles, if--" Tal'dira drew a pair of
slender vibroblades from sheaths hidden in his bandoleer,
"--you are willing to fight to prove you are a warrior. A
warrior should deal with warriors. Win the fight and the kor
shall be yours."
    Wedge's stomach tightened and his heart began to
pound. As a pilot, in his X-wing, he had no doubt at all that
he'd be able to vape Tal'dira and his X-ball. In a vibroblade
fight, though . . . As much as he would have preferred to
avoid fighting, he knew he really didn't have any choice in
the matter. The kor was vital to stopping the Krytos virus. If
I have to carve this Twi'lek behemoth up to get it, I will.
   He held out his right hand. "I will fight."
      Tal'dira tossed him one of the vibroblades. "A warrior
should deal with a warrior."   "My thoughts exactly."
    The warrior's lekku writhed up and down once affirma-
tively. "Good."
    Wedge flicked the blade on with his thumb. "Come on.
I'm ready."
    "You are, but your opponent isn't." Tal'dira looked
around, studying each of the Rogues. They all wore Twi'lek

warrior garb, and the disdainful expression on Tal'dira's face
suggested he found something wrong with that. He openly
appraised them, looking each of them up and down before
passing from one to the next.
    Will he pick one of them as my foe? Wedge felt his stom-
ach begin to implode. ! know Twi'leks can be cruel Is he
going to force me to slay one of my own people because of
some affront we've given him?
    Tal'dira looked back at Wedge. "I have made my choice.
Prepare yourself."
  Wedge nodded. "I'm still ready."
    "Good." The warrior casually tossed the vibroblade to
Koh'shak. "I choose you."
    The starport master's eyes ballooned as he bounced the
inert vibroblade from hand to hand. It slipped from his grasp
and ricocheted off his stomach before tumbling toward the
ground. The obese Twi'lek began to bend over, thick fingers
wriggling slothfully in a vain attempt to catch the blade be-
fore it could hit the ground.
    In one flowing motion that nearly shamed Sienn'rha's
performance, Tal'dira swooped forward and plucked the
blade out of the air. It hummed to life and with one deft cut,
split the brooch holding Koh'shak's cloak closed. The gar-
ment puddled around Koh'shak's feet and a stiff-arm blow to
the chest dropped the starport master on top of it.
    Tal'dira grabbed one of Koh'shak's braintails and
yanked none too gently on it, then pressed the vibroblade to
the Twi'lek's throat. "Warriors should deal with warriors,
Kohsh'ak! Wedgan'tilles came to us as a warrior, leading a
band of warriors, including our own Nawar'aven. You knew
of this mission to Ryloth but hid that knowledge from me so
you could profit from the gifts our visitors would bring. That
is fitting conduct for a merchant, but not a warrior,
Kohsh'ak!"
    Tal'dira's delivered the altered pronunciation of the
starport master's name harshly, filling it with scorn. Wedge
had no idea of what it meant, but he was glad Tal'dira's
anger wasn't directed at him.
  Tal'dira released Koh'shak and turned the vibroblade




off. He resheathed it, then turned toward Wedge. "The blade
you possess is my gift to you, Wedgan'rilles. This kor you
want will be delivered to you, a gift between warriors. It is
happily given in the hopes it can heal those who have been
touched by treachery and cowardly action. All I ask in return
is your forgiveness for this breach of etiquette."
    Wedge turned his vibroblade off and tucked it into the
top of his right boot. "A warrior does not hold another war-
rior responsible for the actions of a merchant." He turned
and pointed to the Alliance ships with his left hand. "On
those ships I have gifts from my warriors to yours, offered in
spirit shared by warriors."
    Tal'dira clapped Wedge on both shoulders. "There is
much honor in you, Wedgan'tilles, and in your Rogue Squad-
ron. I will be most pleased if, while the merchants scurry
about unloading and loading our ships, you will continue to
join me in Twi'janii." Looping a lekku over Wedge's shoul-
ders, Tal'dira pointed at the musicians. "Play for our guests,
play the best you ever have. You are playing for the pleasure
of warriors now, and nothing less than the best will do."

25

Corran's mouth felt like a desert, and it wasn't just because
of the dust created by working the grater. He'd been plan-
ning his little experiment so he could test his theory about
the prison's orientation for the last two days, and was fairly
certain that what he had in mind would work perfectly. De-
spite his confidence, he'd hesitated, telling himself he'd wait
for the rock that would work the best.
    He'd found the rock on the grate. It had something of a
clamshell shape--momentarily reminding him of Emtrey's
head. It fit easily in his palm and would fly well. It had
enough mass to it to make his throw possible, and yet had a
narrow enough cross-section and dark enough color that it
wouldn't easily be seen in the cavern.
    His mouth was dry because the fear coiling in his belly
was sucking all the moisture out of him. He couldn't think of
what he had to be afraid of. His life couldn't get any worse.
He was locked in the highest security prison the Empire had
ever known. Most people had never even heard of Lusankya,
and most of those who had thought it was a rumor. Even
during his time on the Corellian Security Force he'd only
heard passing references to it. Beyond believing that it ex-
isted and was not a good place, he'd known nothing about it.




    Corran caught other prisoners in his work group look-
ing at him, and in their expectant glances he found the source
of his fear. I'm afraid of being wrong and disappointing
them. Only Jan and Urlor knew what he intended to do, but
a number of other prisoners had been recruited to stage the
distraction that would allow him to act. They had figured
out he was going to be doing something related to escape,
but they had no clue what it was, nor did they expect to be
told. Despite their ignorance, they were all enthused with the
idea of helping him out. Hopes they had long since aban-
doned were being revived by his escape attempt.
  Corran closed his fist around the stone. This had better
work.
    He looked over at Urlor who, in turn, nodded to two
men working with the smaller sledgehammers. One of them
brought his sledgehammer down on the ground hard, then
loosened his grip so the tool cartwheeled away. The handle
grazed another man, who screamed, clutched at his shin, and
started hopping around madly, all the while swearing he was
going to kill the clumsy oaf who let go of the hammer. The
workers backed away from the careening hammer and the
two men, then started shouting encouragement to them in
hopes of goading thein into a fight.
    Corran retreated along with the others, then stopped
when Urlor and a knot of three prisoners screened him from
the guards. He looked at the rock, gave it a kiss, then hauled
back and hurled it up toward the apex of the ceiling, thirty
meters away. Come on, come on!
    Corran's theory had been simple. If the prison was ori-
ented upside-down, then gravity generators would be operat-
ing beneath his feet to keep him in place. The generators
were clearly strong enough at this surface to hold him to it,
but the farther he got from them, the weaker their grasp
would be. If, in fact, the cavern's ceiling was actually closer
to the core of the planet than where he stood, the planer's
natural gravity would be strong there.
    If that were true, if his theory was correct, the rock
would hit and hold.

    Down on his level the guards began shooting into the
crowd. Stunned prisoners began to collapse in waves.
    Up above, the stone clipped a stalactite. Deflected, it
continued to travel upward, but now at an angle. As Corran
watched, the stone seemed to slow and begin to stall.
    All around him blue stun-bolts dropped prisoners. Two
of the men screening him went down. Then Urlor twitched
and fell to the ground. Down to the ground.  The stone fell up!
    The stone rattled up in between two stalactites and nes-
tled there safely. As it settled into place, two tiny points on it
twinkled, and Corran imagined it was Emtrey's head and
he'd just gotten confirmation of his theory from the droid. I
was right! There is a way to escape!
    The stun-boWs blue agony played over Corran. Once
again every nerve in his body fired, every muscle tightened,
and every joint creaked. Wracked by pain, he collapsed with
the others and rolled onto his back. The world swam in and
out of focus and he knew, this time, he was going to black
out. That should have filled him with dread, but when he
could see clearly, Emtrey looked at him from afar.
    And looking at the stone, he knew he was looking down,
which meant things for him were definitely looking up.

Evir Derricote, slaving with the other Imperial prisoners at
the far end of the cavern, turned to look at the commotion
the Rebels were causing, but he did not hurry to do so. It
would have been beneath him to let them think their squab-
bles were of interest to him. Affecting an air of nonchalance,
he turned and watched them disinterestedly.  Then he saw Corran Horn.
    The diminutive Rebel had irked him the first time they
had met, then had compounded his error by gloating over his
part in taking Borleias. As the Rebel reared back to throw
something, Derricote almost called out a warning to the
guards, but something forestailed him. He watched Corran
make his throw and saw a small missile shoot up toward the
ceiling.




    Derricote lost it in the shadows above and began to
wonder what Horn was up to. The rock he had thrown
clearly was insufficient to dislodge a stalactite or trigger a
collapse of the ceiling. As unwise and annoying as Horn had
appeared to be, Derricote never would have classed him as
suicidal, yet if he was successful in an effort to dislodge a big
piece of rock, it would drop straight down on him and the
carpet of stunned prisoners covering the cavern floor.
    The Imperial General saw Horn go down. The little fool
will likely be bit by the rock he threw. Serves him right.
Derricote almost turned away, but stopped to see if his pre-
diction would come true.   It did not.
   He did not see the stone fall back to the earth.
    This started General Derricote thinking. He prided him-
self on being intelligent. He had, after all, created the Krytos
virus. It was not his fault that Ysanne Isard's expectations
for it were unrealistic. He had done his best, but that was not
good enough for her, so he ended up in her private prison,
subject to her whims. The whims that imprisoned me can
also free me.
    Derricote could think of dozens of explanations for why
the stone did not fall back to the cavern floor. The simplest
explanation was that it had become lodged between stalac-
tites. However, for that to happen, Horn would have to be
incredibly lucky. He doubted the prisoners would have
staged the sort of charade that shielded Horn's effort just so
he could test his luck in a place that, ultimately, housed those
who were utterly without luck.
    One by one Derricote examined and discarded explana-
tions for the rock remaining on the ceiling and, at last, hit
upon the only one that seemed to make sense. Iceheart has us
standing on our heads. Any fool who tries to escape to the
surface will just go deeper and deeper into her prison. Horn
discovered this fact, tested his hypothesis, and has his result.
And, just as obviously, he means to use it to escape.
    The general slowly smiled. He could easily let the guards
know Horn was planning to escape, but doing that would
make him nothing more than an informant. Informing was

weak and would not be rewarded by Ysanne Isard. She
wanted action. She wanted him to do something to atone for
his failure. To please her he would have to act, because tak-
ing action was strong.
    This Horn will bear watching. When he moves, I will be
ready. Derricote tugged at the abbreviated sleeves of his tu-
nic. He will become the source of my redemption and I will
once again know the glory of service to the Empire!




26

"Thank you, Admiral, I do have questions for Tsillin Wel."
Nawara Ven sorted through his set of datacards, then fed one
into his datapad. On the long journey to and from Ryloth
he'd read Wel's depositions and had formulated a series of
questions to ask her. There really was little to dispute in
what she had to say, but he needed to make certain the Tri-
bunal understood the limitations of what she had testified to.
    In direct testimony the Quarren had seemed a bit testy,
and Admiral Ackbar had admonished her to be cooperative.
If needed, Nawara knew he could exacerbate that natural
Mon Calamari-Quarren enmity and completely discredit her
testimony in Ackbar's eyes. Generals Salm and Madine, on
the other hand, might react negatively if he provoked her.
   Combat piloting is often much easier than this.
   Nawara looped a lekku over his shoulder. "Agent Wel,
   according to your earlier testimony, you've been auditing
   Imperial expenditures for years, is that correct?"
    The Quarren's facial tentacles quivered. "I have said
this, yes."
    "And the purpose for studying these expenditures was to
estimate how much money the Empire was pouring into anti-
Rebel activities, correct?"

   "Yes."
    "This means you were looking for evidence of expenses
that were hidden--black projects, so to speak, that did not
appear on any official Imperial budget."
    The Quarren nodded. "Budgets for such things are regu-
larly hidden within other programs. A terra-forming budget
might, for example, have miscellaneous expenses linked to it
that cover the cost of military development projects. Prior to
our taking of Coruscant I would compare known expenses
with the budget expenditures and create a picture of what
the Empire was spending."
    "t see." Nawara glanced down at his datapad. "Now,
you have told the court that my client, Captain Celchu, was
paid approximately fifteen million credits over the past two
years. This would be the amount of time that has passed
since his escape from Imperial custody. Is that a fair summa-
rization of your testimony?"
    The Quarren's turquoise eyes glinted wetly. "I indicated
that fifteen million credits is all we have been able to un-
cover. The money is located in six different accounts. There
could be more."
  "But you are uncertain of that?"
    "Counselor Ven, since the occupation of Coruscant I
have been working night and day analyzing Intelligence ac-
counts. There are literally millions of accounts. I feel fortu-
nate to have uncovered the six we have found so far."
    Nawara pressed his hands together. "But these six ac-
counts are not the only accounts you have looked at, cor-
rect?"
    "No, I have reviewed thousands of accounts myself, and
my staff has reviewed nearly a million."
    "So the accounts you have linked with my client are not
remarkable?"
  "I don't understand the question."
    "Allow me to rephrase it." Nawara smiled. "How many
Imperial agents have you found that have funds in numerous
accounts ?"
    A translucent membrane nictitated up over Tsillin Wel's
eyes. "A few."




   "A few what? Dozen? Hundred? Thousand?"
   "Dozen."
    "And how many of those individuals have six ac-
counts?"
    The Quarren shifted slightly in the witness chair. "So
far, none, but we have a great deal of work to do yet."
    Nawara nodded. "Now, discovering the links between
these files and an agent is not easy work, is it?"
   "No."
    "Is one of the difficulties that Imperial Intelligence took
pains to make it difficult to locate the identities of their
agents?"
   "Yes."
   "Do they encrypt data?"
   "Yes."
    "Do the encryption routines vary in difficulty depending
upon the value of the agent?"
    "Objection." Halla Ettyk stood. "Calls for speculation
on the part of the witness."
    "Admiral, Agent Wel is overseeing an Intelligence divi-
sion that has been at war with Imperial Intelligence for years.
Clearly she would be familiar with the degree of security the
Empire used to protect its assets and hide information."
    "Overruled. You may answer the question as best you
are able."
    Wel's facial tentacles rolled up and slowly unfurled.
"Encryption does become more difficult the more valuable
the asset. The methods used to hide Captain Celchu's iden-
tity show him to be of middling importance to the Empire."
      Nawara smiled. "So you have uncovered other agents on
the same level of importance as him?"   "Dozens. Hundreds."
  "And each of them had fifteen million credits paid out?"
  The Quarren hesitated. "No."
  "No? How much were they paid?"
  "Thousands."
    "So you're saying that while Captain Celchu was pro-
tected like an agent of little value, he was paid out of all

proportion with his apparent worth to Imperial Intelli-
gence?"
    "That is one conclusion that could be drawn from the
accounts."
       "Is the other perhaps that he was set up to look like a
valuable agent as part of a frame-up?"   "Objection. Speculation."
    "Withdrawn." Nawara nodded to Commander Ettyk.
"Agent Wel, how much money has Captain Celchu taken
from his accounts?"
  Wel's tentacles writhed. "None."
    "To your knowledge, is there any evidence that Tycho
Celchu knew the accounts existed?"
   "No.'~
    Perfect. "So these accounts could have been set up and
made to look as if Captain Celchu was an Imperial agent
without his knowledge, specifically to discredit him in a trial
like this?"
   ~�Yes."
    Nawara let his smile blossom fully. "And in your experi-
ence, has Imperial Intelligence ever set up such accounts to
attempt to make the Alliance think someone is an agent in
their employ?"
    The Quarren glanced down at her hands. "Yes. At least
once."
  "And who was that?"
    Tsillin Wel glanced up at the bearded man sitting at Ad-
miral Ackbar's left. "General Crix Madine. I found the ac-
counts and also proved they were false."
    "And you have diligently applied yourself to proving the
accounts you have linked to Captain Celchu are false as well,
correct?"
    The Quarren shook her head. "That is not part of my
job."
    "So you just manufacture evidence for the state. Truth
means nothing."
  "Objection."
  "Sustained." Admiral Ackbar looked down at Nawara.




"You have made your point, Counselor Ven. There is noth-
ing more you can gain on this line."
    "Yes, Admiral." Newera returned to the defense bench.
"No further questions."

In the holding cell, Nawara rubbed some warmth back into
the tip of his right lekku. "No, you're right, Captain, we did
score points today. I think General Madine will question
whether or not you're being paid off."
   Tycho smiled over at him. "That's good, yes?"
   "In a way, yes."
   "What do you mean?"
    Nawara shrugged. "The idea that you're an agent who
was being paid by the Empire isn't supposed to impress the
Tribunal--it's meant to impress the public. It's only one of
three motives that would explain your actions. It does pro-
vide the prosecution with an embarrassment of riches. Greed
is the easiest thing for most folks to understand, especially
when you're talking that much in the way of credits."
    Tycho's binders clicked against the edge of the table as
he slid his hands from it and held them against his chest.
"Corran's threatening to expose me is another motive.
What's the last one?"
    "Lusankya." Neware opened his hands. "The Tribunal,
at this point, has a choice. If they assume you betrayed the
squadron because you were being paid or because you feared
what Corran would uncover, they can convict you of murder
and treason without any problem. Everyone will understand
what happened and there won't be any messy details to deal
with. If they decide, on the other hand, that you did what
you did because of Imperial brainwashing at Lusankya, then
they would be bound to find you innocent by reason of di-
minished sapience. In that case you'd be placed into a hospi-
tal and treated for your affliction, to be released whenever
you are cured."
    Tycho stared down at his hands. "Which could be
never."
   "That's your nightmare. Their nightmare is that some

Emdee-oh droid with a Cognitive Matrix analysis package
will unscramble your brain and declare you cured in a week
or two. They'd have to let you go free, which would make
the justice system seem impotent."
    Tycho's head came up and the bright blue of his eyes
surprised Neware with its intensity. "What you're saying is
that the sabacc cards have been programmed against me."
    "It's worse than you know." Neware jerked a thumb
toward the exterior wall. "The day we got back from Ryloth,
the Palpatine Counter-insurgency Front blew up a school.
It's been thirty-six hours and they've still not found all the
bodies. Some were vaporized in the explosion, unrecover-
able-just like Corran's. Both humans and non died in the
blast. Someone claiming responsibility said that such acts of
terror would continue until the state's sham trial of you, an
obviously innocent man, was ended and you were set free."
    "What?" Tycho shook his head. "In court you showed
that the Imps had planted the information to frame me, and
now you're telling me that they're saying I've been framed?
What's going on?"
    "Your trial is divisive. The government is using it to
show they, unlike the Empire, can handle things in an open
manner. Imperial agents, on the other hand, are making it
look like evidence is being trumped up against you. It makes
humans think you're a sacrifice being offered up to keep the
Alliance together. The non-human population already thinks
you're guilty and somehow responsible for the Krytos vi-
rus-it doesn't matter that you had nothing to do with it."
    Tycho leaned forward and slapped his hands on the ta-
ble. "Nawara, you have to let me testify on my own behalf. I
can convince them I'm innocent."
    The Twi'lek sat back. "You've been talking to Diric
again, haven't you?"
    Tycho nodded. "He visited me while you and Wedge
were gone. Aside from Winter, he was my only visitor. He
says that talking to me has him convinced I'm innocent."
    "That's great for him, but he was also an Imperial pris-
oner, so he feels a sense of kinship to you. Most other folks
don't have that bond."




    Tycho raised an eyebrow. "You endured Imperial dis-
crimination against non-humans. Can you really say you
weren't an Imperial prisoner?"
    Nawara hesitated for a moment. The greatest thing for
him about joining the Rebellion had been having the weight
of oppression lifted from him. As a non-human he was
treated as inconsequential by the Empire. Imperial magis-
trates would ignore him and his objections, or they would
overrule him and threaten him with contempt for wasting the
court's time by bringing up points of law. He knew that at
any moment he could be gathered up in some Intelligence
sweep and incarcerated for whatever was left of his life, and
no one would know.
    Fear was once a constant factor in his life. Then he
joined the Alliance, and while he didn't fully leave fear be-
hind, he was given control over it. Now, with the Empire in
retreat, that same control had been extended to others. Even
the most despised individuals in the Empire now knew free-
dom.
  And still have a taste for revenge against their oppres-
sors.
    "Yes, I could say I, too, was their prisoner, Captain, but
that doesn't matter. The fact is that if you testify, Com-
mander Ettyk will destroy you on cross-examination."
   "How?"
    "She'll go back through your life and make it into a
mockery of what it's been." Nawara's eyes narrowed to
bloody crescents. "She'll point out that you volunteered for
the Imperial Academy and were a successful TIE fighter pilot.
She'll suggest you were so callous that you were speaking to
your family and fianc& via the holonet at the precise mo-
ment Alderaan was destroyed--all because you had learned,
being as you have always been an Imperial Intelligence agent,
when your world's destruction would take place."
Tycho's jaw shot open. "But that's preposterous."
"You and I know it's preposterous, but there are count-
less people out there who would believe it. You've been to
the Galactic Museum. You've seen how the exhibits about
the Emperor twist facts into lies. It's no surprise that such

twisting can take place. The fact is, though, that people be-
lieved the Emperor died at Endor destroying a Rebel Death
Star. It will be very easy for those same people to believe the
worst of you."
    Nawara hooked a taloned hand over Tycho's binders.
"You don't remember your time at Lusankya, but she will
make your amnesia sound like lying. And she's good, very
good. She'll have you saying things you don't want to say.
Damage will be done and we won't be able to recover from
it."
    Tycho slumped back in his chair, dragging his hands into
his lap. "We've really got nothing to prove my innocence, do
we?"
    "We have testimony about all you have done that is
positive and good. Whistler and Emtrey came up with an
analysis of the Krytos virus infection pattern and I can get
experts up to show how your actions actually made it much
milder than it could have been. And we're still looking for
Lai Nootka."
"So you're telling me that we need a miracle?"
Nawara nodded. "I'd take one if you had one to offer,
but then again, I wouldn't worry too much. Winning this
trial is merely impossible, and we're Rogues. We'll get it
done."
  Tycho sighed. "Or die trying."




27

"Ah, Commander Antilles, welcome." Admiral Ackbar
stood as the man entered his office. "I apologize for the short
notice, but time rolls away as the tide."
    "I came as quickly as I could, Admiral." Wedge gave the
Mon Calamari a friendly smile. "It must be important."
    "It is. You're the first person outside the Provisional
Council to hear this." The Mon Calamari opened his mouth
in the closest approximation of a human smile he could mus-
ter, hoping to put his visitor at ease. "The Xucphra faction
on Thyferra has agreed to send us a substantial shipment of
bacta. Your squadron--all of whom were called back to duty
and are currently under a communications quarantine--will
be sent out to meet the freighter convoy and bring it back
here to Coruscant."
    "I see." Wedge's face took on a suitably grim expres-
sion. "Aren't we a bit small to be protecting a convoy of,
what, thirty ships?"
    "Twenty, actually. Most are small ships, like the Skate.
We have a few larger ones going, but our hauling resources
have never been abundant." Ackbar's chin fringes wriggled.
"We are having to rely on stealth and secrecy to safeguard

the shipment--and not by my choice. The whole matter of
negotiations about all this bacta have become very delicate."
   Wedge raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
    "We never expected your visit to Ryloth would be kept
secret, but the news of it traveled more quickly than we ex-
pected. Apparently the Thyferrans know we obtained ryll
from Ryloth. Some of the Thyferrans wanted to cut us off
from bacta completely, pointing to your trip as an attempt to
circumvent them. Cooler heads prevailed, so we're getting
this shipment, but it is barely sufficient to keep people alive.
If the basic combinations with ryll work, we might double
the effective strength of what we have, but that's still not
going to be enough to effect a final cure of the Krytos virus."
    Ackbar sighed as weariness washed over him. "While
Xucphra officials are willing to send us the bacta to keep us
paying them credits, they are very wary of advertising the
fact that they're working with the New Republic. They only
benefit from all this if they are able to sell bacta to all sides in
the conflict. They want this convoy to appear to be a private
enterprise--it was suggested that Mirax Terrik could take
credit for it and profit from it. They will get the ships to our
rendezvous point, then we take over. You'll ostensibly be on
a training mission and offer the escort as a courtesy."
    Wedge frowned. "Rogue Squadron is a high-profile out-
fit. We're bound to be watched. Why use us?"
    "You have a Thyferran." The Mon Calamari's lip
fringes twitched. "It has been suggested that having Erisi and
Rogue Squadron present to guide the ships back here to Co-
ruscant would prove to the Thyferrans that we appreciate the
risks they are taking."
"Do I sense Borsk Fey'lya's furred hand in this?"
"You do, though he was not alone in it." The Council
meeting where this plan was floated seemed more difficult
than any of the battles I've fought against the Empire. "The
possibility of having our bacta supply cut off is causing peo-
ple to take whatever steps they can think of to appease the
Thyferrans."
    Wedge's eyes narrowed. "The big problem we have with
the Thyferrans is that they could cut us off at any time."




    "They have the monopoly, so they can do that. The fact
that ryll kor might make bacta more effective against this
virus does not diminish our need for bacta. Before the Em-
pire aided the Xucphra and Zaltin corporations in monopo-
lizing the bacta trade, we might have been able to find other
sources of bacta. Now we have no choice but to trade with
them. While we could manufacture our own bacta, the start-
up costs for a facility that could produce what we need
would--well, I can't say it would bankrupt us, because the
New Republic may already be over that line. And you didn't
hear that from me."   "No, sir."
    "So, Commander, you see our dilemma. We are depen-
dent on the bacta cartel, yet our supply is shaky. Steps taken
to secure our supply could anger the cartel--if those steps do
not include them--or could anger our enemies enough that
they strike at the cartel itself. Warlord Zsinj's Iron Fist could
put a chill on convoy traffic and cause us significant trou-
ble."
   "But they would stop shipping him bacta, too."
   "True, but his need for it is not as great or urgent as ours
is."
   "Point taken."
    Ackbar shrugged. "As smugglers put it, we have all our
spice in one freighter, and other solutions to the problem
seem impossible. I know Rogue Squadron prides itself on
doing the impossible, but 1 think this bacta problem is be-
yond even your capabilities."   "Perhaps, sir."
    Wedge's curious reply seemed tinged with deception, but
Ackbar found it hard to believe Wedge would be involved in
plotting. He has been spending a certain amount of time in
General Cracken's company, and Cracken's reportage to the
Provisional Council has been handled by subordinates of
late, but to combine those things into a plot would be leaping
to a conclusion of Borskean proportions. Even so, it does
seem rather plausible. "Do I take it you disagree with my
assessment, Commander?"
   Wedge's shoulders shifted uneasily. "I would have to say

I think you're probably correct, sir, but Rogue Squadron has
done many things in the past that were thought impossible."
    Ackbar nodded. "You realize that anything you might
do in this regard could have catastrophic results if the
Thyferrans disapprove."
    "If I were involved in anything, sir, that would be fore-
most in my mind."
    "Very good." Whatever you are doing, I wish you grand
success. "General Cracken will be briefing your people. May
the Force be with you--in all you do."  Wedge smiled. "Thank you, sir."
    Ackbar hesitated, then his eyes shrank to demi-lunes.
"Be careful, Commander. Billions of lives hang in the bal-
ance. If something goes wrong, I doubt if even your status as
the Conqueror of Coruscant will save you from becoming
more reviled than Tycho Celchu."




