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Vader stood his ground. “I don’t fear death, Master.”

Sidious grinned maliciously. “Then why go on living, my young apprentice?”

Vader looked down at him. “To learn to become more powerful.”

Sidious lowered his hands. “Then I ask you one final time, Lord Vader. Why not strike me down?”

“Because you are my path to power, Master,” Vader said. “Because I need you.”

Sidious narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Just like I needed my Master—for a time.”

“Yes, Master,” Vader said finally. “For a time.”

“Good. Very good.” Sidious smiled in satisfaction. “And now you are ready to release your anger.”

Vader evinced confusion.

“Your fugitive Jedi, my apprentice,” Sidious said. “They are traveling to Kashyyyk.” He tipped his head to one side. “Perhaps, Lord Vader, they hope to lay a trap for you.”

Vader clenched his hands. “That would be my most fervent wish, my Master.”

Sidious clamped his hands on Vader’s upper arms. “Then go to them, Lord Vader. Make them sorry they didn’t hide while they had the chance!”

PART IV

KASHYYYK

Inside the battered transport that had once belonged to an Imperial garrison on Dellalt, Olee Starstone and the six Jedi who had joined her crusade waited to be granted clearance to continue on to Kashyyyk space. The commanders of the half dozen Imperial corvettes that made up the inspection-point picket answered not to distant Coruscant but to the regional governor, headquartered on Bimmisaari.

The Jedi had done all they could to make the ship look the part of a military-surplus transport. Thanks mostly to Jula’s crew, the drives had been tweaked to produce a new signature, the ship’s profile had been altered, the defensive shields and countermeasures suite repaired. To ensure that what remained conformed to Imperial standards, many of the advanced sensors and scanners had been eliminated, along with most of the laser cannons. The Drunk Dancer’s maintenance droids had given the ship a quick paint job and had helped remove some of the seats amidships, to create a common cabin space.

To Starstone, the vessel’s fresh look matched the false identities the Jedi had adopted, as well as the clothes that made them look like a motley crew of struggling space merchants.

The transport’s cockpit was spacious enough to accommodate Starstone and Filli Bitters, in addition to Jambe Lu and Nam Poorf, late of the Temple’s Agricultural Corps, who were doing the piloting, and still-sightless Deran Nalual, who was tucked into the cramped communications duty station.

No one had said a word since Nalual had transmitted the ship’s authorization key to the picket array’s cardinal corvette. Filli was confident that the transport’s altered drive signature would pass muster, but—new to forging Imperial code—he was less certain about the authorization key.

Starstone placed her hand on Jambe’s shoulder, as a way of saying: Be ready to make a run for it.

Jambe was centering himself behind the steering yoke when an officious voice issued from the cockpit speakers.

“Vagabond Trader, you are cleared for approach to Kashyyyk. Commerce Control will provide you with vector coordinates for atmospheric entry and landing.”

“Understood,” Deran said into the mouthpiece of her headset.

Engaging the transport’s sublight drive, Jambe and Nam began to edge the transport through the cordon.

Starstone heard Filli’s eased exhalation and turned to him.

“You all right?”

“I am now,” he said. “I was flying blind with that code.”

“I guess we’re both that good,” Deran said from behind him.

Starstone touched Deran on the arm and smiled at Filli.

He smiled back. “Glad to help.”

Starstone was still getting used to Filli’s frequently awkward attempts at flirtation. But then, she wasn’t even ranked a beginner. The idea that the towheaded slicer was on temporary loan from the Drunk Dancer was absurd. Shryne was merely using Filli as a means of keeping tabs on the Jedi, but she refused to let that bother her. If Filli’s