The first thing Admiral Winstel Greelanx saw when Imperial Destiny emerged from its hyperspace microjump was a small scoutship turning tail and racing frantically away from him. The Admiral smiled dryly. I expect I’ll see a lot of that today …

The thought depressed him. It was going to be very difficult to manage to lose to this disorganized rabble. How in the galaxy was he going to manage it?

“Sir, the squadron has emerged from hyperspace,” his second-in-command, Commander Jelon, informed him.

Habit took over, and Greelanx found himself issuing orders automatically. “Order the squadron to deploy.”

Greelanx knew what was happening, and did not bother to watch. The seven Capital-class ships arranged themselves into Greelanx’s stipulated fighting wedge—with the Destiny as the point of the wedge. Then came two bulk cruisers, Arrestor and Liquidator, followed by the Peacekeeper and Pride of the Senate. The last two bulk cruisers, Enforcer and Inexorable, brought up the rear. The Dreadnaughts launched their TIE fighters, which moved to surround the wedge.

The two recon Carrack-class ships, Vigilance and Outpost, moved out in front of the squadron and launched their recon TIE fighters. The sixteen skirmish ships, Guardian-class Customs corvettes, were already in their shell-torus formation, ready to block any escape from the Smuggler’s Moon.

It all happened quickly and smoothly, without a hitch. Greelanx had drilled his commanders well on every point of his battle plan.

“Admiral, sir, the squadron has been deployed as ordered,” announced Jelon, scant minutes later.

“Very well. Order the squadron to proceed as planned.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The squadron moved forward at the specified speeds, with the pickets advancing on Nar Shaddaa at flank speed, the skirmish line advancing at cruising speed, and the capital ships advancing at flank speed.

Greelanx stared through the viewport of the bridge, then checked the long-range scanners, seeing that the moon Nar Shaddaa was surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pieces of debris. He wouldn’t be able to take his Capital-class ships through that sargasso, especially if the smugglers put up any resistance. When they reached the moon’s vicinity, he’d have to order them to alter their straight-on approach to swing wide of the floating debris.

Greelanx stood with his hands behind him, seeing the minuscule dot on the tactical “repeater” display that represented that tiny, panic-stricken vessel he’d first seen. As the little scoutship approached the floating debris, two other small ships, freighters at a guess, joined it in its panicked flight.

The admiral sighed. His battle plan called for the entire engagement to be over in less than fifteen minutes. He had better get busy, figuring out how he was going to manage to lose …

For the first minute or so, it was all Roa could do not to panic and flee into hyperspace. The sight of the Imperial squadron emerging from hyperspace had rattled him badly. Even though he’d known, intellectually, that the Imperial squadron was going to contain dozens of ships, some of them so huge they dwarfed any ship he’d ever flown, that hadn’t prepared him for nearly flying right down their throats.

Almost without knowing he’d done it, Roa found himself turned around and heading back for Nar Shaddaa at top speed. He forced himself to take several deep breaths, and fought back the fear. The drill came back to him as the Lwyll streaked along. Report in. I have to report contact. I’m a scoutship, remember?

He activated his comm on the special coded frequency they’d rigged. “Defender Central, this is Lwyll. Come in, Central.”

Mako’s voice in his helmet. “We read you, Lwyll. Have you spotted them?”

“Affirmative, Central.” Roa checked his sensors and rear tactical display. “They are deployed, and advancing.”

“Good, that’s what we want, remember. Just keep leading them in. Cut your speed a little, if you can do it without giving yourself away, Roa. I’m sending Elegant Interlude and Star Traveler out to help you lead at least one of those pickets to where we want it.”

“I read you, Central.”

Roa slowed down a bit, making sure to do it gradually. He was startled at how quickly the Carrack-class vessels were approaching. Fast ships! He was glad Mako had assigned the two ships he had to help out. Both were speedy vessels, and Danith Jalay and Renna Strego were experienced captains.

He took a deep breath. The fear was still there, deep down somewhere, but it no longer threatened his thinking processes.

Settling deep into his seat, Roa concentrated on the task at hand.

On the bridge of the Dragon Pearl, Mako Spince watched the sensors and tactical readouts, hardly daring to blink. The Pearl was too large to actually hide amid the floating hulks and debris, the way some of the smaller vessels could, but he’d ordered Blue to position her so that the Carrack-class ships wouldn’t spot her until they had the Imp vessels where they wanted them.

Mako saw that one Carrack-class ship, the Outpost, had altered course to approach the other side of Nar Shaddaa, while the Vigilance continued toward the ambush. That made sense, since Greelanx couldn’t know where the smugglers would engage him. Once the smuggler attack began, the Outpost would probably just wait there, rather than engaging, ready to report on and possibly engage any smuggler ships attempting to escape the Imperial attack.

The other Carrack-class, the one whose ship ID broadcast identified her as the Vigilance, continued to move toward his position.

Almost there, Mako thought, wiping his sweating palms on his trousers. Almost …

Falan Iniro was a Corellian, and his friends frequently told him he was hotheaded and impulsive. Iniro would counter this criticism by pointing out that his quickness to act was usually a virtue, often giving him the jump on the sweetest deal, the finest cargo, the best sabacc hand.

Now, aboard his modified YT-1210-class light freighter, the Take That!, Iniro chafed at the waiting. Blast it, he thought, what’s going on?

It was frustrating, having to hide here in the shadow of a wrecked freighter, grappled to its side by a magnetic claw. Iniro checked his instruments again, and this time, something caught his attention. Something really big was moving toward them. Close, really close.

It has to be one of them, Iniro thought. He wished for a moment that he’d installed new sensors, modern ones with better ID capability. Aloud he said to his gunner, a Rodian named Gadaf, “Hey, Gadaf, I got something on the sensors. Get ready to shoot.”

“Okay, Captain,” the Rodian said. “Standing by.”

Some of the other smugglers had commented that they thought the Take That! was too lightly armed to go against an Imperial ship, but Falan Iniro was convinced that his piloting skills—which were considerable—would more than make up for the fact that he had only a single laser, mounted in a turret on the top of the ship.

“I just wish …” the Rodian’s voice reached him, sounding wistful.

“You wish what?”

“That we’d had time to calibrate the sights on this laser, boss. I keep having to compensate for it. It’s firing consistently to the right.”

Iniro was not sympathetic. “That’s easy to compensate for, Gadaf. I score hits with that laser all the time.”

“Yes, I know, boss,” the Rodian said. “I don’t do too bad, either.”

“Huh …” Irritated, Iniro fidgeted. When are we going to get our blasted orders?

The something big—whatever it was—had moved almost past the Take That! on Iniro’s sensors.

Come on, come on! What are you—

Iniro’s body went rigid as he heard a voice in his headphones. Mako Spince’s voice, garbled by distance and intervening space debris, but still recognizable. “First Strike Element, this is Defender Central. Prepare to—”

Iniro let out a whoop, and realized that he hadn’t quite caught that last word. “Engage,” wasn’t it? He was pretty sure.

For a moment he thought of keying his comm and asking, “Say again, Central,” but he didn’t. The other guys would laugh at him, and he’d get left behind as they attacked!

“Let’s go!” he yelled, and disengaged his magnetic grapple.

Swooping out from behind the hunk of space junk, Iniro saw that there were two other ships with him. Only two? Where in the name of Xendor’s Minions were the others?

Iniro didn’t have time to wonder, Because almost immediately he found himself under attack. Some kind of TIE fighter.

A blast struck his forward shield. Iniro compensated, and felt the ship shudder as Gadaf shot at the TIE. Clean miss, too far to the left.

Overcompensated, the fool!! Iniro thought. He sent the Take That! into a sweeping turn, pouring on all the power he could. “Get him, Gadaf!” he yelled.

