Star Wars

The Black Fleet Crisis Trilogy

book three:

Tyrant's Test

by By: Michael P. Kube-McDowell

BANTAM BOOKS NEW YORK TORONTO LONDON SYDNEY AUCKLAND

Dedication

For the stalwart crew, Russ Galen Tom Dupree Sue Rostoni Lynn Bailey

And the bold captain, George Lucas

Acknowledgments

Writing "The Black Fleet Crisis" has been either the most grueling fun or

the most enjoyable marathon  of  my  writing  career.  Either  way,  the  last

seventeen months have been amazingly full--a new home, two new babies  (Amanda

and Gavin), and more than three hundred thousand new words of fiction.

Though I was on my own in the many long hours I spent with my old  friend

Qwerty, I couldn't have had those hours, or done nearly  as  much  with  them,

without the help of a grand conspiracy of allies.

First among them are my immediate family, Gwen Zak and my son  Matt,  and

my de facto extended family, Rod Zak and Arlyn Wilson. With  unflagging  grace

and good humor, they pitched in wherever they were needed, doing whatever  had

to be done to keep the home fires burning and the dragons at bay.

The seasoned professionals of this conspiracy were  SCG  superagent  Russ

Galen, Bantam  editor  Tom  Du-pree,  BDD  Audio  producer  Lynn  Bailey,  and

Lucasfilm's Sue Rostoni. Working their mysterious  ways  through  such  arcane

media as the fax, the telephone, and E-mail,  they skillfully managed the more

far-reaching elem of the master plan.

Then there were the many sympathizers, who, though not formally  part  of

my cell nevertheless fered their knowledge or services to further our cause.

Prominent on that long list are  DanWallace,  Craig  ert  Carey,  Timothy

O'Brien, R. Lee Brown, Mic Armstrong, Jim Macdonald, Daniel Dworkin, Ev.

Cainto, and Mike Stackpole.

Meanwhile, John Vester, Dave Phillips, and nifer Hrynik took the point on

a fiendishly clever' information campaign.

Though security concerns limit my freedom to name names, I also  want  to

acknowledge the aid and comfort I  drew  from  the  volunteer  flyspeckers  in

CompuServe's SF Media Two forum (GO  SFMEDTWO)  Genie's  SF  Roundtable  Three

(SFRT3), and from the cals of RASSM.

I offer my most earnest salute to  the  chief  archi  of  the  Rebellion,

George Lucas, without whose inspiration none of us would be here.

Finally, I want to thank the true  believers  of  cause--Star  Wars  fans

around the globe--for coming along on this journey. Your boundless  enthusiasm

and vocal support have meant a great deal to me.

- -Michael Paul McDowell: August 31, 1996

Okemos, Michigan

Dramatis Personae

On Coruscant, capital of the New Republic :

Princess Leia Organa Solo, President of the Senate an - Chief of State of

the New Republic

Alole and Tarrick, aides to Leia

Admiral Hiram Drayson, chief of Alpha Blue

General Carlist Rieekan, head of New Republic Intelligence

Brigadier Collomus, operations senior staff for NRI

First Administrator Nanaod  Engh,  administrative  director  of  the  New

Republic

Mokka Falanthas, minister of state

Senator Behn-Kihl-Nahm, chairman of the Defense Council  and  friend  and

mentor to Leia

Senator Rattagagech of Elom,  chairman  of  the  Science  and  Technology

Council

Senator Doman Beruss of Illodia, chairman of the Ministry Council

Senator Borsk Fey'lya of Kothlis, chairman of the Justice Council

Senator Tig Peramis of Walalla

Belezaboth Ourn, extraordinary consul of t] Paqwepori

With the Fifth Battle Group of the New Republic Defense Fleet, in  Farlax

Sector:

General Etahn A'baht, Fleet commander

Colonel Corgan, staff tactical officer

Colonel Mauit'ta, staff intelligence officer

Captain Morano, commander of the flagship Intrepid

Plat Mallar, sole survivor of the Yevethan raid on Polneye

Aboard the Teljkon Vagabond:

General Lando Calrissian, Fleet liaison to the expedition

Lobot, chief administrator of Cloud City , on vacation

See-Threepio, protocol droid

Artoo-Detoo, astromech droid

Aboard the yacht Lady Luck, in pursuit of the Vagabond:

Colonel Pakkpekatt, expedition commander Republic Intelligence

Captain Bijo Hammax, foray commander Pleck  and  Taisden,  NRI  technical

agents

Aboard the Obroan Institute research vessel P Rift, at Maltha Obex: Dr.

Joto Eckels, senior archaeologist

On N'zoth, spawnworld of the Yevetha, in Kc Cluster, Farlax Sector:

Nil Spaar, viceroy of the Yevethan Protectorate

Eri Palle, aide to Nil Spaar

Dar Bille, proctor of the Yevethan flagship Tal Fraan, proctor cogent  to

the viceroy

General Han Solo, a prisoner

Aboard the skiff Mud Sloth, en route  to  J't'p'tan,  in  the  Koornacht

Cluster, Farlax Sector

Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Master

Akanah, an adept of the White  Current  On  Kashyyyk,  homeWorld  of  the

Wookiees:

Chewbacca,  participating  in  coming-of-age  ceremonies  for   his   son

Lumpawarrump

Tyrant's Test

Chapter 1

Three levels down from  Rwookrrorro  and  eighteen  kilometers  northeast

along the Rryatt Trail, the Well of the Dead appeared as a  solid  green  wall

ahead of Chewbacca and his son Lumpawarrump.

This deep in the wroshyr jungle of Kashyyyk, the tangled  web  of  trunks

and branches was ordinarily almost barren.  So  little  light  penetrated  the

dense canopies overhead that any leaves that sprouted quickly  withered.  Only

the gray bridal-veil sucker and the pad-dle-leafed mock shyr, both  parasites,

and the ubiquitous kshyy vines decorated the runs and paths.

But neither the bridal-veil nor the mock  shyr  was  abundant  enough  to

block those runs and force the  Wookiees  to  the  underside  of  the  web  of

branches.

They--and the creatures that made their homes at that  level--could  move

freely over the top of the tangled maze. Despite the dim light, sightlines  of

up to five hundred meters were the norm, with the trunks of the wroshyr  trees

themselves providing the only cover.

It was the Shadow Forest, the realm of the  nimble  rkkrrkkrl,  or  trap-

spinner, and the slow-moving rroshm, which helped  keep  the  paths  clear  by

grazing on bridal-veil.

tongued needlebugs, whose sucking proboscides  could  pierce  the  tough

wroshyr bark and draw on the juices within.

The most dangerous inhabitants were the elusive kkekkrrg rro,  the  five-

limbed Shadow Keepers, which preferred to roam the  underside  and  even  more

strongly preferred the taste of meat. The Shadow Keepers would not  attack  an

adult Wookiee, but long history, now mostly forgotten, had made  the  kkekkrrg

rro the personification of the skulking unseen enemy,  and  it  was  the  rare

Wookiee who would not reach for his weapon on seeing one.

All this and more Chewbacca had shown and explained to his  son  as  they

journeyed down from the hunting ground of the Twilight Gardens, a level above.

The whole time, memories had swirled around him on the stagnant air.

Some were memories of his own journey of ascendance in the company of his

father, Attitch-itcuk, of the tests that had earned him the right to wear  his

baldric, to carry a weapon in city, to choose and confirm his name.

Two hundred years, and the forest is still the same--only I am the father

now, not the son....

Chewbacca also vividly remembered the foolish expedition he and  Salporin

had made to the Shadow Forest in advance of their coming-of-age.  Unarmed  but

for a single ryyyk blade  Salporin  had  pilfered  from  his  eldest  brother,

Chewbacca and his friend had left the nursery ring and descended  into  realms

forbidden to the children they still were.

They had thought to prepare themselves for the unknown, but managed  only

to scare themselves with it.

Their courage had faded with the failing light,  and  by  the  time  they

reached Shadow Forest, all it took was a skittish trap-spinner  to  send  them

fleeing back to the safety of the familiar.

And what we thought we saw filled  our  nightmares  until  our  tests  of

ascension finally came--poor Salporin!

I only had to wait six days.

If Attitchitcuk knew--then or later--what they had done, he had never let

on.

Chewbacca looked at his son appraisingly. He doubted that there were  any

secret journeys concealed behind those nervous eyes. Years ago, a  very  young

Lumpawarrump had gone alone into the forest  near  Rwookrrorro  in  search  of

wasaka berries and gotten himself lost--a misadventure that had grown much  in

the retelling, until it became a family fable populated by  every  monster  of

the dark depths of both jungle and imagination. But the scare  had  been  real

even if the danger had not, and since then his son had been  content  to  stay

close to the nursery ring and the home tree.

And Mallatobuck and Attitchitcuk had been content to allow it, to let him

be different. Neither, it seemed, had pushed him to take part in the  toughen-

ing--the unstructured rough-and-tumble play of the nursery ring,  where  young

Wookiees learned their fearlessly headlong fighting style. When Chewbacca  had

greeted his son with a fierce growling rush, Lumpawar-rump had turned from it,

yielding as though he were already wounded.

It had been a difficult  moment  for  everyone.  But  in  the  aftermath,

Chewbacca realized that he was seeing part of the price his son had  paid  for

his absence.

In honoring a life debt to Han Solo, Chewbacca had left  his  son  to  be

raised by mother and grandfather.

He could not fault their love or  their  care,  but  something  had  been

missing--something to  spark  the  rrakktorr,  the  defiant  fire,  the  eager

strength that was a Wookiee's heart. Lumpawarrump did not even have  a  friend

like Salporin to test himself against in daily clinches and slap-fights.

The calendar said that it was time. Lumpawarrump had sprung up  to  adult

height. But he had only begun to fill out that tall frame, and  it  was  clear

that he did not yet. feel the power of his size. It was also not difficult  to

see that Lumpawarrump was in  awe  of  his  famous  father,  and  paralyzingly

anxious for his approval. Beyond that, Chewbacca was still trying to take  his

measure.

His son had talent in his hands. Though he  had  dragged  out  the  task

through nine days, Lumpawarrump had done a skillful job constructing his  bow-

caster--its weaknesses were the kind that only experience would teach  him  to

correct. And he had shown a steady hand in downing  a  kroyies  with  it,  the

first of the hunting tests.

But the second test, trapping and killing a big-eyed  scuttle  grazer  on

level three, had taken even longer and not gone as well. And the test  waiting

ahead, inside the Well of the Dead, promised to ask more of Lumpy than he  was

ready to face.

[Explain to me what we see,] he said to his son.

[It is a wound in the forest, where something fell from the sky long ago.

It is the bottom of the great pit of Anarrad,  which  we  see  from  the  high

lookouts of Rwookrrorro.] [Why did Kashyyyk not heal the  wound?]  [I  do  not

know, Father.] [Because she needed a home for the katarn. The light  falls  to

the depths and calls forth the young vitality of the wroshyr. The green leaves

shelter the daubirds and sustain  the  sprites  and  mallakins.  The  daubirds

invite the netcasters, and the mallakins call the grove harriers.

And the katarn, the old prince of the forest, comes to  the  feast.]  [If

Kashyyyk has given the katarn this place, why must we hunt them?] [It  is  our

pact with them, from long ago.] "I do not understand.] [Once they  hunted  us,

and the richness of the high forest was theirs for a thousand generations. But

their hunting did not destroy us. Nothing of this world is to  be  squandered,

my son. The katarn gave the Wookiee its strength and courage, and allowed  the

Wookiee to find the rrakktorr. Now we hunt them to repay the gift.

Someday it will be their turn again.]

The fleet carrier Venture loomed ahead of Plat Mallar like a rugged  gray

island in an endless, empty sea.

Snub fighters of the interceptor screen orbited it like hunting birds  on

the wing.

"Looks awfully good to me," said Ferry Four.

"It's a mirage," said Ferry Six. "They're going to  have  our  heads  for

losing the commodore."

"Cut the chatter and clean up the formation," said  Lieutenant  Bos,  the

ferry flight leader. "Venture flight operations, this is Bravo Flight  leader.

Requesting landing vectors on the ball. I have ten birds ready to roost."

Under ordinary circumstances, the air boss would have handed the squadron

over to the landing officer of the active landing bay, who in turn would  have

activated the landing alignment system's four tracking  lasers  to  guide  the

fighters in. But all of Venture's landing bays appeared to be locked up tight.

"Hold at two thousand meters and stand by, ferry leader."

"What's going on, Venture?"

"I have no further information for you at this time.

Hold at two thousand meters and stand by."

"Understood. Bravo Flight, it looks like they're not quite ready for  us.

We're going to parallel the carrier  at  two  thousand  meters,  single  file,

landing spacing, until they wave us in."

"Is it just me, or are there guns pointed at us?"

Ferry Nine  whispered  over  combat  two,  the  addressable  ship-to-ship

frequency. "I'm looking right down the quads of an AS battery."

Lifting his eyes from the controls, Plat Mallar studied the flank of  the

fleet carrier through the recon optics.

It did, indeed, seem to him that quite a number of the gun batteries were

trained on the ferry flight.

"It might not be about us," Plat whispered back.

"We don't know what's been happening out here."

"Venture flight ops to Bravo Flight leader. Advise all fighters  to  shut

down engines and thrusters. Recovery will be by tractor."

"Copy," Lieutenant Bos said. "Bravo Flight, you heard the  man--turn  'em

into rocks."

"Lieutenant, this is Ferry Five--even station-keeping thrusters?"

"Ferry Five, they're going to reel us in on a line.

Don't you know what'll happen if you've got the 'keepers running when the

tractor beam grabs on?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I just don't understand--why are they doing  this,

Lieutenant? Why won't they let us land our ships ourselves?"

"Ours not to reason why," Bos said. "Just do as they ask."

"I know why," said Ferry Eight grimly. "They're not sure who's  out  here

in 'em. For all they know, the Yevetha yanked us out during the ambush and put

raiders in these cockpits. Think about it."

"Bravo  Flight  leader,  beginning  recovery  operations  now,"   Venture

advised. "Request you observe comm silence until further notice."

"Affirmative, Venture. Bravo  Flight,  observe  comm  silence,  effective

immediately."

Lieutenant Bos's recon-X was the first to be pulled out of line and towed

inside Venture's aftmost landing bay on the invisible line of a tractor  beam.

Plat Mallar could not see what happened after that he  did  not  have  a  good

angle on the bay, and the outer doors closed again quickly  after  Bos's  ship

disappeared inside.

Five minutes later the process was repeated with Lieutenant Grannell  and

Ferry Two, taken aboard amidships.

Nearly an hour passed before it was Plat Mallar's  turn--a  long,  lonely

hour of anxious silence. They will never forgive us [or what  we  let  happen,

Plat thought as his ship began to move. They will never trust us again.

The lights in the landing  bay  were  blazing  at  the  levels  used  for

maintenance work and foreign-object scans. After living for  nearly  two  days

under combat-cockpit lighting,  Plat  Mallar  was  blinded.  Before  his  eyes

adjusted, he heard the honk of the rescue alarm and the hiss of the hydraulics

as the cockpit canopy began to rise around him.

"Come on down out of there," a  commanding  voice  barked  sharply  as  a

boarding ladder clanged against the side of the recon-X.

Squinting against the glare, Plat started to rise, but was hauled back by

his unseen umbilicals. He fumbled with the releases, then felt  his  way  over

the side and onto the ladder, assisted by a hand that guided his  booted  foot

to the top rung.

By the time he reached the bottom of the ladder, he could see well enough

to identify the six helmeted  and  body-armored  troops  that  surrounded  the

recon-X.

Their blaster rifles remained pointed at him as he stepped down  off  the

ladder and backed away from the ship.

The two security  officers  who  were  actually  within  reach,  however,

appeared to be unarmed. "Second Lieutenant Plat Mallar reporting.

What's going on?" Mallar asked, still trying to blink away  the  last  of

the dazzle spots.

"Just stand right there while we take a look at your ID disc,"  said  the

nearer of the two officers.

Mallar fished the silver circle out of its special  shoulder  pocket  and

held it out to the man who'd spoken.

The major dropped the disc  into  a  portable  scanner  and  studied  the

display. "What race are you?"

"Grannan."

"That's a new one on me," said  the  major,  handing  the  disc  back  to

Mallar. "Isn't Granna an Imperial world?"

"I don't know what its current status is, sir," said Mallar. "I was  born

on Polneyeand I was never much interested in politics."

"Is that so?" The major dismissed four of the troopers with  a  flick  of

his fingers. At the same time, the other  two  shouldered  their  weapons  and

moved behind Mallar, one hovering over each shoulder. "Report on ship status."

It was then that Mallar noticed another  pilot  standing  by,  a  flight

helmet tucked under one arm. Behind him a tech crew waited with an  instrument

sled. "Engine three gets close to the redline  running  up  to  rated  thrust.

Other than that, I didn't notice anything."

"Any combat damage?"

"Uh--we were hit by an Interdictor, and then we took a heavy  ion  salvo,

maybe two, I don't really know.

Everything went out for almost five minutes."

"Any operational gremlins or glitches afterward?"

"No, all the systems seemed to come back all right  once  the  integrator

was stabilized. It should all be in the flight logs."

"Very well," said the major. "Second Lieutenant Plat Mallar,  I  formally

accept  delivery  of  recon-X   KE-four-oh-four-oh-nine,   pending   technical

inspection,  and  release  you  from  your  responsibility  for  this  vessel.

Sergeant, escort this pilot to DD-eighteen  and  remain  with  him  until  the

debriefing officer arrives."

"Can  I  recharge  my  purifiers  first?"  Mallar  asked,   tapping   the

rectangular casing on his chest.

The major frowned. "I don't know what that's about, son. I just know if I

were you, I wouldn't be asking even for small favors right now."

Chewbacca and Lumpawarrump stood together at the boundary of the Well  of

the Dead, where the Rryatt Trail turned away toward Kkkellerr.

"It is time,] Chewbacca said. [Tell me what you have learned. Tell me the

things you must know to hunt the katarn.] Lumpawarrump looked nervously at the

green thicket. [Never show him your back, for the katarn will stalk you. Never

flee, for the katarn will overtake you.

Never hasten your hunt, for the katarn will  vanish  before  your  eyes.]

[Then how are you to conquer your adversary?] [You must be  patient,  and  you

must be brave,] Lumpawarrump said, sounding not at all brave.

[The katarn will allow you to follow it until it has taken your  measure,

and then it will turn and charge.] [And then?] [And then you must  stand  your

ground until the katarn's breath is in your face and the scent of  its  glands

is in your nostrils. Your hand must be steady, and you must  take  it  in  the

center of the chest with your first shot, because your second will  find  only

empty air.] [You have listened well, and remembered  everything  I  have  told

you. Now we will see how much of it  you  have  truly  learned.]  Lumpawarrump

unslung the bowcaster from his shoulder and rubbed the newly polished metal of

the stock with his paw.

[I will try to make you  proud.]  [There  is  one  more  thing  you  must

remember: Mind the light. Do not let night find you in the Well of  the  Dead.

The katarn still owns the shadows and the darkness, and even the Wookiee  must

respect that.] [How many katarn have you hunted, Father?] [I have pursued  the

old prince five times,] Chewbacca said. [Once he escaped me.  Three  times  he

fell: And once he gave me this warning that I had  been  inattentive.]  Taking

his son by the wrist, Chewbacca made him touch  the  long  double  scar  ridge

hidden by the thick fur on the left side of Chewbacca's chest. [Be  attentive,

my son.] Lumpawarrump stared for a moment, then pulled his hand back and began

to load the bowcaster.

Chewbacca stopped him.

[Why? Am I to go in unarmed?] [Wait until the moment. If you hunt  katarn

with your weapon drawn and ready, you will find it too easy to fire the  quick

shot, the long shot, the startled shot.

And then you have given over the advantage. You will never  see  the  old

prince that takes you.] Those words  shattered  the  last  of  Lumpawar-rump's

pretense. [Father--I am afraid.] [Be afraid. But go forward,  all  the  same.]

Lumpawarrump  stared,  then  slowly  shouldered  the  weapon.  [Yes,  Father.]

Turning, his paws found a seam

in the  green  growth  and  parted  it  noiselessly.  After  a  moment's

hesitation,  Lumpawarrump  eased  himself  lightly  through  the  opening  and

vanished from sight.

Chewbacca waited on the trail for a count of two hundred,  then  followed

his son into the Well of the Dead.

The man who entered compartment DD18  wore  a  dark  green  uniform  with

markings wholly unlike those of Venture's crew or the troops aboard her.

"My name is Colonel Trenn Gant, New Republic Intelligence,"  he  said  as

Plat Mallar jumped to his feet.

"Sit."

Mallar complied. "You must be here to ask me  about  the  attack  on  the

commodore's shuttle."

"No," said Gant. "Actually, we have a pretty good idea of  what  happened

there." The colonel circled the table and Mallar once before sitting down  and

Placing an interview recorder between them. "When  did  you  first  learn  the

nature of the mission?"

"The nature of the mission? You mean the ferry duty, or that we would  be

escorting Tampion?" When Gant showed no sign that  he  was  going  to  answer,

Mallar went on. "I was called to the training commander's office  at  oh-nine-

fifty the day before yesterday, and I was told I had been assigned to a recon-

X ferry flight."

"And that was the first you knew of that assignment?"

"Yes--well, no. Admiral Ackbar told me the day before, when  we  were  at

the simulator, that there was a chance they might  need  pilots  for  a  ferry

mission. But I didn't know anything else until Captain Logirth called me in. I

got the details at the mission briefing, the same as everyone else."

"What details were those?"

"It was a mission briefing," Mallar said, puzzled that Gant would need an

explanation. "Ship assignments--the jump vector--the formation we'd be us-ing-

the mission schedule--the lift order--the fact  that  we  would  be  escorting

Tampion, and that some of us would be returning in the shuttle."

"Is that all?"

"Well--there were some technical details on  comm  configuration  and  so

forth, yes."

"When did you learn that Commodore Solo would be aboard the shuttle?"

"Not until we were in our ships, ready to lift. Lieutenant Bos recognized

the commodore as he was boarding.

Before that, all we were told was that  the  shuttle  would  be  carrying

command staff."

Gant nodded. "How much time elapsed between the mission briefing and  the

cockpit call?"

"Four hours."

"I need for you to account for your whereabouts during that four hours.

Don't leave anything out."

"I went right to the simulators and  spent  two  hours  doing  lifts  and

formation work. On the way back to  the  lockers,  I  stopped  for  about  ten

minutes at the Memory Wall, looking at names. I took a five-minute  scrubdown,

then I crawled into a sleep tube and spent the rest of the  time  trying  to--

sleep, that is."

"Who'd you talk to?"

"I hardly talked to anyone. Lieutenant Frekka, my simulator controller. I

said a few words to Rags--Lieu-tenant Ragsall, who flew as Ferry Seven in  our

group--in pilot country."

"What did you say?"

"I asked him how many of us  he  thought  the  Fifth  would  keep,"  said

Mallar.

"And what did he say to that?"

"He said that in combat, you don't usually lose the  mount  and  get  the

rider back--that the chances were that with a new fleet they'd need almost  as

many pilots as they needed fighters."

"Who else did you talk to?"

Mallar shook his head. "The crew chief for my recon-X, the flight leader-

-that's all I can remember.

Major, I was nervous, and when I'm  nervous,  I  don't  start  a  lot  of

conversations."

"What were you nervous about?"

"About making a mistake. About making people regret giving me a chance."

"Did you talk to anyone off the base?"

"I never left the base."

"What about your comlink?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Shall we look at the comm log?"

"I didn't talk to anyone--wait, I tried to call Admiral  Ackbar.  But  he

wasn't available."

"Admiral Ackbar again," Gant said. "Do you have a special relationship of

some kind with him?"

"He was my primary flight instructor. And he's my friend."

"You managed to make friends in high places pretty quickly, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're trying to say. When I woke up in the  hospital,

Admiral Ackbar was there.

Our friendship's been at his initiative--I wouldn't have known who he was

to seek him out. I didn't know who he was until much later."

"If it's at his initiative, why did you call him?"

"Because I'd just gotten good news, and I  didn't  have  anyone  else  to

share it with who'd understand."

Mallar leaned forward, spreading his hands flat on the tabletop.

"Look, Major--I know we screwed up, and I know I'm going to be sent back.

But every one of us would rather have died  than  show  up  here  without  the

commodore."

"Really," said Gant. "My information is that not a single member of  your

squadron fired a shot."

"We couldn't," Mallar said, coming to his feet with enough  angry  threat

in his posture to bring the guard a step forward. "It was  just  like  Polneye

all over again.

They were waiting for us. We were out of  it  before  we  knew  what  was

happening. I was hit at least three times in the first  five  seconds,  and  I

don't think I got the worst of it. But I was pumping my triggers right  up  to

the moment when the last Yevethan ship jumped out--hoping for  a  green  light

and a miracle."

Gant's hand shot out and caught Mallar's right wrist, forcing him to turn

that hand upward. The movement revealed purple-black bruises across  the  palm

pad and a bloody, scabrous blister covering the last third of the thumb.

Cocking an eyebrow as he released his  grip,  Major  Gant  sat  back  and

crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes.

They were waiting for you--at an intercept point  ninety-one  light-years

outside Koornacht Cluster. They didn't just take a wild shot in the dark. They

knew exactly who and what they were aiming at. And that's my  problem,  pilot.

That's my problem with this whole affair."

Mallar relaxed into his chair. "I don't know how the  Yevetha  found  out

enough to be there waiting for us.

If I had any ideas, I'd have told you when you walked in here, instead of

making you sift through the sand. The only thing I know is,  it  had  to  come

from someone who knew about it before I did--before the pilots did. Tell me if

I'm wrong, but I don't think an Interdictor could cross ninety-one light-years

in four hours--not on its best day."

"You are correct," Gant said, reaching out and collecting the recorder.

Then he slid Mallar's ID disc across the table to  him.  "Sergeant,  take

Second Lieutenant Mallar to pilot  country  and  show  him  how  to  find  the

'fresher and berth forty-D. Mallar, you're restricted to pilot  country,  comm

privileges suspended, until someone cuts new orders for you."

"Yes, sir." Mallar slipped the disc into its pocket as he stood.

"Thank you, sir."

"I've done you no favors, Mallar. I'm looking for a  traitor.  I  haven't

found him yet."

"Yes, sir," Mallar said, nodding and letting the  soldier  lead  the  way

toward the hatch.

Gant stood and turned as Mallar passed him. "One other thing."

Mallar stopped short, his heart suddenly pounding.

"What, Major?"

"Why do you think the Yevetha left you and the others alive?"

"Sir--at first I thought it was so we could carry the  message  back,  as

witnesses."

"And now?"

"Now I think they did it to humiliate us."

"Explain."

"Major, if we'd died out there, or been taken hostage,  that  would  have

made us important, too. What they did told us that we  aren't  even  important

enough to kill. It's like they understood just how  to  make  us  feel  small.

Futility, Major--that's the message they wanted us to bring back. They  showed

us they can go where they want to and  do  what  they  want  to,  and  there's

nothing we can do about it."

"Don't you believe that for a minute, son," Major Gant said firmly.

"This isn't over--it's just beginning.

We're not going to roll over and surrender to this kind of blackmail.

We'll get in our whacks."

"Then I hope someone will get in a  few  for  me,"  Mallar  said,  tight-

lipped. "Because I think I missed my only chance."

Half a dozen wroshyr leaves moved where there was no  breath  of  air  to

move them, lifting the width of a hand and then falling  again.  The  movement

betrayed Lumpawarrump's position some forty meters east of Chewbacca.

His son was not stalking anything. He was not  even  moving  through  the

Well  of  the  Dead  in  search  of  his  prey.  To  Chewbacca's  dismay   and

disappointment, Lumpawarrump had gone perhaps a hundred timid paces  into  the

thicket, then found himself a hiding place, his back against a  wroshyr  stump

and his body concealed by the heavy, hanging young shoots he  gathered  around

him.

At intervals, Lumpawarrump would peer out from his improvised  blind  and

scan the forest for a few moments as though expecting a katarn to saunter past

in full view. Then, seeing nothing, he  would  retreat  back  into  the  false

security of his wishful invisibility.

But Chewbacca had had no trouble spotting his son, and neither would  any

of the Well's predators. And the  stump  Lumpawarrump  was  depending  on  for

protection created an enormous blind spot from which a katarn  could  approach

and strike without warning.

Chewbacca knew that his son was in far more danger than he realized,  and

yet Chewbacca was honor-bound not to intervene except to stop a killing  blow.

All he could do was watch and wait, his bowcaster at the ready, trying not  to

become so distracted that he made himself a ready target.

To help keep himself alert, Chewbacca kept himself moving. He moved in an

irregular arc that  had  Lumpawarrump's  hiding  place  as  its  anchor--never

drawing too close, never wandering too far away, and  never  compromising  the

shot he was constantly visualizing.

Four times Chewbacca saw the wroshyr  leaves  move,  and  four  times  he

froze.

Lumpawarrump never saw him.

Chewbacca could tell himself that, even caught in the  open,  motionless,

face averted, a long-furred Wookiee could be taken for another of  the  stalks

and mounds of parasitic jaddyyk moss that dotted the floor of  the  Well.  But

even a novice hunter using the simplest blink technique  should  have  noticed

that one of the jaddyyk stalks kept changing position. It was a sign  of  just

how terrified Lumpawarrump was, cowering behind his green  curtain--which  was

in turn another hard disappointment for his father.

But although Lumpawarrump had taken no notice, before long Chewbacca  new

that something else had.

It moved only when Chewbacca moved, and yet somehow managed to draw  ever

closer. It stayed low in the thick overgrowth and  melted  into  the  shadows.

When Chewbacca turned to face it, he saw nothing. When he moved toward it,  he

soon sensed it behind him once more.

With the air in the Well heavy and still, Chewbacca could catch no scent

of what was stalking him until it had drawn uncomfortably close.

He sniffed the air sharply and breathed a quiet growl. Eight meters away,

another Wookiee rose silently from the wroshyr leaves.

It was Freyrr, one of Chewbacca's many second cousins, and the  lightest-

footed stalker in the family.

After  a  silent  exchange  scripted  in  glances  and  toothy  grimaces,

Chewbacca and Freyrr came together back-to-back and  lowered  themselves  into

the foliage.

There the conversation continued in growls so quiet that  they  could  be

taken for the groaning of branches.

[Where is Lumpawarrump?] asked Freyrr.

[Gone to cover,] Chewbacca said, tipping his head toward his son's hiding

place. [Why  are  you  here?  Why  do  you  intrude  on  my  son's  hrrtayyk?]

[Mallatobuck sent me to find you. There is news that could not  wait  on  your

return.] [What 'news?"" [It would be better if you left the Well  first.]  [My

son cannot leave until his test is over.]  [I  will  stay  with  him,  cousin.

Shoran waits for you on the Rryatt Trail, and will tell you all as you  return

to Rwookrrorro.] Chewbacca's body went rigid with barely contained fury.  [You

think to take this duty from me? How can you breathe such shame? Even when the

mate of Jiprirr was burned by flame beetles and fell from the Gathering Trail,

even when the mate of Grayyshk was  confined  with  yellow-blood  malaise  and

died, they were not recalled from the hrrtayyk.] Freyrr reached back and  took

a restraining grip on both of Chewbacca's hands. [Mind  your  voice,  cousin.]

The answering growl Chewbacca offered  under  his  breath  was  all  the  more

menacing for the ease With which he broke Freyrr's grip. [If I do not hear  in

the next moment what brings you to me, every webweaver,  gundark,  and  katarn

within three levels of the Well will hear my voice in the moment  after  that.

Now, what is wrong?

Is it Mallatobuck?]

Freyrr sighed his surrender. [No---it is the one to  whom  you  owe  your

life debt. Han Solo has been taken by the enemies of Princess Leia.

He is a prisoner of the Yevetha,  somewhere  in  Koornacht  Cluster.  The

Princess has asked you to come back to Coruscant.] Only a mouthful of his  own

forearm kept Chewbacca's howl of distress from escaping his lips.

[You understand now,] Freyrr went on. [You have a duty that  goes  beyond

your duty here. Go. Shoran awaits. He will tell you the rest.

I will watch over your son and see him through to the end of his tests.

Mallatobuck will see that  he  understands.]  The  decision  that  loomed

before Chewbacca was distasteful, but it was not difficult.

[The hrrtayyk can wait until I return,] Chewbacca  said,  rising  to  his

feet and abandoning his concealment.

Freyrr rose with him. [Chewbacca, I  beg  you--if  your  son  returns  to

Rwookrrorro without being able to announce his new name, without being able to

wear the baldric Malla has made for him--] [Better that than for him to return

over your shoulder, cousin.] Freyrr  showed  a  mouthful  of  teeth.  [Do  you

question my rrakktorr?] [No, cousin. I question his.] Chewbacca called  across

the Well to Lumpawarrump in a stentorian growl that startled  a  gathering  of

scur and rousted a fat-bodied charkarr to flight. Farther away, Chewbacca  saw

the shiver of leaves that marked a katarn turning away from a hunt.

When Lumpawarrump was slow to appear, Chewbacca repeated the call.

[Come to me, first-child.

You will sleep this night in the home tree. My honor brother is in peril,

and I must go to him.]

Chapter 2

Wincing, Han opened a puffy, purple eye crusted jaw with blood and forced

the room to come into focus.

"Barth," he said.

The flight engineer was sitting with his back against the opposite  wall,

curled up in a ball with his knees drawn up toward  his  chest  and  his  arms

wrapped around them. His face was downturned, his chin against his collarbone,

as though he were sleeping---or hiding.

"Barth," Han said again, more distinctly.

This time his cellmate stirred, raising his head  and  turning  his  face

toward Han. "Commodore," he said in a surprised tone, and scrambled across the

rough floor to Han's side. "I don't know how long it's been since they brought

you in--hours, at least."

"What's been happening?"

"Nothing, sir. You've been out the whole time. I  wasn't  sure  you  were

ever going to wake up. Sir, don't take this wrong, but I hope you  don't  feel

as bad as you look."

Han let the flight engineer help him up  to  a  sitting  position.  "This

isn't so bad. I've been beat up by experts. The Yevetha are strictly amateurs.

" Han straight ened a leg, grimaced, and leaned back against the wall.

"On the other hand, they're amateurs with stamina."

"What do they want with us?"

"They didn't say," Han  said.  He  worked  his  jaw  from  side  to  side

experimentally, then sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "Tell me the truth, Barth-

-is that smell me?"

A faintly embarrassed look crossed Barth's face.

"It's all of us, I'm afraid. There's no refresher, or anything resembling

one, and no water. I, uh, just picked a corner. But at least it helps mask the

smell coming off the captain. And there's something growing on  him  now--it's

covered most of his skin. I can't stand to look at him."

"Don't, then," Han said, looking past the lieutenant  at  the  corpse  of

Captain Sreas. His face and hands were shadowed by a fine gray down.

"Fungal spores, probably. It's a dry world--you can tell  from  the  air,

and the Yevetha's skin. A human corpse probably looks like a water hole to the

stuff that lives in a place like this."

"I don't Want to think about it," Barth said.

"Don't, then," said Han As he straightened his other leg, pain  made  him

squeeze his eyes shut and grunt. "On the whole, I think I'd rather  be  beaten

up by an expert. Has anyone looked in on us?"

"Not since they brought you in." Barth hesitated, then added, "Commodore,

what do you give for our chances?"

"More than I'd give you for our privacy right now," Han said.

Barth twisted his head around, scanning the nearly featureless  walls  of

their prison. The cell had a slitted air Vent in the center of the ceiling,  a

slitted drain in the center of the floor, harsh lights flush  in  the  ceiling

corners, and a half-height door armored in riveted plate.

"Do you think they're watching us--listening?"

"I would be. Doko prek anuda ten?" he asked, hoping Barth  knew  smuggler

cant.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Han switched to Illodian sibilant. "Stacch iscb stralsi."

"Sorry, Commodore. I can get by in Bothan,  handle  a  bit  of  Corporate

Sector Contract Standard, and rattle off all nine water curses in Calamari, if

that will help. But that's the limit of my linguistic talents." He ducked  his

head apologetically. "The Fleet Academy dropped its three-language requirement

the year I entered."

"Never mind," Han said. "I doubt any of those would stump the Yevetha for

long. Let's just assume we have an audience and they're getting  most  of  the

jokes.

Have they given you any food?"

"No, nothing."

Han nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if that doesn't change, you'll be able to

figure out our chances by yourself.

Let's take inventory."

The pockets of what remained of the two  men's  flight  suits  yielded  a

flexible comb, the Imperial thousand-credit "Victory Tax" coin  Barth  carried

as a worry-stone, an expired meal card from the  Fleet  headquarters  mess,  a

pilot's pop-up collapsible cup, and one two-tablet  dose  of  an  antiallergen

that was on the pre-flight restricted list.

The inventory of jewelry was even shorter--two Fleet  service  pins  with

sealed-back attachment mounts, and a fine titanium ankle chain.

"I've seen bigger arsenals," Han said, and nodded toward the corpse.

"We'd better see what he has."

Barth blanched. "Couldn't we skip that?"

"They didn't bother to strip him. Maybe they didn't bother to search him,

either."

The blaster bolt that had killed Captain Sreas had scooped out a third of

his upper chest, leaving behind a cauterized concavity into which  the  burned

edges of the hole in his blouse were fused. The hollow was half filled by  the

gray down enthusiastically growing on the cadaver.

Gritting his teeth, Han rummaged the pockets and keepaway  flaps  of  the

captain's flight suit. He handed his discoveries to Barth, who hung  back  and

tried not to watch.

"How long did you serve with him?" Han asked.

"Four months--nineteen jumps all together."

"Your first assignment?"

"Second. I spent a year with the Third Fleet as a drag pilot on a tender.

"

Han pulled a Fleet ID from the shoulder pocket and passed it back.

"What kind of man was he?"

"All officer," said Barth. "Demanding, but fair.

Not much of a talker--I know he had kids, but I don't know their names."

"I know the kind," Han said, then touched his tongue to a  comlink  power

pack. "Dead," he muttered, handing it back. "Did he ever surprise you?"

"He collected glass animals," said Barth. "I wouldn't have expected that.

And once he showed me the holo of his wife he always carried with him. It must

have been twenty years old. She was sitting on a  black-sand  beach  somewhere

wearing nothing but a smile.

'That's the most beautiful woman on this or the next thousand worlds,' he

told me. 'I'll never figure out why she fell in love with a dullard like me.""

"And was she?"

Barth took a moment to consider. "In a way. I guess I'd have to  say  any

man would say so if that smile of hers was aimed at him. I'm still  hoping  to

find someone who looks at me that way."

Han nodded as he gently rolled the corpse onto its back. Then he sat back

on his heels. "Well, I can't say that Captain Sreas's worldly possessions  are

going to have much to say about the outcome," he said.

"But hold on to that hope, Lieutenant. You'll see Coruscant again."

By then Barth had retreated from the corpse  to  the  opposite  wall.  "I

don't think so," he said. "I think we're going to die here, too."

Han grimaced as he stood, but erased the pain from  his  face  before  he

turned toward the young officer.

"Lieutenant, our captors went to a lot of trouble to grab

us. They're not about to discard us now. And the folks  at  home  aren't

going to just write us off. One way or another, our people are going to get us

out of here. Until then, we have an obligation to be as  difficult  and  unco-

operative as we can manage. You can't let them  make  you  afraid.  That  just

gives them what they want--a way to control you."

"But isn't that what we  are--a  way  for  the  Yevetha  to  control  the

President?"

Han shook his head firmly. "If I thought for a  moment  that  Leia  would

compromise herself, that she'd  compromise  the  Fleet  or  the  New  Republic

because of us being prisoners here, I'd find a way to die now, before it could

happen."

"Then explain this--if you're right, why should the Yevetha keep us alive

once they find out we're not worth anything as bargaining chips?"

"Slatha essacb secbel."

"I'm sorry, I don't--"  Han  hadn't  expected  Barth  to  understand--the

reintroduction of Illodian was meant as a reminder.

Han pointed at the air vent over his head to underline the reminder,  and

a light went on in Barth's haunted eyes.

"If your ship Was suddenly infested with pests," Han said, "and the first

thing the captain did was order you to capture two of them in a jar, would you

describe that as taking hostages?"

Pursing his lips, Barth swallowed hard, then shook his head.

"All right, then. From here on out, try to remember where  we  are,  what

Our purpose is--and that we have an audience, and what their  purpose  is.  We

had to have this conversation, but I only want to have it once.

And some other conversations are going to have to wait for  another  time

and place."

"I know a little nightspot in Imperial City,"  Barth  said.  "Good  food,

sometimes a slava dancer worth overtipping. We'll save 'em for there."

An affable, approving grin creased Han's face.

"Done. I'll buy the first round."

The Beruss clan estate in Imperial City was almost large enough to  be  a

city in its own right. Within Ex-moor's walls were two parks, one forest,  one

meadow; a small lake stocked with game fish from Illodia and plied by graceful

wind-driven boats; and twenty-one structures, including the hundred-meter-tall

Illodia Tower with its external spiral staircase.

Located more than three hundred kilometers southwest of the  Palace,  the

estate was a testament to the long tenure of the Beruss clan on  Coruscant.  A

Beruss had represented Illodia in the Senate for almost as long as  there  had

been  a  Senate.  Doman's  first  father,  first  and  second  uncles,   sixth

grandfather, and ninth great-grand-mother were just  part  of  the  long  line

connecting Ex-moor with Coruscant history.

Illodia had no royal house, no hereditary rulers, but  its  oligarchy  of

five clans had proved longer-lived than many blood dynasties.

And the Beruss had survived the  various  plots,  crises,  and  political

tides of Illodia in large part by being content to make Coruscant their home.

Exmoor was likewise a  monument  to  the  onetime  grandeur  of  Illodian

ambitions. Taxes on Illodia's twenty colonies had paid for  the  construction,

and the skilled hands of colony artisans had decorated and filled  the  houses

named after their worlds. Even the Size and spacing of the  structures  echoed

the map of Illodian territories, and  each  colony  house  had  once  borne  a

brilliant planetary emblem which could be seen only from the lookout lounge at

the top of Illodia Tower.

The emblems were gone now, the colony houses largely vacant, the colonies

themselves only a memory.

When the Emperor had annexed Illodia Sector, he had ordered the  colonies

"liberated" from the oligarchy's "tyranny"--and then levied assessments on the

former colonies that were more than double the taxes imposed by Illodia.

But the old glories were preserved in the approach  and  facade  of  the

tower itself. The walks were swept and lined  with  smartly  trimmed,  bright-

leaved plants.

The metal and stone gleamed as it had when Bail Or-gana had  brought  his

young daughter to play in the meadow park with the clan's many children  while

he and the senator spoke of adult things. And the seventy  rooms  inside  were

still a curious mixture of museum and clan commune, with the eleven adults and

nearly twenty children who made up Doman's  circle  sharing  and  occasionally

overwhelming those spaces.

Doman received Leia in a room she had never  before  been  privileged  to

enter--the clan counsel room on the top level of the tower, where  the  bonded

adults met to discuss and decide family issues. Eleven identical chairs,  each

bearing the Beruss emblem in silver and blue, were arranged facing each  other

in a circle. An augmented skylight lit the circle warmly from the center.

Doman's welcoming smile was equally warm.  "Little  Princess,"  he  said,

standing as though he expected her to come to him with a hug and a cheek kiss,

as in the old days. "Is there any further news?"

"No," Leia said, entering the circle but coming no farther. "There's been

no word from the Yevetha. The viceroy has ignored my messages."

"Perhaps this was not the Yevetha's doing?"

"We now have the flight recorders from several of the recon-X escorts.

There's  no  mistaking  the  Yevethan  thrustship.  And   Nylykerka   has

identified the Interdictor they  used  as  the  Imperator,  a  ship  that  was

delegated to Black Sword Command. There's really no question about it--this is

Nil Spaar's work."

"I see," Doman said, nodding. "In any event, I'm glad you came to see  me

before the Council sits. It's better that these matters be settled privately."

"I had to come see you," said Leia, settling into a chair a third of  the

way around the circle from Doman.

trayed---abandoned by someone  I  thought  was  my  friend,  my  father's

friend."

"Clan Beruss is and always will be the  friend  of  House  Organa,"  said

Doman. "That will not change in my lifetime, or yours."

"Then withdraw the summons."

Doman gestured in the air. "I will gladly do so--on your promise that you

will not carry the war to N'zoth to rescue a loved one or avenge  a  casualty.

Can you give me that promise?"

"Are you asking me to give Han up? I can't believe that  you  could  call

yourself my friend and ask me to do that."

With an easy grace, Doman lowered himself back into his chair. "Two other

men suffered the same fate as Han--be it capture or death. Do you care as much

for their return as you do for his?"

"What an absurd question," Leia snapped. "Han is my husband,  the  father

of my children. I'm sorry for the others, and I want them all safely returned.

But I won't sit here and pretend that they mean as much to me as Han does."

"You need not pretend here," Doman said. "But can you sit in  the  office

of the President of the Senate of the New Republic and pretend so convincingly

that nothing you do shatters the illusion? Because unless you're ready to give

all three lives equal weight--whether much  or  none--I  do  not  believe  you

should sit in that office."

"You don't understand how it is for us," Leia said.

"Look at this room--you may have your favorites, but  no  one  spouse  is

everything to you, the way Han is to me."

"That has always seemed to me a weakness of the way you choose to  live,"

Doman said.

"We can argue that another day," Leia said. "The point is that you  can't

understand what it would mean to me to lose him."

Shaking his head, Doman settled back into his chair. "Leia, I've  watched

your kind for nearly a hun  dred years now, and I've seen the lengths to which

passion drives you.

A man in love will move mountains to  protect  the  woman  who  owns  his

heart. A woman in love will sacrifice all else for the man she has chosen.  To

us, it seems a grand folly--but I do understand,  Leia,  or  I  would  not  be

afraid of your passion for Han."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid that you would sacrifice what does not belong to  you--the  peace

We've struggled toward. The lives of the thousands who  would  fight  at  your

order, and the millions they might kill. Even the future of the  New  Republic

itself. None of this is beyond human passion, Leia. You know that as  well  as

I."

"Do you think that nothing matters more to me than Han? Do you think  I'm

that out of control?"

"Dear child, I cannot sit by and trust to reason  when  reason  loses  so

many battles to passion," Doman said. "Give me the promise I've asked you for,

and I will withdraw the summons. I know you'll honor your word."

"You want me to limit my options before I even know why the  Yevetha  did

this," Leia said with the heat of indignation. "You can't ask that of me. It's

not time yet to decide how to respond."

"And when do you think that time will come?"

"I haven't even had a chance to go over  all  the  possibilities--Rieekan

won't have a report to me for another few hours, and I don't  expect  to  hear

any more from A'baht until tonight, after the investigators  report  from  the

site  of  the  ambush.  Drayson's  asked  me  for  thirty  hours,  and   Fleet

Intelligence isn't making me any promises at all."

"When do you expect to receive Minister Falanthas's report?"

Leia shot Doman a puzzled look. "What?"

"Don't you intend to involve the minister of state?

Or are only military options under consideration?"

"Haven't the Yevetha already set the ground rules?

Aren't Han, Captain Sreas, and Lieutenant Barth prisoners of war?"

"If they are not already casualties of it--which I pray  they  are  not,"

said Doman. "But I also pray you remember that  every  conflict  need  not  be

fought to the  death,  and  total  war  need  not  follow  every  outbreak  of

hostilities."

"So we give them what they want?"

"In the long history of war, far more prisoners have  had  their  freedom

bought or bartered than won with arms and noble resolve. There is no shame  in

compromise."

Doman spread his hands wide to embrace the circle of chairs. "This room--

this family--is predicated on that idea."

"You lost your colonies and your freedom to  Palpatine  because  of  that

idea."

"For a time," Doman said. "But here I am, free.

Where is Palpatine? Do not let the heat of the moment limit your options.

"

Leia slumped back in her chair and gazed up at the skylight.  "I  won't,"

she said finally. "But I can't let you limit them, either, Doman."

"Leia--" "We don't know why the Yevetha have done this--to punish me  for

Doornik Three-nineteen, or in preparation for something still  to  come."  She

sat forward, as if about to  stand.  "But  whatever  the  reason,  they'll  be

watching our response. Don't you think the worst possible sign we  could  give

them is one that says the New  Republic  has  no  confidence  in  its  elected

leader? Don't you think  Nil  Spaar  will  be  delighted  to  see  the  Senate

distracted by infighting?"

"There need not be any infighting," said Doman Beruss. "Step aside  until

this is over. Let one of us carry the weight. You won't be shut out, I promise

you."

"I can't do that." Leia stood and closed half the  distance  between  her

and the senator. "Please--on our friendship, on my father's memory--I ask  you

one last time, Doman, to withdraw the summons. Leave me free to do what  needs

to be done. Don't make me fight a war on the home front, too."

"I'm sorry, little Princess," Doman said. "There's too much at stake.

I have a duty."

"And so do I," Leia said, her eyes clouded with a mixture  of  anger  and

regret. "I'll be leaving now, Senator.

I have a lot to attend to before the Council session."

"I hope you'll reconsider your position," Doman  said,  rising  from  his

chair. "I have no wish to embarrass you."

Leia shook her head. "You'll only embarrass yourself, Senator--not  least

in the eyes of a little girl who once looked on you as family, and Exmoor as a

second home."

In the time Chewbacca had been on Kashyyyk,  the  Millennium  Falcon  had

become Rwookrrorro's leading attraction. Its arrival had been a signal  event,

and its presence on Landing  Platform  Thyss  brought  an  ongoing  stream  of

visitors  from  Karryntora,  Northaykk,  and  even  the   distant   Thikkiiana

Peninsula. They came despite the fact that all there was for  visitors  to  do

was look at the outside of the ship  and  have  a  holo  taken  of  themselves

standing beside it.

Chewbacca had left the ship in the care of his  cousin  Dryanta  and  his

cousin Jowdrrl. They had nearly begged him for the honor, and they  had  taken

the responsibility to heart. For Dryanta, a pilot, and Jowdrrl, a ship systems

engineer, leaving their homes to live aboard her was  an  almost  unmeasurable

privilege.

They had kept the Falcon sealed to everyone but themselves  and  arranged

for the platform to be watched  around  the  clock.  During  the  morning  and

afternoon open-platform periods, either Dryanta or  Jowdrrl-and  often  both--

stood watch to see that no one came within arm's reach of the hull.

But there were no  visitors  on  the  platform  when  Chewbacca,  Freyrr,

Shoran, and a disconsolate Lumpawarrump approached it. Mallatobuck had  chased

the crowd away without apology and set Dry anta and Jowdrrl to work  preparing

the Falcon for space.

[Lumpy, I need you to go to the home tree,] Mallatobuck  said  after  she

greeted the party. [Kriyystak has  been  preparing  a  food  bundle  for  your

father's ship. See if it's ready, and bring it when it is.

Quickly, now.] He accepted the chore without protest and hurried off.

[You chose to bring him back rather than leave him  with  Freyrr,]  Malla

said, turning to Chewbacca.

[It falls on me, not on him. But he was not ready,] said Chewbacca.

[Perhaps he will be more ready the next time. Has there been any  further

news?] [The grids are silent. The misfortune that has befallen our  friend  is

not yet public knowledge. Ralr-racheen has sent a message to the  Princess  on

your behalf, but there has been no reply.] [And the ship?] [Jowdrrl will  know

best,] Malla said, turning and leading the way onto the landing platform.  She

called out to the ship's custodians, and both came running at her voice.

[Chewbacca, ten thousand apologies. The ship is not quite ready for you,]

said Jowdrrl. [I have twenty minutes of work left in the  upper  gun  turret.]

[Explain.] [I meant it as my gift to Han Solo, in gratitude for your  life.  I

expected to be finished before you  returned--"  Chewbacca  bared  his  teeth.

[What gift?] [Cousin, I studied the ship closely while it was in our  care.  I

saw  certain  weaknesses,  and  Dryanta  helped  me   devise   improvements--"

Chewbacca's grimace grew into a snarl. [Are you telling me that the Falcon  is

not ready because you have been tinkering with it while I was gone, and it  is

still in pieces?] [No, cousin, no. Dryanta and I worked all  night  to  finish

what we had planned. I need only to test the new

systems. If I return to my work now, I will be done by the time you have

loaded and received clearance.] Dispatching her with a growl, Chewbacca turned

angrily to Malla. [Did you know of this?] [Do not turn your fears for Han into

fury at your family,] Malla said reprovingly, her snarl matching the intensity

of his. [You did not even stop to consider the value of Jowdrrl's gift  before

rejecting it.] [She should not have presumed to  change  anything,]  Chewbacca

grumbled.

[She is your closest cousin, and all too like you,] Malla said. [How long

will it take you to reach Corus-cant?] [I am not going to Coruscant. I can  do

nothing for Han from there,] Chewbacca said. [He is in Koornacht Cluster, so I

must go there.] [But the Princess asked you to come to Coruscant.

Go, listen to her message, it's saved for you on  the  Falcon.]  [If  she

then asks me to go to Koornacht, I will have lost hours that Han may not  have

to spare. And if she does not ask me to go there, I  must  do  so  anyway,  or

betray my honor. So I will go there directly.] [And what will you  do  there?]

[Whatever is necessary,] he said. [I must go see what Jowdrrl has  done.  Will

you bring me my blaster from the home tree?] [I  will  gather  what  you  will

need,] Malla said. [Be forgiving of Jowdrrl. She follows the dictates  of  her

honor conscience, just as you do.] Growling to himself, Chewbacca  turned  and

climbed the Millennium Falcon's boarding ramp with long strides. Malla  turned

to Freyrr and Shoran.

[Come,] she said. [I must speak with you, and there is not much time.]

Grudgingly, Chewbacca was forced to admit that Jowdrrl's modifications to

the ship were not only perceptive, but long overdue.

One of the much despised idiosyncrasies of the  Corellian  YT-1300  stock

freighter was the severely restricted field of view from the cockpit.

Though the flight crew enjoyed an unobstructed field of view forward  and

to starboard, visibility aft and to port was virtually nonexistent.

That, plus the extreme offset of the cockpit, made maneuvering or landing

a YT-1300 in tight spaces a challenge. Most examples  of  that  model  sported

five-axis laser-ranging pods as add-ons on the blind side, just forward of the

loading port--often installed at the  insistence  of  spooked-pilots  after  a

close call with  a  docking  bay  wall  or  another  ship.  But  out  of  some

combination of stubbornness and ego, Han had refused to let Chewbacca  install

a ranging pod.

"Do you look at your feet when you walk? A real  pilot  feels  where  his

ship is," Han had insisted. "I don't want anyone looking  at  the  Falcon  and

thinking we need that kind of training-school  crutch.  Give  me  a  meter  of

clearance and I'll fly this thing anywhere. Do you think Lando could have made

that run into the Death Star at Endor if he'd depended on ranging pods?"

But the Falcon's enormous blind spot was an even more  serious  issue  in

flight than during landings. That fact was the genesis of the  maneuver  known

to pilots as the Corellian carousel--putting the ship into  a  slow  left-hand

roll when making an approach in  traffic  or  maneuvering  under  fire.  Han's

addition of a single high-mounted sensor dish to the Falcon  only  accentuated

the need to use the carousel routinely, since the  dish  had  an  even  larger

blind spot than the pilot.

Jowdrrl had never flown  aboard  the  Falcon,  and  Chewbacca  had  never

complained about its peculiarities in front of her.  But  she  summed  up  the

problem with one clear, simple truth Chewbacca had not yet managed to  impress

on his son: [A Wookiee hunter who stands beside a tree hides half  the  forest

from his eyes.] Jowdrrl's solution was a simple if not obvious one.

Everywhere there was an existing viewport the port and starboard  loading

hatches, the dorsal and ventral

gun  turrets--Jowdrrl  had  covered  it  with  a  custom-fitted  optical

transducer panel.

The output from all four of the nearly transparent sensors was routed  to

flatscreen displays in the cockpit,  giving  the  pilot  the  benefit  of  the

familiar views from those four locations. Together, the new sensors eliminated

most of the ship's blind spot, leaving only a small area directly aft--an area

that was already well scanned by the sensor dish.

In explaining what she had done, Jowdrrl changed from Shyriiwook  to  the

Thykarann dialect, which was much richer in technical vocabulary.

<Something you could do later is pass the signal  through  the  targeting

computer--then any object showing relative motion could be highlighted on  the

flatscreens, the targeting grid, or both,> she told Chewbacca.

<And there are better transducers available--dome fisheyes  from  Melihat

and bubble sights from Tana Ire--but mounting them would mean  hull  work.  At

least for now you can make use of all your viewports without running all  over

the ship.> Chewbacca grunted grudging approval.

[I did not have enough time to work on  the  other  problem,]  she  said,

switching back to Shyriiwook, her tone apologetic.

[Which problem is that?] [That a Wookiee  hunter  does  not  have  enough

hands to climb and aim at the same time.] Again, her words showed a surprising

awareness of the Falcon's operational realities--in this case, the  fact  that

it was almost invariably undercrewed. The Corel-lian  YT-1300  was  officially

rated as a four-place freighter for in-system work  and  an  eight-place--four

stations, four berths--for interstellar flights.

The cargomaster was expendable, but none of the other three stations was.

Even with the cockpit remotes for the gun turrets, it was impossible  for  two

people to simultaneously fly and fight the Falcon effectively. The Falcon  had

survived most of its gun battles by fighting just long enough  and  just  well

enough to make a break.

"The more mouths at the table, the poorer the feast,] Chewbacca said.

[And the silent hunt is  best  undertaken  by  a  party  of  two.  Still,

sometimes four hands are not enough.] Jowdrrl changed dialect again.

<Why have you never installed autotracking fire controllers for  the  gun

turrets?> <I have told Han for years that we should do  so,>  chewbacca  said.

<But he is too fond of those overbore Dennia quad guns, because they give  the

Falcon  surprise  punch.  The  Dennia  quads  were   designed   for   big-crew

Dreadnaughts, however, not for fully automated fire control.>  <As  I  learned

when I looked them up in the Weapons Engineering Guide,> said Jowdrrl.  <There

is no fast-response ring and ball mount replacement available,  and  no  ready

way to adapt the existing mounts for computer control--but I have a few ideas,

if I only had more time.> She thumbed one of the  eight  cables  used  in  the

cockpit aiming system.  <Did  you  devise  this  rig?>  <I  did.>  The  system

Chewbacca had created involved  eight  motorized  cable  spools,  turning  the

turret into a mechanical puppet controlled by a joystick in the cockpit.

<It's surprisingly good,> she said. <It gets you most of the way to where

you want to be. Did you ever try taking the steering inputs directly from  the

targeting display, or match-sighting with a scope on the gun  itself?>  [I  do

not have time to talk about what might be done,] Chewbacca said.  [But  I  see

from what you have done that I have not  given  you  enough  credit  for  your

skill. You have grown while I have been away.] [Thank  you,  cousin.]  Jowdrrl

closed her tool kit and turned to face him. [I hope that that means  you  will

accept me as your partner on the journey you are about to begin.] [Do not talk

foolish talk.] [I know by what Malla has said that you will face an  enemy  as

fearsome as the webweaver, and more vi  cious than the gundark. You should not

go alone, and you need not go alone.] [No,] Chewbacca snarled curtly,  turning

and clambering down the access ladder to the main deck.

[We are family--the life debt to Han Solo does not stop with  you,]  said

Jowdrrl, following closely behind.

[And you do not have enough hands. What can you do alone  to  help  him?]

Chewbacca had reached the cockpit by then and slipped into the  pilot's  seat.

Turning on the ion coil preheaters, he  began  running  through  the  Falcon's

streamlined preflight procedures. [You have  three  minutes  to  collect  your

belongings from the crew quarters and leave the ship.] [Aren't  you  going  to

talk to Malla before you lift?] Jowdrrl said, gesturing sideways.

Chewbacca glanced in the direction of Jowdrrl's gesture.  He  saw  Malla,

Shoran, and Dryanta standing together on the landing platform, looking  up  at

the cockpit. Dryanta and Shoran were wearing  hunting  bandoliers  instead  of

baldrics, and a pair of tough-shelled tree bags were lying on  the  ground  at

their feet.

With a fiercely impatient growl, Chewbacca clambered out of  the  pilot's

seat and half ran to the boarding ramp.

[What is this?] he demanded over the rising whine of the Falcon's idlers.

[The rest of your crew,] said Malla.

Shoran grinned brightly and drew himself  up  to  attention.  [The  First

Wookiee Expeditionary Force, reporting for duty.] [Malla told us  that  you're

going straight to Koor-nacht,] said Dryanta. [We can't let you go alone, We're

here to help.] Chewbacca looked to his wife. [You can't ask them to risk their

lives on my debt.] [I did not have to ask them,] said Mallatobuck. [I only had

to tell them why you are going and what you face.] [It was our  idea,]  Shoran

said, reaching down and shouldering his well-stuffed bag. [And you can't  deny

us this hunt without risking betrayal of your debt--if you go alone and  fail,

you will have no honor.] Behind Chewbacca,  the  hiss  of  injectors  and  the

clicking of compressors told him that  Jowdrrl  was  continuing  the  Falcon's

preflight without his assistance.

[I never wanted any of my family to have to fight again,] said Chewbacca.

[I am honor-bound. If I must, I will give my life for my friend.  But  I  will

not give yours.] [My life is not yours to offer,] said Dryanta. [It  is  mine.

And I pledge it to you, my cousin, and to your friend.] [You cannot refuse  us

without shaming us, cousin,] added Shoran. [Jowdrrl, too.] [Go, then, and  get

aboard,] he said, shooting an annoyed look at his wife. They  hastened  toward

the ship, leaving Chewbacca alone with his Malla. [Your cleverness could  cost

our family their lives.] [Or save yours,] Malla said. [I am at peace  with  my

choice.] Chewbacca seized her in a firm embrace, and they growled with  fierce

affection into each other's shoulder fur. Then the high whistle of the  thrust

vents called him toward the ship, telling him that it was ready to lift. But a

new voice called him back.

[Father--] Chewbacca turned and saw Lumpawarrump standing in  the  wooden

arch of the landing platform entryway.

He was wearing his bowcaster and carrying the  freshly  camouflaged  tree

bag he had taken on his aborted journey of ascendance.

[We will finish your tests when I return,] Chewbacca called.

Lumpawarrump drew closer with tentative steps.

[Take me with you. You have already broken with tradition once. I ask you

to do so again.] Malla cried out a protest, but Chewbacca silenced her with  a

warning gesture as he crossed the platform to where his son stood.

"Why?] Chewbacca demanded. [Why do you ask this?]  [I  will  be  neither

child nor adult until you return--I do not belong in the nursery  ring  or  in

the council ring,] said Lumpawarrump.

[Are you afraid I will not return?] [Yes.] [Then are you not afraid  that

you will not return?] [I am more afraid to fail than  to  die,]  Lumpawar-rump

said. [Much is expected from the son of Chewbacca--he  cannot  be  a  coward.]

[You need not fear that now. By offering yourself, you have shown your mettle.

] [That is not what they will see.

They will say that it was only words, that I knew you would not take  me,

that I knew Malla would forbid it,] said Lumpawar-rump.

[They will see that even you did not have faith in me--that  Jowdrrl  and

Shoran and Dryanta were good enough for you, but I was not.]  Chewbacca  shook

his head. [It is not a matter of faith. I have a full crew.

What skills do you bring to this hunt?] [Everything of you that is in me,

and everything that you can teach me,] Lumpawarrump said.  [Father,  please--I

have accepted your long absences, the duties that take you away from us. But I

must have a chance to prove my worth to you. I want  my  baldric  and  my  new

name. Give me a chance to earn them beside you, and know that you are proud of

me.] Chewbacca cast  a  sideways  glance  at  Mallatobuck,  who  was  watching

anxiously but keeping her distance.

He doubted she could have heard much of the conversation over  the  noise

from the Falcon.

[Go,] Chewbacca said, seizing Lumpawarrump by the  arm  and  sending  him

toward the ship with a push.

Malla raised a sharp wail of protest,  but  Chewbacca  moved  quickly  to

block her from reaching their son.

[You can't take him--he's not ready,] Malla insisted.

[If I let you tell him that, if I tell him that, it  will  destroy  him,]

said Chewbacca. [That is why I must take him. Now step back and let him see  a

mother's fierce pride, not her fear.] Her eyes sad but resigned, Malla  cuffed

him across the face, and he  returned  the  kiss  with  equal  tenderness  and

affection. Then he turned  and  bounded  up  the  boarding  ramp  while  Malla

retreated into the growing crowd drawn to the platform by  the  sound  of  the

Falcon's engines.

Moments later, the ship lifted and wheeled toward the sky.

Vagabond

The Teljkon vagabond had finally ceased Shuddering  and  groaning  around

its prisoners. With the starship once again hurtling  through  hyperspace,  at

last there was silence.

"Attagirl," Lando said, patting the wall of the chamber in which  he  and

the others floated. "It'll take a lot more than one rusty old  escort  frigate

to run you down."

"But Master Lando, this is terrible, simply terrible," said Threepio, his

damaged arm jerking spastically as he gestured animatedly.  "That  ship  could

have rescued us, and now we've run away from it. We may  even  have  destroyed

it."

"I hope we did," Lando said. "Trust me on this--any rescue offered by  an

Imperial warlord in the Core is going to be no rescue worth having.

There's probably still a price on my head, maybe on you two droids, too.

War hero or war criminal it's all a matter of your point of view.

Chances are we'd find ourselves traded around until we were in the  hands

of whoever was willing to pay the most for the pleasure of killing us."

"I see what you mean, sir."

Artoo-Detoo burbled a terse comment.

"I'm quite sure he's  not  interested  in  your  linguistic  pretensions,

Artoo," Threepio said haughtily. "And neither am I." The droid's tone suddenly

changed to a melodramatic melancholy. "Killed or deactivated or  disintegrated

to atoms, it's all the same to me. Oblivion, the final cessation of awareness-

-" Then annoyance suddenly took over Threepio's  voice.  "Not  that  it  means

anything to a random jumble of circuits such as yourself," he added,  clanging

a golden fist against Artoo's dome. "If you want to do something  useful,  you

might see about fixing those sensors Master Lando placed on the hull. Why  you

let them be damaged just when we needed them most, I'll never understand."

Artoo's shrill reply needed no translation, even for Lando.

"There's no need to be rude," Threepio sniffed.

"If you two keep wasting your power  cells  on  bickering,  you'll  visit

oblivion a lot faster than you were planning on," Lando said, drifting between

them.

"Artoo, is there any hope for the limpet?"

"I can answer that," said Lobot, who had  suddenly  busied  himself  with

collecting the parts of his contact suit and climbing back into them.

"Just before it ceased transmitting, the sensors measured a monopolar ion

density of more than twenty thousand Rahm units. It is a near  Certainty  that

the limpet is damaged beyond repair."

"Twenty thousand? Better than I thought. I'd have given you odds that  it

wouldn't take more than twelve," Lando said. "Well, no matter."

"The primary component of all spectral  sensors  is  Favervil  dielectric

ribbon," Lobot said. "Dielectric ribbon begins to debond under ion bombardment

at a density of fifteen thousand Rahms."

"Is that so," Lando said.

"Master Lando, why didn't the vagabond's shields stop the ion barrage?"

Threepio asked.

"Now, that's an interesting question," said Lando.

"The answer might be because  there  are  no  shields--no  ray  shields,

anyway."

"No shields?" Threepio echoed. "Isn't that un-usual-and dangerous?"

"It's unusual--" Lando began.

Lobot interrupted with another encyclopedic answer.

"Since the inception of spacecraft licensing under the  Registry  Office,

noncombatant vessels have been required to carry ray shielding  generators  of

at least grade two strength, to protect the crew and  passengers  from  cosmic

radiation and stellar flares. More than ninety-six percent of alien ship types

in the Registrar's Catalog are known to carry both ray and particle  shielding

in some form."

Lando looked curiously at his old partner. Before he could give voice  to

his thoughts, however, Threepio filled the silence with a burst  of  indignant

words.

"Master Lando, this is intolerable. I am certain that Master Luke did not

intend for us to be marooned on a vessel with no ray shielding. No  wonder  my

circuits are so sluggish and Artoo has been so peevish. This  could  have  the

most serious consequences for us. We simply must leave this vessel now."

"That's it," Lando said, snapping his fingers.

"That's the reason there's no ray shielding outside.

There are no droids, no computers, no electronic devices of any  kind  on

the hull--just organic machines, with  organic  sensors,  and  organic  repair

mechanisms.

Different rules. We didn't know  because  that's  the  first  time  we've

actually seen the vagabond under fire. Boldheart only fired  across  her  bow.

Pakkpekatt's task force never fired on her at all. What do You think, Lobot?"

"The issues for biological systems  exposed  to  radiation  are  rate  of

damage versus the efficiency of repair, and heat absorption per unit  of  area

versus heat dispersal per unit of area," Lobot said in a flat  voice.  "The  i

ntegumentary system of some organisms can  provide  effective  protection  for

internal  structures  against  charged-particle  radiation,  and   significant

protection against the J and C ranges of photonic radiation."

Lando was staring with open concern. "Lobot, what is wrong with you?"

"Was there an error in my summation?"

"I'm not talking about your  summation--I'm  talking  about  you,"  Lando

said. "Don't take  this  wrong,  old  pal,  but  your  conversational  style's

regressed back to Early Mechanical. You've started nattering like an overeager

knowhot. But I can't find you anymore--just a wall of data."

Lobot plucked a drifting glove out of midair, avoiding Lando's eyes.

"It is possible that I am retreating to the certain and the familiar as a

means of reassurance, or in an attempt to enhance my sense of control over  my

circumstances."

"What kind of answer is that? You sound like  a  droid  running  a  self-

diagnostic," Lando said. "I get the feeling that if your links  were  up,  you

wouldn't be talking at all. Come on, partner--what's cracking your glue?"

After a few moments, Lobot stopped fussing with his suit. "I confess I am

having difficulty maintaining a positive outlook," he  said,  his  eyes  still

downcast. "Perhaps you could share with  me  some  of  the  reasons  for  your

apparent optimism."

"Didn't you feel her wheel around before we jumped  into  hyperspace?  We

escaped from the Prakith, and we're headed back to where we do have friends.

And we now have all the air we need to hang on until they find us," Lando

said. "What's more, we're moving through the ship more or less  at  will,  and

we've figured out how to operate Qella mechanisms. On top of all  that,  we're

being treated like visitors, not hunted like intruders. Things could be a  lot

worse."

"Things are worse. We're headed for an unknown point within  an  enormous

volume of space in a ship that routinely manages to escape detection for years

at a time," said Lobot. "We have no food and limited water, and the droids and

the suits are both running low on

power. None of the mechanisms we can operate allow us to either  control

the ship or communicate with it.

We're being guided through public spaces and kept out of private spaces--

if we're going to get control of the ship, we need  to  be  treated  like  the

owners, not visitors."

"I admit we haven't  yet  found  the  doors  marked  RESTRICTEDAUTHORIZED

PERSONNEL ONLY," said Lando.

"But we can't be more than two or three compartments away from  the  bow,

according to the map Artoo's been keeping. I say we gather  up  the  gear  and

keep looking for the control center."

"There is no reason to believe that the control nexus is located  in  the

bow," said Lobot.

Lando peered at Lobot questioningly. "I thought it was you who pointed us

in this direction."

"On general probabilities derived from known designs," said Lobot.

"But this  vessel  was  not  derived  from  known  designs.  It  was  not

engineered by starship-wrights working within an established design paradigm.

It is unique. And we will never unravel all its secrets, because  we  are

Unable to think as the Qella thought," "One secret at a time will be enough to

keep me happy," said Lando. "Why are you so sure the bridge isn't forward?"

"Look at the map. The-compartments we've entered over the last  few  days

have gradually been defining a space in the center of the  ship  to  which  we

have no access."

"Then we have to keep going, don't we?" Lando said. "The link between the

two zones--the hatch that says Staff OR STaFF ONLY, the key to  the  executive

refresher, the turbolift to the penthouse--could be in the  next  compartment,

or the one after that."

"Or it could be so well hidden that we will never find it. There may  not

even be a link between the two."

"If we have to, we can make one," Lando said, flashing a quick grin.

"But right now, it looks like we have a bet to settle. What do  you  have

that's worth anything?"

"Pardon me?"

"If I'm right and you're wrong, I want something out of it," said  Lando.

"Nothing like a little wager to keep things interesting when the life-or-death

stuff gets old. So what are you willing to risk on your opinion that  says  we

die here like trapped rats?"

Lobot stared blankly at Lando.  Then  his  normally  expressionless  face

began to shudder and twitch. His mouth worked, his eyes blinked.

Finally he unleashed a stiff, unpracticed bleat that quickly melted  down

to a stuttering titter. "You're crazy, Lando," he said. "I've been meaning  to

tell you that for years."

"A first time for everything," Lando said, still startled by a  sound  he

had never before heard--Lobot's laughter. "But you didn't answer my  question.

Are you in or out?"

Lobot grabbed a drifting boot and threw it across to Lando. "I  know  you

too well to take a wager against you," he said. "Let's go  find  that  control

nexus."

"Pardon me, Master Lando--" Lando was exploring the inner face of  a  new

compartment with his hands while Lobot did the same on the outer face.

"What is it, Threepio?"

"There is something that is puzzling me," Threepio said.  "Artoo  insists

that if this ship has no ray shields, there would be no  interference  with  a

realspace tracking signal."

"That's right."

"Artoo also insists that even if there were ray shields, they  would  not

interfere with a hypercomm tracking signal."

"That's also right."

"Then can you explain why we have not been sending out a tracking  signal

each time the ship returns to realspace?"

"Sure. Because we don't have a rescue beacon," Lando said.

"I see," said Threepio. "If it isn't too  much  trouble,   Master  Lando,

could you explain how exactly the armada is to locate us?"

"They weren't ever supposed to lose us," Lando said. "Hammax's foray team

had orders to go in hard and fast---disable the vagabond before it could clear

or break down the interdiction field."

"I see. But you persuaded Colonel Pakkpekatt to  let  us  try  to  go  in

gently and slowly."

Lando shrugged. "Something like that."

Lobot raised an eyebrow at the evasion.

"But was no thought given to contingency plans, in  the  event  that  the

outcome was not as desired?"

Threepio persisted. "Surely the possibility of the vagabond escaping came

up in your strategy sessions with Colonel Pakkpekatt."

