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The captain cleared his throat. “What about our fleet, sir?”

“Have Communications prepare an alert. It should tell them that Talasea is a trap; their orders are to exit the system immediately and signal us when they’re sure they have eluded pursuit. Begin broadcasting that over the HoloNet now and continue for twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trigit settled back into his seat. “Good work, Petothel. You’ve probably saved us a considerable pounding.”

The lieutenant gave him a cool smile and returned to her station.

He followed her with his gaze. He’d decided that she was very nearly the perfect woman. Intelligent, talented, and beautiful … and somewhat distant, the way he preferred things. Perhaps she’d be amenable to a liaison. If she was, he doubted she’d be the sort to become too attached, too intertwined in his life. An ideal package.

He’d think about it.

The other three ships of the fleet arrived from hyperspace within a second of one another. The planet of Talasea was close before them; they’d used its mass shadow, rather than a timer, to drag them out of hyperspace. Instantly, all three vessels launched their TIE fighters: Night Caller’s four from her former escape pod ports, Constrictor’s four from her bow hold, and Provocateur’s two dozen from her hangar bays.

Implacable failed to appear behind them.

Face saw the HoloNet indicator light up, but allowed the ship’s communications officer to handle initial reception; Face might foul up the process. A moment later Captain Hrakness’s voice came across the ship’s intercom. “Attention, all crew. Implacable has figured out the trap and held back. The other ships are turning to escape Talasea’s mass shadow. We’ll fire on them as we maneuver. All bow guns, prepare to fire on Provocateur’s engines and communications gear. Turret cannons, prepare to fire on Constrictor’s engines. We’ve got to hold them here for the Alliance forces. Do not, repeat, do not target until I give the command; we can’t have them bringing their shields up.” Face could feel the faintest lateral movement as the captain spoke.

He turned on the chamber’s main monitor and split it between a forward visual view and sensor view.

In the starfield before the corvette, he saw the enemy frigate begin to come into range of the arc of Night Caller’s bow guns. The sensor showed that all three ships were turning to port, preparing to come around in a 180-degree maneuver that would end with the corvettes still flanking the frigate.

Face swore. The corvette’s turret guns might cripple the Constrictor even at this range, but her forward paired turbolaser cannons couldn’t be counted on to crack the engines of an Imperial frigate. He hit the intercom button for the bridge. “Captain, this is Face. Recommend you emergency vent atmosphere from the bow hold and open the hold door as you bear. That’ll give you fourteen, maybe sixteen proton torps to fire at Provocateur on your first pass.”

“Thanks, Loran. Good thinking.”

Face headed out of the comm center at a full run, risking broken legs as he charged down the stairs. If he was fast enough, he could get into the hold, get into his cockpit before they vented the atmosphere …

But when he slapped the door control to the bow hold access hatch, it failed to open. The light above the door glowed red. The captain had already vented the hold atmosphere. Frustrated, Face slammed his hand into the door.

In the darkness, Kell waited. Before him, blackness turned into a thin vertical strip of stars; as he watched, it widened, and the frigate Provocateur drifted into position from the left, its stern toward them. That meant Night Caller was taking a hard maneuver to port. Beyond Provocateur was the other corvette, executing the same turn at the same rate.

“Stand by,” Kell said. Captain Hrakness had said all bow guns would go on his command, and he had to wait until all seven pilots in the bow hold had a clear field of fire.

Despite his best efforts, his breathing quickened, became harsh. It sounded like gasping in his ears.

The other day, the assault on