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Pellaeon snorted, his expression amused but derisive. “That’s what I love about politics,” he said. “We and a Corellian puppet ruler might have to conspire to remove a politician who’s an impediment to us both before we can make headway in the peace process. How much sense does that make?”

Luke spread his hands, palms up. “I can’t always make sense at the tables of politics. Let’s see…I’ve finished bringing the underaged Jedi trainees off Corellia, removing them as potential targets for retaliation. Mara came away from Coronet with information about Corellian midlevel government officers that you might be able to use as leverage on them—a matter for Intelligence. My report included evaluations from many of the Jedi elsewhere in the galaxy, all pointing to a rise in support of Corellia’s position in specific planetary systems. And that’s most of what I had to report.”

Pellaeon nodded, his manner brisk. “Were you planning to remain on Coruscant, or return to Corellia and resume control of your squadron?”

“I was planning to return to Tralus.”

“We would appreciate it if you would stay here for a few days more, until we have a better sense of how the Jedi would best be posted during this crisis.”

Luke nodded. “As you wish.”

“And I’m sorry about your boy.”

Luke’s eyebrows rose. “Sorry?”

“I don’t mean about his accomplishment. I mean about his involvement.” Pellaeon gave Luke a wry smile. “The young go through wars and think that the experience is enough to teach them to fear such conflicts. And then, years later, their children go to war, and suddenly the parents learn what fear really means.”

“True enough,” Luke said, and, taking Pellaeon’s words as the beginning of a dismissal, rose. “And I’m glad that you’re still able to comprehend that fear.”

CORELLIAN SYSTEM, ABOVE TRALUS

“He’s on our tail! He’s on our tail!”

Syal Antilles didn’t reply to the Sullustan gunner’s musical, trilling shout. She simply slapped the control yoke to the left.

The Aleph-class starfighter didn’t bank to port. Instead, there was a kick to the starfighter’s side as thruster ports all along the starboard hull vented energy. The starfighter slipped to port, its orientation and forward speed not noticeably changing. Syal slapped down on the yoke’s top and the Aleph lurched again, this time dropping with stomach-jolting suddenness several meters as ports on the top of the hull vented.

Laserfire from behind raked through empty space to the starboard side of the Aleph, then traversed to port but missed the starfighter again as it dropped.

Zueb Zan, the Sullustan in the cockpit’s right-hand seat, finally got the Aleph’s starboard-side turret spun around and facing aft. A graphic image of the X-wing pursuing the Aleph jittered briefly in Zueb’s targeting brackets. The Sullustan fired, and red wire-image versions of laser blasts converged on the X-wing. In the monitor showing Syal and Zueb a holocam view of the Aleph’s stern, they could see a live feed of the real laser beams hitting the real X-wing, but the beams were pallid, far below combat strength, and the snubfighter’s shields soaked them up without difficulty.

“That’s a confirmed kill,” the X-wing pilot reported. “Good job, Antilles. Zan.”

“Thank you, sir,” Syal responded, mechanically. She began a quick check of her diagnostics boards, all but ignored during the mock battle, and saw no impairment to the Aleph’s fighting abilities other than a slight energy drain from shield and laser usage.

The X-wing accelerated in a way the Aleph never could, causing Syal to bite her lip in envy, and pulled up to the Aleph’s starboard side. “Opinions?” the pilot transmitted.

“I’m still not used to the lateral thrusters,” Syal said. She worked hard to keep a tone of complaint from creeping into her voice, though complaining was precisely what she wanted to do. “It’s just not the same as high-speed jinking.”

“Maybe not,” the X-wing pilot said, “but you’re handling them very well. You made me miss