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“Archyr, get those ARCs off the transport’s tail!”

“Will do, Captain.”

Pulsed light streaked from the ship once more, and Shryne watched another starfighter come apart. But the remaining ARCs were gaining rapidly on the transport.

“Projected rendezvous in five-point-five,” Brudi said. “Cruiser has come to, and is returning fire.”

Jula firmed her lips. “We’re not deep enough into cover. This is going to be a bad one.”

Shryne hung on to the arms of the chair. Taking the brunt of the capital ship’s enfilade, the docking arm vaporized. Tossed back by the blast, the Drunk Dancer lived up to its name. Klaxons blared deep within the ship, and the instrument console howled in alarm.

“Shuttle is still closing,” Brudi said when he could.

Jula slammed her hand down on the intercom stud. “Prep the bay for emergency docking!” She swiveled to face Brudi. “Tell the transport we’re done swapping punches with that cruiser. Either they make their move now, or we’re bowing out.” To Skeck, she said: “All power to the forward batteries. Fire at will.”

The ship rumbled as coherent light raced from the cannon turrets.

“Transport is lined up for its approach,” Brudi said.

Jula’s right hand entered data into the navicomputer. “Calculating the jump to lightspeed.”

Explosive light flashed outside the viewports, the Drunk Dancer quaking as enemy fire ranged closer.

Brudi sighed in disappointment. “The transport fumbled its first approach. They’re reorienting for another try.”

“Coordinates for the jump are in,” Jula told him. “Countdown commencing.” She swung around to face Shryne. “I’m sorry, Roan.”

He nodded in understanding. “You did what you could.”

The ship shook again.

“Transport is aboard,” Brudi said suddenly.

Jula clamped her hands on the yoke. “Divert power to the sublights. Give us all the distance you can.”

“We’re going to get our stern burned,” Brudi warned.

“Small price to pay.”

“Hyperspace engines engaged.”

Jula reached for the control stick. “Now!”

And the distant stars became streaks of light.

Brudi hadn’t said that the transport was safely aboard, and Shryne knew why the moment he and Starstone reached the docking bay. The wedge-shaped ship had skidded in on its port side, gouging the deck, destroying arrays of landing lights, reducing two labor droids to spare parts, and ultimately flattening its pointed bow against an interior bulkhead.

No one inside was injured in the crash, however.

Any more than they were already injured.

The six bedraggled Jedi who literally staggered down the transport’s crumpled boarding ramp were a mix of alien, human, and humanoid. Neither Shryne nor Starstone knew any of them by sight, name, or reputation. Face and arms burned by blasterfire, Siadem Forte was a short, thick-bodied human, older than Shryne but still a Knight. His Padawan was a young Togruta named Deran Nalual, who had been blinded during the same firefight in which Forte had been wounded. Klossi Anno, a Chalactan, was also a learner, her Master having died saving her life; where exactly the opposite had happened to Iwo Kulka, a bruised and limping Ho’Din Knight. Unranked human Jedi Jambe Lu and Nam Poorf were agricultural specialists who had been returning to Coruscant from a mission on Bonadan.

On board was a seventh Jedi, who had died during the transport’s hyperspace jump to the rendezvous.

Med droids tended to the wounds of new arrivals. Then, after the Jedi had rested and been fed, everyone gathered in the main cabin, where Shryne, Starstone, and a few of the smugglers listened to accounts of savage engagements and close escapes on half a dozen worlds.

As Shryne had guessed, no other clone troopers were known to have refused to obey the Jedi execution order Palpatine was believed to have issued. Two of the Jedi had managed to kill the troopers who had turned on them. Another had escaped and survived by donning clone armor. The pair of Jedi from the Agricultural Corps hadn’t been in the company of troopers, but had been fired on and pursued when a shuttle they were aboard had arrived at a Republic orbital