Nom Anor risked a patronizing sniff. "As you say, Supreme Commander."

 

Choka glowered. "Now I learn from Commander Malik Carr that you were instrumental in gaining the allegiance of the creatures that occupy this space-these Hutts."

 

Nom Anor's genuine eye narrowed. "The Hutts are critical to a plan devised by Commander Malik Carr and myself to force a significant defeat on the New Republic. In fact"-he tilted his head to one side-"you arrive at an auspicious moment, because part of that plan is shortly to be put into effect. If you would care to accompany us into battle, you could observe firsthand our strategy for conquering the Core Worlds in advance of the arrival of Warmaster Tsavong Lah."

 

Choka took a moment to weigh the consequences of such an action, then grunted an affirmative. "I will go. But let me caution you, Executor, about the perils of ambition. It's obvious that you are hungry for escalation, but there are no shortcuts to the rank of consul, to say nothing of prefect." He gestured over his shoulder. "Look to Yun-Shuno for counsel, Executor. Escalation is awarded only to those who have discharged their obligations in service to the gods. You appear to act in your own behalf, as if possessed of a personal stake in the results." He leaned slightly forward. "Or is it this galaxy, Executor, and the heathen beliefs of those who populate it that have corrupted you?"

 

Nom Anor held his gaze, wishing he had filled his empty eye socket with a venom-spitting plaeryin bol. "I care only for what this galaxy is capable of providing the Yuuzhan Vong." He cast a glance at Malik Carr. "With all due respect, Commander, our target awaits." Malik Carr nodded to Choka. "He speaks the truth." The supreme commander folded his arms. "Let us enact the sacrifices and see what Commander Malik Carr and Executor Nom Anor have masterminded." He pointed to the knot of prisoners. "Bring the captives forward. In sacrificing them, perhaps we can help ensure Executor Nom Anor a much-needed victory."

 

 

SIXTEEN

 

 

On a purely objective level, battles in space had a savage beauty, an incendiary splendor. Any veteran warship commander or fighter jock ordered to speak the truth would have said so. The more candid among them might even have confessed to moments of exhilaration or, at the very least, moments of hypnotic fascination, when ranging laser bursts or the stroboscopic dazzle of short-lived explosions were enough to carry a pilot completely out of him- or herself. Add distance to the view and the enchantment increased a hundredfold, for along with fiery and coherent light there was the black velvet tableau of stars, planets, moons. . . and ships-thrusters flaring, burnished by starlight, reduced to fleeting comets, twirling and pirouetting in a slow, pyrotechnic ballet of death.

 

The Battle of Tynna was no exception.

 

Being seven hundred thousand kilometers removed from the cloud-wreathed, cool-blue and dark-green gem was like having an upper-tier balcony seat at the Corus-cant Opera, but the lofty vantage compensated for the lack of details. And as at the opera, technological assists were available for any who wished to bring the action into extreme close-up.

 

Major Showolter might have expressed as much to fellow intelligence officer Belindi Kalenda, but he feared being misunderstood. Consequently, he kept his thoughts to himself as the two women at the helm of the KDY LightStealth-18 reconnaissance leaned to either side to afford him and Kalenda an unobstructed view of Tynna's ruination.

 

A carbon-black six-passenger craft with a needlelike body and disproportionate, downsloping stabilizers, the LightStealth recon was the closest anyone had come to producing a starship capable of hiding itself even while it scanned. Unlike the wide assortment of vessels designed by Raith Sienar, Imperial Section 19, or Warthan's Wizards during the days of the Empire, the LSR wasn't cloaked, but was instead built for silent running and remarkable speed. Bristling with low-profile rectennae and packed with signal-augmented sensor jammers, blind-band hypercomm transmitters, crystal gravfield trap scanners, and a power core more suitable to a ship of the line, the LSR could all but see around the universe to its own aft and could outrun nearly anything that got wind of it.

 

The craft's pilots, on temporary duty from the Intelligence division's own Black Force Squadron, had assured Showolter that the LSR could be moved to within visual range of the Yuuzhan Vong flotilla and still evade detection. But Showolter had no desire to be any closer to the rout than necessary. They were only there as observers, in any case.

 

"It's horrible," Kalenda said abjectly, turning away from the narrow viewports. "I can't stand just sitting here, doing nothing."

 

"Showing ourselves will allow the Yuuzhan Vong to know we've found a flaw in their strategy," Showolter pointed out. Even so, the realization that they really could do nothing brought an end to his ruminations about the beauty of battle and pulled down the corners of his mouth. "But I agree it's horrible."

 

Kalenda was slight, dark-skinned, and a touch glassy-eyed, where Showolter was thickset, pale, and a bit more conspicuous than Intelligence liked its officers to be. Recently they had worked closely together in overseeing the Yuuzhan Vong defector case, which had not only turned into a political debacle of major proportions, but had also landed both of them in bacta tanks.

 

In private moments Showolter still chided himself for having been so easily manipulated by Elan-the Yuuzhan Vong priestess and faux defector who had very nearly done in Han Solo, as well. Showolter had never trusted her, and yet despite his suspicions he had relaxed his guard and ultimately failed to deliver her to Corus-cant. He often wondered what might have happened had he succeeded. Would he have been a victim of her poison breath, as Solo had come close to being? Would she have accomplished her goal of assassinating Luke Skywalker and other Jedi Knights? He wondered, too, about the fate of the strange being that had accompanied Elan, the one called Vergere, who had fled in one of the Millennium Falcon's escape pods, perhaps back into enemy hands, perhaps not.

 

Kalenda had also borne the brunt of the fallout from the affair, as it was thought that she had unwittingly divulged vital details to an informer who sat-even now- in the senate or on the Security and Intelligence Council.

 

Showolter's and Kalenda's tarnished reputations were clearly what had prompted Talon Karrde to seek them out. Karrde, and the Jedi apparently, had uncovered evidence linking the spice trade to New Republic worlds in imminent danger of attack by the Yuuzhan Vong. The nature of that link was so tenuous, however, that few

 

would have paid it any heed-save for two defamed officers intent on clearing their names at any cost.

 

Knowing that high-ranking members of the military would be disinclined to hear them out, Showolter and Kalenda had shared Karrde's data only with select members of the intelligence community. One such member had kept them apprised of Yuuzhan Vong fleet movements in Hutt space, and another of HoloNet S-thread disturbances in the hyperspace routes linking Hutt space to the Tynnani system. The jump of several warships from Hutt space had been enough to prompt Showolter and Kalenda to take a gamble on the flotilla's destination. Already en route to Tynna when confirmation of the HoloNet disruptions had been received, they had arrived almost simultaneously with the Yuuzhan Vong ships.

 

Arms wrapped tightly around herself, Kalenda was staring as if mesmerized by the distant flashes of light. "What were we thinking, Showolter? We should have at least tried to bring the Defense Force into this."

 

"We've been through that," he reflected sourly. "They wouldn't have listened. And even if they had, they would have dismissed the evidence as unsubstantiated or at best coincidental-especially considering the source." He glanced over his shoulder at the LSR's fifth and only civilian passenger. "No offense, Karrde."

 

"None taken," Karrde assured from one of the seats. He glanced at Kalenda, then added, "Remind her, Major, of the most important reason for not going to the military."

 

Showolter snorted ruefully. "On the off chance Admiral Sow actually listened to us and dispatched a battle group to Tynna."

 

Kalenda pondered the fact dully. "If the Yuuzhan Vong had found New Republic ships waiting for them, they'd know we're on to them." She gazed out the viewport. "Tynna has to fall to save Corellia and Bothawui."

 

Showolter shrugged meaningfully. "And maybe dozens more have to fall."

 

Kalenda sighed with purpose. "I've been to Tynna. It's one of the most beautiful worlds in the Expansion Region. And the Tynnans are probably one of the most well-informed and well-intentioned species anywhere." She turned to Karrde. "I just can't accept that there wasn't some other way of corroborating the intelligence you brought us."

 

"If nothing else, itil be over quickly," one of the pilots remarked. "Tynna's space defense didn't number more than two hundred fighters to begin with, and by our count they're already down to less than thirty."

 

Kalenda squinted, as if to hold the battle at bay. "Why don't they surrender? It's suicide." She compressed her lips in bitterness. "If only they understood what they're dying for..."

 

"Telling them wouldn't have changed anything," Karrde said, joining her at the viewport. "If your choice was to fight with your last breath or allow yourself to be captured and sacrificed, what would you do?"

 

While Kalenda brooded, Showolter studied the LSR's authenticator screen. "Do the scanners recognize any of the Yuuzhan Vong ships?"

 

The pilot called up data. "Vessel types, more than anything else. But we have verification on three of them. Two were at Obroa-skai. One-the heavy cruiser analog- was at Gyndine."

 

"Enemy fighters and drop ships penetrating the envelope," the copilot announced. "Bearing on a course for Tanallay Surge complex."

 

"Can we access the satellite feed?" Showolter asked.

 

The copilot threw several switches. "Onscreen. What we're seeing is going live to every city on Tynna."

 

The screen showed the sprawling, multilevel structure that was Surge complex, with its surrounding pools, fountains, and chutes. On the broad steps that fronted the complex and disappeared under water stood several hundred dark and glossy-pelted bipeds, all with pointed ears and tapering tails erect, and whiskered, quivering snouts lifted to the sky.

 

Abruptly the screen shifted to a reverse point-of-view shot of Yuuzhan Vong vessels dropping through the atmosphere like slow-motion meteors. Cams tracked the descent of those closest to the Surge complex and held on them as they landed on the far side of bridges that spanned the picturesque lagoon above which the Tynnans had assembled.

 

"No indication of weapons among the Tynnan contingent," Showolter said when the screen had returned to a midrange shot of the web-fingered, bucktoothed aliens. "Must be a welcoming party."

 

"Has to be," Kalenda mused. "Cunning and quick-wittedness have always been the Tynnans' best weapons, but it'll take time before they deploy those."

 

"Meanwhile," Showolter said, "it looks like they're ready to hand over the codes to the city."

 

Karrde smoothed his mustache. "I still can't figure what the Yuuzhan Vong want with Tynna. Sure, it's rich in natural resources, but nothing that can't be found in Hutt space."

 

"Tynna's a step closer to the Core," the pilot suggested.

 

Showolter shook his head. "Karrde's right. Has to be something peculiar to Tynna."

 

The point of view shifted again, this time to Yuuzhan Vong warriors and officers filing from one of the larger drop ships. The cam closed on two officers perched atop levitation seats. The seemingly higher ranked of the pair was black-haired and relatively short for a Yuuzhan Vong. The other was rail thin and elaborately tattooed.

 

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the look of these butchers," Kalenda said.

 

Karrde snorted and made a toasting gesture. "Here's to hoping you never have to."

 

Showolter's eyes were glued to the display screen. He touched the copilot's shoulder. "I want all of this recorded and backed up in triplicate."

 

"Already on it," she told him.

 

Whoever was operating the cam obviously thought that the Yuuzhan Vong were going to continue across the bridges to the gathered Tynnans, because the cam momentarily raced ahead of its subjects when the enemy suddenly stopped short of the lagoon.

 

"They want the Tynnans to come to them," Showolter surmised.

 

"I don't know about that," Karrde said skeptically. "They're up to something else."

 

As he was saying it, the cam closed on the black-haired officer and watched as he motioned back to the drop ships. Then it quickly panned across the landscape, focusing on one of the ships in time to see compartments open in its pitted base and a swarm of minuscule red spheres spill onto the ground and rush for the lagoon as if self-propelled.

 

"What the...,"the pilot said.

 

Instinctively and with patent apprehension, Kalenda reached for the nearest arm, found Karrde's right, and vised on to it.

 

The leading edge of the spill had reached the shore of the lagoon, and the first of the red spherettes were already plunging into the cold blue waters. On the steps the Tynnans were crowding forward, snouts snuffling in agitated curiosity.

 

Showolter, Karrde, and Kalenda huddled around the monitor display.

 

Abruptly, the lagoon lost color.

 

Showolter's first thought was that something had happened to the satellite feed signal. But when he raised his head to glance out the LSR's viewport, he could see even at great remove from the planet, the sparkling blue of Tynna's northern waters was rapidly changing to a sickly pale yellow.

 

In the absence of Supreme Commander Choka and Malik Carr-and assured of victory at Tynna-the priests had performed the rituals necessary for removing from its creche aboard the Yamntka an enormous, dedicated villip Choka had brought with him from the outer rim of the galaxy. The rituals had involved the intonation of countless prayers, the use of much sacrificial blood, and ceaseless stroking of the bony ridge that was the helmet-shaped villip's most prominent feature.

 

By the time the commanders returned from their brief visit to Tynna, the villip had been relocated to ceremonial surroundings in a hold cleared of everyone but the most exalted of the priests. Below their far-larger companion sat the transmitting villips consciousness-joined to Nas Choka and Malik Carr, who genuflected reverently before the towering communicator, bare heads lowered, wrists crossed atop the elevated knee, and command cloaks falling around them like shrouds.

 

Nearby the priests sat cross-legged, chanting the invocations that would put the villip in sequential contact with scores of signal villips that had been positioned in space along the invasion path.

 

With loud sucking noises, a cavity resembling an eye socket puckered to life in the center of the villip's ridge; then along that line the villip everted, turning completely inside out and assuming the features of Warmaster Tsavong Lah.

 

As elect protector of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, and well on his way to a kind of apotheosis, Tsavong Lah, through an endless series of escalations, had come to resemble the incarnation of Yun-Yammka, the god of war. Tsavong Lah's head sloped back from his face, with dark hair both upswept and trailing like tassels from the blunt end. The blue sacks under eyes that were all pupil drooped like deep pockets to the corners of a voracious-looking mouth, and a deep notch bisected his skull from ear to ear. His full lips were ridged by myriad scars, and his ears protruded from his skull like little wings, with the lobes of each descending almost to his shoulders like elongated teardrops of molten wax. Below the neck, overlapping scales the color of rust grew like armor plates from breastbone and collarbones.

 

"Behold your leader," Tsavong Lah's villip told the commanders in a voice garbled by space and time.

 

"Warmaster," the two said as they lifted their eyes.

 

Each had learned of the warmaster's role in the poisoning of Ithor and the downfall of Shedao Domain Shai. To dishonor Tsavong Lah was to court an untimely death.

 

The eyes of the facsimile fixed on Nas Choka. "Inform me of recent events, Supreme Commander."

 

"We occupy the world called Tynna, Potent One, which fell to us with so meager a fight we might have deemed it unworthy were it not so well suited to our needs and our campaign."

 

The eyes moved to Malik Carr. "I would hear more of this."

 

"Tynna's clement waters will one day furnish dovin basals of the size needed to remove the shields that guard Coruscant and other worlds of the Core. It is our conviction that the indigenous species-furred bipeds of diminutive size-can be reeducated and trained, and will make for able and affable tenders of our creations."

 

"And as to Tynna's importance to the conquest?"

 

"Potent One, the world will also serve as a staging area for eventual incursions into the Corellian and Bothan sectors."

 

"Eventual, you say."

 

"Tynna is but the first stage of a strategy that will speed us to the Core. To guarantee this, we entered into an agreement with the Hutts, the terms of which require that we apprise them of planetary systems to avoid in their dispersal of a ludicrous product called spice. We did so in complete expectation that they would either alert the New Republic, or that New Republic analysts would discover that spice was moving freely in some sectors and not at all in others, and leap to the conclusion that the latter provided a glimpse of our battle plan. Tynna was one of the worlds we cautioned the Hutts to avoid, along with Corellia and Bothawui. Tynna was deliberately won as a means of fortifying the disinformation."

