The small man had a name. It was Ryuk. He trembled in his need to discharge his duty, and his trembling made his actions awkward, uncoordinated.
He stood, wearing protective lenses over his eyes, holding the cutting device he had shown the tall man. Flame, concentrated into a point like a needle, poured out of the device’s nozzle, and Ryuk pressed it into the stone wall.
The tall man watched him. He waited with growing impatience for the device to cut its hole so he could enter.
But minutes passed, and though the stone warmed to the point that it glowed, it did not melt, did not retreat.
At last the cutting device made a noise like a cough and the flame vanished. Ryuk, expression fearful, turned to the tall man and tried to express a thought.
It was a bad thought. It meant that the device didn’t work anymore. Even if it worked forever, Ryuk seemed to be saying, it would not cut through this.
Bitter disappointment filled the tall man’s heart. He gestured, shoving, and Ryuk slammed into the black stone.
The tall man heard Ryuk’s bones break and, as Ryuk slid down the surface of the stone, saw blood trailing behind. He felt Ryuk’s emotions go from fear to quiet to nothingness.
The tall man needed another person, someone smarter, with better machines. He turned to leave. He would find such a person.
“We drop from hyperspace in ten seconds,” Leia called over her shoulder.
The Falcon’s two living passengers called out acknowledgments.
The system and its chief inhabited world popped into view right on schedule—a relief, and something of an unusual event, considering the number of times the Falcon had been yanked out of hyperspace by gravitic anomalies.
Vannix, first planet of the Vankalay star system, not far from the mighty industrial system of Kuat and traditionally within that world’s sphere of influence, was a mottled green-and-blue sphere with patches of white at the poles and streaks of brown above and below the equator. For Leia, for a moment, it was almost heartbreaking just to see the planet. Lovely worlds sometimes evoked that response in her. The image of one in particular, her homeworld Alderaan, shattered by the incredible might of the first Death Star, would be with her throughout her life.
The comm board came alive, snapping Leia out of her momentary distraction. “Vannix System Control to incoming vessel, please identify yourself.”
Han grinned at her. “Showtime.”
“Hush.” She switched over to send on the same frequency. “Vannix System Control, this is the Millennium Falcon, of Coruscant registry, currently out of Borleias, Pyria system, Leia Organa Solo speaking.”
There was a delay even greater than speed-of-light transmission limitations could account for. Then: “Uh, copy, Millennium Falcon. Please state your destination and objective.”
“This is a diplomatic mission to your capital, an official envoy from New Republic Fleet Group Three to the Presider of Vannix. We have a crew of two and two droids. We request a diplomatic visa.”
“Understood, Millennium Falcon.” There was another delay. “Pending verification, your request is granted. We’ll put up a homing beacon for you, and have an escort awaiting you at outer lunar orbit.”
“Thanks, Control. If I may ask, did Senator Gadan return to Vannix?” Addath Gadan, representative of this world to the New Republic Senate, had been on Coruscant at the time of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion; her fate since the penetration of Coruscant’s defenses was unknown.
“Yes, Your Highness. If you wish, I can inform her office of your arrival.”
“I’d appreciate that, Control. Thank you.”
“Control out.”
Leia leaned back. “So far, so good. No challenges, no sign of Yuuzhan Vong intrusion.”
“I don’t know,” Han said. “It’s always these little worlds that get you in trouble. Like Tatooine. I’m still living that one down.”
Leia gave him an arch look. “You’re complaining?”
“No. Well … No.”
She grinned, refusing to rise to the bait. “You’d better be nice to me. I know where you live.”
“I’ll be nice.” He raised the timbre of his voice into a fair imitation of the control officer Leia had just been talking with. “Yes, Your Highness. If you wish, I can get you a cup of caf.”
Leia just sighed and ignored him.
Han called over his shoulder, “We’re going to pick up an escort in a minute. You guys should probably get in the pod now.”
