They were two Yuuzhan Vong guards assigned to march her to her last interview. Assigned to conduct her to the meeting where she would be condemned to death.
She was afraid of them, for either could kill her on a whim, and neither had the slightest regard for her life.
She knew contempt for them, for they were ugly, anonymous creatures, drones whose names would never be known. Somewhere, and perhaps very soon, they would die in battle and be forgotten.
She envied them. The remainders of their lives, however short, would probably be longer than hers.
She was Viqi Shesh. Once the Senator representing Kuat before the New Republic, she had for a long time also been a spy for the Yuuzhan Vong, funneling them crucial information about the planet Coruscant and the workings of the New Republic’s government. Long and faithfully had she served her new masters.
But long and faithful service hadn’t meant much to them. As the Yuuzhan Vong invasion of Coruscant had begun, she had attempted to carry out her latest assignment—the kidnapping of Ben, the infant son of Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker—and had failed. Her enemies had been a step ahead of her and had swept the brat off to safety. She had pursued and had been within meters of retrieving the baby, but a counterattack by Lando Calrissian and his combat droids had left her disgraced and friendless, in the grip of the Yuuzhan Vong she had failed.
Until that moment, she’d confidently anticipated receiving great rewards from the Yuuzhan Vong for her service and effort. Instead, her reward had been to be arrested and hustled up to Domain Dal, the worldship that served Tsavong Lah, Warmaster of the Yuuzhan Vong, as his flagship.
She was in pain. Neathlats, a sort of living bandage, clung to her right forearm, where Princess Leia’s Noghri bodyguard had bitten her to the bone, and to her back, where Leia’s lightsaber had slashed and burned her. Neathlats promoted healing but did not diminish pain. That was not the Yuuzhan Vong way. Instead, they irritated nerve endings, causing the pain of injuries to be sharper.
She was without allies. No one would speak for her. She had failed to produce Ben Skywalker for the Yuuzhan Vong, and her betrayal of the New Republic was by now certainly common knowledge among the refugees from Coruscant.
But she was not weaponless. Not while she had her intelligence, her political experience. She still had a weapon she could aim at Tsavong Lah.
The guards led her along a lengthy corridor. Its lines were not truly straight, its corners not quite right angles. Its surfaces were a mottled red reminiscent of muscle tissue. It smelled like raw meat, and Viqi forced herself to keep an expression of disgust from her face.
It was deep within the Yuuzhan Vong worldship. It had to be well away from the ship’s centers of command, for there was no other traffic along it. Viqi was pleased that she could still think analytically.
They reached a large chamber, its walls identical to those of the corridor, with an ivory-colored set of double doors opposite, a matched pair of Praetorite Vong guards standing before them. The guards drew the doors open to let them pass.
Beyond was a large oval chamber in the same mottled red. Its floor sloped downward in a gentle curve, its lowest point being a circular opening some three meters across. The opening surrounded blackness; Viqi found she could not focus on the darkness. It seemed fuzzy somehow, rising above the level of the floor a quarter meter or more.
Beside the pit stood Tsavong Lah, the great planner and guiding light of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion of this galaxy. A heavily scarred and tattooed example of highranking Yuuzhan Vong, his lips had been slit into tatters that stirred whenever he exhaled heavily, and his body was marked everywhere with bloodred scales, implants that spoke of his importance. His left arm had been replaced at the elbow by a radank claw, all reddish scales and spines, with fingers that were segmented and articulated in a manner not natural for Yuuzhan Vong or human; spines and scales were emerging from the flesh above his elbow as well, and small black dots, carrion-eaters, swarmed around them. She repressed a shudder. Despite all of Tsavong Lah’s mutilations and decorations, she had found him somewhat attractive—power and ambition in males being a lure for her, a secret weakness—but the rot that afflicted him, which threatened both to rob him of both his radank claw and his power, disgusted her.
The guards and Viqi came to a halt before Tsavong Lah. He turned to fix his stare on her. “You may feel honored,” the warmaster said. “It is not customary for one of my position to witness the disposal of waste.”
She looked at him, and then again at the pit overfull of darkness. In the blur of that darkness, at its edges, she saw motion that seemed suddenly familiar. It was identical to that of the little black dots, the carrion-eaters, that infested Tsavong Lah’s arm.
She concealed a sensation of revulsion. “This is the fate you’ve chosen for me?”