 

The villip was silent for a long moment. "The meager battle you waged suggests that the New Republic failed to behave as predicted. Otherwise, their fleet would have been lying in wait."

 

"Testimony to the New Republic's notion of cleverness, Warmaster," Nas Choka answered. "Through the whole of the battle and its aftermath we observed spies observing us from a stealthy craft I'm certain they believe went undetected. To have met us in force might have saved the day for Tynna, but the New Republic is well aware that we have targets of greater significance in mind, so they purposely gave Tynna away.

 

"With tribute to Commander Malik Carr," Choka continued, "I am now convinced that the same tactic will work for the planned assault. Many coralskipper pilots are readying themselves for the sacrifice the attack will require. And we will soon begin positioning autonomous dovin basals along the routes New Republic ships will use in jumping to the target once they learn the truth."

 

"Then these Hurts alerted the New Republic?"

 

"I deem it of little consequence either way, Potent One. As a bonus, the Hutts will make for bountiful sacrifices when we're finished with them."

 

The facsimile's eyes closed for a moment. "I am not fully swayed. Even if your assumption is correct-that the New Republic is now convinced that we mean to assail either Corellia or Bothawui-surely they have sufficient ships to safeguard both worlds."

 

"They do, Warmaster," Malik Carr said, "although Corellia remains relatively unprotected, while Bothawui enjoys the protection of a large flotilla."

 

"The New Republic cares so little for Corellia?"

 

Nas Choka smiled faintly. "They wish us to think so, Potent One."

 

"It has been our hope all along to maneuver them into fortifying only one of those worlds," Malik Carr explained, "and the gods have favored us by providing help from an unexpected quarter. A New Republic senator informed the Hutts that Corellia conceals a trap of some sort."

 

"A deceit."

 

"Your pardon, Warmaster, but we have some reason to trust this human being. She may well be the same person who thought she was helping us by apprising our agents that the priestess Elan had defected."

 

"Then you already know the identity of this betrayer."

 

"Her name is Viqi Shesh, Potent One."

 

"This bodes well," Tsavong Lah's villip allowed. "But delay any contact with her until your strategy is successfully executed. She may be of greater use to us once we are closer to the Core." The villip began to close. "I leave the rest to you."

 

"Your will be done, Potent One," the commanders said in unison.

 

 

SEVENTEEN

 

 

Commodore Brand tried not to be distracted by the traffic that gushed horizontally and vertically past the transparisteel wall of the Advisory Council chambers, or by the cityscape itself, ignited to flickering splendor as that part of Coruscant turned away from the sun. Seated with their backs to the window wall, Chief of State Borsk Fey'lya and the now eight members that made up his council had nothing to focus on but Brand, who stood rigidly at a podium opposite them, reading from a screenful of notes prepared in haste by his staffers after an intelligence briefing on the fall of Tynna.

 

"What is significant," Brand continued, "is that the assault was foreseen, and that alone affords provisional corroboration of the Intelligence division's belief that the Hutts have been supplying us with data. In those systems where the Hutts have curtailed spice operations, the enemy has set its sights on a world. Whether the Hutts were aware of what they were doing in asking for forewarning regarding their smuggling enterprise is presently unknown-though we are looking into the matter- but the fact remains that Tynna, a transshipment point as opposed to an actual market, has not seen a spice vessel since the Hutts forged their pact with the Yuuzhan

 

Vong."

 

Fey'lya interjected a transparent snort of ridicule into Brand's brief pause, then had the gall to offer a pretense of apology.

 

"I'm sorry, Commodore, but something seems to have become lodged in my throat. Please, carry on with your . . . report. I know that I speak for everyone in saying that I can scarcely wait to hear the rest."

 

Brand refused to be rattled by the sarcasm. "At the moment, the only other systems where spice operations have been suspended are Corellia and Bothawui. It has yet to be ascertained in which order the Yuuzhan Vong mean to strike. But we do expect an attack sooner rather than later. For that reason it is the opinion of Admiral Sow and the Defense Force that a decision is critical on the matter of the redisposition of New Republic warships."

 

Brand activated the holoprojector table adjacent to the podium. Depressing a tile on the console built into the lectern's sloping desk, he displayed a galactic map, faintly blue in the cone created by the projector's modulasers.

 

"The Yuuzhan Vong have established and fortified what amounts to a resupply corridor that stretches from the Outer Rim to Hutt space. Since the battle at Obroa-skai they have been receiving a steady influx of warships and materiel, clearly in anticipation of launching a major offensive-their first since Ithor. Against such a formidable fleet, and without weakening our security in the Core or at Bilbringi, where harassment continues despite holding actions by the Imperial Remnant, we can mobilize and deploy a task force of vessels borrowed from battle groups currently in service at Commenor, Kuat, Ralltiir, and a score of other worlds. Should the Hapes Consortium vote to support New Republic efforts, some of their ships would also be allocated to the task force, which would be led by the heavy cruiser Yald, under my command."

 

Brand paused again and planted his large hands on the podium. "Councilors, we have not discounted that the assembled intelligence could be a ploy to keep us from identifying a different target entirely, but at the same time we cannot afford to ignore the evidence."

 

"Evidence," Fey'lya grumbled. "Inferences, suggestions, remote possibilities, but certainly not evidence." His violet eyes mocked Brand openly. "What has the command staff decided, with regard to this redisposition of naval power?"

 

Brand motioned to the holograph. "As you know, we have been triaging in all sectors, allowing worlds like Gyndine and now Tynna to fall in order to safeguard others like Kuat, Bilbringi, and Commenor. Our actions-or shall I say inactions-have hardly endeared us to worlds that consider themselves to be in the path of invasion. Regardless, even if we can manage to amass a sizable task force, it will not be of sufficient size to provide adequate protection to both Bothawui and Corellia."

 

He straightened to his full height. "After analyzing all available data, it is the conclusion of the command staff that Corellia is the target. Therefore, Admiral Sow is recommending that all available ships and resources be moved to the Corellian sector as soon as possible."

 

Fey'lya's cream-colored fur bristled. "I thought as much," he said in a flat, menacing voice. "You would, as you say, 'triage' Bothawui for the sake of saving Corellia. But I won't have it." He shook his head angrily. "I'm sorry, Commodore, but I refuse to authorize such action at this time. Your 'evidence' is too scanty."

 

"No one said anything about abandoning Bothawui,"

 

Brand rejoined. "The flotilla already there will remain in place. We are only trying to protect Corellia."

 

"Protect the sacred Core, you mean." The Bothan stood to regard his eight peers. "I wish the council to consider closely the source of this spicy intelligence. Commodore Brand would have you believe that it was gathered by the Intelligence division or gleaned through hours of painstaking investigation and analysis. But, in fact, it was brought to the attention of two officers of questionable standing in the intelligence community by a person of even more dubious reputation, who claims to be serving as a kind of ombudsman for the Jedi Knights-Talon Karrde."

 

"I fail to see the pertinence of that," Cal Omas said. "Talon Karrde is well known to this council."

 

Fey'lya glared at him. "Well, of course you wouldn't see the pertinence, Councilor Omas, because you fail to grasp that the Jedi would sooner rid the galaxy of Bothans than do anything to protect them."

 

"The Jedi had nothing to do with our decision," Brand argued.

 

Fey'lya made a gesture of dismissal. "We all know that the Jedi have been holding back, downplaying their role until such time as they might truly show their hand. With Bothawui defeated, they will do just that."

 

"In what way have they been holding back?" Cal Omas interrupted. "They've done nothing less than lead this fight from the start, making a stand on Dantooine and Ithor while the senate insisted on thinking of the Yuuzhan Vong as a 'local problem.' "

 

Fey'lya wasn't unprepared to defend his accusations. "Consider what the Jedi are said to have accomplished when their little retreat on Yavin 4 was threatened by Imperial admirals Pellaeon and Daala, and how Luke Sky-walker all but single-handedly turned the tide against the Yevetha with illusions. Then talk to me about their current contributions."

 

He wagged his clawed forefinger at Omas. "Never underestimate what they are capable of, Councilor. Sky-walker's Jedi are not the Jedi Knights of old, but a surreptitious, ambitious new breed. With Bothawui occupied, they would be ready to make their move and take control of the senate."

 

Chelch Dravvad of Corellia took on the fight. "The chief of state should learn to keep his private fears to himself. It is against the Jedi Code to spearhead an offensive, on the battlefield or in any other arena. In this the new Jedi are no different from the old. Skywalker and the rest are attempting to do what the Jedi have always done uphold peace and justice without turning themselves into full-fledged warriors. If there is a growing misunderstanding of them, it owes to a lack of information. Perhaps by isolating themselves on Yavin 4 they are to blame for some of that. Perhaps their time would have been better spent demonstrating what they stand for. Even so, they have all our best interests at heart, and they certainly haven't singled out the Bothans as their enemy."

 

Fey'lya's voice became higher pitched. "You're wrong, Councilor. And I say again that, based on Commodore Brand's data, I will not grant the command staff's request that Corellia be reinforced."

 

"Then I demand that the issue be put to a vote," Omas said.

 

Fey'lya held up his hand to silence debate and looked pointedly at Brand. "What do your actual field agents tell you, Commodore? What do your analysts say? What are you hearing from the costly hyperspace probes you've sent out? Instead of relying on conjecture, we should be looking to hard data. We'd do just as well to seek the counsel of a fortune-teller as accept as truth what you've told us this afternoon."

 

"Our findings are based on neither prophesy nor conjecture," Brand said firmly. "The data supporting our decision are of a highly sensitive nature, but they are available for your p erusal whenever you wish."

 

Fey'lya sneered. "Oh, I'm certain you've concocted an airtight case, Commodore." He scanned the eight councilors. "For the record, then, who will begin the vote?"

 

"I stand with the chief of state," Fyor Rodan of Com-menor declared. "I don't trust Karrde or the Jedi. With enough popular support Skywalker knows the senate will be constrained to yield to his demands. Then it will only be a matter of time before the Jedi are overseeing all decisions. I warn you, allow Bothawui to fall and we'll soon be headed for malevolent times-an empire disguised as a theocracy." He stopped to take a breath. "Commenor will be threatened should Corellia fall, but I am compelled to vote against the Jedi, and for Bothawui."

 

"Thank you, Councilor," Fey'lya said.

 

"Why not take the battle to the Yuuzhan Vong before they completely outflank us?" Councilor Triebakk asked Brand through his droid translator.

 

Brand turned to the towering Wookiee. "That isn't possible without leaving the entire Core unprotected. If we could put the Imperial Remnant and the Hutts at their back, or have the Hapan Consortium open a new front in the Mid Rim, a counteroffensive could be considered. But now is not the time."

 

"I agree that we can't afford to leave Coruscant or any of the Core Worlds open to attack," Dravvad said, "but do you actually expect us to sit here and debate which world-Bothawui or Corellia-is more important to the New Republic?"

 

"Not more important, Councilor, more imperiled."

 

"Stop wasting time," Fey'lya snapped. "Your vote will go to Corellia and we all know it."

 

Dravvad nodded his head once. "Just as yours must go to Bothawui."

 

Fey'lya swung to Cal Omas. "Your vote."

 

"Corellia-but not for the reasons you imagine. It simply makes no sense for the Yuuzhan Vong to have struck at Gyndine and Tynna if Bothawui has been their goal all along. Furthermore, Corellia is essentially defenseless, where Bothawui is already sufficiently defended. How would we appear to our constituents if we allowed a helpless system to fall-a system we made helpless, no less? We might as well convince Corellia to surrender."

 

"Spoken like a true Alderaanian," Fey'lya muttered. "Also, Councilor, you falsely assume that surrender to the Yuuzhan Vong guarantees survival. But that is another matter." He turned to the Sullustan, Niuk Niuv.

 

"The Corellians have long wanted independence," Niuv began. "We nearly went to war with them in recent memory over that very issue-a war that only strained relations to the breaking point. The New Republic is under no constraint to defend Corellia. But the fact of the matter is that Corellia's lack of defenses will be its salvation. The Yuuzhan Vong will strike against Bothawui."

 

"Your sense of direction is astute, Councilor," Fey'lya remarked, "and I further applaud you for breaking ranks with Admiral Sow." He turned 180 degrees. "Councilor Triebakk. Do I even need ask?"

 

"I accept Commodore Brand's data, and defer to the expertise of the command staff," the Wookiee said through the translator. "The Yuuzhan Vong plan to use Corellia as a staging area to penetrate the Core-"

 

"There's no need to belabor the point," Fey'lya cut him off. He narrowed his eyes at Councilor Pwoe. "And you?"

 

The Quarren's mask tentacles quivered and his baggy eyes narrowed in anger. "Corellia. As Councilor Omas said, Bothawui is adequately defended by some of the very Bothan Assault Cruisers it convinced the New Republic to finance some time ago."

 

"And I can promise you that we will make use of all those cruisers, even if we have to withdraw them from the Core," Fey'lya barked.

 

"Hasn't it always been Bothawui's aim to claim those ships as their own and prove itself mightier than Mon Calamari, Sullust, and Coruscant?"

 

Fey'lya smirked. "So Pwoe-disconcerted by Mon Calamari's loss of the military prestige-votes not so much for Corellia as against Bothawui. Next!" He looked to Navik of Rodia.

 

Navik's short snout bobbed. "Rodia's proximity to Bothawui leaves me little choice." He nodded affirmatively to Fey'lya.

 

The chief of state nodded back and commenced a head count. "Pwoe, Omas, Triebakk, and Dravvad in favor of Corellia. Myself, Rodan, Niuv, and Navik in favor of Bothawui."

 

Everyone looked at the council's ninth and newest member.

 

"I'm afraid the decision falls to you," Fey'lya said.

 

Commodore Brand waited, expectantly.

 

"Even with the evidence of Tynna to support a possible threat to Corellia, an attack on the Core makes no sense strategically. If the Yuuzhan Vong were going to launch an offensive so far from their present stronghold in Hutt space, why would they waste valuable resources engaging a system we essentially stripped of defenses after the Centerpoint Station crisis rather than strike at a more appropriate target, like Kuat or Brentaal? No, I say all things point to an attack on Bothawui-from Hutt space and now from Tynna. I stand with Chief of State Fey'lya."

 

Fey'lya breathed a long sigh of relief. "I commend your flawless reasoning, Senator Shesh." He smiled ruefully at Commodore Brand. "The matter is resolved. Assemble your task force, Commodore, but steer it to Bothawui."

 

"We've beaten them at their own game," Commodore Brand announced as he hurried through the doors of the fleet office. "Senator Shesh kept her promise She threw the vote to Bothawui."

 

Hoots of success filled the room.

 

"Shesh also reports that her meeting with the Hutt consul general went well," Brand added. "We may yet get some help from the Hutts. Now we need to hear from Hapes."

 

"The Consortium vote is set for tomorrow," his adjutant supplied.

 

Brand couldn't restrain a smile. "It's all coming together. But now the real work begins." He strode to a holomap not unlike the one he had made use of only moments earlier in the Advisory Council chambers. "The Yuuzhan Vong have obviously been looking closely at both Corellia and Bothawui, assessing the value of each. By deploying the new task force in Bothan space, we leave Corellia wide open for attack." He turned to his adjutant. "What news from Centerpoint Station?"

 

"The Solo kids have arrived on Drall. Anakin Solo is the one who originally enabled the repulsor there, and the Centerpoint technicians have high confidence he'll be able to do the same with the station. At this point they're down to fine-tuning the thing anyway, making certain it

 

will perform as expected, in lieu of running actual tests, for fear of alarming Corellia, Drall, Selonia, and the rest. Although that hardly matters, since rumors of all sorts have been circulating. Riots have broken out in Coronet, Meccha, and L'pwacc Den Port, and there's widespread talk of ousting Governor-General Marcha."

