A ship dropped out of hyperspace, materializing in the void.
“We’re in Mygeeto’s gravity well.
Ready for approach,” Trent said.
Daemon looked out the viewport.
A beautiful planet hung before him.
This was the third world in this system, home to the Muun.
The temperatures here were so extreme that the entire surface sat frozen, locked in ice that made the planet gleam like a gem.
In the ancient Muun language, *Mygeeto* meant exactly that: jewel.
The YT-1000 glided smoothly toward the planet.
Using the transponder code Hego Damask II had provided, the ship slipped through the planetary defense perimeter, passing right alongside several massive Munificent-class communications frigates.
The Munificent-class was a heavy warship built by the InterGalactic Banking Clan.
Across the galaxy, these vessels had earned a notorious reputation.
Any world that crossed the Banking Clan had been threatened by one of these ships at some point.
Most had bowed.
They called it a frigate.
It was eight hundred and twenty-five meters long.
Daemon felt his heart race as they flew past one.
Their twenty-eight-meter YT-1000 looked like an insect next to that kind of bulk.
A ship like that.
That was the real dream.
Every man’s dream.
Though in the *Star Wars* galaxy, the Munificent-class was barely mid-tier.
Ships far more powerful than this sailed these stars.
The YT-1000 entered Mygeeto’s atmosphere.
White clouds streaked past the viewport, and friction fire licked the hull, all of it turned aside by the ship’s deflector shield.
A moment later, the flames vanished.
An expanse of ice and snow stretched out below.
Every mountain, every plain, every valley and ridge.
All of it buried under millennia of frozen layers.
The ice shimmered in the weak sunlight, throwing off colors that had nothing to do with the star above.
Those colors came from energy crystals locked in the ice, the same crystals that had made the Muun the wealthiest species in the galaxy.
No cities broke the surface here.
A few scattered factories and transport pipelines were all that was visible.
The Muun had built their civilization underground.
Trent checked the coordinates Damask had given him and guided the ship toward a frozen mountain range.
Between two peaks, a dozen enormous pipelines connected the rock, with ships and trains flowing endlessly through them like blood cells feeding a living body.
Daemon sat in his seat, staring absently at the distant ice peaks.
Worrying about where this mission was headed.
One thing was certain.
Anything involving a Sith was never good news.
But looked at from another angle, setting aside the Sith identity, Damask was one of the most powerful figures in the InterGalactic Banking Clan.
If you could build a relationship with someone like that, the crumbs that fell from his table would be more than enough for the Fourth Group.
And then there was Damask’s eventual fate.
Daemon frowned.
A plan so audacious it made his blood run cold was starting to take shape in his mind.
Just thinking about it sent a chill down his spine.
Across the cockpit, Trent was deep in conversation with Quinto and Spade, speculating about this Semid they were supposed to pick up.
A notorious fugitive?
A murderer who had done something big?
Then a massive explosion ripped through one of the pipelines on the mountain ahead.
A hovercar burst through the breach, screaming straight toward the ship.
“There he is!” Trent shouted, slamming the hatch open.
“He’s got company!” Quinto yelled.
Right behind the hovercar, dozens of STAPs screamed in pursuit, each one piloted by a B-1 battle droid.
The droids opened fire with their blaster cannons as they chased.
*Boom.
Boom.*
Blaster bolts detonated around the car, kicking up ice and spray.
The hovercar wove and dodged, fighting for every meter, but a shot clipped its tail.
Smoke began to pour from the rear.
A terrified Muun face appeared on the comm display.
“Are you here for me?
Help me!
Please!”
“He won’t make it at this rate!” Quinto shouted.
“I know!
Get on the turret!
I’ll handle this!” Trent fired up the ship’s engines.
The YT-1000’s disc-shaped hull lifted off the ground.
“Wait, the hatch is still open!” Quinto scrambled down through the access shaft, tumbling into the belly turret.
He grabbed the twin laser cannons, took a rough aim, and squeezed the trigger.
*Fwoooosh.*
A green laser beam swept across the sky. This story is hosted at g.com.
Two STAPs were cut clean in half, exploding in a flash.
The remaining STAPs began spreading out, flanking the hovercar.
B-1s on the sides raised their blasters and opened fire on Semid.
Trent swung the ship around, skimming the ground.
He dropped lower and lower, grazing a rock formation.
One landing strut snapped off with a metallic crack.
“Are you insane?!
You’re going to crash!” Quinto yelled from the belly turret.
From where he was sitting, it looked like he was scraping the ground himself.
“Trust me.
I won’t,” Trent said through gritted teeth.
With surgical precision, he kept the ship flat against the terrain, flying straight past the hovercar and into the pursuing STAPs head-on.
*Boom!
Boom!*
Over a dozen STAPs were obliterated on impact.
The chain detonations washed against the ship’s shields.
Trent swung the YT-1000 around again, cutting across the other side of the hovercar.
The STAPs shattered like toys against the ship’s hull.
Trent pulled the ship directly in front of the hovercar, matching its speed, and shouted into the comm: “Get on board!”
Semid did not hesitate.
He floored the accelerator.
The hovercar shot straight through the open hatch.
As the car careened toward the interior, a massive figure stepped into its path.
The T-850.
*CRASH.*
The Terminator braced against the speeding vehicle.
Metal screamed against metal.
The car slammed into him, and he stopped it dead.
“More coming!” Quinto shouted.
From the breach in the pipeline, more STAPs poured out.
Dozens turned into hundreds.
And in the distance, fighter craft appeared on the horizon.
Whatever Semid had done, it was like he had kicked a hornet’s nest.
Every garrison on the planet was converging on them.
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