“Yes.” The warmaster gestured at one of her guards. “Denua Ku will kill you. If you are polite in these last few moments of life, I will let you choose the means of your death. He could break your neck, stab you with his amphistaff, have the staff bite you. Then your body will be tossed into the pit. The creatures there will ignore it for a time, until it begins emitting the odors of decomposition, and then they will fall on it, slowly eating it away to nothingness. You will disappear into darkness, Viqi Shesh, and cease to be, as though you never were.”
Viqi’s stomach knotted, but she kept her expression calm, emotionless. “Why don’t I just jump in? I can drown as your little bugs fill my lungs. That way, these two nameless nothings beside me don’t get to participate.”
She could sense anger in the increasing stiffness of her guards’ postures, but Tsavong Lah merely widened his eyes and looked a bit surprised. “You are anxious to provide compensation for your failure?”
“Of course. I will do it this way if it is what you require; it is my obligation to serve. But I’m more anxious for you to stop lying to me. To end that particular torture, I’ll jump in right now.”
“Lying. An interesting accusation. A deliberate offense.” Tsavong Lah smiled again. “One you can offer because you think nothing worse than death could await you. If that is your belief, you are wrong.”
“I say you are lying for this reason: you are not disposing of me because I failed you. Others have failed you and been permitted to live … because they were still loyal resources you could rely on. You’re having me put to death because you think I’m no longer valuable to you. No longer a resource.”
To the extent that they could, Tsavong Lah’s features became thoughtful. “I am impressed. You make your point. I am killing you because you are no longer a resource, Viqi.”
“But I am. My most powerful weapon is still with me, Warmaster—my brain. While I sat in my cell, I used it, and I uncovered a threat to your control of the Yuuzhan Vong, to your plans for this galaxy, to everything you consider a goal. You are in danger you don’t even know about. Only I have uncovered the secret.”
“Name it, then.”
“No.” She looked at her guards. “Not while these unworthy ones can hear my words. Not while anyone other than you can hear them.”
Tsavong Lah gestured. Viqi’s guards took her by her arms and, seemingly without effort, lifted her. They held her over the pit. Black dots leapt up from it, settling on her feet and lower legs. Some leapt off again.
“Anything you have to tell me, they can hear,” Tsavong Lah said, “in the final moments of your life.”
Viqi returned her gaze to his. She was able to keep the fear she felt out of her voice. “You and I are the only ones in this chamber I know are not your enemies. I will not speak what I know before strangers, because it might spell your doom. If I die now, with my secret unspoken, you might figure it out yourself, and survive anyway. I will not betray you. So drop me.” She made her expression fierce, and the ferocity was not just a show—the fear she felt was real, and fueled very real anger.
Tsavong Lah considered her for a long moment, then made a shooing gesture to his guards. They withdrew a step, bringing Viqi back over solid flooring, and released her. She fell awkwardly, almost collapsing when she landed; a stumble and she might have pitched forward into the pit anyway. Then they turned and left the chamber.
Viqi felt the first, faint stirrings of hope. She was in charge of this situation, for the moment at least. If she could hold on to her tenuous advantage, she might live.
Tsavong Lah regarded her steadily. “Well?”
“Your body rejects its latest modification,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “I know what you’re thinking. You believe it’s your gods talking to you, telling you to figure out the correct path to their approval. But that’s not what’s happening.
“You’re being betrayed, Warmaster. By the shapers. They’ve put a faulty limb on you. It threatens to turn you into a Shamed One. Soon, they’ll start recommending courses of action to you—military action, political action. When you start doing what they say, the problems with your limb will diminish. But anytime you fail to do as the shapers demand, new problems will begin. You’re going to be their slave, Warmaster.”
Tsavong Lah fell silent. His eyes were unreadable.
You contemptible, predictable fool, I have you. Viqi clamped down on the rush of elation she felt—she could not afford for it to be reflected in her expression.
In her cell, she had used her skills of fabricating and anticipating treachery—not to figure out the source of the problems afflicting Tsavong Lah, but to concoct an accusation that explained all of them, a story that would take time and effort to disprove. She would use that time to find some way to escape the Yuuzhan Vong.
“An interesting notion,” the warmaster said. “What if you are wrong?”
“I am not wrong.” Viqi gave him her most unconcerned expression. “I just ask for the opportunity to see my theory proven right. Kill me then if you choose. At least I’ll die victorious.”
Tsavong Lah regarded her for long moments. Then he nodded to himself. “We will see. I will give you duties to perform until proof is in my hands … or my patience ends.” He called out a few words in his language, and the guards returned to flank Viqi. At the warmaster’s gesture, the guards took Viqi by the shoulders, spun her around, and led her back out the door.
