TWENTY-FOUR

Still recovering from the bruising it had taken at the battle of Ord Mantell, the cruiser-carrier Thurse winked into realspace at the Rimward edge of the Bilbringi system, X-wings tumbling from her launch bays like bedevilers from an agitated nest. Between the cruiser and the distant blip that authenticators had recognized as a Yuuzhan Vong warship floated the Queen of Empire, with what appeared to be a seasoned corvette nursing at one of the starliner’s airlocks.

Apex of the fighter formation that gradually assumed shape, Wing Commander Kol Eyttyn chinned the helmet switch that opened the command net.

“Thurse, we have visual on the Yuuzhan Vong ship. Low-profile coral oval. Looks to be frigate class or thereabouts. Reminds me of the stones I’d skim across water in the carefree days of my youth.”

“Let’s see that it doesn’t come skimming this way, Commander,” the voice of the cruiser-carrier’s captain said in his left ear.

“That’s affirmative.”

Screen chatter from the R2 unit socketed behind the cockpit canopy told him that short-range scans had picked up a flock of Yuuzhan Vong fighters—skips. Eyttyn chinned open the tactical net.

“Blips are enemy vessels, coralskipper designation,” he told the pilots of the gathered squadrons. “Enable countermeasures and deflector shields. Inertial compensators to maximum boost. Keep in mind we’re sacrificing laser yield for increased bursts. That means mixing it up at close quarters, so listen to your group leaders and stick to your wingmates.”

Eyttyn called on the life-maintenance system controls to expand the starfighter’s inertial compensator field. While the volume of protection afforded by the enhanced field had been determined to be sufficient for tricking the compensator into treating Yuuzhan Vong–created gravitic anomalies like any others, the field could be overwhelmed by large dovin basals or a confluence of singularities, such as might easily be fashioned by three or more skips.

The same held true for the sensor database package developed in the wake of engagements in the Outer Rim. While the retrofitted tracking adjunct augmented a pilot’s ability to target coralskippers, substantial variations in the size and shape of the fighters limited the effectiveness of the array. As ever, an X-wing was only as good as its pilot and droid.

Eyttyn increased the gain on the sensors and, with his thumb, flicked weapons control to lasers, quadding them up so all four would fire with a single squeeze of the stick’s trigger.

“Red and Green Squadrons will lay back to deal with assaults directed at the Thurse. Blue will form up behind me to take the fight to the command ship. All other squadrons will break on my command.”

Eyttyn tightened his seat harness and waited for the droid to affirm that the coralskipper swarm was within range; then he flipped a switch that locked the X-wing’s S-foils in attack position and gave the word to engage.

Almost immediately the coralskippers opened fire with their volcano-like guns, loosing a storm of fiery projectiles. The opposing sides met in a dizzying contest of feints, rolls, and loops, punctuated by torrents of laser-fire and streams of deadly plasma. The tactical net grew cacophonous with warnings, exuberant outbursts, and shrill cries for help.

“Blue Four, skip locking onto your six.”

“Thanks for the heads up, Three. I think I can shake him.”

“I’ve got your flank, Four.”

“Blue Eight, can you give me a fix on Blue Ten?”

“Negative, Ten. Things are fast and furious just now.”

“Watch your starboard, Five. Three skips angling in!”

“Scissor right, Five, they’re on you!”

“I can’t shake them! Shields down to 30 percent!”

“Hold tight, Five. I’m on my way!”

Though loud in his right ear, Eyttyn ignored what cries he could. For Blue Squadron it was going to be a matter of avoiding hits and conserving firepower. While individually piloted, the yorik coral fighters were thought to answer at least in part to organic elements aboard the command vessels—what the enemy called yammosks, or war coordinators—like the droid ships of old. Eyttyn knew better than to expect that Blue Squadron could take out the ship, even with proton torpedoes, but as New Republic forces had proved time and again, distraction was often enough to sow turmoil among the coralskipper pilots and slow the responses of their craft.

Yuuzhan Vong fliers relied less on evasive tactics than on the capabilities of their shield-nullifying dovin basals, in any case. As he maneuvered through the swarm, Eyttyn could feel the influence of that macabre, biogenetically hatched technology tugging at the X-wing’s shields with invisible fingers. The R2 unit could feel the tug, as well, and signaled its dismay with flurries of translated code that scrolled across the cockpit display screen.

