Chapter Twenty-Six

"—and what was your mission?"

"Tabanne, Atril. New Republic Armed Forces. Captain—"

"Yes, I know." The Imperial Intelligence operative wore a Lieutenant's uniform, but no awards or other potentially identifying items. He leaned back in the chair, his expression carefully blank.

Atril was tired. Since Ession Strike had been captured she'd been separated from the rest of her crew. The fact that so many of them were non-human put a deep, gnawing terror in her gut that she couldn't force down, even as hungry and exhausted as she now was. The Empire's opinion of non-humans was well known.

She'd been lucky so far; the Empire was still softening her up and hadn't yet turned to anything as crude as an interrogation droid.

That would be tomorrow, maybe.

"I don't suppose you'll be more forthcoming? If you hadn't destroyed Ession Strike's main computer we wouldn't have to be so forceful, but you really left us nothing to go on."

"Tabanne, Atril. New Republic Armed Forces. Captain—"

"You realize we have your officers in interrogation. The Bothan—Hiacun Kre'fey, New Republic Armed Forces, Lieutenant, Ession Strike—became quite chatty once subjected to interrogation. I understand the Togorian will be next."

His voice was conversational, but Atril could hear the underlying steel. She could also feel her blood go colder than ice, but there was nothing else to do.

"Tabanne, Atril. New Republic Armed Forces. Captain, Ession Strike."

The Imperial sighed. "As you wish, Captain Tabanne. But you should remember—unlike the rest of your crew, you're officially considered a defector." His eyes hardened, his voice a chill warning. "There are certain obligations that the Empire accepts, even when it comes to aliens, that do not extend to defectors."

"Tabanne, Atril. New Republic Armed Forces. Captain—"

"She's stubborn," Lieutenant Dreyf informed Captain Pellaeon and Admiral Rogriss, watching the recording of the interrogation from earlier that day. Chimaera had returned to Ukio and resumed its position as the garrison flagship, and everyone in the Imperial force knew that it was only a matter of time before the Republic assault began.

Bel Iblis would have something up his sleeve, Rogriss was sure. If the wily old Corellian were going to just batter his way in he would've done it already. No, Bel Iblis would surely have some trick, or ploy, or clever stratagem. The only question was what that would be.

"She's pretty junior," Pellaeon said skeptically. "And from the results of their interrogations, her officers don't know anything about Bel Iblis' intentions. She may not either."

"I don't think so, sir," Dreyf said respectfully. "Rebel command is less formal and more encouraging of individual initiative. Her officers may yet know something, if I'd be permitted to intensify their interrogation." His eyes flicked momentarily to Rogriss, then back to Pellaeon. "Captain Tabanne and Ession Strike served as host for General Bel Iblis' senior subordinate, General Antilles, and all our intelligence suggests that General Antilles and Rogue Squadron would be intimately involved in the planning of their Ukio invasion. Therefore I believe there is a good chance she does know something, and—if I may speak freely?"

Pellaeon nodded. "Go ahead."

"Sirs, there is a good chance the Rebels are already in the final stages of their invasion plan. It's clear from the intelligence Moff Disra sent us that they outnumber and outgun our forces. We don't have time to coddle—"

"We won't risk the lives of our prisoners for the sake of intelligence they likely do not have," Rogriss interrupted firmly. "If we had captured Captain Irraerl, or General Antilles, or Sena Midanyl it might be worth the dangers. But we captured the captain and crew of a single Corellian corvette."

"With all due respect, our intelligence suggests that Captain Tabanne and General Antilles are good friends. There's even speculation that she and General Antilles were lovers briefly—"

"There is always speculation about relationships between female officers and their male superiors," replied Rogriss, his tone growing frosty as he thought of all the speculation that Asori had suffered during her time at the fleet academy on Anaxes. "That does not make the speculation true."

"Yes, sir," Dreyf said, sounding appropriately chastised. Rogriss suspected he still disagreed, but that was alright. Dreyf was a loyal officer, and one of the smarter men left in the Empire if his meteoric career trajectory was anything to go by—and more importantly, he was content to work quietly in intelligence, rather than push himself into more visible positions of authority. A little over-exuberant, but that was characteristic of many young Imperial officers. The ones who had stayed, at least.