Every step was more distance between her and the pit. Every step was a loosening in the tight grip that fear had on her heart. Every step was a drumbeat accompanying the words that pulsed through her mind: I live. I live. I still live.
Wedge’s comlink beeped, awakening him. His booted feet slid off the desk before him and hit the floor with a too-loud clatter. He sat up, wondering for a moment where he was and what he was doing there.
His office was dark. He’d fallen asleep before making it back to his temporary quarters. He grabbed his comlink and held it up before him. “Go.” He rubbed sleep from his eyes and wondered how many minutes of rest he’d had.
“General, this is Mon Mothma. One of our wing-pair patrols reports a transport with fighter escort arriving insystem.”
“Yuuzhan Vong or refugee?”
“Neither, sir. Its communications officer says it’s the official transport of the New Republic Advisory Council. Their authentication code checks out.”
Wedge frowned at the comlink. It was inconceivable that the Advisory Council was still functioning in any capacity. Until the fall of Coruscant, they’d been Chief of State Borsk Fey’lya’s handpicked advisers, a lubricating layer between him and the grinding machinery of government. But with Fey’lya’s death during Coruscant’s fall and the collapse and flight of the New Republic Senate, Wedge had guessed that the Advisory Council would have been scattered to the space routes, each member racing home to prepare for Yuuzhan Vong pursuit. “Have they done anything other than request clearance to land?”
“Yes, sir. They’ve, um, requested a meeting with you and your general staff, as soon as possible. They say they’ve brought your orders.”
Wedge made a face. As if he needed interference from a now-irrelevant group of politicians. “All right. Set up two starfighter squadrons in a circle illuminating a landing field well away from the facility. Tell the Advisory Council that it’s a military honor display. If they ask why they’ve never heard of such a thing, tell them it’s a Rogue Squadron tradition. The starfighters are authorized to attack without further confirmation if this turns out to be some sort of Vong trick. If it’s not, conduct the Advisory Council here, to the conference room, as fast as possible. Begin reprovisioning and repair of their transport immediately—and put some technicians aboard to sweep the ship and make sure it doesn’t have any surprises for us. Got that?”
“Got it, sir.”
“Out.” Wedge rose with the uneasy feeling—one that had come to him every time politicians had a surprise for him, one that had almost never been proven false.
When Luke and Mara reached the conference room—he with a cup of steaming chocolate in one hand and a cup of caf for Mara in the other, as her arms were occupied holding Ben—it was already half full of Wedge’s officers and advisers. They occupied seats around two-thirds of the main table and chairs behind; several seats at the table, those nearest the main doors, were being kept conspicuously empty. Wedge sat at the head of the table, facing the door, Tycho beside him; they were huddled in conference, though Wedge spotted Luke as he entered and waved the Jedi Master up to the head of the table again.
The expressions of most people in the room suggested they’d only recently been roused from sleep. Luke knew how they felt.
Mara dropped into the seat closest to the chair reserved for Luke, next to Lando. Lando looked pained, his brow creased in a frown, his eyes bloodshot.
“Hangover?” Luke asked.
Lando winced. “Stop shouting.”
“I could whistle you up some caf.”
“If you were to whistle, my head would explode and there would be brains everywhere.”
Mara shook her head, deadpan. “No brains. Just skull fragments.”
Lando shot her a betrayed look. Luke grinned, waited until Mara had settled Ben in her lap, and handed her the caf. Then he joined Wedge and Tycho.
There was noise from the hall, a clattering of boots, and a group of ten or twelve people turned into the conference room.
Luke knew several of them by sight.
Pwoe, first of the council to enter, was a Quarren. Quarren, roughly humanoid in shape, sometimes tended to unnerve humans and near-humans because of their looks; they were an aquatic species with squidlike heads from which trailed four tentacles where a human’s lower facial features would be. The Quarren as a culture did not deserve this reaction, but, in Luke’s estimation, Councilor Pwoe did; Luke knew him to be a grasping, politically carnivorous being who was no friend of the Jedi. It would not have surprised Luke to find out that Pwoe had something to do, either directly or indirectly, with the formation of the Peace Brigade, the collaborationist forces who kidnapped Jedi and handed them over to the Yuuzhan Vong. Today, Pwoe wore a full-length green robe that contrasted nicely with his leathery orange skin. As he entered the room, his turquoise eyes scanned the chamber, found Luke, fixed on him for a moment, and then moved on. Pwoe sat in the chair directly opposite Wedge.
