PART ONE

INFILTRATION

Han Solo fought the urge to wipe a droplet of sweat from his brow, knowing that such a gesture would be seen as a sign of nervousness, and thus give the others a clue as to what he was holding.

“What’s it to be, Solo?”

Han went for a stall, his second in as many minutes. “Let me get this straight. It wasn’t enough that you guys got tired of using integers—or that you weren’t satisfied with just using real numbers, either. You had to start messing with imaginary and transreal numbers as well.”

The larval-stage Ruurian bounty hunter’s face was locked in a sneer. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Why should there be a problem?”

“Then get on with it!”

One corner of Han’s mouth curled up into a half grin. His opponents were starting to lose their patience. That could work to his advantage.

“So you’re saying that we can use any arithmetic operation we like. We can divide, subtract, multiply—”

“I know what you’re doing,” growled a bad-tempered Givin, its skeletal jaw clicking impatiently against its upper “lip.” Given its species’ predilection for mathematics, Han imagined that it was the Givin who was responsible for the changed rules. “You can’t bluff us, Solo.”

“Perhaps the great Han Solo has lost his edge.” The fourth player, Talien, a Yarkora with numerous gold rings dangling from each enormous nostril, uttered a contemptuous snort.

Han glanced down at the chip-cards in his hand. “Or perhaps it’s just that my math is a little rusty.”

He laid the cards on the table, resigning himself to winning the strangest game of sabacc he’d ever played. The three ³√23 chips that the last round had dealt him stared up at the ceiling in staves, flasks, and coins. His decision to ditch the idiot card and take a chance on fate had paid off.

“Read ’em and weep,” Han said, leaning back into his chair. “Or whatever it is you guys do around here.”

“A cubic sabacc?” The Ruurian’s red eyes glittered dangerously in the bar’s dim and smoky light as it glared at Han. “That’s not possible!”

“It’s not impossible,” the Givin snarled. “Just extremely unlikely.”

“Solo, if you’re taking us for a ride, I swear—” the Yarkora began.

“Hey!” Han exclaimed, standing up and stabbing a finger at Talien’s enormous nose. “You scanned me on the way in. If I’d had a skifter on me, you’d’ve known about it.”

The Givin’s bony mouthplates ground together in frustration. “Skifter or no skifter, Solo, I still say it’s safer to believe in human nature than the kind of luck you’re claiming.”

“Come off it, Ren. You’re saying I cheated in a game I didn’t even know existed until I docked here a couple of days ago?” He snorted derisively. “You’re giving me a lot more credit than I deserve.”

“That’s all the credit you’ll be getting,” the Ruurian muttered, reaching forward with one of its many arms to scoop up the chips.

Han grabbed the junction between the alien’s two uppermost body parts and twisted sharply—not enough to do any damage, but certainly enough to make the Ruurian think twice. “You touch my winnings, and then you’ll see just how much of my edge I’ve lost.”

Chairs scraped across the stony floor as the other two players backed away from the sabacc table. Shouts sounded in a dozen different tongues around the room. The Thorny Toe maintained a strict no-weapons policy, but that didn’t mean that fights couldn’t be lethal. And as far as the patrons of the Thorny Toe were concerned, the more violent the altercation, the better the entertainment value.

“Overrated muck hauler!” the Ruurian grunted, wriggling its lengthy body in an attempt get free. Han struggled to hang on, while at the same time trying to keep the alien at arm’s length. Each of the Ruurian’s body segments possessed a set of limbs that clutched at him with hostile intent.

“Who you calling overrated?” Han muttered, tightening his grip. Although low in mass, the alien could bend in places Han couldn’t, making it difficult to maintain the upper hand. The Ruurian hitched its back end under the table and managed to tip him off balance. As he went down, a dozen sharp-tipped digits swarmed up his legs and chest, looking for soft spots. Tiny, razor-sharp mandibles snapped at his nose. The audience cheered, goading the antagonists on.

Just as he was beginning to think he’d taken on more than he could handle, two rough, three-fingered hands grabbed both him and the Ruurian, hauling them off the ground and separating them in midair.

“Enough!”

Han recognized the guttural accent of a Whiphid and instantly ceased trying to kick his way out of the creature’s grasp. He knew better than to fight a Whiphid. Their claw and tusks were as mean as their temperament.