28

Kirtan Loor stared at the glowing holographic text hanging
in the air in front of him and found himself poised between
unbridled terror and unbound elation. The message offered
him a way out from beneath Fliry Vorru's thumb, but only if
he took steps that could easily anger Ysanne Isard. Doing
that could destroy him. But doing nothing clearly will de-
stroy me.
    The text, after it had been decrypted and decoded, car-
ried a simple yet explosive message. Twenty ships--New Re-
public and privately owned freighters--would be traveling
from Thyferra with a shipment of bacta bound for Imperial
Center. Rogue Squadron was to meet them in the Alderaan
system--as if all the bacta in the galaxy could heal that
wound--and guide them in on the return trip to Imperial
Center. The message contained the times and coordinates,
easily allowing for the interception of the convoy.
    If he destroyed the convoy, he would advance the Impe-
rial cause beyond even Ysanne Isard's wildest dreams. He
had the means to do just that at his disposal. His e,q~iier plans
to substitute a look-alike group of fighters for Rogue Squad-
ron and have them strafe the squadron's base required him
to put together a full dozen X-wing fighters. They would be

hawk-bats among granite slugs if he set them on the freight-
ers. He was more than willing to do that, blasting every
single freighter from the Pulsar Skate to the Rebels' Pride
into free-floating atoms.
    He had only one problem: he wasn't supposed to know
what the message said.
    Imperial spies in service to the Rebellion had been given
a variety of ways to make contact with their superiors. Cer-
tain public terminals, for example, had special coding that
routed messages along secure lines to specific destinations. A
datadisk could be recorded and left in any number of blind-
drops for pickup by agents. Face-to-face meetings could be
and had been arranged, even with the highest profile agents
around. Whatever was necessary to move information would
be done.
    The Rebels were not without countermeasures, and they
were effective when they wanted to stop information from
getting out. Fortunately Coruscant was still more of an Impe-
rial world than it was a Rebel one. While Rebel computer
code experts had gone through the planetary computer sys-
tem and shut down many of the most obvious stealthways
into it, they had not found them all. The Rebels would
clearly have preferred to avoid using the Imperial computers
at all, but running Coruscant without them was impossible,
so compromises were made.
    The Imperial agent in Rogue Squadron had resorted to
one of the most simple stealthways in the system to get the
message out. A coded message was created and saved as
usual, then deleted. The command used to delete the message
was a batch command, one commonly used to purge a
month's worth of old messages at a time. When the com-
puter asked for a date from which to begin the purge, the
agent gave it the date and time, down to the second, the
message had been created. The ending date for the purge was
the same date and time.
    The deletion routine in the system took that information
and began special processing. A copy of the message was
whisked away to a randomly chosen memory sector and
there encrypted. At the original memory location where the




 message had been stored, zeroes were written to erase all
 traces of the message, then corrupted copies of other docu-
 ments were written into its place. A scan of files would show
 documents and programs in the normal process of being
 overwritten.
     No trace of the coded message was left in its original
 location. The agent was safe.
    The encrypted message was transferred through a series
of accounts and finally ended up on a datadisk that was
dumped into a blind-drop. One of Loor's Special Intelligence
operatives retrieved it and brought it to him. Loor himself
decrypted and decoded it. He told himself he did so because
messages from that agent had normally traveled directly to
Ysanne Isard. The fact that he had ended up with a copy
meant the normal channels of communication were closed
and he wanted to make certain delays did not prevent action
from being taken to capitalize on the information.
    Had I forwarded it to Iceheart blindly I would not be
caugbt in tbis trap. Because the rendezvous would take place
in less than three days, there was an open question as to
whether the message would reach Isard in time for her to do
anything about it. Loor felt fairly confident she would act to
destroy the convoy, and his own squadron had enough fire-
power to chew up the twenty-ship convoy with little prob-
lem. A pair of proton torpedoes would destroy most of the
freighters, which meant a full dozen could die in the first
pass. Another volley of torpedoes would cripple or kill the
others, and the X-wings could follow up with lasers to finish
off the survivors.
    Probably not flasby enougb for ber, but if my X-wings
were marked up to be Rogue Squadron sbips--and the news-
nets bare been full of examples tbat making last-minute
cbanges to matcb tbe paint jobs will be easy enougb--I can
sow more discord and distrust between the people and tbe
Rebel government. Icebeart would like that.
    The problem with doing just that, however, was that the
operation did not help him eliminate Vorru as a threat. If,
instead of destroying the convoy, he hijacked it to another
system, he would have control of a very large shipment of a

vital commodity. While Vorru had a solid lock on the bacta
black market on Imperial Center, there were other worlds
clamoring for the medicine. If he used his supply correctly he
could enrich himself. He would betray Vorru to the Rebels--
not to the government on Imperial Center, but to the constit-
uent governments on the various Rebel homeworlds, thereby
increasing distrust between them and the rulers on Imperial
Center.
    Or I can enrich myself, buy a world all my own, and put
Boba Fett on retainer to slay my enemies. That thought
brought a smile to Loor's face. The list would not be long,
but it would not be an easy one to complete. A fitting chal-
lenge for a man with his skills.
    Loor closed his eyes and gently massaged them beneath
his eyelids. As satisfying as enriching himself would be, he
realized he had to be very careful. Killing Vorru and Isard
would provide him short-term pleasure, but he had to be
looking at his long-term position. His first step was to guar-
antee his survival, his second to maximize his potential for
power. Hijacking the bacta worked just as well to hurt the
Rebellion as did destroying it, but it left him vulnerable to
accusations by Isard that he wasn't devoting himself to his
duty of destroying the Rebellion. She could easily see the
hijacking as a move to make him independent of her, and she
would not like that.
    I can always argue that I wanted to get out from under
Vorru's influence and nothing more. He doubted that such
an argument would insulate him from her anger and retribu-
tion when she found out what he had done. And he knew she
would find out--it was a question how much time he had
until she did. If he could keep her in the dark for a month,
either he would have gained enough power that he did not
need to fear her, or she will have had me killed.
    He realized once again that only by escaping her could
he possibly survive. This gives me no choice.
    He carefully began to compose a message. He told her of
his intent to use the duplicate Rogue Squadron to "elimi-
nate" the convoy. He would later argue that he would have
said "destroy" if that's what he had meant to do. Time being




of the essence, I can't give her the whole plan, I can merely
let her know I am dealing with the problem.
    He scanned his message, then prepared it for sending.
He almost sent it immediately, then hesitated. No, ifI send it
now, she could possibly countermand my orders. I'll give her
a day's warning. By the time she considers what will happen,
it will all be done.
  And Kirtan Loor would be one giant step closer to being
free.

29

Four minutes to reversion to realspace. Nawara Ven began a
quick systems check on his X-wing. Lasers were powered up
and linked for offside firing in pairs. He had six proton tor-
pedoes, and had configured that weapon system to shoot
them one at a time. Fuel was good; acceleration compensator
was set .05 off full, giving him a feel for his position in space,
and his life-support systems checked out--including the
heated stockings into which he fit his lekku to protect them if
he got blasted out of his cockpit.
    He shivered. He'd been shot out of an X-wing during the
first battle of Borleias. The concussion of ejecting had
stunned him. He'd floated in space, helpless, in the midst of a
roiling dogfight. Cold nibbled away at his fingers, toes, and
lek-tips, while a little chronographic indicator flashing on the
inside of his helmet's evac-visor counted down the minutes
until his air supply quit. Watching the seconds slip away,
he'd felt time was moving a lot faster than it should have.
    ! knew I was going to die. He shook his head. Then
Captain Celchu showed up and saved me. He didn't have to
do that. In fact, he was insane to do that. After he pulled me
to safety, there was no way I could ever think he was an
Imperial agent.




    A beep from his R5 unit marked 30 seconds to rever-
sion. "Thanks. Even up my shields forward and back. I don't
expect trouble, but I want to be ready."
    The droid complied with the request and Nawara pre-
pared himself for the rendezvous with the bacta convoy.
Rogue Squadron's Two flight, led by Lieutenant Pash
Cracken and including Gavin and Shiel as well as Nawara,
was supposed to break off and head sunward to cover the
tail end of the convoy. The last ship was to be the Pulsar
Skate, so they'd form up on it. One flight, with Wedge in the
lead, would take the head of the convoy, and Three flight,
which was still one pilot short, was to orient itself toward
any trouble.
    Not that there should be any. The shards of Alderaan
formed an asteroid field commonly known as the Graveyard.
The majority of traffic into the sector came from Alderaanian
expatriots returning to see the sun beneath which they were
born one more time and to leave grave-gifts among the aster-
oids. Others came to plunder those grave-gifts, and some
even claimed to have seen a massive armory ship named An-
other Chance among the planet's ruins--though Nawara
thought that ship as much a legend as the fabled Katana fleet.
    I wanted to ask Tycho if he wanted me to leave anything
for him, but I wasn't allowed any contact with him after I
was briefed. Nawara had recorded a message and saved it in
the computer for Tycho in case he didn't make it back, but
the mission was supposed to be little more than ceremonial.
Aside from their timetable slipping by three quarters of an
hour because of a fuel pump failure that delayed their take-
off, the mission had gone exactly as advertised. But it's the
ones that are supposed to be easy that hurt the most.
    The white tunnel through which his ship had been hur-
tling exploded into a million separate pinpricks of fire. Some
of those pinpricks resolved themselves into distant stars,
while others refused to shrink. Green darts stabbed into
some of the brighter points in the system, then those points
exploded. "Sithspawn!"
  "S-foils into attack position." Wedge's voice came

through the helmet comm unit strong and cool. "Twelve, get
me a full scan of the sector. One and Two flights, on me."
    Nawara reached up with his right hand and flicked the
switch that split his stabilizer foils into the cross pattern that
gave the fighter its name. Nudging his stick to port, he
brought his fighter in on Pash's starboard flank with a
fighter-length separating them. "I've got you, Five."
   "Thanks, Six."
    Aril Nunb broke into the comm channel with her report.
"Caught a flash of something big heading out--a Super Star
Destroyer. It's gone, but in system we have two dozen eye-
balls, two lambs, and a Strike Cruiser designated Terma-
gant."
   "What about the freighters?"
   "We just saw the last one explode."
    Nawara's stomach folded in on itself. "Gone? They're
all gone?"
    "An Imperial SSD wouldn't leave much behind." Fear
and revulsion filled Rhysati's voice, and Nawara could easily
visualize the hard look in her hazel eyes. "We're going in,
right, Rogue Leader?"
   "Twelve, any sign of the Skate?"
   "No, Commander."
   "Nothing at all? No beacon?"
    "There's no beacon from half the hulks I have on my
scan." Aril's voice softened a bit. "A Super Star Destroyer
has enough power to completely vape any of the ships in the
convoy."
    "Right, right." Wedge's voice trailed off and no one
spoke to fill the void. "Blast it! All right, listen up. We're
going in, and we're going in hot. The Strike Cruiser is our
primary target. Proton torps, dual-fire. I want it down and
out immediately."
    Erisi's voice crackled through the comm unit. "That
means the T1Es will have no way to get out of here."
    The edge in Wedge's voice came through unadulterated.
"Is that a problem?"
   "Not for me, Lead."
   Nawara keyed his comm unit. "What about the lambs?"




The two Lambda-class shuttles carried weapons and could
be tougher than TIEs to handle because they also sported
shields.
    "We give them one chance to run. After that, they can go
away, too."
    Aril again spoke. "I'm downloading tac-data to every-
one. Termagant isn't straight Imp, it's allied with Zsinj."
    "Was allied with Zsinj." Wedge's ship began to lengthen
its lead over the others. "Come on, Rogues. Warlord Zsinj
apparently wanted the Alliance's attention. Here's where we
make him pay for that mistake."
    Following Wedge, the squadron sped in toward Zsinj's
forces and the convoy debris. The convoy had been am-
bushed out beyond the Graveyard and a bit below the sys-
tem's orbital plane. Rogue Squadron had come in on the
other side of the orbital plane. Because of this, and because
of the way Zsinj's forces chose to orient themselves respec-
tive to the system, by flying down to them, Rogue Squadron
was, from their perspective flying in up at their bellies.
    Nawara watched his tactical screen. Because the TIEs
were making strafing runs on what were left of the freighters,
they had no unit cohesion. With the enormous amount of
debris in and around where they were flying, Nawara would
have been surprised if they had any clue about Rogue Squad-
ron's approach. So the ambusbers get ambushed. How fit-
ting.
    With the flick of his thumb he brought his weapons-
control over to proton torpedoes. Another touch of a button
and he linked both launching tubes. Range to the Termagant
stood at 4.5 kilometers. The X-wings closed fast as Wedge
led them down and around the freighter debris field, then
over and in at the Strike Cruiser. Nawara's head's-up display
went from green to yellow as the cruiser filled his sights, then
blazed red as his RS's keening wail announced he had a
target lock.
  "Rogues, launch now!"
    On Wedge's command the squadron fired their proton
torpedoes in near-perfect unison. Twenty-two torpedoes
streaked in at the lozenge-shaped Strike Cruiser, coming up

toward the ventral hull. The first couple detonated brilliantly
white against the ship's shields, but the rest pushed on
through. Several exploded against the hull, shredding and
blackening armor plating, while still more burst inside the
ship. Argent fire gushed from the ragged hole in the ship's
hull, then geysered out of several smaller openings on the
upper part of the ship.
    The Strike Cruisers, as a class of ship, had been highly
lauded because of their unique construction. Built around a
central skeleton that bound the bridge to the engines, their
other components were completely modular. A cruiser con-
figured to carry troops could, after a short stay in some
spaceyard, emerge a TIE carrier like Termagant. Strike Cruis-
ers allowed the Empire to change the makeup of the Imperial
fleet without building entirely new ships.
    That strength is Termagant's weakness. As the torpedoes
exploded inside the ship, the ship itself began to break apart.
The prow drifted upward as if the ship had run into an
invisible wall. Armored hull plates shattered where they had
covered the seam between the bow and the starboard TIE
hangar. The forward part of the hangar started twisting as it
ripped free of the skeleton. The cruiser began to roll, then the
whole front half of the ship spun off as the ship's waist
evaporated in the inferno the torpedoes caused.
    "The eyes of the Warlord are upon us," Gavin quipped.
"TIEs inbound."
    Nawara flipped back to his lasers and broke to port with
Pash. Coming up over the top, they climbed toward the in-
coming eyeballs. He punched all power to his forward shield
and prepared for a head-to-head pass. He dropped his
crosshairs on the growing speck that was an approaching
TIE starfighter. He watched the range close, then popped a
quick shot off. A pair of laser-bolts glanced off the eyebali's
port panel, imparting a spin to the ship. Nawara started to
dive after it, but with his speed, he overshot it.  "I got the other half of it, Six."
    "Thanks, Gavin." Nawara evened out his shields and
pulled back up. Inverting his ship, he completed a big loop
and followed the rest of squadron back into the fray. In the




boiling cloud of fighters, friend and foe flashed past so
quickly that it was impossible to account for everyone's posi-
tion. Nawara knew a number of the other pilots in the
squadron had a "situational awareness" that was superior to
his own, but he figured this battle had to be taxing even
them.
    And if you take long enough to line up a shot . . . The
hiss of lasers gnawing away at his aft shield completed his
thought and sent a jolt through him. "I have one on my tail.
I'm going to try to shake him."
    Nawara hit the right rudder pedal, swinging the
X-wing's aft to port. He kicked the ship up onto the star-
board S-foil, then pulled the stick back and curled down into
a corkscrew dive. He throttled back a bit, hoping his pursuer
would overshoot him, but the aft scan showed the pilot pull-
ing a twisting roll and dive that covered more distance, keep-
ing him in behind Nawara.
    The Twi'lek punched the throttle forward and enlarged
the gap between them, then broke hard to port and started to
climb again. Maybe that will get rid of him.
    Lasers hissing on his aft shields again told him the tactic
hadn't worked. Nawara rocked the X-wing back and forth
and bounced it up and down, making it a tough target to hit,
but the TIE pilot stayed with him.
    ! have to do something. Sweat formed on his upper lip
and leaked in at the corners of his mouth, coating his tongue
with the taste of copper. His lekku twitched in their fabric
prisons. Maybe if I run into the Graveyard . . .
    He started to pull up and head for the asteroids, when
something behind him exploded. He glanced at his aft moni-
tor and saw no TIE there. "Thanks."
       "My pleasure, Six." Erisi seemed pleased with herself.
"My wing would be distraught if you were hurt."
   "I owe you, Four, for the both of us."
   "Acknowledged, Six."
    Aril Nunb's voice broke in on the comm channel.
"Lambs are running."
    "Thanks, Twelve, let them go." Wedge's voice lacked
none of its earlier vehemence. "We've got plenty to do here."

    Nawara brought his X-wing up and evened out the
shields. Trailing Erisi back in toward the fight, he saw two or
three TIEs explode. Another came shooting out of the dog-
fight, then barrel-rolled in on Erisi for a broadside shot at
her.
    "Four, break up!" Nawara snapped his fighter up on the
port S-foil, then climbed. He swooped in on the eyeball,
stayed with it as the pilot juked down, then hit his trigger.
The first pair of laser-bolts only melted holes in the starboard
solar panel, but the second hit the ball cockpit dead on. The
TIE began to spin out of control, then exploded in a cloud of
brilliant incandescent gas. Debris sparked off his forward
shield as he flew past the outer edges of the fireball.
    "Lead, Five here. The TIEs are breaking off. They're
heading for the Graveyard."
   "I copy, Five. Rogue Squadron, let them go."
   "You can't be serious, Lead."
   "I am, Gavin."
   "But what they did--"
    "Doesn't matter right now. They're dead and they know
it. I don't want any of us getting dead. Regroup in your
flights and stand by." A momentary squeal ended Wedge's
transmission, telling Nawara that the commander was shift-
ing over to a different comm unit frequency.
    Nawara rolled his fighter and dove down to where Pash
and the other two members of Two flight were orbiting. Peer-
ing out through his cockpit canopy, he got the first good look
at the remains of the convoy. If humans can bring themselves
to do this to a convoy of ships hauling bacta, I am glad I'm
not human.
    A few of the freighters were still recognizable as such.
Hull compartments had been blown open by explosions.
Bacta that had geysered out through the holes had flash-
frozen into monuments to the terror the ships' crews must
have felt. Fires burned deep in the hearts of several ships,
consuming the last remnants of atmosphere. Pieces of other
ships drifted through the area, slamming into one another,
breaking up yet further to careen into other dead hulks.
  The worst image Nawara saw was of one small ship--




one barely bigger than the Skate--that appeared, from the
prow to midships, to be intact. Back of that point the ship
did not really exist--at least, nothing recognizable as a ship.
Turbolaser fire had hit so fast that the latter half of the
ship had been liquified. An amorphous blob of metal fringed
with condensed metal mist, like the down from a silvery bird,
trailed in the ship's wake.
    The sheer violence of the attack that had destroyed that
ship shook Nawara. The transparisteel cockpit panels on the
ship had blown out. He realized the Super Star Destroyer's
turbolasers would have superheated the atmosphere in the
ship. The crew would have been cooked inside and out in the
blink of an eye. They would have been dead before they
knew what had happened to them, but their last moments
must have been full of terror because of the SSD's presence.
    Nawara keyed his comm unit. "Hypothetical question:
you're part of a convoy with minimal arms and you come
out of hyperspace in the shadow of a Super Star Destroyer
and a Strike Cruiser that's deployed its TIEs. Do you pro-
voke an attack?"
"Ooryl cannot see how anyone would be that suicidal."
"Right, so you'd surrender and tell the SSD that you're
hauling bacta, which is currently very valuable." Nawara
frowned. "It makes no sense for anyone to have killed the
convoy."
    "That's why to know Warlord Zsinj is to wonder about
his sanity." Disgust filled Pash's voice. "He's definitely some-
one who needs a lot of killing."
   "Count me in."
   "Me, too."
    A squeal came through the comm unit, then Wedge
spoke. "I've just had word with the TIEs. They're giving
up---they were uneasy with the mission and they don't like
the fact that we showed up. They're going to recon the han-
gar sections of Termagant and see if they can reboard."
    "Why, that hulk's not going anywhere? The engines are
in the other half and it's headed for the Graveyard."
    "I noticed, Four. They're going to check for survivors
and try to pick up enough oxygen to survive for as long as

they can. Pash, ! want you to take Two flight out of here and
make for Tatooine. It's about eight hours out, give or take.
Gavin can guide you in to Mos Eisley. Refuel there and hire a
freighter that can carry a dozen TIEs. Get it here and haul the
pilots clear. I'm sure your father would like to debrief them,
so you should probably bring them to Coruscant with you."
    "As ordered. We fly cover for the freighter in case our
friends have any ideas about trying to commandeer it?"
    "Right, though I don't think you'll find much opposi-
tion."
  "How so?"
    "Scan the debris. There's a lot of TIE parts out there
and--"
    Nawara looked at the readout his R5 scrolled up his
screen. "X-wing debris. But we didn't lose anyone."
    "No, we didn't." Some of the anger drained from
Wedge's voice. "Of course, that's not what Zsinj's people
say. They say they already killed off Rogue Squadron, right
here, defending the convoy the way it was supposed to. Then
we arrived and showed them we were tougher to kill the
second time around."
    Nawara blinked. "But that makes no more sense than
attacking the convoy in the first place."
    "No it doesn't, but there's no time to try to figure it out
now. You get to Tatooine. We'll check for survivors here,
then head back to Coruscant and report. See you there in a
day or so." Wedge sighed. "If by then you come up with any
brilliant thoughts on what's happened here, I know I, for
one, will be more than willing to listen to them."




3O

Kirtan Loor would have been trembling with outrage, but
the lethargy of despair had a higher priority. He knew his
days were numbered, and he wouldn't have bet on double
digits even if given the longest of odds. He freely assumed the
only reason he still lived was because Ysanne Isard enjoyed
the thought of him cowering in fear, dreading each new day.
    Yet even facing certain death at her hands, Loor did
greatly admire how lsard had gotten him and Warlord Zsinj
and the New Republic in one simple set of maneuvers. Rogue
Squadron would also have been caught in the trap had their
operation not fallen behind schedule--and if ! had not been
playing my game.
    Within 24 hours of the ambush at Alderaan, Zsinj had
sent a message to Coruscant via what was left of the Imperial
HoloNet system, indicating he and his people had attacked
the bacta convoy because, according to his sources, the bacta
was tainted and would have exacerbated the Krytos virus
problem. He further claimed that Rogue Squadron had been
present, had indicated they knew the bacta was tainted, and
had fully intended that it should be distributed on Coruscant
to "get rid of the xeno-trash" the Empire had left behind. He
said he had no choice but to destroy the convoy and Rogue

Squadron, then beseeched people to overthrow the New Re-
public's government and flock to his banner.
    The only problem with his message, which was broad-
cast worldwide, is that it followed by roughly six hours a
report about the attack on the convoy. This attack report
had been delivered by the government and included ho-
lographic images created by and with commentary from
members of Rogue Squadron. Zsinj's claim that he had de-
stroyed the unit were proved false, and helped make the rest
of his comments appear likewise untrustworthy.
    Loor shook his head. Ysanne Isard had clearly leaked to
Zsinj the information about the convoy. His report that he
was sending a Rogue Squadron of his own to eliminate the
convoy clearly would have arrived too late for her to get it to
Zsinj. Loor had only given her 16 hours' notice of what he
was doing, yet the timing of Zsinj's message to Coruscant
suggested strongly that it took him at least a day to make it
to Alderaan from wherever the Iron Fist had been.
    All of this meant the message that had been routed to
Loor and warned of the squadron's mission had also, some-
how, made its way to lsard. She had acted based on that
original message, then got Loor's follow-up message later.
The appearance of his Rogue Squadron meant that Zsinj
didn't wait around for the genuine unit to put in an appear-
ance--he just struck and destroyed them all. Rogue Squad-
ron had embarrassed him in the past, and this was his chance
to get back at them, which he truly believed he had. The
tainted bacta story clearly was an afterthought to mollify
those people who might be upset by his destruction of so
much bacta.
    The loss of the bacta had struck quite a blow to the
hopes of people on Coruscant. Coupled with that was a re-
port from a governmental accounting office that indicated
there was less ryll available than previously thought. Several
Provisional Council members suggested it had been stolen,
but statisticians showed how the shortage was actually an
artifact of good distribution. The previous supply, which had
been supposed to last for two months, was down to seven
weeks because more was getting out to more people.




    It struck Loor as amusing that the gover~ment was still
fightit~g the Emperor's ghost; it was the Empire's doing that
had pron~pted everyone to look for the truth behind goveri1-
ment statements. The fact that the Republic might be telli~g
its citizens everything there was to tell did not stop people
from thinking there i~light be st~mething nlore to the story.
Teaching trust is a long process; lear~ing it is a~ even longer
one.
    And Ysal~ne Isard has, in short order, lear~zed she calz no
lollger trust me.
    Had he done nothing and simply relayed the message to
her when he got it, her plot would have discredited Zsinj,
resulted in the loss of the bacta, and caused the destruction
of Rogue Squadron. While stle had no proof that he intended
to steal the bacta and use it for his o~'i1 gain, he knew she
didn't need proof to condemn hinl. She knew he was smart
enough to see how powerful that bacta could have made
him. If he had succeeded he would have amassed end)ugh
power to begin to play on her level.   Now he was just a failure.
    And failures; as far as she is co~zcerned, are worthless.
She would discard him as solon as the optimal use for him
arose. Wl~ich mea~ls I must find somethiltg to do with myself
befc~re she does.
    Loor allowed himself to laugh and banish some of the
fear. He had plans to make, big plans. Plans for the future
and plal~s to get me to the future.

