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“To avoid unnecessary bloodshed, I call on Viceroy Nil Spaar to promptly and clearly announce your intention to abide by the terms of the order of withdrawal, and to give unambiguous evidence by your actions of the sincerity of your words.

“Any other course you choose will lead to war.”

Good words, General A’baht thought, with grudging respect. Strong words. May the viceroy hear the steel in your voice, and spare the lives of our mothers’ sons and daughters.

“Signal ferret reentry now,” sang out the jump manager.

“Confirm alert level zero,” said Captain Morano.

“Confirming!” called the exec. “All defense systems active. Shields set to go automatic on reentry. Flash alert receivers in the green. All stations crewed. All weapons on standby. Interceptor Two, Five, Eight, Fighter Red, Gold, Black, are on the deck and hot.”

“Picket line reentry now,” sang out the jump manager.

Captain Morano nervously tightened the straps holding him in his flak couch. “So how many combat jumps have you made, General?” he said to A’baht.

“Too many, and not enough,” said A’baht.

“I understand that,” Morano said. “Say—what was that Dornean war prayer again?”

“I have already said it for us,” A’baht said, nodding.

“Attention, all hands!” called the jump manager. “Realspace entry in five—four—three—two—”

“Remember, everyone, there’s at least one big Star Destroyer out there—let’s find it fast!” Morano called out.

“—one—”

The jump alarm sounded, and the bridge view-screens blurred with streaks of white. When the streaks abruptly collapsed into a brilliant field of stars, a brown-and-white planet, two-thirds in night, filled a generous share of the forward view.

“Stang, look at them all,” someone breathed, reacting to the spectacle of the Cluster viewed from within. “How are the gunners supposed to find their targets against that background?”

“Cut the chatter,” A’baht snapped. “I want a head count.”

“Polling the task force, sir.”

“Tactical!” Morano called. “Where are you?”

“Sensors report no targets. Pickets report no contacts. Prowlers report no contacts.”

“Where’s that Star Destroyer?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Must be on the other side of the planet,” Morano said to A’baht. “I don’t know if that’s lucky for them or for us.”

Reports kept coming from stations all around the bridge of Intrepid.

“General, poll is complete—all ships reporting on station.”

“Hangar boss reports all flights away, Captain. Fighter screen is moving to position.”

“Let’s push those lead pickets out and get a look at the other side,” said A’baht. “Anything from the ground scans yet?”

“Located six—now seven—landing sites with adjacent structures,” answered the sensor operator. “No grounded ships, any design.”

Morano turned to look at A’baht. “Maybe they got smart and left before we got here?”

“Let’s wait until we hear from the lead pickets,” A’baht said, touching his combat comm. “This is task force leader, all units. Open the formation and take up assigned orbits configuration. Maintain your alerts.”

Over the next half hour the furious, nearly frantic activity of the first few moments faded to a more manageable level. With an all-clear from the lead pickets, the ships dispersed into the blockade screen—the capital ships moving north and south in midlevel orbits, the secondaries east and west in high orbits, and the enclosing halo of pickets and prowlers expanding outward.

Through it all, the Yevethan Star Destroyer was nowhere to be found. Nor were any thrustships located, either on the ground or in orbit. Morano frowned into his hand as he studied the scan board. A’baht bounced a fist on the armrest of his flak couch, wondering if he believed their good fortune.

“No dragons today?” Morano asked finally. “The Princess will be pleased.”

A’baht shook his head. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe at the end of the day, the Yevetha are the kind of bullies that back down when someone finally stands up to them.”

“No,” said A’baht. “No, that’s not the right personality. They’re tougher—and colder—than that. Operations! I want scouts sent immediately to