“He’s a cheat!” the Ruurian whined, snapping at Han with its nether mandibles.

The Whiphid shook the alien so hard Han swore he heard its exoskeleton rattle. “This bar isn’t crooked!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them,” Han said, offering a self-satisfied smirk. “I beat them fair and square!”

The Whiphid dropped them both roughly to the floor, then pointed one of its claws accusingly at Han. “The boss wants to see you.”

A flash of uncertainty cooled any joy he might have taken from the victory.

“Not before I collect my winnings,” he said, climbing to his feet. He stepped resolutely to the table.

“You have five standard seconds,” the bouncer said.

Han needed only two. Using his shirt as a catchall, he scooped the credits off the table. The Ruurian looked on balefully, emitting a soft growl that only those in its immediate vicinity would have heard.

“You know, Talien, folks like you give sabacc players a bad name.” Han couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to gloat as he packed his winnings safely in his pockets. “Back in my day—”

“Spare us the glory speech.” Talien made no attempt to stop Han from walking off with the winnings, but glared at him menacingly. “Save it for your kids. Maybe they’ll be impressed by the once-great Han Solo.”

“Why, you—” Unreasoning anger rose in him, but before he could react, the bouncer caught him by the back of his jacket and tugged him away.

“Enough, I said!” The Whiphid lifted Han into the air again as though he were a child. Suspended, helpless, Han could only force his anger down and ignore the jeers of the other patrons as he was unceremoniously “escorted” from the bar.

“You humans are always causing trouble,” the Whiphid grumbled once they’d passed through a door to the back of the Thorny Toe and Han had been lowered to the ground once more. “If I had a credit for every time I’ve bounced one of you out of here, I’d have made it back to Toola years ago.”

“You see many strangers through here, then?” Han asked, straightening his jacket.

The Whiphid looked at him suspiciously. “Why? You looking for someone?”

“No; just curious.” He shut up, then, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than he already had.

The alien took him up a flight of stairs and deposited him in an empty room containing little more than a padded green couch and a water dispenser. Han assumed it was an antechamber adjoining the bar owner’s office. He sat himself down on the couch and was startled when a voice issued into the room from unseen speakers.

“Han Solo, eh?” The voice’s sex, species, and accent were heavily disguised, but the speaker seemed amused underneath the camouflage. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Well, you know me,” Han bluffed. “Never been one to sit on my hands.”

A strange noise issued from the hidden speakers. It might have been a laugh. “But you’ve always been one for gambling,” the voice returned, more soberly. “It’s good to see that nothing’s changed.”

Han frowned at the familiarity. He desperately tried to think whom he had known in the past who might have ended up owning a bar on Onadax, one of the dingiest worlds the Minos Cluster had to offer, and whether he—or she—might hold a grudge against him.

“You get your thrills where you can,” he said, stalling again.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

Han shrugged, giving in but feigning nonchalance all the same. “Fire away.”

“Who sent you?”

“No one sent me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m just passing through. Is that a crime in these parts?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Nelfrus, in the Elrood sector.”

“You must be going the long way around, then.”

“You can’t be too careful these days. The Vong—”

“Are everywhere,” the voice interrupted. “Yes, I know. But they’re not here.”

“Which is why I thought I’d come this way.”

After a slight pause, the voice continued: “Are you here alone?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Perhaps none. Millennium Falcon has been on Onadax two standard days, one day longer than a Galactic Alliance frigate that docked here yesterday. Am I to assume that there is no relation between this craft and your own?”

“You can assume what you like,” Han said. “But that frigate doesn’t have anything to do with me. What did you say its name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Pride of Selonia.”

He made a show of thinking about the name. “Sounds familiar. You think it might be someone looking for me?”

“Or perhaps the other way around.”

“I’m just here for the scenery,” Han lied. He jingled the credits in his pocket. “And whatever else I can pick up on the way.”

At this, the faceless bar owner did laugh. Onadax was a sooty, inhospitable world, not dense enough to harbor metals of any value, poorly placed even with respect to other worlds in the sector, and too small and ancient to possess any noteworthy geography. Its only saving graces were its lack of a policing authority and a relaxed attitude toward documentation of all kinds.

