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“It would have been, if you hadn’t been betrayed.”

That caused Biurk’s spine to stiffen. “Betrayed how?”

“The GAG has been assigned this mission because certain portions of the military have been compromised,” Klauskin said. “Not too surprising in a time of war, of course. I’ve spent the last several weeks on special assignment, ferreting out traitors and planning a response.”

Biurk had heard that Klauskin had been hastily removed from his command of the task force at Corellia awhile back. There had been rumors that he had experienced some sort of breakdown…but any sudden reassignment of a commander was likely to spawn such rumors.

“Here’s the situation,” Klauskin continued. “Several of the officers under your command are actually in Bothan employ. On the day the Bothans decide to send their fleet into action, they’re going to do whatever it takes to keep Alliance forces from discovering that fact…until too late.

“But we’re not going to let that happen. You’ll supply me with a list of all officers under your command, and I’ll indicate which ones are the traitors. We’ll reorganize their duty shifts to leave each of them unobserved and unprotected at specific times, at which point we’ll capture or eliminate them. Then we, by which I mean Shamunaar, will take the observation zone they would have been covering—we’ll plug the hole their absence leaves.”

“Understood. But, sir, I know many of these officers very well. They’re not traitors.”

“I’m sure the ones you personally vouch for are completely loyal. When you give me the list of officers, be sure to indicate which ones you’re certain of.” Klauskin leaned forward to give Biurk a sympathetic clap on the shoulder. “I know this comes as a shock, son. But we’ll get it straightened out, very quietly, and it won’t reflect on your service record.”

“Thank you, sir.”

DREWWA, MOON OF ALMANIA

Ben spent the better part of two days planning his trip to Ziost. In that time, he performed his credcard-stealing technique twice more, and was pleased to discover that it became easier, smoother, and less detectable each time.

He did do some planetary database research to find out whether any shuttle carrier or excursion service made trips to Ziost. The answer was a definite, unequivocal no—since Ziost did not appear in any public database. Still, its coordinates were in the files Jacen had given him.

Nor was there, as far as he could determine, much smuggling activity here—there was nothing to suggest that desperate shipowners, as his uncle Han had been so many years ago, lurked in every tavern, willing to take aspiring young Jedi wherever they needed to go.

Well, then, he’d just have to steal a vehicle.

He knew that wouldn’t be as simple as sneaking onto some flight line, jumping into a B-wing, and taking off. Vehicles had security codes that made stealing them difficult.

Security around the spaceport was not exactly lax, but neither was it set up to deter a Jedi. The chief danger of detection he faced lay with the small security droids used all across the base—half the height of a human, spindly, with conical head/sensor packages atop a humanoid arms-and-legs arrangement. Scores of these droids wandered individually across the spaceport environs, sometimes hiding in the thrusters of hangared vehicles, sometimes riding on the backs of luggage-delivery vehicles. Ben watched them for an hour or so through the viewport in the waiting lounge outside the secure areas and noticed that they did not react to people wearing the bright yellow jumpsuits of spaceport personnel.

That knowledge made it easier. A touch of Jedi telekinesis kept doors from closing and latching firmly behind port personnel entering secure areas. Ben wandered through, eventually finding a locker room and helping himself to a jumpsuit and the corresponding transponder that kept security droids from paying attention to its wearer.

That gave him the freedom to walk around the port for a day. He still kept well away from most human personnel; they might ask questions about an obviously