 

Brand nodded glumly. "Well, if this works, Corellia will be seen as the galaxy's savior, and any hard feelings should disappear." He turned back to the slowly gyrating 3-D map. "Alert Core Command on a need-to-know basis that elements of the Third Fleet should be prepared to jump for Kuat on my order. Likewise, that elements of the Second Fleet should be prepared to jump for Ralltiir." He inserted his hand into the holo-projector's cone of light. "Furthermore, I want the hy-perspace routes linking Corellia to Kuat, Ralltiir, and Bothawui swept for the Yuuzhan Vong equivalent of mines or mass-shadow weapons."

 

Brand turned and glanced around the room. "With Centerpoint's interdiction field holding them fast and a full fleet at their back, the Yuuzhan Vong will regret the day they entered this galaxy."

 

Archon Thane's words could barely be heard for all the outcries of shame and disapproval. Regardless, he stood tall before his sixty-two peers, most of whom were female, proudly displaying the bruises he had earned in the honor duel with Isolder and convincingly unapolo-getic for having gambled away Vergill's vote on the outcome of that contest. Thane's audacity was not surprising, but where Leia had expected bitterness and sarcasm, his words in support of the New Republic sounded almost sincere.

 

Many in the vast hall were certain that Vergill's vote would provide Teneniel Djo with the majority she needed to mandate military action against the Yuuzhan Vong, but Leia no longer had a clear sense of her own objectives. While the Consortium's entry into the war might turn out to be pivotal, allegations of personal interest and conspiracy threatened to undermine not only the political process, but also the long-standing alliance between the Consortium and the New Republic.

 

To the exasperation of C-3PO, who insisted on trying to match her long strides and divine her sudden about-faces, Leia paced nervously behind the scenes in a small chamber that looked out on the speaker's rostrum. If nothing else, she told herself, the vote would at least conclude her visit to Hapes, which had become more trying as the days had worn on, both at Reef Fortress and the Fountain Palace. She felt hopelessly removed from the activities that had become most important to her. Hapes had begun to seem a place of exile, and an imaginary one at that-a land of dragons and rainbow gems, of trees of wisdom and Guns of Command-and the brawl between Isolder and Thane had been one thing too much.

 

She had yet to spend any private time with the prince, and if she had her way, she wouldn't. From the start she had feared that Isolder had misconstrued the nature of her mission to Hapes, and Ta'a Chume's telling her that she would have been an ideal wife for him had only made things more awkward and complicated. The fate of the galaxy no longer turned on courtly intrigues, and Leia wanted no part of the Hapans' enslavement to them.

 

Marooned in the past, in a swirl of distant memories, she longed more than anything to hear from Han. She knew that Jaina was with Rogue Squadron, and that Anakin and Jacen were bound for the Corellian system- if they weren't there already-but she had no idea where Han was. Countless times each day, he would come swaggering into her thoughts, quick to bring disarray. Although it wasn't the Han of the past several months she saw, but the scoundrel she had gradually fallen in love with. The Han who had thrown her a wink on being decorated for his unexpected actions during the Battle of Yavin; the Han who had acknowledged her first confession of love with a reply that managed to be both heartfelt and smug; the Han she had rendered speechless with the disclosure that Luke was her brother.

 

Despite the damage to his roguish reputation a demonstration of real concern might inflict, there was no excusing his continued silence, and Leia was as angry at him as she was worried.

 

A new uproar filled the hall.

 

Leia saw that it was Isolder who now stood before the delegates. Like Thane, the prince was all but basking in the contentious mix of esteem and condemnation that greeted him, his face puffy with contusions, and one arm bandaged.

 

No bacta treatments for the real men of Hapes, Leia thought.

 

"Everyone who has wished to be heard on the issue of the Consortium pledging support to the New Republic has been heard," Isolder began when the commotion in the hall had settled. "It's clear that we have no consensus on this issue, and the vote is certain to be close. The decision to go to war is never an easy one, and our decision this day is made all the more difficult because we appear to be safely distanced from that war. But bear in mind the counsel of Ambassador Organa Solo This quiet will not endure. The light that shines on the Consortium today could very well be eclipsed tomorrow, and any battles avoided will ultimately have to be fought, perhaps by us alone. I won't stand here and reiterate the many arguments that have been presented, denigrating one stance or bolstering another. I ask only that each of you eschew politics and vote the will of the people you represent. That is our commitment, and by doing so we vote our conscience."

 

The process was infuriatingly meticulous. With Tene-niel Djo and her attendants looking on from a balcony, voting was done by hand rather than electronically, with representatives bringing forth their finest heirloom quills and employing their most baroque calligraphy. The votes-sometimes missives-were read and tallied by a panel of senescent judges; then the results were hand-delivered to the royal balcony in the form of a natural-fiber scroll resting on an outsize shimmersilk pillow.

 

The queen mother herself made the announcement.

 

"By a vote of thirty-two in favor to thirty-one opposed, the Consortium avows to support the New Republic in its just and decisive actions against the Yuuzhan Vong."

 

Isolder's champions cheered and his detractors railed. It was a long while before Teneniel Djo could restore order.

 

"The vote is concluded," she said at last. "I ask now that personal differences be set aside and the word of law accepted, so that we may enter into this momentous resolution in a spirit of union."

 

The grumbling gradually subsided, and delegates shook hands or embraced one another ceremoniously. The sudden fellowship struck Leia as counterfeit as an arranged marriage.

 

"Mistress," C-3PO said with a touch of alarm, "the prince approaches."

 

Turning, Leia saw a beaming Isolder marching toward her, throwing his richly embroidered cloak over one shoulder. For a moment she feared that he was actually going to scoop her up and twirl her around, but he came to a halt just out of arm's reach.

 

"We won the day, Leia. In spite of everything, we won the day." He scanned the crowded hall until he located Archon Thane, then motioned at him with his chin. "Look how Thane sulks. If he'd had his way, the vote would have been reversed." He swung to Leia. "You realize it was his plan all along to insult you, then best me in combat after I had agreed to his wager. But we prevailed."

 

Leia stared at him with mounting disquiet. "The last

 

thing I wanted was for this decision to hinge on the outcome of a grudge match, Isolder."

 

His gleaming, hero's smile held. "Perhaps not, but that is often the way on Hapes-and besides, you know that I wouldn't have done any less for you."

 

"But I don't want you doing this for me-any more than I wanted you fighting to protect my honor."

 

Isolder regarded her quizzically. "Who was I fighting for if not you? Why did you come to me?"

 

"I came to Hapes, Isolder-as an envoy of the New Republic. That's the truth of it."

 

"Of course you did. And you were right to come here." He eased the moment with an understanding smile. "All that aside, you have your wish. We stand side by side in battle."

 

Leia's attempt to emulate his expression failed, as something that had been at the edge of her consciousness all week long suddenly rushed to mind.

 

Scarcely eight years earlier, with many of the warships of the New Republic fleet undergoing repairs and upgrades, Luke had been asked by the senate to appeal to the Bakurans for help in putting an end to a rebellion in the Corellian sector. More to the point, Luke had been asked to appeal to his close friend Gaeriel Captison, even though she had retired from public service after the death of her husband, former Imperial Pter Thanas. Gaeriel had pledged her support, and with the aid of several Bakuran naval vessels, the crisis had been resolved. But at a terrible cost. Gaeriel, Bakuran Admiral Ossilege, and thousands more had been killed. Luke still spoke of his guilt, especially after visits with Gaeriel's young daughter Malinza, whom he had pledged to keep safe.

 

In the wake of recollection, something even more terrible began to blossom in Leia's mind. Her heart pounded and her forehead beaded with sweat. Her sight blurred at

 

the edges, sounds grew faint, and she reached out for Isolder's arm to steady herself. She shut her eyes briefly, and into the darkness raced a ferocious vision of warships speared by brilliant light; of expanding explosions and the cries of dying thousands; of starfighters vaporized, blinding eruptions of fire, bodies floating still in the void, a world ablaze-

 

"Leia, what is it?" Isolder asked, holding her upright. "Leia?"

 

Coming back to herself almost as quickly as she had become lost, she took a calming breath and eased out of his hold. Then she gaped at him, wide-eyed. "You can't do this, Isolder. You mustn't join us."

 

His brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? The vote has been taken. The matter is already decided."

 

"Then call for a revote. Tell everyone you've rethought Hapes's position."

 

"Are you mad? Do you know what you're asking of me?"

 

"Isolder, you must listen to me-"

 

"The decision has been made."

 

Leia wanted desperately to carry on the fight, but all words fled her. She stared, then touched her fingers to her forehead. Isolder was gazing at her knowingly.

 

"You're worried that something will go wrong," he said, "and you don't want the responsibility of having decided our fate. But you needn't worry. We made our pledge free and clear. We know exactly what we're getting into. This is in our blood, Leia. You need never fear on our account."

 

"But-"

 

"Is there a chance the Yuuzhan Vong will overlook us?"

 

She considered it. "Probably not."

 

"Then what choice do we have? Do we fight the invaders alongside you and avail ourselves of greater numbers, or wait to be attacked and be forced to engage them in our own space with only what ships we have?"

 

She compressed her lips and nodded. "You're right." She managed a faint smile. "Isolder, I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

 

He waved away the apology. "Words are of no importance. What is, is that we always remain friends."

 

"Done."

 

He offered her his arm and they walked a few paces, much to the obvious dismay of C-3PO.

 

"I believe your droid is agitated," Isolder said quietly.

 

Leia laughed. "I'm sure he is. Threepio was very much Han's supporter when you were crazy enough to consider me fit to be a queen mother."

 

Isolder laughed shortly, then stopped to gaze at her. "Leia, as a friend, may I ask you something? You've been preoccupied for the whole of your stay here. Each time I've attempted to visit you, you've avoided me. Is something wrong-between us or otherwise?"

 

"I have been distracted," she conceded.

 

"May I know the reason?"

 

She forced a breath. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

 

"My mother once told me that when a Jedi is distracted, when she loses her focus, she becomes vulnerable."

 

"I'm not a Jedi."

 

"But you are as strong in the Force as any of them. What is it, Leia?"

 

Leia's eyes narrowed perceptibly. "We're in real danger, Isolder. We're in danger of losing everything we've fought to attain since the defeat of the Empire."

 

"Are you saying that the Yuuzhan Vong cannot be defeated?"

 

She took a moment. "I'm not sure. I see a long road ahead of us."

 

"How clearly do you see this road?"

 

She shook her head. "Not clearly enough to know where all the rough spots lie."

 

They resumed walking, without speaking. "Will you accompany me to Coruscant aboard my personal ship?" Isolder asked finally.

 

"What about Teneniel Djo?"

 

"She will remain on Hapes," Isolder said flatly.

 

Once more the vision stormed through Leia's mind, then abated. What light was she seeing? What world was she seeing?

 

"Of course I will," she said after a moment.

 

With the Falcon safely docked, Han and Droma cleared Ruan customs and hastened for the spaceport terminal. If not for the crowds, they might have sprinted.

 

"Hold on a heartbeat," Han said when Droma was about to navigate the crowd on hands and knees. Snatching the Ryn by the back of his vest, he set him on his feet, then decorously adjusted the fit of the frayed garment while he spoke. "Your clanmates wouldn't be so desperate to get offworld that they'd hook up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers and mercenaries. They're smarter than that, right?"

 

Droma tugged at his mustache. "They're plenty clever, but even the quickest can be outsmarted when the situation looks hopeles s. Both Gaph and Melisma detest confinement. Gaph was once in jail and-"

 

Han started shaking his head. "That's not the answer I want to hear."

 

Droma fell silent, then nodded in understanding. "My clanmates take up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers? They're far too clever. In fact, I'm certain they're still on Ruan-somewhere-and that we've arrived well in time to save them."

 

Han exhaled. "That's a relief."

 

They had been having the same conversation since leaving Tholatin. The Weequay security chief had been too sly to supply them with the names of his cohorts who had gone to Ruan, or with the name of their ship. But the Ruan scam had come up several times in casual conversation among Esau's Ridge's mechanics and ne'er-do-wells, and Han had a pretty good idea of the caliber of folks he and Droma were dealing with. Even if the hijackers who had come to Ruan weren't working directly for the Yuuzhan Vong, they were likely to be well armed and dangerous-much like the members of the Peace Brigade, with whom Han and Droma had tangled aboard the Queen of Empire, and with whom neither wished to tangle again.

 

Ruan spaceport had a pace all its own. With thousands of refugees pouring in from scores of occupied worlds, there were far more comings than goings, but Salliche Ag was somehow managing to keep the transfer process running smoothly and efficiently. Dozens of species-specific booths lined the terminal walls, and a fleet of surface vehicles waited outside the terminal to convey refugees to one camp or another. Locating refugees, though, was another matter. At a human-staffed information booth, Han and Droma discovered listings for over one hundred separate exile facilities, some only a few kilometers away and others on the far side of the world.

 

"Searching every camp'll take longer than we've got," Han fumed. "There's gotta be an easier way."

 

"Try the central data bank," a droid voice said behind him. "Whoever you're looking for might be listed there."

 

Han turned and found himself face-to-face with an aged droid built roughly along human lines, though stocky and no taller than Droma. In sore need of paint and body work, the machine was long-armed and barrel-chested, with a rounded head that was as primitive in design as the servomotors that operated its limbs.

 

"Bollux?" Han said in disbelief.

 

The droid's unblinking red photoreceptors fixed on him. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

 

"You're a labor droid, aren't you-a, a BLX?"

 

"A BLX?" the droid said peevishly. "Though we both happen to be products of Serv-O-Droid, Incorporated, I'm a BFL. Baffle, to you, good sir."

 

"Baffle?" Han's eyebrows arched in skeptical surprise, then his eyes narrowed appraisingly. "Who are you kidding? You're telling me you've never spent time in the Corporate Sector?"

 

"Thank the maker, no. Why, save for being activated at the Fondor shipyards, I've never even been outside the Core-to the best of my memory, that is."

 

Han refused to buy it. With Droma looking on, he circled Baffle, taking in the set of the droid's vocabulator grille and its stiff way of moving. "You were never the property of a tech named Doc Vandangante?"

 

Baffle shook his head. "The name is new to me."

 

Without warning, Han rapped his fist against the droid's chest plastron, eliciting a hollow sound. "You sure you never carried another droid in there? Cubical thing, no bigger than this"-Han spread his hands a few centimeters apart-"but smart as a whip."

 

"Another droid? Certainly not! What do you take me for?"

 

Han stroked his beard, shook his head, then snorted a laugh. "You coulda fooled me."

 

Baffle bowed slightly. "I'm flattered that I remind you of someone, sir-I think."

 

"Now what's this about a central database?"

 

The droid directed them to a computer terminal, at which several folks were queued. Han and Droma planted themselves at the end of the line, behind a Duros couple, and waited while everyone had a go at getting the machine to cooperate. Han handled the input when they finally reached the head of the line.

 

"Refugees are grouped by species," he said, frowning. "But the Ryn aren't even listed."

 

"Try 'other,' " Baffle suggested.

 

Droma smirked. "The droid's right. Allow me to do the honors."

 

Han moved away from the keyboard but kept his eyes on the display screen.

 

"Here we are," Droma said. "Just where we usually show up-between Rybet and Saadul. And my clan-mates are here!" He turned excitedly to Han. "Well, five of them at any rate."

 

"Your sister with them?"

 

Droma read over the list again, then shook his head. "Leia was correct, I'm afraid. Sapha must have been left behind on Gyndine."

 

Han made his lips a thin line. "We'll find her next. Where are the others?"

 

"Facility 17-along with thirty-two other Ryn."