Just because the government turned a blind eye to who passed through, though, didn’t mean that the locals were stupid.

“Okay,” Han said, scanning the blank walls and ceiling, wishing there were some reference point on which he could focus his attention. “Let’s stop playing games. You’re right. I am looking for someone. Maybe you can help me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m asking nicely. Do you get many Ryn through here?”

“No more than usual,” the voice said. “Lift up any dirty rock in the galaxy and you’ll find a family living under it. Your taste in friends must have gone downhill if that’s who you’re after.”

“Not just any Ryn.” Han fumbled, not for the first time, for the right way to describe the Ryn he was seeking. “Just one that was supposed to meet me here on Onadax. He hasn’t shown, so I’m looking for him.”

“In a bar?”

“It’s not as if Onadax has much else to offer.”

The voice chuckled again. “You’re looking in the wrong place, Solo.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a brush-off. I swear, it’s nothing underhanded.”

“From you, those words take on a whole new meaning.”

“I’ll even pay, if that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what you think I want, then I fear you’re definitely in the wrong place—and at the wrong time.”

The Whiphid guarding the door stirred.

“So it would seem,” Han said. “Look, I’m racking my brain here trying to work out where we’ve met before. Can’t you give me a name to help me out a little?”

There was no reply.

“What’ve you got to lose?” Han said. “You obviously know me—”

He stopped when the Whiphid’s clawed hand came down on his back and began to drag him away. “At least give me a clue!”

The Whiphid hauled him out of the audience chamber and back down to the barroom. Clearly, the interview was over, and no protest from Han was about to be considered.

“Is he always this friendly?” he asked the bouncer. He amended that to a hopeful “She?” when the question wasn’t answered.

The Whiphid collected Han in its powerful grasp once again and hoisted his feet from the floor.

The bouncer forced its way through the crowd. Laughter and applause followed them, turning to cries of annoyance as Han’s head rammed into something’s foul-smelling midriff and sent a jug of ale splashing across the floor. Recriminations flew, which the bouncer ignored.

“I think you’ll find my seat was over that way,” Han said, pointing hopefully in the direction of the sabacc table where he’d been playing.

The Whiphid ignored him as well, propping him upright none too gently at the door. There was no question that Han was being told—not asked—to leave the premises.

He smiled, taking a hundred-credit chip from his pocket and slipping it to the alien bouncer.

“For your trouble,” he said.

“For yours,” was the response as he was forcibly ejected into the street.

“What sort of dive is this, anyway?” Han protested to the closed door as he picked himself up and dusted himself down once more. His shoulder was tender where he’d hit the ground, and the bouncer’s claws had left a few tears in his jacket. Still, it could have been worse. At least he’d made it out with his winnings.

His comlink buzzed as he limped down the seedy back alley that housed the Thorny Toe. He pulled the comlink out of his pocket, knowing before he’d answered the call that it was Leia on the other end.

“You’re out?” Her voice was faint, but her concern was obvious.

“And in one piece. The bar staff aren’t as tough as their jamming fields suggested they might be.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing useful, although I’m guessing there’s more going on here than meets the eye.”

“There always is.” Leia hesitated. “Is that fighting I hear?”

Han glanced behind him. The ruckus inside the bar was getting nastier by the second.

“My exit was none too subtle,” he said, picking up the pace.

“Start making your way back, then. It’s not safe out there, Han.”

“On my way now.”

“I’d advise against stopping somewhere else en route, even if it does allay suspicions.”

Han smiled to himself. In the old days, he would’ve been tempted. But the choice between Leia and a seedy dive was getting easier every year. “Will do.”

The secure channel closed with a soft click. Han’s smile ebbed as behind him the fight spilled noisily out into the street. He hurriedly rejoined the stream of barhoppers cruising the settlement’s main thoroughfare, the grilling he’d received at the Thorny Toe still nagging at him. That the owner of the bar had known him didn’t bother him so much; after all, the Solo name had spread across the galaxy and back again, especially in the quasi-legal circles to which he’d once belonged. But the complete stonewalling regarding the Ryn did bother him. His other sources hadn’t known anything, but at least they had been up front about it. Dumb ignorance was totally different to silence.

Han rubbed his shoulder and hurried back to the Falcon, hoping Jaina had had better luck on the other side of town.

