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deadly calm. “You may consider this a desertion.”
    Her XJ peeled off and circled back to the Jedi wing. After a moment, the two surviving members of her squadron followed.
    Kyp let her go.
    Nine more of his pilots had died, adding their names to the lengthening roster of those who had died under his command since the war started. Though their deaths weighed heavily on Kyp, he accepted this as the fortunes of war. But never before had he crossed the lines he’d drawn long ago and brought about a comrade’s death through the power of the Force. At this dark moment, it seemed to him that this single act negated all the good he had done, all his steadfast arguments, everything for which he stood.
    A moment of indecision, no more, but the price was high. Coralskippers closed in on Octa’s ships like a pack of voxyn.
    Kyp streaked in, determined to take as many of them with him as he could.
    Suddenly, inexplicably, the Yuuzhan Vong attack began to falter. Several of the coralskippers veered away in erratic, almost drunken flight. Octa Ramis took advantageof this seeming confusion to give pursuit. The other XJs followed.
    Two skips hurtled toward the Jedi woman’s ship. The enemy ships grazed each other, veered wildly apart, over-compensated. Back they came, slamming into a sidelong collision.
    Shards of coral hammered the XJs with deadly shrapnel. Both of the ships spun away, out of control. Only Octa returned to the battered Jedi fleet.
    “Objective secured,” she said coldly.
    Kyp could only nod. For months now, Danni Quee’s team had been working on blocking a yammosk, a hideous, telepathic creature that coordinated many ships. Judging by the sudden confusion among the Yuuzhan Vong, they had succeeded.
    But he, Kyp Durron, had failed.
    Again.
    A flood of emotion swept through him, and a dozen hard years suddenly fell away. For a moment Kyp knew the fresh anguish of his brother’s death. The darkness of that terrible time flooded back, and the despair.
    “Jaina,” he murmured suddenly, for no reason that he could comprehend.
    Kyp shook his head as if to clear it. Of course he was aware of pretty, pragmatic Jaina Solo—what Jedi wasn’t?—but she didn’t exactly fly in his orbit. There was nothing between them that could explain the fleeting connection; in fact, her reaction after the attack on the Sernpidal shipwomb suggested that Jaina wouldn’t so much as spit at him if he were on fire.
    At that moment a familiar ship soared into view, a disreputable antique that was nonetheless one of the biggest legends in the galaxy. Three coralskippers blundered after it, spewing lethal rock.
    “Not the
Falcon
,” Kyp vowed darkly, finding a measure of focus in this new threat. “Not a chance.”
    The Jedi dropped his remaining two missiles and used the Force to hurl them at the enemy ships. Once again he stopped them just short of the singularities. He busied the skips’ dovin basals with a quick flurry of laserfire, then let the missiles hammer in. Two of the alien ships exploded. Coral shards melted as they hurtled through gouts of plasma thrown by a third ship.
    The Jedi switched to hailing frequency. “
Millennium Falcon
, this is Kyp Durron. Could you use a wingmate?”
    “You give a great audition, kid. Consider yourself hired.”
    Han Solo’s disembodied voice lifted some of the burden from Kyp’s shoulders.
    His relief was short-lived. A Yuuzhan Vong blastboat made a ponderous turn and came in pursuit of the
Falcon
. The pilot noticed, too, and responded with an oath Kyp hadn’t heard since his days as a slave in the Kessel spice mines.
    “You install those vertical thrusters, like I told you?” Han demanded.
    “Got ’em.”
    “Good. Use them.”
    Kyp punched the drive. His head seemed determined to burrow between his shoulders as the ship made a sudden leap. An enormous, ship-swallowing plasma comet scorched a path through the place he had just been—and directly toward his friend’s ship.
    But