“Understood, General.” That was the voice of one of their two passengers; Han didn’t know which. The two women were Intelligence operatives; Han and Leia had met them just before the mission began and, once they set down on Vannix, would probably never see or hear from them again. The operatives would be setting up a resistance cell. Though this was, by comparison with Kuat, a backwater world, in the eyes of the resistance, every world should have resistance cells, as many as the planet’s resources and the danger it faced from the Yuuzhan Vong warranted.
“The pod” was a unit installed where one of the Millennium Falcon’s five escape pods had been. Outwardly, it looked exactly like an escape pod, though more decrepit than most, the better to discourage people from trying to use it in an actual emergency. But its thruster and other systems had been yanked, replaced by a sophisticated unit designed to thwart life-form sensors. Trying to launch the pod would result in an authentic-looking SYSTEM FAILURE message. Concealed in its floor was a hidden hatch that would permit access to the Falcon’s exterior. It was a convenient and reusable way to smuggle personnel such as two insurgents assigned with the task of setting up a resistance cell on Vannix.
The Falcon, of course, possessed shielded smuggling compartments adequate in size to hold the two Intelligence officers and a lot of gear besides. But Han, even after all these years, was reluctant to share that secret with anyone he didn’t intimately trust. “If you’re going to have to admit to carrying a hold-out blaster,” he had told Wedge, “carry two and admit to one.” So Wedge had arranged for the installation of the false pod.
“General,” Han said. “When are they going to stop calling me General?”
“When are they going to stop calling me Princess?”
Han shook his head. “Maybe when you become queen. Hey, there’s our escort.”
The escort, a pair of Kuat Drive Yards’ licensed variations on the TIE interceptor, silver with red strips to distinguish them from the more somber and ominous colors of the old Imperial starfighters, flanked the Millennium Falcon all the way through the atmosphere and to ground level in the midst of a sprawling city. Curiously, the city’s high-population residential districts, characterized by monolithic housing blocks that could have been transplanted whole from Coruscant, were at the city’s perimeters. The buildings seemed to form a defensive wall around the city.
The homing beacon drew the Falcon to a district of landing bays and warehouses near the city’s government center, and a welcoming party of military officers and distinguished civilians. As they settled into their visitors’ bay, Leia could recognize the spare, clean, red-and-white uniforms of the officers, the outrageously baldricked and epauletted and bemedaled civilian dress of the others.
Once all systems were shut down, Han joined Leia, C-3PO, and R2-D2 at the top of the main access ramp. As the four of them descended the ramp, the largest of the humans waiting for them—a woman sporting the most elaborately and gaudily decorated of the civilian outfits, and with a column of gray hair adding half a meter to her height—drifted toward them with all the stately majesty of a Tatooine sail barge. “Leia!” she called. “Leia, it’s so grand to see you alive and well!”
“Addath.” Leia’s tone was so warm as she embraced the larger woman that Han couldn’t tell whether her affection was genuine or not. “I was so happy to hear that you survived.”
“And I, you.” Addath beamed down at the smaller woman.
Han decided that Vannix’s Senator was a distinguished-looking woman. She was not pretty, but she carried herself with grace and dignity. In contrast with the overwhelming gaudiness and complexity of her garments—Han was surprised that there were no blinking lights or mechanical toys running about among the crimson ruffles and pleats, golden bows and ribbons—her makeup was understated, merely illuminating and directing attention to her large, intelligent eyes.
“Addath, you never had the opportunity to meet my husband, Han Solo.”
“No, but I know him well—doesn’t the entire New Republic?—from the holodocumentaries and histories, biographies, and holodramas based on his exploits.” Addath’s expression turned sober. “Allow me to offer my condolences about young Anakin and Jacen. I suspect that their sacrifice means that countless thousands of others will live, and that is how they will be remembered.”
