Star Wars

New Jedi Order

Force Heretic I

Remnant

Sean Williams and Shane Dix

With the New Republic shattered and a Yuuzhan Vong conquest  looming,  it

is up to Luke, Leia, and their loved ones to snatch victory from the  jaws  of

defeat... .

There are three ways to defeat your enemy. The first, and  most  obvious,

is to better him in a trial of force. The best, way is  to  have  him  destroy

himself... The middle way is to destroy  your  enemy  from  within.  Judicious

application of the middle way shall make your  blows  more  effective  if  you

later take the way of force. From the middle way it is also possible  to  push

your enemy onto the path of self-destruction.

-UUEG TCHING of Kitel Phard, Fifty-fourth Emperor of Atrisia

PROLOGUE

Saba Sebatyne knew the moment she emerged from hyperspace  that  Barab  I

was burning. Where the planet normally displayed a cloudy, gray  face  lit  by

the glow of its primary, a sullen red dwarf, her infrared sensitive  eyes  now

saw a fiery inferno. Smoke billowed high into the planet's atmosphere  as  the

surface below boiled in outrage at some recent violation.

Wanting to suppress the dread welling up inside of her, wanting  to  deny

what she was seeing, Saba banked her X-wing  into  a  steep  dive  toward  the

surface so she could take a closer look.

This couldn't be happening, she told herself. There  had  to  be  someone

left alive down there, surely.

But  her  monitors  were  empty.  There  were  no  ships  in  orbit;   no

transmission sources; no signs of life.

"This iz Saba Sebatyne," she spoke into the comm  unit.  "If  anyone  can

hear this broadcast, please respond. Anyone."

Silence was her only answer, scratched with static.

She shook her flattened, leathery  head,  hoping  in  vain  to  lose  the

vision, the thought, the truth. So many worlds had fallen  since  the  Yuuzhan

Vong had first invaded the galaxy-but not Barab I. While a  part  of  her  had

always known it was a possibility, she hadn't really imagined  that  it  would

ever actually happen to her homeworld.

She clicked the comm to try again-not because she  seriously  expected  a

response, but because there seemed nothing else to do.

"Reswa?" Her voice broke on the emotions rising at the thought  that  her

hatchmate might have perished in those cruel fires. It was for Reswa  she  had

been returning to her home planet in the first place.  Her  hatchmate  was  to

embark on her coming-of-age ritual shenbit  bone-crusher  hunt,  and  she  had

asked Saba to be her witness in this. It was an  honor  to  be  asked,  and  a

rejection of the invitation was regarded as highly  insulting-especially  when

the one asking was a close family member.

Family... the word had never sounded so empty as  it  did  now.  Friends,

family-they were all gone. Nothing could have survived  the  flames  that  now

ravaged her homeworld. And the closer she came to the surface of  the  planet,

the more horror she saw. Alater-ka Spaceport  was  a  smoldering  crater;  the

shenbit reserves were now nothing  but  bubbling  lava  plains;  the  Shaka-ka

memorial was sliding inexorably into a steaming sea. ..

She guided her X-wing through the upper reaches of  the  atmosphere,  the

ship buffeted by the upthrust of hot gases rising from the  smoking  ruins  of

her homeworld.

"This one should have been here," she whispered. It was a foolish notion,

she knew. Even had she been here she wouldn't have made any difference to the-

All thoughts ceased.

She saw them.

Slipping  around  the  limb  of  the  planet,  a  small   contingent   of

coralskippers-four in all-were breaking from low orbit, where  they  had  been

out of her scanning range. They were escorting a ship the likes of which she'd

never seen before: a huge, vaguely ovoid mass, its movement slow as it labored

against the pull of Barab I's gravity. It reminded Saba of a  bloated  balloon

ready to burst.

Whatever the ship was, it and its escorts were all that remained insystem

of the attack fleet that had  destroyed  her  world.  A  mopping-up  squadron,

perhaps. Whatever. It didn't matter. If there had been a hundred Yuuzhan  Vong

battle cruisers out there, her response would have been the same.. .

She allowed the grief inside her to rise unfettered, feeling  it  blossom

into a rage that felt perfectly satisfying, immediately easing  her  emotional

pain. That pain, she knew, could be eased still further by action.

Gritting  her  razor-sharp  teeth,  Saba  veered  off  to  intercept  the

coralskippers. They didn't  see  her  at  first,  clearly  assuming  that  all

resistance had been quashed. She was able to get in close before they realized

she was even there. Only when she was practically on top of them did the skips

break formation, three of them peeling away to come about on an attack vector.

It was too late for the skip closest to the balloonlike ship:  she  emptied  a

round of laserfire into it, crying out in rage  as  she  did  so.  She  didn't

really expect such a crude attack to achieve  anything  except  to  get  their

attention, so was surprised when the coralskipper exploded in a violent  flash

of crimson that flung shards of the craft far and wide.

The explosion had the unexpected effect of clearing her  mind.  The  skip

must have been already damaged, its dovin basal disabled  from  recent  battle

with the Bara-bels. Such a simple victory, so soon  in  the  battle,  startled

her. Perhaps, she thought, she hadn't expected victory at all. She had  simply

gone into the fight expecting to die - no, wanting to  die.  Her  people  were

dead, and so deep down she reasoned that she should be, too.

Now she was in a fix-and one she might not be able to get herself out of.

Two of the remaining skips were coming at her from behind, unleashing  streams

of molten plasma in her direction. She didn't want to die,  and  her  reflexes

agreed. She avoided the fate of her fellow Bara-bels by rolling her X-wing and

skewing down and around her attackers. Some of the plasma reached its  target,

however, instantly depleting her shields.

She didn't have time to check if the skip had stayed on her tail. Her  R2

unit tootled an urgent warning: off to her port side another skip  was  coming

in fast. She pulled up sharply, rocking unsteadily in her  cockpit  as  plasma

balls flickered past.  Saba  winced.  That  last  shot  must  have  sheared  a

millimeter of paint from her wing.

She barely had time to thank her droid for the heads-up before the  first

two skips returned to make another pass at her. It was too much, she knew;  if

she remained on the defensive like this, then sooner or later they were  going

to get her-and out in the open, she had no choice but to be defensive.

With this in mind, she moved her X-wing nearer to the larger Yuuzhan Vong

craft. She kept her flying tight, swooping in close to  the  massive,  bulbous

vessel, feeling the craft's dovin basals tugging at her shields. They  weren't

as effective as the dovin basals on the  other  ships  she'd  come  across  in

action; these no doubt had a different purpose, although  she  couldn't  guess

what that might be.

Sweeping under the belly of the thing, confident that she was safe on  at

least one side, Saba gave pursuit to the. skip whose buddy she had  destroyed.

It tried to shake her by swerving abruptly from side to side, but she was able

to stay on it long enough to get a bead on its dovin basal. When  her  target-

lock flashed, Saba loosed one of her torpedoes. She had done this enough times

to sense when she'd fired a good shot, and the second her finger squeezed  the

trigger, she knew she had the skip beaten. The torpedo  detonated  on  target,

effectively downing the skip's defenses and allowing her to  blast  the  rocky

craft into oblivion with a hail of laserfire. She called out in delight as the

coralskipper fell apart in a stutter of explosions.

She was quick to bring her emotions into check, however, when she  banked

her X-wing to come back around and once again saw her planet burning. This was

not a time for celebrating, she reminded herself.

Another warning from her droid. This time she didn't even pause to  check

where the attack was coming from; she just rolled her  X-wing  in  toward  the

main ship. The surface of the thing seemed  to  move  in  strange  and  subtle

undulations as she passed near it-almost like a sac filled with water-although

at all times it remained as rough as the exterior of  the  coralskippers.  She

noticed something else, too: huge tentacles that unfurled from  the  stern  of

the craft, flailing around as though reaching for Saba's ship.

"What  iz  this?"  she  said  aloud,  not  really  expecting   a   reply.

Nevertheless, the R2 unit behind her tootled a response. She  didn't  need  to

check her translator to know that the droid didn't have enough information  to

be able to give her a proper answer.

She kept herself close in to the huge ship, veering constantly  to  avoid

the writhing tentacles. She swung around the underside of the vessel when  one

of the skips came in too close and risked taking a couple of potshots at  her.

She avoided the attack easily enough, and the plasma shot harmlessly into  the

space away from the balloon-ship. The skips wouldn't fire if she stood between

them and their charge.

What iz it? she asked herself again. And why  were  the  skips  being  so

careful around it? It had no defenses to speak of, except for the small escort

of coralskippers, and  its  only  weapon  seemed  to  be  the  tentacles  that

constantly lashed out at her. If there was anything else, then why didn't they

use it?

There was no time to dwell upon the matter, though, Time was running  out

for her. She couldn't stay defensive indefinitely. Others from the fleet would

soon be making their way back to assist their comrades, she was sure.

She pitched the X-wing again, jinking to avoid one of the tentacles while

at the same time spraying a cover of laserfire at one of the  incoming  skips.

The shots were easily absorbed by the dovin basal's black  hole,  but  it  was

enough to make the pilot swerve out of her way. That bought her a few valuable

seconds to get herself into a better position. She pulled her fighter up  into

a backward arc, coming around the top of the massive saclike vessel  and  down

onto the skip that had just swung past. She didn't wait to get the dovin basal

properly in her sights this time; she simply fired. The torpedo detonated  too

soon to be of any use. Saba silently cursed her rashness; a wasted shot!

There was no time to bemoan her luck. She quickly brought her ship around

again to pursue the lucky skip. It  released  blazing  plasma  from  its  side

cannons. A handful of the  globules  struck  her  forward  shields.  The  ship

shuddered under the impact, and she snarled as her R2 unit reported a  further

12 percent depletion to her shields. Determined, Saba  went  after  the  skip,

doggedly tailing it around the body of the larger vessel and keeping its dovin

basal at all times in targeting reticle. Finally, with a lock on  her  target,

she went to depress the firing trigger. At  that  moment  the  remaining  skip

crested the top of the main craft, loosing a volley of plasma. She brought the

X-wing sharply around, heading directly for the  incoming  skip,  her  forward

shields taking the full brunt of  the  hot  plasma  and  being  reduced  still

further as a result.

A tentacle whipped after her,  snaking  through  the  vacuum  to  strike.

Instinctively, she pushed the nose of her ship down, leaving the  coralskipper

behind her to plunge  broadside  into  the  thick  and  unyielding  appendage,

effectively stripping half the craft's hull from nose to tail and  causing  it

to spin out of control. Saba  pursued  it,  pounding  the  damaged  skip  with

laserfire, not stopping until it disintegrated into a ball of vapor.

An exclamation of joy died in her throat when, a split second later,  she

saw the remaining skip abruptly emerge' from the vapor  cloud  of  its  fallen

comrade. Saba moved easily enough to avoid it, missing the craft by about five

meters. She swung her X-wing smoothly and deftly, a  confidence  returning  in

her that had been missing since the battle had begun. Now that she had reduced

the odds, she felt she had a much better chance of survival. All she had to do

was stay focused-and be mindful of those tentacles!

The skip tried to lead her away from the  main  craft.  She  didn't  mind

anymore. With only the one skip remaining, she no longer felt the need to  use

the huge vessel as a shield. Without the others around  to  trouble  her,  she

could take this last one out with little difficulty.

She chased  the  skip  for  several  thousand  kilometers  out  from  the

tentacled vessel, waiting for a decent shot.  The  skip  opened  up  with  its

plasma cannons, filling the space in its wake with streams  of  molten  plasma

that rained down upon Saba's X-wing.

Her R2 unit whistled a warning: her shields  were  totally  depleted.  It

didn't matter; Saba had to stay on target until the opening came. When it did,

she stutterfired at the skip's dovin basal and launched a  single  torpedo.  A

perfect shot, she knew-the instinct confirmed a moment later  when  the  dovin

basal overloaded and the skip was left defenseless. The alien pilot  attempted

desperately to evade Saba's pursuit. But it was  no  use.  She  depressed  the

firing button of her laser guns, and watched in satisfaction as the bolts made

their way into the rear of the enemy craft, quickly tearing it  apart  with  a

blinding flash.

Saba found herself wanting to laugh out loud at the victory.  It  was  an

emotion empty of joy, containing only bitterness and grief. What  was  victory

when her planet hung burning behind her and her people were dead?

She hissed savagely as she  brought  her  X-wing  around  to  attack  the

remaining Yuuzhan Vong vessel. It swelled before her like  a  hideous,  living

moon-a target almost impossible to miss. She didn't bother with her  targeting

computer. She simply aimed and fired, releasing her three remaining  torpedoes

into the huge ship with grim

satisfaction.

They sank easily into the hide of the craft. Three  detonations  occurred

in quick succession, deep within its belly.  A  rent  appeared  in  its  side,

outgassing fire. The tentacles flailed crazily, as if in pain.

"For this one's home," she whispered. "For this one's people."

She banked for a final pass to finish off the ship, he: heart  racing  as

she thrilled at the thought of her impending revenge on the enemy.  It  was  a

moment she would savor for many years to come, even as she grieved  for  those

she had lost.

Laser bolts peppered the  side  of  the  craft,  widening  the  rent  and

creating numerous new ones. To Saba's surpris and disappointment, however, the

ship didn't explodi Instead, the sac burst from top to bottom, stretching  lik

a fruit left too long in the sun. From the  tear  poured  strange  translucent

gel, followed by what appeared to b a thousand six-pointed stars.

Stars? She relaxed her grip on the laser cannon trigger. How  could  that

be? There were thousands of them, tumbling into space,  glinting  in  infrared

starlight. They couldn't be weapons, or the strange ship would  have  deployed

them earlier. They couldn't be bounty, either, for nothing of value on Barab I

matched those peculiar shapes.. .

She reduced speed, coming in cautiously for a better look.  Her  R2  unit

plucked one star at random from the jumbled mass and  brought  it  up  on  her

display. A sickening sensation flowered in her gut as she saw  just  what  the

points of the "stars" were.

Two arms, two legs, a head, and a tail.

Nothing of value.. .

The thought rang in her mind as the horror of what had happened sank  in.

The Yuuzhan Vong didn't value metals or jewels. Their biological sciences  had

no use for Barab I's usual bounty. They did, however, take captives - and they

had to transport them somehow.

My people!

Saba watched helplessly as the ship continued to spill its contents  into

the cold vacuum of space. Her entire being shuddered to a  grief  that  burned

more intensely than the fires raging on the planet  below.  Her  last  thought

before tears obscured her vision was a despairing, soul-tearing cry:

What have I done?

Part One

Intersection

Three Months Later

"I say we fight on!"

The voice echoed through the vast, domed  hall  that  was  serving  as  a

replacement for the Grand Convocation Chamber on Coruscant, where  the  Senate

had previously met. With Coruscant currently in  the  hands  of  the  Yuu-zhan

Vong, Mon Calamari had been selected as a temporary  capital  and  now  played

host to the representatives of the Galactic Alliance-a group much smaller than

a full meeting of the Senate had once been, before the Yuu-zhan Vong invasion,

but still several hundred strong.

They responded to the call to fight in the  fashion  preferred  by  their

individual  species.  There  were  whistles,  grunts,  shrieks,  and  subsonic

rumbles. Some waved appendages; others stamped their feet. And  others  still,

Leia Organa Solo among them, remained silent. She stood completely motionless,

gently extending herself into the Force to feel it crackle and flare from  the

conflicting emotions of those gathered around her.

The speaker, a sour-faced Sullustan by the name of Niuk Niuv,  paced  the

floor with an energy that belied his size.  Clearly  agitated  by  the  sudden

commotion, he lifted one hand to his ear to indicate his discomfort, while the

other attempted to motion the crowd to silence. Even with his audio  dampeners

in place, the level of noise around the hall still hurt his sensitive ears.

"We have them on the back foot," he said, his large  black  eyes  roaming

the assembly. "They are overextended and ill prepared  to  defend  themselves.

They didn't expect to have to defend themselves so late in the  game-which  is

precisely why we must drive home this advantage! To ignore the opportunity  we

have been given would be like putting our collective head back on the chopping

block!"

"And who took it off the block in the first place?" The  call  came  from

the far side  of  the  chamber.  Leia  immediately  recognized  the  voice  as

belonging to Thuv Shinev of the Tion Hegemony.

Niuk Niuv's face contorted into a fleshy snarl. "That is irrelevant,"  he

said irritably.

"Really?" Shinev bellowed. "I wouldn't have thought  so.  Too  long  have

some among us treated the Jedi with contempt and suspicion. If we do have  the

chance now, finally, to force the Yuuzhan Vong back, then we should  at  least

acknowledge their opinions on the subject!"

"If you think it necessary/then by all means thank them,"  the  Sullustan

retaliated. "I'm not saying they don't j deserve that. But to do anything less

than strike back at the Yuuzhan Vong would be madness, no matter what the Jedi

say! We must prove to the Vong that we  cannot  be  subjugated  and  will  not

tolerate their oppression! I They have done enough. It is time for us to  show

them who this galaxy really belongs to! We must strike back hard, and we  must

do it now."

A scattered cheer rose up among the Senators. It was  loud,  but  not  as

deafening as Leia had feared it might be. After so many crushing defeats, most

of the representatives remained uncertain  that  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  could  be

rolled back as easily as Niuk Niuv stated. But  the  willingness  to  try  was

undeniable.

As Leia's gaze swept the crowd, she caught the tall, long-faced figure of

Kenth Hamner on the far side of the  chamber.  From  the  scowl  on  the  Jedi

Master's face, Leia felt sure he was about to speak out against Niuk Niuv. But

it was another who voiced their concerns.

"What if you're right?" Leia identified Releqy A'Kla, daughter of Camaasi

Senator Elegos A'Kla, who had been ritually murdered  by  the  Yuuzhan  Vong's

Corrj-mander Shedao Shai in the early days of the war. Since she  had  already

served in his stead during his absence, her people  had  voted  her  into  her

father's position for the duration of the crisis. "What if we can beat them?"

"Then we win!" Niuk Niuv's big, round eyes were bright  with  anticipated

glory.

"But at what cost?" A'Kla's  fine,  golden  down  shivered  with  intense

emotion. "The Yuuzhan Vong fight to the death, Senator.  Admiral  Ackbar  used

this very fact against them at Ebaq Nine. I don't think you truly realize what

this means."

"I realize," the Sullustan said. "And  I  realize  that  it  is  not  our

responsibility. If the positions were reversed, they would undoubtedly do  the

same to us."

"I'm sorry, but my people cannot support  such  extermination  under  any

circumstances," she said. She brought her long, three-fingered hands up to her

chest. "We are pacifists,  Senator.  We  do  not  wish  such  horrors  on  our

consciences."

"And I respect your people's ethics," Niuk Niuv replied. Turning from her

to address the entire chamber, he continued: "If  there  was  an  alternative,

then I would consider it. But in the absence of any such alternative, I am not

prepared to sit back with my neck out waiting for the Yuuzhan Vong to bring an

amphistaff down upon it!"

Another cheer rippled around the room.

"It's all very good for the  pacifists  to  argue  about  compassion  and

restraint, but it is they who will benefit from the ultimate  peace  that  ive

will bring about with our actions!" Niuv faced Releqy A'Kla once again.  "What

good is pacifism if you are dead, Senator?"

Releqy A'Kla sank back into her chair, blinking in dismay.

"We will crush the Yuuzhan Vong," Niuk Niuv  concluded  to  the  Galactic

Alliance representatives gathered, punching a fist into the air. "And we  will

send their remains back where they came from!"

The cheer was louder this time.  Leia's  fellow  Alder-aanian,  Chief  of

State Cal Omas, said nothing. It would have been pointless at this stage, with

the majority now so evidently behind Niuk Niuv's sentiments.

Across from her, Leia saw Hamner's scowl deepen as he shook his head  and

slipped silently from the huge hall.

"Finally, we are vindicated."

In a room not far from the domed  hall  in  which  the  Senators  met,  a

gathering of Jedi Knights and Masters looked similarly reduced in numbers  but

was no less passionate. Jedi Master Luke Skywalker had called the  meeting  to

discuss strategies for the coming stages of the war  with  the  Yuuzhan  Vong.

Waxarn Kel, the current speaker, paced in front of the gathering like a  caged

howlrunner. His face and hairless scalp were pink with fresh scars, indicating

just how close he had come to being another victim of the Yuuzhan  Vong  anti-

Jedi vendetta.

"Explain," Luke said. He sat on the stage at the front  of  the  chamber,

one knee raised to  support  the  elbow  of  his  right  arm,  and  that  hand

supporting his chin. The unnatural coolness  of  the  hand's  artificial  skin

against his jaw helped keep his head clear.

Kel looked up at him with a frown. "Do I really need to?" he asked with a

mix of irritation and surprise. Then, to the rest of the Jedi, he said, "We've

been slandered, hunted, and butchered from one  side  of  the  galaxy  to  the

other. We became the scapegoat for everything the New  Republic  brought  upon

itself because of its complacency and inability to act. We  told  them  things

they didn't want to hear, and what was our reward?  We  were  damned  for  it,

that's what. But now we have been vindicated. The trap on Ebaq  Nine  and  the

defeat of the Yuuzhan Vorig have shown that we are  a  force  to  be  reckoned

with. Vergere's sacrifice will not be in vain."

"I hadn't realized that our fight was  with  the  survivors  of  the  New

Republic," said Kyp Durron, leaning in  flight  uniform  against  one  of  the

chamber's fluted walls, arms folded across his chest. "I  thought  our  battle

was with the Yuuzhan Vong."

"It is." Kel regarded Kyp with some annoyance. "The Yuuzhan Vong are  our

enemy-not just of every peaceful citizen of the galaxy, but  of  the  Jedi  in

particular. That's been the frustrating thing about this war. The New Republic

has thwarted our every attempt to defend ourselves. If  it  wasn't  the  Peace

Brigade actually trapping us and selling us over, it  was  idiots  like  Borsk

Fey'lya holding us back. Well, now we're free to act, and  we  can  show  them

just what we are capable of doing!"

"I presume you have something in mind." Kyp's expression was neutral, but

Luke sensed a cautious interest lurking behind it-like that of someone  poking

at a bug's nest with a stick to see what might emerge.

"Of course," Kel said. "We strike, and we strike hard."

"The Yuuzhan Vong?"

"Of course the Yuuzhan Vong!" Kel's eyes flashed anger. "We must  act  to

ensure that public opinion doesn't turn against us once again."

"How might it do that, Waxarn?" Luke asked. Kel glanced back up at  Luke.

The Master could feel the scarred young Jedi Knight consciously bringing his

emotions into line.

"I fear it could happen all to easily, Master," he said, bowing slightly.

"Unless we act decisively to reaffirm our usefulness and  goodwill,  to  prove

beyond the slightest doubt that the war can only be won with  our  assistance,

then we risk looking weak. Or worse, looking as if our loyalty to the Galactic

Alliance is weak."

Luke smiled sagely. "Surely our loyalty is to peace."

"First and foremost, yes, Master," Kel put in quickly.

"But you have to be strong to protect peace from those who would  destroy

it. Sometimes it is necessary to fightin order to bring an  end  to  fighting.

Isn't that the way

of the Jedi?"

Is it? Luke asked himself as he pondered  the  words  of  the  young  man

before him. Luke himself had acted more than once on the  philosophy  espoused

by "Waxarn Kel and those like him. The cry had been  taken  up  several  times

throughout the war with  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  by  those  tempted  to  take  the

seemingly easy route through the dark side rather than brave  the  ambiguities

of the Force.

Luke didn't think Kel had fallen to the dark side, though. There was none

of the anger and hatred in the young man that Luke could sense in a handful of

others presently around him. They remained quiet, allowing Kel to speak  their

words for them. But it wasn't difficult for Luke to read  their  feelings.  So

many had been hurt by the Yuuzhan Vong and the Peace Brigaders  that  desiring

retribution was, perhaps, only  natural.  Natural  wasn't  necessarily  right,

though, and part of Luke's job was to ensure that those in his charge  weren't

led astray. None of the Jedi in the room had yet fallen to the dark side,  and

for that he was thankful. Some of them had taken  a  wrong  turning  here  and

there, just as some were being tempted to do now. But Luke had faith in all of

them-even those who disagreed vehemently with his own opinions.  He  was  sure

that the collective wisdom of the Jedi, their strong belief  in  the  healing,

sustaining energies of the Force, would gradually assuage the grief  they  all

felt for loved ones who had died in the war-as well as for themselves.

Luke straightened and dropped down onto the floor of  the  room  to  face

Waxarn Kel. Once  considered  handsome,  he  was  now  scarred  almost  beyond

recognition. And it was from this that Luke felt the man's  emotions  stemmed.

Every time Kel looked in the mirror, he would be reminded of what the war  had

done to him and those he loved, and his anger and hatred would grow.

The dark side can beckon to us from so many quarters, Luke thought.

"If we strike now," Kel said, undeterred by being eye  to  eye  with  the

great Jedi Master, "we can do the most damage. But if we wait  too  long,  our

enemies will have time to recover and-"

"Do you believe that this is why we have survived as long  as  we  have?"

Luke interrupted calmly. "Because our enemies are weak? Did those  of  us  who

have fallen in battle do so because they were weak?"

Kel blinked as a look of uncertainty passed over  his  face.  "Master,  I

would never think that-"

"Of course not,"  Luke  continued  smoothly.  "The  Yuuzhan  Vong  are  a

powerful species, and they have used our weaknesses against us just as we  are

learning to use theirs. No species is perfect, and no war  is  won  purely  by

strength. There are many other factors that must be considered."

Kel nodded, lowering his eyes. "Yes, Master."

Luke inwardly cringed. Kel was addressing him as a droid would its owner.

"Under my leadership," Luke said, "we  have  seen  special  combat  units

trained and led by the Jedi making a decisive difference in battle-yet at  the

same time I refuse to allow a Jedi to stand for political office.  So  do  you

think me weak?"

The young Jedi was shocked at the suggestion. "Master, that's not what-"

Luke tried again. "I have formed a new Jedi council and  placed  non-Jedi

upon it," he said. "Is that the action of a weak individual?" "No, Master."

Before Luke could speak again, he was interrupted by a low  chuckle  from

Kyp Durron. He faced him, lacing his hands together  behind  his  back.  "Yes,

Kyp?" he said.

"Master, I know you are weak." Durron bowed  formally  at  the  waist-but

with respect, not sarcasm. "As  am  I."  His  hand  lightly  swept  around  to

indicate the room. "As is everyone here. But I am proud of my weakness, for it

makes me who I am. Forgetting one's weakness is a sure recipe for disaster."

The door to the chamber opened, and Luke turned to see Kenth Hamner  step

into the room. Luke nodded acknowledgment, hiding his disappointment  that  it

wasn't Jaina. His niece was running late for the meeting, and  he  I  couldn't

help but feel worried. The loss of Anakin, Jaina's I younger  brother,  struck

deep into the part of him that was all too human: the  part  that  had  turned

away from Master Yoda's teaching to rescue his friends; the  part  that  loved

his wife, Mara, and his son, Ben,  more  deeply  than  anything  else  in  the

galaxy; the part that could fully understand the need to strike back at  those

who had hurt the ones he loved. He wouldn't blame himself for loving, or  call

it a weakness, but he would blame himself for not meeting his  duty  of  care.

Aside from Jaina, too many of the Jedi were missing from  this  meeting:  Tarn

Azur-Jamin, Octa Ramis, Kyle Katarn, Tenel Ka, Tahiri Veila...  If  they  were

dead, he would feel as though he had failed each and every one of them.

Waxarn Kel had turned a faint crimson under his scars. Luke couldn't tell

if Kyp Durron's point-the one Luke himself had been trying to make-had finally

hit home, or if the young man was simply embarrassed for looking something  of

a fool in front of his colleagues. And some of those  were  becoming  restless

again; the tension in the air was palpable. Despite the recent  turnaround  in

the fortunes of the Jedi, there  were  clearly  still  some  who  thought  his

leadership flawed.

"Thank you, Kyp," Luke said, reciprocating the bow.  "There  is  more  to

winning this war than military might allows. Remember that, all of you, and we

may yet win it in a way that saves us from ourselves, too."

He swung back up into his  sitting  position  on  the  stage  and  caught

Jacen's eye in the process. His nephew, standing apart from the others at  the

back of the hall, nodded slightly, then turned his attention forward as Waxarn

Kel sat down and the next person stepped up to speak his mind.

"Same meat, different bantha."

Cal Omas snorted at Kenth Hamner's words. Although  the  Jedi  physically

towered over him and he found the  man's  dour  expression  impenetrable,  the

Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance  had  developed  quite  a  liking  for

Hamner in recent weeks. Unlike most politicians, Omas had an appreciation  for

straight talking.

"We didn't have bantha on Alderaan."  He  was  standing  by  the  immense

convex viewport of his office, staring out  at  the  view.  Beneath  him,  the

terraced walls of the floating city swept away, merging into the  mist  thrown

up by the mountainous waves far below. Beyond the  mist  there  was  only  the

tumultuous sea, stretching out to the horizon. He'd spent a  lot  of  time  at

this view, hoping for a glimpse of the planet's legendary  krakana  coming  to

the surface. More often than not, though, he was too deep in thought  to  even

notice if one had.

He glanced over his shoulder to Kenth Hamner and said,  "But  I  do  know

what you mean."

A murmur of assent rolled through the small group of people seated before

him.

Two hours had passed since the meetings of the Senate and the Jedi.  Omas

had called a select group of people together to discuss the outcomes  of  both

meetings: apart from Hamner, both  Skywalkers  were  there,  along  with  Leia

Organa Solo, Releqy A'Kla, and Sien Sow, the Sul-lustan Supreme  Commander  of

the slowly re-forming Galactic Alliance military. In other  words,  people  he

could trust-and people he could use, in the best possible sense of the word.

"I called you here to ask for your help." He turned now to face  everyone

in the room. "Because I have to tell you, I am altogether sick of fighting."

"The Yuuzhan Vong?" Mara Jade Skywalker asked. She  was  sitting  at  the

long, oval transparisteel table, her husband standing beside her.

Omas shrugged noncommittally. "Borsk Fey'lya was bad enough. Fighting him

every step of the way used to make me want to weep.  The  losses  we  incurred

because of his stupidity..." He shook his head, wanting to  lose  the  memory.

"He's gone now, and I had the momentary foolishness to  think  that  it  would

somehow make things easier. But I was wrong. His death has sent the Bothans on

this crazy ar'krai war of theirs, and I have one of my senior admirals arguing

for an all-out push to wipe out the Yuuzhan Vong once and for all. I  take  it

to the Senate, and all I hear is more of the same from them. Even the Jedi-"

"Not all of us." Luke Skywalker's frown was deep,  as  though  he'd  been

personally stung.

Omas respectfully inclined his head to the Jedi Master, and to A'Kla, who

had stiffened in her seat. "Forgive me," he said. "No, not all  of  the  Jedi,

and not all of the Senate, either. But there's too much  craziness  out  there

for any real decisions to be made."

"Should I take it, then," Leia said, "that you don't approve of the final

push?"

"You're asking a politician to buck  the  public's  will?"  Omas  laughed

lightly, humorlessly, as he returned to his seat. He sank into it with a sigh.

"The truth is, I wouldn't commit our forces to attack at the moment, whether I

wanted to or not. We've made some small progress  against  the  Yuuzhan  Vong,

yes, and we seem to be holding our own at the moment,  but  if  we  overextend

we'll just be putting ourselves in their position. Until  we  have  enough  in

reserve to defend ourselves, should such a push go wrong, I'm not prepared  to

authorize anything dramatic. Otherwise, we run the risk of losing  what  small

advantages we've gained, and maybe even  ending  up  worse  off.  We  need  to

consolidate first, then fight back."

"I wondered why Traest wasn't here for  this,"  Hamner  said.  "He's  not

going to approve of this decision, is he?"

"He'll have to live with it. Kre'fey is a good strategist, and  he  stuck

by us when we needed him, but he's not my Supreme Commander. I trust  Sien  on

this."

Sien Sow nodded, his big, black eyes blinking. "Consolidation is the key.

I'm not going to stick my neck out until I'm sure my vibro-ax is  bigger  than

the Vong's."

"Discretion is the better part of valor," Mara said.

"Perhaps. If I had the forces at my disposal right  now,  maybe  I  would

feel differently." Sow shrugged.

Skywalker nodded. "A push would be harder to argue against, in that case.

I understand. It becomes a moral argument, then. If we do attack  with  intent

to destroy, does that make us any better than the Yuuzhan Vong themselves?"

There was silence around the table. Omas studied each of  them  in  turn.

Skywalker looked worried, and his wife was watching him closely.  His  sister,

Leia, had the tight-faced reserve he had learned meant that she  was  thinking

carefully about everything going on around her. Kenth Hamner and Sien Sow were

military through and through, used  to  arguing  in  terms  of  resources  and

objectives, but on less firm footing when it came to philosophy. Senator A'Kla

was the only one displaying any clear emotion. The Camaasi's  golden  fur  was

practically

bristling with agitation.

"Yes, Releqy?" Omas knew what she was going to say before  she  had  even

opened her mouth. That was why he had invited her to the meeting in the  first

place.

"I hope to speak for all of us," she said, "when I say that our  ultimate

objective is peace. Not just an end to the war."

Again, a murmur of agreement swept around the table. Only  Princess  Leia

voiced dissent. "Peace at any cost," she said, "isn't peace." Mara  was  quick

to back her up. "At best it would only be a temporary cease-fire."

"We need something more permanent to base this new Galactic  Alliance  on

apart from the defeat of an enemy," the Princess went on. "As well as a  solid

infrastructure and guaranteed supplies, ships to replace those  destroyed  and

open hyperspace lanes, we need security and order, and-"

"What we need," Sien Sow cut in, "is Coruscant back. It's a symbol of our

authority, and without it everything we attempt is undermined."

"All valid points," Omas said, acknowledging his Supreme Commander with a

curt nod. "But I fear we're reaching for stars when we've  barely  managed  to

get out of the gutter. Keeping things together on a  daily  basis,  let  alone

rebuilding what we've lost or fighting back, is my most  pressing  concern  at

the moment. The subspace networks and HoloNet itself are a mess. Do  you  have

any idea how hard it will be to put things back together when  we  don't  even

know which bit is doing what anymore? Half the pieces can no longer even  talk

to each other."

"It's not as though people haven't been trying," Leia began.

"I know, I know," he said. "You and Han have put in a lot of effort,  and

so has Mara. Marrab, too, is doing his best-"

"Gron Marrab?" Mara interrupted. "Surely there must be someone better for

the job than that."

"Well, he's a Mon Cal, so he's local," Omas said, unable to help  feeling

defensive. "And besides, it's not as if I have much choice. That's  my  point,

really. I don't have any choices. The intelligence community was  routed  when

Coruscant fell, just like the Senate. All we have in its place  is  a  lot  of

fine effort, but nothing coordinated. There are at least six chains of command

out there, all feeding through to different people by  different  means.  They

don't talk to each other; I'd be surprised if there  aren't  still  more  that

won't talk to me.

"And that's when they can talk," he went on. "There  are  parts  of  this

galaxy as big as the Core that we haven't heard from for months. We don't know

if this silence is self-imposed or due to infrastructure  collapse.  We  don't

know if it's a technical problem or deliberate sabotage. All  we  do  know  is

that the communications we once took for granted have  fallen  into  disrepair

along with everything else."

"And in the absence of communications," Luke put in, "ferment breeds."

"Precisely," Omas said. "It's pointless to win a war only  to  watch  the

Galactic Alliance fall apart around us afterward."

"Then what is it you want,  exactly?"  Mara  asked.  "I  presume  it  has

something to do with us, otherwise we wouldn't be here."

"I need a group of people committed to bringing  things  back  together,"

Omas said passionately. "A mobile task force traveling from  place  to  place-

reconnecting the dots, if you like. Familiar, trustworthy  faces,  symbols  of

peace and prosperity. That kind of thing. I thought of Master Skywalker first,

of course. And Leia, too. A New Republic presence will certainly  help  things

along." "That's 'Galactic Alliance' now, Cal," Leia  said.  "Yes,  of  course.

That's going to take some getting used to."  He  continued:  "The  task  force

doesn't need specialist technical  expertise  to  repair  the  networks  where

they're down; you can call for that sort of help if needed, when  the  problem

has been isolated. Just in case  it's  a  military  problem,  I'll  provide  a

squadron or two for protection - but you shouldn't  need  anything  more  than

that. You're not there to intimidate, but to communicate. Open  up  the  black

spots, whatever it takes, and bring them back into the fold. At least let them

know we're paying attention, anyway."

He paused to allow others to comment. When no one did,  he  said,  "Well,

what do you think?"

Leia was the first to  respond,  nodding  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  "In

principle, I think it's a good idea," she said. "And I'm sure Han will  agree,

too."

Omas offered a faint smile in appreciation. "I was hoping this  would  be

the case," he said. "The Falcon would make a great support vessel."

"And you don't really have many to spare," Leia said. "I understand."

Omas glanced at Luke and was surprised to see the Jedi  Master  frowning.

That threw the Chief of State for a moment. What wasn't there  to  like  about

his plan? It gave the Jedi a chance to reestablish their peacekeeping role  in

the galaxy while at the same time tying  them  ever  closer  to  the  Galactic

Alliance. If the mission was a success-and there was no reason Omas could  see

why it wouldn't be-then no one in the Senate would be able to argue about  the

worth of the Jedi again.

"Luke?" Mara prompted, also catching her husband's frown.

The Jedi Master remained silent for a while  longer,  as  though  mulling

over everything Omas had just said. When he did speak, it was slowly, choosing

each word with care.

"This would solve only half the problem," he said. "No matter how well we

did our job, it would still leave rhe Yuuzhan  Vong.  That's  a  problem  that

isn't going to go away, no matter how much you stifle the agitators. But  what

if I told you I could solve your military problem and the moral problem in one

operation?"

"I'd be interested, naturally," Omas said, then lifted his thin shoulders

and spread his arms in a supplicating gesture. "But^ow?"

"The Imperial Remnant," Sow said, answering for the Jedi Master.

Luke looked at the Supreme Commander, nodding. "The Empire."

"They turned us down," Leia said. "Pellaeon said that he had no  interest

in joining forces. As far as they're concerned, they've been holding their own

perfectly well against the Yuuzhan Vong."

"And at that point, we weren't," Luke said. "But now that we're  starting

to hit back, they might change their mind."

"Well, it would certainly solve the military  problem,"  Omas  said.  "It

would also legitimize the name of our new government."

"The Galactic  Federation  of  Free  Alliances,"  A'Kla  said.  "Exactly.

There's not much meaning to it if entire chunks of the galaxy won't join."

Omas folded his hands  before  him,  returning  his  attention  to  Luke.

"You're proposing a diplomatic mission, Master Sky walker?"

"To the Imperial Remnant-and to the Chiss, too," he replied. "They're the

ones who refined the toxin  developed  by  Scaur's  scientists-the  Alpha  Red

bioweapons. That project is still hanging over us. We mustn't forget that.""

"No. Admiral Kre'fey isn't letting me." "I thought  the  project  was  on

hold," A'Kla said, the purple fur above her eyes ruffling slightly  beneath  a

frown. " 'On hold' in military terms simply means that you're  set  on  stun,"

the Supreme Commander said. "The blaster, however, is still powered and aimed.

"

"Or it would be, given just a few weeks' development time." Omas  himself

was deeply conflicted over the Chiss plan to use biological warfare to  defeat

the Yuuzhan Vong. On the one hand, he could see the military sense  in  wiping

out the enemy with one strike-a strike that would cost  nothing  in  terms  of

troops or fleet resources. But it smacked of using  the  enemy's  own  tactics

against them. The Yuuzhan Vong had employed biological warfare on  Ithor-whose

native bafforr trees, ironicallly, were the  very  source  of  the  Alpha  Red

toxin-and many other worlds, destroying whole biospheres in  the  process.  It

was a dirty, demeaning tactic, and it could so  easily  be  used  against  the

wielder. In his nightmares he saw system after system falling to a gray plague

while, at the same time,  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  were  wiped  out  by  the  Chiss

bioweapon. The end result would be a lifeless, sterile galaxy.

He didn't want that to be what his administration was remembered for-even

if there was no one left to remember it.

"Destroying the research," Sow  said,  "would  meet  with  the  strongest

resistance from some under my command. I cannot guarantee that  they  wouldn't

take independent action to stop you."

Luke nodded. "I'm aware of that, Commander.  That's  why  I  wouldn't  be

going to the Chiss to propose or attempt such a move. That's  their  decision,

and I'll leave it up to them. I would only be extending the hand of peace."

"People will automatically assume a hidden agenda." Sow turned  to  Omas.

"If you're going to allow this,  Cal,  I'd  advise  that  it  be  an  informal

mission. Unofficially sanctioned, top secret, hidden agenda-whatever you  want

to call it. The fewer people who know about it, the better."

"If it's not official," Omas said, "I'm not sure how much support I could

lend it."

"That's okay," Luke said. "We'll have Jade Shadow and my X-wing,  and  we

might even be able to call in a few favors on top of that. The only support  I

really want is an assurance that you won't try to stop  us,  and  that  you'll

hold the warmongers back while we're gone."

"Thar shouldn't be a problem," Omas said. "There's plenty to keep  people

busy." He leaned back into his chair, sensing  more  to  Luke's  request  than

appeared on the surface. "However, I doubt that the Yuuzhan Vong will make  it

as easy for us as Senator Niuv would have us

believe."

"It's a long way to travel, isn't it?" Sow asked. "I mean,  I  appreciate

you going to such lengths to bring the Empire into  the  fold,  but  I'd  have

thought you'd be more needed here. Isn't there  someone  else  you  can  send?

Kenth, here, for instance, would be perfectly competent. The  Empire  and  the

Chiss would respect his background."

"You make a good point, Sien." Luke briefly exchanged a  look  with  Mara

and Leia that Omas couldn't interpret. "But  those  very  same  abilities  you

mention make him perfect for the job of keeping things calm here. Neither  the

Empire nor the Chiss will resolve the Yuuzhan Vong problem alone,  even  in  a

military sense. To be honest, they  are  only  secondary  objectives.  There's

something else I need to do while I'm gone."

"Ah." Omas pushed himself forward as  the  missing  piece  slowly  became

clear. "The Empire and the Chiss - both lie in or near the Unknown Regions."

A faint smile appeared at the edges of Luke's mouth.

"That's true."

"What is it you're looking for, Master Skywalker?"

"If I told you, Cal, you wouldn't believe me."

"The moral solution to the war?"

"Perhaps. An alternative, anyway."

Luke raised a hand as Omas began to ask another question.

The Chief of State rested back into his chair again with a wry smile.  "I

guess I can't force you to tell me," he  said.  He  glanced  at  Sow.  It  was

obvious that his Supreme Commander knew as little about Skywalker's  plans  as

he did. "You've offered enough for me to give you my private assurance that  I

won't do anything to hinder your plans. Having the Empire and the Chiss aboard

won't guarantee the security of the Galactic Alliance, but it'll help. If  you

think you can give me a long-term resolution to the war as well, then I  shall

do what I can to assist."

The Jedi Master kept his expression carefully composed, but the  way  his

wife touched his arm suggested that she was happy  with  the  outcome  of  the

meeting. Like her husband, though, her face revealed nothing.

"What about you, Leia?" Omas asked. "Will you still do what I've asked of

you?"

She nodded. "Of course," she said. "You can count on both Han and  me  to

do whatever we can to help."

The Chief of State nodded in return. "I'm grateful,"  he  said.  "Make  a

time with Sien to discuss the logistics. We'll see what special operations can

lend you. I know you have some connections down there." He stood with a smile,

knowing perfectly well that Jaina Solo's Twin Suns Squadron was a sure bet for

the mission-and if she was involved, Jag Pel wouldn't be  far  away.  Together

they would keep the military side of the mission covered,  and  possibly  more

than that: he was sure Sien Sow wouldn't mind applying a little force to  some

of the more unruly sectors of the galaxy.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a line of beings wanting to see me."

"We thank you for your time," Luke said, taking his wife's  hand  as  she

rose from the chair. "As well as your cooperation. May the Force guide us all.

"

"To peace," Releqy A'Kla said, standing with the others.

"To peace," Omas echoed wholeheartedly as they filed out of the room.  He

knew that only time would blunt the teeth of the Corellian  sand  panthers  in

the ranks of the Senate, the  Defense  Force,  and  the  Jedi.  Whatever  Luke

Skywalker had up his sleeve, Omas only hoped he could give him enough time  to

bring it into effect before those sand panthers gathered  outside  his  office

door, hungry for his blood.

From space, the ocean world Mon  Calamari  shone  a  brilliant,  peaceful

blue. Under a sky that glinted like ice, curving cloud patterns  traced  words

only stars could understand. All but the keenest of eyes would fail to see the

coral outcrops, marshy islands, and floating cities that were scattered across

the planet's often turbulent  seas.  But  they  were  there:  the  provisional

capital  of  the  newly  formed  Galactic  Alliance  and  birthplace  of   two

intelligent species was called home by more than twenty-seven billion  people,

including the legendary Admiral Ackbar and Jedi Master  Cilghal.  From  up  on

high it was impossible to appreciate the hard  times  Mon  Calamari  had  seen

under the resurrected clone of Emperor Palpa-tine  and  the  renegade  Admiral

Daala-hard times that the inhabitants of  the  planet  could  well  see  again

before this war with the Yuuzhan Vong was over.

That's the beauty of an ocean world, Jaina Solo thought as she guided her

X-wing down to the port city Hikahi. If shows no scars.

"XJ-Three-Twenty-three, you're clear to dock," came the  distinctive  Mon

Calamari voice. "Proceed to Bay DA-Forty-two."

She gritted her teeth as blast scoring on  the  fuselage  of  her  X-wing

caught the atmosphere on reentry, provoking a violent shudder that made her R2

unit squawk in alarm.

Moments later, as the X-wing glided in toward the docking bays, the droid

tootled a short series  of  beeps  and  blips.  She  glanced  at  her  craft's

translator and smiled at her R2's message.

"No, I'm sure Mon Cal's high salinity levels won't be too good  for  your

electronics," she said. "But it really shouldn't be too  much  of  a  problem,

Cappie. I didn't bring you here to go swimming."

Kyp Durron met her when she landed. Her  former  squadron  leader  looked

tired and drawn, seemingly much older than when she'd last seen him  a  couple

of weeks earlier.

"Nice to see you, Colonel," he said. "Sorry I'm late," she said,  tugging

off her flight helmet and slipping it under an arm. "There were delays  making

sure Twin Suns was adequately berthed. Did I miss the meeting?"

"Afraid so," he said as they walked together from the docking bays.  "But

that's okay. I get the feeling that  everything's  being  decided  behind  the

scenes. Gathering us together was just a formality-a way of reminding us  that

there's a  bigger  picture.  You  know?"  Jaina  nodded  absently,  only  half

listening. "Is Tahiri here?" she asked after a few paces. Kyp looked  at  her,

his brow wrinkling. "No. Why?" She shrugged  as  she  continued  walking,  not

meeting his eyes. She didn't want him to see how deep her concern  ran.  "It's

probably nothing," she lied. "She left a message for me for when I  docked  at

Ralroost. She said she wanted to talk to me as soon as I arrived. She sounded.

.."

Kyp waited for her to continue, but when  she  didn't  he  asked,  "What,

Jaina? What did she say?"

Jaina struggled to remember just how the girl had sounded. "I don't know,

Kyp," she said. "It wasn't so much what she said as the way  she  said  it.  I

just got the impression that something was wrong."

"Well, if she is here on Mon Cal," he  said,  "she  didn't  come  to  the

meeting."

An upwelling of concern for the girl-no,  young  woman,  Jaina  corrected

herself; Tahiri was a Jedi Knight now-rushed  through  her.  Tahiri  had  been

close to Anakin. If dealing with his loss had been half as hard for Tahiri  as

it had been for Jaina, then she could certainly understand  the  odd  note  of

grief that had been evident in her voice. But why now? Why did Tahiri want  to

speak to her?

"Jag's here," Kyp said, and  the  feeling  those  simple  words  inspired

surprised her.

"Really? Where?" She kept her gaze ahead as they  continued  through  the

maze of corridors, hopeful that this would be enough to prevent him seeing how

her cheeks had flushed at the mention of Jag's name.

"Right now he's in a meeting with  your  parents,  actually,"  Kyp  said.

"They're hatching some sort of scheme." He stopped abruptly and turned to face

her. "There's talk of winning this thing, Jaina," he said.  "A  lot  of  talk.

It's almost hysterical. Before Ebaq Nine we were all  but  beaten;  now  you'd

think we, already had the Yuuzhan

Vong on the run."

Jaina nodded. She understood perfectly what he was trying  to  tell  her,

and why. The politicians had no real idea what it was like on the battlefield.

They were insulated by layers of command from  the  action,  from  how  things

really were. For all  the  losses  they'd  suffered,  she'd  always  tried  to

maintain a  sense  of  optimism,  but  even  though  they  had  recently  made

considerable headway, she knew they still had a long way to go. There were  no

certainties. There never was with war.

But she could sympathize with the politicians  wanting  to  believe  that

victory was imminent. This war had been hard on everyone.  Years  of  defeats,

inexorable advances by the enemies, losses in every quarter-it had  all  taken

its toll. She could see it in Kyp's eyes and in the  way  he  seemed  to  have

aged. She could feel it in herself, the grief for Chewbacca and  Anakin  still

strong, her descent into the dark side painfully recent...

"I'll be careful," she said, vanquishing the  memory  with  a  firm  nod.

People would be taking sides everywhere in the makeshift capital.  She  wasn't

going to commit to anything without first learning something of what was going

on "behind the scenes," as Kyp had put it.

Kyp resumed their walk, moving confidently through the warren of tunnels.

He had obviously been on Mon Cal long enough to familiarize himself  with  the

city. The deeper into the city they  went,  the  more  crowded  the  corridors

became, and the more hurried the activities of the people  became.  Jaina  saw

beings of varied species, sexes, and sizes going about all manner  of  duties.

Technicians rubbed shoulders with bureaucrats while armed soldiers bumped into

secretaries, and through it all trundled myriad  droids.  The  air  rang  with

industry and purpose, which was more than  a  little  overwhelming  for  Jaina

after the confines of her X-wing and only her R2 unit for conversation.

"I'm sorry," Kyp said, recognizing her  discomfort.  "Perhaps  we  should

have taken a tunnel cab. I just thought you would have  had  enough  of  being

cooped up in small spaces."

"No, that's okay," she said. "I did need to stretch my legs a little."

It wasn't just the exercise she was grateful for, though.  It  also  gave

her the opportunity to ground herself. Had she  stepped  off  her  X-wing  and

walked straight into a meeting, she would never have gained a feeling for  the

place. There was a vitality here that  she  found  invigorating.  Out  of  the

chaos, some sense of order was returning, even if  people  couldn't  agree  on

what to do with it. This was what she was fighting  for;  the  future  of  her

civilization was being decided in these halls as much as it was  in  the  vast

battlefields of space.

Finally the corridors widened and the crowds thinned slightly. There  was

space to walk abreast, and the noise level dropped enough  for  them  to  talk

about the finer points of squadron command  without  having  to  shout  to  be

heard. Kyp seemed to find a measure of comfort in relatively mundane  talk  of

promising new tactics and pilots. Their ships, like the staff that  flew  them

and maintained them, were showing signs of fatigue. Little repairs had  to  be

constantly performed to  ensure  they  didn't  escalate  into  something  more

catastrophic: fatigue was insidious, be it metal or mental. The principle  was

the same, she supposed, at all levels of the resistance.

They eventually came to a door  guarded  by  two  Mon  Calamari  security

staff. The guards brought their coral  pikes  up  in  a  brief  salute  before

guiding them through, Inside, leaning over a wide screen displaying dozens  of

detailed maps and charts, were Jaina's parents, Han Solo and Leia Organa Solo.

Standing between them was a tall, dark-complexioned woman with her hair pulled

back  in  a  tight  bun.  Jaina  recognized  her  as  a  former  New  Republic

Intelligence officer. Also there, just as Kyp had said he would  be,  was  Jag

Pel. All looked up when they entered, but it was to Jag that Jaina's attention

was drawn.

She was delighted to see his face break out into a smile upon seeing her,

even if that smile was just as quickly stifled. She had learned  early  on  in

their friendship that he didn't approve of public displays of affection.  When

his time came to formally greet her, he would do  so  with  a  stiff  nod  and

perhaps a tight handshake-but that was all. It didn't bother Jaina;  just  the

knowledge that the affection was there at all was enough for  her.  She  would

carry that quick smile with her for the rest of the day, until they could find

time to be alone later.

"Jaina." Her mother stepped over to enfold her  in  a  right,  warm  hug.

Since Anakin's death, her mother's embraces had become more frequent and  were

delivered with more passion than ever before. It was almost  as  though  every

time she saw either Jacen or Jaina these days, she was overcome with relief.

Her father's large hand ran through her hair, stopping at her shoulder to

squeeze gently. "Good to see you, kid," he said with a wry smile.

"You too, Dad."  She  reached  up  and  kissed  him  on  the  cheek.  The

prickliness of his chin, the scent of his unkempt hair, and the sight  of  his

lopsided smile-the familiarity of these simple aspects of her  father  brought

with it a sense of comfort she  had  always  felt  around  him.  For  all  her

mother's efforts, Han Solo still had a slightly disreputable  air.  Jaina  had

been told by some that she had inherited a portion of  that,  while  her  twin

brother had gotten their mother's thoughtful nature.

"Where's Jacen?" she asked, taking a step back from both of them.

"Your  uncle  Luke  has  him  working  on  something  else,"  her  mother

explained. "He'll meet you when we're finished."

Jaina caught Jag's eye and was completely thrown for  a  second  when  he

winked at her. For the second time that day she felt a blush forming,  so  she

turned away, looking for a distraction in the Intelligence operative  standing

before the luminous star charts.

"Belindi, isn't it?" Jaina said, searching her memory. She  stepped  over

to the woman and extended a hand.

The woman gave a single, respectful nod. "Belindi Kalenda, that's right,"

she said. "Chief Omas has asked me to coordinate an operation  involving  your

parents - and you, if you're willing."

"And that's where I check out," Kyp said.

"You're leaving?" Jaina asked, surprised.

He nodded, shrugging, the flickering lights from  the  map  painting  his

features with an assortment of colors. "My job was only to  escort  you  here,

I'm afraid," he said with exaggerated disappointment.

Jaina smiled at this. "The great Kyp Durron reduced to being  a  delivery

boy, eh?" she teased. "Who'd have thought? And to think, you once  offered  to

take me on as an apprentice, too! Glad I didn't take that route."

"You're a funny girl, you know that?" he said in  return.  "For  a  Solo,

that is." He didn't give her chance to respond. "But listen, if you feel  like

catching up later, why not stop by at the Ocean's  Floor  cafe  for  a  drink?

Bring young Jag here along, too. He can show you the way." He offered  a  mock

salute before turning to leave. Then, at the door, he faced her again. "And if

you like, I'll make a few inquiries  about  Tahiri  for  you,"  he  said  more

seriously.

She smiled her appreciation at him. "Thanks, Kyp," she said softly.

When he was gone, Belindi Kalenda  quickly  summarized  the  mission  for

Jaina's benefit. The others stood by patiently, interjecting a few words  here

and there to help clarify certain aspects  of  the  plan.  It  sounded  simple

enough: travel the open hyperlanes fixing communications links  and  reminding

the locals that they were still part of a  galactic  civilization.  Jaina  was

sure it wouldn't be so easy in practice, though. The Yuuzhan Vong,  by  mining

the major hyperspace routes, had left some areas isolated for as long  as  two

years. No one knew with any certainty just  what  was  happening  inside  such

regions, but there had been rumors of  local  despots  seizing  control  while

attention was focused elsewhere. It was probably safe to assume that, in  some

places at least, their welcome wouldn't really be heartfelt.

She loosened the tabs on her flight uniform and participated in  an  hour

or so of discussion regarding the mission objectives. There would be  numerous

opportunities to coordinate with local governments and such  organizations  as

the Smugglers' Alliance along the way, although it was difficult to  plan  for

anything in advance with so little known for certain about most areas.

At one point an orderly brought some refreshments for them:  raw  pointer

fish cuts and lampfish tongue, along with tall glasses of  chilled  Calamarian

water. Although she was hungry, Jaina only picked  at  the  salty  comestibles

while she listened to her parents debate the best way to structure the mission

itself. There was  no  bitterness  or  anger  to  the  argument;  they  simply

disagreed over the details and weren't afraid to say so. In the  end,  though,

it was Leia whose opinion made the most sense,  so  Han  backed  down  without

acrimony. Where once he might have taken offense at the  suggestion  that  the

falcon wouldn't be enough to ensure the safety and success of the mission, now

he just shrugged and let common sense rule.

The mission, Jaina was told, would be comprised of one fighter  squadron,

the Millennium Falcon, and a re-commissioned Lancer-class frigate called Pride

ofSelonia under the command of a Captain Todra  Mayn,  recently  relegated  to

less active duties after being injured at Coruscant. Mayn would defer to  Leia

and Han in all matters regarding the mission,  as  would  the  leader  of  the

fighter squadron. There didn't seem  like  much  else  left  to  decide  upon,

except, perhaps, for where exactly the mission would  proceed  first  of  all.

Jaina felt as though there was little she  could  contribute.  Jag,  too,  was

quiet for the better part of the discussion, although she had no doubt that he

was paying as close attention to everything that was being said  as  she  was.

The three people doing the  talking,  Belindi  Kalenda  and  Jaina's  parents,

didn't seem to notice that their more youthful audience was remaining silent.

After several minutes spent discussing the relative benefits of  Antaf  4

and Melida/Daan, Jaina leaned across the screen and broke in.  "Is  there  any

particular reason that I'm here?" She kept the frustration from  her  tone  as

best she could. "It just seems to me that I have very little part to  play  in

this plan of yours."

Leia looked at Han, who backed away from the screen with a  gesture  that

implied the answer was obvious. "You're here because we  want  you  here,"  he

said.

Jaina had learned to mistrust any nonchalance her  father  displayed.  It

usually meant that he was uncomfortable about something.

"Why?" she pressed.

"Because we need a military escort," her mother explained. "That  fighter

squadron has to come from somewhere."

"Why Twin Suns, though? There must be others you could take."

"That's true, sweetheart," her father said. "But-*

"Don't 'sweetheart' me, Dad," she cut in  irritably.  "There's  something

you aren't telling me."

"Listen to what we are telling you," Leia said, taking a step toward  her

daughter. "This mission is important, and we want the best pilots accompanying

us."

"But I have work to do herel There are  the  new  pilots  to  train,  new

simulators to program. The war isn't going to stop just because you're off  on

a jaunt to reunite the galaxy, Mom. I can't just dump everything and leave!"

"Your training work will continue during the mission,"  her  mother  said

calmly, moving in to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  "I'm  proposing

to allow Lowbacca to form his own squadron with the pilots you've trained. The

gaps left in Twin Suns you can make up from Chiss Squadron.  There's  still  a

lot to learn from each other."

"Yes, but-"

"What are you afraid of, Jaina?" her father joined in, moving  to  Leia's

side. "The war's still going to be there when you  get  back.  That  much,  at

least, I can promise you."

Feeling set upon, she turned to Jag for support,  but  he  just  shrugged

helplessly. For a split second she felt a rush of anger at him, too,  but  she

knew that was ridiculous. He would never side against her out of spite; if  he

was backing her parents now then it was only because  he  believed  they  were

right.

"Don't be too hard on  your  parents,"  Belindi  Kalenda  said,  shifting

awkwardly on the far side of the flat display. "This was my idea."

Jaina asked Jag, "I take it you'll be staying here, then?"

"Actually, no," he said. "I'll be going along with you."

She turned to her parents, then looked back at  Jag.  "As  part  of  Twin

Suns?"

"It's not the first time, and probably won't be the last."

"We like the idea of having two experienced squadron leaders," her father

said, "especially with a mix of Chiss and your pilots in the air. This way  we

can have one leader groundside with us at all times, while the  other  remains

up in orbit to keep an eye on things."

Jaina sighed in defeat.

Deep down, she knew it made good tactical sense,  but  she  still  didn't

like it. She couldn't shake the feeling that her parents weren't  telling  her

the whole truth. Part of her felt as though they were doing this to give her a

rest, but weren't prepared to say so because they  knew  the  reaction  they'd

receive. And if that was the case, they were right. The idea of being put  out

to pasture was offensive to her in the extreme.

But whatever their true motives were for wanting her along, the fact  was

that she was going. The only saving grace in all of this was the fact that Jag

was going along also, which meant that they'd at least be able to  spend  more

time together...

Her thoughts were distracted by the buzzing of her comlink. Turning  away

from the meeting, she pulled it from her uniform belt clip and  raised  it  to

her lips. Before she could even say a word, however, the panicked and  choked-

up voice of Tahiri issued from the small gadget in her hand. "Jaina?"

Out of the corner of her eye,  Jaina  saw  her  mother's  eyes  widen  in

surprise.

"Tahiri, where are you?" Jaina asked, already reaching out into the Force

in search of the girl. She was nearby, and  for  that,  at  least,  Jaina  was

thankful. "You said you wanted to see me. You said it was urgent." "Jaina, I'm

so sorry. I was-I-he-" Jaina was struck by a powerful psychic  pain  emanating

from the girl-a pain so great that it had spilled over into the  world  around

her. She attempted to offer comfort to Tahiri  through  the  Force,  extending

herself so that she could mentally embrace her and ease her torment.  But  the

emotions were too intense-too raw. "Tahiri, what's  wrong?  What's  happened?"

"It's Anakin."

"Anakin? What  about  Anakin?"  "He-"  Again  Tahiti's  voice  ceased  in

midsentence. It was almost as though something was stopping her from speaking.

Then, all of a sudden, the words burst free from her: "He's trying to kill me,

Jaina. Anakin wants me dead!"

The accompanying  sensation  of  distress  broadcast  through  the  Force

peaked, then abruptly disappeared.  At  the  same  time,  the  comlink  signal

ceased.

"Tahiri? Tahiri?" Jaina reattached her comlink to her belt and faced  her

mother, who was rubbing her forehead in obvious discomfort. "You felt it?" she

asked.

Leia nodded in confirmation. "She's in trouble, Jaina."

Jaina didn't need her mother to tell her  that.  Even  those  not  Force-

sensitive could have figured it out just from the sound of Tahiti's voice.

She turned to Kalenda and said, "We need a trace on her comlink-and fast.

"

The Intelligence officer nodded and turned away to  speak  into  her  own

comlink.

Jaina's father came up and  put  a  reassuring  hand  on  his  daughter's

shoulder. "It'll be all right, honey."

She nodded, but wasn't convinced.

"Tahiri's been missing for almost two weeks now," Leia said. "She  didn't

respond to Luke's call for a meeting of the Jedi. We didn't know  where  she'd

gone or what she was doing."

"She called me." Jaina winced, remembering the pain  she  had  just  felt

radiating from Tahiri's mind. She should  have  made  more  of  an  effort  to

contact the girl as soon as she arrived. She might have been able  to  prevent

it - whatever it was that had happened.

"I have a location," Kalenda said shortly. "Lane eighteen-A, level three.

I've sent someone to investigate."

"Do you know the way?"

"Yes, of course."

"Take me." Jaina was on her way to the door before the woman had time  to

respond. If there was one thing Jaina had learned about command, it  was  that

you didn't give people the opportunity to argue-especially in emergencies.

The security officer took charge as soon  as  they  left  the  conference

room. Jaina was close on Kalenda's heels, with her parents  and  Jag  not  far

behind. Moving with rapid steps  through  the  wide  corridors  of  the  city,

weaving naturally through the bustling crowds, Kalenda led them up a level and

across several high and arched thoroughfares. Jaina resisted urging the  woman

to go faster.  If  Tahiri  had  already  moved  on  from  the  source  of  the

transmissions, then running wasn't going to change  anything.  Instead,  Jaina

reached into the Force to try and find the girl; to reassure her, help  her...

But she was unable to feel her anywhere, and that only heightened her concern.

Kalenda's comlink squawked. Still walking, she  listened  for  a  moment,

then, after half a dozen steps, she faced Jaina. "What does your  friend  look

like?"

Jaina pictured the young Jedi in her  mind.  "Human,  blond  hair,  green

eyes, a little shorter than me."

"I think they've got her," Kalenda  said.  "Security  has  found  someone

answering your friend's description near the site of the last transmission.  A

medical team is on the scene."

Jaina felt a chill run through her. "Medical team? Why? What's wrong?  Is

she-?"

"We're almost there," Kalenda said.  "It's  just  up  another  couple  of

levels. Here, climb onto this."

The security officer commandeered a passing hover-taxi, quickly  speaking

her clearance and authority codes to the droid operating it.

"This will be quicker," she said. "The lanes tend to get  more  congested

the higher up you go." The narrow vehicle rocked as they all clambered in.

There was enough room for only four passengers; Han was forced  to  stand

on the cab's outer footboard and hang on. He had to crouch down slightly  when

the droid guided the  cab  into  one  of  the  ducts  reserved  for  emergency

vehicles. Sometimes, Belindi Kalenda explained, it was the only way to  ensure

a quick and unobstructed passage to the city's higher levels.

As she sat in the front of the cab,  staring  vaguely  as  the  damp  and

craggy walls of the duct raced by, Jaina felt her mother's  hand  squeeze  her

arm in reassurance. And while the gesture was appreciated,  it  didn't  really

help. The absence of Tahiri in the Force was making her sick with worry.

The cab spat out of the vent into a vast market area.  The  entire  place

was in a dome, the sides of which rippled and shimmered with golden water that

cascaded gently, and impossibly, down its  surface,  while  hanging  from  the

uppermost section were thick, lush vines that swayed hypnotically in the humid

air. Below, the area was heaving with activity as hundreds of individuals went

about their everyday business of trading everything from food to parts of  old

household service droids. Among all the hustle and bustle, though, one section

stood out from all the rest. A large crowd had gathered around  an  area  that

security officers and droids were attempting to cordon off so that the medical

team Kalenda had mentioned could get in.

Unable to negotiate any closer  to  the  scene  because  of  the  curious

onlookers, the cab came to a halt and all five  passengers  quickly  alighted,

with Jaina roughly forcing her way through the crowd that  stood  between  her

and Tahiri. A security guard stopped her when she tried to cross the perimeter

of the cordoned-off area, allowing her to pass only when Kalenda  flashed  her

ID and instructed the guard to let them through.

Jaina froze when she saw the supine figure being attended to by  the  two

members of the Mon Cal medical team and their MD-5 droid. At first she  didn't

even recognize her: Tahiri had cut her hair short, and she'd  lost  a  lot  of

weight. There were bags under her eyes and a hol-lowness to  her  cheeks;  her

face looked as though it hadn't been washed in days.  Worst  of  all,  though,

were her arms: they were covered in bloody slash marks.

"Is this her?" one of the medics asked.

She wanted to say yes, but the  girl  lying  before  her  looked  like  a

completely different person from the Tahiri she knew.

As Jaina  watched,  Tahiri  stirred.  From  an  apparent  state  of  deep

unconsciousness, she twitched and tried to roll over.  The  medics  did  their

best to restrain her, but she was stronger than she looked. With arms flailing

around and her eyes wide and unseeing, she tried to stand up, but  was  failed

by her unsteady legs.

"Anakin?" she screamed. "Anakin!"

Her eyes caught Jaina's the same instant one of the medics stuck a  spray

hypo against her throat. The hiss of the spray coincided with an jntense surge

through the Force, as Jaina felt Tahiri's panic and terror rush into  her  all

at once. Then Tahiri slumped face-forward into the embrace of  the  droid  and

the surge faded.

It was only when she exhaled that Jaina realized she had been holding her

breath. She felt comforted and warmed by the presence of Jag at her side,  but

just for once she wished he would forget his ideas about displays of affection

in public and simply hold her.

"Is this her?" the medical officer repeated, turning to  Jaina  now  that

they had managed to settle Tahiri.

Jaina nodded dumbly in response.

"You don't seem too sure," the officer said.

"No, I'm sure," she said. "That's her. Her name is Tahiri Veila. I  don't

know what she might have done here, but she's not a  criminal.  She's  a  Jedi

Knight."

The medic nodded his understanding. "We'll treat her gently, I promise."

Jaina watched on as Tahiri  was  placed  onto  a  waiting  hovercart  and

carried away.

"Please give us some space," she heard  the  droid  instruct  the  crowd.

"This is an emergency. Please make room."

Jaina backed away, clutching Jag's arm for support. A wave  of  dizziness

rollcu over her. From the other side of the city, she  could  feel  her  twin,

Jacen, asking her what was wrong, but she didn't have an answer for  him  just

yet. All she knew was the mixed-up jumble of feelings she  had  received  from

Tahiri's mind. The incredible, overwhelming sorrow she could  understand;  she

invariably felt the same thing whenever  she  dwelled  on  the  death  of  her

brother. But below that had been something  else-something  that  Jaina  would

have thought Tahiri incapable of. It was an emotion she had  never  felt  from

the girl before, and its intensity frightened her. But it was  there,  and  it

was real.

It was hatred-a deep and unremitting hatred.. .

The smell of burning flesh was the first thing she was  able  to  clearly

identify. It was unmistakable-a smell so caustic and  pungent  that  it  crept

like a dung-worm through  her  nose,  furiously  writhing  its  way  into  her

olfactory nerve center to ensure that she never forgot it. And how could  she?

It was so overwhelming that she felt sure she'd never be free of it, no matter

how far she could get from this place.

It was close, too-so close, in fact, that she found herself checking  her

own arms to make sure her own skin wasn't smoldering. All she saw, though, was

a layer of ash that had settled over her like a  fine  and  gentle  snow.  And

beneath that. ..

She hid her arms in the folds of her robes, looking again into the  thick

smoke. She could hear movement and voices, but no matter how much she squinted

and strained, she couldn't make anything out through the haze. And  constantly

in the background came the snap and fsst of the fires consuming  flesh,  along

with the occasional crack from what she imagined to be bones breaking  in  the

extreme heat. But she still couldn't make anything out, no matter how much she

squinted.

She took a couple of cautious steps forward until her feet  came  to  the

edge of the rocky outcrop upon which she was standing and was able to make out

what was happening. Down below she could see a compound, and in it a  ceremony

was taking place. Those gathered  there  had  their  faces  concealed  beneath

hoods, and they were all dressed in robes similar to the one she was  wearing.

They seemed to have been waiting for her arrival, for when they saw her emerge

from the smoke they automatically began the ceremony proper, chanting as  they

marched around the compound. It was a language that was at once  alien  as  it

was familiar-a language that simultaneously terrified and comforted her. These

emotions were not generated by the words themselves, however, but  rather  the

culture this language was rooted in.

She  ignored  the  proceedings,  looking  instead  about  the  five-sided

compound. In each corner there stood an immense effigy  of  a  god,  each  one

staring down toward a pit at its feet. The priests were filing past these pits

in turn, casually tossing into the smoking holes what she  instinctively  knew

to be various body parts. In accordance with her ambiguous emotions, she found

herself both warmed and repulsed by the sight, with one part of her wishing to

give thanks to the gods that accepted these offerings, while  another,  deeper

part of her wanted to throw up from the smell emanating from the pits.

The effigies that rose into the shadows she knew well - all  except  one.

The farthest one from where she stood was  a  god  unlike  any  she  had  seen

before; she felt it did not even belong here with the others.  It  was  mostly

hidden in the shadows, rising like a giant snake high above the  other  graven

images around the compound. Its presence was a blasphemy she wanted to protest

against, but she couldn't because she felt it was here  because  6f  her.  Its

eyes-they weren't staring into the pit  like  the  other  statues,  they  were

staring at her. More than that: those immense, red eyes were accusing her.

Why did you leave me? she heard it whisper into her thoughts.

She wanted to flee. The part of  her  that  had  been  comforted  by  the

ceremony was suddenly panicked and scared. But there was nowhere  for  her  to

go. All the passages leading into the mortuary  were  closed,  plugged  up  by

yorik coral.

She didn't have time to dwell on it, however.  One  of  the  priests  had

caught her attention and was waving at her to watch the burning  of  the  body

parts in the pits. But whose body was it? And  what  was  it?  Human?  Yuuzhan

Vong? It was impossible to tell from such a distance.

Other priests motioned for her to watch. She frowned in confusion as  she

leaned precariously over the lip of the pit. What was it they  wanted  her  to

see? She saw.

The body parts weren't being destroyed-they were being remade. They  were

crawling from their individual  fires  over  to  the  unnaturally  large  pyre

blazing in the compound's center,  immersing  themselves  into  the  blue-and-

orange flames. The fire licked at each of the parts-taking the  quivering  mat

of skin and wrapping it around the pulsing organs, collecting  the  limbs  and

snapping them back into place in the appropriate socket.

She turned to the snake  statue,  beseeching  it  to  stop.  Through  the

choking smoke it no longer looked like a reptile, though.  It  looked  like...

But, no. The smoke was too thick by far to allow  her  to  make  anything  out

clearly. All she could discern was  its  eyes,  red  and  penetrating  in  the

oppressive gloom of the chamber-its stare  no  longer  upon  her,  but  rather

focused on the events taking place in the compound below.

She looked down to  see  a  figure  stepping  from  the  pyre,  its  skin

blistering from the heat.

"Please," she whispered to the reptile, begging for forgiveness.

"Please," the figure from the flames echoed at the same time-also to  the

reptile, but for a different reason. It seemed to be pleading with the  statue

for life, as though the reptile had the power to grant or deny this.

Then suddenly, without warning, the figure from the flames turned to face

her up on the rocks. The burns on the skin had vanished, and all that remained

now were scars. But even with  this  disfigurement,  she  was  still  able  to

recognize the face. It was like looking directly into a mirror.. .

She turned and fled into the shadows and smoke, effortlessly smashing the

yorik coral plug  that  had  formed  over  the  passage  through  which  she'd

initially entered, fleeing into the darkness of the tunnel, running  from  the

abomination with her face.. .

"A living  planet?"  Danni  Quee's  voice  possessed  a  rising  tone  of

incredulity. "You're not talking about Zonama Sekot, are you?"

"Good," Master Luke said. "You've heard of it." "I've also heard  of  the

Algnadesh Ship Graveyards, and the Lost  Treasure  of  Boro-borosa,  but  that

doesn't mean I'm going to go halfway around the galaxy looking for them. Every

astronomer who's worked the Outer Rim knows about Zonama Sekot. They  know  it

doesn't exist, for starters."

Saba Sebatyne tensed.  In  Barabel  society,  expressing  doubts  over  a

superior's decision in such  an  open  manner  would  certainly  result  in  a

challenge, and a challenge meant a blood fight. Although she  had  turned  her

back on some of her people's more aggressive ways, she still found  herself  a

prisoner to her upbringing. It was something she  would  probably  battle  the

rest of her life - especially now that her people were  no  more.  How,  after

all, was one to fight a ghost?

"I understand your reaction." Master Luke smiled patiently. "It's not the

first time I've gotten this response,  believe  me.  If  you'll  allow  me  to

explain my reasons, though, I'm sure you'll come around..."

Jedi Master Luke  Skywalker's  explanation  sent  tingles  of  excitement

through Saba's joy-starved brain. A living world? Her tail coiled and uncoiled

reflexively from the excitement such a notion stirred. Of all the wonders  she

had seen since leaving Barab I, a sentient planet would have to  be  the  most

profound.

Her mind froze as another level of significance  to  the  Master's  words

occurred to her. He's telling me because he intends for this one  to  go  with

him, she thought to herself, her slitlike  eyes  widening  at  the  idea.  She

couldn't help but feel both wonder and despair at the thought. She would  have

to decline. She had no choice. And with that thought, her mind drifted. ..

The Master's office was not ostentatious. It contained a plain  desk  and

three chairs suitable for people of various species.  Occupying  those  chairs

were Saba, Danni, and the healer Master Cilghal. A hologram  of  the  Master's

son, Ben, repeated every forty seconds in one corner of the desk. Saba's  eyes

were caught by it, entranced by the innocent play of the  child.  She  vividly

remembered the one time she had met him, while he was on a brief holiday  from

the Maw. The Jedi Master's son, although still very young, was already used to

the many different shapes and sizes in which  life  presented  itself  in  the

galaxy, and so had displayed no alarm at the sight of Saba's naturally  fierce

demeanor. Quelling the grief at losing so many young of her own kind, Saba had

flared her nostrils back and grinned with all  her  teeth  unfolded.  She  was

delighted to see the boy respond with a bright, wide smile that stretched from

his mouth right up to his deep, steel-blue eyes.

Her eyebrow ridges drew closer together in a  frown.  The  memory  was  a

sobering one. Everyone, it seemed, had lost something during the war with  the

Yuuzhan Vong. Many people had lost their homes, their families,  their  lives.

She herself had lost her Master and her apprentices before  watching  Barab  I

die. Her complicity in the destruction of her people slowed her recovery, made

her doubt her own abilities as a fighter—but to be reminded of  what  she  was

supposed to be fighting for made her feel slightly better.

Life. The future. A single child's smile.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Master Cilghal asked  from  behind  her.  Woken

from her daze, Saba turned slightly in her seat so she could  watch  both  the

Mon Calamari healer and Master Skywalker at the same time.

"Look at it this way," Master Luke said. "If we stay  here  on  Mon  Cal,

we're at ground zero for Yuuzhan Vong retaliation. We're  also  prime  targets

for Peace Brigade action. I doubt there  will  be  anything  as  dangerous  as

either of those possibilities in the Unknown Regions."