Gavin I)arklighter cleared his throat and rapped gei~tly on
the dot)rjamp of Conllnander Antilles's office. "Excuse me,
sir."
    Wedge looked up from his desk, a bit haggard and
bleary-eyed. "What can I do for you, Gavin?"
"I'd like to speak to y()u if I might. In private, sir."
Wedge straightened up in his chair, then nodded and
waved Gavin to the seat in front of the &sk. A couple of
keystrokes killed the holographic lists of numbers hanging in
the air above Wedge's holopad. They looked like quarter-

master reports to Gavin, but he couldn't be certain, since he
was reading them from the back side (~f the hologram.
   "What is it, Gavin?"
    How to begin? Gavin seated himselL then looked down
at his hands. "Ah, sir, we, the squadron that is, have been
discussing the situation at Alderaan. It was really preuy bad.
I mean, those of us in Two flight got to see it a second time
when we went to get the TIE pilots, and the destruction
seemed even worse than we'd thought."
    Wedge nodded and rubbed his eyes. "I know. I helped
edit and narrate the government's report on the ambush.
Warlord Zsinj's Iro~ Fist did a first-class job of ripping the
convoy up from one end to the other."
    Gavin frowned. "When ! talked to the others, they said
you've been preuy quiet about all that--about Mirax dying
and all. I mean, I didn't know her nearly as well as you did,
of course. I got to know her on the run into Coruscant when
we came in secret, and I liked her. Not romantically, you
know---not that there was anything wrong with her, but even
I could see she was interested in Corran. Anyway, I remem-
ber you coming to talk to me about Lujayne Forge when the
Imps killed her, and how much it helped and I thought--"
"You thought it w(~uld help me to let my grief show?"
"Well, your best friends aren't here for you. Captain
Celchu is in jail, Princess Leia has dropped out of sight, and
you and Mirax were close, so . . ."
    Wedge smiled and sighed, then leaned back in his chair.
"I appreciate this, Gavin, more than you know. I guess, with
Mirax, I'm still in shock. There was no trace of her or the
Pulsar Skate, so part of me wants to believe she had an astro-
gation error and jumped someplace else, that she wasn't
there at all."
  "I think we'd all like to believe that, sir."
    "It's ridicul�~us, of course, but that's part of the reason
I'm not ready to let her go, you know." Wedge frowned. "It
seems as if everyone I know, all the friends I make, are get-
ting ground up by the Empire or some malignant little off-
shoot of it. Fighting against the Death Stars--well, sonleone
dying there somehow had meaning. The convoy, though,


they were just bringing bacta to a sick world. Even though
their deaths have catalyzed the Provisional Council into
making a decision concerning Warlord Zsinj, their lives were
wasted, and I guess I'm tired of that sort of waste."
   Gavin looked up. "We're going after Zsinj?"
    Wedge tapped his datapad. "I was going over informa-
tion concerning our supplies for deployment against him. I
don't know many details, and couldn't tell you any of them if
I did, but this convoy hit has made Zsinj a big target. Admi-
ral Ackbar wants this data rather quickly, so I really should
get back to it."
   "If you say so, sir."
    Wedge leaned forward on his elbows. "Look, Gavin, I
appreciate your coming here and talking to me about Mirax.
I don't think I'm ready to go into this all the way right now,
but I'm coping. It hurts, but I'm coping."
    Gavin nodded. "Yes, sir." Walling it away just delays
things. "If you ever decide you want someone to talk to--"
    "You'll be the first person I call." Wedge smiled and
sketched Gavin a brief salute. "Go get yourself some rest--
and that goes for the rest of the squadron. If we're going to
be going after Zsinj, I want us ready to move as fast as
possible."

Borsk Fey'lya stood behind his desk and smoothed the
creamy fur around his face. "Please, Asyr Sei'lar, do come in.
I am honored that Rogue Squadron's newest ace has time to
visit with me."
    The black-and-white-furred Bothan bowed her head re-
spectfully, then stood at attention as the door closed behind
her. "I am honored a member of the Provisional Council
noticed me."
    "Noticed you? My dear, you are quite impossible to
refrain from noticing. Aside from your performance in the
squadron, you were positively stunning at the Dan'kre party
the other evening. Please, be seated. No need for formality
here, is there?" Fey'iya remained standing until she had
taken her seat. She moved with an ease and strength he re-

called possessing in his youth. Though he was not that long
past his physical peak, he could already see how much he
had lost from when he was her age.
    Borsk Fey'lya also realized that had he been her age
again, he would have been lovestalking her. He found her
quite attractive, freely acknowledging that the white blazes
in her fur gave her a dangerous look. The fire in her violet
eyes likewise threatened to seduce him, but with maturity--
unlike humans--he had moved away from personal vanity.
Whereas a man might take a mistress her age to prove his
continued virility, for Fey'lya that choice would prove he had
not yet sufficiently focused himself on what was truly impor-
tant in life.
  The pursuit of power.
    "I wish to communicate to you, Asyr, the congratula-
tions and adulation of the people of Bothawui. You are well
on your way to taking your place in the constellations of
Bothan heroes like the Martyrs and even your predecessor in
Rogue Squadron, Peshk Vri'syk. You liberated Coruscant
and now fly with the New Republic's most famous fighter
squadron. Your parents are very proud of you, and other
Bothan parents everywhere have virtually no reservations
when it comes to their children choosing you as a role
model."
    "Thank you, Councilor." Asyr's violet eyes blinked. "I
would think parents could find far better role models for
their children than me."
    "Perhaps, but I should not be concerned about your liai-
son with the human, Galen." Fey'lya purposely misidentified
her lover and was rewarded by a flash of anger rippling the
filr of her neck and head. "Xenophilia is not unknown
among us, and your dalliance adds a hint of romance to your
image. Your Galen seems very capable of handling himself in
a wide variety of situations--case in point being the way he
defused the Kre'fey problem. Moreover, you are quite dis-
creet--admirably discreet, actually."
    "His name is Gavin, Gavin Darklighter. His cousin was
one of those who died destroying the first Death Star."
  "And our Martyrs died to enable the Alliance to destroy




the second Death Star. It is fitting that heirs to two heroic
traditions should find comfort together." Fey'lya raised a
hand to calm her. "Please, forgive me if this mention of your
personal affairs angered you. I did not mean to cause you
any discomfort. I fully understand the sort of bonds that can
be forged between people who endure adversity together.
Others are not so accepting of things they see as different."
    "Thank you, Councilor." Asyr frowned heavily. "Some
other members of the Bothan community here are positively
imperial in their xenophobic attitudes."
    "That is not good at all. If you will permit me, perhaps I
can help you with this problem. I have ample opportunity to
speak with various groups--Bothan and other--here and
back on Bothawui. It does no one any good for you to be
persecuted for things that really are beyond your control. I
was young once. I know how hot one's blood can be. I will
use my influence to get attitudes to change."  "That would be most kind."
    "I'm glad to be of service." Fey'lya smiled. "In fact, I
had hoped to be of service to you when I invited you here,
but this was not the subject I wanted to address."  Asyr met his gaze unflinchingly. "Yes, sir?"
    "You were part of the mission to Alderaan, as I recall,
yes?"
    "Yes. I flew wing for Commander Antilles. I got the kills
I did because he hung back and covered me."
    "I see." Fey'lya pressed his hands together, fingertip to
fingertip. "The timing of your arrival in the Alderaan system
has become a point of interest for those conspiratorially-
minded individuals within the government and without. You
were late and the convoy was destroyed."
    The younger Bothan's eyes narrowed. "If we had been
on time, we would have been destroyed, just like the con-
voy."
    "Quite so, quite so, and it is a good thing you were
delayed. Still, you realize that tests on the samples of bacta
ice that were brought back to Coruscant do show the bacta
to be tainted and spoiled--in accord with Warlord Zsinj's
allegations."

    "Forgive me, sir, but those samples were blown up,
flash-boiled, and peppered with debris. That they show up
contaminated and useless is really no surprise."
"Under normal circumstances I would agree with you."
"What do you find unusual about these circumstances?"
Fey'lya gave her an indulgent smile. "Clearly the con-
voy's timetable was leaked to Warlord Zsinj. Since the Xuc-
phra faction on Thyferra has seen fit to send bacta to the
New Republic, it is safe to assume it was the rival Zaltin
faction that tipped Zsinj about the shipment. Even so, we
cannot rule out the possibility that members of this govern-
ment sabotaged the effort to bring bacta to Coruscant."
    "You can't be serious. That would make Mon Mothma
or others out to be monsters who had sunk to Ysanne Isard's
level or below."
    "Of course I don't believe that is the case, but the prob-
lem is that others do think it possible. I am afraid that you
could become implicated in all this because of your member-
ship in Rogue Squadron." He pressed his hands flat on his
desk and leaned forward. "l want to insulate you from any
possible disaster coming down the line."   "Disaster?"
    "Rogue Squadron will be sent out with the task force
being used to punish Warlord Zsinj. It could very well be that
this Alderaan incident means certain superior officers in the
military see Rogue Squadron as a problem. Committing you
in an action that destroys the squadron would eliminate that
problem. I'm not saying this is what will happen, of course,
but it could and I would like to put some insurance in place
that prevents this from coming to pass."
Asyr's head came up. "What kind of insurance?"
Fey'lya gestured toward her with opened hands. "I
would like you to prepare a report that indicates the delay in
Rogue Squadron's arrival was a product of human error."
    "Such a report could be used to strengthen the conspir-
acy theory."
    "If I were to use it in such a capacity, yes, it could, but I
would never do that."
  "Never?" Asyr raised an eyebrow. "You know the




Bothan saying--'Never means the right opportunity has not
yet arisen.'"
    "Then I should amend my statement--I would never use
it except if I deemed it necessary to curb human excesses.
You know--and the Krytos virus is but one example--man-
kind's capacity for cruelty to its own is infinite. The human
members of the Alliance have not turned on us or on Rogue
Squadron, but that's not to say they will never do that."
Fey'lya tapped his desktop with a talon. "You are a Bothan.
You were born with obligations and responsibilities. Writing
this report is just one of them."
  Asyr nodded. "I understand, sir."
   "Good. I'll want that report within 72 hours. Don't fail
me."
    "No, sir." Asyr rose from her chair and bowed her head
to him. "I understand the price of failure, sir, and I have no
intention of incurring that debt."

31

It's too easy. Though everything was going absolutely ac-
cording to his plan, Corran Horn felt some unmitigated di-
saster was lurking ahead of him. The Imps who hung out
near the mouth of the cavern hadn't bothered to make com-
ments as he and Urlor headed off down the dark corridor
toward the latrines. They walked close together, letting the
infrared images of their bodies merge into one, creating a
single image for the IR monitors at either end of the corridor.
    Once inside the latrine area, Corran had doffed his tunic
and soaked it in the single sink, then pulled the clammy gar-
ment back on. He likewise soaked his head, then smiled up at
Urlor through the water running down his face. "I'm set."
   Urlor raised a bushy eyebrow.
    Corran nodded. Yes, I have to go. I have no choice.
Corran slapped him on the arm, then headed to the entrance.
Urlor followed, patted him on the back, then walked back
toward the billet cavern, weaving slightly from side to side to
widen his IR image. Thanks, my friend.
    Corran, still sodden, turned to the left and walked on
toward the mine. He kept his pace slow and turned sideways
to present a narrow profile to the IR monitor near the gate.
He wasn't certain that this would really minimize his heat




image, but it was worth a try. His wet hair and tunic would
be more effective in that department. Urlor's efforts to pre-
sent a big target farther up the corridor might also help elimi-
nate him from notice.
    Thirty paces beyond the latrines he reached the double-
gate. In the darkness he groped along the flimsy metal sur-
face for the lock and chain. His fingers gently brushed across
the number pad on the lock, but he resisted the temptation to
try random combinations. He didn't know if a failure would
set off an alarm somewhere or not, but he did know that
trying to figure out the right combination would take enough
time to make him drier than a Tusken Raider. Unless I got
lucky, and no one is that lucky.
    From the lock to the opposite door Corran counted six-
teen links and winced. Seventeen links had provided him a
tight squeeze two nights previously. Corran gripped the gate-
halves, pulled them as far apart as possible, then tucked his
right shoulder through the opening. He exhaled as much as
he could, worked a leg through, then pushed and pulled him-
self the rest of the way to the other side.
    He squatted on the other side of the gate and rubbed at
his chest. Just as well none of the others wanted to try to get
out. Aside from some of the older prisoners and a few of the
sick ones, no one could have fit through there. Staying low,
he worked his way forward. When he reached the entrance
to the mine corridor, he turned into it and allowed himself a
quiet sigh.
    I can't believe how stupid they've been. Corran realized
his criticism of the guards was not fair, primarily because
their lack of security seemed deficient only in light of his
theory about the orientation of the prison itself. No prisoner
in his right mind would attempt to escape and head deeper
into the bowels of the planet. The laxity in securing the path
to the mines served as a strong clue that the mines did not
offer a way out--if they did, they would be more secure.
    Security is predicated on two things: the odd orientation
of the prison and the fact that even if someone gets out of the
prison, getting off whatever world we're on is by no means
assured. Corran shivered. If we're in the depths of Hoth, or

in the desert of Tatooine or on the back side of Kessel, this
escape attempt will end quickly enough.
    Despite those inauspicious thoughts, which sparked new
feelings of unease in him, Corran pushed on. He reached the
hatchway leading into the caverns and found it open. Well,
perhaps I am lucky, just a bit. He would have felt luckier if
he had a light of his own, but the prisoners had no access to
anything more technologically sophisticated than a shovel.
To navigate through the darkness all he had to guide him was
the faint glow from the amber ready-lights at the base of the
floodlights they used when working in the mine. Corran had
mentally mapped them the way an astronomer mapped con-
stellations, and he knew exactly where to head to get to the
gravel loader. Having oriented himself toward his goal, he
stood straight and started to make his way down the slope.
    Pain exploded across the middle of his back, numbing
his legs. He pitched forward and tried to tuck into a ball, but
his legs ignored him. He knew from the pain in his back and
knees, as they alternately struck the stone slope in his tum-
ble, that his spine hadn't been severed. While this was good
news, it paled within the larger context of his having been
attacked in the mines.
    He hit bottom and skidded to a halt on his back. He
could feel the burning tingle of sensation returning to his
legs, but they felt like lead and had no strength in them. The
poor footing provided by the gravel combined with the
weakness in his legs to keep him down, which he saw as a
distinct problem as a massive, bulky shadow eclipsed several
of the amber lights. The orange glow, though very weak,
clearly illuminated the edge of the upraised shovel the man
held.
    "Nothing personal, Horn, but you're my way out of
here."
    Derricote? "How did you get past the gate? You
couldn't have squeezed through."
    The shovel remained at the top of the arc for an over-
head blow. "I have money hidden away, in numbered ac-
counts. I bribed a guard for the combination to the gate lock,
same as I bribe them for ingredients for my nectar."




    Appeal to his vanity. Buy yourself time to be able to
move. "Very clever, General."
"And too clever to let you recover. Good-bye . . ."
The shovel began to fall. Corran rolled to the left and
felt the shovel bounce off his right shoulder. He expected
another blow, but instead heard Derricote gurgle and the
shovel clatter to the ground. Gravel hissed as the Imp's bulk
twisted around into Corran's line of sight. He heard someone
grunt, then the sound of a falling body, but Derricote's sil-
houette remained upright.
    Reaching back with his right hand, Corran grabbed the
shovel's shaft, twisted his grip, and whipped the metal end
around. He caught the Imp in the back of his legs, upending
him. Gravel sprayed Corran as Derricote hit the ground.
Rolling up onto his knees, Corran smashed the shovel down
on the man's stomach, and when Derricote's hands dropped
to cover his belly, Corran caught him with a blow to the
head.
   Derricote went limp.
   "Is he dead?"
    Corran looked over to where the voice had come from.
"Jan?"
   ~'Yes."
   "How?"
    The older man came close enough that Corran could
hear the wet rustle of his tunic. "I noticed Derricote wasn't
around--he's too big not to see. Urlor told me you were off. I
assumed he was informing on you, so I came to stop you.
When I saw him standing over you, I had to do something."
    Corran reached out to check Derricote for a carotid
pulse and found the braided cord Jan used to tie his hair back
wrapped around the man's neck. He handed it back to .Jan,
then checked Derricote's pulse. "Weak and thready. ! must
have broken his skull."
    "Leave him. They'll think he fell trying to escape. We
can get back before they notice."
    Corran shook his head. "Can't do it. If they find him
here, they'll know we know Lusankya's secret. We'll never
get out." He grabbed the upper part of Jan's right arm.

"Come with me. We can drag the body off and deposit it
somewhere. They'll never find it until we're long gone."
    The older man laughed lightly. "Oh, they will notice my
departure more quickly than anyone else's. I can't go for that
reason."
   "And because they'll kill the others."
   "Yes."
    "I'm going to come back for you, you know. Whenever I
get clear, I'm going to have Wedge bring the squadron in and
we'll get you out."
    "I know that, son. I'm counting on it." Jan clapped him
on the shoulders. "I might never have known your grandfa-
ther, but I'm certain he'd be proud of you. I am. May the
Force be with you."   "And you, sir."
    'TU clear away signs of the struggle. If you drag Der-
ricote with you, I'll give you a head start and then I'll report
he's missing. They'll be searching for him, but they'll not be
looking in the places where you could hide. We'll cover for
you as long as possible, but anything more than twelve hours
is optimistic."
    "I copy, Jan." Corran got up and began to drag Der-
ricote's body by one arm toward the gravel loader. Jan
grabbed the Imp's other arm and helped. Together they
hefted him up on the safety railing. Corran checked Der-
ricote's neck for a pulse. "Nothing. He's gone."
    "Someday, perhaps, no one else will need to die in ser-
vice to the Empire."
    "Agreed." They upended the man and let him fall.
Though Corran couldn't see Derricote hit, he did hear a
crunch.
"Again, Corran, may the Force be with you."
"Thanks. Until we meet again." Corran shook Jan's
hand, then climbed the railing and slowly lowered himself
into the darkness. He stepped on Derricote's body, then
crouched and scuttled under the conveyor belt. Beneath the
belt itself, where it fed back into the drive-engine compart-
ment, Corran felt around the outline of a hole in the sheet




steel lining the pit. He'd first seen it a week earlier when
shoveling gravel out of the pit, and knew it was what he
wanted in the way of an escape tunnel.
    Now, if only Derricote will fit. Corran wrestled the fat
man's body over to the 60-centimeter-wide hole and stuffed
him through. He heard another muffled impact, then slipped
into the hole himself. This has got to work.
    Corran had previously noticed that there was no access
panel for the drive-engine compartment. If the engine broke
down, it had to be accessed from another point entirely,
which meant there was another way into the compartment.
Down inside it Corran found himself on a steel-grate cat-
walk. He crawled around, reconnoitering by touch. Finally,
off to the left side of the compartment near an access batch,
he found a light switch and punched it on. One dim panel
provided the illumination for the chamber. Corran quickly
dragged Derricote over to the closed hatchway, then he
turned the light off again.
    He listened at the metal hatch but heard nothing. His
mouth dry, his nostrils filled with gravel dust, Corran took
hold of the hatch's internal handle and eased it back. The
latch system squeaked just a bit and rasped some, too, all of
which sounded to Corran like the sounds issuing from an
Imperial torture chamber. Certain he had alerted all Imperial
forces in the facility to his presence, Corran carefully opened
the access hatch.
    The rectangular room on the other side of the opening
was empty. Corran let out his breath--not realizing until
that point he had been holding it. Just to be on the safe side,
before he entered the room himself, he dragged Derricote's
body over and shoved it through the hatchway. So far he's
been a good point man.
    Derricote fell to the floor of the room, and Corran slid
easily through the hatch after him. He closed the hatch be-
hind him and dragged Derricote's body to the doorway. Be-
yond it lay a cylindrical corridor roughly three meters in
diameter. A red stripe of tiles spiraled down through it, start-
ing at the center of Corran's side and ending up on the ceiling

fifteen feet away. Decorations! And who says the Imps are
all gloomy?
    Corran started off into the corridor and found himself
stumbling to his left. To make matters worse, Derricote's
body slid in the same direction. Waves of dizziness slammed
through Corran as he tried to walk the corridor straight
through. He finally lost his balance and fell, ending up with
his spine pressed to the red line about a meter into the corri-
dor.
    Oddly enough, lying there felt normal, even though he
could see he was lying firmly against one of the tunnel's side
walls. He shook his head as if that would clear up the prob-
lem, then he let his head slip back and rest on the red tiles.
Of course! This has to be a transitional corridor. Gravity is
directly oriented on the red strip. It takes you from upside-
down to rightside-up.
    With reason thus injected back into his world, Corran
scrambled to his feet and started hauling Derricote along.
His shoulders ached from the exertion, but he had no inten-
tion of leaving the man behind. Finding a place where Der-
ricote's body could be hidden, or allowed to fall from a
height before being discovered, would provide the Imp
searchers with what they wanted and buy Corran time to
complete his escape. As long as they're looking for a fat man,
they won't be looking for me.
    At the far end of the tunnel Corran straightened up. The
room he found himself in, though dimly lit, appeared to be a
utility room. He saw panels dealing with climate control as
well as electrical power and other conveniences he had so
recently lived without. From the number of different zones
on the climate control panel, he knew the facility beyond the
door was fairly large. He listened at the fiberplast door, but
heard nothing from beyond it.
    He drew in a deep breath, then hit the door release and
crouched in the shadows as the door cracked open. The
doorway provided access to a fairly opulent hallway which
reminded him, rather faintly, of images he'd seen of the Im-
perial Palace. Great, I escape a prison to find myself in some




Imperial Moff's palace. It's certainly better than the hole I
just got out of, but getting out of here unnoticed is not going
to be that easy.
    He shrugged. But easy isn't the object of this exercise--
escape is. Escape I will.

32

Nawara Ven traced a talon through the ring of moisture left
behind on the table by his mug of 1omin-ale. I shouldn't be
here. This is madness. He drank more of the bitter and spicy
ale. This is insane.
    By rights he shouldn't have been anywhere near a tap-
caf, much less a dim, smoke-choked place like the Hutt
Haven. The prosecution had rested its case and had left
Nawara in a serious bind. While the evidence presented had
been, for a large part, circumstantial, it was a mountain of
circumstance. He had character witnesses, but nothing to
refute the basic facts upon which the prosecution was basing
its case, which meant he ultimately had nothing.
    Which is why I'm here. Two hours earlier he had re-
ceived a message requesting the meeting. He would have ig-
nored it, but it had been signed "Hes Glillto," the name Lai
Nootka had assumed on his last trip to Coruscant. Whistler
had gotten the name from Iella, and that had prompted the
droid to flag the message when it came through to Nawara.
Whistler also reported there was no way to trace it back to
the sender--it had come through a public terminal.
    It's not a good thing when a lawyer is given to meetings
with mystery witnesses to bolster his case. If the person he




was to meet was really Lai Nootka, the state's case against
Tycho would fall apart faster than a Jawa-fixed droid.
Nootka could prove he'd met with Tycho on the night Cor-
ran said he saw Tycho meeting with Kirtan Loor. Once that
fact was established it showed Tycho had nothing to fear
from Corran and, hence, had no reason to want him dead.
    Of course, I've got no reason to suppose it will be
Nootka. Probably will just be some giltbiter 1ookb~g to make
money in return for some rumor. Nawara raised his glass to
finish it, but before he could swallow the liquid, he saw a tall,
slender figure enter the tapcaf. The figure wore a hooded
cloak that hid him entirely. It's just the way Nootka ap-
peared in Corran's description of him. Nawara straightened
up as the figure cut through the crowd, then slipped into the
booth's other seat.
   Nawara offered his hand. "Nawara Ven."
    A pair of long-fingered human hands came out from
beneath the cloak and pressed flat against the table. "I know
who you are."
    "And you're not Lai Nootka." Nawara's eyes narrowed.
"Are you going to take me to him?"
       "No. I would apologize for the deception, but I am not
sorry. Lai Nootka will not be coming. He is dead."
   "What? Can you prove that?"
    "He's dead, and I cannot prove it." The man's voice
came low but strong from within the shadowed hollow of
the cloak's hood. "I can, however, prove your client was not
meeting with Kirtan Loor on the night Corran Horn saw
him."
    Nawara's lekku writhed as disbelief flooded his voice.
"You deceive me and then expect me to believe you? How
can you prove that?"
    The man tugged the hood back far enough to admit
some light, and Nawara felt his heart ache. He looks like the
ghost of Grand Moff Tarkin.
    "I can prove it, Nawara Ven, because I am Kirtan Loor
and I was nowhere near Tycho Celchu that night. In fact, I
have never met him."
   "And you can verify where you were?"

    "Yes. I have evidence enough to satisfy you." Loor
smiled slowly. "And evidence about spies throughout the
New Republic that will satisfy even General Cracken."
    What! This is too good to be true. This can't be happen-
ing. Nawara's jaw shot open. "You're lying. You can't be
who you say you are."
    "I can and I am. I will testify on your client's behalf
provided the New Republic is willing to offer me immunity
from prosecution for any activity I have undertaken on be-
half of the Empire. They will pay me a million credits, create
a new identity for me, and get me off Coruscant. I will tell
them everything they want to know, and then some. Every
Imperial agent on Coruscant will be exposed. It is that sim-
ple."
    "But . . ." Nawara's mind was reeling. The implica-
tions of what Loor had said were staggering. "How can we
be sure . . . ?"
    Loor grabbed Nawara's hand and impaled his own palm
on one of Nawara's talons. A bead of blood bubbled up.
Nawara heard the sound of cloth tearing, then saw Loor blot
the blood with a strip torn out of his tunic. He tossed the
bloodied cloth to Nawara, then tore another strip from his
shirt and bound his hand.
    "Take the cloth to Commander Ettyk. Have her dupli-
cate my Imperial file, then run a DNA comparison between
the duplicate and the sample. She must run it against a dupli-
cate of the file--if she runs it against the file itself, others
might discover you're checking me out. Once you're certain I
am who I say I am, you will broker the deal for me. It is a
take-it-or-leave-it deal, no negotiation. Once you have the
deal made, you will hold a press conference. At one point
during tile conference, whenever you wish, you will say 'I am
very confident, supremely confident, that we will win.' I
don't think I've heard you say that so far in the proceedings,
so that will be the signal."
    "No, I don't think I've said that. I know I haven't felt
it."
    "When you give the signal, I will send you another mes-
sage to arrange pickup. At that time you and Iella Wessiri




will get me. I don't want to see anyone else, just you and her.
You I have to trust, her I know well enough to trust. You
can't betray me and she won't. Anyone else, anything fancy,
and no one will benefit from my information. Got it?"
   Nawara nodded slowly. "I understand."
   "Good. You have five hours."
    "Five hours! That's not much time, especially starting at
midnight." Nawara frowned. He almost added that he
couldn't call a press conference at two or three in the morn-
ing, but the media operated in a frenzied enough atmosphere
that he could tell them to meet him on Kessel at noon and
they'd find a way to be there. "I need more time."
    "You don't have it." Loor nodded once and the hood
slid forward to again hide his face. "I don't have it. This all
happens on my timetable. If it doesn't, if there is trouble, a
lot of people will be sorry. I can give freedom to your client
and Coruscant to the New Republic, for which I am asking
so little. See that it gets done."