A red bolt streaked out, barely missed the twisting, turning TIE.

Iniro swore, and gave chase. It wasn’t easy, here in this junkyard of space debris. He was constantly having to flip his vessel up on her side, or resort to other, even more drastic maneuvers, to avoid crashing into something.

“Clear shot … coming!” yelled Iniro. “Be … ready!”

As he had promised, the next instant the TIE fighter and the Take That! were in a straight line with nothing in between them. Another red bolt tore through vacuum, and this time it impaled the recon TIE fighter dead center!

For a moment the explosion flared out, yellow, then white, expanding, expanding …

Then the TIE was gone, and there were only sparkles of blazing debris and ash drifting in vacuum …

But before Iniro could celebrate his victory, his eye was caught by his tactical display. The something big was closing on him! In a second it would be right on top of him!

Captain Iniro twisted frantically in his pilot’s seat, slapping his controls, trying desperately to evade, trying to see it. He caught just a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Minions of Xendor, it’s so—

Falan Iniro never had time to complete the thought. The Carrack-class light cruiser’s heavy turbolasers engulfed the little freighter in a wash of green fire, utterly obliterating the Take That! in less time than it takes for a human eyeblink.

Ten seconds later not even spacedust remained.

Within seconds of following Falan Iniro’s Take That! out of hiding, Niev Jaub knew that he’d made a terrible mistake. The little Sullustan was flying his small light freighter (modified, of course), the Bnef Nlle, and when he’d seen the Take That! blast out of hiding, he’d assumed he’d missed Mako’s order, and followed the other vessel. The moment he was out in the “open,” Jaub noted that only one other ship was with them. They’d obviously jumped the gun and the attack hadn’t started yet.

For a moment Jaub considered trying to swoop back and hide again, but it was too late. A green blast from a TIE fighter nearly singed his whiskers. Jaub sent his small freighter (which rather resembled one of the shelled reptiles of his homeworld) skittering to his right in an evasive maneuver.

Unlike most of the defenders of Nar Shaddaa, Jaub was an honest trader, who happened to do business on the Smuggler’s Moon, delivering exotic foodstuffs to the once-elegant hotel-casinos. There was a sizable Sullustan enclave on Nar Shaddaa, and the little sentient had kin and friends living there. So, when Mako’s call for help had gone out, Jaub had figured it was his responsibility to respond. He couldn’t let his friends and family be injured, and not try to help them!

Now what? he wondered, firing at a TIE fighter. I can’t compete with these pilots! I’ve never even fired my weapons before, except in target practice!

But there was no turning back now. The Carrack-class light cruiser had entered the fray. Jaub’s already huge eyes went even wider as he saw the Take That! impaled in a green burst of turbolaser fire.

Sickened, he watched as the Corellian’s ship was vaporized.

If Jaub had thought he could outrun any of these ships, he might have tried. But he knew better. All he could try to do, he figured, was to stay alive and maybe get in a lucky shot. Mako was bound to order the real attack any second now!

Jaub zigged again as a TIE roared by him, seemingly out of nowhere. The evasive maneuver brought him within range of the Carrick-class ship’s turbolasers. The Sullustan pilot squeaked in utter terror as the barest edge of green licked past his vessel.

I’m all right, he didn’t hit me, he didn’t hit me, he didn’t … oh, gods … he hit me … the Sullustan thought.

His power indicators were dropping. That blast had barely brushed him, but it must have wiped out his stern shields and disabled his engines. The Bnef Nlle was still hurtling along, still in the grip of inertia, but his engines were dead.

Jaub tested his maneuvering thrusters and realized they still functioned. He couldn’t brake, or speed up, but he could turn his vessel.

He looked around, saw that two TIEs were bearing down on him from the rear. In seconds, they’d catch him and blast him into atoms.

The Carrack-class ship was obviously content not to have to waste its heavy turbolasers on the likes of one small, crippled freighter. The big Imperial ship was sailing serenely along, parallel to and a little behind Jaub’s flight path.

Seconds … I’ve got only seconds. Make them count, Jaub thought. He didn’t think of himself as particularly brave, but Sullustans were known to be a practical species.

Jaub sent his ship rolling over, using his maneuvering thrusters hard, deliberately sending the Bnef Nlle into an uncontrollable spin. Stars and space debris revolved in his viewport, making his stomach flip over.

“Bnef nlle, everyone!” he screamed as he hurtled toward the flank of the Carrack-class ship.

“Bnef nlle” meant “good luck” in Sullustan.

At first Jaub thought he wasn’t going to make it, that the Carrack-class vessel was going too fast—but then he had one final second to realize that he was, indeed, going to impact against the big vessel’s port shields.

Joy filled him, and then there was nothing but fire …

“Blasted, stupid fools! Why didn’t they wait for my order?” Mako shouted as he stared into his tactical screen. Why did they jump the gun?

Maybe they’d misunderstood him. Mako had said, “Prepare to evade,” and just as he finished speaking, those three impetuous freighters went streaking out of cover. Mako had stared at the screen, cursing steadily in many languages, as he watched two of the errant ships get blown up.

At least that second guy, whoever he was, had made his exit count for something. And even the fool that had started the whole mess had nailed a recon TIE.

Now the third vessel was streaking back toward him, with a TIE fighter in hot pursuit. “Great!” Mako yelled. “Just lead ’em right to where we’re hiding! If you live through this, I’m gonna personally hunt you down and strangle you!”

“Mako, he’s gonna buy it if we don’t do something,” Blue said tensely.

“I oughta let the fool pay for his mistake,” Mako growled, but a last check on his tactical screens convinced him that the Carrack-class vessel was far enough into the debris to be unable to turn quickly and get out of range. Close enough, Mako thought.

“All right,” he said to Blue and the gunnery crew, “let’s go save his worthless hide!”

Snapping on his comm, Mako said, “All right, commence attack! First Strike Element, attack now, boys and girls! Get those TIEs, and I’ll move in on that Carrack-class. Be prepared to back me up! We’re gonna nail that sucker!”

Blue was taking the Dragon Pearl out of hiding now, and the racing freighter saw them and swung toward them, like a child running to hide behind mama’s skirts. Blue gave a tense order to the gunnery crew, and the Hutt yacht’s six powerful turbolasers sent green blasts of destruction to impale the TIE fighter.

The TIE blew up spectacularly. “Waste of power,” Mako grunted. “Stupid ships don’t even have shields.”

The Pearl was now moving toward the Carrack-class ship, which was only then realizing it was being challenged. “Blue, launch those Headhunters!” Mako yelled.

“Already did it two minutes ago!” she shouted back. “Quit tellin’ me my job!”

The Vigilance swung toward the yacht, and the two vessels engaged.

The Carrack-class, of course, had the advantage in the fight. It was armored much more heavily than the yacht, had better shielding, and more weaponry. It was also faster, but not by much.

However, Mako’s crew had two major advantages over the Vigilance. Blue was used to maneuvering through Nar Shaddaa’s debris, while the Carrack-class vessel’s pilot was not. The Hutt yacht was also smaller, thus far more agile.

Blue pressed that advantage for all she was worth, darting in to shoot, then straining every rivet in the big ship to evade the returning fire.

After being flung to the deck when the artificial gravity shorted out for a second from a hit, Mako got smart and strapped himself into his seat. He saw bursts of color reflected against the viewport from laser fire and turbolaser fire reflecting off shields, but he couldn’t see the Vigilance from his command center.

He had been worried that Vigilance might be one of the new, refitted models that were equipped with tractor beams, but apparently it was not.