"I will speak with her," Rogriss decided. "Let her get some sleep and give her something to eat, then send her up to my quarters. Perhaps a different approach may yield more."

Pellaeon and Dreyf shared an uncertain glance, but neither objected. "As you wish, Admiral," Pellaeon agreed.

Dreyf followed Pellaeon into the lift. The Captain could feel the Lieutenant fighting back the urge to speak; he had a slight twitch that was a sure giveaway of the impulse. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

Dreyf flinched. "It's nothing, sir."

"I can assure you, Lieutenant, so long as whatever it is you have to say isn't treasonous, I won't hold it against you."

The Lieutenant went through an obvious mental debate as the lift progressed towards the bridge. Finally, the young man sighed. "I don't understand Admiral Rogriss' decision, sir. If there's even a chance Captain Tabanne or her officers have information we might use to protect Ukio, it seems that we're obliged to try to acquire it."

"Tell me, Lieutenant," Pellaeon asked, folding his arms behind his back. "What would you say our chances of successfully holding Ukio are, even if you were to elicit additional information from our prisoners?"

Dreyf's flinch this time was significantly more pronounced. "Not good, sir."

"I would agree with that assessment," Pellaeon said with a nod. "We're outnumbered and outgunned, and most importantly we're unlikely to receive further support from the Empire, while the Rebellion has a large pool of resources Bel Iblis may yet draw upon." He glanced sideways at Dreyf. "Why is that?"

"Sir, it's not my place to speculate about the decision-making of the Council of Moffs—"

"This is off the record, Lieutenant, and you would not be a very good Intelligence officer, and an even worse Imperial commander, if you did not examine the decisions of your superiors. What they decide restricts what you may do, so it behooves that you understand them as best you can." He waved his hand. "So, go ahead and speculate."

"Sir." Dreyf was quiet for a moment. "Sir, Ukio was only valuable to the Empire while our cloning facility on Wayland was in operation. With the loss of that facility, we're no longer producing enough clones to need Ukio's agricultural production. It would seem to me that the Moffs share this assessment and that our operation here is a delaying tactic. We're keeping the Rebellion and General Bel Iblis distracted from attacking our more vital sectors."

"Hmmm," Pellaeon hummed agreeably. "You're missing one other vital factor." Pellaeon stood up a bit straighter, keeping his eyes on the lift doors as it continued to hum. "If that is their reasoning, why send Chimaera here?"

Dreyf's eyes widened. "Sir, I don't believe it's my place to speculate on that—"

Pellaeon laughed soberly. "We've already had that discussion, Lieutenant," he pointed out. "But your unwillingness to answer is not surprising." He allowed himself to sigh. "The answer, of course, is that I am expendable. Perhaps even dangerous." His lips firmed. "I lost Bilbringi and Thrawn. The latter would not be such a mark against me with the Moffs, who always hated the Grand Admiral and were no doubt relieved when he died, if it did not come with the former. And this squadron was handpicked by Thrawn, was loyal to him—not to the Moffs." He didn't smile. "We are considered unreliable."

He didn't add that Rogriss had been assigned to command them because he had also earned the enmity of the Moffs. Dreyf no doubt knew that, but even in an off-the-record conversation it was not Pellaeon's place to discuss the Admiral's black marks with a subordinate.

"I'm sure they don't blame you for—" Pellaeon laughed, and Dreyf's voice faded away. He was quiet for a moment as the lift continued to hum. "What does this have to do with his reluctance to allow a more intense interrogation?"

"We are likely to be on the losing side of this engagement, Lieutenant. A victory for the Empire at Ukio is to make our eventual defeat as slow and painful as possible for the enemy." He waited a moment for that to sink in. "With that in mind, there is a good chance some of us, perhaps even all of us, end up in the Rebellion's custody before the engagement is through. It is the Admiral's responsibility to look after all the men under his command."

He saw Dreyf putting the pieces together. "I understand, sir."

