Bria Tharen stood beside Sarn Shild on the observation platform of the space station orbiting the planet Teth. The observation platform was enclosed mostly by force fields, so there was nothing visible between them and the surrounding vacuum. Bria could look straight ahead, to her left, her right, and overhead, and see nothing but naked space or the massive, turning shape of the planet. The young woman repressed a shiver as she thought of the cold, airless blackness scant meters away.

Despite her unease, the brilliant, adoring smile on her face never wavered. When she’d taken this assignment, Bria had already been a fairly good actress, able to conceal her true feelings automatically.

But by now, she thought grimly, I probably deserve an award. Too bad there isn’t an “Undercover Agent of the Year” trophy …

The thought was so ridiculous that it made her smile genuine, for a brief second. Moff Shild put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders, pointing. “Look, my dear! Here they come!”

The small contingent of VIPs on the observation platform began applauding as the Imperial fleet hove into view.

Bria smiled and clapped as the skirmish ships, the recon vessels, the bulk cruisers, and the Dreadnaughts glided slowly toward the reviewing platform. TIE fighters swooped and darted around the bigger ships like small insects poised to feed off a herd of grazers.

Shild was grinning ecstatically as he beheld his squadron. He gave Bria’s shoulders another hug, and she kept herself from shrinking away by an effort of will. “Today marks the beginning of a new era of law and order in the Outer Rim, my dear!” he said, in his “political” voice. Then he added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “And the beginning of a new life for us, Bria!”

Bria looked up at the Moff inquiringly. “Really, Sarn? How so?”

He kept his voice low, but it was still intense, still forceful. “Once my fleet has wiped out Nar Shaddaa, and brought the Hutts to their … well, brought them to heel, my power in this sector will be unquestioned. And when I tap into the wealth of the Hutts—the lesser clans and Desilijic, at least—I will be able to afford to augment my military forces until I can take on much greater foes than a mob of thieving smugglers.”

Why does he always sound like he’s making a campaign speech? Bria wondered. Aloud she said, “Desilijic? Why not Besadii, too?”

“In a private communiqué, the Emperor made it clear that Besadii is to remain unmolested,” Shild said. “They’re useful to him, providing the Empire with trained slaves. Besadii must continue to prosper.”

Bria filed this information away as something to relay to Rion as soon as she could. Palpatine even has his fingers in Hutt internal politics? Is there anything the Emperor doesn’t try to turn to his personal advantage?

Aloud she said, “Oh, well, that makes sense.”

“Yes, the Emperor is a canny fellow,” Shild said, still speaking in that almost whisper. “But … perhaps … not canny enough.”

Bria was puzzled. “What do you mean, Sarn?”

He smiled, his “public” smile, but there was something in his eyes that made Bria uneasy. “I fear that between the growing rebellions on the innermost worlds and the internal political squabblings in the highest echelons, our beloved Emperor has overextended himself. He is losing his grip in the Outer Rim Territories. The Imperial forces are spread so thin in these sectors that a strong leader with a powerful military force to back him could simply … secede … from the Empire.”

Bria looked at him, her eyes wide with shock. He was talking sedition! Didn’t he realize that?

Shild mistook her look for amazed appreciation. He beamed at her. “Oh, don’t think I haven’t thought of it, my dear. There’s no reason that the Outer Rim Territories couldn’t become another Corporate Sector, with no ties or allegiance to the Empire. If I had sufficient military might, I could lead the Outer Rim to independence and prosperity—it would be glorious!”

Bria had to clench her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping. What in the name of Xendor’s Minions has gotten into him? I always knew Sarn was arrogant, but he sounds like a madman!

Was it possible that the Moff had fallen under some kind of … influence? Bria knew there were some telepathic species of aliens, but she’d never heard of any that could do anything like this. Maybe Shild had simply gone crazy. That was one possible explanation.

But the light in Shild’s dark eyes was not that of a madman, it was the light of a man with a mission.

“And after leading the Outer Rim Territories to glory, my dear”—he gave her another one-armed hug—“it’s possible that I should turn my concentration … well, shall we say, toward more populated areas of the galaxy. There are unhappy worlds, here in the Empire, worlds that are looking for new leadership. I could provide that leadership.”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this! He’s talking about challenging the Emperor!

Bria was terrified to even stand here and listen to Shild. Palpatine had ears everywhere. Surely the Emperor would discover Shild’s outrageous ambition, and eliminate him as casually as she might slap a stinging insect.

The Imperial fleet was moving magnificently past them now, passing in review. Shild dropped his arm from around Bria, stepped forward to stand on the very edge of the platform, looking slim and elegant in his Moff’s uniform. He saluted his troops as they glided past him.