Another thing to ignore, Eyttyn told himself.

With two skips closing on him, he rolled the X-wing up on its stabilizers and veered away to starboard. In the same instant, his wingmate peeled away in an abrupt bank, then dived to rejoin Eyttyn on the original approach vector. Another pair of coralskippers swooped beneath him, but only one came about in pursuit and was easily evaded.

Eyttyn glanced at his range finder. Already the frigate was growing larger in his canopy, but it had yet to open fire, and probably wouldn’t until Blue Squadron began their runs against it.

Off to Eyttyn’s left, Blue Four began to wobble under the influence of two skips that had fastened themselves to the X-wing’s tail. Eyttyn’s wingmate dropped back to loose a burst at one of the craft, but it refused to take the bait. Hoping that Blue Four’s lead pursuer might cut across his own path, Eyttyn decreased velocity, but the coralskipper pilot divined Eyttyn’s tactic and was in and out of his sights in a flash.

In a dazzling display of evasive maneuvers, Blue Three broke from the pack to speed to his wingmate’s aid. Halfway there, however, destructive projectiles sought and found him, blowing the X-wing to pieces.

The two coralskippers chasing Blue Four accelerated, settled into kill position, and opened fire. Caught by an ellipsis of blazing missiles, Blue Four vanished in a roiling of crimson fire and white-hot gas.

Eyttyn summoned his remaining ships into a weaving, mutually protective circle. Laser bolts from Blues Eight and Nine sheared off chunks of an encroaching skip; crippled, the ship spiraled off to port and exploded.

Not a moment later, Blue Six made a kill, but soon found himself trapped at the center of intense return fire. Shields pilfered, the X-wing sustained hit after hit, splitting into four pieces before disappearing from sight.

Eyttyn glanced at his primary monitor. Bright red damage icons peppered the screen. “Stay with your wingmates,” he warned over the net. “Conserve fire until we’re in the pocket.”

He snap-rolled to bring one Yuuzhan Vong killer under his weapons. With a belly-up slew to starboard, he seized the coralskipper in his sights and tightened his middle finger on the stick’s auxiliary trigger button. With the X-wing’s lasers cycling more rapidly than they would have in single-fire mode, each bolt burned with a scarlet intensity that belied its reduced strength. Dazzled by the task of distinguishing the heavier, more lethal bolts from the hail of essentially harmless bolts loosed by the quadded lasers, the skip’s dovin basal failed, and a packet of Eyttyn’s energy darts found their mark.

The coralskipper cracked apart like pumice and disappeared.

Blue Six avenged, Eyttyn raced through the Yuuzhan Vong’s debris cloud of glowing motes to close on another coralskipper. A sustained, convergent burst of flickers from the X-wing’s wingtips caught the enemy unprepared, destroying him, as well.

With Blue Squadron down to nine fighters, Eyttyn formed everyone up into a trailing wedge. But no sooner had they closed on the frigate than they instantly became targets of its craterlike gun ports. Another X-wing was annihilated, then another, although by then Eyttyn was in position to make a strafing run. Jinking to port, he paid out a pair of proton torpedoes, only to watch in utter stupefaction as the scintillating spheres soared away into empty space.

He had grown accustomed to seeing laser beams and torpedoes swallowed by gravitic anomalies, but this was something different. It was as if the enemy ship itself had disappeared.

He glanced frantically around the canopy, thinking that he had somehow become disoriented and that the frigate was actually above him. Star-swept darkness met his gaze in all directions. Data scrolls from the R2 were telling him that the Yuuzhan Vong ship had moved, but the droid was obviously mistaken. No vessel could move that quickly—even when making microjumps.

“Where’d the blasted thing go?” he asked over the net.

“Don’t know, Commander,” Blue Two responded. “I was right on your Six when it disappeared—in a blink.”

“Cloaking device?” Blue Eleven suggested.

“Well, it vanished like it was cloaked,” Eyttyn said, “but I figure we’d still pick up residual gravitic traces from a ship that massive.”

“Hyperspace,” Blue Ten interjected.

