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“I see that, Durron. But I’m just a retired adviser to Rogue Squadron. I don’t have the power to send a fleet.”

“General, with all respect,” Jaina said, “you may not have the official power, but you have the influence.”

Wedge folded his arms and regarded her for a long moment. “Solo, do you believe this? Do you believe what Durron has shown us?”

Jaina felt the weight of that question pressing her toward the planet’s core. This is why Kyp wanted me here, she reflected. They trust me.

“Yes,” she said. “I believe him.”

The general hesitated another few seconds, then held up his hands in surrender. “Gavin, I don’t have to ask where you stand on this.”

“No, sir, General. I saw that thing when they were growing it, when there was plenty of time to destroy it. I had to sit around while my information was all but ignored, and now we have something to deal with that we may not be able to stop at all. But Rogue Squadron will give it its best shot.”

“Volunteers only,” Wedge warned.

“Of course. As if that will make a difference.”

Wedge grinned wryly. “I understand, but the point has to be made. As I said, I want everyone to understand the political as well as the mortal danger inherent in this.”

“Understood.”

“Very well. I’m going to contact Admiral Kre’fey. I think he will be extremely interested in this situation. If that falls through, well, we’ll go from there.” He turned to Kyp. “I want you to understand something, Durron. You will not be in control of this mission, nor will you be at liberty to command your gang of pilots unsupervised. We’ll need every ship we can get, but not if that means the chance of an unpleasant surprise from a bunch of undisciplined hotshots.”

“If my pilots were undisciplined, General, they would not be alive,” Kyp replied. “But if you’re making my participation dependent on following orders, that’s fine with me—so long as I’m involved in the decision-making process. They are my pilots—I owe them a voice.”

“A voice you’ll get,” Wedge replied, his own speech strained. “But for the duration of this mission, you will submit to authority.”

Kyp nodded fractionally. “As you say, General.”

Antilles rose, nodding at Gavin and Jaina. “Colonel, Lieutenant. I’ll speak to you later.”

That’s the problem with trying to hide from a Jedi, Jaina thought. Through the spirate leaves of the tintolive trees grappling with the hillside, she could see Kyp, dressed in Jedi robes, walking up the flagstone steps to the small pavilion she had found in her search for solitude. The afternoon had brought puffs of cloud with it to wander shadows across the plain below. A lone, distant peak was crowned with darkness and lightning, a reminder that not all water vapor was so peaceful. Behind her, the centuries-old villa rambled across the ridgetop, a maze of gardens, orchards, and cool stone halls. Her mother had once described a family estate on Alderaan. Jaina imagined it had been much like this.

“Hello, Kyp.” She sighed as he came around an immaculately groomed stand of some sort of feather-leafed tree with bark scored into diamond patterns.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said.

“You noticed.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“Because I know you’re going to ask me to fly with you, and I can’t.” And because you’re hiding something from me. But she didn’t want to give that last up to him just yet.

Kyp leaned his shoulder against the nearest tree. “Why not?” he wondered. “Not that I was going to ask.” His voice was gentle, jovial, and he grinned suddenly at something he must have seen on her face.

“What’s got you so amused?” Jaina asked.

“You looked … surprised. It’s fetching.”

“I fetch nothing,” she snapped. “It’s just you. You’re all over the grid. One minute you’re as touchy and surly as a feral bantha, the next you’re the meditative Jedi Master, the dear friend, the sensitive fellow. Who are you, Kyp?”

“Who are you, Jaina?”

“Oh, no. Don’t start that with me.”

“The questions you ask condition the answers you get,” he said with a small shrug.

“Okay, okay. So you didn’t come