Bria stood back, near the entrance, feeling that coldness, that near panic grow, until it was everything she could do not to leave, to just run away and abandon Shild to face the consequences of his own egotistical ambition.

I’ll find out just what he’s planning, if I can, she promised herself, and then I’ll go.

Bria stared at Shild, realizing she was now regarding him the same way she would a man who had contracted a terrible incurable disease. A walking dead man. She found she was actually sorry that Shild had contracted this “disease,” this craving for power. The Moff had always treated her well, and her assignment could have been far worse.

For a wild moment she considered trying to talk some sense into Shild, but she quickly abandoned the thought. The Moff knew she was intelligent, and he valued that, but he had sufficient masculine arrogance that he’d never listen to a woman he was using as a front to disguise his sexual peccadilloes.

The fleet was nearly past the reviewing stand now. In minutes, as soon as they’d cleared Teth’s gravity well, they’d jump to hyperspace on the first leg of the long journey to the Y’Toub system. On the Outer Rim, systems tended to be spread farther apart than they were in the more crowded central portions of the galaxy.

Bria found herself, as she often did, thinking of Han. Surely he was no longer on Nar Shaddaa. He’d gone back to his Hutt masters, delivered Shild’s warning, then taken off. Han was good at self-preservation. He wouldn’t try anything crazy like trying to fight the Imperial squadron, would he?

Would he?

Bria’s mouth was terribly dry. She licked her lips, forced herself to swallow, then drifted back through the massive door to the magnificent reception inside, in search of a cup of stim-tea.

As she sipped it, Bria tried again and again to convince herself that Han was long gone from Nar Shaddaa, safe from Admiral Greelanx and his troops.

But, in her heart of hearts, she didn’t believe it. Bria had a sudden vivid memory of the Corellian that time they were about to be boarded by slavers, remembered Han drawing his blaster and squaring his jaw … remembered him vowing, “They’re not getting me without a fight!”

The odds against them had been approximately forty to three …

Bria’s hands were shaking so badly she had to put the cup down on the table. She closed her eyes, fighting for control. What if he tries to fight? What if they kill him? I would probably never know …

And that was the most terrible thought of all …

Captain Soontir Fel stood on the bridge of the Dreadnaught Pride of the Senate, preparing to follow his commander into hyperspace. In his gray uniform, with decorations and rank insignia providing touches of color, Fel was an impressive sight that inspired confidence in those under his command.

One of the youngest people ever to receive a captain’s commission in the Imperial Navy, Fel was a tall, muscular man, broad-shouldered and exceptionally strong. Black hair, dark eyes, and rugged, almost handsome features made him look as though he’d just stepped out of an Imperial Navy recruiting holo-poster.

Fel was a good, conscientious officer, well liked by his men. He had a special camaraderie with his TIE fighter pilots. Soontir Fel had once been a TIE fighter pilot himself, and his exploits and accomplishments were almost legendary.

In a way, Fel wished he could be back down there in the TIE fighter squad room right now, relaxing, joking, and sipping cups of stim-tea with the others. Fel was unhappy with his current assignment.

For one thing, this Dreadnaught was a clunky old wagon, especially compared to the new Imperial Star Destroyers. Fel would have given a great deal to be able to command one of those ships!

But he was determined to do his best by the Pride; he just hoped he’d get the chance. Fel had studied Admiral Greelanx’s battle plan, and he was not impressed. Oh, it was by the book, all right, but Fel thought the battle plan was too inflexible, too dependent on several assumptions that Fel perceived as either shaky or outright erroneous.

In the first place, Greelanx was certain that the smugglers were nothing but a disorganized rabble, who couldn’t possibly mount a coordinated attack. Soontir Fel had commanded Customs patrol ships (as had Greelanx), and he knew for a fact that many of these smuggler pilots were the equal of any Imperial pilot ever graduated. They had fast reflexes, were excellent shots, and possessed a reckless courage that made them dangerous customers in a fight.

They were tough and independent, but if the smugglers found someone to lead them wisely, Fel thought that they might well put together a defense to be reckoned with.

Secondly, Greelanx believed that since the smugglers could not possibly pose a threat to this force, there was no point in attempting surprise. The admiral’s plan called for their squadron to emerge from hyperspace well within range of Nar Shaddaa’s sensors.

Fel thought that assumption amounted to overconfidence, pure and simple. And overconfidence was frequently a disaster in combat.

The worst problem, as far as Fel was concerned, was implementing order Base Delta Zero on Nar Shaddaa.

Fel knew that last wasn’t Greelanx’s fault. The Sector Moff had issued that order. But in the admiral’s place, Fel would have at least tried to get Sarn Shild to modify that instruction. The Emperor’s directive had been to shut down the smuggling operations out of Nar Shaddaa and other smuggler nests, especially the gunrunners. The directive hadn’t included anything about razing the entire moon. Fel had had considerable combat experience, and he knew that sentients of most species would fight like cornered Corellian vrelts when it came to protecting their homes and families.

