Star Wars

The New Jedi Order

Enemy Lines II

Rebel Stand

by Aaron Allston

sended by Lady Nenya,

OCR/SC by Hungry Ewok Gryzley

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks go to:

My personal Inner Circle,  Dan  Hamman,  Nancy  Deet,  Debhy  Dragoo,  Sean

Fallesen, Kelly Frieders, Helen Keier, Lucien Lockhart, and  Kris  Shindler;  My

Eagle-Eyes, Luray Richmond and Sean Summers;  The  authors  of  New  Jedi  Order

novels past and future (with special thanks to Elaine  Cunningham,  for  efforts

above and beyond the call of duty in setting up the handoff); Dan  Wallace,  for

questions answered; My agent, Russ Galen; and Shelly  Shapiro  and  Kathleen  O.

David of Del Rey, and Sue Rostoni of Lucas Licensing.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The Jedi

Luke Skywalker; Jedi Master (male human)

Mara Jade Skywalker; Jedi Master (female human)

Jaina Solo; Jedi Knight, Twin Suns leader (human female)

Kyp Durron; Jedi Master, Twin Suns pilot (human male)

Corran Horn; Jedi Knight, Rogue Squadron pilot (human male)

Tahiri Veila; Jedi student (human female)

With the New Republic Military

General Wedge Antilles (male human)

Colonel Tycho Celchu (male human)

Colonel Gavin Darklighter; Rogue Squadron leader (male human)

Captain Kral Nevil; Rogue Squadron pilot (Quarren male)

Flight Officer Leth Liav; Rogue Squadron pilot (Sullustan female)

Captain Garik "Face" Loran; Wraith Squadron leader (human male)

Kell Tainer (male human)

Elassar Targon (male Devaronian)

Bhindi Drayson (female human)

Baljos Arnjak (male human)

Iella Wessiri Antilles; Intelligence director (female human)

Jagged Fel; Twin Suns pilot (human male)

Zindra Daine; Twin Suns pilot (female human)

Voort "Piggy" saBinring; Twin Suns pilot (male Gamorrean)

Beelyath; Twin Suns pilot (male Mon Calamari)

Sharr Latt; Twin Suns pilot (male human)

Tilath Keer; Twin Suns pilot (female human)

Shawnkyr Nuruodo; Vanguard Squadron leader (female Chiss)

Commander Eldo Davip; captain, Lusankya (male human)

YVH 1-1A (masculine droid)

Civilians

Danni Quee; scientist (female human)

Wolam Tser; holodocumentarian (male human)

Tam Elgrin; holocam operator (male human)

Han Solo; captain, Millennium Falcon (male human)

Leia Organa Solo; Republic ambassador (female human)

With the Yuuzhan Vang

Tsavong Lah; warmaster (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Czulkang Lah; commander (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Nen Yim; shaper (female Yuuzhan Vong)

Kasdakh Buhl; warrior (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Maal Lah; warrior (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Denua Ku; warrior (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Viqi Shesh; former Senator (female human)

Harrar; priest (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Takhaff Uul; priest (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Ghithra Dal; shaper (male Yuuzhan Vong}

ONE

Pyria System

Jaina Solo banked her X-wing starfighter into as tight a turn as she  could

endure. The g-forces of her maneuver crushed her into her seat, but  she  called

upon the Force to protect her, to keep her centimeters away  from  the  edge  of

blackout.

She came out of the maneuver pointed back  the  way  she'd  come,  directly

toward the Star Destroyer Rebel Dream and the partial squadron of  Yuuzhan  Vong

coral-skippers beyond the ship, and spared a glance to  her  sensor  board.  The

other members of her shield trio, Kyp Durron and Jag Fel, were right  alongside-

no problem for Jag and his Chiss clawcraft, far nimbler than  the  X-wings,  but

the turn had to have been as taxing for Kyp as it was for Jaina.  On  the  other

hand, Kyp was a Jedi Master, not just a Jedi Knight, not  yet  twenty  years  of

age.

Jaina and her shieldmates passed beneath Rebel Dream, her tremendous length

flashing overhead in an instant. "All right, here's the plan," she said. "We  go

in looking like we're going to punch into the center  of  their  formation,  but

instead we turn to starboard and skirt along its edge. As each target comes  up,

we concentrate fire on it, just like those drills we did. Ready?"

Kyp's voice was smooth, controlled: "Always ready, Goddess."

Jag merely clicked his comlink once for affirmative.

"Fire and break."

As the foremost of the oncoming coralskippers came within firing range,  it

began unloading a stream of tiny red glows in their direction. Each glow  was  a

couple of kilograms of superheated molten  rock,  plasma.  In  the  coldness  of

space, these projectiles  would  rapidly  cool,  but  during  the  seconds  they

remained heated they were deadly weapons capable of burning through  starfighter

armor as though it were sheet ice.

Jaina set her lasers to dual fire and waited. A brief  instant  later,  she

felt Kyp reach out to her through the Force, taking  momentary  control  of  her

hand on the pilot's  yoke.  She  felt  herself  aim  and  fire  on  the  distant

coralskipper. Kyp's lasers flashed at the same instant, Jag's a  fraction  of  a

second later.

In the distance, Jaina's shot disappeared as a tiny  black  singularity,  a

miniature black hole called a void, appeared at the  bow  of  the  coralskipper.

Kyp's vanished into an identical void a meter or so back. But  Jag's  shot,  one

too many for the skip's voids to intercept, punched into the  vehicle's  canopy.

There was a brief flash  from  within  and  the  coral-skipper's  flight  became

ballistic instead of controlled.

Jaina, back in full control of her motions, banked and turned to starboard,

her wingmates keeping in tight, controlled formation; ahead of her was a  second

coral-skipper, then a third. She reached out for Kyp,  let  him  fire,  regained

control, reoriented, reached for Kyp, let him fire-

In seconds two more coralskippers were flaming wrecks in space.  She  knew,

without consulting the sensor hoard, that the skips from the other side of  that

formation had to be angling in toward her from her port side; she stood  her  X-

wing on its tail, relative to its  previous  course,  and  rose  away  from  the

conflict zone, forcing those coral-skippers to give chase-away from  Mon  Mothma

and that ship's mission.

In the distance, Mon Mothma entered the zone of dovin basal mines. Her  own

complement of fighters-E-wings, X-wings, and TIE interceptors-boiled out of  her

fighter bays and streaked off into the darkness, toward the ship they  had  come

to escort, to protect.

Coruscant

Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, walked point, meters ahead of the rest of  his

party.

He knew he'd never be recognized as Luke Skywalker, despite  his  fame.  He

wore vonduun crab armor, the preferred defensive dress of Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

His was artificial, made of lightweight materials carefully textured and colored

to resemble the living arthropod plates of the Yuuzhan  Vong,  but  he  actually

preferred that; some of his companions, wearing the real thing, had to deal with

the occasional twitches and contractions  made  by  living  armor.  Beneath  the

armor, he wore a body stocking in pale gray with  blue  highlights  that  was  a

close match for some Yuuzhan Vong skin tones. Except for his  height,  handspans

shorter than that of the average Yuuzhan Vong warrior, he was a visual match for

the enemy.

Not that he'd be easy to see in his  current  surroundings.  He  was  in  a

pedestrian traffic corridor, the sort that continued from building  to  building

via enclosed, elevated walkways, at about the hundred-story level. This had once

been a well-to-do residential building, with only a  few  well-appointed  suites

per floor. Every door into the corridor had been smashed in, but  the  state  of

the chambers beyond-stripped  of  valuables,  but  with  common  machinery  left

intact-suggested that it had been looters rather than Yuuzhan Vong at work here.

And the smell of decay was  everywhere.  They'd  stumbled  across  numerous

remains of Coruscant residents-some the obvious victims of violence, some  whose

deaths had no clear cause, most in advanced stages of decomposition.

How much food had there been in these people's  kitchens  at  the  time  of

Coruscant's fall and the utter demolition of its infrastructure? How much  water

would they have been able to find? On a world with no wilderness, no  farmlands,

no means of obtaining food other than now impossible import and  machinery  that

was vulnerable to destruction by the enemy, it was very possible that  a  simple

majority of the population of Coruscant was already dead,  with  the  proportion

growing every day.

In some places the stench of rot was greater, in some places lesser, but it

was everywhere. Luke and most  of  his  companions  now  had  patches  of  cloth

saturated with a mild perfume stuffed into their  nostrils.  Face  had  supplied

them. Luke didn't want to know what experiences

Face had gone through to give him the foreknowledge to bring a large supply

of that perfume.

As Luke neared the edge of this building  and  the  start  of  one  of  the

connecting walkways, he shut off his glow rod, which itself  was  engineered  to

resemble a Yuuzhan Vong illumination creature. Dim sunlight spilled in from  the

opening  to  the  walkway,  indicating  that  the  walkway  was  the  sort  with

transparisteel panels providing what had once been a breathtaking view  of  this

part of the world-city.

He felt, as well as heard, Mara catch up to him. "You  did  the  last  one,

farmboy," she said.

He gave her a look. She, too, was dressed in Yuuzhan Vong combat armor  and

an appropriately colored body stocking. But for the shape of her chin and  mouth

beneath the edge of her helmet, she was unrecognizable as his wife. "You did the

one before that."

"My turn." That was Garik "Face" Loran, onetime actor, longtime team leader

in New Republic Intelligence. About half his usual team, designated the Wraiths,

were along on this mission. He was totally unrecognizable; in  addition  to  the

vonduun crab armor, he wore an ooglith masquer, a type of living  mask  employed

by the Yuuzhan Vong, that had been engineered by Wraith member Baljos Arnjak  to

resemble the branded, mutilated face of  a  Yuuzhan  Vong  warrior.  He  stopped

beside Mara. "Kiss for luck?" He puckered  the  alien  face's  slitted,  mangled

lips. She  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know  whether  to  mark  that  down  as

'exceptionally daring' or 'unusually stupid.' " Face chuckled.  He  shucked  his

pack free and extracted a coil of cord from it, then  continued  forward,  tying

one end of the coil around his waist. He handed  the  other  end  and  the  coil

itself to Luke. "Kiss for luck?"

"Get out of here."

They reached the large aperture providing access to the walkway.  Like  the

corridor itself, it was wide  enough  for  four  large  humans  easily  to  walk

abreast, but it was lined on either side and above  with  transparisteel  panels

reinforced by  metal  supports.  Through  the  transparisteel,  Luke  could  see

surrounding buildings, most of them coated by green algaelike scum or patches of

alien grasses. Many of the buildings seemed to be in an  advanced  condition  of

decay, with crumbled roofs and rounded edges.

Face moved ahead on the walkway, each step tentative. Luke couldn't see the

far end of the walkway; it was bowed in the middle, higher there than at  either

end, the better to support great weights, and  was  at  least  fifty  meters  in

length, crossing over what had once been a broad boulevard.

When Face was ten meters away, Luke's  helmet  comlink  popped,  then  came

alive with Face's whispered words: "No excess creaking. This  one  seems  pretty

solid."

The other members of Luke's group moved up to the near end of the  walkway.

All were in Yuuzhan Vong armor, either real like Face's or fake like Luke's.

The largest "warrior," with distinctive  black-and-silver  tracery  on  his

mask and torso armor, was Kell Tainer, a Wraith,  fond  of  machinery  and  high

explosives, a skilled hand-to-hand combatant.

Then there were the two "Domain Kraal" sets of armor,  colored  in  swirled

silver and coral-pink hues, taken from warriors  who'd  occupied  the  world  of

Borleias before the splintering New Republic had regained it. The one  with  the

more pointed helmet was worn by Baljos Arnjak, the Wraiths'  expert  on  Yuuzhan

Vong society and organic technology; the other, whose broader helmet had  larger

eyeholes, was worn by Bhindi Drayson, a woman with a broad range of intelligence

skills, including military tactics, computers, and robotics. Bhindi's  face  was

marred by hard-wearing makeup that, short of close inspection, made it look like

her lips were cut to tatters and the remainder of her face was tattooed.  Baljos

wore another of the ooglith masquers, his with a pair of tusks jutting from  the

lowest portion of the chin.

Next was Elassar Targon, a Devaronian, the Wraiths' medic. He wore a  gray-

and-green set of artificial armor; the  thought  of  wearing  living  armor  had

apparently filled him  with  supernatural  dread.  Even  now,  as  he  kept  his

attention fixed on Face's progress, his right  hand  was  engaged  in  making  a

series of gestures. Were they to keep the Yuuzhan Vong at bay, or to  keep  Face

safe? Luke didn't know, and Elassar did this sort of thing so habitually that he

probably didn't realize he was doing it.

Beside him was  Danni  Quee,  the  New  Republic  scientist  who  had  been

responsible for so many  technological  developments  in  the  war  against  the

Yuuzhan Vong. She wore the all-black armor, a living  set  that  had  originally

been slated for Elassar; it was a touch too large for Danni and she was  awkward

moving in it. With  a  moment  of  rest  available  to  her,  she  dug  a  small

electromagnetic radiation sensor out of her bag and  began  sampling  the  local

environment. Danni and Elassar also wore makeup, though it was more effective on

his typically diabolical, red-skinned Devaronian face than on her even features.

Tahiri Veila stayed meters to the rear of the party, guarding the  approach

from that direction. She was the third Jedi in the group. Still a teenager,  she

was officially a Jedi apprentice; in all but official recognition, however,  she

was a Jedi Knight because of the skills and experience she'd  accumulated  since

the Yuuzhan Vong invasion began. Things changed so fast in these war years  that

testing hadn't kept up with the advancement of her generation of Jedi. Hers  was

a rust-colored set of armor, and the no-skid soles of her  body-stockinged  feet

were doubtless better, to her mind, than wearing shoes or boots, but not as good

as going barefoot, her habitual preference. She  wore  the  last  of  the  three

ooglith masquers, hers showing four sharp nail-like spikes protruding from  each

cheek and deep, red crisscross scar patterns on her jaws and neck.

Luke looked at her. He hardly needed the  Force  to  sense  the  pain  that

seemed to be her constant companion these days. Her best friend,  Luke's  nephew

Anakin Solo, had died not long ago-died during a successful but  costly  mission

to destroy the source of the voxyn creatures that had proven so adept at hunting

and killing Jedi. Since then, Tahiri had, except for  occasional  moments,  worn

silence and distance like a set of Jedi robes.

Luke had authorized that mission of the young Jedi, and many  of  them  had

died. It was hard at times to look Han and Leia, Anakin's parents, in  the  eye.

And now he was leading yet another mission in which a young  Jedi  would  be  in

peril. He wondered sometimes if he would ever be allowed  to  quit  sending  the

young off to suffer pain and death.

Probably not, he thought. I'm not that lucky.

"I'm at the midpoint," Face whispered. "Still no creaking. I'll jump up and

down at the far end to make sure the attachment there is still secure,  and-wait

a second. I see some movement..."

Then there was a new voice, a shout in the Yuuzhan Vong language from  well

beyond Face. The tizowyrm-a Yuuzhan Vong organic translator-installed in  Luke's

ear gave him the words in Basic: "Stop where you are! Tell me your name, domain,

and mission!"

Luke tossed the coil to Baljos. "Leave the packs here." He  moved  forward,

Mara and Kell with him, and heard the running feet  of  Tahiri  coming  up  from

behind. The four of them were the only ones with much  of  a  chance  in  direct

battle with fully trained Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

Both normally and through his helmet  comlink,  Luke  heard  Face's  reply,

shouted in the Yuuzhan Vong language, with to  what  Luke  sounded  like  proper

aggression and inflection: "I am Faka Rann. My mission  is  the  destruction  of

abominations and the training of my warriors. Do not hinder me."

As Luke, Mara, Kell, and Tahiri came closer to Face, they  could  see  down

the incline  on  the  other  side,  where  a  party  of  Yuuzhan  Vong  warriors

approached. Luke saw seven of them, most already holding  amphistaffs  in  their

hands.  The  serpentlike  amphistaffs  were  currently  stiff,   m   staff/spear

configuration. Face was fiddling with the fake  amphistaff  wrapped  around  his

waist, but Luke could see that he was actually freeing the cord.

Luke came up beside Face  and  stood  there,  arms  crossed,  a  stance  of

defiance and arrogance. Mara came to a stop beside him, Tahiri and Kell  on  the

other side of Face. Kell unwrapped the false  amphistaff  from  around  his  own

waist and triggered it, snapping it into rigidity, an artful  imitation  of  the

use of the genuine weapons, though his would never stand up  to  the  rigors  of

combat.

The oncoming unit of warriors halted  ten  meters  away  and  their  leader

looked at Luke and the others. "This is our designated zone," he said. "Who  has

commanded you to hunt here?"

"No one has commanded us!" Face's tone was sharp and mocking, even  through

the tizowyrm's translation. "We are not on duty. We seek personal glory."

"If you are not on duty, your mission is subordinate to ours. Make way."

Luke knew that no true Yuuzhan Vong warrior would respond well  to  such  a

command, and he sighed inwardly. There was going to be a  fight.  He  moved  his

knee until he could feel his lightsaber where it dangled from his belt under the

armor's skirt plates.

"If you are on duty," Face said, "then your mission is less important  than

ours, for you hunt only at your superiors' orders,  while  we  hunt  because  it

makes us great. You make way."

The enemy leader stared at Face. Then the brief stalemate ended as  it  had

to; the leader charged, his warriors with him in two lines.

Face dropped back, allowing the more skilled combatants to  close  the  gap

where he'd been. The enemy leader hurtled toward him as if to shoot between Luke

and Kell to reach him anyway, whirling his amphistaff to slam Luke  out  of  the

way, but Luke went up and over the charge in a  somersault  made  only  slightly

clumsy by his false alien armor.

While he was inverted, he saw Kell catch the leader and spin him  back  and

around, slamming him powerfully into one of the  transparisteel  panels  on  the

side of the walkway. The panel held, but the metal restraints holding it failed;

warrior and panel punched free of the walkway. The warrior  screamed,  flailing,

as he dropped from view.

Luke landed and brought his lightsaber out from beneath  the  skirt  plates

even as he heard the snap-hiss of Mara's and Tallin's blades igniting.  His  lit

just in time to catch the thrust  from  an  amphistaff.  He  shoved  the  deadly

pointed tip of the weapon out of alignment, let it slide past him, and riposted.

The warrior he faced caught the lightsaber blade on the amphistaff's  upper  end

and the blade bounced away, leaving only the  faintest  of  burn  marks  on  the

amphistaff neck.

His opponent screamed, "Jeedai!" The cry was picked up and repeated by  the

other five warriors facing them - and then by other voices, farther back.

Luke parried a thud bug hurled his way by one of the warriors in the second

rank, then made a wild swing at the  warrior  in  front  of  him.  That  fighter

ducked, but he was not the true target; Luke's blow continued onto  the  arm  of

Tahiri's opponent to his right, hitting it at the  unprotected  elbow,  severing

it. That warrior roared, more, it seemed, in anger than in pain, as his arm  and

amphistaff dropped to the walkway floor. Tahiri took advantage of the moment  to

kick him, propelling the warrior back into the second rank. Meanwhile, in Luke's

peripheral vision, Mara deftly incinerated a  razor  bug  hurled  at  her,  then

parried a hard swing from a front-rank amphistaff and a thrust from  another  in

the second row.

Then Luke could see them,  more  warriors  running  toward  them  from  the

building opposite. He couldn't count  them;  he  thought  there  were  at  least

twenty, and more were emerging from that walkway opening every second. Most were

screaming, "Jeedai!"

Kell Tainer turned and  ran.  Luke  caught  a  glimpse  of  Tahiri's  eyes,

startled and betrayed, through her helmet faceplate before  she  ducked  beneath

the swing of her next opponent. Before she could straighten, a burst of blaster-

fire filled the air above her. Most of it  was  absorbed  or  deflected  by  her

opponent's vonduun crab armor, but one shot caught the warrior in the throat. He

fell back, his throat smoking, and Luke could see Face standing directly  behind

Tahiri, blaster rifle in hand. Even as Tahiri rose, Face let off the trigger and

took a half step left, out of Luke's  peripheral  vision,  waiting  for  another

target.

Luke kicked the severed arm and its amphistaff up  into  the  face  of  his

opponent, then followed with a simple thrust to the head. That warrior  was  too

canny or experienced for such a ploy; unflinching, he let the  arm  bounce  from

his helmet and deflected the thrust with his amphistaff.

Then the next wave of warriors reached them, and suddenly  there  were  too

many amphistaffs, thud bugs, razor bugs, and knifelike  coufees  to  stand  firm

against. Luke found himself forced backward step after step even as he parried a

blow, incinerated a razor bug, plunged his lightsaber  blade  into  a  warrior's

throat. "Fighting retreat!" he shouted.

Something arced between Luke and Mara from behind. It looked  like  a  flat

black box, about the size of human hand, with glowing letters or numbers on  one

side. And Kell was once again in Luke's peripheral  vision,  this  time  with  a

blaster, holding it high over the head of the Jedi, pouring fire down  into  the

Yuuzhan Vong. "Suggest we retreat fast" he shouted. "Ten."

"What was that?" Luke asked. Instead of blocking the next  amphistaff  blow

to come his way, he leaned  forward  before  the  blow  began  and  whipped  his

lightsaber across his new opponent's wrist, severing the holding hand.

"You know what it was. Seven. Six."

Luke began to back away fast. Mara and Tahiri kept pace with him, and  Face

and Kell kept up the blasterfire, joined by an occasional single-shot blast from

their allies behind.

They'd almost backed into the opening to the building when Kell's explosive

charge detonated. Suddenly the walkway in the midst of the  Yuuzhan  Vong  force

was a wall of fire rushing toward them.

Luke exerted himself, hurling himself  backward  with  use  of  the  Force,

yanking Mara and Tahiri with  him.  They  landed  several  meters  back  in  the

building corridor, still deflecting thrown thud bugs and razor  bugs.  Then  the

fiery flash from the explosion roared across the intervening  Yuuzhan  Vong  and

past the Jedi, momentarily blinding Luke, hammering him backward.  Sure  in  his

sense of where the other Jedi and Wraiths were, he whirled his lightsaber  in  a

defensive motion he seldom used outside of practice, felt it hit something  hard

and unyielding.

Then the heat and brightness were past. He found he was locked,  lightsaber

against amphistaff, with a warrior whose back was smoking. Three other  warriors

stood among him and his allies, though two were now dancing in concentrated fire

from the Wraiths and Danni Quee. The last, in the  middle  of  a  quite  elegant

snap-kick against Mara, was receiving her lightsaber thrust  up  and  under  his

skirt plates.

Luke kicked out, catching his opponent in the center of the torso,  sending

him hurtling. The warrior staggered back to the walkway aperture... then dropped

out of sight with a shout of surprise.

The walkway was gone. Only smoke and the jagged edges  where  it  had  once

joined the building suggested it had ever been there. Even with his ears ringing

from the explosion, Luke could hear the smashing, grinding noise as its wreckage

descended three or four hundred meters to the boulevard below.

They stood panting for a moment, Jedi, Wraiths, and scientist,  staring  at

one another. Finally Luke said, "Anyone hurt?"

"I got grazed by a thud bug," Danni said. "But it hit the  armor.  It  only

knocked me down."

"Something of a disastrous encounter," Luke decided. "But at least we don't

have any injuries."

"It was a very successful encounter," Face said. "Very promising."

Luke frowned. "How so? Now they know we're here. That Jedi are here."

"No. First, I think they were all on the walkway. So  no  one  alive  knows

that Jedi are here."

"Until  they  find  the  bodies,"  Mara  pointed  out.  "With   distinctive

lightsaber burns on them."

Face shrugged. "You have me on that one. But second, more important,  until

those lightsabers came out, they believed we were Vong. The  disguises,  and  my

extraordinary diligence in learning some conversational Yuuzan Vong  during  the

last couple of years, are working. We can expect them to work again."

"Good point."

Face's tone became professionally worried. "So, does that count as my turn,

or do I have to check out the next walkway?"

Luke grinned. "It counts as your turn."

"The next one," Kell said, "will be twenty or  thirty  flights  down.  We'd

better get to it."

Bhindi slapped the back of Kell's helmet. "That one is going to  have  been

hit by debris from this one, Explosion Boy. We go up."

His tone subdued, Kell said, "I knew that."

Borleias, Pyria System

Han Solo, upside down and up to his waist in  machinery  beneath  the  deck

plating of the Millennium Falcon, heard and  felt  footsteps  approaching.  They

were light, precise - Leia.  That  meant  there  would  be  a  second  set,  the

footsteps of Meewalh, Leia's Noghri bodyguard, but Han had never actually  heard

them.

A desire to finish patching  the  coupling  he  was  working  on  kept  him

inverted and incurious-that, and the fact that  he  knew  that  if  Leia  had  a

problem, her walking Pace wouldn't be normal. "Artoo, you want to  hand  me  the

electrical flow meter?" He extended a hand up into the air.

R2-D2, Luke's astromech droid, responded with a series of cheerful whistles

and bleats. Han heard the whine of a manipulator arm being  extended,  felt  the

meter being pressed into his hand. Then he heard his wife's voice: "Do you think

if I poked him, he'd bang his head into the flooring?"

R2-D2's blatted response sounded definitely affirmative.

"You better hope she doesn't, Artoo," Han said. "I can't take revenge on my

wife, so I'll have to take it on the nearest droid at hand."

R2-D2 replied with a distinctly sour set of notes, then Han heard the droid

whir away. "What did he say?" Han asked.

Leia laughed. "I don't know. But if I were him, it would be, I'll go  fetch

See-Threepio, then."

"Good point." Han clipped the flow meter to the wires he'd just  installed.

"You want to power up the holo-comm for me?"

"Are you down there with your head in the holocomm power cables?"

"Yes."

"No."

"I can't tell if the power flow is right if you don't."

"Come on up out of there and leave the meter where you can see the readout.

"

Han growled. He knew, deep in his heart, that nothing could go wrong,  that

the Falcon would never hurt him while he was working on her.  He  knew  this  in

spite of  innumerable  minor  abrasions,  contusions,  and  electrocutions  he'd

suffered over the years. But Leia remained stubbornly unconvinced.

He also knew, from long experience, that Leia was not going to leave  until

she was sure he wasn't going to do something she considered  foolish.  He  could

either wait here upside down forever, or do it her way.

So he situated the meter where he could see  the  readout  from  above.  He

shoved his way up and out of the access  and  turned  an  artificially  cheerful

smile on Leia. "Happy?"

"Happy. You're very red."

"That's what happens when you stay upside down for too long.  Could  I  get

you some caf? Something to read? For while  you're  here  managing  this  repair

operation, that is." Ignoring sudden dizziness brought on by the flow  of  blood

back out of his head, he stood.

Leia smiled, not at all put off by his snide comments.  "Actually,  I  just

came here to remind you that we need to see Tarc before we take off."

"Yeah, I know. I just hate good-byes. Never could figure out  how  to  make

them happy."

Leia lowered her voice to a whisper. "Speaking of which, do  you  have  any

advice on how we're going to tell Mee-walh she can't come along on this mission?

That hovering around me to do bodyguard duties  will  compromise  any  disguises

that we try to use?"

Han matched her whisper for whisper. "How about persuading her  to  take  a

vacation?"

"Han."

"How about, just before takeoff, we send her out to pick  up  a  bottle  of

brandy, and then leave while she's running the errand?"

"You're not helping."

He smiled and pulled her to him. "You're not fooling '  anybody.  You  know

exactly what you're going to tell her. You just want me to be there when you  do

it. To hack 1 you up. Right?"

She offered him an expression of mock outrage. "No  fair  peeking  into  my

mind like that."

"Right?"

Leia sighed and settled against him. "Right."

But her expression, though merry, wasn't entirely  without  worry,  and  he

knew why. She couldn't be entirely free from concern  with  one  of  their  sons

recently lost to war, the other missing and presumed by most to  be  dead,  and.

their only daughter elsewhere in the Pyria solar system on a  mission  with  her

squadron. Han wondered if there would ever be a time when Leia's expression  was

com-pletely at peace.

Pyria System

Well within the dovin basal minefield, Jaina and  her  Twin  Suns  Squadron

caught up with Mon Motbma, which was  executing  a  turn  back  toward  Borleias

while, in the distance, a Gallofree cargo ship, as pudgy and unlovely as a  Hutt

in the middle of diving into a pool, edged  toward  them.  Tiny  lights  winking

around the freighter hinted at the battle that still went on, but they were  few

in number-and  ever  fewer,  as  the  sensor  blips  representing  coralskippers

gradually disappeared from the screen.

"Twin Suns, this is Rebel Dream. Sensors show more skip squadrons incoming,

but we think our payload will be out of the minefield and through with its  last

micro-jump before they arrive. It's going to be close, though, so  please  stand

by."

Jaina grinned at the please. Because of the game she was playing  with  the

Yuuzhan Vong, the deception in which she increasingly  identified  herself  with

their Trickster goddess, Yun-Harla, she was a step  or  two  outside  Borleias's

command structure, and all commanders had been privately instructed to treat her

with the deference due a foreign dignitary. She sometimes wondered which of them

were amused at playing along and which were irritated. This  controller's  voice

held no evidence of annoyance. "Twin Suns Leader to Rebel Dream, copy."

Jaina brought her squadron around to cruise along*  side  Rebel  Dream  and

waited. As the cargo vessel's lines finally came into sharp focus with the naked

eye, her name finally blipped onto her sensor board, Reckless Abandon,  and  she

could see the nature of the starfighters protecting her-they were now  organized

into escort wings, all the fighting  done.  Most  wore  the  white-and-dark-gray

color scheme of Rebel Dream support craft, but one squadron, mixed  A-wings  and

E-wings, was painted in glaring yellow with menacingly angular black stripes.

"What the Sith spawn are those?" Jaina asked.

"Twin Suns One, you have the Taanab Yellow  Aces,  Ace-One  speaking."  The

voice was male, amused. "We're here to  show  the  defenders  of  Borleias  what

flying is all about."

Jaina winced. She'd forgotten that she had switched over to the general New

Republic military frequency to respond to Rebel Dream. But despite the fact that

the mistake was hers, she couldn't let a jibe like that go by.  "So  you're  the

masters at flying out of an engagement zone?"

"Ooh," Ace-One said. "Don't say  engagement.  Unless  you're  volunteering,

that is."

"Ace-One, Reckless Abandon. Do you suppose you could confine your courtship

rituals to groundside?"

"Copy, Reckless. Twins Leader, look me up when we're on the ground. Ace-One

out."

Jaina switched back to send out only  over  squadron  frequency.  "Arrogant

little monkey-lizard."

"I agree." That was the mechanical voice of Piggy, Jaina's Gamorrean  pilot

and tactics expert. "I know him."

Borleias

Creatures moved within Tam Elgrin's field of vision. He  couldn't  seem  to

hold his eyes open enough for visual clarity, so most of the time they were mere

blobs of white or orange, walking back and forth before him, speaking  in  muted

tones.

He was content with that for a while, even content to  understand  that  he

wasn't thinking clearly, wasn't remembering, but eventually  curiosity  got  the

better of him and he forced his eyes open wider, forced himself to focus.

He could see now that the traffic was beyond the bed he  lay  on.  A  clean

sheet in a soothing blue covered his large, ungainly frame. Beyond his feet  was

the metal footboard of a bed, and  beyond  that  was  some  sort  of  pedestrian

traffic lane; the blobs of color  he  had  seen  were  people,  humans  and  the

occasional Twi'lek or Rodian or Devaro-nian, most in  medical  whites,  some  in

pilot jumpsuit orange, moving past his field of vision, paying him no mind.

To either  side  of  his  bed  were  hung  opaque  curtains  of  that  same

offensively inoffensive blue, so patently obvious a measure to provide him  with

privacy from two directions and suggest calm that he finally understood that  he

was in a hospital.

That realization was enough for now. He didn't need  to  know  why  he  was

here. The fact that his brain worked well enough to  process  information  again

was sufficient.

But a moment later, a figure left the  traffic  lane  and  moved  into  his

curtained cubicle. It was a Mon Calamari; Tarn's long experience with  nonhumans

suggested that it was a female. She wore medical whites,  and  her  skin  was  a

deep, appealing pink. "You are awake," she said, her tone suggesting that it was

a minor achievement, something for which everyone should be  at  least  slightly

pleased.

"Urn," he said. It was supposed to have been yes, but it came out um.

"Do you know what has happened? Where you are, and why?"

He shook his head. "Um."

"You've been rather badly used by the Yuuzhan Vong, conditioned by them  to

do their bidding. But you resisted your conditioning and  probably  prevented  a

tragedy. Resisting it did you a certain amount of physical harm,  which  is  why

you're here now."

It was as though he had been facing a dam between him and  his  memories...

then the dam crumbled and memories washed down over him, hammering him, sweeping

him away. He remembered being on the world  of  Coruscant  as  it  fell  to  the

Yuuzhan Vong, remembered hiding and  running  from  them  afterward,  remembered

being captured by them. Then there were  days-how  many?  Only  two,  though  it

seemed like a lifetime-of lying on a table that twitched, of listening while one

of the Yuuzhan Vong told him to do things, of feeling agonizing pain whenever he

worked up the nerve to refute their words, refuse their orders.  The  pain  came

even when his refusal was deep in his heart, even when it was made  without  him

speaking or glaring or shaking his head to let them know of his  rebellion.  The

table always knew, the table always hurt him, until the  words  of  the  Yuuzhan

Vong came and he could no longer resist them, no  longer  offer  even  the  most

secret of refusals.

Then he had been allowed to "escape," reunite with his employer,  historian

Wolam Tser, and escape Coruscant to Borleias,  a  temporary  stronghold  of  the

reeling New Republic  military.  There  he  had  spied  upon  the  New  Republic

operations, the scientist Danni Quee and the pilot Jaina Solo.

Only when he knew that he would have to kidnap one of  them  and  kill  the

other had he found the strength to withstand the pain that came whenever he  did

not leap to the bidding of the Yuuzhan Vong. And he'd fallen, certain  that  the

pain would kill him.

"Are you still with us, Master Elgrin?"

"Um," he said. "Yes." He opened his eyes; the Mon Cal  female  was  bending

over him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes moving independently as  she  looked

him over.

He knew from experience that  her  expression  suggested  slight  distress,

though  it  would  not  have  been  obvious  to  someone  who  knew  only  human

expressions. "It's not 'Master' Elgrin. Just... Elgrin. Or Tam."

"Tam, I am Cilghal. I will be working with you to  overcome  the  lingering

effects of what was done to you."  She  cocked  her  head,  a  human  mannerism,

perhaps one she had learned from being among humans. "I am sad to have  to  tell

you that your courage in resisting your conditioning was not a cure for you. You

still suffer the effects of that conditioning. We will work  together  to  erode

those effects, to return you to normal."

"If I'm still-why isn't my head killing me right now?"

Cilghal took one of his hands in hers-a smooth,  webbed  hand  much  larger

than his, but not cold, as he'd expected-and moved his  hand  up  to  his  brow.

There, he felt the device, helmetlike, covering  the  top  of  his  head.  "This

apparatus," she said,  "senses  the  onset  of  your  headaches.  It  interferes

electronically with your pain  receptors,  reducing  or  eliminating  the  pain.

Later, we can fit you with an  implant  to  do  the  same  thing  without  being

noticeable. The implant will also allow you to reward yourself by initiating the

release of endorphins whenever you do something you know to be  in  defiance  of

the will of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong.  It  will,  we  think,  gradually  counter  the

conditioning you have received."

"But what's the point? I'm going to be tried. And executed. For treason."

"I think not. This base is under military law, and General  Wedge  Antilles

has said that you are to be commended, not punished. There will be no trial  for

you."

Tam felt his eyes burn, then tears came. Whether they' were tears of relief

or shame for the forgiveness he'd received but had not earned, he could not say.

He turned away from Cilghal so she would not see them.

"I will go now," she said. "We will talk later. And you will get better."

TWO

The tall man pounded on the black stone wall. The wall stretched up as  far

as the eye could see-at least in these dimly lit reaches of the ruined undercity

- and was angled back, not truly vertical. The stone from which it was made  was

glossy, with little gray stipple patterns  throughout,  lending  it  beauty  and

complexity. The wall did not seem to be made of blocks of the stone; the  entire

wall seemed to be one sheet, unmarked by lines or creases.

The stone held up against  blows  from  his  fist.  He  found  a  block  of

ferrocrete nearby and swung it with all his considerable strength at  the  wall.

The ferrocrete shattered.

He ignited his weapon. It hummed with every move of his arm  and  cast  its

red glow on the stone. He drove it into the stone.

The stone did not warm, did not burn, did not welt away.

He withdrew his blade and touched the point where it  bad  rested.  It  was

warmer than the surrounding stone, but did not burn his flesh.

He shouted, the echoes of his anguish bouncing off  the  high  ceiling  and

nearby walls of this chamber.

He had to have what was beyond the wall. It was everything.  He  had  never

seen it, never fell it, hut he knew it was there, knew with a  memory  that  had

been vivid long before he had become aware.

The tall man felt something, a presence, nearby. He raced  to  a  mound  of

rubble, collapsed from mined ceiling, and swept a block of duracrete aside.

In the niche beyond huddled a small figure, a human male.

The tall man reached in and  seized  the  other,  yanking  him  forth.  The

smaller man wore rags and stank of sweat, months of sweat; his hair was long and

ragged, and fear filled his dark eyes.

The tall man did not speak to him. He did not know words. Instead, he  made

a thought-an image of the black wall shattering, opening to reveal the  treasure

beyond-and shoved it into the mind of the other. The smaller man  stiffened  and

shrieked as the thought lodged in his mind, occupied it fully.

Then the tall man sent another thought, a ques-tion: How?

The smaller man trembled in his grip, and thoughts, hundreds of them,  tiny

and scurrying like rodents, flashed through his mind.

Then there was an image. A machine, something man could hold in two  hands,

from its nozzle came a blinding blaze, a cutting fire. The small man thought  of

that fire piercing the wall, cutting a door, allowing the tall man through.

The tall man formed another thought. In it, the small man would  go  forth,

find that machine, and bring it here. Immediately. With  ruthless  strength,  he

hammered that thought into the small man's mind, heard his new shriek.  Then  he

dropped the small man.

His new slave, weeping, sobbing, ran off into the darkness.

Borleias

Colonel Tycho  Celchu,  Wedge  Antilles's  second-in-command,  entered  the

general's office. He was grinning and could not seem to stop,  unusual  for  the

reserved officer, who seldom betrayed emotions for more than  a  moment  in  any

official situation. "General," he said, "I  present  you  with  the  officer  in

charge of the Taanab Yellow Aces." He  gestured  like  a  master  of  ceremonies

toward the door, which he'd left open behind him.

Into the office stepped a broad-shouldered man, handsome  and  dark-haired,

the sort on whom middle age settled like a set of  rakish  clothes.  He  wore  a

jumpsuit of poisonous yellow accentuated by jagged lines of black, like  a.  mad

decorator's interpretation of a brain wave, and, instead of saluting,  struck  a

heroic pose. "Captain Wes Janson reporting. Uh, sir."

Wedge rose to clasp Janson's hand, then  dragged  the  man  to  him  in  an

embrace. "Wes! They didn't tell me you were part of the incoming group."

"I laid down some bribes. Couldn't have them  spoil  my  big  moment.  Say,

what's to drink?"

"Home-brewed poison, for the most part, except  on  rare  occasions.  Here,

sit." Wedge took his own seat, and, once Tycho had shut the  door  for  privacy,

the other two followed suit.

Janson pulled a data card out of one of his  jumpsuit's  many  pockets  and

flipped it onto Wedge's  desk.  "I'm  sure  you've  gotten  the  inventory  from

Reckless Abandon already, but here's my copy, just  to  make  sure  they're  the

same. Foodstuffs,  ammunition,  munitions,  spare  star-fighter  parts,  several

barrels of inadequately aged Taanab fruit brandies..."

"Wonderful." Wedge slipped the card into his data-pad, reviewing the  words

that scrolled up on his screen. "How long will you be insystem?"

"Oh, until I get killed, I guess."

Startled, Wedge glanced up at him. "How's that again?"

"The Taanab Yellow Aces is an all-volunteer  unit.  Financed  by  the  same

fund-raising effort that went into purchasing and delivering all those inventory

goods. Organized by me. When I resigned my commission, I told my  superiors  I'd

be back with a piece of Tsavong Lah in my pocket. I can't disappoint them."

Wedge smiled. "Care to transfer into Rogue Squadron?"

"I'd love to. But I can't. I brought a squad  and  a  half  of  Taanab  and

refugee pilots who sort of have the right to follow my lead."

Tycho made a tsk-tsk noise. "How very responsible of you, Wes."

Janson shrugged, rueful.  "Sad  side  effects  of  age,  I'm  afraid."  His

expression became livelier. "Which you can help  me  forget.  Tell  me  about  a

female pilot, Twin Suns Leader. She has a nice voice. Does  she  have  looks  to

match?"

Wedge, struggling to keep from laughing, exchanged  a  glance  with  Tycho.

"Well, yes. She's nice looking."

"Married? Attached?"

"Attached, I think. Recently  attached."  To  my  nephew,  Wedge  added  to

himself, no matter how hard they try to keep others from noticing.

"So, who is she?"

Wedge frowned as. if remembering. "Jay something.  Isn't  that  right?"  He

turned to Tycho,

"I think so."

"Jay, Jay..." Wedge let his expression clear. "That's it. Jaina Solo."

Janson's face paled. "Jaina Solo."

"I'm sure that's the name."

"Sith spawn, I was flirting with a nine-year-old."

"Nineteen," Tycho corrected. "And she has more kills than the three  of  us

put together at the same age."

Janson sighed, defeated. "I guess I'd better  apologize  to  her  and  then

throw myself on her lightsaber."

Wedge shook his head. "No, just  ask  Han  to  shoot  you.  It'll  be  more

merciful and it is his right as a father."

"You're still a nasty commanding officer, you know."

Wedge merely smiled.

Domain Hul Warldship, Pyria System

The Yuuzhan Vong warrior Czulkang Lah was old, far older than any  who  had

been seen by  the  natives  of  this  galaxy;  under  the  scars,  tattoos,  and

mutilations that  rendered  his  face  almost  black  and  his  features  almost

unrecognizable were deep wrinkles of age. The frailty of his form was  concealed

by the augmented vonduun crab armor he wore, armor that added  the  strength  of

its own muscles to his.

He stood in his preferred control chamber of the Domain Hul worldship.  The

walls were thick with the stations  of  his  various  advisers  and  subordinate

officers, including his personal aide, the warrior Kasdakh  Bhul.  Most  of  the

stations were series of shelflike recesses in the yorik  coral  wall,  and  upon

those recesses were villips, the preferred communications method of the  Yuuzhan

Vong; some were in contracted form, featureless blobs, while some  were  everted

to look like glossy, colorless Yuuzhan Vong heads whose lips  moved  and  voices

emerged in perfect synchronization with distant officers and spies.

Above Czulkang Lah's seat was a great membranous lens,  in  diameter  three

times the length of a tall warrior; it gave him  an  unparalleled  view  of  the

space before Domain Hul, and could contract to magnify very distant objects.

Before the old warrior was a priest. He was tall, his  leanness  suggesting

self-deprivation, and he wore the ceremonial robes and head wrap of the order of

the Trickster goddess, Yun-Harla.

"Welcome, Harrar," Czulkang Lah said.

"It is my honor to come before you again." The priest offered the  sort  of

bow that equals exchange, then straightened. "And to find you  engaged  in  work

benefiting the gods and befitting your status. I  bring  you  ships  and  ground

reinforcements to help you in your aims." Indeed, the reinforcements had made  a

flyover to announce their  presence  to,  and  respect  for,  the  old  warrior,

commander of Yuuzhan Vong forces in the Pyria system.

"I am directed by my son to offer you every assistance in  capturing  Jaina

Solo." The old warrior beckoned to a much younger male who waited near the wall.

The younger warrior stepped forward and knelt. "Harrar, I bestow upon you Charat

Kraal. He has been in charge of special operations where Jaina  Solo  and  other

matters are concerned. He leads an inventive and well-motivated unit made up  of

Kraal and Hul pilots and knowledge harvesters. My burdens  of  command  will  be

lightened, rather than increased, if you simply take him off my hands and assume

direct control of those operations."

Harrar addressed the younger warrior. "Do you feel you can readily transfer

your service?" The question was a matter of life and death; should Charat Kraal,

in honesty, say he could not, he would naturally be killed and a more  agreeable

commander installed.

Charat Kraal raised his head to look into Harrar's face. The warrior's nose

was not just deformed,  a  mutilation  common  to  Yuuzhan  Vong  warriors,  but

entirely missing, with ragged, reddened edges all around to suggest the violence

with which it had been removed. His forehead was high, more like a human's  than

that of a 'uuzhan Vong, and elaborately tattooed with  perpendicular  lines  and

stripes that drew the eye back along it and made it seemed flatter. "My duty  is

to the gods, our leaders, and Domain Kraal," he said. "I will serve gladly."

"Good," Harrar said. "What are your most current operations?"

"We have recently lost  our  human  spy  within  their  great  abomination-

building. So I have engineered a plan to introduce one or more  new  spies  into

their camp. We will do this on the next occasion that an assault is made against

their camp."

"Just like that?" Harrar asked. "The infidels get no opportunity to  refuse

our gift of a spy?"

Charat Kraal offered  a  warrior's  smile,  broken  teeth  visible  through

slitted lips. "They do not, great priest."

"When my audience with Czulkang Lah is done, you will come with me and tell

me of your plan."

Coruscant

As his group entered a long gallery that had once been, flanked  by  stores

and emporiums, Luke again felt a twinge, some distant wrongness  in  the  Force.

The sensation had come to him before and he had steered toward it,  hoping  that

it was the source of the unease, the visions that had brought him  to  Coruscant

on this mission. But his  fellow  Jedi  had  not  always  seemed  to  share  his

perceptions.

He glanced at them. Mara was already  looking  his.  way,  nodding.  Tahiri

stared off into the distance, in the direction of the twinge, alert as a hunting

beast.

Even Danni was gazing in  that  general  direction,  a  hint  of  confusion

evident even through her Yuuzhan Vong makeup. "Did any of you  feel  something?"

she asked.

"Yeah," Kell said. "Hunger. Time to break?"

Luke shook his head. "Not in the open like this."

"Awww. Explosive charges are so much more vivid when they  go  off  in  the

open."

Tahiri stared up at him, scornful. "Do you only ever think about one thing?

"

"One thing at a time, sure. Now it's my stomach."

Another feeling intruded on Luke's finely tuned senses, a whiff of  danger,

far more immediate than the previous sensation. He whispered, "Trouble."

In a moment, the others moved to form a circle,  Mara,  Tahiri,  Kell,  and

Face on the outside, the others within.  No  one  brought  out  a  technological

weapon, but Luke felt to make sure that his  lightsaber  was  still  hanging  at

hand, and Face and Kell snapped their false amphistaffs out into rigidity.

A great roar of voices sounded from ahead and above. Out of two storefronts

at this level, and one on either side on the first balcony level above,  came  a

stream of beings, shouting, charging toward Luke and his party.

They were humans and humanoids, male  and  female,  their  clothes  largely

filthy and in tatters, carrying primitive spears and knives and crude swords  in

their hands. In moments at least a score were charging Luke's position, and more

were pouring out of the doorways.

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. "Time to make contact," he said. He reached

up for his helmet.

"Run," Bhindi said.

"What?"

"Run." Bhindi suited actions to words by turning back the way  they'd  come

and racing away from the oncoming mob.

Luke looked at Mara. Both shrugged, then turned to follow Bhindi, the  rest

close after them.

They charged out through the broad archway that had  heralded  the  opening

into the shopping gallery, quickly outdistancing their  pursuers.  They  took  a

right at the next broad cross-corridor, charged a  considerable  distance  along

it, and then Bhindi angled into a doorway that led to  an  emergency  stairwell.

She led them up the stairs two at a time until they'd climbed five flights; then

they could emerge into a much darker, narrower  corridor.  There  they  stopped,

many of them panting.

Kell leaned over to put his hands on his knees as he struggled to  breathe.

"I'm too old for this."

Danni leaned against the wall, Sweat poured down her face but did  not  mar

her Yuuzhan Vong makeup. "Would you mind telling me why we ran?  I  thought  you

wanted to make contact with pockets of survivors!  Something  about  setting  up

resistance cells?"

Bhindi offered her an unlovely smile. "Two reasons.  First,  normal  people

who want to stay alive don't charge Yuuzhan Vong warriors that way, even if they

outnumber them a hundred to one. Meaning that they probably had some way to kill

those supposed warriors, like retreating before us and  leading  us  to  a  spot

where fifty tons of scrap can drop on our heads."

Danni considered that and her expression relented. "Good point."

"Second," Bhindi continued, "we don't have any reason to believe  that  any

of the Vong warriors who attacked us on the walkway are still  alive.  Some  are

chopped up, some are blown up, some are flat as a roadway accident three hundred

meters down, and some are  all  three.  So  our  secret,  the  fact  that  we're

wandering around in effective Yuuzhan Vong disguises, is probably intact. If  we

let a hundred starving survivors know about it, inevitably one will sell us  out

and the Vong will know, too."

"So," Luke said, "a detachment of us take off our disguises and go to  talk

to them as humans."

"While the rest wait here and breathe," Kell said.

"Right." Luke looked over them. "It'll be me, Mara, Face, and Bhindi  going

back. The rest stay here."

Instead of offering up a noise of complaint, Tahiri grimaced,  a  cynically

adult expression, and lowered her pack to the passageway floor.

Luke shrugged, offered her a smile. "We need at least one  Jedi  with  each

group."

"So I'm baby-sitting people twice, three times my age. Where's the  fun  in

that?"

Kell snorted, then pitched his voice as an adolescent whine. "Aunt  Tahiri,

tell me a story."

Luke, now dressed in the dark garments he affected whenever making a public

appearance in the guise of Jedi Master, stared at the woman on the other side of

the heating element protruding from the gap in the floor panels. He,  his  three

companions-also in dark, inconspicuous civilian dress-and six men and  women  of

the Walkway Collective sat cross-legged on the floor, in a loose  circle  around

the heating element, while a pot of greenish soup  rested  atop  the  thing  and

gradually heated to boiling. "How have you survived?" Luke asked.

They were in a back room of what had once been a clothing emporium  of  the

Catier Walkway, the shopping gallery where Luke's party  had  so  recently  been

Stacked. The woman he addressed-once plump and blond,  he  thought,  now  leaner

from a subsistence diet, hair streaked with dirt, brown eyes hard from sacrifice

and suffering-was Tenga Javik, nominal leader of the Walkway Collective.

"We've rigged photon collection screens and heat harvesters for power," she

said. Her voice was raspy; that, and the light scarf wound around  her  neck,  a

curious affectation in the warm, moist air of Coruscant's landscape of  building

interiors, suggested that she had taken an injury to the throat in the  not  too

distant past. "One of us worked at a grayweave production plant. Have  you  ever

eaten grayweave, Master Sky walker?"

"On occasion." Grayweave was  the  nickname  for  a  sort  of  single-cell-

organism-based food, manufactured for and sold to the poorest of  the  poor;  in

texture, it looked like thick gray felt, but didn't taste anywhere near as good.

Its chief virtues were that it was very  inexpensive  and  lasted  a  long  time

without preservation.

"We stole the  grayweave  reactors  and  scattered  them  all  through  our

territory," Tenga said. "Well-hidden. We  keep  them  supplied  with  power  and

water, water we process through our own stills. We hide from the  Vong  most  of

the time, set traps for them when we're sure we can take them.  We're  going  to

survive, Master Skywalker."

"How's the air?" Bhindi asked.

Tenga looked into the soup as if unwilling to meet Bhindi's eyes.  "Getting

worse," she said. "We're working on that. Trying to put  together  a  series  of

blowers to bring in air from where it's better." She didn't sound confident. "If

that doesn't work, we may have to relocate. Go deeper." She met Luke's eyes, her

expression suddenly fierce. "When will the fleet come,  Master  Skywalker?  When

can we expect relief?"

"Not soon," he admitted. "I wish I could tell you differently,  but  you're

going to have to rely on yourselves for some time to come."

Several of Tenga's fellows sighed or made noises of  discontent,  but  they

didn't direct anger at Luke; his words did not seem to be entirely unexpected.

Tenga returned her attention to the soup. "We need the fleet," she  rasped,

her tone lower; she did not seem to be speaking to Luke. "We need the Jedi."

"This is our first mission back," Luke said, projecting confidence with his

voice and through the Force. "And  more  will  come.  We're  not  going  to  let

Coruscant remain in enemy hands. You have to decide whether you're going  to  be

alive when the world is liberated. Because  the  weariness  and  disillusionment

you're feeling can kill you as surely as the Yuuzhan Vong."

"You've done very well here," Bhindi said.  "I  can  show  you  how  to  do

better."

That got Tenga's attention. "Better how?"

"Hide better, ambush and defeat Vong patrols better,  repair  and  maintain

equipment better."

"I'm listening," Tenga said.

"First things first," Mara interrupted. "A little  more  information.  Have

any of you seen or felt anything unusual in this  region?  I  mean,  unusual  in

excess of all the changes brought on by the Vong?"

Most of those present shook their heads, but one, in the second rank of the

circle, a thin, middle-aged man with a dark, suspicious look  to  his  features,

said, "Lord Nyax."

Some of his companions sighed; one or two offered up little groans.

Luke grinned before he could suppress it. "That's a children's story."

"He's real," Yassat said.

Mara raised an eyebrow. "I haven't heard this one."

"In ancient times," Luke said, "on Corellia, Lord  Nyax  was  what  parents

threatened their children with if they didn't eat their stewfruit or go  to  bed

on time. 'If you keep on being a bad boy, Lord Nyax will come for you.' He was a

monstrous pale ghost who took children away, and no one ever saw them again."

"A typical folk tale," Mara said.

"Yes." Luke sobered. "But a while back, stories of Lord Nyax got a lot more

common. Because during the Jedi purges, there was someone who came for  children

in the night-someone who came for Force-sensitive children."

Mara's reply was a whisper: "Darth Vader."

"That's right, 1 think that some of Darth Vader's covert missions to  round

up Force-sensitive children became merged with the Lord Nyax legend, and  spread

from Corellia all over the galaxy during the early Imperial years."

"Yassat here is one of our far scouts," Tenga said. "He travels out  beyond

our territories, exploring and scavenging."

"And he sees things," another said. That man tapped  his  temple  with  one

hand while jerking a thumb at Yassat with the other, suggesting that Yassat  was

not completely functional in a mental sense.

"I do see things," Yassat said. "But they're there."

"Tell me what you see," Luke said.

"I saw Lord Nyax for the first time about a month  after  Coruscant  fell."

Yassat's voice lowered in tone and volume. "This was over toward the  old  heart

of the government district, where things are crazy now. I was on one side of the

main chamber of a textile factory, hiding from a Vong hunting party;  they  were

on the other side. I was already scared, but I got a lot more scared and  didn't

know why. Then the screaming started. Where  the  warriors  were,  I  could  see

someone moving. A big man, ghostly white. There was a roar, and flashes  of  red

all around it, but no sound of blasters. I got away. Hours later, I came back, I

found the Vong warriors dead. Chopped to pieces, burned in places, some of  them

eaten on.

"The second time was four days ago or so."  From  a  pocket,  he  pulled  a

functional chrono and checked local time. "Four days. I  felt  that  fear  again

while I was prowling through rooftops well below the skyline. It got  worse  and

worse, and I knew I was being stalked. I knew I was going to end up  like  those

Vong warriors."

"How did you get away?" Mara asked. Yassat shook his head, not meeting  her

gaze. "I just got away."

"That's not good enough," Tenga said. "No one 'just  gets  away.'  You  get

away by getting captured and selling us out?"

"No." Yassat's voice became emphatic. He returned "is  attention  to  Mara.

"There's a man, calls himself Skiffer. Part of a group not part of  the  Walkway

Collective. They Prey on us. They've killed a couple of our  scouts,  found  and

stole one of our grayweave reactors. Grayweave's not enough for them;  I'm  sure

some of them are canni-bals. 1 know where their territory is. I  led  Lord  Nyax

through the heart of their territory, and when 1 heard Skiffer give his people a

call to action, I made a break for it. I heard them screaming." He  met  Tenga's

eyes. "I didn't sell us out, Tenga. I sold Skiffer out."

Tenga clapped him on the shoulder. "Good work." Another man said, "You were

being stalked by Vong, Yassat. There is no Lord Nyax.  Just  your  imagination."

Yassat glared, but didn't respond. "Where have you run  into  Lord  Nyax?"  Luke

asked. Yassat pointed northwest, precisely in the direction where Luke  and  the

other Force-sensitives had felt the twinge. "That way. Near the  old  government

center. It's thick with Vong compared to here, but full of interesting salvage."

"We need to look at that," Luke said. He addressed Yassat:  "Care  to  come

with us? To guide us?"

Tenga shook her head. "Not unless you leave us  this  one,"  she  indicated

Bhindi, "in trade."

But Yassat shook his head. "Prowl around with a big, noisy party when there

are Vong hunters about? No. Kill me now, instead. It'd be  less  painful."  Luke

shrugged. "We'll be back, then." Yassat offered him a look of sympathy. "No, you

won't."

Borleias

Jaina stood up, her bedsheet whirling away from her,  and  lurched  to  her

closet without knowing why. The sun  Pyria  was  just  now  climbing  above  the

horizon, so she had been in bed for perhaps three hours.

The roaring in her ears resolved itself into an alarm.  Yuuzhan  Vong  were

coming. She heard the roar of thrust-ers from whichever squadrons  were  at  the

ready-it would be Blackmoon at this hour.

Jag was waiting for her in the hallway-the special,  secured  hall  of  the

biotics building reserved for the pilots of Twin Suns Squadron. Other doors were

sliding open. Piggy saBinring, struggling to fasten the seal of his pilot's suit

over his expansive Gamorrean stomach, emerged.

"What's our objective?" Jaina asked. Jag held out a datapad for her to look

at, but her eyes wouldn't focus on it. She irritably waved it away.

"It looks like an assault  on  this  location,"  Jag  synop-sized.  "Flying

vehicles only, no sign of ground troops. Lusankya's squadrons have some  of  the

enemy forces engaged in orbit. More will be here in moments."

There was an explosion, not far away, as incoming fire hit the shields that

protected the biotics facility. All the transparisteel  viewports  on  the  west

face of the building rattled.

"Correction," Jag said. "They'll be here now."

"Let's move." Jaina led her  half-dressed,  half-awake  squadron  to  their

turbolift.

Corran Horn, pilot and Jedi Knight, flying as  Rogue  Nine,  activated  his

repulsors and smoothly lifted off the terrocrete of Rogue Squadron's new docking

bay, up through  a  gap  where,  moments  before,  the  ceiling  had  been;  the

building's roof was still cantilevering out of the way. The altitude gave him  a

better look at the conflict - Yuuzhan Vong coral ships, the equivalent of  light

cruisers, hovered in the distance both east and west, protected  by  screens  of

coralskippers, and launched barrages of plasma at the biotics building  and  its

outbuildings. So far, the base's shields, removed  not  that  long  before  from

faltering New Republic capital ships, were holding up well against the  assault.

"Come on, Leth."

"Pick, pick, pick." Leth Liav's X-wing rose up  beside  Corran's.  Leth,  a

Sullustan female, had been a fighter pilot before being shot down  and  captured

by the Yuuzhan Vong. Placed in an environment bubble and launched through  space

toward Borleias's atmosphere in a show of Yuuzhan Vong cruelty, she and  several

of her fellows had been saved by some fancy flying on  the  part  of  Twin  Suns

Squadron. Corran doubted that, in better times, she would  ever  have  qualified

for the famed Rogue Squadron, but here, with attrition  high  and  options  few,

she'd been welcomed.

"Leader to squad, less chatter, please." Colonel  Dark-lighter  sounded  as

businesslike as ever. "Indicate readiness. Leader is ready. Two?"

"Two ready."

"Three?"

As the roll call continued, the  third  member  of  Corran's  shield  trio,

Dakorse Teep, rose into position. "Rogue Seven, all green."