"Of course it did," Lando said. "But a rescue beacon  might  attract  the

attention of outsiders. They're designed that way, after all--all frequencies,

all receivers.

Remember, this was a New Republic Intelligence operation.

Getting control of the vagabond was  only  part  of  the  goal--doing  it

quietly was the rest. Even Hammax's team didn't  have  a  beacon--just  short-

range comm units."

"I see--you were forbidden to add a beacon to our equipment."

"No," said Lando. "That was my decision. I figured  if  we  had  one,  we

might use it. I elected to remove the temptation."

"I'm certain I don't understand, Master Lando."

"Well--you don't have all the pieces of the puzzle," Lando said.

"Let's just say that  my  orders  and  Pakkpekatt's  orders  don't  quite

coincide. We didn't have his permission to  board  this  ship,  and  I  didn't

intend to hand her over to him--at least not right away."

"Why not?"

"Because she would have disappeared into a  black  hangar  somewhere  and

never been seen again whole," said Lando. "The NRI has hundreds of people  who

do nothing but take apart captured alien weapons looking for ideas  to  steal.

The man who sent me out here--call him the Admiral--had  a  notion  that  this

ship might be something more than  that,  might  be  something  other  than  a

weapon--and might deserve a better fate. And, as he usually is,  he  seems  to

have been right."

"I see," said Threepio. Artoo chirped briefly, prompting Threepio to add,

"But there seems to have been some deficiencies in his plan."

Lando shook his head. "The only thing that's gone wrong with the plan  is

that I promised him we'd be able to get control of this ship, and  we  haven't

succeeded in doing that yet."

"Master Lando, Artoo would like to know if we have any way  of  signaling

the armada."

"Not at light-year distances, no. But remember, I don't exactly  want  to

be rescued by Pakkpekatt."

"Then how do you intend to signal the man who sent you out here?"

Lando pursed his lips. "There's a  blind-band  hypercomm  transmitter  on

Lady Luck, very black stuff I have no idea how it works. But the  Admiral  can

use it  to  track  the  ship's  movements,  locate  her  anywhere  within  the

transmitter's range--which is a secret, but I was told it  was  a  very  large

number."

"But Lady Luck is no longer attached to the vagabond," Threepio said.

"We saw it cut away from the  airlock.  Lady  Luck  may  even  have  been

destroyed.

What use is the transmitter to us? No one has any hint of a  clue  of  an

idea where we are. Lobot was right--we're doomed, doomed to oblivion--" "Would

you plug that leak, now?" Lando demanded,  his  tone  dripping  annoyance.  "I

swear before an honest dealer, you must be the most tiresome droid ever built.

"

"Oh! How very rude " "There you go again," Lando  said.  Digging  a  bare

hand into one of the pouch-pockets of his contact suit, he pulled out a silver

cylinder as thick as his thumb and as long as his palm. "Look," he said. Lando

flipped the cylinder end over end in midair, then snatched it up

cleanly and tucked it safely away. "They'll be able to find us when they

need to."

"Why? What are you talking  about?  What's  that  thing  you're  throwing

around?"

"The beckon call for Lady Luck," Lobot said.

"Did you know about this?"

"Of course."

Threepio cocked his head. "Is that a transmitter?

Can we call for help?"

"It transmits the signal that  activates  the  yacht's  slave  circuits--

across hyperspace, too, now, thanks to the Admiral," said  Lando.  "The  slave

circuits then bring the ship to me."

"Pardon me, Master Lando, but have you had that device in your possession

all this time?"

"That's a stupid question, Threepio--even for a protocol droid."

"I see no reason to respond to simple interrogatives with  abuse--"  "Let

me save you the trouble of asking any  more  'simple  interrogatives,'"  Lando

said. "Yes, I've had it all along, and I haven't used it. The reason I haven't

used it is that we don't have control of the vagabond.

If I call Lady Luck to wherever we stop next,  one  of  two  things  will

happen, neither of which helps us. Either the yacht'll spook the vagabond into

running, or the yacht'll provoke the vagabond into firing. And if Lady Luck is

put out of commission, we're going to be in real trouble. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Master Lando."

"Good," said Lando. "Then I'm going to get back to what I was doing,  and

you're going to avoid distracting me. Because we can't go  home  until  We  do

what we came out here to do, and I'm too tired and hungry to have any patience

with a fussy droid. I'd rather blast you into components than  listen  to  you

for one more minute. Is that clear?"

"As clear as the morning air on Kolos Moon."

Threepio tapped Artoo on the dome with his good  hand.  "Come,  Artoo.  I

believe we're in the way here."

The bow compartment  of  the  vagabond  was  at  least  five  times  more

voluminous than any other that Lando's party had previously discovered.

The chamber took the shape of a fat disc standing on edge, with the inner

face convex, the outer face five meters away and concave.

Counting the one they had  entered  through,  there  were  eight  portals

evenly spaced around the rim of the disc. Each of the new portals seemed to be

the gateway to another long series of compartments.

"All star routes lead to Imperial City," Lando said.

"I don't know if this is the control nexus, but it's something different,

that's for sure. And it's pretty clear the  Qella  didn't  want  you  to  miss

coming here."

While the droids hovered near the center of the  compartment,  Lando  and

Lobot began the now familiar drill of  searching  its  surfaces  by  hand  for

contact triggers.

But for all the  surface  area  of  the  compartment,  it  was  unusually

unreactive. Lobot found no triggers on the outer face, and Lando only a single

trigger on the inner.

That contact brought a pattern  of  curving,  evenly  spaced  projections

curling out from the entire inner face of the  chamber.  Each  blunt-ended  L-

shaped hook was as thick as Threepio's wrist and as long as  Lando's  forearm,

and the pattern invited the eye to see  trapezoids,  pinched  rectangles,  and

overlapping wavy-sided triangles.

"What do you think, Lobot? A bridge control panel, Qella-style? They sure

say 'grab here' to me," Lando said, hovering near the droids.

Lobot, drifting just over the inner face, reached out and seized hold  of

one of the projections. There was  no  response  within  the  chamber  and  no

detectable response from the ship.

"If these are controllers, perhaps they only operate in combination.

It would be useful if we knew what the body plan and  limb  span  of  the

Qella species was," said Lobot, turning toward Lando. "Of course, the size of

this chamber would readily allow for more than one operator."

Lando jetted forward. "Isn't this what kids do when you let them  sit  in

the cockpit for the first time---start pushing buttons at random?"

He reached for the nearest projection with his left hand,  then  drew  it

back.

"Artoo, can you spot any writing anywhere on this wall--like what you saw

in the airlock when we boarded?"

The droid's silver dome swiveled back and forth for a few seconds.

Then Artoo emitted a short squeak that needed no translation.

"Just our luck," said Lando. "We're dealing with  a  species  that  never

invented the sign."

By  then,  Lobot  was  moving  across  the  chamber  face  by  using  the

projections as handholds. "I don't think these are control devices, Lando," he

said. "Or if they are, the controls are  locked  out.  I've  touched  fourteen

different pairs now, and nothing is happening.

Even if something was going on elsewhere in the  ship,  there  should  be

some confirmation here."

"Maybe we're all wrong about this chamber."

"I am more and more convinced by the moment," said Lobot. "I  can  barely

reach from one grip to the next---even if the Qella are larger than we are, it

seems inconvenient to scatter controls over such a large area."

"Maybe this  is  where  they  hung  prisoners,  or  maidens,  or  honored

sacrifices, like figureheads on the bow."

"I think that unlikely."

With a grin and the faintest puff of thruster gas,  Lando  began  a  slow

rotation, until he was floating upside down in relation to the others.

"You know, Lobot, they look even more like handholds this way--hand-holds

and footrests. I wonder--" He craned his neck back  until  he  could  see  the

outer face of the chamber.

"Artoo, how many of the rectangular patterns are there?"

A moment later, Threepio relayed the answer.

"Artoo informs me that there are twenty-seven."

"Are there any extra projections that aren't part of those twenty-seven?"

Threepio consulted with Artoo, then reported,  "There  are  none,  Master

Lando."

"What are you thinking, Lando?" asked Lobot.

Grabbing a projection with his left hand, Lando  used  that  leverage  to

turn himself so his back was to the inner face, allowing him to reach out  and

grasp the next projection with his right. His legs were twenty centimeters too

short for him to reach the bottom corners  of  the  rectangle.  "I'm  thinking

'seating capacity, twenty-seven."

Though Wookiees and Elomin would be more comfortable than I am."

"A theater?" Lobot asked, turning himself around as Lando had.

"Maybe. And maybe the show won't begin until the audience is seated.

Artoo, Threepio--get on over here and find a place to grab on."

Artoo towed Threepio to the inner face  and  waited  until  the  protocol

droid had grasped  a  projection  with  his  working  hand.  Then  the  little

astromech droid took up position beside his  counterpart,  using  a  grappling

claw to seize hold.

Moments afterward, the chamber was plunged into absolute darkness.

"Lights, Artoo," Lobot said quickly.

"No," said Lando. "Wait. It's their show."

Shortly, all  four  curious  spectators  could  see  a  brightening  glow

opposite them--a glow that seemed much farther away than the outer face of the

chamber.

As the glow continued  to  increase,  it  sharpened  and  separated  into

several distinct bright masses.  Then,  in  the  span  of  a  few  heartbeats,

everything before them snapped into vivid, brilliantly lit focus.

Those same hearts skipped a beat at the sight. Human senses insisted that

they were no longer inside the vagabond.  They  were  suspended  in  darkness,

looking out upon a beautiful ruddy brown planet painted  with  sparkling  blue

oceans and cloaked in a partial veil of lacy white  clouds.  A  brilliant  but

pale yellow star illumi  nated the planet's face, which was  sculpted  by  the

wandering lines of black mountains and dark  green  stains  spreading  outward

from the rivercourses. Two moons--the smaller one dusty  gray,  the  larger  a

startling red--crept along their invisible orbits.

Lando found himself feeling  awe,  vertigo,  and  that  peculiar  panting

breathlessness that those who have tasted the cold bite of space are prone to.

"Homeworld," he whispered to himself. "The centerpiece exhibit. As though

they knew they would never see it again."

"Lando, I feel like I'm spacewalking," said Lobot, also in a whisper.

"At least, I think this is what spacewalking would feel like. Is it real?

"

"No. It's not quite right--it's more real than reality," Lando said.

"But you'd have to have been there yourself to know that the  proportions

are wrong, that everything's too big and too close together, that the planet's

too bright relative to the star, time is compressed, and so on. None of  which

matters. In every way that matters, it's flawless."

Lobot turned his head toward the droids without taking his eyes  off  the

panorama. "Artoo, what do your sensors tell you about what's before us?"

Even Attoo's long answer seemed respectfully muted.

"Artoo says that the outer face of the chamber is still in  place,"  said

Threepio, "but it now has an optical index of absorption below  one  hundredth

of one percent."

"That's as close to perfect transmissivity as any material  I  know  of,"

Lobot said.

"Do you mean it's not a holo?" Lando asked.

"Master Lando, Artoo says that the star is forty-four  meters  away.  The

planet is seventeen meters away."

"It's an orrery," Lobot said. "An enormous shadow-box orrery of the Qella

system. I'm  very  curious  about  the  mechanism--"  Lando  was  nodding  his

agreement with Lobot's conclusion, then interrupted him.

"That's enough. I don't want to hear any more chatter right now."

"Why? What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Lando said, drawing and releasing a deep breath. "I may  never

see another piece of art this beautiful again. I just want to enjoy it  for  a

while before we go on."

The refrigerated cask being  loaded  into  the  cargo  box  of  Drayson's

landspeeder at the Obroan Institute's Newport landing bay had made the fastest

possible journey from Maltha Obex to Coruscant.  Even  so,  Drayson  wore  his

impatience openly on his face as he watched the stevedores maneuver the  large

coffin-shaped object.

"Excuse me?" someone said at Drayson's elbow.

He turned to find a white-haired, sun-bronzed face peering  curiously  at

him.

"Yes?"

"Are you Harkin Dyson? The cargomaster said that the owner was  here  for

the pickup."

"Yes," Drayson said, turning away from the loading.

"And you are--" "Joto Eckels," said the stranger. "I was in charge of the

excavation. I just had to see if it was you. I wanted to thank you myself."

"For what, Dr. Eckels?"

"If you hadn't picked up the contract, our trip to Makha Obex would  have

been canceled. We might not have been able to  recover  Kroddok  and  Josala's

bodies for years." He gestured over his shoulder at Meridian's shuttle. "And I

want to thank you for agreeing to let me bring them back with me on this run--

that was a great kindness to their families."

"Anyone would have done the same," Drayson said.

"We might like to think so, sir, but it's not so. I know that's  not  why

you picked up the contract, but I want you to know how much  that  opportunity

meant to

all of us who knew the team. And I want to assure you again that none of

this delayed delivery of your material."

Eckels nodded toward the cask, now secured in the cargo box.

"I know it didn't," said Drayson, flashing a reassuring smile. "Thank you

for your good offices, Dr. Eckels. Meridian will return you to Maltha Obex  at

your convenience--I've already given Captain Wagg his instructions. And please

relay my thanks to the rest of your team."

"I will," said Eckels. "And, by the way--based on what  I  saw  before  I

left, I expect they'll have quite a bit more material recovered and  cataloged

by the time I rejoin them. There  are  twelve  good,  hardworking  folks  down

there, living out of cold camps and logging long days on  the  digs.  You  can

expect us to return with more than enough to allow us  to  authenticate  those

possible Qella artifacts."

"Very good," said Drayson, taking a sidestep toward the cargo speeder.

Eckels moved with 'him. "I was wondering if it might be possible to get a

look at those artifacts, a holo at the very  least,  before  I  head  back  to

Maltha Obex."

"Sorry, I don't think that would  be  possible,"  Drayson  said,  smiling

politely and trying again to turn away.

"I understand the need for discretion. I just want to point out  that  it

could be very helpful in setting priorities for  our  remaining  time  there,"

Eckels said. "After all, twenty-five days is hardly enough to make a beginning

on an entire planet. I can remember expeditions where we spent three months in

general survey and site selection before we moved our first pebble."

"Doctor, I understand--and I won't hold you responsible for the handicaps

I imposed on you," Drayson said. "Above all else, I'm  a  realist.  I'm  quite

certain the results will be in line with my expectations."

Drayson moved toward the cargo speeder's door as  though  to  leave,  but

Eckels moved more quickly and blocked his way. "There's something else I  need

to speak with you about."

This time Drayson allowed a flash of irritation to cross his face.

"What is it?"

"The, uh, material I brought you--" Eckels lowered his voice. "It's clear

from the way we found the remains, and the artifacts  found  with  them,  that

these creatures were sentient."

"Which is as I expected. Did you expect otherwise?"

"Sir, it complicates matters, that's all. If there  were  survivors,  the

material would belong to them, of course," Eckels said.  "In  the  absence  of

survivors, though, the rules and protocols of the Office of  Sentient  Species

apply--material  remains  must  be  preserved  as  found,  artifacts  may   be

reconstructed but not restored, and so forth. I'm sure  that  a  collector  of

your stature is familiar  with  those  requirements--"  "Passingly  familiar,"

Drayson said.

"Well, then, this shouldn't be an issue--for my own conscience's sake,  I

simply wanted to get your reassurance that the material will be  treated  with

respect, Eckels said. "There are no known survivors at present, but  that  can

change. Look at the Fraii Wys, reappearing nine thousand years  after  history

recorded their supposed extinction. And the last thing any of  us  want  is  a

situation where survivors appear and find that their ancestors are hanging  as

decorations in the parlor."

"Is it your purpose to insult me, Dr. Eckels? If so, let  me  advise  you

that you're very close to succeeding."

"Please, no, not at all. You  must  understand,  the  Institute  is  very

reluctant to let material remains leave our control, and even when we  do,  we

always insist on a right of first examination--" "Which you've  had,"  Drayson

said. "I trust that you took advantage of the  travel  time  to  conduct  that

examination and make whatever holos and scans you ordinarily would."

"Yes. Yes, we did."

"Very well, then," said Drayson, showing a quick

smile. "If it helps, Doctor, let me reassure you that I'm acutely  aware

of the value of the contents of that cask-and I do not refer only to how  much

I will have paid for you to retrieve it. It will be handled with all  possible

care. After all, a man spends that kind of money to acquire a treasure, not to

squander and destroy one.

And the parlor walls are quite full already."

"Yes, of course," said Eckels, bobbing his head.

"My apologies if I offended you."

"No offense taken," said Drayson. "Now, if you'll excuse me...

It was a twenty-minute flight north from Newport  to  the  nearest  Alpha

Blue Technical Services Section, located in the same  district  where  several

high-profile  senators  had  their  official  residences.   The   unremarkable

buildings housing Section 41 were not on the tour routes, however.  The  small

signs bearing the generic and easily forgotten business name INTERMATIC,  R.C.

accounted for the traffic in and out of the site's two private hangers.

Even before Draysoh's speeder had stopped  moving,  Section  41  staffers

were moving toward it with a repulsorlift cargo dolly in tow behind  them.  As

he emerged from behind the controls, he was greeted with smart salutes.

"Admiral."

"At ease, Tomas." Drayson moved to the back of  the  speeder  and  helped

loosen the tie-downs and guide the dolly under the cask. "Is Dr.

Eicroth ready?"

"Lab five," the colonel said. "She's been standing by for the last hour."

"Let's go, then."

Dr. Joi Eicroth greeted Drayson with a professional smile  that  gave  no

hint of a relationship that had covered friend,  lover,  and  fellow  survivor

over a span of thirteen years. But as soon as the cask  was  safely  in  place

beside the large examination plate, Drayson chased the  junior  officers  away

and added a quick kiss to his greeting.

"Scandalous, Admiral. I'm on dutY."

"Yes, you are. Let's get it open," he said.

"First things first," she said, pulling a cord that brought two full-body

isolation suits descending from the ceiling on their umbilicals.  "I  have  to

change into something more comfortable."

It took her the better part of five minutes to don her iso suit, and then

the better part of five more to help him into his and seal  the  lab.  But  it

took almost no time at all to switch  off  the  cask's  stabilization  system,

break the seal, remove the lid,  and  vacuum  away  the  inert,  space-filling

foamite that concealed the contents.

Then they stood at opposite ends of the cask, silently looking down at  a

creature that had died more than a century ago and been buried by its  friends

on the moving ice of Maltha Obex. Its oval, smooth-skinned body was nearly  as

wide as the cask. Its slender, double-jointed limbs would not have fit  inside

it if they had not been  neatly  folded  so  that  its  clumsy-looking  three-

fingered hands covered its face, and its legs made a neat  square-and-X  below

its body.

"It's no wonder," Eicroth said shaking her head.

"What?"

She moved to the side of the cask. "These  limbs  must  be  five  or  six

meters  long  altogether--and  with  a  cross  section  not  more   than   six

centimeters. A perfectly dreadful adaptation for cold. It's amazing that  this

one lived long enough to die where it did."

Drayson nodded. "I want the  genetic  material  extracted  and  sequenced

immediately. The general dissection can wait until that's done."

"Understood," she said. "Help me move it up on the plate."

CChapter 3

General A'baht."

· "Yes?"

"The gig from the Yakez is coming alongside. You asked to be notified."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Etahn A'baht said with out looking up. "See that

Commodore Carson is escorted to the flag briefing room immediately."

"Yes, sir."

It was the first of five such vessels expected  to  rendezvous  with  the

fleet carrier Intrepid that morning, and

Farley Carson was the first of the task  force  commanders  to  be  piped

aboard for the command briefing.

The Star Destroyer Yakez was the flagship of the Fourth

Fleet's Task Force Apex, and Carson was A'baht's sole

friend among the arriving flag officers.

By President Organa Solo's order, the Fifth Fleet

had been reinforced by elements drawn from three other

New Republic fleets. With the arrival of Task Force

Gemstone, all the disparate elements had finally gathered in  deep  space

outside Koornacht Cluster, and the business of  forging  them  into  a  single

command could begin.

That burden was to have fallen on  Han  Solo,  but  the  Yevethan  ambush

carried out against the ferry flight and the commodore's shuttle had left  the

combined fleet without its appointed leader. So far, no replacement  had  been

announced, leaving the chain of command as it had been, with A'baht as  senior

commander of the forces in Farlax Sector.

But Fleet Command had involved itself in the  operational  details  to  a

degree that sharply limited A'baht's command autonomy, and the selection of  a

new commodore seemed inevitable.

In the meantime, though, there was work to do.

"General A'baht," said a new voice.

A'baht looked up to see Carson standing in the hatchway  wearing  a  half

grin. "Stony," A'baht said, rising from his desk. "I thought I told my aide to

deliver you to the briefing room."

"The landing bay officer said the next gig was ten  minutes  behind  me,"

said Carson, closing the hatch behind him and easing himself into a chair.  "I

thought I'd take the opportunity to say hello."

Puffing out a breath, A'baht settled back into his chair and thumbed  his

comlink. "Lieutenant, inform me when the others arrive."

"Yes, sir."

Switching off the unit and setting it on his desk, A'baht  sat  back  and

let himself smile. "It's good to see you, Stony."

"And you, Etahn. I hear things have been a little rough."

"I'm glad to have you here," said A'baht. "This is a very green fleet."

"I doubt that your training methods have softened with the  years,"  said

Carson. "They'll be all right."

"A leavening of experienced crews and battle-tested ships among them will

make them better," said A'baht. "We've trained them hard, but training is  not

the same as fighting. They got their first taste of  that  at  Doornik  Three-

nineteen."

"A bitter taste, from what reached us," said Carson.

"How did the new ships perform for you?"

"They held up well. The losses we took weren't design-related.  A  couple

of captains learned what not to

do next time." A'baht paused, then added gravely,  "A  couple  of  crews

bought me very expensive lessons that I will probably not have the opportunity

to apply."

"You don't think you're going to see home before this is over, do you?"

"No--they won't make any changes now. But when the new commodore arrives,

I'll be reduced to a supernumerary--in fact if not in name," said A'baht.

"Already I'm little more than a mouthpiece for Fleet Command."

"It's that way sometimes,"  said  Carson,  his  grin  widening.  "No  one

wearing this uniform enjoys the latitude of a general in the Domean navy."

A'baht flashed a brief, knowing smile. "Or enjoys the responsibility.

If I had had that from the start--" "It's  not  the  way  Coruscant  does

things--no matter who's holding the  reins,  there  are  always  reins,"  said

Carson. "Are you certain they're going to send someone?"

"I think the only thing that's stopped them from sending Ackbar or  Nantz

to take command is the fear that  they,  too,  might  become  hostages,"  said

A'baht. "I seem not to have many boosters at headquarters."

"I told you--you should have let them make you an admiral," said  Carson.

"I'd bet half your trouble with the command staff comes from clinging to  your

old rank. Headquarters is full of newborn traditionalists, and they can't  get

it out Of their heads that a general should have dirty boots or  wings.  These

lofty quarters"--he raised his hands to take in  the  utilitarian  suite--"are

for admirals."

"So you are saying that they  offered  me  the  choice  of  retaining  my

Dornean navy rank as a false courtesy," said A'baht.

"Oh, I'm sure whoever signed off on the consolidation plan was  sincere,"

said Carson. "Generals are C-one, admirals are C-one--so it's the  grade  that

matters, not the rank, right? But old prejudices die slowly--to say nothing of

old rivalries."

"Foolishness," A'baht said disgustedly. "To judge a man by  his  title--"

At that point, the hatch opened and  Lieutenant  Zratha  poked  his  head  in.

"Admiral Tolokus and Commodore Martaft are in  the  briefing  room,  sir.  The

others are on their way up."

"Thank you. We'll be along  presently,"  said  A'baht,  standing.  "Well,

Stony, time to don my tarnished title."

Carson was on his feet by then and saluted smartly--to A'baht's surprise.

"Sir, if I may say so, I can see no tarnish from here--and  neither  will  the

others."

He moved a step closer and dropped his voice. "This isn't Imperial  City.

We know who you are, General--we know that you belong. Just lead the way.  You

won't need to wonder about whether we're following.

They asked me to tell you that, sir."

A'baht showed a quick, tight smile. "Thank you,  Stony,"  he  said.  "Now

let's go roll up our sleeves."

A'baht allowed Carson to go on ahead while  he  stopped  to  collect  his

briefing officers from the staff bullpen. Without  consciously  intending  it,

that gave him the opportunity to make an entrance, sweeping into the room with

two colonels following in his wake. The  five  who  were  waiting  there  four

commodores and an admiral, from left to right a woman, three men, and a  Norak

Tull--rose smartly from their seats and saluted.

"At ease," A'baht said, moving toward the center seat. "Let me  introduce

Colonel Corgan, my staff tactical officer,  and  Colonel  Mauit'ta,  my  staff

intelligence officer. They will have reports for you later in this session."

The two officers took chairs flanking A'baht.

The general wasted no time on introductions or other social niceties.

"As you already know, you and your task forces have  been  sent  here  to

reinforce the Fifth Fleet in the effort to contain the Yevetha," he said.

"We are no longer here as a symbol, or a warning, or a show of  strength,

like some sort of War Day parade.

Our mission objectives are threat assessment and containment,  and  they

could grow beyond that at any time.

"We will operate as a single operational unit at double  fleet  strength,

with all ten task forces reporting directly to me through  my  command  staff.

Each of your units will retain  its  current  organization,  call  signs,  and

command frequencies at the battle group, squadron, and division levels.

"The one  exception  to  that  concerns  your  intelligence  assets.  All

prowlers and ferrets are to be attached  to  the  newly  authorized  Sixteenth

Tactical Recon Group, and will be  reporting  directly  to  Colonel  Mauit'ta,

effective immediately. He will provide you  with  further  details  concerning

basing and the transfer procedure.

Fleetwide tactical reports will come from Colonel Corgan's office.

You'll be expected to continue to provide your  own  local  early-warning

and fleet defense patrols, using your recon wings and pickets.

"We've taken casualties and can expect to take  'more,  but  I  will  not

stand for any commander under me becoming blithe about that fact. We should be

prepared to accept every loss by enemy action that is necessary to the success

of our  mission  here--but  I  will  not  accept  a  single  casualty  due  to

inattentiveness,  incompetence,  carelessness,  inefficiency,  or  preventable

failures of ships and munitions. Our enemy is smart, strong,  and  determined,

and we're on his turf. I'm asking for the highest  possible  level  of  combat

readiness at every level of your respective commands.

"While we're on the subject of losses--Colonel Corgan?"

Corgan nodded. "Fleetwide, we are twenty-six  combat  pilots  and  eleven

support pilots short of our authorized  strength,"  he  said.  "Those  numbers

reflect  net  losses  from  the  Doornik  Three-nineteen  engagement  and  the

coordinated recon of the Cluster interior.

"Between reserves and resupply from Coruscant, we have rides  available--

just no riders. One of the down sides of being a new combat division  scratch-

built to specs is that we had very few experienced pilots banked in  nonflying

posts, and most of those carry ranks that ordinarily would exclude  them  from

front-line combat units.

"When you return to your commands, please examine  your  crew  and  staff

rosters with an eye toward locating a minimum of six and a  maximum  of  eight

pilots whom you could make available by transfer. We are particularly  hurting

for experienced recon pilots."

Commodore Poqua leaned forward and rested her folded arms on the table.

"Between the expansion  to  five  fleets  and  the  number  of  Rebellion

veterans returning to civilian life, none of us is in a much  better  position

than you are," she said. "I know that up  until  two  years  ago,  Task  Force

Gemstone typically had forty or more names in the bank. Now those bank  pilots

are scattered on forty worlds, making babies and tending  gardens  and  flying

commercial shuttles--if they're flying at all."

"We're aware of the effect the drawdown has had  throughout  the  Fleet,"

said A'baht. "But the need to balance our assets remains. Please  submit  your

transfer lists by fourteen hundred-today." He looked to his right.

"Colonel Mauit'ta--the Yevethan force assessments."

Mauit'ta slid a datacard across the table  to  each  of  the  task  force

commanders in turn. Commodore Grekk 9, the Norak Tull, inserted the card  into

the input stage on his armored thorax, and Poqua produced a  datapad  from  an

inside pocket. The others let their copies remain on the table as finger toys.

"Those datacards contain our complete and most  current  knowledge  about

the Yevethan fleet," said Mauit'ta. "That includes recognition  holos,  sensor

profiles, an order of battle and ship inventory, last and best sightings,  and

preliminary specifications for the hyperspace-capable  thrustship  design  now

code-named Fat Man.

"The data we are providing to you is  incomplete  and  in  some  respects

speculative.  For  example,  the  order  of  battle  is  based  primarily   on

astrographic deployment, since we have no direct information about the combat

organization of the Yevethan fleet.  But  as  the  General  has  already

noted, one of our jobs right now is to fill in the blanks. We're  particularly

eager for a chance to make a kill on a Fat Man--right now we don't even have a

good sense of what that will take.

"I'll let you review the force assessments in detail  with  your  command

staffs, and limit myself to a summary overview. Based on a  complete  analysis

of our contacts with the Yevetha, we  are  currently  estimating  their  fleet

strength at no fewer than  ninety-three  capital  ships,  of  which  at  least

twenty-nine are Imperial-design vessels and the balance are Fat Men.

"There are at least nineteen occupied and defended worlds, and there  may

be twenty--Doornik Two-oh-seven hasn't been reconned yet. Eight  are  defended

by a mixed fleet, and we're considering that an  indicator  that  the  Yevetha

consider those principal targets. Five  are  League  members,  and  three  are

former colonies. The other eleven targets are defended by Fat Men only.

"It  is  possible  that  the  Yevetha  have  additional  vessels   cached

elsewhere--we hope to start reducing that uncertainty by expanding our surveys

of the Cluster.

But the biggest question marks" Grekk 9 interrupted the briefing at  that

point. "The Imperial shipyards. Where are the shipyards?"

"Yes, Commodore--you anticipate me. We  don't  know  where  they  are  or

what's hiding in  them.  The  probability  is  that  the  Yevetha  have  three

operational Imperial shipyards, all of which  may  be  continuing  to  produce

copies of the Imperial ships in their inventory.

Four instances of duplicate Star  Destroyer  ID  profiles  were  recorded

during the recon penetration."

Carson spoke up. "Either they're trying  to  throw  us  off,  or  they're

duplicating systems without understanding them."

"We have an intelligence source that suggests the latter may be the case,

" said Mauit'ta. "In any event,  locating  the  shipyards  is  our  number-one

intelligence priority. And when located, the shipyards will be  designated  as

primary targets."

"What about the Fat Men?" asked Martafl.

"Where are they being built? Given the numbers, we may need to worry more

about them."

"The thrustships appear to be built in surface yards, possibly on  N'zoth

only," said Mauit'ta. "We've located two such yards, and those are  designated

priority point targets."

"How do you intend to locate the Imperial yards?" asked Grekk 9.

A'baht interrupted at that point. "All of these issues can  be  addressed

at a later time," he said. "The point to impress on your  crews  is  that  the

Yevetha cannot be taken lightly. Considering only their confirmed assets, they

have more than sufficient strength to overwhelm a single task force.

"For that reason, I have ordered that the minimum division for the coming

deployment will be two task forces. Token and Bellbright will be paired  under

Admiral Tolokus. Apex and Summer will combine under Commodore Carson. Gemstone

will join Copperleaf, the flag task force, under Commodore Mirx. Are there any

questions on that point?"

There were none, Joint task  force  operations  were  part  of  both  the

training and operational routine, and A'baht had left the natural and familiar

pairings in place.

But the order itself underlined how seriously A'baht viewed  the  Yevetha

threat. The commodores of the Fleet's  task  forces  were  not  accustomed  to

thinking of their commands as vulnerable. The typical composition of a twenty-

one-vessel task force included a Star Destroyer or fleet carrier as  flagship,

two heavy cruisers and two assault carriers, four escort  frigates,  and  five

gunships--a fast, flexible, and formidable aggregation of firepower.

"What is our coming deployment?" asked Admiral Tolokus.

"I'm taking the fleet into the boundary systems  of  the  Cluster,"  said

A'baht, turning his solemn and unblinking gaze toward the admiral.

"The big parade is

over. We're going to make it as hard as we can for the Yevetha  to  keep

track of us, while making it easier for us to keep track of them.

"That includes recon surveys in force, filling the Cluster with  as  many

sensor buoys and probots as we can get, scattering ghost repeaters  behind  in

systems we visit, and sending a squadron to Doornik Eleven-forty-two  to  look

for a shipyard there," he said. "We don't  currently  have  the  authority  to

initiate action against the Yevetha, but we're fully  authorized  to  use  all

available force if they show up and try to interfere with our operations.

"In short, we're going to stretch the principles of free  navigation  and

legitimate self-defense as far as they'll go," said A'baht. "If  our  presence

persuades the Yevetha to seek a diplomatic solution, that'll be fine with  us.

But if they insist on war, we have to make certain we're ready  to  make  them

regret their choice."

A'baht swept his gaze across the  faces  opposite  him  at  the  briefing

table. "That's what I expect from you, and from the ships, officers, and crews

under your command.

Be prepared to fight when there is no other option--and  be  prepared  to

win, because there is no other option."

Luke awoke in Mud Sloth's sleeper with an unaccustomed warmth beside  him

and an unaccustomed memory hovering close to his  thoughts.  He  stirred,  and

Akanah melded her body against his  again,  skin  touching  skin  and  coaxing

slumbering senses to awaken.

He did not know how to talk about what had passed between them,  or  what

might come of it, but she did not ask that of him. She allowed him to stay  in

the restful comfort of the circle of their mutual embrace, making no  demands,

expecting no explanations. He returned that courtesy in kind.

It  had  been  much  the  same  the  night  before.  Loneliness,   grief,

compassion, and a previously undiscovered hunger for a touch  that  felt  like

acceptance had brought them to  the  brink.  But  by  silent  mutual  consent,

something had been held back. Neither of them had asked for or  offered  their

deepest intimacies. And, unpressured, each had allowed the other to enjoy  the

novelty of not being alone.

They lay together in the sleeper, awake, aware that the other was  awake,

and aware that the other was aware. But for  a  long  time,  neither  of  them

spoke. Luke barely trusted the privacy of his own thoughts,  and  didn't  dare

open himself to reach out for hers.

"Your turn," she murmured at last." What?"

"To talk about your father."

For some reason Luke did not fully understand, the familiar inner wall of

resistance did not snap into place.

"I don't talk about my father," he said,  but  it  was  a  rote  refusal,

without conviction.

Even though she must have heard the opening, she did not  try  to  cajole

him into a reversal or probe for the exceptions.  "I  understand,"  she  said,

showing a sympathetic smile. Then she turned onto her back,  looking  up  into

the holographic galaxy. "It was hard for me."

That small physical retreat was enough to draw Luke  out.  "It's  not  as

though there's much I could say, anyway," he said, rolling onto his  side  and

propping his head on one hand. "Almost everything I know,  everyone  seems  to

know--and almost everything I'd like to know, no one seems to  know.  I  don't

remember my father, or my mother, or my sister.

I don't remember ever living anywhere but Tatooine."

Akanah  nodded  understandingly.  "Did  you  ever  wonder  whether  those

memories might have been blocked?"

"Blocked? Why?"

"To protect you. Or to protect Leia and Nashira.

Young children don't know when they're saying  too  much  or  asking  the

wrong question."

Luke shook his head. "I've deep-probed Leia for unremembered memories  of

our mother. If there was a block there, I'm sure I'd be able to see it."

"Unless  your  own  block  prevented  you  from  recognizing  it,"   she

suggested. "Whoever did this might have anticipated that you  would  have  the

gifts of the Jedi."

"Ben could have seen that," Luke said uncertainly.

"Or Yoda."

"If you wanted, I could--" "But what possible danger could those memories

be to me now?" Luke asked, trampling her offer before she could make it.  "No,

I think there's a simpler explanation.

I think we were just too young. Leia's memories may not even be real.

They might be something she invented to fill that empty space  you  spoke

of, so long ago that she can't remember doing it.  An  imagined  memory  looks

just like a real one."

"And their comfort value is usually very high," Akanah said. "Luke,  when

did you become aware of the empty spaces?"

"I don't know. Much later than Leia did, anyway.

Kids say things--you start realizing your family is different."

Luke frowned, his eyes focusing somewhere far beyond the bunk. "My  uncle

and aunt said almost nothing about my father, and even less about my mother."

"Maybe that was to protect you, too."

"Maybe," Luke said. "But I always felt that my uncle disapproved of them,

and resented getting stuck with the obligation of raising me.

Not my aunt--I think she always wanted children. I don't  know  why  they

didn't have any of their own."

"It sounds like she only got her way when it was what he wanted, too."

"I guess  that's  more  true  than  not,"  Luke  said  after  a  moment's

reflection. "But she never complained where I could hear it, or let  you  know

that they'd had a fight and that she'd lost."

"Self-sacrificing," said Akanah. "For the good of  the  family,  for  the

peace of the household--" "Owen was a hard man," Luke said.

"Hardworking, hard to talk to, hard to know, hard to move. When I picture

him, he always looks annoyed."

"I'm all too familiar with the type," said Akanah.

"Your aunt probably didn't dare cross him too often, or too openly."

"She took my side sometimes. But mostly I think she tried to keep us from

colliding head-on--especially the last couple of years."

"Was she happy?"

"I used to think so."

"But--" "I think she deserved better than the way she lived--the way  she

died." Luke shook his head. "It's been harder to forgive my father for what he

did to them than for almost anything else."

"Harder to forgive, or harder to understand?"

Luke answered with a weary smile. "I wish it were harder  to  understand.

But I know how tempting it is to simply bend someone to your  will,  or  break

them and push them aside. All of the whims and wishes and wants that we  carry

around inside--I have the power to fulfill mine.  So  I  find  I  have  to  be

careful about what I let myself want."

"How do you do that?"

"I have Yoda's example--he led a very simple life, and  Wanted  for  very

little. My father walked a different road. I try to let him be an  example  to

me, too," said Luke. "The impulse to take control--to impose your will on  the

universe--has to be resisted. Even with the best of intentions,  it  leads  to

tyranny--into Darth Vader reborn."

"Control is a transitory illusion," said Akanah.

"The universe bends us to its purposes--we do not bend it to ours."

"That may be so," said Luke. "But in the moment of trying, people  suffer

horribly and die needlessly.

That's why the Jedi exist, Akanah--why we carry weapons and follow a path

of power. It's not out of any lust for fighting, or for our own  benefit.  The

Jedi exist to neutralize the power and the will of those who would be tyrants.

"

"Is that what you were taught, or what you've taught your apprentices?"

"Both. It was one of the First Principles of the Chu'unthor academy, and

I made it one of the First Principles at the Yavin praexeum."

"And what binds the Jedi to that end?"

"Because it's necessary," said Luke. "There's a moral imperative--the one

who can act, must act."

"It would be easier to trust you with the responsibility you seek  if  so

many Jedi hadn't strayed from your high ethic," Akanah  said.  "Jedi  training

doesn't seem to prepare a candidate well for the temptations of the dark side.

You have lost students, just as your mentors did."

"Yes," said Luke. "I almost lost myself."

"Is it always to be so? Are the temptations beyond resisting?"

"I don't have an answer for that," Luke said, shaking his  head.  "Is  it

how Jedi are chosen, how we are taught--a flaw in the candidates, or a flaw in

the disciplines-" "Perhaps there is no flaw," said Akanah.

"Perhaps  some  piece  is  still  missing--something  you  have  not  yet

rediscovered."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it will always be a struggle.

The dark side is seductive--and very powerful." He hesitated.

"I fought Vader with all I had, and still barely escaped with my life.

Han saved me at Yavin, Lando saved me at Bespin, and Ariakin saved me  on

the Emperor's Death Star. I never defeated my father. The deepest cut  I  ever

gave him was in refusing to join him."

Luke lay back on the sleeper and looked up at the stars.

"I think the next deepest was when I forgave him."

The viceroy's personal aide, Eri Palle, ushered Proctor  Dar  Bille  into

the blood garden where Tal Fraan and Nil Spaar were already waiting.

Dar Bille offered his neck to his old friend, then accepted  Tal  Fraan's

offer to him.

"Darama," said Dar Bille,  "I  hear  it  proclaimed  that  your  breedery

gloriously affirms your vigor."

"Fifteen nestings, all full and ripening," said Nil

Spaar. "The scent of it  is  intoxicating.  I  had  to  have  my  tenders

neutered in order that they remember their work."

"Your blood has always been strong, Nil Spaar, going  back  to  when  Kei

Chose you--but it has never been stronger than it is now."

"I would rather have truth than flattery from my old friends,"  said  Nil

Spaar. "Those who can remember the glory of our uprising are already  too  few

in number.

What news of my flagship?"

"Pride of Yevetha is fully ready," said Dar Bille.

"The holding chambers for the  hostages  have  been  completed,  and  the

hostages are being loaded this very day.

What is the prospect for more  fighting?  Has  Jip  Toorr  reported  from

Preza?"

"He has," said Nil Spaar. "His report is the reason I called for you.

The vermin have not bared their necks or withdrawn. She who claims  honor

in her own name still defies us. In the last three days, the vermin fleet grew

by at least eighty vessels. It has now dispersed into the boundary regions  of

the All, and our vessels there have lost contact with many of these intruders.

"

"I am greatly surprised that they value the lives of  their  own  species

less than they valued the lives of the other vermin at Preza," said Dar Bille.

"Perhaps we do not hold whom we think we hold. Could Tig Peramis have deceived

you, in league with the Princess?"

"No," said Nil Spaar. "Han Solo is Leia's mate and consort, and these are

relations of great meaning to the vermin."

"Perhaps she does not realize that we hold him," said Tal Fraan.

"Perhaps she does not realize that her actions place him at risk.

Uncertainty has not made her cautious. Perhaps it is time  to  show  them

our hostages."

Nil Spaar made a gesture that said the suggestion was premature. "Tell me

what you have learned studying the prisoners."

"They are uncomfortable with blood, even their own weak blood," said  Tal

Fraan. "The aversion is strong enough to be a distraction, even in challenging

moments. Beyond that, they have provided confirmation  of  suspicions  I

already held."

"Indulge me and voice them."

"They  form  alliances  as  child  to  parent--one  world  claiming   the

protection of a thousand," Tal Fraan said.

"They are divided, but they do not see it. They live in the  long  shadow

of their own disharmony, and do not know to seek the light."

"Is that their greatest weakness?"

That was a more  dangerous  question,  and  Tal  Fraan  hesitated  before

answering. "No," he said.

"Their greatest weakness is that they are impure. The strong do not  slay

the weak, and the weak do not yield their place to the strong.

The pale vermin think of self first and kinship last."

"And you find the evidence of this where?"

"It is why eight thousand Imperial slaves still serve us, and  why  these

two prisoners remain in our hands.

They fear death more than betrayal," said Tal Fraan.

"Any of the Pure would sacrifice himself before letting the warmth of his

breath make him a traitor."

"Dar Bille," Nil Spaar said.  "Do  you  agree  with  my  young  proctor's

appraisal? Are the guildsmen and tenders who serve on my flagship as eager  to

give themselves up as Tal Fraan declares?"

"It is true of many," said Dar Bille. "But if your  young  proctor  could

speak with the late viceroy Kiv Truun, he would know it has never been true of

all."

The answer elicited a grunt  and  grimace  of  amused  delight  from  the

viceroy. "Mark well, Tal Fraan, how the truth is  usually  a  good  deal  less

certain than a willed belief," said Nil Spaar.  "Now,  tell  me--what  is  the

greatest strength of the vermin?"

"It is as with all lesser species," said Tal Fraan, who  had  anticipated

the question. "Their strength is in their numbers. They overwhelm their worlds

with their unclean fecundity. You saw yourself how their spawnworld is overrun

with their soft, squirming bodies.

If they acted in concert, as one kinhold, they could overwhelm us."

"But they do not," said Dar Bille.

"No," said Tal  Fraan.  "Their  great  weakness  undermines  their  great

strength."

"We will see that they do not learn how to  be  one  kinhold,"  said  Nil

Spaar.

"You succeeded most splendidly in that  while  on  Coruscant,"  said  Dar

Bille. "But they seem less confused now--and they have not retreated.

How shall we answer them?"

Tal Fraan knew that it was the viceroy's question to answer, and he  held

his tongue. But Nil Spaar turned his way and smiled. "What  advice  would  you

offer, Proctor?

How shall I make this Leia show me her neck?"

"It is time we showed her our hostages,"  said  Tal  Fraan  evenly.  "And

since the pale vermin are uncomfortable with blood, we should find  a  way  to

remind them-that we are not."

The meeting of the  Ruling  Council  in  the  matter  of  Doman  Beruss's

petition against Princess Leia Organa Solo was delayed two days, then another,

then another.

No reason was given for any of the postponements. Leia  was  notified  of

them by secure messenger--Beruss did not contact her and made  no  attempt  to

see her. She suspected that the members of  the  Council  were  still  divided

about how to  proceed  now  that  she  had  rebuffed  Doman  Beruss's  private

overtures.

Behn-Kihl-Nahm did come to see her on the third day. But his  report  was

gloomy and his advice unusually terse.

"I cannot count on enough votes to protect you  if  you  refuse  to  step

aside," he said. "But if you accede gracefully, Doman has promised to  support

me as interim President. Come to the Council and say that your duties are  too

taxing in this difficult time, that you must be with your family. Ask  that  I

stand in for you until this crisis is past."

"I didn't ask for such help when my children were kidnapped,"  said  Leia

frostily. "How will that look?"

"None of this need ever be made  public,"  said  Behn-Kihl-Nahm.  "Leia,

Borsk Fey'lya has been trying to put together four votes for himself.

If you  appear  unreasonable,  Rattagagech  will  turn  his  support'  to

Fey'lya, who is saying all the right things--and that will  give  Fey'lya  his

four votes. You must understand how fragile your position has become."

"There will be no vote at all unless I accept Doman's judgment  that  I'm

unfit to be President," said Leia. "There's no need to select a caretaker if I

haven't stepped aside."

"Princess, that option is gone," the chairman said sternly. "All you will

accomplish by being stubborn is to force the  Ruling  Council  to  report  the

petition of no confidence to the Senate. And no one  can  control  or  predict

what will follow. If we are to deal with the Yevetha, there must be  stability

and continuity."

"Then go back and tell Doman Beruss to put an end  to  this  distraction,

Bennie," Leia said. "Because the easiest way to have stability and  continuity

is for me to stay where I am."

The  next  morning,  Leia  received  a  visit  from  the  tall,   slender

Rattagagech. He brought with him a balance table and a compartmented  canister

of colored hemispherical weights--the tools of Elomic physical calculus.

"I have come to analyze with you the logic of your  circumstances,"  said

Rattagagech. "It will give  you  an  opportunity  to  quantify  the  objective

elements in conflict."

"Please don't trouble yourself, Chairman," said Leia.

"It is no  trouble--it  is  a  welcome  opportunity,"  said  Rattagagech,

setting the transparent table on its floating  pylon.  "I  find  the  old  art

elegant and the practice of it soothing--it makes me feel very  young  in  the

presence of minds that are very old and wise." He sat down before  the  table,

now balanced on its pylon.

"Chairman, I thank you for your concern," said

Leia, stopping him from opening the canister. "But you can't help me."

Rattagagech looked up at her in surprise. Her words verged on  an  insult

to his intellect. "President Solo--Princess  Leia--physical  calculus  is  the

foundation of logical analysis, and logical analysis is the foundation of Elom

civilization. This art raised us from what we were to what we are."

"I respect what the Elomin have accomplished," said Leia.  "But  physical

calculus would have told us rebellion  against  the  Empire  was  futile.  And

logical analysis will always sacrifice  one  life  for  many,  or  a  few  for

several, and leave you thinking you've done something noble."

"I must call your  attention  to  the  work  of  Noto-ganarech,  who  has

demonstrated that a properly weighted table tilts  to  support  of  the  Rebel

Alliance--" "When you already know the outcome." She shook her head. "I  can't

let the tilt of the  table  decide  my  course.  I  just  don't  believe  that

everything that matters can be quantified for the calculus."

With his indignation undisguised,  Rattagagech  gathered  his  tools  and

left.

Leia had one last visitor from the ranks of the Ruling Council before the

day was out. Dall Thara Dru--the senator from Raxxa, chairman  of  the  Senate

Commerce Council, and the only female among the seven--had had nothing to  say

at the last meeting.

Behn-Kihl-Nahm's head counts included Dru as a supporter, but  that  made

Leia even more unsure about what to expect from her.

"Thank you so much for making time for me," said Dall Thara  Dru  as  she

glided into Leia's office. "This terrible business--I can't imagine!

Your life must be completely upside down."

"I appreciate your sympathy--" "This petition against you  is  the  worst

kind of foolishness I can think of. I just came from Chairman Beruss's office,

and I'm afraid I found him quite immovable-stubbornly attached to  the  notion

that you are

the problem. As if it were your fault that there are  dead  planets  all

across Koornacht Cluster!"

"I'm grateful for your support--" "Still and all, I'm afraid  that  Doman

has influenced enough minds to give you a  great  deal  of  trouble  when  the

Council meets on the petition. So I've been asking myself, what can  be  done?

How do we reassure the others that you have matters well in hand? And  then  I

realized that the answer is the question no one seems to be asking!"

"Which is--" "Where is Luke Skywalker?" said Dall Thara Du.

"Where are the Jedi Knights?"

"I'm sorry, Senator Dru," said Leia. "I don't understand."

"Why, Skywalker singlehandedly defeated the Emperor.

Surely he can handle these Yevetha without any trouble. And if  he  needs

help, he's raised an entire army--at New Republic expense, mind you!  -  -  of

wizards like himself. Well, no wonder Beruss objects to sending  our  sons  to

Koornacht. Why do we have to fight this war?

Where are our Knights?"

"The  Jedi  are  not  the  New  Republic's  army,  Senator  Dru--or   its

mercenaries, or its secret weapon," Leia said evenly.  "If  you're  suggesting

that I come to the Council and say, in effect, 'Don't worry, my  brother  will

take care of this for me'--" "Oh, of course," Dru said breezily. "I know  that

you can't tell the chairmen exactly what you have planned. Just let them  know

that the Jedi are standing with you-that's not too much to say, is  it?  We're

trying to shore up their confidence, after all.  And  who  better  to  inspire

confidence than Luke Skywalker?"

"That is too much to say," Leia said. Her  tone  was  frosty,  her  words

blunt. "Chairman Dru, I haven't asked for the help of the  Jedi.  And  neither

have they offered it. There are no secret plans to conceal.

The New Republic can and will fight its own battles--as will  I.  And  if

you're someone who supported my nomination thinking it was  a  package  deal--

'Hey, we get Luke

Skywalker for free' I'm sorry to say that you were mistaken."

There were no more postponements. The next morning,  Leia  stood  in  the

well of the Council chamber, facing Doman Beruss.

"President Leia Organa Solo, have you read the petition of no  confidence

offered against you?"

"I have, Chairman." Her voice was steady and strong.

"Do you understand the charges contained therein?"

"I do, Chairman."

"Do you understand the particulars offered in support of the charge?"

"I do, Chairman."

"Do you wish to offer a response to the petition?"

Leia  glanced  at  Behn-Kihl-Nahm,  seated  to  Beruss's  right,   before

answering. "Chairman, I contest the petition in its entirety. I'm shocked  and

dismayed that it was ever offered."

Behn-Kihl-Nahm slumped back in his chair, weariness causing his  features

to gray.

"It's not only  a  personal  insult,  it's  a  political  mistake,"  Leia

continued. "I have to wonder if the chairman has started  taking  his  counsel

from Nil Spaar--because he's the only one  who  stands  to  benefit  from  our

infighting."

"There need be no infighting," said Krall Praget.

"It's clearly better for all if  this  matter  is  resolved  quickly  and

quietly."

"Then ask him to withdraw the petition," Leia said, pointing at Beruss.

"This started with him, not with me. It's his fear that's the real  issue

here."

Beruss said quietly, "The chairman regretfully advises the  Council  that

he cannot in conscience withdraw the petition."

Leia turned her gaze on him. "I don't know why  or  how  Chairman  Beruss

became infected with the creep  ing timidity that seems  to  be  on  the  rise

here. But if his worry is that Princess Leia will lead the New Republic into a

war to rescue her husband, I suggest he's worrying over  the  wrong  question.

And I hope the rest of the Council is about to set him straight."

"Why?" asked Borsk Fey'lya. "How many friends do you think  you  have  in

this room? Do you think that there's one of  us--even  your  dear  Bennie--who

hasn't had doubts about your fitness in recent months?

Fire and idealism may be fine qualities for the leader of  a  revolution,

but the leader of a great republic needs to be several degrees  cooler  and  a

good deal more canny."

"Point of order, Chairman Beruss--" said Behn-Kihl-Nahm.

But Beruss, his eyes darkened  by  disapproval,  was  already  moving  to

intervene. "The remarks of Chairman Praget and Chairman  Fey'lya  are  out  of

order and will be removed from the record. The floor belongs to the  President

for the purposes of her response to the petition."

"I've said all I have to say," Leia said.

Behn-Kihl-Nahm glanced at something lying out of sight on the surface  in

front of Beruss. "Chairman, point of precedence--" "Go ahead."

"I would like to offer a compromise that I hope may satisfy the  concerns

of all parties," said Behn-Kihl-Nahm, his eyes warning  Leia,  You  must  help

yourself now. "If the President will consent to announce that she is taking  a

brief personal leave, the Council will name Chairman Rattagagech to  serve  as

caretaker until she returns."

It was a  judgment  call  whether  Rattagagech  or  Fey'lya  looked  more

startled.

"We will give the President time to consider this proposal," Beruss said.

"The debate is suspended. The vote on the petition is tabled until we meet  in

three days."

He rang the crystal, ending the session, before a startled Fey'lya  could

speak a word.

Chapter 4

Colonel Bowman Gavin carried the  formal  title  of  director  of  flight

personnel, Fifth Fleet Combat Command. But to the  more  than  three  thousand

pilots and weapons officers of the nearly two hundred squadrons based  on  the

fleet's carriers and Star Destroyers, Gavin was simply fleet air boss.

The fleet air boss had the final say over every "cheeks on the  cushions"

decision--flight assignments, ratings, transfers, reprimands, and  promotions,

from  the  greenest  backseater  to  the  squadron  leaders  and  combat  wing

commanders. His office was off the hot corridor in  Intrepid's  flag  country,

fifteen strides from General A'baht at one end  and  eight  strides  from  the

combat operations center at the other.

Despite his high station, Colonel Gavin  was  a  familiar  sight  on  the

flight decks and in the hangar bays of the fleet. Approachable and  matter-of-

fact, he was by his own admission more comfortable with his feet up  in  pilot

country than he was behind his own desk or at A'baht's briefing  table.  Gavin

disliked working from reports alone, and would not promote or pass judgment on

a pilot  or  a  junior  officer  until  he  had  made  a  personal,  firsthand

assessment.

The pilots in turn claimed Gavin as one of their

own, and trusted him to give them a fair hearing. They knew that he knew

what it was like to sit in the cockpit of a twisting fighter, guns hot and  an

enemy thundering in from behind. Though Gavin usually chose to wear  only  the

"new sun" campaign bar he had earned as a B-wing pilot at the Battle of Endor,

his service history entitled him to wear most of the  combat  decorations  the

Alliance and the New Republic had created and conferred.

Administrative chaos had arrived along with the five  task  forces  drawn

from the other fleets. Gavin had had  to  suspend  his  schedule  of  informal

visits and keep his appointments to  a  minimum  just  to  keep  up  with  the

briefings and reports. It was the closest he had ever come to closing his door

to the world since being promoted to flag rank, five years ago.

It didn't take many days for the air in his office to  thin  to  half  an

atmosphere and the bulkheads of his office to close in to the dimensions of  a

cell in the brig.

But by the time Gavin rebelled and began to plot a temporary escape,  the

Fifth Fleet had re-formed into double-strength task forces and scattered  into

the fringes of Koornacht Cluster, taking most of the new arrivals out of ready

reach.

But Task Force Gemstone, now attached to the  flag  task  force,  offered

twenty-two possible  destinations  for  Gavin's  getaway.  Since  a  visit  to

Commodore Poqua's command ship, the carrier Starpoint, would only entangle him

in more command-level formalities, Gavin  skimmed  down  the  list  and  chose

another vessel.

"Roust my pilot and prep my gig," he said, calling down to Intrepid's No.

1 flight deck. "I'm going to pay a visit to Floren."

"Acknowledged, Colonel. We'll notify flight control."

With the fleet on level one alert, even Colonel Gavin was obliged to  don

combat flight garb when leaving Intrepid in a smaller craft.  Apart  from  the

time lost climbing into and out of the  five-piece  high-flexibility  pressure

suit, Gavin didn't object to the requirementand  the  typically  spirited  and

ribald ready-room chatter usually made that time pass quickly enough.

But at midrotation, the  ready  room  was  deserted,  and  Gavin  had  to

struggle with the waist ring without benefit of a helping  hand.  It  was  not

until Gavin was in the middle of the  helmet-on  pressure  test  that  another

pilot joined him there--a young alien wearing a purifier pack on his chest and

the red emblem of a provisional flight officer on his Collar.

Instead of going to one of the lockers, the pilot walked  to  within  two

meters of Gavin and stopped, as though waiting for  him.  When  the  test  rig

chimed its approval, Gavin broke the neck seal and removed his helmet.

"Are you looking for someone, son?" Gavin asked, noting  the  absence  of

aFifth Fleet insignia on the pilot's uniform.

The officer saluted belatedly, as though it were an unpracticed reflex.

"Are you Colonel Gavin, sir?"

"Guilty as charged. And you are--" "Plat Mallar, sir. Sir--they  told  me

that you make all the decisions about pilot assignments."

"They?"

"The crew of the gig. And the crew chief told me where I might find  you.

I'm one of the ferry pilots from Coruscant."

"The escort flight for Tampion," Gavin said, nodding.

"I know that you were all cleared  by  Intelligence,  but  I'm  a  little

surprised to hear anyone's talking to you.

Did you ever think they might not be doing you a favor,  telling  you  to

come see me?"

"Colonel, you make all the decisions about flight assignments, don't you?

"

"Yes."

"Then who else could I see?"

Gavin nodded thoughtfully. "What is this about, then?"

"It's about my orders, sir. There are five  of  us  being  sent  back  to

Coruscant on the fleet shuttle, as space is

available. We were brought over from Venture this morning to wait."

"That's right. What's the problem?"

"Sir, I don't want to be sent back. I can't be. I want  to  stay  and  be

part of this fight. You have to let me do something."

"No, I don't," said Gavin, tucking his helmet under his right arm.

"But I'll give you a chance to convince me that I  ought  to.  Mind  you,

though, I signed off on your orders. To be blunt, we do need  pilots,  but  no

one wanted you or the others. None  of  you  is  experienced  enough  for  the

squadron leaders who've shorthanded to take a chance on you."

"If it makes any difference to you, I have  another  hundred  and  ninety

hours in a TIE interceptor that don't show up on my service record."

"In a TIE?" Gavin raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Give me your ID disc."

The young pilot complied, and  Gavin  studied  the  data  in  a  portable

reader. When he was finished, he looked up and fixed Mallar with  a  quizzical

look.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "I can't figure out  what  you're  doing  out

here in the first place. You have more hours in sims  and  fewer  hours  in  a

cockpit than anyone I've ever seen in a combat zone."

"I've worked as hard as I can, Colonel, so I could have a chance. I spent

every minute my check pilot could spare me flying. I spent every other  minute

I could training in the simulator. I'll work just as hard here, if  you  don't

send me back."

"Your check pilot, yes," said Gavin, handing the ID disc back. "He  seems

to have run you through primary training in about a third of the  usual  time,

even though he graded you not much better than passing.

What's the missing piece of this picture, Mallar?"

The question seemed to crush Mallar. "I suppose I  should  have  let  the

admiral put it all in my file, like he wanted to," he said dolefully.

"He even wanted to give me a confirmed kill."

"A kill? For what?"

"For the Yevethan fighter I shot down over Polneye, the day  the  Yevetha

destroyed it--the day they killed my family," Mallar said, and shook his head.

"I didn't want any special treatment--I wanted to be good enough  on  my  own.

Just good enough to do something to help. But  I'm  not--or  you  wouldn't  be

trying to send me back. So all I can do now is beg you,  Colonel---don't  send

me back."

"Offer me an alternative," Gavin said quietly.

"It doesn't matter," Mallar said. "Find something I can do to help.

Anything. Find some way that my being here makes it  easier  for  you  to

hand the Yevetha the same kind of hurt they handed me. That's all I ask.

Because what they did to us was wrong. Just let me be a  little  part  of

teaching them that lesson. That's the only thing that matters to me  now.  I'm

the only one left I have to speak for all of them."

Gavin studied him as he spoke, and for a long time after. "Draw a  flight

suit," he said finally. "Meet me at my gig in ten minutes.

We'll talk more on the way to Floren."

"Yes, sir. But the shuttle's supposed to  leave  within  the  hour--"  "I

know," said Gavin, patting Mallar on the shoulder as he moved past him.

"I'm afraid you may miss it."

Inbound to Utharis, Mud Slotb came out of hyperspace crippled by  a  data

bus power surge that left the port navigation sensors and the navcom unable to

talk to each other. The surge had come at the worst possible time, during  the

cascade in which the hyperdrive systems shut down and  the  realspace  systems

reinitialize.

"This is why you should never buy a bargain starship," Luke  grumbled  as

he climbed back out of the service access compartment belowdecks.

"What do you mean?" asked Akanah.

"Just that Verpine cut every corner they could building this thing," Luke

said, sliding the access panel back into place. "The power  bus  can't  handle

all the

systems, so the cascade processor has to juggle them, turning  this  one

off before turning that one on.  But  for  that  to  work  right,  the  buffer

circuits--" He saw her eyes glazing over and stopped. "Anyway, it means  we're

going to be delayed at Utharis."

"How long?"

"Until it's fixed," Luke said. He secured the last of  the  access  panel

hold-downs and looked up at her.  "If  there's  a  wrench  jockey  at  Taldaak

Station who knows this model better than I do, maybe only a day or two."

"Two days! You said we were going to stop only long enough to top off the

consumables and reset the counters."

Luke shrugged. "I'm not any happier about it than you are," he said.

"But better this happened now, in-bound  to  a  full-service  port,  than

somewhere in the middle of Farlax."

"I can't bear the thought of any more delay, this close to the  end--this

close to the Circle."

"I know," Luke said. "But this ship won't go into hyperspace again  until

she's gone into a service bay."

He flashed a wry smile. "At least you'll have plenty of time to pick  out

that souvenir hat I promised you."

Utharis was in the grip of war fever. Even though Koornacht  Cluster  was

more  than  two  hundred  light-years  away,  Utharis  had  a  border  world's

heightened sensitivity to matters of interplanetary politics.

It was impossible to go anywhere in Taldaak  without  hearing  about  the

clouds of war gathering over Farlax Sector, and the talk had prompted a  quiet

but noticeable exodus through Taldaak Station and  the  planet's  other  major

ports.

The exodus had not yet spread beyond the most affluent, mobile, and well-

connected segments of Utharian society, but  it  had  energized  conversations

everywhere, and intruded on  the  smooth  working  of  the  planet's  economic

machine.

"Sure, we can take care of you, Stonn," said the

Tyrant's Test ·83

yard manager of Starway Services. "But it'll be three days before we  can

even look at it."

"Three days! Never mind---rent me a  service  bay,"  Luke  said,  nodding

toward a sign offering that option.

"Sure," said the manager. "Let me check the schedule."

His fingers danced over his datapad. "Yes, I should have one available in

five or six days."

"Come on, dear--let's go," said Akanah, tugging at Luke's arm.

"Someone in this city must know how to treat visitors properly."

"Suit yourself. But you're not going to do  any  better  anywhere  else,"

said the manager.

"And why is that?" Luke asked.

"I had one crew chief and three mechs decide this would be a good time to

take a family vacation. Most of the other shops are  even  more  shorthanded,"

the manager said. "And I had twenty-eight of  my  regulars  call  to  schedule

early annuals or work they'd been putting off.

If I weren't keeping a bay open for transients and  referrals,  you'd  be

waiting a week."

"Li, dear, I've read about this sort of scam in  Port  of  Call,"  Akanah

said. "The yards take kickbacks  from  the  hoteliers  for  keeping  travelers

stranded."

Catching the sudden glower in the manager's eyes,  Luke  patted  Akanah's

hand patronizingly. "Now, darling, let's not insult the man just  because  our

plans have been upset," Luke said. "Why are you so busy?" he  asked  the  yard

manager.

"Because of the war, of course," the manager said.

Akanah's gaze narrowed. "War? What are you talking about?"

"Don't you ever link to the grids?  The  New  Republic  and  the  Duskhan

League have been growling and feinting at each other for months."

Akanah turned to Luke. "Did you know about this?"

"I heard something of it on Talos," said Luke. "I didn't  want  to  worry

you. It was only rumor then. I guess it's become something more, if people are

running the other way."

"You can see Koornacht Cluster in the night sky from  here,  you  know,"

said the manager. "The idea that a  thousand  warships  are  poised  to  clash

somewhere over their heads makes people nervous."

"A thousand warships?" Akanah asked in an awed whisper.

"That's what they're  saying."  The  manager  shrugged.  "Some  of  them,

anyway. You hear a lot of different stories. So--what are you gonna do?"

"We'll leave our ship with you," said Luke, pushing the registration  pad

across the counter. "But can you tell me how long it might take after you  get

to it? Do you have a local source for parts?"

"For a Verpine Adventurer?" the manager asked, glancing down at the  pad.

"Oh, sure. We've got four of them in our scrapyard alone.  Call  us  in  three

days."

The manager's casual acceptance of war on his doorstep deepened the chill

of fear that had come over Akanah on hearing the news. It's too soon--he's not

ready for this, she thought wildly as she followed Luke out of the depot.  I'm

taking him exactly where I don't  want  him  to  goright  into  the  heart  of

temptation.

He's still trying to direct the Current. He's not ready to  watch  others

fight without raising a hand of his own-"We can't stay here," she  said  in  a

worried whisper when they were outside. "It doesn't feel safe.  I  don't  know

what it is, but this place is shadowed."

"I don't see a lot of alternatives," Luke said, leading them back  toward

the northbound slidewalk. "You need to be able to tell  the  hyperdrive  which

way to jump, and Mud Sloth can't do that right now."

"I understand that," she said, clinging to his arm.

"But we could be here a week or more. Isn't there something else  we  can

do? Can't you buy the parts from him and fix it yourself?"

"Didn't you hear him in there? We're headed into a war zone," said  Luke,

stopping short. "For all we know about what's happening,  J't'p'tan  could  be

one of the battlegrounds. Don't you think it'd be a good thing to be  able  to

count on our hyperdrive?"

She tried desperately to find a fear that would move him. "If  we  linger

here too long, we can count on more Imperial agents finding us.

We can't let that happen. We can't let them follow us."

"Even the New Republic can't find us, thanks to your tricks," said  Luke.

"Look, all we have to do is find a quiet place to stay and play tourist for  a

few days. Besides, I want to learn more about what's ahead of us--and  it  may

take a while to sort the facts from the rumors."

"Does it matter what's  ahead?"  she  asked.  "Would  you  even  consider

turning back now? Your mother--my mother--they're almost within reach."

"Not with Mud Sloth on crutches, they aren't," said Luke.

"Then we have to get a different ship."

Luke snorted. "How?"

She looked at him in earnest surprise. "Don't you  think  that  with  our

combined talents we can take almost any ship we want from here?"

"Don't even think about it," Luke said tersely. He scanned about  to  see

if anyone could have heard her, then grabbed her elbow and practically dragged

her away from the service center's entrance and onto the slidewalk.

"Yes, we probably could," he said  in  a  sharp  whisper  as  the  moving

surface whisked them along.

"But not without attracting unwanted attention.  Do  you  really  want  a

Utharian patrol boat following us to J't'p'tan? Do you want every  ship  under

New Republic registry alerted to watch for us?"

"I can hide us."

"We're already hidden. All we have to do is wait.

You've gotten this close by biding your time until the right time.

This is the wrong time to give in to impatience."

"This is the wrong time to delay," said Akanah, still casting  about  for

emotional leverage. "Luke, the

darker the clouds, the more important it is for us to move quickly."

"The war's already started," Luke said grimly.

"The Yevetha attacked more than a dozen worlds not  long  after  we  left

Coruscant. We can't arrive before  the  storm--we  can  only  hope  it  leaves

J't'p'tan untouched."

"Luke, it's not that the Circle  is  in  danger,"  Akanah  pressed.  "The

danger is that we'll lose touch with them. It's impossible to  work  when  the

Current is in chaos. And it's intensely uncomfortable to remain connected when

the Current is carrying so much pain.

I'm not afraid for them--the  Circle  is  strong.  I'm  afraid  they  may

already have left J't'p'tan. And any sign they leave for me could be destroyed

as easily as Norika's house in Griann was."

"I can ask for another tracking report on Star Morning, find out where it

went after Vulvarch. That should tell us something about the Circle's plans."

"And what will we chase them in, Mud Sloth?  You  were  right,  Luke.  We

can't count on our ship. We should have something faster,  more  reliable--and

we may need room for more than the two of us. Please--we have  to  leave  here

now."

"I'm not going to help you steal a starship, Akanah."

Even before he spoke, she realized she had made a mistake. They shared  a

goal, but he still observed limits on the means  he  would  allow  himself  to

employ in pursuing it. She had committed everything to this  quest,  while  he

had a life to return to if it ended in failure. And  she  had  forgotten  that

difference between them in a moment of selfish anxiety.

"You're right-oh, you're right. I don't know what I was thinking.

It's just so hard being this close after  so  long,"  she  said,  hastily

troweling over the crack in her facade. "If we don't find them--" "We'll  find

them," Luke said.

"I want to believe that with all my heart,  and  at  the  same  time  I'm

afraid to, because I don't know if I can · bear another  disappointment,"  she

said. The tears that glittered in the corners of her eyes were real.  "Forgive

me. It isn't that I thought you a thief--" "I know," he said. "It's forgotten.

"

She smiled gratefully at him and let him draw her into the  curl  of  his

arm. "If we must stay here, then at least let's get away  from  Taldaak,"  she

urged, ending a brief silence. "Let's find some private place safely away from

all these eyes. I'll use the time to teach you more of our disciplines."

"First things first," Luke said. "I want to go back to the ship  and  put

out some queries, then see  what  I  can  learn  here.  I  want  to  find  out

everything I can about what we might find in the Koornacht Cluster--about what

our people are up against."

That was the last thing Akanah wanted. Of all  the  impulses  capable  of

moving Luke's hand toward his lightsaber, she feared the power of his  loyalty

to his sister most. In frustration, she pulled away from him,  moving  to  the

opposite edge of the slidewalk.

"What?" he asked in surprise. "What is it?"

Akanah sensed his confusion and uncertainty and targeted her words there.

"I'm just wondering if maybe we've gone as far as we can together," she  said.

"Maybe it was a mistake to make you part of this.

If you don't have the commitment or the trust--" "Akanah  "  "I  have  to

think about what to do now," she said, and stepped neatly off the slidewalk.

Luke whirled about but did not follow, letting the slidewalk carry him on

toward the port. Their gazes locked together for a  moment,  then  she  turned

away.

Eyes now closed, she studied the Current's flow through and  around  him,

reading its eddies and meanders.

There was exasperation there, but a new and still raw worry as well.

Good, she thought. Wonder about me. Worry that I'll steal a  ship  on  my

own and leave you behind. Then perhaps you won't worry  so  much  about  other

people's wars or think about  joining  them.  Your  place  is  with  me,  Luke

Skywalker--I still have lessons to teach you.

Han had lost track of time. There was  no  day-and-night  cycle  in  the

brightly lit Yevethan prison cell, no regular meals to mark out intervals. Han

dozed, exercised, paced, played endless games of hop-stone  solitaire  on  the

dusty floor, dozed. His mouth was parched, and his head and empty stomach were

possessed by constant aches too sharp now to simply ignore.

In the beginning Barth  had  joined  him  in  what  Han  had  dubbed  the

planetary championship of two-handed hop-stone, but  both  of  them  were  too

short-tempered for competitive games now. They had exhausted their repertoires

of bawdy jokes, with Barth emerging the uncontested winner  for  both  variety

and delivery. In revenge, Han had taught Barth all eighty-six verses of a song

that their brains kept singing long after their voices were stilled.

Of late Han had taken to talking to the ceiling, to their unseen jailers.

He had peppered his monologues with increasingly  savage  insults,  hoping  to

provoke a response, any response, that would lead to the  cell  door  opening,

that might give them a chance to do something about their circumstances.  When

he ran out of words, he mentally  rehearsed  scenarios  for  overpowering  any

number of guards up to five.

But all he accomplished was to make both Barth and himself tired  of  the

sound of his voice. By the time the cell door opened, they were so  weak  from

hunger and dehydration that they could barely stand.

One of the three Yevethan guards threw Han a pair of loose-fitting  white

pants and gestured at Han's uniform.

"You will wear what we have given you," he ordered,  and  tossed  another

pair of the pajamalike pants to Barth.

Stripping without modesty, they both complied without argument. When  the

task was finished, the guards prodded them toward the corridor.

There was a Yevethan guard in front of Han, leading the way, and  another

behind him, with Barth following and the third guard bringing up the rear.  It

was one of the geometries Han had rehearsed--take out the guard in the  middle

together, high-low, then turn back-to-back and  take  on  the  others--but  he

weighed the odds against his curiosity about where they were being  taken  and

decided to wait.

But the pants they had been given had been sized for a  Yevethan  frame--

the waist was too low and the · legs 'a handspan too long.

Before he had gone half a dozen strides down the corridor, Barth  tripped

himself on the trailing fabric and went sprawling.

Hearing the noise behind him, Han had only an instant to react. He  spun,

hands forming into fists, and received a rock-hard Yevethan forearm across his

throat for his trouble. Gasping and choking, he fell backward.

It was a hard landing, even  without  the  benefit  of  the  first  guard

stomping his head back against the floor.

"Submit or die," the guard growled.

The sudden pain, and the adrenaline that  came  with  it,  had  energized

Han's body to the point that he was  ready  to  fight  the  Yevethan  who  was

pinning him down. Then he heard Barth groan in pain, then call out in a raspy,

shaky voice, "Don't--don't--it was me, Han,  my  fault--I  fell,  that's  all,

stupid clumsy feet--" With a will, Han opened his fists and spread  his  hands

wide in surrender. "It's all right, Lieutenant.