Luke Skywalker gripped the sides of his seat as Jade Shadow emerged roughly from hyperspace. The bulkheads groaned under the strain, while containers of stored goods in the passenger bay could be heard crashing to the floor. Deeper into the ship could be heard the beeping and tweetling of an anxious R2-D2.

“What was that?” he asked his wife beside him in the pilot’s seat, when the disturbance had passed.

Mara was already flicking switches and checking monitors, giving her ship a quick once-over. “A hole the size of a Star Destroyer just opened up in front of us.”

Every hyperspace jump they’d made in the last couple of weeks had been fraught with danger and uncertainty. Not even with the detailed maps of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet to guide them could they account for every hyperspatial anomaly. But if anyone could find a way through the rips and reefs on the other side of known space, it was Mara. He had nothing but confidence in his wife to get them to their destination.

Luke examined the boards before him. “Let’s just hope Widowmaker is okay.”

Lights flickered across the displays, and a new blip appeared on the scopes—shakily at first, but steadying.

“Here she is now,” Mara said.

Seconds later, the voice of Captain Arien Yage sounded over the comm. “How about a warning or something next time?”

Luke smiled to himself at the captain’s comment. “Sorry about that, Arien. If we could give you a heads-up, you know we would.”

“No problem. We got out in one piece, and that’s the main thing.”

The frigate was locked on Jade Shadow’s navicomputer and would mirror every move Mara made through the shoals of the Unknown Regions, but there was no way to communicate through hyperspace and therefore no way to warn of any sudden exits.

“This is getting annoying,” Mara muttered after doing checks on her displays. “I can’t work out what I’m doing wrong.”

Luke was just as confused. Three times they’d tried and failed to jump the last parsec to where the empty system of Klasse Ephemora lay. There—so Jacen had deduced on Csilla, and so all evidence supported—they would find the living world of Zonama Sekot. But it felt to Luke as though something were keeping them out. Mara assured him that it wasn’t like that: the hyperspace anomalies were a natural phenomenon; they didn’t do anything consciously. Nevertheless, it was uncanny how there seemed to be so many of them around this particular point in space.

“Maybe it’s because of the anomalies that Zonama Sekot came here in the first place,” Luke suggested. “It’s safe in here, after all. Once it got in, it could be reasonably sure no one else would bother trying.”

“Well, the Chiss probes managed to get in,” Mara said. “And if they can do it, then so can I.”

Luke sent a wave of reassurance to his wife, buoying up the flagging confidence that simmered just beneath her show of determination. She was a much better navigator than an astromech, and—while it was pointless speculating on the capabilities of a world-sized intelligence like Zonama Sekot—he was sure she could match its flying abilities any day.

“It could be dark matter,” Soron Hegerty said from behind them. The elderly professor of comparative religions—a specialist on exotic alien life—had come forward from the passenger bay, steadying herself with one frail hand against the transparent canopy covering the cockpit.

Luke faced her. “Do you think so, Doctor?”

“Perhaps,” Hegerty said. She paused a moment, obviously trying to think of a way to condense all her studies on the subject into a few words. “Dark matter interacts only gravitationally with the rest of the universe. It pools into clumps like ordinary matter, forming clusters and galaxies similar to the one we inhabit. Some scientists believe our galaxy to be surrounded by a halo of such galaxies—completely invisible to the eye, but there nonetheless.

“Danni and I were talking about this just yesterday,” she went on. “She wonders if such an invisible clump might explain the hyperspace disturbance in the Unknown Regions. A dark matter cluster could be in the process of colliding with our galaxy right now, passing invisibly through it, detectable only by its gravity. Clusters aren’t uniform in density: they have dust lanes and empty bubbles—and stars, of course. The uneven distribution of dark matter might account for the difficulty we’ve had charting this region from the ‘real’ universe. It all comes down to a collision with another galaxy we can’t even see—a collision taking place over billions and billions of years.”

Hegerty looked through the forward screens, eyes glittering as though in wonder at the invisible worlds she imagined.

Mara brushed a strand of red hair back from her face. “That’s all very interesting, Doctor. Can we chart the dark matter somehow and work out how hyperspace is folded around here?”

