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Face winced. “About like I do, I suppose.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Talk to him, I suppose. Make him understand that it’s not his fault.”

Wedge waited, not speaking, just watching the young lieutenant, until Face finally looked startled. “Yes, sir,” Face said. “The same way it’s not my fault.”

“Correct. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir. I can’t stress enough that I felt there was something very significant about the look Zsinj and Melvar exchanged when I was discussing Piggy’s background. In the guise of Lieutenant Kettch’s background, I mean. That really spooked them. Either they’re involved with a project like that, or they know of one and are very interested in it.”

“I’ll assume that this is very significant, then, and see what I can make of it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“That’ll be all for now.” As Face was leaving, Wedge added, “Oh, by the way …”

“Sir?”

“You’re a good officer, Face, but you have to know that means you’ll be doing this again. This was a successful mission. It may be the key to Zsinj’s undoing. If I’d known, if I’d been absolutely sure, that to accomplish it would mean the life of one of my pilots, I’d have to have set it in motion anyway. You would, too.”

Face looked as though he was considering that possibility, then gave Wedge a brief nod. “Yes, sir. I suppose I would.” He closed the door behind him.

Wedge sat, motionless, long enough for Face to get thirty or forty paces away from the cargo module that served as the command office. Then he slammed both hands on his desktop and swept every pointless datapad, document, and knickknack from the desk surface.

Another pilot dead, this one for no good reason. Another letter to write. Another report in which he had to explain just why it was that two subordinates had died under his command in just a few days.

He came out of his office at a fast walk and headed for the hangar area. On the other side of the Trench, Janson, sitting alone on the mess patio, rose and trotted to catch up. “How did it go?”

“As well as it could.”

“So, what’s with this sudden brisk exercise?”

“I’m not ready yet to begin analyzing the data Zsinj gave us.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t want to write Castin’s folks.”

“Ah.”

Both men returned a salute from Runt, who was headed the other way. “Unit morale is bound to take a serious hit from this.”

“Ah.”

“I’m leading children, and I’m getting them killed.”

“That’s true.”

Almost at the door into the hangar, Wedge skidded to a stop. “What did you say?”

“It’s true.” Janson shrugged. “Wedge, you asked for misfits. You had to have known that even with the ones who made the grade, they were going to take losses that were heavier than in a normal unit. So many of them are dragging around these weights of emotional problems. It makes it tougher for them to hop in the right direction at the right time.”

“Well … maybe.”

“Even with that, as a group they’re doing better than they ever had a right to. Some of them are fit to eat with real people. Even to fly with other units. That wasn’t the case when you founded the Wraiths.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Wedge suddenly felt weary, all the manic energy of a minute ago having left him. He turned back toward his office. “What’s the situation with Lara?”

“She’s doing pretty well for someone whose brother just tried to kill her. Donos is keeping an eye on her.”

“Those of us who still have family …” Wedge waited as memories of his surviving relative, his sister Syal, missing for so long—as her husband, Soontir Fel, had also been missing—rose and abated. “We need to notify them. Just in case Zsinj tries to get at another of us through family connections. That would be just like him.”

“It would. I’ll inform the Wraiths, let them know what they need to tell their people.”

“Yes, but not yet. I want you to work with me on the Zsinj data.”

“Ah, thank you. The adventures of Wes Janson, Ace Statistician …”

Wedge and Janson spent most of the rest of the day working on the data Zsinj had provided to Face.

The planet that was their target was of average size and mass, according to the planetary