33

Corran squeezed himself back in the corner of the library's
cabinet and waited. He decided it was just as well that he
didn't have a chronometer, because he would have con-
stantly been looking at it. It seemed as if he'd been hidden
away for years, though he knew it had hardly been more
than fifteen minutes. I can only hope that some of the crimi-
nals I hunted felt like I do now while stormtroopers are
hunting me.
    Corran had been able to make a basic scouting run on
the facility where he found himself and had concluded two
things. First, the utter lack of windows suggested that this
facility was underground. Given the general taste for grand
vistas and high towers he'd seen in Imperial architecture on
Coruscant, this led him to believe that whatever the planet's
surface looked like was not worth seeing. This, in turn, made
him think the surface was inhospitable and, therefore, not a
place he wanted to travel without proper equipment.
    Second, he concluded there had to be a secret exit from
the facility. Aside from the tunnel back to the prison, the
only visible means of leaving was a lift that had a keypad and
clearly required a code for operation. While he assumed the
Moff who owned the place would have had the code for the




lift, he couldn't imagine the Moff did not also have a private
bolt-hole. Unfortunately his hurried survey of the area hadn't
given him any obvious candidates for its location.
    One thing he had found was a garbage disposal chute.
He dragged Derricote's body to it and dumped it in. He
distinctly heard a splash; then a disgusting odor wafted back
up, so he closed the hatch. It was only when he realized that
he didn't smell much better himself that he decided, if things
got tight, he'd go through the chute and take his chances
getting out that way.
    The Imperial facility had a layout that was a lot like a
TIE starfighter's cross-section. The lift, garbage chute, and
utility area formed a central core through which ran a long
corridor. It intersected two corridors at right angles, one at
each end. All of the corridors had high ceilings and doors
running off them every seven meters or so.
    His first impression of opulence had not been diminished
in his survey of the facility. The entire place had been deco-
rated with golden-brown wooden panels and hand-carved
trim. Not being often treated to the lifestyle of the rich, Cor-
ran couldn't identify the wood, but he was fairly certain the
faint rose scent filling the air came from it. He made a mental
note to ask Erisi what kind of wood it was, since he assumed
she would know.
    More impressive than the wooden furnishings were the
huge xenoscapes that took up whole walls in some of the
rooms. Some were filled with water and had brightly colored
fish swimming through them. Others contained dense, foggy
atmospheres or boggy environments in which things flapped
and slithered. Each room had its own private xenoscape and
while most of the creatures looked harmless, a couple looked
positively lethal.
    Despite getting frightened by the sudden appearances of
several luminous beasts along the wall of a darkened room,
Corran was glad for the xenoscapes' presence. Some speci-
mens were large enough that lifeform scanning equipment
might have trouble differentiating him from them, frustrat-
ing a search. In his experience that sort of equipment was
most valuable in determining where lifeforms were not, so

that searches could be confined to the places where they were
found. He assumed that if searchers were forced to go over
the level carefully, he could elude them in a deadly game of
hide-and-seek.
    But then, he'd not been counting on the methodical na-
ture of stormtroopers and how they did their work. During
his scouting run a squad of eight came up through the tur-
bolift and immediately posted two men in the facility core.
The remaining six broke up into two teams of three and
proceeded to go through each wing room by room. Once
they finished in a room they closed the doors and used a
datapad to set the locks and seal the room.
    He'd fled from them as carefully as he could, but they
pushed on. Finally he'd found himself herded into what, in
the golden glow of the large aquatic xenoscape along one
wall, appeared to be a very nice library. The shelves on three
walls were lined with box after box of datacards. Both desks
in the room had tabletop datapads with holoplates that
could provide a fully tri-dimensional data-scanning experi-
ence. The chairs all seemed comfortable, and had the room
not been built on an immense Imperial scale, Corran could
have considered it cozy.
    It had its quirks, though. In stumbling about he stepped
into a circular design on the floor. He would have thought it
a continuation of the inlaid wooden pattern, but it felt cold
and synthetic to his bare feet. He had barely stepped into it
when a holographic image was projected down from the ceil-
ing and filled the circle. Corran leaped back and raised his
hands to protect himself.
    Ten feet tall, an image of the Emperor stared down at
him. The figure looked strong and almost majestic--not at
all the image of the twisted, malignant man who had over-
thrown the Old Republic and created the Empire. The
hooded and cloaked figure stood there, then slowly raised his
hands toward the ceiling. They returned to his side, vanish-
ing as the cloak slid closed, then the figure shrank to more
human proportions and melted away through the circle.
    That display so unnerved Corran that he immediately
sought cover. He noticed a long low row of cabinets beneath




the xenoscape. He opened one of the cabinet doors but
found he couldn't see much inside. The space smelled
cramped and close; it reeked of mildew and reminded him of
the location Tycho had found for the Rogues to hide while
they prepared to liberate Coruscant. Had there been another
choice he would have taken it, but the crisp click of boots on
the floor outside the door told him his time had run out.
    He crawled over some small boxes and into the narrow
space, then pulled the door closed. The cabinet had been
compartmentalized--he found himself in a cubicle barely a
meter high and wide, though it did extend back nearly two
meters from the door. A thick metal crossbeam framework
supported the weight of the transparisteel xenoscape above
him and the water it contained. Fiberplast panels lined the
compartment on all sides and felt as solid as rock as far as his
buttocks and spine were concerned. He pulled himself
through the crossbeams and into the compartment's back
half. He arranged the boxes and canisters in the front of the
cabinet to shield him, but he knew even a cursory look
would reveal his presence.
    I hope they have a nice place in the shrine down there
for my head. Stomach acid burbled up into his throat, but he
choked it back down and endured the burning. Probably
doesn't hurt as much as blaster-bolts will. He tried to recall
the pain from the times he'd gotten shot--at Talasea, and in
the minesrebut sensation seemed distant, and unrelated to
what he knew he would be feeling in short order.
    He heard muffled voices from the other side of the cabi-
net door. Clicks and hisses accompanied them. What can
they be discussing? Despite the ache in his spine and the
burning in his throat, Corran smiled. Maybe one of them
decided searching these cabinets is stupid because there's no
way Derricote could be hiding in here.
    Then, through the soles of his feet, he felt a slight vibra-
tion shake the cabinet framing. If searching the cabinets was
what they were arguing about, my team lost, which means
I've lost. Another cabinet door closed, this one closer if
judged by the strength of the vibration. Then he felt the

quiver of a cabinet being opened, followed by a strong
tremor when it was shut.
    That's it. He's getting frustrated. No one is in the cabi-
nets. No one can be in the cabinets. They're too small to hide
anyone, much too small. Corran pulled his legs up to his
chest and wrapped his hands around his knees. He actually
heard the cabinet next to his open. A comlink clicked. He
thought he heard the word, "Clear."
  Then he definitely felt the cabinet slam shut.
    Corran pressed himself back into the corner. There's no
one in here. There's nothing to see here. No one is hiding in
here. It's all clear.
  The door opened.
  There's no one here. This cabinet is empty.
  A light flashed in. It started at the far end.
  Empty, empty, empty. All clear.
  The light swept across toward him.
    What a waste of time searching this cabinet. It's empty.
There's no one here.
    The light snapped off before it hit his face. The storm-
trooper helmet, which had taken on the proportions and
ugliness of a Hutt's ghost in Corran's sight, pulled back. "It's
empty. There's no one here."
      Corran clutched his knees more tightly to prevent his
heart from pounding its way out of his chest.  "Are you sure?"
    Despair exploded in Corran. What sort of an idiot
would trap himself in these cabinets?!
    The door slammed shut and bounced back ajar when the
magnetic latch failed to catch. Corran caught part of a
heated exchange between stormtroopers. He missed the ini-
tial comment, but the sharp reply came through loud and
clear.
    "If he's stupid enough to try to escape, he's stupid
enough to hide in those cabinets. Finish checking those last
two cabinets, then seal the room. This level is clear, so we
move up."
    Corran heard the other cabinets open and close, but it
was the thunder of a storm that had passed him by. He dared




not relax, and bumped his head against the top of the cabinet
when a stormtrooper reshut the door to his compartment.
The burning in his lungs matched that in his throat, then he
slowly exhaled and drew in a new breath. He wanted to
jump out of the cabinet, escape its coffinlike confines, but he
didn't know if the stormtroopers had left the room yet.
    Again he waited. He knew he had gotten lucky, but he
was able to convince himself that it wasn't just luck that had
saved him. In his time with the Corellian Security Force he
had participated in countless searches for suspects. There
came a point where he knew, in his gut, that the suspect had
fled and his attention flagged. From what one of the storm-
troopers had said, he concluded the library was the last room
to be searched on that level; if so, the stormtrooper checking
the cabinets was probably bored out of his mind.
    Because he was bored, be got sloppy. Corran smiled and
started breathing more normally. Good thing be had his hel-
met on, otherwise be would have been able to smell me.
    He waited a little longer, even beyond the point where
he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He fought against the
panic rising in his heart. If I panic, I die. Cool. Calm. You've
been in tighter situations before. Take it easy. He concen-
trated on breathing and waited for his pulse rate to go down,
then slipped from the cabinet.
    He found himself alone in the library. The lights in the
xenoscape provided him ample illumination to find his way
around, but he still wasn't certain what he was looking for.
He assumed it was too much to ask for any of the boxed
datacard sets to contain plans that would allow him to es-
cape the room. Still, he'd conducted enough searches of crim-
inal strongholds to find it easy to imagine that one box of
datacards might be a dummy that, when pulled out or tipped
up on edge, would open the door to a secret hiding place or,
better yet, the Moff's bolt-hole.
    It would have to be something obscure--something no
one would ever choose to look at on purpose. With that as
his search parameter, he found a lot of choices. The sheer
variety of datacard collections impressed him. But each box
he tried contained the appropriate datacards. At least I can

improve my mind while trapped here. Given enough time, I
could become the galaxy's expert in all sorts of things, in-
cluding worlds I've never heard of, like this Corvis Minor.
    He pulled the slim box labeled The Complete History of
Corvis Minor off the shelf and was disappointed when no
secret door opened up. He was about to put it back when he
noticed the weight didn't seem quite right. He opened the
box and dumped a compact holdout blaster into his hand./f
a blaster is considered the complete history of Coryis Minor,
I'm thinking it's not a vacation spot.
    He put the box away and checked the blaster's power
pack. A half-dozen shots. It probably won't get through
stormtrooper armor, but it can make them dive for cover.
    Keeping the blaster in his hand, he continued his survey
of the library. He found no more surprises and gave up hop-
ing there was a history of Corvis Major that would contain
something more substantial in terms of weaponry. Like an
X-wing.
    Frustrated by the lack of success of his search, he turned
his attention to the datapads. He wasn't sure the computers
would be much more help than the library's inventory had
been, but he assumed he could get some basic information to
help him out. Most dedicated datapads included basic infor-
mation about their surroundings. Something as simple as a
map showing the evacuation route in case of fire or rebel
invasion would point him toward exits.
    Provided I can get into the system. Had Whistler been
with him, the droid could have sliced into the system with
ease. While he did know a few things about codeslicing him-
self, he'd relied on Whistler's skills so much that he could
only perform rudimentary assaults on a system./f there's a
password for gaining access to the system, I'm blocked right
there.
    At the smaller of the desks he flicked the holopad on. He
opened some of the drawers, looking for the sort of datacard
that might contain password information, when a word ap-
peared suspended above the holopad:

[INQUIRY]:




    Corran's smile blossomed. Whoever had last used the
datapad had finished by turning off the holopad instead of
logging off the computer. This deep in a secret Imperial facil-
ity, the chances of an Alliance spy getting to that terminal
were slender, and if the security procedure for getting access
was laborious enough, merely shutting the holopad down
could seem like a tempting, if unsecured, alternative to mak-
ing the system secure. Whatever the reason, I don't mind.
    Corran called up a system catalog and shifted to the
Lusankya database. Hundreds of names scrolled past too fast
for him to read, so at the next prompt he called up his own
record. It seemed fairly complete and decidedly up-to-date
on data about him since his joining Rogue Squadron.
Tycho's doing, no doubt. He highlighted a datalink labeled
Lusankya and saw a brief history of his stay in the prison.
Comparing the date given for his arrival with the dateline on
the bottom of the holographic image, he realized he'd been in
captivity for six standard weeks. That was longer than he'd
been able to count, but his interrogation had been full of lost
and warped days.
    He highlighted another datalink. Next to the legend
"CStatus:" was the code "RI." Corran chose it and got a
quick explanation floating above the desk.

   RI: Resistant in primary phase.
      Notes: The subject could not be induced to fire
  upon positive icons despite being subjected to their
  hostile intent in simulation. His resistance in the
  second round of testing occurred sooner than in the
  previous round. Subject is unsuitable for conver-
  sion.
    Corran stared at the green words burning in the air
above the desk. When he had thought about it, he had as-
sumed the simulator flights he had taken were just part of an
interrogative technique. The technique let him fly, which
made him feel good. If things were done correctly, that good
feeling could be transferred to the Imps, then he'd tell them
what they wanted to know. He could imagine it working just
that way with any number of folks--they'd be seduced into

giving up information without realizing what they were do-
ing.
    Clearly that was not what Isard had been trying to do
with him. She was trying to make me over into a monster,
just like Tycho. She wanted me to become a tool she could
use against the Alliance. He shivered and wished he could
somehow open his skull and scrape the memories of what he
endured from his brain.
    His eyes narrowed. Well, your conditioning didn't work.
I'm not your tool. I'm your enemy, and when I get out of
here, I'm going to hurt you.
    He got back to an inquiry prompt and called up Tycho
Celchu's file. Finally, I'll have prooft Corran summoned up
the Lusankya data and had highlighted the "CStatus" code
before he really looked at the value listed there. R1. No way.
That was my code. He called up the data and sat back,
stunned.

  RI: Resistant in primary phase.
      Notes: Though the subject's initial response to
  Imperial icons was positive, this appeared to be an
  artifact of his years spent at the Imperial Academy.
  It did not last long. Subject aggressively attacked
  Imperial icons. When those icons were overlaid
  with Alliance datastreams, the contradiction caused
  the subject to become catatonic. Subject is unsuit-
  able for conversion.

    But that's not possible. Tycho's a spy. I know it! Anger
tore through Corran and immolated his brain. He wanted to
believe that Ysanne Isard had planted this information so
he'd not believe Tycho was a spy, but she had no way of
knowing he'd get where he was to see it. Besides, his having
that knowledge would serve no purpose to her benefit. Even
supposing Tycho were killed by the Republic and Corran
were allowed to escape and point out that Tycho had been
innocent: that would cause strife in the New Republic, but
how much? Was it worth the elaborate charade of letting him
escape?
  Corran got up from the chair and began to pace around




the room. Isard had fed his hatred of Tycho and supported
his conviction that Tycho had been a spy. That made no
sense. From his file she would have known that he'd have
been far more tortured inside by being told that he'd been
wrong, and that his mistake was the foundation for Tycho's
treason and murder trial. His own sense of personal honor
would have eaten him up inside when he realized an innocent
man was going to be convicted of a crime because of his
mistake.
    Lost in his thoughts, he stepped into the circle in the
middle of the floor. The Emperor descended upon him and
Corran jumped back. He snarled up at the image and
marched on through it. "Quite the mess you created with
your Empire, you know."
    Corran realized that lsard's actions made no sense to
him because she was coming at things with an Imperial sense
of ethics--ethics that frightened him. She fed his hatred of
Tycho because it gave her a button to which she knew he
would react. His hatred was unthinking, and she didn't want
him thinking at all. Once she got me reacting through emo-
tions, she could manipulate me. The problem was that my
feelings in favor of the other members of Rogue Squadron
overrode my hatred for Tycho. And, maybe, just maybe,
somewhere deep down I didn't doubt him.
    However, there is evidence of a spy being connected
with Rogue Squadron. He returned to the datapad and
punched in the names of all the personnel in the unit or
support staff. They all came up blank. Feeling a bit frus-
trated, he called up Tycho's file again and read over the parts
concerning his time at Lusankya. The details were pretty
much in keeping with what Tycho had told him: he didn't
remember much of his time there, then he was transferred to
Akrit'tar. The Lusankya file made reference to his escape
from that facility and included a couple of notes about
Tycho's life since then, but didn't include much detail until
data started flowing from the Rogue Squadron source.
    Pacing again, Corran began to work things out in his
mind. If Tycho was not an Imperial spy, then he wouldn't
have been meeting with Kirtan Loor. As much as Corran was

certain he had seen Loor that night, he admitted that having
seen the man earlier in the day at the Imperial Palace had
rattled him, and could easily have made him misidentify a
Duros in a hooded cloak as Loor.
    Bits and pieces of things began to drop into place for
him. By a simple process of elimination he narrowed down
the list of possible spies, and one name rose quickly to the
top of the list. No doubt about it--but then, that's what I
thought about Tycho. I have to get clear of here and check
some things out. I can't afford to be wrong this time.
    He looked up as the Emperor towered above him. Cor-
ran stepped back. "You know, the sheer ego it takes to plant
your image in your own facility is unbelievable. This display
does nothing but take up space." It struck him as another
useless bit of Imperial ostentation. Then it occurred to him
that just as the cabinets hid the structure that supported the
xenoscape, the hoiograph did do more than one thing.  It stops people from standing on this spot.
    Corran stepped forward and oriented himself to face in
the same direction as the Emperor. The world hazed out
slightly as the hologram settled down over him, but out of
the corner of his left eye he caught the momentary red spark
of a low-grade spotting laser being shot at him. It flickered
on and off a few more times, then the Emperor's hologram
collapsed around him. As it did so, the circle shifted and
began to descend beneath the level of the floor.
    The cylindrical hole closed over the top of him, then a
man-sized panel slid open in front of him. Through it he saw
the entry portal to a luxurious private tunnel-shuttle. Similar
to what we used to move prisoners from the detention center
to court on CoreIlia, though this is much, much nicer.
    The panel closed and the circular platform began to as-
cend again. Corran found himself once more in the library
and smiled. He went to the datapad, got back to the prompt
he'd found initially, then shut the holopad off. Picking up the
holdout blaster, he inserted himself again into the Emperor's
image. The lift again took him down and he entered the
tunnel-shuttle.
  In the forward compartment he found a keypad and




controls, but he had no idea how to program destinations.
Up at the top he saw a red button marked "Return" and
poised his hand above it. I don't know where this will take
me, or how long it will take for me to get there, but any-
where is better than here. He hit the button and sat back in
the hope he'd enjoy the ride.

34

That's it, then. Loor smiled and killed the sound accompany-
ing the holographic images of Nawara Ven's press confer-
ence. The Twi'!ek had said the phrase. The New Republic
would become Loor's new home. It's just as well Corran
Horn is dead--our being on the same side would have killed
him anyway.
    Loor folded up a small transportable datapad and
slipped it into his pocket. Once he left his office he would use
a public access site to plug in and send the directions for his
pickup to Nawara Ven. Sending it from his office would have
been easier, but would have increased the probability that a
copy of the message would fall into Isard's hands. Though he
planned to be hidden well away by the Rebels by the time she
discovered he was missing, he wanted as much time for his
disappearance to take place as possible.
    At his desk he copied files from his desktop datapad to a
datacard. "Helvan, come here."
    One of his Special Intelligence operative cell leaders en-
tered his office. "Sir."
    Loor held the datacard out to him. "There has just been
an announcement concerning the Celchu trial that leads me
to believe there will be a fair amount of attention centered on




the proceedings today. We shall take advantage of that.
These are the plans and authorization for a strike at the
largest of the Republic's bacta storage areas, the one in In-
visec."
   "The one guarded by Vorru's militia?"
   "Is there a problem with that?"
    "No, sir, the target is no more secure than any other
Rebel facility. It is just that we have refrained from hitting
targets he is guarding so far .... "
    "Indeed." Loor shrugged. "An oversight on my part.
Vorru thought himself immune to our wrath. He learns now
he was wrong."
    A smile tried to squirm its way into the SIO man's face,
but failed to do more than tug at the corners of his mouth.
"Sir, when do we strike?"
    "Court begins early in the morning. Time the strike to
occur with the first witness. That gives you approximately
five hours."
   "It's done, sir."
   "Very good, Helvan. You make me proud."
   "Thank you, sir."
    The SIO man turned and practically ran from the office.
Loor would have laughed, but he feared that might have
betrayed his true intentions. The attack he had designed
would call for a strike force of thirty SI operatives--three
cells' worth. He designated a bacta facility as the target be-
cause he knew lsard would approve of it and might set aside,
even for a moment, her fears about him. He chose Vorru as a
target both to strike at the man's vanity and so be could hurt
the man personally before he sold him out to the Rebels.
Stick the vibroblade in and modulate the oscillation rate.
    Loor prepared the plans for transmission to Isard by
adding a note stating he intended to personally supervise the
operation, and then sent them. He shut down his datapad,
then took one last look out the window of his sanctuary at
the brilliant galaxy of synthetic stars bek)w him. There will
be other towers and other chances to rise to such heights.
    On a whim he turned on all of his lights and left them
burning like a beacon in the night as he abandoned his office

and set out on the most dangerous mission he had ever un-
dertaken.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, leila Wessiri entered Halla Et-
tyk's office. "You look as haggard as I feel."
    Halla looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. "You don't
know the half of it. Nawara Ven called me just past mid-
night. l've spent two hours meeting with him and various
Provo Council members. This is all madness."   "Why tractor-beam me into it?"
    Halla smiled. "Because you've been the one who's har-
bored little doubts about Tycho Celchu's guilt. We've got a
witness now who can confirm his innocence. We have to
bring him in, and you're going to help Nawara do the job."
    leila blinked her eyes. "A witness? Lai Nootka came
forward?"
    "Nope." Halla sat back and mischievous light played
through her brown eyes. "Someone who demanded your
presence. Said he'd only trust you to bring him in."
    Who could that be? Iella's eyes narrowed. "Give me a
name."
    "Can't. This office isn't secure enough." Halla pointed
toward the office window and the drapes drawn over it.
"Someone you knew well, once upon a time."
    leila frowiled. Drapes? Curtains? tter jaw dropped
open. Kirtan Loor? "It can't be."
  "It is. Code name is Behemoth."
    "Right." He's the biggest Intelligence agent we've
brought in so far. "What's the drill?"
    Halla yawned. "Sorry. Nawara just gave his little media
conference so Behemoth knows the deal is set. Nawara will
be coming here and will be waiting until Behemoth can get
him a message about pickup. I've arranged for you to get an
armored airspeeder. You'll take Behemoth to a safe house,
Nawara Veil will depose him, then you'll pack him up and
bring him here in time for court. We want him in and out
fast--we're counting on secrecy because he should have




enough information about Imperial ops that almost anyone
could want him dead."
  Iella nodded. "You're not afraid I'll kill him?"
    "Not before he clears Celchu of Horn's murder, no, I'm
not. Cracken will want him after that, but my only concern is
his impact on this trial." Halla shrugged, then blew a lock of
black hair from in front of her face. "I've already told you he
cut an immunity deal, so the only justice that will be done in
this case is getting Celchu off. You know how these deals
work."
    "Yeah, they stink worse than Hurt-sweat, but you give
something to get something." Iella sighed. "Don't worry, I'll
bring him in safely."
   "Never was worried about it."
    Iella pointed to the hololink on the office's other desk. "I
need to speak with Diric."
   Halla frowned. "Not a good idea."
       "If I don't, he'll wait up. He always has, but he's really
not that strong anymore."
   "No details, right?"
   "Right."
    "Go ahead." Halla stood and smoothed the wrinkles in
her skirt. "I'm going down the hall to brew up something
hot, dark, and stimulating. Can I bring you some?"
    "Please." Iella sat down at the desk and entered her
home link number. She smiled reflexively when Diric an-
swered. "It's me."
    "So it is, and with a smile." Diric stifled a yawn with his
hand. "Forgive me. How are you? Is there anything you
need? I can run it over."
    "No, no, I'm fine, really." She forced her smile to
broaden. "I just called to let you know I'm not going to be
coming back home this morning."
    "Anything wrong?" Irritation washed over Diric's face.
"No, can't be if you're smiling. Something good, then?"
    "Work, work I can't tell you about. You'll find it fasci-
nating when I can."
    "I can't wait. Sounds as if you have a big day ahead of
you." He glanced off to the side for a moment, then nodded.

'TII get some fruit and put it together with your lunch so you
can snack on it if there is a break. Will that work?"
    "That'll be perfect, darling." Iella touched the hololink's
screen and caressed her husband's face. "It really is going to
be a big day tomorrow. You'll see why I can't say anything."
    "1 understand. Thank you for letting me know you're
safe. I can try to get back to sleep now."
    "Please do, Diric. Get all the sleep you can--enough for
both of us."
  'Tll do my best." He smiled at her. "Be careful. I love
yOU."
    "I love you, too." leila hit a button and broke the con-
nection. She sat back and sighed deeply. It's very strange to
find myself having to safeguard a hated enemy so he can
exonerate a man in the murder of a good friend. l'm not sure
Corran would appreciate the irony of the situation, but I do
know he wouldn't want an innocent man imprisoned for a
crime he didn't commit. I think that's as close to peace of
mind as I'm going to get out of this. I just hope it's enough
when all is said and done.




35

Never, in all the time he had secretly worked for Ysanne
Isard, had he gotten a message that revealed her to being
close to panic. The messages she had sent concerning the
remnants of Rogue Squadron and the need for their elimina-
tion had been more controlled and confident. Even after the
Alliance took Coruscant and she disappeared, her messages
had revealed a core of confidence that her activities would
bring about the destruction of the New Republic.
    He had to admit that she had not been far wrong in her
beliefs in that regard. The Krytos virus had created such a
demand for bacta that the New Republic had all but bank-
rupted itself trying to meet the minimum demand for the
lifesaving liquid. They had been desperate enough to strike a
deal for ryli with the Twi'leks, a gamble that could have
caused angry Thyferrans to cut off the bacta supply com-
pletely.
    Confidence in the government had begun to erode be-
cause of the bacta crisis. Warlord Zsinj's predations on a
bacta convoy had dealt the public's belief in the government
a serious blow from which they would attempt to recover by
sending a task force under Han Solo's leadership to kill
Zsinj. In fact, however, the more insidious damage to the

government had been done by the government itself with the
Celchu trial. Originally Tycho Celchu had been held up as an
example of the evil perpetrated by the Empire, but Nawara
Ven's spirited defense had pointed out that the evidence
against Celchu was circumstantial and probably manufac-
tured. The obvious displeasure expressed by Rogue Squad-
ron's cherished heroes at Celchu's trial helped underscore the
weak foundation for the government's case.
    He neither knew nor cared if Celchu was innocent. lsard
was very capable of arranging it so an innocent man ap-
peared to be guilty or vice versa. He did know she was using
the trial to hurt the government, and her efforts clearly were
succeeding--which is why the tenor of the note surprised
him.
    In addition to summoning him to a meeting place, the
note directed him to dispatch teams of his people to various
sites in the Imperial Palace and Senate Hill areas. They were
to go armed and shoot on sight the individual whose file
she'd appended to the message. Many of the locations would
be all but impossible to get to at this hour: a forty-third floor
foyer in the Imperial Palace, an tinused area of the Galactic
Museum, an old Imperial Senate subcommittee room. More-
over, it struck him that the only place she wasn't asking him
to send his men was the Imperial Courthouse. Since she
wanted everyone in place before court could open, and since
the target apparently possessed information she didn't want
revealed, he assumed she had the Courthouse covered her-
self.
    Fliry Vorru frowned. She should have gotten Loor to
send people out to these other sites, too, not just the Court-
house. He flicked on his datapad and called up the reports
from the people he had monitoring the activities of Loor and
his operatives. Of Loor there was no report within the last
hour, when he left his tower. Loor had gotten much better at
eluding surveillance over the past several weeks, but he al-
ways showed tip again in places that made re-acquiring him
painfully easy.
    The reports on some of Loor's operatives, on the other
hand, sparked Vorru's interest. Three teams, a full thirty in-




dividuais, had congregated at the warehouse facility Loor
used to store his heavy weaponry. That makes for a big oper-
ation, and I've given Loor no targets for such an operation.
    Fliry Vorru realized that one of his facilities was going to
be the target of that operation. Isard's orders were scattering
his troops so he couldn't defend against the assault. It has to
be coming against the bacta storage facility--that's the only
target I control which she would see as valuable. She wants
to take it down to hurt the Republic, but hitting any of the
others would make as much sense. The only thing this gives
her is a terrorist strike against me, which strengthens my
cover and distances me from association with her.
    Ordering him to be in a meeting place at a specific time
was meant to get him out of the bacta storage area so he'd
not be killed. If she confided in him the reason she wanted
him out, he'd refuse to do what she wanted, choosing instead
to protect his bacta and the profits he could reap by selling
the "wastage" that occurred with each shipment. As well as
the other loot I have stored there.
    Despite the fact that her summons was meant to save his
life, he took little joy in it. If things went as they had previ-
ously, she would appear in hologram and berate him for
what he had or had not done for her cause. She used the fact
that she could betray him to the Rebels as a bludgeon, and he
cringed suitably when she did so, which seemed to satisfy her
need to see him under her control. As nervous as her message
suggested she was, he expected quite a beating.
    What she does not understand, what she has never un-
derstood, is that I don't fear her at all. The Emperor consid-
ered me a rival. She is nothing compared to him. I work for
her because her goals and mine coincide. I can play her off
against the Republic and benefit in the meantime.
    Fliry Vorru smiled. He prepared orders dispatching mili-
tia teams to the sites she wanted, though he reduced her
request for a dozen people at each location to three. The rest
he ordered summoned to his bacta storage facility. He
planned to have them moving as much bacta and other loot
as possible to the various storage facilities he had scattered
all over Imperial Center.