“Thank you.” For once, Leia did not offer up her conviction that Jacen was alive somewhere. “Addath, I would not impose on your time, but our mission is an important one. I don’t have access to all the Senatorial records, so I have to rely on your help. We need an appointment with Presider Sakins as soon as we can arrange or connive one.”
Addath’s expression did not change, precisely, but Han saw something happen to it, all real cheerfulness disappearing, leaving only a shell behind. Addath took Leia by the arm and gently guided her around toward the ceremonial, flag-draped landspeeder waiting outside the visitors’ bay. As Han and the droids turned to follow, the military and civilian escort dropped into step behind them. “That will be difficult,” Addath said, her voice dripping with poisoned sweetness. “A week after Coruscant fell, Sakins looted the capital treasury, taking gems and other valuables dating back thousands of years—a tremendous fortune, and one easily transportable—and departed Vannix on the rickety but very comfortable military corvette that served as his personal transportation. He took his Presider-Aide, his mistresses, his children, and a number of his favorite financial supporters with him. I doubt he’ll be back.”
“Oh, dear,” Leia said. “Who is in charge of planetary government?” She boarded the oversized landspeeder ahead of Addath; Han followed the Senator aboard and settled in beside her, separated from his wife by the Senator’s substantial girth.
“Well, that’s not exactly clear,” Addath said. She turned her attention to the landspeeder pilot. “Presider’s residence, please.” Then she returned her attention to Leia. “I’m more or less in charge of civilian matters. A crusty and not-too-bright naval officer named Apelben Werl heads up the military. We’re now campaigning for a runoff election that will decide which of the two of us will be the Presider. You’ve arrived at a good time; the election is in a matter of a few days. The famous Solos might be able to swing the election with a few well-managed public appearances, a few kind words.”
“Count on it,” Leia said.
Two hours later—or forty, if you asked Han how long he thought it had been since they’d set down—they were left alone in quarters in the Presider’s residence. The rooms were lavishly decorated in the Vannix style, thick with ponderous cushioned couches and chairs in well-coordinated browns and golds, every surface covered—ankle-brushing carpeting below, draped curtains on the walls, tassels covering every centimeter of the ceiling and making it an ever-moving, almost organic overhead view.
But no viewports. Han settled down onto a couch beside Leia, felt a little alarm as he continued to sink for nearly half a meter. “Is this going to support me or swallow me?”
Leia smiled. “Grope around under the cushions and see if you encounter any digestive juices.”
“That’s the most revolting thing you’ve said all day. And don’t these people believe in fresh air? Maybe a balcony?”
“Sure they do. They believe in other things, too. They’re known for the adeptness of their politicians and the skills of their snipers, characteristics that help keep one another in check.”
“Good point. So let me ask you something important.”
“Sure. But first—” Leia turned to the droids. “Artoo, how about some music? Something Coruscanti.”
R2-D2 whistled obligingly. Then from his interior wafted music, an ancient Coruscant chamber composition played mostly on strings.
Han, puzzled, opened his mouth to ask when she’d put a music module in the astromech, but Leia placed a hand over his mouth, placed a finger to her own lips.
Then Han heard his own voice coming from the droid, clear and as realistic as if Han were standing there. “So when we decide to settle down again, where would you like it to be?” Leia’s voice was next: “I’m not sure. What if I’m needed to help rebuild Coruscant?”
The real Leia, her voice a faint whisper, said, “Now we can talk.”
Han matched his volume to hers. “That’s the conversation we had coming back from dropping the Jedi kids off.”
Leia nodded. “I’ve been recording us from time to time for situations just like this. Each conversation is cued to a different piece of music. It’s much simpler than hunting down and exterminating all the listening devices that are likely to be planted here.”
“Politics …” Han shook his head. “Not my strength. Care to let me know what we’re looking at here, so I have an idea of what to shoot at?”
Leia nodded and crooked a finger at C-3PO. The protocol droid moved up to stand before the couch, and, when Leia beckoned again, leaned forward until his golden head made the third point of a triangle with theirs. “Yes, mistress?”