Chelch Dravvad of Corellia sat to Pwoe’s right, and Fyor Rodan of Commenor sat beside him. The two human males, both of middle age and with the confident, artificial aura of politicians on display wrapped tightly around them, tended to keep their attention on Pwoe, rather than making eye contact around the room.
Niuk Niuv, the fourth councilor to enter the room, was a Sullustan. If some long-ago biological engineers had created a race to resemble a child’s stuffed toy, they could not have done much better than the Sullustans, who had round heads, large round ears, wobbly jowls, and charming nonhuman features; only Ewoks were more likely to produce squeals of glee in a child seeing them for the first time. But, like Ewoks, Sullustans could be dangerous foes, and Niuk Niuv was dangerous even for a Sullustan. He’d been an opponent of the Jedi ever since joining the Advisory Council. He sat to Pwoe’s left.
Niuv was the last council member to enter. The remaining members of the council’s company appeared to be aides, datapads in their hands and worried expressions on their faces, and guards, faces impassive, blaster rifles held at the ready position.
Luke rose as the others did, a customary show of respect for Senators and members of the Advisory Council, but he felt a wave of irritation or offense roll off the people already present in the room. So many council guards present suggested that the council didn’t trust Wedge’s security arrangements. It was an insult; Luke simply didn’t know whether it was accidental or deliberate.
Wedge said, “Councilors, welcome to Borl—”
Pwoe held up a hand. “General Antilles, you address not only the Advisory Council but the Chief of State.”
Wedge blinked, then his gaze moved to the clasp being used to hold Pwoe’s robes together. Made of gold, it was the New Republic symbol surrounded by stars. Borsk Fey’lya had occasionally worn it. Luke saw Wedge struggle with his response—Pwoe’s rise to the position of Chief of State was not by any stretch of the imagination a legal one, but in these unsettled circumstances, it might just be a practical reality.
“Congratulations on your promotion,” Wedge said. He gestured for the others to sit, and did so himself. “If I may ask, where are Councilors Cal Omas and Triebakk?”
Pwoe spread his hands, a gesture of ignorance. “Alas, we do not know. We suspect that they perished during the assault on Coruscant.”
“Two more tragedies to add to the list.”
“Indeed.”
That, potentially, was bad news. Omas, a Senator representing the relocated people of Alderaan, and Triebakk, a Wookiee from Kashyyyk, were sensible beings who did not have an irrational dislike of the Jedi. They had been a moderating influence on the Advisory Council. Now, if they were indeed lost, all the members left to the council were largely opponents of the Jedi, advisers who had often argued in favor of finding a way to accommodate the Yuuzhan Vong—to settle the war with negotiation.
Luke felt a surge of suspicion. Had the two missing councilors perished on Coruscant? Or could they have been left behind deliberately by these deal-making bureaucrats—or even been pushed out of an air lock on the trip here? He shook his head, willing those thoughts away.
Mara leaned over, nearly touching foreheads with him. “I felt that,” she whispered. “That was my thought, too.”
Lando leaned into the huddle. “You don’t need the Force for that,” he whispered. “I could read it in Luke’s expression.”
“Shh,” Luke whispered. “Or I’ll make a loud noise.”
Lando leaned away again, his motion hurried.
Pwoe continued to stare at Wedge, impatience evident in his body language. “We should begin.”
“We’ll start in a minute,” Wedge said. “Members of my general staff are still in transit.” His face was fixed in a slight smile. Luke could tell that it was nothing but veneer, a mask covering agitation, irritability.
Pwoe fixed him with an admonishing look. “I understood that you’d be ready for us. Time is pressing.”
There were footsteps in the hall. Booster Terrik, glowering, entered and moved to sit near the table, close to Tycho. There were more footsteps, running footsteps, and Danni Quee skidded through the doors, juggling datapads and portable screens; her hair was an unruly blond mess tied in an off-center ponytail. She slid into a seat near the door, directly behind Corran Horn, and looked at Wedge. “Sorry,” she said.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Wedge said, and looked up at one of the council’s guards. “Doors.”
The guard looked at Pwoe, received his nod, and closed the doors.
“Now we can start,” Wedge said.
Pwoe nodded. “Yes, of course. First, I want to reassure you all that the government of the New Republic is in fine working order. Drawing on the emergency authority that has fallen to us with Borsk Fey’lya’s death, and with the temporary disarray the Senate finds itself in, the Advisory Council has assumed the reins of power. We are now formulating plans to reorganize our armed forces and retake Coruscant. We are in communication with planetary governments from all over the New Republic, which are acknowledging our leadership and awaiting orders.”
