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“Not even to save lives?” Shohta asked.

It was Tyl who answered, in a voice devoid of sympathy. “Not even to save lives.” His gaze remained fixed on the cam display. “If we involve ourselves with the story, we change the story.”

“And what is wrong with changing it?” Shohta demanded. “What is wrong with saving the lives of innocent beings?”

“What’s wrong is that if we try to interfere, the most likely thing to happen is that we get killed first.” Tyl’s voice had grown hard. “And then the galaxy will never know what happened here.”

“We’re not police and we’re not medicos,” Madhi added. “We’re journalists, and our first duty is to report the facts.”

“As you wish, mistress.” Shohta depressed the power unit’s activation safety and held it down, then slowly ran his gaze over the small control panel, searching for the priming switch that he had probably flicked a thousand times since joining Madhi’s crew. “After the power unit is running, I’ll have to find a good place for the antenna. We should have a link in ten minutes or so.”

“Ten minutes?” Tyl tore his eyes away from his display and started to set his vidcam aside. “That’s ridiculous, Shohta. If I have to do this myself—”

“Tyl,” Madhi interrupted. “Stay on the cam. Shohta will handle the HoloNet link.”

Tyl’s brow rose, but he nodded and looked back to his cam.

Madhi turned to Shohta. “Shohta, I understand how you feel. So does Tyl. But it’s the truth that matters in this job, not our feelings about it.” She paused, waiting for a nod that did not come, then continued, “If we go out there to interfere and somehow survive the experience, then we become the story—not the Mandalorians and what they’ve come to do.”

“But a lot of lives might be saved,” Shohta said.

Madhi shook her head. “Those lives might be saved,” she said. “But more would be lost in the long run. We can’t be there every time an army of thugs uses violence to put down a slave revolt.”

“This way, the galaxy sees what’s really happening,” Tyl said, his gaze still fixed on the cam display. “Maybe the public won’t care about a bunch of four-hooves on a world so far off the hyperspace lanes that the Empire never bothered to give it a survey number. But my guess is, when they see Mandalorians blasting Octusi in cold blood, they’ll want it stopped.”

“And not just on Blaudu Sextus,” Madhi added. “On Tatooine, Karfeddion, Thalassia … and on Vinsoth, too. If we keep doing our jobs and exposing the truth about slavery, maybe the public will demand that the Galactic Alliance stop turning a blind eye. Maybe it will start asking questions about who’s been sending Mandalorians to put down the revolts.” Madhi paused, allowing herself a smile of anticipation. “And when we tell them, they’re going to want her head.”

“Assuming we can confirm what we know,” Tyl reminded her.

“We’ll get there,” Madhi assured him. “We’ll connect her to the credit trail, or the Sextuna executives will get tired of taking the blame and admit she’s the one who’s really paying the Mandalorians. Something will turn up. It has to.”

“By her, you mean Daala?” Shohta asked. “She has been helping the slavers?”

“We’re pretty sure,” Madhi said. “But we don’t have the evidence to prove it yet.”

Tyl looked from the cam display toward Shohta. “What you need to decide is whether you want to stop her,” he said. “Whether you want to help all slaves, or just the ones you see out there.”

Madhi saw the resentment in Shohta’s eyes change to understanding, then to determination, and his fingers quickly found the priming switch he had seemed unable to locate just moments before. The generator gave a soft clickclack, then hummed to life. Shohta grabbed the antenna assembly and began to point it around the room, his eyes fixed on the interface screen as he tried to find the strongest signal.

“Link in two minutes,” he reported. “I’m sorry for the delay.”

“Don’t waste time apologizing,” Madhi ordered. She slipped her sound bud into her ear and activated the button mike on her tunic collar. “Just get me on the ’Net.”

Madhi returned her attention