"With all due respect, Master Skywalker. we don't know what's  in  there.

That's why it's called 'Unknown.' " Danni Quee would know, Saba  assumed.  The

human scientist had started life as an astronomer  and  only  by  circumstance

moved into specializing in the enemy's works.

"Exactly," Master Skywalker said, acknowledging the point with a  patient

nod. "But this is an exploratory mission, not a military one. We're not  going

to pick fights."

"You'll try to stop them if you find them, though."

"That is the nature of the job." Master Luke smiled. "Will you come?"

Danni shrugged in a way that implied she was helpless  to  make  him  see

reason. "Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"And you, Master Cilghal, have you reconsidered your decision?"

"I have, Master Skywalker." The healer stood, bowing  her  head.  "But  I

have not changed my mind. I am needed here. There is too much work for  me  to

do, too many  people  to  teach  in  the  ways  we  have  lost.  It  would  be

irresponsible of me to leave now."

The words implied another challenge, but the  manner  of  neither  Master

acknowledged it.

"I understand," Master Skywalker said smoothly, "although I am  sorry  we

won't have you with us."

"I recommend my apprentice, Tekli, to go in my place."

"Thank you, Cilghal. We would be  delighted  to  have  her  aboard.  With

Danni, Mara, myself, and Jacen, our complement  is  almost  complete."  Master

Skywalker turned to address Saba, presumably to invite her to join him and the

others on the mission to the sentient planet. Saba's powerful heart raced——but

before he could speak he frowned,  and  his  attention  turned  inward  for  a

moment. A look of concern flashed across his face.

"Master?" Saba said.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought—"

Master  Cilghal's  comlink  buzzed  at  that  moment.  She  answered  it,

listening intently to the tiny  voice  issuing  from  it.  "Take  her  to  the

infirmary. I'll be there immediately." Standing, she said, "I'm  sorry,  Luke.

It's Tahiri."

"Where is she?" asked Master Skywalker, also standing. "Is she hurt?"

"She's here in the city," Cilghal explained, moving hurriedly toward  the

door. "Medics found her a few moments ago, unconscious. I've advised Tekli  to

bring her in. I'll go there now to supervise her examination."

"I'll alert Mara," Master  Skywalker  said  as  Cilghal  left  the  room.

"She'll want to be there. And Jacen, too."

"What about you, Hisser?" Danni asked  as  the  Master  reached  for  his

comlink to make the call. "Will you come?"

For a moment Saba was confused. "There iz little this one  could  do  for

Tahiri—"

"No, the mission." The young human woman reached across the space between

them to touch her arm. "It sounds crazy, but Vergere knew what she was talking

about. Are you going to come along?"

Saba froze,  barely  hearing  Danni's  words.  Few  humans  touched  her.

Barabels were best known for their violent—some would even say barbarous—ways,

and it was well known that a wrong gesture or word could be enough to  provoke

a challenge. Sometimes they became the target of status-proving assaults  from

other species — usually by adolescents going out of their way do so  in  order

to prove that they weren't afraid of what might happen as a  result.  In  days

gone by she might have ruthlessly shown them that they  should  be  afraid—but

now she was a Jedi Knight,  and  she  had  learned  to  quell  such  automatic

impulses. Or so she'd thought.

Danni was a friend. They had worked together in  the  past.  She  trusted

Saba not to hurt her.

She quelled the reflex to strike out, but she couldn't quell  the  dismay

that filled her at what might happen if she made the same mistake  again.  She

had attacked the wrong people once already. How was she ever to  make  up  for

that?

"It would be an honor to accompany you on any mission," she said, "but it

would be better if you found someone else.  Someone  whose  judgment  haz  not

proven to be so poor."

"It's not your fault—" Danni began.

"Their deathz were from this one's hands." Saba shook her head  solemnly.

"Their memory iz this one's ac-cuzer. This  one  failed  to  feel  the  people

trapped in  that  slaveship  because  of  anger  and  hatred—blinded  by  dark

emotions. If this one had shown more control, they might still be alive today.

"

"That's true," Master Skywalker said. Saba looked up. She hadn't  noticed

the Master finish his calls. "And they might be slaves of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong,

too. Or food. Wishing  that  things  were  otherwise  does  nothing  to  erase

memories. Wounds do not heal by ignoring them."

"This one appreciatez what you are trying to do,"  she  said  with  quiet

regret, turning to face him, "but I cannot."

"We're not asking you to come out of sympathy, Saba. We—1 am  asking  you

to come because you are a Jedi Knight,  and  we  need  your  help.  Your  life

sensitivity has grown enormously since the loss of your people.  You  have  to

admit that we could use someone like that, where we're going." He watched her,

gauging her reaction. "Do you really want me to order you along?"

The thick black plates covering her body stiffened. "I would not like  to

fail you, Master. If I fail again, my people fail with me."

"So don't fail, Saba." The Master smiled. "Think of it as a hunt—one last

hunt for the honor of your people. How better could they be remembered?"

That thought caught her. What the Master was proposing wasn't a battle in

which victory meant instant death for one side. The quest to find Zonama Sekot

would be played out over weeks, maybe months, through dangerous and  uncharted

territories. There would be clues to discover,  trails  to  follow,  traps  to

unravel. They would have to be stealthy, keen-sensed,  and  quick-witted.  Who

knew where it would lead them, or what they might find at the end of it?

Her tail thumped the floor. Part of her responded  to  the  challenge—and

there was a challenge implicit in the Master's voice. A reminder  of  who  she

had been, and still was on many levels. She was a hunter, the  end  result  of

generations of breeding and a lifetime of instincts. If anyone  could  hunt  a

living planet, it would be her.

How better could they be remembered?

"If you've no further objections,"  Master  Luke  said,  "I'd  call  that

settled. You'll come with us on the hunt for Zonama Sekot."

Saba vacillated for a few seconds longer, then acquiesced with a  nod.  A

hunt was better than waiting around Mon Cal for the Yuuzhan Vong to attack.

"This one will come," she said.

His smile widened. "Thank you, Saba."

"I'm glad," Danni added, squeezing her arm tightly, then letting go.

Saba dipped her head in a gesture anyone  familiar  with  Barabels  would

instantly recognize: honored obeisance with overtones of awe.

"Now," said the Master, standing, "let's go find  out  what  happened  to

Tahiri."

Deep in the bowels of Yuuzhan'tar,  a  cloaked  figure  moved  stealthily

through the shadows. His ooglith masquer was failing, drying around the  edges

and beginning to peel away, rejecting the face beneath just as the society  to

which he had once belonged had rejected him. Those living  above  him—in  that

artificial landscape that had once been known as Coruscant but was  now  named

after the legendary Yuuzhan Vong homeworld—they would surely kill him if  they

ever found him. He knew that without question. They had tried often enough  in

the last couple of months he'd been forced to live in the filthy underworld of

this revolting planet. But Nom Anor had no intentions of letting them find him

just yet. He had learned to hide well in these artificial caverns and tunnels,

among the abandoned machines that littered the underworld. It made him sick to

have to dwell among such abominations, but it  was  necessary  if  he  was  to

survive—and he would survive.

He moved furtively along the artificial roads, cursing under  his  breath

as he silently damned the one who had effectively destroyed him. He lashed out

at one of the numerous droid husks standing in his way, not  caring  that  the

rusty metal  gashed  his  fingers.  His  insides  burned  with  anger  at  the

contemplation of his fall. Should he remain down here another  ten  years,  he

knew he would never forget that betrayal, and never surrender his anger.

When the quiet had finally settled around the noisy clatter of the  droid

he had just smashed, he continued walking—a  fugitive  in  this  forsaken  and

forgotten underworld. He knew that his  thoughts  were  slightly  imbal-anced,

that isolation and near starvation were taking

their toll. But that  did  nothing  to  undermine  his  determination  to

survive.

The deep, artificial caverns of Yuuzhan'tar were places he'd had no great

wish to visit, let alone flee to. The invading armies of the Yuuzhan Vong  had

flushed all manner of vermin from them, including  entire  cultures  that  had

existed in the crawlspaces of the original inhabitants'  government.  Strange,

wild-eyed outcasts all, they had been either sacrificed as part  of  Warmaster

Tsavong Lah's purification program, or turned into slaves or soldiers for  use

in further battles. Once the caverns had been declared empty,  they  had  been

abandoned, and ignored as irrelevant. The new warmaster, Nas  Choka,  recently

recalled from Hutt space, had continued the  purification  campaign.  Everyone

had assumed that the underground ruins were empty still.. .

As he stood dripping blood from his cut fingers, he began to realize that

a new sound had joined those far-off  echoes—something  other  than  just  the

sounds of dripping water and creaking of  old  metal.  In  fact,  someone  was

coming toward him. A whispered voice was amplified by  the  walls  around  him

into a faint susurrus, like that of a faint and distant wind.

Nom Anor wrapped his bleeding hand in the remains of his cloak to prevent

it from leaving a trail and ducked into a nearby alcove. He strained to listen

to what was being said by the approaching voice,  but  it  was  impossible  to

discern. He couldn't even decide how many there were. He  presumed  the  voice

had an audience, but could hear no other footfalls.

He tore off the dying ooglith masquer and tossed it to the ground. If  it

was another search party sent to find him, then the disguise would  be  of  no

use anyway. And if it wasn't a search party, then he would  need  every  sense

available to him. Either way, the masquer had become irrelevant to his needs.

A ragged figure carrying a dull,  bioluminescent  lamp  came  around  the

corner, heading in the opposite direction to Nom Anor. The figure was  hunched

and unkempt, its robes flapping around it like the wings of some uncoordinated

flying beast. It was muttering one phrase over and over,  hoarsely  and  under

its breath:

"Sha grunnik ith-har Yun-Shitno. Sha grunnik ith-har Yun-Shuno."

He recognized the phrase. It was a simple incantation to the gods, asking

for clemency. The incantation wasn't directed to one of the gods to  whom  the

former acquaintances of Nom Anor had appealed. It was intended for  Yun-Shuno,

the thousand-eyed deity of those who had failed or been outcast  from  Yuuzhan

Vong society—the Shamed Ones, as they were known.

With that realization, all worry of capture left him. The creature was  a

Shamed One, and he therefore had nothing to fear. Shimrra would never  send  a

Shamed One to do a warrior's job—and even if the Shamed  One  guessed  who  he

was, the lowly creature would have no reason to turn him in.

Nom Anor waited until the Shamed One came abreast of  his  hiding  place,

then stepped out  in  front  of  it,  quickly  and  with  menace.  His  sudden

appearance had the desired effect: the Shamed  One—a  middle-aged  male—reared

back, flapping his robes in terror before collapsing to the ground,  squealing

as he begged for mercy.

"This place is forbidden to all  of  Yun-Yuuzhan's  children!"  Nom  Anor

boomed down to the prostrate figure. "Explain your presence here!"

"Have mercy, Master! I am nothing—not worthy even of your  contempt!  The

gods have spurned me and I crawl like a worm through the belly of the world!"

"I know what you're doing," Nom Anor spat. "I'm not blind, fool! But  you

still haven't told me why you are doing it. Stand up and address my face!" The

plaeryin bol in his left eye socket tensed, ready to  spit  venom  should  the

Shamed One show any sign of recognizing him.

The scruffy creature raised himself to a hunched crouch, holding his lamp

upward in supplication. His face in the dim light was lumpy and  twisted;  his

eyes were crooked, and his nose seemed to be on the verge of sliding right off

his face. The result of poor breeding practice, Nom Anor observed  disgustedly

to himself.

"I am lost, Master. That is all. I swear it! I was separated from my work

detail and became confused. I tried to follow their  voices,  but  the  echoes

confused me. I am worthless and humble and submit to your will in all  things,

Master."

The Shamed One bent low, still mumbling his apologies and  supplications.

Nom Anor pushed him roughly backward with one foot. The former executor knew a

liar when he met one. The question was, why was the  Shamed  One  lying?  And,

more importantly, what exactly was he lying about?

"What is your name?" he asked when the Shamed One fell silent.

"Vuurok I'pan, Master," the creature replied, barely looking up.

"How long have you been lost down here, I'pan?"

"I have lost track of time, Master," he said. "But it feels like hours."

"Do you have water on you?"

"No, Master," he answered, averting his stare to the ground. "There is no

drinkable water down here that I have found."

"Really?" Nom Anor ran a thick finger over his  painfully  cracked  lips.

"It is odd, then, don't you think, that your lips do not seem as dry as mine?"

The Shamed One's eyes went wide as he stammered out a  reply.  "It  feels

like hours since I became lost, Master. But perhaps it hasn't been so long."

Nom Anor resisted the urge  to  smile  in  triumph.  Poor  liars  tripped

constantly over their untruths. "Tell me," he said, stepping  over  to  I'pan.

"What was the work detail you were assigned to? Who was your overseer?  If  it

wasn't so long ago that you became lost, then they might not be too far  away.

Perhaps we can find them, yes?"

Vuurok I'pan whimpered. Nom Anor kicked him again, putting all  his  rage

and frustration into the blow.

"Fool! Who do you think you are lying to? You have no  tools  and  aren't

even dressed for underground detail!"

"Please, Master! I am no one. I am nothing. I am rish-ek olgrol immek 'in

inwey—"

"Silence!" Another kick. "Your voice is an offense to my ears!"

The Shamed One became  a  bundle  of  quivering  rags,  face  covered  by

sticklike arms and bony back upraised. Nom Anor thought rapidly to himself. If

this Vuurok I'pan creature was a runaway, then he must have found some way  to

stay alive in the underground of Yuuzhan'tar. If Nom Anor could gain access to

that means, he, too, might be able to live a little longer. That, for now, was

all that mattered.

"Take me to the others," he snarled, putting every iota of  command  into

his voice.

"Others?" the Shamed One squeaked. "What others?"

"Understand this, I'pan," Nom Anor said. "The only reason  you  have  not

died a coward's death is because you could be of value to me. Should  it  turn

out that I have overestimated your worth, then I shall be sure  to  reconsider

my actions."

"No, Master, please!" I'pan quickly withdrew on  all  fours,  cowering  a

meter or so away. "I shall take you to the others, I swear! I swear it on  the

name of—"

"If your Shamed tongue so much as dares utter one more word, I shall  rip

it out and eat it for my sustenance."

I'pan fell silent without another word. Instead he stood  and—slowly,  as

though wary of turning his back on Nom Anor—began hobbling back the way he had

come. Nom Anor followed just as cautiously, aware that he  had  no  particular

reason to trust this broken spirit he had coerced into doing his will. For all

he knew, I'pan could be leading him into a trap—or worse, if he was as foolish

as he appeared, leading them both to their doom on the surface,  convinced  he

might be able to bargain a pardon from the warmaster.

But what choice did he have? He had to go where the Shamed One  led  him.

It was either that or continue wandering aimlessly through this  gods-forsaken

planet. He had survived this long, true, but how much  longer  could  he  last

before he succumbed to thirst and hunger? Or before one of the search  parties

got lucky and found him?

No. He needed these "others" if he  was  to  survive.  If  they  were  as

pathetic as I'pan, he was sure he would be able to use them to his advantage..

.

I'pan  began  to  relax  as  their  journey   progressed.   His   posture

straightened and his voice became firmer, advising where  to  step  cautiously

and where to duck his head. He occasionally stole glances at Nom Anor as  they

walked, nervously at first, but then more boldly as they  moved  farther  into

the tunnels. The former executor  could  practically  hear  the  other's  mind

turning over. He had no doubt that the Shamed One suspected now who he was.

"What?" he barked after I'pan turned around for the third time in as many

paces.

"Nothing, Master." I'pan focused all his attention forward.

Nom Anor grabbed the neck  of  his  flapping  robe  and  hauled  him  off

balance. "What is it you are thinking, my stinking worm ?"

"I am wondering, Master..."

"Speak it!" Nom Anor shook him to loosen his tongue.

"Are you—are you a Shamed One like us?"

Nom Anor struck I'pan so hard that blood from his gashed fingers splashed

in a wide arc across the metallic floor between  them.  I'pan  bounced  off  a

nearby wall and collapsed to the ground with a pained grunt. Before he  had  a

chance to collect himself, Nom Anor picked him up again and  hurled  him  into

the opposite wall. This time I'pan could not hold on to the lamp, and it  went

flying down the corridor, its pale  light  reflecting  briefly  off  abandoned

machinery buried in the walls.

The moaning of the Shamed One as he again tried to pick himself  up  only

incensed Nom Anor further, and the former  executor's  vision  dissolved  into

spinning blotches as a torrent of rage exploded  behind  his  eyes.  He  heard

himself screaming words that even he couldn't understand as he pummeled  I'pan

again and again, the Shamed One curling around himself  to  protect  his  face

from the assault, whimpering helplessly as blows and kicks  were  rained  down

upon him.

When the fit had passed, Nom Anor sagged  into  himself,  his  anger  and

energy spent. Leaning against the  wall,  still  panting  heavily,  he  forced

himself to think rationally.

Vuurok I'pan was huddled in a corner, trembling with fear. Realizing just

how close he had come to killing the Shamed One to assuage his  rage,  despite

the fact that I'pan might yet prove to be of great assistance in  keeping  him

alive, Nom Anor offered a hand to help him to his feet. The Shamed One took it

apprehensively, clearly fearing another outburst.

Nom Anor pulled him in close, breathing steadily into his face.

"Are you a Shamed One like us?"

"Ask me that again, I'pan," he said, "and those will be your last words."

Nom Anor released I'pan,  walked  a  few  paces  down  the  passage,  and

collected the lamp. Returning, he shoved it into I'pan's quivering hands.

"Show me the others," he said, gesturing for I'pan to  continue  walking.

The Shamed One did so, and in silence, not looking back once for the remainder

of their journey.

Master Cilghal's infirmary was a world unto its own. Large enough to hold

three examination tables and a  small  audience,  it  was  designed  to  be  a

classroom as well as a place of  healing.  Shelves  of  obscure  remedies  and

arcane technologies lined every wall; an open door led  to  an  herbarium  for

growing medicinal plants; and three full-sized bacta tanks  off  to  one  side

took up almost a quarter of the room.  Saba  liked  it  because,  unlike  most

surgeries or medic stations, this place was not sterile and  lifeless.  Thanks

to the curved walls and undulating ceiling being layered  with  sopor-moss  to

aid  the  patients'  recovery,  the  air  in  the  room  was  both  rich   and

invigorating.

The human Jedi Tahiri Veila lay unconscious  on  the  center  examination

table. A small group had gathered around her, watching with concern as  Master

Cilghal examined her. Several of Saba's apprentices had spent time with Tahiri

while on their mission to the Yuuzhan Vong worldship orbiting  Myrkr,  seeking

out the voxyn queen. It had been a mission that had not gone smoothly, and had

resulted in the loss of a number of their party — including Anakin  Solo,  Han

and Leia's younger son. Only one of Saba's apprentices had  survived.  It  had

been a perilous mission, so she was lucky  to  have  even  that  one  survive.

Tesar—Saba stopped in midthought and brought herself to the present. Hunt  the

moment, one of the elders of her family had once told her.  Grip  it  in  your

claws and never let it go. Slip too far into the past or the future,  and  you

will be lost.

Such teachings arose from a barbarous  past,  in  which  grief  and  fear

lurked everywhere one looked, but they had echoes in Jedi  training.  She  had

learned to strip herself back to a  single  point  of  consciousness,  focused

solely on the task at hand. Applying such  meditation  techniques  was  almost

second nature to her. Indeed, they were arguably  the  only  things  that  had

saved her mind after the destruction of so much she had held  dear.  Hunt  the

moment.. .

Saba had never regarded herself as being particularly  close  to  Tahiri.

They  were  different—they  came  from   different   worlds,   had   different

backgrounds, and held different values. Nevertheless, they were  bound  simply

by virtue of being Jedi. In the short time Saba  had  known  Tahiri,  she  had

struck Saba as a Jedi with a bright future ahead of her. She had  come  across

as young and inexperienced but still full of potential.  As  with  many  Jedi,

Tahiri was powered by an inner determination. A fire burned in  her  that  had

remained undiminished even by the death of the boy she'd loved, Anakin Solo.

She wondered where that fire was now, in the body  of  the  frail,  young

human before her. If she, too, was trying in her own way to focus on what  lay

before her.

Anakin's parents were there, looking as concerned as they would  for  one

of their own offspring. Outside,

watching through the sterile barrier that cordoned off the room,  were  a

number of other concerned individuals, Jag Fel and Belindi Kalenda among them.

All attention was on Jaina, as she tried to  explain  to  Master  Cilghal

what had happened.

"She collapsed in one of the public halls," she said, her hands  animated

in front of her. She was clearly upset by the turn of events. "We  traced  her

there after she called me on her comlink. She sounded—upset. She wasn't making

much sense."

Master Cilghal gestured and Tekli handed her the instrument she required.

Their unspoken communication was near  perfect,  obviously  the  result  of  a

familiarity developed over years of working together.

"What was she saying?" the healer asked, her moist, webbed hands pressing

a nutrient gel to Tahiri's forehead. Even Saba  could  tell  that  Tahiri  was

malnourished.

"She—" Again Jaina hesitated. "She said that Anakin was  trying  to  kill

her. Like I said, she wasn't making much sense."

Saba wasn't an expert at reading human body language, but she sensed that

Jaina was hiding something.

"I felt her calling for Anakin through the Force," Master  Skywalker  was

saying.

Jacen  Solo  nodded,  exchanging  glances  with  his  twin  sister.  Saba

suspected that Tahiri's grief was touching places uncomfortably close to their

own.

"I see no reason for Tahiri's collapse," Master  Cilghal  concluded  upon

finishing her scan of the young woman. "Physically her body is  under  stress,

but she isn't ill. As far as I can tell, all she needs  is  to  rest  and  eat

properly for a couple of weeks. I suggest we let her  sleep  for  the  moment.

Until she wakes up and we can talk to her, there really is little else we  can

do."

Leia stood to one side, with her husband's arm around her waist. Her eyes

were glistening. "Do everything you can for her," she said. "I refuse  to  let

her become another victim of this war."

Master Cilghal looked up and nodded  her  head.  "I'll  place  her  in  a

private ward, under full observation."

Leia turned and walked from  the  room.  Han  and  Mara  went  with  her,

followed by Jaina and Jacen. Saba started to  go  also,  but  was  stopped  by

Master Sky-walker's voice.

"Not you, Saba." He spoke in a way that made it sound like a request, not

a command. "Please, stay for a moment."

She obeyed, returning to stand with him and  the  two  healers  over  the

supine body of the human girl. Saba's eyes were most sensitive to the infrared

part of the spectrum, so the finer details of Tahiri's face were lost to  her.

But something was burning deep within her, that much Saba could  tell.  Tahiri

lay flat on her back, her chest gently rising and falling, eyes roving  behind

closed lids—to  all  appearances,  the  girl  was  sleeping.  But  Tahiri  was

radiating heat like a furnace, as though her body was  working  overtime  even

while lying still. And there was something about that fire that  raged  inside

her.. .

Now that she was closer, Saba found herself intrigued by it. It wasn't  a

fire that needed fuel; if anything, it seemed to be burning itself, as strange

as that sounded.

"What is it you see, Saba?" Master Skywalker asked.

"This one iz not sure," she replied.

"But there is something?" Master Cilghal pressed, her huge  eyes  rolling

inquisitively.

Saba nodded uncertainly. "There seemz to be, yez."

She searched the young woman for any sign of what  might  be  wrong.  Her

peculiar sensitivity to life wasn't the same gift as that possessed by  Master

Cilghal and the other healers. Saba wasn't attuned the  same  way  they  were.

Disease, in the form of viruses and bacteria, was a sort  of  life,  too,  and

deserved respect. She might flinch  at  a  warrior  beheading  a  shenbit  and

leaving its meat behind, but she could rejoice in the progress  of  a  plague.

That hadn't endeared her to some of her colleagues. The  Jedi  teachings  told

them that they should be devoted to preserving life—a philosophy to which  she

wholeheartedly subscribed. Which life, though, was the question that  troubled

Saba. Was an intelligent being such as herself, for example, of more intrinsic

value to the Force than, say, a swarm of piranha-beetles? She wasn't  as  sure

as her fellow students had seemed to  be  that  that  question  had  a  simple

answer.

This ability to sense life had grown since Barab I. It made her an  asset

when the healers failed; she saw something that they did not, when the flow of

life was imperiled rather than life itself. Her  frequenting  of  the  medical

wards of Mon Calamari had enabled her to exercise  her  gift  more  frequently

than was possible on  a  battlefield,  enabling  it  to  grow  stronger,  more

refined. When she looked at Tahiri—really looked at her,  not  just  with  her

basic sense of smell and sight—-she saw  the  usual  human  patterns  of  life

swirling through her. If each cell was a star, then her veins were  hyperspace

trade routes and her nerves were HoloNet channels. What looked like a  single,

continuous body on the outside  was  in  fact  a  joyfully  chaotic  community

containing billions of components. The flow of information  and  energy  among

those components was what Saba saw  when  she  looked  at  Tahiri—or  anything

living, for that matter. Life was a process, not a thing.

But in Tahiri she saw something else, too. There were disruptions to  the

flow, strange eddies where it would normally be still, and pools  of  calm  in

areas that she was used to seeing active. There was more to this  young  human

than met the eye.

"I wonder," Master Skywalker  mused.  "Jaina  is  closest  to  Anakin  in

temperament, so perhaps that is why Tahiri came to her. And the  Yuuzhan  Vong

have just suffered their greatest losses since the beginning of the war..."

Master Cilghal looked up inquiringly when he trailed  off  into  silence.

"You believe you know what afflicts her, Luke?"

"For certain?" He shook his head sadly. "No. But if we had  the  time,  I

think Saba here could figure it out. Unfortunately, there is vital  work  that

needs to be done—by all of us." He turned to Saba. His eyes were deep and full

of concern and determination in equal measures. "We leave tomorrow. You,  too,

Tekli." The healer's apprentice bowed solemnly and silently. "I would stay  to

be with Tahiri, given the choice, but..."

Again he let his words trail off, sentence unfinished.

Saba felt in Master Skywalker all the weariness of a man who  had  fought

his own father—and a tempting journey to the dark side—for most of  his  life,

and she understood. Sometimes  the  moment  demanded  too  much  of  even  the

greatest hunter.

"War narrows our choices," Master Cilghal finished for him.

"Yes," Luke said. "Yes, it does."

Movement through the cramped tunnel was difficult, and made doubly so  by

the presence of the nutrient vines and cloning pods  that  were  impeding  her

progress. But she kept going regardless of how hopeless she felt her situation

was. She attacked the vines and pods falling around her with a vigor generated

from desperation and fear. No matter what she did, though, they kept coming at

her—they kept growing around her!

Breaking free of the restrictive passage, she risked a glance  back  into

the dark mouth from which she had just emerged. The vines and  pods  continued

to pulsate steadily, contracting and expanding like a  fleshy  sphincter.  The

fine ash pumping from the cave reminded her of blood  cells,  swirling  around

her in an almost threatening manner and carrying with it the  terrible  stench

of burning flesh—a smell that served to remind her of  what  she  was  running

from.

She fleetingly wondered if her stalkers had been caught in the tangle  of

vines in the tunnel; but it wasn't so much a serious thought as a hope—and  an

empty one at that. The thing with her face would  chase  her  until  its  last

dying breath, and the thing chasing it would never stop.  The  lizardine  god-

figure was hot on both their heels. She would never be able to face the two of

them. Exhaustion wheezed in her chest with every breath she  took.  Until  she

found a chance to collect her strength, confronting these nameless horrors was

an inconceivable option.

She urged herself away from the tunnel mouth,  but  found  only  darkness

ahead. Taking tentative steps forward,  she  waved  aside  the  ash  that  was

getting into her eyes and mouth. She wanted to run, but without being able  to

see where she was going, it was too risky. Her  footsteps  vanished  into  the

void, sucked away with the light. She stopped and peered ahead.  It  was  only

then that she noticed patches in the shadows that were  actually  darker  than

others—that there were degrees of blackness. When her eyes had adjusted fully,

she could see more clearly the cavernous space she was in.

It was tall, with massive arches at either end and small  alcoves  lining

the walls to either side of her, only meters away. From these she thought  she

could make out movement, like that of  beasts  shifting  in  their  lair.  She

looked around her with nervous wonder. It all seemed terribly familiar,  in  a

claustrophobic sort of way.

Before she could isolate the memory, though, the  snout  of  one  of  the

beasts emerged from the shadows, the rest of its  lithe  body  following.  She

sucked in air, coughing on the ash that went into her throat, as the  creature

passed by close to her face, the eye on the side of its head  glaring  out  of

the dark, examining her as it swept by.

A voxyn, she was sure—and all alcoves around her were filled with them!

Her heart beat faster at the thought. As though in  sympathy,  the  vines

and pods in the tunnel behind her beat faster also, forcing out even  more  of

the foul-smelling ash into the cavern.

She edged back from where she felt the voxyn to be, bumping into a ladder

as she did so. Unable to go forward or  back,  she  began  to  climb  it.  Her

progress was hampered by the swirling ash, but the  higher  she  climbed,  the

easier it seemed to become.

If I can climb high enough, she thought, / will be free. She  noticed  as

she climbed that the walls of  the  cavern  began  to  glow  from  the  lichen

covering them. Dimly at first, but with each rung the luminosity of the lichen

intensified, until it became so bright that everything below her was  lost  to

the glare.

Was she safe now? she wondered. Was she finally free? Her silent  queries

were answered by the ladder vibrating under her fingertips as the  thing  with

her face began to climb after her. She forced back the  tears  of  frustration

and continued to ascend; there was no choice now but to go  up  and  out.  She

climbed higher and higher, until the ash that was blowing about her  face  was

no longer gray ash at all: it had become white, like snow.

She stretched out her tongue to collect some of the flakes,  wanting  its

wetness to sate her growing thirst. But she winced and spat  at  the  terrible

taste. This wasn't snow; it was too dry. This was dust!

Her tears flowed unchecked as she  continued  her  climb,  disappointment

gnawing at her heart. Disappointment quickly turned to terror,  however,  when

the ladder shook again. The reptilian statue had begun its own ascent, roaring

out its anger to those above. But there was something new about its roar  that

made her hesitate. ..

She hung there with arms wrapped tightly about the  coarse  wood  of  the

ladder, listening as the reptile bellowed again. This  time  she  realized  it

wasn't just a vague and angry roar as she'd first imagined it to  be;  it  was

something much more than that. This creature was crying out a single word over

and over again.

Its howls echoed throughout the dusty cavern, and the ladder she stood on

trembled from its bellows. The roar sounded  as  though  its  voice  had  been

slowed a thousand times, until it became almost  totally  unintelligible.  But

the more intently she listened, the clearer it seemed to become, until she had

no doubt whatsoever of what the creature was saying.

It wasn't a word. It was a name.

"Tahiri," it called out to her, its tone tugging at  her  heart  and  the

guilt she carried. "Tahiri... Tahiri... Tahiri..."

Tahiri woke to the sound of someone screaming, realizing  only  when  she

found herself being restrained that it was, in fact, herself.

She felt something cool and scented being pressed against  her  forehead.

Pushing the hand holding it aside, she tried  to  roll  away,  but  restraints

across her chest held her in place. Nevertheless, they didn't  stop  her  from

trying to wriggle free—even when a second hand joined the first,  pushing  her

shoulders firmly back onto the bed. She desperately scrabbled at her side  for

her lightsaber, only to find it gone. Besides which, the hands were simply too

strong. She would never have had the chance to use it  even  if  it  had  been

there.

"Sith spawn!" she shouted at her assailants. "Let me go!"

"Tahiri!" Beneath the whip crack of  command  to  the  voice,  there  was

something unmistakably familiar to it. She  stopped  fighting  for  a  moment,

trying to make out the figure standing over her, all but blurred  through  her

tears. It couldn't be, could it—? "Calm down, please!"

"Jacen?" The fight drained out of her like air from a punctured  balloon,

and she sagged back into the soft mattress, sobbing. "Oh, Jacen, I'm so sorry.

I—I didn't know it was you. I thought it was—"

"It's okay," he said, his tone warm and reassuring.  "Just  let  it  out.

Don't keep it inside where it can hurt you."

She frowned at him as he came slowly  into  focus.  His  words  left  her

feeling oddly naked. "What do you mean?" she asked, wiping at  her  eyes  with

the backs of her hands.

"Bottling things up," he explained. "It doesn't help anyone. Trust me.  I

should know."

He smiled, but she found it difficult to  reciprocate  the  gesture.  The

residue of the dream still lingered in her thoughts.

She sat up, this time finding no resistance  from  either  Jacen  or  the

restraints. "You feeling any better?" he asked. She wasn't,  not  really,  but

she didn't want to seem ungrateful. "I'll be fine," she said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said, reaching behind her to ease the  back  of  the

bed up. It was only then that she looked around and recognized where she was.

Despite the absence of the usual  sensors  or  equipment,  there  was  no

mistaking the small, circular room as belonging to a medical ward.  The  smell

of sopor-moss lingered about her, despite the wide-open viewport  off  to  her

left that admitted the fresh air blowing off  the  Cala-marian  seas  outside.

There was a functional edge to the room's walls and furniture. Also,  her  own

clothes were gone, replaced by a drab hospital smock. A thin sheet covered her

on the bed.

"What am I doing here?" she asked, rubbing her hands across the  bandages

on her arms.

"You blacked out."

Jacen sat on the edge of the bed beside her, his own  hands  coming  over

hers to stop her self-conscious movements. Even though he didn't say anything,

the message was obvious: she shouldn't worry about what was hidden there, yet.

"The medics found you in the Water's Edge market," he said.

She concentrated for a moment, staring at the folds  in  her  sheet.  She

remembered contacting Jaina, remembered  the  uncontrollable  panic  that  had

disoriented her following the dream of the Yuuzhan Vong cemetery. Then she had

found herself in the cavern where the voxyn lay hidden...

She shuddered at the memory. "What's wrong with me?" she  asked,  looking

up at Jacen.

"It's a bit of a mystery, actually," he said. "They can't find anything."

His brown eyes were searching hers. She looked away, not sure if she  was

relieved or disappointed.

"I guess I must have just fainted, then."

"You've been unconscious for fifteen standard hours,  Tahiri,"  he  said.

"You didn't just faint."

"I-I've not been sleeping well lately," she lied, looking away.

Fifteen hours? This was the worst episode yet. Maybe it would be for  the

best, she thought, if the truth finally came out. Even though she  wanted  to,

however, she found she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

He'd hate me if he knew, she thought. They would all hate me! "Tahiri?"

She looked up  again.  "I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "I  don't  know  what's

happening to me." That, at least, was partly true.

"That's okay," he reassured her. "I'm sure Master Cil-ghal will  work  it

out sooner or later." "I'm sorry to have been a burden, Jacen." "You're  not,"

he said. "Coming here to keep an eye on you was a good excuse to  get  out  of

some tedious meetings I'm supposed to attend. Besides, it gave me a chance  to

get a little bit of shut-eye myself. Things have been pretty hectic these last

couple of days."

He did look tired, she noted. There were lines around his eyes  that  she

hadn't noticed the last time she had seen him. But  how  long  ago  was  that?

After his return from Coruscant? During the battle at Ebaq 9? It dismayed  her

to realize that she couldn't remember just  when  that  had  been.  In  recent

weeks—months, perhaps—her life had become a blur.

"Where's Jaina?" she asked. "Sleeping. She said to say hi when  you  woke

up." Disappointed, Tahiri nodded and looked down  at  her  folded  hands,  She

didn't know why she wanted to talk to Jaina so badly, or what  she  would  say

when she did. That she was sorry she hadn't been able to save Anakin  the  way

he had saved her? That she missed him as much as

Jaina did? No, what she wanted to say, what  she  needed  to  say,  could

never be said—not to Jaina, not to anyone.

She looked again to her arms, wondering  at  the  wounds  underneath  the

bandages. She remembered doing it to herself, remembered seeing herself do it,

but she had been unable to stop herself.

She closed her eyes,  wanting  to  shut  out  the  thought.  But  it  was

impossible. The thoughts were always with her these days, waking or sleeping.

"Is Master Luke angry at me for missing the meeting  of  the  Jedi?"  she

asked.

"No, of course not," he said, laughing lightly.  "Uncle  Luke  isn't  the

sort to get angry about stuff like that. Trust me, he's more  concerned  about

your well-being. Actually, he had been hoping to take you along  on  this  new

mission with us. He thought you could use some time away from all the  action.

But given your condition, it was decided that perhaps it would be best if  you

rested some more."

"Mission?" she asked, the beginnings of dismay creeping into  her  voice.

"What mission?"

"We're looking for something," he said. "I don't know how  long  it  will

take us—or even where  we're  going,  for  that  matter—but  I  do  know  it's

something we have to do. If we don't, we could end up losing the  war—even  if

we end up beating the Yuuzhan Vong."

She frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"It depends on how you look at it," he said.

"And how do you look at it, Jacen?"

"Honestly?"

She nodded.

"Well, personally I think the worst thing we could do would  be  to  wipe

out the Yuuzhan Vong."

Her frown deepened at this. "Why?"

Jacen stood, running a hand through his shaggy brown  hair.  "We  already

know that they'll never  give  up,"  he  explained,  moving  around  the  bed.

"They'll just keep fighting until they're all dead.  But  when  they're  gone,

where does that leave us?  I  don't  know  about  you,  Tahiri,  but  I  don't

particularly want genocide on my conscience."

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, he went on.

"I know what you're probably thinking: if the Yuuzhan Vong don't register

in the Force, then why should we care if we wiped them out? But I don't  think

it's that simple, Tahiri. The Force isn't just about what  happens  to  living

things; it's also about what living things do to one another.  No  matter  how

you look at it, if  we  win  by  military  means  alone,  then  we'll  end  up

committing an atrocity, and there's no  way  I  can  explain  such  an  action

without resorting to the dark side. I  refuse  to  accept  that  there  is  no

alternative."

She stared at him, taken by the passion in his voice. This  was  a  Jacen

she had never seen before. Committed and sure of himself, he was no longer the

teenager she had come to know. His experiences on Coruscant had  changed  him.

He was so much more the adult now.

"Do you remember Vergere?" he asked after a few moments' silence.

"Of course." The change in subject puzzled her.

"She told me something before she died." There was a slight deepening  of

the lines around his eyes as he spoke, and his hands fiddled with the  railing

at the foot of the bed. "She told me  about  a  place  she  once  visited—long

before you or I were ever born, Tahiri. It was a world unlike any other in the

galaxy. The people who lived there had a reputation  for  building  starships.

But not just any starships. These  were  without  equal—starships  that  could

outperform anything built even today. She was sent by the Jedi  Council  on  a

mission to find the shipbuilders, even though there were those who thought the

planet little more than a myth. She was successful: she found the  planet  and

its inhabitants; she saw the marvelous starships in operation—and  many  other

things, for that matter, things the likes of which no  one  had  ever  dreamed

possible. It had jungles and vast forests; but they were not shunted aside  or

eaten away in the name of industry. This was a world in balance."

His eyes gleamed with the wonder of this secondhand vision.

"Vergere fell in love with the place," he  went  on,  "rejoicing  in  its

jungles, its many forms of life, the way it seemed to her to be a living  hymn

to the Force. But she failed to guess the truth  underlying  what  she  saw—at

first, anyway, even  though  it  had  been  under  her  nose  right  from  the

beginning. The thing about those starships made on the planet, the thing  that

made them really special, is that they were alive."

Tahiri's eyes narrowed. "Like the Yuuzhan Vong ships?"

He nodded. "These were DO ordinary ships, Tahiri," he said.  "They  lived

and breathed and died just like any other being. They were alive like you  and

me, like any living thing. And so was the planet that made them."

"The planet—?" she  started,  incredulously.  If  it  hadn't  been  Jacen

telling her all this, and had he not been so earnest in his telling, she might

have laughed the whole thing off as a joke. But he was serious; this was real.

"Its name was Zonama Sekot," he said. "It was a living being in  its  own

right, one of the most wondrous things this galaxy has ever produced."

Tahiri felt a strange tingling sensation go through her.  "  'Was'?"  she

echoed.

"Not long after Vergere arrived, aliens  came  and  attacked  it.  Zonama

Sekot referred to these aliens as 'Far Outsiders.' We know now that these  Far

Outsiders were the  Yuuzhan  Vong—possibly  a  reconnaissance  party  sent  to

explore the galaxy before the actual invasion. The planet had been negotiating

with these Outsiders for  months,  Vergere  learned.  The  Yuuzhan  Vong  were

fascinated by it, as you  can  imagine.  A  living  planet  would  not  be  so

different from one of the worldships that they used to cross  the  great  gulf

between galaxies."

"So what happened?" Tahiri prompted  when  Jacen  went  quiet  as  if  in

thought.

He looked up. "The Yuuzhan Vong attacked and Zonama Sekot fled," he said.

"The whole planet—moved. It changed systems, and hasn't been seen since."

"Moved?" Tahiri echoed. "Just like that?"

He nodded. "There's no mention of it in any  records  anywhere.  It's  as

though it completely vanished."

"And you're going looking for it—this living planet?"

"Exciting, isn't it?" he said, coming back around to her side and sitting

on her bed. "Vergere told me that the Yuuzhan Vong, in their own  way,  revere

life. Not as a Jedi reveres life, cherishing each individual as a component of

the Force that is both life and greater than life, but  rather  in  their  own

perverse way. Their reverence for life, she said, is  mixed  with  notions  of

pain and death. This fascinated me, and still does. It underpins their  entire

culture. I've always felt that if we could understand  this  ideology  better,

then we would understand them better.

"Call it an instinct." he went on. "Zonama Sekot is the key to the  whole

thing—to victory. I'm sure of it. That's why Vergere  told  me  about  it.  It

might help us find a way to turn back the Yuuzhan Vong. It did it once before,

after all, if on a smaller scale."

"Maybe it can make us ships as good as or better than the Yuuzhan  Vong's

coralskippers." Tahiri marveled at the thought. "How do you intend to find it?

"

He shrugged. "That's the problem, isn't it? It's done a very good job  of

staying hidden all this time, so tracking it down isn't going to be easy. When

I talked about it with Uncle Luke, there was only one conclusion we could come

to: if it hasn't been seen, then it has to be in the Unknown Regions.  There's

nowhere else it could be. A fertile world is not exactly  the  sort  of  thing

that would be omitted from a ship's log."

"Let alone a world that has appeared out of nowhere," Tahiri  added.  "Or

has a mind of its own."

"Exactly," Jacen said. "It's literally the stuff of legends. And  in  the

absence of rumors, we have to go chasing them ourselves. We're stopping at the

Empire first, since their territory borders the Unknown  Regions;  they  might

have information we can use. And then there's the Chiss: they've explored  the

Unknown Regions much more than we have; they'll have access  to  a  wealth  of

data—"

"If they'll share it with you. Either of them."

"We'll just have to talk them into it."

Jacen withdrew into himself for a moment, and Tahiri took the  chance  to

collect her own thoughts. It all sounded very unlikely:  living  planets,  old

Jedi missions, wild crusades into the galaxy's darkest regions,  Yuuzhan  Vong

prophecies. But she knew to keep an open mind. After all, stranger things  had

happened in his family's history.. .

A twinge of pain accompanied the thought. Had Anakin lived, it might have

been her family, too, by now.

She pushed the thought down as far as it would go. It whispered that  she

should tell him everything, exactly how she felt and  all  she  suspected  was

happening to her. But she couldn't. Jacen had more important things  to  worry

about, even apart from Zonama Sekot; he had

been grappling with Jedi philosophy so deeply and for so  long  that  the

smaller concerns of those around him might seem trivial, perhaps  even  silly.

She had no evidence, after all, that the  things  she  was  experiencing  were

anything more than nightmares, even though they felt so real.

"Is Jaina going with you?" she asked, shrugging free of the uncomfortable

train of thought.

"Hmm?" Jacen broke from his own reverie. "Oh, no. She has other  work  to

do—with Mom and Dad. Sometimes it seems like we're spending most  of  the  war

apart." He looked sad. "But if you're worrying that you won't be  seeing  her,

don't. She'll be in tomorrow, when she's caught up on her sleep. And  speaking

of which..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm keeping you up. You already said that you

wanted to get some—"

"No, Tahiri." He laughed. "Actually, I was meaning you. You  said  you've

not been sleeping very well lately."

She nodded cautiously, not wanting to  encourage  questions  along  those

lines.

"Okay," he said. "So relax for a moment and close your  eyes."  He  edged

closer as she did as he asked; at the same time the back of the  bed  lowered,

and he placed his splayed his fingers across her forehead and temples. In  the

shadow of his hand, she smelled Anakin and bit her lip.

"I just want to try something," she heard him say.

And that was the last she knew for an endless, timeless moment.

She awoke again to sunlight streaming through the room's wide and  opened

viewport, the sound of water crashing against the city walls, and the smell of

salt on the air. The transition from night to day was so jarring that,  for  a

moment, she didn't know where she was. But with a quick glance around the  med

room, it all came rushing back.

What had Jacen done to her? She felt rested for the first time in  weeks,

certainly, but instead of gratitude, she was left with a  sense  of  betrayal.

There was a strange feeling behind her eyes, as though someone had been poking

around in there while she slept.

Jacen was nowhere to be seen, which was  only  to  be  expected.  On  the

bedside table, under a jug  of  blue  milk,  she  noticed  a  small  piece  of

flimsiplast. Taking it, she unfolded the  note,  immediately  recognizing  the

neat, confident handwriting as belonging to Anakin's older brother.  It  read,

simply:

You will always be family to us. J. Family. She sat up and hugged herself

as though from a sudden chill. She had been thinking about family just  before

Jacen had put her to sleep, however he had done it. The reference  seemed  too

pointed to be a coincidence. He must have taken the  thought  from  her  mind,

and—

Did he see my dreams, too? she wondered, fearfully. And  if  so,  did  he

also see... ?

She dispelled the disquieting thought by taking the piece of  flimsi  and

tearing it into tiny pieces. Then, stepping over to the window,  she  released

the pieces to the wind and watched them until they had  all  disappeared  into

the rough waters below.

The training mat took the bulk of the impact, but  the  fall  still  left

Jagged Fel winded. He lay gasping on his  back  for  a  moment,  then  levered

himself upright.

"Nice move," he said, massaging the muscles in his left shoulder. "For  a

scruffy rebel, anyway."

He stood, dropping into the classic  Chiss  "Forbelean  Defense"  stance.

From such a position, virtually all forms of attack could be deflected. On the

opposite side of the mat, Jaina Solo dusted  off  her  loose-fitting  training

outfit.

"You aristocrats are all the same, aren't you?"  she  joked.  "Underneath

that tough exterior, you're all as soft as Mon Cal jellyfish."

"And that coming from the daughter of a princess!"

She opened her mouth to reply, but he didn't give her  a  chance  to  say

anything. Instead he lunged at her for another attack. Two half paces  forward

took him within arm's reach. Ducking to avoid  the  defensive  feint  he  knew

she'd use, he brought one shoulder up to deflect her  arm  and  his  body  and

right leg around to sweep her off her feet. If he surprised her  at  all,  she

didn't let it show. Instead she jumped lightly as his sweeping kick caught her

feet. Seemingly effortlessly, she used the momentum of his blow  to  spin  her

body around its center of mass, landing, in apparent defiance of  gravity,  on

one hand, upside down. It lasted only a split  second,  but  it  was  all  she

needed. Her left leg transferred her angular momentum  back  to  him  via  his

chest, sending him flying. Before he had even  hit  the  mat  again,  she  had

cartwheeled back on to her feet and was standing, poised  and  at  the  ready,

waiting patiently for him to recover.

He sat up, rubbing at his chest. "Sith spawn, Jaina!" His lungs felt like

a clawcraft with a leak into vacuum. "That hurt."

"It serves you right," she said, barely breathing heavily. "My dad always

said you should never let someone get  away  with  calling  you  'scruffy.'  "

Seeing that he wasn't in a hurry to get up  and  retaliate,  she  relaxed  her

posture. "Besides, I thought the Chiss never attacked first."

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, propping himself up some more. "You insulted my

father."

"I also thought they didn't let their  hearts  rule  their  heads  during

combat."

"That was for using the Force during an unarmed sparring match—"

"But I hadn't used it yet," Jaina quickly pointed out, stepping  over  to

him.

"I could tell you were about to, though."

"Really? Then you must have the Force, too, my friend." She  smiled  down

at him and offered a hand to help him up. "Can you tell what I'm thinking now?

"

He took the hand and pulled her down onto the mat with him. "Can you tell

me what I'm thinking?"

I want to be very much more than your friend, Jaina Solo, he thought.

Her smile widened as she entangled her legs in his and leaned  in  closer

to him. "I don't need the Force to know that."

They kissed—only briefly, but it was enough  so  that  when  they  pulled

apart again, her breathing had quickened. It pleased Jag to  know  that  while

she could kick him halfway across the room and not break a sweat,  it  took  a

simple kiss from him to set her heart racing. So he kissed her  again,  longer

this time, enjoying the feel of her lips against  his.  He  didn't  allow  any

thoughts of honor or propriety to get in the way of  the  moment,  either.  On

this occasion he was  more  than  happy  to  let  his  heart  rule  his  head.

Opportunities for the two of them to be alone were rare—too  rare  not  to  be

taken advantage of.

He hadn't told her yet that this was the main reason why  he  had  fought

for their inclusion on her parents' mission. Yes, he was feeling like a finely

spun wire, likely to break if stretched any tighter, but he knew he would keep

fighting well beyond reason  if  the  war  demanded  it.  His  Chiss  training

emphasized the need for regular rest in order to perform at one's best. All of

the members of the Chiss Squadron knew that, too. But he could see the fatigue

in their eyes, and even he had made mistakes recently. His second  in  command

had pointed that out. She wasn't innocent herself, she had  admitted,  but  it

was his job to know better, she said. And, of course, she was right.

The diplomatic mission was a godsend, then—a way of making sure  everyone

got some rest while still performing a valuable duty, and at the same time  it

gave him a chance to spend more time with Jaina.

Jaina broke for air and sat back with her hands resting on his chest. Jag

wondered if she could feel the beating of his heart through his thin  training

uniform.

"Duty calls," she said after a  moment.  "And  I'd  like  to  see  Tahiri

beforehand." She pulled a regretful face. "Sorry."

"The only thing you should feel sorry for, Jaina Solo, is cheating."

She  playfully  punched  his  shoulder  before  standing.   "Winning   is

everything."

"Do you really believe that?"

Her expression turned serious for a moment. "I think I  did,  once,"  she

said. Then she stretched out her hand once more. "Come on."

He took her proffered hand, this time allowing her to  help  him  to  his

feet. Halfway up, however, she let go and he fell back with a thump  onto  the

mat.

"You're far too trusting, Jag," she  said,  smiling.  With  a  wink,  she

headed for the showers.

They briefly reconnected again afterward. Side  by  side,  not  touching,

they walked toward the infirmary, where she was to see Tahiri  before  meeting

with her parents to go over their plans one more time. He would  go  on  to  a

meeting with her uncle and aunt. They would need all the information he  could

give them on the Chiss if they were seriously planning to go  to  the  Unknown

Regions expecting help.

As they walked, Jag rubbed at his breastbone. It was  still  tender  from

the last kick she had delivered.

"I'm sorry if I fought you hard today," she said, noting his  discomfort.

"I'm just..." She shrugged. "I don't know, Jag. I guess  I'm  a  little  angry

about being put out of action."

"So you're fighting harder to prove you haven't lost your edge?" he said.

She nodded. "Listen, Jaina, no one has said that."

"No, but it was implied. That's why they want me  on  this  mission,  I'm

sure. They want to rest me up."

"Now you're just being paranoid," he said. "But anyway, so what if  going

on this mission does allow you to get in some rest? You've earned it,  haven't

you? I really don't see what the problem is, Jaina."

"I'm surprised you're taking it so well," she  said  as  they  rounded  a

corner, almost bumping into a couple of  Ho'Din  walking  the  other  way.  "I

expected you to be as annoyed as I am about all this; in fact,  I  would  have

thought you'd be cursing and swearing!"

He shrugged. "You don't tend to learn too many swear words at  the  Chiss

academy." "Really?"

"Yeah, really. The worst insult I learned there was moactan teel."

"And what does that mean?"

"That you're fair-haired," he said with some  embarrassment.  It  was  an

insult that only really worked in Chiss space  where  everyone  had  jet-black

hair. Here, among so many variations of  hair  color,  it  seemed  ridiculous.

"Sorry," he added.

She laughed out loud. "Are you apologizing for the insult to my own  hair

color, or the lameness of the insult itself?"

He felt himself blush, but didn't respond to her teasing.

"I tell you, if you want some good  insults,  you  should  listen  to  my

father. I learned plenty from him over the years," she said. "And if you don't

want them directed at you, then I suggest you take care."

They parted at the infirmary with no obvious display of affection. He was

far too conscious of the people around them for that. He kept  imagining  what

others would think if they were seen together: "What's the outsider doing with

the Jedi today?" His upbringing with the Chiss had left him  short  on  social

mores when it came to public displays. He didn't want to be  seen  to  do  the

wrong thing, and he was pretty sure Jaina wasn't  mistaking  his  caution  for

disinterest.

He continued  along  the  winding  corridors  to  the  meeting  with  the

Skywalkers. Part of him wished that it was this  mission  he  and  Jaina  were

participating in. He would have loved for her to see the Chiss capital  again:

icebound Csillia, with its blue snowfields and clear skies. Since joining  one

of the phalanxes—the twenty-eight colonial units that comprised  the  domestic

Chiss military force—at an early age, he had found few opportunities to return

to the capital planet, let alone the estate  on  which  his  parents,  General

Baron Soontir Fel and Syal Antilles, had recently settled.  The  Yuuzhan  Vong

had been harrying the Unknown Regions as well as the rest of the galaxy. Life,

even for a relatively young and untested starfighter pilot, had been hectic.

Untested no longer, he reminded himself as the door to  the  small,  oval

conference room slid open and he entered.

Inside the darkened room, Jag found Jedi Master Luke  Skywalker  and  his

wife, Mara, studying numerous maps and charts on  a  clear,  vertical  display

screen. As he stepped in and the door  behind  him  closed,  the  Jedi  Master

straightened, staring at him through an incomplete section of one of the maps.

Jag instantly recognized this particular great swathe of  the  galaxy  as  the

area that the New Republic and the Imperials called the Unknown  Regions,  and

what he called home.

Luke acknowledged Jag with little more than a nod.

"We know very little about the Chiss," he said without preamble, stepping

around the display screen toward  Jag.  "I  like  to  think  that  this  is  a

situation that can be rectified."

Jag studied the Jedi Master's face for any sign of duplicity. As  always,

he saw none. "Grand Admiral Thrawn's actions paint us in a dubious light,"  he

said in response. "I understand the reluctance of many people to deal with us.

"

"And the reverse is probably true. No doubt you've met your fair share of

people purporting to represent the New  Republic.  The  Unknown  Regions  have

always been a haven for criminals and outcasts, as well as renegade Imperials.

"

Jag inclined his head in acknowledgment of the point.  "What  is  it  you

wish to know?"

"First of all, I'd like to know if the Chiss  have  any  knowledge  of  a

certain planet in the Unknown Regions."

"For that you would need to contact the Expansionary Defense Fleet."

"Is there anyone in particular there that I should be talking to?"

"I can't give you names."

Luke raised an eyebrow but didn't query  his  answer.  "Okay,"  he  said,

placing his hands behind his back and pacing in front of the  display  screen.

"Then second, I need to talk about closer ties between  your  people  and  the

Galactic Alliance."

"The same department would handle those inquiries."

"But I wouldn't want them to end there," he said, stopping his pacing and

facing Jag fully. "This isn't just a matter for the Nuruodo family to consider

under the military and foreign affairs portfolio. It's also  a  communications

and justice issue. The Inrokini and Sabosen families handle those affairs,  if

my information is cor-rect. It's also a colonial issue, since the Yuuzhan Vong

are affecting everyone, and that's overseen by the—"

"The Csapla, yes," Jag said. "Your sources are correct, whoever they are.

"

"A contact in any or all of these departments  would  be  helpful,  Jag,"

Mara said from the other side of the screen, the faint  light  from  the  maps

flickering across the beautiful woman's red-gold hair.

"I'm sorry but, again, I cannot give you any names." He could sense their

frustration and made a sincere effort to  dispel  it.  "I  do  understand  the

reasons for you asking, and I assure you I am not trying to be obstructive.  I

simply cannot answer you."

"Why is that, Jag?" Mara asked.

"Two reasons, really," he answered. "One is that I'm not in a position to

know who holds what rank in any  of  the  appropriate  families.  I  know  who

represents each, but they are just political positioning.  Who  actually  does

the work, I have no idea. It's these people you would need to speak to; and it

is they who will seek you out when your intentions become known."

Luke nodded thoughtfully. "And the second reason?"

"Even if I did know," Jag said, maintaining steady eye contact  with  the

Jedi Master, "I wouldn't tell you. You see, the  Chiss  are  taught  from  the

earliest days of training that it is not the person holding the position  that

is  important,  but  rather  the  position  itself.  Individuals  must   allow

themselves to be subsumed into the role society expects them to play.  If  you

asked for someone by name, they would on principle not talk  to  you.  If  you

asked for them by rank, however, they would not  hesitate."  "Then  what  rank

should I ask for?" Luke asked. "In the first  instance,  the  matter  of  this

planet you seek,  you  should  ask  for  the  chief  navigator  of  the  Chiss

Expansionary Defense Fleet. Regarding closer ties with the Galactic  Alliance,

you would need the assistant syndic in the same department."

"Isn't that the position currently held by your father?" Mara asked.

Jag didn't dignify the question with  a  response,  even  though  it  was

correct. He was becoming increasingly irritated that they knew as much as they

did. "If you address your inquiries through those avenues," he said,  "then  I

am sure you will be heard."

"And in your opinion, will we get what we want?" Luke asked.

"It depends on too many factors to say for certain.  Whether  we've  seen

this planet you're looking for is an obvious one; how badly the  Yuuzhan  Vong

are hurting us is another."

"I was under the impression they weren't hurting you at all."

Jag allowed himself a half smile at that. "I think  it's  safe  to  admit

that the Yuuzhan Vong are hurting everyone to some  degree  or  another.  It's

good that you are attempting to address this  as  a  galaxywide  problem,  for

that's precisely what it is."

Mara came around the display now, as though to look at him properly.  "So

you'd like our help, but you won't even tell us who to talk  to  in  order  to

offer it to you? I find that—interesting."

Jag recognized the deliberate provocation, but wasn't offended by it.  "I

apologize if you think I'm being unreasonable."

"You are being unreasonable. But you're being what your  culture  expects

of you, and to be honest, I admire you for that. It's just not  how  we  would

operate, that's all."

"No doubt time will reveal many such differences between our people."

Mara smiled; there were clearly  no  hard  feelings  there,  either.  "No

doubt."

"There's one other question I'd like to ask,  though,"  Luke  said.  "The

Galactic Alliance doesn't have a vast amount of  resources  to  spare  at  the

moment, as you are surely aware. In fact, in places we're as thinly spread  as

the Yuuzhan Vong. What are the chances, do you think, of  procuring  aid  from

the CEDF?"

"I imagine that would depend on how your other negotiations went. If  you

can convince the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet  that  your  mission  is  of

strategic value to the Chiss, then they might  give  you  an  escort  of  some

description. But then, they might not,  also.  If  your  mission  is  valuable

enough, you might end up in competition with the CEDF."

Mara raised her eyebrows in mock alarm. "They'd steal it out  from  under

us?"

"Depending on what it is," Jag shot back.

Luke chuckled. "Well put." He leaned against the transparent display  and

folded his arms across his stomach. "You're holding yourself very  well  here,

Jagged. It can't be easy, caught between two different cultures  like  this  —

twice over, if you like: a human raised by the Chiss, then sent hack  to  deal

with the Galactic Alliance."

"No," he replied, thinking of Jaina. "Sometimes it isn't easy."

"But it's good, I think. For all of us. We need another  example  of  the

Chiss to help us judge their nature, and you are  as  good  as  one  of  them.

Thrawn was brilliant, but not the best ambassador a culture could wish for."

Jag stiffened defensively. "The Chiss do not ask  to  be  judged,  Master

Skywalker. Not by you; not by anyone."

"But you judge us." There was no acrimony in the Jedi Master's tone.  "We

all do it, Jag. It's only natural. And we know enough of your  foreign  policy

to know your opinion of 'lesser' civilizations. We might be one of them."

Jag could feel  himself  being  led  out  onto  treacherously  thin  ice.

"Neither Grand Admiral Thrawn nor myself was an ambassador, as  I'm  sure  you

both realize. He was simply doing  what  he  thought  most  appropriate  in  a

particular military situation."

"As are you. I understand," said Luke. "Thank you for your help,  Jag.  I

appreciate it."

Jag was surprised that the meeting had  taken  so  little  time.  He  had

expected a more determined interrogation. But as Luke guided him to the  door,

he realized it wasn't quite over yet. A small but strong hand gripped  him  by

the shoulder, and Mara said: "Look after my apprentice, won't you?" Jag looked

down into the star-tlingly green eyes of the woman beside him. "I know she's a

Jedi Knight in her own right, but in some ways she's still very much a  child—

albeit a precocious one." The  green  eyes  smiled.  "I  hope  you  can  be  a

beneficial part of her education." "I intend to be."

"Good," she said, withdrawing her hand and nodding. "I'm glad."

There were many other things Jag still had to organize with his second in

command, and he went straight to the barracks she had been  given  to  discuss

them with her. Eprill was ready and waiting, in full uniform.

"What did you tell them?" she asked, almost reproachfully. She had  known

about the meeting with the Sky-walkers and disapproved of their intentions.

"Nothing they didn't already know," he said.

"That alone might be too much." Red eyes blazed at him from a blue face.

He opened his mouth to snap at her, but discipline took over  before  the

words emerged. He couldn't be angry at her for simply doing her job. The Chiss

Squadron may have originally come on a fact-finding mission, but  now  it  was

here—at his instigation—to fight  the  Yuu-zhan  Vong.  The  negotiations  and

information bartering should be left to the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet.

But at the same time, he couldn't in good conscience let  Jaina's  uncle,

aunt, and twin brother go blindly into a potentially  tricky  situation.  They

meant well, and their goals were admirable. Part of him wanted  to  give  them

every assistance he could, even if it did mean violating the oaths of  secrecy

he had sworn to the Chiss.

He didn't know what his father would think. The Baron was human, too, but

he had embraced the Chiss culture as completely as it had embraced him. If his

father had been in contact with the Skywalkers, then Jag doubted he would have

told them anything of substance. They might simply have been bluffing  to  see

what he would say in response. Jag wished he could ask  his  father  what  was

going on—but that would have been seen as a sign of weakness. It had been  his

decision to keep the Chiss Squadron in Galactic Alliance space; he  alone  had

to deal with the consequences of that decision. He hoped his father  would  be

proud of the way he had handled himself.

But there was more to it  than  that.  The  military  situation  was  too

complex for one person alone to handle. He wanted his government involved, and

he hoped that Master Skywalker would manage to achieve this.

Shrugging the problem aside, he sat  down  with  Eprill,  his  second  in

command, and attempted to decide on a roster for the coming weeks.  She  would

remain behind to take command of the Chiss Squadron. There would be six pilots

left, enough to work as an independent unit  alongside  new  pilots  from  the

training program.

Jag knew that Eprill was as tired as he was. He also knew that she  would

be offended if he didn't leave her behind to take on the job. This was  a  big

break for her, a chance to demonstrate  her  ability  to  command  in  combat,

instead of just following orders. Looking at her now—at her  pressed  uniform,

her perfectly straight posture, her black hair pulled  severely  back  to  the

nape of her neck as per regulation standards for a Chiss soldier—he knew  that

she deserved every success. She was the epitome of what a Chiss officer should

be.

She reminded him, in fact, of his  childhood  friend  Shawnkyr,  who  had

returned to Chiss space after Ebaq 9. Shawnkyr was  almost  too  perfect—as  a

pilot, as an officer, and as a Chiss. She was exactly the sort  of  person  he

should have ended up with—not someone like  Jaina,  the  headstrong,  stubborn

daughter of parents who  openly  spurned  military  authority.  He  had  known

Shawnkyr ever since their victory over looters during their academy  training;

he  had  known  Jaina  only  a  couple  of  years.  Shawnkyr  had  a   perfect

understanding and acceptance of the chain  of  command;  Jaina  was  known  as

something of a loose blaster, following orders only when they  concurred  with

her own moral code. The contrast couldn't have been more extreme.

What his family would think of Jaina, he had no  idea.  Given  their  own

background, they might accept her perfectly well. But then again,  they  might

not. And if they didn't, then how would  it  affect  his  standing  among  the

Chiss, that he had chosen one from outside? He wasn't certain which  he  would

choose if forced to decide between Jaina and his own people.  He  envied  Luke

more than he could say; his heart ached to see  the  three  moons  of  Csillia

again. But would his heart have ached more to leave Jaina  behind?  He  didn't

know, and a large part of him didn't particularly want to find out, either.

"Jag?"

"Huh?" He snapped out of his thoughts. "Oh, I'm sorry,  Eprill.  My  mind

was elsewhere."

"Obviously." There was a hint of disapproval in her voice.  "I  asked  if

you thought Sumichan should go with you, or if you'd like me to keep her  here

to work on her maneuvers."

He sighed. Jaina occupied almost every thought these days. He doubted  he

could be rid of her, even if he wanted to be.

"She can come with me," he said. "She just  needs  time  to  practice—and

where we're going, I'm sure we'll have plenty of spare time on our hands."

Then again, he added to himself, the way the Solos operate, maybe not. ..

In the previous years, much had  been  learned  about  the  infidels  who

occupied the galaxy promised by the gods to the Yuuzhan  Vong.  Nom  Anor  had

played an important part in gathering and interpreting that  knowledge.  As  a

result, he felt justified in thinking that he understood the enemy better than

anyone else. But even he failed to get his mind around a  culture  that  would

allow a planet's natural  surface  to  be  buried  under  lifeless  metal  and

transparisteel—and not just once, but thousands of times over, so that it  was

almost impossible for any living thing larger than a rodent or more persistent

than moss to survive beneath it.

Yuuzhan'tar was not a world Nom Anor would have chosen to conquer. Had it

not been the center of power in this galaxy, he would have happily left it  to

choke in its dust and smog while the rest of the galaxy came  alive  with  the

glorious Yuuzhan Vong  invasion.  The  hardiness  of  the  vile  encrustations

smothering the planet—the built things and the obscenities called machines  so

loved by the enemy—was such that the dhuryam responsible for turning it into a

more suitable world  seemed  to  be  unable  to  overcome  them.  Hundreds  of

thousands of years of habitation had their own momentum, and mere klekkets  of

Yuuzhan Vong occupation couldn't turn that back overnight. The roots of  these

built things went deep into the planet, and it would take time to extract them

fully.

Nowhere was this more obvious than underground. Buildings had been  built

upon older buildings, which in turn had been built upon buildings older still,

until a crack in one's basement might open up on what had once been  an  attic

in another. And since construction in this fashion was rarely seamless,  there

were millions of narrow paths that had never been mapped. It was through  such

ways that  Vuurok  I'pan  led  Nom  Anor,  descending  carefully  along  steep

traverses that appeared to be tiled underfoot, as though they  had  once  been

roofs. He took them through areas immensely wide, though  barely  high  enough

for them to crouch—areas compacted between enormous slabs  of  ferrocrete  and

time-flattened piles of rubble. None of which sat easily with Nom Anor. He was

not a coward, but the idea of scuttling through  such  spaces  was  distinctly

unnerving.

Soon they came to an impossibly large vertical tunnel that  plunged  into

depths of darkness that Nom Anor hadn't imagined possible. They spiraled  down

the interior of this tunnel for what felt like an eternity, walking upon metal

steps that constantly creaked and groaned under their weight. It was so  large

that it could have easily held an entire transport carrier, except that it was

almost totally filled with a mysterious silvery column. The thing stretched up

high into the darkness above them, taking up so much of the space  that  there

seemed only enough room for the stairs on which they descended.  What  purpose

the column served, exactly, Nom Anor couldn't tell. Perhaps it was the outside

of another pipe built within the old one. It,  too,  was  probably  abandoned,

like everything else in the empty spaces—dead metal left to die, left to rust.

Rust. Now that was a concept the Yuuzhan Vong knew  about.  The  reaction

between the elements iron and oxygen was an important one in biology. But  the

abhorrence with which the process was held by these machine builders had  been

unexpected. Sometimes Nom Anor thought it a good metaphor for how the  Yuuzhan

Vong invasion should have been conducted:  slowly,  insidiously,  the  machine

builders could have been eroded  from  beneath  until  all  their  glittering,

unnatural towers fell and crumbled to dust. But here,  underground,  he  could

see the fallacy of the plan. Rust took time, and the  Yuuzhan  Vong  were  not

known for their patience. The  worldships  were  dying;  their  people  needed

homes. If the basements of Yuuzhan'tar could still stand, even after being  so

long untended, then invasion by rust would simply be too  slow.  Still,  there

was something in the concept, he was sure.

It nagged at him as he followed I'pan farther down  into  the  depths  of

this abominable planet—so deep, in fact, that the coolness of the upper levels

eventually became replaced by a stifling heat and smell not  dissimilar  to  a

coralskipper backwash.

Is this to be my tomb? he wondered. The bowels of  a  planet  whose  very

nature is blasphemous?

No! He quickly reined in his thoughts. He would not die  here  like  some

worthless vermin, in some hole where even the gods could not find him, if they

had ever existed. No matter how deep I'pan went, he would  live.  He  had  to.

That he currently had no plan and no resources beyond his mind  didn't  bother

him: any goal at all was better than just giving in—and the power of his  mind

wasn't to be scoffed at.

He didn't know how long they'd been moving, but eventually  they  emerged

into the huge cavern that he knew instantly to be the refuge of  the  renegade

Shamed Ones. He could smell them, their  fear  and  their  desperation.  I'pan

stopped a few paces ahead of him, facing Nom Anor with a newfound  confidence—

as well as relief, it seemed. He must have felt that here, at  least,  he  had

the support of his companions, and that Nom Anor was less likely to attack him

than he had been earlier.

"This is it," I'pan said unnecessarily, his arm sweeping around the dusty

area. Even with this newfound confidence, his voice still carried  a  habitual

obsequious tone. "We have arrived, Master."

The area was wide  and  circular,  with  a  high,  domed  ceiling  arcing

overhead. Across the ground were  scattered  numerous  blisterlike  structures

that Nom Anor recognized as minshals, grown for temporary  accommodation.  The

entire place was lit by  bubbling,  bioluminescent  globes  hanging  from  the

ceiling high above.

Off to one side, a slanting airshaft  led  even  farther  down  into  the

seemingly endless city basement. Issuing from its wide throat  were  deep  and

rhythmic vibrations that made Nom Anor's calves vibrate. Moving  over  to  the

shaft he saw a chuk'a waste  processor  deep  inside,  its  muscular  segments

busily ingesting rubble as it worked its way downward into the  vent,  turning

it into the walls, ceilings, and floors of the new homes for the Shamed  Ones,

filling the empty spaces in much the same way that some  insects  built  their

nests.

"We found the chuk'a some levels above," I'pan said. "Mislaid  for  dead,

we think, it has since come in handy for our needs."

In the strange, greenish light from the bioluminescent globes,  Nom  Anor

could see I'pan's disfigurement much more clearly. Rejected by coral implants,

the Shamed One's face lacked the brutal beauty of a true  scarring.  His  skin

was unnaturally smooth, and, apart from his nose, there was a symmetry to  his

features that offended Nom Anor's refined sense of aesthetic. No wonder  I'pan

had been outcast. The gods' shaming of him was visible for all to see.

"We?" Nom Anor asked, wasting no energy on sympathy. "I see no one  other

than yourself here, I'pan. Where are these others of whom you speak,  and  why

do they hide?"

"We hide for  the  same  reasons  you  do,"  said  I'pan.  There  was  no

accusation in his tone, so Nom Anor felt no cause to lash out at him. "We have

learned to do it out of necessity—for self-preservation." Then, ringing a bell

that dangled from a tripod by the entrance to the shaft,  he  suddenly  called

out: "Ekma! Sh'roth! Niiriit! We have a visitor."

Muffled voices responded to I'pan's call and  the  sound  of  the  chuk'a

ebbed. Nom Anor straightened as footsteps sounded seemingly  from  all  around

him. The fear of capture returned to him. With the minshals and the chuk'a the

Shamed Ones no longer seemed so helpless or liable  to  obey  his  will.  Down

here, in their world, he was just one individual among many.

Still, he thought, any number of Shamed Ones should be as nothing to  one

who defied the Supreme Overlord himself. He held  himself  as  proudly  as  he

could while awaiting his fate, his wounded hand hanging freely,  still  oozing

blood.

A dozen figures appeared from the shadows around them; three more emerged

from the entrance to the air-shaft. The Shamed Ones surrounded  him,  studying

him. All were ragged and misshapen, although few as severely as I'pan. Two, in

fact, seemed perfectly healthy, tall and ritually scarred like  warriors.  Nom

Anor had never seen warriors so filthy before, however, and their rags were  a

far cry from vonduun crab armor.

One of these two stepped forward. Her face was narrow and angular;  scars

traced deep crosshatched lines across her cheeks and temples.

"I know you," she said, barely a pace away from  him.  She  displayed  no

fear whatsoever,  only  confidence,  for  which  Nom  Anor  felt  nothing  but

admiration. For a while he had thought they would all be like I'pan.

"Well, I don't know you," he responded evenly. Underneath  his  calm,  he

was tense, readying himself for attack. One dart from his plaeryin bol and she

would suffer a quick and painful death.

"Does it matter who I am?" she snapped. "You have  failed  our  warmaster

many times, Executor, but I doubt you've ever noticed the ones who  fell  with

you. There are many like me who suffered for your ineptitude. Not all of  them

found honor in death."

"You still might," Nom Anor said, on the verge of using the plaeryin bol.

But he held himself back. Killing her would set the rest against him. Until he

was certain he  was  about  to  be  betrayed,  he  would  exercise  restraint—

uncharacteristic as it was for him.

"True," she said, the blue sacks beneath her eyes pulsing  slightly  from

suppressed emotions that he could only guess at. "I still might."

She turned her back on  him,  and  he  bit  down  on  his  anger  at  the

deliberately insulting gesture. After a few seconds, with those around  silent

in anticipation of Nom Anor's response, the female faced him again, her  dirty

teeth smiling at him.

"I am Niiriit," she said, "former warrior of Domain Esh. And you are  the

once-great Nom Anor." She looked him up and down  briefly  with  a  dismissive

snort. "I presume you must have failed the  warmaster  once  again.  Why  else

would you be seen down here among the likes of us?"

She  paced  around  him,  putting  on  a  show  of  superiority  for  her

compatriots in Shame. Her garb was little more than  tattered  rags,  but  her

bearing was strong and muscular. Nom Anor couldn't  help  his  admiration  for

her—even as he contemplated her death.

"I have not failed."  He  answered  the  accusation  leveled  at  him  by

Niiriit, but his good eye was directed at those huddled  around  him.  It  was

these whom he needed to impress his authority upon.

"You measure success, then, differently from what I would've expected."

He showed her his teeth, then. "If you wish to mock me, do so openly, not

as a coward."

"I'm sorry," she said, returning to stand in  front  of  him  again.  "It

wasn't my intention to mock, just to point out the reality of your  situation.

It must be faced. We have faced it in our own way, and as a result  are  doing

well enough down here. We live, we are safe, and we are building  a  home  for

ourselves." She indicated the air-shaft.  "Our  lacks  include  reliable  food

supplies and adequate clothing, but what we cannot steal we will soon be  able

to grow. Sh'roth here used to be a shaper." Her hand fell upon the shoulder of

one of the older ones in the group. "Many of us have worked in the  fields  in

the past. Among us we have the knowledge to create a self-sustaining community

that has no need  of  the  dhuryam.  What  happens  on  the  surface  will  be

irrelevant here. We just want to be alone—to be left in peace to find our  own

sort of honor."

Niiriit's defiance struck a chord within Nom Anor. She  was  Shamed,  but

she was clearly not defeated.

"I'm impressed," he said, his own survival instincts rising to the  fore.

If they  could  survive  down  there,  unnoticed  by  the  cleanup  crews  and

occasional security sweep, then it wasn't impossible that he could, too.

"We're not doing it to impress you," Niiriit said. "Nor did we seek  your

admiration."

"Nonetheless." Once he would have died rather than utter the words he was

about to say, but he knew he had little choice in the matter.  "I  would  stay

with you a while, given your leave."

Her expression didn't change. "Why?"

"You need able bodies, and I am willing to work."

Again she asked, "Why?"

That was harder to answer. "The sun has not yet set on the fortune of Nom

Anor," he said. "It will rise again, given time."

"And will we rise with it?" called out one of the Shamed Ones off to  his

left.

"Yes," he said, looking vaguely in their direction. "I give you  my  word

that, should I return to my former position, I will restore your honor."

There was a murmur of consent that quickly  rippled  through  the  Shamed

Ones. They were obviously taken with his offer.

"How can you listen to this?" The male ex-warrior  standing  just  behind

Niiriit stepped forward. "We have no reason to trust him!"