Corran grimaced. In Teep's case, green didn't just refer to  the  condition

of his engines. Teep was a teenager who should have been palling around  on  the

playground with Corran's son Valin, only a few years Teep's junior. Corran heard

Leth announce "Eight, four lit and ready," then he said, "Nine, optimum."

He was the last one to call in readiness. Rogue  Squadron  was  reduced  to

nine members now, three shield trios. Other squadrons were in  worse  condition,

some of them reduced in numbers so fast that they had to  be  decommissioned  or

temporarily merged with other depleted units until  reinforcements  could  swell

them out into discrete squads again.

"We're on the cruiser to the east," Gavin announced. "Senior  members  have

proton torps; everyone else, you'll have to make do with lasers. Sorry. Break by

shield trios... now." He suited action to words, and the three  members  of  One

Flight lofted, rising above the protection of the facility's  vertical  shields,

staying only a few dozen meters beneath the horizontal shield overhead.

Corran waited a beat while Two Flight followed, then he led Leth  and  Teep

up. To her credit, Leth kept tucked in professionally close,  but  Teep  lagged,

offering  his  shield-mates  no  protection  from  his  shields,  receiving   no

protection from theirs.

"Close it up, Seven," Corran said. "Sorry, Nine. Coming."

As Corran and Leth cleared the building's shields and  dropped  toward  the

jungle on the far side, a plasma barrage  from  the  cruiser  analog  they  were

supposed to destroy arced toward them. If it had been slightly better aimed,  it

might have slid in between the top of the vertical shields  and  bottom  of  the

horizontal. As it was, it angled in toward Teep, directly  over  Corran's  head.

"Seven," he shouted, "break to port-"

Corran chose port over starboard only because it took half the time to say,

giving Teep one more fraction of a second to comprehend and react. Teep did veer

to port, as much on repulsorlifts as thrusters, and  the  main  ball  of  plasma

flashed harmlessly past him.

Then it hit the building's vertical shields and  exploded.  The  concussion

hammered Teep, Corran, and Leth. His cockpit swathed in  flame,  Corran  watched

his artificial horizon gauge spin. Relying on instinct more than his gauges,  he

leveled off and hit his thrusters. A moment later, the fire peeled away from his

cockpit and he could see again.

Teep and Leth were both rolling as they fell, out of  control,  toward  the

jungle below.

Leth came out of her roll, leveling off not far  above  the  treetops,  and

Corran heard her over the comm board, her voice raised in a  wordless  shout  of

both fear and exultation.

Teep didn't come out of his roll. He punched through the  treetops,  and  a

moment later a fireball roiled up through the hole he'd made.

Corran swore. This war was gobbling  up  children  like  a  starved  wampa.

"C'mon, Eight. Form up."

In his transport, far below the Lusankya conflict and as far above the  war

waging around the biotics building, Harrar stared into the viewing lens  mounted

in the transport's belly. "Is this  operation  yours,  or  Czulkang  Lah's?"  he

asked.

Charat Kraal knelt beside him at the edge of the lens.  "It  is  the  great

master's. But it is merely a probe, a way to  test  strength  and  evaluate  the

enemy's strengths, to deny him the opportunity  to  rest.  I  have  attached  my

mission to this operation."

"When do your units enter the battle?"

"Soon. When the enemy is stretched thinnest."

Twin Suns Squadron roared westward, toward the Yuu-zhan Vong cruiser analog

there. Tt and its protective squadrons were already being harassed by  Blackmoon

Squadron and a pair of TIE squadrons  off  Lusankya.  "Piggy,  analysis,"  Jaina

called,

The mechanical voice of her Gamorrean pilot  boomed  from  the  comm  unit;

Jaina winced and slid the volume control lower.

"They're not concentrating on the biotics building this time," Piggy  said.

"Probably to avoid a disaster like  the  last  assault.  They've  learned  their

lesson from orbital bombardment.  And  yet  they're  not  systematically  taking

General Antilles's defensive structure to pieces. They should  be  concentrating

their efforts on removing Lusankya from the battlefield, so they can  then  move

against the facility with minimal opposition. They are not."

Jaina didn't have to ask what that meant. The Yuu-zhan Vong  didn't  intend

to overrun the facility this time. They had some other  goal,  such  as  staging

another attempt to capture Jaina. To the Yuuzhan Vong, twins  were  sacred,  and

Jaina, as the twin of Jacen, held special fascination for them. "Keep your  eyes

open for particular attention on us," Jaina said. "Yes, Great One."

"Twin Suns, don't fire torps unless you have a  clear  shot  you  know  the

voids can't stop," she added. "We've all got  a  full  load,  but  other  squads

don't. So don't waste a shot unless you're just anxious to cause hard  feelings.

Tilath, are you ready with your payload?"

"Yes, Great One." Tilath Keer, flying Twin Suns Eleven, sounded  distinctly

unhappy. On the underside of her X-wing was attached something that looked  like

a missile, the newest experimental weapon in the Twin Suns' arsenal, hut it  was

longer than the X-wing's cockpit and heavy enough to turn her  starfighter  into

something as maneuverable as a flying boulder.

"Don't worry, Tilath. No one has to do the dishes every  time."  Jaina  hit

her thrusters and accelerated toward the enemy. "Let's do this thing."

Charat Kraal and Harrar watched as the battle developed. The  Yuuzhan  Vong

capital ships  were  being  used  as  mobile  artillery,  keeping  up  a  steady

bombardment on the biotics building and the buildings around  it  to  test,  and

potentially  overwhelm,  the  infidels'   protective   energy   shields.   Their

coralskipper squadrons were charged with protection of  the  capital  ships  and

elimination of enemy starfighters. It was a simple enough situation, and  Harrar

grasped the details readily as Charat Kraal explained them.

"Where are the Starlancer vehicles kept-the pipe-fighters?"  Harrar  asked.

He referred to the craft that had, not long before, set up a complicated  energy

matrix in space in the Pyria system, then fired a laser attack-one that had been

somehow accelerated through hyperspace and had actually struck the Yuuzhan  Vong

worldship in orbit around Coruscant.

Charat Kraal indicated a square, flat building near the  biotics  building.

"That is where their elites keep their vehicles. Jaina Solo's squadron is housed

there. It is not a target of today's exercise, since most of the vehicles housed

there are now coming against our forces."

"And where are they growing  their  lambent  crystal?"  The  recent  spying

efforts, involving a controlled human male, had indicated  that  the  Starlancer

project required the implementation  of  a  gigantic  crystal,  one  grown  from

Yuuzhan Vong techniques and material, to increase the long-distance laser enough

for it to do real harm to distant targets.

Charat Kraal pointed to the biotics building. "There, Our agent was  unable

to search every portion of that structure, but eliminated many.  Before  he  was

lost, he communicated to us that he thought the deepest levels of the  building,

which are among those shut off from the common soldier,  were  the  most  likely

location for the crystal-growing..." He had a hard time saying the next word, so

hateful was it in this context. "... machines. Our next agent will find  it  and

arrange for its destruction, if our bombardments do not  destroy  this  facility

first."

"Excellent. Now, let us discuss the capture of Jaina Solo."

Jaina let off her trigger as the coralskipper in front  of  her  detonated.

Its pieces rained down on the jungle below. A quick check of  her  sensor  board

revealed that her wing-mates, Jagged Pel and Kyp Durron, were not far  away  and

were inbound toward her.

Ahead was the Yuuzhan Vong cruiser, hundreds of meters of yorik  coral  and

organic weaponry. "Let's give its big guns  something  to  think  about,"  Jaina

said. She switched her lasers over to quad fire and began pouring coherent iight

blasts at the points where the cruiser's giant plasma cannons sprouted from  its

hull. "What's your status, Tifath?"

"Lined up on final approach. I'm fifteen seconds from optimum firing range.

Fourteen."

"Fire when ready, don't wait for my command."

"Ten."

Jag and Kyp joined their laserfire with Jaina's. The voids  protecting  the

cruiser analog had  no  difficulty  moving  into  position  and  swallowing  the

destructive energy from their weapons.

"One. Firing."

The missile dropped from the belly of Tilath's  X-wing.  It  fell  a  dozen

meters; then its rear ignited, driving it forward at missile speeds.

Jaina clicked her comm board over to operational frequency.  "Execute  'Low

Bounce.' Repeat, 'Low Bounce.' "

In the vicinity of the target cruiser  analog,  New  Republic  starfighters

began gaining altitude. They didn't flee; they just rose until they  were  above

the cruiser  analog's  altitude.  They  continued  fighting  on  their  way  up,

continued fighting at their new altitude.

At the same instant, Jaina, Kyp, and Piggy armed am fired proton torpedoes,

one each.

Half a kilometer short of the cruiser analog, Tilath's missile did what  it

was supposed to.

It did not shatter and fly in all directions; it was too sturdily built for

that. Most of the missile was an extremely durable metal tube, open at one  end.

The rear closed portion was packed with a  plasma-based  explosive  charge.  The

forward two-thirds, sealed only by the fragile nose of the missile,  was  packed

with metal ball bearings the size of human heads.

The plasma charge detonated, superheating the ball bearings and firing them

toward the target.

They shot out, a spreading display of superheated projectiles.

Not one of the ball bearings would do significant harm to the  target  when

they hit; the best-placed shots that actually hit the  yorik  coral  hull  would

punch through and lodge within, while the rest would bounce harmlessly away.

No, the danger they represented was not from hitting. Each ball, heated  by

the plasma charge, was now identical, in specific gravity  and  temperature,  to

the proton torpedoes catching up to them from behind.

The cruiser analog's dovin basals sensed the incoming  horde  of  missiles.

They did not panic; fear was not part of their nature. But they knew they  could

not project their voids into the  path  of  even  a  fraction  of  the  incoming

missiles.  Instead,  each  prioritized,  projecting  its  voids  over  the  most

vulnerable  portions  of  the  vessel's  flank,  protecting  the  command   crew

compartment, weapons emplacements, and itself.

Charat Kraal and Harrar watched as the Twin Suns  launched  four  missiles-

one, the largest, ahead of the others. The largest one detonated  short  of  its

target, showering the matalok  with  red-hot  debris,  but  the  others  flashed

straight in to hit, one-two-three, against  the  mat-alok's  side.  The  infidel

weapons flashed impossibly bright, creating clouds of explosive force and debris

that had once been the side and internal organs of the matalok.

The vessel heeled over, mortally wounded, and began to turn away  from  the

engagement. Plasma poured from its injury. It gained altitude for a moment, then

settled into a straight-line course. And now its dovin basals concentrated their

void protection only over the main weapons emplacements.

Charat Kraal knew what that meant. The matalok would not make  it  back  to

space, so its commander was ordering the weapons to build up tremendous  charges

of plasma energy, charges that would destroy the vessel from within.

Charat Kraal sagged as energy and pride left him for a moment.  He  slammed

his fist into the floor next to the viewing lens. "How did she do it? "he asked.

"How did she persuade the dovin basals to let their missiles through?"

"I do not know."

Charat Kraal met the priest's gaze. "It is not my place to  ask  this.  You

may choose to order me to my death for asking. But I must know. You are a priest

of Yun-Harla - surely the truth is in your mind. Is Jaina Solo an avatar of  the

goddess? Is she the goddess?"

"Of course not. She is an infidel who mocks our goddess. " But Harrar  knew

that he was no longer able to pro-ject confidence when he said such words. He no

longer knew whether he was telling the truth.

Charat Kraal, no new satisfaction or peace on his  features,  turned  to  a

villip that lay on the floor next to him. He spoke into the Yuuzhan Vong warrior

features it revealed. "Are you in position?"

"No, Commander. It is early yet."

"Begin your run anyway. We cannot wait for the best moment."

"Understood, Commander."

Corran Horn saw the flight of three coralskippers peel off  from  the  main

north-side engagement and loop around  toward  the  west  side  of  the  biotics

building. "C'mon, Eight. Let's deal with  these  strays."  He  banked,  a  tight

maneuver to put him in the path of the trio. Leth followed  suit,  her  maneuver

not quite as tight as the more experienced pilot's.

They were able to get in position well before the coral-skippers  lined  up

for an approach. The skips turned again quite a distance out,  beyond  the  kill

zone and over the jungle. Now  they  were  aimed  in  straight  at  the  biotics

building. They dropped nearly to the deck  and  accelerated  to  something  like

their full speed, not maneuvering even as Corran and Leth opened fire.

"It's a suicide run," Leth said.

"I think you're right." Corran looked around. If  these  three  skips  were

able to hit the shields defending the biotics building, if  they  were  able  to

crash through them and bring those shields down, there would be  a  moment  when

the building was undefended against enemy attacks.

But no other Yuuzhan Vong ships stood ready to make use of  this  momentary

advantage. It didn't make sense.

Corran drifted to starboard, spraying fire against the skip  on  that  side

and in the center. Leth drifted to port and followed suit. Their  combined  fire

was too much for the center skip; some of Corran's laserfire got past its voids,

and nearly all of Leth's did. Thar coralskipper nose-dived,  smashing  into  the

ground at the outer ranee of the kill zone.  It  did  not  explode;  skips,  not

loaded with fuel, did not always detonate. It just came  to  pieces,  scattering

chunks of itself.

That gave each pilot one enemy to concentrate on. Corran kept the  pressure

on, spraying the oncoming skip with laserfire as if it were water from  a  hose,

and saw his attacks chewing away at the forward portions of the craft.

He could see in his peripheral vision that Leth was having less  luck  with

the other oncoming skip. But he couldn't deal with that,  not  with  his  target

spraying plasma at him.

Corran maneuvered his X-wing directly into the path of the  oncoming  skip.

If its pilot's objective really was the  shields,  it  would  have  to  maneuver

around him. If not - well, he'd be taking that opponent out of  the  battle  the

hard way.

But it maneuvered, bouncing down to fly under him, and his  lasers  punched

through the skip's canopy. The vehicle veered, losing control.

Then it exploded, hurling pieces in  all  directions.  Corran  veered,  was

caught in  the  explosion  for  a  moment,  emerged  out  the  other  side  with

diagnostics  complaining  of  no  damage  worse  than  a  superheated   external

temperature sensor.

He came around and saw that Leth was also looping. Her  target  had  gotten

past her and was now headed in toward the shields.

The skip hit, and for an instant Corran could see the energy of the  impact

as it made the shield visible, made it  ripple  like  a  pond  surface  suddenly

struck by a plummeting landspeeder.

The coralskipper went to pieces, shredded  by  the  impact.  Chunks  of  it

sprayed out across the kill zone directly in front of the biotics building.  One

of the larger chunks hit a dirt hauler that had been pressed into surface  as  a

ground personnel carrier; that vehicle  exploded,  and  flames  splashed  across

surrounding buildings and vehicles. Some chunks of the coralskipper  bounced  to

within meters of the front of the biotics building,

"I'm sorry." Leth's voice was pained, full of recognition of her failure.

Too full. Corran snorted, remembering the melodrama that tended to play  in

new pilots' minds. "Not much harm done," he said. "Don't worry  about  it.  Come

on, back to work."

Corran and Leth wheeled off together to rejoin the squadron.

Damage-control crews spilled out of the biotics building and its associated

docking bays, spraying fire-fighting foams on the burning portions of  destroyed

coralskippers.

A crew chief, a black-haired Corellian woman  whose  build  suggested  that

there might be a rancor or two in her ancestry, waved frantically at  the  other

members of her unit. "I have a man down here! Bring medics!" She bent and shoved

a large piece of coralskipper shell off the victim,  a  tall  human  in  a  drab

mechanic's jumpsuit.

Remarkably, he seemed unburned, and as the woman wrestled  the  shell  from

him his eyes opened. Though bland-featured, he had an expressive, intent  stare,

and looked first at his rescuer and then at his surroundings without  confusion.

"No medic," he said. "I am not hurt."

She extended a hand down and helped haul him to his feet. "You may be  hurt

worse than you know."

"No. I am not hurt." He looked around. "Put me to work."

She  jerked  a  thumb  toward  the  largest  remaining   portion   of   the

coralskipper, where more members of her unit were working. "Join them. Look  for

survivors tike yourself. And if you feel strange, if you feel anything wrong, go

talk to the medics."

"I... yes." Without offering a  thank-you,  the  tall  man  headed  in  the

direction the crew chief had indicated.

She motioned after him, a gesture suggesting irritation.  "He's  in  shock.

They'll wrestle him down when it gets obvious." But as she continued her  search

through pieces of skip debris, she caught sight of the man on several  occasions

as he helped her crew, carrying the injured  to  aid  stations,  shoving  debris

aside to look for other survivors.

With half its capital ship resources gone,  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  attack  was

done. The remaining cruiser analog and two units of coralskippers  took  to  the

skies, harassed by New Republic starfighters until General Antilles  called  off

the pursuit.

"How's the leg, Tarc?" Han asked.

The boy on the hospital ward bed, brown-haired, blue-eyed,  and  impossibly

energetic, pulled aside the sheet to show his right leg. Much of  his  calf  was

covered by a transparent bactabandage. The bandage was  pink  from  the  healing

material contained within it, but still clear enough to show the angry lines  of

a crescent-shaped burn on the skin beneath. "Not bad," the boy  said.  "I  can't

run very fast, but I can walk. They just don't want me to."

Han tried to say something, to offer some smart remark at  the  expense  of

the medical staff, but it wouldn't come.  He'd  been  through  this  scene  many

times, offering put-on-a-brave-face advice to his own son Anakin, and the simple

fact that this boy wasn't Anakin, despite his near-identical resemblance to him,

was like a vibroblade being shoved centimeter by centimeter into his chest.

Leia seemed to sense Han's hesitation. "Well,  you  listen  to  them,"  she

said. Her own voice seemed just a trifle hoarse, too. "If we get back  from  our

mission and hear that you've been pushing yourself too hard, we're going  to  be

angry."

"What if I bribe them not to tell you?"

Han swallowed against the lump in his throat and managed to force his voice

into something like its normal register.  "Bribe  them  with  what?  This  isn't

exactly a money-based economy, kid."

"I could put on a show, and charge admission, but instead of taking  money,

I could make everybody who came promise not to tell you that  I'd  been  running

around."

Leia gave him a cool politician's  smile.  "You  forget  about  our  spies.

They're everywhere, you know."

"What if I started my own spy network, and  figured  out  which  ones  your

spies were, and kept them from coming to my show?"

Leia reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. "We have to go. But  we'll  stop

in before we leave Borleias."

"I could go with you. I can be a diplomat."

"Sorry, kid," Han said. "I figure you'll be too busy  practicing  for  your

show."

"I don't need to practice. I'll just make it all up as I go along."

Han and Leia shared  a  look,  a  glance  of  private  amusement  and  long

experience. "Well," Leia said, "there's some merit in that approach, too.  Good-

bye for now."

"Later, kid."

"Awww."

As they left the ward, Leia said, "He's going to be bored while we're gone.

"

"We could leave Goldenrod to baby-sit him. Tell him stories."

"It's better that he be bored than horribly bored, Han."

"True."

C-3PO stood near the Millennium Falcon's parking space on the kill zone and

stared up at the topside hull or the light freighter. Han Solo was up there,  as

he often was between flights of the ancient  vehicle.  He  wore  goggles  as  he

performed arcane welding tasks on the hull.

C-3PO did not watch Han; instead, his attention was on the sparks from  the

torch. A stream of them leapt from the hull and drifted downward,  extinguishing

themselves before they ever quite reached the char that covered the  ground.  C-

3PO watched one begin its flight, reach the top of its arc and turn downward.

He became aware that another droid had wandered into his field  of  vision.

This droid was angular, armored, warlike of aspect, carrying one of the  largest

and newest blaster rifles available to New Republic warriors.  But  he  was  not

approaching in a posture of menace. "Greetings," C-3PO said. "I am See-Threepio.

"

"YVH One-One-A," the other replied. "Assigned as soldier and  bodyguard  to

Lando Calrissian, currently on miscellaneous duty, investigating anomalies.  You

are an anomaly. What is a protocol droid doing monitoring the repair efforts  of

Han Solo and his crew?"

"Oh, never, I am not monitoring repairs. I am not even paying attention  to

the repairs. In an effort to improve my language  skills,  I  am  struggling  to

determine the best word to describe the descent and extinguishment of the sparks

from the repair process."

"This should be no problem for a protocol droid."

"It should not be, but it is, because the word that seems most apt  is  not

the one that is most logical,"

"What word is most apt?"

"Sad. *

1-lA's cams clicked over to watch the sparks for a fraction  of  a  second,

then returned to C-3PO.

"You are correct. That word is not appropriate."

"It is most appropriate.  Each  spark  seems  somehow  symbolic.  Of  life.

Glowing brightly as it traverses a course,  then  disappearing.  Does  it  leave

anything behind?"

"If it strikes a flammable substance, it will leave something behind."

"Is it anomalous for me to say that you are an insensitive block  of  armor

and aggression-based programming?"

Curiously, 1-1A did not respond immediately,  but  clicked  his  cams  over

toward the sparks for another fraction of a second. Finally, he  said,  "Do  you

suppose in the final nanoseconds, a spark feels fear, knowing that its  duration

is at an end?"

"I doubt it. I most sincerely doubt it. A spark  is  incapable  of  feeling

fear, or indeed even of considering its own mortality."

"That is also said of droids, but in some cases it is not true."

Now it was C-3PO's turn to  hesitate.  "If  I  may  say,  that  is  a  most

insightful statement, coming from a combat droid."

"I face extinguishment regularly. This has given me many opportunities  for

reflection. I have recently been unable to ignore this consideration. I  suspect

these calculations have even begun to affect my work."

"I, too, have had to face these thoughts recently. Most unsettling. And  my

counterpart, Artoo-Detoo,  is  no  help  at  all,  philosophically.  'Everything

terminates,' he tells me. 'Face  it  bravely.'  I  suppose  that's  an  adequate

philosophy for an astromech, but I find it wholly inadequate. I have wondered if

I were the only droid in existence capable  of  worrying  as  I  do.  It's  most

refreshing to discover that I am not alone."

YVH 1-lA's cams clicked back toward C-3PO's  face.  "If  you  come  to  any

conclusions, even unverifiable ones, will you communicate them to me?"

"I should be delighted. Likewise, if you have any insights, please transmit

them to me. Perhaps we can talk again."

"Yes."

YVH 1-1A continued on his rounds.

The spark whose progress C-3PO had begun tracking just before he'd  noticed

the combat droid finally disappeared, a meter  above  the  ground,  a  full  two

seconds after it had leapt from the Falcon's hull.

THREE

The small man had a name. It was Ryuk. He trembled in his need to discharge

his duty, and his trembling made his actions awkward, uncoordinated.

He stood, wearing protective lenses over  his  eyes,  holding  the  cutting

device he had shown the tall man.  Flame,  concentrated  into  a  point  like  a

needle, poured out of the device's nozzle, and Ryuk pressed it  into  the  stone

wall.

The tall man watched him. He waited with growing impatience for the  device

to cut its hole so he could enter.

But minutes passed, and though the  stone  warmed  to  the  point  that  it

glowed, it did not melt, did not retreat.

At last the cutting device  made  a  noise  like  a  cough  and  the  flame

vanished. Ryuk, expression fearful, turned to the tall man and tried to  express

a thought.

It was a had thought. It meant that the device didn't work anymore. Even if

it worked forever, Ryuk seemed to he saying, it would not cut through this.

Bitter disappointment filled the tall man's heart.  He  gestured,  shoving,

and Ryuk slammed into the blaCR stone.

The tall man heard Ryuk's hones break and, as Ryuk slid down the surface of

the stone, saw blood trailing behind. He felt Ryuk's emotions go  from  fear  to

quiet to nothingness.

The tall man needed another person, someone smarter, with better  machines.

He turned to leave. He would find such a person.

Vannix, Vankalay System

"We drop from hyperspace in ten seconds," Leia called over her shoulder.

The Falcon's two living passengers called out acknowledgments.

The system and  its  chief  inhabited  world  popped  into  view  right  on

schedule-a relief, and something of an unusual event, considering the number  of

times the Falcon had been yanked out of hyperspace by gravitic anomalies.

Vannix, first planet of the Vankalay star system, not far from  the  mighty

industrial system of Kuat  and  traditionally  within  that  world's  sphere  of

influence, was a Mottled green-and-blue sphere with  patches  of  white  at  the

poles and streaks of brown above and below the equator. For Leia, for a  moment,

it was almost heartbreaking just to see  the  planet.  Lovely  worlds  sometimes

evoked that response in her. The image of  one  in  par-ticular,  her  homeworld

Alderaan, shattered by the in-credible might of the first Death Star,  would  be

with her throughout her life.

The comm board came alive, snapping Leia out of her momentary  distraction.

"Vannix System Control to in-coming vessel, please identify yourself."

Han grinned at her. "Showtime."

"Hush." She switched over to send on the  same  frequency.  "Vannix  System

Control, this is the Millennium Falcon, of Coruscant registry, currently out  of

Borleias, Pyria system, Leia Organa Solo speaking."

There was a delay even greater than speed-of-!ight transmission limitations

could account for.  Then:  "Uh,  copy,  Millennium  Falcon.  Please  state  your

destination and objective."

"This is a diplomatic mission to your capital, an official envoy  from  New

Republic Fleet Group Three to the Presider of Vannix. We have a crew of two  and

two droids. We request a diplomatic visa."

"Understood,  Millennium  Falcon."  There  was  another   delay.   "Pending

verification, your request is granted. We'll put up a homing beacon for you, and

have an escort awaiting you at outer lunar orbit."

"Thanks, Control. If I may ask, did Senator Gadan return to Vannix?" Addath

Gadan, representative of this world to the New  Republic  Senate,  had  been  on

Coruscant at the  time  of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  invasion;  her  fate  since  the

penetration of Coruscant's defenses was unknown.

"Yes, Your Highness. If you wish, i can inform her office of your arrival."

"I'd appreciate that, Control. Thank you."

"Control out."

Leia leaned back. "So far, so good. No challenges, no sign of Yuuzhan  Vong

intrusion."

"I don't know," Han said. "It's always these little worlds that get you  in

trouble. Like Tatooine. I'm still living that one down."

Leia gave him an arch look. "You're complaining?"

"No. Well...No."

She grinned, refusing to rise to the bait. "You'd better be nice to  me.  I

know where you live."

"I'll be nice." He raised the timbre of his voice into a fair imitation  of

the control officer Leia had just been talking with. "Yes, Your Highness. If you

wish, I can get you a cup of caf."

Leia just sighed and ignored him.

Han called over his shoulder, "We're going  to  pick  up  an  escort  in  a

minute. You guys should probably get in the pod now."

"Understood, General." That was the voice of one of their  two  passengers;

Han didn't know which. The two women were Intelligence operatives; Han and  Leia

had met them just before the mission began and, once they set  down  on  Vannix,

would probably never see or hear  from  them  again.  The  operatives  would  be

setting up a resistance cell. Though  this  was,  by  comparison  with  Kuat,  a

backwater world, in  the  eyes  of  the  resistance,  every  world  should  have

resistance cells, as many as the planet's resources and the danger it faced from

the Yuuzhan Vong warranted.

"The pod" was a unit installed where one of the Mil-lennium  Falcon's  five

escape pods had been. Outwardly, it looked exactly like an  escape  pod,  though

more decrepit than most, the better to discourage people from trying to  use  it

in an actual emergency. But its thruster and  other  systems  had  been  yanked,

replaced by a sophisticated unit designed to thwart life-form sensors. Trying to

launch the pod would result  in  an  authentic-loking  SYSTEM  FAILURE  message.

Concealed in its floor was a hidden  hatch  that  would  permit  access  to  the

Falcon's exterior. It was a convenient and reusable  way  to  smuggle  personnel

such as two insurgents assigned with the task of setting up a resistance cell on

Vannix.

The Falcon, of course, possessed shielded smuggling  compartments  adequate

in size to hold the two Intelligence officers and a lot  of  gear  besides.  But

Han, even after all these years, was reluctant to share that secret with  anyone

he didn't intimately trust. "If you're going to have  to  admit  to  carrying  a

hold-out blaster," he had told Wedge, "carry two and admit to one." So Wedge had

arranged for the installation of the false pod.

"General," Han said. "When are they going to stop calling me General?"

"When are they going to stop calling me Princess?"

Han shook his head. "Maybe when you become queen. Hey, there's our escort."

The escort, a pair of Kuat Drive Yards'  licensed  variations  on  the  TIE

interceptor, silver with red strips to distinguish them from the more somber and

ominous colors of the old Imperial starfighters, flanked the  Millennium  Falcon

all the way through the atmosphere and  to  ground  level  in  the  midst  of  a

sprawling city. Curiously, the  city's  high-population  residential  districts,

characterized by monolithic housing blocks that  could  have  been  transplanted

whole from Coruscant, were at the city's perimeters.  The  buildings  seemed  to

form a defensive wall around the city.

The homing beacon drew the  Falcon  to  a  district  of  landing  bays  and

warehouses near the city's government center, and a welcoming party of  military

officers and disanguished civilians. As they settled into their  visitors'  bay,

Leia could recognize the spare, clean, red-and-white uniforms of  the  officers,

the outrageously baldricked and epauletted and bemedaled civilian dress  of  the

others.

Once all systems were shut down, Han joined Leia, C-3PO, and R2-D2  at  the

top of the main access ramp. As the four of them descended the ramp, the largest

of the humans waiting for them-a woman sporting the most elaborately and gaudily

decorated of the civilian outfits, and with a column of gray hair adding half  a

meter to her height-drifted toward them  with  all  the  stately  majesty  of  a

Tatooine sail barge. "Leia!" she called. "Leia, it's so grand to see  you  alive

and well!"

"Addath." Leia's tone was so warm as she embraced the larger woman that Han

couldn't tell whether her affection was genuine or not. "I was so happy to  hear

that you survived."

"And I, you." Addath beamed down at the smaller woman.

Han decided that Vannix's Senator was a  distinguished-looking  woman.  She

was not pretty, but she carried herself with grace and dignity. In contrast with

the overwhelming gaudiness and complexity of her garments -  Han  was  surprised

that there were no blinking lights or mechanical toys running  about  among  the

crimson ruffles and pleats, golden bows and ribbons-her makeup was  understated,

merely illuminating and directing attention to her large, intelligent eyes.

"Addath, you never had the opportunity to meet my husband, Han Solo."

"No, but I know him well-doesn't  the  entire  New  Republic?  -  from  the

holodocumentaries and  histories,  biographies,  and  holodramas  based  on  his

exploits," Ad-dath's expression turned sober. "Allow me to offer my  condolences

about young Anakin  and  Jaccn.  I  suspect  that  their  sacrifice  means  that

countless thousands  of  others  will  live,  and  that  is  how  they  will  be

remembered."

"Thank you." For once, Leia did not offer up her conviction that Jacen  was

alive somewhere. "Addath, I would not impose on your time, but our mission is an

important one. I don't have access to all the Senatorial records, so I  have  to

rely on your help. We need an appointment with Presider Sakins as soon as we can

arrange or connive one."

Addath's expression did not change, precisely, but Han saw something happen

to it, all real cheerfulness disappearing, leaving only a shell  behind.  Addath

took Leia by the arm and gently guided her around toward the  ceremonial,  flag-

draped landspeeder waiting outside the visitors' bay.  As  Han  and  the  droids

turned to follow, the military and civilian  escort  dropped  into  step  behind

them. "That will be difficult," Addath said, her voice  dripping  with  poisoned

sweetness. "A week after Corus-cant fell, Sakins looted  the  capital  treasury,

taking gems and other valuables dating  back  thousands  of  years-a  tremendous

fortune, and one easily transportable-and departed Vannix  on  the  rickety  but

very comfortable military corvette that served as his  personal  transportation.

He took his Presider-Aide, his mistresses, his children, and  a  number  of  his

favorite financial supporters with him. I doubt he'll be back."

"Oh, dear," Leia said. "Who is in  charge  of  planetary  government?"  She

boarded the oversized landspeeder ahead of  Addath;  Han  followed  the  Senator

aboard and settled in beside her, separated  from  his  wife  by  the  Senator's

substantial girth.

"Well, that's not exactly clear," Addath said. She turned her attention  to

the landspeeder pilot. "Presider's residence, please."  Then  she  returned  her

attention to Leia. "I'm more or less in charge of civilian matters. A crusty and

not-too-bright naval officer named Apelben Werl heads up the military. We're now

campaigning for a runoff election that will decide which of the two of  us  will

be the Presider. You've arrived at a good time; the election is in a matter of a

few days. The famous Solos might be able to swing the election with a few  well-

managed public appearances, a few kind words."

"Count on it," Leia said.

Two hours later-or forty, if you asked Han how long he thought it had  been

since they'd set down-they  were  left  alone  in  quarters  in  the  Presider's

residence. The rooms were lavishly decorated in the  Vannix  style,  thick  with

ponderous cushioned couches and chairs in  well-coordinated  browns  and  golds,

every surface covered-ankle-brushing carpeting below,  draped  curtains  on  the

walls, tassels covering every centimeter of the ceiling and making it  an  ever-

moving, almost organic overhead view.

But no viewports. Han settled down onto a couch beside Leia, felt a  little

alarm as he continued to sink for nearly half a meter. "Is this going to support

me or swallow me?"

Leia smiled. "Grope around under the cushions and see if you encounter  any

digestive juices."

"That's the most revolting thing you've said all day.

And don't these people believe in fresh air? Maybe a balcony?"

"Sure they do. They believe in other things, too.  They're  known  for  the

adeptness of their politicians and the skills of their snipers,  characteristics

that help keep one another in check."

"Good point. So let me ask you something important."

"Sure. But first-" Leia turned to the droids. "Artoo, how about some music?

Something Coruscanti."

R2-D2 whistled obligingly. Then from his interior wafted music, an  ancient

Coruscant chamber composition played mostly on strings.

Han, puzzled, opened his mouth to ask when she'd put a music module in  the

astromech, but Leia placed a hand over his mouth, placed a  finger  to  her  own

lips.

Then Han heard his own voice coming from the droid, clear and as  realistic

as if Han were standing there. "So when we decide to settle  down  again,  where

would you like it to be?" Leia's voice was next; "I'm  not  sure.  What  if  I'm

needed to help rebuild Coruscant?"

The real Leia, her voice a faint whisper, said, "Now we can talk."

Han matched his volume to hers. "That's the conversation we had coming back

from dropping the Jedi kids off,"

Leia nodded. "I've been recording us from time to time for situations  just

like this. Each conversation is cued to a different piece of  music.  It's  much

simpler than hunting down and exterminating all the listening devices  that  are

likely to he planted here."

"Politics..." Han shook his head. "Not my strength.

Care to let me know what we're looking at here, so I have an idea  of  what

to shoot at?"

Leia nodded and crooked a finger at C-3PO. The protocol droid moved  up  to

stand before the couch, and, when Leia beckoned again, leaned forward until  his

golden head made the third point of a triangle with theirs. "Yes, mistress?"

"Have you been sampling the local information broadcasts?"

"I have."

"Can you synopsize the Presider's election and the candidate positions?"

"There are three candidates, but two are  sufficiently  out  ahead  of  the

third so far in  pre-election  polls  that  only  their  participation  has  any

meaning," the droid said. "Addath  Gadan  is  a  twenty-year  representative  of

Vannix before the New Republic  Senate,  and  Admiral  Apelben  Werl  heads  the

planetary system's navy. Since the abdication of the previous Presider, each has

come to dominate, through political strategems, force of will, and  calling  due

of personal markers, ever-greater portions of the planetary  infrastructure.  It

is expected that the upcoming election will end the  competition  between  them,

but it remains possible that the loser in the contest will choose not to  accept

the election results and seize the government by force. Addath Gadan promotes an

agenda of coopera-tion with and appeasement of the Yuuzhan Vong,  while  Admiral

Werl favors military opposition. As is customary in politics, each supports  the

notion that her election constitutes a mandate of the masses  related  to  these

pre-eminent campaigning issues rather than a matter of personal charisma."

"Nicely boiled down," Han whispered. "Can you do the history of the Sith in

thirty words or less?"

"Only in the most general terms, sir, and without including most  pertinent

dates and personality profiles-"

"Han, stop that." Leia scowled at him.

"Sorry, easy target, I  know."  Han  sighed.  "All  right.  We've  actually

accomplished our number one objective here. If they  haven't  already,  our  two

secret passengers will soon drag their crates of comm gear, weapons,  and  trade

goods out of the Falcon and run off to begin setting up a local resistance cell.

So we could leave tomorrow and consider this mission a success."

"We could."

"Bur not with your conscience clean."

"Or yours either."

"My conscience is always clean. But we would be leaving  the  planet  in  a

situation where it might elect an appeaser to rule the government,  which  means

the day after that the Yuuzhan Vong have another ally in their war on us."

"That's right."

"So I expect you'll want to stay for a few days."

"That's right."

"And fire a political concussion missile right into the campaign  plans  of

your friend."

Leia nodded, her expression regretful. "Addath is not my friend. She's just

a politician whose skills I respect. I don't owe her any ill will. But  this  is

business, and it's obvious that our interests have gone  their  separate  ways..

probably forever. We can't let her win, Han. The only question is whether we can

let this Admiral Werl win, either."

Han couldn't keep a grin from his face. "Election rigging is  illegal,  you

know. Not entirely suited to a law-abiding politician from a good family."

Leia's smile matched his. "I'm not a  politician  anymore,  Han.  I'm  just

pretending to be one. I've come over to the scoundrel side of the Force."

Han waited for a break in the recorded dialogue issuing  from  R2-D2,  then

scowled at the droids. "Hey,  you  two.  Go  take  a  walk.  Give  a  couple  of

scoundrels some privacy here."

Borleias

"You're the nosebleed guy, aren't you?"

The voice came from the other side of the blue sheet separating  Tam's  bed

from the next one to his left. It was a boy's voice.

"The 'nosebleed guy'?"

A small hand pulled the sheet partway aside and Tam could see the  speaker,

a boy of perhaps twelve, brown-haired, blue-eyed, with a cleanly chiseled dimple

in his chin giving him a surprisingly adult look. "They say that  the  scarheads

did awful things to you and when you didn't do what they  wanted,  it  made  you

bleed so bad from your nose you almost died."

"Well, it's not as simple as that." Tam shrugged, surprised that he  wasn't

annoyed by the boy's prying. "What they did to me makes  my  head  hurt  when  I

refuse. My head hurts, my blood pressure goes as high  as  if  my  body  were  a

compression chamber. That can give me really bad nosebleeds. But the pain is the

more dangerous part."

"That's why you have to wear the stupid helmet?"

"That's why 1 have to wear the stupid helmet." Tam extended his hand.  "I'm

Tam."

The boy took it. "I'm Tarc.  It's  not  my  real  name.  That's  just  what

everybody calls me. Nobody calls me Dab anymore."

"What are you in here for, Tarc?"

"You know the other day, when the scarheads  made  their  big  attack,  and

Lusankya bombarded their guts out?"

"I know about it. I fell unconscious just as it was starting."

"Well, they got close enough to shoot at the main building, and some plasma

stuff burned through the shields and the wall  where  I  was,  and  some  of  it

splashed on me. My leg got burned." Tarc whipped his sheet off,  displaying  the

bandage on his right calf. "But I get out today." His tone suggested that he was

making a break from prison rather than leaving a hospital.

"I get out-well, I guess I can leave whenever I want.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"No place to go, I guess. No one trusts me. Anyone  who  does,  shouldn't."

Tam leaned back, grimacing at the painful reality of those words.

"But you fought back! You won. That's what everyone says."

"I should have fought back from the start. I should have  let  it  kill  me

before I did anything bad."

Tarc looked at him, wide-eyed, and then his expression  turned  to  one  of

scorn. "Does everybody just get stupid when they grow up?"

"What?"

"You heard me. That's a stupid thing to say."

"Tarc, listen. I'm just some guy who was of no use to anybody, and then the

Yuuzhan Vong grabbed me, chewed me up, and spat me out in one of their plots."

"Yeah, me too."

Tam gave him a closer look. "Huh?"

"Me, too. The Yuuzhan Vong grabbed me, chewed me up, and spat me out,  just

like you said." Tarc leaned hack, his weary posture an imitation  of  Tam's.  "I

look just like Anakin  Solo.  You  know,  Han  Solo's  son.  The  dead  one.  On

Coruscant, this lady spy for the Yuuzhan Vong made me go with her to  the  Solos

so they'd be weird and distracted, so she could kidnap  Ben  Skywalker.  Then  I

guess I was supposed to die, but the Solos brought me here, even though it hurts

their feelings to look at me." He looked away and his face became very still. "I

don't know where my real family is. Maybe still on Coruscant." He didn't have to

add, Maybe dead.

"There aren't a lot of kids here. Not a lot of civilians of any sort.  What

do you do when you're not recovering from burn wounds?"

Tarc grinned. "I stay with Han and Leia Solo. 'Cept  they're  gone  a  lot,

like now. So I explore." He lost his smile; his  expression  became  melancholy.

"And I have to study."

"Not even having a world knocked out from under your feet can  change  some

things, Tarc. How would you like to learn to be a holocam operator?"

"What's that?"

"Well, anytime you see a  holocast,  the  image  is  being  recorded  by  a

holocam. The holocam is worked by a holocam operator. That's what I do."

"That's... interesting." Tarc sounded dubious.

"Give it a try. I need to find Wolam Tser and see if he needs my  services.

Want to come along?"

Tarc's eyes got bigger. "You know Wolam Tser? My parents used to watch him.

"

Tam mocked his tone. "You know Han and Leia Solo? Sure,  kid.  I'm  Wolam's

holocam operator."

"I'll come along."

"Good." Tam leaned back and shrugged to himself. Well, at  least  it  would

give him something to do.

Yuuzhan Vong Worldship, Coruscant Orbit

The shaper, Ghithra Dal, looked upon Tsavong Lah's arm and hesitated.

The warmaster knew the  news  would  be  unfavorable.  He  could  feel  the

increased activity of the carrion-eaters in his arm,  could  see  and  feel  the

emergence of new spines in the Yuuzhan Vong flesh above the  join.  "Speak,"  he

said. "Your words cannot anger me. Nor your conclusions. If they  are  presented

in a quick and correct fashion, you have nothing to fear from me."

The shaper bowed in gratitude. "It is growing worse, Warmaster. I fear  for

your arm. All my shaper's arts are not saving it."

"So I am doomed to become one of  the  Shamed  Ones."  Tsavong  Lah  leaned

forward on his chair, staring off into the distance, into the future, paying the

shaper no more mind. "No, that will never happen. When my arm is at  its  worst,

but before I am truly among the Shamed, I will offer  myself  in  sacrifice,  or

throw myself against the enemy and die appropriately. My only concern now is  to

support a new warmaster who can lead the Yuuzhan Vong ably and well." He  cupped

his chin in his good hand and considered. "I think  Gukandar  Huath  will  serve

best, don't you?"

It was a ploy, one that Tsavong Lah  would  have  considered  appropriately

cruel had he merely been offering it  for  his  own  amusement,  but  it  had  a

purpose. Gukandar Huath was a fine warrior and war leader, but  was  well  known

for the support he offered the priests of Yun-Yammka and Yun-Harla, and for  his

barely disguised indifference to the Creator  god,  Yun-Yuuzhan.  If,  in  fact,

Ghithra Dal was part of some conspiracy with Yun-Yuuzhan's priests, he would  be

forced now to offer-

"If I may, Warmaster, I said that the shaper's craft was inadequate to  the

task... not that you were doomed," Ghithra Dal said. "You  may  have  one  other

avenue left to you-and it is an avenue of attack, not an avenue of retreat."

Tsavong Lah considered the shaper as if he'd just been reminded that he was

still there. He did not allow any nope to creep into  his  expression  or  tone.

"Speak, my servant."

Ghithra Dal lowered his tone as if to thwart eavesdroppers.  "The  shaper's

arts cannot help you, 1 am certain, because the one force in the  universe  more

powerful than those arts afflicts you. The will, the anger of the gods  is  what

you suffer."

"No, Ghithra Dal. I bring victory to the twin gods, and they know that soon

I will have a twin sacrifice for them.  Their  priests  tell  me  of  the  gods'

pleasure with my successes."

" Their priests, yes. Their priests rejoice, and the priests of  Yun-Yammka

anticipate your father's victories in the Pyria system, so that they may  occupy

the rich world there. But though they are the gods whose names are most upon the

lips of our warriors and great leaders, they are not the only gods."

Tsavong Lah settled back in his chair and  allowed  some  doubt  to  become

evident in his voice. "Of course they are not. We have many gods. But what could

I have done to offend any of them? I  have  offered  no  defiance  to  them,  no

curses."

"You have-I suspect you have-neglected some. Offering sacrifices not  quite

in proportion to their greatness. The twin gods, blessed and  mighty  may  their

names be, give us success, and you celebrate success. But another gave you life,

and you do not seem to celebrate that life."

"Yun-Yuuzhan? But his myriad eyes do not focus upon us so closely.  So  the

priests say."

"So some of the priests say. And if they  are  wrong,  if  following  their

opinions has angered Yun-Yuuzhan, you might  continue  to  follow  their  advice

until it truly does doom you."

"Some of the priests. Do you know any who preach a different discipline?"

"I do. He is young, perhaps not known to you. His name is Takhaff Uul."

"I know of him." Tsavong Lah looked at the join of his arm  and  considered

it for a long moment. "I will speak with him. You are dismissed."

"But I must remain to see the effects of my latest treatment."

"You have just said that the shaper's arts  are  not  relevant  here.  Your

latest treatment will fail. So there is no reason for you to  stay  and  monitor

that failure." Tsavong Lah gestured toward the exit from the chamber.

With another bow, Ghithra Dal withdrew. The portal stretched open to permit

his departure. Before it had closed again, when Ghithra Dal  could  still  hear,

Tsavong Lah thundered, "Summon Takhaff Uul to me."

Then it was closed. No one moved to do his bidding. Nor were his guards and

closest advisers supposed to. They had been carefully instructed in what to  do,

how to act. Takhaff Uul would indeed be summoned... but only in a few minutes.

Another portal widened and Nen Yim entered at a hurried pace. Once  at  his

side, she pulled tool-creatures  from  her  garments  and  headdress  and  began

scraping and prodding at his arm, just at  the  join,  taking  flesh,  capturing

flesh-eaters. At any other time, touching him without permission would have been

a crime punishable by the most ignoble of deaths, but he had instructed  her  to

do so, to waste no time with words.

He ignored her and turned to Denua Ku, who stood as if on guard duty  among

his other bodyguards. "Was it done?"

Denua Ku bowed his head. "It was. I flung  the  tracer  spineray  onto  his

back, and he did not react, did not acknowledge  its  presence.  It  will  spawn

within minutes, and its spawn will spread."

The warmaster nodded, satisfied.

It was not enough to take the heads of the traitors  he  already  knew  and

suspected. He would have to tear this conspiracy out by the  roots  so  that  it

could not grow again. The agony the conspirators felt in the last weeks of their

lives, the shame they and their families  would  bear,  would  become  legendary

among the Yuuzhan Vong.

FOUR

Now a crew of men and women, most of the same species as the tall  man  but

some furrier or rounder, labored at the black wall.

One of them used a flame device like Ryuk s  to  heat  the  wall.  Then  he

nodded and stepped back, and a  woman  stepped  up  and  used  her  own  device.

Whiteness sprayed from the hose she held, the hose attached to the tank  on  her

back, and the air got cold, very cold. The whiteness struck the heated stone.

The stone shrieked. The tall man liked the sound of that.

But only a small bit of the stone fell free. The tall man picked it up.  It

stung his fingers with lingering heat. It was  heavy,  far  heavier  than  stone

should be.

The man and the woman looked over the  tiny  crack  formed  in  the  wall's

surface. They made noises at one another. Then the woman,  apprehension  on  her

face, turned to the tall man, forming images.  The  tall  man  reached  out  and

plucked them forth.

The hot-and-cold would succeed, she told him. In a long time.

What is a long time? he asked. A light and a dark?

Many lights and darks, she said. Many groundshakes would come and  go,  the

plants would make many more buildings fall, small  things  would  grow  and  old

things would die.

The tall man growled, and the woman staggered back from the  force  of  his

anger.

But she had another thought, and she forced her way forward to give  it  to

him. It was a machine with arms and  knobs  and  treads,  and  she  imagined  it

standing before the wall, using its own cutting flames  and  pounding  knobs  to

shatter the stone.

With contempt, he dismissed the idea. He imagined himself standing side  by

side with the machine, striking the wall himself, neither of them doing any harm

to its surface.

She shook her head, a sign he'd come to understand, and changed his  image.

In it, he became smaller and smaller, until  he  was  nothing  but  a  tiny  dot

standing beside one of the machine's treads.

He scowled at her, not understanding.

She showed herself beside him, also tiny, and drew him into  her  eye$.  He

saw through them as she looked up, and up, and up at the machine.

He understood, then. He hadn't shrunk. He'd misunderstood. The machine  was

vast, the width of a gap between buildings, as tall as this enormous chamber.

The tall man laughed. The woman and all the other  workers,  suffused  with

his humor, also laughed. Weaker  than  he,  they  laughed  until  they  coughed,

laughed until they fell over, while he watched them in  good  cheer.  Only  when

some of them began coughing out blood did he relent.

He stood over the woman with all the thoughts and made one of her  own.  In

it, she found one of those machines and brought it here.

She nodded, but, too weak to obey immediately, it was  minutes  before  she

could rise and go about her new errand.

Borleias

Jag was waiting for Jaina when she emerged from her briefing  with  General

Antilles. "A moment of your time, Great One?" he asked.

She cocked her head as if considering the demands on her time, then nodded.

"A moment."

He led her from the office and gestured down  the  hall  to  a  little-used

conference room.

When they were within, and the door shut behind them, she wrapped her  arms

around his neck, felt his strength as he pulled her  to  him.  She  overbalanced

him, shoving him toward the wall beside the door, and kissed him.  The  boom  of

Jag's shoulders hitting the wall startled her out of the kiss and she laughed.

"There  goes   discretion,"   Jag   said.   He   smiled,   the   expression

characteristically subtle enough to be missed by most observers,

"Got carried away," she said. "I'd like to be carried away."

"I have the time if you do."

She shook her head, regretful. "I have to find a pilot to bring  into  Twin

Suns. Your uncle is giving me a B-wing, the same one Lando used to  escape  from

the Record Time mission, and 1 need a pilot for  it."  She  gave  him  a  wicked

smile. "I get to go to anyone I want and see if I can persuade him to leave  his

squadron. Another reason for all the other squadron commanders to hate me."

"They don't need any more reasons. You're a better pilot than any of  them.

And you're even prettier than Colonel Darklighter of the Rogues."

She thumped his chest.

"All right, you're prettier than Captain Reth with the Blackmoons."

She thumped him harder.

"Prettier than Wes Janson with the Yellow Aces?"

"I'm going to break a bone you'll need later."

He finally grinned, pleased with her reaction to his teasing. "Do you  have

any pilots in mind?"

"I was thinking of asking Zekk."

Jag frowned. "He's not that good."

"Well, he's adequate, and I don't  plan  for  the  B-wing  to  be  a  major

contributor to our skirmishes. I'm going to have it fitted as a control  station

for some of my goddess stunts. It'll be a little mobile headquarters."

"All the more reason to have a top-notch pilot in it. If, it's not going to

be an assault craft, it needs to be able to dodge and outfly pursuers."

"Do you have a pilot in mind?"

He considered, then nodded. "Shuttle pilot named Beelyath. He flies  rescue

missions picking up EV pilots. I've seen him do some pretty good tricks with his

shuttle and fly into enemy fire to pick up pilots. He was one of  the  ones  who

helped us retrieve those ejected victims when the Yuuzhan  Vong  worldship  came

into the system. And he's Mon Cal. I know he has starfighter  experience,  which

makes me suspect he has B-wing experience."

"I'll talk to him." She could feel her spirits sag  just  a  little,  could

feel the smile leave her face. "I have to go. We just can't seem  to  find  much

time, can we?"

"Do you have another sixty seconds?"

"Yes."

He leaned down for another kiss.

Yuuzhan Vong Worldship, Coruscant: Orbit

"Speak," Tsavong Lah said.

Nen Yim straightened from her bow. "I have subjected  the  samples  I  took

from your arm to analysis."

"Is my situation favorable?"

"It is, Warmaster. The cure to your situation is no more  complicated  than

refusing any further treatments at the hands of Ghithra Dal.  Material  I  found

upon your arm, material that must have  come  from  Ghithra  Dal  touching  you,

inspires the radank leg to continue growing. It is absorbed into your  skin  and

carried into the depths of your arm by the carrion-eaters. Remove  the  material

and the condition should end."

"Yet if I were to discontinue treatment at the hands  of  Ghithra  Dal,  he

would know that I suspect him."

Wisely, Nen Yim chose not to reply. Whether  she  had  an  opinion  on  the

matter or not, she knew it was not her place to advise the warmaster on  matters

of strategy; any recommendation she could make would not be well received.

"Can you shape a material that would negate the effects  of  Ghithra  Dai's

doings while allowing him to continue to treat me?"

"Perhaps, Warmaster. But the material that coaxes your radank leg  to  grow

as it does is very subtle, very complex. It could be that Ghithra Dal  has  been

developing it for a very long time. Just having the samples  I  obtained,  being

able to observe their effects on other radank flesh, is not the same as  knowing

exactly how it works its effects, which is the first step  toward  counteracting

it. It could take some considerable time to shape a defensive material. Time, or

access to Ghithra Dai's shaping chambers."

Tsavong Lah considered, then nodded. "I will find a way to give you one, if

not both. Withdraw."

When she was gone, he allowed himself to revel in an all-too-rare moment of

simple elation. Doom was not upon him. The gods did not  punish  him.  He  faced

nothing more serious than treachery... and treachery was something he well  knew

how to deal with.

Less familiar to him was the notion of reward, especially as it applied  to

one who was not Yuuzhan Vong, one who was not a loyal warrior or adviser.  "Send

in Viqi Shesh," he said.

Viqi entered the chamber, somewhat thrown off her rhythm by the  fact  that

her escort guards, instead or staying beside  her  as  she  passed  through  the

portal, remained behind. She hesitated just within the chamber, her quick glance

taking in the presence of Tsavong Lah on his seat of command,  of  his  advisers

and servants staying well away along the walls.

"Come to me, my servant," the warmaster said.

Viqi Shesh offered a glowing, though entirely insincere, smile  at  Tsavong

Lah and stepped forward to bow before him.  She  straightened  and  awaited  his

words, but he offered none until, at his gesture,  three  Yuuzhan  Vong  in  his

command chamber departed.

"I have summoned you," the warmaster said,  "to  acknowledge  that  you  do

indeed have worth. Your analysis of the situation with my arm was correct. I was

afflicted with treachery. I offer you my congratulations."

Viqi actually felt her knees go weak. It wasn't from relief at being proven

right. No, the story she'd concocted was supposed to be one that would buy her a

considerable amount of time to find a way to escape. But she'd been  right,  the

conspiracy had been rooted out, and her time was at an end.

Blast the conspirators. Blast them for existing, for being clumsy enough to

be detected so early, for fouling up her plan.

She didn't let her smile waver. "The fact that I am of some service  brings

joy to my heart," she said. "I hope that I shall continue to be of worth to you.

"

"You shall. And for your next assignment, you  will  travel  to  Coruscant,

below us. Yuuzhan Vong warriors have died there, and the burns that killed  them

suggest strongly that Jeedai are the culprits. You will go  with  Denua  Ku  and

join a search unit there-a unit of warriors, and even our remaining voxyn.  They

may be dying off, but they can still hunt Jeedai. You will offer  your  insights

to the warriors,  who  will  run  the  Jeedai  to  ground.  You  will  have  the

opportunity to distinguish yourself further in my service."

Words nearly failed her. On an expedition into the ruined  world's  depths,

she'd be watched at least as closely as she had been  observed  here.  She'd  be

forced to travel with a fast-moving pack of idiot  warriors,  running  her  into

exhaustion. Dirt and sweat would be her companions.  And  voxyn-the  thought  of

being within kilometers of the ferocious creatures was terrifying.

She offered the warmaster her most alluring  smile  and  bowed  again.  The

gesture gave her time to find her voice. "I live to obey, Warmaster."

Vannix, Vankalay System

"Will you be offering your political support to  Senator  Gadan?"  The  old

woman was stiff-backed, as alert as a hawk-bat on the lookout for prey, and  the

downiness of her white hair, which should have softened her  appearance,  should

have made her grandmotherly, instead gave her the  aspect  of  some  mad  Force-

wizard from a scary bedtime story. Too, the jagged scar  zigzagging  across  her

forehead, which hinted at a fractured skull or even brain damage in  some  long-

ago battle, was hardly reassuring.

"Addath enjoys my every confidence..." Leia said,  her  voice  smooth.  Han

waited, though, because he could detect the unspoken  hut  at  the  end  of  her

statement.

Admiral Apelben Werl offered up a faint, exasperated sigh, and leaned  back

in her chair. Her expression suggested that, though this meeting was  not  over,

no further part of it had any purpose.

"... personally," Leia concluded.

The admiral gave her a closer look. "And professionally? Politically?"

"Professionally, I favor the harshest possible resistance  to  the  Yuuzhan

Vong."

"Really." The admiral suddenly did not  look  as  forbidding.  "I  have  no

talent for deception, so I'll ask straight out. What would it take  to  persuade

you to lend me your support in this campaign? To  help  swing  the  population's

vote toward defense and away from appeasement?"

That was, in fact, exactly what Han and Leia had come to offer-a present of

public support from the famous Solos.

Leia opened her mouth to make that statement, but Han cut her off.  "That's

what i'd like to ask you. What would it take? What do you have?"

The admiral smiled. It was the expression of an experienced bantha  trader.

"Are you looking for weapons? Vehicles? I suspect that Borleias is  already  far

better supplied than I am."

"We're looking for surprises" Han said. "The Vong are going to hit us  like

an asteroid bombardment. Ultimately they're going  to  take  Borleias  and  then

begin swarming out in all directions again. What can you give us to  make  their

conquest of Borleias worse for them? What  can  you  give  us  that  they  won't

expect?"

Leia kept her mouth shut. She gave Han a sidelong look. He expected  it  to

be an angry one, but he was wrong; she was curious, evaluating.

"How are the Yuuzhan Vong fixed for naval warfare?" the admiral asked.

Han frowned. "Space navy?"

"Water navy."

"Umm, I know they have some aquatic creatures - transports.  And  creatures

that allow someone to breathe underwater. But we haven't  been  faced  with  any

significant water-based assaults."

"Meaning they might not have any, or they might still have them in reserve.

" The admiral leaned back. She rested her elbows  on  the  arms  of  her  padded

chair, placing her fingertips together before her as if  to  suggest  a  sharply

sloped roof. "I've spent the better part of my  military  career  upgrading  our

armed forces to deal with external threats rather than  internal  ones.  Meaning

that I have access to  a  large  number  of  water  navy  vessels,  surface  and

submersible, most of them currently decommissioned and crewed by droids. They're

antiques... but an antique exploding shell can  still  kill  an  enemy  if  it's

placed correctly. I could give you several submersibles, large ones  for  oceans

and small ones for rivers, if you can bring me a transport to  carry  them.  And

then you'd have weapons, however  unlikely,  that  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  have  not

encountered on Borleias."

"Are they fully armed and operational?" Leia asked.

"Fully armed and operational."

"How many?"

"I can give you two of the larger submersibles. about the size  of  Carrack

cruisers, and four smaller units suited to river traffic."

"Make it four and four and you have a deal," Han said-

The admiral's bantha-trader grin widened. "What deal? you  haven't  offered

anything specific."

"We're offering a guarantee," Leia said. "We guarantee  that  you  win  the

election. You'll see the vote turn your way, and you'll be able to see our  hand

in the turnaround."

"Done," the admiral said. "The day after I'm installed in the office of the

Presider, you receive your eight sub-mersibles." She extended her hand, and Leia

and Han took it in turn.

Once they were out of the admiral's office, and off the military  base  she

used as her headquarters, Leia asked, "All right. So you got  us  something  for

our help when we were expecting nothing. What, precisely, do we  do  with  eight

submersibles we don't need? Which won't do us any good against the Yuuzhan Vong?

"

Han gave her his crookedest this-time-I've-got-you-my-dear smile. "Plenty."

"Let's hear it."

