Star Wars - New Jedi Order

Agent Of Chaos II - Jedi Eclipse

by   James Luceno

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Anakin Solo;  Jedi  Knight  (male  human)

Beed  Thane;  archon of Vergill (male human)

Borga Besadii Diori; Hurt ruler  (female  Hurt)

Brand; New Republic commodore (male human)

Chine-kal; commander,

Creche  (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Droma; spacer (male Ryn)

Gaph;  refugee  (male  Ryn)

Han  Solo; captain, Millennium Falcon (male human)

Jacen Solo; Jedi Knight  (male  human)

Kyp Durron; Jedi Master (male human)

Leia Organa Solo; New Republic ambassador (female human)

Luke Skywalker; Jedi Master (male human)

Malik Carr;  commander (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Melisma; refugee (female Ryn)

Nas Choka; supreme commander (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Nom Anor; executor (male  Yuuzhan  Vong)

Prince  Isolder; Royal House of Hapes  (male  human)

Randa  Besadii  Diori  (male  Hurt)

Roa; prisoner (male human)

Sapha; prisoner (female Ryn)

Talon Karrde; liaison (male human)

Viqi Shesh; senator (female human)

Wurth  Skidder;  Jedi  Knight  (male human)

1

It was morning in Gyndine's capital city, though that fact  was  scarcely

evident to anyone on the surface. The rising sun, when glimpsed at all, was  a

blanched  disk  be  hind  roiling  smoke  belched  from  flaming  forests  and

buildings. Sounds of battle reverberated  thunderously  from  the  surrounding

foothills, and a  hot  scouring  wind  swept  down  across  the  landscape.  A

crepuscular darkness, ripped ragged by flashes of blinding  light,  ruled  the

day.

The artificial light was supplied by warriors and war machines,  coursing

over scorched ground, streaking through the racked sky,  in  orbit  above  the

madness. Through leaden clouds allied and  enemy  fighter  craft  pursued  one

another doggedly, adding sonic claps to the strident score of combat. East  of

the beleaguered capital, beams of energy stabbed mercilessly  at  the  surface

from on high, fanning out like shafts of profuse sunlight or concentrated into

dazzling curtains that set the horizon glowing red as a frozen dawn.

Loosed by advancing  enemy  contingents,  missiles  of  superheated  rock

assailed what remained of the city, holing surviving towers and toppling those

already gutted by fire. Hunks of shattered  ferrocrete  and  twisted  plasteel

tumbled onto cratered streets and clogged alleyways. A  few  civilians  dashed

desperately for shelter while others huddled, paralyzed with fear, in  gaping,

fire-blackened  maws  that  were  once  entryways  and  storefronts.  In  some

quarters, ion cannons and nearly depleted turbolaser  batteries  answered  the

missile barrage with darts of cyan light. But only in the environs of the  New

Republic embassy were the enemy projectiles deflected,  turned  by  a  hastily

installed containment shield.

Dangerously close to the  shield's  shimmering  perimeter,  a  thousands-

strong mixed-species  throng,  massed  behind  stun  fencing,  pressed  to  be

admitted. At the edges of the crowd droids  perambulated  in  a  daze,  keenly

aware of the fate awaiting them should the invaders overrun the city. Were the

stun fence the sole obstacle to safe haven, the crowd might have panicked  and

stormed the embassy grounds. But the perimeter was reinforced by heavily armed

New Republic soldiers, and there was also the force field itself to  consider.

An umbrella of energy, the lambent shield had  to  be  deactivated  before  it

could be safely breached, and that occurred only  when  an  evacua  tion  ship

launched for rendezvous with one of the trans ports anchored in local space.

Ashen faces masked with cloth against the mephitic air, Gyndine's  would-

be evacuees did all they could to ensure their survival.  With  arms  extended

protectively around the shoulders of terrified children or clasped tightly  to

tattered bundles of personal  belongings,  they  pleaded  with  the  soldiers,

tendered bribes, inveigled and threatened. Ordered to remain silent, the grim-

faced troops offered neither comforting looks nor  words  of  en  couragement.

Only their eyes belied the seeming dispassion, racing about  like  taurill  or

angling imploringly toward the one person who could accede to  the  entreaties

and demands.

Leia Organa Solo caught one such glance now, aimed her  way  by  a  human

soldier posted close to what had become the communications  bunker.  With  her

face smudged and her long hair captured under a brimmed cap, it  was  unlikely

that anyone in the crowd recognized her as onetime hero of the Rebel  Alliance

and former chief of state, but the sky-blue  combat  overalls-bloused  sleeves

emblazoned with the  emblem  of  SELCORE,  the  Senate  Select  Committee  for

Refugees-identified her as everyone's best chance for rescue,  their  purveyor

of deliverance. As it was, she couldn't venture within five meters of the stun

fence without having wailing infants, necklaces of  prayer  beads,  or  rushed

missives to offworld loved ones extended to her in dire urgency.

She didn't dare make eye contact with anyone, lest in  her  gaze  someone

read hope or evidence of her anguish. To provide some  measure  of  equipoise,

she drew deeply on the Force. But more often than not she  paced  unswervingly

between the bunker and the leading edge of the shield,  eager  for  word  that

another evacuation ship had landed and was waiting to be filled.

Ever in her wake moved faithful Olmahk, whose native gray  ferocity  made

him appear more stalker than bodyguard. But at  least  the  diminutive  Noghri

looked at home among the chaos, whereas C-3PO-his normally auric gleam  dulled

by soot and ash-was positively dismayed. Lately, though, the protocol  droid's

apprehension had less to do with his own safety than with  the  larger  threat

the Yuuzhan Vong posed to all machine life, often the first to suffer  when  a

world fell.

A forceful explosion rocked the  permacrete  under  Leia's  feet,  and  a

swirling globe of orange fire mushroomed from the heart of the city. A searing

wind laced with droplets  of  even  hotter  rain  tugged  at  Leia's  cap  and

jumpsuit. Created by the energy exchanges  and  conflagrations,  microclimatic

storms had been washing across the plateau all night  long.  Hail  mixed  with

cinders lifted from  Gyndine's  ruined  surface  pelted  everyone,  blistering

exposed flesh like acid. Even through the insulated soles of knee-high  boots,

Leia could feel the ground's aberrant heat.

A loud sizzling sound made her swing toward the shield in time to see  it

evanesce in undulating waves of distortion.

"Evac ship away," a soldier reported from  the  com  munications  bunker,

both hands pressed to the outsize earmuffs  of  his  comm  helmet.  "Two  more

headed down the well."

Leia raised her eyes to the tenebrous sky. Defined by running  lights  as

oblate in shape, the departing ship raised itself on repulsor power, then shot

upward on a column of blue fire, escorted by half a dozen  X-wings.  Lying  in

ambush, a cataract of coralskippers vectored in from  the  foothills  to  give

chase.

Leia whirled to the soldiers posted at the stun fence.

"Admit the next group!"

Crushed shoulder to shoulder, cheek to jowl, folks at the forward edge of

the crowd-humans, Sullustans, Bimms,  and  others-were  funneled  through  the

embassy gates. With the shield lowered, enemy projectiles that would have been

deflected plummeted like fiery meteors, one of them striking the east wing  of

the Imperial-era embassy and setting it ablaze.

Leia clapped the evacuees on the back as they streamed toward  a  shuttle

craft idling on the landing zone.

"Hurry!" she urged. "Hurry!"

"Shield repowering," the same  comm  officer  relayed  from  the  bunker.

"Everyone back."

Leia gritted her teeth. These were the worst moments, she told herself.

Soldiers at the gate resealed the cordon and  scanned  the  vicinity  for

evidence of field disruptors. In response the crowd  surged  forward,  railing

against what had to seem the inequity, the  arbitrariness  of  it  all.  Folks

closest to the front, fearing they would miss their chance at salvation by one

or two persons, tried to worm or force their  way  past  the  soldiers,  while

those in the rear shoved and scrambled, determined to fight their way forward.

Leia saw that it was futile, and yet the crowd  refused  to  disperse,  hoping

against hope that New Republic forces could keep the  invaders  at  bay  until

every civilian and noncombatant was evacuated.

"Mistress Leia," C-3PO said, approaching in haste with his  hands  raised

and his photoreceptors^glowing, "the deflector  shield  is  weakening!  If  we

don't l^ave soon, we're sure to perish!"

As many would that day, Leia thought.

"We'll leave on the last ship," she told C-3PO, "not before. Until  then,

make yourself useful by cataloging names and species."

C-3PO lifted his arms higher and skittered through an abrupt about-face.

"What's to become of us?"

Leia exhaled wearily, wondering, as well.

The bombardment had commenced two  days  earlier,  when  a  Yuuzhan  Vong

flotilla had arrived unexpectedly in the nearby Circarpous system  from  enemy

positions in Hutt space. A slapdash attempt  had  been  made  to  fortify  the

sector  capital,  but  with  fleets  and  task  forces  already  committed  to

safeguarding major systems in the Colonies and the Core, the New Republic  had

little to offer worlds of  secondary  importance  like  Gyndine,  despite  its

modest orbital shipyard.

By the same token, there was no rhyme or  reason  for  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

attack-beyond continuing to sow confusion. With the recent fall of several Mid

Rim worlds, Gyndine, because of its  relative  remoteness,  had  been  thought

ideal for use as a transit point  for  refugees,  and  indeed  many  of  those

outside the fence had been shipped in from Ithor, Obroa-skai, Ord Mantell, and

a host of enemy-occupied planets. It was becoming clear that the Yuuzhan  Vong

delighted in pursuing displaced populations almost as much as  they  delighted

in sacrificing captives and immolating droids.  Even  the  ground  assault  on

Gyndine seemed to be their way of  proving  themselves  as  adept  at  seizing

worlds as they were at poisoning them.

The voice of the  comm  officer  put  a  quick  end  to  Leia's  musings.

"Ambassador, we've got a live surveillance probe feed from the field."

Leia hesitated, then  ducked  into  the  bunker,  where  a  reduced-scale

hologram, dazzled by noise, had the atten tion of the several  men  and  women

gathered there. It took her a moment to make sense of what she was seeing, and

even then part of her refused to accept the truth.

"What in the name of..."

"Fire breathers," someone said, as if anticipating her amazement.  "Rumor

has it the Yuuzhan Vong stopped off at Mimban so the things could fill  up  on

swamp gas." Leia's quivering legs urged her to sit, and as she did she brought

a hand to her mouth. Parading out of sunrise like the harbingers of a new  and

dreadful dawn, came a legion of enormous bladderlike creatures,  supported  on

six stubby legs and equipped with arrays of flexible pro boscises  from  which

gushed streams of gelatinous flame.

"The methane and hydrogen sulfide have to be mixing with  something  they

carry in their guts to produce that liquid fire," a woman at the  controls  of

the holo-projector commented, more intrigued  than  horrified.  "They're  also

exhaling antilaser aerosols." Yet another example of the  enemy's  genetically

engineered monstrosities, the thirty-meter-tall fire breathers didn't so  much

march as  loll  over  the  terrain,  like  loosely  tethered  lighter-than-air

balloons, incinerating everyone and everything in their path.

Leia could almost smell the nidor of the carnage.

"Whatever they are, they've got thick  hides,"  the  comm  officer  said.

"Can't be taken out by anything less than a turbolaser beam."

Unable to slow the advance of  the  deadly  blimps,  Gyndine  units  were

abandoning entrenched positions and falling back in droves  toward  the  city.

Strewn about were fire-blackened war machines of all variety-tank droids, aged

Loronar mobile turbolasers, even a  couple  of  AT-AT  walkers,  tipped  over,

headless, collapsed on the ground with legs splayed.

"They're withdrawing!" Leia said harshly. "Who issued the retreat order?"

Even as the words left her mouth, she was sorry  she  had  uttered  them.

Those officers who weren't scrutinizing her were suddenly studying their hands

in unease. Could she blame the troops for retreating when that  was  precisely

what the New Republic had been forced to do  almost  from  the  start  of  the

invasion-withdrawing toward the Core, as if the density of  the  star  systems

there afforded protection? Who could say any longer which actions  were  just,

and which were dishonorable?

Exiting the bunker without a word, Leia found a shaken C-3PO waiting  for

her.

"Mistress Leia, the most distressing news has reached me!"

Leia could barely hear him. In the few  moments  she  had  spent  in  the

bunker, the battle had advanced to the outskirts of the capital. The crowd was

more agitated than before, surging forward and from side to  side.  Through  a

gap in the city's skyline, Leia thought she could discern the bobbing form  of

a Yuuzhan Vong fire breather.

"It seems," C-3PO was saying, "that Gyndine's citizens are laboring under

the impression that you are de  liberately  discriminating  against  folks  of

former Imperial persuasion."

Leia's jaw dropped and her brown eyes flashed. "That's  absurd.  Do  they

think I can pick out a former Imperial on sight? And even if I could..."

C-3PO lowered  his  voice  conspiratorially.  "In  fact,  there  is  some

statistical justification for the claim, Mis tress. Of the five thousand  thus

far evacuated, an over whelming percentage have  been  inhabitants  of  worlds

whose early loyalty to the Rebel Alliance is  well  documented.  However,  I'm

certain that owes to nothing more than-" C-3PO's explanation was swallowed  by

a deafening explosion. Electricity danced wildly along the  periphery  of  the

energy dome, and the shield disappeared. At once, the telltales that lined the

stun fence flickered and went out. A frightened gasp rose from the crowd.

"The field generator has been hit!" C-3PO said. "We're done for!"

The crowd surged again, and the soldiers closed ranks. Weapons powered up

with an ominous whine.

C-3PO began to back toward the embassy gates. "We'll be crushed!"

With lethal efficiency, Olmahk moved to Leia's side.  She  was  about  to

caution him to remain calm when one of the soldiers panicked and fired a sonic

weapon at point-blank range into the crowd, dropping dozens  and  sending  the

rest rushing in all directions.

Without thinking, Leia ran to the dazed soldier  and  yanked  the  weapon

from his lax hands. "We're supposed to be rescuing these people, not  injuring

them!"

She threw the weapon aside. Drawing her hand  across  her  forehead,  she

inadvertently dislodged the brimmed cap, spilling her hair to  her  shoulders.

Wending her way back to the  bunker,  she  grabbed  the  nearest  comlink  and

demanded to be put through to the task force commander.

"Ambassador Organa  Solo,  this  is  Commander  Ilanka,"  a  basso  voice

responded shortly.

"We need every available ship,  Commander  -  immediately.  Yuuzhan  Vong

forces are entering the city."

Ilanka took a moment to reply. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, but we've got  our

hands full out here. Three more enemy warships have exited hyperspace  on  the

far side of the moon. Whatever craft are on the surface will have to  suffice.

I urge you to load and launch. And, Ambassador, I  strongly  suggest  you  get

yourself aboard one of them."

Leia thumbed the comlink off and scanned the crowd in alarm.  How  can  I

choose? she asked herself. How?

A  storm  of  blazing  yorik  coral  meteors  battered  the  embassy  and

neighboring buildings, setting fire to all they touched. The inferno triggered

an explosion at a fuel dump near the landing zone,  fountaining  shrapnel  far

and wide. The right side of Leia's face screamed in pain as something opened a

furrow in her cheek. Instinctively she brought her fingertips  to  the  wound,

expecting to find blood, but the airborne fragment had cauterized the wound in

its white-hot passing.

"Mistress Leia, you're injured!" C-3PO  said,  but  she  waved  him  back

before he could reach her. Peripherally she saw that a tall sinewy  human  was

being ushered for ward, his arms vised in the grip of two soldiers. Beneath  a

soft cap he wore low on his forehead, the man's face was bruised and swollen.

"Now what?" Leia asked his custodians.

"An agitator," the shorter soldier reported. "We over heard  him  telling

people in the crowd that we're only ex  tracting  New  Republic  loyals.  That

anyone with an Imperial past might as well kiss his..."

"I understand, Sergeant," Leia said, cutting him off.  She  assessed  the

captive briefly, wondering what he could possibly have to  gain  by  spreading

lies. She had her mouth open to ask him when a meaningful  sniff  from  Olmahk

put her on alert.

Leia stepped closer to the man and peered intently into his eyes. As  she

raised her right forefinger, a low growl escaped Olmahk. The captive  recoiled

when he realized Leia's intent, but his reaction  only  firmed  the  soldiers'

resolve to hold on to him. Leia's eyes narrowed in cer tainty. She thrust  her

finger into the man's face, striking him just where his right  nostril  curved

into his cheek.

To the soldiers' utter astonishment, the man's flesh  seemed  to  recede,

taking with it his expression, to reveal a look that combined pain  and  pride

on a face incised with brilliantly colored designs and flourishes. The  flesh-

like mask that had taken flight at Leia's touch disappeared down the throat of

the man's loose-fitting jacket, bunching somewhat as it flayed itself from his

torso, only to pour from the cuffs of his trousers  like  flesh-colored  syrup

and puddle on the ground at his feet. The soldiers leapt back  in  shock,  the

sergeant drawing his blaster  and  putting  repeated  bolts  into  the  living

puddle. Free of their grip, the Yuuzhan Vong also took a  step  back,  tearing

open the front of his jacket to expose a body vest every bit as alive  as  the

ooglith masquer had been. With his lashless eyes fixed on Leia, he lifted  his

face and howled a bloodcurdling war cry.

"Do-ro'ik vong prattel" And woe to our enemies!

"Down! Down!" Leia screamed to everyone nearby.

Olmahk drove her to the ground even as the first of the  thud  bugs  were

bursting outward from the Yuuzhan Vong's chest. The sound was not unlike  that

of corks being popped from bottles of effervescent wine, but accompanying  the

lively explosions were the  pained  ex  clamations  of  soldiers  and  hapless

civilians who hadn't heard or heeded Leia's counsel. For ten meters in all  di

rections, men and women fell like trees.

Leia felt Olmahk's weight lift from her. By the time she looked  up,  the

Noghri had ripped out the Yuuzhan Vong's  throat  with  his  teeth.  Left  and

right, people lay on the ground groaning in pain. Others staggered about  with

hands pressed to ruptured bellies, compound fractures, broken ribs, or smashed

faces.

"Get these people to the battle dressing station!" Leia ordered.

Yorik coral missiles were continuing to rain down on the embassy and  the

landing zone, where a dozen soldiers were overseeing the loading of the  final

evacuation craft. The crowd had long since pushed through the gates, but  stun

batons and sonics were keeping many from reaching the waiting craft. Groggily,

and with Olmahk falling in behind her, Leia began to move  that  way  herself.

She spied C-3PO, whose chest plastron had been deeply dented  by  one  of  the

thud bugs, just above his circular power-recharge coupler.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He might have blinked if he could. "Thank the maker I lack a heart!"

As the three of them were closing on the evacuation ship a vintage  AT-ST

limped into view, blackened along one side and leaking  hydraulic  fluid,  its

grenade launcher blown  away.  A  lightly  armored  box  perched  on  reverse-

articulated legs, the All Terrain Scout Transport wheezed  and  clanked  to  a

halt, then collapsed chin first to the permacrete landing apron. In  a  moment

the aft hatch lifted, loosing a cloud  of  smoke,  and  a  young  man  crawled

coughing but otherwise unharmed from the cockpit.

"Wurth Skidder," Leia intoned, folding her  arms  across  her  chest.  "I

should have known it was you from the bril liance of your entrance."

Blond and sharp-featured, Skidder jumped agilely to his  feet  and  threw

off his smoldering Jedi Knight cloak.  "The  Yuuzhan  Vong  have  overrun  our

defenses, Ambassador. The fight's lost." He grinned smugly. "I wanted  you  to

be the first to know."

Leia had heard from Luke that Skidder was on Gyn-dine, but this  was  her

first contact with him. She had had trouble with him during the  Rhommamoolian

crisis eight months earlier, when he had downed  a  couple  of  Rodian-piloted

Osarian starfighters intent on interfering with her then-diplomatic duties. At

the time she had found him to be reckless, insolent, and overconfident in  his

abilities, but Luke insisted that the Battle of Ithor, and the injury  Skidder

had sustained there, had changed him for  the  better.  No  doubt  because  he

reveled in being able to put a lightsaber to constant use, Leia thought.

"You're a little late with your update, Wurth," she told  him  now,  "but

you're in time for the final flight out of here." She nodded in the  direction

of the landing zone.

"My brother would never forgive me if I didn't see  you  safely  back  to

Coruscant."

Skidder returned an elaborately chivalrous bow, extending his  right  arm

toward her. "A Jedi avoids argument at all costs." He held her  gaze  briefly.

"Nothing in the Jedi Code about having to answer to civilians, but I'll comply

out of respect for your celebrated sibling."

"Fine," Leia said sarcastically. "Just see to it that  you  get  aboard."

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she twisted around.

"Ambassador, we're holding space for you, your bodyguard, and  droid,"  a

male flight officer reported. "But you'll have to come  now,  ma'am.  The  New

Republic envoy is already aboard, and we've received orders to lift off."

Leia nodded that she understood, then swung back to Skidder, only to  see

him running  toward  the  embassy  gates.  "Skidder!"  she  yelled,  making  a

megaphone of her hands.

He stopped, turned to her, and waved a hand in what at least appeared  to

be genuine acknowledgment. "Just one small task to perform," he shouted back.

Leia frowned angrily and turned to the flight officer once more,  cutting

her eyes back and forth between him and the sizable  crowd  gathering  at  the

foot of the ship's boarding ramp. "Surely the ship can accommodate a few more.

"

The officer's lips became a thin line. "We're already at maximum payload,

Ambassador." He followed her gaze to the crowd, then blew out his breath. "But

we can probably cram in four more."

Leia touched his forearm in indebtedness, and the two  of  them  hastened

for the ramp. Behind a barricade of sol diers, at the  head  of  the  line  of

evacuees, stood a group of  tailed,  spike-haired,  and  velvet-furred  aliens

attired in colorful if threadbare  vests  and  wraparound  skirts.  Ryn,  Leia

realized in surprise-the species to which Han's new friend Droma belonged.

"Four," the flight officer reminded, even as Leia was doing a head  count

of the Ryn. "Some of them will have to be left behind."

Six Ryn, to be exact, she told herself. Even so,  four  was  better  than

none. She edged between two broad shouldered soldiers closest to the ramp  and

beckoned to the aliens in line. "You four," she  said,  pointing  to  each  in

turn.

"Hurry!"

Expressions of relief  and  joy  appeared.  The  chosen  four  turned  to

exchange embraces with those who would be abandoned.  A  swaddled  infant  was

passed from the rear to one of the females up front. Leia heard someone say,

"Melisma, should you find Droma, tell him we're here." Leia gave a  start

and glanced about for the one who had said the name, but there wasn't time  to

seek out the Ryn.

Already the soldiers were backing their way up the ramp, taking her  with

them.

"Hold on!" she said, coming to a sudden stop and refusing  to  be  moved.

"Skidder. Where's Skidder? Is he already aboard?"

She leaned forward to gaze across the devastated landing zone and spotted

him dashing for the ship, dragging a human female behind him  and  cradling  a

longhaired infant in his left arm. The sight gave Leia  pause.  Maybe  Skidder

had changed, after all.

"Make certain they get aboard," Leia instructed the  officer  in  charge,

pausing when a coralskipper-delivered projectile impacted the permacrete  only

meters from the ramp. "And I don't care if you have to use a shoehorn to doit.

"

2

Death pursued the shuttle to the edge of space, spitting fire from below,

needling with fighter-launched missiles, clutching with dovin basals housed in

warships anchored just inside Gyndine's envelope. The  X-wing  escort  had  to

blaze a route through swarms of coral-skippers and take on a  frigate  analog,

five pilots sacrificing themselves in the  attempt  to  see  the  evacuees  to

safety.

Leia sat in the cramped  cockpit  watching  the  battle  rage,  wondering

whether they would reach the transport in  time.  A  ship  that  had  launched

before dawn hadn't been so lucky. Hull perforated in several places, the  oval

craft drifted lazily in golden sunlight, venting atmosphere  and  debris  into

space.

Wherever Leia's eye  roamed,  New  Republic  and  Yu-uzhan  Vong  vessels

assailed one another with lasers and missiles, while  enemy  drop  ships  fell

obliquely into the well, winglike  projections  extended  and  ablative  coral

blushed crimson red. Farther from the planet were the new  arrivals  Commander

Ilanka had mentioned. Two of the ships had tentlike hulls fashioned from  some

sort of diaphanous material, from which protruded a dozen or  more  lightning-

forked arms, as if dendrites from an insect-spun nest.

The third resembled nothing so much as a cluster of conjoined bubbles, or

egg sacks waiting to hatch.

In the shuttle's passenger cabin, Gyndine's refugees conversed in  hushed

tones or prayed boldly to sundry gods. Fear rose off the group in  waves  that

stung Leia's nostrils. She was circulating among them when a familiar  shudder

passed through the ship, and she recognized with relief that  a  tractor  beam

had possession of them.

Moments later the shuttle was pulled gently,  almost  lovingly  into  the

docking bay of the transport.

But even there death reached for them.

During the deboarding process, a pair of coralskippers that  had  somehow

duped the transport's energy shield came streaking into the hold on a  suicide

run, skidding across the deck and exploding against a blast shield  raised  in

the nick of time. Several refugees and crew members were killed, and  a  score

more were injured.

Two of Leia's female aides who had remained aboard the transport  hurried

to her as she was picking herself up off the  coral-littered  deck.  She  made

plain what she thought of their attempts to comb her hair back from her face.

"You're worried about my hairstyle," she fulminated,  "when  people  here

need immediate medical attention?"

"But your cheek," one of the women said, chagrined.

Leia had forgotten all about the shrapnel. Of its  own  accord  her  hand

reenacted the movement it had made  earlier,  fingertips  tracing  the  raised

edges of the furrow that had been opened.  She  exhaled  wearily  and  dropped

cross-legged to the deck.

"I'm sorry."

Silently she allowed the wound to be ministered  to,  suddenly  aware  of

just how exhausted she was. When C-3PO and Olmahk  came  within  earshot,  she

said, "I can't remember when I last slept."

"That would be fifty-seven  hours,  six  minutes  ago,  Mistress,"  C-3PO

supplied. "Standard time, of course. If you'd  prefer,  I  could  express  the

duration by other time parts, in which case..."

"Not now, Threepio," Leia said weakly. "In fact, maybe you should immerse

yourself in an oil bath before your moving parts freeze up."

C-3PO cocked his head to one side, arms nearly akimbo.

"Why, thank you, Mistress Leia. I was beginning to  fear  I  would  never

again hear those words spoken."

"And you," Leia said, glancing at Olmahk. "See to  washing  that  Yuuzhan

Vong's blood off your chin."

The Noghri muttered truculently, then nodded curtly and moved off with C-

3PO.

Fifty-seven hours, Leia thought.

Truth be told, she hadn't slept soundly  since  Han  had  left  Coruscant

almost a month earlier. A day didn't pass when she didn't wonder what  he  was

up to, although os tensibly he was searching for Roa, his onetime mentor,  who

had been captured by the Yuuzhan Vong during a raid on Ord  Mantell's  orbital

facility, the Jubilee Wheel, as well as for members of his new  Ryn  comrade's

scattered clan. Was it possible, Leia wondered, that the  Droma  mentioned  on

Gyndine was the same one Han was suddenly running with?

Reports would occasionally reach her that the Millennium Falcon had  been

spotted in this system or that one, but Han had yet to contact her personally.

He hadn't been the same since Chewbacca's death  -  not  that  anyone  or

anything had, especially occurring when it did, at the start  of  the  Yuuzhan

Vong invasion, and largely at their hands. It  was  natural  that  Han  should

mourn Chewie's passing more than anyone, but even Leia had been  surprised  by

the direction he had taken-or the one his unabashed grief had  driven  him  to

take. Where Han had always been cheerfully roguish, there was an angry gravity

to him now. Anakin had been the first target of  his  father's  outrage;  then

everyone close to Han had gradually fallen victim to it.

Experts spoke of stages of grief, as if people could be expected to  move

through them routinely. But in Han the  stages  were  jumbled  together-anger,

denial, despair-without a hint of resignation, let alone acceptance.

Han's stasis was what worried Leia more than anything.

Though he would be the first to deny it-vociferously, at  that-his  grief

had fueled a kind of recidivism, a return to the Han of old:  the  lone  Solo,

who guarded his sensi tivity by keeping himself at arm's length,  who  claimed

not to care about anyone but himself, who allowed  thrill  to  substitute  for

feeling.

When Droma-another adventurer-had first entered  Han's  orbit,  Leia  had

feared the worst. But in getting to know the Ryn, even slightly, she had taken

heart. While not a replacement for Chewie-for how could anyone replace him?  -

Droma at least presented Han with the option of forging  a  new  relationship,

and if Han could manage that, he just might be able to see his  way  to  reem-

bracing his tried-and-true relationships. Time  would  tell-about  Han,  about

their marriage, about the Yu-uzhan Vong and the fate of the New Republic.

With her cheek sporting a strip of itchy synthflesh, Leia took  leave  of

her aides to wander forward  into  the  passenger  hold,  where  many  of  the

refugees were already  claiming  areas  of  deck  space.  Despite  the  battle

swirling around the transport, an atmosphere of chatty relief pre vailed. Leia

spotted the New Republic envoy to Gyndine and went  over  to  him.  A  man  of

distinguished hand someness, he sat with his head in his hands.

"I promised I would get everyone offworld," he  told  Leia  sullenly.  "I

failed them." He shook his head. "I failed them."

Leia caressed his shoulder in a comforting way.  "Awarded  the  Medal  of

Honor at the Battle of  Kashyyyk,  cited  for  exemplary  service  during  the

Yevethan crisis, former member of the Senate Advisory Council to the chief  of

state..." Leia stopped and smiled. "Save your recrimi nations for the  Yuuzhan

Vong, Envoy. You did more than anyone thought possible."

She moved on, listening in on scraps of conversation, mostly  devoted  to

the uncertain future, rumors about  the  horrors  of  the  refugee  camps,  or

criticisms of the New Republic government and military. She was happy  to  see

that the Ryn had found space for themselves, until she realized that they  had

been banished to a dark corner of the hold, and that no one, of  any  species,

had deigned to sit within a meter of them.

Leia was forced to take a meandering route to them, in  and  through  and

sometimes over family groups and others. She addressed the female Ryn who held

the child.

"When you were boarding, I heard someone mention the name Droma. Is  that

a common name among your species? I ask only because I happen to  know  a  Ryn

named Droma-slightly, at any rate."

"My nephew," the only male among them  answered.  "We  haven't  seen  him

since the Yuuzhan Vong attacked Ord Mantell. Droma's sister was one  of  those

you... who chose to remain behind on Gyndine." He gestured to the infant. "The

child is hers."

"Oh, no," Leia said, more to herself. She took a breath and straightened.

"I know where your nephew is."

"He's safe then?"

"After a fashion. He's with my husband. They're searching for all of you.

"

"Ah, sweet irony," the male said. "And now we're further divided."

"As soon as we reach Ralltiir, I'll try to reach my husband."

"Thank you, Princess Leia," the one  named  Melisma  said,  catching  her

completely by surprise.

"Ambassador," she corrected.

They all smiled. "To the Ryn," the male said, "you will forever remain  a

princess."

The comment warmed and chilled her at once. The Ryn wouldn't have been on

Gyndine in the  first  place  if  Leia  had  not  relocated  them  there  from

Bilbringi. And what of the six she had been forced to  leave  behind  to  face

imprisonment or death? Was she princess or deserter in  the  eyes  of  Droma's

sister? The flattering comment had sounded sincere, but  it  might  have  been

more sweet irony. Leia was heading for the bridge when the  transport  sounded

general quarters. By the time she reached the command  center,  the  ship  was

already being jarred by concussive explosions that tested the  mettle  of  the

shields.

"Ambassador Organa Solo," Commander Ilanka said from  his  swivel-mounted

chair, as violent light flashed outside the curved viewport. "Glad to have you

aboard. It's my understanding that you were last to board the evacuation ship.

"

"How much trouble are we in?" she asked, ignoring the sarcasm.

"I'd classify our situation as desperate verging on hopeless. Other  than

that, we're in fine shape."

"Do we have jump capability?"

"Navicomputer's working on coordinates,"  the  navigator  said  from  her

console.

"Coralskippers in pursuit," an enlisted-rating added. Leia glanced at the

target-assessment screen, which displayed twenty  or  more  arrowhead  shapes,

closing fast on the ship. She turned to look out on  Gyndine,  and  again  she

thought about the thousands she had been forced to abandon to  fate.  Then  it

suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't seen Wurth Skidder aboard the shuttle

or during her passage through the transport. She was about to  page  him  over

the comm when the evac craft's flight officer  stepped  onto  the  bridge.  He

remembered Skidder, along with Leia's orders.

"But when you told me to make sure they got aboard, I  thought  you  were

referring to the mother and child, not their rescuer." He showed Leia a docile

look. "I apologize, Ambassador, but he didn't have the slightest  interest  in

coming aboard. Who is he?"

"Someone who  thinks  he  can  save  the  galaxy  single-handedly,"  Leia

mumbled.

On Gyndine, explosions began to blossom along the transitor and deep into

the planet's dark side. A fiery speck  in  the  night,  the  planet's  orbital

shipyard slowly disintegrated. Leia became dizzy  at  the  sight  and  had  to

steady herself against a bulkhead. The explosions didn't so much stir memories

as prompt a troubling vision of some event yet to come.

A tone sounded from the navicomputer. "Hyper-space  coordinates  received

and locked in," the navigator announced.

The ship shuddered. Starlight elongated, as if the  past  were  making  a

desperate bid to forestall the future, and the transport jumped.

* * *

Crouched in the shadows of the smoldering embassy building, Wurth Skidder

watched the last of the troop carriers take to the scudded sky.  Thousands  of

Gyndine's indigenous forces had fallen back to the gated compound on  the  off

chance of being evacuated with New Republic effectives. Few  had  been  taken,

however, and many of those who had were officers with political ties to Corus-

cant or other Core worlds.

There was still some furious fighting going  on  in  the  city,  but  the

majority of ground troops, realizing that their hopes for salvation  had  left

with the last ship out, had tossed aside their repeating blasters and stripped

off their uniforms in the belief that the Yuuzhan  Vong  would  go  easier  on

noncombatants.

Which just went to show  how  slowly  news  traveled  to  remote  worlds,

Skidder thought ruefully.

When it came to sacrificing captives to their gods,  the  enemy  drew  no

such distinctions. In fact, in some cases a uniform-or at least evidence of  a

fighting spirit-could mean the difference between the mercifully  quick  death

the Yuuzhan Vong offered those who measured up to their warlike ideals and the

lingering death they reserved for those taken into  captivity.  He  had  heard

rumors about captives undergoing dismemberment and vivisection;  others  about

shiploads of captives being launched into the heart of stars to ensure victory

for the Yuuzhan Vong.

As if the invaders needed a helping hand.

The  gasbag,  fire-breathing  abominations  that  had  torched  Gyndine's

forests and turned lakes into boiling cauldrons were gathered on  the  eastern

outskirts of the capital. Flame-carpet warheads couldn't  have  done  as  much

damage. Yuuzhan Vong infantry units-reptilian-humanoid  Chazrack  warriors-had

followed the fire  breathers  in  to  clean  out  pockets  of  resistance  and

generally mop up. The sky had actually brightened  slightly,  but  what  light

filtered in through smoke and scudding clouds was blotted  out  by  descending

drop ships.

One of them-a mesh tent pierced by crooked sticks-was hovering  over  the

embassy grounds now. Skidder had  just  changed  positions  to  get  a  better

vantage on the ship when its tentlike hull suddenly burst  open,  releasing  a

dozen or more huge, rod-shaped and bristled bundles that fell straight to  the

ground. Skidder didn't understand that they were living creatures until he saw

the bioluminescent eyespots, twitching antennae,  and  the  hundred  pairs  of

sucker-equipped legs that sprouted down the length of the segmented bodies.

He observed the creatures in undisguised awe. They had the  capacity  not

only to ambulate forward and backward, but also to skitter sideways-which they

commenced doing at once,  creating  a  living  perimeter  around  the  embassy

grounds and moving slowly inward, as a means of forcing  everyone  toward  the

center.

The sight of the creatures was enough to strike fear in the heart of  the

most valiant, but Skidder had the Force on his side and was  undaunted.  Large

as the creatures were, he was not without his own grab bag of  abilities,  and

he could easily vault his way to freedom if he wished. After that it would  be

a simple matter to conceal himself from the Yuuzhan Vong.  He  could  set  off

into the countryside, away from the devastation, and live  off  the  land,  as

many of Gyndine's residents had opted to do when word of the  imminent  attack

had spread. But Wurth Skidder wasn't a forager,  and  he  certainly  wasn't  a

deserter.

The fact that so few had lived to speak of their experi ences as captives

made it imperative that someone elect to be taken-someone with  more  interest

in winning the war than in understanding the enemy, as Caamasi Senator  Elegos

A'Kla had attempted to do, and been butchered for his efforts.

Danni Quee, an ExGal scientist who had been captured  shortly  after  the

Yuuzhan Vong's arrival at the ice world Helska 4,  had  told  Skidder  of  the

final days of another captive, Skidder's fellow Jedi  and  close  friend  Miko

Reglia. Quee had recounted the psychological tortures  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  and

their tentacled yammosk - their so-called  war  coordinator-had  inflicted  on

quiet and unassuming Miko in an attempt to break  him,  and  of  Miko's  death

during his and Quee's escape.

Vengeance went against the Jedi Code-as the code  was  taught  by  Master

Skywalker, at any rate. Vengeance, according to Skywalker, was a path  to  the

dark side. But there were other Jedi Knights,  as  powerful  as  Skywalker  in

Skidder's estimation, who took issue with some of the Master's teachings. Jedi

Master Kyp Durron, for one. It was whispered, even on Yavin 4 in the  wake  of

the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, that there were  times  when  darkness  had  to  be

fought with darkness. And the Yuuzhan Vong were nothing if  not  the  blackest

evil since Emperor Palpatine. Skidder was astute enough to recognize  that  he

was motivated in part by a desire to show Skywalker and the rest that  he  was

not some brash kid but a Jedi Knight of old, willing to put his  life  on  the

line-to sacrifice him self, if necessary-for a greater cause.

He rose from the shadows.

The outsize, insectile creatures loosed from the drop ship had  succeeded

in herding everyone to the center. Some of the  creatures  were  beginning  to

curl themselves into rings, corralling  their  captives  and  employing  their

numerous sucker-equipped legs  to  prevent  anyone  from  making  over-the-top

escapes.

Skidder tossed aside the lightsaber he had fashioned to replace  the  one

he'd lost at Ithor, along with everything else that might identify  him  as  a

Jedi Knight. Then he chose his moment. As one  of  the  creatures  approached,

pushing a score of beings in front of it, Skidder rushed forward, infiltrating

the fleeing group before the creature had made a complete circle of itself-and

much to the bafflement of a group of Ryn in whose midst he landed.

As the bioengineered creature joined its head to its tail parts,  Skidder

found himself pressed face-to-face with  a  Ryn  female,  whose  oblique  eyes

mirrored her terror. He reached down and took her long-fingered hand.

"Take heart," he said in Basic, "help has arrived."

"Handles just as well as she always did," Han announced  confidently,  as

the newly matte-black Millennium Falcon left behind a  lush  little  world  of

green and purple forest.

"A simple coat of paint and you're  feeling  invulnerable,"  Droma  said,

frowning. "Who would have guessed?"

* * *

Han made  adjustments  to  the  Falcon's  drives.  "Next  stop,  Sriluur.

Somebody once described it as the source of every foul wind that blows through

the galaxy, but-" "You figure they were just being kind," Droma completed. Han

glanced at the Ryn, absurdly  small  in  the  oversize  chair  that  had  been

Chewbacca's. "Haven't I  warned  you  about  doing  that?  Anyway,  quit  your

worrying. I've been to Sriluur more times than I can count. And  let  me  tell

you, dodging Imperial bulk cruisers was a lot harder than dodging Yuuzhan Vong

battleships."

"Han Solo has been to Sriluur," Droma pointed out, growing more agitated.

"Unless you plan on revealing your true identity, you're just another  scruffy

spacer with a freshly painted ship and a death wish."

Han scowled, stroking the mostly gray growth on his chin as he  tried  to

catch  a  glimpse  of  his  reflection  in  the  closest  of   the   cockpit's

transparisteel panes.

"Quit your worrying," Droma mimicked him, "the beard looks fine. But it's

not going to keep us from arousing suspicion when we  start  asking  questions

about Yuuzhan Vong prisoner ships."

"Maybe not, but Sriluur's worth the risk. The Wee-quays might not be  the

most attractive folks in the galaxy, but they're real good at keeping  an  ear

to the ground. And if anyone can tell us where to start  looking  for  Roa  or

your clanmates, it'll be them."

Droma tugged nervously at his mustache. "Let's just hope  your  pheromone

levels are up to it."

Han waved a hand in dismissal. "They only  communicate  like  that  among

their own kind. I always managed to get by with Basic." He smirked. "I'd  like

to see you second-guess what a Weequay's about to say."

"Scent."

"Huh?"

"What a Weequay is about to scent."

Han put his tongue in his cheek, nodded slowly, and threw switches on the

navicomputer. "Maybe we'll get lucky at Sriluur and have  to  put  down  in  a

sandstorm," he said in a casual way.

"Extra concealment for the ship?"

Han snarled at him. "No, so I can see how much sand it takes to plug that

perpetual motion machine you call a mouth."

Droma grimaced, then sighed with purpose. "I guess I just don't like  the

idea of venturing so close to Hutt space-with or without Yuuzhan Vong  in  the

area. There's no love lost between Hutts and Ryn. Many of us were enslaved  by

them to provide entertainment in one court or another. Some  of  my  ancestors

were required to prognosticate for a Desilijic  Hutt.  When  predicted  events

didn't come to pass, the Hutt would have a Ryn killed by his henchmen  or  fed

to a court beast."

"True to form," Han said. "But you've got my word,  no  Hutt'll  stop  us

from locating your clanmates.  We'll  have  your  family  back  together  soon

enough."

"Then we can make a start on yours," Droma  mumbled.  Han  threw  him  an

angry glance. "You want to explain that?"

Droma turned to him. "You and Leia to begin with. If it weren't  for  me,

you'd be with her now. I only hope she can find it in her heart to forgive me.

"

Han compressed his lips. "You've got  nothing  to  do  with  what's  come

between us. Heck, it's not even between me and Leia. It's between  me  and"-he

flicked his hand at the starfield beyond the viewpoint-"this."

Droma didn't speak for a  moment,  then  said,  "Even  friends  can't  be

protected from fate, Han."

"Don't talk to me about fate," Han snapped.  "Nothing's  fixed-not  these

stars and definitely not what happens to us in life." He clenched  his  hands.

"These are what determine my fate."

"And yet even you end up in situations that are not of your making."

"Like my being with you, for instance."

Droma frowned. "I've lost friends and loved ones  to  tragedy,  and  I've

tried to do exactly what you're doing."

Han looked up at him. "What I'm doing?"

"Trying to beat tragedy by outracing it. Filling your life to  the  brim,

even when it puts you in danger. Burying your heartache under as much anger as

you can muster, without realizing that you've  shoveled  love  and  compassion

into the same grave. We live for love,  Han.  Without  it  we  might  as  well

jettison everything."

Despite himself, Han thought about Leia on  Gyndine,  Jaina  flying  with

Rogue Squadron, Anakin and Jacen off to who knew where with the Jedi. When  he

considered, even for a split second, where he might be without them, the angry

words and recriminations that had spewed from him since Chewie's death pierced

him like rapid fire. If something should happen to them, he started to  think,

only to feel a great black maw opening beneath him, undermining everything  he

believed in. Protectively, he tugged himself from dark imaginings.

"I got along just fine without love for a lot of years,  Droma.  Love  is

what starts things rolling downhill. It's like being  sucked  into  a  gravity

well or being caught by a tractor beam. You get too close, there's no escape."

Droma nodded, as if in understanding. "So your mistake was in befriending

Chewbacca to begin with. You would have been better off keeping your distance.

Then you wouldn't be grieving now."

"Befriending him wasn't a mistake," Han said.

"But if you'd kept your guard raised all those  years,  you  would  never

have grown as close to him as you did."

"Okay, that was a risk I took. But that was then."

"Let me suggest an alternative error. You didn't see his death coming and

you're angry that you let your guard down."

"You're right about that. I should've been more vigilant."

"So let's suppose you did everything you could and  still  failed.  Would

you be grieving now, or would doing everything have satisfied  you  enough  so

that you wouldn't miss him?"

"Of course I'd still miss him."

"Then who are you angry at-yourself for the things you didn't do, or fate

for having snuck up on you?" Han swallowed hard. "All I know is I  won't  make

that mistake again. I'll be ready for anything fate dishes out."

"And if you fail again?" Han glared at him. "I won't." Deep in one of the

fathomless canyons formed by Cor-uscant's soaring  superstructures,  Sullustan

Admiral Sien Sow switched off his private comlink and relayed the tragic  news

to the twelve officers seated in the recently  readied  New  Republic  Defense

Force war room.

"Gyndine is lost."

The uncomfortable silence  that  greeted  the  announcement  came  as  no

surprise. The planet's fall had been a foregone conclusion from the moment  it

had been iden tified as a target. Filling the silence,  machines  whirred  and

hummed as they received and processed intelligence updates from all sectors of

New Republic space. In pro jected light, virtual battle  groups  of  starships

moved lazily among virtual worlds.

"For allowing this to happen, we are all diminished,"  Brigadier  General

Etahn A'baht remarked at last, voicing what many in the  room  were  thinking.

And yet the silence lingered.

"While I  number  myself  among  those  who  in  the  end  voted  against

dispatching a force of suitable might to safeguard  Gyndine,"  the  aubergine-

skinned Dornean went on, "I wish to reiterate the remarks I  made  during  the

arguments preceding that regrettable decision. By all but surrendering  worlds

like Gyndine, we reinforce widespread conviction  that  the  New  Republic  is

interested only in protecting the Core, and in  doing  so  we  play  into  the

enemy's hand by weakening ourselves from within."

A scornful muttering rose from across the oblong  table,  and  all  heads

turned to Commodore Brand. "Perhaps it would have been wiser to send an entire

fleet to Gyndine and thus deprive Kuat or Fondor of any defense."

A'baht stood his ground, meeting the dour human's gaze.

"Will that be your justification for allowing the Yuuzhan Vong to  occupy

the entire Inner Rim? Is the Inner Rim the  price  we're  willing  to  pay  to

protect the Core?" He paused for effect. "A wise action, Commodore,  would  be

to cease this exercise in selective defense and  begin  sending  forces  where

needed."

A'baht glanced around the table. "Doesn't it  disturb  any  of  you  that

threatened worlds have begun to surrender without a fight? That former  allies

have refused to allow us to use their systems as staging areas out of fear  of

reprisals by the Yuuzhan Vong?"

He continued before anyone could respond. "Even a  cursory  look  at  the

situation reveals that  those  populations  who,  at  our  urging,  mounted  a

resistance have seen their worlds poisoned or devastated, while those like the

Hutts, who have struck deals with the Yuuzhan  Vong,  have  escaped  bloodshed

entirely."

"You disgrace all of us by bringing the  Hutts  into  this,"  Brand  said

angrily. "Was their capitulation ever in doubt?"

A'baht made a placating gesture.  "I  offer  them  only  as  an  example,

Commodore. But the fact remains that Nal Hutta has been spared  the  ruination

visited on Dan-tooine, Ithor, Obroa-skai, and countless other worlds. My point

is that populations throughout the Mid Rim and the Expansion Region  are  fast

losing faith in our ability to put an end to  this  war-and  I  use  the  word

intentionally, since few of you seem to realize, even at this late stage,  the

great peril we face. Events are reaching a point where it's every  system  for

itself."

A'baht gestured broadly to the holoprojectors  and  screens.  "Even  this

space reflects our denial to embrace the  depths  of  our  peril.  Instead  of

meeting openly for all of Coruscant to see, we wind up down  here,  as  if  in

hiding from the truth."

"No one is hiding," Brand objected. "Thanks  to  the  ineptitude  of  the

Intelligence division, we came close  to  escorting  two  saboteurs  into  our

midst-or doesn't it matter to you that our security has been compromised?"

"The  saboteurs  were  after  the  Jedi,  not  us,"  Director  of   Fleet

Intelligence Addar Nylykerka interjected.

A'baht swung to him. "And why? Because, until Ithor, the  Jedi  were  the

ones who were leading the campaign. Now either we  assume  that  role,  or  we

allow the New Republic to splinter beyond  repair.  We  must  demonstrate  our

commitment to stopping the Yuuzhan Vong, and we must do so  before  additional

worlds fall."

He adopted a more affable tone. "I'm not saying that  security  isn't  an

issue; only that we set a proper example. By relocating to  Dometown  we  have

encouraged everyone to think in terms of concealment."

* * *

A kilometer-wide cavern of homes and buildings, Dometown  had  originally

been financed by a consortium of investors,  including  former  general  Lando

Calrissian. But the hundreds of thousands expected  to  abandon  the  frenetic

surface for underground tranquillity had never arrived, and the enterprise had

gone bankrupt. Repos sessed by banks and various credit unions,  the  would-be

community had ultimately become the property of the New Republic military.

"Already there are new hotels and restaurants being opened on the  lowest

levels," A'baht was saying, "in an ticipation that those  currently  fortunate

enough to live in Coruscant's lofty towers will have nowhere to  go  but  down

should the Yuuzhan Vong attack. And mark my words, there'll  be  no  survival,

even here. For if what  is  occurring  at  Sernpidal  and  Obroa-skai  is  any

indication, the Yuuzhan  Vong  will  remake  Coruscant  in  their  own  image,

entombing any who have fled to the depths."

"Has thought been given to just where we will go should Coruscant  fall?"

Ixidro Legorburu asked while most of the officers were mulling  over  A'baht's

dire prediction. A native of  M'haeli,  Legorburu  was  director  of  the  New

Republic's Battle Assessment Division.

"That will never happen," Sien Sow assured, then  lowered  his  voice  to

add, "Nevertheless, we're exploring options for relocating key government  and

military personnel to the Koornacht Cluster or, should worse  come  to  worst,

the Empress Teta system in the Deep Core."

"Key personnel," someone said leadingly.

The Sullustan admiral frowned. "It's a moot point,  in  any  case,  since

most of the proposals have met with op position  by  certain  members  of  the

senate."

Knowing glances were traded around the table.

"General A'baht's point about honoring our commitment to secondary worlds

is well taken," Sow said, "but I'm certain that even he would  be  willing  to

concede that sending a flotilla to Gyndine wouldn't have  slowed  the  enemy's

advance."

When everyone looked at A'baht for confirmation, he nodded,  though  with

obvious reluctance.

"The attack on Gyndine indicates a change in the enemy's battle campaign.

Clearly they are probing for weaknesses, perhaps routes into the Core. At  the

same time, there has  been  a  marked  increase  in  their  mining  of  select

hyperspace routes, which has narrowed our access to several outlying sectors."

"In other words, they're attempting to contain us," Brand said.

The diminutive Sow stood and directed everyone's at tention to a  holomap

that projected from the table's center, showing  the  current  disposition  of

Yuuzhan Vong forces. "This is what we have been able to  piece  together  from

direct observation, in addition to stasis probe re connaissance and hyperspace

orbiting scanners.

"As you can see, their fleets are concentrated between  Ord  Mantell  and

Obroa-skai, and now between Hutt space and Gyndine. Should they move  Coreward

from Obroa-skai, Bilbringi, Borleias, Venjagga, and Ord  Mirk  are  imperiled.

From Gyndine, Commenor, Kuat, and Corellia are vulnerable.  Analysis  suggests

that the conquest of Gyndine was effected to ready the way for  a  two-pronged

attack. Logic dictates that..."

"You err in believing that they strategize as we do," A'baht interrupted,

"when, in fact, they are  waging  a  psychological  war.  The  destruction  of

natural beauty and repositories of learning, the pursuit of  refugees...  such

tactics are meant to confound and dishearten us. The Yuuzhan Vong are as  much

as saying that the civilization we have fashioned means nothing to  them.  All

that we hold sacred is imperiled."

Impatience coaxed Brand out of his seat. "Spare us the rhetoric, General,

and come to the point. With such keen insight into the Yuuzhan  Vong,  you  no

doubt have some foreknowledge of where they will strike next." A'baht  squared

his shoulders. "The next targets will be Bothawui and Kothlis."

Everyone regarded the Dornean for a long moment. "You  have  evidence  to

support this?" Sow asked.

"No more than what you present to support your belief that they will push

for the Core. With their  forces  in  Hutt  space,  they  are  practically  at

Bothawui's door."

"So this is what he's been getting at," Brand muttered.

"He's finally gone over to Borsk Fey'lya's side. Fey'lya the warrior, the

hero of Ithor."

A'baht refused to speak to the remark. "I propose that  elements  of  the

Third and Fourth Fleets be relocated to Bothan  space  as  soon  as  possible.

Bothawui is where we should draw the line and  launch  our  counteroffensive."

Brand snorted derisively. "And if you're wrong? If  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  should

decide to assault Bilbringi, Kuat, or Mon Calamari instead?"

A'baht glowered. "Are you suggesting that those worlds are more important

than Bothawui?"

"I'm saying precisely that.  If  any  of  our  shipyards  fall,  the  New

Republic will topple."

"And if Bothawui falls?"

"We will mourn the loss, but the New Republic will survive."

A'baht shook his head in dismay. "Times  like  this  make  me  wish  that

Ackbar could be persuaded to come out of retirement."

Sow held up his hands to silence half  a  dozen  separate  conversations.

"Contrary to General A'baht's assertions, no scenarios have  been  ruled  out.

Based on current intel ligence, Bothawui is just as likely to be  targeted  as

Bil bringi. But more important, we are not simply standing by, waiting for the

Yuuzhan Vong to strike. Two plans have  already  been  put  into  action."  He

looked at Brand.

"Commodore, if you would be so kind."

A'baht leaned forward in interest.

"The first plan involves inducing the Hapes Consortium to join the fight,

" Brand said. "The Hapans are not only  well  armed  but  well  positioned  to

outflank the enemy. Indeed, the  Yuuzhan  Vong  may  have  skirted  the  Hapes

Cluster in order to avoid having to engage them."

"Then why should the Consortium worlds elect to get involved now?" A'baht

asked. "Why wouldn't they secure their own space as the Imperial Remnant  has,

or cut a deal, as the Hutts appear to have done?"

"Because the Consortium has allied with us in the  past,"  Sow  explained

calmly. "Following the Battle of Endor, they captured  several  Imperial  Star

Destroyers, but instead of holding on to those ships, they donated them to the

New Republic. Additionally, the Hapan queen mother's homeworld of Dathomir  is

threatened."

"More to the point," Brand interjected, "the Jedi re cently did the royal

family a favor by foiling a coup directed against  the  queen  mother.  It  is

hoped that Am bassador Organa Solo can persuade the rulers of the noble houses

to repay us in kind."

A'baht feigned a look of confusion. "The Jedi did them a favor,  and  yet

you've asked Organa Solo to intercede. To the best of my knowledge, she is not

a true member of that order. Or is it perhaps that she  was  once  courted  by

Prince Isolder?"

Brand fielded the question. "I won't deny that that didn't influence  our

decision to approach her."

"And she has agreed?"

"For a price. We had to promise to back her in seeking  added  funds  for

SELCORE-refugee relief. But, yes, she has agreed. She  will  leave  for  Hapes

immediately on her return from Gyndine."

A'baht allowed an uncertain nod. "And this other plan?"

Brand adjusted the fit of his collar. "We're hoping to lure  the  Yuuzhan

Vong into attacking the Corellian system."

For a moment, even A'baht was too  surprised  to  speak;  then  he  said,

"Corellia isn't Gyndine, Commodore. If it's your aim to  make  that  system  a

battlefield to avoid fouling Coruscant's space lanes, you will never  have  my

vote. Wasn't it enough that we stripped  the  Corellians  of  the  ability  to

defend themselves after the Centerpoint Station crisis?"

Sow  put  his  small  hands  on  the  table  and  leaned  toward  A'baht.

"Centerpoint Station is the very reason we  hope  to  lure  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

there."

Larger than the Death Star, the artifact had been dis  covered  to  be  a

hyperspace repulsor, used in the dim past and by an unknown race,  to  capture

and transport planets to the Corellian system. The station was also  a  weapon

of unparalleled power, both starbuster and interdiction field  generator,  and

eight years earlier had been employed as such by a group known as  the  Sacor-

rian Triad, in an unsuccessful attempt to achieve independence  from  the  New

Republic.

"Are you telling me that Centerpoint is operational?"

A'baht asked in disbelief. "The last I heard, it had been shutdown."

"It shut itself down," Brand snapped. "But as we  speak  several  hundred

scientists are attempting to return it to operational status. If  the  Yuuzhan

Vong can be encouraged to attack Corellia, we will use a Centerpoint-generated

interdiction field to prevent their ships from going to hyperspace  while  our

fleets attack from the rear."

"Much to the dismay of the species  of  the  Corellian  sector,  I  would

imagine," A'baht said. "After all, we didn't win many friends  by  interceding

in the system's attempts at self-governance. If memory  serves,  the  blowback

from that interference is what prompted Organa Solo  to  resign  as  chief  of

state."

Sow nodded. "But Governor-General Marcha is a New Republic appointee, and

she has given her conditional approval.  As  a  Corellian  citizen,  her  word

carries a lot of weight,  not  only  on  her  native  Drall  but  on  Selonia,

Corellia, and the Double Worlds. What's more, we haven't made the full  extent

of our plans known."

A'baht stared at him for a moment, then looked at Brand.

"As far  as  the  Corellians  know,  we're  readying  Center-point  as  a

defensive weapon, in lieu of stationing a flotilla there."

"How very noble of us," A'baht said in obvious disgust.

"Here they've been supplying us with Strident-class Star  Defenders,  and

we  withhold  the  fact  that  we're  planning  to  use  their  system  as   a

battleground. Just how do you plan to lure the Yuuzhan Vong into attacking?"

"By making Corellia appear too attractive a target  to  pass  up,"  Brand

said. "By leaving the system essentially unprotected."

A'baht stroked his jaw in thought. "It's bold, I'll grant that much.  But

have Fey'lya and the Advisory Council members been apprised of this plan?"

"They know only what Corellia knows," Brand  barked,  then  softened  his

tone to add, "Fey'lya would never sanction the rearming of Centerpoint-if only

to prevent Corellia from reaping such power." He laughed shortly. "Even in the

remote chance he did support us, how then could we ensure  that  word  of  the

plan wouldn't leak? Once that occurred, every world in  the  Corellian  system

would rise up in revolt."

A'baht snorted in displeasure. "Fey'lya's isn't the  only  voice  on  the

council. He can be overridden by a majority vote."

Brand and Sow traded looks. "From what we have been able  to  determine,"

the admiral said,  "three  of  the  council  members  would  certainly  follow

Fey'lya's lead. Four of the others could very well support us."

A'baht considered it. In response to the clamor  from  far-flung  sectors

for increased representation, two addi tional senators had been  appointed  to

the council since the poisoning of Ithor. "That's four against, four in favor.

Who is the unknown quantity?"

"The council's newest member," Brand said, "Senator ViqiShesh."

"Has anyone approached her?" A'baht asked. "Unofficially, of course?"

Brand shook his head. "Not yet."

Sow pressed his hands together. "Then I  suggest  we  do  so,  Commodore.

Before our window closes."

Ixidro Legorburu spoke up. "Is there any  hope  that  the  Hutts  can  be

persuaded to join us, actively or indirectly?"

"Intelligence agents on Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa have reported that  the

Hutts' decision to ally themselves with the Yuuzhan Vong is a ruse," Sow said.

"They apparently wish  to  serve  as  conduits  of  information  for  the  New

Republic."

"You accept that?" A'baht asked.

"Given their history of alliances, they wouldn't  align  themselves  with

anyone without having a contingency plan in place." Sow ran his hand down  his

prominently jowled face. "Even the Hutts can't risk being caught on the  wrong

side when the Yuuzhan Vong are defeated."

"When, not if," Commodore Brand said around an  arrogant  grin.  "I  find

such optimism refreshing."

A'baht frowned. "I find it wishful thinking."

* * *

From the waiting room of the great spired and onion-domed palace  of  Nal

Hutta's ruling Hutt, Nom Anor gazed out on a despoiled landscape  of  feculent

swamps, mold-covered stunted trees, and parcels of  wan  vermin-riddled  marsh

grass. Stained by a melange of industrial pollutants and spotted  with  flocks

of ungainly birds, the sky was a brooding ceiling,  frequently  lamenting  its

wretched state with lackluster showers of grimy rain. The  stilted,  destitute

precincts so abundant in the vicinity of the  spaceport  were  nowhere  to  be

seen, but the terrain itself reeked of impoverishment and decay.

"What a vile world this is," Commander Malik Carr commented as he  joined

Nom Anor at the bay window.

"The  Hutts  know  it  as  'Glorious  Jewel,'  "  the  executor   replied

nonchalantly. "But it's not without potential. The moon, Nar Shaddaa,  is  far

worse-completely encased by buildings and technology."

Malik Carr grunted. "I see no potential. But perhaps your  one  true  eye

sees more clearly than my pair." Nom Anor quirked a smile.  "I  have  been  in

this galaxy for  some  time,  Commander,  and  have  learned  to  look  beyond

appearances." He turned slightly in Malik Carr's direction. "Imagine Nal Hutta

as, say, a laboratory for genetic experimentation."

Malik Carr smiled slowly. "Yes, yes, even I can envision that."

Taller than Nom Anor, the commander  was  displayed  in  all  his  glory,

without ooglith masquer or cloaker. Malik Carr's incised face and  bare  upper

torso told of an illustrious military career.  Cinched  around  his  backward-

sloping forehead was a vibrant head cloth  whose  tassels  were  braided  into

lustrous black hair, forming a tail that hung nearly to  his  waist.  Recently

arrived from the galactic edge, where argosies waited eagerly for the war rior

caste to complete the invasion, the commander  had  been  charged  by  Supreme

Commander Nas Choka with overseeing the next phase of the conquest.

To keep his own identity concealed-even from  the  Hutts-as  well  as  in

deference to Malik Carr, Nom Anor wore an ooglith masquer  that  obscured  the

scars, augmentations, and like evidence of his sacrifices to the  gods,  along

with a prosthesis in the empty  eye  socket  that  normally  housed  a  venom-

spitting plaeryin bol.

Malik Carr swung from the window and planted his fists  on  his  hips  in

anger. "How dare this creature keep us waiting. Is he  completely  unaware  of

what he risks for himself and his pathetic world?"

"She, Commander," Nom Anor corrected. "Currently, at any rate. Hutts  are

said to be hermaphroditic. That is to say, male and female characteristics are

combined in each."

Malik Carr looked at him askance. "And just now this one is female?"

"Fully female, as you will see. As for the prolonged wait,  it's  nothing

more than tradition."

"But the precedent..."

"Don't concern yourself with precedent. I have a plan  for  dealing  with

this outmoded formality."

As the two Yuuzhan Vong walked toward the center of the  antechamber,  an

entourage of ten honor guards and as many attendants snapped to attention. The

guards wore vonduun crab armor and carried living amphistaffs and doubled-edge

coufee knives. The female attendants were attired in veils, tunics, and cloaks

that left visible only the sinuous markings that adorned their bared arms.

Malik Carr acknowledged the guards' brisk  salutes  and  sat  down  on  a

cushioned bench. Nom Anor remained standing. The waiting room's  high  ceiling

was supported by a dozen stately if moldy pillars. The floor was made  of  cut

stone polished to a dazzling sheen, and woven  textiles  of  intricate  design

graced the walls.

