“No,” he said. “They’ll be in the atmosphere in a moment. Shoot them down.”

“Very good, my lord.” Jard looked to the weapons officer. “Weapons free, Lieutenant Makk.” Jard looked to Malgus. “Shall I alert the planetary fighter wing, my lord?”

“That shouldn’t be necessary, provided Lieutenant Makk does his job.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Red lines from Valor’s plasma cannons filled the space between the ship, the fire so thick that the lines seemed to bleed together into a red plane.

ARYN GOT HALFWAY out of her seat when an explosion rocked the ship. Fatman lurched and Aryn fell to the floor.

“Back in your seat,” Zeerid said. “Weapons are hot on that cruiser.”

Aryn climbed into her seat and got the lap strap on. The moment the buckle clicked into place, Zeerid went evasive. Coruscant spun in the viewscreen as Fatman spun, wheeled, and dived. The red lines of plasma fire lit up the black of space. Zeerid went hard right, down, then left.

The ship knifed into the atmosphere.

“Divert everything but the engines and life support to the rear deflectors.”

Aryn worked the instrument panel, doing as Zeerid ordered.

Another explosion rocked the ship.

“The deflectors aren’t going to take another one,” she said.

Zeerid nodded. The orange flames of atmospheric entry were visible through the canopy. Plasma bolts knifed over them, under, to the left. Zeerid cut Fatman to the right as they descended, risking a bad entry that could burn them up.

The smoke in the cockpit thickened.

“Masks?” Aryn asked, coughing.

“There,” Zeerid responded, nodding at a ship’s locker between their seats. Aryn threw it open, grabbed two masks, tossed one to Zeerid, and pulled the other one on herself.

“You’ve got the stick,” Zeerid said while he pulled on his mask.

Aryn grabbed the copilot’s stick and continued Fatman’s spiraling descent toward Coruscant.

Fire from the cruiser hit the ship on the starboard side and caused the freighter to spin wildly. Aryn felt dizzy, sick.

“I have the stick,” Zeerid said, his voice muffled by the mask. He got the spin under control and drove Fatman almost vertically into the atmosphere. The cockpit grew hot. Flames engulfed the ship. They must have looked like a comet cutting through the sky.

“Too steep,” Aryn said.

“I know,” Zeerid said. “But we’ve got to get in.”

The unrelenting fire from the cruiser struck the freighter again, the impact shoving them through the stratosphere. The flames diminished, vanished, and Coruscant was once more visible below them.

“We’re through,” Aryn said.

Without warning the engines died and Fatman went limp in the air, spinning, falling, but with no power.

Zeerid cursed, slammed his hand against the instrument panel, trying frantically to refire them, but to no avail.

“They can still hit us here,” he said, and unbuckled his belts. “I got nothing but thrusters. Get to the escape pod.”

“The cargo, Zeerid.”