The Hutt yacht shuddered with the blasts, over and over. “We’re losing the starboard shielding,” Blue said tersely. “Another hit there, and—”

WHAM!

The Pearl lurched horribly, like a wounded animal dragged down by a predator’s claws. Blue swore. “Fire! Hit ’em again!”

Jiliac’s yacht shuddered as the turbolasers fired again, then again.

Mako was dying to get up and see for himself what was happening, but the ship was pitching so violently that it would have been dangerous. All he needed was a broken arm—or neck.

WHAM-WHAM!

“Blast,” Blue said. “We’ve lost three turbolaser mounts.”

WHAM!

“Make that four.”

“Blue, what in blazes is going on?” Mako yelled over the next volley. “Are we hurtin’ them at all?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. “We’re hurtin’ ’em. Fire, boys! Again!”

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Mako unsnapped his harness and staggered across the heaving deck to see what was going on.

“His port shields are weakening,” Blue told him. “Our starboard shields are gone.” She maneuvered the Hutt yacht so the relatively intact bow shielding was pointing toward the Vigilance.

“Engines are sluggish,” Mako said, feeling the ship strain to move.

“Tell me about it,” Blue snapped.

The Pearl fired again, then again, and then—

Mako let out a whoop of glee as he saw, instead of the splash of turbolaser fire against a shield, a big charred mark appear on the Carrack-class ship’s armored hide. “His port shields are down!”

“So are our starboard ones,” Blue snarled.

“But, baby, we’ve got him now! Disengage!”

Mako raced back to his comm center. “All right, listen up! Too Late Now! Minestra! Defense Central calling. Come in, over!”

Mako was addressing two of the merc vessels that he knew had been assigned to these coordinates. Too Late Now was a captured and modified Imperial patrol craft, and Minestra was a captured Imperial light corvette. Both vessels now sported the “blazing claw” insignia that marked them as pirates.

“Minestra, we read you, Mako,” said a voice.

“Too Late Now, likewise.”

“Listen up, guys, good news! We just took down Vigilance’s port shields!”

“We’re already moving in to finish him off,” said the voice of Minestra’s captain. “Mako, we saw the pounding you took. You’d better get out of here before more Imps show up.”

“We’re only too happy to,” Blue said, and with painful slowness, the Dragon Pearl limped away. Mako glanced at her diagnostic sensors, and cursed. No starboard shields, sublight engines crippled, hull damage, and we’re leakin’ some atmosphere. Jiliac’s gonna be right irritated ’bout this …

The two pirate ships had arrived by now, and they and the freighters were ganging up on the injured Vigilance, drawing in like scavengers toward a staggering prey. Mako saw the Carrick-class ship take hit after hit, until finally the armor couldn’t take any more, and a huge hole was blasted in her port side. The smugglers targeted her engines, then her bridge, and within minutes, she was drifting helpless in space. Lifepods launched from the Carrack as some of the crew began abandoning ship.

Mako grinned. “You did good, guys! Okay, my ship’s out of it, at least until we do some damage control, so I’m heading for Illusion Point ahead of schedule. You guys stick it out. Those skirmish ships should be arrivin’ any minute!”

Admiral Greelanx stared at Commander Jelon, taken aback by his subordinate’s report. “You say that the Vigilance is out of the battle? Captain Eldon is dead?”

“Yes, Admiral. I regret to say it, sir.”

“What about his TIEs?”

“All destroyed, sir.”

Greelanx was too disciplined to swear aloud, but he did so mentally. “Order the skirmish ships to full speed. Order two squadrons of TIEs to accompany them. Instruct them to engage the enemy at will.”

“Yes, sir!”

For a moment Greelanx considered bringing the other Carrack-class, the Outpost, into combat, but he decided against it. The Outpost might be needed for mopping up, later. He didn’t want to risk his only remaining recon vessel.

We’ll show these wretched criminals, Greelanx thought angrily, completely forgetting, for the moment, that he was supposed to lose this battle …

Captain Soontir Fel stared at Admiral Greelanx’s tiny holo-figure as it seemingly stood perched atop the Pride of the Senate’s comm board, feeling as though someone had punched him in the stomach. “Eldon is dead?”

Greelanx nodded shortly. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“I see, sir. Permission to speak, Admiral?”

“Go ahead.” Greelanx was anything but welcoming.

“Perhaps we should take these smugglers a bit more … seriously … sir? They apparently are capable of mounting a coordinated attack, as opposed to simply shooting at random.”

“Your comment is noted, Fel. Greelanx out.”

The tiny holo-figure popped out of existence.

Soontir Fel stood for a moment, head bowed. Captain Darv Eldon had been one of his classmates in the Academy. They had been close friends for nearly ten years. His death was like a vibroblade wound.

Fel swallowed, then straightened his shoulders. He would have time to grieve later. Right now, it was his duty to kill as many of these smugglers as he could …

At first, Han Solo found it very strange to shoot at TIE fighters, rather than fly them. As soon as Mako had ordered in the First Strike Element, Han, with Chewie and Jarik in the Bria’s wing-mounted gun turrets, had gone after and engaged several TIEs. He’d nailed two, so far, and was cruising through the debris, looking around for more.

The Bria had one weakened rear shield, which put her engines in possible jeopardy should she take another big hit there, but was otherwise undamaged, due largely to Han’s flying expertise.

Han was one of the few smugglers who was flying without a partner. Mako wanted him free to keep watch over the fleet, to go where he was needed without encumbrances. Han recognized that Mako’s decision was a testament to his own flying skill and was pleased.

Han glanced over at the left gun turret on the Bria’s wing, and saw Jarik in the movable seat, headset in place. So far, the kid hadn’t done well. He’d been overeager, nervous, and had managed to miss everything he’d aimed at. Han was beginning to think he shouldn’t have encouraged him to come along for the ride.

Chewbacca had done considerably better, hitting one TIE fighter and sending it wheeling away. Seconds later it had crashed into a large piece of debris and exploded.

Han himself had gotten another TIE with his bow-mounted twin lasers.

Mako’s voice came over his headphones. “Listen up! Those skirmish ships are arrivin’ and engaging at will! Everyone stay sharp!”

Han had just decided to go hunting for one of the skirmish ships, when suddenly a TIE fighter swooped toward them, lasers blasting.

“Chewie, Jarik!” Han yelled. “Look sharp!” Automatically he evaded the blasts, and triggered a shot with his bow guns.

A clean miss. Han swore.

Another TIE was swooping toward them, eager to catch the Bria in a crossfire. Han snapped off a shot at it as he sent his ship swooping away, and saw the TIE wobble. He’d hit it!

The other TIE came in again, and this time Chewbacca was right there, firing, firing—

A sudden Wookiee howl of rage and frustration echoed in Han’s headphones. He’s been hit! was Han’s first thought, and his breath caught in his chest, but when he looked to his right, he saw Chewie bouncing up and down in his movable seat, roaring, cursing, and waving his long, hairy arms, obviously furious—but unhurt.

What’s got into him? Han wondered, then he looked again, and saw what had happened.

The Bria’s gun-control yoke, wires dangling, was clutched in Chewie’s paw-hands. In his enthusiasm to nail the TIE, Chewbacca had forgotten to ration his great Wookiee strength; he’d ripped the control yoke clean out of the gun mount!

Now it was Han’s turn to swear. “Chewie, you big furry oaf! Look what you did!”

Chewbacca snarled in Han’s headphones that he was only too aware of what he’d done. Han had never heard his hairy friend use language like that before.

Whump! A shot from the TIE had impacted on the Bria’s amidships shield.

Hey, Solo! Concentrate on your flying, or you’re gonna be dead! Han shook his head, realizing that from now on, he’d have to consider his right side as crippled, and shield it as best he could.