"Good." The hum of the lift quieted and then stopped as the doors whished open, revealing the long walk of the Chimaera's bridge. "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

"Sir."

The stewards hadn't been quite sure what to make of his request. Preparing supper was regular enough; Rogriss dined every night and often had some of his subordinates join him. In the past, he'd dined with planetary dignitaries, or visiting brother officers, and even on one very unusual occasion a New Republic pilot, although the pilot in question hadn't eaten very much of the food provided. But preparing a dinner for Rogriss and one of their prisoners? Did they serve prison food?

They hadn't known, and they hadn't been willing to ask. Rogriss hadn't been interested in solving their dilemma, either; he'd found their obvious consternation a brief, blackly amusing distraction from a dismal campaign. He reviewed the comestibles in front of him with satisfaction that they had opted for a light working dinner with an indifferent wine instead of a stacked array of ration bars or nutrigruel.

From the carefully blank expression on Atril Tabanne's face, and the way she insisted on looking past him rather than at him, she might have preferred the connotation of the prison food.

He sighed. "Sit down, Captain Tabanne."

Her gaze flickered with uncertainty. Clearly, she believed that this was a part of the interrogation—which it was, in its own way—and was searching for ulterior motives. Just as clearly, she was hungry and the smell of rich, boiled marlello eggs was enticing. But that small enticement was not enough to break her resolve, and he had not expected it would.

He slid a datapad across the table to her. She stopped it, looking down instinctively.

"You'll find there a complete medical report on the current status of your crew as of five minutes ago," Rogriss said calmly.

Tabanne's grey eyes scanned the document quickly, then she looked up at Rogriss. "I have no reason to believe this information is true. Will you permit me to see my officers?"

"You know I can't. Imperial regulations are clear, and I won't breach them to satisfy your concerns." She scowled and her expression started to revert to the carefully blank mask she'd been wearing, but he continued before she could fully don it. "You have my word, as an officer of the Imperial Starfleet, that the information provided there is accurate. They have been fed and watered, and now, in good conscience, so can you."

She paused, and reviewed the document more clearly. Her expression darkened as she did. "My non-human officers have undergone interrogation, including psychotropic," she growled angrily.

"Yes," he agreed calmly. "But as you can see, they have suffered no permanent damage. They will require some time for recovery. Unfortunately, my medical staff is not skilled in the care of non-humans, but they can facilitate a gradual recovery, either here or at the prison facility you and your crew will ultimately be sent to."

He could see Tabanne's jaw tense slightly at his words, but the former Imperial gave little else away. "If you're expecting me to be grateful, don't," she grated, her voice harsh with fatigue and recent deprivation. "If you were going to torture anyone for information, it should have been me. But the Empire always has to start with the non-humans."

Rogriss gestured at the table. "Sit, Captain. I know you haven't had a good meal in some time and you must be starving. If you are to be next for interrogation, it's best to keep your strength up."

"I don't know anything that could help you," she replied after a long moment. Glancing down at the meal, she chose to stay standing. "I was not privy to General Bel Iblis' strategic or tactical planning."

Rogriss chuckled. "Very well. I can see direct interrogation is a waste of time. Perhaps you can join me for a convivial meal, and satisfy my personal curiosity." He took a bite of his own meal; the eggs were filled with diced Corellian sausage and doused in a tart, thick syrup, prepared in the aristocratic style preferred on Anaxes, and gestured expansively at her place setting with a fork. "I've always kept a talented kitchen staff on retainer as soon as I could afford to. I assure you, it really is quite good."

She stayed standing.

He offered a small, amused smile. "Oh, very well," he said, accepting.

"Why am I still here?" she asked, her voice not quite as harsh. He heard a hint of confusion in it that seemed genuine.

"I reviewed your service record," Rogriss said. "Graduated with honors, though not the very top of your class, at Carida. An impressive accomplishment for a woman at any of our academies, sadly."

Her expression tightened, but she didn't respond.

"It must have been tough for you at Carida." His voice darkened, not so much in sympathy for Tabanne but from his long-standing anger at the state of the academies in this regard. Women were present at the academies, but always in small numbers as a percentage of the overall cadet body, given the pressures and culture involved. "I understand that there are certain… expectations."