Luke and Mara exchanged glances. She took a sip of her caf and then winced, as if the bitterness of the drink were the reason.
Wedge responded to Pwoe’s statement with only a nod.
Pwoe waited, as if expecting more, and then, after an uncomfortable silence, continued, “We wish to congratulate you on your success here at Borleias, General.”
“Thank you … but we haven’t had any success yet. We seized this facility through use of overwhelming force, which says nothing about either side in the conflict.”
“Yes, of course. Still, I need to hear details of what you have accomplished here.”
With little evident emotion and no extraneous words, Wedge briefed the Advisory Council members on the situation on Borleias. Luke saw the councilors nodding and whispering to one another as he spoke.
When Wedge was through, Pwoe said, “You’ve done very well in seizing the initiative, in anticipating the needs of the New Republic and acting on them. Not that I wouldn’t expect that of you. But now we need to bring your operation back into the New Republic command structure so that it can be coordinated with the rest of our response to this disaster. Sien Sovv remains Supreme Commander of our armed forces, and you’ll continue taking orders from him. Here is the first set.”
Niuk Niuv sent a data card skidding across the table-top. Wedge caught it, then slotted it into his datapad.
“Since these are your own trusted advisers, I will share your orders with them,” Pwoe said.
Wedge looked at him. His face was impassive, but the look was still a warning, a rebuke. To announce a leader’s orders in this manner to his subordinate officers was to question that leader’s competence, to deny that leader the right to limit the information reaching those subordinates.
Pwoe ignored the look and continued. “What we need from you, General Antilles, is for Borleias to stand as a fortress against the Yuuzhan Vong, even beyond the point that the stream of refugees from Coruscant ends. The Yuuzhan Vong won’t be able to tolerate the thought of a New Republic-controlled military base so close to Coruscant, on such a prominent hyperspace crossroads, and so they’ll come against you here. This will give us crucial time to regroup and then to come and relieve you. Once we’ve done so, we can use Borleias to stage the recapture of Coruscant. You must hold here at all costs. Can we count on you?”
Instead of answering, Wedge asked, “What forces and matériel will I have for this assignment?”
Pwoe blinked. “Most of Fleet Group Three is currently away from here, is that correct?”
“Yes. At deep-space rendezvous, on operations, coordinating with the other fleet groups, and so forth. I’ll have to bring portions of them back here for the sort of operation you describe.”
“Not at all. You underestimate yourself, General. We’ll leave you with a large proportion of the matériel you currently have in the Pyria system. That should suffice until you’re relieved. Of course, you can commandeer additional forces arriving from Coruscant, and any volunteer units that choose to join you.”
Wedge nodded. “Councilor Pwoe, I’m afraid I have to turn down your assignment.”
All whispered conversation stopped in the conference room. Luke felt a slight sense of unreality. Through the years, he’d seen Wedge reinterpret orders and bend them in his efforts to do what was best for the Alliance and New Republic, but never refuse orders.
Pwoe straightened, becoming taller and somehow seeming to swell in his chair. His voice became deeper, projecting better to those in the far corners of the chamber. “Perhaps I made a mistake in couching what I was saying in the form of a request, General Antilles. You must understand, that actually constituted an order.”
Wedge nodded. “Nevertheless, I’m refusing it.”
“As an officer of the New Republic, you cannot do that.”
“I’ll resign my commission.”
“In this period of crisis, that could be construed as an act of treason,” Pwoe said. Luke could actually feel outrage pouring from the Quarren, but it didn’t feel quite right—Pwoe was outraged because he was being refused, not because he actually believed his charge of treason.
For the first time since the meeting began, Wedge smiled; it looked to Luke as though he were clamping down on a laugh. But the smile wasn’t a cheerful one. Luke imagined, with a flash of insight from the Force, Wedge drawing his blaster, a fast, smooth move, and shooting Pwoe right in the face. Luke twitched, his hand automatically seeking his lightsaber hilt, before he realized that this vision was not what Wedge intended to do—just what he wanted to do. Luke found himself startled by the violence Wedge was obviously keeping under restraint.
But Wedge merely said, “Treason. Now there’s a curious charge in this circumstance. But we don’t need to get into that. Or into the legitimacy of your claim to be the Chief of State. Instead, I’ll make you a deal, Councilor Pwoe. I’m going to mention a set of military forces and privileges. Give them to me for this assignment, and I’ll accept command. Otherwise, I’ll transmit you my resignation of commission before you can walk a hundred paces.”