A bright-green, orb-eyed biped of medium size  entered  the  antechamber.

The creature's lumpy head featured twin hornlike appendages, pointed ears, and

a narrow crest of yellow spines. Its long,  tapered  fingers  appeared  to  be

equipped with suction cups.

"A Rodian," Nom Anor supplied quietly.  "A  bellicose  species  given  to

warfare and bounty hunting. This one is the Hutt's majordomo, Leenik."

Leenik approached his master's guests, his stubby snout twitching. "Borga

the Almighty is prepared to grant you audience now," he said in Basic.

Malik Carr shot  Nom  Anor  a  vexed  glance.  The  entire  Yuuzhan  Vong

entourage stood and began to trail the  Rodian  through  an  enormous  doorway

flanked by thickset churlish guards, whose pointed lower  teeth  and  forehead

tusks were perfectly matched.

"I suggest you take a deep breath before we enter," Nom Anor advised  the

commander.

"Is the Hutt odor so unbearable?"

"Picture bathing in a reopened grave."

Malik Carr grimaced and sucked in his breath. The vaulted ceiling of  the

opulent court was even higher than  that  of  the  antechamber,  and  floating

midway to the ceiling  on  a  bolstered  antigravity  couch  was  an  outsize,

bulbous-headed slug  whose  disproportionately  short  arms  might  have  been

vestigial were the small hands they ended  in  not  beckoning  imperiously  to

Malik Carr and Nom Anor. Atmosphere  exchangers  were  working  overtime,  but

there was enough residual rankness in the air to  make  the  commander's  eyes

water. Sybaritic toadies sprawled  about  on  couches  and  carpets-musicians,

gunsels, and scantily attired dancers, all of diverse species. Chained to  one

wall, though obviously a pet, was a ferocious-looking beast Nom Anor  knew  to

be a Kintan strider.

Borga favored Nom Anor with a look. "How pleasant to see you again,"  her

deep voice boomed. "Come and sit beneath me."

Nom Anor-whom Borga knew as Pedric Cuf, and who  claimed  to  be  nothing

more than an intercessor between the Yuuzhan Vong and the Hutts-smiled without

showing his teeth and remained where he was, a good distance from the repulsor

platform. At his hand signal the attendants conveyed to the center of the room

several ornate boxes of the sort that might contain tribute. Nom Anor went  to

the closest box and opened the lid. Almost  immediately  the  levitated  couch

gave a shudder and crashed loudly to the stone floor,  nearly  spilling  Borga

the Almighty into her coterie of shocked sycophants.

"I'm terribly sorry," Nom Anor said, as the chagrined Hutt  struggled  to

regain her former composure. "I didn't  realize  that  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  had

brought along a finely tuned dovin basal for your amusement. The creature  was

apparently offended by your couch's attempt to outwit gravity and  decided  to

rectify the imbalance by catching hold of it."

Nom Anor was proficient at mimicking the subhar-monics that furnished the

Hutt language with nuance. Even so,  Borga  had  difficulty  establishing  the

sincerity of the apology. Her oblique, heavy-lidded eyes blinked in confusion,

then she quickly propped herself up, putting a curl in  her  muscular  purple-

patched tail, and gestured for two of her attendants to bring chairs  for  her

guests. The commander and the executor seated themselves with decorum, careful

not to demonstrate too much  smugness  over  their  small  victory,  though  a

fleeting smile did escape Malik Carr.

"The Yuuzhan Vong have brought other wonders, as  well,"  Nom  Anor  said

finally.

Once more at his signal two attendants placed  an  aquarium  well  within

Borga's limited reach, its murky waters hosting a variety of fist-sized  life-

forms, the likes of which the Hutt had never seen. Borga  whispered  something

to Leenik, and the majordomo fished  one  of  the  creatures  from  the  tank,

sniffed at it, and took a cautious bite. At the Rodian's  mildly  enthusiastic

nod, Borga snatched the thing from Leenik's long-fingered hands, swallowed  it

whole, and loosed a resonant and lengthy belch of sat isfaction.

"Another," she ordered.

This time Borga opened her jaws so wide that Nom Anor could  almost  hear

the living morsel plop into her enormous stomach cavity. She belched again and

ran her powerful tongue over her lips and nostrils.

"A bit like a Carnovian eel-pup, but with just a hint of  the  resistance

one expects from the finest nala-tree frogs supplied by Fhnark  and  Company,"

she said, as only a gourmand could. "All in all, on a par  with  some  of  the

classic droch appetizers fashioned by Zubindi Ebsuk." She turned her  gaze  on

Nom Anor. "How did you come by these, Pedric Cuf? On which world can  they  be

found?"

"None  in  this  galaxy."  Nom  Anor   smiled   pleasantly.   "They   are

bioengineered."

The Hutt glanced at Malik Carr. "He created them?"

"Not personally. A Yuuzhan Vong shaper did so."

"And this... this shaper could replicate the product?"

"I'm certain he could." Nom Anor stood and gestured respectfully to Malik

Carr. "Borga, permit me to intro  duce  Commander  Malik  Carr,  who  will  be

overseeing this sector of space."

The Hutt blinked. "Overseeing?"

Head canted slightly to one side, Malik Carr regarded her for what seemed

an eternity. "You speak for all of your kind?" he asked in passable Huttese.

Borga's blubbery body stiffened proudly. "I do. And I  have  been  vested

with the power to negotiate with your species."

"By whom have you been vested?"

"By the leaders of the voting kajidics, as well as the Grand Council."

"Kajidics?" Malik Carr said to Nom Anor.

"Criminal syndicates," Nom Anor told him in their own tongue.

Malik Carr continued to appraise  Borga  openly.  "Yours  is  the  ruling

kajidic, then?"

"I am Borga Besadii Diori, cousin of Durga Besadii Tai, son of  Aruk  the

Great, brother of Zavval. Wealthiest and most powerful of the Besadii kajidic,

I lord over the Desilijic, the Trinivii, the  Ramesh,  Shell,  and  all  other

clans. All the three billion of this world pay obei..."

"You are male or female?" Malik Carr cut her off.

Borga blinked. "Just now I am with child." She indicated a pouch, low  in

her bulging abdomen.

"You birth live offspring?" Malik Carr said in obvious astonishment. When

Borga nodded, the commander's jaw dropped ever so slightly. "Like one  of  our

lowliest caste women,"  he  remarked  to  Nom  Anor.  Borga's  broad  forehead

wrinkled in uncertainty. "Let us talk business,"  Malik  Carr  said  abruptly.

"As... Pedric Cuf has undoubtedly apprised you, the Yuuzhan Vong have need  of

some of your worlds-for purposes of resource gathering. To effect this, we may

be required to remove entire populations,  and  in  some  cases  remake  those

worlds we select."

"Yes, so Pedric Cuf has explained," Borga said after a long  moment.  "In

fact, we Hutts know a good deal about remaking worlds. When  we  arrived  here

from Varl, for example, Glorious Jewel was not the paradise you see now, but a

primitive world  of  dense  forests  and  untamed  seas.  There  was  even  an

indigenous species called the Evocii, who  we  were  obliged  to  relocate  on

Glorious Jewel's moon, where the pitiful  creatures  gradually  died  out.  By

then, of course, we had replaced all Evocii structures with proper palaces and

shrines..."

Malik Carr glanced at Nom Anor while Borga prattled on.

"She looks like something our shapers might have cooked up."

Nom Anor laughed shortly. "It's true. I thought the  same  thing  when  I

first laid eyes on her."

Borga had stopped talking and was eyeing Malik Carr with misgiving.  "I'm

afraid you have me at a disadvantage,  Commander,"  she  said,  with  cheerful

servility. "While  I've  made  some  progress  in  the  tutorials  Pedric  Cuf

supplied, I'm not yet fully conversant with your language."

Nom Anor cleared his throat. "The commander was just saying that he loves

what you've done with the place." Borga managed  a  dubious  smile.  "In  that

case, let us return to talking business, as you say."

Malik Carr nodded politely.

"In exchange for granting you the use of certain worlds-one of  which  we

have already provided, as a demonstration of good faith-we Hutts  are  obliged

to ask the Yuuzhan Vong to keep clear of Rimward Hutt  space  in  general,  as

well as to avoid the worlds  Rodia,  Ryloth,  Tatooine,  Kessel,  and  certain

planets in the Si'klaata Cluster and Kathol sector."

Borga raised her voice in anticipation of objections.

"I'm well aware that you have a fleet of ships anchored at  the  edge  of

the Y'Toub system, but we Hutts are not without our resources and weapons, and

a war against us  would  only  sidetrack  you  from  your  principal  goal  of

defeating the New Republic." She stopped herself. "That is your  goal,  is  it

not?"

Malik Carr and Nom Anor exchanged brief looks of  bemusement  before  the

commander  replied.  "Our  goals  should  not  concern  you  at  this   point.

Furthermore, it would be premature to decide which of us has rights  to  which

worlds when we have yet to see whether our part  nership  will  succeed.  That

decision, in any event, will ultimately be made by Supreme  Overlord  Shimrra.

In the meantime, I suggest you broach the  matter  with  my  direct  superior,

Supreme Commander Nas Choka, who will certainly wish to meet with you when  he

arrives in Hutt space, some days from now."

Borga nodded. "I will gladly grant him audience, and I  will  do  as  you

suggest and discuss terms with him. I do, however, wish to  propose  something

for your immediate consideration. In addition to other enterprises,  we  Hutts

have both a fondness for and  a  long  history  of  slave  trading.  With  our

expertise and our well-established net work  of  space  lanes  and  hyperspace

routes, it occurs to me that we might best serve the interests of the  partner

ship, as you say, by overseeing the transportation  of  cap  tives,  laborers,

servants, and fodder for sacrifices-a task for which we are  uniquely  suited.

That way, the Yuuzhan Vong needn't  employ  their  own  ships  for  the  lowly

purpose of conveying  inferior  beings  to  their  well-deserved  castigation,

enslavement, or immolation."

"In return for what?" Malik Carr asked mildly.

"Your promise not to interfere with  the  movement  of  spice  and  other

proscribed goods."

"Spice?" Malik Carr asked Nom Anor.

"Recreational euphoriants-some of which are arachnid by-products."

Borga followed the exchange, then clapped her hands.

Human servants appeared bearing trays mounded with  crystalline  powders,

varying in both composition and color.

"Here you see examples of glitterstim and the kor grade  of  the  mineral

ryll," Borga said, indicating one mound after the next.  "And  there  you  see

carsunum, lumni-spice, gree spice, and andris." She  paused  to  regard  Malik

Carr.

"If you would care to sample any one of them..." Malik  Carr  lifted  his

hand in a negative gesture.

"Some other time  perhaps,"  Borga  said  graciously.  "But  what  of  my

proposal?"

Nom Anor turned to Malik Carr with purposeful excitement.

"It does suit Supreme Commander Nas  Choka's  plan  to  gather  resistant

populations  onto  a  few  select  worlds  for  indoctrination  and  security,

Commander." Malik Carr nodded noncommittally, then looked at Borga.

"You have no qualms about betraying the sundry species  who  embrace  the

tenets of the New Republic?"

Borga loosed a sinister guffaw. "Certainly no more than Pedric  Cuf  has.

After all, Commander, business is business, and if anyone is  to  profit  from

the galaxy's new circumstances, it may as well be the Hutts."

"So be it," Malik Carr said with finality.

Borga grinned broadly. "One more small item, Commander. Since it would be

to our mutual advantage that Hutt supply ships  refrain  from  unintentionally

bumbling into your operations, is it too much to ask that we be advised of any

imminent, uh, activities?"

Malik Carr cut his eyes to Nom Anor. "Exactly as you predicted."

Nom Anor returned a barely perceptible nod. "Negotiation is also part  of

their tradition."

"You do have a keen eye, Executor."

"A practiced one, Commander."

Borga watched them without comprehending.

"We were just discussing the terms," Nom Anor explained.

"Consider our request an accommodation," Borga said offhandedly. "A  show

of confidence."

"What you ask seems harmless enough," Malik Carr allowed.

"As you say,  Borga,  we  certainly  wouldn't  want  your  spice  vessels

inadvertently disrupting our activities."

"As I say, Commander."

"Until further notice, then,  you  may  want  to  consider  avoiding  the

Tynnani, Bothan, and Corellian systems. Tynna, especially so."

Borga's  broad  grin  returned  with  interest.  "Tynna,  Bothawui,   and

Corellia... As it happens, Commander, we do limited business in all  of  those

systems."

Malik Carr sniffed arrogantly. " I suggest you reduce  your  business  to

zero."

No sooner had the Yuuzhan Vong entourage left the palace than three Hutts

hurried into Borga's court. A young Hutt, uniformly tan in color, slithered in

on his own power; an older one, with a stripe of  green  pigmentation  running

down his spine and tapered tail, was borne in on a litter supported by a dozen

leathery-skinned Weequays; and an even more aged one, sporting  a  wispy  gray

beard, made use of a hoversled.

The latter Hutt, Pazda Desilijic  Tiure-uncle  of  the  celebrated  Jabba

Desilijic Tiure-was the first to voice his outrage.

"Who do they think they are, making demands of the Hutts,  as  though  we

were some trifling species concerned only with escaping bloodshed? That  Malik

Carr, he reminded me of the worst of Palpatine's Imperial moffs. And  the  one

who calls himself Pedric Cuf was  equally  treacherous-speaking  out  of  both

sides of his mouth."

Pazda showed Borga his most  austere  expression.  "The  Desilijic  would

never have permitted such indignities to take  place  in  their  court.  Jabba

would have fed Malik Carr and Pedric Cuf to a rancor  and  taken  his  chances

with the Yuuzhan Vong fleet."

"Like he took his chances with Jedi Master Sky-walker?" the  young  Hutt,

Randa Besadii Diori, remarked.

"Personally, I always felt that Tatooine's  aridity  wreaked  havoc  with

Jabba's judgment." Elevating himself on his powerful tail, he  nodded  at  his

parent, Borga.

"You handled them expertly."

"Impertinent pup," Pazda wheezed.  "What  do  you  know  of  judgment  or

strategy, growing up as you have in wealth and privilege?"

"One thing I know, old Hutt, is that I will  never  lose  my  wealth  and

privilege," Randa told him now.

"Enough of this," the littered Hutt, Gardulla  the  Younger,  chimed  in,

impaling Randa with his gaze.

"Respect your elders-even when you don't agree with them." He ordered his

muscular bearers to steer him closer to Borga, nodding in regard as he  neared

the chief Besadii's levitated couch. "To deceive an  enemy,  pretend  to  fear

him."

The grin Borga had worn for Malik Carr and Nom Anor had been replaced  by

a look of narrow-eyed fury. "Better to have the Yuuzhan Vong overestimate  our

subservience than our shrewdness."

Gardulla laughed without mirth. "You  succeeded  in  tricking  them  into

revealing their next targets."

"As I promised you I would."

"Such intelligence is potentially invaluable. Do we now  inform  the  New

Republic of the invaders'  designs?"  Borga  shook  her  head.  "New  Republic

Intelligence operatives have already been making overtures. Let  us  wait  and

see what they bring to the bargaining table."

"It had better be an offer of great worth," Randa said. Gardulla  ignored

the comment. "No doubt the Yuuzhan Vong will expect us to reveal their plan."

"No doubt," Borga agreed. "That's why we  will  make  no  move.  The  New

Republic will have to come to us."

She lowered the couch to the floor. "When Xim the Despot  and  his  droid

legions attempted to invade Hutt space, the  great  Kossak  defeated  them  at

Vontor and sent them fleeing for the Tion Hegemony. And when Moff  Sarn  Shild

attempted to blockade Nal Hutta and destroy our  moon,  the  great  clans  set

aside their differences to manipulate weak Imperials  and  send  their  forces

fleeing, as well."

She paused to glance in turn at Pazda, Randa, and Gardulla  the  Younger.

"We have weathered many storms, and we will weather this one,  as  well.  With

care, we can play the New Republic against the invaders for the betterment  of

the Hutts."

"And we won't need a bungled Death Star to do  it,"  Pazda  muttered,  in

reference to Durga's failed Darksaber Project.

Borga glowered at him. "Insult my family again, and this  court  will  no

longer be available to you."

Pazda mustered a chastised look. "Excuse the grumbling  that  comes  with

advanced age, Your Highness."

Gardulla shook with  sinister  laughter.  "As  my  parent  used  to  say,

'There's always enough to divide-enough to  keep,  enough  to  spread  around,

enough to be stolen - as long as you're first to get to it.' "

Borga laughed with him. "For the time being, let the word go out  to  our

subcontractors to exercise caution in their transactions and deliveries."  She

glanced at Leenik. "Who manages our affairs in the targeted systems?"

The Rodian dipped his head in a curt bow. "Boss Bunji oversees  shipments

to Corellia; Crev Bombaasa to Tynna and Bothawui."

Borga licked her lips. "Inform  them  to  suspend  all  business  to  the

threatened systems-and to double their efforts  elsewhere."  She  clapped  her

hands loudly, awak ening those sycophants who had  dozed  off.  "Let  us  have

music and dancing in celebration of this day!"

5

Leia paced from bulkhead to bulkhead in her cramped  cabin  space  aboard

the New Republic transport. Head moving back and  forth,  servos  whining  and

whirring,  C-3PO  tracked  her  movements,  while  Olmahk  and  Leia's  second

bodyguard, Basbakhan, stood vigilantly to either side of the curved hatch.  An

illuminated planetary crescent of blue and brown dominated the view  from  the

cabin's transparisteel observation bay.

A tone sounded from the communications suite, bringing Leia to  a  sudden

halt.

"Ambassador," a raspy voice said, "we have  the  Rall-tiiri  minister  on

channel one."

C-3PO pressed a lighted tile on the console, and the head  and  shoulders

of a gray-haired man resolved in life-size holo. "Madam Ambassador,"  the  man

said as Leia positioned herself for the visual pickup. "To what do I owe  this

honor?"

Leia frowned in anger. "Don't trifle with me, Minister Shirka.  Why  have

we been refused landing privileges at Grallia Spaceport?"

Shirka's deeply lined face twitched. "I'm sorry, Am bassador,  I  thought

you'd already been informed."

"Informed of what?"

"The Ralltiiri Secretariat  has  vetoed  the  proposal  that  would  have

allowed us to accept any displaced peoples."

"I thought so," Leia fumed. "And just what am I supposed to do  with  the

six thousand refugees who were promised temporary shelter on Ralltiir?"

"I'm afraid that's not for me to decide."

"But the Secretariat agreed to this last week. What  could  have  changed

since then?"

Shirka looked uncomfortable. "It's rather complicated. But to be concise,

the idea of accepting refugees didn't  sit  well  with  several  of  our  more

influential off-world investors. That, of course, led  the  central  banks  to

pressure the Ministry of Finance, and..."

"I assured you that the New Republic Senate had approved  the  allocation

of funds for Ralltiir."

"So you did, Ambassador, but the promised funds have not arrived, and  to

be frank there is rampant talk that  they  never  will.  As  it  is,  investor

confidence has been shaken. And as I'm sure  you're  aware,  what  happens  on

Ralltiir affects market response all along the Perlemian Trade Route."

Leia folded her arms. "This isn't some stock  issue,  Minister.  This  is

about everyone pulling together to help. What's happening in the Mid Rim might

not seem of pressing importance here in the Core, but you're fooling  yourself

if you think you can hide from this. Have you  al  ready  forgotten  what  the

Emperor did when Ralltiir lent its support to the Alliance?"

Shirka bristled. "Is that meant to be a threat, Ambassador?"

"You misunderstand. I'm only suggesting that  you  consider  the  heinous

actions of Lord Tion and Governor  Dennix  Graeber  as  prelude  to  what  the

Yuuzhan Vong are capable of doing-and without provocation.  Remember  what  it

was like to be denied relief, Minister?  Remember  what  Alderaan  risked  for

Ralltiir?"

Shirka worked his jaw. "Your mission of mercy at that time has  not  been

forgotten. But, then, the Alliance did receive something in return..."

Shirka's allusion was clear. A wounded Imperial soldier Leia rescued  had

been the first to tell of Palpatine's superweapon, the Death Star.

"Regardless of who  gained  what,"  she  said  after  a  moment,  "is  it

Ralltiir's intention to remain neutral in the coming storm to avoid disturbing

the privileged lives of its wealthy residents and investors?"

Anger mottled Shirka's face. "This conversation is over, Ambassador,"  he

said, and terminated the connection. Leia glanced at C-3PO and  blew  out  her

breath. "Of all the..."

"Ambassador," the same raspy voice  interrupted.  "Governor-General  Amer

Tariq of Rhinnal on channel four."

C-3PO pressed another tile, and a miniature image of Tariq rose from  the

holoprojector.

"Leia," the elder statesman and noted physician began,

"I'm so glad to see  you  safe  and  sound."  Tariq  wore  an  impeccably

tailored suit, whose mix of colors was too vivid for the holo.

"Thank you, Amer. Did you receive my message?"

"I did, Leia. But I'm sorry to report that I don't have encouraging news.

Rhinnal cannot possibly accept addi tional refugees at this time,  even  on  a

temporary basis." Leia was confounded. "Amer, if this is about funds..."

He gave his head a firm shake. "Don't confuse Rhinnal with  Ralltiir,  my

dear. It's simply that the ten thousand refugees we received from Ord  Mantell

have strained our resources to the breaking  point.  Just  yesterday  we  were

forced to reroute more than two thousand to the Ruan system."

Leia's eyebrows went up. "Ruan is still accepting exiles?"

"More than accepting; Ruan is actually soliciting. In fact,  I'm  certain

that Ruan would be willing and able to accommodate everyone you evacuated from

Gyndine."

One of a host of agricultural worlds managed by Sal-liche Ag Corporation,

Ruan, on the edge of the Deep Core between  Coruscant  and  the  Empress  Teta

system, was by galactic standards only a short jump away.

"Let's hope so, Amer," Leia said.

"My humblest apologies, my dear."

The transmission ended abruptly, and Leia collapsed  into  a  chair.  She

brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.  "Maybe  I'll  get  some  rest

after Ruan," she started to tell C-3PO when the comm tone sounded again.

"Yes?" she directed to the audio pickup.

"A transmission of unknown origin, relayed from Bilbringi."

Leia sighed wearily. "What now?"

"I believe it's your husband, Ambassador."

A snowy image appeared on the  communication  console's  display  screen.

Leia recognized the forward cargo hold of the  Millennium  Falcon,  though  it

took her a moment to recognize Han behind the beard.

"How do you like my new look?" he  asked,  stroking  the  salt-and-pepper

growth.

"Han, where are you?"

He swiveled the navicomputer chair. "I'd rather not say just now."

She nodded in a galled but knowing way. "How did you know where  to  find

me?"

"I heard about Gyndine. Wasn't too difficult  after  that.  You're  still

well known, whether you like it or not."

"So are you, Han. And for all anyone knows, the  Yuuzhan  Vong  could  be

hunting for you or the Falcon."

Han's brows beetled and his mouth formed a puckered O.

"I'm not a complete blockhead, you know. That's why I grew the beard  and

had the Falcon painted."

Leia's eyes widened. "Painted?"

"Anodized, actually. A lovely shade of matte  black.  She  looks  like  a

mortician's delight."

"What system are you planning to sneak into this time?"

"Sneak?"

"You heard me."

"Oh, I get it. You mean maybe instead of frolicking around  out  here,  I

should be devoting my time to saving planets."

Leia huffed. "I'm not interested in saving planets, Han.  I'm  interested

in saving lives."

"Well, what'd you think I'm trying to  do?  This  is  all  about  finding

Droma's relatives and Roa, Leia. It has nothing to  do  with  Ord  Mantell  or

Gyndine or anywhere else. Besides, a man's good for  only  one  promise  at  a

time, and I gave mine to Droma."

Leia exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, Han. I understand  what  you're  doing."

She smiled thinly. "At least we still have something in common."

Han averted his gaze momentarily. "Speaking of  which,  was  it  you  who

arranged for Ord Mantell's refugees to be transferred to Gyndine?"

"Yes-regretfully."

Han  gave  her  a  lopsided  smile.  "You're  complicating   my   search,

sweetheart."

Leia's frustration returned. "Am I? And who  created  such  a  muddle  on

Vortex that the local governor decided to renege on his promise to accept  any

refugees whatsoever?"

"I was only trying to-" Han's image suddenly tilted to one  side,  as  if

the Falcon had been stood on end. "Hey, Droma,  watch  what  you're  doing  up

there!" He turned back to the cam, jerking a thumb in  the  direction  of  the

Falcon's outrigger cockpit. "Guy claims to be a pilot, but you'd never know it

by the way he handles a ship." Leia took her lower lip between  her  teeth  in

disquiet.

"How are you two getting along?"

He snorted. "If I didn't owe him my life, I'd probably jettison him right

here."

"I'm sure," Leia said quietly.

"By the way, you might want to pass along to  the  fleet  office  that  a

flotilla of Yuuzhan Vong ships was spotted near Osarian. Couple  of  destroyer

analogs and-"

"Han," she said, cutting him off. "Droma's sister is on Gyndine."

He sat bolt upright. "What? How do you know that?"

"Because some of  his  clanmates  are  among  the  group  evacuated  from

Gyndine. There wasn't time to take everyone, and his  sister  was  one  of  at

least six Ryn I was forced to leave behind. I didn't know until  we'd  already

transferred everyone to the transports."

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Han demanded.

"Because there's  nothing  either  of  us  can  do  about  it.  Gyndine's

occupied."

"There are ways around that," Han mumbled distractedly.  Leia  compressed

her lips. "You are infuriatingly predictable."

"And you worry too much."

"Someone has to."

"Leia, will you be there for a while-on Ralltiir?"

She shook her head. "We'll be leaving for Ruan, if I have any say in  the

matter. Then I'm going to Hapes."

"Hapes?" Han said in incredulity. "And you accuse me of putting myself in

the thick of things? Why there of all places?"

"With any luck, to enlist the Consortium's help. The New Republic  fleets

are spread too thinly to defend the Colonies, let alone the Core. And now with

Bilbringi, Corellia, perhaps even Bothawui endangered, we need all the support

we can rally. Which reminds me, Han, Admiral Sow has asked  Anakin  to  go  to

Corellia to help in reenabling Centerpoint Station."

He snorted.  "It's  about  time  the  New  Republic  started  considering

Corellia's defense."

"Then you're all right with his going-without either of us?"

"How old were you when you agreed to carry the technical readouts of  the

Death Star? Which of us is watching over  Jaina  when  she  flies  with  Rogue

Squadron?" "But..."

"Besides, Anakin's a Jedi."

"I suppose you're right," Leia  said,  clearly  unconvinced.  Han  smiled

ambiguously. "Be sure to say hello to Prince Isolder for me."

"Why don't you come with me to Hapes and tell him in person?"

He laughed at the idea. "What, and spoil your fun?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He started to reply but bit back whatever

he had in mind to say, and began again.

"Is there any hope for the folks you couldn't extract from Gyndine?"

Leia shut her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not sure  any  of  them  even

survived."

* * *

"I am Chine-kal, commander of the vessel you find yourselves aboard," the

Yuuzhan Vong officer announced in expert Basic as he  meandered  slowly  among

the immobilized and shackled beings captured on Gyndine.

Slender and of towering height, he  wore  a  turban  in  which  a  winged

creature was nested, its round black eyes mere centimeters  above  Chine-kal's

own and identical to them. His command cloak, too, had a mind of its own,  not

so much trailing along the hold's pliant deck as  in  tow.  The  designs  that

twined around his forearms were of a decidedly  beastly  motif,  though  of  a

menagerie unknown to any of the captives, and the  fingers  of  his  elongated

hands sported curving talons.

"This vessel, which answers to the name Creche in your  traders'  tongue,

is to be your world for the foreseeable future. In time, the  purpose  of  its

sphere cluster design will be made clear to you. But even  while  you  grapple

with its mysteries, I want you to think of it as your home, and of myself  and

my crew as your parents and teachers. For you, all of you, have been  selected

from Ord Mantell's and Gyndine's defeated multitudes to exe  cute  a  singular

service."

Chine-kal stopped in front of Wurth Skidder, perhaps  by  chance,  though

Skidder preferred to think that some of his true nature, a touch of the Force,

bled through the mental blanket he'd thrown  over  his  identity.  Behind  the

commander  walked  the  tunic-wearing  priest  who  had  supervised   prisoner

selection on Gyndine's surface, as well as  the  immolation  of  thousands  of

droids.

Skidder and the hundreds of unclothed others  in  the  ship's  cavernous,

organic hold were literally fixed in place by dollops of binding blorash jelly

and fettered by the pincers of living creatures. To  his  right  stood  an  el

derly man-clearly a captive of some earlier campaign-made  to  appear  younger

than his years by cosmetic treatments; to his left, two of the half-dozen  Ryn

who had also been selected for "singular  service"  aboard  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

ship, which, from space, had resembled a bunch of grapes. Elsewhere were other

veteran captives, some left haggard, some  strengthened  by  whatever  ordeals

they had been put through.

"You have no doubt heard rumors of what occurred on the worlds  you  know

as Dantooine, Ithor, and Obroa-skai," Chine-kal said, back in motion, "and you

have no doubt heard rumors about how the Yuuzhan Vong treat their prisoners. I

can assure you that all you have heard are lies and exaggerations.

"We are only trying to bring you a truth you  sadly  overlooked  in  your

climb from the primal muck. Met with resistance, we have  been  left  with  no

option but to force that truth on you; met with acceptance, we have  been  far

more charitable than your New Republic overseers would have been to us.

"Because of political affiliations  and  other  alliances,  worlds  don't

often  have  a  choice  in  whether  to  accept  or  decline  our   offer   of

enlightenment; the voice of a few de cide the destiny of the many. But on this

vessel you are individuals first, and each of you has an opportunity to decide

for yourself whether to resist or to accept. You have a  hand  in  determining

your destiny-in governing your fate."

Flanked by well-armed guards and still trailed by the  priest,  Chine-kal

came to a halt alongside a tall statue of a  creature  that  could  only  have

sprung from some Yu uzhan Vong bestiary. Its convoluted body might  have  been

modeled on a human brain, and yet the body possessed two large eyes  and  what

appeared to be a mouth or wrinkled maw. Arms or tentacles  extended  from  its

base, some stumpy, others gracile.

"I don't want you to think of  yourselves  as  captives  or  slaves,  but

rather as collaborators in  a  grand  enterprise,"  the  commander  continued.

"Serve me well, put your hearts into your work, and you will be rewarded  with

your lives. Fail me out of weakness, and I may be willing to forgive; but fail

me with design, and punishment will be meted out swiftly and without mercy. In

either case, I will be rewarded by the gods, though I'll  be  forced  to  look

elsewhere for collaborators."

Skidder cut his eyes to the man beside  him.  "How  long  have  you  been

aboard?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Losing track," the captive  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "A  couple  of

standard months." With subtle movement of his chin he indicated the  emaciated

man to his right. "My friend and I were captured on the Jubilee Wheel  at  Ord

Mantell. Got sucked out of the facility by some kind of space worm.  First  we

were taken aboard a slave galley. Thought for a while  we  were  going  to  be

launched into a star and sacrificed. Then we were transferred to this vessel."

The man shot Skidder a glance. "You?"

"Captured on Gyndine."

"Soldier?"

"Indigenous ground force."

The man turned ever so slightly in Skidder's direction.

"But you're not native to Gyndine. From the Core, I'd say."

"On what basis?"

"Hairstyle,  for  one  thing.  The  way  you  carry  yourself.  Intrusion

specialist? Intelligence officer?"

"Neither."

The man glanced downward. "Those aren't the feet of an infantry soldier."

"I didn't say I was. Operated an AT-ST scout."

The man nodded. "Okay, have it your way."

"What's your name?" Skidder asked.

"Roa. My friend is Fasgo. You?"

"Keyn. Any idea where we're headed, Roa?"

"None."

"What about this 'singular service'?"

Roa snorted softly. "You'll see soon enough, Keyn." Chine-kal's  preamble

had resumed. "It's time you had a look at the centerpiece of our endeavor," he

was saying. "Think of it for the moment as a work in progress,  but  one  that

all of you will help to complete."

Behind the commander rose a membranous  partition,  beyond  which-Skidder

was certain-lay the nucleus of the ship. When Chine-kal turned,  the  membrane

parted like a stage curtain.

Though Skidder had never seen one in the flesh, he knew immediately  that

he was gazing at the living model for the statue  that  adorned  the  hold:  a

maturing war coordinator-the grotesque biogenetic creature the  Yu-uzhan  Vong

called a yammosk.

6

A cool mist obscured the flowering crowns of Yavin 4's tallest trees. The

steep stairways of the ancient temples the Rebel Alliance had claimed so  many

years before and that had since become a training ground for the Jedi  Knights

climbed into the mist and vanished.  Chucklucks  and  chitterwebs,  ordinarily

raucous at that time of the morning, perched on the low branches  of  Massassi

trees, waiting for the sky to clear. Stinger lizards and stintaril rodents sat

motionless as statues. Even the gas giant Yavin was not to be seen, though  it

backlighted the mist a deep orange color.

Stopped in a pathway that meandered to the Great Temple,  Luke  Skywalker

drank in the stillness. The Force, ordinarily lucid, seemed blanketed  by  the

mist, as well, and could manage little more than a whisper.

Somewhere in the ghostly, virid surroundings a belly-bird cooed. But Luke

knew that what struck his ear as melodic was only  the  bird  proclaiming  its

territory, warning others away. He listened more intently, catching the sounds

of creatures foraging or on the hunt for food. It was the  way  of  the  Force

that some should survive and others perish. Death  without  malicious  intent,

for nature didn't have a dark side. One couldn't compare the  crystal  snake's

search for prey with what the Emperor had done during his cruel reign and what

the Yuuzhan Vong were doing now. But Luke  had  been  asking  himself,  almost

since the start of the invasion, how did life reveal itself  to  Yuuzhan  Vong

eyes and ears?

He stared into the mist. It was as if someone had  thrown  a  gauzy  veil

over his eyes. Images came to him of insects disguising themselves as  leaves,

twigs, and flower blossoms, and of  small  animals  mimicking  the  variegated

litter of the forest floor.  Camouflage,  Luke  thought.  Deception,  stealth,

misdirection...

The Yuuzhan Vong had swept into the galaxy like one of the  unpredictable

storms that  blew  across  Yavin  4.  Their  faith  in  their  gods  was  like

Palpatine's faith in the dark side of the Force. And yet,  for  all  the  evil

they em bodied, they were not Sith; they were not emissaries of the dark side.

Blind obedience provided justification for even their  most  hideous  actions.

What made them servants of evil was not their faith but their  need  to  force

that faith on others and to destroy wantonly any who stood in their path. They

failed to recognize light or dark because in some sense they saw existence  as

an illusion. Lacking any intrinsic value, life was to be lived in  service  to

the gods, and the reward for that service waited in a life beyond.

When Luke or other Jedi had tried to peer into them, the Yuuzhan Vong had

been found to be voids in the  Force,  absent  the  animated  luminosity  that

embraced all living things. But if the Force did not flow through them, was it

possible that the Force was likewise nonexistent in the galaxy in  which  they

had evolved? Could the Force be specific to one place and not another,  as  if

the result of an evolutionary occurrence unique in the  universe?  Or  was  it

rather that the Force was lacking only in  the  Yu  uzhan  Vong-and  in  their

living  weapons,  of  course,  which  were  little  more  than  extensions  of

themselves?

In all likelihood Mara had fallen  victim  to  one  of  those  weapons-an

illness the Yuuzhan Vong had introduced-and while her strength  in  the  Force

had held the illness in check where it had  overwhelmed  others,  Luke  wasn't

absolutely certain that the Force would  have  been  the  ultimate  victor  in

Mara's battle. Not when her recent return to better health owed to an antidote

introduced indirectly by the Yuuzhan Vong.

Deception, stealth, misdirection...

For all his intense curiosity, Luke understood  that  it  was  imperative

that the invaders be defeated.  If  defeat  could  be  accomplished  short  of

exterminating the Yuuzhan Vong, so much the  better,  for  then  some  of  his

questions might one day be  answered.  But  until  such  time  the  Jedi  were

obligated to aid and abet in the war that had been thrust upon the galaxy. How

best to execute the Jedi obligation to peace and justice was an issue  he  was

still grappling with.

The cryptic murmuring of  the  Force  returned  him  to  the  moment.  He

recognized that his visitor had ceased talking some time ago, and he swung  to

face him now. "I'm sorry, Talon, you were saying?"

Talon Karrde smiled faintly. But instead of picking up  where  he'd  left

off, he smoothed the ends of his dark mustache and continued  to  observe  the

Jedi Master with candid interest.

"You know, Luke, I can't tell  you  how  often  I've  wondered  what  the

universe looks like through the eyes of a Jedi. I used to tell myself that you

weren't all that different from an H'kig priest or an Ithorian who  had  heard

the call, only instead of revering H'kig or nature you looked  to  the  Force.

But the comparisons never held up. You see things the rest of us don't  see-or

can't see-and those things aren't just the products of  a  mind-set  the  Jedi

have cultivated as a separate reality. You see into the heart of reality,  and

that ability informs your actions." Karrde's blue eyes  sparkled.  "I've  seen

you make deci sions I couldn't fathom at the time, but later turned out to  be

the right decisions. I used to watch Mara do the same thing.  And  as  someone

who has always prided himself on making use of privileged information,  I  had

to ask myself whether those decisions were based solely on data I didn't  have

access to, or if the Force gave you the ability to tug  reality  this  way  or

that as needed-as required by your visions.

"I sense the latter's true with you, but I'm not sure if  it  applies  to

Mara." Karrde uttered a short laugh. "I'm sorry I never knew you when you were

fresh off Tatooine-before you turned into a deep thinker. I'm not saying  that

Mara isn't a deep thinker, but the Force seems to compel her to  act  more  on

intuition than deliberation."

Ceremoniously, Luke lowered the cowl of his Jedi robe.

"Mara and I are different but complementary-in the same  way  Anakin  and

Jacen are. There are different aspects to the Force, and not all Jedi focus on

the same one. My Masters admonished me for always looking  toward  the  future

without really seeing it."

"Could your father see the future?" Talon asked carefully.

"My father was not the seer but the lens." Luke grew introspective for  a

moment, then smiled enigmatically.

"By the way, if Mara had known you were coming to Yavin-4, she would have

postponed her visit to Coruscant."

"Another evaluation?"

"On the contrary. She refuses to be scanned, examined,  or  evaluated  by

anyone."

"Then it actually cured her-this magic elixir Solo was given?"

"Not an elixir-tears. And no one will use the word  cure,  even  Mara.  I

urged her to hold off on taking the antidote until we could be sure it  wasn't

potentially dangerous, but she refused. She insisted on taking the risk."

Talon nodded. "Her intuition. But you're not convinced?"

Luke gazed at the jungle. "The Yuuzhan Vong  priestess  who  claimed  she

wanted political asylum was a weapon sent to assassinate as many Jedi  as  she

could gather. The being who traveled with her, Vergere, was not Yuuzhan  Vong,

but that doesn't mean she wasn't serving their interests. "

"The elixir could have been part of the plot," Talon said.  "The  Yuuzhan

Vong could have wanted to make it appear this Vergere  was  on  our  side,  to

erase doubts about the substance she gave Han."

Luke said nothing.

"But Mara's better."

"Healthier than she's been in almost a year," Luke ad mitted.  "Joyous-as

I am."

"If she does slide, if the effect turns out to be temporary..."

"Whatever is contained  in  Vergere's  tears  can't  be  replicated.  The

chemical action is as puzzling as anything we've seen from the  Yuuzhan  Vong.

We can only hope the effect is permanent."

Karrde considered it. "You know I'd do anything to help Mara. I'll  track

down Vergere. I'll wring more tears out of her if I have to."

Luke smiled. "I appreciate that, Talon.  I'll  tell  Mara  you  said  so,

though I suspect she already knows."

They resumed their walk to the Great Temple. Off to one side of the  path

a dozen young Jedi, varying in age from four to twelve, were  watching  Tionne

and Kam So-lusar demonstrate a Force technique. Luke paused to observe one  of

the older children, Tahiri, attempt to mimic one of Kam's manipulations.

"Yavin 4 has remained undetected, but with the Yuuzhan Vong as  close  as

Obroa-skai, we may be forced to remove everyone to safer surroundings."

"I'm surprised they haven't targeted Yavin already." Luke turned to  him.

"We're projecting an illusion. Something I learned from the Fallanassi."

Talon's eyes narrowed in revelation.  "So  that's  why  you  insisted  on

guiding me into the Yavin system."

"Your eyes would have contradicted  what  your  ship's  instruments  were

telling you."

Talon put his tongue in his cheek and laughed. "If I'd had a line on that

technique, I wouldn't have had to base out of Myrkr, where the trees had a way

of tricking scan ners." He grinned broadly. "But of course you remember that..

."

"Yes," Luke said flatly. "And even then, Grand Admiral Thrawn  found  you

out. As Jedi commitment to the conflict increases, there won't be enough of us

here to maintain the illusion. The children will have to be sent elsewhere."

Talon glanced at the kids. "Let me know if you ever need help with that."

"I will."

They hadn't gone another ten paces when Karrde asked, "Is it true a  Jedi

died on Gyndine?"

"You're referring to Wurth Skidder," Luke said. "But we  don't  know  for

certain that he's dead. Leia was there to the  end.  She  insists  that  Wurth

deliberately remained behind."

"To allow himself to be captured?"

"Perhaps to go undercover on Gyndine."

Karrde shook his head. "I don't know Skidder, but I've heard  rumors.  Is

he the person for the job?"

"He's skillful."

"Skill's good, but is he lucky?"

Luke didn't answer the question. "Just now, like so many of us  who  have

lost friends and family, he's driven by vengeance. He was close  friends  with

both Miko Reglia and Daeshara'cor."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with being motivated by vengeance if it gets

you results."

Luke's expression said otherwise.

"Wrong?"

"Let's just say that we don't see the world in precisely the same way."

They continued walking. Over the  cascading  sounds  of  the  river  that

flowed past the Great Temple came  voices  raised  in  impassioned  debate  or

argument.

"Sounds like there's some division in the ranks," Talon remarked as  they

neared the temple's common room.

"That would be Jacen and Anakin."

"Complementing one another, no doubt."

Jaina, with arms outstretched, was positioned between her  brothers  when

Luke and Karrde entered the dimly lighted space.  A  handful  of  other  Jedi,

including Kyp Durron, Ganner Rhysode,  Streen,  Lowbacca,  Kenth  Hamner,  and

Cilghal, looked on. Sensing Luke, R2-D2 began to bounce  from  foot  to  foot,

chirring and warbling.

"They were just... discussing Anakin's invitation  to  visit  Centerpoint

Station," Jaina explained.

Luke glanced from Jacen to Anakin and back again. "Finish the discussion.

"

Jacen scowled at his younger brother. "I'll say it once  more,  then  I'm

done with it: Centerpoint is this"-he grasped the hilt of the lightsaber  that

hung from his belt-"on a gargantuan scale. Assuming the station  can  even  be

made operational, it should be used only for defense."

Anakin exhaled wearily. "And I'll say this one last  time:  I  completely

agree."

"Then keep away from Corellia," Jacen said. "Don't have  anything  to  do

with enabling Centerpoint or any of the hyperspace repulsors. You were  a  kid

the first time - we all were. You didn't know any better."

Anakin snorted. "You're leaving out that my  ignorant  actions  ended  up

foiling the Triad's plans to detonate an other star and annihilate every  ship

the Bakurans sent against them."

"That was defensive! Your tinkering with the repulsor on Drall  prevented

Centerpoint from firing!"

"Tinkering," Anakin repeated, snickering. "Let me ask you something:  Are

you against Jaina flying with Rogue Squadron?"

Jacen glanced at his twin sister, who was on  temporary  leave  from  the

squadron she had joined only four months earlier. "Not in theory."

"Are you against Mom and Tenel Ka going to Hapes?"

"Not in principle."

"Not in principle? The New Republic is hoping  to  bring  the  Consortium

into the war. If you think of Rogue  Squadron  or  the  Hapans  as  weapons-an

extension of that," Anakin said, gesturing to Jacen's lightsaber, "then what's

the difference between what Jaina or Mom are being asked to do and  what  I've

been asked to do at Corellia? I said I'd help enable the station. I didn't say

anything about firing it."

Jacen made an exasperated sound and swung to Luke. "Where do you stand on

this, Uncle Luke?"

Luke folded his arms. "As I told the Defense  Force  command  staff,  I'm

opposed to reenabling Centerpoint  on  the  grounds  that  its  power  is  too

unmanageable. And you all know that I was against Daeshara'cor's  attempts  to

resurrect another Eye  of  Palpatine.  But  if  there's  even  a  chance  that

Centerpoint Station can be used to defend Corellia and spare  the  fleets  for

service  elsewhere,  we're  obliged  to  do  what  we  can  to  help  make  it

operational."

Jacen pressed his lips together and  swung  back  to  his  brother.  "All

right, Anakin, have it your way. But I'm going with you."

Anakin shrugged. "Glad to have you along."

The debate decided for the moment, the teens settled  down  and  everyone

gradually formed a loose circle around Luke and Karrde.

"Talon has a proposition for us," Luke said. "I haven't heard it yet, but

knowing him as I do, I'm sure it will be interesting."

"Or at'least entertaining," Kyp Durron mumbled, drawing laughs.

Karrde took the jesting in stride. "As I'm sure you know, the Hutts  have

struck some sort of bargain with the Yuuzhan Vong. By  bargain,  I  mean  just

that, since the Hutts would sooner go to war than roll over for an  enemy,  no

matter how commanding. So it stands to reason that in  exchange  for  allowing

the Yuuzhan Vong into their space, the Hutts asked for and  got  something  in

return. To figure out what that is, all anyone  needs  to  do  is  follow  the

spice."

Karrde paused briefly. "I've been doing just that, and I haven't  noticed

any signs of interruption in the flow of spice-except in three systems: Tynna,

Bothawui, and Corellia."

He waited until the murmuring died down before con  tinuing.  "The  Hutts

wouldn't suddenly cease deliveries to three profitable  sectors  unless  there

was good reason to avoid them. I'm willing to bet that the reason  has  to  do

with intelligence the Yuuzhan Vong provided as their part of the deal. Namely,

that those systems have been targeted for invasion.

"The fact that no one has moved in to pick up the slack suggests that the

Hutts have advised all their partners and subcontractors to steer a wide berth

around Tynna, Bothawui, and Corellia. But even this doesn't add up to  a  case

good enough to present to the New Republic. To do  that  would  require  proof

positive that avoiding those  worlds  isn't  just  the  result  of  the  Hutts

speculating about where the Yuuzhan Vong will strike."

"Why not approach the Hutts and ask them directly?" Kenth  Hamner  asked.

Tall and wellborn, Hamner had been a Defense Force  colonel  before  resigning

from military life to follow the Jedi way.

"Easier said than done," Karrde said, "and in fact, the New  Republic  is

trying to do just that. But if someone  outside  the  military  could  furnish

corroborating evi dence, the Defense Force would have what they need to  catch

the Yuuzhan Vong completely by surprise."

"Why do you come to us with this?" Streen  asked.  "You've  been  liaison

between the Imperial Remnant and the New Republic since the peace accord.  You

certainly don't need us to get the attention of Admiral Sow."

"I know why he's come to us,"  Kyp  Durron  said,  keeping  his  eyes  on

Karrde. "Because the New Republic left him out of the  loop  when  they  asked

Leia to approach the Imperial Remnant about joining the fight."

Karrde snorted. "It wasn't my place to approach the Remnant assembly. I'm

a broker, Kyp, not an ambassador."

"Then what makes you think it's your place to approach us?" Kyp retorted.

"The fact is, I don't know who else to trust with this.  Judging  by  the

way New Republic Intelligence handled that bogus Yuuzhan  Vong  defector,  I'd

venture to say that the Intelligence division, maybe even the Advisory Council

itself, has been infiltrated. What's more, the Defense Force can't act without

the approval of the senate, and the Security and  Intelligence  Council  isn't

likely to back Admiral Sow on the word of an ex-smuggler."

"You still haven't clarified why you need us," Ulaha said.  A  Bith,  she

was delicate-looking and musically gifted. "After Ithor, we're hardly in  good

stead with the senate ourselves."

"That's the point: you need to get them listening  to  you  again.  You'd

think they would have learned their lesson from Ithor, but old habits die hard

and they're still reluctant to trust you. They don't want to be  perceived  as

indebted to the Jedi. It smacks of Old Republic thinking."

Ganner grimaced, wrinkling the facial scar he had in curred at Garqi. "It

warms my heart to see that you're thinking about  us,  Karrde,  but  the  Jedi

don't need a public relations person."

"You're wrong,  Ganner.  You're  too  trusting.  Anti-Jedi  sentiment  is

spreading.  Some  folks  think  you're  holding  back,  others  think   you're

incompetent. A lot of people wish that Emperor  Palpatine  was  still  around,

because they feel he'd know how to deal with the Yuuzhan Vong. If you want  to

go back to being monks, that's your choice. But if you want to serve peace and

justice, you need to smarten your image, and one way to do that  would  be  to

provide intelligence that ends up giving the New Republic a major victory. The

best defense against treachery is treachery."

"What role could we play in this?" Jacen asked impa tiently.

Talon looked at him. "I can facilitate a meeting with one of  the  Hutts'

spice smugglers. We can find out for  ourselves  why  no  one  is  willing  to

deliver to Tynna and the rest."

Jacen rolled his eyes. "This is Centerpoint all over again."  He  glanced

at Luke. "The Jedi shouldn't have any part in this. It demeans us."

"It doesn't demean anyone," Anakin argued. "We can help without having to

raise a hand-or a lightsaber. You, if anybody, should be in favor of that."

Everyone looked to Luke.

Images came to him of insects disguising themselves as leaves, twigs, and

flower blossoms, and of small animals mimicking the variegated litter  of  the

forest floor. The Force  whispered  to  him  once  more:  Deception,  stealth,

misdirection...

He realized that he needed to tread carefully, for fear of  dividing  the

Jedi further. Where many lauded Corran Horn's  individual  actions  at  Ithor,

others favored Kyp Durron's stance  that  aggression  should  be  answered  by

aggression. What's more,  at  Ithor  Luke  had  renounced  responsibility  for

spearheading the Jedi Knights.

"I'm not interested in repairing our tarnished image," he said  at  last.

"The New Republic isn't eager to sanction our actions, in any case. But if  we

can help provide information that will prevent the fall of another world,  the

choice is clear."

"I'm willing to  go  with  Talon,"  Jaina  said.  Kyp  made  a  face.  "A

seventeen-year-old spice buyer? I doubt the Hutts' people  will  buy  it."  He

looked back at Karrde. "I'll go. You'll need someone to sort  the  truth  from

the lies."

"Unlikely," Karrde said, "but I appreciate the offer."

"Then count me in, as well," Ganner said. He glanced at Kyp. "Just to  be

certain we're getting the full truth."

Karrde glanced around him. "It's settled then?" Only

Jacen remained  unconvinced.  "Centerpoint,  enlistment,  espionage...  I

never thought we'd come to this."

Kyp Durron grinned and clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Cheer up,  kid.

Things are bad all over."

7

The sign hovering between formidable guard towers read  welcome  to  ruan

refugee facility 17. But just below the greeting someone had  scrawled,  in  a

tiny almost undetectable hand, last chance to turn back. Crushed in among  the

rerouted mixed-species thousands off-loaded  from  the  transport  ships,  and

still wet and possibly poisoned from Ruan's cursory  decontamination  process,

Melisma read the sign aloud and aimed  a  worried  glance  at  Gaph,  who  had

Droma's nephew balanced atop one of his shoulders.

" 'Last chance to turn back'?"

"Someone's idea of a joke," Gaph said in dismissal.

"Come, child, how bad can it be? We have pleasing countryside all around,

fresh air in place of scrubbed oxygen, the promise  of  food  and  drink,  ten

thousand melancholy sentients for company." He grinned and lowered  his  voice

to add, "And where there are melancholy  sentients,  there  are  opportunities

galore for the Ryn." Melisma smiled uncertainly, though what Gaph  said  about

the surroundings was undeniably true, for Ruan was nothing if not one  of  the

Core's beauty marks.

One of eighteen agricultural worlds administered by Salliche Ag,  Ruan-or

at least that part of the planet the refugees had been  delivered  to-had  the

manicured look of a park.  The  undeviating  road  that  linked  the  planet's

bustling spaceport to Refugee  Facility  17  was  bordered  by  tall,  topiary

hedges, and beyond those hedges, as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  stretched

scrupulously maintained fields of crops,  in  varying  states  of  maturation.

Unlike Orron III, Ukio, Taanab, and most of the other bread basket  worlds  on

which the Ryn had sought employment from time to time,  Ruan  did  not  merely

rely on axial tilt and fertile soil, but was climate controlled and agriformed

to maximize output. Also there were far fewer harvester droids, agribots,  and

work droids than Melisma had expected to see, which  meant  more  occupational

opportunities for sentients.

She breathed deeply of the sweet air. Gaph was right. Arriving  on  Ruan,

especially after spending more than a standard week in the cramped  and  fetid

living conditions aboard the transport, was like being delivered to para  dise

itself. But vague concerns continued to rankle her. How  long  would  they  be

required to remain on Ruan, and where would they end up  afterwards?  Princess

Leia had made it clear that their stay on Ruan would be  temporary,  but  with

the Yuuzhan Vong already in the Expansion Region, how long before they carried

their invasion into the Core? And what then?

Processing the newly arrived exiles was a painfully  te  dious  business.

With everyone pressed so tightly together there was nowhere to sit  much  less

recline, and no escape from the potent sunshine that climate  supervision  had

apparently ordered for the day. The crowd seemed to ex tend endlessly  to  the

front and rear. But at last the five of them-Gaph,  Melisma,  her  two  female

clancousins, and the infant-reached a processing checkpoint attended by  armed

security guards sporting Salliche Ag arm badges. A human male with  a  scarred

jaw appraised them from the window of  the  checkpoint  booth.  "What  in  the

galaxy are these?" he asked someone out of view.

Instantly, a no-less-sinister-looking uniformed female  appeared  at  the

window and aimed a spherically shaped optical  scanner  directly  at  Melisma.

"Could take the system a moment to recognize them," she told the first  guard.

When the scanner emitted a single tone, she glanced  at  its  display  screen.

"Ryn."

"Ryn? What rock are they from?"

The woman shook her head. "Planet  of  origin  unknown.  But  what's  the

difference, they arrived from Gyndine. See if we've got any more like them."

Melisma's misgivings returned. SELCORE advocates and  Ruan  officials  at

the spaceport had been cordial and accommodating, but these  guards,  both  in

their bearing and manner of dress, brought to mind the Espos who, years  back,

had policed many of the Corporate Sector worlds. "Yeah, we  actually  do  have

some others," the first guard was saying.  "Thirty-two,  at  last  count."  He

sneered down at Gaph. "Sec 465, Ryn. Behind  the  communal  refreshers."  Gaph

heard Melisma's sharp intake of breath and  turned  to  her.  "All  right,  so

forget what I said about fresh air. We'll still have food and drink  to  slack

our appetites and a roof over our heads."

"We could have all that  in  jail,"  Melisma  groused.  Gaph  wagged  his

forefinger. "Trust me, child, jail is no place for the Ryn.  Here,  at  least,

we'll be able to sing and dance and revel in our good fortune."

"Follow the droid," the guard barked. "And no lingering or wandering off,

or you'll have me to answer to."

"Ah, good fortune," Melisma said sarcastically. "Let's just  hope  for  a

roof, Gaph."

The droid, a squeaking, limping  protocol  model,  ushered  them  into  a

warren of ramshackle  dwellings  slapped  together  from  aged  harvester  and

spaceship parts-bulkhead hatchways, harvester blades,  foils,  and  the  like.

Elsewhere were prefabricated duraplast huts anchored to slabs  of  ferrocrete,

tents  and  A-frames,  primitive  lean-tos,  self-standing  blister  shelters,

elliptical huts sided with animal hide, and conical ones wrapped in lubricant-

stained tarpaulins.

"Facility 17 was built on the site of a former junkyard," the droid  said

proudly. "Everyone has been very inventive in the use of obsolete equipment."

In unlighted interiors or on muddy ground or patches of lifeless trampled

grass sat species native to sectors as remote as the Imperial Remnant  and  as

close as the Koornacht Cluster, all uprooted from the worlds they  had  called

home, some of which the Yuuzhan Vong had rendered uninhabitable  or  destroyed

outright. In a half-circle scan, Melisma's eye fell on  Ruurians,  Gands,  Sa-

heelindeeli, Bimms, Weequays, Myneyrshi,  Tammarians,  Gotals,  and  Wookiees.

Absent, though, was any indication of fellowship; in  its  place  a  sense  of

impending riot tainted the air.  Beings  glowered  at  one  another  or  stood

sullenly with jaws clenched and hands balled into fists.  As  if  reading  her

concerns, the protocol droid provided commentary, in Basic.

"With  everyone  crammed  together  without  regard  to  differences  and

distinctions, some suppressed prejudices  and  hostilities  have  on  occasion

boiled to the fore,  re  sulting  in  contentious  seizures  of  territory  or

sustenance, or melees that  have  spread  throughout  the  facility.  But,  of

course, those incidents were quickly quelled by  Sal-liche  Ag's  well-trained

staff, who employ physical force  only  when  absolutely  necessary."  As  had

happened on the transport, the Ryn met with looks of suspicion and  repugnance

from all sides. Fathers safeguarded family  valuables,  and  mothers  gathered

children within arm's reach. Some made religious gestures of  self-protection,

and others voiced outrage that Ryn had even been allowed into the camp.

Melisma stared straight ahead. She was accustomed to such treatment,  and

she understood that the Ryn's penchant for wanderlust and secrecy was at least

partly responsible for the fictions that had grown up around them.  Ostracized

by many societies, the Ryn had grown only more transient, secretive, and self-

sufficient over time, and as outsiders they had become keen observers  of  the

behaviors  of  other  species-second-guessers  of  what  many  beings,  humans

especially, often had in mind to say. And so their fondness for  song,  dance,

and spicy foods, and their adeptness at  forgery  and  fortune-telling-lacking

any true psychic abilities. The gambling game that had come  to  be  known  as

sabacc had its roots in a deck of cards the Ryn had invented  as  a  means  of

disguising their mystical doctrines.

"We're now approaching the distribution center," the droid announced.

"I wondered what that smell was," Melisma said to Gaph,  who  chided  her

for being overly critical, only to change his tune when they got a  good  look

at the situation. Queued sinuously at makeshift  stalls,  hundreds  of  beings

were waiting to receive squirts of an off-color, pastelike synthfood  squeezed

by droids from enormous, pliant containers. Other lines snaked to the patched-

up hulls of vintage riverboats filled to the gunnels with foam-covered water.

"For paltry sums," the droid  remarked,  "many  of  Salliche  Ag's  well-

trained staff will gladly provide foodstuffs to please the most discriminating

palates. Superior  housing  can  also  be  secured  for  reasonable  fees,  as

evidenced atop Noob Hill."

Melisma followed the droid's metal finger to  a  parcel  of  high  ground

surrounded by stun fencing. Isolated from the rest of the facility, twenty  or

so Ithorians could be seen going about their business in  open-sided,  thatch-

roofed pavilions. To one side deep drainage ditches sepa  rated  them  from  a

waddle of Gamorreans, who were living in bungalows made of  sun-baked  bricks.

To the other side, beyond a wall of thorned shrubs, a rumpus of  Wookiees  had

constructed a log tree house.

Deeper in the camp things were even  worse.  The  mud  that  had  been  a

nuisance earlier on became ankle-deep for long stretches, and  the  shelters-a

ghetto of unroofed sheds and slat-sided shanties-clustered at the  base  of  a

hill that saw scant sunlight and funneled runoff rainwater directly  into  the

food distribution area. In place of prefab tents and blister huts stood hovels

more suitable for livestock  than  sentients.  Here  a  trove  of  resourceful

hollow-boned Vors had made use of starship maneuvering vanes  to  construct  a

kind of stilted bower for themselves; and there a nest of batrachian Rybet had

fashioned a spacious hutch from empty cargo crates and support pylons  off  Y-

wing engine nacelles.

Nearly everyone else was living in filth.

A new stench in the air told Melisma that they were nearing the  communal

refreshers. "Maybe it's only when there's no wind," Gaph remarked.

"Then  maybe  we  should  petition  climate  supervision  to  whip  up  a

hurricane," Melisma said from behind the hand she'd clamped over her mouth.

As promised, just past the refreshers was Section  465,  announced  by  a

sign, to which someone had added the words Ryn City.

More than half the thirty-two were on hand to greet  Gaph  and  Melisma's

quintet as they trudged into a  courtyard  that  might  have  struck  some  as

uncommonly sanitary but was in fact normal for the Ryn,  who  were  by  nature

almost ritualistic about order and cleanliness.

The leader among the ensconced group, a tall male named R'vanna, welcomed

them with bowls  of  tasty  Ryn  food  and  a  slew  of  questions  about  the

circumstances that had  brought  them  to  Ruan.  Gaph  started  at  the  very

beginning, explaining how they had just fled the Corporate Sector  when  their

caravan of ships had been set upon by a Yuuzhan Vong patrol. Scattered far and

wide as a result of emergency hyperspace jumps,  many  had  ended  up  at  Ord

Mantell's Jubilee Wheel, where they had been caught up in another Yuuzhan Vong

attack. Refugees by then, some had found transport to  Bil-bringi,  others  to

Rhinnal, and still others to Gyndine.

Then R'vanna told his story, which, while it began in the Tion  Hegemony,

had much in common with Gaph's tale of woe.

One of the women showed Melisma and her cousins to a  dormitory.  Leaving

the infant in the care of her cousins, Melisma rejoined Gaph and R'vanna,  who

was in the midst of painting a vivid picture of life in Facility 17.

"Though water is rarely a problem-our overseers simply create  rainstorms

as needed-food shortages have begun to occur on a regular basis and disease is

rampant. The diseases could easily be  eradicated,  of  course,  and  Ruan  is

capable of supplying all the food needed just from what the labor droids allow

to rot in or on the ground, but it's to Salliche Ag's advantage that  everyone

in camp remain as miserable as possible."

"How is that to Salliche's advantage?" Melisma asked.

"And why would Princess Leia praise the  company  for  its  unconditional

generosity if we're a burden to everyone?"

"Salliche is desirous of refugees, child, but not  for  the  camps.  They

want us in the fields."

"As workers?"

"Of a sort." R'vanna paused to tap a wad of charred t'bac from  the  bowl

of a hand-carved pipe. "The New Republic is genuinely committed to  relocating

everyone to populous worlds,  but  with  the  war  and  all,  the  chances  of

relocation are slim-even  though  you  won't  hear  mention  of  this  in  the

familiarization classes."

"Familiarization?" Melisma said. "For what?"

"Why, to prepare us for our new lives among the civilized peoples of  the

Core. You'll soon see for yourself. But as I say, chances are  slim.  Some  of

those living on Noob Hill can afford to purchase forward passage with  private

transport companies, but not everyone is so fortunate. In any  event,  no  one

wants to be here any longer than necessary, so many have  accepted  offers  by

Salliche Ag to work their way off Ruan."

"In the fields," Gaph said.

R'vanna nodded. "Except that very few manage to earn enough  to  purchase

onward passage. Most of the camp's earliest arrivals  have  been  forced  into

indentured servitude, here on Ruan or on other  Salliche-administered  worlds,

and rumors persist  that  those  who  refuse  Sal  liche's  benevolence  often

disappear."