He silently cursed Grand Moff Tarkin, who had famously carried on an affair with a Caridan cadet and then rewarded her with rapid promotion after graduation, for normalizing the practice.

Like any good Caridan graduate, Tabanne lined up her shot and took it. "For an older family man who completed his training under the old Republic, you know a surprising amount about what it is like for a young woman who just wants to serve. But I'd guess your daughter had more protection than I did. For her sake, I hope Asori is well."

Rogriss carefully controlled a spike of anger and mastered himself. "And here I was, Captain, under the assumption that you didn't attend Bel Iblis' briefings."

Tabanne gave a smile, full of teeth. "While I don't have a direct line to the General's inner thoughts, Imperial counterintelligence isn't what it used to be, and any information on your command was shared freely to provide tactical insight. Also, we had a mutual acquaintance. Before he perished in action, Lieutenant Loran told me to give you his warmest regards."

Rogriss shook his head. "I hadn't heard that he'd been lost. Shame about Loran. He was quite the talent; I can only surmise his ambitions exceeded that talent. Since you've asked, my daughter is well, and presently removed from combat. But we're not here to talk about her. I brought you here to talk about you. And why you left."

He dipped his head over from the meal over to the datapad beside him. "You served as a TIE pilot, though saw no combat against the Rebellion. After graduation you were assigned to the Muunilist garrison, spent eight months there. Then—" he looked up from the datapad, found her watching him expressionless calm "—you took leave and never came back." He put down the datapad. "Your desertion was very well planned, as expected of an officer of your quality."

She didn't react, but she accepted and held his gaze. There was no challenge in those eyes, exactly. But there was no surrender in them, either.

"Why did you choose to defect?" he asked.

Tabanne's expression twisted into a scowl. "I haven't been allowed to see my crew, some of whom have already undergone interrogation. I don't know their condition, or what your intentions are for them, or for myself once you're satisfied we have no more information to surrender to your interrogation droids. I'm not interested in having a polite conversation where I dust off old etiquette training and pretend we're brother officers."

Rogriss leaned back in his chair. He couldn't really blame her for being intransigent, under the circumstances. But he could at least make a small promise, from one honorable officer to another. "Your crew will be interrogated," he agreed without remorse. "But I can assure you, that the interrogators have been giving strict instructions that no permanent harm is to be done to any of you, human or non-human. Once we're satisfied with what we've learned, we'll send you on to an internment camp. Prisoner exchanges are more common now than they were in the past, and I can assure you that the Empire does not throw away valuable resources in spates of vindictiveness." That is a luxury it can no longer afford.

Tabanne's expression slackened, but only briefly. "Well," she said archly, "That's a change."

"You have my word, as an Admiral of the Imperial Fleet," Rogriss committed calmly.

Tabanne watched him, her expression studious. "That's not worth a bucket of warm bantha spit from an average 'Fleeter, but you're far from average. You have a reputation in the Fleet," she said finally. "As a wily old so-and-so, but a man who keeps his word."

It was Rogriss' turn to hide a grimace. Yes, perhaps he did. But that reputation had come at a high cost, and his prior willingness to bargain with agents of the Republic had fatally undermined his standing within the Imperial hierarchy. Only Thrawn's intervention on his behalf had saved him—something that had further undermined confidence in him after Thrawn had died. "Such appreciation from enemies of your caliber—I'm gratified to hear it," he said without a hint of inner turmoil in his voice.

She sighed and finally sank into her seat. Exhaustion and hunger she'd been repressing with sheer determination were plain in her countenance, and as she stared at her plate, in that moment he didn't see a defiant Rebel, but a terrified young woman with responsibilities to her crew that she could no longer discharge, and no way to defend either them or herself. "What do you want to know?" she asked dully.

"As I said, I'm curious why you chose to defect," he asked.