    When she wants to know why I evacuated my facility,
I'll tell her the Alliance tipped me to a strike. And to make
that seem true . . .
    Vorru switched his comlink to a secure frequency and
initiated a call. He allowed the sleepy individual on the op-
posite end of the link to awaken enough to understand Basic,
then he spoke slowly and carefully. "Forgive the hour of this
call, Councilor Fey'lya, but 1 knew not where else to turn. I
have learned of an impending PCF strike at a bacta storage
facility. If we act quickly, a great tragedy can be averted."

All Wedge could see of Emtrey in the darkness was the
droid's glowing gold eyes. "What is it, Emtrey?"
    "Forgive the intrusion, Commander, but we have just
gotten an urgent message from Admiral Ackbar. There are
terrorists about and we have to stop them."
    Wedge shook his head to clear it. "Terrorists here, in our
area?"
    "No, sir. They're going to hit a bacta storage site. You're
to fly cover for our troops opposing them."
    The bedsheet slid down around Wedge's waist as he
pulled himself t~p and pressed his back against the head-
board. "Call in the squadron."
    "l have, sir. They're all coming in except for Master
Ven. He's not answering his comlink."
    "Keep trying. When you get him, I want to speak with
him. Get to Zraii and start pre-flight on our X-wings. Tell
him I want no fueling delays this time."
    "Done, sir." Emtrey pointed at the datapad on the desk
in Wedge's room. "The primary briefing document has al-
ready been downloaded for your review."
    Wedge smiled. "Thanks." He threw back the covers and
stepped out of bed. "Caf, k)ts of it, for me and for the ready
room. I have a feeling this mission is not one we can fly in
our sleep."




36

A tone brought Corran awake. A jolt of fear ran through him
when he couldn't recognize his surroundings. He knew he
wasn't in Lusankya anymore, or at least he hoped that was
the case, but the thought that his whole escape might have
been some elaborate charade staged by Isard to break him
down gnawed at his spirit.
    He hauled himself off the very comfortable bantha-hide
divan. He'd not intended to fall asleep, but the tunnel-
shuttle's appointments were plush and seductive, especially
in comparison with what he had endured in Lusankya. This
is more impressive than the Hotel Imperial. The shuttle had a
small refresher station which had allowed Corran to take his
first shower since his capture. The Lusankya diet had not
been very high in protein content, so his hair, beard, and
fingernails had not grown much during his captivity; still, he
could have used a shave. Then again, in this tunic, I'm hardly
presentable. He laughed. If it were really that luxurious,
there would have been a closet with a full wardrobe on
board.
    Holdout blaster in hand, Corran walked over to the
egress hatch and opened it. Waiting for him was what looked
like a private lift. The box, paneled with dark greel wood,

was otherwise featureless. This made Corran a little appre-
hensive; without controls, he had to assume it was pro-
grammed to go to a specific place. ! don't know if I want to
be there, but I suspect it will be better for me than here. He
entered the lift and the doors closed behind him.
    The car ascended quickly and quietly. Corran shook the
lees of sleep from his head. He squeezed himself into the
corner of the car just left of the doors, out of direct line with
the opening. Blaster in his right hand, he was ready to pivot
on his left foot, duck low, and come out shooting if he had
tO.
   The lift slowed, then stopped.
   The doors opened whisper-quiet.
    The musty scent of stale air rolled into the lift. Corran
brought the neck of his tunic up over his nose, then dropped
it again, realizing it smelled slightly worse than the chamber
beyond the doorway. He peeked out quickly and beyond a
gauzy wall of spider webs saw a grey room and shadowy
figures scattered about it. He ducked back, then looked out
again.
    No one is moving. Aside from the spiders and whatever
they snack on, there's nothing living in here.
    He sliced the web-wall in half with his left hand, then
stepped into the long, rectangular room. Dust billowed up
around his feet and coated his soles. Slender, dust-laden web-
strands hung down from the ceiling like vines in a forest.
Some of them attached themselves to the figures in the room,
as if etheric umbilical cords maintaining the figures in their
twilight existence.
    Corran had no idea where he was, but the taint of evil in
the room threatened to overwhelm him. That surprised him
because he saw no active threat and didn't feel directly men-
aced. The sensation reminded him of his days back in Cor-
Sec, when he entered the scene of a particularly violent
massacre of spice runners who had angered Durga the Hutt.
It was all destruction, but not wanton--it was completely
calculated and deliberate.
    The figures he saw were all statues and mannequins. As
he approached the first one, a little light flashed on in the




space before it and resolved into a hologram of the head and
shoulders of a man. A voice from the base of the statue said,
"Avan Post, Jedi Master from Chandrila, served with distinc-
tion in the Clone Wars."
    Corran looked up at the head of the white marble statue
to see if it matched the hologram, but the face on the statue
had been destroyed. The stone had melted back to the level
of the ears and streamed down over the figure's torso. Noth-
ing else about the statue's shape enabled Corran to figure out
if it was Post or not. Then again, why would the bologram of
Post be connected to this statue if it isn't him?
   Corran frowned. And why remove his face?
    Corran moved deeper into the room. The muted illumi-
nation came from glowtiles set near floor level and enabled
Corran to pick out two darkened doorways set into one of
the longer walls, but he didn't feel compelled to head out and
explore the area beyond them. He couldn't explain it, but he
had a hunch there was something important in the room,
something he had to find. While intellectually he knew run-
ning far and fast was the best thing for him, his father had
always encouraged him to follow his hunches. Doing that
has kept me alive. No reason to change now, especially now.
    As he moved through the chamber it became obvious
that the statues and display cases were all exhibits in some
sort of museum. A Jedi museum. Everything pertained in one
way or another to Jedi Knights and Masters, with the vast
majority of them having served in the Clone Wars. Just over
forty years ago, all of these people were alive.
    Without fail, whether the representation was a static ho-
logram with little mementos, or a life-size statue, or a man-
nequin dressed as the person it represented, the Jedi's image
had been ruined. Some statues lay in pieces on the ground.
Some of the mannequins had limbs missing or holes pounded
through the torsos. All of them had been defaced--most lit-
erally, though some had only had their eyes carved out. He
could not discern a pattern to the damage--beyond the fact
that all the faces were maimed in one way or another--but
Corran knew there was one, keyed to the mind of the person
who had done it.

    Discarding his prison tunic, Corran pulled some clothes
from one of the broken dummies and got into them. The
rough-spun brown trousers and pale pull-over tunic itched
against his bare flesh and threatened to drive him crazy.
From what I remember of Jedi stories, a Jedi would have
chosen such clothes just to force himself to learn to ignore
the physical sensations distracting him--his clothes become
an exercise in concentration. He couldn't remember where
he'd heard that--it had to have been from his grandfather or
father, because the Jedi were extinct by the time Corran had
learned they had existed, and people who wanted to avoid
Imperial scrutiny didn't display much interest in the Jedi
Knights of old.
    Corran's hand went to his throat to touch the medallion
he'd worn since he'd inherited it from his father--a medal-
lion he'd left with Whistler for safekeeping before his mission
to Coruscant. Mirax Terrik had identified it as Jedi Credit, a
medallion issued in limited numbers to mark a Corellian
Jedi's elevation from Knight to Master. I guess carrying it
around was my father's way of covertly defying the Empire.
    Corran pulled on a Jedi's brown cloak and fastened it at
his throat. He swirled it around himself, sending lint-nerfs
scurrying across the floor and leaping from the top of a dis-
play case. A glint of gold in that case caught Corran's eye. He
stepped closer and swept dust from the glass with his hands.
    His mouth went dry. That medallion, it's just like the
one I wore, save for the way the eyes have been gouged out
of it. Who is that? Irritated that the holographic legend
didn't play, Corran jiggled the case. A hologram began to
glow, creating an image of a slender man hovering above the
glass, about twenty centimeters high. A voice, starting low
and slow, then speeding up into a soprano, accompanied the
display. "Nejaa Halcyon, a Jedi Master from CoreIlia, died
in the Clone Wars."
    The light from the holographic projection bled below
into a static hologram. It showed Halcyon standing with a
boy. The Basic legend running down the edge of the image
read, "Nejaa Halcyon and an apprentice." The projection




snapped off and the hologram went dark, but it took Corran
several seconds to become cognizant of that fact.
    That boy. That was my father .... He'd seen ho-
lograms of his father as a child, and the boy in the image
looked very much like Hal Horn had at that age. He even
looked a bit like me. But that can't he, can it?
    Corran frowned mightily. Mirax had told him that the
commemorative medallions were given to family, friends,
students, and Masters by the Knight who appeared on them.
If my father had been his apprentice, that would explain how
he got the coin, but he never said anything about knowing a
Jedi or training with him. My grandfather did, but he never
mentioned this Halcyon. That hologram has to be wrong, !
have to have seen it wrong.
    He jiggled the case again, but the projection did not
return. He stepped back and up to it again without results.
He jogged and then shook the case, but that only moved the
medallion around and tipped over the hologram. I need light
to see who's really in that hologram.
    Swaddling his left fist in his Lusankya tunic, Corran
hammered it against the display case. The glass shattered
into hundreds of sparkling shards. Looking around ner-
vously, waiting for some alarm system to start blaring, Cor-
ran shook the canvas wrap off his hand and cast it aside. He
carefully plucked out the medallion and put it in his pocket.
To it he added the hologram and would have walked over to
one of the footlights to examine it, but the third memento of
Nejaa Halcyon attracted his attention.
    Shifting his blaster to his left hand, Corran reached into
the case and pulled out a thirty-centimeter-long silvery cylin-
der. A concave dish capped it, a thickened knob served as the
pommel, and a black button rode in a recessed niche pre-
cisely where his right thumb naturally rested. Pointing the
cup away from himself, Corran hit the button.
    A silvery-white shaft of light just over a meter in length
hissed to life. It hummed low and mournfully as its cold
illumination turned all the Jedi images into ghosts. Corran
twisted his wrist around, bringing the energy blade through a
set of interlocked loops. The sound quickened slightly as the

blade transformed a strand of webbing into a drifting tendril
of smoke.
    Corran turned, thinking to sweep the lightsaber blade
through one of the mannequins, but stopped before he
struck. These images have endured enough abuse. I won't
add to it. He knew he was correct not to contribute to the
further despoiling of the monuments. Moreover, there had
seemed to be a subtle pressure, a hidden malevolence in the
room, that encouraged and condoned the destruction.
   Corran felt good defying it.
    He hit the button under his thumb once to shut the blade
off. It remained lit. Corran frowned for a moment, then hit
the button twice in quick succession, and the blade vanished.
The double hit to turn it off guarantees it won't go down in
combat if the button is hit accidentally.
    As shadows reconquered the room, Corran shivered.
Trying to integrate this storehouse of Jedi memorabilia with
Lusankya was enough to make his brain hurt. I'd probably
have a better chance of figuring out what all of this stuff is
doing here if I had a clue as to where I was. It's good to have
clothes and equipment, but somehow I doubt disguising my-
self as a Jedi Knight is a way to become less conspicuous in
making my escape. And that's still my first priority--getting
out of here.
    Corran smiled and let the lightsaber roll back and forth
across the palm of his hand. "I bet you'll make a wonderful
door opener."
    Suddenly a short, sharp pop echoed through the com-
plex of rooms. A shockwave started dust swirling through
the room, centered on a doorway back along the wall to the
right. Sounds like someone else is finding novel ways to open
doors. This room is too open, nowhere to bide.
    Three figures dressed in black moved into and through
the doorway. They paused there and swept the room with
the harsh white beams of the glowrods fixed to the barrels of
their blaster carbines.
    Having no other option, Corran froze in place. The
lights flashed over him, lingering only as long as they had on
the other unmoving figures in the room.




  "Nothing here."
    The tallest of them nodded. "Then we wait." His voice
trailed off for a second. "Hey, there was something funny
about one of the dummies over here."
    He played his light over Corran again and his friends
likewise brought their lights to bear on him. "This one's got
a face."
    "Yeah, I have a face and I'd like to keep it." Corran
thumbed the lightsaber to life. "l hope that's not going to be
a problem for anyone."

37

Wedge walked over to the circular holopad sitting atop a
pedestal in the center of the briefing room. "We've only got
time to go through this once, so listen up." He hit a series of
keys on the holopad, causing a holographic map of the Pal-
ace district and environs to spring to life. The whole scene
rotated up 90 degrees to give the pilots a chance to look
down through the network of towers, tunnels, and cause-
ways which clogged that section of the city. Deep in the
lower reaches of the display a red square pulsed with life.
    "We have a report that the Palpatine Counter-
insurgency Front is staging from this location for a strike on
a bacta storage facility in Invisec. We're flying cover for a
commando force that is going to go in. The fact is that these
PCF folks are very dedicated to their jobs and are likely to
scatter when our forces hit. We expect speeder bikes,
swoops, and speeders to be heading out of there. Since they
used an airspeeder bomb to hit an earlier site, we have to
assume that any and all such vehicles are moving bombs.
We're going to take them down."
    Wedge pointed to the empty seat beside Pash Cracken.
"Nawara isn't here because our strike is going to hit the PCF
about the same time Nawara normally runs the gantlet of




holojournalists. If he's not there on the day ]~cho's defense
is supposed to open, they might think something is going
down and move too soon. Ooryl, you'll fly on Pash's wing.
Normal assignments for everyone else."
    Pash glanced up at Wedge. "If we're going to be hawk-
ing targets through the city, isn't there a good chance we'll
lose some of them? There are places an X-wing might not fit,
but a speeder bike will."
    "Your father's getting us a tracking feed from the secu-
rity office onboard the Emperor's skyhook, but there is a
chance some might get away."
    Erisi's hand went up. "There will be a lot of civilian
traffic up. How badly are these guys wanted? How much
collateral damage do we risk?"
    Wedge winced. "If any of them get through to their tar-
get, a lot of people will die. Thousands, perhaps even hun-
dreds of thousands. When we go in the municipal authorities
will issue a sector-wide emergency grounding call. Anyone
who ignores that call, especially after we start lighting the
area up, is making a very big mistake. We don't want to
shoot civilians, but if you have a positive ID on a target, take
it. Shooting in the city isn't going to be real pretty, but letting
a PCF terrorist get through is going to be worse."
    Erisi nodded. "What if the PCF people go to ground
with the civilians?"
    "Then they won't be blowing up a bacta storage facil-
ity." Wedge grinned grimly. "We'll spot them and call in
someone who can help neutralize them."
"Ooryl believes this is a must-win, no-win scenario."
You have that right. We're busting open a rat's nest and
hoping to kill all of them before they call do damage when
they escape. The chances of collateral damage are high, and
while a Corellian usually doesn't have any use for odds, in
this case 1 wish they were much lower against us. "There is
no denying that the probable outcome of our exercise is the
loss of some innocent folks on the ground or in a building.
We have to be careful but thorough. I can't tell you to shoot
with children on a causeway backstopping your shots. I'm

just going to trust that you'll be smart enough to avoid find-
ing yourself in that situation."
    He sighed. "Your astrogation droids have the map of the
Palace sector and Invisec. The bacta facility is protected and
you'll get a warning tone if you enter the exclusion zone
around it. If you find yourself there, get out. They'll take
your target. Anything else?"
    He looked around the room, but no one had any com-
ments or questions. "Great. Hit the hangar and mount up.
Fly your best out there. We might not be up against a Death
Star, but this mission is still vital. And may the Force be with
you. Dismissed."
    The pilots started to file out. Wedge noticed Asyr give
Gavin a quick kiss, then stroke his cheek with her left hand.
She said something to Gavin that Wedge couldn't hear, then
she turned toward him and held a hand up. "Commander, if
you have a moment."
   "Just a moment, Asyr."
    Asyr nodded to Gavin and he departed. She approached
Wedge and the fur on the back of her neck rippled up and
down. "Do you recall a conversation we had six weeks ago?
About my having to make a decision?"
    Wedge nodded. "I told you there would come a point
where you had to choose between the squadron and your
allegiance to the Bothan Martial Intelligence."
    "You said at the time that you trusted me, and wanted
to continue to trust me."
    "Right. And I told you that if you chose to leave the
squadron, I'd respect your decision." Wedge shook his head.
"Of course, if you're doing that right now, I might not re-
spect your choice of timing."
    Her violet eyes flashed coldly for a second as she looked
up at him. "I want you to continue to respect my decisions
and my timing. And I want you to continue to trust me." She
dug into the pocket of her flightsuit and pulled out a data-
card. "I was ordered to prepare a report about the bacta
massacre at Alderaan. It was felt a document that suggested
our delay in getting there might, in some way, have been
deliberate and the result of human action. That datacard has




the only copy of said report. If anything happens to me,
you'll dispose of this correctly, I would hope."
    Wedge nodded. "And if you survive, what will you do
with the leport then?"
    "I'm a member of Rogue Squadron, Commander, which
means I only take orders from my superior officers." Asyr
smiled. "What I do with that report, sir, is whatever you tell
me to do with that report."
    "You're taking a big step, cutting yourself off from your
people."
    "I know that, and I know it won't be easy, but the
squadron is my home now. You've only ever asked me to
fight and fly and possibly die. That I'll do for people I can
trust. Those who ask me to betray friends, well, they've
shown they don't want me to be trustworthy, so they clearly
aren't. Those facts don't make the choice any easier, just
more imperative."
    Wedge tucked the datacard away in a pocket, then
clapped Asyr on the shoulders. "Glad you're with us and on
my wing. I always like flying with someone I can trust."

38

Though lella's eyes burned from fatigue, the adrenaline
pumping through her system had her hyper-alert. She effort-
lessly wove the armored airspeeder through the canyons and
chasms of Coruscant, slowly closing in on the Justice Court
building. Nawara Ven and Kirtan Loor sat in the back, the
lawyer continuing to ask questions and Loor replying with
haughty disdain.
    Seeing Loor again had been a shock for her. She recog-
nized him instantly, but not without difficult),. He had al-
ways been lean and cadaverous, though now his flesh had
greyed a bit and tightened over his cheekbones and around
his eyes. He played himself up to be supremely confident, but
his clipped answers and terse comments clued her to his fear.
    leila had no doubt that if Corran had been with them at
the safehouse where they deposed Loor, Loor would have
crumbled like stale ryshcate. Corran had always had a way
of zeroing in on a suspect's weaknesses. He would figure out
the thing about which they were lying, then push and push
on those points, pounce on inconsistencies, then increase the
pressure until the suspect confessed.
    Loot had resisted giving them a full confession. He pro-
duced a datacard on which, he said, he had encoded and




encrypted complete dossiers on the Empire's operatives
within the bureaucracy. He had also guaranteed them that
on the stand he would reveal the identity of the traitor within
Rogue Squadron. After that, provided the other details of his
surrender deal were carried out, he would provide the key to
the datacard's encryption routine.
    "Fine," she'd said, "but can you give us Corran's mur-
derer?"
    Loor had smiled coldly. "The traitor set him up, and the
traitor I will give you. Corran's murderer, on the other hand,
was Ysanne Isard. Her you'll have to get yourself."
    And get her I will, somehow. Iella checked the advanced
scanning system on the airspeeder's console. The scanner
compared the profiles of all the traffic it had encountered so
far against everything it was detecting as the journey contin-
ued. Matches would indicate they were being followed, but
nothing had passed the computer's standards for a threat.
Good. We're clear, so far.
    "Coming up on the parking facility. We're going into the
secure level, then down into the Justice Court." She wanted
to add that the next few seconds, as she slowed to enter the
building, were the most vulnerable in the whole flight. A
single proton torpedo or concussion missile could destroy the
airspeeder in the blink of an eye. A timed or proximity war-
head could be launched from anywhere and catch them.
    The airspeeder slid into the darkened tunnel and slowed.
Ahead a green holographic projection cycled through various
alphabets. The words "Facility is Full" appeared in Basic
above and below whatever language was being displayed in
the middle. The green backlight illuminated a gate that
barred further passage.
    Iella hit a button on the console keypad, then punched in
her security code. Instead of giving her a new security code to
use in bringing Loor to court--the addition of which might
have alerted Imperial agents to strange goings-on--Halla Et-
tyk had just locked everyone else out with code that made
the lockout look like a computer glitch.
   The gate retracted into the floor. "We're in."

    Loor shifted in his seat in the back. "Does it bother you,
lella, to be shielding me this way?"
    "No more now than it did the first time you asked the
question, Loor." She moved the vehicle forward into the
darkened parking area, and midway between the gate and
the lift doors, she slung it around, swapping it end for end, so
the nose pointed back out toward the exit. She let the speeder
drift to a stop approximately twenty meters from the lift.
"Does it bother you having to depend upon me?"
    Loor shook his head. "Not at all, my dear. You have a
facility for 1oyalty--I don't imagine you are wasting it on
me--and to your mission you will be true. Your job is to
deliver me to court, then watch me walk away, shedding my
crimes like a lYandoshan shedding skin."
    "Reminding me that you let the Trandoshan who mur-
dered Corran's father go isn't the way to get me to feel good
about helping you."
    "No, I suppose it isn't." Loor sighed nonchalantly. "I'11
have to trust you'll want Corran's betrayer more than you
want me dead, won't I?"
    "That you will." Iella cracked her door open and
emerged from the speeder. She took a quick look around,
saw nothing, then rapped on the top of the car. "Come on
out. It's clear."
    As the other two left the vehicle, leila pulled out her
blaster and checked the power cell. Full charge, good. "Let's
go. We get to the lift, I input the code, we head down and
through the prosecutor's office. Simple, swift, and no one
will get hurt."
Loor pulled up the hood on his cloak. "After you."
lella growled at him and moved toward the elevator,
taking up a position on the right side of the group. She held
her blaster in two hands, up by her face, with the barrel
pointing toward the ferrocrete ceiling. As she walked toward
the lift she kept looking about, backward, forward, and side
to side, trying to pick up on any movement, anything out of
the ordinary. Across from her, unarmed though he was,
Nawara looked about vigilantly as well.




    Between them, his cloak billowing out to inflate his sil-
houette to the size of his code name, Loor strode confidently.
Though she could not see his face, his stance and stride indi-
cated he was blithely amused by her caution. The grant of
immunity has made him feel invincible.
    Iella felt the slick caress of a strand of webbing brush
against her right cheek. She swept it away with her left hand
and heard it snap near her ear. That struck her as odd, then
sinister, as she saw Nawara bat at a similar thread with one
of his brain tails.
    The lift doors, barely ten meters away, opened with little
more than a whisper.

As the lift doors parted, Loor felt his pulse quicken. Time
slowed until nanoseconds took hours to pass. His emotions
spiked, fear braiding itself together with triumph. The fear
came from the realization that he might die, for surely an
assassin or assassins lurked in the lift. I could well be dead
before those doors close again.
    The triumph that wove in with the fear came from the
realization that Ysanne Isard saw him as enough of a threat
to kill him. She had always dismissed him before, patronized
him, used him, and threatened to discard him. Now she saw
how truly powerful he was. The desperation that marked this
attempt on his life gave full measure to her concern over
what he could do to destroy her.
  Loor began to smile. In this you show me I have won!

leila began to turn toward the unlit box, her blaster coming
down as she squared her stance. Something black moved
within the lift, a shadow that resolved itself into the form of
a man dashing forth, a blazing blaster held in each hand.
"Die, Derricote, die!" he screamed.
    Scarlet bolts of blaster energy burned toward the trio.
One caught Nawara Ven on the right hip. It spun him
around and flung him through the air.
   Before the Twi'lek could hit the ground, a pair of

blaster-bolts lanced through Kirtan Loor's chest. The first,
which drilled him high on the left side of his body, lifted him
from his feet. The second struck him high in the abdomen
and centered on his midline, driving him back and down. He
landed beside Nawara Ven's tumbling body and slid halfway
over to the airspeeder.
    Years of training overrode conscious thought in Iella. As
bolts began to track in her direction, she coolly triggered a
double-burst that stopped the assassin's charge only a stride
or two from the lift. The bolts stabbed deep into the man's
gut, snapping him forward. Blaster-bolts from his guns
traced parallel lines down the ferrocrete as he hunched over,
dropped to his knees, then fell forward on his face. His
blaster pistols clattered down beside him, abandoned as his
hands clutched at his ruined belly.
    Keeping her blaster on his form, she ran forward and
kicked the pistols away. The assassin made a sound, a little
moan, and it cut her legs out from under her. She sank to her
knees beside him and rolled him onto his back. Even before
she saw his face, the sounds he made and the feeling of his
bony shoulders told her who he was. Intellect momentarily
overrode emotion, providing her the clues she needed to con-
firm his identity, then it retreated as pain and despair ex-
ploded in her.
      She pulled his head into her lap and brushed strands of
hair from his face. "Why, Diric, why?"  "Lusankya."
  Iella's breath caught in her throat. "No, no, that can't
he."
    "She broke me. She made me into one of her own. She
had me placed in Derricote's lab to watch him." Diric
winced fiercely, and his body went rigid for a moment. "She
sent me to kill him before he could betray her. I had no
choice. That wasn't him, though."
  leila shook her head. "No. It was Kirtan Loor."
    Diric managed a weak smile. "Good. I never liked him."
He reached a hand up toward her face, but it never got there.
'Tm dying."


    "No." She fished for a comlink in her pocket. "I'11 get
emergency medical droids here."
    "No, Iella, no. Isard made me what others accuse Tycho
of being. He isn't. She had me reporting on him, too. From
what she did, I cannot be saved." His tongue wet thin lips. "I
can't live in suspicion, as a puppet. It would make life
too . .. boring."
   "Diric, no, we can help you."
    "It's over. I love you. She wanted me to kill you. I
couldn't resist." He smiled weakly. "I could defy--the trig-
ger that opened the lift was supposed to be linked to a bomb.
I did what I could. So you could stop me from betraying
myself by killing you." Pain contorted his face. "Thank you
for freeing me."
    With her hand, Iella smoothed the pain on his face into
peace, then realized he'd slipped away. Her throat thick, her
eyes welling with tears, she gently lowered his head to the
ferrocrete floor and kissed him one last time.

Kirtan Loor lay on the ferrocrete and could feel nothing. He
knew this was not good. That he was dying was an ines-
capable conclusion and it outraged him. He tried to feed that
outrage as much fuel as he could, but he simply ran out. The
anger and fury in him collapsed in on itself, imploding into a
black void that sucked the last bits of life from Kirtan Loor.
    At the heart of that void existed one fact, the one true
thing that had marked his entire life. Gil Bastra had seen it.
Corran Horn and Iella Wessiri had seen it. Ysanne Isard had
seen it. Loor had done all he could to combat it, but it was a
defect that was inborn and immutable. ! make assumptions.
I refuse to look beyond them for reality. I am defeated by
them.
    He stared up at the ferrocrete ceiling, seeking in its hap-
hazard patterns some cosmic truth, but the only truth he
found ground away at him. She did not send an assassin to
kill me, she sent him to kill Derricote. I am dying in his
place, for his crimes. Is there anything worse?