"I know that, Kunra," Niiriit said, her attention  remaining  fixed  upon

Nom Anor before her. "But he's one of us, now.  If  he  betrays  us,  then  he

betrays himself. Isn't that right, Nom Anor?"

The  former  executor  swallowed  his  pride,  and  it  tasted  of  bile.

Everything Niiriit said was true. They could trust him, because  here  in  the

depths of this offensive world, these Shamed Ones were all he had  left.  Yes,

he had told them he would give them back their status if he were  returned  to

his former position, and it was an offer he would happily keep  his  word  on.

For the chance to restore his own honor, Nom Anor  would  make  any  sacrifice

necessary.

"We are allies, Niiriit Esh," he said, giving her full name in return. "I

shall not betray you."

He raised his gashed fingers and steeled himself to reopen the  wound  in

order to demonstrate by sacrifice that they could take him at  his  mercy.  It

was an instinctive gesture, drummed into him after years in Shimrra's court.

Niiriit stepped forward and stopped him.  "That  is  not  necessary  down

here," she said. "We recognize a different sort of honor, a different sort  of

gods."

"Different gods?" he repeated.

Niiriit nodded, grinning. "And I just know you'll like them,"  she  said,

her dark eyes glinting in the greenish light from  the  globes  overhead.  "In

fact, you've met some of them in person. Spoken to them, even."

"You are talking about the Jeedai?" he asked, finding  it  impossible  to

contain his astonishment.

"That appalls you, Nom Anor?" She shook her head, as if  disappointed  in

him. "Live and learn, my friend, or die with the others when their time comes.

The choice is yours."

"And I make it freely," he said, bowing low to cover  his  surprise.  The

cult of the Jeedai? Here on Yuuzhan'tar? He'd heard whispers of  it  from  his

spies in the world-ships, but for it to have infiltrated so close  to  Shimrra

was unthinkable. No, more than that. He would have thought it impossible.

And yet, impossibly, it was so. What was going on down in these  dungeons

of Yuuzhan'tar was more than just survival. It was heresy.

Live and learn, he told himself, repeating Niiriit's words as though they

were a mantra. Perhaps there is a way, after all.

"Tell me about the Jedi," he said. "I am keen to know more..."

This is going to change  everything,  Jacen  Solo  thought  as  he  stood

beneath Jade Shadow's tapered nose, watching from  off  to  one  side  as  his

friends and family made their farewells to one another. This is the  beginning

of something new.

It was a very different kind of premonition that rolled through him as he

stood there on the landing bay, pretending to busy  himself  with  last-minute

checks to the ship. It wasn't necessarily a sense of  foreboding,  but  rather

something deeper, more profound. It was as though he could  vaguely  make  out

the future, and it was a strange and alien place—somehow a consequence of this

moment.

Then again, perhaps it wasn't a premonition at all. Perhaps  the  feeling

was a direct result of all the stimcaf he'd been drinking,  coupled  with  the

fact that he hadn't been sleeping well of late. For the last few nights he'd

been sitting in his room for hours on end, worrying—not  just  about  the

mission, either, but about leaving half the people he loved behind, as well.

He watched them now, hugging, shaking hands, kissing, laughing.  For  all

the levity, one would think Jade Shadow and her crew were off on nothing  more

than a jaunt to the sunbaked moons of Calfa-5 rather than on a mission to  the

Unknown Regions. But he didn't need the Force to tell  him  that  beneath  the

casual facade there simmered a somberness that would have been  difficult  for

any of them to shake.. .

Just about everyone was there to see off  Jade  Shadow.  His  mother  had

come, shadowed once again by her Noghri bodyguards, Cakhmaim and Meewalh.  Han

clapped Luke on the shoulder and advised him to keep out of trouble. The well-

meant hypocrisy provoked a light smile from the Jedi Master,  who  nodded  and

wrapped his old friend's hand in both of his and shook firmly.

To one side stood C-3PO, gleaming bronze in the arc  lights  illuminating

the side of the armored transport looming over them, with  R2-D2  beside  him,

whistling cheerfully to reassure his metal companion.

"It's not you I'm worried about," C-3PO returned "It's me!"

R2's domed top turned as it issued another string of beeps and whistles.

"Well, at least you don't know what awaits you in the  Unknown  Regions,"

C-3PO said. "I know far too much about the place Mistress Leia intends to take

me."

Jag Fel helped load the last of the supplies into  the  transport.  Danni

Quee was running late and had sent some equipment  down  ahead  of  her  on  a

repulsor platform. When it was empty, it beeped to no one  in  particular  and

trundled away. Cilghal's apprentice, Tekli, had already  loaded  supplies  the

healer had insisted they might need on their long journey. Luckily  the  giant

reptilian Jedi, Saba Sebatyne, had brought  less  than  half  her  allocation,

creating extra space. Like Jacen,  the  stoic  Barabel  stood  away  from  the

others, her small eyes blinking while her tail twitched restlessly  about  her

feet.

Perhaps she senses it, too, he thought. After all, those of us leaving on

Jade Shadow could be gone for months. Who knows what we'll be returning to, or

what we'll even be bringing back with  us?  Communications  with  the  Unknown

Regions were notoriously unreliable, routed  through  just  one  long-distance

transceiver on the edge of known space. After Anakin's  death,  he  wasn't  so

naive as to assume that he would ever again see any of these people he was now

saying good-bye to.

But I have no choice. Like everyone else, I must do what 1 must. The  war

with the Yuuzhan Vong might be won without us, but there  are  many  different

kinds of war.

Jaina noticed him standing to one side and came to join him.

"What's wrong, brother? Having second thoughts about going?"

He turned to face her and  was  surprised  by  how  grownup  she  looked.

Although the age difference between them was barely five standard minutes, she

seemed so much wiser and more mature than he pictured her in his  mind.  Where

was the child with whom he'd tormented C-3PO on Coruscant? Or the teenager who

had single-handedly repaired a crashed TIE fighter on Yavin 4?  The  girl  was

gone, replaced by this young woman standing now before him. Try as  he  might,

though, he couldn't recall exactly when the transition had occurred.

"Not at all," he replied, forcing a smile. "Just a little overwhelmed,  I

guess."

He looked at her again, still somewhat  amazed  by  the  confident  woman

standing before him. They weren't kids anymore. The universe had  taught  them

the hard way that the responsibilities of being an adult weren't always  easy.

But the Force connection between them was still strong, and  this  fact  alone

brought him great comfort.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Jaina said, intruding upon his

thoughts.

"I'm sure we will," Jacen said. "All  available  data  suggest  that  the

Unknown Regions are where—"

"I meant in your heart, brother."

His smile came easier this time. "I won't come back until I do."

"Is that a promise, Jacen?" she asked. "Or a prophecy?"

"Perhaps it's a little of both."

She embraced him, then, tightly and warmly. "Just make sure you  do  come

back, okay?" she whispered close to his ear.

She winked at him as she pulled away, and before he  could  say  anything

more, the space she had just vacated was suddenly  filled  with  other  people

wishing him well and bidding him good-bye.

Jag Fel shook  his  hand  with  a  definite  air  of  reassurance.  Jacen

forestalled his father's usual gruff attempts  at  farewells  by  cutting  off

whatever he'd been about to say and simply giving him a hug. His mother hugged

Jacen, too. She didn't offer any  words,  though.  She  didn't  need  to;  the

emotion in her eyes spoke volumes.

Others appeared before him,  taking  his  hand,  patting  his  back,  and

speaking animatedly. He heard little of what  was  said;  his  attention  kept

going back to his sister, now standing at the back with  Jag—who  respectfully

kept his hands to himself. Nevertheless, even though he didn't hear a  lot  of

what was being said to him, Jacen could feel the sentiments expressed. The air

was almost crackling with the Force as so many emotional Jedi clustered around

him.

He would miss the ones who would remain behind, but he wouldn't grieve—no

more than he would for Vergere. Even now, so many weeks  after  she  died,  he

could still hear her voice in his mind as clearly as though  she  was  one  of

those standing right there beside him.

"You have always been alone, Jacen  Solo.  Even  in  the  midst  of  your

family, and your friends. Even when you touched the  Force.  You  have  always

been set apart, distanced, separated and alone, through no choice or action of

your own."

He hadn't  understood  everything  his  teacher  had  said  to  him,  and

suspected he would be picking at the meaning of her words for  many  years  to

come—if  not  the  rest  of  his  life.  Vergere  had  been  a   creature   of

contradictions, a pet of the Yuuzhan Vong  at  one  moment,  an  ancient  Jedi

Knight in another.

"Everyone is part of you," she  had  said,  "just  as  you  are  part  of

everyone."

It was a simple truth, and one he embraced now as he said good-bye to his

friends and family. While his loved ones lived, wherever they were, he had  no

cause to grieve.. .

At that moment, Danni Quee bustled into the bay, her shoulders laden with

bags. Following her, looking somewhat dazed and confused, was Tahiri.

"I found this one wandering in the corridors outside," Danni said.

Tahiri flushed pink. "I-I got lost on the way here," she stammered.  "I'm

sorry."

Jacen felt a wave of compassion for the girl. The three deep scars on her

forehead stood out strongly against her blood-filled face.  She  still  looked

terribly thin and

uncertain of herself; there was  little  in  the  girl's  appearance  and

nervous manner to suggest the Jedi he knew her to be.

He reached out with the Force to touch her, comfort her. She glanced over

at him, a faint trace of gratitude in her smiling eyes. But  she  turned  away

quickly, uneasily, back to the others.

"So this is it?" Danni said,  her  eyes  bright,  her  curly  blond  hair

standing in a nimbus around her head. "We're really going?"

"We're really going," Luke said. Mara went aboard Jade  Shadow  to  prime

the yacht's systems. Saba and Tekli followed. The sound of mechanical  systems

whirring into life gave the farewells a new urgency. The Solo/ Skywalker  clan

gathered for one  last  moment  while  the  others  moved  aboard.  Jacen  was

unsurprised to see tears in Tahiri's eyes when she was invited to join in, but

was glad she agreed.

"May the Force be with us all," Luke said after a moment.

"It  always  is,"  Jacen  said  automatically,  paraphrasing  another  of

Vergere's teachings. "The Force is everything, and everything  is  the  Force.

The only uncertainty lies in ourselves."

Jaina smiled at her brother; Leia did the same, and kissed his cheek.

Then it was time to go. Everything was loaded, and  everyone  was  there.

There was no point delaying any longer. As R2-D2 glided ahead of  him  up  the

ramp into Jade Shadow's belly, Jacen felt the  premonition  rush  through  him

once more. It prompted him to halt momentarily and cast a quick glance back to

his parents and sister.

What if I'm wrong about Zonama Sekot? he wondered anxiously. What if this

grand quest is nothing more than an  elaborate  means  of  running  away  from

conflict?  What  if  I  misunderstood  Vergere  completely?  Even  if  he  had

understood her perfectly and was doing exactly the right thing for the moment,

it still wouldn't be easy. As she had said: "No lesson is truly learned  until

it is purchased with pain," The lesson the Galactic Alliance had to learn  was

a difficult one, and he was in no doubt that the people most  likely  to  bear

the cost would be those on Jade Shadow.

He offered a brief wave and then continued into the maw of the  ship.  At

the top of the ramp he saw Danni standing there, waiting for  him.  Her  smile

did little to hide her own anxieties.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, Danni," he said, looking calmly and

evenly into her eyes. "Everything is going to work out just fine."

"Really?" she said, shucking the larger of her bags.  "Well,  either  you

know something I don't, Jacen Solo, or you're one of the best liars I've  ever

met."

PART TWO

DESTINATION

The moment Jade Shadow dropped out of hyperspace near Bastion, capital of

the Imperial Remnant, Saba Se-batyne knew something was wrong. Her  mind  rang

with the distinctive and unsettling harmonics of life  extinguished  in  great

amounts. But it was more than that — this was the absence of life  itself,  as

though chunks of the vital universe had been hollowed out, deeper than vacuum.

She roared at the same time Mara announced: "Yuu-zhan Vong!"

"Where?" Luke asked from the copilot's seat.

"Everywhere!"  Mara's  hands  played  across  the  controls.  "Hold   on,

everybody. This could get rough!"

The ship lurched violently. Saba didn't need viewscreens to tell her that

they'd been seen by the enemy. The empty points that were the Yuuzhan Vong and

their strange, living vessels spun around  her  like  pollen  in  a  miniature

hurricane.  Jade  Shadow  danced  among  them,   weaving   in   and   out   of

confrontations, desperately trying to shake off any enemy craft they picked up

on their trail. The ship rang with the sound of weapons  fire,  both  incoming

and outgoing.

Saba's blunted claws left great dents in the fabric  of  the  navigator's

chair she occupied. She wasn't aware of  the  low  rumbling  coming  from  her

throat until Jacen Solo braved the shaking deck to come and crouch  down  next

to her.

"Do you feel it, Saba?" he asked. "Can you tell through the Force  what's

going on?"

"I feel..." Her teeth clenched tight as another wave of death rolled over

her. Bastion was  being  pummeled  by  the  Yuuzhan  Vong;  lives  were  being

extinguished by the millions. She didn't have words.

"I'm sensing life here," Jacen said, "but in great disarray."

Saba agreed. She could sense  the  life  energies  scattered  around  the

system: some on the planet, panicked, trying to escape the invaders;  some  in

orbit, pulling  back  before  an  overwhelming  invasion;  and  several  other

clusters throughout the system where forces were attempting to  regroup.  They

were outnumbered by the Yuuzhan Vong, but they were there.

"I can make out at least fifteen capital ships!" Mara  shouted  from  her

position at the controls. "Big ones, too!" She shook her head in  frustration.

"Bastion is going to take a pummeling, no matter what we do."

"It looks to me like they're pulling out," Luke said.  "Falling  back  to

regroup elsewhere. Look." One figure stabbed at a  screen.  "They're  civilian

ships. They've evacuated Bastion."

There was a moment of tense silence as the significance of that statement

sunk in. To evacuate Bastion, the Empire must  have  been  hit  hard.  But  it

wasn't finished. As galling as a retreat  was,  sometimes  it  made  the  best

tactical sense. The ships flooding in waves  from  Bastion  were  getting  out

under cover of the planetary shields. It looked  like  they  would  hold  long

enough to save much of the population.  If  the  population  had  stayed  put,

however, the concentrated fire of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  would  have  eventually

overwhelmed them.

That portion of the battle was already decided. Saba sent  her  mind  out

across the system, to where  life-lights  clustered  in  smaller  groups.  The

largest, she guessed, contained the equivalent of two Star Destroyers as  well

as a number of support vessels. They were swinging around the back  of  a  gas

giant,  caught  in  its  gravity  shadow  and  harried  by  a  powerful  enemy

contingent.

Saba focused on the viewscreens before her, trying to  match  what  she'd

seen against the coordinates in the real world. Jade Shadow was too  small  to

affect what happened on Bastion, but it might make a difference in  a  smaller

arena.

"There," she growled, pointing with a thick finger. "That section  there.

But you must be quick. They're in trouble."

Jacen stood and stepped over to his aunt to relay the  information.  Saba

shut her eyes as Jade Shadow leapt forward, ducking and weaving. Mara  made  a

short hy-perspace jump to take it closer to the gas giant, and for  one  brief

and blessed moment there was nothing but silence.

Just another planet attacked by the Yuuzhan Vong, she told herself.  Hunt

the moment.

A small, furred hand grabbed Saba's scaly wrist. Opening her eyes  again,

she saw that Tekli now occupied the space that Jacen  had  just  vacated.  The

diminutive Chadra-Fan emitted a wave of pheromones that Saba  found  soothing.

She knew that the healer's apprentice had learned how to control her  chemical

scents to produce compounds with properties therapeutic  to  various  species,

but she hadn't realized that the Barabels were included among those.

Although it might once have seemed strange to her to be  comforted  by  a

creature that looked more like a meal than an equal,  she  sighed  gratefully,

allowing herself to relax and be taken by the peaceful scent. A moment  later,

all too soon, it was back to the fighting.

The screen was filled with a bloated, orange-yellow gas  giant.  Numerous

rings and moons crowded around it, as if for safety; many already showed signs

of disruption as warring fleets plowed past or sometimes  even  directly  into

them. Far below, through the  dense  atmosphere,  Saba  felt  alarm  spreading

through a colony of balloonlike life-forms; similar to the  giant  beldons  of

Bes-pin, they were too primitive to understand the meaning of the disturbances

taking place in the sky.

Jade Shadow came around the planet as though intending to ram the remains

of the Imperial fleet, trailing two determined coralskippers. As  Mara  neared

the  two  Star  Destroyers  that  Saba  had  sensed,  she  performed  a   deft

gravitational  whip  around  one  of  the  gas  giant's  larger   moons.   The

coralskippers followed, tugging at Jade  Shadow's  shields  with  their  dovin

basals. Plasma fire peppered at their rear until, when  Jade  Shadow's  vector

had matched that of the Imperial fleet and it was in full  view  of  the  Star

Destroyers, Mara stutterfired to distract them, then used the  Force  to  drop

two shadow bombs under their guard. The coralskippers blossomed  into  energy.

Once the afterwash of the explosion had passed, Jade Shadow slowed and leveled

out.

"This is Mara Jade Skywalker, captain of the Galactic Alliance  transport

Jade Shadow, hailing Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera. Are you  receiving  me,

Chimaera?"

The subspace receiver crackled before a reply came in: "You're a long way

from home, Captain Skywalker."

"Just thought we'd drop in to see how you  guys  were  doing,"  she  said

sardonically. "And from the looks of things, I'm guessing not so good."

"Your timing could be better." The comm operator sounded weary. "I  don't

suppose you've brought a fleet with you."

"I'm afraid not, Chimaera, but you could do worse than concentrating your

fire on that cruiser lurking at the back. It's holding a yammosk. Take it out,

and you might find your luck changing."

"A yammosk?... How could you possibly know that?"

"Ask questions later, when you know I'm right."

"Understood, Captain Skywalker. Passing on the information now."

"Before you do that, I need to speak to Grand Admiral Pellaeon."

"Patching you through to the bridge now, Captain Skywalker."

The line went dead and, barely seconds later, a squadron of TIE  fighters

left the launching bays of Chimaera, angling away from the gas giant below  to

target the yammosk-bearing cruiser. Although the Yuuzhan Vong  had  eased  off

their attack for the moment, it  was  obvious  that  prior  to  Jade  Shadow's

arrival the fighting had been intense. Both Star Destroyers were scarred  from

weapons fire;  black  gashes  had  been  torn  through  Chimaera's  underside,

exposing a large number of decks to naked space.  Saba  could  feel  its  crew

fighting to stay alive, along with the fading traces of those who had  failed.

She couldn't tell exactly how many were injured or dying, only that there were

many.

"If you've come to say I told you so, Skywalker, then I'm not interested,

" the Grand Admiral announced curtly. "This isn't the time for—"

"I'm not known for gloating, Gilad," Luke  said,  leaning  past  Mara  to

speak into the comm. "No more than you are for giving up."

"Both Skywalkers? To what do we owe this honor?"  "Call  it  destiny,  or

good luck. Either way, your forces are taking a pounding. Can you tell us what

went wrong? Considering the size of your home  fleet,  I  would  have  thought

you'd be able to hold your own."

"They took us by surprise," the Grand Admiral said  irritably.  "We  were

holding our own to begin with. Then the Vong pulled back. We  thought  we  had

them on the run, but they were just getting out of the way."  Mara  nodded  in

understanding. "Grutchins?" "Thousands  of  them,"  the  admiral  said.  "Once

they'd punched a hole in our defenses, the Yuuzhan Vong  came  back  into  the

fray. We've been on the back foot ever since.

Saba hissed at the mention of the hideous, insectoid creatures. Swarms of

grutchins had laid waste to too many defenses during the war with the  Yuuzhan

Vong for her to doubt that the same had happened here.

"Admiral," Master Skywalker said, "the offer  to  join  forces  is  still

open."

"Your sister was up here a while back, trying to sell us on that idea.  I

thought the Moffs made it quite clear then that your help wasn't required."

"And where are the Moffs now, Gilad?"

Saba noticed Pellaeon's hesitation. He may have  been  a  commander  with

pride, but he was also smart enough to acknowledge when  he  needed  help,  no

matter how much it hurt to do so.

"Okay, Skywalker," the Grand Admiral said after a moment. "We'll  discuss

this later, if there is a later. I understand you've given us  some  telemetry

that might shift the balance here. If that works, we'll regroup with the  rest

of the fleet at Yaga Minor. Civilian refugees are heading for Muunilinst,  but

we suspect the Vong will follow our forces, to keep us  off  balance.  If  you

beat us there, look for Captain Arien Yage of  the  frigate  Widow-maker.  She

used to serve with me on the Chimaera; if she survived Bastion, she'll  listen

to you."

"Understood." Mara and Luke exchanged glances. "Good luck."

The Grand Admiral closed the line. For a moment, no one  on  Jade  Shadow

spoke. It was Jacen who finally stated the obvious.

"It had to happen," he said. "We knew it was  inevitable,  even  if  they

didn't want to admit it."

"That doesn't make it any easier to watch."  Luke's  voice  was  slightly

reproving. His eyes were haunted by the deaths everyone was feeling.

"I wish there was something we could do," Tekli muttered.

"Unless it's likely to create a fleet out of thin air, you're better  off

not wishing," Mara said, glancing back at her briefly. "They had their  chance

to join with us, and they didn't take it. I'll bet the Yuuzhan Vong left  them

alone, knowing the Imperials would never join in—not until  provoked,  anyway.

When their spies said they'd had just enough time to get over Ithor, to  relax

the defenses, the Vong hit them with everything they could spare. It's what  I

would have done in their shoes. Flatten the  Empire  with  whatever  resources

they can get, this far out, and get rid of a niggling irritant. Then put those

resources back into the real battle, elsewhere. Do it quickly enough and those

forces won't be missed."

"If the Empire survives, it may prove to be more than just an  irritant,"

Luke said. He backed away to give his  wife  clear  access  to  the  controls.

"What's the name of that other Star Destroyer? Do you recognize it?"

"It's pretty banged up, but I think it's the Superior."

"The Yuuzhan Vong aren't going to let them wander around here forever."

"Your guess at how much longer they can last is as good  as  mine,  Luke.

Pellaeon can probably handle this lot, if  they  take  out  the  yammosk,  but

anything tougher will turn him into metal rain for that moon over there."

"And us with him, if we stick  around."  Master  Sky-walker  was  clearly

unhappy about the decision he was being forced to make. On the one hand,  Saba

guessed, he wanted to stay and add the Jade  Shadow  to  the  Imperial  forces

withdrawing from Bastion. On the other, he had the mission itself to think of:

the hunt for Zonama Sekot. Being destroyed wouldn't solve anything.

Her claws itched at the  thought  of  running  from  battle,  at  leaving

another planet to the nonexistent mercy of the Yuuzhan Vong. But harsh  though

it sounded, it seemed that leaving Bastion in favor of the  mission  did  make

the most sense.

"We'll meet them at Yaga Minor," Master Luke said, sighing heavily.

"The old stomping ground."

"Can you get us safely out of the giant's gravity well?"

Mara responded unhesitatingly. "Of course. I  can  outfly  the  scarheads

with my eyes closed."

"Then do it," her husband said.

"Better strap in. This isn't going to be the gentle scenic stroll we were

promised."

Saba left them to handle Jade Shadow and strapped herself into a seat  in

the passenger bay. Danni Quee, who had sat pale-faced and silent  through  the

entire encounter, remained in position to Saba's right, next to Jacen Solo and

Tekli. This was a familiar configuration. They had spent much of their  voyage

in readiness for mishap, despite Mara's words. Every time they had come out of

hyperspace—and even during longer jumps,  for  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  interdictor

ships were an ever-present concern—they had been safely strapped in,  just  in

case.

Now that "in case" had happened, Saba found the familiarity soothing. The

hunt had begun. All that remained was to see if the prey perished, or  if  the

hunter went hungry. The matter of who out of the Yuuzhan Vong and  the  Empire

was the hunter, and who was the prey, she hadn't decided yet.  But  even  from

what little she had experienced of Grand Admiral Pellaeon,  she  already  knew

that he was not the sort to be readily preyed upon. He  would  have  surprised

many would-be hunters by turning on  them  at  the  last  moment  and  showing

unsuspected teeth. Perhaps this time would be another.

The niggling thought that even the sharpest teeth could be  blunted  with

time followed her as Jade Shadow raced through hyperspace  to  the  rendezvous

point.

Jacen took the navigator's  seat  in  Jade  Shadow's  cockpit  when  they

emerged from hyperspace a discreet distance from Yaga Minor.  The  planet  was

known for shipyards that serviced the Imperial Remnant, and via the screens he

looked on, impressed, at the vast orbital frameworks that dwarfed Yaga Minor's

single,  small  moon.  Everything  from  microwelders  to  self-contained  ore

smelters was being used to create ships for the ever-growing fleet. Two  half-

completed Star Destroyers hung in the spindly embrace of one of the shipyards;

the others were in the process of building various freighters, frigates, tugs,

and TIE fighters. An engine-testing range near one of the yards flashed  every

color of the rainbow—and beyond — as vessels ran through  their  paces  before

being released into service.

When Jade Shadow arrived, the remains of the fleet stationed  around  the

Imperial capital and its neighbor, Muunilinst, were slowly coming  into  orbit

around Yaga Minor—disheartened by the retreat but determined  to  fight  back.

The first of the survivors docked their ships alongside the Golan III  Defense

Platforms orbiting the planet, while those  needing  repairs  headed  for  the

yards. It wasn't long, though, before the available  berths  were  full.  Yaga

Minor wasn't designed to accommodate the entire fleet at once,  not  even  one

reduced by the surprise attack on Bastion.

Jade Shadow's long-range sensors detected three Star Destroyers  arriving

from Bastion, neither of them Chi-maera or Superior.  Jacen  waited  anxiously

for any sign of Gilad Pellaeon. If the Grand Admiral didn't survive the battle

of Bastion, Jacen didn't fancy their chances of bringing around the Imperials.

Pellaeon had so often been the voice  of  reason  in  the  proud  isolationist

state. If anyone was  going  to  convince  the  Moffs  to  join  the  Galactic

Alliance, it was going to have to be him.

"How long do we wait for him to appear?" Danni asked Jacen  quietly  from

behind, not wanting to startle him. She still  looked  nervous.  Their  escape

from Bastion had been much narrower than Mara had let on, he knew,  and  Danni

was Force-sensitive enough to have guessed it. Indeed, their  trip  thus  far,

from Mon Calamari across Yuuzhan Vong-occupied territory, had been  enough  to

put anyone on edge. Once he would have felt safe upon  reaching  the  Imperial

Remnant, but the attack on Bastion had dispelled that comfort.

"To be honest," he said, "I don't know. What I do know, though,  is  that

Gilad Pellaeon is a survivor. If he can get out of there, he will."

Proximity alarms bleeped and Jacen turned his  attention  to  his  aunt's

voice as she explained who they were to a squadron of TIE  fighters  that  had

noticed Jade Shadow lurking in the planet's outer orbits. But there  was  none

of the usual Imperial hostility in the squadron  leader's  voice,  as  he  was

expecting. If anything, the pilot seemed relieved that Jade Shadow  wasn't  an

advance vessel from the Yuuzhan-Vong, scoping out  Yaga  Minor  for  the  next

wave.

My enemy's enemy is my friend, Jacen reminded himself. If Gilad  Pellaeon

didn't make it, then at least they would have that going in their favor.

His relief was short-lived, however, when  another  call  came  over  the

subspace band.

"Unauthorized vehicle identifying itself as Jade Shadow," said the  deep,

guttural voice through the comm unit. In his voice Jacen detected nothing  but

offi-ciousness. "Please respond."

"This is Jade Shadow" Mara replied. "What is it now?"

"You are required to state your intentions and prepare to be boarded."

"What? We're on a peaceful mission."

"That remains to be seen,"  the  voice  continued.  "Do  as  you're  told

immediately or your engines will be disabled."

"I'd like to see you try," Mara snarled. "Who  am  I  talking  to?  Which

idiot sent you?"

"I am Commander Keten and I represent Moff Flennic of Yaga Minor. You are

violating Imperial space and will be  fired  upon  if  you  do  not  obey  its

regulations."

Now this was more what Jacen had come to  expect  of  the  Imperials.  He

moved back through to the cockpit to find Luke and Mara conferring over how to

respond to the commander's demands. Through the massive transparisteel canopy,

Jacen saw an armed Imperial transport moving to match orbits, accompanied by a

dozen TIE fighters.

"What do you want to do?" Luke was saying.

Mara looked uncertain. "I don't know. I need time to think."

"Time we don't have, my love," Luke said.

"I don't see what the problem is," Jacen put in. "Why not just  let  them

board? It's not as though we have anything to hide."

Luke nodded. "He's right, Mara. And it will be  a  gesture  of  goodwill,

besides."

Jacen felt warmed by his uncle's  support.  Mara,  however,  was  not  as

convinced. She shook her head, rejecting the idea.

"I know Flennic's type," she said. "He'll have a  chip  on  his  shoulder

bigger than a Super Star Destroyer. Let him get ahold of us and we'll  end  up

in some shipyard sweatshop for the rest of our lives."

"Which might not be that long if the Yuuzhan Vong keep coming this  way,"

Luke returned wryly.

"Please respond immediately," the commander said shortly. "Or we will  be

forced to take action."

A smile touched Mara's lips as an idea sprang to mind. "With the Jedi  we

have on board, all we have to do is get Keten here and we can make the problem

go away."

Into the comm  unit,  she  said:  "We  see  your  point,  Commander.  Our

passenger space is limited, but we'd be pleased to welcome  you  aboard.  When

you see for your own eyes that—"

Keten cut her off with a chuckle. "You don't honestly think that  I'd  be

the one coming aboard, do you? I'd sooner stick my head in a drive  tube  than

take my chances with your Jedi  mind  tricks.  No,  the  boarding  party  will

consist solely of Mark Five security droids."

Mara cursed under her breath. "Well, there goes that idea."

"You can hardly blame him for being suspicious," Jacen  said.  "You  were

intending to use those Jedi mind tricks, after all."

His uncle sighed. "Well, we can't very well turn him down now," he  said.

"Not after agreeing to be boarded."

The communicator bleeped. Another transport was edging closer.

"This is Captain Yage of Widowmaker," a woman's voice said over the comm.

"Commander Keten, you may stand down. I shall be boarding this vessel  myself,

seeing as you will not."

"But Captain—" Keten started.

Yage cut him off sharply. "May I remind you, Commander, that  right  here

and now I outrank you," she said. "I am ordering you  to  stand  down,  and  I

expect you to comply without debate."

There was a long pause before Keten finally  came  back  with,  "I  shall

submit to your authority, Captain, but I would like it to go on record that  I

do so under protest."

"Duly noted, Commander," Yage said. "Yage out."

The armed transport and its contingent of fighters accelerated to a lower

orbit, leaving Jade Shadow to face the new arrival.

"Requesting permission to dock, Jade Shadow," Captain Yage said over  the

comm.

"The same Captain Yage Pellaeon told us to look out for,"  Luke  reminded

Mara.

"That's not the highest recommendation," Mara said, "but it will have  to

do." Speaking into the communicator, she said: "Feel free to match  velocities

and extend your umbilical, Captain. Welcome aboard."

Jacen went back through the ship to ready the air lock. Jade  Shadow  was

relatively cramped, given the extra equipment she had been fitted  with  along

with the supplies  required  for  their  extended  mission.  There  were  five

staterooms, a passenger bay, a  galley,  and  a  common  area  leading  off  a

central, looping corridor. The bridge and common room were the diamonds in the

corridor's ring. The main air lock hatch with its dummy door  was  located  on

the port side.

As he passed through the passenger bay, he was met by  Danni  coming  the

other way.

"Is everything okay?" she asked quickly as he passed.

"Better than it could have been," he said. "I'm just going to  greet  the

locals now."

He hesitated at the entrance to the main corridor, looking  back  at  the

scientist. So far throughout the trip, Danni hadn't really  had  a  chance  to

contribute in any way. He couldn't blame  her  for  looking  and  sounding  so

anxious.

"I don't suppose you'd like to join me, would you?" he asked.

Her worried expression dissolved into a grateful smile  as  she  followed

him out of the passenger bay, obviously pleased to be finally doing something.

When they reached the air lock, Jacen double-checked that his  lightsaber  was

at his side, just in case this Captain Yage was not as  reliable  as  Pellaeon

had suggested she would be. From  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  caught  Danni

watching him. He faced her fully when he saw the apprehension on her face.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Why do I keep allowing myself  to  get  talked  into

these things, Jacen?"

He frowned, confused. "I didn't think I talked  you  into  anything,"  he

said. "I just thought you might like to come along and greet—"

"No, not here!" she said. "Here—on this mission."

Jacen nodded, understanding the core of  her  reservations.  "The  locals

can't be that bad, can they?" He tried to ease her concerns with a smile.

She shrugged. "I've  never  actually  met  Imperials  before.  But  I  do

remember the stories my parents  used  to  tell  me."  She  paused,  her  eyes

flitting nervously from the air lock to Jacen. "They can't  all  be  monsters,

can they?"

"No. They're human, Danni, just like us." He leaned against the  bulkhead

next to her, enjoying the momentary quiet the two of them  had  been  granted.

"You know, I wonder sometimes what it'll be like when the war is over. What do

you suppose we'll do when we're not being asked to do stuff like this?"

"We'll go back to doing whatever  it  was  we  did  before  all  of  this

started, I guess," she said.

He laughed a little at this. "It's been  so  long  now  that  those  days

before the Yuuzhan Vong arrived are starting  to  blur.  It  gets  harder  and

harder each day to recall just what it was like back then."

"Maybe that's a good thing," she said. "A break with the past. If we  can

get the Empire to join up, that'll make the Galactic Alliance something  truly

new. Who knows? We might just find galactic unity yet."

"That's all well and good," he  said,  "but  I  wonder  about  the  small

things, too. What I'll do, not just what happens to the galaxy."

"You'll do what Jedi Knights seem to do best," she said.

He studied her for a second. "Which is?"

"Get into trouble, of course," she said.  Despite  her  nervousness,  she

forced a smile.

He smiled in return, glad that her  mood  had  lightened.  "I'd  just  as

happily settle for a quiet life somewhere. There's a lot left to think  about.

A lifetime or two's worth, in fact."

"It could get lonely."

"It could indeed." He thought it nothing more than a flip  comment  until

his gaze met hers. Suddenly he found it hard to look away.

"Jacen?" Mara's voice from his comlink snapped him out of it.

"Yeah," he said, straightening. "I'm here."

"Ten seconds," she said. "I'll disarm the outer hatch when the  umbilical

is pressurized."

A moment later a dull thud  echoed  through  the  hull  as  the  Imperial

transport sealed an umbilical to attach the two craft.  Pressure  readings  on

the far side of the air lock rose steadily once the noise died away. Less than

a minute later, Jacen heard a gentle hiss as the air lock broke its  seal  and

swung open.

He glanced at Danni. Her face was set in a determined mask, with no  sign

of the vulnerability he had sensed a moment before. But she tensed  noticeably

as three people in Imperial uniform stepped through the air lock. The  one  in

the lead, a solidly built woman in her forties with black hair  bound  tightly

into a bun, Jacen assumed to be Captain  Yage,  with  the  two  male  officers

following close behind, their blaster rifles at the ready, her bodyguards.

"Welcome aboard Jade Shadow," Jacen said pleasantly, stepping forward. He

introduced himself and Danni, keeping his hands respectfully behind  his  back

at all times. Yage bowed perfunctorily to each of them in turn,  but  made  no

effort to introduce her male companions. "We'd like  to  thank  you  for  your

assistance back there."

"Not at all," the captain said. "I have never been fond  of  time-wasting

bureaucracy—particularly from the likes of officious idiots like  Keten."  She

smiled tightly. "That's off the record, of course."

"Of course." Jacen waved the guests through to  the  common  area,  where

Mara and Luke stood, ready to greet them. Off  to  one  side  stood  Saba  and

Tekli. Jacen noted the way Yage's bodyguards started in alarm at the sight  of

the enormous Barabel, their rifles rising slightly. Yage was startled also, he

was sure, but she  was  professional  enough  to  suppress  any  sign  of  her

surprise. Saba rumbled slightly in her throat, and the troopers lowered  their

weapons.

Yage inclined her head politely to the two nonhumans when introduced, but

quickly returned her attention to Luke and Mara.

"So at last I meet the legendary Skywalkers," she said, stepping  forward

to shake their hands. "I've certainly heard a lot about you."

"All untrue, I'm sure," Mara said pleasantly. "I hope not.  Gilad  speaks

very highly of you both." "I don't suppose you've heard if Grand Admiral  Pel-

laeon has returned from Bastion," Luke said.

A shadow seemed to pass across Captain  Yage's  face.  "I'm  afraid  that

Fleet Intelligence is in disarray following the Yuuzhan Vong's attack."

"Have you learned anything more about how the enemy managed to do so much

damage so quickly?"

"I already know why. We were taken disgracefully off guard by the attack.

Our spies had reported that the fleet approaching us was headed  for  Nirauan,

not here at all, but I guess our spies weren't as reliable  as  we'd  thought.

Even so, we should have been ready. Anyone with half a brain should have  seen

the flaw in the reasoning that, if  we  hadn't  been  attacked  yet,  we  were

unlikely to be attacked at all. Our refusal to  join  with  the  rest  of  the

galaxy in resisting didn't make us safe. That type of logic  didn't  work  for

the Hutts, so why should it have worked for us?"

"It seems to me," Mara said,  "that  you're  paying  the  price  for  the

council's lack of foresight."

"Perhaps now the Moffs will see reason," Jacen added. .

Yage half turned to look at him. "You think so? You've already seen  what

Moff Flennic thinks of you. He might try to resist the Yuuzhan Vong, but he'll

never join the people who took the Empire away from him." She looked  at  each

of them in turn, her gaze finally coming to rest on Luke. "That's  why  you're

here, isn't it? To try again to get us to join you. We already have a  treaty.

What more do you want?"

"Ideally," Luke said, "we'd  like  the  Empire  to  become  part  of  the

Galactic Alliance—but that's one for our respective legal  representatives  to

argue out. For now we'd simply like us to agree to help each other  before  we

continue on with—"

"We can fight well enough without your help," Yage quickly  pointed  out.

She may have been more courteous and diplomatic  than  Keten,  but  she  still

carried the Imperial pride. "We're ready for them now."

"You won't get far using  your  existing  techniques,"  Mara  said.  "Our

greatest minds have been working on a way to counterattack using the  yammosks

that make the Yuuzhan Vong so hard to beat. We can give you those techniques—"

"In exchange for what?"  the  captain  interrupted,  a  slight  suspicion

gently curling the corners of her mouth.

"Absolutely nothing," Luke said. "I'm not  a  diplomat,  Captain.  I'm  a

Jedi, I stand for life and peace, and I would never hold anything back for the

sake of political point scoring. I'd rather get about the business  of  saving

lives."

A thrill went through Jacen at his uncle and former teacher's words. They

rang true to the new philosophy of the Force that he was trying to  determine.

Captain Yage, however, was not as easily impressed,  and  raised  a  skeptical

eyebrow at the Jedi Master.

"Don't Yuuzhan Vong lives count to you, Jedi?" she asked.

Luke  didn't  recoil  from  her  response.  "The  Yuuzhan  Vong  are  the

aggressors, and our help won't guarantee their defeat. What you do  with  this

information is up to you."

"To be honest, Skywalker, if it was up to me, I'd use it quite  happily,"

she said. "But things will be grim without Gilad to champion your  cause.  The

hard-liners will always believe that the Empire in its glory days  could  have

withstood the invaders with ease, and that your weakening of our strength  has

led directly to our destruction. If destroyed we must be, then we will go down

with pride." Her voice was steeped in  bitterness.  "The  last  refugees  from

Bastion arrived some time ago. We're not expecting  any  more.  If  Gilad  had

survived, I'm sure he would have been here by now.  With  that  in  mind,  you

might be better off assuming that he won't be here to help you."

The mood in Jade Shadow turned instantly grim. "Then  we  shall  need  to

make alternative plans," Luke said. "We'll need to talk to  Flennic,  even  if

he's not prepared to listen to us. Can you get us to him  without  turning  us

over to the likes of Keten?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I can try," she said. "With Gilad  out

of the way, the anti-Galactic Alliance forces will be in  ascendance.  Add  to

that the fact that the Moff Council will be in tatters after  the  attacks  on

Bastion and Muunilinst, and  you'll  see  why  I  hesitate  to  guarantee  you

anything at the—" She stopped as her comlink buzzed. "Excuse me."

Captain Yage turned away to take the call, exchanging a few simple words
with the person on the other end. Before she had finished talking,  before  he

had even seen her face, Jacen knew something  was  wrong.  He  could  sense  a

powerful emotion radiating from her.

"What's gone wrong?" he asked when she clipped the comlink  back  on  her

belt.

"That was my second in command on Widowmaker," she said. "A shuttle  just

made it from Bastion containing injured ferried from Chimaera."  Her  troubled

eyes met Luke's. "Gilad was on board."

"That's good news, isn't it?" Jacen said.

She shook her head. "Not really," she said. "He's in a coma, and he's not

expected to live."

Anakin's mother came to see Tahiri the day before the  Millennium  Falcon

was due to leave on its  mission  to  patch  up  the  communications  gaps  in

Galactic Alliance space. Jacen and the  others  had  left  two  days  earlier,

leaving a surprising hole in Tahiri's life. Since she'd learned that  she  had

been intended for that mission, she felt as though she had let everyone  down.

She wasn't doing much to help the war effort by huddling in  Master  Cilghal's

infirmary, that was for sure. Jaina came when she could, but she was too  busy

organizing Twin Suns' departure to be wasting time  with  the  sick.  Anakin's

sister had said it was not a problem, and that she didn't mind taking time out

to visit Tahiri, but Tahiri felt guilty nonetheless for  inconveniencing  her.

She had caused Jaina enough trouble as it was.

So when the Mon Calamari nurse announced that Princess Leia  herself  had

dropped by to visit, Tahiri was  more  than  a  little  surprised—as  well  as

embarrassed.

"How are you feeling?" Anakin's mother pulled up a seat and sat close  to

the edge of Tahiri's bed. Mon Cal's sun was setting, sending brilliant  colors

through the window and across the middle-aged  stateswoman.  There  were  many

lines on her face, but they came from laughter and kindness and compassion. It

was easy to see why Han Solo loved her. She was still very  much  a  beautiful

woman, with her eyes being her most outstanding feature. And  whenever  Tahiri

looked into those eyes, she felt she could see Anakin staring back at her.

"I'm fine, thank you," Tahiri lied, blinking back  the  tears  that  were

welling up. Leia narrowed her eyes in  friendly  accusation.  Tahiri  relented

with a smile. "Okay," she said. "It's true that I have seen better days.  I'll

admit that much. But I'm just more tired than anything else.  Even  the  small

trip to see Jade Shadow off kind of took it out of me." She  shrugged.  "Other

than that, I think I'm doing all right."

"There's no rush," Leia said. "The important thing is that you get  well.

Cilghal tells me that you've put on weight, which is good news.  She  believes

that your weight loss constitutes the total of your  physical  symptoms.  Once

you think you're ready, you're free to leave." She paused, allowing space  for

Tahiri to speak. When nothing was said after a few seconds,  Leia  asked,  "Do

you think you're ready?"

Tahiri didn't know how to answer. She knew that she could get up and walk

out of the door anytime she wanted, but she  didn't  know  what  would  happen

after. The dreams hadn't stopped; if anything they'd become worse. If she left

now, they would gnaw at her as they had before, and before  she  knew  it  she

would be back in the infirmary again, still unable to explain to everyone just

what was happening to her.

She didn't want to leave; she felt safe here. But she also couldn't  stay

forever. The infirmary was for sick people, and she was—

What? What was she, exactly? She didn't know, and that was the problem.

Leia placed a hand on her arm, and Tahiri realized that she still  hadn't

replied to the question.

"I want you with us when we leave," Leia said softly.

Tahiri felt herself recoil in surprise. "You can't be serious."

Leia frowned. "Why Wouldn't I be?"

Tahiri struggled for the words that would help make sense  of  everything

that was happening in her head, but none were forthcoming. So she made excuses

instead. "I'm not a very good pilot," she said. "Or a politician!"

"But you are a Jedi Knight, Tahiri," said Leia. "And  that  is  something

else entirely."

"You have Jaina," Tahiri pointed out.

"Who is also a colonel, and has other responsibilities."

Tahiri didn't know what to say. You're a Jedi Knight.  The  words  didn't

sound right, didn't feel right, and that only renewed her guilt and reinforced

her belief that she had betrayed her friends.  Worse,  she  had  betrayed  the

memory of Anakin.

Had he ever felt such self-doubts? she wondered.

It was unlikely. None of the Solos seemed to  be  burdened  with  such  a

weakness. They always knew exactly who they were and  what  they  were  doing.

They were the most  focused  people  she  had  ever  met.  The  most  sure  of

themselves.

Except for Jacen. He had doubts. She knew that  he  was  still  wrestling

with his relationship with the Force and the council that Luke  Skywalker  had

formed. Perhaps she should have spoken to him while she'd had the chance.  But

it was too late now. He was in a completely

different part of the galaxy, and who knew when he was coming back?

"We all have doubts about ourselves, sometimes," Leia  said,  and  Tahiri

was appalled to realize that she had fallen silent again. "It's part  of  what

makes us sentient beings, Tahiri. Doubt makes us  examine  ourselves  and  all

that we do. And without the ability to do that, we  become  nothing  short  of

monsters. I had doubts when I joined the Rebellion, all those years ago, and I

had doubts when I married Han. But it's unlikely that "Grand Moff  Tarkin  had

doubts about destroying Alderaan." She  paused  for  a  moment,  reflectively.

"Don't be ashamed of doubt, Tahiri; it's a perfectly acceptable feeling."

Tahiri was surprised  to  see  tears  sparkling  in  Leia's  brown  eyes,

although whether they were for her destroyed home, she couldn't be sure.  Then

Leia reached out a hand and placed it over Tahiri's.

"I think," Leia said, "that you need the chance to find out who you  are,

Tahiri Veila, and I'd like to give that chance to you. What do you say?"

A chance to find out who she was... For a moment, Tahiri froze, wondering

what Jacen had told his mother. Was this some  kind  of  game?  But  when  she

looked into Leia's eyes, all she saw was softness and sympathy. There were  no

games. This was real.

You will always be family to us, Jacen had written. The notion of  family

tugged strongly at her. Her parents had been killed in a raid by  Sand  People

on Tatooine when she was a toddler. She was taken in  by  Tusken  Raiders  and

raised by Sliven, who had died not long after she had been taken to  the  Jedi

academy. She had no one else in the universe, except—

No, she told herself, forcing down the darkness that  rose  like  a  tide

inside her. I will not think these thoughts!

So she nodded. "Thank you," she said, forcing a smile. "And I'll try  not

to be too much of a burden on you all."

Leia smiled back and squeezed her hand. "You will be  an  asset,  Tahiri.

More than you realize."

Some of Leia's warmth stayed with Tahiri after she had gone, but not  for

long. Night had fallen, and there was a  slight  chill  to  the  air  stealing

through the open viewport. Tahiri closed  it  and  curled  under  the  covers,

shivering. The scars on her  forehead  were  aching,  as  though  a  vise  was

tightening around her skull. She sensed someone else in the room with her, but

was too afraid to lift her head and look.

If I ignore her, she told herself, maybe she'll just go away.

"Tell me more," Nom Anor said. He stared across at I'pan sitting opposite

him, the light from the fire flickering on his haggard features.

I'pan nodded eagerly and did as he was told. "As they  near  the  end  of

their quest, the Shamed One Vua  Ra-puung  and  the  Jeedai  Anakin  Solo  are

stopped by another group of warriors—this one even larger than the one before.

This group once served under Rapuung  himself,  before  he  was  Shamed.  They

challenge Rapuung and question why he is consorting with an infidel.

" 'I have nothing to be redeemed for,' Rapuung tells them proudly.

" 'We know your claims,' the warriors respond.

" 'You believe me cursed by the gods?'

" 'Whatever you are, whether cursed or not, you have  clearly  gone  mad.

You fight with an infidel against your own kind!'

"Now, Rapuung can understand why these warriors would think him gone mad—

he would have surely felt the  same  had  he  seen  another  warrior  fighting

against

him with an infidel at their side! But his  circumstances  allow  him  no

choice; this is his only way to fight for the truth.

"So, Rapuung challenges the warriors to defeat  him  alone,  without  the

Jeedai at his side, so that he may prove his worthiness."

Nom Anor narrowed his eyes. "But did you not say before that  he  had  no

amphistaff?"

I'pan nodded, standing to  give  his  retelling  more  impact,  his  arms

gesturing with theatrical flair. " Take up a weapon,  Rapuung,'  the  warriors

insist. 'Do not make us kill an unarmed man.'

"But Rapuung is determined. 'I have triumphed thus far without  weapons,'

he says. 'If the gods hated me so, would they have allowed this?'

"The warriors have no good answer to this, nor to his  skill  in  battle,

and, with the Jeedai's blessing, Vua Rapuung defeats them single-handedly."

Nom Anor listened with the same rapt attentiveness as the others  in  the

small fugitive group, huddling around the heat radiating from the fire. In the

story, which took place on  the  captured  world  Yavin  4,  Vua  Rapuung  was

supposedly Shamed by the  gods  and  therefore  his  implants  wouldn't  take.

Believing that he had in fact been betrayed by his former  lover,  the  shaper

Mezhan Kwaad, he sought revenge on her. Along the way, he came across the Jedi

Anakin Solo who assisted him in his quest, teaching Rapuung the Jedi heresy as

he went. Initially reluctant, the Shamed One had been converted, much  to  the

horror of those who had once known him. Even the Shamed Ones didn't  defy  the

gods.

What happened next was quite unknown to Nom  Anor,  even  though  he  had

studied the events that had taken place on Yavin 4 in some  detail,  analyzing

the details of a quite different heresy: that of the shaper Nen Yim,  who  had

also been stationed there. She, along with Mezhan Kwaad,  the  same  woman  in

I'pan's story, had been trying to bend the mind of a young Jedi girl  over  to

the ways of the Yuuzhan Vong. Ultimately, the experiment had failed, and  both

Mezhan Kwaad and Commander Tsaak Vootuh had been killed in the girl's  escape.

Nom Anor knew all this; he had seen recordings of some of the events I'pan was

relating; he had even met the Jedi Anakin Solo briefly while in  the  Yag'Dhul

system. His  spies  had  brought  word  of  various  versions  of  this  story

circulating through the lower castes. But he had never heard anything like the

rest of the story that I'pan was relating to the attentive group.

"Go on," said Niiriit Esh, the former warrior who governed the small band

of underground dwellers that Nom Anor had come to call his companions.

I'pan crouched down again to take up his tale, every  eye  present  fixed

unflinchingly upon him as they waited for him  to  continue.  He  was  a  good

storyteller, and was clearly in his element relating the adventures of Vua Ra-

puung and the Jedi.

"On the landing ramp  of  the  ship  that  would  take  them  to  safety,

Commander Vootuh and shaper Mezhan Kwaad are forced to  confront  Vua  Rapuung

and the Jeedai," he went on. "Out of respect for what  he  once  was,  Rapuung

demands that he be allowed to question his former lover in order to clear  his

name.

" 'I see no 'Vua Rapuung,' Commander Vootuh says. 'Only a Shamed One  who

does not know his place.'

" 'It is not I who is Shamed,' Rapuung replies. 'Do as the  Jeedai  says,

and know the truth.'

"But shaper Mezhan Kwaad only sneers at this, saying  that  there  is  no

sense in listening to the demented lies of Rapuung. 'He fights by the side  of

an infidel,' she says. 'What more do you need to hear?'

"Then from the crowd that has gathered by the  ramp  steps  Hul  Rapuung,

Vua's brother. He is a proud warrior with no stain upon  his  honor.  'Do  you

fear the truth, Mezhan Kwaad?' he asks. 'If he is mad,  then  what  harm  will

speaking to him do?'

"Mezhan Kwaad has no good reply to this,  and  Commander  Vootuh,  having

already exposed the shaper in treachery, allows Rapuung one  question  of  his

former lover. But he informs her that she  must  answer  truthfully,  for  the

truth hearer will surely detect any lies uttered.

"Vua Rapuung stands  tall  among  those  who  revile  him  and  asks  his

question."

The chamber in which they sat was silent as  they  waited  for  I'pan  to

reveal Rapuung's question. He  paused  deliberately,  dramatically,  his  gaze

flitting briefly to each one sitting there before speaking again.

' 'Mezhan Kwaad,' Rapuung says, 'did  you  intentionally  rob  me  of  my

implants, ruin my scars, and give me the appearance of being Shamed?  Did  you

do these things to me, Mezhan Kwaad, or did the gods?'

"The shaper is silent for a moment, the look on her face too horrible  to

behold. She has been trapped, and all present know it.

There are no gods!' she cries." I'pan stood tall, his hands reaching  for

the ceiling, as if this in some way would make the shaper's  exclamation  more

powerful than it already was. " 'This wretched thing that stands before me  is

my doing!' '

Everyone gasped at this—all except Nom Anor who, while intrigued  by  the

story, was not as easily impressed by I'pan's histrionics.

"Then," I'pan said, lowering his arms to his side, "with a base treachery

that overshadows any she has shown before, she strikes  Commander  Vootuh  and

Rapuung, killing them both."

A sigh of remorse and disappointment went up from the group listening  to

the story. Nom Anor could empathize. The  Shamed  One  Vua  Rapuung  had  been

vindicated at last, only to die an animal's death  moments  later,  unable  to

defend himself against the biological trickery of the shaper.

"There the matter might have rested," I'pan said, "but  for  the  Jeedai.

Before the treacherous Mezhan Kwaad can escape, she is slain by the  infidels.

They defend Vua Rapuung's honor at great risk to their  own  lives.  They  are

alone on this world, surrounded by an army of mighty Yuuzhan Vong warriors who

even now move in around them. Not even their superior  powers—their  Force—can

possibly save them.

"As a group of warriors loyal to the old gods move forward to  do  battle

with the brave but doomed Jeedai, another group confronts  them,  led  by  Hul

Rapuung, the redeemed Shamed One's brother. Out of respect for  Vua's  memory,

he says, the Jeedai should be allowed to  go  free.  They  saved  one  of  the

warriors' own number from shame and dishonor; do they not,  then,  deserve  to

live?

"No, say the ones who cling to the old ways.  The  Jeedai  are  infidels.

They defy the gods.

"Pointing at his brother's cooling body, Hul Rapuung responds: 'How  many

of you fought with him? Who ever questioned the courage of  Vua  Rapuung?  Who

ever doubted the gods loved him?'

"A muttering rises from the ranks of warriors gathered  around  him,  and

the two factions grip their am-phistaffs tightly.

" 'You will die,' say those who stand before Hul Rapuung.  'What  is  the

point of that?'

" 'A salute to the Jeedai!' cries Hul Rapuung in  defiance,  striking  at

the air with his spitting amphistaff. 'A salute of blood!'

"The two parties clash, Yuuzhan Vong fighting Yuuzhan Vong, old teachings

versus the new. Amphistaffs rise and fall, whipping and  snapping  at  vonduun

crab armor. Warriors die at the hands of those they once called allies—and  it

is those touched by the Jeedai heresy who fall. Outnumbered by  the  followers

of the old way, of Yun-Yuuzhan and  his  servant,  Supreme  Overlord  Shimrra,

those who stood for the honor of Vua Rapuung fall to the last warrior.

"But their sacrifice has not been in vain. When  the  victors  turn  from

battling their fellows to destroy the infidels, they find that both the Jeedai

Anakin Solo and his companion have escaped."

I'pan paused to sip from a cup of water. His  audience  sat  in  silence,

caught in the events of that distant day on Yavin 4.

"Then the Jedi heresy should have ended there," Nom Anor said. He scanned

the faces of those around him. "But you are all the spawn of that heresy,  are

you not?"

I'pan nodded, taking his place in the circle around the fire.  "It  would

have ended," he said, "had it not been witnessed by the Shamed  Ones  watching

from the edge of the battle, by the shapers' damutek. They  spread  the  word,

and that word continues to spread—from mouth to ear among those like us. There

is another way for us Shamed Ones, a way that leads  to  redemption.  We  have

found a new hope, and the word for that new hope is Jeedai."

I'pan bowed slightly to indicate the completion  of  the  tale.  Although

those gathered had probably heard the story many  times  over,  they  had  sat

entranced throughout the telling as though listening  to  the  words  for  the

first time. There was a smattering of shoulder slapping from around the group,

while a couple of others stood and moved away to perform other duties.

Those remaining turned their attention to Nom Anor. This  was  the  first

time he had heard the story in its entirety, and they were curious to see what

his reaction would be. If he was as moved by the story as they obviously were,

then he was clearly one of them. Even though he had been with them a couple of

weeks now, helping them establish their new home and working around  the  camp

as needed, he had still not been fully embraced into the fold. He had  learned

very quickly that  trust  among  the  Shamed  Ones  was  more  important  than

virtually anything else, and their sharing of the tale with him was the  first

indication of that trust being extended to him.

The former warrior Niiriit Esh was watching for his  response  more  than

anyone else, studying him closely through the thin flames from the  fire  that

licked at the darkness. He stared back at her, unsure of how the tale had made

him feel. The story was without doubt different from the one he had taken from

his research on the Yavin 4 shaper heresy. The order of events  was  wrong  in

places, and some words had been said by others than those they were attributed

to. Even the very essence of the story had changed. This story had  resonance,

clearly — a resonance that even he was not immune to. And perhaps  that  might

explain how it had spread, despite the odds. Hearing that a pro-Jedi sentiment

was spreading through the ranks of the Shamed  Ones  on  Yavin  4,  War-master

Tsavong Lah had ordered all the Shamed Ones sacrificed in order to cleanse the

world of heresy. And yet, somehow, the story had still managed to get out.

The thing that struck Nom Anor most about the story was that he  himself,

who had studied the incident in  some  detail,  and  who  had  access  to  the

recordings of the original events, had not remembered the disgraced warrior at

the center of it. Rapuung was just a Shamed One who'd been betrayed by his ex-

lover, the shaper who had feared he might expose her heresy to her  superiors.

But now she was dead, while his name continued to live in the whispers of  all

Shamed Ones across the galaxy. His deeds had given hope to all those like him.

Vua Rapuung was a legend.

As were the Jedi. Somehow their passive role in Ra-puung's death had been

transformed into a myth of hope for the Shamed Ones. If they ever knew. ..

"I can tell that you are moved," Niiriit said to him. "Do you see now why

we live as we do?"

He nodded, understanding for the first time that it was more than  simply

preferring squalor to indignity. "It is a powerful message." He looked over to

I'pan. "How did you come to hear it?"

"It was first told to me by one in my work detail on Duro," he  answered,

picking at the stringy meat of a partially cooked hawk-bat. "Varesh had  heard

it from his creche-mate who in turn had heard  it  from  one  of  her  friends

shipped here from Sriluur. Since then I have heard it  many  times  from  many

people—each time slightly different from the last." Without the  animation  of

his storytelling to hide behind, I'pan appeared once again awkward  and  self-

conscious. "The version I have told is but one of many."

"Then how can you be sure it is the truth?" Nom Anor asked.

"I cannot," I'pan admitted. "I have no way of knowing whether the version

I first heard, the one I have related to you, is more true  than  any  of  the

others." He paused to spit a bit of gristle into the fire, glancing up to  Nom

Anor as it sizzled in the flames. "But it is the one that feels right to me."

There was a murmur of assent from those remaining. By the  reddish  light

of the fire, Nom Anor could see their unblinking eyes still  filled  with  the

scenes that I'pan had related. The misshapen,  dirty,  rejected  band  clearly

wanted the story to be true. If there was hope for  Vua  Rapuung,  then  there

might be hope for them, too. Exactly what the hope was for, Nom Anor  couldn't

tell. He didn't know if the Shamed Ones expected the  Jedi  to  swoop  in  and

rescue  them  from  their  pitiful  lives;  perhaps  they  believed  that   by

consciously mimicking the characteristics of the abominable enemy  they  might

somehow become worthy of their farcical Force—whatever that was.

"Well?" Kunra asked in a challenging voice, from  the  far  side  of  the

circle. The disgraced warrior still didn't  fully  trust  the  group's  latest

addition, even though Nom Anor had gone out of his way to demonstrate  nothing

but worthiness in the time he'd spent with them. "What do you say, Executor?"

Nom Anor's eye found Niiriit's; they were shining  almost  supernaturally

bright. There was an expression of such intensity on her face that he found it

almost impossible to resist. "I say thank you, I'pan, for sharing  your  words

with me. I am honored that you think me worthy of it. I would like  very  much

to hear more about Vua Rapuung and the Jedi, when we have the opportunity."

Niiriit smiled, her gaze still locked on  his.  He  offered  a  smile  in

return, and realized only as he did that it was genuine. Of all the small band

living in this underground camp, Niiriit was the only one  with  a  mind  keen

enough to interest him. In the weeks since his arrival,  he  had  enjoyed  his

talks with this ex-warrior the most.

Kunra, on the other hand, offered nothing more than a contemptuous  grunt

as he stood to leave the fireside group. As he watched him move  away  to  the

shadows, Nom Anor understood that Kunra might very well be jealous of the fact

that a higher-ranking male was entering  the  group,  thus  usurping  his  own

position. If this was true then it was stupid, although not unexpected.

And perhaps, Nom Anor thought, with so many gathered, now  might  be  the

best time to address the matter.. .

"You do not want me here, do you, Kunra?" he called after the ex-warrior.

"You do not believe I am worthy of having Vua Rapuung's tale entrusted to me."

Kunra stopped and faced him,  his  body  language  defensive.  "I  merely

reserve my judgment, Executor," he said. "As is my right."

"Your judgment of me?"

"Of you," Kunra confirmed, nodding. "I argued  against  you  hearing  the

story of Vua Rapuung. It is the one thing in our lives that gives us hope. Our

faith that the way of the Jeedai is a better one—a fairer  one  for  all,  not

just those enslaved by the old gods—sustains us when all reason tells us  that

we should have given up long ago. Perhaps one day, by virtue of that faith, we

will have the chance to regain our self-respect and emerge from the  holes  in

which we cower. But you—given half a chance, I am sure you would defile it  in

a second if you thought it would help restore you to power."

"Are you suggesting that I would betray you?" Nom Anor  asked.  "You  and

all of those here who have taken me in and helped me?"

The ex-warrior's muscles tensed, his scars glistening in the light. "That

is exactly what I am saying, Nom Anor."

Nom Anor stood now, also, and the Shamed Ones  closest  to  him  took  an

unsteady step back. Although much older and smaller than  Kunra,  he  couldn't

back down now. To do so would be to admit that he was lying. Unfortunately, he

had few other options. If he couldn't talk the ex-warrior out of  a  fight—and

he wouldn't have lasted as long as he had in  Shimrra's  court  without  being

able to do that—there was always the plaeryin bol. Or if he  hadn't  misjudged

the leader of the Shamed Ones. ..

She rose to her feet and stepped between the two. "I will not allow this,

" she said, her voice firm and deadly as an amphistaff.

"It's my right to challenge him," Kunra hissed through his teeth.

"I thought we had abandoned the old ways, Kunra," Niiriit said. "Now  you

wish to embrace them again? You cannot have it both ways."

"I understand that, but—"

"No buts, Kunra. Which is it to be? You are either with us or against us.

And the same goes for you, Nom Anor," she said, suddenly turning on  him.  "We

are too few to fight among ourselves."

Nom Anor bowed his head to her, partly to hide a smile of triumph. No, he

hadn't misjudged Niiriit at all. "I apologize," he said to her. He then turned

to his challenger and did the same. Playing the part of peacemaker was  a  new

experience for him, but it was no different from any other role he had  played

in the past. He was a good actor. "It appears to be your right to mistrust me,

Kunra. Instead of fighting you, I shall do all in my  power  to  convince  you

that you are mistaken in your mistrust. Is that enough to at least allow peace

between us?"

"For now," the warrior growled.

Niiriit nodded. "Good enough," she said. "Now sit, both  of  you.  You're

making me weary just looking at you."

"I think," Nom Anor said, "that I might use this excuse to retire for the

night. I have heard much that requires consideration, and I am not as young as

our friend here."

"Of course. Sleep well, Nom Anor. We shall discuss theJeedai  on  another

occasion."

"I hope so." He glanced quickly at Kunra as he spoke; the ex-warrior  was

grumpily thoughtful, but his anger had been successfully defused  by  Niiriit.

That was good; Nom Anor didn't want to be stabbed in his sleep.  Nodding  good

night to those still around the fire, he picked his way  to  the  top  of  the

ventilation shaft and descended the spiraling ramp they had built  within  it.

The gradient wasn't steep, and the curvature was  such  that  he  completed  a

circle once every thirty meters or so. Within the circle of the walkway, rooms

had been fashioned, two per level, that served as either  crude  quarters  for

the Shamed Ones or storerooms  for  the  goods  they  had  pilfered  from  the

surface. The way was lit by the occasional lambent nest anchored to the shiny,

layered surface that had been laid down by the chuk'a waste processor. It felt

as if he were walking down the inside of an enormous shell.

He descended until he reached his room. Being the latest addition to  the

group, he lived in the quarters that had been most recently  completed.  There

was still a tang in the air of the organic  processes  that  had  created  the

structure, and inside he had only the most rudimentary  furniture:  a  rounded

chest he had carved from a chuk'a egg and a dirt  mattress.  Nevertheless,  it

was still  more  comfortable  than  anything  else  he'd  had  since  entering

Yuuzhan'tar's underworld.

Nom Anor waved the lights out and lay on the bed, still  clothed  in  the

ragged remains of the cloak and uniform he'd been wearing when he had arrived.

He hadn't been lying when he'd said that he had much to think about. The story

of Vua Rapuung and the Jedi was an opportunity he had never dreamed of finding

in the depths of Yuuzhan'tar. The  strange,  forbidden  notions  passing  from

mouth to ear offered him hope in the most unlikely  of  places.  The  whispers

circulating through the Yuuzhan Vong  underground  did  so  like  an  asteroid

orbiting a black hole, gaining momentum with  each  revolution,  propelled  by

nothing more than the need to have something to believe in.  The  Shamed  Ones

might have brought this whisper into existence spontaneously, with nothing  to

back it up, simply to satisfy their terrible need for direction. But  he  knew

the events of the Vua Rapuung story were based broadly in truth, and that made

them so much stronger.

The Jedi aren't necessarily abominations. They can redeem  as  easily  as

they could kill.

He would never have heard such whispers from his usual vantage point, far

above the forlorn creatures he currently associated with. Shimrra had no  idea

just how close to his heart the heresy was stabbing. If Nom Anor could  follow

the whispers to their source, if he could  expose  the  heresy  and  bring  to

justice the person or persons responsible for spreading the word  about  Yavin

4, maybe then he could regain his previous standing—and  perhaps  be  stronger

than ever.

Thank you, Vua Rapuung, for giving me hope.

Nom Anor smiled into the darkness as he thought about Kunra's  accusation

that he would sell out his fellow Shamed Ones and all  they  stood  for  in  a

second if he thought it would help him achieve his goals. The  ex-warrior  was

right, of course—except, perhaps, that he wouldn't need an entire second to do

it.

"You can't be serious, Leia!"

Jaina rolled her eyes as she walked in on yet  another  of  her  parents'

arguments—this one, it seemed, about the mission's itinerary. They were in the

Millennium Falcon's, main hold, poring over charts.

"We have to start somewhere," her mother responded. "And  this  seems  as

good a place as any."

"But couldn't the decision have been made based on the toss of  a  credit

or something, rather than some obscure and anonymous message?"

"What's going on?" Jaina asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Someone managed  to  get  into  the  Falcon's  computers  and  leave  us

instructions on where to go if we want to walk into a trap," her  father  said

hotly. "Your mother has taken it as some kind of portent and  has  decided  to

make it our first port of call."

"Well, I'm glad to see you're not lowering the discussion by resorting to

sarcasm," Leia shot back with some of her own. "And I admit that it's all very

suspicious, but that just makes me all the more curious to follow it up."

"But there's no sense to it!" Han went on. "I mean, are you trying to get

us all killed?"

Leia scowled at her husband, but she ignored the remark.  "Of  course  it

makes sense, Han. The Galactic Alliance has lost contact  with  the  Koornacht

Cluster, and someone needs to check it out. That's exactly  our  brief,  isn't

it? So where's the problem?"

"Where's the  problem?"  Jaina's  father  leaned  heavily  over  the  map

displays, his jaw tightening. "We've lost contact with  Galantos  and  Whettam

because the Yevetha have taken advantage of our little distraction and are  on

the move again. And you want us to go barging in there with a  handful  of  X-

wings and a rusty old frigate? There's the problem, Leia."

Jaina bristled at Twin Suns Squadron being described as a "handful of  X-

wings," but she didn't say anything. Her parents needed to fight this one out,

and it was better if she stayed out of the line of fire.

Leia straightened, folding her arms in front  of  her.  It  was  a  clear

message: she had no intentions of backing down.

"They're fine words coming from Han Solo," she said. "And do you have any

better suggestions to go with your derision, Han?"

"Sure I have," he said, but with  less  self-assuredness  than  a  moment

earlier. "What's happening  in  Corellia  is  still  anyone's  guess—and  then

there's the Corporate Sector. That's practically next door to Mon Cal, and—"

"So the Senate hardly needs to send us, then, do they?"

"Maybe, Leia, but..." Han raised his  hands  in  frustration  and  turned

away. "Anywhere but N'zoth!"

Facing her husband's back, Leia's stony determination faltered. Jaina was

surprised to see it, but she could understand why.  The  intensely  xenophobic

Yevetha had kidnapped and tortured her father for weeks, some years back,  and

would have killed him had he not been rescued by Chewbacca  and  Chewie's  son

Lumpawarrump.

"The last we heard, their shipyard  was  fully  functional,"  Leia  said,

adopting a more diplomatic tone. "They're extremely capable engineers. They'll

fight the Yuuzhan Vong, if they're not fighting them already."

"And then they'll turn on us," Han said, facing her again. "And the  Fia,

if they haven't already been exterminated.  Why  not  send  someone  from  the

Smugglers' Alliance?"

"We need someone we can trust to do the Galactic  Alliance's  work,  Han,

not someone who will be looking for a quick profit."

Han looked as though he wanted to protest this, but  he  knew  he  didn't

have much of an argument on this score.

Leia put her hands on her hips and sighed. "Look, Han, I've discussed the

security aspects with Captain Mayn and—"

"You asked Todra before you brought it up with me?"

"And," Leia continued without answering the question, "it's not like last

time. We're not going to pick a fight with them, and if they try it  with  us,

then we'll just leave."

Han sighed now. "All right, Leia. I can see how it makes sense from  your

point of view. It's a flashpoint, and we need to be  there  to  make  sure  it

doesn't spread. Perfectly understandable. But what if it's Jaina they capture,

this time? Or you?"

"It won't be me, Dad," Jaina said softly, confidently. "I'm quite capable

of looking after myself."

Han stared at his wife and daughter, wanting to argue  but  realizing  he

couldn't win this one. "All right," he said after  a  few  seconds,  his  eyes

narrowing sternly as he pointed his finger to each  of  them,  "but  you  just

remember that this wasn't my idea."

"I'm sure you'll be quick to remind us, should something go wrong."  Leia

smiled, kissing her husband's cheek briefly before getting back to work. There

were many details to finalize before their departure.

Barely had she taken half a dozen steps from Han when the sound of  boots

could be heard clomping up the landing ramp and into the Falcon.

"Anyone home?" a male voice called.

"In here, Kenth," Leia said, recognizing the Jedi's voice.

Kenth Hamner stooped slightly as he came into the room.  "I  thought  I'd

find you here."Seeing his somber expression, Leia  stepped  over  to  him  and

placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, Kenth? What's happened?"

"Not Kashyyyk," Han said, going pale. The Wookiee homeworld had  recently

been under threat by the Yuu-zhan Vong.

"No, not Kashyyyk, I'm pleased to say." Hamner's expression  didn't  look

particularly pleased. "We've just heard that the  Imperial  Remnant  is  under

attack. Bastion and Muunilinst have been devastated. The offensive is expected

to continue toward Yaga Minor as soon as the captured  territories  have  been

secured. Subspace and HoloNet networks are down." He turned to Leia  when  she

opened her mouth to interrupt, as if knowing what she was about  to  ask.  "We

have no news of survivors, I'm afraid."

Leia's mouth closed in a thin line as she looked at  her  husband.  "Jade

Shadow jumped right into a war zone."

"They had no way of knowing," Han said. "It was just dumb luck."

"All we can do," Hamner said soberly, "is hope they weren't caught in the

battle. If they managed to retreat to a safe distance, then there's no  reason

why their mission should be endangered."

Jaina closed her eyes, her mind reaching out through the  Force,  seeking

her twin brother. The distance between them was almost  incomprehensible,  but

they'd felt each other before across far greater gulfs. When  she  called  his

name, she didn't receive a reply, but she did feel an echo. He was there.

She opened her eyes and faced her mother. "Jacen's alive," she said.

Leia nodded. "Yes. And I would've felt it if  anything  had  happened  to

Luke. But what about the others? And the Empire itself? If  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

have finally made a move on it, then that entire area is now unsafe. With  the

fleet at Bastion out of the way, they can push on  into  the  Unknown  Regions

unchecked. From now on, noplace will be safe."

"Not even the Chiss," Jaina said. "We know the Vong  have  been  harrying

them from the outer edges of the galaxy. Now they'll be  caught  in  a  pincer

grip."

"Only if the Empire falls," Hamner said. "It's too soon to say  for  sure

one way or the other. This might only be a preemptive strike,  simply  warning

us" against using the Imperial  Remnant  in  some  sort  of  rearguard  action

against them."

"Which is precisely what we were thinking of  doing,"  Han  said  with  a

grimace.

"Preemptive doesn't necessarily mean  decisive,"  Hamner  responded.  "We

know the Vong are stretched thin. To mount a major attack like this must  have

cost them dearly elsewhere."

"Perhaps we should step up our strike-and-run tactics  in  other  areas,"

Leia said. "It might encourage them to withdraw the offensive."

Hamner nodded. "I know Cal and Sien are doing just  that.  It  will  also

help take the hysterical edge off some of the calls to  step  up  the  attack,

too."

"As long as we don't play into their hands." Leia  nodded  unhappily.  "I

just hate not knowing what's happened to Jade Shadow. We could help them if we

knew they were in trouble."

"That in part is why I'm here," Hamner said. "Cal sent me  to  make  sure

you wouldn't go rushing after your brother on some foolish rescue attempt.  We

need you where you can do the most good."

"He's right, Leia," Han  said,  coming  up  behind  her  and  taking  her

shoulders in  both  of  his  large  hands.  "Luke  and  Mara  can  look  after

themselves."

"And Jacen's no slouch, either, Mom," Jaina reassured her  with  a  broad

smile. "In fact, the three of them will probably send the Yuuzhan Vong packing

in a day or two!"

The attempt at levity seemed to work. Jaina's mother took a  deep  breath

and let it out in a gust. "You're right, of course,"  she  said,  patting  her

husband's hand as he squeezed her shoulders. "There's a bigger picture we need

to consider. Until we know for certain that there's something wrong,  we  keep

going as planned. To the Koornacht Cluster."

"What was I thinking?" Han exclaimed. "If it's not too late to change  my

mind, I'd like to put in a vote for Bastion. The middle of a Yuuzhan Vong  war

fleet has to be better than a Yevethan cell."

"The only cell there's likely to be,"  Leia  said,  with  a  faint  smile

returning to her attractive features, "is the one we put you in—for disobeying

orders."

"Whose orders exactly?" Han said with mock indignation. "I'm the  captain

of this ship, remember?"

"You just keep telling yourself that, dear," Leia said.

"What does that mean?" Han returned.

Jaina left them to  it,  confident  that  the  argument  had  moved  from

something serious to just play-fighting. She envied them the ease  with  which

they talked to each other now. Chewbacca and Anakin's deaths  seemed  to  have

cemented their relationship stronger than ever. For all  their  sharp-sounding

words, she knew they were really on the same side.

Not paying attention to where she was going, she didn't see C-3PO  coming

around the Falcon's corridor until it was too late. With  a  cry,  the  golden

droid staggered backward, tripping over a carton of rations on the  floor  and

dropping the stack of Yuuzhan Vong-detecting

mouse droids he'd been balancing, scattering them over the deck. Startled

by the impact, many  of  them  bleeped  in  distress,  scurrying  off  in  all

directions. C-3PO flailed helplessly in an attempt to right himself,  but  the

droids kept getting under his feet and hands, keeping him off balance.

"Oh, thank you, Mistress Jaina," he said as she  grabbed  him  under  the

arms and helped him to his feet.  "Beastly  things!  I  don't  understand  why

Captain Solo would need so many of them."

Jaina snatched at one of the agitated droids as  it  went  past,  but  it

managed to evade her grasp. Catching these  things  was  harder  than  getting

drewood mites from a womp rat!

"Because, Threepio," she said, grabbing for  another  droid  and  failing

again as it darted between her legs,  "they're  programmed  to  look  out  for

Yuuzhan Vong. Wherever we go, we can seed these droids to make sure there  are

no—spies."