Tabanne looked away. "My time at the academy was unpleasant, to say the least," she admitted. "But my time at Muunilist was worse." Her voice faded away, and she shook her head. "Besides harassment from more senior officers, I found myself not sure what I was fighting for anymore. I joined the Starfleet for the same reasons that everyone does, out of service and patriotism and a desire to protect people. But I wasn't doing any of that." She looked away. "My squadron commander used us as his personal mercenary company, doing jobs for some of the local business consortiums. Piracy in all but name, covered with the legitimacy of the Imperial seal. I finally went above his head and reported him, and found that his actions were sanctioned all the way up to the sector Moff. The Obtrexta sector is just one giant criminal enterprise."

Such things were not rare, Rogriss knew. Sector Moffs often would often ingratiate themselves with local criminal consortiums, becoming the heart of power both legal and illegal. Plenty of them idealized Moff Vorru and the Corellia Sector during his administration, but none had Vorru's charismatic panache. He hadn't known that about Obtrexta, but given the sheer amount of wealth that went in and out of Muunilist, it wasn't surprising.

"But what really settled me," she continued, "wasn't the corruption. It was the hate. High Port is one of the most cosmopolitan places in the galaxy, as much as Coruscant even. I'm from Coruscant, and not from the wealthiest parts of the planet. I grew up with aliens—with non-humans. But the Imperial officers I served under saw all aliens as subhuman. Their lives had less value than their labor." She shook her head, grimacing at some old memory. When she spoke again, she sounded exhausted. "So I decided to defect. It wasn't that long after Endor, and defections had become much more common."

"You knew the punishment for defection," he said.

She looked up at him, defiance in her eyes. "Yes, of course I did. And I was terrified! Of course I was terrified. But I knew I was doing the right thing. Restoring real order, bringing real justice. And I never once looked back." She scowled. "Not even now." She lifted her chin up. "Are you planning on having me executed then?"

He blinked in surprise. "No, of course not. The Republic and the Empire may be at war, but that doesn't mean we have to be uncivilized about it." She didn't look convinced, so he raised his hand. "On my honor, Captain Tabanne. You won't be executed for desertion or defection." He offered a small smile. "We may be enemies, and our political disputes may be beyond reconciliation, but an honorable soldier respects his—or her—honorable opponents."

She glared at him, then sagged. "I suppose I have no choice but to trust you."

He pointed at her untouched meal. "Eat, Captain. You must be hungry."

She looked at the food, then at him, then back at the food. She shook her head. "I'll eat what my crew does," she said firmly. "I won't accept special treatment just because I am Ession Strike's captain."

He watched her for a long moment. Her hand trembled slightly, a sure sign of hunger. But clearly, her mind was made up, and he hoped that, had their circumstances been reversed, that he could have been so brave. An honorable opponent, Rogriss thought sadly. It was a shame they had to be enemies.

So Rogriss summoned the steward for ration bars and nutrigruel, and enjoyed his eggs.

Captain Pellaeon read the report from Linuri with the relief of an impatient man finally in possession of a long-awaited gift. He read the note a second time, making sure that he had not misunderstood, and then handed the datapad back to Lieutenant Tschel. "Thank you, Lieutenant. You may resume your normal duties."

"Sir," Tschel agreed, spinning on his boots in a reasonable imitation of a parade ground turn. It wasn't academy quality, but that was hardly Tschel's fault. Like so many of the Imperial officers his age, he'd been impressed into the service and his training had been curtailed. Still, he was learning, and at the rate he was learning in a year or two he'd be worthy of promotion to a higher post.

He glanced at his watch. Admiral Rogriss would just be finishing his evening meal. He quickly reviewed the system display, making sure to note each of the ships of the Imperial formation. One of those ships—the captured corvette Ession Strike—was being moved down to Ukio's surface by a skeleton crew, where its new Imperial crew would begin training. Pellaeon hoped that the ship would be prepared for service in a few days, though that would depend on how long the replacement of its main computer took. Otherwise, the Ukio system appeared to be in its normal, well-defended state, although the persistent red that hovered around the icon representing Agonizer was an irritant that prevented comfort. Luckily, it was an irritant with a solution.

"I will be conferring with the Admiral," he announced. "Continue your duties, I'll return shortly."

