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Falan Iniro was a Corellian, and his friends frequently told him he was hotheaded and impulsive. Iniro would counter this criticism by pointing out that his quickness to act was usually a virtue, often giving him the jump on the sweetest deal, the finest cargo, the best sabacc hand.

Now, aboard his modified YT-1210-class light freighter, the Take That!, Iniro chafed at the waiting. Blast it, he thought, what’s going on?

It was frustrating, having to hide here in the shadow of a wrecked freighter, grappled to its side by a magnetic claw. Iniro checked his instruments again, and this time, something caught his attention. Something really big was moving toward them. Close, really close.

It has to be one of them, Iniro thought. He wished for a moment that he’d installed new sensors, modern ones with better ID capability. Aloud he said to his gunner, a Rodian named Gadaf, “Hey, Gadaf, I got something on the sensors. Get ready to shoot.”

“Okay, Captain,” the Rodian said. “Standing by.”

Some of the other smugglers had commented that they thought the Take That! was too lightly armed to go against an Imperial ship, but Falan Iniro was convinced that his piloting skills—which were considerable—would more than make up for the fact that he had only a single laser, mounted in a turret on the top of the ship.

“I just wish …” the Rodian’s voice reached him, sounding wistful.

“You wish what?”

“That we’d had time to calibrate the sights on this laser, boss. I keep having to compensate for it. It’s firing consistently to the right.”

Iniro was not sympathetic. “That’s easy to compensate for, Gadaf. I score hits with that laser all the time.”

“Yes, I know, boss,” the Rodian said. “I don’t do too bad, either.”

“Huh …” Irritated, Iniro fidgeted. When are we going to get our blasted orders?

The something big—whatever it was—had moved almost past the Take That! on Iniro’s sensors.

Come on, come on! What are you—

Iniro’s body went rigid as he heard a voice in his headphones. Mako Spince’s voice, garbled by distance and intervening space debris, but still recognizable. “First Strike Element, this is Defender Central. Prepare to—”

Iniro let out a whoop, and realized that he hadn’t quite caught that last word. “Engage,” wasn’t it? He was pretty sure.

For a moment he thought of keying his comm and asking, “Say again, Central,” but he didn’t. The other guys would laugh at him, and he’d get left behind as they attacked!

“Let’s go!” he yelled, and disengaged his magnetic grapple.

Swooping out from behind the hunk of space junk, Iniro saw that there were two other ships with him. Only two? Where in the name of Xendor’s Minions were the others?

Iniro didn’t have time to wonder, Because almost immediately he found himself under attack. Some kind of TIE fighter.

A blast struck his forward shield. Iniro compensated, and felt the ship shudder as Gadaf shot at the TIE. Clean miss, too far to the left.

Overcompensated, the fool!! Iniro thought. He sent the Take That! into a sweeping turn, pouring on all the power he could. “Get him, Gadaf!” he yelled.

A red bolt streaked out, barely missed the twisting, turning TIE.

Iniro swore, and gave chase. It wasn’t easy, here in this junkyard of space debris. He was constantly having to flip his vessel up on her side, or resort to other, even more drastic maneuvers, to avoid crashing into something.

“Clear shot … coming!” yelled Iniro. “Be … ready!”

As he had promised, the next instant the TIE fighter and the Take That! were in a straight line with nothing in between them. Another red bolt tore through vacuum, and this time it impaled the recon TIE fighter dead center!

For a moment the explosion flared out, yellow, then white, expanding, expanding …

Then the TIE was gone, and there were only sparkles of blazing debris and ash drifting in vacuum …

But before Iniro could celebrate his victory, his eye was caught by his tactical display. The something big was closing on him! In a second it would be right on top of him!

Captain Iniro twisted frantically