“Not without taking me with it,” Eyttyn told him. “It’s—”

“Commander,” Blue Two cut him off. “I’ve located it.”

Eyttyn aimed the X-wing’s scopes at the coordinates Blue Two supplied, and sure enough, the frigate was there—two thousand kilometers away.

Blue Eleven offered a stunned whistle. “That ship jumped two thousand clicks in a split second.”

Eyttyn forced a breath and tightened his grip on the controls. “Adjust course,” he ordered. “If it’s a game of tag they want, it’s a game of tag they’ll get.”

The Millennium Falcon burst into realspace on the far side of Bilbringi’s profusion of orbital habitats and heavily mined planetoids. Leia and Luke had the forward seats, with Mara behind Luke in the chair normally assigned to a communications officer and C-3PO in the navigator’s chair. R2-D2 had planted himself at the rear of the cockpit, with his grasping arm clamped to a slender conduit.

In the fan-shaped viewport, the Queen of Empire was well off to starboard. Rimward, local space was a pyrotechnic welter of laser beams, radiant projectiles, fusial thrusters, and blossoming explosions.

“Unidentified Corellian freighter,” an incensed voice barked over the comm, “this is Captain Jorlen of the New Republic cruiser-carrier Thurse. You’ve jumped into a combat zone. I suggest you hold fast or return to wherever you came from.”

“Captain Jorlen,” Leia said, “this is Ambassador Organa Solo.”

“Ambassador, what in blazes are you doing here?” The captain sounded surprised, though hardly cheered. “And when is that husband of yours going to get around to installing an authorized transponder?”

“I’ll ask him when I see him, Captain. He’s aboard the Queen of Empire. We’ve come to lend a hand, if you’ll have our help.”

“Negative, Ambassador. I request you hold your position. We’ve got a Yuuzhan Vong frigate jumping all over the arena. For all we know, it’ll be in your lap next.”

“Acknowledged, Captain, we’ll stay put. For now,” Leia added under her breath. “Have the raiders issued demands of any sort?”

“We’ve had no contact with them,” Jorlen said impatiently. “We assume they’ve come for the passengers themselves—to supply the Yuuzhan Vong with sacrifices.”

“Then why the Yuuzhan Vong warship, Captain?”

“Why, indeed,” Jorlen mused.

“Something’s out there,” Luke said, pointing away from both the starliner and the ongoing firefight.

At first Leia wasn’t sure whether he’d sensed something through the Force or merely observed it, but when she followed his finger she saw what he was referring to and called up an enhanced view on the console display. The screen showed a blunt-nosed object reminiscent of a yorik coral fighter but clearly reinforced by some sort of burnished black armor.

“Disabled ship?” Mara suggested.

“Could be,” Luke said, staring not at the screen but out the viewport. “But I’m sensing something else …”

“A space mine?”

Luke shook his head. “A void.”

Leia and Mara reached out with the Force, verifying the emptiness that had drawn Luke’s attention. Luke was about to speak when the comm board came alive once more.

“Ambassador Solo,” Jorlen updated, “we’ve just been hailed by the Queen of Empire. The raiders have issued an ultimatum. Unless all New Republic forces move off, they’re going to begin expelling passengers out the airlocks.”

“Oh, my!” C-3PO said in trepidation.

R2-D2 twittered, then whimpered.

Leia’s eyes clouded over with alarm. “What was your response, Captain?”

Jorlen took a moment to answer. “It’s contrary to New Republic policy to bargain with pirates, Ambassador. I’m sorry that your husband is aboard, but the fight goes on. More to the point, if the raiders have in fact come for captives, their threat is an empty one, since the Queen’s passengers are already marked for death.”

“That’s hardly a relief, Captain.”

“My apologies, Ambassador. But there’ll be no negotiations while that Yuuzhan Vong ship is present.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that.”

No sooner did Leia sign off when Luke said, “Whatever that object is, it’s abetting the coralskippers in some way.”

“A war coordinator?” Leia ventured.

He tore his eyes from the viewport to regard his sister. “A dovin basal.”

Leia adopted a determined expression and centered herself over the controls. “Living. But not for long.”