"First, when we get  the  transport  for  the  submersibles  here,  without

informing Admiral Earnest back there, we leave one of the big  submersibles  and

one of the small ones behind, in the nearest large body of water."

"For what purpose?"

"You've been thinking of the resistance cells as being set up in the  major

cities, with vehicles and ordnance stored in caves, forgotten underground tanks,

whatever the operatives can find. But those  submersibles,  however  antiquated,

can serve as preliminary resistance bases... and can be used to find caves  that

can only be reached from underwater. They're not weapons to use on  the  Yuuzhan

Vong, Leia, they're mobile homes that fire explosive  shells.  Enough  for  four

whole resistance cells."

"Ooh." She smiled and considered the idea.

"So how do we do it?"

"Do what?"

"Rig the election."

"I have no idea. I was following your lead, rememher? I've never rigged  an

election."

Han sighed. "Well, you'd better figure it out fast. Or I'll  have  to  take

your temporary scoundrel's license away."

Borleias

Jag sat propped up against the side of  his  clawcraft,  engrossed  in  his

datapad. The special operations docking bay was, for once, comparatively  quiet,

only a few clank-ings and swear  words  floating  in  from  the  far  corner  to

indicate mechanics' activities. He was not too engrossed,  though,  to  see  the

pair of booted feet appear before him.

He looked up, and up, into the blue features of Shawn-kyr Nuruodo. A  Chiss

officer, she'd been his wingmate on his first trip into New  Republic  space  at

the start of the Yuuzhan Vong crisis, his sole partner during his recent return,

and his second-in-command when he'd founded Vanguard  Squadron  on  Hapes.  Now,

while he flew with Twin Suns Squadron, she led the Vanguards.

"Colonel, may I sit?"

"Of course."

She lowered herself and sat cross-legged opposite him-

"I heard that Vanguard Squadron had been classified as fit  for  elite  and

special operations," Jag said. "That you were going to be  stationed  groundside

with the rest of us. Congratulations."

"It's  just  a  matter  of  training,  motivating,  enforcing  discipline."

Shawnkyr shrugged. "I came to you because it would be inappropriate  for  me  to

reject their promotion, however well intended, without  first  talking  to  you,

since you founded the squadron."

"Why would you refuse it?"

"Because I don't intend to lead the squadron much longer.  Nor  should  you

return to it. It's time for us to leave."

"Explain that."

"Our plan was specific, Colonel. We came back to evaluate  the  threat  the

Yuuzhan Vong posed to Chiss society. We've had time to make that evaluation. Now

we should report back with our findings."

Jag regarded her levelly. He'd  anticipated  this  confrontation  for  some

time. "And what would your report tell our high command?"

"That the Yuuzhan Vong are a significant threat to us, to  the  Empire,  to

any societal structure that does not resemble theirs. That the New  Republic  is

shattering on all fronts, and that it is  only  a  matter  of  time  before  the

Yuuzhan Vong mop up here and spread out to reach us."

"I agree with your conclusions."

"Then let's go."

He shook his head. "I've come to additional  conclusions  that  suggest  we

should stay."

"May I hear them?"

"I believe that this engagement, here on Borleias, will be the surest  test

of Yuuzhan Vong determination and character. Only in seeing  how  this  campaign

plays out can we provide a definitive analysis of the enemy that our people will

someday face."

"So it is your plan to return to Chiss space immediately upon the  fall  of

Borleias."

"No."

"Then I have failed to understand you."

"I didn't describe all my conclusions. A second one,  not  related  to  the

first, is that my presence here may affect coming events, in a small but perhaps

measurable way, and that to abandon this campaign now would not only do it harm,

but eventually do harm to our people as well. Any damage I do to the enemy  here

is damage the enemy cannot do to us when they reach us."

"So you will not leave at all."

"I will leave... eventually."

Shawnkyr considered his words silently. The distant swearing  increased  in

volume, to match a sudden spate of hammering that sounded  like  revenge  rather

than repair, before fading to its normal levels. "May I speak freely?  Pilot  to

pilot?"

"Of course."

"I think that sentiment is clouding your judgment. I think that the  notion

of not being here when Jaina Solo is endangered, or killed, is what  is  keeping

you from your duty. But your duty is to our people, and to no one else."

"Is that true?"

"Yes. You have sworn an oath. An oath of loyalty and obedience."

"What if the best observation of loyalty leads on a  course  that  diverges

from obedience?"

"It can't."

"I think you're wrong. I am not loyal to the Chiss because my parents  were

accepted by them, or because 1 have grown up among them. I'm loyal because  they

embody traits I admire and respect; they make those  traits  part  of  the  very

fiber of our society. Traits such as strength in the face of aggression, such as

acknowledgment of duty before self-interest. The Chiss,  however,  are  not  the

only people with admirable traits, not the only ones who deserve to survive  the

Yuuzhan Vong, and not the only ones 1 identify with. Not anymore."

"So you think you are supporting a greater good by staying."

"Yes. We can assemble a report and transmit it by holo-comm. We can explain

that more evaluation is needed... which is the truth."

"As you see it."

"Yes."

Shawnkyr's expression changed. It did not harden against him, which was one

possibility Jag had acknowledged hut did not welcome. Instead, a subtle  sadness

suffused it. He doubted anyone not well acquainted with her would have  detected

it.

"I will stay," she said, "until Borleias falls. Then I will return home."

"Thank you."

"But if I die here, I want you to promise to return in my place. If I  stay

here, \ am delaying the execution of my duty. If I die, you must  carry  out  my

duty."

Jag thought about it. And to his way of thinking,  she  had  presented  him

with an impenetrable argument. His only choices really were to agree, or to  bid

her farewell now. And the defenders of Borleias would be  that  much  worse  off

without her leadership and piloting skills. "I agree," he said.

* * *

Tarc shook Wolam Tser's hand and said, "I thought you'd be tall."

Wolam-graying   and   distinguished,   elder   statesman    of    Coruscant

holojournalism-exchanged an amused look with Tam before returning his  attention

to the child. "I am indeed taller than you."

"Yes, hut I thought you'd be two meters at least."

"An illusion, child. When you are in front of the holocam, you dominate the

image. Everything else is secondary to you. So it becomes easy for  watchers  to

believe you are of extravagant proportions."

"Oh." Tarc nodded sagely, as though Wolam's words  made  perfect  sense  to

him.

They stood in the lobby of the biotics building, meters from the  door  out

onto the kill zone. The lobby was now set up with desks and stations for  junior

officers and enlisted personnel. Some directed  traffic  through  the  building,

others ensured physical and remote security, and still others were located  here

rather than in locations more appropriate to their specific tasks because  there

was no room in those locations for them.

But there was still a little open space away from the main flow of traffic,

and that's where they  stood,  three  generations  of  homeless  civilian  males

surrounded by military operations.

"So, what's it to be today?" Tam fished around in  his  expansive  bag.  He

extracted a holocam, a model small enough to be easily concealed  in  his  large

hands, with a strap to fit around the back of one hand. This unit he  handed  to

Tarc. He showed the boy how to tighten the strap, where to peer into the holocam

in order to see what the holocam's lens saw.

"How the  defenders  live,"  Wolam  said.  "Bedchambers,  meals,  medicine,

refreshers, exhaustion, stolen moments. Spot interviews as I decide. No  setups,

no analysis."

"Why record anything?" Tarc asked. "With Corus-cant conquered,  aren't  you

out of a job?"

"Never," Wolam said. "I am a historian. Unless nothing sapient survives  in

all the universe, I have a job, a calling. Someday people will be curious  about

what happened here, and what we do, recording and analyzing,  may  be  the  only

surviving answers to their questions."

"In other words," Tam said, "once you know what you are,  nobody  can  ever

take your 'job' from you. They can change your circumstances. They can  make  it

hard or impossible for you to get paid." He shot Wolam a  sly  look,  and  Wolam

gratified him by giving him an indignant little scowl. "But your 'job'  is  part

of you."

Tarc fell silent, considering that.

Tam pulled out his  main-duty  holocam,  a  recently  manufactured  Crystal

Memories Model 17, lighter and possessing more  standard  memory  than  previous

models. He passed its strap over his head. The strap grazed  against  the  fresh

scar behind his right ear, the surgical scar over his new implant,  the  implant

that was now his only defense against the deadly headaches  brought  on  by  his

conditioning. Changed circumstances, indeed.

"What should I record?" Tarc asked. "Everything?"

"At first, if you want to," Tam said. "What I do is  to  record  everything

Wolam points at, until he gives me the kill sign-"

Obligingly, Wolam made a gesture like an  abbreviated  ax  chop.  His  pale

hands against his black garments made the gesture especially easy to see.

"-and also anything I find interesting or unusual. You  do  the  same,  and

when we review your recordings together I'll point out  what  looks  interesting

from a historical-record perspective."

"Don't spend too much of your time on the girls," Wolam cautioned.

Tarc's face twisted into an expression of disdain. "You don't have to worry

about that."

Coruscant

"I hate this," Luke said.

"Waiting?" Mara, eyes closed, adjusted her pose,  trying  to  make  herself

comfortable-as comfortable as one could be propped up against a  deformed  metal

wall in a hallway dripping with rainwater that had filtered  through  thirty  or

forty stories of ruined skyscraper above, on a  planet  ruled  and  increasingly

ruined by alien enemies.

"Of course, waiting." Luke had returned half an hour before from the latest

scattering run. Not everyone was back; a few meters down the hallway, Danni  was

cataloging plant samples, and Baljos and Elassar were playing sabacc  underneath

a flickering glowlight. The others were still unaccounted for.

"Which points to a great failing with the Jedi. The lightsabers."

Luke gave his wife a suspicious look. "A failing?"

She nodded. "You can't sharpen them. Back when I was, well, in my  previous

career, I could get through any boring stretch by sharpening my knives. It takes

just enough of your attention to keep boredom at bay, and keeps  your  tools  at

their best. With vibroblades, even if they lose power, you  still  have  a  nice

sharp edge for whatever needs cutting."

Elassar looked back over his shoulder at her. "Sometimes I think you can be

spooky just singing nursery songs."

"That's easy." Mara's face took  on  an  expression  of  motherly  concern.

"Hush, child," she sang, "the night is mild, and slumber smiles upon you..." But

she sang the familiar tune in a minor key, making the  words  unsettling  rather

than soothing, evoking the mental image of an anthropomorphic Slumber that was a

night-monster stealing silently up to a crib.

But she fell silent, and Luke could feel from her what he felt in himself-a

wish, one that could not be fulfilled now, that they could  be  where  Ben  was,

introducing him to all the little surprises and delights  that  came  with  just

being alive. Instead they were here in this endless expanse of death.

Then Mara opened her eyes and looked back down the hall.

Luke felt it too-not danger,  but  some  agitation  expressed  through  the

Force. He rose and put his hand on his lightsaber hilt.

Up through a hole in the floor swung Tahiri. She landed and extended a hand

down, helping Face up to this level. She was somber. He looked dubious.

When she saw Luke, she gulped-not our of uncertainty or fear, Luke thought,

hut out of nausea. "I found something," she said.

FIVE

Now he had a name.

It had taken time, and frequent yanking of thoughts out of their heads, for

him to understand names. Sounds that belonged only to one being.  Each  of  them

had a name, and when he understood that, it became vital for him  to  have  one,

too.

He was more powerful, more important than any of them. It was not right for

them to have names and him not to.

So they called him Nyax. Lord Nyax. Nyax was his name, and no  other  might

have it. Lord was a thing that made his name bigger, better. Lord meant that  he

was more important than anything.

Satisfied with that recognition of his status, he smiled up at the  workers

crawling over the surface of the tall, tall machine.

They repaired it. They cleared rubble from around it.  Soon  it  would  go.

Soon it would knock down the black wall he hated.

Soon he, Lord Nyax, would have everything he wanted-which  was  everything.

All beings would do his bidding. Except, perhaps, those whom  his  senses  could

not detect; they were surprisingly resistant to pain. Them he would kill,  every

one.

Coruscant

"You found a tank of goo," said Mara.

They stood on a metal walkway  high  over  a  deep,  vast  chamber.  They'd

descended through several levels of ruined factory machinery to reach  it.  Now,

their comparatively tiny glowrods illuminated tiny  patches  of  the  floor  far

below.

Not that there was much detail to illuminate. The greater  portion  of  the

floor was dominated by a gleaming white metal tank, dozens of  meters  wide  and

long, but only a meter and a half tall, and filled nearly to  its  rim  by  some

reddish fluid.

Most of the others looked disinterested,  or  immediately  cast  about  for

another place to sit down and rest.

Not so the scientists. Baljos  and  Danni  immediately  pulled  out  sensor

devices and began sampling the local environment.

"Definitely a living thing," Danni said. "A large quantity of  monocellular

life-forms."

"This chamber is unusually high in oxygen, unusually low in carbon  dioxide

and world-shaping toxins." Baljos pulled off his helmet and tugged the  perfumed

patches of cloth from his nose; he took several deep breaths, and a smile  broke

out on his face. "Clean air. Thought I'd never experience it again."

The others followed suit. Luke took in several breaths free of  the  stench

of decay; he felt his spirits lift.

He checked himself before congratulating Tahiri on finding  such  a  useful

resource. She hadn't been happy when she'd  returned  to  the  others,  and  she

wasn't happy now.  She  stared  down  into  the  red  muck  with  an  expression

suggesting suspicion, even dread.

Luke extended his own Force senses in that direction.

He could immediately feel  the  life-form  in  the  tank.  It  was  simple,

undifferentiated. It was also comparatively healthy, though he thought  he  felt

the slightest tinge of hunger to it.

But there was something beyond the life-form, something  below.  It  was  a

twinge of dark side energy. No, not a twinge-though not strong, it was constant.

"Did you find a way down from there?" Luke asked.

Tahiri shook her head. "I looked around for about an hour but couldn't find

the access."

"What access?" Danni asked.

There was no power in this chamber, but a surviving metal ladder gave  them

an easy descent to the floor level. Up close, the tank was no  more  impressive;

it was a rectangular pond of villainous-looking slime.

"I think," Luke said, "that this is a devourer tank."

Mara nodded soberly. "Based on your extensive knowledge  of  factories  and

city engineering."

"Based on something Wedge Antilles said to me once." Luke gave his wife  an

expression of simulated sternness. "There was a time, a few years ago,  when  he

thought he wanted to give up the life of a fighting officer and turn his  skills

to building things, fixing things.  So  he  headed  a  military  crew  that  was

deconstructing portions of Cor-uscant that were falling apart. So  new  portions

of Corus-cant could be built there and fall apart later. He described  something

like this. A huge flat area filled with a living material."

"Oh, that's right," Face said. "You mentioned that the  first  time  I  met

you."

"Years ago," Luke said.

"Yes."

"But you still can't tell me when."

Face shook his head. "Official secrets. If you  were  to  remember  what  I

looked like, who I was then, I still couldn't admit it to you."

Luke sighed.

"What's it for?" asked Danni. "The tank."

"It's one type of garbage disposal." Luke held a hand just  above  the  red

surface. In the light from Mara's  glow  rod,  he  saw  the  fluid  swell,  just

slightly, toward his hand.  "Anything  organic  that  gets  thrown  in  here  is

consumed. Every so often, they pump out the goo and scrape out the material that

accumulates at the bottom of the tank."

"Here's the pumping equipment." Tahiri stood a few meters away, looking  at

a wall console near tubes that led from the tank and entered the wall, She pried

the cover off the console and peered within, "Why didn't the Yuuzhan Vong  smash

the tank? Everything around here was smashed. We know they've been here."

"Because it's organic rather than technological, I guess." Luke watched  as

the redness under his hand rose almost to touch him; then  he  pulled  his  hand

away and it settled down again. "That's interesting.  This  stuff  is  obviously

able to sense food, and to cooperate to reach it,"

"Interesting isn't the word I'd use for it." Face  sat  down  next  to  the

wall, relaxing. "Baljos, can't you fine-tune that  sensor  of  yours  to  detect

intelligent, unattached ladies between the ages of twenty and forty?"

"If I could, do you think I'd still be working as a scientist?"

"Good point."

Tahiri, now up to her waist in the hole in the wall where the console cover

had been, suddenly shoved her way out. She straightened, a puzzled expression on

her face. "It's a fake."

"What's a fake?" Luke asked.

"This console. The computer equipment  looks  real  enough,  but  it's  not

actually hooked up to any pumping equipment."

Luke and Mara moved over to look. Luke leaned into the hole and peered down

at the jumble of wiring and machinery within the wall. It did not seem  to  have

been damaged by Yuuzhan Vong depredations, but he could still trace  the  wiring

from the pumping controls a mere meter to where it ended in a small metallic box

instead of down the wall to where the pumping equipment had to be. "That is odd.

Bhindi, computers are your strength; you want to dig into this and see what  you

can tell us?"

"Sure."

Face sighed. "If we're going to be here a while-Kell,  mark  exits  out  of

this chamber, and then we'll set up a watch on  the  more  likely  Yuuzhan  Vong

approaches."

"To hear is to obey, Great One."

"Appealing to my vanity will not get you out of sentry duty. Well, not this

time, anyway."

Luke returned to the tank, frowning. What was the  use  of  having  one  of

these without having pumping equip, ment attached to it? Though  it  would  take

years, the tank would eventually fill up with waste residue that would  displace

the red organism, might even be toxic to it.

He opened himself more to the Force and could  immediately  sense  the  red

stuff again. He could feel its dimensions, could almost sense the sharp lines of

its width and breadth and depth-but in one place toward the center of the  tank,

that depth abruptly decreased, as though there were a protrusion  of  some  sort

from the tank's surface. "I need to go out there."

Mara, beside him, snickered. "That'll be a quick, painful swim."

"Maybe." This was a living thing, awake and aware in the Force.  Perhaps...

He lowered his left hand toward it again, trying to reach the organisms  through

the Force, uppermost in his thoughts and feelings the idea, I am not food. I  am

not food.

His hand came down on the surface of the organisms.  He  tensed,  ready  to

snatch his hand back, but he could feel the organism go  quiet,  docile  beneath

his flesh. He felt no sensation of burning or any sort of pain.

He took his hand away. His palm was clean; no trace of red showed on it.

Hurriedly, he stripped off his false vonduun crab  armoi  "I  need  an  air

mask," he said. "Completely inorganic material. Preferably with a faceplate."

"I have you covered." Face dug around in his pack, came up  with  something

irregular and gleaming, no larger than Tahiri's fist. "My backup.  It's  a  hood

made of transparisteel foil with an oxygen canister. It'll give you  maybe  five

minutes."

"Perfect."

"Luke, I don't want to discourage your curiosity, but I have to remind you,

if something goes wrong, this is an exceptionally embarrassing way to die."

Luke grinned at Mara. "I'll trust you to improve the story. Luke  Skywalker

goes out in a blaze of glory in battle with a hideous red devourer."  He  handed

her his lightsaber.

Armor off and hood in place, Luke looked over the red pond awaiting him.  I

am not food. 1 am not food. He swung over the lip of the tank and  dropped  into

the goo, felt it close around his legs, rise to his waist.

But there was no pain. He moved forward.  The  stuff  was  warm  and  heavy

enough to significantly retard  his  progress-much  like  the  thickest  of  the

sludge-ponds he'd struggled through on Dagobah, so many years ago.

In the Force, he could clearly feel the place where the red goo became more

shallow, and in moments he stood next to that point. He  turned  on  the  oxygen

canister, offered his wife and Tahiri a jaunty wave, and went under the surface.

Darkness closed on him immediately. Not a job for  the  claustrophobic,  he

decided. / am not food. I am not food.

Reaching down, he groped around until he felt the object he was seeking. It

had a curved edge and was a little larger than some circular steering controls..

. As he felt around it, he  realized  that  it  was  a  metal  wheel,  solid  of

construction, attached to a hub attached to the tank's surface.

It was, in fact, identical to the sort of hatch-closing wheel found on many

types of war vessels.

It wouldn't spin in one direction, but obligingly rotated a quarter-turn in

the other... and immediately Luke felt a vibration in the metal  wheel,  in  the

tank throughout the goo. He hurriedly rose. When he stood up in  the  middle  of

the tank, the goo fell away from him, not clinging.

The chamber was changing.

From the floor in front of the tank something was rising-a rectangular plug

three meters wide by three meters long.

The top portion of the plug was metal plating, half a meter thick. Below it

was stone, and the stone portion kept rising, one meter, two, three, while  Luke

slogged his way over toward the side of the tank.

Then the stone gave  way  to  machinery,  another  three  meters  of  metal

construction, before the whole apparatus clanked to a stop.

Mara and the others were well back from the  apparatus,  covering  it  with

blasters. "What did you do?"

Luke pulled the breathing mask off. "I turned a wheel. Something  obviously

still has power."

He saw Face glance in his direction and grin. Tahiri, in the light from the

glowrods, looked at him, flushed red, and turned away, staring back at the plug.

Danni joined her in this scrutiny.

Mara suppressed a laugh; it came out as a cough. "Luke, before you step out

and join us, out of respect for those of us you're not  married  to,  you  might

want to be sure that you're presentable."

Luke glanced down. His torso was bare. He reached down into  the  goo.  The

submerged portions of his garment were missing, too.

He reached the edge of the tank and stood close to it. "I guess I forgot to

tell the stuff, 'My clothes aren't food, either.' "

"I guess you did."

"Could you pass me my pack?"

The plug was a turbolift housing. Once Luke was out of the tank and dressed

in spare clothes-his black cling-suit, which was more likely to  be  visible  in

the joints and gaps of his false vonduun crab armor-he could see the doors  that

gave access to the turbolift within. They opened readily enough when Luke neared

them, spilling bright artificial glow out onto the floor.

He peeked within. The control panel had only three  settings:  MAINTENANCE,

HOUSING, and RESEARCH.

"Research," Danni said.

Luke snorted. "1 knew you'd say that."

"We all did," Bhindi said. "But I have no objection."

Face brought up his comlink. "Kell, Elassar?"

"We hear you." The voice was Kell's.

"We may be gone for a little while. Don't be surprised or alarmed."

"As long as Aunt Tahiri is going to be back in time for my  bedtime  story,

I'll be all right."

Tahiri sighed. "He's starting to get on my nerves. Doesn't he know that's a

bad idea?"

Baljos snorted. "He knows. But he's a demolitions expert. He likes  playing

with things that blow up in his face."

They entered the turbolift. Its doors shut them in.  Luke  hit  the  button

reading RESEARCH.

The turbolift did not immediately move. An antiquated droid  voice,  coming

from  an  overhead  speaker,  addressed  them:  "State  your  name  and  Bluenek

authorization code. You have ten seconds to comply... before you die."

Vannix, Vankalay System

"We can probably manage twenty or more public appearances in the next  four

days," Leia said. She was whispering, her words nearly drowned out by her  other

voice, the one emerging from R2-D2,  who  was  replaying  the  recording  of  an

argument they'd had a few days ago about Corellia's Senators. "I'm not sure what

the anti-jedi sentiment is on Vannix; if  there's  any  significant  amount,  we

ought to downplay me and promote you. Han Solo, the Hero." She sat at one end of

the most comfortable of the chamber's couches.

Han lay stretched out on his back on the couch, his head in Leia's lap.  He

stared incuriously at  the  ornate  floral  pattern  on  the  ceiling  of  their

quarters. "Sounds like a lot of work."

"Politics is hard work, Han. Hasn't being married to  me  all  these  years

taught you that?"

"Oh, yes. Which is one reason I'm still not a politician.  And  I  have  to

point out, we could do all that work and she could still win."

"It's true."

"In which case the Yuuzhan Vong get another allied world, and we don't  get

our submersibles. And I've already sent off for the transport for them, so  I'll

look like an idiot."

"Also true. So?"

"So there are two reasons to play sabacc, Leia. For fun, or to make  money.

If your main goal is to have fun, losing a little money isn't too bad. If you're

out to make money, and you do, not having fun isn't much of a hardship."

Leia looked into her husband's eyes, suspicious, "I worry whenever anything

that sounds even vaguely like philosophy comes out of your mouth. What  are  you

getting at?"

He flashed her a trust-me grin.  "I'm  getting  at  the  fact  that  you're

talking about playing a fair game. It's much better under these circumstances to

cheat at cards. Better, faster, and surer."

Coruscant

Luke ignited his lightsaber and held the blade over his head, the better to

deflect any blaster damage raining down upon them. But he didn't know what sorts

of booby-traps had been set up on this turbolift, didn't know  if  it  would  be

blaster damage or poison gas, blades, or acid,  attacks  from  above  or  below.

"Mara, cut the door open," he said.

His wife looked confused, eyes flickering back and forth, not  focusing  on

the door before them.

"You have five seconds remaining," said the droid voice.

"Tahiri," Luke said. "The door."

Tahiri lit her lightsaber with a snap-hiss and plunged its point  into  the

metal at the seam. The door began to glow and soften, but it was obvious that it

would take far more than five seconds to cut an exit-sized hole in it.

"Authorization Bluenek two seven ithor four nine na-boo," Mara said.

"Accepted," said the droid voice. "Welcome, Mara Jade."

The turbolift dropped. Tahiri, thrown off-balance, stumbled, her lightsaber

blade swinging around toward Bhindi. Luke caught and  deflected  the  accidental

blow, and Tahiri snapped her lightsaber off almost instantly. "Sorry," she said.

"Don't be." Luke shut his own weapon off. He  turned  to  Mara.  "You  knew

about this?"

The turbolift stopped and the doors snapped open, revealing a hallway,  its

contents and walls made visible by light spilling in  from  doorways  to  either

side. The hall was strewn with wreckage, pieces of chairs,  chunks  of  ceiling,

fragments of droids.

The air was cool, but strong with the smell of decay;  it  overpowered  the

perfume in Luke's nostrils. But there was, in Luke's ears, for the first time in

days, the hum of air-processing units and other powered equipment:  the  hum  of

civilization.

There were, however, no voices. No distant noises suggesting broadcasts  or

recordings being listened to.

Tahiri looked at black scorching on the wall nearest her. "Lightsaber hit,"

she said. Her voice was subdued, a whisper  appropriate  to  this  setting.  "It

looks like some of the droids got if that way, too."

Luke returned his attention to his wife. "Mara?"

Recovering, Mara shook her head. "No, I didn't know about this.  But  there

was a chance-I used various access codes back when I  was  the  Emperor's  Hand.

Some  gave  me  access  to  credit  accounts,  to  weapon  caches,  to  military

cooperation. I had a Bluenek Section code I never had occasion to use. It's been

a long time. I almost didn't remember it."

Baljos rose from a pile of rubbish-a collapsed desk, a toppled  cabinet,  a

spray pattern of body parts Luke thought were more  droid  components  until  he

took a closer look at them. "Fatality here," Baljos said,  his  voice  unusually

subdued. "Human female, middle-aged, cut into  about  eight  pieces.  Lightsaber

damage again, I think." He turned away from the grisly spectacle. "Danni?"

Danni  held  one  of  her  sensors  in  her  hand.  "There's   a   lot   of

electromagnetical. From functioning equipment, I think. It's masking  any  major

biological energy, if there is any."

Luke closed his eyes and extended his perceptions into the Force.

He didn't find any signs of large living organisms. He couldn't. As soon as

he began to extend his awareness, he became  aware  of  it,  the  darkness  he'd

detected from above. Here, it was much closer, a suffusion of anger and  violent

intent that threatened to make him sick to his stomach. He opened his  eyes  and

shook his head at the other Jedi. "We search the hard way," he said.

It was an expansive scientific  complex.  This  floor  had  indeed  been  a

scientific research station... decades in the past. Computer systems dating from

before Luke's birth lay under dust covers, and Danni identified one  long-unused

laboratory as being devoted to cellular analysis.

The most curious feature of the floor, however, was a chamber to  one  side

of the laboratories. It held nothing more than a long apparatus that looked like

a bed with a lid. "A hermetically sealed sleeping unit," Bhindi suggested.

"An  Imperial-era  suspended  animation  unit,"  Baljos  corrected.  "Later

modified to be different from production units, since whatever  was  in  it  was

nearly three meters tall. Not human."

Privately, Luke disagreed. The characteristic of the chamber that  many  of

the others couldn't detect was that it reeked of the dark side of  the  Force-it

was the source, or at least a source, of  the  disquiet  he  had  felt.  And  it

somehow suggested humanity to him, humanity at its worst.

There was something familiar about this  darkness,  familiar  and  ghastly.

"Can you tell what it was?" Luke asked.

Baljos looked at the unit. The trans part steel cover had been thrown aside

with such strength and violence that it was warped, the hinges  along  one  side

and locking latch on the other broken. The machinery that would have  surrounded

the sleeper like insulation was torn free from its housing  and  lay  in  pieces

around the chamber. So did four medical droids-Luke thought it was four, gauging

from the number of droid heads within sight, but he  had  to  admit  that  their

state of dismemberment made actual calculations difficult. "Depends  on  whether

any memory survived in this machinery," Baljos said. "More  Bhindi's  department

than mine. But if it  did,  and  even  if  the  memory  doesn't  obligingly  say

'Ithorian' or 'wampa' or something, I might be able to figure it  out  based  on

the settings and life-sign readings it recorded."

Mara stuck her head in through a darkened doorway  at  the  corner  of  the

chamber. "Luke, this should interest you." She tossed  something  toward  Luke's

feet.

From the manner with which it twisted and curled as it flew, Luke suspected

that it was part of an amphistaff, but when it landed at his feet, he  saw  that

he'd been wrong. This sinuous body was covered in fur and  had  legs  ending  in

needlelike claws. It had been dead for some days. "Ysalamiri," he said.

"Your friend and mine," Mara said. "There are pieces of  a  cage  and  some

Myrkr tree limbs in here. And access halls to  similar  chambers  at  the  other

seven corners of the chajnber. Dead ysalamiri there, too."

"That actually makes sense." Ysalamiri  were  reptilian  creatures  of  the

planet Myrkr. Generally docile, content to live on their trees, they had a trait

that made them of considerable interest to Jedi and other  Force-wielders:  They

projected a sort of energy that repelled the Force, kept its energies at bay. An

ysalamiri's projections canceled the effects of the Force out to a  distance  of

ten meters. Those who knew their traits had used them to hide  things  from  the

Jedi, even to capture the Jedi and temporarily strip them of their  powers.  "If

this has been here all these years, I should have felt it before  now  while  we

were living on Coruscant. But if this chamber was surrounded by ysalamiri,  with

their anti-Force bubbles overlapping, it  would  have  masked  the  presence  of

whatever was here."

"Whatever it is," Face said. "The way I read it, this thing woke up, busted

out, destroyed all the droids around it. With just its strength, you'll  notice,

because there are no burn marks on the  droids  in  here  or  on  the  suspended

animation unit. When it gets into other parts of the complex, it gets its  hands

on a lightsaber and finishes the job. Then it destroys the other droids and  the

ysalamiri."

Luke nodded. "That could be it. But how did it get  out  of  this  complex?

With the ysalamiri dead, we'd feel it if it were still here."

Minutes later, they had their answer.

Two levels above, on the floor that had  been  marked  MAINTENANCE,  Tahiri

pointed upward into what had been a machinery-access niche. The metal panel that

had been the niche's ceiling was gone; the edges of the hole were burned.  "This

leads to a water and atmosphere supply shaft," she said. "It has  pipes  in  it,

but also plenty of open space. I climbed up a pretty good distance; it leads  up

to a hole in a wall a couple of levels up from the chamber with the red goo."

"Is the hole easy to access?" Bhindi asked.

Tahiri shook her head. "Not for normal people. It's about five meters up on

a ten-meter wall. But anybody with a ladder could get up to it,"

"Especially obvious?"

"No, it's on one side of a  storage  house.  Full  of  carpeting  and  wall

decorations. Really useful stuff. No sign of people there. Why?"

"Because," Bhindi said, "in addition to this mystery of a  three-meter-tall

whatever-it-is, we have here a complex that still has power,  a  complex  that's

hidden from sight.

It's big enough to be the headquarters  of  the  first  resistance  cell  I

organize."

"Not a good idea," Luke said, "That three-meter being knows where it is. He

or she may come back."

"So we close up its exit hole, hide it, maybe secure that approach  against

intrusion." Bhindi fixed Luke with a grave look. "Besides, I suspect that you're

not going to let that thing keep walking around out there. Are you?"

"I hope not." Luke looked up the hole; only a few meters of the  water  and

atmosphere pipes were visible in the dim light from their glow rods. "It's  very

strong, very evil. And I have no idea whether we have enough resources  here  to

stop it."

Vannix, Vankalay System

The tall man wrapped in a gray hooded cloak entered the shop. His face  was

shadowed by the hood; under the cloak his garments were plain, dark trousers and

tunic of the sort that any laborer might wear. Behind  him  rolled  a  blue  and

white R2-class astromech.

The shop owner, an aged human man with a fringe of white  hair  and  rheumy

blue eyes, sighed. He moved his hand inconspicuously under the counter  to  grip

the hilt of the blaser pistol bolstered there. He hated clients who preferred to

remain anonymous. So  often  they  were  on  business  that  invited  government

scrutiny, and those were the best cases-the worst were when they  were  here  to

rob rather than employ. But this one, at  least,  had  brought  a  droid,  which

suggested his business was actually in the shop owner's line.

"You repair droids?"  the  cloaked  man  asked.  His  accent  was  foreign.

Corellian, perhaps.

"We do," the shop owner said. "We have cleverly concealed that  information

on the sign outside, the blinking apparatus that reads NINGAL'S DROID REPAIR."

Apparently oblivious to irony, the visitor nodded. "I want this one fixed."

"Certainly. What's the nature of his malfunction?"

The cloaked man sighed. "He has a  partner,  a  protocol  droid,  and  they

argue. The protocol droid apparently hacked into his speech translators and  now

all he does is insult. We want  that  programming  removed.  We  also  want  his

recording memory wiped. Not his other programming-just the recording memory."

"Easily done."

"You can wipe it in such a way that what's on it can't ever  be  retrieved?

Not by anyone, no matter how good?"

"Also easily done. I just have to overwrite every portion of his  recording

memory with something else - several times, to  make  sure  the  most  sensitive

retrieval equipment can't dig underneath the new material."

The cloaked man breathed a sigh of relief. "Good."

The shop owner tapped the counter. "Plug in here, please."

The astromech obligingly rolled forward. He extended his datajack arm.  and

plugged in; a moment later, a text screen lit up on the shop owner's countertop,

"What's your name, little fellow?" the shop owner asked.

The words THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS appeared on the screen. IN ANY CASE,

YOUR FACIAL FEATURE SET SUGGESTS THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE THE INTELLIGENCE TO RETAIN

MY NAME FOR MORE THAN A NANOSECOND. IT IS EVIDENT THAT YOU HAVE BEEN  TAUGHT  TO

REPEAT SOUNDS YOU HAVE HEARD AND THAT YOU UNDERSTAND NEITHER THE WORDS YOU  HEAR

NOR THE ONES THAT EMERGE FROM YOUR MOUTH.

"I see what you mean," the shop owner said. "Well, this is a  simple  task.

We should be through later this afternoon."

"Good," the cloaked man said. He turned to leave.

"Wait a moment. How do I notify you when we're done?"

"I'll just return."

"And we haven't discussed my fee yet."

"That's right. I don't have any local money."

"I'm afraid New Republic credits are no good here."

"I have an extra power cell for the Artoo. Fully charged."

"If you have two, that would suffice."

"For 'a simple task1 you should be through with later this afternoon?"

The shop owner smiled. "Is it a new power cell?"

"Brand new. I bought it on Coruscant about a month before it fell." The man

returned to the counter and  produced  a  standard  astromech  power  cell  from

beneath his cloak. Its reflective surfaces gleamed in the shop  owner's  counter

light.

The shop owner picked it up, hefted it, looked  at  its  charge  indicator.

"Done," he said. "I'll see you this afternoon."

"Thank you."

Two minutes after the cloaked man left, a young woman entered. She  was  no

customer, the shop owner knew. Despite her fair hair, she seemed somehow somber,

and she had the bearing of a military officer.

She displayed an identichip bearing the seal of Vannix

Intelligence and put it in the countertop reader for a moment. The  display

took only a moment to read

CONFIRMED.

"What did that man want?" she asked.

The shop owner sighed. Sometimes it was a  curse,  always  knowing  when  a

customer was going to cause trouble.

Senator Addath Gadan kept the smile fixed to her face. Sometimes that extra

effort kept her voice similarly pleasant, similarly light. "You can't  make  the

rally at all?"

Leia Organa Solo's voice sounded from her desktop comlink, just  as  light,

just as artificial. "Not today's. I'm sorry, Addath. Han is ill and I just  feel

I need to stay with him. But send me the schedule for tomorrow's  events  and  I

should be able to make those."

"I'll do that. Please give him my best wishes."

"Of course."

Addath sat and fumed. Ill, indeed. Han Solo hadn't been too  ill  to  sneak

out of the Presider's residence, eluding two layers of her security before being

detected and followed by the third. Any smart operative  could  have  penetrated

one or two layers from the inside out, as he did, but Solo had managed  it  with

an R2 astromech in tow, a pretty good trick.

Not that, ultimately, it had done any good.  She  hit  the  desktop  button

again, and once more the conversation,  copied  from  the  R2  unit's  recording

memory before it had been wiped, replayed itself.

First was Leia's voice, a whisper: "So what's the total?"

Han's  voice  was  similarly  hushed.  "He's  promising  two  squadrons  of

starfighters, and a light carrier to serve as their base ship."

"I don't know, Han. That's selling oneself pretty cheaply."

"We need all the military resources we can get, and he wouldn't  commit  to

any more than that. So I said yes. And the timetable means taking delivery soon.

We're going to have to leave."

Leia sighed. "This is going to be a big blow to Addath."

"I know. But survival is more important than friendship."

Addath switched it off. Anger made her feel tight from head to foot.

It wasn't Leia  turning  against  her  that  angered  her.  That  was  just

politics. It was the fact that it might have worked. If she  hadn't  had  enough

layers of security for one of them to keep track of Han's movements,  this  deal

between the Solos and the admiral might have come to pass, and she'd have missed

her chance-her opportunity to come up with a more formidable counterbribe.

They walked alone on the lengthy balcony at  the  rear  of  the  Presider's

residence. Addath had arranged for it to be cleared  of  all  visitors,  of  all

government employees, for this meeting. Now Leia walked along beside  her,  with

Han, wrapped up in his hooded cloak and anonymous as any bodyguard or servant, a

step behind them.

Truth be told, Addath preferred it that way.  There  should  never  be  any

question that Han Solo, regardless of his comparative fame,  ranked  lower  than

she did.

"I have come to make you an offer," Addath said-

"Something to help motivate your participation in my campaign."

Leia  hesitated.  "About  that...  Addath,  I  won't  be  able   to   help.

Circumstances have changed. Han and I have to return  to  Borleias  immediately.

We'll be leaving tonight."

"Bear with me. I think what I have to offer will change your mind. I  think

you'll want to stay."

"I...well, let's hear it."

"Six squadrons of improved A-Nine Vigilance Interceptors  and  a  Nebulon-B

frigate refitted to carry them all-it's more of a light carrier  than  it  is  a

frigate. Vessels like it form the backbone of our new fleet."

"Impressive. And you'd give me all this just to keep me  here,  campaigning

for you?"

"Yes. I think that highly of your influence."

"But Addath, you aren't in possession of those vehicles. Admiral Werl is."

"Until I win this election, that is. At which time I take  control  of  the

military and can simply detach those units from the navy.  We  won't  need  them

anyway. We'll be pursuing nonviolence pacts with the Yuuzhan Vong."

Leia sighed, "Listen, Addath, you might lose this  election  even  with  my

participation. Or there might be another runoff. Or some enemy of your  politics

might arrange for you to be killed. There are a thousand different  things  that

could pop up to keep you from providing us  with  those  resources.  I  have  to

refuse."

"What if I obtained them for you now?"

"How?"

Addath slipped a data card from her sleeve and held it up.  It  glinted  in

the moonlight. "This card holds access and authorization codes, plus a temporary

military rank for the bearer. It will allow you to enter Vanstar Military  Base,

catch a shuttle to any of our new  frigates,  and  assume  command  of  it.  For

whatever purpose you want. Send it straight to Borleias."

"Addath, you're talking about taking  control  of  military  resources  you

don't have legal control over."

"But I will. A little alteration of documentation, and the  dates  for  the

transfer of ownership and control are moved up to one day  after  I  assume  the

Presider's office."

"That's just wrong, Addath. I can't do that. 1 don't think  I  can  support

you in this campaign at all."

Addath blinked at her. "Leia, you surprise me. I doubt your husband  is  so

dainty." She turned back to the cloaked figure. "What do you say, Han?"

"Han has nothing to say about this."

"Perhaps you should let him speak for himself."

"I would if he were here."

"What?" Addath felt a jolt of coldness spread through her. She looked again

at the tall cloaked figure. "Who's this, then? Your bodyguard?"

"Addath, I can't exactly introduce you to Fasald  Ghem.  I  understand  you

already know her."

That coldness reached to every one of Addath's  fingers  and  toes  as  the

cloaked figure threw back the cloak hood. The gesture revealed  the  face  of  a

tall, lean woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed. On her forehead was  a  device  shaped

like a crown, but instead of featuring a central gem, it carried a central lens-

it was a head-mounted holocam favored by some field recorders.

Addath had known her face for years. It belonged to one of  the  preeminent

investigative holojournalists on the world of Vannix, and she stared  at  Addath

without mercy. "Hello, Senator."

Leia said, "Fasald, perhaps you could give us a few moments alone."

"Of course." The broadcaster gave Addath a  perfunctory  nod,  then  turned

away.

Addath opened her mouth wide and drew in a deep breath  of  air,  but  Leia

placed a finger over Addath's lips. "Don't do it, Addath. Don't  call  for  your

guards. Fasald has  already  broadcast  that  entire  recording  to  an  editing

station. You'd inconvenience her,  you'd  inconvenience  me,  but  you  wouldn't

prevent your arrest."

Addath sighed out nearly the entire lungful. "Leia, why did you do this?"

"Don't play innocent with me. It's because I'm certain  that  your  way  of

dealing with the Yuuzhan Vong will result in more deaths, more tragedy  than  my

way. So I've stopped you."

"You have a ruthless streak I never appreciated in you."

"It came out when circumstances started killing my children."

"So. What options do you leave me with?"

"You have two options. You can stay on Vannix, and within  the  next  three

hours Fasald will broadcast her report. Dealing with subsequent arrest and  mobs

is up to you. Or you can flee the residence and find yourself  passage  offworld

by dawn. In which case Fasald will give you a full day to get to  freedom,  then

broadcast her report. Either  way,  she  broadcasts.  I  couldn't  persuade  her

otherwise." Leia plucked the data card from Addath's  fingers.  "I'll  get  this

back to the admiral." Addath felt her  smile  grow  bitter.  "So  you  and  your

husband sold your services to the admiral for, what was it, two squadrons and  a

light carrier?"

A frown creased Leia's brow. "No. We were going to help her from the moment

we arrived. The only  thing  she  promised  us  was  some  antiquated  sea  navy

equipment, decomissioned vessels."

"Then what-"

"Oh, the squadrons were what General Antilles promised  Han  if  he'd  come

back now and accept a military commission. Han had a holocomm conversation  with

Wedge while he was running errands this afternoon.  The  whole  conversation  is

recorded. I can let you watch it."

Addath nodded glumly. "1 see."

"But I now suspect that Han will decline the commission. He likes  being  a

civilian. A scoundrel."

"Of course. Quite an extensive setup." Wearily, Addath turned  away.  "I'll

be leaving. Perhaps the former Presider would like some additional company."

"There's a guest at the front gates of the residence. A member of  Fasald's

staff. She'll be accompanying you until you board your  ship  offworld.  Helping

you keep track of details."

"I appreciate your thoroughness, Leia. You think of everything."

Left alone on the porch, Leia watched Addath walk away and  took  stock  of

her feelings.

She almost felt bad for Addath. Watching a person's whole  store  of  hopes

and dreams go up in flames wasn't pleasant.

But Addath was no fool. She could analyze the Yuu-zhan Vong's  relationship

with "allied" worlds as well as anyone else. Addath simply could not give up the

reins of power, and would hold them in clenched hands, whatever the cost.  Since

a military opposition to the Yuuzhan  Vong  meant  handing  too  much  power  to

others, she was willing to steer this world into eventual  oblivion...  just  so

long as she was in control until that final moment.

Whether it was by denying the truth even to herself  or  by  cold-bloodedly

selling the population of an entire world into slavery  and  death,  Addath  had

made the wrong choice, and her influence had to be eliminated.

Leia decided that she felt neither sadness nor joy-just satisfaction with a

job well done. She turned to rejoin her husband, who would understand.

Coruscant

It took only a few  hours  for  Luke  and  his  companions  to  search  the

remainder of the scientific station, for Kell and Elassar to  locate  the  other

end of the massive being's escape path and weld a heavy metal sheet  across  it,

for Bhindi to get some of the computers operating and extract  information  from

them.

Bhindi gathered them in an open area on the top level-an area, Kell pointed

out, that he had laboriously cleaned and emptied of machinery parts until it was

fit for occupation-to give them her evaluation. It was now set up  with  chairs-

made of some antiquated plastic material and curved in  artistic  patterns  that

Luke thought he'd once seen in a museum display, combining coin-fort with  dated

pretension-and one functional medical droid that Bhindi had assembled from parts

of several damaged ones. The repairs had not  been  completely  successful;  the

droid walked with a wobble caused by the fact that its right lower  leg  section

was identical to its left, throwing it a bit off-balance.

"What we have here," Bhindi said, "is two different scientific stations put

together. Both of them operations of Imperial Intelligence, the  first  of  them

dating from about fifty years  ago,  though  this  complex  has  been  here  for

centuries.  And  this  is  CPD-One-Thirteen,  who  has  been  here   since   the

commencement of this station's third stage of operation. One-Thirteen?"

"Greetings," the droid said. Its voice was thin, cultured, with a  distinct

Coruscant accent. "You are all intruders. Prepare to die."  it  turned  to  look

across all its visitors.

"This is the part where the military droids jump out of  their  niches  and

kill us all," Bhindi said. She reached over and  fiddled  with  the  restraining

bolt plugged into the droid's chest. "One-Thirteen, our continued presence  here

is proof that we are authorized personnel."

"That is correct," the droid said. "I am CPD One-Thirteen,  medical  droid,

optimized for suspended life process maintenance. You are  all  intruders  here.

Prepare to die."

"What is this complex?" Mara asked.

CPD 1-13 stood more upright, and his voice became cheerier. "Welcome to the

Pasarian Memorial  Atmospheric  Reclamation  Complex  Project,  Substation  One,

formerly the Coruscant Atmospheric Reclamation-"

"Quiet," Bhindi interrupted. I'll synopsize."

"If you must."

Bhindi glared at 1-13 and he slumped. "The Complex,"  she  continued,  "all

its various substations put together, is a sort of worldwide air-scrubber. Quite

a while back, once Coruscant's leaders built over the last forested regions, the

planet lacked sufficient natural resources to manage the atmospheric  pollutants

produced by the world's industrialized species. The government had that covered,

though, in building a series of very efficient facilities that converted  carbon

dioxide into oxygen, removed waste gases, that sort of  thing.  That  'red  goo'

several stories up doesn't just act as a devourer tank. It's a  variant  of  the

devourer organism,  especially  engineered  for  high-efficiency  conversion  of

carbon dioxide to oxygen. It functions  with  the  same  efficiency  as  several

thousand square kilometers of tract forest. And there are  hundreds  of  similar

substations all over Coruscant.  Well,  there  were.  Some  may  be  damaged  or

destroyed now, but most were built at bedrock level. Lots  of  them  could  have

survived so far."

"Wait, wait." Luke frowned. "They have to have some  sort  of  active  air-

pumping mechanism."

"That's correct-"

"You are all intruders. Prepare to die."

Grimacing, Bhindi did something to the droid's restraining bolt.  CPD  1-33

jerked as if electrocuted each  time.  "Each  station,"  Bhindi  continued,  "is

attached to an elaborate network of intake and output ducts.  In  with  the  bad

air, out with the good. And it's those ducts that are most likely to have failed

planetwide with the destruction Coruscant is experiencing.  But  the  thing  is,

each one of those stations could serve as a resistance center-if I can get to it

and get into it."

Face gave her a disbelieving look. "Are they all secret, like this one?"

"Everyone."

"Why?"

"That was the second stage of the operation." Bhindi stared forbiddingly at

1-13. "Think you can give them some history... without death threats?"

"I have made no threats. Only announcements of impending  doom."  CPD  1-13

straightened. "The second state of this complex, according  to  the  maintenance

droids that preceded me  here,  began  with  the  gradual  elimination,  through

retirement and transfer, of all living personnel who operated this station; they

were replaced by droids. Then, once the station had been  operated  entirely  by

droids for several years, its reclamation organisms  tank  was  disguised  as  a

devourer tank and the operation center was hidden away,  accessible  only  by  a

secure turobolift."

"By whom, and for what purpose?" Face asked.

"By order of the Imperial government, and for the purpose of being able  to

exert control over this planetary environment in times of crisis."

Luke raised an eyebrow over that. "Exert control. You  mean,  in  times  of

revolution, he'd cut off the air?"

"That is correct. Should the Emperor need to regain control or merely cause

billions to die, he  could  threaten  to  shut  off  the  Complex  and  strangle

Coruscant in its own wastes."

"Merely cause billions to die." Luke shook  his  head  over  that  turn  of

phrase. "This doesn't conflict with your medical programming?"

"Oh, no, sir. Implementation of such an operation would be at the Emperor's

sole discretion and by his own hand."

Face managed a mirthless smile. "No matter what, any time I learn something

more about Emperor Palpa-tine, I wish I hadn't."

"So what was the third stage?" Luke asked. "Installation of the systems and

organisms needed to maintain the Subject," said CPD 1-13 "It  was  an  operation

that had no significant relation to our primary purpose, but this location,  the

substation closest to the Imperial government centers, was convenient."

Luke tried to wave the excess verbiage away. "What was the Subject?"

"A human male. He and a human female came to occupy this  complex  thirteen

years ago. Later,  another  male  joined  them  for  a  time.  They  had  proper

authorization, and controlled droids that could activate the  turbo-Hft  control

in the tank above. Months after their arrival, the second  male  left,  and  the

first male was operated on and installed in the suspended-animation unit."

"Human males don't grow to be three meters tall."

"They  do  if  subjected  to  specific  growth  hormones   and   cybernetic

stimulation for years starting in childhood or adolescence."

"So who is this human male?"

"Unknown, sir. His identity was never provided to us, nor the nature of its

armor modifications." Before Luke could ask,  the  droid  hurried  on,  "It  had

hypoallergenk: armor plates installed in its torso, head, elbows, and knees. The

portions of its brain pertaining  to  human  memory  were  largely  replaced  by

computer apparatus. We of the maintenance staff concluded that it was  to  be  a

war machine of some sort, but beyond that we knew nothing."

"Do you have any images of this? Either from before, or  when  it  recently

emerged?"

1-13 shook its head. "No, sir. We were  forbidden  by  our  protocols  from

recording the Subject in any way. Nor do I know what you mean by 'emerged.' r

Curious,  Luke  glanced  at  Bhindi.  She  said,  "It  appears  that  their

programming on this point was pretty comprehensive. When the Subject came out of

his suspended animation tank, their programming kicked in and they couldn't even

detect him any longer. He cut them to  pieces  without  them  knowing  what  was

happening."

"Wonderful," Luke said. "So our so-called Lord Nyax is a three-meter  human

male, possibly a Jedi, certainly a Force user, wandering around in a world where

it probably doesn't understand anything."

"That seems to be about the size of it,"  Bhindi  said.  "Isn't  the  truth

liberating?"

SEVEN

Lord Nyax felt the distant hunger. Something wanted him.

That was all right. He wanted it, too. Anything that was so anxious for him

deserved to he encountered. If it would serve him, he would command  it.  If  it

would not serve him, he would cut it into pieces.

Either solution was just fine with him.

Coruscant

The hunting party moved through the  depths  of  Cor-uscant's  ruins.  Four

hard-eyed warriors, the scars, implants, and  tattoos  on  their  faces  like  a

starmap of pain, led the procession, and four more brought up the rear.

Behind those in front were two voxyn handlers and the  leashed  voxyn  they

theoretically controlled. The massive reptilian beasts, low to  the  ground  and

rippling with Muscle, moved their heads back and forth with every few steps,  as

though they could see through  the  wreckage  around  them  and  view  potential

victims hiding before them.

Viqi, walking alongside Denua Ku behind them, shuddered. The voxyn were the

most ill-tempered and  evil  things  she  had  ever  encountered,  Yuuzhan  Vong

included. At least the Vong could reason, even if their  logic  was  alien.  The

voxyn had been cloned to sense the Force, to hunt and kill Force-wielders.  Many

Jedi had fallen to their fangs, their teeth, the  corrosive  stomach  acid  they

could bring up at a moment's notice.

These voxyn didn't look particularly healthy. In places  their  dark  green

scales were fading to a yellow that reminded Viqi of plants withering from  lack

of sunlight. Though they were alert and had lost none of their intensity,  their

movements often seemed listless.

Not that Viqi would have dared to venture within reach of  their  teeth  or

claws. She suspected that either of them would bite her in two just to hear  the

clack of their teeth meeting in the middle.

The party neared the end of a lengthy access corridor. Ahead, a hole in the

building's exterior wall admitted dim sunlight and a breeze.  Two  Yuuzhan  Vong

warriors, novices from the lack of decoration  their  faces  carried,  stood  on

duty, one to either side of the gap.

Raglath Nur, the leader of the hunting party, addressed them.  Viqi  didn't

bother to listen. She knew they'd address  her  if  they  needed  her.  She  was

correct; after less than a minute, Raglath Nur beckoned her forward, to the very

lip of the hole; Viqi could lean out and  see  countless  stories  of  crumbling

habitat beneath her, and a simple step forward would send  her  falling  to  her

death.

"This warrior," Raglath Nur said, indicating  the  novice  warrior  on  the

right side, "saw the walkway fall; he  was  a  great  distance  away.  First  it

erupted in flames as though from one of the infidel  torpedoes,  then  it  fell.

Searching, he found bodies below-burned, some of them in pieces.

Explain."

"If he didn't see a starfighter fire a missile  or  torpedo,  then  it  was

probably a bomb," Viqi said, indifferent to his  curiosity.  "Something  like  a

torpedo, but carried by a man, put into position, and then persuaded to  explode

a few seconds later-seconds in which the one who planted it runs to safety."

"And?"

"And what?"

Raglath Nur drew a hand back as if to  strike  her.  Viqi  steeled  herself

against the blow. But Denua Ku  positioned  his  amphistaff  between  them.  "He

means, what do you conclude?" Denua Ku said. "You are here for your knowledge of

infidels, their tactics."

"Yes, yes." Viqi fumed, but thought about it. "The bomb didn't just blow  a

hole in the walkway. It took the whole thing  down  and  singed  both  edges.  I

conclude that it wasn't an improvised weapon. Either the people who did  it  had

access to military equipment, or they're proficient  at  building  such  things.

This suggests that they're not ordinary survivors-they're elites of some sort."

"Jeedai?" asked Raglath Nur.

Viqi shook her head. "I don't know if Jedi are among them, but  Jedi  don't

normally use high explosives. So this  was  something  different,  or  something

additional."

"What else?"

"If I were in their situation and had to use an explosive  device-something

sure to give away my position-I'd move away from here very fast,  to  elude  any

Yuuzhan Vong parties that came to investigate. Meaning that if we can figure out

the route they took, we could search it  thoroughly  and  see  if  they  dropped

anything. If they dropped something, we might obtain more information."

"How will we know the difference between an infidel object left here by the

planet-dwellers and one dropped by your 'elites'?"

Viqi shrugged. "I will know," she lied.

The party's searches turned up no objects that Viqi felt had  been  dropped

by their prey. But as they reached the next building over in the  direction  the

trackers felt the infidels had traveled, the voxyn became more alert. They  left

off the eternal, searching sweeps of their heads; instead, they both  stared  in

one direction, outward and downward, the muscles of  their  necks  tense,  while

their tails began to lash.

Raglath Nur allowed the voxyn and their handlers  to  take  the  lead.  The

voxyn led them at a quickened pace; Viqi had to struggle to  keep  up,  and  was

often prodded by Denua Ku when he felt her progress was not sufficient. But  the

voxyn did not understand the city's architecture, and it  required  the  Yuuzhan

Vong, and sometimes Viqi,  to  guide  them  down  stairwells,  ramps,  and  even

turbolift shafts as they rushed toward their prey.

Deeper and deeper they descended into the ruins, and when they had not  run

down their prey within half an  hour,  Raglath  Nur  demanded,  "Is  our  quarry

running? Can they be aware of us?"

Viqi shook her head and took a moment to breathe. She tamped  back  on  her

resentment; a merchant-princess and Senator of Kuat should  not  have  to  exert

herself in this unseemly fashion. "The voxyn detect the Force, correct?  Perhaps

what they're detecting is very strong-and faraway."

Raglath Nur offered up a noise of vexation, but it was, for a member of the

Yuuzhan Vong warrior caste, sufficiently mild that Viqi suspected he had come to

the same conclusion-that  he  had  merely  hoped  Viqi  would  offer  some  more

satisfying answer.

Another half-hour put them much farther down in the  building  level.  From

the general atmosphere  of  antiquity  and  seediness,  from  the  driprot  that

afflicted the dura-crete walls, from the stench of decay and increased incidence

of corrupting bodies, Viqi could tell that they were nearly at bedrock level.

They passed a side-corridor that sloped downward; it was mostly filled with

dark liquid and bodies floating atop it. Viqi skidded to a halt and turned  back

to give it a second look, putting her hand over her nose  and  mouth  as  if  to

reduce the stench. Denua Ku joined her, and other warriors turned  back  to  see

what had drawn her curiosity. She pointed at one of the bodies. "Get that  one,"

she said.

Denua Ku and one of the others splashed into the water. The body  Viqi  had

pointed out raised its head. He was a  male  human,  young  and  frightened.  He

scrambled around in the shallow water and tried  to  dive  away,  but  Denua  Ku

caught him by the ankle and yanked. He dragged  the  screaming,  flailing  youth

back up to the dry cross-corridor, then hauled him up by the collar of his tunic

and held him against the corridor wall. "How did you know?" Raglath  Nur  asked.

Viqi gave him a superior smile. "He wasn't bloated tike the rest."

"Question him," Denua Ku ordered.

Viqi sighed, then turned to their prisoner. The  young  man  was  obviously

terrified but knew better than to struggle now that he was surrounded by Yuuzhan

Vong warriors. He had long black hair; dark fluid from the  pool  they'd  hauled

him from ran from it, pouring from his garments to puddle  on  the  floor.  Viqi

reflected that, in better circumstances, he would have  been  pretty  enough  to

serve her as a toy.

"Where are the Jedi?" she asked.

The young man shook his head. "I don't know about Jedi."

Viqi gave him a chill smile. "These warriors would like  to  kill  you.  In

fact, killing you fast is one of the nicest things they're considering doing  to

you. So you'd better find some reason, any reason, to give me so I can  persuade

them not to. Do you understand?"

The young man nodded. "I know something. I'm going to take  something  out.

Don't kill me." He reached into a pants pocket.

The voxyn roared and surged  farther  down  the  corridor,  dragging  their

handlers behind them, drawing the attention of the other Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

The young man held out his hand. Viqi  reached  for  him,  and  he  dropped

something into her outstretched palm. "It's the ugly-"

"Our prey is close," Raglath Nur said. "We don't need him."

Viqi turned toward him and crossed her arms, a gesture she hoped would hide

the object the prisoner had given her. "I'm not through."

But Denua Ku exerted himself, and Viqi heard the snap of  the  young  man's

neck.

Denua Ku dropped the corpse back into the dark pool. "Now he will bloat."

Viqi glared at him.

Raglath Nur set the warriors into  motion,  following  the  frantic  voxyn.

"What did the human want to show you?"

Viqi shrugged. "I might have found out, if Denua Ku hadn't been so quick to

exterminate him." She waited until Raglath Nur's  attention  was  on  the  voxyn

before she tucked the object out of sight under the neckline  of  her  robeskin.