Hegerty returned from infinity with a shrug. “Theoretically, perhaps. You’d need some sort of large-scale gravity detector, and a means of working out exactly how dark matter influences hyperspace.”

“So it doesn’t actually help us right now?”

Hegerty shook her head. “I just wanted you to know that you’re dealing with a changeable phenomenon. If Zonama Sekot can detect the gravitational passage of dark matter through our galaxy, it might have located a bubble that was about to close. If it put itself inside this bubble, and the dark matter walls slammed shut around it, it could guarantee its safety. Nothing would be able to get through until the dark matter shifted and the bubble opened again.”

Luke could tell from Mara’s expression that she didn’t like this idea at all.

“If you’re right, this bubble must be big enough to enclose an entire star system,” she said. “I don’t believe something that big would be totally seamless. There has to be a way in—and a way out, too. If I were a living planet on the run, there’s no way I’d lock myself in anywhere. There has to be a way.”

Luke put a soothing hand on her arm. “I suggest you rest first, my love. You’re not going to get anywhere when you’re frustrated like this.”

Mara was about to argue the point, but then something softened behind her eyes and she sagged back into her seat. “You’re right, of course. I guess I’m just in a hurry to get on with it. The sooner we find Zonama Sekot, the sooner we can go home.”

Luke sympathized with that feeling all too well. Ben, their son, was a long way away, hidden in the Maw with the other Jedi children, safe from the Yuuzhan Vong. The last holos they’d received had revived an ache that was never far away. The boy was growing up without his parents, just as Luke had grown up without his. It was necessary, but not ideal.

With Mara’s approval, he ordered a rest stop. Deep in the star-spangled blackness of the Unknown Regions, the mission came to a temporary halt.

Jag Fel sat by Tahiri’s bed, staring curiously at the young girl for what must have been the tenth time in two hours. Her brow was drenched with sweat and needed to be wiped frequently. Her hands gripped tightly at the sheets on which she lay. Every now and then she made a strange mewling noise, which sounded to Jag almost like a suppressed scream.

Jaina had wanted to make sure that someone was at Tahiri’s bedside at all times, in case she woke up.

It was Jag’s shift. He just hoped it wouldn’t be on his watch that Tahiri opened her eyes—because if it was Riina who emerged, he knew he would do whatever was necessary for the safety of all concerned.

Jag was startled out of his brooding by the buzz of the comlink. Captain Mayn of the Selonia had installed a compact communications rig in Tahiri’s room so that whoever was on watch could keep in touch with events elsewhere. He answered it before the noise could disturb her.

He found himself in the middle of a joint conversation between Jaina and her parents.

“Something fishy is definitely going on,” Jaina was saying.

“At the Thorny Toe?” That was Han, speaking from the bridge of the Falcon. He sounded slightly out of breath. “I thought so, too. The guy I spoke to—whoever it was—is definitely up to something.”

“Not that,” Jaina said. “The cubic sabacc gives it away. It’s too unlikely. Someone let you win.”

“What about that famous Solo luck?”

“No one’s that lucky, Dad. Face it: someone didn’t want you snooping around. Rigging the table to make it look like you cheated would have been easier than trying to expel you by force for no good reason. It’s the only explanation.”

Her father reluctantly conceded her point. “It’s possible, I guess.”

“That still doesn’t tell us who’s behind it.” Leia’s unease wasn’t so easily assuaged. “The bar owner is clearly involved. He’s either warning us off or looking for an edge of his own. Either way, we know that we should go back.”

“What about you, Jaina?” Jag broke in. “Did you find anything?”

She made an exasperated noise. “If I’d been stonewalled I’d count myself as lucky. I haven’t found a whiff of the Ryn anywhere, and I’m not likely to, now.”

“Not now that they’re onto us,” Han said gloomily.

“Worse. There’s some sort of disturbance out here. A brawl of some kind, and it’s spreading.” For the first time, Jag noted the sound of the city behind her voice. He could hear shouting and what sounded like transparisteel shattering. “Law enforcement is nonexistent here, of course, so it’s getting nasty very quickly.”

“How far are you from the Falcon?” Leia asked.

“A dozen blocks, but it’s getting tougher by the minute. Wait a second.”

Jaina’s end of the conversation went silent for a minute. Jag was prepared to wait it out with the others, but Captain Mayn’s voice came over the comm.

