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A smiling flight facilitator’s face appeared on the flat screen. “We are beginning landing operations. Please bring your seats into a full and …”

Wedge killed the sound on the display. “I hope our landing is as smooth as the flight.”

“As do I.” Pash sighed convincingly. “I hate spaceport tie-ups. If things are going to go wrong, it’s generally there.”

The spaceport at which Jewel of Churba set down was a multistory facility built atop a triad of towers approximately fifty kilometers from the Imperial Palace. The docking bay had multiple levels that allowed passengers from the various classes to disembark without having to mix with the others. The rich who had not left in their own shuttles were received in an opulent, spacious area that Wedge saw through the porthole as Jewel settled in for a landing. The keelrunners—aliens and low-class humans—were off-loaded in a secure cargo area.

The first- through third-class passengers exited the starliner through multiple ports and into a clean but crowded waiting area. Customs officials ran spot checks on some of the passengers, but Wedge saw no one hustled away. Beyond the Immigration area was luggage retrieval, but before he or Pash could worm their way into the crowd to get their things, a brown-haired woman in a prim grey medtech uniform approached them.

“Colonel Roat?”

Wedge nodded. “I am Roat. This is my friend, Prefect Parin Dodt. You are?”

“Irin Fossyr. I am from the Rohair Biomechanical Clinic. I was sent to meet you.”

“You were.”

“I had been told you were notified. I left word with your aide, Captain Seeno.”

“That explains it. Seeno was killed just before I began my journey.”

“You have my sympathies, sir.”

“Accepted.” Wedge nodded solemnly. The woman had used the correct phrases to introduce herself, proving she was one of Cracken’s agents. Wedge waited while she and Pash picked up the luggage, then she led them out to a waiting lift-car. It had labels on the side proclaiming it to be from the Rohari Biomechanical Clinic but otherwise looked utterly ordinary. Their luggage was loaded into the external rack, then the three of them climbed in and the driver in the forward compartment headed them away from the spaceport.

The woman sat back on the bench seat that faced the rear of the craft. “It will take us fifteen minutes or so to get where we’re going. We could get there faster, but …”

Wedge smiled as much as the mask would allow him to. “Precautions, we understand. I was wondering, though, if I can’t take this mask off.”

“By all means.”

Wedge subvocalized the command that let the air out of the built-in bladders, loosening the mask. He worked it off, then coughed and finally shucked his hand out of the claw glove. “Luke doesn’t seem to mind his replacement hand—it must be that Jedi training.”

Pash chuckled politely, but the woman just sat there and stared for a moment. Then she blushed and looked away. “Forgive me. I had been told you were important, but I didn’t realize. I remember your face from some early Imperial warrants. You’re Wedge Antilles, right?”

Wedge nodded. “You saw Imperial warrants with my picture on them?”

“They had limited circulation—the Diktat might have been with the Empire, but not so all Corellians.” She extended her hand to Wedge. “I’m Iella Wessiri. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Iella Wessiri? Why is that name familiar? Wedge shook her hand and let her introduce herself to Pash Cracken—eliciting another blush—while he thought about her name. Then it came to him. That’s what Corran’s human partner was called.

“You saw the Imperial warrants when you were with CorSec.”

Iella blinked, then nodded slowly. “They must have given you a thorough briefing.”

“Not really, but I have heard of you.” He shrugged. “I can’t say from where, of course.”

She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

“What I can say is this”—Wedge smiled—“what I have heard makes me think this mission’s smooth start should extend yet further and give us