She got a glimpse of it before it was concealed; it seemed to be a tiny  remote,

one with a pair of buttons on one side, another button and a screen so small  as

to be nearly useless on the other.

The ugly what?

The handlers, dragged by the voxyn, were first to pass through  the  ruined

metal doors, which were three times the height of a human and  broad  enough  to

permit ten pedestrians walking side-by-side. The lettering above the door read:

ELEGAIC FABRICATIONS

THE COMFORT YOU DESERVE

Raglath Nur paused outside the doorway and stared  with  suspicion  at  the

darkness beyond. He whirled on Viqi. "What is this?"

"A manufacturing plant," she  said.  "They  manufacture  furnishings.  Very

expensive, very functional furnishings."

"Such as what?"

"Such as chairs that convert into extravagantly  comfortable  beds,  chairs

that carry their owners about in the air, furnishings that massage those who sit

in them..."

"Massage?" Evidently that  didn't  translate  well  through  Raglath  Nur's

tizowyrm. "Inflict pain?"

"Inflict pleasure."

The warrior gave her a revolted look and led his fellows into the darkness.

Viqi, alongside Denua Ku, followed.

Though the manufacturing concern had seemed pitch-black from outside,  once

her eyes began adjusting, Viqi discovered that it was not so. There  were  light

sources everywhere, but dim ones, mostly at floor level-emergency lighting,  she

decided, probably running low on battery power. In  the  faint  glows  from  the

light sources, she could see  looming  production-line  machinery  and  immobile

fabricator droids, some of them huge.

She wondered if any samples of their stock were  still  in  existence.  But

doubtless her Yuuzhan Vong companions would not let her enjoy such a chair,  not

even for a moment.

She heard the voxyn's hisses go from  excited  to  ferocious,  heard  their

handlers call after them as they yanked leashes free from the handlers' grips.

"Jeedai!" called one of the warriors. "Now you die!"

Viqi heard the distinctive snap-hiss of a  Jedi  lightsaber  igniting.  One

point on the far wall of the manufacturing chamber and the ceiling above it were

illuminated by red light-moving light. The claws of the voxyn scrabbled as  they

charged for their prey.

Then there was another snap-hiss, and another, and another. The distant red

glow brightened. Viqi saw the silhouette  of  a  voxyn  leaping  high,  vaulting

intervening machinery, backlit by the glow-and then something rose to  meet  the

voxyn in mid-flight.

It was not a Jedi, not a lightsaber blade. A block of machinery two  meters

on a side flew up from below and crashed into the leaping voxyn,  striking  with

such force that Viqi heard the creature's bones shatter. The impact smashed  the

voxyn back through the air, a wobbly caricature  of  a  once-living  beast.  The

voxyn's body crashed onto  the  factory's  duracrete  floor  and  the  block  of

machinery landed upon it, breaking more bones, and stuck there, not bouncing  or

rolling forward as it should have. "Forward," Denua  Ku  said.  He  whipped  his

amphi-staff free from his  waist  and  charged  after  the  other  Yuuzhan  Vong

warriors, who now howled in rage and anticipation.

Viqi took two steps in Denua Ku's wake and then something crashed into her,

took her from her feet, slapped her to the duracrete.

It was not a physical thing.  It  was  despair  and  hatred,  loathing  and

worthlessness, fear and howling rage. It was as though Viqi had spent every  one

of her years packing all the hateful emotions an ordinary  person  felt  into  a

storeroom-and suddenly all the pressure had burst through the door and swept her

away. She could only lie there, her arms and legs twitching outside her control,

her stomach rebelling, her heart hammering inside her.

She heard the howl of the second voxyn, heard  the  ripping  noise  of  the

creature vomiting its acid at its prey. Then there was the sound of  lightsabers

swinging, hacking. Meat in great quantities slapping down onto duracrete.

Viqi writhed in time with the war cries of the Yuuzhan

Vong and, one by one, she heard them die under the almost musical tones  of

the lightsabers.

Then there was only the sound of  lightsabers  cutting,  and  cutting,  and

cutting.

The emotional agony that had  gripped  Viqi  lessened-only  a  little.  She

managed to roll over onto her stomach and slowly, painfully came upright.

She knew the beings on the other  side  of  the  chamber  had  just  killed

everything that had entered the chamber with her. She wanted nothing  more  than

to charge at them, to rip them to pieces with her bare hands.

But as she stood, some faint instinct of self-preservation rose within her,

and one thought made up of words emerged: Run, or die.

She turned toward the doorway, and lurched out toward the light.

As she reached the doorway, she put her hand out to steady herself  against

the metal door that had once protected the factory's interior. It fell away from

her grip, crashing down onto the duracrete with a tremendous clang.

The lightsabers in the distance switched off. Viqi froze. She waited,  ears

straining at the sudden silence.

Then she heard it, the padding of feet coming her way.

A noise like a  sob  escaped  her  and  she  ran,  her  speed  enhanced  by

adrenaline and fear.

Luke came awake and rose in a single smooth motion. He didn't have  to  ask

if Mara had felt it, too. She was  awake,  gripping  her  lightsaber,  ready  to

ignite it.

Luke stepped out into the corridor. It was dimmed for sleeping, but  Danni,

too, was emerging, and Tahiri, who had been on guard  in  the  corridor  as  the

others slept, stared into one wall, through the wall, at something that was  far

away and toward the ground. "It's there again," she said, her voice faint.

Luke took a few deep breaths. He couldn't remember what he  had  just  been

dreaming-only that, for a moment, he had been filled,  even  saturated,  with  a

desire to rise and kill every living thing in his vicinity. Absurdly,  he  still

felt loathing and contempt for his companions, for his wife, but as his mind and

memory struggled to assert themselves, those emotions began to fade.  "What  did

you feel?" he asked.

Tahiri shook her head, and Luke could finally see  the  lone  tear  flowing

down her farther cheek. "Awfulness," she said.  "More  awful  than  when  I  was

coming out of my conditioning and started to figure out what I'd almost  become.

It was all through me, through the Force. It almost had control of me.  I  think

maybe it could have had control, if it had known I was here." The despair in her

voice was heartbreaking.

None of the Wraiths had emerged from their new quarters. That  made  sense.

This was a Force sending, a Force problem, and the Wraiths, largely oblivious to

the Force, were not troubled.

Mara, dressed, moved down the corridor, rapping on doors. "Everyone up. Get

into your armor. It's time to hunt."

Four stories up from the manufacturing chamber, Viqi came off a  pedestrian

ramp at a dead run. Her legs trembled from her flight hut she could  not  afford

to rest-she'd heard her pursuers crash through doors she'd dragged  shut  behind

her.

She rounded a bend in the corridor and abruptly there was an arm  in  front

of her, stretched at just under neck height. She hit it at full speed, her  legs

going out from under her, and suddenly she was on her  back,  looking  into  two

human faces illuminated by dim glow rods, at two blaster pistols pointed at  her

face.

It was a man and a woman. The man had an  ill-trimmed  beard.  The  woman's

eyes were a startlingly pretty blue  in  eerie  contrast  to  her  unsympathetic

expression. The two stank and seemed as thin as plasteel support beams.

"Look at you," the man said.

"About fifty kilos, I'd guess," the woman said. "Good eating, looks like."

"How'd you stay so clean?"

"Never mind that. Just kill her."

There was a distant noise, a low-pitched  roar  that  raised  the  hair  on

Viqi's arms and the nape of her neck. The man and woman hesitated, looking  back

the way Viqi had come.

Then it washed across her again, the feeling of hatred and lowness that had

brought her down in the manufacturing chamber. It had the same effect on the man

and woman; they paled and sank  to  their  knees,  the  woman  gagging,  perhaps

prevented from vomiting only by near-starvation.

Viqi scrambled around on the floor, turned toward her original direction of

flight, and crawled as fast as paralysis gripping her arms and  legs  would  let

her. It occurred to her that it would be better to die than flee, better to face

her tormentors rather than have to continue running, but the  rational  side  of

her mind, forcing its way to the forefront, kept her moving.

She made it a  few  meters,  until  the  curve  in  the  corridor  made  it

impossible to see the man and woman.

She heard them scream, heard the snap-hiss of light-sabers igniting.

There was a maintenance panel ahead of her,  set  in  the  wall  at  ground

level. She reached it and tugged at its handle. It resisted,  probably  held  in

place by simple magnetic bolts or locks.

She put all her slight frame into it, yanking, and the  panel  came  loose;

her effort sent the panel skittering across the floor. Beyond the new hole was a

vertical shaft not more than a meter in diameter, steel rungs making a ladder of

the far side.

Viqi crawled into the shaft  and  climbed.  Her  arms  and  legs  trembled,

threatening every instant to fail her.

She heard the  man  and  woman  scream  again,  then  heard  the  noise  of

lightsabers chopping. As she  ascended,  the  noise  faded,  but  the  fear  and

loathing did not.

By Luke's chrono, it had taken them four hours to find the  first  evidence

of the thing or things they sought. They stood in the main manufacturing chamber

of a furnishing concern and looked down at the  dismembered  bodies  of  Yuuzhan

Vong warriors-and voxyn.

It was not evidence or deduction or luck that had led them here.  Luke  and

the other Jedi could feel lingering dark-side energy imbued in  the  walls,  the

machines, the corpses. The sensation, so like what Luke had experienced within a

certain cave on Dagobah, caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise.

Mara dispassionately looked at the body of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior  who  had

been cut into at least eight pieces, The wounds  were  all  burned,  cauterized.

"Our Dark Jedi again. Or whatever they are."

"Dark Jedi might be able to impose their will  on  normal  people,"  Tahiri

said. She had her arms crossed, and Luke suspected her pose  was  an  effort  to

keep herself from trembling. "But not on  fully  trained  Jedi.  This  was  like

jumping into an ocean of the dark side of the Force. It was like feeling  Anakin

die again. And wanting again to die with him." More tears came, and  she  looked

away so that the others would not see them.

"I wonder," Luke said, "what it's going to be like to confront  them  face-

to-face." He prodded a severed Yuuzhan Vong leg with his toe. He  hadn't  always

done well when faced with the dark side. "The Yuuzhan Vong are invisible to  the

Force. They couldn't feel it. We aren't. Especially the Jedi."

"I had a thought on that." Face was on guard duty, blaster rifle  in  hand,

his attention on the entryway. "A tactic I've used from  time  to  time  in  bad

situations."

"What's that?" Luke asked.

"Snipers. Set up a couple of kilometers away in a blind with a laser  rifle

and someone who really knows how to use it, and  when  your  enemy  wanders  by,

'zap.'"

Luke smiled. "Not exactly fair."

"Who wants to be fair?"

Viqi woke up in absolute blackness and thought for a moment that she  might

be dead. In a panic, she sat up, but before she came  upright  her  head  banged

into something, resulting in a sharp pain to her forehead and a hollow  metallic

noise.

Then she remembered. She'd climbed and climbed, hearing the roars  and  the

lightsaber hums of her pursuit. Her pursuers had cut their way through durasteel

bulkheads to follow her, but she'd found side channels  from  the  access  duct-

ventilation ducts that were smaller and smaller, adequate for a diminutive  Kuat

woman but too constricting for whatever followed her.

After a long time of groping along in the  dark,  she  had  let  exhaustion

overcome her.

Now she was alone, weaponless and friendless, surrounded by  kilometers  of

crumbling duracrete and metal in all directions.

Not to mention thirsty, hungry, and blind. She  forced  herself  to  become

calm and went through a ritual checklist  that  helped  her  regain  control  of

whatever situation troubled her. Checklist, she began. One extravagantly capable

political strategist whose skills are of no use here. One Yuuzhan Vong robeskin,

a living garment whose sole virtue is  that  it's  better  than  running  around

naked, and matching footwraps. That's about it.

That wasn't quite it. She'd been  given  something  a  million  years  ago,

shortly before starting her run. She dug around under the robeskin neckline  and

held the object that pretty, doomed boy had handed her. It fit her palm so  that

a button fell under her thumb; there were two others on the  reverse  side.  She

pressed the first button. A tiny red screen lit up on the  remote,  illuminating

her surroundings-a sheet-metal duct, layered with dust, a meter wide by  half  a

meter high. The screen showed a wireframe sphere with one bright red dot at  its

center and another at one point on its circumference.  She  slowly  rotated  her

hand and saw the second dot move around, always staying  at  the  circumference,

always pointed in the same cardinal direction.

It was a location finder of some  sort.  A  distant  object  transmitted  a

regular signal, and this device always pointed in the direction of that object.

She pressed one of the buttons on the reverse side.  The  wire-frame  image

disappeared, replaced by the words

OUT OF RANGE.

She pressed the last button. The device spoke with the voice  of  a  woman:

"Remember, pick up a new charge for the speeder, and we're  having  dinner  with

the Tussins tonight."

Viqi supposed that the recording  would  have  depressed  someone  of  less

personal strength. She didn't even bother to wonder how  dinner  had  gone.  The

woman who'd recorded the message was gone, either crushed  or  vaporized  or  in

some slavering idiot's stew-pot, and  her  sole  virtue  was  that  one  of  her

possessions was now going to benefit Viqi Shesh. Whatever it might lead  to,  it

was, for now, a light source.

She rolled over onto her stomach, shining the light in front  of  her,  and

began crawling.

Viqi stood at the center of what had once  been  a  large  living  chamber,

centerpiece of the  apartment  of  some  wealthy  business  family.  There  were

numerous doors and hallways  off  this  chamber,  all  leading  to  bedchambers,

refreshers, recreation areas-all now wrecked by looters and invasive plant life.

To Viqi's right, a few meters away, was a huge hole in the  wall  that  had

once been a viewport half again the height of a man, and twice as  broad  as  it

was high. Now creepers growing on the building's face hung  over  the  gap,  and

pieces of shattered transparisteel littered what  had  once  been  heated  flex-

carpet.

Fungus was everywhere, grayish mushroomlike growths that were larger toward

the hole. She'd stepped on one of the tiny ones and it had detonated beneath her

foot, making her instep very sore and damaging the living footwrap she wore. She

was careful not to touch any more, and it was clear that much of the  damage  to

the chamber had come about because of the  fungi-obviously,  many  of  them  had

exploded over the last  several  weeks.  Perhaps  vibrations  in  the  crumbling

buildings set them off, perhaps  they  simply  detonated  when  they  reached  a

certain size.

The wall in front of Viqi was ferrocrete that had once been decorated,  its

utilitarian strength disguised, by a thick layer of flexible sheeting  decorated

in a starfield pattern. Attached to building power, the sheet's stars and nebula

would glow. Now the sheeting hung in strips. She'd torn  most  of  it  away  and

could find nothing beyond but ferrocrete.

On  the  other  side  of  it  was  another  crumbling  skyscraper.  In  her

explorations, she'd  managed  to  get  onto  the  corresponding  floor  of  that

building, but on its far side; collapsed hallways and walls  had  prevented  her

from getting closer.

The tracking device had led her here, and  this  was  the  point  that  was

closest  to  whatever  it  indicated.  On  the  little  screen,  the  white  dot

representing that object and the dot indicating her current position were almost

one point.

She shrugged. So she hadn't been able to find her way  to  the  object.  It

might just be a matter of ascending one floor, descending  one,  searching  more

diligently to find the spot that gave her access.

Then she remembered the OUT OF RANGE message she'd received.  She  held  up

the remote and depressed that button again.

There was a noise, a  faint  "ponk"  of  some  mechanical  apparatus  being

activated, from above her head. She looked up and then jumped aside just in time

to avoid a descending ceiling panel. Its bottom edge came down to  rest  against

the floor. She moved around to look up.

It was a set of metal stairs, narrow and without  rails,  leading  up  into

darkness.

Breath catching in her throat, she hurried  up  the  staircase.  She  found

herself in a narrow, low corridor that led for three meters straight to the wall

she had found so impassable-straight to a corresponding gap in that wall, a  gap

that was lit from the other side.

Before moving on, she looked around and found a small button control by the

top of the hidden staircase. She pressed it and the stairs  rose,  locking  into

place behind her.

The gap in the wall opened into a cylindrical chamber a few meters  across.

Occupying most of the chamber, resting on its stern, was a vehicle-about  twelve

meters long, squat at its stern and tapering toward the bow, all  in  a  uniform

deep matte blue that made it difficult for Viqi to make out details of its hull.

There  were  protrusions  everywhere,  plates  and  hemispherical  antennae  and

maneuvering or braking flaps.

The floor of this chamber was some four meters below Viqi's feet. She stood

directly opposite a hatch that opened into the vehicle's interior, one-third  of

the distance from the stern.

The thing looked like some sort of oversized military landspeeder, enclosed

to protect its crew, but since it rested on its tail-with no  machinery  evident

to allow it to be lowered into a horizontal position-Viqi suspected that it  was

equipped for flight; she could not tell if it  was  an  atmospheric  vehicle  or

spaceworthy. On the side was stenciled the vehicle's name, Ugly Truth.

She looked up. The cylindrical  chamber  continued  upward  another  thirty

meters beyond the vehicle's nose, ending in a jumble of fallen metal  beams  and

duracrete blocks. Viqi could see faint sunlight through that deadfall.  Scarcely

able to believe her good fortune, she moved forward  across  a  narrow  span  of

metal that gave her access to the open hatch and clambered into the vehicle.  As

the vehicle was resting at a ninety-degree angle to  its  intended  orientation,

when she stepped down from the hatch she stood on what was obviously meant to be

the main cabin's rear bulkhead. A crudely  constructed  ladder  of  spare  metal

parts wired together allowed her to climb up to the pilot's seat at the bow.

Under her touch, the secondary power switch engaged without  hesitation  or

resistance. The cabin lights came up; the  vehicle's  navigation  computer  went

through its power-up sequence.

Viqi felt a slow, wondering smile spread  across  her  face.  This  was  an

emergency evacuation vehicle, cunningly hidden away in the event of  disaster...

but its owners had not been able to get to it in time as Coruscant fell. Perhaps

they had died, perhaps they had been off-world already.

Who was the youth who'd given her the locator? Son of the vehicle's owners?

A builder who'd known and kept the secret of  this  hidden  chamber,  and  later

intended to use the vehicle when it became clear that its owners would be unable

to? He'd probably been prevented from escaping by the  collapse  of  the  access

above him. Perhaps he'd been working all this time to dig his way clear of  that

obstacle. Now he was dead, and the vehicle was hers.

She was free of the Yuuzhan Vong and in possession of an escape from  their

world.

A thought hit Viqi and her hands fell  away  from  the  controls.  If  this

vehicle was designed as a last-ditch opportunity for survival,  perhaps  it  was

carrying...

She scrambled down the makeship ladder to the vehicle's stern. A hatch into

the stern compartment lay at her feet. She struggled with its  locking  bar  and

then hauled the heavy hatch open.

Below was a storage compartment with restraining nets to either side and  a

hatch at the  far  end.  Doubtless  the  hatch  gave  access  to  the  vehicle's

thrusters. Viqi didn't care. Her attention was riveted by what she  saw  in  the

nets.

Rations.  Military  rations,  carefully  packed  into   individuat   meals,

guaranteed to survive for years on the shelf. With a moan,  she  clambered  down

into the compartment, grabbed the nearest  meal  at  hand,  and  tore  into  the

wrapping flimsy around it.

EIGHT

Aphran System, Aptiran IV

Aphran IV was a heavily forested world whose green landmasses stood out  in

stark contrast from her blue seas. She was a warm world, lacking polar ice, with

no moons to contribute tides. And she  was  a  comparatively  poor  world  whose

people were noted chiefly for mastery in woodworking, whose artistic inlays were

prized by collectors.

All this Han knew from a brief look at the star map records in the Falcon's

computer. The records suggested that Aphran would  never  survive  even  a  weak

Yuuzhan Vong attack. Considering how close she was to the Yuuzhan Vong  zone  of

control, not far from Bilbringi, only her relative  unimportance  had  kept  her

from being conquered by the enemy.

Han glanced at his wife. She looked very different than usual: her hair was

long, black, and straight, her eyebrows broader and darker  to  match,  and  she

wore garments that Senator Leia Organa Solo would never have  been  caught  dead

in.

They started with a bodysuit that was black and glossy.

Though synthetic, it creaked like hide when she moved. Her boots, low-slung

blaster holster, and gloves were of a similar material, but  matte  rather  than

glossy. In the spirit of the character she was to portray, she had her feet  up,

crossed at the ankle, on the copilot control board before  her.  She  fixed  Han

with a forbidding stare. "What are you looking at,  ground-pounder?"  Han  shook

his head. "If your daughter could see you now..."

Leia broke character for a moment and grinned. "I'll make sure Artoo gets a

holo for her. He'll have to get you, too."

Han nodded. "I am magnificent." He'd spent enough  time  in  front  of  the

mirror both to make sure that his disguise was adequate and to be  certain  that

his costume provided sufficient dash and drama.

He wore a close-trimmed beard. His real hair and his false facial hair were

a matching, distinguished shade of silver-gray. But he was not  trying  for  the

look of an elder statesman; his uniform was a dark gray, two shades more  somber

than the old Imperial Navy uniform, and thick with  accoutrements:  a  brand-new

pistol on his hip, twin vibroblades on the other hip,  a  brace  of  alternating

vibroblades and small backup blasters across his chest. The  metal  gauntlet  on

his left hand looked like a commercial robotic replacement and contained  enough

circuitry to read as a prosthetic to most scanners. The contact lens on his left

eye made the eyeball silver-reflective; the false puckering scar reaching upward

and downward from the eye suggested the violence that had caused the  mechanical

replacement to be installed.

C-3PO, in the passenger seat behind the pilot's chair, spoke up. "So that I

do not jeopardize your mission through misstatement or omission, Princess, may I

ask why the deception?"

"Aphran is something of an unknown quantity,"  Leia  said.  "The  smugglers

we're going to meet  and  try  to  persuade  to  act  as  our  local  resistance

organizers say that there've been a lot of surreptitious comings and goings with

government envoy ships. What does that suggest to you?"

"That matter is rather outside my fields of expertise," the droid  replied.

"But it would seem to me that the planetary  government  does  not  need  to  be

surreptitious when sending representatives  to  the  New  Republic.  That  would

suggest that they are sending their envoys to someone they wish the New Republic

to know nothing about."

Leia nodded. "Very good. To whom?"

"Since the most far-reaching government outside the New Republic is that of

the Yuuzhan Vong, simple statistics give the highest  probability  of  it  being

them."

"Correct. Or perhaps the Peace Brigade, acting as  intermediaries  for  the

Yuuzhan Vong."

"Oh, I hope not, Princess. The Peace Brigade are,  well,  very  unpleasant.

Very difficult." This was something of an understatement; the Peace Brigade  was

a loose alliance of mercenaries who cooperated with the Yuuzhan Vong.  Believing

the Yuuzhan Vong claim that a galaxy without the  Jedi  would  be  a  galaxy  at

peace, or just to earn profits, they had hunted the  Jedi,  capturing  some  and

turning them over to the enemy.  Definitely  "unpleasant"-except  to  those  who

shared their ability to cast blame  for  the  current  war  on  anyone  but  the

aggressors-they were widely regarded as traitors to the New Republic.

Han said, "And  if  they're  talking  to  the  Vong,  the  Solos  can't  be

recognized here."

Leia nodded. "If the Yuuzhan Vong learn that the Solos are here, they  come

to get us. Even if we  use  false  names,  if  a  Corellian  YT-Thirteen-Hundred

freighter lands with a dashing, vainglorious man at  the  controls,  it  doesn't

matter what name he uses, people are going to think Han Solo."

Han shot her an offended look. "Vainglorious?"

"Vainglorious," Leia affirmed. "Vain plus glorious. Go ahead, deny it."

"Well... I can't, really."

Instead of being directed to a berth on the planetary capital's  commercial

district, the Falcon followed  her  homing  beacon  to  a  government  spaceport

district some distance away from the capital.  The  spaceport  was  an  enormous

thing, kilometers long, with landing bays and Warehousing domes  on  spars  that

extended like the arms of some sort of mutant sea creature from a central hub.

As they followed the beacon in, Han spent a lot of time at the comm  board,

arguing first with one minor official, then another. Finally, just before  final

approach, he leaned back and sighed. "We can't land in the commercial zone,"  he

said.

Leia frowned. "Why not?"

"All cargo has to be off-loaded and inventoried here. New regulations. Once

it's all off-loaded, we can decide  where  it's  to  be  taken  by  their  cargo

haulers. Back on  the  ship,  for  transport  elsewhere,  or  into  one  of  the

warehouses up here for evaluation by buyers. The thing is, no matter where  it's

loaded, it costs money to move it. and it costs more to put it back on the  ship

than to warehouse it."

Leia nodded, a world-weary smile on her lips. "Which is  an  inducement  to

keep the cargo up here so that a more limited range of buyers can  look  at  it.

Which helps keep prices and bribes where they want them."

"And people called me dishonest," Han muttered,  "On  the  other  hand,  we

don't have to wait around for them to complete their inventory. We  can  take  a

commercial landspeeder in to their capital. That'll give them lots more time  to

steal expensive bits and pieces from our cargo, which is really  what  it's  for

anyway."

A pair of Aphran men standing in front of a refueling station  watched  the

duo emerge from the landing bay that now housed the Corellian YT-1300 freighter.

"I see a man and a woman I don't recognize," said the first. He was  a  man

of middle height, his hair, beard, and  mustache  graying.  With  his  reserved,

courteous manner and his colorful, comparatively expensive clothing,  he  looked

like a fit merchant. But the hardness of his eyes, when he  was  not  trying  to

cause someone to like or trust him, suggested that he was not that  peaceable  a

man. "And while the man and the woman could be the Solos,  they  could  also  be

billions of other people."

"I didn't say they were the Solos,"  the  second  man  said.  His  jumpsuit

matched the lavender-with-black-pinstripes decor of the front of  the  refueling

station; he was as lean and tough looking as the banded artificial muscles found

in cybernetic limbs. "1 said that it was the Millennium  Falcon.  I  don't  care

where they slap paint on her or how many new antennas they mount on her, I  know

the look of her. I know the sound of her creaks when she comes in for a landing.

"

"Hmm. Well, until we're sure, we play it safe."

"There's less money in playing it safe."

"There's longer to live and spend that money in playing it safe."

"You're the boss."

The bearded man eyed his companion. In  his  experience,  You're  the  boss

always meant, I'll shut up for now, then put a vibroblade in your back when  the

profit is highest. He mentally crossed his companion off his "useful"  list  and

moved him to "expendable."

"I'll get things started," he said. "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime."

The bearded man moved off  toward  his  personal  transport,  a  late-model

landspeeder paid for by information he'd furnished  to  the  Peace  Brigade.  If

these were the Solos, he might be able to afford a personal spacecraft now--even

factoring in the sum his companion's elimination would cost.

On the balcony of their rented quarters, Leia sat, her  ankles  crossed  on

the railing before her, and entered notes.

Things were going well... mostly. The Talon Karrde organization had already

led her to a pair of retired - semiretired-smugglers who were trusted by  Karrde

and Whose enthusiasm for hunkering down in  anticipation  of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

invasion matched hers. With their experience, they could find their own bases of

operations, could even help with the acquisition  of  some  vehicles  and  other

equipment. What Han and Leia had to do now was help them set up a communications

system, a combination holocomm and comlink that could transmit and  receive  the

short,  hard-to-track  data  packets  that  were  the  essence   of   resistance

communications.

But Leia set her notes aside for a moment, distracted by  the  view.  Below

the balcony, a small lake stretched into the distance; its far shore was at  the

base of a low line of hills, and Aphran,  the  planet's  sun,  was  now  setting

beyond them. It was a red-gold orb, distorted by distance  and  atmosphere.  The

hills cast shadows over the distant part of the lake, while sunbeams illuminated

the nearer portions, turning the water from green-blue to a brilliant gold.

It was only a sunset. She'd seen lovely sunsets all over the galaxy. But it

had been some time since she'd paid attention to one, appreciated one.

This sunset meant nothing in the face of Yuuzhan Vong invasions, the  death

of Anakin, the disappearance of Jacen, her long separations from the rest of her

family. But just for this moment, those sacrifices didn't dig pain into her, and

she could appreciate what she was seeing, its simple beauty.

"Bottle that and sell it, and we could make a fortune."

Leia started. She looked up to where Han stood behind her. The energy field

that kept the cooler air inside their quarters also muffled sound, so it  hadn't

been too difficult for him to sneak up on her.  He  stared  into  the  distance,

watching the golden rays retreating as the sun continued its  descent,  and  for

once there was no self-deprecating humor, no expression of suspicion or cynicism

on his face. Just contemplation.

Leia reached up to take his hand. He settled into the chair next  to  hers.

"How were your errands?" she asked. "Pretty good. The inventory  is  about  half

done, and the locals haven't found any  irregularities."  His  last  words  were

private code, agreed upon before the Falcon  had  set  out  on  this  series  of

missions. Irregularities meant  the  smuggling  compartments  and  the  shielded

escape pod; those secrets  remained  intact.  "And  I  was  able  to  make  some

purchases. Cabinets. I need to arrange for their delivery." So he'd been able to

find the comm gear he needed, but delivery to  wait  until  the  new  resistance

leaders locally had a place for it. "You?"

"Oh, I may have made some new friends."

"That's good. You know what?"

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about work anymore today."

"Me, either."

Borleias

Tam and Wolam sat in the pilot's seats of Wolam's shuttle. Once a  military

blastboat, it had been stolen from  the  Empire  early  in  Wolam's  career  and

gradually converted to a lightly armed mobile office. Now it  sat  in  the  kill

zone in front of the biotics building, one of the tew vehicles internally lit at

this nighttime hour.

In the absence of true  broadcaster  facilities,  Wolam  did  have  a  less

comprehensive set of tools built into the ship's computer, and now  he  and  Tam

looked over their last couple of days'  recordings,  annotating  them,  choosing

which to use and which to discard in Wolam's next historical documentary.

"Here's one." Wolam paused the image and then  tapped  the  figure  of  one

mechanic working energetically on an X-wing engine.

"A mechanic," Tam said.

"A female mechanic." Wolam dialed the image so that the woman  expanded  to

fill the screen. "Corellian, unmarried. Good looking. I spoke with her for a few

minutes while you were showing Tarc the zoom functions."

"Ah. I see. We now take a break from work so you can once again try to  set

me up with a woman."

"That's correct."

"And I should seek her out because she's good looking. Not that she isn't..

. but am I that shallow?"

"At your age, you should be."

Tam sighed and took the recording off pause. It continued on, focusing  for

a few more moments on that X-wing and its crew, before blanking. A moment later,

the image of the biotics building's main lobby snapped into focus.

"More important, now's not the time," Tam said. "I. have a  few  things  to

get through first. Such as my reputation as a traitor."

"A reputation that exists only in your own mind."

"And the fact that all my savings were on Coruscant. The fact that  all  my

possessions fit in a bag that I have no trouble lifting."

"So seek out a woman who isn't as shallow as I wish you were."

"What's this?" The image on the screen became jerky, blurring across a  sea

of waists and belt buckles. Then it rose,  and  Wolam's  face  appeared  on  the

screen, saturated with light, recorded from about  waist  height.  The  recorded

Wolam grimaced and tried to turn his face out of the glare.  "Oh,  that's  young

Tarc's recording."

"That's right, our second tour of the building."

"I think he was experimenting with the notion of using the holocam glow rod

as a weapon."

Tam snorted, then became serious again. "Wolam, he doesn't belong here."

"True."

"And the Solos-well, I don't have any criticism of them,  they  have  their

duties, but they're  not  exactly  around  here  much.  They're  just  momentary

reassurances for him."

"Yes. They've accepted responsibility for him, despite their  inability  to

be available to him at all times, because he needs someone, and no one  else  is

that someone."

"Pretty much the way you accepted responsibility for me,  ten  years  ago."

Wolam shook his head. "Not quite. You were sixteen, more or less an adult."

"Just like now."

Wolam smiled. "Tam, listen. If you have a  failing,  it's  that  you  don't

seize the initiative, don't grasp the opportunities that are before you. Such as

going out and spending the occasional rowdy evening with people  your  Own  age-

there are plenty here, including that mechanic. Such as finding out for yourself

that your worries about your reputation as a traitor  are  unfounded.  But  that

railing is not too great a sin. Its consequences eat  at  you,  but  don't  hurt

anyone except you. You don't hurt other people, you do a necessary  job  quietly

and well, and when a hard task moves into your  path-such  as  shaking  off  the

domination of the Yuuzhan Vong-you accomplish that task."

"Eventually."

"I'm trying to say, as your friend rather than as your employer,  that  I'm

proud of you, and I wish you were proud of yourself."

Tam met Wolam's eyes, then looked away, concentrating on the  screen  again

rather than let Wolam see tears trying to form. "Wolam, that hoy needs somebody.

When it comes time to shove off Borleias, I want to take him along with me. With

us, if you'll have him along."

"See there? Another task accepted. A gigantic one compared to  shaking  off

Yuuzhan Vong brainwashing - accepting responsibility for a whole, entire  child.

But have you asked him? Have you talked to the Solos?"

"No. I will. And if any of them say no, then it's  no.  But  I  think  Tarc

deserves the offer."

"I think you're right. And of course, I'd be happy for him to  come  along.

If he can learn to stop spinning, he could be a useful backup holocam operator."

Tam grinned.

On the screen, Tarc's low-point-of-view recording continued, catching  both

Tam and Wolam as they marched  down  one  of  the  biotics  building's  basement

hallways.

Something on a wall over a doorway flashed with reflective light, just  for

a moment, then disappeared as the holocam view progressed.

Tam sat upright. "Hold it." He paused the recording, then reversed it until

that door frame came into view again.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." He wasn't sure, but if it was what he thought  it  was,  it

was bad news.

He scrolled the screen view back  and  forth  across  that  one  second  of

recording. One moment, the wall above the door frame was blank, then  there  was

that reflection, then it was blank again.

"Are you sure now?"

"Let's go look."

It was a low-security hallway, though there were higher-security  doors  on

it; they were protected by keypads and alarms, and around the  corner  from  the

portion of the hallway where they stood, doors providing access to the Twin  Sun

Squadron's special turbolift were guarded by security personnel.

But here there were two doors immediately across from one another. The  one

on the left had a keypad access and was marked ENVIRONMENT. The one on the tight

led to a well-packed utility closet.

Tam reached up over that doorway and ran his finger along the wall. After a

few centimeters of paint, his fingertip encountered a smoother substance, though

no change in the wall texture was visible to him. The smoothness ran for perhaps

ten centimeters, then turned to paint texture again.

"I saw that," Wolam said. "What was it?"

"A Yuuzhan Vong toy. When they had control of me, I put one up on the  wall

outside Danni Quee's laboratory. Watch this." Tam stroked the  thing  along  its

left edge, a combination he'd been  taught  during  his  brief,  painful,  life-

changing stay among the Yuuzhan Vong.

Vibrant colors suddenly appeared on the patch of material. They showed  the

keypad on the door opposite showed hands moving across the keys, tapping  in  an

access code.

Tam looked at Wolam. His expression was unhappy, He pulled  a  comlink  out

from a pocket. "Tam  Elgrin  to  Comm  Main  Control,  put  me  through  to  the

Intelligence office."

"This is Comm Main, say again your name and authority."

"This is Tam Elgrin. I'm one of the civilians on base."

"Oh. Right. You're that civilian. Who did you want again?"

"The Intelligence office."

"The Intelligence office isn't staffed every  hour  of  the  day,  and  you

aren't authorized to demand the attention of the head  of  the  department.  I'm

amazed you're authorized to remain on Borleias."

Tam covered over the microphone portion with his palm. He offered  Wolam  a

cynical smile. "So my reputation is all in my imagination, huh?"

"Give me that."

Tam handed the comlink over.

"Hello, this is Wolam Tser. I, too,  want  to  speak  to  the  director  of

Intelligence, or the director of Security, and I mean immediately."

Tam moved to the keypad and tapped at several of its  keys.  There  was  an

audible click from the lock and the door slid up and open. Beyond were floor-to-

ceiling hanks of mechanical and electronic equipment and a narrow,  worker-sized

gap between them.

No, you're just Tam Elgrin again, changing his voice, and if  you  continue

to broadcast on this frequency, I'm eoing to have you dragged through  the  kill

zone behind a landspeeder."

"State your name and rank."

"I'm Warrant Officer Urman Nakk, Security."

"Warrant Officer Urman Nakk, Security, are you widely considered to  be  an

idiot?"

"What?"

"Because in less than a day, I can guarantee that  you  will  be.  By  your

fellow security officers. By your superiors. By your family and  your  pets.  By

the officers who court-martial you. And the taint will stay with you  throughout

your life, because I am a brilliant historian and commentator and  you  are,  at

best, a mediocre desk pilot. This  will  happen  despite  your  best  efforts...

unless you hand me over to one of the officers I asked for, right now!"

Tam gave Wolam a thumbs-up of approval. He took a step into the niche. Then

he backed out again and bent over, studying the floor of the  electronics-access

closet. "I, ah, I, hold on."

Tam reached down to the seam where the metal floor of the  closet  met  the

duracrete floor of the hallway. He lifted, and the floor came  up,  revealing  a

hole in the duracrete beneath. The hole was smooth-edged but irregular,  lacking

the mathematically precise curve of something cut by machinery.

A noise floated up out of  the  hole.  It  seemed  to  come  from  a  great

distance, but it was recognizable: a wail of despair, of pain. Tam sat  down  at

its edge, dangling his legs into the hole. "I'm going down."

"No, you're not,"

"I'm seizing the initiative, Wolam."

"No, you're waiting for an officer to come on rhe comlink."

Tam pushed the portion of metal flooring over until  it  leaned  against  a

panel of machinery and would not fall across the hole. Then he  slid  down  into

the hole.

"Tam, blast it, don't do what I say, do what I mean."

Nine

The tunnel did not descend in a straight line. Tam didn't expect it to.  It

was something of the Yuuzhan Vong, and  they  never  did  anything  in  straight

lines.

But that, and the fact that it had been bored through duracrete, meant that

Tam could clamber down rather than drop to a messy, bone-breaking  stop  at  the

bottom.

Another scream floated up at him, louder. A few meters down, the  duraerete

gave way to bedrock, then became duraerete again; it looked as though there were

sub-basements below, levels  that  perhaps  were  not  accessed  by  the  public

turbolifts and emergency stairwells, and the Yuuzhan  Vong  intruder  had  found

them. Tam could see, even dig his  fingers  into  smaller  side  holes  in  this

tunnel; he supposed that whatever stone-eating organisms had  made  the  tunnels

had first dug around in  all  directions  and  then  conveyed  images  or  other

knowledge to the Yuuzhan Vong spy who commanded them, allowing  him  or  her  to

choose which path the main tunnel would follow.

He found a larger niche, two meters deep and one high. Its bottom was lined

with some sort of mossy substance; he'd  seen  it  before,  one  type  of  sleep

surface.

There  were  also  gelatinlike  bags  he  knew  to  contain  bio-engineered

creatures that performed various functions when released from  the  jelly.  He'd

possessed some of them when he served the Yuuzhan Vong.

There was another scream, and the sound of voices speaking. He  slowed  his

descent, tried to make it quieter.

A few more meters, and the hole opened up into a chamber. Lights  flickered

red and blue down there, suggesting  a  computer  terminal  screen  rather  than

overhead illumination.

And finally Tam could understand one of the voices. It was a male,  and  he

spoke Basic with the halting accent and peculiar rhythm he'd come  to  associate

with a member of the Yuuzhan Vong trying not to reveal his true origins.

"Where is the true crystal?" he asked.

There was no immediate response. Then there was another  shriek.  The  next

speaker also sounded male, though his words were distorted by pain: "It's  gone.

It's been taken to the pipefighter already."

"The pipefighter abominations are still in the flat building. They have not

fired upon us. They leave the lambent in that  building  when  guards  are  more

numerous here?"

"Yes, yes-" There was another scream. This one went on and on, ending  only

as the second speaker ran out of wind.

Tam grimaced. He had to see what was going on in  that  chamber  before  he

could act. But although he could wait here at the tunnel end, his legs braced at

the side, for some time, he couldn't turn upside down to  peek  outside  it.  He

wasn't that nimble.

Ah, but he had another set of  eyes.  Hurriedly,  he  took  his  light-duty

holocam from around his neck. He detached its neck cord, attached it so that the

unit could  dangle,  its  lenses  pointed  to  the  side  and  its  quick-review

viewscreen oriented up toward him. He adjusted the lenses to wide-angle viewing,

then lowered the unit to the very bottom of the tunnel and slightly beyond.

In the viewscreen, he could see the chamber below.  It  appeared  that  the

tunnel was in the ceiling of one corner. The chamber  itself  was  mostly  lined

with computer equipment, but in one corner was a doorway that probably led to  a

hallway or stairs, and in the opposite corner was a son of stall. This was about

the same size as a refresher's  shower  and,  like  a  shower,  was  bounded  by

transparent walls; in the bottom of the stall was a mound of  what  looked  like

broken transparisteel shards.

Next to the stall was a chair. In it sat a Bothan male,  bound  hand,  arm,

and foot. Leaning over him was a human male in a mechanic's jumpsuit.

Tam thought for a moment that the Bothan was diseased. There were irregular

bumps on his face, on his fur wherever his garments did not cover  it.  Then  he

realized that the bumps were moving, writhing.

Bugs of some sort. As Tam watched, the mechanic Brought  his  hand  to  the

Bothan's forehead. There was an audible crunching noise and the Bothan  screamed

again. When the mechanic lowered his hand, the Bothan's forehead  had  one  more

wiggling bump on it.

Wolam, where are you? But Tam realized that he could neither wait for Wolam

to finish persuading the security forces to come, nor speed that process  along.

The Bothan might die, a death that truly would be on Tam's conscience. But  what

could he do? He took stock of his possessions. One hand-sized  holocam,  various

data cards, a comlink, a small vibroblade he'd always carried  because  it  made

him feel better, not because he knew how to use it well.

And his brain. A brain that didn't always work in  an  admirably  efficient

fashion.

He left the vibroblade switched off and put it between his  teeth.  He  had

other tools. The chamber below was dark, lit only by terminal  screens.  Screams

would cover small noises. And he was a strong man-though no fighter, he had size

and muscle mass that fighters had often admired.

On the ledge where the moss grew,  he  set  the  holocam.  He  advanced  it

through its recording memory until he reached one recently recorded scene,  then

set it to play back on a sixty-standard-second timer.

He waited until he heard another  question,  answer,  and  scream.  As  the

scream began, he lowered himself into the chamber below.

Now all the mechanic-a Yuuzhan Vong operative, it was obvious,  possibly  a

warrior-had to do was turn his head to see Tam. One look, one  attack,  and  Tam

would be dead.

But the mechanic didn't turn. He leaned in close to  witness  the  Bothan's

agonies. Tam, at arm's extension, let go with one hand and swung, but the  extra

reach brought his toe into contact with the floor. A  moment  later,  when  with

wrist strength he stopped swaying, he let go and stood.

And knelt. And immediately crept to the side of the room, huddling  in  the

deep shadow beside a bank of unlit terminals, He took the  vibroblade  from  his

mouth, positioning it so that its switch was beneath his thumb.

He'd always been inconspicuous despite his size. Now he feared  that,  even

with his best efforts and wishes, he wouldn't  be  inconspicuous  enough.  "Now,

again. Where is the crystal-" A voice floated out of the  tunnel  Tam  had  just

left, a woman speaking with a Corellian drawl: "Yes, we're going  to  pound  the

Vong, pretty much."

The mechanic snapped upright, turning to stare at the hole. His  expression

displayed  no  emotion,  but  his  body  language  spoke  eloquently  of  alarm,

confusion.

The voice continued, "It doesn't matter how  hard  they  hit  us.  We  have

twenty thousand years of galactic civilization  to  draw  on.  They  can't  ever

destroy that."

The mechanic ran to stand beneath the hole, then leapt up.

Tam charged forward, thumbing the vibroblade on. He could see the  Bothan's

expression, alarm and pain, through the rivulets of blood that flowed  down  his

face. Tam slashed the man's bonds, one-two-three, and they fell  away  from  the

Bothan. "Run," Tam whispered.

There was a crunching noise from the tunnel opening, hate-filled  words  in

the Yuuzhan Vong language, then a scraping noise as the mechanic descended.

And there it was, a moment of decision, an initiative to seize or  abandon.

With it was fear, more fear than Tam had ever felt, even  when  he  had  been  a

Yuuzhan Vong captive and certain that every moment would be his last. Tam turned

and charged back toward the hole. As he lurched forward, he saw  the  mechanic's

legs descending, heels toward him, toes toward the corner.

The mechanic's feet hit the floor and he began to turn.  Tam  slammed  into

him with all his considerable  mass,  hammering  him  into  the  room's  corner,

stabbing wildly with the vibroblade, kneeing and  screaming  and  battering.  He

felt blood on his knife hand, felt fingers around his left wrist.

Then his wrist was being twisted, mercilessly, as if by a machine,  and  he

was facedown on the chamber floor. There was pain like an explosion in his  left

arm and when he twisted his head he could see that it was dislocated,  the  ball

of his arm levered out of its socket.

He hurt too much to move, almost too  much  to  hear,  but  he  caught  the

mechanic's words: "You fight like child."

Then there was the sizzling noise of a blaster shot, a roar of such  noises

as a rifle on full autofire opened up. Blood sprayed down onto Tam's back.

The mechanic fell atop Tam. The mechanic's hand, vibroblade still  held  in

it, hit the floor beside Tam's ear.

Tam strained to look up. The door into the chamber was open  and  uniformed

security operatives were flooding in. With them was a brunette woman  he'd  seen

around the base: lella Wessiri, head of Intelligence for this operation, General

Antilles's wife.

She knelt before him and one of her men rolled  the  mechanic's  body  off.

"Tam?" she asked. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm going to pass out now," he said.

And he did.

Aphran System, Aptiran IV

They came for Han and Leia in the quietest hour of the night, rushing  into

their bedchamber and leveling blasters before the two of them could stagger  out

of bed.

Han stared into the bright lights affixed to the rifles.

"What's the meaning of this?" he asked.  His  voice  was  calm,  the  words

perfunctory.

The leader of the intruders, only a silhouette behind the lights, answered,

"Han  Solo,  Leia  Organa  Solo,  you  are   charged   with   falsification   of

identification, smuggling, entering Aphran space on false pretenses, and  crimes

against the state."

"Is that all?" Han offered them a dismissive wave. "That's only a couple of

hours' worth of crimes."

"Get up. Get dressed."

Han and Leia  rose  and  began  groping  in  the  semi-darkness  for  their

piratical garments.

R2-D2 whistled.

C-3PO, running through a self-diagnostic sequence  in  trickle-power  mode,

heard the alarm in his counterpart's musical tones  and  started  up  full-power

mode. In a fraction of a second he regained use  of  his  motivators  and  other

systems.

They were where they'd been when he'd performed his partial power-down,  in

the now empty starboard cargo hold of the Millennium Falcon.  "What's  that  you

say? Performing a bypass of what?"

The ominous clanking noise from the exterior cargo hatch just  meters  away

made any answer unnecessary.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear." Surely there was some procedure  in  his  memory  for

coping with an intrusion, but the only thing that occurred to the protocol droid

was to run and hide.

The astromech whistled  again  at  him,  clearly  irritated  with  him  for

dithering. R2-D2 leaned forward into wheeled-transport mode and  rolled  out  of

the bay into the circular corridor that provided access to most of the  Falcon's

compartments.

C-3PO trotted along after his partner. "Could you slow  down?  This  is  an

undignified pace."

He followed the astromech into the stern compartment that  provided  access

to the Falcon^ escape pods.  R2-D2  already  stood  at  the  portmost  pod,  his

manipulator arm activating its access button. The door  slid  partway  open  and

then jammed. The data screen on the front read MALFUNCTION.  But  the  astromech

tapped on the button, a rhythm C-3PO did not recognize, and the door  slid  open

the rest of the way.

That noise was drowned out by  the  groan  of  the  starboard  cargo  hatch

opening, by shouts of "Commence search!" and "Move all this out of here!"

C-3PO trotted into the pod after R2-D2. "This is  entirely  inappropriate,"

he said. "Master Han and Mistress Leia are not doing anything illegal."

The astromech whistled and tweetled at him as  he  activated  the  controls

inside the pod.

"Oh,  they  are?  Well,  yes,  1  suppose  illegal  is  defined  by   local

authorities, so there would be variations causing  an  accidental  violation  of

local ordinances." Tweetle. "What, on purpose?"

The escape pod hatch slid closed.

In the hour before dawn, R2-D2 finally opened the pod door and  glided  out

again. The Millennium Falcon was quiet; sheltered from weather by the bay walls,

she did not even creak under pressure from wind gusts. "How very ominous," C-3PO

said.

Tweetle.

"No, I will not be quiet."

Tweetle.

"Well, yes, for the sake of safety, I will lower my volume, but I will  not

cease speaking."

C-3PO followed the astromech up into  the  cockpit.  R2-D2's  hemispherical

head turned around, a complete sweep, as he evaluated the situation outside  the

cockpit viewports.

There were no guards to be seen, but his musical trill alerted C-3PO to the

holocams placed so that they could observe the port and  starboard  hatches  and

ramp, the upper hatch.

"Yes, Artoo, it appears that we are to remain here."

The astromech trilled at him again, insistently.

"Well, no, they would not have placed a holocam to monitor the secret hatch

out of the false escape pod."

Tweetle.

"Are you mad? I can't go out there alone! I'll be  captured  and  scavenged

for parts,"

R2-D2's response was decidedly unmusical. It sounded like air being  forced

through a Hutt's blubbery lips.

"There's no call for that. I recognize the danger Master Han  and  Mistress

Leia face. I just have no wish to be terminated."

Tweetle.

"Yes. Perhaps they face termination, too."

C-3PO struggled with the notion the astromech had handed him. His duty  was

clear; though he had no skills pertinent to this task, he did have to rescue Han

and Leia.

But rescue meant exposing himself to physical danger.

This was something he'd done many times  over  the  decades  usually  under

protest dictated by his self-preservation programming, but now that  programming

had become something more.

It had become an actual dread. The notion that he  could  be  assaulted  so

vigorously that his mental process might be suspended forever filled him with an

eerie programming static that made it hard for him to move.

On the other hand, the notion that Han and Leia might experience a  similar

amount of damage was even worse, and allowed him to regain  use  of  his  limbs.

"What do I have to do?"

Tweetle.

"Oh, no."

The concealed hatch in the Falcon's lower hull slid open. Shiny droid  legs

lowered through it, waving fu-tilely as they sought the bay floor meters  below.

"Much farther, Artoo?"

The astromech whistled at him.

C-3PO's torso, then head emerged as he was lowered at a steady rate through

the hatch. He held on to a gray cord that looked more like a  power  cable  than

climbing gear. In fact, the knob under his  hand  was  a  dataport  plug.  C-3PO

looked around and then down at the dura-crete beneath him. "Oh,  I  can't  look.

Please make it fast."

Moments later, his feet touched down. The cable continued lowering,  piling

up in irregular coils on the bay floor.

R2 tweetled, impatient.

"Yes, yes, I'm going." C-3PO walked with exagger - ated care, like a  sneak

thief in a holocomedy, to the wall nearest the Falcon's stern.  Then  he  turned

and crept along the wall to the corner, turned again, and crept toward  the  bay

doors providing access to the street beyond. He kept  his  photoreceptors  alert

for other holocams, but saw none beyond those R2 had mentioned.

He plugged the cable into the dataport at the door. Now, in  theory,  R2-D2

would be able to work his magic on the computer handling access into and out  of

this bay.

The astromech offered a musical trill, a noise of victory.

"Excellent, Artoo! And-what? I have to what?"

"What we must know," said the man on the other side of the table,  "is  why

you are here and what you are doing." He was of  average  height,  with  a  dark

little beard, a dark little mustache.

Dark little beady eyes, Han decided.

The man wore the uniform of Aphran's  military  security  forces,  but  his

accent was not of this world. He spoke Basic with the tones of someone from  one

of the Corporate Sector worlds.

"We're here testing the effectiveness of a series of spacer costumes  being

produced on Commenor," Han said. "And what I must  know  is,  how  did  you  see

through them? Our sponsors will want to know, to make the costumes  better  next

time."

"This is not funny," the man said.

"What's your name, pal?"

"I am Mudlath, Captain Mudlath, of Aphran Plane-taryExosecurity."

"Well, that's funny. See, you don't lack a sense of humor."

Leia gave her husband the eye. What he was  doing  wasn't  likely  to  make

things much worse, hut there was no way his  taunts  would  make  the  situation

better, either.

They sat around a table in a duracrete-lined room  deep  in  the  spaceport

base. Han and Leia, their hands manacled behind their backs, their ankles  bound

together by cutproof cords half a meter long, sat on  one  side  of  the  table;

Captain Mudlath sat opposite, with two  of  his  men,  unfriendly-looking  ones,

flanking the one door out of the chamber.

"I am pleased that you're comfortable enough in your current  circumstances

to remain jovial," Mudlath said. "Now, you should admit it: you are here engaged

in some military action directed against the Yuuzhan  Vong,  knowing  full  well

that any action you take could embroil the people of this peaceful world in your

destructive war."

Han considered. "Isn't destructive war kind of redundant?  Until  I  see  a

constructive war, or even a giggly war, I have to think so."

Clearly exasperated, Mudlath turned his attention to Leia. "Surely you  can

ease your situation by being more cooperative than your husband."

"Well, he's angry," Leia explained. "And rightly so. We  employed  costumes

precisely to save your people from any inconvenience. If the Yuuzhan  Vong  knew

we were here, they might come, but  if  they  didn't,  they  wouldn't.  We  were

thinking of you, your needs and feelings, and you reward us with  hostility.  He

should be angry."

"An interesting  notion,"  Mudlath  acknowledged.  "But  it  still  doesn't

explain your mission here. I need the names of everyone you've spoken with since

your arrival."

"Oh, dear." Leia thought  about  it.  "Well,  there  was  the  officer  who

contacted us first. The one with the spaceport authority. I transmitted him  our

documents and we got a homing beacon from him."

"That's right." Han nodded. "He was friendly.  Unlike  you,  Captain.  Then

there was the baymaster who met us outside our bay. Rulacamp, wasn't it?"

"Elderly woman," Leia said. "Not very talkative."

"Then there was her aide, the one who liked my scar."

Sighing, Captain Mudlath cupped his chin in his hand.  "Are  you  going  to

make me resort to sterner measures?"

"You mean torture?" Han perked up. "Well... if you have to. But make  it  a

good one. One I haven't seen before. I was tortured by Darth Vader."

"So was I," Leia said. "That was before we met."

"You'll have to go some to top him."

"Take them out of here." Mudlath suddenly sounded  weary.  "We'll  get  our

answers later, and probably very unpleasantly."

C-3PO moved away from the bay where the Millennium falcon was  being  held.

It was the hour before dawn, so he was slightly less conspicuous than a gleaming

golden droid would be during the daylight, but he felt as obvious as a two-meter

glow rod.

A pack hung around his neck; filled and then lowered to him  by  R2-D2,  it

held items the astromech had thought he would need for his trip. He  pulled  out

one of these now, a datapad, and opened it up. He keyed its audio input. "Artoo?

Do you read me?"

The screen lit up: YES.

"Oh, I'm so relieved. So they are no longer jamming comlink frequencies?"

THEY ARE STILL JAMMING WITHIN THE BAY. BUT YOU PLUGGED  ME  INTO  THE  DOOR

COMPUTER DIRECTLY, AND I'M TRANSMITTING THROUGH THAT TO A COMM UNIT OUTSIDE  THE

JAMMING FIELD.

"I don't need the details. A simple yes or no would have sufficed."

INCORRECT. THE PROPER ANSWER WOULD HAVE BEEN NO,  THEY  ARE  STILL  JAMMING

COMLINK FREQUENCIES, AND YOU WOULD THEN HAVE BEEN MYSTIFIED  AS  TO  HOW  I  WAS

COMMUNICATING TO YOU.

"Your infernal devotion to minutiae  is  beginning  to  overload  my  logic

circuits. Try a simple answer again. What do I do now?"

WHERE ARE YOU?

C-3PO looked around and read in information. He was  at  a  corner  of  two

spacedock avenues, both now increasingly busy with  pedestrian  and  landspeeder

traffic. He saw humans, nonhumans, droids, self-motivated loaders, air-speeders,

cargo speeders.

And avenue labels; they glowed atop posts. "I appear to be at the corner of

Row Fourteen and Column Five.'

PROCEED TO THE SOUTHWEST CORNER OF ROW 25 AND COLUMN 10.

"How will I know which is the southwest corner?"

IF YOU MANAGE TO ARRIVE THERE WITHIN THE NEXT SEVEN  STANDARD  HOURS,  EAST

WILL BE THE DIRECTION WHERE THE SUN IS.

"Very funny. Ha-ha." Irritated to his cybernetic core, C-3PO set off toward

the indicated destination.

Han gave up on the door. He backed away to the cot attached to the wall and

sat there. "I can't get the access panel off," he complained. "It's built like a

prison."

"It is a prison," Leia said.

"That explains it. Can you do anything? With the Force?"

"Sure, if I had my lightsaber." Leia stood  at  the  center  of  the  room,

studying the air vents, the slot in the door that doubtless was intended for the

insertion of a food plate. "Which,  you'll  recall,  I  left  behind  with  your

favorite blaster, since they are both  sort  of  identifiable.  But  give  me  a

minute." She closed her eyes and tried to submerge herself in the Force, to feel

whatever it was that it might choose to show her.

She could feel living things all around her, hundreds, thousands, too  many

to count, just as it was in any highly populated area. There were no pockets  of

dark side energy, no glowing beacons or other anomalies to focus on.

There was the door, and though her telekinetic skills were far inferior  to

those of most Jedi she knew, she did possess some.  She  focused  on  the  door,

tried to understand its internal structure as the Force showed it to her.

She could feel its metallic strength,  feel  little  disconti-nuities  that

suggested moving parts. Soon enough, she distinguished the  vertical  bars  that

rose and descended from the door to keep it from swinging open. Other bars, less

formidable, slid in behind them to keep them from sliding  into  their  unlocked

position.

She plucked at the lower holding bar, felt it twitch under her  effort.  By

concentrating further, she felt it slide free, just for a  moment,  before  some

other energy pulled it back into place.

Leia tried again with the upper bar. It, too, she could pry  out  of  place

for a moment-'not long enough to slide the main locking bar out of position.

She sighed and opened her eyes. "Not a chance," she said.  "Not  without  a

lot of practice. In maybe two, three days I might be able to handle one  of  the

locks. In a few weeks, maybe I could do both at the same time and get that thing

open."

"It's all right," he told her. "We'll get out of here some other way."

"How?"

"I have no idea."

TEN

R2-D2 had been manufactured a long  time  ago,  and  those  long  years  of

experience meant that he had a store of knowledge  of  tricks,  techniques,  and

strategies that made the programming of most other droids  pale  in  comparison,

and he found that he needed every one of them here.

Because, frustratingly enough, the prison computers of this spaceport  were

just unwilling to set his friends free.

Oh, he was able to obtain some information about them readily  enough.  Han

and Leia shared a cell in the prison's deepest level and were labeled ENEMIES OF

THE

STATE and HOLD FOR SPECIAL ENVOY PICKUP.

The prison computers could be persuaded to keep secret the fact that  R2-D2

was trying to get past them, He'd managed to forge  himself  a  false  ID  as  a

security Program testing defensive program efficiency. All he had to endure from

them was little expressions of mockery each time he failed to penetrate  one  of

their protocols. Which was often.

The prison computers could not be persuaded that the

Solo cell was actually unoccupied and ready  for  another  occupant,  which

would have unlocked the thing. They could not be convinced that  the  Solos  had

military authority equivalent to the prison manager or head  of  security.  They

could not be induced to deliver captured  explosives  now  held  in  a  security

division locker to that cell. They could not be tricked  into  transferring  the

Solos to a minimum-security level.

R2-D2 beeped in agitation. Prison  computers,  unlike  humans,  were  never

distracted or hungry. Their attention never flagged. This  would  take  forever,

and there was an indicator in the Solo file that they would  be  placed  in  the

hands of outsystem visitors within the next couple of hours.

Distracted. Hungry. R2-D2 called up  the  computer  protocols  on  prisoner

needs and reviewed them.