We'll let 'em off this time, okay?"

The guard looming over Han stepped back.  Moving  slowly,  Han  clambered

back to his feet. A few meters down the corridor, Barth was  doing  the  same.

"You okay?"

"I'm--what are they going to do? Where are they taking us?"

"It's going to be all right," Han said,  tugging  his  pants  up  at  the

waist. "Hey, how about this fine Yevethan tailoring?"

Jerking his head to the left, the guard growled, "Enough.  Darama  waits.

Walk."

The prisoners were taken to a large Chamber with  a  high  domed  ceiling

decorated with scarlet accents. They were made to sit at either end of a  long

bench facing a

low platform and a large window  beyond.  Han  squinted  at  the  bright

light, but savored the warm, fresh breeze entering the chamber with it.

There was one oddity: Lieutenant Barth's  wrists  were  bound  to  a  bar

running the length of the bench, low behind their hips. But Han's were not.

Before he could puzzle that out, Viceroy Nil Spaar entered the chamber.

"Darama," Han repeated under his breath.

Nil Spaar was leading an entourage of four. One carried a folding  stool,

which he set up facing the prisoners' bench. A second  carried  a  tall  stand

topped by a silver sphere, which he placed a meter to the right of  the  stool

and slightly forward. Those two left when they had shed their burdens.

The two that remained took up positions behind Nil Spaar as he settled on

the stool. Han studied their faces, trying to divine  what  burdens  they  had

carried into the room. Advisor? Muscle? Toady? What does a Yevetha look  like.

when it's nervous? Or do they even get nervous?

"General Solo," said Nil Spaar, ignoring Barth with both  his  words  and

his gaze. "You appear to be the only one who can save thousands more  of  your

kind from dying in shame. I am here to give you that opportunity."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were on your way to take command of the Fifth Fleet  when  you  were

captured. You were  carrying  Princess  Leia's  orders  for  the  invasion  of

Yevethan territory."

Han waited, mute.

"Defiance of the sovereignty of the viceroy  of  the  Protectorate  makes

your life forfeit," Nil Spaar continued.

"I have spared you in the hope that you will join me in an act of mercy."

Han cocked his head. "Explain."

"Princess Leia has recklessly sent more ships to threaten us--" "Good for

her."

"--and issued foolish ultimatums. She does  not  understand  us.  Perhaps

when you do, you can open her eyes."

"Go on."

"Our claim to these stars is natural and ancient.

Our eyes have owned them since the beginning of our days. They are  alive

in our legends. They call to us in our dreams. We draw our strength  from  the

All. The purity of the All inspires us to perfection.

"Our claim to these stars is not a shallow thing of greed,  or  politics,

or ambition. It is not a claim we would ever surrender. We are  not  like  the

weaklings you are accustomed to, calculating when to pursue an  advantage  and

when to retreat, believing only in the expediencies of the moment.

"Leia's threats do not move us. We will never give up that which is ours,

or share it with those who are not born of the All.  If  your  forces  do  not

withdraw, there will be war--terrible, bloody, unending.

We will never yield, General Solo---and none of your soldiers will  enjoy

my mercy as you have. The fighting will go on until the last of you  has  been

killed or driven out. Do you understand that, General?"

"I think so."

"I hope you do," said Nil Spaar. "I have studied your histories. You have

never faced an adversary like us. Your wars are decided  by  the  death  of  a

tenth of a population, a third of an army. Then the defeated  surrender  their

honor and the victors surrender their advantage.

This is called being civilized. The Yevetha are not  civilized,  General.

It would be a mistake to deal with us as though we were."

"Thanks for the advice," Han said. "So what do you want from me?"

"Prevent your mate from making that mistake," said Nil Spaar.

"Persuade her to recall her fleet. Promise us on the blood  of  your  own

children that what is ours now will be ours forever,  You  will  preserve  the

blood of thousands--and your own as well."

"You'll let us go?" Barth  asked,  an  eager  hopefulness  coloring  his

words.

The viceroy did not look away from Han. "You are more useful to me  as  a

witness than as a martyr, General," Nil Spaar said,  rising  from  his  stool.

"Come--look."

The viceroy led Han to the window, then stepped aside  to  allow  Han  an

unimpeded view. Squinting, Han looked  out  on  a  tumble  of  buildings  and,

beyond, a great field of giant silver spheres--Aramadia-class thrustships.  It

was a stunning, numbing sight. The star-ships were parked so closely  together

that it was difficult to count them, even though  Nil  Spaar  allowed  him  to

linger at the window.

"What you see is the product of the Nazfar Metal-works Guild,"  said  Nil

Spaar softly. "There is such a guild on every world of the Twelve, General. Do

you understand? You cannot prevail against  us.  But  you  can  preserve  your

children's blood, if you choose to."

Shaking his head, Han turned away from the window.

"Why? Why even make the offer, unless you think we might win?"

"Because you would become our obsession, for as many years as it took  to

destroy you," the viceroy said.

"And there are better uses for blood and the labor of our young.  I  have

paid you the compliment of believing the same is true for your kind."

The roar of undampered pulsejets drew Han's  attention  to  a  thrustship

climbing skyward. from the far edge of the array. Torn by conflicting impulses

and struggling to focus his thoughts, Han stalled by  making  his  way  slowly

back to the bench.

"What did you see? What's out there?" Barth asked.

"A fleet of new warships," Han said. "At least a hundred of them."

"Well, there's only one choice, then, isn't there?

He's right--stopping the war would be an act of mercy.

Now that you know what we'd be up against, you have to stop it."

Han's gaze jumped from Barth to Nil Spaar. "Only if I'm willing to forget

the blood  that's  already  been  spilled,"  he  said.  "You  didn't  see  the

intelligence reports I saw,  Lieutenant--colonies  scoured  off  the  face  of

planets, entire populations exterminated as though  they  were  no  more  than

kitchen pests--" "Han, please think about this. Do you want the next planet to

be Coruscant or Corellia?" Barth pleaded.

Han kept his gaze fixed on Nil Spaar, who was listening impassively.

"Do you know that they recorded it all, without even the decency to  look

away or feel shame? As though they were proud of it--of how  efficiently  they

could murder millions." He shook his head slowly.

"No. You can't compromise with an evil as cold as theirs, Lieutenant--not

even to spare the lives of our mother's children."

Still Nil Spaar said nothing. But Barth was nearly frantic with fear.

"Please, do what he asks. Think of all the casualties, the ships burning-

-Han, they're going to kill us!.....

"Would you rather live as a coward?" Han demanded.

"It'll be a tragedy for even one more good pilot to die fighting them.

But it'd be something far worse if we turned our backs and walked  away--

if no one stood up for the millions who are already dead. And I'll  be  damned

if I'll be part of it." His eyes burned into the viceroy's. "You can  burn  to

blazes. I won't help you."

Nil Spaar nodded agreeably and spoke  a  word  in  Yevethan.  Two  guards

appeared at the doorway and bound Han to the bar just as Barth had been.

Please, do something--tell him you've changed your mind--" "Get a grip on

yourself, Lieutenant," Han said grimly. "He doesn't deserve to enjoy this."

The viceroy moved closer, his fighting  crests  becoming  engorged  until

they seemed to be two crimson slashes from temple to ear. "You vermin wish  to

teach me a lesson," said Nil Spaar. "I will offer you one in

return. You think you have accepted the price in blood for your  choice;

We will see if that is so."

With a slash of his right claw, Nil Spaar ripped open Barth's bare  torso

from hip  to  shoulder,  shattering  ribs,  pulling  soft  organs  from  their

cavities. Barth's scream, a horrible, inhuman sound of immeasurable agony, was

cut short when his lungs were rent by the claw and  collapsed  with  a  grisly

wheeze.

For too long a moment,  the  sight  held  Han  transfixed,  every  detail

burning into his memory. Then his stomach heaved, and he turned away,  choking

on a bitter taste.

"Perhaps you understand us a little better now," Nil Spaar said, stepping

back and absently sucking the blood from his claw.

With an effort, Han found his voice. "You bastard."

"Your opinion of me is of  no  consequence,  and  never  has  been,"  the

viceroy said, and looked to one of his aides. "When  you  are  finished  here,

have him moved to my ship."

"Yes, darama," said the aide. Then he and the others knelt deferentially,

almost reverently, as Viceroy Nil Spaar left the chamber.

Han raised his head and forced himself to look at Barth. The white  pants

were sodden crimson drapes hanging from the flight engineer's legs.  The  pool

of blood and other bodily fluids below him had grown to the point where it was

threatening to engulf Han's feet.

Something in the spill of organs on Barth's lap was  still  twitching  or

pulsing.

I'm sorry, Barth, he thought, working to conceal his anguish as carefully

as his fury, determined not to parade either before his audience. I was  wrong

about us seeing Coruscant again. I didn't know.

I didn't know until now what a monster he is.

By chance, it fell to Behn-Kihl-Nahm to chair the session  at  which  the

vote on Leia was finally taken. He concealed his  reluctance  behind  a  well-

practiced mask of businesslike duty.

"President Leia Organa Solo, you are called before the Ruling Council  of

the Senate of the New Republic to  answer  to  a  petition  of  no  confidence

offered by Chairman Doman Beruss," Behn-Kihl-Nahm said.

Leia stood in the well before the V-shaped table with her  fingers  laced

before her. "I come before you to hear the challenge and respond, as specified

in the Common Charter."

The chairman nodded.  "The  foundation  for  the  petition  is  given  as

follows: that your ability to discharge your duties as President of this  body

is and will continue to be compromised by an irreducible  conflict  with  your

interests as wife of General Han Solo, who is  presently  a  prisoner  of  the

Duskhan League, with which we stand on the brink of conflict. Do you have  any

questions about this charge?"

"No," she said calmly.

"Do you wish to dispute the facts as laid  out  in  section  two  of  the

petition?"

"I do not," she said, standing even straighter.

Do you wish to make a statement in rebuttal of the  argument  offered  in

section three?"

"Only that the petitioner has said far more about his fears than  he  has

about my conduct," Leia said with a  quick  but  pointed  glance  sideways  at

Beruss. "For whatever reason, Chairman Beruss has prejudged and in  doing  so,

he's become the principal disruption to the work of the President's office.  I

trust that this Council will recognize  that  fact  and  put  an  end  to  the

disruption by rejecting this petition."

"Very well," said Behn-Kihl-Nahm.  "Before  I  call  for  the  vote,  the

petitioner has asked me to once again offer you an alternative. He is  willing

to withdraw the petition if you will agree to take a leave  of  absence  until

the crisis in Farlax Sector has been resolved and General  Solo's  return  has

been secured."

"Not interested," said Leia.

Beruss stirred. "The terms could be worked out so as to leave  you  with

full authority in other areas."

"No, they couldn't," Leia said bluntly. "You can't sit  there  and  start

rewriting the Charter to separate President from Commander in Chief from Chief

of State.

And    I wouldn't go along with it if you could."

Quietly defiant, she turned back to where BehnKihl-Nahm sat.

"Chairman,  this  body  wasn't  created  to  provide  an  opportunity  to

blackmail the President behind Closed doors. If you think  this  petition  has

merit--if you think I'm unfit to do the job I was elected to do--then send the

petition on to the Senate. No more delays. Call for the vote."

"Very well," said Behn-Kihl-Nahm. "As the  petitioner,  Senator  Beruss's

vote is counted in support. Senator Rattagagech?"

"I support the petition."

"Senator Fey'lya?"

"I share Senator Beruss's concerns and offer him my support."

"Senator Praget?"

"Affirmative."

Praget's vote sealed the outcome, but Leia stood tall and impassive until

the last member of the Council had weighed in. The final tally was five to two

against her.

"The petition will be reported to the Senate at its next general session,

" said Behn-Kihl-Nahm, barely holding a rush of angry words  in  check.  "This

meeting is adjourned."

When he rang the crystal, he did so with enough force that it  cracked--a

crack substantial enough to mute its voice but not severe  enough  to  shatter

it.

Behn-Kihl-Nahm did not believe in  omens,  but  he  handled  the  crystal

carefully as he removed it from the dais and made certain  that  no  One  else

saw.

Ambush

"Captain! The intruder's soliton wave has vanished!"

Captain Voba Dokrett struck Gorath's navigator a mighty blow  across  the

back. "Emergency stop! Take us back to realspace! Smartly now--it's your first

daughter's life if the enemy isn't under our guns when we exit."

Dokrett spun away from  the  navigator's  station  and  hunted  down  the

gunnery master with his eyes.

"Instruct the blaster batteries to target the intruder fore and  aft  for

weapons, then hole her amidships."

"Sir, shouldn't we disable the intruder first?"

"Bloodprice's ion batteries were ineffective. Dogot went by the book  and

died. Give the order."

"Yes, sir," said the gunnery master. "All fire stations, attend.

Numbers one and three forward, - acquire tracking and target bow section.

Numbers four and six forward, target aft section. Numbers two  and  five,

rig for hull cutting and stand by."

The gunnery master was  barely  finished  barking  the  orders  when  the

crossover alarm began to sound and Gorath began to shudder and hum.

"A prize share to every officer if we take the intruder intact!"

Dokrett cried. "For the glory of Prakith

and in service to our beloved governor, Foga Brill, I commit this vessel

to the fight before us!"

All around Gorath's bridge, display screens came  alive  as  the  cruiser

plunged back into the sea of electromagnetic energies that  was  the  sublight

universe.

"Captain, there is no sign of Tobay," called the sensor master. "If  they

did not observe the target's soliton change, they will have jumped on ours and

overshot the entry."

"How sad for her crew, to lose their prize shares  at  the  ninth  hour,"

Dokrett said. "Range to target!"

"Eight thousand meters."

Grinning broadly, Dokrett clapped his hands on the navigator's shoulders.

"Ha! It seems you are a good father after all," he exclaimed.

"Should we wait for Tobay, Captain?"

"No!" he barked. "Fire!"

The gunnery master leaned toward his station.

"Numbers one and three forward, fire! Numbers four and six forward, fire!

"

Almost at once and nearly as one, four of  the  cruiser's  eight  primary

batteries sent fierce pulses of energy lancing toward the great vessel ahead.

There was no fire, nor any explosions, but Dokrett's  telescopic  scanner

showed plumes of debris scattering from black-edged-slashes across  both  ends

of the intruder's hull. "Enough!" Dokret cried. "To the heart of her, now!"

Moments after the gunnery master relayed  the  orders,  the  four  active

batteries fell silent, and the two  batteries  standing  by  opened  fire  The

ferocious haft of blaster bolts from their  muzzles  battered  a  single  spot

amidships on the giant vessel until another  black-edged  hole  opened  there.

Then the focus of the blaster bolts spread into a circle, chewing at the edges

of the opening until it was twenty meters across.

"Cease fire!" Dokrett shouted. "That should be enough to keep them  busy.

Gunnery master, enable all batteries for counterfire.

Navigation master, bring us  up  alongside.  Boarding  parties,  to  your

breaching pods!

The prize is nearly ours."

There was no response from the target as Gorath closed on it,  moving  to

within a hundred meters of the opening amidships. At that distance, the  great

bulk of the vessel--more than five  times  the  length  and  three  times  the

diameter of the Prakith light cruiser--filled every  viewscreen  and  gunner's

port.

"Captain!" called the sensor master. "Something  odd--at  this  distance,

with a ship that size the reading from the magnetic anomaly detector should be

nearly off the scale. But by the  reading  I'm  getting,  I  would  have  said

nothing larger than a pinnace was out there."

Dokrett nodded. "Look at the way she burned," he said. "Look at  the  way

she's built. That's not durasteel or matrix armor. Whatever it is, we've never

seen its kind before. What do you show for power generation?"

The sensor  master  waved  his  hands,  frowning  in  puzzlement.  "Field

strength is negligible."

"Very well," said Dokrett, much pleased by the answer.

"Open the ports. Away all pods."

In the moment between the opening of the ports and the launching  of  the

first breaching pod, something shot out from the intruder and slammed into the

hull of Gorath with such force that it knocked Dokrett to  his  knees.  Alarms

began to sound all over the bridge as the impact of a second projectile  again

made the cruiser shake from bow to stern.

"Fire! Fire!" Dokrett screamed as he dragged himself to his feet.  A  few

scattered  batteries  were  already  engaged,  though  their  efforts   seemed

undirected. "Gunnery master! Destroy those launchers!"

"We're trying. But the angle--we can't bring the mains to bear from here-

-" Movement on the starboard viewer caught Dokrett's eye, and he glimpsed  the

third projectile as it leaped across the gap between the two ships--it  seemed

to be ball-shaped, trailing a thick cable  extending  back  to  the  intruder.

Gorath groaned under the impact.

"What's happening?" Dokrett demanded. "I want to see what's happening."

"I have something," the sensor master shouted.

One pod had cleared its stowage bay, and  the  relay  from  its:  viewers

showed that all three projectiles had buried themselves in the cruiser's hull.

Gorath was now anchored to the vagabond by three slender,  undulating  tethers

at bow, stern, and amidships.

"Navigation!" Dokrett called, wheeling around.

"Break us free! Thrusters full! Stand by, main engines!"

At that moment, two more projectiles erupted from  two  different  points

along the hull of the intruder. These were slender and spiked, and they  drove

themselves deep into Gorath's hull.

There was fear in Dokrett's eyes as he started across the deck toward the

navigation master. "Full ahead, now!" he screamed.

But before the captain had covered half the distance to  his  beleaguered

underling, every bridge station exploded in a shower of  sparks.  Every  metal

structure of the ship suddenly became part  of  the  path  for  an  enormously

powerful electrical current  coursing  through  the  tethers  from  the  alien

vessel. The current leaped across isolation blocks and  vaporized  insulators,

vaulted across the open air and  skipped  over  the  face  of  the  bulkheads,

coursed up the legs of crew members  and  grounded  through  their  faces  and

hands. In little more than a second, most of the cruiser's systems were slag.

Just as quickly, most of the crew was dead, and those not yet  dead  were

dying--of massive burns, paralyzed hearts, and scrambled  neural  systems.  On

the bridge, the gunnery  master  and  his  chair  were  fused  into  a  single

carbonized sculpture. Captain Dokrett was immolated by a lightning spike  that

used him as a shortcut from a fire-control vent head above  his  head  to  the

decking under his feet.

By the time the attacking current ceased, small fires were burning  in  a

hundred places throughout the ship, providing the only relief to the  darkness

that had abruptly fallen inside Gorath's spaces.  But  when  those  fires  had

consumed the available oxygen, the smoke-filled ship became as  black,  still,

and silent as a mausoleum.

The extent of the destruction was not as obvious from  the  outside.  The

commander of Pod 5 and his squad of assault troops saw  flickering  discharges

through the Open bay doors and scattered viewports, assessed the crushed  hull

plates at the impact points, noted the gun turrets  going  cold,  spotted  the

darkening of the outer hull from spot fires within, marked the unbroken static

on the command channels. Still, the ship seemed largely intact.

Then  the  tethers  joining  the  ships  suddenly  patted  close  to  the

intruder's hull, and the pod commander faced a quick and  irreversible  choice

between following his last orders and returning to the cruiser.

Loyalty weighed more heavily on  him  than  obedience.  As  the  enormous

vessel began to move off, he turned the pod toward Gorath. There was one voice

raised in protest, but the commander silenced the dissenter with a sharp look.

"The enemy vessel is badly wounded," he said with a savage  satisfaction.

"See how slowly it moves. Tobay is  nearby.  We  will  help  our  brothers  on

Gorath, and then together we will hunt that demon down and destroy it."

When the vagabond returned to realspace after the Prakith encounter,  the

rumbling entry growl seemed to Lando to  have  edged  closer  to  a  howl.  He

signaled to the others for silence and then listened attentively to the sounds

the vessel was making.

"'Is there a problem?" Threepio asked at last.

"I don't know,"  Lando  said.  "Get  me  the  database  on  bioengineered

structures and I'll look it up. I don't know if this ship's  even  susceptible

to the kind of fatigue that kills metal ships.  Maybe  that's  why  the  Qella

built her this way--so she could  go  on  forever,  indestructible  and  self-

repairing."

"That seems like a reasonable inference," Threepio

said.

"Except the mechanisms that do the repairs are  just  as  susceptible  to

failure, so you need mechanisms that repair the repair mechanisms, and so  on.

Is everything working as designed? I have no idea."

"Perhaps it was damaged in the attack," said Lobot. "That  could  account

for the altered spectrum of the entry growl."

"How would I know?" exclaimed Lando. "I  don't  even  know  something  as

elementary as what makes her go, what energy  source  we're  tapping  when  we

touch a trigger point. It takes fusion generators to drive a hyperspace engine

for a capital vessel---everyone knows that, right?

But the radmeter says there are no fusion generators aboard." Lando shook

his head. "I'm half ready to throw my hands up and just say it's magic."

"We should learn something in the next few  moments,"  Lobot  said.  "The

last time the vessel jumped to escape capture, it changed  course  and  jumped

out less than fifteen minutes later. If the ship is  under  the  direction  of

rule-based logic, as I believe it is, it should do so again."

"Of course, we were goosing her with a  cutting  blaster  at  the  time,"

Lando said wryly. "Wait--quiet."

Straining at first to do so, both men could pick out a buzzing whine that

seemed to come from a point several compartments away. As the  ship  began  to

shudder rhythmically around them, the sound swiftly grew louder, drowning  out

the normal background noises  of  the  vessel  and  acquiring  a  destructive-

sounding rasp.

"What is that?" Lobot asked, the worry in his tone a  reflection  of  the

worry on Lando's face. "It sounds like--" "It sounds  like  we're  under  fire

again," Lando said grimly.

"Could it be Colonel Pakkpekatt's armada?"

"Not a chance in a billion," Lando said. "Someone must have  followed  us

out from Prakith. Lobot, seal up your suit, fast."

"What about your missing glove?"

"Someone has to operate the portals," Lando said.

"That means bare skin. If we lose pressure, I'll make another  sample-bag

mitten. But I need you functional in case I don't have time or it won't  hold.

Hurry!"

By the time Lobot had snapped his helmet in  place,  the  chamber's  even

glow was flickering. As Lando retrieved an unused sample bag from the depleted

equipment sled, the chamber illumination failed entirely.

So had Threepio's courage. He had been clinging  to  the  equipment  sled

while Artoo scanned and cataloged the displays from the center of the chamber,

and now his frantic kicking had started the  sled  tumbling  in  slow  motion.

"Artoo! Artoo, come here this instant. Oh, this is  ghastly--my  circuits  and

gears can't bear any more.

Master Lando, you simply must do something. Surely now  you  will  signal

Lady Luck."

"Forget it," Lando said, jetting toward  the  chamber's  forward  portal,

through which they'd entered a short time before. "What I'm  going  to  do  is

find out what that noise is all about."

But when he pressed  his  hand  against  the  portal's  trigger,  nothing

happened. He repeated the motion, then turned toward Lobot.  "Did  you  see  a

one-way sign?"

Tight-lipped, Lobot shook his head.

It was the same at the other end of the chamber.

"We're locked in," Lando announced.

"What does that mean?" Threepio fretted. "You can use your blaster, can't

you?"

"Not without knowing if there's atmosphere on the other side,  I  can't,"

said Lando.

"This is the limit," Threepio declared. "Master Lando, I insist that  you

bring your yacht here  immediately-"  Before  the  droid  could  complete  his

demand, before Lando could voice the rejection that was forming on his tongue,

the chamber was filled with a  near-deafening  wail  that  was  the  malignant

cousin of the sound they

had heard earlier. But the source was much  closer  this  time--no  more

than one or two bulkheads away.

"Hear the sizzle?" Lando shouted, drifting back from the portal.

"That's the sound a blaster bolt makes when it hits a body,  burning  the

fat and making the water boil--but a million times worse  than  I  ever  heard

before. Someone's slicing this ship to pieces."

By then, Lando had drawn close enough to the tumbling sled  for  Threepio

to release his grip on it and lunge clumsily toward Lando's nearest leg.

"What the--Threepio, what are you doing?"

Lando demanded, twisting around to see what had struck him.

Then a new sound made Lando forget about Threepio It was the  muted  roar

of an explosive decom-pression--a big rupture, and close by, close  enough  to

make the chamber walls around them ripple visibly in the  beams  from  Artoo's

floodlamps.

"Sweet cold starlight--" Lando breathed, slowly shaking his head.

"She's in trouble now. We're all in trouble."

"There is no reason to be fearful," Threepio said brightly. "We are  safe

now."

"Shut up, Threepio. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Please don't worry, Master Lando. No one needs to worry.  I  have  taken

care of everything," Threepio declared proudly.

"What?" Looking down, Lando saw Threepio drifting away into the  darkness

with Lady Luck's beckon call clutched tightly in the hand of his working  arm.

Lando grabbed at the pouch where the transmitter had been, as  though  unable.

to believe what the droid had done.

"Do you know what you've done?" Lando said, his tone low and menacing.

"Why, of course. I have signaled Lady Luck to come and rescue us."

"No," Lando said, barely restraining his fury.

"You've condemned us. There's something out there big enough and powerful

enough to take on the vagabond and survive. How long do you  think  Lady  Luck

will last after she shows up? You've called a  crewless  ship  into  a  combat

zone. She's got no way to defend herself. How did you expect her to  get  past

whatever's out there tearing pieces out of the hull?"

"Oh," said Threepio. "I see."

"Lando--" "Leave me alone, Lobot," Lando said, his tone  underlining  the

warning. "I'm going to take this pile of cheap cybernetic junk apart.

I'm going to burn his arms and legs into little pieces so that I'll  have

something to throw at  the  boarding  party.  Say,  how  would  you  like  his

backplate to use as a shield?"

"Lando, listen," Lobot insisted. "The firing has stopped."

Lando swung his head around. "So it has. But we're not  moving.  I  don't

think she's gonna move again." He looked back at Threepio.

"Neither are you."

"Artoo--Artoo, where are you? Master Lando has gone mad. You must protect

me. I don't deserve to die."

"Almost nobody does," Lando said, pulling out the cutting blaster.

"But we die anyway. Be philosophical."

"Lando, wait," said Lobot. "We know this ship.

We have the advantage over anyone coming aboard.

Whateve} brings them here can as easily take us back."

"Sure--as prisoners," said Lando. "I've  visited  enough  prisons,  thank

you. I don't intend to be captured."

"All right, then," Lobot said. "Let's think about how to fight  them  and

win. Let's use our advantage.

Forget Threepio. What he did is a distraction, and raging over  it  is  a

waste of time."

With a growl, Lando twisted  and  pointed  the  cutting  blaster  at  the

forward entry portal. Its beam lit the chamber briefly and harshly, leaving  a

meter-wide hole that did not close.

"She's really hurting," Lando said, shaking his head. "All  right--Lobot,

Artoo, let's go. We have to

move quickly." He pointed toward Threepio. "Golden Boy stays here."

"Lando---" Lobot began.

"He'll just slow us down."

"Lando--" "But if we leave him  here,  maybe  he'll  slow  them  down.  A

diversion. Who knows--maybe they won't even blow him  to  bits,"  said  Lando.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Chamber twenty-one." Lando jetted toward the hole he  had  blasted,  and

the others followed him through.

So did Threepio's plaintive voice. "You can't  abandon  me  here  in  the

dark--Artoo--please--" Artoo whimpered sympathetically, but he  did  not  turn

back.

Nearly five light-years Rimside from the pulsar 2GS-91E20,  the  powerful

external worklights on the under curve of Lady Luck's bow stabbed out into the

ebony void toward the target Colonel Pakkpekatt was tracking.

"It's too small by half,"  said  Colonel  Hammax,  looking  up  from  the

displays and out through the viewports, straining to pick  out  what  the  NRI

deep-contact list called Anomaly 2249.

"Or it is now only half what it was. We will continue," said  Pakkpekatt,

bobbing his head.

Hammax glanced back down. "Target is now sixty-one thousand  meters  dead

ahead."

"Tell me, Colonel--how is it that a personal yacht has  a  sensor  system

that appears to have resolution comparable to a front-line intelligence picket

and better range--far superior to that on a cruiser like Glorious?"

"Shorter procurement cycle," Hammax said. "He buys what he needs, without

having to get the permission of anyone who sits in  an  office  far  from  the

consequences of saying no."

"And what is his need?"

Hammax shrugged. "Considering that this ship mounts only  a  single  low-

grade laser cannon, sensors like that might help keep you  out  of  a  lot  of

trouble."

"That does not answer my question," Pakkpekatt said. "Who is  this  Lando

Calrissian? This bridge belongs to  a  meticulous  professional,  someone  who

insists on the best tools and on knowing how to use them.

The storage holds belong to a mercenary or a brigand, a man who  respects

no rule but expediency. The personal quarters belong to a  sybarite,  a  self-

indulgent hedonist who surrounds himself with soft  pleasures.  Which  one  is

Calrissian?"

"I didn't know the baron before he came aboard Glorious," Hammax said.

"But by reputation, Colonel, he's all three."

"They could not abide each other," Pakkpekatt stated firmly. "Such a  man

would never be content in any of his pursuits. He would always be drawn  else-

where--the hedonist to purpose, the brigand to security, the perfectionist  to

impulsiveness, and on. You understand?"

"Humans are contradictory creatures," said Hammax.

"Forty thousand meters."

"That I know, Colonel--but can you tell me why they think it a strength?"

Pakkpekatt asked.

"I think that's the first of the  contradictions,"  Hammax  said  with  a

grin.

"You are no help to me," the Hortek said, annoyed.

"Go and wake the others. It is time."

Before Lady Luck had closed another five thousand meters on  the  unknown

object tagged by NRI trackers as Anomaly 2249, all four members  of  the  team

were at their stations.

On the bridge, Pakkpekatt was handling the piloting duties,  Taisden  was

monitoring the sensor matrix, and Hammax was controlling the laser  cannon  by

means of a lightweight targeting headset.  Aft  on  the  enclosed  observation

deck, Pleck tended the bank of

NRI-issue tracking and holo imagers he and Taisden had installed.

It was becoming a familiar drill, but Pakkpekatt did not  allow  them  to

become casual about it. The first five anomalies  they  had  investigated  had

included a burned-out Modern  starfreighter,  an  abandoned  bulk-cargo  barge

apparently holed by a collision, and a sizable section  of  an  ancient  deep-

space antenna--all harmless. But they had also found a fully operational  Kuat

Ranger running with a blacked-out telesponder, which fled at  their  approach,

and a live Ilthani space mine, which Hammax detonated  With  a  precise  burst

from the yacht's laser cannon.

At three thousand meters, it became clear that Anomaly 2249 was  not  the

Teljkon vagabond or any part of it. The work floods illuminated a  metal  mesh

cylinder some sixty meters long, capped by solid metal spheres fifteen  meters

across and studded with circular metal fittings.

It was slowly turning end over end, rotating around a slightly  eccentric

center of gravity.

"What in blazes is that?" Hammax asked. "Space-ship?

Probe? I don't recognize the configuration."

"Nor do I," said Pakkpekatt. "But I know what it is not."  He  dragged  a

datapad toward him and consulted the report provided to him by the keepers  of

NRI's network of stationary blackball-tracking buoys.

"Anomaly ten-thirty-three, near Carconth, is the next highest probability

candidate."

"Colonel?"

"Yes, Agent Pleck?"

"Could we give this one a few more minutes--get in to maybe five  hundred

meters and do a flyaround? I'd like to be able to resolve all the hull  detail

for the analysts, and there may be markings on the far side."

"I am not interested in performing any extra services  for  the  Analysis

Section," Pakkpekatt said curtly, turning Lady  Luck  away  from  the  mystery

object and onto a heading  for  Carconth.  "Let  them  clear  their  anomalies

themselves. Colonel Hammax, retract the cannon pod.  Agent  Pleck,  lock  down

your imagers. Hy perspace in one minute. This will be  a  nine-hour  jump,  so

we'll make the watch change now."

Apart from the ugly smell it left hanging in the air, Lando had no qualms

about burning a path through the chain of chambers for himself and the others.

If the ship survived what was almost certainly more serious damage  elsewhere,

closing the wounds Lando was making would be no problem--and if the  ship  was

already doomed, the wounds he was making were irrelevant.

But Lobot quickly became uncomfortable watching Lando do it.  After  only

four chambers and four black-edged burnholes, Lobot caught  Lando  and  stayed

his hand before he could make the fifth.

"Can't we at least try each portal before we destroy it?" he pleaded.

"Do you have some reason to think  the  vagabond  is  recovering?"  Lando

asked, pulling his arm free and pointing the blaster ahead.

Lobot cringed as the beam burned a hole into the next chamber.  "I  don't

know what's happening," he said. "I do know that we are leaving a  trail  that

will be no challenge to follow, a fact which  makes  our  flight  futile.  The

boarding parties will simply find us in the last chamber."

A new sound reached them as Lando stopped  and  looked  back.  It  was  a

series of wet-sounding percussive reports,  akin  to  the  sound  of  a  stone

falling into soft mud.

"Fluids blowing under pressure," Lando said, craning his neck. "I heard a

bad fuel slug pop once, sounded a lot like that." He  looked  back  at  Lobot.

"Yeah, you're right. We won't be hard to follow. But the  darkness  helps  us,

and we don't have to be conveniently waiting for them at the end of the line."

"Is that your whole plan?" Lobot demanded. "Do you  think  Threepio  will

have them coming after us  so  recklessly  that  we  can  surprise  an  entire

boarding party with hand tools?"

"My plan is to postpone the confrontation," Lando said.  "That's  all  I

have going right now. I'm only thinking about putting some distance between us

and whoever's coming in back there."

"Then what about making more than one hole?

Make them make a decision. Get them to split up."

"I'd gladly burn some more holes to make it harder for them to follow us,

but I don't know what I'd be cutting into," said Lando. "And I sure don't want

to increase the odds of burning through into vacuum."

"The topography of the ship does not make any  chamber  face  coterminous

with the hull," said Lobot.

"When you placed the sensor limpetre" "We don't  know  what  spaces  have

been breached by the attack," Lando said.  "I  could  even  hit  vacuum  going

straight ahead through the portals. I'm telling you--" Just then the  shoulder

joint of Lobot's contact suit bumped gently against the face of  the  chamber.

Moments later, Lando, too, drifted into a solid barrier.

"Ship's moving again," Lando said.

"Just barely moving."

"Changing direction, too."

"Under way, or under tow?"

"No telling from here," Lando said. "But  more  likely  under  way--there

hasn't been enough time to sweep the ship, and it'd be risky to take her under

tow until that was finished. Come on." Lando jetted toward the opening he  had

made, grabbed the edge, and pulled himself through.

What he saw as he pointed his lights and his blaster at the opposite  end

of the chamber startled him to speechlessness. The portal was already  irising

open.

As Lando began to retreat he swiped at his suit controls with his  gloved

hand, killing the lights. Behind him, Lobot took the cue and did the same. But

even after Artoo obeyed the instruction Lobot placed in his language register,

the chamber remained faintly lit by the glow from  a  narrow  ring  encircling

each of its open portals--all six of them.

"Lando--" "I see, I see," Lando said.

"Lando, those are the STAFF ONLY doors you  were  talking  about.  What's

going on?"

"I'm not  sure."  He  jetted  diagonally  to  the  nearest  of  the  four

previously unknown portals for chamber 229 and stole a peek through it.

"What can you see?"

"More of the same, only different," Lando said heading for the portal  to

chamber 228. "Check the one behind us."

Both the chamber ahead and the one they  had  just  left  were  also  now

showing multiple portals lit by glow-rings.

Some of the new portals opened  to  tiny  dead-end  chambers,  others  to

narrow cylindrical passageways, still others to the vast interspace Lando  had

discovered when planting the sensor limpet, "Any ideas?"

Lando asked Lobot.

"Possibly. Rule-based logic must be  strictly  prioritized,  following  a

conditional decision tree," said Lobot. "The first thing the ship did  was  to

seal all portals, giving the highest  priority  to  containing  the  damage--a

reasonable response to an attack, especially if there was a hull breach. Then,

after an inventory of the damage, the  next  highest  priority  was  given  to

restoring freedom of movement, perhaps to facilitate repairs."

"Or escape," said Lando. "Are you saying you think this means the  attack

is over?"

"It doesn't matter," said Lobot. "The ship has thrown all the doors open.

We may never have another chance like this." He pointed at  the  portal  below

them, leading to the interior. "The heart of the ship is that way."

"Maybe--and for all you know, it's at the other end  of  a  ten-kilometer

maze. And if she's on the verge of breaking up, what then?" Lando demanded.

"What else can we do?"

"I have to see how bad the damage is. Give me your left glove."

"Why?"

"Because you won't need it where you're going, and I do  need  it  where

I'm going--out to the hull and forward to find out how much damage there is."

"That's pointless. Either it can repair itself or it cannot," said Lobot.

"We have to look for the control nexus."

"You can do what you like. I need to know where things stand."

"The ship knows," Lobot insisted.

"When you figure out how to talk to her, let me know. Until  then,  we're

both wasting time. The glove, please."

Lobot hesitated, then unlocked the retaining ring and twisted  the  glove

sharply clockwise. He sent it spinning across the chamber  toward  Lando  with

more force than necessary.

"Thanks," Lando said, catching it cleanly with his bare hand. "I'll bring

it back."

"Is every gambler always sure that  the  next  draw's  a  winner?"  Lobot

asked. "If you make it back, you can look for me in here." He  jerked  a  bare

thumb in the direction of the portal behind him.

"I'll do that," Lando said, jetting toward a portal on the opposite  side

of the chamber. "If you want to help me out, you might try blazing  your  path

with the paint stick. The ship might be too busy with other things just now to

get around to wiping the marks."

"I will consider it," Lobot said. As soon as  Lando  disappeared  through

the opening with a wave, Lobot turned to Artoo-Detoo.  "Go  get  Threepio  and

bring him here."

Artoo released the equipment grid and dove toward  the  portal,  chirping

his relief and approval.

"Don't spare the propellant," Lobot called after him.

Alone, he removed his right glove and his helmet, clipping  both  to  the

equipment grid. Bending his neck forward, he reached up with  his  bare  hands

and lightly caressed the edges of the Hamarin interface band,  his  fingertips

playing briefly over the attachment release at the back of his head.

The  interface  had  never  come  off  in  thirty-four  years,  not   for

maintenance upgrades, nor for sleep, nor for vanity. It did more than  connect

Lobot with a universe of interlinked data resources and control interfaces.

The band had become a secondary link between the halves of his own brain,

supplementing the corpus callosum so as to allow him to process the tremendous

flood of data that pressed in on his awareness. His fingers knew it as part of

the familiar and ordinary contours of his head. His mind no longer  recognized

a boundary  between  biology  and  technology;  his  integrated  consciousness

bridged both.

Even so, this time, his fingers were exploring the interface as an object

apart--and he was wondering what it would be like not to find it there, either

with his hands or with his thoughts.

Outside chamber 228, as elsewhere,  the  inner  face  of  the  vagabond's

interspace--the open area between what Lando thought of as the ship proper and

the outer hull--was covered with hexagonal  cells  containing  sculpted  Qella

faces. It seemed to Lando that the entire ship must be tiled with them.

As he jetted past the unbroken and unending  bas-relief,  Lando  wondered

how many faces there were, and whether each was unique. When  he  contemplated

the numbers, it became almost unthinkable that it was a portrait gallery, that

each represented an  actual  individual-long  dead,  in  all  likelihood,  and

perhaps remembered nowhere else but here.

There must be hundreds of thousands--perhaps millions. I'll have  to  ask

Lobot or Artoo to calculate it, Lando thought. Who could have made  them  all?

Just gathering and organizing  them  into  this  collage  would  have  been  a

monumental task. How were they made?

Are they like the rest of this ship, almost alive?

The Qella watched with impassive eyes as he

passed, more sanguine about Lando's presence than he-was about theirs.

And why are they here? All  that  work,  and  who  would  see  them?  The

discovery of access portals to the interspace did not alter Lando's impression

of the interspace as a private place. They gaze outward as if the  outer  hull

weren't there, as if they're held  in  trance  by  something  they  see  lying

beyond, as if they all share the same thought.

Was it infinity? Eternity? Mortality?

Soon after entering the interspace, Lando discovered that the inner  hull

and outer hull were connected by slender stringers. Crisscrossing and  arrayed

in a continuous row, they stitched the two hulls together with an open pattern

of diamonds and triangles, like a series of X's.

The smallest openings were large enough for Lando to pass through easily.

Lando suspected that the stringers encircled the entire inner hull,  like  the

spokes of a velocipede wheel--a single structure serving as strut, spacer, and

shock mount.

As he continued forward, Lando encountered a second ring of stringers and

learned they had another function.

For this row was a solid  barrier,  with  membranes  closing  the  spaces

between the strands, sealing off the next section of interspace. The  obstacle

drove Lando back inside the ship at chamber 207.

Forward from that point, the portals leading to the interspace were still

illuminated by glow-rings but sealed tight. Although none of them  would  open

to Lando's touch, the center of those he tried  to  open  transformed  into  a

hexagon of the same transparent material they had seen in the  auditorium.  In

chamber after chamber, the viewports allowed him to  glimpse  the  reason  the

portals would not open--a gaping slash in  the  outer  hull  that  started  at

chamber 202 and continued forward nearly to the bow.

When Lando peered out into the interspace, he saw stars.

Even though the giant transparency was  opaque,  the  best  view  of  the

damage was from the auditorium.

Looking through a previously unknown portal, Lando  could  see  that  the

attacker had come close to  shearing  the  bow  off  the  vagabond.  The  burn

patterns were familiar and distinctive--the  damage  was  the  result  of  the

pulsed output produced by a capital ship's batteries.

This is what we heard, Lando thought, keying the suit's comlink.

"Lobot, are you there?"

"Listening."

"I'm in the auditorium," Lando  said.  "There's  a  big  hole  along  the

starboard side, and everything forward of here is a wreck. The last few pulses

punched all the way through her, opening up a smaller hole in  the  far  side.

The whole section is sealed--I can't get any  closer  to  the  damage  without

cutting my own door, which I don't need or want to do."

"Is there any indication that the breach is being repaired?"

"It's hard to tell," Lando said. "There's so much  hull  missing,  and  I

can't get enough light on the closest edges. I'll probably have to wait here a

while to know."

"Is there any sign anyone has come aboard?"

"No sign I can see. It's pretty clear they were going  after  the  weapon

nodes," Lando said. "Which means they must have seen her  fight  before,  most

likely at Prakith."

"Can you see anything of the vessel or vessels that attacked us?"

"Not a hint. From the angle of incidence, I'd say they were well  aft  of

us when this started. Lobot--the orrery is gone."

"No!" Lobot protested. "Gone or inactive?"

"Gone. Destroyed. The whole shadow-box chamber  would  have  been  filled

with bolt scatter after the initial burn-through. Everything that wasn't swept

out in the decompression's been vaporized."

"Perhaps it will regenerate."

"From what? There's nothing out there. No, it looks as if you and  I  are

going to be the last to have seen it."

"That is dismaying," said Lobot.

"No telling from where I am, but I'd guess there are

a few thousand fewer portraits in the gallery, too. Probably came  close

to losing this chamber."

"How long do you plan to stay and observe?"

Lando glanced at his chronometer. "I'll give  it  twenty  minutes.  If  I

can't see some activity by then, I'll start back. How are you doing?

Any sign of trouble there? Where are you now--still in two-twenty-eight?"

"I am fine," said Lobot. "But I do not know how to tell you where I am. I

would already be lost if not for Artoo's holomap."

"You've gone into the inner passages?"

"Maybe I should come back now," said Lando.

"I've seen most of what I need to. Did you blaze your route?"

"I would rather you did not," Lobot said. "The  silence  is  surprisingly

agreeable. I am hearing much more clearly now. That is why I did not blaze  my

route.

That is why I am now going to turn off my comlink."

Lando began an angry protest. "Lobot, what's going on--" "You said that I

should do what I like. That is what I have decided to do."

"Fine, but don't turn off your comlink. What if--" "I will signal you  if

I want you," Lobot said. "Until then, I will wish you good judgment,  and  you

can wish us good luck."

That was the end of the conversation. Lando was unable to raise Lobot  on

any comm channel, not even with an emergency signal.

He's sided with the droids against me, Lando thought, smashing  his  fist

against the face of the chamber in frustration. Which is just more proof  that

this ship is making all of us nuts. By the time we get out of here--if we ever

do--we're all going to need a mindwipe.

Turning back toward the portal,  Lando  pressed  the  facescreen  of  his

helmet against the transparency and peered into the darkness. The contours  of

the holes appeared to have changed slightly, as  though  the  holes  might  be

beginning to knit. How far it would  go,  though,  he  could  not  tell.  Left

untreated, the edges of a cavity wound will heal without regenerating what was

destroyed.

Switching off his suit lamps, Lando looked out through the blast hole  at

the star patterns beyond, seeking a familiar pattern, a recognizable  star  or

distinctive spiral nebula. The odds did not favor him. Even after  a  lifetime

roaming the spacelanes, there was far more unknown than known in a galaxy of a

hundred billion stars.

But if there was any way he could, he needed to touch the  familiar,  and

remind himself what it was he was fighting to live long enough to see again.

Lady Luck dropped back into realspace just shy  of  a  light-second  from

Anomaly 1033 and just more than a light-year from Carconth.

At those distances, the anomaly was invisible except to sensors, but  the

red supergiant star was still a spectacular sight. Five hundred times as large

and a hundred thousand times as bright as the sun Coruscant orbited,  Carconth

commanded the sky like few other stars. At the peak of  its  fluctuations,  it

was the  second  largest  and  seventh  brightest  of  the  known  stars.  The

Astrographic Survey Institute and its  predecessors  had  been  maintaining  a

supernova watch at Carconth for more than six hundred years.

The chances were that Anomaly 1033 was something left behind by an  alien

expedition to Carconth.

There had been many such, most unrecorded in Old or New Republic records.

But Colonel Pakkpekatt and his volunteers would have no chance  to  find  out,

and little opportunity to gawk at  the  galactic  spectacle  visible  off  the

yacht's port beam.

Within moments of their arrival, Lady Luck's  controls  went  dead  under

Pakkpekatt's hands. Accelerating as it turned, the yacht veered  sharply  some

sixty degrees to starboard and twenty degrees toward galactic north,  pointing

its bow in  the  general  direction  of  Kaa.  The  displays  churned  as  the

autonavigator ran through its calculus and sent the results to the  hyperspace

motivator.

"What's wrong, Colonel?" Bijo Hammax asked.

"Something has activated a slave circuit," said Pakkpekatt,  lifting  his

hands from the panel and sitting back in the pilot's flight couch.

"The yacht is no longer under my control."

"But you're not trying to get control back." The whistle of  the  yacht's

hyperdrive winding up to a jump was now clearly audible to both officers.

"That is correct."

At that moment, Pleck and Taisden joined them on the flight deck.

"Colonel--" Pleck began.

Hammax turned his couch toward Pakkpekatt.

"Colonel, I don't understand why you're letting us be hijacked."

"It is very difficult to defeat a  well-designed  slave  circuit  without

doing extensive damage to the vessel," said  Pakkpekatt.  "They  would  be  of

little use if they could be easily overridden."

"But that doesn't explain--" Taisden shouldered forward past Pleck.

"Colonel, I can have the hyperdrive offline in thirty seconds."

"I doubt very much if you can, Agent Taisden. I also doubt very  much  if

you have thirty seconds."

"Let me try."

"No," Pakkpekatt said.

"You think she's going to take us to them," Hammax concluded.

"The most likely person to have installed the slave circuits is also  the

most likely person to have activated them," said  Pakkpekatt.  "We  will  know

in"--he glanced down at the nav display--"six hours if that person was General

Calrissian."

Seconds later, Lady Luck vaulted forward through a tunnel of stars.

"Where are they?, Captain Gegak  screamed  at  the  bridge  crew  of  the

destroyer Tobay. "Where is the target?

Where is Gorath?"

"There is no sign of either ship, Captain," the sensor master ventured.

"I do not detect Gorath's tran-sponder."

"Idiot! Do you think I cannot read a tracking  screen?"  Gegak  bellowed,

balling both hands into fists.

His rage was indiscriminate and comprehensive,  leaving  no  one  on  the

bridge feeling safe enough to move or speak. "I am betrayed! One of you is  in

league with Captain Dokrett. Someone has conspired to steal our share  of  the

prize."

Gegak stalked behind the officers at their stations.

"Who is the thief? Who is the traitor? Is it you, Frega?"

He seized the hair tuft of the navigation master and used it  to  roughly

yank his head backward.

"Captain, I depend on the sensor master. Not five seconds passed from his

call before we left hyperspace-" Sensor Master Nillik rose  from  his  station

before Gegak reached it, and retreated before him with hands raised.  "I  have

not betrayed you, Captain. The instruments have betrayed me--" With  a  snarl,

Gegak lunged forward and closed the gap between them to little  more  than  an

arm's length.

"And who is responsible for the maintenance of your instruments?"

"I am, Lord Captain--but, I beg you, hear me--" "I hear only the  whining

of a traitor."

"This ship is old, twice the age of Gorath, and we have had  neither  the

prize money nor the blessings of Foga Brill with which to maintain it.

You cannot expect-" Gegak produced a neural whip from inside  a  fold  of

his bright tunic and brandished it in front of him.  "I  can  expect  that  my

officers will not repay the favor I do them with excuses."

"Captain--please!" Nillik now found himself backed against a bulkhead.

"To track a ship through

hyperspace is difficult even with the most sensitive installations.

I was given no time to cool and retune the soliton  antennawI  could  not

hear the target at all. I was  barely  able  to  hear  Gorath  above  our  own

compression wave."

"You are only making excuses for your inattentiveness."

"No, Captain--it was not my attentiveness that wavered. The signature was

so faint that I lost and reacquired it half a dozen  times  before  the  final

loss of signal.

That was the only reason for my delay. I do not know for certain if those

ships left hyperspace behind us or continue on somewhere ahead of us."

Gegak growled and stabbed the neural  whip  into  Nillik's  abdomen.  The

sensor master screamed and collapsed writhing to the floor.

"I should have been informed of your  difficulties,"  the  captain  said,

returning the whip to its pocket. His voice was suddenly tranquil.

"You have forgotten the first rule of  survival  in  an  autocracy--speak

truth to power. I hope the pain will help you learn from your mistake."

Then the captain turned his back on the gasping sensor master. "Point the

bow toward Prakith. Make flank speed. Call the second master  to  the  sensing

station.

We will search back to  the  point  where  Gorath  disappeared  from  our

instruments. And I will hear no more excuses for failure. I have expended  all

my tolerance on Nillik."

Chapter 5

Luke found it difficult not to step off the slidewalk  to  pursue  Akanah

and prolong the argument. The thinly veiled threat  she  had  offered  as  her

parting words, suggesting that she might continue on to J't'p'tan without him,

might withdraw her promise to lead him to his mother's people, was not without

power.

But  that  threat  was  also  nakedly  manipulative,  and  his  reflexive

resentment allowed him both to see the emotional blackmail and to resist it.

It was not that he gave no credence to the threat.

Akanah's conduct on Atzerri had made clear that She was perfectly capable

of striking out on her own when her interests  so  dictated.  But  he  had  no

compromise or concession to offer her. The old, familiar  demon  of  Duty  had

reentered his consciousness during the conversation with the  shipwright,  and

he could do nothing else  until  he  either  answered  to  his  conscience  or

silenced it.

There was no point in seeking a rapprochement with Akanah until Luke knew

his own mind--until he knew if he could allow himself to continue the journey.

And for that, he needed information.

After stopping at the port office to authorize Starway Services  to  move

Mud Slotb to their work bay,  Luke returned to the skiff.  Locking  the  entry

not only against strangers but against Akanah  as  well,  he  settled  at  the

flight console and began making queries.

A connection to Utharis  GridLink  gave  him  ac-cess-at  a  refreshingly

reasonable price--to both New Republic Prime and Coruscant Global archives, as

well as to the back numbers of several smaller newsgrids.

But the  most  complete  information  Luke  found  came  from  two  local

services, Eye-On-U and Taldaak Today! The Coruscant-based grids were  obsessed

with Imperial City politics and offered only a  cursory--and  frequently  mis-

leading-overview of the military aspects of the crisis.

"Access Fleet Watch," Luke said. The newspacket of the Alliance  Veterans

Victory Association, Fleet Watch was usually current enough and  comprehensive

enough that many senior staff members at Fleet HQ  kept  it  on  their  browse

lists as a supplement to official sources.

"Requested source is temporarily unavailable," the comm pad reported.

"Why?"

"Access  has  been  voluntarily  suspended  by  the   provider.   Message

available."

"Let's hear it."

The recording contained a familiar face and voice--that of Brigadier Bren

Derlin, NRDF, Ret. Der-lin and Luke had been thrown together  on  Hoth,  where

Derlin had been one of the field commanders at the Rebels'  base.  Derlin  was

more of a steadying influence than a leader, but he was a good soldier  and  a

quiet but likable man. Luke had not seen him again until war's end, and  since

then only once, at the ceremonies when more  than  a  hundred  Hoth  survivors

gathered to dedicate a memorial to the many more who had fallen there.

Now Derlin was commander of the AVVA, an organization with the status  of

a retirees' club but the ambition to be something more akin to  a  militia  or

the Fleet's ready reserve. The recording began with a spiral of unit insignias

surrounding the AVVA logo, and a smart salute from a uniformed Derlin.

"Thank you for your inquiry. Due to the current military  situation,  the

AVVA board of governors has placed the membership on a status two  alert.  For

security reasons, access to past and current volumes of Fleet Watch  has  been

restricted to members only. Please join us  in  supporting  the  soldiers  and

pilots who are even now risking their lives to guard our freedom."

"How long has that lockout been in effect?" Luke asked the comm pad.

"Nine days."

"I wonder what happened to bring that  on,"  Luke  said,  scratching  his

head. "What else do you have?

Show me a list."

After another half hour, Luke had satisfied himself that he had  all  the

information he was likely to garner from public news sources.

Unfortunately, it was not enough to settle his mind.

He was more reluctant to contact Coruscant directly than he had been  the

last time he needed information.

If a contact watch had been set up  for  his  authorization  codes,  even

querying the impersonal, automated sources might throw him into the middle  of

a conversation he didn't want to have--with Ackbar, or Behn-Kihl-Nahm, or Han,

or possibly even Leia herself.

For the question gnawing at Luke was not whether Leia  wanted  his  help,

but whether she needed it. If his presence might mean the  difference  between

triumph and defeat, then he would go to her--as she had come  to  him  in  his

darkest moment, aboard the clone Emperor's flagship.

Leia had pulled him back from the precipice of the dark power, and joined

her power to his to defeat Palpatine. If she had not been willing to sacrifice

herself and the child inside her in confronting the reborn Emperor, Luke would

never have  broken  the  grip  of  the  dark  side--and  the  history  of  the

intervening years would have been written with the pen of  tyranny.  He  could

not have done it alone.

But having seen not only the great strength in her heart  but  also  the

Jedi power she could summon, Luke was all the more loath to volunteer  himself

as a rescuer.

He knew that Leia had within her  extraordinary  resources  of  will  and

power--resources she had of late become reluctant to draw upon.  Luke  thought

that he was much of the  reason,  with  both  his  example  and  his  presence

creating disincentives. It was important that she find that strength again.

It seemed to Luke that  Leia  had  neglected,  even  abandoned,  her  own

training, and that her training of the children had  become  unbalanced,  with

the disciplines of warrior and weapon excised as  if  they  were  dispensable.

Luke had not spoken of it with her, but from what he had seen, it  was  almost

as though Leia hoped to delay, training the children as  Jedi  clerics  rather

than as Jedi Knights--as if the path before her, the  path  he  had  followed,

promised to take her somewhere she did not want to go.

It was her choice to make. Her destiny was no more clear to him  than  it

was to her. But whatever that destiny was, it seemed that she was fighting  it

rather than following it.

And it was certain she would learn nothing from an errant Knight's  well-

intentioned but unnecessary res-cue--if she would even  allow  it  to  happen.

Knowing her streak of aristocratic, self-reliant pride, Luke was  not  at  all

confident he could count on her to ask for help, even if  she  needed  it--not

after the fight they had had the night he left Coruscant.

No, those around her, the others who loved her, would urge Luke to return

to her side, no matter what the circumstances. And Leia herself  would  insist

that he stay away, no matter what the circumstances.  It  was  essential  that

Luke make his own assessment of the situation, that the decision be his alone.

And it was better that Luke stay out of sight  and  out  of  reach  until  the

decision was made.

Ackbar, especially, would never understand, Luke thought in passing.

He's as devoted to her as a good father to a beloved child--I wonder  how

clearly she sees it.

Still, he needed more information--information that could only come  from

Coruscant. He began by retrieving his registered hypercomm messages  from  the

master archive maintained by the Communications Office.

As a hedge against the vagaries of hyperspace transmission,  the  archive

kept a copy of every  registered-recipient  message  sent  out  over  the  New

Republic  system.  Undeliverable  messages  were  held  until  their  intended

recipients requested an update--something most people did routinely every time

they emerged from hyperspace.

But save for those few hours while outbound from Teyr, Luke had been  off

the system since leaving Yavin 4.

The update took nearly twenty minutes to  spill  into  Mud  Slotb's  comm

bank. As always, there were  hundreds  of  blind  messages--love  letters  and

propositions, requests for personal favors, questions from amateur and  would-

be Jedi, the occasional diatribe from an Imperialist stubbornly resisting  the

idea that his world had changed.

Luke almost never looked at any of  it.  The  novelty  value  of  blatant

proposals had long ago faded, and the one-two punch of praise and begging  had

worn thin even faster--it was as uncomfortable as being surrounded by a  crowd

in which everyone wanted to touch him.

The priority queue contained a copy of the  message  from  Streen,  which

Luke realized he had never viewed and released, and a second message from  him

time-stamped a day later. But there were no other messages from the twenty  or

so senders on his priority list--and that was something of a surprise. By  and

large, he had not announced his hermitage to his friends,  so  he  could  only

suppose that the word had spread from the few who did know of his self-imposed

isolation.

"Show me number one," said Luke.

Streen's  face  appeared.  "Master  Luke,"  he  said,   bowing  his  head

slightly. "I received your latest instructions for Artoo and Threepio.

But I regret to say that so far, I've been unable to deliver them.

Perhaps it slipped your mind that the droids are now with  Lando  Calris-

sian?

I'll try to locate them and forward your message to "Lando,"  Luke  said,

shaking his head in surprise.

"What would the droids be doing with him? Show me number two."

Streen's face shifted to the right, and his caftan changed from goldenrod

to rus. "Master Luke," he said, bowing his head once more.

"I've tried to contact Lando Calrissian by every means available  to  me,

without any success. I not only can't get a  message  through,  I  can't  find

anyone who'll admit to knowing where he or the droids are. It's possible  that

they're simply in hyperspace somewhere, but I'm guessing that there's more  to

this, and you probably know more about it than I do.

I'm afraid you'd better see to this on your own."

The combination of the two messages left Luke mystified, but he  did  not

devote much time or energy to penetrating the mystery.  Apparently  Lando  had

absconded with the tWo droids, probably in  furtherance  of  some  scheme--any

deeper understanding would have to wait. The droids' errand had  become  moot,

in any case.

If Luke went on with Akanah, he would have all the answers he  needed  in

just a few days.

Luke considered the long list of sources he had tapped the last time, but

none seemed promising enough to justify the time and trouble. What  he  really

wanted most was something he had tried for before and been  denied--the  Fleet

Office's daily tactical briefing memorandum.

But to get one, he  would  have  to  find  a  military-grade  secure-link

hypercomm. Or--"Access Fleet Almanac," he said.

"Ready."

"Reference current location."

"Referencing Taldaak Station, Utharis."

"Identify the nearest Fleet asset in this sector--training center, repair

yard, supply base, whatever."

'This access requires a current level blue authorization code."

Luke rattled off his code. "Now give me some good news."

The only New Republic Defense Fleet installation on Utharis  was  a  tiny

listening post. The listening post consisted of a three-man office in Taldaak,

a four-man maintenance crew flying a work skipboat based at the planet's  main

geosynchronous station, and a  pair  of  complex  antenna  arrays  located  in

hundred-year solar-polar orbits.

The highest-ranking officer on orbit was a senior specialistdirtside,  it

was a green lieutenant in the first month of a yearlong rotation.

The operational continuity of  the  post  came  largely  from  the  three

civilian employees, all Utharis natives.

It was one of those civilians who Luke encountered first when he  entered

the security foyer of the listening post's small silo-dome,  located  adjacent

to an abandoned Imperial fighter base, now home only to wild  jack-a-dale  and

black-winged touret. Luke had dressed to the Jedi stereotype, black  cape  and

dangling light-saber, and allowed the Li Storm  disguise  to  dissolve  as  he

passed through the concussion hatch.

"I am here to see the post commander," Luke said, resting his palm on the

scanner.

The young woman looked up at him  with  eyes  widened  by  surprise.  Her

tattooed forehead and cheeks marked her  as  a  follower  of  the  Duality,  a

popular and benign Tarrack cult founded on the  tWin  principles  of  joy  and

service. She looked down at the scanner when it beeped at her, then back up to

Luke's face wearing a look of awe on her own.

"You are him," she said.

Luke flashed a small smile as he lifted his hand from the scanner.

"But I am not here," he said.

"I understand."

"Who is the duty officer?"

"Tomathy--Senior Specialist Manes. Lieutenant  Ekand  comes  on  in  two

hours. But I can call him in early--" "There's no need," said Luke.

"I will speak with Manes. Clear me through, please."

"Yes, of course."

The secure room of the installation accounted for the rest of the  volume

of the silo--a floor full of instrument  stations,  a  domed  ceiling  fifteen

meters overhead, and two rings of catwalks spaced between to  give  access  to

the transceiver arrays.

"I'll be right down," called a voice from above.

That was followed by the brisk clatter  of  shoes  descending  metal-mesh

stairs.

While waiting, Luke sized up  the  installation.  The  first  thing  that

struck his eye was that the data system used three black-bodied memory  droids

for storage.

That meant that everything of value, staff  and  secure  data,  could  be

removed from the post in a matter of minutes in a six-place speeder or orbital

jumper.

"My goodness," Manes said, his steps slowing as he reached the main level

and saw Luke clearly. "My goodness. This is an honor." As an afterthought,  he

gathered himself for a salute. "Forgive me,  sir--I  don't  know  your  proper

rank--" "I no longer hold one," said  Luke,  leaning  over  one  of  the  data

stations.

"Oh--I see. Then I'll confess that I've never met a Jedi. Nothing unusual

there, I guess--I don't know anyone  who  has.  Is  there  a  proper  form  of

address--" "You can call me Luke."

"Of course. Thank you." Manes shook his head.

"Forgive me for staring. I'm on my second tour here, and in all that time

you're only the second person to come through that door who didn't work  here.

And to have it be you--" As though suddenly aware of his  flustered  babbling,

Manes cut himself off. "How can I help you, Luke?"

"I need a copy of the current tactical briefing memorandum."

"Of course. You can use the comm pad at my station"right over here--"  "I

need you to retrieve it for me," Luke said. "I'm here on a  sensitive  matter,

and I can't have my location revealed."

"Got it," said Manes. "No problem. We get the teebeam twice a day.

I'll bring the latest one up for you."

"I need a copy I can take with me." As he spoke, Luke  reached  out  with

the Force and gave the senior specialist a gentle nudge.

Manes stared blankly for just a moment. "What am I thinking," he said.

"You'll want a copy you can take with you. I'll get a datacard."

"Thank you."

Less than five minutes later, Li  Stonn  was  climbing  into  his  rented

speeder, the datacard securely tucked away. But he did not  immediately  drive

away. Sitting at the controls, Luke reached out into the  listening  post  and

found its two occupants excitedly discussing their surprise visitor.

The event had given both such inexplicable pleasure that he hated to take

those memories away from them, but he had no choice. He  had  already  blocked

the machine records of his visit from being written to the logs. Compressing a

nerve here, a blood vessel there, Luke brought  on  a  moment  of  unconscious

paralysis, and in that moment swept the memories from their minds.

Akanah had not yet returned to the skiff, nor had  the  'service  depot's

tow dolly come to claim it. Taking  advantage  of  the  privacy,  Luke  locked

himself inside while he reviewed the information on the datacard.

The situation in Koornacht Cluster had  escalated  to  a  high  level  of

precariousness. New Republic forces had  clashed  with  a  Yevethan  fleet  at

Doornik 319 while trying to enforce a blockade,  and  dozens  of  Fleet  recon

probes had been destroyed on deep penetration mis  sions. Five  battle  groups

of an expanded Fifth Fleet had actually moved into the  cluster,  and  smaller

units were actively searching for the former Imperial shipyards.  So  far  the

Yevetha had not responded to the intrusions, but  it  seemed  inevitable  that

they would.

But the real source of concern for Luke was the first  confirmation  that

J't'p'tan--referred 'to by its catalog name, FAR202019S--had been involved  in

the fighting.

The recon ship sent there had identified a Yevethan thrustship  in  orbit

before being fried; though the probe had completed only thirty-four percent of

its ground scan, the destruction of the H'kig commune, estimated  at  thirteen

thousand strong, was listed as "probable."

Balancing that bleak prospect, at least in  part,  was  the  report  from

Doornik 319 that the Yevethan warships were carrying hostages taken  from  the

destroyed colonies. If the Fallanassi had not died on J't'p'tan, they were now

prisoners of the Yevetha, aboard one of the more than six hundred ships of the

Duskhan League fleet--a fleet that could at any moment be hurled  against  the

New Republic forces challenging Nil Spaar's sovereignty.

Suddenly Luke's journey to Koornacht seemed joined to  Leia's  crisis  at

home, and in a way he had not anticipated. If he had a part to  play  in  what

was coming, the flow of the  Current  pointed  to  J't'p'tan,  not  Coruscant.

Perhaps everything that had happened was part of a larger tapestry he had  not

yet been able to glimpse.

But even without that understanding, he knew that he had to  go  on,  not

turn back.

With both his and Akanah's day bags slung over his  shoulder,  Luke  rode

the slidewalk back to Starway Services, where the lights and sounds  emanating

from the covered work bays told him that some of the mech crews were chasing a

completion bonus. A few minutes later, depot manager Notha Trome awoke with  a

start from the nap he was taking on his office floor.

"Li Stonn's ship should be given top priority," he said aloud, as  though

it were a revelation that had come to him in his sleep.  A  minute  later,  he

repeated that declaration in front of the yard boss.

"I want half," is all the yard boss  said,  taking  the  berth  slip  and

signaling for the tow dolly.

Outside the depot, Luke nodded to himself, satisfied.

Then he turned and looked out on the nightscape of Taldaak. It  was  time

to find Akanah. He did not fully understand what her part in these events was,

either, but his tumultuous life had taught him to  respect  what  looked  like

coincidence. For the first  time  since  leaving  Coruscant  with  Akanah,  he

believed that his destiny and hers were bound together, and that whatever  lay

ahead on J't'p'tan awaited both of them.

Akanah stood on the dockwalk looking up at a sleek curving  hull  bearing

the name Jump for Joy in a flowing royal blue script. It was the best starship

in port, at least for Akanah's purposes--a Twomi Skyfire, barely a  year  old.

Six places, the lines of a fighter, and the engines of a racer.

If she was going to leave Utharis--if she was going to leave Luke behind-

-the means to do so was before her.

She had already been aboard and assured herself  that  the  pilot  assist

system was the equal of the luxury appointments. Autolanding,  autonavigation,

crash and collision-avoidance overrides, voiceassisted  preflight--despite  an

advertising campaign heavy on images of danger and adventure, the Skyfire  had

been designed to make the occasional pilot comfortable at the controls.

More importantly, Jump for Joy should be able to outrun any other ship in

port, except perhaps the snub fighters belonging to the Utharis Sector Patrol.

That kind of speed could be useful in a war zone. Luke had already  totted  up

Mud Sloth's shortcomings in combat, and they  were  numerous  enough  to  give

Akanah pause.

She moved a step to her right and looked down the side of the sprint.

A pretty ship, she thought, and sighed. And it would be so easy  to  take

it.

But leaving now meant abandoning the greater part of  her  purpose  with

her goal in sight but not yet achieved. Luke was open to her now--beginning to

understand, beginning to change. More time. All I need now is  more  time.  If

she was there when the next test came, she might see the transformation.  Luke

was that close--aware of the flow of the Current,  almost  able  to  read  it,

nearly ready to join "It's a beauty, isn't it?" a man said, coming  up  beside

her. He was wiping his hands on a cloth, as though he had been doing some work

somewhere out of sight.

Akanah had felt his presence moments before he spoke, but allowed herself

to startle girlishly. "Oh! I didn't see you.  Yes,  it's  beautiful--it  looks

like it's ready to leap into the air at any moment."

Even in the darkness, Akanah could feel the man beaming with pride.

"Would you like to see the inside?"

Akanah laughed at him silently, realizing his intent.

"I don't think so," she said. "I need to be getting home."

He leaned  toward  her  conspiratorially.  "Have  you  ever  had  sex  in

hyperspace?"

This time she could not contain her bubbling laugh of bemusement.

"Yes," she said, and melted away into the night.

The skids of the fleet launch kissed the plating of the  flight  deck  so

gently that Plat Mallar could scarcely feel the vibration under him.

"Contact," he said, reaching overhead to the auxiliary control panel.

"Grapples on. Systems to standby.

Shutting down engines."

"All right!" said the check pilot. "That's  good  enough.  Come  on  out,

Mallar, and I'll give you your scores."

With a sigh of relief, Mallar released the double harness  with  a  sharp

poke of his fingers. Climbing out of the flight couch, he made his way to  the

egress hatch at the back of the simulator's cabin.

He had just flown an imaginary approach and landing  to  the  number  two

flight deck of the carrier Volant, his tenth exercise of that session and  his

eighteenth of the day. His flight suit was  dripping  with  perspiration,  his

shoulders aching, his feet half numb from being confined in flight boots  that

weren't yet broken in.

The launch was the larger of the two boats used for intrafleet travel and

had proven the harder for Plat to master. A fleet gig was similar in  size  to

an X-wing or TIE interceptor, and he had had little trouble getting one in and

out of the enclosed space of a combat flight deck.

But a fleet launch was two and a half  times  longer  and  a  full  meter

taller than a gig, and Plat had hit two simulated E-wings and the flight  deck

roof three times before he made the adjustment.

"Like going through adolescence all  over  again,"  he  had  muttered  to

himself after making the cockpit shake violently for the fourth time.

But the last exercise had felt good to him--good enough to allow  him  to

enjoy his break. He paused at the top of the simulator's ladder to remove  his

helmet, then swung his leg over and slid down the handrails on his heels.  The

check pilot, Lieutenant Gulley, met him at the bottom.

"Well?"

"You have a nice touch when you're not putting holes in  the  bulkheads,"

Gulley said. "I'm going to qualify you for the gig now. Come back offshift and

spend a few more hours working the launch, maybe hitchhike with me or  One-Eye

on a few runs, and I should be able to qualify you for the launch soon enough.

" He handed Plat his updated identifier disc.

"We're done?"

"You're going on duty," he said. "Get yourself  down  to  Blue  Deck  and

report to the flight controller.

Your first passenger should be there by the time you check in."

A grin spread across Plat's face. "Yes, sir," he said, saluting.

"Thank you, sir."

Plat jogged through the corridors, helmet  tucked  under  his  left  arm,

until he rounded a corner and brushed against a round-bellied major.

"Is there a combat alert, pilot?"

Coming to a sudden stumbling stop, Plat whirled and saluted. "No, sir."

The dressing-down that followed cost him two minutes but did  nothing  to

dampen his spirits. He showed his ID at the controller's window and  collected

the enabler key for fleet gig 021, then ran out  across  the  flight  deck  to

where it  was  berthed.  For  a  long  moment,  he  stood  and  stared  at  it

unbelievingly.

"Is there a problem?"

Plat whirled, recognizing the voice. "Colonel Gavin. No problem, sir!"

"Then let's get going," Gavin said, moving past  Plat  and  twisting  the

hatch release. "I'm your passen-ger-and  I've  got  an  appointment  on  board

Polaron."

With all possible care, Plat ran through the pre-flight checks and  eased

G-021 forward to the launch area, then out into space.  Picking  up  Polaroh's

locator signal, he brought  the  gig  around  to  the  intercept  heading  and

accelerated smoothly to the prescribed velocity.

"This what you wanted, son?" Gavin asked, leaning forward in his couch.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for the chance."

"No gunsights on a fleet gig. Nothing to fire the  blood  and  feed  that

hunger for revenge."

"I know that, sir," said Plat. "But my being here puts a more experienced

pilot in a cockpit that does have gunsights and the firing buttons to, go with

them.

When the time comes, what he does, he'll be doing for me--if you look  at

it a certain way."

Gavin nodded. "That's right. That's just the  way  to  look  at  it."  He

settled back against the acceleration cushions, checked  the  readout  on  his

command comlink, then glanced out  the  side  viewport  at  Intrepid,  rapidly

falling away behind them.

"Oh, and there's one other thing worth remembering," the colonel said.

"You'll get a lot of cockpit time in this duty--more hours  in  a  single

duty shift than most pilots log in a week. Before you know it, you just  might

find yourself turning into one of those more experienced pilots."  Plat  heard

Gavin's grin as he added, "But save the hammer-eights  and  counterbreaks  for

the simulator.

I don't want to hear that my  gig  pilots  have  been  practicing  combat

maneuvers on intership runs."

Plat Mallar smiled. "I'll remember, Colonel."

Han did not know whether it was a matter of contempt or carelessness, but

he was neither blindfolded nor rendered unconscious for the transfer from  the

dirt-side prison to the brig of Pride of Yevetha.

All his captors did was bind his wrists to a bar behind his hips and give

him an escort composed of two towering Yevethan nitakka. Then  he  was  walked

through a maze of corridors and chambers to a driveway where a  three-wheeled,

box-bodied transporter awaited.

From the open viewports of the transporter, he saw every  detail  of  his

surroundings and tried to memorize everything he saw--the route that led  from

the complex where he had been held to the port, the markings on  the  face  of

the gate that closed behind  them,  the  design  and  function  of  the  other

vehicles sharing the road, the architecture and arrangement of  the  buildings

they passed.

He also studied the faces and physiques of not only the guards,  but  the

gate proctor, the transporter driver; and any Yevethan  pedestrians  he  could

catch a good long look at. With the help of those examples, he made a start at

learning to distinguish one Yevetha from another.

