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“Neutralize.” Luke frowned. He circled Kyp, trying to put him in the middle of their three-way exchange, but Cilghal paced him so that Luke remained in the center. “Meaning ‘kill.’”

Kyp nodded, not repentant. “This isn’t a mission of assassination, Luke. But if the capture isn’t clean, if the choice is to run away and leave him in charge of the Alliance or finish him then and there…”

“Yeah.” Luke felt Cilghal’s approach behind him. He bent over backward, his lightsaber hand coming down on the landing pad surface to hold his upper body clear of it, and Cilghal’s lightsaber passed through where his waist would have been. Luke instantly straightened, catching her hilt with his free hand, and stepped away, her lightsaber now in his grip. He twirled one blade at each Master. “Go on.”

With an exasperated sigh, Cilghal stepped back and exerted herself toward Kyle. The man’s lightsaber leapt free from his grip and flew to Cilghal’s. Kyle offered no resistance. Cilghal caught it out of the air, called “Thank you,” and dashed toward Corran.

Kyp looked dubiously at Luke’s twin weapons and fell into a defensive posture. “The team will consist of one or two Masters, three or four Jedi Knights, and a native guide. They’ll approach the Senate Building through the undercity.” As Luke neared and began throwing probing attacks in quick succession, Kyp deflected them close to his body with equal speed and minimal movement. “When Jacen enters or leaves the building, they spring the trap. Coma gas and shock nets as the first wave, the Jedi making their direct assault immediately afterward.” He stopped to stare intently at Luke.

Luke felt the attack—the Force, propelling numerous small objects at him. He jumped back and brought up both lightsabers as a shower of old nuts and bolts came at him with missile speed. It was like defending himself against Yuuzhan Vong thud bugs for the first time in years, but the old skill was undiminished—he calculated which objects had a chance of hitting him and incinerated only them with his blades, letting the others fly harmlessly past.

The trouble was, the ones that flew past soon curved around for another attack.

Meanwhile, Kyp continued, “We have a shuttle or other enclosed vehicle land for a quick extraction. But the trick is, it’s an empty droid vehicle. Our group, with Jacen, their captive, actually reenters the undercity through a groundside maintenance access hatch modified to serve as an exit. While the shuttle makes its escape run and draws off pursuit, our group goes back the way it came to the true departure point.”

“Who’s the team leader?”

Kyp shrugged. “Not determined yet.”

Corran’s and Kyle’s voices rose simultaneously: “Me.”

Luke, thoughtful, finished incinerating the last of the flying bolts. He switched off Cilghal’s lightsaber and tossed it over his shoulder. He heard it slap down into her big webbed hand. “What about your native guide? Someone to get you through the undercity, I’m guessing. Do you trust him?”

Kyp nodded.

“Not as far as I can throw her.” That was Corran, his voice punctuated by zaps as Saba advanced on him, trying to bat his longer blade aside.

Kyp made a sour face. “Horn, you can’t throw anybody any distance. With the Force, anyway. This calls your judgment into question.”

“Her.” Luke switched off his lightsaber. “Maybe I should meet her.”

Kyp deactivated his own weapon. “She’s one level down. I can have her come up if you want to meet her now.”

“Sure.” Luke looked around for something to serve him as a chair—an impromptu throne of the Jedi Grand Master—and decided against the landing gear wheel as being just slightly below his dignity and preferred altitude. He chose the old tool rack and sat upon it. Its corroding wheels groaned under the weight; one of them, decayed past the point of functionality, slowly collapsed, tilting the rack slightly forward.

Meanwhile Kyp spoke into a comlink. The other Masters left off their exercise, extinguished their lightsabers, and gathered around.