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“I saved your life,” she said. “So did Davis.”

“Because you needed me to lure Leia to her death. That doesn’t count, Blue.”

“Han, please—”

He shook his head, and backed away from her. Then he stopped when he realized something. “If this wasn’t supposed to happen here, what went wrong?”

“I forgot,” she whispered. “About the stolen droids.”

“Stolen? From where?”

“Everywhere. Smugglers always steal droids. You know that.”

“But these droids. The ones that blew. Where were they stolen from?”

She raised her gaze to him as if he should have figured it out. As if he should have known. And he was afraid he did know, but he waited for her to say it anyway.

“Coruscant,” she whispered. “They were stolen from Coruscant.”

Thirty-eight

The fleet continued moving forward. Kueller watched it on his screens, saying nothing. The room was dimly lit, the only true light coming from the screens and the lamps at the workstations. The dome showed the silent night sky. Hard to believe he would easily win a battle up there in a matter of moments.

Yanne had given the order. Kueller had watched the serial numbers scroll on his remote.

Too much time had passed.

At first he wondered if the fleet was moving forward on momentum. Then he realized, as the wave of cold and death failed to wash over him, that nothing had happened.

“Yanne,” he said to his assistant, figuring a double check was necessary. “Did you give the order?”

“Yes, sir.”

The wave hit, finally, terrifyingly chill and weak, as if it had come from a long distance. It was oddly prolonged: a few deaths, then a few more, and then a few after that. He raised his arms, felt the power surge in him, but there was no satisfaction in it. The droids he had designed especially for the Coruscant fleet were somehow somewhere else.

Slowly he lowered his arms. Yanne was watching him curiously, as if he had never seen him before. Kueller was tempted to pick the old man up and break his thin neck as a sign of power. But he knew that would gain him nothing.

The ships were growing closer, ever closer. Too many of them. If he let them get too close, they would destroy Almania.

“I’ve deployed our ships,” Yanne said.

“Good,” Kueller said, ignoring Yanne’s triumphant tone. The little man wanted Kueller to lose, wanted Kueller to be defeated. But Kueller wouldn’t be. I want the Imperial warships to be the first thing they see. I want them to think they’re still fighting the Empire.”

“Won’t that give them a psychological advantage, sir?”

Kueller smiled. “A psychological disadvantage, Yanne. The Empire becomes the enemy that never dies. They’ll use strategies with the Empire they’d never use with us.”

“And that’s to our advantage?”

“Keeping the true nature of our attack hidden is always to our advantage.” He leaned forward. “I will conduct the battle from here. I want you to discover what went wrong. Why our weapon didn’t work.”

“You relied too much on that one weapon,” Yanne said.

Kueller shook his head. “The droids exploded, Yanne. But they exploded somewhere else. I want you to let me know where the damage occurred, and what happened on this fleet.”

Yanne watched him a moment. Kueller glowered at him. Finally, Yanne said, “Yes, sir.”

His attitude needed work. He was a competent man who was about to walk the road that Femon died upon. But because he had served Kueller so well, he deserved a warning.

A symbolic warning.

Kueller raised a hand, and clenched it.

Yanne brought a hand to his throat. He was gagging, his tongue out, his eyes wide.

Kueller let go.

Yanne dropped to his knees, and remained there, gasping.

“You need to remember, my friend, that I am more powerful than you, and always will be.”

“I … have never … forgotten … that, milord …”

“Your attitude tells me otherwise. I value your opinion and your ideas. See that I don’t lose the wisdom of your council.”

“Yes … sir.” Yanne brought himself slowly to his feet. His neck carried bruises where Kueller’s imaginary hand had been. “I … shall endeavor … to … prevent the