He spoke into his headset. “Jarik, listen up, kid! Chewie broke off the blasted gun yoke in the right turret! It’s all up to you to nail these TIEs!”

Jarik’s voice was faint and shaky. “Mmmm … me?”

“Yeah, you! Now look sharp! He’s comin’ in again!”

Jarik crouched in his movable seat in the left gun turret, frozen with terror. My worst nightmare come true! I’m going to kill us all!

He forced himself to straighten up and swiveled, looking for the TIE. The targeting grid hung before him. Would he be able to zero in on anything? He didn’t know. He’d failed miserably, so far.

Where is it, where is—

Suddenly he saw it. There it was, coming in a looping path from overhead that would allow it to flip over and then get off a shot at the Bria’s bow.

I can’t do it … what if I can’t do it? Jarik’s mind screamed, but somehow his hands were moving, and then his body was following suit as he swiveled in his seat. There was the targeting grid, there was the TIE and suddenly——the two images were one.

Without conscious volition, Jarik’s thumb squeezed the firing trigger.

A red beam shot out, catching the TIE in the middle of its small body.

In magnificent silence, the TIE blew up.

Jarik sat there, staring in shock. Did I do that?

Han’s voice in his ears. “Great shootin’, kid! Let’s go do it again!”

Did I do that? I did! I did it! I can do it!

Jarik “Solo” grinned, felt a wave of satisfaction and pride. “Okay, Han!”

Jarik checked the charges on his gun, then, as the Bria swooped off, began searching their surroundings for more targets …

Aboard the Rimrunner, Salla Zend checked her position, then glanced quickly out of her viewport to make sure her flying partner was in correct position. Because the Rimrunner equaled the Millennium Falcon in speed, she’d been paired with Lando and his odd little droid pilot.

Salla had to hand it to Vuffi Raa. She’s never before heard of a droid that could pilot, but she gathered that Vuffi Raa was some special type of droid, from some completely different part of the galaxy. Obviously not your everyday astromech. From the moment they’d deployed, Vuffi Raa not only had kept formation with her, the droid had occasionally outflown her!

She spoke into her headset. “Any of those skirmish ships on your sensors, Vuffi?”

“Nothing so far, Lady Salla,” the little droid replied. “And my name is Vuffi Raa, please.”

“No problem, Vuffi Raa,” she replied. “So what does that name mean, anyhow?”

“In the language of those who programmed me, it is a number, Lady Salla.”

“Huh.” Salla was doing a visual inspection as she flew through the debris. No skirmish vessels so far, but her sensors showed a large group of vessels moving through the “cloud” of debris surrounding Nar Shaddaa. It was only a matter of time. “Lando, stay sharp with your guns. I see Imp slugs everywhere.”

“Right, Salla,” Lando said.

“Rik, Shug? We could have incoming any second. You guys ready?”

“Ready, Salla,” Shug replied.

“We are ready, pretty lady,” Rik Duel said, in a manner that he fondly imagined to be charming.

Salla grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Can it, Rik. Stay sharp. This is no time to get cute.”

“Hey, Salla, I can’t help it if I’ve got eyes!” Rik said, in mock-injured tones. “That jerk Solo doesn’t appreciate you, you know. You deserve better than that Corellian creep. You are one fine woman, and he—”

“Stow the chatter, Rik,” Salla snapped, tiring of the banter. “And rein in your hormones. Your routine is getting real old.”

“But, Salla—” he protested, sounding very, very injured, “I fell for you the moment I—”

“Lady Salla!” Vuffi Raa broke in. “Incoming!”

Salla checked her sensors and ship ID codes. An Imperial Customs Guardian-class light cruiser, the Lianna Guard! She altered her flight path to challenge the newcomer head-on, and was impressed to see how quickly Vuffi Raa followed her lead.

Seconds later the Lianna Guard came zipping toward them, firing its laser cannons. Salla took a minor hit, but the shields deflected it. The Imp vessel was fast, and as maneuverable as the freighters—matter of fact, the ship was a Customs patrol ship, designed to stop smugglers cold.

Shug took a shot with his quad lasers, but scored a clean miss as the Imp pilot evaded. He’s really good! Salla thought. But we’ll get him. He’s outnumbered.

She’d been so occupied with engaging the Lianna Guard that Salla failed to notice three slug blips on her sensors, all coming in incredibly fast. Vuffi Raa squeaked, “Lady Salla! TIE fighters!”

Salla took a hit in her bow, but the shields handled it. Shug was shooting steadily now, and so was Lando. One TIE was hit, and promptly exploded. Salla couldn’t tell who had made the kill.

Evasive! Salla flipped Rimrunner up on her side, but took a hit anyway. Her shields took the brunt of it, but the freighter shuddered violently.

“Get those TIEs!” she yelled.

“I’m trying!” came both Lando’s and Shug’s voices at the same time.

Salla swore grimly. Where’s the Lianna Guard? She’d lost track of the Guardian-class ship in the melee.

BAM!

Rimrunner shuddered again. Salla struggled to hold her bucking ship, narrowly missed crashing into a huge piece of space debris. They’d been hit in the flank, and her shields were weakened back there. From the strength of the blast, it must have been the patrol ship, not a TIE.

“AWriiiiight!” Lando shouted in her headset, and she saw another TIE wiped out.

Two to two. Much better odds!

Okay, now … where was the Lianna Guard? On Lando’s tail? No! Coming up directly behind her!

Lando said urgently, “Evasive, Salla!”

“Not on your life!” she bellowed. “This is what I’ve been waiting for! Rik, blast your worthless hide, get him!”

Captain Lodrel of the Imperial ship Lianna Guard smiled grimly as his ship streaked toward the mynock-shaped freighters stern. I’ve got you! he thought smugly, and opened his mouth to give the order to destroy the helpless vessel.

But before he could speak, Lodrel noticed something strange about the rear of the CorelliSpace ship. Two camouflaged gun ports had just slid open in the ship’s stern!

Instead of shouting “Fire!” Lodrel screamed, “Evasive!”

But two concussion missiles were already streaking toward him. Hey! That’s not fair! Lodrel thought indignantly.

It was his last thought …

“Yahooooooo!” shouted Salla as she saw the patrol ship blown to atoms on her rear sensors. “We got him! Sweet shooting, Rik!”

“Does that mean you’ll kiss me when we get back to base?” he demanded in her headset.

“Not a chance,” Salla said cheerfully. “But I’ll buy you a drink!”

“Congratulations, Lady Salla,” Vuffi Raa said, in his prissy, overly refined tones.

“Great going, Salla!” Lando shouted. “In all the excitement, I totally forgot about those missile launchers. Shug, you are the best!”

“Yeah, Shug, we all owe you,” Salla agreed.

“That was fun,” Shug said, chuckling. “Want to do it again?”

“Sure!” Salla and Lando chorused.

Mako Spince heaved a sigh of relief when the crippled Dragon Pearl managed to reach Illusion Point, and the relative protection offered by the bigger ships in Drea Renthal’s mercenary fleet. He checked his sensors, all the while listening to his ships report in.

The smugglers were doing well against the Imp skirmish vessels. They were taking losses, though, ships they couldn’t afford to lose. Mako frowned as he checked ship after ship. I’m losing a lot of friends today, he thought sadly. Too many good ships and people gone …

He ran a status check. Almost twenty-five percent of his smuggler vessels … gone. Even if they won this battle, the smuggling operations out of Nar Shaddaa were going to be affected for a long, long time.

But the Imps had probably lost half their TIE fighters, and nearly fifty percent of their skirmish ships.

The big question is, Mako thought, when is Greelanx gonna move in with his capital ships? The big ships were approaching steadily, but were still out of range.