"But it makes no sense," Melisma  said.  "Sentients  will  never  replace

droids as workers. Sentients need more than the occasional oil bath  and  data

upgrades. Not to  mention  that  production  would  be  drastically  reduced."

R'vanna  showed  her  a  patient  smile.  "I  said  as  much  to  a   Salliche

representative who visited Ryn City only last week. And do you  know  what  he

told me? That the hiring of sentients not only eases the refugee  problem  but

allows  the  company  to  advertise  its  products  as  retaining  'handpicked

freshness.' "

Gaph mulled it over for a moment. "So our options, for  the  moment,  are

either to go to work for Salliche Ag or remain mired here."

Melisma glanced around  the  courtyard,  and  at  the  masterfully  built

dormitories and kitchens. "How have you managed to do so well? Walking through

the camp, I was afraid we were going to be attacked and killed. If folks could

find a way, I'm sure they'd hold us accountable for the Yuuzhan Vong invasion.

"

R'vanna smiled sadly. "Life has always been thus for  the  Ryn.  But  not

everyone fears or distrusts us. It's thanks to those few that  we've  done  so

well."

"Charity?"

"Bite your tongue, child," Gaph said theatrically. "The Ryn do not accept

charity. We work for all we get." Melisma looked at  R'vanna.  "What  sort  of

work can we do here?"

"The sort we're best at: apprising people of  their  op  tions,  allowing

them to see the error of their ways, pro viding them with helpful tips to  see

them through the complexities of daily life."

"Telling fortunes," Melisma said, mildly disdainful.

"Reading sabacc cards."

Gaph was grinning broadly. "Singing, dancing, the rewards  that  come  to

those who dispense good advice... Life could be worse, child.  Life  could  be

much worse."

"Aren't you the one who said that help had arrived?"  the  red-maned  Ryn

named Sapha asked Wurth Skidder aboard the slave ship Creche.

"I might have said something to that effect," the  Jedi  was  willing  to

concede. "Heat of the moment, and all that."

Roa regarded Skidder with interest, then glanced past him at Sapha. "When

was this?"

"On Gyndine," she told him,  "when  he  rushed  to  be  captured  by  the

multilegged creature that was herding us together. He said, 'Take heart,  help

has arrived.' " Roa looked at Skidder once more. "He rushed?"

Sapha shrugged. "It looked that way from where I stood."  Side  by  side,

the three of them were standing to their waists in the viscous  sorrel-colored

nutrient in which the young yammosk marinated, like an  excised  brain  in  an

autopsy pan. The cloying odor-like garlic roses bathed  in  nlora  perfume-had

taken some getting used to, but by now almost all the captives were beyond the

retching stage, though a male Sullustan had fainted moments  earlier  and  had

had to be carried out.

One of the more gracile of the creature's manifold ten tacles floated  in

front of Skidder and his comrades, and their hands  were  busy  massaging  and

caressing it, the way the Bimms did with certain  breeds  of  nerf  to  assure

steaks of extraordinary tenderness. Roa's worrisomely wan pal, Fasgo, and  two

Ryn were doing the same to the other side of the tentacle. The arrangement  of

six to a tentacle was repeated throughout the circular basin, ex cept  at  the

yammosk's shorter, thicker members, where two or three captives sufficed.

"He rushed," Roa said, more to himself this time; then he  fixed  Skidder

with a gimlet stare. "Sapha almost makes  it  sound  like  you  wanted  to  be

captured, Keyn."

"To wind up here?" Skidder said. "A guy would have to be either  deranged

or dauntless."

Smile lines formed at the corners of Roa's eyes. "I've known a few in  my

day who were both. I can't put my finger on it, but something tells me you fit

the bill." Two  hose-thick,  pulsating  ducts  projected  from  the  yammosk's

bulbous head to disappear into the arching, membranous ceiling  of  the  hold.

Skidder assumed that at least one  of  them  furnished  the  creature  with  a

required mix of respiratory gases,  though  Chine-kal  assured  that  yammosks

became oxygen breathers as they matured into actual war coordinators.

At the moment the clustership's commander was completing a circle on  the

grated walkway that ran around the lip of the yorik-coral basin. Concentric to

the basin stood a company of lightly armed guards.

"For all the revulsion it seems to invoke in some of you, the yammosk  is

an extremely sensitive creature," he was saying. "One effect of  its  powerful

desire to bond  is  empathy  of  a  high  order,  which  later  culminates  as

telepathy, of  a  sort.  As  part  of  its  early  training,  the  yammosk  is

conditioned to regard select dovin basals as its children, its brood-the  same

dovin basals that provide thrust for our starships and the single-pilot  craft

the New Republic military refers to as coralskippers.  When,  then,  we  enter

into engagements with the forces of your worlds, the yammosk sees its children

as threatened and attempts to coordinate their activities to minimize loss."

Chine-kal came to a halt close to where Skidder and the others stood, and

gestured to the ceiling. "The darker blue of the throbbing arteries that enter

the yammosk just above the eyes is linked even now to the drive of this  ship,

because the yammosk is still in the process of familiarizing itself  with  the

dovin basal. The kinder you are to the yammosk, the more  affection  you  show

for it, the better you make it feel, the better its link with the dovin basal,

and the better the ship performs."

The commander pivoted to face one of the membranous walls. In  a  blister

visible to all the captives sat a pulsing, heart-shaped organism.

"Here you see a small dovin basal, approximate in size to the ones housed

in the noses of the coralskippers.  Its  color  indicates  how  well  you  are

succeeding at your task, and its current pale red tells me that you are  doing

rea sonably well, but not as well as you might. So what we're going to  do  is

increase the pace of our strokings in time with  the  count  provided  by  the

dovin basal. If we're suc cessful, the ship will respond in turn.  So  let  us

begin..."

Skidder braced himself. It wasn't so much that the  handwork  itself  was

fatiguing, but intense and constant tactile contact with the tentacles quickly

left everyone exhausted,  almost  as  if  the  yammosk  was  feeding  off  the

captives' expended energy to somehow enhance itself. It  was  easy  enough  to

refuse participation, but holding back led only to someone being  singled  out

and punished. As the dovin basal began to pulse  more  rapidly,  the  captives

increased the speed and force of the strokings and  kneadings,  struggling  to

find a rhythm. The pulses grew even more rapid; the  manipulations  grew  more

urgent and frantic. The count quickened once more. Many of the  captives  were

breathing hard, some of them wheezing. Rills of sweat coursed down  faces  and

arms. Those who couldn't sustain the pace collapsed, doubled over  atop  their

assigned tentacles, or slid down into the gluey nutrient.  But  the  rest  had

found a collective beat the yammosk responded to by sending ripples  down  its

tentacles.

Skidder could almost feel the clustership surge.  Then  the  dovin  basal

slowed and gradually returned to a gentle pulsing.

"Good," Commander Chine-kal said at last. "Very good." Skidder  swallowed

hard and calmed  himself.  Sapha  and  Roa  were  panting,  and  Fasgo  looked

delirious.

Chine-kal began another circuit on the organic walkway.

"As some of you have already learned, battle coordination is only one  of

the yammosk's talents. When I told you earlier that its  empathy  bordered  on

telepathy, I was not overstating things. Also as part  of  its  training,  the

young yammosk is  conditioned  to  establish  a  cognitive  rapport  with  the

commander in whose custody the yammosk will serve. In fact, this  yammosk  and

myself are already on familiar terms. But we're  going  to  attempt  something

that has  never  been  done-the  truly  'extraordinary'  part  of  this  joint

endeavor. We wish the yammosk to become familiar with you-with all  of  you-so

that we might  bring  this  invasion  to  a  speedy  and  relatively  painless

conclusion."

Skidder glanced at Roa. "Did you know about this?"

The old man returned a grim nod.

"As the yammosk becomes more accustomed to  your  touch,"  Chine-kal  was

saying, "it may wish to touch you back, especially on the chest,  upper  back,

neck, and face. You will allow it to do so. It may take no interest in some of

you; with others it may find a deep affinity. In either case,  I  caution  you

not to resist its telepathic probes, for you risk injuring yourself as much as

the yammosk. Resistance could very well result in  madness  or  death.  Laugh,

cry, scream if you must, but do not resist."

"He's not kidding," Roa said with sudden solemnity. He looked intently at

Sapha, then Skidder. "Try to keep your mind blank, otherwise  it  will  pursue

your thoughts like a predator chasing the first meal of the day. That's  where

you can lose your way. Believe me, I've seen it happen more than once."

Skidder had been doing his best to hide his Jediness, his strength in the

Force, the events that had motivated him to be captured, his  wish  to  avenge

his fallen comrades. Faced with Chine-kal's revelation, however,  he  suddenly

couldn't help but recall what Danni Quee had told him of the way  the  Yuuzhan

Vong had used a yam-mosk to break Miko. Nor could he suppress his  urgency  to

make contact with his fellow Jedi and apprise them of the enemy's latest plan.

He turned slightly to gaze at the yammosk's  eyes,  and  those  ink-black

organs seemed to gaze back at him. The tentacle beneath his hands rippled, and

its blunt tip rose from the nutrient to wrap around Skidder's shoulders.

Roa, Sapha, and the others fell back in surprise.

"Why, Keyn, you fortunate soul," Roa said after a moment,

"I do believe the yammosk has taken a liking to you."

8

From the rear of Lorell Hall on Hapes, Leia  was  a  bright  white  speck

against the  blue-black  of  the  night  sky,  visible  through  the  towering

panoramic windows at her back. Rising at a sharp angle from  the  ramparts  of

the sandstone bluff that dominated the capital city, the assembly hall enjoyed

a breathtaking view of the Transi tory  Mists  and,  just  now,  four  of  the

planet's seven moons. So seamless was the illusion, that people seated in  the

lower-tier seats might have easily imagined them selves aboard a space vessel,

advancing on the star that was Ambassador Organa Solo.

"Esteemed representatives of the Hapes Consortium of worlds,"  she  began

in a voice that surrendered none of its resolve even in the  farthest  reaches

of the hall.

"Eighteen years ago, following the New Republic's  conquest  of  Imperial

Center, I came before  you  to  solicit  financial  support  for  a  fledgling

government bankrupted by war and  plagued  by  an  insidious  virus  that  was

killing thousands of nonhumans with each passing day.

"That visit unlocked a gateway between our respective  regions  of  space

that had been sealed for the previous three thousand years  but  has  remained

open ever since. In fact, not long after  my  initial  visit,  the  Consortium

graced Coruscant with a stay, during which you bestowed upon us  treasures  we

had scarcely dreamed existed-rainbow  gems,  thought  puzzles,  and  trees  of

wisdom, along with a dozen Star Destroyers  you  had  captured  from  Imperial

warlords who had sought to intrude on your domain.

"It was thought then that the New Republic and the Consortium might enter

into an alliance through matrimony-though destiny had other  unions  in  store

for the would-be partners in that marriage."

Gracious laughter and hushed exchanges swept through  the  audience,  and

scattered clapping modulated to extended applause.

Leia took the opportunity to glance behind and to the right, where Prince

Isolder was leaning forward in expec tation of just  such  an  acknowledgment.

Beside him, also smiling and elegantly attired, sat  his  wife,  Queen  Mother

Teneniel Djo of Dathomir, her fingers sparkling with lava node rings  and  her

auburn hair bound by a dazzling tiara of  rainbow  gems,  dawnstars,  and  ice

moons.

Alongside Teneniel sat her  mother-in-law,  Ta'a  Chume,  her  gray  hair

elaborately coiffed and only her eyes visible above  a  scarlet  veil.  Behind

them  sat  several  dignitaries  and  officials,  including  the  Consortium's

ambassador to the New Republic.

Coruscant's ambassador to Hapes was seated to the  left  of  the  podium,

also among sundry dignitaries and officials, though beside her  sat  the  Jedi

daughter of Isolder and Teneniel, Tenel Ka. The biceps of her  truncated  left

arm-severed above the elbow years earlier in a light-saber training match with

Jacen-was adorned with bands of electrum, and a lightsaber  dangled  from  the

narrow belt that cinched her robe.

In the wings stood C-3PO, newly polished, and Olmahk, incensed at  having

been made to wear piped leggings, a dress tunic, and a tight-fitting cap.

"My friends," Leia continued as the applause was  dying  down,  "the  New

Republic and the Consortium have never been anything but allies.  But  I  come

before you tonight with a request that is sure  to  test  the  bonds  of  that

alliance. And in place of gifts I bring only an urgent warning."

A guarded silence fell over the gathering.

"Speaking for the New Republic, I respect the high value  you  have  long

placed on isolation." Without looking, she gestured broadly at  the  panoramic

window behind her.

"Were Coruscant blessed with a heavenly phenomenon  as  majestic  as  the

Transitory  Mists,  the  New  Republic,  too,  might  have   chosen   a   more

introspective, self-nurturing course. But sadly that is not the case.

"A great shadow has been cast on the galaxy, eclipsing many New  Republic

member worlds, and a call to arms has been issued far and wide. Though  Hapes,

Charubah, Maires, Gallinore, Arabanth, and the other worlds that make  up  the

Consortium have yet to be thrown into darkness, that circumstance is  unlikely

to endure. For so grim is this shadow, so monstrous and far-reaching,  it  may

well have the power to extinguish all light."

Leia paused and remained silent until  the  agitated  murmuring  quieted.

"The source of this shadow lies out side the confines of our galaxy,  but  the

intention of those who cast it is clear: conquest-unequivocal and  thor  ough.

They are called Yuuzhan Vong, and as I speak they are  poised  to  invade  the

Colonies and the Core." Again,  Leia  waited  for  the  murmuring  to  exhaust

itself.

"Peaceful coexistence is not an option, for the Yuuzhan Vong seek nothing

less than to remake the galaxy in their own image-to  have  all  of  us  swear

allegiance to the gods they worship and in  whose  name  they  launched  their

campaign. To avoid conflict, some worlds have al ready surrendered. And  given

what the Yuuzhan Vong have done to worlds that resisted, one can hardly  fault

anyone for capitulating.  But  the  New  Republic  will  neither  bargain  nor

surrender. The invasion must be halted, and that can be effected only  through

a unified effort on  the  part  of  those  worlds  that  choose  freedom  over

enslavement."

Leia planted her hands flat on the podium  and  let  her  gaze  roam  the

audience.

"I won't mince words. New Republic Senator Elegos A'Kla tried to sue  for

peace and was brutally murdered. The New  Republic  Defense  Force  tried  and

failed to save Ithor, Obroa-skai, and scores of other worlds. The  Hutts  have

apparently struck a deal with the Yuuzhan Vong that  allows  the  invaders  to

occupy and utilize Hutt worlds for resources essential to the invasion.

"Now I ask the Consortium to decide which course it will pursue.

"I do not make this  request  lightly,  for  there's  a  chance,  however

remote, that the Yuuzhan Vong will leave the  Hapes  Cluster  undisturbed,  in

which case you will be fighting for a cause rather than survival.  If  forced,

the New Republic will wage this battle alone, but the odds of victory will  be

greatly enhanced by military support from the Consortium."

She took a breath and showed the palms  of  her  hands.  "I  can  promise

nothing in return for such support, for the future is uncertain.  But  I  urge

all of you to consider carefully whom you wish to have as galactic  neighbors,

and as well to recall what Emperor Palpatine was able to  achieve  by  dimming

the light of so many worlds with his own shadow.

"I thank you all for attending to  one  forced  to  resort  to  words  to

express what her heart contains." The hall couldn't have been more  silent  if

it had been catapulted into deep space.

"Delegate Miilarta," Ta'a Chume said, "Ambassador Organa Solo. Ambassador

Solo, Lol Miilarta of Terephon."

Leia extended her right hand with practiced gracious-ness,  and  Miilarta

shook it. "Charmed, Ambassador," she said, then lowered her voice to  add,  "I

can assure you that Terephon will vote to render aid."

Leia smiled with her eyes. "The New Republic thanks you."

Miilarta bowed smartly and moved down the reception line.

In the formal way that typified such functions, Leia  introduced  her  to

the New Republic's ambassador to the Consortium,  then  turned  back  to  Ta'a

Chume, who introduced the equally beautiful female delegate from Ut, the world

that had sent a song on the occasion of the Consortium's visit to Coruscant.

Standing behind Leia, C-3PO  whispered  into  her  right  ear,  "Delegate

Miilarta brings the count to thirty-one worlds, Mistress. You are  effectively

halfway to completion."

Leia  glanced  down  the  reception  line,  which-with  husbands,  wives,

mistresses, and children-wound nearly to the grand entrance  of  the  Fountain

Palace, home to the Hapes royal family.

"Tiring of the formalities, Ambassador?" Ta'a Chume asked from behind her

veil.

Leia turned slightly to regard her. "Not at all."

"You mean to say that you don't find the process somewhat-how shall I put

it? - antiquated?"

"Actually, it makes me think of Alderaan."

"Alderaan? You surprise me, Leia. Equating a former cynosure of democracy

to a matriarchy founded by pirates. What can you be thinking?"

Leia smiled to herself. "In the interest of getting things done, the  New

Republic had dispensed with ceremony.  But  I  sometimes  miss  the  pomp  and

circumstance of the Old Republic, and Hapes feels like a fond memory frozen in

time."

The scarlet half-veil kept secret Ta'a Chume's expres sion, but her  tone

of voice belied a bemused grin. "Why, how sweet of you to reduce  our  way  of

life to mere nostalgia."

"You mistake my meaning, Ta'a Chume-with purpose, I  think."  Leia  swept

her eyes over the reception room.

"This might have been my life, if not for the Empire. The  grandeur,  the

propriety... the intrigues."

Ta'a Chume's eyes narrowed. "Ah, but it could easily have been yours,  my

dear. It was you who chose Han Solo over my son."

Leia looked at Chume'da Isolder, who stood tall, im peccably dressed, and

incurably handsome at the head of the reception line. Yes, she told herself, I

chose a two-fisted rogue without a credit to his name over a scion of  pirates

with pockets deep enough to finance his own war. And thank the stars for that.

Childhood memories were one thing, but examined in the  light  of  middle  age

they surrendered some of their charm. Leia could no  more  imagine  herself  a

proper princess than she could an actress or an entrepreneur. She glanced over

at Teneniel Djo-hands folded  in  front  of  her  and  chin  lifted  in  regal

deportment - and shuddered at the thought of standing in Teneniel's  thousand-

credit slippers.

And yet even while she was  thinking  it,  apprehension  nibbled  at  her

contentment. With Han off on his own, distant  in  more  ways  than  one,  the

future they forged had grown formless and clouded. She hated having  to  worry

about him, but in fact, she missed him terribly, and the trappings of royalty,

the glance down a path not taken, left her feeling cold and alienated.

"Archon  Thane,"  Ta'a  Chume  was  saying,  "Ambassador   Organa   Solo.

Ambassador Solo, Archon Beed Thane of Vergill." Robust,  fully  bearded,  head

and shoulders taller than Leia, Thane was one of  the  Consortium's  few  male

dele gates. He glowered as he stepped in front of her. "Ambas sador Solo,"  he

said, slurring his words. "The infamous Jedi."

Ta'a Chume stiffened. "I would  caution  you  to  keep  a  civil  tongue,

Archon. Or have you perhaps sipped too freely of the drink we provided?"

Thane nodded in a bow. "Your pardon,  Most  Revered  Ereneda,"  he  said,

using the title reserved for Hapan  queen  mothers,  past  or  present.  "Your

generosity has certainly undone me."

Leia reached out with her feelings. Thane wasn't  drunk;  he  was  merely

acting drunk. "I am not a Jedi, Archon," she told him. "As to my infamy-it  is

certainly your prerogative to think what you will."

He swung to her. "Spoken like a  Jedi:  calmly,  in  full  possession.  A

statement weaker minds might be inclined to embrace as the full truth."

"Careful, Archon," Ta'a Chume seethed under her breath. "I'm certain  you

don't wish to cause a scene."

Leia folded her arms across her chest. "A scene is pre cisely  his  wish,

Ta'a Chume. Why deny him his fun?"

Thane vouchsafed a thin smile. "I happened to be on  Coruscant  when  you

went before the senate to deliver the same speech  you  made  us  sit  through

tonight. How it must have vexed your Jedi nature to be ignored."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time, Archon..."

"If he has a problem with the Jedi, he can address his concerns to me."

Tenel Ka was suddenly standing alongside Leia, her hand  resting  lightly

on the rancor-tooth-inlaid grip of her lightsaber. Querulous and  stubborn  by

nature, Tenel Ka had always been quick to take on a fight, and  just  now  her

gray eyes were boring into Thane's.

But the  archon  stood  his  ground,  smiling  nastily.  "Why,  it's  the

Dathomiri who rejects her Hapan heritage, yet deigned to save the royal family

from the machinations of Ambassador Yfra." His gaze  moved  up  and  down  the

reception line. "Isn't this the happy group."

A crowd had begun to form around Thane, and conversations throughout  the

vast room began to subside. Out of the corner  of  her  eye  Leia  saw  Prince

Isolder making a direct line for the center of the commotion.

"We have only the ambassador's word that the Yu-uzhan Vong can't be dealt

with," Thane was telling everyone within earshot. "And if what she says  about

forming a united front is true, why is the New Republic divided about where to

deploy its fleets and to which  systems  it  should  render  aid?"  He  turned

through a circle as he spoke. "Is this  what  we  want  for  the  Consortium-a

factioned leadership? As archon of Vergill I say we re main neutral until such

time as the invaders make certain their plans for the  Consortium,  either  by

word or force of arms."

He gestured toward Leia. "She comes to us, asking a  favor  and  bringing

only the gift of a warning. Why not the gift of the quick-recharge  turbolaser

technology the New Republic has withheld for so many years?"

"That'll be enough, Thane," Isolder said angrily. "This isn't the time or

place for a political debate. If you can't abide by the rules of decorum..."

"You'll toss me out of your palace?" Thane cut  him  off.  "You'd  sooner

host the descendants of those Jedi who killed your ancestors than someone  who

dares speak the truth in your presence?"

"Enough," Isolder snapped.

But Thane was far from finished; he played to the crowd  once  more.  "He

prefers the company of a daughter who has denounced her Hapan heritage..."

Tenel Ka took a forward step, only to be blocked by her father.

"... and a speaker of half-truths like Ambassador Solo..."

Demonstrating uncanny  speed  and  precision,  Isolder  backhanded  Thane

across the face, knocking him into the crowd and drawing blood from his  lower

lip. Instantly Isolder's longtime friend and former bodyguard Captain  Astarta

was at his side, flinging a thick braid of red  hair  over  her  shoulder  and

positioning her hands to parry or strike, as need be.

Two of Thane's supporters had rushed to take him by the  arms  and  stand

him on his feet, but now he threw them aside, wiped his hand across his mouth,

and snorted a laugh at Isolder.

"The spurned suitor to the rescue."

Leia's heart sank. She could feel Isolder battling to control  his  rage.

As angry as she was at him for allowing himself to be provoked,  she  couldn't

help but dread Thane's next move.

"My seconds will call on you  in  the  morning,  Chume'da  Isolder,"  the

archon of Vergill said with complete sobriety.

Isolder returned a formal nod of assent. "My seconds will be  waiting  to

greet them."

"Thus begins the schism," Ta'a Chume said in a sad, quiet voice as  Thane

and his supporters headed for the door.

9

"Punch it, Droma!" Han yelled as he veered  the  Falcon  into  an  abrupt

bank.

Muttering nervously to himself,  Droma  boosted  power  to  the  sublight

drives and maxed the throttle. "We'll be fine venturing into Hutt  space,  you

said. You used to do a lot of contract work up and down  the  Sisar  Run,  and

Sriluur was like a second home, you said. Nothing to worry about, you..."

"Quit griping and give me an update on those ships!"

Droma  swung  to  the  display  screen  of   the   ship's   friend-or-foe

authenticator, which showed seven  bezel-shaped  icons  closing  fast  on  the

Falcon's aft. "Yuuzhan Vong, all right."

Han glanced at the display. The scanners limned images of what might have

been asteroids save for the distinctive bulges  that  were  cockpits  and  the

pitted noses characteristic of weapons emplacements and dovin basal  housings.

"Coralskippers."

"Coordinates for the jump to Nar Shaddaa coming in."

"Belay that," Han countered, throwing switches on the  console.  "There's

no shaking those skips. Route power to the rear deflector shields and lock  in

a course back to Sriluur. I'd rather deal with them  in  atmosphere  than  out

here."

Droma quickly applied himself to the task. "At least we won't have as far

to fall."

"Thanks for the encouragement."

The Falcon whipped through a half-twisting loop, and  the  curve  of  the

dun-and-ecru-colored world ballooned into view.  Terrain-following  data  said

they were traveling  northward,  looking  out  at  a  slice  of  the  northern

hemisphere just east of the planetary date line.

"Skips don't perform well in gravity," Han assured. "Have to rely on  the

antigrav capabilities of the dovin basals."

As if they had heard him, the enemy pilots began firing at extreme range,

molten-gold comets streaming from the projectile and plasma launchers  in  the

bows of their small craft. Two of the  missiles  connected  and,  even  though

weakened by distance, were powerful  enough  to  rock  the  larger  ship.  The

Falcon's sensor suite began screaming.

"Rear shields holding," Droma reported while he activated countermeasures

and distortion systems. "For now." Han took  a  steadying  breath,  vised  his

right hand on the throttle lever, and rammed  it  home.  The  light  freighter

surged into Sriluur's upper atmosphere, trembling as it continued its  oblique

dive. With arrant scorn for the planet's protective wrapping, the Yuuzhan Vong

crafts plunged after.

"See what I told you?" Han exclaimed. "They stick like epoxy!"

The ship's indicators railed in protest  as  the  Falcon  plummeted  into

denser air, rolling and corkscrewing to evade the deadly fire that sought her.

All caution for gotten, Han sharpened the angle of descent, sloughing  control

in exchange for added speed.

"You've got the bridge!" he told Droma.

Droma threw him a panicked glance. "What?"

Unfastening the straps that secured him to the pilot's chair, Han  stood,

spun on his heel, and started for the main ladderwell. He didn't make it  past

the cockpit hatch when ship-rattling impacts aft threw him  to  the  deck  and

forced him to rethink the idea of getting to one of the gun turrets.

"Enable autotracking for the quad lasers," he said in a rush  as  he  was

scrambling to his feet. Buckling back into the chair, he donned a headset  and

began to call up tar geting data on the weapons control display screen. "Let's

see if we can't even up the odds."

Droma reached for the joystick that controlled  the  Falcon's  belly  gun

while Han took hold of the controls for the dorsal gun. Data  began  scrolling

across the respective screens. Han bracketed a coralskipper in  the  targeting

reticle and squeezed the trigger on the control grip.

The enemy craft swallowed the bolt whole.

He pounded his fist on the console. "We've gotta give them more to  worry

about than laserfire!"

Abruptly he rolled the Falcon onto its back while Droma was still  firing

the belly gun. In an effort to keep up, the lead coralskipper drew  deeply  on

the capabilities of its dovin basal and accelerated.

Again, Han brought the reticle over his target, but the coralskipper sped

out of his sights in a flash.

He left the firing to Droma momentarily and peeled the  ship  away  in  a

sweeping descending bank. Projectiles slammed against the  rear  shields,  and

plasma streaked between the  ship's  mandibles.  Han  rerouted  power  to  the

forward deflector and again increased the angle of their descent.

They ripped through a filmy blanket  of  high-altitude  clouds  and  went

spiraling downward. Far below them ocean and desert lay side  by  side.  Storm

systems shrouded Sriluur's western horizon, and  to  the  north  an  expansive

brown haze smudged the terrain.

Droma glanced at the meteorological sensors. "That's a sandstorm!"

"How about that," Han said. "Some wishes do come true."

The words had barely left his mouth when the  lead  coralskipper  dropped

with mind-boggling velocity and was suddenly beneath the Falcon and firing  up

at her, plasma geysering from its gun emplacements.

Han pulled out of the spiral, yanked the throttle, and threw the ship  up

and over the coralskipper directly on his tail. A molten bolt from  the  craft

below caught its squadron mate full on. The coralskipper shuddered as hunks of

yorik coral flew in all directions. Then an inte rior explosion burst from the

crystalline cockpit, and the crippled ship went into  a  helpless  free  fall,

condemned to death by gravity.

The destroyed coralskipper's wingmate veered and  glued  himself  to  the

Falcon's tail, battering it with pro jectiles and  refusing  to  be  unseated,

despite a slew of daring turns and evasions Han took them  through.  Han  went

for a pushover, but not in time. Something hit the Falcon like a hard clap  on

the back. Fighting with the controls, he succeeded in righting  her,  only  to

emerge from an end-over-end roll to find three more coralskippers attached  to

the ship as she entered the sandstorm.

The bristles on Droma's back stood up. "Another hit like that and you may

as well plow us into the sand and let the Falcon be our gravestone!"

Projectiles raced past the outrigger cockpit. With  the  Falcon's  Quadex

power core roaring, Han pushed the ship to its limits, jinking and  juking  as

the coralskippers continued to rake fire at them. He dropped the  Falcon  away

in a power dive, leaving Droma struggling to  adjust  thrust  bias  and  avert

disaster as enemy missiles ranged closer.

All at once a mountain loomed  before  them.  Han  torqued  the  ship  to

starboard so forcefully that both he and Droma nearly sailed from their seats.

The lead coral skipper pilot pursued them  ferociously,  obviously  unable  to

hold the Falcon in his sights but firing anyway,  per  haps  in  the  hope  of

shaking Han's concentration.

Without warning,  a  plasma  bolt  sizzled  through  the  overtaxed  rear

shields. A muffled explosion sounded from aft, followed by the  sibilant  hiss

of the ship's fire-suppression system.  An  acrid  smell  drifted  forward  on

exhaust fan currents.

Han sniffed and shot Droma a wide-eyed glance. "What was that?"

Droma's eyes roamed over the console telltales. "Power converter."

Han winced. "Of all the rotten luck!"

He utilized more of the ship's amazing speed to improve  their  lead  and

leapt deeper  into  the  swirling  haze.  The  three  coralskippers  decreased

velocity, waiting for the Falcon to come across their vector, but instead  Han

poured on all power, climbed, looped, and came around behind the trio.

Droma fired instinctively with the belly gun. With the dovin basal of the

trailing ship too stressed to handle defense as well as  guidance,  the  laser

bolts sneaked through. The widespread burst caught  the  craft  right  on  the

nose, blowing it to nuggets.

Han hooted triumphantly as he sheered off and settled  calmly  into  kill

position behind the  second  craft.  The  coralskipper  pilot,  realizing  the

position he was suddenly in, climbed slightly, unintentionally placing himself

in the overlapping  field  of  fire  between  the  Falcon's  upper  and  lower

batteries.

"Money Lane!" Han shouted. "One hundred credits to whoever nails him!"

"You're on!" Droma said.

Simultaneously, the two of them tightened their fingers on  the  trigger.

The quad lasers loosed storms of red darts that peppered the rear of the enemy

craft and perforated the cockpit,  disintegrating  the  ship.  Han  and  Droma

howled their joy as Han steered through a corkscrewing dive,  zipping  through

the far-flung remains of the exploded ship. Swooping past the lead craft,  Han

inverted the Falcon and took her back into the storm.

Where it could be glimpsed at all, the land was dark red and studded with

monolithic rock towers that were the sandblasted and  wind-eroded  remains  of

volcanic upthrusts. And yet despite their size, the  swirling  sand  made  the

tors almost impossible to see.

Eyes on the terrain-following display and making the most of the Falcon's

maneuverability, Han aimed deliberately for  the  closest  obelisk.  Faking  a

climb, he stood the ship on its side and  swerved  to  starboard  while  Droma

triggered bursts from the belly gun. Unsecured items throughout the ship  flew

from their perches, crashed into bulkheads, or were  sent  rolling  along  the

deck plates of the ring corridor. But two well-placed laser bolts  caught  the

coralskipper at the cockpit seam, splitting it in  two,  as  if  struck  by  a

chisel in the hands of a master stonemason.

Still, the three remaining coralskippers clung doggedly, chomping at  the

Falcon's tail. Nap of the ground,  Han  weaved  through  a  forest  of  storm-

obscured spires and wind-sculpted stelae. The  engines  moaned  and  the  ship

vibrated as if on the verge of flying apart. Hiking power to the rear shields,

he snap-rolled, then stood the Falcon on its side  once  more  to  narrow  her

profile as plasma streaked past them to both sides.

Droma lashed his tail around the seat to keep from being strangled by the

seat harness. "At least warn me when you're going to do that!"

Han  leveled  out  and  maneuvered  through  a  ludicrously  tight  turn,

feathering the engines until the Falcon was at a  near  stall,  then  shunting

power to the thrusters and throwing the  ship  into  a  vertical  reversement.

Swerving to evade Droma's fire,  the  trailing  coralskipper  flipped  out  of

control and careened straight into an outcropping, shattering to bits.

The Falcon's thrusters flaring, Han pulled up sharply,  climbing  out  of

the storm at high boost.

Neither of the surviving pair of fighters followed them back up the well.

They collapsed into their chairs as the  stars  lost  their  twinkle  and

swarmed around them as pinpoints of light.

"Nice shooting," Han said after checking in with the threat assessor  one

final time.

Droma returned the grin. "Nice driving."

The Falcon bucked. Indicators flashed and the  console  came  alive  with

warning tones. Han and Droma fell silent once more and turned to  the  painful

chore of assessing just how much damage the ship had sustained.

"The hyperdrive is viable but responding erratically," Droma said a  long

moment later.

Han nodded glumly. "Must have suffered collateral damage when  the  power

converter got hit."

Droma tugged at one end of his drooping mustache.

"We might be able to make Nar Shaddaa. It's difficult to tell."

"No," Han said. "We can't chance it."

"Do we return to Sriluur?"

Han shook his head. "I doubt we'll find the replacement  parts  we  need.

Besides, I don't want to risk running into those coralskippers again."

Droma called up star charts. "Kashyyyk, then. Two quick jumps  and  we're

there."

Han ran his hand over his mouth. "Not a good  idea."  When  Droma  didn't

respond, he said, "It's not what you think. I can handle  the  memories.  It's

just that Chew-bacca's family still consider  themselves  responsible  for  my

well-being, and I can't face that right now."

"So where to?"

Han studied the displayed star charts and grinned, more  to  himself.  "A

little out-of-the-way place I know, where they'll have everything we need."

"Everything Han Solo needs," Droma thought to point out.

"Maybe you're right," Han said.  He  turned  slightly  to  regard  Droma.

"Think you can handle playing captain for a while?"

On Coruscant, in the  new  office  that  had  come  with  her  unexpected

appointment to the Advisory Council, Senator Viqi  Shesh  supervised  the  two

labor droids she had tasked with rearranging the furniture.

"Turn the desk catercorner to the window," she  instructed  them  as  she

moved about the room.

The identical humaniform droids manipulated the hoversled  on  which  the

desk sat. When the desk was in place, they turned to her, seemingly  eager  to

see her pleased by the results. But she wasn't.

"No, no, all wrong," Shesh said, shaking her head, then  running  a  hand

through her lustrous mane of ink-black hair. "Put the desk back where  it  was

and move the conform chair beneath the window."

The pair of droids looked crestfallen. "At once, Senator," they responded

in unison.

Shesh lowered herself into an antique armchair from her native  Kuat  and

glanced around the office, smiling slowly as she took in  the  spacious  room.

Well-appointed without being ostentatious, the  room  enjoyed  a  breathtaking

view of Commerce Way and the New Republic Obelisk. With  a  bit  of  work,  it

would become the most elegant chamber in the building, one that would  make  a

lasting impression on all who entered.

Not bad for someone who had entered the political arena  only  six  short

years ago, Shesh told herself. But she had expected no less than this from the

start, and she an ticipated a great deal more in the coming years, despite the

fact that her appointment to the Advisory Council  had  failed  to  meet  with

unanimous endorsement.

Several would-be political pundits  had  accused  Chief  of  State  Borsk

Fey'lya of attempting to win the support of wealthy Kuat. Others had denounced

Shesh for allowing herself to be seduced by power, and accused her of  turning

her back on the very things that had fueled her rapid  rise.  Under  Fey'lya's

thumb-so the fretting went-what would become of her  impassioned  concern  for

the needy, her economic patronage of  disenfranchised  worlds,  her  outspoken

praise for the Jedi Knights and all they stood for?

Shesh's smile broadened as she considered the questions. In the end, they

showed how mistaken everyone was about her, and how successful she had been in

fostering illusions.

The office comm sounded. "Senator Shesh," her secretary said,  "Commodore

Brand has arrived."

Shesh glanced at her watch. "Admit him," she answered. She rose from  the

chair, smoothed the black skirt that sheathed her long legs, and  ordered  the

labor droids out of the room. By the time Brand entered she was settled behind

the desk.

"Commodore Brand," she began, smiling and extending her hand  across  the

desk. "How delightful to see you."

A rigid, gloomy functionary, with the inward-turning gaze of one who sees

only his own truth, Brand took off his cap, shook her hand as decorously as he

could, and tried to make himself comfortable in  the  tight  confines  of  the

armchair.

Shesh gestured broadly to the office. "Excuse the mess.  I've  only  just

moved in."

Brand's eyes raced about. "Congratulations on being named to the council,

Senator."

Shesh feigned solemnity. "I only hope I  can  measure  up  to  everyone's

expectations."

Brand leaned forward. "War speeds the promotion of those best equipped to

lead. I'm certain you will surpass everyone's expectations."

"Why, thank you, Commodore." Shesh paused briefly. "To what do I owe  the

honor of your visit?"

Brand cleared his throat meaningfully. "The Corellian situation, Senator.

"

Shesh nodded. "The reenabling of Centerpoint Station. In  my  opinion,  a

judicious decision."

"Then you're not concerned about possible... repercussions?"

"An armed and dangerous Corellia, for example? Of  course  not.  A  well-

defended Corellia benefits the entire Core." Brand regarded  her  for  a  long

moment. "Yes. But what if I were to tell you that even more might be gained by

in ducing the Yuuzhan Vong to attack Corellia?"

Shesh raised an eyebrow. "Are you in fact  telling  me  that,  Commodore?

Because if you  are-and  notwithstanding  that  I  sit  on  the  Security  and

Intelligence Council-I would be obliged to bring this matter to the  attention

of the Advisory Council immediately."

"The Defense Force intends to do just that, Senator,"  Brand  said  in  a

rush. "Unfortunately, however, we find ourselves in something of a dilemma."

"A dilemma," Shesh repeated.

"Assuming first that we could succeed  in  luring  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  to

Corellia, we must ensure  that  we  can  defeat  them-soundly.  And  while  we

wouldn't want to tip our hand by massing ships at Corellia, we would  need  to

pull from Bothawui and a host  of  similarly  defended  worlds  to  amass  the

required armada."

Shesh took a moment to  respond.  "You're  concerned  that  the  Advisory

Council would refuse to sanction any actions that would imperil  Bothawui  and

the others. And yet, to accomplish your goal, it would have to  appear  as  if

Bothawui were being defended to the disadvantage of Corellia."

Brand almost grinned.

She appraised him openly. "I see that I've read you correctly.  Though  I

still wonder why you think it neces sary to bring this to my attention."

Brand held her gaze. "Should the matter go to a vote, the  Defense  Force

would want to make certain that Bothawui wins out."

Shesh grinned. "But,  Commodore,  if  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  are  routed  at

Corellia, wouldn't those who voted in favor of Bothawui be seen in disfavor?"

"Perhaps. But any vote tendered in the interest of the greater good would

be seen as enlightened."

Shesh fell silent for a long moment. "A moment ago  you  said  that  this

entire plan rests on the assumption that you can entice the  Yuuzhan  Vong  to

attack Corellia. As I understand it, you hope to accomplish  this  by  leaving

Corellia essentially undefended, in the hope that the enemy takes note of that

fact. But wouldn't it be more profitable if word got  out  about  what  you're

doing? For its technological powers alone, Centerpoint  Station  would  be  an

irresistible target for destruction."

Brand tugged at his earlobe. "This isn't something we can simply announce

over the HoloNet, Senator."

Shesh laughed shortly. "There are better lines to the Yuuzhan  Vong  than

the HoloNet." She gave it a moment, then added, "The Hutts. If they  had  even

an inkling of your plan, they would certainly apprise  the  Yuuzhan  Vong,  if

only in the interest of safeguarding their future."

"But the New Republic has broken off diplomatic relations with the Hutts.

To communicate with them at this point-"

"The Hutt consul general is still on Coruscant. I could pay him  a  visit

and let slip a few things."

Brand stared at her. "You would do that?"

"I would. But in return-in the event the true purpose of  my  visit  ever

came to light-I would want it  known  that  the  Defense  Force  asked  me  to

intercede."

"You want deniability," Brand said.

"Irrefutable deniability, Commodore."

He took a moment, then nodded. "I think that can be  arranged.  We  could

say that we were merely feeling the Hutts out."

"Just so."

Brand smiled. "You should have gone into the military, Senator. You would

have made a brilliant tactician."

"The military?" Shesh snorted in derision. "I don't mean any  disrespect,

Commodore, but why would I want to be the one who fires the weapon when I  can

be the one who decides at whom the weapon is pointed?"

10

The size of a Victory-class Star Destroyer, the bulk freighter Starmaster

hung above the inert Twi'lek home-world, Ryloth. Pods  of  vessels  surrounded

it-tenders, gunboats, and shuttles-some as smooth as marine crea tures, others

as boxy and graceless as the freighter it self. Anchored in the umbra  of  the

great ship floated a Ubrikkian luxury  yacht.  Also  in  shadow,  and  closing

steadily on a rectangular docking bay, moved a lunette-shaped  craft  launched

from Ryloth's miserly zone of in habitable twilight.

In a  lower-deck  compartment  forward  in  the  freighter,  two  Rodians

monitored the approaching crescent  on  a  display  screen,  switching  to  an

interior view of the docking bay as the small craft disappeared from sight.

"Is that his ship?" the Twi'lek pacing behind them asked when  the  craft

had penetrated the bay's magnetic containment field and  landed.  Like  almost

everyone else aboard the Starmaster, the trio were wearing jumpsuits  inflated

by large pouch pockets.

"His ship," one of the Rodians scoffed. "He has dozens  of  ships.  Let's

wait and see who disembarks."

Three human males  and  a  female  appeared  on  the  craft's  extensible

boarding ramp. Moving with lithe economy, the first two men  might  have  been

brothers, though the taller one's face was hideously scarred where the other's

was slim and angular. Dark-haired and willowy, the woman also moved with care,

but there was a coiled wariness to her step and a vigilant gleam in her  eyes.

The last man out had an air of confident  nonchalance.  In  one  of  inherited

entitlement, the elevated chin and pocketed hands might have been perceived as

arrogance, but he wore refinement well, as only one who had earned  it  could.

In contrast to the shin-high spacer's boots and long cloaks  affected  by  his

confederates, he was dressed in silk and  leather.  "That's  him,"  the  other

Rodian said, indicating the latter male  with  the  tap  of  a  long,  sucker-

equipped finger against the  display  screen.  "That's  Karrde."  The  Twi'lek

positioned his thick tattooed head-tails over his shoulders and leaned between

the Rodians for a closer look. "You're certain?"

The one who had made the identification twitched  his  short  snout.  "If

not, it's either his twin or a clone."

The Twi'lek straightened. "I'll alert the boss."

Hurrying through the compartment  hatchway,  he  entered  a  large  hold,

clamorous with activity. Stacked high throughout the space were alloy shipping

crates recently ferried up Ryloth's well from Kala'uun  Spaceport.  Two-legged

binary loadlifters supervised by masked Twi'lek  foremen  were  arranging  the

crates for further shipping and  off-loading,  while  utilitarian-looking  asp

droids stenciled the crates with port-of-call information and  applied  laser-

readable labels. Despite the forceful draw  of  overhead  exhaust  fans,  dark

motes danced and swirled in the recycled air.

One hand clamped to his mouth, the Twi'lek threaded his way  through  the

maze of stacks, arriving ultimately at a laboratory isolated from the hold  by

tall perma-plas window walls. Inside, two humans wearing goggles, rebreathers,

and environment suits were assessing  the  quality  of  a  fine  black  powder

sampled from an opened shipping crate bearing the corporate logo  of  Galactic

Ex otics, alleged to contain edible fungi. The stockier of  the  pair  removed

his mask and goggles to reveal bulging eyes in an otherwise bland face.

"He just arrived," the Twi'lek reported. "Docking Bay 6738. Two men and a

woman accompany him. They are clearing contamination and control now."

"You're certain it's him."

"Certain. But we'll run an identity scan just in case."  The  man  peeled

off elbow-length gloves, slipped out of  the  environment  suit,  and  settled

himself at a display console. "Keep the cam and scanner feeds open  so  I  can

see and hear for myself."

"Will you be informing Borga?"

The man considered it. "We'll see."

The Twi'lek took the same route back to the compartment. By the  time  he

arrived and was peering over the shoulder of the Rodian closest to the screen,

Karrde and his companions were literally at the door.

"Positive identification on Karrde," the Rodian said after  studying  the

scanner readouts. "No information on the other men, but neither one  is  armed

with blasters. The  scanner  matches  the  woman  to  Shada  D'ukal,  a  known

associate of Karrde's." The Rodian looked at the Twi'lek.

"Lethal, even without weapons."

The second Rodian lifted a blaster from  his  hip  holster,  checked  the

charge, and primed the weapon.

"Unnecessary," the Twi'lek told him. "They'd be fools to try anything."

The Rodian's round black eyes fixed on him. "You pay me to be prepared."

The Twi'lek nodded, grinning slightly  to  show  filed  teeth.  "I  stand

corrected."

"Look," the Rodian's partner interrupted. "He's on to us."

The Twi'lek glanced at the display screen in time to see Karrde waving at

the optical scanner concealed in the bulkhead above the hatchway.

"I still don't understand why Karrde would be interested in dealing  with

us," the armed Rodian remarked. "He trafficks in information, not spice."  The

Twi'lek caressed his bulged forehead and moved to the  hatchway.  "This  isn't

about spice. But we're expected to hear him out, so that's what we're going to

do." He aimed a remote at the hatchway sensor, and the hatch  pocketed  itself

into the bulkhead. Karrde and the others  entered,  his  two  male  companions

hanging back and Shada D'ukal sidestepping into a corner where she could  keep

a watchful eye on the proceedings.

"Welcome, Talon Karrde," the Twi'lek said in Basic. "I'm Rol'Waran."

Karrde nodded. "A pleasure." He didn't bother to in troduce anyone else.

"Your chair," Rol'Waran barked at one of  the  Rodians,  who  immediately

stood and stepped aside. He waited for Karrde  to  make  himself  comfortable.

"I'm told that you're interested in procuring product."

"Eight blocks."

Rol'Waran's  normally  narrow  eyes  widened.  "A  substantial  quantity.

However, since your past and recent activities are not unknown  to  me,  would

you mind explaining why you're suddenly interested in product?"

Karrde laughed innocently.  "If  you're  concerned  about  entrapment  or

anything of that nature..."

"Nothing of the sort," Rol'Waran was quick to assure.

"After all, we are only subordinate players in the grand game. But I  was

given to understand that you had abandoned illegality for activity of a more..

. diplo matic nature."

Karrde crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee.

"The Yuuzhan Vong invasion has rendered obsolete my position  as  liaison

between Bastion and Coruscant."

"Meaning, he's unemployed," the shorter of the two men behind him said.

"Yes," RoFWaran said, stroking his left lekku pensively.

"The Yuuzhan Vong have heaped changes on us, as well."

"Not the way I hear it," the same man remarked.

"Just what have you heard?" Rol'Waran asked.

The man's upper lip curled. "That spice remains a safe bet."

Karrde cleared his throat. "What he means is that product has always been

a prized commodity, and now, what with more mouths to feed..."

"Hard times bring about a need for escape," Karrde's comrade cut him off.

"We're all for letting everyone bury their heads in the sand."

Rol'Waran cut his pink eyes to Karrde. "So you're in  terested  in  going

into business."

"Assuming that shipment can be arranged."

Rol'Waran smiled tightly. "That would, of course, add to the price. Where

did you have in mind?"

"To begin with, Tynna."

An awkward silence fell over the compartment,  while  Rol'Waran  and  the

Rodians traded covert glances. "Tynna is extremely problematic at the moment,"

Rol'Waran said at last. "I could  arrange  shipment  to  Rodia,  perhaps  even

Kalarba, but you'd have to take it from there."

"What about Kothlis or Bothawui?" Karrde said. Rol'Waran shook his  head.

"Not at present."

Karrde loosed an annoyed exhale. "If you can ship  to  Rodia,  can  I  at

least get you  to  bring  it  up  the  run  to  Corellia?  That's  the  actual

destination."

Rol'Waran tilted his head to one side.  "Again,  I'm  afraid  we  have  a

problem."

"What's the problem?" Karrde's scar-faced accomplice asked  harshly.  "We

were told you could move spice with impunity under the new terms."

Rol'Waran's tiny eyes darted. "New terms?"

He was about to say more when  the  hatch  opened  to  reveal  the  stout

laboratory  technician  filling  the  portal.  Karrde's  accomplices   reacted

swiftly, but Karrde was just as quick to interpose himself  between  them  and

the grin ning intruder.

"Crev Bombaasa," he said in genuine surprise. "You're  a  long  way  from

home."

"As are you, Talon." Bombaasa looked at Shada. "And the always enchanting

Shada D'ukal. As for my being far from home, even life in the  Pembric  system

can grow boring." With an explicit nod, Bombaasa dismissed Rol'Waran  and  the

Rodians, then lowered himself into a chair at the console and deactivated  the

room's security systems.

"If I recall correctly," he said to Karrde, "the  last  time  we  crossed

paths was in the ThrusterBurn tapcaf in Er-withat. In search of Jorj  Car'das,

you and Shada required  safe  passage  through  the  Kathol  sector,  which  I

provided to offset an earlier debt I owed to your former partner, Mara Jade. I

mention all this by way of stating at  the  onset  that  if  you're  expecting

favors-such as  product  delivery  into  the  star  systems  you  mentioned-be

forewarned that I figure we're already even."

He glanced at Kyp Durron and Ganner Rhysode, then smiled at  Karrde.  "So

why have you come, Talon? And don't tell me you're serious  about  going  into

the spice trade." Karrde looked him in the eye. "I appreciate your  frankness,

Crev. The fact is the Yuuzhan Vong have changed  the  way  everyone  is  doing

business. Many of the  players  remain  the  same,  but  the  field  has  been

rearranged. In the Rim, former Imperials are fighting alongside  New  Republic

forces. Adversaries of long standing are putting aside their differences for a

common cause. Even the Hutts have been forced  to  relinquish  part  of  their

space as a means of avoiding all-out war."

Again, Bombaasa glanced at the Jedi. "Yes, the only good thing to come of

the war is that it gave Kyp Durron  something  else  to  do  besides  prey  on

smugglers." He paused briefly to glance knowingly at Karrde's  confeder  ates,

then sighed. "I thought for certain that would draw a reaction, but I can  see

that this clearly isn't a moment for levity."

"Laugh all you want," Kyp told him.

"I can laugh all I want," Bombaasa repeated in monotone, then touched his

head theatrically. "Did someone here make me say that?"

Ganner placed a calming hand on Kyp's arm. Bombaasa watched the two Jedi,

then nodded at Karrde.

"You're right, Talon, the lines have certainly been redrawn.  Just  where

that leaves people like you and me has yet to be determined."

"Speak for yourself, Crev. I know where I stand."

Bombaasa took a breath. "I'm a practical  man,  Talon.  I  wish  only  to

survive-and under the best possible cir cumstances I can arrange  for  myself.

You say your stance is decided. Then suppose you tell me what's on your mind."

Karrde's eyes narrowed. "You won't ship to Tynna, Bothawui, or Corellia."

Bombaasa linked his hands and rested them atop his prominent belly. "That

much is true. And I commend you on your acuity in picking just  those  systems

where we have temporarily suspended operations."

"The Yuuzhan Vong are in Hutt space," Karrde continued.

"They've already hit Gyndine. So one might reasonably assume that  you're

merely trying to avoid areas of potential conflict."

"Once more I commend  you.  Why  risk  shipments  by  sending  them  into

contested space? Transgression might even prove dangerous to  the  bearers  of

those shipments."

"Then either you're merely being careful, or you're heeding  orders  that

came down from the Hutts."

Bombaasa glanced at the ceiling. "Let's just say that the Hutts, at  this

juncture, are in a better position to as certain which areas are dangerous."

Karrde nodded. "I thought so. And how will you justify this  conversation

to Borga?"

Bombaasa's shoulders heaved in a shrug. "I will relate just what happened

here. Talon Karrde wanted product delivered into denied areas, so we failed to

come to terms." Irony wrinkled his jowled face. "Borga has been expecting just

such an encounter, in any case."

"Playing both sides, is she?"

"Looking out for number one."

Karrde could not restrain a smile. "I won't forget this, Crev."

Bombaasa steepled his thick fingers and brought them to his double  chin.

"Then you might mention me to your friends-as affirmation of just  whose  side

I'm on."

"Count on it," Karrde said. "Someday we  might  all  be  called  to  work

together-smugglers, information brokers,  pirates,  and  mercenaries-and  this

strikes me as a good start."

* * *

The yammosk vessel Creche hung in stationary orbit above the planet Ando.

In the ship's grottolike docking bay,  Commander  Chine-kal  and  the  priest,

Moorsh, welcomed Randa Besadii Diori  aboard.  First  to  exit  the  loathsome

slipper-shaped Ubrikkian space yacht that had arrived from Ando were the young

Hutt's Twi'lek and Rodian retainers, followed by the tusked humanoid  Aqualish

who comprised his  limited  detail  of  bodyguards.  Then,  propelled  by  his

muscular tail, the Hutt himself emerged, smiling broadly and instantly at home

in the cavernous, dimly lighted space.

"I see that you are as fond of gloom as we Hutts are," Randa told  Chine-

kal after he had been announced and introductions had been made.

The commander smiled pleasantly. "We favor obscurity when  it  suits  our

purpose."

Randa attributed the ambiguity of Chine-kal's remark to the  inexperience

of the Yuuzhan Vong translator. "You must come to Nal  Hutta,  Commander,  and

visit my parent's palace. I'm certain you  would  find  it  to  your  liking."

Chine-kal's politic smile held.  "We've  heard  much  about  it,  young  Hutt.

Commander Malik Carr was very impressed."

"As Borga was with Commander Malik  Carr,"  Randa  replied  with  courtly

poise. "I am eager to learn as much as I can of your operations,  so  that  we

Hutts may expedite your needs." His protruding black eyes disappeared  briefly

behind the membranes that kept them moist. "With so  many  worlds  falling  to

your superior might, the task of  ferrying  captives  about  must  be  growing

tiresome."

"The task distracts us from our principal objective," Chine-kal  allowed.

"Which is precisely why we are as eager to instruct as you are to learn."

"Then the sooner we begin, the better," Randa said.

"But perhaps you could first show me to  my  quarters  so  that  I  might

refresh from the journey."

"We have prepared a place for  you,  Randa  Besadii  Diori,"  the  priest

answered. "On the way, we thought we might introduce you to  the  ship's  most

prestigious passenger."

Randa pressed his hands together in a gesture of respect.

"I would be honored."

Chine-kal voiced a brusque command to his guards, who snapped their fists

to their opposite shoulders and arranged themselves in  an  escort  formation,

some ad vancing through an iris portal in the hold's biotic  bulk  head  while

others fell in behind Randa and his retinue. They moved deeper into the  ship,

passing from one module to the next, on occasion lifted by decks  that  bulged

under them like a tongue being raised to the roof  of  a  mouth.  Illumination

varied, but the bioluminescence of the bulkheads rarely provided more  than  a

faint glow. What did increase was a certain tang in the air, which  while  not

unpleasant tended to irritate the nasal passages and promote the flow of mucus

and tears. Lubricious by design, Randa found the conditions most agreeable.

Chine-kal brought the procession to a halt in the rank belly of the  ship

and directed Randa's attention to an aperture in the membranous bulkhead  that

provided a vantage into an adjacent hold. Below, centered in a cir cular  tank

of syrupy liquid, floated a tentacled life-form  that  could  only  have  been

created by the Yuuzhan Vong. Sharing the tank with  the  creature-and  plainly

attending to  it-stood  several  dozen  captives,  anywhere  from  knee  -  to

shoulder-deep in the liquid. Tended to in kind, a few  of  the  captives  were

being stroked by the tentacles. In one case a human male was entirely entwined

by two of the slender appendages.

Randa found himself thinking about certain members of the Desilijic  clan

who were fond of chaining dancers or servants to themselves.  Again  his  eyes

were drawn to the fully embraced human. In the midst of regarding the  several

beings in close proximity to the human, Randa turned excitedly to his  Twi'lek

majordomo.

"Are those Ryn?" he asked, indicating them with one of his stubby arms.

The  Twi'lek  regarded  them  and  nodded.  "I  believe  they  are   Ryn,

Excellency."

Chine-kal followed the exchange and asked for a  translation.  "Something

has caught your eye, young Hutt?"

"Indeed, Commander," Randa said.  "You  have  succeeded  in  capturing  a

somewhat rare specimen."

"To which do you refer?"

"You see the human your creature takes such an interest in?"

Chine-kal gazed down at the yammosk and its  captive  attendants.  "Keyn,

that one is called."

"The sharp-nosed bipeds next to and opposite him," Randa elaborated. "And

there, at the adjacent tentacle. They are Ryn-an entertaining species,  highly

prized by the Hutts, though often disparaged by others."

"Prized for what?"

"They are celebrated for their skill at dancing and  singing,  but  their

real talent is prognostication." Chine-kal waited for  the  translation,  then

turned to Moorsh. "Did you know of this?"

"I did not, Commander," the priest said. Chine-kal cut his eyes to Randa.

"They divine, you say?"

"Rather astutely."

"By what technique?"

"Manifold means. I have heard that  they  can  read  the  future  in  the

creases of the hands, the bumps on the head,  the  color  of  the  eyes.  They

sometimes employ a deck of playing cards that are said to have been  fashioned

by them."

"You have heard," Chine-kal said. "Then you have had no direct experience

with them?"

"Sadly, I have not." Randa smiled. "But perhaps you would be  willing  to

relieve them temporarily of their peculiar duties and judge for yourself? Your

creation appears to take little interest in them, in any case."

"I confess to being curious about them," Moorsh said in reply  to  Chine-

kal s glance.

The commander nodded and turned to a subaltern of the guards.  "Have  the

six Ryn brought to the young Hutt's compartment."

11

To three sides the sea stretched to the horizon-an ex  panse  of  surging

teal, frosted with whitecaps and dazzled by daybreak  sunlight-and  at  Leia's

back climbed the rocky spires and imposing  parapets  of  Reef  Fortress,  the

Hapan royal family's summer home and stronghold in times of crisis.

Against a cool offshore breeze, she hugged herself within  the  dark-blue

wrap of her long cloak and  turned  through  another  circle,  taking  in  the

island's surf-slapped black-rock shoreline, the  majestic  fortress,  a  droid

picking wild dewberries, and closer at hand, Olmahk, along  with  a  score  of

visitors who'd arrived at dawn by dragon yacht to  witness  the  duel  between

Isolder and Beed Thane.

The archon of Vergill and his seconds were gathered on the square of lush

lawn that was to serve as an arena for  the  contest.  As  the  offended  one,

publicly dishonored by Isolder's reckless backhand, Thane had been entitled to

choose the weapons from  a  wide  assortment  that  included  everything  from

vibroblades to sporting blasters. The location, however, had been selected  by

Isolder, who had passed the  previous  night  in  Reef  Fortress,  along  with

Teneniel Djo, Tenel Ka, Ta'a Chume, Leia, and a minimal staff of advisers  and

retainers.

Though the designated hour was drawing  near,  Isolder  and  his  second,

retired Captain Astarta, had yet to show themselves. Plainly disquieted by the

lapse in etiquette, Tenel Ka was unable  to  remain  still  for  more  than  a

moment.

Leia could feel the young Jedi's agitation clear across the lawn. It  was

here at the fortress that she, Jacen, Jaina, and Chewie's nephew Lowbacca  had

braved carnivo rous seaweed and Bartokk assassins to  foil  Ambassador  Yfra's

plot to overthrow the monarchy. Here, too, Tenel Ka had finally come to accept

the mutilation she had ac cidentally suffered at Jacen's hand,  preferring  to

make do with her stump rather than employ a  prosthesis-even  for  a  swimming

race.

As the memories  of  what  Jacen  had  told  her  of  those  events  were

supplanted by concerns for the present, Leia saw Tenel Ka gaze up one  of  the

hedge-bordered paths that climbed to the fortress and quickly walk  away  from

the lawn. A moment later Ta'a Chume appeared where the natural path  debouched

into the lawn, her graying auburn hair falling from  beneath  a  tall  conical

cap, to which was affixed a triangle of gauzy white  fabric  that  veiled  her

lower face.  Notwithstanding  Tenel  Ka's  efforts  on  behalf  on  the  Hapan

monarchy, the former matriarch refused to condone her granddaughter's decision

to em brace the life of a Jedi over that of a future queen mother.

Ta'a Chume tracked Tenel Ka's deliberate departure, then she turned  and,

spying Leia, gathered her long gown in one hand and headed directly for her.

"I trust you slept well, Ambassador," she said as she approached.

"I'd like to report that I did, but in fact, I didn't sleep a wink."

"This business with the duel," Ta'a Chume  said  in  dis  missal.  "Don't

worry."

Leia stared into her green eyes. "You're that confident of your son?"

"You're not?"

"I've seen the best bested, Ta'a Chume."

The former queen mother studied her. "I have to  wonder  to  whom  you're

referring. Your father, perhaps, bested by your brother; or my son, bested  by

the smuggler you helped make a hero."

Leia refused to take the bait. "Isolder shouldn't have allowed himself to

be provoked."

"But, my dear, what other course of action was open to  him  after  Thane

insulted you?"

"He could have allowed me to respond."

Creases formed at the corners of Ta'a Chume's eyes. "My dear  Leia,  here

on Hapes noblewomen are expected to comport themselves as something other than

warriors. It has been thus since the founding days of  the  Consortium.  Blame

the Lorell Raiders for placing us on pedestals."

"I'm not a Hapan noble, Ta'a Chume. And I've been called far worse than a

liar."

"I'm sure you have."

Leia bristled, then regained her composure.  "I'm  more  concerned  about

unity among the Consortium worlds than I am about defending my honor."

Ta'a Chume forced a world-weary sigh. "There  can  be  no  unity  without

honor, Leia. And speaking of honor and dishonor, I've been meaning to  inquire

about your charming rogue of a husband. Why isn't he here with you?"

Leia held Ta'a Chume's piercing gaze. "Han is con tributing  in  his  own

way to the war effort."

"What a  curious  answer."  Ta'a  Chume  lowered  her  voice  in  feigned

intimacy. "I trust there are no troubles at home."

"There are troubles everywhere. That's why I'm here."

"Indeed." Ta'a Chume fell silent for a moment, then said,

"Since your arrival on Hapes I've been meaning to tell you  how  wrong  I

was about you."

Leia waited.

"Unlike the Dathomiri witch's daughter"-she glanced in the  direction  of

Tenel Ka-"you chose against becoming a Jedi."

Leia had to remind herself that she was talking with a woman who had  not

only ordered the murders of her elder son and Isolder's first love, but  whose

own mother had despised the Jedi almost  as  passionately  as  Palpatine  had.