Satisfied, he made a happy trilling noise and got back to work.

C-3PO got into the line of visitors and slowly, meter by meter,  approached

the prison's service entrance. He spoke down  into  the  bag  around  his  neck,

whispering: "Artoo, I am three from the front of the line."

UNDERSTOOD.

The protocol droid looked ahead to the entrance. One human and  a  security

droid stood there. The security droid was bulky, with black armor that suggested

storm-trooper defenses, and a nearly featureless face with red-glowing  eyes,  a

nightmare vision even for a droid. The  human  looked  as  though  he  were  the

droid's distant cousin, with similar armor and  a  similar  build.  He  wore  no

helmet, and his eyes seemed to gleam redly in the light of dawn.

C-3PO took another step forward. "I am now two from the front of the line."

GOOD. THE TIMING SHOULD WORK. "What timing?" There was no answer.

Now there was just one person in line ahead  of  C-3PO.  The  human  guard,

halfway into a brief interrogation of that person, scowled and held up a  black-

enameled corn-link. He spoke for a moment into it, then exercised an even deeper

set of scowl muscles and turned to the droid. "You take over for a  minute,"  he

said. "Payroll has to ask me a question in person."

The droid nodded. When the human guard  had  gone,  it  accepted  the  next

visitor's identichip, ran it through its own internal slot, returned it  to  the

man, then gave him a shove sufficient to throw  the  visitor  down  the  stairs.

"Refused," the droid said. "Next."

C-3PO moved up, irrationally feeling circuitry threaten to melt down in his

vocal centers. "Good morning, sir, I wish to enter these-"

"Shut up. Identification,"

C-3PO handed over the chip  that  had,  until  just  minutes  before,  been

plugged into his datapad.

The security droid inserted it into the slot in its chest, then spat it out

again and returned it. "Tadening Food-takers is authorized to enter," it said.

"Thank you, sir." C-3PO tried to move forward through the doorway, but  the

security droid's hand slapped into his chest, restraining him.

"Not so fast. Present possessions for search." Reluctantly, C-3PO held  his

bag up for inspection and opened  its  top  flap.  Clearly  visible  within  the

compartment  were  Leia's  lightsaber,  Han's  modified  DL-44  blaster  pistol,

vibroblades, a datapad, data cards. "This is the, um, requested  fast  meal  for

the Solos before their departure." The  security  droid  peered  at  the  items.

"Identify these."

"Um, well, the two large packages are Corellian meat-lump. The one with the

trigger housing is spiced, of course,  and  the  other  not."  Dismayed  by  the

ridiculousness of his description, C-3PO pointed at the vibroblades  and  forged

ahead. "Mealbread sticks." He indicated  the  other  items.  "Honey  wafers  for

dessert."

"No vegetables?"

"No vegetables. I'm sure you know about  Corellians."  The  security  droid

reached through its wireless datalink to the base computer and brought up three-

dimensional representations of the types of food C-3PO had named.  The  database

offered recently updated visuals on those foods,  which,  in  every  particular,

including coloration, structure, and surface defects, matched the items  in  the

bag. "Pass," said the security droid. "Thank you, sir."

Once past the service entrance, C-3PO followed data microtransmissions that

led him through a  maze  of  service  departments-laundry,  electronic  prisoner

monitoring, visitor lanes. At the entrance to  the  kitchen  he  was  met  by  a

rolling cart that slid a slot open for him.

"You're sure this is the meal slot for the Solos," C-3POsaid.

The rolling cart  beeped  irritably  at  him.  "Do  not  fret,  I  was  not

questioning your competence. I was merely making conversation." C-3PO dumped the

contents of his bag out into the slot. The rolling cart slid the slot closed and

banged its way back through the doors into the kitchen, still beeping in a less-

than-friendly manner.

"Government service units," C-3PO sniffed. "Now, let us see if we can  find

our way back out of here."

But he was speaking only to himself. Until  he  found  another  datapad  or

comlink with a strong enough transmitter to connect directly with R2-D2, he  was

alone. R2-D2 had told him he was to make his break for freedom now, to exit  the

prison by the way he'd come and then move northward as fast as his  golden  legs

would carry him. The astromech had told him to be brave.

"So this is what bravery is," he told himself. "How odd that it feels  like

petrification."

Han and Leia heard the service droid moving up the line of cells.  At  each

one, it announced, "Breakfast" in an irritating mechanical whine.  A  series  of

thumps and thuds followed.

"I  can  tell,"  Han  said,  "that  this  will  be  an  interesting  dining

experience."

The droid whined to a halt outside their door. "Last meal," it announced.

"Even better," Leia said.

Then items poured through the slot  in  the  door.  Han's  blaster.  Leia's

lightsaber. Other objects.

"You have got to be kidding," Han said.

Leia nodded. "Well, that makes this my favorite prison ever."

They scrambled to the door and sorted out their possessions.  Leia  flipped

open the datapad, read the words,

R2-D2 STANDING BY. AUDIO OPEN. PRESS "ADVANCE" FOR  ESCAPE  ROUTE  MAP  AND

"RETURN" FOR TEXT.

Leia broke into a brilliant smile. "Artoo?"

STANDING BY. SUGGEST YOU COMMENCE YOUR ESCAPE AS SOON  AS  POSSIBLE.  I  AM

UNABLE TO PREVENT THE MONITOR DROIDS FROM OBSERVING YOUR  CELL.  AT  ANY  MOMENT

THEY MAY BEGIN WONDERING WHY YOU ARE NOT EATING YOUR FOOD.

"Understood," Leia said. She hit the ADVANCE button, taking a quick  moment

to note the first few elements of their escape path. "Short  hallway,  metal-bar

obstacle - no problem-cut through  the  floor  into  the  maintenance  machinery

section. Got it. Ready?" She handed the data-pad to Han.

"Ready." Han took up position beside the door, his blaster in hand.

Leia lit her lightsaber. She drove the point of the  gleaming  red  bar  of

energy into the door at floor level, dragged it across the bottom of  the  door.

She felt heavy resistance that had to be the metal bars there. Once she was past

that, she repeated the process at the top of  the  door,  her  blade  not  quite

horizontal because she was not tall enough to hold the lightsaber that high.

Once she was past the heaviest  resistance  there,  she  retreated  into  a

defensive stance and nodded.

Han shoved. The door slid halfway open. He snatched back his  hand  as  two

guards on the other side fired blasters through the opening.

Leia caught both shots with her blade, batting one to the side,  the  other

back through the opening. It struck a blue-clad guard there in the chest and  he

went down, his uniform flaming and smoking.

Han leaned out and fired twice through  the  opening,  catching  the  other

guard in the side and hurling him out of the way. He shoved at the  door  again,

and it opened the rest of the way.

Han and Leia rounded the corner to the barred exit from  this  cell  block.

Han waited behind and began firing back the way they had come while Leia went to

work on the bars, cutting through three of them at  head  height  and  again  at

ankle height. Incoming blasterfire flashed past Han's position,  blackening  the

wall behind him. "Got it?" he called.

"Got it. Come on." She slid through the gap and turned to face Han.

He raced to her, leapt through the gap. In those few seconds, prison guards

skidded into view past the corner he'd vacated. They began firing; Leia  swatted

the bolts from the air, reveling at being able to do  something  so  simple,  so

gratifying, so direct. Some of her deflections sailed back the way  they'd  come

and forced the guards into hiding.

This corridor was nothing but a duracrete tube angling gently  upward.  Han

raced up it, pacing off a distance. He consulted the datapad in his  hand,  then

fired his blaster into the floor, marking one point. "That's our mark."

Leia raced to join him and plunged her lightsaber  into  the  floor  there,

dragging it around in a crude circle. Han waited until he saw the first  set  of

feet appear at the bottom of the ramp, then began firing on the pursuers. "How's

it coming?"

"Slow. I forgot at first to angle the cut outward instead of inward."

"What difference-never mind." Cutting through the duracrete with the  edges

angled inward as they descended created a plug that would have to be hauled  up;

cutting it the other way would yield a plug that should just fall away.

Except that it didn't. Leia finished her cut and stepped back, panting, and

the plug remained stubbornly in place.

Han continued firing. " Artoo!" he shouted. "How  thick  is  the  duracrete

here, anyway?" He stole a glance at the datapad screen.

LESS THAN A METER.

"Then why doesn't it fall?"

Aggravated, Leia stamped on the plug. It  remained  obstinantly  in  place.

"Check the map again," she said. "Maybe we'll  have  to  cut  through  somewhere

else."

"You check it!" Han tossed her the datapad and fired three times  in  quick

succession. Return fire bounced off the duracrete around  them.  "I'm  obviously

not fit to read a map."

"No, you've got it right.''

"Fall, blast it! Fall!" Han stomped on the  plug,  ft  didn't  vibrate.  He

leapt clean upon it.

It fell.

R2-D2 sent the command through the cable that snaked out through the  false

escape pod to the landing bay door computer  datajack.  Immediately,  his  audio

sensors picked up the grinding noise of the bay roof levering open.

He ejected the cable from his  own  datajack  and  watched  it  snake  down

through the hole to the bay floor below.

With a little musical squeal that betrayed  his  eagerness,  the  astromech

rolled out of the escape pod and up to the Falcon's bridge. He plugged into  the

dataport there and began an abbreviated, computer-speed  power-up  sequence.  It

wouldn't take long for the spaceport authority  to  realize  that  a  supposedly

unoccupied bay was opening to release a supposedly impounded transport,  and  he

wanted to be out of here by then.

It wasn't every day R2-D2 got to fly the Millennium Falcon, after all.

Captain Mudlath was in his office, calculating just what he could  purchase

with the Solo  reward,  when  his  comlink  buzzed  into  life.  "Captain,"  his

administrative aide told him, "the Solos have escaped."

Mudlath actually felt himself grow dizzy for a moment as adrenaline  jolted

through him. "This had better be a joke," he said. "And a funny enough joke that

I laugh until I forget about killing you."

"They're not out of the prison," his aide said. "They won't  get  out.  But

they're out of their cell."

Mudlath lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "I suggest you put  them  back

in their cell." Not waiting for a reply, he switched the comlink off,  then  sat

back to try to Persuade his stomach muscles to unclench.

If he didn't get them back... well, his Peace Brigade superiors  would  not

only decline to reward him for the capture of the Solos, but they  might  choose

to take the news badly. And if things continued as  they  were,  and  the  Peace

Brigade became the legitimate government of this backwater planet, he might have

to leave. Quickly. Surreptitiously.

Jarred back into activity, he reached into a desk drawer and pulled  out  a

handful  of  identichips  taken  from  prisoners.   Perhaps,   with   a   little

modification, one of them would serve to get him off-world.

The duracrete under Han's feet fell into darkness,  but  only  about  three

meters, a deep enough drop for him to begin to worry that he was dropping into a

mine shaft, a short enough drop that, with his experience, he was able to absorb

most of the shock of impact with bent knees, to roll forward off  the  plug  and

across another hard floor to come up on his feet with a minimum of bruises.

A minimum. Not none. His middle-aged  back  would  feel  that  one  in  the

morning. Amazingly, he still had his blaster pistol in hand.

He was in another duracrete tunnel, this one illuminated only by  the  hole

overhead. A hole in which Leia's face suddenly appeared. "Are you all right?"

"Get down here!"

She leapt in headfirst, rotating in midair to land on  her  feet  atop  the

plug. Her landing was so light compared to his that he couldn't help  but  grin.

"You do that just like a Jedi."

"Hush. Where to now?" She handed him the datapad.

He checked the datapad screen  and  turned  in  the  approximate  direction

they'd been running while in the tunnel above. "There'll be a metal  door  there

giving us access into a metal scrap compactor. We take a left and  get  out  the

door at the end."

"No, Han. Not another compactor. Once in a lifetime is enough."

The map on the screen suddenly blanked, replaced by words:  I  INITIATED  A

POWER SHUTDOWN ON THE COMPACTOR. IT CANNOT BE ACTIVATED UNTIL IT GOES THROUGH  A

FULL START-UP PROCEDURE. IT WILL BE THREE HOURS AT LEAST.

"Well," Leia allowed, "that's all right, then."

More shapes blocked the hole above. Han and  Leia  ran  before  they  could

begin firing.

Seeing through the Falcon's holocam eyes and sensor screens, R2-D2 sent the

transport up on repulsorlifts. The transport wobbled like a plate being balanced

atop a stick and he marvelled that humans, with their reflexes that  crawled  in

relation to the speed of droid calculations, could learn to  pilot  vehicles  so

well.

He managed to get the Falcon clear of the bay  before  its  ceiling  panels

began to swing down again. His trill was a little  like  laughter-the  spaceport

authorities had noticed just a little too late. Now that he was above  the  bay,

he was clear of whatever comm-jamming equipment they had put in place; he  could

once again detect and interact with Han and Leia's datapad.

Now he had to make sure he got the Falcon to the Prison. Not  just  to  the

prison, he reminded himself, but to the prison and in one piece.

Furious, Han kicked at the pile of metal scrap  leaning  against  the  exit

door from the compacting chamber.

"Artoo, you didn't say anything about having to dig our way out!"

SORRY. THE COMPUTER SYSTEM DIDN'T MENTION THAT THE COMPACTOR WAS HALF FULL.

THEY ARE IN VIOLATION OF THEIR OWN REGULATIONS. THAT IS PROBABLY WHY THEY DO NOT

HAVE THE LOAD LISTED.

"Leia, can you cut through this? Or through the wall?"

Leia bounced her lightsaber blade off the glossy blue wall of  the  chamber

and shook her head. "Magnetically sealed. I can cut through the pile. In  a  few

minutes." Then she heard the sound of mechanical voices  from  behind  her.  She

spun. "Which we don't have."

A security droid entered through the  door  Han  and  Leia  had  used  just

moments before. The droid fired as soon as  his  barrel  cleared  the  door  and

continued to fire as he sprinted to the wall opposite the door, where he took up

position, laying down covering fire.

Leia batted the first blast out of the way as she and Han got behind cover.

The cover was good-heavy steel scrap that easily absorbed the energy unloaded by

blaster rifle shots. But missed shots ricocheted off the walls, propelled by the

magnetic shielding, and inevitably one would bounce down into  Han's  or  Leia's

back.

Then a second droid entered the chamber, and a third, and a fourth, all  of

them firing.

"We're sunk," Leia said.

"I don't think so." Han glanced around, found a more  protective  niche  in

the scrap, and sidestepped into it. He rose high enough to  return  fire  for  a

moment. "Six, seven, eight of them. The more, the better."

"The more, the better?" Leia slid into place beside him. "Yeah, when we get

enough of them in here, we can't possibly lose."

"Now I know why you never want to be told the odds. Because you don't  know

what they mean!"

Han grinned at her. "Nine, ten, eleven. That's good enough to  start  with.

Can you get me a couple of those blaster rifles?"

"You planning on shooting our way out of here?"

"That's right. Please, Leia. Two rifles." Leia hesitated, caught off  guard

by Han's rare use of the word please, then said, "Cover me. Go."

Han popped up and squeezed off several quick shots. Leia stood from  behind

cover a moment later, saw several of the droids aiming to return fire.  Some  of

them had to hold off firing to avoid  hitting  more  droids  charging  into  the

chamber.

With the Force, Leia reached out toward one of the late arrivals,  a  droid

who held his rifle in a loose grip. She yanked toward her  and  the  rifle  came

sailing to her hand. Before it landed, she repeated the trick on the next  droid

entering the room, and his rifle,  too,  leapt  from  his  possession  and  into

Leia's.

She ducked down with Han. "Now what?"

"Battleship tactics." He hauled on the heaviest plate  of  scrap  metal  in

their vicinity,  toppling  it  so  that  it  covered  the  two  of  them  almost

completely. Their improvised fort was now lit only by the red glow  from  Leia's

weapon. Han indicated two spots on the plate. "Holes here and here. Fist-sized."

Leia complied, burning two apertures in the metal.

The air now stank with the odor of superheated dura-steel.  "You  won't  be

able to see to aim."

"Who needs to aim?" Han picked up one rifle in each hand, switched each  to

full autofire, inserted the barrels in the holes, angled them up more toward the

ceiling, and began firing.

Leia switched off her lightsaber and crowded back  as  far  away  from  the

rifles as she could, holding her hands over her ears. The roar in this  confined

space was deafening. Han rocked the weapons back and forth, slowly changing  his

angle of fire left to right, up and down.

The metal plate shuddered as it began sustaining hits. Han turned  to  Leia

and flashed her a manic grin, then closed his eyes and kept firing.

First one of his rifles clicked down to zero and stopped firing,  then  the

other. But the sound of ricochets continued as shots bounded from one end of the

compactor chamber to  the  other,  bouncing  again  and  again  until  they  hit

something not protected by the chamber's magnetic seal.

Such as scrap metal. Such as droids. Such as droids being transformed  into

scrap metal.

When there were no more blasts or impacts to be heard, Han  maneuvered  the

metal plate aside and peeked. Leia also leaned around the plate to look.

The droids weren't completely destroyed. She saw one walking back and forth

with half his head gone, clicking the trigger of a rifle that  was  missing  its

middle section. Another droid spun around, his upper half turning one  direction

and his lower half the other, causing him to roll erratically across the  floor.

But most were down, motionless.

"I'll watch the other door," Han said, "if you'll cut through the pile here

and get us out."

"Love to."

The exercise yard guards looked  up  as  the  Millennium  Falcon  awkwardly

maneuvered into position above the yard.

The guards raised their blaster rifles and opened  fire.  R2-D2  saw  their

assault through his link with the transport's holocams,  and  felt  a  momentary

thrill  of  dismay  and  an  anticipation  of  damage  before  his   probability

calculations indicated that their shoulder arms would not be able  to  harm  the

ship. He brought the Falcon down several meters until the keel  was  just  above

the ground, and hovered there.

Han and Leia emerged from a side door in one  of  the  walls  bounding  the

exercise yard. They drew the guard-droid fire from the  Falcon,  hut  Han  fired

with his blaster in one direction, keeping droids harried and  defensive  there,

while Leia deflected each and every blaster bolt aimed at them  from  the  other

direction. R2-D2 lowered the starboard boarding ramp, and in  moments,  Han  and

Leia rushed up to the cockpit. R2 raised the ramp.

Leia gave R2-D2 a pat on the dome before settling into the copilot's chair.

"Well done, Artoo."

He wheetled at her, sent  one  last  message  through  the  dataport,  then

unjacked himself.

Han peeled off his piratical tunic and scrubbed at the false scar over  his

eye as he looked over the control boards. "Threepio's on foot north of here. Get

into the topside laser turret. We'll scoop Threepio up and  then  Punch  out  of

here."

"To space, I assume," Leia said.

"To the forest." Han flashed her a lopsided grin. "Trust me on this."

The spaceport was  protected  by  a  quartet  of  aging  Z-95  Headhunters,

venerable predecessors of the X-wing. While  they  made  cautious  runs  in  the

distance, unwilling to strafe a transport so close to the  ground,  Leia  helped

keep them at bay with judicious use of the Falcon's top turret,

Han guided the Falcon north over the base, swooping down  once,  just  long

enough to lower the boarding ramp and give C-3PO time to hurry aboard. Then  Han

kicked the thrusters in and headed northwest, the  direction  with  the  nearest

heavy stand of forest. As he neared the leading edge of old-growth  trees,  some

of which reached to the height of twenty-story buildings, he rotated the  Falcon

until the ship was perpendicular.  The  Falcon  slid  into  the  forest  like  a

vibroknife into  blue  butter.  The  pursuing  Headhunters  broke  off  pursuit,

scattering, climbing above the treetops to look for the Falcon from an altitude.

After a few hundred more meters of nerve-jangling maneuvering through the trees,

Han tilted the transport back onto her belly  and  settled  down  in  a  shadowy

glade.

"If I may ask, sir," said C-3PO as he desperately clung to the  restraining

straps on his seat, "why do we not just go into space?"

"Because someone was aboard the Falcon," Han snapped. "And do you know what

happens every time someone I don't like comes aboard?"

"No, sir."

"They sabotage something! Usually the shields, or especially the hyperdrive

motivator. I hate that. Leia, take over at the controls while T  see  what  they

did,"

"Yes, Captain. Right away, Captain." Leia trotted into  the  cockpit,  took

the pilot's seat as Han vacated it, gave him a kiss as they made  the  transfer.

"You know we're only going to have a few minutes here before they  find  us  and

bring in the heavy guns."

"Then let's hope I'm as good as mechanic as I know lam."

"Anything I can do while we're waiting?"

"Get on the comm board and see if you can find their comm traffic. That may

give us an idea of how much time we really have."

"I'm also going to put in a call to our smuggler contacts. Let them know we

have to leave in a hurry."

"Very polite of you. Very proper."

"Oh, shut up."

Han didn't take long to find it. The hyperdrive motivator had  indeed  been

sabotaged. Someone had installed a simple fuse that would hold up  to  a  system

check but Would blow the first time real power surged through the system. In the

hyperdrive motivator compartment, the saboteur had also wired a tracking device.

Han rerouted the hyperdrive power the way it was supposed to be, then threw  the

tracking device out an airlock.

He returned at a run to the cockpit and slid  into  the  Pilot's  chair  as

Leia, still in her comm unit privacy head-set, vacated it and took her own seat.

They watched as, in the distance ahead and to  port,  a  long-nosed  flying

vehicle edged through the trees. "What is that?"  Han  asked.  "Vong,  or  local

make?"

"Can't make it out," Leia said.

"Well, let's just outfly it and identify it  later."  Han  powered  up  the

repulsorlifts and stood the Millennium Falcon on her stern. He heard  noises  of

unhappiness from C-3PO and a wild squeal of dismay from R2-D2. As he accelerated

up through the treetops, he grinned over at Leia. "Forgot to tell them  we  were

taking off."

"Uh-huh."

"Leia, you have to admit, that was fun."

"Fun. Getting kidnapped, jailed, threatened with torture, shot at-fun."

"That's right."

Leia felt her face twist into a smile she had no control over. "All  right,

all right. Despite everything, it was fun."

"Welcome back, Princess."

ELEVEN

Borleias

Tam awoke in a hospital ward bed.

Again.

He didn't like doing that. It was happening too often.

This time, his left shoulder ached, and he remembered how it got that  way.

The first time a member of the medical staff walked past the foot of his bed, he

motioned the man over and said, "Can I get a message to someone?"

"Let me get someone for you first," the man said.

Minutes later, visitors appeared from beyond the blue curtains to one side.

Tarc barged right up to stand beside Tam. Wolam was content to stand at the foot

of the bed, smiling. And Intelligence  head  Iella  Wessiri  positioned  herself

between them.

"Which arm hurts?" Tarc asked.

"No, no, no, Tarc. Protocol."  Tam  gave  him  a  little  mock-glare.  "The

visitor who is most socially important, or who has the greatest demands  on  his

time, gets to talk first. Which one is that?"

"Me," Tarc said.

"Try again."

"Well, her, I guess."

"That's better."

Iella smiled at the boy. "I was available, so I  thought  I'd  stop  by  in

person to give you some news. You did a very important  thing  last  night.  You

prevented  a  Yuu-zhan  Vong  spy  from  getting  away  with  some,  well,  very

significant information."

"Information you didn't want them to have. Unlike the stuff I gave them."

Iella nodded, not contrite.

"What information?"

"I shouldn't say. You shouldn't ask."

"I think I can guess." When still under Yuuzhan Vong control,  he'd  stolen

records of a project being developed at this base, something about a superweapon

involving laser weapons focused through a giant-sized lambent crystal, a  living

crystal normally bioengineered only by the Yuuzhan Vong. The  spy's  torture  of

the Bothan, asking about such a crystal, suggested that the Botban's chamber was

where it was being kept or monitored.  But  there  had  been  no  giant  lambent

crystal there-only the wreckage of some sort of mock-up.

There was no giant crystal. It was a fake. The whole Starlancer project had

to be a fake. In a moment of clarity, he understood that the Starlancer  project

was nothing more than a  ring  in  the  nose  of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  commander,

something to tug him in one direction or another.

"What's your guess?" lella asked.

"I shouldn't say. You shouldn't ask."

"Good man."

"How's the Bothan?"

"Alive. Which he probably wouldn't have been,  without  your  intervention.

He's a few beds down; you can talk to him if the doctors  say  it's  all  right.

Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and say thanks."

"Happy to help. Except for the pain part."

When she'd gone, Tarc said, "They're talking about you."

"What are they saying?"

"That you're crazy as a  monkey-lizard,  jumping  a  Vong  warrior  all  by

yourself."

"What do you say?"

"Well... I've never seen a monkey-lizard."

Tam nodded. "Good answer."

"Come on, boy." Wolarn motioned Tarc over, "We need  to  give  the  monkey-

lizard here some more time to rest. You can be  my  holocam  operator  until  he

drags himself out of bed."

"Good," Tarc said. "I'll make the recordings he's scared to."

"Just don't record me." Tam pulled the sheet up over his head.

He heard Tarc snicker, and then he drifted away into sleep once more.

Coruscant

Luke woke in darkness, disoriented for a moment by  the  lack  of  familiar

sights and smells, but comforted by the knowledge that Mara was beside  him.  In

fact, it was her settling into the broad cot with him that  reminded  him  where

and when he was. "Just coming off watch?" he murmured.

"That's right." She rested her chin on his shoulder making him her  pillow.

"Go back to sleep."

"I ought to get up."

"You don't want to do that. All the news is bad."

"What news?"

"Ask the scientists."

"We've spent so much time down in the ruins,"  Danni  explained,  "that  we

haven't had much of an opportunity to take  all  the  readings  we  needed  to."

Before she could continue, she yawned, then looked embarrassed at  the  way  her

exhaustion had betrayed her.

They were in the Complex's control chamber, Luke and Danni and Baljos. Both

scientists looked tired, but now, at least, there was sufficient fresh water  to

bathe and wash clothes, so they all looked better than they had in some days.

"What readings?" Luke asked. "Every time I look at you two,  you're  taking

readings."

"We've   been   taking   biological   readings,   mostly,"   Baljos   said.

"Electromagnetic energy flow readings. Chemical tests of water and food sources.

That sort of thing. But not until a few hours  ago,  when  Kell  and  Face  went

topside and set up some holocams and other monitoring equipment,  have  we  been

able to do any astronomical recordings."

Luke shrugged. "So what have you found out?"

"Gravitational readings suggest that we're closer to Coruscant's sun  now,"

Danni said. "The planetary orbit has changed."

"The atmospheric temperature is several degrees higher than it should be at

this time of year," Baljos said. "That was the impression I got  with  our  hand

units, but there was no way to tell before now whether it was  just  a  seasonal

fluke. No, there's a lot more moisture in the atmosphere than there  should  be.

Consistently. Laser-based spectroscopic analysis gives similar readings out to a

considerable distance. Master Skywalker, I think the polar ice is melting."

"Luke.  It's  just  Luke."  Luke  sat  back,  frowning.  "Is   this   their

worldshaping?"

Danni nodded. "More like 'Vongforming.' It's a lot  faster,  more  brutally

efficient than our equivalent techniques."

"Is there any good news?"

"A little." Danni pointed at the first of three computer screens.

This one showed a holocam  view  of  a  building  roof.  It  seemed  to  be

shedding; fragments of some leaflike material were being tossed around by winds.

"We're witnessing a die-off of some of the Vongforming plants. The  grasses  and

explosive fungi they used to begin the breakdown of the  building  surfaces  are

starting to die. We don't know whether it means they're  not  adapting  well  to

this environment, or just  that  they're  the  first  step  of  the  Vongforming

process, with more steps to come. Doctor Arnjak suspects the latter."

"That's 'Science Boy' to you," Baljos said.

"So that may or may not be good news," Luke said.

Baljos nodded. "Correct. Here's some news that's a little less  ambiguous."

He indicated the other two screens, one full of graphical charts and  text,  the

other broken down into  eight  holocam  images-still  images  of  Yuu-zhan  Vong

warriors digging through rubble, engaged in training exercises, lined  up  in  a

disciplined row.

Luke peered at the screens. The information on  the  first  one  seemed  to

relate to proportions of gases in the atmosphere. "What's it mean?"

"The  proportion  of  toxic  gases  in  the  atmosphere  has  pretty   much

stabilized. Oh, they're worse  at  some  specific  altitudes  than  others,  but

they're not increasing in proportion. I think  they  relate  to  the  biological

actions of the Vongforming plants that are  breaking  down  the  dura-crete  and

metals. Meaning that the Vong aren't trying to make the atmosphere poisonous  to

us. This increases the chances of survival of, well, the people  who  are  still

alive down here."

"That's something, I guess." Luke looked at the scientists. "And the  other

one?"

Danni said, "You remember that we brought along some little stealth droids.

Shaped like fungi, mosses, that sort of thing. We've been taking  them  out  and

depositing them in areas the Vong seem  to  patrol  heavily.  They're  following

those paths, very slowly, and transmitting images in very  short,  hard-to-track

comm bursts. These are our first sets of images. They don't tell  us  much  yet,

but we hope they will someday."

"So, what do you get from the atmospheric data?"

Danni and Baljos exchanged a look, and Luke could read all sorts of  things

into it. They'd already come to some  conclusions.  They  were  just  trying  to

decide which ones to present him, and in which order.

"We've kind of been giving  the  survivors  the  impression  that  the  New

Republic forces are going to come back and seize Coruscant," Danni said.

Luke nodded. "That's the objective."

"I don't think there's going to be a Coruscant to come back  to.  How  long

will it take? A year? Five years? Ten? By the time our  forces  get  here,  it's

going to be something else. A Yuuzhan Vong world."

"That won't give the survivors much hope."

"So," Baljos said, "we think we should take a different approach to what we

were doing. We teach the survivors how  to  survive  on  this  world-this  alien

world. Not necessarily so they can come out fighting when the  big  push  comes.

Just so they can survive. Maybe escape. We analyze all the new life-forms we run

across, the ones introduced by the Yuuzhan Vong, and teach our people which ones

are good to eat. Teach them how to find safe water."

"Maybe how to wall off whole complexes," Danni  said,  "so  the  Vong  just

never come down into them."

"If we do all that..." Luke considered the matter for long seconds.  "We're

admitting that we've lost."

"That we've lost Coruscant, anyway," Danni said. "Not the war."

"I can't accept this." A flash of anger ignited within Luke, but he  calmed

himself, willed it away. " You're suggesting  that  this  entire  mission  is  a

failure!"

"Not a failure." Danni carefully considered her words. "The mission  didn't

match the reality we found. It's like any scientific investigation. You  observe

evidence, you come up with a theory to explain the evidence, you put the  theory

to the test... and in most cases, the theory has to be  revised.  We  arrive  at

truths one faltering step at a time."

"Just like Jedi training."

"That's right."

Luke sighed. "I have to think about this."

Luke was still thinking about it two days later when  he  went  on  another

vehicle hunt with Face and Bhindi.

They weren't always traveling in Yuuzhan Vong armor anymore; now that  they

had a base of operations and less need  to  travel  in  a  large  group  through

unknown territories, Luke and the others often made do with  civilian  clothing.

It was lighter and far more comfortable than the Yuuzhan Vong armor,  especially

in the increasingly steamy atmosphere of Coruscant's lower levels. Kell and Face

were the exceptions-quite taken with just how horribly dashing they were in  the

armor, they insisted on wearing it during all missions, evidently a  competition

to see which one would give up and admit discomfort first.

With initial objectives achieved-the team had a base of operations and  its

members were interacting with the local non-Yuuzhan Vong  population-they  could

begin implementing the plan for their eventual escape from Coruscant.

Their insertion method had not included a getaway vehicle,  for  they  knew

that, given how many millions  of  vehicles  still  remained  here,  in  varying

conditions of preservation, they would be able to  find,  salvage,  or  steal  a

working vehicle-or, with Tahiri's help, perhaps even a Yuuzhan Vong vessel.

Logic dictated that there had to be thousands if not millions  of  vehicles

in the wreckage that was Coruscant. The trick was in  finding  them,  since  all

vehicles visible from the air had been strafed and destroyed  by  coralskippers.

Only those that had been hidden or buried had a chance to be intact.

And so far, though they'd found hundreds of vehicles in their searches, not

one was even remotely likely as  an  escape  vehicle.  They'd  found  scores  of

airtaxis, numerous crashed starfighters, the remains of a hangar  with  a  troop

transport-and troops-crushed beneath incalculable tonnage of collapsed building.

Luke thought that, with a month to work on it, he could cobble  together  enough

parts from various destroyed starfighters to make  one  working  model...  which

would get one of them off-planet when the time came.

That was just one more failure to weigh upon him. He  sat  in  a  fiftieth-

story viewport of what had once been a Starfighter  Command  recruiting  office,

staring out into the cavernous street beneath, while Face and  Bhindi  struggled

to get the office's computer operational, and he wondered why he'd bothered with

this mission.

His son Ben was light-years away, hidden out of sight - out of Yuuzhan Vong

sight, but also out of his sight-in a secret Jedi base in the Maw, a  region  of

space surrounded and concealed by black holes. Mara had to be  question-ing  his

competence. The Jedi, whom he had hoped  to  inspire  and  unite  in  this  bold

mission into the territory most strongly held by the Yuuzhan  Vong,  would  lose

faith in him.

Something attracted his attention, just the  merest  sensation  that  there

were eyes upon him, and he looked up from the  rubble-strewn  depths  he'd  been

regarding.

Across the avenue, at about the same altitude, some-One stood in a viewport

staring at him. At this distance, about a hundred  meters,  Luke  could  not  be

sure, but he thought it was a  man.  A  very  pale  man.  Luke  pulled  out  his

macrobinoculars and trained them on that person.

He stared into a face that was half-strange, half-familiar.

This man was pallid, with curly dark hair, sea-blue eyes, and  a  prominent

nose that suggested old aristocracy. He was young, barely twenty, if  that  old.

He wore a pale kiltlike wrap around his midsection and shiny  items  at  various

points on his body-fingerless gloves, elbow covers, knee  covers;  though  thick

and metallic, these looked like a very inadequate set of  armor.  His  head  was

held at an angle as though he'd been tilting  it  one  way  and  another  as  he

watched Luke.

Luke knew his face, but couldn't place it, couldn't call up that memory. In

fact, it was easier not to think right now.

When Luke's eyes met his, the man smiled. It  was  the  smile  of  a  child

suddenly captivated with the wonders of pulling legs off insects.

Luke found he could sense the man in the Force - could do so  without  even

reaching out for him. The man was a glowing light in the Force, a beacon in  the

midst of darkness. A beacon of darkness... but that suddenly didn't matter much.

Luke felt his breath go out of him. It was as though the  roof  had  slowly

collapsed and deposited two tons  of  dura-crete  on  his  torso  while  he  was

distracted.

He glanced over at Face and Bhindi. They had the terminal running; the glow

from its screen colored their faces blue. Bhindi removed  a  datacard  from  its

slot in the terminal and made a noise of satisfaction. They  were  both  utterly

unaware of what Luke was seeing, feeling.

Luke knew that, when he turned his attention back to the distant  viewport,

the pale man would be gone; it was among the oldest tools in the bag  of  tricks

of the makers of  supernatural  holodramas.  But  when  he  looked  through  the

macrobinoculars again, the man was still there, motionless.

Luke unlatched the viewport's locks. All he had to do was step out  on  the

walkway that now stretched between this building and the other.  He  could  walk

right up to this man and begin asking questions.  But  some  faint  stirring  of

alarm-his pilot's ability to glimpse and  memorize  topographical  details-shook

him out of the fog that had overcome his thinking.

There was no walkway before him. One step through this  viewport  and  he'd

plummet to his death.

The man's grin grew wider. Then he sidestepped and disappeared from sight.

Luke felt the great weight lift from him. He could breathe again. "Are  you

two done here?" he asked.

Face looked up, frowning. "Luke, are you all right?"

"No. Trouble's coming. Let's go."

Bhindi rose. "If trouble's coming, we're done here."

Luke, Face, and Bhindi crouched in a crater that had been one corner  of  a

skyscraper-the same skyscraper in which, minutes before, the pale man had stood.

They Were about twenty stories above the window the figure had occupied, and all

three had macrobinoculars trained on the  viewport  Luke  had,  minutes  before,

tried to open.

The room beyond the viewport was filled with  people.  They  wore  tatters.

Some wore nothing but dried mud and blood. There was a light in their eyes  that

suggested they were on stimulants and had been for days or weeks. They  rampaged

through the Starfighter Command office, destroying  every  piece  of  furniture,

smashing every wall, a riot  whose  violence  was  directed  at  everything  and

nothing.

"What are they?" Bhindi asked. "They're not your run-of-the-mill survivors.

"

"Some of Yassat's cannibals, I expect," Face said. "You felt  them  coming,

Luke?"

"Something like that," Luke said. "C'mon, let's go down."

They found the chamber in which Luke had seen the pale  man.  It  had  once

been the main chamber  of  a  hotel  suite,  and  possibly  not  occupied  since

Coruscant fell. The beds were still made. Floor-to-ceiling viewports  offered  a

good view of Coruscant's sky-if one looked high enough, anyway.

Luke could feel it here, a twinge in the Force,  the  same  one  he'd  been

pursuing ever since he came to  Coruscant.  But  that  was  not  what  held  his

attention.

It was the viewports. He was sure from their dimensions that one  of  these

was the viewport in front of which the pale man had been standing.

He'd filled it, from floor to the top of  the  viewport  frame.  And  these

viewports were three meters tall.

"You're tired," Mara said. "And this makes you more  susceptible  to  Force

powers. He meddled with you, certainly... but once you get some sleep you'll  be

more fit to face him."

Mara knew little, other than from observation and  studies  in  psychology,

about comforting those who were hurt. Most of what  she  knew  she  had  learned

since Ben had been born. Luke so seldom needed  comforting-his  wisdom  and  his

humor had always provided him with a  durable  armor  against  life's  cuts  and

blows. But sometimes events got past that armor-Ben's kidnapping, Anakin  Solo's

death. Now it  was  this  eerie  visitation  by  someone  who'd  come  within  a

centimeter of tricking him into taking a fatal plunge. And at  such  times  Mara

could do little but stay close, act as an anchor for him to hold onto.

"I don't think so," Luke said. "I'm certain being tired made it easier  for

him to transmit all that despair and the mental compulsion  through  the  Force,

yes. But I also have a sense that he's powerful. And I know I've seen  his  face

somewhere. I-" Luke's next words were cut off as he yawned.

Mara gave him a stern look.

"I know, I know. I need sleep. I'm tired." He stretched  out  on  the  cot.

"Tired, and I have to admit it, scared of something that could sneak  up  on  me

and plant a Force-based suggestion in my mind.  As  though  I  were  some  spice

addict with no resistance, no training."

"Tired and wounded in pride."

He grinned. "Well, maybe."

"Get some steep, farmboy. You'll feel  better-and  think  better-once  your

power cells are recharged."

"True."

In minutes, Luke was asleep, his breathing regular. But Mara lay awake long

after that, her own Force senses extended in an alert screen, attuned to  detect

any flicker of hatred or despair that might drift their way from the thing  that

wanted to take her husband's life.

Borleias

The sun named Pyria was just a tiny bright dot in the forward viewport,  no

more a draw to the naked eye than one well-illuminated planet  usually  is  from

the surface of another. It certainly was not sufficient to distract Han and Leia

from their tasks.

"Got it, thanks." Leia leaned back from the comm board.  "Borleias  Control

has given us the map of known locations of dovin basal mines.  They're  not  too

confident about the extent of their knowledge."

Han looked at her and cracked his knuckles. "So, they think there's a  fair

chance we'll be dragged out of hyper-space before we quite reach Borleias's mass

shadow. Well, you tell 'em that it's not going to happen."

"And it's not going to happen because...?"

"Because I'm going to fly around them. What did you think?"

"I think we'd better have weapons on-line and ready." Leia trotted aft  and

climbed into the topside laser turret while Han activated the concussion missile

launcher. Once she had her comlink activated, she heard her husband's complaint,

"You have no faith in my abilities."

"Of course I have faith in your abilities."  She  took  the  turret  for  a

practice spin and began the self-test of its computer targeting system. "I  also

have experience with theirs."

Space twisted before them and then almost instantly snapped back to normal.

But Borleias did not dominate the viewport  as  it  should  have.  The  sun  was

somewhat larger, a bright globe.

Then they were in a loop, centrifugal force crushing  Leia  down  into  her

gunner's chair before she could shout to Han about  the  coralskippers  she  saw

closing on the Falcon from astern. She  watched  the  universe  to  either  side

rotate as they went upside-down  to  their  original  arrival  orientation,  and

overhead she could see the two distant gleams of the oncoming skips.

Leia began firing the topside lasers as fast as they could charge, and  the

skips sent streams of plasma at the Falcon. They gained  relative  elevation  in

what was probably originally an attempt to follow the  Falcon's  loop,  but  the

maneuver ended up putting them on a collision course with the Falcon.

Han's words came over the comm, muffled  as  if  uttered  through  clenched

teeth: "Going starboard."

Leia chose a starboard target and concentrated all her laser fire  on  that

skip. Its voids did well against her barrage, intercepting every bolt,  but  her

concentration of fire on the area of the pilot's canopy doomed the coralskipper-

Han's concussion missile, fired a moment later,  detonated  against  the  skip's

hull, vaporizing the smaller craft.

Han sent the Falcon into a mad spin along its long axis. A shower of plasma

projectiles flashed harmlessly by-mostly harmlessly;  a  clank  and  the  sudden

sound of damage alarms was proof that at least one of them had managed a graze.

Then the second coralskipper was past, behind them, and  beginning  a  long

loop around.

Han did not follow; he turned back toward Borleias and put on  a  burst  of

speed.

Leia felt her jaw drop in surprise. She keyed the  corn-link.  "Hey,  you,"

she said. "What have you done with my husband? The one who laughs in the face of

death, then takes it out for drinks and dinner?"

Han sounded pained. "That pilot is just trying to lure us back to his pals.

Do I look that dumb?"

She frowned, considering.

"Am I that dumb?" he asked.

"Well, no, certainly not."

Grinning, Leia returned her attention  to  the  sensors.  They  showed  the

remaining coralskipper tightening its turn as its pilot realized that the Falcon

was not pursuing; it would be coming up behind them  soon.  Distortions  in  the

wire-frame image showed  the  locations  of  dovin  basal  mines,  the  gravitic

organisms capable of yanking ships out of hyperspace.

That wire-frame was continuing to update, continuing to  distort,  and  she

frowned at it, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.  "Straight  down,"  she

shouted, "relative to our current orientation. Move it, flyboy!"

He moved it, pointing the Falcon's nose straight "down." The hard  maneuver

hauled Leia up out of her seat,  and  she  could  hear  the  restraining  straps

creaking against her slight mass.

"All right, we're pointed down," Han said.  "You  are  one  crabby,  grumpy

wife. What's that all about? Why not straight for Borleias?"

"More mines that way. And we're being followed by one,"

"Followed by a mine?" Han spared a glance for the  sensor  board,  for  the

distortion Leia had seen, the  distortion  that  was  closing  on  the  Falcon's

position. "Not fair. Leia, how's our pursuer?"

"Rotate, please, he's coming in under us."

Han obligingly spun the Falcon again on  its  long  axis,  and  Leia  began

firing on the second coralskipper.

Now that the Falcon was no longer maneuvering, except for  the  juking  and

jinking Han performed to keep enemy projectiles from hitting it,  the  transport

was outdistancing the dovin basal mine pursuing it. And they were coming  up  on

the outer fringes of the gravitic effects of the closest dovin basal mines.

Leia sprayed the skip with fire and noted that its protective  void  tended

to recenter itself over the pilot's compartment each time the  craft  maneuvered

to match one of the Falcon's twitches. She concentrated her fire  there,  waited

until the  Falcon  made  another  sideslip,  then  jerked  her  aim  toward  the

coralskipper's bow. The audio interpreters built into the Falcon's sensor system

gave out the sound of an explosion and the coralskipper's blip disappeared  from

the screen.

"Good shot," Han said over the comlink. "How about coming back up here  and

plotting us a course back to Borleias?"

"Give me a second. You are one crabby, grumpy husband."

Wedge frowned throughout Han's  and  Leia's  account  of  their  return  to

Borleias. "I don't like this notion of dovin basal mines that pursue you."

"Me, either," Han said. "I'm going to draft a strongly worded letter to the

Yuuzhan Vong high commander and insist he stop using them."

Tycho, on the other side of the conference table, offered up a rare  smile.

Leia merely gave her husband an arch look.

"Actually, we know his name  now,"  Wedge  said.  "Their  local  commander.

Czulkang Lah. We got the  information  from  some  of  the  reptoids  that  were

involved in their big push on us, after we freed them from their control seeds."

"Lah," Leia said. "From the same domain as Tsavong Lah?"

Tycho nodded. "Even better. He's Tsavong  Lah's  father.  An  old,  fierce,

terrifying warrior and teacher of warriors. He's like the Garm bel Iblis of  the

Yuuzhan Vong."

"And if we can beat him," Wedge said, "really beat him, it may  suggest  to

the Vong that their gods aren't really as  anxious  for  them  to  win  as  they

supposed."

"Back to the mobile mines," Tycho said. "It does beg the  question  of  how

long they've had them, and why this is the first instance we've run into of them

being used."

"Right." Wedge considered. "Han, Leia, when you were making  the  insertion

into Hapes a few weeks ago, you became convinced  that  the  dovin  basal  mines

didn't just drag things out of hyperspace. You said you thought they  registered

every ship's unique mass characteristics and communicated  that  information  to

the Vong leaders. Let them build  up  a  sort  of  Vong  database  of  our  ship

movements."

Leia nodded. "That's right. And Jaina used their  reliance  on  those  mass

characteristics against the Yuuzhan Vong while she was there."

"My guess," Wedge said, "is that this mobile dovin basal  mine  came  after

you because it recognized you, specifically the Millennium Falcon. Another ship,

they might devote fewer resources to capturing or destroying, but  loss  of  the

Falcon and the Solos would be a big morale hit for our side."

Han and Leia exchanged a glance. Han's expression was cocky, but Leia could

see that he recognized the danger if Wedge's theory was correct.

"Meaning," Leia said, "that any ship belonging to one of our side's,  well,

celebrities might be detected as such at any time, wherever it goes."

"Something to keep in mind." Wedge turned to Tycho. "Call Cilghal in for  a

meeting later today  or  tomorrow.  And  Jaina  and  her  psychological  warfare

advisers. Maybe we can use this to our advantage."

"Are we done here?" Han asked. "We have some important things to  do.  Like

running down Jaina before you monopolize her. We'd sort of like  to  spend  some

time with her. It's why we keep coming back here. Not to look at your face."

Wedge gave him a toothy grin. "Watch that insolence. I might just  have  to

call you up to active service, General Solo."

Leia lay in her bed. Yes, it was too hard, too lumpy, and light-years  away

from the quarters that had been her home for years, but this was  her  bed,  and

just knowing that it was a place she could return to again and  again  gave  her

pleasure out of proportion to its characteristics. She'd flopped onto it,  fully

dressed, luxuriating in possession if not in comfort, the instant they'd entered

their quarters.

Someone knocked on the door. Leia lifted her head and looked at Han on  the

other side. He stared at her expectant.

"Your turn," she said.

"Why mine?"

"Because I said it first."

"Can't argue with that logic." Han rolled  to  his  feet  and  pressed  the

access panel beside the door. The door slid aside, revealing  a  tall,  awkward-

looking man; the man's left arm was in a sling.

"Ah, hello," their visitor said. "I'm Tam Elgrin."

"I know who you are." Han shook his hand. "You spied around  for  a  while,

and then decided to quit. Headaches ever since."

"Something like that."

"Come on in."

Leia rose. The quarters she  shared  with  Han  were  not  large  or  well-

furnished, but the two of them could make a pretense at civilization. "Can I get

you something to drink, Tam?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm, uh, here to talk to you about Tarc."

"We saw him just a few minutes ago," Leia said.  "He  mostly  talked  about

you."

Han waved him toward a chair. "So talk."

A rap at his door awakened Kyp. Still clothed-he'd settled in only to rest,

and was surprised to  find  that  he'd  nodded  off-the  Jedi  Master  rose  and

activated the door. It slid out of the way to reveal Piggy. The Gamorrean  pilot

leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, a tough-guy posture,

"It's the Great One," Piggy said.

Kyp rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "What about her?"

"She wants to see you."

"Now?"

"Now."

"Where?"

"On the roof."

Kyp gave the Gamorrean a closer look. Piggy wasn't normally so taciturn. In

fact, he sounded more like a bar bouncer than himself. Kyp reached  out  with  a

whisper of his control over the Force and reassured himself that he could  sense

the pilot, that this Piggy  wasn't  a  Yuuzhan  Vong  warrior  in  an  unusually

distinctive ooglith masquer disguise. "I'm on my way up."

Kyp emerged onto the biotics facility's roof, an uneven surface of external

equipment housings and rough textures. It was now  dark,  a  glow  in  the  west

attesting to how recently the sun had set.

"Over here." That was Jaina's voice, and when Kyp turned he could see  both

her and Jag Fel sitting atop a condenser-unit housing. He could barely  identify

them by sight; they were nothing but  silhouettes.  There  were  more,  smaller,

silhouettes where they sat-something that looked like a basket,  something  that

looked like a bottle. Kyp snorted. "You're having a picnic?"

"That's right." There was amusement  in  Jaina's  voice.  And  the  Goddess

commands you to attend."

'You're getting strange, Goddess." Kyp sprang up to the unit  housing  top,

landing directly into a cross-legged sitting position to match Jag's. Jaina  was

stretched out of her side, facing the two of them.

"It's not just a picnic." Jaina took the bottle  and  poured  some  of  its

contents into a glass, one of three mismatched glasses beside  the  basket.  She

handed the glass to Kyp. "We need to talk. The three of us." She poured two more

glasses and handed one to Jag.

Kyp sniffed dubiously at his glass. "Paint thinner?"

"We're not that lucky," Jag said. "While  we've  been  waiting,  I've  been

determining its effects on local insects. One hundred percent deadly."

"Hush," Jaina said. "This is the finest example of the Borleias distiller's

art. It's dereliction of duty to be drinking it when another Vong barrage  might

start at any minute. That means it's going to  taste  wonderful."  She  took  an

experimental sip.

To her credit, she did keep her reactions from her face.  But  through  the

Force Kyp could feel her physiological reaction as nerve endings in  her  throat

protested the intrusion of the homemade brew.

Though blind to the Force, Jag had to be  familiar  enough  with  Jaina  to

sense what she was experiencing. His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"Anyway,"  Jaina  said.  Her  voice  sounded  as  though   she'd   suddenly

transformed into an elderly mechanic. "We've got a problem, Kyp. You and me  and

Jag."

"I wasn't aware of any problems."

"Then why do you yank yourself out of our Force connection the instant it's

not absolutely vital to our current task? It's like dancing with a  partner  who

jumps back past arm's length and brushes himself off at the end of every dance."

"That's... an interesting comparison." Kyp glanced at Jag, but the  younger

man hadn't reacted to Jaina's phrasing, and Kyp couldn't see  his  face.  "Maybe

you and I should talk about this some time. Privately."

"And maybe not. Jag's part of this situation. He was the one who  suggested

this talk."

Kyp felt himself grow annoyed, and became even more  annoyed  with  himself

for  indulging  in  such  a  predictable  reaction.   "He   did,   huh?   Direct

confrontation. That is the Fel family approach, isn't it?"

Jag took a sip of the homebrew and made a noise that  suggested  he'd  just

been punched. After a moment, he said, "I come from more than one  family  line,

Kyp. Some of them are sneakier than others."

"What does that mean?"

"That means... that whatever you expect this meeting  to  be,  it  probably

isn't."

"A nice enigmatic reply." Kyp sipped from his  glass.  Whatever  the  fluid

was, it seemed to be part alcohol, part pepper,  part  rotted  fruit.  His  eyes

watered. "Wait a second. You two took the antidote before I came up here, didn't

you?"

Jaina snorted. "Would you mind if I cut straight to the power cable?"

"Go right ahead."

"A while back, you manipulated me. I didn't like it. On  Hapes,  I  dragged

you into some situations you didn't care for. I gave you plenty of  trouble.  We

both lied to each other about what we  intended  and  what  we  meant.  Well,  I

thought, when you decided you wanted to join my squadron, that  it  meant  you'd

forgiven me. When I accepted, it meant I'd forgiven you. Did it  mean  that,  or

didn't it?"

"It did."

"So are we partners, or aren't we?"

"Well, we are. At least so long as Twin Suns Squadron holds out."

"No, don't do that." Jaina let some  exasperation  creep  into  her  voice.

"Every time we link through the Force, I can feel you preparing yourself for the

day you have to cut loose and run. Believe me, I understand that.  I  was  doing

the same thing until just a few weeks back. For reasons equally as dumb. And you

break the link fast so that I won't know what you're doing, not that  it's  done

you any good. I want you to quit doing that. I want you to quit  thinking  about

going off and being by yourself. I know your brother's dead, your family's dead,

your last squadron is dead, and I'm sorry. But you don't have to leave, and  you

don't have to be alone."

"Uhh..." Kyp struggled to come up with an answer, the right answer. "I also

don't want to be in the way. In your way. Between you and, you know."

Jag extended a hand. "Colonel Jagged Fel. Glad to meet you."

"Shut up, you. Jaina, it's uncomfortable."

"Yeah, I know. Jag and I are partners, too, and something more besides, and

you're here, and you were sort of chasing after me for a while, and it's got  to

be confusing. It is to me as well. Is it going to make you leave?"

"It should."

"Then you should leave now and stop wavering."

Kyp stood. "You're right. I'm sorry I-"

"Sit down!"

Surprised at the strength in her voice, Kyp sat before he realized  it.  He

gaped at her.

"That's better," Jaina said. "Jag, why are males so stupid?"

"Biological predisposition. Here's an example." Jag took another sip.  Even

in the darkness, the ripple of anguish that moved from his neck to his feet  was

clearly visible.

Jaina sat up, her pose a mirror of Jag's. "Kyp, it's uncomfortable  because

partnerships are uncomfortable. Families are uncomfortable. I know mine is.  You

have to put up with the discomfort because  the  only  alternative  is  to  lose

everything.

"Once upon a time, you were kind of a kid brother to rny  father.  I  don't

care about that. That  relationship  didn't  make  you  my  uncle.  You  have  a

relationship with me. It's not  boyfriend-girlfriend.  It's  no  longer  Master-

apprentice. I think we both know that neither of these is right. It's  partners,

whatever that means. Whatever we figure out for it to mean. If  we're  partners,

it's something that lasts until one or the other of us is dead. And whether that

pains Jag or not, he's keeping it to himself, because he's smart enough to  know

that he can't control my relationships for me.

"So-once again-are we partners, or do you go off to die alone?"

Kyp sighed. "I see you  inherited  your  father's  considerable  powers  of

negotiation."

She ignored the jibe at Han's style, so  very  different  from  her  famous

mother's.

"That's right. So?"

"So we're partners."

"Good." She hoisted her glass. "Drink to it."

"Do we have to?"

"We have to."

Jag chuckled. "It's a drink that makes death-duels with Vong pilots pale in

comparison."

TWELVE

Borleias

Commander Eldo Davip, captain of the Lusankya, the  greatest  New  Republic

ship engaged in the defense of Borleias, took the turbolift down to the Beltway.

The Beltway was a central corridor running the length  of  the  Super  Star

Destroyer, from stern to prow. It was not a corridor for pedestrian traffic; the

octagonal shaft featured a tracked hauler at the top, allowing it to be used for

transportation of heavy equipment. It was wide enough that skilled pilots  could

have flown paired X-wings wing-to-wing along its length.

As the turbolift slowed to a halt, he pulled on a pair of darkened goggles.

When the lift doors opened, the precaution proved  to  be  an  appropriate  one;

directly in front of him,  mechanics  were  welding  another  section  onto  the

apparatus that now filled the forward portions  or  the  Beltway,  blocking  all

movement forward of this Point.

The outer shell of the  apparatus  was  rolled  metal  meters  thick.  Each

section of the shell was a hundred meters long, open at  either  end,  with  the

prow end slightly narrower than the stern, allowing the sections to he installed

in an overlapping fashion. The mechanics welded them together at the overlaps.

Inside the shell were metal cables drawn in  intricate  weavelike  patterns

through hardy metal rings on the interior surface of the shells. The pattern  of

the cahles, their carefully monitored tensions, was not only to keep  the  shell

straight and durable along its length; as soon as they were in place, cargo-box-

sized containers were situated among them, tied off by more  cables,  instrument

packages attached and carefully attuned.

The apparatus now stretched a third of Lusankya's length,  hidden  away  in

this access shaft. None of the Vong's extraordinary visual sensors could  detect

its fabrication; none of their strategists could anticipate its use.

Davip sighed. Its use would mark the end of his most  prestigious  command.

But prestige wouldn't mean a thing if the Yuuzhan Vong won, so  he  watched  the

continued manufacture of the apparatus, and wished it well.

On the planet below, on the second floor of the biotics  building,  Captain

Yakown Reth set his dinner tray down at a table, allowing it to clatter, and sat

heavily on the bench before it. He didn't bother  to  keep  his  disgruntle-ment

from his face.

Opposite, Lieutenant Diss Ti'wyn, who flew in Reth's squadron as  Blackmoon

Two, smoothed down fur that had suddenly risen on his  neck.  A  brown-and-gold-

furred Bothan, Diss was unusually attractive by both Bothan and human standards,

and received an enviable amount of attention in social situations. "What crawled

down your flight suit and stung your butt?" he asked.

Reth snorted, amused despite  himself.  "We're  in  real  trouble  here  on

Borleias."

Ti'wyn gaped at him. "Really? I thought we were winning."

"Stop kidding. I mean, in trouble worse than being  outnumbered,  besieged,

and doomed."

"Oh." Ti'wyn speared a cooked slice of hardy local tinfruit and  popped  it

into his mouth. "So vent already."

"Don't talk with your mouth full. No, Diss, this is no  joke."  He  lowered

his voice so his words would not carry to the next table. "I think we're in real

trouble at the command level."

"General Antilles? He has a great reputation."

"Bear with me. You know who's commanding Lusankya."

"Eldo Davip."

"A first-rate foulup if ever there was one."

"Granted... but he did do all right during the big Yuuzhan Vong push a  few

weeks back."

"A fluke,  I'm  sure.  Anyway,  Ninora  Birt  escorted  a  shuttle  out  to

Lusankya's repair station. She said that repairs weren't going well. Whole banks

of turbolasers and ion cannon batteries were still out of commission.  I  didn't

think Lusankya got that badly hammered in the last engagement. Did you?"

"Not really."

"Which points to colossal mismanagement on Corn-Zander Davip's part,  which

General Antilles either doesn't know about, or hasn't corrected,  which  doesn't

speak well of his skills."

Ti'wyn shrugged, noncommittal, but he no longer looked as cheerful.

"That's just the start. You remember when the Advisory Council visited?"

"Very hush-hush. They had a meeting with Antilles and  his  general  staff,

then rushed off."

"A mechanic who's just been transferred to Black-moon Squadron was  in  the

hallway when they left. He says Counselor Pwoe was furious. Pwoe was saying that

Antilles had refused command of Borleias, and only relented after making demands

to the Council."

"What demands?"

"I don't know. What demands would you make?"

"Pleasure yacht, a lifetime pass to the Errant Venture..."

Reth eyed the sliced sausage swimming in spice sauce on his plate. That, as

much as this talk, was going to cost him his appetite. "Stop kidding around. And

then there's this Jaina Solo thing."

Ti'wyn nodded in agreement. "If we  have  to  circle  one  more  time  just

because her squadron always gets first clearance to land-"

"She and her pilots are getting special treatment in every  category  there

is. First access to spare parts, first access  to  bacta,  full  proton  torpedo

loads, first repairs to starfighters and astromechs... Have you ever seen one of

them eating here?" Reth gestured around at the rest of the  mess  hall,  crammed

with tables, ringing with noise.

"No."

"They have their own lounge, and rumor says they have their  own  chef  off

Rebel Dream."

"Her mother's old ship."

"Her mother's old ship. Twins Suns hasn't done anything Blackmoon  Squadron

hasn't, and can't do anything we can't,  except  show  off  names  of  important

mommies and daddies."

