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“Sorry, little guy.” Wedge eased his starfighter forward. “Nothing for you to eat here.”

Wedge's astromech tweetled at him from behind, barely audible through the canopy but easy to hear through the X-wing's comm system. Wedge checked the comm board translation output to make sure he'd understood. “That's right, Roll-On. One more missile and we have to rearm.”

The centipede, responding to either the R2 unit's noise or the rotation of its head, scrabbled its way aft over the canopy toward the droid. Dividing his attention between tunnel ahead and what was transpiring behind, Wedge watched its progress.

The creature came within half a meter of Roll-On and stopped there, raising its tail to strike.

A small panel on the astromech's front opened. A probe extended and touched the centipede. There was a faint zatt noise and a flash of blue as an electrical charge hit the insect. The centipede spasmed and, stunned, fell off the X-wing. Roll-On retracted its lead and shut the panel.

Wedge grinned. With luck, that would be the most dangerous enemy action he'd have to face today.

Later, at a tunnel intersection broad enough to be considered a cavern itself, Wedge set his X-wing down beside two other vehicles.

One was a cargo speeder with a long bed loaded with plastic crating. In his career, Wedge had seen more of those crates than he could possibly remember. Each held six or eight proton torpedoes. Unloading one crate were a sandy-haired young man, who spared a smile and a wave for Wedge, and a loader droid half again the height of its human partner, its bulky frame designed for lifting strength and slow movement.

Nearby sat the operation's sole Eta-5 interceptor. Its body was similar to that of an A-wing, sleek and wedge-shaped, but extending port and starboard from the fuselage were struts to which inwardly curved solar wing arrays, like those of the old Eta-2, were attached. The starfighter was painted a deep blue but carried no planetary or other service markings.

Leaning against it was its pilot, Rhysati Ynr, a lean, blond woman dressed in a black variation on the A-wing pilot's uniform. She pushed herself away from the hull and walked to the X-wing as soon as Wedge popped his canopy. “Awake yet, General?”

“Reluctantly.”

“This'll wake you up.” Rhysati turned back toward the young man handling her missile rearmament. “Hey, kid, come over here and introduce yourself.”

Obliging, the teenager trotted over. He was compact of frame and wore a tan jumpsuit. He extended a hand up to Wedge. “Good morning, sir. I'm Drathan Forge.”

Wedge shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “Forge. Inyri's nephew?”

“Great-nephew, actually.”

“And you work for Lando?”

“For now. Mostly as a mechanic. But I'm a good flier. I've put in an application to the academy. I have provisional acceptance. I have to keep my grades up for the next year.”

“Good luck with that.”

The loader droid straightened from the Eta-5 and turned its inverted-triangle head toward Drathan. “Twelve missiles loaded and reporting online.” Its voice rang metallically.

“All right.” The young man gestured at the X-wing. “Let's prep six proton formats for this one.” With a half salute for Wedge, he headed back to resume his work.

Wedge returned his attention to Rhysati. “How's Nawara?”

“Wishing he were here with me. If he weren't trying to dig the Jedi out of a legal hole, he'd be flying something on this operation.”

Wedge gestured at her interceptor. “Looks fast.”

“You've never flown one?”

He shook his head. “I've done some simulator work, but never actually been in one. My daughter Syal flew them.”

“You want to trade for the rest of the operation?”

Wedge blinked. “What, in the middle of a mission?”

“Sure. This isn't the armed forces, Wedge. It's more like a heavily armed bachelor party. What's Lando going to do to us if we trade?”

Wedge scrambled out of his cockpit. He knew it was an unseemly spectacle for a retired officer. On the other hand, it was no longer his job to set a good example.

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

TAHIRI AND MIRAX CARRIED SEFF BETWEEN THEM,