Rogriss did not use Thrawn's personal command room. It had been left, largely untouched, since the Grand Admiral's death. Instead, he used the more traditional admiral's command suite, which was far smaller and more conventional. Pellaeon stepped to the door and straightened his tunic. "Captain Pellaeon to see Admiral Rogriss," he announced.

The door slid open and he stepped inside. The light was kept relatively dim, and Rogriss was sitting behind his desk, a small light shining down onto a book that he had open. The Admiral waved Pellaeon closer. "Come in, Captain."

Pellaeon approached, stopping in front of the desk and folding his hands behind his back. Rogriss closed his book, after placing a mark into the appropriate page, then settled it onto a shelf behind his desk.

The office was not atypical. A smattering of personal items decorated shelves on either side, which Rogriss had moved to Chimaera when he had taken command of the squadron. Most of the books had been accumulated while Rogriss was in command; the Admiral was a voracious reader and rarely left the ship without returning with one or two volumes in hand. There were also pictures arrayed across the wall behind him. A woman, grey-haired and regal, stared at Pellaeon with dark brown eyes from one of them. She wore elegant couture, but a simpler ring, one that might have been purchased by a young officer on leave. Next to her was a painting of two young adults, Rogriss' two children, both in Imperial uniforms. One wore the bars of a Lieutenant Commander, the other of a full Commander. The third painting was of Agonizer, Rogriss' command of long-standing.

Rogriss looked tired. The stress of the command was wearing on him most, more than it was on Pellaeon. Pellaeon had his ship and crew, constant combat drills and training exercises to keep his mind off the dire strategic situation most days. Rogriss, whose job it was to find a way to win despite that dire strategic situation, had no equivalent distraction. Even the book he had just placed aside, Pellaeon saw, was a collection of memoirs from Republic commanders who had lost battles during the Clone Wars.

"Yes, Captain?" A small glass was filled with a dark liquid, and Rogriss' thumb rested comfortably against the glass.

"Moff Disra sends word, sir," Pellaeon said, his tone formal. "Invidious' repairs are complete and the Star Destroyer has been released from the Linuri fleet yards. He reports that the preparations are underway to see to Agonizer's needs, and that the yard estimates the entire repair cycle will take under a week after their arrival."

"That's good to hear," Rogriss replied. He turned slightly in his chair to glance up at the painting of Agonizer that hung behind him. "Agonizer has been my command since we left Kuat together," he said regretfully. "This will be the first time she's been in for repairs I won't be aboard to oversee them. But Captain Tigan is more than capable." He turned back to Pellaeon. "Order Agonizer to depart for Linuri at once, and task two of our remaining KatanaDreadnaughts to the ship as escort and tow as necessary. Their absence won't harm our defenses overmuch given Agonizer's already damaged state." He folded his arms across his chest. "Inform the dreadnaught captains that they are under Captain Tigan's command, not Moff Disra's. Their responsibility is to protect Agonizer and ensure it reaches Linuri intact and then provide escort for its return to the fleet. Also, I want as many TIE fighters and pilots as Linuri has available loaded onto Agonizer for its return, we're in dire need of reinforcements after our recent engagements."

That was an understatement, Pellaeon knew. Seven Star Destroyers should, ideally, carry more than five hundred TIEs of all varieties. They didn't have a quarter of that total, even accounting for the squadrons that were assigned to the Ukio planetary garrison.

"Yes, sir," Pellaeon agreed. "If I may, Admiral?"

"Go ahead."

"I was wondering if you or Lieutenant Dreyf had managed to get anything more out of the prisoners from Ession Strike during the last round of interrogations."

Rogriss' expression darkened. "Not very much. The only thing we've learned that wasn't in your pre-existing report is that Luke Skywalker has apparently joined Rogue Squadron as a temporary pilot. The Rogues have been understrength for some time, and General Antilles requisitioned his services." He offered Pellaeon a small smile. "Given Chimaera's history of tracking and attempting to capture him, I wasn't sure if I should tell you that he was one of the pilots that escaped our ambush."

Pellaeon scowled. "Skywalker. Perhaps that accounts for how they were able to escape."

