The twisting carnage of a dying Battle Dragon swung gracefully towards Thrakia’s atmosphere, and even though the vacuum of space prevented actual noise, Mara imagined the groanings of tearing superheated metal. Flames licked from numerous fatal wounds, and finally the ship exploded brilliantly, making the blast shields of the Jade Sabre dim momentarily. “This doesn’t look good, Skywalker,” she mumbled to her husband, who sat in the co-pilot’s seat beside her. His profile was stoic, his brow pinched in thought. “No, it doesn’t. I think we might be in trouble.” “Easier said than done.” * * *