“We’re installing blastproof doors here,” the engineer said. “Once you get your people inside, you can drop the doors and be perfectly safe for, oh, several hours at least.”
“Several hours at least,” Jaina repeated. In the frigid air, her breath misted out in front of her as she spoke. She looked at the busy droids, which were lifting huge, clattering pneumatic hammers to widen the old mineshaft.
What no one had yet explained to her was why she would have to seek safety from the enemy in the tunnels of Ebaq 9, which seemed to be a perfectly useless moonlet at the end of a twisty hyperspace passage into the Deep Core.
But that seemed a part of the plan. Whatever the plan was.
Ebaq 9 was abuzz with military engineers, modifying the docking bays that once held mining shuttles, installing shields and a modern communications system, bringing the old life-support and artificial gravity systems up to current specs. The engineers were protected by a reinforced squadron under General Farlander, forty capital ships in all, far larger than the force he’d led at Obroa-skai.
Farlander, with Jaina under his command, was supposed to defend this useless moon. But the moon was also being turned into a giant bunker, and Jaina and the others were being given instruction in how to hide there.
Why hide? Why defend Ebaq 9 in the first place? The plan didn’t make any sense.
Nor did Jaina know where the rest of Traest Kre’fey’s fleet had gone. Kre’fey, Jacen, and most of the other Jedi hadn’t come to Ebaq 9 with Jaina and Farlander; they were off on some other mission. Jaina didn’t know where.
All she knew were the drills. Maneuvers aimed at readying Farlander’s squadron for defending the mined-out moon, then more maneuvers aimed at breaking off combat, landing on the moon, and hiding deep underground.
“We’ll have power packs, lifesuits, blasters, and ammunition stored here,” the engineer went on. “We’ll also have dried rations and water.”
“Blasters,” Jaina repeated. “Ammunition.” She shivered in her heavy jacket, and the movement almost lifted her from the deck in the moonlet’s light gravity. Her inner ear trembled on the edge of vertigo.
According to rumor, this plan was Ackbar’s work.
Jaina hoped not. Because that meant that Ackbar, as well as his plan, was insane.
“Time to give them their first hint,” Mara said. “The first hint of the final redoubt in the Deep Core.”
Nylykerka’s eyes brightened. “How much should we tell them?”
“Just give them a hint at first,” Mara advised. “We don’t want to hand them the whole thing. If they put the pieces together themselves, they’ll believe even more in what they’re learning.”
“Very well,” Nylykerka said.
“Perhaps the office of Senator Krall Praget could hear about an emergency appropriation for a base in the Deep Core. And you could combine that with a leak concerning an evacuation drill for the Chief of State and the Advisory Council.”
Nylykerka’s air sac throbbed thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think that might do the job.”
Stars blossomed around Jacen as Ralroost fell out of hyperspace. He sat in front of Admiral Kre’fey on the assault cruiser’s bridge, with tactical displays laid out around him.
They were as deep in the Deep Core as he’d ever ventured, the stars packed so tightly around them that it was never quite night.
“Ebaq Nine,” Kre’fey said meditatively, as the moon and its giant primary appeared on the navigation arrays. He turned to the communications officer. “Send my compliments to General Farlander, and request that he report aboard at his earliest convenience.” He turned to Jacen. “If you wish to see your sister,” he said, “you have my permission.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Jacen rose from his seat and withdrew from Ralroost’s bridge. Kre’fey’s fleet had reached the end of their long, erratic journey.
While Farlander’s squadron had flown directly to Ebaq, Ralroost and the rest of Kre’fey’s fleet had been engaged in a series of raids against the enemy. On every occasion the Jedi wove their Force-meld to coordinate the attacking forces. Wayland, Bimmisaari, Gyndine, and even Nal Hutta had been hit. Gyndine had been defended by a larger force than Kre’fey wanted to tackle, but elsewhere the defenders, fighting bravely but at hopeless odds, had been destroyed.
Diversionary raids, Kre’fey had explained after they were over. They were designed to show the enemy that Kre’fey and his fleet were anywhere but where they were going—Ebaq 9, and the Deep Core.
Being continually in action meant that Jacen had been unable to smuggle Vergere off the flagship. After two days of hiding her in the cockpit of his X-wing, he’d managed to smuggle her to his quarters. There, she’d taken up residence in the storage area under his bunk. He’d told the droid that cleaned his quarters to keep out.