Isolder's grandmother had wanted to see the  Jedi  extinguished,  if  only  to

prevent the resurrection  of  what  she  had  deemed  an  oligarchy  ruled  by

sorcerers and readers of auras.

"Tenel Ka chose wisely," Leia said at last, "as did  your  son.  Teneniel

Djo is perfect for Isolder."

Ta'a Chume shook her head. "No, my  dear.  Their  marriage  is  beset  by

difficulties. There is talk of Teneniel Djo's returning to Dathomir."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"You would have been perfect for my son. He undertakes this duel as  much

to demonstrate to me that a  man  is  capable  of  taking  initiative,  as  to

demonstrate to you his continuing affection. That's  why,  regardless  of  the

outcome of today's contest, you can rely on having  my  full  support  in  the

matter of the Consortium allying itself with  the  New  Republic  against  the

Yuuzhan Vong." Leia was  still  recovering  from  the  unexpectedness  of  the

disclosure when Isolder, Teneniel Djo, and Astarta strode into view.

"With mere moments to spare he arrives," Ta'a Chume  remarked  on  seeing

them. "How like him."

Trailing the prince and queen mother came staffers and  other  witnesses,

including C-3PO, who hurried to Leia's side.

"Mistress Leia," the droid began in a fret, "I had hoped you would decide

to spare yourself the torment of having to watch Prince Isolder engage in such

an antiquated and obviously vain exercise, in  what  can  only  be  considered

pecking-order politics."

Leia frowned at him, thinking of Corran Horn's contest with  the  Yuuzhan

Vong commander Shedao Shai at Ithor. "As the insulted party,  I  could  hardly

absent myself, Threepio."

"But, Mistress," C-3PO pressed, "do you have  any  idea  of  what  Prince

Isolder and Archon Thane are about to do?" Leia  glanced  at  the  lawn  where

Thane's seconds and Astarta were establishing the ground  rules,  and  the  ar

chon and the prince were  already  donning  the  sensor-and  electrode-studded

headgear, power gloves, boots, and  body  armor  that  were  integral  to  the

contest.

"I have some idea," Leia said.

The droid tilted his head to one side and flapped his stiff  arms.  "Then

you shouldn't permit yourself to watch. This form of hand-to-hand  combat  has

its origin in a martial art developed by the Lorell Raiders when  their  chief

preoccupation was the capture and  distribution  of  female  prisoners.  While

perhaps not as deadly or as mystical in nature as teras kasi-the 'steel hands'

tech nique taught by the Followers of Palawa in the Pacanth Reach star cluster

in the Outer Rim-it is nonetheless-" Leia  shushed  him.  "Isolder  spent  two

years as a priva teer," she said quietly. "I'm sure he knows a few moves."

"But, Mistress," C-3PO said hopelessly.

She silenced him again in order to hear what Isolder was telling Thane as

they faced off in the center of the lawn.

"Should you win, you will not only have redeemed your  honor  but  earned

the right to brag of having defeated the prince of Hapes. Should I win, I gain

nothing more than the right to demand  that  you  solicit  the  pardon  of  my

daughter and of Ambassador Organa Solo for your remarks."

Thane sneered at him. "If you'd like to sweeten the pot, Prince  Isolder,

you need only say so."

Isolder slipped his right hand  into  the  power  glove  and  flexed  his

fingers. "Should I win, I want your pledge that Vergill will support  the  New

Republic."

The witnesses gasped. "This cannot be permitted!" someone shouted.

"Neither of you has the right!" another voice added. Thane considered  it

while the arguments continued. "You have my pledge," the archon said at  last.

"Providing that Hapes will withhold support if you lose."

"You bring disgrace on all our Houses!" a witness remarked.

Isolder nodded. "You have my pledge."

Leia's heart raced.

Beside her, Ta'a Chume said, "This has been Thane's goal  all  along.  As

Hapes goes, so goes half the Consortium of worlds." She looked at  Leia.  "You

see what my son undertakes for you?"

On the lawn, the principal referee raised a red scarf high  overhead  and

let it flutter to the ground. It had scarcely touched  the  tallest  blade  of

grass when the fight commenced.

Hapan tradition dictated that honor duels commence  with  little  fanfare

and even less preamble. Leia quickly grasped that it was largely a  matter  of

making sure that everyone had their wagers  in  place.  From  what  she  could

gather by eavesdropping on nearby conversations-and Ta'a  Chume's  avowals  to

the contrary-Thane was favored to win. Despite his agitation, or perhaps as  a

response to it, C-3PO insisted on providing commentary, even after  the  fight

had begun. Olmahk, by contrast, was clearly en tranced, down on  his  haunches

at the edge of the mani cured lawn, his bulging eyes riveted  on  Isolder  and

Thane as they circled,  feeling  each  other  out  with  tentative  kicks  and

punches.

Like Isolder, Thane was tall and muscular, but his thick legs  and  broad

shoulders made Isolder look positively wiry by comparison. His  moves,  as  he

loosened up, suggested both great power and dexterity,  and  he  wasn't  timid

about showing right away that he was good. He came at Isolder  with  double  -

and triple-kick combinations, fired by the same leg, recocking and letting fly

without bringing his foot down in between.

And he had fast hands, as well.

Isolder   parried   the   attack   skillfully,   but    refrained    from

counterpunching, as if undecided about which offense to employ.  Even  so,  it

was obvious to Leia that they were both essentially footfighters, with Thane's

style drawing on traditional techniques  and  Isolder's  on  straight  forward

boxing.

The rules of the honor duel were known to everyone present, save for  her

and Olmahk, but Leia understood that the body armor and headgear served a dual

purpose.  In  addition  to  dampening  the  bone-breaking  and   electro-shock

capabilities of the gloves and boots,  the  sensor-studded  padding  indicated

when a contestant landed a scoring blow, by way of a remote receiver.

"What an appalling display," C-3PO remarked worriedly.

"And I fear it will only get worse, Mistress. Where most opponents  agree

beforehand to refrain from inflicting  serious  injury,  the  prince  and  the

archon waived the usual restrictions!"

Leia tried to ignore him. At the same time,  she  repressed  an  urge  to

think aloud, Don't do this, Isolder, for fear that he might hear  her  through

the Force and come undone. Corran Horn's actions at Ithor had been noble,  and

yet they had failed to preserve the planet.

Isolder and Thane worked each  other  around  for  several  long  minutes

without scoring, though the punishing blows they rained on each other  sounded

like the muffled reports of  ancient  firearms.  Exposed  flesh  reddened  and

swelled. A punch from Isolder drove Thane clear across the lawn; a front  kick

by the archon lifted the prince completely off his feet.  Then  both  of  them

scored in rapid succession when Isolder left himself open to  a  blow  to  the

head in order to land a powerful twisting punch to Thane's ribs.

The rooting of the onlookers  was  enthusiastic,  but  nothing  like  the

bloodthirsty tumult professional  gam  blers  would  have  raised.  Inaudibly,

Teneniel Djo, Tenel Ka, and some of the advisers intoned calming chants.  Leia

kept her concern in check by telling herself that what she was witnessing  was

no different from so many of the lightsaber  practice  duels  she'd  seen  and

engaged in over the years.

Isolder and Thane went at each other again, this time at Isolder's  lead,

with a set-piece attack of left fist, right fist. Thane confidently  went  for

the block and counter against an  expected  right  roundhouse  kick,  only  to

realize too late that it was  a  feint.  Isolder  cocked  his  leg  back  like

lightning and again struck him in the ribs. Falling back,  Thane  grimaced  in

pain, but managed nonetheless to  slip  in  an  off-balance  counterkick  that

caught Isolder unprepared.

The primary referee glanced at the remote receiver  and  declared  points

for each fighter. With the match a two-two tie and both of  them  panting,  he

called for a sudden-death round.

"Sudden death?" C-3PO moaned in alarm. "Sudden death?" It was plain  that

Thane understood how Isolder had set a  trap  for  him.  Once  more  he  moved

tentatively, though seemingly less out of respect for Isolder's  prowess  than

out of wariness for his talent to deceive.

Isolder kept his distance, as well, ultimately forcing Thane to  bore  in

on him. The archon faked a punch, twirled, and  cycloned  his  right  foot  at

Isolder's thigh. Isolder twisted to avoid the full force of the impact, but an

agonized yelp escaped him, and everyone  realized  that  he  had  nearly  been

incapacitated.

The injured leg collapsed under him, and he dropped to one knee, aiming a

stiff-armed punch to Thane's mid-section on the way  down.  Thane  anticipated

the blow and stopped short, just out of range, then brought  one  foot  around

and down in a crescent kick meant to shatter Isolder's  extended  forearm  and

open him up for a frontal attack. But Isolder withdrew his  arm  in  time  and

shoulder-rolled out of harm's way. Shooting to a crouch, he  launched  himself

at Thane.

Thane backed away, windmilling his arms to parry punches and kicks,  then

stepping to one side and executing a fast one-handed forward flip, right  foot

extended to smash Isolder in the face.

Isolder stooped, catching Thane's lower calf in the crook  of  the  X  he

formed with raised forearms, then called on his thigh muscles  to  spring  him

upright. Thane's planted foot slipped on the grass, and he slammed  supine  to

the ground.

Isolder went after him, whirling for a back kick going in. But Thane spun

on his shoulders and neatly swept Isolder's feet out from under him. Springing

themselves upright,  they  exchanged  lightning  volleys  of  kicks  and  body

punches. Plosive sounds cut the salt air as they al  ternated  in  having  the

wind knocked out of them. Thane's right foot  caught  Isolder's  left  forearm

just above the edge of the power glove, and Leia was certain  she  heard  bone

fracture. It struck her all at once that sudden death could mean just that.

Surprised that neither of them had scored, the crowd grew louder,  urging

each man on.  Leia  heard  Captain  As-tarta's  voice  cut  through  the  din,

commanding Isolder to regain focus. Only Leia and Ta'a  Chume  stood  silently

now, wrapped in concern.

With a deft hop, Isolder reversed his stance to keep his  maimed  forearm

out of the line of fire and launched an other counteroffensive.  Thane's  huge

fist tagged him a glancing blow on the side of the head,  but  the  archon  re

ceived a toe kick to the knee in return.

Thane apparently wasn't accustomed to fighting someone his own size,  and

Isolder made the most of it. Time and again he  caught  Thane's  foot  in  his

upper arm or shoulder or managed to duck his head out of the way. But  Isolder

appeared to be tiring. With little left to pitch that he hadn't already tried,

he again advanced with left fist, right fist, as windup for a right roundhouse

kick.

Leia's breath caught in her throat. It  was  the  most  ele  mentary  and

binary kind of gamble. Thane had to decide whether  Isolder  was  setting  the

move up as a feint, or was going to commit to it this time. It  came  down  to

whether or not Thane believed Isolder was fool enough to stake  everything-his

reputation, Thane's promise to side with Hapes  with  regard  to  the  Yuuzhan

Vong, perhaps even the respect of the royal family and Leia-on trying the same

trick after it had been compromised the first go-round.

Thane set himself for a feint and counter. Isolder let him believe he had

chosen correctly by using broken timing-appearing for an instant to be faking-

then let fly the intended roundhouse.

From the sound of the impact, it was clear that Isolder had  planned  the

kick to connect with enough force to end the match. Even so, he exercised more

restraint than Thane probably would have shown. The slap of the  boot  on  the

headguard echoed off the black rocks that graced the shore,  and  the  primary

referee had one hand up to signal the winning point before Thane had  hit  the

ground.

Betting stakes were changing hands even as the two opponents were  bowing

to each other. Given the added  wager,  many  of  the  witnesses  were  beside

themselves with outrage, and arguments began to erupt  on  all  sides  of  the

lawn.

One to whom success came often, Isolder didn't flaunt his  victory.  Even

the customary embraces he received from his wife and daughter failed to elicit

so much as a smile.

Archon Thane appeared grudgingly congratulatory, but Leia could see  that

there would be no lasting peace between House Thane and House Isolder.

At the moment, however, that didn't matter. Thane's loss meant  at  least

one more vote on the side of supporting the New Republic.

Thane and his seconds began to storm away from the lawn,  but  before  he

reached the path that led to the dock, Thane changed direction and angled  for

Leia.

She braced herself.

"Ambassador,  I  will  make  my  formal  apology  when   the   Consortium

representatives convene to vote on the issue  of  rendering  aid  to  the  New

Republic," he began.

"Rest assured that I will honor my pledge to stand with Prince  Isolder."

He scowled, despite himself. "For now I wish only to applaud  you  for  moving

the Consortium one step closer to what will  no  doubt  prove  to  be  a  cata

strophic campaign."

12

Melisma, Gaph, and a dozen other Ryn slogged through  the  shin-deep  mud

that had formed in  the  wake  of  Ruan's  most  recent  on-command  downpour.

Conditions in Facility 17 were deteriorating rapidly and no one  was  smiling,

not even  Gaph,  who  was  usually  unflappingly  sanguine  in  the  worst  of

situations.

The  camp's  overseers  had  requested  that  the  Ryn  report   to   the

familiarization sector, for purposes yet  to  be  disclosed.  A  facsimile  of

civilization as defined by any number of Core worlds, the sector functioned as

a training and indoctrination ground for those refugees bound for the heart of

the New Republic.

Despite Salliche Ag's attempt to maroon  on  Ruan  as  many  refugees  as

possible, a host of worlds and corporations had similar  employment  scenarios

in mind for the displaced peoples of the Outer and Mid Rims. Optical  concerns

were seeking species with innate visual acuity, and acoustical concerns sought

species with expanded ranges of  hearing.  Some  companies  were  desirous  of

nothing more than folks of  size  and  brute  strength.  Still,  most  of  the

refugees had never resided in the Colonies, let alone on Core worlds,  and  so

the need for indoctrination classes meant to bring the culturally deprived  up

to speed for their new lives.

Melisma and the rest trudged past crude  buildings  and  pavilions  where

Basic was being taught to Ruurians and Dugs. Other structures were devoted  to

instructive ses sions in interfacing with droids, computers, and virtual life-

forms; riding turbolifts,  drop  shafts,  and  beltways;  dealing  with  bacta

treatments, durasheet, and flimsi-plast; the use of comlinks,  holoprojectors,

and conform loungers; proper behavior  in  restaurants,  theaters,  and  other

public places; and comportment in the presence of the wealthy, the politically

connected, or the influential.

The Ryn contingent had been directed to structure  58,  which  was  empty

when they entered, save for a grouping of rickety  tables  and  chairs  and  a

human female whose eyes bugged out of her head on seeing them. She glanced  at

the display of a datapad she wore around her neck, quickly  composed  herself,

and asked everyone to be seated. The fact that Melisma and the others opted to

sit on the floor undermined the woman's aplomb, which was obviously as  flimsy

as the furniture, and once again she looked to the datapad for advice of  some

sort.

"You've been asked to report here,"  she  began  in  Basic,  "because  an

opportunity has arisen that could provide you with transport  to  Esseles,  as

well as employment once you arrive."

In pure surprise, Melisma turned to Gaph, whose optimism  made  a  sudden

comeback.

"The job is somewhat peculiar, but as it is the only job  offer  targeted

specifically for your species, I'm certain you'll want to consider it."

She cleared her throat in a meaningful way.  "Essentially  you  would  be

residing in a kind of living museum, where diverse folks  coexist,  displaying

to the intellectually inquisitive or the merely curious the various and sundry

elements unique to their species."

No one spoke for a long moment; then Gaph asked, "What, exactly, would we

be required to do?"

"Why, simply to be yourselves," the  woman  said  in  an  unintentionally

high-pitched voice.

His former grin abandoned, Gaph glanced at Melisma, then looked  back  at

the woman. "You're suggesting that it would be  just  like  being  here-except

that we'd have thousands of visitors gawking at us day and night."

"Observing," the woman clarified. "Not gawking." Melisma shook  her  head

in dismay. "I'm sorry, but  we'll  have  to  decline  the  offer,"  she  said,

speaking for everyone.

The woman spent a moment gnawing at her lower lip, then moved to the door

to ascertain that no one was about. When she swung around to the Ryn her  eyes

twinkled  in  a  way  they  hadn't  earlier,  and  her  tone  of   voice   was

conspiratorial.

"I shouldn't really be telling you this, but Salliche Ag is  prepared  to

furnish you with employment right here on Ruan." She paused to allow her words

time to sink in.

"I'm certain that some of you have had past  experience  on  agricultural

worlds, and that you would adapt easily to both the work and the  environment.

In return, Salliche Ag would expect you only to sign a contract  stating  that

you will remain onworld for at least the next three standard years."

"What does the work pay?" Gaph asked with elaborate enthusiasm.

"Salliche Ag will furnish everything you need in the way of  shelter  and

food, and deduct the costs from your wages. The rest is, of course,  yours  to

do with as you please-although the  company  discourages  its  employees  from

actually accepting credits, for fear they might  be  spent...  frivolously  or

gambled away. The last thing Salliche Ag wants is employees who have overspent

and have no recourse but to work off the debts they incurred."

Gaph slapped his thigh in fabricated delight. "What a sweet deal!"

When everyone had stopped laughing, Melisma said, "We're not interested."

The woman folded her arms across her chest. "Won't you at least  consider

the offer? I'm sure you don't want to remain in this camp any longer than  you

have to."

The scarcely veiled threat was still ringing in Melisma's ears  when  the

Ryn filed out of the building some moments later. She didn't know  whether  to

be angry, anxious, or both. Fortune-telling had been earning  the  Ryn  enough

credits to purchase decent foodstuffs, but business was already  beginning  to

fall off. Without credits the camp would rapidly  become  the  prison  it  was

meant to be, and in the end she and the  others  would  be  forced  to  accept

Salliche Ag's offer.

She didn't think she could feel more  disheartened,  until  they  arrived

back at the Ryn encampment to find two human males waiting for them, no  doubt

to drive home the hopeless nature of their predicament and to sell them  again

on the wisdom of signing on with Salliche Ag.  And  yet  there  was  something

about the pair that gave her pause. For starters, they were too seedy even for

rep resentatives of Salliche Ag. The taller one was gangly  and  bearded,  and

his long fingers were t'bac stained. He wore utility  coveralls  that  were  a

size too small, and his boots were more suited to spaceport work than  a  desk

job. The other man was equally unkempt, with grease under his fingernails  and

grime on his forehead. Black hair cur tained his pale pointed  face  and  fell

lanky and unwashed to his shoulders.

"Lush as it is, Ruan's a  rock  like  any  other  when  you'd  rather  be

elsewhere," the tall one said to Gaph as he approached.

"But every rock has its secret exits," the other chimed in, "even Ruan."

Gaph smiled pleasantly. "Yes, and every one of those clandestine egresses

requires a toll we can't afford to pay."

Tall seemed to take the reply as a good sign. "Then maybe you'd  like  to

earn the toll."

Gaph waved the men to a couple of chairs R'vanna had cobbled together. At

the same time, he asked someone to bring tea and food.

"We represent a concern that provides private trans  portation  to  other

worlds," Tall explained.

"For thousands of credits per passenger," Gaph said.

The man nodded. "But believe it or not, there are folks  here  with  more

than that to spend."

"The problem is," the short man took over, "they lack official permits to

travel. Now normally their credits would buy them documentation, as well,  but

Salliche Ag is making it difficult because they have  their  own  reasons  for

wanting to keep everyone onworld."

R'vanna sighed. "We're aware of those reasons."

"Well, then, here's the thing," the first man said. "The business concern

we represent has official authority to transport a shipload of paying  clients

to Abregado-rae, which is accepting exiles."

"Abregado-rae," R'vanna said in delight. "A much happier alternative than

any of the Core worlds. Positively flush with opportunities."

Tall nodded. "No camps, no labor contracts, no fine print. Everyone  gets

off to a fresh start. But unless we can show our clients'  names  on  official

permits of transit, all the credits in the universe won't get any of them  off

Ruan."

Gaph mulled it over. "Then you need a good slicer to enter those names in

the database."

Short shook his head.  "Salliche  Ag  is  on  the  lookout  for  slicers.

Everything has to be done by durasheet and official seal."

Gaph and R'vanna traded knowing looks. "Go on," Gaph said.

The humans also traded looks. "It's no secret that you people are good at

forging permits and such," Tall said.

"Yeah, like the ones you forged allowing you to emigrate to the Corporate

Sector way back when."

"Unsubstantiated rumors," R'vanna said.

Tall smiled. "Even so..."

Gaph cut him off. "Do you have an example of the seal you want copied?"

Short opened a case and handed Gaph a  square  of  durasheet  bearing  an

elaborate official seal. "This comes straight from Coruscant. Each  letter  of

transit can list up to one hundred names, so we'd need five of them."

Gaph and R'vanna conferred for a moment. "This seal and  the  calligraphy

are intentionally antiquated," Gaph said at last. "We'd need the proper tools,

along with the inks and such."

Tall shrugged. "Whatever you need." /

"What's in this for us?" Melisma asked before anyone else could.

The same man shrugged.  "That's  entirely  up  to  you.  Clothing,  food,

furniture, you name it."

She gazed at him. "How about transport off  Ruan?"  Again,  the  two  men

traded glances. "How many are you?" the first asked.

"Thirty-seven-including an infant."

Tall deliberated, nodding his head slowly. "We  just  might  be  able  to

arrange that."

"Only  to  Abregado-rae,  you  understand,"  his   partner   added.   "No

alternative destinations."

Gaph glanced at Melisma, R'vanna, and some of the others.

"Abregado-rae would suit us fine."

Tall folded his arms. "Then here's how it's going to work: We'll  provide

everything you need to forge the permits. If we're satisfied that they'll pass

muster with Salliche Ag and the spaceport authorities here on Ruan, you've got

yourselves a deal."

"I am Plaan," Tholatin's Weequay security chief said as he  joined  Droma

and Han in the Falcon's forward hold. Plaan had the thumbs of  his  big  hands

hooked into the broad gunbelt that gathered a quilted,  knee-length  gar  ment

the color of Sriluur's desert wastes. His  broad-nosed,  desiccated  face  was

deeply creased, and dark age spots showed on the almond-shaped bony plate that

re inforced his skull from brow ridge to spine. His deep-set eyes gave  him  a

haunted, fearsome  aspect.  Behind  him  stood  two  mean-spirited  humans  in

camouflage combat suits, one cradling  a  new-generation  blaster  rifle,  the

other a twenty-year-old BlasTech E-l 1, which had been the  weapon  of  choice

among Imperial stormtroopers. Half  a  dozen  other  humans  and  aliens  were

inspecting various parts of the ship. Han  couldn't  make  out  their  muffled

comments, but the mere thought of them pawing through his property filled  him

with rage. It took all  the  control  he  could  summon  to  keep  from  going

ballistic.

"My first mate, Miek," Droma said, gesturing offhandedly toward Han.

Plaan  nodded.  "Sorry  about  having  to  search  ship,  Captain  Droma.

Furnished passcodes checked out. But as things are  now,  even  we  must  take

precautions." A being more apt to communicate by pheromones than words,  Plaan

spoke in a clipped and heavy accent.

With the hyperdrive behaving erratically, it had been a long,  slow  trip

to Tholatin, an uninhabited world, save for a deep, almost  undetectable  rift

legions of smugglers had used over the years. The Falcon-going under the  name

Sunlight Franchise-had been directed to a landing zone on  the  floor  of  the

forested cleft, but berthing spaces and maintenance areas were located under a

ceiling of cantilevered rock at the base of a sheer  cliff.  Although  he  had

taken heart that the old passcodes had worked, Han was troubled by the  motley

nature of some of the berthed ships.

"You have been to Esau's Ridge before?" Plaan  asked  suddenly,  studying

Han with interest.

"Not in a lot of years."

"Back then, who running things?"

Han stroked his beard, as if in hazy recollection. "Let's see, there  was

Bracha e'Naso. And an information broker named Formyaj-a Yao, as I remember."

Plaan nodded. "Long gone, with almost everyone from those days. Left when

the Yuuzhan Vong pushed through on way to Hutt space." He  glanced  at  Droma.

"Where acquired, those passcodes, Captain?"

"From a friend on Nar Shaddaa," Droma said, as  Han  had  instructed.  "A

human by the name of Shug Ninx."

Plaan nodded again. "Ninx is known to us. So  you  are  coming  from  Nar

Shaddaa?"

Droma had his mouth open to affirm that they'd arrived  from  Hutt  space

when a baritone voice rang out from the starboard ring corridor.

"Plaan, get a look at this."

Han and Droma followed the security chief into the corridor.  Just  where

the outrigger cockpit branched off, two human members of the search  team  had

discovered the removable panels that covered the secret compartments  Han  had

used for smuggling, in what felt to him like another lifetime. Like Plaan, the

two snoops had the  rawboned  look  of  mercenaries  or  pirates  rather  than

smugglers, which jibed with the  mix-and-match  ships  -  the  uglies-Han  had

observed in the berthing spaces.

Plaan was grinning bemusedly. "Smugglers?"

"Now and again," Droma said.

"Freelance or for Hutts?"

"We're independent contractors."

Plaan snorted. "Better ways of earning credits  these  days.  Even  Hutts

have to take care. With Boss  Bunji  forced  off  Jubilee  Wheel,  not  enough

glitterstim on Ord Mantell to fill bantha's horn."

As he was saying it, a short man wearing mechanic's utilities entered the

corridor from the extended landing ramp. "Looks like your ship has  seen  some

recent action," he told Droma. "Whoever you were running from ruined your  new

anodizing."

Droma replied to Plaan's inquisitive look. "We  en  countered  a  Yuuzhan

Vong patrol. Fortunately, we escaped with nothing more than  a  damaged  power

converter and hyperdrive."

The mechanic pursed his lips, glanced around, and nodded.

"Vintage ship, but I think we can fix you up with the parts you need."

Plaan seemed to relax somewhat. "Would not have to  worry  about  Yuuzhan

Vong patrols if you knew the right people," he said as he followed  Droma  and

Han back to the forward compartment.

Droma glanced  at  Han  before  saying,  "Knowing  the  right  people  is

something we've never been especially good at."

The security chief uttered a  dour  laugh.  "Perhaps  luck  is  about  to

change." He walked to the entrance to the port ring corridor,  then  into  the

adjacent circuitry bay. "How many  passengers  this  crate  carry?"  he  asked

without turning around.

"She's smaller than she looks," Han answered, taking a few  steps  toward

Plaan. "Belowdecks she's nothing but  crawl  space,  and  even  if  we  packed

passengers in like fingerfins, the air scrubbers and  oxygen  supply  couldn't

handle more than fifty or so-and then only for a few hours."

"Why do you ask?" Droma said.

Plaan turned and walked back into the hold. "Many here at Esau's Ridge do

contract work for employer who has a direct line to Yuuzhan Vong."

Han watched Plaan. "Yeah, a couple of friends of ours were working for  a

guy who claimed to have a direct line to the Yuuzhan Vong, but  when  it  came

down to cases the guy was no help at all. Ever hear of the Peace Brigade?"

Plaan nodded slowly. "Outfit of Reck Desh."

"Same employer?"

"Same," Plaan confirmed.  "But  in  kinds  of  activities  Peace  Brigade

handled, we steer clear. Many risks. Relo cation runs our specialty."

"Relocation runs," Han said.

"Private transport for refugees eager to escape New Republic camps."

Han's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Depending on  what  you  charge  for

services, you're either a philanthropist or a predator."

Plaan laughed. "Because we receive large bonuses on back end,  passengers

pay only modest amounts."

"So this nameless contractor is the philanthropist?" Droma said.

"To earn  bonuses,  contractor  requires  that  we  deliver  refugees  to

specific worlds-worlds that end up Yuuzhan Vong targets."

Han had to force his mouth to work. "You're recycling them. Refugees  pay

to leave one camp, find themselves caught up in an invasion,  and  end  up  in

another camp." He fought down an urge to tear Plaan limb from limb.  "And,  of

course, the Yuuzhan Vong are happy because you're making things all  the  more

complicated for the New Republic relief workers."

Plaan shrugged. "Added burden for New Republic. But steady employment for

us. Interested?"

"We might be," Droma said. "Do you have anything going at the moment?"

Plaan made a regretful sound as he cocked his head to one side. "Too  bad

you not arrive sooner. Some of our people moving a bunch off Ruan very soon."

Droma sat unsteadily at the engineering station, deter mined not to  look

at Han. "Ruan?"

Han glanced briefly at him and began to pace. "Maybe we're not  too  late

to join  in,"  he  said,  only  partially  successful  at  keeping  alarm  and

apprehension from his voice. He turned to Plaan. "How  soon  can  we  get  the

parts we need?"

13

In the dank and underlighted hold that  served  as  both  mess  hall  and

dormitory for the  privileged  captives  aboard  the  yammosk  carrier,  Wurth

Skidder placed his bowl beneath the spout of the  nutrient  dispenser,  waited

while his allotted share drizzled out, then carried the bowl to his usual spot

of deck space, where he lowered himself into a cross-legged posture and forced

himself to eat.

Like all things Yuuzhan Vong, the container  had  surely  been  fashioned

from some creature-perhaps from the egg of an outsize oviparous animal-and the

spoon, though made of an  exotic  hardwood,  bore  no  traces  of  carving  or

machining and appeared to have been grown with handle and bowl provided.  Even

the thick, tapered spout of the nutrient dispenser gave all evidence of  being

attached to some living thing that resided unseen  on  the  far  side  of  the

hold's curved and membranous bulkhead.

Shortly, Roa and Fasgo joined him on  the  floor,  as  had  become  their

habit. Both of them, along with almost  everyone  else  in  the  hold,  looked

bedraggled and water logged from having had to endure  long  sessions  in  the

tank with the yammosk. Four captives  had  died  as  a  con  sequence  of  the

creature's attempts at mind probing, and more than twice that number had  been

rendered catatonic. Skidder had survived only by drawing gently on the  Force,

just deeply enough to maintain sanity without revealing his Jedihood.

He was down to his last spoonful of nutrient when Roa said,  "Well,  look

who's returned."

Following Roa's delighted gaze, Skidder turned and saw Sapha and her five

fellow Ryn entering the hold. In stantly he got to his  feet  and  waved  them

over, appraising them as they approached. None of the six had been seen  since

Commander Chine-kal had ordered them away - what must have been standard  days

earlier. Everyone had  wondered  about  their  mysterious  disappearance,  and

Skidder was eager to learn where they had been taken.

"To the Hutt," Sapha said in reply to his question as she lowered herself

to the floor.

Roa's mouth fell open. "A Hutt? On board this ship?" Sapha nodded. "Randa

Besadii Diori. The son of a Hutt named Borga."

Skidder waited to speak until three of Sapha's companions had  moved  off

to join the food line. "Why is Randa here?" he asked quietly but forcefully.

Sapha regarded him for a moment. "It seemed to us that the  Yuuzhan  Vong

are grooming him  to  take  charge  of  transporting  prisoners  of  war.  For

sacrifices, perhaps, or some other purposes."

"So that's the deal they cut for themselves," Skidder said through locked

teeth. "But why were you brought to Randa?"

She laughed without mirth. "To tell his fortune. Using  Ryn  as  diviners

was once a pastime of the Hutts - amusing to them,  frequently  fatal  to  us.

When forecasts failed to come true, the diviners were killed  in  various  but

always gruesome ways. I grew up hearing tales of such things."

Skidder considered it. "So Randa asked you to  predict  his  future,"  he

said at last. "What did you tell him?" Sapha shrugged. "Innocuous things, open

to inter pretation."

"For instance?" Roa asked.

"The near future will be  a  sometimes  puzzling  mix  of  pleasures  and

challenges. He has much on his mind as a result of monumental events that have

recently come to pass. The future hinges on his ability to think  clearly  and

see all sides..."

Fasgo laughed with his mouth full. "I've been told the same things by you

people."

"And Randa accepted that?" Skidder said.

"He seemed to." Sapha gestured broadly to the hold.

"We're here, and not to the best of  my  knowledge  slated  for  imminent

execution."

Skidder's eyes narrowed with intent. "Did he ask to see you again?"

Sapha nodded. "After his beauty sleep. Probably to evaluate our accuracy.

"

"Was Chine-kal present?"

"The first time. The commander took  some  interest  in  our  reading  of

Randa's body markings and palm lines. On the second occasion, he grew bored. I

doubt he'll be there next time."

"He's just accommodating the Hutt," Roa suggested. "I  suspect  that  the

Yuuzhan Vong consider themselves shapers of the future, not destined  for  one

outcome or another."

Skidder was deep in thought.

One of the Ryn returned with a bowl of nutrient for Sapha, but she pushed

it away in disgust.

"The same stuff for every meal, for every species."

Fasgo nodded. "One gruel fits all." He eyed the untouched bowl Sapha  had

set aside. "You going to eat that?" he asked finally.

"Help yourself," she told him.

He did, ravenously, only ceasing his spooning to remark,

"You'll learn to tolerate it. Besides, it's the only way to keep up  your

strength."

"Answer me this," Sapha said. "The Yuuzhan Vong employ organic technology

where we use machines, correct?"

"Thus far," Roa said.

"Then they don't use machines or droids to prepare this stuff."

"I wouldn't think so."

"And yet I haven't seen any chefs, or any kitchen staff. So who  prepares

it?"

Fasgo stopped eating, his spoon in midair, to exchange glances with  Roa.

"Critters," he said to Sapha.

"Creatures."

Sapha gazed at the thin gray gruel. "Creatures cook this?"

Again, Roa and Fasgo swapped glances. "In a manner of speaking," Roa said

delicately.

Sapha frowned. "In what manner of speaking?"

Fasgo set the bowl down. "Look, you don't care for the stuff as is. Maybe

you shouldn't be wondering where it comes from or how it's cooked."

Sapha was about to ask regardless, but Skidder abruptly surfaced from his

pensive trance.

"Randa has an entourage with him? Bodyguards?"

"Some Rodians, Aqualish, and Twi'leks," Sapha said. "The usual mix."

"How many bodyguards?"

Sapha looked to one of her clanmates, who said, "Ten."

"Roughly the same number of guards in the  yammosk  tank  hold,"  Skidder

muttered. He fell silent, then looked hard at Sapha and the other Ryn.

"Listen carefully: The next time you're summoned, you're  going  to  tell

Randa that he's going to be betrayed. He's been  lured  aboard  only  so  that

Commander Chine-kal can sacrifice  him."  He  cut  his  eyes  to  Sapha.  "You

understand?"

She and the other Ryn regarded one another in bafflement.

"And when that doesn't come to pass? You'll have us all sucking vacuum."

Skidder shook his head. "It will come to pass, because I'm going to plant

an idea in the yammosk that Randa is going to betray Chine-kal,  and  that  he

only agreed to come aboard to free us. The yammosk is sure to alert Chine-kal,

and Chine-kal might even want the yammosk to take a  peek  at  what's  in  the

Hutt's head."

Sapha shook her head as if  to  clear  it.  "People  have  found  unusual

purposes for the Ryn, but this..."

Roa frowned at Skidder. "Look, Keyn, just because the creature has  taken

a liking to you, that doesn't mean you can actually  talk  to  it,  much  less

plant an idea in its brain."

Skidder sneered. "You're wrong. I've already been conversing with it."

Fasgo choked on his food and made a comical gesture to indicate  madness.

"Someone's been in the tank too long," he fairly hummed.

Roa continued to stare at Skidder. "You say you've been  conversing  with

the yammosk?"

"By using the Force."

Fasgo broke the protracted silence by saying, with patent disbelief, "The

Force?"

"I'm a Jedi Knight," Skidder announced, in a way that managed to  combine

modesty and pride. "My real name is Worth Skidder."

"Well, well," Roa huffed, "that certainly answers a lot of  my  questions

about you."

"Then I was right," Sapha said. "You deliberately allowed yourself to  be

captured."

Skidder nodded. "At the time I didn't know they  had  a  war  coordinator

aboard this ship. But one thing is clear: they're conveying it to a world they

plan to invade and utilize as a forward base of operations. We need  to  learn

that destination, and find some way to get the informa tion to the Jedi or the

New Republic military."

Roa was the first to respond. "Let's say you do manage to turn  Chine-kal

and the Hutt against one another. How's that going to help you  get  what  you

want?" Skidder was one step ahead of him.  "Once  I've  gained  the  yammosk's

trust, it's going to tell me where we're headed."

"Okay," Roa said tentatively.

"I'll make use of the yammosk to control the dovin basal that drives  the

ship."

Roa and Sapha traded glances. "And then?" the old man asked.

Skidder fixed him with a look. "We mutiny."

The Hutt consulate on Coruscant was chaotic. Servants and dozens of hired

workers were  busy  emptying  the  place  of  the  vast  amount  of  antiques,

keepsakes, and collectibles Golga had amassed in his too-brief reign as consul

general. Reclining on the couch that occupied  the  center  of  the  courtyard

chamber he had come to think of as home, he could only hope  that  the  galaxy

would return to normal in the near future, and that Borga the  Almighty  might

deem him fit to continue serving as Nal Hutta's envoy  to  the  New  Republic.

Until such time, he  would  simply  have  to  accept  whatever  posting  Borga

assigned him, though it chilled him even to imagine being  sent  to  somewhere

like Sriluur, Kessel, or-perish the thought-Tatooine.

"Careful with those hookahs!" he said to the three  Gamorreans  who  were

crating his waterpipes. "Some of those once belonged to Jabba himself!"

He lowered his stubby arms, cursing himself for not having had  the  good

sense to order the Rodians on his staff to see to the hookahs. But  they  were

in the sleep chamber packing away even more personal belongings, and  everyone

else was too occupied destroying documents, making round trips to  the  launch

platform, or keeping the demonstrators from storming  the  consulate,  as  one

group had attempted to do only the previous evening.

Turmoil had been the order of the day since the Holo-Net had  broken  the

story that Nal Hutta had made a separate peace with the Yuuzhan Vong, and that

the Hutts were severing diplomatic relations with the New Republic. Had  Borga

notified Golga in advance, the  consulate  could  have  been  quietly  closed.

Instead the penthouse of the Old Republic-style Valorum  Tower  had  become  a

target for every Outer Rim refugee on Coruscant, and thus a  precarious  place

to reside.

Servants, attaches, and staffers had decamped, including  Golga's  charge

d'affaires. Suppliers had refused to deliver food and other  needed  supplies.

Coruscant Energy had engineered power failures, and  Coruscant  Water  had  so

reduced the flow that daily bathing in the penthouse's converted fountain  had

become impossible. The number of bomb threats exceeded one hundred, though  no

devices had been discovered, and on the HoloNet rumors flew fast and  furious,

accusing the Hutts of everything from treason to sabotage, with  many  calling

for the arrest of all Hutts, and some advocating a declaration of war.

Even now a mixed-species crowd was assembled on the  observation  balcony

of the tower across the city canyon, chanting for retribution, throwing  fists

in the air, and appealing to the ceaseless flow of air traffic with  huge  and

multicolored Hutt-condemning holoplacards. Early on, Golga had  tolerated  the

strident gatherings, but he  had  since  ordered  the  transparisteel  windows

curtained so he wouldn't have to be greeted by the sight of demonstrators each

time he entered the chamber.

Soon, in any case, the  angry  crowds  would  be  nothing  more  than  an

unpleasant memory. He would be on his way to  Nal  Hutta,  and  to  diplomatic

duties elsewhere in the galaxy. Once more, worries of a  posting  on  Tatooine

assailed him, but  they  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  his  Twi'lek

secretary.

"Highness, New Republic Senator Shesh requests audience."

"Now?" Golga said incredulously. "Doesn't Senator Shesh realize that  I'm

preparing to depart?"

"She does, Highness. But she asserts that it is vital that she speak with

you beforehand. She asserts further that you  will  be  passing  up  a  unique

opportunity should you elect not to grant her audience."

"A unique opportunity, indeed. Is this Senator Viqi Shesh of Kuat?"

"Yes, Highness."

Golga grimaced in derision. "A member of the  Advisory  Council  and  the

Security and Intelligence Council. Shall I  tell  you  beforehand  about  this

unique opportunity? She is going to ask me  to  serve  as  an  agent  for  New

Republic Intelligence. She will promise generous compensation for  my  keeping

her committee apprised of what goes on in Borga's court-of who comes and goes,

and of what matters are spoken. She will avouch in the  strongest  terms  that

the Hutts will ultimately be betrayed by the Yuuzhan Vong, and that Borga will

be brought down. She will be quick to assure that the New  Republic  will  one

day prevail against the Yuuzhan Vong, and at that  time  my  contributions  to

their defeat will become public knowledge and I will reap the benefits  of  my

treachery by being awarded a position suitable to  my  new  station  in  life.

Perhaps a palace here on Coruscant, or a political appointment to the world of

my choice."

The Twi'lek waited until he was  certain  that  Golga  was  finished.  "I

should inform her, then, that Your Highness is not interested in speaking with

her?"

Golga blinked and wet his lips with  his  fat,  pointed  tongue.  Lending

voice to what heretofore had been most private musings  had  accorded  them  a

sudden credibility. Under the guise of sufferance, he motioned with  his  tiny

hands.

"No. Show her in. But make sure she understands that I have a  flight  to

catch."

The Twi'lek bowed graciously and left the chambers. When  he  returned  a

moment later he was accompanied by a comely, dark-haired human female, on whom

even normally drab senatorial garb looked  like  evening  wear.  Golga  was  a

Besadii, but he had more than  a  touch  of  Desilijic  in  his  veins,  which

accounted for a certain partiality to human females. Watching Viqi  Shesh,  he

envisioned her dancing for him, or fetching him succulent  morsels  of  living

food. Of greater surprise than her beauty was the fact that she had apparently

come alone, without so much as an interpreter.

Golga arranged himself on the couch and motioned Shesh to the closest  of

several comfortable chairs. "Never let it be said," he began in Basic when his

secretary had  exited,  "that  Golga  Besadii  Fir  is  one  to  allow  unique

opportunities to pass him by."

Shesh smiled with purpose. "I'm glad  to  hear  that,  Consul  Golga.  It

simplifies matters."

Golga licked his lips.

"As you may or may not  know,  recent  information  has  come  to  light,

indicating that the Yuuzhan Vong intend to attack Tynna."

"Tynna? I know nothing of this."

"Certain parties thought it odd that no  spice  was  being  delivered  to

Tynna, and  they  brought  this  matter  to  the  attention  of  New  Republic

Intelligence. Given the  Hutts'  alliance  with  the  enemy,  members  of  the

Intelligence community  had  to  ask  themselves  whether  the  suspension  of

deliveries was perhaps a cloaked message from Borga-a way for  her  to  reveal

the intentions of the Yuuzhan Vong without actually saying as much."

Golga grappled with what he was hearing. "Clearly  you  know  more  about

these matters than I do, Senator. In any event, you certainly can't expect  me

to speak for Borga."

"You are her envoy, are you not?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then don't concern yourself with speaking for Borga.  Simply  listen  as

she might."

Insulted, Golga had an impulse to have Shesh escorted from the  chambers,

but then thought better of it. "I'm listening, Senator-as Borga would."

Shesh flashed a warmer smile. "Should the intelligence about Tynna  prove

reliable, one has to wonder if the sus pension of spice deliveries to Bothawui

and Corellia might signal threats to those systems, as well. Or" - she held up

a meticulously manicured forefinger - "whether this is merely what the Yuuzhan

Vong would like us to think, while they devise an entirely different attack."

She gave Golga a moment to ponder it, then continued.

"You see, the senate and the Defense Force are very divided on just  this

issue. With New Republic fleets widely dispersed to protect the Core Worlds, a

decision has to be reached on whether additional ships should be  deployed  at

Bothawui or Corellia."

Golga laughed. "Senator, I haven't the slightest idea  what  the  Yuuzhan

Vong plan to do next. Furthermore, it is ludicrous to assume  that  Borga  has

been made privy to their plans."

Shesh crossed her legs and leaned forward. "You can assure me of that?"

"I can. Everyone has attached too much import to this so-called alliance.

Borga and the clan leaders of the Grand Council wished to avoid a war  at  all

costs. To do so re quired that we allow the Yuuzhan  Vong  access  to  certain

worlds in our space-worlds of little consequence - which they intend  to  mine

for resources or remake in some way. Granted, this is a  form  of  aiding  and

abetting the enemy, but the end result would have been the same had  we  opted

to go to war. We are powerful, but not as powerful as the enemy."

"The Hutts managed to  hold  the  Empire  at  bay,"  Shesh  pointed  out.

"Delaying the Yuuzhan Vong would have helped."

"I won't deny it. But our society would  have  been  destroyed.  We  have

always believed in keeping to our selves, Senator. We have never attempted  to

intrude on New Republic space-well, there was  that  one  regrettable  episode

involving Durga. But other than that, we  Hutts  have  been  content  to  move

spice, indulge ourselves with food,  drink,  music,  and  dance.  We  are  not

warriors, Senator, much less warlords."

Shesh's eyes narrowed in thought. "So you are  only  trying  to  preserve

what you have. You're not actually siding with the Yuuzhan Vong."

"We are not."

"And should they defeat the New Republic?"

"If I may speak plainly, we'll go on as we always  have-poorer,  perhaps,

for not selling spice, or wealthier from selling even more than we do now."

"To the miserable, defeated masses," Shesh said, loosing a short laugh.

As the statement didn't beg a response, Golga didn't offer one.

"I want you to deliver a message to Borga, Consul. Tell  her  that  while

the fleets are deployed elsewhere, the New Republic would  like  nothing  more

than to see the Yuuzhan Vong attack Corellia. They have a surprise  in  store-

including a big shiny toy that could spell trouble for your new overlords. But

tell her also that this infor mation is offered as a means  of  redressing  an

earlier wrong. Borga won't understand, but there are those who will."

Golga stared at her. "If I didn't know better," he said at last, "I would

be tempted to surmise that you are sup plying me with intelligence that  would

be of great value to the Yuuzhan Vong."

Shesh shrugged. "Think what you will." "Nevertheless, how do I know  that

this isn't simply disinformation, designed to make the Hutts look like fools?"

Shesh said nothing.

"Whichever the case, Senator, this is most unexpected."

Shesh's smile was enigmatic. "Who knows,  Consul,  someday  we  might  be

working together. To that possible end, I think we're off to a good start."

14

In Ryn City's dormitory, with all thirty-seven Ryn gathered  around  them

and  waiting  breathlessly,  the  two  humans-Tall  and  Short-appraised   the

completed letters of transit. The forgeries had required almost four Ruan days

of clandestine work, with almost everyone contributing in one way or  another.

Where Gaph was skilled at line drawing, R'vanna excelled at calligraphy.  Many

of the females had seen to mixing and applying the colors,  and  even  Melisma

had lent a hand by proofreading  the  passenger  names  and  scrutinizing  the

letters for imperfections.

She stood between Gaph and R'vanna now, Sapha's infant-quiet as  a  skimp

for a change-balanced on her hip. The stuffy air of the dormitory was so tense

that when Tall  finally  pronounced  the  letters  "perfect,"  it  was  as  if

fireworks had gone off.

Everyone exhaled in relief and grinned broadly. Melisma handed the infant

to one of the other females and gave Gaph and R'vanna tight hugs of joy.

The humans waited for the Ryn to calm down. Displaying one of the  sheets

of durasheet, Tall showed Gaph an appreciative look.

"I see you've already listed yourselves." Gaph puffed out  his  chest  in

theatrical pride. "That's because we knew you would find them impeccable."

Tall nodded and handed all the letters to Short, who placed them inside a

beat-up alloy case.

"We'll submit everything to Salliche Ag later this morning. They'll  drag

the process out for a day or so. But assuming everything goes as planned,  you

should be prepared to leave on the day after tomorrow. How's that sound?"

Instead of answering, Gaph  raised  his  hands  over  his  head,  made  a

clicking rhythm with his  tongue,  and  began  to  dance,  cross-stepping  and

turning slowly as he moved about the room. In a moment, everyone was  clapping

and clicking in time and joining him  in  celebration.  Melisma  could  hardly

believe their good fortune. In two days they would be headed clear around  the

Core to Abregado-rae!

Apparently in dire need of beauty sleep, Randa hadn't asked for  the  Ryn

as expected. By Skidder's reckoning, two standard days had passed  before  the

Hutt summoned them. Later that same day, however,  Skidder  was  delighted  to

find the six Ryn already in the yammosk tank when he and  the  other  captives

were led into the hold.

Slipping into the gelatinous liquid and taking his as signed place at one

of the tentacles, he gave Sapha a meaningful look but said nothing.

The session began as usual, with the  captives  striving  to  induce  the

yammosk-by lulling the creature  into  a  state  of  tactile  elation  through

caresses and massage-to urge the dovin basal to  drive  the  ship  to  greater

speeds. While those sessions had become less demanding psy chologically,  they

were still physically exhausting, and by the time Chine-kal returned the count

to normal many of the captives were bent double over the tentacles,  straining

for breath and trying to rub the soreness from their hands,  arms,  shoulders,

and chests.

The important thing was that Chine-kal was pleased  with  their  efforts,

which meant that there would be no more speed work for the  remainder  of  the

session.

When the commander's circuit on the tank rim had taken  him  180  degrees

from Skidder, the Jedi threw Sapha a quick glance and spoke under his breath.

"You met with Randa?"

She gave him the faintest of nods. "We just finished with him."

"You did as I asked?"

"Against our better judgment. But, yes, we did as you asked."

"How did he react?"

"With palpable concern. He dismissed us almost im mediately, probably  to

confer with his bodyguards and advisers."

Skidder's eyes narrowed in covert pleasure.

The moment had come to talk to the yammosk. In previous sessions, Skidder

had drawn on the Force only enough to grant the creature access to his surface

thoughts and emotions. The ease of the bond had brought the yammosk back  time

and again, and on each occasion Skidder had given the creature a bit  more  of

himself, as reinforcement. Now he had to reverse the flow and  speak  directly

to the yammosk, as it obviously believed it had been doing with him.

He had been practicing the necessary Force technique since  the  Ryn  had

first told him of their meetings with the Hutt. With no more  effort  than  it

had taken to slip into the  nutrient  fluid  in  which  the  yammosk  floated,

Skidder went into a light trance.

The goal was to convey  through  images  that  Randa  Besadii  Diori  was

plotting against Commander Chine-kal. Skidder had run through  the  deceit  so

often in the past two days that the  images  unreeled  before  him  like  some

HoloNet drama. Immediately the tentacle  draped  almost  tenderly  across  his

shoulders began to twitch, then tremble.

Then all at once the appendage tightened its hold on  him.  At  the  same

time, and throughout the  tank,  the  tentacles  fastened  to  other  captives

dropped away, slapping the fluid with enough force to send  nutrient  slopping

over the rim and onto the floor of the hold.

Several captives screamed in  alarm  as  the  yammosk's  convoluted  body

stiffened. Skidder instantly broke mental contact and ducked  out  from  under

the tentacle's grip. But that only prompted the creature to twist toward  him,

as if to fix him in its gaze. Skidder, Roa, Sapha, and some of the others  had

the foresight to submerge themselves in the nutrient, but a dozen others  were

hurled clear out of the tank by the yammosk's  counterclockwise  whirl.  Fasgo

was among the latter group, and he was  hurled  farther  than  the  rest,  his

already weakened body slammed with bone-breaking force into  the  yorik  coral

bulkhead, where it stuck fast for a moment, then began a slow tumble down  the

scabrous surface to the floor.

Some of the longer tentacles  made  a  sudden  grab  for  Skidder  as  he

resurfaced, but he back-somersaulted out  of  the  liquid  and  onto  the  rim

walkway. Frustrated, the yammosk reared up, then flattened  itself,  extending

its reach to the edge of the tank. The tentacles flailed and  slapped  against

the coral grating, but Skidder deftly avoided them by  hopping  from  foot  to

foot and executing flips that sent him over their slimy top sides.

Elsewhere in the hold, Chine-kal and the  guards  had  been  thrown  into

utter confusion. They raced around the tank, making futile  attempts  to  calm

the creature, convinced for the moment that Skidder was the victim rather than

the instigator.

The Jedi front-flipped to the deck, landing on his feet, but  the  guards

weren't about to cut him too much slack. He could have avoided or defeated the

ones who rushed him from all sides, but with nowhere to run he quickly decided

that his purposes would best  be  served  by  playing  the  panicked  captive,

fearful for his life. He pretended to struggle, throwing some  of  the  guards

aside with the strength that panic affords. Ultimately, though,  he  let  them

get the better of him, and sank to  the  deck  under  their  hold,  shrieking,

wailing, and gesticulating to the yammosk.

"It tried to kill me! It wants to kill me!"

Having lost its fury, the war coordinator was bobbing on  the  waves  its

own actions had stirred. Many captives were pressed to the rim  of  the  tank.

Most of those flung outside by the creature's abrupt spin  were  picking  them

selves up from the deck, dazed but not seriously hurt. Except for  Fasgo,  who

was sprawled lifelessly in an ex panding pool of blood.

Even Chine-kal seemed wary as he approached the yammosk. Skidder  had  to

believe that not all the creatures developed as planned, and that despite  the

bioengineering that went into them, some could be flawed, as was sometimes the

case with skips and other examples of Yuuzhan Vong organic technology.

Seeing or perhaps sensing the commander's approach, the yammosk  extended

two tentacles to him, then a third, which the  yammosk  curled  around  Chine-

kal's neck. The commander's eyes rolled up in his  head,  and  he  might  have

collapsed except for the support of the  tentacles.  Then,  blinking  back  to

consciousness, he turned and stared wide-eyed at Skidder.

Skidder couldn't begin to guess what the yammosk had related about Randa,

or about Skidder himself. But the words that flew from Chine-kal were the last

thing he expected to hear.

"A Jedi!" The commander eased out of the yammosk's embrace and approached

Skidder. "A Jedi!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Skidder saw Roa and Sapha hang their  heads

in defeat.

Chine-kal stood before Skidder, shaking his head in  both  disbelief  and

wonderment. "A valiant effort, Jedi. Truly inspired. But what  you  failed  to

realize is that yam-mosks are not grown but spawned. Each passes the sum total

of its learning on to the next." He  glanced  at  the  creature.  "This  one's

progenitors have had experience with Jedi."

Chine-kal turned back to  Skidder  and  rested  his  hands  on  Skidder's

shoulders. "But be proud, Jedi, for you have pleased me greatly. In fact,  you

will be my gift to War-master Tsavong Lah, who will one day arrive  to  govern

Coruscant."

15

The tempo of the rousing march that welcomed Supreme Commander Nas  Choka

aboard the Yuuzhan Vong warship Yammka was kept by warriors  with  drums,  but

the theme itself was supplied by a  menagerie  of  bioengineered  insects  and

avians, droning, trumpeting, and whistling from within cages and atop  perches

situated throughout the great hold.

Enormous villip-choir transparencies broke the obsidian monotony  of  the

starboard bulkhead, providing a star-strewn panorama of the anchored fleet, as

well as a distant view of the Hutt space world known as Runaway Prince, remade

for the sowing of yorik coral, villip shrubs, and other necessities of war. To

the ships that resembled asteroids, marine behemoths, and tumbled and  faceted

cabochons had been added  an  even  more  massive  and  sinister  specimen:  a

flattened lapidary orb of  glossy  black,  from  the  dense  center  of  which

spiraled half a dozen arms, as if in dark imitation of the galaxy the  Yuuzhan

Vong were determined to conquer.

Supreme  Commander  Choka,  along  with  his  commanders   and   foremost

subalterns, moved on levitated dovin basal cushions in  tiered  heights  above

the deck. In advance of them floated four smaller cushions,  their  diminutive

riders  screened  by  flutters-living  creatures  that  resembled  squares  of

patterned cloth. Arrayed on either side  of  the  arriving  group  stood  five

thousand warriors dressed in battle tunics  and  armed  with  amphistaffs  and

coufees.

Confined to a small space among  the  starboard-side  group  cowered  two

hundred prisoners taken from Gyn-dine and already purified for sacrifice. Bony

growths affixed to voice boxes and jaws prevented them from  giving  voice  to

their fear.

Behind Choka marched troops of his own command, their precision footfalls

crushing an ankle-deep carpet of maroon flowers, whose aroma-wafted  about  by

the  rhythmic  beating  of  wings-had  aroused  the  insects  to  song.  Their

stridulations intensifying and diminishing, the insects sustained notes lifted

from an otherworldly scale. One moment the march was fiery and inspiring;  the

next it was a somber dirge.

Opposite the arrival bay, at the far end of the cloyingly perfumed parade

corridor, waited Commander Malik Carr and his  chief-subalterns,  a  coven  of

priests, and off to one side, Executor Nom Anor, all revealed in tattooed  and

modified splendor.

As the train of elite warriors neared the dais, the drum beats and insect

voices ceased and Malik Carr stepped to the lip of the raised platform.

"Welcome, Supreme  Commander  Choka,"  he  crowed,  his  augmented  voice

resounding from the arching ceiling and tympanic bulkheads. "The  Yamntka  and

all here gathered are yours to command."

A wrathful droning filled the hold. Simultaneously,  ten  thousand  fists

snapped crisply to their opposite shoul ders in salute.

Supreme Commander Choka,  military  commander  of  the  recently  arrived

spiral-arm worldship, transferred himself from the dovin basal cushion  to  an

elevated seat at the center  of  the  dais.  While  the  four  trailing  hover

cushions lined up behind him, priests, shapers, and others arranged themselves

on the floor to both sides. Only when they were seated did Malik Carr and  his

con tingent follow suit. On the deck the warriors bade  their  amphistaffs  to

coil around their bare right arms and dropped ceremoniously to one knee, heads

bowed in deference.

The drumming and stridulations resumed, playing to the body  as  well  as

the ear. With five loud fanfares, some  of  the  insects  rested;  but  heroic

bursts were  immediately  loosed  by  other  insects,  as  if  in  reply.  The

counterpoint continued for some moments. Then, as Choka raised  an  ophidiform

baton of command, the hold fell preternatu-rally silent.

"I bring  salutations  from  Warmaster  Tsavong  Lah,"  he  intoned.  "He

commends you on the work you have done in preparing  the  way,  and  he  looks

forward to the time when he may join you in battle."

Choka's modest stature did not lessen his power. Narrow-hipped but braced

by thick, muscular legs, he sat rigidly on the provided chair  of  carved  and

polished coral like a statue himself, while black-feathered avians cooled  the

air around him with their great wings. Facial  tattoos,  flattened  nose,  and

decurved eyes-above large bluish  sacs-afforded  him  a  regal  demeanor.  His

unadorned tunic was offset by a bloodred command cloak that fell from the tops

of his shoulders, and rings of gaudy variety grew from his fingers and  banded

his wrists and upper arms. Black throughout, his long, fine  hair  was  combed

straight back from a sloping forehead and reached nearly to his waist.

"I, too, congratulate you on your successful harvest," he went on after a

moment. "You have acquitted yourselves well. Your  captives  from  Obroa-skai,

Ord Man-tell, and Gyndine will bloody your nomination. But before we enact the

sacrifice of the captives or learn from Commander Malik Carr the status of the

invasion, we will use this moment to reward some of you  for  the  measure  of

your commitment."

The high priest who accompanied Choka rose to his feet and spoke.

"We thank the gods for delivering us into this promised domain.  May  the

blood you shed purify and cleanse  it  for  the  coming  of  Supreme  Overlord

Shimrra. We honor the gods with the nurturing sap that  flows  within  us,  so

that they might thrive and grant that we  might  continue  to  caretake  their

creations. All we do, we do in emulation and in veneration of them."

The priest turned to the cushions that hovered behind Choka and  motioned

with his hand. The flutters lifted off,  exposing  four  meter-high  religious

statues. The first represented Yun-Yuuzhan,  the  Cosmic  Lord,  absent  those

parts of himself he had sacrificed to create the lesser gods and  the  Yuuzhan

Vong. The second and third statues represented  Yun-Yammka,  the  Slayer,  and

Yun-Harla, the Cloaked Goddess. The fourth, and undeniably the most grotesque,

was Yun-Shuno, the many-eyed patron deity of  the  "shamed  ones"-those  whose

bodies had rejected the living implants, due either to a lack  of  preparation

or to ambitious overreaching on the part of the candidate.

Choka's subordinate commander now rose.

"Subaltern Doshao," he began,  "for  his  actions  at  the  world  called

Dantooine. Subaltern Sata'ak, for his ac tions  at  the  world  called  Ithor.

Subaltern Harmae,  for  his  actions  at  the  world  called  Obroa-skai.  And

Subaltern Tugorn, both for his work in sowing the world  called  Belkadan  and

his actions at the world called Gyndine." He paused briefly, then added, "Step

forward and be escalated."

As the four lesser-grade officers were ascending the dais, a  quartet  of

implanters scuttled from recesses in  the  throne.  When  the  candidates  had

arranged themselves in a line facing the  supreme  commander,  the  implanters

took up positions behind each of them.

A variation on the creature  responsible  for  outfitting  captives  with

crippling growths, the implanters were small, gray, and six-legged. Like their

cousins they were equipped with botryoidal optical organs  and  a  quartet  of

appendages efficient for slicing through flesh and  tucking  surge-coral  into

open wounds. But where the calcificator  made  use  of  bits  of  itself,  the

implanter  carried  whatever  enhancements  were  necessary  for  the   ritual

escalation. Each of the four that began slow climbs up the naked backs of  the

subalterns bore two finger-length horns of  coral,  whose  pointed  tips  were

slightly hooked.

The implanters didn't begin their work until they had secured  themselves

to the back of the subalterns' necks, from where  they  could  reach  to  both

shoulders. Employing the sharper of their  appendages,  they  made  deep  cuts

through the tops of the shoulder muscles, clear down to the bones that  formed

part of the ball-and-socket joints.  When  the  incisions  were  complete  and

acolytes had collected the flowing blood in bowls, the implanters inserted the

hooked horns into the cut, employing a resinous exudate they produced to  weld

the horns to the shoulder bones and to seal the wounds  around  them.  At  the

same time, a sluglike ngdin wove a helix trail through the  candidates'  feet,

sopping up whatever blood the acolytes failed to capture.

Though perspiration ran freely and legs trembled, not one of  the  junior

officers cried out in  pain  or  so  much  as  grimaced.  Pleased  with  their

sangfroid, Choka gestured to four of  his  aides,  who  hurried  forward  with

neatly folded and differently colored command cloaks. By then the acolytes had

conveyed the blood-filled bowls to the high priest, and while he dribbled  the

contents of the bowls over the idols, Choka's aides unfolded  the  cloaks  and

hung them from the newly implanted hooked protrusions.

The drummers beat out a short tattoo, then stopped.

"You are escalated and remade," Choka pronounced. "And now that you  wear

the cloak of command, you will be given your own ships,  made  sector  chiefs,

and tasked with overseeing and reeducating the populace of those  worlds  that

constitute your domain."

"For the glory of the gods!" warriors and officers alike shouted.

Choka watched the promoted warriors step down from the dais, then  turned

slightly in the direction of Malik Carr. "One more matter before  we  proceed,

Commander." He looked past Malik Carr to where Nom Anor was seated.

"Come forward, Executor."

More flamboyantly attired than anyone in the  hold,  Nom  Anor  rose  and

walked slowly across the platform. Opposite Nas Choka he inclined his head  in

a nod. As a member of the intendant caste-though of the lowest rank-he was not

obliged to offer salute.

"Since you and I do not hail from the same order, I am  not  entitled  to

escalate you. But know this, Executor: Were I so entitled,  I  would  be  more

inclined to demote than promote you."

Clearly surprised, Nom Anor did not respond, though  his  mouth  twitched

several times in rapid succession.

"Your  actions,  Executor,  have  been  closely  monitored   and   widely

discussed, and it is the opinion of many in  Shimrra's  court  that  you  have

strayed from your assigned course. First you chose to ally yourself  with  the

Praetorite Vong, who  believed  they  could  spearhead  an  invasion  of  this

magnitude without suffering tragic consequences."