    For some reason the image of Corran Horn came to him.
Horn said there was nothing worse than dying alone. He
fought to dismiss that idea, but as darkness nibbled away at
the corners of his sight, he allowed as how that, just once,
Corran Horn had been right.




39

Despite his fatigue, Wedge couldn't remember having felt
better. Strapped into the cockpit of his X-wing, with Mynock
behind him, Asyr on his starboard wing, and atmosphere
below his fighter, Wedge felt as if the galaxy's reset button
had been hit. His mission was clear: safeguard the forces
making a run on an Imperial terrorist cell. He didn't know if
this was all that was left of the Palpatine Counter-insurgency
Front, or if this was just one tentacle of that foul kraken, but
he had no doubts they'd destroy it.
    Gone were the ambiguities that had been forced on him.
Tycho's trial was political. The run to Ryloth and the convoy
escort mission from Alderaan had both been political. Even
the raid on Zsinj's space station had been political. While he
realized the whole Rebellion had, in essence, been political,
his role in it had been military. The targets we were given
were military, picked because of their military value, and the
mission parameters were ones that could be fulfilled through
a military effort.
    Wedge keyed his comm unit. "Hunter One, this is Rogue
Lead. We are on-station."
    "l copy, Rogue Lead. Stand by for tactical team direc-
tives."

    "As ordered." Wedge glanced down at his scanner. The
squadron had broken itself down into five pairs of fighters.
Four of the pairs orbited the target district with 90 degrees of
separation between their positions. The last pair, Erisi Dlarit
and Rhysati Ynr, flew high cover up around the level of the
skyhooks. The lower fighters were meant to assist the raid
and pick up stragglers, while the high-orbit pair would cut
off any PCF terrorists that made it out of the district and in
toward their target.
    "Rogue Lead, this is Hunter One. We are taking heavy
fire from the western approach. Help is needed."
    "I copy. On the way." Wedge hit a button on his con-
sole, shifting the corem unit to the squadron's tactical chan-
nel. "Rogue Two, did you get that?"
    "I copied, Lead." Asyr's voice betrayed no nervousness.
"After you."
       "Five, you and Ten with the next call, then Seven's ele-
ment, then Twelve's element."  "As ordered."
    Wedge kicked his X-wing up on the port S-foil, then hit
the left rudder and pointed the fighter's nose at the ground.
He let the fighter succumb to gravity, then rolled it and pre-
pared to glide out onto the target. The Justice Court building
flashed past, then Wedge hauled back on the stick and leveled
out. Target is five kilometers out and coming up fast.
    Even in the distance he could see blaster fire spraying out
to cover the approaches on the west side of the building. As
he swooped in, he saw one smoking speeder-ferry slowly
drifting down toward the unseen ground. Wedge flicked his
lasers over to single fire and dropped the crosshairs on the
focal point for the blaster fire. As range dropped to a kilome-
ter, he tightened down on the trigger and feathered the left
rudder pedal to keep his fire tracking on target.
    The X-wing's four lasers fired in sequence, peppering the
middle level of the building with a staccato hail of energy
darts. They swept across the wide doorway, some of them
scattering half-hidden individuals inside the warehouse.
Other laser-bolts shredded one of the two E-Web Heavy Re-




peating Blasters just inside the doorway, killing the soldiers
crewing the weapon.
    Asyr's X-wing came in right behind Wedge's and re-
peated his strafing run. As she flew through the area, Wedge
chopped his thrust back, hit his rudder, and turned his
fighter around. He punched the throttle, killing his momen-
tum, then cut his repulsorlift coils in. Asyr sailed on past him
and pulled up to begin a loop, while Wedge goosed his
X-wing forward and brought it up in line with the ware-
house opening.
    "They're running!" Wedge hit the trigger and scythed
fire back and forth across the gaping warehouse entryway.
Two laser-bolts caught a small airspeeder in the middle and
aft, slicing it into three equal parts. The pieces flew across the
open area and rebounded off a neighboring building, then
tumbled into the urban canyon depths.
    The rest of his shots missed the legion of targets because
what he was trying to hit tended to be small and moving very
fast. Speeder bikes with and without sidecars corkscrewed
fheir way out and down or up to elude him. One airspeeder
just sailed out and dropped like a freefalling Hutt, sinking
out of sight before he could track it. Others banked hard and
flew fast to escape, though from corem unit chatter, each of
them had been tagged and had pursuit on its way.
    An ugly green light strobed through the warehouse.
Wedge nudged the X-wing forward, and saw boxy silhou-
ettes, each supported on twin pillars, bobbing up and down
in the warehouse. A shiver ran down his spine, then he keyed
his corem unit. "Scout walkers, three of them, with two com-
ing our way. I've got them."
    Wedge flicked his weapon's-control over to proton tor-
pedoes. His aiming reticle went from yellow to red as the
targeting computer locked on. Mynock shrieked with a lock-
tone and Wedge hit his trigger. A proton torpedo streaked
out, crossing the fifty meters between the X-wing and the
warehouse in the blink of an eye.
    The proton torpedo caught the rightmost AT-ST in the
outside leg, just below the upper joint. The torpedo sheered
the leg off, and the impact spun the scout walker around. It

crashed into the walker next to it, then rebounded and
bounced to the ground. Ten meters behind it the proton tor-
pedo exploded, detonating the walker's concussion grenade
magazine.
    The second walker, which had awkwardly skipped for-
ward after being bumped, ended up being slightly off balance
when the grenades went off. A burst of green light from
deeper within the warehouse outlined the upright walker as
the downed walker's good leg whipped around and caught it
across the ankles. The standing walker staggered as the pilot
tried to widen its stance and remain upright. His efforts al-
most paid off and the walker had begun to straighten up,
when its left foot ran out of warehouse floor. The machine
wavered for a moment, then slowly keeled over in an un-
gainly plunge toward the ground.
    The green light, from the last AT-ST's twin blaster can-
non, again lit the interior of the warehouse. What is it shoot-
ing at? In the time it took him to form that question in his
mind, he also came up with the answer. No, can't let that
happen.
    He nudged the throttle forward and picked up some
speed. Flying into the warehouse, Wedge got to see the
AT-ST fire one last shot at the far wall, widening the breach.
An airspeeder--heavily laden, judging from the way the aft
end struck sparks as it slewed around the scout walker--shot
in toward the hole. The remaining walker squared off to face
him and protect the airspeeder.
    The other vehicles were decoyst This one is the bomb.
Wedge hit enough left rudder to track the airspeeder, then
fired a proton torpedo. The projectile hit the ferrocrete deck-
ing and skipped off, rising quickly. Instead of passing be-
tween the AT-ST's legs, it slammed full into the cockpit. The
explosion filled the end of the warehouse with a firestorm. A
black cloud billowed up with red-gold flame-claws slashing
their way clear of it, while pieces of debris and shrapnel
ricocheted and bounced throughout the warehouse.
    Swirling tendrils of smoke curled out through the hole,
and Wedge knew instantly where the airspeeder had gone.
He guided the X-wing straight for the center of the hole the




scout walker had opened in the other side of the warehouse.
He made it through with centimeters to spare on both sides,
then cut the repulsorlift generators and dove.
    "This is RogL, e Leader. The warehouse is clear. I'm out
the other side."
    Hunter One sounded faintly amused. "We would have
let you come back out this way, Rogue Leader."
    "Thanks, Hunter One, but I'm in pursuit of the bomb."
Deep below him he saw the airspeeder level off and head
toward lnvisec. "Let the bacta storehouse know it's incom-
ing, and so am I. With luck, only one of us will get there."

40

"He's not the fat guy," said one of the three men facing
Corran.
  "Doesn't matter. Kill him anyway."
    Corran pulled his right arm back and whipped it for-
ward, sidearming the lightsaber toward the trio. The blade
spun through a flat arc. The men on either side of the group-
ing dove for cover, but the center man's eyes grew wide and
glowed in the blade's icy light. He shot twice at the light-
saber, but missed with both bolts.
    The lightsaber's silver shaft scythed through his middle
and dropped him in two parts to the ground. Two wet, meaty
thumps swallowed the clatter of the blaster carbine against
the floor. The glowrod attached to the barrel flared, then
went out.
    Corran dove to the left, rolled, and came up in a crouch.
He tracked a moving cone of light and fired at its base. He
heard no scream to indicate he had hit his target, then a
spray of blaster-bolts from the right forced him to duck
again. As he slipped back into the shadow of a statue, his
two foes extinguished their glowrods, leaving the footlights
as the only illumination in the larger room.
  Two assumptions I can make: first, they have comlinks



I
    something solid thump against the wall be-
en before he heard the click of a comlink, he
ld and rose up on his left knee. Jamming the
against the wall with his right hand, he
raked it upward. It pulled free of the wall at
arc, spitting and hissing as blood evaporated
 shaft of light.
 man on the other side of the wall fell across
 ust as the third man, who had been approach-
 from the opposite side, opened fire. The
 ~,ht two bolts that would have killed Corran
 in shifted aim and started tracking the light-
     bolt singed the hair on the back of Corran's
 rest passed by without hurting him.
 left hand came up and he snapped off two
 blaster carbine's muzzle flashes. Both hit.
 crashed backward into a display case, then
 angles. In the footlight Corran could see
 once or twice, as if still working the trigger
 that had fallen to the floor, then the man lay

tinguished the lightsaber, then clipped it to his
    the belt around so the weapon hung at his
mldn't bang against the bruised one. Pocketing
he crawled over to the body of the first
loosened the chinstrap on the hehnet and
lside it he found a comlink in a clip. He pulled
for a moment to see if other troopers were
the comlink remained silent.
    the second man's blaster carbine and
glowrod. He played it over the dead men and
black uniforms weren't any sort of Imperial
seen before, and the men themselves were
that he knew they weren't storm-
never seen a stormtrooper without a helmet
see them looking quite this ordinary. Still, the
           T, so he assumed the three dead
     of a local constabulary force. Another
 thought you were allies, but in CorSec we


and are going to be coordinating their attack. Second, they
can or have called for backup, which means they win the
waiting game. I have to get out of here, and the only way to
do that is by going out the way they came in. He glanced
over at the doorway which the lightsaber's glow backlit.
They're moving out to surround me, so now's the best time
to go.
    Corran bobbed up and down twice, using the light-
saber's light to silhouette the obstacles in his way. The path
looked fairly clear. He reached into his pocket and ran his
thumb over the ruined face of the Jedi medallion. You're not
the one I used ?br hack, but here's hoping there was some left
in the dies when you were struck.
    He took off at a dead run, cutting around one statue and
then a display case before heading toward the doorway. Lit-
tle holograms flickered to life behind him, drawing attention
first to themselves, then to him. The first few shots fired at
him burned holes in his cloak, but then his assailants shifted
their aim and raked the doorway with blasterfire--blasterfire
that should have exploded his heart and reduced his lungs to
cinders.
    And it would have except that the Jedi cloak caught the
corner of the display case. It yanked Corran from his feet,
then the throat clasp snapped. With his momentum thus
slackened but far from depleted, he flew through the door-
way feet first, centimeters below the line of blasterfire. He hit
hard on his right hip and cracked his right knee on the gran-
ite floor, then slid toward the middle of the room.
    His right hand closed on the hilt of the lightsaber. He
switched it off and scrambled back toward the doorway
through which he had just flown. He hoped to find the dead
man's blaster carbine, but as he settled his back against the
wall beside the doorway he saw its outline two meters away
on the wrong side of the opening. Hopeless. Gotta get up.
gotta run for the exit--wherever it is. Even though he knew
running was the only viable plan, the stiffening sensation in
his knee and hip told him a weak limp was going to be the
best he could manage. And l'll get raped for the ef/~rt. I'm
dead.

    Then
hind him.
twisted ar
lightsaber~
flicked it c
the top ot
from the s
    The b
the doorw
ing the dt
dead man
before the
saber's arc
hand, but
   Corra
shots tow;
The third
hung then
his hands 1
of the wea
still.
    Corra
belt. He sl
left hip am
his holdou
man he'd
pulled it ot
it out and i
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  He FC
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frowned. ~1
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didn't shoot someone just because he wasn't the suspect we
were looking for.
    Corran played the glowrod over the bottom of the com-
link and adjusted the frequency. Now to find out where we
are. While he had long detested the Empire, it did manage to
do some things with a remarkable amount of efficiency. One
of them was the establishment and maintenance of standard
measures. On each world broadcast stations had been set up
to provide the exact time, both local and in relation to Co-
ruscant. By tuning into that signal he could find out where he
was and what time it was. It occurs to me I've not seen
outside for a long time.
    He held the comlink near his ear and slowly limped over
to the hole the trio had blown in the wall on the far side of
the chamber. "Must be a real backwater planet if they only
sent three guys to catch an escaped prisoner--even if they
thought I was Derricote. I wonder if I can ever get off it?"
    Over the comlink he heard a mechanical voice an-
nounce, "8 hours, 45 minutes, Coordinated Galactic Time."
    "Great, I'm on a world that's set its clocks to Coruscant
time, no matter what the local situation is." He hefted the
blaster carbine, glanced at the power level indicator, then
played the light out through the hole into the next room.
Unlike the one he had found himself in, the room beyond the
hole was clean and orderly. Even better, there is an open
doorway to the outside.
    He was about to step through the wall when two irrec-
oncilable ideas collided in his brain. It was rather clear that
he was inside some sort of storehouse filled with Jedi memo-
rabilia. The mansion from which he had escaped had obvi-
ously been an Imperial Moff's retreat, but what Imperial
Moff would risk his position by hoarding so much Jedi mate-
rial? The only Moff who could do that would be a powerful
one, and powerful Moffs weren't found on backwater
worlds.
    Actually, there were no Moffs so powerful that they
would have dared defy the Emperor and Vader by boarding
this stuff. Only the Emperor could have . . . Corran's jaw

dropped open. And the ch~ck here is set to Coruscant
time ....
    Corran slumped against the wall. It can't be. I can't be
on Coruscant. It makes no sense. I remember traveling on a
ship. Then again, I was so doped up . . . Maybe l am on
Corusc~ant and lsard just wanted me to think I wasn't on
Coruscant. He chuckled. It would explain why no one ever
found Lusankya--it was here all the time, which means she
is, too.
  He glanced back at the dead men. And she has enough
pull with local authorities to have them out bunting Der-
rioore. I may be out of her dutches, but I'm not free, yet. He
glanced at the comlink and thought about tuning into the
military frequencies Rogue Squadron used, but rejected that
plan for two reasons. I'm not going to have the right scram-
bier codes to let me hear and speak with them, and even if I
did, there's the traitor to consider.
    He shook his head. 1 need someone I can trust. It's a
long shot, but it's the only one I have. He set the comlink
and opened a channel. "This is Corran Horn calling. I'm not
dead--I only feel like it--and I could use some help returning
to the land of the living."




41

Wedge pulled back on the X-wing's stick and leveled out
approximately 300 meters behind and above the airspeeder.
He had to trim his speed back because even though the
X-wing could close fast, the airspeeder could turn faster
within the close confines of the city. Part of Wedge knew
racing speeder bikes through the forests of Endor was safer
than doing what he was doing, but he had no choice. That
bomb has to be stopped.
    "Mynock, make sure you're getting a solid tracking feed
on that airspeeder."
    The astromech droid shrilled out a confirmation of that
order. Wedge watched the tracking data get updated, then
rolled up on the right stabilizer foil and dove. He cruised
down below the speeder's line of flight, entering a large bou-
levard that sped him forward toward Invisec. If I can head
him off... "Mynock, plot all his routes from here to the
target."
The droid shrieked like wind howling off the S-foils.
Wedge wove his way through the undercity, cutting
around buildings, over walkways, and through tunnels, all
the while marveling at the intricate labyrinth that was Corus-
cant. Making his way in and out, up and over or around

tested his skills as a pilot. While not much of the dawn's light
penetrated that deeply in the city, he did have enough to
navigate by, but only just barely.
    A shiver ran down his spine. Corran and the others were
flying out here at night when we took Coruscant. I never
really appreciated what they did until now.
    Mynock hooted at him. Wedge glanced down at his
monitor and saw various schematics flash past. "Slower, My-
hock, I'm flying here, too." Wedge marked the location of
the airspeeder and compared it with the maps. As the air-
speeder sank to his level and below it, something clicked in
the back of his mind. That's it. I've got them.
    "Give me the lowest route in you can find, Mynock."
Wedge banked starboard, chopped his thrust back, and
brought the repulsorlift coils online. He hovered and drifted
forward, remaining just outside the corridor described by the
map Mynock had brought up. As he watched he saw the
airspeeder move onto the route and begin to follow it in.
    Wedge smiled. It struck sparks in the warehouse and
dropped like a rock outside. It's still going down because it's
carrying too much weight. The speeder-ferry that was going
down when I first flew in must have been meant to haul this
bomb to a point where it could head down in at the bacta
store. Now they have to go low because they don't have
enough power to go high.
    He switched his fire control over to lasers and linked all
four to give him a quad burst. As he did so, the airspeeder
cruised through the thoroughfare. Wedge picked his speed up
and dropped straight in behind it. Someone in the speeder
spotted him and started shooting at him with a blaster rifle,
but the bolts harmlessly impacted on Wedge's forward
shield. The pilot tried to make the airspeeder juke, but every
sideslip and turn just brought the vehicle lower and lower.
   And into Wedge's sights.
    He hit the trigger and sent a quartet of scarlet laser-bolts
to converge on the blocky vehicle. The lasers vaporized the
roof and filled the passenger compartment with fire. The
speeder began to fall faster, with the aft end sagging down-




ward. Something exploded up front, starting the speeder into
a backward somersault. Two more quad bursts from the
X-wing reduced the large chunks of vehicle into mist and
metal hail.
    The vapor cloudamade up mostly of gaseous explo-
sives-ignited in a flash, momentarily blinding Wedge and
prompting a scream from Mynock. Wedge kept a light but
steady hand on the stick and rode out the shockwave. The
X-wing's shields held, saving the fighter from damage. As his
vision cleared and he flew through the smoke, he saw no
trace of the airspeeder.
    He smiled. "See that, Mynock? That mission wasn't so
tough."
    The droid brayed in what Wedge took to be a vaguely
triumphant manner.
"Rogue Leader here. The bomb is gone. Report."
"Three here, Lead. We are over the Manarai Mountain
district and have big anomalies out to the southwest. I have
TIEs coming in, at least one wing."
    "I copy, Three. On my way." Wedge hauled back on the
stick and jammed his throttle full forward. The X-wing rock-
eted straight up. "Confirm thirty-six TIEs, Three."
    "Confirm thirty-six, Lead, eyeballs and squints. They're
coming this way and there's something else out there."
Rhysati sounded shaken. "My sensors aren't picking it up at
all well."
    "Standby, Three." Wedge punched his comm unit over
to another opchannel. "Antilles here. What's down there to
the southwest?"
    "Palace district control here, Rogue Leader. We're not
sure. Civilian side is reporting groundquakes and massive
destruction. We're just turning a satellite in that direction.
Data coming up--I'll give you the raw feed."
    "I copy, control." Wedge looked at the scan splaying
itself across his sensor monitor and felt his spirits sinking as
low as Mynock's mournful whistle. "That can't be. It just
can't be."
   "You're getting what we're getting, Rogue Leader."

      Wedge flicked the comm unit back to the squadron's
tactical frequency. "Three and Four, get back here. Now."
   "What's out there, Lead?"
    Wedge shivered. "It's something that shouldn't be there,
Three. IFF beacons report it's a Super Star Destroyer that
goes by the name Lusankya."




42

Admiral Ackbar took his seat at the high bench, with Gener-
als Madine and Salm below and to the left and right respec-
tively. He waited for the defendant and prosecutor to be
seated, then he looked out over the sparsely populated court-
room. "Today's session will be abbreviated. Even the most
simple voyage can be ended by an unanticipated wave, and
the wave affecting us here was titanic in proportions."
    He glanced down at Tycho Celchu and the two droids at
the defense table. "Captain Celchu, your lawyer is not here
because approximately an hour ago he was shot and seri-
ously wounded in the parking facility on the upper floors of
this building. The assassin has been killed, but we have
sealed the building for security reasons nonetheless. Nawara
Ven was shot while in the process of bringing to court a
witness who had recently surfaced to provide proof of your
innocence. The witness offered his testimony on your behalf
in return for a new identity and repatriation to another
world. He provided a datacard filled with encrypted infor-
mation that backed his claims concerning you as well as
claims concerning the Imperial espionage net here on Corus-
cant.
   "Unfortunately the assassin who wounded Counselor

Ven succeeded in killing this witness." Ackbar looked over
toward where Airen Cracken sat on the prosecution side of
the court. "General Cracken has assured me he has people
working on the datacard to see if they can slice the informa-
tion out, but there is no telling if or when they will succeed."
   Tycho frowned. "Where does this leave me?"
    Halla Ettyk stood. "Admiral, the prosecution would be
amenable to a continuance until Counselor Ven has recov-
ered."
    "Granted." Admiral Ackbar raised a gavel. "If there is
nothing more we will stand in recess until Counselor Ven is
able to continue."
    Tycho held a hand up. "Wait, please, isn't there some-
thing I can do? Isn't it possible for me to represent myself in
his absence?"
   "That has always been your right, Captain Celchu."
    Halla looked over at Tycho. "The admiral is correct, but
really there is nothing you can do."
   "I can call and question a witness."
    The prosecutor shook her head and pointed at her
datapad. "Not really. I have before me the list of witnesses
Counselor Ven said you were going to call. None of the
members of Rogue Squadron are here and available. The
Duros Lai Nootka is not here and, unfortunately, is probably
dead. You have no witnesses."  Whistler tooted.
    Emtrey's clamshell head came up. "Whistler says we do
have a witness."
  Halla frowned. "Who?"
  Tycho stood. "I can testify on my own behalf."
    "It would be a mistake to do so, Captain. I would rip
you apart on cross."
  The R2 unit blatted rudely.
  Tycho patted Whistler on the dome. "I agree."
    Emtrey canted his head to the side. "Ah, sir, Whistler
was agreeing with Commander Ettyk. You're not his witness.
Your testimony won't put this whole business to rest."
    Halla shook her head. "The only witness who could do
that is dead."




    Whistler trumpeted loudly, whirling his head full around
in a circle. The droid bounced excitedly and his tone became
a piercing shriek.
    Ackbar's gavel cracked once, sharply, jerking Emtrey to
attention. "Tell Whistler to calm down or I'll have a re-
straining bolt put on him."
  The little droid stopped and hummed mournfully.
  "Now what was he talking about, Emtrey?"
  Whistler answered.
    Emtrey glanced sharply down at him and gave him a
good clout on the dome. "Make sense, Whistler. They're
waiting."
  Whistler repeated his previous answer.
    The 3PO unit raised its arms and looked up at Ackbar.
"I am sorry, sir, but he makes no sense. The stress--circuits
must have become polarized. He doesn't know what he's
saying."
    Ackbar sighed. "Answer my question. Who is he saying
this witness is?"
    Before Emtrey could answer, a man spoke from the
court's open doorway. "Begging your pardon, Admiral, 1
think Whistler intends for me to be called as a witness."
    Ackbar's barbels twitched. From the black depths all
manner of beasts can swim. "This is impossible."
    "It wasn't easy," Corran Horn smiled, "but as for im-
possible, Admiral, you know impossible is what Rogue
Squadron does best of all."

43

Wedge snaprolled up on the port S-foil, then pulled the stick
back to the box over his breastbone. He rolled the X-wing
into a dive, then came up and around to starboard in a hori-
zontal loop that brought him back head-to-head with the
pair of eyeballs that had been bucking his exhaust. He spit-
ted one on his crosshairs and hit the trigger, filling it with
coherent light. The cockpit instantly combusted, and, trailing
thick black smoke, the TIE fighter corkscrewed down to slam
into a ferrocrete tower.
    The TIE's wingman tried to avenge his partner, but
Wedge never gave him a chance. He hit the left rudder pedal,
pulling the aft end of the X-wing off to the right. The maneu-
ver skidded the fighter out of the TIE's line of flight and fire.
The TIE pilot tried to match the stunt, but as he did so he
brought his fighter's hexagonal solar panel perpendicular to
the ship's flight-line. In the vacuum of space that move
would have given him a good shot at Wedge, but in atmo-
sphere, it made the TIE jump and begin to roll.
    Wedge brought the X-wing up on its port stabilizers and
dove after the TIE. Just as the pilot began to regain control,
slowing his spin, Rogue Squadron's leader tightened up on
his trigger. A quad burst of laserfire blasted the port solar




panel off the fighter. The TIE began to tumble uncontrollably
toward the ground, but before it could descend into the
black bowels of Coruscant, it bounced off an aerial walkway
and exploded.
    Pulling back on his stick, Wedge nosed his fighter
toward the sky. He wanted to feel some remorse for the
pilots he'd just killed. He waited for concern to bubble up in
him for the people who could have been hurt when those
TIEs fell into the city below. He wanted something other
than cold concentration filling him, but he didn't expect it to
come. Those thoughts and emotions are normal, but normal
doesn't exist at this place and time.
    All around him TIEs and the X-wings of Rogue Squad-
ron swooped and climbed, rolled, dove, and looped. Laser-
bolts, green and red, filled the air as if each fighter was a
renegade cloud spitting abbreviated lightning bolts at its ene-
mies. TIEs exploded with regularity, showering the cityscape
with half-molten bits of metal and staining the sky with oily
black streaks that were the mortal remains of their pilots.
    As exciting and dramatic as the dogfight raging above
the mountain district was, Wedge remained cold and in
shock. Out there a white needle stabbed skyward. The
Lusankya--a Super Star Destroyer eight kilometers in
length--laid waste to the area beneath which it had lain bur-
ied for years. Green turbolaser bolts pounded the cityscape,
freeing the ship from the ferrocrete and transparisteel prison
in which it had laired.
    Wedge knew Super Star Destroyers had only come into
service after the Battle of Yavin, which meant the Lusankya
had to have been created and hidden on Coruscant before
the battle of Endor. Unless the constructor droids just built it
there, then built over it. The idea that a hundred-square-
kilometer area of the planet could have been razed and re-
built to hide a Super Star Destroyer seemed beyond belief,
especially with no one noticing the ship's insertion into the
hole. Could the Emperor's power through the dark side of
the Force have been sufficient to compel thousands or mil-
lions of people to forget having seen the Lusankya being
buried?

