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A fearful bleating from Whistler and the droid’s sudden appearance as he raced around from behind Corran stopped the pilot’s response to his friend. “What’s the matter?”

Clattering after the droid came an Imperial tech with a restraining bolt and a welding rod. “Gotta put a restraining bolt on him. All droids get them.”

Corran shot to his feet. “I can tell you where you can affix that restraining bolt, Huttpuss-for-brains.”

The tech raised a hand and two armor-clad storm-troopers came jogging over, blasters in hand. “You want to get out of the way, Captain Horn.”

“You’ve no idea what I want.” Corran dropped a hand to the lightsaber hanging at his left hip. “You’re putting a restraining bolt on Whistler over my dead body.”

The tech raised an eyebrow. “Over your stunned body, perhaps. I have my orders.”

“Back off, Captain Horn.” Wedge Antilles entered the hangar area and headed toward the confrontation, drawing the rest of the squadron in his wake. “Let’s not make things more complicated than they need to be.”

Corran turned to Wedge, and was pleased to notice that Gavin had risen to his feet and was shielding Whistler with his own body. “General, they want to put a restraining bolt on Whistler.”

Wedge nodded solemnly. “I know, all our droids get them, even Gate.” He held up a hand to forestall comment. “The situation here is complicated, but it’s working in our favor. We’re going to be trained to fly these Defenders, then we’ll be given a back door into Krennel’s capital. We’re dead right now and if we can stay that way—as far as Krennel is concerned—until we’re ready to strike, he will fall and fall hard. What that means, though, is that our droids have to be stored away for the time being.”

Tycho arched an eyebrow. “Hostages?”

Wedge shook his head. “Just more variables than can be controlled right now. They’ll be locked away, safe, out of trouble.”

Corran frowned. “I don’t like it, but if you say that’s the way it has to be …” He walked over to the tech and snatched the restraining bolt and welding rod from the man’s hands, then dropped to one knee in front of Whistler. “Sorry to do this, pal, but it’s not the first time. You’ll get through it.”

He pressed the bolt to the droid’s chest panel, then turned to the tech. “Okay with you?”

“A little to the left.”

Corran made the adjustment, then used the welding rod to fix the bolt in place with a shower of sparks.

The tech pointed a remote at Whistler, hit a button, and the droid shut down. Another button and Whistler was back on, moaning mournfully.

Corran rose in one swift motion and gently tapped the tech under the chin with his dormant lightsaber. “Hey, just because you have the power, don’t abuse it.”

Wedge laid his hand on Corran’s forearm. “Put it away, Captain. The tech here will take good care of all the droids, won’t you?”

“Lock ’em up snug and tight.” He glanced at Corran. “I may not understand your attachment to the droids, but I’ll respect it. We aren’t all heartless monsters.”

“Good.” Corran smiled coldly and tapped the man on his chest with the lightsaber. “Something happens to Whistler and you will be. You have my promise on that.”

Borsk Fey’lya was not accustomed to being kept waiting, but he understood Booster Terrik’s game and decided to humor him. The Bothan Councilor had never before been on the Errant Venture, and he occupied his time studying the ship. He recalled his ire when General Cracken reported that an intact though largely disarmed Imperial Star Destroyer had been turned over to a smuggler who had served five years on Kessel. The idea that a private citizen—an outlaw even—could bully the government into tolerating his possession of a war engine seemed the first sign of impending anarchy. Fey’lya wanted to demote Cracken for his failure to secure the Errant Venture for the New Republic, but the rest of the Council disagreed.

He’d let memory of the ship slip from his mind until the Thrawn crisis. Fey’lya had advocated the immediate nationalization