* * *

With concussive explosions rocking the Queen, Han peeked around the corner of a corridor at a hatch that opened on the docking bay. Guarding the way were two men armed with blasters and stun nets. Han considered bringing out his blaster, which was still secreted in his travel pack, but then recalled that the power pack had yet to be replenished.

“No good,” he told Droma and the recostumed Yuuzhan Vong, “they’ve sealed off every approach.” Withdrawing, he pressed his back to the bulkhead and glanced left and right. “We need a hole to hide in. With all that’s going on outside, it won’t be long before the Peace Brigade surrenders or attempts an escape.”

He led them to a bank of drop shafts and cautiously peered over the edge of one of them. Far below was the floor of a cargo hold.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Droma said, “the shafts have been deactivated.”

“So we find some shock cord,” Han said. “It’s only, what, fifty meters or so to the bottom?”

Droma looked skeptical. “Might as well be from here to Coruscant.”

The sound of approaching footsteps put a quick end to the dilemma. Slinking away from the drop shafts, the four of them entered an intersecting passageway, where they were greeted by the sound of yet more footsteps, along with a chorus of piqued voices. They hurried around another corner, searching high and low for a place to hide.

Determined footsteps to their left grew louder, and not a moment later the owners of the piqued voices strode into view. Han’s eyes roamed over the raiders. Even after all the years, Reck Desh was recognizable by his cocky gait and full sleeve of tattoos. With him walked five examples of well-armed Peace Brigade thuggery and a spindly miscreant who would have made a perfect Yuuzhan Vong, if in fact he wasn’t one, disguised by an oversize cloak.

Reck stationed one of his men at the intersection of the corridors and moved on.

Han felt his blood rush and heard his heart pounding in his ears. He thought about Chewie, and about Lwyll, Roa, and Fasgo. The travel pack slid from his hand onto the floor, and he immediately squatted down and pulled out his empty blaster.

Droma watched him with mounting concern. “I thought the idea was to steal a shuttle and get off ship.”

“That can wait,” Han grumbled. “This is personal.”

“Personal?” Droma whispered harshly. “I feel compelled to mention that your weapon—”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Han interrupted.

He regarded the blaster, compressing his lips in anger, then forced a breath and stood up.

“What is he doing?” Elan asked Droma worriedly.

Droma shrugged resignedly. “He has this need for confrontation, even when unnecessary.”

Han swung to them. “Find yourselves someplace to hide. I’ll be back for you.”

Cautiously and with the useless blaster raised, Han moved toward the intersection Reck and company had passed through. The man Reck had left behind remained oblivious to Han’s presence until he felt the business end of the blaster touch the side of his neck.

“Not a sound,” Han warned.

The man tensed and swallowed audibly.

Han’s right hand closed on the raider’s blaster. “I’m relieving you of your weapon, soldier.”

The man nodded. “It’s your party, pal.”

Han grinned. “You catch on fast.”

“What now?”

Han pressed the muzzle of the loaded blaster against the man’s back and took hold of his own weapon by the barrel, raising it over his head. “This might hurt a bit,” he said.

The man turned ever so slightly. “What might—”

Han brought the grip of the blaster down hard on the back of the raider’s neck, crumpling him to the deck. Then he set out in the direction Reck had taken. Approaching another intersection, he could hear voices ahead. Pressed to the wall, he lowered himself somewhat, and peered around the corner. Reck and the possible Yuuzhan Vong were only ten meters away. With no plan in mind, other than to finish things with Reck, Han started around the corner. At the same time, however, he heard something behind him and swung to the sound. A thickset human in spacer garb had a Tenloss disruptor rifle trained on him.

Han dived to the right, getting off one shot as he did. The raider fired back but also missed. Han caught a glimpse of Reck turning toward him as he disappeared into another corridor and straight into the blaster sights of two more Peace Brigaders. He jinked to the left, firing blindly, then launched himself feetfirst at the larger of the pair. The raider grunted in pain and tumbled backward, losing his weapon. But Han hit the floor harder than he had planned to and lost most of his wind. By the time he had scrambled to a crouch, the smaller raider was all over him, along with the one with the Tenloss.

Han swung wildly, struggling for all it was worth, but it didn’t take long for them to pin him, flat on his face with the right foot of the largest raider planted on the back of his neck.

