“Protect the Awesome! All fighters cover his exit!”

“Get Rogers out of here! He’s our best man!”

Rogers sucked in a breath as every fighter in both fleets started charging toward him. To protect him. From each other.

“They’re going after Rogers!” both pirates said simultaneously.

The battle became a massive furball as the two groups of fighters made a valiant effort to simultaneously defend the same target from absolutely no one attempting to attack it.

“Um, guys?” he said over the comms, only to realize that he was still talking to the unresponsive Rancor, who still had done nothing at all. It wasn’t moving to intercept. It wasn’t even issuing any warnings to the two pirates to cease and desist and prepare for boarding, which was standard for all interdictions.

Warnings flared to life on his display as the plasma wash coming from the pirates’ fighters’ engines and cannons slammed into the Awesome. Rogers fell out of his chair as his scheme of evasive maneuvers was roughly interrupted by a stray shot. Luckily, since nobody was actually aiming at him, his shields were absorbing most of the impacts. His brain, on the other hand, didn’t have shields, and he was quickly learning the value of seatbelts.

Rogers crawled back up to the seat and hit something on the communications panel.

“Everyone just relax!” he shouted to nobody.

“Rogers!” one of the Garliali called in a mess of static. “We’re sorry we couldn’t protect you! You were our best—”

“Run, Rogers!” a Purveyor screamed as his ship disintegrated. “Those bastards’ll kill you! Wait, is that flour? What the—”

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. While the fighters had been distracted killing each other to get to Rogers, the two command ships had brought their giant guns to bear, turning each other into balls of scrap with just a few well-placed shots. The space that had been host to a simple cargo exchange was now a graveyard of gray specks and space dust. The radio went utterly and completely silent.

“Oh,” Rogers said stupidly.

Rogers turned his ship and fired his engines to full. With enough time, he might make it to another Un-Space point or lead the Rancor away, pull a few maneuvers, and double back to the one the Rancor was still blocking.

A beep sounded from his instrument panel.

“What now?” he shouted, looking down, then froze.

This particular warning was one he actually recognized. Two guided shots had been fired from the Rancor at the Awesome. The computer blared a warning: impact in thirty seconds.

“Oh shit,” Rogers said. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

The Awesome had a single escape pod that was set to launch at a moment’s notice, rigged with all the equipment needed for a short trip in space. Rogers got up, grabbing his bottle of Jasker 120, and shouted at his copilot.

“Dorsey, we need to get to the—”

The computer notified him that the escape pod had been safely jettisoned just as he saw the trail of blue light cross the viewscreen.