This last part was called out as she lunged again, this time managing  to

scoop one of the mouse droids off its runners. She pressed the shutdown switch

on its belly, then pushed the inanimate droid into C-3PO's arms.

"Here you go."

"Thank you again,  Mistress  Jaina.  But  you  really  shouldn't  trouble

yourself with this. I'm sure you must have much more important tasks to do."

"No, not really," she said, sticking out a foot to head off another  one.

"Besides, it was my fault that you dropped them in the first place."

The job was made easier when Kenth Hamner pitched in to help, stopping on

his way back from his meeting with her parents. His age made him  less  nimble

than Jaina, but his longer reach  easily  compensated.  Within  minutes,  they

handed the last of the droids to C-3PO, whose thanks as  he  ambled  off  were

muffled by the stack of droids once again in his arms.

"Thanks," Jaina said to Hamner as Threepio disappeared around a corner.

"My pleasure," he replied, dusting himself off. Then,  just  as  she  was

about to continue on her way, he said, "You know, just  between  you  and  me,

Cal's more worried about the Empire than he's letting on." He glanced  at  her

wryly. "You'll let us know if you hear  anything  more  definite  from  Jacen,

won't you?"

Jaina frowned, confused by Hamner's conspiratorial tone. "Of course."

Hamner hesitated for a moment, then nodded his thanks  and  continued  on

his way to the ramp and out of the ship.

Jaina was about to go and do a double  check  on  the  welds  of  a  bank

stabilizer her father had installed for the  trip  when  she  heard  footsteps

coming from the common area. She paused, waiting to see if it was her  parents

coming to find her. Two seconds later, though, there  was  the  sound  of  her

father crying out followed by a loud metallic crash.

"Oh, my," she heard C-3PO say from down the corridor.

"Threepio!" her father yelled, as  a  handful  of  mouse  droids  scooted

across the deck from around the corner.

Gilad Pellaeon had seen too many people die young to feel that he was, or

ever would be, too old to live.

His memories came and went  in  flashes,  as  though  a  searchlight  had

briefly found them in a thick fog. His life had become a series of  fragments,

and he could no longer recall how the pieces fit together. There  were  images

of his birthplace, Corellia, and Coruscant, his home  during  his  youth,  but

these were swamped beneath hundreds of other memories of other worlds  he  had

visited throughout the years; these in turn were buried beneath  thousands  of

memories of the empty gulfs that separated these planets. He had spent  almost

a century in space, rarely setting foot on solid ground  unless  circumstances

absolutely demanded it. Deep inside, his heart  recognized  no  world  as  his

home—not even Coruscant, which at best he had endured while there, always glad

to leave. No, the closest thing to home he'd ever had  was  the  bridge  of  a

starship—and he'd been on  too  many  of  those  to  feel  affection  for  any

particular vessel. Even Chi-maera, the Star Destroyer that had served  him  so

faithfully for so long, was, in the end, just another ship.

He frowned, puzzled. The Battle of Bastion, like the rest  of  his  life,

lay in pieces in his mind. The sharpest of these pieces, the most painful, was

the image of the destruction of the Star Destroyer Superior—riddled with fires

and craters, tumbling to its inexorable and terrible fate  in  the  gas  giant

below. Chimaera had been in almost as bad shape. His last intact memory was of

a coral-skipper coming in low and fast to ram the bridge. He recalled  nothing

after that. How had he survived? No matter how hard he tried, he could find no

memory to quell the confusion that throbbed at his  temples.  There  was  just

blackness and pain.

Pellaeon's childhood memories were lost in that same  blackness.  He  had

been born before the Empire, before the anti-alien propaganda, before the fall

of the Jedi — even before the birth of the child  who  would  grow  to  become

Darth Vader. His first military role had been with the Judicial Forces,  which

he had joined at the age of fifteen, having  lied  about  his  age.  From  the

vantage point of a ship's deck, he had watched the tide rise and  fall  on  so

many politicians, and he had learned to be cynical about all of  them—just  as

he had learned over the years to trust only in himself and his own  judgments.

That was how he had survived so many dramatic reversals. He was rarely the one

at the front of the army, waving the  sword  and  leading  the  charge.  Gilad

Pellaeon was the one more often than not standing back, ensuring his  soldiers

were well fed, well trained, and, above  all,  content.  He  had  respect  for

everyone under his command—and  for  his  enemy,  too.  That,  above  all,  he

thought, was why he was still alive today when so many others around  him  had

fallen. You never knew when your enemy would become your new boss.

And that, ultimately, was the trouble with the Yuu-zhan Vong. They didn't

fit into this picture at all. He'd seen what they could do firsthand at Ithor,

the forest world that had been utterly destroyed by the invader. He had argued

with the Moffs that they should lend all support possible to  the  defense  of

the galaxy. They, however, had resisted the idea of fighting alongside the New

Republic and had proposed instead to huddle in their own corner of the  galaxy

and watch as  those  worlds  around  them  crumbled  and  fell  to  the  alien

intruders, all the while remaining blithely confident that they  were  somehow

immune.

But that confidence, that arrogance, had  been  effectively  shaken  with

Bastion. Ah, yes. Bastion.. .

Other details emerged from the fog  as  the  searchlight  of  his  memory

flashed across them: the first alarms as the coralskippers and strange,  alien

capital vessels had appeared in the system, tearing through planetary defenses

as though they were made of paper. The surprise couldn't have been more total.

The disorganized way the Imperial

Navy had responded to the grutchins had appalled him. After Ithor, he had

done his best to ready the Empire for a Yuuzhan Vong attack, but only his Star

Destroyer, Chi-maera, had  responded  efficiently  and  effectively  at  short

notice. His crew had done everything he could have asked of them.

Pain stabbed through him, as though someone had rammed a force pike  into

his side. The memories fled as  his  insides  exploded  with  fire.  His  back

arched, his mouth opened wide to scream out his protest at the terrible  agony

flaring through him. He bucked and writhed to try  to  reposition  himself  in

such a manner that the pain might stop, but nothing seemed to  help.  Nothing,

that is, except for the voice calling out to him. It wasn't  necessarily  what

the voice said, either, just the distraction it offered.

But then the pain closed in again,  accompanied  now  by  images  of  the

Yuuzhan  Vong's  weapons  flashing  murderously  around  his  ship,  and   the

brilliant, almost blinding explosion of TIE fighters against the night sky.

Eventually these horrific  images  dissolved  back  into  the  blackness,

leaving just the scattered pinpoint lights of the galaxy shining  against  the

infinite darkness of space. The sight was one he had seen many  times  before,

and one he'd thought he could never get tired of. He had always  believed  the

idea of a galactic empire to be slightly ludicrous, since so much  of  it  was

empty space. The planets, moons, and asteroids comprising such an empire  were

just handfuls of sand thrown into a vast  ocean  of  nothingness.  No  emperor

could rule such an ocean, no matter how many of those grains of sand he  might

call his own. Such vastness defied capture by any means.

And yet this time, he sensed a difference. The gulfs didn't seem so empty

anymore. There was something — something he couldn't find words to describe. A

web,

perhaps, stretching from system to system.  A  halo.  A  current  running

deeper than what lay visible on the surface. A truth, maybe?

Whatever it was, it made it seem as if the galaxy itself was alive.

Then even that began to fade as darkness crept in at  the  edges  of  his

vision, taking the pain away along with everything else  that  had  ever  been

him. Part of him fought it, as was his nature, but another part was  happy  to

let it go. He had fought so hard and for so long against death  that  he  had,

perhaps, not spent enough time really living. He had no family apart from  the

navy; he had no home beyond the bridge of Chimaera.  What  was  the  point  of

living when he had nothing to live for?

The darkness opened up beneath him and he  fell  into  it  like  a  stone

sinking into the depths of an impossibly deep sea. He  could  feel  fluid  all

around him, and in his lungs; and yet, strangely, he wasn't drowning.

Bacta, he managed to think. They've got me in a bacta tank.

Then that voice again, calling to him.

Gilad Pellaeon, it said. Admiral, can you hear me?

He struggled to reply, fighting the darkness that pulled  him  down  like

thick tangles of seaweed. All he could manage was a single, choked syllable:

"I-"

Is that you, Admiral? Can you talk to me?

"I-I'mhere."

With every word, the darkness receded just a little bit more. And  as  it

ebbed, the pain returned.

"It... hurts."

I know, said the voice.

"Where—?" He  wanted  to  ask  where  he  was,  but  it  didn't  seem  as

appropriate as, "—are you?"

I have installed a neural shunt into your inner ear, the voice explained.

My voice is coming to you directly through your auditory nerve. Please forgive

the intrusion, but we had to take drastic steps to keep you alive.

"Who—are you?"

My name is Tekli, Admiral. I am a healer.

Agony ripped through him like a solar flare, burning every nerve fiber to

cinders. Or so it felt.

"Are you healing me," he gasped, "or killing me?"

The pain is unavoidable. The only way to avoid it now would be for you to

die. But you must stay with your body, no matter what it's telling you.

"I—can't—"

Yes you can, Admiral. We need you. If  you  die  now,  many  others  will

follow. I'm not about to let that happen.

He wasn't used to being spoken to that way, as  though  by  an  insistent

schoolteacher. " You're not—?"

I'm sorry. There are times when we all must endure the hurt in  order  to

survive. Yours is now. The Force requires it.

Realization came to him then. The Force. This Tekli was a Jedi! But  what

was a Jedi doing in the Empire? And where—?

Another memory came to him. He had spoken to the  Skywalkers  in  Bastion

shortly before trying to  break  out  of  the  gas  giant's  mass  shadow.  He

remembered they had shown him some new tactics they believed would help in his

fight against the Yuuzhan Vong. This Tekli, she must have come with them.

But what was he doing here with her? Superior was destroyed. He  recalled

ordering the evacuation of the dying hulk as it plunged into  the  gas  giant.

How had Chimaera avoided the same fate? If he had been injured  and  his  crew

had evacuated him to safety while they died, he

couldn't live with himself. A good captain went down with  the  ship.  He

should be dead.

You're not dead, Admiral. Tekli's voice was compas-sionate but firm. Like

I said, I'm not going to let that happen. You and  Chimaera  are  both  banged

around a little, but recoverable. Just hang in there a little longer, okay?

He gritted his teeth and resigned himself to living  a  I  little  longer

yet. After all, what choice did he have?

When Jacen felt some of the tension ease in the tiny I Chadra-Fan healer,

he leaned forward expectantly.

"He fights with us now," she said, her soft voice barely audible over the

mechanical buzzing of the droids as - sisting her. "He no longer works against

us."

"You're sure he will live?" he asked,  needing  something  more  definite

before he would allow himself to feel relief.

She craned her neck to look up  at  Jacen,  something  ap  -  proximating

annoyance in her dark eyes.

"Yes," she said simply. "But not if I continue to be in  -  terrupted.  I

need to concentrate to help him."

Her head dropped, and she fell silent again to devote her attention fully

to healing the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy. Jacen felt subtle movements

in the Force I around her. He backed away in order  to  avoid  disrupting  her

concentration further. The Chadra-Fan were renowned for their short  attention

spans as it was, without his interference making matters worse.

He stayed close enough to lend  her  a  hand  if  needed-shoring  up  her

relatively weak Force sensitivity with his; own—but he did keep to the rear of

the small medical bay, just to stay out of Tekli's fur.

Pellaeon had been removed from the bacta tank and now lay on his back  on

the room's operating table, attended by the frigate's 2-1B  medical  droid  as

well as Tekli. His numerous wounds stood out starkly in the harsh white light.

Jacen could see far more than he actually needed to know that the  man  before

him had come extremely close to death. His hips  and  abdomen  had  been  half

impaled, half crushed upon a control console when Chimaera's bridge  had  been

rammed by an enemy fighter. One of his junior officers had pulled him from the

wreckage and into a medical frigate with survivors of Superior. Under cover of

wreckage from the dying Star Destroyer, the frigate had managed to  slip  away

relatively unharmed-—although not before a dozen TIE fighters  had  sacrificed

themselves to ensure the Grand Admiral's escape. The commander of the  shuttle

who had brought him to Yaga Minor didn't doubt that it was worth it.

For a while, though, it had seemed a meaningless sacrifice, for  Pellaeon

had very nearly died anyway. Sizing  up  the  situation  in  Yaga  Minor  with

admirable speed, the shuttle's commander had  contacted  Captain  Yage  rather

than his direct superior in the navy. Yage had ordered  the  shuttle  to  dock

with Widowmaker immediately to transfer the patient. Tekli and Jacen,  weighed

down by the healer's equipment, had stayed with the Imperial  commander  while

Jade Shadow withdrew to a discreet distance. As soon as Pellaeon had  arrived,

wrapped tightly in a life-preserving cocoon, the Chadra-Fan had gone to work.

Jacen marveled how close it had been. First, the shock  of  removing  the

ageing admiral from the cocoon had stopped his heart. Then his body had failed

to respond to bacta when they had finally gotten him into the tank. Tekli  had

ordered him to be removed so they could  go  to  work  directly  on  his  more

serious injuries, such as the  ragged  gashes  and  splintered  bones  of  his

abdomen and upper legs. Dripping blood and fluid, the old man on the operating

table had seemed to deflate under the bright  lights,  losing  substance  with

every second, until, finally, he began to respond to Tekli's treatment.

The pilot of the shuttle who had brought the  admiral  from  Bastion  had

stayed with him throughout. A lean young man by the name of  Vitor  Reige,  he

looked exhausted and drawn. His left arm was clearly injured, but  he  refused

to have any treatment until Pellaeon was stable, insisting that all  attention

be focused upon the admiral.

After a few minutes, when it was  clear  that  Pellaeon's  condition  was

going to continue to improve, the pilot exhaled heavily, gratefully, as if  he

had been holding his | breath the entire time he'd been standing there.

He looked over to Jacen. "He told me to find you," he  said.  "Before  he

passed out the last time, he insisted I should find you Jedi, if you had  come

here."

Jacen frowned. "Because he thought we could save

him?"

The man's expression became instantly pinched, as if he was  offended  by

the very notion. "He wanted you to  know  that  we  were  grateful,"  he  said

stiffly. "If anyone should bear a grudge against the Empire, it would be  you.

But you helped us, and he appreciated that. We all did. I wouldn't be here now

if you hadn't risked your own lives to show us how to fight those.. ."

He fell quiet, biting down on the words. The memories  I  of  the  recent

battle were obviously still vivid in his mind.

Sensing the man's embarrassment, Jacen quietly  changed  the  subject  by

pointing to the arm that Reige was cra - dling. "You really  should  get  that

looked at," he said. Before the pilot could voice the same objections that  he

I had earlier, Jacen quickly added, "He's going to be okay.  I  Really.  Tekli

will take care of him."

Vitor Reige nodded his appreciation. "You saved my life, as well  as  the

life of the admiral. I shall forever be in your debt for that."

Jacen wanted to say that he didn't believe in debt,  that  people  should

just do what they thought was right regardless  of  obligation,  but  at  that

moment Tekli stepped back from the table and approached the two of them.

"I have done all that needs to be done," she  said,  her  thin  shoulders

shrugging. "The rest is up to him, now, and how he responds to the bacta."

Jacen watched as the medical droids maneuvered  Pellaeon  back  into  the

tank. The Grand Admiral twitched as if in a  dream  as  the  powerful  healing

fluids went to work, then settled down into the tank's warm embrace. Convinced

there was nothing more that could be done at the moment,  Tekli  gathered  her

equipment to leave. Helping her carry  her  tools,  Jacen  led  her  from  the

infirmary, leaving the droid to tend to Reige. Immediately outside the medical

bay they found Captain Yage pacing back and forth in front of the  doors.  She

came to a halt the moment the door slid open and Jacen and Tekli stepped out.

Her anxious gaze fell upon Jacen, who nodded in response to her  unvoiced

question.

"He'll live," he said.

Like a balloon releasing its air, the tension seemed  to  evaporate  from

the captain, dissolving her concerned expression. "I didn't think it could  be

done," she said, dropping her stare to the Chadra-Fan  standing  silently  and

respectfully  beside  Jacen.  "I'm  sorry  for  doubting  you.  I  offer   the

appreciation of all my people for saving the admiral's life."

The Chadra-Fan bowed her head. "I did not do it alone," she  said.  "Your

admiral's determination to stay alive had a lot to do with it. With  the  will

to live, anything is possible."

"And Gilad Pellaeon certainly has that," Yage said.

The fur around Tekli's mouth parted as she smiled  at  the  captain.  "He

still has some recuperating to do," she said, "but he should  be  out  of  the

bacta tank in about six

standard days."

Yage's expression turned from relief to concern again.

"Six days? That's too long!"

"Why?" Jacen asked.

"As far as the Moffs  know,"  she  explained,  "Gilad  died  in  Bastion.

Flennic has had time to put himself in power, assuming control of Stalwart and

the rest of the fleet. I wouldn't put it beyond him to do  anything  to  avoid

having to relinquish that power, now he's got it. While Gilad is weak,  he  is

vulnerable, and we can't keep the secret of his survival to ourselves forever.

Word is already spreading that one more shuttle made it out of Bastion  before

the battle's end. It won't be much longer before people know who was  on  that

shuttle and where

it docked."

"What will happen when they find  out?"  She  shrugged.  "I  don't  know.

That'll be up to Moff  Flennic  and  his  underlings,"  Her  comlink  bleeped.

Listening to the short message, she nodded and  answered  that  she  would  be

there immediately. "I guess we won't have to wait long to find out. We've just

received a recall order."

"Can't you disobey it?" asked Jacen,

"If we do, then we're going to have to have a very

good reason."

"Perhaps you should let me talk to them," he said.  "Maybe  we  can  work

something out."

The captain stared  at  him  for  a  moment  in  obvious  discomfort  and

embarrassment. Jacen understood exactly what she was thinking. Here was  Yage,

a captain of many years' experience  from  a  diametrically  opposed  military

force, and he was expecting her to hand over to him the explanation of why she

intended to defy a direct order. But he could see how tempted she was. A  Jedi

Knight had saved the admiral; perhaps another would take this difficult choice

away from her. At the very least, it might absolve her of a wrong decision.

Jacen carefully neglected to mention that his experience  with  Imperials

was virtually nonexistent.

After a few moments' consideration she raised her voice  to  address  the

empty corridor: "I don't suppose anyone has any better ideas?"

She waited a moment until the silence was as deep as it was ever going to

get on an Imperial war vessel.

"Well, I asked," she said, waving Jacen to follow her as she  moved  off.

"Now let's see if you can make this situation any worse for us than it already

is."

"Twin Suns Squadron, stand down," came the voice of Captain Mayn over Jag

Fel's helmet comlink. "We have attained our orbital insertion and are  go  for

satellite deployment. You may revert to internal command."

"Copy that," he  replied  briskly  before  switching  to  the  squadron's

internal subspace frequency. To the rest of the squadron he said,  "You  heard

the captain: we made it safe and  sound.  Let's  check  out  the  neighborhood

before getting too comfy."

Twin Suns Squadron peeled apart into quarters, each accelerating to cover

different segments of the world  below.  From  orbit,  Galantos  possessed  an

uninviting boggy brown-green color, and at first glance showed little signs of

advanced civilization. It didn't take long, however, before the inhabitants of

Galantos, the Fia, became aware of the ships in orbit about their planet.

"Unidentified  vehicles,"  came  a  voice   over   subspace,   "this   is

Al'solib'minet'ri City Control. Please  identify  yourselves  and  state  your

intentions."

"This  is  Captain  Todra  Mayn  of  the  Galactic  Federa-tion  of  Free

Alliances' navy frigate Pride of  Selonia.  Our  mission  is  a  peaceful  and

diplomatic one. We're here to talk to Councilor Jobath."

"Not so fast, Captain Mayn." The voice of the Fia was patient and steady.

"You've only identified one ship. I count fourteen."

"That's correct, Control. There's Pride of  Selonia,  Millennium  Falcon,

and Twin Suns Squadron." "And you command this mission, Captain?"  "Only  when

it comes to logistical issues such as these. Otherwise, I am under the  orders

of Leia Organa Solo." "Beneath  the  Multitude!  Leia  Organa  Solo?"  "That's

correct, Control."

"Then we extend our warmest  welcome  to  you,  Captain,"  the  Fia  said

effusively. "And, indeed, to all  of  her  companions!  And  I  am  sure  that

Councilor Jobath would be delighted to speak with her once  these  formalities

are out of the way."

"What formalities, Control? We've identified  ourselves  and  stated  our

intentions. What more—?"

"Captain, we on Galantos believe in doing things  the  proper  way."  The

voice of Al'solib'minet'ri City Control was polite but firm. "We  still  don't

know how long you intend to stay, how many people  intend  descending  to  the

surface, what the precise purpose of their visit  is,  where  they  intend  to

travel, and so on."

There was a slight pause from Selonia. "Very well, Control," Captain Mayn

said wearily. It had been a long journey,  literally  from  one  side  of  the

galaxy to the other. "We'll fill you in. Where do you want us to start?"

"Thank you, Captain." Jag could almost hear  the  prim  and  smug  little

smile in the Fia's voice over the comm unit. "First of all, can  I  have  your

exact mission designation for our records, please?"

Jag mentally switched off the conversation, leaving those  in  charge  to

work out the details. He had enough to think about as it was.  As  that  day's

Twin Suns Leader, he was responsible for the smooth running of the squadron on

its arrival at a new system. Although he considered that he and Jaina had done

a good job on short notice, small wrinkles  in  their  procedures  were  still

being ironed out. His clawcraft had an X-wing on each side,  while  two  claws

tailed Jaina's fighter; the same pattern was repeated by the remaining half of

the squadron to ensure the components  were  mixed.  This,  they  knew,  would

result in some initial awkwardness, but in the long run would ensure that  the

squadron knit together as a whole.

He banked in a smooth arc,  powering  for  the  southern  pole  over  the

planet's gelatinous  green  pond-seas.  There  was  the  occasional  town  and

scientific outpost on some of the more firm, rockier areas, but nothing out of

the ordinary that he could see.

"All clear at our end, Twin Leader," came Jaina's voice over his comlink.

"Thanks, Two. How about you, Three and Four?"

"Clear skies, Twin Leader."

"Easy picking,"  added  Twin  Suns  Four,  originally  from  Jag's  Chiss

Squadron.

"We're not here to stir up any trouble," he reminded his pilots.  "So  no

showing off for the locals."

"From the looks of things,  they  could  use  some  livening  up,"  Seven

commented dryly.

Al'solib'minet'ri City Control  was  still  requesting  information  from

Captain Mayn.

"Do you really need to know the precise  location  where  the  Millennium

Falcon intends to land?"

"I'm afraid so, Captain Mayn. It'll save trouble in the long  run,  trust

me. And you might also like to tell me who  exactly  will  be  comprising  the

landing party."

The captain sighed; Jag smiled. He was normally something of  a  stickler

for procedures, but the Fia had a tendency  to  take  protocol  to  ridiculous

extremes. If he'd been in Mayn's position right now, he would have  just  gone

ahead and landed anyway, regardless of  what  Al'solib'minet'ri  City  Control

said. He doubted the consequences would have been too severe. The Fia  had  no

planetary defenses to speak of, so what were they going to do if Captain  Mayn

decided to disregard their precious procedures?

But then, diplomacy wasn't his strong point. He was quite happy to  leave

that side of politics to people  like  Jaina's  parents—although  he  got  the

distinct feeling that Han Solo would have agreed with him, if pushed.

Captain Mayn's bored reply filled  the  airwaves:  "...  Cybot  Galactica

protocol droid See-Threepio, Jedi Knight TahiriVeila..."

Tahiri's name caught his ear. He switched to another channel so he  could

talk to Jaina without being overheard.

"Did you know Tahiri was going with your parents?" "No,"  Jaina  replied.

"But it's not a problem, is it?" Jag didn't answer immediately. He  knew  that

Tahiri was a friend of Jaina's and had been close to her brother  Anakin,  but

that wouldn't have stopped him from expressing a suspicion  had  he  something

definite to back him up. But he didn't. There was just her  breakdown  at  Mon

Calamari, and something about her behavior. He couldn't put a  finger  on  it,

but he felt that something was just not quite right about her.

"I guess not," he said eventually.

He hadn't even been aware that he regarded her any differently  than  the

other members of the mission until the day they left Mon Cal. The departure of

the mission had been decidedly more low-key than that  of  Jade  Shadow,  even

though Leia and Han did have official recognition as envoys  of  the  Galactic

Alliance. Chief of State Cal Omas,  Supreme  Commander  Sien  Sow,  and  Kenth

Hamner had all put in an appearance to bid them farewell,  thankfully  without

fanfare or speeches. With the Galactic Alliance in good hands, the  Millennium

Falcon had ferried the pilots of Twin Suns Squadron  who  weren't  already  in

orbit up to Pride of Selonia, and a brief shaking of  hands  was  held  there.

Jaina embraced her parents; Jag awkwardly accepted a pat on the shoulder  from

Han; Captain Todra Mayn, a tall, thin woman with a slight  limp,  had  saluted

the assembly with due respect. And that was it, except for a glimpse of Tahiri

that Jag had stolen as everyone  moved  off  to  their  ships.  She  had  been

standing at the back of the gathering, carefully removed  from  the  activity.

She was still thin, and very pale; the scars from her torture at the hands  of

the Yuuzhan Vong stood out vividly on her forehead. And her eyes.. .

Jag Fel wasn't one for flights of fancy,  but  he  also  wasn't  one  for

ignoring what his senses told him, either — so when he saw the look of disgust

on Tahiri's face and the intense hatred in her  eyes,  his  hand  had  reached

automatically for the blaster at his  side.  If  she  was  to  make  any  move

whatsoever for Jaina or her family, he wanted to be ready. Had she  shown  any

indication of attacking, he would have shot her down without hesitation.

She didn't, though, and the moment had  passed  uneventfully—but  he  had

still been reluctant to remove his hand from the weapon at his side. It almost

seemed to Jag that she had sensed him looking at her, and her gaze  had  swung

over to him. When their stares locked, she was suddenly herself again, and  he

was left feeling slightly foolish. Whatever it was he had seen in her eyes had

gone, replaced with a soft and subtle uncertainty.

Shoot Tahiri? What had he been thinking? She was just a sick teenager  in

desperate need of some rest, tagging along on the mission with lots  of  other

tired warriors. Leia and Jaina thought she was  having  trouble  getting  over

Anakin's death, that she had bottled up her grief so long and so hard that  it

was bursting out of her now in twisted, dark forms. When  he  had  raised  his

concerns about her being on the mission, Leia had said firmly that it was just

what Tahiri needed: a clear sense of direction provided by  people  she  could

trust. If something else went wrong, they  would  be  there  for  her  without

hesitation. End of story.

Jag had no reason to doubt that it was  the  story's  end.  Nevertheless,

that look he had thought he'd seen on Tahiri's face stuck  with  him,  and  he

found himself repeatedly  thinking  about  it  throughout  the  long  jump  to

Galantos. He didn't know exactly what the Yuuzhan Vong  had  done  to  her  on

Yavin 4, but he did know the enemy employed  biological  technologies  far  in

advance of anything the Galactic  Alliance  had.  Was  it  possible  that  the

malevolent flash he'd glimpsed in her was in some way connected  to  this?  It

was impossible to say for sure. But whatever  was  going  on  behind  Tahiri's

fragile facade, he was going to need more information before he could take any

action. And to do that, he was going to have to keep a very close eye  on  her

at all times...

"I'm thinking of volunteering for ground duty," he told  Jaina  over  the

private line. "I haven't seen much  of  the  Galactic  Alliance,  except  from

orbit."

"You couldn't have picked a worse place to start taking an interest, Jag,

" she said. "It looks like someone dumped an ore hauler full  of  sludge  from

orbit!"

He laughed. "Yeah, well, it makes a change, anyway. Care to join me?"

"Tempting, but no thanks. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather  follow

procedures from up here. Someone has to  mind  the  baby,  just  in  case  the

Yevetha come calling."

He thought he detected a mild rebuke in her voice. "I'm not off to a good

start, am I?" he said, unwilling to give the real reason for going down to the

surface. "Only a few days into our  arrangement  and  I'm  already  trying  to

shuffle the roster around."

"No, that's okay, Jag. You  should  feel  free  to  volunteer  for  these

things, if that's what you really want to do. I was hoping we could jiggle the

roster a little myself, to make sure we got a chance to be  off  duty  and  on

Selonia at the same time." A note of teasing  replaced  the  rebuke.  "But  if

wading around in sludge is more your idea of a good time than hanging out with

me..."

He smiled to himself. "You know that isn't the case,"  he  said.  "I  was

just hoping we could combine the two."

Her laugh was part shocked, part delighted. "You've been too long in that

crash couch, spaceboy. I'll be sure to report you to  your  superior  officer,

next time I'm Twin Leader."

The line clicked off. Satisfied that he would be able  to  put  his  name

down for the landing party without arousing her suspicion—or her ire—he turned

his thoughts to regrouping with the rest of the squadron. Jaina was absolutely

right in that respect: whatever his suspicions were regarding Tahiri, his job,

first and foremost, was to look after the squadron  and  ensure  the  external

security  of  the  mission.  The  well-being  of  Tahiri  was  ultimately  the

responsibility of the person who had invited her  aboard—and  if  he  couldn't

trust Leia Organa Solo, then whom could he trust?

Nonetheless, he decided to volunteer. Just to be sure.

"You're what?" The red face of General Berrida glowered at Jacen from the

Widowmaker's hologram.

"A Jedi Knight, sir," Jacen repeated steadily. "I've come to help you."

"Help us—?" The overweight general spluttered for  a  second.  "And  what

exactly makes you think we need your help,  Jedi  Knight?  All  I  see  is  an

overgrown boy in

robes."

"Appearances can be deceptive," Jacen said, refusing to wilt beneath  the

general's blustering and outrage.

Berrida laughed derisively. "So where is this help you  offer  us,  Jedi?

Where's your support vessel?"

"Jade Shadow has retreated to a safe distance." Jacen had spoken to Uncle

Luke and ensured that the rest of the mission stayed well out of  sight  until

his gambit had paid off—or not, as the case might be. "You don't have to worry

about it."

"Don't tell me what I do or do not need to  worry  about,  boy,"  Berrida

growled. His holographic image flickered momentarily.  "I  don't  like  having

unknown vessels lurking around my system."

"A sentiment I understand completely, General. Which is why I've come  to

offer my help."

"We don't need your help," Berrida said obstinately.

"I think you do." Jacen paced around Widowmaker's cramped bridge,  trying

his best to radiate a sense of calm control. Inside, though, he  was  thinking

faster than he

had during any lightsaber battle. "Tell me, why do you think the  Yuuzhan

Vong attacked Bastion?"

"They have issued no explanation."

"Nor will they, probably," Jacen said. "Nonetheless, they must have  one.

No one risks resources in war without a reason. Now, I know you're not a fool,

General, so I'm pretty sure you would have some idea as to their reasons.  Why

don't you share it with us?"

Berrida straightened, the corner of his mouth twitching  irritably.  "The

Yuuzhan Vong attacked us in retaliation."

"For?" Jacen pressed.

"For Garqi, Ithor, Exodo Two—"

"And for supplying  information  to  the  New  Republic  —  specifically,

information on hyperspace routes to the Galactic Alliance, which enabled it to

turn the tide of the battle and, for the first time, hurt the  Yuuzhan  Vong."

Jacen enjoyed the surprised look on Berrida's face.  On  Widowmaker's  bridge,

Captain Yage raised her eyebrows. "My mother negotiated  that  deal  with  the

Empire, General. That's how I know about it. And I can  assure  you  that  not

many other people do. There are people on our side as reluctant to  deal  with

you as you are to deal with us."

"So?" Berrida snapped. The general made no attempt to  hide  his  growing

irritation with Jacen. "What are you driving at, boy? Speak plainly  before  I

have you arrested for obstructing the Imperial war effort."

"It's really quite simple, General." Jacen smiled as sweetly as he could.

"If the deal between the Empire and the Galactic Alliance was such  a  secret,

then how do you think the Yuuzhan Vong ever learned about  it?  I  mean,  only

your highest-ranking officers and my mother knew about it  at  the  time.  She

passed it on to our military leaders, who employed it in our  war  effort.  We

know there's no leak at our end, because the new routes worked. If the Yuuzhan

Vong had infiltrated our chain of command, the information you gave  us  would

have done us

no good whatsoever. The only way, therefore, that the Yuuzhan Vong  could

have known that the Empire had given the Galactic  Alliance  information  that

hurt them is if the leak was at your end." Jacen paused before pronouncing his

conclusion. "You have a spy, General."

"Nonsense!" Berrida's denial was mixed with just enough shock  for  Jacen

to realize that his reasoning had hit home. "That's impossible!"

"It's not impossible at all." Jacen changed his tone to one of  sympathy.

He'd attacked enough; the general's defenses had been breached. It was Jacen's

task now to turn Berrida into an ally, not to keep attacking and make him even

more of  an  enemy.  "The  fact  is,  we've  had  problems  with  infiltration

ourselves. First with the Yuuzhan Vong, and then with the Peace Brigade.  Your

staff could be riddled with alien  impersonators  and  sympathizers,  and  you

would never know. They have living  disguises  called  ooglith  masquers  that

allow them to impersonate anyone."

"We'll conduct security sweeps, random checks," Berrida said,  but  Jacen

could tell that the man's self-assurance was flagging.

"All useless, I'm afraid, unless you know what it is you're looking for."

Berrida glared balefully at him. "And you do know what  to  look  for,  I

suppose?"

Jacen nodded. "My companions and I have had a great  deal  of  experience

with the Yuuzhan Vong. We don't profess to understand them, but I do feel that

we are slowly coming to. And that, I believe, is the most important  thing  at

the moment."

More important than destroying  them,  he  thought  to  himself.  But  he

doubted that the general was ready for such philosophy. Be  patient,  he  told

himself. One step at a time.

"Let's assume I believe you," Berrida said, "and that I take you on  your

word that—"

"You don't have to  take  my  word,  General,"  Jacen  interrupted.  "The

evidence speaks for itself."

"Assuming I accept the argument, then," Berrida pressed on.  "What  next?

Are you asking me to open my staff to your influence? How  will  I  know  then

that I'm not trading one form of infiltration for another?  I  don't  have  to

trust you, Jedi, just because you appear to be beating my enemy."

"I'm not asking you to do that, General. All I am doing is  offering  you

and the Empire advice. You  can  take  it  or  leave  it.  Just  give  me  the

opportunity to present it properly, and then you can decide what to  do  about

it."

"Precisely what sort of advice are we talking about here?"

Jacen ticked several items off on his fingers: "First, we can advise  you

on how to detect and eliminate Yuuzhan Vong spies within your  ranks.  Second,

we can teach your pilots new tactics that will help you fight more effectively

on the front. And third, I can offer you my opinion  of  what  you  should  do

next."

The general grumbled disdainfully. "Which is?"

"That we should leave Yaga Minor as soon as possible," Jacen  said.  "Any

spies you have will already have reported to  their  superiors  that  this  is

where the fleet has regrouped. If your destruction is their aim, then it would

be reasonable to assume that they'll attack  here  soon,  before  you  have  a

chance to get your act together."

The general grunted. "Anything else?"

"Only one other thing: we cordially  invite  you  to  join  the  Galactic

Alliance to enable a continuation of this dialogue. We could  have  used  your

help many times over the course of the war, and I know that you can  use  ours

now.

We're not supplying anything with strings attached, General,  but  we  do

offer the hand of peace. All we ask is that you at least think about taking it

in return."

Jacen brought his own  hands  behind  his  back  as  he  waited  for  the

general's reply.

The holographic image of the general was motionless for a long  time—long

enough for Jacen to wonder if the image hadn't  frozen.  Then  Berrida  moved,

tilting his head to one side with a grimace.

"I'll get back to you," he said, before his image abruptly dissolved.

Jacen let out his  breath  in  a  trembling  rush,  for  the  first  time

realizing how damp with perspiration his palms were. "I'm  not  sure  if  that

went better than expected or worse than I could have imagined."

"Better," Yage said, stepping up beside him. "It's not in that fat fool's

nature to negotiate, or to entertain  an  original  thought,  so  to  get  him

halfway there is something of a major coup. If I know him, he'll already be on

the line to Moff Flennic—who'll tell him to stop listening  to  such  nonsense

and impound us before we waste any more time. But by the time he acts  on  it,

the  situation  might  have  changed."  She  looked  around  her  bridge,  her

expression concerned. "It really depends on what's happened to  the  chain  of

command."

"Who's filled the power vacuum, you mean?" Jacen asked.

Yage nodded. "Exactly. With Chimaera still missing, the Moffs will assume

that Gilad Pellaeon is dead, but until they know for  sure  either  way,  they

won't stick their necks out. And Flennic might not make any bold  moves  until

he's certain of how the council will fall out. If he's got the support, he may

even take the opportunity to make a move for leadership."  "That  wouldn't  be

good."

"Not for you, no," Yage said.  "And  probably  not  for  our  chances  of

survival."

Jacen didn't say anything; it wasn't her he needed to convince.

Later, when Tekli and her gear were settled in one of the frigate's empty

berths and the subspace channels were free, Jacen commandeered a line to  talk

to Jade Shadow.

"Do you want to come back?" Mara asked, her voice conveying the worry she

felt for him and the diminutive Chadra-Fan. "We can slip back insystem and—"

"I'd advise against that," he said. "They're going to be looking for you,

so I think you'd be better off staying where  you  are.  And  wherever  it  is

you're hidden, don't tell me. It's probably best I don't know."

"That's not your only concern, is it?" Luke said.

"Well, no," he admitted with some embarrassment.  "The  thing  is,  Uncle

Luke, I don't know much about Imperials, but I do know that they know  you.  I

think they'd feel a lot more relaxed about negotiating with some young upstart

than the man who brought down their Emperor."

"I totally agree with you, Jacen," Luke said. "And I know that you'll  do

the job right.  You  seem  to  have  a  natural  strength  when  it  comes  to

negotiating. Your mother will be proud. Not even she  was  able  to  talk  the

Imperials around, and she's one of the best diplomats  the  New  Republic  has

ever seen."

Jacen smiled at his uncle's  praise.  "That's  kind  of  you,"  he  said.

"Although to be fair to my mother, the last time she was  here  the  Imperials

didn't have the Yuuzhan Vong snapping at their heels. Things like that tend to

make people easier to persuade."

"That's nothing but false modesty, Jacen, and you know  it,"  Mara  said.

"Be sure to keep us updated on how negotiations proceed, as  well  as  Gilad's

condition. And don't forget that you can call on  us  for  anything,  anytime.

We'll be flight - and fight-ready around the chrono if you need us."

"I hope it won't come to that. It could be hours before we hear back from

Berrida or Flennic. And you'll know if they decide not to talk at all and make

a move on us

instead."

"Or if the Yuuzhan Vong come." There was a  small  silence  after  Mara's

words. Jacen had proposed the possibility of another advance  by  the  Yuuzhan

Vong fleet simply as a bargaining chip, but the more he thought about it,  the

more likely it seemed. He was less worried now about the Imperials than he was

about being caught in an old frigate on the front line.

Still, the kind of work he was doing certainly felt a lot  more  faithful

to his path than wielding a lightsaber or flying an  X-wing  in  battle.  He'd

originally thought the stopover in the Imperial Remnant  little  more  than  a

distraction on the way to finding Zonama Sekot, but perhaps it would prove  to

be something much more than that. Perhaps he had found another  calling  where

he had least expected it.

But not even he thought that he could bring the Imperials around  without

Gilad Pellaeon behind him. Whoever filled the admiral's  place  while  he  was

unconscious would be too busy watching their back to listen to  Jacen—and  the

longer they were in that position of power, the less likely they would  be  to

give it up.

Get well soon, old man, Jacen thought as he wrapped up  the  conversation

with Jade Shadow and went off to I find somewhere  he  could  wait  in  peace.

Enjoy the quiet

while you can. It may just be the calm before a terrible storm.

"It's changed."

The voice of Anakin's mother snapped Tahiri out of  her  daydream.  She'd

been staring out at the gelatinous oceans of Galantos as the Millennium Falcon

descended rapidly through the planet's atmosphere. She dragged her  eyes  from

the view through the cockpit viewport  to  where  Leia  sat  in  the  Falcon's

copilot seat next to Han's.

"I'm sorry?"

"Galantos," she said. "It's changed since I last saw it."

Tahiri glanced again at the view. "I didn't know you'd been here."

"I haven't. Borsk Fey'lya toured here briefly a while ago. He  sent  back

some reports while I was still on the council. He didn't like it  much,  if  I

recall. Didn't get on with the locals."

"I can't understand why," Han grumbled sarcastically,  flicking  switches

with exaggerated impatience. "These people could out-talk a Toydarian trader."

"It's just their way of going about things," Leia placated him. "I'm sure

they'd find your ways equally as odd."

"Yeah, well, at least I get things done. I'm  amazed  anything's  changed

around here—ever! They'd discuss any  proposals  to  death  before  they  ever

started building."

"Well, somehow they're getting things done," Leia said, pointing  at  the

screens before her. "That city there isn't on any of the maps we have. Or that

one."

Tahiri had boned up on Galantos's geography while  in  transit  from  Mon

Calamari. She knew that the landscape below was inherently  unstable,  so  the

Fian cities were built to ride out seismic vibrations. Shaped  like  flattened

spheres with stabilizing spikes beneath, they  floated  heavily  on  the  many

organic seas dotting the surface. Tahiri wondered if  people  would  feel  the

movement of the cities as they wobbled beneath them. The very  idea  made  her

feel motion-sick. Hopefully, she thought, they had dampeners like  the  cities

on Mon Calamari.

"So they've been building," Han said. "Joining the  New  Republic  worked

for them, obviously, even if it didn't teach them how to talk properly."

The Falcon swooped out of the sky, guided by navigational  beacons  to  a

circular landing field at the summit of Al'solib'minet'ri City. There  was  no

evidence of any other starships, but there were a number of  aircraft.  Ground

transport had been made difficult by the instability of  the  planet's  crust;

this had held back the development of the  Fia  until  they  had  stumbled  on

balloons almost two centuries earlier. Now enormous vert'bo airships regularly

carried livestock and other material goods  across  the  shattered  wastelands

between the oases floating on the seas,  while  the  Fia  themselves  took  to

speeders and suborbital shuttles. The sky was a maze of contrails near a  busy

town, punctuated by the enormous blimps, lazy dots drifting across  a  vibrant

blue.

A celebration had gathered to greet the Falcon when it  touched  down.  A

band struck up when the engine noise  died  away  and  the  landing  ramp  was

extended. The music was strange to Tahiri's  ears—a  mixture  of  high-pitched

whistles and hollow drones—but it gave the scene a festive air as she followed

Anakin's parents down  the  ramp,  Leia's  Noghri  bodyguards  followed  at  a

discreet distance, carefully eyeing the gathering for any activity that  might

be considered a danger to the Princess.

Not  far   away,   Jag   Fel's   clawcraft   had   also   touched   down.

Al'solib'minet'ri City Control had accepted his addition to the landing party,

but only after confirming the details at length with Captain  Mayn,  for  whom

Tahiri couldn't help but feel sorry.  Watched  curiously  by  the  crowd,  the

Chiss-trained pilot strode confidently to join the other humans at the  center

of the crowd of short, long-featured, web-footed Fia.

"Welcome to Galantos!" one of the Fia cried, moving  forward  and  waving

its long arms in apparent agitation. Although not much larger  than  an  Ewok,

the alien's gesticulating startled Tahiri, making her  take  a  cautious  step

back. Then she realized that the gestures were Only meant to convey excitement

and delight.

"I am Primate Persha." The Fia's  voice  was  high-pitched,  but  musical

rather than irritating. She spoke loudly to be heard over the muted squeaks of

the other Fia around them. "On behalf of Councilor Jobath, I'd like to welcome

you to Galantos, Leia Organa Solo, Han Solo, Tahiri  Veila,  Jagged  Fel,  and

protocol droid See-Threepio. It is an unexpected honor and a privilege for  us

all!"

Leia smiled and bowed courteously. "Councilor Jo-bath could not attend?"

"Unfortunately, no," the Fia said, her eyes  looking  somehow  even  more

melancholy  than  they  already  were.  "He  had  a  pressing  engagement   in

Gal'fian'deprisi City. But he promises  to  be  here  as  soon  as  physically

possible, and wishes me to convey his warmest and  most  respectful  greetings

and hopes that your stay will be an enjoyable and fruitful one. We  have  made

our finest diplomatic facilities available to you and will strive  to  fulfill

your every request. Please don't hesitate to ask for anything you  require  or

desire at any point in your stay, day or night. Either myself or my assistant,

Thrum, will be only too happy to accommodate you."

With one of her small, web-fingered hands, the Fia waved them  to  follow

her as she led them from their ships, waddling away on her  wide,  bell-shaped

legs. A

path opened up for them through a disconcertingly ecstatic crowd. The Fia

were a small, inoffensive people whose wild arm  gesticulations  belied  their

otherwise

placid nature. As Primate Persha kept up  a  steady  stream  of  detailed

instructions on how she or her assistant could be contacted over the next  two

days, Tahiri felt herself

begin to lose track of the words. All meaning seemed to fade from them as

the rising and falling of Persha's voice became notes of a complicated melody.

Tahiri doubted

that she was missing much by hearing only one word in three.

Persha led them into an ornate turbolift. C-3PO bumped into Tahiri's back

as the doors slid shut.

"Forgive me, Mistress Tahiri," the golden droid said. "This sort of  fuss

is all a bit overwhelming for the likes of a protocol droid like myself."

"That's okay, Threepio," she whispered back so as not  to  interrupt  the

steady flow of Primate Persha's ongoing speech, which  had  now  moved  on  to

express the Fia's joy at having  such  visitors  on  their  usually  unnoticed

world—especially in such times of trouble and hardship  that  the  galaxy  was

seeing. "I never thought I'd meet someone who talked as much as you, either."

She knew the components of C-3PO's face never changed, but by the way  he

tilted his head at this comment  Tahiri  could  tell  that  he  hadn't  really

understood her little joke.

The diplomatic quarters in Al'solib'minet'ri City were expansive and well

appointed. For all their isolation and other drawbacks, the Fia  didn't  skimp

when it came to fittings and hospitality. Tahiri's  room  was  decorated  with

white, bonelike panels ornately carved in the likeness  of  local  life-forms;

the  images  were  peculiar  looking,  as  befitted  their  environment,   but

stunningly crafted. The furniture was fashioned from  a  local,  broad-grained

wood, with some of the items so seamless that they looked as  if  they'd  been

grown that way rather than artfully cobbled together from various pieces.  All

in all, the room was both comfortable and luxurious—even  if  the  bed  was  a

little too short for her legs.

After checking  out  their  quarters,  the  visitors  reconvened  in  the

anteroom at the heart of the diplomatic residence.  Primate  Persha  had  left

them alone for the time being, graciously accepting their pleas to  relax  and

unwind for a while—although not before reiterating her instructions, again  in

meticulous detail, on how to ask for anything at all they might require.

"I'll just be glad when we're off this rock," Anakin's father was  saying

when Tahiri walked in. He looked more flustered than Tahiri had ever seen him.

She wasn't sure if it was because  of  the  Fia  or  their  proximity  to  the

Koornacht Cluster—or perhaps it was a little of both.

"Don't tell me," Leia said with a  half  smile.  "You're  getting  a  bad

feeling about this place, right?"

He shot her a dirty look before turning beseechingly to Jag Fel.  "Please

tell me there's a reason we shouldn't stay, Jag. Please. Anything."

"Sorry," said the tall, handsome pilot. "Can't  help  you,  I'm  afraid."

Shrugging off his backpack containing equipment  he'd  brought  with  him  and

placing it on the table in the middle of the room,  Jag  turned  to  Leia  and

said, "I've patched us into the planetary comm network and have opened a  link

to Selonia. I think we're safe in assuming that our encryption is  light-years

ahead of what these guys have here."

"And the rooms?" Leia asked.

"Bugged, of course," he said. "But it's okay;  I've  jammed  them.  We're

clean." Jag glanced at Tahiri when he said that, then quickly looked away. "We

should be

safe here now."

"You wouldn't think these people would have a need for listening devices,

" Han said. "They're so busy talking all the time."

Leia ignored his griping. "The Fia are all right," she  said.  "Actually,

it makes a nice change from people who don't talk enough. But then, that's not

to say that I'm entirely happy with what I see here, either."  She  fixed  her

husband with a sober stare. "I'm getting a bad  feeling  about  all  of  this,

although I hate to say it." "About what?" Tahiri asked.

Leia paused as if reaching out into the Force for  an  answer.  "I'm  not

sure," she said shortly, shaking her head. "Everyone seems happy enough to see

us, and Galantos is obviously a fairly peaceful place, but—"

"But it's almost too peaceful, right?" Han offered. "Maybe,"  Leia  said.

"And there's still the question of the communications blackout. Jag, will  you

contact Captain Mayn and ask her try to patch into the planetary  transceiver?

Galantos had one when it joined the New Republic; if  it  doesn't  anymore,  I

want to know what happened to it. Failing that, have her  attempt  to  contact

the nearest intersector network and see if  she  can  get  a  message  to  Mon

Calamari directly. We might be able to fix the problem locally, if it's just a

technical hitch, and move on elsewhere without wasting too much  time."  "I'll

second that," Han muttered. "In the meantime, Tahiri and I  are  going  for  a

walk." C-3PO instantly shuffled forward, only to be stopped by Leia putting  a

hand to his metal chest.

"Alone, Threepio," she said.

"I do not think that this is advisable, Mistress Leia," Threepio squawked

in protest. "For just the two of you to be out there alone—"

"Someone has to talk to  our  hosts,"  she  cut  in  gently  but  firmly.

"Otherwise we shall appear rude." When he  started  to  voice  his  objections

again, Leia said, "I appreciate  your  concerns,  Threepio,  but  they're  not

necessary. We'll be fine. And besides, Han and Jag will need you  to  talk  to

the planetary transceiver—that's if they can get it on-line."

"But Mistress, I really must—"

"The Princess  will  be  safe,"  rumbled  Cakhmaim,  one  of  the  Noghri

bodyguards who escorted Leia everywhere she went.

"See?" Leia said, not just to C-3PO but also to Han, who was  looking  as

dubious about his wife's plan as the droid sounded.  "And  anyway,  I'll  have

Tahiri with me to keep an eye out for  anything  out  of  the  ordinary."  The

Princess winked at her. "That's if the conversation doesn't put her to  sleep,

of course."

Warmed by Leia's trust in her, Tahiri smiled. "I'll  try  extra  hard  to

stay awake."

"Just be careful," Jag said. "And call us if  you  need  any  assistance,

okay?"

"Stop worrying," Tahiri insisted, thinking: Why does he keep  looking  at

me like that? It was difficult, she  found,  to  regain  self-confidence  when

those around seemed to have their own doubts about her. "You just  concentrate

on the housekeeping while we get on with the serious work."

She and Leia left the anteroom with the  Noghri  in  tow,  startling  the

small contingent of Fia who were huddled  together  outside  in  the  hallway,

whispering animatedly among one another.

"Oh, Princess Leia," exclaimed a relatively broad-faced Fia  with  orange

robes and pointy elbows. They all took a step back as Leia  stepped  out  into

the hall. "You surprised us! I am Assistant Primate Thrum. I was discussing  a

matter of some minor importance with the diplomatic staff here. I apologize if

we disturbed you in anyway."

"Not at all," Leia said, stopping directly in front of Thrum. "May I  ask

the nature of the matter you were — discussing?"

"It is nothing," Thrum said, glancing awkwardly to the other  Fia  around

him. "It is just that there appears to be an electrical fault in the  quarters

we have given you and we must ask—"

"Regretfully ask," put in one of the others leaning in close to Thrum.

"Regretfully ask," Thrum corrected himself, "that you consider moving—"

"We have noticed no such faults," Leia said imperiously. "My  husband  is

sleeping. When he wakes, though, I shall have him  look  more  closely.  Until

then, I'd appreciate if he were left in peace. He is extremely tired after our

long journey."

"Ah, yes, of course, Princess, of course." Thrum bowed low, sweeping  his

spindly arms in undulating movements  that  Tahiri  suspected  were  meant  to

indicate abasement. "We would never dream of disturbing  the  great  Han  Solo

during a rare moment of rest."

Tahiri hid a smile. She had no doubt that the  "minor  electrical  fault"

they were talking about lay in the listening bugs that Jag had jammed. It must

have frustrated the Fia no end that the only way they would find out what Leia

and her entourage wanted was by good old-fashioned questions and answers.

"Thank you," Leia said, casting  a  brief  and  conspiratorial  smile  in

Tahiri's direction. "I know he will appreciate that. For now,  though,  I  was

hoping that if it wasn't inconvenient, perhaps my friend and I  could  have  a

tour of your city."

Thrum straightened almost with a snap, his face beaming with  pride.  "Of

course, Princess! We would like nothing more than to show off our  magnificent

home." He snapped his  fingers  twice  and  his  fellow  conspirators  quickly

scattered. "I shall arrange immediately for someone to notify Councilor—"

"That will take time,"  Leia  said,  sweeping  forward  and  forcing  the

fussing Fia to half run just to keep up. "And I'm really not in the  mood  for

waiting. Like I said, it's been a long journey, and I need to stretch my legs.

Why don't you just take me around,  Assistant  Primate  Thrum?  It  will  make

things so much easier."

He nervously followed along, clearly agitated.  "But  what  of  Councilor

Jobath and Primate Persha?" he babbled. "I shall need to inform them—"

"I'm sure they can catch up in their own time," Leia went  on,  not  even

slowing her pace. "You know, they say that travel broadens the mind, and after

a few days cooped up in an old freighter, I can assure you  that  mine  is  in

some serious need of broadening. Now," she said, turning a corner  at  random,

"what do we have down here? I don't think we came this way before. I must say,

I like the architecture. Simple yet elegant. Are these corridors  deliberately

reminiscent of the Old Republic style, or did that come about purely..."

And so it went on, with Leia rarely giving the Fia a chance to  speak—or,

indeed, to protest that he simply didn't have  time  to  escort  them  at  the

moment. Tahiri let herself  fall  behind,  enjoying  the  sight  of  Assistant

Primate Thrum trying to get a word in edgewise. Glancing over the  Fia's  flat

head, the Princess caught her eye and indicated for  Tahiri  to  take  another

corridor. Tahiri hesitated, then inconspicuously slipped away, her  bare  feet

padding silently along the stone floor.

She felt slightly guilty going  off  on  her  own  in  this  manner.  And

nervous. As Leia's voice slowly faded, Tahiri put her hand on  the  lightsaber

at her hip and attuned her senses to the  world  around  her.  The  diplomatic

quarter of the city was extremely quiet, and for the most part deserted.  This

didn't overly surprise her, though. Galantos wouldn't receive  many  visitors,

despite the mineral wealth of its soils, so she imagined that this section  of

the city was probably empty most of the time.  Borsk  Fey'lya's  dismissal  of

Galantos many years ago had led to an avoidance of the place by  New  Republic

officialdom. No other councilors had visited the  planet  and,  following  the

Yeve-than crisis, it seemed that Galantos had, for all intents  and  purposes,

fallen off the map.

It was odd, then, Tahiri thought, that the Fia had invested so much money

in opulent quarters for guests who never came. And it  wasn't  just  that  the

buildings and rooms were well maintained; it was more that they were  actually

brand new. Why would they build them now? Tahiri wondered. In the middle of  a

war?

Assuming she was being watched, Tahiri resisted her urge  to  break  into

some of the other guest rooms.  She  suspected  that  someone,  recently,  had

stayed in the newly built quarters, and she would have loved for the chance to

find out exactly who that had been. It was only a gut instinct,  but  she  had

learned to pay attention to her gut feelings—especially those  originating  in

the Force, as this one seemed to. Someone bad been here; she was sure  of  it.

If not within the last few days, then certainly within the last month or  two.

Perhaps on her way back, she decided, when she had scoped out the rest of  the

place and getting caught wouldn't be so much of a problem,  she  would  chance

taking a closer look.

Following her instincts, she wove  her  way  through  numerous  corridors

until she reached a guard station separating the rest of  the  city  from  the

diplomats' quarters. Two guards were busy discussing the details of  a  recent

regulation change. They didn't seem to have been alerted to her presence.  She

gently reached out with the Force and encouraged them to leave their post  for

a moment, chasing a suspicion that  they  had  perhaps  seen  someone  lurking

around a corner. While they were  gone,  she  walked  through  their  post  as

nonchalantly as she could.

The city outside the security perimeter  was  noisier  than  the  guests'

section. The corridors were plainer here, but had numerous skylights or light-

tubes allowing natural daylight to  filter  throughout.  She  noticed  species

other than the Fia about the place, too—a couple of mournful Gran and a  group

of Sullustans chattering among themselves. She presumed this area of the  city

contained government offices of some kind, since most of the  Fia  she  passed

wore similar clothes: not uniforms, but more the conservative kind of garb one

might find in an office anywhere. They noticed her, too, but  did  nothing  to

stop her. In fact, some even went out of their way to avoid her, almost as  if

alarmed to see her walking these corridors.

This troubled her as much as the newness of the diplomatic quarters.  Why

should they be so frightened of her? Perhaps it wasn't of  her  as  such,  she

thought, but of a human loose in the city. But still, what had  they  seen  to

encourage such ill feeling? A Yevetha  she  could  understand,  but  Gran  and

Sullustans?

Tahiri set aside the thought for now; she would address  it  later,  with

the others in the security of their quarters.  For  now  she  concentrated  on

looking both lost and

curious,  choosing  routes  with  the  least  pedestrian   traffic,   and

constantly checking over her shoulder for a sign of the guards she  felt  sure

would by now be coming after

her.. .

Her comlink bleeped. Without breaking stride, she raised  her  wrist  and

said, "Hello?"

"This is Leia. Where are you, Tahiri? Assistant  Pri-mate  Thrum  pointed

out that we seem to have lost you To be honest, I hadn't  noticed.  I  was  so

wrapped up in

the tour.

Tahiri smiled to herself. "Sorry,"  she  said,  playing  along  with  the

charade. "I should have called you before now I went to go back to my room  to

get something and must have taken a wrong turn along the way. "Would you  like

us to send someone to fetch you?" "No, that's all right. I  can  find  my  way

back." "Are you sure?" Tahiri  could  hear  Thrum  babbling  something  behind

Leia's words, but couldn't quite make

"I'll call you if I can't retrace my steps. Until then, I'm sure I'll  be

perfectly safe."

There was no good argument to that. It wasn't as if she was  out  on  the

streets where a  criminal  element  might  threaten  her;  she  was  inside  a

government building populated by clerks. And Thrum could  hardly  insist  that

she return because they were nervous about her.

"That's fine, Tahiri," Leia said. "Come back when you're ready. Have  fun

while you're young, that's what I say. And I'm sure  Assistant  Primate  Thrum

would agree, The line went dead.  Tahiri  smiled  even  wider,  imagining  the

frustration Thrum must have been feeling  in  the  face  of  Leia's  incessant

chattering.

The thought of the talkative locals brought something home to  her  then.

The Fia around here were conversing with  none  of  the  driven  intensity  of

Primate Persha or her assistant. They were discussing the everyday occurrences

of their lives in some detail, yes, but nothing more than that.  She  couldn't

help wonder if the endless  chattering  of  the  Fia  she  had  been  formally

introduced to was the nervous prattle  of  someone  hoping  to  avoid  awkward

questions.

She continued through the building for a while longer  before  coming  to

the realization that she wasn't about to learn  anything  new  this  way.  The

corridors were remarkable only in that they all appeared  almost  exactly  the

same, and the only doors she found to be open led to nothing more  interesting

than storerooms or offices, often occupied by gossiping  bureaucrats.  Because

she didn't know what exactly to look for, beyond anything that  might  explain

the communications blackout to Galantos, she didn't have any clear objectives.

And besides which, after an hour or more, she was starting  to  get  a  little

bored with the game.

Deciding to make her way back to the others, she found  a  turbolift  and

dropped ten floors; she walked around briefly before going back  up  the  same

shaft to the floor she had started on. Then, figuring  that  if  she  had  any

pursuers on her tail, this would set them back a little,  she  wound  her  way

back to the security post she had snuck through earlier. The same guards  were

there when she returned, both looking tremendously relieved to see her.

"Mistress Veila! You have returned!"

"Please forgive our lack of courtesy when you came by earlier," said one,

approaching her. "It was remiss of us not to be here to give you directions."

"It's really nothing," she said breezily. "I had a nice stroll."

"Please allow me to escort you back to your rooms," he said obsequiously.

"We would hate for you to become lost."

"That won't be necessary," Tahiri said, with a small wave of her hand. "I

can find my own way back."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," the second guard  said,  stepping  up

beside the first.

His partner nodded. "She can  find  her  own  way  back,"  he  said,  and

gestured her through without another word.

In fact, Tahiri did know her way back to her rooms, but that wasn't where

she was heading. She was 1etting her instincts, not her head, guide her again.

Someone else had stayed in these rooms-she was more convinced of this now than

she had been before. She half closed her eves to shut out the  distraction  of

her physical senses, walking where her feelings led her, reaching out with the

Force to make sense of her suspicions. Whoever it was who had been  the  Fia's

guest, she could feel their echoes and shadows all around her: in  the  walls,

the carpets, the gilt-edged cornices, the carvings... ' She  moved  along  the

corridors, the feelings becoming stronger with each  step  she  took,  finally

reaching their peak when she turned into one long passage leading  to  a  wide

viewport. The viewport itself looked directly out  into  the  clear  skies  of

Galantos, the sunlight  through  the  decorative  and  colored  glass  casting

rainbow hues across the numerous doors that lined the passage.

She stepped uneasily forward, her hands reaching out to touch  each  door

in turn as she passed. They all seemed devoid of anything out of the ordinary,

and yet the a ridor rang with an odd, discordant resonance. The  feel-ing  was

so strong now, in fact, it was almost tangible. Someone—

She stopped abruptly. Her entire body tingled as her fingertips came into

contact with the door at the far end of the corridor. She wasn't normally able

to  sense  individuals  so  strongly,  particularly  in  the  ambience  of  an

unfamiliar world. So what made this  one  so  special?  Why  was  her  stomach

churning at the thought of opening this door? What exactly  was  it  in  these

echoes that disturbed her so intensely?

You are being foolish, she chided herself. You are a Jedi Knight and that

is an empty room. There's nothing in there  to  be  frightened  of,  but  fear

itself.

The door slid open when she touched the keypad: nothing to hide, it would

seem, or else the door would have been locked. But the mysterious presence hit

her like a wave of stale air, making her flinch.

Somewhere in the distance she thought she heard voices calling  her,  so,

despite her apprehensions, she stepped into the room. Her movements were  slow

and awkward as though she were trying to take strides in a Mimban swamp.

As expected, the room was  unoccupied.  It  was  far  from  being  empty,

though. The feelings were so strong now that her entire body felt as though it

was about to explode—and, such was the discomfort they were giving her,  right

then she would have been happy if it had.

Still allowing her instincts to guide her, Tahiri  stepped  over  to  the

bed, lifting the quilt covering it to look underneath.  Finding  nothing,  she

lifted the entire mattress.

There.

At full stretch, she could just manage to get her  fingers  on  the  tiny

silver object that lay on the dusty floor. And the moment she  touched  it,  a

shock went through her that sent her reeling. She lay on the floor,  clutching

the object, panting to catch her breath and fighting to hold the  darkness  at

the back of her mind from sweeping in.

This was it: this was what had been calling to her. Just like the  voices

were calling to her now.. .

"Mistress Veila! Are you all right?"

Was it a Fia who had called her name? She couldn't be sure; she  was  too

busy trying to stay conscious.

"You must come with us, please," the owner of the voice  continued.  "You

should not be here!"

She felt herself actively complying with the  request,  even  though  she

seemed to have no real control over her body. It was as if she were lost in  a

vague fog, her movements as clumsy as a puppet's.

Turning, she saw three Fia guards at the door, one stepping  in  to  take

her arm and guide her out  into  the  corridor.  There,  the  other  two  took

position close behind her. They were speaking, but she couldn't quite make out

the words, as though she were disassociated completely from her body,  looking

down from above on all that was happening. And it was all because of the thing

in her

hand.. .

She brought the pendant up to examine it more closely. It was  silver  in

appearance, but fashioned from a substance unfamiliar to her,  and  molded  in

the shape  of  a  bulbous-headed,  many-tentacled  jellyfish—a  bizarre  cross

between an Umgullian blob and a Sarlacc.

But she knew what it was. Although she'd never seen anything  quite  like

it before, she recognized it immediately.

It was an image of the Yuuzhan Vong deity Yun-Yammka, the Slayer.

A wail came bubbling up from inside her, crying out  in  a  language  she

wasn't supposed to know: Ukla-na vissa crai!

Tahiri clutched the totem to her chest as the world grayed around her and

plunged her, finally, into black.

In the week  following  the  telling  of  the  Rapuung  story,  Nom  Anor

accompanied I'pan on his missions to the upper levels. Using his knowledge  of

security codes and resource management, he was able to appropriate many of the

raw materials the Shamed Ones needed to build  their  new  home,  things  they

hadn't previously been able to gain access to. Slowly but surely  this  ragtag

bunch of Shamed Ones was becoming indebted to him, living a  life  they  would

not have been able to had he not been introduced to them. He  had  given  them

the lambents that Supplied them light when the bioluminescent  globes  failed,

and the arksh that gave them warmth during those colder nights, as well as the

h'merrig, the biological processor that produced a significant  percentage  of

their daily food. He had stolen the materials in good conscience,  not  caring

how the thefts might hurt Shimrra's war effort. For now,  all  that  concerned

him was engendering the trust of his  new  companions.  And  while  his  small

contributions had helped in this, it hadn't been enough to win over  everyone—

especially the likes of Kunra, who remained suspicious of his motives.

None of that mattered right now, though. He was on another  mission  with

I'pan, and this time collecting equipment and gaining the Shamed  Ones'  trust

was far from his mind. This time, he had a different agenda.

"How much farther?" His tone  was  full  of  irritation  as  he  squeezed

himself between two enormous conduits.

"Almost there." I'pan looked around to get his bearings, then headed  for

a small hole in one of the walls. On the other side was  a  ferrocrete  tunnel

originally intended to give maintenance droids access to a  seemingly  endless

stream of cables and pipes bunched overhead. The tunnel curved  away  slightly

to the left and had no entrances or exits  other  than  those  that  had  been

knocked through the ferrocrete by other explorers.  For  all  Nom  Anor  could

tell, it might have circumnavigated the entire wretched planet.

They came across the corroded remains of  a  droid  halfway  along  their

journey. It was slumped on its side, burned out and stripped of all its useful

parts. The expression on its blackened, empty face was  a  hideous  parody  of

life. Nom Anor kicked it over, stepping on the fragments for good  measure  as

he passed.

Soon they reached a narrow crack in the side of the tunnel, and I'pan put

a knobby finger to his lips, calling for quiet. Then he slipped awkwardly  but

soundlessly through the crack.  Nom  Anor  waited  anxiously  in  the  tunnel,

fearing a trap. There was nowhere to hide in this endless, abominable place.

I'pan's hand suddenly reemerged from the crack  and  waved  him  through.

"They're not here yet," he said. "We'll have to wait."

Nom  Anor  followed  I'pan  into  the  sub-basement.  Despite  years   of

infiltrating the infidel societies, he still felt slightly hemmed  in  by  the

sharp edges, flat planes, and impossibly perfect  corners  that  characterized

such rooms. Nothing in nature exhibited such properties  as  these  artificial

monstrosities—or at least not simultaneously, anyway. It felt as though  their

very design was intended to suck the life out of those who occupied  them,  as

if in some vain attempt to fill their terrible emptiness.

The room's only door was locked from the outside. If he was  patient,  he

told himself, he would soon be safely back in the  reassuring  jumble  of  the

deepest levels, where the weight of all the buildings above warped the  edges,

bowed the planes, and thwarted the corners sufficiently to fool the mind  into

thinking it might almost be natural. Almost.

I'pan collapsed bonelessly into a corner, appearing in the shadows to  be

little more than a pile of rubbish under all the rags. Finding a spot  in  the

center of the room, where someone had unsuccessfully attempted to  soften  the

room's harshness by  planting  a  vurruk  carpet,  Nom  Anor  concentrated  on

breathing exercises to pass the time. He was much  fitter  than  he  had  been

before Ebaq 9. He hadn't noticed how the years of stress had racked  his  body

until a few weeks of a solid, simple exercise  regime  washed  it  clean.  His

pulse was again strong, and the gash across his fingers had  healed  perfectly

into a ragged, attractive scar. He felt younger than he had  in  decades.  Nom

Anor's self-imposed exile may not have advanced  his  return  with  any  great

speed, but physically it was doing him a world of good.

The sound of scuffling from the far side of the basement's door broke his

meditation. Nom Anor and I'pan  rose  to  their  feet  together  as  the  lock

clunked, the door opened, and three people stepped through. The leader, a tall

man with no eyesacks to speak  of,  stopped  in  front  of  I'pan  but  stared

critically over at Nom Anor. He held a sack in one hand, which  he  passed  to

I'pan without a word.

I'pan took it. "Aarn, T'less, Shoon-mi," he said when the door was safely

shut, addressing each of the strangers in turn. "I have  brought  someone  who

wishes to learn more about the Jeedai."

The three Shamed Ones studied Nom Anor closely. It was clear they  didn't

recognize him. He knew their type well. They carried an air of toil with them,

as though subservience was an atmosphere that  could  be  bottled.  I'pan  had

explained in advance that these three didn't belong to a rogue group  such  as

the one Nom Anor had stumbled across;  such  were  rare,  even  following  the

spread of  the  Jedi  heresy.  These  three  were  properly  employed  workers

operating under cover.

"His name is—" I'pan  started,  but  was  stopped  as  Nom  Anor  stepped

forward, pushing his companion aside.

"I am Amorrn," he said. The false name was intended ostensibly  to  avoid

alarm over his former existence, but mainly to reduce the chances that word of

his survival would reach Shimrra.

The tall one nodded. "I am Shoon-mi," he said, "Niiriit's creche-brother.

When she fell from grace, it was I who freed her from the priests'  cells  and

allowed her to escape. She has told you about me?"

Niiriit hadn't, but Nom Anor could see in the man's sad eyes  a  yearning

for acknowledgment. He knew this sort, too: his immediate  family  would  have

been Shamed along with Niiriit, and he was brave enough as a result to  resist

the established order in small ways, yet too cowardly to abandon it entirely.

"She has told me many things," he said. "She  tells  me  that  you,  too,

follow the ways of the Jedi."

This was mostly true; she had spoken of a person closer  to  the  surface

who believed in a slightly different version of the heresy. She and  Nom  Anor

had had many conversations on the topic of the Jedi, but she  had  never  once

mentioned her relationship to Shoon-mi. He wondered if  her  devotion  to  the

heresy had burned out all other concerns—perhaps even any feelings  for  Kunra

that might once have existed.

"I pay heed to what I hear," Shoon-mi said cautiously. "Will you tell  me

what that is?" One of Shoon-mi's companions looked nervous. "This  is  neither

the place nor the time," she said. "We are due back in—"

"You go, T'less," Shoon-mi said with an  edge  as  sharp  as  the  room's

corners. "Tell Sh'simm we were held up in the  yorik  nursery.  This  is  more

important." He looked directly at Nom Anor, his narrow eyes studying  the  ex-

executor intensely. "And this is as good a place as any."

The one called  T'less  nodded,  glancing  at  Nom  Anor  before  hastily

slipping out of the room.

"Don't let us get you into any trouble," Nom Anor said ingratiatingly.

"We won't be missed," said the Shamed One I'pan had named  Aarn.  "Things

are chaotic on the surface. Whatever it is that  afflicts  the  dhuryam  still

causes great discomfort. There is confusion and instability. Many are  joining

our ranks as they are blamed for mistakes or inefficiencies  caused  by  those

higher up, and this influx makes it easier for us to slip through the cracks."

Nom Anor listened with stunned amazement. Aarn clearly  suffered  from  a

different kind of heresy: that of rebellion. He'd had no idea that such things

were discussed at any level of Yuuzhan Vong society,  even  among  the  Shamed

Ones.

"I'pan has told me the story he heard on Duro," Nom Anor said, swallowing

his surprise. "But he tells me also that there  are  differences  between  his

story and yours."

Shoon-mi nodded. "In the version he tells, it was Mezhan Kwaad who killed

Vua Rapuung. But I  have  heard  that  he  survived  her  blow,  and  that  he

sacrificed himself directly so that the Jeedai could escape. And I also  heard

that it was his brother who killed him. Hul Rapuung was  willing  to  consider

that Mezhan Kwaad had Shamed him intentionally, but could not go so far as  to

accept the Jeedai as allies. When Vua died, his supporters  fell  on  Hul  and

killed him, and it was during this confusion that  the  Jeedai  escaped.""Even

so," Nom Anor said, "the message is essentially the same, is it not?"

Shoon-mi shook his head. "There are differences there,  too.  The  Jeedai

stands accused of using fire in his attack on  the  Yavin  Four  installation.

That is an abomination of the first order. Most people who hear the story  shy

away from it, preferring to ignore it as an awkward detail rather than try  to

examine it and thereby come to a better understanding of the Jeedai's way. But

understanding is the key. Anakin Solo proved himself to be more than  just  an

infidel tool user. Later, when his creche-mates were in danger, he  sacrificed

himself in glorious combat so that they might live. He did not shy  away  from

death. You and I both know  that  these  are  not  the  actions  of  primitive

infidels. They are adaptive strategies—strategies we can learn from."

Nom Anor nodded, absorbing  what  he'd  been  told.  This  story  of  Vua

Rapuung's death rang closer to his memories. There was no mass uprising in the

records, no clash between warriors with different  ideologies,  as  I'pan  had

related it. But Shoon-mi had not mentioned the slaughter of the Shamed Ones on

Yavin 4, either. In the mythic sense, clearly the deaths of a thousand  Shamed

Ones were irrelevant compared to the death of a single significant one.

The fact that Nom Anor had once turned down an invitation  to  duel  with

the great Anakin Solo would never be known. The executor had killed an  entire

squad of warriors with an infidel's blaster in order to keep  that  particular

secret from getting out.

"Where did you hear this story?" he asked. "From me," Aarn said, stepping

forward. The relatively youthful Shamed One had narrow features that spoke  of

generations of Shame before him—so much so, in fact, that Nom Anor found it an

affront to his dignity even to be in the same room as the man, let alone  talk

to him.

"I heard it from one of us who served on Garqi."

"And where did they hear it?"

Aarn shrugged, his craggy face pinched into a frown. "I'm not  sure,"  he

said. "Why do you need to know?"

Nom Anor shrugged this time. "I am merely curious how there  came  to  be

two stories that differ so dramatically about the same event," he said.  "It's

not as if it happened that long ago. One of the stories must be partly  false—

but that doesn't necessarily mean that the other  is  entirely  true.  If  one

should be false, why not the other, too?"

"They overlap enough to convince me that the foundations, at  least,  are

true," Shoon-mi said. "You know how quickly rumors change. Word of  mouth  can

distort truth in a very short space of time. But  that  does  not  change  the

essence of the story."

Nom Anor nodded thoughtfully, pretending to consider the  point  Shoon-mi

had made. "But which, then, is the most true? Which Jedi do I listen  to?  The

one who uses fire, or the one who doesn't?"

"You must follow your instincts," Aarn said.

Nom Anor glanced at the Shamed One, briefly and with a hint of a snarl at

the corner of his mouth. It incensed him to have to associate with  the  likes

of the man, when a few months back it would have  been  beneath  him  to  even

waste a thought on his kind.

"I'd rather hoped to follow the story  back  to  its  source,"  he  said,

speaking directly to Shoon-mi. "To the one who took it off Yavin Four  in  the

first place—the one who saw it with his own  eyes  and  was  brave  enough  to

repeat it."

"I don't have that one's name," Shoon-mi said. "I don't know that  anyone

does, either."

"He was never named in your version of the story?"

Niiriit's brother shook his head. "I'd remember  if  he  had  been.  That

person would be as famous as Vua Rapuung."

He'd also be dead, Nom Anor thought  to  himself.  Going  around  telling

stories about heretics was one thing, but admitting who it was  who  disobeyed

War-master Tsavong Lah's direct order was another thing altogether.  It  could

have been anyone, though: a warrior might have smuggled out a favorite  slave;

the shaper Nen Yim might have spoken of her experiences on Yavin 4; or someone

belonging to a domain rivaling Kwaad might have even spread such  rumors.  The

possibilities were numerous.

"Are there any other differences between the stories,  then?"  he  asked,

hoping to sound more like an innocent student of the Jedi rather than  someone

with an ulterior motive.

"There's some discrepancy over when the events occurred," Aarn said.

"Yes, I know. One version suggests that all this happened when Yavin Four

was still in the hands of the Jedi. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really," Aarn said. "Stories do change of their own accord. I  would

be more suspicious if all the versions were exactly the same."

"Do you know of any others who tell tales  like  this,  then?"  Nom  Anor

asked.

"A few," Shoon-mi said. "Everyone tells a handful of trusted friends, and

each of those in turn tells another handful.  That  is  the  manner  by  which

rumors spread. Not knowing who told who more than one or two reiterations  ago

may be frustrating, but it certainly makes things safer for all of us."