Mako glanced nervously at his sensors, saw two skirmish vessels converge on a smuggler ship. Oh, no!

A panicked voice erupted in Mako’s headset. “Defender Central! Can you get me some help? I’m crippled, and—”

The voice scaled up into an agonized scream, and abruptly stopped. Mako watched as the blip on his sensors winked out. He cursed softly, helplessly.

“Commander Jelon,” Admiral Greelanx said, “order the remainder of the TIEs to deploy and engage at will.”

“Yes, sir.”

The big Imperial ships were now within five hundred kilometers of the Nar Shaddaa debris shell. Greelanx took a sip of stim-tea, then checked their sensors again. He could see the remaining twelve TIE fighters streaking toward the battle.

“Commander, instruct the capital wedge to assume an external-approach orbital pass. We’re going to avoid that debris.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And order the wedge to accelerate to full speed. We are starting our attack.”

“Yes, sir!”

Greelanx checked the status of his squadron again. He was impressed by the smugglers’ tenacity. He’d expected them to break and run before now. But they were still fighting, and doing significant damage to his skirmish vessels.

Still, losing wasn’t going to be easy. The smugglers were fighting bravely, granted, but those little freighters were no match for his capital ships. Greelanx sighed. It was possible that he’d have to order one of his ships to do something that would be guaranteed to cause its destruction.

The admiral swallowed another sip of tea, feeling as though a fist were closing around his throat. He’d sent troops to their deaths before, many times, but never on purpose. He wasn’t sure he could do it …

But what choice did he have?

They’re making their move! Accelerating to attack speed! Mako realized as he stared into his sensors. He keyed his comm to a special, private frequency. “Han, Mako here. You read me?”

“Yeah, Mako,” came the voice of his friend, garbled but understandable. “I read you. What’s happening?”

“Greelanx is starting his move with his capital ships. I’m going to order the retreat. Do me a favor, pal?”

“Sure.”

“You and Chewie play rear guard during the retreat. Hang back and ride herd on those spacebums, okay? Keep ’em on track, Han. Don’t let ’em go too slow, but keep on their tails about goin’ too fast. We want those Imps following right on their heels.”

“Will do,” Han said. “How’re we doing?”

“Overall, not bad. But we’ve lost some friends.”

“I know. I’ve seen wreckage,” Han agreed, sounding bleak.

“Mako out.”

Mako keyed in another special frequency. “Captain Renthal?”

“Renthal here.”

“I’m going to order the retreat now. Be ready.”

“We are ready. I’ll recall Minestra.”

“What about Too Late Now?”

“She’s gone.”

“Oh …”

“Renthal out.”

Mako keyed his general frequency. “Boys and girls, this is Defender Central. You done good, fellow spacebums. Now it’s time to leave the party. All vessels, retreat along assigned vector. Remember your drills. Repeat, you are to retreat along your assigned vector, starting now. Defender Central out.”

Xaverri stood in a cordoned-off section in Shug Ninx’s spacebarn, intent on the tactical display she was receiving, transmitted by Dragon Pearl. She watched as the smugglers turned tail and raced away from the oncoming Imperial capital ships and remaining skirmish vessels. Her friends were fleeing in what seemed to be a panicked rout, but was, in actuality, a carefully coordinated and rehearsed withdrawal under fire. Mako and Han had drilled and drilled them in just how far they should stay ahead of the Imperial vessels—tantalizingly within weapons range, so the “stragglers” would have to take evasive maneuvers to avoid being blasted if the Imperials got lucky.

The magician licked her lips in anticipation, thinking that this was her big chance, the chance to wipe out more Imps at one time than she’d probably ever get again.

That’s right, she thought, watching the wedge move closer and closer to the Illusion Point coordinates. That’s right, come along, chase them, yes, chase them right into the trap …

Poised like a hunting Togorian, she stared fiercely into the tactical display until her eyes burned and she was forced to blink.

When her vision cleared, there they were! The entire capital wedge was right in the middle of the IP coordinates!

Xaverri grinned, a predatory smile that had nothing pleasant about it. She activated her comm, spoke on a special frequency. “Mako, Xaverri here.”

“This is Mako. Xaverri, I read you.”

“Activating illusion … now,” she said, and broke contact. Then, slowly, deliberately, she pressed the big red button on her console, the one marked, DON’T TOUCH UNLESS YOU’RE XAVERRI!

“Now you die,” she whispered.

Imperial Destiny rounded the limb of Nar Shaddaa, swinging wide as ordered, in order to avoid the floating debris surrounding the Smuggler’s Moon. As it did so, Admiral Greelanx could finally see Nal Hutta, large even at a distance of over 123,000 kilometers. His flagship was leading the charge against the fleeing smugglers, his capital ships moving in perfect formation, with his remaining TIE fighters and skirmish ships flanking the wedge.

Greelanx stood on his bridge, watching them close on their prey, seeing the red and green trails of Imperial lasers and turbolasers blasting at the motley assortment of freighters, wondering once again how he was going to manage to stage a realistic defeat and retreat.

The smugglers had fought hard, Greelanx had to admit that, but the sight of his big ships had obviously terrified them, frightened them so badly that any fighting spirit they’d had was gone.

Now they were running like Corellian vrelts before a pack of canoids.

“Admiral Greelanx, sir!” the sensor operator spoke up urgently. “Sir, I’m getting something, but where did it—We’ve got incoming, sir!”

Greelanx took a quick glance at the sensors, then turned to look out the viewport. His eyes widened.

Coming straight at them from the direction of Nal Hutta were hundreds of smuggler ships of assorted sizes—including several Corellian corvettes! Mercenaries, Greelanx thought. The smugglers don’t have anything that large!

“Where did they come from?” Jelon demanded of the sensor operator. “Why weren’t you tracking them?”

“Sir, they must’ve just launched from Nal Hutta! Sir, I was concentrating on tracking the smuggler fleet, as ordered, Commander!”

Greelanx frowned. His instincts, honed after decades in the Imperial Navy, made him wonder if this could be some kind of a trick.

“Full sensor scan!” he snapped.

“Yes, sir!”

Moments later the sensor operator displayed the results of his check. Greelanx studied it. The Hutts must have held these mercenaries in reserve, then launched them in desperation, he decided.

Greelanx cleared his throat. “Commander Jelon, instruct the wedge and our fighters to execute a one-hundred-and-ten-degree turn, Y axis, and engage the newcomers. When they have completed their maneuver, they may fire at will!”

Mako Spince let out a yell of triumph as he watched the phantom fleet appear, and saw the Imperial ships begin their turn. “Yes! They’re fallin’ for it!” He keyed his comm. “Captain Renthal!”

“I see it,” she said tersely. “I didn’t believe it would work until now, but I gotta admit … I’m attacking, full speed!”

“Go get ’em!”

As Mako had requested, Han Solo had stayed back, behind the other smugglers, as they wove their way out of the debris during the retreat. Once past the limb of Nar Shaddaa, Han had ordered them to swing wide, and get out of the debris. That way Greelanx would have a clear view of the fleeing smugglers, and would continue his pursuit, straight into their trap.

When Han finally emerged from the shell of debris, he found himself actually trailing the Imperial fleet. He could see them ahead of him, and considered trying to loop around them at top speed, so he could take part in the attack that was planned at the IP coordinates.

Ahead of him, he spotted a pair of vessels on his sensors, and was surprised when he checked their vessel IDs and found that the wayward pair was Salla and Lando in Rimrunner and the Falcon.

Han wondered if one of them had taken a bad hit and needed help. Activating his comm, he said, “Defender Central, this is Han. Come in, Mako.”

Mako’s voice was clearer, now that Han was out of the debris field. “Mako here, Han. The Imps have almost reached the IP point.”