Fortunately, he was in officers’ quarters and had a room to himself. The worst part was getting food to her, especially as she had a more-than-healthy appetite.
Another problem concerned Tahiri, who gamely continued with Jacen to try to find out if she could discover in herself a Vongsense. Jacen couldn’t have her in his cabin while Vergere was there, and produced various excuses why their practice had to be somewhere else less convenient. Not all of the excuses were convincing, but Tahiri seemed to accept them.
They failed in their attempt to develop any Vongsense in Tahiri, though Jacen privately thought this might be because there were no Yuuzhan Vong in the vicinity. And if there were Yuuzhan Vong around, the Jedi would be fighting them and have no time for meditations.
The only compensation for the perilous situation was that he and Vergere, in the privacy of his cabin, were able to share their meditations.
Leaving Ralroost, Jacen took his X-wing to the moonlet and met Jaina in the docking bay that had been modified to fly and arm military craft. Twin Suns Squadron’s X-wings were neatly parked there, ready to launch on a moment’s notice.
Jaina looked tired. Her skin was pasty, her hair limp, and she looked as if she hadn’t been out of her jumpsuit in days. Jacen didn’t need the Force to sense her discouragement.
“I don’t know what we’re doing here,” she said, after giving him a weary embrace. “Half the time we’re drilling on launching to defend the system, and the rest of the exercises have us running for bunkers.”
“We’ve got dozens of capital ships here,” Jacen said. “We have all the Jedi we need to form a meld. We can start joint exercises.”
“You all can’t run for bunkers,” Jaina said. She shook her head. “This is worse than anything I’ve ever seen. I hate this—I’m just nailed to this rock. It’s like we have a huge target sign pasted on us. I’m best if I’m given freedom of action—freedom to be the Trickster. That’s the role that works for me.”
The Trickster, Jacen thought.
I must inform you that you possess insufficient experience of depravity. Vergere’s words floated to the front of Jacen’s mind. He stared at Jaina in horror.
“I just realized what’s happening,” he said.
Jaina looked at him, and apprehension dawned in her brown eyes.
“You’re the bait,” Jacen told her. “You’re the bait that will bring the Yuuzhan Vong here.” He paused, and then nodded as he followed the thought to its inevitable conclusion. “And I’m the bait, too.”
“The bait must be real,” Ackbar said. “And the bait must be seen by the enemy.”
“If necessary,” Mara said, “we’ll have one of our Senators ask whether it’s true that the Chief of State has hidden himself in a redoubt along with his twin Jedi bodyguards. But I think we can do it more subtly than that.”
The tinkling of fountains and the scent of brine filled the air. Mara and Winter sat by the edge of Ackbar’s pool, swirling their legs in the water. Ayddar Nylykerka had unbent to the point of taking off his boots and dipping his hairy toes.
Mara reviewed her mental checklist. “The plans for the Final Redoubt,” she said. “Who’s going to glimpse them?”
“We’ve already used the Sullustan in Senator Praget’s office,” Nylykerka said. “Perhaps this time we should try the Peace Brigade contractor working in the shipyards. He can be given a moment alone with the plans in his supervisor’s office.”
“We know the Vong gave him a holocam.”
Mara, Nylykerka, and the mouse droids had located a third Yuuzhan Vong spy network operating in the new capital. She and Fleet Intelligence were keeping all three happy by feeding them information that was perfectly accurate, but either out of date, irrelevant, or useless. The Yuuzhan Vong wouldn’t suspect a spy who delivered no false information, even if the information wasn’t completely useful.
“The government needs to disappear,” Winter said.
“Cal will say he’s on a tour of military facilities with the heads of the Senate councils,” Mara said. “And then no one will hear from him for a while.”
“And the Solo twins need to disappear as well.”
“Perhaps Senator Praget can be indignant about it,” Nylykerka suggested. “He was an opponent of Leia Organa Solo—there’s no reason why he can’t dislike her children as well.”
Mara laughed. “That’s right! He can complain that Jacen and Jaina are hiding in some secret fortress just when the New Republic needs them most!”
“Bait,” Ackbar said. He lifted one hand and let a stream of seawater pour from his palm into the pool. “The bait must be real. And it must be seen to be real.”