That much was true, at least, Nom Anor thought. Without that fact working

in its favor, the Jedi myth wouldn't have filtered far  enough  to  reach  his

ears. At the same time, though, not being able to trace it back  would  hardly

work in his favor. Shimrra wouldn't be happy with only half  the  information,

if Nom Anor decided to divulge  it.  Unless  the  Supreme  Overlord  could  be

assured of wiping it out at its source, he would never  believe  that  it  had

been completely eradicated. This would undoubtedly  frustrate  him,  and  that

would make Nom Anor the source of this frustration.

The heresy was like disease eating away at the underside of Yuuzhan  Vong

culture. Beneath the surface, as he had always  thought  of  it,  beneath  the

warrior, shaper, and intendant  castes,  lay  the  foundations  built  by  the

workers. The efforts of the workers were sustained by the priests, who  shored

up any weak areas with babble that would barely hold  water  if  one  poked  a

single claw at it. The priests made everything possible because, without  gods

demanding sacrifice and servitude, what was there to  stop  the  workers  from

rising up? Or the warriors from turning  on  the  weak?  The  intendants  from

stealing from anyone they felt like? It was the glue of the gods that kept not

just the Yuuzhan Vong invasion on course but the Yuuzhan Vong race as a  whole

together.

If something were to supplant the gods—new gods, or no  gods  at  all—Nom

Anor suspected that Yuuzhan Vong society would  fly  apart  like  a  shattered

planet. There would be no center left to hold it together; it would  be  eaten

away, decayed. He knew it was his duty to report the extent of the  heresy  to

Shimrra. To do otherwise would be to actively participate in  the  destruction

of everything he had worked toward for decades. Yet part of him still wondered

if there might not be some way he could turn all of this around to work in his

favor, without bringing everything down around him. And wouldn't that  be  the

greatest irony of all? To use his enemies, the Jedi, as the means to  his  own

victory?

"Amorrn?"

He realized that he had been too preoccupied with his thoughts to  notice

the conversation taking place around him.

"I'm sorry," he said, gritting his teeth on the false camaraderie. "I was

thinking of how strange it must have been for Vua Rapuung to be so close to  a

Jedi for so long."

"There have been others," Aarn asserted. "I heard of a Jeedai who allowed

himself to be captured, and he couldn't be broken."

I'pan nodded. "I've heard of him, too," he  said.  "His  name  was  Wurth

Skidder. He seduced a yammosk with his mind and then killed it."

Nom Anor said nothing, although he was certain he  knew  more  about  the

incident than the Shamed Ones relating it to him. The Jedi Wurth  Skidder  had

been a prisoner  on  Creche,  a  yanimosk-carrying  clustership  destroyed  at

Fondor. Its commander, Chine-kal, had been circumspect in reports prior to his

death, but what seemed certain was that Skidder had been close to the breaking

point before an attempted rescue by one of  the  New  Republic's  most  daring

irritants, Kyp Durron's so-called Dozen. One member of this group, a  Jedi  by

the name of Ganner, managed to kill the yammosk, but he  had  been  unable  to

rescue his friend. The galling thing was  that,  although  Wurth  Skidder  had

died, it was true he had never been broken.

"Mezhan Kwaad couldn't break the Jeedai-who-was shaped," Aarn said.

"And then there are the Twins, also,"  Shoon-mi  said.  "Both  have  been

captured, and both have escaped. Yun-Yammka has never been able to break them,

either."

"So you are saying that they are even more powerful than the  gods?"  Nom

Anor asked.

The question seemed to make Shoon-mi nervous. "Not necessarily," he said.

"But perhaps the Jeedai know more about the gods than the priests do."

And there it was, stated boldly: the true heresy that had  the  potential

to bring the Yuuzhan Vong species to  its  knees.  Once  the  workers  stopped

listening to the priests, what  would  fill  the  vacuum?  The  warriors?  The

intendants? The Jedi?

The latter truly would be an abomination, Nom Anor knew. He  would  never

allow himself to be dictated to by an infidel. But he would use  them  to  get

what he wanted: either news of the heresy could regain his favor with Shimrra,

or the heresy itself could  destabilize  the  Supreme  Overlord's  rule.  That

seemed a simple enough progression. It wasn't  the  normal  way  an  ambitious

Yuuzhan Vong climbed the ranks—but since the ladder one would normally  ascend

to further one's status in the Yuuzhan Vong  hierarchy  had  effectively  been

kicked out from under him, he was forced to resort to other methods. It wasn't

something he was particularly proud of, but it was necessary.

"We must return." Aarn shuffled about on his feet. Nom Anor  wondered  if

Shoon-mi's blatant statement of faith had unsettled him, too.

"I understand," Nom Anor said. "But I would very much like to talk to you

again. The notion of truth  intrigues  me,  and  I'd  like  to  hear  as  many

different versions of Vua Rapuung's story as possible. If  you  hear  it  from

anyone else—"

"Then we shall tell you, Amorrn," Shoon-mi said, nodding.  "I'pan  should

take you to see Hrannik, too. I've  heard  she  is  also  busy  spreading  the

message."

"I will," I'pan said. "I know a couple of others, as well. The  truth  is

spreading."

"The truth is spreading," Shoon-mi repeated, as though by rote.

Bidding a quick farewell,  the  two  from  the  surface  exited  via  the

abominably right-angled door, leaving I'pan and  Nom  Anor  alone  again.  His

deformed companion opened the sack Shoon-mi had given him and looked inside.

"What is it?" Nom Anor asked.

"Food, some old clothes," I'pan  answered.  "The  usual  stuff.  Shoon-mi

likes to look after his sister."

"Why doesn't she talk about him?"

"Because she believes he is a traitor to the truth," I'pan said as though

the answer should have been obvious. "As far as she is  concerned,  he  should

leave his unit and join her rather than paying lip service to  the  old  gods.

Until he does this, she will not even acknowledge his existence."

"But she will accept his gifts," Nom Anor observed wryly.

I'pan laughed at this. "She is not so proud that she will  refuse  help,"

he said. "Survival is her priority; changing her brother is secondary."

Nom Anor remembered the way Nurut's eyes had glowed in the  light  during

the telling of I'pan's story. She was a true fanatic, more  dangerous  to  the

system than any of the other's. There was nothing more lethal than  a  trained

warrior who had turned against her old leaders.

He smiled to himself, confident with the beginnings of a  plan  that  was

slowly forming in his head. All he needed  now  was  the  source  of  the  Vua

Rapuung rumor.

"Are you coming?" I'pan said, breaking into his thoughts.

Nom Anor smiled again, wider this time. "Time  to  go  home,  I'pan,"  he

said, nodding.

I'pan climbed through the fissure in the wall they  had  entered  through

earlier, leading him in the direction of the "home" he thought  Nom  Anor  had

been referring to.

Jaina watched the holo through a third time. She still  couldn't  believe

what she was seeing—although the heavy feeling in her gut suggested that  part

of her was at least beginning to.

The holo came from Al'solib'minet'ri City Control, piped up to  Pride  of

Selonia on a secure line. Jaina had returned to the  frigate  specifically  to

view it, at the request of her parents who felt she needed  to  see  what  had

happened to Tahiri. It also  gave  her  the  opportunity  to  get  her  X-wing

serviced and diagnostic checks done on her craft's weapon systems while things

were quiet.

The holo had been taken two hours before in the diplomatic quarters where

her parents were staying with Jag, Tahiri, and C-3PO. It showed  Tahiri  being

guided along a corridor  by  a  small  contingent  of  Fian  security  guards.

According to the report Jaina had received from her mother, Tahiri had gone on

a brief exploratory mission through the city, after slipping away, with Leia's

assistance, from the Fian escort. It seemed that she had led the guards  on  a

merry chase before  they  had  finally  managed  to  track  her  down  to  one

particular room where they'd found her lying on the floor in a seemingly dazed

state. She had accompanied them without protest, allowing them to  return  her

to the others in her party.

From the casual manner that they carried their blasters, and  from  their

unconcerned expressions, it was obvious that the guards were not expecting any

kind of trouble whatsoever. Nevertheless,  their  leader  appeared  less  than

impressed by the runaround that Tahiri had given them.

Jaina watched as Tahiri looked down at something she had clutched in  her

hand. The cam angle didn't allow a good shot of what the object was,  exactly,

but Tahiri's reaction upon seeing it was both startling  and  disturbing.  The

girl recoiled as though  struck  by  a  blaster  bolt  to  the  forehead,  her

expression one of absolute horror. In an instant, too  fast  for  the  cam  to

follow, her ice-blue lightsaber was out and at the ready,  sweeping  to  cover

her from any attack. The  security  guards  fell  back,  themselves  startled,

bringing their blasters up to the ready. The  leader  barked  a  warning,  but

Tahiri didn't seem to hear or see him. Her eyes were wide as they darted mani-

cally from side to side, exactly as  if  she  was  expecting  an  attack.  Her

lightsaber whipped around in a bright arc as she pirouetted to  cover  herself

from some nonexistent attack from the rear. The guards jumped back a  step  or

two farther at this, confused by the sudden change  in  the  situation.  Jaina

could understand their fear, too. There was  a  look  on  Tahiri's  face  that

warned of what might happen if she was provoked.

The ranking security guard was marginally braver than the others. Despite

his own obvious apprehensions regarding Tahiri, he cautiously stepped  forward

and demanded she deactivate her lightsaber. If she didn't, he said,  he  would

be forced to open fire upon her.

Jaina slowed the playback at  that  point,  watching  closely  as  Tahiri

listened to the guard's request. The girl half turned; her expression  changed

to one of alarm, as though seeing the guards around her for the first time.  A

procession of emotions flashed across her delicate features:  dismay,  regret,

fear, and, finally, despair. For a split second,  Jaina  even  thought  Tahiri

might attack the leader who had approached her. Then, as  though  struck  from

behind by a stun baton, her eyes rolled back into her head and her legs folded

beneath her. Her lightsaber died the instant she  released  it,  the  handgrip

clattering across the floor and into a wall.

Even then, with Tahiri seemingly unconscious and her weapon nowhere  near

her, the guards remained wary, keeping  their  distance  with  their  blasters

trained on Tahiri's  prostrate  figure.  The  leader  was  also  reluctant  to

approach, nervously calling for backup on his comlink. Even when they did find

the courage to step up to her and prod her  with  their  feet,  Tahiri  didn't

respond. It was only when the reinforcements arrived  that  the  girl  finally

stirred, sitting up with obvious bewilderment. But she didn't protest  against

the weapons being leveled at her, or resist  when  she  was  loaded  aboard  a

hovercart and examined by a medic. A short time  later,  she  fell  into  what

appeared to be a deep sleep from which she couldn't be awakened.

By then, the others had been notified and were  arriving  on  the  scene.

Jaina's mother came first, along with  a  Fia  who  was  later  identified  as

Assistant Primate Thrum, followed closely by Jag.

"Is she hurt?" Leia asked the paramedic leaning over Tahiri.

"No," she was told. "She simply appears to have fainted."

The leader of the security guards explained  how  Tahiri  had  drawn  her

lightsaber. When pushed on the matter of why  she  should  do  something  like

this, the Fian security guard replied, "That's just it—I don't think it was us

she was attacking." When asked to explain, however, the

guard was unable to do so. Nonetheless, Jaina knew what he meant.

Even though the holo had been taken at awkward angles that  often  didn't

allow her to see Tahiri's face, Jaina could tell that whoever Tahiri had  been

fighting, it hadn't been those guards. Her lightsaber was swinging,  yes,  but

her attention  had  been  on  something  else,  something  unseen.  What  that

something was, Jaina had no way of telling.

Her mother, using every bit of leverage her  diplomatic  weight  afforded

her, convinced the medic, guards, and Assistant Primate that Tahiri  would  be

better off in her own quarters, where she  could  be  examined  properly.  The

anxious procession had wound its  way  through  the  empty  corridors  of  the

diplomatic quarters to where Jaina's father and  C-3PO  were  waiting.  There,

Leia had insisted they be left alone so that they might tend to  the  girl  in

peace and  quiet.  The  Fia  had  agreed  to  allow  this,  but  clearly  with

reservations. Even from her position in orbit, Jaina could see that  Assistant

Primate Thrum was not overly convinced that this was the right  thing  to  do.

His job had  been  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  visitors;  what  with  Tahiri's

unauthorized jaunt and the jamming of the bugs in the  diplomatic  suites,  he

wasn't really having much success at it.

Jaina's mother had called her as soon as they'd  determined  that  Tahiri

wasn't in any immediate danger and was, as the Fia in charge  of  the  medical

droid had diagnosed, simply unconscious. Jaina's first thoughts  were  concern

that  Tahiri's  illness—whatever  it  was—hadn't  been  relieved  by   leaving

Coruscant. Leia agreed: she had hoped that keeping her busy would be enough to

clear the angst that seemed to have taken hold of her.

"But perhaps I'm hoping for too much," Leia said, frowning.  "It's  still

early."

Jaina wasn't convinced it could all be put down  to  stress.  "Whatever's

going on, Mom, I don't think it's entirely in her head."

"Something in the Force, you think?"

"I honestly don't know. If it is, then it's something subtle that  you're

not picking up." She shrugged, feeling frustrated at being so  far  away  from

her sick friend. "She was a long time without a Master, after Ikrit died.  Who

knows what's been going through her mind?"

"Luke wouldn't have made her a Jedi Knight without being certain she  was

all right," Leia said, but something in her expression  told  Jaina  that  her

mother didn't really believe it could be dismissed so easily.

Midway through the conversation, C-3PO announced  that  he'd  managed  to

access a security holo showing what had happened to her before  her  collapse.

The droid succeeded just in time; barely had he appropriated the holo when  it

was snatched out from under him and secured in a domain he had no  access  to.

The Fia were clearly becoming sensitive to the overactive curiosity  of  their

guests.

Jaina and the others watched the holo, increasingly mystified.

"Tahiri looks terrified," she said over the secure link with her family.

"Of what, though?" Han asked. "There's nothing there but the guards.  And

the most they would've done is bore her with details of procedures she  should

have followed."

"Well, something upset her," Leia said.

"Something that none of us can even see," Jaina mused.

And there the matter rested. Leia insisted that the best thing for Tahiri

right now was to let her sleep. She hadn't

been harmed by the Fia; there was nothing out of the ordinary on  any  of

the scans C-3PO took of her. They would have to wait until she woke up to find

out exactly what had happened.

"Here's another mystery,"  Jaina's  mother  said  after  a  few  moments'

silence. "The Fia aren't afraid of the Yevetha anymore."

"What?" Han exclaimed. "That's like standing on the  Jundland  Wastes  in

high summer and not being afraid of krayt dragons."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Leia agreed. "But that's what I was  told

by Thrum. When I asked him what precautions they're taking against the  threat

of another Yevethan attack, he said they didn't need to take  precautions,  as

N'zoth was no longer a problem." "Just like that?" said Han.

Leia nodded. "I asked him about diplomatic ties, thinking that maybe  the

Yevetha have had a change of heart about alien  species.  He  said  that  they

didn't exist. There's no embassy on Galantos; no negotiated peace  settlement.

It's like—" She paused, as  if  unable  to  find  the  words  to  express  her

thoughts. "I don't know—it's like the Yevetha simply gave up  and  decided  to

stay at home from now on."

"I don't believe that for a second," Han said. "It'd be like them to  lie

low for years while secretly rebuilding and plotting their revenge." He  shook

his head. "Mark my words: they have to be up to something. I tell you,  if  my

home was on Galantos, I wouldn't be taking my eyes  off  that  cluster  for  a

second."

Leia nodded again and, far above in the ship, Jaina had to agree with the

suspicion. Vicious xenophobes didn't just roll over  after  a  sound  beating;

they came back twice as nasty and three times as determined. The

Yevetha were liable to come bursting out of the Koor-nacht Cluster at any

time.

"Do you want me to take a look?" she asked down the subspace link.

She caught the momentary hesitation on both her parents'  faces  as  they

glanced at each other; but then, equally as fast, their expressions softened.

"Don't stick around to make any enemies," Han said. "Just get in and  get

out again, understood? Don't make me have to come in there after you."

Jaina smiled at this.

"And get back to us in one piece," Leia added.

The only dissenting voice came from Jag. "This is crazy," he said to  her

parents. "You can't be seriously considering sending Jaina  off  into  unknown

territory like this."

"We're not sending her," Leia said. "She volunteered."

"Besides, if the Fia are telling  the  truth,"  Han  put  in,  "then  the

territory's likely to be safer now than it ever was."

"And if they're not telling the truth?" Jag asked.

"What's your problem, Jag?" Jaina piped up frostily.

"Look, I don't mean to imply that you couldn't handle it," Jag  said.  He

looked uncomfortable confronting the combined Solo family. "I'm just  thinking

of the squadron, that's all. Who's going to run it with you gone?"

"You, of course," she said, surprised that she should even have to  point

this out. "It'll take me a couple of hours or more to prep  for  the  mission.

That'll give you time to get back up here and take over, won't it?"

"I guess so," he said. There was a look of uncertainty on his  face  that

she wasn't used to seeing. He was clearly uneasy with this  whole  idea.  "But

there's something I want to do here, first, if that's all right."

"Of course," Jaina said.

He nodded, still without conviction. "And you'll take  some  backup  with

you, right, Jaina?"

She smiled, suddenly realizing the  source  of  his  concern.  He  wasn't

thinking about the squadron at all; he was thinking about her. He was  worried

about her well-being, and the fact that he cared so much for  her  filled  her

with a warm satisfaction.

"If it makes you feel any better," she said, "then  I'll  take  Miza  and

Jocell along with me."

She knew that would ease his mind on at least one score.  They  were  two

pilots from his Chiss Squadron, so he knew he could trust them.

"Okay, so that's settled," Han put in with  a  look  she  couldn't  quite

fathom. "When you're ready, Jag, I'd like to go  with  you  to  check  on  the

Falcon, to make sure she hasn't been interfered  with.  I  doubt  we've  given

these guys enough time to plan anything like sabotage, but we can't afford  to

take any chances."

"I'll stay here with Tahiri and Threepio," Leia said with a slight frown.

"Good luck, dear. And do as your father says: don't  ruffle  any  crests,  all

right? If the Yevetha have softened, we could really use  their  help  against

the YuuzhanVong."

"Understood, Mom." The sight of Tahiri in  the  background,  unconscious,

pale, and vulnerable, gave Jaina a twinge of guilt for leaving. "I'll be  back

soon."

Jacen reached deep inside himself, searching for the wisdom of  his  last

teacher's words.

"The Force is everything, and everything is the Force," Vergere had said,

shortly before she died. "There is no dark side. The Force is one, eternal and

indivisible. You need worry about no darkness save that in your own heart."

Not even the darkness of others?  he  wanted  to  ask  her  as  he  stood

listening to Moff  Flennic's  ranting.  The  terrible,  anti-life  obscenities

dripping from the mouth of this self-styled savior of the Imperial Remnant was

almost more than Jacen could bear.

"Retreat?" the man was growling. "Retreat? I hear that word and  I  think

of cowards; I think of cowards and I find myself reaching for my blaster."  He

paused to fix Jacen with a baleful glare, presumably to let him know he wasn't

exaggerating. "There's not one man under my command who would accept an  order

to retreat from me without questioning my sanity. They'd sooner relieve me  of

my command than follow such an order—and they'd have every right to!"

"Moff Flennic," Jacen said as placatingly as he could,  "if  you'll  just

listen to what I have to say—"

Moff Flennic snorted.  "And  give  you  the  opportunity  to  plant  your

thoughts in my head? I'm not stupid, boy. I'm not senile. Who do you  take  me

for? I was hunting Eloms decades before you were even born."

Finding solace and strength in the memory  of  Ver-gere's  wisdom,  Jacen

found an island of calm within himself and relaxed his clenched hands.

The solidly built man paced the flight deck in full uniform, waiting  out

Jacen's silence with tense energy.

"Well?" he snapped after a moment. "Aren't you  going  to  tell  me  that

hunting intelligent life-forms constitutes some violation of  your  weak  Jedi

sensibilities?"

Jacen shrugged philosophically. "My sensibilities are my own, sir, and  1

have no wish to impose them upon you."

"And yet you want me to do what you tell me,"  the  man  scoffed.  "Isn't

that the same thing, boy?"

"Not at all. I am merely explaining what,  to  me,  would  be  your  most

prudent course of action at this moment. How  you  choose  to  respond  to  my

opinion, of course, is entirely up to you."

"But you won't like it if I ignore you, will you?"  "If  you  ignore  me,

your people will be slaughtered," Jacen said softly. "And no, I would not like

that at all."

Flennic hesitated, something approximating  amusement  flickering  behind

his keen eyes. Then he resumed his pacing, slower, each step  more  deliberate

than the last. "You know, boy, if you were one of my officers,  I  would  have

had you shot for speaking to me the way you just did."

Jacen fought to maintain calm. For all the Moff's abhorrence at the  idea

of Jacen implanting ideas in his  head,  he  seemed  to  have  no  problem  in

practicing a few mind games of his own. The constant use of the word  boy  was

no doubt intended to make Jacen feel small and  inadequate.  It  was  lame  at

best, and served only to further Jacen's frustration.

"Moff Flennic," he started tiredly. The Moff raised  a  hand  to  silence

Jacen. "I know what you're going to say," he said. "That you're not one of  my

officers—nor would you want to be, I imagine. But I wouldn't take you even  if

you wanted me to. And do you know why?"

"It's not relevant, sir," Jacen said, trying  to  maintain  his  tone  of

respect even though all he wanted to do was grab the man by the collar of  his

uniform and shout at him to just listen.

The man stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I have no idea why you're

bothering to talk to me, boy. I'm  clearly  wasting  your  time.  That's  what

you're thinking, isn't it?"

"Actually, sir, I don't believe for a second that I'm wasting  my  time,"

Jacen said. "If anything, I think you know that what I'm saying  makes  sense,

but you're just too proud to admit it. You're desperately trying  to  convince

yourself that I'm wrong."

"Really?" The word was more of a challenge than a question.

"You're no fool, sir," Jacen said smoothly. "Convene the other Moffs,  if

you want to. Tell them what I've told you and see what they have to  say.  I'd

be particularly interested in speaking to Moff Crowal of Vale Seven, since she

might have access to something I'm looking for."

"And what might that be?" asked Flennic.

Jacen smiled slightly at the suspicion that suddenly  pinched  the  man's

face. "Information, of course," he said. "Understand, sir, that  our  time  in

the Empire is limited; our mission lies elsewhere. When we have what we  need,

we will be leaving."

Flennic's eyes narrowed. "And you think Valc  Seven  would  be  an  ideal

fallback position for our fleet when we retreat from Yaga Minor?"

"Actually, that's the last thing you'd want to do. Valc Seven is  on  the

edge of the Unknown Regions. Fall back that far, and you've already  lost  the

Empire. No, my choice of fallback—the place you would do best to lay  a  trap,

if you prefer—would be Borosk."

The Moff was silent for a long moment. Jacen knew what he  was  thinking.

Borosk was one of several small, fortified worlds guarding  the  edge  of  the

Empire. The Moff would be wondering if this was part of some  convoluted  plot

on behalf of the Galactic Alliance to gain territory from an old enemy.

But  Jacen  hoped  that  even  Flennic  would  see  that  that  was  just

ridiculous. If the Imperial Remnant lost such a stand, Borosk  would  fall  to

the Yuuzhan Vong, not the

Galactic Alliance. And the Galactic Alliance had more important things to

worry about than a small system on the edge of its territory.

The continuing silence suggested that Flennic was unable, for the  moment

at least, to fault the plan. Pressing home his advantage, Jacen went on:

"Moff Flennic, if you move quickly enough, you might save Yaga Minor."

This got a reaction. Yaga Minor was the Moff's personal holding. When  it

fell—as it surely would, if the fleet stayed where it was—Flennic  would  have

nothing, regardless of what happened to the Empire as a whole.

"Explain," Flennic demanded.

"The Yuuzhan Vong are stretched to the limit right  now.  Thanks  to  our

hit-and-run campaigns, the forces they've assembled to knock  out  the  Empire

are badly needed elsewhere. They can't afford to commit  here  for  too  long.

Knocking out your fleet quickly is their priority. Wherever it is, they'll go.

Once it's destroyed, they figure they can wipe out  your  shipyards  at  their

leisure."

"So if we send them packing now," Flennic put  in,  "you're  saying  they

won't come back?"

Jacen shook his head. "I can't guarantee that," he said. "But if they did

come back, it certainly wouldn't be in such numbers."

Flennic was  pacing  again.  "And  what  makes  you  so  sure  staging  a

counterattack at Borosk will work?" he asked, his attention  directed  to  the

floor ahead of him.

"Two reasons," Jacen replied. "One, the  spies  infiltrating  your  staff

will make sure their warmasters know about the move. And two, we'll teach  you

how to fight the Yuuzhan Vong more effectively."

That pulled the Moff up to a complete halt, swinging his  full  attention

around to Jacen. "In exchange for what?"

"Nothing, actually. My only interest is in saving lives  and  maintaining

the stability of this region. We can haggle over information with Moff  Crowal

when this matter is resolved."

Moff Flennic grunted. " 'This matter'?"  he  echoed  incredulously.  "You

make it sound like we're in the middle of a minor squabble over an asteroid!"

"Please don't take offense, sir, but  from  the  point  of  view  of  the

galaxy, that's more or less what this is. The Empire has dominion over  a  few

thousand systems out of hundreds of  thousands  of  millions.  Yes,  you  have

tactical  significance,  and  no,  I  do  not  like  to   see   lives   wasted

unnecessarily; but your failure to survive will make little difference in  the

greater scheme of things."

Flennic's face filled with  blood.  His  jowls  quivered  from  the  rage

building up inside him. Jacen had gotten the reaction he'd hoped for.  Through

the Force he could feel the pressure rising like stresses in a  neutron  star.

Any moment now, something would give. The question was: would  he  explode  or

implode?

The answer never came. The comm on Flennic's desk  buzzed  and  the  Moff

vented his anger on it.

"I told you, no interruptions!" he bellowed into the comm unit.

"But, sir, there's an incoming call from—"

"I don't care who it's from, you fool. Get rid of them now, or so help me

I'll have you ejected into space without—"

He stopped short when another voice issued from the  comm  unit.  "That's

hardly the way to speak to a subordinate officer," the voice said. "Especially

when you're on my ship."

Flennic's features went from startlingly purple to deathly white  in  the

time it would have taken light to cross the room.

"Grand Admiral?" he said unbelievingly. "You're—alive?"

"Of course I'm alive," Pellaeon said, his voice oddly muffled but  clear.

"It will take more than a bunch of overeager Yuuzhan Vong to put me out of the

picture."

"But—"

"What's the matter, Kurlen? You don't sound as overjoyed to hear my voice

as I'd thought you might."

"No, that's not it at all. It's just—that is,  I'm—"  The  man  stammered

awkwardly for a moment, then straightened and returned  his  glare  to  Jacen.

"How do I know this isn't one of your mind tricks, Jedi?"

It was Pellaeon who answered. "Just take a look at him, Kurlen.  He's  as

surprised about this as you are."

That was true. The last thing Jacen had expected was assistance from  the

man he had last seen unconscious in a bacta tank, looking as though death  was

but a few short  breaths  away.  It  also  confirmed  something  he  had  been

wondering: that Pellaeon had access to more than just audio via  his  comlink,

but was hiding his own visuals.

"It's nice to hear your voice, Grand Admiral Pellaeon," Jacen  said  with

absolute honesty.

"Under better circumstances, Jacen Solo, I would say the same." There was

the hint of a smile in the man's voice. "Thank you for your help at Bastion. I

owe the Jedi my life, and I never forget my debts. You  can  safely  assume  I

shall listen to your thoughts on the Yuuzhan Vong with far more interest  than

some of my colleagues."

"It would be my pleasure to discuss them  with  you,  sir,"  Jacen  said,

mindful to keep any conceit from his tone. Even though  he  would  be  dealing

with Grand Admiral Pellaeon, he still didn't want  to  get  on  Flennic's  bad

side. The future was full of unseen waters; it was important to leave as  many

means of crossing those waters open to him as possible.

"Another time, perhaps," the Grand Admiral said. "I've been a little  out

of touch these past  couple  of  days,  and  right  now  I  have  a  strategic

withdrawal to discuss with Moff Flennic."

"We were just discussing that very thing," the  Moff  said,  licking  his

lips nervously.

"Were you, indeed?" Pellaeon asked. "And have you  issued  directives  to

the surviving officers?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Assessed possible locations for a more substantial regroup?"

"Borosk was one location that came to mind," Flennic said, shooting Jacen

a warning look.

A good choice, Kurlen. I suggest you  get  onto  it  straight  away.  The

longer we sit here, the more stupid we'll look when  the  next  wave  arrives.

Capital ships should start moving within the hour,  leaving  a  small  defense

force behind. I trust I can leave the  arrangements  in  your  hands?  I  have

business elsewhere that needs attending."

"Uh, Grand Admiral—"

"Yes, Kurlen?"

"Don't you think this deserves a little more discussion?"

There was a long  silence.  Jacen  maintained  an  expression  of  serene

patience while Moff Flennic looked increasingly nervous.

When Pellaeon spoke again, it was in a voice with all the cold clarity of

a hydrogen bath.

"Understand this, Kurlen: what I just gave  you  was  an  order,  not  an

invitation. While I  command  the  Imperial  Navy,  you  will  do  as  I  say,

regardless of whether or  not  you  agree  with  those  orders.  Otherwise—and

believe me when I say this—if I have to secede from the  Empire  in  order  to

ensure this navy's survival, then I  shall  do  so  without  hesitation—and  I

guarantee that we won't be back to pick  up  the  pieces  of  your  shipyards-

afterward."  "I  understand,  Grand  Admiral,"  the  Moff  stammered.  "Good,"

Pellaeon returned crisply. "But I'm not finished. This is just the  beginning.

You will also issue orders to allow Jade Shadow free access  to  this  system,

and any system within the Empire. The Moff Council has gravely  underestimated

the threat of the Yuuzhan Vong against my advice one too many  times,  and  it

won't happen again. I won't let it happen again. The time  has  come  to  take

what few assets we have left and ensure that nothing like this ever recurs. If

we survive Borosk, the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi will be our best hope of

long-term survival, and I intend to take advantage of them  while  the  Empire

still exists. Is that understood?"

The large but temporarily cowed man just nodded.

"The connection must be poor, Kurlen, because I didn't quite  catch  what

you said."

"I understand perfectly, Grand Admiral Pellaeon."

"Excellent. Now, send our young friend back to  Widow-maker.  I  want  to

pick his brain about the Yuuzhan Vong while I still have the opportunity to do

so."

Flennic didn't look at Jacen as he pushed a button for the door to  open.

It did so with a faint hiss. Jacen bowed in farewell, but the Moff turned away

as though he wasn't even there.

Hiding his relief to be out of the man's presence, Jacen  walked  rapidly

down to the docks where the Lambda-class shuttle waited to take him back.

Jaina took her time prepping for launch, hoping  to  catch  Jag  when  he

arrived. But a suspicious-looking scuff mark on the Falcon held him up on  the

surface and she couldn't delay forever. As soon as she and her two  wing-mates

were kitted up and had clearance authorization  from  Pride  of  Selonia,  she

launched her X-wing and powered away from Galantos.

The sight of two clawcraft shadowing her was still a little unnerving. It

wasn't all that long ago that craft  with  similar  cockpits—TIE  fighters—had

represented fear and hostility for those who had survived  the  Rebellion  and

the tumultuous years that had followed. She was too young herself to have  any

firsthand memories of that time, but Jaina had heard enough stories  and  seen

sufficient footage to have had the same instinct instilled in her. She  didn't

know how many times the Empire had tried to kill her parents in all,  but  she

was sure it was in double figures, at least.

At the same time, though,  the  clawcraft's  four  sweeping  weapon  arms

resembled an X-wing's S-foils. Sometimes she  wondered  if  the  Chiss  hadn't

deliberately designed  their  fighters  to  unsettle  and  reassure  both  New

Republic and Empire. It was like sitting on the fence, giving  the  impression

that they might have allegiance to either power.

"Locking on to your navicomputer," Jocell said. A brisk, efficient  woman

from Csilla, homeworld of the Chiss, she was easy to work with. Miza  was  the

better pilot of the two, but less reliable, as far as Jaina was concerned.

"Last one there's a flat-lined drebin," came Miza over the comm unit.

The decidedly non-Chiss  phrase  immediately  caught  Jaina's  attention.

"Jump laid in," she replied, figuring she knew where the pilot had  picked  it

up. The frigate accompanying the mission was staffed by  navy  personnel  from

all across the galaxy; when Twin Suns Squadron wasn't  on  patrol,  there  was

plenty of time for socializing in the mess and  picking  up  on  some  of  the

native lingo.

"Be on your guard for when we arrive," she said. "I'm bringing us  in  at

the edge of the system, but you never know what might be waiting for us.  Even

if the Yevetha have embraced the  idea  of  peaceful  coexistence  with  their

neighbors, they're not likely to welcome  someone  barging  in  through  their

shipping lanes." "Understood," Jocell said. "Discretion is  my  middle  name,"

Miza added. "Ready, Cappie?" Jaina asked. Her R2 unit whistled  cheerfully  as

her forward view swung around to  face  the  bright  cloud  of  the  Koornacht

Cluster. "Then into the Multitude we go."

Stars suddenly extended into streaks of light as she  and  her  wingmates

blasted into hyperspace. From there on it I would be up  to  her  navicomputer

and R2 unit to ensure that the three vessels reached their destination safely,

leaving her with nothing more to do in the cramped cockpit than sit  and  wait

and think.. .

Tahiri's frailty worried her more than she was prepared to admit—at least

to others. Back on Mon Calamari, the girl had called her that one time  before

collapsing, but since then she'd barely said a word  to  her  when  Jaina  had

visited her in Master Cilghal's infirmary. Tahiri had been glad  to  see  her,

there was no question about that, but she had been uneasy and troubled at  the

same time—and maybe even a little embarrassed. Tahiri had always been so fiery

and independent, defying conventional sensibilities  in  numerous  ways,  from

insisting on bare feet to disobeying direct orders. Showing off for Anakin had

been part of the latter, Jaina was sure, but if the impulse hadn't been  there

in the first place, then her little  brother  would  never  have  had  such  a

willing sidekick.

No, Jaina thought. Not sidekick. She really had to dispel  the  image  of

Anakin and Tahiri as perfectly matched pals  getting  into  harmless  scrapes.

Those "scrapes" they'd been involved in could hardly be regarded as  harmless.

If anything, some of them,  such  as  their  adventure  with  Corran  Horn  at

Yag'Dhul, had been outright dangerous. And their last one  together  had  been

fatal, culminating in Anakin's death. ..

No, Anakin and Tahiri had definitely been more than just kids, and  their

relationship had been advancing toward something more than just  friends  near

the end, too. The grief that Tahiri had been suffering was not for the loss of

a friend, but for the loss of a loved one. Even  if  that  love  never  had  a

chance to fully blossom, it didn't diminish Tahiri's pain. The potential for a

relationship had been there, and it was for this that  Tahiri  grieved—a  love

not fully realized. Jaina imagined that the grief Tahiri suffered was on a par

with her own, but at least she had the benefit of  being  able  to  focus  her

grief on what had been lost; Tahiri's grief was for something that could never

be. It was, and might forever be, completely intangible.

Jaina wondered if her mother's decision to invite  Tahiri  along  on  the

mission had been entirely sensible. Yes, the girl would do  better  kept  busy

rather than lying around in an infirmary, alone and dwelling on her grief. But

was being surrounded by the Solo family the right thing for her? If Jag  died,

Jaina was certain she wouldn't want to be stuck  in  the  company  of  General

Baron Soontir Fel and Syal Antilles for too long. They  would  only  serve  as

reminders of what she'd lost.

The image of Tahiri unconscious on Galantos, as pale and  thin  as  she'd

been on Mon Calamari, made Jaina's heart ache. After several awkward visits to

the infirmary and a number of silences during the mission so far, Jaina  still

had no idea what it was Tahiri had wanted when she'd called her that day after

Uncle Luke's meeting of the Jedi. To say she was sorry?  To  blame  Jaina  for

letting Anakin die? She didn't know. The black tide of grief  made  people  do

crazy things. She knew that firsthand, and so did her parents.  But  if  there

was anything she

could do to make life easier for Tahiri, she would do it in  an  instant.

The problem was that she doubted even Tahiri herself knew what that might  be.

All they could do was hope that they could work it out before  something  else

happened.. .

Too many hours, two system checks, a detailed  scan  of  her  R2's  files

regarding the N'zoth system, and a halfhearted attempt to learn some words  in

the fiendishly difficult Chiss native tongue later, her  navicomputer  bleeped

to warn her that they were about to emerge from

hyperspace.

"Heads up," she said to her wingmates. "We're there. And  remember,  this

is just a surveillance sweep, so don't provoke anything unless you  absolutely

have to. Is that clear?"

"Understood, Colonel," Jocell said. "Preparing to disengage  navigational

lock."

"I don't know about you," Miza said, "but I'm becoming a little  sluggish

from all this rest we're supposed to be enjoying. I'll almost be  glad  if  we

could find something to shoot at."

"I know what you mean," Jaina said. "But I don't want you using  so  much

as a hard stare without my direct authority, Miza. Clear?"

Miza chuckled. "I'll keep my hands safely in my lap."

"You do that." Her R2 unit bleeped again; Jaina glanced at the translator

to learn they had five seconds before arrival. "Okay, guys, here we go."

The first thing that struck her as her X-wing rattled back into realspace

was the brightness of the sky. She'd been in close clusters before, but it was

easy to forget just how much of a difference it made when a  large  number  of

hot, young stars clustered so closely together — especially after spending  so

much time at the edges of the galaxy, avoiding the Yuuzhan Vong.  Because  she

had brought them in at the outskirts  of  the  system,  N'zoth's  primary  was

hidden in the radiance from the many other suns, and it took her some  moments

to actually locate it. Bright and blue-tinged, it burned at her with an almost

forbidding glare.

Her wingmates dropped out  of  hyperspace  beside  her,  and  immediately

peeled away into formation. Sensors swept the  space  around  them;  astromech

droids chattered via comlinks; intrasystem landmarks were confirmed. According

to New Republic records, no one had been to N'zoth since the Yevethan  crisis,

twelve years earlier. Then, the Yevethan Black Fleet had been  routed  by  New

Republic forces after it attempted a genocidal cleansing of  the  area  around

the Koornacht Cluster. Jaina agreed with her father that the silence since was

probably  an  indication   of   frantic   retooling   rather   than   peaceful

reconsideration. This would be the first opportunity anyone had  to  find  out

one way or the other.

"I'm picking up extensive mass readings,"  Miza  said.  "Judging  by  the

uneven distribution, I'd say we have at least three  fleets  massed  in  orbit

around worlds two and five."

"Which one's N'zoth?" Jocell asked.

"Two," Jaina supplied. "I'm not picking up signatures consistent with old

Imperial designs, but that's not unexpected. The Yevetha were quick to  learn,

and they would have had to start again from scratch. Why not redesign  at  the

same time?"

"No capital ships that I can see," Miza said. "Just plenty of small ones,

easy pickings."

Jaina didn't caution him again; she knew it was just his sense of  humor.

Still, she would have preferred it if he remained serious like Jocell.

"There are no thrustship exhaust traces, either," Jocell said.  "Rad  and

IR readings are—odd." After a brief pause, she added, "Jaina, are  you  seeing

what I'm seeing?"

Jaina studied her screen. The mass shadows were exactly  where  Miza  had

said: clumped in broad orbital corridors around the rocky second planet and  a

bloated gas giant on the far side of the system. It made sense,  she  thought,

to keep your fleets close to both home and a refueling base. You wouldn't  put

them all in one spot. That would  be  tactically  unsound.  Just  because  you

weren't expecting trouble didn't mean it wouldn't come to find you.

The probing triangle of ships continued their surveillance of the system.

From the Yevetha's point of view, she supposed, they  were  trouble,  and  she

didn't doubt that the xenophobes would have monitoring stations all around the

system, ready to spot just such an intrusion as theirs.  But  where  were  the

flashes of engine exhausts as interceptors launched? Where were the echoes  of

hyper-space distortions as squadrons of updated thrustships rushed to confront

them? Why was there nothing  but  diffuse  mass  and  heat  appearing  on  the

scanners, nothing concentrated in any particular place?

N'zoth was radiating heat like a small sun. Not surprising for  a  desert

world, perhaps, but why wasn't the heat concentrated around the cities?

Sithspawn, she silently cursed. If her father had  been  here,  she  knew

just what he would have said.

"We're going in closer," she said. "And I have  a  feeling  I  know  what

we're going to find."

Neither of the Chiss pilots  asked  her  to  elaborate,  suggesting  that

perhaps they had had the same feeling.  Instead  they  silently  slaved  their

clawcraft to her X-wing as she laid in a course for N'zoth.

The hyperspace jump was mercifully short. When they arrived where the two

fleets had been in orbit  around  the  Yevethan  homeworld,  Jaina  found  the

reality of the situation much worse than she had imagined. There  was  nothing

but wreckage. Thousands of thrustships, dozens of  capital  vessels,  and  one

battle station capable of maintaining the entire lot floated in pieces  around

the planet below. The wreckage was still hot—it could take months  for  excess

heat to radiate through vacuum—and it was  this  that  had  shown  up  on  the

scopes. Jaina took her small contingent on a wide parabola around the  deathly

silent wreckage, moving them in closer to the planet itself.

She didn't need to look, but she had to. N'zoth  had  been  pounded  from

orbit, possibly by chunks torn from the wreckage of the fleet above. Lava  and

sulfuric clouds belched from the bottom of a score of new craters  around  the

globe, and the atmosphere was filled with  ash.  Where  there  had  once  been

cities, there were now only great holes in  the  crust.  Every  trace  of  the

Yevethan civilization had been reduced to atoms.

For once, Miza didn't have any smart comments; he was  as  quiet  as  the

others as they swung around N'zoth's equator. Jaina turned her sensors  toward

the distant gas giant, not doubting what she would  find  there.  Someone  had

attacked the Yevetha, taking them unawares and totally decimating a  fleet  of

considerable size. The Fia stood to benefit most from the destruction  of  the

Yevetha—and it would certainly explain why they no longer seemed to care about

the xenophobes in their backyard—but there was no way they could have come  by

this sort of firepower. No, this could have only been the work of the  Yuuzhan

Vong.

A cold and uncomfortable feeling spread through Jaina's  stomach  as  she

thought of her parents and Jag back  on  Galantos—little  knowing  what  she'd

found. She reached out with the Force to find her mother, but the distance was

too great. And with communications down in the sector, there was no other  way

to warn them.

She was about to order their  immediate  return  to  Galantos  when  Miza

messaged her. "Jaina, I'm picking up a transmission from that  small  moon  we

passed a moment ago."

"Put it on the air," she ordered.

There was a pause followed by some cold static. Jaina tried to boost  the

signal, but no amount of switches flicked would clean up the noise.

"Miza? Jocell? Either of you getting anything?"

"Nothing," Jocell replied.

"Likewise," Miza said. "It's like they're trying to open a line, but  for

some reason they're not saying anything."

"Maybe they can't," Jocell suggested. "They might be too badly injured."

Jaina nodded thoughtfully to herself. It was a possibility, she supposed.

Flicking her own comm unit, she said, "Whoever you are, if you can hear  this,

click your mike twice."

There was a slight delay, followed by a distinct double click.

"Okay. Now, if you're injured, click twice again."

Another delay, followed by two clicks.

"I'm picking up a weak power reading from the bottom of a  crater,"  Miza

said. "It's consistent with that of a small vessel. I guess he's  been  hiding

there in the ruins of his thrustship. He probably survived by laying low until

whoever did this had passed on."

Jaina considered this, but quickly dismissed it.  It  didn't  ring  true,

somehow. "No, that's not the Yevethan way. They don't  hide  from  fights.  My

guess is he crashed there and was knocked unconscious, awakening only when the

battle was over."

"That's if he is a Yevetha," Jocell said.

"What else would he be?" Jaina asked. "You're not suggesting he might  be

one of the Yuuzhan Vong, are you?"

"I don't know. But without a visual, we have no way of knowing."

"Miza? What do you think?"

"My gut instinct tells me it's a Yevetha—and an injured one at that. Like

you said, Jaina, it's not in their nature to hide, so why  else  would  he  be

down there? And it makes no sense for it to be a Vong, either. Whatever caused

this was a big fleet. They came in, hit hard, and  moved  on.  What  would  it

serve them to leave a single small ship behind?"

"I agree," Jaina said. "But I also agree with Jocell that we're going  to

need a visual—especially if we're to rescue the pilot." Miza's  clawcraft  was

veering off before she  could  give  the  order.  "Already  on  my  way.  This

shouldn't take too long."

"Jocell, keep an eye out for anything unusual. If we have to get  out  of

here in a hurry, then I want plenty of warning."

"Understood, Colonel."

Jaina watched Miza's ship shrink to a tiny speck of light shooting across

the face of the moon. She felt uneasy having her wingmate so  far  away,  even

though there seemed to be no overt threat anywhere in the system right now. Or

maybe she was nervous because there was no overt threat  around.  It  was  too

quiet for her liking.

To take her mind off everything, she opened  a  line  with  the  Yevethan

pilot.

"We're going to try to get you out of there. Do you copy?" Two clicks.

"Hang in there. One of my pilots is on the way down now. He'll be passing

over your head in a matter of seconds. Then we'll—"

This time a low, malevolent chuckle came over the comm unit, followed  by

a raspy, fluidy cough.

"Your optimism is  as  shallow  as  your  compassion,"  said  the  voice—

definitely Yevethan, and male. "You care no more for me than I do for you."

"Not quite the response I was expecting," Jocell muttered.

Jaina ignored her wingmate. "We do care—why do you think we're trying to—

?"

"Soon I shall join my people," the Yevetha continued. "Soon  the  Yevetha

shall be no more. But we shall not go down quietly."

"There is no reason to go down at all! Just let us  —  "In  the  face  of

death's bright dawn," the Yevetha went on, "I shall offer  one  final  act  of

defiance, so that when we are talked about in times to  come,  they  will  say

that the Yevetha were warriors to the end!"

Jaina felt a cold discomfort pulse through her. "Miza, get out of there!"

"Way ahead of you, Jaina!"

"There is nowhere to run," the Yevetha said. "The galaxy belongs only  to

those who had the  power  to  destroy  our  once-mighty  race!"  A  faint  and

disturbing hiss issued from the comm unit. "Die with me, won't you?"

"Miza! Talk to me!"

"Almost—"

A powerful flash of energy lashed out  from  the  ball  of  rock.  Miza's

clawcraft vanished into it a split instant  before  reaching  Jaina's  X-wing,

sending her tumbling end over end, shields down and cockpit dead.

"You did it!"

Jacen found himself enveloped in a hug the  moment  he  stepped  off  the

shuttle's boarding ramp. Taken by surprise, he automatically returned the  hug

before realizing who was giving it to  him.  The  warm,  petite  body  pressed

against his; the hair; the delicate yet very female scent...

"I always knew you would," Danni said, pulling away slightly. "But I  was

still worried about you. You Solos have a knack for doing things the hard way.

"

"It was Admiral Pellaeon, really," Jacen protested. "If he  hadn't  woken

up when he did, I doubt I could have convinced Flennic of anything."

"You're  just  being  modest."  Danni  laughed,  playfully  punching  his

shoulder. "I bet Jacen Solo could convince a Selonian  to  lie  if  he  really

wanted it to."

Footsteps approaching from the docking bay's main entrance prevented  him

from responding to this. Danni stepped  back,  looking  embarrassed,  as  Luke

walked around the corner.

"I thought I felt you come aboard," said Jacen's uncle,  dressed  in  his

customary Jedi robes.

"How long have you been here?" Jacen asked both of them. He  hadn't  seen

Jade Shadow anywhere near Widow-maker on his return flight.

"Captain Yage sent a shuttle when Gilad woke up," Luke explained. "By the

time Danni and I arrived, they'd used his codes to  patch  into  the  Imperial

security network without being noticed, and from there  eavesdropped  on  your

conversation with Flennic. He insisted on interrupting. I hope you don't  mind

us doing that. It wasn't that we thought you  couldn't  manage  on  your  own,

Jacen. It just seemed simpler this way, and a chance to prove to Flennic  that

the Empire's Supreme Commander is still alive."

"I'm just relieved that the admiral came out of this  all  right,"  Jacen

said. "Can I talk to him?"

"That will be up to Tekli," Danni said. "He's still recuperating  in  the

bacta tank. That talk with Moff Flennic tired him out, short though  it  was."

Then, leaning in slightly toward Jacen, she  added,  "You  know,  for  someone

normally so quiet, she certainly has a  lot  to  say  when  it  comes  to  her

patients."

Jacen smiled. He had  developed  a  great  deal  of  respect  for  Master

Cilghal's apprentice. Although not strong  in  the  Force,  her  knowledge  of

healing was extensive, and she had clearly demonstrated the ability to  handle

herself during recent emergencies.

The three of them walked unimpeded through the corridors  of  Widowmaker.

Luke seemed perfectly at ease, explaining as they went that Mara and Saba  had

stayed behind to keep an eye on events from afar.  Jacen  had  to  admire  his

uncle's poise. Even surrounded as he  was  by  Imperial  trappings,  the  Jedi

Master moved and talked with an air that suggested this ship could  have  been

his own rather than one that belonged to a once-formidable enemy.

They reached the medical bay and were automatically waved through by  the

stormtrooper guards. Inside they found Tekli studying reports on her patient's

progress while a weary-looking Captain Yage talked to him.

Gilad Pellaeon looked better than when Jacen had last seen him,  but  not

as recovered from his injuries  as  Jacen  would  have  liked.  He  was  still

immersed in the bacta tank, and looked just  as  terribly  thin  and  pale  as

before. He was communicating solely via attachments to his breath mask,  which

gave his voice the faintly muffled tone Jacen had noticed while  dealing  with

Flennic. "And what about Screed? Is he still  alive?"  "  Admiral  Screed  was

executed by Warlord Zsinj," Yage said.

"Really?" As if in thought, Pellaeon paused for the time it  took  a  few

handfuls of bubbles to float up past his body. "My memory  must  be  going  to

have forgotten that. I always had a soft spot for that old hawk-bat."

Yage glanced at Luke and his companions, realizing  for  the  first  time

they had company. "You have visitors, sir," she said.

Pellaeon opened his eyes to peer through the thick nutrient  filling  the

tank,  then  closed  them  again.  His  face  was  distorted  by  the  curved,

transparent wall enclosing him, making it impossible to  read  his  expression

with any accuracy.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Skywalker." There followed a sound like a grunt, but

it could just as easily have been a short bleat of amusement.  "Come  to  view

the relic have you?"

Jacen glanced  at  his  uncle.  The  Jedi  Master's  face  was  calm  and

unruffled. He offered no response because clearly the comment  didn't  deserve

one.

"How are things proceeding, then?" the Grand Admiral asked  after  a  few

seconds.

"Mara  reports  that  ships  are  moving  in  ways  consistent  with  the

withdrawal you ordered," Luke replied. "The jump points are filling up fast."

"Good." He nodded slowly, the movement causing his body to swivel  gently

in the fluid. "It's nice to know that what Flennic is telling me is the truth.

Nevertheless, I'll wager that he is skimming  a  percentage  off  the  top  to

defend his holdings here."

"I wouldn't take that bet," Jacen said. "I don't think Flennic  is  going

to like sitting here defenseless while the fleet abandons him."

"You're probably right," Pellaeon said. "He'll be snug and safe where the

concentration of firepower is greatest. He wouldn't  do  anything  that  might

risk his life.  That  won't  stop  him  doing  what  he  can  to  protect  his

investment, though." The Grand Admiral's eyes opened  again,  fixing  directly

upon Jacen. "You did well back there, young Solo, but reason and common  sense

were never going to bring Flennic around. He understands nothing but force—and

I'm not talking about the one you Jedi regard so highly, either.  I'm  talking

about the brute sort." His eyes closed once  more,  as  if  irritated  by  the

solution. "Reminding him of his insignificance, unless he joined  the  greater

scheme of things, might have done the trick, but in the end  I'd  rather  have

him angry with me than you. I'm used to it."

Jacen bowed slightly, even though he was aware that Pellaeon wouldn't see

the gesture. "Moff Flennic is someone whose displeasure  I  wouldn't  wish  to

cultivate,

Admiral," he said. "But I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, either."

Pellaeon laughed. "Well put, lad. As indeed was your argument back there.

We really do find ourselves in a difficult place at  the  moment.  I  fear  we

won't have much time to practice the new maneuvers while relocating the fleet—

or afterward, for that matter. If what you say is true, then the Yuuzhan  Vong

will be sure to strike when we are least able  to  defend  ourselves.  They'll

want to strike hard and fast like  they  did  in  Bastion  and  leave  us  too

battered to be of any use to anyone. I doubt they'll be converting our  worlds

just yet; they'll come back for  those  when  they  have  both  the  time  and

resources to do so."

"It  could  be  resources  they're  after,"  Danni  said,  "as  well   as

neutralizing a threat."

"They could get resources  from  anywhere,"  Pellaeon  said.  "There  are

millions of uninhabited chunks of  rock  out  there  just  brimming  with  raw

materials. And they wouldn't require an army to take them, either."

"They don't use them the way we  do,  Admiral,"  Danni  explained.  "They

still need planets for their plantations. But that's not what I meant, anyway.

I was thinking of armies. Coralskippers and yammosks they might need  to  grow

from scratch, but cannon fodder is much easier to come by."

There was a small silence. "You're talking about combat slaves?" Pellaeon

said. "That would explain why they hit Bastion first, not Yaga  Minor.  If  it

had been me ordering the attack, I would've done it the other way around.  And

it also explains something else. Arien, that holo you showed me  earlier.  Put

it back up on the screen."

Captain Yage tapped at a keyboard  and  instantly  one  of  the  monitors

displaying Pellaeon's vital signs was replaced by a patchy view of the Bastion

system. The distributions of Imperial and Yuuzhan Vong forces were marked with

sweeping schematics containing thousands of minute details. By  scrolling  the

diagram forward through time, Yage could show how the battle had progressed on

any number of fronts, as collated from information gleaned by sensors  on  all

the Imperial vessels.

Jacen noted that the map became patchier as the battle progressed.  Great

empty spaces appeared in the intelligence as ship after  ship  was  destroyed,

along with observational satellites and beacons. Soon it was  like  trying  to

watch stars through storm clouds: apart from the area  around  the  gas  giant

where Pellaeon had made his last stand, the rest of  the  system  was  visible

only through infrequent, incomplete glimpses.

When she reached the point in the analysis  she  was  looking  for,  Yage

froze the image and  zoomed  in  close  on  one  of  Bastion's  poles.  There,

designated by a ringed dot, was a single ship.

"We don't know where this came from," she said. "The last survivors  only

caught a glimpse of it. Its vector suggests that it  came  in  late  into  the

battle, when the planet was all but taken. That didn't  seem  to  make  sense,

since it's so big."

She called up some sketchy schematics.  The  vessel  was  shaped  like  a

flattened sphere with five trailing stalks of various lengths.  It  was  large

enough to hold several of the Yuuzhan Vong carrier analogs Jacen was  all  too

familiar with.

"If it was a military vessel," Yage concluded, "then why  did  they  wait

until the end of the battle to utilize it? But if it wasn't a military vessel,

then what's it doing there at all?"

"It has to be a slave carrier," Pellaeon said. "They wiped out the fleets

in orbit around Bastion, and that gave them  an  entire  population  ripe  for

capture. Those who couldn't get away in time are probably already on their way

to the nearest processing plant to be turned into mindless drones  willing  to

sacrifice themselves for the warmaster. I saw creatures  similar  to  them  at

work on Duro."

"They have been used in many other places since," Luke  said.  "In  fact,

I'm sure that this was the same kind of  ship  that  Saba  encountered  a  few

months back at Barab One."

Pellaeon nodded grimly. "Citizens of the Empire-a// people—deserve better

than this. Had we known that this was what they were after..." He trailed off,

the thought as obviously disturbing for him as it was for everyone else in the

room.

"You were outgunned, Admiral," Jacen offered. "There was nothing else you

could have done."

"Outgunned and poorly organized," Pellaeon agreed.  "Wherever  that  ship

came from, the chances are it's probably hundreds of light-years away from  us

by now. The only thing we can think about now is how to stop it from happening

again. At Borosk, or anywhere. To anyone."

As far as Jag Fel was concerned, very little was going right on Galantos.

Councilor Jobath was still tied up somewhere on the other side of the  planet,

Tahiri remained unconscious, and he and C-3PO had yet to  determine  precisely

why communications with Galantos had been disrupted. On top  of  that,  Jaina,

the one person he would have liked to have with him right now, was on her  way

to N'zoth, while he was still stuck on the planet. All in all, Jag  felt  he'd

seen better days—and been on more successful missions.

Finally, after an  hour  pacing  the  common  room  of  their  diplomatic

quarters, he decided that enough was  enough.  He  had  to  do  something.  He

couldn't delay rejoining Twin Suns Squadron any longer.

"I'm going for a walk," he said brusquely.

Thrum stood in alarm from the table at which he was showing Leia plans of

recent additions to the planet's infrastructure. "I don't think that would—"

"It's okay," he cut off the nervous Fia. "I won't be  that  long.  And  I

don't mind if I'm shadowed, either."

A guard, recently assigned to their door, accompanied him as he  strolled

through the wide, luxurious corridors, trying to remember  the  way  to  where

Tahiri had collapsed. There was something about the recording of  that  moment

that had been bothering him. Just before she'd drawn her  lightsaber  she  had

looked down. At first he had thought she might have been dizzy and had brought

up her hand in the typical response people had to such  spells.  But  then  he

realized that she'd been holding something, and it was possibly this that  had

triggered her reaction. No one else had mentioned it, which surprised him, but

he had to check for his own peace of mind.

There had been nothing on the holo to indicate what it might  have  been,

though, which meant he had no real idea what he would even be looking for.  He

still had to try. He'd already checked the pockets of  Tahiri's  robes,  which

had been empty, and he certainly couldn't ask her directly; so the only chance

of finding out just what it might have been was to examine where  it  had  all

happened.

He reached the right corridor and strode along it  to  roughly  where  he

thought the incident had occurred. Sweeping his  gaze  along  the  ground,  he

began a methodical search of the area while his guard watched on curiously.

"My friend lost something," Jag explained when he saw the deep furrows in

the Fia's brow press down upon his melancholy eyes. "I just wanted to  see  if

she dropped it here when she fell. It could have been overlooked  in  all  the

excitement."

The guard nodded his  understanding,  but  the  expression  of  confusion

remained.

After a couple more minutes scouring the corridor,  Jag  said,  "I  don't

suppose you could help me look, could  you?  It  might  help  things  along  a

little." "What does it look like?" the guard asked. That  stumped  him  for  a

second. The Fia would probably want a detailed description, and he didn't have

the faintest idea what it was.

"You'll know when you see  it,"  he  said  elusively,  adding  under  his

breath, "I hope."

Their search was hampered by the thick weave of the  carpet,  along  with

the fact that the ambient light of the corridor  wasn't  particularly  bright.

His back soon ached, and he found himself  wondering  if  he  might  not  have

imagined the whole thing. If there was anything there, it was  proving  harder

to find than a flea on a bantha.

"Is this it?" the guard asked after a while. He held out a small piece of

transparent plastic for Jag to examine.

Jag climbed to his feet and stepped over to the guard.  As  he  took  the

proffered object and examined it, he tried not to look as  though  he  had  no

more of a clue than the guard himself. The object, it turned out, was  nothing

more than a scrap of packaging missed by the cleaning droids.  He  didn't  see

how it could have provoked such an extreme reaction from Tahiri.

"No, that's not it," he said,  hoping  he  was  right.  Nevertheless,  he

slipped it into his pocket just in case. "Let's keep looking."

Even as he said this, already bending over again to continue his  search,

he caught a glint  of  something  silver  in  the  carpet  farther  along  the

corridor. Cautiously, so as not to lose sight of  it,  he  walked  toward  it.

There, at the edge of the corridor fully four meters from  where  they'd  been

looking, was a small object poking out of the carpet. If it was the thing that

Tahiri had been holding, then she must have  flung  it  when  spinning  around

defensively with her lightsaber; then, he imagined, it had been pushed  deeper

into the pile by the large feet of one of the Fia.  Otherwise  it  would  have

surely been spotted before now.

He reached down and plucked it from the carpet. It was small, about  half

the size of his thumb joint, and looked to him to be a  pendant  or  charm  of

some kind. It was metallic in nature, but with a grown  texture,  rather  than

forged. There was a hole through which  a  chain  or  thong  might  have  been

threaded, and on the face  were  carvings  in  an  unknown  language.  It  was

surprisingly heavy.

The creature it portrayed was hideous and completely unfamiliar, but that

wasn't so surprising, Jag thought. There were many different types of creature

in the Galactic Alliance, and most of them were unfamiliar to him—just as  the

various cultures of the Unknown Regions would be unfamiliar to them. One thing

about the creature portrayed did trouble him, though: It seemed to be  covered

in scars.

"Is that it?" the guard asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Yes," Jag said, quickly tucking the object into one of his flight suit's

pockets. "I'm sure my friend will be glad to see it again. She  thought  she'd

lost it."

Thanking the guard for his help, Jag let  himself  be  led  back  to  the

diplomatic quarters. Nothing had changed: Tahiri was still unconscious, and C-

3PO couldn't give an estimate as to how long she might remain like this.

He sighed wearily. He really couldn't delay any longer.  Jaina  was  long

gone, and he had to get back to his squadron. Being accused of dereliction  of

duty was, at the moment, more of a concern to  him  than  any  of  the  uneasy

feelings he had about  the  small,  silvery  object  in  his  pocket  and  its

relevance to the mission.

His clawcraft had been refueled by Al'solib'minet'ri City's landing field

technicians. As he ran through the craft's maintenance records to double-check

what exactly had been done in his  absence,  a  brief  note  appeared  on  the

computer screen:

YOU MUST LEAVE HERE IMMEDIATELY.

Jag stared at it for a long moment, startled. He quickly surveyed the bay

for signs of someone watching him, but saw no one  suspicious  lurking  about.

Then, when he looked back at the screen, the message had disappeared. He tried

to access it again, but the maintenance logs  showed  no  record  of  it  ever

having existed in the first place. Whoever had left the message  for  him  had

made sure it would be erased as soon it had been read.

But why? And if the sender had been so keen to have him leave,  then  why

put the message in such  an  inaccessible  spot?  Placing  it  in  the  flight

systems, where he wasn't likely to see it until he was already leaving anyway,

seemed redundant. Unless, maybe, the person responsible for  the  message

had no choice but to use this means. Or perhaps the message was  intended  for

him alone, and this was the only way to ensure that no one else saw  or  heard

it.

He fought a growing sense of unease. Tahiri, the pendant, this message...

There were too many questions without answers, and none  of  them  sat  easily

with him. He fleetingly considered staying behind to help Leia  and  Han,  but

quickly dismissed the idea. There was no actual evidence that anything was up;

there were just a couple of hints and warnings, as well as the workings of his

suspicious mind. Besides, Han and Leia could look after themselves;  they  had

had plenty of practice at it, after all.

"This is Twin Suns Leader, Al'solib'minet'ri Control," he said  into  the

comm unit. "Preparing for ascent to orbit. Do you have a preferred corridor?"

"Not so fast, Twin Suns Leader," came the patient  Fian  voice  from  the

other end. "There are still some questions we need to ask before—"

Jag rolled his eyes and activated the clawcraft's engines.  Confident  he

could avoid any Fian vessels that  might  get  in  his  way,  he  ignored  the

squawking of Al'solib'minet'ri City Control and roared up into the atmosphere.

As he matched orbits with Pride of Selonia, he contacted the  two  pilots

Jaina had left on patrol when she left.

"Nice move, Jag," Seven said. "Captain Mayn's been itching to  thumb  her

nose at all of these Fian formalities since we arrived. They've  been  hailing

her every time our orbit drifts by so much as a meter."

There was amusement in Seven's tone, but Jag remained serious.

"Has there been anything more than that?" he asked. "Anything unusual  at

all?"

"Are you kidding?" she shot back. "Apart from all the chatter, it's  been

quiet. No incoming; no outgoing; nothing. The communications blackout is still

in place. Beats me what people do around here."

Jag focused on that problem instead of the many others batting at him. He

had initially assumed that the communications fault would be easily fixed,  so

they could move on to their second port of call. But when  he  and  C-3PO  had

analyzed the records automatically kept by the planetary  transceiver  serving

Galantos' and the rest of the system, he had found that there was no fault  at

all. From there  they  had  contacted  the  nearest  intersector  network  and

ascertained that communications between Galantos and the rest  of  the  galaxy

could be easily reestablished, once a small routing correction was  made.  The

fact that it hadn't been made  was  suggestive,  but  Jag  hadn't  decided  of

exactly what, yet. It was almost  as  though  the  Fia  had  deliberately  cut

themselves off.

But why would they do that? With the Yevetha at their  back  door,  along

with a wealth of minerals the rest of the galaxy would  surely  be  interested

in, contact with the outside would be exactly what they'd  want.  Except,  Jag

thought, that the Fia claimed that the Yevetha were no longer  a  threat,  and

they seemed to be turning a tidy profit from someone, anyway.

There was something afoot on Galantos, and he'd work  it  out  sooner  or

later. All he needed was another couple of those puzzle segments. ..

An urgent bleeping issued from his instrument panel.  "Twin  Suns,"  came

the voice of Selonia's duty officer. "We're picking up hyperspace disturbances

in sector twelve. It looks like we have company. Want to check them out?"

"Twin Seven, on my way."

"What sort of company?" Jag asked the duty officer as he watched  Seven's

X-wing sweep out of formation and accelerate away from the planet.

"It's  hard  to  tell,"  the  duty  officer  returned  after  a  moment's

consideration. "They're still a long way out. But there appears to be a number

of smaller vessels accompanying two much larger ones."

"Can you at least determine the type of vessel they are?" Jag pressed.

"No can do, I'm afraid," came the reply. "They could be—"

Another bleeping cut him off.

"Hang on, Twin Leader," the duty officer said. "More  ships.  Sector  six

this time, on the other side of the system. Two small vessels only, and one of

them's an X-wing. The other could  be  a  clawcraft,  but  its  emissions  are

strange. It's almost as though—"

"Emergency!" came Jaina's voice suddenly over the sub-space link. "I have

an emergency situation. I've lost Twin Eight, and Nine  isn't  going  to  last

much longer. I need immediate assistance. I repeat, immediate assistance!"

Jag's mind worked overtime. Eight was Miza, a Chiss Squadron pilot.

"What happened, Jaina? Did the Yevetha attack you?"

"Not quite," she said, sounding  weary.  "They  were  all  dead  when  we

arrived, bar one. He chose to blow his drive  rather  than  talk  to  us,  and

that's what did all the damage. I only just managed to patch  things  together

enough to get back here. But this will have to wait, Jag. You'd  better  watch

your back to make sure what happened to N'zoth doesn't happen here, too."

"This is Seven," came the voice of the pilot scouting the far side of the

system. "I have a positive ID on those incoming vessels. They're Yuuzhan Vong—

two squadrons of skips and a blastboat analog escorting two larger types  I've

never seen before. They've spotted me and have started in pursuit. I need help

out here, guys!"

Jag urged his clawcraft up and away from Selonia. "All right,  Twin  Suns

Squadron," he broadcast to the rest of his pilots. "Let's scramble!"

Part Three

Intervention

She stood on the rise of a dune staring into  the  swirling  white  dust,

trying to make out the object in the distance. Behind her, not far  away,  the

thing with her face continued to come after her.  She  knew  she  should  keep

moving, but she simply didn't have the  energy  to  do  so  anymore.  It  felt

hopeless. Sooner  or  later  the  thing  would  catch  up  with  her.  It  was

inevitable, so why even bother trying to run? She may as well just  stop  here

and accept it.

She silently chided herself for the  defeatist  attitude.  She  knew  she

shouldn't be so fatalistic, but she couldn't help it. It was just  that  there

was never going to be a time when this thing wasn't going to be after her;  it

would never rest until it had taken her. The only question was, would  it  get

to her before the reptile got to it?

She peered again into the dust and  found  her  eyes  stinging  from  the

effort. She blinked away some of the particles, straining to see the something

in the distance, something that towered high above the ground. She was  almost

relieved when the dust cleared enough for her to see that the  object  was  in

fact an immobile AT-AT looming over the tops of the dunes.

Around the base of the  vehicle  she  could  make  out  several  standing

figures, their identities obscured by dust and distance. She knew  them;  that

much she was sure of, even if she didn't know exactly who they were.

"Lowbacca?" she called. "Jacen?"

No one responded. It was as if they couldn't see her waving at them,  and

everything she yelled was carried away from their ears by the wind.

Suddenly she saw the head of the AT-AT swivel around  to  face  her,  the

rusted metal groaning with the effort. It stopped with a resounding clank, its

guns now trained upon her.

"No, wait!" she called. "It's me! Please!"

It fired once, loudly, but there was  no  resulting  explosion.  Instead,

from the weapons  emerged  a  black  ball  that  came  toward  her  with  slow

precision, its edges shimmering. She  watched  helplessly  as  it  approached,

wondering what it might be that her  friends  had  fired  at  her.  There  was

nothing to do: she couldn't turn back, and she obviously couldn't go  forward.

This created in her a sense of hopelessness that made her cry. The tears  fell

from her cheeks into the dust, creating a sticky paste  that  collected  about

the soles of her feet.

"They think you are me," said a voice close to her ear.

She held her breath, afraid to look back to see who was  standing  behind

her. But in her heart she knew it to be the thing with her own  face.  And  it

was close, too; she could feel its breath on her neck.

She lifted a hand to touch her forehead, feeling the  scars  there.  Then

she looked down to see the fresh ones on her arms. She pressed her  fingertips

into the suppurating wounds, and was surprised at how soft and wet they  were.

When she raised her hand to look at what came away from the deep cuts, she saw

blood dripping from her fingers like tiny, perfect tears. In each  one  was  a

reflection—although whether the scarred face she saw in it belonged to herself

or the thing behind her, she couldn't tell.

"You do remember me, don't you?" said the voice  at  her  shoulder.  "You

can't have forgotten me so soon. You left me just as you did him, didn't you?"

A recently scarred arm reached past her face, pointing in  the  direction

of the AT-AT. She forced back the tears to look, and  saw  the  figures  still

standing around the vehicle, in exactly the same position  as  they  had  been

before — except now one of them was lying on the ground.

"I didn't leave him!" There was conflict in  her  thoughts,  as  memories

clashed clumsily against one another. She was losing all hope of finding  some

purchase on reality. "Did I?"

"Remember me!" This time it wasn't a question,  but  a  growled  command,

which effectively brought a name from the tangle of thoughts in her mind.

"Riina?" she said, still reluctant to look around.

But there was no reply, only the distant roar of the reptile calling  her

name from somewhere far behind.

The sound of the AT-AT firing again dragged her  attention  back  to  her

friends. The black sphere had arrived, and she could now see  that  it  was  a

swarm of flitnats come to engulf her. She stood firmly  in  the  face  of  the

incoming wave of insects,  determined  not  to  turn  away,  but  nevertheless

feeling the weight of futility tugging at her very soul.

"Why can't the Force be with me for  once?"  she  said.  The  words  were

whispered, and yet their echo boomed around the dunes.

Deciding that there was really nowhere else to go but to her friends, she

threw herself forward. The task was made  difficult,  however,  by  the  paste

caked to her feet. No matter how fast she tried to run, she didn't seem to  be

making any progress; no matter how many dunes she scaled, her  friends  stayed

the same distance away from her; no matter how much she wanted  to  shake  it,

the

thing with her face remained  at  her  shoulder,  whispering  words  that

nurtured the guilt and regret that she had kept buried deep inside.

She summoned what strength was left in her to move  faster.  The  whining

from the flitnats rose and fell in pitch as they continued to sweep  past  her

ears.. .

Tahiri woke with a jerk to the sounds of shouting and  sirens.  Her  head

spun dizzily when she sat up, and her vision was hazy.

"What's going on?" she asked anxiously.

A golden blur appeared before her. "Oh, Mistress Tahiri.  Thank  goodness

you've finally awoken!"

"Threepio?" The siren was joined by a voice booming  for  attention.  She

rubbed at her temples, wishing that everything would settle down  long  enough

for her to at least get her bearings. "Is that you?"

"I wish it wasn't, Mistress Tahiri, given our  circumstances,"  came  the

droid's fretful reply. "I'd much rather be anywhere else than—"

"Don't panic, Threepio," Tahiri said, forcing  herself  to  sit  upright.

"Everything's going to be fine, I'm sure."

It seemed strange to be offering reassurances when  she  herself  was  in

need of them. An explanation as to what  was  happening  wouldn't  have  hurt,

either. But she knew that she was going to  need  the  protocol  droid's  help

right now, so it was a  priority  to  calm  him  down  before  worrying  about

anything  else.  Besides  which,  his  fretting  would  only  exacerbate   her

confusion.

"Help me stand, Threepio."

The room swayed around her as the droid  levered  her  upright,  but  she

managed to remain on her feet with C-3PO's help. Outside the  room  she  could

hear voices arguing;  focusing  on  these,  she  recognized  Anakin's  parents

remonstrating with one of the Fia.

"I said, unlock this door!"

"I'm sorry, Captain Solo, but that  won't  be  possible."  There  was  no

mistaking the wheedling tones of Assistant Primate Thrum. "We're in the middle

of a state emergency and—"

"What sort of emergency?"  Han's  voice  was  rising  sharply  with  each

syllable uttered.

"As I have already stated, I really don't know what—"

"Then get someone down here who does know," Han bellowed. "Or so help me,

I'm going to use your head as a batt—"

"Assistant Primate," Princess Leia cut  in  quickly  over  her  husband's

threat. Her tone was soothing, but there was no mistaking the  note  of  steel

beneath. "We are very concerned that we have lost contact with the rest of our

mission. It seems that all communications  from  ground  to  orbit  are  being

jammed—"

"That is part of the emergency!" the exasperated Fia said.

"We gathered that much," Han said. "But if you'll just let us get to  the

Falcon, we can—"

"That is not possible!" Thrum shot  back,  his  frustration  causing  his

voice to come  across  louder  than  he  had  probably  intended.  "I  am  not

authorized!"

The voices were coming from the common area,  through  the  door  to  her

right. Snatching her lightsaber from the cabinet beside her bed, Tahiri  moved

unsteadily toward the door.

"What's going on, Threepio?" she hissed.

"There was  a  terrible  commotion,"  the  droid  said.  "Mistress  Jaina

returned to inform us that the Yevetha have been destroyed! But  at  the  same

time as her return, a number of other ships also arrived in  the  system.  And

now it seems that our communications have been jammed and we can't—"

"Ships?" she asked. "What sort of ships? Were they Yuuzhan Vong?"

"I believe so, Mistress,"  the  droid  said.  "Although  there  was  some

uncertainty—"

"It's them," Tahiri said. "I know it is."

A disconcerting feeling spread through her, like  ice  crystallizing.  It

had to be the Yuuzhan Vong. She was as sure of it as she was of her own  name.

They or their representatives had been on Galantos before—the  totem  of  Yun-

Yammka proved that. They had probably struck a deal with the  Fia:  protection

from the Yevetha in exchange for resources. The Fia would  have  assumed  that

they meant the minerals brought to the surface of their planet by its restless

crust—but Tahiri knew better. The Fia were going to learn the  hard  way  that

the resource the Yuuzhan Vong valued most was living tissue.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves,  then  stepped  through  the

doorway and into the common area. Thrum had positioned himself in front of the

door leading from their suite. Leia gently restrained Han,  who  was  towering

angrily over the Fia. The Noghri guards stood nearby, silently overseeing  the

exchange.

"I'm sorry." The assistant primate  was  apologizing  again  to  Anakin's

parents. He seemed to be in a state of almost absolute panic. "But  there  are

no regulations to cover such circumstances!"

"We don't need your regulations," Tahiri said, influencing her words with

the Force as she took a couple of steps toward the Fia. Leia and Han  were  as

surprised to see her as Thrum. "Open the door and let us through."

Something shifted behind Thrum's eyes, and for  a  moment  it  seemed  as

though he might concede to Tahiri's demand. But  protocol,  in  this  instance

anyway, was stronger than Force suggestion.

"I cannot," he insisted, shaking his head violently as  though  to  shake

loose the unwanted thought. "I  have  already  said  that  I  don't  have  the

authorization to—"

He trailed off in midsentence as Tahiri's lightsaber hissed to life,  its

bright blue blade reflecting in his wide and frightened eyes.

"This is all the authorization you require," she  said,  brandishing  the

weapon close to his face. "Now, please, open this door."

"Why didn't you think of doing that, Leia?" she heard Han whisper to  his

wife.

"I would," Thrum said, flustered, "but—"

Tahiri cocked her eyebrows. "But?"

The soft features of the Fia looked as though they  were  about  to  melt

from the heat of Tahiri's saber. "But there are guards—"

The crackle of blasterfire from the other side of  the  wall  interrupted

him. There was a click, followed by the door sliding open. Han stepped forward

with his own blaster at the ready, past Thrum and into  the  hallway  outside.

Tahiri could see the two guards who had  been  stationed  outside  lying  dead

across the entrance, one with a hole smoking in his back, the other  with  one

in their chest. Han took one look at them and turned to face Tahiri.

"How did you do that?" he asked her.

