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Klauskin nodded. “Good, good.”

“Sir, with all due respect, that’s not good. It’s not part of our operation goals.” The Sullustan lowered her voice. “It would be a big help to officer morale if you’d let them know what our revised goals are. Are we going to assault CEC-One? Because as soon as we get to it, its defenders are definitely going to assault us. Are we going to punch back out of system? Are we going to take on the Corellian fleet?”

Klauskin considered her questions. He realized he was curiously without emotion on these matters. But that, at least, would allow him to make decisions logically.

No, assaulting the shipyard designated CEC-One was not part of their operation. They wanted it intact for the day when Corellia was back in the GA camp and everyone was friendly again. But that meant they’d have to alter their current orbital course, so some other plan had to be implemented.

Punch back out of system and go home with their tails between their legs? Unacceptable. That would make this operation a failure. That would make him a failure.

Attacking the Corellian fleet seemed to be the best alternative of the ones presented to him. But he had insufficient information about the composition of the enemy fleet. The Corellians probably wouldn’t be a match for his force, but they had the home advantage, might have some tricks standing by, and could seriously deplete his group before they were defeated.

He resented the fact that his alternatives were so few in number. He needed a new idea, a better idea. He wished he could return to his cabin for a while, lie down, and talk to…to…

“Edela,” he whispered.

He should have remembered not to whisper near a Sullustan. Their big ears weren’t just for show. “Edela?” Fiav said. “Your wife?”

“Yes.”

“Sir, she’s been dead for four years.”

“Yes, I know.”

Then the answer came. Yes, a rest, some downtime—a planetside station for some rest and recreation. That’s what they needed.

He felt energy course within him again. “Which is the fifth inhabited planet here? Talus or Tralus?”

The Sullustan’s big eyes blinked in surprise, perhaps at the admiral’s sudden strength of tone. “Um, they both are. They orbit a common point in space. So one is fourth sometimes, and then the fifth the rest of the time.”

“Which one is fifth now?”

Fiav raised a comlink to her lips, spoke, listened. “Tralus, sir.”

“Set a course for Tralus. Communicate it to our entire force, but it’s not to be implemented yet. Stand by to recall all non-hyperdrive-equipped starfighters and support vessels and to issue an optional recall to those with hyperdrives. Who’s our best officer for planning city-and planetary-scale assaults on short notice—very short notice?”

Fiav blinked again. “I’ll find out, sir.”

“When you find out, put him or her in charge of planning an assault for the occupation of Tralus. I want the best plan we can get in fifteen minutes.” Klauskin clamped down on a laugh that was trying to well up within him.

Suddenly he felt alive again, in charge of his destiny.

This operation would not fail. It would not be his fault.

A disc-shaped transport of Corellian design popped into existence ahead of Dodonna. “And blow that hunk of junk out of the sky,” Klauskin said.

A sensor officer at a station on the lower level shouted, “That’s a friendly, sir. Millennium Falcon.”

Klauskin glowered over the edge of the walkway at the sensor officer. “So we can’t destroy him?”

“That’s, uh, right, sir.”

“Well, tell him to get that deathtrap out of the sky. It’s dangerous here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s not dangerous?” Han put as much put-upon aggravation into his tone as he could. “You’re here, I’m reading Corellian forces ahead on this orbit and out from your formation, I’m getting reports of dogfights over Coronet—where do I go? I’ve got my wife here—how do I keep her safe?”

In the Falcon’s copilot’s seat, Leia shot her husband an unamused look. Keep me safe? she mouthed silently.

Han shot her an apologetic glance.

“Solo, you’ve dropped your civilian vehicle into the middle of a military