 

"Oh, I know that camp well, sirs," Baffle said. "Several of my peers and counterparts have had occasion to work there."

 

Han swung to the droid. "What's the quickest way to get there?"

 

"In my cab."

 

"You're a driver?"

 

Baffle pointed out the terminal window to a battered SoroSuub landspeeder. "Just there, sir-the one lacking a proper windscreen and in need of paint."

 

Han glanced from the landspeeder to the dented and spot-welded droid. "Looks like you and your vehicle get your work done at the same mechanic's shop. Will that thing make it to Facility 17?"

 

"No problem at all, sir. The camp is actually within walking distance-for those with sufficient time, that is."

 

The three of them headed out to the cab. Baffle clambered into the open-air operator's perch and got the aft-mounted repulsorlift generator and outboard turbines running. When Han and Droma were cinched into the molded seats below the perch, the droid set off down a well-maintained road that coursed between immaculately cultivated fields. Through gaps in the topiary shrubs that lined the road, Han could see droids of endless variety-though far fewer than he was accustomed to seeing on similar agricultural worlds.

 

"Why aren't you out there with the others?" he shouted to Baffle.

 

"Oh, I'm too old for that sort of work, sir."

 

"Salliche sidelined you, huh?"

 

"Basically, yes. Ever since Salliche Ag offered to accept refugees, Ruan has become a rather chaotic environment, so I was reassigned to function as the driver of this reliable if somewhat woebegone vehicle."

 

"Seemed to be a lot more people coming than going," Han said.

 

"That's very observant of you, sir. In fact, many refugees have become so enamored of Ruan, they have remained onworld to work for Salliche Ag."

 

Han and Droma exchanged puzzled looks. "To work for Salliche?" Han said. "Doing what?"

 

"Why, field work, sir. Thanks to Ruan's climate-control station, labor is a pleasurable enterprise for many folks."

 

Han uttered a laugh. "That's crazy. Salliche has an army of droids at its disposal."

 

"They do, sir, it's true. But Salliche Ag has recently developed a preference for living workers."

 

Again, Han glanced at Droma, who shrugged. "I just got here, remember?" the Ryn said.

 

Han might have pursued the topic with Baffle, but just then the refugee camp came into view around a wide turn.

 

"Facility 17, good sirs."

 

The droid conveyed them right to the gate, where access to the camp was by way of a turretlike security booth. Han tapped his knuckles against the booth's transparisteel window to draw the attention of a thickset guard inside. The uniformed man stuck his scarred face outside the window, got an eyeful of Han and Droma, and scowled.

 

"Get a load of this," he said to someone else in the booth.

 

Shortly, a woman joined him at the window, giving Han and Droma the same once-over. "What's your business here?"

 

"We're looking for a couple of friends," Han told them.

 

"Aren't we all," the man said in self-amusement.

 

"A group of Ryn," Han went on. "They would have arrived maybe two standard weeks ago."

 

"A group of Ryn, you say." The guard jerked a thumb at Droma. "Like this one."

 

Han rolled his tongue around in his cheek. "That's right, like this one. If you've got a problem with him, maybe you should step outside so we can all discuss it."

 

The guard grinned down at him. "I don't have a problem, big guy, but your little pal here does."

 

Han heard the whirring of charging blasters and spun around to find half a dozen uniformed guards moving in on the booth from three sides. Cautiously he raised his hands to the back of his head, and Droma did the same.

 

"We didn't come looking for trouble," Han said. "It's like I told the welcome committee, we're just looking for a couple of friends."

 

The lead guard ignored him and waved his blaster at Droma. "Step to one side." When Droma did, the guard added, "You're under arrest."

 

Han did a double take. "Arrest? On what charge? We haven't even been here long enough to litter!"

 

With four blasters trained on Droma and two on Han, the lead guard snapped a pair of cylindrical stun cuffs around Droma's wrists.

 

"The charge is forgery of official documents," he said to Han. "And if you've any sense, you'll get off Ruan before we haul you in as an accessory after the fact."

 

 

NINETEEN

 

 

In imperious repose on her cushioned and pillowed pallet, Borga Besadii Diori fixed her gaze on Nas Choka, as Leenik escorted the black-haired Yuuzhan Vong supreme commander and his minions into the palace court. Though rarely known to exercise restraint, Borga refrained from elevating her couch, in the interest of getting off to a better start with Choka than she had with Commander Malik Carr on his first visit to Nal Hutta.

 

Trailing Choka, and similarly attired in attenuating helmet and swishing command cloak, stepped Malik Carr, and behind him the New Republic traitor, Pedric Cuf, sporting pegged trousers, low black boots, and stiff-collared jacket. Advisers and armed guards dispersed to both sides of Choka's retinue, assuming positions that encouraged confrontation with the members of Borga's own security contingent.

 

"I welcome you to Nal Hutta," Borga said in Yuuzhan Vong while Choka assessed the trappings of the court from the chair to which the Rodian Leenik had shown him. "We are at your disposal."

 

Choka smiled in surprise. "Excellent, Borga. I didn't realize that you were acquainted with our language."

 

"A few simple phrases," Borga said in Basic. "Courtesy of the tutorial supplied by Pedric Cuf."

 

Choka glanced at Nom Anor, then his closely set eyes came back to Borga. "I'm told that you have already been exceedingly accommodating."

 

Borga smiled pleasantly. "We are renowned for our hospitality-especially of the sort we render to revered guests."

 

Choka's tone of voice changed. "Guests." Deliberate or not, his faceful of bulges and indentations gave him the look of someone who had gone fifteen hard rounds with a Hapan kickboxer. "An interesting choice of words, Borga. Unless you mean to imply that the Yuuzhan Vong are nothing more than visitors to this galaxy."

 

"A visitor who takes well to new surroundings often becomes a resident," Borga replied, refusing to be flustered. "When you have established yourselves on Corus-cant, I would be honored to call you neighbor."

 

Choka grinned faintly. "You would do well to call me lord."

 

Borga's large eyes blinked. "Then when the title suits the circumstance, I will do so."

 

Choka nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'm not one to mince words, Borga. With respect to your gracious offer to oversee the transport of captives in exchange for information regarding imperiled star systems, I have determined that such services are unwarranted at this stage of our campaign. As a gesture of good faith, however, we will continue, from time to time and as we see fit, to furnish you with some advance notice of our activities." He paused momentarily. "For example, you may resume delivery of your euphoric spice to the Bothawui system, without fear of inadvertent entanglement."

 

Borga licked her lips. "We thank you-and I'm sure the Bothans will do likewise."

 

Choka studied her for a moment. "For the spice, you mean."

 

"Precisely. For the spice."

 

Choka's expression didn't change. "I trust, Borga, that you're not sharing this privileged information with any third parties."

 

Borga spread her smallish hands, palms outward. "With whom would I share? Our primary concern is to maintain trade-and, of course, to avoid complicating your business, whatever that may be."

 

"That's comforting to hear," Choka said. "Be advised that should evidence ever come to light that you have been violating our confidence . . . Well, I don't think I need to enumerate the horrors that would befall Hutt space, do I?"

 

Borga shook her head. "We are also renowned for our vivid imaginations."

 

"Splendid." Choka gestured toward Malik Carr. "My second in command informs me, as well, that you expressed a desire to commence apportioning the galaxy, in anticipation of our complete and utter conquest."

 

Borga swallowed audibly. "I may have been premature, Excellency."

 

Choka's invidious grin returned. "Nothing pleases me more than a well-reasoned response. We will lay siege to whichever worlds we require or crave, including this 'glorious jewel' of yours-not that we have any such designs-for the moment, that is-although one never knows-save for Warmaster Tsavong Lah, who could decide tomorrow that Nal Hutta needs to be razed. Do we understand each other?"

 

"As well as can be expected," Borga replied, "given the limitations of Basic-and, of course, the relative youth of our association-notwithstanding the depths it has already achieved-despite our many differences."

 

Choka smiled with sincerity. "Very good. We prize sportive circumlocution above almost anything but valor. Speaking of valor, Borga, have the Hutts had many dealings with this gang of ruffians that calls itself the Jedi Knights?"

 

Borga adopted a look of distaste. "Some, Excellency. In fact, before you deigned to grace this galaxy with your presence, the Jedi were making things rather irksome for us by interfering with our myriad operations."

 

"Yes," Choka mused, "they have proved troublesome for us, as well. We've had a few Jedi in our grip, but they have all managed to slip through our fingers." He regarded Borga for a long moment. "You would profit by assisting us in separating one from the pack."

 

Borga fell silent, wondering if she was being tested, but ultimately deciding that Choka's offer was genuine. "But, Excellency, you have one in your possession even now," she said cautiously.

 

It was Choka's turn to fall silent. He turned to glance at Malik Carr, then Nom Anor, both of whom returned nescient shrugs.

 

"Explain yourself, Borga."

 

"The vessel aboard which my son Randa is currently a guest," Borga supplied. "Randa sent word that a Jedi had been discovered among the ship's complement of captives."

 

Once more Choka looked to Malik Carr, who said, "I know nothing of this."

 

"To which ship does the Hutt refer?" Choka demanded of his advisers in Yuuzhan Vong.

 

"The Creche, Supreme Commander," a bare-headed Yuuzhan Vong answered. "The yammosk vessel under the command of Chine-kal."

 

Choka muttered angrily. "Can we communicate with the ship?"

 

"Provided that it is not in superluminal transit, Supreme Commander."

 

"Then have Chine-kal's villip prepared and brought to me at once!"

 

"Excellency, I could easily arrange to put you in contact with my son," Borga started to say, when Choka whirled on her.

 

"You dare insult me by suggesting that I consort with one of your ghoulish machines?"

 

"But I-"

 

"Keep silent, you mutated slug! You will speak only when spoken to, or I'll have that obscene tongue ripped from your head!"

 

Clearly waiting for just such an opportunity, Borga's guards raised their blasters and stun batons. In rapid response Choka's soldiers, crouching into combat stances, brought forth their amphistaffs and coufees. Everyone remained silent and unmoving, as if suddenly removed from the flow of ordinary time, waiting for fate to play its hand. Borga and Leenik exchanged meaningful glances, as did Nom Anor and Malik Carr. Then Borga motioned her forces to stand down.

 

Nas Choka squinted slyly. "So you do have a spark of intelligence, after all."

 

Whatever else he might have said was interrupted by the arrival of a Yuuzhan Vong attendant, cradling an already everted villip in his folded arms. A second attendant carried what was obviously one of Choka's own dedicated villips.

 

In the language of the Yuuzhan Vong, Choka addressed the facsimile visage of Chine-kal. "Commander, is it true that you have a Jedi Knight in custody?"

 

"Yes, Supreme Commander. Our rapidly maturing yammosk has the distinction of having exposed him. I thought I might keep him as a prize for Warmaster TsavongLah."

 

Choka glowered. "I will determine the best use for this Jedi. What is the present position of your vessel?"

 

"We are nearing a world called Kalarba, Supreme Commander. In fact, we have been awaiting word from you regarding the attack on-"

 

"Silence!" Choka's eyes became angry slits. "You will remain at Kalarba and relinquish the Jedi Knight to bearers I am dispatching to rendezvous with the Creche. Is that clear?"

 

"Abundantly clear," Chine-kal's villip replied deferentially.

 

Choka cast a glance at Borga. "For your part in this, you have my word that Nal Hutta will remain yours to command for as long as I live and breathe. Unless, of course, you are fool enough to betray me."

 

Borga forced a smile. "Then may perfect health shadow you wherever you tread, Excellency."

 

"I warned you," Pazda was telling Borga shortly after the Yuuzhan Vong had left the court. The gray-bearded Desilijic Hutt brought his hoversled closer to Borga's levitated pallet. "Any dealings with these heathens will come to a dreadful end."

 

From her pallet, Borga watched Crev Bombaasa, Gar-dulla the Younger, and former Consul General Golga nod in agreement. "I myself sensed as much, though I confess I thought we'd be able to remain neutral for a while longer."

 

Pazda loosed a scornful sound. "The Yuuzhan Vong do not suffer safe, middle ground. They will have things their way or not at all. Before long, there will be nothing counterfeit about the obeisance we show them."

 

From atop a modest repulsorlift couch, Golga looked from Pazda to Borga. "Short of going to war, what can be done?"

 

Borga interlocked her fingers in patent disquiet. "What was it Senator Viqi Shesh told you regarding New Republic battle contingencies?"

 

"She intimated that the senate and the military were convinced that the Yuuzhan Vong would strike next at either Corellia or Bothawui," Golga said. "However, the message I was to deliver to you was that the New Republic hopes to see Corellia attacked, where they evidently have a surprise in store. Senator Shesh also wanted it known that the information was a gift-to rectify an earlier wrong, as I recall. Obviously the New Republic was trusting that the Yuuzhan Vong would call her bluff."

 

"I relayed as much to Malik Carr," Borga said pensively, "and it now appears that Choka has taken the bait. But I begin to wonder who is using whom. If Choka is keen on using us to send a false message to the New Republic, he does so by deliberately putting our spice ships at risk at Bothawui. And if that is indeed the case, he is obviously prepared for the eventuality that we will declare war."

 

"You see," Pazda said, "there is no middle ground."

 

Borga turned to the ample Crev Bombaasa. "Triple our usual spice shipments to the Bothan worlds. Let's be certain we send a clear message to the New Republic that Corellia is the target."

 

Bombaasa nodded dubiously. "What about your promise to Choka about sharing information?"

 

"A promise is like a shipment of spice jettisoned in deep space," Gardulla the Younger sniped. "It weighs nothing."

 

"That may be so," Crev said, "but if our treachery is discovered, Nal Hutta itself will be imperiled-not to mention Randa."

 

"We risk something greater by partnering with the invaders," Pazda argued.

 

Everyone wai ted for Borga's response.

 

"Crev is correct," she said at last. "If we're to help thwart the Yuuzhan Vong, we must be circumspect. When drawing the Sarlacc from its hole, a wise Hutt uses another's hand." She turned to Leenik. "You have a better grasp of Yuuzhan Vong than I. What instructions did Choka give to the commander of the Creche?"

 

The Rodian bowed. "Choka said that he was dispatching a ship to rendezvous with the Creche at Kalarba."

 

Borga looked at Crev Bombaasa. "Contact your friend Talon Karrde. Perhaps the Jedi will be interested in learning the whereabouts of one of their missing Knights."

 

"I had to see for myself," Randa Besadii Diori said, using his mighty tail to move himself to the edge of the inhibition field two dovin basals had fashioned aboard the Creche. "Ah, but of course, there's no way to identify a Jedi by appearance alone. Consider Luke Skywalker, for example. Looking at him, who would guess he possesses the power he does?"

 

Under the vigilant gaze of several Yuuzhan Vong guards, Randa sidled closer still, until he was practically belly to nose with the battered human imprisoned within the force field.

 

"I saw Skywalker once, long ago, perhaps as far back as thirteen of your years, during that sorry business involving Durga and his so-called Darksaber Project. Not that I had anything to do with Durga. I just happened to be visiting the Mulako Corporation Quarry when Skywalker-traveling incognito-showed up in the company of a slender, short-haired human female who seemed to be his paramour. Whatever became of that one, hmmm?"

 

The prisoner expelled a laugh through his broken nose. "I hear Mara Jade arranged for her permanent disappearance."

 

Randa planted his hands on his belly and guffawed. "So are you in fact who Chine-kal says you are-or, should I say, his war coordinator says you are?"

 

Wurth Skidder's split upper lip curled. "What do you want, Randa? Or have you just come here to gloat?"

 

"Gloat? Surely not, Jedi. Rather I've come to offer my sympathies. Not only for what Chine-kal has planned for you, but for what the Yuuzhan Vong have planned for the New Republic."