"Keep it calm, Yak. There have got to be  political  reasons  behind  this.

With politics, nothing runs right... but without politics, nothing runs."

Reth nodded grudging agreement. "It just keeps piling up,  and  I  have  to

question Antilles's competence."

"Keep it down, will you? You're  starting  to  sound  like  a  mutineer  in

training."

Reth flashed his second-in-command a broad grin. "Nothing  like  that.  I'm

just trying to figure out whether I should put in for a transfer, try to get  in

with a squadron in one of the other fleet groups. I'm not sure what to  do  yet.

If you hear anything along the lines of what I've been  saying...  well,  you'll

just keep your ears open, won't you?"

Ti'wyn waggled his pointed, oversized Bothan ears. "Always do."

Transport Ship Fu'ulanh, Coruscant Orbit

Wrapped in the concealing folds of  her  cloakskin,  willing  her  shaper's

headdress to remain still so as not to give away her  caste  to  observers,  the

Shaper Nen Yim followed the Warmaster Tsavong Lah out onto the gana-dote tongue.

Ganadotes were immobile creatures. Born as a flat, long  shell  about  five

paces long and wide and a pace high, they were little  more  than  a  mouth,  an

anus, a large canal connecting  them  as  well  as  opening  into  side  stomach

chambers, and a tongue.

But when grown to maturity and trained in their masters' wishes, they  made

magnificent entryways and vie wing-boxes. Kept fed  by  servants  bringing  clip

beetle shells and other nutritious  waste  and  dropping  those  foods  straight

through their stomach valves, shaped by hormones  to  change  their  dimensions,

ganadotes could be transformed into domed or spherical vestibules.  The  tissues

that lined their intestinal tracts were beautifully  iridescent,  and  a  proper

diet kept excretion to a rare event.

But it was the tongue that made the ganadote such a charming  architectural

feature. One trained in its use could step out onto it and, by  leaning  or  toe

pressure, cause it to  extend,  lower,  raise,  position  its  tip  anywhere  in

relation to the creature's body.

And that was what Tsavong Lah did. Once Nen Yim was in place, he coaxed the

ganadote tongue out over the large chamber at the heart  of  this  living  ship,

over the crowd, short of the fibrous leaves that blocked off the far  exit  from

the chamber.

Tsavong Lah threw up his hands, tossing his cloak back over his  shoulders.

"Priests and shapers, devotees of  the  Great  God  Yun-Yuuzhan,  I  salute  and

welcome you. Soon, you will be taken from this place to nearby  Borleias,  where

my sire, Czulkang Lah, drives the infidels into dejection and defeat."

The listeners, perhaps thirty, castes evenly divided  between  shapers  and

priests  of  Yun-Yuuzhan,  raised  their  voices  in  noises   of   celebration,

appreciation.

Nen Yim could make out the faces of many, including the shaper Ghithra Dal,

whom she had accused, and Takhaff Uul, the priest who had been in Ghithra  Dai's

constant, if surreptitious, company these last many weeks.

"As you know," Tsavong Lah said, "you travel there to  take  possession  of

Borleias once it falls. That green, rich world, almost free of the touch of  the

infidel, will be your reward for service to the gods, service  to  the  Yuu-zhan

Vong. Half will be the domain of the priests, half of the shapers, all united in

the worship of Yun-Yuuzhan. All you need to do to claim it is raise your  mighty

temples, your gloriously crafted domains upon her.

"Sadly, you will fail to do this."

And there it was, the start of the  warmaster's  revenge,  expressed  in  a

handful of calmly expressed words.

The crowd quieted, with  many  of  its  members  turning  to  one  another,

muttering questions.

"I look forward to waking each day without being assailed by the  smell  of

sickness, the odor of the decay of my own arm. I look  forward  to  rising  each

morning in the sure knowledge that I have not displeased  the  gods-only  a  few

rogue priests and shapers who dared to misappropriate the god's  will."  Tsavong

Lah's voice turned thunderous, and Nen Yim saw his broad  back  shake  with  the

emotion of his words. "I look forward to knowing that those  who  remain  behind

are united in their hatred of the infidels, not in their greed for what they may

obtain at the expense of others. I rejoice to think that you will soon be gone."

"No, Warmaster." That was the voice of the priest, Takhaff Uul,  young  for

his posting, ambitious beyond his years. "There has been no such treachery.  You

must not think it. Only in the true service to Yun-Yuuzhan can ' you  save  your

arm, save yourself from the company of the Shamed Ones."

"There are some who say that trust is  a  matter  of  faith,"  Tsavong  Lah

replied. "I say that trust is a matter of knowledge, of  observation.  Find  one

who is trustworthy, and there is trust. Find one who is not, and there is  none.

But I will give you a chance at life. Takhaff Uul, do you trust our gods?"

The youthful priest cried up to him, "I do, Warmaster."

"Do they trust yow?"

"What? I don't understand."

"If they trust you, trust that your motives have been true, trust that  you

have thought only of their honor and not your own, I am certain they  will  save

you. From this." He raised his radank claw  arm,  pointing  its  pincer  at  the

enormous leaves covering the chamber's far entryway.

That was Nen Yim's cue. Beneath her robe, she stroked a tiny  kin  to  that

enormous plant, coaxing it to act. It did; it curled into a tube.

So did the ones in the distance, revealing a dark gap in the  wall  beyond;

the gap was four times the height of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior, four times as wide.

A snuffling noise emerged from the gap, then something like  a  low,  muted

roar. Then something emerged.

Like a Yuuzhan Vong, it had two arms, two legs. But  its  stance  was  low,

crouching, animalistic. It had tremendous muscles, hard  and  corded  enough  to

support its tremendous weight, for it was as tall as the gap  through  which  it

emerged. Its face was tusked, its teeth were huge, and its head swiveled  as  it

spotted the Yuuzhan

Vong on the chamber floor. Its eyes followed these small creatures with the

avidity of a hungry beast.

"This is a rancor," Tsavong Lah said. "A beast of this galaxy. You  do  not

deserve honorable death at the hands of one of our own living weapons. When  you

die here, it will not be as  fighters,  but  as  food  to  sate  the  creature's

appetite."

"What if we kill it?" That was the voice of Ghithra Dal, filled with spite.

"Then you live for a while longer," said the warmaster. "A short while."

Through the gap emerged another rancor, then a third, and  a  fourth.  They

spread out from the gap, moving along the walls of the chamber,  circling  their

tiny prey.

Tsavong Lah leaned back, and the tongue retracted, carrying him and Nen Yim

into the ganadote mouth. As the first screams began, as the first  roars  echoed

from the chamber walls, they turned away from the feasting scene below  and  the

warmaster led the shaper out through the back way.

"Warmaster, may I ask two questions?"

"You may."  They  emerged  from  the  ganadote  into  a  large,  blood-blue

corridor, and were joined by  Tsavong  Lah's  personal  guards,  who  marched  a

respectful distance ahead of and behind them.

"First, will there be no outcry from the priesthood  of  Yun-Yuuzhan,  from

the shapers?"

"An outcry? Of course there will be. A cry for blood. When word returns  to

us that their transport was attacked by pilots of Borleias, all  its  passengers

slaughtered, there will be a great cry for revenge."

"Ah." Nen Yim walked along in silence for a moment, knowing that his  reply

had spelled her doom, too. "Should I not go with them? Or is my death  to  be  a

different one?"

"I can't kill you. You're on loan from Overlord Shimmra. Besides, I have no

reason to wish you harm." They entered the stomach compartment that  now  housed

Tsa-vong Lah's private transport. The eyelidlike wall on the far side was closed

now, keeping the chamber's atmosphere intact. They  walked  to  the  transport's

ramplike protrusion and climbed into the creature's  passenger  stomach.  "I  am

pleased with you, Nen Yim. Do you plan to  tell  this  story?  To  rouse  hatred

against me?"

"No."

"If you did, what would happen?"

She thought about that as she settled into her  seat.  Its  fleshy  surface

flowed  around  her  waist,  her  torso,  holding  her  in  place  against   the

acceleration to come. "The only reason to do so would be to harm you.  In  which

case it becomes the story of a discredited shaper against that of the warmaster.

And I would die before I could present proof."

"And such a waste. Your cleverness, used in our service, more than makes up

for the loss of Ghithra Dal and  his  conspirators.  Will  you  use  it  in  our

service?"

"I will." She did not hesitate. Tsavong Lah said our service. To her,  that

meant the Yuuzhan Vong, not him personally, and she could swear to that  with  a

whole heart.

"Some day soon, the seedship will return to this  world  and  complete  its

transformation. I wish you to return to Lord Shimmra and study the  World-Brain.

I wish you to do nothing to displease the gods... but  to  find  that  knowledge

which the gods do not mind us knowing."

"I will, Warmaster."

"Then speak no  more  of  your  death.  It  will  come  when  the  time  is

appropriate. It is not appropriate now."

Coruscant

Baljos Arnjak was beginning to look like he, too, was being Vongformed. His

beard and mustache were growing in; shaggy and in colors that ranged from  light

brown to black, his beard seemed like a riotous life-form  not  native  to  this

world. The orange jumpsuit he wore when not  traveling  in  Yuuzhan  Vong  armor

seemed to have many more stains on it now, and some  of  them  might  have  been

living  patches  of  mold  or  lichen.  But  these  changes  and   the   group's

circumstances seemed to be sitting well with him;  his  eyes  were  bright,  his

manner animated. "Come in, come in," he said, waving the Jedi and Danni into the

Lord Nyax suspended animation chamber. Bhindi was already there,  perched  on  a

stool.

"Tell me you have some information," Luke said.

Baljos beamed. "I have some information. There, that was  painless,  wasn't

it? You can all go now."

"Don't taunt the Jedi," Bhindi said.  "And  don't  take  credit  you  don't

deserve. I'm the one who dug most of the information out of the wrecked guts  of

those maintenance machines."

"True enough, Circuitry Girl. Not that you could have interpreted-"  Baljos

doubtless saw the impatience in someone's face, probably Tahiri's, for he  broke

off that line of talk. "We're prepared to tell you whatever  you  need  to  know

about Lord Nyax. Anything Bhindi didn't find in the machine memory,  we'll  just

make up."

Luke leaned against a wrecked computer console  and  crossed  his  arms  as

though to put up a defense against whatever information was to come. "So, who is

he? What was he modified for?"

Baljos nodded as though that was the first pair of questions he'd expected.

"He is-or used to be-a Dark Jedi. His name was Irek Ismaren."

Luke frowned, then shook his head. "No, that's not possible."

"Who's Irek Ismaren?" Tahiri asked.

Luke dug his datapad out of a belt pouch. "Like Baljos said. He was a  Dark

Jedi in training. A son either of the Emperor or of one Sarcev Quest by a  woman

named Ro-ganda Ismaren. She was a crazy woman who modified her son with computer

implants. My sister Leia ran into him on Belsavis, oh, about fifteen years ago."

He opened the datapad and began scrolling through entries.  Though  nowhere

near as comprehensive as the database he kept  in  whatever  hidden  site  might

serve as the Jedi headquarters, this datapad included an abbreviated listing  on

every Jedi, Sith, Force-sensitive, or Force-related person or site he  had  ever

encountered in his long searches for knowledge of the Jedi Order.

Within moments, he found the file he wanted. A face resolved  into  clarity

on the datapad screen: aristocratic, handsome, somehow unfinished in a  teenaged

way, framed by curly dark hair.

It was the face of a younger Lord Nyax.

Suddenly Luke felt as pale as Lord Nyax. He showed the image to Mara.

She nodded. She noted some of the details that appeared on the screen under

Irek's name, "So he should be about thirty now."

"Yes. And of normal height."

"Except," Baljos interrupted, "he spent most of the  intervening  years  in

that  suspended  animation  chamber,  so  he's  physically  younger   than   his

chronological age. His vital processes were slowed.  He  was  subjected  to  the

medical treatments I mentioned earlier, treatments that kept his  bones  growing

long past the point they should have sealed, that  gave  him  lots  more  muscle

mass. As a baby, he'd had a computer apparatus implanted in  his  brain  by  his

mother; it helped give him enough focus - monomania may be a better word for it-

to learn to control the Force far out of proportion to  his  age.  When  he  was

here, that apparatus  was  augmented  to  make  his  control  even  greater.  It

apparently stimulates what's left of his  brain  in  ways  beneficial  to  Force

control. He was equipped with lightsaber weapons, their use  part  of  the  hard

coding in his brain implant-" Luke snapped  the  datapad  shut.  "How  did  this

happen?" Bhindi said, "It appears that after leaving Belsavis, he and his mother

came to Coruscant and hid here... and by 'here' I mean in  this  very  facility.

His mother carefully Monitored his progress in the Force, training him  so  that

he'd be the  most  powerful  Dark  Jedi  in  existence,  and  Save  him  medical

treatments to make him much bigger, more imposing, more physically powerful. She

also arranged to bring in the ysalamiri to keep him hidden as  his  Presence  in

the Force grew stronger."

"Then something happened," Baljos said. "The notes are not  exactly  clear,

but it seems like they found and I took on a partner, another Dark Jedi, and  at

some point Irek and the new partner got in a dispute and dueled. The partner was

killed, and Irek took a Hghtsaber thrust right through the skull. He died."

"Died," Luke said.

"Technically died," Baljos added. "Brain activity ceased. He fell down  and

didn't move anymore. But his mother and the attendant medical droids  were  able

to maintain his autonomic functions and keep his body alive.  Her  journal,  not

surprisingly, gets a bit  harder  to  understand  at  this  point,  and  becomes

increasingly demented over the years, but it becomes obvious that she  kept  his

body in suspended animation and  had  the  medical  droids  insert  increasingly

sophisticated components into the computer apparatus in his skull."

Luke grimaced. "With what purpose?"

"I think," Baljos said, "that she was trying  to  make  him  into  her  son

again-an unlikely prospect, since  most  of  the  portions  of  the  brain  that

pertained to memory and the less violent emotions were charred into carbon - and

also to make him into a new leader for the Empire. She was just crazy enough  to

imagine he could be Emperor Irek,  loving  son,  Dark  Jedi,  and  unconquerable

tyrant."

Luke exchanged a look with Mara. She didn't let any of her  emotions  reach

her face, but he could feel them through the Force, a revulsion for a woman  mad

enough to keep her own son on the butcher's block like that for so  many  years.

"What happened to Roganda Ismaren?" he asked.

"She was the female corpse we found here. We ran cell samples  against  her

records in the files. There's no mistake."

Luke gave him a disbelieving look. "Irek killed her?"

"He's not Irek anymore. Lord Nyax killed her. He didn't recognize her.  She

was just another moving shape in the way when he broke out of his holding tank."

Baljos shook his head. "Very nasty business. It gives even  mad  science  a  bad

name."

"Does he have any weaknesses?" Mara asked.

"Oh, yes." Baljos gestured at the suspended animation unit. "He's not ripe.

"

"Ripe," Luke repeated.

"It appears that a groundquake caused some ceiling rubble to drop onto  one

or more of the ysalamiri, killing them and damaging the unit. He woke up,  burst

out, went on a rampage, and fled. But he wasn't due  to  come  out  for  another

couple of years." Baljos pointed at one  of  the  computer  consoles.  "All  his

operational programming was there, plus the refabricated 'Irek' memories Roganda

planned to implant in him,  and  they  weren't  transferred  over.  He  has  his

instincts,  he  has  some  combat  programming,  and  he  has  some   deep-level

motivations - such as to seek out Jedi and kill them, to seek out hot-points  of

the Force and control them, to conquer the universe, little  things  like  that.

But he lacks memories, tactical skills... even language, I think. I  doubt  he's

even verbal."

"So we can't even talk to him." Tahiri looked down-cast.  "Maybe  that's  a

weakness, but it doesn't make things easier on us. He can't be reasoned with."

"I guess that leaves me with only one more  question."  Luke  returned  the

datapad to his belt pouch and prepared himself for what he expected to  be  more

bad news. "Is there any way to save him? To befriend him, teach  him  about  the

light side?"

Baljos finally became serious. "I don't  think  so.  He's  had  almost  all

humanity burned out of his brain. He's just a predator whose  only  goal  is  to

dominate."

"Great," Luke said.

Viqi spent almost her every hour in the chamber  that  concealed  the  Ugly

Truth. Though not technically proficient, she knew  enough  about  machinery-and

could glean more from the ship's computer memory-to have a  good  sense  of  the

resources available to her here.

Ugly  Truth  was  definitely  capable  of  spaceflight,  and  her   inboard

diagnostics indicated that every ship's system was undamaged,  operational.  The

ship was fully fueled, and battery power,  for  starting  up  systems  and  even

providing her with some  discretionary  lights  and  occasional  cool  air,  was

adequate to last for weeks more.

The problem was the exit chute. It had collapsed during Coruscant's fall or

subsequent bombardment. Small chunks of duracrete  and  ferrocrete  had  fallen,

then metal beams had twisted and more rubble had  fallen  onto  the  beams,  the

whole mass crushing into an impenetrable plug.

Floors above the hidden hangar, she'd found a hole  providing  access  into

the exit chute above the plug. Here there  were  signs  that  someone  had  been

working, digging away at the plug from above, hauling blocks of  duracrete  into

an office chamber at that level. She supposed  that  the  worker  had  been  the

pretty boy who'd given her the locator.

She'd evert found the boy's  name.  In  the  ship's  computer  records  was

information about the family that had owned the Ugly Truth. Hasville  and  Adray

Terson had been the founders of Terson Comfort  Carriers,  an  airtaxi  company;

Viqi had seen the ubiquitous vehicles of their fleet, even  ridden  within  them

during her secret  activities  aiding  the  Yuuzhan  Vong.  The  ship's  records

included a holo of their son, Hasray, the boy with the remote.

Another little sad story, she decided. She pondered that for a  while.  She

couldn't feel the sadness of it-far from it,  she  was  elated  that  the  boy's

sacrifice meant her salvation.

Viqi spent most of her time studying  the  ship's  controls  and  diagrams,

digging into the ship's stores of food, regaining her strength. Occasionally she

had to venture forth-very quietly, very carefully-to work on unplugging the exit

chute or to find the chamber, down the hall on this floor, she had chosen for  a

refresher.

This day, she emerged from  the  refresher  and  peered  up  and  down  the

corridor with her customary caution. There was no sound, no  sign  of  movement.

Slowly, carefully she headed back toward the Terson family quarters.

Something wrapped around her neck from behind, jerked her off her feet. She

landed on her back, choking, and stared up... into the features of Denua Ku. The

warrior held his amphistaff in one hand; the other end of the weapon was  coiled

around Viqi's neck.

She gaped up at him. He was dead, she knew he was dead, he'd died  back  in

the furniture manufacturer's. But now he stared down at her,  helmet  off,  eyes

neither angry nor solicitous. "Get up," he said.

She struggled to her  feet,  assuming  control  over  her  expression,  her

manner, her breathing. As she rose, the amphistaff's tail slid from around  her.

"Denua Ku," she said. "I'd thought you had died."

"I ran." The warrior's voice sounded  bitter.  "My  duty  dictated  that  I

return to my commander and describe what I'd seen-the giant Jeedai. Now that  my

superiors are informed, I can return to confront the monstrous thing... and kill

it, or be killed by it. Why did you not seek out the Yuuzhan Vong and tell  them

what had happened?"

She let some scorn creep into her tone. "A human,  alone,  wandering  about

the rooftops, waving down coral-skippers? Do you know what happens  to  them?  I

do. I was shot at twice." That was a lie; she'd never ventured to the  rooftops.

But she'd seen the skips on patrol, seen how they fired at anything  that  might

be an inhabitant of the planet caught above-ground.

"So you came here? Why?"

"I knew the people who lived here." This lie came  smoothly  to  her,  too.

"Hasville and Adray Terson, and their boy Hasray.  They  were  wealthy.  I  knew

their quarters would have preserved food hidden in them, and I was right. I knew

that would give me time to figure out how to return  to  the  worldship  without

getting myself killed. How did you find me?"

He reached under his armor at the armpit and  pulled  forth  a  creature-an

insect about the size of one of Viqi's fingernails. It looked like some sort  of

beetle, but was the red color of arterial blood. Though its  wings  were  folded

along its back, perfectly shaped to its carapace,  they  vibrated,  causing  the

little creature to buzz constantly.

"This is a nisbat,"  the  warrior  said.  "When  it  is  near  any  of  its

hatchmates, it makes this noise, increasing in volume as it gets closer."

"So?"

"So one of its hatchmates is within you."

Viqi couldn't keep her eyes from widening. "Something that size  is  inside

me-"

"No. It was implanted in you when it was fresh-hatched. It cannot grow.  It

cannot even vibrate. But it can be felt by its fellows."

"I am... grateful to it. That it has allowed you to find me."

"Hmmm." Denua Ku's acknowledgment sounded neither  accepting  nor  dubious.

"Now you will be able to return to the worldship."

"I am delighted."

"After we find and kill the giant Jeedai."

Viqi's heart sank. She kept it from her face. "Shall I hold him down  while

you kill him?"

Denua Ku's lips twitched up in a smile. "Amusing. Is that as funny in Basic

as it is in our tongue?"

"If our two cultures share anything, it is irony."

The warrior held up a hand. From other doorways  in  the  corridor  emerged

more warriors-a party of two dozen or more, Viqi calculated.

And with them was another voxyn. This one was worse off than  the  previous

one; it was a sickly yellow almost everywhere, and in places,  its  scales  were

flaking off completely. Its head hung listlessly, and it did not even bother  to

snap at the warrior nearest it.

"Ah." Viqi forced a smile. "Even better."

"Come along." Derma Ku led the way toward the nearest emergency stairwell.

Viqi followed, her smile fixed, her mind racing.

She would find a way to elude them. She would pry the nisbat from her body,

wherever it was hidden. She still had her locator tucked away, and the stairwell

to the Ugly Truth was closed, hidden; she would be  able  to  return  here.  She

would clear that exit chute and blast off to safety.

And if it were humanly possible, she would see Denua Ku  dead  first,  dead

for daring to force her back into his plans when her plans  were  so  much  more

important.

She kept her back straight and her  manner  haughty.  No  matter  whom  she

aided, no matter what she wore, she was of the royal lines of Kuat.

THIRTEEN

Coruscant

In a deep tunnel, a maintenance causeway sealed off  from  the  surrounding

habitat areas, a passage constantly dripping with nearly opaque seepage from the

levels above, the voxyn became more alert. It raised  its  head  and  began  the

familiar side-to-side  sweeping  gestures.  The  Yuuzhan  Vong  warriors  became

agitated and allowed the voxyn and its handler up to the front.

"Warriors, flank it," Denua Ku ordered. "We cannot lose this one. They  are

too rare now."

Two warriors moved up, one on either side of the voxyn. They stayed out  of

reach of its claws, even when rt meant sloshing through black pools of liquid on

the floor, but nothing would protect them from its acid if it Decided to unleash

some in their direction.

Two hundred paces farther on, the voxyn stopped. It stared  upward  and  to

the left.

"Find an access," Denua Ku ordered.

Two warriors ran up the passage, and in moments  found  stairwells  leading

upward. The voxyn had to be dragged from its position, closest to the target  it

felt, to the stairway, but once hauled into that shaft it bounded up the  stairs

with an energy Viqi had not seen it display before.

Mara crept along the metal girder forty meters above the floor.  The  light

from the lamps, dying glowrods, and torches below barely reached her;  with  her

dark garments and skill at movement, she doubted very much  that  she  would  be

seen.

The floor below was irregular, partially buckled, the result of one of  the

quakes that Danni said had plagued Coruscant since the Yuuzhan Vong had begun to

shift its orbit. It was covered in black material, gummy and sticky, the sort of

material Mara had seen on countless roofs of buildings on other worlds. Its  use

here meant that this surface was not intended as a work or habitation area - but

now it was full of beings, a constant stream of haggard males and females  of  a

variety of species emerging from and descending into  stairs  at  the  chamber's

four corners. Wearing tatters, not interacting, barely  blinking,  they  carried

duracrete blocks and rubbish and portions of bodies, hauling  these  things  out

through a side tunnel and returning unencumbered.

Clearly they were excavating something in the  chamber  or  chambers  below

that black floor, and doing so at the bidding of another. But where,  and  what,

was that being? There was no sign of the Yuuzhan Vong, no sign of Lord Nyax.

From the end of a metal beam that bobbed occasionally under the combination

of her weight and the stray breeze that moved through the  chamber,  Mara  could

look straight down at the center of the floor. It sagged, suggesting that  there

was a single large chamber beneath. She pulled  out  her  comlink,  "Luke,"  she

whispered.

"I'm here."

She knew that; she could feel him, dozens of meters  away,  toward  one  of

this chamber's four upper corners, at the hole Elassar had found.  He  was  with

Tahiri, Face, and Kell. Any of them could have been the one to crawl out on this

metal beam, but it had been Mara's turn.

"I suspect it would be child's play to join one of the  work  gangs,"  Mara

said. "I don't think they'd react if a wampa in a war helmet and a dancing skirt

started working with them."

Face's voice came back: "Give me a minute, I can work up that disguise."

"How about you just keep your  current  outfit  and  go  see  what  they're

digging up?"

"Spoilsport. Give me about ten minutes to get down there."

"Will do." She stiffened. "Wait a second. Something's changing."

The line of workers stopped in place, every one of the dozens of blank-eyed

Coruscant survivors turning toward a far corner of the chamber. Mara strained to

see, then gave up and brought out her macrobinoculars.

In that corner, a flap of sheet metal was pulled aside by something on  the

other side... and Lord Nyax stepped through.

Mara felt a hiss  try  to  escape  her.  She  stilled  it,  an  unnecessary

precaution, as at this distance no living creature could have heard her. But the

contrast between the malevolent Force presence she could feel from that man  and

his cheerful looks atop that monstrously tall body was startling.

She almost dropped the macrobinoculars. "Luke, did you feel that?"

"I did. Maybe you should get back here."

"Maybe I shouldn't." She returned her attention to the man in the distance.

"But keep talking to me."

"Will do. What are you seeing?"

"Lord Nyax. He's come through the wall and he's  walking  toward  the  work

crews. He's alone."

"How's his expression?"

"Happy. Childish-happy." For a moment,  she  could  see  into  Lord  Nyax's

thoughts deeper than mere visual evidence should allow her. "He's  pleased  with

their progress. They've got it ready to go."

"Got what ready?"

"What they told him about." Mara shook her head again as if trying to fling

the alien thoughts from her skull by centrifugal force. "I can't seem  to  close

myself off, Luke. I can't seem to block it."

"Me, either. Or Tahiri. I'm coming out there."

Mara looked back. In the distance behind her, she saw a dark  shape  emerge

from a ceiling-high hole in the wall  and  come  trotting  across  intact  metal

beams, more nimble than any acrobat.

She felt another sensation in the Force, a hunger that seemed decidedly out

of character for Lord Nyax. She returned her attention to him.

The thing with Irek Ismaren's face stopped just short of the  nearest  work

crew and was now looking toward the corner of the  chamber  immediately  beneath

Luke's entry point. There were shrieks from the stairwell there.

Figures burst up from the stairwell-armed and armored Yuuzhan Vong warriors

emerged, moving fast, and the fifth one out of the stairwell was  being  dragged

by a leashed voxyn. That was the hunger, the desperate craving of the  voxyn  to

find and destroy all Force-users.

The voxyn's head turned as its gaze swept the room. Mara saw its  attention

flash across Luke, across her - she felt its awareness of her  like  a  physical

touch-and then come to rest on Lord  Nyax.  It  lunged  in  his  direction,  its

handler unable to hold it back despite the leash. A second warrior  grabbed  the

leash, added his strength to that of the first, and they  managed  to  drag  the

voxyn to a halt.

Lord Nyax smiled as the warriors, twenty of  them  now,  spread  out  in  a

semicircle. They approached  him,  amphistaffs  ready,  some  of  them  handling

thudbugs or razorbugs. They moved through the crowd of  workers,  contemptuously

shoving those beings aside, hurling them off their feet.

The beam Mara was on bobbed more deeply as Luke arrived. He  stretched  out

behind her and pulled out his own macrobinoculars.

Mara felt a sudden surge of hatred-not for Luke, not for Lord Nyax, hut for

the Yuuzhan Vong. She knew it to be a sentiment from outside her, and that  kept

it from being quite as compelling as it could have been.

And in that same instant, the workers screamed in rage  of  their  own  and

swarmed the Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

The warriors swung and stabbed. Mara saw workers Pierced through heart  and

gut and brain. When those attacks were  not  instantly  mortal,  they  continued

running and leaping at the Yuuzhan Vong, crashing into them bearing them to  the

floor by weight of numbers.

The voxyn handlers went down. The voxyn leaped free and charged Lord  Nyax,

its growl of rage rumbling through the chamber.

A lightsaber, a red one, ignited  in  Lord  Nyax's  hand.  Then  Mara  took

another look. This wasn't a normal lightsaber; the energy blade emerged from the

back of his metallic glove. It pivoted as he  flexed  his  right  hand.  Another

emerged from his left glove.

The voxyn, canny and old, charged to within three meters of Lord  Nyax  and

then arched its back. It made a noise like a bedchamber's worth of carpet  being

suddenly ripped in two, and a gout of dark,  smoking  liquid  sprayed  from  its

mouth.

A portion of flooring between the voxyn and Lord Nyax  tore  free,  lifting

into the fluid's path. The voxyn's acid splashed  across  it,  almost  instantly

burning through it, but its momentum was arrested. It and the flooring fell, the

sound of the chemical reaction of the acid audible even at this distance.

Fallen Yuuzhan Vong warriors were rising now, having torn  themselves  free

of the masses of people bearing upon them. Mara saw  limbs  being  severed  from

torsos by expert amphistaff blows, saw trails of  blood,  some  of  it  jets  of

arterial blood gouting high into the air,  from  the  frenzied  but  ineffective

workers as they were cut down.

More red lightsaber blades sprang forth from Lord  Nyax's  body.  Mara  saw

blades emerge downward from his elbows, upward from his knees.

"We have to help," Luke said.

Mara turned. Luke was wrapping the cord of his beltgrapnel, long  abandoned

but definitely a useful tool for the exploration of Coruscant's  lower  reaches,

around the metal beam.

"Help who?"

"Help the Vong. Yeah, I know, I know, it's  something  you've  never  heard

anyone say before." Luke rolled off the beam and fell, his descent  arrested  by

his hand on the cord; more cord deployed from his belt as he descended. "I'm not

worried about the fate of the Yuuzhan Vong," he told her.  "But  we  desperately

need any resources we can use against Lord Nyax."

Mara hissed in vexation. She  tucked  her  macrobinocu-lars  away,  grabbed

Luke's cord, and swung out over open space, then slid down after her husband.

In the corner of her eye, she saw the voxyn charge  Lord  Nyax.  He  dodged

under the beast's leap and flexed an arm. His elbow-blade  sheared  through  the

voxyn's gut, slicing the beast cleanly in two. It landed in pieces behind him.

Then, as Mara swung around on the rope during  her  descent,  she  saw  the

woman.

The woman was dark-haired, attractive, standing at the top of the staircase

by which the Yuuzhan Vong had  arrived.  Unlike  the  workers,  she  was  alert,

watching the fight with an expression of detached interest.

She was Viqi Shesh.

Mara felt coldness  sweep  over  her.  The  woman  who  had  helped  betray

Coruscant to the Yuuzhan Vong, the woman who had stolen  Mara's  son,  Ben,  was

here, palling around with her Yuuzhan Vong  masters  while  the  world  crumbled

around them.

She opened herself to Luke through the Force, some-thing she preferred  not

to do while cold thoughts of murder were strong in her, and  let  him  see  Viqi

through her eyes. " Viqi first," she said.

"Lord Nyax first," he answered. At ten meters above the floor, he  detached

the cord spool from his belt and let go with his hand,  dropping  the  remaining

distance. He landed in a tuck and roll and came up in a full-speed run  straight

at Lord Nyax.

Mara spared one last look at Viqi, a glance that, had it become a  physical

manifestation of her anger, would have sliced through the woman as cleanly as an

amphi-staff point, and dropped. She came up in a roll and followed her husband.

Ahead, the first pair of Yuuzhan Vong warriors had reached Lord Nyax.

Viqi watched the huge pale man slaughter Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

The first two warriors stopped a dozen steps  from  the  thing  and  hurled

thudbugs. The pale man twitched and the lightsaber blades from one  forearm  and

one knee rose, incinerating the living weapons.

Two more warriors raced up  and,  under  cover  of  more  thrown  thudbugs,

charged, whipping their amphistaffs around, one lashing out with  the  tail  and

the other with fangs.

The pale man stepped in close to the second warrior.  The  first  warrior's

fang attack missed by a meter. The pale man's left forearm blade lashed  out  at

the second warrior,  who  blocked  the  attack  by  catching  the  blade  in  an

amphistaff coil. Then the pale man's left elbow blade raked across the warrior's

throat, separating it from his body. Meanwhile, the pale man's right-arm, right-

elbow,  right-knee  blades  rose,  darted,  swayed,  and  wherever  they   went,

incandescences flared-sign of thudbugs being vaporized.

The pale man  flipped  the  dead  warrior's  amphistaff  toward  the  first

warrior. The warrior contemptuously swept it out of the  way,  overcorrected  as

his own staff came back to block a lightsaber thrust-and  could  not  block  the

other lightsaber blade as it simultaneously thrust into his helmet's eye socket.

He fell, smoke pouring from the mask as he died.

More warriors arrived-two still threw thudbugs, four more skidded to a stop

beside them and waited for a bare second to calculate their strategy.

A piece of ceiling steel whirled down like a spinning sawblade from  above.

It flashed across the warriors' position at knee height, and just for a fraction

of a second Viqi thought that it had missed. Then those six warriors  collapsed,

legs severed at the knees, blood gouting from the stumps and limbs.

Seconds had passed. Eight Yuuzhan Vong warriors and their voxyn were  dead.

Seventeen more remained.

These warriors approached more  cautiously.  Directed  by  Denua  Ku,  they

circled around the smiling, confident pale man who towered over them.

The whirling steel panel came around for another Pass,  but  this  time,  a

chunk of machinery, an air-cooling unit a meter on a side, fired  off  from  the

floor as though it were a guided missile and hurtled into the sheet's path.  The

sheet wrapped around it with a ferocious, almost shriek of  metal  bending,  and

both fell to the floor.

The pale man looked off to Viqi's  left.  She  followed  its  gaze.  There,

advancing on the pale man, lightsabers lit were Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade.

Viqi's eyes grew wide. What were they doing here?

The Yuuzhan Vong, too, seemed caught off-guard. Denua Ku had no  more  love

of the Jeedai than any warrior, but he was smart; Viqi saw him wave his warriors

back, waiting for the intentions of the Jedi to be revealed.

It was time to go. No matter who the victor was, Viqi would either  end  up

dead or pressed once more into the service of the  Yuuzhan  Vong.  She  spun  to

sprint to the stairwell.

She tripped over an outstretched leg. It was clad in vonduun crab armor.

She looked up, confused. All the Yuuzhan Vong warriors had  been  ahead  of

her. Where had this one come from? He was  the  tallest  she'd  seen,  and  wore

unusual black-and-silver armor. So did the shorter warrior next to him, the  one

with the distinctive branding marks on his face.

That one said, "What do  we  have  here,  Explosion  Boy?"  His  voice  was

cultured, his Basic perfect.

The tall one said, "Dunno." He, too, spoke Basic. He reached  down,  seized

one of Viqi's ankles, and straightened. He held her upside-down at arm's length.

"Runt of the litter, I'd say."

Disoriented, Viqi could only watch  as  a  lithe  female  Jedi,  lightsaber

blazing, ran past the three of them,  paying  these  Yuuzhan  Vong  warriors  no

attention.

A clang over her head startled her. She looked up - down, at the  floor-and

saw her locator lying there.

She reached for it, but the tall warrior swung her to one side. "Grab that,

would you, Poster Boy?"

"Got  it."  The  one  addressed  as  Poster  Boy  seized  the  device   and

straightened. "Ah, a military-spec vehicle locator. Uulshos  makes  these.  Hey,

it's live."

Viqi finally found her voice. "That's mine."

"Not anymore, Senator."

Luke and Mara approached Lord Nyax and his  Yuuzhan  Vong  attackers.  They

kept their guards up, their senses-both physical and Force-alert.

Luke searched the face in front  of  him.  He  looked  for  some  trace  of

humanity. He saw only smiling mockery, and he could feel the thing  through  the

Force, its appreciation at having slaughtered warriors, its appreciation at  the

thought of slaughtering Luke and Mara.

There was no recognition in its emotion, no acknowledgement of  kinship  of

any sort.

"I don't know if you can understand me," Luke said.  "But  whatever  you're

doing, whatever your plans are, I have to stop you."

Lord Nyax's smile grew broader. It seemed to recognize Luke's intent,  even

if it could not grasp his words.

Then it answered-not in words, but in images. Luke saw  the  power  of  its

will, expressed  through  the  Force,  rolling  over  the  remaining  people  of

Coruscant like water roaring down a canyon through a  burst  dam.  He  saw  them

sweeping across Coruscant,  killing  and  eating  everything  in  their  way-the

Yuuzhan Vong, the disobedient, the Force-blind. He saw the workers here boarding

the machine beneath their feet, crashing  it  through  kilometers  of  buildings

until they came to some place, a source for more power to  fuel  this  glorious,

deliriously happy destructive impulse.

In that instant, Luke joined in  the  plan.  He  longed  to  slaughter  the

outsiders, those who did not understand or join. He longed to taste their flesh,

He turned to Mara, beckoning her to join. She was facing the  Yuuzhan  Vong

warriors, preventing them from surprising Luke with an attack, but her gaze  was

yanked to Luke. Her eyes widened, and he could  feel  her  leaning  toward  him,

leaning toward acceptance of this crucial duty.

But the sight of her brought memories. Luke saw worlds of  beauty.  He  saw

his son, composed of Luke and Mara and years to come. Around the edges  of  Lord

Nyax's command he felt the Force, its other natures,  the  life  from  which  it

flowed.

He turned back toward Lord Nyax and struggled to find the words to  express

his thought. "I... stand... in... your... way."

It was the Jedi way. Jedi did not attack. But to position  oneself  in  the

path of a violent aggressor who would not yield achieved the same result.

All he could ever do as leader of the wartime Jedi was lead them  into  the

path of the enemy. That was, Luke realized, perhaps his greatest limitation, and

in struggling against it without understanding it, he may have hampered the Jedi

effectiveness against the enemy.

But once  recognized  and  accepted,  it  was  also  perhaps  his  greatest

strength. Whether by accident or design, by his own will or by the  permutations

of the Force, he had always found his way into the path of the great enemies  of

all things living.

And here he was again. "I stand  in  your  way,"  Luke  repeated,  and  was

pleased that he had regained control over his voice. "What you see, you will not

achieve."

The expression on  Lord  Nyax's  face  turned  from  mocking  amusement  to

seriousness... even sadness, for a brief moment, as though the thing had at last

recognized some kinship and discovered that it did not bridge the  gulf  between

the two of them.

Then it charged.

Kell finished binding Viqi's hands behind her back and looked up in time to

see Lord Nyax lunge toward Luke.

Luke raised his lightsaber, caught the downward sweep of Lord Nyax's right-

hand forearm weapon. He spun clockwise, narrowing his profile as  the  left-hand

forearm blade thrust toward him, and kept his guard up in time to intercept  the

right-hand elbow blade. Mara leapt forward, unleashing two fast blows  that  the

thing's left-elbow blade caught, then folded over nearly double  as  she  leaped

back from a strike from its left knee.

The Yuuzhan Vong warriors unloaded  handfuls  of  thudbugs  and  razorbugs,

heedless of which of the targets they might hit, but the two Jedi and Lord  Nyax

flicked the weapons out of the air or dodged them entirely.

Two Jedi? Three. Suddenly Tahiri was in their midst, coming  up  on  Luke's

left, blocking a follow-up blow from the elbow blade on that side.

"Bad,"Kell said.

Face nodded. "Bad bad." He pulled his blaster rifle from the  wrappings  on

his back. "But who to shoot first?"

"We're no good here." Kell gestured toward the stairwell. "Let's  see  what

they're doing down below. If it's important, I can blow it up."

"That's our Kell."

Kell set Viqi on her feet, then hauled her up over his shoulder.  Following

Face, he descended the stairwell.

Denua Ku watched the palejeedai, and for a moment admiration almost drowned

out the revulsion he felt at the  notion  of  having  abomination-machines  like

light-sabers touching one's own flesh.

The pale thing fought with a savagery and speed unlike those of any warrior

he had ever seen. And it was untrained. With his experienced warrior's  eye,  he

could see that its movements were instinctive, a fact revealed in the creature's

failure to throw effective combinations of blows, its inability to  gauge  which

way its enemies would leap when it attacked them.

If it had been born Yuuzhan Vong, if he'd been able to train it for a year,

even half a year, he could have turned this thing into the greatest warrior  who

was not himself a god. As it was, he'd have to kill this thing.

Even if the Jeedai, too, wanted it dead, it was still an  abomination.  And

it was the greater threat. It had to die first. He threw his last razorbug, then

lunged forward into hand-to-hand range, probing at the pale  thing's  back  with

the tail-tip of his amphistaff.

The pale thing spun, sending its knee blade  toward  Denua  Ku's  guts.  He

blocked the sweep with his amphistaff, but the impact was tremendous;  it  threw

him back off his feet. He rolled backward and  came  upright,  saw  one  of  his

warriors perform a similar probing assault... and this warrior  took  a  forearm

blade through the throat.

Nine Yuuzhan Vong warriors down. Sixteen to go. The numbers  were  becoming

worse.

A tremendous mechanical roar shook the  chamber.  It  lowered  slightly  in

volume but became steady, filling the air.

FOURTEEN

"It's a delaying tactic!" Mara shouted over the roar.

"I know!" Luke shouted back. "It's working! I'm being delayed!" He  stopped

a forearm-swing and was driven back a step, stopped the  follow-up  elbow  swing

and was driven back a step, jumped back to avoid the knee-strike and  discovered

it was only a feint; Lord Nyax's leg snapped back  and  caught  a  Yuuzhan  Vong

warrior in the crotch, collapsing the warrior despite its armor.

Every step took the Jedi and the warriors toward the center of the chamber.

The floor vibrated beneath their feet.

"What?" Mara said.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Not you! Speak up, Face!"

Luke waved Mara back. She jumped up and backward in  a  somersault,  taking

her out of Lord Nyax's range, and took out her comlink, holding  it  up  to  her

ear. Tahiri took her place, swinging her lightsaber defensively,  eyes  wide  as

she analyzed her attacker's motions and patterns.

* * *

"I said, it's a big machine," Face shouted. Here,  at  the  source  of  the

vibration, the noise was much worse.

He, Kell, and their struggling cargo were on a catwalk two levels down from

the floor where the Jedi and Yuuzhan Vong fought, one level down from the  side-

passageways by which the Vong must have arrived. And the catwalk itself was  the

top level of a deep, deep chamber-a chamber that housed a single vehicle.

Had that machine been set up on any world but  Cor-uscant,  it  would  have

been considered a skyscraper. It was hundreds of meters tall. At its  base  were

treaded  appendages  that  could  roll  like  tank  treads  or  lift  and   move

independently like feet. All along its surface were hydraulic arms;  some  ended

in what looked like plasma cutters, others  in  huge  ball-like  weapons,  still

others in manipulator hands.

At the top was a sensor station surrounded by trans-paristeel  panels,  and

packed into that station were living beings. Many of the  workers  who  had  not

been on the floor above at the onset of the Yuuzhan Vong attack were  here,  and

more were shoving their way way along a catwalk extension that led to a door  in

that station.

Down below were more beings, tirelessly carrying hunks of debris away  from

the machine's base.

The whole thing roared like a fleet of antiquated Pod-racers. The vibration

cut into Face's skin wherever the vonduun crab armor did not cover it.

"Tell her it's a construction droid," Kell shouted.  "It  looks  completely

functional."

Face shouted that information into his comlink.

"Did she hear you?"

"I don't know."

"Tell her it's moving."

Far below, the treads spun into action. The construction droid's  machinery

whined as the gigantic machine J lurched into action... and  then  crashed  into

the dura-crete wall before it.

Unable to hear, Mara bit off a curse.  She  tucked  her  comlink  away  and

jumped back into the fight, deflected a pair of thudbugs, took a swipe  at  Lord

Nyax's hand; its arm rotated and it caught the attack on its lightsaber blade.

Luke flipped over the pale  thing,  striking  as  he  went;  his  blow  was

blocked.

Tahiri, in front, lunged forward... and stumbled, right into the path of  a

knee blade. Mara reached out, an effort to shove with the  Force,  knowing  that

she was too late, knowing that the knee-blade would emerge in a  fraction  of  a

second from the back of Tahiri's skull-but Tahiri whipped to the side, still  in

control, still in balance, even as Luke crashed feetfirst into Lord Nyax's neck,

forcing its head down toward its own knee-blade.

The blade turned itself off. Lord Nyax's head passed through  empty  space.

Luke, backflipping to his feet, offered  up  an  expression  of  bafflement  and

frustration.

Mara sighed. It had been a  feint,  an  effort  to  trick  the  thing  into

spearing itself with its own weapons. But its designers had been  too  thorough.

There were fail-safes.

The floor rocked under their feet. Mara felt the crash from below  as  much

as she heard it.

Lord Nyax leapt upward a half-dozen meters and then, impossibly, just  hung

there in space, smiling down at the Jedi and the Yuuzhan Vong.

Mara realized, a fraction of a second too late, that it had merely  grabbed

the same cord by which she and Luke had descended. Then the floor went out  from

under her.

The construction droid plowed into the wall before it, smashing  steel  and

duracrete out, allowing blue-white sunlight to spilt in. It lurched and  wobbled

as it continued, internal balance compensators having a  hard  time  keeping  up

with the irregularity of the surface it moved across.

The catwalk under Face's feet rippled. "C'mon!" He turned back  toward  the

stairs they'd descended, but the catwalk mounting  on  the  corner  nearest  the

droid's exit hole snapped and dropped, snapping the next mounting toward him and

the next mounting after that. The catwalk fell all along one  wall,  except  for

the mounting behind Face and Kell, turning their footing into a steep ramp.

Face managed to get his hands on the catwalk railing. As his feet went  out

from under him, he held on. He looked up, could see Kell holding on  above  him,

could see the ceiling  of  this  chamber  split  and  collapse  as  one  of  its

supporting walls gave way under the droid's destructive exit.

Bodies began spilling through the split in the ceiling. Some were bodies of

workers. Others were Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

Then there were the bodies of his Jedi friends.

As he felt his footing give way, Luke sprang, with the last bit of traction

the flooring gave him, toward Mara and  Tahiri.  He  hit  them  like  an  overly

aggressive ballplayer, catching one in each arm.

The patch of floor they were heading toward opened, giving him  nothing  to

land on. With the Force, he shoved at his own back, propelling him  through  the

rent, toward the metal wall he saw before him, the wall and the catwalk there...

He saw that their arc was going to miss the catwalk.  They  would  hit  the

wall and plummet. But in that instant, the left end of the catwalk broke free of

its moorings and dropped, bringing it beneath  their  ballistic  arc.  A  moment

later, they hit the swaying thing, bending it down still farther, but  Mara  and

Tahiri grabbed its trailing end and held on with their considerable strength.

Gasping for breath, Luke looked around. He  and  both  of  the  others  had

switched off their lightsabers midleap. "Good instincts," he said.

"Good teacher," Tahiri said. She looked up, past Luke. "Hey, Face, is  that

you?"

"Hold on, hold on, I'll get a line down to you."

Face tied off the cord he'd once used to safeguard his  passage  across  an

elevated walkway. He dropped the other end down the swaying catwalk  toward  the

Jedi. In  moments,  Luke,  Mara,  and  Tahiri  swarmed  up  to  join  them.  The

construction droid was  only  just  pulling  out  onto  the  avenue  beyond  the

building.

"Did you see Viqi Shesh?" Mara asked.

Kell jerked a thumb up toward the stairwell behind them. "She was still  at

the bottom of the steps when the big boom hit. She took off."

Mara clambered up to the base of the stairs. "I'm going after her."

"Mara, no." Luke's voice did not carry a plea;  his  tone  conveyed  simple

truth. "Lord Nyax is more important. I can feel  him  moving  up  there.  Moving

away. We have to go after him, bring him down."

Mara sighed, shut her eyes. After a moment, she nodded.

"I lost her, I'll go after her," Kell said.

Face pressed the locator into his hand. "No. You go  after  this,  Mechanic

Boy. It could be our ticket out of here."

"You go after her, then."

Face gestured toward the construction droid, which leaned  at  an  alarming

angle toward the next building over as it turned rightward onto the avenue. "I'm

going after that. Nyax sent it off for a purpose. We  need  to  know  what  that

purpose is."

Mara pounded her fist on the bottom step, then stood. "Let's go," she said.

Up on the half-collapsed floor above,  Denua  Ku  hung,  unable  to  climb,

unable to descend.

A three-meter length of rebar emerged from his gut. It was slick  with  his

blood. He knew that his lung had been punctured.

The pain was extraordinary. He did not mind pain, did not fear it,  but  it

was beginning to fade in  a  way  that  suggested  imminent  death  rather  than

recovery.

In the silence left by the  infidel  machine's  departure,  he  heard  feet

padding softly across the remaimng floor. He looked up. Viqi Shesh, most of  the

way around the chamber toward the hole by which the pale  monster  had  entered,

her hands tied behind her back, paused and looked at him.

"Tell them I died well," Denua Ku said.

"I'll tell them," she said. "I'll tell them you died whining, that you died

begging for infidel medicines, anything to alleviate the pain."

Denua Ku snarled.  He  reached  for  his  pouch,  for  his  last  remaining

razorbugs.

Viqi laughed at him. Before he could bring out the weapons, she reached the

corner and ducked through the hole there.

Lord Nyax led the three Jedi on a  high-speed  run  through  the  ruins  of

Coruscant. He could travel faster than they could, because  from  time  to  time

he'd simply leap from one building to the next one  over,  usually  a  leap  too

great for them to match. Yet they could always feel him in the  distance,  sense

his movements, sense a feeling of expectation and even anxiety from him.

Once they caught up very close. The bodies of five lightly scarred  Yuuzhan

Vong warriors, young ones, lay in a brightly lit corridor,  their  wounds  still

smoking. In the distance, the  Jedi  could  hear  the  footsteps  of  Lord  Nyax

fleeing.

"Where's he going?" Mara asked.

Luke thought about where they started this fight, where they'd  been  since

then. "It's a big arc. Maybe part of a big circle."

"Why?" Tahiri asked. She breathed more easily than Luke or Mara, the energy

and resilience of youth standing her in good stead.

"He's not fleeing," Luke said. "He could have left us behind some time ago.

So he wants us to follow him. Into a trap?" He shook his head.  "He  would  have

gone straight. No, he's just leading us on a chase. A diversion."

"So where does he want us not to go?" Tahiri asked.

Mara turned abruptly, headed back the way they'd come. "To wherever it sent

that construction droid." She pulled out her comlink. "Mara to  Face.  Come  in,

Face."

Face  ducked  behind  a   pillar   between   two   smashed-in   panels   of

transparisteel. He got out of  sight  just  in  time.  Outside,  a  wingpair  of

coralskippers flew by at his exact altitude-the same altitude as the  top  level

of the combat droid. "Face here. I hear you."

"Are you still with the construction droid?"

"Well, yes and no." He leaned out of the shattered viewport next to him. In

the distance, he could see the  coralskippers  hovering  outside  the  mound  of

rubble the construction droid made when it plowed  into  the  side  of  a  giant

ziggurat of buildings. "It's ahead of me.  It's  digging  through  construction.

Moving a lot faster than those things are rated to move, I'll bet. I'm  cut  off

from it for the moment. I'm going to have to track it from floors above and hope

they don't fall out from under me."

"Leave a tracking signal open. We need to find you."

"Done. Face out." He sat there for a few more moments, gasping in the warm,

moist, cloying air of Coruscant, then rose again. "I hate this job."

The Jedi circled around the growing accumulation of coralskippers  hovering

outside the collapsed hole the construction droid had bored into the  ziggurat's

side. On an upper floor half a kilometer from the gathering, they  met  up  with

Face and peered at the ziggurat. "Interesting," Luke said.

"What?" said Tahiri.

"This is one of the monolithic blocks that served the  Old  Republic  as  a

government center," Luke said. "A lot of it belonged to  secondary  bureaus,  to

embassies  and  legations  from  non-Republic  worlds,  and  to  businesses  and

organizations more or less allied with the Old Republic."

Tahiri gave him a skeptical look. "How do you know that?"

"Because,  youngster,  the  few  surviving  databases  and  filemaps   that

mentioned the old Jedi Temple indicated that it was-" Luke pointed.  "-somewhere

there. I've been all through it, kilometers and kilometers of it. By the time  I

got to look at it,  of  course,  Emperor  Palpatine  had  long  destroyed  every

remaining trace of the Jedi."

"Maybe not every trace," Mara said.  "Why  do  you  suppose  Lord  Nyax  is

digging there?"

"Because..." Luke considered.  "Because  he  has  some  kind  of  implanted

memories or instincts? Perhaps he wants to destroy any  remnant  of  the  Temple

because of lingering emotions. Or maybe he knows about some portion of  it  that

was never on the public databases."

"Either way," Mara said, "we have to find out."

Luke smiled. "One of the advantages about  having  been  all  through  that

region is that I know quite a few ways in and out.  C'mon,  let's  bypass  these

skips."

Deep in the guts of the ziggurat, the construction droid leaned against the

sloping black  wall,  driving  its  plasma  cutters  into  the  smooth  surface,

hammering the glossy wall with its mechanical limbs. Chunks of dense stone  fell

away from the impact points, but the wall yielded only very slowly.

Luke and his companions peered at the action through a crack in a duracrete

wall a couple of stories up. Much of the  construction  that  should  have  been

beneath them had collapsed as soon as the construction droid had plowed its  way

to this point, meaning that the creaking and sagging of the floor  beneath  them

heralded a further collapse that was  probably  imminent.  "What's  beyond  that

wall, farmboy?" Luke shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't know this area  was

here. I'm not sure there were any visible accesses into it before. Hey, we  have

Yuuzhan Vong coming."

Despite the danger that her extra weight might present, Mara leaned in over

her husband's shoulder to look. Yuuzhan Vong warriors were scrambling  over  the

rubble and rushing toward the construction droid.

Coruscant survivors rushed out of the construction  droid's  base  to  meet

them. Unarmed, ill-fed, they still had a tremendous edge  in  numbers  over  the

warriors, and Luke saw several of the Yuuzhan  Vong  go  down  under  struggling

masses of bodies. The stronger survivors picked up chunks of stone  and  brained

the troops. More Yuuzhan Vong entered. More survivors  swarmed  in,  now  coming

from surrounding areas of rubble instead of just from the droid's base.

Luke looked back at the others. "He's near. He's calling to  them.  Calling

for help."

Face pulled his helmet off, touched his forehead. He  looked  troubled.  "I

know. I can feel him. In my head. I Want to go down there." He  looked  up  into

their worried expressions, offered them a wan smile. "Well, mostly I don't.  But

I can feel the draw."

"You're strong," Tahiri said. "Well fed. You have hope still. He'd have  to

exert himself more to control you. But I suspect he can. I'm not sure  he  can't

control us."

"Kell to Face." The voice, small and tinny, floated up from Face's helmet.

The Wraith leader pulled his helmet up beside his features. "Face here."

"I've found the source of  the  locator  signal.  We're  in  luck.  It's  a

spaceworthy transport. It's our passage back to Borleias."

"What kind of condition is it in?"

"It's ready to go. Oh, it's blocked in by several tons of rubble."

"Can you handle that?"

"What's my bag full of?"

"That's what I thought."

Luke looked again at the battle raging  below,  a  battle  where  his  only

opponent of consequence was the creature  they  called  Lord  Nyax.  "Face,  our

mission is over. I want you to round up the others, get to that  transport,  and

prepare to leave Coruscant."

Face grinned at him as though he were waiting for a punch line.  "And  what

about you silly Jedi types?"

"We're going down there." Luke closed his eyes, just for a moment,  as  the

weight of that decision pressed upon him. He was about to lead his  wife  and  a

teenager into a situation he wasn't sure he could handle, a situation  that  was

likely to get them all killed. He looked at Face again. "If  we  die  here,  the

other Jedi need to know about Lord Nyax. You're going to tell them."

Face thought about it, his smile disappearing. "I  normally  try  to  argue

against suicide missions."

"But you know what Lord Nyax can do."

"Yes. So all I can do is wish you luck."

Face left.

Luke took a couple of deep breaths, turned to the others. "Ready?"

"Ready," Tahiri said.

Mara just nodded.

Luke ignited his lightsaber and sliced  into  the  gap  he'd  been  peering

through, widening it.

Lord Nyax watched as his workers swarmed toward the warriors he  could  not

sense. He did not like the fact that he could not feel them, but  he  did  enjoy

seeing his workers kill them-though it was usually at a cost of twenty or thirty

workers per warrior.

But he was summoning more workers from all around. No matter how well  they

hid in the ruined undercity, his call reached them and  forced  many,  most,  to

climb free of their hiding holes, to stumble and then walk and then race  toward

the scene of this conflict.

And he could feel the wall weakening. Soon it would  give  way  completely.

The woman who had told him of this wonderful machine-he thought she  was  up  at

its summit, making it move-had been right.

Then he sensed something and looked up. A bar of en-ergy flashed, and three

people fell out of a hole in the ceiling.

They drifted laterally to the top of the slope of the black wall, riding it

down, using their power to slow their descent, keep  their  balance,  increasing

the friction between the clothes on their feet and the wall's surface.

Lord Nyax moved to be beneath them. He ignited his blades, all of them.  He

knew they'd be here, knew it from the moment they stopped chasing him. He wished

they'd go away instead of tiring him.

The foremost of them, the male, slid down until he was not far  above  Lord

Nyax's reach, then leapt free, somersaulting to land somewhere behind him.  Lord

Nyax reached out as the male came down; he slid a  sharp-edged  piece  of  stone

toward the male's landing area, timing it so that the stone would shear  through

the male's legs. But the male slowed his descent and rotation, landing atop  the

stone instead of in front of it, and bounded off, toward Lord  Nyax.  Meanwhile,

the women leapt clear of the stone, spinning down  toward  him,  igniting  their

weapons as they came.

Lord Nyax leapt free of the center of their formation, bounding up over the

head of the red-haired female. He hit the stone wall feetfirst, shoved off,  and

rotated to a landing many steps away from the three pests.

Then he made a thought and drove it into their heads.

It hit Luke like a razorbug  fired  straight  through  his  forehead.  Luke

staggered under the pain. His  back  hit  the  irregular  floor.  He  waved  his

lightsaber up and in front of him, a defensive form, but there was no  follow-up

blow for him to counter.

There was, however, a new priority. He was to switch off his lightsaber and

then go attack the Yuuzhan Vong. He leapt to his feet and turned his weapon off.

He could see Mara and Tahiri doing the same.

But that would mean dying-and, worse, failing.

No, it's what he had to do.

No, he couldn't do that.

He stood, frozen by the dilemma, straining against the thought that  filled

his mind, the thought that was slowly driving out every other consideration.

So he did what he had to whenever he was confused. He reached out, touching

Mara in the Force. He didn't have to open his mind to her; his mind was as  open

as it could be, held open by Lord Nyax's thought. He just had to reach for  her,

and she was there, locked in as much confusion and pain as he.

She had no answer for him. He reached  for  Tahiri  and  found  her  to  be

identically immobile.

He felt Lord Nyax grow impatient, then angry, and Lord Nyax  expressed  his

anger through pain. Luke felt his fingers and toes, hands and  feet,  shins  and

forearms explode. He fell, writhing, then stared in  amazement  as  he  realized

that his limbs were still attached-the pain was real, but no injury  had  caused

it. He could feel Mara's pain, feel Tahiri's.

There was something different about Tahiri's. He looked over to  where  she

lay.

She was rolling to her stomach, forcing her way to her  feet.  Off-balance,

weaving as she stood, she nevertheless managed to pick  up  her  lightsaber  and

ignite it. She looked at Nyax, anger blazing in  her  eyes.  "I  know  something

about pain you don't," she said. "Pain drowns other people. I just swim in  it."

