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Janson sent his X-wing into a tight, irregular circle around the hole in Implacable’s keel. “Gray Two, this is Gray Three. Do you read?”

“I’m here.”

“Get out of there. Implacable is falling.”

“I’m hung up. Get clear.”

“I’m coming in.”

“You can’t do anything. If I see your profile, I’ll fire on you, sir. I promise.”

“Dammit, Falynn—”

A bracket of laser fire suddenly erupted from the hole in the keel, burning four neat holes in the lunar surface.

Janson bit back a curse and rolled away from Implacable’s underside. Piggy followed, mercifully silent.

As Implacable descended, throwing off escape pods by the score, she broadcast one last message. The voice was female, but as distorted as if it had come through a New Republic fighter comm system. “Attention, New Republic forces. The pilots of the three Interceptors who launched one minute ago included Admiral Trigit. If you want him, that’s where you’ll find him.”

The Star Destroyer fell at what looked like a leisurely pace—an illusion fostered by its great size and by the moon’s four-tenths gravity. The Wraiths not actively engaged in combat kept their desperate attention on the gap in the hull, waiting for one last TIE fighter to emerge.

It didn’t.

Night Caller shot from beneath the descending capital ship like a bar of soap squirting from under a foot, its stern engine array missing the Imperial vessel by a few tens of meters.

Implacable hit stern first, its great mass causing the stern to shatter and deform as it settled. Whole bulkheads and sections of keel blew out the sides and top surface of the Star Destroyer as the ship’s atmosphere suddenly compressed.

Even before the bow came down, the vessel’s stern detonated, her fuel cells all igniting in an instant. Implacable’s command pylon leaped up as if it were a separate ship, suddenly separating for a desperate flight to safety. But it, too, disintegrated as it rose and was consumed by the growing fireball beneath it.

The ship broke at its midsection, its bow spinning almost gracefully before it set down on the crater-pocked surface of the moon.

The Wraiths heard a cry over their comm systems. Wedge and Janson had heard it once before, on the tape of Donos’s one and only Talon Squadron mission, the sound of Donos’s pain as he realized his squadron was gone.

Wedge rolled Night Caller upright. “Divert—” His throat shut down over his voice. Grinder, Falynn dead within seconds of one another. “Divert all guns to fire on the TIE fighters. Weapons, resume control of my turbolaser. Communications, give me the enemy’s starfighter channel and our channel both.”

“You’re ready to go, sir.”

“Attention, forces of the Implacable. This is Commander Wedge Antilles of New Republic Starfighter Command. Recommend you break off hostilities now.”

He got an answer instantly. “Antilles, are you demanding surrender?”

“Negative. Here’s the deal. You break off hostilities, we do, too. Go wherever you care to. We’ve won this round. Neither one of us gains from continuing this battle.”

“Not correct. You die, we gain. Prepare to eat vacuum.”

Then a new voice, words spoken with biting precision. “Captain, accept the commander’s offer.”

Wedge went cold. He knew that voice.

The captain’s voice returned. “You’re only an observer here. You don’t issue orders to—” Then a scream.

Face’s voice: “Sithspit, he’s vaped his own man.”

The precise voice returned. “I apologize. A slight question of chain of command. Commander, you have a deal. All Implacable forces, break off now. Come to heading two-seventy.”

Wedge said, “All New Republic forces, break off combat. Form up on Night Caller. If you consider yourself in good shape and have sufficient fuel, fly by on downed fighters and escape pods to report their condition.” He drew his finger over his throat and the comm officer cut the wide-channel transmission.

Wedge’s weapons officer stared wide-eyed. “You looked like you knew him.”

“You might say that. That was Baron Soontir Fel.”

The officer paled and returned his attention to his weapons board. Baron Fel,