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“And the security detail for these snubfighters?” she asked.

The astromech turned his main eye on her and issued a series of rapid beeps and tones.

“Reassigned.” Jaina shook her head, exasperated.

“Want me to do this one?” Zekk asked.

“Please.”

Zekk smiled and brought a comlink out from a pouch at his belt. “Artoo, would you give me the squadron frequency?”

The astromech beeped his compliance.

“Thanks.” Zekk activated the comlink. “Zekk to Hardpoint Squadron. Your new squadron commander is on-site and wishes to see you immediately at your X-wings. Immediately means ninety seconds from the end of my transmission. No one will be punished for arriving in dirty robes, formal gowns, or bubbles and bathwater, but no one wants to arrive late. That is all. Out.” He pocketed the comlink.

“Nicely done,” Jaina said. “Effective, but with a potential for humor.”

Zekk bowed, then straightened. “Your orders?”

“We need to find a place to house these snubfighters securely, and I don’t care if they’ve been put out here to demonstrate our overwhelming military might and contempt for the Corellian forces. And we ought to do some drills so I can feel out the pilots’ skills.” Jaina caught sight of some motion in the direction of the center. A tall, dark-skinned human male, clad only in a white towel, which he held around his waist with both hands, was running in their direction. “It’s going to be an interesting set of exercises.”

BATTLE CARRIER DODONNA, ORBITING TRALUS

Ensign “Lysa Dunton” and her Quarren wingman rose toward the field holding the atmosphere within Dodonna’s main belly hangar. With casual ease, they reduced velocity as they neared the glowing opening, popped up through the field to allow the air resistance to slow them down another crucial few kilometers per hour, and floated on repulsorlifts to their designated landing zone. Moments later, they raised their cockpits. Crew members, rushing forward, hung ladders in place, allowing them to exit their vehicles. Mechanics arrived, plugging in diagnostic units, beginning refueling.

Her Quarren wingman pulled off his helmet and issued a slurping sigh of relief. His facial tentacles wiggled in the cold artificial breeze blowing through the hangars. “Bath,” he said. “I need to submerge. I’d kill to submerge.” He turned and began a brisk march toward the doors out of the hangar.

Syal grinned after him. Long patrols were hard on the Quarren and their kindred, the Mon Calamari; they dehydrated faster than humans. She pulled off her own helmet and decided that her wingman’s decision was the best one, though—a thorough cleansing, after hours of fruitless touring around the edges of the Corellia system, would be great for morale.

“Ensign Dunton?” The chief mechanic, a lean man with dark eyes, approached her with his diagnostic datapad in hand. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course.” She shook her hair out. Short as it was, it didn’t give her too much grief on long missions, and at least this time she’d donned her helmet so that her bangs didn’t cause her additional trouble. “You usually work with the X-wing units, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ensign. But everybody’s being shifted around to cross-train while we have some downtime. I put in a request to work with the Eta-Fives today.”

Syal eyed his datapad. “Is there a problem with my interceptor?”

“Not exactly.” He moved close and lowered his voice so the rest of the crew couldn’t make out his words. “Actually, I just wanted to bring you some greetings from home.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Greetings from Ralltiir?”

“Greetings,” he said, “from Corellia. Perhaps we should talk somewhere private.”

An hour later, VibroSword Leader, a tall human with graying hair and features suggesting that he was an actor hired to play a squadron leader, leaned over the interrogation table toward Syal and asked, “So you shot him.”

Beside him sat a human woman, dark-skinned, with big eyes that looked bright and uncritical enough to belong to someone much younger; Syal had never