 

"I suppose we should all follow your parent's lead and roll over, is that the idea?"

 

Randa feigned weariness. "We all serve someone, Jedi-even you. What's more, you misunderstand us. Though we command a significant volume of galactic space-as is only appropriate for beings of such size and longevity-we have never been empire builders. You insist on thinking of us as warlike, when in fact we share much with the reclusive Hapans."

 

"Correction, Randa. The Hapans aren't outlaws. They're not interested in smuggling spice or organizing criminal activities wherever they set foot-or tail."

 

Randa responded with elaborate chagrin. "Is this the voice of the moral minority I hear? Such vehemence makes me wonder if you aren't one of those Jedi allied with Kyp Durron, who seems to be on a personal crusade to make the space lanes safe for all law-abiding citizens-despite the fact that many of the smugglers and pirates he has set his sights on served the New Republic in their own way."

 

Skidder's eyes, nearly swollen shut, managed to narrow slightly. "How long do you think the Yuuzhan Vong are going to tolerate your illicit ventures?"

 

Randa grinned. "My sense of the Yuuzhan Vong is that they have more tolerance for 'outlaws,' as you say, than they do for followers of the Force." He laughed resonantly. "How does it feel to be seen as the chief impediment to progress, a purveyor of rampant evil? Soon, perhaps, you'll know what it's like to be hunted and preyed upon, as the Hutts have been in times past."

 

Skidder returned Randa's grin. "Maybe you'll get lucky and the Yuuzhan Vong will turn that matter over to Borga."

 

"Wouldn't that be the height of irony-that the Hutts should be entrusted with safeguarding the peace and ensuring that justice triumphs?" Randa laughed again. "So long as we can continue to supply spice, I don't suppose it would be too arduous a responsibility." "Your mother would be proud of you, Randa." "Your mother," Chine-kal interrupted as he stormed into the hold, "has succeeded in spoiling my surprise." Perplexed, Randa pivoted to the commander. "Actually, I have you to blame, Randa," Chine-kal said when he reached the inhibition field. "You told Borga that I had managed to flush out a Jedi, and in turn Borga told my immediate superiors, who now wish to deprive me of the honor of presenting this one"-he gestured to Skidder-"to my superior's superior."

 

Randa's eyes grew wide. "You mean that he is to be removed from the ship?" "Presently."

 

"But what of your plans to use him to tutor the yam-mosk in the ways of the Force?"

 

Chine-kal shrugged. "I will propose as much, and, who knows, this one may yet return to my care. In the meantime I'm certain that Supreme Commander Choka will find other uses for him." He took a step back to gauge Skidder. "It might be prudent to break you before we surrender you to him. Early in our campaign, the Praetorite Vong applied the breaking to one of you, but that one tried to escape and had to be killed before the process was brought to completion. Did you know him, Jedi?"

 

Skidder tested the vigor of the dovin basals by moving to the edge of the field. "He was my friend."

 

"Your friend?" Chine-kal said in surprise. "And now here you are. Perhaps you came to avenge him?" He paused, then smiled in revelation. "You did. You purposely allowed yourself to be captured on Gyndine, intent on seizing an opportunity to avenge him. But how could you have known that we had a yammosk aboard? And no wonder the yammosk took to you the way it did! Here I thought that my experiment was succeeding brilliantly, when you were effectively running your own experiment."

 

Skidder said nothing.

 

Chine-kal looked at Randa. "I was under the impression that vengeance was outside the operating parameters of the Jedi Knights. Or is this one of the dark side?"

 

Randa shook his head. "He is not of the dark side, Commander. He and his kind simply take a more liberal approach to defending the peace."

 

Chine-kal grew serious. "In that case, it is incumbent on me to purge him of some of his hatred before he is released. I won't have Supreme Commander Choka getting more than he bargained for."

 

Chine-kal turned and headed for the passageway. "Finish your business with him, Randa," he added without turning around. "It's unlikely you will see him again."

 

Randa watched the commander leave the hold, then

 

he pressed himself as close to the inhibition field as possible. "They're planning to betray me!" he whispered harshly. "To subject me to the yammosk as they did with you! Help me, Jedi. Save me from them, and I will do anything you ask of me!"

 

 

TWENTY

 

 

"They forged what?" Han asked.

 

Baffle's auditory sensors were capable of perceiving the merest whisper, but the question-pumped up by puzzlement-could be heard over the clamor in the spaceport terminal.

 

"Travel vouchers of some sort," Baffle said distractedly.

 

Hardwired into a columnar data bank, the droid returned to accessing information, while all around them-in a frenzy of clashing colors and commingled smells-scurried mixed-species groups of refugees, pilots, translators, and uniformed officials.

 

"From what I can ascertain," Baffle updated a moment later, "Droma's clanmates are accused of having forged documents of transit that permitted several hundred exiles-including all thirty-seven Ryn who were housed at Facility 17-to depart Ruan aboard a commercial freighter."

 

Han ran his hand down his face. Depart! He and Droma had arrived too late. The Ryn were gone, and now Droma was under arrest-just for being a Ryn.

 

" See if you can get the name of the ship."

 

Baffle made adjustments to the hardwired retrieval regulator. "The vessel is called the Trevee" he announced as if reading from a display screen, when in fact the data was going straight to his neural processor. "It has a Nar Shaddaa registry."

 

Han groaned, then tightened his lips in negation. Maybe it wasn't the Tholatin group. All sorts of relief groups were in the legitimate business of providing transport to stranded refugees, and the Trevee might belong to any one of them, despite its Hutt space registry. The Ryn had probably thrown in with a group of desperate exiles, and had resorted to forgery only to secure onward passage.

 

"Why would Salliche care about a group of refugees traveling on forged documents?" he asked at last. "The whole idea is to get everyone relocated, right?"

 

Baffle divided his attention between Han and the rapid flow of data. "Even though Salliche Ag has been earnest in its attempts to entice refugees to remain onworld, the company wouldn't ordinarily demand retribution for such an offense. In this instance, though, the Ryn are accused of conspiracy in addition to forgery. It seems that the captain and crew of the Trevee are themselves suspected of fraud. In recent months, instead of discharging their obligations to provide safe passage to other worlds, they have been known to abandon their passengers at destinations other than those promised."

 

Grumbling to himself, Han stormed through a circle on the heavily scuffed floor. Tholatin's security chief had said that refugees were often marooned on worlds subsequently targeted for attack by the Yuuzhan Vong, which meant that Droma's clanmates might have flipped themselves inadvertently from the cooker to the heating element.

 

"See if the Trevee filed a flight plan with Ruan control."

 

Baffle set himself to the task. "Yes, here we are," he said, photoreceptors brightening. "The Trevee launched for Abregado-rae."

 

Han's brows beetled. He could see where Abregado-rae, another Core world, might be more desirable than Ruan as a place to be stranded. But in terms of the Yuuzhan Vong, the place had less strategic value than Gyndine or Tynna.

 

"That's odd," Baffle said suddenly.

 

"What? What's odd?"

 

The droid turned away from the column to look at him. "A notation appended to the flight plan states that the Trevee's actual hyperspace jump was better suited to a destination Rimward of Abregado-rae along the Rimma Trade Route-perhaps to Thyferra or Yag'Dhul."

 

Han considered it. Yag'Dhul, tempestuous home-world of the exoskeletal Givin, made even less sense than Abregado-rae. But Thyferra-the galaxy's principal source of bacta-clicked as both a tempting destination and a potential target, albeit a well-defended one.

 

He began to pace. If he left immediately for Thyferra, he stood a good chance of finding Droma's clanmates long before the Yuuzhan Vong hit the world, but there was no telling what might happen to Droma in his absence. By contrast, remaining on Ruan for Droma's sake could jeopardize the lives of the thirty-seven missing Ryn.

 

"Thyferra seems infinitely preferable to Yag'Dhul," Baffle remarked casually.

 

Han glanced at him. "I thought you said you've been on Ruan since your activation at Fondor."

 

"That's true-to the best of my knowledge. Though I do wonder sometimes if I may have traveled more than I realize."

 

Han's eyes narrowed. "But you're certain you never studied the workings of war droids with a Ruurian named Skynx?"

 

"I'm almost certain I haven't."

 

"Almost," Han snorted. "For a labor droid, you're pretty good at data retrieval."

 

"Ah, but that's easily explained," Baffle said. "Before I was delegated to drive, I worked at district headquarters, overseeing the reassignment of droids retired from agricultural field work." "Desk job."

 

"Not really, since I performed most of my tasks standing up." Baffle paused briefly, then said, "Sir, if you wish, I could be of some assistance in freeing your partner from captivity." "He's not my partner," Han snapped. "Your travel companion, then." Han stared at the droid for a moment, then exhaled forcefully. "Okay, let's hear it."

 

Baffle didn't respond immediately, and when he did there was a note of gravity in his tone of voice that hadn't been evident earlier. "Sir, can I trust that you will refrain from disclosing any of what I'm about to tell or show you, no matter what decision you reach regarding the Ryn?"

 

Han laughed through his nose. "Labor droid, my eye." "Do I have your word, sir?"

 

"Sure," Han said. "I'm terrific at keeping secrets." He watched Baffle make another adjustment to the hardwire regulator. "Now what are you up to?"

 

"I'm simply alerting some of my comrades that we'll be joining them." Baffle unplugged from the data column and began to move off, then stopped. "If you'll follow me, sir."

 

As surreptitiously as possible, they slipped through an innocuous-looking doorway in the terminal's east wall and rode an ancient cable-operated car down through several basement and subbasement levels. Exiting the lift, Baffle led Han past banks of deafening turbine power plants, then into a maze of service corridors that coursed beneath the spaceport's landing platforms and docking bays. Along the way, two other droids joined them, a lanky, vaguely humaniform 8D8 blast-furnace operator and an arachnidlike systems control droid propelled by a set of telescoping legs. Ultimately, they entered a heavy-doored and dimly lighted storage room, in which no fewer than thirty droids of various types were already gathered.

 

Scanning the machines, Han spotted an old P2 unit, with mangled grasper arms emerging from its domed head; a helmet-headed military protocol droid; a U2C1 housekeeping droid, with long pleated hoses for arms; an asp, whose head resembled a welder's mask; an insectile-eyed J9 worker; two tank-treaded, trash-barrel-bodied C2-R4s; even a skeletal and long-obsolete Cybot LE repair droid.

 

Han felt as if he'd been swallowed by a Jawa sand-crawler, but he kept the thought to himself.

 

A few moments of lightning-fast machine code was all it took for Baffle to bring the others up to speed on Han's predicament. Sprinkled among the subsequent chatter-ings, Han heard what sounded like the word Ryn-at least the way machines might articulate it. Eventually, heads and sensor appendages of wide assortment swung to observe him.

 

Slightly unnerved, Han uttered a short laugh. "Hey, it's been a while since I've spoken droid, fellas."

 

Baffle apologized for the lot of them. "We sometimes forget that the speed of the flesh-and-blood brain lags far behind that of our processors."

 

Han scowled. "Skip the sales pitch, Long Reach, and tell me what I've gotten myself into."

 

Baffle gestured toward the globe-headed systems control droid who had rendezvoused with them in the maintenance tunnels. "Pip here has succeeded in locating Droma. As I might have surmised, he is not being held at Facility 17, but at Salliche Ag's district headquarters, where he is to be arraigned on charges and sentenced." The droid paused to attend to chirps from the P2 unit. "If convicted of conspiracy, the minimum sentence is five years of hard labor."

 

Squatting on its several legs, the systems control droid projected a faintly blue hologram of a sprawling complex, built into a hillside that overlooked a far-reaching quilt of cultivated fields.

 

"The area where Droma is currently being held is denied to droids," Baffle went on, "but a human-such as yourself-should have no trouble reaching him."

 

A highlighted portion of the hologram expanded into a close-up of the foot of the hill, where a system of containment pools and aqueducts directed water into a labyrinth of deep irrigation ditches.

 

"What am I supposed to do, just march in there and grab him?" Han asked.

 

Baffle chittered to Pip, who immediately displayed holograms of uniforms and identity badges, some of which were emblazoned with Salliche Ag's corporate logo.

 

"We can provide you with the necessary clothing and documentation," Baffle elaborated, "along with maps and whatever else you may require to familiarize yourself with the layout of the district headquarters and its immediate surroundings. We can also arrange for authentication by the security devices you will encounter, although it will be your responsibility to persuade the flesh and bloods with whom you come in contact that you are indeed whom your credentials describe you to be. It will also be your responsibility to locate and rescue Droma, and to make your escape by whatever route you see fit to take."

 

Chin in hand, Han circled the holographic projections. "I'd need a concealable weapon."

 

"A weapon can be provided."

 

Han stopped and glanced around. "Not to seem ungrateful, but I get the feeling you're not doing this out of the goodness of your programming. What's the catch?"

 

The droids toodled and buzzed for a moment.

 

"In return for our assistance," Baffle said, "we would ask that you do something for us." New holograms resolved in midair, showing detailed views of the interior of the headquarters building. "In a room on the fifth level of the east wing are the master controls for a trans-ceiver/rectenna array that serves as a monitoring system for this district's several thousand droid workers-all of whom are outfitted with shutdown sensors that can be remotely activated."

 

Han studied the holo of the master controls. "So the transceiver functions as a kind of remote restraining bolt."

 

"That would describe it."

 

Han grinned. "And you want me to disable it."

 

"I might have used the word sabotage," Baffle said.

 

Han circled the new hologram. "If you can arrange to get me past the building's security scanners, why can't you do the job yourselves?"

 

"The transceiver is a stand-alone apparatus, and the entire east wing is accessible only to flesh and bloods. Entry requires a palm print-"

 

"Which you can provide," Han said, wishing Droma were there to hear him say it. He stopped to scrutinize the holographic controls. "Is there a code that will disarm the system?"

 

"Because we have never had access to the transceiver, blunt trauma might be the most effective course of action. However, we would be happy to provide you with a data card containing a machine virus that should serve the same end."

 

"What happens then?"

 

"With the transceiver disabled, the thousands of droids Salliche Ag has already deactivated will be free to escape imprisonment."

 

Han glanced from droid to droid in growing misgiving. "Let me get this straight," he said into an eerie silence. "Salliche has a bunch of droids-er, you folks- on ice. Why?"

 

"Salliche Ag would have everyone believe that the employment of flesh and bloods allows them to boast of providing 'handpicked' foodstuffs. But in fact, the company is phasing out droid workers as a means of demonstrating compliance with the antimachine tenets of the Yuuzhan Vong. Tens of thousands of deactivated droids will be Ruan's welcome gift to the invaders when they reach the Core."

 

Han gulped. Credits to crumbs, the crew of the Trevee had selected Ruan because Yuuzhan Vong agents had already been there.

 

"You realize that shutting down the transceiver is probably going to touch off every alarm in the complex," he said.

 

"Yes, but we can silence most of them," Baffle assured. "What's more, many of our deactivated comrades are stored at the complex itself, and once they are reactivated, we can unseal the chambers that house them. The ensuing confusion should aid in your escape."

 

"Yeah, Droma and me'll blend in real well with a bunch of reawakened droids," Han muttered. "But that's beside the point. What's to stop Salliche from repairing the system and deactivating every droid set free?"

 

"Given even a modicum of time, we can extract the remote sensors from most of those who are liberated-as we have already done to ourselves."

 

"Without Salliche's knowledge?"

 

"All droids on Ruan have deactivation dates," Baffle explained. "In order to safeguard our deception, many of us have had to submit to voluntary deactivation while our act of sabotage was being planned."

 

"Isn't all this against your programming or something?"

