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She saw a trapezoidal little utility droid zipping along the hall, steering like a frightened animal out of the path of officers walking along the corridor, and imagined herself the human equivalent of such a machine—so small and inconsequential that she posed no threat, that she could not determine even the smallest detail of her own fate.

Then, five steps later, she realized how she was going to destroy Iron Fist.

“What do you think?” Zsinj asked.

Melvar let his features go slack. All the menace and cruelty in them vanished. “Certainly, some of what she was saying was the truth. I just have difficulty trusting Intelligence types.”

“Such as yourself.”

“I was never with Imperial Intelligence. I just saw them as a likely enemy and schooled myself in their skills and tactics.” Melvar shrugged. “I’ve received early word from the technicians examining her astromech. It’s a new-model R2, very much state-of-the-art, and has received a recent memory scrub. It remembers the jump from Aldivy to our rendezvous point, but nothing else. It had a restraining bolt on it when she arrived.”

Zsinj smiled. “Very appropriate. Innocuously appropriate. Keep a close eye on her. Extract every possible bit of information out of her. If she remains loyal, reward her. If she proves to be disloyal—”

“I can guess the rest.”

“Why me?” Janson asked.

He lay on his bunk, hands behind his head, looking dubiously at his visitor.

“I can’t go to a friend,” said Donos. He sat in Janson’s chair, leaning back on its rear legs so his shoulders rested on the wall. “I don’t have any.”

“Not since you shot at the last one.”

Donos managed a mirthless smile. “I can’t go to a subordinate officer. I’d just feel uncomfortable. Or to a superior.”

“Which leaves the rest of us lucky lieutenants.”

“Pretty much.”

“So talk. I’m game. It’s been years since I ruined the life of a fellow lieutenant. Well, weeks, anyway.”

“I’m not sure where to begin. I don’t know whether I’m crazy or not. I just know that before Talon Squadron was destroyed, I was a different man. Self-control, self-composure were easy. Afterward, I had to work so hard to manage everything. If I didn’t …”

“If you didn’t, what?”

“I don’t know. I never found out. I was so good at managing everything. Except for that collapse. And the other day, with Lara.”

“How many times did Lara slap you?”

“Slap me? Never.”

“Why not?”

“I never gave her reason to.”

“Right. Since you became a pilot, how many times have you been picked up by military police for being drunk and belligerent?”

“Never.”

“But you drink.”

“In moderation.”

Janson sighed. “You see, I was operating under the assumption that you’d actually died with Talon Squadron but had failed to notice. But I was wrong! You’ve been dead since you joined Starfighter Command. Maybe longer, maybe since you were with the Corellian armed forces.”

Donos frowned. “I’d appreciate it if you’d explain that.”

With a single, fluid move, Janson sat upright, spun ninety degrees to his right, and set his heels on the floor. “Sure,” he said. “It’s simple. You’re dead. I’m not. Let me demonstrate.” He stood up on his bed, then began bouncing up and down. “Did you ever do this as a kid?”

“Of course.”

“Did you ever do it as a grown-up?”

“Of course not.”

“You say ‘of course’ a lot, and it’s always wrong. Tell me, Myn. How do I look?”

“Well, stupid.”

“Exactly!” With an exuberant bound, Janson leaped off his cot, smacked his head on the ceiling, and swore as he landed on the floor again. He rubbed his head and glared at the treacherous ceiling. “When was the last time you looked stupid?”

“I don’t know.”

Janson leaned in close to him. “Try to understand this. I’ll say it slowly. I want you to remember it for the rest of your life.

“You can’t look dignified when you’re having fun.”

“Assuming that’s true—so what?”

“If you’re not having fun, you’re not enjoying your life. If you’re not enjoying your life—why even bother being alive?” Janson gave an eloquent shrug. “Myn, I’m living on borrowed time. I’ve