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Energy streaked from the freighter’s aft cannon turret. Droma tipped the Falcon to one side, then the other, then rolled out to starboard and kept the ship inverted while Han lined up his shot.

Violent light pulsed from the quad laser’s reciprocating barrels, blowing the Trevee’s fin away and scoring a ragged line along her aft hull. Gouts of molten alloy streamed from the freighter as she banked in desperation, firing continuously at her pursuer. Droma powered the Falcon through a loop, giving Han a clear shot at the freighter’s overheated cannon, which Han quickly put out of its misery. Then, for good measure, Han took out the worthless shield generator.

“Open a frequency to the ship,” he said.

“No response.” Droma glanced at the sensor suite screen. “They’re heading straight out of the system, all speed.”

Han compressed his lips. “What do they think they’re doing? They can’t jump and they can’t outrun us.” He turned to Droma, who was still staring at the scanner display. “What? What?”

“Six New Republic fighters—X-wings. Coming up fast on our stern.”

Han cursed to himself. “A chase group from fleet command.” He slipped into the headset and adjusted the controls.

A new voice issued from the speakers. “—heave to, Falcon. Don’t make us go to guns.”

Han quirked a grin. “Let’s see you try,” he said, mostly to himself. He opened the comm. “This is Captain Han Solo of the Millennium Falcon. We’re not looking for a fight, squadron leader. Patch me through to the flight ops commander.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Time to pull rank.”

“I’m already listening in, Captain Solo,” a bass voice said in irritation. “You’re in violation of security regulations. Any further infractions and you’ll be seeing the brig before this day is out—regardless of your history or who you’re married to. Are we clear?”

The remark served only to incite Han further. “You’ve got more important things to do than arrest me, Commander.”

“Don’t press your luck, Captain Solo. Follow your escorts to fleet HQ and I’ll consider entertaining your notion of what my priorities should be.”

“Listen to me, Commander. The Yuuzhan Vong have targeted Fondor for attack. I don’t know exactly when, but it’s going to be soon. I suggest that the fleet be put on full alert.”

“That’s absurd, Solo. We’ve received no such information.”

“I don’t have time to go into all the details—”

“The chase group is breaking off,” Droma interrupted, eyes fixed on the scanner screen.

Han glanced at the display and snorted a laugh. “I don’t often enjoy name-dropping, but …” He let his words trail off. Droma’s mouth was hanging open, and he had one quivering hand raised to the viewport. Simultaneously with a chime from the hyperwave warning indicator, Han swung forward to see that they were soaring straight into what anyone else might have believed was an uncharted meteor storm, but what he knew to be enemy vessels, decanting to realspace by the hundreds.

Instinctively, he stood the Falcon on her side, weaving her through a swarm of carrier, destroyer, and cruiser analogs, none of which appeared to take the slightest interest in the Falcon or even the much larger Trevee.

“Evasive action!” Droma said, finding his voice at last. “Countermeasures!”

Han wrestled with the controls. “What do you think I’m doing!”

Warships continued to materialize to all sides, more than Han would have believed possible—and certainly more than enough to engage and ultimately overwhelm Fondor’s defenses. Already the vanguard vessels were firing, launching molten projectiles and blinding streams of plasma at picket craft and warships alike. Han swerved the Falcon away from the main battle group, then accelerated as the Trevee had done, still shooting for the aphelion coordinates, now if only to distance itself from the onslaught.

“That’s why they were running,” Han remarked. “They knew the Yuuzhan Vong were on their way.” His face contorted by anger, he triggered a short burst from the quad lasers, though more to terrorize the crew of the Trevee than