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twenty-four hours to reconcile with reality. What’s past is past—it’s time we discussed our future together.”
    No one else spoke. Chalis seemed to take that as a cue to continue. “I offer my full cooperation to the Rebellion. In return, I expect to be rewarded for my bravery in turning against our terrible Imperial oppressors.”
    Von Geiz finally cleared his throat, but Howl interrupted first. “We’ll talk,” he said. “But so far we haven’t even heard what you have to offer.”
    Something tightened in Namir’s chest. Not because the question was the wrong one to ask, but because he knew it was one Chalis had been waiting for.
    “I’m not a fleet admiral,” she said, and leaned forward, shoulders low as if she were ready to pounce. “I’m not here to share some weak point in a Star Destroyer’s defenses.
My
knowledge is the Empire’s lifeblood—everything that courses through its veins, everything that nourishes it. Food, raw materials, manpower … I know why a slave revolt on Kashyyyk spells doom for outposts along the Kathol Rift, and why General Veers can’t afford another thorilide shortage along the Rimma.
    “I know the monster the Empire has grown into. I understand its biology. Every hyperlane carries oxygen to its limbs. I know where to pinch to make it sputter and suffocate.”
    Howl nodded and tapped his knuckles on the desk. “You’re a logistics expert.”
    The lieutenant said quietly, “Before you were governor, you did what? Ran labor camps? Starved planets if they didn’t meet their quotas?”
    Chalis was still staring at Howl and leaning in. She smiled at the question. “I was an
adviser.
I
advised.
My predecessor—Count Vidian—was the one who liked getting his hands dirty. I’m more interested in the big picture.
    “Of course, none of that matters so long as you’re on the run. The Rebellion needs to put some distance between its armadas and the Mid Rim—now that you’ve abandoned it—or you risk being overtaken. I’ve got suggestions for
that
, too.”
    Then she moved. Namir couldn’t stop her. If the office had been larger, if the desk hadn’t been the flimsiest of barriers, Chalis couldn’t have pulled herself forward and leaned in to put her head beside the captain’s. The brandy bottle tipped to one side and fell to the floor. Chalis’s lips moved as she whispered something outside Namir’s hearing.
    Namir’s hand was on her shoulder an instant later, dragging her back into the chair while she laughed. Howl appeared unfazed and certainly unharmed, eyes half lidding in thought. Von Geiz and the lieutenant looked on with bitterness and concern.
    “I think,” Howl said, as Namir’s fingertips dug into the governor’s suit, “we should end here. We all have a lot to think about. I’ll speak to you later, Governor.”
    Chalis smiled and bowed her head.
    If Namir’s role in the meeting had been to protect the captain or the company, he felt profoundly certain he’d failed.
    After doling out the supplies stolen from Haidoral to the rest of the rebel battle group, the
Thunderstrike
peeled off with the Dornean gunship
Apailana’s Promise.
The
Promise
was a mean, compact dagger of a ship that had run with Twilight previously; its crew of a few dozen Alliance navy veterans collectively owed the soldiers of Twilight Company nearly fifty thousand credits, according to a running tally on the door of the starboard barracks. The
Promise
also bore a pair of X-wing starfighters on its undercarriage; their pilots had earned a special infamy for never deigning to set foot aboard the
Thunderstrike.
    Howl hadn’t announced Twilight Company’s new assignment since leaving Haidoral, and the bridge crew and senior officers were staying tight-lipped about the ships’ destination. Neither was unusual, but where there was no hard information, rumors took the place of facts. The engineering crew studied the
Thunderstrike
’s course and declared it en route to Wild