Outrage crept into Pwoe’s voice. “You can’t dictate terms to your superiors.”
“Actually, given these circumstances, I can.”
Pwoe turned to Tycho, who sat beside Wedge. “Colonel Celchu. I’m promoting you to the rank of general. Your assignment will be the one I just described to this traitor …” His voice trailed off as Tycho shook his head.
Pwoe took a deep, long breath. His eyes flicked back and forth as he evaluated other officers in the chamber. He relaxed, settling against the back of his chair. “All right, then, in the spirit of cooperation, I’m prepared to hear what it is you want to ask for.”
Wedge began counting off on his fingers. “First, all matériel currently in Pyria system, including extraneous forces we picked up in our retreat from Coruscant, and any currently in transit here remain under my command for this operation.”
Luke could see, though the councilors could not, Wedge give Tycho a light kick under the table. Tycho opened his datapad and began typing, glancing at Wedge occasionally as though transcribing the general’s words, but Luke was certain that Tycho was performing a very different task.
“Second, I want the Lusankya.”
Pwoe almost rose out of his chair. “The most powerful ship remaining in our navy? I don’t think so.”
“I do think so. And since, once the Yuuzhan Vong decide to besiege the Pyria system, getting supplies will be somewhat problematic, I need a three-month supply of food, medical gear, fuel, and ordnance for the entire force. I’ll give you three days from the time you depart this system for that to arrive. If it doesn’t, we leave. And one other thing.”
Pwoe’s voice turned frosty. “There’s always one other thing.”
“I want the right to communicate directly with any officer in the armed forces, to invite him or her to join us here, and the right to accept his or her transfer—without having to go through the commanding officer.”
“Antilles, you are obviously deranged. You should have been put out to pasture years ago.”
“I was, Pwoe. I should have been left there. And if the Advisory Council had conducted its part of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong in any competent fashion, I could have been left there.” Wedge held his hands out, palms up, a gesture saying, There we are. “Well?”
“Refused, of course.”
“As you wish. When this meeting is done, I’ll order the forces here to abandon Borleias. By the time you can get another occupation force here, the Yuuzhan Vong will hold this world. And, no, I’m not bluffing.”
Pwoe locked stares with Wedge, and whispers began again in the conference chamber. Finally Pwoe said, “A moment.”
“Take two.”
Pwoe turned to huddle with the other Advisory Council members. Wedge turned to Tycho. The murmurs rose in volume.
Luke leaned back toward Mara and Lando. “Sometimes,” Luke said, “I wish I had my sister’s political insight, or yours. What’s Wedge doing?”
“Pwoe is lying,” Mara said. “He wants Wedge to shore up Borleias so that the Yuuzhan Vong will come here to crush it. But he won’t be sending forces to reinforce Borleias. No one will. It will fall, and everyone here will die.”
Luke frowned. “Then what’s the point to holding it?”
“It gives the Advisory Council members time to go home and make preparations there. Preparations for war, or preparations so they can make the best deal possible with the Yuuzhan Vong. It gives the surviving members of the Senate the same time. And if they did their job right and convinced Wedge to fight ferociously, the Yuuzhan Vong might even be impressed with this little battle, might offer better terms in their negotiations.”
Luke gave Wedge a look. “So all he just negotiated for was enough military strength to let us hold out longer.”
“That’s right.”
“But everyone who stays here is still dead. Pointlessly dead. Just dead a little later.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m sorry I asked.”
Mara managed a slight smile. “If he’s negotiating, he has a skifter up his sleeve. You know that.”
The huddled members of the Advisory Council leaned away from one another and Pwoe turned again toward Wedge. Conversation in the chamber immediately died down. “General, I deplore your methods and your arrogance. I don’t imagine you can expect much in the way of a military career once this assignment is done.”
Wedge nodded. His expression was kind, solicitous—or nearly so. Luke suspected it was actually mockery of those emotions. “But you accept.”
“Yes. We accept. It is my pleasure to relieve you of command of Fleet Group Three, even if I must leave you your current rank and command of this garrison.”
“Once your orders confirming the terms I specified have been broadcast over the HoloNet to our armed forces, you can consider me to have accepted, too.” Wedge glanced at Tycho’s datapad. “But I recommend that it be soon. Rogue Squadron has reported sighting what may be a Yuuzhan Vong scout ship. This planet will be a war zone very soon.” He straightened and looked around. “This meeting is over. In five minutes we’ll have a quick operational planning meeting.” He gestured at Luke, Mara, Lando, Booster, and others, indicating that they were expected at that meeting.
