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“Your physical status, I mean.”

“Oh. The damage to flesh was all trivial. I didn’t lose any limbs or organs this time, which is quite a treat, I assure you. The damage to the prosthetics is not all fixed yet, though. My left leg isn’t receiving proper neural input and drags a bit. And my right hand works just fine for most things, but when I start to work with a datapad, there’s some sort of leakage of signals and it just goes crazy.” Phanan waved the hand in question. It ordinarily looked like a normal hand, but now it twitched continually, the ring finger jerking rhythmically and the flesh on the back of the hand crawling in an inhuman fashion. Phanan did not seem disturbed by the phenomenon. “But with a little more work with the ship’s computers, I should be able to set everything right.”

“Cubber, Kell, the attachment on the shuttle?”

Kell shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with its memory blown out, but I think it was some sort of parasitic communications device. It was mobile and had a camouflage coating; it can alter its color to match whatever vehicle it’s attached to. It also has a very small, very limited hypercomm ability … but again, with its memory gone, I can’t find out where it was transmitting to. My guess is that it went from ship to ship and occasionally broadcast its current location to its maker.”

Grinder said, “Which is nothing if there’s only one of them … but important if they could build hundreds or thousands. They could build up a map of anomalous hits and find all sorts of things. Smugglers’ bases. Deep-space assembly points.”

Wedge said, “And hidden Alliance bases. Jesmin, add that to the report we’re sending to Command. ‘All ships, be advised …’ ”

“Understood.”

Wedge checked the next item on his list. “All right. We’ve faked up a report in Captain Darillian’s name, with all the appropriate security checks on it, explaining that he jumped into this system, found the abandoned X-wing, assumed that the pilot had ejected, sent over a party to retrieve it—and it blew up, some nasty treachery on the part of its original pilot. We’ve sent that report off. We hope it will forestall any further inquiry on the matter of the Xobome system. Now, we’re going to take some time, rotating you among the guard duties, but giving everyone a chance for a few hours’ rest. When we’re all feeling a bit more recovered, we launch.”

Kell said, “Doldrums, here we come.”

“No, Mr. Tainer. Not Doldrums. First we’re going to three different uninhabited systems to pick up three unexploded Empion mines. Then we’re going to the Viamarr system.”

Kell frowned, confused. “If I may ask, sir—”

“Why this schedule? Because that’s the order of business for Night Caller. Ladies, gentlemen, I’m acting on my own initiative and sending off a request that High Command approve my new plan. Which is this: We’ve just become crewmen in Warlord Zsinj’s fleet … and we’re going to do his bidding until we can find a way to strike at him.”

Kell emerged from his temporary quarters wearing a black TIE fighter pilot’s jumpsuit—one that was, miraculously, large enough for him—and toweling his hair dry.

Night Caller seemed eerily quiet. They were still on the ground, so the ship did not tremble from the efforts of her engines, and she was massive enough to be immune to Xobome 6’s winds. With most of the old crew collected in the stern lounge under guard, and with Wraith Squadron spread thinly through the rest of the ship, there were few noises to be heard.

He headed forward, toward the bridge, along the main corridor running the length of the ship. When he was almost to the bow, he heard voices drifting down a stairwell to port.

He followed them up. Off the main corridor of Deck One, he found himself peering into the ship’s main communications bay, a smallish chamber whose walls were solid, modular blocks of communications gear.

Jesmin and Face were seated there, and another man was with them—a hologram, actually. The man, thin, cleanshaven, with hawklike features, was dressed in a sharp-looking black uniform with