“Have you been sampling the local information broadcasts?”
“I have.”
“Can you synopsize the Presider’s election and the candidate positions?”
“There are three candidates, but two are sufficiently out ahead of the third so far in pre-election polls that only their participation has any meaning,” the droid said. “Addath Gadan is a twenty-year representative of Vannix before the New Republic Senate, and Admiral Apelben Werl heads the planetary system’s navy. Since the abdication of the previous Presider, each has come to dominate, through political strategems, force of will, and calling due of personal markers, ever-greater portions of the planetary infrastructure. It is expected that the upcoming election will end the competition between them, but it remains possible that the loser in the contest will choose not to accept the election results and seize the government by force. Addath Gadan promotes an agenda of cooperation with and appeasement of the Yuuzhan Vong, while Admiral Werl favors military opposition. As is customary in politics, each supports the notion that her election constitutes a mandate of the masses related to these preeminent campaigning issues rather than a matter of personal charisma.”
“Nicely boiled down,” Han whispered. “Can you do the history of the Sith in thirty words or less?”
“Only in the most general terms, sir, and without including most pertinent dates and personality profiles—”
“Han, stop that.” Leia scowled at him.
“Sorry, easy target, I know.” Han sighed. “All right. We’ve actually accomplished our number one objective here. If they haven’t already, our two secret passengers will soon drag their crates of comm gear, weapons, and trade goods out of the Falcon and run off to begin setting up a local resistance cell. So we could leave tomorrow and consider this mission a success.”
“We could.”
“But not with your conscience clean.”
“Or yours either.”
“My conscience is always clean. But we would be leaving the planet in a situation where it might elect an appeaser to rule the government, which means the day after that the Yuuzhan Vong have another ally in their war on us.”
“That’s right.”
“So I expect you’ll want to stay for a few days.”
“That’s right.”
“And fire a political concussion missile right into the campaign plans of your friend.”
Leia nodded, her expression regretful. “Addath is not my friend. She’s just a politician whose skills I respect. I don’t owe her any ill will. But this is business, and it’s obvious that our interests have gone their separate ways … probably forever. We can’t let her win, Han. The only question is whether we can let this Admiral Werl win, either.”
Han couldn’t keep a grin from his face. “Election rigging is illegal, you know. Not entirely suited to a law-abiding politician from a good family.”
Leia’s smile matched his. “I’m not a politician anymore, Han. I’m just pretending to be one. I’ve come over to the scoundrel side of the Force.”
Han waited for a break in the recorded dialogue issuing from R2-D2, then scowled at the droids. “Hey, you two. Go take a walk. Give a couple of scoundrels some privacy here.”
“You’re the nosebleed guy, aren’t you?”
The voice came from the other side of the blue sheet separating Tam’s bed from the next one to his left. It was a boy’s voice.
“The ‘nosebleed guy’?”
A small hand pulled the sheet partway aside and Tam could see the speaker, a boy of perhaps twelve, brown-haired, blue-eyed, with a cleanly chiseled dimple in his chin giving him a surprisingly adult look. “They say that the scarheads did awful things to you and when you didn’t do what they wanted, it made you bleed so bad from your nose you almost died.”
“Well, it’s not as simple as that.” Tam shrugged, surprised that he wasn’t annoyed by the boy’s prying. “What they did to me makes my head hurt when I refuse. My head hurts, my blood pressure goes as high as if my body were a compression chamber. That can give me really bad nosebleeds. But the pain is the more dangerous part.”
“That’s why you have to wear the stupid helmet?”
“That’s why I have to wear the stupid helmet.” Tam extended his hand. “I’m Tam.”
The boy took it. “I’m Tarc. It’s not my real name. That’s just what everybody calls me. Nobody calls me Dab anymore.”
“What are you in here for, Tarc?”
“You know the other day, when the scarheads made their big attack, and Lusankya bombarded their guts out?”