The members of the Advisory Council, suddenly kicked free of the activities at hand, rose, looking a little uncertainly at Wedge, who paid them no further attention. The guard Wedge had called upon earlier opened the door again and Pwoe led them through. Luke could feel both irritation and smugness from the Quarren.
Luke shook his head. Smugness. Pwoe was smug because he knew Wedge would soon be dead. Luke felt anger rise within him. He shook his head and dispelled the anger—not forcing it from him, simply releasing it, feeling it dissipate.
Mara smiled. “I felt that.”
“It’s hard to be the serene Jedi Master all the time.”
“I don’t want you to be serene all the time, farmboy.”
* * *
Gavin Darklighter moved up toward Wedge. He heard the general whispering to Tycho, “What results?”
Tycho whispered back, “All Fleet Group Three ships within four hours’ travel of Borleias are now in hyperspace on their way here.”
“Good work.”
Gavin leaned over his commander and lowered his own voice. “General, none of the Rogues on patrol reported anything to me about sighting a Yuuzhan Vong scout.”
“Of course they did. Five or six hours ago. In orbit around Borleias.”
Gavin frowned, remembering. “Wait a minute. That was just the burned-out hulk of a coralskipper. One that we vaped when we arrived.”
“Correct. And a coralskipper can be used as a scout ship.”
“Sure.”
“And Rogue Squadron did report sighting it.”
“Sure.” Gavin felt his confused expression give way to a rueful smile. He looked across the room, where the last members of the Advisory Council were leaving, haste and nervousness evident in their body language. “Sir, how you can be so deceptive without actually lying is beyond me.”
Minutes after the Advisory Council’s shuttle left orbit, Wedge had the conference doors locked and guards posted outside. He looked across the faces of those he’d asked to remain behind—Tycho, Luke, Mara, Lando, Booster, Danni, Gavin, Corran. “Is anyone not clear on what just happened?” he asked.
Luke spoke up. “Are we sure, are we absolutely sure, that we’ve just been thrown to the neks?”
“Think of it this way,” Wedge said. “Pwoe just handed me the navy’s biggest surviving warship and enough matériel to noticeably diminish the New Republic’s ability to defend itself from the Yuuzhan Vong. From a coldly analytical political perspective, do the Coruscant refugees’ lives or Borleias’s military importance warrant that sacrifice?”
Luke shook his head. “No.”
“Then the only thing we can conclude from this is that the so-called Advisory Council has given up on the New Republic. That band of connivers has already concluded that we’re going to lose, that the Yuuzhan Vong are going to become the dominant force in this galaxy. They’ve given up. And considering how much political power they hold, their giving up could well doom the New Republic.”
“I suppose so.”
“Now, back to the subject of Borleias. We’re worse off than we thought we were,” Wedge continued. “Before, we thought we’d be able to blast off this rock, rejoin bel Iblis and Kre’fey, and lay in plans to help the New Republic rebound. Now, we can’t. I would very much like to hear any ideas about what we can do to counteract the damage the Advisory Council seems very prepared to do to our chances for survival—both here on Borleias and in the galaxy as a whole.”
“Before we do that …” Luke frowned at his old friend. “Wedge, if there’s no good to come out of it, why did you accept this assignment?”
“Well, because in a sense, the council is right. Pyria does have to be held. The Yuuzhan Vong have to be slowed. And if you’ll permit me a little ego here, I don’t think they’d appoint someone as skilled as I am to replace me here. It would be some commander who followed their orders with blind loyalty and nothing but the death of this garrison at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong.” Wedge shrugged. “I don’t plan to die here, Luke. And while I don’t think I can hold Borleias, I might be able to make it a name that causes little Vong children to whimper.” He returned his attention to the room in general. “So, back to my original question.”
No one spoke at first. Then Luke cleared his throat. “There are two basic styles of fighting, hard and soft. Back in the Rebel Alliance days, we fought soft. The New Republic fought hard. You’re expected to stay here and fight hard. But, ultimately, hard obviously isn’t going to work.
“I think that the model extends into our politics, too. If we continue to devote ourselves to the hard style, we’re going to doom ourselves.”
Wedge nodded.
Lando said, “So what you’re saying—what are you saying?”
