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Face whistled. “You’re after valuable cargo. What is it?”

Melvar shook his head. “That’s a secret … until you’re at the mission site.”

“What we need to know,” Zsinj said, returning to his seat, “is how many starfighters you can bring to bear in support of this mission.”

“Six,” Face said. He noted that Zsinj’s merry demeanor now seemed forced.

“Only six?”

“We fight like twenty.”

“You fight like thirty. And we’ll pay you like thirty.”

“Meaning …”

“Your commission is four hundred thousand Imperial credits, deliverable immediately upon completion of the mission.”

Face tried to keep from displaying the surprise he felt. That was a fortune, enough to purchase two X-wings plus replacement supplies. “And if your mission fails, no payment at all?”

“No, you get the entire amount regardless—assuming you don’t let me die in the engagement.”

“I’m still impressed. If I didn’t know my unit’s skills, I would suspect you were overpaying us.”

Zsinj dropped his false smile. “I am overpaying. I predict that some of yours, and some of mine, will die in this engagement. I intend to pay enough that all our pilots go into battle eager to succeed, happy to risk their lives—and comforted that if they die, their widows and children will be amply compensated.”

Face considered it. “I’d be happy to earn still more. I have more Hawk-bats than I do starfighters. Many with technical proficiency. Many with other skills.”

“Intrusion skills?”

Face smiled. “I was right. You’re going to position a team before your fleet arrives.”

Zsinj shrugged. “We obviously think alike. Yes, of course.”

“I have intrusion experts. Some with experience with both Imperial and New Republic systems.”

“And also,” Melvar interrupted, “you have him.” He extended one silvery nail toward Kell.

“And his teacher,” Face said.

Melvar looked surprised. “His … teacher?”

Kell brushed his hair back, his signature gesture, and looked miffed.

“His teacher. Deadliest unarmed combatant I ever met. A woman, deceptively sweet of appearance, which makes it easy to insert her in most environments. Not his equal as a pilot … but I once saw her kill a Wookiee. Unarmed.”

Zsinj and Melvar exchanged glances. Zsinj said, “Surely you’re exaggerating.”

“He’s not,” Kell said, his first words since they sat. “A Wookiee’s incredibly strong by human standards, but no faster … and has just as many vulnerabilities. Pressure points. Joints. You can’t wrestle with one—that’s automatic death. And its longer reach means you constantly have to drop in and out of its range. But it can be done.

“Qatya, that’s my teacher, started with a shot to the spine that compressed its spinal cord and apparently damaged a couple of its vertebrae, all of which partially paralyzed it … especially its legs. The next time it swung at her, she trapped its hand at a position to give her advantageous leverage, then twisted it to break its wrist. She broke two of its fingers then, too, just for fun. You know how women are. Then—”

“Dissek, please.” Face made his voice admonishing, but inwardly was pleased by Kell’s improvisation—it was just the sort of gruesome detail he would not have felt knowledgeable enough to provide. “Do forgive him. Combat is his only love.”

“Quite all right,” Zsinj said. “You will provide me with dossiers on the Hawk-bats who have technical skills so I can evaluate possible roles for them?”

“I will. Just give me a way to send them to you.”

“Melvar will give you a set of HoloNet times and frequencies before you leave.”

“And as much data as you can give us on this mission so we can run our own simulations?”

Melvar produced a datapad from a pocket and slid it over to him.

“Would you be averse to a small commission now?” the warlord asked.

“Not at all.”

Zsinj stared back toward the security foyer, the route by which the Hawk-bats had entered the command center. Two stormtroopers there were advancing, dragging a third stormtrooper backward between them. The third man was limp in their arms and had no helmet on; his hair