She took a step toward her tormenter.

Luke could feel Nyax's anger, his moment  of  confusion.  And  though  Luke

couldn't move, he could act. He reached out through the Force  and  grabbed  the

stone that Nyax had tried to use against  him  moments  earlier.  He  jerked  it

toward his enemy.

And though he was weakened by pain,  by  distraction,  it  flew  those  few

meters and slammed into Nyax's back, driving him forward, slamming him  off  his

feet.

Tahiri leapt forward, bringing her lightsaber down in  an  all-out  attack.

Nyax managed to get one of his arm-blades up to intercept it, then  kicked  out,

shoving off against a pile of rubble. He slid away from Tahiri,  and  the  slide

continued well past the point that it should, carrying him clear of  her...  but

he left skin and blood behind on rubble he crossed.

Luke felt Nyax's astonishment, his outrage at having been wounded,  however

trivially. Then Nyax drove another thought into Luke's brain: Kill Tahiri.

This time, Luke was ready for it. He'd had a moment to center his  thoughts

and, most important, emotions. He was ready with his memories of Tahiri, all the

time's he'd been delighted as she'd made another gain in her study of the Force,

all the hopes he'd had for her future and happiness. He could  hold  up  like  a

shield his memory of her love for his nephew Anakin  Solo.  All  those  memories

blunted Nyax's attack, shattered its speartip.

Luke reached for Mara again and  found  her  similarly  armored,  but  with

logic, not emotion. Running through her mind was a cold  calculation  of  allies

and opponents, actions and consequences. Uppermost in it was a realization  that

Nyax could rule any individual, and out of individuals whole galaxies were made.

But deep beneath the analysis was a stream  of  emotion,  an  awareness  of

their son Ben, of what he would be if Nyax could find him and shape him.

Luke came up on shaky legs, felt Mara doing the same. And though  Nyax  was

not letting up on the pain-energy, it affected Luke  less  now.  He  could  feel

Tahiri's part in that, the way she opened herself to the pain, was  not  daunted

by it, was not shut down by it.

They faced Nyax as a single creature.  The  part  of  them  that  was  Mara

rejected the false truths Nyax tried to impose upon them. The part of them  that

was Luke rejected the false hatreds, the  lying  enmities.  The  part  that  was

Tahiri made the pain part of what they were, a fuel for their strength.

Nyax looked between them, and a flicker of distress, a childlike expression

of fear, crossed his features.

Then all four of them felt the wall break. Whatever was  beyond  it  roared

forth to sweep them away.

Elsewhere

Above Borleias, on a routine surveillance sweep in her X-wing,  Jaina  Solo

was jolted out of her detachment by a surge in the Force. She  could  feel  Luke

and Mara in the surge. She knew they were in danger. And she could see Kyp's  X-

wing wobble as he, too, was hit by the sensation.

Thousands of light-years away from Borleias, Ganner Rhysode,  Jedi  Knight,

kept a firm hand on the controls of his rickety transport as he closed the  last

few meters to dock with the space station ahead. But his  arms  spasmed  as  the

Force seemed to howl at him. His transport jerked forward, hitting  the  docking

bay at a greater velocity than he intended. As he shook his head to clear it, he

heard the dockmaster over his comlink: "Idiot."

In an artificial environment dome, part of an  evergrowing  station  hidden

away in the Maw, Valin Horn,

Jedi apprentice, jerked awake so violently that he  fell  from  his  narrow

couch. He sat up, trying to remember what nightmare had  caused  this  reaction,

but he couldn't. Then he heard the wailing of the infant Ben Skywalker from  two

compartments down, the voice of an adult trying to soothe  him,  the  voices  of

other Jedi trainees as they compared details of what they'd just felt.

Coruscant

Rushing up a flight of emergency  stairs,  Bhindi  ahead  of  her,  Elassar

behind, Danni stumbled as the sensation hit  her.  She  crashed  down  atop  the

steps, bruising shin and ribs, and lay there gasping.

Elassar knelt beside her. "Don't move. Let me look."

"I'm not hurt." She ignored the Devaronian and heaved herself upright.  She

knew she had to look as rattled as  she  felt.  "Something  happened.  Something

just...got loose."

FIFTEEN

Luke swam out of a sea  of-not  pain,  not  shock,  but  something  between

exultation and complete confusion. His back was against a mound of  rubble,  and

his wife and the girl were beside him. He couldn't remember their names, or  his

own.

Red fluid dripped down upon his shoulder. He craned his neck to look up and

saw a body on the mound above him, that of  a  human  man.  Its  right  arm  was

missing and blood poured down the rubble below, one stream  of  it  pooling  and

then dripping onto Luke.

Luke. That was it, Luke. And Mara and Tahiri. And  the  Yuuzhan  Vong,  and

Nyax. Luke rose, saw his lightsaber a few meters away, and yanked it to him with

a casual display of the Force. It struck his palm with far more energy than he'd

intended, and he dropped it again.

Then he saw Nyax, standing beneath the hole in the black  wall.  The  hole,

one of the construction droid's wrecking  claws  still  within  it,  was  twenty

meters up.  Nyax  danced  on  the  pile  of  rubble  beneath  it.  His  was  the

uncoordinated, artless, dance of a child. It was a dance of joy.

Mara rose beside him. Luke had known she was unhurt.

"Force energy," she whispered.

This must have been a wellspring of it, he thought.  The  old  Jedi  Temple

must have been built above because it was  here.  They  were  guarding  it.  And

guarding the planet from it.

Nyax finished dancing. He turned to look at the Jedi. His expression was so

full of uncomplicated happiness that it seemed impossible that he would ever try

to hurt them.

Nor did he attack them now. He simply raised a hand.

Above him, a portion of the ceiling, a plug some ten  meters  across,  shot

straight up and out of sight. Debris rained down, but drifted to one side before

it could hit Nyax. Tremendous crashing noises emerged from the hole  above,  and

the walls all around them began to shake.

Tahiri joined Luke and Mara, tucking something away in her backpack. "We're

in trouble," she said.

One of the advantages of running around in a lawless, ruined  city  several

kilometers deep, Face reflected, was there was always gear to find.

Such as this airtaxi. It had been perhaps the thirtieth one he'd seen since

leaving the Jedi, the fourth undamaged one he'd come across-and the first one to

start up with a single press of the controls. Now he roared  along  the  tumbled

canyons of Coruscant, following  a  comm  beacon,  keeping  well  below  rooftop

altitude.

It was a necessary precaution. He saw a lot of coral-skippers.  All  seemed

to be heading toward one location.. the same location he'd recently fled.

He reached the vicinity of the beacon, gained  until  the  signal  was  its

strongest. That put him directly opposite the collapsed corner of a building. He

could see something shining silver there-a simple antenna, attached so  recently

that nothing had had time to grow on it; no dust or soot had darkened it.  "Face

to Kell," he said. "I see your antenna."

"Drop six stories and drift over to the next building. Come  in  the  first

big window," Kell answered. "The access to where I am is  in  the  main  chamber

there."

"On my way." Face lost altitude and sideslipped. He peered in  through  the

shattered viewport of what had once been  a  luxury  apartment,  could  see  the

stairwell reaching from the ceiling. He gunned his thruster and crashed  through

the framework around the viewport, then cut power. His airtaxi  dropped  half  a

meter to the floor.

Seconds later, he squeezed in through the access hatch of the vehicle named

Ugly Truth.

Kell was above him in the pilot's seat. He didn't  turn  around.  "Did  you

feel something a couple of minutes ago?" Kell asked.

"No."

"Good. Me either, then."

Face looked up through  the  cockpit  viewport  at  the  jumble  of  rubble

overhead. "Do you really have enough explosives to blast through that?"

"Approximately... but that's not what we're going to do."

"Ah."

"A detonation like that might damage this frail little flower of an  escape

ship." Kell pointed down toward his feet. "But the building wall  on  that  side

isn't a support feel their confusion, too. Nyax, his objective accomplished, had

released them. As their  volition  returned,  their  physical  exertions,  their

outrage at the way they had been violated for so long, overwhelmed them. "I have

to get up there," Luke said. "Persuade them to drive  that  thing  out  of  here

before the building comes down."

"No, you don't," Mara said.

He looked at her,  surprised  at  such  a  merciless,  unnecessarily  cruel

statement. But then he sensed her amusement at his mistake.

"Just tell them," she said.

Luke reached up and found minds-dozens of them, all receptive to the Force.

In the wash of Force energy emerging from the crack in the  wall,  he  found  he

could reach any of them, all of them.

He projected a strong demand for silence, a sense of calm, and  could  feel

them quiet. Then he formed a picture in his head: the building  collapsing,  the

construction droid driving in reverse to get away. He projected that image  with

all the strength he could muster, bolstered by the Force wellspring.

He felt them react-shock... and then belief. In moments he heard the  metal

tower's engines roar again, and could feel their intention to  crash  their  way

back out through the rubble pile behind them.

Luke thumbed his lightsaber  into  incandescence  and  marched  toward  the

creature with Irek Ismaren's face. Let's finish this.

But Nyax, ignoring him, lifted straight up into  the  air  and  floated  up

through the hole his Force powers had made. In a moment he  was  out  of  sight.

wall. Support comes from the building's metal skeleton. So I've  planted  shaped

charges to blow that wall out."

"And then what?"

"And then I hit the topside nose repulsors. We  tilt  forward,  I  hit  the

thrusters, we punch free, and we rotate for a  while,  everybody  screaming  and

vomiting, until I regain control."

"Kell, sometimes I hate you."

"Yeah, but I'm still the best pilot you ever saw."

"Where are the others?"

"En route. I got a comm message to them."

"How? There are kilometers of rubble between us and them!  A  comm  message

couldn't possibly penetrate."

Exasperated, Kell finally did look down at his  leader.  "Do  you  remember

something about us putting a sensor package up at rooftop, then running a direct

cable down so Danni and Baljos could get a constant sensor feed?"

"Oh, that's right."

"I broadcast to that sensor package-"

"Never mind, never mind, I get you now. I'll set up for the others  getting

here."

The hole above Nyax's head widened. No more rubble poured  down  upon  him.

Instead, sunlight did. First it was a tiny shaft; then it broadened into a blue-

white column of brilliance. He bathed in the  light,  held  out  both  hands  to

capture it, rubbed it into his cheeks.

Luke could feel Tahiri's sense of shock; it matched his own. "Did he  drive

a hole all the way to the surface?" she asked.

"I think so," Luke said. He turned his  attention  to  the  beings  at  the

summit of the construction droid. He could

Danni, Elassar, and Bhindi scrambled in through the access hatch.

"Take the seats forward," Face ordered. "These rear ones are for the  Jedi;

we don't want people climbing over each other when they board. Copilot's seat is

mine. Where's Baljos?"

"He's staying," Bhindi said. "Instead of me."

Face sighed. Once it became likely that resistance cells would be of little

use here, he'd told Bhindi to pack up  for  a  return  to  Borleias.  He  hadn't

anticipated Baljos being so resistant to having his studies cut short.  Baljos's

choice here might prove to be a scientific boon someday...  or  it  might  be  a

useless way to commit suicide.

But it was Baljos's choice.

Face dogged the hatch shut, then struggled up the makeshift ladder and into

the copilot's seat. He strapped himself in, "Ready when you are."

"Boom," Kell said. He thumbed a hand remote.

The Ugly Truth rocked as the wall beneath its keel blew out into the street

beyond.

Kell didn't wait to evaluate the situation, the size of the hole. He shoved

his control yoke and the transport lurched forward. Face's stomach rose into his

throat as the transport leaned out into the open  air  above  the  avenue,  then

leapt free of the building to plummet nose-down toward the ground.

The construction droid's internal turbolift opened and the Jedi stepped out

into the machine's topside control chamber.

The scores of people packed into the  chamber  didn't  notice  them.  Their

attention was riveted on the forward viewports. Beyond them,  mounds  of  rubble

were falling away.. - and beyond hovered a cloud of coralskippers.

Even as the construction droid burst out into sunlight,  the  coralskippers

opened fire, pouring plasma bursts into the machine's front  face.  Shocks  from

impact points dozens of stories down rocked  the  control  chamber.  Diagnostics

screens lit up; alarms blared. Tatterdemalion workers who had, minutes ago, been

mind-controlled slaves now shrieked, possessed again of enough  intelligence  to

realize that their doom was at hand.

"We've got to get them out," Tahiri said. "The weapons-"

Luke  shook  his  head.  "This  droid's  weapons  won't  do  much   against

coralskippers. We have to use other weapons."

"What weapons?"

Mara said, "Us."

Luke raised his voice, drawing on the Force  to  strengthen  it.  "Everyone

out! Down the emergency stairs. Don't take the turbolift; it's evil."  He  added

the mental image of the turbolift snapping open and shut like  the  mouth  of  a

malevolent carnivore.

The Coruscant survivors continued shrieking, but crushed forward toward the

two opposite stairwell exits, leaving the Jedi some  room  in  the  middle.  The

parting of the sea of flesh also gave them a clearer view of  the  coral-skipper

formation and the incoming plasma fire.

"That fountain of Force energy is what  made  Nyax  stronger,"  Luke  said.

"It's pure power... and we can use it, too." To demonstrate, he  raised  a  hand

like an orchestra conductor... and a  mound  of  rubble  against  a  building  a

hundred meters ahead rose into the air. Luke  clenched  his  fist  and  drew  it

toward him, and the rubble swept toward the construction droid.

The coralskippers to the rear of the formation had  no  chance.  Chunks  of

duracrete, stone, and ferrocrete plowed  into  them  from  behind.  Dovin  basal

singularities snapped into position to swallow some of the improvised  missiles,

but even that was not enough. Luke's missiles smashed into yorik coral, sweeping

coralskippers out of the way.

Eyes wide, Tahiri mimicked Luke's gestures, but with the face of a building

to their left, to the right of the coralskippers. Chunks of  facing  blew  forth

from the building, hurtling and falling among the coralskippers.

Mara continued to add her voice and her Force presence to the  orders  Luke

had given, spurring the workers to flee more quickly, but most of her  attention

was on the chamber's controls, its walls and ceiling features.  She  found  what

she wanted and reached up to undo a hatch in the ceiling. Bright  light  spilled

in from above and a metal ladder lowered. She went up topside.

Coralskippers rose from the formation in sudden flight, attempting  to  get

away from the stream of crude projectiles, but those who  rose  first  ran  into

another stream, this one moving  much  faster;  chunks  of  rock  and  duracrete

pounded into the yorik coral,  eroding  it  like  a  super-powered  sandblaster,

destroying those vehicles.

At first Luke thought that Mara  had  initiated  that  attack,  adding  her

strength to his and Tahiri's, but he realized after only a moment that  it  felt

wrong. He leapt up through the hatch Mara had opened, landing beside her on  the

construction droid's roof. Tahiri was only a second behind him.

From here, they had a clearer view of the sky full of coralskippers and  of

the ziggurat behind them.

From the ziggurat emerged a column of rubble. As it rose, it parted, arcing

away from its point of emergence in all directions like a water spray. But  this

spray was being flung kilometers in every direction,  chewing  through  building

tops and coralskippers as it landed.

And above its center, where the rubble no longer rose, floated Nyax.  Giant

boulders danced in and out through the rubble spray,  weaving  a  lovely  spiral

through the air.

"Another Jedi academy graduate," Tahiri breathed. "He can lift  really  big

rocks."

"Very funny," Luke said. He gauged the leap from the  construction  droid's

roof to the nearest solid surface on the ziggurat, decided they could  make  it.

"Let's go."

Viqi heard a noise in the distance, a roar  as  if  some  dam  had  finally

opened its valves to let countless tons of  water  through.  The  floor  rumbled

under her feet.

She ignored it. She ignored the pain in her  wrists,  pain  caused  by  her

struggles against her bindings; those struggles had gone on until she'd found  a

jagged piece of metal protruding from a wall, and now she was free again.

She reached  the  Terson's  apartment  building  and  the  floor  of  their

chambers. She was trembling with exhaustion and dripping with sweat by the  time

she stumbled into the living chamber... and then she froze, almost all remaining

hope draining from her.

The secret access stairs were down, and, of all things, an  airtaxi  rested

in the middle of the chamber.

She took the stairs up as fast as she could and stared in  anguish  at  the

hole in the wall through which the Ugly Truth had left. All her work was undone.

She would have to start again, searching, hiding,  surviving,  until  she  could

find or repair another functional spacecraft.

Well, it was likely that the airtaxi was functional. That  was  a  starting

point. She descended to give it a look.

On the front seat was a pile of preserved food from the Ugly Truth,  and  a

note:

Senator Shesh:

We thought you would probably need these more than we do.  Don't  eat  them

all in one place.

Love,

The Wraiths

Only then did Viqi sink down to the carpet. Only then did she begin to cry.

The ziggurat was a series of high, broad steps. The Jedi leapt  up  to  the

next step, ran its width, and then leapt up to the one above, again  and  again,

until they reached the roof.

From here they could see the hole in the ziggurat root widening. With every

moment that passed, more tons of rubble poured up and out of the hole  and  flew

out to pour onto surrounding kilometers of buildings. Some streams  diverted  to

hose coralskippers out of the air. The lines  of  giant  boulders  still  danced

their merry circles around Nyax.

Luke led the others off at an angle, to where each of the boulders in  turn

dipped down to within meters of the zig-gurat's surface. As the next  one  swept

low, they leaped, propelling themselves farther  with  use  of  the  Force,  and

landed atop the irregular duracrete surface.

Luke could feel it as Nyax detected them. The pale giant rotated in the air

to face them, his smile changing from one of simple pleasure to one  of  malice.

"This is going to be bad," Luke said.

Mara nodded. The wind at this altitude whipped her hair into a life of  its

own, making it look like a candle flame in a strong breeze. "Any ideas?"

"I have one." Tahiti knelt to improve her balance while she  stared  ahead.

In the distance, this stream of boulders took a sharp turn, then moved to within

a few meters of Nyax's position and beyond. "Just past that point. Distract him.

I'll finish him."

Luke cocked an eyebrow at her. "You'll finish him. How?"

There was something in Tahiri's eyes that sent a chill down  Luke's  spine.

"He could fight the Jedi just by  feeling  us  in  the  Force,"  she  said.  "He

couldn't feel the Yuuzhan Vong, so he had to watch. Well, I'm  both."  She  rose

and turned away from Luke and Mara, then took the long leap to the  next  flying

boulder back in line. She raced its length,  then  leaped  again  to  the  third

boulder down.

"What do you say we take her at her word?" Mara said.

"I'm too tired to argue."

Their boulder reached the end of its straightaway  course  and  turned.  It

turned more violently than its predecessors had, but Luke and  Mara  could  feel

Nyax's intentions in the Force; they kept their feet planted and did not budge.

As their vehicle came closer to Nyax, Luke stretched  forth  his  hand.  He

snatched a portion of the rubble stream from beneath them, bent its course, sent

it hurtling toward Nyax.

Nyax reacted without moving, regaining control of the stream, hurling it at

Luke.

Luke leaned over backward, rotating his  boulder  with  him.  The  oncoming

stones crashed into its side and bottom as the rotation continued.

Upside down, clinging by  virtue  of  her  enhanced  Force  strength,  Mara

ignited her lightsaber and hurled it. It twirled under  the  flow  of  boulders,

almost invisible through the dense rain of duracrete; then, as  it  came  within

meters of Nyax, it twirled up and at him.

His expression changed to one of startlement. With none of his  own  blades

active to protect him, he slipped sideways, out of the lightsaber's  path,  then

turned to watch it as Mara directed its flight. She sent it  around  in  a  long

loop, preparing it for another approach.

Mara and Luke came upright as their boulder  completed  its  rotation,  and

Luke could feel Nyax's attention on him, too, waiting for his attack. Luke  made

it, shoving in the Force, trying to hurl Nyax off balance and onto Mara's blade.

The attack was a success, but Nyax activated all his blades as  he  was  shoved,

and with contemptuous ease he swatted Mara's lightsaber away.

Power flowed through Nyax, such power as no being alive had ever  felt.  He

could reach down into this world, reach through the  false  crust  beneath  him,

through the natural stone crust beneath that, all the way to where stone  turned

to sluggish fluid and through to where superheated metals ran like river  water.

He could crack this world in two, could force the meaningless  worker-things  to

convey him to another, and crack that one, too.

And he was tired of these creatures. They  were  weaker  than  he,  but  so

stubborn. Even inventive.

Nyax raised his hands. He would crack the stone they rode on  and  send  it

and them hurtling down into the ruins.

Something slammed into his back, just below the point  where  his  internal

armor plate protected him. His eyes snapped wide. He had not felt it coming.  He

used his power to overcome the pain.

A second thing struck him.  He  felt  bones  in  his  lower  hack  shatter.

Numbness flowed across his  legs.  He  exerted  greater  control  over  himself,

desperately trying to force sensation into those limbs, as he turned.

His third antagonist, the smaller female with the yellow hair, rode another

boulder, lying upon it and gripping it with one hand. She  looked  at  him  with

alien merciless-less in her eyes. She barely registered in his special senses  -

she must have closed herself off to the power, reducing his  ability  to  detect

her, his ability to anticipate her moves.

Something was wrong. He had the pain under control.  He  was  full  of  the

power. He should be able to make anything happen, anytime.

He did not understand, for he had not been trained in the ways and  use  of

the Force, that the catastrophic failure of the body's functions could interfere

with use of the Force. All he did understand  was  that  his  control  over  the

boulders, over the debris flow from the  ever-widening  hole  beneath  him,  was

faltering.

The yellow-haired female held up a third missile. It had legs that  writhed

as she held it.

Nyax gaped at her. It was one of the alien  creatures,  one  of  the  types

flung by the warriors he could not feel. Her type was not supposed to use  this.

Only the flat-nosed aliens were.

It was unfair. She had cheated.

Before she could throw it, Nyax lost control. He fell, screaming, into  the

pit he had created.

All at once, the boulders came crashing down onto,. and often through,  the

ziggurat roof. Luke and Mara leapt free, using their augmented power  to  soften

their landing, and rolled up to their feet, looking among the rain of  multi-ton

missiles for a head of blond hair.

"There," Mara said, and sprinted. The distance of a ballplaying field away,

Tahiri lay atop a small dome. But as Luke  watched,  as  a  boulder  arced  down

toward her, the young Jedi leapt free. The boulder crashed through the dome  and

was gone.

"Face to Mara, Face to Mara, do you read me?" Luke skidded to  a  halt  and

pulled out his comlink as his  wife  reached  and  embraced  the  younger  Jedi.

"Mara's a little busy right now, Face." He leapt to  one  side  and  a  mass  of

ferrocrete the size of a Y-wing smashed into the  roof  beside  him.  "For  that

matter, so am I. What is it?"

"Tell me that the whole mess with the fountain of rock was you."

"It was."

"We're inbound. So are a couple of Vong capital ships. You want a lift?"

"We do."

"We'll be there in two."

The three Jedi leapt from the ziggurat roof edge to the stubby wing of  the

Ugly Truth. They squeezed in through the open hatch. Before  they  were  buckled

into their restraint couches, Kell had heeled over in  a  stomach-churning  dive

into the avenue below. Luke had a glimpse of  the  construction  droid,  thought

they were going to plow right into it,  and  then  they  were  level  again  and

accelerating along the avenue.

"So," Face said, his tone conversational. "Is property damage on a  massive

scale normal for Jedi?"

"That's just if you're friends with them," Kell said.  "Wait  until  you're

married to one."

"We need to go back," Luke said. "Nyax isn't dead."

Face and Kell exchanged a glance. "Are we saving him or killing him?"

Luke sighed. "Just getting in his way."

Kell shook his head and gained altitude. As  soon  as  he  reached  rooftop

level, he looped around again, back toward the ziggurat.

Nyax lay in pain at the bottom of the pit.

He'd never known what pain was before he met those three  with  the  power.

Now there was nothing but pain.

He would find them, and he would kill them. He must do so soon  because  he

could feel his strength ebbing. No matter how much strength he  drew  from  what

lay behind the black wall, he could feel himself failing. Soon he would sleep.

He extended himself, finding the minds of  every  living  thing  his  power

could detect. Where a mind was strong and complex enough to hear him,  to  obey,

he looked through that creature's eyes.

In the first few moments, he could see only a blur of superimposed  images.

Then he learned to subtract  some,  overlap  others,  remap  the  image  into  a

coherent one in three dimensions.

The power-wielders who had hurt him were not visible.  But  two  chunks  of

coral he could not feel with his own power, big ones, were approaching him  from

two different directions.

His enemies had to be aboard them, hidden by whatever power they  possessed

to block his senses. Since they never gave up, they must be  coming  back  after

him. They had to be aboard because he would not sleep until they were dead.

He roared out his pain and sent ton after ton of rubble into the sky.

Kell lost altitude and slid to a landing on a rooftop four kilometers  from

the ziggurat. From here, they could see the two Vong mataloks, cruiser  analogs,

approaching from north and south.

Two sprays of rubble leapt from the hole in the ziggurat, each going  after

one of the mataloks. Nyax's aim was getting worse; in the first few  seconds  of

the attack, neither Vong ship took a hit.

And both fired, raining plasma projectiles as numerous  as  raindrops  into

the ziggurat.

Luke jerked as he felt his flesh  burn.  He  looked  at  his  arm,  but  no

blackness appeared  there,  no  seared  flesh.  It  was  Nyax,  his  pain  being

transmitted to all close enough to feel it, and he could see that pain reflected

in the faces of Mara, Tahiri, Danni, even Kell.

Then the rubble streams hit the mataloks. They poured across  the  vessels,

some small portions of them being swallowed by voids, the majority  eating  away

at  the  yorik  coral  as  though  it  were  sugar.  The  mataloks  sideslipped,

desperately trying to avoid the streams of destruction, but  the  rubble  blasts

tracked them, followed them, wore them down.

A constriction in Luke's chest, one he  had  been  unaware  of  until  now,

suddenly loosened, vanished. "He's dead."

"Lord Nyax?" Face frowned back at him. "I don't think so. Look, more rubble

than ever is flying out of there."

"Luke is right," Mara said. Her voice had a distant quality as she tried to

interpret what she felt through the Force. "Nyax is gone. But  he's  imbued  his

surroundings with some of his hatred. Some of his last intent."

The mataloks rose above the rubble-stream, launching a new volley of plasma

before the blasts tracked them, tore into them  again.  In  the  distance,  more

Yuuzhan Vong capital ships raced toward the disturbance.

"It's going to continue," Luke said, "as long as some Part of him is there.

As long as some part of him can exert his will on  his  surroundings,  and  that

wellspring of the Force allows it to happen. But he's  gone."  He  took  a  deep

breath. "Let's go home."

"Not quite yet," Kell said. "You hear this?" He dialed up the  comm  board,

and suddenly everyone could hear a noise-sniffing. No, sniffling. Weeping. "This

is from an open comlink Face left behind for stragglers.  Back  where  the  Ugly

Truth was. So someone's there."

"And I bet I know who," Face said.

Viqi, leaning against the side of the airtaxi for  support,  finally  heard

the hum when its volume rose higher than the sounds  of  her  own  distress.  It

sounded like repulsors, and the noise floated in through the shattered viewport.

She moved up to it to look.

The Ugly Truth drifted up into her view, hovering mere meters away.

Her heart lifted, then as swiftly sank. Through the ship's viewport by  its

access hatch she could see Mara Jade  Skywalker  staring  at  her.  The  woman's

features were expressionless, but icy hatred of Viqi Shesh showed  in  her  gem-

green eyes, and that hatred froze Viqi in her place.

Can I even ask her for mercy? Viqi asked herself. Can I stoop that low?

The answer was simple.

Of course I can. And once I am free again, once I escape, I will  make  her

suffer for that indignity, Viqi composed herself and began rehearsing the  words

she would say. Pleas for her life.

"Viqi. I knew you were lying. I knew you would return here."

Unbelieving, Viqi turned.

Denua Ku, his front a  solid  smear  of  blue-black  blood,  stood  leaning

against the doorway into the apartment. He coughed, a  racking,  painful  sound,

and blood dribbled from his mouth. His head hung low.

But it did not matter. He was still more than a match for her, and he  held

his amphistaff in his hands.

"I will now kill you, Viqi." He took a faltering step toward  her.  He  was

already almost within reach with his amphistaff.

Viqi could hear the sound of the Ugly Truth's side  hatch  powering  up  to

open. She knew it could not open in time. Cold resolve  flooded  her,  knowledge

that she could inflict hurt in her own inimitable style one last time.

"No, you won't," she said. "Yuuzhan Vong can't kill me. Noghri can't.  Jedi

can't. You're all beneath me. There's only one thing in the  universe  that  can

kill Viqi Shesh."

She turned and stepped out through the shattered viewport.

Luke and Mara watched her fall. Luke even felt it when she  died,  a  faint

diminishment in the Force.

"How about that," Mara said. "I get my wish."

The Yuuzhan Vong warrior who  had  confronted  Viqi  raised  a  handful  of

razorbugs to hurl at the Ugly Truth, then fell  over  on  his  back.  His  chest

heaved once. Then he was still.

Shaken, Luke settled back in his seat and strapped in. "Now we can go."

Tahiri gave him a look that suggested he had taken  leave  of  his  senses.

"Before, you said 'go home.' I thought this was your home. Coruscant."

'No." Luke put an arm around her shoulders, his other arm around Mara's. "I

thought it was, but I was wrong. No matter what color the sun is, no matter what

the furniture is like, home is where my family is."

Tahiri nodded, considering that. She settled against him, face against  his

shoulder, and closed her eyes as if to sleep.

And for the first time since they'd made landfall on Coruscant, she smiled.

Face said, "Ready for a run to space, Explosion Boy?"

"Always ready, Poster Boy. Hold on to your awards." Kell lifted off, turned

away from the ziggurat, and accelerated to full atmospheric speed.

SIXTEEN

Borleias

Luke's expedition returned to a Borleias that was changed-at least  in  the

vicinity of the biotics building and  the  other  areas  held  by  New  Republic

forces,

On the surface, everything looked worse. Luke and Kell  had  to  pilot  the

Ugly Truth through layered defenses - dovin basal  minefields  and  coralskipper

patrols-that surely would have led to the destruction of a vehicle controlled by

lesser pilots. Outlying buildings around the biotics building had  been  smashed

by frequent capital ship bombardments.  Round-the-chrono  coralskipper  squadron

sorties against the ships in orbit had reduced the Lu-sankya to a flying  wreck,

had battered the other cruisers and Star Destroyers. Blackmoon Squadron, one  of

the elite units quartered out of the biotics building complex,  nad  lost  three

pilots only today, including its commander and  second-in-command.  The  pilots,

soldiers, and crews ran on caf and stubbornness, some barely  able  to  stay  on

their feet as they came on duty.

But in his first hours home, Luke was able to peer beneath the surface.

Kyp Durron welcomed Luke back with an unambiguous smile and handshake; when

he'd heard the tale of Lord Nyax, he offered no criticism of Luke's handling  of

the matter.

Han and Leia  seemed  at  ease  with  one  another,  no  lingering  tension

flavoring words they exchanged. They told Luke that, with  the  likelihood  very

high of an all-out push by the Yuuzhan Vong  in  the  Pyria  system,  they  were

postponing their next resistance run in order to  give  Jaina  whatever  support

they could.

Jaina was different, too, somehow at  ease.  She  did  not  burn  any  less

brightly for the loss of her brothers, she  did  not  fight  any  less  fiercely

against the Yuuzhan Vong, but she was in balance, no longer leaning  toward  the

dark side. She smiled easily and often.

His family, recently torn apart  and  flung  in  all  directions,  not  yet

reassembled, was healing.

It was the biotics building's mess hall, but was not being  used  for  that

purpose now, and would never be used for that purpose again. Its tables were all

arrayed with chairs only on one side so they could face the head  of  the  room,

the seats occupied by General Wedge Antilles, Colonel  Tycho  Celchu,  and  Luke

Skywalker.  Now  those  tables  were  filled  with  divisional  heads,  squadron

commanders, ship captains, spies, Jedi.

"The Starlancer project," Wedge said, "is a laser-based superweapon roughly

analogous to a Death Star main gun, with two important  differences.  The  first

difference is that it distorts space and  time  to  accelerate  its  destructive

force through hyperspace, allowing it  to  be  used  as  a  first-strike  weapon

against enemy star systems light-years away." Muttering from those who were  not

in on the Starlancer secret filled the air, but could not compete  with  distant

detonations-the Yuuzhan Vong bombardment was  now  nearly  continuous,  the  New

Republic forces not numerous or rested enough to beat it back as in weeks  past.

Even now, squadrons of tired pilots were defending  the  biotics  facility  from

that pounding, but could not defend it completely.

Wedge pointed to an area of empty air and a hologram image  filled  it.  It

was a trifling bit of sleight  of  hand,  Tycho  standing  by  to  activate  the

holoprojector at the right moment, but  there  was,  Wedge  thought,  a  certain

amount of dash to it. And he could see lella at the back of the room, smiling at

his display.

The hologram showed star-filled space. Then four irregular vehicles  zoomed

into view. Three were identical; they looked like Y-wing cockpits merged to  the

join of sixty-degree angles made of wide pipe, with a third pipe  splitting  the

angle into two thirty-degree angles. The fourth vehicle  was  similar,  but  had

three pipes radiating from a central hub at the cockpit's stern. A  fourth  pipe

emerged from the hub at a ninety-degree angle to the plane they suggested.

In the image, the three identical vehicles separated to form the points  of

an imaginary triangle. The  fourth  took  up  position  at  the  center  of  the

formation.

"This is not to  scale,"  Wedge  continued.  "It's  an  ani-niation.  These

vehicles separate to distances of several light-seconds. Then  they  go  through

their activation sequence." In the display, light  flared  from  the  outer  two

Pipes on each of the identical vehicles.  The  light  beams  streaked  from  one

vehicle to the next, joining them together as a triangle of  light.  Then,  from

each of the three vehicles, the  central  pipe  fired,  its  light  hitting  the

central vehicle. Finally, the fourth pipe of  the  central  vehicle  fired.  Its

laser beam, brighter  than  all  the  others,  leapt  forth  into  space...  and

disappeared.

"The Starlancer weapon uses  a  giant  lambent  crystal,  a  Yuuzhan  Vong-

engineered living crystal, to focus this power and perform the hyperacceleration

1 spoke of. And now it's ready for its final use.

"Oh, the second point of difference between this weapon and the Death  Star

main gun is this: the Starlancer beam doesn't work. It's a fake."

The murmurs rose. Wedge saw Luke grin.

Wedge raised his voice to carry over the babble, to quiet it. "The  purpose

of the Starlancer project is to dictate exactly when the Yuuzhan  Vong  in  this

system begin their  all-out  push  against  us.  They  'know'  that  the  weapon

threatens them; they have the example of Anakin Solo's lambent-based  lightsaber

to compare it to, and to be offended by. They  'know'  that  we've  appropriated

their technology, and this galls them. They 'know' that once it's ready to  fly,

we can destroy their worldship in orbit around Coruscant; we  faked  up  a  low-

power demonstration of this by positioning one of our capital ships outside  the

Coruscant system and firing off a laser battery  attack  at  that  worldship  to

coincide with the firing of our fake weapon array. So they 'know' that  as  soon

as we float the fully operational version, they have to hit us  with  everything

they've got.

"And this, ultimately, will distract them enough to allow us to initiate  a

complete evacuation of this facility... and to take this final  battle  in  this

system to them in ways they haven't anticipated."

There were many words and expressions of relief after that statement. Wedge

saw his officers exchanging glances. "That's right. This defense is, ultimately,

not a suicide mission, despite anything you may have heard." That was  something

of a deception. The New Republic Advisory Council and  self-appointed  Chief  of

State Pwoe had demanded that it be precisely that, a suicide mission. But  Wedge

had chosen to interpret his  orders  a  trifle  differently.  "The  wounded  and

nonessential personnel have, over  the  last  few  days,  been  transported-very

uncomfortably, I'm afraid, in the guise of cargo and  other  such  deceptions-to

our freighters and cargo vessels upstairs. Tycho?"

Tycho rose and hit a button on the  datapad  in  his  hand.  "Your  revised

orders have just been transmitted to you. You have an  hour  before  things  get

under way. I suggest that if you have anything remaining here dirtside that  you

want to keep, you'd better gather it up now."

"If you have any questions," Wedge said, "address them to your controllers.

We have no time remaining here. Dismissed."

The officers rose and crowded to the exits. For a few moments, until almost

all had departed, their voices  almost  did  drown  out  the  sound  of  distant

conflict.

"How's your new squadron?" Wedge asked Luke.

"Not bad. My predecessor was a champion of discipline over talent, but  the

pilots I inherited are pretty determined. We'll get along fine."

Wedge called to an officer just reaching the door out. Eldo. A moment?"

The bulky captain of  Lusankya  returned,  pushing  hiii  way  through  the

scattered chairs. His face was much harder to read than it had been  weeks  ago,

when he'd arrived insystem, but that suited Wedge; then, the only things to read

had been confusion and distress. "General?"

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for knocking your command  out  from  under

you. I'll make sure it doesn't reflect badly on your record."

The commander gave him a wan smile. "Badly? General, I'm ahout to pilot the

largest, most terrifying single-pilot starfighter the universe  has  ever  seen.

Live or die, I'm going to go down in history."

"That's a good way to look at it." Wedge extended his hand. "Good luck."

Luke settled into his X-wing cockpit with a noise of satisfaction.  In  the

weeks since he'd left, Wedge had  been  using  the  snubfighter  as  a  personal

transport, and had had the vehicle maintained with  the  sort  of  monomania-cal

thoroughness that another fighter pilot could  appreciate.  "How're  you  doing,

Artoo?"

His astromech beeped at him, similarly cheery, happy to be back  in  action

once more.

"Blackmoon Leader to squad," Luke said. "Black-moon Leader is ready. Report

readiness by number."

"Blackmoon Two, ready." That was Mara, in the E-wing that had  belonged  to

the squadron's former commander. He hadn't been lost in  combat;  battle  stress

had finally reduced him to a shrieking paranoid, leaving him unable to  pilot  a

child's recreational landspeeder, much less a weapon of war.

"Blackmoon Three, ready."

"Blackmoon Four, anxious to drive it in deep and break it off."

Luke watched as the Starlancer pilots brought their ungainly craft  out  of

the special operations bay on repulsor-lifts. The three corner  vehicles  looked

the same as ever, but the fourth, the central unit, had a new addition:  in  its

astromech bay, behind the cockpit, rode a faceted jewel the size of a human.  It

stuck out of the astromech housing by a meter and a half, glistening in the sun.

It was identical to the crystal that had been shattered by a Yuuzhan Vong spy in

one of the biotics building's sub-basements - and was just as fake.

Somewhere out in the jungle beyond the kill zone,  Yuuzhan  Vong  observers

would be seeing this, reaching in alarm for their villip communicators, speaking

in rapid, agitated language to their commanders.

One after another, the elite squadrons, those that had been  stationed  out

of the biotics complex all these weeks to reinforce the notion that this was the

most critical point of Borleias's defense, announced  readiness  and  lined  up:

Gavin Darklighter's Rogue Squadron. Jaina Solo's Twin Suns. Saba Sebatyne's Wild

Knights. Luke's Blackmoons. Wes Janson's Taanab Yellow Aces. Shawnkyr  Nuruodo's

Vanguard Squadron.  The  Millennium  Falcon.  Less  than  two  kilometers  away,

squadrons off Lusankya dueled with  coralskipper  squadrons  and  capital  ships

moving in on the facility, but the elites wouldn't be reinforcing them, Couldn't

be confronting the planet-level attackers; they'd be lying to the enemy instead.

At General Antilles's command, the Rogues, Twin Suns, and Blackmoons lifted

off. The Starlancer pipefighters lifted off in their wake. Then the other elites

rose. It was a convoy of starfighters, blastboats, and one light freighter,  and

in some ways it was among the  deadliest  armadas  the  New  Republic  had  ever

launched.

On the holocam screen, Wedge watched the squadrons', of the last Starlancer

sortie take off. "Alert Lusankya* he told Tycho. "As soon as the pursuit is  on,

he's to initiate Operation Emperor's Spear."

"Done," Tycho said.

"This," Czulkang Lah informed Harrar,  "is  it.  Their  all-out  attack  to

destroy my son."

"How will it play out?" the priest asked.

"All their best pilots protect the lambent vehicles. They expect us to send

overwhelming hordes of coralskippers against that fleet. Once our  fighters  are

poised to attack, they will initiate whatever means they  have  to  confuse  our

yammosks, to destroy communication among our forces." Czulkang Lah offered up  a

nearly lipless smile. "But it will not  happen  so.  Moments  after  our  forces

engage, mobile dovin basal mines will enter the area  and  begin  stripping  the

enemy shields. All the fighters assigned to that engagement have been  carefully

drilled in individual pilot initiative. A disruption of yammosk control will not

inconvenience them in the least. Their most famous fighters will be  overwhelmed

and destroyed. The menace the crystal represents will be  ended.  And  with  the

ground-based fighters weakened by exhaustion and loss, the ground facility  will

fall within an hour."

Harrar  nodded.  The  old  warmaster's  confidence  was  welcome  in  these

uncertain times. "All these individual-initiative fighters... they know  not  to

harm Jaina Solo?'

"They do."

"The gods smile upon you, Czulkang Lah."

"May it be so. Now, I must turn my attention to the battle to come."

Harrar bowed and withdrew. He gave no sign of it, but he was most  pleased.

At last, the Yuuzhan Vong goals in the Pyria system were within their grasp.

Danni Quee switched over the Wild Knights' blast-boat comm  board  to  unit

frequency.  "This  is  Wild  One.  Gravities  suggest  a  large   formation   of

coralskippers moving our way. It looks like a  minimum  of  one  hundred  skips.

Estimated time of interception, ten minutes."

"Wild One, Ace-One. That's enough for the Yellow Aces,  but  what  are  the

rest of you going to do?"

"Ace-One, Rogue Leader. Pipe down."

"Correction, sensors are bumping those numbers up. One  hundred  and  fifty

minimum."

"Ah, that's getting better."

"Now?" Tycho asked.

Wedge considered, still focused on the sensor display correlating  all  the

data from the various squadrons. He nodded.

"Lusankya, commence Operation  Emperor's  Spear."  Tycho  listened  to  the

response, then lowered the earpiece. " Lusankya's away."

"Start evacuation of this facility."

Tycho returned to his comlink. "Commence Piranha-Beetle.  Repeat,  commence

Piranha-Beetle."

"Get on up to Mon Mothma, Tycho. If at any time you lose contact  with  me,

whether it's while I'm in transit or for any other reason, you take  command  of

the operation."

"Done."

"And make sure my shuttle is standing by. I don't want to come trotting out

of this building to find only a note of apology waiting for me."

Tycho grinned and extended his hand. "May the Force be with you, Wedge."

Wedge shook it. "If it was, how would I ever know?"

Kasdakh Bhul said, "Litsankya  is  leaving  orbit.  We  have  reports  that

fighters are leaving her belly and escorting her."

Czulkang Lah frowned. "Did you not tell me earlier that  all  her  fighters

were at ground level, defending the infidel base?"

"Yes, Czulkang Lah."

"Well?"

"It was our Peace Brigade  advisers  who  told  us  this,  based  on  their

listening to the talk between their fighters and their triangle ships."

" So there was lying in that talk."

"That is my opinion."

"Have those advisers stand by on one of our ships. Kill  one  of  them  for

this mistake. Every time a new  mistake  of  this  sort  costs  us  lives,  kill

another."

"It shall be done." Kasdakh Bhul returned to studying the blaze  bug  niche

and listening to the villips on the wall. He then turned back to the  commander.

"The red triangle ship is now breaking from orbit."

"Good. That will be easy prey;  she  carries  few  weapons."  Czulkang  Lah

gestured to get the attention of his fleet commander. "Dispatch two mataloks  to

eliminate that atrocity."

"It shall be done."

Lusankya turned with a slow awkwardness that no  Star  Destroyer  commander

would have tolerated from a chief pilot. Her maneuver was too  great,  in  fact,

and once her gradual port-side turn  was  completed,  her  nose  drifted  a  few

degrees back to starboard before the mammoth vessel was correctly lined up.

Then her thrusters engaged and she began a ponderous acceleration  straight

toward the Domain Hul worldship.

"Confirmed count, two hundred and ten coralskippers," Danni said. "A couple

of those gravitic anomalies in their wake. Time to interception, three minutes."

Luke said, "All squadrons, all squadrons, reverse course. Head back  toward

our pursuit and initiate Stage Two on a one-minute countdown." He put his X-wing

into a tight loop. "Beginning countdown..." His finger hovered over the transmit

button. "Now."

The two Yuuzhan Vong cruiser analogs approached  the  Errant  Venture  from

opposite angles.

The Errant Venture, built  as  an  Imperial  Star  Destroyer,  captured  by

smuggler Booster Terrik, and converted into his own private gambling parlor  and

mobile hotel, was, unlike other ships of her class, painted a screaming red from

bow to stern. The color was alleviated only by lingering signs of battle  damage

and running lights. Recently the home of the Jedi children, she was known to  be

an easy mark; the Yuuzhan Vong had not bothered with her much because she  posed

them no threat, spent much of her recent time running missions out of the  Pyria

system, and was in general a far less significant target than the  biotics  base

or the other New Republic capital ships.

But now her time had come, and as the mataloks closed on her, the pitifully

few defensive batteries she had opened up,  peppering  the  enemy  vessels  with

insignificant spikes of pain.

The Yuuzhan Vong commanders returned fire, but paced their plasma  cannons,

waiting for a distance that would  allow  them  to  unleash  true  pain  on  the

offensive red triangle. Then, in the moment  before  they  reached  the  optimum

distance, Errant Venture's  other  weapons  opened  up.  As  the  Imperial  Star

Destroyer rotated to bring each matalok within sight of  the  greatest  possible

number of weapons, thirty turbolaser batteries fired at each target, turning the

hull of each cruiser analog into a superheated, explosive ruin.

In a matter of seconds, the two mataloks were gone, an expanding  cloud  of

gas and rubble the only sign they had ever been there.  Their  commanders  would

never know the deception performed against them-how, as Lusankya  suffered  more

and more battle damage, many of her undamaged turbolasers and ion  cannons  were

transferred to the other capital ships in the fleet, making Lusankya  a  little-

armed shell of a Destroyer, keeping the others at full destructive power.

Errant Venture continued on her course until the gravity well  of  Borleias

no longer gripped her with any significant  strength;  then  the  Imperial  Star

Destroyer leapt to hyperspace.

Charat  Kraal,  commanding  one  of  the  squadrons   racing   toward   the

pipefighters and their heretical crystal, breathed a sigh of  satisfaction.  All

they had to do was keep the enemy fighters in this region of space  long  enough

for the support mines to reach this area, and the mines assigned to Jaina Solo's

X-wing would grab her, bring her into Charat Kraal's grasp.

Her starfighter was among  the  cloud  of  oncoming  craft.  The  specially

engineered auxiliary dovin basal on his coralskipper could  sense  that  craft's

specific gravitic signature, and it communicated its excitement to Charat  Kraal

as a continuous buzz through his cognition hood.

The oncoming starfighters had divided into squadron  units  and  were  mere

moments from reaching maximum firing distance. Charat Kraal  selected  a  target

within Jaina's squadron, the craft with the claw-shaped extensions. Then all the

oncoming craft vanished. Charat Kraal blinked, then focused his attention on his

second dovin basal. The question he asked it was wordless, but understood: Where

is the vehicle? But the dovin basal didn't know.  The  four  vehicles  that  the

infidels called pipefighters were still ahead in the distance,  however.  Shaken

and confused, Charat Kraal oriented toward them and kept up the pursuit, as  did

the others of his mighty coral-skipper force.

Soon, they pulled within firing range of the  flying  blas-phemies.  Charat

Kraal's contempt grew as the  foremost  coralskippers  of  his  formation  began

firing. The pipe-fighters did not bother to maneuver. Perhaps their pilots  were

too inexperienced, too frightened.

Charat Kraal willed that thought away. It made  no  sense.  Even  the  most

inexperienced pilot could try to maneuver out of the line  of  fire,  and  these

didn't. One by one, the four vehicles detonated  under  the  plasma  cannons  of

their pursuers, the crystal-bearing vehicle last.

The thought came hard to Charat Kraal:  Were  they  even  occupied  by  the

living? Or could they have been abominations controlled by other abominations?

Kasdakh Bhul looked inconvenienced at having to bring incomprehensible news

to Czulkang Lah. "The coralskippers pursuing the lambent  fighters  report  that

all the infidels' protective fighters have disappeared."

"Disappeared. Fled?"

"No, it seemed to be an orderly jump into darkspace. And there is more."

"Tell me."

"The mataloks sent to destroy the red triangle ship are gone, as is the red

triangle ship."

"All destroyed? It put  up  an  impressive  battle  for  something  so  ill

equipped."

"Unknown. The matalok commanders did not report their target putting  up  a

fierce struggle."

Czulkang Lah scowled, but turned his anger  away  from  Kasdakh  Bhul.  The

warrior did not have much intelligence to offer, but it did require  courage  to

deliver unhappy news to a senior officer.

And this was unhappy news. Mysteries were piling up-

He didn't like mysteries. They meant that he had not correctly  interpreted

every variable. And that was one way to lose an engagement.

Once free of Borleias's gravity well, Lusankya fired off her hyperdrive,  a

microjump that left her escort screen of starfighters behind. The jump took  her

halfway across the solar system before a dovin basal mine dragged her back  into

realspace.

This wasn't an unexpected turn of events. Her crew knew  it  would  happen,

though not precisely where. In terms of stellar distances, she was not  far  now

from the Domain Hul worldship commanded by Czulkang Lah, but it was  not  likely

that she would be able to make another jump to get  closer;  the  space  between

this point and that was doubtless thick with dovin basal mines.

Her crew immediately transmitted a signal on the fleet frequency. It  said,

in effect, I'm here.

Though she'd been built to carry a crew of more than a quarter million, not

including ground troops, things had changed. There were no weapon  batteries  to

operate.  Life-support  systems  were  shut  down  over  most   of   the   ship.

Communications were restricted to a few comm channels. Shields and a  few  other

critical systems were largely governed  now  by  droids  taken  apart  and  then

reassembled  straight  into  system  relay  points.  No   one   monitored   fuel

expenditure, thruster heat conditions, stores, supplies.

She now carried a crew of one.

A minute later, the squadrons that  had  just  abandoned  the  pipefighters

appeared in her wake, yanked out of hyperspace by the  same  dovin  basal  mine.

They  turned,  moving  up  and  around  Lusankya,  a  protective   screen.   And

coralskipper squadrons began moving against them.

The Millennium Falcon was  not  among  the  vehicles  protecting  Lusankya.

Instead, the transport dropped out of hyperspace at  the  edge  of  one  of  the

thickest of the dovin basal minefields, the one on the  primary  arrival  vector

from Coruscant space.

"I don't read any coralskippers," Leia said.

"Good! Anyone for sabacc?"

Leia gave him a look.

"You know I'm kidding. Ready the grav decoys."

Leia flipped the series of switches on the weapons board before her. It had

been a single concussion missile power-up sequence switch, but it  had,  in  the

last few days, been temporarily replaced. "Five live," she said.

"Fire one."

She returned the first switch to its  down  position.  The  Falcon  rattled

slightly as a missile launched from the concussion missile tube.

Leia watched it on the sensor board. It  roared  into  the  middle  of  the

minefield, then slowly turned toward the distant engagement zone. It  moved  far

more slowly than a missile should.

On the board, the  wire-frame  images  indicating  points  in  space  where

gravity was distorted remained constant. except in  one  area.  The  wire  frame

wrinkled there, and  the  distortion  moved,  at  first  slowly  and  then  with

increasing speed, in the missile's wake.

She smiled. "It's taking the bait."

The bait was an instrument package that used the Jaina

Solo-developed technique of  gravitic  signature  simulation.  The  missile

she'd fired carried with it the  exact  gravitic  signature  of  the  Millennium

Falcon as did the other four missiles the Falcon held ready.

"Fire two."

"You really like sounding military, don't you?"

Han grinned. "Only when I'm giving orders."

"Second missile is away."

SEVENTEEN

Wedge watched on the monitors as  Lusankya's  star-fighters  screamed  back

down into the atmosphere, then began escorting the last personnel transports up.

With the transports was a small,  private  yacht,  a  converted  blastboat  that

carried Wolam Tser, Tam Elgrin, and a boy named Tarc. Wedge wished them  success

in staying away from the Yuuzhan Vong-now, and forever.

Iella stood by the door, waiting. Other than Wedge, she was the last person

in the biotics building's operations center.  "You  can't  do  much  more  here,

Wedge. Time to go."

"Not quite yet. As long as there's a chance their Peace Brigade friends are

trying to crack our comm traffic, them knowing that I'm still here  could  still

cause them to wonder why." He gave her a conciliatory look. "I'll  be  along.  I

have a shuttle standing by."

"Come on."

"You go. Now. Don't force me to make an order of it."

Married long enough to know where duty absolutely defined Wedge's  actions,

lella gave an exasperated shake of her head. She came over for  one  last  kiss.

"Don't get hurt."

"You, either."

"I want you to be able to retire again."

"You, too."

"I love you."

He kissed her a second time. "I love you, too. And I plan to prove it  over

and over again." He smiled against the sick feeling that suddenly roiled  within

him, the fear that there would be no over and over again, that this was the last

time she would see him. "Now go."

She went.

He returned to the sensor board and forced the conversation, the  sensation

out of his mind. Whether it was a valid premonition or just  ordinary  fear,  he

had a job to do.

He watched as the  biotics  complex's  starfighter  defenses  continued  to

crumble, as Yuuzhan Vong air and ground forces continued their approach.

Charat Kraal led his squadron around toward Domain Hul. His villip had just

told him that Lusankya was coming... and that Jaina Solo's  squadron  was  among

those escorting her.

He was confused. He didn't like being confused.  No  Yuuzhan  Vong  warrior

ever endured being confused.

The only appropriate response was to kill something.

The  elite  squadrons  guarding  Lusankya  fought  with  tremendous  skill.

Czulkang Lah made sure that the patterns flown by the blaze  bugs,  showing  the

development of that conflict, would be seared into the memory of the worldship's

brain. He knew he would enjoy watching it again and again.

Coralskipper  squadrons  entering  that  combat  zone   emerged   depleted,

tattered... when they emerged at all.

Reports of his sensor advisers indicated that  the  coral-skipper  assaults

were taking their roll. New Republic pilots were falling. And Lusankya was being

taken to pieces. Despite the fact that an unusual  amount  of  power  was  being

directed into her shields, the ship's weapons batteries were silent,  and  great

chunks of metal were said to be tearing free of  the  superstructure  under  the

constant pounding from coralskippers  and  capital  ships  that  ventured  close

enough to strike.

Wedge charged out of the operations center.  The  bi-otics  building  shook

with the pounding it received from distant plasma cannons, impacts so loud  that

he couldn't hear his own boots on the duracrete floor.  Chunks  of  the  ceiling

rained down; he threw his arms over his head for protection, catching a blow  on

his right wrist from descending debris.

He made it up the staircase to the ground level without  seeing  any  other

personnel. That gave him a grim satisfaction. No one had managed to  outstubborn

him, to defy his orders in order to make sure that  Wedge  had  company  on  his

escape. It was a little comforting, but the thought that he might  be  the  last

member of the New Republic standing on Borleias was oddly unsettling.

Through the transparisteel in the doors at the end  of  the  main  hall  he

could see distant flashes, narrow red streaks heading one way at  the  speed  of

light, more wobbly orange-red streaks headed  the  other,  clear  evidence  that

Wedge's last forces were still fighting their delaying action. Then  he  slammed

through the doors,  emerging  onto  the  kill  zone,  and  could  see  that  the

engagement was continuing at every degree of the compass. The kill  zone  itself

was full of craters and destroyed vehicles. Everything that had been fit to  fly

was up in space now; the vehicles too wrecked to lift off had been destroyed  by

Wedge's engineers, standard operating procedure, though the  Yuuzhan  Vong  were

not in the habit  of  studying  captured  technology.  Some  of  them  had  been

additionally hit by distant plasma cannon fire aimed at  the  biotics  building.

There were no functional vehicles to be seen.

No functional vehicles. Where was his shuttle? Then  he  recognized  it,  a

heap of burning metal whose shape suggested it  had  once  been  a  Lambda-class

shuttle. Wedge grimaced. A pilot had died waiting for him. It was another  tally

mark for the list-the list he'd once hoped he'd retired; the one he  carried  in

his heart.

He shoved the thought to one side. He'd join that list in a  minute  if  he

didn't act. Punctuating his thought, a plasma cannon projectile hit the  biotics

building far over his  head,  plowing  through  ferrocrete  and  transparisteel,

sending sharp, lethal chunks down toward him.

Wedge sprinted away from the building's face. There was no purpose in going

into the main docking bay, except perhaps to hide; it was open, and he could see

from here that nothing more useful than a small cargo lifter was left within it.

The special operations docking bay was almost  intact,  though,  and  still

closed. Wedge hoped they hadn't booby-trapped it.  He  reached  the  main  door,

tapped his authorization code into the keypad, and then flinched as he heard the

biotics building take a hit from something big.

The force of the explosion, though weakened by distance,  pushed  him  into

the door. He spun to look and watched as the building folded over like a fighter

punched once too often in the midsection; the top portion at the center  tumbled

down onto the kill zone where he'd been standing just seconds before.

The docking bay door ground open. He backed in and  spun,  eyes  trying  to

pierce the darkness of the interior even as the overhead lights began to flicker

on.

The special operations crew had left behind a land-speeder that  looked  as

though it had been slow-roasted for the eating pleasure  of  some  alien  giant.

Nearby was a half-finished pipefighter, one they'd been assembling in  case  any

of the others failed during their bogus tests. And then Wedge's heart soared-off

to the right, near the still-opening door, where the lights were last to come to

full brightness, was an X-wing, There was no  astromech  waiting  beside  it  or

tucked in place behind the cockpit, but otherwise it looked intact, its  cockpit

raised as if in greeting.

The vehicle's surface was scratched and burned everywhere, but there were a

dozen shiny patches in  place  on  the  hull,  not  yet  painted  to  match  the

snubfighter's color scheme, and the canopy  was  gleaming,  unmarred,  obviously

brand-new.

Wedge raced to it and climbed up into the cockpit, adrenaline  letting  him

move like a man half his age. He'd commenced the emergency power-start procedure

before gravity had quite settled him into the pilot's couch, and brought up  the

vehicle's assignment and diagnostics before lowering the canopy and buckling in.

The text board on his control panel swam into letters before it was even at

full brightness:

INCOM T65-J "X-WING" IDENTIFIER NUMBER 103430

CURRENT PILOT: FLIGHT OFFICER KORIL BEKAM CURRENT DESIGNATION: BLACKMOON 11

CURRENT ASTROMECH: R2-Z13 "PLUG"

"Too bad you're not along for the ride, Plug." Without an astromech,  Wedge

would be able to perform only the most basic insystem navigation; he wouldn't be

able to plot any interstellar routes. But if he could get up to  his  forces  in

this vehicle, accept a broadcast nav course or land aboard one  of  the  capital

ships, he'd be fine.

He triggered a command on his datapad, sending an authorization code to the

X-wing.

CODE NOT RECOGNIZED. AUTHORIZATION FAILED.

The diagnostics board was now  up.  Power,  shield,  weapon,  and  thruster

systems seemed to be fine,  but  the  board  showed  unrepaired  damage  to  the

snubfighter's  computer  and  communications  systems.  Wedge  swore.  The  time

pressures that had forced the mechanics to abandon this vehicle  before  it  was

quite repaired might have doomed him. That point was accentuated by a new sound-

the whumbf some large craft making an  awkward  landing  near  the  special  ops

docking bay. No, it was adjacent to the docking bay-Wedge saw the back  wall  of

the building, hardy sheet metal, bow in from the displaced air.

Wedge scrolled down in his datapad to  personnel  records,  called  up  the

details of Flight Officer Koril Bekam, and transmitted his authorization code.

AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED.  Power-up  of  the  remainder  of  vehicle  systems

commenced.

The docking bay door was now fully open, spilling sunlight across Wedge and

the X-wing. Wedge saw a detachment of Yuuzhan Vong warriors, twenty or  more  of

them, pass by the bay, headed toward the biotics building.

The data board indicated that  two  engines  were  up,  three,  four,  then

thrusters and  repulsors  reported  ready.  Lasers  came  online,  and  the  bar

indicating shield readiness struggled to become a solid green.

A Yuuzhan Vong warrior skidded around the corner of the special ops docking

bay and halted, facing the X-wing, his posture  suggesting  surprise.  A  moment

later, nine or ten more raced up behind him and turned toward Wedge.

Wedge gave them a smile-humorless, feral. He flicked  his  lasers  over  to

stutterfire and sprayed the crowd of enemy warriors, saw some of them dive  back

the way they'd come, saw others caught in the beams.

Even set on stutterfire, where each beam was fired  at  the  lowest  useful

intensity available to an X-wing weapon, the lasers were meant for vehicles, not

individuals. Striking the Yuuzhan Vong, the beams  superheated  flesh  past  the

point of cooking, past the point of boiling, straight to the  state  of  gas  or

even plasma. Warriors hit by  the  beams  simply  exploded,  torsos  reduced  to

nothingness, limbs hurled in all directions.

Wedge grimaced, then fired up his repulsors  and  thrusters.  In  a  smooth

motion, his X-wing lifted, sideslipped out from under the docking bay roof,  and

turned the direction opposite that from which the warriors had come.  He  kicked

his thrusters over to full and raced  at  maximum  acceleration  away  from  the

docking bay and crumbling biotics building. Over his shoulder, he could see  the

Yuuzhan Vong troop carrier, an egg-shaped thing, towering over the docking  hay,

squadron after squadron of warriors emerging from it at a dead  run.  The  troop

carrier opened up on his X-wing, sending glowing plasma  balls  after  him,  but

Wedge twitched the vehicle to port and the flood of burning material  fell  into

the jungle beneath him.

There wouldn't be time for a checklist, even an abbreviated one. He had  to

get up into space and rejoin his forces. He switched his X-wing comm  unit  over

to command frequency. "Blackmoon Eleven to Mon Motbma, Rlackmoon Eleven  to  Mow

Mothma come in."

The unit came alive with comm traffic. Wedge recognized the voice of Tycho,

directing starfighter squadrons, of Jaina issuing commands to the Twin Suns,  of

many other officers under his command. But no one responded. He put on a  little

altitude, preparatory to making the run to space. "Blackmoon Eleven  to  anyone.

Please respond." Nothing.

He growled. He'd have to rely on his own sensors and  instincts  to  choose

the best course offworld, and could easily blunder into  squadrons  of  incoming

coralskippers. Well, those were the breaks. He could either complain or prepare.

He pulled back on his yoke-and then flashed past a small Corellian freighter,  a

scarred sky-blue YT-2400. He knew the ship, which was far newer than the similar

Millennium Falcon, but still a rickety thing held together by wire and meanness.

In the glimpse he had of it before leaving it behind, he  thought  that  it

looked mostly intact, despite smoke pouring out of one of the  engine  housings,

and believed he'd seen people outside it, moving. He began to loop around.

"Blackmoon Eleven, this is Ammuud Swooper. Come in, please."

Wedge frowned. How did they know his designation? Then it  made  sense.  He

couldn't broadcast voice, but his transponder must still be working, must  still

be  sending  out  this  X-wing's  identifier  code  for   friend-or-foe   sensor

recognition. "Ammuud Swooper, you have Blackmoon Eleven. Go."

"Blackmoon Eleven, come in. This is Ammuud Swooper. Please reply."

Wedge passed  over  the  downed  freighter  again,  this  time  at  reduced

velocity. He could see men and women atop  the  freighter,  illuminated  by  the

sparks and glow of welding torches.

At this range-he pulled his comlink out of his breast pocket and thumbed it

on. "Ammuud Swooper, this is Blackmoon Eleven. Are you receiving me now?"

"Barely, but we have you. We were downed by plasma cannon  fire  but  we've

almost got a patch ready on our engines. We can lift in a couple  of  minutes...

but the unit that shot us down is pretty close, north-northwest.  Can  you  hold

them back for us?"

"I'll give you your two minutes. Maybe more. My comm board is shot, so if I

don't respond to further communications, don't  take  it  personally.  Blackmoon

Eleven out."

"Thanks, Eleven. Ammuud Swooper out."

Wedge reduced his speed still further, then looped around to pass over  the

freighter on a north-northwest course. In seconds he saw the enemy  unit  Ammuud

Swooper had spoken of, approaching through a patch of thick  grasses  surrounded

by jungle; there were a dozen Yuuzhan Vong infantry, two  dozen  reptoid  slave-

warriors, one coralskipper, and what appeared to be an unwounded  rakamat,  this

one tall and lean rather than mountainous, and with only half the armament of  a

full-sized version, but still plenty against a lightly armed freighter.

Or an X-wing, for that matter.

Even as he calculated their numbers, Wedge switched over to stutterfire and

sprayed lasers across their position. Warriors and reptoids went down and  grass

ignited in front of the  rakamat  as  he  fired.  Then  he  flashed  over  their

position, plasma fire from the rakamat following, and saw on his sensor board as

the coralskipper rose in pursuit. He put all discretionary  vehicle  power  into

his rear shields for a moment, heard  thumps  over  his  audio  as  his  sensors

informed him that plasma ejecta had hit the shields and been stopped.

It had taken six X-wings and a hidden cache of explosives to kill the  last

rakamat they'd fought against. This one might be only half as  powerful  as  the

last, but Wedge was a third as powerful as the previous  force.  The  odds  were

bad.

On the other hand, Han Solo had made a  generation  of  people  think  that

Corellians ignored the odds, no matter how long, and Wedge was as  Corellian  as

Solo was.

Then the idea hit him, and Wedge managed another humorless grin.

The coralskipper hot  on  his  tail,  Wedge  looped  around  until  he  was

approaching the rakamat and its covering troops from a cross-angle to its  path.

He fired again, spraying lasers indiscriminately into the grasses to the left of

the rakamat, scattering the Yuuzhan Vong warriors and reptoids there. From here,

he could see the rakamat's legs as it moved stolidly toward the freighter, could

time them in their steady, docile motions.

Plasma rained toward him from the rakamat, from  the  coraiskipper  behind.

Wedge sideslipped and continued to fire into the grasses, setting  them  ablaze,

kicking up gouts of dirt and steam. Now his vision was useless, but his  sensors

still showed the huge mass of the rakamat, distorted by the heat from the fire.

Wedge dropped to grasstop level, heard scrapes and thumps as his lower hull

was grazed by foliage-perhaps even by irregularities in the terrain.  Ahead,  he

could see the very top of the rakamat, as its plasma cannons elevated, preparing

to catch his underside as he popped up over them.

He flipped an overhead switch and his  S-foils  closed  from  the  X-shaped

firing position to cruise position. And as he entered the zone where the grasses

were blazing, he twitched his yoke down, then up.

He had the barest flash of rakamat legs to his left and  right,  a  looming

shadow over him, and then he was

For a bare moment, no plasma came streaking after him. In going  under  the

rakamat, in emerging low from the wrong side,  he'd  thrown  the  creature  into

confusion. He switched his S-foils back into firing position as he climbed.

In that moment, the pursuing coralskipper roared through the fire  and  saw

the rakamat immediately before it.  The  pilot  must  have  panicked.  Over  his

shoulder, Wedge saw the bow of the coralskipper wobble as  the  pilot  was  torn

between following Wedge under or bouncing over, and that  moment  of  hesitation

doomed him. The skip's bow rose and, at several hundred kilometers per hour, the

skip plowed into the flank of the rakamat.

There was no flash of light, no noise of the impact - Wedge was racing away

too fast for the sound to catch him. There was only  the  grisly  image  of  the

coralskipper tearing through the creature, emerging  in  a  different,  narrower

shape, the rakamat being flung in two pieces away from the point of impact,  the

remains of the coralskipper arching up in a ballistic course and then  gradually

down toward the ground.

Wedge looped around to mop up. There was unaccustomed tension in  his  arm,

and he realized that he was gripping the yoke too hard.

"I'm not going to say it," he told himself. ''I'm not."

I'm getting too old for this.

Lusankya was visible to the naked eye now, a tiny needle  pointed  straight

for Domain Hul.

Czulkang  Lah  squinted  up  at  it,  irritable,  his  diminished  eyesight

insufficient to provide him with any details of what he was seeing. He  gestured

at an aide, who correctly interpreted the nonspecific  motion  and  stroked  the

enormous circular lens in the  center  of  the  command  chamber's  ceiling.  It

distorted, stretching details at its periphery into blurriness,  magnifying  the

enemy ship's image until it dominated the scene.

The  ship  had  already  sustained  tremendous  damage.   The   deckplating

everywhere was torn, rough, like a road that had once been smooth and  then  had

been traveled over by herds of rakamats with spike weapons on their feet.  Flame

jetted out from its hull in dozens of  places.  Its  guns  were  mostly  silent;

Czulkang Lah saw only two batteries that were still active, and they  seemed  to

be firing at random. They posed little threat to his coralskippcrs.

But there were still squadrons of  enemy  starfighters  out  there,  mostly

concentrated at Lusankya's stern, maintaining a savage defense over that area of

the ship.

Kasdakh Bhul moved to  stand  beside  him.  "Our  pilots  report  that  the

Lusankya abomination is almost destroyed. Lack of responsiveness indicates  that

most of her crew must be dead and most of her weapons eliminated. She  will  not

be able to send her lasers and bolts against us."

Czulkang Lah carefully positioned his feet so that the blow would not cause

him to lose his balance; that would be unseemly. Then  he  swung  his  arm.  His

vonduun crab armor correctly interpreted his haste and snapped his arm  forward.

His armored forearm cracked across the back of Kasdakh BhuPs helmet, sending his

second-in-command staggering forward.

Kasdakh Bhul regained his balance and spun.  Czulkang  Lah  could  see  the

younger officer's features graduate from  an  expression  of  anger  to  one  of

surprise.

"You see, but you do  not  understand,"  Czulkang  Lah  said.  "They  never

intended to use their weapons upon us."

"Oh." The younger officer's voice became unreasonably reasonable, a type of

mockery useful in that it could be persuasively denied afterward. "So  this  was

simply an infidel sacrifice? An apology? They are saying, We are sorry for being

bad; here, have our greatest weapon?'"

Czulkang Lah offered him a smile nearly devoid of teeth.  "You  persist  in

being an idiot. I am proud to say I did not train you; you would  have  been  my

most repellent failure. Did you not notice? They never protected their  weapons.

They only protected their engines. What does that tell you?"

The younger officer scowled. "That  they  wanted  the  thing  to  get  here

quickly?"

"That their engines are their weapons. Are you sure you are not an  ooglith

masquer with nothing actually inside?"

Kasdakh Bhul ignored the undisguised insult. "Then  their  intention-is  to

ram us?"

"Wisdom. At last. So, even an ooglith  masquer  can  learn  a  little  when

submerged in knowledge."

"Then we must make sure the abomination is incapable  of  reaching  us.  Of

maneuvering adequately to ram us."

"Very good. Issue the orders, Ooglith Masquer."

Three coralskippers, all that remained of the latest wave, turned and  sped

away.

Doubtless they'd regroup with reinforcements in a minute and  return.  Luke

checked his sensor and status boards. He  was  now  two  pilots  down,  and  the

remainder of his units  were  battered;  he  had  some  plasma  scoring  on  his

starboard top S-wing and engine. "Blackmoon Leader to squadron,"  he  said.  "We

have a moment. Anyone with stripped shields, now's the time to commence a  power

restart." He goosed his thruster to come up behind and  below  Lusankya's  port-

side thruster banks; he kept well to port of them. This position gave him a good

view of the Yuuzhan Vong worldship ahead. "Anything I should know?"

"We have Blackmoon Eleven back on the status board." That was the voice  of

Lieutenant  Ninora  Birt,  Black-moon  Ten,  the  squad's   new   communications

specialist. A freelance smuggler, she'd loaned her expertise and her  freighter,

Record Time, to the cause  of  this  operation.  Her  freighter  had  been  half

destroyed during the taking of Borleias, and the job had  been  completed  above

Cor-uscant weeks later; now, with a new military officer's commission,  she  was

still fighting the good fight.

Luke glanced at his status board. It did  indeed  indicate  that  Blackmoon

Eleven was active. Distance and direction  suggested  that  the  X-wing  was  on

Borleias.

"No way." That was Blackmoon Five. "Koril's in bacta somewhere. I  saw  the

medics haul him off."

"Doesn't matter," Luke said. "Concentrate on what's at hand."

"Blackmoon Leader, this is Twin Suns Leader."

"Go, Goddess.''

"Sharr is detecting skips regrouping in a bunch of different units. All  at

a uniform distance away from Lusankya."

"We'll set up for a new wave, then. Thanks, Exalted One."

Finally Jaina could see the incoming squadrons on her sensors. There were a

lot of them, eight groupings at least, and the  three  squadrons  at  Lusankya's

stern were losing strength. "Time for a Goddess chase, don't you think, Sharr?"

"Ooh, your words thrill me, Great One,"

"Don't be so thrilled that you screw up."

"Ooh, your supportiveness thrills me-"

"Get back to business, Sharr."

"Right." Sharr was silent for a long moment,  during  which  the  units  of

coralskippers got closer, moving in from all directions.  Then:  "Nearest  dovin

basal minefield is ahead and to port. The Goddess should aim  for  that.  Piggy,

when do the incoming units get close enough to recognize us by sight?"

"Forty seconds, but if the Goddess goes off straight toward that minefield,

she'll pass close enough for them to see her."

"Ooh, right. Adjusting course... Twin Suns Leader, prepare yourself for the

chase. Three, two, one... chase."

A missile roared away from Twin Suns Ten, streaking off to port at nearly a

ninety-degree angle to their current  course,  aiming  toward  the  largest  gap

between any of the inbound squadrons. Jaina activated her gravitic signature and

transponder switches. Abruptly her designation on the sensor board went to  Twin

Suns Nine, while the ourbound missile, just as instantaneously, became Twin Suns

One.

There was a momentary wobble in the movements of skip  squadrons  to  port.

Then four of the squads in that direction  changed  course,  converging  on  the

missile.

"Well done, Sharr," Jaina said. When she'd switched to the Twin  Suns  Nine

identity, her comm system should have activated a program  to  alter  her  vocal

characteristics, making her sound like an older woman, one with a deeper voice.

"Thanks, Nine. And nice to have Leader gone. She's so bossy."

Kyp cut into the conversation: "Heads up. We still have  incoming  contacts

to starboard. Prepare to repel boarders. Break by shield trios on my  command...

three, two, one, break."

While Beelyath held position within the Twin Suns Ten-Eleven-Twelve  shield

trio, Sharr kept his attention on  his  special  sensor  and  comm  boards.  The

distant missile code-named Goddess, and now, courtesy of Cilghal's  biotechnical

magic, characterized by the precise gravitic signature of  Jaina's  X-wing,  had

onboard computers and logic programs that allowed it to execute its  mission  on

its own, but Sharr could still feed it priority updates.

He switched to a wire-frame view of local space as the Goddess missile  and

the coralskippers pursuing it entered the dovin basal minefield. The green  wire

frame superimposed on the scene showed the spatial  distortions  caused  by  the

mines and their gravitic influence on their surroundings.

Sharr kept the missile's speed down to that of an X-wing's standard  cruise

rate, allowing the pursuing skips to gain on it. So far,  they  were  still  far

enough in its wake that the pilots could not see it with their naked eyes, could

not realize that it wasn't the true Jaina Solo.

The Yuuzhan Vong pursuers were good.  They  were  gaining  faster  than  he

expected on the missile. With his sensors, superior to the missile's, Sharr drew

a course revision on his screen, sending the missile on a path that  would  take

it past mine after mine, while giving more  and  more  pursuers  the  chance  to

approach it. He executed and sent the course revision, then lost  sight  of  his

sensor board as Beelyath sent the B-wing into a veering turn that crushed  Sharr

into his restraints and caused his vision to blur, all despite the starfighter's

inertial compensators.

"Comfortable?" Beelyath croaked.

"Huh?" Sharr grunted. "Sorry, I was sleeping."

EIGHTEEN

Though he could not see the distant X-wing, Charat Kraal's  cognition  hood

created a glow in in the distance, a glow he knew actually existed only  in  his

mind, showing the enemy vehicle's position.

And his opponent was good, as he knew Jaina Solo to be, but  this  day  she

was flying with more skillful reckless abandon than he  had  ever  before  seen,

leading the coral-skippers deep into the dovin basal minefield, doubtless hoping

to elude them by passing through such a difficult and  dangerous  area  at  high

speed.

For a moment, doubt flickered in Charat Kraal's mind. Why  would  she  have

left the relative safety of numbers, of  her  personal  squadron,  to  lead  the

Yuuzhan Vong here by herself? There seemed to be only one  possible  answer:  so

she could attempt to kill them all without any of her fellow pilots to share the

glory.

Was she that overconfident? Was she that mad?

Could her confidence be warranted?

The pilot to Charat Kraal's port side opened fire with his  plasma  cannon,

sending a stream of red glows oft toward the distant target.

Charat Kraal cursed  to  himself.  Of  all  the  traits  of  the  infidels'

starfighters, the one he truly envied was the ability they gave their pilots  to

talk to one another, voice to voice.  The  yammosk  war  coordinator  kept  this

flight of pursuers coordinated and pointed in the right direction, but could not

prevent a pilot with a rogue streak from firing on an enemy they  were  supposed

to capture alive.

Charat Kraal dropped back a few lengths  and  slid  in  behind  the  errant

pilot. From this close distance, he could  see  that  the  yorik  coral  of  the

coralskipper ahead was marked with the symbols of Domain Hul. Making  no  effort

to disguise his action, he carefully aimed  at  that  coralskipper's  stern  and

fired a single plasma cannon shot straight at it. As he expected,  a  void  from

the other coralskipper appeared  in  the  path  of  the  plasma  projectile  and

swallowed it.

That pilot ignored the warning. He continued firing at  the  distant  Jaina

Solo and now sideslipped to starboard, distancing  himself  from  Charat  Kraal,

indicating in no uncertain terms  his  intent  to  continue  following  his  own

warrior spirit, even if it meant disobeying direct orders.

Charat Kraal growled to himself and followed. He fired again, this  time  a

continuous stream of plasma, intending to kill rather  than  to  warn.  The  Hul

pilot banked away more sharply, his voids intercepting the incoming plasma,  and

then rolled into a maneuver designed to swing him around behind Charat Kraal.

Finally, Charat Kraal grinned. In a moment, he  would  have  another  kill,

this one a disobedient pilot from another domain, and would have reinforced  his

reputation for order and ruthlessness in his own unit.

The other coralskippers of the unit continued  on  their  original  course,

closing on Jaina Solo.

Czulkang Lah made a noise of displeasure. The pattern of blaze bugs in  the

darkened sensor niche told the whole story of Charat Kraal's pursuit. He did not

blame Charat Kraal for this momentary diversion, but was not happy at  the  lack

of discipline shown by the other pilot. It would be best when that  warrior  was

dead, best if he died painfully and ignobly enough to discourage other  warriors

from similar acts of self-glorifying disobedience.

"What is wrong?" Harrar asked. "This is the Jaina Solo pursuit?"

"It is." Czulkang Lah pointed into  the  mass  of  blaze  bugs,  though  he

doubted that the priest, unused to the complexity of battlefield  images,  would

be able to interpret what he saw. "The pursuers are not acting  in  concert.  It

appears that one wishes to kill Jaina Solo. If we are lucky,  this  notion  will

not spread to the others."

"We cannot have that. We must capture her. Must extract from her the  truth

about her trickery, the truth that she has nothing to do with our gods."  Harrar

turned to another of the command chamber's officers. "Have my ship  alerted  and

readied. I will enter the minefield and join the pursuit."

At Czulkang Lah's reinforcing nod, the officer did as instructed.

Then something changed in the blaze bug image, and for  a  moment  Czulkang

Lah thought that perhaps he, too, was misinterpreting what he was seeing. Two of

the coralskippers closest to Jaina Solo, though too far  away  for  her  infidel

lasers to have hit them, had disappeared,  simply  winked  out.  Even  with  his

enfeebled eyes, Czulkang Lah could see the blaze bugs that had represented them,

now darkened, flying to the darkened back of the display niche, ready to reenter

as a new contact when needed.

What had happened?

Sharr Latt was getting the hang of it now, the method  of  calculating  the

gravitic pull of a dovin basal mine on one of the Goddess missile's passes, then

coming near it again and using its own gravitic attraction to whip  the  missile

around and slingshot it in a new direction.

The  missile,  mostly  solid-state,  not  disadvantaged  by  the   physical

limitations of a living  pilot,  could  survive  much  tighter  turns  and  more

strenuous g-forces than the pursuing coralskippers. On the last pass the missile

made past one specific mine, the two closest pursuers had followed the missile's

path exactly, had been caught by the mine's gravity, had been torn to pieces  by

their own daring.

Plasma projectiles flashed past the bubble viewport of  the  B-wing's  crew

compartment. Fascinated with his deadly toy,  Sharr  ignored  them,  relying  on

Beelyath to keep him alive.

The  squadrons  protecting  Lusankya  broke   toward   different   incoming

squadrons. Jaina, still masquerading as Twin Suns Nine, kept her silence as  Kyp

Durron scattered Her shield trios in the path of incoming coralskippers.

As the distant skips came within maximum laser-effective range, she reached

for Kyp in the Force, found nim there, found him waiting for a better shot.  She

reached for Jag as well, detected him, could even faintly feel the intensity  of

his focus, his state of alert relaxation. But she could not interact with him as

she could with Kyp, could not afford to be distracted, so she withdrew from that

contact.

Then Kyp was firing and her hand was automatically  squeezing  her  lasers'

trigger, firing a quad-linked blast at one incoming  skip.  Both  her  shot  and

Kyp's were intercepted by voids, but Jag's, a fraction of a second later, plowed

into the enemy star fighter's nose, destroying the dovin basal there,  depriving

the craft of its capabilities of flight and defense. Kyp and Jaina  each  poured

another salvo of laser energy into the craft; it burst, exploding as the  lasers

superheated internal moisture to the state of gas, and  vented  atmosphere  into

space.

"One Flight, Twin Suns Five." That was Piggy. "Suggest you  come  to  zero-

one-zero  ecliptic,  hold  that  course  for  ten  seconds,  take   targets   of

opportunity."

"Twin Suns Two, copy." Kyp led  Jag  and  Jaina  around  in  the  indicated

direction. Ahead, Jaina could see  where  Four  Flight-Beelyath  and  Tilath-had

gotten on the tails of two skips and  were  chasing  them  directly  across  One

Flight's path. Jaina gauged Beelyath's and Tilath's firing patterns, timed them,

felt Kyp doing the same.. and, as  the  enemy  skips  crossed  before  them,  as

Beelyath and Tilath sent stutterfire laser against the sterns of the  skips  one

last time, Kyp, Jaina, and Jag fired from the skips' port quarter,  their  quad-

linked lasers hitting yorik  coral  instead  of  voids.  Both  skips  detonated,

sending a cloud of gases and yorik coral chunks hurtling along their course.

But now the wingmate of the first skip they'd hit was behind them, closing,

firing. Jaina didn't listen to the good-shooting congratulations  coming  across

the comm board; she followed Kyp as he made a tight loop up  and  to  starboard,

trying to elude their pursuit.

Jag looped tighter, forcing the pursuer to divide his attention between his

clawcraft  and  the  two  X-wings,  and  managed  to  come  around  behind   the

coralskipper even as it managed to maintain its position behind the X-wings.  He

poured laserfire into its stern and top hull, but all of it was dragged into the

skip's defensive voids.

Jaina felt a sort of mental shrug from Kyp. "Break," she  said,  aloud  and

through the Force but not over the comm frequencies, and she broke  to  port  as

Kyp broke to starboard.

She gritted her teeth against the g-forces her tight turn exerted  on  her,

but got oriented around toward that skip - just in time to see an  X-wing  flash

over and past it at a  right  angle  to  its  course,  in  time  to  see  plasma

projectiles tracking that X-wing strike the coralskipper  instead.  They  chewed

through its hull and the skip suddenly turned away, no longer anxious to fight.

Piggy's distinctive, mechanical laugh sounded over the  comm  board.  Jaina

grinned. "Nice fleeing, Piggy."

Wedge's X-wing reached low Borleias orbit as the Am-muud  Swooper  lumbered

along behind. He tried to remind himself that the Corellian freighter "lumbered"

only in comparison with a starfighter, of course; the freighter  was  nearly  as

fast and nimble as the Millennium Falcon.

He dropped back to give his personal comlink a better chance to  reach  the

ship. "Blackmoon Eleven to Swooper, do you have an exit path?"

"We do, Eleven. Can you receive it?"

"I've been patching my comlink and datapad into what's left of the computer

on this battered baby. Just transmit me the directional and I'll escort you out.

"

"Will do, Eleven. Many thanks."

Wedge waited until the  numbers  appeared  on  his  data-pad  screen,  then

reoriented to Ammuud Swooper's outbound course. He could only estimate, based on

what he remembered of Borleias's current  position  in  orbit  around  the  star

Pyria, but he believed that the course would take Ammuud Swooper in the  general

direction of the Deep Core worlds. Doubtless the freighter  would  only  take  a

short hyperspace jump, a few light-years, and then correct to take  them  toward

the rendezvous point.

The starfighter's sensor board beeped with a new contact. Wedge took in the

new information and bit back a curse. A squadron  of  coralskippers  was  headed

their way, and would intercept Wedge and the freighter  long  before  they  were

clear of Borleias's mass shadow.

Charat Kraal poured plasma cannon fire into his opponent, saw  some  of  it

flitting around the edges of his target's void and chewing into its hull.

As he'd suspected, the only kind of pilot foolish enough to disobey  orders

like that, to seek personal glory at the expense of duty, was a green pilot, one

fresh from teaching. He might have gloriously fast reflexes, but he didn't  have

the experience or will to defeat someone like Charat Kraal.

His target waggled  side  to  side,  signaling  that  he  was  quitting  an

exercise, the only way he had to communicate that he was surrending. He  brought

his voids around from his stern to his bow>  symbolically  baring  his  stomach,

further sign that he was giving up this fight.

Charat Kraal fired again, pouring damage into his target's stern,  and,  as

he gained altitude relative to the other coralskipper, into its canopy.  He  saw

the canopy crack and then explode outward from the atmospheric pressure  within,

saw one of his plasma projectiles hit and burn entirely through the torso of the

pilot. That coral-skipper continued in straight-line flight, a flight that might

never end.

"Disobedience is death," Charat Kraal said aloud, as though the  spirit  of

his enemy might hear him. "Unless you win. And you cannot win by  surrendering."

He looped back around toward the portion of the minefield where his  pilots  and

Jaina Solo were.

And he frowned. The cognition hood showed him the locations  of  all  those

fighters, but there were four fewer coralskipper glows than  there  should  have

been, even counting the pilot he'd just killed.

Jaina Solo was whittling down the numbers of  her  pursuers.  Charat  Kraal

shook his head and accelerated toward the action.

Luke's X-wing blasted through a cloud of flame and vapor spilling out of  a

dying hlasthoat analog. He tensed against the impacts that would come  if  there

was solid niatter in the cloud, but emerged on  the  far  side  without  hitting

anything. He fired the instant he was free of the cloud, his quad-linked  lasers

barely missing Mara's oncoming E-wing and ripping into the nose  of  the  coral-

skipper chasing her. His shot missed the dovin basal housing at the bow but tore

into the yorik coral beneath it before a void moved into place to intercept  the

rest of the damage.

The coralskipper, its pilot doubtless spooked  by  Luke's  magical  arrival

from within a cloud of flames, banked away from Mara, breaking off pursuit. Luke

looped around to roar up in his wife's wake. "Oh, there you are."

Her voice, across the comm board, sounded amused. "Afraid I was running out

on you?"

"You know what a jealous, possessive man I am."

"Starfighter Command to Blackmoon Squadron, Yellow  Aces."  The  voice  was

Tycho's. "We're seeing increased defense  at  the  worldship.  Break  off  stern

defense and move up to escort. We also need our spotter in place."

"Blackmoon Leader copies." Luke checked his sensor  and  comm  boards.  The

Blackmoons were in pretty bad shape, down to about half strength, though most of

his losses were from damage to and withdrawal of starfighters rather than  their

destruction. He also read that the mysterious Blackmoon Eleven was off  Borleias

and engaged with what looked like an entire squad of coralskippers.

He couldn't let that be his problem right now. "I'm your spotter," he said.

"Two, assume control of the squadron."

Mara said, "Negative on that. I'm your wing."

He sighed, but knew better than to  waste  time  by  arguing.  "Correction,

Blackmoon Ten, take command."

"Ten copies."

"Leader's away." Luke kicked in his thrusters and  roared  straight  toward

the Yuuzhan Vong worldship, away from his reinforcements, away from everyone but

Mara.

Charat Kraal sped along in Jaina Solo's  wake,  leaving  his  other  pilots

behind through sheer piloting skill. Kilometer by kilometer he gained on her and

knew, at last, that he was a better pilot than this infidel.

All he had to do was get in range, disable her abomination-craft, and  wait

for a capture ship to assist him.

The tiny gleam he could only see  in  his  cognition  hood,  the  one  that

indicated Jaina Solo's position, grew to a size indicating  that  he  should  be

able to make out some details of the X-wing. But he could not; he could only see

thruster emission from one engine. Yet it could  not  be  moving  so  fast  with

three-quarters of its power gone.

His coralskipper's gravitic sensors created the illusion that space  itself

was rippling in the distance ahead of Jaina Solo, the visual image  of  a  dovin

basal mine. She seemed to be aimed almost directly at it.

Charat Kraal smiled. Her intention was clear-take a close pass by the mine,

using its gravitational attraction to sling her around and accelerate her beyond

Charat Kraal's ability to overtake.

But it would not  work  that  way.  The  mine  would  detect  her  specific

graviational signature, recognize her as a most-wanted target, and reach out  to

strip her shields, perhaps annihilating her engines in the process.

He had her. He had won.

Her vehicle whipped around the dovin basal mine and came straight  back  at

him. The turn was so abrupt that no living thing  could  have  survived  it,  so

unexpected that Charat Kraal sat stunned for a long, deadly moment.

His surprise communicated itself to  the  coralskipper,  which  waited  for

instructions-dodge? Defend with voids? Open fire?

And when Charat Kraal finally saw his target, made it out for what it was-a

missile, unarmed, faster than any starfighter or coralskipper when it  chose  to

be-he was only two-tenths of a second from impact.

Harrar's pilot turned to the priest. "Jaina Solo is destroyed.  It  appears

that Charat Kraal rammed her."

Harrar shook his head. "You must be mistaken."

"I think not. I witnessed the two images merge. There was energy  released.

Both images are gone." The pilot pulled his cognition hood back on...  and  then

stiffened.

"Well?"

"You... were correct. Jaina Solo is not where I thought she was. Not in the

minefield at all. She is in the vicinity of the worldship."

"And Charat Kraal?"

"Still dead."

Eldo Davip sat alone at the control console  of  Lusankya,  sweat  dripping

from his face despite the efforts of the chamber's cooling system  to  keep  him

comfortable.

He wasn't  on  the  Super  Star  Destroyer's  bridge.  That  chamber,  once

brilliantly clean and huge enough for snub-fighters to land in,  was  destroyed;

he'd seen the holocam image of a dying coralskipper corkscrewing  its  way  into

the front viewports, crashing through, annihilating everything there.

But no one had been there, no officers, no droids. It had been left lit  as

bait, though no ship's controls operated there.

All ship's controls were routed here, to an auxiliary bridge  deep  in  the

vessel's stern, a place where the command crew could operate if the  stern  were

gone or the vessel somehow captured. Even this small chamber  seemed  empty  and

strange now; Davip was the only person left. Everywhere else, computer gear  was

patched into the ship's controls.

Every  few  moments,  another  shudder  racked  Lusankya  and  the   lights

momentarily dimmed. Red showed on the screens  of  every  diagnostics  terminal,

indicating that the systems they monitored were destroyed or nonfunctional.  The

only  exceptions  were  the  systems  Davip's  own  terminal  controlled:   main

thrusters, gravitic sensors, localized life support, localized power.

He spared a glance  for  the  door  at  the  back  of  the  chamber.  Newly

installed, it was a crude plate of armor that would lift out of the way-once-and

give him access to the starfighter that lay beyond. The starfighter was  already

pointed along the shaft that led to Lu-sankya's stern. It was a way out for him.

.. assuming that the damage the Star Destroyer was taking  didn't  collapse  the

shaft, didn't ruin the starfighter. If it did, he was dead.

Well, dead or alive, he was going to finish this  fight  with  a  bang.  He

returned his attention to the sensors, to the large signal  that  indicated  the

Yuuzhan Vong world-ship ahead.

Wedge accelerated away from the Ammuud  Swooper  and  toward  the  oncoming

squadron of coralskippers. His sensors showed two eager skip pilots  moving  out

in front of the others, the better to  engage  him  first.  He  expected  Ammuud

Swooper to turn tail, dive hack into the atmosphere, and try  to  find  a  safer

exit vector, but the freighter came stolidly on in his wake. The reason why  was

soon evident: coralskippers from the vicinity of the biotics building site  were

now climbing after them.

There was nowhere to run.

In moments, the lead skips came into visual range. They separated and began

launching plasma his way - all hut daring him to fly between  them,  to  try  to

persuade them to fire on one another by accident.

Wedge smiled mirthlessly. A novice pilot might try  that  very  thing,  but

would find his shields stripped by a  deft  use  of  the  coralskippers'  voids.

Without shields, his X-wing would be easy pickings for the  skips.  Instead,  he

veered to starboard, passing on the outward side of the skip in that  direction,

firing stuttering lasers at that craft until his weapons could no longer depress

to hit it. He saw his shields flare  as  a  bit  of  plasma  hit  them  and  was

deflected, but his diagnostics didn't indicate a direct hit.

Then he was past the two lead coralskippers. They  turned  to  follow.  The

oncoming ten also vectored as if to head him off, but they  weren't  making  the

kind of speed the lead coralskippers were,

Ammuud  Swooper  maintained  her  original  course,   and   none   of   the

coralskippers remained directly in her path. Wedge frowned at the sensor  board.

Why?

He increased the  angle  of  his  starboard  turn.  The  two  coralskippers

continued to accelerate in his wake. The other ten turned so that  their  course

paralleled his, pacing him instead of intercepting him.

That was it. At least one  of  the  lead  skips  had  to  be  the  squadron

commander. He wanted a duel. His  pilots  wanted  to  watch.  They  figured  the

commander could finish Wedge off, then they could catch  up  to  Ammuud  Swooper

before the freighter could get free of Borleias's mass shadow.

Well, it wasn't going to work that way.

Wedge veered toward the pacing coralskippers, maneuvering  so  unexpectedly

that the skips on his tail took an extra moment to turn after him. The  maneuver

was harsh enough to cause Wedge's sight to gray out just a little-he  could  see

his vision contract, as though he were flying into a tunnel, but  he  shook  his

head as he straightened out his course and his vision  returned  to  normal.  He

began firing into the midst of the ten skips, and, as he'd hoped, there  was  no

immediate return fire: the squadron leader had doubtless instructed  his  pilots

not to interfere, that Wedge was his alone to kill.

Wedge sprayed his stutterfire over the flank  of  one  skip,  then,  as  he

gauged the speed with which its void intercepted the  laser,  switched  to  quad

link for a harder punch. His  shot,  beautifully  placed,  dropped  between  the

defensive voids and hulled the skip. It detonated into the small,  grisly  cloud

characteristic of a dying coral-skipper. Wedge roared past the cloud, missing it

by mere meters, hearing the ping of small chunks of  yorik  coral  striking  his

shields.

As soon as he was past, he looped around, opposite the direction the  skips

were heading. He was rewarded by the sight of the skips  slowing,  turning  back

toward him as he circled. The lead skips punched through the same  hole  in  the

formation he'd just been through and turned after him, gaining ground.

In a moment-tunnel vision returning as he performed a turn too hard for his

body to quite withstand-he was  lined  up  on  the  formation  again.  The  nine

remaining witness skips had done an impressive about-face and were now  reaching

the cloud of gases and coral chunks that had once been one of their own number.

Wedge armed and fired a proton torpedo, then switched back  to  stutterfire

lasers and began spattering red beams among those targets. Their voids  came  up

and effortlessly caught the energy.

Then his torpedo hit. It didn't reach any of the  functional  targets,  but

hit the largest remaining chunk of the destroyed coralskipper, deep in the midst

of the formation of skips as they passed around it.

It detonated in a bright flash, its energy hurled outward in all directions

simultaneously, slamming into every coral-skipper within its explosive diameter.

The skips' voids could intercept only a fraction of the released energy.

Wedge looped up and around the expanding gas cloud,  pouring  on  speed  to

gain a little ground on his pursuers while he waited for  the  sensor  board  to

clear.

When it did, the numbers were like  a  lifeday  present.  Six  of  the  ten

coralskippers in that formation were gone or smashed into  smaller  pieces.  Two

more were on ballistic courses toward Borleias's atmosphere. The last  two  were

turning to join up with the squadron leader and  his  wingmate,  but  even  they

seemed to be moving sluggishly.

Impossible odds had just been turned into one-third impossible. And in  the

distance, Ammuud Swooper continued plodding her way toward her hyperspace launch

point.

Czulkang Lah evaluated  the  data  and  variables.  He  did  not  like  the

conclusions he was reaching. There was altogether too much attention being  paid

to the Domain Hul worldship,  too  many  missing  infidel  resources,  too  much

unexplained behavior from the gigantic  triangle  ship  now  mere  minutes  from

reaching him.

"Prepare to disengage," he commanded. "Select a Rim-ward withdrawal  course

and execute it on my order."

He could feel the eyes of his officers on him.  Some  would  be  concealing

anger at what they interpreted as an act of cowardice. Some, knowing how bad his

eyes were, wouldn't bother to conceal it.

He understood their anger. He felt it himself. But he knew,  too,  that  he

did not serve the Yuuzhan Vong cause by needlessly  sacrificing  a  resource  as

great as a healthy worldship, not when he could withdraw now and  assault  again

later with victory more likely. So he ignored them, ignored their stares.

One of his officers  said,  "Subsurface  dovin  basal  clusters  are  being

maneuvered into the correct position."

Then Kasdakh Bhul stood beside him once more.  He  stared  up  through  the

command chamber's viewing lens. "There is  something  wrong  with  the  oncoming

triangle ship."

"I should hope so, considering the damage that has been inflicted upon her.

"

"I mean, she is not what I expected. 1 have been forced to learn  something

of the infidel vessels, and this one is  not  dying  the  way  she  should.  Her

skeleton is wrong."

Czulkang Lah squinted up through the viewing lens, but all  he  could  make

out of the approaching vessel  were  her  outline  and  the  flashes  of  light,

exchanges between starfighters and coralskippers, all around her.

He moved to the blaze bug niche, reached into it until he pointed  straight

at the glowing creatures representing the triangle ship,  then  irritably  waved

toward himself. Blaze bugs from the back of the niche  swarmed  to  the  center,

joined with the image of the triangle ship, and caused it to  grow  in  apparent

size and detail. Czulkang Lah kept waving until the triangle ship dominated  the

niche, surrounded by blaze bugs engaged in dogfights.

The triangle ship had suffered tremendous  damage.  The  topside  extension

where her commanders were said to remain was almost gone. No sputters  of  light

leapt from her flanks or belly-all her weapons  were  dead.  And  her  nose  was

destroyed, the front one-quarter of the vessel worn away by the constant attacks

by coralskippers and Yuuzhan Vong capital ships.

But something protruded from the vessel's bow,  like  an  enormous  needle,

reaching from where the ruin began to where the  vessel's  original  prow  would

have been.

"That is what I mean," Kasdakh Bhul said. "It  is  like  a  stinger.  Their

vessels don't have stingers, just compartments."

Czulkang Lah felt something like dread creep through  his  chest.  "Are  we

ready to withdraw?" he asked, his voice curiously calm.

"Not yet," one of his officers answered.

* * *

Individual coralskippers, separated from squadrons or the last survivors of

their squadrons, broke out of the worldship's orbit and moved to intercept  Luke

and Mara. The two Jedi did not slow to engage. They juked and  jinked  to  avoid

plasma cannon fire, they  responded  with  laser-fire,  and  they  roared  past,

heading relentlessly on toward the worldship while their  enemies  turned  after

them.

Then they were just above the worldship, on  a  diving  course  toward  its

surface. They vectored  to  enter  orbit  and  whipped  around  the  worldship's

equator, heading toward its far side, the side faced away from the  star  Pyria.

They crossed the terminator and were suddenly plunged into darkness.

In moments, sensors showed an intact  squadron  ahead  of  them,  an  equal

number of miscellaneous skips arriving over the horizon from behind, and  enough

empty space around the two Jedi to give them a few seconds of breathing space.

"This would be as good a time as any, Luke," Mara said.

"No argument here." Luke switched on the apparatus they'd  wired  into  his

comm unit, and the comm units of several of the prestige  pilots  of  Lusankya's

guardian squadrons, just prior to the  launch  of  this  mission.  "Broadcasting

location," he said. "I'm going to stay on the straight and narrow as long  as  I

can stand to."

There was a touch of laughter to Mara's voice: "You know, I've said that in

the past."

"Very funny."

Luke's forward shield flared into incandescence as something hit  it-not  a

plasma ball, for he would have seen that coming, but something that had not been

illuminated until it hit. Probably a grutchin. He tightened, clenching  his  jaw

as though hardening his body could harden his X-wing against incoming  fire.  He

was a sitting duck until his task was do'ne.

Mara moved up before him, drifting back and forth, making herself the  main

target of the oncoming skips but never moving so far that her  shields  did  not

offer protection to Luke.

Luke could feel her reaching for him in the  Force.  It  wasn't  a  gesture

seeking reassurance, not really; he could feel her confidence, her focus on  her

task.

It took him a moment to understand. She wanted to be there,  with  him,  in

case something happened, in case one or the other of them suddenly winked out of

existence. It was suddenly hard for him to swallow.

Then his sensor board yowled as something huge materialized in space behind

him, no more than two hundred meters in his wake.

It was Mon Mothma,  dropping  out  of  hyperspace.  The  great  Interdictor

immediately began drifting to Luke's port, away from  the  worldship's  surface;

she had to have been on a slightly different course before entering hyperspace.

A moment later, a cloud erupted from Mow Mothma's underside-her  complement

of starfighters, squadron after squadron streaking away from the launching bays,

some to guard the Destroyer, some to head off incoming coral-skippers from ahead

and behind.

The crude gravitic sensor that was part  of  the  X-wing's  new  instrument

package lit up. Mon Mothma had activated her  gravity-well  generators.  If  the

plan was going according to schedule, she'd be activating her  yammosk  jamming,

too.

"Last act, Mara."

"Let's catch our breath before we join the other players, farm boy."

"Let's do that."

NINETEEN

The worldship's navigation crew did not have to be told  to  maneuver  away

from the Interdictor. But once they did set a new course, a noise akin to dismay

wafted from their area.

Czulkang Lah merely looked at  Kasdakh  Bhul.  The  warrior  moved  to  the

navigators, spoke briefly with them, and returned.

In pained tones, he said, "There is confusion. Five dovin basal mines  have

just chased five Millennium Falcons into our immediate space. Their attempts  to

seize the infidel ships are interfering with the worldship's dovin basals."

"Five Millennium Falcons."

"Yes."

"And even one is enough to cause us grief."

A few kilometers away, another New Republic  ship  winked  into  existence-

Errant Venture. It immediately opened up with all guns, directing damage against

the worldship's surface, against the nearest Yuuzhan Vong capital ships.

"I've breathed," Luke said. "Let's get 'em."

With four coralskippers closing on his tail, Wedge hurtled away from Ammuud

Swooper's course. The freighter was less than a minute from being able to  enter

hyperspace. A minute... surely Wedge could hold the skips here that  long.  Even

at the cost of his life.

Czulkang  Lah  watched  as  his  fleet   became   uncoordinated.   Suddenly

coralskippers swarmed like awkward trainees. Villips everted as  the  commanders

of his capital ships stopped receiving gravitic orders. The spike at the nose of

Lusankya was now visible through the viewing lens above; more of  the  ship  had

eroded, revealing even more spike. The  gravitic  interdiction  of  one  of  the

triangle ships in orbit above the worldship was keeping his  dovin  basals  from

maneuvering Domain Hul out of Lu-sankya's path.

He ignored his commanders. "Activate my  son's  villip,"  he  told  Kasdakh

Bhul.

A moment later, the vilHp installed in the most prominent niche everted and

took on the features of Tsavong Lah.  "What  news,  my  father?"  the  warmaster

asked. "Has Borleias fallen?"

"Borleias has fallen," said Czulkang Lah, his voice weary.

"And have you slain all the infidels? Or do some of their forces remain  to

flee?"

"Some forces remain."

"But still, a great victory."

"No, son. Limited facts can point at victory when in  fact  there  is  only

defeat to taste."

The villip frowned. "Defeat? You have achieved the conditions  of  victory.

You have once more brought glory to Domain Lah."

"In a minute I will be dead. Too many clever minds, however heretical  they

may be, have undone me."

"But-"

"Be quiet, my son, and know that my last words were reserved for you.  Fare

well, and may the gods smile upon you, as they once did upon me."  Czulkang  Lah

reached up to stroke the villip. It inverted, carrying Tsavong Lah's  expression

of bafflement with it.

Kasdakh Bhul stepped before him. "We are on the verge of victory, old  one.

Pull one last strategy out of your mind. Give us that last success."

Czulkang Lah stared into the face of a warrior  too  stupid  even  to  know

regret. The old warmaster held his silence. He'd  promised  that  his  words  to

Tsavong Lah would be his last. He would not diminish  their  value  by  breaking

that promise.

One of his officers, his voice quaking in fear or anger  -  or  both-asked,

"Shall I give the order to abandon Domain Hul?"

Czulkang Lah nodded.

Suddenly space was swarming with New Republic reinforcements. Gavin let off

his thruster and watched, bemused, as  four  TIE  Interceptors  off  Mon  Mothma

strafed the coralskipper duo he and Nevil had been dueling,  shredding  them  by

virtue of fresh pilots and fresh lasers.

"Rogue Squadron, regroup on me," Gavin  said.  "Let's  let  the  latecomers

escort Lusankya in. Blackmoons, how are you doing?"

"Rogue Leader, this is Blackmoon Ten. We're, ah, not doing too  well.  Four

actives remain, not counting Black-moon One and Two, who are detached."

"Recommend you sit back and watch for a minute, then."

"Can't do it, Rogue Leader. One of our own appears to be in a furball  back

at Borleias. We're going back after him."

"We'll come with you."

Wedge finished his loop and headed back toward his four pursuers. They were

firing long before he was aligned, but two of them,  the  survivors  of  Wedge's

proton torpedo. attack,  were  not  firing  accurately;  their  undersides  were

charred, and Wedge suspected that those two coralskippers were damaged. Injured,

and in pain.

Not that two healthy ones couldn't kill him. Wedge sideslipped, rotated  to

change his profile, juked and jinked to keep incoming plasma and  grutchin  fire

off him.

As he approached  the  coralskipper  formation,  he  drifted  to  port  and

squeezed off some stutterfire laser at the healthy skip on that side.  He  fired

for only a fraction of a second, letting the short series of beams drift forward

from the target's cockpit, watching as the skip's voids moved with  the  streams

of coherent light and swallowed them; then he switched the weapon over to  quad-

linked fire, flicked his targeting reticle back toward the cockpit,  and  fired,

all in one quick motion.

The voids continued forward for a  brief,  deadly  fraction  of  a  second.

Wedge's lasers slammed in behind them,  punching  through  the  pilot's  canopy,

punching through the pilot.

Wedge's X-wing shook as plasma, not completely deflected  by  his  shields,

seared through his starboard lower S-foil. His diagnostics  lit  up  with  their

report. Structural damage, but no interruption of engine power. The S-foil might

collapse if flown into atmosphere, especially in  firing  position,  but  should

hold up to all but the most rigorous of maneuvers in space.

The last healthy coralskipper and its two injured wing-mates  were  on  his

tail, pouring plasma after him; he heard impact after impact as the  superheated

projectiles hit his rear shields, watched the alarming drop of his shield power.

His sensor board beeped,  alerting  him  to  an  object  in  his  path,  on

collision course, less than a second away. He began to twitch the  X-wing  yoke,

to sideslip him around the obstacle, but instead switched weapons controls  back

to proton torpedo and fired on it. Only then did he shove the yoke down.

He saw the brilliant flash of the torpedo detonating above him, felt his X-

wing rock as the shock wave from the explosion hammered  him,  but  he  switched

back to lasers and hauled back on the yoke even as he was being battered. He was

through the detonation zone in an instant-and there, meters above him,  was  the

last healthy skip, its pilot still recovering from  the  unexpected  detonation.

Wedge fired and saw his lasers tear into the skip's underbelly.

There was another explosion, this one far less severe, as the  skip  vented

gases through the crater Wedge's lasers punched in the  yorik  coral.  The  skip

suddenly ceased maneuvering.

A shrill alarm had been wailing in Wedge's ear since the explosion. Finally

he could spare an instant's attention to his diagnostics board.

He cursed. His shields were down. Whether they had failed from  the  proton

torpedo explosion or been stripped as a last act of the coralskipper's voids, he

did not know, but he suspected the latter; it would explain why  his  last  shot

against the skip's underbelly was not blocked.

Without shields, he was nearly as good as dead. He spared a glance for  the

two injured skips. They would be closing on  him  now,  predators  coming  after

injured.prey.

Instead, they were moving away at high speed.

Wedge laughed. Seeing the last intact skip of the  squadron  destroyed  had

caused their nerve to fail; they probably hadn't even detected that he had  lost

his shields. He  wondered  what  they  thought  he  was-another  supposed  godly

manifestation, like jaina?

Then he stopped laughing. His sensors showed the coralskipper squadron from

planetside had left the atmosphere and was racing  up  in  the  wake  of  Ammuud

Swooper. They might intercept her before she reached  a  point  from  which  she

could launch into hyperspace.

Unless he maneuvered himself in the  way.  Unless  he  persuaded  a  second

squadron to duel with him.

But if he did that, his X-wing shieldless and damaged,  he  would  die.  He

would die alone, and he would die anonymous, flying another pilot's X-wing  with

no record left behind of his having been here.  lella  and  his  children  would

never know what had become of him.

He swung around on an intercept course and hit his thrusters.

Turning his back on the Ammuud Swooper, leaving her to be destroyed by  the

Yuuzhan Vong when she was so close to escape, would not allow him  to  live.  It

would just give him time to tidy up his affairs before guilt-the crushing weight

of responsibility abandoned-caused him to find some other way to die.

Coming in at an oblique angle to the new coralskippers' course, Wedge fired

at maximum possible distance. On his sensor board, he saw no indication that his

lascrfire had done any damage.

But after a moment the squadron of skips vectored, angling toward him.

He could have cheered. They, too, wanted a  challenging  kill  rather  than

some defenseless freighter. Had their decision  not  guaranteed  his  death,  he

would have cheered.

Wedge kept up his fire, jerking his X-wing back and forth in a bone-jarring

evasive pattern, seeing plasma fire streak above, to  port,  to  starboard.  His

sustained lasers fired straight down  the  voids  of  the  foremost  skip,  only

occasionally drifting far and fast enough to one side to hit yorik coral.

He felt a tremendous impact and the starfield was suddenly rotating outside

his canopy. The X-wing no longer responded to his control of the  yoke.  Systems

failure alarms shrilled in his ears, and he knew he was dead.

Eldo Davip locked down the auxiliary  bridge  controls,  then  slapped  the

button for the  new  door  at  the  chamber's  rear.  It  slid  open  instantly,

undamaged, revealing the Y-wing beyond.

A Y-wing. He shook his head as he ran to the cockpit and clambered  within.

The starfighter was as old as he was, if not older; he suspected it was  one  of

the assembly of "spare parts" vehicles that had been used to fabricate the  pipe

fighters. As he closed the canopy, the door into the  auxiliary  bridge  snapped

shut and another bulkhead slid open, meters ahead of him, allowing him a view of

space flanked by the emissions of Lusankya's powerful thrusters.

He started up the starfighter's engines but couldn't yet  launch.  A  jury-

rigged screen and set of controls went live, and  once  again  Davip  could  see

through Lusankya's remaining forward holocams, could see instrument readouts.

The dying Super Star Destroyer was drifting to  star-hoard.  This  probably

wasn't navigational failure. Instead, some dovin basal on  the  surface  of  the

worldship had to be exerting its gravitational power against  Lu-sankya,  trying

to turn the vessel aside.

It might work, too. No dovin basal was going to be able to entirely deflect

the millions of tons of Lusankya, to counteract the  tremendous  kinetic  energy

built up during the ship's constant acceleration toward the  world-ship.  But  a

dovin basal might be able to turn her protruding spearhead aside, to reduce  the

penetration of impact.

Davip wouldn't have  that.  He  resumed  direct  control  of  Lusankya  and

increased thrust output from her starboard engines, redlining them, bringing tbe

spearpoint back in line.

He'd just stay here and make sure everything went according to plan.

* * *

Czulkang Lah watched as the  sharp  prow  of  Lusankya  grew  in  the  sky,

approaching with a meticulous precision that he could, with a growing  sense  of

detachment, appreciate.

Up close, the crudeness of the protruding spike became  evident.  He  could

see scarlike welds suggesting that the thing  had  been  assembled  in  sections

within the triangle ship. Still, its  simplicity,  and  the  fact  that  it  had

succeeded in serving its intended purpose, was admirable.

It entered the worldship's atmosphere  and,  a  moment  later,  struck  the

viewing lens immediately above.

And Czulkang Lah was gone.

The prow of Lusankya hit the worldship.

Eight kilometers up,  before  the  shock  of  that  impact  had  even  been

transmitted along Lusankya's body, Eldo Davip fired his thrusters and  shot  out

of the vessel's stern.

He passed between two of the vessel's thrusters  and  saw  his  diagnostics

light up as they anticipated possible life-support failure, but then the yellows

faded to a safe green.

But still he was feeling  vibration.  Had  he  sustained  damage  that  the

diagnostics didn't detect?

It took him a moment to realize that the vibration wasn't from his  Y-wing.

It was from him.

As he set a course to take him to a formation of  allied  starfighters,  he

tried to stop shaking.

But he couldn't.

Coming around the far side of the worldship, Luke  and  Mara  saw  Lusankya

dive into the worldship's sur - face. It seemed to Luke that a ripple spread out

from the point of impact, either a shock wave or an animal contraction of pain.

The Super Star Destroyer, her kinetic energy scarcely slowed by the impact,

continued to plow into the world-ship. Hundred-meter-long remnants of the ship's

superstructure sheared off from the solid core, but that core plunged inexorably

deeper into the worldship.

In moments, as the orbit of the two Jedi brought them closer to the  impact

zone, Lusankya's core was swallowed by the worldship, her superstructure scraped

off and left behind, mountain-high, on the worldship's surface.

Then the surface of the worldship shuddered. Luke  knew  what  that  meant.

Eight or more kilometers below the surface,  the  spearpoint  of  the  core  had

exploded. Then the next hundred-meter section behind it would detonate, then the

one behind that, a chain of destruction reaching all the way back  to  what  had

once been Lusankya's stern.

As they passed over the Super Star Destroyer's wreckage,  the  mountain  of

scrap leapt skyward, propelled  by  a  volcanolike  eruption  from  beneath  the

surface as the last of Lusankya's core sections detonated. The  flash  from  the

explosion was brilliant and the force of the  explosion  jetted  into  the  sky,

looking for one brief moment like a red-orange lightsaber  blade  kilometers  in

length.

The surface of the worldship heaved. Great jagged  cracks  flowing  with  a

red-black substance Luke did not care to contemplate spread out, from Lusankya's

impact point as the worldship began to die. * * *

His ship protected by the remains  of  Charat  Kraal's  special  operations

group, Harrar watched the crash and detonation. He could feel blood  drain  from

his face, could feel the strength of his legs begin to fail. He sat  heavily  in

the captain's seat, wordless.

"The infidels appear to be grouping again," his pilot said. "Shall we  join

these coralskippers in a counterattack?"

"What's the point?" Harrar whispered. "Take us back to Coruscant.  Take  us

back where we can look on victory instead of disaster."

On his next spin, Wedge saw the squadron of skips turn back toward him.  He

aimed and fired after them, a final, defiant gesture, but his weapon  failed  to

discharge.

On his next spin, he  could  see  the  incoming  skips  but,  beyond  them,

witnessed the brilliant flash of light that heralded Lusankya's demise. "I'm not

exactly going to miss you," he said.

The incoming coralskippers opened fire. At this  range,  only  one  of  the

plasma projectiles hit; Wedge felt it crash into and through the X-wing's stern,

and suddenly he was spinning even  faster,  watching  the  stars  rotate  by  at

bewildering speed.

Then things became more complicated. Unable to quite  resolve  the  picture

outside his canopy into a comprehensible one, growing  dizzier  by  the  minute,

Wedge thought he saw red lasers flashing among the orange-red plasma  balls.  He

was certain he saw one coralskipper detonate, then two.

There were E-wings and X-wings near him, the latter painted in the standard

New Republic colors, and his comlink crackled to life-a woman's voice, fading in

and out: "Blackmoon Ten... Eleven. Are... with us?"

He activated his jury-rigged comm board. "Black-moon Ten, this is Blackmoon

Eleven. That's a copy. Still here, but about to throw up."

"Hold on... shuttle. It'll be here... minutes."

Then there was a  new  voice,  stronger  because  the  broadcasting  X-wing

hovered only fifty meters  away.  Wedge  recognized  the  voice  as  Gavin  Dark

lighter's. "Blackmoon Eleven, what did you think you were doing going  after  an

entire squadron?"

"My job."

"That's 'My job, sir.'"

Wedge grinned. "My job, sir.""

"Son, if you develop piloting skills in proportion to your  nerve,  someday

they'll call you the greatest pilot of all time."

Gavin, baffled, stared down at his comm board. "Black-moon Eleven? Are  you

still there?"

But Blackmoon Eleven didn't respond-at least,  not  with  words.  The  only

thing emerging from Gavin's comm board was laughter. Laughter that  was  somehow

familiar.

The  New  Republic  forces  staged  mop-up   and   withdrawal   operations.

Starfighter squadrons collected themselves, escorted rescue  shuttles,  defended

their capital ships from the uncoordinated attacks of the Yuuzhan Vong.

But it would not be long before a new yammosk was brought into the  system,

not long before more Yuuzhan Vong reinforcements made the system untenable.  One

after another, the divisions of Borleias's defenders launched into hyperspace to

travel to their first rendezvous point.

The world they left behind was, for now, Yuuzhan Vong property.  The  stand

here had served its intended purpose. The Advisory  Council'and  its  supporters

had enjoyed months in which  to  plot  their  next  moves-defenses,  surrenders,

tricks. But the Advisory Council might never know what else had been done during

those months: what plans had been made, what foundations had  been  laid  for  a

resistance that would not depend on them.

EPILOGUE

Tsavong Lah sat alone on his seat in his  command  chamber.  He  could  not

speak.

The gods must love him. They had restored his arm to him. They had  allowed

him to root out treachery that had threatened to topple him. They had given  him

Bor-leias, whose defenders had, at last, fled.

The gods must bate him. They had taken his father from him.  Not  only  his

father, but the fabled warmaster, Czulkang Lah, whose methods of teaching, whose

strategic innovations, though introduced decades before the war on  this  galaxy

was launched, had made these conquests  possible.  The  Yuuzhan  Vong  would  be

struck like a coufee m the guts by news of Czulkang Lah's death  and  the  utter

destruction of Domain Hul.

Which was it? Had he earned the hatred or the affection of the gods?

He sat back, hollow with the loss he had just expericed, uncertain within a

universe that had just grown darker and stranger.