"It—it wasn't me," she stammered, too surprised by  the  sudden  turn  of

events to realize that he was only joking.

She removed her  thumb  from  the  activation  stud  of  her  lightsaber,

extinguishing the blade. Then she stepped over to the doorway to look outside.

Apart from the bodies of the guards and Han standing over them,  the  corridor

was empty. But there was a smell there that immediately caught her  attention—

and it wasn't just the tang of blasterfire, either. This  was  something  else

altogether.. .

"There's no one here," Leia said as she came up beside her  husband,  the

two of them glancing up and down the passageway. "So who shot them?"

Han shrugged. "Maybe they fell on their own blaster bolts."

"It doesn't matter," Leia said. "We're out, and that's the main thing. We

can worry about the hows and whys later. Let's just get off this planet before

we become prisoners of Fian regulations again."

Everyone made to move, except for Thrum, who held back within  the  room.

Leia stepped up to him and grabbed him by the arm.

"You're coming with us," she said, leading the quivering Fia  firmly  out

of the room and into the corridor with the others.

"But..." he started, shuffling forward on his big, flat feet. He  quickly

dropped his protests, however, when he realized that nobody was  bothering  to

listen to him anymore.

Han led the way through the diplomatic section, with Thrum close  behind.

Leia and her Noghri bodyguards followed him, while Tahiri brought up the rear.

She was still a little dizzy, but could feel her old self quickly returning.

The voice booming over the intercom continued  to  warn  people  to  stay

indoors and remain calm. The disruption was temporary, the voice assured,  and

would soon be sorted out. The howling of  the  sirens,  however,  contradicted

this, and Tahiri could feel a great hysteria and dread lifting around  her  in

the Force.

"I don't think this was a trap,"  she  whispered  to  Leia.  "They're  as

surprised as we are."

"I agree," Leia responded. "The Fia didn't know in advance that  we  were

coming, and no ships or transmissions have left the system since  we  arrived.

But that doesn't mean they won't take advantage of us  being  here,  now  that

something has happened. I'm sure that the  life  of  a  Jedi  still  has  some

currency with the Yuuzhan Vong." Tahiri nodded, firmly realizing that  it  was

more likely her than Han and Leia that had resulted in them being locked up in

their luxurious suites. The  Fia  wduld  never  downplay  the  roles  Anakin's

parents had in the liberation of the galaxy from the Empire,  but  as  far  as

they knew, it was only the Jedi that the Yuuzhan Vong were interested  in.  If

she hadn't been here, they might have been able to leave unobstructed.

As expected, when they reached the exit to the diplomatic quarters,  they

found a couple of guards stationed there. Han drew them all to a halt around a

corner and turned his blaster on Thrum.

"Okay, flatfoot," he said, pushing the barrel  of  his  weapon  into  the

small of the Fia's back. "You're going to take us  through  here  and  to  the

landing field. Got it? We're your guests and they're just guards, so I'm  sure

regulations will cover it."

"Y-yes, of course," Thrum said as he was nudged forward.

Tahiri sent a command through the Force  to  give  the  nervous  Fia  the

confidence he needed to pull off this simple task. She watched as in midstride

the assistant primate  seemed  to  summon  a  strength  from  within  himself,

straightening his clothes haughtily as he led the group forward.

Han holstered his blaster as they followed Thrum, while  Tahiri  hid  the

handgrip of her lightsaber in the folds of her clothes.

"I am taking the prisoners to interrogation!" Thrum announced loudly. Too

loudly, Tahiri thought, realizing she might have overdone it  with  her  Force

command on the Fia.

"Interrogation?" one of the guards asked dubiously. He  seemed  a  little

taken back by Thrum's belligerence. "Where?"

"Section C," Thrum said curtly.

"For how long?" the other guard asked.

"Two hours."

"And will you accompany them on your return?"

"It doesn't matter" Thrum replied irritably. "It's not important. None of

this is! All that matters is that I am authorized. I have  jurisdiction  here,

and I will not have you questioning me like this!"

The guards, stunned by Thrum's uncustomary outburst, waved  them  through

without further questioning.

"You know, that felt surprisingly good," Thrum said as  they  headed  off

down the corridor.

He seemed genuinely pleased with his performance, but Tahiri  could  tell

that it had taken a lot out of him. His skin was  moist  and  his  hands  were

trembling almost uncontrollably.

"I'm proud of you," Han said,  patting  Thrum's  sloping  shoulder.  "But

you're not out of this yet."

Assistant Primate Thrum faced Han as they walked, detecting the  unstated

threat in the man's tone.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he asked, his nervous disposition returning to the

fore.

"I mean that you'd better hope no one's touched the Falcon,'"  Han  said.

"Because if they have, I'm going to take those long arms of yours and tie them

in a bow around your head."

Thrum shuddered noticeably as he turned imploringly to Leia,  who  simply

rolled her eyes and shook her head at her husband's lack of diplomatic skills.

They made it almost as far as the landing field without being obstructed.

Whatever was going on above the planet seemed to have distracted the  security

forces on the surface to the point that the absence of their prisoners  wasn't

even noticed until they had almost escaped.

The slap of footfalls alerted Tahiri to the fact  that  they  were  being

followed. As Thrum pointed excitedly to the exit to the landing field, a squad

of Fian security guards rounded the corner behind them. Seeing the  fugitives,

they began firing immediately. Their blasters were set for stun, but that only

delayed their hostile intent.  Tahiri  ignited  her  lightsaber,  effortlessly

blocking the shots and sending them ricocheting back at the guards. Three fell

immediately to the ground, causing the remaining guard to beat a hasty retreat

around a corner. It was enough of a delay to allow everyone in  her  party  to

get safely through the exit.

Outside, the sky was uncannily blue. A tremor rocked the  ground  beneath

her feet as they ran out  onto  the  stressed  ferrocrete—the  first  she  had

noticed since arriving on the unsteady planet. Either  her  senses  were  more

highly attuned than before, or the city's stabilizers weren't  being  properly

tended. With death about to rain down on the planet from above,  she  supposed

that the usual perils of life on Galantos weren't as important right now.

The others ducked and ran for cover as another wave of  blasterfire  came

from a building across the landing field. Tahiri sent a telekinetic  punch  to

bring down a wall in front of the new threat, and their path  was  temporarily

clear again.

"This way!" Han shouted, leading them from cover across the flat field.

Tahiri noted that where it had been empty before, there were now  several

small spacefaring vessels in  various  stages  of  warming  up.  Ground  crews

watched nervously as they ran among the ships, fleeing new shouts from behind.

The occasional bolt of energy bounced  off  armored  hulls,  sending  innocent

bystanders diving for cover.

"This is all too much," C-3PO complained, the sound  of  the  servomotors

that moved his limbs a constant whine as he hurried to keep up.

Amid the confusion on the landing field, Tahiri's attention was drawn  to

one man who appeared to be pursuing them.  A  lean,  vaguely  nonhuman  figure

dressed in a dark blue flight suit, with a breath mask obscuring his face,  he

tagged them closely as Tahiri and the others dodged between the other vessels.

He kept up with them easily enough, too, unencumbered as he was by the need to

avoid pursuit or ambushes. He simply followed along,  with  his  easy,  loping

strides, casually monitoring their progress.

When they were within a sprinting dash of the Falcon, Tahiri peeled  away

from the others to intercept their pursuer. She had no idea if he  meant  them

harm or not, but she had no intentions of leaving her back exposed to him.

"Tahiri!" Leia called out. Han had the boarding ramp already lowered  and

they were all about to run in.

Tahiri ignored the calls; she had only about  three  minutes  before  the

Falcon would be ready to launch, so every second counted.

The mysterious figure didn't  run  away  as  she  approached.  Quite  the

opposite, in fact. Waving, he indicated for her to join him behind the  curved

hull of a small yacht. She did so, realizing as she did what it was about  him

that had drawn her to him.

"It was you," she muttered breathlessly as a tingle  of  recognition  ran

through her, courtesy of the Force, first, then via her nose:  his  smell  was

strong and familiar. "You're the one who killed the guards and let us out!"

He nodded. "And one good turn deserves another, wouldn't you say?"

Tahiri's eyes narrowed, wondering what he was getting at. "You  want  our

help?"

"I've been looking for a way off this rock ever since the Fia made  their

deal with the Brigaders."

"You want to come with us, is that it?"

"Not quite," he replied. He patted  the  hull  of  the  yacht  they  were

standing beside. "I want you to use your powers of persuasion to get  the  air

lock of this thing open for me. After that, I can do the rest."

Tahiri was naturally wary of using her Force powers to  help  a  complete

stranger steal a ship. "Why should I do that?"

"You're just going to have to trust me," the masked being said. "I'm  one

of the ones who brought you here. That must count for something."

"Yeah, thanks a whole bunch." She glanced over her shoulder at where  the

Falcon was prepping up. Princess Leia called urgently to her from the ramp, an

edge of something more than concern creeping into her voice.

"I can explain everything later," the stranger said, "if I survive. Right

now there simply isn't any time."

Tahiri vacillated only for a moment, curiosity warring with caution. Then

she reached out through the Force, feeling for the yacht's  pilot.  It  was  a

Fian woman, and she was rushing through her preflight  checks  with  terrified

haste. A quick glance, however, told Tahiri that the

pilot had missed a crucial  stage  in  her  engine  warm-ups;  the  first

atmospheric punch would  overload  the  yacht's  repulsors  and  cripple  them

forever. With that in mind, she felt more reassured that intervening with  the

Force in this instance was acceptable. If it meant saving this  pilot's  life,

then that had to be a positive thing, surely?

Tahiri implanted a thought in the pilot's  mind;  she  had  forgotten  to

secure the tail hatches and needed to do it manually, and the only way  to  do

it was to unseal the air lock. Cursing, the pilot  smacked  her  forehead  and

came through the yacht to fix the problem.

Tahiri faced her masked companion evenly. "The rest is up  to  you,"  she

said.

Her mystery man bowed slightly.  "My  thanks,  Tahiri  Veila."  He  moved

around to the air lock, waiting for it to open.

"When—" she began.

"We will speak again when I reach orbit," he shouted, waving her away.

There was no time to argue with the stranger; she could already hear  the

rising wail of the Falcon's engines. Han would be cursing her if she held them

up any longer. Taking a deep breath, she gathered the Force around her like an

invisible shield and braved the empty space  between  her  and  the  unlikely-

looking freighter. She ignited her  lightsaber  to  build  a  wall  of  energy

between her and the Fian security forces, moving the lightsaber  in  graceful,

confident arcs around her, easily deflecting the blaster bolts as  she  backed

her way toward the ramp. The joy of the fight rose within her, as she  reveled

in her skill with the blade and the failure of her enemies.

I am a Jedi Knight, she thought. l am invincible!

Then a strong hand grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her  onto  the

ramp just as the Falcon lifted from the ground. There was a rush of air around

her as the ramp lifted.

She collapsed onto  the  metal  decking,  her  lightsaber's  energy  beam

retracting with a crackle.

"Tahiri," Leia said, edging aside her bodyguard  and  leaning  over  her.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"I had to help someone escape," Tahiri  managed  breathlessly,  surprised

just how quickly the feeling of invincibility gave  way  to  exhaustion.  "The

person who  helped  us  with  the  guards  outside  the  room."  Leia  frowned

dubiously. "Who was it?" "I'm not sure,"  she  admitted  with  a  shrug.  "But

you're sure it was the same person?" Leia asked. Tahiri nodded. Her confidence

came more from gut instinct than anything else; she could feel that he was the

one. And then there was the smell, although she still  couldn't  identify  the

source. "He said he would contact us from orbit."

"That's fine, if we make it to orbit." Leia  looked  forward,  concerned.

"I'm going back to the cockpit. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Never been better,"  Tahiri  said,  pulling  herself  up  to  a  sitting

position. And it wasn't a lie. She had helped Anakin's family  escape  capture

on Galantos. Whatever her other failings were, she could be proud of that,  at

least.

Leia nodded uncertainly as she made to  leave.  "I  am  all  right,  too,

Princess Leia," C-3PO chirped as  Leia  passed  him,  his  photoreceptor  eyes

watching her back as she hurried  off  to  the  cockpit.  "In  case  you  were

wondering."

The Noghri guards left to follow Leia, leaving Tahiri alone  with  C-3PO.

The golden droid let her use him as a counterweight to help  her  get  to  her

feet, then staggered

back as some sort of energy weapon discharged against the ship's shields.

"Goodness," he exclaimed. "Will this fighting never end?"

I hope not, part of her thought, but she was too frightened of what  that

meant to say it aloud.

Jaina brought her X-wing around in as tight a turn as  it  could  manage.

Although charred by the self-destruction of the Yevetha's  ship  near  N'zoth,

her X-wing still had enough maneuverability to run down the alien fighter  she

had clipped on  her  first  pass.  Stuttering  her  lasers,  she  trusted  her

instincts to tell her when its dovin basals were close to overload. Then, with

a flick of her wrist, she issued a proton torpedo to dispatch the Yuuzhan Vong

ship along with its pilot to oblivion.

Fighting off exhaustion, she targeted another skip, this  one  daring  to

come in too close behind Twin Eleven. A dozen warning  shots  were  enough  to

change its mind, although her follow-up torpedo failed to reach its mark.  She

gladly gave up the chase when her R2 unit warned  that  her  stabilizers  were

overheating again and advised that she  pull  back  for  a  while.  The  brief

respite gave her a chance to observe the battle from a distance, a luxury  she

couldn't afford when she was down in the thick of it.

Twin Suns Squadron was outnumbered three to one, but holding well against

an enemy that hadn't expected such determined—if indeed any—resistance in  the

system. Although both sides had been taken by surprise, Jaina was  pleased  to

see that it was the Galactic Alliance and Chiss pilots who were adjusting  the

quickest. That made sense; with the Yuuzhan Vong's yammosk suffering  attempts

to jam it while it dealt  with  the  unexpected  development,  the  individual

pilots weren't trained to think independently, and therefore floundered.

The two larger, circular ships  were  not  designed  for  war,  but  they

weren't easy picking, either. Their yorik coral shells  were  tough,  and  the

five long tentacles that dangled from  their  sterns  were  strongly  muscled,

lashing out with surprising speed at anything that came within reach.  At  the

end of each serpentine arm was a toothless maw that opened and closed  in  the

vacuum as though attempting to suck in passing ships.

Although Jaina had never  seen  anything  quite  like  them  before,  the

sucking tentacles—each several meters across—put her in mind of something  her

father had described seeing at Ord Mantell. He and  Droma,  the  Ryn  who  had

served briefly as his copilot after Chewie's death,  had  almost  been  sucked

into the mouth by just such a giant tentacle.

"Slaveships," she said, voicing her thoughts.

"Empty or full?" asked Todra Mayn on  Selonia.  The  frigate  was  slowly

breaking orbit to lend its twenty quad laser cannons to the task  of  knocking

out the incoming coralskippers.

"They're heading in toward Galantos, so empty would be my bet," Jag  said

as he pulled his clawcraft out of a tight roll. "After all, you wouldn't  send

a household droid in to clean a place with its waste-storage bin already full,

right?"

She had to agree that it made sense. There was a world full of  Fia  down

on the planet that was barely in a  position  to  defend  itself.  The  entire

planetary defense force consisted of five squadrons of old  Y-wings,  none  of

which had yet even managed to reach vacuum. But for  Twin  Suns  Squadron  and

Selonia, the planet's major cities would already have been under attack.  Once

this line of defense was gone, the entire population would become easy targets

for those slaveships.

"How many people do you think they'd fit in one of  those  things?"  Twin

Three asked, swooping around the back  of  the  nearest  slave  freighter  and

peppering its trailing tentacles with laserfire.

"Hundreds of thousands, maybe more," Captain Mayn said grimly,  "if  they

packed them in tight enough."

"Enough for a disposable army," Jaina said, revolted by the thought.  "If

this is what came for the Yevetha, it's  hardly  surprising  they  decided  to

fight to the very end."

Cappie bleeped to inform her that her stabilizers were  back  in  working

order. Ramping her inertial compensators  down  another  notch,  to  give  her

flagging reflexes as much information as she could, she immediately powered to

join Three, whose insistent pounding of the slaveship had resulted in  one  of

its tentacles being completely severed. She was doing her best to cut  through

a second, all the while avoiding the sucking maws of the others. It  was  like

attempting to dodge three amphistaffs all at once.

There was no time for talking, then, as she concentrated on helping  maim

the slaveship. It was a cumbersome vessel, clearly relying on its  escort  for

defense and not intended for combat.  Although  it  was  equipped  with  dovin

basals capable of  absorbing  enemy  fire,  she  suspected  that  the  primary

function of these was to enable the large mass of the ship  to  hover  over  a

city while it ingested its prey. When it was full, it could return to wherever

the slaves were being processed, dump its load, and head out for another.

It was a typically revolting biological solution to a  problem  she  knew

the Yuuzhan Vong were suffering from. They were short of  warriors,  and  they

needed replacements. No one had imagined that they had been  preparing  for  a

wave of mass enslavement for so long. They should have, though. It was exactly

the sort of fate

Tsavong Lah would have gleefully imposed  on  the  infidels:  divide  and

conquer had always been his modus operandi, closely followed  by  enslave  and

murder. That Lah was no longer around to see the results of his vile plan  was

little consolation.

A voice crackled  over  the  open  subspace  link.  "Anyone  looking  for

reinforcements?"

"Dad?" Jaina peeled away from a wildly flailing tentacle,  too  tired  to

concentrate on two things simultaneously "Is that you?"

"None other," he announced cockily. "Hey, I hope  you've  saved  some  of

those Vong ships for us."

Jaina felt a wave of relief wash a heavy weight from her shoulders as she

spotted the battered, black disk of the Millennium Falcon rising rapidly  from

Galantos. She was suddenly battle-ready again as a new energy  rushed  through

her.

"I'm glad you made it out okay," she said. "How did you swing it?"

"We had a hand," he said simply. "Hang in there, kid. Help's on its way."

A quick scan of her telemetry confirmed that there was still no  sign  of

the Galantos defense  force.  There  were  a  few  hot  spots  on  the  planet

indicating isolated launches, but these were mainly  from  the  major  cities.

Private craft, she assumed, probably taking the rich and the prestigious  away

from the Yuuzhan Vong attack.

Like mynocks fleeing a disintegrating asteroid, she thought ruefully.

There was one ship, however, that didn't immediately break orbit for  the

nearest hyperspace jump point. A small  yacht  of  Corellian  manufacture,  it

seemed to be hanging back as if waiting for  something.  The  Falcon  abruptly

changed course to intercept it, and together they vanished around the back  of

the planet.

Odd, she thought. Jaina had no time to ponder it any further, though. The

coralskippers were gradually getting themselves  organized,  and  Selonia  was

still some distance away. Twin Suns Three was forced to withdraw  |  from  the

slave freighter whose tentacles she was harassing, and Jaina found herself the

target of a trio of determined skips. She ducked and wove through  the  wildly

disorienting tangle of fighters, ion washes, and particu-late  debris,  hoping

that the slightest distraction to the skips would afford  her  some  breathing

space until some help arrived. But no matter what she did, they doggedly stuck

to her tail, until soon her stabilizers  were  beginning  to  overheat  again.

Frustration and anger welled within her and she fought them as grimly  as  she

fought the Yuu-zhan Vong: being tired and uncomfortable was no excuse to  give

in to the dark side.

Her R2 unit squealed  as  two  plasma  volleys  reduced  her  shields  to

dangerous levels. Just as she was seriously beginning to worry,  a  flurry  of

laserfire arced from behind her, scattering her three pursuers. Only one clung

on after that, and the pilot who had saved her life soon dispatched it.

"Thanks," she said over the comlink as the coral-skipper evaporated  back

to its component molecules. "I owe you one."

"I'll hold you to that, Sticks," Jag said.

She smiled to herself; she  was  so  relieved  to  hear  his  voice  that

everything else assumed secondary importance. For a moment he  came  alongside

her new XJ3, and she imagined that she could see him through the faceted visor

of his clawcraft.

"Let me ask you a question," he said after a moment. "If you were the Fia

and you'd done a deal with the Yuu-zhan Vong, but we  showed  up  and  started

fighting your allies, whose side would you fight on?"

"I don't know, Jag." She wiped sweat from her eyes with the back  of  her

gloved hand. "Why? Does it matter?"

He paused slightly before answering. "Take a look at your telemetry,"  he

said.

She did so,  and  saw  multiple  launches  from  three  locations  across

Galantos, followed by formations of ion engine signatures thrusting for space.

She couldn't help it: she felt fatigued all over again.

"Whichever side they're on," said Jag, "here they come..."

"Here they come!"

Gilad Pellaeon heard the words a split second before he felt a  vibration

run through Widowmaker as the frigate's ion engines engaged.  Powerful  enough

to override inertial dampers and communicated via the hull to the fluid in his

bacta tank, the vibration made him feel as though the whole world was shaking.

He reached out to steady himself against the transparent shell containing  the

healing fluid, trying to concentrate on the good things about  his  situation.

Yes, his injured body was confined to a bacta tank on an ageing frigate during

what might possibly be the most important battle he would ever fight,  but  at

least he still had his faculties about him. His  mind  was  clear;  he  needed

nothing more than that, really.

"Enemy fleet concentrated in sectors three through eight," said the voice

of  Widowmaker's  duty  officer  in  his  ear.  He  didn't  need  the  running

commentary, but he kept it going when he wasn't using the communicator in  his

breath mask to make sure  he  wasn't  missing  anything  locally.  The  mask's

modified visor showed him crisp, three-dimensional views of the action  as  it

unfolded in the system, while sensor pads attached to  his  hands  and  wrists

enabled him to switch views at will.

"Changing course to adopt primary position." Widowmaker  swung  about  to

put the planet of Borosk between itself and the incoming Yuuzhan Vong fleet. A

relatively small world, it would have been entirely unremarkable but  for  its

role in the defense  of  the  Empire.  A  symbolic  retention  after  numerous

retreats, it had been heavily armed to ensure it wasn't  retaken  by  the  New

Republic, which had in turn armed its own neighboring worlds  in  case  Borosk

turned out to be the beginning of another invasion. As a  result,  the  planet

was heavily  stocked  with  partially  automated  planetary  turbolasers,  ion

cannons, and shields, and surrounded by extensive  rings  of  space-based  ion

mines, all in a constant state of battle readiness. The planet was, in its own

way, better defended than Bastion had been—since, in a sane universe,  no  one

would have attacked there first.

The Imperial Navy Fleet now gathered around Borosk had  had  just  enough

time to organize into new task forces and squadrons. The losses in Bastion had

been high, and the shock enormous, but discipline was still strong  among  the

corps. Once Flennic  had  started  issuing  orders  in  Pellaeon's  name,  all

thoughts of dissolution had temporarily vanished, and the  command  chain  had

been  quickly  reestablished.  There  were  enough  Star  Destroyers  left  to

consolidate the defense around four  distinct  battle  groups,  designated  by

their command vessel names: Stalwart, which Pellaeon had not permitted Flennic

to retain, had the vanguard of the defense; Relentless and Protector protected

the flanks; and the rear was maintained by Right  to  Rule.  There  were  five

other Star  Destroyers  committed  to  the  defense  of  Borosk,  making  nine

altogether. The remainder of the navy had  stayed  with  Flennic  around  Yaga

Minor, just in case the Yuuzhan  Vong  attacked  there  anyway.  Chimaera  was

there, too, undergoing repairs, having finally limped into Yaga Minor  with  a

severely damaged hyperdrive and numerous other scars—but at least intact.

Despite  the  absence  of  his  command  vessel,  Pellaeon  felt  an  old

excitement rise in him as he watched the battle  groups  deploy.  That  moment

immediately prior to battle was simultaneously the most wonderful and the most

terrifying. Everything  was  in  place:  ships  were  at  the  peak  of  their

performance, while pilots were at their sharpest; he could almost tell who was

going to win before a  single  shot  had  been  fired,  simply  based  on  the

disposition of forces. Sometimes he  wished  victories  could  be  awarded  so

easily, without lives lost or resources wasted, or grudges formed...

This was not such a time. In this instance he wanted nothing more than to

fight, to quash the enemy's attack,  reduce  them  to  their  basic  component

molecules. And, watching the incoming fleets, he knew they  desired  the  same

for their enemy. The Yuuzhan Vong would never share in Gilad  Pellaeon's  wish

for victory  without  loss.  For  them,  sacrifice—glorious  or  otherwise—was

fundamental to their belief system. Trying to imagine them without it was like

trying to picture Coruscant without buildings.

Stalwart sent four TIE fighter squadrons to engage the lead  ships  while

they were still recovering from the hyper-space  jump.  Pellaeon  counted  two

enemy warships at the head of that particular attack—giant ovoids as long as a

Star Destroyer with huge coral arms near the nose that sprouted  coralskippers

like pollen. There were three carrier analogs toward the rear,  also  branched

and budded with coralskippers; these were  accompanied  by  numerous  gunships

capable of spraying volleys of plasma at anything daring to  come  too  close.

There was one battleship analog at each of the  two  other  attacking  points,

their ugly, misshapen appearance a blot against the  stars.  He  counted  five

cruisers and destroyers holding back for the moment, waiting either  to  swing

around the rear later or to provide reinforcements as needed.

Dozens of Yuuzhan  Vong  fighters  launched  to  intercept  the  Imperial

forces, spewing plasma. Led by Luke Skywalker  in  his  XJ3  X-wing,  the  TIE

squadrons were equipped only with lasers, so  stutterfire  was  not  possible.

Instead they attacked two or three at a time, the multiple laserfire having  a

similar effect  and  overloading  the  dovin  basals  of  the  skips.  Yammosk

telemetry enabled them to target the central control ships.

Surprised, clearly expecting less efficient resistance, the Yuuzhan  Vong

warriors began to scatter, either destroyed outright or  repulsed.  It  wasn't

long, though, before the war coordinators in the capital ships reassessed  the

situation and increased the muscle behind the push  into  the  system.  Proton

explosions blossomed like white flowers in the vacuum, while magma  bolts  cut

red lines across the void.

"Fall back, Skywalker," Pellaeon  ordered  through  the  comlink  in  his

breath mask. "I think you've made your point."

"I'm going to stay out here a while longer, Gilad," came the reply.

"Just you be careful, Luke," he heard Mara pipe up from the Jade  Shadow,

where she and Danni Quee waited on  the  sunward  flank  with  Protector.  The

healer was on Widowmaker with the giant lizard and himself,  a  half-dead  old

man who was supposed to be running the show. If the situation hadn't  been  so

serious, Pellaeon might have found the whole thing seriously amusing.

"How's Jacen coming along?" Luke asked.

"He's getting results," Mara said. Her grim tone I prompted  Pellaeon  to

take a look.

Jacen Solo, the boy Jedi who had come so delightfully  close  to  besting

Moff Flennic, was on Right to Rule. In the  hours  since  regrouping  at  Yaga

Minor, thousands of MSE-6 mouse droids had  been  modified  with  the  Yuuzhan

Vong-detecting  algorithms  the  Galactic  Alliance  had  developed  and  sent

scuttling from ship to ship throughout the fleet,  identifying  three  Yuuzhan

Vong infiltrators. In analyzing  the  communications  these  infiltrators  had

received from within the fleet, Jacen had been able  to  expose  more  than  a

dozen sympathizers. None had been confronted directly, but all had been posted

to the Right to Rule and individually summoned to a  "staffing  meeting"  with

the intention of seeing their activities brought to an immediate end.

Jacen had set up the meeting in a conference room that  looked  perfectly

innocent, but had in  fact  been  heavily  modified  with  some  of  the  most

sophisticated security device the Empire had to offer, via which Pellaeon  was

able to follow the proceedings over the monitors set up  in  his  room.  Also,

nearby, a squad of stormtroopers stood ready to rush in to Jacen's aid, should

he require it. It was a risk, perhaps, to have such  a  concentration  of  the

enemy in one area, but Jacen felt it was less of a risk than having  the  same

enemy scattered throughout various ships when they were exposed. It would have

been harder to coordinate their rounding up, whereas having them all contained

in one room  presented  a  controlled  situation,  more  easily  contained  if

something went wrong.

The traitors arrived one by one, staggered  at  two-minute  intervals  to

ensure that they wouldn't meet in the corridor outside and  suspect  the  trap

they were walking into. Jacen sat patiently at the front of the  room,  saying

nothing as each one entered.

The disguised aliens were the last to enter. The first came into the room

a full five minutes after all the traitors had been seated. She breezed easily

in, noting those seated around  the  large  table  in  a  single  glance.  Her

expression was unreadable, and so human that Pellaeon  could  scarcely  credit

that it  wasn't  in  fact  her  real  face,  but  rather  an  example  of  the

biotechnological masks the Yuuzhan Vong called ooglith masquers. She  was,  to

all appearances, a tall, plain woman with long,  gray  hair  tied  back  in  a

severe bun, with nothing remarkable about her at all.

But there was something in the way she hesitated slightly when she caught

sight of her human sympathizers that convinced Pellaeon  she  wasn't  all  she

appeared to be.

"Greetings, Fiula Blay," Jacen said from the front. He continued to  lean

against the podium as he spoke, his casual demeanor oozing disrespect.  "Won't

you take a seat while we wait on the arrival of the others?"

The woman glared at him, but  did  as  she  was  asked  without  comment.

Pellaeon noticed the beginnings of fear in the eyes of four of  the  spies  as

they recognized the leader of their particular resistance cell.

"What's going on here?" one of them demanded. "You have no right to  keep

us here like this!"

"Keep you here?" Jacen repeated with an exaggerated frown. "You  make  it

sound as though you were pris-oners. Why should you think that?"

The man swallowed but said nothing more.

"You've been called here so we can have a little chat,"  Jacen  went  on.

"That's all."

"Fine,"  another  said  sharply.  This  one  wore  the  uniform   of   an

intelligence coordinator. "Then let's get on I with it, shall we?"

" When we're all here," Jacen said calmly. "We haven't got time for this,

" he went on angrily, making to stand. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a

war going on out there!"

Jacen stood up straight and took a step forward.  "That's  precisely  why

we're here," he said, his eyes leveled evenly at the traitor.

The man returned to his seat with a grunt of complaint and fell silent.

"You could at least tell us who you are," said a third, a female security

officer. "Can't you guess?" Jacen said.

The door opened at this  point,  and  the  second  of  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

entered, this time in the disguise of a  portly  corporal  seconded  from  the

Relentless. He, too, hesitated when he saw the group gathered before him,  but

like Fiula Blay he kept his expression tightly controlled.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked. "What am I doing here? I  should

be out there, where I'm needed—"

"All will be explained," Jacen said, pointing to an empty seat.  "Please,

sit."

The tension within the room mounted as everyone waited uncomfortably  for

the last of the infiltrators  to  arrive.  Nothing  was  said,  but  the  body

language of those around the table  spoke  volumes.  Pellaeon  estimated  that

perhaps eight of the eleven sympathizers had  already  figured  out  what  was

happening, with the remaining three probably just  having  the  beginnings  of

suspicion in their gut. It  showed  in  their  furtive  eye  movements,  their

flushed expressions, and the way they squirmed uneasily in  their  seats.  The

only ones who didn't flinch or show any concern were the two disguised Yuuzhan

Vong. What was going on in their minds was anybody's guess.

Finally, the door hissed open and the third Yuuzhan Vong  walked  in.  An

enormous man with shoulders as wide as a Wookiee's, "Torvin Xyn" took  in  the

scene instantly, his expression breaking into a snarl as soon as his eyes fell

upon Jacen.

"Jeedai!" he hissed. "I can smell you!" A number of those seated  started

to stand as Torvin Xyn's skin peeled away from his face, revealing the scarred

and snarling visage of the Yuuzhan Vong beneath. The skin covering  his  chest

and arms rippled, and suddenly there was an amphistaff in his hands.

Jacen took a step back toward the podium. "There is no need for this," he

said. "Nobody need be harmed!"

But even as he spoke, the Yuuzhan Vong let loose an  unintelligible  roar

and launched himself at Jacen. Almost inaudible beneath the alien's  deafening

war cry was the  distinctive  snap-hiss  of  Jacen's  green-bladed  lightsaber

extending. He brought it up between them in a bright blur, sweeping in an  arc

to deflect the intended blow to his neck from the amphistaff.  Then,  shifting

his weight back onto his right leg, he moved to one side, just enough to  miss

the charge of the giant alien. The Yuuzhan Vong swept his amphistaff down  and

around to cut at Jacen's legs as he passed but the Jedi Knight was already off

the ground by that point, kicking outward with his left leg to knock the alien

off balance. Amphistaff and lightsaber clashed again as the  two  other  spies

burst out of their disguises and joined the  fray.  Realizing  they  had  been

discovered, the human sympathizers fell about in a panic.

Any thought that the enemy still had the upper hand  was  soon  dispelled

when the door burst open and the  squadron  of  stormtroopers  filed  in,  the

snouts of their blasters trained on the aliens.  Security  droids  swooped  in

behind them. A quick succession of shots brought down two of the Yuuzhan  Vong

infiltrators. Exposed without their vonduun crab armor, they died  with  their

hideously

scarred visages snarling. The final  warrior  fell  when  he  raised  his

amphistaff high into the air in readiness to bring it down  on  Jacen's  head,

and the young Jedi proved to be too fast. Thrusting his own weapon up high, he

managed to block the Yuuzhan Vong's strike when the warrior had barely started

the downward swing, then seemingly effortlessly brought  his  lightsaber  down

onto the Yuuzhan Vong's torso. Such was the force of the blow that his  weapon

cut almost halfway through the alien's barrel chest before coming to a halt.

Jacen stepped back from the smoking corpse  of  "Torvin  Xyn,"  wiping  a

forearm across his sweat-beaded  face  as  he  turned  to  the  panic-stricken

traitors clustered together away from all the fighting. A few  were  jabbering

apologies and pleas for mercy, lost in the babble of so many people trying  to

speak at once.

"There's no point protesting your innocence," Jacen said loudly. When the

noise settled he let his lightsaber fizz out, replacing the  handgrip  on  his

belt. There was a look on the young Jedi's face that  surprised  Pellaeon,  as

though the fighting he'd just been involved in dismayed him. And yet,  at  the

same time, there was a rocksteady certainty there,  as  well.  "Your  quarters

have been  searched  and  your  movements  monitored.  Your  guilt  is  beyond

question. The only question remaining is whether there are  any  more  of  you

that we should know about."

The cold-eyed intelligence coordinator took a step forward. "Jedi  scum,"

he said, spitting on the floor at  Jacen's  feet.  "You've  only  delayed  the

inevitable."

"Permanently, I hope," Jacen said,  unflustered.  He  looked  around  the

room. "Anyone else have something to say?"

No one answered, but Pellaeon noted two who looked as though  they  might

under different, more  private  circumstances.  With  a  gesture  from  Jacen,

stormtroopers took the prisoners away for interrogation.

The young Jedi sagged back into a chair when everyone had  gone,  pulling

back the sleeve of his robe to speak into a wrist comlink.

"Mission accomplished," he announced tiredly.

His voice came over the private link at the same time as  Pellaeon  heard

it via the microphones in the dummy interview room.

"Well done, Jacen," Mara Skywalker said from Jade Shadow.  "Are  you  all

right?"

Pellaeon watched on as the Solo boy examined the back of his hand.  "Just

a nick," he said. "I'll be fine."  He  glanced  around  at  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

corpses. "This wasn't necessary. They had a chance to come peacefully."

"Did you really think they would?"

"You never know." He half smiled. "Maybe sending their most dangerous and

aggressive warriors in to be killed by us  will  eventually  reduce  the  gene

pool, breed a more temperate Yuuzhan Vong."

Pellaeon had never had occasion to laugh in a bacta tank before,  but  he

couldn't help himself now. "Victory by natural selection? An interesting  game

plan, Solo."

"Requesting permission to fall back behind the mine rings, Grand Admiral,

" Captain Yage interrupted.

Pellaeon had been keeping half an eye on the disposition  of  the  battle

while watching Jacen's handling of the spy situation. The Yuuzhan Vong  fleets

had engaged on all four fronts, with the fighting fiercest where they'd  first

entered the system.

"Permission granted," he said. As the frigate began to drop  to  a  lower

orbit around Borosk, Pellaeon switched to a general command  channel.  To  the

numerous generals, captains, and commanders to whom he entrusted  the  details

of the battle, he said: "Commence fallback. Rule and Protector  battle  groups

first, then Stalwart and Relentless. Orbital control, activate  the  mines  as

soon as the bulk of the enemy  comes  within  range.  Ground,  make  sure  the

targeting systems concentrate  on  the  smaller  ships,  where  possible;  the

shields and mines should keep the capital vessels at bay for us to deal  with.

And remember: we're playing a waiting game. The more we can  bleed  them,  the

more they'll hurt."

A series of affirmatives returned over the line.  With  no  Yuuzhan  Vong

infiltrators left among the Imperial  forces,  Pellaeon  felt  sure  that  the

fallback of his fleet would appear as an unruly retreat  to  the  rigid-minded

warmaster  behind  the  attack.  He  was  confident  that  the  fully  charged

turbolasers and cannons waiting for them down on Borosk below  would  convince

the Yuuzhan Vong of their mistake.

Then, at last, the battle proper could truly begin.

Saba hissed as a slave  carrier  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the  scope,

emerging from the planet's atmosphere. Her tail whacked agitatedly against the

floor as the sight of it brought back the memory of the destruction of her own

planet.

Captain Yage looked up. "What is it?"

The Barabel pointed at the screen. The carrier had come out of hyperspace

well back from the front and was lightly protected. Its tentacles  whipped  at

vacuum like hungry space  slugs  snapping  for  food.  Where  it  had  been  a

flattened sphere before, it was now fatter.

Fuller, Saba thought.

"They are confident of success," she said. A terrible  hunger  gnawed  at

her belly.

"Maybe they have cause to be confident,"  Yage  said  grimly.  The  solid

woman turned aside for a moment to call instructions  to  the  crew  scattered

throughout the ship. The bridge  of  Widowmaker  was  busy  in  a  productive,

controlled away, but still noisy to a Barabel's ears.

"This one can feel them," Saba said, closing her eyes  and  reaching  out

through the Force. Past the many nearby life-sources that comprised the planet

of Borosk and the massed navy of the Empire, and beyond the empty gulf of  the

attacking Yuuzhan Vong, she felt a concentrated scar in the Force—a scar  that

itched  from  pain   and   fear.   She   sensed   suffocation,   imprisonment,

claustrophobia, darkness—all the things she had failed to notice when her  own

people had been taken because of the emotions of anger and rage she  had  been

unable to control. The concentration of those feelings now was too intense  to

ignore—so intense, in fact, that her head reeled from it. But  she  would  not

turn away. She couldn't. She needed to embrace this pain, share in it, in  the

hope that doing so would somehow alleviate some of the guilt she carried.

Hunt the moment.. .

The people inside the carrier had been  stuffed  in  like  animals  being

taken away for slaughter. The chances were that many of them would die  before

they ever reached their destination. As appalling a thought as  that  was  for

Saba, she knew that from the Yuuzhan Vong's point of view it did  make  sense.

To them, these beings were little more than animals, so what did it matter  if

a percentage of the stock was lost in transit, as long as enough  survived  to

fill the armies at the front?

But Saba Sebatyne was a Jedi, and she could not stand by and allow it  to

happen. She had to do something — something that could make up for the  deaths

of all those Barabels she had killed.

How better could they be remembered?

"This one would speak to Jade Shadow," she  said  to  Yage.  The  captain

frowned uncertainly, but made arrangements with her comm officer.

"Over there," she said, pointing to an empty comm station.

Conscious of the eyes of the crew  upon  her—possibly  the  most  obvious

nonhumanoid many had seen up close for years—Saba moved  to  the  station  and

spoke softly into the link: "Mara, this one haz a plan."

There was  a  slight  delay  before  Skywalker  answered.  "You  have  my

attention, Hisser," she said. "Whatever you have in mind, it has to be  belter

than taking potshots and watching Luke's retrothrusters."

"Do you see the slave carrier? This iz the prize. If they lose this,  the

battle will be hollow for them."

"You're saying we should take it out? Saba, we can't do that.  It's  full

of—"

"We do not destroy it," Saba cut in, then paused as  she  considered  the

audacity of what she was about to suggest.  Her  stomach  rumbled.  "This  one

wishez to liberate it."

There was an even  longer  silence  this  time.  "Wait  a  second,"  Mara

eventually said. On the scope, Saba saw Jade Shadow disengage from the battle,

closely followed by Master Skywalker's X-wing. "I'm going to  patch  you  into

the command ring."

The holoprojectors flickered into life, revealing the faces of  Mara  and

Grand Admiral Pellaeon. Saba moved to allow Captain Yage to take the seat.

"Did I just hear right?" Pellaeon asked.

"Saba wants to free the people trapped in that slave-ship," Mara said.

"And what do you think of that?" the Grand Admiral asked.

"I think that's a worthy objective," Mara said.

"Which is not to say it's practical," Pellaeon countered.

"No, but Saba makes a valid point. Taking that carrier ship might save  a

lot of lives, Admiral."

The ageing Imperial nodded, sending wisps of thin white hair  swaying  in

the fluid around him. His expression was mostly hidden behind the breath mask.

"So how would it be done?" he asked. "It's  on  the  other  side  of  the

Yuuzhan Vong fleet."

"Exactly," Saba said. "Attention iz forward, on the attack. The rear will

be vulnerable."

"We'd still have to get past their interdictors," Mara pointed out.  "And

it wouldn't stay vulnerable long. There are an awful lot of capital ships  out

there. An assault party would soon find itself surrounded, Saba, a long,  long

way from backup."

"And they won't bring it forward until they are certain we've lost," Luke

said, inserting himself into the conversation via the comm unit.

"Could that be the way?" Pellaeon asked. "We're on the retreat, anyway."

"Too risky," Yage said. "We'd have to basically give them  Borosk  before

they'd believe us, and there's no guarantee we'd ever get it back."

Pellaeon nodded again, and Saba received the distinct impression that  he

was treating the discussion more as a  theoretical  exercise  than  a  serious

proposal—although she also sensed that he would like someone to make it work.

"We require a sacrifice," she said. "And we muzt deliver it  directly  to

the target."

"I don't understand," Yage said, turning  slightly  to  look  up  at  the

Barabel leaning over her. From so close, the  woman's  scent  was  pungent  in

Saba's nostrils, but not offensive.

"They will guess that we know what the slaveship iz. Perhapz that iz  why

they have produced it so early in the battle. They use it  to  enrage  us,  to

challenge our honor. They are saying, You are  slavez  already.  Jt'z  only  a

matter of time." Saba's blunted claws unsheathed at the insult. Embarrassed by

the reflexive action, she hid her hands behind her back. It seemed  she  could

put the Jedi into the Barabel, but she couldn't always take the Barabel out of

the Jedi. "We attack it, az they are daring us to."

"But if they're daring us, then that means they'll  be  expecting  us  to

respond," Mara said. "Yez. And we will lose."

"I think I'm beginning to follow you," Yage said. "We send in  some  sort

of assault ship to take on the slave carrier.  It  gets  knocked  out  of  the

picture, but not before acting as a diversion for another attack, right?"

"No," Saba said. "It iz the attack. If the ship iz not utterly destroyed,

itz crew will be bounty. They will not waste it."

Pellaeon chuckled  through  his  breath  mask.  "Emperor's  ears—are  you

suggesting what I think you're suggesting? You  don't  mean  'sacrifice':  you

mean bait."

"From the inside," Saba said, nodding enthusiastically, "this one will be

best placed to take over the ship. It iz not a warship, after  all.  It  iz  a

glorified freighter. It will rely on otherz to defend it. At worst,  disabling

it will allow the cargo to be unloaded more easily."

"That's the next problem," Yage said. "Where does that happen?"

"Right there," Mara said. "When Saba has killed the  ship's  brain,  it's

just a matter of getting the captives somewhere safe."

"This one iz thinking of an old trick played on Barab  One,"  Saba  said.

"The best way to poison a bonecrusher iz to feed it live hka'ka that has eaten

poisoned vsst. The bonecrusher doez not taste the poison  until  itz  meal  iz

over—and then it iz already dead." She shrugged her heavy,  scaled  shoulders.

"It iz not an honorable way to hunt, but sometimez it iz better than dying."

The Grand Admiral's expression sobered. "If you  succeed,  it'll  be  the

wildest stunt I've ever seen—and you'll  seal  the  gratitude  of  the  Empire

forever. Turning my back on the people the Vong captured was one of  the  most

soul-destroying things I've ever had to do. It's a burden I'll be happy to  be

rid of."

"Luke?"

"I presume you'll want to be  involved,  Mara,"  Master  Skywalker  said,

ignoring the concerned whistle from R2-D2.

"Jade Shadow would make an ideal poisoned vsst," she said. "And it has  a

tractor beam that I know will come in handy."

"You can count me in, too," said Danni, her head  appearing  over  Mara's

shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Mara asked, frowning slightly.

"Saba and I have worked together  before,"  she  said,  "and  this'll  be

another great opportunity to see Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology at work up close."

"Too close for my liking," Yage muttered. "But it's your choice, I guess.

"

Pellaeon's eyes were dancing behind the translucent shell of  his  visor.

He was clearly seeing 3-D views hidden from those watching his  hologram.  "If

we're going to do this, then let's get moving," he said. "Every minute delayed

is another minute my pilots are out there getting killed. We have a lot to put

in place in a very short time, and I think I might've found our—what  was  it,

Saba?"

"Hka'ka," she supplied.

"Yes," said Pellaeon. "You Jedi might be crazy, but  those  are  Imperial

lives you're saving. I don't want anything to go wrong. Is that understood?"

Remembering the recent massive and tragic losses of her own people,  Saba

could only nod solemnly.

Nom Anor woke to the sound of screams and the realization that,  even  in

the depths of Yuuzhan'tar, he would never be safe.

Years of backstabbing—sometimes literally—his  way  toward  the  top  had

taught him to be a light sleeper. It was a habit that  had  served  him  well,

saving his life more than once in the years before his exile. But  even  here,

in the bowels of the planet, he slept with the coufee he  had  carved  from  a

discarded flake of coral within reach at all times, and the socket  containing

his plaeryin bol always half open.  If  anyone  was  fool  enough  to  attempt

attacking him during the night, they would wind  up  dead  within  moments  of

intruding in his sleeping quarters.

This reflexive response had almost brought one of his new  companions  to

an unfortunate end a week earlier. Quite unexpectedly, considering he had done

nothing to curry her favor, he'd been visited in the dark  hours  by  Nii-riit

Esh. In his usual semiconscious state he had sensed  her  presence  and  leapt

from his sleeping mat, limbs instinctively adopting an  attacking  stance  and

his coufee whipping out to slash his attacker across the throat.

He had barely reined in the attack in time. The faintest of lambent glows

had revealed the shock in  her  eyes—as  well  as  the  hurt.  Silent  in  her

mortification, she had hurried  from  the  room,  her  simple  shift  swishing

against the shell walls as she retreated to her chamber.

In the couple of heartbeats after she had fled,  he  realized  with  some

embarrassment that she had almost certainly been unarmed, and that  there  had

been no intentions of hostility in her actions. Far from it.

But that had been then; this awakening left nothing in doubt: he and  the

other Shamed Ones were under attack.

From the commotion outside, Nom Anor knew that the scream that had awoken

him had been the sentry, Yus Sh'roth, being killed. It was a shame, he thought

idly; the former shaper had been a vital member of this  community  of  Shamed

Ones. Nevertheless, Nom Anor neither had the time or the desire to grieve. The

fact was, Sh'roth's death scream could mean life for the  others,  because  it

gave them time to ready themselves for the invaders—whoever they were.

Maybe,  he  thought,  it  was  nothing  more  than  a  loner   that   had

inadvertently stumbled upon the camp and been surprised by Sh'roth; or perhaps

even just another band of Shamed Ones hoping to make a silent raid  while  the

camp slept, trying to steal some food—

But, no. He was fooling himself. The sound of am-phistaffs cracking  left

no doubt in his mind that these attackers were warriors. Their  camp  was  too

deep to have been fallen upon by some passing patrol,  which  meant  only  one

thing: these warriors, these trained killers, had been  deliberately  sent  to

wipe it out.

The certainty was more than enough to  spur  Nom  Anor  into  action.  He

quickly gathered his things and left his humble dwelling, knowing  as  he  did

that it was unlikely he would ever return. Outside he was almost  bowled  over

by someone dashing past in a wild panic,  heading  down  the  long,  spiraling

corridor that ran the length of the disused ventilation shaft. Probably I'pan,

he thought, given  the  wily  thief's  knack  for  getting  out  of  difficult

situations.

Waiting in the shadows a second longer, Nom Anor listened  carefully  for

the sound of anyone pursuing I'pan. But there was  none.  All  he  heard  were

distant footfalls and muffled cries. He didn't know how  many  warriors  there

were, but it was clear they had the upper hand. The cavern was quickly filling

with the sound of the Shamed Ones' massacre.

Not this Shamed One, Nom Anor swore to himself, turning to  follow  I'pan

down the corridor into the depths of the shaft where  the  chuk'a  hibernated,

and wishing his former companions speedy  passages  to  the  afterlife—if  one

awaited them. The Shamed Ones had, without question, saved him from  what  had

been a very difficult situation when he'd fled Shimrra's wrath. He had  lasted

longer than expected by eating granite slugs, but  eventually  he  would  have

succumbed to this alien environment and died—at the hands of  a  predator,  or

from something as simple and stupid as drinking poisoned water. He  owed  them

his life and, thanks to their stories about the Jedi, there was  every  chance

he owed them his future, too.

But what future would he have, he asked himself, if he were to charge  up

the corridor now and throw himself at a squad of fully armed warriors? He  was

just one against an unknown number.

He had owed a few people his life before. He owed no one a death.

With that in mind, he pulled a lambent from the wall and headed off  down

the gentle, curving slope in the direction I'pan had taken. Before  he'd  even

taken a dozen steps, though, a high-pitched shriek brought him to a  halt.  He

stood still for a moment, looking back in the direction  of  the  scream,  and

knowing in his heart that it had come from Niiriit Esh. He hesitated for  what

seemed like an eternity, his newfound sense of responsibility  causing  within

him a tremendous conflict. Niiriit might have been Shamed, but she was still a

warrior,

and she would never have run away from a battle. She would have fought to

the death, for honor, for Yun-Yammka, for—

He shook his head vigorously. This was all wrong, he told himself. He was

still thinking of her in terms he knew from the world above. But  she  was  no

longer a warrior; she was a Shamed One. She wouldn't have given  her  life  to

Yun-Yammka, the Slayer; she would have sacrificed herself to save her friends,

as the Jedi did. Her memory deserved the truth, even if it still felt wrong to

him.

He turned and continued down the passage, practically smelling the  blood

lust of the killing squad chasing him into the darkness.

The hulking mass of  an  old  Katana-dass  Dreadnaught  lumbered  out  of

Borosk's lower orbits, where it had been lurking unnoticed since the beginning

of the battle. Saba was familiar with its type; she knew her history well.  It

was a survivor of the Dark  Force  fleet  that  Admiral  Thrawn  had  used  so

effectively against the New Republic. Reclaimed and  refitted  with  centrally

computerized slave-rigging units, it operated with a  bare  minimum  of  crew.

Even so, its sluggish hyperdrive and weak shields had left such vessels sorely

outclassed by more recent ships, and Saba  was  surprised  to  see  one  still

operating. She wasn't the only one.

"That heap of junk isn't going to get us very far," Mara  had  said  upon

seeing it.

"That's exactly what you're supposed to  think,"  Pel-laeon  had  replied

over the comm. "And besides, it's not supposed to."

By then, Saba had changed ships  and  changed  into  one  of  the  brown,

lightly armored jumpsuits that had become standard for Jedi Knights going into

close combat with the Yuuzhan Vong ever since the  mission  to  the  worldship

orbiting Myrkr. Danni Quee had also slipped into one and was sitting nervously

with Saba as they listened in on the discussion  about  the  ship  that  would

ferry them into position. Saba's claws twitched in readiness,  filled  with  a

primal need to strike back at the ones that had taken her people from her. How

better could they be remembered? "I've been saving it for a  suicide  strike,"

the Grand Admiral had gone on to explain. "It's designed  to  die  twice.  The

first time, what the enemy sees is selective field failures and shaped charges

designed to make it look like the engines have failed.  Then,  when  it  looks

like it's adrift in vacuum, it comes  back  to  life  and  takes  everyone  by

surprise." "You hope," Mara had put in wryly. Pellaeon  had  shrugged  in  his

tank. "That's the plan, anyway. We've never had cause to use it before."

"The difference between a fake death and a real one is  slim,"  Mara  had

commented.

"I am aware of that," he'd said soberly. "That's why the crew  complement

has been reduced to the bare minimum. We found some old  combat  droid  brains

moth-balled  in  storage.  Emperor  Palpatine  recovered  them  when  Governor

Beltane's SD project fell in a heap, decades ago. Since there's never been  an

SD-Eleven and we needed every resource we've got, I figured we  could  combine

the two and create something new. This ship is pretty much capable  of  flying

itself to the target, maintaining a convincing semblance  of  attack,  keeping

its crew alive while the outer  shell  'dies,'  then  commencing  the  second,

covert operation in accordance with new instructions. There's plenty  of  room

on the inside for stabilizers and inertial dampeners; it's  basically  just  a

hollow shell. Ordinarily we'd crew it with a squadron of TIE fighters and some

troopers, blow the shell when surprise can  be  maximized,  then  retreat,  if

possible. But I'm sure we can make room for other cargo."

On the way in, Saba knew, "other cargo" meant Jade Shadow and  a  reduced

TIE fighter contingent. If  all  went  according  to  plan,  the  Dreadnaught—

originally Braxant Brave, but hastily renamed Braxant Bonecrusher in honor  of

her  plan—would  cram  its  empty  heart  with  liberated  slaves.   A   rapid

repressurization unit had been installed at one end of the massive space; Jade

Shadow's tractor beam would help capture the slave carrier and  its  contents;

force fields would keep the air and cargo in long enough for the ship to  jump

to safety while Jade Shadow and the fighters covered its back.

That was the plan, anyway. It was,  as  Pellaeon  had  suggested,  almost

crazy enough to work. Saba kept her thoughts  carefully  away  from  what  she

would like to do to  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  if  the  chance  arose.  Instead  she

concentrated on the people in the slaveship. They were what mattered. Not her.

Not what she had lost.

"All in place," came Jacen's voice over the secure corn-link. "Ready  for

you to dock, Aunt Mara."

Jade Shadow's thrusters fired  to  jockey  it  into  the  same  orbit  as

Bonecrusher. "All systems go?" Mara asked.

"Initial jump locked in; the drives are hot. We're ready when you are."

Jacen had wanted to be involved in the mission  as  soon  as  he'd  heard

about it. Pellaeon, however, had advised against it.

"You should stay behind," the Grand Admiral had  said.  "That's  where  a

responsible leader belongs."

Jacen had seemed mystified by this. "But I'm not leading anyone."

"One day you will," Pellaeon had said, "and  you  owe  it  to  those  who

follow you to be there for them, both during and after a campaign."

The comments had been a compliment to Jacen's character,  but  it  didn't

seem to compensate for the idea of being left out of  the  mission.  While  he

obviously appreciated the Grand Admiral's confidence in him, he still did  not

want to be left behind. In the end, he had eventually forced a compromise.  He

would be the human brain behind the droid minds during Bonecrusher's elaborate

ruse, hidden away inside the Dreadnaught shell, where it was  safe,  and  from

where he was currently directing the operation. As  sophisticated  as  the  SD

combat droids had been, they were no match for a Jedi, and  Saba  felt  better

knowing that she could trust the Dreadnaught to do what it was supposed to  do

with Jacen behind it. Once she and Danni were in the slaveship, she wanted  to

know that there would be somewhere to escape to on the way out.

Danni checked her pressure seals for what seemed like the thousandth time

as Jade Shadow nudged its way into Bonecrusher's ordinary-looking flight deck.

They had enough air for six hours. If they weren't out  by  then,  they  would

need to locate pressurized areas on the slaveship, or find alternate  ways  to

breathe.

"It'z okay," Saba told Danni, who had moved from nervously  checking  her

suit seals to rummaging through her instrument pack,  making  sure  she'd  not

left anything behind. "Remember yammosk hunting."

"That was easy compared to this." Danni looked much younger with her hair

pulled back into the hood of the jumpsuit; at barely  half  Saba's  mass,  she

wouldn't have even passed for a Barabel child. But Saba was under no  illusion

as to what the woman was capable of. She had  survived  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  on

numerous occasions. Some people had even joked that she was a good-luck charm.

Saba didn't know about that, but she  did  know  that  the  woman  was  Force-

sensitive, and that had to work in their favor.

Her breaths came in long, deep waves, filling  her  with  an  energy  she

hadn't felt for  months.  The  thought  of  the  challenge  was  exciting  and

unnerving at the same time. She told herself that she was equal to it, but she

knew that it didn't matter if she wasn't. She had to try. It was the only  way

she would ever be free.

A series of deep clangs announced that Jade Shadow had passed through the

flight deck's fake inner hull and docked with the heavy grapnels  designed  to

withstand the shaking the Dreadnaught would receive during the early stages of

its mission. Over Mara's shoulder, Saba could see two rows of  closely  packed

TIE fighters cradled in cushioning energy  nets.  The  fake  flight  deck  was

filled with older TIE fighters piloted by  less  sophisticated  droid  brains,

designed to act as decoys during the initial attack. "Breaking  orbit,"  Jacen

said. The ship might have been old, but its  inertial  dampeners  were  first-

rate. Saba felt nothing at all as its drives engaged. "Heading  for  the  jump

point."

"Fly well, Braxant Bonecrusher," came Grand Admiral Pellaeon's voice over

the comm. "We'll keep them as busy as we can for you down here."

"Thanks, Gilad," Mara said. "Just make sure you're still around  to  pick

up our pieces afterward." "It will be my pleasure to return the  favor."  Saba

felt a stirring through the Force as though Luke and his departing  wife  were

communicating in private — and then there  was  nothing  but  the  silence  of

hyperspace. Her connection with the living universe was  gone.  They  were  on

their way.

"First jump engaged," Jacen said.

"Trim optimal," interceded a droid voice, deep but  with  jarring,  nasal

overtones—the voice of the  droid  brains  doing  the  job  normally  done  by

thousands of crew. "Projection optimal. All systems optimal."

"ETA?"

"Seven point five-three standard minutes," the droid replied.  "Perfectly

optimal."

"I don't suppose above optimal is an option, is it?" Jacen asked.

"Good question," Mara said, pushing her hair back from her  face  as  she

leaned back into her molded flight seat. "If we could shave off a few seconds,

that could only be a good thing."

"Anything other than optimal would be wasteful," the droid replied.

Saba sissed slightly at the droid's annoying pragmatism.  "I  can't  help

wishing we had a few of Lando Cal-rissian's YVH droids here to lend us a hand,

" Danni said as she looked up from adjusting the webbing of her pack.  "You're

not the only one," Mara said sourly. "They might show  those  SD  brains  that

they've got more to worry about than being precisely on schedule. Obsolescence

is a terrible thing for a droid, you know."

Jacen chuckled, but the droid remained  silent.  Saba  hissed  again  and

settled back to wait, her claws retracted and tail relaxed, to all appearances

a perfect example of Jedi patience. Only another Barabel would have recognized

the signs of nervousness she was actually displaying: the slight stiffness  to

the scales down her back and the restless  extension  and  retraction  of  her

inner eyelids.  Not  even  her  Jedi  training  could  completely  remove  her

anxieties. Hunt the moment.. .

The tunnel extruded by the chuk'a ended in a complicated series of whorls

and loops, all of them easily large enough to admit an adult.  There  were  no

rooms as such, just random chambers spawned  like  bubbles  in  blorash  jelly

where the chuk'a had meandered to a halt. The lambent Nom Anor  held  high  in

his hand sent strange colors and oily reflections dancing all around him.  The

going was difficult, and Nom Anor stepped carefully on the  slippery  surface,

wary of sharp edges. He wasn't sure how far the torturous passages led; all he

knew was that the top of the chuk'a itself was to be found at the very  lowest

point of the passage. There its soft tissues would be exposed  and  sensitive;

there lay his means of escape.

As he wove through the basement of the place he had briefly called  home,

he became aware of the sound of breathing. At first he thought it  might  have

been his own echoing back, but the faint thudding noise  that  accompanied  it

suggested otherwise. He smothered the lambent  in  his  fingers,  turning  the

light it cast a dull red, and followed the sounds to their source.

Creeping around a jagged hairpin bend, he saw a huddled figure  crouching

on the floor of a dead end, dressed in the familiar rags of a Shamed One.  Nom

Anor felt his body sag in relief as he exhaled heavily. For a  moment  he  had

feared it might be a warrior sent to cut off escape.  "I'pan,  you  fool,"  he

said. "You almost—" He stopped when the figure turned to face him.  It  wasn't

I'pan at all. It was Kunra.

The disgraced warrior half rose to his feet, holding  a  chunk  of  yorik

coral in his right hand. It was black-stained in the reddish light.

"What are you doing here?" Kunra asked, making no  attempt  to  hide  the

bitterness he held for Nom Anor.

"I could ask you the same thing," Nom Anor said.  "But  I  imagine  we're

both here for the same reason." The warrior looked down, then back up  at  Nom

Anor.

"That is the chuk'a cap, isn't it?" Nom Anor added, indicating the bloody

patch by the warrior's feet.

With its job done, the shell-excreting chuk'a now blocked the rest of the

shaft and acted as plug, keeping any subterranean dwellers from coming up from

below — as well as preventing anyone from going down. Opening that plug  would

allow him, and Kunra, to get away before the warriors reached them,  and  with

any luck they might not follow them down into the darkness.

But the creature's "cap" was anchored  securely  into  the  side  of  the

shaft, and getting it to withdraw those anchors wasn't easy. There was a soft,

spongy layer of flesh just below the hardened cap, and somewhere beneath  that

was the nerve connected to the creature's right ganglion  network.  Once  that

nerve was stimulated, the cap's multiple pincers that  were  thrust  into  the

rock would retract defensively, causing the chuk'a to fall. From the blood  on

Kunra's hand and around his feet, Nom Anor guessed he hadn't had much  success

doing that.

Kunra  nodded  in  response  to  Nom  Anor's  question.  "But  it's   not

responding. I can't reach it."

"Let me try." Nom Anor moved forward, handing the lambent to the  warrior

and pulling the homemade coufee from his belt. He did this slowly, making sure

Kunra had a chance to see the blade before stooping over to examine the fleshy

portion of the shell-making beast. Then he set about  digging  for  the  nerve

with the point of his coufee. It wasn't easy;  he  was  distracted  the  whole

time, constantly wondering whether Kunra would vent his  dislike  of  the  ex-

executor by bringing the piece of yorik coral down on the back of his head. "I

can't see," he said. "Move the light over here." The light  wobbled  as  Kunra

shifted, then steadied at a more useful angle. Nom Anor breathed  an  internal

sigh

of relief. We are allies again, he thought. For now,  anyway.  But  there

are still things I need to know.

"Did you lead them here?" he asked without turning to  face  Kunra.  "The

warriors?"

"No!" The shock in  Kunra's  voice  that  such  a  thing  could  even  be

suggested left no doubt in Nom Anor's mind that the ex-warrior was telling the

truth. "What would make you think such a thing?"

Nom Anor shrugged. "You and I were the only ones who got away, and I know

I didn't call them." He glanced up. The ex-warrior's face was a mess of  half-

finished scars and internal anguish.

"It wasn't me," Kunra reasserted. "I  don't  know  why  they're  here.  I

escaped because—" He hesitated for a second then forced out the words: "I  was

with Sh'roth when they came. While they fought him, I—I ran."

Nom Anor studied Kunra a moment longer, then returned to  his  work  with

barely a nod of acknowledgment. I ran. That explained  everything:  why  Kunra

had been the only one given enough time to escape, and why he  was  Shamed  in

the first place. Warriors  didn't  run,  no  matter  what  the  circumstances;

judging by the look on Kunra's face, this clearly wasn't the first time he had

displayed cowardly tendencies. He was probably lucky to have escaped the first

time with just a Shaming.

"Then what brought them here, do you think?" he asked. He  couldn't  help

but wonder if someone else had betrayed him to the authorities. If Shimrra had

learned of his existence, sending such a band of warriors to finish him off in

the dead of night was exactly the kind of thing he'd do.

"What else?" Kunra said, more animated after the change of subject.  "The

one thing the high castes are afraid of, of course: the heresy."

Nom Anor admitted to himself that the idea made sense. The priests  would

tolerate the Jedi sect as much as Shimrra would the Jedi  themselves,  perhaps

even less. The Shamed Ones preaching it would be the enemy within, and rooting

them out would be a priority. But if that was the case, then why had he  never

heard of such cleansing raids through the underworld of Yuuzhan'tar before his

fall from grace? He assumed the answer to that lay in  the  nebulous  way  the

message spread: even if Shimrra captured a convert, that one would  only  lead

him to two or three others, who would in turn lead him nowhere, or in circles.

There was no clear trail—as Nom Anor himself could attest.  He  had  tried  to

find it, and failed.

Perhaps his own inquiries had, for the first time,  established  a  clear

trail to follow. He might have brought premature death down  upon  his  fellow

Shamed Ones by trying to find a way to use their beliefs to his  own  end.  If

so, the irony wasn't lost on him. Without them—and without a way  out  of  the

bottom of the shaft—he might very well find himself caught in a  trap  he  had

inadvertently laid for himself.

Frustration made him stab deep into the chuk'a cap over and  over  again,

until his right arm was buried in it up to his elbow, black with gore. Finally

he felt the creature respond with a spasm, and knew he had to be close to  the

nerve. He twisted the blade deeper, and for his effort felt  a  tremor  ripple

through the chuk'a. Another twist and the tissue  around  his  hand  tightened

like muscle pulling taut. Fearing his fingers might be broken—or  worse,  that

he might lose the only weapon he had left—he hastily pulled  the  coufee  from

the cap. A spurt of dark blood followed it, and the shell  around  them  shook

even more.

Kunra looked relieved.

"You've done this before?" he asked, the beginnings of  a  smile  on  his

scarred lips. Nom Anor was about to confess that in fact  he  had  never  done

anything like this in his life, when the floor suddenly fell out from  beneath

them, consigning them both to the depths of the vent.

Not far from Jade Shadow, Jacen Solo's thoughts were very much focused on

the present, not the future. In the minutes remaining till the  end  of  jump,

there was so much to do: systems to familiarize himself with, droid brains  to

program, decoy strategies to scrutinize, along with innumerable  other  checks

to be made on an unfamiliar system. It was time-consuming, but necessary. Once

he gave the order to jump, then the mission would  truly  be  under  way,  and

there wouldn't be time to make sure everything was in order.

Sealed in the cockpit of a  flightless  TIE  fighter  that  was  in  turn

wrapped in an energy web dense enough to  stop  a  comet—all  of  it  huddling

inside the belly of Braxant Bonecrusher with  Jade  Shadow  and  numerous  TIE

fighters—he was electronically patched into the mind of  the  Dreadnaught  and

able to oversee its every move. He  felt  like  a  Phindian  puppeteer,  using

tricks of light to cast shadows many times larger than himself onto a  screen.

Jacen only hoped the Yuuzhan Vong would be fooled by  the  illusion.  If  they

weren't, the Dread-naught wouldn't last long, and the mission would  turn  out

to be very short indeed. It packed only the one surprise; once that  was  gone

there would be nothing else. All they'd have to rely upon then was  luck.  And

while good fortune was one of the things his family was famous for, it was not

something he wanted to base the success of this mission  upon.  The  death  of

Anakin had proven once and for all that luck  did  not  stay  in  one's  favor

indefinitely.

The seconds ticked by as he continued his last-minute checks. The  chores

were complicated, but they only occupied the analytical  part  of  his  brain.

Another part — the more intuitive section that  he  usually  assigned  to  the

understanding of his place in the Force—turned  to  Danni  and  Saba  in  Jade

Shadow. As he observed them and their own preparations  from  a  distance,  he

suddenly realized just how little he was really adding to the mission  itself:

he was there mainly just to double-check what the SD brains  would  be  doing.

Nevertheless, he still believed it was important for him to be around  for  at

least part of the mission. And he believed it for reasons that, until now,  he

had kept hidden even from himself.. .

Danni's nervousness touched him deeply. She didn't have a lightsaber or a

full Jedi's training  in  the  Force;  she  would  essentially  rely  on  Saba

throughout this mission into the belly of the slaveship;  but  she  was  still

going, and her courage made him like her even more. He vividly remembered  the

moment they had shared while waiting for Captain Yage to  board  Jade  Shadow.

There had been something there, a connection of some kind. Had that  been  the

result of boredom?  he  wondered.  Or  was  it  evidence  of  larger,  genuine

feelings? There was no denying he'd had a mild, juvenile crush on her  shortly

after rescuing her from the Yuuzhan Vong on Helska 4,  but  that  had  been  a

fleeting and insignificant thing. He had put it down to mere emotions affected

by circumstances, nothing more, and so had effectively  buried  the  impulses.

But now those feelings were back, and what troubled  him  more  than  anything

else was how it had taken so little to rouse them.

When the mission was over, he would have to examine  the  situation  more

closely. And delicately, of course. He  had  proven  himself  as  a  pilot,  a

warrior, and—some would say—a Jedi, but when it came to matters of the  heart,

he was a definite novice.

"Jump complete," the droid brains announced,  snapping  him  out  of  his

reverie.

"Er—halfway there," Jacen said quickly to the others,  worried  that  any

hesitation might somehow reveal something of his thoughts.  His  fingers  flew

over the controls, calculating then laying in the second jump. The  layout  of

the instruments in the TIE cockpit was different from what he was used to, but

not radically dissimilar.

"That sounds just optimal," Mara said from the cockpit  of  Jade  Shadow,

not far from where he was sitting.

"Correct," the droid brain said. They hadn't been programmed to recognize

sarcasm.

Jacen's course matched that of the droid brains. Unless the slaveship had

radically altered position, they should come out practically on top of it.

He okayed the jump. According to the instruments, the drives surged  back

into life; thanks to the  energy  web,  he  felt  as  though  they'd  remained

completely stationary.

"On our way," he informed the passengers of Jade Shadow. "We'll be  there

soon."

"In seven point four-seven standard minutes," the  droid  brain  informed

them.  "Tactical  circuits  engaged.  TIE  decoys  ready  for  launch.  Shield

generators programmed. Hull detonators primed."

The droid brains cycled through  their  precombat  checklist  once  every

minute with no variation. Jacen found himself half hypnotized  by  the  steady

mantra, and his mind began to wander again. His thoughts turned to Danni  once

more, and he called up a view of Jade Shadow's cockpit,  where  she  and  Saba

waited with Mara for the mission to truly begin. Her breathing became  heavier

as her tension increased. But there was an edge of excitement to that tension—

and it was infectious, too. He could feel  his  own  heart  beating  a  little

faster, and his palms began to sweat.. .

He was thankful when the droid brain announced their imminent arrival. He

busied himself with double and triple checks to Braxant Bonecrusher's systems,

ensuring everything was locked down nice and tight — including himself.

"Here we go," he said over the comlink. "Hang on. This  is  going  to  be

rough."

"I'm sure you'll  look  after  us,  Jacen,"  his  aunt  said.  He  smiled

uncomfortably at her confidence in him.

Not if I don't focus on what I'm doing, he thought to himself.

"Five seconds," the droid brain announced. "Status: optimal. Three.  Two.

One."

The white of hyperspace streaked and  became  stars  as  the  Dreadnaught

barreled back into realspace with all the subtlety  of  an  asteroid.  Sensors

swept the immediate area, searching for the slaveship. Once  it  was  found  —

almost exactly where predicted—the Dreadnaught's cannons and batteries  locked

on and began firing at the tentacles. At the same time, the squadron of  decoy

TIE fighters launched from the flight deck and swooped in to attack.

This was a crucial phase in the operation, and Jacen  couldn't  help  but

feel anxious. The attack had to be stiff enough to convince the  Yuuzhan  Vong

that it was a serious threat, but not so stiff that it would seriously  damage

the slaveship. The last thing they wanted to do was burst it open and  destroy

its contents.

But there seemed to be little danger of doing that. The  slave  freighter

was armored against attack, and its tentacles were tough. It  wasn't  equipped

with plasma guns to defend itself, and its dovin basals weren't responding the

same way as those on combat vessels,  but  coralskippers  soon  launched  from

nearby vessels and powered hard to intercept the  attack.  Jacen  watched  the

views on the  screens  surrounding  him  with  apprehension,  fists  clenching

uneasily: it was impossible not to be nervous so deep in enemy territory, with

so little standing between success and destruction.

But then, that was the point.  They  were  pretending  to  be  a  suicide

mission, and the Yuuzhan Vong would instinctively accept it as  such.  It  fit

perfectly into their philosophy. The arrogance of  the  species  didn't  allow

them to learn from their mistakes, it seemed—or at least  accept  that  others

thought differently from them.

The droid brains were in their element  here.  Scattered  throughout  the

ship but linked by a high-speed network, they fired turbolasers and  bolstered

shields while broadcasting objectives to the simpler TIE fighter brains. Their

reports were uniformly flat-toned and perfectly objective. Even when  a  freak

missile squeaked through the shields and took out one of their own, the  pitch

of reporting didn't vary. This was battle,  Jacen  thought,  and  losses  were

expected. The  droids  probably  regarded  the  jolting  and  jarring  of  the

Dreadnaught as an indication that they were doing their job properly.

Two TIE fighters were destroyed almost instantly when the skips  arrived;

another three fell within the following minute. The remainder of the  fighters

managed to  cripple  one  of  the  slaveship's  tentacles,  while  Bonecrusher

dispatched three coralskippers using the random-stutter  technique  Jacen  had

programmed into the droid gunners. For a brief  moment  it  looked  like  they

might hold out longer than anticipated, but then fortune's tide turned and the

TIE fighters were destroyed with deadly precision.

Within minutes, the last one had been  picked  out  of  the  sky  by  two

converging streams of  plasma.  Barely  had  the  burning  cloud  of  wreckage

dissipated when the attack turned on the Dreadnaught itself, pounding it  from

every direction. The droid brains brought the craft about, as though intending

to flee. Skips swooped around it, firing round after round into  its  shields.

Explosions rocked the ship as one by one the shields were permitted  to  fail.

Debris sprayed into space as one of  the  hyperdrive  engines  blew,  rattling

Jacen in his protected roost like he was nothing more than a  die  in  a  cup.

Even through the hull of the Dreadnaught, the energy web, and the TIE  cockpit

shell, there was still enough leftover energy to give him a shake. The  steady

thrum of Bonecrusher's generators stuttered as the Dreadnaught's course  began

to twist back upon itself.

That was all the encouragement the Yuuzhan Vong needed. Sensing the kill,

they sent streams of plasma fire into the weakened points along the hull. Quad

batteries exploded; deflector shield projector bays burst into flames  as  air

leaked out of decompressing decks; the Dread-naught's rounded,  almost  beaked

nose burst open as though its command  decks  had  been  breached.  Artificial

gravity failed along  with  the  remaining  drives.  Then  the  reserve  power

generators took a direct hit, blowing an enormous hole  in  the  side  of  the

ship, venting air and even more debris into the vacuum.

Then it was over. Generators shut down and—since Jacen was there to bring

them back when required—the SD droid brains shut  down  with  them.  Something

groaned deep and long as the Dreadnaught settled into a state  of  inactivity.

The clanking and rattling of debris escaping through gashes in the outer  hull

sounded like garbage being ground and mangled in a compactor.

Eventually total silence fell in the secret  heart  of  the  ship.  Jacen

unconsciously held  his  breath,  sensing  the  TIE  fighter  pilots  and  his

crewmates in Jade Shadow doing the  same.  This  was  the  moment  that  would

determine whether the mission failed or succeeded. If the Yuu-zhan Vong didn't

believe the ship to be truly dead, then they certainly soon would be.

To the rest of the universe, the Braxant Bonecrusher looked as though  it

had spent its fighters in a failed attack and  been  taken  out  itself.  With

everything powered down, there would be no  reason  to  suspect  that  another

squadron waited within for the word to launch, along with Jade  Shadow,  Jacen

in his TIE cockpit, and the droid brains. Everything depended on this illusion

remaining intact.

Jacen had only two holocams on the hull transmitting data back to him. He

kept his eyes on the views—one above the breach in the Dreadnaught's back, the

other from the stern,  looking  along  the  ship.  Stars  rotated  around  the

Dreadnaught; the last explosion had given it a convincing tumble.

It was Mara who finally broke the silence. "Anything, Jacen?"  She  spoke

in barely a whisper.

"Nothing conclusive yet," he returned equally as  quietly.  "They're  not

firing, which is a good thing, but the slaveship isn't visible at the  moment,

either."

"This one iz convinced by the quiet," Saba said.

Jacen listened. It was impossible to hear through a vacuum, so  what  the

Yuuzhan Vong were doing would be impossible to detect aurally. But there was a

quality to the silence that suggested Saba was right:  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  had

called off the attack. What happened next was not yet  known,  but  there  was

really only one possibility.

"Okay," he said. "Everyone take your positions. I'll  click  you  when  I

have something definite."

Jacen reached out into the Force. Good luck, he sent to Danni  and  Saba.

If they received the thought, they were too busy to respond.