    As hideous as that idea seemed, Wedge hoped it was the
truth. The likely alternative--that the Emperor had ordered
the deaths of all the witnesses--seemed that much more hor-
rible.
"Lead, you have a squint coming up from below."
"Thanks, Five." Wedge rolled to port, then dove into a
looping roll that took him out and around the Interceptor's
attack vector. He let his dive carry him down into the upper
reaches of the city. Using control telemetry from a skyhook
to keep track of the squint, he cut around one of the star-
raking spires and came up at it on a nearly vertical run.
    It started to roll to elude him, but a little left rudder kept
his lasers tracking. Half the quad burst missed, shooting past
the cockpit windscreen, but the other two bolts hid dead on.
They cored through the Interceptor's starboard solar panel
and pierced the cockpit. The squint continued its lazy roll,
then tightened it into a spin that sped the ship in an ugly,
squared-off tower.
    Out to the south the Lusankya's aft came free of the
planet. The superstructure of the Super Star Destroyer and its
general outline fit with what he remembered of Vader's Exec-
utor at Hoth and Endor, but the Lusankya hull appeared to
be resting on a massive platform made up of hexagonal cells.
It fit the bottom of the starship perfectly, with openings in
the hexagonal field so weapons could fire down at targets
below and TIE fighters could launch from the ship's belly.
    Wedge frowned. What is that? It reminds me of a Hutt's
repulsor-lift couch, but the Lusankya is a warship, not a
lounging crime boss. Suddenly he realized his analogy wasn't
that far off. The Lusankya is built for space travel, not fight-
ing its way free of a planet. That must be a lift-cradle de-
signed to get it up and out of the hole in which it was
entombed.
    W:,th the prow stabbing up into the sky, the Lusankya's
thrusters ignited. Searing blue plasma vaporized huge chunks
of cityscape beneath the ship's aft end. The destroyer began
to move forward and upward out of the column of smoke
that marked its birth. A ship that boasts a crew of over a




quarter of a million individuals must have killed ten times
that many lifting off.
    The massive ship turned its attention on a skyhook float-
ing off its starboard bow. Altering course slightly, the ship
gave more of its turbolasers and ion cannons a chance to
bear. A Super Star Destroyer possessed enough weaponry to
reduce a city to rubble from an orbital assault. At point-
blank range, the weaponless skyhook offered the gunners a
deliciously easy target.
    The turbolaser batteries in the bow started firing at the
skyhook as they came into range, then the broadside assault
shifted to other weapons as the ship slid past. The verdant
laser-bolts came so fast and so close that whole sheets of
energy seenled to pulse from the Lusankya to the skyhook.
In seconds what had once been an elegant disk with an
lthorian jungle paradise at its heart became a melted demi-
lune with a forest fire crashing into the mountain district's
towers.
    As the Lusankya picked up speed, the gunners shifted
their aimpoints and began firing at the upper atmosphere.
Their shots hit and splashed color into the lower of the two
shield spheres encasing the planet. Created to stop starship
assaults from without, they proved just as powerful against
an attack from within. Even so, after twenty seconds of the
Lusankya's withering barrage, a hole opened in the lower
shield.
    The TIEs fighting Rogue Squadron turned and launched
themselves on an intercept course for the Super Star De-
stroyer. Because they were not capable of entering hyper-
space themselves, if they did not rendezvous with the
Lusankya, they would be stuck on Coruscant. Those who
weren't shot down would be taken prisoner. And if my ship
bad done that much damage heading out, I'd not be expect-
ing very gentle treatment at the hands of my enemies, either.
"Mynock, give me the range to the Lusankya."
    The droid centered an image of the Lusankya on
Wedge's monitor, and the rangefinder showed it to be 25
kilometers distant. And it still looks that big. A shiver ran
down his spine.

    "Rogues, form up on me. We have three minutes at
speed before we're right on top of the SSD. Let's harvest
those remaining TIEs before she gets a chance to recover
them." Wedge waited a few seconds for the cries and shouts
of assent to die down. "Remember, that thing is bristling
with turbolasers, ion cannons, concussion missile launchers,
and tractor beams. When I call, you break off your attacks.
Got it?"
    Wedge fed shield power into his engines, boosting his
speed. He saw Asyr pull up on his starboard stabilizer foil.
"No heroics, Flight Officer Sei'lar, I want to return that data-
card to you."
   "As ordered, Commander."
    Wedge glanced at his monitor and then the TIE they
were closing on fast. "I have your back. He's yours."
    "Thank you, Commander." Asyr's X-wing pulled
ahead, then sideslipped down and to port. She stayed below
and behind the TIE fighter until she'd closed the range to
within 250 meters, then she nosed her ship up into the eye-
bali's exhaust. The X-wing's lasers fired two dual offset
bursts. The first grazed the inside of the port solar panel,
burning two long streaks along it. The second pair of bolts
stabbed in through the exhaust ports. The whole eyeball
shuddered, then silvery fire jetted out through the forward
cockpit canopy, killing the ship's momentum.
    The dead TIE dropped from sight with the grace of a
Hurt in freefall.
  "Nice shooting, Deuce."
  "Thanks, Lead."
    Wedge glanced at the chronographic readout on his
monitor. "Two-point-five minutes to range. Mynock, give
me a warning at thirty seconds."
    The Lusankya continued to pour fire into the planetary
shields while what little ground fire that came up at it
splashed harmlessly on its shields. The midship and stern
guns fought to keep the hole in the lower shield open while
the bow guns blasted away at the upper shield. The ship's
assault sent waves of RodJan green energy skittering along




the underside of the shields. The shields held at first, then
began to erode, and finally collapsed.
    Cutting his stick to the right, Wedge followed Asyr
through a banking turn that put her on a pair of TIEs. "I
have the leader, Commander."
    "I copy. I'll pick up the tail, Deuce." He widened the
separation between them, then cut back hard to port as the
TIEs broke and Asyr came around in a looping turn that
slipped her in behind the lead TIE. She fired and melted off a
third of the TIE's starboard solar panel.   "Break left, Deuce!"
    Asyr rolled to port as the second TIE fired. Its first shots
splashed harmlessly on the X-wing's aft shields, but the sub-
sequent ones went wide. The eyeball rolled to follow Asyr,
but as he leveled out he drifted straight into Wedge's sights.
One burst of scarlet laserfire and the eyeball disintegrated
into one long, flaming streak in the sky.
    Mynock gave Wedge the 30-second warning tone.
"Break off, Rogues. The rest are just running." It looked like
a half-dozen of the TIEs had survived the battle. As a screen-
ing force they'd done their jobs and kept local fighters off the
Lusankya while it emerged. While it was trapped beneath the
city 1 bet it couldn't power its shields up. Without them, a
concentrated volley of proton torpedoes might have been
able to breech the hull, disable that lift shell, or destroy the
bridge.
    Wedge glanced at his sensor display. "Four, this is
Rogue Leader. Break off pursuit."
   "Just a couple seconds more."
   "Four, break off, now!"
   "I've almost got him, Lead."
"You're too close, Four. Break off immediately!"
Erisi's X-wing fired a quad burst that caught an Inter-
ceptor on the starboard solar panel and right side of the
cockpit. Something at the rear of the craft exploded, then
seconds later the whole Interceptor came apart. A huge
golden-red ball blossomed in front of Erisi's X-wing, then
imploded into black smoke as she flew through it.
   "Report, Four."

   "I got him, Lead."
   "And got crisped. Get back here."
    Fear injected itself into her voice. "Rudder's gone, stick's
sluggish."
    "Erisi, you're too close to the Lusankya. Get out of
there." Wedge brought his X-wing around to the left in a
long, orbiting loop. "Mynock, pull status data from her R5
unit, now." He keyed his comm unit. "Erisi, roll and dive.
Gravity is your friend."
    "As ordered. No, wait." A wail as frightening as any
Mynock had ever made shot through the corem unit. "They
have a tractor beam on me. I'm at full thrust, but I can't
break loose. Help me, help me!"
    Pulling back on the stick, Wedge came up and pointed
the nose of his fighter at the Lusankya. The big ship h~ang
like a silver of ice stabbed deep into the morning sky. He
thought he could see Erisi's X-wing as a little speck against
the Super Star Destroyer's bulk, but a sheet of turbolaser fire
heading back toward him eclipsed her.
    Hugging the stick to his chest, Wedge brought the
X-wing over the top and pointed it back toward the planet.
"On me, Rogues. We're going home."
  "But, Lead, we can't just leave her--"
      "Euough, Gavin. That's a Super Star Destroyer. It's im-
possible to stop if it doesn't want to be stopped."  "But impossible is--"
    "1 know, Rogues, I know." Wedge glanced at his moni-
tor and let the cold shiver running up his spine bleed into his
voice. "Impossible is what Rogue Squadron does, but right
now that would cost us too much for too little gain. Just
because we can do the impossible doesn't mean we always
win."




44

Corran Horn mustered a smile in response to Admiral
Ackbar's blinking expression of disbelief. "If someone is in-
clined to call me as a witness, I think ! can shed some light on
the murder charges against Captain Celchu."
    The Mon Calamari's mouth opened and closed a couple
of times, then he nodded toward the prosecution table. "Per-
haps, Commander Ettyk, the prosecution would like to re-
open its case?"
    The dark-haired prosecutor nodded. "Thank you, sir.
We call Corran Horn."
    Corran limped his way up toward the front of the court.
He placed his blaster carbine on the prosecution table, then
turned and approached the defense table. He squatted down
beside Whistler and wiped a speck of dust from his optical
lens. "Thanks for guiding me in here, Whistler. Without you,
I've been lost."
    The droid hooted softly, then opened the storage com-
partment in his dome. Corran reached in and pulled out his
own unblemished Jedi medallion and the gold chain from
which it hung. Corran fastened it around his neck, then
fished the ruined medallion from his pocket and put it into

the storage compartment. "Not quite a fair trade, my friend,
but I'll make it up to you."
    Coming up from his crouch, Corran looked over at
Tycho. He nodded and lowered his voice into a whisper. "I
owe you an apology, a huge apology, and a debt I can never
repay. All this is my fault, and I'm sorry I caused you to go
through it."
    "You're wrong, Corran." Tycho shook his head. "You
were manipulated by the Empire. So was I, so was everyone
here. I'll accept your apology, but I won't acknowledge your
debt."
   'Tll still pay it, or at least make a down payment on it."
    Tycho smiled. "Getting the murder charge removed
from the indictment is a good start."
    "I can do much better. Watch me." Corran nodded, then
dropped a hand on Emtrey's left shoulder. He bent in close
to the droid's aural sensors and kept his voice low. "Emtrey,
say nothing. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."
    The droid's head swiveled around to look at him. "Sir, I
understood the first request. Quadruple redundancy in or-
ders is hardly required in my case."
    Fixed you, have they, Emtrey? That's it, then, the last
piece falls into place. Corran straightened up and shot Gen-
eral Cracken a quick nod. Turning back toward the front of
the courtroom, Corran bowed his head to the Tribunal. "My
apologies to the court, but there were things that needed
saying."
  Ackbar nodded. "Understood."
    General Salm frowned. "Lieutenant Horn, I have to ask,
how did you get here?"
    "I started, at least this morning, from the Museum next
door. Big metal doors sealed the aerial tunnel between the
buildings, but, well," he said, brandishing the lightsaber,
"you'd be amazed how effective these things are in opening
doors. Your security personnel were stationed at the more
accessible entry points, so I made it here without any other
trouble."
  Salm frowned. "i appreciate the critique of our security,




but I meant the question in a more general sense. You, ah,
are dead."
    Corran limped his way into the witness box. "I think
you'll want me sworn before I answer that question. It won't
make the answer any more believable, but it'!! give you some
peace of mind."
    A bailiff swore Corran in and Halla Ettyk approached
him cautiously, as if he were radioactive. "I hardly know
where to begin. Perhaps you can tell the court what has tran-
spired since you were reported dead."
    "Sure." Corran took a deep breath, then started. "I'm
certain General Cracken will debrief me, and some of what I
have to say probably shouldn't be said in open court, but I'll
try to keep it cogent and coherent."
    Ackbar nodded down at him. "Your discretion is appre-
ciated."
    "Yes, sir." Corran smiled at the prosecutor. "To answer
your question, Commander, I was captured by Imperial In-
telligence and taken to Lusankya. Ysanne Isard wanted to do
to me what she tried to do to Captain Celchu. make me into
an agent who would do her bidding when and where she
wanted."
    Halla frowned. "You said she wanted to do to you 'what
she tried to do to Captain Celchu.' Don't you mean she
wanted to do to you what she did to Captain Celchu?"
    Corran blushed. "I thought, for the longest time, that
she had programmed Captain Celchu and that his lack of
memory about Lusankya was a blind to keep his Imperial
ties hidden. The fact is, however, that his amnesia about
Lusankya is not uncommon among those who wash out of
Isard's indoctrination program. Other prisoners at Lusankya
remembered Captain Celchu as being a sleeperstheir term
for someone who is rendered catatonic by the indoctrination
process. I didn't become a sleeper. Later I had a chance to
access computer files about prisoners at Lusankya. I re-
viewed my own file and then I called up Captain Celchu's
file. I wanted it as proof that he was one of Isard's creatures,
but he had the same susceptibility rating I did, which is to say

that he had no susceptibility to her techniques at all. As far as
she was concerned, we were as dense as duracrete."
    "But his file could have been altered and left there for
you to discover it."
    "Possible, but not likely for two reasons." Corran held
up two fingers. "First, the datapad I used to access the files
was in a secure area that provided me with access to a work-
ing blaster and the means to go from Lusankya to here.
Given the precautions Isard took to hide the location of
Lusankya when I went in, I doubt any prisoner was meant to
have access to that area. Second, at the time I accessed the
files, Isard had no way of knowing I was in a position to
access them. She believed another prisoner had escaped, not
me, so any ruse would have been designed to ensnare him,
not me."
    Halla hesitated, concentration sinking her brown eyes
into shadow. "That notwithstanding, we have to take into
consideration the possibility that you might have been turned
and are here so that both you and Captain Celchu could be
put into positions of trust in the future."
    "True, but the fact is that once the shadow of suspicion
was lifted from Tycho, I was able to eliminate him as possi-
bly being the traitor in the unit. If he is taken out of the
hologram, there is only one other logical candidate for that
position."
    Before Corran could reveal the traitor's identity, a sol-
dier burst through the courtroom doors and ran over to Gen-
eral Cracken. Fie said something quickly and urgently to the
Alliance Intelligence chief. Cracken shot to his feet and
pointed at Corran. "Lieutenant Horn, I order you to say
nothing more at this time. Admiral Ackbar, we need to use
the adjoining jury room, now!"
    Corran hesitated, then frowned. "I wasn't going to re-
veal any of your secrets, General."
    "Horn, shut up. That's an order." Cracken walked
across the courtroom to the door in the southeast corner. He
opened it and swore. "This can't be happening."
    Corran vaulted from the witness box and followed on
Cracken's heels into the large, rectangular room. Transpari-




steel made up the room's entire southern wall, with a small
doorway cut in the middle of it to allow access to a balcony.
Cracken worked a set of controls on the wall, fading the
sequestration opaquing of the transparisteel to nothingness.
Corran looked out to the south and felt his heart sink into his
bowels.
    A colossal white wedge knifed its way into the sky. A
fearsome broadside silhouetted a skyhook against a green
background, then sent a smoking crescent crashing planet-
ward. The ship--Corran knew it had to be a Super Star
Destroyer because of the size--continued its upward flight
and turned its weapons on the lower defense shield.
    Corran found himself drifting through the doorway and
onto the balcony with Admiral Ackbar and the others from
the court. Above the city TIE fighters and X-wings tangled
together in a complicated dance punctuated with fireballs
and underscored with laser light. Corran couldn't get an ac-
curate count on the X-wings, but he didn't see any of them
go down. That's gotta be Rogue Squadron up there.
    The Super Star Destroyer moved up through the first
defense shield. The TIEs started to run back to the ship that
had launched them and the X-wings flew on in close pursuit.
Corran smiled as more TIEs exploded or augured into the
planet, but that appeared as a minor bright spot in compari-
son to the damage the Imperial ship had done to the defense
shields.
Corran frowned. "Where did that ship come from?"
Whistler popped a sensor dish from his dome and let it
spin around a couple of times before keening cautiously. Em-
trey's head jerked up and down, from the ship to Whistler
and back again. "Sir, he says that ship's transponders report
it to be the Lusankya!"
    Corran's jaw dropped open. The bulkhead doors closing
off access to the gravel mine wasn't salvaged from a ship, it
was part of a ship. The turbolifts, too, were part of the ship.
Our whole complex must have been one tiny part of the ship
with bulkheads trimmed out with stone. The mines were out-
side it, but we lived all snugged up in the belly of an Imperial
Super Star Destroyer.

    Cracken held a comlink up by his ear. "The ship appears
to have been buried beneath a portion of the cityscape south-
west of the Manarai Mountains. It came up firing. Freeing
itself it devastated over a hundred square kilometers. Mil-
lions are missing, presumed dead."
    Corran pointed at the platform made of hexagons hug-
ging the ship's hull. "What's that below it, some new type of
armor?"
    Whistler hooted sharply and Emtrey translated. "Whis-
tler says it appears to be a massive collection of repulsorlift
cells grafted together to float the ship free of Coruscant."
    "Ah," said Cracken, "so that's what they did with the
lift-coils. Well before Endor, we uncovered an Imperial oper-
ation to collect an incredible number of repulsorlift compo-
nents. We feared they might be planning to produce some
new planetary assault vehicles with them, but could never
trace the shipments. Now we know where they went."
   He looked over at Ackbar. "Can you stop it?"
    "Most of the fleet is staging at . . . elsewhere in prepa-
ration for the operation against Zsinj--to hunt down his
Super Star Destroyer. The rest of the fleet is on an assignment
for you. Can you get them here?"
  Cracken shook his head. "From Borleias? Not in time."
    "The Golan stations don't have enough power to bring
Lusankya down, but they can hurt it."
  Emtrey's eyes dimmed. "We're defenseless."
    General Crix Madine shook his head. "The Lusankya
started inside our defense shields--the point assault forces
usually see as a goal. The fact that the ship is headed out
means escape, not conquest, is its goal."
    A Quarren aide slipped through the crowd to Admiral
Ackbar's side and handed him a comlink. The Mon Calamari
flicked it on. "Ackbar here."
    "Antilles here, Admiral. We've broken off our pursuit of
the TIEs and are returning to base to refuel and get ready to
go out again."
    Hearing Wedge's voice again sent a thrill through Cor-
ran. He smiled and saw Tycho mirror his expression. "Are
you thinking what I'm thinking?"




    Tycho nodded. "If I had Rogue Squadron on my tail, I'd
be running, too, even in a Super Star Destroyer."
    Ackbar gave them a wall-eyed stare. "I concur with your
plan, Commander, but you needn't have informed me of it at
this time."
    "No sir, I know that." A cold edge crept into Wedge's
voice. "The reason I called is to tell you to let Tycho go. He
wasn't the traitor. I know who is and I can prove it."
   "What?" Ackbar's mouth hung open. "Who?"
   Corran smiled. "Erisi Dlarit."
   "I was asking Commander Antilles."
    "Who was that?" Wedge asked remotely. "How did he
know?"
    Cracken made a quick adjustment to his own comlink.
"Commander, this is General Cracken. Use no more names
on this opchan--it might not be secure."
    Ackbar shook his head. "How do you know who the
traitor is?"
Corran pointed at himself. "Are you asking me?"
"No. Commander Antilles, please answer me."
"Simple. Because of Horn's death I had a subroutine
added to the unit's astromech droids allowing me to pull
diagnostic data from them. She reported damage over the
comm unit that her R5 didn't report. She claimed the
Lusankya had a tractor beam on her and pulled her aboard
against her will. Work back from there and it's obvious."
    Corran nodded. "Right. She was in a position to fore-
warn the Imps about Bror Jace's return to Thyferra--and
there was no love lost between them. I told her that when
we'd taken Coruscant I was going to search out the traitor in
our midst. She'd helped me check out my Headhunter so she
knew the codes, the same as Captain Celchu. She cornlinked
the data to Isard and I was taken."
    General Salm shook his head. "Why would she do that?
Why work against us?"
    Wedge provided an explanation. "The bacta cartels were
formed under the Empire. She and her people might have
figured their monopoly would end if the New Republic suc-
ceeded in destroying the Empire."

    Tycho pointed toward the sky. "It's through the second
shield and outbound."
    Barely visible above them, the Lusankya exchanged fire
with a Golan Space Defense Station. Gouts of green energy
passed back and forth between them. The station's fire buck-
led the Lusankya's shield, collapsing the energy sphere that
had kept the big ship safe. Explosions played along the huge
ship's hull, but in their light Corran saw the Lusankya begin
to pull away from the station.
    The Golan Station continued to blaze away at the Super
Star Destroyer, causing more explosions, but they seemed to
form a wall between the station and the ship itself. It took
Corran a moment to realize what was happening.
    "They jettisoned the lift-cradle, sacrificing it so they
could escape."
    Cracken nodded. "Nothing to lose by doing that--the
Lusankya isn't going to be trapped on a planet again."
    "But it will be trapped again." Corran nodded solemnly,
recalling his promise to Jan to return and free him and the
others. He glanced at Whistler. "Can you determine the
damage to the Lusankya?"
Whistler blatted negatively and retracted his sensor dish.
Corran squinted but couldn't see the Super Star De-
stroyer anymore. "Gone to lightspeed. I wouldn't like to be
where that ship ends its journey."
    "Being where it started from was bad enough." Cracken
shivered. "Isard was here all along, and now she's gone."
    Haila Ettyk folded her arms across her chest. "I take it I
should assume the evidence against Captain Celchu was
largely manufactured by her?"
    "I'd say that's a safe bet." Corran nodded assuredly. "If
Captain Celchu had been convicted and executed, she would
have revealed the truth and made the New Republic look as
bad as the Empire ever did. It probably wasn't the most
brilliant of her plans, but it didn't take much effort, either."
    He turned and looked at Airen Cracken. "After all, the
General here knew Tycho wasn't the spy all along."
  Ha!la blinked. "Excuse me, what?"




Cracken slowly smiled. "Not bad for a man who's been
in prison for the past month and a half."
    General Salm glowered at the Intelligence chief. "You
mean you knew Tycho Celchu was not an Imperial agent and
you let me put him through all sorts of difficulties?"
    Cracken shook his head. "Horn's right, I knew he
wasn't the spy in Rogue Squadron, but 1 did not know
whether or not Celchu was an Imperial agent."
    "General Cracken took precautions to guard against
Tycho being a Lusankya-style agent." Corran patted Emtrey
on the shoulder. "General Cracken had Emtrey assigned to
Rogue Squadron to monitor Captain Celchu. Emtrey had
some special circuitry and programming installed in him that
transformed him into an invaluable tool for a spy. If Captain
Celchu had used him in that manner, General Cracken
would have known what was going on. For General Cracken
to have done anything less would have been grossly irrespon-
sible on his part.
    "Because of Emtrey, General Cracken knew Captain
Celchu had not been meeting with Kirtan Loor the night I
saw him at the Headquarters. I suspect Captain Celchu's
prosecution was allowed to go forward to lull the real spy
into a false sense of security."
    "And to distract Isard." Cracken smiled briefly. "She
has always enjoyed these little games."
    Halla stared at General Cracken. "But you made Cap-
tain Celchu into a pariah. People were likening him to Prince
Xizor and Darth Vader. What you did was unforgivable."
    "No, it was precisely what had to be done." Cracken
looked over at Tycho. "I needed to use you to find out who
the spy in Rogue Squadron really was, true, but there was a
side benefit to you in all this. The fact that lsard would set
you up to be convicted and executed means that you were of
no greater use to her. If you were one of her Lusankya
agents, she would have framed someone else so you'd have
been absolved of guilt and trusted with greater responsibili-
ties. She would have fine-tuned you, not discarded you."
  He turned back toward Halla Ettyk. "As for the nega-

tive image of Captain Celchu that has been created, I can
undo what has been done."
    "Never." Salm shook his head adamantly. "Impossi-
ble."
    "Though I am not a member of Rogue Squadron, I think
it is quite possible." Cracken opened his hands. "We have a
public ceremony rewarding the efforts of Rogue Squadron
for their operations on behalf of the Republic. We let it be
known that Captain Celchu was aware of the deception con-
cerning his trial .... "
    Tycho smiled. "Things did seem arrayed rather well
against me."
    "... And his rehabilitation will be complete." Cracken
clasped his hands at the small of his back. "That is pretty
much what I had intended all along the way. Lieutenant
Horn's appearance here merely makes Captain Celchu's in-
nocence that much more obvious."
    Halla looked over at Admiral Ackbar. "Sir, on behalf of
the New Republic Armed Forces, I withdraw all charges
against Captain Tycho Celchu."
    The Mon Calamari opened his mouth in a smile. "It is
with great pleasure, Captain Celchu, that I say this case is
dismissed. You are truly free to go."




