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“Mine went low. That was a Juggernaut assault vehicle down there providing that fire.”

“And it looked like they were reinforcing the conduit.”

“I saw that. I nailed a ferrocrete mixer.”

Wedge checked his scanners. “We have a squadron of Interceptors headed in our direction.”

“What do you want to do? I’m good for another run.”

“Another run would be suicide, Nine, and you don’t have the fuel to play.”

“Sir, I’m good for another run.”

Wedge shook his head. “You’re heading home while you can still get there.”

“No.”

“That’s an order, Nine, not an invitation to debate.” Wedge could feel Corran’s disappointment. It’s exactly what I felt when Luke ordered me out of the trench on the first Death Star run. “Get clear, Corran. You can’t do any more good back there.”

Dejection filled Corran’s voice. “As ordered, sir. What are you going to do?”

“Blowing the conduit is our mission and the others can’t break off to do it.” Wedge Antilles slowly smiled. “What the Imps have set up there will stop almost any pilot. I’m going to remind them that in Rogue Squadron we don’t take just any pilot.”

35

Kirtan Loor fussed with the hem of his tunic and adjusted his cap with a tug on the bill. He wanted to feel confident about his recall to Coruscant, but he did not dare allow himself that indulgence. His mission had been the destruction of Rogue Squadron. While half of it had died at Borleias, the other half lived, with Wedge Antilles and Corran Horn still flying. In fact, the unit had amassed a considerable list of kills while it was his to destroy, so he could not imagine Ysanne Isard would be in a pleasant mood.

He cracked a smile. I cannot imagine her ever being in a good mood.

The door to her office slid open and Kirtan’s smile died. Isard again wore her scarlet Admiral’s uniform, complete with the black armband on her left arm. Her hair had been drawn back and fastened at the nape of her neck with a black clasp. She gestured invitingly, but the mannerly nature of her greeting only played through her hand. Her mismatched eyes prophesied doom, but he thought it might be deferred instead of immediate.

“Please, Agent Loor, do come in. I trust the journey from Borleias was not too tiring.”

He shook his head, doing his best to hide any trace of fatigue. “I apologize for not being here sooner. My original agenda was disrupted, hence the week’s delay in my arrival.”

“I know about it. Another operation demanded some resources that I had planned to use for your return.” She casually waved away concern over the delay—something Kirtan found mildly annoying since she had caused it and his week on Toprawa. “I trust you spent your time on Toprawa well?”

“Well?” Toprawa had been a Rebel transfer point for the stolen data about the first Death Star. As punishment for their complicity in the Rebellion, the population saw its world reduced to a pre-industrial state where banthas were the swiftest form of travel and fire was the highest level of energy production available to the native people. Imperial forces lived in gleaming citadels that remained lit like beacons throughout the night, becoming visible monuments to what the people of Toprawa had lost through their perfidy.

“You studied their suffering, yes?” Her dark brows arrowed together. “You saw what they have become.”

Kirtan swallowed hard. “I have seen, yes. They are wretched and pathetic.”

“And you witnessed one of their festivals?”

He nodded slowly. The “festival” involved a company of stormtroopers driving a cart laden with sacks of grain into the center of a village. To receive the grain the villagers were required to squirm on their bellies, worming their way forward, all the time weeping and wailing lamentations over the Emperor’s death. Food was doled out based on some trooper’s belief in the sincerity of the mourning. Kirtan had no doubt that many of the people had come to believe they truly did regret the Emperor’s death.

“Those people, Agent Loor, conspired with the Emperor’s murderers. They have learned that their