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“Fortunately X-wings have enough power to get us through.” Corran glanced at his reactor fuel level readings. The hyperdrives barely sipped fuel, while the sublight engines gulped it. Running up to a lightspeed jump burned a lot of fuel, though not as much as maneuvering through a dogfight, but nothing they had done on their journey so far had been that taxing on the engines or fuel supply.

By the time we make my jump we’ll still be at eighty-seven percent of a full load. More than enough to make it to the Morobe system and back home again.

The squadron came out of hyperspace and Corran eased his stick to port. “Squadron, come about to a heading of 230 degrees and depress 12 degrees. Flight plan on its way to you.” He pushed his stick forward until the X-wing’s nose dipped slightly. “Jump to light speed in five.”

The jump to hyperspace for his leg seemed somehow smoother and more effortless than the previous two. He knew that sensation was an illusion and he wondered about it for a moment or two. It occurred to him that the reason he was more at ease with his jump was because he had been in control of it. Mistakes made in calculating a hyperspace jump could be fatal and Corran had never been good about putting responsibility for his life in another person’s hands.

“But I don’t have to worry about a mistake on this leg, since I did the calculations.” A keening whistle from his astromech made him smile. “Fine. You did the calculations, with no help from me at all.”

Whistler’s hooting became more urgent. The astromech started scrolling sensor data over the cockpit screen, but none of it made sense to Corran. “There’s another stellar mass in the Chorax system. That’s impossible, unless …”

Before he could broadcast a warning to the other members of Rogue Squadron, the automatic safety cutout on the hyperdrive kicked in. The snubfighter burst through an incandescent white wall and into the outer reaches of the Chorax system.

And right into the middle of a running lightfight.

Corran threw the stick hard to port and pushed it forward. “Rogue Eleven, break up-star.” He trusted Ooryl would follow him moving down and to the left, which cleared the way for the rest of the squadron to enter the system. “Lock S-foils into attack position.”

He reached up and flipped the switch with his right hand. “Whistler, have you IDed those ships yet?”

The little droid shrieked urgently back at him.

“Anything you can give me.” The big ship, Corran knew immediately, was an Imperial Interdictor cruiser. Its quartet of gravity well projectors allowed it to create a hyperspace shadow roughly equivalent to that of a fair-sized star. The Interdictors had proved effective in ambushing smugglers and pirates—and the presence of one of the six-hundred-meter-long triangular cruisers in the Chorax system was not wholly unexpected.

It hadn’t been there to trap them, however. Running from the cruiser, which Whistler identified as the Black Asp, was a modified Baudo-class star yacht. About three times as long as his X-wing, the yacht had a broad, triangular shape to it that was softened by the gentle down-curve of the wings. It looked almost organic in origin, as if it should have been swimming through space instead of rocketing along on its twin engine’s ion thrust.

Corran had seen plenty of modified yachts in his time with Corellian Security, and this one even looked vaguely familiar. Most often the yachts were modified to haul contraband. While he had no love for smugglers, he had even less for the Empire. Enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Whistler bleated sharply. Corran glanced at his screen, then keyed his comm. “TIEs. Squints—I mean Interceptors. Looks like a dozen of them.” He looked up through his cockpit canopy and felt panic when he couldn’t see with the naked eye what his instruments showed so plainly on his monitor. “Rogue One, what are your orders?”

Wedge’s voice came back cool. “Engage them, but watch the cruiser’s guns.”

“I copy that. Rogue Ten, on me.