They were silent as they walked, taking a round-about route now, alert for Imperial spies. When Roan was certain they weren’t being followed, he went to a nondescript house on a narrow street. As he and Dona walked up to the entry, the door opened. They slipped inside.
“Roan!” Amie Antin stepped forward and embraced him. “We didn’t know what happened to you _ when you contacted us, we were so happy.” She turned to embrace Dona, who looked a bit startled at the gesture. She didn’t know Amie that well.
Amie dabbed at her dark eyes. “Silly, I know. It’s just that … we’ve had our losses lately. Terris and Naima.”
Roan felt the sadness grip him. “What happened?” “They were blasted by an Imperial ship. We think Darth Vader was aboard.” She bit her lip. “And Ferus was, too.”
There was an awkward pause. Roan knew how much it must have agonized Ferus to be aboard a ship that fired on those he’d fought beside and trusted. He hoped Ferus hadn’t known that the ships had been piloted by friends.
“Amie? Bring them inside,” a voice called.
Roan strode in. Wil sat on a low couch, his foot resting on a stool. It was strange to see strong, muscled Wil sitting down. He was usually full of energy.
“What happened?”
“Just some blasterfire.” Wil waved a hand. “Amie says I’ll live.”
Roan looked at Amie for confirmation, and she nodded, telling him that Wil would be all right. Roan picked up a tenderness between them. He sensed something had changed. At last Wil had probably told Amie how he felt about her.
“I was down by the garrison,” Wil explained. “Under cover, of course. We like to monitor the comings and goings. Pick up a surprising amount of information that way. I was challenged by a sentry, and I decided to run for it.”
“I guess you didn’t run fast enough,” Roan said, taking a seat next to Wil. “Dona wants to join us. Officially, I mean.”
“We’re happy to hear it,” Wil said. “You’II be a valuable addition to the Eleven, Dona.” He grimaced. “Such as we are.”
“She’ll need new ID docs,” Roan said. “I will, too. I can fabricate them. What shape is the equipment in? I know you had to move headquarters.”
“We’re set up here for ID fabrication,” Wil said. “But we’re talking about moving again. We’ve reached the point where we think it’s best to move every few weeks. We’ve scattered the group, and we all keep moving. The only trouble is … ” Wil hesitated. “A few months ago, we had no problem getting Ussans to volunteer their help. Even if they weren’t part of the Eleven, they loaned us equipment. Apartments. Garages to store things. Safe houses. But that help has slowed to a trickle.”
“They’re growing tired of sacrifice,” Amie said. “And who can blame them? Our successes have boiled down to simply surviving. There seems no end in sight. The Empire just keeps consolidating. Growing stronger. .More organized.”
“We can’t give up,” Roan said .
“Of course not,” Wil agreed. “We need to have a success. Something big. Something that will give them hope. But we’re running out of options. Our funds are very low. We need credits for bribes, for equipment.”
“We might be able to help you there,” Roan said, with a glance at Dona. “Do you remember Trever Flume?”
“Of course,” Amie said. “We just saw him a few weeks ago.”
“Trever has been the main contact to a resistance worker named Flame. We don’t know her real name. She’s from Acherin. She has an enormous fortune at her disposal. Her idea is to fund as many resistance groups as she can, then link them into one central operation. She’s going planet to planet to contact the resistance on each one. She’s calling the operation by the code name Moonstrike.”
“It’s an idea,” Wil said, considering it. “It could expose us too much. But then again there’s strength in numbers. We’ve often wished we could coordinate with other planets. Share information.”
“It’s worth a meeting,” Amie said. “Would Flame come here?”
“She’s already on Bellassa, waiting for our signal,” Roan said. “She would be willing to fund an operation for the Eleven.”
“Let’s have a meeting, then,” Wil said, with a glance at Amie.
“What about Ferus?” Roan asked.
Amie looked down at her lap. Wil studied his wounded foot.
“Be honest,” Roan said.
“We support whatever he’s doing,” Wil said. “It’s not that.”