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Han shook his head negatively. “That wasn’t him.”

He leaned back in his seat to glance through the upper panes of the viewport. A classic Firespray-class security patrol craft shot overhead. A cross-shaped ship affixed to an oval engine suite, it was followed by four Gladiators, so named because they looked like swords thrust to the hilt through circular shields.

“It is Fett! And he’s clearing a lane for us!” Han snorted. “Just like him to make sure he has the upper hand on a debt.”

“Incoming transmission,” Leia said. “From the Firespray.”

Boba Fett’s voice crackled through the comm. “Just wanted to remind you, Solo, that my personal fight was always with the Jedi. You were nothing more than cargo.”

Han snorted. “For what it’s worth, Fett, you were never more than a nuisance.”

Fett laughed shortly. “To better days, Captain.”

“Count on it.”

Sowing mines far to port and starboard, the Firespray continued to break a trail for the near-weaponless Falcon; then Fett tipped the patrol craft’s short wings in salute and vanished.

“Ready for lightspeed,” Han said.

Leia collapsed back into the copilot’s chair, shaking her head back and forth. “I have now officially seen and heard everything.” She turned to Han with a half smile. “I’m almost ready to believe this war will actually end.”

With the Jedi Knights reduced to half their strength since the start of the war, Luke Skywalker’s seven incommunicado in the Unknown Regions, some—including the twenty or so Jedi children—still sheltered at the Maw Installation, and others participating in various Galactic Alliance military operations, Kenth Hamner could gather only a dozen Jedi for the meeting held in Tresina Lobi’s quarters on Mon Calamari.

Though understated, the circular room at the top of Coral City’s Quarren Tower was spacious and enjoyed a 360-degree view of the tranquil sea and sparkling reefs. In the continued absence of Luke and Saba—and with Kyp frequently flying missions with the Dozen—Tresina Lobi had become an important voice on Cal Omas’s Advisory Council. A Chev, she had a narrow face with angular features, and short black hair.

Tresina, Markre Medjev, and Cilghal, the Mon Calamari Jedi healer, had spent the morning preparing food, and the circular table in the sunroom was already spread with the appetizing results of their labors by the time Kenth and the others arrived.

Gradually they seated themselves at the table, except for Kenth, who was too restless to eat or stay put. Clockwise from Tresina’s armchair sat Cilghal, Jaina, Kyp, towering ginger-furred Lowbacca, the Twi’lek female Alema Rar, salt-and-pepper-haired combat instructor Kyle Katarn, Chandrilan Octa Ramis, slight and terribly scarred Waxarn Kel, and young and darkly handsome Zekk.

“Some of you might not be aware that operative Baljos Arnjak didn’t return from Wraith Squadron’s infiltration mission to Coruscant,” Kenth said as he circled the table. “Bhindi Drayson was supposed to have remained onworld, but it was Arnjak who stayed, and has been furnishing the Alliance with intelligence ever since, mostly with the help of a kind of droid-fungus he and his teammates let loose during the mission.”

Kenth came to a stop between Cilghal and Jaina, then leaned forward, planting the palms of his hands on the table. “Arnjak’s latest report states that Yu’shaa, the so-called Prophet of the heretics, was recently seen on Coruscant. By recent, I mean within the past local week, since it took that long for a string of couriers to move the information from the Core to Mon Calamari.”

“Has his identity been verified?” Kyle asked from across the table.

Kenth nodded. “Which means that he either didn’t go to Zonama Sekot with Corran and Tahiri—”

“Or that he returned without them,” Kyp said. “Is there some way we can establish whether he arrived back on Coruscant in the same vessel everyone left on?”

“No,” Kenth said.

[Or if they even reached Zonama Sekot], Lowbacca’s voice issued from his droid translator.

Kenth glanced at the Wookiee. “Exactly. Unlike most of the