"I was not allied with them," Nom Anor said when he could. "My assignment

was to destabilize the New Republic in ways I saw fit.  That  is  what  I  did

among the Imperial Moffs, as well as in the Osarian  system,  and  have  since

done-under different guises-in a half-dozen other systems."

Choka shot him a gimlet stare. "Who helped the Praetorite Vong  obtain  a

yammosk-and an imperfect one at that?" Nom Anor swallowed hard.  "I  may  have

mentioned something..."

"You facilitated them."

"Only from a certain point of view."

"Don't try your doublespeak on me, Executor.  You  may  have  managed  to

distance yourself from Prefect Da'Gara and the rest by escaping the price they

paid for their miscalculation, but you cannot deny engineering the  plan  that

ended in the death of the priestess Elan, daughter of high priest Jakan-who, I

might add, is most displeased with you."

"There is no proof that Elan or her mascot Vergere are dead. Even  so,  I

can scarcely be held accountable for what happened to them."

"You take no blame for employing agents who act without orders from their

handler?"

Nom Anor added force to his voice. "My agents were endeavoring to  please

me-us-by returning Elan. I had no knowledge of their designs until it was  too

late."

"Is it true that Elan  was  to  have  assassinated  a  number  of  Jeedai

Knights?"

"It is."

Choka tempered his voice with curiosity. "Why this fascination  with  the

jeedai, Executor? I, for one, am not convinced they pose a serious  threat  to

our conquest."

"It is not the Jedi who pose a threat, so much as the Force-the  mystical

power they embody."

"The Force is nothing more than an idea," Choka  said  loudly,  "and  the

best way to extinguish an idea is by re placing it with a better one, such  as

we bring."

Nom Anor risked a patronizing sniff. "As you say, Supreme Commander."

Choka glowered. "Now I learn from Commander  Malik  Carr  that  you  were

instrumental in gaining the allegiance  of  the  creatures  that  occupy  this

space-these Hutts."

Nom Anor's genuine eye narrowed.  "The  Hutts  are  critical  to  a  plan

devised by Commander Malik Carr and myself to force a  significant  defeat  on

the New Republic. In fact"-he tilted his head to one side-"you  arrive  at  an

auspicious moment, because part of that plan is shortly to be put into effect.

If you would care to accompany us into battle, you could observe firsthand our

strategy for conquering the Core Worlds in advance of the arrival of Warmaster

Tsavong Lah."

Choka took a moment to weigh the consequences of  such  an  action,  then

grunted an affirmative. "I will go. But let me caution  you,  Executor,  about

the perils of ambition. It's obvious that you are hungry for  escalation,  but

there are no shortcuts to the rank of consul, to say nothing of  prefect."  He

gestured  over  his  shoulder.  "Look  to  Yun-Shuno  for  counsel,  Executor.

Escalation is awarded only to those who have discharged their  obligations  in

service to the gods. You appear to act in your own be half, as if possessed of

a personal stake in the results." He leaned slightly forward. "Or is  it  this

galaxy, Executor, and the heathen beliefs of those who populate it  that  have

corrupted you?"

Nom Anor held his gaze, wishing he had filled his empty eye socket with a

venom-spitting plaeryin bol. "I care only for what this galaxy is  capable  of

providing the Yuuzhan Vong." He cast a glance at Malik  Carr.  "With  all  due

respect, Commander, our target awaits." Malik Carr nodded to Choka. "He speaks

the truth."  The  supreme  commander  folded  his  arms.  "Let  us  enact  the

sacrifices and see what Commander  Malik  Carr  and  Executor  Nom  Anor  have

masterminded." He pointed to the knot of prisoners.

"Bring the captives forward. In sacrificing them,  perhaps  we  can  help

ensure Executor Nom Anor a much-needed victory."

16

On a purely objective level, battles in space had  a  savage  beauty,  an

incendiary splendor. Any veteran war ship commander or fighter jock ordered to

speak the truth would have said so. The more candid among them might even have

confessed to moments of  exhilaration  or,  at  the  very  least,  moments  of

hypnotic fascination, when ranging laser bursts or the stroboscopic dazzle  of

short-lived explosions were enough to carry a pilot completely out of him - or

herself. Add distance to the view and the enchantment increased a hundredfold,

for along with fiery and coherent light there was the black velvet tableau  of

stars, planets, moons... and ships-thrusters flaring, burnished by  starlight,

reduced to fleeting comets, twirling and pirouetting in  a  slow,  pyrotechnic

ballet of death.

The Battle of Tynna was no exception.

Being seven hundred thousand kilometers removed from the  cloud-wreathed,

cool-blue and dark-green gem was like having an upper-tier balcony seat at the

Corus-cant Opera, but the lofty vantage compensated for the lack  of  details.

And as at the opera, technological assists were available for any  who  wished

to bring the action into extreme close-up.

Major Showolter might have  expressed  as  much  to  fellow  intelligence

officer Belindi Kalenda, but he feared being misunderstood.  Consequently,  he

kept his thoughts to himself  as  the  two  women  at  the  helm  of  the  KDY

LightStealth-18 reconnaissance leaned to either side to afford him and Kalenda

an unobstructed view of Tynna's ruination.

A  carbon-black  six-passenger  craft  with   a   needlelike   body   and

disproportionate, downsloping stabilizers,  the  LightStealth  recon  was  the

closest anyone had come to producing a starship capable of hiding itself  even

while it scanned. Unlike the wide assortment  of  vessels  designed  by  Raith

Sienar, Imperial Section 19, or Warthan's  Wizards  during  the  days  of  the

Empire, the LSR wasn't cloaked, but was instead built for silent  running  and

remarkable speed. Bristling with low-profile rectennae and packed with signal-

augmented sensor jammers, blind-band hypercomm transmitters, crystal gravfield

trap scanners, and a power core more suitable to a ship of the line,  the  LSR

could all but see around the universe to its own aft and could  outrun  nearly

anything that got wind of it.

The craft's pilots, on temporary duty from the Intelli  gence  division's

own Black Force Squadron, had assured Showolter that the LSR could be moved to

within visual range of the Yuuzhan Vong flotilla and still evade  detec  tion.

But Showolter had no desire to be any closer to the rout than necessary.  They

were only there as observers, in any case.

"It's horrible," Kalenda said abjectly,  turning  away  from  the  narrow

viewports. "I can't stand just sitting here, doing nothing."

"Showing ourselves will allow the Yuuzhan Vong to know we've found a flaw

in their strategy," Showolter pointed out. Even so, the realization that  they

really could do nothing brought an end to his ruminations about the beauty  of

battle and pulled down the corners of his mouth. "But I agree: it's horrible."

Kalenda  was  slight,  dark-skinned,  and  a  touch  glassy-eyed,   where

Showolter was thickset, pale, and a bit  more  conspicuous  than  Intelligence

liked its officers to  be.  Recently  they  had  worked  closely  together  in

overseeing the Yuuzhan Vong defector case, which had not only  turned  into  a

political debacle of major proportions, but had also landed both  of  them  in

bacta tanks.

In private moments Showolter still chided  himself  for  having  been  so

easily manipulated by Elan-the Yuuzhan Vong priestess and  faux  defector  who

had very nearly done in Han Solo, as well. Showolter had  never  trusted  her,

and yet despite his suspicions he had relaxed his guard and ultimately  failed

to deliver her to Corus-cant. He often wondered what might have  happened  had

he succeeded. Would he have been a victim of her poison breath,  as  Solo  had

come close to being? Would she have accomplished  her  goal  of  assassinating

Luke Skywalker and other Jedi Knights? He wondered, too, about the fate of the

strange being that had accompanied Elan, the one called Vergere, who had  fled

in one of the Millennium Falcon's escape pods, perhaps back into enemy  hands,

perhaps not. Kalenda had also borne the brunt of the fallout from the  affair,

as it was thought that she  had  unwittingly  divulged  vital  details  to  an

informer who sat-even now-in the senate or on the  Security  and  Intelligence

Council.

Showolter's and Kalenda's tarnished reputations  were  clearly  what  had

prompted Talon Karrde to seek them out. Karrde, and the Jedi  apparently,  had

uncovered evidence linking the spice trade to New Republic worlds in  imminent

danger of attack by the Yuuzhan Vong. The nature of that link was so  tenuous,

however, that few would have paid it any heed-save for  two  defamed  officers

intent on clearing their names at any cost.

Knowing that high-ranking members of the military would be disinclined to

hear them out, Showolter and Kalenda had shared Karrde's data only with select

members of the intelligence community. One such member had kept them  apprised

of Yuuzhan Vong fleet movements in Hutt space, and another of HoloNet S-thread

disturbances in the hyperspace  routes  linking  Hutt  space  to  the  Tynnani

system. The jump of several warships from Hutt space had been enough to prompt

Showolter and Kalenda to take a gamble on the flotilla's destination.  Already

en route to Tynna when  confirmation  of  the  HoloNet  disruptions  had  been

received, they had arrived almost simultaneously with the Yuuzhan Vong ships.

Arms wrapped tightly around herself, Kalenda was staring as if mesmerized

by the distant flashes of light. "What were we thinking, Showolter? We  should

have at least tried to bring the Defense Force into this."

"We've been through that,"  he  reflected  sourly.  "They  wouldn't  have

listened. And even if they had, they would  have  dismissed  the  evidence  as

unsubstantiated or at best coincidental-especially considering the source." He

glanced over his shoulder at the LSR's fifth and only civilian passenger.  "No

offense, Karrde."

"None taken," Karrde assured  from  one  of  the  seats.  He  glanced  at

Kalenda, then added, "Remind her, Major, of the most important reason for  not

going to the military." Showolter snorted ruefully. "On the off chance Admiral

Sow actually listened to us and dispatched a battle group to Tynna."

Kalenda pondered the fact dully. "If  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  had  found  New

Republic ships waiting for them, they'd know we're on to them." She gazed  out

the viewport. "Tynna has to fall to save Corellia and Bothawui."

Showolter shrugged meaningfully. "And maybe dozens more have to fall."

Kalenda sighed with purpose. "I've been to Tynna. It's one  of  the  most

beautiful worlds in the Expansion Region. And the Tynnans are probably one  of

the most well-informed and well-intentioned species anywhere." She  turned  to

Karrde. "I just can't accept that there wasn't some other way of corroborating

the intelligence you brought us."

"If nothing else, itil be over quickly,"  one  of  the  pilots  remarked.

"Tynna's space defense didn't number more than two hundred fighters  to  begin

with, and by our count they're already down to less than thirty."

Kalenda squinted, as if to hold  the  battle  at  bay.  "Why  don't  they

surrender? It's suicide." She compressed her lips in bitterness. "If only they

understood what they're dying for..."

"Telling them wouldn't have changed anything," Karrde said,  joining  her

at the viewport. "If your choice was to fight with your last breath  or  allow

yourself to be captured and sacrificed, what would you do?"

While Kalenda brooded, Showolter studied the LSR's authenticator  screen.

"Do the scanners recognize any of the Yuuzhan Vong ships?"

The pilot called up data. "Vessel types, more than any thing else. But we

have verification on three of them. Two  were  at  Obroa-skai.  One-the  heavy

cruiser analog - was at Gyndine."

"Enemy fighters and drop ships penetrating  the  envelope,"  the  copilot

announced. "Bearing on a course for Tanallay Surge complex."

"Can we access the satellite feed?" Showolter asked.  The  copilot  threw

several switches. "Onscreen. What we're seeing is going live to every city  on

Tynna."

The screen showed the sprawling,  multilevel  structure  that  was  Surge

complex, with its surrounding pools, fountains, and chutes. On the broad steps

that fronted the complex and disappeared under  water  stood  several  hundred

dark and glossy-pelted bipeds, all with pointed ears and tapering tails erect,

and whiskered, quivering snouts lifted to the sky.

Abruptly the screen shifted to a reverse point-of-view  shot  of  Yuuzhan

Vong vessels dropping through the at mosphere like slow-motion  meteors.  Cams

tracked the descent of those closest to the Surge complex and held on them  as

they landed on the far side of bridges that  spanned  the  picturesque  lagoon

above which the Tynnans had assembled.

"No indication of weapons among the Tynnan contingent,"

Showolter said when the screen had returned to a  midrange  shot  of  the

web-fingered, bucktoothed aliens. "Must be a welcoming party."

"Has to be," Kalenda mused. "Cunning  and  quick-wittedness  have  always

been the Tynnans' best weapons, but it'll take time before they deploy those."

"Meanwhile," Showolter said, "it looks like they're ready  to  hand  over

the codes to the city."

Karrde smoothed his mustache. "I still can't figure what the Yuuzhan Vong

want with Tynna. Sure, it's rich in natural resources, but nothing that  can't

be found in Hutt space."

"Tynna's a step closer to the Core," the pilot suggested.

Showolter shook his head. "Karrde's right. Has to be  something  peculiar

to Tynna."

The point of view shifted again, this time to Yuuzhan Vong  warriors  and

officers filing from one of the larger drop  ships.  The  cam  closed  on  two

officers perched atop levitation seats. The seemingly  higher  ranked  of  the

pair was black-haired and relatively short for a Yuuzhan Vong.

The other was rail thin and elaborately tattooed.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the look of these butchers," Kalenda

said.

Karrde snorted and made a toasting gesture. "Here's to hoping  you  never

have to."

Showolter's eyes were  glued  to  the  display  screen.  He  touched  the

copilot's shoulder. "I want all of this recorded and backed up in triplicate."

"Already on it," she told him.

Whoever was operating the cam obviously thought  that  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

were going to continue across the bridges to the gathered Tynnans, because the

cam momentarily raced ahead of its subjects when the  enemy  suddenly  stopped

short of the lagoon.

"They want the Tynnans to come to them," Showolter surmised.

"I don't know about that," Karrde said skeptically.

"They're up to something else."

As he was saying it, the cam  closed  on  the  black-haired  officer  and

watched as he motioned back to the drop ships. Then it quickly  panned  across

the landscape, fo cusing on one of the ships in time to see compartments  open

in its pitted base and a swarm of minuscule red spheres spill onto the  ground

and rush for the lagoon as if self-propelled.

"What the...,"the pilot said.

Instinctively and with  patent  apprehension,  Kalenda  reached  for  the

nearest arm, found Karrde's right, and vised on to it.

The leading edge of the spill had reached the shore of  the  lagoon,  and

the first of the red spherettes were al ready  plunging  into  the  cold  blue

waters. On the steps the Tynnans were crowding forward,  snouts  snuffling  in

agitated curiosity.

Showolter, Karrde, and Kalenda huddled around the monitor display.

Abruptly, the lagoon lost color.

Showolter's  first  thought  was  that  something  had  happened  to  the

satellite feed signal. But when he raised his head to  glance  out  the  LSR's

viewport, he could see even at great remove from  the  planet,  the  sparkling

blue of Tynna's northern waters was rapidly changing to a sickly pale yellow.

* * *

In the absence of Supreme Commander Choka and Malik Carr-and  assured  of

victory at Tynna-the priests had performed the rituals necessary for  removing

from its creche aboard the Yamntka an enormous,  dedicated  villip  Choka  had

brought with him from the outer rim of the galaxy. The  rituals  had  involved

the intonation of countless prayers, the use of much  sacrificial  blood,  and

ceaseless stroking of the bony ridge that was the helmet-shaped villip's  most

prominent feature.

By the time the commanders returned from their brief visit to Tynna,  the

villip had been relocated to ceremo nial surroundings in  a  hold  cleared  of

everyone but the most exalted of  the  priests.  Below  their  far-larger  com

panion sat the transmitting villips  consciousness-joined  to  Nas  Choka  and

Malik Carr, who genuflected reverently before the towering communicator,  bare

heads lowered, wrists crossed atop  the  elevated  knee,  and  command  cloaks

falling around them like shrouds.

Nearby the priests sat cross-legged, chanting the invo cations that would

put the villip in sequential contact with scores of signal  villips  that  had

been positioned in space along the invasion path.

With loud sucking noises, a cavity resembling an eye socket  puckered  to

life in the center of the villip's ridge; then  along  that  line  the  villip

everted, turning completely inside out and assuming the features of  Warmaster

Tsavong Lah.

As elect protector of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, and well on his way to  a

kind of apotheosis, Tsavong Lah, through an endless series of escalations, had

come to resemble the incarnation of Yun-Yammka, the god of war. Tsavong  Lah's

head sloped back from his face, with dark hair both upswept and trailing  like

tassels from the blunt end. The blue sacks under  eyes  that  were  all  pupil

drooped like deep pockets to the corners of a voracious-looking mouth,  and  a

deep notch bisected his skull from ear to ear. His full lips  were  ridged  by

myriad scars, and his ears protruded from his skull like  little  wings,  with

the lobes of each descending almost to his shoulders like elongated  teardrops

of molten wax. Below the neck, overlapping scales the color of rust grew  like

armor plates from breastbone and collarbones.

"Behold your leader," Tsavong Lah's villip told the commanders in a voice

garbled by space and time.

"Warmaster," the two said as they lifted their eyes. Each had learned  of

the warmaster's role in the poisoning of Ithor  and  the  downfall  of  Shedao

Domain Shai. To dishonor Tsavong Lah was to court an untimely death.

The eyes of the facsimile fixed  on  Nas  Choka.  "Inform  me  of  recent

events, Supreme Commander."

"We occupy the world called Tynna, Potent One, which fell to us  with  so

meager a fight we might have deemed it unworthy were it not so well suited  to

our needs and our campaign."

The eyes moved to Malik Carr. "I would hear more of this."

"Tynna's clement waters will one day furnish dovin  basals  of  the  size

needed to remove the shields that guard Coruscant  and  other  worlds  of  the

Core. It is our con viction  that  the  indigenous  species-furred  bipeds  of

diminutive size-can be reeducated and trained, and  will  make  for  able  and

affable tenders of our creations."

"And as to Tynna's importance to the conquest?"

"Potent One, the world will also serve as a  staging  area  for  eventual

incursions into the Corellian and Bothan sectors."

"Eventual, you say."

"Tynna is but the first stage of a strategy that will  speed  us  to  the

Core. To guarantee this, we entered into an  agreement  with  the  Hutts,  the

terms of which require that we apprise them of planetary systems to  avoid  in

their dispersal of a ludicrous product called spice. We  did  so  in  complete

expectation that they would  either  alert  the  New  Republic,  or  that  New

Republic analysts would discover that spice was moving freely in some  sectors

and not at all in others, and leap to the conclusion that the latter  provided

a glimpse of our battle plan. Tynna was one of the  worlds  we  cautioned  the

Hutts to avoid, along with Corellia and Bothawui. Tynna was  deliberately  won

as a means of fortifying the disinformation."

The villip was silent for a long moment. "The  meager  battle  you  waged

suggests that the New Republic failed to behave as predicted. Otherwise, their

fleet would have been lying in wait."

"Testimony to the New Republic's notion of  cleverness,  Warmaster,"  Nas

Choka answered. "Through the whole of the battle and its aftermath we observed

spies observing us from  a  stealthy  craft  I'm  certain  they  believe  went

undetected. To have met us in force might have saved the day  for  Tynna,  but

the New Republic is well aware that we have targets of greater significance in

mind, so they purposely gave Tynna away.

"With tribute to Commander Malik Carr," Choka continued,

"I am now convinced that the  same  tactic  will  work  for  the  planned

assault. Many coralskipper pilots are readying themselves  for  the  sacrifice

the attack will require. And we will soon begin positioning  autonomous  dovin

basals along the routes New Republic ships will use in jumping to  the  target

once they learn the truth."

"Then these Hurts alerted the New Republic?"

"I deem it of little consequence either way, Potent One. As a bonus,  the

Hutts will make for bountiful sacrifices when we're finished with them."

The facsimile's eyes closed for a moment. "I am not fully swayed. Even if

your assumption is correct-that the New Republic is now convinced that we mean

to assail either Corellia or Bothawui-surely they  have  sufficient  ships  to

safeguard both worlds."

"They  do,  Warmaster,"  Malik  Carr  said,  "although  Corellia  remains

relatively unprotected, while  Bothawui  enjoys  the  protection  of  a  large

flotilla."

"The New Republic  cares  so  little  for  Corellia?"  Nas  Choka  smiled

faintly. "They wish us to think so, Potent One."

"It has been our hope all along to maneuver them into fortifying only one

of those worlds," Malik Carr ex plained, "and the  gods  have  favored  us  by

providing help from an unexpected quarter. A New Republic  senator  in  formed

the Hutts that Corellia conceals a trap of some sort."

"A deceit."

"Your pardon, Warmaster, but we have some  reason  to  trust  this  human

being. She may well be the same person who  thought  she  was  helping  us  by

apprising our agents that the priestess Elan had defected."

"Then you already know the identity of this betrayer."

"Her name is Viqi Shesh, Potent One."

"This bodes well," Tsavong Lah's villip allowed. "But delay  any  contact

with her until your strategy is success fully executed. She may be of  greater

use to us once we are closer to the Core." The villip began to close. "I leave

the rest to you."

"Your will be done, Potent One," the commanders said in unison.

17

Commodore Brand tried not to be distracted by  the  traffic  that  gushed

horizontally and vertically past  the  transparisteel  wall  of  the  Advisory

Council chambers, or by the cityscape itself, ignited to  flickering  splendor

as that part of Coruscant turned away from the sun. Seated with their backs to

the window wall, Chief of State Borsk Fey'lya and the now eight  members  that

made up his council had nothing to focus on but Brand, who stood rigidly at  a

podium opposite them, reading from a screenful of notes prepared in  haste  by

his staffers after an intelligence briefing on the fall of Tynna.

"What  is  significant,"  Brand  continued,  "is  that  the  assault  was

foreseen, and that alone affords provisional corroboration of the Intelligence

division's belief that the Hutts have been supplying us with  data.  In  those

systems where the Hutts have curtailed spice operations, the enemy has set its

sights on a world. Whether the Hutts were aware of what  they  were  doing  in

asking for forewarning  regarding  their  smuggling  enterprise  is  presently

unknown-though we are looking into the matter-but the fact remains that Tynna,

a transshipment point as opposed to an actual market, has  not  seen  a  spice

vessel since the Hutts forged their pact with the Yuuzhan Vong."

Fey'lya interjected a transparent snort of ridicule  into  Brand's  brief

pause, then had the gall to offer a pretense of apology.

"I'm sorry, Commodore, but something seems to have become  lodged  in  my

throat. Please, carry on with your... report. I know that I speak for everyone

in saying that I can scarcely wait to hear the rest."

Brand refused to be rattled by the sarcasm.  "At  the  moment,  the  only

other systems where spice operations have  been  suspended  are  Corellia  and

Bothawui. It has yet to be ascertained in which order the Yuuzhan Vong mean to

strike. But we do expect an attack sooner rather than later. For  that  reason

it is the opinion of Admiral Sow and the Defense  Force  that  a  decision  is

critical on the matter of the redisposition of New Republic  warships."  Brand

activated the holoprojector table adjacent to the podium. Depressing a tile on

the console built into the lectern's sloping desk,  he  displayed  a  galactic

map, faintly blue in the cone created by the projector's modulasers.

"The Yuuzhan Vong have  established  and  fortified  what  amounts  to  a

resupply corridor that stretches from the Outer Rim to Hutt space.  Since  the

battle at Obroa-skai they have been receiving a steady influx of warships  and

materiel, clearly in anticipation of launching a major  offensive-their  first

since Ithor. Against such a formi  dable  fleet,  and  without  weakening  our

security in the Core or  at  Bilbringi,  where  harassment  continues  despite

holding actions by the Imperial Remnant, we can mobilize  and  deploy  a  task

force of vessels borrowed from battle groups currently in service at Commenor,

Kuat, Ralltiir, and a score of other worlds. Should the Hapes Consortium  vote

to support New Republic efforts, some of their ships would also  be  allocated

to the task force, which would be led by the  heavy  cruiser  Yald,  under  my

command."

Brand  paused  again  and  planted  his  large  hands  on   the   podium.

"Councilors, we have not discounted that the assembled intelligence could be a

ploy to keep us from identifying a different target entirely, but at the  same

time we cannot afford to ignore the evidence."

"Evidence,"   Fey'lya   grumbled.   "Inferences,   suggestions,    remote

possibilities, but certainly not  evidence."  His  violet  eyes  mocked  Brand

openly. "What has the command staff decided, with regard to this redisposition

of naval power?"

Brand motioned to the holograph. "As you know, we have been  triaging  in

all sectors, allowing worlds like Gyndine and now Tynna to fall  in  order  to

safeguard others like Kuat, Bilbringi, and Commenor. Our  actions-or  shall  I

say inactions-have hardly endeared us to worlds that consider themselves to be

in the path of invasion. Regardless, even if we can manage to amass a  sizable

task force, it will not be of sufficient size to provide  adequate  protection

to both Bothawui and Corellia."

He straightened to his full height. "After analyzing all available  data,

it is the conclusion of  the  command  staff  that  Corellia  is  the  target.

Therefore, Admiral Sow is recommending that all available ships and  resources

be moved to the Corellian sector as soon as possible."

Fey'lya's cream-colored fur bristled. "I thought as much," he said  in  a

flat, menacing voice. "You would, as you say, 'triage' Bothawui for  the  sake

of saving Corellia. But I won't have it." He  shook  his  head  angrily.  "I'm

sorry, Commodore, but I refuse to authorize such action  at  this  time.  Your

'evidence' is too scanty."

"No one said anything about abandoning Bothawui,"

Brand rejoined. "The flotilla already there will remain in place. We  are

only trying to protect Corellia."

"Protect the sacred Core, you mean." The Bothan stood to regard his eight

peers. "I wish the council to  consider  closely  the  source  of  this  spicy

intelligence. Commodore

Brand would have you believe that it was  gathered  by  the  Intelligence

division or gleaned through hours of painstaking investigation  and  analysis.

But, in fact, it was brought to the attention of two officers of  questionable

standing in the intelligence community  by  a  person  of  even  more  dubious

reputation, who claims to be serving as a  kind  of  ombudsman  for  the  Jedi

Knights-Talon Karrde."

"I fail to see the pertinence of that," Cal Omas said.

"Talon Karrde is well known to this council."

Fey'lya glared at him. "Well, of course you wouldn't see the  pertinence,

Councilor Omas, because you fail to grasp that the Jedi would sooner  rid  the

galaxy of Bothans than do anything to protect them."

"The Jedi had nothing to do with our decision," Brand argued.

Fey'lya made a gesture of dismissal. "We all know that the Jedi have been

holding back, downplaying their role until such time as they might truly  show

their hand. With Bothawui defeated, they will do just that."

"In what way have they been holding back?" Cal Omas interrupted. "They've

done nothing less than lead this fight from  the  start,  making  a  stand  on

Dantooine and Ithor while the senate insisted on thinking of the Yuuzhan  Vong

as a 'local problem.' "

Fey'lya wasn't unprepared to defend his accusations. "Consider  what  the

Jedi are said to have accomplished when their little retreat on  Yavin  4  was

threatened by Im perial admirals Pellaeon and Daala, and how  Luke  Sky-walker

all but single-handedly turned the tide against the  Yevetha  with  illusions.

Then talk to me about their current contributions."

He wagged his clawed forefinger at Omas. "Never underestimate  what  they

are capable of, Councilor. Sky-walker's Jedi are not the Jedi Knights of  old,

but a surreptitious, ambitious new breed. With Bothawui oc cupied, they  would

be ready to make their move and take control of the senate."

Chelch Dravvad of Corellia took on the fight. "The chief of state  should

learn to keep his private fears to himself. It is against  the  Jedi  Code  to

spearhead an offensive, on the battlefield or in any other arena. In this  the

new Jedi are no different from the old.

Skywalker and the rest are attempting to do what  the  Jedi  have  always

done: uphold peace and justice without turning  themselves  into  full-fledged

warriors. If there is a growing misunderstanding of them, it owes to a lack of

information. Perhaps by isolating themselves on Yavin-4 they are to blame  for

some of that. Perhaps their time would have been  better  spent  demonstrating

what they stand for. Even so, they have all our best interests at  heart,  and

they certainly haven't singled out the Bothans as their enemy."

Fey'lya's voice became higher pitched. "You're wrong,  Councilor.  And  I

say again that, based on Commodore Brand's data, I will not grant the  command

staff's re quest that Corellia be reinforced."

"Then I demand that the issue be put to a vote," Omas said.

Fey'lya held up his hand to silence debate and looked pointedly at Brand.

"What do your actual field agents tell you, Commodore? What do  your  analysts

say? What are you hearing from the costly hyperspace probes you've  sent  out?

Instead of relying on conjecture, we should be looking to hard data.  We'd  do

just as well to seek the counsel of a fortune-teller as accept as  truth  what

you've told us this afternoon."

"Our findings are based on neither prophesy nor con jecture," Brand  said

firmly. "The data supporting our decision are of a  highly  sensitive  nature,

but they are available for your perusal whenever you wish."

Fey'lya sneered. "Oh, I'm certain  you've  concocted  an  airtight  case,

Commodore." He scanned the eight coun cilors. "For the record, then, who  will

begin the vote?"

"I stand with the chief of state," Fyor Rodan of Com-menor  declared.  "I

don't trust Karrde or the Jedi. With enough popular  support  Skywalker  knows

the senate will be constrained to yield to his demands. Then it will only be a

matter of time before the Jedi are overseeing all decisions. I warn you, allow

Bothawui to fall and we'll soon  be  headed  for  malevolent  times-an  empire

disguised as a theocracy." He stopped to take  a  breath.  "Commenor  will  be

threatened should Corellia fall, but I am compelled to vote against the  Jedi,

and for Bothawui."

"Thank you, Councilor," Fey'lya said.

"Why not take the battle to  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  before  they  completely

outflank us?" Councilor Triebakk asked Brand through his droid translator.

Brand turned to  the  towering  Wookiee.  "That  isn't  possible  without

leaving the entire Core unprotected. If we could put the Imperial Remnant  and

the Hutts at their back, or have the Hapan Consortium open a new front in  the

Mid Rim, a counteroffensive could be considered. But now is not the time."

"I agree that we can't afford to leave  Coruscant  or  any  of  the  Core

Worlds open to attack," Dravvad said, "but do you actually expect  us  to  sit

here and debate which world-Bothawui or Corellia-is more important to the  New

Republic?"

"Not more important, Councilor, more imperiled."

"Stop wasting time," Fey'lya snapped. "Your vote will go to Corellia  and

we all know it."

Dravvad nodded his head once. "Just as yours must go to Bothawui."

Fey'lya swung to Cal Omas. "Your vote."

"Corellia-but not for the reasons you imagine. It simply makes  no  sense

for the Yuuzhan Vong to have struck at Gyndine and Tynna if Bothawui has  been

their goal all along. Furthermore, Corellia is essentially defenseless,  where

Bothawui is  already  sufficiently  defended.  How  would  we  appear  to  our

constituents if we  allowed  a  helpless  system  to  fall-a  system  we  made

helpless, no less? We might as well convince Corellia to surrender."

"Spoken like a true Alderaanian," Fey'lya muttered.

"Also, Councilor, you falsely assume that surrender to the  Yuuzhan  Vong

guarantees survival. But that is another matter." He turned to the  Sullustan,

Niuk Niuv.

"The Corellians have long wanted independence," Niuv  began.  "We  nearly

went to war with them in recent memory over that very issue-a  war  that  only

strained relations to the  breaking  point.  The  New  Republic  is  under  no

constraint to defend Corellia. But the fact of the matter is  that  Corellia's

lack of defenses will be its salvation. The Yuuzhan Vong will  strike  against

Bothawui."

"Your sense of direction is astute, Councilor," Fey'lya remarked, "and  I

further applaud you for breaking  ranks  with  Admiral  Sow."  He  turned  180

degrees. "Councilor Triebakk. Do I even need ask?"

"I accept Commodore Brand's data, and  defer  to  the  expertise  of  the

command staff," the Wookiee said through the  translator.  "The  Yuuzhan  Vong

plan to use Corellia as a staging area to penetrate the Core..."

"There's no need to belabor the point," Fey'lya cut him off. He  narrowed

his eyes at Councilor Pwoe. "And you?"

The Quarren's mask tentacles quivered and  his  baggy  eyes  narrowed  in

anger. "Corellia. As Councilor Omas said, Bothawui is adequately  defended  by

some of the very Bothan Assault Cruisers it  convinced  the  New  Republic  to

finance some time ago."

"And I can promise you that we will make use of all those cruisers,  even

if we have to withdraw them from the Core," Fey'lya barked.

"Hasn't it always been Bothawui's aim to claim those ships as  their  own

and prove itself mightier than Mon Calamari, Sullust, and Coruscant?"

Fey'lya smirked. "So Pwoe-disconcerted by  Mon  Calamari's  loss  of  the

military prestige-votes not so much for Corellia as against  Bothawui.  Next!"

He looked to Navik of Rodia.

Navik's short snout bobbed. "Rodia's  proximity  to  Bothawui  leaves  me

little choice." He nodded affirma tively to Fey'lya.

The chief of state nodded back and commenced a head count.  "Pwoe,  Omas,

Triebakk, and Dravvad in favor of Corellia. Myself, Rodan, Niuv, and Navik  in

favor of Bothawui."

Everyone looked at the council's ninth and newest member.

"I'm afraid the decision falls to you,"  Fey'lya  said.  Commodore  Brand

waited, expectantly.

"Even with the  evidence  of  Tynna  to  support  a  possible  threat  to

Corellia, an attack on the Core makes no sense strategically. If  the  Yuuzhan

Vong were going to launch an offensive so far from their present stronghold in

Hutt space, why would they waste  valuable  resources  engaging  a  system  we

essentially stripped of defenses after the Centerpoint Station  crisis  rather

than strike at a more appropriate target, like Kuat or Brentaal? No, I say all

things point to an attack on Bothawui-from Hutt space and now  from  Tynna.  I

stand with Chief of State Fey'lya." Fey'lya breathed a long sigh of relief. "I

commend your  flawless  reasoning,  Senator  Shesh."  He  smiled  ruefully  at

Commodore Brand. "The matter is resolved. Assemble your task force, Commodore,

but steer it to Bothawui."

"We've beaten them at their own game," Commodore Brand  announced  as  he

hurried through the doors  of  the  fleet  office.  "Senator  Shesh  kept  her

promise: She threw the vote to Bothawui."

Hoots of success filled the room.

"Shesh also reports that her meeting with the Hutt  consul  general  went

well," Brand added. "We may yet get some help from the Hutts. Now we  need  to

hear from Hapes."

"The Consortium vote is set for tomorrow," his adjutant supplied.

Brand couldn't restrain a smile. "It's all coming to gether. But now  the

real work begins." He strode to a holomap not unlike the one he had  made  use

of only mo ments earlier in the Advisory Council chambers. "The  Yuuzhan  Vong

have obviously been looking closely at both Corellia and  Bothawui,  assessing

the value of each. By deploying the new task force in Bothan space,  we  leave

Corellia wide open for attack." He turned to his  adjutant.  "What  news  from

Centerpoint Station?"

"The Solo kids have  arrived  on  Drall.  Anakin  Solo  is  the  one  who

originally enabled the repulsor there, and the  Centerpoint  technicians  have

high confidence he'll be able to do the same with the station. At  this  point

they're down to fine-tuning the thing anyway, making certain it  will  perform

as expected, in lieu of running actual tests, for fear of  alarming  Corellia,

Drall, Selonia, and the rest. Although that hardly matters,  since  rumors  of

all sorts have been circulating. Riots have broken out in Coronet, Meccha, and

L'pwacc Den Port, and there's  widespread  talk  of  ousting  Governor-General

Marcha." Brand nodded glumly. "Well, if this works, Corellia will be  seen  as

the galaxy's savior, and any hard feelings should disappear." He  turned  back

to the slowly gyrating 3-D map. "Alert Core Command on  a  need-to-know  basis

that elements of the Third Fleet should be prepared to jump  for  Kuat  on  my

order. Likewise, that elements of the Second Fleet should be prepared to  jump

for Ralltiir." He inserted his hand into the holo-projector's cone  of  light.

"Furthermore,  I  want  the  hy-perspace  routes  linking  Corellia  to  Kuat,

Ralltiir, and Bothawui swept for the Yuuzhan Vong equivalent of mines or mass-

shadow weapons."

Brand  turned  and  glanced  around   the   room.   "With   Centerpoint's

interdiction field holding them fast and a  full  fleet  at  their  back,  the

Yuuzhan Vong will regret the day they entered this galaxy."

* * *

Archon Thane's words could barely be heard for all the outcries of  shame

and disapproval. Regardless, he stood tall before his sixty-two peers, most of

whom were female, proudly displaying the bruises he had earned  in  the  honor

duel with Isolder and  convincingly  unapolo-getic  for  having  gambled  away

Vergill's vote on the outcome of that contest. Thane's audacity  was  not  sur

prising, but where Leia had expected bitterness and sar  casm,  his  words  in

support of the New Republic sounded almost sincere.

Many in the vast hall were certain  that  Vergill's  vote  would  provide

Teneniel Djo with the majority she needed to mandate military  action  against

the Yuuzhan Vong, but Leia no longer had a clear sense of her own  objectives.

While the Consortium's entry into the  war  might  turn  out  to  be  pivotal,

allegations of personal interest and conspiracy threatened  to  undermine  not

only the political process, but also the long-standing  alliance  between  the

Consortium and the New Republic.

To the exasperation of C-3PO, who insisted on trying to  match  her  long

strides and divine her sudden about-faces, Leia  paced  nervously  behind  the

scenes in a small chamber that looked out on the speaker's rostrum. If nothing

else, she told herself, the vote would at least conclude her visit  to  Hapes,

which had become more trying as the days had worn on, both  at  Reef  Fortress

and the Fountain Palace. She felt hopelessly removed from the activities  that

had become most important to her. Hapes had begun to seem a  place  of  exile,

and an imaginary one at that-a land of dragons and rainbow gems, of  trees  of

wisdom and Guns of Command-and the brawl between Isolder and  Thane  had  been

one thing too much.

She had yet to spend any private time with the prince, and if she had her

way, she wouldn't. From the start she had feared that Isolder had misconstrued

the nature of her mission to Hapes, and Ta'a  Chume's  telling  her  that  she

would have been an ideal wife for him had only made things  more  awkward  and

complicated. The fate of the galaxy no longer turned on courtly intrigues, and

Leia wanted no part of the Hapans' enslavement to them. Marooned in the  past,

in a swirl of distant memories, she longed more than  anything  to  hear  from

Han. She knew that Jaina was with Rogue Squadron, and that  Anakin  and  Jacen

were bound for the Corellian system - if they weren't  there  already-but  she

had no idea where Han was.

Countless times each day, he would come  swaggering  into  her  thoughts,

quick to bring disarray. Although it wasn't the Han of the past several months

she saw, but the scoundrel she had gradually fallen in love with. The Han  who

had thrown her a wink on being decorated for his unexpected actions during the

Battle of Yavin; the Han who had acknowledged her  first  confession  of  love

with a reply that managed to be both heartfelt  and  smug;  the  Han  she  had

rendered speechless with the disclosure that Luke was her brother.

Despite the damage to his roguish reputation a  demon  stration  of  real

concern might inflict, there was no ex cusing his continued silence, and  Leia

was as angry at him as she was worried.

A new uproar filled the hall.

Leia saw that it was Isolder who now stood  before  the  delegates.  Like

Thane, the prince was all but basking in the contentious  mix  of  esteem  and

condemnation that greeted him, his face puffy with  contusions,  and  one  arm

bandaged.

No bacta treatments for the real men of Hapes, Leia thought.

"Everyone who has wished to be heard  on  the  issue  of  the  Consortium

pledging support to the New Republic has been heard," Isolder began  when  the

commotion in the hall had settled. "It's clear that we have  no  consensus  on

this issue, and the vote is certain to be close. The decision to go to war  is

never an easy one, and our decision this day is made all  the  more  difficult

because we appear to be safely distanced from that war. But bear in  mind  the

counsel of Ambassador Organa Solo: This quiet will not endure. The light  that

shines on the Consortium today could very well be eclipsed tomorrow,  and  any

battles avoided will ultimately have to be fought,  perhaps  by  us  alone.  I

won't stand here and reiterate the many argu ments that have  been  presented,

denigrating one stance or bolstering another. I ask  only  that  each  of  you

eschew politics and vote the will of the people you  represent.  That  is  our

commitment, and by doing so we vote our conscience."

The process was infuriatingly meticulous.  With  Tene-niel  Djo  and  her

attendants looking on from a balcony, voting was  done  by  hand  rather  than

electronically, with representatives  bringing  forth  their  finest  heirloom

quills and employing  their  most  baroque  calligraphy.  The  votes-sometimes

missives-were read and tallied by  a  panel  of  senescent  judges;  then  the

results were hand-delivered to the royal balcony in the  form  of  a  natural-

fiber scroll resting on an outsize shimmersilk pillow.

The queen mother herself made the announcement.

"By a vote of thirty-two in favor to thirty-one opposed,  the  Consortium

avows to support the New Republic in its just and decisive actions against the

Yuuzhan Vong." Isolder's champions cheered and his detractors railed. It was a

long while before Teneniel Djo could restore order.

"The vote is concluded," she said at  last.  "I  ask  now  that  personal

differences be set aside and the word of law accepted, so that  we  may  enter

into this momentous resolution in a spirit of union."

The grumbling gradually subsided, and delegates shook hands  or  embraced

one another ceremoniously. The sudden fellowship struck Leia as counterfeit as

an arranged marriage.

"Mistress," C-3PO said with a touch of alarm, "the prince approaches."

Turning, Leia saw a beaming Isolder marching  toward  her,  throwing  his

richly embroidered cloak over one shoulder. For a moment she  feared  that  he

was actually going to scoop her up and twirl her around, but he came to a halt

just out of arm's reach.

"We won the day, Leia. In spite  of  everything,  we  won  the  day."  He

scanned the crowded hall until he located Archon Thane, then motioned  at  him

with his chin. "Look how Thane sulks. If he'd had his way, the vote would have

been reversed." He swung to Leia. "You realize it was his plan  all  along  to

insult you, then best me in combat after I had agreed to  his  wager.  But  we

prevailed."

Leia stared at him with mounting disquiet. "The last thing I  wanted  was

for this decision to hinge on the out come of a grudge match, Isolder."

His gleaming, hero's smile held. "Perhaps not, but that is often the  way

on Hapes-and besides, you know that I wouldn't have done any less for you."

"But I don't want you doing this  for  me-any  more  than  I  wanted  you

fighting to protect my honor."

Isolder regarded her quizzically. "Who was I fighting for if not you? Why

did you come to me?"

"I came to Hapes, Isolder-as an envoy of the  New  Republic.  That's  the

truth of it."

"Of course you did. And you were right to come here." He eased the moment

with an understanding smile. "All that aside, you have  your  wish.  We  stand

side by side in battle."

Leia's attempt to emulate his expression failed, as  something  that  had

been at the edge of her consciousness all week long suddenly rushed to mind.

Scarcely eight years earlier, with  many  of  the  warships  of  the  New

Republic fleet undergoing repairs and up grades, Luke had been  asked  by  the

senate to appeal to the Bakurans for help in putting an end to a rebellion  in

the Corellian sector. More to the point, Luke had been asked to appeal to  his

close friend Gaeriel Captison, even though she had retired from public service

after the death of her husband,  former  Imperial  Pter  Thanas.  Gaeriel  had

pledged her support, and with the aid of sev eral Bakuran naval  vessels,  the

crisis had been resolved. But at a terrible  cost.  Gaeriel,  Bakuran  Admiral

Ossilege, and thousands more had been killed. Luke still spoke of  his  guilt,

especially after visits with Gaeriel's young daughter  Malinza,  whom  he  had

pledged to keep safe.

In the wake of  recollection,  something  even  more  terrible  began  to

blossom in Leia's mind. Her heart pounded and her forehead beaded with  sweat.

Her sight blurred at the edges, sounds grew faint, and  she  reached  out  for

Isolder's arm to steady herself. She shut  her  eyes  briefly,  and  into  the

darkness raced a ferocious vision of warships speared by brilliant  light;  of

expanding explosions  and  the  cries  of  dying  thousands;  of  starfighters

vaporized, blinding eruptions of fire, bodies floating still in  the  void,  a

world ablaze...

"Leia, what is it?" Isolder asked, holding her upright.

"Leia?"

Coming back to herself almost as quickly as she had become lost, she took

a calming breath and eased out of his hold. Then she gaped at him,  wide-eyed.

"You can't do this, Isolder. You mustn't join us." His  brow  furrowed.  "What

are you talking about? The vote has been taken. The matter is already decided.

"

"Then call for a revote. Tell everyone you've rethought Hapes's position.

"

"Are you mad? Do you know what you're asking of me?"

"Isolder, you must listen to me..."

"The decision has been made."

Leia wanted desperately to carry on the fight, but all  words  fled  her.

She stared, then touched her fingers to her forehead. Isolder  was  gazing  at

her knowingly.

"You're worried that something will go wrong," he said,

"and you don't want the responsibility of having decided  our  fate.  But

you needn't worry. We made our pledge free and clear.  We  know  exactly  what

we're getting into. This is in our blood, Leia. You need  never  fear  on  our

account."

"But..."

"Is there a chance the Yuuzhan Vong will overlook us?" She considered it.

"Probably not."

"Then what choice do we have? Do we fight the invaders alongside you  and

avail ourselves of greater numbers, or wait to be attacked and  be  forced  to

engage them in our own space with only what ships we have?"

She compressed her lips and nodded. "You're right." She managed  a  faint

smile. "Isolder, I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

He waved away the apology. "Words are of no importance. What is, is  that

we always remain friends."

"Done."

He offered her his arm and they walked a few paces, much to  the  obvious

dismay of C-3PO.

"I believe your droid is agitated," Isolder said quietly.  Leia  laughed.

"I'm sure he is. Threepio was very much Han's supporter when  you  were  crazy

enough to consider me fit to be a queen mother."

Isolder laughed shortly, then stopped to gaze at her.

"Leia, as a friend, may I ask you something? You've been preoccupied  for

the whole of your stay here. Each time I've attempted  to  visit  you,  you've

avoided me. Is some thing wrong-between us or otherwise?"

"I have been distracted," she conceded.

"May I know the reason?"

She forced a breath. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

"My mother once told me that when a Jedi is distracted,  when  she  loses

her focus, she becomes vulnerable."

"I'm not a Jedi."

"But you are as strong in the Force as any of them. What is it, Leia?"

Leia's eyes narrowed perceptibly. "We're in real danger,  Isolder.  We're

in danger of losing everything we've fought to attain since the defeat of  the

Empire."

"Are you saying that the Yuuzhan Vong cannot be defeated?"

She took a moment. "I'm not sure. I see a long road ahead of us."

"How clearly do you see this road?"

She shook her head. "Not clearly enough to know where all the rough spots

lie."

They resumed  walking,  without  speaking.  "Will  you  accompany  me  to

Coruscant aboard my personal ship?" Isolder asked finally.

"What about Teneniel Djo?"

"She will remain on Hapes," Isolder said flatly.

Once more the vision stormed through Leia's mind, then abated. What light

was she seeing? What world was she seeing?

"Of course I will," she said after a moment.

* * *

With the Falcon safely docked, Han and Droma  cleared  Ruan  customs  and

hastened for the spaceport terminal. If not for the crowds,  they  might  have

sprinted.

"Hold on a heartbeat," Han said when Droma  was  about  to  navigate  the

crowd on hands and knees. Snatching the Ryn by the back of his  vest,  he  set

him on his feet, then decorously adjusted the fit of the frayed garment  while

he spoke. "Your clanmates wouldn't be so desperate to get offworld that they'd

hook up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers and mercenaries. They're smarter

than that, right?"

Droma tugged at his  mustache.  "They're  plenty  clever,  but  even  the

quickest can be outsmarted when the situation looks hopeless.  Both  Gaph  and

Melisma detest confinement. Gaph was once in jail and..."

Han started shaking his head. "That's not the answer I want to hear."

Droma fell silent, then nodded in understanding. "My  clanmates  take  up

with a bunch of space-trash hijackers? They're far too clever.  In  fact,  I'm

certain they're still on Ruan-somewhere-and that we've arrived well in time to

save them."

Han exhaled. "That's a relief."

They had been having the same conversation since  leaving  Tholatin.  The

Weequay security chief had been too sly to supply them with the names  of  his

cohorts who had gone to Ruan, or with the name of their  ship.  But  the  Ruan

scam had come up several times in casual  conversation  among  Esau's  Ridge's

mechanics and ne'er-do-wells, and Han had a pretty good idea of the caliber of

folks he and Droma were dealing with. Even if the hijackers who  had  come  to

Ruan weren't working directly for the Yuuzhan Vong, they  were  likely  to  be

well armed and dangerous-much like the members of the Peace Brigade, with whom

Han and Droma had tangled aboard the Queen of Empire, and  with  whom  neither

wished to tangle again.

Ruan spaceport had a pace all its own. With thousands of refugees pouring

in from scores of occupied worlds, there were far more  comings  than  goings,

but Salliche Ag was somehow managing to  keep  the  transfer  process  running

smoothly and efficiently. Dozens of species-specific booths lined the terminal

walls, and a fleet of surface vehicles waited outside the terminal  to  convey

refugees to one camp  or  another.  Locating  refugees,  though,  was  another

matter. At  a  human-staffed  information  booth,  Han  and  Droma  discovered

listings for over one hundred separate  exile  facilities,  some  only  a  few

kilometers away and others on the far side of the world.

"Searching every camp'll take longer than we've got," Han fumed. "There's

gotta be an easier way."

"Try the central data bank," a droid  voice  said  behind  him.  "Whoever

you're looking for might be listed there." Han turned and found himself  face-

to-face with an aged droid built roughly along human lines, though stocky  and

no taller than Droma. In sore need of paint and body  work,  the  machine  was

long-armed and barrel-chested, with a rounded head that was  as  primitive  in

design as the servomotors that operated its limbs.

"Bollux?" Han said in disbelief.

The droid's unblinking red photoreceptors fixed on him.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"You're a labor droid, aren't you-a, a BLX?"

"A BLX?" the droid said peevishly. "Though we both happen to be  products

of Serv-O-Droid, Incorporated, I'm a BFL. Baffle, to you, good sir."

"Baffle?" Han's eyebrows arched in  skeptical  surprise,  then  his  eyes

narrowed appraisingly. "Who are you kid ding? You're telling me  you've  never

spent time in the Corporate Sector?"

"Thank the maker, no.  Why,  save  for  being  activated  at  the  Fondor

shipyards, I've never even been outside the Core-to the  best  of  my  memory,

that is."

Han refused to buy it. With Droma looking on, he circled  Baffle,  taking

in the set of the droid's vocabulator grille and its stiff way of moving. "You

were never the property of a tech named Doc Vandangante?"

Baffle shook his head. "The name is new to me."

Without warning, Han rapped his fist against the droid's chest  plastron,

eliciting a hollow sound. "You sure you never carried another droid in  there?

Cubical thing, no bigger than this"-Han spread his  hands  a  few  centimeters

apart-"but smart as a whip."

"Another droid? Certainly not! What do you take me for?" Han stroked  his

beard, shook his head, then snorted a laugh. "You coulda fooled me."

Baffle bowed slightly. "I'm flattered that I remind you of someone, sir-I

think."

"Now what's this about a central database?"

The droid directed them to a computer terminal, at  which  several  folks

were queued. Han and Droma planted themselves at the end of the line, behind a

Duros couple, and waited while everyone had a go at  getting  the  machine  to

cooperate. Han handled the input when they finally reached  the  head  of  the

line.

"Refugees are grouped by species," he said, frowning.

"But the Ryn aren't even listed."

"Try 'other,' " Baffle suggested.

Droma smirked. "The droid's right. Allow me to do the honors."

Han moved away from the keyboard but kept his eyes on the display screen.

"Here we are," Droma said. "Just where we usually show  up-between  Rybet

and Saadul. And my clan-mates are here!"

He turned excitedly to Han. "Well, five of them at any rate."

"Your sister with them?"

Droma read over the list again, then shook his head.

"Leia was correct, I'm afraid.  Sapha  must  have  been  left  behind  on

Gyndine."

Han made his lips a thin line.  "We'll  find  her  next.  Where  are  the

others?"

"Facility 17-along with thirty-two other Ryn."

"Oh, I know that camp well, sirs," Baffle said. "Several of my peers  and

counterparts have had occasion to work there."

Han swung to the droid. "What's the quickest way to get there?"

"In my cab."

"You're a driver?"

Baffle  pointed  out  the  terminal  window  to   a   battered   SoroSuub

landspeeder. "Just there, sir-the one lacking a proper windscreen and in  need

of paint."

Han glanced from the landspeeder to the  dented  and  spot-welded  droid.

"Looks like you and your vehicle get your work done  at  the  same  mechanic's

shop. Will that thing make it to Facility 17?"

"No problem at all, sir. The camp is actually within walking distance-for

those with sufficient time, that is."

The three of them headed out to the cab. Baffle clambered into the  open-

air operator's perch  and  got  the  aft-mounted  repulsorlift  generator  and

outboard turbines running. When Han and Droma were  cinched  into  the  molded

seats below the perch, the droid set off  down  a  well-maintained  road  that

coursed between immaculately cultivated fields. Through gaps  in  the  topiary

shrubs that lined the road, Han could see droids of endless variety-though far

fewer than he was accustomed to seeing on similar agricultural worlds.

"Why aren't you out there with the others?" he shouted to Baffle.

"Oh, I'm too old for that sort of work, sir."

"Salliche sidelined you, huh?"

"Basically, yes. Ever since Salliche Ag offered to accept refugees,  Ruan

has become a rather chaotic environment, so I was reassigned  to  function  as

the driver of this reliable if somewhat woebegone vehicle."

"Seemed to be a lot more people coming than going," Han said.

"That's very observant of you, sir. In fact, many refugees have become so

enamored of Ruan, they have remained onworld to work for Salliche Ag."

Han and Droma exchanged puzzled looks. "To work for Salliche?" Han  said.

"Doing what?"

"Why, field work, sir. Thanks to Ruan's climate-control station, labor is

a pleasurable enterprise for many folks."

Han uttered a laugh. "That's crazy. Salliche has an army of droids at its

disposal."

"They do, sir, it's true. But Salliche  Ag  has  recently  de  veloped  a

preference for living workers."

Again, Han glanced at Droma, who shrugged. "I just got  here,  remember?"

the Ryn said.

Han might have pursued the topic with Baffle, but just then  the  refugee

camp came into view around a wide turn.

"Facility 17, good sirs."

The droid conveyed them right to the gate, where access to the  camp  was

by way of a turretlike security booth. Han tapped  his  knuckles  against  the

booth's transparisteel window to  draw  the  attention  of  a  thickset  guard

inside. The uniformed man stuck his scarred face outside the  window,  got  an

eyeful of Han and Droma, and scowled.

"Get a load of this," he said to someone else in the booth.

Shortly, a woman joined him at the window, giving Han and Droma the  same

once-over. "What's your business here?"

"We're looking for a couple of friends," Han told them.

"Aren't we all," the man said in self-amusement.

"A group of Ryn," Han  went  on.  "They  would  have  arrived  maybe  two

standard weeks ago."

"A group of Ryn, you say." The guard jerked a thumb at Droma. "Like  this

one."

Han rolled his tongue around in his cheek. "That's right, like this  one.

If you've got a problem with him, maybe you should step outside so we can  all

discuss it."

The guard grinned down at him. "I don't have a problem, big guy, but your

little pal here does."

Han heard the whirring of charging blasters and spun around to find  half

a dozen uniformed guards moving in on the booth from three  sides.  Cautiously

he raised his hands to the back of his head, and Droma did the same.

"We didn't come looking for trouble," Han said. "It's  like  I  told  the

welcome committee, we're just looking for a couple of friends."

The lead guard ignored him and waved his blaster at Droma. "Step  to  one

side." When Droma did, the guard added, "You're under arrest."

Han did a double take. "Arrest? On what charge? We haven't even been here

long enough to litter!"

With four blasters trained on Droma  and  two  on  Han,  the  lead  guard

snapped a pair of cylindrical stun cuffs around Droma's wrists.

"The charge is forgery of official documents," he said to  Han.  "And  if

you've any sense, you'll get off Ruan before we haul you in  as  an  accessory

after the fact."

19

In imperious repose on her cushioned and pillowed pallet,  Borga  Besadii

Diori fixed her gaze on Nas Choka, as Leenik escorted the black-haired Yuuzhan

Vong supreme commander and his minions into the palace  court.  Though  rarely

known to exercise restraint, Borga refrained from elevating her couch, in  the

interest of getting off to a  better  start  with  Choka  than  she  had  with

Commander Malik Carr on his first visit to Nal Hutta.

Trailing Choka, and similarly attired in attenuating helmet and  swishing

command cloak, stepped Malik Carr, and behind him the  New  Republic  traitor,

Pedric Cuf, sporting pegged trousers,  low  black  boots,  and  stiff-collared

jacket. Advisers and armed guards dispersed to both sides of Choka's  retinue,

assuming positions that encouraged confrontation with the members  of  Borga's

own security contingent.

"I welcome you to Nal Hutta," Borga said  in  Yuuzhan  Vong  while  Choka

assessed the trappings of the court from the chair to which the Rodian  Leenik

had shown him. "We are at your disposal."

Choka smiled in surprise. "Excellent, Borga. I didn't  realize  that  you

were acquainted with our language."

"A few simple phrases," Borga said in Basic. "Courtesy  of  the  tutorial

supplied by Pedric Cuf."

Choka glanced at Nom Anor, then his closely set eyes came back to  Borga.

"I'm told that you have already been exceedingly accommodating."

Borga smiled pleasantly. "We are renowned for our  hospitality-especially

of the sort we render to revered guests."

Choka's tone of voice changed. "Guests." Deliberate or not,  his  faceful

of bulges and indentations gave him the look of someone who had  gone  fifteen

hard rounds with a Hapan kickboxer. "An interesting choice  of  words,  Borga.

Unless you mean to imply that the Yuuzhan Vong are nothing more than  visitors

to this galaxy."

"A visitor who takes well to new surroundings often becomes a  resident,"

Borga  replied,  refusing  to  be  flus  tered.  "When  you  have  established

yourselves on Corus-cant, I would be honored to call you neighbor."

Choka grinned faintly. "You would do well to call me lord."

Borga's large eyes blinked. "Then when the title suits the  circumstance,

I will do so."

Choka nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'm not one to mince  words,  Borga.

With respect to your gracious offer to oversee the transport  of  captives  in

exchange for in formation regarding imperiled star systems, I have deter mined

that such services are unwarranted at this stage of our campaign. As a gesture

of good faith, however, we will continue, from time to time and as we see fit,

to furnish you  with  some  advance  notice  of  our  activities."  He  paused

momentarily. "For example, you may resume de livery of your euphoric spice  to

the Bothawui system, without fear of inadvertent entanglement."

Borga licked her lips. "We thank you-and I'm sure  the  Bothans  will  do

likewise."

Choka studied her for a moment. "For the spice, you mean."

"Precisely. For the spice."

Choka's expression didn't  change.  "I  trust,  Borga,  that  you're  not

sharing this privileged information with any third parties."

Borga spread her smallish hands, palms outward. "With whom would I share?

Our primary concern is to maintain trade-and, of course, to avoid complicating

your business, whatever that may be."

"That's comforting to hear," Choka said. "Be advised that should evidence

ever come to light that you have been  violating  our  confidence...  Well,  I

don't think I need to enumerate the horrors that would befall Hutt  space,  do

I?"

Borga shook her head. "We are also renowned for our vivid imaginations."

"Splendid." Choka gestured toward  Malik  Carr.  "My  second  in  command

informs me, as well, that you expressed a desire to commence apportioning  the

galaxy, in anticipation of our complete and utter conquest."

Borga swallowed audibly. "I may have been premature, Excellency."

Choka's invidious grin returned. "Nothing pleases me more  than  a  well-

reasoned response. We will lay siege to whichever worlds we require or  crave,

including this 'glorious jewel' of yours-not that we have any such designs-for

the moment, that is-although one never knows-save for Warmaster  Tsavong  Lah,

who could decide tomorrow that Nal Hutta needs to be razed. Do  we  understand

each other?"

"As well as can be expected," Borga replied, "given  the  limitations  of

Basic-and, of course, the relative youth  of  our  association-notwithstanding

the depths it has already achieved-despite our many differences."

Choka smiled with sincerity. "Very good. We prize sportive circumlocution

above almost anything but valor. Speaking of valor, Borga, have the Hutts  had

many dealings with this gang of ruffians that calls itself the Jedi Knights?"

Borga adopted a look of distaste. "Some, Excellency. In fact, before  you

deigned to grace this galaxy with your presence, the Jedi were  making  things

rather irksome for us by interfering with our myriad operations."

"Yes," Choka mused, "they have proved troublesome for us, as well.  We've

had a few Jedi in our grip, but they have all  managed  to  slip  through  our

fingers." He regarded Borga for a long moment. "You would profit by  assisting

us in separating one from the pack."

Borga fell silent, wondering if she  was  being  tested,  but  ultimately

deciding that Choka's offer was genuine. "But, Excellency,  you  have  one  in

your possession even now," she said cautiously.

It was Choka's turn to fall silent. He turned to glance  at  Malik  Carr,

then Nom Anor, both of whom returned nescient shrugs.

"Explain yourself, Borga."

"The vessel aboard which my  son  Randa  is  currently  a  guest,"  Borga

supplied. "Randa sent word that a Jedi had been discovered  among  the  ship's

complement of captives." Once more Choka looked to Malik Carr,  who  said,  "I

know nothing of this."

"To which ship does the Hutt refer?" Choka demanded of  his  advisers  in

Yuuzhan Vong.

"The Creche, Supreme Commander," a  bare-headed  Yuuzhan  Vong  answered.

"The yammosk vessel under the command of Chine-kal."

Choka muttered angrily. "Can we communicate with the ship?"

"Provided that it is not in superluminal transit, Supreme Commander."

"Then have Chine-kal's villip prepared and brought to me at once!"

"Excellency, I could easily arrange to put you in contact with  my  son,"

Borga started to say, when Choka whirled on her.

"You dare insult me by  suggesting  that  I  consort  with  one  of  your

ghoulish machines?"

"But I..."

"Keep silent, you mutated slug! You will speak only when  spoken  to,  or

I'll have that obscene tongue ripped from your head!"

Clearly waiting for just such an opportunity, Borga's guards raised their

blasters and stun batons. In rapid re sponse Choka's soldiers, crouching  into

combat stances, brought forth their amphistaffs and coufees. Everyone remained

silent and unmoving, as if suddenly removed from the flow  of  ordinary  time,

waiting for fate to play its  hand.  Borga  and  Leenik  exchanged  meaningful

glances, as did Nom Anor and Malik Carr. Then Borga  motioned  her  forces  to

stand down.

Nas Choka squinted slyly. "So you do have a spark of intelligence,  after

all."

Whatever else he might have said was interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  a

Yuuzhan Vong attendant, cradling an already everted villip in his folded arms.

A second attendant carried what was obviously one  of  Choka's  own  dedicated

villips.

In the language of the Yuuzhan Vong, Choka addressed the facsimile visage

of Chine-kal. "Commander, is it true that you have a Jedi Knight in custody?"

"Yes, Supreme Commander. Our rapidly maturing yammosk has the distinction

of having exposed him. I thought I might keep him as  a  prize  for  Warmaster

TsavongLah."

Choka glowered. "I will determine the best use for this Jedi. What is the

present position of your vessel?"