“I’ve got Salla and Lando on my sensors, and we’re all behind the Imp fleet, Mako.”

“Yeah, I asked ’em to take it easy, figuring you might need some help if you ran into any stray skirmish vessels,” Mako said.

“Okay, so they’re all right?”

“Far as I know.”

“Patch me through to them, will you?”

“Sure.”

In order to keep the frequencies as clear as possible, all communications had been routed through Mako, except for designated pairs like Lando and Salla. Moments later Han heard Lando’s voice. “Han, old buddy!”

“Lando, I’m behind you, wondering how to get past the Imp fleet so I can get back into the action.”

“Salla and I were just wondering the same thing. I don’t want to miss out on the chance to score some more hits on those Imp skirmish ships. Salla and I got quite a few of them,” Lando said proudly.

“Three Guardian-class light cruisers,” Salla interjected.

“Hey, congratulations!”

“Master.” Vuffi Raa’s precise tones were unmistakable. “Would you like me to swing us around so we can fly back to the action with Captain Solo?”

“Yeah, Vuffi Raa, why don’t you do that? Oh, and … don’t call me master.”

“Yes, Master.”

Han was now close enough to his friends that he could see them in the distance as they peeled off and swooped back to join him. Han chuckled. “Where in the galaxy did you pick up that droid, Lando?”

“Long story.”

Moments later the three vessels were flying together. Han was fiercely glad to find out his friends were okay. It felt good, all of them flying together, united against the Imperials.

Han keyed his comm again. “So, guys, how are we gonna get past the fleet, back to the IP?”

Suddenly Chewie, who had abandoned his useless gun turret and come up to serve as copilot and to man the Bria’s bow guns, growled urgently and gestured at the sensors.

Han looked, and saw the wedge of pursuing capital ships slow, then begin to execute a ponderous turn, all the while remaining in perfect formation.

“Go, Xaverri!” he shouted, then he keyed his comm.

“Hey, Lando, Salla! Check your forward sensors!”

The Imperial ships were just out of visual range by now. Han found himself wishing fiercely that he could catch up to them, do some more damage.

“They can see it!” Lando said. “Why can’t we?”

“Because we’re behind it,” Han said. “It all has to do with the angle of the light rays. Complicated, but trust me. The Imps are seeing a big fleet comin’ straight at them!”

The Imperial fleet continued to execute their turn. I hate being stuck back here, out of the action! Han thought.

Suddenly, seeing the direction in which the fleet was turning, Han had an idea. He keyed his comm. “Lando, Salla! We’re close enough to the wedge to be able to do a two-second hyperspace microjump right into the middle of the illusion. If we alter our approach vector slightly just before the jump, we’ll wind up on the right approach path to come roaring in with those phantoms, firin’! Let’s give Xaverri’s fleet some real teeth!”

“Han!” Salla protested. “We’re right in the middle of a gravity well, in case you haven’t noticed!”

“We’re close enough to where the two bodies balance each other out,” Han insisted. “We can do it, guys! C’mon! Follow me!”

He altered his flight vector slightly, and was pleased to note that Rimrunner and the Falcon followed him.

“Okay, we’re all set!” Han said tensely. “Now for the microjump!”

“Hey, Han, that illusion is only going to be good for another couple of minutes!” Lando protested. “We can’t possibly get a course out of the navicomputers in time!”

“I got it covered,” Han said. “You just order that fancy little droid of yours to compute our microjump and put the three of us right in the forefront of that fleet. He can dump the figures into our navicomputers over the comm. Can’t you, Vuffi Raa?”

“I am a class two droid, of course I can make such an elementary calculation,” Vuffi Raa said, sounding affronted at having his abilities questioned. “But, Captain Solo, I must point out that what you are suggesting presents a considerable risk.” From the way the little droid spoke, Han could picture it wringing its tentacles at the very idea.

“Lando, c’mon! Order him to do it!”

Han could hear Lando sigh even over the comm. “All right, you crazy Corellian. Vuffi Raa, you mechanical mastermind, do what Han says!”

Moments later Vuffi Raa said, in a subdued voice, “Course laid in.”

“Punch it!” Han yelled, suiting his actions to his words. The stars striated around him for a brief second, then he found himself racing straight at the Imperial fleet!

He glanced from one side to the other, saw that Lando and Salla were still in formation with him. And, behind them and to either side of them, stretched Xaverri’s illusion. Han could see it now, and even though he’d been prepared for something big, he was impressed.

“All right!” he yelled. “Thanks, Vuffi Raa!”

As the phantom fleet drew nearer the Imperial wedge, the big capital ships began blasting away. Han realized immediately that there was a huge advantage to being part of an illusion. With this many ships to shoot at, chances were pretty good that none of the three solid vessels would be targeted.

Nevertheless, he prepared quickly for evasive. “Jarik, you ready, kid?” he called.

“Ready, Han!”

“Chewie, you ready with those twin lasers?”

“Hrrrrrrnnnnnnnn!”

Han chose a target—the leftmost Dreadnaught, which was the one closest to him. “I’m going after that Dreadnaught dead ahead,” he said over the comm. He glanced at the vessel ID. “The Peacekeeper. ”

“We’ll stay with you,” Lando said. “We can cover each other.”

“Great!” Han was having the time of his life. “Ain’t this fun, guys?”

“Han, what are you planning to do?” Salla inquired apprehensively.

“Oh, I just thought I might zip by the Peacekeeper’s bridge and wave at the captain,” Han said with cheery good humor. “Just a friendly little visit …”

“Han!” Salla protested. “I’d rather we all lived through this!”

“Crazy Corellian …” Lando muttered.

“Hey,” Han said. “What are you worryin’ about? It’s me!”

Captain Reldo Dovlis, in command of the Imperial Dreadnaught Peacekeeper, shook his head in disgust. “Cease fire!” he snapped. “It’s not real. It can’t be. Our shots haven’t taken out a single ship. And none of their shots have done us the slightest bit of harm. We’re just wasting our fire and our time.”

His sensor operator looked up. “Sensors still indicate that what we are seeing is real, sir.”

“Sensors are lying, then,” Dovlis snarled. He studied the tactical array, and saw a number of ships heading for Peacekeeper’s stern, coming fast. “Vessels approaching from the rear,” he said. “Turn to bring our forward turbolaser battery to bear on them. Lock in weapons. Prepare to fire on my order.”

Slowly the big ship began to swing around. Dovlis kept a sharp watch on the approaching vessels, and was relieved to see that he’d have time to fire several salvos at them. From the size of them, that ought to—

His pilot gave a strangled yelp, and the Peacekeeper shuddered. Red laser fire spattered against Peacekeeper’s forward shield.

A bare second later a ship swooped by, so close to the bridge viewscreen that even Dovlis yelled and ducked. The ship, a small, battered SoroSuub freighter, executed a perfect inside loop and came back for a second run.

They’re not all phantoms! Dovlis realized. “Turn back!” he shouted. “Fire on that ship!”

Peacekeeper began turning back again. Now Dovlis could see the smuggler fleet again, and he gasped at how close they were.

Two more beat-up freighters strafed the Peacekeeper.

“Target those vessels!” the Captain ordered. “Fire!”

Mako Spince’s crew had managed to jury-rig some repairs to the Dragon Pearl, so the Hutt yacht now had partial starboard shielding, and her hull leaks had been sealed. Her sublight speeds were still impaired, but Mako was willing to risk taking her back into battle. Captain Renthal had assigned a Y-wing fighter to accompany him, and the swift, powerful little ship now cruised beside him, prepared to keep incoming off his weakened starboard side.

