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The worst image Nawara saw was of one small ship—one barely bigger than the Skate—that appeared, from the prow to midships, to be intact. Back of that point the ship did not really exist—at least, nothing recognizable as a ship. Turbolaser fire had hit so fast that the latter half of the ship had been liquified. An amorphous blob of metal fringed with condensed metal mist, like the down from a silvery bird, trailed in the ship’s wake.

The sheer violence of the attack that had destroyed that ship shook Nawara. The transparisteel cockpit panels on the ship had blown out. He realized the Super Star Destroyer’s turbolasers would have superheated the atmosphere in the ship. The crew would have been cooked inside and out in the blink of an eye. They would have been dead before they knew what had happened to them, but their last moments must have been full of terror because of the SSD’s presence.

Nawara keyed his comm unit. “Hypothetical question: you’re part of a convoy with minimal arms and you come out of hyperspace in the shadow of a Super Star Destroyer and a Strike Cruiser that’s deployed its TIEs. Do you provoke an attack?”

“Ooryl cannot see how anyone would be that suicidal.”

“Right, so you’d surrender and tell the SSD that you’re hauling bacta, which is currently very valuable.” Nawara frowned. “It makes no sense for anyone to have killed the convoy.”

“That’s why to know Warlord Zsinj is to wonder about his sanity.” Disgust filled Pash’s voice. “He’s definitely someone who needs a lot of killing.”

“Count me in.”

“Me, too.”

A squeal came through the comm unit, then Wedge spoke. “I’ve just had word with the TIEs. They’re giving up—they were uneasy with the mission and they don’t like the fact that we showed up. They’re going to recon the hangar sections of Termagant and see if they can reboard.”

“Why, that hulk’s not going anywhere? The engines are in the other half and it’s headed for the Graveyard.”

“I noticed, Four. They’re going to check for survivors and try to pick up enough oxygen to survive for as long as they can. Pash, I want you to take Two flight out of here and make for Tatooine. It’s about eight hours out, give or take. Gavin can guide you in to Mos Eisley. Refuel there and hire a freighter that can carry a dozen TIEs. Get it here and haul the pilots clear. I’m sure your father would like to debrief them, so you should probably bring them to Coruscant with you.”

“As ordered. We fly cover for the freighter in case our friends have any ideas about trying to commandeer it?”

“Right, though I don’t think you’ll find much opposition.”

“How so?”

“Scan the debris. There’s a lot of TIE parts out there and—”

Nawara looked at the readout his R5 scrolled up his screen. “X-wing debris. But we didn’t lose anyone.”

“No, we didn’t.” Some of the anger drained from Wedge’s voice. “Of course, that’s not what Zsinj’s people say. They say they already killed off Rogue Squadron, right here, defending the convoy the way it was supposed to. Then we arrived and showed them we were tougher to kill the second time around.”

Nawara blinked. “But that makes no more sense than attacking the convoy in the first place.”

“No it doesn’t, but there’s no time to try to figure it out now. You get to Tatooine. We’ll check for survivors here, then head back to Coruscant and report. See you there in a day or so.” Wedge sighed. “If by then you come up with any brilliant thoughts on what’s happened here, I know I, for one, will be more than willing to listen to them.”

30

Kirtan Loor would have been trembling with outrage, but the lethargy of despair had a higher priority. He knew his days were numbered, and he wouldn’t have bet on double digits even if given the longest of odds. He freely assumed the only reason he still lived was because Ysanne Isard enjoyed the thought of him cowering in fear, dreading each new day.

Yet even facing certain death at her hands, Loor did greatly admire how Isard had gotten him and Warlord Zsinj and the New Republic in one simple set of maneuvers. Rogue Squadron would also have been