Zeerid ran Fatman along the bulkhead of the freighter, close enough that Aryn felt as if she could have reached out and touched it. She imagined the crew of the Imperial freighter ducking low as Fatman buzzed them.

“Too much traffic and we’re staying too close,” he said, whipping Fatman over and past the bridge of the freighter. “They don’t want to hit their own ships.”

JARD’S VOICE WAS TENSE with urgency. “That’s a Corellian XS freighter, my lord.”

Vrath nodded and pointed at the viewscreen. “That’s the one I told you about, Darth Malgus. Shoot him down!”

Malgus used a blast of power to throw Vrath against the far wall.

“Shut your mouth,” Malgus said to him.

“Are you speaking to me?” Angral asked in his earpiece.

Malgus had forgotten about Angral. “Of course not, my lord. Give me a moment, please.”

He muted the earpiece and eyed the viewscreen. He could not shoot the freighter down in the midst of the convoy. Valor’s armaments could inadvertently hit an Imperial ship. The frigates would be in the same situation. Their formation was designed to thwart attacks from outside the convoy, not attacks from within.

“Keep the ship on screen. Pursue at full and order the rest of the convoy to get clear.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jard said, and made it happen.

Valor’s engines fired on full and the cruiser lurched after the freighter.

Vrath climbed to his feet, favoring his side.

Possibilities played out in Malgus’s mind. With a Jedi aboard, shooting the freighter down could undermine the peace negotiations. Of course, the mere fact that a Jedi was inbound to Coruscant arguably undermined the peace process already.

Malgus stared at the viewscreen, watched the cruiser gain on the freighter. In moments he would get a clear field of fire.

The Empire needed war to thrive. He knew that.

He needed war to thrive. He knew that, too.

He had it within his power, possibly, to reignite the war.

He saw Coruscant in the viewscreen beyond the freighter and imagined it in flames.

The flashing light on his console reminded him that Darth Angral was waiting.

“Hail the freighter,” he said.

Jard looked puzzled. “I doubt they will answer.”

“Try, Commander.”

ARYN DID NOT NEED to consult her scanner display to know that the ships of the convoy were peeling away to give the cruiser and frigates a clear field of fire. Zeerid said nothing, merely handled the stick, worked the instrument panel, and occasionally consulted the scanner readout. Fatman banked hard right, jumped away from the near freighter, and covered the short gulf of empty space between it and the next. Zeerid was frog-hopping along the convoy, all while trying to get Fatman closer to the planet.

But the convoy was starting to break up. The freighters and frigates accelerated away from one another. And above them all loomed the enormous bulk of the Imperial cruiser, waiting for its chance.