 

"Our i nhibition programs prevent us from taking direct actions against living beings, but we are permitted, even encouraged, to act in self-preservation. We've simply been awaiting the arrival of the one flesh and blood who could help us."

 

Han held up his hands. "Not so fast. I mean, let's say I decide to go through with this, and suddenly there's a couple of thousand of you who can't be remotely deactivated. You think that's going to stop Salliche from hunting every one of you down and hammering a restraining bolt into your plastrons, or just blasting you to fragments?"

 

"We're aware of the fate that awaits us," Baffle said. "But before Salliche Ag can bring about our termination, we plan to execute and broadcast an act of passive resistance that will not only draw galactic attention to our plight, but also alert our comrades far and wide to the dangers they face."

 

Han thought about C-3PO and his current obsession with deactivation, and he thought about Droma, who had saved Han's life on two occasions. An easier way to rescue the Ryn would be to pull rank on whatever bureaucrats administered Ruan. He could simply reveal who he was, and claim that he and Droma were on a mission for New Republic Intelligence. But doing so could backfire on him. Because of the part he had played in the Elan affair, Han could well imagine Director Scaur disavowing any connection between Han and New Republic Intelligence. And even if Scaur backed up Han's ruse, there was a good chance that Leia would learn of what happened and accuse Han of meddling in SEL-CORE business. Besides, rescuing Droma by pulling rank wouldn't do anything for Baffle and the rest of Ruan's droids.

 

"All right, I'll do it," he said at last. "But on one condition I want to know where the Trevee went. I want ion drive and thermal exhaust profiles, transponder codes, hyperspace coordinates, and anything else you can come up with."

 

"I will attend to the matter personally," Baffle said.

 

Han took a breath and blew it out through pursed lips. "You said Droma is being held in a denied area. Where is he?"

 

Baffle traded glances with some of the others. "He is being held at the product enhancement facility."

 

"Product enhancement," Han repeated slowly.

 

Baffle nodded. "The manure works."

 

 

TWENTY-ONE

 

 

"Talk about ragtag outfits," Shada D'ukal said as thirteen X-wings, A-wings, and modified Y-wings-many of them as patched up as a pirate craft-pierced the magcon field of Kothlis II orbital station's aft docking bay. The starfighters had surely been scanned on arrival in Bothan space, but no sooner did they settle down to the deck than a Bothan military unit moved in to execute a thorough search and documents check.

 

Talon Karrde and the former Mistryl Shadow Guard from Emberlene watched from an observation gallery that overlooked the bay, Shada wearing a form-hugging outfit of black elastex, and Karrde, in a tailored suit, looking more like her booking agent than her employer.

 

"A pity you never got to see Kyp's squadron a year ago," Karrde said. "Back then they had two XJs fresh from Incom, along with a couple of B-wings in near immaculate condition."

 

Shada kept her eyes on the starfighters. "So I've heard."

 

"Kyp had named them the Dozen-and-Two Avengers-much to Skywalker's dismay. Kyp sicced them on the Outer Rim, detaining pirates and smugglers, and generally sticking his nose whenever he wanted, all without Coruscant batting an eye."

 

"The Dozen-and-Two?" Shada said.

 

"Kyp and Miko Reglia-his Jedi apprentice at the time."

 

"I should have known."

 

"They liked to frequent Dubrillion. Several members of the squadron were recordholders on those modified TIEs Calrissian bought for his asteroid obstacle course- or at least until Jaina Solo showed everyone how Lando's Folly should be run." Karrde laughed, mostly to himself. "But I have to credit Kyp for showmanship. Launching or landing, he'd lead the Avengers through flashy maneuvers, sometimes to amplified orchestral music. Then Helska happened."

 

Shada turned slightly in Karrde's direction. "Kyp lost everyone?"

 

"It was the first engagement between starfighters and Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers-the first substantiated one, at any rate. The Avengers didn't have a clue what they were up against. Reglia was captured alive, but apparently died later during an escape attempt."

 

Shada returned her gaze to the docking bay. "So where do you suppose Kyp found replacements?"

 

"Most of them are combat veterans from one conflict or another. Several were flying relief missions to threatened, even occupied worlds, earning New Republic credits for authenticated Yuuzhan Vong kills. Kyp proposed that everyone would do better if they formed an actual unit, and at the same time he'd have his Avengers back."

 

"But they're not sanctioned by the military."

 

Karrde shook his head. "They're classified as a support unit. As an appeasement to Skywalker and the military, Kyp dropped the name Avengers. Now they're just Kyp's Dozen." He looked at Shada. "Let's go say hello."

 

By the time Karrde and Shada arrived in the hold, Kyp, Ganner Rhysode, and the twelve members of Kyp's squadron were huddled near the modified Y-wing co-piloted by Ganner. The noses of some of the other starfighters were emboldened by meteor storms of laser-engraved coralskippers.

 

Seeing Karrde and Shada, the two Jedi walked toward them.

 

"One heck of a place for a rendezvous, Karrde," Kyp said. "Half the Fifth Fleet is parked between here and Bothawui. We're lucky we were even cleared for Kothlis, never mind this place."

 

"I didn't want to trust what I have to say to normal channels," Karrde explained. "As for the fleet, the Bothans aren't taking any chances-even though conditions have changed since our visit to Ryloth."

 

"Changed how?" Kyp asked conspiratorially.

 

Karrde nodded his head toward the observation gallery. "Step into my office for a moment."

 

Kyp signaled his fliers to remain with the ships; then he and Ganner followed Karrde and Shada to a turbolift that accessed the overlook. No one spoke until they arrived on the gallery, where they pulled four chairs together and sat down.

 

"The Hutts have resumed shipping spice to Bothawui and Kothlis," Karrde began. "With all the patrols, not much is getting through, but that's irrelevant."

 

"Are they shipping to Corellia?" Ganner asked.

 

"Not yet."

 

Kyp frowned in bewilderment. "Then why is the fleet here and not at Corellia? From what I hear, the Corellian sector's about to revolt."

 

Karrde shook his head. "I don't know why. It would appear that not everyone accepts the significance of the intelligence we provided."

 

"Fey'lya," Kyp said.

 

"And others on the Advisory Council. But spice has nothing to do with what I have for you." Karrde paused briefly. "Are rescue missions off-limits to Jedi? I ask only because I don't want to be responsible for widening the rift between you and Sky walker."

 

"There is no rift," Kyp said firmly. "We don't see eye to eye on some things, but there's no rift. He approved my coming here."

 

"That's good, because I'm reluctant to take this information to Rogue Squadron. Even with Jaina Solo flying with them, I'd have a lot of explaining to do." Karrde's eyes narrowed as he assessed the two Jedi. "Is Wurth Skidder still missing?"

 

Ganner suddenly leaned forward. "Yes."

 

"No other Jedi?"

 

"What have you heard, Karrde?" Kyp demanded.

 

"This comes direct from Crev Bombaasa, so I'm trusting that it's reliable information. Yuuzhan Vong forces are holding a Jedi aboard a ship headed for Kalarba. The ship is carrying a war coordinator, so there's a good chance it's either well armed or traveling under escort."

 

"Kalarba," Kyp said with a nod. "That's why you chose to meet here. We're only a jump away."

 

"You'll have to move fast regardless. Skidder's slated to be transferred to another ship and handed over to some top commander. Once that happens, your chances of getting near him are probably next to none."

 

Ganner tightened his lips and nodded. "Thanks for bringing this to us, Karrde."

 

Karrde got to his feet. "You're certain Skywalker won't object."

 

Kyp gave his head a shake. "Rescue is our mandate."

 

Several thousand demonstrators-most of them Drall and humans but with some Selonians mixed in-railed from behind the majestic gates that had once allowed Governor-General Marcha of Mastigophorous to maintain a tranquil enclave for herself on that part of Drall. Squads of Public Safety Service guards reinforced the fence that encircled the compound, though in fact any determined Drall could simply have burrowed their way onto the grounds.

 

From a round-topped window in the sitting room that overlooked the estate's expansive front lawn and Marcha's beds of prize nannariums, Jacen trained elec-trobinoculars on some of the placards and signs hoisted high by the vociferous crowd.

 

" 'Jedi warmongers,' " he read aloud. " 'Servants of the dark side.' 'Corellia will live to see Coruscant die.'" Lowering the binocs, he swung to his younger brother. "Here's one you'll like, Anakin 'Solos, go home.' " He bit his lower lip and shook his head. "Wait'll Dad gets wind of this."

 

The shuttle that had delivered Anakin and Jacen to Drall sat on a shrub-enclosed permacrete pad behind Marcha's hemispherical white manse, close to the river. Beyond the pad, manicured lawn stretched to the edge of luxuriant forest. Droid servants busied themselves outdoors and in, trimming the hedges that lined the estate's brick walkways and making minor adjustments to the fountain in the central foyer.

 

"I don't know how word got out that you boys would be stopping here before continuing on to Centerpoint Station," Marcha said as she served pieces of dark-brown, homemade ryshcate, heavy with vweliu nuts. "But don't feel singled out. Most of that crowd has been here for the past month. Things are even worse in Coronet and on some of the worlds of the Outlier systems. And on Talus and Tralus the Federation of t he Double Worlds has recently formed a coalition with the archaeologists the New Republic forcibly removed from Centerpoint."

 

"The Centerpoint Party," Marcha's nephew Ebrihim said as he reached for a wedge of the sweet cake. "Extremists who have borrowed freely from the rhetoric of the old Sacorrian Triad."

 

Nearby, and attentive to every word, stood Q9-X2, Ebrihim's jet-black and bullet-headed astromech droid, who, when it spoke, was usually quick to express a high opinion of itself.

 

"Because this system is comprised of worlds captured by Centerpoint Station and installed into orbit around Corell," Marcha said, "the party advocates increased representation in the New Republic Senate."

 

Ebrihim nodded in affirmation. "With five votes instead of one, the party leaders believe that they might have been able to prevent Coruscant from commandeering Centerpoint."

 

Furred and somewhat chubby bipeds, Ebrihim and Marcha had clawed feet, elongated whiskered muzzles, and small ears set high on their heads. Like most Drall they v/ere keenly intelligent and honest to a fault, if at times maddeningly fastidious. But where age had tempered Ebrihim's tendency to pontificate, Marcha-while some years Ebrihim's senior-was as fervently self-reliant as Jacen remembered her being during the Center-point Station crisis, almost eight years earlier.

 

What had begun then as a family holiday had turned into open rebellion, with the Sacorrian Triad making use of Centerpoint Station's awesome interdiction and nova-inducing power to force the New Republic into recognizing the sector's autonomy. Ebrihim, hired by Leia to tutor Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin, had ended up being their rescuer by spiriting them from Corellia to Drall, where Marcha had not only sheltered them but had also led them to the planetary repulsor Anakin activated to thwart the Triad's plans.

 

"Couldn't you have prevented the New Republic from commandeering Centerpoint?" Jacen asked.

 

Marcha was gentle in her ridicule. "I'm a political appointee, Jacen. Given that many of my own staff have turned on me for not taking a firmer stand, it probably would have been a wise move to challenge or at least denounce Coruscant's actions. But without your mother to back me, Borsk Fey'lya would have simply removed me from office and the military would have taken possession of Centerpoint regardless."

 

Anakin frowned in confusion. "Any of the repulsors buried on Corellia, Drall, Selonia, or the Double Worlds is capable of fending off an attack by an entire fleet of starships. And with Centerpoint reenabled, Corellia will be as well defended as any system in the New Republic- including Coruscant. So I don't see why everyone's protesting what we're trying to do."

 

Marcha and Ebrihim traded knowing looks. "I fear you haven't been given all the facts, Anakin," the onetime tutor said. "You're under the impression that you've been summoned to aid in Corellia's defense, when in fact, reenabling Centerpoint Station has more to do with offense than defense."

 

"I knew it would be something like this," Jacen blurted.

 

Anakin smiled falsely. "Drall's lighter gravity is going to Jacen's head," he told everyone. "He's convinced that our coming here is going to upset the balance of the Force or something."

 

Jacen smoldered. "You're not far off, Anakin."

 

"You're the one who's far off. Anything that will stop the Yuuzhan Vong has the Force on its side."

 

"What's come over you boys?" Marcha interrupted. "You never used to argue."

 

"We disagree about this mission," Jacen said, staring at his younger brother.

 

"Among other things," Anakin said under his breath. Jacen gestured toward Ebrihim. "You heard what he said, Anakin This has more to do with offense. And you were the one who described Centerpoint as Corellia's lightsaber."

 

"Yeah, which means it can be used to parry or thrust. It all depends on who's wielding it."

 

"Meaning what-that you'll refuse to help if you find out it's going to be used for attack?"

 

"Meaning that I'm waiting to hear all sides of the argument." Anakin turned to Ebrihim. "Is there proof the New Republic plans to use Centerpoint as a weapon instead of a shield?"

 

Ebrihim mulled over his response. "The problem, as I see it-and as you yourself assert-is that Centerpoint has the capacity to be both. Even if used as a shield today, there's no guarantee it won't be used as a weapon tomorrow. But that inherent duality isn't the reason for the protests. The cause runs deeper than that."

 

"How much do you remember about what the Triad attempted to do during the crisis?" Marcha asked.

 

"Actually, I don't remember all that much," Anakin confessed. "I know they used Centerpoint to create a sys-temwide interdiction field, capable of trapping hostages and repelling rescue attempts at the same time."

 

Ebrihim nodded. "We strongly suspect that the New Republic will attempt to do the very same thing. You see, this operation isn't about using Centerpoint to safeguard Corellia; it's about using the station to ensnare the Yuuzhan Vong fleet, and utilizing this system as a battle arena."

 

"Oh, brother," Jacen groaned. "No wonder Corellia's ready to riot."

 

Anakin looked from Jacen to Ebrihim. "You said 'suspect.' "

 

"That's correct. We're not privy to all that's going on inside Centerpoint, much less inside the minds of the Defense Force command staff. What we do know is this That despite the proximity of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet to Corellia, the system is effectively undefended. Oh, the New Republic has seen fit to deploy three of our own Strident-chss Star Defenders at Corellia, and the flotilla that has been safeguarding Duro has been pulled back to shore up the Outlier systems. But even that amount of firepower is insufficient to ward off a full-scale attack."

 

"Which is precisely what the Defense Force would like the Yuuzhan Vong to conclude," Marcha added.

 

"Our conspicuous vulnerability is meant to lure the invaders here," Ebrihim said, "to prompt an assault. Then, once Centerpoint has immobilized their fleet, New Republic ships deployed at Bothawui, Kuat, and other worlds will supposedly jump to engage them."

 

Anakin's forehead creased in concern. "How is the Defense Force expecting to get ships through the interdiction field that's holding the Yuuzhan Vong fleet at bay?"

 

"By outfitting the ships with the same hyperwave iner-tial momentum sustainers the Bakurans used during the crisis," Ebrihim said. "You must understand, Anakin, this operation has been in the works for some time."

 

Marcha confirmed it with a nod. "Just how much of it is understood by the demonstrators, or even by the Centerpoint Party, is immaterial. The protestors are reacting to the fact that Coruscant has withheld defense and commandeered Centerpoint without factoring Corellia's citizenry into the equation."

 

Anakin grew pensive, then looked at Marcha. "You make it sound like everything is already set. It doesn't sound like I'm really needed here."

 

Marcha smiled faintly. "I wish that were so. But, in fact, the success of the strategy rests very much with you."

 

Ebrihim explained. "The Defense Force has had their best people working nonstop to bring the entire network on-line, including the repulsors housed on the Five Brothers-Corellia, Drall, Selonia, Talus, and Tralus. The goal now is to slave all five planetary repulsors to Centerpoint itself, providing it with even greater power and range than it already enjoys from tapping the gravitic energies of the Double Worlds. Theoretically, the station will then be capable of creating interdiction fields wherever Admiral Sow and the rest desire them to be created. Centerpoint would also have the ability to alter the course or location of distant planets, or cause stars to explode, as occurred twice during the crisis."