There were millions of sentients on Nar Shaddaa, many of whom were only peripherally involved with the smuggling business. Elderly sentients, children … Soontir Fel grimaced.

This would be his first Imperial-ordered massacre. He’d been lucky to avoid such an order for this long, the way things were going.

Fel would carry out his orders, but he wasn’t happy about them. He knew images of the flaming buildings would haunt him, as he gave each order to fire. And afterward … they’d have to send down shuttles and ground troops to mop up, and he, Fel, being a conscientious commander, would have to oversee that operation.

Visions of smoking rubble strewn with blackened corpses filled his mind, and Fel took a deep breath. Stop it, he ordered himself sternly. There’s nothing you can do about it. Tormenting yourself over it serves no purpose …

As Fel watched, the Imperial Destiny suddenly accelerated strongly, then vanished from sight as it engaged its hyperdrive. Peacekeeper followed.

Fel was relieved to have something to do, anything to distract him from his thoughts. He glanced over at his navigator. “Course laid in, Commander?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Very well. Commander Rosk, prepare to make the jump to lightspeed, on my order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fell watched the coordinates flash by on the navigational boards, then said, “Engage hyperdrive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fel watched as the stars suddenly elongated, and there was, for the first time, a sensation of terrible velocity aboard the big ship.

The mission to wipe out Nar Shaddaa was under way.

Admiral Winstel Greelanx stood on the bridge of his own Dreadnaught, watching the star trails of hyperspace. The admiral had his own concerns about this mission, very different concerns from those felt by his captains, Reldo Dovlis and Soontir Fel.

Greelanx was aware that Fel did not think much of his planned strategy. Dovlis was a less imaginative, older officer, content to follow orders without question, so Greelanx expected no problems with him. Fel, on the other hand … there could be problems there.

Greelanx sighed. If only this mission was as cut and dried as it appeared on the surface! Go to Nar Shaddaa, wipe out the wretched smugglers, and then blockade the Y’Toub system. But it was far from being that simple.

Less than a full day after Moff Shild had called him into his office on Teth to give Greelanx his marching orders, the admiral had received a message in the most secret Imperial code, sent “eyes only” under the tightest security to Greelanx’s personal comlink.

The secrecy code on this message had been so restrictive that the admiral hadn’t even dared to have it decoded by one of his staff, even his top administrative aide or secretarial droid. No, he’d laboriously sat down with a code key and translated the entire thing by himself, writing it out by hand onto a sheet of flimsy.

As directed, the admiral had kept no copies of the message, destroying the flimsy as soon as he was finished reading it through.

The admiral had checked and rechecked the codes, thinking there had to be some mistake. But they all checked out. This message came from the very highest echelons of Imperial Intelligence. Excomm was the branch of Imperial security that was answerable only to the Emperor himself, or to his top-ranking aide, Lord Vader.

Greelanx had never received such a message before in his career—and he had served over thirty years in the Navy.

He had memorized the message, and that was easy, for it had been short. The message had read:

What did it all mean? Greelanx wondered. Someone very high up wanted Sarn Shild’s foray against the Hutts to fail. Who? And why?

Greelanx was not a particularly imaginative or intelligent man, but he was smart enough to realize that if he told Sarn Shild about those orders, he would sound like a madman. He had no proof that he had received them. The encoded message had been “time-sensitive”—impossible to copy, except manually, and designed to vanish within minutes after being downloaded.

And then had come the Hutt bribe. What a supreme irony, under the circumstances! A chance to increase his retirement nest egg by a thousandfold or more. Even if he hadn’t gotten those secret orders, Greelanx would have found the Hutt offer difficult to reject.

Could the two things be related somehow? he wondered. Or was it just an incredible coincidence?

Greelanx had no way to tell.

The admiral was edgy and nervous about the entire venture. Schemes ran through his head, only to be discarded as too risky. Should he try to contact the High Command? Tell the Moff? Take the Imperial Destiny to some remote location, then abscond in an Imperial shuttle?

That last option seemed the most likely to ensure his continued existence. He could go to the Corporate Sector, perhaps. Somewhere far, far away.

But if he did that, Greelanx had soon realized, his family would pay for his escape. His son and daughter, his wife. Perhaps even his two mistresses.

Greelanx was not particularly fond of his wife, but he wished her no harm. And he loved his children, who were grown and married. He had a grandchild on the way.

No, the admiral decided, he could not risk them. If he’d kept the flimsy and showed it to the Moff, Greelanx knew that he’d have signed his and their death warrants. The Imperial security forces were swift and ruthless. Greelanx and his family could run to the ends of the universe, and the storm troopers would still hunt them down.