Mara said, “What we’re saying is that you should stop attacking the Yuuzhan Vong with the New Republic. Attack them with the Rebel Alliance instead. Both here and in the wider theater of war.”
“But the Rebel Alliance is gone,” Danni said. “It became the New Republic.”
Luke nodded. “Correct. What I’m proposing …” He took a deep breath. “I’m proposing that it’s time for a new Rebel Alliance. Something that’s unbounded by the traditions and the shortsighted thinking of the current government of the New Republic. Something different.”
“That’s treason,” Booster said. “I like it.”
“A resistance force,” Wedge said. He gave Luke a sharp look. “But it would have to be a secret resistance. We can’t just declare independence from the New Republic and march off to fight the Yuuzhan Vong. Secret units in hidden locations. Operations not discussed with the New Republic High Command.”
“That’s right,” Mara said. “Which, if we decide to do this, makes you the weak link, Wedge.”
Tycho frowned at her. “Perhaps you’d better explain that comment.”
“Because in the legal sense, it is treason, Tycho. Wedge has already demonstrated that he’s willing to bend the rules—misappropriating a sizable fraction of the New Republic’s armed forces and using them in a manner inconsistent with his orders. This goes well beyond that. He’d be misappropriating munitions and matériel and giving them, not loaning them, to a private force. Even if we win, he could end up with the stamp of traitor in all the historical records. So could you. Can you do that, Wedge?”
Wedge looked troubled and did not respond at once. The others kept silent.
Finally, Wedge met her gaze, then looked at the others. “I think that we’re right at the edge of annihilation. Not just the government. Our entire culture, our history. If the Yuuzhan Vong win, they won’t necessarily wipe us out … but they’ll ingest us. Digest us. We’ll become the Yuuzhan Vong, and everything we stood for, everything we aspired to, will vanish. It would be as if we were a hologram and the power was suddenly cut off. Gone without a trace.” His voice hoarsened. “I’m not going to let that happen to my daughters, or to your children. So here’s what I propose.”
He drew his blaster and shoved it, spinning, to the center of the conference table. “Anyone need a blaster? That’s mine. I’m willing to put it out there because there’s no one in this room I’d hesitate to give it to, or to put my life in the hands of. And that’s how I propose we build this Resistance. For the time being, don’t bring in anyone you wouldn’t trust your life to, or your children’s lives. We’ll set up contacts, bases, and cells the old Rebel Alliance way. While the New Republic hits the enemy where they’re strong, we’ll figure out how to hit them where they’re weak. And if—or when—the New Republic finally falls, we’ll be here to hit the Yuuzhan Vong both ways, mixing hard and soft styles.
“Are we in agreement?” He caught the eye of each of the others in turn.
Each person nodded or raised a hand, all but Booster, who drawled, “I suppose so.” The others laughed.
“All right.” Wedge leaned back. “From now on, we’re the Inner Circle. Things said here don’t go outside. People outside will think it’s my own group of advisers, rather than the start of a resistance movement. If there’s someone you think can hear the treason we’re plotting, tell the rest of us … and we’ll vote to bring him or her into the Inner Circle, or not. Others we know we trust and need, like the Solos, will join us when and if they arrive.
“Now, let’s think about soft-style fighting. The Yuuzhan Vong are going to hit us here at Borleias. We need to draw them in, give them some success they don’t deserve, so they’ll grow to depend on and anticipate tactics that we can abandon when we need to. I need a me and I need a them.” He turned to Tycho.
Tycho took a long breath. “Well, I can be them probably as well as I can be you. And, of course, you can be you better than I can be you. But if you’re them and I’m you, everyone is thinking outside the box.”
Wedge nodded. “Good point.”
Lando said, “I’m really lost.”
Wedge grinned. “A game of tactics, Lando. When they decide to send a serious military commander against us—whether it’s right away or after a few engagements—that commander is going to be analyzing our tactics so he can implement the best strategy possible against them. In other words, to have an idea of what he’s going to be doing, we have to figure out how much of our thinking and tactics he predicts. So if we can give him exactly what he expects from us, reinforce his prejudices about our strategic skills—”
“You can abandon them later and give him a surprise,” Lando said.
“Right. So in our planning sessions, Tycho is going to be General Antilles, and I’m going to be whoever the Yuuzhan Vong commander is, and we’ll see just how far astray we can lead him.”
“I get it,” Lando said. “In fact, I get it better than you realize. You’re playing sabacc.”
Wedge considered that statement, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose so. And for bigger stakes than I’ve ever seen before.”