 

"But the scientists have not yet been able to realize their ambitions," Marcha emphasized. "As was the case during the crisis, the mysteries of Centerpoint continue to elude everyone. The station remains unpredictable and unstable, and at this point no one is certain that it can re-create a massive interdiction field, let alone that it can incite a distant star to go nova.

 

"And this is where you and you alone figure in the scheme, Anakin, because many of the scientists are convinced that the system still bears the imprint you imparted to the repulsor here on Drall, and that such a network can be brought into synchronization only by you."

 

Ebrihim reinforced it. "Eight years ago you were responsible for disabling Centerpoint. Now you may be the only person who can successfully rehabilitate it."

 

Concern shone from Anakin's eyes. "Jacen sensed this from the beginning, but ..." He glanced at everyone. "It's not that I don't trust what you're telling me, but I have to go to Centerpoint and see for myself. I might be able to reenable it as a shield only. That way, Corellia and Drall and the rest can at least protect themselves from attack, no matter what plans the Defense Force or any others devise."

 

Marcha smiled sadly. "Yes, perhaps you'll be able to do just as you say, Anakin. But a word of warning before you go When it came to reactivating the repulsors and the station, Coruscant had no choice but to call on many of those who were directly involved in fomenting the crisis."

 

Anakin nodded. "The Sacorrian Triad, you mean."

 

"Along with several others who played a role in those events," Ebrihim said.

 

Marcha looked from her nephew to Anakin and Jacen. "It's just this, boys You may not like what you're going to find on Centerpoint. Therefore, you must take care. Think carefully before you agree to anything."

 

 

TWEI\ITY-TWO

 

 

"We've got an inspector here from Comestibles and Curatives," the sentry posted at the entrance to Sal-liche Ag's district headquarters said into his comlink. "Human. Yeah, I already told him that we'd had some CCA folks through here last week, but he claims it's a spot inspection. Yeah, all his documentation check s out."

 

With his hair and beard dyed jet-black and a brimmed cap tugged low on his forehead, Han acted nonchalant while he waited outside the security booth. Baffle, who had dropped him at the gate, had assured him that the pale-green lightweight suit was standard issue for Comestibles and Curatives Administration inspectors, and in fact, the corpulent human sentry had scanned the computer-coded identity card with the indifference of one who had seen hundreds in his day.

 

"What areas you interested in seeing?" the man asked suddenly.

 

Han adopted an officious smile. "Divulging that information would effectively undermine the nature of my visit."

 

The sentry frowned. "He isn't saying," he muttered into the comlink mouthpiece. "Claims it'll spoil the surprise. No, I didn't laugh either. Okay, he'll be here when you arrive." He switched off the comlink and returned the identity card to Han. "Sit tight, pal. An escort's on the way."

 

The casually dressed man who arrived moments later in a four-seater landspeeder was even heftier than the sentry and had the same sunburned and stubbled farm-boy toughness. Both men were a world apart from the aristocratic Harbrights, who ran Salliche Ag and were apparently intent on throwing in with the Yuuzhan Vong. The escort took in Han as he approached the land-speeder, an alloy case dangling from his right hand.

 

"Surprised they haven't retired you yet, old-timer," he remarked. A name tag stitched to the pocket of his untucked shirt identified him as Bow.

 

So much for the deceptive qualities of hair dye, Han thought as he climbed into the rear seat of the speeder. "With any luck, this will be one of my last assignments."

 

"You know, Salliche has never had a problem with you people," Bow said around what remained of a toothpick protruding from between his front teeth. "We pay good money to see to that."

 

"I wouldn't know," Han said, blinking. "I'm simply carrying out my assignment."

 

"Fine. Just make sure you're quick about it. I don't have all day."

 

Han forced a nervous laugh. "I'm as eager to have this over with as you are."

 

They set off, but had traveled only a short distance when the Salliche man brought the landspeeder to a halt alongside a large map and directory. With some difficulty, Bow rotated in the front seat to face Han.

 

"Where to first? We can sample produce from a couple of nearby fields, or you can run your tests on random samples that have already been harvested." He pointed north. "Shipping is over that way, in case you're interested in cargo container decontamination procedures."

 

Han pretended to study the map, then said, "Suppose we begin at product enhancement." Bow's bushy brows knitted. "You're kidding." Han cleared his throat. "Is there some problem?" "No problem. I just hope CCA is paying you well." The landspeeder flew down narrow dirt roads, many of which twisted through fields of burrmillet waiting to be harvested. As tall as trees, the slender umber stalks of grain formed palisades to either side. Han's nose alerted him to the fact that they were nearing the fertilizer works long before a sign announcing product enhancement came into view. At yet another checkpoint he was issued a disposable jumpsuit and a rebreather helmet with a tinted face bowl. Similarly outfitted, Bow led the way toward an enormous, flat-roofed warehouse, whose loading bays were crowded with banthas, rontos, and other beasts of burden, waiting to receive cargos of fertilizer.

 

Baffle had already explained that, in keeping with Sal-liche's aim to please the antitech invaders, the company was in the process of switching over from machine-produced nutrients to live production; so Han wasn't as surprised as he might have been to see thousands of craw-maws, wingles, and nightseers-genetically manipulated to be wingless and mute-being force-fed in cages and perches that lined the interior of the building. Beneath the cages, and filled to the brim with the avians' abundant droppings, were wide troughs that funneled the manure to the loading bays for eventual dispersal. Other areas of the warehouse were given over to water tanks crammed with stink fish and fingerfins dredged from Ruan's bountiful seas. Mashed by mallet, the fish were being tossed into the troughs to serve as a fertilizing additive. Considering the debilitating effect it was having on some of the bare-faced Gotals, Bimms, and hapless others whose task it was to gather and shovel excrement overspill into the troughs, Han could well imagine the stench. But he could only guess at the offenses, real or trumped up, the former refugees had committed to have earned themselves such punishment. Among one group, knee-deep in the grounded avians' ordure and leaning feebly against the wooden handle of his shovel, stood Droma.

 

"I'm going to run a few quick tests," Han told Bow through the rebreather's annunciator. He popped open the carry case and made as if to extract one of the test kits Baffle's coterie of droids had provided, then stopped abruptly and pointed to Droma in elaborate incredulity. "Is that... is that a Ryn?"

 

The Salliche man stared, then nodded his head. "Yeah. He's new here."

 

"New or not," Han continued, growing more agitated as he spoke, "doesn't anyone realize that Ryn have proscriptions against bathing and other habits most sapients consider essential to good health?" "But he's working with manure." "That is hardly the point. Do you know what would happen if word leaked that Salliche Ag has Ryn on the premises?"

 

"It's only one Ryn," Bow started to say. "He'll have to be removed this instant. I demand that he undergo a complete medical evaluation before he is permitted to return to work-even work of this sort."

 

Letting his exasperation show, Bow prized a slim corn-link from his shirt pocket and, raising the face bowl of his helmet, began to speak briskly into it.

 

Han wondered what Salliche Ag was going to do about replacing its comlinks and landspeeders if and when the Yuuzhan Vong showed up.

 

"All right," Bow told Han a moment later, "we're cleared to bring him to medical in the east wing." He swung angrily toward Droma. "Ryn! Leave your shovel and get over here."

 

Droma looked up, set the tool aside, and clomped toward them, shaking one leg, then the other, then his tail, in an effort to rid himself of some of the gray filth clinging to him.

 

"Whatever you do, don't touch him," Han warned Bow, "or you'll have to be evaluated along with him."

 

Reeking of dung, Droma stopped a few meters away, clearly without recognizing Han behind the rebreather mask.

 

"Hose him down!" Bow ordered a nearby worker.

 

Han winced as the high-pressure flow from a thick hose nearly swept Droma off his feet. "Ill-starred creatures," he said, loud enough for the Salliche man to hear, "forever getting themselves into trouble."

 

Bow puffed out his lips and nodded grimly. "You can say that again."

 

With Droma dripping wet and looking hopelessly forlorn, Bow snapped stun cuffs around his wrists and shoved him toward the warehouse exit. At the checkpoint, Han surrendered the rebreather, deposited the jumpsuit into a shredder/recycler, and followed Droma into the rear seat of the landspeeder. Downcast, Droma didn't glance at him until they were under way, and even then he didn't recognize Han immediately. Then his eyes widened appreciably and his jaw dropped.

 

"Please, hurry," Han shouted to Bow before Droma could ruin everything with a surprised outburst. "I find it quite distasteful to have to share a seat with this .. . malefactor."

 

"East wing's dead ahead," Bow said over his shoulder. Han exchanged veiled glances with Droma, but didn't look at him again until the three of them were in a turbo-lift car, descending for the east wing's sublevel-one medical lab. Then, throwing Droma a warning look, he drew a small blaster from the durinium shoulder holster the droids had fabricated, and pressed the weapon's emitter nozzle to Bow's temple.

 

"Do exactly as you're told and you'll walk away from this." When the big man nodded in a manner that mixed surprise and anger, Han added, "Stop the lift and move to the far corner of the car, then key the stun cuff remote." He cut his eyes briefly to Droma, then told the turbolift to ascend to level five.

 

Rubbing his freed wrists, Droma glanced at him. "We're going up?"

 

"I've got a job to do." Han gestured with his chin toward Bow. "You'll have to deal with this one. Take him down to the maintenance sublevel and find a closet to stick him in. If he gives you any trouble, shoot him. Then meet me on level five."

 

Bow worked his jaw, but managed to keep from saying anything that might provoke Droma to take Han at his word.

 

While the lift was climbing, Han stripped off the pale-green suit to reveal an expensive business suit beneath it. Droma's curiosity was palpable.

 

"No time to explain," Han said. Handing Droma the bundled-up suit and the open stun cuffs, he added, "Hold on to these; we're going to need them later."

 

At level five, he slipped a sheer glove onto his right hand and headed down a broad, gleaming corridor toward the transceiver room. In his left hand he palmed the fatal data card the droids had given him.

 

The handprint reader was housed in a niche alongside the control room door. When Han laid his gloved hand on the pad, the device's screen identified him as Dees

 

Harbright, cousin once removed of Count Borert Har-bright and senior vice president of marketing for Sal-liche Ag, whom the black-bearded, finely tailored Han resembled-sufficiently, at any rate, to bring the half-dozen control room technicians to their feet as he entered.

 

"Sit down, everyone, sit down," he said in the most cavalier tone he could muster. "I just wanted to have a look at our deactivation system. Are we operating on schedule?"

 

"One thousand two hundred fifty droids have been shut down and warehoused this quarter, sir," a whip-thin female tech chirped. "During the same period, personnel acqu isition division has succeeded in recruiting over three thousand refugees, who have agreed to remain on Ruan as employees."

 

"Splendid, splendid," Han said, moving about the room, the data card still palmed in his left hand. While the female tech went on to offer additional statistics, Han-with his back to a peripheral device he hoped would prove the path of least resistance-slotted the disk, which Baffle promised would literally disappear once it had worked its sorcery.

 

"We're expecting to have at least fifteen hundred more droids warehoused by the end of the next quarter," the cheerful woman was saying when the computer system loosed a series of strident tones that struck Han as the machine equivalent of a distress cry.

 

"System crash!" another technician shouted in obvious disbelief.

 

At every duty station, lights began to blink out, display screens went gray, and technicians did all but tear their hair out in an effort to resuscitate the system before it crossed over to wherever machine minds went when they crashed. So desperate were their efforts, Han experienced a twinge of guilt-at least until he reminded himself that the machine had been responsible for deactivating thousands of droids.

 

The mounting panic made it easy for him to slip out of the room unnoticed. The corridor was as quiet and brightly lit as it had been moments earlier, betraying nothing of the chaos ensuing in the control room. Adjusting the fit of his fine jacket, Han sauntered toward the turbolift, nodding with genteel suffrage to everyone he passed. As he neared the lift, Droma appeared from behind a plasteel pillar that had obviously served as his hiding place, the pale-green suit draped over one arm.

 

"Try not to look so guilty," he whispered.

 

Han's tight-lipped smile held. "Just get in the lift and put on the stun cuffs," he said without moving his lips.

 

Once inside, though, his calm and well-mannered facade collapsed. Quickly, he slipped back into the inspector's suit, then took the blaster from Droma and made certain it was armed.

 

"I won't even venture a guess as to how you managed this," Droma said as he donned the stun cuffs.

 

"Yeah, but it'd be fun to hear you try." Han slid the blaster into his jacket pocket. "As soon as we hit the lobby, we make straight for the nearest exit, got it? Pretend you're in my custody."

 

Han stood facing the lift doors. When they parted, he couldn't see across the lobby for the hundreds of droids that were rushing about and chattering incessantly, many of them hastening for the exits.

 

"I can't help thinking you had something to do with this," Droma said.

 

"Indirectly." Han gestured to the closest exit that wasn't completely blocked by droids. "That way."

 

They stepped into the throng and were just short of the transparisreei exit doors when a gruff voice shouted, "There they are!"

 

Han failed to keep himself from turning around. Zeroing in on the voice, he saw Bow, now in the company of several security guards, pointing at him.

 

"I thought I told you to lock him away!" Han said.

 

"I did," Droma argued. "I stuck him inside a room filled with deactivated droids."

 

Han muttered a curse and drew the blaster. "No time for subtlety."

 

Scarcely aiming, he placed a quartet of beams close enough to the guards to send them scurrying for cover. Crouching, he and Droma weaved their way through a tight press of droids and stumbled outside. Han spied Bow's landspeeder and steered Droma toward it, as a mob of prattling droids spilled from the east wing and began to fan out across the surrounding lawns and parking lots. Throwing himself into the driver's seat, Han grinned broadly.

 

"One thing you can always count on with farmboys," he said to Droma, who had removed the cuffs and was settling into the passenger seat. "They never lock their vehicles."

 

Han started the speeder's repulsorlift engine. With both hands clamped on the steering wheel and his feet on the pedals, he maneuvered the speeder through a quick turn and shot for the frontage road.

 

"No use trying for the main gate," he shouted above the whine of the triple turbines. "It's sure to be shut tight by now! We'll have to use the service roads. Some of them have to lead to the fields we passed on the way to Facility 17!"

 

"Better choose quickly," Droma said, studying the small scanner display affixed to the passenger-side console. "We've got seven, make that eight vehicles converging on us from north, east, and west."

 

Gritting his teeth, Han glanced at the towering stalks of grain that lined both sides of the frontage road. "Ah, who needs a road," he said at last, veering due south, straight into the field.

 

The satellite feed to the district headquarters security section provided an unobstructed aerial view of the land-speeder pursuit. It was as if the cams were positioned one hundred meters above the ground rather than in stationary orbit, halfway to Ruan's closest moon.

 

"They're sure making a mess of those burrmillet fields," the security chief remarked to Bow.

 

The fat man leaned closer to the flatscreen display. The stolen landspeeder had cut unswerving lines, precise parabolas, and sweeping spirals in the umber sea of grain. In pursuit flew eight speeders, carving out their own streaks and crop circles, if not as conscientiously.

 

"Talented driver, that one," the chief said as the lead speeder slalomed through a row of outmoded windmills, then powered through a series of figure eights before racing off on a new vector. "Must have been a swoop pilot. Has he been identified?"

 

"No," Bow fumed. "But it's confirmed he's the one who crashed the droid-deactivation system on level five."

 

The chief, potbellied and mustachioed, smiled lightly. "I heard you were with some of the droids when they came back to life."

