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“I think the chiding can wait. The message sounded urgent,” Cole said.

Artoo swiveled his head and beeped.

“Artoo wants to know who owns the stock light freighter,” Threepio said, “although I don’t know why. Frankly, Master Fardreamer, Artoo has acted strangely since he was hit with that blasterfire.”

“Artoo has good instincts,” Cole said. He came into the room. “The freighter was stolen, and we impounded it. I’ve been fixing it up. No one really owns it. I think we’ll try to sell it.”

Artoo churbled and rocked.

“Artoo,” Threepio said. “Really, Master Fardreamer, he’s not himself.”

Cole smiled. “I think you might want to translate for me.”

Threepio glanced at Artoo. Artoo wailed. “Oh, all right,” Threepio said. “Artoo believes he knows who bombed the Senate Hall. He says if we don’t go there immediately, there will be another explosion.”

“To the Senate Hall?”

“No,” Threepio said, as if Cole were slow. “To the place that the detonators came from.”

Artoo cheebled urgently.

“He wants to know, sir, if you can help us.”

Cole Fardreamer frowned at the stock light freighter. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “But I can certainly try.”

Thirty-four

Leia had six military personnel on her small ship. Wedge had insisted that she have them in case of attack, but she suspected they were all on board to guard her. Wedge—and Mon Mothma—weren’t certain what she was going to do, and they wanted to keep her from doing something crazy.

She had never let anyone stop her before.

They wouldn’t stop her now.

Even though the young lieutenant, Tchiery, had insisted on piloting, Leia had rebuffed him. She needed the control. This was her mission, even though she was letting Wedge lead the fleet. She wanted to know the course, and the plan, and not veer from it.

Unless she wanted to.

Once she saw Almania, she would know what to do.

Her new crewmembers were in the galley, arguing over dinner. The cockpit was blessedly silent, allowing her to think. The copilot’s chair still bore the impression from Tchiery’s body. He was a Farnym. Farnyms were creatures noted for their bowling-ball roundness, and the incredible strength behind their unusual shape. They had close-cut fur, small snouts, and large orange eyes. Tchiery was no different. They also had a peculiar odor, like ginger mixed with sandalwood, an odor that remained in the cockpit long after Tchiery was gone.

The fleet fanned out behind her, thirty strong. How Mon Mothma was going to justify Wedge taking most of the working ships in the arsenal was beyond Leia. Wedge and his commanders rode in three large ships, and were accompanied by squadrons of smaller ships, mostly A- and B-wings. It was amazing how many ships he and Admiral Ackbar had been able to scrape together quickly.

Admiral Ackbar had opted to remain behind. He would cover their tracks as best he could, but surely Meido and his gang would notice thirty ships leaving Coruscant simultaneously. What they would not notice was the tiny, unmarked Alderaan. Leia counted on that. She didn’t want anyone to know she was part of this mission until it was too late to recall the ships.

She leaned back in the pilot’s chair, took a handful of her long hair, and quickly tied it into a ponytail. It was the third time she had made a ponytail. She kept pulling out the twist, a nervous habit from childhood that she thought she had lost. A lot of nervous habits had returned since Kueller had destroyed that second planet. She knew that when she returned she would have to deal with all the feelings those habits hid.

If she returned.

She had no idea what sort of weapon Kueller was using. The planets remained, but the people seemed to disappear. That wasn’t a Death Star or a Sun Crusher. No great single weapon to destroy with a bolt. The fleet couldn’t bomb it out of existence because they didn’t know what it was.

They couldn’t bomb Almania out of existence either. That would make the New Republic no better than the