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Two TIE fighters emerged from the target bunker and headed west in pursuit of Runt.

Tyria said, “I’m going out to cover Donos’s arrival.”

Janson nodded. “Be careful.”

Kell added, “Do what the man says.”

· · ·

The bunker’s doors clanged down into place. The crew chief on duty called out, “Back to normal,” and switched on the light.

Two black-clad commandos, a man and a woman, their faces covered in dark masks, stood in the hangar, covering the mechanics with blaster pistols. Another two were already going through the door into the office portion of the bunker—somehow they knew the gesture that told the movement sensor to open the door.

The male commando said, “Not exactly normal. Don’t make a move.”

Face entered the bunker’s command center, his pistol out and at the ready, Atril just behind him.

The officer on duty was turning away from a security monitor and drawing his blaster as they entered. Face snapped off a shot and missed. Atril’s shot was accurate—gruesomely accurate; it caught the man full in the face before he had a chance to fire. He dropped to the polished and waxed duracrete floor, his hair on fire.

Face gestured to the other person in the room, a gray-haired uniformed woman who was already raising her hands. “Put that out before it sets off the fire alarms.” He was annoyed to hear his voice try to crack.

Silent, she complied, taking a jacket from the back of a chair and using it to smother the smoky fire.

Face managed to put a little more authority into his voice. “Now. What’s the standard recall code for the TIE fighters who just left?”

The woman, her task complete, rose to her feet and put her hands up again. “I don’t know.”

Face glanced over his shoulder at Atril. “Kill her.” He saw her eyes widen and gave her the tiniest shake of his head.

The bunker officer said, “Sakira. S-A-K-I-R-A.” Her lip turned downward. “It’s his daughter’s name.”

Face moved to the main control board. Its primary monitor showed the red blip of Runt’s X-wing outbound, two blue blips of the TIE fighters closing rapidly upon it. He typed SAKIRA into the keypad and sent the code.

Almost immediately a man’s voice came over the comm speaker: “Sun Leader to Base, please confirm last transmission.”

Face waved the surviving bunker operator to the panel. She approached, stiff-legged, but her face twitched and she did not use the comm. “If I confirm the code, they’ll know it’s wrong,” she said, her tone sullen.

Face sighed, then keyed the comm. He kept his voice low, making it as bland as possible. “Confirm recall Sakira,” he said.

“Base, copy. Returning home. He had him, Base. Why the change?”

“New orders. Come on in.”

“Base, will comply.”

Face discovered he was sweating. Comm distortion would help a bit, but this was Imperial equipment; its distortion was less severe than New Republic comm gear. If that pilot had any suspicions, he could be calling the spaceport’s control center or another fighter base even now …

But the image on the sensor screen showed the TIE fighter blips looping around and returning.

Face keyed his comlink. “Six, they’re breaking off. Go to terrain-following mode and ease your way back.”

“Eight, we copy.”

Atril led the female officer back into the hangar. Face sat at the main control board. For the few minutes, it was a waiting game.

Alarms sounded all over the spaceport. A detachment of guards reached the gun emplacement and used a remote to bring it down to ground level. They dragged the gunner’s remains out of the chair’s remains and another trooper took his place. Kell hurriedly powered down the Narra’s systems so a sensor sweep would not detect them.

More troopers were running around on the duracrete near the spaceport’s main terminal bunker. Looking for Donos, Kell knew. If the sniper was on top of his game, he’d have rappelled down the side of the bunker moments after killing the gunner. Tyria would know where he was, but he dared not use his comlink to reach her; he might interrupt her at a critical time.

Feet clattered up the shuttle’s ramp and abruptly