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“Yes, sir. I’m just not too keen about going up against three Jedi.”

“None of us is, Climber. That’s why we need your team here. I want to set up an ambush short of the rally point.”

“Understood, Commander. Will comply. Out.”

Climber rejoined his three teammates, all of whom were watching him closely.

“What was all that about?” Trace asked.

Climber sat on his haunches. “We’ve been ordered to spring an ambush on the Jedi.”

Ras grunted. “Odd time for a live-fire exercise, isn’t it?”

Climber turned to him. “It’s not an exercise.”

Ras didn’t move a muscle. “I thought the Jedi were on our side.”

Climber nodded. “So did I.”

“So what’d they do?” Trace asked.

Climber shook his head. “Salvo didn’t say. And it’s not a question we’re supposed to ask, are we clear on that?”

The three specs regarded one another.

“How do you want to handle it?” Ras said finally.

“The commander wants us to blow an ambush,” Climber said in a determined voice. “I say we give him what he wants.”

From the sheer heights above the medcenter, Shryne, Chatak, and Starstone watched the towering building tremble as the shield generator buried at its base exploded. Clouds of smoke billowed into the chaotic sky, and the structure swayed precariously. Fortunately it didn’t collapse, as Shryne feared it might, so the bridges that spanned the bay suffered no damage. Ten kilometers away, the shimmering energy shield that umbrellaed the landing platform winked out and failed, leaving the huge hexagon open to attack.

Not a moment passed before squadrons of Republic V-wing starfighters and ARC-170 bombers fell from the scudding clouds, cannons blazing. In defense, anti-aircraft batteries on the landing field and bridges opened up, filling the sky with hyphens of raw energy.

Far to the south the Gallant hung motionless, five hundred meters above the turbulent waters of the bay. Completing quickturn burns, Republic gunships were streaking from the Star Destroyer’s docking bays and racing shoreward through storms of intense fire.

“Now it begins in earnest,” Shryne said.

The three Jedi struck west, moving deeper into the city, then south, angling for the rendezvous point. They avoided engagements with battle droids and mercenaries when they could, and won their skirmishes when evasion wasn’t an option. Shryne was relieved to see that Chatak’s curly-haired Padawan demonstrated remarkable courage, and was as deft at handling a lightsaber as many full-fledged Jedi Knights. He suspected that she had a stronger connection with the Force than he had had even during his most stalwart years as an eager learner.

When he wasn’t seeking ways to avoid confrontation, Shryne was obsessing over his wrong call regarding the medcenter.

“A surgical strike would have been preferable,” he confessed to Chatak as they were hurrying through a gloomy alley Shryne knew from previous visits to Murkhana.

“Ease up on yourself, Roan,” she told him. “The generator was there precisely because the Corporate Alliance knew that we would show the medcenter mercy. What’s more, Commander Salvo’s opinion of you hardly matters in the scheme of things. If both of you weren’t so hooked on military strategy, you could be off somewhere sharing shots of brandy.”

“If either of us drank.”

“Never too late to start, Roan.”

Starstone loosed a loud sigh. “This is the wisdom you impart to your Padawan—that it’s never too late to start drinking?”

“Did I hear a voice?” Shryne said, glancing around in theatrical concern.

“Not an important one,” Chatak assured him.

Starstone was shaking her head back and forth. “This is not the apprenticeship I expected.”

Shryne threw her a look. “When we get back to Coruscant, I’ll be sure to slip a note into the Temple’s suggestion box that Olee Starstone has expressed disappointment with the way she’s being trained.”

Starstone grimaced. “I was at least under the impression that the hazing would stop once I became a Padawan.”

“That’s when the hazing begins,” Chatak said,