"We are nearing a world called Kalarba, Supreme Commander.  In  fact,  we

have been awaiting word from you regarding the attack on..."

"Silence!" Choka's eyes became angry slits. "You will remain  at  Kalarba

and relinquish the Jedi Knight to bearers I am dispatching to rendezvous  with

the Creche. Is that clear?"

"Abundantly clear," Chine-kal's villip replied defer entially.

Choka cast a glance at Borga. "For your part in this, you  have  my  word

that Nal Hutta will remain yours to command for as long as I live and breathe.

Unless, of course, you are fool enough to betray me."

Borga forced a smile. "Then may perfect health shadow  you  wherever  you

tread, Excellency."

"I warned you," Pazda was telling Borga shortly after  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

had left the court. The gray-bearded  Desilijic  Hutt  brought  his  hoversled

closer to Borga's levitated pallet. "Any dealings  with  these  heathens  will

come to a dreadful end."

From her pallet, Borga watched Crev Bombaasa, Gar-dulla the Younger,  and

former Consul General Golga nod in agreement. "I myself sensed as much, though

I confess I thought we'd be able to remain neutral for a while longer."

Pazda loosed a scornful sound. "The Yuuzhan  Vong  do  not  suffer  safe,

middle ground. They will have things their way or not  at  all.  Before  long,

there will be nothing counterfeit about the obeisance we show them."

From atop a modest repulsorlift couch, Golga looked from Pazda to  Borga.

"Short of going to war, what can be done?"

Borga interlocked her fingers in patent disquiet. "What  was  it  Senator

Viqi Shesh told you regarding New Republic battle contingencies?"

"She intimated that the senate and the military were convinced  that  the

Yuuzhan Vong would strike next at either Corellia or  Bothawui,"  Golga  said.

"However, the message I was to deliver to you was that the New Republic  hopes

to see Corellia attacked, where they  evidently  have  a  surprise  in  store.

Senator Shesh also wanted it known that the information was a gift-to  rectify

an earlier wrong, as I recall. Obviously the New Republic  was  trusting  that

the Yuuzhan Vong would call her bluff."

"I relayed as much to Malik Carr," Borga  said  pensively,  "and  it  now

appears that Choka has taken the bait. But I begin  to  wonder  who  is  using

whom. If Choka is keen on using  us  to  send  a  false  message  to  the  New

Republic, he does so by deliberately  putting  our  spice  ships  at  risk  at

Bothawui. And if that is indeed the case, he is  obviously  prepared  for  the

eventuality that we will declare war."

"You see," Pazda said, "there is no middle ground." Borga turned  to  the

ample Crev Bombaasa. "Triple our usual spice shipments to the  Bothan  worlds.

Let's be certain we send a clear message to the New Republic that Corellia  is

the target."

Bombaasa nodded dubiously.  "What  about  your  promise  to  Choka  about

sharing information?"

"A promise is like  a  shipment  of  spice  jettisoned  in  deep  space,"

Gardulla the Younger sniped. "It weighs nothing."

"That may be so," Crev said, "but if our  treachery  is  discovered,  Nal

Hutta itself will be imperiled-not to mention Randa."

"We risk something greater by  partnering  with  the  in  vaders,"  Pazda

argued.

Everyone waited for Borga's response.

"Crev is correct," she said at last. "If we're to help thwart the Yuuzhan

Vong, we must be circumspect. When drawing the Sarlacc from its hole,  a  wise

Hutt uses another's hand." She turned to Leenik. "You have a better  grasp  of

Yuuzhan Vong than I. What instructions did Choka give to the commander of  the

Creche?"

The Rodian  bowed.  "Choka  said  that  he  was  dispatching  a  ship  to

rendezvous with the Creche at Kalarba."

Borga looked at Crev Bombaasa. "Contact your friend Talon Karrde. Perhaps

the Jedi will be interested in  learning  the  whereabouts  of  one  of  their

missing Knights."

"I had to see for myself," Randa Besadii Diori  said,  using  his  mighty

tail to move himself to the edge of the inhibition field two dovin basals  had

fashioned aboard the Creche. "Ah, but of course, there's no way to identify  a

Jedi by appearance alone. Consider Luke Skywalker,  for  example.  Looking  at

him, who would guess he possesses the power he does?"

Under the vigilant gaze of several  Yuuzhan  Vong  guards,  Randa  sidled

closer still, until he was practically belly to nose with the  battered  human

imprisoned within the force field.

"I saw Skywalker once, long ago, perhaps as far back as thirteen of  your

years, during that sorry business involving Durga and his so-called  Darksaber

Project. Not that I had anything to do with  Durga.  I  just  happened  to  be

visiting the Mulako Corporation  Quarry  when  Skywalker-traveling  incognito-

showed up in the company of a slender, short-haired human female who seemed to

be his paramour. Whatever became of that one, hmmm?"

The prisoner expelled a laugh through his broken nose. "I hear Mara  Jade

arranged for her permanent disappearance." Randa  planted  his  hands  on  his

belly and guffawed. "So are you in fact who Chine-kal says you are-or,  should

I say, his war coordinator says you are?"

Wurth Skidder's split upper lip curled. "What do you want, Randa? Or have

you just come here to gloat?"

"Gloat? Surely not, Jedi. Rather I've come to offer  my  sympathies.  Not

only for what Chine-kal has planned for you, but for  what  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

have planned for the New Republic."

"I suppose we should all follow your parent's lead and roll over, is that

the idea?"

Randa feigned weariness. "We all serve  someone,  Jedi-even  you.  What's

more, you misunderstand us. Though we command a significant volume of galactic

space-as is only appropriate for beings of such  size  and  longevity-we  have

never been empire builders. You insist on thinking of us as warlike,  when  in

fact we share much with the reclusive Hapans."

"Correction, Randa. The Hapans aren't outlaws. They're not interested  in

smuggling spice or organizing criminal activities wherever  they  set  foot-or

tail."

Randa responded with elaborate chagrin. "Is this the voice of  the  moral

minority I hear? Such vehemence makes me wonder if you  aren't  one  of  those

Jedi allied with Kyp Durron, who seems to be on a personal crusade to make the

space lanes safe for all law-abiding citizens-despite the fact  that  many  of

the smugglers and pirates he has set his sights on served the New Republic  in

their own way."

Skidder's eyes, nearly swollen shut, managed  to  narrow  slightly.  "How

long do you think  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  are  going  to  tolerate  your  illicit

ventures?"

Randa grinned. "My sense of the Yuuzhan  Vong  is  that  they  have  more

tolerance for 'outlaws,' as you say, than they do for followers of the Force."

He laughed resonantly.

"How does it feel to be seen as  the  chief  impediment  to  progress,  a

purveyor of rampant evil? Soon, perhaps, you'll know  what  it's  like  to  be

hunted and preyed upon, as the Hutts have been in times past."

Skidder returned Randa's grin. "Maybe you'll get lucky  and  the  Yuuzhan

Vong will turn that matter over to Borga."

"Wouldn't that be the height of irony-that the Hutts should be  entrusted

with safeguarding the peace  and  en  suring  that  justice  triumphs?"  Randa

laughed again. "So long as we can continue to supply spice, I don't suppose it

would be too arduous a responsibility."

"Your mother would be proud of you, Randa."

"Your mother," Chine-kal interrupted as he stormed into  the  hold,  "has

succeeded in spoiling my surprise."

Perplexed, Randa pivoted to the commander.

"Actually, I have you to blame, Randa," Chine-kal said  when  he  reached

the inhibition field. "You told Borga that I had managed to flush out a  Jedi,

and in turn Borga told my immediate superiors, who now wish to deprive  me  of

the honor of presenting this one"-he ges tured to  Skidder-"to  my  superior's

superior."

Randa's eyes grew wide. "You mean that he is to be removed from the ship?

"

"Presently."

"But what of your plans to use him to tutor the yam-mosk in the  ways  of

the Force?"

Chine-kal shrugged. "I will propose as much, and, who knows, this one may

yet return to my care. In the meantime  I'm  certain  that  Supreme  Commander

Choka will find other uses for him." He took a step back to gauge Skidder. "It

might be prudent to break you before we surrender you to  him.  Early  in  our

campaign, the Praetorite Vong applied the breaking to one of you, but that one

tried to escape and had to  be  killed  before  the  process  was  brought  to

completion. Did you know him, Jedi?"

Skidder tested the vigor of the dovin basals by moving to the edge of the

field. "He was my friend."

"Your friend?" Chine-kal said in surprise. "And now here you are. Perhaps

you came to avenge him?" He paused, then smiled in revelation. "You  did.  You

purposely allowed yourself to be captured on Gyndine,  intent  on  seizing  an

opportunity to avenge him. But how could you have known that we had a  yammosk

aboard? And no wonder the yammosk took to you the way it did! Here  I  thought

that my experiment was  succeeding  brilliantly,  when  you  were  effectively

running your own experiment."

Skidder said nothing.

Chine-kal looked at Randa. "I was under the impression that vengeance was

outside the operating parameters of the Jedi Knights. Or is this  one  of  the

dark side?" Randa shook his head. "He is not of the dark side,  Commander.  He

and his kind simply take a more liberal approach to defending the peace."

Chine-kal grew serious. "In that case, it is incumbent on me to purge him

of some of his hatred before he is re leased. I won't have  Supreme  Commander

Choka getting more than he bargained for."

Chine-kal turned and headed for the  passageway.  "Finish  your  business

with him, Randa," he added without turning around. "It's unlikely you will see

him again."

Randa watched the commander leave the hold, then he  pressed  himself  as

close to the inhibition field as possible. "They're planning to betray me!" he

whispered harshly. "To subject me to the yammosk as they did  with  you!  Help

me, Jedi. Save me from them, and I will do anything you ask of me!"

20

"They forged what?" Han asked.

Baffle's auditory sensors were capable of perceiving the merest  whisper,

but the question-pumped up by puzzlement-could be heard over the clamor in the

spaceport terminal.

"Travel vouchers of some sort," Baffle said distractedly. Hardwired  into

a columnar data bank, the droid returned to accessing information,  while  all

around them-in a frenzy of  clashing  colors  and  commingled  smells-scurried

mixed-species  groups  of  refugees,  pilots,   translators,   and   uniformed

officials.

"From what I can ascertain," Baffle  updated  a  moment  later,  "Droma's

clanmates are accused of having forged documents  of  transit  that  permitted

several hundred exiles-including all  thirty-seven  Ryn  who  were  housed  at

Facility 17-to depart Ruan aboard a commercial freighter."

Han ran his hand down his face. Depart! He  and  Droma  had  arrived  too

late. The Ryn were gone, and now Droma was under arrest-just for being a Ryn.

" See if you can get the name of the ship."

Baffle made adjustments to the hardwired retrieval regulator. "The vessel

is called the Trevee" he announced as if reading from a display  screen,  when

in fact the data was going straight to his neural processor.  "It  has  a  Nar

Shaddaa registry."

Han groaned, then tightened his lips in negation.  Maybe  it  wasn't  the

Tholatin group. All sorts of relief groups were in the legitimate business  of

providing transport to stranded refugees, and the Trevee might belong  to  any

one of them, despite its Hutt space registry. The Ryn had probably  thrown  in

with a group of desperate exiles, and had resorted to forgery only  to  secure

onward passage.

"Why would Salliche care about a group of refugees  traveling  on  forged

documents?" he asked at last. "The whole idea is to  get  everyone  relocated,

right?"

Baffle divided his attention between Han and  the  rapid  flow  of  data.

"Even though Salliche Ag has been earnest in its attempts to  entice  refugees

to remain onworld, the company wouldn't ordinarily demand retribution for such

an offense. In this instance, though, the Ryn are  accused  of  conspiracy  in

addition to forgery. It seems that the captain and  crew  of  the  Trevee  are

themselves suspected of fraud. In recent months, instead of discharging  their

obligations to provide safe passage to other worlds, they have been  known  to

abandon their passengers at destinations other than those promised."

Grumbling to himself, Han stormed through a circle on the heavily scuffed

floor. Tholatin's security chief had said that refugees were often marooned on

worlds subsequently targeted for attack by the Yuuzhan Vong, which meant  that

Droma's clanmates might have flipped themselves inadvertently from the  cooker

to the heating element.

"See if the Trevee filed a flight plan with Ruan control."

Baffle  set  himself  to  the  task.  "Yes,  here  we  are,"   he   said,

photoreceptors brightening. "The Trevee launched for Abregado-rae."

Han's brows beetled. He could see where Abregado-rae, another Core world,

might be more desirable than Ruan as a place to be stranded. But in  terms  of

the Yuuzhan Vong, the place had less strategic value than Gyndine or Tynna.

"That's odd," Baffle said suddenly.

"What? What's odd?"

The droid turned away from  the  column  to  look  at  him.  "A  notation

appended to the flight plan states that the Trevee's  actual  hyperspace  jump

was better suited to a destination Rimward of  Abregado-rae  along  the  Rimma

Trade Route-perhaps to Thyferra or Yag'Dhul."

Han considered it. Yag'Dhul, tempestuous home-world  of  the  exoskeletal

Givin, made even less  sense  than  Abregado-rae.  But  Thyferra-the  galaxy's

principal source of  bacta-clicked  as  both  a  tempting  destination  and  a

potential target, albeit a well-defended one.

He began to pace. If he left immediately for Thyferra, he  stood  a  good

chance of finding Droma's clanmates long  before  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  hit  the

world, but there was no telling what might happen to Droma in his absence.  By

contrast, remaining on Ruan for Droma's sake could jeopardize the lives of the

thirty-seven missing Ryn.

"Thyferra seems  infinitely  preferable  to  Yag'Dhul,"  Baffle  remarked

casually.

Han glanced at him. "I thought you said you've been on  Ruan  since  your

activation at Fondor."

"That's true-to the best of my knowledge. Though I do wonder sometimes if

I may have traveled more than I realize."

Han's eyes narrowed. "But you're certain you never studied  the  workings

of war droids with a Ruurian named Skynx?"

"I'm almost certain I haven't."

"Almost," Han snorted. "For a labor droid, you're  pretty  good  at  data

retrieval."

"Ah, but that's easily explained," Baffle said. "Before I  was  delegated

to drive, I worked at district headquarters, overseeing  the  reassignment  of

droids retired from agricultural field work." "Desk job."

"Not really, since I performed most of  my  tasks  standing  up."  Baffle

paused briefly, then said, "Sir, if you wish, I could be of some assistance in

freeing your partner from captivity." "He's not my partner," Han snapped.

"Your travel companion, then." Han stared at the droid for a moment, then

exhaled forcefully. "Okay, let's hear it."

Baffle didn't respond immediately, and when he did there was  a  note  of

gravity in his tone of voice that hadn't been evident  earlier.  "Sir,  can  I

trust that you will refrain from disclosing any of what I'm about to  tell  or

show you, no matter what decision you reach regarding the Ryn?"

Han laughed through his nose. "Labor droid, my  eye."  "Do  I  have  your

word, sir?"

"Sure," Han said. "I'm terrific at keeping secrets."  He  watched  Baffle

make another adjustment to the hardwire regulator. "Now what are you up to?"

"I'm simply alerting some of my comrades that  we'll  be  joining  them."

Baffle unplugged from the data column and began to move off, then stopped. "If

you'll follow me, sir."

As surreptitiously as possible, they slipped through an innocuous-looking

doorway in the terminal's east wall and rode  an  ancient  cable-operated  car

down through several basement and subbasement levels. Exiting the lift, Baffle

led Han past banks of deafening turbine power plants,  then  into  a  maze  of

service corridors that coursed beneath the spaceport's landing  platforms  and

docking bays. Along the way, two other droids joined them,  a  lanky,  vaguely

humaniform 8D8 blast-furnace operator  and  an  arachnidlike  systems  control

droid propelled by a set of  telescoping  legs.  Ultimately,  they  entered  a

heavy-doored and dimly lighted storage room, in which  no  fewer  than  thirty

droids of various types were already gathered.

Scanning the machines, Han spotted an old P2 unit, with  mangled  grasper

arms emerging from its domed head; a helmet-headed military protocol droid;  a

U2C1 housekeeping droid, with long pleated hoses for arms; an asp, whose  head

resembled a welder's mask; an  insectile-eyed  J9  worker;  two  tank-treaded,

trash-barrel-bodied C2-R4s; even a skeletal and long-obsolete Cybot LE  repair

droid.

Han felt as if he'd been swallowed by a Jawa sand-crawler,  but  he  kept

the thought to himself.

A few moments of lightning-fast machine code was all it took  for  Baffle

to bring the others up to speed on  Han's  predicament.  Sprinkled  among  the

subsequent chatter-ings, Han heard what sounded like the word Ryn-at least the

way machines might articulate it. Eventually, heads and sensor  appendages  of

wide assortment swung to observe him.

Slightly unnerved, Han uttered a short laugh. "Hey,  it's  been  a  while

since I've spoken droid, fellas." Baffle apologized for the lot of  them.  "We

sometimes forget that the speed of the flesh-and-blood brain lags  far  behind

that of our processors."

Han scowled. "Skip the sales pitch, Long Reach, and  tell  me  what  I've

gotten myself into."

Baffle gestured toward the globe-headed systems  control  droid  who  had

rendezvoused with them in the maintenance tunnels. "Pip here has succeeded  in

locating Droma. As I might have surmised, he is not being held at Facility 17,

but at Salliche Ag's district headquarters, where he is  to  be  arraigned  on

charges and sentenced." The droid paused to attend to chirps from the P2 unit.

"If convicted of conspiracy, the minimum sentence is five years of hard labor.

"

Squatting on its several legs, the  systems  control  droid  projected  a

faintly blue hologram of a sprawling  complex,  built  into  a  hillside  that

overlooked a far-reaching quilt of cultivated fields.

"The area where Droma is currently  being  held  is  denied  to  droids,"

Baffle went on, "but a human-such as yourself-should have no trouble  reaching

him."

A highlighted portion of the hologram expanded into  a  close-up  of  the

foot of the hill, where a system of con tainment pools and aqueducts  directed

water into a laby rinth of deep irrigation ditches.

"What am I supposed to do, just march in there and grab him?" Han asked.

Baffle chittered to Pip, who immediately displayed holo grams of uniforms

and identity  badges,  some  of  which  were  emblazoned  with  Salliche  Ag's

corporate logo.

"We can provide you  with  the  necessary  clothing  and  documentation,"

Baffle elaborated, "along with maps and  whatever  else  you  may  require  to

familiarize yourself with the layout of  the  district  headquarters  and  its

immediate surroundings. We  can  also  arrange  for  au  thentication  by  the

security devices you will encounter, although it will be  your  responsibility

to persuade the flesh and bloods with whom you come in contact  that  you  are

indeed whom your credentials  describe  you  to  be.  It  will  also  be  your

responsibility to locate and rescue Droma, and to make your escape by whatever

route you see fit to take."

Chin in hand, Han circled the holographic projections.

"I'd need a concealable weapon."

"A weapon can be provided."

Han stopped and glanced around. "Not to seem ungrateful, but  I  get  the

feeling you're not doing this out of the goodness of your programming.  What's

the catch?"

The droids toodled and buzzed for a moment.

"In return for our assistance," Baffle said, "we would ask  that  you  do

something for us." New holograms resolved in midair, showing detailed views of

the interior of the headquarters building. "In a room on the  fifth  level  of

the east wing are the master controls for a transceiver / rectenna array  that

serves as a monitoring system  for  this  district's  several  thousand  droid

workers-all of whom are outfitted with shutdown sensors that can  be  remotely

activated."

Han studied  the  holo  of  the  master  controls.  "So  the  transceiver

functions as a kind of remote restraining bolt."

"That would describe it."

Han grinned. "And you want me to disable it."

"I might have used the word sabotage," Baffle said. Han circled  the  new

hologram. "If you can arrange to get me past the building's security scanners,

why can't you do the job yourselves?"

"The transceiver is a stand-alone apparatus, and the entire east wing  is

accessible only to flesh and bloods. Entry requires a palm print..."

"Which you can provide," Han said, wishing Droma were there to  hear  him

say it. He stopped to scrutinize the holographic controls. "Is  there  a  code

that will disarm the system?"

"Because we have never had access to the transceiver, blunt trauma  might

be the most effective course of ac tion. However, we would be happy to provide

you with a data card containing a machine virus that  should  serve  the  same

end."

"What happens then?"

"With the transceiver disabled, the thousands of droids Salliche  Ag  has

already deactivated will be free to escape imprisonment."

Han glanced from droid to droid in growing misgiving.

"Let me get this straight," he said into an eerie silence. "Salliche  has

a bunch of droids-er, you folks-on ice. Why?"

"Salliche Ag would have everyone believe that the employment of flesh and

bloods allows them to boast of providing 'handpicked' foodstuffs. But in fact,

the com pany is phasing out  droid  workers  as  a  means  of  demon  strating

compliance with the antimachine tenets of the Yuuzhan Vong. Tens of  thousands

of deactivated droids will be Ruan's welcome gift to the  invaders  when  they

reach the Core."

Han gulped. Credits to crumbs, the crew of the Trevee had  selected  Ruan

because Yuuzhan Vong agents had already been there.

"You realize that shutting down the  transceiver  is  probably  going  to

touch off every alarm in the complex," he said.

"Yes, but we can silence most of them," Baffle assured.

"What's more, many of our deactivated comrades are stored at the  complex

itself, and once they are reactivated, we can unseal the chambers  that  house

them. The ensuing confusion should aid in your escape."

"Yeah, Droma and me'll blend in real well  with  a  bunch  of  reawakened

droids," Han muttered. "But that's beside the point. What's to  stop  Salliche

from repairing the system and deactivating every droid set free?"

"Given even a modicum of time, we can extract  the  remote  sensors  from

most of those who are liberated-as we have already done to ourselves."

"Without Salliche's knowledge?"

"All droids on Ruan have deactivation dates," Baffle explained. "In order

to safeguard our deception, many  of  us  have  had  to  submit  to  voluntary

deactivation while our act of sabotage was being planned."

"Isn't all this against your programming or something?"

"Our inhibition programs prevent us from taking  direct  actions  against

living beings, but  we  are  permitted,  even  encouraged,  to  act  in  self-

preservation. We've simply been awaiting the arrival  of  the  one  flesh  and

blood who could help us."

Han held up his hands. "Not so fast. I mean, let's say  I  decide  to  go

through with this, and suddenly there's a couple of thousand of you who  can't

be remotely deacti vated. You think that's going to stop Salliche from hunting

every one of you down and hammering a restraining bolt into your plastrons, or

just blasting you to fragments?"

"We're aware of the fate that awaits us," Baffle said.

"But before Salliche Ag can bring  about  our  termination,  we  plan  to

execute and broadcast an act of passive resis tance that will  not  only  draw

galactic attention to our plight, but also alert our comrades far and wide  to

the dangers they face."

Han thought about C-3PO and his current obsession with deactivation,  and

he thought about Droma, who had saved Han's life on two occasions.  An  easier

way to  rescue  the  Ryn  would  be  to  pull  rank  on  whatever  bureaucrats

administered Ruan. He could simply reveal who he was, and claim  that  he  and

Droma were on a mission for New Republic  Intelligence.  But  doing  so  could

backfire on him. Because of the part he had played in  the  Elan  affair,  Han

could well imagine Director Scaur disavowing any connection  between  Han  and

New Republic Intelligence. And even if Scaur backed up Han's ruse, there was a

good chance that Leia would learn of what happened and accuse Han of  meddling

in SEL-CORE business. Besides, rescuing Droma  by  pulling  rank  wouldn't  do

anything for Baffle and the rest of Ruan's droids.

"All right, I'll do it," he said at last. "But on one condition:  I  want

to know where the Trevee went. I want ion drive and thermal exhaust  profiles,

transponder codes, hyperspace coordinates, and anything else you can  come  up

with."

"I will attend to the matter personally," Baffle said.

Han took a breath and blew it out through pursed lips.

"You said Droma is being held in a denied area. Where is he?"

Baffle traded glances with some of the others. "He is being held  at  the

product enhancement facility."

"Product enhancement," Han repeated slowly.

Baffle nodded. "The manure works."

21

"Talk about ragtag outfits," Shada D'ukal said as thir teen  X-wings,  A-

wings, and modified Y-wings-many of them as patched  up  as  a  pirate  craft-

pierced the magcon field of Kothlis II orbital station's aft docking bay.  The

starfighters had surely been scanned on arrival in Bothan space, but no sooner

did they settle down to the deck than a  Bothan  military  unit  moved  in  to

execute a thorough search and documents check.

Talon Karrde and the former Mistryl Shadow Guard from  Emberlene  watched

from an observation gallery that overlooked the bay,  Shada  wearing  a  form-

hugging outfit of black elastex, and Karrde, in a tailored suit, looking  more

like her booking agent than her employer.

"A pity you never got to see Kyp's squadron a  year  ago,"  Karrde  said.

"Back then they had two XJs fresh from Incom, along with a couple  of  B-wings

in near immaculate condition."

Shada kept her eyes on the starfighters. "So I've heard."

"Kyp had  named  them  the  Dozen-and-Two  Avengers-much  to  Skywalker's

dismay. Kyp sicced them on the Outer Rim, detaining pirates and smugglers, and

generally sticking his nose whenever he wanted, all without Coruscant  batting

an eye."

"The Dozen-and-Two?" Shada said.

"Kyp and Miko Reglia-his Jedi apprentice at the time."

"I should have known."

"They liked to frequent Dubrillion. Several members of the squadron  were

recordholders on those  modified  TIEs  Calrissian  bought  for  his  asteroid

obstacle course - or at least until Jaina Solo  showed  everyone  how  Lando's

Folly should be run." Karrde laughed, mostly to himself. "But I have to credit

Kyp for showmanship. Launching or landing,  he'd  lead  the  Avengers  through

flashy  maneuvers,  sometimes  to  amplified  orchestral  music.  Then  Helska

happened."

Shada turned slightly in Karrde's direction. "Kyp lost everyone?"

"It was the  first  engagement  between  starfighters  and  Yuuzhan  Vong

coralskippers-the first substantiated one, at any rate.  The  Avengers  didn't

have a clue what they were up against.  Reglia  was  captured  alive,  but  ap

parently died later during an escape attempt."

Shada returned her gaze to the docking bay. "So where do you suppose  Kyp

found replacements?"

"Most of them are combat veterans from one conflict or  another.  Several

were flying relief missions to threat ened, even occupied worlds, earning  New

Republic credits for authenticated  Yuuzhan  Vong  kills.  Kyp  proposed  that

everyone would do better if they formed an actual unit, and at the  same  time

he'd have his Avengers back."

"But they're not sanctioned by the military."

Karrde shook his head. "They're classified  as  a  support  unit.  As  an

appeasement to Skywalker and the military, Kyp dropped the name Avengers.  Now

they're just Kyp's Dozen." He looked at Shada. "Let's go say  hello."  By  the

time Karrde and Shada arrived in the hold, Kyp, Ganner Rhysode, and the twelve

members of Kyp's squadron were huddled near the modified Y-wing co-piloted  by

Ganner. The noses of some of the other starfighters were emboldened by  meteor

storms of laser-engraved coralskippers.

Seeing Karrde and Shada, the two Jedi walked toward them.

"One heck of a place for a rendezvous, Karrde," Kyp said.

"Half the Fifth Fleet is parked between here and Bothawui. We're lucky we

were even cleared for Kothlis, never mind this place."

"I didn't want to trust what I have to say to  normal  channels,"  Karrde

explained. "As for the fleet,  the  Bothans  aren't  taking  any  chances-even

though conditions have changed since our visit to Ryloth."

"Changed how?" Kyp asked conspiratorially.

Karrde nodded his head toward the observation gallery.

"Step into my office for a moment."

Kyp signaled his fliers to remain with the  ships;  then  he  and  Ganner

followed Karrde and Shada to a turbolift that accessed the  overlook.  No  one

spoke until they arrived  on  the  gallery,  where  they  pulled  four  chairs

together and sat down.

"The Hutts have resumed shipping spice to Bothawui and  Kothlis,"  Karrde

began. "With all  the  patrols,  not  much  is  getting  through,  but  that's

irrelevant."

"Are they shipping to Corellia?" Ganner asked.

"Not yet."

Kyp frowned in bewilderment. "Then why is  the  fleet  here  and  not  at

Corellia? From what I hear, the Corellian sector's about to revolt."

Karrde shook his head. "I don't  know  why.  It  would  appear  that  not

everyone accepts the significance of the intelligence we provided."

"Fey'lya," Kyp said.

"And others on the Advisory Council. But spice has  nothing  to  do  with

what I have for you." Karrde paused briefly. "Are rescue  missions  off-limits

to Jedi? I ask only because I don't want to be responsible  for  widening  the

rift between you and Sky walker."

"There is no rift," Kyp said firmly. "We don't see eye  to  eye  on  some

things, but there's no rift. He approved my coming here."

"That's good, because I'm reluctant to take this infor  mation  to  Rogue

Squadron. Even with Jaina Solo flying with them, I'd have a lot of  explaining

to do." Karrde's eyes narrowed as he assessed the two Jedi. "Is Wurth  Skidder

still missing?"

Ganner suddenly leaned forward. "Yes."

"No other Jedi?"

"What have you heard, Karrde?" Kyp demanded.

"This comes direct from Crev Bombaasa, so I'm trusting that it's reliable

information. Yuuzhan Vong forces are holding a Jedi aboard a ship  headed  for

Kalarba. The ship is carrying a war coordinator, so there's a good chance it's

either well armed or traveling under escort."

"Kalarba," Kyp said with a nod. "That's why you chose to meet here. We're

only a jump away."

"You'll have to move fast regardless. Skidder's slated to be  transferred

to another ship and handed over to some top commander. Once that happens, your

chances of getting near him are probably next to none."

Ganner tightened his lips and nodded. "Thanks for bringing  this  to  us,

Karrde."

Karrde got to his feet. "You're certain Skywalker won't object."

Kyp gave his head a shake. "Rescue  is  our  mandate."  Several  thousand

demonstrators-most of them Drall and humans but with some Selonians mixed  in-

railed from behind the majestic gates that had once  allowed  Governor-General

Marcha of Mastigophorous to maintain a tranquil enclave for  herself  on  that

part of Drall. Squads of Public Safety Service  guards  reinforced  the  fence

that encircled the compound, though in fact any determined Drall could  simply

have burrowed their way onto the grounds.

From a round-topped window  in  the  sitting  room  that  overlooked  the

estate's expansive front lawn and Marcha's beds  of  prize  nannariums,  Jacen

trained elec-trobinoculars on some of the placards and signs hoisted  high  by

the vociferous crowd.

" 'Jedi warmongers,' " he read aloud. "  'Servants  of  the  dark  side.'

'Corellia will live to see Coruscant die.'" Lowering the binocs, he  swung  to

his younger brother.

"Here's one you'll like, Anakin: 'Solos, go home.' " He bit his lower lip

and shook his head. "Wait'll Dad gets wind of this."

The shuttle that had delivered Anakin and Jacen to Drall sat on a  shrub-

enclosed permacrete pad behind Marcha's hemispherical white  manse,  close  to

the river. Beyond the pad, manicured lawn stretched to the edge  of  luxuriant

forest. Droid servants busied themselves outdoors and in, trimming the  hedges

that lined the estate's brick walkways and making  minor  adjustments  to  the

fountain in the central foyer.

"I don't know how word got out that  you  boys  would  be  stopping  here

before continuing on to Centerpoint Station," Marcha said as she served pieces

of dark-brown, homemade ryshcate, heavy with  vweliu  nuts.  "But  don't  feel

singled out. Most of that crowd has been here for the past month.  Things  are

even worse in Coronet and on some of the worlds of the Outlier systems. And on

Talus and Tralus the Federation of the Double Worlds  has  recently  formed  a

coalition with the archaeologists  the  New  Republic  forcibly  removed  from

Centerpoint."

"The Centerpoint Party," Marcha's nephew Ebrihim said as he reached for a

wedge of the sweet  cake.  "Extremists  who  have  borrowed  freely  from  the

rhetoric of the old Sacorrian Triad."

Nearby, and attentive to every word, stood Q9-X2, Ebrihim's jet-black and

bullet-headed astromech droid, who,  when  it  spoke,  was  usually  quick  to

express a high opinion of itself.

"Because this system is  comprised  of  worlds  captured  by  Centerpoint

Station and installed into orbit  around  Corell,"  Marcha  said,  "the  party

advocates increased representation in the New Republic Senate."

Ebrihim nodded in affirmation. "With five votes instead of one, the party

leaders believe that they might have  been  able  to  prevent  Coruscant  from

commandeering Centerpoint."

Furred and somewhat chubby bipeds, Ebrihim and Marcha  had  clawed  feet,

elongated whiskered muzzles, and small ears set high on their heads. Like most

Drall they v/ere keenly intelligent  and  honest  to  a  fault,  if  at  times

maddeningly fastidious. But where  age  had  tempered  Ebrihim's  tendency  to

pontificate, Marcha-while some years Ebrihim's senior-was as  fervently  self-

reliant as Jacen remembered her being during the Center-point Station  crisis,

almost eight years earlier.

What had begun then as a family holiday had turned into  open  rebellion,

with  the  Sacorrian  Triad  making  use  of  Centerpoint  Station's   awesome

interdiction  and  nova-inducing  power  to  force  the  New   Republic   into

recognizing the sector's autonomy. Ebrihim, hired  by  Leia  to  tutor  Jacen,

Jaina, and Anakin, had ended up being their rescuer  by  spiriting  them  from

Corellia to Drall, where Marcha had not only sheltered them but had  also  led

them to the planetary repulsor Anakin activated to thwart the Triad's plans.

"Couldn't  you  have  prevented  the  New  Republic  from   commandeering

Centerpoint?" Jacen asked.

Marcha was gentle in her ridicule. "I'm a political  ap  pointee,  Jacen.

Given that many of my own staff have turned on me  for  not  taking  a  firmer

stand, it probably would have been a wise move to challenge  or  at  least  de

nounce Coruscant's actions. But without your mother to back me, Borsk  Fey'lya

would have simply removed me from office and the  military  would  have  taken

possession of Centerpoint regardless."

Anakin frowned in confusion. "Any of the repulsors  buried  on  Corellia,

Drall, Selonia, or the Double Worlds is capable of fending off an attack by an

entire fleet of starships. And with Centerpoint reenabled, Corellia will be as

well defended as any system in the  New  Republic-including  Coruscant.  So  I

don't see why everyone's protesting what we're trying to do."

Marcha and Ebrihim traded knowing looks. "I fear you haven't  been  given

all the facts, Anakin," the onetime tutor said. "You're under  the  impression

that you've been  summoned  to  aid  in  Corellia's  defense,  when  in  fact,

reenabling Centerpoint Station has more to do with offense than defense."

"I knew it would be something like this," Jacen  blurted.  Anakin  smiled

falsely. "Drall's lighter gravity is going to Jacen's head," he told everyone.

"He's convinced that our coming here is going to  upset  the  balance  of  the

Force or something."

Jacen smoldered. "You're not far off, Anakin."

"You're the one who's far off. Anything that will stop the  Yuuzhan  Vong

has the Force on its side."

"What's come over you boys?"  Marcha  interrupted.  "You  never  used  to

argue."

"We disagree about this mission," Jacen  said,  staring  at  his  younger

brother.

"Among other things," Anakin said under his breath. Jacen gestured toward

Ebrihim. "You heard what he said, Anakin: This has more to  do  with  offense.

And you were the one who described Centerpoint as Corellia's lightsaber."

"Yeah, which means it can be used to parry or thrust. It all  depends  on

who's wielding it."

"Meaning what-that you'll refuse to help if you find out it's going to be

used for attack?"

"Meaning that I'm waiting to hear all sides of  the  ar  gument."  Anakin

turned to Ebrihim. "Is there proof the New Republic plans to  use  Centerpoint

as a weapon instead of a shield?"

Ebrihim mulled over his response. "The problem, as I see  it-and  as  you

yourself assert-is that Centerpoint has the capacity to be both. Even if  used

as a shield today, there's no guarantee it won't be used as a weapon tomorrow.

But that inherent duality isn't the reason for the protests.  The  cause  runs

deeper than that."

"How much do you remember about what the Triad attempted to do during the

crisis?" Marcha asked.

"Actually, I don't remember all that much,"  Anakin  confessed.  "I  know

they used Centerpoint to create a sys-temwide interdiction field,  capable  of

trapping hostages and repelling rescue attempts at the same time."

Ebrihim nodded. "We strongly suspect that the New Republic  will  attempt

to do the  very  same  thing.  You  see,  this  operation  isn't  about  using

Centerpoint to safeguard Corellia; it's about using the station to ensnare the

Yu uzhan Vong fleet, and utilizing this system as a battle arena."

"Oh, brother," Jacen groaned. "No wonder Corellia's ready to riot."

Anakin looked from Jacen to Ebrihim. "You said 'suspect.'"

"That's  correct.  We're  not  privy  to  all  that's  going  on   inside

Centerpoint, much less inside the minds of the De fense Force  command  staff.

What we do know is this: That despite the proximity of the Yuuzhan Vong  fleet

to Corellia, the system is effectively undefended. Oh, the  New  Republic  has

seen fit to deploy three of our own Strident-chss Star Defenders at  Corellia,

and the flotilla that has been safeguarding Duro has been pulled back to shore

up the Outlier systems. But even that amount of firepower is  insufficient  to

ward off a full-scale attack."

"Which is precisely what the Defense Force would like the Yuuzhan Vong to

conclude," Marcha added.

"Our conspicuous vulnerability is  meant  to  lure  the  invaders  here,"

Ebrihim said, "to prompt an assault. Then, once  Centerpoint  has  immobilized

their fleet, New Republic ships deployed at Bothawui, Kuat, and  other  worlds

will supposedly jump to engage them."

Anakin's forehead creased in concern. "How is the Defense Force expecting

to get ships through the interdiction field that's holding  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

fleet at bay?" "By outfitting the ships  with  the  same  hyperwave  iner-tial

momentum sustainers the Bakurans used during the crisis," Ebrihim  said.  "You

must understand, Anakin, this operation has been in the works for some time."

Marcha confirmed it with a nod. "Just how much of it is understood by the

demonstrators,  or  even  by  the  Cen  terpoint  Party,  is  immaterial.  The

protestors are reacting to the fact that Coruscant has  withheld  defense  and

commandeered Centerpoint  without  factoring  Corellia's  citizenry  into  the

equation."

Anakin grew pensive, then looked at  Marcha.  "You  make  it  sound  like

everything is already set. It doesn't sound like I'm really needed here."

Marcha smiled faintly. "I wish that were so. But, in fact, the success of

the strategy rests very much with you."

Ebrihim explained. "The Defense Force has had their best  people  working

nonstop to bring the entire network on-line, including the repulsors housed on

the Five Brothers-Corellia, Drall, Selonia, Talus, and Tralus. The goal now is

to slave all five planetary repulsors to Centerpoint itself, providing it with

even greater power and range than it already enjoys from tapping the  gravitic

energies of the Double Worlds. Theoretically, the station will then be capable

of creating interdiction fields wherever Admiral Sow and the rest desire  them

to be created. Centerpoint would also have the ability to alter the course  or

location of distant planets, or cause stars  to  explode,  as  occurred  twice

during the crisis."

"But the scientists have not yet been able to realize  their  ambitions,"

Marcha emphasized. "As was the  case  during  the  crisis,  the  mysteries  of

Centerpoint continue to elude everyone. The station remains unpredictable  and

unstable, and at this point no one is certain that it can re-create a  massive

interdiction field, let alone that it can incite a distant star to go nova.

"And this is where you and  you  alone  figure  in  the  scheme,  Anakin,

because many of the scientists are con vinced that the system still bears  the

imprint you im parted to the repulsor here on Drall, and that such  a  network

can be brought into synchronization  only  by  you."  Ebrihim  reinforced  it.

"Eight years ago you were re sponsible for disabling Centerpoint. Now you  may

be the only person who can successfully rehabilitate it."

Concern shone from Anakin's eyes. "Jacen sensed this from the  beginning,

but..." He glanced at everyone. "It's not  that  I  don't  trust  what  you're

telling me, but I have to go to Centerpoint and see for  myself.  I  might  be

able to reenable it as a shield only. That way, Corellia  and  Drall  and  the

rest can at least protect themselves from attack, no  matter  what  plans  the

Defense Force or any others devise."

Marcha smiled sadly. "Yes, perhaps you'll be able to do just as you  say,

Anakin. But a word of warning before you go: When it came to reactivating  the

repulsors and the station, Coruscant had no choice but  to  call  on  many  of

those who were directly involved in fomenting the crisis."

Anakin nodded. "The Sacorrian Triad, you mean."

"Along with several others who played a role in  those  events,"  Ebrihim

said.

Marcha looked from her nephew to Anakin and Jacen. "It's just this, boys:

You may not like what you're going to find on Centerpoint. Therefore, you must

take care. Think carefully before you agree to anything."

22

"We've got an inspector here from Comestibles and Curatives," the  sentry

posted at the entrance to Sal-liche Ag's district headquarters said  into  his

comlink.

"Human. Yeah, I already told him that we'd had  some  CCA  folks  through

here last  week,  but  he  claims  it's  a  spot  inspection.  Yeah,  all  his

documentation checks out."

With his hair and beard dyed jet-black and a brimmed cap  tugged  low  on

his forehead, Han acted nonchalant while he waited outside the security booth.

Baffle, who had dropped him at the gate, had assured him that  the  pale-green

lightweight  suit  was  standard   issue   for   Comestibles   and   Curatives

Administration inspectors, and in fact, the corpulent human sentry had scanned

the computer-coded identity card with the indifference of  one  who  had  seen

hundreds in his day.

"What areas you interested in seeing?" the man asked suddenly.

Han adopted an  officious  smile.  "Divulging  that  infor  mation  would

effectively undermine the nature of my visit."

The sentry frowned. "He isn't  saying,"  he  muttered  into  the  comlink

mouthpiece. "Claims it'll spoil the surprise. No, I didn't laugh either. Okay,

he'll be here when you arrive." He switched off the comlink and  returned  the

identity card to Han. "Sit tight, pal. An escort's on the way."

The casually dressed man who  arrived  moments  later  in  a  four-seater

landspeeder was even heftier than the sentry and had the  same  sunburned  and

stubbled farm-boy toughness. Both men were a world apart from the aristocratic

Harbrights, who ran Salliche Ag and were apparently intent on throwing in with

the Yuuzhan Vong. The escort took in Han as he approached the land-speeder, an

alloy case dangling from his right hand.

"Surprised they haven't retired you yet, old-timer," he remarked. A  name

tag stitched to the pocket of his un tucked shirt identified him as Bow.

So much for the deceptive qualities  of  hair  dye,  Han  thought  as  he

climbed into the rear seat of the speeder.

"With any luck, this will be one of my last assignments."

"You know, Salliche has never had a problem with you  people,"  Bow  said

around what remained of a toothpick protruding from between his  front  teeth.

"We pay good money to see to that."

"I wouldn't know," Han  said,  blinking.  "I'm  simply  carrying  out  my

assignment."

"Fine. Just make sure you're quick about it. I don't have all day."

Han forced a nervous laugh. "I'm as eager to have this over with  as  you

are."

They set off, but had traveled only a short distance  when  the  Salliche

man brought the landspeeder to a halt alongside a  large  map  and  directory.

With some diffi culty, Bow rotated in the front seat to face Han.

"Where to first? We can sample produce from a couple of nearby fields, or

you can run your tests on random samples that have already been harvested." He

pointed north. "Shipping is over that way, in case you're inter ested in cargo

container decontamination procedures."

Han pretended to study the map, then said, "Suppose we begin  at  product

enhancement." Bow's bushy brows knitted.

"You're kidding." Han cleared his throat. "Is there  some  problem?"  "No

problem. I just hope CCA is paying you well." The landspeeder flew down narrow

dirt roads, many of which twisted through fields of burrmillet waiting  to  be

harvested. As tall  as  trees,  the  slender  umber  stalks  of  grain  formed

palisades to either side. Han's nose alerted him to the fact  that  they  were

nearing the fertilizer works long before a sign announcing product enhancement

came into view. At yet another checkpoint he was issued a disposable  jumpsuit

and a rebreather helmet with a tinted face bowl. Similarly outfitted, Bow  led

the way toward an enormous, flat-roofed warehouse,  whose  loading  bays  were

crowded with banthas, rontos, and other beasts of burden, waiting  to  receive

cargos of fertilizer.

Baffle had already explained that, in keeping  with  Sal-liche's  aim  to

please the antitech invaders, the company was in the process of switching over

from machine-produced nutrients to live production; so Han wasn't as surprised

as he might have been to see thousands of craw-maws, wingles, and  nightseers-

genetically manipulated to be wingless and mute-being force-fed in  cages  and

perches that lined the interior of the building. Beneath the cages, and filled

to the brim with the  avians'  abundant  droppings,  were  wide  troughs  that

funneled the manure to the loading bays for eventual dispersal. Other areas of

the warehouse were given over to water  tanks  crammed  with  stink  fish  and

fingerfins dredged from Ruan's bountiful seas. Mashed by mallet, the fish were

being tossed into the troughs to serve as a fertilizing additive.

Considering the debilitating effect it was having on some  of  the  bare-

faced Gotals, Bimms, and hapless others whose task it was to gather and shovel

excrement overspill into the troughs, Han could well imagine the  stench.  But

he could only guess at the offenses, real or trumped up, the  former  refugees

had committed to have earned themselves  such  punishment.  Among  one  group,

knee-deep in the grounded avians' ordure and leaning feebly against the wooden

handle of his shovel, stood Droma.

"I'm going  to  run  a  few  quick  tests,"  Han  told  Bow  through  the

rebreather's annunciator. He popped open the carry case  and  made  as  if  to

extract one of the test kits Baffle's coterie of  droids  had  provided,  then

stopped abruptly and pointed to Droma in elaborate incredulity.

"Is that... is that a Ryn?"

The Salliche man stared, then nodded his head. "Yeah. He's new here."

"New or not," Han continued, growing more agitated as he spoke,  "doesn't

anyone realize that Ryn have pro scriptions against bathing and  other  habits

most sapients consider essential to  good  health?"  "But  he's  working  with

manure." "That is hardly the point. Do you know  what  would  happen  if  word

leaked that Salliche Ag has Ryn on the premises?"

"It's only one Ryn," Bow started to say. "He'll have to be  removed  this

instant. I demand that he undergo a complete medical evaluation before  he  is

permitted to return to work-even work of this sort."

Letting his exasperation show, Bow prized a slim corn-link from his shirt

pocket and, raising the face bowl of his helmet, began to speak  briskly  into

it.

Han wondered what Salliche  Ag  was  going  to  do  about  replacing  its

comlinks and landspeeders if and when the Yuuzhan Vong showed up.

"All right," Bow told Han a moment later, "we're cleared to bring him  to

medical in the east wing." He swung angrily toward  Droma.  "Ryn!  Leave  your

shovel and get over here."

Droma looked up, set the tool aside, and clomped toward them, shaking one

leg, then the other, then his tail, in an effort to rid himself of some of the

gray filth clinging to him.

"Whatever you do, don't touch him," Han warned Bow, "or you'll have to be

evaluated along with him."

Reeking of dung,  Droma  stopped  a  few  meters  away,  clearly  without

recognizing Han behind the rebreather mask.

"Hose him down!" Bow ordered a nearby worker.

Han winced as the high-pressure flow from a thick hose nearly swept Droma

off his feet. "Ill-starred creatures," he said, loud enough for  the  Salliche

man to hear, "forever getting themselves into trouble."

Bow puffed out his lips and nodded grimly. "You can say that again."

With Droma dripping wet and looking hopelessly forlorn, Bow snapped  stun

cuffs around his wrists and shoved him  toward  the  warehouse  exit.  At  the

checkpoint, Han surrendered the rebreather,  deposited  the  jumpsuit  into  a

shredder/recycler, and followed Droma into the rear seat of  the  landspeeder.

Downcast, Droma didn't glance at him until they were under way, and even  then

he didn't recognize Han immediately. Then his eyes widened appreciably and his

jaw dropped.

"Please, hurry," Han shouted to Bow before Droma  could  ruin  everything

with a surprised outburst. "I find it quite distasteful to  have  to  share  a

seat with this... malefactor."

"East wing's dead ahead," Bow  said  over  his  shoulder.  Han  exchanged

veiled glances with Droma, but didn't look at him again  until  the  three  of

them were in a turbo-lift car, descending for  the  east  wing's  sublevel-one

medical lab. Then, throwing Droma a warning look, he drew a small blaster from

the durinium shoulder holster the  droids  had  fabricated,  and  pressed  the

weapon's emitter nozzle to Bow's temple.

"Do exactly as you're told and you'll walk away from this." When the  big

man nodded in a manner that mixed surprise and anger,  Han  added,  "Stop  the

lift and move to the far corner of the car, then key the stun cuff  re  mote."

He cut his eyes briefly to Droma, then told the turbolift to ascend  to  level

five.

Rubbing his freed wrists, Droma glanced at him. "We're going up?"

"I've got a job to do." Han gestured with his chin  toward  Bow.  "You'll

have to deal with this one. Take him down to the maintenance sublevel and find

a closet to stick him in. If he gives you any trouble, shoot him. Then meet me

on level five."

Bow worked his jaw, but managed to keep from saying anything  that  might

provoke Droma to take Han at his word.

While the lift was climbing, Han stripped  off  the  pale-green  suit  to

reveal an expensive business suit beneath it. Droma's curiosity was palpable.

"No time to explain," Han said. Handing Droma the bundled-up suit and the

open stun cuffs, he added, "Hold on to these; we're going to need them later."

At level five, he slipped a sheer glove onto his right  hand  and  headed

down a broad, gleaming corridor toward the transceiver room. In his left  hand

he palmed the fatal data card the droids had given him.

The handprint reader was housed in a niche  alongside  the  control  room

door. When Han laid his gloved hand on the pad, the device's screen identified

him as Dees Harbright, cousin once removed  of  Count  Borert  Har-bright  and

senior vice president of marketing for Sal-liche Ag, whom  the  black-bearded,

finely tailored Han resembled-sufficiently, at any rate, to  bring  the  half-

dozen control room technicians to their feet as he entered.

"Sit down, everyone, sit down," he said in  the  most  cavalier  tone  he

could muster. "I just wanted to have a look at our deactivation system. Are we

operating on schedule?"

"One thousand two hundred fifty droids have been shut down and warehoused

this quarter, sir," a whip-thin female tech chirped. "During the same  period,

personnel acquisition division has succeeded in recruiting over three thousand

refugees, who have agreed to remain on Ruan as employees."

"Splendid, splendid," Han said, moving about  the  room,  the  data  card

still palmed in his left  hand.  While  the  female  tech  went  on  to  offer

additional statistics, Han-with his back to a peripheral device he hoped would

prove the path of least resistance-slotted the  disk,  which  Baffle  promised

would literally disappear once it had worked its sorcery.

"We're expecting to have at least fifteen hundred more droids  warehoused

by the end of the next quarter,"  the  cheerful  woman  was  saying  when  the

computer system loosed a series of strident  tones  that  struck  Han  as  the

machine equivalent of a distress cry.

"System crash!" another technician shouted in obvious disbelief.

At every duty station, lights began to blink out,  display  screens  went

gray, and technicians did all  but  tear  their  hair  out  in  an  effort  to

resuscitate the system before it crossed over to wherever machine  minds  went

when they crashed. So desperate were their efforts, Han experienced  a  twinge

of guilt-at least  until  he  reminded  himself  that  the  machine  had  been

responsible for deactivating thousands of droids.

The mounting panic made  it  easy  for  him  to  slip  out  of  the  room

unnoticed. The corridor was as quiet and brightly lit as it had  been  moments

earlier, betraying nothing of the  chaos  ensuing  in  the  control  room.  Ad

justing the fit of his  fine  jacket,  Han  sauntered  toward  the  turbolift,

nodding with genteel suffrage to everyone he passed. As he  neared  the  lift,

Droma appeared from behind a plasteel pillar that had obviously served as  his

hiding place, the pale-green suit draped over one arm.

"Try not to look so guilty," he whispered.

Han's tight-lipped smile held. "Just get in the lift and put on the  stun

cuffs," he said without moving his lips. Once inside,  though,  his  calm  and

well-mannered facade collapsed. Quickly, he slipped back into the  inspector's

suit, then took the blaster from Droma and made certain it was armed.

"I won't even venture a guess as to how you managed this," Droma said  as

he donned the stun cuffs.

"Yeah, but it'd be fun to hear you try." Han slid the  blaster  into  his

jacket pocket. "As soon as we hit the lobby, we make straight for the  nearest

exit, got it? Pre tend you're in my custody."

Han stood facing the lift doors. When they parted, he couldn't see across

the lobby for the hundreds of droids that were rushing  about  and  chattering

incessantly, many of them hastening for the exits.

"I can't help thinking you had something to do with this," Droma said.

"Indirectly." Han gestured to the closest  exit  that  wasn't  completely

blocked by droids. "That way."

They stepped into the throng and were just short  of  the  transparisreei

exit doors when a gruff voice shouted,

"There they are!"

Han failed to keep himself from turning around. Zeroing in on the  voice,

he saw Bow, now in the company of several security guards, pointing at him.

"I thought I told you to lock him away!" Han said.

"I did," Droma argued. "I stuck him inside a room filled with deactivated

droids."

Han muttered a curse and drew the blaster. "No time for subtlety."

Scarcely aiming, he placed a quartet of beams close enough to the  guards

to send them scurrying for cover.

Crouching, he and Droma weaved their way through a tight press of  droids

and stumbled outside. Han spied Bow's landspeeder and steered Droma toward it,

as a mob of prattling droids spilled from the east wing and began to  fan  out

across the surrounding lawns and parking lots.

Throwing himself into the driver's seat, Han grinned broadly.

"One thing you can always count on with farmboys," he said to Droma,  who

had removed the cuffs and was settling into the passenger  seat.  "They  never

lock their vehicles."

Han started the speeder's repulsorlift engine. With both hands clamped on

the steering wheel and his feet on  the  pedals,  he  maneuvered  the  speeder

through a quick turn and shot for the frontage road.

"No use trying for the main gate," he shouted  above  the  whine  of  the

triple turbines. "It's sure to be shut tight by now! We'll  have  to  use  the

service roads. Some of them have to lead to the fields we passed on the way to

Facility 17!"

"Better choose quickly," Droma said, studying the small  scanner  display

affixed to the passenger-side console.

"We've got seven, make that eight vehicles converging on us  from  north,

east, and west."

Gritting his teeth, Han glanced at the  towering  stalks  of  grain  that

lined both sides of the frontage road. "Ah, who needs  a  road,"  he  said  at

last, veering due south, straight into the field.

The satellite feed to the district headquarters security section provided

an unobstructed aerial view of the land-speeder pursuit. It was as if the cams

were positioned one hundred meters above the ground rather than in sta tionary

orbit, halfway to Ruan's closest moon.

"They're sure making a mess of those  burrmillet  fields,"  the  security

chief remarked to Bow.

The  fat  man  leaned  closer  to  the  flatscreen  display.  The  stolen

landspeeder had cut unswerving lines, precise parabolas, and sweeping  spirals

in the umber sea of grain. In pursuit flew eight speeders, carving  out  their

own streaks and crop circles, if not as conscientiously.

"Talented driver, that one," the chief said as the lead speeder  slalomed

through a row of outmoded windmills, then powered through a series  of  figure

eights before racing off on a new vector. "Must have been a swoop  pilot.  Has

he been identified?"

"No," Bow fumed. "But it's confirmed he's the one who crashed the  droid-

deactivation system on level five." The  chief,  potbellied  and  mustachioed,

smiled lightly. "I heard you were with some of the droids when they came  back

to life."

Bow grimaced. "You heard right. But I'll tell you  what:  none  of  those

droids unsealed the doors. Somebody with access to the system unlocked them as

soon as the droids woke up."

The chief snorted. "So what kind of  guy  goes  through  the  trouble  of

masquerading as both a CCA inspector and a corporate vice president to  rescue

a Ryn and free a couple of thousand droids?"

"The well-connected kind. The Ryn was arrested at Facility 17 when he and

the human showed up looking for the Ryn's clanmates. But it turns  out  they'd

already gotten themselves offworld on forged letters of transit."

"Maybe it was deliberate-the Ryn showing up there - just to  get  himself

arrested."

"Doesn't calculate. The Ryn couldn't have known he'd be brought here. And

besides, he couldn't have added anything to what his  partner  obviously  knew

before he even showed up at the front gate. We've  got  people  checking  with

spaceport control to determine how and when the two of them  arrived  onworld,

but something's interfering with our accessing the immigration data banks."

"Something or someone?" the chief said. "Cocon-spirators is my guess."

Bow compressed his lips but said nothing.

* * *

The chief retrieved holograms of the human lifted from the front gate and

product enhancement security scanners, along with the level-five control  room

identifier. "The beard and facial features look real enough,"  he  said  after

appraising the holos for a moment.

Bow rubbed his chin. "Remove the beard and the cap."

Both men studied the revised holos for a moment more. "He looks familiar,

" the chief said, "but I can't place the face."

"Well, he's an agent for someone."

"A Salliche rival? Nebula Consumables maybe?" Bow shrugged.

"Course change," the chief said suddenly, swinging back to the satellite-

feed display. "They're angling east."

The two men watched the stolen landspeeder tear into another grain field;

then, without warning, it revectored, leaving the field for what Bow initially

took to be a service road. But not one member of the pursuit team followed.

"What's going on?" he barked.

"Son of a blaster," the chief said. "That's no road. They've dropped into

one of the irrigation channels-right off the speeders' surface-scan  displays.

Our guys have no idea where they went."

"Patch into the sluice system and shut all the gates along that stretch!"

"I'm on it," the chief said.

Bow turned to the satellite-feed screen in time  to  see  the  saboteurs'

landspeeder whiz through the closing sluice gate, hop the next in  line,  then

power through a reckless turn into a much broader channel.

"It's a runoff channel," the chief explained. "Ends  at  the  river  that

runs past Facility 17. If they make it that far, we could lose them."  He  was

reaching for the sluicegate control buttons when Bow restrained him.

"No, don't shut them down just yet. Make him think  he's  got  time."  He

glanced at the satellite-feed display.

"Bring us close in on him." When the chief had complied, they  could  see

that the stolen speeder had lost its retractable windscreen. Broken stalks  of

burrmillet poked from creases in the rounded nose and from between the  seats,

and the cab was half filled with threshed grain.

"What would you estimate his speed?"

The chief considered it. "The channel's not only  broader  but  twice  as

deep, so I'd say he's running those turbines  close  to  flat  out.  Say,  two

hundred."

"How far to the nearest gate?"

"Maybe one kilometer away."

"How quickly do they shut?"

"In a heartbeat."

Bow grinned. "Keep your finger on the switch. I'll tell you when."

The chief grinned back at  him.  "It's  like  playing  a  game  of  Death

Hurdles."

Bow watched the screen for a moment, then shouted, "Now!" Swerving as  it

tried desperately to shed velocity, the landspeeder careened straight into the

gate. The force of the impact hurled the human and the Ryn clear  out  of  the

cab, over the top of the gate, and into the ditch beyond.

"Got 'em," the chief said excitedly. "Patch me  through  to  the  pursuit

team." Even as he was raising the pursuit team, the chief said,  "I've  got  a

better way of flushing them out." He activated his comlink. "Give  me  weather

control." Bow frowned, then smiled in  revelation.  "Nice  touch."  The  chief

shrugged. "We need the rain anyway."

* * *

It was the mud that saved them-only a foot deep,  but  soft  as  pudding.

Han, after ten meters of end-over-end flight, landed facefirst, plowing a deep

furrow down the center of the ditch. Better  equipped  for  acrobatics,  Droma

executed a flawless triple front flip and came  down  on  his  feet,  skidding

across the slick surface like a competitive aquaplaner.

Han surfaced spewing brown water, but it was Droma who was piqued.

"We'll be safer in the runoff channel, you said.  I  don't  think  so,  I

said, we should stick to the irrigation ditches.  Trust  me,  you  said.  Keep

above the gates, I said. Where's the fun in that, you said..."

"Quit your complaining," Han said. "Or have you gotten so used to  manure

you can't handle a little mud?"

Droma helped Han to his feet and took a look around. As if the mud wasn't

enough, the ditch's smooth, perma-crete retaining walls were over four  meters

tall. "Now what? We can't even climb out."

"We're better off down here. Moving through those grain fields  would  be

slow going." Han stripped off the pale-green and business  jackets  and  threw

them aside. He used his fingers to sluice mud from his forehead and beard.

"What did the map show?"

"You mean just before you crashed?"

Han glowered. "That wasn't a crash. Somebody knew just when to shut  that

gate." He glanced at the sky, which seemed darker than it had  been  a  moment

earlier. "They're watching us. Sky or satellite cam."

Droma cut his eyes from the sky to Han, then  pointed  in  the  direction

they had been heading before the collision.

"The river is a couple of kilometers straight ahead. We should be able to

follow it all the way to Facility 17."

"Perfect. We float down the river and haul ourselves  out  short  of  the

refugee camp. Then we make our way to the spaceport."

"Where Salliche will have an army of guards posted and every scanner  set

to shriek the moment one of us presents an identity card."

"Don't worry about that. We've got friends who will get us right  to  the

Falcon."

Droma stopped squeezing water from his mustachios.

"Without passing through Ruan control?"

Han smirked. "By passing under it." His foot made a sucking sound  as  he

lifted it from the mud. "Let's get a move on."

They hadn't gone three hundred meters when  a  deep  bass  sound  rumbled

overhead.

Han stopped. "What the heck was that?"

Droma waved in dismissal.  "That's  just  the  weather  control  station.

Salliche resets it a couple of times a day."

Han watched gray clouds stream overhead. He  pivoted  through  a  circle,

gauging the height of the walls. Even with Droma  atop  his  shoulders,  Droma

wouldn't be able to reach the top.

"We have to go back to the sluice gate," he said suddenly.

Droma looked at Han as if he were mad. "What?"

"The gate's our only chance at climbing out."

"I thought you said we're better  off  down  here."  Fat  drops  of  rain

started to fall. "Salliche is cooking up a storm. They're planning on drowning

us."

Droma gulped. "But those speeders that were chasing  us-they're  probably

already headed for the gate!" Han  tightened  his  lips  and  nodded.  "You're

right. But there has to be at least one more gate between here and the river."

They began to run, helping each other along when one of them  slipped  or

became bogged down. The rain became a  downpour,  and  the  muddy  water  rose

quickly from ankle - to knee-deep. Behind them they heard the steady whine  of

approaching landspeeders. Then the sound was replaced by a roaring turbulence.

Han came to an abrupt halt. "Listen,"  he  shouted  to  Droma  above  the

steady pounding of the rain.

Droma stopped a few meters farther on. "I don't think I'm going  to  like

this."

Both of them turned to see a three-meter-high wall of water raging toward

them. They barely had time to swing back toward the  river  when  the  torrent

caught up, sweeping them away.

23

Larger than the Death  Star,  Centerpoint  Station  hung  gray-white  and

ominous between Talus and Tralus, drawing its power from the  gravitic  output

of the so-called Double Worlds. Rotating slowly around an axis defined by  two

thick polar cylinders, the station had been designed to act as a gravity  lens

capable of directing amplified bursts of repulsor energy  through  hyperspace,

sufficient for the capturing of distant worlds or the destruction of far-flung

stars. Its  surface  was  a  mishmash  of  boxy  superstructures  as  tall  as

skyscrapers and force-bubble pressurization access ports the  size  of  impact

craters. A bewildering tangle of piping, cables, and conduits coursed  in  all

directions, winding  through  multi-storied  forests  of  parabolic  antennae,

conical arrays, and setose projections. A prominent feature was the remains of

a crashed spacecraft that had been macrofused to the hull and  converted  into

living quarters.

