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But for all the wildness, it wasn’t a wilderness. Dorvalla Mining had carved wide roads to the bases of most of the larger cliffs, and two circular landing fields, expansive enough to accommodate ferries, had been hollowed out of the forest. The tors were gouged and honeycombed with mines, and a thick layer of lommite dust blanketed much of the vegetation. Likewise the product of outsize machines, deep craters filled with polluted runoff water reflected the sun and sky like fogged mirrors.

It was from here, with an assist from several disenfranchised employees of Dorvalla Mining, that Cohl had finalized his plans for boarding the Revenue. But not all of Dorvalla expressed a loathing for the Trade Federation, much less a tolerance for mercenaries; certainly not those who saw the Trade Federation as Dorvalla’s salvation, as the planet’s only link to the Core Worlds.

The shuttle was leveling out of its bone-rattling ride down the well when a blunt-nosed ship tore past to port, intent on making its presence known.

“Who was that?” Rella asked, reflexively ducking as the sonic boom of the ship’s passing overtook the shuttle.

“Dorvalla Space Corps,” Boiny reported, his black orbs fixed on the authenticators. “Coming about for another pass.”

Cohl swiveled his chair to the viewport to watch the ship’s lightning-fast approach. It was a fixed-wing picket ship, single-piloted but packing dual laser cannons.

“Incoming transmission, Captain,” Boiny said. “They’re ordering us to set down.”

“Did they ask us to identify ourselves?”

“Negative. They just want us on the ground.”

Cohl frowned. “Then they already know who we are.”

“That Judicial Department Lancet,” Rella said, turning to Cohl. “Whoever was piloting it probably registered our drive signature.”

The picket ship screamed overhead, closer this time.

“Another pass like that and they’re going to knock us to the ground, Captain,” Jalan warned.

“Stay on course for the base,” Cohl ordered.

The picket barrel-rolled through a tight loop and came back at them once more, this time firing a burst from its forward laser cannons. Red hyphens streaked across the shuttle’s rounded nose.

“They mean business, Captain!” Boiny said.

Cohl swung to Rella. “Keep an eye out for a place to crash.”

She gaped at him. “You mean land, don’t you?”

“As I said,” Cohl emphasized. “Until then, all speed. Get us as close to the base as you can.”

She gritted her teeth. “There had better be an aurodium ring at the end of this thrill ride, Cohl.”

“The picket’s firing.”

“Evasive,” Cohl said.

“No good, Captain. We can’t outmaneuver it!”

The picket’s lasers stitched a ragged line across the shuttle’s tail, flipping it through a complete rotation. What had been a steady roar from the engines became a distressed whine. Flames licked their way through the aft bulkhead, and the cabin began to fill with thick, coiling smoke.

“We’re dirtbound!” Rella shouted.

Cohl clamped his right hand on her shoulder. “Hold her steady! Fire repulsors and brace for impact.”

Trailing black smoke as it swept past one of the tors, the shuttle clipped the top of the forest canopy, pruning huge branches from the tallest trees. Rella managed to keep them horizontal for a moment more, then they began to nosedive. The ship slammed into a massive tree and slued to starboard, spinning like a disk as it buzz-sawed through the upper reaches of the canopy.

Birds flew screeching from the crowns, as wood splintered to all sides. Seat restraints snapped, and two of the crew were flung like dolls into the starboard bulkhead. Rolled over on its back, the shuttle rocketed toward the forest floor. The viewports cracked, spiderwebbed, then blew into the cabin.

Contact with the ground was even harsher than any of them had anticipated. The starboard stabilizer plowed into the leaf-littered soil at an acute angle, causing the ship to flip like a tossed coin. Seats tore loose from the deck, and instrumentation ripped away from the bulkheads.