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Lara offered a little sigh of vexation. “I traveled to Aldivy in the company of an officer of Wraith Squadron. I’d intended to make an offering of him and his X-wing to the contact team. He was the final member of Talon Squadron, which I helped Admiral Trigit destroy. I thought he was one lingering detail I ought to deal with. But what I didn’t know until later is that the idiot had fallen in love with me. He was supposed to stay with the X-wings; instead, he followed me. Well, in my opening negotiations with your captain, my brother—that is, the real Lara Notsil’s brother—got testy, drew a blaster, just a show of intimidation … and Lieutenant Donos fired upon him, killing him. Then he finished up by killing your captain. I had to cover up my tracks after that, not attempt any further communications with you for a while, as I was under some scrutiny during the review.”

Zsinj nodded. “But, obviously, you came away clean.”

“Oh, yes. For a while. Unfortunately, on Coruscant, one of the Wraiths stumbled across some information on my mother, who’d been with Imperial Intelligence. He noticed a resemblance, did some research … and then confronted me during a mission. With my cover blown, with it now impossible for me to uncover any more information to offer you, I fled.”

“How did you manage to contact us?”

Though Zsinj’s expression was open, innocent, Lara knew he had to be aware of every fact of the story. Still, she was playing his game by his rules. “When my so-called brother contacted me initially, he mentioned a company that might want to employ me—that is, Lara, his real sister. After I was forced to flee Mon Remonda, I decided to look into that firm, in case it was a front for your operations. And it was, one you’d set up only a couple of weeks prior to the first contact I received.”

“Well, excellent.” Zsinj reviewed a screen full of data on his terminal, data Lara could not see. “I am, unfortunately, too pressed for time to give you all the attention I should like, so let’s jump straight into the dogfight, shall we? I can offer you a commission at the rank of naval lieutenant. You’d be an analyst aboard Iron Fist. While you go through your first few weeks of orientation, we’d like to pry from you every bit of knowledge you can give us on Mon Remonda, General Solo, Commander Antilles, and Antilles’s squadrons. Does that suit you?”

Lara made her voice a purr. “It suits me very well. May I keep my X-wing and R2?”

Zsinj’s face registered mild surprise. “Why would you want to? We can give you something far better.”

“Well, they’re souvenirs. Of my victory over a rather vehement idiot named Atton Repness. They used to belong to him.”

Zsinj exchanged a blank look with Melvar, then shrugged. “Of course. We have a deal, then? Excellent. Welcome to Iron Fist, Lieutenant Petothel.”

Lara shot to her feet, schooling her features to absolute blankness, and saluted.

Zsinj looked startled for a moment, then chuckled. “I admire the way you switch gears, Lieutenant. You’re off duty until we come up with an itinerary for you. One of those pasty-faced ensigns out there will take you to your new quarters and act as your guide for your first few days. Wander as you will. And welcome.” At last, he returned her salute.

“Thank you, sir.” With military precision, she spun on her heel and exited the office.

The “pasty-faced ensign” awaiting her outside was anything but. Tall, dark-haired, and solemn, he had the hard look of a front-line soldier who’d received a field promotion. He identified himself as Ensign Gatterweld and led her first back to the hangar where her X-wing waited—so that she might pick up her R2 unit, Tonin—and then to her quarters. He spoke little.

It was a long walk, and the finality of what she’d done finally hit Lara.

She was surrounded by countless tons of machinery whose sole purpose was to rain death down on people she had ultimately chosen to protect.

Except for one R2 unit, she was alone, a secret enemy of those who now employed her, a public enemy