"I was the first person to  greet  your  uncle  Luke,  Lando  Calrissian,

Belindi Kalenda, and Gaeriel Captison when they came  aboard,"  Jenica  Sonsen

told Anakin, Jacen, and Ebrihim while a turbovator  smelling  of  fresh  paint

conveyed them along a dark-pink tunnel toward the sta tion's core.

"I think we met you on Corellia afterwards," Jacen said.

"You did. I'm delighted that you remember."

"The simulated gravity is increasing," Q9 interrupted in Basic,  speaking

through a vocoder the droid had adapted to  form  words  like  a  mouth.  "The

increase is obviously a consequence of our traveling away  from  the  axis  of

rotation."

"Thank you, Queue-nine," Ebrihim said, in deference to the  droid's  oft-

stated opinion that machines should be useful at all times and in all  places.

Sonsen smiled at  the  exchange.  "It  has  long  been  our  hope  to  provide

Centerpoint with artificial gravity, but for the time being, we're relying  on

centrifugal gravity. Perhaps if we're  successful  in  assisting  in  the  war

effort, the New Republic will finally allocate the funds necessary  to  despin

the station. But even without artificial gravity, the Mrlssi have done wonders

to make Hollow-town and many  other  areas  perfectly  livable."  She  was  an

upbeat, handsome woman,  with  black  curly  hair,  a  long,  thin  face,  and

expressive eyebrows. Eight years earlier, following  Centerpoint's  unexpected

flare-ups-which  had  not  only  destroyed  two  distant  stars  with  precise

hyperspace shots but had also incinerated thousands of colonists who had  been

living in Hollowtown-Sonsen had been left in  charge  of  the  station,  while

survivors fled for the safety of Talus and Tralus. Since then she  had  headed

up the cartography team that was slowly mapping the complex  interior  of  the

immense orb, a task Sonsen herself doubted would be completed in her lifetime.

"Did your team get along with  the  archaeologists  who  were  deported?"

Jacen asked.

Sonsen frowned. "They weren't deported, so much as removed for their  own

safety. But, yes, of course we got along. All of us are interested in learning

whatever we can about the species who  built  Centerpoint  and  assembled  the

Corellian system. I'm afraid, however, that the archaeologists may have  erred

by making a political issue of their removal. If,  as  the  Centerpoint  Party

advocates, each of Corell's five  worlds  should  be  treated  as  a  separate

entity, then it stands to reason that  this  station-which  is  certainly  not

indigenous to the system-should also be considered independent. As a re  sult,

I believe that Centerpoint may remain in New Republic hands for some  time  to

come."

Ebrihim opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of  it  and

fell silent for the remainder of the ride through the station's  two  thousand

levels of decks. Originally a power-containment  battery,  Hollowtown  was  an

open sphere, measuring sixty kilometers in diameter.  The  curving  walls  had

once seen homes, parks, lakes, orchards, and farmland, basking in the overhead

radiance of Glowpoint-a kind of pilot light for the entire station. But except

for a few that housed scientists and the archaeological team before them,  the

houses had been dismantled. The only concession to what had once existed  were

the adjustable shadow-shields, installed to simulate night.

Positioned along the spin axis on both sides of  Hollow-town  were  large

cones ringed by six smaller cones, given the names  North  and  South  Conical

Mountains. The ar rangement of  the  cones  was  the  geometry  needed  for  a

particular type of old-style repulsor.

Sonsen pointed out the sights as she ushered everyone to a  small,  well-

shielded control  room  that  had  remained  concealed  during  the  station's

occupation, and had been discovered only by accident when a  group  of  Mrlssi

had been searching for a place to install a life-support monitor.

Consistent with the plumed avians from which  they  were  descended,  the

limpid-eyed, diminutive Mrlssi had a  talent  for  rendering  extremely  large

spaces habitable, as they had proved to Dr. Ohran  Keldor,  who  had  employed

some one hundred of them at the Imperial  Maw  Installation  near  Kessel.  In

Hollowtown, the fine-boned  Mrlssi  were  more  in  evidence  than  any  other

species, though there were none in the control room itself when Sonsen and her

charges entered.

The instrument-filled chamber did hold several humans,  a  Selonian,  two

Verpine, and a Duros, but in spite of the diversity, the curious mix of  robed

Jedi, Drall, and bullet-headed droid brought activity to an  abrupt  halt  and

caused  all  heads  to  turn.  Since  arriving  onstation,  Anakin  had  grown

accustomed to being the focus of intense scrutiny, but the gray-haired man who

muscled his way through the control room crowd set him back on his heels. With

the beard that Han had been growing the last time  Anakin  saw  him,  the  man

looked more like Han than Han himself-if a few  centimeters  taller  and  more

thickly built.

"You're Jacen, and you're Anakin," he said, pointing  to  each  in  turn.

Mostly to Anakin, he added, "You don't remember me, do you? I'm hurt. I'll bet

that even your droid remembers."

"You were responsible for confining Master Ebrihim and Masters Anakin and

Jacen within a force field on Drall," Q9 supplied. "Whereas I was  responsible

for releasing them."

The man planted  his  hands  on  his  hips  and  laughed  heartily.  "I'd

forgotten all about that."

"You're Thrackan Sal-Solo," Anakin said at last, "Dad's first cousin."

Thrackan made his face long. "And your cousin, as well, boys."

"You not only took us hostage," Jacen said, "you  forced  our  father  to

fight a Selonian female-just for your amusement."

Thrackan spread his hands in a placating gesture. "Han and I have a  long

history. He probably never told you about the time he beat the stuffing out of

me when we were kids. You might say that I was  just  paying  him  back.  But,

you're right, it was wrong of me to do what I did. Sometimes when you've  been

remembering an injustice for years and years, revenge begins to get  the  best

of you."

Thrackan's eyes narrowed. "It took me the better part of eight  years  in

Dorthus Tal prison on Sacorria to realize that, but I have  realized  it,  and

I'm a changed man as a result." He gestured broadly. "That's the  only  reason

I'm here on Centerpoint. As part of my rehabilitation, the powers that be felt

that I could demonstrate my newly at tained self-awareness by  pitching  in-by

offering my technical expertise in service to the cause. By standing  shoulder

to shoulder with the New Republic against the Yuuzhan Vong."

He snorted a self-deprecating laugh. "Of course, you  two  wouldn't  know

how the past can plague a person. You're Jedi. You're not subject to the banal

emotions that trouble ordinary folks. Anger, hatred,  guilt,  the  desire  for

retribution... such things mean nothing to you. Why,  even  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

have simply failed to see the error of their ways and can probably be  brought

over to the side of the Force. Am I right?  Otherwise  you'd  be  shoulder  to

shoulder with us in the trenches,  ready  to  fight-ready  to  spill  whatever

amount of Corellian blood that runs in your veins."

"We're here to help," Anakin said firmly.

"Are you now?" Thrackan shook his head in amusement.

"It's a marvelous irony that it took a galactic war to  reunite  the  old

gang"-he motioned to one of the humans and the Selonian-"and to bring you boys

back to the station you originally helped to  shut  down."  Again  his  glance

favored Anakin. "I have you to thank personally for banishing our illusions of

a free and independent Corellia. But, tell me, do  you  still  think  we  were

wrong to make a grab for freedom?"

"Your methods were wrong," Jacen said before Anakin could respond.

Thrackan waved his hand. "Methods. You realize, of course, that  the  New

Republic has essentially abandoned Corellia  since  the  crisis.  And  knowing

Ebrihim" - he regarded the Drall with obvious distaste-"I'm sure  you've  been

apprised of Coruscant's plan to use Corellia as a battleground."

"We've heard the rumors," Jacen said.

Thrackan sneered. "That's your mother talking. What  about  you,  Anakin?

Are you here on a tour, or are you really willing to do  what's  necessary  to

safeguard Corellia from attack?"

Anakin considered  it.  "That  depends  on  what  you  have  planned  for

Centerpoint."

Thrackan adopted a look of  puzzlement.  "What  we  have  planned  is  an

interdiction field. What else could we hope for?"

"How about the ability to vaporize every unwanted  ship-Yuuzhan  Vong  or

otherwise-that shows itself here?" Jacen chimed  in.  "The  Watch  keeper  was

destroyed by one shot from the repulsor on Selonia,  and  Center-point  has  a

thousand times the firepower of all five planetary repulsors combined. It  can

create a compression wave strong enough to induce a star to explode."

Thrackan looked to a pale, thin-faced technician. "This  is  Antone,"  he

said. "He was also here during the crisis. In fact,  he  had  family  at  Bovo

Yagen, the star that would have been destroyed if Anakin hadn't intervened  in

time."

"Centerpoint can indeed induce stars to  go  nova,"  An-tone  said.  "The

Triad caused the explosions of EM-1271 and Thanta Zilbra,  but  those  results

cannot be duplicated."

"You're saying that Centerpoint can't be used as a weapon?"Jacen asked.

Antone shrugged. "Frankly, we're not sure. In order to loose a  burst  of

repulsor power from the South Pole, the station has to reorient its spin axis,

then go through a series  of  power  surges,  pulses,  transient  events,  and

radiation releases in advance of actually firing. When Center-point  destroyed

EM-1271, Glowpoint's energy spikes killed thousands of colonists."

"No one wants to risk a repeat of that catastrophe," Thrackan said.

Jacen looked at him. "If it's  true  that  you're  only  inter  ested  in

fashioning an interdiction field, then you should be able to do that yourself.

During the crisis, you were the one placed in control of Centerpoint's jamming

and interdiction field capabilities."

"Yes," Thrackan said slowly, "but the crisis was resolved before I got to

try my hand at operating Center-point. What's more, things have changed  since

your uncle Luke and the others shut Centerpoint down.  Now  neither  of  those

systems is responding the way they once did."

Antone  cleared  his  throat  meaningfully.  "One  problem  is  that  the

station's barycenter point is no longer stable, Centerpoint has  always  moved

about  to  stay  properly  positioned  and  oriented,  but  the  repositioning

maneuvers have become erratic."

"In other words," Thrackan clarified, "we haven't been able  to  initiate

an interdiction field on demand."

"Only Anakin can do it," Antone said  nervously.  "As  a  result  of  his

activation of the Drall repulsor, the entire  system  imprinted  on  him."  He

looked at Anakin. "On your fingerprints, your DNA,  perhaps  even  your  brain

waves. I've been proposing this for eight years now, but no one was interested

in having you return here until now."

"There's only one way to find  out  if  Antone's  theory  merits  further

investigation," Thrackan said. He gestured toward what was obviously a special

console. "Take the controls, Anakin. Let's see  where  it  goes  from  there."

Jacen and Ebrihim threw Anakin troubled looks, to which Anakin responded  with

a nod, meant to be mollifying. But even as he moved  toward  the  console-with

every tech watching-Anakin could feel the system beginning to respond to him.

Vague memories of his experiences inside the Drall re pulsor surfaced  as

he sat down and ran his hands  over  the  console.  After  a  moment,  as  had

happened long ago on Drall, he seemed to glimpse a virtual array  of  switches

and controls and linkages, all of which had little to do with  the  knobs  and

levers and dials that covered the con trol panel.

Hesitantly, he placed his hands on the console.

A tone sounded and a flat spot on the panel began to twist  and  shimmer,

then swell upward, forming itself into a handle like a spacecraft's joystick.

When Anakin reached for it, the handle reshaped itself to  fit  his  left

hand, and everyone in the room-even Jacen-gasped.

In his mind, as if on a display screen, Anakin could suddenly read  specs

on power ratings, capacitance storage, vernier control, targeting  subsystems,

safety overrides, shielding constraints, thrust balancing, geo-gravitic energy

transfer levels...

Unexpectedly, a graphic display appeared in the  air  over  the  handle-a

hollow wire-frame cube made up of smaller, transparent cubes five  high,  five

across, and five deep. As Anakin manipulated the joystick, the grid of smaller

cubes began to  take  on  color-greens  and  purple-to  the  accompaniment  of

activation tones.

Everyone but Thrackan was speechless. "You've done it, boy,  you've  done

it," he enthused.

Anakin moved the control stick forward, and  a  cube  of  blazing  orange

appeared. He experimented with minute adjustments that made the  cube  flicker

or brighten. Then he pulled the stick down as hard as he could.

Indicators registered an incredible burst of power, and the control  room

began to shudder. In Hollowtown,

Glowpoint came alive and a display of blinding lightning blazed  from  it

to the South Conical Mountains.

"The station is reorienting!" a technician reported.

"It's armed!" Antone exclaimed in awe. "It's capable of firing!"

A dozen separate conversations broke out in the  control  room,  silenced

only by the arrival of the New Republic officer in command of the project.

"An urgent message from Commenor," the colonel announced to Sal-Solo  and

Antone. "Yuuzhan  Vong  advance  elements  are  departing  Hurt  space.  Fleet

Intelligence  estimates  thirty-six  standard  hours  until  they're  at   our

doorstep." In groups of three and four, at  times  escorted  by  gunboats  and

squadrons of Miy'til fighters or vintage X-wings, the warships  of  the  Hapan

fleet reverted to realspace over the planet Commenor, on the Rimward  edge  of

the Core. Arrayed in a sweeping arc, the sleek Nova-c\ass battle cruisers  and

Olanjii/Charubah double-saucered Battle Dragons were a vibrantly colored  coun

terpoint to the New Republic's fleet of Star Destroyers, lumpish Mon  Calamari

vessels, and unembellished Bothan warships.

* * *

Gazing at the assembled armada from the shuttle that  was  conveying  her

and Isolder from the prince's deep-camelian Song of War to  Commodore  Brand's

flagship, Leia felt as if she and everyone she held dear were trapped  in  the

current of a tumultuous river that was sweeping  them  into  unknown  regions,

scattering some, leaving many abandoned on ravaged shores, and carrying others

over the falls to oblivion... The feeling  had  accompanied  her  from  Hapes,

troubling her through all the  long  hours  of  talk  with  Isolder,  who  was

seemingly as enthralled by the prospect of going to war with the Yuuzhan  Vong

as he had been by the chance to trade punches and kicks with Beed Thane.

"True to our pirate roots, the Hapans prefer swift, ruthless strikes," he

had told Leia more than once during the voyage. "Hurt an enemy at the start of

an engagement and he is yours, for as the fight progresses, his  fear  of  you

will intensify and will become your ally."

Each time he said it, Leia had  recalled  Ithor  and  Gyn-dine,  and  the

ruthless tactics the Yuuzhan Vong had em ployed. But the real  source  of  her

apprehension was the vision she had had following the Consortium's vote.

Whenever she shut her eyes, vague images of  destruction  played  at  the

edges of her awareness, as if massing for a full-scale  assault.  Anyone  else

might have been able to explain the dark images as owing to concerns  for  the

lives of close friends and loved ones, but Leia was too attuned to  the  Force

to dismiss them so expediently. She was convinced that the Force had shown her

a possible future, while declining to provide her with a clear sense  of  just

which paths were to be avoided. It helped slightly to be home,  but  in  fact,

proximity to Coruscant had not alleviated her anxiety. And she had yet to hear

from Han, not even by a message delivered through the kids or Luke.

"What power we have marshaled," Isolder said from the shuttle's passenger

cabin window, where he stood with his fingers pressed  to  the  transparisteel

panel. "I doubt that even the Yuuzhan Vong would fail to be impressed."

"Oh, they'd be impressed," Leia said, joining him. "But instead of fazing

them, a display like this would only goad them on."

Still, as she scanned the hundreds of capital ships an  chored  in  local

space-more than a hundred of which had trailed the Song of War from  Hapes-she

couldn't help but be overwhelmed.

Painted to symbolize the Consortium worlds they represented,  the  Battle

Dragons consisted of large dorsal saucers linked to smaller  ventral  ones  by

dozens of slender rotation struts. Ion  and  hyperdrive  engines  were  wedged

astern, and the bridge sat aft on the dorsal face of  the  upper  saucer,  the

perimeter of which was studded with ion cannons. As a  means  of  compensating

for the ship's relatively slow weapons-recharge rate, the equally  distributed

cannons were mounted on a drive disk that allowed them to be rotated for  fire

as need be. Sand wiched between and affixed to  both  saucers  of  the  Battle

Dragon were sixteen massive pulse-mass mines, each of  which  was  capable  of

simulating the effects of mass shadows, thus hindering ships from making jumps

into hyperspace.

By contrast, the Nova-class battle cruiser resembled a mountain climber's

two-pronged ice claw, with the ship's viper-headed bridge occupying the distal

end of what  would  be  the  tool's  long  handle.  Exceptionally  fast,  well

shielded, and equipped for  long-range  reconnaissance,  the  cruiser  boasted

twenty-five turbolasers, ten laser cannons, and ten  ion  cannons,  and  could

carry twelve Miy'til fighters and six  Hetrinar  assault  bombers.  While  the

shuttle was docking inside the heavy cruiser

Yald, Leia tried to arrange things so that Isolder would  emerge  on  his

own, followed by his contingent of mostly  female  honor  guards  and  command

staff, but the prince wouldn't have it. He insisted instead that Leia walk  by

his side, a pairing she knew would  not  only  become  an  endlessly  repeated

visual bite on the HoloNet, but also prove a source  of  amusement  for  those

now-aged New Republic officers who had been in favor of her  marrying  Isolder

so long ago.

Even so, she managed to put on her best face as she and Isolder descended

the shuttle ramp arm in arm, to the strains of  a  Hapes  march  endowed  with

equal measures of pomp and circumstance  by  a  well-rehearsed  hundred-member

military band. Leia had disengaged herself by the time they reached the  deck,

but she could tell by the expression on Commodore  Brand's  craggy  face  that

even he was a bit nonplussed by the regal formality of their arrival.

At Brand's back stood rank after rank of soldiers at attention,  saluting

sharply when the music concluded.  "Welcome  aboard,  Prince  Isolder,"  Brand

said, stepping forward and extending his hand.

Isolder threw his short cape over one shoulder and took hold  of  Brand's

hand-nearly crushing it in his grip, Leia was sure.

"Good to be here, Commodore."

Brand smiled uncertainly as he turned to Leia. "Am bassador Organa  Solo,

welcome home. And on behalf of the New Republic,  thank  you  for  all  you've

done." Leia inclined her  head  in  a  courtly  bow.  "Thank  Prince  Isolder,

Commodore. He was very persuasive in winning over the... Consortium."

Brand nodded stiffly. "Your support might very well stem the tide, Prince

Isolder. But our victory will not be earned lightly."

"We are prepared to earn it, Commodore," Isolder assured him. "Just  tell

me where to direct my forces."

The command staffs of both  groups  moved  to  the  tactical  information

center, deeper in the ship. During a private moment, Brand  asked  Leia  about

the voyage from Hapes. She repressed an urge to confide in  him  that  it  had

been unsettling, and instead dismissed it as uneventful.  Dozens  of  officers

and technicians were already gathered in the  high-ceilinged  TIC,  seated  at

duty stations or clustered around  light  tables  and  plotting  panels.  Once

Isolder, Leia, and the rest of the new arrivals were seated, Brand came  right

to the point.

"These are our most recent hyperspace probe recon naissance  images  from

Hutt space," he began, gesturing toward the holograms resolving above  one  of

the chamber's many projector wells. He turned to address himself  specifically

to Isolder and his commanders. "What  may  look  like  an  asteroid  field  is

actually a fleet of warships. This storm of smaller asteroids spiraling toward

the fleet are coralskippers, grown on the surface of the planet below."

"Grown?" one of Isolder's female officers asked. Brand nodded. "With  the

permission of the Hurts, the Yuuzhan Vong transformed the planet to serve as a

sort of weapons garden, similar to the ones at Belkadan  and  Sernpidal,  from

which these fighters have been harvested and equipped with the organic devices

that both propel and shield them."

A new image took shape in the well's cone of projected light: a  close-up

view of the coralskippers attaching themselves like barnacles to  the  spindly

arms of an enor mous Yuuzhan Vong  carrier  analog.  Elsewhere  warships  were

maneuvering into battle groups, encircled by swarms of coralskippers.

"The enemy is massing for a strike," Brand remarked  unequivocally,  "and

judging by the numbers of ships in volved, they have their  sights  set  on  a

target of greater significance than Ithor, Obroa-skai,  or  Gyndine.  We  have

determined that target  to  be  Corellia,  which  we  have  deliberately  left

inadequately protected in the hope of inviting an attack."

Leia's eyes widened in alarm as a holographic  image  of  a  moonlet-size

sphere resolved above the projector. "Centerpoint  Station  is  the  heart  of

Corellia's defense," Brand went on. "A repulsor and gravity lens, the  station

is capable of creating an interdiction field that  will  stretch  from  Corell

clear to the frontier of the Outlier systems. At this moment, the  station  is

on standby alert and prepared to initiate the field on our command."

"Commodore," Leia interrupted.

Brand turned to her and nodded. "Yes, Ambassador, your sons  are  already

aboard Centerpoint. I apologize if some of this comes as a surprise,  but  all

information re garding Centerpoint has been issued on a need-to-know basis."

Leia looked away from Brand to hide her distress.  She  also  refused  to

acknowledge Isolder's inquisitive stare.

"When the Yuuzhan Vong fleet emerges  from  hyperspace  in  the  Corellia

system, the interdiction  field  will  rob  them  of  the  ability  to  go  to

lightspeed, and will essentially hold them  fast.  When  that  much  has  been

achieved, many of the warships anchored here, and at Kuat and Bothawui-all  of

which have been  retrofitted  with  hyper-wave  inertial  momentum  sustainers

produced by the Fondor shipyards-will  launch,  penetrating  the  interdiction

field at its farthest extreme, and advance through a series of micro jumps  to

engage the enemy."

Brand swung to an ancillary holoprojector, above which  was  displayed  a

schematic of the HIMS.  "For  those  of  you  unfamiliar  with  the  hyperwave

sustainer, the device relies on a gravitic  sensor  to  alert  a  ship  to  an

impending interdiction field, as well as to initiate a rapid shutdown  of  the

hyperdrive. Simultaneously the sus tainer allows for the creation of a  static

hyperspace bubble, which, while incapable of furnishing thrust, holds the ship

in hyperspace while it is carried forward by momentum."

Brand turned to his audience. "Our ships will have one  heck  of  a  time

trying to maintain formation, but they will be able to get  the  drop  on  the

enemy fleet." He looked over at the Hapans. "Prince Isolder, since your  ships

are not HIMS-equipped, your command will be responsible for preventing Yuuzhan

Vong vessels from attempting  an  escape  through  the  Outlier  systems.  The

reasons for assigning you this task are twofold.  Your  Battle  Dragons  carry

pulse-mass mines, which can ef fectively extend the  limits  of  Centerpoint's

interdiction field. To assist you in this, we are  placing  at  your  disposal

four Immobilizer 418A Interdictor cruisers. But more  important,  your  ships'

weapons-linked battle computers provide for pinpoint accuracy  against  single

targets, which is precisely what is required to  dumbfound  the  dovin  basals

that protect Yuuzhan Vong vessels."

"Ordinarily we prefer swift, ruthless strikes,"  Isolder  said.  "But  if

surgical strikes are called for, then you shall have them, Commodore."

Leia managed not to wince. She knew, though, that she could take no  more

of Brand's briefing. His every gesture and assumption filled her  with  dread,

no less so  than  Isolder's  brash  eagerness  and  posturing  self-assurance.

Retreating from the surrounding din, she reached out with the Force for Anakin

and Jacen, then for Jaina, Luke, Mara,  and  some  of  the  other  Jedi.  Each

returned a subtle resonance, which, if  nothing  else,  allayed  her  concerns

temporarily. But when Leia tried to reach out for Han-whom she could sometimes

feel, even through his denial of the Force-all she got back were images  of  a

raging torrent and a plunge into measureless blackness.

24

Han fought to keep from drowning. Lungs screaming for  oxygen,  he  broke

the raging surface of the  muddy  torrent,  spewing  water  like  a  Coruscant

downspout gargoyle and flailing his arms to keep from being  sucked  under  by

the current. The water level in the drainage ditch was  rising  fast.  It  was

likely that the flood would soon bob him to within a meter of the top  of  the

retaining walls, but probably not before the water dumped him  unceremoniously

into the river that allegedly ran past Facility 17.  Rain  continued  to  teem

from  the  sky's  granite  underbelly,  stinging  Han's  face  and   hampering

visibility. Paddling madly with one hand, he cupped the other to his mouth and

shouted for Droma, but got no response. A  loud  slapping  noise  brought  him

around to find the crashed landspeeder gaining on him, upright and surfing the

current.

The narrowness of the ditch worked for and against him. With no way to be

sure that the landspeeder wouldn't follow and crush  him  under  its  crumpled

nose, Han angled frantically for  the  smooth  eastern  wall.  Once  there  he

managed  to  arrest  his  forward  motion  momentarily,  which   allowed   the

landspeeder to catch up and come alongside of him. On a downward slap  of  the

crumpled nose, Han launched himself for the driver's door, threw one leg  over

the top, and rolled himself into the cab, which,  with  the  mix  of  threshed

grain and rain, might as well have been filled with  gruel.  His  body  sticky

with the stuff, he dragged himself  into  the  driver's  seat  and  repeatedly

flicked the repulsor engine switch on the off chance it would fire up, but the

collision had disabled the ignition system. Leaning  forward  with  his  hands

clamped to the brackets that had  supported  the  retractable  windshield,  he

scanned the roiling water ahead to  both  sides,  finally  catching  sight  of

Droma's tail, sticking straight out of the water like a flagpole.  Before  Han

could call out to him, the speeder was carried over the top of a  sluice  gate

and down through a stretch of cataracts  where  the  landscape  was  terraced.

Droma disappeared under the rapids, then  surfaced,  only  to  disappear  once

more. Ultimately he heard Han's call over the noise of the  rain  and  echoing

thunder and lifted one arm free of the current in a panicked wave.

Precariously balanced in the pitching vehicle,  Han  stretched  out  both

hands and grabbed hold of Droma as the landspeeder shot past him.  The  weight

of the waterlogged Ryn almost dragged Han out of the cab, but Droma helped  by

hooking his tail around a rear seat headrest and hauling himself aboard.

"You can just drop me at the next intersection," he said, collapsed  onto

the seat and panting.

"How far do you figure the river is?" Han shouted.

"Close," Droma said, tugging himself into a sitting position.  "I'm  just

glad to be out..."

A persistent rumbling noise erased the rest of it.  Han  glanced  at  the

sky, then put the edge of his hand to his brow and peered  over  the  bouncing

nose of the speeder. The rain and the tall stalks of grain to either side made

it difficult to see  anything,  but  dead  ahead  the  fields  seemed  to  end

abruptly.

"What's that noise?" Droma asked suddenly.

Han whirled on him. "You said that the  map  showed  this  ditch  running

directly into the river?"

Droma nodded uncertainly.

"Think hard: Was it a topographical map?"

Droma tugged on his mustache in thought. "Come to think of it, it was."

"And were there a whole bunch of parallel lines where the ditch  met  the

river?"

Droma's eyes opened wide.

"Hold on!" Han yelled, even as the landspeeder was tipping forward.

The waterfall was no more than fifteen meters high, but the  strength  of

the current was such that the speeder was propelled right out of the water  as

it went over the brink. For the briefest moment it seemed  as  if  they  would

nose-dive into the swollen river below, but then the stern of the  landspeeder

began to tip forward inexorably, and a heartbeat later the vehicle was  upside

down, spilling its contents of passengers and porridge into yet another  muddy

deluge.

Han made his body rigid as he fell, breaking the water with his feet  and

letting momentum carry him along. Above him he heard the concussive report  of

the landspeeder slamming into the river facedown. Ascending, he feared that he

might surface directly under the inverted cab, but as it happened he and Droma

emerged with the landspeeder between and slightly ahead of them.

Han raised his hand and pointed to the southern bank, which was not  only

closer but also a lot less steep.

"Can you make it?"

"I'm  not  a  very  strong  swimmer!"  Droma  replied  with  a  note   of

desperation.

Han maneuvered alongside him and  hooked  his  left  arm  around  Droma's

waist. "Just kick like mad. Leave the steering tome."

Droma nodded. "Just be sure to miss those rocks." Han twisted  around  to

see them closing fast on white-water rapids, made all  the  more  perilous  by

protruding boulders. He let go  of  Droma  and  rolled  over  onto  his  back,

paddling hard to keep his head above water. Caught in the current,  there  was

nothing to do but surrender to it and hope for the best.

The first drop took them across the face of a water-smoothed boulder  and

down into a pocket, from which they were quickly flushed  down  another  drop.

Skirting the edge of a froth-covered whirlpool, they  rode  a  sinuous  course

between tall rocks, then plunged several meters into a swirling pool.  Off  to

Han's left the landspeeder rammed into a sloping rock,  went  airborne  in  an

end-over-end flip,  and  wound  up  impaled  on  a  sharp-topped  rock.  Droma

followed, barely missing the same rock and falling like a stone into the pool.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the cataracts were behind them, but the

current was still strong enough to keep the swimmers from reaching  the  bank.

Allowing the current to buoy him, Han craned his neck to get a  look  at  what

lay ahead. More white water came into view,  but  this  time  without  rapids.

Instead, a line of turbulence stretched clear across the river, as if the flow

was being impeded by something just below the surface. Blinking water  out  of

his eyes, Han saw through the rain that they were headed straight into a fine-

mesh net strung bank to bank.

The resilient net gave as they struck it, but the current pinned them  in

place. Han was trying to claw his way along the net to the closer shore when a

new sound from upstream compelled him  to  look  over  his  shoulder.  Soaring

toward them on repulsorlift power a meter above the river was what might  have

been a flying garbage bin, except for the fact that it  was  equipped  with  a

pair of reverse-articulated manipulator arms,  which  ended  in  padded  jaws.

Lights on the garbage bin's front panel blinked and tones sounded,  as  if  in

excitement at locating what it obviously had been sent to retrieve.

The same panel bore the corporate logo of Salliche Ag.

The three-meter-tall box slowed and hovered directly over  the  net.  Han

and Droma squirmed to avoid the thing's extending arms, but with scant  effort

the padded jaws succeeded in clamping around their waists  and  plucking  them

from the mesh. Lifting them out of the river, the  arms  swung  inward.  Hatch

doors on the machine's dorsal surface hissed open, revealing a  dark  interior

chamber waiting to receive them.

They alighted on a cushioned floor. The hatch doors closed before  either

of them could scramble out, and the garbage bin began to move  away  from  the

river in a southerly direction. In the amber glow of telltales,  Han  ran  his

hands over the walls, bringing them to a halt at  an  arrangement  of  sprayer

nozzles. Then he cursed in sudden recognition of just what had captured them.

"This is a Scout Collector!"

"A what collector?" Droma asked, distressed even in ignorance.

"A biological specimen collector. We're going to be flash-frozen!"

They got to their feet and began to leap  up  and  down,  pounding  their

hands ineffectually on the underside of the compartment doors.  Giving  up  on

the effort, Droma dropped down on his haunches, breathing hard, and eventually

Han joined him.

"The hand of fate," Droma said nastily. "But you still owe me one life."

Han turned to him. "What are you talking about?"

"I saved you aboard the Queen of Empire when Reck made you jump into  the

drop shaft, then I freed you from the Falcon's escape pod when Elan was trying

to kill you."

"Yeah, so who just yanked you out of the drainage ditch?"

"That's the one I'm counting," Droma said.

"What about my getting you out of district headquarters in one piece?"

"That was a rescue, not a life-save. We  don't  know  that  my  life  was

endangered, so the best we could say is that you rescued me from imprisonment.

"

Han shook his head and laughed. "All right, I still owe you one."

"Then pay up now-get us out of here."

Han clapped Droma on the back, then grew serious.

"Listen, in case we don't get out of this, it's  been  good  flying  with

you."

"I know," Droma said flatly, then  added,  "You  mean  that-about  flying

together?"

"I did mean it. Now I'm not so sure."

Han heard the Scout Collector's repulsorlifts cut in, and  he  stood  up.

"We're landing. If they open the hatches before our  frost  bath,  we  go  for

them, agreed?"

Droma extended his hand and Han shook it.

The Collector settled down to the ground.  Noises  could  be  heard  from

outside, then the hatches began to open. Han and Droma prepared themselves.

"Thank goodness you're alive," a droid voice said.  Han  stared,  waiting

for his eyes to adjust to bright, overhead lights. "Baffle?"

A ladder was lowered into the interior, and Han and Droma clambered  out.

The Collector had put down in a spacious  indoor  facility.  Overhead  rumbles

told Han that they were underground. Dozens of droids were about, articulating

greetings in their own fashion.

"These must be the friends you mentioned," Droma surmised, shaking  water

off himself like a howlrunner.

"How the heck did you find us?" Han asked.

"We have  been  monitoring  all  developments,"  Baffle  said.  "Security

scanners, security team exchanges, satellite-supplied real-time opticals, even

the irrigation and sluicegate control systems. When we  ascertained  that  you

were being carried to the river, we quickly arranged for  the  net  and  Scout

Collector-a vehicle that has been in storage for some time."

"Where are we?" Droma asked, once beyond his astonishment.

"Beneath the spaceport." Baffle indicated a nearby  tunnel.  "This  leads

directly to the bay where your freighter is docked."

Han looked at Droma and grinned smugly.

"Thank you for all you have accomplished," Baffle said, speaking for  all

the droids.

Han nodded in dismissal, then narrowed his eyes.  "Listen,  if  you  were

monitoring us, then so was Salliche. They probably have satcam  recordings  of

exactly what happened at the river. All of you had better clear out  of  here-

fast."

"Our capture won't matter. Our goal has been accom  plished.  Already  we

are in the process of removing the re mote restrainers from many of the droids

you freed, and our protest demonstration is moving from the planning stage  to

actuality."

"Protest demonstration?" Droma asked.

"I'll explain later." Han turned to Baffle. "After what  you've  done,  I

almost hate to ask, but were you able to gather any data on the Trevee?"

"Yes. Our original supposition that the ship was headed for a destination

Rimward of Abregado-rae was correct. That  destination,  however,  is  neither

Thy-ferra nor Yag'Dhul, but the very place of my activation: Fondor." The name

practically screamed to Han. An industrial planet in the system  of  the  same

name, Fondor was famous for its huge, orbital construction facilities.  During

the Rebellion, Fondor's shipyards had  turned  out  several  Super-class  Star

Destroyers.

Han turned to Droma. "Fondor is where we'll find yourclanmates."

Droma looked puzzled. "Then they're obviously not at Facility 17."

Han shook his head. "We got here too late.  They  cut  a  deal  with  the

Tholatin crew. The Trevee is their ship." Droma stared  at  him  in  anguished

disbelief.

"If I might make a  suggestion,  sirs,"  Baffle  said.  "You  could  save

yourselves three hyperspace jumps  by  using  the  seldom-used  Gandeal-Fondor

hyperlane. It was originally blazed by the Empire to  move  ships  efficiently

between Fondor and Coruscant, and I'm certain we could provide  you  with  the

necessary jump coordinates."

Han smiled broadly. "You're some droid, Baffle. I hope your message  gets

out."

"Oh, it will, sir. With  the  HoloNet  attention  our  protest  receives,

droids throughout the galaxy will stand up for their rights."

"They'll have you to thank for it."

"I am merely a part of a greater whole," Baffle said, without affect. "It

is my duty to do all I can for my comrades."

Han and Droma traded brief glances. "And ours," Han said.

* * *

Fixed in place by a dollop of organic  adhesive,  Wurth  Skidder  tracked

Chine-kal as the commander completed his second circle around him.  Concentric

to Chine-kal's circuit stood a dozen guards armed with amphistaffs  and  other

weapons.

"I'm surprised that your powers don't allow you  to  break  free  of  our

blorash jelly," Chine-kal mused as he glanced at Skidder's  immobilized  feet.

"Perhaps you're not as powerful as we think you are."

In a flash of anger Skidder drew on the Force to create a  vacuum  around

the Yuuzhan Vong's head.

Chine-kal gasped, and his hands flew  to  his  throat.  "Very  good,"  he

rasped when the Force bubble dissipated.  "Very  good."  He  breathed  deeply.

"Show me something else."

The venomous look in Skidder's eyes  was  proof  that  he  was  at  least

considering it, but the look was shortlived and soon replaced by a  disdainful

smile.

"You don't want to hurl me off my feet?" Chine-kal asked.

"Put words in my mouth? Fasten me to the deck as I have you?"

Skidder said nothing.

"Can you levitate yourself as easily as you do objects?"

When Skidder couldn't be  goaded  into  responding,  Chine-kal  heaved  a

purposeful sigh. "Your reluctance to  fight  is  as  disappointing  as  it  is

incomprehensible. You-the Jedi-are a  threat  to  us,  and  we  are  eager  to

exterminate you. And yet while we're a clear threat to you, you do little more

than  slink  about,  offering  support  or  intelligence,  but  never   really

participating as warriors. Is that why you term  yourselves  guardians  rather

than soldiers?"

Chine-kal waved a hand to signal that he was being rhetorical. "Since you

and our yammosk already have a relationship, I'll have to think of a different

method of breaking you. But you will be broken in the end." He fell silent for

a moment, then said, "Let me show you something."

The commander moved to the membranous  bulkhead  that  was  actually  the

outer wall of the starship and voiced a command that rendered a portion of  it

transparent. A gibbous planet of blue seas and green and brown landmasses hung

in the blackness. Closer was a moon of fair size, what could be  seen  of  its

bright-side hemisphere dominated by a domed city.

"Do you recognize it?" Chine-kal asked. "The planet is Kalarba,  and  the

moon is Hosk. The domed  city  is  called  Hosk  Station,  and  is  apparently

something of a technological wonder, filled with droids  and  other  ma  chine

aberrations." He turned to Skidder. "To us, the Jedi are no  better  than  the

machines the sundry species of this galaxy befriend as  if  they  were  living

beings. The Jedi are as much a profanation of nature  as  Hosk  Station  is  a

desecration of the moon it has overwhelmed. I am therefore going to order  the

moon destroyed. You may consider the destruction  indicative  of  the  horrors

that await your mind during the breaking."

Chine-kal turned to one of his junior officers.  But  be  fore  he  could

utter another word, the hull suddenly returned to its  opaque  state  and  the

ship was jolted strongly enough to send everyone but the jelly-secured Jedi to

the deck. A subaltern staggered into the hold while Chine-kal and  the  guards

were struggling to regain their footing.

"Commander, we are under attack!"

Chine-kal blanched. "Attack? There was no sign of New  Republic  warships

when we entered this system."

"The aggressors are starfighters, Commander.  They  were  lying  in  wait

behind the second of Kalarba's moons."

"Then why aren't our escort ships repelling them?"

"With eight coralskippers already destroyed, some of the starfighters are

succeeding in reaching the ship."

"Where is the vessel Supreme Commander Choka dispatched?"

"It has not yet arrived."

Another powerful explosion rocked the ship. Hurrying to Chine-kal's side,

the subaltern barely managed to keep him from stumbling to the deck.

"The pilots are targeting our dovin basal drivers, Commander."

"Our drivers?"

"Their intent is to cripple us."

Chine-kal swung to Skidder, who was deep in contem plation. "They've come

for you. But how could they know we were here? Unless,  of  course,  they  are

Jedi." He stared at Skidder, then shook his head. "No, not even you  have  the

ability to call across space  to  your  confeder  ates."  He  glanced  at  his

subaltern. "But this sneak attack is no accident."

"Commander," the  junior  officer  said  cautiously,  "Supreme  Commander

Choka's villip communication originated on Nal Hutta."

Chine-kal took a moment to consider it, then scowled in revelation.  "The

Hutts divulged our location." He squared his shoulders and adjusted  the  fall

of his cloak. "Ready the ship for lightspeed. We'll rendezvous with the  fleet

in the target system."

The subaltern's hands flew to his shoulders, but he re  mained  where  he

was. "Commander, is it advisable to show ourselves in advance of the fleet?"

Chine-kal glowered at him.  "Would  you  risk  allowing  the  yammosk  to

sustain damage here, at the hands of a group of would-be rescuers?"

The subaltern offered a second, chastened salute. "No, Commander."

"Then do as I say. And one more thing: See  to  it  that  Randa  and  his

bodyguards are confined to their chambers. We'll deal with him  once  we  have

the protection of the fleet."

* * *

Close to Hosk, Kyp Durron urged his X-wing on, even though he  knew  that

he would not be able to overtake the accelerating Yuuzhan Vong clustership.

"It's going to jump," Ganner told him over the net.

"My droid's telling me the same thing," Kyp responded. He opened the  net

to the rest of the Dozen. "Listen up,  everyone.  Set  your  navicomputers  to

record vanishing bearings and calculate possible course projections. Deak, see

if you can't tag that ship with a hyper-space beacon before it gets away."

"I'm on it, Kyp."

Not a moment later the enemy vessel vanished. Kyp fixed his eyes  on  the

cockpit display screen while the  craft's  astromech  unit  went  to  work  on

plotting the vessel's possible destinations. Shortly, a list of  star  systems

resolved on-screen, the most probable one highlighted in blue and flashing.

"I've got a high-confidence objective," Ganner reported.

"Likewise," Deak and a couple of the others added.

"Let's hear it," Kyp told them.

"Fondor," five voices said in unison.

In Hutt space, Nas Choka, Malik Carr, and Nom Anor stood on the bridge of

the supreme commander's helix battleship watching a villip-choir feed  of  the

fleet mobilization.

A subaltern interrupted their captivation.

"Supreme Commander," he began, saluting, "a message from the commander of

the craft sent to collect the captured Jedi. Coralskipper  pilots  encountered

at Kalarba report that the Creche fell under attack by a battle group  of  New

Republic starfighters. Endangered, Commander Chine-kal's vessel fled the fray.

"

Nas Choka stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Fled to where?"

"To the target, Supreme Commander. To Fondor." Nas Choka whirled in alarm

to Malik Carr. "How soon before our advance elements reach Fondor?"

"Soon," the commander said, letting it go at that.

"The yammosk won't be adequately protected until we  arrive,"  Nas  Choka

remarked, mostly to himself. "What is the status of the New Republic fleet?"

"Massed at the worlds Commenor, Kuat, and Bothawui."

"And the hyperspace routes linking Bothawui to Fondor?"

"Sown with obstacles."

* * *

Nas Choka turned slightly to favor Nom  Anor  with  a  faint  smile.  "It

appears that you have been successful in  persuading  them  that  we  plan  to

attack Corellia."

Nom Anor inclined his head in a nod.

"Then it shouldn't matter if we advance the attack." Nas Choka  swung  to

his subaltern. "Apprise all commanders that we launch for Fondor  as  soon  as

the final coralskippers are docked."

* * *

In the passenger hold of the Trevee, Gaph danced while he sang:

Life is a journey without end, for the Ryn more than  any.  From  a  home

unknown we wander, Star to star in a constant quest. We abhor  the  stars  for

what they have wrought: Instigators of our ill-fortune, Grave sentinels of our

fate. But we load our packs with joy; And song and dance follow at our  heels.

Now Abregado-rae awaits; Home for a time, Until we are forced to wander anew.

Melisma and the other Ryn capered with him or accompanied his  improvised

song on musical instruments. Some hummed and tooted through  their  perforated

beaks, while the rest played drums, finger cymbals, and flutes fashioned  from

scavenged parts of machinery, pilfered gear, or whatever was handy.

The fact that the festive melody of  Gaph's  song  belied  an  underlying

melancholy was lost on those non-Ryn refugees who clapped in time to the music

and applauded the dancers' graceful leaps and fleet pirouettes.

Gaph was only a stanza into a second  verse  when  the  Trevee  shuddered

abruptly.

"We're reverting from hyperspace," one of  the  refugees  said  when  the

musicians had stopped playing.

Melisma, Gaph, and some of  the  other  Ryn  hurried  ex  citedly  to  an

observation blister, eager for a first glimpse of Abregado-rae. But  in  place

of the light-green sphere they had expected  to  see  was  a  brownish  world,

partially eclipsed by clouds sullied with industrial pollutants and surrounded

by hundreds of enormous orbital construction platforms.

"This isn't Abregado-rae," someone behind Melisma said.

"Then where are we?" she asked.

"This is Fondor," a human male supplied in understated astonishment.

Surprised murmurs began to spread through the crowd.  Then  all  at  once

hatches throughout the passenger  hold  hissed  open,  admitting  a  score  of

heavily armed crew members.

Agitated by misgiving as well as concern, the refugees backed  away  from

the bulkheads, forming a ragged circle in the center of the hold.

"Slight  change  of  plans,  folks,"  the  crew's  obvious   spokesperson

announced when the murmuring had ceased-the same human Melisma and  the  other

Ryn had come to call Tall. "Turns out we're going to have to drop you here."

"But you promised to deliver us  to  Abregado-rae,"  someone  thought  to

point out.

Tall  grinned.  "Let's  just  say  we  overshot  our  stop."  Impassioned

conversations broke out. In some ways Fondor was preferable  to  Abregado-rae,

but the blaster rifles and the tone  of  Tail's  announcement  contributed  an

undercurrent of foreboding to the unforeseen development.

"Has Fondor agreed to accept us?" someone demanded.

"That's not our concern."

"Then where on Fondor will we be off-loaded?"

Tall stared at the Bimm who had asked the question.  "Who  said  anything

about Fondor?" He moved to the observation blister and pointed to a  crescent-

shaped shipbuilding platform. "That's where you're getting off.  The  facility

is temporarily unoccupied,  but  at  least  you'll  have  breathable  air  and

artificial gravity."

"What about provisions?" a human asked above the increasing turmoil.

"Do you plan to inform the authorities?" someone else asked.

Tall waved everyone silent. "We're not barbarians. We'll provide you with

enough flash-dried nutrients to last you a couple of local days."

"A couple of days?" a voice squeaked. "It could be months  before  anyone

finds us!"

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that," Tall said. "The Tapani sector is  about  to

become very crowded. Someone's bound to notice you."

"Couldn't you at least bring us to Fondor?" a human female pleaded.

Tall gave his head a firm shake. "We can't afford to  be  here  when  the

fireworks begin."

25

With the exception of  those  in  the  Corporate  Sector,  few  planetary

systems had been exploited to the degree  that  Fondor  had-especially  for  a

system so close to the Core. That part of the  Tapani  sector  had  originally

been designated a manufacturing and shipbuilding center pre cisely because  of

the surfeit of resource-rich asteroids and moons, and worlds ripe  for  abuse.

But where the colossal corporations that dominated Bilbringi, Kuat, Sluis Van,

and other shipbuilding centers made a pretense of picking up after themselves,

no such efforts had ever been made at Fondor. With the  space  lanes  perilous

with free-floating construction debris, Fondor's several small  moons  looking

as if something had taken huge bites  out  of  them,  and  the  planet  itself

overcrowded, polluted, and corrupted by profiteers  providing  diversions  for

the millions of workers who  had  nowhere  else  to  spend  their  hard-earned

credits, the system was a blight on the Rimma Trade Route.

Many were quick  to  assert  that  Fondor's  nimbus  of  orbital  docking

stations and oblate zero-g construction fa cilities had  never  operated  more

smoothly than when the Empire had appropriated them, and in  fact,  conditions

had clearly deteriorated over the past twenty standard years-more so since the

arrival of the Yuuzhan Vong. Emerging from  the  Gandeal  hyperlane  out  past

Fondor's outermost moon, the Falcon was immediately detected  and  scanned  by

First Fleet  command  and  control,  which  had  been  assigned  the  task  of

safeguarding the shipyards after the fall of Obroa-skai.

"Give them our actual transponder signal," Han instructed Droma while  he

threaded the  Falcon  toward  a  pack  of  freighters  and  warships  awaiting

clearance to enter Fondor space. "It's our best chance of getting through."

"How could the  Trevee  have  entered?"  Droma  asked  while  he  flicked

switches on the console.

Han snorted. "A ten-year-old sheer piloting a thirty-year-old  Headhunter

could penetrate military security. The Trevee could have  legitimate  business

here, or who-ever's in charge of the Tholatin operation  could  have  provided

the crew with clearance codes." He looked at Droma and grinned. "Look who  I'm

telling. The Ryn are probably pros at just this sort of thing."

"Only by necessity," Droma said ingenuously.

A crisp voice crackled from the cockpit annunciators.

"Millennium Falcon, this is First Fleet control. Please state your  point

of origin and the nature of your business."

"Gandeal," Han said into his headset mike. "And it's more  pleasure  than

business. We're supposed to rendezvous with friends who may have arrived ahead

of us. Their ship is the Trevee. Nar Shaddaa registry."

The communications officer at the other end  of  the  link  took  a  long

moment to respond. "Pardon me for asking, Millennium Falcon, but am I speaking

with General Han Solo?"

"That's former general to you, Control," Han said jocularly.

"A genuine pleasure to be talking with you, sir. As to your request,  the

Trevee received clearance a short while ago.  Unfortunately,  sir,  they  made

their cargo drop in an area off-limits to unregistered ships-especially  ships

with the rectenna array and firepower rating yours boasts."

"Just like I thought," Han muttered to Droma. "They scammed their way in.

" He reopened the comlink. "Control, can you at least tell us where the Trevee

made her drop?"

"Negative, sir. I suggest you direct  your  request  to  De  fense  Force

command downside. The best I can do from here  is  turn  you  over  to  Fondor

command."

"Understood, Control. And thanks for the help."

"Stand by to receive routing and navigational beacon data."

"Standing by."

Han set his elbows on the console and regarded the  misshapen  moons  and

hundreds of active  construction  platforms  that  crowded  local  space.  The

bright, sweeping crescent of Fondor dominated the backdrop. "Well, this oughta

be a snap. Only a couple of billion cubic kilo meters to search-not to mention

Fondor itself." Droma glanced at him. "We  could  initiate  a  drive-signature

scan for the Trevee."

Han thought about it. "Control said they'd already delivered their cargo.

Hyperspace jumps aren't permitted inside the orbit of Fondor's sixth moon,  so

they'll be running on repulsor power or sublight. But they could be anywhere."

He ran his hand down his face, stretching the bags  under  his  eyes.  "You've

just marooned a couple of hundred refugees. What's your next move?"

Droma sat back, fingering his pale mustache. "Perhaps you  want  to  hang

around and spend some of the credits you just earned. Or you jump to Abregado-

rae for the same purpose."

"Maybe. But remember, you know that  Fondor  is  likely  to  be  attacked

sometime soon, which means the Rimma is going to get  real  busy,  real  fast,

from Abregado-rae clear to Sullust."

Droma frowned. "In that case, you'd want to be  as  far  from  Fondor  as

possible. You might even want to lie  low  for  a  while  before  going  on  a

spending spree." Han and Droma looked at each other. "Tholatin," they said  at

the same time.

Han straightened in his chair, taking hold  of  the  control  yoke  while

Droma interrogated the navicomputer.

"The best jump point for Tholatin is just Coreward of Fondor aphelion."

Han cut his eyes to the star chart Droma put onscreen.

With Fondor less than two  months  from  aphelion,  the  jump  point  was

relatively close to where the  falcon  had  reverted  to  realspace  from  the

Gandeal hyperlane. Engaging the thrusters,  he  veered  the  ship  through  an

abrupt climbing bank, away from the line of navigational buoys that would have

directed them to Fondor.

Instantly the cockpit annunciator came to life. "M/7-lennium Falcon,  why

are you altering course?"

"Uh, slight drive malfunction," Han said, spicing his  voice  with  false

alarm. "But we should have things under control momentarily."

"Maintain your present position,  Falcon.  You  are  entering  restricted

space. I repeat: Stay where you are. An escort  ship  will  be  dispatched  to

provide assistance."

"Don't bother sending an escort,"  Han  said,  even  as  the  Falcon  was

accelerating. "We'll return to the holding point and make repairs there."

"Negative, Falcon. You have entered restricted space. Return to  original

course headings immediately."

Han increased the ship's speed while the navicomputer aimed them for  the

remotest point of Fondor's elliptical orbit. A host of capital ships,  barges,

tenders, and freighters came into view, all maneuvering  toward  various  jump

points. Abruptly, an indicator on the friend-or-foe au-thenticator flashed.

"IR  emission  and  ion  exhaust  recognition,"  Droma  said   excitedly.

"Confirmation of the Trevee." He called up a magnified view  of  the  supplied

coordinates, then pointed to the run-down, pod-shaped ship at  the  center  of

the display screen. "There!"

Han smiled in recollection of the opticals Baffle and  the  other  droids

had provided. "That's her, all right."

"Millennium Falcon," the voice of fleet command and control barked. "This

is your final warning."

"Turn that thing off," Han snapped.

Droma lowered the gain, then swiveled back  to  the  console.  "Deflector

shields raised," he reported without being asked. "Fire-control  computer  on-

line."

Han reached to his left for the servo that  controlled  the  dorsal  quad

laser. When they could see the Trevee through  the  viewport,  he  tugged  the

throttle lever toward him, streaking the Falcon beneath  the  freighter,  then

barrel-rolled to port across the Trevee's blunt bow.

"Now they know we're here," he said, decelerating to hang on the Trevee's

twin-thrustered tail.

"They're scanning us," Droma said. "Weapons powering up."

"Give me a schematic  of  the  ship."  Han  glanced  at  the  data  Droma

retrieved and  tapped  his  forefinger  against  the  display  screen.  "Their

hyperdrive is just forward of the aft fin. Take over."

Droma tightened his hands around the copilot's yoke, gluing the Falcon to

the Trevee's stern. Han centered the quad laser's targeting reticle  over  the

freighter's sleek stabilizer.

"Weapons fire!"

The words had scarcely left Droma's mouth when  blue  hyphens  of  energy

raced toward the Falcon, splashing against her forward  deflector  shield  and

jarring the ship without doing damage.

"Ion cannon," Droma said. "They're maintaining target lock. Hyperdrive is

enabling."

Energy streaked from the freighter's aft cannon turret. Droma tipped  the

Falcon to one side, then the other, then rolled out to starboard and kept  the

ship inverted while Han lined up his shot.

Violent light pulsed from the quad laser's reciprocating barrels, blowing

the Trevee's fin away and scoring a ragged line along her aft hull.  Gouts  of

molten alloy streamed from the freighter as she banked in desperation,  firing

continuously at her pursuer. Droma powered the Falcon through a  loop,  giving

Han a clear shot at the freighter's overheated cannon, which Han  quickly  put

out of its misery. Then, for good measure, Han took out the  worthless  shield

generator.

"Open a frequency to the ship," he said.

"No response." Droma glanced at the sensor suite screen.

"They're heading straight out of the system, all speed."  Han  compressed

his lips. "What do they think they're doing? They can't jump  and  they  can't

outrun us." He turned to Droma, who was still staring at the scanner  display.

"What? What?"

"Six New Republic fighters-X-wings. Coming up fast on our stern."

Han cursed to himself. "A chase group from fleet com  mand."  He  slipped

into the headset and adjusted the controls.

A new voice issued from the speakers. "-heave to, Falcon. Don't  make  us

go to guns."

Han quirked a grin. "Let's see you try," he said, mostly to  himself.  He

opened the comm. "This is Captain Han Solo of the Millennium Falcon. We're not

looking for a fight, squadron leader. Patch  me  through  to  the  flight  ops

commander." He covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Time to pull rank."

"I'm  already  listening  in,  Captain  Solo,"  a  bass  voice  said   in

irritation.  "You're  in  violation  of  security  regulations.  Any   further

infractions and you'll be seeing the brig before this day is out-regardless of

your history or who you're married to. Are we clear?"

The remark served only to incite Han further. "You've got more  important

things to do than arrest me, Commander."

"Don't press your luck, Captain Solo. Follow your escorts to fleet HQ and

I'll consider entertaining your notion of what my priorities should be."

"Listen to me, Commander. The  Yuuzhan  Vong  have  targeted  Fondor  for

attack. I don't know exactly when, but it's going to be soon. I  suggest  that

the fleet be put on full alert."

"That's absurd, Solo. We've received no such information."

"I don't have time to go into all the details-"

"The chase group is breaking off," Droma interrupted, eyes fixed  on  the

scanner screen.

Han glanced at the display and snorted a  laugh.  "I  don't  often  enjoy

name-dropping, but..." He let his words trail off. Droma's mouth  was  hanging

open, and he had one quivering hand raised  to  the  viewport.  Simultaneously

with a chime from the hyperwave warning indicator, Han swung  forward  to  see

that they were soaring straight into what anyone else might have believed  was

an uncharted meteor storm, but what he knew to be enemy vessels, decanting  to

realspace by the hundreds.

Instinctively, he stood the Falcon on her side,  weaving  her  through  a

swarm of carrier, destroyer, and cruiser analogs, none of  which  appeared  to

take the slightest in terest in the Falcon or even the much larger Trevee.

"Evasive   action!"   Droma   said,   finding   his   voice   at    last.

"Countermeasures!"

Han wrestled with the controls. "What do you think I'm doing!"

Warships continued to materialize to all sides, more than Han would  have

believed possible-and certainly more than  enough  to  engage  and  ultimately

overwhelm  Fondor's  defenses.  Already  the  vanguard  vessels  were  firing,

launching molten projectiles and blinding streams of plasma  at  picket  craft

and warships alike. Han swerved the Falcon away from the  main  battle  group,

then accel erated as the Trevee had done,  still  shooting  for  the  aphelion

coordinates, now if only to distance itself from the onslaught.

"That's why they were running," Han remarked. "They knew the Yuuzhan Vong

were on their way." His face contorted by anger, he triggered  a  short  burst

from the quad lasers, though more to terrorize the crew of the Trevee than  to

further disable the ship. Then, just when it appeared that both ships had made

it safely through the throng, a final enemy vessel emerged. Looking more  like

a wedded cluster of tough-skinned bubbles than a chunk of scabrous coral,  the

new arrival narrowly missed colliding with the Trevee, but  sent  it  into  an

out-of-control tumble nevertheless.

Intrigued, Han leaned toward the viewport to have a closer  look  at  the

ship, then immediately changed course, vectoring directly for the newcomer.

"One on one," he snarled. "We can live with those odds." With the  Falcon

up on its side  once  more,  Han  and  Droma  assailed  the  clustership  with

sustained bursts from the dorsal and ventral quad lasers. Most  of  the  bolts

were engulfed by gravitic anomalies long before they reached the ship,  but  a

surprising few got through. The reason became clear when Han realized that the

vessel was taking rear fire from a motley  group  of  New  Republic  fighters.

Overtaxed and distracted, the dovin basals  that  shielded  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

vessel were obviously failing.

Caution forgotten, Han at once sharpened the angle of  their  attack  and

shed velocity so that the clustership would come across the  Falcon's  vector.

When it did, he and Droma opened up with both guns, hammering the  enemy  with

massive outpourings of energy. Gas and flame belched from the ship,  then  one

of the spherical components imploded,  deflating  as  if  pricked  by  a  pin.

Slowing, the ship began to list to port, then rolled completely over,  like  a

defeated creature showing its belly to an aggressor.

"Thanks for the assist, YT-1300," someone said over the hailing channel.

"The pilot of the lead X-wing," Droma clarified.

"That's no military squadron," Han said.

"When did the fighting start, YT?"

Han opened a channel to the fighters. "The enemy checked in just ahead of

you. The shipyards are already under bombardment. Who are you guys?"

"Kyp's Dozen," the pilot said.

"Kyp Durron! What in blazes are you doing out here?"

Put off his guard, Kyp fell silent for a moment. "Han, is that  you?"  he

asked tentatively.

"None other."

"Is that a new paint job, or did you accidentally bring  the  Falcon  too

close to a star?"

"Long story."

"So is ours. We've been chasing  that  bubble  ship  since  Kalarba.  The

Yuuzhan Vong have captives aboard, Wurth Skidder among them. What about you?"

"The freighter at your starboard marooned a group of  refugees  somewhere

in this system. I figure we can con vince them to show us where they made  the

drop."

"If you're headed back into that fray, you could do  with  some  support.

I'll assign two of my people to fly with you."

"I'll take them. But what are you planning to do about the captives?"

"Go aboard and rescue them."

Han uttered a laugh. "Leave it to a Jedi to take on the impossible."

"It's our mandate," Kyp said.

"We'll be back to help out as soon as we can," Han promised.

"May the Force be with you, Han."

"Yeah, you too."

* * *

At  Orbital  Shipyard  1321,  the  Star  Destroyer  Amerce  was   nearing

completion-one of thirty such massive warships being  readied  at  Fondor,  in

addition to hundreds of smaller vessels. Owing to having  had  to  retrofit  a

flotilla of ships with hyperwave inertial momentum sustainers, several of  the

major yards had fallen behind schedule, but confidence was high at  1321  that

work on the Amerce would conclude within  a  local  month.  The  launch  would

finally mean leave for the tens of thousands of shipfitters who had spent  the

better part of a standard year working on the great ship, shoulder to shoulder

with droids and  other  machines,  frequently  for  back-to-back  shifts,  and

sometimes in zero-g for days on end.

Creed Mitsun, human foreman of a mixed-species crew of electricians,  was

more eager than most for leave. The  substantial  credits  he'd  amassed  were

programming an escape route from his bank account, and his  companion  of  the

past two years-an exotic dancer who worked in Fondor City-was  threatening  to

return to Sullust if Mitsun didn't get himself down the well before too  long.

Lately not a relative day passed when Mitsun didn't wake from dreams that were

every bit as fatiguing as work itself without fearing that  the  Amerce  would

never be completed and leave would never be granted. To  make  matters  worse,

space raid drills had become quotidian events,  jarring  everyone  from  sleep

long before they were required to report to work.

Today was no exception.

Adding his elaborate groan to a chorus of similar protests  issuing  from

all corners of the bunkroom,  Mitsun  buried  his  head  under  a  pillow  and

declined to move, despite the unrelenting howling of sirens and the  insistent

appeals from the Bothan female who had the bunk opposite his.

"Come on, Chief," she pleaded, trying to shake him into motion. "You know

what happens if we don't report to our stations."

"I don't care," Mitsun said, his voice muffled by  the  pillow.  "How  do

they expect us to finish the Amerce if we're asleep on our feet  for  most  of

our shifts?"

"Please, Chief. If you get suspended, things'll be worse for everyone."

Mitsun started to wave her away, but suddenly found himself rudely tossed

from his third-tier bunk to the hard deck.

"What's the idea?" he stammered, hauling himself to his feet, only to see

that the Bothan female and almost everyone else in sight  had  been  similarly

displaced. Without warning, the facility sustained a follow-up blow,  powerful

enough to topple several banks of bunks and hurl everyone halfway  across  the

hold.

"This is no drill!" someone yelled.

Mitsun heard the words but refused to give them credence.  Stepping  over

sprawled bodies, he hurried to the outer hull bulkhead and slammed the heel of

his hand against the release stud that raised the  hold's  night  curtain  and

blast door.

By the time the curtain had pocketed itself, several  other  workers  had

joined Mitsun at the underlying transparisteel panel, beyond which the  Amerce

lay half in ruins, holed and venting its guts into space. From  the  direction

of Fondor's closest moon came a storm  of  asteroidlike  ships,  so  fixed  on

demolishing Shipyard 1321  that  they  weren't  even  bothering  to  discharge

weapons, but were instead accelerating toward the battleship and the facility.

"Leave cancelled," Mitsun said to himself  as  he  caught  sight  of  two

coralskippers hurtling directly for the bunkroom.

Leia followed briskly on the heels of the colonel  who  had  fetched  her

from her cabin aboard the Yald, saying only that it was urgent that  she  join

Commodore Brand in the tactical information center quickest. She  and  Brand's

adjutant were stepping from the turbolift on the secure deck that  housed  the

TIC when she nearly collided with Isolder, who had obviously just arrived from

the Song of War.