At the same time, Han's busy  mind  assessed  the  effectiveness  of  his

restraints. The similarity to the bench in the audience room prompted  Han  to

wonder if the method had been designed for Yevethan physiol-ogy-it  seemed  as

though the bar would either prevent

the murderous dew claw from emerging or render it useless if extended.

But the effectiveness of the bar depended on the priSoner being unable to

either pass the bar under his feet or to simply slide a wrist out to one  end.

Yevethan physiology might not allow for either of those motions, b ut Han  was

confident that human physiology--even his  less-than-ideally-limber  variant--

would. He did not immediately test his  theory,  but  he  was  buoyed  by  the

thought that he could free his hands at any time and--as a bonus--have the bar

to use as a weapon.

That happy thought lasted only until they reached  the  spaceport,  where

the transport was met by more guards and one  of  the  Yevetha  who  had  been

present for Barth's execution. The moment the Yevethan official first saw  Han

clearly, he barked angry words and cuffed one of the guards sharply across the

face. Almost immediately, another guard moved behind Han and wrapped  a  thick

strap around his upper arms, just above the elbows.  With  it  in  place,  the

escape Han had planned was quite impossible.

"An understandable but quite dangerous oversight," the  Yevetha  said  to

Han in Basic. His diction was  excellent,  his  delivery  almost  irritatingly

smooth. "The guard detail at the palace is not accustomed  to  handling  human

prisoners."

That same Yevetha led the way across the rough pavement of the  spaceport

apron to where a delta-type Imperial shuttle waited  on  its  skids.  Han  was

surprised to see that the two Yevetha already seated in the  cockpit  wore  no

more clothing than any of the others--no pressure suit, not even a helmet.  He

filed that fact away as he climbed into the spartan cabin.

One guard and the  Yevethan  official  climbed  in  after  him,  and  Han

realized that he was to have a traveling companion. The guard sat  beside  him

on the long portside bench, the official opposite him.

"I am Tal Fraan, proctor cogent to the viceroy."

"I'm sure your mother's very proud of  you,"  Han  said.  The  hatch  was

secured from outside, and the idling whine of the engines  increased  sharply.

He noted that the engines sounded  tight  and  smooth--much  better  than  the

typical Imperial offerings.

Tal Fraan loosed an open-mouth hiss that Han thought might be a laugh.

"Tell me, did you enjoy thinking that you might escape?"

Han said nothing and directed his gaze out the viewport  as  the  shuttle

began to climb.

"Do you know that we have no prisons?" Tal Fraan said. "In a city of more

than one million, on a planet of nearly seven hundred million, there is not  a

single Yevethan jail, penitentiary, or stockade.  We  have  no  need  of  such

things. There is no equivalent in our language for convict or incarcerate."

"I guess that'd be one of the  often  overlooked  advantages  of  summary

execution," said Han; "Keeps the taxes down."

"So true," said Tal Fraan, with no apparent  awareness  of  Han's  ironic

tone. "That you choose to sustain those who harm you was a great puzzlement to

me for some time."

"It can't have been a complete surprise," said Han.

"The place you kept us looked a lot like a prison to me."

"Those you call Imperials made up for this  lack  of  experience  on  our

part," Tal Fraan said. "The cell in which you were kept in  the  grand  palace

was built by the overlords during the occupation. And the  Imperial  starships

are well equipped in this regard, as you will see."

"If this is just a goodwill tour, you could save yourself  the  trouble,"

Han said. "I've already visited an Imperial detention center."

"Yes, I know," said Tal Fraan. "I have studied your  past.  I  learned  a

great deal from it. It is how we know how important you are  to  your  people.

There are so many stories about you, Han  Solo--more  than  are  told  of  any

Yevetha, even the viceroy. I wonder why you permit it."

He paused a moment, then continued.  "This  is  also  how  we  knew  that

Lieutenant Barth was not

important. There were no stories of his life and heroics.

I was not surprised when you let him die."

Han's hot flash of anger overwhelmed any good intentions he had not to be

drawn into Tal Fraan's game. "You son of a bitch--you think you understand us,

but you haven't the first clue," he snapped. "What you did to Barth makes  him

important to us--just like what you  did  to  those  colonists  all  over  the

Cluster made them important to us. We're not like you--we remember  our  dead.

That's why our fleet isn't going away."

Other than a twitch of his forebrow ridges, Tal Fraan showed  no  outward

reaction whatever to Han's outburst. "I have an interesting question for  you,

Han Solo--do you think that your mate would be willing to  fire  through  your

body to kill my master?"

"Is that what this is about? Is that why I'm being moved?" Han looked out

at the swiftly darkening sky enveloping the shuttle,  at  the  rich  array  of

bright stars  piercing  the  curtain.  "When  you  can  answer  that  question

yourself, Proctor, then you really will understand us as well as you think you

do."

"So coy," said Tal Fraan. "Is the answer that distasteful to you?"

"All I'm gonna say is this," Han said, relaxing against the back  of  the

bench and turning a quietly murderous gaze on the  Yevetha.  "When  your  last

morning arrives--and it'll come sooner than you think--I hope the  fates  give

you a moment to realize  that  everything  that's  happened,  you  brought  on

yourself."

"You are kind to show such concern for me," Tal Fraan said,  nodding  and

smiling generously. "We will have to talk again. You have been most helpful."

As Han gritted his teeth Tal Fraan peered past him out  the  viewport  at

the massive Star Destroyer Pride of Yevetha, which had just come into view.

"Such a splendid vessel. The sight of it still  inspires  my  blood,"  he

said with open pride. "You should count yourself honored that the viceroy  has

allowed you to make it your new home."

From the moment Han knew where  he  was  bound,  he  had  been  picturing

himself alone in one of the  tiny  isolation  cells  of  a  standard  Imperial

detention block. A Super-class Star Destroyer had six  such  detention  blocks

for crew discipline alone, and ten additional high-security blocks  for  enemy

prisoners.

But to Han's surprise, his four-guard escort led him to a different  part

of the ship, and a different sort of prison. Three of the ship's  cargo  areas

had been designed for  the  secure  transport  of  large  numbers  of  slaves,

refugees, or prisoners of war. Located adjacent to the large landing bays used

by the SSD's bulk shuttles, each  of  the  holding  areas  was  equipped  with

minimal facilities--water taps, ventilation, and  food  dispensers--considered

adequate for up to a thousand people.

The holding area to which  Han  was  taken,  number  two,  was  not  even

remotely that crowded. At a glance, Han guessed that there were no more than a

hundred prisoners huddled along the walls or sprawled on the hard deck.

Most took little or no notice of his arrival, but a small group,  perhaps

twenty strong, formed a large, ragged circle around him as  he  made  his  way

toward a water tap. More than half a dozen species  were  represented  in  the

circle, and they looked upon him with a mixture  of  dull-eyed  curiosity  and

suspicion.

"What world are you from?" asked a young woman in a  brown  fire-scorched

caftan. She  was  either  human  or  Andalese--her  tousled  hair  might  have

concealed the latter's horn points, and the caftan  was  shapeless  enough  to

hide the symbiosis grafts.

"Coruscant," said Han. "And you?"

"I was at the Morath pholikite mine number four, on Elcorth."

The others began to crowd closer around him as  they  recited  their  own

answers.

"Taratan, of the Kubaz, nested at Morning Bell--" "I am Brakka  Bar.akas,

dothmir of New Brigia--"

"Bek nar walae Ithak e Gotoma--" "Fogg Alait, assigned to Polneye--"  "I

am called Noloth by my brothers of the L'at H'kig--" "My home was Kojash. I am

known as Jara ba Nylra--" "My stars," said Han, turning slowly,  hands  raised

as though to fend them off. "Are there survivors  here  from  all  the  colony

worlds?"

"All our homes were attacked by the silver spheres," said the  woman  who

had spoken first. "Are we the only survivors?"

"How much longer will we be here?" asked Noloth.

"Do you think we can go home soon?" asked a slender  alien  who  had  not

spoken before.

Han  swept  his  gaze  across  their  faces.  "I  don't  know,"  he  said

uncomfortably. "I'm just like you are--I don't know what's going on out there.

"

The days immediately following  the  presentation  to  the  Senate  of  a

petition of recall against President Leia Organa Solo were full of the kind of

moments that made Hiram Drayson despair of leaving the government in the hands

of civilians.

Moving quickly in the wake of  the  Ruling  Council's  vote,  both  Fleet

Intelligence and New Republic Intelligence had intervened to prevent the  news

of Han's capture by  the  Yevetha  from  being  released  with  the  petition.

Stripped of its supporting argument by the blue and silver SECURE  seals,  the

petition ought--by all rights--to have foundered on arrival.

But a Ruling Council had never passed such a judgment  against  a  Senate

President before, and novelty alone gave the petition an  undeserved  gravity.

And the threat of prosecution for security violations could do nothing to rein

in the rumors and leaks that blossomed to fill the information vacuum.

Within twelve hours, Drayson's  information  filters  had  picked  up  an

uncensored copy of Beruss's original complaint, an  anonymous  interview  with

one of Tampion's escort pilots, and even a holo that purported  to  show  Jedi

"commandos" in training for an imminent rescue mission. When  Coruscant  Prime

led its morning packet with a feature titled "Where Is Han Solo?" and the  New

Republic Newsgrid answered with "Princess Leia's Personal War,"  Drayson  knew

that the battle had been lost.

"You may as well release everything you  have  concerning  Han,"  Drayson

told Ackbar. "At this point, the official  silence,  the  denials,  look  like

admissions that there is something to hide. Leia should be getting a flood  of

sympathy over Han's situation--but with Borsk Fey'lya  leaking  everything  he

can get his hands on, and Doman Beruss appointing himself the champion of  the

public's right to 'full disclosure,' her stock is dropping almost by the hour.

"

"I have urged her to that course," said Ackbar.

"But she is protecting the children--they still  do  not  know  what  has

happened to their father."

"That can't last much longer."

"She is determined not to burden  them  with  the  truth,"  said  Ackbar,

shaking his head. "Leia has told them that Han is on a secret mission for her,

that they are not to believe anything they hear anywhere else.

And Winter is keeping them away  from  anyone  and  anything  that  might

contradict Leia's version."

"Children aren't stupid," said Drayson. "Particularly not those children.

I expect that they already know quite a bit more than she realizes."

"It would not surprise me," said Ackbar.  "But  until  events  force  her

hand, Leia is determined to protect the children from the knowledge that their

father is a prisoner of war. And I have personally promised  to  support  that

fiction."

Disgruntled, Drayson retired to his private office with the  ever-growing

catalog of message packets, grid dispatches, comlink captures, and  electronic

graffiti assembled for him by the Maxwell filters that were riding

the planet's busy communication channels. Later that afternoon,  reports

began  to  come  in  from  his  contacts  in  the  palace  complex  and  Fleet

headquarters.

By that time, Drayson had already made a decision about what  was  needed

to change the tone and tenor of the public and political consciousness.

His hastily jotted notes to himself read: Must erase  the  perception  of

selfish act--replace with the reality of selfless one. This crisis  must  have

another face.

Drayson spent the next hour browsing through the personnel records of the

casualties of the engagement at Doornik  319.  He  marked  four  of  them  for

further consideration husband-and-wife pilots from the battle cruiser Liberty,

a female crew chief who died fighting the hangar fire aboard Venture, and  the

Hassarian captain of the ill-fated Trenchant.

Each story had a powerful emotional  hook;  But  their  effectiveness  in

deflecting the focus from Leia and Han would be undercut  by  the  fact  that,

coming so late in the crisis, all four deaths could be  as  easily  blamed  on

Leia's actions as on Nil Spaar's. The tragedy was obvious;  that  the  Yevetha

were to blame was less so.

So Drayson set the casualty records aside and retrieved his data  folders

concerning the eight destroyed colonies in Koornacht  Cluster,  including  the

stasis probes' documentation of the devastation.

Assessing the cold realities of emotional kinship, Drayson knew that  the

most ready identification would be  with  the  humanoid  Brigians,  the  hard-

working Morath miners  on  Elcorth,  and  the  largely  human  inhabitants  of

Polneye.

Which, in the end, brought Drayson to the same place his first  instincts

had said he must  go,  hours  be-fore--to  the  young  Grannan  survivor  from

Polneye, Plat Mailar. It would have been better if Mallar were human,  and  of

Polneye's historical associations were  with  the  Alliance  rather  than  the

Empire, but those problems could be dealt with if addressed head on.

The only question remaining was which provider was to receive the benefit

of Drayson's gift-wrapped leadline scoop. Over the years,  he  had  cultivated

mutu  ally  helpful  relationships  with  understanding  producers   in   news

organizations of all sizes, but rarely had the material been this hot  or  the

stakes this high. He needed someone who not only would set the proper tone for

the copycats hustling to catch up, but who also had  the  courage  to  risk  a

shutdown order, even the seizure of the studio  facilities,  to  break  a  big

story first, In the end, it came down to an old friend or  a  young  idealist,

and Drayson settled on the latter.

"Open message to The Life Monitor, blind and secure," he said.

"Personal to Cindel Towani. This is your  shopping  service.  I  want  to

alert you to a special offer, limited availability, your signature required...

. " The initial release of the sixty-second issue of The Life Monitor  reached

fewer than a hundred thousand subscribers, and Belezaboth Ourn,  extraordinary

counsel of the Paqwepori, was not among them.

But the lead producer of Capitol Scavenger was,  and  within  an  hour  a

licensed crosslink to Towani's feature had appeared in the rolling  CS  queue.

That brought Plat Mallar's story to the attention of  nearly  half  a  million

more viewers, including the senior night producer for Sunrise and  the  Senate

correspondent for Roll Call.

From there, it was  picked  up  by  Coruscant  Global  and  New  Republic

Primeraboth of which gave as small a nod to Cindel Towani as possible, but ran

the audio-video portion  of  her  story  uncut.  By  dawn,  Mallar's  achingly

poignant plea on behalf of the inhabitants of Polneye had  reached  more  than

forty million ears on Coruscant and ridden  the  hypercomm  trails  to  eighty

thousand other New Republic worlds.

By midday, it had even reached a destitute and dispirited Ourn.

Both the flight crew of the wrecked Mother's Valkyrie  and  his  consular

staff had long since abandoned him. One by one,  they  had  faced  up  to  the

failure and futility of their mission and disappeared, buying cheap

passage to Paqwepori on their families' credit or with the proceeds from

selling  mission  supplies  and  equipment  in  the  no-name   market   halls.

Cathacatin, the licensed breeder-keeper, had been the last to go, slaughtering

the few remaining toko birds before he departed rather than  see  them  suffer

from neglect.

Ourn's continued  presence  in  the  diplomatic  hostel  was  strictly  a

courtesy, for he no longer had either the status or the resources to command a

room, much less an entire cottage.  First,  Mother's  Valkyrie  was  sold  for

salvage in a lien auction. Then half  of  the  mission's  line-of-account  was

attached by the port authorities as partial payment  of  the  balance  of  the

herthing fees. In the final humiliation, Ourn's  appointment  was  revoked  by

Ilar Paqwe himself, and the diplomatic account closed.

"You would save your parents from further embarrassment by not  returning

to the Paqwe dominion," Ourn was advised in the termination notice.

Since that time, Ourn had clung ever more tightly to the  frail  reed  of

hope represented by the Yevethan blind-relay transmitter and the promise  from

Nil Spaar.

If only the viceroy could appease his peers on  N'zoth  and  deliver  the

thrustship as he had agreed he would--not only could Ourn repair  his  savaged

reputation at home, but he would have a  hundred  generals  and  five  hundred

senators begging him for a chance to study the Yevethan vessel Ourn  clung  to

that hope against all reason, mining the grids and the gossip in the  hostel's

courtyards for even  the  smallest  tidbits  of  information,  making  himself

believe that his next dispatch would be the one by which  he  would  earn  the

Yevetha's confidence, and his reward.

But when he saw the stories on Plat Mallar's narrow escape  from  Polneye

and Captain Llotta's death at Morning  Bell,  that  hope  finally  evaporated.

There was no escaping the truth--the pretty silver spheres  were  also  deadly

warships, and Nil Spaar would never  receive  permission  to  deliver  one  to

Belezaboth Ourn.

"If only the peace had held a little longer," he said resignedly  in  the

privacy of his room. "If only the Prin cess had not been so stubborn.

She has cost me everything."

He picked up the hypercomm black box and turned it over in his hands.

"So perhaps I shall ask her for my payment. Perhaps  this  toy  is  worth

more than the words that have passed through it."

There were a hundred things Leia  should  have  been  doing,  a  thousand

better uses for her energy than lining a  garden  path  with  brilliant  white

sasalea blossoms, one fragrant ball--the size of Anakin's fist--to a planting.

It was work a droid could do, work the residence's  groundskeeper  would  have

gladly seen to in the mornng.

But none of those other things she might have been doing that evening had

half the appeal of burying her hands in the cool,  moist  soil,  crumbling  it

between her fingers, cradling each sasalea plant gently into its new home.  On

a day where nothing she had  tackled  had  yielded  to  her  efforts,  it  was

intensely gratifying to take on a task  where  every  element  was  under  her

control--spade and earth, stalk and blossom. Her vision, her time, her  labor,

her triumph, her satisfaction.

It was a small triumph, a minor transformation of a tiny  landscape,  but

it was balm for her whole beingm reassurance that she was, at the end  of  the

day, master of her own world. If you don't believe that what you  do  matters,

it's awfully hard to get up in the morning.

"Princess--" Leia looked up from her work in surprise at the voice.

"Tarrick. What are you doing here?"

"There's someone here--back at the gate, actually-who I thought you might

want to see. He came to the  office  early  this  afternoon  sounding  like  a

typical hem-tugger, and we sent him out on the usual  off-list  runaround.  He

came back," said Tarrick. "But the second time, he got to the point.  We  sent

him down to see the moles. When Collomus and his people were done  talking  to

him, we all agreed you should hear what he has to say."

Leia stood, brushing the dirt from her hands.

"Well--you have me curious. Bring him in."

The visitor was a Paqwe--a short yellow-green alien with a wide  carriage

and a sway-backed, waddling gait. He was swathed  in  tattered  reception-hall

finery and smelled strongly of bitter saks.

"Princess Leia! It is a great honor. I am Belezaboth Ourn,  extraordinary

counsel of the Paqwepori." Behind him, Tarrick  shook  his  head  in  a  slow,

exaggerated fashion.

"I am grateful to you for taking the time to see me."

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "What do you want?"

"What I want--no, what I can offer. I think that we can help each  other,

Princess," he said, taking another step forward.  "You  are  having  difficult

times with a certain party. It's  said  there'll  be  war.  I  may  have  some

information that could be of use to you."

"It's a little late for word games. Be specific--what information?"

"Not information, exactly," Ourn said. "More a thing. How you can use it,

what you can learn from it--that's for you to discover. But I can  put  it  in

your hands and tell you everything I know."

"And this thing is--" Ourn produced a small black box  from  a  concealed

pocket. "Is a way to send messages to N'zoth--to Nil Spaar.

Completely undetectable, untraceable. By what magic,  my  engineer  could

not divine. But you have many scientists--they will find out for you."

It was Leia's turn to take a step forward. "Where did you get this?"

"From the viceroy. His ship destroyed mine, you remember--at  East  Port,

the day he left. He promised me restitution, but it was  an  empty  promise--"

"He gave this box to you before he left?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"And you've been in touch with him since he left?"

"Only to remind  him  of  his  promise--"  Ourn  stopped,  realizing  the

contradictions. "We had an understanding-he was unfaithful. I  will  help  you

now."

"How did you help him? By spying for him?"

Ourn swallowed nervously and tried to smile.

"Now, Princess--how many secrets does someone like me know? Nothing.

Less than nothing. I pretended. I deceived him--"  With  a  single  quick

stride, Leia closed the distance between them. "You took my husband away  from

me," she said, and dropped into a Jedi fighting stance.

"Princess, surely--" It took only one blow to silence him,  one  more  to

bring him to his knees, and one  last  to  send  him  sprawling,  unconscious.

Releasing her breath in a satisfied sigh, Leia stood straight and looked to  a

startled Tar-rick.

"Thank you for that," Leia said lightly, flexing her hands  in  front  of

her. "I just might be able to sleep a little tonight."

Chapter 6

The spotlight of the next morning's staff strategy session was on the two

intelligence  chiefs,  each   of   whom   had   been   rudely   surprised--and

professionally embarrassed---by the previous day's events.

For Admiral Graf, head of Fleet Intelligence, the problem was  explaining

how the Mallar recording and the holo stills of the destruction at Polneye had

escaped Fleet custody. Graf also  had  to  answer  for  a  second,  apparently

separate, breach of security involving classified  data  from  the  battle  at

Doornik 319.

"There are three authorized copies of the Mallar recording," Graf said.

"One here, one in the Fleet system, and one in the hands  of  the  Threat

Assessment Office--plus a locked copy in the Fleet archives. We also found two

unauthorized copies in private data spaces within the  Fleet  system  and  are

looking for others."

"Does that mean you have two suspects?" Leia asked.

"No," said Graf. "The thinking right now is that those look like innocent

violations. But we're continuing to backtrace the  access  logs  for  all  six

copies. We've already interviewed everyone who had access to the Palace copy--

" "No, you haven't," Leia interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't talked to me," she said.

"Well, of course, I presumed that any use you made of this  item--"  "How

do you know I didn't put a copy on my datapad and take it  home?  How  do  you

know I didn't make a copy and give it away?"

Graf frowned, flustered. "That seems a very um  likely  scenario--"  "Did

you talk to Mole? Tarrick? No one can work in  my  office  without  high-level

clearances."

"We did not," he admitted. "Your office was exempted from  the  interview

list."

"Then let's look outside my office, at the people  who  just  visit.  The

first administrator?" she asked challengingly. "How about Admiral Ackbar?"

"No."

Leia looked down the table to where Ackbar sat.

"Admiral?"

Ackbar placed both hands flat on the table. "It is true that I have taken

a special interest in Plat Mallar. I have made no secret of it,  except  where

it might allow Mallar to escape the taint of my favoritism. It is  also  true,

Admiral Graf, that I have in the past  urged  the  President  to  release  the

Mallar recording, and I am glad that it has happened, by whatever means."

"No one could question--" Graf began.

"Wait." The admiral craned his neck until he could meet Leia's gaze.

"To answer your unspoken question, yes, I have a copy of  the  recording,

in a secure partition at my home. But I give you my word that  neither  I  nor

that copy was the source of the leak. I do not know who was responsible."

"I accept your assurances, Admiral," said Leia, turning to Graf. "I don't

accept yours. No one is to be exempt from your inquiry."

A chastised Graf said quietly, "Understood, Princess."

For General Carlist Rieekan,  head  of  New  Republic  Intelligence,  the

problem was to assess the damage

Ourn had done and prevent a  recurrence.  The  first  meant  discovering

exactly what information he had provided to  the  Yevetha.  The  second  meant

explaining how Ourn had escaped official attention until he turned  the  black

box over and turned himself in.

"Not that it's of any great consequence, Princess, but it looks as though

you decked the wrong spy," said Rieekan.

"Why is that?"

"I had seventy people up all night looking  into  this,  and  there's  no

plausible link between Belezaboth  Ourn  and  the  interception  of  Tampion,"

Rieekan said. "He's a nobody,  with  no  connections--a  small-time  parasitic

little sneak all puffed up with air. He simply didn't have an  opportunity  to

acquire and deliver anything at the level of  sensitivity  of  General  Solo's

appointment or Tampion's flight plan."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Very. Ourn fell apart during the night, started  telling  the  truth  as

fast as he could blubber it out. He doesn't even  know  that  the  general  is

missing."

"Then there's another Yevethan spy--more highly placed."

"At least one," said Rieekan.

"The viceroy's afternoon callers," said Graf. "Senators Marook,  Peramis,

and Hodidiji."

"They are all getting a close look," said Rieekan.

"What about the black box?" asked Leia.

"Interesting device," said Rieekan. "Not quite entirely black, but close.

We took it into the cold room and opened it in the dark,  under  vacuum.  Good

thing we did. The power supply is wired with an  oxidation  fuse,  set  to  go

critical if the box is opened. The yield would probably be about  equal  to  a

proton grenade. We took holos and closed it up again, very carefully.

"Then we put it on a dummy transceiver rig, connected the way Ourn showed

us. The dummy rig looks like a real transceiver to the device but has only one

ten-millionth of the output power needed to actually open a hypercomm channel-

-just enough for us to record the signal for analysis.

"I just got an update on that before I came in,"  Rieekan  said,  looking

down at his datapad. "Apparently the box uses  a  burst-compression  algorithm

that we haven't quite deciphered yet to hide the signal  in  the  noise.  Very

efficient." He looked up at Leia. "And distinctively Imperial, according to my

senior engineer.

Probably hatched right here on Coruscant, back in  the  days  of  Section

Nineteen and Warthan's wizards."

"Can you use what you've learned about this one to find the others?"

Leia asked.

"Possibly. We should be able to catch any new transmissions. We might get

lucky and find some old ones hiding in the archived traffic, now that we  know

what we're looking for," said Rieekan. "But I'd like to suggest another way we

might use what we've learned."

"I'm listening."

"We have the tools for a small campaign of disinformation," he said.

"We have a working black box and a desperately willing turncoat who'll do

most anything we ask. What if we just let him keep talking to the Yevetha?"

Leia nodded thoughtfully. "Do you have any ideas about what we might want

to have him say?"

"I have one," Nanaod Engh interjected, drawing attention to  his  end  of

the table for the first time. "We don't really know for certain if the Yevetha

have General Solo, or--forgive me--if the general is alive.

Nil Spaar has ignored every message we've sent him. He hasn't even  tried

to communicate with us since leaving Coruscant,  except  through  his  deeds--

Perhaps Ourn can get him to break his silence--" On his  return  to  Pride  of

Yevetha, Nil Spaar's first concern was to inspect his  new  breederies.  There

were three of them, each with forty-eight alcoves. Before the conversion, they

had been detention blocks, and they

still largely  retained  that  character--the  conversion  had  required

surprisingly little renovation.

Picking cells at random, Nil Spaar satisfied himself that each  was  well

suited for the hanging and nurturance of a birth-cask. The  walls  were  plain

and clean, the plumbing suitable for feeding lines, and the ventilation  fully

isolated from the systems for the rest of the ship.

There were even individual drains in each alcove for the  sacrifices  and

the rite of emergence.

The new breederies required a new crop of tenders, eighteen in all.

After inspecting the new facilities, Nil Spaar  had  the  tenders  called

together so that he could assess their fitness. Most  were  experienced  hands

who had known many successful nestings, but only a few had been neutered.

"Long before all these alcoves have been filled with  ripening  rnaranas,

you will begin to feel the power of the breeding magic," the  viceroy  warned.

"The  cry  of  the  ancient  imperatives  of  flesh  and  joy  will  become  a

distraction, then a compulsion. You must become immune to this call, lest  you

betray your solemn duty as custodians of the future."

Nil Spaar gave no thought to giving them the option of  withdrawing  from

his service. Service to the darama was an unequaled honor, and service  aboard

the grand flagship an unprecedented honor. It was unimaginable that any of the

tenders Would refuse those honors merely to preserve their own poor chance  of

parenthood. The breeding guildmaster of Giat Nor had made the reco'mmendations

and arranged for the affected households to receive replacements--that was all

the consideration necessary.

After that, all that was left was to inspect  the  marasi  who  had  been

brought aboard to help Nil Spaar fill the  new  breederies.  Chosen  from  the

thousands who had offered themselves, the twenty young females waiting in what

had once been detention block IF were without  exception  appealingly  supple,

pleasingly eager, and understandably anxious.

Nil  Spaar  found  the  combination  energizing,  and  indulged  himself,

selecting one of the marasi for a mating on the spot.

By the time they were finished, the rnarasi in the adjoining  cells  were

writhing with need in response to the. scents and sounds, and a  reinvigorated

Nil Spaar took each of them in succession. When the third act was breathlessly

complete, he called to the narada-ti, who had discreetly removed herself to  a

distance at which she could pretend not to have heard the passion-cries.

"This one," he said, walking down the corridor, pointing into a  cell  at

one still untouched. "And this one. Bring them  to  me  in  my  chambers  this

evening, after the tolotan has been read."

"Yes, darama," she said, bowing with respect.

"When will the others be brought aboard?"

"The next group is expected in twenty days," she said.

"Are there nest-quarters free?"

"Yes, darama, both here and in block G."

"Then accelerate the selection," said the viceroy.

"Have the next group received as soon as it can be accomplished."

"Yes, darama. Only, your  senior  tender  cautioned  that  the  rnara-nas

should be hung at intervals, out of consideration for the timing of the births

and the demands on the breedery. Too many too close together--" "That  is  not

your problem," he said. "Fill the nestquarters with your best, and  keep  them

filled."

"Yes, darama."

Only then did Nil Spaar return to make himself available  to  Tal  Fraan,

who had pestered Eri Palle with queries as to the viceroy's schedule and pleas

for an early  audience.  They  met  in  the  upper  command  lounge,  a  large

semicircular compartment high on the forward face of the  command  tower.  The

command lounge's double-shielded viewpanes provided a spectacular view of  the

Star Destroyer's broad eight-kilometer-long spear-point hull.

"Is it not invigorating," Nil Spaar said as Tal Fraan was led in, "to see

how much power has passed into the

hands of the Blessed? Can any doubt that we are the children of the All,

the inheritors of the ancient glory?"

He turned away from the viewpanes and accepted Tal Fraan's surrender with

a touch. "How far shall that glory carry us, my young disciple?

How much shall we claim with our ambition?"

"We are truly the inheritors, darama," said Tal Fraan. "But  even  within

the boundaries of the All, our claims have been contested. It would seem  that

ambition alone cannot measure our destiny."

"Nowhere is there a ship the equal of this one.

Nowhere is there blood as powerful as that of the Pure," said Nil  Spaar.

"They will all yield to us, in time."

"I have come to speak with you of one who still resists," said Tal Fraan.

"I have had a new insight into the heart of the pale ones. We  must  not  send

them the recording from the viewing hall. It will move them to anger,  not  to

surrender."

Nil Spaar flexed his large hands. "Does my memory deceive me, or  was  it

not you who counseled that we must show Leia our hostages?"

"I did so in error," Tal Fraan said bluntly. "Only fear will give us  the

result we 'desire--fear for themselves, for their own  safety.  Fear  for  the

safety of a hostage can stay a hand, but it will not turn a heart. And when  a

hostage is harmed, fury replaces fear."

"And from where does this insight come?"

"From the vermin," said Tal Fraan. "I spoke with him aboard the  shuttle.

I wished to measure his response to the execution of his companion--whether it

had served to make him fearful for his own life.

I wished to know if the experience had heightened his sensitivity to  our

concerns or increased his eagerness to be helpful."

"You were disappointed."

"I Was alarmed. I am now convinced that if you transmit the recording  of

the execution, the vermin will never turn away," said Tal Fraan.

"My alarm was so great that I ordered that message  held  until  I  could

speak with you."

"So Vor Duull informed me," said Nil Spaar.

"Knowing me well, he wondered at your presumption  and  came  to  me  for

confirmation."

Tal Fraan's face was painted with dismay. "Have I forfeited  your  trust,

darama?"

"That remains to be seen, Proctor."

A flicker of relief crossed Tal Fraan's eyes. "Has the message been sent,

then?"

"No," said Nil Spaar. "But I am not yet convinced it should not be.

When there has been a problem of obedience with the Imperial slaves,  the

public slaughter of a handful has always  been  sufficient  to  guarantee  the

behavior of the rest."

"There is little spirit in them after so many years," Tal Fraan said.

"They were bred  for  obedience.  These  others--the  vermin  queen,  her

consort, even the pilots we have faced--seem different. They  show  a  foolish

stubbornness and a dangerous independence."

"You find them unpredictable, then."

"No, darama. I will still risk my own blood on my understanding of  them.

Showing them  the  ones  we  hold  will  strengthen  them,  not  weaken  them.

Uncertainty better befriends us."

"And yet there is this," said Nil Spaar. "An hour ago Vor  Duull  brought

to me news of a conversation one of his guildsmen had with Belezaboth Ourn."

"The Paqwe spy? He has given us nothing of value for many weeks."

"Perhaps he has done so now," said Nil Spaar.

"The vermin reports that Leia does not believe we hold her  consort--that

she does not think us capable of such an interception."

"But we allowed there to be witnesses!"

"Then their witness went unheard or unbelieved," said  Nil  Spaar.  "Ourn

said she grieves for him but continues on her course unchecked,  even  in  the

face of an effort to unseat her. Surely this confirms that your first

counsel was correct. We must show our hostage to the vermin queen.

That will surely change her tone."

The backs of his hands pressed to his cheeks, Tal Fraan walked the length

of the viewpane wall and back before responding. "No, darama.

I cannot agree. There is nothing in  what  he  says  that  promises  that

knowledge of the truth will deter her aggressions. Han Solo answered  me  with

defiance and threat. Surely her fire is of the same temperature  as  his.  You

yourself have noted the uncommon closeness of the bond between them.

They have risked all for each other--boldly, surrendering nothing. It  is

in the material you yourself gave me."

Nil Spaar directed his gaze out at the great vessel  beneath  and  before

him, noting how the unfiltered light of N'zoth's golden  sun  made  lines  and

edges gleam like burnished metal.

"Then what course do you now counsel to remove the infection  from  these

stars?" he asked at last.

"We have not managed to make them fear us," said Tal  Fraan.  "But  there

are already shadows they will not enter. And the greatest of these is the fear

that the horrors of the past will be repeated. The strength of her challengers

feeds on this fear. We can confirm their  prophecies.  We  can  help  them  to

destroy her."

With more than fifty connected structures and twenty thousand  rooms  and

chambers, the great size and complexity of the Imperial  Palace  had  inspired

many stories.

It was said that near the end of construction, eight  workers  were  lost

for nearly a month when their com-tracker failed.  Rumors  persisted  about  a

chamber with no doors, sections with a hundred or more rooms  that  had  never

been occupied, and the hidden treasure compartment of  "the  pirate  general,"

Toleph-Sor.

There were at least eleven offices and nine other rooms  with  their  own

true stories of murder, plus the grisly tale of Frona Zeffla, who died at  her

desk and went undiscovered for more than a year.  Longtime  staffers  recalled

how the children of Palpatine's aides, given free rein to roam at will, played

three-day-long games of "Hunter" in the lifts and corridors.

Though much of the old palace had been damaged or destroyed by the  clone

Emperor's Force Storm, what survived or had  been  rebuilt  was  still  easily

large enough to either hide in or get lost in. That was a key reason the first

administrator had required everyone above the third rank to  carry  a  comlink

and to keep it active.

Nearly everyone above the third rank required those who served below them

to carry them as well.

But Engh's edict did not apply to Leia, whose comlink was  typically  off

as much as it was on. So at the outset  of  the  Yevethan  crisis,  Alole  and

Tarrick had conspired with the security teams to  make  certain  that  someone

with an active comlink was constantly in touch with the President whenever she

was in the Palace.

Alole had had the duty that afternoon, but in a  busy  moment,  Leia  had

slipped away unannounced through her office's second exit. The  aide  did  not

discover the President's absence  until  General  Rieekan's  red-border  alert

pushed everything else off the comm displays throughout the suite.

Her first call was to The Sniffer, who should have been  standing  by  at

the only entrance to the executive level. "Are you with the President?"  Alole

asked.

"No, ma'am. She has not left the floor."

Next Alole paged Tarrick, who by then had already heard about the  alert.

"Have you seen the President?"

"No. She's not with you?" he asked.

"She scampered sometime in the last half hour."

"I'll query the spotters," said Tarrick, referring to their private  list

of nine offices and seven ministry officials it was  Leia's  habit  to  visit.

"Have you looked in the cave?"

"I'm on my way there now."

Her feet carried her flying down the back corridor toward the little-used

private spaces in the adjacent tower. Mon Mothma had used them as an extension

of

the President's office, holding private meetings in the small,  intimate

lounge, taking air and exercise in the sunny garden courtyard.

Leia rarely went there-when her  office  walls  closed  in  on  her,  the

Princess usually preferred to escape the executive level entirely.

But that was where Alole found her--dead asleep on the triangular  corner

bed in the privacy room. Looking down on  Leia's  peaceful  expression,  Alole

hesitated to wake her. Leia's  fatigue  had  been  obvious  to  everyone  that

morning, and this was the first time in many days that  she  had  seen  Leia's

face unmarked by tension and frown lines.

Then, sighing, Alole reached out and took hold of the golden-green  metal

post at the nearest point of the triangle. Shaking it gently, she said  Leia's

name twice, then stepped back.

"Tarrick--she's here," she said quietly into her comlink. "We'll  be  out

in a minute or two. Set up the recording for replay. See  if  General  Rieekan

wants to come up."

"I'm on it," Tarrick said. "Admiral Ackbar is on his way over from Fleet.

"

The distinctively tinny sound of  Tarrick's  voice  as  heard  through  a

comlink seemed to be what finally reached through Leia's fatigue and  demanded

her attention.

She sat up with a wordless cry, unfocused eyes, and balled fists.

"It's all right. It's only  me,  Alole,"  the  aide  said,  slipping  the

comlink back into her pocket. "Come--hurry.

Nil Spaar is on Channel Eighty-one."

Four of the six people at the conference table with Leia were seeing  the

viceroy's announcement for the second time. Only one of them ventured  to  try

to prepare her for what she would see.

"If this is an answer to Ourn's message," said Admiral Graf, "the message

is that we've been worrying about the wrong  thing.  Han  Solo  is  no  longer

important."

"Let me hear it for myself," Leia said, reaching for the controller.

The recording began with something they had not seen  before--the  emblem

of the Duskhan League, a double circle of three-pointed  stars  on  a  scarlet

background.

Then Nil Spaar appeared.

This time, however, he had company.  Standing  beside  him  was  a  human

wearing the black uniform of an Imperial Moff.

Graf leaned toward Leia. "Behind them--that's the bridge of a Super-class

Star Destroyer."

She silenced him with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"I address the strong, proud leaders of the  vassal  worlds  of  the  New

Republic," the viceroy began. "I bring you an announcement, and a warning.

"As I speak, the enormous battle fleet under the command of Princess Leia

continues  its  reckless  invasion  of  Koornacht  Clusterterritory  that  has

belonged to the Yevethan people for more than ten thousand years.

"Up until this moment, we have shown great restraint, despite having been

attacked in our own home.

Against the urging of  my  military  commanders,  I  have  held  our  own

powerful fleet in reserve except where the lives of civilians are in danger. I

have done all I can to  minimize  casualties  on  both  sides.  I  have  given

Princess Leia every opportunity to change her course and withdraw her forces.

"I am saddened that she has chosen instead to reinforce them.  In  recent

weeks, she has rejected the wisdom of her  advisors  and  secretly  dispatched

hundreds more warships to threaten the worlds of the Duskhan League.

"I am saddened, but not  surprised.  This  woman  sabotaged  a  promising

negotiation between my people and the New Republic, because peace did not suit

her ambitions. She sat across from me and lied about her intentions--and while

she lied, her agents spied on us, looking for  weakness,  planning  a  war  of

conquest.

"I know that the good citizens of the New Republic

are even now trying to drive this deceiver from your  capital.  But  she

has bought many friends on Coruscant, and others have reason to fear  her.  It

will be a bruising fight, though I hope that honor will ultimately prevail."

"Here comes the good part," Graf whispered to Ackbar.

"But the Yevethan people can no  longer  await  the  outcome,"  said  Nil

Spaar. "We can no longer risk our future on the hope that Princess  Leia  will

find her conscience and leave us in peace. We must protect ourselves.

By refusing our offer of friendship, by threatening our  very  existence,

Leia has forced us to seek friends where we otherwise would not have."

Nil Spaar raised a hand in the direction of the man beside him. "We  have

invited the Empire to return to Koornacht Cluster as allies--" "That's--that's

completely unbelievable," Leia sputtered. "They despise the Empire."

"--I have come to you to announce that, the Duskhan League and the  Grand

Imperial Union have concluded a treaty of mutual assistance.

Moff Tragg Brathis is commander of the battle fleet now stationed here."

The uniformed man nodded, Nil Spaar paused, and the holo tracked  to  the

right until the view forward out  the  bridge  viewports  confirmed  that  the

vessel was Super-class. For a few seconds, at least half a  dozen  other  Star

Destroyers were visible as well, flying in formation over the limb of a  dusty

yellow planet.

Then Nil Spaar moved in to block the view. "You have seen enough  now  to

understand. If the NewRepublic does not  withdraw  from  our  borders--if  the

President, whoever that might be, does not swiftly acknowledge our just  claim

to these stars--the combined strength of  the  League  and  the  Union  stands

ready. Your actions will determine the course of the future."

The display dissolved to a  scarlet  curtain,  with  the  Duskhan  League

emblem appearing again before the screen went black.

"Is that the end of it?" Leia asked.

"That's it."

She pressed a button on the controller and threw it down on the table.

"Does anyone here think this is real?"

"I have ASset Tracking working on the recording," said Graf.

"Nylykerka should be able to tell us if we've seen  those  ships  before,

during the flash recon."

"Will he be able to tell us when they got there and who  controls  them?"

asked Rieekan. "Perhaps this pact is real, and was concluded  months  ago,  in

secret."

"Why reveal it now?"

"Why not? Since we already know about the Imperial ships, he has  nothing

to lose by telling everyone else.

And it's obvious what he hopes to gain."

"What do you mean, 'telling everyone else'?" Leia demanded of Rieekan.

"Did this go out to the entire system?"

Rieekan raised an eyebrow and looked down the table.

"Yes," admitted the director of the communications agency.  "It  appeared

in the system in a standard diplomatic packet, with the expected coding. There

was no reason for the filters to trap it."

"Interesting times are ahead," Ackbar said to himself, shaking his head.

Leia looked disgusted. "Can we at least find out this time where  it  got

into the system?"

"We're working on it," the other woman said defensively.

"There are more than three hundred thousand authorized entry ports for  a

low-security channel like Eighty-one."

"Black box on an enabled hypercomm," said Rieekan. "That's all  it  would

take. It doesn't even have to be on Coruscant."

"Excuse me," said Nanaod Engh. Only a few heads turned his  way,  and  he

cleared his throat and repeated himself. "Excuse me. This is unimportant. Mere

de-tails--trivialities.

There is more to this than what happens in this room."

Leia spun her chair sharply toward him. "Go on."

"We are not the intended audience for the viceroy's message,"  he  said,

and gestured expansively with his hands. "They are. That bolt was aimed at the

hearts of our citizens."

"But it is a fraud," Ackbar insisted. "There is no pact. There is no Moff

Brathis, no Grand Union, no Imperial fleet. I am certain of it."

"And you may well be right," said  Engh.  "But  that  is  irrelevant.  It

doesn't matter if what we saw is the truth or a lie. It doesn't matter what we

here believe.

General Rieekan, what kind of proof could you offer to refute that image-

-a  black-shirt  commander  standing  with  Nil  Spaar  on  an  Imperial  Star

Destroyer?"

"Why, there are many ways to  attack  it.  We  have  experts  in--"  "No,

General. You cannot refute that image with words." He looked to Leia.

"It does not matter what species they are; people trust what they see.

Words alone will not make them believe they were fooled. Out there,  they

are turning to each other and saying, 'Well, what do you think we ought to  do

about this?" Not 'Do you think it's true?" I don't know what they will  decide

they feel. I only know that it is true, for them the Yevetha have allied  with

the Empire."

Engh rocked back in his chair. "I think the  President's  image  analysts

should see this as soon as possible.

And I hope you will finally make time to meet with them yourself, Leia.

The days ahead will not be shaped by questions and answers, the  lore  of

experts, the reasoned judgment of earnest beings gathered around tables.

Cherished belief, powerful emotion, and the image that plays in the  mind

in the moment before sleep comes--they will write the story of the days ahead.

"

Tholatin was uninhabited save for the smugglers' hideaway known as Esau's

Ridge, nestled in a deep lateral erosion cut at the base of  a  towering  rock

face. The cut was a thousand meters long and up to a hundred meters deep, with

a maximum of six meters' clearance in the berthing area under the cantilevered

granite ceiling.

A warren of smaller artificial tunnels and chambers extended the  complex

another two hundred meters into the mountain.

It was one of  the  most  private  of  all  the  smugglers'  sanctuaries,

invisible from orbit and well  defended  against  intruders.  Even  the  three

landing clearings in the forest that covered the valley floor were  concealed,

hidden.

by retractable military-grade camouflage nets with infrared screens.

It was also one of the most exclusive sanctuaries, open only to the elite

veterans of the trade, to the well-connected rather than the well-heeled.  Or,

at least, it once had been. When the Millennium Falcon arrived  there,  Esau's

Ridge was more crowded than Chewbacca could remember ever seeing  it.  Parking

clearances in the landing area were down to half a  meter,  and  the  floating

berth fees were accordingly high.

[Peace did not seem to have hurt the trade,] he growled to  the  berthing

collector as he paid the first day's fee.

"When they are not busy fighting wars, governments  amuse  themselves  by

forbidding things," said the collector. "There will always  be  work  for  us.

Welcome back to the Ridge, Chewbacca. By the way, I threw two of the kids  out

of here to make room for this trash heap you call a ship."

Chewbacca paid without complaint the expected bribe for that privilege of

seniority. [Is Plothis still here?] "Shot four years ago in a squabble with  a

customer.

Bracha e'Naso took over the business."

[What about Formayj and  the  brokerage?]  "Same  old  place,"  said  the

ollector. "Be sure and look up Armatin the Dread while you're here--he retired

and bought the slava bar. He'll be glad to see you if you can catch him sober.

"

For their own protection, Chewbacca instructed Lumpawarrump  and  Jowdrrl

to stay inside the ship.

With Shoran and Dryanta standing guard, the Falcon

was as safe as it could be in a port of thieves--but Esau's Ridge  could

be as dangerous as the Shadow Forest for the inexperienced.

Chewbacca had come there for information and for specialized supplies.

The former proved more costly than the latter, and the latter  came  dear

enough. e'Naso treated Chewbacca like a celebrity, then  tried  to  overcharge

him by half, as though he were some star-eyed pupling who'd never run a picket

line.

"It's almost impossible for me to keep  these  items  in  stock,"  e'Naso

protested when Chewbacca growled  threateningly.  "You've  seen  the  berthing

line--demand is very high, and replacing my stock will cost me a premium.

You want a better price, you  get  Maniid  and  the  others  who  run  my

shipments to take less for their risk."

Another customer, an old Kiffu  male  browsing  through  the  catalog  of

bootleg holos, overheard the conversation and  intervened.  "Haggling  with  a

Wookiee," the customer said, shaking his head. "That shows courage, e'Nasoeven

Plothis wouldn't have dared it. Have you decided who will inherit the shop?"

Chewbacca showed a toothy grimace, all the more ominous for the hint of a

smile it contained.

e'Naso quickly countered his own best offer, cutting the total by  twenty

percent. When that did not change Chewbacca's expression, he let  the  Wookiee

name his price.

[And you deliver it all to my ship,] he added.

"Of course. Of course."

Outside, Chewbacca paid the Kiffu his third of the savings.

Dealing with Formayj was another matter altogether.

The long-lived Yao had not only seen all the tricks,  he  had  gotten  in

early enough to invent several of them. Besides that, Formayj did not  haggle.

His memories and his connections, both carefully built up  over  more  than  a

century of brokering, were his stock in  trade.  He  carefully  appraised  the

worth of each before parting with it.

"Koornacht Cluster," Formayj said, nodding.

"Maps, inhabitants, hyperspace routes, ship designs, planetary  defenses,

sensor grids--very rare. Expensive."

[I will pay your price.] "Come back two days. Will know more then."

So Chewbacca and the others waited,  staying  close  to  the  Falcon  and

watching the neighboring ships in the berth line come and go. The  arrival  of

e'Naso's delivery.sled brought a welcome  interruption  to  the  waiting,  and

several hours' work studying, testing, and stowing the gear took the edge  off

their impatience. But by the next morning, Lumpawarrump was bouncing  off  the

bulkheads as though the Falcon were a cage.

[How much longer, Father?] [Long enough for you to take five  falls  with

Jowdrrl in the forward cargo hold.] [She is busy with the  dorsal  gun  turret

again.] [She is making herself busy--she will  make  the  time  if  you  ask.]

[Could I take some falls with you instead?] [You already know how to lose--and

I must go see other brokers and old friends,]  Chewbacca  said,  ruffling  his

son's fur roughly. [Stay here. Study the ship, practice your skills of defense

and attack--you will need them soon enough.] A day of drinking  in  the  slava

bar, listening to smugglers' bragging and tall tales, ground  Chewbacca's  own

patience thin. When the third fight of the afternoon broke out, he  roared  to

his feet, seized both adversaries, and flung them into  opposite  corners--for

no reason other than that he needed to release the restless  tension  building

up inside.

He returned to Formayj's  brokerage  the  next  morning,  but  the  visit

claimed little of his day.

"Difficult," said Formayj. "Come back two days."

Two days later, he said the same thing.

On their fifth day in Esau's Ridge, Chewbacca yielded  to  Lumpawarrump's

endless pleading looks and took his son into the sanctuary.

The excursion almost ended as quickly as  it  began,   when  Lumpawarrump

took too close an interest in a parked slaver for the liking of its Trandoshan

owner.

"Mind your own business!" the  owner  shouted  from  atop  the  ship.  An

instant later, a blaster bolt singed the flowing fur on  Lumpawarrump's  right

shoulder.

"Move along!"

Chewbacca seized his son by the scruff and dragged him  away  toward  the

tunnels, waving his bowcaster and exchanging threat-growls  and  insults  with

the owner as he did so.

[Did you not listen to me? Curiosity is not rewarded on Esau's Ridge,] he

chided Lumpawarrump when they were alone inside. [Watch, but do not be  caught

looking; listen, but do not be  caught  overhearing;  ask  no  questions,  and

question no lies--that is the code  honored  here.]  Seven  days  after  their

arrival, Formayj called Chewbacca to his brokerage.

"I show you price first, you decide," he said.

[You would not cheat me,] Chewbacca said. [Show me what  you  have.]  The

price was almost unspeakably high, but  the  value  was  there.  A  smuggler's

annotated copy of a Yevethan navigational map--six years  old,  but  priceless

even so. An even older Imperial autopsy report on three  Yevethan  corpses.  A

recording of Nil Spaar's address  to  the  Senate.  A  still  of  a  spherical

starship with the entryways and gun emplacements overmarked. And  the  capper:

the data and holo files of a New Republic recon  pass  over  Wakiza,  complete

with an NRI seal.

"So new you can still smell  Imperial  City  on  it,"  said  the  broker,

pointing. "You like?"

[You are the best, Formayj.] "Of course. That is why they come here."

Smiling, he took Chewbacca's payment, then  disarmed  the  erase-bot  and

other daemons that would otherwise have been unleashed by  a  trigger  in  the

brokerage door. "Now, the other matter."

Chewbacca was  already  rising  to  leave  at  that  point,  and  rumbled

questioningly.

"You asked all around the Ridge about Han Solo.

Did not ask me, as if I did not know he is a prisoner in Koornacht," said

Formayj. "I know where everyone has come from and where everyone is going when

they leave. I know why customer wants the information  before  I  sell  it  to

them. At times must even disappoint them because of what I know.  You  plan  a

rescue, yes?"

Chewbacca growled his assent.

"You ask where he must be held. Even though you do  not  come  to  me,  I

inquire on my own." Formayj shook his head. "Discouraging. No one knows. There

is no prison. His name is not spoken by any who would know,  on  Coruscant  or

N'zoth." He reached up and handed Chewbacca another holo card.  "Perhaps  this

helps you. Free--my cost nothing."

He gestured toward the viewer. "Go on--see."

It was a recording of Nil Spaar  speaking  to  the  members  of  the  New

Republic via Channel 81. Time-stamped forty hours ago, it  began,  "I  address

the strong, proud leaders of the  vassal  worlds--"  Formayj  pressed  another

object on Chewbacca, this one a datacard. "Old Imperial Star Destroyer  shield

codes, sensor jam frequencies, defensive fire patterns--these are  readily  at

hand. No demand. Historical value only," he  said.  "My  service  charge  will

cover." Standing, Formayj offered his hand. "Still like Han, old trickster.

Smuggler made good. Deliver greetings to him, if you see him."

Chewbacca hurried back to the ship  and  played  the  recording  for  the

others. [My honor brother is Nil Spaar's prize,] he said, and pointed  at  the

blue-black hull of the great starship visible behind the viceroy.

[Wherever this enemy is, Han will be.]  Then  Chewbacca  pointed  at  the

planet beyond. [They are there now.]  Twenty  minutes  later,  the  Millennium

Falcon lifted off from Esau's Ridge. Immediately on making  orbit,  it  turned

toward Koornacht Cluster and jumped into hyperspace, continuing  its  solitary

journey to N'zoth.

Derelict

With Artoo guiding him, Lobot  had  penetrated  deep  into  a  realm  the

structure and purpose of which he was still struggling to understand.

The vagabond's core passages were more  akin  to  the  great  accumulator

conduit in which they had spent their first hours aboard the vessel than  they

were like the network of chambers in which they had spent the last many  days.

But the core passages were much narrower than the accumulator  conduit.  Their

cross section was  never  greater  than  Lobot's  armspan,  and  often  less--

especially at the junctions.

And there were many junctions. The passages  were  cross-connected  in  a

complex web that had not yet revealed its pattern. This web promised  to  link

all parts of the vagabond as a transport or communications system  might,  but

nothing was moving through or along  the  passages  save  for  Lobot  and  the

droids. None of the ready biological metaphors--vascular  tubules,  alimentary

canals, respiratory ducts, neurological pathways--seemed appropriate.

Lobot wondered if the lack of activity was a symptom Of  the  damage  the

vagabond had sustained or a sign that he still did not understand  the  nature

of the vessel.

He had to keep reminding himself that though the ship was the product  of

bioengineering, it was not an organism.

It was a biological machine, which was still an unfamiliar paradigm.

Three hundred meters in from chamber 228, the passage had narrowed to the

point where Lobot found it necessary to shed his  contact  suit  in  order  to

continue.

"Master Lobot, are you certain that you wish to do this?" Threepio  asked

in a familiarly anxious tone. "Are you confident that the risk  is  justified?

Given our  present  circumstances,  and  the  alarming  frequency  with  which

warships seem to attack this vessel--" "I'm certain," Lobot said. "The  deeper

we go into the core, the more it feels like an obstacle  standing  between  me

and the ship. When my shoulders brushed both sides at the same time,  it  felt

like the ship was inviting me to shed  the  suit.  I  can't  explain  this  in

acceptable terms, but I think I must do this to find what I am looking for."

"I see, sir," said Threepio. "Artoo, are you still monitoring the air  in

this passage?"

"The air is fine, Threepio," Lobot said, patting the droid on the top  of

his head. "I am fine. I am simply following a hunch."

"Oh, dear," Threepio fretted.

"What's the matter?"

"Very well, Master Lobot--since  you  asked,  I  shall  tell  you,"  said

Threepio. "If you'll pardon my saying so, sir,  Master  Lando's  influence  on

your habits of thought is becoming manifest at the worst possible time."

"What influence would that be?"

"Why, his unhealthy psychological dependence on  the  teleological  self-

deceptions of  a  gambler,  sir--hunches,  lucky  streaks,  wish  fulfillment,

feelings of  entitlement,  and  the  other  trappings  of  magical  thinking,"

Threepio said. "I have come to  regard  you  as  an  unusually  practical  and

rational individual--for a human being."

"Thank you," Lobot said. "But what makes you think that Lando ever really

gambles?"

"Sir, I have heard Master Han speak of it many  times.  I  believe  that

Master Lando even considered himself a professional gambler during one  period

of his life."

"That's true," said Lobot. "And no one hates trusting to chance and  fate

more than a professional gambler. You've misread Lando all along, Threepio."

"Sir, I do not understand."

"Think about this, then--maybe it'will help," said Lobot, discarding  the

last piece of his contact suit.

"When a human being--a sentient being--faces a question for  which  there

is no known right answer, a  decision  for  which  there's  no  obvious  right

choice, he will almost always end up following what feels right. The  logician

will construct one kind of justification, the magician  another,  but  at  the

moment of choosing, the two are more alike than they are different."

"I see, sir. Thank you. But I do not believe a droid is capable of  truly

understanding a process that' is so fundamentally subjective."

"No?" asked Lobot, raising an eyebrow. "Then  tell  me,  what  was  going

through your circuits when you grabbed that beckon call away  from  Lando  and

signaled Lady Luck? Were you doing the logical thing, or what you felt was the

right thing?"

"I am not entirely certain, sir."

"Good," said Lobot approvingly. "I suggest you think  on  that  a  while,

too. You may find it has something to do with the questions you  asked  me  in

chamber twenty-one. Now, let's get going."

A few hundred  twisting  meters  further,  the  passages  narrowed  still

tighter, to the point where Lobot could  barely  wriggle  through,  and  Artoo

could not.

"Go back to where we dropped off the grid and my suit  and  wait  for  me

there," Lobot said. "Artoo, the link I've been using to access your event  log

and memory registers--can you make it bidirectional, so Lando will  know  what

happened to me if I don't come back?

Maybe you could isolate one of my transmit channels."

Artoo chirped reassuringly and relayed his assent over the link.

"Master Lobot, may I say something before you leave?"

"Quickly."

"It is possible that there is no command center as you envision  it,"  "I

don't have anything 'envisioned."" "I mean to say that rule-based logic can be

encoded very compactly. My own language processors contain the  equivalent  of

more than eight times ten to the twelfth decision trees, all within a space of

approximately five cubic centimeters."

"And the giant dewback lizards of Tatooine have a neural cluster  smaller

than the brain of a newborn human.

Yes, I understand your point," Lobot said, looking back at the droids.

"But I am not looking' for the vagabond's bridge, or its brain.  I  could

easily miss those, or fail to recognize them. I am looking for  its  threshold

of awareness, and it will know when I have found it."

Lando lingered in the auditorium as long as the question of  whether  the

vagabond could heal its great wounds hung in the balance.

In the beginning, a thin band of new material appeared around  the  edges

of each opening in the hull.

The smaller opening forward continued to close, just as  Lando  had  seen

demonstrated at the airlock. But for a long time, it seemed as though  nothing

was happening at the larger wound, as if the process had somehow stalled.

Before giving up, Lando moved to a  portal  on  the  other  side  of  the

chamber. From there, the beam from his chest lamp  revealed  that  the  entire

opening had skinned over with what looked like the same  sort  of  transparent

material he was peering through.

That discovery held him there,  even  though  it  again  seemed  for  the

longest time as if nothing was happening.

He remembered how when they had first boarded

the vagabond, he had been able to see Lady  Luck's  floodlights  through

the wall of the airlock.

That should have told me something, he thought. Like  shining  a  lantern

through your hand. I should have been thinking organic right from  the  first.

But we thought the genetic sequence was just some engineer's idea of a  clever

little code.

His eyes kept expecting  the  gossamer  transparency  to  be  momentarily

transformed into solid bulkhead, just as the transparency  in  the  auditorium

went from one state to the other in a matter of seconds.

But instead, a lattice of opaque material  appeared  first,  echoing  the

crisscross pattern he had. seen in the stringers in the interspace.

Then, finally, each individual section of  the  lattice  began  to  close

over.

That was when Lando tried to leave, feeling as though he had witnessed an

exhibition of Qella ingenuity more impressive than the. lost orrery.

"Lobot, where are you now?" he called over  the  suit's  comlink,  to  no

reply. "The hull breaches are nearly repaired I'm heading back.

Lobot?" He switched to the secondary comm channel and repeated the  call,

with the same result.

Returning to the primary channel, he heard a voice he did not  expect  to

hear: "--I would be glad to relay a message to him."

"Threepio, what are you doing on Lobot's comlink?

What's going on there?"

"Pardon me, Master Lando, but Master Lobot left his contact suit  in  our

keeping."

"You mean he's gone off by himself? Where is he?

Where did he go?"

"He said he was seeking the threshold of awareness," said Threepio.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what that means."

"Where are you, then? Is Artoo with you?"

"We are somewhere in the vagabond's inner core,"  said  Threepio.  "Artoo

says that if you return to chamber two-twenty-nine, he can direct  you  to  us

from there," "I'll be there in three minutes."

But Lando had crossed through only two chambers when the portal ahead  of

him closed as he approached it. Turning, he saw  the  portal  behind  him  had

closed at the same time. Neither would respond to his touch.

The portals to the interspace and the core were equally recalcitrant.

He was sealed in.

"Threepio, is anything happening there? All  of  a  sudden,  the  express

lanes out here are closed."

The only reply was a burst of white-noise static.

Then the ship groaned, deep and long. The chamber shuddered around Lando.

"Blast," Lando said, his eyes searching the boundaries of his prison.

"They're back."

The groaning continued, and the shaking grew worse. The glow-rings around

the portals dimmed and disappeared. In the darkness, Lando was thrown  against

the face of the chamber.

She's turning fast this time--the propulsion system, whatever it  is,  is

back online.

"Propulsion--stang! No, please, don't try it," Lando implored  the  ship.

"Not after taking hits like those--" The vagabond paid him  no  mind.  Moments

later, with the roaring growl and violent shaking at a  terrifying  peak,  the

vessel twisted realspace until it opened, then fell through infinity's door.

Twenty-seven hours after she had taken custody of the Qella remains,  Joi

Eicroth hand-delivered a stack of three  datacards  containing  the  cadaver's

genetic sequences to Admiral Drayson at his home on the north shore of Victory

Lake.

Drayson's face was  haggard  and  his  greeting  embrace  distracted.  "I

expected you to transmit the sequences to me in a secure  packet."  He  rubbed

his eyes.

"I expected it several hours ago, in fact."

"That was before we knew how extensive the sequences are. It  would  have

taken me nearly as long to

encode and transmit the report as it did to fly down  here,"  she  said,

moving past him into the grand parlor.

"And I wouldn't have gotten to see you again."

A tired smile making a bid to reach his lips, Drayson followed her.

You're saying that you found something surprising?"

"Very," she said. "What species was that creature, Hiram? I would love to

know more about its ethology and ecological niche."

"I have a small research team looking into that right now," said Drayson.

"I hope to be able to share their findings with you soon.

What was the surprise?

Something about the amount of genetic material?"

She  settled  in  a  reclining  chair  facing   the   parlor's   lakeview

transparency. "It's that exactly," she said.

"This species has three--at least three---different types of  cells  that

contain  genetic  material.  The  ordinary  so-matic  cells   have   sixty-two

chromosomes--" "That's on the high side, isn't it?" asked Drayson, settling on

a small padded bench nearby. "Go on."

"Yes, it is. But that's the smaller part of the whole," she said.

"This species has two other kinds of genetic material  as  well,  in  two

different structures located in two different parts of their bodies.

"I call them code capsules,  because  they're  encapsulated  in  a  solid

protein coat. There are billions of these capsules in that carcass.  I  almost

mistook them for a massive parasitic infection--that's why I  started  looking

at them in the first place."

"How big are the capsules?"

"Big. About the size of the biggest crystals of silicon  dioxide  out  on

your beach," she said. "But the same oval shape as the  creature's  torso.  It

took me five hours just to figure out how to extract them from  their  tubules

and break through the  protein  coat  without  destroying  the  contents.  The

contents turned out to be nearly solid genetic material." She gestured at  the

data-cards.

"Your DNA and mine together wouldn't fill one of those. I barely got  the

creature's genome to fit on three of them."

Drayson stared down at the objects in his hand.

"This is one copy? I thought you were doing the triplicate thing."

"One copy. As near as I could tell, almost five percent of the creature's

body weight is genetic material.

That's unprecedented."

"What does it need with all that?"

"That's a good question," she said. "I don't know.

I do know that it's far  more  than  information  theory  says  would  be

necessary to specify and construct an organism of the size and  complexity  of

the one you brought me."

"How much more?"

She squinted as she thought. "Maybe two hundred times too much."

"Which means what?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "The  context  is  missing.  Maybe

when your team reports--" "Speculate, please."

Eicroth frowned. "Well, there's a lot of old biological  history  in  our

chromosomes, in the form of inactive genes. Maybe this is  something  similar,

but covering a much longer history or a more convoluted evolutionary path."

"Any other ideas?"

"One kind of weird one," she said, showing a self-effacing smile.

"Maybe it's because I started off with the idea that these code  capsules

were parasites, but I keep wondering  what  good  they  are  to  the  organism

itself.

The protein coat just about ensures that they're inert. I also wonder how

they're passed on to offspring. The virus analogy  is  tempting--likewise  for

mitochondria."

"If you had to guess--" "If I had to guess, I'd say it almost looks  like

this species carries a giant catalog of spare genetic blueprints around inside

itself."

"Blueprints for what?"

"I don't know. There's a  kinship  in  the  genetic  se-quencesmsomething

recognizable as kin, anyway. Bio-chemically, there'd be a family resemblance."

"What about the analogy to the Fw'Sen?" Drayson asked. "Don't they  mate

only once, before they're sexually mature?"

"You mean, could these be retained fertilized eggs?

I don't think so. The capsule tubules are completely  separate  from  the

somatic-cell reproductive anatomy."

She shook her head. "It's very odd, and I don't pretend to understand it.

"

Nodding, Drayson stood. "I have to go do something with this,"  he  said,

holding up the datacards.

"Will you stay?"

Her smile brightened. "If my boss is willing to wait a little longer  for

the results of the dissection."

"I'll have a word with him," Drayson said. "Look, I'll be downstairs  for

a little while with this--get yourself something to eat if you haven't  had  a

chance."

"When's the last time you ate?"

He shook his head. "I've had no appetite."

Eicroth knew better than to ask the reason.  "I'll  see  if  I  can  find

something for two," she said, reaching for his hand and giving it  a  squeeze.

"Come on back up when you can."

The  instant  that  Lady  Luck  left  hyperspace,  its   slave   circuits

relinquished control.

"That isn't supposed to  happen,"  Pakkpekatt  said,  showing  teeth  and

hissing.

His companion on  the  yacht's  flight  deck  was  Bijo  Hammax.  "What's

supposed to happen?"

Agent Pleck appeared at  the  hatchway.  "The  usual  arrangement  for  a

hyperspace beckon call is for the responding ship to ping the  signaling  unit

when it jumps in," he said. "The beckon call sends a local  reference  signal,

and the ship follows it to the location of the transmitter. If the beckon call

sends  a  wave-off  instead,  the  responding  ship  should  jump  out   again

immediately."

"And we're just sitting here?" said Hammax.

"Maybe we were stood up."

"Contact sweep," said Pakkpekatt.

"Coming up," Hammax said, turning to the displays at his station.

"Something out there."

"A more detailed analysis would be considerably more useful,"  Pakkpekatt

said.

"Something big," said Hammax. "A lot bigger than we are. Look, this isn't

where I work. Pleck, maybe you'd better take the number-two position."

Pleck slid into the seat as Hammax vacated it.

"Contact is capital, type three," Pleck read off the board.

"Too small," said Pakkpekatt.

"Range to contact, two thousand meters."

"Two thousand--stang, we're right on top of it,"  Hammax  said,  whirling

toward the viewport. "We ought to be able to see it bare-eyed. They  can  sure

see us." He dug into a storage bin for the laser cannon controller.

"Contact is blacked out, cold, and adrift. No tran-sponder," Pleck  said,

then frowned. "A scatter of little stuff out there,  too,  same  neighborhood.

One floater that might be a body."

"Nothing that might be the vagabond?"

Pleck shook his head. "If she was here, she's gone."

"The same is not necessarily true  of  General  Calris-sian,"  Pakkpekatt

said. "We'll go in for a look. Agent Taisden, please  stand  ready  with  your

recorders."

Lady Luck crept toward the wreck of Gorath as though wary of  waking  the

dead. At five hundred meters, Pakkpekatt called for  the  bow  lights,  and  a

great metal corpse suddenly appeared before them.

"Strike-class," said Pakkpekatt.

"Or used to be," said Hammax. "She's all stove in."

"This doesn't match what we saw at Gmar As-kilon," said  Pleck,  studying

the spectral display. "This is not the same weapon the vagabond  used  against

D-Eighty-nine and Kauri. It doesn't match anything in the database."

readable, and remained so as he flew Lady Luck around the derelict at  a

distance of a hundred meters.

Before the survey was complete, Hammax removed the targeting headset.

"What would you expect to happen if  the  transmitter  got  toasted?"  he

asked, turning to the commander. "If Calrissian and his  team  were  aboard--"

"We need confirmation, Colonel Hammax, not speculation."

"That's my job," Hammax said, nodding. "I'll go get suited up."

Taisden grunted in surprise. "Excuse me--Colonel  Pakkpekatt,  would  you

take a look at the comm queue, please?"

Pakkpekatt spun his couch back toward the controls.

"When did that show up?"

"Just now," said Taisden. "Is that your personal comm code, sir?"

"No," said Pakkpekatt. "How very interesting."

"What?" asked Hammax, leaning forward between the couches with a hand  on

the back of each.

Taisden pointed. "A ready-to-transmit notice for a  white-star  dispatch,

personal to the colonel."

"A notice that can be received only by a military-rated secure hypercomm,

" said Pakkpekatt.

"I thought we'd loaded one aboard," said Hammax.

"We did," said Taisden. "This  didn't  come  over  our  gear.  Calrissian

apparently has a few more surprises tucked away under the  service  panels  of

this ship."

"There is something else," said Pakkpekatt. "Look at the message size."

Hammax squinted. "That's heavy lifting."

"It has to be a mistake. We should send  back  a  verify  request,"  said

Taisden. "Confirm the originating station, packet size, router. Or  request  a

redirect to our own hypercomm transceiver."

"There is a simpler way to satisfy our curiosity,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "I

would like the bridge to myself for a few moments. Colonel Hammax,  I  believe

you Were headed aft?"

Hammax nodded. "I'll be skinned up in five to ten," he said, turning away

and ducking through the hatchway.

"I'll check in with Pleck," Taisden said, climbing out of his couch.

"Page me on the observation deck."

Even though he was alone, Pakkpekatt covered his right hand with his left

as he entered his authorization code and switched the viewer to  privacy  mode

as he read the notice.

COLONEL PAKKPEKATT

ACTIVATION OF FAIR LADY'S P' W' ECK COMPLEMENT RECORDED HERE.

SINCERELY HOPE THIS PRESAGES RESTORATION OF PEACEABLE RELATIONS WITH HOST

WORLD AND DIPLOMATIC RECOVERY OF EXPEDITION.

PENDING DISPATCh1 CONTAINS LETTERS OF INTRODUCTION, RECENTLY ACQUIRED  AT

GREAT EXPENSE. TRUST THEY WILL OPEN DOORS FOR YOU.

It bore an apparently authentic Fleet Intelligence watermark and seal but

was unsigned.

General Calrissian's friends, Pakkpekatt thought. They  should  not  know

that I am in this ship, but they do, and they are still looking after him.

He drummed his thumb-claws on his temples as he considered his  response.

'Letters of introduction' can only mean  the  Qella  genetic  code--assistance

that I requested through proper channels, which was denied when the task force

was recalled.

There was no real choice before him. With a  few  light  touches  on  the

display, Pakkpekatt entered his send authorization and  returned  a  clear-to-

transmit message to his unknown benefactor, noting the ship time as he did. At

their present distance, the transit lag for a round-trip to  Coruscant  should

be something more than forty minutes.

If the reply came back too

soon or too late, he would know what meaning to give it.

"Colonel Hammax, are you ready?" Pakkpekatt called over the comm system.

"Going through my weapons check now, Colonel."

"Very well. Agent Taisden, please return  to  the  bridge.  Agent  Pleck,

please assist Colonel Hammax at the airlock. Colonel,  during  the  flyaround,

did you identify where you would like to make your entry?"

"Those open ports on the far side looked to be as good a place  as  any,"

Hammax said. "I'm going to use a ring charge to cut in, and  I  can  put  some

hull between myself and the blowback."

"Very well," Pakkpekatt said, taking  the  yacht's  maneuvering  yoke  in

hand. "I'll notify you when we are in position."

Colonel Hammax did not stay aboard the hulk of the cruiser  for  long.  A

mere fifteen minutes after he disappeared  into  the  maw  of  launching  port

eight, he reappeared at the opening of launching port four.

Raising his right hand in a wave, Hammax squeezed the  thruster  controls

with his left and started across the hundred meters separating Gorath and Lady

Luck as they drifted together through space.

Though Hammax's foray suit had voice, holo, and biomedical  comm  systems

in both open and conductive modes, Pakkpekatt  had  directed  him  to  observe

strict comm silence unless confronted by a threat, and Hammax had done so.  So

his early return was the object of sudden and  intense  curiosity.  Pleck  and

Pakkpekatt watched from the flight deck and Taisden from the observation  deck

as Hammax jetted toward the yacht, knowing only that it was  impossible  under

any conditions to thoroughly search a 450-meter-long warship so quickly.

"He looks okay," said Taisden. "Maybe he had some equipment problem.

Or maybe he got lucky and found what he was looking for right off."

"If Colonel Hammax had found  what  he  was  looking  for,  he  would  be

returning with two body  bags,"  Pakkpekatt  said,  tracking  the  spacesuited

figure with the laser cannon.

"You're going to make him nervous, doing that," Taisden observed.

"Good. That will help him understand that I  am,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "Go

back to the airlock and hold Colonel Hammax there with the overrides  until  I

have satisfied myself."

As soon as the outer lock closed, Hammax broke  his  silence,  using  his

suit's conductive transmitter. "Colonel, she's well gutted.

Definitely Prakith, though."

Taisden startled at that. "A long way out for a Prakith ship--a long  way

out. Are you sure?"

"I could still read the blazons on bulkheads  here  and  there.  Colonel,

it's a derelict. Nothing's functional, and there are no signs of  life--a  lot

of bodies, but none of 'em are going to get any more use."

"Was there any sign of Calrissian?"

"No," said Hammax. "I checked both brigs--there were five bodies  between

them, none of them human. I also checked the bridge and the maintenance shop--

no droids of any kind in either location."

"Why did you terminate your search? A Strike  -  class  cruiser  has  two

hundred fifty-eight compartments."

"Colonel, with the conditions over there, I wasn't going to find out  any

more in an hour than I did in fifteen ticks," Hammax said. "I thought the best

thing was to come back and leave it up to you whether to commit  the  time  to

take it  further.  If  you  want  all  two  hundred  fifty-eight  compartments

searched, I'll turn around and get started on it."