He picked up a slight electromagnetic hum as the yacht's air lock  cycled

through, but he doubted anyone outside the ship would notice. And if they did,

they were likely to put it down to the wreckage settling. Ships took  time  to

die all the way through. There might  be  pockets  of  mechanical  life  still

ticking futilely away. There might even be survivors.. .

A shadow moved across the screens in front of  him.  He  stiffened,  even

though he knew what to expect. Braxant  Bonecrusher's  slow  roll  around  its

center of gravity brought the slaveship gradually  back  into  view  a  minute

later—and, sure enough, it was looming much larger than before.

Jacen clicked once to confirm that everything was going to plan. A second

later, a powerful jolt ran through the Dreadnaught. For a  second  he  thought

that that one almost imperceptible click might have given them away, until  he

realized that what he'd in fact felt was the  dovin  basal  of  the  slaveship

grabbing on to Bonecrusher.

Everything's going according to plan, said Mara. His aunt had sent out  a

bubble of both encouragement and reassurance to everyone on board.

Another jolt followed, accompanied by the sound  of  twisting  metal.  He

feared for  the  structural  integrity  of  the  ship;  without  the  inertial

dampeners, it wasn't used to such stresses on its frame.  Thankfully,  though,

it held.

When everything settled down again, the stars were no  longer  moving  as

fast, and the slaveship was rotating, too, anchored to the hull of Bonecrusher

by the Yuuzhan Vong's version of artificial gravity. It  was  coming  at  them

tentacles-first, like something out of a nightmare.

He clicked again, this time speaking into the comm.

"They've got us," he said. "And our friendly slaveship is moving in fast.

"

"Any sign of the ships?" Mara asked.

"I think it's safe to assume that most of them have gone  back  to  their

capital vessels," he answered. "They seem to have left just enough to—"

A voice over the comlink cut him off. Although not allowed  to  transmit,

the Dreadnaught's receivers were still intact.

"This is Commander B'shith Vorrik," said an abrasive Yuuzhan Vong  voice.

Jacen  was  initially  nonplussed.  The  villips  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  used  to

communicate among themselves didn't transmit over electromagnetic frequencies,

unless they were modified by an oggzil. The only reason they would use one  of

those would be to speak to the enemy—and that was confirmed with Vorrik's next

words: "All infidels will surrender immediately, or be destroyed."

Jacen's heart sank. The commander knew they  were  there.  The  plan  had

failed; it had all been for nothing!

Wait, Jacen, Mara sent, sensing the despair welling up inside of him.

"We have no intention of surrendering  to  become  slaves"  came  another

voice over the receiver.

The growled words came from Grand Admiral Gilad  Pellaeon.  Jacen  almost

laughed out loud in relief: the Yuuzhan Vong's ultimatum had been addressed to

the Imperials, not Braxant Bonecrusher at all.

"Surrender the Jedi you harbor among you," Vorrik continued.

Jacen chuckled grimly to himself. Clearly the tactics they had introduced

to the Imperials hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Why should we turn on those who help us?" Pellaeon replied.

"What good is the  help  if  it  results  in  your  destruction?"  Vorrik

responded.

"You attacked us without provocation," Pellaeon shot back. "It would seem

our destruction was always your intention."

"The presence of the Jedi is provocation enough," Vorrik  growled.  "Your

resistance is provocation! Your very existence is provocation! Now, power down

your weapons, infidel, and surrender."

"I have a better idea," Pellaeon said evenly. "Leave the system now while

you're still in a position to do so."

Jacen knew that the Grand Admiral was playjng for time—either that or  he

wanted to seem as if this was what he was doing. With the Dreadnaught  powered

down around him, there was no way of telling the disposition of  the  Imperial

forces, but he assumed that Pellaeon was still working to the  original  plan:

to make it appear as if they were in retreat.  B'shith  Vorrik's  announcement

was probably nothing more than an attempt to hurry things along.

The Yuuzhan Vong commander's laugh boomed out from me receivers. "If  you

were counting on the cowardly attack to our rear flanks to change  the  course

of this battle," he said, "then you should  know  that  it  has  failed.  Your

survival, now, fool, rests solely upon my goodwill."

Grand Admiral Pellaeon hesitated just long enough to give the  impression

that this news had rattled him.

"I don't think there's an atom of goodwill in  the  entire  Yuuzhan  Vong

culture," he said. There was a tremor in his voice. Jacen had  to  admit,  the

Grand Admiral was playing his role well. "We would sooner die than  submit  to

you, Vorrik."

"Then so be it," Vorrik said, laughing again. "And may Yun-Yammka  devour

your bodies as well as your souls."

The Yuuzhan Vong  commander  added  something  more,  but  Jacen  stopped

listening. A faint click had indicated that Saba  and  Danni  had  arrived  in

position and were preparing to cross over to the slaveship.

Cross over... Jacen shook his head. If that wasn't a euphemism, he didn't

know what was. He felt Mara joining him in wishing  Saba  and  Danni  luck  as

somewhere on the damaged hull of Braxant Bonecrusher they prepared  themselves

for what they had to do.

He felt them leave, felt their rush of apprehension as the tentacles took

them. Then their Force-signatures were muffled among the many trapped  in  the

belly of the slave freighter. They were completely out of his reach  now,  and

the situation out of his control—as was Pel-laeon's fight around  Borosk.  The

only thing he could do from here on in was wait for a sign, and hope.

When the mouth of one of the slaveship's surviving tentacles came groping

for her, Saba Sebatyne almost felt her courage desert her.  A  two-meter-wide,

well-muscled sphincter nosing through the holes in the Dreadnaught's hull  was

enough to make anyone think twice.

Pellaeon's minions had appropriated a number of cadavers from the nearest

Star Destroyer's morgue and scattered them around  the  intended  blast  hole.

Saba felt dismay for the families of the dead soldiers, but she also  knew  it

was necessary if they were to pull off this mission. A dead ship with no  dead

bodies might have aroused suspicions and put their plan in jeopardy.

The tentacles didn't waste time with the bodies, though, passing over the

dead tissue to continue searching for something more useful. They poked deeper

into the punctured hull, looking for anything  alive—anything  at  all.  Danni

blanched behind her faceplate as one fumbled blindly closer,  but  she  didn't

back away.

Nor did Saba. Putting her faith in the Force, as well as her  pressurized

jumpsuit, she pushed out gently from her hiding place in the direction of  one

of the tentacles. With surprising speed, the tentacle noticed  her  and  swung

around to take her. Her body tensed as she remembered her people spilling  out

from the slaveship all those months ago, filling  the  void  with  six-pointed

stars that drifted lifelessly from the ruptured wall of the ship.  She  closed

her eyes and forced the memory down; now was not the time to be reliving  such

grief. She needed her wits about her; she needed to focus on the assignment at

hand.

"For this one's home," she whispered. "For this one's people."

She forced her muscles to relax as she was engulfed by  the  maw  of  the

tentacle and swept along a slippery, ribbed tube toward the hold of the  ship.

Hold? Who am I kidding? It was the slaveship's belly, and right  now  she  was

being eaten by it, her body pummeled by every muscular surge of the tentacle.

The contractions around her grew stronger as she approached  the  end  of

the tentacle. She wondered briefly if Danni was  following,  but  didn't  have

time to check; she  was  too  caught  up  in  the  moment  and  what  she  was

experiencing to sense anyone else. Still, she wanted to reach  back  and  feel

for Danni, just to be able to touch her and find some reassurance. Just to get

a hand to her right now would have made the discomfort  that  much  easier  to

deal with.

Then, abruptly, the ride was over, and she was spat into what felt like a

thick mass of jelly. She was knocked repeatedly across the face  and  body  by

the large number of hard lumps in suspension, so much so that she  feared  for

the integrity of her faceplate. But when she finally came to a halt,  she  was

relieved to find it was still fully intact.

She gasped for air and felt a pain in her  ribs.  Nothing  seemed  to  be

broken, but she was definitely bruised. All around her was a uniform, infrared

glow—unfortunately too diffuse or muffled to see by. She spread  her  legs  to

orient herself and felt objects pressing in all around her. Soft on the inside

and firm in the middle, the objects felt strange to  her  touch.  Her  fingers

sought purchase, but they kept slipping in the jelly.

Then something scrabbled at her faceplate, making her jerk backward.  Her

hands found the torch in her equipment pack and snapped  it  on.  Just  enough

light came through the jelly to reveal that something leathery and star-shaped

was trying to force its way across her face. She firmly brushed it  aside  and

suddenly came face to face with a human.

She gasped with shock, then cursed herself.  Of  course.  She  was  in  a

slaveship; what did she expect? The goop around  her  was  probably  a  softer

version of blorash jelly, used in combat to pin an opponent's limbs down.  The

thing flapping at her face might have been a gnullith, living breath masks for

Yuuzhan Vong's pilots. The human floating upside down in front of her—just one

of thousands trapped in the jelly—didn't have  a  gnullith  and  was,  as  her

questioning hands determined, quite dead. The  black-haired  woman  must  have

drowned before the gnulliths reached her—or worse, died during ingestion.

A pressure wave rolled through the jelly from above her, and Saba assumed

that Danni had just arrived. She moved her powerful legs and  arms  to  propel

herself forward, attempting to swim for the outer shell of the belly,  but  it

was impossible to tell if she was making any progress. And even  if  she  was,

she had no real idea of which direction she was in fact moving.  It  was  like

trying to swim through a sap pool while blindfolded.

She tried climbing instead of swimming, using the people around  her  for

leverage. They all seemed to be in a state  of  drug-induced  unconsciousness,

and as such didn't respond when she grabbed hold of them.  Again,  she  wasn't

sure if she was making any real progress. For all she  knew,  she  could  have

been simply pushing the bodies behind her rather than moving along  them.  Any

sense of direction had abandoned her in  her  free  fall.  She  wouldn't  have

minded so much had it not been for the gnulliths swimming through  the  jelly.

Everywhere she turned she encountered their strange flapping motions as  their

slithering air tubes constantly groped for her mouth.

So she gave in and centered herself. Switching out the light and  closing

her eyes, she sought her innermost point, and then she reached out.

The people around her created a concentrated ball of life pressing in  on

all sides. She was deep within it, and had been  heading  deeper  until  she'd

stopped. Reorienting herself, keeping her claws  carefully  sheathed  and  her

tail limp, she used the Force itself to move her through the resistant jelly.

The edge gradually came closer, and she found  herself  reaching  for  it

well before it arrived. It was almost as though she  was  groping  for  breath

from the bottom of a lake. All of the captives were unconscious, but  many  of

them were fearful and suffering in their dreams; not even sleep could  protect

them from the trauma of what their bodies  were  undergoing.  The  overlapping

nightmares were suffocating, and Saba found herself humming a  childhood  tune

she hadn't thought of for years to keep them at bay. It worked, but only just.

When she finally hit the edge of the belly, she clutched tightly  at  it,

allowing herself the time to regain her strength.  The  interior  surface  was

ribbed, so movement along it wouldn't be difficult once she got going again.

All she had to do was collect her thoughts, orient herself  with  respect

to the ship around her, and then—

Something clutched at her from out  of  the  jelly.  She  pushed  herself

between a couple of the immense ribs, kicking out at what she  thought  to  be

another gnullith. But it came back, groping insistently for her. For a  moment

she panicked, completely flustered by the oppressive,  grotesque  environment.

The same one the last  of  her  people  had  endured,  before...  She  reached

automatically for her lightsaber, even though she knew that lighting it  would

inevitably hurt the unconscious captives pressing in around her.

Then a light appeared out of  the  reddish  murk.  It  grew  brighter  as

whatever was grabbing at her found purchase, and pulled. Saba realized with  a

flood of relief that the thing that had taken hold of her equipment belt was a

human hand—and that the hand belonged to Danni Quee.

The Barabel couldn't help it. She  laughed  at  herself,  amused  by  her

mistake and buoyed by the fading  of  her  intense  but  fleeting  panic.  Her

sissing fit continued until Danni's faceplate pressed up against hers and  she

could see the human woman frowning in concern.

"Saba? Are you all right?" Danni's voice was muffled by the thickness  of

their masks. "You're shaking!"

"This one iz very glad to see you, Danni Quee," she said, forcing herself

to be calm. Given their situation, uncontrolled  laughter  could  be  just  as

detrimental as panic. "How did you know where to look?"

"Through the Force," she said. "Can't you see me that way?"

Saba shook her head. "There are too many people in here  with  us.  I  am

drowning in their mindz."

Danni removed her faceplate from Saba's and looked  around.  It  was  her

turn to shiver.

"It's dark in here," she said upon turning back to face Saba.  "I'm  glad

I've got this light."

Saba nodded. "This one iz more glad that you found me."

"Do you know where we are?"

Saba concentrated again. She couldn't feel the alien ship or its  Yuuzhan

Vong crew, but she could sense the shape that the  sac  of  imprisoned  humans

made, then work out where they were from that.

"We're past the halfway point," she  said.  "There  iz  a  bulge  that  I

suspect containz the ship's control centers. It'z not far  from  here—about  a

hundred meters or so."

"Point me in the right direction, then, and let's go,"  Danni  said  with

determination—although it obviously came with some effort. She was  as  uneasy

about the whole thing as Saba was. "The sooner we're out of here, the better."

Saba led the way, propelling herself along the wall by digging her  claws

into the ribbing and pulling herself forward.  Danni  followed,  using  Saba's

tail as a guide. As before, Saba had to shoulder  aside  unconscious  or  dead

bodies on her way, and the extra energy this required soon tired her.

Movement along the wall was certainly simpler than swimming  through  the

jelly, but it still wasn't easy. The interior of the  slaveship  was  muscular

and slippery, the surface soft  but  resistant  to  her  probing  digits.  The

ridges, she decided, were formed by vast  muscle  fibers  wrapped  around  the

hold, keeping the pressure in and allowing  it  to  flex  when  new  additions

arrived. It wasn't as tough as yorik coral, small plates of which she  noticed

had coated the exterior. With the slaves kept unconscious —  presumably  by  a

compound delivered via the gnulliths, since contact  with  the  blorash  jelly

hadn't affected Danni at all—it seemed  obvious  that  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  had

ignored any threat from the inside. Saba felt reasonably  confident  that,  if

worse came to worst, they could cut through the inner layer and find a way out

between the  yorik  coral  plates.  But  that  would  mean  risking  explosive

decompression, sending the contents of the belly out into hard vacuum.. .

The image of six-pointed stars tumbling into space  flashed  through  her

mind. She fought down the thought angrily.

I won't let that happen again! Time was passing quickly,  so  she  forced

herself to hurry. She didn't know how long the slaveship  would  hover  around

the Dreadnaught, sniffing for new captives. There had been a couple  of  small

movements through the ship, suggestive of slight attitude adjustments, so  she

knew it hadn't made any dramatic moves yet. The moment it left, though,  their

job would become a thousand times more difficult.

When they reached the bulge, its dimensions became clearer. The bulge was

shaped like a volcano, with a round lip surrounding a  slight  dimple  at  the

top. Feeling her way to the dimple, she  was  disappointed  to  find  that  it

wasn't an exit as she had imagined. It was, in fact, an entrance, but not  one

she could fit through. It was from here that fresh gnulliths  were  constantly

pumped into the vast sac,  riding  on  a  gentle  current  of  blorash  jelly.

Avoiding them proved difficult, and Saba pressed herself as flat as she  could

against the fleshy inner wall to present as small a target as possible.

Danni pressed her faceplate against Saba's. "This place is getting  worse

by the minute."

"At least they don't seem to know we're here,"  Saba  replied.  "We  seem

safe enough." "For now," Danni added.

Danni reached awkwardly for her pack and slid a  fat  cylinder  from  it.

Saba helped her unscrew its cap and  clear  away  the  jelly  long  enough  to

activate its contents. Six modified Mark VII scarab droids came to life at the

touch of a switch on Danni's remote controller. Each had six legs as long as a

human's index finger and two retractable injection fangs. They  had  high-gain

photoreceptors and sensitive biodetectors that had been tuned to Yuuzhan  Vong

rhythms and pheromones. They didn't normally need remote  operators,  although

their sensors could be accessed  from  a  distance.  These  had  been  further

modified to give Danni a measure of remote control—since the interior  of  the

slaveship was a  completely  unknown  environment—without  jeopardizing  their

mission. Each  scarab  would  lay  a  threadlike  molecular  wire  behind  it,

virtually invisible to the naked eye, which would allow her to keep  in  touch

without using comlink channels.

Heads-up displays in Danni's face  mask  allowed  her  to  see  what  the

scarabs saw. As she keyed a series of instructions into the  tiny  droids  and

sent them scuttling for the gnullith vent, Saba accessed the  information  and

watched, too.

The droids soon found the vent and burrowed into its muscular  sphincter.

The view through infrared was little different from what Saba saw  around  her

in the hold: lots of indistinct, warm blurs and not much else. But the scarabs

slid between the folds of tissue for three  meters,  nudging  gnulliths  aside

with ease along their way.

The moment the lead scarab began to detect light,  it  slowed  its  crawl

through the vent. They had clearly reached the  end  of  the  narrow  passage.

Danni instructed the droid to carefully extend a photoreceptor out toward  the

light, and found a tank filled with clear fluid that was  thicker  than  water

and held bubbles in suspension like human saliva.  Throughout,  the  tank  was

teeming with star-shaped creatures that twitched and writhed  in  the  liquid.

This was the source of the gnulliths.

The scarab didn't detect any nearby Yuuzhan Vong biorhythms, so the droid

slipped free of the vent and swam awkwardly around the edge  of  the  gnullith

pool, Ignoring the scarab's presence, the flapping star-shaped  organic  masks

continued to swim into the vent from the bottom of the pool where, presumably,

they were grown. The other scarabs followed the lead out of the pool,  fanning

out to find different hiding spots. The remote-control view became a  mess  of

six slightly different images of the same place, and Saba  cut  them  back  to

only the lead droid to keep it simple. The scarab found  a  promising  passage

through the bony wall, leaving its siblings behind.

The view became nothing more than a series  of  close-ups  of  unpolished

yorik coral at very close quarters as the scarab  scurried  along  the  narrow

fissure. Eventually it came to a dead end, then backtracked until it reached a

turnoff it had ignored before and took that instead, That, too, led to a  dead

end, so the droid went back to another turning and tried that instead. After a

few times of doing this, Saba began to feel frustrated. If  they  didn't  find

the equivalent of a control room soon, they were never going  to  be  able  to

rescue the captives. And worse: they would end up captives themselves!

"Got 'em," Danni said suddenly, her voice low but excited.

Saba snapped from her pessimism. "Where?"

"Scarab Four." Saba selected the  view  and  watched  biorhythm  readings

glowing in many colors across a view of yet another narrow fissure. The scarab

was moving stealthily closer to the end of the fissure, visible just around  a

turn up ahead. Bright light shone from around the corner, and Saba could  hear

the harsh sound of the Yuuzhan Vong language in her earplugs.

The scarab instinctively froze the moment it managed to get  one  of  its

photoreceptors around the corner for a look, finding itself at about  shoulder

height in a small control room containing two Yuuzhan Vong warriors.  Brutally

scarred, although not as extensively as some Saba had seen,  they  were  elbow

deep in the sort of organic controls typical for these vessels. On a strangely

shaped screen before them, Saba saw something that she  suspected  represented

the wreckage of the Dreadnaught at close quarters. It  was  hard  to  say  for

sure, though, because the biological display wasn't configured to  frequencies

her eyes were sensitive to.

Danni, however, was more certain. "That's Bone-crusher,"  she  said.  "At

least we know we've still got a way off this thing."

But for how long? Saba thought as  she  shifted  in  the  blorash  jelly,

brushing to one side yet another gnullith.

"I'm going to send the other scarabs in to join Four," Danni said. "We'll

get them to attack once they're all there, okay?"

Saba nodded. Given that they hadn't been able to find a way  out  of  the

hold from within, this had become the human woman's  show.  Nevertheless,  she

still had reservations. "Only two pilotz for  a  ship  this  big?"  she  asked

dubiously.

Danni shrugged in the jelly. "We're not picking up any  other  readings,"

she said. "And the scarabs have covered seventy percent of the volume ahead of

us. It's not so unlikely, really. This would be  dishonorable  work  in  their

eyes: there's no fighting, no victory; just picking up the pieces left  behind

by the true heroes."

Saba nodded again, more reassured. If that was the case,  the  attack  of

Braxant Bonecrusher was probably the most exciting thing these pilots had seen

for ages, They would be relieved and cocky, and  certainly  not  expecting  an

attack from within. Their appearance gave some credence to that notion:  their

armor was ragged, and one of them even had exposed skin  showing  through  the

vonduun crab shell.

One by one, the scarab viewpoints began to overlap  again.  They  crowded

together in the crack Scarab Four had found, making tiny clicking noises  with

their thin, metal legs as they watched the aliens going about their business.

"How far can these thingz jump?" Saba asked.

"I'm not sure," Danni replied. "They have their  own  attack  algorithms.

I'd probably just get in the way if I told them what to do."

"And you're sure the poison will work?"  A  range  of  anti-Yuuzhan  Vong

toxins had been identified by Master  Cilghal;  Pellaeon  had  instructed  his

security staff to fill the scarabs' poison  reservoirs  with  it  before  they

left.

"No." Danni smiled at Saba through the faceplate in an attempt to lighten

the mood. "But we'll soon find out."

She keyed a new series of instructions for the scarabs,  and  immediately

four of them detached their monolinks and scurried from the  hole.  The  fifth

and sixth moved forward to report what happened.

Saba held herself still, despite every muscle  yearning  to  strike,  and

strike fast. For the time they scurried across the wall, the  four  hand-sized

assassin droids remained invisible to them. Then Saba noticed  one  appear  at

the top of the display, cautiously creeping across the ceiling. A  second  one

appeared to the right; a third to the left, slinking along the  floor  like  a

sinister insect. The fourth was still out of sight,  and  Saba  found  herself

leaning slightly as if this would somehow afford her a better view.

The Yuuzhan Vong were still deep in conversation,  totally  oblivious  to

the scarabs making their way toward them. The scruffier  of  the  pair  leaned

forward to adjust the trim, causing the scarabs on either side to  momentarily

freeze in their tracks. The one on the ceiling, however, kept  moving,  giving

cause for Saba to hold her breath in nervous anticipation. What if they  heard

it? What if they looked up right now? The entire mission could be blown in  an

instant.

She watched as the scarab crept forward another body's  length  until  it

was positioned directly above the other alien. Then,  turning  ninety  degrees

and angling its head downward, it released its grip from the ceiling.

The Yuuzhan Vong howled in pain and surprise as the metal  fangs  of  the

scarab sank deep into his arm. He stood abruptly,  snatching  the  tiny  droid

from his arm and smashing it viciously against the wall.  The  second  warrior

stood also, looking to see what the commotion from his comrade was all  about.

As he did, one of the other scarabs launched itself at him, taking  him  under

the armpit where the vonduun crab armor was  traditionally  weakest,  but  the

fangs didn't dig deep enough for the poison to be effective and the scarab was

instantly swept aside.

At first the two warriors were startled by the attack and didn't seem  to

realize where it was coming from. But it only took a second to recover and get

their bearings. Even though they were in what would have been  regarded  as  a

dishonorable position for warriors, they were both still formidable  fighters,

trained by years of torture and self-deprivation to respond instantly  to  any

crisis.

They reached into their armor for weapons. One had only a coufee, but the

other had an amphistaff that stirred and spat  viciously  in  his  hands.  The

second scarab droid tried another leap at the one it  had  attacked,  but  was

easily batted out of the air by the warrior, and this time was destroyed.  The

third and fourth  scarabs  quickly  joined  the  fray,  one  crawling  up  the

uninjured Yuuzhan Vong's leg and trying to plant its fangs into his thigh, the

other leaping for his face. The confined space barely seemed able  to  contain

the sudden noise and movement as the amphistaff whirled and  scarab  fragments

smashed against the walls.

Danni bit her lip as she ordered in the fifth assassin droid.  It  jumped

on the back of the unbitten  warrior,  managing  to  get  a  decent  purchase.

Finding a gap in the vonduun crab armor, it emptied  its  reservoirs  directly

into the Yuuzhan Vong's bloodstream.  He  shouted  in  alarm  as  his  partner

disposed of it with a single, precise slash of his coufee. The strong, slender

needles, however, remained embedded in the  warrior's  flesh.  With  seemingly

little effort or discomfort, he twisted around and yanked  them  out.  Wincing

only slightly, he held them  up  to  the  light  to  see.  All-too-alert  eyes

squinted malevolently at the tiny machine.

"The poison isn't working!" There was a nervous panic in Danni's voice.

"Grakh," the Yuuzhan Vong spat, throwing the nee-dies  aside.  The  other

struck the biological console in front of him and shouted more angry words  in

their own tongue. Alarms began to wail as one of the warrior's hands went into

the control sacs. A villip everted itself on the console and  the  head  of  a

distant superior began to add more shouting to the racket.

The droids had failed and the alarm had gone out.Re-inforcements would no

doubt arrive soon. Saba's heart lurched into her throat as she felt a  shudder

roll through the ship and realized that the slaveship's drives had just  fired

at full thrust. In the  organic  screen,  the  strangely  distorted  shape  of

Braxant Bonecrusher began to  shrink.  She  gripped  the  flesh  of  the  wall

impotently as the crush of bodies seemed to  tighten  around  her.  There  was

nothing she could do but watch helplessly as her only hope of survival receded

into the distance.. .

The chuk'a was a simple creature, bred to turn the base  compounds  found

in stone and dust into pearly building material, and when asked  to  rest  its

slumber was complete. There was  a  specific  series  of  stimulations  to  be

applied in order to bring it to life again; the ex-shaper  Yus  Sh'roth  would

have been able to tell Nom Anor what they were.  He  would  also  have  warned

against startling the  chuk'a  out  of  its  hibernation  because,  under  the

circumstances, that could only mean disaster.

The dagger in its side wrenched the creature from its sleep, thrusting it

into a world of pain—the shock of  which  triggered  a  defensive  spasm  that

caused the chuk'a to retract its anchors from the sides of the shaft. The mass

of the chuk'a was too great for the bottom of the structure it had built,  and

to which it was still attached. As a result, the shell on which Nom  Anor  and

Kunra stood gave way, sending them hurtling downward, along with the creature.

Luckily—although it didn't feel so at the  time—the  slope  of  the  vent

provided enough friction to slow their fall. It also made the chuk'a  and  its

attached chunk of shell tumble, sending its  two  passengers  bouncing  around

inside the small space,  smashing  against  hardened  shell  and  occasionally

slashing themselves against sharp edges. Nom Anor rolled himself into  a  ball

to protect his stomach and head and tried to relax every muscle in his body.

Kunra was somewhere nearby, howling in fear as they continued to plummet.

Through the shell they could feel the chuk'a frantically scrabbling for a grip

on the sides of the walls as they swept past. Its stubby limbs had no success,

and fared badly against the unyielding surfaces. With shell to protect  it  on

just one side, it was sorely battered by the tumble and fell silent  and  limp

just moments before they reached the end of the vent.

Nom Anor and Kunra had no warning that it was  coming.  One  moment  they

were bouncing off the ferrocrete walls; the next they were  tumbling  in  free

fall. In its own way, that silent descent was  worse  than  the  crashing  and

bumping. It was impossible to know what awaited them at the  bottom  of  their

fall  or  how  far  it  might  be,  and  there  was  nothing  to  check  their

acceleration.

With a bone-jarring crunch followed by another brief moment of weightless

spinning, then a second impact that seemed even more brutal  than  the  first,

the chuk'a reached the end  of  its  downward  journey.  The  sound  of  shell

cracking was loud in Nom Anor's ears as the plug broke  in  two  and  fell  in

pieces around the body of the creature that  had  created  it.  His  remaining

momentum carried him several meters across the surface of  what  felt  like  a

giant bowl. The refuse of centuries crunched and  crackled  under  him  as  he

groaned and rolled onto his side. Every centimeter of him was  screaming  with

pain, as if his entire body had been pummeled  by  dozens  of  amphistaffs  at

once.

When silence had settled around him, Nom Anor struggled to  sit  upright.

It hurt, but he refused to acknowledge it with  a  groan  or  a  cry.  He  had

learned over the years not to become a slave to unavoidable pain, but  to  use

it as a goad. With teeth clenched, he moved through the rubble  on  his  hands

and knees to where the lambent had fallen nearby, a lonely star in a world  of

darkness. He took it and examined the place where they had come to rest.

It was indeed a shallow bowl, but one made of  some  kind  of  metal  and

surrounded by a lip almost a meter high. That was all he could see;  the  bowl

seemed to be hanging in a vast and empty space—a space so  large  that  echoes

off its distant walls and ceiling were smothered by the silent shadows.  There

was no sign of the bottom of the vent, nor of  any  other  wreckage  that  had

followed them down. That meant that the Shamed Ones' nest  was  still  intact.

Had it become detached from  the  vent  walls  and  followed  them  down,  the

warriors riding along with it would have been the least of Nom Anor's worries.

The chuk'a itself appeared to be dead. Its mollusklike form had burst and

splattered over a large area of the bowl, its body cushioning  its  passengers

and their shell saddle from the bulk of the impact. Lumps of gray flesh  oozed

clear fluids everywhere he looked, while jagged fragments of shell  lay  among

the organic wreckage, some still settling.

Suddenly, into the quiet, Kunra cried out in pain. Fearful of how far the

sound would carry, Nom Anor quickly rose to his feet and circled the  body  of

the chuk'a to where the ex-warrior lay. The Shamed One was on  his  back,  one

leg impaled on a chunk of shell. Trying to  sit  up,  Kunra  reached  for  the

approaching lambent glow, but the movement was too much for him  and  he  fell

back down with another cry.

"Help me," he panted breathlessly when Nom Anor stood over him.

"Why?" Nom Anor felt nothing but contempt for Kunra's pitiable whining in

the face of pain.

"What?" the ex-warrior spat.

"Why should I help you?" Nom Anor repeated calmly.

"Because I'm bleeding to death!"

Nom Anor directed the light  from  the  lambent  over  Kunra's  extensive

injuries. From the way the dark fluid was spurting from the leg  wound,  along

with the alarmingly pale taint to Kunra's skin, it seemed likely that the  ex-

warrior's assessment of his condition was correct.

"You left your friends to die," Nom Anor said. "Do you think you  deserve

to live?"

"Do you?" It was clear from Kunra's  expression  that  just  talking  was

causing him a lot of discomfort.

"They weren't my friends."

"Niiriit—" Kunra stopped, wincing from a pain that was both physical  and

mental.

Nom Anor crouched down beside the ex-warrior. "That's been bothering  you

since I came along—hasn't it, Kunra?" he said, grinning despite  the  terrible

throbbing of his own injuries. "Once I arrived, she had  no  interest  in  you

anymore. You were no one."

Kunra  winced  and  sucked  air  through  clenched  teeth.  "You   ruined

everything," he managed to hiss out.

Nom Anor shook his head. "And you weren't even there for her at the  end,

were you?" he said. "If you had really cared—"

"All right!" Kunra gasped. The blue sacks under his eyes were growing  as

white as his scars. "I didn't care enough to die with her. Is  that  what  you

want to hear? I didn't care enough. Just help me. Please!  I'll  do  anything.

Don't let me die!"

Kunra's pleading became fragmented and confused. The pulsing from his leg

had slowed to a trickle. Nom Anor waited until the ex-warrior had lapsed fully

into unconsciousness before kneeling beside the injured man and reaching  into

the pack he had brought with him, removing the few medical provisions  he  had

pilfered while on his upward excursions with I'pan.

The Shamed One's leg wasn't broken. That was lucky. Nom Anor had  decided

that he would expend the effort to deal with the wound, but there was a  limit

to what he could treat. He injected microscopic  knuth  bugs  into  the  dying

man's circulatory system to replace the lost blood. Clip  beetles  closed  the

wound, once the coral had been removed. A porrh wash kept harmful germs at bay

and a neathlat covered the wound beneath a  living  bandage.  There  would  be

nothing for the pain, though; it wasn't the Yuuzhan Vong way. And even  if  he

did have something, he would not have administered it. He wanted Kunra  to  be

completely focused when he awoke. Focused and grateful.

While he waited for that moment to come, he  explored  his  surroundings.

The lip of  the  bowl  wasn't  uniform  all  the  way  around.  There  was  an

indentation at a point where a long, exceedingly massive arm led off into  the

darkness, presumably attaching the bowl to a wall in the distance. The top  of

the arm was flat and roughly two meters wide; he would have to walk across it,

if there was anywhere to walk to. Below the bowl there was nothing to be  seen

at all, and he wasn't about to take a chance on another fall.

As he stood staring into the darkness, he realized that he had passed  an

important hurdle. He had not just endured the underworld  of  Yuuzhan'tar;  he

had endured an attack from  his  own  kind.  He  was  now  most  definitely  a

fugitive, and that hammered home the fact that mere survival was  not  enough.

Any peace he found in the catacombs would always be an  illusion,  whether  it

was the heresy or his name that brought the warriors down upon him.

Kunra moaned. Nom Anor went over to him and pressed  the  coufee  against

the injured man's throat just as his eyes flickered open.

"Understand this," Nom Anor said. "I could have let you die. But  do  not

allow the fact that you are alive deceive you into believing that I won't kill

you out of hand, now or in the future."

Kunra didn't appear  frightened;  he  was  probably  too  weak  from  his

injuries to feel anything much apart from shock.

"I'm not fool enough to think that, Nom Anor" Kunra said.  Fluid  rattled

in his lungs as he spoke; he coughed once to clear it, spitting the gray-green

mucus into the dust at his side. Then, fixing his wavering eyes  on  Nom  Anor

again, he said "I am too aware of your reputation. You do nothing that doesn't

benefit your own cause."

"And what is my cause now, Kunra?" Nom Anor emphasized  the  question  by

applying increased pressure with the blade.

"You tell me," Kunra gasped.

"I want many things, and in time I intend to get all of them. Your  time,

on the other hand, is decidedly limited. You  can  either  agree  to  help  me

achieve these things, or I will kill you now. There is no other option."

Kunra rolled his eyes and attempted to laugh, but the  pain  was  obvious

beneath the facade. "I don't suppose I could have a little time to think about

it, could I?"

"You have already held me up enough," Nom Anor said coldly. "Choose  now,

or die indecisive. It matters not to me."

The ex-warrior closed his eyes, then nodded once. "I guess  I  will  help

you, Nom Anor."

"Good." He was satisfied that  the  answer  was  truthful.  Kunra  was  a

coward; he would do anything to save his life,  even  if  it  meant  betraying

himself. Such desperation would make of him a fine bodyguard, for a time.

They would understand each other on that score, at least. "There are just

two more things you need to know," he said, withdrawing his blade from Kunra's

throat and sheathing it under his belt. "The first  is  that  you  will  never

question my instructions. Not more than once, anyway, for there will be  never

a second time."

He paused to let the point sink in.

Kunra nodded. "And the second?"

"You will never use my true name again," he said. "If it was my name that

led Niiriit and the others to"" their deaths, then  I  would  avoid  something

similar happening in the future."

"What should I call you, then?"

"I haven't decided upon a name yet," he said. " Amorrn will do  for  now—

the name I used in the upper levels when I visited with I'pan. But I fear that

even this might be recognized now. I shall let you know when  I  have  chosen.

mother."

He held out a hand and helped Kunra to his feet. The ex-warrior's leg was

tender, but he could walk, at  least.  Yuuzhan  Vong  biotechnology  was  more

effective on living tissue than was the machinery of the infidel—or even,  Nom

Anor suspected, the nebulous Force of the Jedi.

"Where to now?" Kunra asked, standing in a position that favored his good

leg.

"Up," Nom Anor stated flatly, glancing into  the  darkness  overhead.  "I

have some business to attend to there."

Saba's comlink clicked at the same time Danni said: "Wait, Saba! Look!"

Through the remaining scarab's senses, Saba saw one of the  Yuuzhan  Vong

warriors at the controls of the slaveship slip to his knees, then slowly slump

over to one side. The second was having troubles of his own. Going to the  aid

of his fallen comrade, he lost his balance and fell forward, striking his head

on the control console. He regained his footing just long enough to  stand  up

again, then he, too, went down in a heap.

"The poison worked!" Danni's words were carried on  a  barely  suppressed

and incredulous laugh of relief.  "It  just  took  a  little  longer  than  we

expected it to."

"It doesn't change anything," Saba said  soberly.  "We're  still  drawing

away from Bonecrusher."

The Barabel drew her lightsaber at  the  same  time  she  opened  a  comm

channel. There seemed no  point  maintaining  a  communications  blackout  any

longer.

"Jacen, this iz Saba," she said urgently.  "Our  cover  has  been  blown.

Please acknowledge."

His reply was muffled by the layers  of  the  people  and  blorash  jelly

packed in around them. "I hear you, His-ser," he said. "And we already guessed

as much. We have contacts closing in across the board, moving in to  pick  you

up right now. Will you be able to get out okay?"

Danni's expression had quickly gone from elation to one of  dismay.  Like

Saba, she knew the only way out would be to cut through  the  hull,  and  that

would result in the almost certain deaths of all the captives they'd  come  to

rescue.

But maybe there was a way, Saba thought. It was risky  and  went  against

virtually every spacer instinct in her body, but it just might work.

She had sworn not to let such a thing happen again...

"Jacen, empty the flight deck," she said hurriedly. "Keep Jade Shadow  in

dock and tell Mara to have the tractor beam ready."

Danni's eyes grew wide in the reddish darkness. "Saba, you're not—?"

"We truly have no other choice," Saba shot back sharply. "Now, hang on to

something."

Saba pressed the business end of her lightsaber flat against  the  fleshy

wall of the slaveship interior. The sound it made on ignition was horrific  as

it boiled through flesh to the  vacuum  outside.  The  ship  quivered  as  she

dragged the blade along the wall, turning a hole into a slit one  meter  long,

then two meters. The tissue resisted parting  even  when  the  lightsaber  had

moved on, cauterizing the edges and  killing  nerve  endings.  A  great  bulge

developed as  muscles  pushed  in  from  all  sides,  resisting  the  pressure

differential by fighting to keep the lips of the hole together. But Saba  kept

cutting, bracing herself as best she could against the ribbed flesh,  readying

herself for the inevitable.

When the rent in the belly wall reached five meters, Saba felt the muscle

tremble and give way. The slit peeled  open,  emptying  the  contents  of  the

slaveship out into the vacuum in one thick stream

"Saba, what are you doing?" The exclamation came from Mara. "Those people

are going to freeze to death out here!"

"No they won't," Saba replied, fighting the current that  was  trying  to

pull her through the gap also. The people bumping into her as they were sucked

through the hole only made her task that much harder. "The insulation from the

blorash jelly should hold for several minutez—long enough for you to get  them

into the flight deck."

"And what are they supposed to do for oxygen in the meantime?"

"The gnullithz, of course."

"Saba, the gnulliths won't work in a vacuum!"

"They won't be in a vacuum; they'll be  in  the  blorash  jelly—which  iz

where they've been getting the oxygen in the first place." She grunted heavily

as a couple more bodies collided with her on their way out. "Trust  this  one,

Mara. Get them to the flight deck az soon as possible and everything  will  be

all right." / hope, she added silently to herself.  Mara  chuckled  nervously.

"This is a crazy idea," she said. "One only a Barabel would attempt!"

Saba sissed softly to herself, taking Mara's words as the compliment they

were intended to be. With both hands on the  pommel  of  the  lightsaber,  she

widened the hole as far as she dared—too much would send the  slaves  spraying

across the sky in an arc too wide for Mara to catch them all; but too small  a

hole would mean the slaveship wouldn't empty fast enough, giving the  Yuu-zhan

Vong reinforcements time to arrive. After a few moments she  snapped  off  her

lightsaber and crawled around the hole to where Danni was clinging desperately

to the command bulge.

"Time to get out of here," Saba told her,  wrapping  around  the  woman's

shoulders an arm that was almost as long as Danni was tall.

"About the only thing going for this plan of yours, Hisser," Danni  said,

"is that it can't be anywhere near as bad as the way we came in."

"Here we come, Mara," Saba said over the comlink. Clutching  Danni  close

to her chest, she let go and was instantly swept up by the current and  sucked

unceremoniously out into space. Limbs from the  other  captives  continued  to

batter her as they flew out, so she tucked herself  around  Danni  to  protect

her. Then the slight acceleration she had felt through the slaveship was  gone

and she was spinning in space, two living people in a  clump  of  about  forty

held together by the blorash jelly. The stuff stiffened around her  as  though

setting, keeping the pressure in.

"We're out," she said shortly. "Keep talking," Jacen said. "It'll give us

a trace." "No—get—otherz—" But that was all Saba  could  manage.  The  blorash

jelly was continuing to set, pressing  at  her  chest  and  making  it  almost

impossible to breathe, let alone talk.

Trapped and with little else to do but wait, she stared out  through  the

translucent jelly at the galaxy spinning idly around her,  wondering  if  this

would be the last thing she ever saw. She thought back to how her  own  people

had spilled from the slaveship above Barab I. Had any of them  been  conscious

to ask similar questions? Or had they been like all the rest of  the  captives

here, unconscious and oblivious to the danger they were in?

As she continued to drift through space, Saba noticed several lights that

were brighter than the other stars. The biggest of  these  was  Borosk's  sun,

spinning lazily around them, while others she imagined to be TIE fighters that

had been launched by Bonecrusher to make room for the people rescued from  the

slaveship. As yet there was no sign of attack from the Yuuzhan Vong, which was

fortunate.

"Beautiful," Danni ground through a clenched jaw, her eyes fixed  on  the

view of the massive globules of solidifying jelly drifting nearby. The reddish

spheres were glittering in the sunlight, spinning around them in a lengthening

spiral with its starting point in the side of the rapidly deflating slaveship.

Saba didn't have the breath or the energy to comment. All  she  could  do

was stare, and morbidly wonder what would happen to them when  the  jelly  set

completely. ..

But the thought was broken when the bubble  that  contained  them  jerked

suddenly, bringing their gentle roll to a complete and abrupt halt. A sense of

falling swept over her, and with immense relief Saba realized  they  had  been

picked up by Jade Shadow's tractor beam. Their bubble-along with a dozen or so

others—was slowly being drawn down into hold of Bonecrusher.

"Got you," Jacen said. There was no hiding his relief. "Are you two  okay

in there?"

"I'm—here," Danni said with effort. "Not sure — about—Saba."

Danni seemed to be coping with the solidification  of  the  jelly  better

than Saba was.  Maybe,  Saba  thought  as  the  tightening  across  her  chest

worsened, it had something to do with the smaller lung capacity of  humans.  A

Barabel would find it much harder to breathe in higher pressure since it  took

more energy to inflate the larger  rib  cage.  Danni  and  the  other  humans,

though, could survive more readily on small, rapid breaths.

Theorizing was all very well. Knowing the problem didn't help her find  a

solution—especially when she could feel darkness closing in around  the  edges

of her vision. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to think about  blacking

out, concentrating instead  on  Jedi  breathing  techniques  to  conserve  her

energy.

This was disrupted when another rough jolt sent them  tumbling  end  over

end. Saba thought she could hear Jacen talking, but  he  sounded  far-off  and

vague. Soon she heard other voices, and she thought for  a  second  that  they

might be the droid brains joining in on the discussion, but again she couldn't

be sure. Everything was too hazy.

Flashes of light coincided with a faint and distant  tapping  sound,  and

she knew instinctively  that  Braxant  Bonecrusher  was  taking  hits  to  its

reactivated shields. She should have felt relief that she  had  been  rescued,

but all she could think of was the other people in the blorash jelly. She just

hoped they had been rescued before the Yuuzhan Vong had arrived.

A  thrill  of  fear  rushed  through  her  when  the  flashing   abruptly

intensified. Surely the Yuuzhan Vong couldn't  be  that  close?  But  no,  she

thought numbly. These flashes were from laser light, not plasma.

With some effort, her eyes flickered open and she looked  around  to  see

what was going on.

"No, Saba," Danni panted from close by. "Keep them —  shut.  It  won't—be

long my—scaly friend."

Despite Danni's reassurance, though, it was hard to maintain a Jedi  calm

with all the flashing going on, as well as the jelly  solidifying  around  her

like ferrocrete. But she tried to stay focused just the same.

Her ears detected a faint sizzling-crackling sound  that  gradually  grew

louder. The mass of jelly shook violently. She felt the  pressure  across  her

body ease slightly, and then a few seconds later ease some  more.  Soon  Danni

was squirming out of her grip, and she realized with  great  relief  that  she

could breathe properly again.

Saba opened her eyes and the world flooded back in.  Between  flashes  of

automatic cutting lasers and robot manipulators grabbing  at  her,  she  heard

droid brains announcing that the  release  had  been  achieved  with  "optimal

efficiency," while TIE fighters reported on the defense  of  the  Dreadnaught.

And there was Jacen standing above her, tearing chunks of jelly  from  Danni's

jumpsuit, then helping Saba do the same. The Barabel's mind was  still  fuzzy,

and her hands were stiff and unwieldy as circulation  gradually  returned.  It

took her several minutes before she could fully comprehend  the  scene  around

her. She was on a landing deck. More than fifty rough  spheres  of  solidified

jelly filled the  confined  space  almost  to  its  limit.  From  the  spheres

protruded arms and legs, along with the occasional  head  of  the  unconscious

human captives. Cutting lasers were  beginning  to  work  on  several  of  the

spheres, releasing the people so they could be treated. She  could  feel  them

through the Force: all would need medical attention to reverse the effects  of

the drugs supplied by the gnulliths, but it looked very much like the majority

of them would live.

She laughed out loud as Jacen and Danni helped her  to  her  feet.  Danni

threw her arms about the Barabel in a show of both relief and gratitude, while

Jacen slapped her shoulder plates in  a  congratulatory  gesture.  An  immense

feeling of satisfaction rushed through Saba—so strong was it,  in  fact,  that

for a moment she was afraid that her legs would fold beneath her.

"Initial jump locked in," the droid brains announced over the pounding of

turbolasers.

"Take us out of here," Jacen said as he turned away from Saba  and  Danni

to return to his disabled TIE cockpit to oversee  Bonecrusher's  escape.  Saba

watched him go with a strong pounding in her chest. She  could  sense  Jacen's

pride in her. To him, this was what it meant to be a Jedi: to save  lives,  to

protect freedom, to resist evil. She was glad, in a war with so many  horrors,

to have been able to give him—and herself—something to be proud of.

How better could they be remembered?

Saba opened her mouth fully, sucking in a lungful of the sweetest air she

had possibly ever tasted.

"This is Captain Syrtik of the Galantos Guard," announced the  leader  of

the approaching Y-wings.

Blunt-nosed and older  than  Jag  Fel  by  several  decades,  the  clumsy

fighters followed a strictly controlled flight path out of Galantos's  gravity

well. Their ion engines were outdated but still powerful  enough  to  overtake

Pride of Selonia on its way to reinforce Twin Suns Squadron. The

frigate's turbolaser batteries tracked the Y-wings as they passed,  ready

for any sign of hostility.

"State your intentions, Captain Syrtik," said Captain Mayn.

"We're here to help." The leader of the incoming fighters sounded  grimly

determined. "Just tell us who to defer command to and  we'll  do  whatever  we

can." "Councilor Jobath finally saw reason, eh?" Mayn said.

There was a slight hesitation before Syrtik's reply: "Actually,  Captain,

I'm proceeding without orders."

This time it was Mayn's turn to hesitate. "Very well,"  she  said.  There

was no hiding her surprise. "Link up with Twin Suns Squadron for instructions.

We'll be with you as soon as we can."

"Captain Syrtik, this is Twin Suns Leader," Jag  said  over  the  comm  a

second later. "Switch to channel twenty-nine for those instructions."

Jag closely surveyed the battle through his monitors. The two  slaveships

had  closed  together  to  make  a  smaller  target  while   the   reorganized

coralskippers maintained a tight defense. The  armored  blastboat  analog  was

still hanging back, protected by a trio of determined skips.

He changed to the new channel. "Our priority up to now has been to  knock

out the slaveships," he said. "But that situation has changed. Those scarheads

are getting themselves together, so we're going to need to take out that  last

ship. Whatever's doing the thinking for them, it's in there."

"A yammosk?" Jaina asked.

"I think so," Jag said. Then, for the benefit of the newcomers, he added,

"We have jammers in Selonia. Until they arrive, though, we'll have to make  do

on our own."

He paused, frowning at the screen.  He  had  noted  the  absence  of  the

Falcon, but the significance of it hadn't  sunk  in  at  first.  The  battered

freighter had quietly looped back to Galantos once the Y-wings  had  appeared,

almost as though it had other business to attend to. It was probably  nothing,

but he couldn't help but feel uneasy about it. Tahiri was aboard the  Falcon..

.

He pushed the thought down. He had enough  to  contend  with  as  it  was

without adding more to his plate.

"We're going to divide you into three," he told their  new  allies.  "One

squadron will come with me to take out the rear ship.  Twin  Two  has  already

made some progress on the slaveships so she'll keep that up, with help of  the

second squadron. The remainder will provide distractions as needed."

"You have no specific instructions at this time?" asked a  new,  slightly

tremulous voice.

Jag rolled his eyes as he remembered how precise and  organized  the  Fia

liked to be. He had assumed that the fighters would be piloted by species more

suited to  the  interior  of  a  Y-wing  cockpit;  presumably  they  had  made

substantial alterations to the standard couches to accommodate  their  bottom-

heavy physiques.

"You'll be fine," he said. "Just follow our lead, okay? Right, now  let's

split up." He  picked  one  of  the  squadrons  at  random  from  the  rapidly

approaching trio. "Blues, you're with me."

"That's Indigo, actually," Captain Syrtik corrected him.

"Sorry, Indigo. Twin Two will take Red."

"Cerise."

Jag shook his head irritably. "All right, then that leaves Green for—"

"Reseda," he was corrected again.

"Okay, then that leaves Reseda Squadron  for  the  general  approach.  Is

everyone clear on their part?"

A chorus of affirmatives sounded out over the open line.

"Right, Indigo Leader, switch to frequency seventeen and we'll begin  our

run."

As the new arrivals swept into the battlefield,  Jag  took  a  second  to

reprogram the diagnostic displays in front of him. The  number  of  ships  had

more than doubled, and without any idea of how well  the  Fia  could  fly,  he

needed all the technical backup he could get.

"Are you okay with this, Sticks?" he asked on a private channel.

"A-okay," Jaina replied. Her X-wing peeled off to lead her new flock in a

tight loop around the slaveships, herding a pair of cautious skips before her.

"But let's hope this will be over soon."

"I hear you," he said. "I'm afraid the Fia's  pedantry  might  turn  this

into the longest melee we've ever been involved in."

"Not what I was hoping to hear, Jag," Jaina said tiredly.

The obvious fatigue in her voice concerned him. He still didn't know  the

full story of what had happened at N'zoth, but it would have to wait until the

immediate problem was dealt with.

He guided his new wingmates around the slaveships  and  along  a  rolling

strike path toward the blastboat analog. Skips immediately swooped in to deter

them, dividing the Y-wing formation into quarters. Two of the old boats stayed

with Jag, but they only managed to keep up because  he  showed  restraint  and

kept his maneuvering to a minimum. As soon as the first of the skips  appeared

in his targeting reticle, however, he let his instincts take over.

The skip danced across his scopes, narrowly avoiding the  stutterfire  he

sent arcing toward its coral-armored back. Dovin basals snatched energy out of

the vacuum, greedily absorbing everything he threw at them. His two  wingmates

added to the barrage, but they hadn't yet picked up the new techniques.  Their

input was little more than a distraction. Nonetheless, he appreciated all  the

help he got.

"Like this, guys," he said, hugging tight to the skip's tail and  sending

pulses of energy waves at it, then quickly launched a proton torpedo down  the

throat of the overloaded dovin basal. The coralskipper  exploded  into  highly

energized dust particles that peppered his cockpit as he  passed  through  the

remains of the ship.

"Got it?" he said when he was sure there was nothing else on his tail.

"An ingenious technique," one pilot said. "But does the efficacy increase

in direct proportion to the irregularity applied to the—?"

"We don't have time for that, Indigo Five," said another pilot.  "We  can

discuss those kinds of details later."

Jag breathed a sigh of relief as he sent a wave of laser-fire arcing into

the side of the blastboat. His wingmates did the same,  dodging  plasma  bolts

sent in return.

Around Borosk, triumphant battle reports from Fleet Group Relentless were

more than overshadowed  by  the  terrible  losses  endured  by  Protector  and

Stalwart. For every battle group that came close to the yammosk-bearing vessel

identified by the Galactic Alliance, five more failed and were  destroyed.  It

was a grueling, frustrating situation to watch, and Pellaeon couldn't help but

wonder why this was the case. Was it because of an inherent  mistrust  of  the

Jedi who had brought these techniques to  them,  or  simply  an  inability  to

follow new tactics quickly?

He continued to listen in from his bacta tank on the ongoing battle.

"Blue Three, keep up that covering fire. I'm going in!" "Red Seven, watch

your tail."

"I have a strong lead in sector fourteen, White Leader."

"On your right and above, Green Ten—on your right!"

"I'm hit! Stabilizers failing! Going to—" Then silence, as  another  life

fell to the aliens' plasma fire.

Listening to the babble on the open channel  was  doing  little  to  ease

Pellaeon's mind, but he maintained his vigil because it gave him  a  taste  of

the battle as a whole. He couldn't direct each component within it, but  there

was some value in viewing it from above. Were the frontline  troops  panicked,

excited, reluctant, enraged? Such things could make an enormous difference  in

the outcome of a conflict, and a good commander was wise never to ignore it.

Overall, his gut feeling was that they were losing  ground.  The  retreat

back to Borosk's mine rings had  been  tactical  at  first,  allowing  him  to

concentrate Imperial forces around the planet and resist  the  enemy  on  more

fronts simultaneously. He had seen secondhand what had happened  on  Coruscant

when the Yuuzhan Vong had attacked there, and while Borosk  wasn't  facing  as

great a force, it also wasn't as well defended. He'd hoped he could  hold  the

planet long enough for  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  to  lose  patience  or  for  their

resources to run low. But the navy was losing more than it  was  gaining.  The

persistence of the Yuuzhan Vong was quickly taking its toll on the  morale  of

his soldiers, and that directly impacted upon  their  battle  performance.  He

knew that if this wasn't turned around soon, it could cost them everything.

"Maintain shielding trios as ordered!" one pilot barked.

"Who are we kidding?" another returned. "This is never going to work, and

you know it."

"Can it, Gray Four. We've got better things to do  than  listen  to  your

whining."

A shrill whistle cut across the open channel, requesting his attention on

the private line. Pellaeon turned away from the battle and took the call.

"What is it?" he asked wearily.

The voice of Captain Yage replaced the ambience of battle. She had become

his de facto aide-de-camp during the fight  for  Borosk,  deflecting  unwanted

inquiries and making sure only important ones got through.

"I have a report from Lieutenant Arber, sir," she reported crisply.  "The

GAM has been installed in Defiant and is ready for a test run."

"Excellent." Pellaeon felt a grim  satisfaction  rise  in  him.  Imperial

ships didn't carry gravitic amplitude modulators as  standard  issue;  indeed,

such devices were rare and expensive. This one had  been  brought  in  from  a

neighboring system as  a  matter  of  urgency  and  reprogrammed  by  Imperial

engineers according to the Galactic Alliance specifications. If all went well,

and it jammed the Yuu-zhan Vong war  coordinator  as  Skywalker  promised,  it

could prove to be the turning point in the battle.

"Instruct Lieutenant Arber to forgo the test run and proceed directly  to

a combat run," he ordered. "And inform Captain Essenton that she  is  to  give

Arber her full cooperation. She's a cranky old thing, but when she  sees  what

the GAM can do, I'm sure she'll come around."

Yage didn't question Pellaeon's opinion, although she knew as well as  he

did that no  Imperial  had  actually  seen  a  yammosk  jammer  in  operation.

Everything rested on the word of Skywalker and his Galactic Alliance. If  they

were wrong, the edge he needed to win the battle, if not the  war,  might  not

even eventuate.

He watched the Star Destroyer Defiant  turn  about  and  break  from  the

defensive orbits the other capital vessels  were  maintaining  below  the  ion

mines. A swarm of TIE fighters and  blastboats  accompanied  it,  fending  off

coral-skipper attacks and cutting a path through to  the  cluster  of  Yuuzhan

Vong capital vessels that had been identified as  containing  a  yammosk.  The

enemy was taking great pains to ensure that this one was at all times defended

against previous attempts to knock it out by Fleet Group Stalwart.

As before, the Yuuzhan  Vong  clustered  around  the  yammosk  ship  like

insects protecting their queen, swarming en masse to deflect  the  attack  and

stinging the assailants wherever possible. Defiant was hammered by streams  of

plasma bright enough to make the blazing of its  ion  engines  look  dim.  Its

shields were snatched at by dovin basals and attacked  from  every  angle.  It

retaliated with fire from  its  turbolaser  cannons,  stuttering  at  the  new

frequencies as it removed entire flying groups of  coralskippers  out  of  the

sky. The space around it became thick with debris, swirling nebulae of burning

gas and fiery remnants flashing  with  discharging  energy.  Pellaeon  admired

Captain Essenton's skill and determination as  she  flew  the  Star  Destroyer

onward, into the enemy's ranks.  Defiant  was  like  a  giant,  poisoned  dart

plunging deep into the heart of the enemy.

As soon as it was  in  range,  Lieutenant  Arber  activated  the  yammosk

jammer. Pellaeon knew roughly how it worked, even if the precise details  were

beyond him. The machine broadcast coded gravitic pulses designed to  interfere

with similar pulses used by the yammosk to communicate with the vessels  under

its command. Knocking out the yammosk had the  effect  of  removing  the  mind

behind the coralskipper attacks; jamming their signals was supposed to confuse

them. Pellaeon thought again of the swarming-insects  analogy,  imagining  the

effect to be something like blowing smoke onto a hive  to  make  the  insects'

movements sluggish.

The effects were obvious and instantaneous. What had been a deadly  dance

suddenly became clumsy and uncoordinated. The  myriad  coralskippers,  lacking

central direction, were forced to rely on their own judgment—and Pellaeon knew

well how poor that could be for a single fighter caught in  the  middle  of  a

large battle. Without access to central  command,  the  battle  devolved  into

hundreds of tiny skirmishes.

There were still flashes of order in places as the  yam-mosk  fought  the

jamming signals and briefly regained control of  some  of  the  battle  groups

under its influence. But through it all, the pointed hull of Defiant continued

to stab, firing torpedoes and  concussion  missiles  relentlessly,  committing

every spare fighter to a concentrated attack on the group of  capital  vessels

protecting the central yammosk. The yammosk fought back as best it could. Even

confused coralskippers found it hard to miss a  target  as  large  as  a  Star

Destroyer. Laser banks were kept busy by a stream of suicide runs  focused  on

the bridge tower; blastboats formed a  primary  defense  around  the  besieged

ship, forcing the attacks to concentrate on certain approach runs and  picking

off the skips as they came. The Yuuzhan Vong forces weren't directed enough to

target the blastboats in response, so the tactic cut huge swaths  through  the

coralskipper forces that were supposed to be defending the yammosk.

TIE fighters descended on the target ships, raining down energy upon them

that no amount of dovin basals could absorb. At that point, the  yammosk  knew

it was going to lose and began expending the nearby capital ships in fruitless

attempts to divert the attack. But realizing that putting the yammosk  out  of

action was in fact the way to ultimate victory, the Imperial  forces  remained

focused, refusing to be distracted from their goal by any new tactics.  Attack

run after attack run peppered the core vessel until it began  to  list  around

the center of its mass, venting atmosphere and bodies from numerous  holes  in

its hull. But still the yammosk fought, and the self-destruction of two of its

sister vessels blew  enough  energy  and  matter  across  the  battlefield  to

momentarily stall the Imperial attack. The shock wave swept space clean on all

fronts, knocking TIE fighters out of control  and  overloading  the  targeting

sensors of Defiant's turbo-laser banks. Coralskippers  tumbled  and  flickered

like hot ash over a bonfire.

One TIE fighter pilot who was quicker to recover  than  most  managed  to

score a direct hit on the yammosk's life-support  tank,  assigning  the  many-

tentacled creature to the vacuum in a writhing ribbon  of  ice  crystals.  The

Defiant turned about, taking out the remaining capital ships as  it  went  and

decimating the enemy remaining in the area.

Pellaeon couldn't help but be pleased with the outcome.  It  had  been  a

bold and ultimately effective move,  and  it  sent  a  clear  message  to  the

commander of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet: we can hurt you!

But the battle was far from over, and while the Defiant had been busy,  a

hole had been punched through the minefields that Right to Rule was only  just

beginning to clean up. The demand on planetary  turbolasers  and  shields  was

increasing as more  and  more  coralskipper  attackers  were  approaching  the

ground. If there was another yammosk somewhere in the Yuuzhan Vong  fleet,  it

would soon take over command of the attack.

Time. That's what it all came down to. Pellaeon didn't know how long  the

Yuuzhan Vong's Commander Vorrik could commit himself to smashing the  Imperial

Navy, but if his mission had been  a  simple  strike  to  break  the  Empire's

spirit, then he had gotten himself a much more protracted conflict than he had

bargained for.

Captain Essenton of the Defiant reported that they had located  a  second

yammosk. She requested permission to target it, and Pellaeon gave it  to  her.

Keeping the pressure on was the most important thing right  now,  even  if  it

meant opening up the planetary defense to attack. And the more they destroyed,

the better their chances were of success. He could feel that  the  battle  was

nearing a turning point of some kind. He just  hoped  it  would  be  in  their

favor.

Almost in response to his thoughts, Luke Skywalker's voice suddenly  came

over the receiver. "Admiral, I thought you might like to know that Bonecrusher

is on its way back."

"And the mission?" he asked the Jedi Master hopefully.

"A success, I'm assuming," came the reply. "I spoke only briefly to  Mara

before they made the jump to hyper-space, but she seemed satisfied."

Skywalker, probably sensing the mood of the Imperial forces,  had  fallen

back from the front line and docked his X-wing with Widowmaker. Watching  from

the bridge, he had had nothing but a calming effect on Yage's crew.

Pellaeon smiled. "In that case I imagine we'll soon be hearing  from  our

Yuuzhan Vong friends."

"It would be a mistake  to  become  overconfident  right  now,  Admiral,"

Skywalker cautioned. "The Yuuzhan Vong aren't inclined to retreat,  even  when

the odds are against them."

"They're not stupid, either," Pellaeon said. "If what you  say  is  true,

Shimrra simply can't afford to commit to a long campaign here, and Vorrik will

know that. Disobeying orders may hurt him more in the long  run  than  running

away from a battle."

The Jedi Master didn't say anything to that, but the silence  itself  was

revealing.

"I know what you're thinking," Pellaeon said  softly.  "Jacen  told  Moff

Flennic that the Empire is nothing compared to  the  Galactic  Alliance;  that

we're just a distraction. He was right,  and  that  means  I  am  right,  too.

Shimrra wants to intimidate us, not destroy us, and  from  Vorrik's  point  of

view he has already achieved that  objective.  He's  flattened  Bastion;  he's

forced us to retreat to Borosk;  and  he'll  probably  take  a  swipe  at  the

shipyards on the way out. He can make a good case that he's done his job."

Another whistle cut across the channel. "Broadcast from the enemy,  sir,"

Captain Yage said.

"Put it over an open comm," Pellaeon said. "I want everyone to hear this.

"

"I will but delay the inevitable," Vorrik was saying,  spitting  out  the

words with even more than his usual bile. "There will be no mercy. None of you

will be spared. Your homes will be razed and your  remains  will  be  used  as

fertilizer for our crops! Your worlds  will  be  absorbed  into  the  glorious

Yuuzhan Vong empire as it engulfs the galaxy whole. You will—"

"Maybe I'm missing something, Vorrik," Pellaeon interrupted. "But I'm not

seeing any evidence of  this  great  plan  of  yours.  We're  destroying  your

yammosks; we've killed your spies; we're taking back those  you  thought  were

captives. You don't have the muscle to take this planet, let alone the others.

Your threats are as empty as your boasts are shallow."  "You  will  eat  those

words when—" "Empty," Pellaeon repeated over the commander's renewed tirade.

"—we turn your abominations into slag and—"

"Empty!"

"—grind every trace of you into the dust from which you were born!"

"Empty, Vorrik!" Pellaeon bellowed. The Yuuzhan Vong commander emitted  a

sound like that of a womp rat being strangled, but  he  didn't  give  him  the

chance to speak. "It's time for you to make good on your promises,  Commander:

either destroy us or get out!"

"By the gods of my people, infidel, I promise  that  you  will  choke  on

those words!"

"Maybe one day, Vorrik," Pellaeon said, "but not today. You really should

have thought twice about this gambit of yours—especially if  you  didn't  have

the resources to pull it off in the first place."  In  the  heartbeat  between

words he lost all hint of mockery and adopted a cold  and  serious  tone.  "We

have no intentions  of  surrendering—not  now,  not  ever.  You  may  win  the

occasional battle against us, Vorrik, but the Empire will always strike  back.

That / promise you."

Vorrik began another howl of  abuse  that  Pellaeon  ignored.  "You  tell

Shimrra from me that if he wants to get the job done, then he's going to  have

to send a much bigger fleet—and a more competent commander to oversee it."

He killed the line before Vorrik had  the  opportunity  to  say  anything

further, then relaxed into the soothing embrace of the bacta tank's fluids. He

was happy with his handling of the Yuuzhan Vong commander, even  if  provoking

Vorrik was a calculated risk. But his words had been as much for those in  his

own navy as for Vorrik. If the Yuuzhan Vong commander did decide to  defy  his

orders and stay, Pellaeon wanted to make sure he had the  entire  navy  behind

him.

Thankfully, though, within moments of breaking contact, half of  Vorrik's

ships had begun to withdraw. The  other  half  lay  down  a  pattern  of  fire

designed to deter the Imperial forces from taking advantage  of  the  retreat.

Pel-laeon's commanders knew better than to jump right in, but  they  did  make

use of the opportunity to  take  the  battle  to  the  other  side.  Planetary

turbolasers poured energy at the fleeing enemy, while the Defiant  sent  waves

of confounding gravitational fluctuations into the mess of  retreating  ships.

Squadron leaders, too, took advantage of every break in the  rearguard  action

to sneak through and attack from behind.

Then the capital ships were entering  hyperspace  and  the  Yuuzhan  Vong

fleet was committed to withdrawal. The many views available through Pellaeon's

breath mask showed Yuuzhan Vong vessels pouring out of the  system  in  battle

groups of various  sizes.  Some  were  as  small  as  a  cruiser  analog  with

coralskippers firmly attached;  others  consisted  of  several  capital  ships

flying in synchrony, coordinated by the yammosk still hiding in their midst.

Pellaeon watched them go with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  he  knew  he

shouldn't indulge. He was no navigator, but he'd had plenty of  experience  at

estimating the courses of ships entering hyperspace. Even without  seeing  the

data, he could tell that the retreating fleet was heading  to  more  than  one

destination.

"Where are they going?" he asked Yage.

"Initial vectors suggest that two-thirds of the fleet is heading  out  of

Imperial territory."

"And the remaining third?"

"Are heading in the opposite direction," Yage said. "We  can't  obtain  a

precise fix, but we think they might be heading for—"

"Yaga Minor," he finished for her.

"It would appear so, sir," Yage said. "He probably thinks he can get away

with it while our forces are committed to mopping up here."

Pellaeon considered this for a moment before saying, "Have Stalwart press

the attack. I'd like to keep their evacuation as undignified as possible.  And

I want Relentless and Protector  on  their  way  to  Yaga  Minor  immediately.

Defiant and Peerless, too. Flennic is going to need all the help he can get to

keep those shipyards safe."

"What about Right to Rule, sir?"

Responsible in part for guarding Widowmaker and other  tactical  Imperial

vessels, the ageing Star Destroyer had seen little battle from its position in

the inner orbits of Borosk.

"It stays," Pellaeon said. "I have other plans for the old boat."

"Yes, sir."

When  Yage  had  gone,  Pellaeon  opened  a  private  channel  with  Luke

Skywalker. "Well, Jedi," he said, "we did it."

"You did it," Skywalker came back. "I didn't do  much  more  than  watch,

Admiral."

"Which was precisely what was needed," the Grand  Admiral  countered.  He

had no intention of allowing the Jedi Master to underrate his own part in this

victory. "While we may never take orders from you, Skywalker, I think you have

proven today that sometimes it works to our advantage to accept your help."

"The line between the two seems very fine, Admiral," Luke said.

Pellaeon smiled at the world-weary tone in the Jedi  Master's  voice.  He

was no stranger, either, to having to reconcile  conflicting  elements  within

his own people. Sometimes it took much more than a common enemy to  bring  old

foes together—and although he had just

won his first battle against the Yuuzhan Vong, he knew that the  war  was

still waiting. The hardest part was yet to come.

"Indeed it does," he said somberly as he scanned overviews of the Yuuzhan

Vong pullback. "Indeed it does."

Another squawk signaled a new entrant to the  private  channel.  Pellaeon

accepted it and heard the voice of Sky-walker's nephew.

"This is Braxant Bonecrusher," Jacen Solo said from the makeshift  bridge

of the Dreadnaught. "We have a hold full of people  requiring  urgent  medical

attention. Please advise."

"Bonecrusher, this is  Widowmaker,"  he  heard  Yage  respond.  "You  are

instructed to dock with  medical  supply  platform  Hale  Return.  Details  to

follow."

As the battle computers on  the  two  vessels  exchanged  data,  Pellaeon

studied the Dreadnaught via long-range scanner.  Battered  by  two  successive

rounds of enemy fire, its hull was literally smoking in places from  where  it

had been punctured. He knew that part of the plan had been  for  the  ship  to

give this appearance, but he could tell by the way it moved that some  of  the

damage it had sustained was very real indeed.

"You took some hits," he said.

"No more than expected," said the young Jedi, playing down  the  severity

of their condition. "The trick worked perfectly."

"Well done, Jacen," Luke said. "You did well—all of you."

There was a slight pause  as  Jacen  examined  the  course  data  he  had

received and confirmed the  battle  droids'  trajectory  through  the  milling

Imperial Navy.

"What happened to  the  war?"  he  asked,  sounding  both  surprised  and

relieved.

"It went away," Pellaeon said sardonically.

"But not far," Luke added. "And not for long, either."

"Don't worry," Pellaeon continued. "We'll be ready for it when  it  comes

back. The Yuuzhan Vong will rue the day they dragged me into this."

"Don't let your confidence over this one  victory  cloud  your  judgment,

Admiral," Luke said. "The Yuuzhan Vong will not take this defeat lightly. This

is just the beginning, I assure you."

Pellaeon didn't need to be cautioned, "I think you're right, my  friend,"

he said, nodding in the bacta tank, "The beginning of their end."

The word quickly spread through the Fian  squadrons,  and  despite  their

inexperience and a number of losses, the Y-wings were managing  to  score  the

occasional strike against the Yuuzhan Vong attackers.  On  one  occasion,  Jag

barely had time to notice the skip on his tail before it was  knocked  out  of

the sky by a wave of fire from his port side.

"Nice shooting, Seven," he said in thanks, banking to  warn  off  another

skip that was trying to get on the Y-wing's own tail.

A barrage of weapons fire announced the  arrival  of  Pride  of  Selonia,

following on from a devastating  pass  over  the  nearest  of  the  two  empty

slaveships that were making  their  way  down  to  the  planet  to  begin  the

harvesting of the Fian population. The bladder-shaped alien vessel  had  split

along its back and burst like an overripe fruit, causing an ugly  spillage  of

reddish fluid. Jag watched as thousands of tiny, flapping shapes—Yuuzhan  Vong

gnulliths—escaped from the massive rent in the slaveship, wriggling and  dying

in the vacuum like flash-frozen birds. Jaina and her Cerise  Squadron  friends

sent a swarm of torpedoes arcing into the breach, then hurriedly retreated  as

the multiple explosions tore it to pieces.

"One down," she said triumphantly. It was good to hear the assertive tone

return to her voice. "How're you doing, Jag?"

Jag returned his attention to the  blastboat.  It  had  turned  about  as

though to withdraw, but he wasn't fooled. The Yuuzhan Vong weren't emotionally

capable of accepting loss so gracefully. They were up  to  something,  he  was

sure.

"It's got to be a ruse," he warned his  wingmates.  "Get  too  close  and

it'll—"

The warning came too late, though, as three  Y-wings  came  in  tight  to

strafe the underside of the listless vessel. All of a sudden  the  blastboat's

dovin basals unleashed their combined energy. The flash that followed  was  so

bright it seemed to turn the blastboat transparent  before  blasting  it  into

atoms. The resulting shock wave took  out  the  three  Y-wings  and  seriously

rattled a further five nearby.

Jag sighed once the shock wave had fully dissipated. "Sorry, Indigo,"  he

said. "I should have warned you sooner."

"Not your fault, Twin Leader," Indigo Five reassured him after  a  slight

pause. "We are sorely uneducated in the art of fighting Yuuzhan Vong. We  have

only ourselves to blame."

A reduced Indigo Squadron swung in to help Jaina finish off the remaining

slaveship, while the combined Twin Suns and Reseda Squadrons quickly  disposed

of the remaining skips. In no time at  all,  the  battle  was  over,  and  Jag

allowed his grip on the ship's controls to finally relax.

When his heart rate had slowed  and  he  was  sure  there  were  no  more

coralskippers about, Jag contacted the leader of the Galantos Y-wings.

"So tell me, Captain Syrtik," he said, "what happens when  you  go  back?

Will you be court-martialed for this?"

"That depends," the stoic Fia said. "Our charter is to  protect  Galantos

from attack, but we are under the direct command  of  the  councilor  and  his

primates. If they charge us with defying a direct order—"

"But is that what you did?" Jaina broke in. "Did they really tell you not

to help us?"

Jag noted the dangerous edge to Jaina's voice and said nothing.  Emotions

often ran high in the wake of a battle.

"It depends on how you define order," Syrtik said.

"I can't believe those space slugs," Jaina went on. "Here we  are  trying

to save their skins and they have  the  nerve  to—"  The  unfinished  sentence

resolved in a heavy sigh. "No, it can wait. But when  Mom  hears  about  this,

there's going to be trouble."

"I think there's going to be trouble anyway," Jag said. "After all,  they

did try to keep her prisoner on Galantos—and they may have  even  intended  to

trade her for amnesty when the slaveships arrived."

There was nothing but silence down the line. Then on the scopes, Jag  saw

Jaina's battered X-wing empty its remaining torpedoes into  the  side  of  the

single ruined slave-ship, spraying its contents against the starry backdrop.

"Are you all right?" he sent to her along a private channel.

"No, I'm not all right," she snapped back. "I mean,  why  do  we  bother,

Jag? What's the point of trying to defend these people  when  they  insist  on

stabbing us in the back? It just doesn't make any sense!"

"I'm sure Miza would ask the same question, Jaina."

She was silent for a moment as the name of the dead Chiss pilot sunk  in.

"I'm acting like a child, aren't I?"

"Actually, you're acting like Jaina Solo—and that's nothing to be ashamed

of, I assure you."

She laughed softly. "Thanks, Jag."

"Anytime." He glanced at his scopes. The Y-wing  squadrons  were  already

heading back to Galantos, their numbers reduced by roughly a quarter.  Selonia

was launching probe droids to investigate  the  wreckage  of  the  slave-ships

while the remainder of Twin Suns Squadron was slipping one  by  one  into  its

docking bays. •

"We have a lot to catch up on,"  he  said.  "Maybe  we  should  dock  and

debrief in person."

She laughed again, and this time it seemed to come more naturally.  "Why,

that must be one of the most romantic things anyone has said to me in years."

He smiled, glad to hear her sounding more like her old self. "Then it's a

date?"

"Sure," she said as her X-wing swung around to  match  course  with  his.

"Why not?"

On the far side of the planet, well away from the action, the  Millennium

Falcon was slipping into the same orbit as the small yacht that  had  followed

them up from the surface. Tahiri watched  on  silently  from  behind  Anakin's

parents, uncomfortable with the obvious tension in the cockpit. Han was  still

rankling over being outvoted after Tahiri had suggested  they  should  try  to

find the yacht so they could learn more about the mystery man  who  had  saved

them. Han had wanted to go and join the battle with the others, and while Leia

had said she would have liked to have done this also, she ultimately had sided

with Tahiri.

"We're a diplomatic mission," she had argued in the face of Han's  tight-

lipped resistance. "And if diplomacy means retreating from a fight—or cowering

around the

back side of a planet, as you so eloquently put it—then  that's  what  we

have to do."

"But they need our help," Han had protested. It  was  obvious  he  didn't

have much of an argument. He just preferred the fighting to the diplomacy.

"Twin Suns Squadron and Captain Mayn are more  than  capable  of  dealing

with a small contingent of Yuuzhan Vong," Leia said.  Then,  more  softly  and

with a reassuring hand on her husband's shoulder, she added,  "Besides,  in  a

war, diplomacy can be just as important as aggression. You'd be  surprised  at

just how many deals are done under circumstances like this."

"I thought it was this very kind of thing that made you want to  get  out

of politics," he said, glowering at the controls  as  he  brought  the  Falcon

around.

Leia sighed, tired of trying to make him see reason.  "Only  one  of  the

reasons, Han," she returned.