"Perhaps," Rogriss agreed. "It is worth noting that his abilities are at Bel Iblis' disposal. It's best not to underestimate a Jedi; they have a particular knack for turning up in the wrong place at precisely the wrong time."

"I'll schedule another drill, sir," Pellaeon grated. "We'll be ready."

Rogriss laughed. "You've had drills scheduled every day this week. You don't have time for another given your existing schedule. Best to give your crew at least some rest." His expression darkened. "I suspect, Captain, that it will pay dividends in the days to come. Bel Iblis won't wait much longer. The moment he sees an opening he will pounce, and we're now reduced in strength with Agonizer gone." Rogriss sipped his liquor. "Expect him, Captain. He will be here soon."

"Have you seen anything interesting yet, Whistler?" Corran asked, peering at his HUD. The fighter he flew wasn't his—painted in the New Republic's red and white, instead of his own fighter's CorSec green-on-black—but the T-65BR had sensors that a normal X-wing didn't possess. It sacrificed the X-wing's proton torpedo launchers, some shield strength, and a lot of maneuverability for a long-range reconnaissance suite that let him spy from a distance on the fleet garrisoning Ukio.

Whistler beeped, and his HUD shifted as the droid started to sort through all the information. Corran had come out of hyperspace pretty far out and coasted into the system on momentum; Luke had shown him how to properly enter a hibernation trance and Whistler had brought him out of it once they were close enough to get a good look.

This was, he knew, an incredibly risky thing to do, especially alone. A single Recon-X would be hard pressed to defend itself against TIEs, but it also had the chance to get in and out unnoticed, and the Rogues had been adamant that they had to do something. They'd lost Ession Strike. They'd lost Captain Tabanne. They'd even lost their maintenance crew, with Zraii and other techs who had been with the Rogues for years now in the hands of the Empire. Everyone knew not to expect the Empire to treat their non-human techs kindly.

And it wasn't like this risk was excessive. Wedge and Tycho had both wanted to take the recon flight themselves, but Corran had patiently pointed out that he possessed two things they did not: The Force, and Whistler. And his CorSec constructed astromech had data analysis abilities that no other astromech in the fleet could match.

Whistler let out a whoop, and Corran's HUD switched from the planet to a Star Destroyer. The IFF updated, letting Corran know that the Star Destroyer was Agonizer. "That's strange," Corran commented, noting that Agonizer was on a loping trajectory towards Ukio's hyper limit. "I wonder where it's going."

Whistler beeped, the sound impatient. Corran sighed and started going through the data again as words scrolled across his screen. "Not so fast, Whistler, I'm not a cyborg, you can't just download the data into my brain." Agonizer wasn't in good shape; it bore all the signs of pretty serious battle damage, and Corran grinned. We definitely kicked that ship around. Too bad we didn't finish it off when we had the chance.

Agonizer was flanked by two dreadnaughts, and then Corran blinked in surprise as all three ships abruptly vanished. He frowned. "Did they go to hyperspace?" he asked. Whistler hooted at him, and text scrolled across his HUD.

A TRAJECTORY EXTRAPOLATION INDICATES THAT THE IMPERIAL SHIPS ARE HEADED TO DOLDUR SECTOR VIA THE ANDO HYPERSPACE BYPASS, EVADING THE BLOCKADE AT HISHYIM. CONCLUSION: THEY ARE TRAVELING TO THE IMPERIAL REPAIR YARDS AT LINURI TO HAVE THEIR INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL DAMAGE REPAIRED.

"They left?" Corran asked. Whistler made sense, but—

He toggled through all the other ships in the system, letting Whistler get as much information on each of them as he could. "They're down to six Star Destroyers, Stellar Web, only two dreadnaughts, an escort frigate and two Carrack-class light cruisers." His heart fell as the board updated. "And one modified Corellian corvette," he added somberly.

Whistler announced his own unhappy agreement.

Corran evaluated the data, and made his decision. "All right. We're going to do one more sweep, Whistler, then we're going back to the fleet," Corran said. "If I'm right, I think we have a window to hit Ukio before Agonizer gets back, and I for one want to take it."