“I know about it. I fell unconscious just as it was starting.”
“Well, they got close enough to shoot at the main building, and some plasma stuff burned through the shields and the wall where I was, and some of it splashed on me. My leg got burned.” Tarc whipped his sheet off, displaying the bandage on his right calf. “But I get out today.” His tone suggested that he was making a break from prison rather than leaving a hospital.
“I get out—well, I guess I can leave whenever I want.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“No place to go, I guess. No one trusts me. Anyone who does, shouldn’t.” Tam leaned back, grimacing at the painful reality of those words.
“But you fought back! You won. That’s what everyone says.”
“I should have fought back from the start. I should have let it kill me before I did anything bad.”
Tarc looked at him, wide-eyed, and then his expression turned to one of scorn. “Does everybody just get stupid when they grow up?”
“You heard me. That’s a stupid thing to say.”
“Tarc, listen. I’m just some guy who was of no use to anybody, and then the Yuuzhan Vong grabbed me, chewed me up, and spat me out in one of their plots.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Tam gave him a closer look. “Huh?”
“Me, too. The Yuuzhan Vong grabbed me, chewed me up, and spat me out, just like you said.” Tarc leaned back, his weary posture an imitation of Tam’s. “I look just like Anakin Solo. You know, Han Solo’s son. The dead one. On Coruscant, this lady spy for the Yuuzhan Vong made me go with her to the Solos so they’d be weird and distracted, so she could kidnap Ben Skywalker. Then I guess I was supposed to die, but the Solos brought me here, even though it hurts their feelings to look at me.” He looked away and his face became very still. “I don’t know where my real family is. Maybe still on Coruscant.” He didn’t have to add, Maybe dead.
“There aren’t a lot of kids here. Not a lot of civilians of any sort. What do you do when you’re not recovering from burn wounds?”
Tarc grinned. “I stay with Han and Leia Solo. ’Cept they’re gone a lot, like now. So I explore.” He lost his smile; his expression became melancholy. “And I have to study.”
“Not even having a world knocked out from under your feet can change some things, Tarc. How would you like to learn to be a holocam operator?”
“What’s that?”
“Well, anytime you see a holocast, the image is being recorded by a holocam. The holocam is worked by a holocam operator. That’s what I do.”
“That’s … interesting.” Tarc sounded dubious.
“Give it a try. I need to find Wolam Tser and see if he needs my services. Want to come along?”
Tarc’s eyes got bigger. “You know Wolam Tser? My parents used to watch him.”
Tam mocked his tone. “You know Han and Leia Solo? Sure, kid. I’m Wolam’s holocam operator.”
“I’ll come along.”
“Good.” Tam leaned back and shrugged to himself. Well, at least it would give him something to do.
The shaper, Ghithra Dal, looked upon Tsavong Lah’s arm and hesitated.
The warmaster knew the news would be unfavorable. He could feel the increased activity of the carrion-eaters in his arm, could see and feel the emergence of new spines in the Yuuzhan Vong flesh above the join. “Speak,” he said. “Your words cannot anger me. Nor your conclusions. If they are presented in a quick and correct fashion, you have nothing to fear from me.”
The shaper bowed in gratitude. “It is growing worse, Warmaster. I fear for your arm. All my shaper’s arts are not saving it.”
“So I am doomed to become one of the Shamed Ones.” Tsavong Lah leaned forward on his chair, staring off into the distance, into the future, paying the shaper no more mind. “No, that will never happen. When my arm is at its worst, but before I am truly among the Shamed, I will offer myself in sacrifice, or throw myself against the enemy and die appropriately. My only concern now is to support a new warmaster who can lead the Yuuzhan Vong ably and well.” He cupped his chin in his good hand and considered. “I think Gukandar Huath will serve best, don’t you?”