"Is it your report, then, that  Calrissian's  party  is  not  aboard  the

cruiser?"

"I can't tell you with absolute certainty that the general wasn't  aboard

when the balloon went up," said Hammax.  "But  in  my  opinion,  it'd  take  a

forensic sal  vage team the better part of a week to be any more certain. Your

call."

"Stand by, Colonel Hammax." Pakkpekatt rubbed his  temple  crests  as  he

checked the comm queue. The "Fleet Intelligence" dispatch was  still  spooling

into Lady Luck's comm buffers, pouring in at  94  percent  efficiency  of  the

highest available error-checking transfer rate. But even  at  that  rate,  the

counters predicted it would take another twenty-three minutes to complete  the

transfer.

"All stations, conference," Pakkpekatt said.

"Hammax here."

"Taisden here."

"Pleck ready."

"It is my belief that the most probable scenario to explain our  findings

is that this vessel was destroyed by the vagabond by means  of  a  weapon  not

previously  seen.  The  vagabond  is  likely  to  have  been  damaged  in  the

confrontation, prompting Calrissian to recall his yacht.

Concur or dispute."

"Concur," said Pleck, "I concur," Hammax and Taisden said simultaneously.

"Proposition: The degree of damage sustained  will  dictate  the  current

location of the vagabond. If not seriously damaged, she will have jumped  out.

If seriously damaged, she will have moved off in realspace,  perhaps  to  make

repairs. If mortally damaged, she may still be present as an undetected debris

field."

Pleck and Hammax agreed.

"Or she may have tried to jump out and broken up in the process, in which

case there might be very little debris to find," said Taisden.

"Yes," said Pakkpekatt. "Disposition: We will  remain  at  this  location

while we conduct a maximum-aperture deep scan for the vagabond, and  until  we

examine the debris field more closely. Colonel Hammax, stand by  for  possible

debris recovery operations.

Agent Taisden, please return to the second seat  to  supervise  the  deep

scan."

As Taisden reached the flight deck Pakkpekatt was turning the bow of Lady

Luck away from the cruiser.

"You said there was a possible body?"

"Let me locate it for you," said Taisden, reconfigur-ing the displays.

"Twelve hundred meters, bearing two-one-zero, plus four-four, relative.

A lot of smaller stuff between us and it, though."

Pakkpekatt responded by reactivating the particle shields  so  that  they

could shoulder aside any debris in their path. "Please begin your scan."

"That'll scatter the field," Taisden said.  "Standard  recovery  protocol

calls for deflectors only, with particle shields at zero."

"I know that," said Pakkpekatt. "But this is not a junker, Agent Taisden,

and we are not scavengers." He pushed the yoke forward, and  Lady  Luck  eased

away from the shattered cruiser. Within a minute, it had entered the cloud  of

debris.

The "body" proved tO be a curious  object--a  rough-surfaced  sphere  two

meters across, carbon-scorched over one third of  its  surface  and  encrusted

with a thin layer of fragile, long-crystal ice.

Pleck had come forward to the flight deck for a closer look. "Could it be

some sort of escape pod?" he asked. "I've heard that spaceliners  used  to  be

equipped with something like the ferry bags S-and-R units use--you  know,  not

much more than a soft-sided ball with a rebreather, so you can move people off

a disabled ship without having to try to get them into spacesuits."

Taisden shook his head. "I'm still on passive sensing only, but the thing

looks solid to me. If  the  colonel  will  let  me  strobe  it--"  "No,"  said

Pakkpekatt.

"Colonel, if it's something interesting, let me go out and get it,"  said

Hammax. "At two meters, I should be able to bring  it  in  through  the  cargo

airlock."

"No," said Pakkpekatt. "I do not want it inside this ship. But I do  want

to know what it is made of. If it is not part of the cruiser, it may  be  part

of the vagabond."

"You say it's iced over?" asked Hammax.

"To a depth of approximately one centimeter," said Taisden, recalibrating

his displays for fine detail.

"Sounds like draw-frost," said Hammax. "You only get that on biologicals,

and only for a little while, until the remains are desiccated or  deep-frozen.

See, the pressure differential pulls the water in the epidermal layers  toward

the surface, but it starts freezing on the skin before it can  evaporate.  The

residual body heat can keep things pumping for a while, but eventually the ice

evaporates, too, one molecule at a time."

"Maybe it is a body, then," said Pleck. "Just not a human one.

Colonel?"

Pakkpekatt glanced at the  counter  on  the  comm  display.  "Very  well,

Colonel Hammax. See if you can move it to  the  fantail  observation  deck.  I

believe there are cargo tie-downs there, and  we  will  not  have  to  concern

ourselves with turning the cargo deck  into  a  hy-pothermic  cooler--"  "Hold

everything," Taisden  said,  sitting  forward  sharply  and  frowning  at  the

displays. "I have a  deep-scan  contact  alarm.  Colonel  Pakkpekatt,  there's

something coming in fast."

"You are acquiring Colonel Hammax's bad habits," said Pakkpekatt  with  a

hiss. "What sort of contact?"

Taisden shook his head. "She's bow-on to us and still a  long  way  out--

nine hundred thousand kilometers," he said. "It'll be a little while, even for

this rig."

He paused, tapping the console with his fingertips. "On the  other  hand,

if she's related to the late Prakith cruiser behind us, she's probably  coming

in with her don't-shoot-me lights on."

"Combat transponder," Pleck said. "Yes. Scan for it in the high forties--

that's pretty common for Imperial-class designs, and I don't think the Prakith

are likely candidates for a lot of field modifications."

"I've got it--forty-four two, for future reference.

Uncoded, but in Prak." Then he grunted. "Looks  like  General  Calrissian

went for all the options when he bought this yacht. The system's giving me  an

on-the-fly translation--ha!"

"What?"

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Taisden was briefly consumed by  a

spell of deep, closed-mouth chuckles. "We are heading for a  rendezvous  with,

and I quote verbatim, 'The gallant and  eternally  vigilant  patrol  destroyer

Tobay of the  Grand  Imperial  Navy  of  the  Constitutional  Protectorate  of

Prakith, in grateful and loyal service to His Glory, the potent and courageous

governor for life, Foga Brill."" "And you thought your section  commander  had

unreasonable expectations," Pleck said, clapping Taisden on the shoulder.  "Do

you think the Prakith navy holds public fawning competitions?"

Pakkpekatt parsed the puffery for the one detail that mattered to him.

"Patrol destroyer, Imperial Adz - class. Primary armament  three  class-D

quad laser cannon batteries, three class-B dual ion cannon batteries."

"Sounds like we definitely don't want to be here when they arrive,"  said

Hammax. "Colonel, do you still want me to go after the floater?"

Pakkpekatt looked to Taisden. "How long?"

"Not quite six minutes, though she'll have to start  knocking  her  speed

down pretty soon. Call it eight."

"Not enough time, Colonel Hammax," said Pakkpekatt. "Come back inside.

I need you to take over weapons control."

"Pardon me, Colonel," Taisden said.

"What is it?"

"Colonel, this other ship coming in may not be ignorant enough  to  think

that we're the ones who rearranged the furniture on the cruiser,  but  they're

sure as sweat going to be curious about what we know. I strongly recommend  we

jump out before they get anywhere near here."

"Recommendation noted," said Pakkpekatt.

"However, inasmuch as  we  are  currently  receiving  a  mission-critical

dispatch from Fleet Intelligence, we will

not be able to jump out  for  another"he  leaned  forward  to  read  the

display--"ten minutes."

Pleck and Taisden exchanged glances. "Anyone know the  top  speed  of  an

Adz-class patrol destroyer?"

"Point-five-five," said Pakkpekatt.

"And this yacht?"

"Unknown to me," said Pakkpekatt.  "Agent  Tais-den,  tell  me  when  the

contact's velocity changes."

"We could hide in the scan shadow of the cruiser," Pleck said.

"I intend to," said Pakkpekatt, handling the yoke with a light touch that

nudged the yacht sideways to port. "'But I won't be able to do so for long."

"They might come in more slowly if they see us," said Taisden.  "We  only

need a couple of minutes."

Hammax appeared at the hatchway, finger-combing his helmet-matted hair.

"Patrol destroyer carries six fighters," he pointed out. "They  can  have

it both ways--send the fighters in hot after us, and take a  nice  safe,  slow

approach to the wreck."

"Anyone know what kind  of  fighters  the  Prakith  have?"  Pleck  asked,

frowning. No one answered him.

"Contact is decelerating," said Taisden. "Looks like  she's  spotted  the

wreck. Colonel, the wreck's going to eclipse the contact in a few seconds."

"Tell me when."

"Coming up--damn. Fighter launch, two birds."

"Excellent," said Pakkpekatt, pushing the yacht's  throttles  forward  to

the limit. The sudden acceleration knocked Hammax back into  the  companionway

and sent Pleck tumbling against the flight deck's rear bulkhead.

"I suggest you both find a flight couch and strap  in.  We  may  need  to

discover not only how fast General Calrissian's yacht is, but how agile she is

as well."

Pleck picked himself up and squeezed past  Hammax,  heading  aft.  Hammax

came forward and reached for the weapons controller.

"You may store that,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "I  have  retracted  the  laser

cannon. This is a race, not a fight. I will jump us out before  I  let  us  be

caught--but I am willing to take some risks in order to receive  the  complete

dispatch."

"What's in it that's so important?" Hammax asked.

"The code that allowed this ship to pass through the  vagabond's  shields

at Gmar Askilon" "But we have that."

"--and the code that would have allowed D-89 to follow it in," Pakkpekatt

continued. "The next ime the vagabond asks us a question, we should  know  the

answer."

"If we ever see her again," Hammax said with a lopsided frown.

"We will."

"Tobay is hailing us," said Taisden.

"I have nothing to say to the Prakith," said Pakkpekatt.

"You might be able to  get  them  to  give  away  some  information--like

whether the vagabond was here."

"We do not need confirmation of that," said Pakkpekatt. "And I  will  not

take the risk of giving some information away to them." He glanced down at the

display. "General Calrissian has a very fast ship. Range to fighters?"

"One hundred thousand meters and opening quickly," Taisden said.

"Someone on the Tobay forgot that  TIEs  have  solar-electric  ion  boost

engines. Not much out here for them to eat. They won't catch us.

Someone else has figured that out, too---Tobay is accelerating now."

"Too late," Hammax said. "Their captain made the wrong choice."

"Yes," said Pakkpekatt, his pride teeth gleaming.

"He did."

"Three more minutes," said Taisden. "I'll set up the jumps if you'll tell

me where we're going next. Back to Carconth and Anomaly Ten-thirty-three?"

"No. I have been thinking about what happened to us, being  brought  here

by an automated system override," said Pakkpekatt. "I find myself asking  what

the

Qella would have done if, once having launched this vessel,  they  found

reason to recall her."

"Sounds like a card you'd want to keep in your hand," said Hammax.

"What do you have in mind, Colonel?"

"I have in mind for us to go to Maltha  Obex,  the  vagabond's  point  of

origin," said Pakkpekatt. "We will  set  up  a  hyperspace  beacon  there  and

transmit the sequences we just received."

"You mean to call her home," said Hammax.

Taisden's face was lit with sudden  optimism.  "We  can  use  the  entire

communications grid of the New Republic as a repeater to send out  the  signal

in realspace, on the frequency the vagabond used to interrogate our  ships  at

Gmar Askilon."

Pakkpekatt nodded, human fashion. "And then we will  wait  for  her.  Who

knows? If this yacht is as  well  named  as  she  is  outfitted,  perhaps  the

vagabond will hear our call and come to us. The odds of that can be no  longer

than the odds of our stumbling on her in the dark--and I am weary  of  chasing

shadows and echoes across the light-years."

Lando Calrissian cursed under his breath as he  dragged  himself  through

the narrow inner passage toward where Artoo indicated Lobot could be found.

The cyborg had stubbornly refused to return  to  where  the  droids  were

waiting, forcing Lando to shed his contact suit and come in after him.

But the passages were twisty and claustrophobic, and it was difficult  to

find enough elbow room and enough purchase on the surface for  fingertips  and

toes to keep him moving. The maze would have been impassable  in  gravity,  at

least for a human.

"Lobot!" he called ahead. "How about a little help?"

"You sound close by," was the faraway-sounding answer. "Just keep coming.

"

"What are you doing in here? Are you stuck and too embarrassed  to  admit

it?"

"I am occupied."

"Occupied with what?" When he was answered with  what  seemed  a  pointed

silence, Lando changed the subject. "You know we jumped out."

"You didn't by any chance have anything to do with that?"

"NO."

One more toe-push brought Lando to a point where two passages merged into

one. "The jump didn't sound good," he said, pausing there. "Lot of shaking and

rattling we haven't heard before."

"There was much damage."

Lando started again in the direction of the voice.

"Yeah, I saw some of it. Are you feeling all right, pal?"

"Fine."

"Really? I gotta tell you, you sound a little flat."

"I am occupied."

"That again," said Lando. "Well, if everything's all right, it would have

been nice if you'd answered the messages Artoo sent to you for me.

You could have saved me what's turning into a long and annoying climb."

"Impossible."

"What's impossible?"

There was a long silence.

"Lobot?"

"Impossible to reply. The channel was in use."

Lobot's voice was at last starting to promise that Lando  might  see  him

around one more twisting turn. "If there's some reason why I shouldn't come up

there, maybe you could tell me now."

"No reason. Come ahead. You are close now."

"You said that once before."

"I was not listening with my ears."

"Of course," said Lando. "I make that mistake all the time." Pausing,  he

pulled the cutting blaster from

the slash pocket of his flight suit and slipped the stay loop  over  his

wrist.

"You will not need that," said Lobot.

Lando's head jerked up. There was still no sign of Lobot in  the  passage

ahead. "You spying on me, buddy?"

Again, Lobot did not answer right away. "We are aware of you."

Drawing a deep breath, Lando reached out and pressed  his  palms  against

the inside of the passage,  resuming  his  awkward  floating  crawl  with  new

determination.

"You'll have to pardon me for intruding--I  thought  you  were  alone  in

here," he called as he scrambled along. "I hope I can count on you to make the

introductions."

"Yes. A little farther, Lando."

Ahead, the passage turned sharply, hiding what lay beyond. Lando let  the

blaster come into his hand before  going  around  the  bend.  Then  he  wedged

himself into the passage, using one foot to press his back against  the  wall,

as he deciphered what he was seeing.

The next section of passage had a gentle curve that limited his  view  to

twenty meters or so. But in those twenty meters, no fewer than  fifty  smaller

side passages joined it. The openings were puckered  in  appearance,  and  the

side passages were dark--the pale light illuminating the main  passage  seemed

to stop where they joined to it.

Pulling himself forward cautiously, Lando directed the beam of  his  hand

torch down the first of the side passages. Barely two meters  in,  the  branch

was completely blocked by what appeared to be a rounded plug, lighter in color

than the enclosing walls. The configuration put Lando in  mind  of  concussion

missiles in their launchers, or assault pods in their drop tubes.

Spinning in midair, Lando aimed his light into another side passage,  and

the next, and the next. They were all blocked--no, not  blocked,  he  thought,

filled- - in just the same manner by ellipsoidal objects  poten  tially  large

enough to enclose and imprison a human being.

"Lobot, where are you?" Lando said quietly. "Molo nag aikan nag molo kron

aikan sket..." The dreamy,  disassociated  voice  came  from  a  side  passage

another few meters away.  Lando  pulled  himself  along  one-handed  until  he

reached it, then pointed the beam of his hand torch inside without warning.

Lobot was floating inside, his feet toward Lando, his head at the  object

filling the passage. When the intense light reached Lobot's face, he raised  a

hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and turned his head away. That  was  when  Lando

glimpsed a shocking sight. The right side of Lobot's head was bare--there  was

only an outline of white  skin  and  a  pattern  of  socket  holes  where  the

interface band had been.

"Lobot, what's happened?"

"--eida kron molo sket aikan sket tupa vol..."

Drawing himself Closer, Lando grabbed Lobot by the foot and shook him.

"Hey, come back to me, pal."

Lobot flinched from the touch, jerking  his  foot  away,  but  ended  his

recitation.

"Talk to me, or I'm going to have to pull you out of there," Lando  said.

"Maybe I'd better do that anyway--" "No!" The vehemence with  which  the  word

was launched was part passion and part fear. At the same time,  Lobot's  hands

slammed outward against the sides of the passage, his fingers digging deep  as

the substance there yielded to provide him with secure handholds.

Only then, with Lobot's arms no longer  obscuring  his  view,  did  Lando

realize what was happening. Half of the interface band was still in  place  on

Lobot's left side.

The other half was attached to the curve of the object beyond. A  network

of fine wires, no longer than the span of Lando's hand, connected the two as a

tether.

"Starfire--you found a way to talk to the vagabond."

A smile crept onto Lobot's face. "Yes."

"To the vagabond, or to these things?" Lando gestured with the light.

"There is no distinction."

"Is it conscious?"

"It is aware." Lobot opened his eyes and looked at Lando  for  the  first

time. "I will need to remember to discuss  this  with  Threepio.  I  may  have

better answers for him now."

Lando wedged himself sideways in the opening of the side passage.

"What kind of conversation are you having?"

"It is willing to give me information. It will not give me control."

"Ask it where we're going this time."

"It is hurting," Lobot said. "I think it is going home."

Lando contemplated that information for a moment, then gestured with  the

beam of light. "What are these--eggs?"

"No. These are Qella," said Lobot. "The Ship is the egg."

(Chapter 7

Bathed in the brilliant fire  of  the  cluster's  many  suns,  three  New

Republic warships made their entry into star system ILC-905 in  the  formation

known as triangle-high-forward.

On the point, a hundred kilometers ahead of the others,  was  the  picket

Folna, with all its sensitive antennae passively scanning in all directions to

the limit of their range. Trailing in the flank position was another vessel of

the same size, the gunship Vanguard. In the anchor position,  flying  parallel

to Vanguard,  was  the  command  vessel  for  the  patrol  group--the  cruiser

Indomitable, under Commodore Brand.

Though Folna's sensing officer was reporting all displays clear, both the

cruiser's and the gunship's primary and secondary  armaments  were  at  combat

readiness, with their accumulators half charged, their aiming coils warm,  and

their crews on two-hour rotations. In addition, three  of  Indomitable's  five

squadrons, including Red Flight's K-wing bombers, were fully armed  and  lined

up for deployment, with their pilots standing by.

It would take just twelve seconds to bring  the  gun  batteries  to  full

power. Thirty-five seconds after the klaxon sounded in the bays, the first  E-

wings would clear Indomitable's flight deck.

Or if Brand didn't like the odds, a word from him--and ninety seconds to

spin up the hyperdrives--would have all three ships wheeling about and jumping

out to safety.

Despite those  precautions,  the  tension  aboard  all  three  ships  was

palpable. On the bridge of Indomitable, it was excruciating. The patrol  group

was hunting for the enemy in the enemy's own territory, and it would  be  just

their bad luck, thought Brand, if they should find them.

Or, worse still, be found.

In any space patrol, there was an irreducible risk of being  seen  by  an

enemy they could not see. That risk was multiplied  many  times  over  by  the

richness of Koor-nacht Cluster's starfields.

Even  with  the  best  available  instruments,  an  Imperial-class   Star

Destroyer was undetectable against the background of a first-magnitude star at

a range of only six thousand kilometers. A ship the  size  of  Vanguard  could

creep within three hundred klicks without being spotted.

Any inattention, any  errors  of  assessment,  any  deficiencies  in  the

systems, and those margins would narrow still further.

Active  sensing--a  laser  pulse,  a  radar   ping--could   remove   that

vulnerability, separating a nearby  ship  from  a  distant  star.  But  active

sensing created a vulnerability of its own, announcing their presence  like  a

shout in the night.

As they had been for the last nine system entries, the active sensors  of

the patrol group were silent. Brand was counting on the  skill  of  the  seven

officers seated at the passive-sensing  stations  in  Folna's  darkened  elint

compartment--the bug box, in ship slang.

Sharp eyes  and  clear  minds,  Brand  thought  as  he  restlessly  paced

Indomitable's bridge. The debacle at Doornik 319 had been embarrassment enough

to his command. No more surprises. No more mistakes.

"Look after your station,  Lieutenant,"  he  barked,  stopping  behind  a

Hrasskis officer and leaning in to jab a finger toward the console.

"You've got a yellow on your check board."

"I'm on it, sir."

"Twelfth planet entering our scan radius in one minute," called  out  one

of the cruiser's own elint specialists.

Brand straightened and turned toward the  forward  viewpanes.  "Helmsman,

how is our velocity?"

'Beginning to  pick  up  some  measurable  stellar  gravity  assist  now,

Commodore. Base velocity is one-third formation standard."

"Let her roll," Brand said--altering, on a sudden impulse, the  procedure

they had used in the past. "I don't care what the engineers at Technical saymI

don't believe that the braking thrusters don't light us up," he added.  "Let's

just be a rock this time."

"Infalling in formation, sir?"

"Loose formation--we'll let 'em drift. It won't amount to  much  at  this

point. Signal the patrol."

"Yes, sir."

By the time the patrol group was closing on the sixth planet, the gravity

of the star ILC-905--with  some  minor  assistance  from  the  system's  outer

planets had boosted the group's velocity to 41 percent of formation standard.

An  angry  and  puzzled  Colonel  Foag  had  long  since  registered  his

displeasure, signaling Brand from Folna's bug box  by  means  of  ship-to-ship

laser. "You're shrinking our safety radius," he complained. "The faster we go,

the more pressure there is on my people---with  the  analysis  lag  and  their

reaction time, we lose a thousand, two thousand kilometers at least.  Why  the

impatience?"

"It's not impatience, Colonel Foag.  I'm  just  adjusting  the  tradeoffs

slightly," said Brand. "I'm well aware that if elint ran the show,  we'd  make

entry at one-tenth formation standard with engines cold and ninety percent  of

the ship's systems shut down."

Later, recording his mission debriefing, Brand

could point to the fact that all the ships  destroyed  during  the  mass

recon of the cluster were making constant-velocity passes through their target

systems: - - This suggests that the  Yevethan  sensor  grids  are  capable  of

detecting even very small vessels when they are  following  a  flight  profile

requiring the use of braking and maneuvering thrusters-But the truth was  that

in the moment before he ordered the change, Brand had  experienced  a  sudden,

inexplicable spike of fear.

Coming from a tribe that respected instinct  as  much  as  reason,  Brand

treated that fear as information. And the only response available  to  him  at

that moment was to make the group's system entry as stealthy as possible, even

if it hindered the work of Foag's crew.

Brand had done the same thing in combat many times before--taken risks to

follow an impulse and found justification for it later. It had carried him  to

the rank of commodore and filled his  service  record  with  close  calls  and

commendations. It also guaranteed that he would never  rise  any  higher  than

that--"too high-strung" and "too erratic to command the  confidence  of  other

senior officers" were among the review board's disqualifying conclusions.

Even knowing that, Brand could not, would not, change his ways.

Honoring his feelings had saved his  life  more  than  once--and  he  had

donned his dress  uniform  for  the  funerals  of  a  roomful  of  by-the-book

officers, too many of them friends.

As the patrol group left the fifth planet behind, Brand left  the  bridge

for a quick, unannounced tour of Indomitable's ready stations.

By that time, the crew had been standing at  con-flict-yellow  alert  for

fourteen hours straight, and the fine edge of their vigilance had been blunted

by fatigue and boredom. As more and more crew members came to  the  conclusion

on their own that ILC-905 was clean,  personal  chatter,  laughter,  and  even

friendly roughhousing crept in to change the atmosphere in the  gun  batteries

and on the flight decks.

Conflict-yellow was in danger of being treated just like any other watch-

-peaceful, routine, business as usual for a warship under way.

Brand's visit put an end to that. Sweeping through station after  station

like a cold shower, he infected them with his own restless apprehension.

"Asteroid belt coming up next," he said, peering through a gunsight.

"You going to be ready, aren't you, son? Have to be more ready than  they

are."

Extracting a promise, Brand moved on.

"Asteroid belt coming up," he  said,  poking  his  head  into  a  fighter

cockpit. "You have everything you need to do your job, Lieutenant?

You know one pilot can be the difference."

Collecting a vow, Brand continued down the line.

In less than an hour, he was back on the bridge. He left behind him as  a

residue  of  the  lightning  tour  the  conviction  that  the  commander  knew

something--that something was going to happen.

Brand did not know what was going to happen.

But he was not surprised when something did.

Like many single-star systems, ILC-905 had an asteroid ring  between  the

outermost rocky planet and the innermost gas giant--the remnant  of  a  planet

that never was, torn asunder by the giant's massive gravitational field.

Like most asteroid rings, this one's density was low. It was only a minor

obstacle to navigation, and a poor  place  to  hide  anything  larger  than  a

probot. Despite what he said on his tour, Brand did  not  expect  to  find  an

Imperial shipyard cached there.

Nor did he expect a Yevethan thrustship to drop out of hyperspace  almost

dead ahead of them, six million kilometers on the far  side  of  the  asteroid

ring.

Like a giant strobe, the instantaneous flash known  as  Cronau  radiation

put the arriving ship not only on the screens in Folna's elint center, but  on

the other

ships' screens as well. Alarms began to keen  on  every  deck  as  Brand

upgraded the alert to conflict-orange.

"What was the phase shift?" he demanded, bounding out of his chair.

"Phase shift is negative," said the tracking officer.

"She's heading away from us."

"Going where?"

The navigator turned his head  to  answer.  "If  I  had  to  guess--third

planet, just like us."

"What are the chances they've spotted us?"

The  tactical  officer  leaned  over  the  plot  table  and  studied  the

geometries. "Very small, in my opinion. We couldn't have spotted them at  this

distance if they'd just been cruising along in realspace like we  are.  Having

them fall out of hyperspace like that was an incredible break."

"Maybe not," said Brand. He turned toward the viewpane and looked out  at

ILC-905, crossing his arms over his chest.  "If  they  did  move  one  of  the

shipyards here, they'll have created some long supply  lines  for  themselves.

This could be a pretty popular spacelane."

- "That could be, sir," the tactical officer agreed. "If  they're  trying

to use the yard, and not just hide it."

Brand nodded. "Comm--" "Yes, sir?"

"Signal the Intrepid that we have a contact,  one  Yevethan  T-type,  and

give our coordinates. Advise them that we're investigating further.

Helmsman--" "Yes, sir?"

"Let's close the gap a little. Give me ten percent forward  thrust  until

we clear the asteroid ring. Otherwise maintain course, hands off. We're  going

to follow her in."

A little more than an hour later, the Yevethan ship began a long  braking

maneuver that ended with it disappearing behind the limb of the third  planet.

By that time,  the  patrol  group  had  closed  to  within  half  a  mil  lion

kilometers, bringing the planet within range of its full array of sensors.

"Any sign of anything in orbit?" Brand demanded.

"Negative," said the sensor chief. "But we haven't seen complete  orbital

tracks for anything above two thousand kilometers."

"Given its approach, the most probable orbit for the target is three-two-

five-zero klicks," the tracking officer announced.

Brand walked to the forward viewscreens. "Show me," he said, and a three-

dimensional tactical map appeared side by side with the forward view.

Indomitable's first officer, Captain Tobbra, had a career book  that  was

unremarkable in every respect, the product of a long habit of  erring  on  the

side of caution.

That caution had been freshly renewed by a  new  baby  back  on  Trailan,

Tobbra's homeworld.

Tobbra was keenly aware that but for a few months'  seniority,  the  flag

chair might have been his instead. As it was, he thought of  it  as  a  shared

command, and saw it as his role to counterbalance Brand's excesses.

"Commodore, if we get any closer, that ship's sure to spot  us  when  she

comes around," he said in a guarded voice, joining Brand.

"I don't doubt it," said Brand.

"If we stand off here, even back off a bit, Folna should be able  to  get

everything we need for Five-Tat," Tobbra pressed, using the slang term for the

fleet commander's tactical staff.

"That's true as well," said Brand. "But right now, we have the advantage-

-we know where they are, and they don't know we're here.

You'd have me surrender that advantage."

"We don't have to try to do this alone," said Tobbra.

"If there's a shipyard here, Five-Tac will  send  us  some  thumpers  the

moment we send them confirmation."

"And if there's a shipyard here, the Yevetha will try  to  reinforce  its

defenses the moment we're detected,"

said Brand. "Can you promise me our ships will get here before theirs?"

Tobbra frowned in silence.

"I thought not," said Brand: "Detection and destruction of the  shipyards

is our priority mission, Captain.

Let's get on with it. We're going to use our advantage and ambush that T-

type. Then we'll take care of whatever it's here to visit."

"Commodore, we don't even know what it takes to knock out a T-type."

Brand shook his head. "Someone needs to find out.

I like the odds."

"But, Commodore--" "End of discussion, Captain." Brand turned  away  from

the viewscreen and called out to the comm officer.

"Let me speak to Folna."

"On your number one," came the smart reply.

Brand clicked his comlink on. "Captain Madis."

"Yes, Commodore."

"We're taking Vanguard in to engage. Break formation and hold station.

I want you here to record and relay."

"Affirmative, Commodore," Madis said. "We'll get you some  good  pictures

for the scrapbook."

"I know you will," said Brand. He switched his comlink so that his orders

would be echoed to the gunship, then looked  up  into  a  score  of  expectant

faces.

"Time to settle up for Doornik Three-nineteen," he  said  grimly.  "Comm,

upgrade the alert to conflict-red.

Tac, launch the fighter screen. Stand by to launch bombers.

Helm, give me eighty percent thrust and an  intercept  on  the  hostile's

projected orbit. Vanguard, close up and stay with us. I don't want you to miss

the first act."

The moment the siren began keening through the forward flight deck, Esege

Tuketu threw down his tiles and jumped up from his seat. He had  been  in  his

flight suit for hours, and had loosened the closures at the neck, wrists,  and

waist. As he ran toward his bomber, he struggled to close them, giving  him  a

clumsy dance of a gait.

Skids was already in the cockpit, strapping in, when Tuketu arrived.

He had been triple-checking the releases for the  armaments  strapped  to

the K-wing's hard points.

"How's everything look?" Tuketu  asked  as  he  clambered  up  the  short

ladder.

"Everything looks clean. Shouldn't have to make any hand deliveries."

"They'd definitely have to pay extra for that," said Tuke. "Any change in

the load-out?"

"No change. One egg, eight CM-five concussion missiles. Packing heavy."

"All  right.  Preflight  checklist,  from  the  top--"  As  Vanguard  and

Indomitable accelerated toward their rendezvous with the Yevethan  thrustship,

a thin fighter screen--two dozen fighters altogether, half  E-wings,  half  X-

wings--fanned out around them. When the lead ships in the formation came  into

view on the cruiser's viewscreens, Tobbra was prompted to once again seek  out

Brand for a private conversation.

"You're breaking every rule of engagement in the command codex," he  said

bluntly. "The standard fighter screen for this ship alone is three  squadrons,

not two. The spacing is so loose out there that it won't  take  much  for  the

enemy to break through."

"I'm holding back the other two fighter squadrons for  escort  duty.  The

bombers are going to need help punching through," Brand said.

"We don't even know for certain how  many  fighters  a  T-type  carries,"

Tobbra protested, his voice rising.

"It could be twice or three times what we saw at Door-nik Three-nineteen.

"

Brand shot Tobbra a  frosty  look.  "Mind  your  tone  and  your  volume,

Captain, or remove yourself from the bridge. I don't  intend  to  carry  on  a

running argument with you throughout the engagement."

Tobbra lowered his voice, but his tone was unchanged.

"We shouldn't be engaging the enemy, sir--that's the issue. It's my  duty

to point  out--"  "That  we  don't  know  everything  we  might?  This  is  no

revelation, Captain. I can count, and I can read an Intell report.

Give me that much credit."

"I mean no insult, sir."

"That's not always obvious from your words," said Brand. "Captain,  if  a

smaller force never defeated a superior one, we could just weigh the orders of

battle and declare the winner, neatly avoiding all the messy parts. But  war's

not like that. Throw away your calculator. You can't use it to make  the  hard

decisions."

Tobbra frowned, but nodded silently.

Brand moved close and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "Then, there's

something else at issue, too. Something you won't find in the codex. Which  is

that if a perfectly hale New Republic cruiser and gunship can't  handle  a  T-

type one-on-one, Fleet needs to learn that sooner rather than  later.  Because

all the reports I've been seeing say the Yevetha have a lot of T-types."

Exhaling sharply, Tobbra said, "That's why you had Folna stand off."

"Apart from the fact  that  she's  too  thin-skinned  for  this  kind  of

roughhousing, yes."

Tobbra looked out at the planet, now  a  distinct  disc  with  a  mottled

yellow-brown face. "I'd better get back to my station," he said.

"It's time to poll the batteries."

Fifteen minutes before the projected reappearance of the  Yevethan  ship,

Brand gave the order to launch the bombers and escort  fighters.  He  did  not

want to risk being surprised with the flight  decks  full  of  fuel  and  high

explosives if the Yevethan ship made an early appearance, thanks  to  settling

into a lower-than-expected orbit.

The K-wings formed Up in groups of three, each group sandwiched between a

trio of fighters above and another below. Brand watched  from  the  bridge  as

they moved out to their positions twenty kilometers ahead.

Though  the  wings  and  other  surfaces  had  been  darkened  for  space

operations, their engine exhausts glowed like candles in the night.

The triple exhausts of the K-wings stood out among them.

"I just hope they actually drop  their  eggs  this  time,"  the  tactical

officer said quietly when Brand returned to the plot table.

"They will," Brand said without hesitation. "And not because  we  changed

the combat frequencies and installed scramblers. Because it has to be done."

Five minutes before reacquisition, Vanguard detached from the cruiser.

It moved out on a trajectory that would both give it  a  clear  field  of

fire and allow it to spot the Yevethan ship  while  the  rest  of  the  attack

formation was still below its horizon. That would provide Brand with  a  scant

few seconds to react to what Vanguard saw and adjust his orders accordingly.

One minute and nine seconds earlier than expected, Marauder reported in.

"Contact, one--no, two--three--four. Four targets. Analyzing.

Contacts are as follows--one, repeat, one, Imperial type two shipyard.

Three, repeat, three, Yevethan T-types."

"Three!" Brand said in surprise, loudly enough to be heard at most of the

bridge stations. "Three," he  repeated  to  himself.  "Well,  that  yanks  the

rancor's whiskers."

"Indomitable, this is Vanguard. We're now taking fire  from  two  of  the

Yevethan vessels. Shield effectiveness approximately ninety-two  percent.  May

we engage, sir?"

Tobbra rushed to the plot table. "Commodore, we have to break off.

Order the bombers in so that we can get out of here."

"Twenty seconds to reacquisition," said the tactical officer, tracing the

electronic lines with a fingertip. "Vanguard, this is  Brand,"  the  commodore

said,  glaring at Tobbra. "Can you say status of the type two?"

"Indomitable, she's full up. Looks like six ship-ways  with  complete  or

substantially complete vessels, three more at the keel-and-skeleton stage."

Brand  shuddered  involuntarily.  "Vanguard,  you  are  free  to  engage,

counterforce protocol. Repeat, free fire--concentrate on the T-types--" Tobbra

reached out and grabbed Brand above the elbow. "What are you doing?"

With a violent jerk of his arm, Brand broke the first officer's grip.

"What has to be done," he  said.  "Confine  yourself  to  your  quarters,

Captain Tobbra. Lieutenant Threld, take  the  captain's  station."  He  turned

toward the comm officer. "Let me talk to the attack squadrons."

There was a faint crackle on the K-wing's battle comm  as  the  scrambler

went active.

"Here it comes," said Skids.

"Indomitable to all squadrons," said Brand's voice.

"I have a revised  target  appraisal--confirming  type  two  shipyard  in

orbit, with birds in the roost. Confirming three thrustships in orbit.

The patrol has been fired upon. These are your revised targeting orders--

your primary target is the shipyard. We'll keep the  T-types  busy--you're  to

ignore them unless they get in the way.

Flight leaders, commence your attack."  After  a  microscopic  pause,  he

added, "Good luck."

"There they are," Tuketu said as the cockpit was lit up  by  the  distant

flare of blaster bolts striking ray shields.

Moments later, the  tactical  display  in  the  cockpit  showed  him  the

geometry of the battle. One thrustship  was  preceding  the  shipyard  in  its

orbit, another trailing behind. The third--most likely the one the patrol  had

first spotted--was docked  at  the  cargo  port  on  the  side  of  the  great

structure.

"'Good luck'--Tuke, this is crazy," Skids was saying.

"How are we going to duck three Fat Men?"

"We'll try the low road," said Tuketu. "Red Flight, this is  Red  Leader.

Follow me down to the planet. On the break--now!"

The Battle of ILC-905 lasted just eleven furioUs, confusing minutes.

In the first moments, Vanguard fell under a fearful fusillade  from  both

the lead and trailing thrustships.

Even after it began returning fire, it was clearly out-matched in such  a

pairing. The only thing that saved the gunship from a quick end was  the  fact

that the individual T-type main batteries were medium-cruiser-class at best.

Nevertheless, each thrustship had eight main batteries, spaced in such  a

way  that  every  approach  was  covered,  and  up  to  four  batteries  could

concentrate their fire on a single target. It would  not  take  long  for  the

concentrated fire of two such vessels to batter down  the  gunship's  shields,

and then to destroy it.

Then Indomitable joined the fight, and the alignment suddenly changed.

"Let's see if we can divide  their  attention,"  Brand  said.  "Vanguard,

concentrate your fire on the trailer.

We'll take on the lead ship. All batteries, fire."

Indomitable's first salvo drew an immediate response  from  the  Yevethan

vessel, drawing the fire of half a dozen gun batteries.  But  the  interceptor

screen paid the price--two of the forward interceptors exploded, one after the

other, as one of  the  Yevethan  batteries  targeted  the  tiny  escorts.  The

brilliant flare of light made Brand momentarily turn away.

"Pull the screen back," he snapped. "There's nothing out there  they  can

help us with right now."

Before the fighters could respond, a third fighter exploded just off  the

starboard shield boundary.  It  was  like  having  a  bomb  go  off  at  close

proximity--the cruiser shuddered, and its shields 'glowed a pale yellow

under the assault, signifying a momentary softening at  that  spot.  But

the shield firmed up quickly, and the remaining interceptors survived to  slip

behind the cruiser and hide in its shield shadow.

"Commodore," the tactical officer said quietly.

Brand looked up. "What?"

"We're not getting through the Fat Man's shields.  Vanguard  isn't  doing

any better. We may have to redirect the bombers."

"No," Brand said, shaking his head. "The shipyard is the priority target.

"

"Commodore, Vanguard's taking a beating. We have to  get  her  some  help

now."

The cruiser shuddered around them. "Retarget Green  Flight,"  Brand  said

reluctantly.

By that time, the lead Yevethan vessel  had  discovered  the  flights  of

bombers trying to slip past. As though contemptuous of the  cruiser's  ability

to harm it, the thrustship  diverted  its  attention  to  the  smaller  ships,

picking off two X-wings and a K-wing almost immediately.

Moments later, it began to launch its own fighters.

"Brand to all batteries--target those hostile fighters!

Pick 'em up where they clear the shields."

"Target is launching missiles," the tactical officer said, drawing a deep

breath. "Six--eight--ten articles, all tracking this way."

There were  more  than  twenty  fast-firing,  fast-track-ing  antimissile

octets arrayed around  Indornitable's  hull,  and  those  that  had  a  firing

solution immediately began filling the missiles' projected path with  a  cloud

of high-velocity  metal  shrapnel.  When  the  missiles  and  the  cloud  met,

spectacular flowers of red and yellow fire blossomed silently in  the  vacuum.

But four missiles burst through the bouquet  like  angry  insects,  and  three

survived to slam in close succession against the cruiser's  shield  perimeter,

The bridge lights dimmed as the  ship  rocked  under  Brand's  feet.  "Trading

punches," Brand said.  "Arm  and  fire  six,  count  'em,  six  CM-nines.  All

batteries stand by to target the points of impact. Helm, move us closer."

Within seconds, launchers on both flanks of  the  cruiser  spat  out  the

high-velocity concussion missiles.

They looped toward the thrustship on individual, indirect flight profiles

meant to make them harder to intercept.

"Number three particle-shield generator is  off-line--we  now  have  zero

reserve capacity,"  said  the  tactical  officer.  "I  count  eleven  Yevethan

fighters under way. Green Flight has lost five fighters and two bombers.

Blue Flight has lost three fighters and one bomber.

Red Flight--" A brilliant flare of  light  flooded  the  bridge,  drawing

Brand's eyes to the forward viewscreen. "Was that an egg?"

"Yes," said the tac officer. "Negative on target.

That was Green Two---he must have armed it early, and it  blew  up  under

him. Lost three fighter signals at the same time."

"Damn."

"Commodore, Blue Flight has broken through and is making an attack run on

the shipyard." Pointing to the middle of the plot table, the tactical  officer

identified the two small blue triangles moving toward the red  rectangle  that

was the yard.

Brand nodded grimly and studied the plot. "Good.

We're running short of pieces," he  said.  "Send  Black  Flight  to  help

Vanguard. We can't afford to lose that one."

The orbitaLshipyard the ImPerial Navy had called Black Nine  was  unarmed

but not unprotected. In addition to the collision shields needed by any space-

based complex, it was equipped with ray and  particle  shields  comparable  to

those of a Star Destroyer.

Its guardian thrustships, Tholos and Rizaron, more than made up  for  the

yard's offensive deficiencies. In addition to eight main batteries, each  also

carried forty

fighters in four bays  along  the  ship's  equator,  and  four  ten-tube

reloadable missile launchers. With their enhanced Imperial shields, they  were

formidable warships.

The greatest weakness of Tholos was the inexperience of its primate,  Par

Drann. Like virtually all of his crew, Par Drann had never been in combat--not

even to the extent of taking part in the Cleansing. So when the  New  Republic

ships appeared, Par Drann responded out of the  old  instincts  that  governed

fighting among the nitakka.

Those instincts,  as  inherently  contradictory  as  they  were  innately

strong, said the closest threat is the greatest threat-in a right  of  unequal

numbers, dispatch  your  weakest  opponent  first-to  discourage  others  from

joining a fight against you, charge a newcomer immediately-hold  nothing  back

when you go to kill-So it was that Par Drann's orders to his  gun  crews  kept

changing--to attack the gunship that first appeared,  then  the  cruiser  that

joined the fight, then the vulnerable interceptor screen, then the bombers  as

they flew past, then the cruiser again as the bombers retreated.

The Yevethan fighter pilots obeyed the same dictums,  each  singling  out

the nearest target and attacking it fearlessly,  but  often  breaking  off  an

attack when a closer target appeared.

If Tholos and Rizaron had continued their combined  attack  on  Vanguard,

they could have destroyed it before the late-arriving cruiser could do  either

of them harm. If Par Drann had allowed for it, Tholos  could  have  swept  the

battlefield clean of New Republic fighters  and  bombers  before  turning  its

attention to Indomitable.

And if the Yevethan fighters had pursued Blue Flight toward the  shipyard

or Black Flight toward Rizaron, the outcome of  the  battle  might  have  been

different.

But his Yevethan perspective did not allow Par  Drann  to  recognize  the

threat they posed--not with Indomitable bearing down on him.

"Thetan nitakka, ko nakaza!" he cried. "To the strongest of us, glory  in

the kill!"

There was fire aboard Vanguard by the time  Black  Flight  attracted  the

notice of Rizaron. Battery number  eight,  a  twin-barrel  laser  cannon,  had

misfired in a spectacular explosion that gouged the entire gun compartment out

of the side of the gunship.

Worse, the snapback from a  salvo  of  Yevethan  missiles  had  left  the

particle-shield generators dead and burning. The next Yevethan  missile  would

explode against the hull, not the shields, and  the  thrustship's  ion  cannon

were playing havoc with power all over the ship.

Captain Inadi viewed the arrival of the bombers  with  more  apprehension

than relief. "They'll never get through," she said, shaking her head.

"Weapons, keep up the counterfire. Let's help them all we can. Helm, show

the enemy our minimum cross section. Systems, give  priority  to  the  forward

antimissile stations--they have to have power."

With the help of telescopic holo and the electronic  battle  plot,  Inadi

and the bridge crew watched the bombers jinking at high speed through the rain

of laser blasts and ion bolts. An E-wing accompanying Black Two took a  direct

hit and spun out, burning. Black Three disappeared in a sphere of white  fire,

its escorts peeling away and narrowly escaping the hurtling debris.

Just then, Vanguard shook as though it had been hit.

"Damage control is reporting that the fire in the  generator  compartment

has blown through and ventilated to vacuum."

"Noted. Weapons, launch all remaining CM-nines," Inadi said with a frown.

"Maybe we can set her up for the knockout."

Three missiles leaped from the bow launchers, another four from the stern

tubes. An eighth, located in a

launcher adjacent to the destroyed number eight battery, hung up in  the

tube, starting a third fire.

"Incoming!" shouted the tracking officer.

The Yevethan thrustship had answered Vanguard's salvo  with  one  of  its

own--a cluster of ten more of the swift, powerful missiles that had  destroyed

the particle-shield generators.

"Helm, get us out of here," Inadi said grimly.

"I'll do my best."

The 190-meter gunship was among  the  most  agile  of  the  New  Republic

capital vessels, but it could not come close to matching the  acceleration  of

the enemy missiles. Inadi's hope was that running would give the octets at the

stern enough time to swat away all of the pursuing missiles.  As  she  watched

the gap close she regretted not having turned the ship sooner.

"Our CM-nines should reach the target in  eight  seconds,"  the  tracking

officer reported. "Bomber escorts have broken off--bombers are launching their

missiles now. Confirming release of an egg from Black One--confirming  release

of an egg from Black Twenty--" Something struck Vanguard astern with  so  much

force that the tactical officer was knocked to his hands and knees  and  Inadi

was thrown hard against the plot table.

"Missile impact," the damage control officer called out.

"Everything's dead back of section forty," the systems officer reported.

"Engines two, four, and six are gone," said the helmsman. "Thrust now  at

one quarter and falling."

Inadi stared at the plot table as two more fast-moving  blips  closed  on

her vessel. "Get to the pods," she said hoarsely. "All stations, abandon ship-

-abandon ship--" Her answer was a roaring sound,  darkness,  a  fierce  light,

and, finally, silence.

Hovering five thousand meters above the barren, pitted  surface  of  ILC-

905's third planet, Esege Tuketu and the other members of Red  Flight  watched

the flashes of light overhead as they waited impatiently for their chance.

The order to stand off had come just as they had  begun  climbing  toward

the shipyard for their attack run. "Hold  your  position  until  we  have  the

results of the attacks underway," said the tactical officer. "I need something

in reserve, and you're it."

"They'd better leave some for us," Skids said over the  bomber's  cockpit

comm on hearing their instructions.

"We come back with the racks full and no  scratches  on  the  paint,  and

we'll never hear the end of it."

Tuketu said nothing. His eye had been  drawn  by  the  first  of  several

brilliant explosions, above and port-side of them. "That was an egg," he said,

marking the distinctive pure white color of the flash. "And another."

The third explosion was different--smaller and  yellower  at  first,  but

longer-lived, and larger and redder at its peak. As it started to fade,  there

was another series of flashes at nearly the same spot in the sky--three  small

blue-white flashes, then a blood-red irregular billow.

When Tuketu looked back  at  his  tracking  display,  both  the  trailing

thrustship and Vanguard had disappeared.

"What was all that?" Skids demanded. "Did we get one, Tuke?"

"Yeah," said Tuketu. "And so did they."

Both the successful attack on the  second  thrustship  and  the  loss  of

Vanguard went nearly ignored on the bridge of Indomitable. The focus  was  the

last few seconds of Blue Flight's dive toward the shipyard.

"Two thousand meters to shield boundary," said the tactical officer.

"Fighters are pulling out.  Fifteen  hundred.  One  thousand.  Confirming

release on Blue

One--oh, blast, where'd he come from? Negative release on Blue Three.

Somebody got 'im."

A Yevethan fighter streaking across at right angles to the attack  vector

had fired on Blue Three, first  crippling  it  and  then  colliding  with  the

debris. That tiny explosion was swallowed moments later by the  detonation  of

Blue One's egg.

"Find out if the shields are down," Brand said grimly.

"Battery four, give me three bursts on the secondary target."

The laser bolts expended themselves uselessly  against  nothingness.  The

shields were still intact.

"Commodore, maybe the thrustship that's docked there is protecting it."

"No ship that size produces a shield envelope that large," Brand  argued.

"How did we take out the other ship?"

· "Battle analysis says that Vanguard and Black

Flight hit that Fat Man with seven CM-nines and ten

CM-fives in the seconds before the first egg cracked.

That must have pushed the shields close to their limit."

"Close to their limit," Brand repeated, then stabbed a finger at the plot

table, pointing at the thrust ship attached to the shipyard.

"What's the standard radius of an Imperial particle shield?"

"Two hundred meters."

"What's the diameter of a Fat Man?"

"Two hundred forty meters."

"So the one that's docked--it's not fully enclosed by the yard's shields.

"

"So what? It has its own shields. Which are sure to be back  up  by  now,

even if it did have them down for unloading."

"Exactly. Which means that there should be an interference  zone  between

the two shield boundaries," said Brand. "If we can wedge something in there--"

"Then the shields will  concentrate  and  focus  the  blast,  multiplying  the

effective yield."

"Can a K-wing targeting computer find the interference zone?"

Still trading blows with  the  lead  thrustship,  Indomitable  shook  and

groaned around them.

"No," said the tac officer, shaking his head. "But the E-wings  ought  to

be able to light it up for them."

Brand nodded. "Signal Red Flight. Tell them what we need."

Tuketu found it eerily disconcerting to be climbing toward  such  a  huge

target and not be receiving any defensive fire. The thrustship docked  at  the

shipyard was completely and inexplicably passive to their approach.

"Tactical," said Tuketu. "Has this Fat Man mixed it up at all yet?"

"Negative, Red One. We have not seen any activity."

"Ignoring us so far, too, Tac." He closed the link and  'called  back  to

Skids, "Maybe it's just a freighter. Or a dormitory."

"Doesn't matter to me," said Skids. "You get us there, I'll  dent  it  up

the same no matter what it is."

They were not to go completely unmolested--that was too much to expect.

Five Yevethan fighters screamed in from the starboard, sending one E-wing

spinning down toward the planet on a plume of smoke  and  drawing  two  others

away in pursuit. Tuketu increased both his speed and the rate of  his  evasive

maneuvers, challenging his escort to keep up with him.

"Who is that over there, Cover Four?"

"They call me Dogo, sir."

"Well, Dogo, they tell me that somewhere about a hundred meters  wide  of

that Fat Man there's a seam between two shields. You paint it up so I can  see

it, and Skids here will do his best to rip it open."

"Will do, sir."

The E-wing jumped ahead and shortly after began firing its laser  cannon

at the invisible wall ahead, neatly sweeping his aim back and forth across its

face.

"There it is," called Dogo.

"I've got it--clear out," Tuketu said at the same moment, looking at  the

line revealed by the E-wing's laser fire. "Looks pretty tight, Skids. Hang  on

to the egg--see if you can get a CM-five in there."

"I  don't  need  any  flapping  target  practice,"  Skids  grumbled,  but

complied. "Ready to fire."

"Clear to fire."

"Missile away."

Running up the big third engine, Tuketu began a  dizzying  pullout.  "Red

Two, what do you see?"

"Sorry, Red One--your bird exploded at the shield boundary.  Repeat,  did

not get in. Let me have a run at it."

"Negative," Tuketu said, wheeling the bomber around for another pass.

"There's something I want to try--" There was a sudden crackle of static,

then Red Two came back on, his voice suddenly tight with excitement.

"Tuke, that lead Fat Man's coming back this  way--Cover  Eight  just  got

toasted."

"Run for cover," Tuketu  said.  "Take  my  escort--I've  got  the  target

zeroed. Keep the yard between you and the Fat Man. If  I  don't  get  in  this

time, I want you and Flick to put your eggs right on the seam, one-two.

Got it?"

"Got it. What are you up to?"

"Just get clear and be ready to scamper." Tuketu switched off the  combat

comm. "Skids?"

"Here as always."

"I want to take her in and park right on that seam, zero velocity, so you

can line it up from ten meters away. If it goes in, I'll get  us  clear--their

own shields will protect us long enough."

"You think so." yard. "This thing's full of Star Destroyers, Skids.

It's got to go, Can you make the shot? It's up to you."

"Yeah, I can make the shot," he said. "Let's do it."

"What in the devil is he up to?" Brand demanded.

"He didn't drop his egg on the first pass,  and  now  he's  just  sitting

there."

"I don't know--his combat comm's down," said the  tactical  officer.  "It

almost looks like he's trying to put himself right in the interference zone."

Brand looked away from the plot table and out at  the  shipyard  just  in

time to see it enveloped in an enormous explosion that ripped  the  thrustship

free and sent the yard into a slow, tumbling roll.

Swallowing hard, he ordered the mains directed at  the  mortally  wounded

structure and watched as they tore through what was left, turning  the  jumble

of vessels inside into a spreading cloud of burned and twisted debris.

While the  dissection  continued,  the  damaged  thrustship  slowly  fell

planetward in a graceful death dive. The lead thrustship followed it  part  of

the way down, then climbed out and away under  full  thrust,  leaving  half  a

dozen of its fighters scattered behind it, abandoned.

Brand turned away and leaned heavily on the plot table with  both  hands,

as though he needed support for shaky legs.

"Now we know what it takes to beat them," he whispered.  "Begin  recovery

operations."

Three thousand kilometers  above  the  plane  of  the  star  system,  the

thrustship Tholos slowed to a stop and turned end for end.

During the climb out from the third planet, a full load of gravity  bombs

had been racked in the central drop chute, and the  main  batteries  had  been

shuttled along their internal tracks until all eight were located in

the ship's upper hemisphere. From there, they could  be  directed  at  a

single target during the attack dive, Hold nothing back when you go to kill!"

"Ko nakaza!" cried Par Drann, his fighting crests flushed and swollen.

"Soko darama! for the honor of the viceroy, the Blessed, the All.

Now, Proctor--there is our target. Speed! Before the vermin escape  us--"

Nil Spaar gently caressed the mara-nas hanging in alcove five.

In only three days it had more than doubled in size, and the surface  had

taken on a rich iridescent sheen that foretold a superior nesting.

Wrapping his tongue around his finger, he drew in the complex  scent  and

taste of the oily secretions.

Nitakka, he thought. A strong young male to Carry my blood.

There was a noise behind him, and the viceroy turned  to  see  Tal  Fraan

standing in the doorway of the cell. Behind him, Nil Spaar  caught  a  blurred

glimpse of the keeper as he hurried away, his errand completed.

"Darama," Tal Fraan said, taking one step into the alcove  and  kneeling,

his head lowered, his neck bared.

"My proctor cogent," said Nil Spaar.  With  a  half  stride  forward,  he

reached out and lightly laid his hand on the back of Tal Fraan's head, keeping

him in the posture of submission. "Tell me--when you warranted your  knowledge

of the vermin with your blood, was it sincere, or simply what was expected?"

"Most sincere, darama."

"Good," said Nil Spaar, tightening his grip on the younger male's  skull.

His fighting crests were a purplish red and swelling quickly.

"Now let us be certain of my memory. Did you promise me that the prospect

of an alliance between myself and these Imperial vermin would fill  Leia  with

such fear that she would not dare make war against the  Blessed?  This  was  a

shadow they feared and would not dare enter--did you say that?"

"Darama, what has happened?"

Nil Spaar pushed Tal Fraan's head down sharply, until his neck  was  bent

to the breaking point. He made a fist with his other hand, and the long, sharp

dewclaw slid out of its retractile casing. "The vermin destroyed  Black  Nine,

at Prildaz."

The resistance went out of Tal Fraan's body. "I give you my  blood  as  a

gift to your child," he murmured.

"You gave me this gift once before," said Nil Spaar.

"But this time I will take it." He struck with such sudden violence  that

Tal Fraan's head was severed completely, coming free in  his  hand  while  the

body dropped to the floor. Discarding the head with casual contempt, Nil Spaar

stepped over the body and left the alcove as the keeper came running.

"The sacrifice was unclean," Nil Spaar said. "None of his blood is to  go

to my children. Make meal of his carcass."

"Yes, Viceroy."

Taking no notice of the blood spattered on his armor and  vestments,  Nil

Spaar  strode  through  the  corridors  with  long  strides  and  a   vengeful

countenance, driving those he encountered to flee before him. When he  reached

his quarters, he shouted for Eri Palle.

"Yes, darama," said the attache, coming at a run.

One glance was enough to tell him the viceroy's state, and Eri Palle took

care to abase himself well out of the viceroy's reach. "How can I serve you?"

Send for Vor Duull. Tell Vor Duull to bring his boxes," said  Nil  Spaar,

plunging himself into the deep, comforting folds of his own nesting. "And then

bring Han Solo to me--I have a message to send to the vermin queen."

For once, there was no craft or  subtlety  in  a  transmission  from  Nil

Spaarand for once, there was absolute silence in the conference room.

Leia watched it with her arms wrapped tight against her  body,  one  hand

covering her mouth. When it was over, she left the room, her face  white,  her

eyes dead.

Ackbar was little better off, despite having looked

away through the worst of it. Alole  was  weeping  silently,  fat  tears

painting her round cheeks. Behn-Kihl-Nahm wore a scowl of ultimate contempt.

Alone in his office, Drayson wore a mask of cold rage.

They had seen Nil Spaar savagely beating a bound Han  for  nearly  twenty

minutes--not just beating him, but kicking and  hurling  him  about  an  empty

compartment in an animal rage. The beating went  on  until  Han  was  bleeding

freely from his mouth, his nose, from gashes on his face and arms, his  chest,

his calf. The beating went on until Han's blood was smeared on the  bulkheads,

the deck, and halfway up Nil Spaar's powerful forearms. The  beating  went  on

until Han could no longer stand when the viceroy dragged him to his feet,  not

even with a wall to support him.

For long seconds, Nil Spaar  had  stood  in  a  half  crouch  over  Han's

crumpled form. The viceroy was partly turned away  from  the  lens,  and  they

could not see his face. But they could see his thorax plates  rise  and  fall,

and one hand flexing menacingly as a great claw appeared, vanished,  appeared,

and vanished again.

Then Nil Spaar had straightened and turned to face them. They saw that he

was bleeding as well--tiny rivulets running  from  the  two  enlarged  scarlet

crests at his temples. Staring into the holocam, he had  wiped  at  the  blood

with the back of one hand, then sucked his hand clean.

Finally, he had made his message explicit, though with unusual economy of

words--the only words spoken throughout the  entire  horror,  delivered  in  a

dark, angry growl: "Leave Koornacht now."

Chapter 8

Akanah  was  the  first  to  discover  the  Yevethan  starship   orbiting

J't'p'tan.

As soon as Mud Sloth dropped out of  hyperspace  on  the  fringe  of  the

Doornik 628 system, Akanah slipped away to the service compartment.

There she entered a deep meditation, submerging herself  in  the  Current

and searching for the presence of the Circle.

Staying at the skiff's controls, Luke first performed a  sweep  with  Mud

Sloth's feeble sensors, then closed his eyes  and  entered  his  own  reverie,

connecting to his new surroundings and searching for local disturbances in the

Force.

Neither he nor the skiff found anything of note, but when Akanah rejoined

him, she told him of her discovery.

"How do you know? Can you actually see this ship?" he asked skeptically.

"It is difficult to explain. Let me try to show  you--"  "In  a  moment,"

Luke said. "Explain first."

"Is this important now? What does it matter how I know? I know."

"It matters if you expect us to base what we do on what you've told  me,"

he said.

The unspoken tensions dating back to  Utharis  were  fully  awakened  by

then. "Have you become a skeptic, now?" she asked, her  expression  more  hurt

than angry.

"You no longer trust my gifts?"

"Akanah, I know there's more than one source of knowledge and  more  than

one kind of truth--" "Is it that the Jedi are unwilling to  share  the  Force,

then?" she asked. "Are you uncomfortable knowing I have a  path  to  knowledge

that doesn't require you, that isn't yet open to you? At the  same  time  that

you ask me to teach you, you seem to need to doubt, even to discredit--"  Luke

was shaking his head vigorously. "No, no, that's wrong. The Force is  a  river

from which many can drink, and the training of the Jedi is not  the  only  cup

that can catch it," he said.

"If we didn't know that before we met the witches of Dathomir, we  surely

know it now."

"That is something, at least."

"But the truth lives side by  side  with  lies,  and  errors,  and  self-

deceptions--with hopeful dreams, and baseless fears, and  mistaken  memories,"

Luke added gently. "And we have to try to know one from the other. All  I  ask

is that you help me understand the source of your insight. That will  help  me

know what weight to give it."

"Is the damage done at Utharis still with us?" she asked  sadly.  "I  had

hoped to receive your trust again."

"There's very little I trust in this life, Akanah--myself included."

"Too true," she agreed.  "Very  well--I  will  try  to  explain."  Akanah

frowned as she searched for the right words. "Where the Current touches  self-

awareness, there is a tiny ripple--as when  you  sense  a  presence  with  the

Force. The metaphor is more different than the means."

"But I can't feel anything here--nothing more  than  the  energy  of  the

ecosystems  on  the  fourth  and  fifth  planets,"  Luke  said.  "Nothing   of

consciousness--noth-ing of will."

"It is not consciousness or will that matters--it is the profound essence

of being, nothing more,, she said.

"I can perceive the crew just as you would perceive a handful of  sand  I

scattered on the far side of a pool.

From a distance, sometimes you can see only the effect, not the cause."

She smiled. "But you must be very still to see even  that,  for  you  are

also of the Current, surrounded by the ripples of your being."

"So what you sense is the crew of this ship?"

"Whether they are crew, or cargo, or captives, I can't say. I  only  know

that there are many thousands there,  orbiting  J't'p'tan,  and  some  smaller

number on the surface below."

"Colonists," said Luke. "They must be here to settle the planet." At  her

questioning look, he added, "I heard some rumors in Taldaak that  the  Yevetha

were expanding their territory by taking over the habitable worlds."

"And you trust these rumors because--" He laughed grimly.  "Because  they

came from the Fleet. I obtained a tactical briefing on the war."

"So you already knew that a ship was here," she said. "And  said  nothing

to me of it."

"I knew that a ship was here at one  time,"  Luke  said.  "I  didn't  say

anything to you because I couldn't. I take seriously the oath that  allows  me

access to secure data. I wouldn't tell  your  secrets  to  them,  either,"  he

added.

"Then you weren't testing me just now? To learn if I've spied on you?"

"No," Luke said. "I just needed to know how  you  knew.  What  about  the

Circle?"

She shook her head. "The essence of  concealment  is  merging  with  what

surrounds you. Not even the best among us could answer your question  at  this

distance, and I am far from the best. I hear only silence--I do not know  what

the silence means."

Pushing Mud Sloth to its navigational limits, Luke began to  contrive  a

spiraling approach that would keep the mass of the planet  between  the  skiff

and the Yevethan vessel.

"Best for everyone if they never see us at all," he said  as  he  charted

the course.

"Done," Akanah said, looking on from behind Luke's flight couch.

Luke looked up at her quizzically. "It can't be that easy."

"Why not?"

"Eh--don't you have to know who it is you're trying to hide from?"

"Why?" she asked.

"So you have a focus.  So  you  know  whose  thoughts  you're  trying  to

deflect. It's done with precision, not brute force."

"That's coercive," she said. "And invasive. You reach into  another  mind

and bind its thoughts, or place your own there."

"Well--yes," Luke said. "But the use of that power is constrained.

The purpose must  be  important  enough  to  justify  the  deed  and  the

consequences."

"It seems the Jedi are always finding reasons to justify their violence,"

she said. "I wish you would try as hard to find ways to avoid it."

"Violence? What violence?" Luke protested.

"More often than not,  all  that's  required  is  to  induce  a  moment's

inattention, or reinforce a suspicion. No harm is involved. A sworn Jedi would

never--oh, make someone walk off a cliff thinking there was a bridge there."

Akanah shook her head in earnest disagreement.

"You, who've immune to your own tricks--who are you  to  judge  the  harm

done? You do this in secret, to lead a suggestible mind, or compel an  opposed

one. Do you think that those you've coerced see the morality of it the same as

you do? Besides," she sniffed, "it's inefficient."

"What?"

"Inefficient," she repeated. "It requires  your  constant  attention  and

involvement."

"If you know an alternative, I'm your eager student."

"What about the way you concealed your hermitage?"

Luke frowned. "That's different. I created it from  elemental  substances

to have that quality--to blend in with the coastline as though it were part of

it."

"It was a powerful bit of work," she said. "When I saw it, I knew you had

the gift of the Fallanassi. But  you  didn't  go  far  enough  and  apply  the

principle to its ultimate conclusion."

"Which is--" "To make it not merely resemble its surroundings, but  merge

with them," Akanah said. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. She let the

breath out slowly as she lowered her chin to her chest--and then she  was  not

there.

"I'll be a--" Luke reached for her where she had been standing,  but  his

hand grabbed only air. "Cute  trick,"  he  said,  taking  a  step  toward  the

refresher, away from the forward deck. "Handy  for  breaking  into  libraries,

escaping arranged marriages--where are you?"

"Here," she said from behind him. He turned to find her sitting  sideways

in the right-hand seat, wearing a small proud smile. "Did I touch your mind?"

"No," he admitted. "Not that I could notice."

Akanah nodded. "A long time ago, one of the Circle discovered  that  when

she achieved a  particularly  profound  Meditation  of  Immersion,  she  would

disappear from the view of others. Much later,  we  learned  how  to  take  an

object in with us and leave it there."

"Where do you go when you disappear?"

"Where do you go when you dream? It's impossible to  say.  What  does  an

answer from that context mean in this one?"

"Well--is it difficult?"

She shrugged. "Once mastered, it's no more difficult or  mysterious  than

concealing a cup of water by

pouring it in the sea." Then she smiled. "But achieving mastery is  much

like trying to remove that cup of water afterward."

"And you've merged this ship?"

"Yes. Some time ago, while I was in meditation."

"Will the engines still work?"

"Did the floors of your hermitage hold you, and the  roof  keep  out  the

rain?"

Luke wrinkled up his face. "So we're completely undetectable now?"

"No," she said. "Nothing is absolute. But we're safe from eyes, and  from

the machines that are like eyes.

Take us directly to J't'p'tan, Luke--as quickly as you can. Trust  me  in

this, at least. I've depended on this art for my survival, virtually from  the

time I was taken from Ialtra. I promise you that we won't be discovered-not by

the beings in that starship."

The stone ruins of the temple of J't'p'tan sprawled over  more  than  two

thousand hectares. Even scorched and smashed, what remained made the extent of

the builders' ambition clear. The ruins filled the floor of  a  pocket  valley

with an intricate pattern and climbed the inner walls of the enclosing hills.

But it was also clear long before MudSloth landed in  the  middle  of  an

open diamond that the ambitions of the H'kig had collided with  the  ambitions

of the Yevetha, and the latter had triumphed.

Long walls of finely chiseled cutstone had been toppled and shattered.

The slope of the hills had been undercut in  several  places,  collapsing

parts of the great structure onto itself. The quarries were half  filled  with

water, the quarry sledges burned to charcoal, the quarry road blasted  out  of

existence. And nowhere was there a hint of life.

Luke climbed down from the skiff slowly, word-lessly.

The destruction assaulted his senses--there  was  a  sick  smell  on  the

slight breeze, and before he had gone a dozen meters from the  ship  his  eyes

began to pick out the blackened lumps of corpses among the scattered stones.

"It's like Ialtra all over again, only worse," he whispered to himself.

Then he turned back toward the skiff, looking for Akanah.  He  found  her

kneeling on the paving stones near the ship's front skid,  bent  forward  with

her head on her forearms.

"Akanah--" When she made no response, gave no sign  she  even  heard,  he

became concerned and moved toward her. But she rose  to  her  feet  before  he

reached her and moved away from him at an angle, climbing  over  a  jumble  of

stones that had once been a wall and then breaking into a run.

Puzzled, Luke stopped and called after her.

"Akanah--what is it? Where are you going?" Reaching out  with  his  sense

skill, Luke swept his surroundings for threats, but found none.

"Akanah!"

When she did not even look back, he started after her. But  in  the  next

moment, she vanished--as thoroughly and effortlessly as  she  had  aboard  the

ship.

There was not even a tremble in the Force to mark  her  disappearance  or

betray her presence afterward.

Luke's first thought was of betrayal.  She  got  me  here  like  she  was

supposed to, and now she's getting herself out of the way. Crouching behind  a

jumble of broken cutstone, Luke swept the area  again,  concentrating  on  the

ridgeline of the enclosing hills.

The ship's vulnerable--if I were them, I'd take it out first.

But there was no blaster fire from the hills,  no  sudden  appearance  by

troops concealed in the rubble,  no  patrol  flyer  swooping  up  through  the

entrance to the valley.  He  found  his  failure  to  detect  any  other  life

presence-Imperial, Yevethan, H'kig, Fallanassi--puzzling.

"Akanah!" he called loudly.

There was no answer. Luke stood up slowly, letting  his  lightsaber  fall

from his hand to dangle at his hip. Still scanning warily, he walked to  where

Akanah had knelt, but there were no clues there.

Maybe she never was real, he thought. Maybe someone's been playing  with

my mind.

Whether he was alone or not, Luke did not intend to  become  stranded  on

J't'p'tan, with only a Yevethan colony eight thousand klicks away to  look  to

for help.

There was no place to hide or shelter Mud Sloth, but  he  knew  that  the

skiffs navigation shields would provide some protection against hand  blasters

and other small weapons. Luke  revisited  the  cockpit  just  long  enough  to

activate them, then sealed the hatch and set off in the direction  Akanah  had

been heading when she vanished.

When he reached the spot where he had last seen her--or as closely as  he

could fix it--he sat down on the edge of  a  giant  building  stone  that  was

scorched black and cracked in half.

"No Yevetha. No Fallanassi. No  Akanah,"  he  said  aloud.  "No  Imperial

troopers. No Nashira. So why am I here? There's something  missing  from  this

picture.

What's this all been about? There's something here still not seen."

Prodded by his own words, Luke turned his head slowly to one  side,  then

the other. "Maybe a lot of somethings not seen," he said, more loudly.

"Finding a cup of water in an ocean, was it? I can do that. All it  takes

is time, and knowing that it can be done."

When there was still no response, Luke stood. "If I have to pick  between

your being an illusion and your being real, Akanah,  I  think  I  have  reason

enough to know that you're real." He turned slowly in a circle, waiting. "So I

know that you're still here--and I'd bet that you can hear me."

When waiting was not rewarded, Luke climbed atop the broken stone, making

an easy target of himself.

"At first I thought you were hiding from whoever did this," he called.

"But they're long gone and far away, aren't they? And you didn't run away

in fear, did you--no, you wouldn't need to. You told me over and over that you

can protect yourself."

Jumping down, he began walking slowly in the direction  Akanah  had  been

going when she vanished.

"Which leaves only one conclusion, Akanah--that you were  running  toward

something. That you found what you were  looking  for."  He  felt  his  throat

tighten as envy washed over him, and his next words came  out  with  a  hoarse

rasp. "That the Circle is here."

Ten meters away to Luke's right, three women suddenly appeared, as though

they had stepped through an invisible curtain. One wore a  sashed  white  gown

with diagonal sky blue bands. Her silver hair tumbled down  her  shoulders  to

her waist. A second, copper-skinned and short-haired, wore very little at all-

-a dusty yellow wrap that started low on her hips and fell only to her  knees.

Akanah was  standing  between  them,  clinging  to  their  hands  with  fierce

possessiveness, her face streaked with tears and lit by a profound joy.

"This is Wialu, who marked the way for me," she said brightly, her  voice

thick with emotion. "And this is Nori--Norika, my friend  of  long  ago."  She

looked from one  to  the  other,  first  left,  then  right,  with  an  almost

disbelieving expression in her eyes. Then she smiled a giddy smile and  looked

toward Luke. "Yes, Luke--I am real, and they are real. And I am finally home!"

Wialu released Akanah's hand and came forward to  where  a  stunned  Luke

stood.

"You helped our child Akanah return to us," she said. "We are grateful to

you for that. Akanah tells us the burden was taken freely, but  the  risk  and

sacrifice were substantial. Is there a debt owed?"

"What?" Luke searched Akanah's face. "Not a debt, no."

Wialu nodded. "You are the man of honor that  she  said  you  were,"  she

said. "Your friendship to the Fallanassi will be remembered."

"Thank you," Luke said uncertainly.

"Your ship must be removed from here as soon as possible," she said.

"It has already been a disruption, and its presence threatens what we  do

here."

"Of course," Luke said. "Just show me where you'd like me to move it to-

-" "It must leave the planet," said Wialu. "Its  presence  in  the  temple  is

intolerable, but even elsewhere it would be a danger."

"It's Akanah's ship."

"She has given it to you, in gratitude," said Wialu.

"But it is also simple pragmatism that she do so."

Luke squinted. "Are you telling me I have to leave?"

"I am grateful for your understanding."

Luke looked again to Akanah, expecting her to  speak  out.  "I  can't  do

that," he said. 'Akanah isn't the only one who came here hoping for a reunion-

-I'm searching for someone, too. Her name is Nashira."

Walu's expression did not change, but she inclined her head  back  almost

imperceptibly, as though listening to something Luke could not hear.

"I am sorry," she said. "I do not say I know the name--I do not say  that

I do not know the name. I cannot help you."

"I can't accept that," Luke said. "If she's here, you have  to  at  least

tell her that I'm here. If she isn't--" He shook his head as  though  throwing

off a thought. "I'm her son."

Wialu turned her head as though listening to  someone  behind  her.  "I'm

sorry," she said at last. "My answer must be the same."

Luke stepped past her in the direction of Akanah, then stopped and turned

back. "It's not a debt," he said, "but it was a promise.

Akanah said that she would help me find Nashira.  She  thought  we  would

find her here with you."

"Is this true?" Wialu asked, looking past him to Akanah.

"It is," she said. "His loss has been longer and more profound than mine.

He has been separated from the Current and ignorant of the Creed. I had  hoped

to bring him to them."

"Reckless," said Wialu, shaking her head. "We will speak of this  later."

She turned to Luke. "I am oath-bound.

None of us can betray another to outsiders, by denial or by  affirmation.

Akanah cannot make such a promise, and such a promise cannot bind me."

"I'm not asking you to betray your oath. All  you  need  to  do  is  tell

Nashira that Luke is here, and let her decide what to do." He looked past her,

sweeping his gaze across the ruins. "Or let me tell her.

Bring her here and let her see. She can choose."

"That is impossible," Wialu said. "You speak a name, and if I  give  that

name meaning, I have given you power over she who carries  it.  I'm  sorry.  I

cannot help an outsider."

"He's not an outsider," said Akanah, letting  go  of  Norika's  hand  and

advancing on Wialu. "He asked to learn the ways of the  Current,  and  I  have

taken him as my student."

"This is also impossible," said Wialu, "for  you  are  but  an  untrained

child yourself."

Akanah's eyes flashed anger. Her hand shot out and grabbed Luke's  wrist.

"You do not understand the importance of his presence," she said darkly.  "You

do not understand the importance of his quest."

"Do not do this, Akanah." It was said with sadness rather than threat.

"What choice have you left me?" Closing her eyes, she threw her head back

and drew a sharp breath.

The air trembled. The bodies, the ruins, began to shimmer  and  dissolve.

Akanah let out a little cry of pain, or surprise. Standing  beside  her,  Luke

felt her anger drawing on the  Force--controlling,  not  merging,  hurling  it

against something he could scarcely perceive.

Then, in an eyeblink, everything before him, everything surrounding  him,

was transformed. The burned bodies vanished. The scorching was  bleached  from

the cutstone, the shattered  stones  healed,  the  toppled  walls  and  towers

restored, the scarred hills painted and smoothed. The tragedy of the ruins was

transformed into a glorious work in progress, filling the valley in

every direction and filled with the vitality of  thousands  of  solemnly

industrious H'kig.

Akanah gazed defiantly  at  Wialu,  whose  answering  look  mixed  gentle

reproof and regret.

"My stars," Luke breathed. "It wasn't destroyed?

You've been hiding this from the Yevetha--" "Yes,"  said  Wialu.  "Akanah

must have thought this important for you to know."

Luke shook his head in disbelief. "The Fleet  memorandum  called  this  a

cult colony--they have no idea- - look at what they've done! How long have the

H'kig been here?"

"Not even fifty years," said Wialu. "Just in the time since  we  arrived,

we have seen it grow almost beyond belief. It is a constant wonder."

A quartet of H'kig dragging a heavily laden sledge passed  between  Wialu

and Luke. "They're doing this work by hand?" he asked. "No fusion cutters,  no

droids?"

"That is the meaning of it--the purpose in it. The building of  it  is  a

way of giving honor. That work cannot be given to a machine," Wialu said. "The

temple embodies their vision of the universe, of  the  mystical  essences--the

immanent, the transcendent, the eternal, the conscious."

"How long until they finish?"

"They may never finish," she said. "It is the life's work of a  community

united by the purpose that defines them."

"Is this why you're here?"

"Yes," she said. "And it is why you must leave."

"You're protecting them. Protecting this."

She nodded. "It became necessary."

"How long are you prepared to keep doing it?"

"Until it is no longer necessary."  Wialu  stepped  closer.  "Please-your

ship-is resting in what will be the Inner Court of the Transcendent.

It is distracting the H'kig, and disrupting the work. It is time for  you

to go."

"Wait," Luke said. "The day of the attack. The bombardment, the planetary

blasters--those weren't illusions."

"Then what happened here?"

"As I have already said. We protected ourselves, and  these  people,  and

the others where we could. I will not say more."

"Protected them with illusions," Luke said. "Wialu, you  know  that  this

isn't the only construction project  under  way  on  this  planet.  There's  a

Yevethan colony ship in sync orbit on the other side  of  this  planet  and  a

colony city being built on the surface. Akanah knew that, so I'm sure you  do,

too. The Yevetha think this is their world now."

"They are mistaken," said Wialu.

"Not necessarily," Luke said. "They claim all the stars in their sky, and

all the worlds of those stars. What you were able to  prevent  from  happening

here happened on a dozen other planets where there was no Fallanassi Circle to

provide a shield and deceive the Yevetha. The  bodies  on  those  worlds  were

real."

"We know what happened there," said Wialu.

"Then let me ask you what you know about what's about  to  happen,"  said

Luke, a harder edge coming into his voice. "What the Yevetha did here has been

challenged by my sister. Their claim to this planet and all the others will be

contested--with force. Two opposing fleets are gathering up there--hundreds of

ships, tens of thousands of soldiers.

If this war comes, it will be long, brutal, and bloody. And it will  come

here.

He saw that his words had reached her fears. "I have seen it coming."

"Will you help me try to stop it?"

"We cannot allow ourselves to be used that way.

Our loyalty is to the Light, and our way is of the Current.

Nothing has changed."

"If nothing has changed, then you're divided  among  yourselves,  as  you

were  on  Lucazec,"  Luke  said,  looking  past  Wialu,  searching  for  other

Fallanassi faces among the H'kig. "There must be at least some of you

who believe that you must do what you can  do,  just  as  you  protected

these people."

"It is not our war. It is yours, and theirs."

"Neither was this your war," he said.  "But  you  intervened,  and  saved

these lives, and this treasure."

Then he pointed at Akanah. "She challenged me to put down my  weapon  and

try to find other ways to serve my conscience. What she asked isn't  easy  for

me, but I've seen the worth in trying. Now I challenge you  to  give  up  your

isolation, and be the water that quenches the flame."

At that moment another woman, slender and larger  eyed,  appeared  beside

Wialu, surrendering her concealment to take part in the colloquy. "Can this be

done?" she asked.

"Of course it can," said a voice from another direction.

Luke turned to find two more Fallanassi standing by-the temple wall.

"The Yevetha are vulnerable to us," said the  shorter  of  them.  "If  we

wished for the invaders to crash their ship into the city they  are  building,

any one of us could accomplish it, at any time."

A young Duu'ranh female appeared nearly at Luke's  elbow,  startling  him

for a moment. "But can it be done without such violence?" she asked.

"The goal is to prevent a war, not to join it, or decide the victor.

We cannot choose sides."

"You must," Luke said. "It's not enough to simply prevent the  fighting--

there has to be a resolution to the conflict behind it.  You  must  choose  to

frustrate the will of one side or the other--the Yevetha, or the New Republic.

"

"The difference between them is immaterial," said  a  new  voice,  behind

Luke. He turned to see a round-bodied Ukanis woman holding a child.

"To build a war fleet is to accept the morality of violence and coercion.

They are equally guilty."

"When war comes, the price is paid by the guilty and 'the innocent alike,

" Luke said.

"And we are paying the price instead of the H'kig," said Akanah. "We will

never be free to leave here so long as the Yevetha remain."

"Not unless you're prepared to see these people and this place destroyed,

" Luke said. "And the Yevetha will never  leave  of  their  own  accord.  They

believe that  they  are  the  rightful  inheritors  of  all  the  worlds  they

conquered--including J't'p'tan."

Turning in a slow circle, Luke found that more than twenty Fallanassi had

revealed themselves. "You have to decide whether to  affirm  their  belief  or

reject it," he said. "You must choose."

"And what would we be choosing if we chose to involve  ourselves?"  asked

Wialu. "If they are as resolute as you say, how can the will of the Yevetha be

frustrated without force?"

Luke turned quickly toward her. "I don't know for certain that  it  can,"

he said. "What I'm asking is, are you willing to try? Are you willing  to  use

your gifts in an effort to prevent the war--a war that will surely come if you

do nothing? There's very little time left.

Once both fleets are committed to the fight, any chance there was will be

gone. There'll be too much fire, and too little water."

"A chance to try what?" asked Norika. "What can we do?"

"You can deceive them, as you have here--but  on  a  grander  scale."  He

advanced a step toward Wialu, holding his open hands out before him.

"I don't know the limits of your power to project illusions. But  if  the

Fallanassi are capable of creating an illusion of a vast New Republic fleet, a

projection with the same depth of reality as what I saw when we first  arrived

here--" Wialu raised an  eyebrow  questioningly.  "You  believe  that  if  the

Yevetha face overwhelming odds, they may yield."

"I have to think that their lives mean something to them--more,  I  hope,

than their claim to J't'p'tan does," said Luke.  "Whether  they  surrender  or

just withdraw, many lives on both sides would be saved."

"Would the New Republic accept their surrender

or simply use it as an opportunity to exterminate  the  Yevetha?"  asked

Norika.

"Leia would never allow such a thing," Luke said.

"I stake my honor on it."

"Perhaps we should first see if we can drive one Yevethan ship away  with

this trickery," said another woman.

Luke spun on his heel, searching for the face that belonged to the voice.

"No--no, that would be a mistake.

Not without at least one real warship available to back  up  the  bluff,"

said Luke. "We have to give them every reason to believe--and only one  chance

to decide, with everything at stake."

"Then it will be necessary for the fleet commander to  be  part  of  this

plan," said Wialu.

Turning back, Luke nodded hopefully. "Yes."

"Do you know where he is, or how to find him?"

"I can find the fleet," Luke said. "I can take you to General A'baht."

"Then I will go with you," said Wialu. "And we will see how great a  fire

is burning." She turned and directed a hard look at Akanah.  "You  will  come,

too."

There were no walls or guards at the perimeter of Mon Mothma's estate  in

Surtsey. Though she was still under the protection of Ministry Security, their

presence on her property was limited to a sensor grid monitored by  two  fast-

response teams based just off the grounds. A special traffic patrol  kept  the

airspace near the estate swept clear of possible threats.

Even though Leia had been neither invited nor asked  to  visit,  none  of

those precautions was any hindrance to her arrival.  She  landed  her  orbital

jumper neatly on the smaller of the two landing pads in the  northeast  corner

of the estate, then began the long walk through the outer gardens and the tree

moat to the house itself.

The outer gardens had vivid patches of  purple,  cobalt  blue,  and  pale

orange--intybus, commelina, and anagallis were in bloom,  and  centaurea  pods

were everywhere, promising an eruption of pink in the next day or two. The air

in the tree moat was cool, shadowed, and rich with complex scents.  Leia  felt

the deep peacefulness of an old forest envelop her.

Inside the circle of the tree moat were the house and inner gardens,  and

both were more modest than what  surrounded  them  might  lead  a  visitor  to

expect.

The low, squarish house had but three rooms, all with  transparent  walls

and ceilings, and the inner gardens were little more than accents for  patches

of soft ground cover and walking paths.

Mon Mothma was inside, sitting in what she called her salon with her feet

up and a datapad on her lap. She looked up as Leia neared the entry door,  and

motioned her inside.

"Leia," she said with a smile. "It's been months.

Come in."

Leia was taken aback by Mon Mothma's appearance.

Her short hair was now startlingly silver, and the fine lines around  her

eyes were visible from across the room. "Mon Mothma," she managed to  say.  "I

hope you'll forgive my intruding--" "It's hardly that," she said. "But  you're

staring," she added gently.

"This is not the mark of Furgan's treachery you see lingering on me."

The allusion was to the Caridan am bassador's nearly  successful  attempt

to poison her--an attempt that had precipitated Mon Mothma's retirement.

"I've earned every line and white hair, Leia. Just as you are starting to

earn some of your own. Now, it's true--I refuse to paint my face  and  pretend

to youth and inexperience. Do you think that vain of me?"

"I think you're still full of surprises, Mon Mothma--and  still  teaching

little lessons at every opportunity."

A little laugh lit the older woman's eyes. "Get yourself a drink and come

sit with me. The afternoon sun will have the thrann tree dripping  sap  before

long, and

then the barbary birds will come out to feed. They're  so  tiny  and  so

swift--I can watch them for an hour and never be bored."

Mon Mothma's pantry contained a legendary array of  potent  and  aromatic

drinks collected from all over the galaxy, but Leia contented herself  with  a

tall flask of cold fallix water.

"So tell me what's driven you away from' Imperial City," Mon Mothma  said

when Leia had settled in the chair beside her. "I don't keep up  with  capital

affairs these days, but I know it wasn't my gardens that drew you here."

"Do you know what's happened to Han?"

"That particular bit of bad news has been inescapable, I'm  afraid,"  Mon

Mothma said, resting her hand gently on Leia's. "How are the children coping?"

"Jaina is angry. Jacen is afraid," Leia said. "Anakin is mostly confused-

-he can't understand why anyone would want to hurt his daddy.

We've managed to keep them from seeing the recording, but I had  to  tell

them--too many other people know, and I didn't want them to hear talk."

"And you," Mon Mothma said, giving Leia's hand a squeeze.  "How  are  you

doing?"

"I'm having trouble seeing my way."

Nodding silently, Mon Mothma set her datapad on the floor beside her  and

sat back in her chair, waiting.

"Tomorrow afternoon, I have to go before the  Senate  to  face  a  recall

petition," Leia went on. "The Ruling Council thinks that with Han  being  held

by the Yevetha, I can't be trusted with the power of the Presidency."

"How foolish of them."

Leia shook  her  head.  "To  tell  the  truth,  after  seeing  that  last

transmission from N'zoth, I'm not sure they aren't right. My first impulse was

to give Nil Spaar what he wants, to recall the fleet if only  he'll  send  Han

back to me alive. My next was to  go  ask  Special  Operations  for  the  most

horrible weapon they have, something I could send to N'zoth to kill every last

one of them--preferably in lingering agony."

Mon Mothma's smile was full of affection and sympathy. "You would not  be

human if you were not feeling both of those things right now."

"But I can't let either of those feelings guide what I do," Leia said.

"And I don't know that I can keep them from doing so. I only  watched  it

once, but I can't stop seeing it."

"Leia, dear, surely you haven't told yourself that being President  means

that you can't listen to what you feel, that all your decisions must be guided

solely by what you think. Leadership is more than  calculation,  or  we  would

hand the whole messy business over to droids," Mon  Mothma  said.  "Kings  and

presidents, emperors and potentates--the best of them  are  guided  by  honest

passions as much as by a noble ethic or cool, incisive reason."

"Passion  and  power  have  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  a   dangerous

combination," said Leia.

"Without reason or ethics, they almost always are.

But reason needs a passion for truth, and ethics a passion for justice.

Without that, neither is really alive," said  Mon  Mothma.  "What  is  it

you're struggling with, Leia?"

"What to do," she Said simply. "What to  do  to-morrow--to  fight  or  to

concede. What to do about Koornacht while I'm still here."

"What do you want?"

"Han, home safe," she said unhesitatingly. "The Yevetha held to  account.

And I want to keep this job, because there's still work to do."

"And if you cannot have them all, which  of  those  would  you  surrender

last?"

The barbary birds had put in their appearance as  predicted,  and  Leia's

eyes tracked the darting flight of a black and yellow  male.  "That's  exactly

where I have trouble seeing the way," she said. "Do I  answer  for  principle?

For myself and the children? For the good of the New Republic?"

"But you've been at this very crossroads before," Mon Mothma said.

"When the enemy was Emperor

Palpatine, you were ready to risk all,  and  you  sacrificed  much,  for

principle and posterity. What mattered most to you was what you  believed  was

right. So it was for all of us--both those who died  for  the  Rebellion,  and

those of us who sent them to die."

"I have more to lose now," Leia realized. "And I am less willing to  risk

it than I was then."

"More proof that you are human, and still no reason for shame. The  young

think they are immortal," Mon Mothma said with an understanding smile.

"Those who do not survive that mistake teach a harsh lesson to  the  rest

of us. And twenty years of war provided enough harsh lessons for all.

We cling more tightly to what we have--to life, and to love--knowing  its

impermanence."

Leia stood and walked to the transparency separating her from the darting

barbary birds. "It is the same crossroads, isn't it? What will  you  risk  for

what you believe--and what is your belief worth if you will not risk  anything

in its defense?" She shook her head. "I have  part  of  the.  answer  to  your

question, at least."

"And what part is that?"

"I know which of those three things I want that I'm willing  to  give  up

first," she said. "The moment we begin to think about staying in power  before

we think of anything else, we betray the Rebellion. That's the heart  of  what

we were rebelling against."

"It was, at the end, the only  idea  Palpatine  stood  for,"  Mon  Mothma

agreed.

Leia turned and looked back at her mentor. "But I still don't know how to

choose between the other two."

"I think you do," said Mon Mothma. "What you don't know is  how  to  live

with the choice. And there I can be of no help to you. That secret escaped you

when the clarity left you."

"When did that happen?" Leia asked, returning to sit on the edge  of  the

stool at Mon Mothma's feet. "I didn't see it go--did you? Never before  in  my

life have I struggled with decisions, or with accepting their consequences.

It's been so strange, watching myself from the inside, wondering why this

woman was speaking for me."

"Your clarity came from your certainty that our cause was  just  and  our

purpose worthy," Mon Mothma said. "But there is little certainty of that  kind

to be had in a place like the Senate, in a city like Imperial City.

Certainty is eaten away by the thousand and one compromises that are  the

currency of democracy. Causes  fall  victim  to  the  building  of  consensus.

Accountability becomes so diffused that it vanishes, and agreement becomes  so

rare that it startles."

"I would have said that I  understood  that--that  none  of  that  was  a

surprise."

"Understanding it and dealing with it every day are  separate  problems,"

Mon Mothma said. "You have always drawn your map with  straight  lines,  Leia,

and in that respect, you were ill prepared for the arcane cartog-raphy of  the

Senate." She smiled gently, fondly. "You are welcome to blame  me  for  that--

privately or publicly."

Leia shook her head. "There's no need for such talk. You have nothing  to

apologize for." She stood and glanced over her shoulder toward  the  door.  "I

have to be going, I don't want to leave the children alone for too long."

Mon Mothma rose to her feet as well. "There is something your father told

me a long time ago, when I was new to Coruscant and its ways were  a  mystery.

It was valuable to me--perhaps you will find something in it as well. He said,

do not expect to be applauded when you do the right thing, and do  not  expect

to be forgiven when you err. But even your enemies will respect commitment-and

a conscience at peace is worth more than a thousand tainted victories."

By the time the recitation was over, Leia's eyes had misted. "That sounds

like Bail, all right."

Mon Mothma gathered the younger woman into  a  fond,  comforting  embrace

that lasted fully half a minute.

"Draw a straight line, Leia," she whispered as they separated. "You  will

see where it leads."

It was still an hour before the Senate was  to  dissolve  into  the  New

Republic Assembly to consider the petition of recall  against  Leia,  and  the

session itself promised to last  many  hours  under  a  rule  of  unrestricted

debate. But both the media and  public  levels  of  the  Senate  gallery  were

already filled, and the corridors outside were choked with the overflow.

Some of those crowding the public areas held a color-coded  gallery  pass

for a later three-hour block.

Others had managed to wangle only a site pass and a place in one  of  the

overflow auditoriums. With demand exceeding supply,  the  going  price  for  a

gallery pass had already  topped  ten  thousand  credits--if  you  could  find

someone willing to sell.

And despite the efforts of Palace security to discourage it, there was  a

brisk and animated swap meet under way among  those  already  holding  passes,

driven by a series of contradictory rumors about when key  events  might  take

place--most especially when Leia would appear at  the  podium.  Session  Three

passes, covering the period from seven to ten  that  evening,  were  presently

commanding a three-thousand-credit  premium  over  Session  Two  and  a  five-

thousand-credit premium over Four and later.

Both the commotion and anticipation were more muted in the  private  back

corridors and chambers, but only by comparison to the public ones. The  recall

was the signal event of the Third Electoral, and no one with a claim to a seat

in the great chamber meant to miss it.

Crowds and unfamiliar faces were everywhere, and  the  normally  tranquil

Council caucus room was hosting a heated shouting match between half  a  dozen

senators who couldn't wait for the session to begin.

In such an atmosphere, Leia's unheralded arrival in the  Senate  anteroom

went unnoticed at first. And the first to spot Leia were among  the  last  she

wanted to see--Engh's image analysts.

She had never troubled to learn or remember their names-she  called  them

the Ventriloquist and  the  COs  tumer.  The  Ventriloquist,  who  called  her

President Solo, was  forever  trying  to  put  words  in  Leia's  mouth,  then

critiquing the words that had come Out of Leia's mouth.

The Costumer, who called her Princess Leia, treated Leia like a  dress-up

doll, endlessly worrying about whether her clothes sent the right image for  a

particular public appearance.

They came rushing up to her together and  greeted  her  with  a  rush  of

words.

"Princess! Where have you been? - - " "President  Solo!  I  haven't  seen

your speech yet--" "--I have your clothing in the diplomatic lounge.

There's no immediate urgency, but I  need  to  talk  to  you  about  your

jewelry choices--" "--thank goodness you won't be the  first  to  the  podium.

Let's find a room where we can go over what you expect to say--" "--I've opted

for a very  plain  look,  not  quite  widow-in-mourning  but  moving  in  that

direction, and anything too gaudy would just be jarring--"  "--I've  scheduled

you for interviews with Global, Prime, and  ING  right  after  the  session--"

"Stop," Leia said sharply. "Both of you--just stop."

Both stared at her with  the  same  flavor  of  we're-just-trying-to-help

surprise.

"Is there something  wrong,  President  Solo--"  "I  didn't  mean  to  be

insensitive, Princess Leia--" "Not another word," she said, interrupting. "Not

one more. As of this moment, you're both fired."

With two quick movements, she collected  their  area  passes  from  their

clothing. "Report back to the ministry and resume doing  whatever  it  is  you

used to do--which I can only hope is something more useful  than  what  you've

done here."

By then, everyone within ten meters was aware  of  her  presence,  and  a

curious crowd had begun to gather around her. Ignoring them, Leia brushed past

the Ventriloquist and continued on through the anteroom until she found  Behn-

Kihl-Nahm. The chairman was with

Doman Beruss, huddled over what looked like a chalice of dark brew and a

schedule of speakers at a table near the courtesy bar.

"Bennie," she said, turning her  shoulder  to  Beruss  and  ignoring  him

completely. "Let's go upstairs. We need to talk."

There was a  sudden  murmur--a  collective  gasp,  more  truly--from  the

thousands packed into the Senate chamber when Behn-Kihl-Nahm and Leia  entered

together and ascended to the upper tier of the podium.

When the murmur subsided, all that could be heard were the  faint  voices

of newsgrid commentators echoing through a  dozen  or  more  active  coralinks

scattered across the floor of the chamber.

"--was not expected to appear until much later, until called on  to  make

her own presentation. Her unexpected-" "--ueling immediate speculation here of

a surprise resignation--" "--was considered unlikely that she would choose  to

be present during what promises to be a long and  intense  debate--"  But  the

Senate's protocol officers quickly hunted  down  the  offending  devices,  and

there was barely a rustle as Behn-Kihl-Nahm walked to the podium.

"Fellow senators," he  said,  then  cleared  his  throat  twice.  "Fellow

senators, there will be  a  change  in  the  published  schedule  for  today's

session."

Innocuous as they were,  his  words  caused  an  immediate  stir  in  the

audience. He ignored the stir and went on, leaning in toward the.

podium's audio scanner. "As provided for under the Senate rules of order,

and in respect of the provisions of Article Five  of  the  Common  Charter,  I

yield the gavel to the President of the Senate, Leia Organa  Solo,  hereditary

Princess of House Organa  of  Alderaan  and  elect  senator  of  the  restored

Republic of Alderaan."

As Leia rose from  the  bench  where  she  had  been  waiting,  something

unexpected happened--a slow-growing, defiant-sounding  ovation.  In  scattered

twos and threes, then pockets of ten and twenty, seated senators rose to their

feet clapping and calling out the traditional affirmation of  Ho,  nuzzan.  By

the time Leia reached the podium, half of the left aisle and nearly all of the

right had joined the impromptu demonstration.

There was less enthusiasm from the center  aisle,  where  representatives

from most of the human worlds were seated, but even there nearly half were  on

their feet, with stragglers still swelling that number.

Noisiest of all was the public  gallery,  the  occupants  of  which  were

ignoring the warnings of the. protocol officers and the  architects  both  and

stamping in unison. Taken aback, Leia looked to Behn-Kihl-Nahm for a cue or an

explanation, only to find him applauding her as well, with equal  measures  of

determination and dignity.

Leia turned back to the chamber and raised her  right  hand,  asking  for

silence. "Please," she said." Please.  I  m  grateful  for  your  support,  so

spontaneously and genuinely offered. I accept it as a deeply  felt  expression

of your concern for Han--mirroring the concern that so many  people  from  all

over the New Republic 'have taken the trouble to share with our family.  I  am

gratified to learn that his welfare matters to so many of  you.  We  love  him

dearly, and it's unimaginably hard for us to see him suffering.

"But I did not come here today to speak of Han, or  to  presume  on  your

sympathy," Leia said. "I have come here to make an announcement in a matter of

great gravity. I'm glad that so many of you are here to hear it firsthand.

"At thirteen-thirty today, in the presence of the chairman of the Defense

Council, the first administrator, the minister of state, the  admiral  of  the

fleet, and the director of the Intelligence Ministry, I invoked the emergency-

powers provisions of Article Five with respect to the crisis in Farlax Sector.

"

A startled gasp from thousands of throats tore the silence. "That is  the

formal language required by the

Charter," Leia went on. "But it can be said more simply-we have declared

war on the Duskhan League.

"I have taken this step for one reason, and one reason  only--because  it

is the right thing to do.

"This is not a personal crusade or a political maneuver.

It is a campaign for justice--justice for the victims,  and  justice  for

the criminals.

"The crimes of the Yevetha are not as well known to you  as  they  should

be, nor as they will be. You have  seen  the  faces  of  two  of  Nil  Spaar's

victims: Han and Plat Mallar. But what the Yevetha have done to these  two--as

much as it hurts those who love them--is among the least of their offenses.

"The Duskhan League is led by an absolute dictator whose bloody amorality

is the equal of any enemy the Republics have known.  They  have  exterminated,

without the slightest provocation,  the  populations  of  more  than  a  dozen

peaceful worlds. They have  murdered  innocents  by  the  tens  of  thousands,

without the slightest justification.

"Humans, Morath, H'kig, Kubaz, Brigians--no one who stood  in  their  way

was  spared.  Not  the  women.  Not  even  the  children.  Their  bodies  were

incinerated.

Their homes were leveled. Their cities were bombed back to atoms.

"And the last memories of those children, those cities, are now  held  by

the few who the Yevetha spared--spared so that the  Yevetha  could  use  their

living bodies as shields in battle.

"The possibility  that  the  Yevetha  may  not  be  finished  with  their

murderous expansion, the prospect that they might  next  fall  on  Wehttam  or

Galantos or another more familiar world, is unnecessary to our response.

"If these horrors do not demand our answer, then shame on  us.  If  these

tragedies do not enrage your conscience, then shame on you. If we cannot stand

together against such a predator, the  New  Republic  stands  for  nothing  of

value."

Leia paused to drink in the utter  silence  that  reigned  in  the  great

chamber.

"In consultation with Admiral Ackbar and the Fleet Office, I have ordered

additional forces to Koor-nacht to  strengthen  our  position  there.  I  have

charged General A'baht, the sector commander, with the task of eliminating the

Yevethan threat and reclaiming the conquered worlds of Koornacht. He  has  the

necessary command authority to do so, and he has my full confidence.

"We will take away the Yevetha's ability to make war on  what  they  call

the vermin. Not only because we, too, are vermin in their  eyes,  but  because

they have shown us an evil heart, and evil must be challenged, even though the

cost may be great.

"Any government that objects to this decision is free  to  withdraw  from

this body. And this body is welcome to choose a new President--the  day  after

Nil Spaar is defeated and the Yevetha disarmed."

Leia fully expected the silence to follow her away from the podium.

But she had not gone two steps  before  a  tumultuous  roar  of  approval

washed over her from the floor below and the galleries above. Turning, she saw

virtually the entire Senate on its feet, affirming her decision by acclaim.

The acclaim was not unanimous--dozens of dissenting senators had remained

in their seats or headed for the exits in disgust. But they were a startlingly

tiny minority of the whole. Leia stared, barely comprehending the miracle  she

had wrought. Her words had reached them, and moved them, and united  them--for

a moment, at least, a moment of principle over politics.

She would have been moved to joy, but for the fact that at the end of the

straight line she had drawn, Leia saw Han's death.

Maltha Obex

It was a cold day on Maltha Obex, even  by  the  standards  of  a  planet

locked in the grip of a century-long ice age. A brutal storm half a  continent

wide was scouring the northern latitudes with  driving  winds  and  sheets  of

tiny, hard snowflakes as coarse as sand. The storm had forced  Team  Alpha  to

abandon its excavation site on the ice field east of Ridge 80.

Team Alpha's cold shelters had been fighting their tie-downs' all  night,

as though eager to take flight and tumble headlong  across  the  wastes.  When

team leader Bogo Tragett suited up to check the status of the excavation dome,

he found the  rip-proof  tunnel  connecting  his  shelter  to  the  dome  torn

lengthwise and shredded to tiny  y  ellow  flags  whipping  from  the  tension

cables. Visibility fell to near whiteout with the gusts, hiding a bright  blue

work dome that was no more than five meters away from Tragett.

Inside the dome Tragett found an ice-cold  heater,  a  massive  drift  of

crystalline white, and a continuing swirl of snow particles  blowing  in  from

under the dome's cartial floor. The heater had chewed through a three-ay  fuel

supply in something less than ten hours land then quit, surrendering.

Tragett did likewise. Crossing to the  supply  shelter  through  a  still

intact connecting tunnel, he hailed Penga Rift and asked for  a  pickup,  then

paged the rest of the team and told them to pack whatever  personal  and  team

gear they could backpack or carry.  Then  it  was  a  matter  of  waiting  for

conditions to ease enough for the expedition's weather-rated shuttle to  fight

its way through to them.

That wait stretched to three hours, in  the  course  of  which  Tragett's

shelter broke loose from its tie-downs and was thrown against the upwind  side

of the excavation dome. Before the shelter itself had collapsed and torn free,

it had caved in a third of the dome and turned the faces of two  team  members

as white as the landscape.

But Dr. Joto Eckels never gave as much as a passing thought  to  offering

Team Alpha a respite aboard Penga Rift. He regretted the loss of equipment and

the investment of time at N3, with no return on either--but  there  were  many

more sites, and far too little time.

Trusting that Tragett would see to the motivational needs  of  his  team,

Eckels had dispatched the shuttle to the relatively  balmy  coastal  site  S9,

where the dawn temperature had been twenty-six degrees  below  freezing  under

quiet skies.

"We preloaded the shuttle with the  entire  spare  excavation  kit,  from

domes to bits," Eckels informed Tragett as the shuttle turned south instead of

skyward.

"You can draw whatever replacements you need  from  there.  I'd  say  you

should have no trouble getting set up by nightfall--be ready to go again first

thing in the morning."

Tragett, a veteran and a pragmatist, understood the  issues  driving  the

decision. "Affirmative, Penga Rift. But if that's the plan, I'd like to rotate

Tuomis out, bring someone else down. He's been  fighting  shelter  fever,  and

he's a little shaken right now."

"Site setup is half outside' work," Eckels said.

"Might turn him around, just being able to see  that  horizon.  And  hard

work is a lot better  for  the  disposi   tion  than  lying  there  all  night

listening to the wind howl.

Let's wait twenty and review the options when we see how  he  is  in  the

morning."

With the Team Alpha crisis  past,  Penga  Rift  returned  to  its  normal

orbital pattern, and Eckels contacted the other teams in turn for their  daily

updates.

Team Beta was conducting a deep-water survey from a  camp  on  a  massive

slab iceberg; Team Gamma was working the ridges above Stopa-Krenn  Glacier  in

search of post-catastrophe Qella habitations and nomadic artifacts.

"You have one more day to wrap things up there," Eckels informed the Beta

team leader. "Then I'm moving you to S-Eleven. With Alpha being driven out  of

N-Three, we still haven't gotten into a city site--which  is  why  I'm  making

that our top priority for the time remaining."

"Understood,  Dr.  Eckels.  No   objection   here--we're   clearly   into

diminishing returns."

Eckels's news for Gamma, delivered half an orbit  later,  had  a  similar

flavor. "You have a hundred hours to  find  a  no-fooling,  hip-deep-in-midden

habitation before I pull you off and split you up so we can  go  double-shifts

at S-Nine and S-Eleven. We have all the skin flakes,  callus  scrapings,  scat

sheddings, and ice-burned limbs the Institute can use. We're not leaving  here

without at least a peek at how they lived--before if not after, and both if at

all possible."

"Acknowledged," said  the  Gamma  leader.  "Let  me  talk  to  Tia  about

yesterday's side scans. There's a spot I want her to get a second look at."

"Transferring you now."

Eckels studied the schedule on his datapad's  display  a  moment  longer,

then stored it. He knew that he was pushing the team hard, both those  on  the

surface and the analysts and catalogers  in  the  lab.  But  he  saw  no  real

alternative. They had custody of Penga Rift for twenty-nine  more  days--after

which Dr. Bromial's Kogan expedition, already postponed two months, would take

over. That broke down to thirteen produc tive days at Maltha Obex and  sixteen

wasted days in transit back to Coruscant.

All that time just to drag our hands and brains  from  one  side  of  the

galaxy to another--the universe is an offense to  any  reasonable  concept  of

order.

Eckels found himself envying his client for having a ship  like  Meridian

at his disposal.  The  black-hulled  sprint  that  had  made  the  pickup  had

completed a round trip to Coruscant in less than the time it  would  take  the

elderly research vessel to complete one leg. But the  Obroan  Institute  would

never invest its precious resources in something as ephemeral as speed.

"Archaeology is not a race," Director bel-dar-Nolek would say. "It  is  a

profession for the patient. We, who think  in  centuries  and  millennia,  can

hardly notice a handful of days."

But bel-dar-Nolek no longer did fieldwork. The longest trip he  regularly

made was a twenty-minute walk from his home to his office at the Institute.

Leaving the comm booth, Eckels started aft toward the labs. But before he

reached them, he found himself paged over the shipcomm.

"Captain Barjas, to the  bridge,  please.  Dr.  Eckels,  to  the  bridge,

please."

Eckels recognized the voice of the first officer, who had been  with  the

ship for nine years and uncounted expeditions. Eckels also recognized the note

of urgency that made Manazar's words more than a Polite request.

Turning, Eckels reversed his steps, adding a jot of haste to  them  until

he passed into the crew section and  climbed  the  triangular  ladder  to  the

bridge.

Barjas had arrived before him. "Doctor," he said  with  an  acknowledging

nod.

"What is it?"

Barjas pointed  at  the  navigation  display,  Manazar  out  the  forward

viewport.

"Incoming ship," Barjas said.

Manazar added, "And they don't seem too happy that we're here."

Wary of being followed, Pakkpekatt had guided Lady Luck through a series

of three hyperspace jumps en route to Maltha Obex. The extra jumps added  less

than an hour to their travel time, but vastly  increased  the  difficulty  for

anyone attempting to divine their destination.

Having taken those  extra  precautions  to  ensure  that  they  would  be

undisturbed, Pakkpekatt was all the more concerned to discover that though the

planet was dead, it was not deserted.

"Vessel answers as  Penga  Rift,  registry  Coruscant,  ownership  Obroan

Institute for Archaeology, captain Dolk  Barjas.  Supplementary:  Length  one-

twenty-six, beam thirty-two, no registered  armament,  rated  speed--"  "Agent

Taisden, can you suppress that vessel's comm ability?"

"Local," Taisden said. "Not hyperComm."

"Do nothing, then," said Pakkpekatt.

"Colonel, you weren't thinking about taking that ship out, were you?"

Hammax asked, his face showing concern. "That's not only a civilian boat,

but a friendly--and from the size of her, probably berthing upward of thirty."

"My concern is that we have sufficient privacy to do our work here," said

Pakkpekatt, slowing Lady Luck to give them more time before being detected.

will entertain all options."

"This entire expedition has been black ops from the start," said Pleck.

"Why not just drop the curtain over the whole system, commandeer the ship

under NRI authority, and lock in a comm blackout?"

"I do not think we have as much authority  here  as  you  would  like  to

presume--either in fact or in appearance," Pakkpekatt said. "If you  were  her

captain, would you surrender your command to the crew of a private yacht  that

showed up without its registered owner?

Only  the  greenest  captain  would  fail  to  suspect  piracy  in   such

circumstances."

"Okay, so when we blip in on their  sensors,  they're  not  going  to  be

intimidated," said Hammax.  "But  surely  we  could  get  General  Rieekan  or

Brigadier Collomus to have them ordered out of the system. We could even  wait

out here, out of range, until they've been spanked and sent home."

Taisden was shaking his head. "Listen, I did a turn in the Senate liaison

office. The colonel's right. Without a native population here, Maltha Obex  is

an open system, and Article  Nineteen  of  the  Charter  applies.  The  Obroan

Institute has as much right to be here as we do.

The NRI doesn't have the authority to  claim  territory  for  itself--not

even the Fleet has that power. They have to go to the Senate  Defense  Council

for a presumptive finding of a security interest to support  the  claim,  give

public notice to the member nations--" "So how do we get them to leave without

telling them who we are and why we're here?"

Hammax demanded.

"That's another question, isn't it?" asked Pleck.

"What are they doing here?"

"They are here because we sent them here," said P akkpekatt.

That drew puzzled looks. "We did?" Hammax asked.

"Effectively. Before the vagabond escaped our control at Gmar Asklion,  I

asked  General  Rieekan  for  Qella  genetic  material,  and  for  reasons  of

expediency the agency enlisted the Obroan Institute to locate and retrieve it.

But we now have what they came here to retrieve for us--they should be gone."

"Well, then, it's simple," said Hammax. "If we sent  them  here,  we  can

order them to leave. We just have to tell them that we're here  to  take  over

the operation and their services are no longer required."

"I don't think so," Taisden said. "From the comm traffic, it sounds  like

they have at least three operations under way on the surface.

They're not going to believe that this ship, and the four of us, are here

to take over."

"Doesn't matter what they believe," said Hammax.

"If we hired 'em, we can fire 'em. And maybe this yacht

isn't very intimidating, but everyone here knows that  the  colonel  can

be. That could turn out to be all the authority we need."

"And if they don't go for it?" Taisden asked.

"They're civilians, Colonel---even worse, scientists.

They don't herd well."

"Then there's one other  option.  Colonel,  that's  basically  a  Dobrutz

liner," said Hammax. "I know something about the type, because I've spent some

time in one. The Alliance had a fistful of them, pressed into service as small

troop transports during the Rebellion."

"Go on," said Pakkpekatt.

"See, that ship down there has a single comm array, mounted  outside  the

nav shields because of the interference from those  miserable  DZ-nine  shield

generators," said Hammax. "It was a known vulnerability.

I'm sure I could take it out without collateral damage. Shouldn't require

more than two shots. Might get it in one."

"Thank you, Colonel," said Pakkpekatt, advancing the throttles.

"However, I believe I will hold that option in  deep  reserve.  There  is

something here that still eludes me. Perhaps I can encourage these interlopers

to reveal

The inbound vessel had remained silent until it  was  nearly  on  top  of

Penga Rift. Then the first signal had come over the  emergency  comm  channel,

lighting up several warning bars on the panels at Manazar's elbow.

"Penga Rift, this is a priority alert.. You are operating in a restricted

area,  and  your  vessel  is  at  risk.   Please   verify   your   transponder

identification profile."

Startled out of inattentiveness, Manazar nearly sent the confirming  data

without questioning the request.

Only at the last moment did he recover his poise  and  respond,  "Unknown

vessel, this is  Penga  Rift.  Please  identify  yourself--this  ship  is  not

equipped with an interrogator module."

"I say again, Penga Rift, this is a priority alert. You are operating  in

a restricted area, and your vessel is at risk. Please verify your  transponder

identification profile."

As though to underline  the  seriousness  of  the  request,  a  concealed

weapons bay had opened on  the  underside  of  the  new  arrival's  hull.  The

retractable laser cannon that emerged cycled through its full range of motion,

then locked on Penga Rift.

That was the point at which  Manazar  called  for  the  captain  and  the

expedition leader. Then he quickly checked  to  see  if  the  transponder  had

already been interrogated, and sent the requested information when he saw that

it had.

"I thought since they already have the information and we have nothing to

hide, there was no harm in complying," Manazar explained. "But the  very  next

thing, they wanted to talk to the master of the vessel,  with  full  holocomm.

I've been putting them off until you got here, but I  don't  think  they  like

being put off."

Barjas nodded. "You did fine, Mazz. I'll take it from here."

"No," said Eckels. "On the starlanes, this ship is  yours,  Captain,  but

here in orbit, the expedition leader is in command. I will deal with this."

He crossed the bridge to Penga Rift's small holocomm  booth  and  settled

himself inside it. "Monitor to station one. Record  to  personal  log  Eckels.

Begin transmission." After a moment's pause, he said, "This is Dr. Joto Eckels

of the Obroan Institute, expedition leader. Whom am I addressing?"

When the answering holo formed before him, Eck-els felt his  body  trying

to retreat deeper into the seat.

The face was not only intensely alien, but both inhumanly large and close

enough to violate Eckels's psychological boundaries. It  could  have  been  no

more than that the other was leaning forward toward his holo lens, but it made

Eckels feel cornered in the booth.

"I am Colonel Ejagga Pakkpekatt of New Republic  Intelligence,  said  the

other, showing teeth that were distinctively those of a carnivore. "My mission

in this sector is under the direct authority of the director of

operations,  and  with  the  knowledge  and  consent   of   the   Senate

Intelligence Council. What is your business here?"

"We are conducting a contract survey and excavation of Maltha Obex."

"And what is the purpose of your survey and excavation?"

"This is an archaeological research vessel," said Eckels, recovering some

measure of his equilibrium.

"Not surprisingly, we're here to  do  the  things  archaeologists  do--to

retrieve biological samples and  cultural  artifacts  related  to  the  former

inhabitants of this planet."

"Who contracted for this expedition?"

Eckels considered refusing to answer. There were nondisclosure clauses in

the standard Institute contracts that offered not only a suitable pretext, but

also a reasonable defense of his actions after the fact.

But being difficult would not help move the conversation forward to  what

the visitors really wanted--though Eckels was already sure  in  his  own  mind

what that was. He had had but one thought since the ship had arrived, only one

explanation for this coincidence--this confrontation.

"Harkin Dyson, a private collector," said Eckels.

"But come, you know all that already. Tell  me,  what  did  Dyson  do?  I

should not have trusted him. Men with that much wealth do what they  want  and

let the law try to catch up. Please tell me he didn't try selling the  remains

piecemeal."

Pakkpekatt did not seem interested in Eckels's confessions.

"Was this contract the only basis for your interest in Maltha Obex?"

"No," said Eckels. The alien's unblinking gaze was becoming an annoyance.

"We lost some people here, folks who were  working  another  contract.  But  I

would guess you know all about that, too. The rumor going around the Institute

was that it was an NRI job."

"Dr. Eckels, I have not asked of you that you tell me only things  I  did

not know already," said Pakkpekatt, somehow managing to loom even closer.

"Have you encountered any other vessels since your arrival here?"

"Just the other NRI ship--" The holo  display  suddenly  dissolved  in  a

burst of snowy static. "What happened?"

"I broke the  link,"  said  Manazar.  "Doctor,  this  Pakkpekatt--I  just

identified his species. He's a Hortek."

"And?"

"They're supposed to be telepathic. That's why he demanded the holo link.

He's probably already found out everything he wanted from you."

"Well, I am not telepathic, and I have not found out everything I  want,"

Eckels said frostily. "Restore the link."

"There you are, Doctor," said Pakkpekatt a moment later. "Your reply  was

garbled by the equipment malfunction."

Eckels nodded. "It was no malfunction, Colonel just a bit of clumsiness."

Pakkpekatt fanned his fingers and gestured dismissively.

"You were speaking of an NRI ship."

"When we reached Maltha  Obex,  there  was  a  military  vessel  here.  I

presumed it was NRI, though nothing was ever said Openly," Eckels said.

"It was the ship that brought our late colleagues here. The pilot  guided

us to their bodies before he left. That was an unexpected  courtesy,  to  have

him wait--I do give you credit for that."

"It was no courtesy, Doctor," said Pakkpekatt.

"Just a bit of bureaucratic paralysis."

"I see." Eckels sat forward in the booth. "It was impatience that  killed

Stopa and Krenn, Colonel--their own, and that of whoever dangled a bonus worth

twice their annual research budget in front of them.

It's curious that what was so urgent suddenly became unnecessary.

Or did it? I was willing to accept Dyson at face value, as another of the

artifact hunters who hover around the Institute. But your arrival here is  one

coincidence too many. Dyson is one of you, isn't he?"

"I don't know who he is, Doctor,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "A  meddler  who's

succeeded in manipulating both of us, it seems."

Eckels was taken aback by the unexpected answer,  but  quickly  recovered

his momentum. "What is your business here? And what's this  about  our  vessel

being at risk? Did you mean that as a warning or a threat, Colonel?"

"A warning," said Pakkpekatt. "A ship may be coming here--a ship that has

already destroyed or crippled at  least  five  warships  from  four  different

navies.

Our business here is to intercept it. Your vessel will be at  grave  risk

if you remain here. I suggest you wrap up your work and move on."

"That's not possible, Colonel," said Eckels. "We're scheduled for another

thirteen days here, and we need every minute of every hour."

"It may be possible for you to return at another time," said  Pakkpekatt.

"But Maltha Obex is not a safe place to be now."

"That has been the case for quite some time, Colonel."

"Are your people willing to keep working on the surface knowing that  you

can't promise them you'll have time to come back for them? Are they willing to

risk freezing to death with the memory of seeing Penga Rift turn into  a  very

brief bright spot in the sky?"

"You are trying to frighten me, Colonel. That shows a disappointing  lack

of respect," said Eckels.

"I am trying to save your  life,  and  the  lives  of  those  under  your

command."

"You are trying to protect your secrets," said Eckels.

"What kind of ship is coming here, Colonel?"

"One that destroyed an Imperial-design cruiser with ease, just  two  days

ago," said Pakkpekatt. "Perhaps you should consult with the captain  of  Penga

Rift and ask him how he views the prospect of commanding it in battle."

"I will not cede Maltha Obex to the  NRI,"  said  Eckels.  "The  work  is

important--and a friend died here.

Both of those things matter to me, Colonel, even if they mean nothing  to

you. Do what you need to here. We won't interfere with your  business  if  you

grant us the same courtesy."

"It  isn't  our  interference  you  need  to  be  concerned  with,"  said

Pakkpekatt. "Doctor, I cannot offer  you  protection--"  "Oh,  yes,  from  the

mysterious ship that's no threat to your vessel,  but  a  terrible  threat  to

ours. The  rampaging  juggernaut  that  dispatches  warships  with  ease,  yet

apparently will cower when confronted by your yacht. I don't believe a word of

it. Really, Colonel, couldn't you  have  invented  a  more  plausible  lie?  I

thought spies were supposed to be good at that--" Pakkpekatt hissed and lunged

forward, his threat ruffles unfolding. Eckels startled, sitting straight up.

Even Barjas, watching on the flatscreen display, flinched noticeably.

"I have spoken only the truth to you," Pakkpekatt said, his  voice  thick

with anger. "The dead will wait for you. Leave  this  place  before  you  join

them."

This time, the threat was effective. Only simple stubbornness trumped the

sudden flash of fear that showed in Eckels's eyes. "Perhaps  you  are  telling

the truth, as you say," he said. "But if you had the authority to order us  to

leave, you would have already done so. So let it just be understood between us

that we're staying.

We accept the risks. Others may return here in the future,  but  this  is

our time."

"You do not know what you risk by that decision, Dr. Eckels."

"You remain free to enlighten me," said Eckels.

"What kind of ship is coming to Maltha Obex?"

Pakkpekatt sat back and folded his hands in his lap. "A Qella  ship,  Dr.

Eckels."

Eckels stared, dumbfounded, then cast his gaze downward. Twice he  opened

his mouth as if to speak.

Both times he momentarily clOSed his eyes and shook his head,  as  though

disowning the thought trying to

reach his lips. Finally he ran a hand back through his thinning hair and

raised his head.

"Would you care to come aboard Penga Rift, Colonel?"

Eckels said, his voice surprisingly steady.  "I  believe  I  owe  you  an

apology, and then we need to talk."

"That's what you wanted from the start, isn't it?"

Taisden said when the link  was  terminated,  looking  at  Pakkpekatt  in

surprise.

"I never intended for them  to  leave,"  Pakkpekatt  agreed.  "That  ship

contains all of the New Republic's experts on  the  Qella.  What  they  know--

however little-mmay be the difference between success and failure."

"Sure--and if we can make use of them, better  to  keep  them  here  than

chase them away. But you played him like a kolo-fisher working a record catch,

" said Taisden. "Chances are you left him thinking he won that showdown,  with

a chance at the vagabond as his reward for hanging tough."

"I had the insuperable advantage of being able to tell the bait from  the

hook," Pakkpekatt said, rising.

"Still, perhaps there's something about sitting  in  Calris-sian's  couch

that brings such manipulations more readily to mind and tongue."

"What manipulations?" Taisden asked, his expression innocent of humor.

"After all, Colonel, just as you said, all you told him was the truth."

But they both knew that Eckels had not yet heard all of the truth.

Pakkpekatt left Colonel Hammax in command of Lady Luck's flight deck  and

charged Pleck with making the  arrangements  with  Coruscant  for  the  recall

signal to be rebroadcast from NRI stations and vessels operating in the  open.

Then he and Taisden went across to Penga Rift in the research vessel's skiff.

They brought with them a selection of images from Gmar Asklion, a copy of

the genetic catalog, and a re quest for one  of  Penga  Rift's  orbital  relay

satellites.

Standard equipment  aboard  research  and  exploration  vessels--but  not

aboard Lady Luck--the generic hel-met-sized units were ordinarily used in sets

of three to give a single ship global comm coverage.

"We can and will originate the recall signal  from  Lady  Luck,"  Taisden

explained. "But for obvious reasons, we might not want to be right next to the

antenna if and when the vagabond jumps in-system."

A profoundly distracted Joto Eckels agreed with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, of course. We carry two spares--Mazz will  make  one  available  to

you." The holos of the vagabond escaping  from  the  armada,  juxtaposed  with

selected views of the destroyed Prakith cruiser, had made a deep impression on

Eckels.

But the major distraction was the dispatch containing the report  on  the

Qella genome. "This is very good work," Eckels said, studying the sequences on

his datapad. "These Eicroth  bodies--what  an  extraordinary  discovery.  This

report is based on the single example I delivered to Harkin Dyson, yes?"

"I assume so," said Pakkpekatt. "It appears to be the only Qella material

to have left the system."

"Then we do not know if these Eicroth bodies are typical of the  species,

or indicate an abnormal condition, or represent a  variant  of  the  species,"

Eckels said.

"With only a single example, no generalizations can be made."

"Presumably not."

Eckels closed his datapad. "Colonel, we have five additional Qella bodies

in the specimen lab. They've all been fully scanned, but the scans haven't yet

been reviewed in detail--" "Why not?" Taisden interrupted.

"We scan them as soon as we receive them because of the  risk  of  sample

deterioration," Eckels said, turning toward  the  younger  man.  "Analysis  is

something we can do on the way home, or at the Institute." He looked  back  at

Pakkpekatt. "Colonel, we did not know about this secondary  genetic  material.

If I could take this data

back to the lab for a few hours, I may be able to answer that  question,

and perhaps some others as well."

"That copy is for your use," said Pakkpekatt,  "assuming  that  you  will

accept one restriction."

"Any reasonable one," said Eckels. "This really must be looked  at  right

away."

"I ask only that the data not leave this  vessel  in  any  form,  by  any

channel, until we better understand it. If what you hold there is in fact  the

key to stopping and controlling the vagabond--" "I understand.

An intact Qella vessel would be a treasure far too valuable to risk.

This data will not leave my personal custody," Eckels vowed. "I  will  do

this work myself, under isolation protocols. Will that be satisfactory?"

"Entirely satisfactory," said  Pakkpekatt.  "In  the  meantime,  we  will

return to our vessel with the relay satellite and continue our preparations."

"I'll signal you when I  have  something,"  said  Eck-els,  waggling  the

datacards. "Can you find your way back to the skiff by yourselves? I  want  to

get started immediately."

"Of course."

"Thank you. I'll have First Officer Manazar meet you there with the relay

satellite."

As they waited for Manazar at the skiff, Taisden asked quietly, "When are

you going to tell him about the general being onboard?"

"When I know that Calrissian is still onboard," said Pakkpekatt. "By  now

even the most prudent rationing, the most severely restricted  activity,  will

have exhausted their personal consumables. I have been wondering if that might

be the explanation for the beckon call to Lady Luck--a last act of desperation

by the last surviving member of Calrissian's team, in the last  hours  of  his

life."

The somber mood set by Pakkpekatt's words stayed with them  all  the  way

back to Lady Luck, and cast a long shadow on the work waiting for them there.

Instead of signaling, Dr. Eckels came calling. By the time the skiff came

alongside Lady Luck, her entire complement had gathered to  learn  the  reason

for the change of plans.

"Colonel," Eckels said, ducking his head as he stepped through the  inner

airlock. "Agent Taisden.

These other gentlemen I do not know--"  Pakkpekatt  supplied  perfunctory

introductions. "Is something wrong, Doctor?"

"Wrong? No, quite the opposite. I think I have  good  news  for  you.  Is

there somewhere we can work?"

Pleck led them forward to the lounge of Lando's personal suite.

"You'll have to go slowly with us, Doctor," said Hammax as they filed in.

"Combat medicine isn't long on theory, and I don't think the rest of them have

had even that much."

"I understand. I'll try to make certain no one needs to be telepathic  to

keep up," Eckels said. His voice had the faintest hint of a playful lilt.

"An excellent policy," Pakkpekatt rumbled. "I follow it myself."

Taisden cleared his throat. Otherwise, there  was  silence  as  the  five

sorted themselves into the available seats.

"You  checked  the  other  cadavers  for  these  Eicroth  bodies?"  asked

Pakkpekatt.

"The first thing I did," Eckels said. He ran  his  hands  over  the  soft

leather covering of the padded arms, then looked around the cabin,  taking  in

the luxury appointments. "Are all NRI ships outfitted this way?"

"Not generally," Pakkpekatt said.

"This is a, uh, special-use vessel," added Pleck.

"What use would that be--bordello?" asked Eck-els.

"Well, never mind. I've long suspected that I took the wrong career path.

Yes, Eicroth bodies. They all had them."

"That confirms it then, right?" asked Taisden.

"They're normal parts of Qella physiology."

"By itself, it would only be strongly indicative,"

said  Eckels.  "A  common  parasitic  infestation  would  still   be   a

possibility. But I have other evidence."

Taisden looked to Pakkpekatt. "So we need to send all three  sections  of

the code."

"No, no," said Eckels, waving his hands in front of him. "Sending a third

of it should be sufficient. Here, I will explain. In your cells, and mine, and

even those of the colonel here,  there  is  a  universal  pattern--a  chemical

alphabet with four letters, a vocabulary of words two letters long, a  grammar

of sentences three words long."

"Nucleotides,  base  pairs,  and  codons,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "This   is

elementary biology."

Eckels's gaze narrowed as he looked toward the colonel. "Yes,"  he  said.

"Every  sentence  specifies  a  component  of  a  biochemical  structure.  The

instructions for building a particular structure may be hundreds or  thousands

of paragraphs long."

Pleck sat forward. "So are the Qella part of this pattern as well?"

"Yes--and no," Eckels said. "Most  Qella  cells,  including  reproductive

cells, use the same alphabet, vocabulary, and grammar." He smiled  and  nodded

to himself. "But the Eicroth bodies do not. They  use  an  entirely  different

alphabet with six letters, and sentences of five words.  And  they  use  these

extraordinary extended proteins to build structures that seem to exist on  the

dividing line between living and nonliving."

"Are  you  certain?"  asked  Pakkpekatt.  "Why  didn't  the  people   who

discovered them know any of this?"

"Because I have something available to me that they didn't--as do you."

Eckels sat back and laced  his  fingers  together  in  his  lap,  clearly

enjoying their rapt attention. "They didn't have any examples of the  finished

product to compare with those instructions. I have six hundred of them."

"Six hundred?" Hammax said. "Six hundred bodies?"

"Artifacts," Pakkpekatt said.

dred Qella artifacts--no, we will need  a  new  word  for  them  now.  We

recorded them as being fashioned from natural materials. Now I know that  they

were not fashioned but--grown. The Eicroth bodies contain their plans."

"You were able to match your artifacts with the sequences we gave you?"

"Every one of them," said Eckels. "Do you understand what  I  am  saying,

Colonel?"

"Yes," said Pakkpekatt.

"No," said Hammax.

Eckels turned toward the soldier.  "Every  sentient  being  inherits  its

species' memories through both body and mind--the ancient duality,"  he  said,

his tone fervent.

"Humans found a way to extend our memories by recording our thoughts  and

collecting them in libraries.

Somewhere a long time ago, the Qella  found  another  way.  They  carried

their libraries within their own bodies."

"And this helps us how?"

"I'm still missing something, too," said Taisden.

"From what you've said, it seems to me that it's that much more important

to send out the entire database."

Eckels's disappointment in their response to his revelations was  evident

on his face. He had proudly  brought  them  a  treasure,  but  they  were  too

uncultured to appreciate its beauty.

"The  database  has  three  components,"  Eckels  said   with   impatient

annoyance. "The somatic cells, the lesser  Eicroth  bodies,  and  the  greater

Eicroth bodies. The match for every Qella artifact we recovered can  be  found

in the lesser bodies. Then there's your piece of the puzzle--your dialog  with

the vagabond. You have two interrogatives and one successful reply."

"They appear in the greater Eicroth bodies," said Pakkpekatt.

"Yes," Eckels said, looking hopefully at the Hortek  as  he  would  at  a

student teetering on the verge of insight.

"That is what the greater bodies are," said

Pakkpekatt. "They are the instructions for building a starship from that

which is more than inanimate and less than alive. The ship we are chasing  was

not designed or invented--it was remembered."

"Yes," Eckels said, relaxing into his chair and showing a relieved smile.

"Yes, Colonel. However you came to it, at least you understand."

"Do you think that somewhere in those sequences is a code that will  call

the vagabond back to Qella?" asked Taisden.

"Do you want an expert opinion or a personal one?"

"I'll take two for the price of one, if I have a choice."

"The expert declines to opine,  due  to  lack  of  supporting  evidence,"

Eckels said. "But personally--since it has not gone somewhere else in all this

time--I suspect that it was intended to come back here."

"What are the chances that what we propose to do will just  confuse  it--

like throwing all the switches at once?"

Eckels shook his head. "You are asking for reassurances quite  beyond  my

ability to offer--" At that moment, shrill alarms began to sound both  in  the

suite and the corridor beyond. Taisden was the first out of the lounge by  two

steps and the first to the bridge by five.

"Meeting's over," he called back to the others as  he  slipped  into  the

number two seat. "You'd better get back to  Penga  Rift  right  away,  Doctor.

Colonel, mayhaps we should have been talking more about what to do  after  the

quarry puts a leg in our snare."

"What are you talking about?" Eckels demanded.

"Colonel, what's happening?"

Taisden sent the long-range image to the  primary  sensor  display,  then

shook his head in amazement as he glanced up at it.  "See  for  yourself,"  he

said. "The vagabond's just jumped into the system--and she's headed this way."

Chapter 9

The director of Alpha Blue was nodding off in his chair, his  office  lit

only by the bluish glow of the primary status display. With his shoes off  and

the top two fasteners of his civilian blouse unbuttoned, he looked like an old

bachelor who had fallen asleep in front of the holo.

"Admiral Drayson?"

Drayson's eyes snapped open and found the face of Major Aama, one of  his

senior facilitators. "Yes?"

"Admiral, you said you wanted to be notified immediately," she said.

"We have a tracking update on Millennium Falcon."

"She's reached the N'zoth system," Aama  said,  turning  and  pointing  a

controller at the display. "She's standing off at twelve hundred  radii  below

the plane--the best guess is that they're scanning the system  before  jumping

in."

"They'd have to, if they're going to try a  close-intercept  jump,"  said

Drayson, leaning forward and rubbing his eyes. "Is Pride of Yevetha still  in-

system?"

"Still in-system and still in orbit around N'zoth.  It's  getting  a  bit

crowded in that neighborhood, though four more Imperial types have  shown  up,

and six more T-types have lifted off from the plane.

"Include that in the update packet and have it sent immediately."

"It's already been seen to."

Drayson rocked back in his chair. "So there are  sixteen  thumpers  there

now," he mused. "Not the best news for Chewbacca's people. What assets  do  we

have in the area?"

"There are four stasis probes  on  station,  and  two  more  moving  into

position."

"Let's take a look," Drayson said, gesturing at the display. "We may have

to think about sacrificing one or more of them if  it'll  give  the  Falcon  a

fighting chance to get the job done."

"Yes, sir--I think we can probably arrange a timely diversion or two.

Sir, are you sure you want to continue the blackout where the Princess is

concerned? It could give her a real lift  to  know--"  "Not  at  these  odds,"

Drayson said firmly. "Even with what we've been  able  to  pass  to  Chewbacca

through Formayj, I don't think they have more than one  chance  in  twenty  of

getting in and out in one piece. As for finding Han alive--" He  sighed.  "But

that's still probably a better chance than any other rescue effort would have.

Is Ackbar still talking  about  a  battle  group  assault  supporting  a  Jedi

retrieval team?"

"Yes. They've got the lights on late over at Fleet tonight."

"The general will never agree to it," said Drayson.

"And he'll be right not to. So let's be creative, Major, and  figure  out

what else we can do from here to shift the odds."

Given an unobstructed view and the eight-kilometer length of the Yevethan

flagship, the oversized and  exceptionally  sensitive  sensor  dish  atop  the

Millennium Falcon had no difficulty picking out Pride of  Yevetha  from  among

the many ships orbiting N'zoth.

But fixing the orbit of the flagship with enough precision to jump within

a thousand meters of it required more than a single snapshot.

Chewbacca needed to know not only the flagship's orbital track, but  also

the tracks of any ships near it or en route to it. The task was complicated by

the distances involved--when looking  at  the  tracking  data,  Chewbacca  was

looking several minutes into the past. He could only guess about  the  present

and the future, and a wrong guess would mean failure--even sudden death.

There was no perfect answer. The closer they were  to  N'zoth,  the  more

current the tracking data would be, but the more likely it was that the Falcon

would be spotted. The longer they waited, the more complete the tracking  data

would be, but, again, the more likely it was that Falcon would be spotted.

Chewbacca's natural impatience with anything other than a direct  frontal

assault only aggravated the matter. He had to keep reminding  himself  of  the

lessons of the Shadow Forest, and the difference between stalking  and  making

the kill.

For the first few minutes after reaching the N'zoth system, Chewbacca was

alone in the cockpit.

Lumpawarrump was in the lower gun turret, Jowdrrl in the upper.

Meanwhile, Shoran and Dryanta were checking the equipment that  had  been

mounted in place of the escape pods at Esau's Ridge.

The starboard pod had been  replaced  by  a  mine  launcher  loaded  with

sixteen firecracker mines. The portside pod  had  been  replaced  by  a  hull-

cutting ring, a traditional tool of both pirate and police. Both devices  were

critical--if not to the mission, then to  their  confidence  that  they  could

survive it.

When Dryanta was satisfied that the cutting ring was ready, he  moved  on

to the crew quarters and began triple-checking the boarding  party's  weapons.

Because they expected heavy resistance, bowcasters had given  way  to  Draggis

blaster rifles and fusion-cutter grenades.

When Shoran was finished arming the mines, he  came  forward  and  joined

Chewbacca in the cockpit.

"Everything is ready,] he said.

Chewbacca's reply was interrupted by a double chirp from the comm  board,

signifying an incoming message. The encrypted transmission carried a  priority

flag and a short holo header.

[Formayj,] Chewbacca said. [Curious.]  "Chewbacca,  hot-blooded  friend,"

said the broker cheerfully. "Mining my archives, I found something else  maybe

you can use. No charge--tell Solo I will get it back from him at sabacc."

By the time the attached data had been downloaded, Dryanta  had  replaced

Lumpawarrump in the lower gun turret, and the youth joined his father  in  the

cockpit.

[What are you looking at?] he asked eagerly.

[A friend sent something interesting,] Chewbacca said.

[Can I see?] Chewbacca waved a hand toward the data display  and  shifted

to his left so that Lumpawarrump could lean in between him and Shoran.

What he saw was a Fleet  Intelligence  assault  plan  for  a  Super  Star

Destroyer--a complete three-dimen-sional technical drawing of  the  ship  with

the location of the cell blocks marked, the best breaching sites  highlighted,

and the shortest paths between them drawn in.

[We're sure to find him now, aren't we?] Lumpawarrump asked excitedly.

[How does Formayj do it? Where does he get his information?] [Exactly  my

question,] said Shoran. [Chewbacca, this gift  worries  me.  Would  you  trust

Formayj to guard your  back?]  [That  question  does  not  trouble  me,]  said

Chewbacca. [Formayj can make more money cheating his  customers  than  killing

them. Lumpawarrump, call the others down from the turrets--I am ready to  make

the jump. I want everyone to study this on the way in.

Shoran, launch the first string of mines.] [Yes, Father,] said the youth,

hastening away.

"Yes, cousin,] said Shoran, leaning forward to the controls.

Chewbacca did not point out to either of them that, unlike  the  material

Formayj had delivered to him at Esau's Ridge, the assault plan could not  have

come from any data mine or broker's archive---the timestamp  on  the  document

was less than forty hours old.

I wonder who this map was drawn for, Chewbacca thought as he set  up  the

jump. And I wonder what happened to them.

[Mines are away.] Chewbacca threw the throttles forward, opening up a gap

between Falcon and the rocketing mines.

When the gap had reached five hundred kilometers,  he  moved  his  large,

furred hand to the hyperdrive controls.

[Set off the string,] he ordered.

Shoran sent the triggering signal, and as the first of the mines exploded

spectacularly behind them, Chewbacca pushed the ship forward into  hyperspace,

racing the light of the explosion to N'zoth.

By necessity, the plan was simplicity itself: Hit fast and hit hard.

When the Millennium Falcon burst out of hyperspace eleven hundred  meters

off the starboard bow of Pride of Yevetha, the  intense  burst  of  light  and

radiation from the first of the firecracker mines had just flooded the sensors

of  the  Yevethan  defense  grid,  momentarily  blinding  the  operators   and

scrambling the analyzers.

The mines continued  to  explode  at  ten-second  intervals,  effectively

masking the Cronau radiation from both ends of the Falcon's microjump.

Meanwhile, Chewbacca whipped  the  transport  into  a  smart  half  turn,

standing it on its tail with the engines  at  maximum  thrust.  That  maneuver

quickly killed off the ship's velocity, at g-loads that tested the  limits  of

even Wookiee physiology. For the gun crews aboard the  Yevethan  flagship,  it

was like looking up into the subatomic fury of a fusion reactor.  For  seconds

afterward,  the best-positioned batteries could not see to find their target.

Those were precious seconds to the Falcon. As quickly as the ship slowed,

Chewbacca diverted engine power to the combat shields, reserving  only  enough

to wheel the ship over on its back and match orbital velocities with the great

Star Destroyer. By the time the first blaster bolts lanced out from  the  side

of Pride of Yevetha and from the two trifoil fighters closing in,  the  Falcon

was inside the shield radius, and Chewbacca had spotted his landing site.

Following their instructions, the moment  the  Falcon  came  under  fire,

Jowdrrl and Dryanta began a savage counterattack with the ship's quad turrets.

Chewbacca roared with delight as a  Yevethan  fighter  disappeared  in  a

fireball, and growled at Shoran to launch the remaining mines. When the  mines

were away, he sent the Falcon diving edgewise toward the many-faceted hull  of

the Star Destroyer.

[Go stand by the cutter,] Chewbacca  ordered  Shoran  as  he  guided  the

Falcon low across the face of the flagship.

By the time Shoran reached the port pod  hatch  where  the  hatch-cutting

mechanism was attached, Chewbacca had gently nestled the  Falcon  against  the

enemy vessel's hull, allowing the cutting ring's magna grapples to grab  hold.

By the time Chewbacca rejoined Shoran at  the  hatch,  the  cutting  ring  had

already burned halfway through the armored plasteel.

Lumpawarrump was there as well, holding both Chewbacca's weapons and  his

own, ready to take up his assigned task  of  defending  the  entrance  to  the

Falcon.

[Chewbacca!] Jowdrrl shouted down the  access  tunnel.  <They've  stopped

firing on us--all of a sudden, just like that. I can see half a dozen fighters

flying past, but they're ignoring us. Should I fire on them?

Maybe they've lost us in the clutter down  here.>  <Hold  your  fire---it

just means they expect to handle us from the inside.> Chewbacca collected  his

blaster rifle from Lumpawarrump, then placed a paw on his son's shoulder.  [Go

trade places with Jowdrrl.] [Father--] [Hurry.]

The nitrogen overpressure pumped into the space  between  the  two  ships

before the final  burn-through  caused  the  metal  disc  cut  from  Pride  of

Yevetha's hull to blow back into the enemy  ship  as  a  spectacular  half-ton

projectile.

Chewbacca and Shoran poured  through  the  opening  moments  later,  each

wielding a heavy blaster in each hand. Standing back to back, they quickly cut

down the half dozen Yevetha who came running at the sound of the breach.

As Chewbacca stepped over the bodies he saw that none of the Yevetha  had

been armed. [Ship's crew,] he said to Shoran. [Troops  will  be  next.]  Still

back-to-back, they hurried down corridor 278 toward detention block three.

Lin Prell, senior tender of the breederies of Viceroy Nil Spaar, paid  no

mind to the alarms sounding at the monitoring console. They concerned  matters

outside his realm, and the new hanging in alcove five needed its blood wash.

After that, he would check the temperature of  all  the  active  alcoves,

record the growth of the other fertilized casks, and  wet-sweep  alcove  seven

for the mara-nas expected later that night. And when he  could  find  no  more

work in this breedery, there were four others he  could  inspect--anything  to

keep his hands and mind busy, to keep his thoughts away  from  the  castration

knife that had been delivered to his quarters this morning, and the example he

was expected to set.

In that frame of mind, Lin Prell almost welcomed  the  interruption  when

two hulking, shaggy-furred vet  min blasted through the wall  of  the  monitor

room and began shooting up the consoles.

There will be much work to do--much work, he thought as he  hurried  down

the narrow corridor toward the commotion.

"What is it? What do you want?" he called ahead, catching  a  glimpse  of

one of the invaders moving about the outer compartment.

The only answer was a horrible growl and another volley of  blaster  fire

around the mouth of the corridor.

Lin Prell quickly reexamined his commitment  to  protecting  Nil  Spaar's

progeny, and then began to back-pedal down the metal walkway.

The monsters were apparently incapable of speech, so Lin  Prell  made  no

further attempts to communicate with them. When one of the creatures  appeared

at the end of the corridor, roaring in savage fury, the senior  keeper  hurled

himself into the nearest unused alcove and secured the door behind him. As  he

huddled in the corner, waiting, he comforted himself with the thought that  he

might never see the black-handled knife again.

[Where are they?] Chewbacca roared. [Where are the  prisoners?  What  are

these repulsive things?] Raising the rifle, he blasted the fleshy sac  hanging

from the cell wall, causing a pulpy explosion.  [Honor  brother!]  he  roared.

[Call to me!]  There  was  no  response,  leading  to  a  murderous  growl  of

frustration. With Shoran guarding his back, Chewbacca picked his way down  the

corridor, peeking into each cell in  turn  and  then  laying  heavily  on  the

triggers of his weapons.

[Come on,]  Shoran  urged.  [This  is  a  hothouse--they're  holding  him

somewhere else. We have to keep moving.] Chewbacca peered through the  grating

of the cell door at the Yevetha  cowering  within.  He  bared  his  teeth  and

growled, low and ominously.

[Come on!] Shoran said, pulling Chewbacca away.

An eerie silence continued to surround the Falcon. From the gun  turrets,

LumpaWarrump and Dryanta could count dozens of fighters cruising over the hull

of the Star Destroyer--obviously searching for the intruder, and  inexplicably

unable to locate it. One fighter had passed within seventy meters of the ship,

so close that Dryanta could see the pilot's face, so close  that  it  was  all

Lumpawarrump could do to keep his hands off the triggers of the Dennia quad.

Even stranger were the  comlink  reports  from  Jowdrrl  at  her  station

guarding the hatch.

[Someone talk to me,] she said.

[We're here,] Dryanta assured her.

[I just had visitors,] she said. [Nine of them, almost as big  as  Shoran

and armed like stormtroopers.] [Help's coming,] said Lumpawarrump.

[No, stay where you are--they're gone now. But I don't know why,] Jowdrrl

said. [They looked over the bodies in the corridor, stood around jabbering for

a minute or two, then walked right past the cut-hatch on their way out.] [That

doesn't make any sense,] Lumpawarrump protested.

[I know. I was ready for them to rush me, but they never even glanced  in

my direction-as if they couldn't see that there was a hole in the bulkhead big

enough to crawl through.] [Just like our fighters up here,] said Dryanta, both

wonder and worry evident in his voice. [Like we've become invisible.  I  don't

understand it.]

Detention block two had been modified as well, though it  was  empty  and

deserted. But by the time Chewbacca and Shoran were ready to leave  it,  their

noisy entrance had drawn a small crowd of Yevethan soldiers  to  the  corridor

outside.

With no more than a glance between them, the two Wookiees plunged through

the destroyed entryway,  turning back-to-back the moment they  were  clear  of

it.

By the luck of the draw, Chewbacca had five  targets  in  front  of  him,

Shoran eight.

Roaring defiance,  Chewbacca  sprayed  the  corridor  with  crisscrossing

blaster bolts. The las of his targets  was  tottering  when  he  heard  Shoran

grunt, and felt him sag against his back. A whiff  of  burnt  hair  and  fresh

blood reached Chewbacca's nostrils.

Whirling, Chewbacca caught Shoran up with one hand before he  could  fall

and dispatched the last two Yevetha with a flurry of shots from the blaster in

the other hand.

Then he turned his attention to the limp weight cradled in the  crook  of

his arm. And what he saw drove him to howl with fury and scatter a dozen  more

blaster bolts into the corpses littering the floor.

"Shoran has fallen,] he called over the  comlink  when  the  impulse  was

spent. [Dryanta, come for him.]

Lumpawarrump was the first to the cut-hatch,  beating  Dryanta  by  three

steps. [I'm going,] he said to Jowdrrl. [I know the map. You don't need me  in

the gun turret. And Dryanta shouldn't go alone.] Jowdrrl saw the determination

in his eyes, the eagerness in his stance, and did not argue. [Go,] she said.