The Sword of the Jedi, Jaina thought. A sword that’s about to be beaten into iron filings between the hammer of the Vong and the anvil of Ebaq.
“Twin Squadron, prepare to withdraw on my mark. Three, two, mark.”
Jaina rotated her fighter’s nose and triggered the ion engines. Deep in her gut she absorbed the tug of shifting momentum.
Now that she understood Ackbar’s plan better, she had to admit it made sense. Lure the enemy into an attack on a supposedly hidden base guarded by Jedi elites, trap them in a starry dead end, annihilate them.
The problem was, the Yuuzhan Vong would have every chance to annihilate Jaina and her squadron first.
“Request a shield drop on Sector Seventeen,” Jaina called to Ebaq Control.
“Shields dropping in five seconds. Four. Three …”
The shields dropped as Twin Suns Squadron raced through the gap. Jaina triggered the starfighter’s repulsorlifts and maneuvered into the docking bay space.
“Twin Suns Squadron, abandon fighters and rendezvous at the entrance to Tunnel Twelve-C.”
Jaina popped the canopy before the X-wing quite touched down, cleared her webbing, and used the Force to lift herself clear of the cockpit and drop onto the docking bay deck. She led the squadron in sprinting for the head of the giant main shaft that ran clean through the moonlet.
As she ran she kept thinking how tired she was. Tired of the war, of the constant drills, tired of having so many others who depended on her.
She was losing her edge.
“I’m worried,” Jacen told Vergere. “She’s exhausted, she has too many responsibilities. She’s on the edge.”
“Of darkness?” Vergere asked.
Jacen shook his head. “No. Of despair.” He hesitated, then spoke. “She doesn’t think she’ll survive the war.”
They spoke in hushed tones in Jacen’s cabin, Jacen on his bunk, Vergere perched on his desk chair. Most of the warship’s crews were asleep. After two days of joint exercises, Ralroost and most of Kre’fey’s fleet hung motionless around the old Imperial star base called Tarkin’s Fang, just a few minutes’ hyperspace jump from Ebaq 9.
“To despair of life is to despair of the Force,” Vergere said.
“How do I help her?”
Vergere’s head thrust forward on its angular neck, peculiarly insistent. The chair creaked at the shift in weight. “You are responsible for your own choices alone.”
“But if I choose to help my sister?”
“She rejects your help, does she not?”
“Maybe I haven’t gone about it right. If I can find the right way to get to her …”
“From here you can do nothing.” Vergere’s tone was unusually harsh. “Think of your own choices only.”
Jacen looked at her as a warning sang in his nerves. “What do you know?” he asked.
Vergere’s eyes were opaque. “Of your sister? Nothing.”
“And of me?”
“I know, young Jedi, that you must choose wisely.” She turned away from him, toward the wall. “I will meditate now.”
“You’re hiding something.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Always,” she said.
And that was all he got out of her.
The door shivered open, and Nom Anor’s heart lurched at the sight of a grotesque face grinning at him like some demon’s parody of a Yuuzhan Vong. He controlled himself as he realized it was only Onimi, who broke into a slashmouthed grin and ushered him into the room with a bow. The Shamed One sat in the shadows before Shimrra’s feet and declaimed.
“What one-eyed lurker skulks outside my door?
Behold the furtive agent, Nom Anor.”
Nom Anor imagined kicking Onimi out of his way as he stepped into the shadowed room. In the dim light he made out the huge form of Supreme Overlord Shimrra reclining on a dais of pulsing red hau polyps. Nom Anor prostrated himself, all too aware of the relentless scrutiny of Shimrra’s rainbow eyes.
He tried not to think of what he knew about the eighth cortex project, about Shimrra’s cynical manipulation of religion, about the dreadful hollowness of all the Supreme Overlord stood for.
The Overlord’s deep voice rolled out of the darkness. “You have news of the infidels?”
“I have, Supreme One.” He rose to his feet and tried to control the excitement in his voice. “I believe that I have the information that will bring about the decisive battle.”
The battle that you need, he thought. The victory that will give the eighth cortex project time to succeed.
Shimrra’s voice was deadly calm. “Very well, Executor. We shall await the warmaster.”
“As you wish, Dread One.”