Scanning the tactical and sensor arrays, Mako saw that he was now in range of his target, the Imperial bulk cruiser Liquidator. The ship was still pointing its stern toward the oncoming smuggler and pirate vessels, still vulnerable to attack.

“Mako,” Blue said, “we’re within firing range.”

Mako nodded at the beautiful smuggler pilot. “Great! I’m going to let the Y-wing have first pass, then we’ll get in our licks. Instruct the gunnery crew to target his left rear deflector, right over his engine room. We want to hit him in the same place as the Y-wing.”

“Right,” Blue muttered, and relayed the order.

Mako was grateful to have that Y-wing to help cover his starboard side. The swift, modern little fighter was not only equipped with lasers, but with proton torpedoes, which were bound to come in real handy.

He keyed his comm, spoke to the pirate gunner aboard the Y-wing. “Mako here. You ready?”

“We’re ready!”

“Go for it!”

Mako watched the Y-wing on his sensors. The little ship made its run, slamming four proton torpedoes into the designated target before sheering off. “Okay, Mako,” the gunner said, circling back to join the yacht, “shields are either down or barely holding. Your turn!”

“My pleasure!”

Mako turned to Blue and gave her a nod. She increased speed to maximum (which still wasn’t very good) and headed for the Liquidator, turbolasers blasting away.

With their first blast, Mako knew the bulk cruiser’s shields were already down. The Pearl’s gunners pummeled their target repeatedly with the two remaining turbolasers, before the cumbersome Imperial vessel could turn to bring her heavy forward guns to bear.

Moments later the Imperial ship’s right flank, and the engine room beneath it, was a blown-out wreck. The Liquidator spun slowly in space, helpless, leaking atmosphere.

Captain Drea Renthal leaned forward excitedly in her command seat. Finally! A little action of my own! Guiding her ships throughout the battle had been challenging, but not like this. Now she was flying her own vessel, and she was going in for the kill.

Her target was another of the big bulk cruisers, the Arrestor. These ships were outdated, clumsy, and not heavily shielded enough. By comparison with Arrestor, Renthal’s Fist was a heavily armed, sleek engine of destruction. In addition to its two twin turbolasers in top and bottom turrets her Corellian corvette had four twin laser turrets on the sides for shooting fighters, and a pair of capital-ship proton torpedo launchers in the front, beneath her bridge.

Her supply of proton torpedoes was limited, as Han had predicted. Renthal had only four. They were extremely hard to come by.

But as she closed in on Arrestor, Renthal was determined to make every one of them count.

As she neared firing range, she spoke to her gunnery crew. “Prepare to launch torpedo one and two. Target her stern. I’d love to get a reactor overload going!”

“Yes, sir!”

Renthal smiled. She liked being called “sir.”

As Renthal’s Fist swooped by, she shouted, “Fire!”

Her ship lurched slightly, once, twice, as the proton torpedoes went streaking out in a blaze of blue fire.

The first torpedo took out the cruiser’s shields. The second bored into the hull and caused damage.

“Fire turbolasers!” Renthal ordered, coming around for another pass.

The Arrestor was lurching now with the impacts. The turbolasers bored ever deeper into her vitals, seeking her heart—the reactor that powered her engines.

Renthal was never quite sure what warned her. Instinct, perhaps, developed after twenty years of fighting. She turned her ship sharply, and accelerated away at top speed.

Behind her, Arrestor exploded as thoroughly as any fragile TIE fighter.

Renthal smiled seraphically. My, that was fun!

Mako cheered as he watched five of Renthal’s Y-wings strafe the Dreadnaught Peacekeeper’s stern, targeting its vulnerable engine area, volleying it with proton torpedo salvos.

The Dreadnaughts were a lot tougher targets than the clumsy bulk cruisers, but he thought they might have a chance to kill this one.

Apparently Han, Salla, and Lando had pulled some typically harebrained stunt to keep the Peacekeeper occupied until the Y-wings could move in. Mako could make out their blips, following the Y-wings, waiting for those proton torpedoes to deal with the shields before wasting shots on the big vessel.

Mako found himself doing some mental figuring as the Y-wings strafed the Imperial Dreadnaught. Two salvos of two torpedoes each, from five Y-wings … that equals twenty torpedo hits!

It sounded like a lot, but Mako had trained aboard an Imperial Dreadnaught, and knew how tough the old ships were.

There goes the first salvo … ten torpedoes … ten hits …

Mako did some rough calculations, figured that the Peacekeeper’s stern shields ought to be in real trouble by now.

As the Y-wings swooped by on their second pass, blackened holes began appearing in the Dreadnaught’s starboard flank, where its massive engines were.

Now that the shields were down, other smugglers were attacking the Dreadnaught’s stern with abandon. The Imp Captain tried to turn his ship so he could fire on them, Mako could tell, but the ship was already sluggish, unresponsive.

And then, suddenly, there was a bright flare on the starboard side, and then the light from the Peacekeeper’s engines went out.

Mako whistled softly. I think he’s in trouble …

“Sir, the starboard reactor overloaded! The safeties shut it down!” Reldo Dovlis’s second-in-command reported. “No engine power remaining, sir!”

Dovlis looked around, feeling desperate. Without engines, he couldn’t escape. The smuggler ships were too small to do him much damage quickly, but over time they could cut his ship to ribbons, starting from the unprotected starboard stern, and working their way up, toward the bridge, destroying shields piece by piece, boring into his ship with their little lasers …

“We’ve got to restart those engines, or we’ve had it,” Dovlis said, knowing he spoke the truth. “Override the failsafe. We need power!”

“But, Captain—” The young man’s face was ashen with fear. Dovlis didn’t blame him. Reactors weren’t something to mess around with. But what other alternative did he have? All the other Imperial vessels were engaged—it was unlikely that an appeal to Greelanx would bring help quickly enough.

Dovlis was counting on the fact that the override on the reactor was designed to trip long before there was actual danger of an explosion.

He fixed his subordinate with a steely gaze. “I gave you an order, Commander.”

“Yes, sir!”

If only we can fire the engines for long enough to get closer to the other ships! Dovlis thought. Drifting, the Peacekeeper would tend to be pulled in by Nar Shaddaa’s gravity.

Dovlis heard his ship’s engines fire, strain, and his heart ached at what he was having to do to her. But all their lives were at stake.

Peacekeeper strained, lurched, then crept slowly forward—

—and then shuddered in agony as her starboard engine exploded. The port engine was still firing, however, and the unequal thrust sent the Dreadnaught into a dizzying spin!

“Engines off!” shouted Dovlis, but found that the Commander had already anticipated his order. Peacekeeper spun now in silence, whirling over and over.

The artificial gravity was still functioning because of the emergency power cells. But they weren’t enough to power the ship’s maneuvering thrusters. They had no way to pull out of this spin. Firing the port engines again would only make them spin harder, faster.

Reldo Dovlis watched in utter terror as the stars whirled by, then the surface of Nar Shaddaa, hazy because of the moon’s planetary shield, then the stars, then the moon …

Do something! his mind screamed. We’re being drawn by the moon’s gravity! In about a minute, we’re going to hit Nar Shaddaa’s energy shield!

And what an explosion that would be!

Stars … moon … stars … moon …

Whirling in a dizzying spin, whirling, spinning, utterly powerless to stop …

Stars … moon … stars … moon … stars … moon very close now …

Dovlis strove for dignity. He was, after all, an Imperial officer. “Can anyone think of anything that might help?” he asked, keeping his voice steady and calm.

His bridge crew looked at him silently. The law of gravity was, in this case, as cruel and inexorable as any of those imposed by the Emperor.

Stars … moon … stars … moon so close now …

Stars … moon …

And then there was only the moon, clutching them to her, dragging them into her shield.

