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The hair stood up on his head and arms and all monitors flickered as an ion beam struck within forty meters of Night Caller’s position.

Another near miss. Another charge against the credcard where he banked his luck.

· · ·

The A-wings flashed through the screen of TIE fighters, shooting continuously as they came, snap-shots not a detriment in the target-rich field of battle. Kell saw them both on screen and through his canopy as he approached.

He got laser lock at maximum range on an Interceptor, fired his quad-linked lasers, saw his shot carve away the upper half of a solar wing. The Interceptor, damaged but still in control, arced away from him.

“Who’s that? Five? Is that you?”

“That’s right, Eight. How’re you doing?”

“It’s unpleasant as a Hutt’s butt in here! Where were you?”

“It’s my sister’s birthday. I had to take her a present. Hold tight.” Kell aimed at the thickest concentration of TIEs and dove in, firing as fast as his lasers would cycle.

30

“Admiral, we’re going to lose Implacable.”

Trigit fixed Gara with a cold stare. “With the TIE fighters now chewing the attackers to pieces? I don’t believe it.”

“Something is in the power cell section. Methodically destroying every cell. We’ve already lost computer backup power. In ten minutes, maybe less, we’re going to lose all main power, and that’s the end of Implacable, even if every one of those Rebel pilots dies.”

He brushed past her and looked at the damage report.

She was right.

He felt faint for a moment. All these years of loyal service, the skill he’d shown Ysanne Isard and then the warlord, were suddenly worth precisely nothing. Destiny was balancing accounts and he was coming up short. He was about to lose his ship. His true love.

“Do we surrender, sir?”

Still dizzied by his sense of loss, he shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve lost … but we’re not going to give those Rebel scum another operational Star Destroyer they can repair and use for their own purposes. Implacable will take as many of them with her as she can.”

“Sir … that will be more than thirty-five thousand people dead.”

“And how many dead can we count on if the Rebels repair this ship and turn her guns on the Empire? Really, Lieutenant. Yes, we preserve the lives of those who depend on us … but only until their continued existence threatens even more lives.”

Her response was a stony silence.

He leaned in close. His voice dropped. “But for those who are most necessary to me, there are ways to survive. Tell me, can you fly an Interceptor?”

Wary, she shook her head. “I always wanted to go through pilot training. I never had an opportunity. They put me in intrusions instead.”

“Pity. I have my personal Interceptor standing by. It is equipped with a hyperdrive, as are its two escort Interceptors. I was going to offer one of them to you. Instead, I must recommend you make your way to the launch bay and take out a shuttle. At least you will survive that way.”

“Thank you for thinking of me. But, sir … the Rebels don’t recognize Warlord Zsinj or you as a legitimate government. They won’t treat me as an Intelligence operative and trade me back … they’ll try me as a traitor and execute me.” She looked regretful. “I won’t let them have that satisfaction. I’ll stay here, sir.”

“You’re a brave woman, Lieutenant.” Unwilling to show her the sense of loss he felt, Trigit turned from her. “Attention! I’m moving to the auxiliary bridge to complete our victory there. Don’t inform the officers there: I want to see how they’re doing as I walk in.” His officers nodded.

He gave Gara Petothel one last solemn look, a nod of respect from one officer to another, and then he entered the turbolift.

Kell twisted, dove, sideslipped, all to avoid the mass of TIE fighters and Interceptors in his path. He fired as he came on, paying no attention to sensor readings of his hits or misses—there was no time for anything but firing and dodging.

Suddenly the next vehicle in his sights was an A-wing. Kell rolled into a loop so hard that it exceeded the power of his inertial compensator