Nom Anor repressed a shiver of fear as he stood alone before the Supreme Overlord. This was Shimrra’s private audience chamber, not the great reception hall, and Nom Anor was without support here, unable to hide behind Yoog Skell and a deputation of intendants. He remembered the way the Supreme Overlord’s mind had overborne his own, the way his thoughts had been squeezed as if between two giant fingers.
Onimi opened the door before Tsavong Lah could touch its membrane.
“Behold the great soldier, commander of corps,
Great Tsavong Lah, the master of war.”
Tsavong Lah padded balefully into the room on his clawed vua’sa foot, his eyes glaring hatred at Nom Anor. The warmaster lowered himself to the floor before the Supreme Overlord.
“At your command, Supreme One.”
“Stand, Warmaster.”
Tsavong Lah rose heavily to his feet, the vua’sa claws scrabbling for traction. Even though he was large for a Yuuzhan Vong, the massive form of Shimrra outweighed him by at least half.
“May I congratulate the warmaster on his mating?” Nom Anor said.
“You may,” Tsavong Lah said, looking at Nom Anor with more than his usual suspicion.
Tsavong Lah, in obedience to Shimrra’s order that all warriors mate, had been seen with a subaltern. A beauty, too, known for the sublime blue of the pouches beneath her eyes.
“I hope that Domain Lah will soon have another addition to its ranks,” Nom Anor said.
“That,” Tsavong Lah said, “is none of your business.”
Shimrra vented a basso chuckle. “To business,” he said. “Report, Warmaster.”
“The fleets are ready, Dread Lord. Our auxiliaries have been trained and stand ready to guard our conquests. We continue to recruit mercenaries.”
“None of these elements have distinguished themselves thus far,” Shimrra pointed out.
“The enemy raid us, that is true,” Tsavong Lah said. “But they flee whenever we face them with anything approaching equal numbers. And in any case the raids will cease once we resume the offensive.” He formed a fist on the end of the radank leg he had in place of an arm. “We are ready for conquest, Supreme One! With your permission, I am ready to take Corellia—five planets in the system, Lord, shipyards and the Centerpoint weapon! They are isolated, and I believe I can take them at small cost. They will try to defend all five planets, but that will stretch them too thin, and I will defeat them in detail.” Eagerness contorted his scarred face. “May I have your permission to advance, Supreme One?”
A giggle escaped Onimi’s slash of a mouth. “I believe Nom Anor has another suggestion.”
Nom Anor felt the warmaster’s anger as Tsavong Lah glowered at him. “This one?” the warmaster said. “I have followed his advice before—to my cost.”
The Supreme Overlord’s eyes shimmered from a bloody red to a sulfurous yellow. The hau polyps, shifting beneath his weight, gave a squelching sound and an acid stench. “Speak, Executor,” Shimrra said.
Nom Anor ignored Tsavong Lah and turned to face Shimrra. “My spies inform me that the New Republic government has fled Mon Calamari and is hiding in the Deep Core. The warmaster and his forces may trap them there and crush them. Without a central government, the enemy will fall apart.” He deigned to glance at Tsavong Lah. “The warmaster may then be able to take Corellia without fighting.”
Tsavong Lah’s expression hesitated between triumph and scorn. “What spies?” he demanded finally. “What evidence? How do we know this isn’t a trap?”
Nom Anor turned once again to Shimrra. “I have correlated the evidence from different independent networks operating on Mon Calamari. The plans for what the enemy calls the ‘Final Redoubt’ came from one source. Its location came from another agent. News of an emergency appropriation to pay for it came from a third. The government’s absence from Mon Calamari is public knowledge, though it is presented as a kind of tour of the military.” He smiled. “And the fact that the Final Redoubt is guarded by Jedi—in fact by the Solo twins—came from my most reliable agent.”
He sensed Tsavong Lah straightening at the mention of the Solo twins. Nom Anor swept one hand triumphantly across his chest. “After this one battle, the warmaster may sacrifice Cal Omas, the heads of the Senate councils, the Solo twins, and many other Jedi. My life in payment if I am wrong, Supreme One.”
“As you say, Executor,” Shimrra rumbled. “If you are wrong, it shall be your life in payment.”
Nom Anor heard the words without fear. He knew that he was right, that the victory was within their grasp.
Shimrra leaned forward on the trembling bed of polyps. “Now let us examine this evidence, and make our plans …”