With a skewed view of the corridor, Han watched Reck and the rangy miscreant hurry onto the scene.

“All right, hero,” the big raider said, “get up.”

The pressure on his neck eased, and Han expelled his breath. He tasted blood in his mouth and was suddenly aware of a throbbing pain in his right hand. As he was pushing himself to his feet another raider showed up, escorting Droma, Elan, and Vergere at blasterpoint.

“I found these three running scared,” he reported to Reck.

“We were just searching for a ’fresher,” Han heard Droma say in a good-natured way. “They’re never around when you need them.”

Reck advanced a couple of steps and swept his eyes over everyone. Much to Han’s surprise, Reck didn’t appear to recognize him, but perhaps only because he was too busy scrutinizing Droma.

“You’re a … Ryn?” Reck ventured.

Droma bowed slightly. “The impossible-to-find item on every scavenger hunt list.”

Reck ignored the remark, squinted at Vergere, and shook his head. “I haven’t a clue.”

Vergere adopted a bashful expression. “I get that a lot.”

Reck moved down the line and gazed curiously at Elan. Shortly, a knowing smile began to pull at the corners of his mouth. He turned and waved a signal to his rail-thin confederate.

From a sturdy carry case the lanky man set at his feet, he extracted—by the scruff of its bristly neck—a nasty-tempered, sharp-toothed creature that looked like the offspring of a ng’ok and a quillarat. Han heard Elan’s sharp intake of breath and saw her eyes widen as the creature’s handler let the thing get a whiff of her. All at once a layer of skin seemed to peel back from Elan’s nose, cheeks, and neck and withdraw into the collar of the blouse Droma had found for her. Bulging as it rushed down her body, the layer of skin flowed out the hem of her skirt and down her bare legs to mass on the floor and slither off for safety, revealing Elan in all her tattooed splendor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Han saw Droma’s jaw drop in unabashed wonder.

“Got’cha,” Reck said, beaming.

Two men stepped in to take charge of Elan. At the same time, the creature who had sniffed out the ooglith masquer leapt snarling from its handler’s arms and went after the living sheath with a vengeance, snatching it with its razor-sharp teeth and shaking it around as if it were a slab of meat. The Yuuzhan Vong followed, grabbed hold of the creature, and shoved it and the shredded flesh-garment back into the carry case.

Reck couldn’t have been more pleased.

“That’s the thing about ooglith masquers,” he said to newly decorticated Elan, “they’re as easy to intimidate as …”

Reck’s words trailed off as his gaze settled on Han. Then he, too, went a bit wide-eyed, in a manner that mixed pleasant surprise with sudden disquiet.

“Han?” he said. “Han, it is you, right? Grayer, heavier, but, son of a gun, same off-kilter mouth and lady-killer looks.”

“Hello, Reck.”

Reck grinned broadly and gestured to Han’s chin. “I don’t remember that scar.”

“I could have had it fixed, Reck, but it reminds me that my past was real.”

Reck looked confused for a moment, then laughed as if he meant it. “Han Solo.” Shaking his head back and forth, he swung to his comrades. “Can you believe this? Han Solo.” By the time he came full circle, however, the smile had been replaced by a look of vexation. “Figures they’d put you in charge of these two.”

“That isn’t exactly the way it happened, Reck.”

“I’m sure.” He gestured to the Yuuzhan Vong’s carry case. “What do you think of the unmasker?”

“I’ll say this much, you don’t make many mistakes.”

Reck snorted. “Hey, they don’t let me.”

“Have you taken a look outside, Reck? How far do you think you’re going to get?”

“I only need to get as far as that Yuuzhan Vong ship.”

“If I were you, I’d start rethinking my loyalties.”

“Loyalties?” Reck said in exaggerated dismay. “What’s loyalty worth on the open market?” He laughed again, mordantly this time. “Guys like you break me up, Han. Profiteers without the guts to change sides suddenly calling themselves patriots. I know who’s coming out on top in this one, and I’ll do whatever I have to, to live happily ever after.”

“You’re talking treason, Reck.”

“I speak it fluently, friend.”

