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Shryne knew the place about as well as anyone, but he let the commandos take the point. Dodging blasterfire from battle droids and roving bands of mercenaries, and trusting that the captive fighter had known better than to steer them wrong, the three Jedi followed the four special ops troopers on a circuitous course through the switchbacked streets. High overhead, laser and ion bolts splashed against the convex energy shields, along with droid craft and starfighters crippled in the furious dogfights taking place in the clouds.

Shortly the allied team reached the approach avenues of the southernmost of the quartet of bridges that joined the city and the landing platform. Encountering no resistance at the medcenter, they infiltrated the building’s soaring atrium. Wan light streamed through tall permaplex windows; dust and debris wafted down to a mosaic floor as the building trembled in concert with the intensifying Republic bombardment.

The particle-filled air buzzed with current from the shield generator, raising the hairs on the back of Shryne’s neck. The place looked and felt deserted, but Shryne sent Chatak, Starstone, and two of the commandos to reconnoiter the upper floors, just in case. Still trusting to the captive’s intelligence, Shryne, Climber, and Ion Team’s explosives specialist negotiated a warren of faintly lighted corridors that led to a turbolift the captive had promised would drop them into the shield generator room.

“Sir, I didn’t want to say anything in front of General Chatak,” Climber said as they were descending, “but it’s not often you find a Jedi and a commander at odds about tactics.”

Shryne knew that to be true. “Commander Salvo has good instincts. What he lacks is patience.” He turned fully to the helmeted commando. “The war’s changed some of us, Climber. But the Jedi mandate has always been to keep the peace without killing everyone who stands in the way.”

Climber nodded in understanding. “I know of a few commanders who were returned to Kamino for remedial training.”

“And I know a few Jedi who could use as much,” Shryne said. “Because all of us want this war over and done with.” He touched Climber on the arm as the turbolift was coming to a halt. “Apologies up front if this mission turns out to be a waste of time.”

“Not a problem, sir. We’ll consider it leave.”

Outside the antigrav shaft, the deafening hum of the generator made it almost impossible to communicate without relying on comlinks. Prizing his from a pouch on his utility belt, Shryne set it to the frequency Climber and his spec-three used to communicate with each other through their helmet links.

Warily, the three of them made their way down an unlighted hallway and ultimately onto a shaky gantry that overlooked the generator room. Most of the cavernous space was occupied by the truncated durasteel pyramid that fed power to the landing platform’s veritable forest of dish-shaped shield projectors.

Macrobinoculars lowered over his tinted visor, Climber scanned the area.

“I count twelve sentries,” he told Shryne through the comlink.

“Add three Koorivar technicians on the far side of the generator,” the spec-three said from his position.

Even without macrobinoculars, Shryne could see that the majority of the guards were mercenaries, humans and humanoids, armed with blaster rifles and vibroblades, the brigade’s signature weapon. Cranial horns—a symbol of status, especially among members of Murkhana’s elite—identified the Koorivar among the group. Three Trade Federation battle droids completed the contingent.

“Generator’s too well protected for us to be covert,” Climber said. “Excuse me for saying so, but maybe Commander Salvo was right about letting the Gallant handle this.”

“As I said, he has good instincts.”

“Sir, just because the guards aren’t here for medical care doesn’t mean we can’t make patients of them.”

“Good thinking,” Shryne said. “But we’re three against twelve.”

“You’re good for at least six of them, aren’t you, sir?”

Shryne