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Corran reached for his cards, but before he could get them off the table, a siren began to rise and fall in tone and volume. Yellow lights began burning over every doorway. The other players immediately looked up, scooped up their winnings, then turned away from the table.

“What’s going on?”

The old man shrugged. “Report to your ship.” He gestured at a holographic imaging station at the far end of the hangar. “If it’s like before, the Prince-Admiral will tell us what’s going on.”

“What about the pot?”

“We give sabacc pots to the Survivor’s Fund. You have a problem with that?”

“Not me.” Corran stuffed his winnings into the pockets of his flight suit. “Get going, I’m right behind you.”

They ran from the ready room and Corran split off to the right where the whole Defender squadron had been assembled in the back of the hangar. He found the rest of the Rogues already there, with Hobbie and Myn rubbing sleep-sand from their eyes, and Tycho rubbing his wet hair dry with a towel from a refresher station. The only person he couldn’t find was Wedge.

The imaging station at the other end of the hangar filled with bright light that resolved itself down into the face of Prince-Admiral Krennel. “Greetings loyal warriors of the Hegemony. I would apologize for summoning you so abruptly, but this is a call to war and one I imagine you will relish. Our enemies have made a mistake and have provided us an opportunity that is quite rare. With one blow we can end the tyranny of the New Republic and send their shattered forces scurrying home.”

Corran glanced over at Tycho, then tapped the chronometer on his left wrist. By my count, we’ve got a couple of hours yet before Isard’s people and the New Republic get here. “Any guesses?”

Tycho shook his head. “Too soon for guesses.”

Krennel smiled magnificently. “All squadrons will be getting their assignments. You will be on board your appointed ships as fast as possible, and then we will depart to fulfill our destiny.”

33

“Colonel Roat!” Lorrir’s voice echoed through the nearly empty hangar. “Why aren’t your people in the air yet?”

Wedge spun on his heel and hooked his thumbs through the blaster belt he wore outside his flight suit. “I believe, Colonel Lorrir, we had an understanding about that. My Defenders are equipped with hyperdrive, we don’t need to be loaded on the Reckoning or any other ship to reach our destination. If we are to be loaded in the launching racks, it makes sense for us to be the last in and the first to be launched because of our capabilities and, you noted yourself, that the loadmasters on the capital ships are still reviewing procedures for our ships to be loaded.”

Lorrir’s face tightened into a scowl. “That is no excuse for you to still be here in the hangar.”

“But, Colonel, your Interceptor is still here.” Wedge held a hand up. “Perhaps we should be discussing this in an office, away from the troops?”

The Hegemony officer nodded. With his helmet under his arm, he led Wedge off to a small office with a single, rectangular window as tall as the door built into the wall beside it. The legend on the door proclaimed it to be the operations room.

Once inside, Lorrir perched himself on the desk and shook his head. “This cannot be tolerated, Colonel Roat.”

Wedge closed the door, then dialed down the opacity of the window, taking it all the way to black. “No, Colonel, I expect it cannot.”

“You have been given your orders and I expect you to follow them.”

Wedge nodded solemnly and looked at his chronometer for a second. “I am following orders, Colonel.” He tugged the gloved construct off his right hand, then flexed his fist.

“What are you doing?” Lorrir blinked with surprise. “What is going on here?”

“You remember you told me about Brentaal the other night at dinner. You told me how the Empire had been betrayed by Baron Fel?”

“Yes.”

Wedge reached up and pulled off the prosthetic over his eye, then peeled the piece off his throat. “Ah, much better. And you recall mentioning that you’d killed plenty of Rogue Squadron members on Brentaal, and that Wedge Antilles