ABOARD THE MALACHOR, 40 YEARS ABE:

Stella, Poe, and Breha hurried back into the Crystellium's darkened cockpit, BB-8 trundling alongside in a whirling blur of white and orange. "So the droids still have control of the engines, interior and exterior hatches, and nominal control over targeting and tractor beams?" Stella catalogued as she slid back into the pilot's seat. "And they had a partial hack on communication, but that's moot now that the Imperials are running comm-jamming. They also have no access to shields, life support, navigation, and a bunch of other systems that we don't actually care about right now. Do I have that right?"

"Yeah," Poe nodded, glancing down at BB-8 for confirmation as he spoke. "But the ship's main computer just took back the fighter launching systems." The little droid warbled and rolled forward, extending an arm to connect with the shuttle's computers and start slicing through Booster's security settings.

"Which is a problem for anyone trapped inside a hangar full of TIEs," Stella grimaced. "We're in trouble."

"How many pilots were in here when the doors locked down?" Breha asked.

If she sounded nervous, she had good reason to be: depending on what kind of emergency protocol had been declared, every active-duty fighter pilot on the Super Star Destroyer might have been at or heading to their ships when BB-8 ordered the hangar doors sealed.

BB-8 trilled a complex series of whistles and beeps. Breha frowned thoughtfully and Stella looked confused, but Poe breathed a sigh of relief. "Good work, buddy," he said, grinning as he reached down to pat BB-8's domed head.

"What did he say?" Stella asked.

"The droids scrambled the alerts, so most of the ship's pilots never got them. We should have a handful in here with us at most."

"A handful of TIEs is more than enough to be bad news," Stella muttered, fingers dancing over the shuttle's controls.

Poe nodded as he slid into the co-pilot's seat beside her. "Yeah, but a full squadron or three would be a lot worse."

Breha shook her head. "It is worse," she said. "It doesn't take pilot-training to figure out basic weaponry, and one thing all stormtroopers are trained to do is shoot. If the ones in here climb into the now-active TIEs, that'll be a lot of laser cannons pointed our way…"

BB-8 shrilled and squealed in response.

"That's why you cut the lights?" Poe repeated. "Good thinking, buddy!"

"Stormtroopers have dark-vision filters in their helmets," Breha muttered. "And snubfighters don't need light to target powered shuttles."

"Every little bit helps," Poe insisted. "And Bail and Finn can't be far behind us…"

"I've been trying to get through the comm-jamming since I powered-up the shuttle, but no luck so far," Stella said unhappily.

BB-8 beeped an update from his droid contacts.

"Last cam view before the droids cut the circuits had the two of them joining-up to fight that Commander Phasma person," Poe translated for Stella. "No data since then."

She grimaced again. "We're in trouble," she echoed.

Breha took a deep breath. "Lift off," she ordered. Her voice was dangerously calm.

Poe and Stella exchanged wide-eyed, disbelieving glances, then turned to stare at her in horror.

"We can't leave them-"

"We won't," Breha said, still in that same tone of eerie calm. "Power-up the repulsors and take us that way at one-eighth acceleration," she explained, pointing towards the far side of the hangar. "We're going to meet them in the air."

Poe and Stella exchanged another glance, this one only slightly less dubious. "At that speed there's no way they'll be able to match trajectories to jump on board," Stella protested, "especially not in zero-gee in the dark..."

"Trust in the Force," Breha told them serenely.

Stella swallowed and nodded. Poe sighed and reached reluctantly for his section of the controls. "I hope you know what you're doing, kid," he muttered.

"Don't worry," Breha said, patting Poe's shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine."