Star Wars

 

                             The New Jedi Order

 

                               Enemy Lines II

 

                                 Rebel Stand

 

                               by Aaron Allston

 

 

                                                   sended by Lady Nenya,

                                                   OCR/SC by Hungry Ewok Gryzley

 

 

 

     ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

 

     Thanks go to:

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

     DRAMATIS PERSONAE

 

     The Jedi

 

     Luke Skywalker; Jedi Master (male human)

 

     Mara Jade Skywalker; Jedi Master (female human)

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

     Tahiri Veila; Jedi student (human female)

 

     With the New Republic Military

 

     General Wedge Antilles (male human)

 

     Colonel Tycho Celchu (male human)

 

     Colonel Gavin Darklighter; Rogue Squadron leader (male human)

 

     Captain Kral Nevil; Rogue Squadron pilot (Quarren male)

 

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

 

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

 

     Kell Tainer (male human)

 

     Elassar Targon (male Devaronian)

 

     Bhindi Drayson (female human)

 

     Baljos Arnjak (male human)

 

     Iella Wessiri Antilles; Intelligence director (female human)

 

     Jagged Fel; Twin Suns pilot (human male)

 

     Zindra Daine; Twin Suns pilot (female human)

 

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

 

     Beelyath; Twin Suns pilot (male Mon Calamari)

 

     Sharr Latt; Twin Suns pilot (male human)

 

     Tilath Keer; Twin Suns pilot (female human)

 

     Shawnkyr Nuruodo; Vanguard Squadron leader (female Chiss)

 

     Commander Eldo Davip; captain, Lusankya (male human)

 

     YVH 1-1A (masculine droid)

 

     Civilians

 

     Danni Quee; scientist (female human)

 

     Wolam Tser; holodocumentarian (male human)

 

     Tam Elgrin; holocam operator (male human)

 

     Han Solo; captain, Millennium Falcon (male human)

 

     Leia Organa Solo; Republic ambassador (female human)

 

     With the Yuuzhan Vang

 

     Tsavong Lah; warmaster (male Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Czulkang Lah; commander (male Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Nen Yim; shaper (female Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Kasdakh Buhl; warrior (male Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Maal Lah; warrior (male Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Denua Ku; warrior (male Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Viqi Shesh; former Senator (female human)

 

     Harrar; priest (male Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Takhaff Uul; priest (male Yuuzhan Vong)

 

     Ghithra Dal; shaper (male Yuuzhan Vong}

 

 

     ONE

 

     Pyria System

 

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

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

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

blackout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

age.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Jag merely clicked his comlink once for affirmative.

     "Fire and break."

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

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

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

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

remained heated they were deadly weapons capable of burning through  starfighter

armor as though it were sheet ice.

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

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

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

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

second later.

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

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

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

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

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

ballistic instead of controlled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that ship's mission.

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

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

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

to escort, to protect.

 

 

     Coruscant

 

 

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

party.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the enemy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

growing every day.

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

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

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

them. Luke didn't want to know what experiences

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

of that perfume.

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

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

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

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

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

part of the world-city.

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

farmboy," she said.

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

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

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

one before that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

itself to Luke. "Kiss for luck?"

     "Get out of here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

decay, with crumbled roofs and rounded edges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

solid."

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

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

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

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

explosives, a skilled hand-to-hand combatant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

lowest portion of the chin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

probably didn't realize he was doing it.

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

responsible for so many  technological  developments  in  the  war  against  the

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

silence and distance like a set of Jedi robes.

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

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

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

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

young off to suffer pain and death.

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

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

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

a second. I see some movement..."

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

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

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

and mission!"

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

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

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

battle with fully trained Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

combat.

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

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

commanded you to hunt here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

armor's skirt plates.

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

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

makes us great. You make way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

clumsy by his false alien armor.

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

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

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

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

as he dropped from view.

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

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

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

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

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

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

amphistaff neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the second row.

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

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

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

screaming, "Jeedai!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

target.

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

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

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

his helmet and deflected the thrust with his amphistaff.

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

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

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

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

throat. "Fighting retreat!" he shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

their allies behind.

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

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

was a wall of fire rushing toward them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and unyielding.

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

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

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

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

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

skirt plates.

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

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

out of sight with a shout of surprise.

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

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

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

descended three or four hundred meters to the boulevard below.

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

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

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

knocked me down."

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

have any injuries."

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

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

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

that Jedi are here."

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

lightsaber burns on them."

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

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

extraordinary diligence in learning some conversational Yuuzan Vong  during  the

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

     "Good point."

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

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

     Luke grinned. "It counts as your turn."

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

better get to it."

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

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

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

 

 

     Borleias, Pyria System

 

 

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

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

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

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

them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     R2-D2's blatted response sounded definitely affirmative.

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

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

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

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

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

See-Threepio, then."

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

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

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

     "Yes."

     "No."

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

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

"

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

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

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

suffered over the years. But Leia remained stubbornly unconvinced.

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

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

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

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

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

smile on Leia. "Happy?"

     "Happy. You're very red."

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

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

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

back out of his head, he stood.

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

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

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

them happy."

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

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

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

that we try to use?"

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

vacation?"

     "Han."

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

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

     "You're not helping."

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

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

it. To hack 1 you up. Right?"

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

mind like that."

     "Right?"

     Leia sighed and settled against him. "Right."

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

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

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

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

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

com-pletely at peace.

 

 

     Pyria System

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

gradually disappeared from the screen.

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

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

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

by."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

flying is all about."

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

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

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

masters at flying out of an engagement zone?"

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

that is."

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

rituals to groundside?"

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

out."

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

little monkey-lizard."

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

and tactics expert. "I know him."

 

 

     Borleias

 

 

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

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

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

tones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

was in a hospital.

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

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

was sufficient.

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

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

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

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

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

pleased.

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

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

     He shook his head. "Um."

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

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

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

you're here now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

secret of refusals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pain would kill him.

     "Are you still with us, Master Elgrin?"

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

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

him over.

     He knew from experience that  her  expression  suggested  slight  distress,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

those effects, to return you to normal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

conditioning you have received."

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

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

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

you."

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

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

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

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

 

 

     TWO

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ferrocrete shattered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

nearby walls of this chamber.

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

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

been vivid long before he had become aware.

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

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

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

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

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

ragged, and fear filled his dark eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

and scurrying like rodents, flashed through his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

dropped the small man.

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

 

 

     Borleias

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what's to drink?"

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

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

the other two followed suit.

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

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

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

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

barrels of inadequately aged Taanab fruit brandies..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

match?"

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

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

     "Married? Attached?"

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

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

     "So, who is she?"

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

turned to Tycho,

     "I think so."

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

     Janson's face paled. "Jaina Solo."

     "I'm sure that's the name."

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

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

put together at the same age."

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

throw myself on her lightsaber."

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

merciful and it is his right as a father."

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

     Wedge merely smiled.

 

 

     Domain Hul Warldship, Pyria System

 

 

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

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

mutilations that  rendered  his  face  almost  black  and  his  features  almost

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

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

its own muscles to his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

emerged in perfect synchronization with distant officers and spies.

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

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

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

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

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

the Trickster goddess, Yun-Harla.

     "Welcome, Harrar," Czulkang Lah said.

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

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

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

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

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

commander of Yuuzhan Vong forces in the Pyria system.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

direct control of those operations."

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

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

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

commander installed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

their camp."

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

our gift of a spy?"

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

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

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

me of your plan."

 

 

     Coruscant

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

perceptions.

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

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

beast.

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

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

she asked.

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

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

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

open."

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

"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

were pouring out of the doorways.

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

up for his helmet.

     "Run," Bhindi said.

     "What?"

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

and racing away from the oncoming mob.

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

close after them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

many of them panting.

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

"I'm too old for this."

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

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

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

resistance cells?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and the Vong will know, too."

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

to them as humans."

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

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

back. The rest stay here."

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

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

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

group."

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

that?"

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

tell me a story."

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eaten grayweave, Master Sky walker?"

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

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

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

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

without preservation.

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

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

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

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

survive, Master Skywalker."

     "How's the air?" Bhindi asked.

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

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

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

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

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

can we expect relief?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

better."

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

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

equipment better."

     "I'm listening," Tenga said.

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

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

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

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

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

said, "Lord Nyax."

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

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

     "He's real," Yassat said.

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

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

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

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

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

     "A typical folk tale," Mara said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

our territories, exploring and scavenging."

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

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

not completely functional in a mental sense.

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

     "Tell me what you see," Luke said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eaten on.

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

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

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

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

Vong warriors."

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

gaze. "I just got away."

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

away by getting captured and selling us out?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

with us? To guide us?"

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

Bhindi, "in trade."

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

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

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

won't."

 

 

     Borleias

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

ready-it would be Blackmoon at this hour.

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

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

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

over his expansive Gamorrean stomach, emerged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

face of the building rattled.

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

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

turbolift.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on, Leth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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