[Just remember that the Yevetha can see  you  perfectly  well.]  Glancing

down at his hands, the youth clicked his blaster's lock to off and checked the

power level.

[We'll remember,] he said. [Dryanta?] She nudged him from behind.

[Take the lead.] They met Chewbacca halfway to detention block two.

Dryanta took Shoran from him without a word and hurried away back  toward

the Falcon, leaving Lumpawarrump with his father.

The two stood looking into each other's eyes appraisingly, one  searching

for strength, the other for approval.

Then Chewbacca grunted and turned away.

[Follow,] he said. [Protect my back.]

Detention block one was being guarded by  half  a  dozen  armed  Yevetha,

which raised Chewbacca's hopes.

But when he and his son had blasted their way through  the  interference,

all they found were more of the grossly distended fleshy sacs hanging  in  the

cells.

[This is taking too  long--there  are  too  many  places  he  could  be,]

Chewbacca fumed. [They will have killed him or moved  him  by  now.]  [Father,

when I think about Han, I do not see him in a place like this--] [Be  quiet--I

have to think.] [I keep seeing him in a room full of people--a large room, and

all different species. I don't know where this picture comes from--] [I do not

believe this,] Chewbacca said.

But Lumpawarrump's words had put the picture in his mind as well.

[And yet I see what I see, Father. It comes to me without imagining.

Is it a deception?] [When did this vision present itself to you?]  [While

I was in the turret--and it will not leave me.

It is most insistent.] Chewbacca  growled  and  blasted  the  ceiling  at

random.

The thought of Han was now inextricably connected to  an  oddly  detailed

vision of a high-ceilinged compartment half filled with a zoo of species.  The

image would not leave his mind either, and he could not see Han in  any  other

surroundings. [This is  powerfully  annoying-and  I  do  not  understand  it.]

[Father, what if the enemy' has taken many hostages?

What if Han is just one of hundreds? Where would he be then?] There  were

noises in the outer corridor, and Chewbacca moved to the ruined security door.

[In your mind, as you see Han,]  he  called.  [Are  there  any  markings,  any

numbers or words?] Lumpawarrump squeezed his eyes closed. [Yes.

Yes, on the wall--D-two.] It was the same as what Chewbacca saw--bold

black lettering high on the bulkhead above  the  prisoners:  CARGO  [The

mass detention holds,] Chewbacca roared.

[Come!]

Back to back, Chewbacca and Lumpawarrump  fought  their  way  forward  to

cargo hold  D2.  Strangely,  the  resistance  seemed  to  weaken  rather  than

strengthen as they went, almost as though they were moving too fast for  their

pursuers to find them---or as though the  carnage  they  left  in  their  wake

discouraged other Yevetha from getting  in  the  way  of  a  headlong  Wookiee

charge.

But the guards and patrols they did encounter fought  tenaciously,  never

flinching or fleeing. Armed or  unarmed,  alone  or  in  groups,  the  Yevetha

confronted the intruders with a foolish courage that made  them  easy  targets

and persistent threats. Chewbacca and Lumpawarrump  were  forced  to  fire  on

anything that moved and to keep firing until it stopped moving.  By  the  time

their objective was in sight, the gauge on  Lumpawarrump's  hand  blaster  was

nearing the POWER LOW mark, and the gauges on both of Chewbacca's were closing

in on POWER CRITICAL.

Ahead of them was one final hurdle. Unlike  with  the  detention  blocks,

blowing a hole in the bulkhead with a grenade threatened the occupants of  the

cargo hold. But the sectional doors of the hold were guarded by half  a  dozen

Yevetha deployed behind a pair of Imperial portable  shields.  The  waist-high

curved panels contained both ray-shield generators and energy  absorbers,  and

the Yevetha had nothing to fear from hand blasters  so  long  as  they  stayed

behind the arc of the shields.

Worse, the doors to the hold were on the other side  of  a  hundred-meter

wide flight deck--a deck  that  normally  housed  some  of  the  fighters  now

searching for the Falcon, and offered no cover whatever when they were gone.

"Your bowcaster,] Chewbacca said as they crouched in the hatchway.

Lumpawarrump unslung the weapon and began to surrender it to his  father,

but found to his surprise there was no hand extended  to  take  it  from  him.

Instead, Chewbacca was offering him slug cores--the nuclei  of  the  explosive

quarrels.

[First, the shields,] Chewbacca said, gesturing with his blaster.

[Then go for your enemies on the extreme left and right. That will likely

freeze the others and keep them bunched up for you. You must fire  as  quickly

as your bowcaster allows--as when trying to  take  fiarion  before  the  flock

scatters into the cover.] [Yes, Father.] [I will divide  their  attention,  as

one gives the thar-riarr a morsel to distract it,]  Chewbacca  said.  [Try  to

keep your quarrels out of my back, son.] Lumpawarrump laughed easily. [Try not

to run in  front  of  my  sights,  Father.]  Chewbacca  thumbed  his  comlink.

[Jowdrrl.] [Here, cousin.] [Prepare to make a  pickup  from  the  flight  deck

which is directly forward of your position.] [I will seal  the  hatch  and  be

ready for your call.] Chewbacca looked back at  Lumpawarrump.  [This  is  your

brrtayyk.] [I am ready.] Chewbacca gestured, and Lumpawarrump  stood  up  into

the hatchway, bringing the bowcaster up to chest height as he rose. The  first

explosive quarrel was away before  he  was  fully  erect,  the  second  before

Chewbacca had taken his first long stride out onto the flight deck.

The twin explosions that came an instant later were compact and  focused.

One shield was driven violently backward, knocking  two  of  the  Yevetha  off

their feet. The other shield simply shattered, pelting the deck, the bulkhead,

and the guards with sharp-edged fragments.

Tracking his targets through the smoke as though

they were shadows in  the  underbrush,  Lumpawarrump  kept  firing.  One

quarrel burned out the thorax of a Yevethan  guard,  and  the  next  spun  his

nearest companion around like a ragdoll.

Just then, Chewbacca loosed a blood-chilling howl and began spraying  the

flight deck with his blaster. The howl contained all of Chewbacca's grief over

Shoran and his fury over Han, and it riveted the attention  of  the  surviving

guards. With Chewbacca's hunger  for  vengeance  driving  his  long  legs,  he

crossed the open deck with stunning speed.  None  of  the  few  blaster  bolts

directed his way came anywhere near him.

By the time Chewbacca reached what was left of  the  guard  station,  the

return fire had  ceased.  Every  one  of  the  guards  had  fallen  victim  to

Lumpawarrump's steady hand and hunter's eye. True, three guards still had some

fight left in them, despite massive bowcaster wounds--but  Chewbacca  did  not

object to that.

He crushed the chest of one who was trying to rise from  the  deck,  then

threw himself on the back of another and broke his neck with a  savage  twist.

Spinning away from the toppling corpse, Chewbacca found  himself  face-to-face

with the last guard.

The Yevetha was bleeding profusely from gaping  shrapnel  wounds  in  the

shoulder and right cheek, and his thorax plates were scorched and bubbled.  He

slashed the air with his claws, and Chewbacca roared a challenge. They charged

each other, meeting in a collision that would have leveled lesser creatures.

Their short struggle ended with  Chewbacca  hoiSting  his  huge  attacker

overhead and hurling him against a structural column. The Yevetha slid heavily

to the deck and never moved again, his back broken. Standing  over  the  body,

Chewbacca tipped back his head and made the Wookiee triumph-cry  echo  to  the

farthest corners of the flight deck.

Then he turned away and waved Lumpawarrump across to join him.

Only then did Chewbacca see that his son was injured, dragging his  right

leg as he ran. When and how seriously Lumpawarrump had been wounded, Chewbacca

did not know--he only knew that his son had not uttered a sound in  complaint,

and that when the moment had come, he had faced the katarn without  flinching,

and his aim had been true.

The woman called Enara crouched beside where  Han  Solo  lay  dozing  and

lightly touched an unbruised spot on his forearm.

"There is fighting on the ship," she whispered.

"Your friends have come for you."

Moving awakened a thousand pains and brought a sharp wince to Han's face,

but he struggled to a sitting position nevertheless. "For me?

How do you know?"

"I know," she said, her face drawn. "I have called them to us,  and  they

have finally heard me. Come, we must move you. It is not safe to be  close  to

the walls."

"I don't understand," Han said. But he allowed Enara to help him limp  to

the center of the hold. The effort left him weak, making it necessary for  him

to lay himself out once more on the uncomfortably hard surface.

"I don't hear anything."

"They are a long way from here. I cannot hide them--it is  too  much  for

me. But I will try to  Help  them  find  you."  Enara  sat  down  beside  him,

arranging the folds of her scorched brown caftan around her as though it  were

a fine gown and she was expecting to receive guests. Then she cupped her hands

lightly around one of his and looked away toward the locked loading doors that

sealed them in.

Han did not question her words.  She  was  a  puzzling  woman,  given  to

curious pronouncements and long periods of distraction  marked  by  a  faraway

gaze and an aversion to company. But of all the prisoners in the  hold,  Enara

was the only one to step beyond her own fears and needs to befriend  him.  She

had been the first to speak to him when he had first  arrived,  and  hers  had

been the only compassionate face he had seen when

he awoke in agony after the beating at the hands of Nil Spaar.

But the tenuous promise of a rescue was  not  enough  to  keep  Han  from

dozing. Pain quickly exhausted him, and  his  bruised  organs,  his  torn  and

battered muscles, assailed him relentlessly when he was conscious.

Sleep was his only relief.

"The fighting is close now," Enara  said  during  one  of  Han's  wakeful

moments. "If you need to walk--" "If those doors open, I can get to them.  But

I still don't hear anything."

"Soon," she said.

He saw that her face was pale, and he felt her hands trembling, the  skin

that was usually soothingly cool now hot against his.

"Enara--what's wrong?"

"I cannot keep them apart. So many dying--your way is so  hard,  so  much

chaos," Enara whispered.

"Are you some kind of empathY' "It is not hard to feel death," she  said.

"They are coming. They are almost here."

It was at that moment that Han began to believe that something truly  was

happening aboard the starship.

He struggled  to  a  seated  position  just  as  Enara  pitched  forward,

whimpering loudly, her palms pressed to her forehead, her tousled hair  hiding

her face.

Moments later, there were noises from beyond  the  doors--cries,  blaster

fire, thumps against the bulkhead, and a grating, unnerving sound that Han was

certain he knew but which his pain-drugged mind could not identify.  Then  the

small hatch inset into the large loading doors was flung open, and a  towering

Wookiee frame filled the opening.

"Chewie!"

With a piteous wail, Chewbacca rushed across the deck and scooped Han  up

into his arms. Throwing back his head and roaring  delight,  he  spun  Han  in

circles--a dance of joy.

"Ow--not so rough. What kept you?" Han answered  gleefully.  "Where's  my

ship?"

Then Han yelped as Chewbacca juggled  him  in  an  effort  to  reach  his

comlink. After barking into the device, Chewbacca slung Han over his  shoulder

and started back toward the hatch, now guarded by another giant.

"Wait--wait--the others--wait, Chewbacca, the others.  We  have  to  take

them,  too--Enara,  Taratan,  Noloth--stop,  you  thick-headed  furball,"  Han

bellowed.

"Put me down, I'm not dead yet. Enara!"

As Chewbacca reluctantly complied, Han saw that Enara  was  Still  seated

where she had been, though no longer doubled over. "Come  on,"  he  called  to

her.

"There's room for you, too, isn't there, Chewie? How many of them can  we

get--" His words trailed off as he looked around the hold.

None of the other prisoners had reacted at all to  what  was  happening--

they were scattered in their usual haunts and gatherings,  sleeping,  talking,

sucking water from the drip-pipes.

"What's happening?" he asked, taking two unsteady steps toward Enara.

"Come on--our reservation here's expired."

"I cannot go," Enara said. "Go, please--i am at my limit."

"I don't understand."

Enara shook her head sharply. When she did, the  rest  of  the  prisoners

vanished, leaving only Enara, Han, and Chewbacca. Chewbacca  whined  unhappily

and tightened his grip on his blaster.

"Now you are inside," she said, "seeing as I do."

"Where are the others?"

"They were never here," she said. "They escaped at the transfer camp  and

were picked up by Star Morning. They are elsewhere now, safe. You can go."

Chewbacca whined again and tugged at Han's shoulder.

"That  was--they  were  an  illusion?"  Han  said,  ignoring  Chewbacca's

urgings. "You were covering their escape? Never mind, it  doesn't  matter--you

can leave now, too. There'sno one here to protect."

"I must stay," she said softly. "Denied his prizes, Nil Spaar  would  try

to replace them. Denied the  security  of  their  protection,  he  would  seek

security through the death of his enemies.

Go, Han--I am not a prisoner here. I have chosen this freely. Go now."

Turning away from them, Enara lowered her  chin  to  her  collarbone.  An

instant later, the hostages reappeared--including a crippled, dozing Han Solo,

lying on the deck beside Enara.

There was a cry from the Wookiee at  the  door,  and  then  the  achingly

familiar roar of the Falcon's engines.

"Enara--" Han said plaintively.

Then his legs buckled under him. Chewbacca caught him cleanly  before  he

hit the deck, and would not listen to his protests as he carried him away.

Enara never looked up. Han's last glimpse of her was of a tiny woman with

tangled hair, sitting crosslegged beside the  man  whose  life  she  had  just

helped preserve.

At just about the same time that the Millennium Falcon was  roaring  away

from Pride of Yevetha behind a curtain of  exploding  firecracker  mines,  Mud

Sloth was dropping out of hyperspace in front of the Fifth Fleet's flag group.

Even as the forward pickets were relaying the contact  to  Intrepid,  the

gunship Warrior surged  ahead,  breaking  formation  to  place  itself  on  an

intercept course.

"Contact ahead," the tactical officer announced to the bridge. "Type  not

identified. Size class, F--possibly a probe of some sort. She came  right  out

of the heart of the cluster."

On the other side of the room, a blank display at comm three suddenly lit

up with a string of numbers.

"Receiving transmission from the contact--they're attempting to authorize

a link."

That drewWarrior's captain over to peer at the screen.  "Sender  code  is

valid, but  it's  coming  over  the  air,  unsecured--that's  not  a  military

transmitter," said the comm specialist. "Same with  the  authorization  code--

checks as valid but not current. Someone's trying to get  in  the  front  door

without a key."

"I'd like to know who," said the captain. "Identify the sender code."

"Sir, it returns as classified."

"Really," said the captain. "Take us to level two alert and authorize the

link."

The numbers vanished from the display, to be replaced by Luke Skywalker's

face.

"Captain," said Luke's holo. "Do you recognize me?"

"I recognize who you appear to be," said the captain.

"I have no information that that person was known or expected  to  be  in

this sector."

"Very good, Captain. By now you should have  an  identification  on  this

ship and an assessment of its threat potential."

The captain looked away toward the tactical officer.

"Transponder  says  it's  civilian,  yacht,  skiff  class,  unarmed   now

confirming from direct scans. It's a Verpine Adventurer, sir."

There were several snorts and chuckles around the room, "'Unarmed' is not

confirmed, Lieutenant," the captain said, turning back. "A ship of  that  size

could easily carry tactical munitions in its passenger compartment."

Luke nodded in agreement. "I'd appreciate it if you'd rendezvous with  me

and have your people inspect the ship. Once you've satisfied yourself  that  I

am who I appear to be, and that we  haven't  replaced  the  refresher  with  a

fusion bomb," he said lightly, "I trust you can  arrange  for  a  ride  or  an

escort to the flagship. I am carrying some extremely important information for

the fleet commander."

The captain was well disciplined or stubborn enough not to bend.

"Continue on your present course," he said. "Keep this channel open.

We will rendezvous with you shortly." But when the link was

closed, he turned to comm one. "Signal Intrepid, secure.

Notify the general that Luke Skywalker is inbound."

When the message had been sent, comm two craned his  head  around  toward

the captain. "This is good news, right, sir?"

"I hope so, Lieutenant," the captain said grimly. "I dearly hope so."

By the time Mud Sloth came to rest in  slots  thirty-nine  and  forty  on

Intrepid's forward flight deck, everyone in that section of the ship--and many

elsewhere, in every other section--knew that Luke Skywalker was coming aboard.

No official announcement had been made. The scuttlebutt spread among  the

officers and crew via two distinct chains of  friendships  and  contacts--with

equal rapidity, but slightly different flavors of meaning.

Among the officers, it was styled as "Heard the big news?" To  the  crew,

it was definitely good news.

Luke could see it in the grins of the deck crew as  they  tied  down  the

skiff and in the jaunty thumbs-up they offered to him as he clambered down out

of the ship. When he turned and helped first Wialu and then Akanah  down,  the

mood around him changed for a time. But soon he felt the focus  shifting  back

to him again--a focus for hope and reassurance, for  belligerent  pride,  even

chauvinism and xenophobia.

It's as though they think I'm here to win the war for them, Luke  thought

as he followed their escort off the flight deck. But it's the  people  they're

nearly ignoring who I'm hoping can do that.

He had wanted and asked for a private meeting with A'baht, but  that  was

perhaps too much to expect.

Either he was too much of a magnet, even among the officers, or  A'baht's

idea of "private" automatically included  two  spare  colonels  and  an  extra

captain.

Luke dealt with  them  by  ignoring  them.  "What's  the  status  of  the

conflict,  General?"  he  asked;  offering  no  introductions  for   his   own

companions.

"The President has declared war on the Yevetha," said A'baht. "As a first

step; we're preparing to return to Doornik Three-nineteen  and  take  it  away

from them.

We've  also  gotten  more  aggressive  in  searching  for  the  remaining

shipyards. And planning's underway for deeper penetrations of the cluster, all

the way to the Yevethan homeworlds."

"Are any of your forces currently engaged in hostilities?"

"No. This is the lull before the storm," A'baht said.

"Now, can I ask you to explain your presence? I assume that  if  you  had

been sent here by the President, we would have been notified in advance."

"I've come here from J't'p'tan. On your charts, Doornik Six-twenty-eight-

E. Before that--well, the full explanation would take too long,  and  I'm  not

prepared to share all of it in any  case,"  Luke  said.  "But  the  part  that

matters is simple and straightforward. I'm here to offer you a chance to  take

that first step in a different direction."

Even for someone with Luke's status, Colonel Cor-gan,  Colonel  Mauit'ta,

and Captain Morano were  a  tough  audience-especially  when  what  was  being

peddled had the look of magic.

"Do I need to defend the Jedi to you as well?" Luke snapped  in  response

to the most recent expression of  skepticism.  "The  nature  of  the  universe

transcends the definitions of science, and the possibilities of  the  universe

exceed the limitations of technology."

"I am not eager to risk the lives of my  crew  on  tricks  and  invisible

forces that cannot be measured," said Morano.

"You're apparently not eager to save the lives of your crew, either."

"I prefer to trust what I know. We can win this war with the  weapons  we

have."

Loose objects were scarce on a ship rigged for combat, so Luke  found  it

necessary to create some. Reach   ing  out  with  the  Force,  he  ripped  the

decorations from the three officers' uniforms and deposited them in neat  rows

on A'baht's desk.

"Now you know a little more about invisible forces," Luke said.

"This is not helping," General A'baht said with a sigh.

"I'm simply trying to remind them that the Force is as real  as  anything

in this room--it's a mystery, but not a fantasy,"  Luke  said.  He  pointed  a

finger in the direction of Morano, who was still  staring  wordlessly  at  the

naked fabric where his service bars had been. "His way  of  winning  this  war

means thousands, tens of thousands, of deaths on both sides--needless deaths."

"Needless only if your trick fools the Yevetha," said  Corgan,  gathering

up his decorations with a cross expression on his craggy face. "And you  can't

know if it will fool them."

"What Wialu is offering  us  is  no  'trick,'  "Luke  said  with  studied

patience. "Her instrumentality is older than the technology  of  that  blaster

you wear, and  more  powerful.  But  it's  more  difficult--it  takes  a  life

commitment, not just a squeeze of the trigger."

"Perhaps she could tell us more about how it works," said Mauit'ta.

Luke  turned  away,  raising  his  hands  in  the  air  in  disgust   and

frustration.

"Reflection," said Wialu, "from the surface of the Current."

"I'm afraid that's not very useful to me," said  A'baht  as  Luke  turned

back. "You must realize that you're  asking  us  to  mount  a  major  military

operation around something we've never experienced. Would it  be  possible  to

have a demonstration?"

Luke expected Wialu to refuse that imposition, but she surprised him.

"You are asking me to create a major projection of something I have never

experienced," she said. "It seems it would be to the good of all if you  would

demonstrate first, and then you can judge my practice."

A'baht glanced at Corgan. "Colonel?"

"Well, there are about twenty ships from the Fourth due to join us  in"--

he glanced at his chrono--"about half an hour. Would that do?"

"I would like to be as close to the phenomenon as possible," said Wialu.

"There's an observation bubble on the maintenance rover," Marano offered.

"I think we can probably squeeze the seven of us in there.

If you don't object to the presence of skeptics, that is--" "Your beliefs

are irrelevant to me," Wialu said. "I am empowered by mine."

When the rover had reached the fifty-kilometer boundary of  the  arriving

task force's jump target, General  Etahn  A'baht  tapped  the  driver  on  the

shoulder from behind.

"That's close enough, son," said A'baht. "And drop us  a  few  kilometers

below the entry track. I don't wish to have the  command  staff  erased  by  a

navigational error."

"I'm more worried about being erased by an error of  enthusiasm  by  some

gunnery lieutenant," said Cor-gan.

"Those ships are jumping into a hot zone, and they're  not  going  to  be

expecting us to be sitting here waiting for them."

"Akanah will address that," said Wialu. "The ships will not see us."

"What do you mean?" asked A'baht.

"General, just take her at her word," Luke said. "If I had wanted it that

way, you wouldn't have known Mud Sloth  was  in  the  neighborhood  until  I'd

parked it in your space."

Corgan shook his head disbelievingly, but there  was  no  opportunity  to

pursue the issue.

"Here they come," said Maiut'ta.

One after  another,  the  great  ships  emerged  out  of  the  center  of

overlapping white flashes of radiation, like  new  stars  winking  on  in  the

night. Cruisers and attack

carriers, Star Destroyers and gunships, all quickly closed the  distance

to the rover, roaring by overhead in a spectacular display.

"Are we allowed to talk?" asked Corgan.

"Patience," said A'baht, gazing up with his fingers laced together behind

him. "Patience and attentiveness will both be rewarded, I suspect."

"I don't take your hint."

"How many ships were we expecting?"

"Twenty-two."

A'baht nodded. "I have counted thirty so far."

Corgan and Morano stared, gaping, as the broad hull of  a  fleet  carrier

sliced the vacuum above their heads. "That has to be a mistake."

Luke caught A'baht's faint smile. "I'm confident I  can  still  count  to

thirty," he said. "I suggest you check with Tracking."

Maiut'ta was already reaching for his comlink.

"Sweep the arriving ships," he ordered. "Give me a count."

"Thirty-eight- - forty- - forty-one- - still clicking over."

"Are they all normal tracks?"

"Everything as expectedwwait a minute, some of the IDs are duplicated.

Colonel, do you want to tell me what's going on now?"

"No, Lieutenant. Stand by," Mauit'ta said, switching off the comlink.

A'baht turned to the  other  officers.  "Well,  gentlemen,  we  have  our

demonstration." He gestured with his hand as  a  gunship  rumbled  by  just  a

kilometer away.

"Which ones are real? That one? The next? I can't  tell--I  suspect  even

Tracking can't." He turned back to Akanah. "Thank you. I am quite satisfied."

In the next moment, half the battle group passing in review vanished.

Wialu sagged noticeably and sought her seat immediately afterward.

Akanah settled beside her protectively.

"General, what did I just see?" the rover driver asked  in  an  awestruck

voice.

"Nothing, son," said A'baht. "Officially and literally nothing."

But--" "Don't ask about it and don't think about it," the general said.

"Just get us back to the barn as quickly as you can." He glanced at Luke.

"We all have a lot to do."

They were on final 'approach to Intrepid when they were waved off for the

launch of a flight of fighters.

Morano's face immediately took on a worried expression.

"What's that about? Patrol rotation isn't for another hour."

He got an answer from the flight controller after the rover landed.

"Outer patrol is moving out on  an  intercept,"  the  controller  advised

them. "We've got a ship coming in from the interior, high speed, no proper ID,

nothing but some kind of jammer or scrambler signal in response to our hail."

Morano wheeled around to face Wialu. "Is this part of your demonstration,

too?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "This one belongs to you."

"General, Commander Jarrou has taken the  group  back  to  a  level'  two

alert," the controller continued.

"Captain, you and the general are wanted upstairs, flank speed."

Luke raced to the bridge at General A'baht's heels, then anchored himself

in front of a tracking display.

The image was still small and two-dimensional. His  head  cocked  to  the

side, Luke studied the image as it slowly grew larger.

"Specialist, how fast is that ship moving?"

"Eight sublight, sir. She's cooking."

"Can you let me hear that jammer signal she was transmitting?"

"Still transmitting," said the specialist. "On the

headphones, sir. Watch the volume--it's an eardrum killer."

Luke slipped the earpieces in place and listened.

Almost at once, he laughed.

"Sir?"

"That's not a jammer. That's Shyriiwook.

Wookiee-talk," he said, tearing off the headphones.

"It's Chewbacca, and he's upset about something."

Luke peered at the display again. "He wants those pilots to  get  out  of

the way. General A'baht!"

A'baht looked up from a huddle with the tactical officer. "What now?"

"Better tell those fighters they're on a rendezvous  and-escort,  not  an

intercept," said Luke. "That's the

Millennium Falcon coming in."

Shoran and Han were both carried off the Falcon on medevac stretchers.

By appearance alone, they looked to be in equally dire straits,  but  the

indicator lights on the stretchers' monitor panels  foretold  their  different

destinations. The indicators on Shoran's stretcher were static and mostly red,

and he was taken directly to Intrepid's morgue.

The indicators on Han's stretcher were jumpy and mostly  yellow,  and  he

was taken directly to a bacta tank in med ward one.

There was no chance for Luke or anyone else to talk to Han before he went

into the tank. He had apparently been  unconscious  since  before  the  Falcon

jumped out from N'zoth, his already fragile state aggravated by  the  stresses

of the rescue, particularly the high-g escape.

And even if Han had been conscious, there was Chewbacca to contend with--

the Wookiee hovered over Han so protectively that he got in  the  way  of  the

doctor and the medical droid, and ultimately had to be dragged back  from  the

triage table by two of his companions.

The four Wookiees made an impressive sight, and their presence in the med

ward drew a great deal of curious attention. Luke thought  he  recognized  the

injured one as Lumpawarrump, a thought confirmed when Chewbacca made  him  the

next object of his anxious hovering.

Lumpawarrump had limped off the ship under his own power, but the second-

degree blaster burn on his right calf  was  ugly  with  leaking  blisters  and

needed care as well. A translator droid arrived in  time  to  assist  K-1B  to

negotiate with his patient.

"Skin and hair cell damage is serious. Underlying fat and  muscle  damage

is limited," said K-1B. "All damage is repairable.  Prescribe  immersion,  one

session, ten hours."

Both Chewbacca and his son looked at the prep table where Han  was  being

fitted with his breather and monitors. Chewbacca drew his upper lip back  over

his teeth in an  expression  of  disgust,  and  Lumpawarrump  shook  his  head

vigorously as he growled an answer.

The droid's translation was diplomatic. "The  patient  has  expressed  an

unwillingness to be immersed."

K-1B's head swiveled in  a  distinctively  mechanical  fashion.  "Topical

treatments are of limited effectiveness.

Grafts are contraindicated for species with body fur.

Scarring is likely without immersion."

Both Lumpawarrump and Chewbacca answered at once, and  their  growls  had

sharply contrasting timbres.

"The patient says that he finds scarring socially desirable.

The patient's guardian expresses his concern that if the  injury  is  not

effectively treated, K-1B will  experience  serious  malfunctions  and  system

disruptions."

Despite the shadow of concern for both  Han  and  Chewbacca's  son,  Luke

could not contain a chuckle at the droid's obvious paraphrase. The  sound  led

Chewbacca to look up and in Luke's direction--the first time  their  eyes  had

met since the Falcon had docked.

The Wookiee gestured angrily toward Han, and voiced a sharp-edged rebuke.

No translation was necessary.

The look said, Where were you?

"I didn't know, Chewie," Luke said. "It wasn't

even in the TBM. The General says there was a complete blackout  on  the

news. I was away, and no one told me. Not even Leia."  He  looked  across  the

room at Han, who was at that moment being transferred from the prep  table  to

the bacta tank. "I just didn't know."

Technically, the camp on Pa'aal, the primary moon of the fifth planet  of

the N'zoth system, was not a prison. Slaves are not housed in prisons.

The camp was the permanent residence of  the  surviving  members  of  the

former Black Sword Command occupation force under Governor Crollick.

At its peak, it had housed nearly three hundred  thousand--mostly  human,

and mostly from the crews of the Star  Destroyers  Intimidator  and  Valorous,

captured intact by Yevethan raiders on what was to have been the final day  of

the Imperial occupation.

The captives had purchased their lives with service to the  viceroy,  and

in the beginning, that service had been essential. They had taught the Yevetha

both the operation of a  capital  warship  and  the  final  secrets  of  their

construction. They had served aboard their renamed vessels  under  new,  alien

captains and  labored  in  the  shipyards  under  new,  alien  overseers.  The

knowledge in their heads and the experience in their hands made them  valuable

enough to keep alive--at least until the Yevetha had wrung every  last  secret

from them.

In the first and second year, only the uncooperative  were  removed  from

the population on Pa aal. But in the third year, their keepers began  to  thin

their holdings in earnest. By that time, the overseers had a clearer  idea  of

who had specialized technical skills and who did not.

The latter could be replaced in their duties by Yevetha,  and  were--many

trained their replacements before being executed. The former were kept without

regard to need, as spare parts for the war machine the Yevetha were building.

Half the population of Pa'aal disappeared during the third year--most  at

the hands of the Yevetha, but no small number through suicide.

Conditions on Pa'aal were desperate and miserable, and hope of rescue had

collapsed as the coldly calculated winnowing wore on.

Those who survived to see the fourth year were  in  many  ways  a  select

groupssmart, tough-minded, in-ured  to  the  privations  of  their  existence,

astute in the politics of their status. And they had found a  replacement  for

hope, in the form of a leader and a plan.

In the long years since, every slave taken from Pa'aal  for  a  day's,  a

week's, a month's service tO the Yevetha had gone willingly,  with  a  purpose

and a mission beyond mere survival.  The  more  useful  they  were,  the  more

opportunities there would be to advance the plan. They needed  access  to  the

ships, to materials and tools, to unsupervised time--all of which  could  only

be obtained through guiltless and systematic collaboration with the enemy.

Despite their efforts, there had come a time when the Yevetha  seemed  to

no longer need them, and Pa'aal had become not  a  storehouse  but  a  dumping

ground. An entire year would pass with no measurable progress and  no  promise

of change. Suicide and the carelessness that  went  with  profound  depression

once more began to thin the numbers.

But seven months ago, the  slavemasters  had  started  coming  to  Pa'aal

again. For the first time since the end of the winnowing, there  were  Yevetha

in camp for more than a few  hours,  observing,  questioning.  The  additional

scrutiny was more than balanced by the additional  opportunity,  as  more  and

more of the population was called to service and carried off in the parade  of

shuttles. Before long, Pa'aal seemed primarily populated · by ghosts.

Word of the reasons for the  change  filtered  back  with  returnees--new

ships being launched, new crews being trained, new problems with cloned drives

and weapons.  Gradually  the  whole  story  was  pieced  together,  until  the

prisoners on Pa'aal were more  aware  of  the  coming  war  than  the  Yevetha

themselves.

And through it all, the work went on,  at  an  intense-even  dangerous--

pace.

"There is a moment coming,"  Major  Sil  Sorannan  had  told  his  secret

command, "a  moment  of  opportunity  that  will  never  be  repeated  in  our

lifetimes. If we are not ready when that moment comes,  we  will  all  die  on

Pa'aal."

Sorannan remembered his words  as  he  gazed  at  the  four  tiny  pulse-

transceiver chips that had just been delivered to him  by  a  courier  from  a

returning work party.

"Major Neff said to tell you  that  they'd  passed  all  the  tests  with

generous margins," said the courier. "He has very high confidence that they're

good."

Nodding, Sorannan gestured to the  other  man  in  the  room.  "Have  the

controllers brought here."

From four different parts  of  the  compound,  four  very  different--yet

commonplace--objects were rounded up and  placed  before  Sorannan.  Using  an

engineer's loupe, 'an improvised jig, and  a  handheld  microwelder,  Sorannan

added one of the chips to the circuitry concealed inside each of the objects.

The chips were the last pieces missing from the controllers, and Sorannan

irreversibly sealed the clever access slides and panels  before  handing  each

object over to a courier.

"Deliver this to Dobbatek.

"See that this reaches Jaratt on Valorous.

"This is for Harramin.

"I want this delivered to Eistern on Intimidator.  Tell  him  I  will  be

there soon. Tell him to pass the word that it is almost time."

Chapter 10

While Han slept in the healing bath of the bacta  solution,  the  command

staff analyzed the latest data from the stasis probes deep inside the cluster,

and the Wookiees prepared the Falcon for the battle ahead.

Not included in any of those activities, Luke  found  himself  alone  and

with time on his hands.

He went by Wialu and Akanah's cabin, intending to reopen the  subject  of

Nashira. But Wialu was not there, and Akanah would not tell him where he could

find her.

"She will be in deep meditation until the time comes, preparing herself,"

said Akanah. "This will be very difficult--she must be strong enough  to  hold

the projection even if fighting begins."

"Will you be helping her?"

"She has not asked that of me."

"Do you think that I can?"

"Ask me, or help her?"

"Help," he said.

"No. You have great power, Luke, but this is not a work of power.

When you lay your touch on the Current, it is still a thousand times  too

forceful."

He digested that in silence. "Did you  know  that  there's  a  Fallanassi

aboard Pride of Yevetha? At least,   that's  how  I  sort  it  out,  going  by

Chewbacca's account.

A woman named Enara." He shook his head. "They had to have some  kind  of

help. Going in there like that was crazy. Wookiee-crazy, the kind  that  comes

from an excess of courage and a shortage of patience."

"Yes, I know," Akanah said.

"Will she be able to help Wialu?"

"I do not think so."

Luke frowned. "You seem to have gotten a lot more reluctant to talk to me

since we reached J't'p'tan."

"Circumstances have changed," Akanah said with a small, rueful smile.

"Because Wialu is watching and listening?"

"We have lost more than privacy," she said. "We are no longer  moving  in

the same direction."

"If you know that, you know more than I do about where I'm headed,"  Luke

said, pulling a chair toward him and sitting down on it backward.

"I have more questions now than ever."

"You must be greatly tempted to try  to  force  Wialu  to  answer  them,"

Akanah said.

"An occasional, resistible temptation," Luke admitted.

"I know better."

"It would be an immeasurable mistake."

"I know that, too," he said. "But you could answer some of my questions--

as my teacher."

Eyes downcast, Akanah shook her head. "I don't think so, Luke."

"Because of what Wialu said about your not having the right to? She  said

you were a child yourself--" "She was right," Akanah said. "I told you on  the

day we met that I was incomplete--that there was a weakness, an  empty  space,

in me--that the loss of what my mother would have taught me had left  me  less

than whole."

"I suppose you did," Luke said.  "I  guess  at  the  time,  I  paid  more

attention to what you were saying about me."

"It was easy enough for me to forget myself," said Akanah.  "But  even  a

short time with Nori was enough to show me how  far  I  have  strayed  without

guidance.

These days in Wialu's company have shown me how  far  I  have  to  go  to

return to the path."

"Your mother--Talsava--is she with the Circle?"

"No," Akanah said. "When we are finished here, I will ask Norika to be my

teacher."

Luke folded his arms on the back of the chair  and  rested  his  chin  on

them. "So your journey is over."

She shook her head. "It is just beginning. I know that I must go back and

unlearn before I can move forward again. Do not envy me too much, Luke."

Luke answered with a tight-lipped smile. "A  momentary  self-indulgence,"

he said. "Well, I suppose I can't ask you to work with  me  on  the  skill  of

concealment."

"You will need another teacher if you choose  to  follow  this  path  and

become an adept of the Current," she said, her  expression  earnest.  "I  hope

that you will.

You have great strength, Luke, but you hunger for lightness.

That is part of the gift that you have been denied."

Frowning, Luke straightened his back and caught the top edge of the chair

in his hands. "Maybe you can answer this question, at  least--if  Enara  could

conceal the Falcon and create  phantom  hostages,  why  couldn't  she  protect

Shoran?"

"I am sorry for your friend's loss," Akanah said, then paused. "I do  not

know the limits of Enara's skill.

But creating a reflection from the surface of  the  Current  and  merging

nearby objects with the Current are  very  different  tasks.  It  is  terribly

difficult to do both at the same time. And there is something  else--a  person

does not stay settled in the flow the way an object without volition will."

Luke's eyes lit up. "Is that why the Circle is  still  at  J't'p'tanmwhat

you meant when you said they couldn't leave?" he asked. "Because it sounds  as

if the Fallanassi could hide the temple from the Yevetha and go away,  and  it

would stay hidden--" "Yes. Objects which are at  rest,  or  which  follow  the

current without resisting it, will remain merged until

they are  disturbed,"  she  said.  "All  of  the  effort  comes  at  the

beginning, and a single adept can manage it. But hiding the community of H'kig

requires the constant attention of a great many  adepts,  and  the  effort  is

never-ending."

As he listened to her, Luke experienced a flash of intuitive insight.

"Yes. Yes, that's the only way it could be. Do  you--"  "I  have  already

said too much," she said, shaking her head. "Please,  Luke,  ask  me  no  more

questions.

Answering you and refusing you bring me equal burdens of guilt."

"I'm sorry," Luke said. "I understand."

"You understand, and you  used  it  to  get  your  answer,"  Akanah  said

sharply. Then she showed a quick smile, taking the sting out  of  the  rebuke.

"Please, Luke--go now."

"All right," he agreed, standing and replacing the  chair  where  it  had

been. But when he reached the cabin door, he stopped and looked back.

"I'm sorry. I have to ask one more."

She nodded wordlessly, as though she had expected it.

"Did you see Nashira on J't'p'tan?"

"No," Akanah said with regret. "I do not know where she is."

It was decided early that the "phantom  fleet"  bluff  should  be  played

where it would have the most impact--in the light of N'zoth's  sun,  over  the

capital of the Duskhan League and the home of Viceroy Nil Spaar.

"It's the strongest Yevethan fleet we've located especially in  the  wake

of the rescue of the commodore," Corgan  explained  at  the  strategy  session

where the assault plans  were  first  disclosed  "If  the  Yevetha  are  still

monitoring developments on Coruscant through their spy network, they know that

the President's sending us reinforcements, and that'll help sell the bluff.

"We've planned a feint at Doornik Three-nineteen for the day before, just

to keep them jumpy and maybe draw off a ship or two from somewhere  else.  And

on the big day, we'll turn out in strength at Wakiza, Tizon, and Z'fell,  plus

go after the shipyard that just turned up near Tholaz.

But the big play is at N'zoth--that's where we have to  break  them,  one

way or another."

Taking Intrepid to N'zoth meant a transfer for Hang from  the  flagship's

medical ward to a medical frigate delegated to  stay  behind  with  the  other

noncombatants.

The transfer, in turn, meant the first conscious moments for Han since he

had come aboard.

Both Chewbacca and Luke took advantage of the  opportunity.  The  Wookiee

had an emotional reunion With Han while the doctors and K-1B gave him a  quick

but thorough hands-on exam. Luke did not intrude on that time, waiting instead

to hitch a ride with Han on the transfer shuttle.

"Hey," said Han, craning his head at the sound of Luke's voice.  "I  used

to know a guy who looked just like you."

"Whatever happened to him, anyway?" Luke bantered back, finding  a  perch

beside the stretcher and catching Han's right hand in his own.

"How are you doing?"

"You know you're getting old when you start wondering about  what  it  is

that's finally going to kill you," Han said with a pained grin. "I  guess  I'm

gonna have to sit this one out, eh?"

"Unless we have a sudden need for underwater commandos," Luke said.

"They tell me you're due for another five days in the tank."

Han's countenance darkened with concern. "Say, do you think you could use

your powers of persuasion to get 'em to let me talk to Leia before  they  dunk

me back under? Has anyone told her--" "Already set up for you,  Commodore,  as

soon as we reach the frigate," said the doctor  seated  at  the  head  of  the

stretcher, monitoring the readouts.

"Of course she was told," Luke said. "The general

sent a message as soon as you were aboard,  and  Chewie  talked  to  her

later."

Luke saw that Han noted the omission. "Well, when you talk to  her,  make

sure you mention I was bothering the lady doctors---otherwise  she'll  worry,"

he said. "Say, how about Chewie's kid? He sure  hit  his  growth,  didn't  he?

Chewie said this was some sort of rite of passage, and he's taken a new name--

Lumpawaroo, I think it was."

"With Waroo as the familiar," said  Luke.  "I  think  it  means  'son  of

courage."" "Well, that fits--both ways," Han said. "They said back there  that

Waroo will be coming over to the frigate, too. I think that leaves the  Falcon

one hand short."

"I don't think I'm welcome to sign on," said  Luke,  squeezing  and  then

releasing Han's hand. "Chewbacca  seems  to  think  I  abandoned  you  to  the

Yevetha."

"Aw, he'll get over it. He's still wound up, that's all. I couldn't  talk

him out of going back to N'zoth with you--figures he owes it to Shoran."

"There's no arguing with a Wookiee," Luke said.

"He'll be all right. There won't be enough shooting to worry about."

"Why's that?"

At that point, the doctor saw on his displays the same fatigue  Luke  was

seeing on Han's face and ordered an end to the  conversation.  They  completed

the trip to the frigate in silence,  save  for  the  off-key  humming  of  the

shuttle pilot and the wheeze at the end each time Han exhaled. The last  third

of the run, it seemed as though Han was asleep.

But when the hatch had opened and  the  orderlies  were  unstrapping  the

stretcher to carry Han out, he opened his eyes and found Luke  with  a  steady

gaze.

"Hey--kid."

"What?"

"You'd have come for me if you knew, right?"

"You know I would," Luke said. Then he grinned  crookedly.  "It's  a  bad

habit from the old days."

Han let his head loll back and his eyes close. "You can keep  that  one,"

he said. "Give the bastards hell, kid.

They've earned it."

The final tactical conference for  Strong  Hand  included  not  only  the

commanders of all sixteen battle groups--by hypercomm holo link, as the groups

were already staged to their jump points--but also Luke, Wialu,  and  A'baht's

five senior aides.

"Here's the good news," said Colonel Corgan.

"Not only did the feint at Doornik  Three-nineteen  go  off  without  any

losses, but we got a free shot at an outbound Fat Man in the bargain, and made

the most of it. Primary  credit  for  the  kill  goes  to  Captain  Ssiew  and

Thunderhead, and I'd like to tip my hat to them for showing us the way."

"Here's the interesting news," said Colonel  Mauit'ta.  "Looking  at  the

data from today's action together with the clash at ILC-Nine-oh-five,  we  now

believe that the Yevetha have their own game of where's-the-candy  under  way.

That is, we are now ninety percent convinced that there are  two  versions  of

the  Yevethan  T-type--one  a  capital  warship,  and  the  other  an  unarmed

transport. At this point, we're still looking for tip-offs to provide to  your

sensor crews. But we believe the risks would justify following a  simple  rule

of thumb: Don't bother firing on any targets that aren't firing on you."

"Here's the bad news," said General  A'baht.  "The  last  survey  of  the

N'zoth and Z'fell systems show that the Yevethan fleets there continue  to  be

reinforced by ships coming in from elsewhere in Koornacht Cluster.

N'zoth is now at forty-six capital ships and Z'fell thirty-four.

That means that if they call our bluff and we end up in a  tussle,  we'll

have only about a six-to-five edge--which could go to even odds by the time we

get there.

We will get one more snapshot from our  stasis  probes  just  before  the

jump-out." He looked down the table at Wialu. "A lot's riding on  you,  madam.

If there's any reason to think---"

"I am ready," she said quietly.

"Then we go at the times established in revision nine of the  coordinated

plan," said A'baht. "Good luck to us all--and if  luck  disappoints  us,  then

good hunting to us all." As the holos began  dissolving,  one  after  another,

A'baht leaned toward Luke. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

This conversation truly was private--just Luke  and  the  general,  alone

behind the closed door of A'baht's office.

"I've been holding off saying anything about this, thinking I'd  let  you

come to me on your own and let me know what sort of role you wanted to have in

this," said A'baht. "But we're getting close to the end  of  the  talking,  so

I'll get right to the point. If this comes to a shooting war, I'd like to have

the benefit of your experience and leadership.

"I know there are some strictly bureaucratic issues  about  your  status,

but I don't care about them. I'd like to offer you command of Red E  Squadron.

That's twelve of this ship's best E-wing pilots, and I know there won't be any

hard feelings about your coming in  at  the  top.  You  can  use  my  personal

fighter--the crews keep it zeroed in--" "I'm sorry," Luke said. "I  appreciate

your confidence, but I have to say no."

A'baht frowned. "I'm not sure  I  understand.  What,  uh--what  are  your

plans, then?"

Luke stood. "I intend to be with Wialu  and  Akanah  on  the  observation

deck. My obligations to them come first."

Squinting unhappily in Luke's direction,  A'baht  said,  "If  it's  their

security you're worried about, I can put as many armed men  up  there  as  you

want, so you'd be free--" "Armed men will not contribute  to  their  sense  of

security," Luke said. "The answer is no. I'm sorry if that answer  disappoints

you."

"It confounds me," said A'baht. "The choice is yours,  of  course--but  I

would appreciate an explanation, if there is one."

Luke felt the heavy weight of expectations settle on  his  shoulders.  If

you don't let them make your choices for you, they  demand  that  you  justify

yourself to them--ah, Ben, how did you  ever  learn  to  refuse  them  with  a

tranquil conscience?

"The obligations I spoke of don't  involve  protecting  the  Fallanassi,"

said Luke. "I can't stand with one foot in their world and one foot in  yours.

I asked them to involve themselves in our conflict as a matter of principle.

Now I have to show that I respect that same principle myself."

"Where exactly do your loyalties lie, then?"

"That's a deceptively simple question, General, and we haven't  the  time

to explore it," Luke said. "It does need to be explored  I  suspect  it's  the

question that eventually led to Palpatine's purge of the Jedi."

"I did not intend to question your honor," said A'baht.

"I know that, General," Luke said. "In the end, it comes down  to  this--

there's far more to be lost by my limbing into that  cockpit  than  you  could

possibly gain from my  doing  so.  You  have  good  pilots,  good  crews,  and

leadership enough to offer them. I'll celebrate a victory with you  no  matter

how it comes. But my part in it will not be as a warrior."

The heralds of the coming armada were stasis probes 203, 239, and 252.

They were the last remaining survivors from more than fifty  such  probes

Alpha Blue and the Fleet had sent into  the  N'zoth  system.  The  others  had

either been hunted down by Yevethan patrol ships, or  had  expired  under  the

stress of their mission profile.

Undetectable in hyperspace, a stasis probe would drop into realspace only

long enough to take a sensor snapshot, transmit the data  to  its  controller,

and receive the interval instruction for its next appearance--alto  gether,  a

matter of no more than twenty seconds.

Only passive sensors were used. Stealthiness was essential to the probes'

survival.

Ordinarily, the most severe challenge  to  stealthiness  was  the  Cronau

radiation from the entries and exits.

But with the probes' zero space velocity, the Cronau radiation  collapsed

into a narrow wave cone, which was carefully directed away from enemy sensors.

But the last instructions received by the  three  probes  were  far  from

ordinary. They were unprecedentedly strange---strange enough that probes  with

more sophisticated system droids might well have refused them.

The probes were to orient themselves gyroscopically so that on their next

entry, the Cronau wave cone was pointed at N'zoth like a spotlight. Next, they

were to begin active sensing, sending out optical  and  radar  pings  at  ten-

second intervals. Finally, they were to remain  in  that  mode  for  the  next

hundred minutes.

Taken together, the instructions guaranteed  that  the  probes  would  be

found and destroyed long before that hundred minutes had elapsed. The flow  of

new data would be cut  off--the  probes'  missions  would  be  cut  short,  in

failure.

But the three probes were not meant to survive.

The data they were transmitting was now considered inconsequential.

They were being sacrificed to draw as  many  Yevethan  eyes  as  possible

upward and outward--to assemble the audience for the show that was to follow.

And as heralds, they succeeded marvelously well.

Nil  Spaar's  highest  priority  that  day  had  been  replenishing   the

breederies. Nearly all of the  new  marahas  had  been  destroyed  during  the

vermin's clumsy and unsuccessful attempt to rescue Han Solo. The  losses  left

Nil Spaar both grieving and aggrieved, and he had closed himself away with the

most select marasi in order that the alcoves of the  undamaged  breederies  be

filled with all haste.

But the news delivered to his quarters with great timidity by the  second

proctor of defense was urgent enough to excuse the interruption.

"Darama--ten thousand apologies. But alien vessels  of  an  unknown  type

have appeared in defense zones nine and eleven," the proctor said,  flinching.

"Our fleet is being  scanned.  Primate  Dar  Bille  has  called  the  ship  to

readiness, and begs your counsel."

When Nil Spaar reached the bridge, he  found  a  disagreeable  amount  of

confusion. Multiple alarms were sounding, and the new proctor of  defense  for

the spawnworld was engaged in a  loud  clash  of  dominance  with  the  ship's

primate. But the viceroy's arrival resolved the hierarchical crisis,  as  both

Tho Voota and Dar Bille knelt before him and then pressed their cases on him.

"Show me what has happened," Nil Spaar said, waving away their words.

He watched earnestly as the logs of various  monitors  and  pickets  were

replayed for him on the main  viewscreen.  Three  alien  probes  had  appeared

within moments of each other--probes of the same size, perhaps even  the  same

type, as those the outer patrols had been  destroying  with  some  regularity.

They marked the corners of a lopsided triangle,  the  longest  side  of  which

spanned fifteen degrees of the  sky.  The  probes  were  persistently  hurling

radionic and light energy in toward the fleet,  accounting  for  most  of  the

alarms on the bridge.

"Dar Bille's judgment is correct," said Nil Spaar.

"The meaning of this is that more ships are coming. We will  move  toward

these probes at once."

"But darama, please consider--if this proves another  false  showing,  as

there was at Preza yesterday--" the proctor said in protest.

"Then they will not pass close enough for us to  engage  them  from  this

orbit," said Dar Bille.

"Their purpose could be  to  draw  us  away,  and  leave  the  spawnworld

unprotected."

"There are ships enough for both duties," said Nil Spaar,  cutting  short

the argument. "But the flagship of

the Protectorate need fear no enemy. We will move to intercept."

Dar Bille spun away. "Signal our companion vessels that we  are  breaking

orbit. Helmsman! Set course for the anomalies, and make quarter speed when the

way is clear."

With a slow grace, the boTtoM of the great Star Destroyer swung  out  and

upward, bringing the triangle of enemy  probes  to  the  center  of  the  main

viewpane. As Nil Spaar settled into his command lounge, he settled his gaze on

that triangle and thought heartening  thoughts  about  revenge  for  his  lost

children.

It was night in Giat Norwa night like most nights on N'zoth, of quiet air

and clear skies under the splendor of the All.

But a sentry had called Ton Raalk to the courtyard of the city  proctor's

hall-and quarters with a report of a curiosity: three bright  flashes  in  the

sky over N'zoth's northern latitudes.

"One after another they were, like one word following another," said  the

sentry. "And bright--brighter than any of the All. I only  saw  the  third  of

them directly, but it left me half blind for minutes after."

There were others of Ton Raalk's family and staff  in  the  courtyard  as

well, having glimpsed the sky or the ground lit up though a  window  or  door.

The proctor was well aware of them as he answered loudly, "I see nothing here,

and no reason for concern. Most likely it was  part  of  our  glorious  fleet,

going hunting for the vermin."

The sentry would not relent. In his post, he had seen many ships  jumping

in and out of N'zoth's skies, and that light was only a flicker by comparison.

"Could it be that there is fighting here, etaias?

Perhaps for safety the families should be moved" Then someone cried  out,

pointing skyward. Ton Raalk turned at the sound, then craned his neck upward.

He stared wonderingly with the others as a small area of the sky,  barely

larger than his hand at arm's length, began to roil and dance with light.

As warship after warship appeared within the triangle marked out  by  the

alien probes, Nil Spaar edged forward in his chair  with  eager  glee  in  his

eyes. "Yes, come, come," he urged. "What a glorious victory you will give  us.

What a splendid sky, full of targets for our guns.

There will be honor for every Yevetha today, and vengeance for every lost

child."

But at that moment, both fleets were  well  out  of  the  range  of  each

other's weapons. There was time for the game masters on both  sides  to  array

their pieces for battle, jockeying for advantage in the clash to come.

The slow grace of the ballet belied its murderous purpose.

Dar Bille ordered the interdictor Splendor of Yevetha  forward  into  the

lead spot, to protect the flagship from any sneak attacks from hyperspace. Tho

Voota held the flagship and its companions at a crawl while the balance of the

home fleet rose from orbit to catch and join them.

Meanwhile, the count  of  the  approaching  armada  continued  to  climb,

topping two  hundred  before  the  entry  flashes  finally  ceased.  Then  the

formation began to spread, breaking into squadron-sized units spaced in a one-

deep array that brought every ship  into  view.  Their  slow,  almost  stately

approach declared an arrogant confidence.

"Darama, there is a signal from the vermin,"  announced  the  proctor  of

communication.

"I will hear them, for my amusement," said Nil S paar,  rising  from  his

couch. "Let all hear, Proctor--these words will confess our  enemy's  weakness

and impotence.

They will boast and threaten and then conceal their cowardice as mercy."

"This is General Etahn A'baht, commander of  the  New  Republic  combined

forces in Farlax. This is my final warning to the citizens and worlds  of  the

Duskhan

League. You are called to account for your crimes against  the  peaceful

peoples of Koornacht. You must give up the territory you illegally  seized  by

force. You must surrender all hostages unharmed-" Sil Sorannan  witnessed  the

arrival of the New Republic fleet on the  three-dimensional  monitors  in  the

flagship's fire control center.

It was from that room that Pride of Yevetha's individual batteries  would

be assigned targets. Those decisions were in the hands of the  three  Yevethan

officers seated at the consoles in the pit. Sorannan's responsibility ended at

maintaining the data server for the target registry and its  electronic  links

throughout the ship.

Still, he studied the holographic image-map with as much intent  devotion

as did the fire control proctors. As the first  warships  appeared,  his  hand

slipped into his pocket and found the hard-toothed comb. He rubbed  its  spine

like a worry-stone as the New Republic fleet grew.

His respect for the attackers grew  as  well  as  he  listened  to  their

commander's warning.

"--Your past aggressions will not be tolerated:  Future  aggression  will

not be permitted. I call on the captains of all Yevethan vessels:  Stand  down

your weapons.

Lower your shields. Maintain your current orbits--or be destroyed. I call

on Viceroy Nil Spaar: Order the immediate surrender  of  all  Yevethan  forces

everywhere.

Yield your claim to authority and your post as viceroy, and  your  cities

will be spared. Resist, and you invite the  total  destruction  of  both  your

fleet and your way of life."

A frontal assault with overwhelming force--that is the way war was  meant

to be fought, thought Sorannan admiringly. Strength against strength--not  the

weak and cowardly tactics of the Rebel Alliance. You have grown some  since  I

last knew you.

As A'baht spoke, Sorannan slid toward the leftmost section of his station

and opened one of the several small service panels in its  instrumented  face.

But he did not yet pick up the hand-built blaster pistol resting  inside  atop

the circuits. He was waiting for Nil Spaar's answer, even though he had little

doubt what it would be.

Standing with arms crossed and  feet  set  apart,  Etahn  A'baht  frowned

deeply as he watched the Yevethan fleet form up. The bridge  of  Intrepid  had

fallen under a suffocating silence as he sent his ultimatum, and  the  silence

was growing more uncomfortable by the second.

"Anything?" he asked finally.

"Not unless you count continuing toward us as a reply."

"That may be all the reply we get," said A'baht.

"Time to weapons lock?"

"Six minutes twenty."

A'baht nodded. "All right," he said with a sigh.

"Get the pilots into their cockpits. Start locking down the shield doors.

And let's have about twenty of our thumpers light up that  Super  with  range-

finder lasers.

Let's remind the estimable viceroy that we know where he lives."

As the minutes dragged out and the distance between the fleets  continued

to shrink, Sil Sorannan brought the comb out of his pocket and ran it  through

his thinning red hair. He knew that Nil Spaar's silence was an  expression  of

contempt for his adversaries, but he was also confident that the viceroy would

not be able to resist expressing his contempt directly. Sorannan waited calmly

for it to come.

But when the most powerful weapons on Pride of Yevetha---on  Intimidator,

Sorannan reminded himself--were only a minute away from being able to  deliver

an effective blow to the nearest of the New Republic vessels, he could wait no

longer. Holding the comb before him in both hands, he twisted it sharply,  and

it came

apart in his hands. One of the pieces was a thin wand with  three  small

buttons--it had been hidden inside the comb's hollow spine.

Keeping his eye on both the proctors and the holo tracks, Sorannan  moved

the wand to his right hand and picked up the blaster in his left.

As he did so, Nil Spaar began to broadcast his answer of defiance to both

fleets.

"You are low and impure creatures, and your threats mean nothing to  me,"

the viceroy said. "Your presence fouls the perfection of the All  and  offends

the honor of the Blessed. I will rip the soft white bellies of your ships open

and spill their disgusting entrails for all to see. Your lungs will thirst for

air. Your vigorless  blood  will  boil  in  your  ears.  Your  pleas  will  go

unanswered, and your screams will go unheard. Your bodies will fall  into  the

sun and be consumed.

You will be forgotten by your offspring, and your mates  will  bring  new

blood to their beds."

Fool, Sorannan thought. They have your fleet out-' gunned three to  one--

soon to be five to one. Without a flicker of  change  in  his  expression,  he

pressed the first two buttons on the wand with  his  thumb,  then  raised  the

blaster to shoulder level and began to fire.

A'baht listened to Nil  Spaar's  screed  with  his  jaw  set  in  a  grim

expression and the last flickers of hope dying in his eyes.

"That's that," he said. "Get those people down from the oh deck--it's not

safe up there. Break the Showcase formation, and bring all the batteries up to

full power."

"General!"  called  the  tactical  officer.  "The  Yevethan  flagship  is

slowing."

A'baht nodded acknowledgment. "That's a  small  break  for  us,  if  he's

decided to let the rest of his fleet do the fighting."

"Sir, all of the Imperial types are slowing--the Super, the  interdictor,

the SDs--all of 'em. They're stopping in a hurry, too--just sitting  there.  I

can't figure this tactic--the T-types are hard for us to knock  out,  but  the

Imperial designs have more punch."

A'baht stared at the tactical display. "Signal the armada to slow to one.

eighth--let's give ourselves a little more time to sort this out.

Are any of the T-types holding off?"

"No, not one  of  them--they're  still  coming  on,"  said  the  tactical

officer. Seconds passed. "General, the Imperial types are  definitely  veering

off now. I don't know--maybe the viceroy's having an attack of good sense."

A'baht's thoughts leaped at once to the officially discounted claim of  a

treaty between the League and something called the Grand Imperial Union.

"Or someone else is," he  said.  "Maybe  there's  a  falling-out  between

friends under way over there. Let's see if we can aggravate  it.  Task  Forces

Blackvine, Apex, Keyhole--the leashes are off. Pursue and engage."

There were 513 Black Sword Command veterans aboard Pride of  Yevetha  and

more than 15,000 Yevetha.

Those proportions did not trouble  Major  Sorannan.  His  contingent  was

armed with more than blasters and a profound motivation. The ship was  already

under their control; dealing with its last owners was a mere detail.

There  was  a  precious  irony,  Sorannan  thought,  that  the  principle

instrumentality of their freedom was something called a slave circuit.

Within three minutes of his pressing the button  that  turned  the  ships

away from the New Republic fleet and toward Byss, he was joined  in  the  fire

control room by Captain Eistern and three other men whose former duty stations

had been elsewhere in the engineering section.

"Looks as though you managed without us, sir,"  said  Eistern,  observing

the carnage in the pit. Tendrils of smoke were still rising from the  consoles

where three blackened corpses were slumped.

"They gave me no trouble," Sorannan said with evident satisfaction.

Eis'tern glanced up at the targeting holo.  "Wish  you  could  say  that

about the Alliance," he said. "It looks like they're coming after us.

We're not ready to fight this ship, you know."

"We will be gone before they catch up," said Sorannan.

"They don't know what's happening here. Maybe they wouldn't  even  bother

with us if they did."

"I intend to tell them, but not for that reason," said Sorannan. "I  want

them to know who they owe their victory to."

He climbed back to his station, pulled out a pair of system  boards,  and

replaced them upside down. The monitors flickered as the displays  changed  to

reflect the new functions being controlled from that location.

"General A'baht, can you hear this transmission?"

"This is A'baht." There was curiosity in the tone.

"Please identify yourself."

"Proudly, General. This is Major Sil Sorannan of the Black Sword Command,

Imperial Navy--acting captain of the Star Destroyer Intimidator and  commodore

of the Camp Pa'aal Squadron."

"I am not familiar with your unit, Major."

Sorannan laughed stiffly. "It's newly  commissioned,  General--sorry  you

couldn't be here for the christening."

"If your intentions are not hostile---" "It is not that we have any  more

love for you now than when we last faced you," said Sorannan.

"But we won't fight to defend our enslavers."

"Heave to, and you won't be harmed."

"Oh, no," Sorannan  said.  "We've  been  here  too  long  already--nearly

thirteen years on a nine-month detail.

No, General. This is good-bye. We are taking back what is ours,  starting

with our freedom and these ships.

We leave the Yevetha to you."

He pressed the middle and third buttons on the wand,  and  an  unjammable

hypercomm signal leaped across the emptiness to slave circuits buried deep  in

the command architecture of every Imperial warship de ployed at N'zoth and its

daugher worlds across the cluster.

Autopilots calculated jump vectors, and hyperdrive motivators  called  on

the immense power of solar ionization reactors. Space trembled,  twisted,  and

yawned open around the accelerating warships.

Moments later, Black Sword Command's withdrawal  from  Koornacht  Cluster

was finally complete.

Cheering broke out on the bridge of Intrepid as the heart of the Yevethan

fleet vanished from the tracking displays, but A'baht quickly put  a  stop  to

it.

"We have no way of verifying what we just heard.

Those ships could jump out half a light-year and return on our flank," he

said. "Moreover, there are still forty-four T-types out  there,  and  none  of

them have broken off yet. This is not over."

There was very little time left before the fragmented Yevethan  formation

and the New Republic fleet met.

A'baht used most  of  it  to  broadcast  another  appeal  for  surrender,

directing  it  at  the  individual  captains  of  the   approaching   vessels,

emphasizing the superior numbers of his force.

But  there  was  no  reply,  and  no  change  in  the  Yevethan   fleet's

disposition. Whatever orders Nil Spaar  had  given  before  disappearing  were

apparently still in force. That, more than  anything,  convinced  A'baht  that

they had not seen the last of the Imperial contingent.

"I cannot believe that a unit that  has  been  decimated-no,  worse  than

that--before the battle begins, which has lost its senior commanders before  a

shot has been fired, and which  faces  a  vastly  superior  force,  would  not

collapse," the general said. "By all manner of reason, those commanders should

be thinking of surrender or retreat."

"Well, they're not," said Colonel Corgan. "Targets eighteen, twenty,  and

twenty-one just opened fire on the phantom elements of Task Force Token."

"So I am led to conclude that none of those things

has happened," said A'baht. "Their force has not  been  decimated,  only

divided. Their command structure remains intact--and they  have  other  forces

not yet committed to the battle zone. Therefore We can infer  that  these  are

low-value assets meant to occupy us, to disrupt our formations, and to  soften

us up for a planned counterstrike."

"I concur that the evidence can be read that way," said Colonel Corgan.

"So how do we play it now, General?"

A'baht studied the tactical  display.  "We  must  neutralize  this  force

without compromising our unit integrity or our mobility,"  he  said  at  last.

"Pass the word as follows: Hold back the  bombers.  Keep  the  patrol  screens

close, and launch the A-wing interceptors only in response  to  direct  threat

from other little birds. Our operational unit for this engagement is to be the

fleet squadron, and squadron commanders now  have  operational  autonomy.  All

units, pursue, engage, and destroy all  targets  of  opportunity.  Since  they

insist on a fight, we'll give 'em one."

"What about the hostages, sir?"

A'baht shook his head. "Pray for them, Colonel.

That's all we can do."

A great conflict is  nothing  more  than  the  aggregate  of  many  small

struggles, and so it was with the  Battle  of  N'zoth.  There  was  no  single

vantage  point  from  which  its  entirety  could  be  grasped  not  even  the

observation deck of the New Republic flagship.

Luke and Akanah had turned away the lieutenant who came  to  remove  them

from that spot. The commencement of hostilities  had  not  meant  the  end  of

Wialu's efforts--to Luke's surprise, she continued the illusion of the phantom

warships even as ion and laser cannon began to light up space all around them.

"She told that she would maintain the projection as long  as  she  could,

even if the Yevetha did not surrender," Akanah whispered.

Luke nodded. "If the phantoms draw their share of  the  Yevethan  fire--"

"She said that no one would die aboard a ship that wasn't there."

But it was obvious to both of them that the effort was taking a  toll  on

Wialu. As the battle wore on and broken and burning warships began to dot  the

starry backdrop, Wialu began to sag visibly.  Finally,  moments  after  a  New

Republic light escort blew up spectacularly just a few kilometers away,  Wialu

slumped forward on the deck where she  had  been  sitting,  and  the  phantoms

vanished from the New Republic formations.

Even then, she surprised Luke again by declining to be  helped  from  the

observation deck.

"I will watch to the end. No matter what path you follow, it is important

to be reminded what war means," she said, letting Akanah guide her to  one  of

the empty semireclined chairs.

Luke had been holding a question for hours, and the  urgency  of  it  had

grown in the waiting. He crouched beside Wialu, his back to the fighting.

"Wialu, I have to know--are there Fallanassi aboard any of those vessels?

"

"Yes," she said.

He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. "Is Nashira among them?"

"I cannot hear your question," Wialu said.

His frustration sharpened to the point of pain, Luke turned angrily away.

"I can tell you only that they are not  hostages,"  she  went  on.  "They

chose this service for themselves,  on  the  last  morning  that  the  Current

scalded as it does now--the day the Yevetha came to make their claim.

Many, many died that day.  But  some  were  saved  by  those  who  placed

themselves between. I did not ask it of them,  but  I  honor  them  and  their

sacrifice."

Staring out at a burning Yevethan thrustship, Luke found he had no choice

but to respect that sacrifice with silence.

In reality, the outcome of the Battle of N'zoth  had  been  foreordained

from the moment Sil Sorannan departed with the Black Sword vessels.

But it was no less brutal or difficult for that. The Yevethan  thrustship

shields were superior to New Republic shields, and the spherical  symmetry  of

the thrust-ship design made them even more effective. And though they were not

heavily  armed  by  Imperial  standards--the  combined  output  of  the  eight

batteries was less than that of a gunship, to say nothing of an  escort  or  a

heavy cruiser--the ability to focus all of that energy on one small area  gave

them the knockout punch of a much larger ship.

Under attack by three and four  New  Republic  vessels  each,  one  after

another of the Yevethan warships succumbed. But it was  a  war  of  attrition,

with nearly as many losses as there were victories--Thunderhead.

Aboukir. Fulminant. Werra. Garland. Banshee.

Nor were all of the losses among the smaller vessels.

Commodore Farley Carson's Yakez was caught between  two  thrustships  and

broken in two by the detonation of the forward magazine after its bow  shields

collapsed. The fleet carrier Ballarat took a brace of Yevethan  missiles  just

forward of the number four flight deck,  and  the  chain  of  explosions  that

followed hurled three squadrons of shattered E - and X-wings out into space.

Ballarat's misfortune gave Plat Mallar his first chance to  do  something

more than watch from the yawning maw of a flight  deck.  All  of  the  fleet's

launches, gigs, and shuttles had been outfitted for rescue and  recovery  work

and distributed among the task forces.

Mallar and his shuttle had been assigned to the  cruiser  Mandjur,  which

was part of Ballarat's squadron and the closest vessel to it when the missiles

struck. While Mandjur dueled with the Yevethan warship,  Mallar  brought  back

one live pilot and two dead ones in three trips through an  intense  field  of

fire.

But despite the painful losses scattered across the entire  battle  zone,

the trend was clear.

There were only two points at which  that  trend  threatened  to  reverse

itself. The first was when the phantoms vanished, allowing the Yevethan  ships

to focus their fire on the real threats. The second came near  the  end,  when

the last eleven thrustships began launching their  trifoil  fighters--fighters

that screamed toward the New Republic  vessels,  diving  through  shield  gaps

opened for them by the Yevethan batteries and hurling themselves against their

targets as suicide missiles.

In a matter of only five minutes, half a dozen of  the  vessels  engaging

the remnant of the Yevethan fleet were either destroyed or forced to withdraw.

Mandjur was among the ships that came to fill the  gaps,  but  it  was  struck

twice near the stern before it could launch even half of its interceptors.  It

began to drift, crippled and vulnerable, its engines dead and its aft  shields

gone.

In the moments after the twin impacts rattled the cruiser, Mallar ran  to

join a group of pilots, deck crew, and droids  who  were  trying  to  clear  a

damaged E-wing from the mouth of the flight deck. Their chatter told him  what

was happening outside the ship and decided his course.

Ever since coming aboard Mandjur, he had been eyeing Captain Tegett's  X-

wing. Painted a vivid red, it sat in a reserved tie-down slot under the  broad

transparencies of the flight control office. And when the debris  was  finally

cleared and the undamaged interceptors began to move forward to launch, Mallar

ran to the red X-wing instead of back to his shuttle.

When the flight operations chief cleared him to start engines instead  of

trying to chase him away, Mallar knew just how dire  the  ship's  plight  was.

Using the power of his ship's signature appearance, he edged into line between

two E-wings, and not long after got the green ball to launch.

"Four coming in!" Mallar heard over his cockpit comm as Mandjur fell away

behind him. "This is Blue Five--I need help back here!"

Hauling the X-wing around sharply toward the cruiser's stern, Mallar  had

a moment of dizziness. He

heard Ackbar's voice echoing in his thoughts. Don't  try  to  turn  with

them--use your speed, know your strengths and  your  limits.  He  saw  Polneye

burning before his eyes.

Thanks for the lessons, Admiral, he thought. Thanks for the chance.

As Mallar thumbed the squawk button he saw an E-wing turning with him and

another coming up from behind to settle on his starboard wing.

"This is Red Leader," he said with quiet confidence.  "On  my  way,  Blue

Five, with company. Take the first one---we'll get the rest."

Then he pushed the throttles ahead, and the fighter leaped  forward  with

an eagerness that matched his own.

The reports that came in from the intelligence sources scattered  through

the outer regions of the cluster all mirrored each other: The ships  that  had

been orbiting the destroyed colonies were gone.  Asset  analysis  would  later

show that those same ships were among those that had reinforced the fleets  at

N'zoth, Wakiza, Z'fell, and the other large-population worlds.

The reports that came in from  the  task  forces  sent  to  those  worlds

mirrored the experience at N'zoth: The Imperial ships turned  and  jumped  out

without apparent cause or  explanation,  but  not  a  single  Yevethan  vessel

surrendered or fled. Every last thrustship had fought relentlessly, taking the

fight to the Fleet as the aggressor, until it was destroyed.

A'baht had never seen the like of it in thirty years of  soldiering,  and

it left him shaken.

"It has always been enough, in the past, to defeat the enemy," he said to

Morano in the privacy of the now-quiet situation room. "I've  never  known  an

enemy who forced me to utterly destroy him. By the end, I was looking for ways

not to have to destroy those last few ships. If they had given me  any  chance

to spare them, shown any hesitation, even just broken contact and fallen back-

-" "They never gave us a Chance," said Morano, shak ing his head.  "You  can't

show mercy to someone who's going for your throat."

"No," A'baht said.

Tapping a key slowly with his index finger. A'baht began  paging  through

the casualty summaries. It took a long time. "This  is  an  error,"  he  said,

pausing at one point. "Tegett never left Mandjur--it was someone else  in  his

fighter. They still don't know who."

"Too bad. Spoils a grand heroic story for the news-grids,"  said  Morano.

"Captain saves his ship by ramming a suicide bomber--" "There's still a  story

there," said A'baht, tapping the key. "A lot of stories here, and  they  won't

all get told."

Tap--tap--tap-A'baht shook his head. "What a terrible price we  paid  for

this one."

"Second thoughts, General?"

"No," he said firmly. "Oh, no. What I  said  earlier,  about  wanting  to

spare them at the end--I'm lucky I didn't have that chance. It would have been

a mistake."

"I don't understand."

A'baht gestured at the screen before him. "Can you imagine if they'd  had

the patience to wait another ten years or so, studying us, building  up  their

fleet? No, no regrets, Captain. I'm glad for what happened today, even  though

doing it made me sick at heart. I'm glad we did this before  the  Yevetha  got

any stronger, or any smarter about us."

The general closed the casualty file and pushed  his  datapad  away  from

him. "I just hope we're smart enough now to figure out a way to see that  they

never build a starship again."

Nil Spaar's arms were bound at his sides,  his  claws  locked  helplessly

against the restraining bar. His ankles were manacled together  with  a  short

plasteel cable.

Even so, he tried to lunge at Sil  Sorannan  when  the  Imperial  officer

appeared in the bridge's escape pod access tunnel.

The lunge did not carry him far. It was not even necessary for anyone to

shoot the viceroy--Lieutenant Gar, one of the four  witnesses,  simply  hooked

Nil Spaar's ankle cable with his own foot, bringing the Yevetha down  hard  on

the deck.