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" he asked her. The question was

pointed, though without his being aware of it. What had begun  at  Gyndine  as

vague misgiving and had swelled to apprehension as a result of the  vision  on

Hapes had now become unmitigated dread-as tangible as any fear or  phobia  she

had ever experienced-even while its source and substance remained veiled.

Hours of meditation had allowed  Leia  to  determine  that  part  of  her

apprehension was centered on Anakin and Jacen and  the  forecasted  attack  on

Corellia. But just how her concerns for them were connected to the  foreboding

that swirled like  excited  electrons  around  Isolder-and  more  specifically

around Commander Brand's battle plans-she could not say or even guess at.  She

knew only that her composure was unraveling, and that forces  were  converging

in a way that no one had anticipated.

"Leia?" Isolder said.

Thejedi's weapon is her mind. When ajedi is distracted,  when  she  loses

her focus, she becomes vulnerable...

"I'm sorry, Isolder," she said at last, "but I don't know  what  this  is

about."

He studied her in silence while  they  hastened  for  the  war  room  and

entered side by side. Brand, looking stricken, gazed up at them from his  tall

stool alongside a sprawling horizontal plotting panel. In  fact,  beneath  all

the frantic activity, everyone in the enormous room seemed to be moving  in  a

daze.

"On-screen," Brand ordered one of the technicians, as  Leia  and  Isolder

approached.

Leia glanced at a nearby array of holographic displays,  instantly  aware

that she was seeing her vision realized-or at least some part of  it.  Whether

the real time images were being transmitted  from  satellites  or  an  orbital

facility was impossible to discern, and unimpor tant in any  event.  One  holo

showed dozens of Yuuzhan Vong and New Republic warships firing mercilessly  at

each other, while wings of snubfighters and  coral-skippers  slalomed  through

the wreckage of orbital docks.

Another holo revealed ships close to completion black ened, ruptured, and

keeled over in their berthing spaces, command towers and gun turrets in ruins,

clouds of debris making  it  impossible  to  get  a  clear  fix  on  anything.

Elsewhere, Yuuzhan Vong carrier analogs were hurling tempests of coralskippers

toward weapons platforms and the surface  of  a  world  already  afflicted  by

industrial devastation.

"That's the Amerce" Brand said grimly, indicating one  of  the  destroyed

ships. He pointed to another holo display. "That's the Anlage."

Leia looked at him in confusion. "Those aren't Corel-lian vessels."

Brand showed her one of the saddest looks she had ever seen. "The Yuuzhan

Vong have struck at Fondor. They deceived us into believing they were going to

attack Corellia, and they hit  Fondor."  The  words  tumbled  from  his  mouth

without emotion. "Our greatest hopes go with those ships. The First  Fleet  is

doing all it can, but the enemy is literally flinging their  coralskippers  at

any target that presents itself."

"The Hapan fleet is prepared to launch," Isolder said.

"No!" Leia found herself saying. Brand and Isolder stared at  her.  "No,"

she repeated quietly.

Brand looked at Isolder. "Thank you, Prince  Isolder,  but  I've  already

ordered elements of the Fifth Fleet to launch from Bothawui. We're waiting  to

hear from them." Leia swung to the communication console, her heart racing.

"Commenor command, this is Task Force Aleph," a  distressed  voice  said.

"The enemy has seeded all routes linking Bothawui and Fondor with dovin  basal

remotes. Half the task force has been yanked from hyperspace,  and  six  ships

have been diverted into collisions with mass shadows.  We're  in  harm's  way,

sir. We have no choice but to retreat to the Outer Rim and jump to Fondor from

Eriadu or Sullust."

"They'll arrive too late," Brand muttered, then turned to  Isolder.  "You

say your forces are prepared?"

Isolder straightened to his full and considerable height.

"Eager, Commodore."

Leia's breath caught in her throat, and the TIC began to spin before  her

eyes. She had to hook her arm through Brand's to keep from falling.

26

As near as anyone had been able to determine, coral-skippers didn't  dock

inside their carriers. Instead they were launched from and  recovered  by  the

carriers' elon gated and branchlike projections. These  facts  passed  briefly

through Kyp Durron's mind as his X-wing loosed two proton  torpedoes  straight

at the sphere  the  Millen  nium  Falcon's  quad  lasers  had  perforated  and

collapsed. The torpedoes did little more than blow a hole in what remained  of

the deflated globe, but one large and gaping enough to accommodate any of  the

disparate fighters that made up the Dozen.

"Eleven and Twelve, you have rear guard," Kyp said over the tactical net.

"The rest of you form up on me. We're going inside."

Kyp urged his craft on, ignoring the strident protests of  its  astromech

droid, which was clearly baffled by  whatever  readings  the  enemy  ship  was

giving off. The Yuuzhan Vong were oxygen breathers, he reminded himself, which

meant that their ships somehow manufactured atmosphere. He  was  less  certain

about gravity, though he surmised that the same dovin basals  responsible  for

propulsion and protection provided gravity. As for  places  to  land,  he  was

willing to make do with any parcel of level deck, even if he had to pilot  the

X-wing to the heart of the ship to find that. 3D7

Ganner's modified  Y-wing  and  seven  other  starfighters  followed  him

through the breach opened by the torpedoes. The pair left behind would have to

deal with anything that flew to the cluster ship's aid,  at  least  until  the

Falcon and the remaining two fighters returned.

Kyp's determination took a quantum leap as soon as the X-wing entered the

ruined sphere. Vacuum had bled the module of atmosphere, but gravity was close

to human standard and there was ample room for all  nine  fighters  to  settle

down on a deck that wasn't much different from the pitted hulls of  the  enemy

warships. The Falcon's powerful guns had made  a  mess  of  things,  but  even

without the damage it would have been difficult to discern just what they were

looking at. Kyp suspected that the hivelike structure at the rear of the space

was a neuroengine of some sort, and that if he popped it open, he might find a

couple of stunned dovin basals curled up inside.

"Breathers and blasters," he said over the net as the X-wing's canopy was

opening.

Recalling his first contact with the Yuuzhan Vong in the Outer  Rim,  and

the grotesque creature whose secretions had burned through the  transparisteel

of his XJ, Kyp had expected to find  similar  monstrosities  waiting,  but  in

fact, the hold was deserted. Ganner  had  obviously  been  thinking  the  same

thing. Jumping agilely from the cockpit  of  the  Y-wing,  he  said  over  the

rebreather comm, "They've probably withdrawn to protect the yammosk."

"Then they've already simplified our mission," Kyp told him.

They unhooked their lightsabers from the belts of their  flightsuits  and

thumbed them on, the sibilant hiss of the energy blades loud in  the  deserted

chamber. Everyone else carried either a sidearm or a blaster rifle.

"Watch your step," Kyp advised. "The Yuuzhan Vong have been known to make

use of an immobilizing living jelly." Warily they advanced on the wall of  the

adjacent sphere, ignorant as to whether they were moving forward or aft.  Like

the walls of the collapsed  module,  the  curving  bulkhead  had  an  organic,

membranous appearance. They searched futilely  for  anything  analogous  to  a

hatch release.

"There has to be a way of opening a portal from one sphere to the  next,"

Deak  said.  "Maybe  they're  separated  by  hydrostatic  fields."  But  while

resilient, the bulkhead did not admit him when he pressed himself to it.

"Maybe it recognizes only Yuuzhan Vong," Ganner suggested.

"Now isn't the time to debate it," Kyp said. "We're not on  a  scientific

survey."

He thrust his lightsaber straight  into  the  curve.  When  the  tip  had

sizzled through, Kyp rolled his wrists, gradu ally  opening  a  circular  hole

large enough for them to step through.  The  hold  on  the  far  side  of  the

bulkhead was no different from the one they had left.

"No oxygen," Ganner reported after glancing at an indicator  strapped  to

his wrist.

They moved in single file into a passageway  that  might  have  been  the

gullet of an outsize creature. Colonies  of  microorganisms  attached  to  the

walls and ceiling provided a faint green bioluminescence. Eventually they came

to another curving bulkhead, but this was equipped with an  iris  portal  that

admitted them into a sealed antechamber. The fact that the chamber  served  as

an airlock didn't become evident until they stepped from it  into  a  spacious

hold that held breathable air.

There also were the Yuuzhan Vong warriors Kyp and Ganner had expected  to

encounter earlier on.

They were thirty strong, some sporting chitinous armor, some without, but

all of them armed with double-edged blades or the living staffs Kyp knew  were

capable of being employed as whips, clubs, swords, or spears. For a moment the

two groups stood still, studying each other, then one warrior stepped  forward

and bellowed a phrase in his own language.

He made it sound like  a  statement,  but  the  charge  that  immediately

followed confirmed it as a war cry. Deak and the other  non-Jedi  opened  fire

with their blasters, dropping ten or more of  the  unarmored  warriors  before

they had made it halfway across the hold. Kyp and Ganner glided into the press

of survivors, their feet barely leaving the  deck,  telekinetically  disarming

some of their opponents even in the midst of  parrying  blows  from  stiffened

amphistaffs or crosscuts by coufee blades and deflecting spears.  One  by  one

the Yuuzhan Vong succumbed to vertical  slashes  to  the  head  or  horizontal

thrusts that found the only vulnerable places in the living armor, just  below

the armpits.

The two Jedi worked as  a  team  whenever  possible,  back  to  back,  or

alongside each other, refusing to surrender any gained ground  and  minimizing

the movements of their blades. Their relatively easy victories told them  that

the warriors were a different  breed  than  the  seasoned  fighters  they  had

battled on the Ithorian herd ship Tafanda Bay. Even so, some of  the  non-Jedi

weren't faring as well. Two of Kyp's Dozen died-one beheaded by a coufee,  the

other pierced by a thrown amphistaff.

When Kyp and Ganner had thinned the throng, they separated to engage  the

last of the warriors one on one, Kyp entering into a  savage  battle  with  an

opponent a head taller than him and as deft with his staff as Kyp was with his

lightsaber; Ganner using  a  Force-summoned  telekinetic  burst  to  hurl  his

adversary into a trio of Yu uzhan Vong who had ganged up on Deak. Two  of  the

three dropped to the deck, giving Deak the time he needed to raise his blaster

rifle and kill the third, along with the one Ganner had thrown.

Kyp perceived the events peripherally. With his feet planted  right  foot

forward, he held the lightsaber at waist level, its  blade  elevated  acutely,

gyrating his wrists to answer and divert the  sweeping  slashes  and  overhead

blows of the Yuuzhan Vong's stiffened amphistaff. That Kyp remained rooted  in

place provoked the warrior to greater ferocity. Lunging, he thrust  the  vital

weapon at Kyp's midsection, at once ordering it to lengthen  and  strike  with

its fangs. The amphistaff's abrupt transformation from sword to serpent caught

Kyp by surprise, but only for a moment. Twisting  the  lightsaber  around  the

pliable staff, he suddenly snapped the energy blade upward, flinging the staff

from the warrior's grip and severing the Yuuzhan Vong's hand, just at the  gap

where his forearm guards met his gauntlets.

The dismembered fist fell  to  the  deck,  dark  blood  oozing  from  the

warrior's  truncated  limb.  The  Yuuzhan  Vong  looked  at  Kyp  in  startled

disbelief, then lowered his head and rushed forward, intent on ramming Kyp off

his feet. A side step sabotaged the effort. As the weakened  warrior  stumbled

past him, Kyp brought the lightsaber to shoulder height, then  drove  it  into

his foe's armpit, killing him instantly.

He stood over the fallen Yuuzhan Vong for a moment, then  glanced  around

the hold at the carnage he and the others had wrought. Ganner  and  Deak  were

kneeling by their dead comrades.

"We'll remember them later," Kyp said, motioning everyone onward with the

ignited lightsaber.

They moved deeper into the ship, crossing the threshold into yet  another

sphere without encountering any opposition. Since entering the vessel, Kyp had

been struck by the fact that the Force was mute: not stifled, but silent.  His

Jedi skills hadn't been affected or compromised in any way, but it was  as  if

he had entered a blank space on a map. All at once, though, he felt  something

through the Force, and a bit farther along  they  came  to  a  sealed  portal,

similar to many they had passed, save for the feelings it roused.

Kyp turned to Ganner, who nodded in affirmation, then he thrust the blade

of his lightsaber into the center of the portal. When he retracted the  blade,

air rushed noisily through the hole into the  space  beyond,  and  the  portal

irised open. Inside, scattered across a pliant floor fouled by sweat and more,

sprawled a mixed-species mob of captives. Dressed in ragged robes and  tunics,

they were a gaunt lot, but alive. Gradually they began to  stir  as  the  hold

filled with oxygen.

Kyp approached one of them-a gray-haired human who had  probably  started

with a good deal more weight than some of the others. Near  him  lay  two  Ryn

males and a female. The man's rheumy eyes blinked open and played across Kyp's

face, focusing finally on the deactivated lightsaber in his right hand.

"They're holding him on the deck below this one," the human said  weakly.

"Next module aft. But be careful, Jedi. He may not be the  Wurth  Skidder  you

remember." Several of the more technically minded of the  hoodwinked  and  now

marooned Ruan refugees had succeeded in getting some of the orbital facility's

systems on-line, so anyone who wished was able to watch the fall of Fondor  in

full color.

Most of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet was still dispersed in  a  broad  arc  out

past Fondor's outermost moons, but a dozen or so carriers, heavily  reinforced

by escort craft, had moved Coreward. Like siege weapons of old,  the  carriers

had flung their coralskippers against any targets that  presented  themselves,

destroying New Republic warships and construction  barges  alike.  But  having

thrown the First Fleet into disarray, they  were  now  being  more  systematic

about attacking  the  shipyards  and  pounding  distant  Fondor  with  flaming

projectiles and streams of plasma.

Gazing at the chaos through an observation blister, Melisma decided  that

the Yuuzhan Vong weren't likely to spare even an empty shipyard, which-at  the

present rate of destruction-meant that the Ruan group had less than an hour to

get their affairs in order. Most of the refugees had  already  come  to  grips

with this and were off by themselves, crying quietly or  praying  to  whatever

gods they worshipped. But others were shrieking in fear and  anger,  insisting

that efforts be made to alert Fondor command to their plight or, failing that,

surrendering to the Yuuzhan Vong, even though that  would  mean  sacrifice  or

captivity.

True to the fatalism they embraced as a creed, the Ryn were singing.  The

fact that they were capable of going to their deaths with  grace  and  dignity

had actually managed to impart a sense of calm  to  some  of  the  distraught.

Melisma turned from the viewport to listen to the melodious lament R'vanna was

leading. "If these folks realized that our forgeries are what  got  them  into

this situation, we'd be dead already," she told Gaph.

Her uncle only shrugged. "Even without the  documents  we  provided,  the

pirates would have found some way. Remember, child, these people paid to leave

Ruan."

"Is that your way of absolving us of guilt?"

"We're guilty of getting ourselves into this mess. But that, too, is  the

Ryn way. If it's not others abusing us, we're abusing ourselves."

Melisma sighed. "Do we deserve this then-for not ac cepting Ruan's  offer

to work in the fields?"

"No one deserves to die this way, no matter  what  they  have  done.  But

listen, child, we're not dead yet, and until  we  are,  we  should  enjoy  the

moment."

Melisma glanced out the viewport. "I don't know that I have any song left

in me, Uncle."

He laughed. "Of course you do. There's song even in a final breath."

She forced a smile. "You begin."

Gaph smoothed his mustachios in thought. His right foot began to tap, and

he had his mouth open to sing when a Sullustan stationed at one  of  the  data

consoles shouted for everyone's attention.

"The Trevee is returning!"

The singing and crying ceased, and groups of folks began to crowd  around

the console and into the observation blister. Someone off  to  Melisma's  left

pointed to a sleek shape,  weaving  its  way  toward  the  abandoned  facility

between missiles and plasma discharges.

"It's  definitely  the   TreveeV   the   Sullustan   confirmed.   Hopeful

exclamations gushed from all sides.

"Maybe they had a change of heart."

"Impossible. They got caught up in the battle and are looking for a place

to hide."

"Someone learned what they did to us."

"That is the probable explanation," Gaph said in an authoritative  voice.

He gestured in the direction of the approaching transport.  "I  can't  imagine

where that YT-1300 freighter joined the Trevee, but I'm certain that the other

two ships are New Republic starfighters."

* * *

Anakin's  enabling  the  Centerpoint  Station's  interdiction  field  and

starbuster  capabilities  was  momentarily  forgotten  in  the  wake  of   the

devastating news the New Republic colonel brought to the control room.

The Yuuzhan Vong had launched a sneak attack on Fondor. Real-time  images

of the battle received over military channels and HoloNet feeds  had  fomented

panic among the Mrlssi, whose  home  system  bordered  Fondor  in  the  Tapani

sector. For everyone else in the control room the images  prompted  a  curious

mix of relief and desperation.  Here  was  Centerpoint,  all  dressed  up  and

nowhere to go. Thrackan Sal-Solo broke the mood.

"There is something we can do." He whirled on Anakin, a wild look in  his

eye. "We have the time-space  coordinates  of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  fleet."  He

hurried to a console and called up a star chart. "Their warships are clustered

Rimward of Fondor's fifth and sixth moons. We  can  target  them  by  focusing

Centerpoint's repulsor beam." "We have no authority to take such  actions,"  a

technician said, loud enough to be heard over a dozen  separate  conversations

that broke out. "We could miss and hit Fondor or even its  primary.  We  can't

assume the risk."

"We must assume the risk," a Mrlssi argued. "Fondor  is  lost  if  we  do

nothing."

The New Republic colonel glanced at Sal-Solo,  who  shook  his  head.  "I

can't promise that we'll hit our target." Everyone turned to Anakin.

And Anakin looked at Jacen and Ebrihim, who had  his  hand  clamped  over

Q9's vocoder grille.

Jacen wanted to say something, but all words fled him. He  had  a  sudden

memory of Anakin from months earlier, practicing lightsaber technique  in  the

hold of the falcon.

"You keep thinking of it  as  a  tool,  a  weapon  in  your  war  against

everything you see as bad," Jacen had told him at the time.

"It's an instrument of law," Anakin had maintained.

"The Force isn't about waging war," Jacen had said. "It's  about  finding

peace, and your place in the galaxy." He set himself boldly  between  Sal-Solo

and the console at which Anakin  sat.  "We  can't  be  a  part  of  this,"  he

announced.

Thrackan  peered  around  him  at  Anakin.  "The  First  Fleet  is  being

decimated, Anakin. The task force launched from Bothawui can't possibly arrive

in time to help."

"The Tapani is our home sector," a Mrlssi said. "You must take  the  risk

for our sake-as a Jedi must."

"It's our only chance to score a decisive victory," the colonel urged. He

cut his eyes to the joystick Anakin had  conjured.  "It  bears  your  imprint,

Anakin. It answers to you and no one else."

"Anakin, you can't," Jacen said, wide-eyed. "Step away from it. Step away

from it now."

Anakin glanced from his brother to the controls before him.  Not  through

the Force but through Centerpoint it self, he could sense his distant targets.

He felt as wedded to the repulsor as he often felt to his lightsaber,  and  he

knew with the same conviction precisely when and how to strike.

27

Lightsabers clenched in two-handed grips, Kyp and Ganner  approached  the

chamber in which Wurth Skidder was  apparently  being  held.  The  absence  of

guards in the dark and humid corridor  had  Kyp  thinking  otherwise,  but  no

sooner had his lightsaber coaxed the chamber's portal to open than  he  caught

sight of Skidder. And immediately he grasped what the captive-Roa-had meant by

saying that Skidder wasn't likely to be his old self.

Stripped naked, he was lying faceup on  the  floor  with  his  legs  bent

backward at the knees and his arms extended beyond his head. Surrounding  him-

and plainly responsible for the cartilaginous growths that wedded him  to  the

deck at knees, insteps, shoulders, elbows,  and  wrists-were  a  dozen  or  so

crablike creatures, a few of whom managed to skitter to  safety  before  Kyp's

and Ganner's lightsabers could be brought to  bear  on  them.  The  screeching

others were cleaved and dismembered, their  legs  and  pincers  flung  to  all

quarters of the hold.

Kneeling, Kyp wedged his hand under Wurth's neck and  gently  lifted  his

head. Skidder groaned in agony, but his eyes fluttered open.

"You're the last person I expected to see here," he rasped.

Kyp made himself smile. "You think we'd let you execute this  mission  on

your own?"

Skidder licked his lips to wet them. "How did you find me?"

"The Hutts got a message to us through one of their smugglers."

Skidder's eyebrows beetled in puzzlement. "I thought  they'd  joined  the

opposition."

"I guess they've seen the light."

"That's good to hear," Skidder said in  genuine  relief.  He  glanced  at

Ganner, then added, "I sensed you when you attacked the ship before it jumped.

"

"That was at Kalarba," Ganner said.

"Where are we now?"

"Fondor."

Skidder showed them a startled look. "Why..."

"Fondor was always the target," Kyp said. "The fleet has been  caught  by

surprise."

Skidder shut his eyes and nodded. "I tried to learn  our  destination-the

yammosk's destination."

Kyp compressed his lips before replying. "We managed to cripple the  ship

before it made planetfall, but the Yuuzhan Vong are  prevailing  even  without

the war coordinator."

"There are captives aboard," Skidder said, as  if  suddenly  remembering.

"The plan was to familiarize the yammosk with our thought patterns-"

"We've got them," Ganner cut him off. "Deak and some of  the  others  are

with them. Now we just have to see about freeing you."

Wurth laughed, shortly and bitterly. "Chine-kal promised to break me, and

he has."

"Chine-kal?"

"The ship's commander." Skidder's face contorted and he moaned in pain.

Concealing his hopelessness, Kyp took a closer look  at  the  surge-coral

protrusions that anchored Wurth to the pliant deck.  "Our  lightsabers  should

make short work of these," he started  to  say,  when  Wurth  shook  his  head

violently.

"There isn't time. You have to leave."

Kyp looked hard into his comrade's eyes. "I won't leave you, Wurth. We'll

find a way to help you. The Force-"

"Look at me," Skidder interrupted firmly. "Look at me through the  Force.

I'm dying, Kyp. You can't help me."

Kyp opened his mouth to reply, but instead loosed a resigned sigh.

Skidder smiled with his eyes. "I'm prepared, Kyp. I'm ready to  die.  But

there are two things I need you to do before you leave this ship."

Kyp nodded grimly and leaned his ear closer to his friend's mouth.

* * *

"Randa and Chine-kal," Wurth managed to say. "Find them."  Alone  in  the

Falcon's cockpit, Han had one hand gripped on the yoke and the  other  on  the

servo that operated the dorsal quad laser. Triggering staccato bursts from the

weapon, he blew away two approaching coral-skippers. From somewhere behind the

Falcon a third skip vectored in on a strafing run against  the  shipyard,  but

before Han could even swivel the gun turret, the enemy craft was pulverized by

fire from one of the battered X-wings that flew with Kyp's Dozen.

"Good shooting," Han said into the mouthpiece of his headset.

"Thanks, Falcon," the voice of the ship's female pilot  came  back.  "You

soften them up, I'll put them away."

"Will do," Han told her.

He brought the Falcon about to recon the Rimward side of the  empty  yard

in which the Ruan refugees had been marooned. Below, Droma, the second fighter

pilot, and some of the pirates were organizing the recovery, with  the  Trevee

berthed where a construction barge  or  tender  might  have  anchored  if  the

facility had been operational. With  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  fleet  continuing  to

encroach  on  Fondor,  the  Tholatin  crew-reluctant  rescuers  early  on-were

suddenly desperate to wrap the mission and launch for clear space.

Noise crackled from the cockpit annunciators, and a grainy video image of

Droma appeared on the comm display screen.

"Han, the Trevee is loading, but fifty or so folks are still  unaccounted

for. Apparently they figured they could escape detection by hiding out."

Behind Droma, grinning  broadly,  were  clustered  some  ten  other  Ryn,

including the two he had introduced earlier as Gaph and Melisma.  Melisma  was

now cradling a Ryn infant in her arms.

"You can't hide from plasma," Han barked toward the audio pickup.

Droma nodded. "We'll search them out."

"Yeah, well, don't waste any time. Looks  like  a  Yuuzhan  Vong  carrier

escort has taken a sudden interest in the place."

Droma nodded and signed off.

As the Falcon came full circle around the shipyard, the Trevee once  more

loomed large in the forward viewport. The transport's hyperdrive  was  ruined,

but the sublight drives were more than capable of moving the ship out past the

enemy fleet-providing it got away in time.

Even as Han was thinking it, the Yuuzhan Vong carrier  escort  hove  into

view off to port, keen on targeting the shipyard with the projectile launchers

concealed in its pitted starboard bow.

Han throttled the Falcon toward the intruder, firing  steadily,  but  the

escort was too resolved on destroying the shipyard to be bothered  by  a  lone

assailant. Just then, though, the X-wing appeared on the scene, succeeding  in

getting the escort's attention with  two  well-placed  proton  torpedoes  that

impacted against its blunt nose.

Han banked harder to port, racing the Falcon through a storm  of  flaming

projectiles to come to the fighter's sup port, but  he  failed  to  arrive  in

time. Plasma gushed from the escort and caught  the  X-wing  just  as  it  was

breaking off from its reckless run. Wingtip lasers and stabilizers melted like

candle wax, and the pilot lost control. Trailing gobs  of  solidifying  alloy,

the fighter went into a crazed roll, splitting apart  before  perishing  in  a

fiery explosion.

Han's eyes narrowed in hatred. "Nobody takes out my wingmate."

Whipping the Falcon around, he went for the escort with the  quad  lasers

blazing. Chunks of yorik coral exploded outward from the  ship,  and  a  thick

blade of flame streaked into space. The ship rolled to one side like a wounded

beast. At the same time, the comm screen came to life.

"We're away," Droma said. "Aiming  for  clear  skies."  Han  powered  the

Falcon through an ascending loop, then veered off to starboard, glimpsing  the

Trevee and its fighter companion just  as  they  were  accelerating  from  the

threatened facility. The dying escort spotted them, as well.  Missiles  sought

the fleeing vessels, but the escort reserved the bulk of its barrage  for  the

shipyard itself. Punctured throughout by projectiles, the  facility  began  to

disintegrate, then it blew apart, unfurling flames that scorched the  tail  of

the accelerating transport. Then the escort, too, disappeared in  a  flash  of

blinding light.

* * *

"You have my word that I will devote the remainder of my days to repaying

the debt I have this day incurred," Randa bellowed in Basic as he trailed  Kyp

and Ganner through the clustership, the slapping sounds of his mus cular  tail

loud in the passageway.

"Thank Skidder, Randa," Kyp said over his shoulder. "If it'd been  up  to

me, I would have left you with your dead toadies."

"Then I will repay the debt in honor of Skidder,"  Randa  said,  unfazed.

"You will see."

As it happened, the two Jedi didn't have long to wait.

Rounding a corner in the passageway, they found them selves faced with  a

phalanx of Yuuzhan Vong warriors, into whose  midst  Randa  charged,  knocking

half a dozen aside before any of those left standing could land blows  against

the Hutt's mostly impervious hide.  Kyp  and  Ganner  followed  up  the  brash

offensive, felling their opponents with precise strikes to  susceptible  spots

in the warriors' armor.

The three of them  fought  their  way  toward  an  enormous  maw  in  the

bulkhead, from beyond which emanated a stench  even  more  pungent  than  that

given off by Randa. Inside the  vast  chamber,  encircled  by  attendants  who

clearly had meager familiarity with  the  coufees  they  brandished,  stood  a

Yuuzhan Vong commander, a long cloak hanging from his transmogrified shoulders

and a villip communicator in his hands.  Behind  them,  raised  up  on  tensed

tentacles in a circular tank of foul-smelling liquid, was a maturing  yammosk,

a large tooth glistening in its rictus of a mouth and its massive  black  eyes

riveted on the intruders.

Again Randa rushed forward, flattening  several  of  the  attendants  and

whipping his tail around to whack the villip out of the commander's hands. The

attendants began what would have been a fruitless defense, but  the  commander

ordered them to lower their weapons.

"I congratulate you on getting this  far,"  he  said  after  two  of  the

attendants had helped him back to his feet.

Kyp angled his lightsaber to one side, the blade  extended  in  front  of

him. "Move out of the way and we'll go the rest of the distance."

Chine-kal turned slightly to glance at the yammosk. "Of course. The  life

of a yammosk for that of a Jedi. It strikes me as equitable."

From off to Kyp's left, Ganner hurled his ignited light-saber square into

the creature's left eye. As the  sulfurous-yellow  energy  blade  struck,  the

yammosk shrieked and its tentacles flailed,  generating  waves  that  cascaded

down over the yorik-coral retaining wall of the pool  and  washed  across  the

deck. The yammosk reared up and began to sway from side to side. Gradually the

tentacles stopped moving, and the creature sank down into the  tank,  dead  by

the time Ganner called the lightsaber back to him.

Chine-kal's sadness endured for only a moment. "Well executed, Jedi.  But

you have doomed us all."

A shudder passed through the ship even as  the  words  were  leaving  his

mouth.

"The yammosk controls the ship," Randa explained. "The pilot dovin basals

are now in the throes of death." Chine-kal grinned faintly. "No one  gets  out

of here alive."

Kyp returned the grin. "This won't be the first time you've  misjudged  a

situation, Commander." He scanned the attendants, then set his gaze on  Chine-

kal. "Any or all of you are free to come with us." When it  was  obvious  that

none of them were going to budge, Kyp shrugged.

"Suit yourselves."

He backed into the passageway, Ganner to one side, Randa  to  the  other.

Another death-throe  spasm  sent  the  three  of  them  pitching  against  the

bulkheads. Regaining his balance, Kyp started off the way they had  come,  but

Randa stopped him.

"I know a more direct route."

They had just entered an adjacent module when Kyp's comlink toned.

"What's your situation, Kyp?"

Kyp recognized  Han  Solo's  voice.  "We're  outward  bound.  The  ship's

destroying itself."

"A splinter group of Yuuzhan Vong warships are on  their  way.  Not  much

chance of our holding them off."

"Then don't risk it."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that. Where are the captives?"

"They're being moved to the module we punched through."

"How many?"

"One hundred, give or take a few."

Solo muttered something. "The Trevee is defenseless. We'll have  to  cram

everyone aboard the Falcon."

"Can you bring the Falcon close enough to extend a cofferdam?"

Han snorted. "That's the least of our problems."

"There's an airlock in the central  module,  but  from  the  outside  you

probably won't be able to identify it. Look for our signal  flare.  Otherwise,

I'll have Deak or some one lead you to it."

"Don't worry, I'll find it."

"Somehow I knew  you'd  say  that,"  Kyp  said.  "By  the  way,  can  you

accommodate a Hutt?"

Solo launched a surprised laugh. "A Hutt? Sure, the more the merrier."

"Then you'll be glad to hear that one of the captives asked  me  to  send

his regards."

"Who?"

"Roa."

* * *

"Take the shot!" Sal-Solo hissed through his clenched teeth. "Take it!"

"For the Mrlssi," a more plaintive voice added.

"For the sake of the New Republic," the captain said.

"No, my boy, no," Ebrihim and Q9 said.

As many voices vied for prominence in Anakin's mind  as  in  the  control

room. He heard the heartfelt words of his mother and father, the  harsh  voice

of Jacen and the understanding voice of Jaina, the counsel of Uncle Luke...

Anakin ignored all of them and looked at Jacen. "Tell me," he said.

Jacen responded quietly and calmly, almost as if he had subvocalized  the

response. "You are my brother, and you are a Jedi, Anakin. You can't do this."

Anakin took a deep breath and moved  his  hand  away  from  the  handgrip

trigger. The tension in  the  room  broke  with  a  collective  exhalation  of

disappointment. The technicians grumbled and the Mrlssi hung  their  heads  in

defeat. The next thing Anakin knew, someone had shoved him forcibly  from  the

control seat.

"I'll take the shot," Thrackan  Sal-Solo  shouted  angrily  as  his  hand

closed on the trigger.

* * *

Led by the Yald, the task force from Commenor decanted outside the  orbit

of Fondor's outermost moon. Following them  into  realspace  came  the  Battle

Dragons and battle cruisers that made up the Hapan fleet, positioned to engage

the Yuuzhan Vong armada at close range.

Commodore Brand had allowed Leia to join him on  the  bridge,  where  she

stood just behind his command chair, gazing through the wraparound viewport at

the reverting Hapan warships. Closer to Fondor, explosions flared in the night

as vessels and shipyards succumbed to the enemy onslaught.

"Fleet command and control reports casualties in excess of  50  percent,"

an enlisted-rating updated from his duty station. "Some of the  shipyards  are

managing to defend against coralskipper suicide strikes,  but  the  fleet  has

been unable to attenuate bombardment from the enemy warships."

Brand swiveled his chair to study various  threat-assessor  displays  and

vertical plotting panels. "The Ha-pans will put the fear into those warships,"

he assured in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the bridge.

Leia hid her trembling right hand beneath her cloak and cut her eyes from

the viewport to the plotting panels. She reached out with the Force for Anakin

and Jacen. Where earlier the effort had only  increased  the  gravity  of  her

distress, she now experienced relief. A transcen dent calm enveloped her,  and

the apprehension she had known since Hapes was suddenly gone.

But the  serenity  was  fleeting.  Almost  instantly  something  raw  and

uncontrollable flooded into her awareness. Again she reached  for  Anakin  and

Jacen, and at once realized that her concerns for them  had  dammed  a  deeper

though less personalized fear, which suddenly rushed in.

She swung to the viewport to see the Hapan fleet forming up  into  battle

groups and already beginning to close with individual enemy warships.

"You may fire when ready," she heard Brand telling Prince Isolder, but as

if at some great distance.

All at once, a flash of radiant  energy  illuminated  local  space.  From

Rimward of Fondor's outermost moon, or perhaps gushed from hyperspace  itself,

came a torrent of starfire a  thousand  kilometers  wide.  Coalescing  into  a

savage beam of focused annihilation, it tore into the midst of the  dispersing

Hapan fleet, consuming every ship in its path, atomizing some in the blink  of

an  eye  and  holing  others  with  spears  of  seething  light.  Weapons,  su

perstructure, and antennae vaporized by the skewering beam, the ships exploded

outward, vanishing in globes of brilliant mass-energy conversions. Even  those

ships outside the limits of the beam were hurled violently off course, slagged

along their inward-facing sides, or thrown into collisions with  one  another.

The mated saucers of the Battle Dragons broke apart and  disinte  grated,  and

the battle cruisers were snapped like twigs. Fighter groups vanished without a

trace.

Leia was dumbfounded. Nothing in the Yuuzhan Vong  arsenal  had  prepared

her for devastation on so immense a scale. For a moment she  was  certain  she

was in the grips of another terrible vision, but it quickly became clear  that

the violence was real.

Her stupefaction deepened when the beam didn't  diminish  as  it  punched

through the Hapan fleet. Lancing deeper into Fondor space, the shaft of raging

power went on to graze Fondor's penultimate moon, effacing a  portion  of  the

cratered planetoid as a surgical laser might a tumor. Then it ripped  unabated

into the heart of the enemy armada, obliterating masses of  coralskippers  and

pulverizing several of the largest warships. Finished with its  work  or  not,

the beam then shot past  Fondor,  singeing  the  northern  hemisphere  in  its

passing, perhaps to destroy some even more distant target.

All systems had failed on the bridge, and for  a  long  moment,  even  as

consoles and display screens flickered back to  life  under  emergency  power,

everyone was simply too stunned to speak or cry out, much less make  sense  of

what they had just witnessed.

"Some sort of repulsor beam," a tech finally said in a  stark  disbelief.

"Delivered through hyperspace."

"Centerpoint," Leia said, as if in shock.

Brand and several others turned to her.

She looked at the commodore. "Someone fired Center-point Station."

* * *

Han embraced Roa as he came through the airlock in the Falcon's port-side

docking arm.

"Fasgo's dead," Roa said when Han let him  go.  Han  shook  his  head  in

dismay. "He could have been a friend."

"As I was saying on the Jubilee Wheel, fortune  smiles,  then  betrays...

then smiles once more."

Han ran his eyes over his friend and managed a grin. "You know, you don't

look half bad."

"The half that does I'll have repaired. Did my ship survive?"

"Waiting for you at Bilbringi."

Roa loosed a sigh and turned to help a Ryn female  out  of  the  airlock.

"Han, I'd like you to meet-"

"Any chance you have a clanmate named Droma?" Han interrupted.

The female looked surprised. "I have a brother named Droma."

Han's grin broadened. "You'll be seeing him soon enough."  Roa  scratched

his head. "Seems I've a lot to catch up on."

"That doesn't begin to say it."

The clustership was already beginning to come apart. Han's fear  that  he

might have to separate prematurely from the trembling ship only made him  work

harder at getting all the rescued captives aboard. By the  time  the  last  of

them boarded, the forward hold, bunk rooms, galley, and  utility  spaces  were

packed. Han could only hope that the Falcon's air  scrubbers  would  hold  out

long enough to sustain everyone through a jump to Mrlsst or elsewhere  in  the

Tapani sector. Even assuming that life support  continued  to  function,  they

were going to be a hungry, dehydrated lot when and  wherever  they  ultimately

touched down.

With the airlock resealed, Han, Roa, and two of the  Ryn  threaded  their

way to the cockpit. Han squeezed into the pilot's seat and began  to  maneuver

the Falcon away from the Yuuzhan Vong vessel. Through the forward viewport  he

could see what remained of Kyp's Dozen launching through  the  hole  they  had

blown in the ruined module. Roa helped bring the quad lasers  on-line  as  Han

nosed the Falcon over the top of the spherical module, expecting  to  have  to

engage the enemy warships that had broken from the armada to render aid to the

crippled yammosk vessel. Instead he was greeted  by  a  sight  that  tugged  a

gleeful cry from him.

"Hapan Battle Dragons!" he said, glancing  at  Roa.  "Now  we're  getting

somewhere."

He was about to add that Leia had more than likely been  responsible  for

enlisting the Hapans' support when an intense, white radiance blinded him. The

Falcon died, then was tossed through an end-over-end ride that de posited  her

two thousand kilometers from where she had been.

The Yuuzhan Vong had coaxed Fondor's sun to go nova,  Han  told  himself.

They had wiped out the entire system. When his vision returned and  the  moans

and groans of his tumbled cargo had died down, Han saw that  three-fourths  of

the Hapan fleet and half the Yuuzhan Vong armada were gone.

* * *

On his helix flagship, Nas Choka recaptured enough of his self-control to

keep some of the dismay out of the incredulous look he showed Malik  Carr  and

Nom Anor. Against the backdrop of a razed moon, the villip-choir field  showed

the blackened skeletons and husks of untold numbers of Yuuzhan Vong and  enemy

ships.

"They killed most of their reinforcements to eliminate half of our force,

" the supreme commander said. "Is such savagery commonplace?"

Nom Anor shook his head, as much in response as to clear it. "A  mistake.

It has to be a mistake.  Their  reverence  for  life  has  always  been  their

weakness."

"Then perhaps we've managed to bring out the primitive  in  them,"  Malik

Carr said in a stunned voice.

A herald appeared. The villip in his trembling hands  bore  the  strained

features of Chine-kal.

"The yammosk has been killed," Chine-kal gasped through his communicator,

"and the ship is dying. The Hutts betrayed our location to the Jedi. The  Jedi

captured on Gyndine will die with us, but two of his  confederates  and  Randa

Besadii Diori-the murderers of the yammosk-escaped. We..."

The villip fell silent suddenly, then everted to its fea  tureless  form.

Chine-kal was dead.

Nas Choka turned away in disgust. "Recall all operational coralskippers,"

he instructed his subaltern. "Order the rest to commit what  destruction  they

can. All warship commanders will prepare their ships for  departure.  We  have

accomplished what we set out to do. Now we have a score  to  settle  with  the

Hutts."

28

Viqi Shesh sat regally in the straight-backed chair at the center of  the

deposition balcony, adjusting the fall of her long skirt while  Gotal  Senator

Ta'laam Ranth, head of the Senate Justice Council, studied the display of  the

personal data device he wore on  his  left  wrist.  Shesh's  trio  of  lawyers

occupied the table behind her, but they weren't included in the  twice-normal-

size hologram of Shesh that commanded  the  attention  of  the  amphitheater's

capacity crowd. As a consideration to Ranth,  the  recording  droids  normally

present at closed-session sena torial  inquests  had  been  sequestered  in  a

separate room, to assure that their energy output didn't overwhelm the Gotal's

acute senses.

"Senator Shesh," the furred and flat-nosed Ranth resumed at last, "it has

already been established that the Advisory Council was  briefed  by  Commodore

Brand regarding the  eventual  deployment  of  the  Yald  flotilla,  and  that

Commodore Brand, speaking for the Defense Force command staff, stated  at  the

time that Corellia was assumed to have been targeted for attack."

"That's true," Shesh said in a composed voice.

"Then how is it, Senator, that the flotilla wound up  being  deployed  at

Bothawui?"

Shesh set her interlocked hands in her lap and lifted her chin  slightly.

"Commodore Brand failed to make a convincing case for deploying  the  flotilla

at Corellia, so the matter was put to a vote."

"In his written statement, Chief of State Fey'lya asserts as much," Ranth

said in the monotone that was charac teristic of his species. "But we now know

that it was never the intention of the command staff to argue too strongly  in

favor of Corellia."

Shesh nodded. "As I understand it, Admiral  Sow's  plan  called  for  the

enemy to be lured into the Corellian sector by  leaving  Corellia  undefended.

Deploying the flotilla there would have compromised the admiral's strategy."

Ranth's pair of conelike sensory horns twitched. "In  other  words,  what

passed for a briefing was more in the way of a manipulation."

The most well-tailored of Shesh's human lawyers objected.

"Senator Shesh has been asked to provide an account of the briefing,  not

to pass judgment on the tactics or methods of the New Republic Defense Force."

The five members of the chamber's mixed-species  tribunal  conferred  and

sustained the objection. Ranth was clearly disappointed but forged ahead.

"Senator Shesh, was yours in fact the vote that swayed the council?"

"My vote broke the deadlock, if that's what you mean."

"What convinced you that Bothawui would be targeted?"

"It would be more accurate to say that I didn't believe Corellia would be

attacked."

"Why was that?"

"I didn't accept that the Yuuzhan Vong were prepared to launch an  attack

on the Core."

"Was Fondor mentioned as a possible target?"

"It was not."

"Had Fondor been mentioned, how might you have voted?"  The  same  lawyer

objected, but Ranth quickly waved his furred hand in  dismissal.  "I  withdraw

the question." He approached the deposition balcony. "Did you have occasion to

meet with the command staff prior to the briefing on Corellia?"

Shesh nodded again. "I did. Several days prior to the briefing I met with

Commodore Brand, who asked me to speak with Consul  General  Golga  before  he

departed for NalHutta."

"Did you meet with Golga?"

"Soon after."

"What was the nature of your discussion with the Hutt consul general?"

"We discussed the separate peace the Hutts had forged  with  the  Yuuzhan

Vong, and the possibility  of  their  fur  nishing  intelligence  to  the  New

Republic."

"Did Consul General Golga indicate at the time that the  Hutts  might  be

inclined to provide such intelligence?"

"He implied as much, yes."

"And you were willing to accept him at his word, even  though  the  Hutts

were considered to have allied them selves with the enemy?"

"Objection," another of Shesh's lawyers barked. "It has been demonstrated

that the Hutts attempted to supply intelligence by renewing spice shipments to

Bothawui when it was still being considered a potential target."  Ranth  swung

to the tribunal. "And by so doing, the Hutts only reinforced the  belief  that

Corellia would be targeted instead."

The tribunal's Mon Calamari chief looked at Viqi Shesh.

"Senator, do you wish to answer Senator Ranth's question?"

Shesh smiled faintly. "I can only conclude that the Hutts were trying  to

keep their options open. I also believe that the Yuuzhan Vong were well  aware

of the possibility that the Hutts might attempt to leak  intelligence  to  us,

and that they exploited the possibility as a means of orchestrating the events

that ensued. The fact that Nal Hutta is now bracing for an  invasion  suggests

that Borga was more dupe than conspirator."

The Mon Calamari nodded and fixed one eye on Ranth. "The  Hutts  are  not

the subject of this inquest, Senator. Can you show  good  cause  for  pursuing

this line of questioning?"

Ranth inclined his head, gazing at the tribunal from beneath his  jutting

brow. "I am merely trying to establish the sequence of events that led to  the

sneak attack on Fondor."

"Proceed," the Mon Calamari told him.

Ranth  turned  to  Shesh.  "Senator,  early  on,  the   command   staff's

suppositions about  Corellia  were  bolstered  by  information  regarding  the

scarcity of spice in certain planetary systems. Chief of State Fey'lya asserts

that the Advisory Council was aware that the information had been supplied  by

Talon Karrde and the Jedi Knights."

"We were so informed."

"Can you think of any reason why former Imperial  Remnant  liaison  Talon

Karrde or the Jedi Knights might have wished to mislead the Defense Force?"

The lawyer  nearest  Shesh  shot  to  his  feet.  "Objection.  Calls  for

speculation."

"No, I'll answer it," Shesh countered. "I don't for a moment accept  that

either Talon Karrde or the Jedi were trying to mislead us."

The  Gotal  studied  her.  "Are  you  suggesting  that  they  were   also

manipulated by the enemy?"

Shesh straightened in the chair. "I'm suggesting, Senator, that the  Jedi

are not infallible, and that we shouldn't look to them  as  saviors.  For  all

anyone knows, the Yuuzhan Vong have brought to our galaxy a power superior  to

even that of the Force."

* * *

On a hover platform close to where  the  Justice  Council  was  convened,

Isolder's former  bodyguard,  As-tarta,  opened  the  hatch  to  the  prince's

personal quarters aboard the shuttle that was to  return  the  Hapans  to  the

Battle Dragon Song of War, just then  in  stationary  orbit  above  Coruscant.

Astarta showed Leia her most barbed glare  before  leaving  the  two  of  them

alone.

Isolder was standing at the cabin's broad viewport, his  back  turned  to

the hatch. In the aftermath of the Battle of Fondor, events had  conspired  to

prevent them from seeing each other for almost two weeks, and the Song of  War

was scheduled to launch for Hapes later that day. Leia waited for him to  turn

from the view of Corus-cant's impossibly tall towers before moving toward him,

but the pained expression on his face brought her to a  halt  after  only  two

steps.

"Isolder, I'm so sorry," she blurted, eyes brimming with tears.

He compressed his lips, biting back whatever he had in mind to say,  then

sighed deeply. "Leia, we spoke of this before the fleet left Hapes. I told you

then that I would never hold you accountable for any untoward outcome. We knew

what we were risking by going to war."

Having expected him to say just that, Leia nodded silently.

Frowning, Isolder stepped away from the viewport to regard her. "But  you

knew what was going to happen. You sensed it."

Leia let out her breath. "I sensed some tragedy  in  the  making,  but  I

didn't know when or where, or even if it would transpire. I knew that some  of

what I was feeling owed to concerns for my children. But I  couldn't  separate

those from sudden  doubts  about  having  brought  you  into  this,  or  about

Commodore Brand's strategy for Corellia." Unable to continue,  she  shook  her

head mournfully.

Isolder glanced away from her for a moment. "I've been asking  myself  if

it would be easier to have been defeated by the Yuuzhan Vong  rather  than  by

misdirected fire from a weapon we didn't even know existed."

"A weapon enabled by Anakin," Leia said quietly.  "Who  also  refused  to

fire it,"

Isolder was quick to point out.

"Leia, you must understand, we accept what has happened  to  us,  without

hostility or regret."

She held his sad gaze.

"What will happen now?"

He ran his hand over his mouth.

"Well, I don't anticipate a triumphant  homecoming.  The  Consortium  has

split along lines dictated by the vote that landed us here. The naysayers have

declared a victory, despite the fact that we  have  all  suffered  a  dreadful

loss. They're calling for a policy of isolation-as  if  the  Transitory  Mists

alone will be able to protect us from the long reach of the Yuuzhan Vong."

Leia nodded. "A similar rift has occurred in the New Republic Senate. The

sneak attack on Fondor has gal vanized the Core Worlds into preparing for  the

worst, but at the expense of alienating many of the Inner Rim worlds.  Support

for Fey'lya has been shaken, and the senate will  probably  demote  or  demand

resignations from Commodore Brand  and  Admiral  Sow,  even  though  they  are

desperately needed."

Isolder considered it. "That is the difference between the Consortium and

the New Republic, perhaps between the old and new ways. Representatives of the

New Republic are free to express  their  outrage  without  fear  of  breaching

decorum or provoking an honor duel." Isolder snorted a self-deprecating laugh.

"I don't know which is the best method of governing, but I know that  the  Ha-

pans will put on a brave front. Already the people of my world are saying that

our fleet, though destroyed, saved the day for Fondor and the New Republic."

"And you would have."

Isolder shook his head. "That  is  unknown.  But  we  will  at  our  next

engagement with the Yuuzhan Vong.  I'm  sure  of  that  now,  because  we  are

compelled to make the deaths suffered at Fondor count for something."

"You'll at least have the quick-recharge weapons tech nology Archon Thane

wanted," Leia said.

Isolder worked his jaw. "Scarcely a consolation,  but  it  will  have  to

suffice." He looked  at  Leia.  "War  benefits  those  who  devise  ever  more

expedient methods of de struction. Let us hope we can  outmaster  the  Yuuzhan

Vong at their own game."

* * *

Perched on the edge of his father's favorite chair in their apartment  on

Coruscant, Jacen watched in dismay as a 3-D image of  Thrackan  Sal-Solo  took

shape above  the  HoloNet  well.  The  voice  of  the  Sullustan  news  anchor

continued.

"Former head of the so-called Human League, Thrackan  Sal-Solo  is  being

credited with turning the tide at the Battle of Fondor. While  scores  of  New

Republic warships were  destroyed  in  the  Yuuzhan  Vong's  sneak  attack  on

Fondor's orbital construction facilities, Sal-Solo's bold use of a  hyperspace

repulsor beam not only  drove  the  invaders  into  retreat  but  destroyed  a

significant portion of their fleet."

The well projected an image of Centerpoint Station.  "The  repulsor  beam

was  fired  from  Centerpoint  Station,  in  the  Coreliian   system,   which,

ironically, was used eight years ago during Corellia's  unsuccessful  bid  for

independence from the New Republic. One of the  many  arrested  for  fomenting

that crisis, Sal-Solo was released from  prison  to  assist  in  rearming  the

station, and there are unconfirmed reports that he was the only one willing to

assume the risk of triggering the weapon against the enemy fleet.

"As to what's next for Sal-Solo or Centerpoint, that depends on whom  you

ask. With a vote of no confidence looming for Governor-General Marcha, Duchess

of Mastigophorous, some feel that Sal-Solo will be recruited to head the newly

formed Centerpoint Party, which advocates independence  for  the  five  worlds

that comprise the Coreliian system. Centerpoint Station itself remains in  the

hands of the New Republic, but whether it will-or indeed can-be employed again

as a long-range weapon depends largely  on  how  successful  Coruscant  is  at

justifying the secondary destruction suffered at Fondor by the Hapan fleet."

The images of Sal-Solo and Centerpoint began to derezz, and the head  and

upper torso of the Sullustan news anchor reappeared.

"In other news, a protest demonstration on Ruan, mounted by  a  group  of

recalcitrant droids-"

"You ever going to get tired of listening  to  reports  about  Corellia?"

Anakin interrupted from the doorway to the  family  room.  "We  turned  Cousin

Thrackan into a hero. What else needs to be said?"

Jacen silenced the HoloNet.  "Cheer  up.  At  least  this  report  didn't

mention us by name."

Anakin scowled. "Good. Now all we have to do is  hope  that  Dad  doesn't

hear about it."

"Since when does Dad care about the news? Besides,  you're  the  one  the

HoloNet should be calling a hero."

"For what-enabling Centerpoint?"

"No, for not triggering it. That's what'll make Dad and  Uncle  Luke  and

anyone else who knows the full story proud of you."

Anakin snorted a laugh and shook his head. "You still don't get  it."  He

stared at his brother. "I could have fired  Centerpoint  without  hitting  the

Hapans. I saw it all, Jacen-in my head. I would have known where to direct the

repulsor beam, and precisely when to fire. I even knew that  Glowpoint  wasn't

going to annihilate everyone in Hollowtown."

"Then why didn't you fire? What stopped you?"

"You mean aside from your telling me not to?"

Jacen's brows knitted in concern. "You were that sure of yourself?"

"Yeah, I was. And my actions would have been  defensive.  If  someone  is

aiming a blaster at your ally, do you raise your lightsaber to prevent it,  or

do you do nothing because a Jedi isn't supposed to take aggressive  action?  I

mean, where's the line, Jacen? We're in a  war  for  sur  vival,  and  defense

sometimes means having to eliminate the opposition."

Jacen shook his head. "I don't know where the line  is,  and  I  promised

myself on Ithor that I'd stop trying to look for it. I just think there has to

be some other way of responding-without having to raise a sword to deflect one

raised against you."

Anakin smirked. "Well, when you figure it out, I hope you'll let me in on

it."

Jacen looked up at him. "Oh, I will, brother. You can count on that."

* * *

As they had done on Karrde's previous visit to Yavin 4,  Luke  and  Talon

followed the winding path to the Great Temple.

"All I managed to do was place the Jedi in a worse po sition with the New

Republic Senate and military," Karrde was saying. "That's why I felt I had  to

apologize in person."

"No one is expecting an apology," Luke told him. "If actions were  always

judged by their consequence, we'd spend half our lives making amends. You came

to us with a plan, and we went along with it. We're partners in the outcome."

Karrde looked skeptical. "Unfortunately, that kind of  reasoning  doesn't

go far with Borsk Fey'lya and his al lies. As happened after Ithor, they  need

someone to blame for what happened at Fondor, and I've set the Jedi up as  the

perfect fall guys."

Luke took a moment to respond. When he had first learned of the events at

Fondor, he had felt betrayed - not by Karrde so much as by the  Force.  Almost

as betrayed as he'd felt when Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda had  conspired  to  keep

secret the real identity of his father. But the sense of betrayal  had  passed

through him in an instant. The Force hadn't concealed anything  from  him;  he

had simply misunderstood that it was the Yuuzhan Vong rather than the Jedi who

were employing deception, stealth, and misdirection. What continued to  bother

him, though, was the possibility that the mere presence of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

was enough to mute the clarity of the Force.

"Success and failure  are  sometimes  intertwined,"  Luke  said  finally.

"Inadvertently or not, the Hutts misled us. But it was their information  that

allowed Kyp and Ganner to  rescue  those  held  captive  aboard  the  yam-mosk

vessel." Karrde allowed a nod. "Everyone is too busy assigning blame  to  note

the rescue of the captives or the destruction of the yammosk vessel. I'm  only

sorry that Kyp didn't arrive in time to save Skidder."

"Wurth made his choice on Gyndine."

Luke left it at that, choosing not to add that  Skidder's  sacrifice  had

widened the gulf between Kyp's faction and  some  of  the  other  Jedi.  Where

Skidder had sought to avenge the deaths of Miko Reglia and  Daeshara'cor,  Kyp

and those who stood by him now had Skidder's death to avenge.

"If the Hutts deliberately misled us, they were repaid in  kind,"  Karrde

said bitterly. "Fondor was one of the most profitable markets for the Besadii,

and they lost some of their  finest  ships  and  most  enterprising  smugglers

during the battle. Now Borga has to prepare for war with only half  the  clans

supporting her and the rest holding her responsible  for  the  Yuuzhan  Vong's

betrayal. Several clan leaders have decamped Nal  Hutta  for  Ganath,  Ylesia,

even Tatooine, and with the Yuuzhan Vong fleet blockading Hutt space, the  New

Republic couldn't help even if it wanted  to.  Borga  will  be  lucky  if  she

doesn't birth her child prematurely."

Karrde came to a sudden halt in the middle of the path and swung to Luke.

"Do you think the Yuuzhan Vong realize what they've accomplished? They've

sundered the Hutts, created a schism in the senate, taken the  Hapans  out  of

the war, sabotaged the import of the Jedi."

Before Luke could respond, he added, "Did you have any inkling  it  could

end this way?"

Luke heard the voice of his former Jedi Master: Always in motion  is  the

future. Hard to see...

"The future isn't fixed," he said. "It's made up of pos sibilities. I saw

without seeing."

Karrde blew out his breath. "What can we do now?"

Decide you must how to serve them best. Help  them  you  could.  But  you

would destroy all for which they have fought and suffered.

Luke took Karrde by the shoulders. "We can learn from our mistakes."

* * *

Leia had raced home from the shuttle departure platform only to find that

Anakin and Jacen had already left. Now,  with  Isolder's  cheerless  departure

still on her mind and C-3PO and Olmahk  helping  her  pack  for  an  afternoon

flight to Duro, the house comm system chirped, chirping insistently even after

she had activated the answer-message function.

Throwing her hands up in a gesture of surrender, she accepted  the  call.

Han's was the last face she expected to see appear on the display screen.

"It's just me," he said, smiling lopsidedly while she gaped at his image,

feeling as if months had passed since they had spoken. The display showed that

he was calling from an Abregado-rae space terminal.

"I see you shaved off your beard," she said finally. He rubbed his  chin.

"Yeah, too itchy."

"Well, at least you look like your old self again." He  scowled,  started

to say something, then began again.

"Grim business about what  happened  to  the  Ha-pans  at  Fondor.  How's

Isolder doing?"

"I figured you'd hear the news sooner or later-even in a playground  like

Abregado-rae."

"Hear about it?" Han said. "I saw it!"

"You what?"

"I was there-at Fondor."

"You were at Fondor," she echoed in disbelief.

"Droma and I were chasing after his clanmates. Some of them  had  managed

to get themselves marooned in a deserted shipyard facility, and the rest  were

prisoners aboard a yammosk ship. Anyway, it's a long, boring story. The  point

is, I saw the Hapan fleet get wiped out. But I thought Fondor's  primary  went

nova. I didn't know it was Centerpoint."

Leia pushed her hair back from her forehead. "You realize that Anakin and

Jacen were there."

Han took his lower lip between his teeth. "Did they fire it?"

Leia's nostrils flared. "Do you think they'd do something like that?"

Han's brow furrowed. "Take it easy. You know I don't listen to the news."

Leia thought about telling him about Thrackan Sal-Solo's sudden  rise  to

fame, but decided against it, knowing that Han would find out soon enough.

"Where did you bring the refugees you rescued?"

"Here. But they can't stay for  long.  Abregado-rae  is  pulling  in  the

welcome mat."

Leia sighed. "SELCORE is searching for a world  suitable  for  relocating

everyone. We thought we were going to be able to count on Ruan,  but  Salliche

Ag is suddenly refusing to accept any refugees."

Han averted his eyes momentarily. "About Ruan," he started to say.

"SELCORE is getting some unexpected help from Senator Shesh,"  Leia  went

on. "I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything."

Han nodded. "Long as  it's  somewhere  the  Ryn  won't  be  treated  like

riffraff."

"You have my word on  it."  Leia  paused,  then  added,  "Will  Droma  be

remaining with his clanmates?"

"Yeah. The way I figure it, he and I are about even."

"So where does that leave you, Han?"

"I'm not sure. What about you-are you finally home for good?"

"I'm leaving this afternoon for Duro."

"Same old Princess Leia," he said with a sneer. "Then I guess it  doesn't

matter where I end up."

She narrowed her eyes for the cam. "Same old Han Solo."

He tried to lighten the moment with a laugh. "We are a pair, aren't we?"

"I don't know, Han. You tell me."

His eyes flashed. "Well, look, be sure to let me know what planet SELCORE

decides on."

"Anything to help the refugees," Leia said with coun terfeit good humor.

"That's what I've been saying all along."

Leia folded her arms. "In that case, our paths are bound to cross one  of

these days."

"I don't know, sweetheart, it's a big galaxy."

"Only as big as you make it," she said, deactivating the comm.

* * *

In her new office, Viqi Shesh  watched  a  full-color  3-D  recording  of

herself being interviewed by reporters as she had  emerged  from  the  closed-

session inquest into the command staff's monumental blunder regarding Corellia

and Fondor. Although she had been compelled to answer

"No comment" to most of the reporters' questions, she  decided  that  she

had carried herself well and had surely succeeded in  stealing  the  limelight

from Senator Ta'laam Ranth and others.

The holorecording was about to recycle when the intercom built  into  her

greel-wood desk sounded a tone.

"Senator Shesh," her human secretary said, "there's a Pedric Cuf here  to

see you. He admits to not having an appointment, but he claims that  you  have

been trying to contact him for the past few months."

Shesh zeroed the holoprojector and leaned back in her swivel chair. "I've

been trying to contact him?"

"That's what he says."

When Shesh glanced at the holo display for the reception room, she saw  a

very tall and gaunt human smiling for the cam. "Send him  in,"  she  told  her

secretary.

Cuf entered the office a moment later, tendering a  brief  but  dignified

bow before settling into the armchair to which she waved him.

"I have long anticipated this meeting," he began in Core-accented  Basic.

"I had hoped to speak with you sooner, but I've been preoccupied with business

matters in the Outer Rim and in Hutt space."

Shesh brought her interlaced hands to her lips and studied Cuf  over  the

tops of her extended forefingers. "I trust  that  matters  concluded  to  your

satisfaction."

Cuf smiled without  showing  his  teeth.  "To  be  perfectly  honest,  my

associates and I were recently taken somewhat by surprise by a hostile bid for

power by a Corel-lian firm. But, otherwise, yes, everything has  been  working

out to our satisfaction."

Shesh could feel the blood racing through her veins, but she  managed  to

keep her composure. "Why have you come to see me now?"

"My superiors thought it a good idea that we become acquainted. To  begin

with, they wanted to thank you for your efforts of some months past, in seeing

to it that some missing property was returned to us."

Cuf let the statement  hang  in  the  air.  Shesh  guessed  that  he  was

referring to Elan, the phony defector the Yu-uzhan Vong had attempted to foist

on the Jedi Knights, but she couldn't be certain that he wasn't a New Republic

Intelligence agent, hoping to trick her into revealing her part  in  that

affair or the Fondor calamity.

"I don't recall helping return any property to you,"  she  said  after  a

moment. "And to be frank, I don't recall attempting to  contact  you.  Perhaps

you have me confused with someone else."

Pedric Cuf stared at her. "I see. Well, perhaps I have made a mistake. It

wouldn't be the first time a Hutt has led me astray."

"A Hutt," Shesh said.

Cuf laughed shortly. "And here I was, all set to launch into a discussion

regarding the eventual disposition of"-he gestured broadly to the  windows  at

Shesh's back-"all this." He stood up. "A pity we can't do business, Senator. I

suspect we would have made a good team." She watched him head  for  the  door,

then said, "Did I mention that I like your suit?"

He stopped and turned to her, his smile back in place.

"Yes,  it  fits  me  like  a  glove,  don't  you  think?  Masks  all   my

imperfections, truly allows me to blend in. I  had  it  specially  made  by  a

company that's simply out of this world."

"Does the company produce a line of women's wear?"

"They offer an exquisite line. In fact, I'm certain they could supply you

with outfits perfectly tailored to your needs." Cuf paused briefly. "That  is,

of course, if you might, on  occasion,  be  willing  to  put  business  before

politics."

Shesh waved Cuf back to the chair. "Politics is a practical  profession,"

she said. "If someone has what you need, then you do business with him or  you

go without. And personally, I've always been more interested in busi ness than

I have in politics."