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“Too bad. Physical scars are much better conversation starters at parties.” He turned his attention to the ceiling and studied it for long moments. “Well. Mission accomplished.”

“That’s right, mission accomplished. And you’ve done what you needed to. To help restore your family honor.”

“Yes.” There was no pleasure in that word, just acknowledgment.

Jaina wished she hadn’t brought up the subject of his family. The Fels, though a human family of Corellian ancestry—Jag’s mother was Wedge’s older sister, the first Syal Antilles—now lived in the Chiss Ascendancy, by the rules of that blue-skinned folk.

And those rules dictated that, because of mistakes and decisions made by other people—Jaina among them—Jag could never go home. Hunting down Alema Rar had been the last task assigned to him by his clan. In accomplishing it, he had severed his last ties with them.

In fact—the realization struck Jaina like a blow in combat practice—the act of ending the threat posed by Alema had perhaps severed his last ties with everyone.

She made her voice gentle, an unaccustomed task for her. “What’s next for you?”

He shrugged, wincing as the action pulled at some of his injuries. “There’s a war on. I’m sure someone needs a pilot.”

“Stay with the Jedi.”

“Sure.”

Suddenly she was impatient with him. “I don’t mean as a civilian employee. I mean as a friend.”

He finally looked at her again. “I haven’t done a very good job of making friends. I would rate my success at nearly zero.”

“Zekk looks on you as a friend.”

“Yes. Well, without him, my rate of success would be exactly zero. And truth be told, for reasons I’m sure you understand, he would probably prefer that I not be around too much.”

“I’m your friend.”

“Are you?”

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Oh, we’re not having this conversation again.”

“No, we’re not. This is a new one. I’m not asking you to set aside your focus, to distract yourself from training for your next mission. I’m not asking you to roll the chrono back fifteen years to when we were teenagers.” Despite the discomfort, he pulled himself back so that he could sit up against the pillows at the head of his bed. “I’m asking you to tell me if I have a place in your life. Someone you’d turn to if you’d ever just acknowledge that you needed some help. Someone you’d miss more than occasionally if he went away. Am I your friend?”

Knowing the answer he wanted to hear, the answer that would help him get better, Jaina opened her mouth to offer it. Then she shut up again. He deserved better than that. He deserved the truth. She just wasn’t sure what the truth was.

It took her long moments to sift out her feelings from the bewildering insulating layer of decisions and codes of conduct she’d fabricated for herself. To find it, she had to look past what she had to do and be; she had to find the place where she kept what she wanted to do and be.

But she found her answer. “Yes. I am.”

“Good.” He held out his hand.

She put hers on it.

He relaxed. “So, what’s next for you?”

“A mission. Simple stuff. Rescue a princess—a Solo family tradition. Blow up a big space station.”

“Also a Solo family tradition.”

“You can get in on it, if you can get yourself back in shape in time.”

“I will. And if you ever need someone to dress up in a black costume and beat you up—”

Jaina smiled. “Just shut up.”

CORELLIA, CORONET, COMMAND BUNKER

This late at night, with no enemy forces in orbit, the command bunker was nearly deserted, and usually the hum of atmosphere conditioners was the only thing to be heard on most floors, in most chambers.

But in the primary communications chamber—not the elegant studio where most transmissions were initiated or received, not the secure Prime Minister’s chamber where Sadras Koyan did so much of his talking—the banks of holocomm equipment were alive, adding their own hum to the ambient noise.

Minister of Information Denjax Teppler looked up for the thousandth time, making sure that the door into the chamber was still secure, that there were no warning diodes lit on the devices he had patched