Han fought down an urge to throw his stiffened fingers into Reck’s windpipe. “Remember Chewbacca?”

“The Wookiee? Sure I do. Best of the best.”

Han swallowed. “Your new employers killed him. Pulled a moon down on him.”

Reck’s eyebrows arched. “The Wook was at Sernpidal?” He puffed out his breath and shook his head back and forth. “I’m sorry to hear that, Han—honest. But I had nothing to do with that op.”

“What about the op on Atzerri, Reck? That’s where Roa’s wife, Lwyll, died because of what the Peace Brigade set in motion.”

“Roa’s wife?” Reck blinked, then began to shake his head in protest. “That op wasn’t supposed to end like it did.”

Han’s eyes bored into him. “Does that make it easier to swallow?”

Reck frowned. “A man has to work.”

Han lunged for him, barely managing to wrap his hands around Reck’s neck before someone knocked him to the deck.

“I don’t mind a turncoat, Reck,” Han said, gazing up as he got to his feet, “but I draw the line at second-rate ones. You’re going to give mercenaries a bad name.”

Reck’s rejoinder was a sneer. He pulled out his personal comlink and thumbed it on. “We’ve got them,” he said into the pickup. “We’ll be heading back to the ship momentarily.”

“Won’t do you much good,” a brittle voice replied from the unit. “We can’t detach from the airlock. All systems, even sublight and repulsors, are down. No response at all from the dovin basal. It’s like the thing’s gone into stasis.”

Reck swung to the unmasker’s handler, who looked mystified.

“Have you attempted to contact the Yuuzhan Vong ship?” Reck said into the comlink.

“No response.”

Reck cursed. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll take her to them in my shuttle.”

The man at the other end of the link laughed. “It’s doomsday out here, Reck. You’ll be lucky to clear the launch bay without getting yourself wasted.”

“Are the weapons operating?”

“Affirmative.”

“Then you just clear a path for me. The New Republic’s not going to interfere while we’re holding several thousand hostages. Once I make the Yuuzhan Vong ship, I’ll see to it that the rest of you are brought over.”

Reck switched off the comlink. He had his mouth open to say something to Han when another Peace Brigade contingent arrived on the scene, making haste for the docking bay. Supported by two of them was a wounded Rodian who had to be Capo.

“You people are supposed to be on the bridge,” Reck bellowed.

“This is your operation, Reck,” the largest among them answered. “You want to stay and feed refugees to the vacuum, that’s your business. But we’re out of here.”

The man who had discovered Han and Droma started to raise his disruptor rifle, but Reck restrained him.

“Knock it off. Fighting among ourselves isn’t going to do any good. We’ll pack the shuttles and convoy for the Yuuzhan Vong ship.”

Han smirked. “Proverbial droch in the ointment, huh, Reck?”

Reck gestured two of the men to take charge of Vergere, then he turned to Han. “You know, I’m less worried about interference from those starfighters than I am about interference from you.”

He drew his blaster and ordered Han to move to the nearest drop shaft. Droma followed silently. At the blaster’s insistence, Han backed himself to the edge of the tube, then he held his hand over it.

“Not much of a breeze,” he thought to point out.

Reck grinned. “You always were a funny guy, Han.”

Han shrugged. “You know what they say about a punch line being the best revenge.”

Reck considered it. “If we’d met somewhere else, we could be sharing ice-cold Gizers right now. But I can’t have you trying to follow us or talking to your New Republic friends. You’ve got way too much good fortune on your side. You always did.”

“Seem’s my luck’s run out,” Han and Droma said at the same time.

Reck looked from one to the other, then laughed shortly. “You two make quite a pair. Too bad I’ve got to split you up.” He lifted the blaster’s barrel. “Down you go, Han. Next stop, the cargo hold.”

Han gulped. “Come on, Reck, you don’t need to do this. For old times’ sake.”

“Oh, but I do, old friend.” Again, he motioned with the blaster. “Be a good sport. Don’t make me shoot you.”

Han tightened the straps of his travel pack, thinking that it might somehow cushion his fall. Then he squared his shoulders and blew out his breath. Narrowing his eyes at Reck, he took a backward step into the abyss.

Droma let out an anguished shriek and went rigid with shock.