And then there was nothing at all …

One of the smugglers who had darted in to take shots at the dying Peacekeeper was Roa, who was feeling pretty cocky. Lately he’d been wondering if he wasn’t getting old, losing his edge, but today he’d engaged in two dogfights with TIE fighters, and come out victorious.

Hey, I’ve still got it! he thought, sending the Lwyll darting after the spinning Dreadnaught. Just for the thrill of it, he sent the Lwyll hurtling beneath the plummeting Imp, pulling out steeply, feeling the gee forces grip him, so strong was the pull—

—and then the Peacekeeper hit Nar Shaddaa’s shield.

Even climbing as he was, the shock wave threw Roa forward. He smashed into his control yoke with bruising force. Parts of his instrument panel shattered, sending shards of glassine to impale his arms and chest like tiny daggers.

As the big ship exploded, it wiped out a section of the planetary shield, and flaming debris was sucked through, down into the upper atmosphere.

And so was Roa.

The concussion shock wave had stunned him, and he struggled to regain full consciousness. It wasn’t easy. Waves of blackness rolled over him like a night sea.

But Roa was a fighter. He didn’t give up his struggle to open his eyes, to blink, to raise his head.

Seconds later he was able to focus again, and realized where he was and what he was doing. He was falling like a stone, down and down, hurtling through Nar Shaddaa’s grimy atmosphere.

Roa blinked. There was something in his eyes. Blood? Most likely.

He shook his head, and pain stabbed. Trying to move brought agony. His instrument panel was a mess, but some parts were still lit and functioning. His flight suit was no longer vacuum-proof, but he wasn’t in a vacuum any longer …

Forcing himself to move, to take control, Roa grabbed the controls and began to wrestle the little scout craft down through the atmosphere, using every bit of skill he had to achieve a soft landing.

Or even a hard landing.

Any kind of landing!

The Lwyll tried valiantly to respond to his commands. He brought her nose up, got air beneath her wings. His headlong fall slowed.

Roa began testing his braking and maneuvering thrusters, and they responded sluggishly. He was still falling, but now it was a relatively controlled fall.

Beneath him, he could see a landing platform. Using his maneuvering thrusters, he managed to edge the Lwyll over, until he was certain he’d land on it, as opposed to tumbling over the side, down into the abyss between buildings …

The permacrete was rushing up at him, fast …

Too fast!

Roa fought gravity as he would have fought a human opponent in a wrestling match, using every bit of skill he possessed.

As the permacrete hurtled up at him, Roa braced himself …

He never remembered the moment of impact.

How much later did he blink, swim back to consciousness? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

Roa didn’t know and didn’t care. He hurt in a hundred places, but a more visceral fear than any he’d ever known drove him to full consciousness.

The smell of burning. The Lwyll was burning. Any moment now, she might explode, and all his struggle to land her would be for nothing …

Ignoring the stabbing glassine shards that still impaled him, Roa reached up and stabbed the control that would pop his cockpit. Clumsily he unsnapped his flight harness. He managed to pull himself up, out of his seat, then half fell over the side. He kicked weakly, trying to get the strength to draw his legs over.

Suddenly hands grabbed him, lifted him. Voices babbled in his ears, faint because of the helmet.

He was being lifted, carried.

He heard steps on the permacrete. They were hurrying, running steps. He was being shaken, jounced, almost as badly as when the explosion had hit him.

Roa raised his head slightly, looked back at the Lwyll, just in time to see his beloved little ship blow up.

But I’m alive, he thought foggily. I’m alive, and I still have the real Lwyll …

And with that thought, he blacked out.

For a man who had been granted his wish, Admiral Winstel Greelanx was remarkably unhappy. The Admiral stared at his tactical screens, his sensors, saw the damage his squadron had taken, and was absolutely furious.

How dare those smugglers? How dare they?

One Dreadnaught utterly destroyed. A Carrack-class cruiser fit only for salvage. One bulk cruiser a helpless cripple, another that was now part of the debris and spacedust floating around Nar Shaddaa …

Greelanx fought back the urge to rally his troops and continue the battle. He still had a formidable force, especially against these smugglers. There was a decent chance, perhaps more than fifty-fifty, that he would be able to achieve victory and implement his orders.

But he couldn’t do that. He had been looking for a way to justify withdrawal, and now it had been handed to him.

He turned to Commander Jelon. “Order our ships to fall back in an orderly fashion. When they have disengaged, order them to rendezvous at our hyperspace rally coordinates.”

Jelon stared at his commanding officer in open surprise. “Retreat, sir?”

“Yes, retreat,” Greelanx said harshly. “We cannot achieve our directive here in the Y’Toub system. Approved tactical wisdom dictates an orderly retreat, while we still have some control over the situation.”

Usually Greelanx would no more justify his orders to a subordinate than he would step out an airlock without a spacesuit, but in his mind he was composing his official report, trying those phrases on for size.

Jelon snapped to attention and saluted formally. “Yes, sir!”

Retreat? thought Captain Soontir Fel in blank astonishment. Retreat? We can still win!

It wouldn’t be easy, but it was do-able. Fel was sure of it. He simply couldn’t believe that Greelanx had so little backbone.

“Retreat in orderly fashion,” Commander Jelon repeated. “Those are the admiral’s orders.”

Fel outranked Jelon, and that gave him the courage to speak his mind more bluntly than he would have dared to the admiral. “But there are still unrecalled TIEs out there. We can’t abandon them!”

“The admiral is expecting the squadron to make the jump to hyperspace at the rally coordinates within the time he specified,” Jelon said stiffly.

Fel’s mouth tightened. “Fel out,” he said curtly, and the tiny holographic image of Jelon vanished.

Soontir Fel turned to his second-in-command. “Broadcast an emergency recall to all TIE fighters to rendezvous with the Pride. I will take as many as I can, until the docking bays and shuttle bays are full. At the same time, we will disengage and withdraw, Commander Toniv.”

“What speed, sir?”

“One-quarter speed, Commander.”

“One-quarter speed, sir?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, sir!”

Fel had ordered such a ridiculously low speed in order to give as many TIEs as possible the chance to get aboard his vessel. Technically, he was obeying his orders—Greelanx had neglected to specify a speed—but he was disobeying them in spirit.

Frankly, at the moment, Soontir Fel could have cared less about his orders. He wasn’t going to abandon those TIE pilots!

Five minutes later his docking bays were full of the regulation twelve TIE fighters, and his shuttle bay contained another three. Sensors didn’t indicate any other TIEs out there to be picked up, so Fel ordered Pride up to full speed to catch up to the rest of the squadron.

A minute later the tiny holographic image of Admiral Greelanx materialized on his comm board. “Captain Fel!”

Fel had no trouble staying cool. He was still too angry to be apprehensive. “Yes, Admiral?”

“You deliberately disobeyed my order!”

“I retrieved our fighters, Admiral. And their pilots. I considered that … important.”

Greelanx’s little image bristled. “Captain, this decision on your part could wind up costing you your command. I shall make a full report.”

Fel swallowed, but his gaze did not waver. “And I shall, of course, make my full report,” he said. “As per regulations, I intend to offer all the facts of the battle as I observed it.”

Greelanx stared at Fel for a long moment. Neither gaze wavered.

Finally, the admiral nodded. “As you wish, Captain.”

The tiny image vanished. Soontir Fel dropped into a seat, resisting the urge to hold his head in his hands. Were the lives of those TIE pilots worth a career?

It was entirely possible that he was about to find out.

Soontir Fel sighed. Life could be very complicated, at times. But then a thought occurred to him, and it cheered him considerably …

At least I didn’t have to execute Base Delta Zero … that’s worth something, too …