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Janson grinned. “Fuel and food supplies at full. We’re doing pretty well.”

“Very well. I’ll issue the orders within the hour.”

They stood on Night Caller’s bridge, all the surviving Wraiths but Donos and Wedge. In his X-wing, Wedge hovered fifty meters off the bow, oriented, as Night Caller was, toward the sun of this forsaken system.

Face concluded, “Lacking even her mortal remains to say farewell to, in the manner of her people or ours, let us make this show of respect. Let us send out a physical beacon to mark her passing in the hope that there will be a spiritual one to guide her to her destination.”

Kell decided that Face made a pretty good speaker for the dead. He wished he knew how much of this speech, of the emotion Face projected, was genuine, from Face’s heart … how much was merely the artifice of an actor. But he didn’t need to know right now.

Wedge, acting not as Wraith Leader but as Jesmin’s wingman one last time, fired. His proton torpedo shot toward the distant sun and detonated a few moments later, ten kilometers away, creating for a brief moment a brilliant beacon in the sky. But like the mortal life it symbolized, the proton burst quickly faded from sight.

Wedge’s X-wing slowly maneuvered downward, toward the open bow hatch and out of sight. The mourners, all but the bridge crew, began to leave.

“Tainer.”

Kell stiffened. “Yes, Lieutenant Janson.”

“Night Caller did take a couple of shots during the battle. No significant damage, but it appears to have knocked some couplings and fittings loose around the ship. I’d appreciate it if you would join the mechanics in fixing them.”

Kell saluted the man who’d killed his father and watched him leave.

It was punishment detail. He was sure of it. He’d fouled up the rescue of Jesmin Ackbar and would be receiving pointless tasks like this for the duration of his stay with Wraith Squadron.

In the hallway leading to the officers’ quarters, he caught up with Tyria. “Any change?”

She shook her head. “He’s still the same. Another day or two and we’re going to have to convince them that he’s returned to duty. We might be able to take some of his work shifts and just sign his name to them …”

“It gets more and more dangerous.”

She shrugged, obviously aware of the truth of his statement. “Should we only risk ourselves for the safety of civilians?”

“No.” He sighed. “I can’t help you with him today. I have tug-and-plug duty. Maybe it won’t take too long.”

“Good luck.” She rose on tiptoes and absently gave his cheek a quick kiss, then headed off toward Donos’s quarters.

Kell rubbed his cheek. Now, what did that mean? Just when he was at his most wretched, she showed some faint sign of affection …

Ah. He understood. That conversation with the others about wounded males and females who tried to nurse them back to health. He’d finally reached such a low point that she cared about him.

Well, to hell with that. He might have thought differently a few months ago, but now, given the option of feeling as he did and winning her affection, or finding some worth in himself and no longer being miserable enough to attract her, he’d have to go for the second choice.

He headed off to find his tool kit.

“Shall we trade?” asked Warlord Zsinj.

Admiral Trigit expansively gestured. “You go first. You are the warlord.”

“True. You remember Night Caller.”

Trigit snorted. “One of your TIE fighter corvettes. Thank you for forwarding their reports to me. I’m grateful to Night Caller, my lord. It’s good to know there is a ship undergoing an even less eventful mission than my own.”

Zsinj twisted his face into something like an indulgent smile. “What if I told you that Night Caller’s last several stops have all been visited—or, to be more accurate, smashed—by Rebel forces? Sometimes commandos, sometimes X-wing squadrons?”

Trigit took a half step back. “The ship is being shadowed.”

“Correct. I would appreciate it if you would take care of the matter.”

“At once. Well … perhaps not. The matter I