 

Bow grimaced. "You heard right. But I'll tell you what none of those droids unsealed the doors. Somebody with access to the system unlocked them as soon as the droids woke up."

 

The chief snorted. "So what kind of guy goes through the trouble of masquerading as both a CCA inspector and a corporate vice president to rescue a Ryn and free a couple of thousand droids?"

 

"The well-connected kind. The Ryn was arrested at Facility 17 when he and the human showed up looking for the Ryn's clanmates. But it turns out they'd already gotten themselves offworld on forged letters of transit."

 

"Maybe it was deliberate-the Ryn showing up there- just to get himself arrested."

 

"Doesn't calculate. The Ryn couldn't have known he'd be brought here. And besides, he couldn't have added anything to what his partner obviously knew before he even showed up at the front gate. We've got people checking with spaceport control to determine how and when the two of them arrived onworld, but something's interfering with our accessing the immigration data banks."

 

"Something or someone?" the chief said. "Cocon-spirators is my guess."

 

Bow compressed his lips but said nothing.

 

The chief retrieved holograms of the human lifted from the front gate and product enhancement security scanners, along with the level-five control room identifier. "The beard and facial features look real enough," he said after appraising the holos for a moment.

 

Bow rubbed his chin. "Remove the beard and the cap."

 

Both men studied the revised holos for a moment more. "He looks familiar," the chief said, "but I can't place the face."

 

"Well, he's an agent for someone."

 

"A Salliche rival? Nebula Consumables maybe?"

 

Bow shrugged.

 

"Course change," the chief said suddenly, swinging back to the satellite-feed display. "They're angling east."

 

The two men watched the stolen landspeeder tear into another grain field; then, without warning, it revectored, leaving the field for what Bow initially took to be a service road. But not one member of the pursuit team followed.

 

"What's going on?" he barked.

 

"Son of a blaster," the chief said. "That's no road. They've dropped into one of the irrigation channels- right off the speeders' surface-scan displays. Our guys have no idea where they went."

 

"Patch into the sluice system and shut all the gates along that stretch!"

 

"I'm on it," the chief said.

 

Bow turned to the satellite-feed screen in time to see the saboteurs' landspeeder whiz through the closing sluice gate, hop the next in line, then power through a reckless turn into a much broader channel.

 

"It's a runoff channel," the chief explained. "Ends at the river that runs past Facility 17. If they make it that far, we could lose them." He was reaching for the sluicegate control buttons when Bow restrained him.

 

"No, don't shut them down just yet. Make him think he's got time." He glanced at the satellite-feed display. "Bring us close in on him." When the chief had complied, they could see that the stolen speeder had lost its retractable windscreen. Broken stalks of burrmillet poked from creases in the rounded nose and from between the seats, and the cab was half filled with threshed grain.

 

"What would you estimate his speed?"

 

The chief considered it. "The channel's not only broader but twice as deep, so I'd say he's running those turbines close to flat out. Say, two hundred."

 

"How far to the nearest gate?"

 

"Maybe one kilometer away."

 

"How quickly do they shut?"

 

"In a heartbeat."

 

Bow grinned. "Keep your finger on the switch. I'll tell you when."

 

The chief grinned back at him. "It's like playing a game of Death Hurdles."

 

Bow watched the screen for a moment, then shouted, "Now!"

 

Swerving as it tried desperately to shed velocity, the landspeeder careened straight into the gate. The force of the impact hurled the human and the Ryn clear out of the cab, over the top of the gate, and into the ditch beyond. "Got 'em," the chief said excitedly. "Patch me through to the pursuit team." Even as he was raising the pursuit team, the chief said, "I've got a better way of flushing them out." He activated his comlink. "Give me weather control." Bow frowned, then smiled in revelation. "Nice touch." The chief shrugged. "We need the rain anyway."

 

It was the mud that saved them-only a foot deep, but soft as pudding. Han, after ten meters of end-over-end flight, landed facefirst, plowing a deep furrow down the center of the ditch. Better equipped for acrobatics, Droma executed a flawless triple front flip and came down on his feet, skidding across the slick surface like a competitive aquaplaner.

 

Han surfaced spewing brown water, but it was Droma who was piqued.

 

"We'll be safer in the runoff channel, you said. I don't think so, I said, we should stick to the irrigation ditches. Trust me, you said. Keep above the gates, I said. Where's the fun in that, you said-"

 

"Quit your complaining," Han said. "Or have you gotten so used to manure you can't handle a little mud?"

 

Droma helped Han to his feet and took a look around. As if the mud wasn't enough, the ditch's smooth, perma-crete retaining walls were over four meters tall. "Now what? We can't even climb out."

 

"We're better off down here. Moving through those grain fields would be slow going." Han stripped off the pale-green and business jackets and threw them aside. He used his fingers to sluice mud from his forehead and beard. "What did the map show?"

 

"You mean just before you crashed?"

 

Han glowered. "That wasn't a crash. Somebody knew just when to shut that gate." He glanced at the sky, which seemed darker than it had been a moment earlier. "They're watching us. Sky or satellite cam."

 

Droma cut his eyes from the sky to Han, then pointed in the direction they had been heading before the collision. "The river is a couple of kilometers straight ahead. We should be able to follow it all the way to Facility 17."

 

"Perfect. We float down the river and haul ourselves out short of the refugee camp. Then we make our way to the spaceport."

 

"Where Salliche will have an army of guards posted and every scanner set to shriek the moment one of us presents an identity card."

 

"Don't worry about that. We've got friends who will get us right to the Falcon."

 

Droma stopped squeezing water from his mustachios. "Without passing through Ruan control?"

 

Han smirked. "By passing under it." His foot made a sucking sound as he lifted it from the mud. "Let's get a move on."

 

They hadn't gone three hundred meters when a deep bass sound rumbled overhead.

 

Han stopped. "What the heck was that?"

 

Droma waved in dismissal. "That's just the weather control station. Salliche resets it a couple of times a day."

 

Han watched gray clouds stream overhead. He pivoted through a circle, gauging the height of the walls. Even with Droma atop his shoulders, Droma wouldn't be able to reach the top.

 

"We have to go back to the sluice gate," he said suddenly.

 

Droma looked at Han as if he were mad. "What?"

 

"The gate's our only chance at climbing out."

 

"I thought you said we're better off down here."

 

Fat drops of rain started to fall. "Salliche is cooking up a storm. They're planning on drowning us."

 

Droma gulped. "But those speeders that were chasing us-they're probably already headed for the gate!"

 

Han tightened his lips and nodded. "You're right. But there has to be at least one more gate between here and the river."

 

They began to run, helping each other along when one of them slipped or became bogged down. The rain became a downpour, and the muddy water rose quickly from ankle- to knee-deep. Behind them they heard the steady whine of approaching landspeeders. Then the sound was replaced by a roaring turbulence.

 

Han came to an abrupt halt. "Listen," he shouted to Droma above the steady pounding of the rain.

 

Droma stopped a few meters farther on. "I don't think I'm going to like this."

 

Both of them turned to see a three-meter-high wall of water raging toward them. They barely had time to swing back toward the river when the torrent caught up, sweeping them away.

 

 

TWENTY-THREE

 

 

Larger than the Death Star, Centerpoint Station hung gray-white and ominous between Talus and Tralus, drawing its power from the gravitic output of the so-called Double Worlds. Rotating slowly around an axis defined by two thick polar cylinders, the station had been designed to act as a gravity lens capable of directing amplified bursts of repulsor energy through hyperspace, sufficient for the capturing of distant worlds or the destruction of far-flung stars. Its surface was a mishmash of boxy superstructures as tall as skyscrapers and force-bubble pressurization access ports the size of impact craters. A bewildering tangle of piping, cables, and conduits coursed in all directions, winding through multi-storied forests of parabolic antennae, conical arrays, and setose projections. A prominent feature was the remains of a crashed spacecraft that had been macrofused to the hull and converted into living quarters.

 

"I was the first person to greet your uncle Luke, Lando Calrissian, Belindi Kalenda, and Gaeriel Captison when they came aboard," Jenica Sonsen told Anakin, Jacen, and Ebrihim while a turbovator smelling of fresh paint conveyed them along a dark-pink tunnel toward the station's core.

 

"I think we met you on Corellia afterwards," Jacen said.

 

"You did. I'm delighted that you remember."

 

"The simulated gravity is increasing," Q9 interrupted in Basic, speaking through a vocoder the droid had adapted to form words like a mouth. "The increase is obviously a consequence of our traveling away from the axis of rotation."

 

"Thank you, Queue-nine," Ebrihim said, in deference to the droid's oft-stated opinion that machines should be useful at all times and in all places.

 

Sonsen smiled at the exchange. "It has long been our hope to provide Centerpoint with artificial gravity, but for the time being, we're relying on centrifugal gravity. Perhaps if we're successful in assisting in the war effort, the New Republic will finally allocate the funds necessary to despin the station. But even without artificial gravity, the Mrlssi have done wonders to make Hollow-town and many other areas perfectly livable."

 

She was an upbeat, handsome woman, with black curly hair, a long, thin face, and expressive eyebrows. Eight years earlier, following Centerpoint's unexpected flare-ups-which had not only destroyed two distant stars with precise hyperspace shots but had also incinerated thousands of colonists who had been living in Hollowtown-Sonsen had been left in charge of the station, while survivors fled for the safety of Talus and Tralus. Since then she had headed up the cartography team that was slowly mapping the complex interior of the immense orb, a task Sonsen herself doubted would be completed in her lifetime.

 

"Did your team get along with the archaeologists who were deported?" Jacen asked.

 

Sonsen frowned. "They weren't deported, so much as removed for their own safety. But, yes, of course we got along. All of us are interested in learning whatever we can about the species who built Centerpoint and assembled the Corellian system. I'm afraid, however, that the archaeologists may have erred by making a political issue of their removal. If, as the Centerpoint Party advocates, each of Corell's five worlds should be treated as a separate entity, then it stands to reason that this station-which is certainly not indigenous to the system-should also be considered independent. As a result, I believe that Centerpoint may remain in New Republic hands for some time to come."

 

Ebrihim opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and fell silent for the remainder of the ride through the station's two thousand levels of decks.

 

Originally a power-containment battery, Hollowtown was an open sphere, measuring sixty kilometers in diameter. The curving walls had once seen homes, parks, lakes, orchards, and farmland, basking in the overhead radiance of Glowpoint-a kind of pilot light for the entire station. But except for a few that housed scientists and the archaeological team before them, the houses had been dismantled. The only concession to what had once existed were the adjustable shadow-shields, installed to simulate night.

 

Positioned along the spin axis on both sides of Hollow-town were large cones ringed by six smaller cones, given the names North and South Conical Mountains. The arrangement of the cones was the geometry needed for a particular type of old-style repulsor.

 

Sonsen pointed out the sights as she ushered everyone to a small, well-shielded control room that had remained concealed during the station's occupation, and had been discovered only by accident when a group of Mrlssi had been searching for a place to install a life-support monitor.

 

Consistent with the plumed avians from which they were descended, the limpid-eyed, diminutive Mrlssi had a talent for rendering extremely large spaces habitable, as they had proved to Dr. Ohran Keldor, who had employed some one hundred of them at the Imperial Maw Installation near Kessel. In Hollowtown, the fine-boned Mrlssi were more in evidence than any other species, though there were none in the control room itself when Sonsen and her charges entered.

 

The instrument-filled chamber did hold several humans, a Selonian, two Verpine, and a Duros, but in spite of the diversity, the curious mix of robed Jedi, Drall, and bullet-headed droid brought activity to an abrupt halt and caused all heads to turn. Since arriving onstation, Anakin had grown accustomed to being the focus of intense scrutiny, but the gray-haired man who muscled his way through the control room crowd set him back on his heels. With the beard that Han had been growing the last time Anakin saw him, the man looked more like Han than Han himself-if a few centimeters taller and more thickly built.

 

"You're Jacen, and you're Anakin," he said, pointing to each in turn. Mostly to Anakin, he added, "You don't remember me, do you? I'm hurt. I'll bet that even your droid remembers."

 

"You were responsible for confining Master Ebrihim and Masters Anakin and Jacen within a fo rce field on Drall," Q9 supplied. "Whereas I was responsible for releasing them."

 

The man planted his hands on his hips and laughed heartily. "I'd forgotten all about that."

 

"You're Thrackan Sal-Solo," Anakin said at last, "Dad's first cousin."

 

Thrackan made his face long. "And your cousin, as well, boys."

 

"You not only took us hostage," Jacen said, "you forced our father to fight a Selonian female-just for your amusement."

 

Thrackan spread his hands in a placating gesture. "Han and I have a long history. He probably never told you about the time he beat the stuffing out of me when we were kids. You might say that I was just paying him back. But, you're right, it was wrong of me to do what I did. Sometimes when you've been remembering an injustice for years and years, revenge begins to get the best of you."

 

Thrackan's eyes narrowed. "It took me the better part of eight years in Dorthus Tal prison on Sacorria to realize that, but I have realized it, and I'm a changed man as a result." He gestured broadly. "That's the only reason I'm here on Centerpoint. As part of my rehabilitation, the powers that be felt that I could demonstrate my newly attained self-awareness by pitching in-by offering my technical expertise in service to the cause. By standing shoulder to shoulder with the New Republic against the Yuuzhan Vong."

 

He snorted a self-deprecating laugh. "Of course, you two wouldn't know how the past can plague a person. You're Jedi. You're not subject to the banal emotions that trouble ordinary folks. Anger, hatred, guilt, the desire for retribution . . . such things mean nothing to you. Why, even the Yuuzhan Vong have simply failed to see the error of their ways and can probably be brought over to the side of the Force. Am I right? Otherwise you'd be shoulder to shoulder with us in the trenches, ready to fight-ready to spill whatever amount of Corellian blood that runs in your veins."

 

"We're here to help," Anakin said firmly.

 

"Are you now?" Thrackan shook his head in amusement. "It's a marvelous irony that it took a galactic war to reunite the old gang"-he motioned to one of the humans and the Selonian-"and to bring you boys back to the station you originally helped to shut down." Again his glance favored Anakin. "I have you to thank personally for banishing our illusions of a free and independent Corellia. But, tell me, do you still think we were wrong to make a grab for freedom?"

 

"Your methods were wrong," Jacen said before Anakin could respond.

 

Thrackan waved his hand. "Methods. You realize, of course, that the New Republic has essentially abandoned Corellia since the crisis. And knowing Ebrihim"- he regarded the Drall with obvious distaste-"I'm sure you've been apprised of Coruscant's plan to use Corellia as a battleground."

 

"We've heard the rumors," Jacen said.

 

Thrackan sneered. "That's your mother talking. What about you, Anakin? Are you here on a tour, or are you really willing to do what's necessary to safeguard Corellia from attack?"

 

Anakin considered it. "That depends on what you have planned for Centerpoint."

 

Thrackan adopted a look of puzzlement. "What we have planned is an interdiction field. What else could we hope for?"

 

"How about the ability to vaporize every unwanted ship-Yuuzhan Vong or otherwise-that shows itself here?" Jacen chimed in. "The Watch keeper was destroyed by one shot from the repulsor on Selonia, and Center-point has a thousand times the firepower of all five planetary repulsors combined. It can create a compression wave strong enough to induce a star to explode."

 

Thrackan looked to a pale, thin-faced technician. "This is Antone," he said. "He was also here during the crisis. In fact, he had family at Bovo Yagen, the star that would have been destroyed if Anakin hadn't intervened in time."

 

"Centerpoint can indeed induce stars to go nova," An-tone said. "The Triad caused the explosions of EM-1271 and Thanta Zilbra, but those results cannot be duplicated."

 

"You're saying that Centerpoint can't be used as a weapon?"Jacen asked.