45

Wedge Antilles kept his face impassive as Mon Mothma
stepped up to the podium at the front of the dais on which
they stood. The ten days since the Lusankya's escape from
Coruscant had been grueling. Abandoned Palpatine Counter-
insurgency Front cells had begun to strike out anywhere and
everywhere. Rogue Squadron, reinforced by Corran and
Tycho, had flown numerous pursuit and cover missions,
which seriously curtailed the PCF's activity.
    Cracken's efforts to slice Loor's datacard had proven
fruitless until its existence had been mentioned during one of
Corran's debriefings. Corran noted that when Loor was
working as the Imperial Intelligence Liaison with the Corel-
lian Security Force, he'd had a trick for creating his encryp-
tion keys: he had memorized one day's listings of the
Imperial Stock Exchange and used stock listings and prices as
his keys. Corran had Whistler give Cracken the date of the
listing Loor had used and they quickly discovered he'd keyed
the encryption with Xucphra's listing on that day. The infor-
mation on the decrypted datacard included a list of PCF
safehouses and warehouse facilities, which Rogue Squadron
and Cracken's people quickly destroyed.
  Diric Wessiri's funeral had been tougher on Wedge than

any of the flight missions. He found himself going over ev-
erything Diric had ever said to him, searching for any clue
that would have revealed Diric's compelled service to the
Empire. Wedge couldn't get Diric's kind words after his testi-
mony at the trial out of his head. That much compassion
should have earned him a different end.
    leila barely managed to hold herself together, and
Wedge thought only Corran's reappearance allowed her to
avoid a total emotional collapse. She'd mourned her husband
once, then she got him back and had to kill him. Corran,
having known her and Diric both, was able to recall for her
the Diric of old. The pleasant memories seemed to soften the
horror of what had happened, but only just a little and only
occasionally.
    Bright lights flashed on as a dozen holocams began re-
cording the New Republic's Chief Councilor. "Citizens of
the New Republic, it is a great honor and privilege for me to
be speaking to you from Coruscant--a Coruscant that is
now safe and finally free of the Empire's direct and evil influ-
ence. I am here, now, in the facility that is home to Rogue
Squadron. You all have heard of this legendary unit--its pi-
lots have ever been in the thick of the war with the Empire.
Rogue Squadron won for us the opportunity to rescue Co-
ruscant from the Empire, and since then they have been the
bulwark that has preserved us from Imperial predation.
    "In recognition of their efforts to defend the New Re-
public, the Provisional Council has created and is awarding
to the unit and its members a medal intended to be the high-
est award our government can bestow upon military person-
nel. It is the Coruscant Star of Valor. The citation itself reads,
'For service and bravery beyond the bounds of what can be
asked of a citizen by a government, and a willful commit-
ment to put the good of the many above their own personal
welfare, the Provisional Council unanimously and joyfully
awards to Rogue Squadron and its members, the Coruscant
Star of Valor.'"
    As Mon Mothma turned and looked back at him,
Wedge came forward and accepted a transparisteel plate into
which the citation had been etched. A hologram of the medal




itself had been embedded in the transparisteel above the
words, and a ghostly hologram of the unit's members had
been placed behind them.
    Mon Mothma shook Wedge's hand. "Congratulations,
Commander. You and your people deserve this even more
than I probably know." She then stepped back and waved
him toward the podium.
    Wedge hesitated, then stepped up to the microphones.
He had been warned he'd be asked to say something, and a
number of people had made suggestions, but it was Admiral
Ackbar's advice he decided to heed. Be brief, be said, and
remember all those who need to be remembered.
    "This citation is not just for those of us who stand here
behind me, but really for all those who fought in Rogue
Squadron. None of them would have balked at making the
sacrifices we have. All of us--everyone in Rogue Squadron
and in the Alliance itself--have risked all we are to defeat a
government that took joy in the sorrow and terror of its
citizens. Winning this award, taking possession of Corus-
cant, these things are not ends in and of themselves, but
blazes marking the trail we must all tread if the galaxy is ever
to be truly free."
    Gentle applause from the dignitaries and guests gathered
beyond the dais accompanied Wedge's retreat back into line
with the other pilots. As Mon Mothma walked past him, she
let her left hand brush against his arm. He glanced at her and
she gave him a smile. I guess I didn't do that badly.
    She resumed her place at the podium and began speak-
ing again. "Of the events that have transpired over the last
year, there are many rumors and far fewer facts. Those ru-
mors could all be dispelled by having an exact chronology of
events created, and perhaps, in another generation or two,
such a chronology could be made public. While we were a
covert force fighting against the Empire, there was no ques-
tioning the need for stealth and secrecy. It was what kept us
alive and allowed us to fight on against the Empire. Because
of this secrecy we have defeated them in battle after battle."
    Mon Mothma nodded in the direction of the holocam to
her right. "With the New Republic in possession of Corus-

cant, it might seem that the time for such secrecy is past, but
it is not. The Empire is not yet dead, and the dozens of petty
warlords tearing at it have already and will continue to study
us for signs of weakness. Their drive to restore the Empire,
with themselves in Palpatine's place, means we cannot reveal
all of our secrets.
    "We can, however, reveal some of them. Doing so is not
only a vital necessity, for secrecy can breed arrogance and we
have all seen where that can lead, but a pleasure. It provides
me a chance to right a great wrong and prevent possible
future tragedies."
    She turned and pointed toward Tycho. "This is Captain
Tycho Celchu, as loyal a son of Alderaan and the New Re-
public as ever lived. He willingly chose to subject himself to a
surrendering of his basic freedoms in order to bring the Em-
pire down. Because of suspicions about what the Empire
might have done to him, it was felt he could not be trusted,
yet this man refused to let those suspicions prevent him from
doing all he could to destroy the Empire. On numerous occa-
sions he put his own life in jeopardy, flying unarmed into
combat zones to rescue pilots who otherwise would have
died.
    "Most recently you have all seen him on trial for treason
and murder of other members of Rogue Squadron. This trial,
as public and as ugly as it was, played a crucial part in an
Intelligence operation to uncover Imperial agents within the
New Republic. Despite being held up as an object of revul-
sion to the New Republic, Captain Celchu did not shirk his
duty. He allowed himself to become such a target because it
would mean that Imperial agents felt free to operate more
openly while Captain Celchu was the subject of such fierce
scrutiny. Imperial agents, in helping to manufacture evidence
against Captain Celchu, revealed themselves to us."
    Mon Mothma opened her arms. "Let there be no citizen
of the New Republic who harbors suspicions about Tycho
Celchu. His devotion to the New Republic is unquestioned.
His return to active service with Rogue Squadron is a joyous
event for us, and an event that should be feared by those who
would attack the New Republic." She initiated applause for




Tycho and everyone else joined ill, including Wedge once he
tucked the unit citation beneath his left arm.
    Tycho bowed his head toward Mon Mothma, but de-
clined an invitation to speak with a curt shake of his head.
    Mon Mothma nodded back at him, then resumed her
place at the podlure. "it is said of Rogue Squadron that do-
ing the impossible is what they do best, and another member
of the squadron has shown himself to be perhaps the best of
the best at it. Is there allyone in the New Republic who has
not heard of Corran Horn? He was the pilot who flew
through the worst storm in Coruscant's recorded history to
bring the defense shields down, only to be slain through the
treachery of one of his comrades. It was a story that touched
all of us because it spoke to the best in one individual and the
worst in another. We mourned Corran Horn because his un-
timely death seemed yet one more tragedy caused by the
Empire at a time when the Empire should have been decid-
edly less virulent.
    "We know of Captain Celchu's innocence because of a
number of things, greatest among them Corran Horn's re-
turn from the grave. He was not killed on the last day the
Empire held Coruscant. He was captured instead. When
Ysanne Isard could not break him and transform him into a
puppet, he was placed in a prison where she intended him to
live out the rest of his life. Though he had been told that a
failed escape attempt would result in his death, Corran Horn
risked his life to win his freedom. He alone has gotten away
from Lusankya, and his escape precipitated Ysanne Isard's
own departure from Coruscant."
    Mon Mothma beckoned Corran forward, but he fol-
lowed Tycho's lead, acknowledging her gesture with a slight
bow and a smile. That smile remained on his face as he
straightened up, though he did give Wedge a covert wink.
Wedge nodded in return, pleased that both men were content
with allowing the focus of the ceremony t~ remain on the
squadron instead of shifting it to themselves.
    "Citizens, Ysanne lsard's flight from Coruscant and her
subsequent actions have given birth to more rumors than can
be counted. It is true that with the resources available to her

she did travel to Thyferra and support a revolution that put
the Xucphra faction in charge of the bacta cartel. She does
now rule there and has effective control over the output of
the entire bacta cartel. Given that she introduced the Kt3~tos
virus to Coruscant and directed covert Imperial operations to
destroy bacta storage facilities here on Coruscant, this would
seem to place her in a most powerful position. Literally, it
would appear that millions will live or die depending upon
her whim."
    Mon Mothma's voice took on a more serious tone. "Her
action would have caused a crisis except for two things over
which she had no control. One was a direct and unwitting
result of her own haste in taking action against us. When she
ordered the creation of the Krytos virus, she wanted a virus
that would routate quickly and spread between species easily~
Her scientists complied with her orders, but they failed to
take into account what would happen if the spread of the
virus was hampered. The Krytos virus was ve~'y deadly--in
fact, too deadly for her plan to succeed. Infected persons died
fast--in many cases too fast to be able to spread the disease
very far. An illness that kills too quickly runs itself out of
hosts and dies along with them. Those individuals who lasted
long enough to spread the virus did so only because, as the
virus mutated, it became less virulent. Since it did not kill
them so quickly, they had a chance to pass it on, but it was
no longer as deadly a virus as Iceheart wanted it to be.
    "This high rate of mutation also weakened the virus's
defenses. Analysis of the virus allowed a Vratix verachen to
be able to synthesize a specific medication to combat the
virus by growing the alazhi component of bacta in a ryll-rich
environment. The resulting product, known as rylca, is now
being produced in a hidden location by the New Republic.
More than enough to eradicate the virus will be available
here well before our bacta supply runs out."
    Mon Mothma glanced momentarily back toward Wedge
and he saw the glimmerings of a smile on her face. "Rogue
Squadron itself did not produce the ryica, but they provided
support. for the product and were instrumental in obtaining
both the ryll and the bacta used to create the rylca. Qlaern




Hirf is a Vratix verachen from Thyferra and is the creator of
rylca. Equally instrumental in the success of this effort is the
woman who transported the components for the rylca and
rescued the Vratix from the most dire of circumstances,
Mirax Terrik. You may have heard that Mirax was killed in
the ambush at Alderman, but it appears her long association
with Rogue Squadron allowed her to do the impossible as
well and return from that tragedy to help us deal with the
Krytos virus."
    The New Republic's Chief Councilor led the assembly in
a round of applause for both Qlaern and Mirax. The Vratix
seemed utterly nonplussed by the demonstration, but Mirax
blushed fiercely. She gave Wedge a fearsome stare that he
recognized by virtue of having seen it many times before, and
he knew what it meant.
    She's right, it is all my fault that she's being embarrassed
by the attention, but I'm glad she's alive to be blushing. As
nearly as Cracken and his Intelligence people could make
out, Erisi had betrayed the bacta convoy to the Empire for
two reasons. The first was to eliminate a lot of bacta, dashing
hopes on Coruscant and driving the price yet higher. The
second reason was to get Mirax killed, since her Pulsar Skate
was one of the ships in the convoy. Mirax recalled Erisi
threatening her if Mirax continued her relationship with
Corran, and the destruction of the convoy offered Erisi a
way to kill her rival for Corran's affections. Given that ev-
eryone thought Corran was dead at the time, the act was
taken as a reflection of Erisi's vindictive and petty nature.
    Then again, Isard might have told Erisi of Corran's sur-
vival and promised him to her as a reward for her continued
loyalty. Wedge shivered at that thought. Luckily for Mirax,
the Pulsar Skate didn't go along with the final convoy jump.
Mirax had instead shipped but to Borleias, where the cap-
tured Alderaan Biotics Facility was put to use synthesizing
rylca. The plan had been for it to appear as if Mirax had just
stolen a portion of the bacta going to Coruscant--what
smuggler could have resisted taking such a prize? She would
have remained out of sight until the production of rylca
could allow the New Republic the freedom to anger the

bacta cartel by announcing their possession of a facility that
could produce enough bacta-like products to break the car-
tel The death of the convoy provided an even better cover
for her operation, so she remained dead until an opportune
moment to reveal the deception.
    Mon Mothma faced tbe holocams one last time. "Citi-
zens of the New Republic, the last vestige of the Empire's evil
has been rooted out of Coruscant. What was once an Empire
is now just a collection of bitter people clutching at whatever
power they can find to keep themselves apart from those they
have hurt. What they do not realize, and the reason they are
doomed to failure, is that all power in the galaxy comes from
the free and willful investing of power by one person in an-
other. Human and non-human, gendered or not, young, old,
hale or infirm, we can only give power, we cannot take it.
Stolen power evaporates and when it does, the empires that
were built on it and of it collapse, never to rise again."




46

Wedge found it mildly annoying that he was able to resist the
generally festive atmosphere of the reception following the
awards ceremony. Various guests mixed and mingled with
members of the squadron while holocams made the most of
every holo-op. The images would be distributed throughout
the New Republic, winning a small measure of the unit's
fame for the politicians and other celebrities present.
    Though he was inclined to view such opportunism with
a cynical eye, he didn't condemn it. The Rebellion had won.
Hundreds and hundreds of worlds flocked to the New Re-
public's banner. The New Republic fleet was poised to go
after Warlord Zsinj in a campaign that would strike fear into
the hearts of all the other petty warlords in the galaxy. Even
Ysanne Isard had to know her days were numbered, since
there was no way the New Republic could let her remain in
control of the bacta supply. With the installation of Fliry
Vorru as Thyferra's Minister of Trade, bacta prices had al-
ready started to climb, making that situation one that could
not be tolerated.
    The reason the celebration failed to reach him went be-
yond his sense of mourning for Iella Wessiri. She had de-
clined to accompany him to the reception, and he understood

why. No one saw Diric as anything but one more of
Iceheart's victims, but leila clearly thought she should have
been able to spot something, to have known Diric was under
Iceheart's control. The obvious implication of that thinking
was that if she had been more vigilant she never would have
had to shoot him and the guilt over that act would be one
with which she would wrestle for the rest of her life.
    Ultimately Wedge's reservations about the celebration
came from the past. He remembered well the celebration on
Yavin 4 that followed the first Death Star's destruction. Our
joy was this transparent, this unguarded. Then we evacuated
the base and began running from the Empire. 1 know it's
stupid to associate a victory and celebration with impending
disaster, but . . .
    Borsk Fey'lya cut through the milling crowd and nodded
his head toward Wedge. "I wanted to congratulate you,
Commander, on a game well played."  "I beg your pardon?"
    The Bothan tapped claws against the barrel of his lomin-
ale mug. "There was a report concerning Rogue Squadron's
intervention at Alderaan. I understand it has been classified
as 'Most Secret.'"
    "Indeed it has." Wedge suppressed his desire to smile.
"It struck me that the information about the situation at
Alderaan could have compromised our rylca operation. I
suggested that classifying the report that highly would be a
good thing."
    Borsk Fey'lya's creamy fur rippled up the back of his
head. "Good for you."
    "No, Councilor, good for you." Wedge let his voice
drop into a low growl. "You would have found the report
less than satisfactory for your ends, which would have
prompted you to try to destroy one of my people. I can
assure you that would have caused problems."
    "If you want to play at politics, Antilles, I would wel-
come you onto my battlefield."
    "I don't want to play at anything, thank you. I didn't
join the Rebellion to play." Wedge opened a hand and
pointed to the various members of the squadron. "My job is




to make certain my people do their jobs and stay alive. What
I do isn't about me or garnering power, it's about people: my
people and the people we defend by going after the Empire."
    "And doubtless you see politics as some dirty enterprise
beneath your notice."
    Wedge arched an eyebrow at him. "And you can con-
vince me otherwise?"
    "You're intelligent enough, Commander Antilles, to
convince yourself I'm right. You already know everytbing is
political. You know, for example, that what you have done
for the Rebellion has granted you power--power you might
well wish to use to advance your own plans and desires. You
have things that will require support to accomplish, and
building a coalition of support is political."
    Wedge's brown eyes narrowed. I bad boped to advance
the Vratix case for joining the New Republic, and I tbougbt
Isard's taking of Tbyferra would make that job just tbat
much easier. Is Borsk Fey'lya trying to suggest that some-
tbing so obviously rigbt and necessary migbt ~lounder be-
cause I'm not going to play bis game.e
    Anger began to build in Wedge, but before he could give
it vent, he felt the weight of a hand on his right shoulder. His
fury drained away as he turned from the Bothan and began
to smile. "As stars live and die! I didn't think you'd be here,
Luke."
    The tow-headed Jedi Knight enfolded Wedge's hand in a
firm grip, then he pulled Wedge forward into a backslapping
hug. "I wouldn't have missed it for all the Tibanna gas on
Bespin. I was a bit late because, quite frankly, the Jedi exhib-
its your man found in the Galactic Museum are, well, ab-
sorbing. I've been chasing all over trying to locate traces of
other Jedi, then it turns out a repository of a lot of stuff is on
the planet from which I've been basing my searches. While
very little of it deals with training, there is a lot of material
that lets me piece together some history."
    "Corran mentioned he'd found quite a haul. He said it
was rather macabre."
    Luke Skywalker nodded solemnly as he stepped back
from Wedge. "Once the Emperor isolated those rooms, they

became his own private playground. As the Jedi in there were
hunted down, the Emperor defaced their monuments.
There's enough evil there to be palpable, but I think things
can be set to fights again."
    Borsk Fey'lya came around on Wedge's left side. "The
Council is already discussing an appropriation to allow for
the rehabilitation of those exhibits." The Bothan extended
his hand to Luke. "Councilor Borsk Fey'lya, at your service."
    At bis own service. Wedge caught a mischievous glint in
Luke's eyes, as if the Jedi Knight knew what he was thinking.
    "It is an honor to meet you, Councilor. The efforts of
your people in eliminating the second Death Star and in lib-
erating Cornscant speak to the nobility in the Bothan spirit."
   "You are most kind, Jedi Skywalker."
    Wedge laughed. "That's just because you're not a womp
rat scurrying down some canyon, Councilor."
"No chance of his being mistaken for that, Wedge."
"Ahem, thank you." Fe~,'lya smoothed the fur at the
back of his head. "Jedi Skywalker, you have made strides in
reestablishing the Jedi?"
    "Some, though I hope for more." Luke shrugged almost
imperceptibly. "Progress is seldom measured in great leaps
except when viewed with hindsight."
  "It is much the same with nation-building."
    "So I can imagine." Luke nodded, then turned and ex-
tended his hand to the male half of the couple walking up.
"Tycho, good to see you again, and now out from under
suspicion."
    Tycho shook his hand. "Thank you, Luke. I believe you
know Winter?"
    The Jedi Knight nodded and offered Winter his hand.
"My sister's friend and confidant? We are well acquainted. It
seems I speak with her more than I do Leia, especially with
my sister off on her embassy to Hapes. How are you doing,
Winter?"
    "Much better, now that Tycho is free." Winter slipped
her hand from Luke's and again held Tycho's hand. "I under-
stand you are spending most of your time in the Museum."
  "True. There is a wealth of material there." Luke looked




over at Wedge. "I was hoping you'd introduce me to this
Corran Horn."
    "Gladly." Wedge looked around, caught Corran's eye,
and waved him over. Corran headed in their direction with
Mirax on his arm and Qlaern Hirf following them like a
shadow. "Luke Skywalker, it is an honor to present to you
Lieutenant Corran Horn, Mirax Terrik, and Qlaern Hirf.
This is Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and founder of Rogue
Squadron."
    Corran smiled and shook Luke's hand. "I'm very
pleased to meet you, sir. One of the first things Commander
Antilles ever said to me was that I was 'no Luke Skywalker.'
You set a very high standard for all of us to shoot for."
    "Not my intention, but I'm not averse to being used as a
motivational tool." Luke smiled, then shook Mirax's hand.
"What you and Qlaern Hirf have done to save lives here on
Coruscant is worthy of much praise and even more thanks."
    Mirax shrugged. "I'm strictly transport, sir, Qlaern did
the hard work."
    Luke shot a glance back at Wedge. "A Corellian smug-
gler without an attitude?"
   Wedge shrugged. "She's smarter than most."
Mirax laughed. "No profit in bragging, only working."
"Indeed." The Jedi held a hand up and brushed it along
the Vratix's arm as Qlaern touched his face. "Our thanks to
you for creating rylca."
"Verachen is what we are. Our joy is in our success."
"And your success will make many people very happy."
Luke withdrew his arm--forestalling introductions to the
rest of the squadron as they crowded around--and, for a
moment, his dark cloak closed around his body. When his
hands again emerged from beneath the garment, he extended
a slender silver cylinder toward Corran. "This belongs to
you, I believe."
    "No, sir. I returned it to the Museum, and the Jedi
Credit, too." Corran tapped his breastbone. "I borrowed
them when escaping from there and returned them when
everything calmed down."
  "I know that, Lieutenant Horn." Luke's hand remained

halfway between them with the lightsaber held loosely in his
grip. "What I mean is that this lightsaber belongs to you.
They're often passed down from one family member to an-
other."
    Cotran frowned. "I think you're making a mistake here.
That lightsaber belonged to a Jedi named Nejaa Halcyon. It
should go to his family."
    "So it shall." Luke advanced it toward him. "Nejaa Hal-
cyon was your grandfather."
    What? Luke's remark, spoken in a low, calm voice, sur-
prised Wedge as much as it seemed to surprise Corran. "Cor-
ran, you never said anything about your grandfather being a
Jedi Knight."
    "He wasn't. My grandfather was Rostek Horn. He
worked for the Corellian Security Force. He wasn't a Jedi.
He once partnered with one--liaised with him so CorSec
could work with the Jedi on things on Coreilia--but that was
it." Corran unfastened his tunic at the neck and pulled out
the medallion he wore. He unclasped the gold chain and
gathered the Jedi medallion in his right hand. "The Jedi on
this medallion may have been his friend, but he wasn't my
grandfather."
    Luke's voice remained even. "Your father was Hal
Horn?"
   ~'Yes."
   "And his given name was Valin Horn."
    "Yes, but everyone called him Hal." Corran blinked.
"You don't think that was a rhyme for part of his name, do
you? You think that was short for Halcyon, right?"
    "What I think, Corran, is that Nejaa Halcyon died in the
Clone Wars, and his friend, Rostek Horn, was there to sup-
port Nejaa's widow and son through the tragedy. Rostek
married your grandmother and adopted your father." Luke
frowned momentarily. "When the Emperor began to hunt
down the Jedi and kill them, Rostek Horn, given his position
in CorSec, managed to change records so that Nejaa's family
was hidden from Imperial scrutiny. You and I are alike in
that we come from families with a strong Jedi tradition, yet
neither of us were aware of our heritage until later."




    Luke reached out and took Corran's right hand in his
left. He pressed the lightsaber into it and closed Corran's
fingers around the shaft. "You may want to consider finding
this lightsaber a coincidence or luck, but there's no such
thing. I'll have you know that of the other two-dozen light-
sabers in those rooms, only three worked without recharg-
ing, and this one had lain in a case far longer than any of the
others."
"You mean my grandfather wasn't my grandfather?"
"Oh, he was very much your grandfather. He accepted
the responsibility for directing you and your father into the
sort of life that would honor Nejaa Halcyon and insulate you
from the dark side of the Force. It was a difficult and coura-
geous thing for him to do, and clearly he did it well." Luke
smiled. "In fact, he did it very well. So well, in fact, I have an
offer to make you. For thirty generations the Jedi Knights
safeguarded the galaxy, and the Emperor was only able to
succeed in our absence. I am dedicating my life to reestab-
lishing the Jedi Knights. I want you to join me. Come with
me. Train and learn with me. Become a Jedi Knight."
    Wedge felt something hollow open up inside his gut in
the wake of the hushed gasps of the rest of the squadron. He
instantly recognized the void--I'm jealous! That surprised
him for a moment, then he realized how the emotion had
been born. Luke had always been a special friend, but as he
had grown into his heritage as a Jedi Knight, distance had
formed between them. They still got along well and had a
great time in each other's company, but Wedge's inability to
understand what it was to be a Jedi also forced them apart.
Now someone who does not know him as well as I do,
someone he barely knows at all, is being offered the chance
to learn about a side of Luke I can never know.
    Corran lifted the lightsaber up in front of his face. "You
want me to become a Jedi Knight?"
    "Yes. Together we can make certain no more Emperors
can rise up to enslave a galaxy. Everything you were raised to
do within CorSec you will be able to do in the whole of the
New Republic. The Empire is but one manifestation of the

Force's dark side and we will stand as a buffer between it and
good people everywhere."
    Mirax hugged Corran's left arm. "A Jedi Knight. This is
quite an honor."
  Corran shook his head. "No."
    Wedge nodded at him. "Oh, it is quite an honor, Cor-
ran, one I envy you."
    "You're not hearing what I'm saying." Corran's head
came up. "I realize it's an honor to be asked to train and
become a Jedi Knight. Believe me I do, but my answer is no."
   Borsk Fey'lya's jaw dropped open. "No?"
    "No." Corran frowned. "I have things I have to do. Erisi
and Iceheart have crimes to pay for."
    Luke's cloak closed around him and his face became
impassive. "Beware revenge, Corran. Such black emotions
open the way to the dark side of the Force."
    "This isn't about revenge." Corran shook his head and
pain washed over his face. "It's about obligations I have to
people. People who helped me, other prisoners were on the
Lusankya when it blasted out of here. I promised them I'd
come back for them. Well, we know where they are:
Thyferra. It's time we go get them."
    Wedge nodded. "We clearly cannot leave Ysanne Isard
and Fliry Vorru in charge of the galaxy's bacta supply. We're
producing rylca now and might be able to produce some
bacta later, but that'll never be enough. We're going to have
to go after Iceheart, and I'd prefer it to be sooner rather than
later."
      Borsk Fey'lya's fur rippled. "But, in fact, Commander
Antilles, your quest will never take place."  "What?"
    The Bothan clasped his hands together at his waist.
"The Provisional Council will never sanction an operation
against Thyferra. We have your orders to join the Mon
Remonda and head out after Warlord Zsinj."
    "Those orders were issued before Iceheart escaped with
Erisi and Fliry Vorru. It was before she took Thyferra. We
can't be expected to follow those orders." Wedge stared dis-
believing at the Bothan Councilor. "That's not right."




    "Oh, it is quite right, Commander. Remember, the peo-
ple of Thyferra overthrew their own government and in-
stalled Ysanne Isard as their leader. This makes the
revolution there nothing more than a case of internal politi-
cal maneuvering."
    A cold chill ran down Wedge's spine. "And the Provi-
sional Council cannot allow itself or its agents to interfere in
the internal politics of a world, because that would frighten
off potential member states from joining the New Republic."
    "It might even convince some others to leave and break
the New Republic apart." Borsk Fey'lya glanced at Corran
Horn. "You might as well accept the Jedi's offer because
your unit can do nothing on Thyferra. Rogue Squadron has
other duties now."
    Corran arched an eyebrow at the Bothan. "Okay, I
quit."
    The fur on the back of Fey'lya's neck rose like a rocket.
"You cannot. Antilles, talk sense into him."
    Wedge snorted. "l've heard sense, and it's coming from
him." Fey'lya's tone of voice had told Wedge there was no
way he could advance the Vratix case before the Council.
The Vratix were the backbone of the Ashern, the native inde-
pendence movement on Thyferra and Isard's only opposi-
tion. His proposing that the Provisional Council back the
Vratix and their claims to self-determination would meet
with equal enthusiasm as any other idea about interfering
with Thyferran internal politics. I promised Qlaern I'd do
what I could for its people, but the New Republic is prevent-
ing me from keeping that promise.
    Wedge rubbed a hand along his jaw. "I joined this Re-
bellion to fight the Empire's tyranny. Just because we have
Coruscant doesn't mean it's ended. The New Republic might
not be able to strike at Thyferra, but there are Rebels around
who can." He smiled. "I quit, too."
    Borsk Fey'lya turned to his left. "It would appear, Cap-
tain Celchu, that Rogue Squadron is now your command."
    "I don't think so." Tycho shook his head. "It's been a
long time since I've been a civillian. I'm out as well."

    Corran's Gand wingman rested a hand on Corran's
shoulder. "Ooryl resigns."
  "Nawara and I are out," Rhysati Ynr chimed in.
  Gavin smiled. "I quit, too."
    Aril Nunb, Inyri Forge, and Riv Shiel all nodded in
agreement. "We're out."
  Asyr Sei'lar slipped in under Gavin's arm. "I resign."
  Borsk Fey'lya stiffened. "You're a Bothan. You cannot."
  "I'm a Rogue. It is done."
    The Bothan councilor snarled. "You can't do this. You
have no ships."
    "Begging your pardon, Councilor, but I never signed my
X-wing over to the Rebellion. I have a ship."
    "Very well for you, Lieutenant Horn, but no one else
does." Borsk Fey'lya's amethyst eyes burned with fury. "The
rest of you have no resources for getting ships. One X-wing
and some broken-down tramp freighter will take on a Super
Star Destroyer?"
      Mirax shot him a nasty glance. "The Skate isn't broken
down. They need ships, I can find them."  "And pay for them with what?"
    Tycho smiled. "As I recall, the New Republic made a
great deal of noise about a number of bank accounts belong-
ing to me with a significant amount of credits in them."
   "That money was supplied by Isard to frame you."
    "So much the better to use it against her, wouldn't you
say?"
    "This is insanity! You cannot do this." Borsk Fey'lya
raked his fur back down into place. "Jedi Skywalker, con-
vince them of their folly. They will fail if they try."
    "As my master told me, there is no try: one can only do
or do not." Luke nodded solemnly. "It seems, Wedge, those
are your choices."
    "No choice at all, Luke." Wedge smiled broadly.
"We're, ah, we were Rogue Squadron. We do."