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As the pilots emerged from their starfighters, Tycho looked between them. “Anyone hurt?” he asked.

They all shook their heads. Kyp, though undamaged, leaned heavily against the wing of his snubfighter, and Tycho gave him a second look. “You, go lie down,” he said.

“Happy to.” Kyp glanced at Jaina. “By your leave, Great One.”

“Get some rest, Kyp.”

Tycho turned to Jaina. “General Antilles wants to see you, now.”

“I expect so.”

“And me?” Jag asked.

“Later,” Tycho said. “Though he did want me to extend his congratulations on that shadow bomb tactic. Since kills can’t be awarded to more than two people, he thinks that first interdictor should be awarded to you.”

“I agree,” Jaina said. “I’ll sign off on that.”

“Me, too,” Kyp said.

They walked into the biotics building. Kyp managed not to stagger as he left them for his quarters.

At Wedge’s office, Tycho left Jaina and Jag to enter the inner office, then stuck his head out a moment later to say, “It’ll be about five minutes.”

“Understood,” Jaina said.

When Tycho had withdrawn again into the inner office, leaving them with Wedge’s protocol droid, Jag said, “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Jaina couldn’t tell, from his quiet, controlled manner, what he intended to convey to her, but she had a good idea. “There’s a little conference room down the corridor.”

“That’ll do.”

She knew what he was going to say. His face would turn pale with his anger, highlighting the scar on his forehead, and he would cut her with his words. You abandoned your mission objectives for one pilot, he’d say. You almost wiped out the rest of your squadron. You almost wrecked the plan. No one’s life is worth that. Not mine. Not yours. You’re a complete failure as a leader, as an officer.

He’d say that, and she wouldn’t have any words with which to defend herself, because he’d be right.

He’d stare at her with an expression made up of analytical calculation and hard experience. He’d tell her what he thought of her. Then he’d turn and walk away. He’d find himself a unit to command, a unit that could be counted on to perform up to his professional standards.

A sharp pain sprang up in her gut, as though she’d inadvertently swallowed a vibroblade and her movements had finally switched it on. But she held herself straight. She had to be able to look him in the eye when he started in on the verbal beating she knew she deserved.

They reached the conference room, its door open, its interior cool and dark; Jag turned on the overhead lights, closed the door behind Jaina.

She faced him, hoping that what she was feeling wasn’t reflected in her expression. “I know what you’re going to say,” she told him.

“I don’t think you do.” Oddly, his face was not the stern mask she’d expected. If anything, he looked uncertain, unlike the Jag Fel she was used to.

“You’re going to tell me that I screwed up. You’re going to elaborate until you’re certain I can’t take it anymore. Then you’re going to leave.” Her throat, constricting, caused her to lose control of the last few words; they sounded high and hoarse to her.

“No. We both know that your command decisions were far afield of common sense and effective strategy. We don’t even have to discuss that. What I have to know …” He hesitated, and if anything looked even less sure of himself than before, “What I have to know is this: Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know. You have to know. Nobody else but you could know.” He leaned in closer. It wasn’t a posture of intimidation; he stared into her eyes as if he hoped to find an answer, any answer, written in tiny letters on her pupils. “Answer me.”

“I … I …” Her voice hoarsened until she was sure she could no longer use it, but finally words emerged, words that seemed to be coming from a child. “Everyone is going away.” Tears blurred her vision. “They keep going away and I can’t stop it. I didn’t want you to go away.”

Then the tears did come, and Jag was transformed into a wavery block of black uniform with a wavery block of pale skin atop it. She could no longer read his expression but