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“You don’t think you’re going to see home before this is over, do you?”

“No—they won’t make any changes now. But when the new commodore arrives, I’ll be reduced to a supernumerary—in fact if not in name,” said A’baht. “Already I’m little more than a mouthpiece for Fleet Command.”

“It’s that way sometimes,” said Carson, his grin widening. “No one wearing this uniform enjoys the latitude of a general in the Dornean navy.”

A’baht flashed a brief, knowing smile. “Or enjoys the responsibility. If I had had that from the start—”

“It’s not the way Coruscant does things—no matter who’s holding the reins, there are always reins,” said Carson. “Are you certain they’re going to send someone?”

“I think the only thing that’s stopped them from sending Ackbar or Nantz to take command is the fear that they, too, might become hostages,” said A’baht. “I seem not to have many boosters at headquarters.”

“I told you—you should have let them make you an admiral,” said Carson. “I’d bet half your trouble with the command staff comes from clinging to your old rank. Headquarters is full of newborn traditionalists, and they can’t get it out of their heads that a general should have dirty boots or wings. These lofty quarters”—he raised his hands to take in the utilitarian suite—“are for admirals.”

“So you are saying that they offered me the choice of retaining my Dornean navy rank as a false courtesy,” said A’baht.

“Oh, I’m sure whoever signed off on the consolidation plan was sincere,” said Carson. “Generals are C-one, admirals are C-one—so it’s the grade that matters, not the rank, right? But old prejudices die slowly—to say nothing of old rivalries.”

“Foolishness,” A’baht said disgustedly. “To judge a man by his title—”

At that point, the hatch opened and Lieutenant Zratha poked his head in. “Admiral Tolokus and Commodore Martaff are in the briefing room, sir. The others are on their way up.”

“Thank you. We’ll be along presently,” said A’baht, standing. “Well, Stony, time to don my tarnished title.”

Carson was on his feet by then and saluted smartly—to A’baht’s surprise. “Sir, if I may say so, I can see no tarnish from here—and neither will the others.” He moved a step closer and dropped his voice. “This isn’t Imperial City. We know who you are, General—we know that you belong. Just lead the way. You won’t need to wonder about whether we’re following. They asked me to tell you that, sir.”

A’baht showed a quick, tight smile. “Thank you, Stony,” he said. “Now let’s go roll up our sleeves.”

A’baht allowed Carson to go on ahead while he stopped to collect his briefing officers from the staff bullpen. Without consciously intending it, that gave him the opportunity to make an entrance, sweeping into the room with two colonels following in his wake. The five who were waiting there—four commodores and an admiral, from left to right a woman, three men, and a Norak Tull—rose smartly from their seats and saluted.

“At ease,” A’baht said, moving toward the center seat. “Let me introduce Colonel Corgan, my staff tactical officer, and Colonel Mauit’ta, my staff intelligence officer. They will have reports for you later in this session.” The two officers took chairs flanking A’baht.

The general wasted no time on introductions or other social niceties. “As you already know, you and your task forces have been sent here to reinforce the Fifth Fleet in the effort to contain the Yevetha,” he said. “We are no longer here as a symbol, or a warning, or a show of strength, like some sort of War Day parade. Our mission objectives are threat assessment and containment, and they could grow beyond that at any time.

“We will operate as a single operational unit at double fleet strength, with all ten task forces reporting directly to me through my command staff. Each of your units will retain its current organization, call signs, and command frequencies at the battle group, squadron, and division levels.

“The one exception to that concerns your intelligence assets. All prowlers and ferrets are to be attached to the newly authorized Sixteenth Tactical Recon