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Kyp checked the navigation screen for their bearings. “Still playing philosopher, Zero-One?”

I FAIL TO COMPREHEND THE UNDERLYING SEMANTIC MEANING OF YOUR QUERY.

“It was what you might call ‘a hint.’ Stop gazing at your … central interface terminal and tend to astronavigation. We should be coming up on our hyperspace coordinates before long.”

AS I AM WELL AWARE. IT IS POSSIBLE TO THINK AND ACT AT THE SAME TIME, the droid responded.

“Apparently you haven’t attended any of the recent Jedi meetings,” Kyp said.

YOU ARE THE ONLY JEDI WITH WHOM I INTERFACE. UNFORTUNATELY, I WAS NOT PROGRAMMED TO EXPERIENCE GRATITUDE.

Kyp grinned fleetingly. “Was that a non sequitur or an insult?”

WHATEVER WORKS.

“I take less abuse from the Vong,” Kyp complained as he switched his comm to the designated open channel.

“Not long now, Dozen. Our primary mission is to protect the ship carrying the Jedi scientists. We’re flying in groups of four. Each lieutenant will name command targets. I’ll assess the situation once we emerge in Coruscant space and revise our strategy as needed.”

“Hard to believe that Skywalker’s Jedi are finally getting off their thumbs,” observed Ian Rim, Kyp’s latest lieutenant.

“You’re forgetting about Anakin Solo,” put in Veema, a plump and pretty woman who was edging into her fifth decade of life. Kyp liked her—at least, as much as he allowed himself to care personally about any of his pilots. Her sense of fun was legendary among certain circles, and her warm, inviting smile had probably started more tavern brawls than a bad-tempered Gamorrean. Anyone who crossed Veema, however, soon realized that she had dimples of duracrete and a talent for holding grudges that a Hutt might envy.

“Last I heard, Anakin went to the Yavin system, alone, against orders from Skywalker and Borsk Fey’lya,” Veema continued. She let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a purr. “Young, handsome, reckless, and maybe a little stupid—definitely my kind of man! Care to introduce us, Kyp?”

“Why should I? I’ve nothing against the kid.”

“He’s not the only one taking action,” observed Octa Ramis, the only other Jedi in Kyp’s group. A somber woman whose solid frame spoke of her origin on a high-gravity world, Octa had been shifting to an increasingly militant position for some time. She was the first Jedi to join forces with Kyp—that is, if you didn’t count Jaina Solo’s temporary and Force-assisted cooperation at Sernpidal.

“I heard about a few hotheaded Jedi who take, shall we say, a very proactive approach to the Peace Brigade,” Ian Rim said.

“What if they do?” Octa said, snarling. “Who cares what happens to those Sith-spawned cowards? Jedi for Jedi—I’ve no quarrel with that!”

“But others do,” Kyp observed with a sigh. “I know the three Ian’s talking about. Maybe I should try to reel them in a bit.”

He switched off the comm and addressed his astromech droid. “What would that make me, Zero-One—the voice of reason?”

I AM NOT PROGRAMMED TO APPRECIATE IRONY.

“Bring on the Vong,” Kyp muttered as he switched back to his squadron.

“Talk to me, Dozen.”

“For highest kill count, I’ve got two credits on Veema,” Ian Rim offered. “No one can go through males of any species like she can!”

The woman’s laughter tinkled, but Kyp heard the edge beneath the shimmering sound. “Better plan on using some of your winnings to buy me a drink.”

“You’re on. Anyone else want to get in on this?”

The chatter flowed over Kyp, fading into perceived static as he reached out with the Force, trusting his instincts and emotions to take him through the coming battle, as they had so many times before.

“You’re pretty quiet, Kyp,” a disembodied voice observed.

“Only on the outside.”

He spoke without thinking. His comment was met with a moment’s silence, then some uncertain laughter. None of the pilots had actually seen Kyp’s darker side unleashed, but all of them had heard stories. No one dared speak of what he’d been, and what he’d done.

But it was always there.

“Five credits on Octa,” Kyp said lightly. “And if you beat