There was no reply. Leox just gazed at her, his expression melancholy and yet kind. It was the kindness that infuriated Affie the most—the idea that she needed kindness, that she was some simple gullible fool Scover coddled and humored, instead of a true pilot and Guild official in her own right. So many other pilots looked down on her. Leox never did—or at least he never had, not until that moment.

Without another word, she stalked off the bridge, half hoping Leox would follow her to apologize, but he let her go.

Orla Jareni watched Affie storm down the Vessel’s main corridor, practically trailing black smoke from her rage. Through the cockpit door, Orla caught a glimpse of Leox watching her go, concern written all over his sun-bronzed face.

Not a good time for a chat, she decided.

For the moment, Orla had little else to do. She didn’t intend to venture back toward the ancient idols until Cohmac could go with her. Dez was still strategizing a new way to penetrate the lower rings of the station, and Reath was handling things with the fellow refugees—most particularly Nan, it seemed.

Orla still hoped to have a conversation about spacecraft purchasing. Both Affie and Leox appeared to be distracted at the moment. As for Geode—well, a Vintian probably had different needs for a spaceship than a humanoid would. Orla had to put that conversation on hold.

Besides, she and Cohmac had plenty to talk about besides the idols.

Orla found him on the Vessel’s “observation deck”: a grandly titled meter of corridor that happened to have a small window. Cohmac saw her enter but didn’t speak.

“You’ve got your hood up again,” she said. “Never a positive sign.”

Generally she got Cohmac to sigh within five minutes. This time she’d had him right off the bat. “I suppose asking for privacy on this ship is futile.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. What is futile is expecting old friends not to understand when you’re having trouble.”

“The many problems on this station—”

“Spare me,” she said, not unkindly. “What I’m talking about has been hanging over you since long before the hyperspace disaster.”

Cohmac and Orla’s bond had formed during their Padawan years because of the Eiram–E’ronoh hostage crisis. The mistakes they’d made then—not being cautious enough about responding to signals, not doing enough research before diving into action—had been redeemed at a terrible price.

Sometimes she reminded herself to see the good that had come from it all. If the mission had turned out any other way, would that part of the galaxy ever have trusted the Republic, much less chosen to join it? Would Starlight Beacon have been built? Orla doubted it.