"For twelve years of torture, and too many friends, there isn't enough  I

can do to you," said Sorannan, stepping closer. "I already know  that  killing

you won't be satisfying. No matter how I do it and how  long  it  takes,  I'll

wake up tomorrow and see the face of someone who didn't get to  go  home  with

us, and I'll know in my gut that you got off too easy.

"But still, you deserve to die. And the only thing I can  think  of  that

will help me answer those faces that come into my mind is to make you wait for

it--and make sure that my face stays in your mind while you wait.

"So here's something you should know about me.

Before I joined Black Sword Command,  I  was  detailed  to  the  Research

Section as a pilot for the experimental hyperphysics team. We were  trying  to

learn how to drop bombs from hyperspace. We never learned how."

Sorannan crouched by Nil Spaar's head, and his voice grew soft. "You see,

it turns out that no matter which way you go through the magic door, you  need

a hyperdrive to open it. Anything that we released in hyperspace  just  stayed

there. We even took a drone and blew it up in hyperspace, to see if that might

open the door. None of the wreckage ever appeared again in realspace."

As he stood up again, he gestured to Captain Eis-tern, who stepped to the

hatch of escape pod 001 and unlatched it.

"It's really too  bad  the  project  didn't  work  out,"  Sorannan  said,

stepping back while Gat and another witness dragged Nil  Spaar  to  his  feet.

"Because it turns out to be very easy to release an object in hyperspace.

One good shove will do it--like the ejection charge of an escape pod, for

example."

The viceroy stood tall and silent, his expression  one  of  contempt  and

haughty pride.

Sorannan leaned his face close to Nil Spaar's, so that the breath of  his

whisper kissed the viceroy's cheeks. "I don't know how long you  will  survive

there," he said. "I do know that you will die there."

Stepping back, the major watched as the others forced Nil Spaar into  the

escape pod and sealed him inside.

"Die slowly," Sorannan said hoarsely, and slammed his hand  down  on  the

firing switch.

With a roar, the escape pod hurtled away into oblivion.

Rendezvous

Joto Eckels stared at the sensor display with a degree of awe approaching

the religious. In a lifetime of archaeological  fieldwork,  Eckels  had  never

faced a moment like this one, when a functioning  instrumentality  of  a  dead

race had appeared to bridge the centuries.

It was an event on a par with the greatest finds of the  modern  era--the

Shadow Traproom on Liok, the Nojic Beanstalk, the Great Subcrustal Tubeway  of

the Pa Tho, the Foran Tutha star probe. But at first, there was no joy in it--

only the sudden, numbing weight of responsibility.

Dreiss and Mokem had died in the Shadow Traproom. Bartleton  had  watched

helplessly as the Foran Tutha probe was  gutted  by  a  fire  his  own  people

inadvertently triggered.

But Pakkpekatt's team did not  appear  burdened  by  thoughts  of  either

history or posterity. With matter-of-fact efficiency, they  immediately  began

to deal with the surprise.

"What message should I send to HQ, Colonel?" asked Pleck.

"A contact report only," said  Pakkpekatt.  "Let  us  see  what  sort  of

greeting she has for us first. Is the satellite prepared for deployment?"

"I'm finished with it. It's set up on the fantail and ready to go,"  said

Taisden.

"Recommendation?"

"Penga Rift needs to move to the far side, keep the planet between it and

the vagabond until they've collected their people and  cleared  orbit.  If  we

place ourselves and the satellite  a  hundred  and  eighty  degrees  apart  in

geosynch, we  can  get  complete  coverage  of  the  approaches  plus  maximum

separation."

"Deploy the satellite," said Pakkpekatt. "Doctor?"

Looking slightly bewildered, Eckels shouldered his way  forward.  "May  I

speak with Penga Rift, Colonel?"

"Of course. Colonel Hammax, get the doctor set up at station three."

Eckels gave the  recall  order,  then  apprised  Captain  Barjas  of  the

situation. "Get everyone aboard and everything locked down," he said.

"Have Mazz monitor everything that goes through our satellite.  See  what

you can get on the incoming ship. But don't risk the arti-facts-at  the  first

sign of any direct threat, jump out."

Then he turned his attention back to  the  others,  who  seemed  to  have

forgotten him for the moment.

"Let's do one more test cycle on the auto-responder," Pleck was saying.

"When that interrogative comes--" "No,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "The  earlier

tests were satisfactory.

The interrogative could come at any time.

Bring it up and put it online."

"Yes, Colonel," Pleck said.

"Satellite is away, active, and moving to position," said Taisden.

"Fourteen minutes to station. We can make our station six  minutes  after

the skiff clears."

Pakkpekatt  turned  toward  Eckels  and  eyed  him  curiously.   "Doctor,

shouldn't you be going?"

"Where?"

"Back to your ship-to Penga Rift."

"To hide on the other side of Maltha Obex? I don't think so, Colonel.

I think you can make more use of me than that."

ment. But the only detectable dialog took place between his determinedly

steady gaze and Pakkpekatt's sharply inquiring one.

Against the possibility of an undetected dialog, Eckels held one  thought

in his mind: I accept your authority. Let me help. Let me be  there  when  the

door is opened.

Pakkpekatt grimaced in a manner reminiscent of a  yawn.  "If  Penga  Rift

does not need you, then we will take advantage of  your  presence,"  he  said.

"Agent Pleck, take Dr. Eckels to the observation deck and familiarize him with

the equipment."

Lobot  found  sharing  his  interface  with  the  vagabond  a   seductive

preoccupation. After as little as twenty minutes, he began to  lose  both  the

will and the ability to respond to Lando or the droids.

It was not that the link was so rich and easy that  he  experienced  what

cyborgs spoke of among themselves as "falling down a hole  into  heaven"--much

the opposite, in fact. The link was so difficult, communication  so  painfully

slow, and the data structures so alien that staying in contact with the vessel

gradually absorbed all of his attention and resources.

Even switching to Basic to process aural input or formulate and  voice  a

response gradually became an insuperable burden. For the  first  time  in  his

memory, Lobot found himself  single-tasking,  surrendering  his  own  internal

processes and thinking in the base-six binary algorithms of the vagabond.  The

cyborg community called that loss  of  boundaries  "turning  inside  out"  and

viewed  'it  as  a  danger  to  systemic  integration--one  step   away   from

dissociative collapse.

Lando knew only that Lobot was connected to a machine with the  power  to

take him away and no apparent inclination to return him. After  observing  the

phenomenon the first time, Lando set strict limits and appointed  himself  the

enforcer of them. Throughout the duration of the hyperspace jump, Lobot  spent

no more than an hour at a  time  linked,  with  at  least  two  hours  between

sessions.

Even allowing that much was 'a concession to Lobot, who insisted that the

most productive part of a session was the  part  when  he  was  insensible  to

anything but the vagabond's data structures. That assertion was one Lando  had

to take on faith. So far, Lando hadn't  seen  enough  in  the  way  of  useful

results to justify risking any contact at all. The insights Lobot was gleaning

from contact with the vagabond seemed far more meaningful than the ones he was

managing to communicate to Lando.

"It doesn't know what it is," Lobot had explained.

"It only knows what it does." But even within those parameters, what  the

vagabond  "told"  Lobot  seemed  all  too  changeable,  subject  not  only  to

interpretation but to Lobot's errors of enthusiasm.

The ship was a protect against-harm, a shelter-and-nurture,  a  heal-and-

succor, a flee-from-predators, a  maintain-and-preserve,  and  a  welcome-and-

teach--which Lobot variously interpreted as egg, mother,  creche,  repository,

and chrysalis. The rounded bodies in the inner tubules were sleepers, keepers,

corpses, creepers, sacrifices, and directors--with half of those  designations

suggesting they were  part  of  the  vessel  and  half  suggesting  they  were

something apart.

"I don't think  it  knows  any  more,"  Lobot  had  said  at  one  point,

responding to Lando's frustration. "Its ·       reflexes are complex  and  elegant,

and it has great power at its command. But  it  lacks  even  a  child's  self-

awareness or sense of purpose. It does what it knows to do,  by  stimulus  and

response, by instinct--it is conscious of those processes but  nothing  beyond

them. I don't think it even realizes where it is, any more than a seed  buried

in the ground does."

"If you and it make up your mind about anything, make a point of  sharing

that with me," Lando had answered in disgust. "If it won't obey  us,  I  don't

see that we're getting anything useful out of this.

So if you're

going to keep communing with it, at least keep Working on that point."

Even as Lobot had found a new focus, Lando seemed to have lost his.

They had access to the entire  ship  now,  but  Lando  had  shown  little

interest in making use of it. He had powered down both droids, and spent  most

of his time floating in chamber 229. The near exhaustion of his propellant was

only a pretext concealing his loss of heart.

Lobot made one attempt to talk to Lando about what he was seeing. "In our

travels together, I have only seen you leave the table twice," he said.  "Once

when you found yourself in a rigged game, and  once  when  that  woman,  Sarra

Dolas, came and sat at Narka Tobb's side instead of yours. I  have  only  seen

you fold your hand in the face of a game that could not be  won,  and  a  game

that you no longer cared about winning.

Which is it this time?"

"Neither," said Lando. "I've done everything that I know how to do.

None of it's done a thing to improve  our  position.  Now  you  say  it's

headed home. I'm just waiting for the last hand to be played."

But the unprecedentedly violent shaking of the vagabond as it exited from

hyperspace shook Lando out of his indifference. "Lobot,  where  are  you?"  he

called over the suit comm.

"In the interspace, aft," Lobot replied.

"Did you hear what just almost didn't happen? On my worst mornings  after

my worst days, I don't sound that bad trying to get up," Lando said.

"Yes, Lando," said Lobot. "The exit growl was  extraordinarily  loud  and

extended here--I had the distinct impression of hearing it from  behind,  from

the stern first, and then a fraction of a second later from  the  bow.  And  I

could see an oscillation wave with  an  amplitude  of  at  least  a  decimeter

traveling along the outer hull."

"You're lucky there still is an outer hull," Lando  said.  "I've  figured

out why the jumps keep getting rockier.

thing I need you to check on. I'll explain while you're en route."

"Coming," Lobot said. "Please continue."

"I don't know why I didn't realize it sooner. The ship's power reserves--

whatever it's been drawing on--must be way down. Either it's been out too long

without topping off the tanks--just like  you,  me,  and  the  droids--or  the

damage from the last attack affected either the reserves or the generators."

"The vagabond does not have generators."

"Whatever," said Lando. "Take it as a metaphor.

The ship manages to store and transform energy somehow, for weapons,  and

motive power, and light, and all the little gadgets in the chambers."

"Granted."

"So whether the tanks are empty or the  converters  are  below  minimums,

there isn't enough to go around.

That's why it opened all the portals and left them open.

That's why none of the gadgets have worked since the attack, and why  the

lights went out on us. We're in some sort of  energy-conservation  mode.  It's

not just hurting--it's tired."

"Yes. The ship and I have talked about that."

"You might have shared that part with me," Lando said  with  a  touch  of

annoyance. "Lobot, the transitions have been getting rougher  every  time  out

because the ship's right at the edge--at least as far as opening a big  enough

hyperspace portal, and opening it fast enough to minimize the stresses. It's a

matter of being able to focus enough energy in a small enough space in a short

enough time. And one of these days, it's not going to  be  able  to  do  itand

either the middle of the ship will jump out and leave the rest behind, or  the

portal will snap back and crush it."

In the middle of Lando's exposition, Lobot rejoined him in chamber 229.

"That is something I would prefer to witness from a distance."

"Get in line behind me," said Lando. "That's why you have to link up with

your friend. We need to know where we are and what's going to be happening--if

its

home is that planetary system depicted in the orrery instead of next-to-

nowhere deep space, maybe we have a chance."

"What is it you want me to ask it?"

"I was thinking that maybe it could be persuaded to, say, let us  have  a

viewport--under the general heading  of  being  willing  to  provide  us  with

information."

"I can try," Lobot said, and began stripping off his  suit  so  he  could

enter the inner passages.

"Do you want me to go in with you?"

"No," Lobot said. "But come in after me if I have not returned in  twenty

minutes."

While he waited, Lando reactivated Artoo and, for the  first  time  since

the incident with the beckon call, Threepio.

"Good day, Master  Lando,"  Threepio  said  brightly,  with  no  apparent

awareness of Lando's lingering grudge. "My word, but  my  circuits  are  clear

this  morning.  I  haven't  felt  this  way  since  my  last  defrag-mentation

diagnostic. I hope you are feeling well.

Where is Master Lobot? He hasn't been harmed, has he? I see  his  contact

suit, but I don't see him anywhere.

Artoo, my dear friend and companion--how have you been?  Please  tell  me

everything. Master Lando, my system controller is still  showing  a  low-power

alarm. Have you located a power coupling  yet?  This  ship  has  a  distinctly

droid-hostile  design,  not  to  have  made  them  more  readily  available--"

"Threepio," Lando said sharply.

The droid's head swiveled toward him. "Yes, Master Lando?"

"Shut up."

"Of course, sir."

Artoo loosed a wheep that might have been an expression of relief.

Lando turned to him and asked, "Artoo, will you scan local space for comm

traffic? We just might be back somewhere near civilization."

"Oh, I do hope so, sir--" Threepio began, until Lando silenced him with a

glare.

Before long, Lobot emerged from the forward  inner  portal  and  rejoined

them.

"Any luck?"

"I am not certain," said Lobot.  "It  said  we  should  go  back  to  the

auditorium. At least, I think that's where we're  to  go--as  best  as  I  can

translate, it called that chamber the Reflection of the Essential Infinities."

"But the orrery was destroyed."

"Perhaps not rebuilding it was a choice, not a necessity."

"All right," Lando said, gesturing with both hands.

"Let's go find out."

When all four members of the  quartet  were  clinging  somewhere  on  the

auditorium's inner face, the chamber's outer face  once  again  underwent  the

transformation to a great transparent panel. Once more they  found  themselves

suspended in space, looking down on the sphere of a planet, and beyond  it  to

the disc of a blue star.

"What's going on here?" Lando cried in dismay.

"Lobot, what did you ask for? This is a  different  planetary  system.  I

don't want a tour of the astrographic catalog."

"I believe your first impression has misled you," said  Lobot.  "This  is

the same system."

"The hell it is. Look, that planet is an iceball," Lando said. "It  looks

like Hoth." He shook his head.

"Oh, blast--this must mean the vagabond didn't make it home."

"I think you are mistaken," said Lobot. "Artoo, scan and analyze.

Compare with your recordings of our first visit to this chamber."

"Oh, come on--the other planet had two moons," Lando said. "I don't  have

to have an analysis module to see that there aren't any moons."

Lando squinted at the orrery. "But there is something there, in orbit.

Something tiny."

"The moons could both be eclipsed from our perspective."

The astromech droid squawked briefly. "Pardon me, Master Lobot," Threepio

interrupted. "Artoo-Detoo says that the principal elements of this display are

identical in both absolute and apparent size to the one we previously viewed."

"I told you," said Lobot. "Lando, what we saw the first time was Qella as

it was when the vagabond last saw it. What we see  now  is  Qella  as  it  now

appears."

Threepio resumed his report as soon as  Lobot  stopped  speaking.  "Artoo

also says that  there  is  no  correspondence  in  size,  number,  or  orbital

configuration between the minor elements of this display and the earlier  one"

"That's what I was trying to tell you," said Lando.

"If that's Qella, where are the moons? This isn't of any use to us.

It's a one-size-fits-all planetarium show."

Artoo began chirping more urgently. "Artoo says,  however,  that  he  can

identify four of the minor elements,"  Threepio  reported.  "The  largest  and

closest of them is--" "--is this ship," Lobot exulted. "Lando,  it's  a  real-

time tracking display--a scale  model  of  the  neighborhood,  including  this

vessel."

"What? Artoo, illuminate this object you're talking about with your laser

pointer."

"It's right there in front of your eyes," Lobot said.

"It's just small--I said  scale  model.  Threepio,  what  are  the  other

objects Artoo can identify?"

Threepio nodded formally. "Of course, sir.  The  other  objects  are  all

orbiting the planet. In increasing order of size,  they  are  a  New  Republic

Engineering orbital relay satellite,  a  SoroSuub  PLY-Three-thousand,  and  a

Dobrutz DB-Four starliner--" "Just a--SoroSuub  Three  thousand?  That's  Lady

Luck!" Lando shouted, punching the air with a fist. "I can't believe it--we're

going to get out of here! Where is she? Artoo, illuminate Lady  Luck--show  me

where my lovely lady is--" The request was lost in  the  sounds  of  exuberant

rejoicing coming from the droids  and  reverberating  off  the  faces  of  the

chamber.

Only Lobot did not join in the  celebration.  "Lando,  please--wait,"  he

said. "There's still something very wrong."

"What are you talking about?" Lando said, letting go of his handhold  and

drifting down in front of Lobot.

"Our ride is here. All we have to do is ask the vagabond to  sheathe  her

claws and then call Lady Luck alongside.

Food, a hot shower--gravity--"  Lobot  shook  his  head.  "Lando,  please

listen--you were right. If this is Qella--if this model is accurate enough  to

show us objects the size of an orbital relay satellite, in enough  detail  for

Artoo to identify it- - where are the moons of Maltha Obex?"

"What's our  strategy?"  asked  Colonel  Hammax,  studying  the  tracking

display over Pakkpekatt's right shoulder.

"Given that she's a hundred times as large as we  are,  and  considerably

more than a hundred times as powerful, it seems to me the real question on the

table is, what's her strategy?"

"How close are you going to let her get?"

Pakkpekatt pawed his chest. "That, too, depends on her."

"The effective radius of the vagabond's defensive zone  at  Gmar  Askilon

was twelve kilometers," said Taisden.  "Given  the  size  of  this  orbit,  we

shouldn't have any trouble keeping a cushion  of  twelve  hundred  kilometers,

which I hope would be more than sufficient."

"Shouldn't we at least try to contact General Calrissian?" asked Hammax.

"I don't want to spook the vagabond," said Pakkpekatt. "We got along very

well with her at Gmar Askilon so long as  we  were  sitting  still  and  in  a

passive sensing mode. Let's stay that way until we  have  a  better  idea  why

she's here."

"Sure seems like it'd be nice to know if anyone's alive," said Hammax.

"If I'm going to have to go inside--" "There will be time for that," said

Pakkpekatt.

"For now, I want silence. Can you reach Penga  Rift  with  a  directional

comm signal?"

"For another minute or  so.  She's  about  to  go  over  the  horizon  to

nightside."

"Notify them what we're doing--instruct them to observe a comm and sensor

blackout, and to stand by." Pakkpekatt studied the tracking display. "Patience

will serve us best now."

"Look, this isn't that complicated," Lando  said  impatiently,  squeezing

into the tubule beside Lobot. "Tell it we want to leave. Get it to promise not

to fry my yacht when it tries to come alongside. That's all we want that's all

we're asking. Then we'll be gone, and it can go where it wants and do what  it

wants."

"If it tries to go anywhere, it might destroy  itself,"  said  Lobot.  "I

have to make it understand that first."

"As long as we're not on it when that happens, what do  we  care?"  Lando

demanded. "For all I know, those droids are back there plotting  to  duplicate

the beckon call signal I wouldn't put it past either of them  to  take  things

into their own hands."

"Your response to these developments seems to have an  alarmingly  narrow

focus," said Lobot. "You are indifferent to the fate of this  vessel,  to  the

mystery concerning the planet's moons,  to  why  Lady  Luck  is  even  here--"

"That's right. All I care about right now is getting out of here alive,"  said

Lando. "And if you're worrying about anything else, I say you're the one  with

the problem.

Come on, I can already taste the tranna nougat and  doth  brandy  waiting

for me in my suite. Say 'pardon me' and then palaver your persuasive head  off

until you have a docking permit for our lifeboat and exit passes for us."

"I will see what can be done," Lobot said with a frown. "But I don't know

why you think anything has changed. The vagabond will  not  take  instructions

from me."

"If you care what happens to this ship, you'd better hope you're  wrong,"

Calrissian said. "Because if Lady Luck's here, the  rest  of  the  task  force

can't be far away.

And if Glorious and Marauder have to break us out, it's not going  to  be

gentle or pretty."

"I will try," said Lobot.

Lando clapped him on the thigh. "That's the fellow.

I'll be nearby."

The vagabond made its approach to Maltha Obex at high speed, slowing only

at the last to settle into a retrograde high equatorial orbit.

Orbiting more slowly than the planet turned, the vagabond would linger on

the dayside for nearly thirty hours while the planet  seemed  to  slowly  spin

backward beneath it.

"What do you think this is about?" Pakkpekatt asked. "Anyone?"

"A  very  detailed  surface  scan,"  said  Taisden.  "She's  looking  for

something."

"Or she's sunbathing," said Hammax. "It's  cold  where  she's  been,"  he

added when the others looked at him  quizzically.  "Dr.  Eckels  said  it's  a

biological, didn't he?"

"Let us be careful not  to  anthropomorphize,"  said  Pakkpekatt.  "Agent

Taisden, it appears that the vessel's present orbit will bring her very close-

to us shortly before she crosses the terminator."

"Sixty kilometers," said Taisden. "And within sixty kilometers  of  Penga

Rift nineteen hours after that. How comfortable  are  we  with  that  spacing,

Colonel?"

"I would prefer not to be that close."

"There's no way we can change our own orbit without calling attention  to

ourselves," said Taisden. "If she stays where she is--" Pakkpekatt hissed  and

shook himself. It went

against both habit and nature for him to take the initiative in  such  a

situation. "We may have no choice but to call attention to  ourselves  in  one

way or another," he said, sitting back in his couch. "And if we must do so, it

is better done when the vagabond is still a generous distance away."

"She'll never be farther away than she is right now."

Pakkpekatt reached forward and cradled the flight controls lightly in his

hands. "Notify the others what we are  doing.  Then  page  Calrissian  on  the

frequency he was using for his suit comm at Gmar Askilon.

Bounce the page through the satellite."

"Wait--what happens if the yacht's slave circuits are  activated  again?"

asked Hammax. "We seem to be assuming they won't be. Even if the  general  and

his aide are out of it, couldn't one of the droids send the signal?"

"We will have to trust that they will not do so if it is not safe  to  do

so," said Pakkpekatt. "Send the page."

Moments later, they heard Lando Calrissian's  voice,  shaky,  hoarse  and

impatient, saying, "Yes, what is it, Threepio? What's happening now?"

"Sir, I did not--" "Calrissian!" Pakkpekatt roared. "What are  you  doing

alive?"

"Pakkpekatt!" Calrissian answered in kind. "What  are  you  doing  on  my

ship? And why are you just sitting there?"

"Hey, General--we're still waiting for our invitation," said Hammax.

"Hammax? Is that you?"

"They kept telling me you were dead, but I  told  them  they  were  being

overly optimistic."

"Spoken like a man on the wrong end of a gambling debt," said Lando.

"Tell you what, Colonel--I'll forgive half of  it  for  a  ride  back  to

Imperial City."

"Better sweeten that offer--I can get clear of the whole thing if we take

you back in a box."

Even though his own  outburst  had  triggered  the  torrent  of  animated

familiarity,  Pakkpekatt  made  an  ef  fort  to  reclaim  and  restrain   the

conversation. "General Calrissian, please advise your status."

"Status? Let's see, what don't you know?  The  ship's  empty---completely

automated, bioengineered.

No one else is aboard. We're all more or less well.

Lobot, haven't you gotten anywhere yet? Are you hearing all of this?

What's your status, Colonel? Where's the task force?"

"We are the task force now," said Pakkpekatt.

"The rest were recalled to other  duty,  and  you  and  your  party  were

written off."

"That's not funny, Colonel," said Lando.  "The  admiral  would  never  do

that."

"Which admiral? Coruscant is overrun with them," said Hammax.

"General Rieekan redlined the mission after you ran off with his date."

Pakkpekatt rebuked the colonel with a glance.

"General Calrissian, we've been looking for you ever since your escape.

We believe we have a complete Qella genetic  sequence,  and  we  have  an

autoresponder set up.

Rather than force the  issue,  I'd  like  to  wait  and  see--"  Laughing

tiredly, Lando said, "Predictable. Isn't this where we started, Colonel?"

"--if we can't get, as Colonel Hammax said,  an  invitation,"  Pakkpekatt

continued. "I understand you must be eager to get out. But can you hold out  a

few more hours so we have a chance to--as  someone  once  suggested  I  might.

consider--pick a lock rather than blow one up?"

Lando sighed. "I bow to the indisputable wisdom of your advisor.  We  can

hold out a bit longer."

Hour after hour, the  vagabond  searched  the  surface  of  Maltha  Obex,

listening for the sign it had been told to wait for, waiting for the cue  that

would tell it what to do next.

Five times before, it had come here, obediently following the plan  built

into its very substance, trying to keep an  appointment  with  those  who  had

shaped it and

sent it into the void. Five times it had lingered,  searching,  waiting,

bathing in the rich energies of N'oka Brath, the glowstone.

Five times it had gone away again, not aware enough to  be  disappointed,

but knowing that its purpose was unfulfilled.

Never before, though, had it arrived here crippled-burned and poisoned by

the intense energies that had poured in  through  the  same  aperture  through

which N'oka Brath fed it. The burns had healed, but the poisons lingered,  and

with them a memory of the form and action of the attacker.

And never before had it found others waiting--tiny creatures sharing  the

circles above Brath Qella, the homestone, the place of beginning.

They were unfamiliar in form and did not sing.  But  they  did  not  move

toward the vagabond, or reach out to touch it, and so it left them  alone,  no

imperatives having been invoked.

Still, it noted them and watched them closely.

After the appointed time for waiting, the vagabond began singing. And for

the first time in all its journeys home, an answer came.

But the answer did not come from Brath Qellamit came from one of the tiny

eggs sharing the circles. And the answer was sung harshly, without the  gentle

strength of Brath Qella. The vagabond  searched  its  memories  and  knew  the

answer to be form without substance, a deception, a predator's lure.

And there were imperatives concerning predators.

When the vagabond finally broke its-silence  and  broadcast  a  fourteen-

second interrogative, only Taisden was on the flight deck to hear it.

Hammax was napping in his cabin, wearing all but the boots and  gauntlets

of a combat suit. Pleck was on the observation deck trying  to  coax  what  he

considered a more realistic measure of the vagabond's displacement  from  what

he suspected was a faulty magnetometer.

Pakkpekatt and Eckels were behind closed doors in Lando's suite,  engaged

in a heated discussion prompted by Eckels's belated discovery that an NRI team

was aboard the Qella vessel.

Taisden's alarm roused all of them from their other pursuits, and brought

all but Pleck running forward to the flight deck.

"Don't know what the question was, but we are responding,"  Taisden  told

them. "And the target is changing orbit and accelerating."

"Toward us?"

"Toward the relay satellite."

"She sure can motor when she wants to," Hammax said, shaking his head.

"Is this good?" Eckels demanded. "Is this what you expected?"

"Maybe," Taisden said. "If she's going over there to make nice, next time

we can transmit our reply directly from Lady Luck--" At  that  moment  a  blue

glow appeared at the vagabond's bow, making it suddenly  bright  both  through

the viewscreens and on the monitors.

"The scythe," said Pakkpekatt.

"Impossible," said Taisden. "The satellite's three thousand  klicks  away

from it--" Three slender but brilliant beams  of  energy  slashed  across  the

darkness and came together at a point 3,409 kilometers ahead of the  vagabond.

Where they converged, there was a small explosion intense enough to  leave  an

afterimage in their eyes.

Then the glow vanished, and the lances disappeared, leaving  a  spreading

cloud of atomized plasteel and metal glittering in the light of N'oka Brath.

"She did not go there to make nice," Hammax said in awe.  "What  kind  of

weapon is that?"

Even  before  the  vagabond  turned  back,  Taisden  had  shut  down  the

autoresponder. At  the  same  time,  Pakkpekatt  pulled  the  throttles  back,

dropping them into a lower, faster orbit that would carry them away  from  the

vagabond and over its horizon.

"She could have taken out the whole task force at

Gmar Askilon at any time," said Taisden, shaking his head.

"Give me voice to Calrissian," said Pakkpekatt.

"Run it through one of Penga Rift's regular satellites."

"Ready," said Taisden. "Comm two."

"General," said Pakkpekatt, "this is Lady Luck. Why are you firing on us?

"

"It wasn't our doing," Lando said. "What did you say to it? Why  are  you

running away?"

"If your yacht has  a  sensor  cloak  or  a  shield  of  invulnerability,

General, this would be a very good time to inform us."

Lando's answer was lost in a blast of  static  as  the  vagabond  reached

across nearly eight thousand kilometers and vaporized Penga Rift's ORS-2.

"Going over the horizon from that thing looks better all the time,"  said

Pakkpekatt.

"Six minutes."

"Colonel---" Eckels's voice  had  a  tremble.  "Perhaps  it  is  time  to

transmit it all while there is still an operational satellite that can be used

to relay it. Whatever message we sent just now was not taken well. Perhaps  we

need to be more convincing--or more confusing."

Pakkpekatt looked to Taisden. "I have no better ideas, Colonel."

"Then do it," he said. "Doctor--" "Yes. Let me speak to Penga Rift."

Captain Barjas's voice answered the hail. "Doc-tor-thank goodness.

We're showing two  satellites  have  suddenly  gone  dead,  and  we  were

concerned."

"The vagabond has turned hostile," Eckels said.

"Is everyone back on board?"

"Except for you. We just got the last of them up."

"Good. I order you to leave orbit immediately, and jump out to the agreed

coordinates for rendezvous one."

"Very well, Dr. Eckels. Good luck, sir."

"We'll be all right. Get out of here--take care of my people."

"Eight minutes to horizon," said Taisden.

"What? How are we losing ground?"

"The target is accelerating toward ORS-One, which is  currently  relaying

the Qella database."

Hammax shook his head. "Keeping the rock between us and it might  not  be

all that easy to do."

"Penga Rift is getting under way," said Taisden.

"Perhaps the reply should be coming from the surface--" Eckels began.

Pakkpekatt ignored him. "Is there any spare bandwidth on ORS-One?"

"I can make some," said Taisden.

"I want to talk to Calrissian."

The agent's fingertips danced over the controls.

"Ready on two."

"General, this is Pakkpekatt."

"Colonel," said Lando. "Looks a little warm out there.  Is  this  a  good

time to mention that my yacht's uninsured? Perhaps you might consider  running

away just a little faster--" "General Calrissian, I don't know how long  we'll

be able to talk. Is there anything you can do to put a stop to this?"

"I don't think so," said Lando. "We just had a little mutiny over  here--

about ten minutes ago, my good friend Lobot drained the power cell on our only

blaster into one of the droids. The droids are backing him up."

"Do you know of any weakness or vulnerability of the vagabond that we can

exploit?"

"Yes. Blaster cannon, cruiser-weight and up. The hull's not armored,  and

there don't seem to be ray shields, at least not at those frequencies. You can

hole it and hurt it. But you have to get in the first shot, and make it good."

They could hear a second voice saying, "Lando, it does not deserve this--

" Then Eckels found his voice in protest, drowning out Lobot.

"This is completely unacceptable, Colonel.

This artifact is unique, irreplaceable--" "And deadly," said  Pakkpekatt.

"Acknowledged,  General. Stand  by."  He  gestured  to  Taisden.  "Hyper-comm,

secure, to Rieekan and Collomus."

"Go."

"This is Colonel Pakkpekatt, commanding, Teljkon  task  force  at  Maltha

Obex," he said. "Confirming: We've found the vagabond and  made  contact  with

the team aboard. But the target has turned hostile, and we can't get  anywhere

near--" The flight deck was  suddenly  and  momentarily  flooded  with  light,

marking the precipitous disappearance of the third satellite.

"--it. I believe we could jump out using the planet as  our  shield,  but

only at the cost of losing contact with the vessel. I  am  opting  to  try  to

maintain contact, and requesting immediate assistance and  support  to  secure

the target and recover our people." He paused as though listening, then added,

"Don't bother with a cruiser--send a Star Destroyer, or two.  We're  going  to

need a heavyweight to stop her."

Chapter 11

The morning after the Battle of N'zoth, the Kell 1 Hath Corporation liner

Star Morning entered the. system and requested a rendezvous with Intrepid  for

the purpose of picking up passengers.

Since the news did not directly involve Luke, he knew nothing of it until

Wialu sent him a message requesting that he come to the cabin she  and  Akanah

had been sharing. He found the women putting the cabin in order, preparing  to

leave. Akanah greeted him with an eager embrace.

"Did you hear? Our ship will be here in about an hour."

Luke turned to Wialu. "You're going back to J't'p'tan?"

"We are going away," she said. "It is time  for  us  to  find  a  quieter

place. We need to grieve, and heal--and-to absorb the  lessons  of  J't'p'tan,

and find a new focus."

His gaze narrowed; "Then the rest of  the  Circle--they're  on  the  ship

already?"

"We are no longer needed at J't'p'tan," she said.

"And so the Fallanassi disappear again."

"We do not require or desire the attention of outsiders," said Wialu.

"And events have already cost us

much privacy. We will go away long enough and  far  enough  to  earn  it

back."

"I don't suppose I was expecting an invitation to come along," Luke said,

turning his gaze on Akanah.

"I wish there were more time," she said, showing a  sad  smile.  "I  wish

that I could finish what I started. It was unfair to you for me to  make  that

promise, not knowing if there would be a chance to keep it."

"Unfair," Luke repeated. "I'm not sure that's a strong enough word.

Because when you made me another promise, the one that brought me on this

journey, you must have known that you couldn't keep it--that I'd  run  into  a

wall of silence if we found the Circle." He looked back toward Wialu.  "Unless

you asked me here to tell me more than good-bye."

"You can't ask that  of  her,  Luke--"  "Why  not?"  he  said,  his  gaze

hardening. "She went to the trouble of scattering  signs  and  markers  across

five sectors so that one child could come home. But she won't even come to the

door when another one's standing outside knocking.

Can you explain that to me, at least--why Akanah is  welcomed  back,  and

I'm being turned away?"

"Akanah is of the Fallanassi, by blood and affinity both," said Wialu.

"We do not claim you, Luke Skywalker."

"You do not claim--what are you saying? That Nashira isn't my mother?

That my mother wasn't of the Circle?"

Wialu nodded toward Akanah. "This  is  the  one  who  must  provide  your

answers."

Blinking,  Luke  stared  at  Akanah  questioningly.   She   looked   away

uncomfortably, then sank down onto the edge of the  bunk  as  though  it  were

something fragile.

"I know nothing about your mother, Luke," she said in a small voice.

"And I have not told you the truth about mine."

All of Luke's emotions save for curiosity were numbed by her words.

"What does your mother have to do with this?"

"You remember what I told you of  how  it  was  for  me,  living  on  the

underside on Carratos, and how my caretaker took my money and left me there--"

"Talsava," Luke said. "I remember."

Akanah looked up and met his eyes. "Everything I told you  about  her  is

true, save one--her name was Isela Talsava Norand, and she was my real mother,

" she said in a whisper. "And she was the one who brought the Empire  down  on

the Circle."

Wordlessly, Luke sank into a chair. Wialu took up the narrative.

"We could not allow Isela to remain with the Circle after her  betrayal,"

she said. "We could not trust her to know where we were  bound  when  we  left

Lucazec. She was banished from the Circle before that decision was  made.  But

Akanah was not banished--we would have  kept  her  with  us,  cared  for  her,

continued her training.

She would have been loved.

"But Isela refused our offer, and took  Akanah  away  with  her.  Isela's

decision  distressed  us  all.  She  was  punishing   Akanah   for   her   own

transgression. There was much grief and anger in the Circle on  the  day  they

left.

And in my own grief, I made Akanah a promise--that the  way  back  to  us

would be marked for her, so that when the choice was hers,  she  could  rejoin

the Circle."

She looked at Akanah with an affectionate smile. "So many years  went  by

that I thought we would never see her again."

"And I thought I would never leave Carratos."

"Why didn't you?" Luke asked.

"What I told you of my life there was the truth. The war came, and then I

was left alone, with nothing," Akanah said. "I had to learn the way of a world

run by different rules, with no one to guide me or protect me. I have  already

admitted to Wialu how I misused what they taught me, to survive. How I  became

like the ones who had what I needed."

Akanah looked down at her hands and smiled as though at a fond and tender

reminiscence. "Then there was the miracle of Andras, who created a safe  place

for

me, and brought love back to me--and though I could have  left  Carratos

then, I did not want to."

"So why did you make me part of it when  you  finally  did  leave?"  Luke

asked. "You didn't need me to find the Fallanassi, or to get  to  them--though

you tried to make me think that you did. The Imperial agents  on  Lucazecmthey

were another lie, weren't they? We were never being hunted."

"No!" she admitted. "They were never there. It was a test. I had to  know

who you were--what I could expect from you, where to begin."

"The blood," Luke remembered.

"A mistake," she said. "I felt your surprise and thought I  had  betrayed

myself. I had never seen a light-saber  strike  flesh.  I  had  to  draw  your

attention to me, to Nashira, or I would have lost you then."

"Lost me for what? I still don't understand. What was the deception meant

to gain you?"

Sad-eyed, Akanah shook her head slowly. "It was not for me, Luke.

What you  gave  me,  what  this  has  meant  to  me-that  just  happened,

unexpected-that wasn't planned."

"Then why?"

"Because I have been afraid of you," she said simply.

"I don't understand."

"Luke, I have seen the underside of war, where there are no heroes,  only

victims. I've seen what power is about, how it's used, what it  means  not  to

have it in a world where that's all that matters." The weight of her words was

echoed in her sad eyes. "I was ten years old when the Emperor's  stormtroopers

swept across half the galaxy--I had a childhood in paradise and an adolescence

in hell. I have good reason to fear power."

"You thought think I'm the same kind of threat the Emperor was, the  same

as the stormtroopers?"

"It is not just you," Akanah said. "You are  training  others  to  follow

your path. Where there was one, there are now many, and  there  will  be  many

more. I had to know you. I had to see what inside you balances the  power  you

have--I had to see what I could give you of what the Circle had  given  me.  I

did not lie to you about my purpose. Something has been missing, something  of

the Light, something of peace, of acceptance. I tried to help you find it."

"By lying to me," Luke said, his restless emotions bringing  him  to  his

feet.

Akanah smiled ruefully. "As you have seen, the Fallanassi are  not  above

using deception."

"So Nashira was nothing but your fantasy? A reflection of what  I  wanted

her to be?"

"No," said Akanah. "She was more than that."

"Akanah--" Wialu said in a cautionary tone.

"I have to tell him," Akanah said with sudden anger.

"A secret is too much like another lie." She stood and took a step toward

Luke. "In the second year, a woman came to see Isela on Carratos. She was Fal-

lanassi, but I did not know her--she had not been with the Circle on  Lucazec.

She stayed with us for five days,  and  spent  hours  alone  with  my  mother,

talking."

Then she turned toward Wialu. "I think that she was sent by the Circle to

try to persuade my mother to let me go. Perhaps she would even have  taken  me

away with her when she left, if my  mother  would  have  agreed  to  it.  I've

wondered if my mother got her to agree to something else--a sum of money to be

sent later, perhaps, to buy a child's passage, and a child's freedom.

Who would expect that she would take the money and leave the child?"

Wialu's impassive face offered neither confirmation or apology.  After  a

long moment of staring expectantly into her eyes, Akanah turned back to Luke.

"This woman's Circle name was Nashira," she said. "She was beautiful, and

kind to me--enough to remind me of everything that Isela was not.

She talked to me as if I mattered, and she shared her heart with me.

When I asked her why, she said that the Emperor had  taken  her  children

from her-a boy and a girl. And all she could do was try to love  the  children

who were near her, and hope that someone was doing the same for

hers. When you asked me about your mother, I pictured the woman I wished

had been mine. I told you about Nashira."

"But it was all about you," Luke said, shaking his head. "Your pain--your

fantasies--" "Are they so different from yours?" she asked.

"I have seen inside your heart, too, Luke Skywalker. I could only deceive

you by knowing you. I could only deceive you with the truth."

Luke backed slowly away from her, toward the  cabin  door.  "Enough,"  he

said. "I've heard enough. I can't believe anything you say.  I  can't  believe

anything that's happened since Coruscant. There's more truth  in  her  silence

than in your words."

He gestured toward Wialu as he spoke the last, then looked to her.

"You must think me a fool, chasing after the phantom she created.

Thank you for the wake-up call. I  wish  you  luck  in  coaxing  her  off

Isela's path, and onto yours."

Then Luke turned and left the cabin, missing Akanah's honest tears.

"Is he coming?" Akanah asked anxiously.

Etahn A'baht frowned and looked  across  the  loading  bay  to  the  open

entryway. "Let me check with my people  again,"  he  said,  reaching  for  his

comlink and stepping away from the foot of the boarding ramp.

Akanah looked to Wialu as a Star  Morning  porter  passed  between  them,

carrying their bags aboard. "I have to talk to him. I can't leave like this."

"How long would you have us wait?" Wialu asked gently.  "The  damage  you

have done--" "I know," Akanah said. "But I have to make him see that it wasn't

all lies."

"There can be one star of deception in a galaxy of stars, but if that  is

the star before you, you can  see  nothing  else--and  if  you  stare  at  the

deception, you will be blinded by it," said Wialu. "It will take time, Akanah-

-more time than we have."

Akanah sent an anxious glance toward A'baht, who was returning to them.

"If you can't wait, then I'll have to stay here."

"Akanah, you cannot force the flow to come to you," said Wialu. "You  can

only ride it where it goes."

The general rejoined them then, his frown deeper than before. "Luke's not

answering. No one seems to know where he is," said A'baht. "I don't understand

it he brought you here, and I'd think he'd want to see you off. We owe  you  a

debt--" "There is no debt," Wialu said firmly.

"The choice was mine, and I ask for nothing."

A'baht grunted. "I still feel I should apologize--" "He  is  here,"  said

Wialu.

The others looked toward the entryway, but Wialu directed her gaze toward

an empty corner of the compartment.

A moment later, Luke appeared there, as though walking through a door  no

one could see.

"What the--" A'baht said, then shook his head in disgust. "Jedi."

Akanah ran to meet Luke, but stopped a step  short  of  the  embrace  she

wanted, and looked into his eyes for a cue.

"I came to say good-bye," Luke said.

"I'm not sure that I'm leaving."

Luke shook his head. "Your place is with them.

Wialu is right. Even I can read that in the Current."

"There's something I have to say before I can go," she said fervently.

"Please--don't judge us by my example.

I beg you not to reject the truth because of the lie that preceded it.

There is something gentle, and beautiful, and healing in  the  Fallanassi

way--and if I failed to put it before you, the weakness was in me, not in  the

way of the Light, or the path of the White Current.

There is depth there beyond what I've mastered, and  worth  there  beyond

what you've seen."

"I've seen  deception,  manipulation--"  Stepping  forward  bravely,  she

touched his breast-bone lightly with the flat of one hand. "It is not a way of

power, but a way of peace--and I dearly wish for you to

have that peace within you. I wish for you to add that strength  to  the

great strength you already possess. I always  wanted  that  for  you--I  never

wanted anything from you." A tremble entered her voice as she added in a  near

whisper, "I never wanted to add to your pain."

Luke covered her hand with his own and lowered his eyes. "It seems I must

choose what to believe," he said at last. "I will try to believe  that  first,

and perhaps it will guide me through the rest."

She looked up at him gratefully. "Then I  can  go  now,"  she  said,  and

kissed his cheek softly before backing away.

He stood and watched as she accepted a final  word  of  thanks  from  the

general, then moved up the boarding ramp past Wialu, who turned and followed.

Akanah hesitated for just a moment before  vanishing  through  the  inner

airlock, looking back to him with a final apology in her eyes.

Somewhere he found a forgiving smile for her, and then she was gone.

By then A'baht was approaching Luke. "Comm shack has  some  messages  for

you, Luke---a couple of priority flags that came in this morning--" he began.

"Luke Skywalker."

Looking up at Wialu's voice, he found her standing at the inner  airlock.

"Yes?"

"There is one small service I ask of you."

Luke cocked his head. "What's that?"

"Tell your sister," Wialu said, "that when she is ready to follow her own

path, she would be welcome among us." Then she turned away, needing  no  reply

and inviting no questions.

By the time a startled Luke could find his voice again, Star Morning  was

moving away from the dock, continuing its journey.

There was no message from Leia.

The chief librarian's office on Obroa-skai advised him that  his  pending

request for a contract researcher had moved up to number five on  the  waiting

list, and he should be certain he had the research subject clearly defined and

all supporting materials ready to transmit.

The senior rehab therapist on board the medical frigate High HaVen passed

on the word that Han was being transferred again, this time back to the  Fleet

hospital on Coruscant.

"It's not that he's in any danger he's doing pretty well, better  than  a

lot of the folks in here now. And it opens a space up on our  ward,  which  we

can  use,"  said  the  therapist.  "Given  that  the  commodore  had  his  own

transportation available, it seemed like the best course."

After a pause and a frown, he added, "Besides, the Wookiees insisted."

The  third  message  was  from  Streen,  who  had  compiled   an   overly

conscientious report on activity at the academy on Yavin  4.  In  his  present

mood, Luke found none of it of enough interest to read closely.

The final message was from Alpha Blue.

"Hello, Luke," said Admiral  Drayson.  "Now  that  things  are  a  little

quieter where you are, I wanted to tell you that  I've  located  your  missing

droids. You can have them back whenever you want, in fact.

But, as you'll see, I'm afraid you're going  to  need  to  pick  them  up

yourself."

"Are you sure about this?" asked the  senior  crew  chief,  following  at

Luke's heels as he carried out his preflight check  of  the  exterior  of  Mud

Sloth. "Even with the losses, I'm sure  Captain  Morano  would  be  more  than

willing to put you in most anything else we have---" "I'm  sure,"  Luke  said,

ducking under the tail plane.

"I mean, after all, you Jedi swung the fight our  way,  driving  off  all

those Star Destroyers with your phantom fleet," the chief persisted.

"It just doesn't seem right to send you away  in  a  low-budget--"  "That

isn't what happened," Luke said as he

reached the boarding ladder. "And this ship serves my needs right now."

The chief scratched his head. "Well, if you say so."

He stole a glance back over his shoulder. "I guess the general'll be down

to see you off, eh?"

"He doesn't know I'm leaving," Luke said, throw ing his  bag  up  through

the open access hatch. "I'd appreciate it if you weren't in a  hurry  to  tell

him."

"That's a bit of a problem," the chief said, frowning.

"Nothing's supposed to leave the flight deck without  authorization  from

the hot room."

"Not my problem," Luke said, climbing the ladder.

"Civilian pilot, civilian ship. Shouldn't even be here.

Clear me through the patrol screen, will you? She's not  real  strong  on

flash breaks or roll-and-run."

"Sure," said the chief dubiously. "Sure, for you, I  can  do  that.  But,

look, I have to at least be able to tell the  booth  where  you're  going--you

know, for the log."

"You've never heard of it,"  Luke  said  as  he  reached  for  the  hatch

closure. "Just log me out, Chief--and thank  the  gang  for  prepping  her  so

quickly."

Not long after, Luke and Mud Sloth plunged into the welcome  solitude  of

hyperspace for the long jump to Maltha Obex.

By the end of that journey, Luke could feel himself  changing.  The  ship

was like a tiny chrysalis, and it was his metamorphosis that was underway.

He had wanted time where he and Akanah had spent so  much  time.  He  had

wanted to hear the echoes of their conversations,  feel  the  residue  of  the

emotions.

Luke spent the journey in silence,  alternately  reflecting  and  playing

with reflections. He inventoried his memories of the last  months,  discarding

some, rewriting others.

And he collected a set of drill objects, and spent hours honing  the  one

Fallanassi skill he grasped in its wholeness.

The work was not yet finished when the galaxy reappeared around  him  and

Maltha Obex appeared be fore him. He did not know at that moment quite who  he

was becoming, or what would presage the transformation.

He only knew that he  welcomed  that  moment  of  reconnection,  and  the

possibilities that it offered.

For days, Lady Luck had been fleeing before the Teljkon Vagabond, staying

over the horizon from the powerful and unpredictable Qella artifact. Two tasks

had occupied them during that time keeping tabs on the vagabond  by  means  of

the equipment at the abandoned surface camps, and scanning for what they hoped

would be a task-force-sized entry into the Maltha Obex system.

But the ship that did finally appear on the scanners was  so  small  that

Joto Eckels felt a rush of disappointment rather than  relief.  "Perhaps  it's

some sort of probe," he suggested at Pakkpekatt's shoulder.

"Don't you usually send a probe in ahead of the main body?"

"It's a civilian skiff," said Taisden. "No military comm."

"Then we have to warn it away at once," Eckels said. "Colonel,  once  the

vagabond spots it, half an orbit from now--"  A  display  screen  above  their

heads flashed on as he spoken "This is  Mud  Sloth,  hailing  the  Lady  Luck.

Lando, report your status, please."

Eckels began to look more hopeful as he recognized Luke's face.

"Lando's not here, Luke--" But Pakkpekatt rose from  his  seat,  blocking

Eckels from the holocomm as he leaned forward to reply. "Mud  Sloth,  you  are

entering an NRI security zone, and you are at risk. Turn your  ship  about  at

once and leave this system."

"You'd be Colonel Pakkpekatt, I take it," said Luke. "And was that Dr.

Eckels? Is Lando still aboard the vagabond, then? You haven't  been  able

to get to him? I need an update covering the last five days."

"You are not authorized for that information,"

said Pakkpekatt. "You are not cleared for this security zone."

"Colonel, I'm all the assistance you're likely to get for a while,  given

the demands on the Fleet at the moment.

And I know Dr. Eckels doesn't want to see  this  expedition  end  with  a

shoot-out, anyway--" "Absolutely correct," Eckels said, pushing his  way  into

the holocomm's field of view.

"--so let's see if we can't  work  together  and  make  something  better

happen."

"Do you have any ideas about what that might be, Luke?" said Eckels.

"The artifact has been notably un-cooperative so far--even more  so  than

the colonel."

"I know. I've reviewed your reports--yours and his both," Luke said.

At that news, Pakkpekatt threw his hands in the air in disgust and turned

away from the flight console. "I will demand an investigation of  this  entire

operation," he muttered. "The breaches of security--the complete disregard for

the lines of authority--" '2 think I can get the team off the vagabond,"  Luke

went on. "But I'm hoping for more than that. Why don't you tell  me  what  you

think happened here, Doctor?"

"May I ask first if you're planning to board the vagabond yourself?"

"Yes, I am, Dr. Eckels."

"Then would it be possible for you to collect me before you  do?  I  will

likely have better answers for you once I've seen it for myself."

"I was hoping you'd offer, Doctor," Luke said. "If you  and  the  colonel

would locate some power packs for the droids and put together a  mercy  basket

for the men, I'll rendezvous with you on your next orbit."

"Very good," said Eckels. "We'll be ready."

As the vagabond grew outside Mud Sloth's cockpit viewpanes, Eckels looked

nervously from it to Luke's face.

"How will you know if it's working?"

"We'll know if it isn't," Luke said, closing his eyes.

"Shouldn't we at least alert General Calrissian that we're coming in?"

"No signals," Luke said. "No sounds. No thrusters.

Nothing that will disturb  the  flow.  Nothing  that  will  announce  our

presence."

Eckels looked back toward the alien vessel. "But can't it see us just  as

easily as we can see it?"

Luke shook his head slowly. "You're aboard a  submarine,  Doctor,  not  a

spaceship. We're five hundred meters under the surface and just floating  with

the current.

They won't know we're there until we bump up alongside."

The scientist received Luke's reassurances with a dubious expression.

"You've done this before, I trust?"

"No, never," Luke said.

"Oh, my--" "But I saw it done, not too long ago."

Eckels swallowed. "I trust that you've been  practicing  since  then,  at

least."

Eyes still closed, Luke smiled. "All the way here.

Relax, Doctor. I learned this trick from people who were at  the  top  of

their class in the business of hiding."

He paused. "But even so, you might want to let me concentrate."

Pressing his lips together in a line, Eckels slumped against the back  of

his seat and stared at the vagabond, which now filled half the sky ahead.

"Lando."

At the sound of his name,  Lando  stirred  and  reached  slowly  for  his

comlink.

"What is it, Lobot?"

"Someone is here."

"Where here?" Lando said, suddenly shaking off his sleepy lassitude.

"Outside, near the bow." Lobot paused. "We are

puzzled. There is a touch, and yet we cannot find the source."

"They're knocking on the door," Lando said impatiently.

"Open it up and see what comes in."

There was a long silence. "The visitors are  in  the  interspace,"  Lobot

said at last.

"So who or what are they?"

"We do not recognize them."

"I'll check it out," Lando said gruffly. Fatigue and hunger had left  him

in a state of permanent annoyance.

"Artoo, let's go--power  up.  Artoo--"  The  droid  remained  inert  like

Threepio days before, its power supply was finally exhausted.

"Sure," he grumbled. "Make me be the one to check out the  noise  in  the

dark. It'd serve you both right if I never came back."

"Ahoy the ship," a new voice crackled over the comlink. "Anyone home?"

Lando blinked, trying to force his mind to recognize what it was hearing.

"Luke? Luke, is that you?

What are you doing here?"

"I could leave, if it's not a good time--" "You  leave  without  me,  and

I'll hunt you down and kill you one cell at a time,"  Lando  warned,  with  no

trace of humor in his voice. "Stay where you are. I'm coming out."

"We're already in,"  Luke  said.  "The  vagabond's  hull  opened  up  and

swallowed us whole."

"Nooo" "It's all right. We're in some sort of zero-g hangar area  between

the outer and inner hulls--we even seem to be tethered. I'm suiting up to come

to you," said Luke. "Stay put and talk us in."

Grabbing a liter of water from Dr. Eckels, Lando drained it so fast  that

his stomach balked and threatened to reject it.

"Luke," Lando said, flipping the container away.

"Can you believe it? This whole monstrosity is nothing but a museum--" He

stopped to swallow the bitterness climbing his throat,  and  started  coughing

when the taste reached his mouth.

"Go easy, Lando---" Lando waved off the concern. "A  museum!  And  when--

when have you ever known me to go near a museum?" He  laughed  hoarsely.  "And

you don't even know the funny part--none of the treasures is  real.  It's  all

just modeling clay--nothing of any value."

"Do you know what he's talking about, Dr. Eckels?"

"Possibly," Eckels said, digging in the supply pouch for a FirstMeal food

pack.

Lando continued to babble, his tone turning sorrowful, almost maudlin.

"Can only look--can't take anything with you. No souvenirs. What a  waste

of time, Lukewhat a miserable waste of  time.  Like  picking  flowers.  Pretty

today, dead tomorrow--" He suddenly noticed the  food  pack  and  snatched  it

away, turning his back on them as though protecting it against poaching.

"Lando, where's Lobot?"

The answer came after a long draw on the food pack's straw. "He  has  new

friends." Lando shrugged.

"He hardly talks to me anymore." He chortled  abruptly.  "He's  lost  his

mind. You'll see."

"Take us to him," Luke said firmly. "We need to take care of him, too."

Somersaulting slowly, Lando waved a hand absently toward the interior.

"In there. Left, left, right, right,  center,  right,  center.  Something

like that." The food pack expired with a sucking sound. "You can't  miss  him.

He's the one with legs."

Luke and Dr. Eckels found Lobot curled up in a side tubule, floating, his

eyes closed, his hands cupped against the side of his  head.  The  transparent

leads of his split interface tethered him to the rounded mass at the  far  end

of the tubule.

"Do you have any idea what we're looking at here, Doctor?"

Eckels peered into an adjacent tubule for an  unobstructed  view.  "These

are the size and geometry of the Qella remains we recovered from the ice,"  he

said in hushed awe.

"These don't feel like remains to me," Luke  said,  entering  the  tubule

where Lobot was floating. "Lobot--it's Luke.  Wake  up,  fella--your  relief's

here."

"Are you saying that they're alive?" Eckels demanded. "I  had  discounted

those reports as unreliable."

"Why?"

"Why, it's unprecedented--unthinkable--" "This whole ship feels alive  to

me, Doctor," Luke said· "Though with a different quality than I'm used to."

"Different how?"

"Usually this much power is matched with  much  greater  awareness.  It's

almost like--sleeping. Just like Lobot here seems to be sleeping."

Frowning, Luke reached out and dug his fingernails into Lobot's elbow.

"Hey--talk to me."

"But these bodies have no limbs," Eckels protested.

"The creatures on the surface were quadrupeds."

"I'm not trying to tell you what they are, Doctor.

I'm just telling you that what Lobot reported is true--these  things  are

alive, and this ship is alive· I'll let you tell me the  relationship  between

them."

Lobot was stirring by  then.  "Waiting,"  he  murmured  in  a  trancelike

monotone.

"Waiting for what?" Luke asked. "What question is that an answer to?"

Behind him, Eckels was frowning. "Physically,  the  relationship  mirrors

one that exists inside the Qella, between the Eicroth bodies and--"  His  eyes

widened in surprise. "Luke, I must see the rest of this vessel at once.

I must see these exhibits Lando spoke of."

"Lobot, talk to me," Luke was saying. "What do you need from me?"

"We wait," Lobot said dreamily.

"What are' 'we'?" Luke asked.

"Answers," said Lobot.

"Yes, I need answers," Luke said. "What are you waiting for? What do  you

need?"

The words came haltingly. "We wait... for ·.. the thaw."

Luke looked questioningly back at Eckels.

"I must see the ship," he insisted. "I will not make  wild  guesses  When

there is evidence at hand."

Nodding agreement, Luke said, "I think we need to break  up  Lobot's  new

friendship, anyway--I  can  hardly  find  a  boundary  between  his  mind  and

everything else.

Know anything about neural interfaces, Doctor, or should I just pull  the

plug?"

Eckels grimaced. "Do what you think best. I'll wait outside."

It was nearly an hour before either Lando or  Lobot  was  fit  for  their

final duties as host and guide. For  Eckels,  it  was  an  hour  of  maddening

impatience. For Luke, it was an opportunity to bring the  droids  back  online

and begin repairs to Threepio's damaged arm.

"I'm very glad to see you, Master  Luke,"  the  droid  said.  "You  won't

believe the stories I have to tell you. I don't know why i was  sent  on  this

mission in the first place. Why, I was nearly vaporized by the  vagabond,  and

then we were attacked by an entire fleet of warships.

Master Calrissian abandoned  me  to  be  captured  by  intruders--"  Luke

grinned. "It's good to see you, too, Threepio.

And I promise to let you tell me all the stories, later.

Twice, even, if you need to."

"That's very kind of you, sir."

When the droids had been moved to the skiff, Luke  went  off  to  explore

with Lando, while Lobot led Eckels on a separate tour. But before  long  Lando

decided the familiar comforts of  a  starship,  however  humble,  had  greater

appeal than Luke's company, and excused himself from sight-seeing.

By then Luke understood the geometry and instrumentality of the vagabond

well enough to manage on his  own.  The  "museum"  rooms  and  the  interspace

gallery were equally astonishing, but Luke found himself  drawn  back  to  the

interior, to the maze of tubules and the  clusters  of  what  Luke  had  begun

calling Eckels bodies.

They were the center of the vagabond's limited consciousness,  the  focus

of the flow of energy through the ship. Four hours  vanished  in  an  eyeblink

before Luke even thought of rejoining the others.  Another  hour  and  a  half

passed before he actually did.

They were all there--Lando asleep in the bunk, Lobot stretched out on the

floor of the systems compartment, Threepio strapped into the right-hand  seat,

and Artoo contentedly plugged into both the data port and the  power  port  at

the interface board.

Eckels was in the pilot's seat, bending forward  over  the  ship's  small

data displays with a frown while keying the datapad  on  his  lap  fluidly  by

touch alone.

"I believe I have an answer for you now,"  Eckels  said  without  looking

away from his work. "Shall we wake the others?"

"No," said Luke. "They've done their part let them  rest.  Let's  compare

notes first. If we find we have questions for them, we can take care  of  that

later."

"I was able to get the benefit of Lobot's thoughts  while  he  showed  me

around," said Eckels. "He has an admirably disciplined mind."

"People have been underestimating him for as long  as  I've  known  him,"

Luke said. "So what do you have?"

Eckels sat back in his seat and pointed to the data display.  "Lobot  was

right," he said. "The moons are the key."

"The moons they saw in the orrery."

"Yes," said Eckels. "With the assistance  of  Colonel  Pakkpekatt,  we've

analyzed the recordings Artoo-Detoo made the first time the expedition reached

the auditorium and viewed the diorama. The orbits depicted for the moons  turn

out to be unstable."

"Check me if I've missed something, Doctor, but Maltha Obex has no moons.

"

Eckels nodded. "But Qella did. Unremarkable moonsmnothing  to  inspire  a

grand mythology. At least not until one of them fell from the sky."

"The ice age is the result of a moonstrike," Luke  said,  his  expression

gravely thoughtful.

"Yes, it would appear so," said Eckels. "The smaller moon was  a  capture

moon, with an irregular orbit. Working backward from  Artoo's  recordings,  we

found that the gravity of the larger moon disturbed the capture  moon  into  a

decaying orbit--a hundred years, in round numbers, before the fall."

"And the Qella saw it happening. They knew what lay ahead for them," Luke

said. "And they used the warning, and the time they had left,  to  build  this

vessel."

"The ultimate and supreme achievement of their species," said Eckels.

"Judging from what I saw, they did not  have  the  means  to  destroy  or

repulse a moonm even the small moon of Maltha Obex dwarfed this vessel and its

power. Nor did they have the means to evacuate a populous planet--the  culture

depicted in these serographs numbered hundreds of millions, if not more."

"It would have taken thousands of vessels  this  size,"  Luke  said.  "An

impossible task in the time they had."

"But they could build one, and send it away before the end came,"  Eckels

said. "When the expedition looked at the orrery, they saw this  system  as  it

was when the vagabond had last seen it--before the moonsrike, the  destruction

of the Qella, and the death of their planet under a blanket of ice."

Eckels gazed out the front of the cockpit at the faces of the gallery.

"Your friend Lando was wrong," he went on. "What's here is very real.

This ship isn't a collection of objects--it's a collection of ideas.

We may never know why, but the Qella valued these ideas more  than  their

lives. And that which we value is that which

gives meaning to our lives. What a grand gift they have given us what  a

gloriously defiant futility."

"Futility?" Luke asked. "What about those things in the interior?

Lobot keeps wanting to call them Qella. You said that  they  looked  like

the Qella. And now the ship has brought them home."

Frowning, Eckels looked down at his datapad.

"But there are only a few thousand of them, on a vessel that  could  have

held many more." Eckels shook his head. "No, it cannot be. This is not an ark,

or even a lifeboat. Those bodies are the controllers and  protectors  of  this

vessel, not its treasure. The real treasure of this vessel  is  in  ideas  and

memories--a thousand years of history, a thousand years of art, this  splendid

bio-mechanical science. No, this is no museum. This is a monument, Luke."

"No," Luke said stubbornly. "There's something more here." Turning  away,

he dropped gracefully through the open entry hatch. Catching a handhold on the

hull, he catapulted himself forward, away from the skiff and into the  silence

and darkness of the interspace.

There, drifting slowly in front of the Qella gallery, Luke  extended  his

senses to the planet below. He found only a great stillness. There was no halo

of life energy, no reservoir of the Force. The  ice-encased  surface  had  the

same profound quiescence as the mass of rock below it.

"What are you looking for?"

"A reason to wait for the thaw," Luke said.

"So it can finish its journey," Eckels said. "It meant nothing more  than

that."

"Shhh," Luke said. He  had  drifted  close  to  the  outer  skin  of  the

vagabond, and he reached out and drew  himself  to  it.  He  listened  to  the

complex rhythms of the ship  and  allowed  them  to  resolve  into  the  deep,

fundamental pulse of its being. He listened only to that pulse  until  he  had

absorbed it. completely, knew it utterly.

Then he extended himself toward the planet once more, this time  quieting

his own urgency and desire,  seeking  that  most  profound  state  of  egoless

connection  in  which  everything  could  be  heard  without  distraction   or

distortion.

And suddenly there they were, like millions of  grains  of  sand  falling

slowly to the surface--a collective heartbeat so faint and so languid that the

slightest whisper of impatience would obscure it. With an exultant  cry,  Luke

pushed himself away from the wall in a backward somersault.

"What? What is it?" Eckels exclaimed. He jetted across the open space  to

intercept Luke, catching him just before he reached the gallery.

But Luke twisted away from Eckels's grasp, turning to trace the lines  of

a Qella face with both hands. "The bodies you found--the Qella Who roamed  the

iced those weren't the survivors," Luke said. "They were the dissenters."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. We were all wrong. This ship isn't a museum,  or  a

temple full of treasure, or a lifeboat--or a monument,  either.  It's  a  tool

kit, Doctor--a tool kit for rebuilding a destroyed world."

Turning, Luke grabbed both of Eckels's hands in a fervent grip.  Joy  and

wonder together animated his smile. "They had time to  do  more  than  prepare

this ship, Doctor--they had time to prepare themselves.

That planet is not dead--there  are  millions  of  Qella  buried  in  the

ground, awaiting the thaw. And we can give them that."

As soon as Mud Sloth cleared the opening the vagabond had created for it,

Luke gave the thrusters one hard kick, then turned the skiff  around  so  that

all could watch the Qella vessel fall away behind them.

"Are you sure you don't want to cloak us, like you  did  before?"  Eckels

said worriedly to Luke. "I'd really rather not contribute  personally  to  the

warming of Mal-tha Obex."

"The vagabond will not harm us," Lobot said with quiet assurance.

"Don't worry, Dr. Eckels," said Lando. "Lobot here spent so much time  in

the tubules that he got promoted to honorary egg."

Luke chuckled. "If you want something to worry about, Doctor, worry  that

your friends back at the Institute reversed two digits and dropped a decimal."

"Our very best planetary climatologist personally supervised the modeling

of the Qella glacial epoch," Eckels said with stiff  professional  pride.  "If

Lobot communicated his recommendations accurately--"  "It  understands,"  said

Lobot. "The task required the building of a new strand of memory code, but  it

understands."

"I'm still surprised at how small an energy input it's supposed to take,"

Luke said. "I thought at first we'd have  to  bring.  in  half  a  dozen  Star

Destroyers and keep them here a month."

"Small inputs, and time," said Eckels. "This planet teetered on the edge-

-it would probably have recovered on its own, as the Qella must have  expected

it would, but for the orbital wobble caused by the loss of the second moon."

"Look," said Lando. "It's starting."

The hull of the vagabond had begun  to  glow,  crawling  blue  snakes  of

energy snapping along its length as the  capacitance  charge  built  up  to  a

cascade. Then triple beams of energy stabbed downward from  each  end  of  the

ship, creating ionized  tunnels  through  the  atmosphere  in  which  precious

chemicals began to be renewed. The beams converged at the surface of the half-

frozen ocean below, creating  massive  explosions  of  steam,  with  towering,

scalding plumes rising amidst the ice floes.

"Pretty good light show," Lando said lightly.

"Kind of a shame there's only the six of us to see it."

"Quite the contrary, General Calrissian," said Eck-els.

"That soup will have to simmer a long time, and it would be best for  the

Qella if it did so undisturbed."

The bombardment of the planet went on throughout Mud Sloth's  long  climb

toward its rendezvous with Lady Luck. When  the  two  craft  finally  met  and

docked, Lando and Lobot both eagerly escaped the crowded skiff for the  luxury

accommodations of the yacht.

Threepio went with them, chasing a promise of an oil bath.

But Luke and  Eckels  lingered,  looking  down  on  Maltha  Obex  as  the

vagabond, now a small thing in the distance, fell silent. Neither man spoke of

his thoughts, but they shared a single mood of lingering awe and curiosity.

When Luke closed his eyes and began breathing in deep, slow waves, Eckels

noted it without comment. But he was not wholly surprised when, a  short  time

later, the vagabond disappeared completely from view.

"You  have  been  practicing,"  Eckels  said,  clapping  Luke's  shoulder

approvingly. "I confess I want to stay and document it almost  especially  the

day when the Qella begin to emerge. But this is best,  to  leave  them  alone.

Tell me, what will you have done last?"

"I don't know how long it will last,"  Luke  said,  gazing  down  on  the

planet. "Maybe not long at all. The forces affecting the ship are complex, and

my teacher said that my touch is still too heavy. I had to try, though--try to

draw the curtain and give them back their privacy,  give  them  some  time  to

heal, to build." He looked toward Eckels. "But I want to come  back,  to  meet

them. I wonder how long we'll have to wait."

There was more than a touch of sorrow and regret in  the  archaeologist's

answering smile.

"Give them a hundred years," Eckels said, knowing as he spoke  that  that

meant he would never return to Maltha Obex. "Or a thousand. We will  let  this

place stay on the charts as a dead, frozen world with nothing  worth  stealing

or exploiting. The Qella will not miss us.

Their lives will be full without us. You have given them  a  great  gift,

Luke-a future." He looked out toward  the  pale  white  disc  of  the  planet.

"Somehow I know they will make the most of it."

Coruscant, Eight Days 'Later

A damp, cold wind blowing out of a broken sky buffeted Luke Skywalker  as

he stood on the cliff above his seacoast hermitage.  He  stood  there  a  long

time, thinking Of all the reasons he had raised it from the  rocky  sands,  of

the work he had thought to do there.

He had taken the broken pieces of his father's fortress retreat and tried

to remake them into something that could redeem them from their  history.  But

he saw now that all he had managed to build was a prison, and that he had been

fortunate to escape it.

Extending his hands and his will,  Luke  found  the  points  of  greatest

stress within the structure  and  pressed  upon  them,  found  the  points  of

greatest fragility and sundered them. With a roar that momentarily rivaled the

wind, the hermitage collapsed in on itself, crushing the fighter still  sealed

within it.

But that was not enough to satisfy Luke, not enough to forever erase  the

temptation. One after another, he raised the pieces of the  ruined  hermitage,

the broken ship, up out of the sand and into the air, crumbling them with  the

force of his thoughts, until it was a dense, swirling  cloud  of  pebble-sized

fragments and metal bits.

Then, with a final, explosive effort of will,  he  hurled  the  cloud  of

debris far out beyond the breakers, where it rained down on the churning water

and vanished from sight.

"It's not time yet for me to go away," he said to  the  wind  by  way  of

explanation. "And when the time comes, there will be a  better  place  for  me

than this."

Guiding her three children through the gate ahead of her, Leia nodded  to

S-EP1 as she passed by. "You can lock down the perimeter, Sleepy,"  she  said.

"We're in for the night, and everyone else can stay out till morning."

"Yes, Princess."

Jacen and Jaina ran on ahead along the flower-lined path, and  unexpected

laughter and delighted squeals came back to Leia moments after they  were  out

of sight. Leaving Anakin ambling on alone, she hurried toward the house to see

what the cause of the commotion might be. But after only a few  long  strides,

she was brought up short by the sight of Luke carrying Jaina in one arm,  with

Jacen at his other elbow.

The three of them were all smiles, though Luke's faded  quickly  when  he

saw Leia's expression.

"Been to the Fleet hospital, I hear," Luke said, making room on the other

arm for Anakin. "How's Han doing?"

"Better," she said. "He's out of the tank  now,  and  looking  more  like

himself. This was the first time I took the children. What are you doing here?

"

"Belatedly accepting an invitation," he said, showing a rueful smile.

"Help me get the children to bed," she said.

That took some time, for Luke's surprise appearance had  swept  away  any

hint of sleepiness. The children would literally not let go of him  without  a

promise that they would see him in the morning.

"But right now, your mom and I need to talk," Luke said firmly. "So it's

lights out and eyes closed for you. Think  about  your  father  and  send  him

healing thoughts, so that he can come home as soon as possible."

Leia watched and listened with a passive curiosity.

When she and Luke were finally alone in the warmly lit family  room,  she

asked lightly, "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

He laughed. "I haven't changed as much as you probably wish."

"Did you find what you were hoping to?"

The laugh faded from his eyes. "No," he said. "But as happens  sometimes,

I found something else. I don't know if I can explain what."

"I can feel a difference in you," Leia said. "You feel--calmer."

"A lot happened," he said. "I learned from some of it. Leia, I still want

to know who our mother was, and what she gave to us. That still matters to me.

Not knowing is an empty hole inside me, and some of what Akanah told me  would

fill it so well that I still want to believe it."

"But you came back."

"It's the one little piece that maybe I did find that brought  me  back,"

Luke said. "A lesson about love and family from  a  woman  I  never  met,  and

probably never will. Leia, it's crazy for me to be chasing a hope from Core to

Rim when you and these kids are right here, real as can be. And if you'd still

let me be part of loving them, and teaching them, and sharing your delight  at

watching them grow-well, I'm the Jedi uncle you're looking for."

Her eyes misting, Leia went to him and gathered him into a long, fiercely

glad embrace. "Welcome to my family, Luke," she whispered, both  offering  and

accepting the familiar and comforting warmth of connection.

"Welcome home."

About the Author

Michael P. Kube-McDowell* is the pen name of  Philadelphia-born  novelist

Michael Paul McDowell. His  highly  praised  prior  works  include  the  star-

spanning 1985 Philip K. Dick Award finalist Emprise  and  the  evocative  1991

Hugo Award nominee The Quiet Pools. Both of the preceding "Black Fleet Crisis"

books were New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and  Washington  Post

bestsellers.

In addition to his ten previous novels, Michael has contributed more than

two dozen short  stories  to  leading  magazines  and  anthologies,  including

Analog, The Magazine of Fantasy &  Science  Fiction,  After  the  Flames,  and

Alternate Warriors. Three of his stories have been adapted as episodes of  the

horror-fantasy television series Tales from the Darkside. Outside  of  science

fiction, he is the author of more than five  hundred  nonfiction  articles  on

subjects ranging from "scientific creationism" to the U.S. space program.

A popular guest at SF conventions throughout the Midwest, Michael is also

a member of the cheerfully amateur folk-rock group The Black Book Band, in

which he plays  guitar,  keyboards,  and  viola.  A  live  album,  First

Contact, was released in 1995 by Dodeka Records.

Michael resides in central Michigan with artist and model-maker Gwen Zak,

children Matt, Amanda, and Gavin, cats Doc and Captain, and "entirely too much

stuff." Passions he will admit to publicly include the Philadelphia  Phillies,

Michigan State University, New Jersey soul food (birch beer,  pork  roll,  and

Tastykakes), the Hammond B-3, and the Oregon coast. At various  times  he  has

called Fairview Village (Camden),  New  Jersey;  East  Lansing,  Sturgis,  and

Lansing, Michigan; and Goshen, Indiana, home.

* "Kube" is pronounced "CUE-bee."