It was a ploy, one that Tsavong Lah would have considered appropriately cruel had he merely been offering it for his own amusement, but it had a purpose. Gukandar Huath was a fine warrior and war leader, but was well known for the support he offered the priests of Yun-Yammka and Yun-Harla, and for his barely disguised indifference to the Creator god, Yun-Yuuzhan. If, in fact, Ghithra Dal was part of some conspiracy with Yun-Yuuzhan’s priests, he would be forced now to offer—
“If I may, Warmaster, I said that the shaper’s craft was inadequate to the task … not that you were doomed,” Ghithra Dal said. “You may have one other avenue left to you—and it is an avenue of attack, not an avenue of retreat.”
Tsavong Lah considered the shaper as if he’d just been reminded that he was still there. He did not allow any hope to creep into his expression or tone. “Speak, my servant.”
Ghithra Dal lowered his tone as if to thwart eavesdroppers. “The shaper’s arts cannot help you, I am certain, because the one force in the universe more powerful than those arts afflicts you. The will, the anger of the gods is what you suffer.”
“No, Ghithra Dal. I bring victory to the twin gods, and they know that soon I will have a twin sacrifice for them. Their priests tell me of the gods’ pleasure with my successes.”
“Their priests, yes. Their priests rejoice, and the priests of Yun-Yammka anticipate your father’s victories in the Pyria system, so that they may occupy the rich world there. But though they are the gods whose names are most upon the lips of our warriors and great leaders, they are not the only gods.”
Tsavong Lah settled back in his chair and allowed some doubt to become evident in his voice. “Of course they are not. We have many gods. But what could I have done to offend any of them? I have offered no defiance to them, no curses.”
“You have—I suspect you have—neglected some. Offering sacrifices not quite in proportion to their greatness. The twin gods, blessed and mighty may their names be, give us success, and you celebrate success. But another gave you life, and you do not seem to celebrate that life.”
“Yun-Yuuzhan? But his myriad eyes do not focus upon us so closely. So the priests say.”
“So some of the priests say. And if they are wrong, if following their opinions has angered Yun-Yuuzhan, you might continue to follow their advice until it truly does doom you.”
“Some of the priests. Do you know any who preach a different discipline?”
“I do. He is young, perhaps not known to you. His name is Takhaff Uul.”
“I know of him.” Tsavong Lah looked at the join of his arm and considered it for a long moment. “I will speak with him. You are dismissed.”
“But I must remain to see the effects of my latest treatment.”
“You have just said that the shaper’s arts are not relevant here. Your latest treatment will fail. So there is no reason for you to stay and monitor that failure.” Tsavong Lah gestured toward the exit from the chamber.
With another bow, Ghithra Dal withdrew. The portal stretched open to permit his departure. Before it had closed again, when Ghithra Dal could still hear, Tsavong Lah thundered, “Summon Takhaff Uul to me.”
Then it was closed. No one moved to do his bidding. Nor were his guards and closest advisers supposed to. They had been carefully instructed in what to do, how to act. Takhaff Uul would indeed be summoned … but only in a few minutes.
Another portal widened and Nen Yim entered at a hurried pace. Once at his side, she pulled tool-creatures from her garments and headdress and began scraping and prodding at his arm, just at the join, taking flesh, capturing flesh-eaters. At any other time, touching him without permission would have been a crime punishable by the most ignoble of deaths, but he had instructed her to do so, to waste no time with words.
He ignored her and turned to Denua Ku, who stood as if on guard duty among his other bodyguards. “Was it done?”
Denua Ku bowed his head. “It was. I flung the tracer spineray onto his back, and he did not react, did not acknowledge its presence. It will spawn within minutes, and its spawn will spread.”
The warmaster nodded, satisfied.
It was not enough to take the heads of the traitors he already knew and suspected. He would have to tear this conspiracy out by the roots so that it could not grow again. The agony the conspirators felt in the last weeks of their lives, the shame they and their families would bear, would become legendary among the Yuuzhan Vong.