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“All of whom are dead,” he said flatly.

Jaina fell silent. After a few moments, she said, “You really know how to stop someone in midrant.”

“It’s a learned skill,” he responded. “When you irritate enough people over a sufficient period of time, you become the recipient of many a rant. Every now and then, it comes in handy to be able to shut them off.”

“Is this one of the skills you wanted to teach me?”

Kyp turned in his seat to face the young Jedi. She regarded him steadily, her brown eyes unreadable. “Are you considering my offer? Would you really become my apprentice?”

“Maybe. Is the job still open? Or was it ever?”

He glanced back into the small passenger cabin. Lowbacca was busily tinkering with a small mechanical device, and Tenel Ka seemed deeply engrossed in the information on a large data card. Whatever she was reading made her face appear even more somber than usual. Their other “passenger” was in no condition to listen in, even if he hadn’t been hidden away in the hold like so much baggage.

“When I made the offer, it was mostly to throw you off stride,” he admitted. “You’d heard all the stories about me, and you’ve heard several of my debates with Master Skywalker. You were predisposed to be suspicious of me. It’s much harder to dismiss someone when you’re considering him, even on a subconscious level, as a possible mentor.”

She nodded, not offended by his blunt words. “That’s what I thought. I still don’t appreciate being manipulated like that, but I’ll admit it was a good strategy. When you told me that the unfinished Vong worldship was a superweapon, I sifted your claim through the same filters I’d use for the words of any other Jedi Master. Without that, I might have seen past the smoke to your real purpose.”

For some reason, the admiration in her voice put Kyp on guard. “And knowing this, you could trust me as your Master?”

In response, she glanced toward the hold, where their unwilling passenger was hidden. “I trusted you last night.”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “We still need to have a talk about that little venture.”

“We will,” she responded. “Right now, though, it’s better if you keep a bit of distance from this. My family name and my connection to Rogue Squadron helped you pull off that attack on the Vong shipyards of Sernpidal. No offense, but your name and reputation would not have, shall we say, quite the same impact on my current project.”

This pronouncement surprised a rueful chuckle from Kyp, but it also stung enough to prompt a return shot. “Then why didn’t you take a file from my data banks? Jag Fel’s sterling reputation might have added some gloss to this mysterious enterprise.”

The slightly mocking light in Jaina’s eyes died, but her smile remained in place. “Maybe he’d prefer not to sully that reputation through association with a scruffy ‘Rebel’ mechanic,” she said lightly.

Kyp felt the undercurrent of truth beneath her words, and his own perception of Jaina shifted significantly.

He’d always viewed the oldest Solo child as a Jedi princess—not precisely spoiled, and certainly no stranger to hard work and personal trauma, but the fortunate recipient of a loving family, enormous talent, good training, and a comfortable life. Despite all this, Jaina assumed Baron Fel’s son perceived her to be a faintly disreputable character. The strange thing was, she was probably right.

Even stranger, as far as Kyp was concerned, was his dawning suspicion that Jag Fel was not far wrong. Though Kyp hadn’t considered this before, there might be a good explanation for his inability to pierce Jaina’s mental shields. The dark side was extremely difficult to perceive—as he had reason to know. He and Jaina, despite the differences in their heritages and early lives, might be more alike than he would have thought possible. Most Jedi were willing to risk their lives. He and Jaina were prepared to risk far more.

Jaina leaned toward him and waved one hand in front of his eyes. “Copilot, hailing Kyp Durron. Come in, Rogue Jedi.”

He snapped