Before he could respond,  she  had  turned  her  attention  back  to  the

scanners. Tahiri knew that the argument was over.  Leia  was  a  strong-willed

individual, and she wasn't the kind to waste time bickering with  her  husband

over something that, as far as she was concerned, had been resolved.

Noticing the growing tension in the cockpit,  C-3PO  had  taken  it  upon

himself at that moment to leave, dismissing himself  with  the  flimsy  excuse

that his activators needed calibrating. Tahiri suspected,  though,  that  this

was  a  standard  excuse  the  golden  droid  used  whenever  things  got  too

uncomfortable between his human  owners.  Tahiri  wished  she  had  a  similar

excuse. If she hadn't been needed, she might have slipped  off  as  well.  Her

senses were swimming disturbingly after the elation on the landing  field  and

their escape. She felt light-headed, peculiar. ..

Keep it together, she told herself, doing her best to concentrate on real

things, not illusions.

Traffic over the planet was light, so finding the yacht wasn't  going  to

prove too difficult. Ion trails led from a hundred or  so  launches  to  upper

orbit. It was  relatively  easy  to  rule  out  the  fighters  and  the  large

freighters. Only a handful remained in tight and low, waiting for  rendezvous.

Tahiri knew instinctively, through the Force, that the being who  had  rescued

them would be waiting for them, as he'd said he would be. Although she  didn't

know what he had to say, his mention of the Peace Brigade  had  convinced  her

that he knew what he was talking about and that they should hear him out.  The

silver totem she had found in the diplomatic quarters  was  missing  from  her

pocket, but it was proof that the Yuuzhan Vong had obviously been involved for

a while. The arrival of the slaveships wasn't  just  a  coincidence,  she  was

sure.

The tact that she had responded so strongly to the totem still  disturbed

her. Its presence—or the past presence of its owner,  at  least—troubled  her,

nagging as it did at the back of her mind. It surprised her, too.  She  hadn't

realized that she was so sensitive to echoes of the Yuuzhan Vong.  Instead  of

fading away, as she had fervently hoped it would, the nagging was only getting

stronger.

No, she told herself firmly, shaking her head and focusing on the task at

hand. Reaching out with the Force, she sought any sign of the person  she  had

recognized on the Al'solib'minet'ri City landing field. Then.. .

"There," she said, pointing. The small Corellian craft  was  hugging  the

upper atmosphere below. Shell-like in shape, with several small blister  ports

sprouting  thrusters  and  rudimentary  shield  generators  but  no   apparent

armaments, its engines were silent. "That's it."

"Are you sure?" Han asked. He still sounded moody.

She nodded, feeling with the Force again. "As sure as I can be."

"Millennium Falcon," crackled a voice out of the sub-space  communicator.

It was the same voice Tahiri had heard back on  the  landing  field.  "Hailing

Millennium Falcon."

"Yeah, we hear you," Han said. "Mind telling us who you are?"

"A friend," came the reply.

"Let us be the ones to decide that."

"Do we know you?" Leia asked.

"We have never met, but you know my kind," the being said. That he wasn't

human was becoming increasingly clear to Tahiri, although she  couldn't  quite

pin down his species. There was a faint singsong quality  to  the  voice  that

she'd heard before, although she couldn't for the life of her remember where.

"What kind is that?" Han asked.

"I apologize for the reception  you  received  on  Galantos,"  the  voice

pressed on, ignoring the question. "There was nothing I could  do  to  prevent

it. I would have warned you when you arrived, had I known in advance you  were

coming, but by the time I found a way into the

diplomatic rooms you were already  imprisoned.  I  had  to  wait  for  an

opportunity to help you more overtly and a time when it no longer mattered  if

my cover was blown."

"You're a spy?" Leia asked.

"Not exactly," said the mystery voice. "But I can help you."

"We're already in your debt," Tahiri said.

"Any debt you may have had with me, Tahiri Veila, was  cleared  when  you

helped me escape," he said. "And we hold the Solos in high regard for the many

times they've helped us in the past. So no, there is no debt. I am simply glad

to have met you—and to have made a difference."

"What can you tell us about Galantos?" Leia asked. "Jaina says  that  the

Yevetha are destroyed. Is that correct?"

"Fian probes to N'zoth confirmed that the Yevethan  shipyards  have  been

destroyed, but they didn't stick around to look any deeper. The Fia are deeply

afraid of their neighbors; what happened here  twelve  years  ago  traumatized

their culture. The Yevetha may have been routed almost to the last ship by the

New Republic, but they were still there, in the cluster, and  the  Fia  always

knew that one day they would emerge to try again. Last time the Fia  survived,

thanks to the help of the New Republic; this time, however, the  New  Republic

might not be able to defend them."

"And the fear of the Yevetha returning  would  only  have  grown  as  the

Yuuzhan Vong crisis deepened," Leia put in.

"Exactly. The Fia aren't by nature a warlike species, and they knew their

feeble attempts to arm themselves  would  never  be  sufficient.  If  the  New

Republic lost, who would protect Galantos from the Koornacht Cluster? So  when

a group approached them a year ago, promising to end the Yevethan threat,  you

can imagine how very tempting an offer it was."

"This is where the Peace Brigade comes in, right?" Tahiri asked, fighting

the disorientation in her mind to concentrate on the conversation.  "Resources

in exchange for safety."

"That's right. The Peace Brigade took minerals they needed  for  exchange

with other parties, and N'zoth was destroyed—taken by surprise, thanks to  the

tactical information the Fia gave the Brigaders, who in turn passed it  on  to

the Vong commanders. That way, the Fia hoped to ensure  their  own  safety  by

dealing with the Peace Brigade. After all, they feared the Yevetha  much  more

than they feared the Yuuzhan Vong, who have yet to make significant impact  on

this side of the galaxy. That seemed to be it. Galantos was safe at last."

"All without our knowledge," Leia said.

"Courtesy of the communications blackout."

"Was that also part of the deal with the Peace Brigade? Galantos  cutting

itself off from the New Republic?"

"Yes."

"But why?" Tahiri asked.

"For fear of reprisals," the stranger replied.

"From the Peace Brigade?"

"From the New Republic. You don't take kindly to those who  consort  with

the enemy."

"With good reason," Han said. "I can't believe we spent  so  much  energy

trying to save a bunch of mass murderers from a fate they probably deserve. If

we hadn't come along when we did, the Fia would be crated up in one  of  those

slaveships right now and headed for one of the occupied worlds. We should have

left them to it."

"You don't mean that, Han," Leia said.

"Don't tell me you're going to forgive  them  for  what  they  did."  Han

looked as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The  Yevetha  don't

know how to lose. They're as bad as the Vong in that respect—or were,  anyway.

They would've fought to the last, and the Fia knew  it.  That  makes  them  as

guilty of genocide as the Yuuzhan Vong."

"The Fia were manipulated into it," Leia said. "The  Yevetha  would  have

quite happily destroyed the Fia — and all of us, too, for  that  matter—but  I

never once heard you advocate their slaughter. The Fia are as much victims  in

this as anyone else."

"They sure would've been," Han said bitterly, "if we hadn't come by  when

we did."

"People do stupid things, Han." Leia's  lips  were  thin  and  white,  as

though she was keeping her own anger in check. "I'm not saying that I  approve

of the Fia and their actions, or that I'm not angry at how  they  treated  us.

It's just that I can understand them, their fear  of  losing  everything.  The

Yuuzhan Vong wanted slaves and information on potential threats. The Fia  gave

them both by pointing out the Yevetha. They also set themselves up as a  slave

target by getting

complacent and cutting themselves off from their allies. But that doesn't

make them our enemy. No one deserves to be enslaved, no  matter  what  they've

done. We're here to reopen communications and save lives,  not  here  to  cast

judgment over who deserves to live or die."

Han reluctantly acknowledged the point with a grunt.

"Then we showed up," Tahiri said, made uncomfortable by the argument. She

felt oddly threatened when Anakin's parents nagged at each other. "Tipped  off

by you, I presume. A message  found  its  way  into  the  Falcon's  computers,

telling us where to go."

"Yes," said the voice on the other end of the line. "I had been trying to

get word out of the system for some time, but there was no way to  tell  if  I

had succeeded. Obviously, I had, and it was acted on at  your  end.  When  you

arrived, Councilor Jobath panicked and sent an  underling  to  spare  him  the

difficulty of meeting you face to face. Primate Persha also  panicked  and  in

turn lumbered you with an assistant. I'm sure Thrum would have liked  to  find

someone else to palm you off onto, as well, but  he  was  the  bottom  of  the

ladder, and he handled the situation accordingly. Because  you  were  able  to

explore the city and seek vital clues, you were soon on the  way  to  guessing

the truth."

"It also gave you the opportunity to get closer to us," Leia said.

"That's right," he said. "At first I was able only to  leave  a  note  in

your escort's flight computer, but I had limited time and I could not  explain

myself properly. Then when the Yuuzhan Vong arrived,  security  was  tightened

even more. The Fia thought the slaveship was just a  freighter  come  to  take

more resources."

"Except they were the resources," Han said with a shake of his head.

"Yes."

"I have to admit," Leia said, "it's a clever plan. The Yuuzhan  Vong  are

stretched too thin to take this region  by  force.  Instead,  they  rely  upon

factions within to do half their work for them. It's efficient and  deadly—and

I don't dare assume that this is the only place they've tried this tactic."

"That would be an incorrect assumption, Princess."  The  voice  over  the

comm was grimly serious. "There are numerous communications blackouts in place

in this quarter of the galaxy. Your intelligence networks are aware of many of

these—hence your mission.  What  is  difficult  to  tell  is  which  ones  are

innocent, and which ones are the work of the Peace  Brigade  and  the  Yuuzhan

Vong. In some places, the answer is known after the fact, when it's too  late.

Rutan and its moon Senali, for instance, were politically divided by the Peace

Brigade well over a year ago. A few months afterward, the  Senali  were  wiped

out by a Yuuzhan Vong force that subsequently turned its guns on the Rutanians

and enslaved half the population."

"Rutan was on our list," Leia said to Han.

"Is Belderone?" the pilot asked.

"Yes, actually, it is," she answered.

"Well, thanks to the Yuuzhan Vong, the Firrerreos are now a dead species,

" he said. "And the Belderonians won't be far behind."

"How could you possibly know all this?"  Han  asked.  "If  communications

have been down in these places — not to mention here—I don't see how you could

have the faintest idea of what's going on."

"Don't you?" There was a distinct smile in the stranger's voice.

"You knew what our mission was without us telling you, "Tahiri said.

"And you were able to infiltrate the Falcon's computers on Mon Calamari,"

Leia added. "Who are you people?"

"If I tell you, you won't believe me. Not yet, anyway."

"Try us," Han said, his voice pitched low to indicate that refusal wasn't

an option.

The pilot of the yacht chuckled. "Suffice it to say that I'm  part  of  a

network. We're not spies, but we do keep an eye on what goes on around us.  We

have a knack for getting into the places we need to be, and we tend not to  be

noticed. We don't work for anyone except ourselves,  and  we  don't  sell  the

information we collect; we don't, therefore, pose a threat  to  anyone  except

those who try to harm us. We simply gather knowledge."

"But what are you in it for?" Han asked. "What do you stand to gain  from

it all, if you don't sell the information?"

"I'd be  lying  if  I  said  that  we  stood  to  gain  nothing  but  the

satisfaction of helping others." Again, the hint of a smile. "The truth is, we

do it to look  out  for  ourselves.  We  aren't  highly  trained  soldiers  or

professional warriors. We're not spies, as I've already said. We are, in fact,

the sort who get caught between opposing armies, and are squashed as a result.

That's partly how we can do the things that spies and soldiers  can't  do—like

get information into and out of regions like this one, where all but the least

likely are closely inspected. Neither you nor the Yuuzhan Vong notices us.  We

are invisible and everywhere. Not much gets by us that we want to hear."

"So why are you helping MS?" Han asked.

"Because, at the moment, peace in the galaxy revolves around  the  health

of your new Galactic Alliance. And because we're in a position now to actively

help you. It's taken us some time to reach this point, but now that  we  have,

you can feel free to assume that we are on your side."

"For the moment," Han added.

"Yes, Captain Solo: for the moment. And as of this moment, I must make my

way out of this system and file a report  while  you  must  choose  your  next

destination."

"Wait," Leia said. "Before you go, I don't suppose you'd be able to  help

us with that decision?.. ."

Han shot Leia a sharp look. He hadn't been happy about having  the  first

leg of their journey determined by an anonymous note, and he obviously  wasn't

enamored with the idea of taking further instructions from cryptic strangers.

"You and your people helped us once before," Leia went on,  ignoring  her

husband. "You've exposed an enemy tactic we hadn't identified before.  If  you

have any more advice for us, we'd be glad to hear it."

"Very well," said the pilot of the yacht. "Where  were  you  thinking  of

going?"

"We hadn't discussed it," Leia said. "I was considering  Belsavis.  There

have been communications problems there in recent months, and it has a history

of conflict that the Yuuzhan Vong could take advantage of."

"The Senex and Juvex sectors would be prime targets, it's  true,  but  it

may already be too late there. There might be little else for you  to  do  but

clean up the mess. More good could be done by going  somewhere  in  the  early

stages of corruption. That way, at least, you  may  be  able  to  prevent  the

situation from developing into anything too serious."

"That's if you're right," Han said. "But how do we know you  aren't  just

sending us on some wild gundark hunt? I mean, you could be  a  member  of  the

Peace Brigade yourself: you're a covert infiltrator; you're part of a galactic

conspiracy. This could all just be some sort of elaborate scheme to put us off

the scent. The next place you send us could be—"

"A thousand times worse than here," the pilot  finished  for  him.  "Yes,

Captain Solo, it could be. And in fact it probably will be, for the place  I'm

suggesting you travel to is Bakura."

"Bakura?" Han echoed. "Are you telling me—?"

"I'm not telling you anything," the pilot cut in again. "In truth, I know

little. The information we have gathered there is scant, and many of my normal

channels of information have been cut, along with the routes your spies  would

normally use. This makes us concerned. If the  Ssi-ruuvi  Imperium  is  active

again, using this time of distraction to make a move on the life forces of the

galaxy as it did once before, then it could be serious.  They've  had  a  long

time to amass a new  battle  droid  army,  and  to  perfect  their  entechment

technology."

There was a moment's silence as those in the Falcon's  crew  contemplated

the stranger's words. Tahiri was too young to remember the  trouble  with  the

Ssi-ruuk, but she'd certainly been taught  about  it.  As  xenophobic  as  the

Yevetha, having evolved  under  similar  circumstances  in  the  heart  of  an

isolated star cluster, the reptilian aliens had only just been driven back  by

the New Republic with the unexpected assistance of the Chiss. Their techniques

of mind control and entechment rivaled those of the Yuu-zhan Vong in terms  of

horror and agony. The peaceful world of Bakura stood between the rest  of  the

galaxy and the Ssi-ruuvi Imperium and had fallen  afoul  of  the  aliens  once

before.

Tahiri didn't know if the Yuuzhan Vong could  surprise  the  Ssi-ruuk  in

sufficient force to wipe them out, as they had the Yevetha. The  Ssi-ruuk  had

indeed had longer to recover, and had been stronger to start with. If the Ssi-

ruuk were able to use entechment to fuel their ships with  Yuuzhan  Vong  life

force—or if the Yuuzhan Vong found a way to exploit the same technology.. .

She shuddered. The question of whether the Yuuzhan Vong had a  connection

to the Force was still open, and she doubted that they would use any  sort  of

machine in their quest for domination, but the idea of any  sort  of  marriage

between the two hate-filled species filled her with a terrible dread.

Keep it together, she reminded herself. Don't lose it now.

"Thank you," Leia said eventually. She had  gone  slightly  pale.  "We're

grateful for your assistance."

"Yeah," Han added, his defensive skepticism firmly in place. "We'll  take

it under advisement."

"Will there be someone there like you?" Tahiri asked.

"Someone will contact you," came the reply.

"Who?"

"Someone. Like I said, we are everywhere."

Indices on the local space scopes began to flash; the yacht  was  warming

up its ion drives, preparing to leave.

"Will you at least give us your name?" Tahiri asked.

"Be patient, young Jedi," the stranger said. "We will sing your song  one

day soon."

Before Tahiri could ask what he meant, the line went dead, and the  yacht

was heading out of the planet's gravity well.

Tahiri registered Han's snort of annoyance,  but  it  was  almost  buried

under a realization prompted by the  stranger's  farewell  combined  with  the

sound of his voice and the smell she had noted on the landing field.  We  will

sing your song...

"He's a Ryn!" she exclaimed.

"A Ryn?" Han echoed incredulously. "He can't be."

"He is. I swear it."

"But what's one of them doing in the spy game? They'd stick out like sore

thumbs!"

"I guess," said Leia, watching the retreating yacht as it accelerated and

vanished into hyperspace, "we're just going to have to find out for ourselves.

..."

Part Four

Conscription

It was amazing, Jaina, thought, just how quickly governments  could  jump

when they wanted to. Within five hours of the destruction of  the  two  slave-

ships, not only was the link to the nearest deep space transceiver open again,

allowing information to once more flow freely into  Galantos  from  the  local

subspace network, but Councilor Jobath had emerged from his pressing  business

on the far side of the planet, professing his deep and undying loyalty to  the

Galactic Alliance.

Jaina could imagine her father's reaction to that. Her mother would  have

no doubt shared his sentiments, too, but  hid  her  feelings  beneath  a  more

gracious and temperate response. Her parents worked well that way, maintaining

a pretense guaranteed on the one hand to intimidate the most  ingratiating  of

local governors, but at the same time capable of wooing them without  actually

using force.

Jaina hadn't seen the exchange,  though.  After  docking  with  Pride  of

Selonia and having a few minor bruises treated, she had retired to one of  the

frigate's berths and slept solidly for almost five hours. It had been  cramped

and uncomfortable, but it was better than trying to sleep upright  in  her  X-

wing—even though she'd had hundreds of hours practice doing just that over the

years.

In her deep sleep she had dreamed fitfully of Anakin's  last  mission  to

the worldship around Myrkr to destroy the voxyn queen, as  well  as  the  cold

fury she had felt upon his death that had turned her, for a time, to the  dark

side. While her body rested, her mind relived the fear that  Jacen,  too,  had

died, and the aftertaste of that awful grief she would carry with her for  the

rest of her life, she was sure.

But even as she was dreaming, she found herself wondering: Why  now?  Why

here? What is the dream trying to tell—?

She woke with a start, sucking air in  sharply  as  a  hand  gripped  her

shoulder and shook.

"What—?" She rolled over, eyes blinking open to peer up at the dark  blur

leaning over her.

"Relax, Jaina, it's just me." Through the haze of  sleep  she  recognized

Jag's solid, calming presence as he sat down on the edge of  the  narrow  bunk

beside her.

"Jag?" She sat up, brushing loose strands of hair back from her face. She

yawned, knuckling her eyes. "You want to be careful,  you  know.  People  will

talk."

"Let them," he said. "Besides, you do know where you are, don't you?"

It sank in then that she wasn't in her  quarters  on  Mon  Calamari,  but

instead tucked into a space in a communal bunkroom, with little  more  than  a

flimsy curtain separating her bunk from the fifteen other identical beds.  She

had a better chance of finding a Kowakian  monkey-lizard  at  the  helm  of  a

starship than of getting any privacy here.

"Why are you waking me up?"  she  asked  after  orienting  herself.  "Has

anything happened?"

"No," he said, laughing. "You requested  a  standard  field  nap,  and  I

volunteered to do the dirty work when time came to wake  you  up.  It  was  my

opinion that the duty officer  should  be  spared  the  grisly  business."  He

smiled. "I don't see why he should get to have all the fun."

Her mouth half opened to snap a retort,  but  the  unexpected  compliment

threw her for a second. Then she shook her head and smiled also. "What do  you

really want, Jag? If it's a rematch on the dueling mat, then you're  going  to

have to at least give me a minute or two to wake up properly."

He laughed again. "Actually, I came to bring you  some  news,"  he  said.

"About Jacen."

"Jacen?" The last vestiges of sleep vanished; she  sat  up  fully,  alarm

spiking at the back of her brain. Was this why those  memories  had  surfaced?

"Tell me," she grated.

Jag did tell her. She learned of Councilor Jobath's  turnaround  and  the

reopening of communications. Although she was relieved that the  situation  on

Galantos had been so easily rectified, that was nothing compared to  the  news

that had been relayed from Mon Calamari, once they had regained  contact.  The

Yuuzhan Vong invasion of the Empire had been successfully resisted. After  the

destruction of Bastion, Imperial forces had successfully turned  the  invaders

back at Borosk and were at the moment forcing them to fight a rearguard action

as they retreated. Mara and  Luke's  mission  had  been  instrumental  in  the

victory, supplying tactics and pivotal aid where required. Rumor had  it  that

they may even have saved Grand Admiral Pellaeon's life in the process.

And Jacen was fine. A moment's  examination  of  the  part  of  her  that

resonated with her twin would have told her that there was nothing wrong  with

him. No matter how far apart they were—and at that moment there was more  than

half a galaxy between them—she would always know if he was in trouble.

She nudged Jag off the bunk, and he turned his back to her  as  she  slid

out from under the covers. Jaina quickly slipped her flight  uniform  on  over

her underclothes, silently promising herself a serious shower at the  earliest

opportunity. "You can turn around now."

"Where are you planning  to  go?"  he  asked.  "You're  still  off  duty,

remember? Your parents are asleep. Your fighter is being repaired."

She faced him, hands on hips. "Then why  wake  me  in  the  first  place?

Couldn't that news have waited until I had woken up by myself?"

"Well, I just thought—" He fell silent, clearly embarrassed.

"Maybe you really did want that rematch," she said lightly. Then she took

his arm and led him out of the crew quarters. "For  now,  though,  let's  just

walk, okay? Even if it's only as far as the mess. I've a feeling I'm going  to

be ravenous once all of me wakes up."

She was right; barely had they entered the cramped main  access  corridor

running along the spine of the frigate when her stomach began  to  rumble  and

she had a  terrible  craving  for  one  of  the  altha  protein  drinks  Lando

Calrissian had taught her to enjoy when she was younger.  Pride  of  Selonia's

cook droid had a limited repertoire, however, and she had to settle for a bowl

of bland, glutinous nutrient soup and a glass of flavored water.

Jag, sipping from a steaming mug, filled in some of the blanks while  she

ate. She learned about the proposed next stop to Bakura,  and  the  mysterious

source of that information. The source was a completely unknown quantity,  and

it concerned her that her parents were taking such a decision on faith.  Their

experiences with the Ryn called Droma and his family weren't  enough  to  ease

her mind regarding the trustworthiness of the entire species. Given  that  the

mysterious stranger wasn't Droma—and Tahiri assured them that he  wasn't—there

was still a big question mark over his motivation. If it was a  genuine  lead,

then acting on it quickly could save a great many lives. And if it was a trap,

at least they wouldn't be going in blind.  She  couldn't  really  imagine  the

Bakurans allying themselves with  the  Yuuzhan  Vong  or  the  Peace  Brigade,

though; not given all they owed to the New Republic and the Jedi.

"What about Syrtik?" she  asked  when  Jag  had  finished  updating  her.

"What's happened to him?"

Jag's pale green eyes seemed to glint with amusement. "Would you  believe

he's been nominated for a military honor? Jobath has been really on the  spot.

Syrtik's a national hero, the people love him, but at the end of  the  day  he

did disobey orders not to get involved. Jobath has to go along with it to save

face, but he certainly doesn't like it." He shrugged.  "So  everything  turned

out for the best in the end, eh?"

"Not for the Yevetha, it didn't," she said, distractedly scooping some of

the soup onto her spoon. His expression sobered. "I know; I'm  sorry.  I  read

your report. It's brief but to the point." Jaina vividly remembered  the  last

words of the Yevethan pilot before he blew up his ship,  preferring  death—not

only for himself, but for his species—rather than be  rescued  by  aliens  and

become contaminated.

Run from them if you like, he  had  said  about  the  Yuuzhan  Vong,  the

destroyers of his civilization, but it will do you no good. There is no safety

anywhere.

Even though the tide had turned for the Galactic Alliance,  the  war  had

been so long and they had lost so much that she sometimes  found  it  easy  to

believe that the galaxy would never know peace again. And even if it  did,  it

was unlikely that life in it would ever  be  the  same,  no  matter  what  the

outcome.

"I'm sorry about Miza," she said, regretting her snap assessment  of  the

Chiss pilot's shortcomings. What had she known  about  him,  really?  Nothing,

except that he'd flown well and occasionally irritated her.  She  didn't  know

how old he was, if he had family back home, or whether he had someone  special

who would mourn him. She didn't even know if he and Jag had been friends,  but

she felt the urge to tell him she was sorry anyway, because she was sorry.

"It wasn't your fault, Jaina," Jag said. His hand came over  the  top  of

hers in a gesture of reassurance.

"Falling afoul of an ambush while simply trying  to  help  someone,"  she

said, shaking her head sadly. "It seems like such an inglorious way to die."

"I don't think there are necessarily any good ways to die, Jaina."

"He'll be missed, won't he?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "For his good points as well as his bad."

Jaina nodded. "And now the squad is one short."

"After only our first mission, too," he said somberly. "Not a good start,

is it?"

She turned her hand beneath  his,  locking  their  fingers  together  and

squeezing. He squeezed  back,  but  with  obvious  reservations.  She  sighed,

feeling guilty for having ruined the good mood he'd been in.

"I'm sure everything will be okay, Jag," she said.  "I  know  this  is  a

strange way to run a squadron, but once we've ironed out the bugs—"

"That's not what concerns me, Jaina," he said. "I actually think we  work

well together. But if what your mother says is true, if  the  Vong  have  been

reopening old wounds in order to exploit the aftereffects..." He  trailed  off

uncomfortably.

"What, Jag?"

"Well..." He shrugged and pulled his  hand  away  from  hers.  There  was

something on his mind; she didn't need the Force  to  see  that.  "It  may  be

nothing, but the New Republic and the Chiss haven't always been on the best of

terms. After Thrawn—"

"Thrawn was an Imperial. We know the difference."

"But to us he was a Chiss, Jaina. The Expansionary Defense Fleet has been

struggling for decades to protect our borders. Using the  Empire  as  a  tool,

Thrawn made more progress in a few years than all the others combined. Yes, he

may have overreached at the end, but still,  when  the  New  Republic  finally

defeated him, there were many among us who mourned. That's partly why we  tend

to side with the Empire. It's not just because we're closer to  them  than  we

are to you along most of our borders. There's still resentment."

"You're telling me the Chiss might work with the  Yuu-zhan  Vong  against

us?"

Jag shrugged. "No, I'm not saying that. There will  always  be  some  who

would rather hear a convincing lie than  an  uncomfortable  truth.  The  right

words in the wrong ears might have repercussions for the Galactic Alliance."

"Great." She pushed  her  bowl  of  soup  aside,  her  appetite  suddenly

spoiled. "And that's Uncle Luke's next stop, after the Empire."

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down awkwardly at his hands. "It's probably

nothing. I didn't really want to worry you about it."

There was something in the way he said this that made her study him  more

closely. "But there's something I should be worried about, isn't there?"

He glanced up, and she could see the uncertainty  in  his  eyes.  Without

saying a word, he removed something from his pocket and placed it on the table

between them. Jaina felt her stomach frost the moment she looked down and  saw

it. The last time she had seen anything like this had been  on  the  worldship

around Myrkr, before Anakin had died. There  had  been  Yuuzhan  Vong  temples

there, some larger than most cities; each had featured  gruesome  effigies  to

their cruel and insatiable gods. One in particular stood  out.  In  her  worst

nightmares, like the one she'd recently awakened from, she  saw  a  particular

face looming at her out of the dark, graven from coral slabs that rose  scores

of meters high into the air.

The fact that this particular image was  made  from  a  silvery  bonelike

substance and was barely larger than her thumb didn't matter. The face was the

same: it was Yun-Yammka, the Slayer.

Jaina looked up at Jag; he was watching her closely. "Where did  you  get

this?" she asked, unable to keep the anger and disgust from her voice. It took

all of her effort to resist snatching the thing from the table and throwing it

down a garbage chute. It was an abomination, an incitement to horror.  As  far

as she was concerned, no sane individual would ever want to own such a  thing.

"Where did it come from?" There was no escaping the accusation  in  her  tone.

"It came from Tahiri," he said with some apology. "She  dropped  it  when  she

collapsed on Galantos."

The frost quickly spread to Jaina's heart, and for the longest  time  she

didn't know what to say. The coufee came up so quickly  that  Shoon-mi  didn't

even have a chance to see it. With the blade across his throat, he was dragged

back into the crack leading from the  anonymous  sub-basement  to  the  access

tunnel that led deeper into the underground.

"Who has betrayed us?" hissed a voice in his ear. "Who sent the  warriors

to kill I'pan and Niiriit?"

Shoon-mi flailed wildly but was unable to break free. The  blade  of  the

coufee was so sharp he didn't even realize it had cut him until  he  felt  the

blood trickling down his chest. He stopped wriggling,  then,  panting  heavily

and fearfully.

"Kunra!" he called out, but the word came out as barely more than a gasp.

The shamed warrior stood nearby in the center of the basement, unmoved by

Shoon-mi's plea for assistance. Instead of coming to his  help,  Kunra  merely

folded his arms across his chest to watch coldly.

"Who has betrayed us?" Shoon-mi's attacker repeated, allowing the  coufee

to bite a little deeper into the flesh.

"It wasn't me!" Shoon-mi cried desperately, realizing that no  one  would

be coming to his aid. "I swear it wasn't!"

In an instant the coufee was gone, and a knee  in  his  back  pushed  him

sprawling to the ground. He pressed at the cut on his throat  with  his  hand,

fearful that his lifeblood was flowing away.

"You'll live," growled the one who had cut him. The figure  stepped  from

the shadows to loom over him. The coufee was held menacingly by his side,  its

blade darkened with Shoon-mi's blood. "And you will tell me what you know."

Shoon-mi stared up into the  horrible,  one-eyed  visage.  "Amorrn?"  His

voice trembled.

Nom Anor nodded slowly, pinching the coufee blade between two fingers and

wiping the blood from it. "But this is no time for  reacquainting  ourselves,"

he said. "You have ten seconds to tell me what I want to hear, or  this  blade

will open your veins and drink from your filthy—'

"It wasn't me, I swear!" the Shamed One repeated frantically. "It  wasn't

any of us! The warriors weren't looking for Niiriit or the others.  They  were

looking for thieves! Supplies had gone missing and they guessed  that  one  of

the underground groups was responsible. Yours was  the  third  they  hit  that

night. They wiped all of them out. Not just you; not just Niiriit.  We  didn't

know in advance so we couldn't warn you. It happened  too  quickly."  Shoon-mi

scrabbled desperately backward in the dirt as Nom Anor loomed over  him.  "I'm

telling you the truth! Please.. ."

"We're making too much noise," said Kunra, who still hadn't moved.

Nom Anor ignored him. "Just thieves?" he hissed. "Nothing to do with  the

heresy? Nothing to do with me?"

"No, just thieves." Shoon-mi continued to back away  from  Nom  Anor.  "I

wouldn't lie to you, Amorrn. I'm telling the truth!"

The coufee disappeared as Nom Anor fixed the whimpering Shamed One with a

look of distaste. "Do not ever call me that again," he said.  "It  is  a  name

that belongs to someone else."

Weak with relief, Shoon-mi slumped against  a  wall  while  his  attacker

moved away to think.

Not the heresy. Not me... Nom Anor's mind spun. All  through  their  long

ascent to the basement levels, he had felt safe assuming that the  attack  had

been politically motivated—if not against him then certainly against the ideas

I'pan was propagating. Kunra had set up the meeting with Shoon-mi as  a  first

attempt to find out who had betrayed them. And when they knew who it was,  Nom

Anor would have killed without hesitation.

But if he hadn't been betrayed, if the attack had simply been a  case  of

bad luck, then that changed everything. Neither the heresy nor  he  was  being

actively hunted. He could breathe easier for a  while,  could  stop  imagining

regiments of warriors at every turn, waiting to ambush  him.  He  could  pause

long enough to think and decide what needed to be done next.

He almost chuckled aloud at the irony. The warriors might not  have  been

hunting him specifically, but it was still he who had brought death to Niiriit

and the others. He and I'pan had been stealing with some regularity  from  the

upper levels, using access codes he remembered from his years as an  executor.

The thefts, clearly, had not gone unnoticed, and the killing  party  had  been

sent in to the underground to mop up anyone likely to be responsible.  He  had

brought death down upon those who had saved his life just  as  surely  as  the

warriors who had actually wielded the amphistaffs.

He looked at Kunra. Through the gloom he could see the ex-warrior's stoic

expression, and wondered if behind that impassive stare he  wasn't  coming  to

the same conclusions.

Nom Anor stepped forward and extended a hand to  Shoon-mi,  who  eyed  it

uncertainly for a moment before nervously taking it and allowing himself to be

helped to his feet. Resisting the powerful urge to stab Shoon-mi  through  the

heart,  then  dispatch  Kunra  just  as  quickly,  Nom  Anor  manufactured  an

expression of relief and let it wash over him.

"We are safe, then," he said, speaking as much to Kunra as  to  Shoon-mi.

"If what you say is true, then the warriors won't be hunting us.  As  long  as

the thefts cease, we should be able to live unharmed. Yes?"

"There have been no more thefts," said Shoon-mi, nodding. "The way of the

Jeedai is safe. No one has betrayed us—and no one will! You have seen yourself

the

way we spread the message. You know that we are careful who we choose  to

hear it. The word is safe."

The Message. Nom Anor paced across the room, conscious  of  Kunra's  eyes

tracking him every step of the way. He had heard the Jedi heresy  referred  to

as the message on occasions  before  and  thought  it  a  suitable  euphemism.

Whichever word was being obscured—-Jedi, insurrection, hope—the nature  of  it

was the same. The message was anathema to  Shimrra,  and  that  was  all  that

mattered to Nom Anor.

But it was becoming increasingly clear to  him  that  at  this  rate  the

message would never reach Shimrra directly. It  had  been  irrelevant  to  the

warriors who had attacked the communities in the  underworld  of  Yuuzhan'tar;

heretics, if the warriors even knew they existed, ranked lower than thieves in

terms of priorities. For the message—as well as Nom Anor—to reach Shimrra,  it

would have to break out of the underground, and it would have to do it soon.

"Perhaps we are too careful," he said, thinking aloud and  testing  their

responses as he spoke. "We hold our revelations close to our chests, much like

the priests guard their secrets. We hide the light under cloaks  of  fear  and

timidity so that no one else may see it. As long as we continue  preaching  to

the converted, we will never grow, never be strong like the Jedi  are  strong.

The millions like us who deserve to know that there is a better way to live, a

freedom that counters everything we have ever  been  taught—they  will  remain

forever in the darkness. Perhaps the time has come, my friends, to  shine  our

light into the darkness."

Shoon-mi looked even more nervous than before. "But if  we  speak  openly

about the Jeedai, we will be killed!"

"You're right, Shoon-mi," Nom Anor said,  turning  to  face  him  in  the

shadows. "We would be killed. Therefore we must find new ways  to  spread  the

message, to recruit new followers. But we must expand only through  the  ranks

of the Shamed Ones before we dare take our message higher up. As we stand now,

we are weak and poorly organized; we will never make a difference  like  this.

We must find strength and take our fate into our own  hands—and  when  we  are

strong, then we may break free." He came to stand in  front  of  Shoon-mi  and

placed his hands on his shoulders. The Shamed One continued to tremble beneath

his grip. "To gain everything, my friend, we must risk  everything."  His  one

eye bored deep into Shoon-mi's own eyes until the Shamed One had to turn  away

in discomfort. "Are you with me?" Nom Anor whispered close to Shoon-mi's ear.

The Shamed One nodded uneasily. "I-I shall do what I can, of course,"  he

said. "I don't know how to fight, but I do know lots of people."

"Good," Nom Anor said, nodding and smiling his  pleasure  at  the  Shamed

One's response. "That is indeed good. Word of mouth  is  our  greatest  weapon

right now." He turned to face Kunra. "And what of yourself? Are you  with  us,

too?"

The ex-warrior's eyes glistened  in  the  gloom.  This  was  the  crucial

moment, Nom Anor knew. If Kunra defied him, he would have to kill both of them

and start again  from  scratch,  finding  and  infiltrating  another  cell  of

heretics to turn to his vengeful cause. He might never find one  so  perfectly

primed for the task.

The ex-warrior hesitated, shuffling uncertainly from foot to foot.

"Decide," Nom Anor prompted as he placed a hand inside his robes.  Almost

eagerly, the pommel of the coufee found his fingers.

Kunra's gaze fell to the robe as he nodded slowly. "I am  with  you,"  he

said. "For Niiriit and I'pan, and for all of those who have died,  I  am  with

you."

But not for me, Nom Anor thought.  It  didn't  matter,  though.  The  ex-

warrior's compliance would be enough for now. The task ahead of him  would  be

difficult, and he needed all the help he could get, in whatever spirit it  was

offered. The heresy as it presently existed was  disorganized  and  internally

inconsistent, and would never get any farther than the Shamed Ones.  He  would

need to give it momentum if it was to serve  his  purposes.  Several  circular

references had developed through numerous retellings; some stories took  place

on different planets, with different names, at different times. He would  need

to refine the tale so it suited his needs  best,  and  spread  it  efficiently

enough so it would eradicate the other versions, if only by sheer volume.

It was a long shot, he knew, but it was the only one he had. Nom Anor had

dealt with religious fervor before, on Rhommamool, and he knew how to  turn  a

smoldering thought into flames of resistance. But did he dare do it among  the

Yuuzhan Vong, his own species? This was rank heresy, after all. The  Jedi,  no

matter what good they might do for the Shamed Ones, were still machine  users.

His conscience—atrophied though it had been by years of treachery—continued to

nag at him.

But not for long. He had tried unsuccessfully to climb the social  ladder

imposed by Shimrra, despite being resourceful and intelligent. If he was  ever

to succeed, he would have to find another way to climb that same  ladder  that

had refused to let him ascend.

Shoon-mi began to say  something,  snapping  him  out  of  his  thoughts.

"Amorrn—"

"I told you not to call me that!" he snapped. He had told  Kunra  that  a

time would come when he would need to choose a new name; perhaps that time had

come now. He needed one to carry him in this new direction.

Shoon-mi took an anxious step back. "Then—then what should we call you?"

Nom Anor thought about this for a moment. What  name  should  he  choose?

Certainly one that would symbolize the work he needed to do in order to ensure

his survival, and one that Shimrra would recognize also.

He smiled, then, at a thought. There was a word from an  ancient  tongue,

rarely spoken except in the older worldships.  It  had  connotations  for  all

castes, no matter which god they worshiped. Its meaning  was  an  unmistakable

stab at Shimrra, and would be recognized as such by the Shamed Ones  he  would

have to rely on to make the dream possible.

"From now on," he said to his first two disciples,  "you  shall  call  me

Yu'Shaa."

There was a moment's silence; then Shoon-mi stepped forward a  pace,  his

face creased in consternation.

"Yu'Shaa?" he echoed. "The prophet?"

Nom Anor smiled, nodding. "The Prophet."

When Grand Admiral Pellaeon convened a brief meeting on the bridge of the

Imperial Star Destroyer Right to Rule, twenty-four standard  hours  after  the

battle of Borosk, all the surviving Moffs  attended,  along  with  those  navy

admirals and senior officers not committed to the defense of the  Empire  from

the retreating Yuuzhan Vong. Jacen agreed with Pellaeon that there would be  a

brief period after Vorrik's defeat during which it would be safe to tie up  so

many leaders from across the Imperial Remnant; not until the Yuuzhan Vong  had

regrouped and obtained new orders from Shimrra  would  there  be  any  serious

counterattack from the enemy. The strafing of Yaga Minor on their way out  had

been little more than an afterthought, easily repelled.

For those Moffs who disagreed, who thought that now was the perfect  time

to consolidate their strongholds against both the Yuuzhan  Vong  and  a  Grand

Admiral who would dare defy them, Pellaeon circulated a rumor that anyone  not

in attendance would forgo the right to navy defense. The Yuuzhan  Vong  was  a

problem the Empire had to confront as a whole, and  the  composition  of  that

whole had to be determined as quickly as possible. No  one  was  compelled  to

attend, but everyone knew the consequences if they didn't.

That there would be retaliation, Jacen didn't doubt. B'shith  Vorrik  had

been humiliated in front of both his army and that of his enemy. Somehow,  the

Yuuzhan Vong commander would return. It was just a matter  of  how  soon  that

would be, and how much of a force he would bring with him.

Jacen stood to one side with Luke, Mara, Saba, and  Tekli,  making  their

presence known  but  not  contributing  to  the  discussion.  It  was  another

calculated provocation engineered by Pellaeon. Luke had expressed reservations

about flaunting the old enemy before so many  Moffs,  but  through  the  Force

Jacen could tell that the Jedi Master was secretly enjoying the situation.

When everyone was seated, Pellaeon rose from his chair and  stood  before

those assembled.

"The reason I have brought you  all  here  is  quite  simple,"  he  said,

forgoing the formalities  of  introduction.  "I  wish  to  share  with  you  a

realization I have come to, and to tell you what I intend to do about it."

Pellaeon walked around the table with hands clasped behind his  back.  It

was a simple psychological  ploy,  intended  to  intimidate  those  seated  by

forcing them to either crane their heads around to see  him  or  stare  dumbly

forward at nothing as he talked. It was a cheap trick,  but  Jacen  understood

that the Grand Admiral needed every advantage he could get.

Gilad Pellaeon had donned  his  full  battle  uniform,  and  his  general

appearance had been cleaned up prior to the meeting, but there was  no  hiding

either his age or the fact that he had recently been on the verge of death. He

would carry a slight limp for as long he lived.

"In the last forty-eight standard hours, the Imperial Navy has fended off

the greatest threat it has ever faced." He studied the Moffs before  him  with

penetrating eyes. "You've seen the reports and studied the breakdowns, so  I'm

sure you can understand the significance of  what  happened  at  Bastion  and,

hopefully, will have some appreciation of the seriousness of the decisions  we

must now make." He paused further for effect. "Until we rebuild  bastion,  the

Empire is temporarily without a capital; the Moff Council has lost several  of

its most important members and, with them, I suspect, its short-term cohesion.

Many of our citizens have been enslaved by the Yuuzhan Vong, and  our  borders

are no longer safe.

"But the threat we have repelled is not the Yuuzhan Vong. It is something

far more insidious. Indeed, we didn't know we were facing it  until  the  very

last, when it was almost too late to fend it off. That threat can be summed up

in one word. It is a word that has more fear for me  than  extinction.  It  is

irrelevance."

Jacen caught a flicker of annoyance as it passed across the  jowled  face

of Moff Flennic. For a moment he thought Flennic might interrupt, but the Moff

remained silent, brooding.

Pellaeon had completed a circuit of the table and returned  to  where  he

started. He put his palms down on the table and leaned forward. "When we first

heard about the Yuuzhan Vong," he said, "we blithely  observed  their  passage

through the galaxy and assumed that when they didn't attack us,  they  did  so

out of caution. We were too strong, too determined, too superior for  them  to

risk a confrontation. We believed ourselves to be too formidable an  opponent.

But when we sent support to the Battle of Ithor, we saw just  how  strong  the

enemy's fleets  really  were.  Afraid  that  we  would  be  unable  to  defend

ourselves, we pulled in our heads and dug in, waiting for an attack that never

came."

He straightened now, his expression briefly betraying his weariness. "And

it never came," he said slowly,  "because  we  simply  didn't  matter  to  the

Yuuzhan  Vong.  We  weren't  considered  a  threat.  We  had  demonstrated  an

unwillingness to become involved in someone else's fight, and a propensity for

sitting back and watching our  neighbors  being  destroyed.  Why  should  they

attack us? We weren't hurting them; if anything,  we  were  making  their  job

easier. In effect, we made ourselves irrelevant,  and  for  that  I  feel  the

greatest shame of all."

Pellaeon looked up and  caught  Jacen's  eyes.  An  understanding  passed

between the two men that sent  a  shiver  down  Jacen's  spine.  Pellaeon  was

talking about war, but the same principle could be applied to all  aspects  of

life. The greatest crime a being could commit, against itself and those around

it, was to withdraw from the living. Jacen had seen this when his  father  had

withdrawn from his mother after the death of Chewbacca;  he  had  felt  it  in

himself when he had retreated from battle to find an answer to his doubts; and

he was seeing it now, on a much larger scale, in the actions of  the  Imperial

Remnant. Life was involvement; being part of the Force meant participating  in

the evolution of the galaxy. It was not just sitting back and  observing.  The

only question of importance that anyone truly intending to live needed to  ask

themselves was, how did one become a part of that process?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question still eluded him.

"Well," Pellaeon went on, "we've  been  attacked  now.  No  one  could've

missed that. But does that mean we're relevant?" He shook his  head.  "No.  It

means that Supreme Overlord Shimrra took a moment to  stamp  out  a  potential

threat lingering around his rear lines. A p6ten-tial threat, mind you, not  an

actual threat. The force he sent wasn't sufficient to disable  us,  even  with

surprise on its side,  but  it  was  nothing  compared  to  the  resources  he

committed to Coruscant. B'shith Vorrik, furthermore, is no Tsavong Lah or  Nas

Choka. Had we really mattered to the overall war, Shimrra would have wiped  us

out years ago, not tried now as an afterthought.

"But we refused to  roll  over  and  be  destroyed,  even  when  we  were

grievously injured. We insulted the enemy as he retreated,  and  we  liberated

some of those taken captive. We showed them that we are  not  easy  prey,  and

that we will not be so easily dismissed.

"If Shimrra didn't consider the Empire a threat before, he will now.  How

long he considers us a threat, however, is entirely up to us."

"And why is that?" Moff Flennic asked, obviously unable  to  contain  his

disapproval of being lectured at any longer. Jacen could feel  the  resentment

radiating from the man.

"Isn't that obvious, Kurlen?" Ephin Sarreti said from across  the  table.

The Moff, recently released from  a  medical  barge  evacuated  from  Bastion,

sported one arm in a sling and a dour expression. "If we sit here expecting to

defend our territories indefinitely, we'll all be dead within months."

Pellaeon nodded. "And giving Vorrik time to petition another strike force

from Shimrra—fresher, larger, and certainly more eager for our blood—would  be

suicide. We remain a threat only so long as we remain alive."

Flennic inclined his head slightly. "I can't help but  feel  apprehensive

about the alternative you're about to propose."

"It's the only  alternative  that  I  can  see,"  Pellaeon  said  softly,

regarding each of the Moffs around the table before continuing. "We must  take

the fight to the Yuuzhan Vong."

A murmur of unrest immediately rippled around the room, but it  was  Moff

Flennic again whose voice was heard. "You  would  have  us  leave  our  worlds

behind?" he asked disbelievingly. "Undefended?"

"Not entirely," the Grand Admiral said.  "Every  planet  would  retain  a

token defense force—at least enough to repel the sort  of  attack  Yaga  Minor

suffered."

"But not enough to repel a serious invasion," came a woman's  voice  from

the far end of the table.

Jacen recognized the woman as Moff Crowal from Valc VII, a system on  the

very edge of the Unknown Regions.

"If the Yuuzhan Vong are  kept  busy  elsewhere,  there  won't  be  one,"

Sarreti pointed out.

"Can we be absolutely certain of that, though?" Flennic countered  hotly.

He faced Pellaeon. "Admiral, you are gambling with our very lives here!"

"Isn't that what all leaders must do in times of war?" he returned.  "I'm

offering you  a  chance  of  victory  as  opposed  to  the  certainty  of  our

destruction. Mark my words: if we do nothing, we will be destroyed."

"If, as you say, we can't beat the Yuuzhan Vong here," Moff Crowal  said,

"then how do you propose we beat them on their own territory?"

Pellaeon nodded. "A fair question," he said. "And one that  has  occupied

my mind these last couple of days."

"Go on then," Flennic said. "Give us your answer."

"There is only one possible answer." The  ageing  Grand  Admiral  took  a

moment to look around him—a staged  moment  of  reflection,  Jacen  knew,  but

effective. The man was clearly a veteran of these types of meetings, and could

employ all manner of body language to strengthen his argument.  "In  order  to

survive intact, the Empire needs  to  see  itself  objectively;  it  needs  to

cultivate a certain distance from its immediate past and  see  itself  in  the

context of the wider galaxy and its history. We are not alone here, as much as

we might sometimes like to pretend we are. We cannot avoid what  is  happening

outside, as the Yuuzhan Vong have so convincingly demonstrated. For  too  long

have we kept to ourselves; for too long have we ignored what is going  on  out

there in the wider galaxy. We have remained content to  direct  our  attention

inward, at our own navels.

"I do not exclude myself from this criticism, either," he went on. "There

have been times I could have fought harder to do  what  my  gut  told  me  was

right. That I didn't will be my undying  shame,  because  it  was  almost  our

undoing. But I will not let it happen again."

"You will not?" Moff Flennic mocked.  "Grand  Admiral,  I  trust  we  are

coming to some sort of point here. If you have gathered us together to dictate

your terms, then please get on with it so that we can vote on  your  dismissal

and put this behind us forever."

Pellaeon smiled, and held the smile a moment longer than was comfortable.

There was something in the silence around the table  and  the  way  the  Moffs

glanced at one another that told Jacen that Pellaeon had taken the gloves off.

Now was the moment to deliver the message

he'd gathered them all to hear. Mara must have felt it too, for he  heard

her take in a deep breath in anticipation and hold it.

"As Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy," Pellaeon said,  "I  am  formally

advising the Moff Council that at our earliest possible  convenience  we  must

strike a formal agreement with the Galactic Federation of  Free  Alliances  to

share military resources in order to repel the threat of the Yuuzhan Vong from

the galaxy." He had to raise his voice to  be  heard  above  the  hubbub  that

immediately filled the room. "Furthermore, I advise  that  this  agreement  be

ongoing after the immediate threat has passed. The only way to survive in  the

future is to turn our back on the past. As much as some of you may dislike  to

hear it, it is time for us to make peace with one another."

Flennic was the first to his feet. "Join the Galactic Alliance? Have  you

gone mad? You can't believe that any of us would ever agree to this!"

"I don't need your agreement, Kurlen." Pellaeon  spoke  softly,  but  his

voice carried over the howls of dissent. "When I say that I  am  advising  the

council, I am only following a formality. This is the way it will be,  because

this is the way it has to be. I am simply saving you  the  need  to  think  it

through for yourselves." "This is treason!" another Moff gasped. "It's  common

sense," Ephin Sarreti countered.  The  Grand  Admiral  nodded  his  thanks  to

Sarreti for the support the Moff was giving him. "My loyalty to the Empire  is

as strong as it has ever been," he said. "I will do what I must to ensure  its

survival."

"By forcing us to submit to them?" A finger stabbed at  where  the  robed

Jedi stood off to one side. "We have spent our lives fighting this  scum,  and

now you wish us to—"

"Be mindful of your words, Moff Freyborn," Pellaeon  interjected  firmly.

"These 'scum,' as you call them, saved my life  back  at  Bastion—as  well  as

saving the Empire from an early grave."

"A grave they dug for us in the first place," Flennic  snarled.  "At  our

peak we would never have fallen to the Yuuzhan Vong as  they  have.  We  would

have sent them back from whence they came—impaled upon their own amphistaffs!"

"Do you really believe that, Kurlen? We weren't able to resist a  handful

of Rebels, so how would we have resisted the massed might of the Yuuzhan Vong?

" Pel-laeon's stare was cold  and  hard.  Clearly  visible  behind  the  Grand

Admiral's bluff, mustachioed appearance was the man who  had  faced  down  far

worse threats than a hostile Moff Council. "Your reasoning is both faulty  and

circular—and it is precisely the kind of reasoning  that  has  brought  us  to

these straits. The Empire is foundering not from forces exterior to it, but as

a result of its own internal weaknesses. Our current circumstances are our own

fault; it is foolish to lay blame elsewhere for our own failings."

"The Empire will never surrender  to  the  Galactic  Alliance,  Admiral,"

Flennic said firmly. "And I cannot believe you would ever consider this  after

all your years resisting their insidious advance!"

Instead of responding angrily, Pellaeon just chuckled. "Like it  or  not,

they have ruled the galaxy for almost as many decades as we did—and with  less

bloodshed and military expenditure, I might add. Right now, they are  the  one

thing that stands between us and enslavement and death at  the  hands  of  the

Yuuzhan Vong, and it is time we acknowledged that. And we need to  do  it  now

before we bury ourselves beneath  old  grudges  and  an  inability  to  accept

reality."

"I refuse to  accept  defeat,"  Flennic  said,  still  on  his  feet  and

regarding Pellaeon  with  undisguised  contempt.  "And  I  don't  regard  that

inability as a disability, either. The Empire is strong;  we  proved  that—you

proved that—by repelling the invasion.  Why,  on  a  day  when  we  should  be

celebrating our victory, are we contemplating the end of the Empire?"

"First," Pellaeon said, "allying ourselves  with  the  Galactic  Alliance

isn't the same thing as dissolving the Empire. That should be obvious even  to

a child, Kurlen. They're not asking us to surrender our sovereignty; nor  will

we. We will simply combine forces to our mutual benefit.  Second,  as  I  said

earlier, the Empire exists today only because of luck: luck that  the  Yuuzhan

Vong didn't attack sooner, and luck that  the  emissaries  from  the  Galactic

Alliance came along when they did to show us how to fight effectively.  Third,

if we don't fight back now, the Yuuzhan Vong will return and  strike  us  down

without any mercy whatsoever. If we don't drive them back and  join  with  our

neighbors to keep them back, then no one will ever be  safe  again.  And  this

Empire we hold so precious will completely cease to be. If  you  can't  accept

that argument, Kurlen, then you'll have to learn to accept your irrelevance to

the council instead." Flennic's  eyes  narrowed.  "Are  you  threatening  me?"

Pellaeon's response was almost shocking in its blunt-ness. "Yes, Kurlen, I am,

" he said. Then, eyeing each of the Moffs present, he added, "The council will

unanimously accept my proposal, or I will take the entire fleet with me when I

leave."

The shock of his pronouncement provoked gasps of astonishment and  dismay

among those who had, perhaps, thought that Pellaeon could be talked around, or

at least placated with a slightly softer alternative.  No  one  had  seriously

considered that their Grand  Admiral  might  gamble  the  Empire  itself  over

something so outrageous as allying themselves with their old enemies.

Jacen felt a spike of animosity from Moff Flennic in  the  Force  at  the

same time he saw the blaster come out of the fat man's robes. In  an  instant,

everyone's attention in the room had gone from Pellaeon to the weapon aimed at

him.

"This is treason of the worst kind, Admiral," Flennic said steadily.

Jacen was about to use the Force to  whisk  the  blaster  from  Flennic's

hand, when he felt Luke's hand touch his arm.

Pellaeon faced the blaster as calmly as he had faced Flennic's criticism.

A dozen stormtroopers  stationed  at  the  exits  rushed  forward  with  their

blasters raised to shoot Flennic down, but Pellaeon waved them back.

"How strong are your convictions, Kurlen?" he asked. "Are you prepared to

die for them?"

"You can't threaten us, Admiral!" The Moffs voice was even and calm,  but

Jacen noted that the blaster in his hand had  begun  to  waver.  "We  are  the

Council of Moffs; we appointed  you.  We  can  always  appoint  another  Grand

Admiral to take your place—one who won't lead us down such a treacherous path!

"

"Another warlord choking on remembered glories, you  mean?  There  aren't

many left, Kurlen. Our numbers have dwindled in  futile  attempts  to  reclaim

something that was taken from us long ago. The galaxy isn't ours by right;  we

have lost it. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can begin to understand

what role exists for us now. And if that  new  role  is  to  be  part  of  the

Galactic Alliance, then so be it. It has to be better than extinction.  I  for

one am sick of fighting a war we can never win — and against the wrong  enemy,

what's more."

For the first time, Pellaeon's reserve slipped. Jacen  saw  real  passion

warring below the surface, like the molten core spinning under the crust of  a

civilized planet. And it wasn't lost on Flennic, either.

"This is madness," the Moff said,  appealing  now  to  the  rest  of  the

council. "Are you all just going to stand by and let  him  destroy  everything

we've managed to salvage?" "It's better  than  being  dead,  Kurlen,"  Sarreti

said. 'Or enslaved," Moff Crowal added. Flennic winced  as  though  he'd  been

mortally wounded. "You, Crowal?" he said. "You believe this nonsense?"

"It's not nonsense, Kurlen," she said.  "I  argued  against  joining  the

Galactic Alliance when the enemy wasn't on our doorstep, thinking that  if  we

didn't provoke the Yuuzhan Vong, they would leave us alone. But that proved to

be a mistake."

"No."  Flennic's  gaze  swept  the  faces  before  him,   assessing   the

expressions and weighing up what support remained with him.  Pellaeon  watched

patiently as he came to the only possible conclusion. "No..."

The Moff's certainty faltered, and the blaster dropped. He seemed on  the

verge of capitulating when a dangerous look came to his eyes and  his  fingers

around the blaster's grip tightened. "No!" he cried. "I will not submit!"  The

blaster came back up.

He's going to do it, Jacen realized. He's going to shoot Pellaeon!

Ignoring the pressure of Luke's hand on his arm, he  gathered  the  Force

around him in order to act—but he was too late. The  blaster  cracked  at  the

same time as he felt the flex of someone else's invisible will, and he saw the

gun fly out of Flennic's hand and clatter across the floor. The blaster's bolt

discharged harmlessly over Pellaeon's shoulder. The Grand Admiral hadn't  even

flinched.

Two stormtroopers were at Flennic's side in an instant,  each  taking  an

arm as they arrested him. He struggled in vain against them, staring wildly at

the Jedi standing beside Pellaeon.

"You!" he yelled. "You and your vile mind tricks have poisoned us!"

"Nonsense," Mara said, stepping forward.  "We  use  our  powers  to  save

lives, not waste them—unlike you, Moff Flennic."

The dark tone to her voice made it clear who had saved Pellaeon.

"You are not  the  only  one  here  who  served  under  Pal-patine,"  she

continued. "I have changed, and so has the Grand Admiral. And I  suspect  that

you must have, too, for our former master  would  never  have  tolerated  such

idiocy in one of his servants. What were you thinking? That Yaga  Minor  would

become capital now that Bastion has fallen? That you would lead  the  council?

Don't be a fool, Flennic."

Flennic's glare at Mara was cold and piercing, but Jacen  could  tell  by

the way he relaxed in the grip of the  guards  that  her  words  were  getting

through.

"Stand down, Kurlen," Pellaeon said quietly. "Stand down now and abide by

the will of the council, and I swear that no action will be taken for what has

happened here today."

Flennic's face twisted as he gathered his injured  pride  and  anger  and

swallowed them both. Jacen suspected that it wouldn't have tasted good at all,

and would have burned going down.

The Moff looked from Pellaeon to Mara, then back again. "Very  well,"  he

said quietly. "I give my support to your proposal of  allying  ourselves  with

the Galactic Alliance. But I stand by my opinion, Admiral."

"As it is yours to stand by," Pellaeon said, nodding sagely. Then he took

a few steps toward Flennic, fixing the corpulent Moff of  Yaga  Minor  with  a

steely gaze. "But hear this, Kurlen: you have pulled a weapon on me this  day,

an act of treason that under  normal  circumstances  would  be  punishable  by

death. But these are not  normal  circumstances,  and  so  I  am  prepared  to

overlook your insurrection. However, from this moment on you would be wise  to

be mindful of your actions. Because if you so much as breathe in a manner that

I think is treacherous, then I will have your head. Is that understood?"

Moff Flennic swallowed thickly, but  didn't  speak.  He  could  only  nod

mutely.

With a glance from the Grand Admiral, the storm-troopers  released  their

grip on the Moff. Then Pellaeon returned to his place at the head of the table

without another word.

Mara crossed the room and collected the discarded blaster,  then  stepped

over to Moff Flennic and handed him the  weapon.  He  accepted  it  with  some

surprise, his brow creased in puzzlement.

"Personally, Kurlen," she said, "I prefer my allies to be armed."

With that she faced the Grand Admiral.

"If it's all the same to you, Admiral, I think we should take  our  leave

now," she said. "I imagine there is still much  that  needs  to  be  discussed

here, and given the general feeling toward us in this room, it might be easier

for you to do this without us here."

The Grand Admiral acknowledged Mara with a  curt  bow.  "Thank  you,"  he

said. Then, with a glance to  the  other  Jedi  standing  there,  added,  "for

everything."

One by one the Jedi filed from  the  room—Luke,  Mara  Saba,  Tekli,  and

Jacen—leaving the Grand Admiral alone with the Moffs to go over the details of

his plans. As the rest of the party continued to move down the corridor, Jacen

paused outside to look back briefly into the room. Already the discussion  was

becoming heated again, with those  gathered  around  the  table  gesticulating

wildly as they raised their voices to make their opinions heard on the  matter

of the Empire's new allies.

The door hissed shut, muting the ongoing debate. Jacen turned to catch up

with the others, only to find Mara still standing there waiting for him.

"You look worried," she said.

He swallowed a sound that might have been a  laugh,  but  could  just  as

easily have been an exclamation of annoyance. "Try as  I—or  Gilad—might,"  he

said, "I find it hard to believe that anyone in that  room  will  ever  really

regard us as allies. Despite everything we did for them, they still hold us in

such mistrust."

"Not all of them." She shrugged. "We've made a lot of progress today—"

"I know, I know, and we'll probably end up  with  some  kind  of  shallow

alliance in place before long. But..." He  gesticulated  vaguely  in  lieu  of

actually finding words for what he wanted to say. "Is that enough?"

"Maybe," Mara said. "And maybe you're  right.  Maybe  it  won't  come  to

anything more than pretty words from an ugly mouth. But when it comes  to  the

fight against the Yuuzhan Vong, I'll happily take a shallow alliance over none

at all."

"True." He offered a half smile in the face of his aunt's optimism.

Mara chuckled at the effort. "That's just the way things are, Jacen," she

said, putting an arm around his shoulder and guiding him with her to join  the

others. He didn't resist her. "Sometimes it's harder to make a friend than  it

is to fight an enemy."

EPILOGUE

Two days later, Luke watched from Jade Shadow's cockpit as  the  Imperial

Navy reassembled for its  mission  Coreward.  Advance  scouts  had  found  the

location of B'shith Vorrik's rear guard, and Pellaeon was keen to  press  home

their advantage and push the Yuuzhan Vong back even farther.

"You'll require an escort on your  mission  into  the  Unknown  Regions,"

Pellaeon said from the bridge  of  Right  to  Rule,  his  image  displayed  in

miniature by the holo-projector between Luke and Mara.

"We're quite capable of handling ourselves, Admiral," Mara said.

"Think of it as a gesture," Pellaeon replied.  "A  political  act  rather

than a military one."

"A gesture of unity?"

Pellaeon nodded. "Something like that."

Mara grunted unhappily. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Captain Yage has volunteered the services of  Widow-maker,  and  I  have

given approval. She's one of the best officers I have. She'll give you support

if you need it, but she won't get in your way, I assure you. You can count  on

her to be discreet."

Luke knew that Yage was a good choice; she had proved herself to be  very

pragmatic and open-minded.

"We don't really know what we're heading into," he  said,  "so  we  won't

make a point of refusing the offer."

"You never know," Pellaeon said, smiling. "You might  even  be  glad  you

accepted it, one day."

Luke smiled in return, then asked, "You have the  information  from  Moff

Crowal?"

"I have. We'll download it to  your  navicomputers  in  a  second.  She's

supervised numerous scouting missions into the Unknown Regions, some of  which

made contact with civilizations there. One of her ethnologists has an interest

in comparative religions and has  recorded  a  number  of  myths  and  legends

prevalent among most cultures. One of the more interesting legends is that  of

a wandering planet, known to appear in systems  briefly  and  then  flee  when

approached. Does this sound something like what you might be looking for?"

Descriptions of Zonama Sekot were nonexistent  beyond  what  Vergere  had

told Jacen, but they knew without a doubt  that  it  could  move  of  its  own

volition, employing massive hyperspace engines mounted deep in its  crust  and

powered by the planet's core. Luke  doubted  that  there  would  be  two  such

planets in the galaxy.

"Can you tell us where it was last seen?" he asked.

Pellaeon shook his head. "All we have are the stories, I'm afraid. But  I

can tell you where these stories hail from. Since it's not a universal  fable,

you might at least be able to trace some sort of path."

"That might work," Mara said, glancing over the hologram to Luke. "If  we

could get enough information like that, then we should be  able  to  work  out

where it's been."

"But what happens when you find it?" the Grand  Admiral  asked.  "If  the

legends are right, it's only going to run away again."

"That's something we're just going to have to deal  with  when  the  time

comes," Luke said. "If the time comes, that is."

"Either way," Pellaeon said, "it looks like you're  going  to  have  your

hands full."

"No more than you'll have, convincing Vorrik to stay away from your home,

" Luke said.

"That should be easy compared  to  getting  up  in  front  of  a  certain

Princess to tell her that the Empire has changed its mind."

"You won't be talking to Leia," Luke  said.  "She's  dealing  with  other

things at the moment." They had  received  a  brief  update  of  his  sister's

activities on Galantos when  communications  had  been  normalized  after  the

attack. It concerned him, the way the Yuuzhan Vong were beginning  to  mop  up

lesser threats around the edges of their territory, regardless of the strength

of their grip on the center. Even if the center fell,  the  peripheries  could

still suffer major damage before the threat was eradicated.

"One of your Jedi friends, then," Pellaeon  said.  "I'm  sure  they  have

things nicely in order on Mon Calamari."

"Not the Jedi, either," Luke corrected him again. "We're staying well out

of politics this time. I have come to the opinion that the Force  is  best  at

guiding an individual, not a nation of any size. The forces that direct a cell

to grow aren't appropriate for the plant as a  whole  —  and  are  maybe  even

destructive. The last thing we want is another Palpatine."

"A wise move, I think," Pellaeon said. "But whom should I talk to, then?"

"Head of State Cal Omas," Luke said. "Or Supreme Commander Sien Sow."

"The same Sow who cost you Coruscant?"

"His reputation is undeserved, as he has recently proven," Luke defended.

"And even if it was, we need someone like him to lead us to the right kind  of

victory: only someone who has faced losing everything can  sympathize  with  a

defeated enemy."

Pellaeon chuckled this time. "Skywalker, you're  getting  more  dangerous

the older you get. I hope I'm not around to see what you're going to  be  like

when you get to be my age."

When Jade Shadow had recharged its weapons banks  and  Captain  Yage  had

moved alongside to coordinate their departure, Luke took a walk to stretch his

legs, and to find Jacen. Passing through the passenger bay, he found Tekli and

Saba playing a dice game. To human eyes, the faces of the dice  looked  black-

on-black, but they were readable in infrared, and both aliens  saw  well  into

that spectrum. There was a heady odor to the bay, reflecting the fact that  it

had been home to too many people for too many days. With Widowmaker along  for

the ride, Luke hoped there might be more opportunities to stretch  their  legs

in the long journey ahead.

He smiled down at them on his way through, and was about to leave when he

was stopped by Saba. "Master Skywalker?" she said, standing. "Yes, Saba?"

"This one..." she started, with something approximating embarrassment  in

the way her spiked heels  scratched  at  Jade  Shadow's  metallic  floor.  The

vertical slits of her eyes blinked before she spoke again.  Then,  with  quiet

sincerity, she said, "This one iz glad that she came on the mission."

He smiled gently. "This one is glad you came, too, Saba," he said.  "Your

stunt with the slaveship has done more for our reputation among the  Imperials

than anything I ever did."

"'Crazy,' Grand Admiral Pellaeon said."

"That we are." He touched Saba's shoulder and  felt  her  thickly  corded

muscles tense beneath her scales. "Consider them remembered," he said softly.

She nodded. "And the hunt continues."

Tekli indicated for Saba to continue with the game. The Barabel  crouched

down again, her large clawed hand collecting the black dice and  rolling  them

across the deck. Luke left them to it, glad that the unlikely pair  had  found

friendship with each other.

Once the door  had  closed  on  the  passenger  bay,  Luke  searched  the

immediate vicinity of the Force for some indication of where Jacen  might  be.

He sensed his nephew deeper in the ship—in fact, he was about as far  away  as

someone could get from the rest of the  crew  without  actually  leaving  Jade

Shadow. Luke imagined that Jacen probably just wanted some privacy,  which  he

would happily give to him once he'd made sure everything was  all  right  with

the young man. It was only as  he  rounded  the  corner  to  where  the  power

couplings interfaced with the  reactor  outlets  that  he  heard  voices,  and

realized that Jacen was not alone. Three paces later he was confronted with  a

sight that brought him to a halt—more from embarrassment than anything else.

Jacen and Danni Quee were standing close together by  an  open  hatchway.

Danni's hand was lightly touching Jacen's cheek, and she was saying  something

to him in a low and intimate voice. Luke couldn't hear what  was  being  said,

thankfully, but just seeing them would have been bad enough as  far  as  Jacen

and Danni would have been concerned.

He quickly tried to duck back around the corner before  he  was  noticed,

but it was too late.

Jacen looked up, and Danni turned to follow his gaze. She hastily  pulled

her hand away as they stepped apart. For a few uncomfortable  seconds,  nobody

spoke, and no one's eyes met.

"I'm sure Mara would have something appropriate to say at a  moment  like

this," Luke ventured into the awkward silence.

Jacen nodded. "Probably something about not being able to expect  privacy

on a starship," he said.

"I'll leave you—"

"No," Danni said quickly. "Really. It's all right." She brushed back  her

hair and, indicating the open hatch, smiled. "We  can  check  out  that  dodgy

surge arrestor another time, if you like."

Jacen nodded once, then Danni stepped past  Luke  without  another  word,

leaving the two men to talk.

"I'm so sorry," Luke said when she had gone. "I had no idea that—"

"No,  it's  okay,"  Jacen  cut  in.  Clearly  feeling  awkward  with  the

situation, he turned away from Luke, shutting the hatch with a gentle push and

then affixing the bolts to hold it  closed.  For  a  moment  his  face  stayed

averted, but when he did finally turn around,  Luke  could  see  that  he  was

smiling. "Actually, you probably did me a favor. I'm not  very  good  at  this

sort of thing."

"Really?" Luke said. "You surprise me."

"In fact, I'm pretty dreadful."

"Well, I'm afraid you've probably inherited that from your mother's  side

of the family," Luke said. "That includes me."

"You seem to have done all right for yourself, Uncle."

"Oh, better than all right," he said. "But it took a  lot  of  trial  and

error along the way. Getting a relationship to work is almost  impossible—even

without people like me getting in the way. There's no right or  wrong  way  to

tread; the rules are made up as you go along and can change without  warning."

He smiled. "Trust me when I say that it makes being a Jedi look easy."

"Maybe that's why the Jedi of old never married and had children,"  Jacen

said.

"Maybe." Luke thought of his son, far away and, hopefully, safe. "I  hope

Ben turns out to be smarter than his father. Or at least more perceptive."

Hatch sealed, Jacen said, "I'm not sure that would be possible."

Glad that his nephew held no ill feelings for the intrusion, Luke clapped

the young man on the back and led the way back to the cockpit.  Danni  made  a

good show of looking nonchalant as they passed,  and  Jacen  managed  to  only

slightly flush.

Mara looked up as they entered. "What kept you?"

"We just got talking, that's all," Luke said.

His wife frowned at him, but then her eyes widened in realization.

Mara  studied  Jacen  carefully  as  the  young  Jedi  dropped  into  the

navigator's seat behind her. If he noticed her scrutiny, he didn't acknowledge

it. Instead he kept his eyes on the view from the  forward  sensors,  studying

the ships arrayed around them.

"An Imperial escort," he said  with  a  chuckle.  "Who  would  have  ever

thought it possible?"

"These are indeed strange days," Luke said, slipping into  the  copilot's

seat beside him.

Widowmaker was visible as a solid icon  accompanied  by  several  smaller

shapes, gradually docking. Pellaeon had been true to his word—and  then  some.

They were getting not only the frigate, but a  squadron  of  TIE  fighters  as

well. He'd heard a rumor that the droid brains of Braxant Bonecrusher had also

volunteered to serve with Jacen again, but they  had  been  turned  down.  The

battered Dreadnaught needed some time in dry dock before its long-term  flight

worthiness was assured.

Mara seemed about to say something when a sub-space message came through,

flickering to life on the holoprojector.

A staticky image of Han appeared before them, with Leia at his shoulder.

"Hey, kid," Han said pleasantly, his mouth lifted at one  corner  in  the

smile that Luke had come to know all too well over the years.

"Is everything all right?" Mara asked. "Fine," Han  returned.  There  was

some distortion to the voice, and the  image  kept  losing  cohesiveness,  but

considering how far it had come the quality was excellent. "Just thought  we'd

drop a line before we head off. After this,  who  knows  when  we'll  get  the

chance to speak again?"

Luke forced a reassuring smile, fighting back a sudden apprehension about

his journey. The Unknown Regions were large and contained hundreds of millions

of stars. How long it would take to find Zonama Sekot was impossible to  tell,

but he knew it was going to take a lot of luck and a strong faith in the Force

to find one planet out of so many.

"Soon," he said, "I hope."

"Where are you headed?" Mara asked of the fuzzy holograms.

"Bakura," Leia said.

"Bakura?" Luke's apprehension shifted and intensified immediately.

"Hey, relax," Han said. "It's not like we're going in  alone.  We've  got

Pride of Selonia to watch our backs. We're going to be just fine, kid."

Luke smiled again, and this time it came easier—even though  the  thought

of trouble at Bakura made his skin crawl. The right people were going there to

fix it, if there was trouble to be found.

"I hope you have better luck than you did with  the  Yevetha,"  he  said.

"How's Tahiri?"

"She says she's feeling fine,"  Leia  said.  "There  was  an  episode  on

Galantos, but she seems to have bounced back. She might need a little bit more

rest, I think, before she puts the pieces together."

Leia turned away, then, as if her attention was  attracted  by  something

off to one side. She turned back again a couple of seconds later.

"We've just had word that Selonia is ready to leave," she said, "so we're

going to have to say our good-byes."

"That's okay," Mara said. "We're just about to leave, also."

"You take care, Luke," Han said, with his cocky half smile.

"You, too, my friend," Luke said. "Good-bye, Leia."

"Good-bye, Luke," his sister said. "And may the Force be with you all."

Mara waved. The image crackled and died, and silence  once  again  filled

the cabin. Luke sat back in his seat with a weary sigh.

"Luke?" Mara said. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not  sure,"  he  said.  "These  good-byes  just  feel...  different,

somehow."

His wife's hand came over to rest on top of his. "We'll  see  them  again

soon enough," she said. "You'll be fine once we get going."

Her hand left his and joined the  other  flickering  over  the  controls,

completing her preflight checks. Luke smiled at her reassuring words, but they

didn't convince him. Something was still troubling him and he  couldn't  quite

put a finger on it. Was it just the mention of Bakura? Or had it been the look

on Leia's face when he'd asked about Tahiri?

She might need a little bit more rest, Leia had said, before she puts the

pieces together.

Together, not back together. Yet he hadn't spoken to  Leia  about  Tahiri

before they'd left. His gut feeling was that there was nothing to worry about,

in the long run, but Leia had looked concerned.

He wasn't sure what to make of  that.  Most  probably,  he  decided,  his

unease came from seeing Ben by hologram earlier—the harsh  reminder  that  his

son was growing up fast thousands of light-years away while he was off on some

crazy mission to find something that might not even exist. He could only  hold

tight to the faith that Vergere had known what she was talking about.  Because

if she did, the fate of more than just Ben could be at stake.

Word came over the comm unit that the last of the TIE fighters  had  just

docked in Widowmaker's flight deck.

"We're ready when you are," Mara said, then turned  to  him.  "Artoo  has

laid in a course for a planet called Yashuvhu." Luke's much-traveled  R2  unit

whistled confirmation from the droid station  behind  them.  "Imperial  first-

contact specialists list it as nonhostile, and our specialist  in  comparative

religions has listed it as one of the places that's heard  of  Zonama  Sekot."

"Our specialist?" Luke echoed. Mara looked up at him. "Dr. Soron Hegerty," she

said. "You did know she was coming along, didn't you?" Luke  shrugged.  "Never

heard of her, actually." "She was flown  in  from  Valc  Seven  especially  to

advise us on local folklore that might help us trace Zonama Sekot," Mara said.

"Captain Yage assured me that you knew about this."

They exchanged a long glance before Luke finally laughed. "Sounds  to  me

as though someone might be trying to play both ends against  the  middle,"  he

said.

"Still, it should stop the trip from becoming boring, don't you think?"

Mara didn't smile, but he could see amusement in his  wife's  deep  green

eyes.

"Widowmaker is at your command," Captain Yage  said  when  the  frigate's

hyperdrive engines had cycled through a routine warm-up sequence. "Course laid

in; all systems green. Just say the word, Mara."

Mara glanced at Luke, who nodded.  She  relayed  the  command,  and  Luke

settled back into the copilot's seat, not needing to do anything with her  and

R2-D2 at the controls. The stars ahead were bright and too numerous to  count.

Somewhere within their far-flung tangle was a single world that might  be  the

key to ending the war with the Yuuzhan Vong.

We're going to find you, Zonama Sekot, he thought  to  himself.  Wherever

you are, we're going to find you. ..

Engines surged and the stars stretched into lines as hyperspace  enfolded

them. They were on their way again.