All he could do was obey, and hope for the best.

As he stood on the bridge of his ship, Admiral Winstel Greelanx thought of the young smuggler who had brought the Hutt offer. An offer he hadn’t been able to refuse. Had the young man sensed there was more going on than Greelanx was telling?

He’d seemed like an intelligent young fellow. Greelanx would have been willing to bet he’d worn an Imperial uniform before. Why had he left the service to become an outlaw?

The admiral hated to think that young smuggler might be one of the sentients he’d have to kill in order to make his attack on Nar Shaddaa appear legitimate.

Greelanx watched the star trails, thinking … and worrying. How did I get myself into this? he wondered. And how in the name of all that’s sacred do I get myself out of it?

Durga the Hutt was working in his office when a servitor droid rolled rapidly in. “Sir! Sir! The Lord Aruk has been taken ill! Please come!”

The young Hutt Lord abandoned his datapad and wriggled quickly after the droid, down endless corridors in the huge Besadii enclave. He found his parent lying limp, eyes rolled back in his head, sprawled across his repulsor sled. Aruk’s personal physician, a Hutt named Grodo, was working over the unconscious Besadii leader, assisted by two med droids.

“What happened?” Durga demanded breathlessly as he undulated up to them, his tail pushing him along in long, swift glides. “Is he going to be all right?”

“We don’t know yet, sir,” the physician said brusquely. He was working hard over the unconscious Hutt, giving him a jab with an injector, then administering oxygen. A circulatory pump stim-unit was adhered to Aruk’s midsection, automatically sending mild jolts into the massive body to keep Aruk’s heartbeat regular.

Aruk’s green-slimed tongue lolled limply out of his mouth. The sight terrified Durga. The young Hutt forced himself to halt several meters away, not wishing to get in the way. “He was talking to his scribe, giving an order about some work, when suddenly, as the droid reported, he just slumped over.”

“What do you think caused this?” Durga said. “Should I summon security, have them seal off the palace?”

“No, sir,” Grodo said. “This is the result of some kind of brain seizure, I suspect due to poor circulation. You know I have been warning your parent about—”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Durga said. In his anxiety, he grabbed the edge of a low inlaid table, and only realized he’d been twisting it when the heavy wood splintered in his hands.

Minutes later Aruk suddenly blinked, stirred, and then slowly raised himself, looking very puzzled. “What?” he croaked, his deep voice raw. “What happened?”

“You collapsed, Lord,” Grodo said. “Some type of brain seizure. Caused by lack of oxygen to the brain, I suspect.”

“Caused by poor circulation, no doubt,” Aruk grunted. “Well … I feel fine, now. Except that my head is pounding.”

“I can administer something mild for the pain, Lord,” the physician said, triggering his injector.

Moments later Aruk sighed with relief. “Much better.”

“Lord Aruk,” the physician said sternly, “I want you to promise me that you will take better care of yourself. Let this episode be a warning to you.”

Aruk grumbled deep in his massive chest. “At my age, I should be able to do—”

“Please, Father!” Durga blurted. “Listen to Grodo! You must mend your ways!”

The Besadii Lord grunted, then sighed. “Very well. I promise to exercise for at least half an hour each day. And I will give up smoking my hookah.”

“And the rich food!” cried the physician triumphantly, seizing the moment.

“Very well,” Aruk growled. “All except my favorite nala-tree frogs. I will not give them up.”

“I believe we can allow Your Excellency one treat,” Grodo said, now prepared to be magnanimous in light of his win. “If you give up all other rich foods, you may have a sensible amount of nala-tree frogs each day.”

Durga was so relieved to see Aruk recovering that he glided right up to his parent and placed his small hand on that massive neck. “You must take care of yourself, Father. I will exercise with you. It will be more enjoyable that way.”

Aruk’s wide mouth turned up as he regarded his offspring. “Very well, my child. I promise I will take better care of myself.”

“Besadii needs you,” Durga said. “You are our greatest leader, Father!”

Aruk grumbled a bit more under his breath, but Durga could tell that he was pleased by his offspring’s concern.

The young Hutt Lord left his parent to the care of the physician and his med-droid assistants, and went back to his office, badly shaken.

For a moment he’d thought that Aruk was dying, and that he would wind up trying to run Besadii all by himself. Durga had received a frightening insight—he wasn’t ready.

Especially with this crisis coming, he thought. The Imperial fleet may be on its way to attack Nar Shaddaa …

Aruk had told his offspring not to worry, that the Imperials would not harm Besadii, or Ylesia. “We supply them with slaves,” the elderly Hutt said reassuringly. “The Empire needs its slaves. Therefore they need Besadii.”

Durga devoutly hoped that his parent was right about that …