“We’ve got something of a situation here,” she said. “Dock security is warning of a riot breaking out across the city. There’s a mob on our way, apparently.”

That accorded with the sounds Jag heard at Jaina’s end.

“Any word on what caused it?” Leia asked.

“None as such. There are rumors of an incident somewhere in the city. They say that a Galactic Alliance agent attempted to infiltrate a secure compound and has made off with a fortune.”

“We have no agents here that I know of,” Leia said.

“Apart from us,” Han put in.

“Sorry,” Jaina said, coming back onto the line. “Got caught in a traffic snarl. The way to the Falcon is blocked. I’m going to try for the Selonia instead.”

Jaina’s footsteps were hurried over the comlink. Jag could hear the concern in Leia’s voice as she said, “Hurry, but be careful. Someone might be trying to whip up resentment against us.”

“Why?”

“Let’s wonder about that later,” Han said. “Just get back safely.”

Jag echoed that sentiment wholeheartedly as Jaina’s channel went silent. “Sounds to me like someone’s covering their tracks,” he said to those remaining on the line.

“You and me both, Jag,” Han said. “And if Jaina wasn’t out there in the middle of it, I’d happily leave them to it.”

“That’s probably our best course of action,” Leia said. “We’ve been looking for the Ryn and haven’t found them. They’ve had plenty of opportunities to look us up and haven’t. I’m starting to think that we’ve been wasting our time.”

Han uttered a grunt that could have been one of agreement.

“I’ll prepare for liftoff,” said Mayn, ever the pragmatist. “We’ll be away the moment she’s on board, if that’s what you decide.”

“Should I ready Twin Suns?” Jag asked.

“Not necessary, Jag,” Leia said. “We can handle the Onadax defense grid long enough to get away, if it comes to that.”

“I’ll wait here then.” He nodded stiffly. “Thanks for keeping me posted.”

“Stand by,” Mayn said.

With a slight hiss of static, the line closed.

Jag resisted the impulse to pace. He hated being confined to medical quarters while Jaina put herself at risk out in the city, but there was nothing he could do about it. Orders were orders, and his Chiss training left him no option but to obey. All he could do was wait for Mayn or somebody else to update him.

Tahiri stirred on the bed beside him, issuing another of her strange, strained sounds.

Hurry up, Jaina, he thought as he mopped the girl’s brow. Hurry back to me …

Jacen frowned and tried again.

“Mon Calamari Communications Control, this is Farmboy One. Come in, MCCC. I repeat, this is Farmboy One. Please respond.”

Silence.

He sighed as he leaned tiredly back into his chair. While Luke and Mara rested, Jacen was in charge of Jade Shadow. Sensing a familiar wistfulness in his uncle and aunt, he had decided to report to the new capital, looking for an update on his cousin Ben. His failure to raise Mon Calamari troubled him, even though he knew there was probably a perfectly logical explanation. Communications with the Unknown Regions weren’t ideal; all transmissions were routed through a bottleneck on the edge of the Outer Rim. That bottleneck had never closed before, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.

Before jumping to conclusions, though, Jacen had wanted to test every alternative hypothesis. Jade Shadow’s comm systems were working perfectly well at short range; several conversations with the Widowmaker proved that. And when he’d changed his target and tried to hail the CEDF network, the crisp precise tones of a Chiss comm officer answered immediately, so it was clear that the subspace transmitters were still working, too.

“MCCC, this is Farmboy One,” he continued. “This is an emergency. We require an immediate response!”

When there was still no reply after a couple of minutes, he decided the fault had to lie in one of the relay bases between the Unknown Regions and the rest of the galaxy. There was no other possibility that he could think of.

“What’s the emergency?”

Jacen turned to see Danni silhouetted in the doorway. “We’re out of blue milk,” he lied. He didn’t want to alarm anyone until he’d had a chance to speak to his uncle. “You know how cranky Mara gets when she doesn’t get a proper breakfast.”

She moved around to take position in the copilot’s seat beside him.

“There is no denying that you are an amazing Jedi, Jacen Solo, but you are a terrible liar.”

Jacen smiled. For all the new understanding of the Force he had received under Vergere’s tutelage, all the skill as a Jedi he’d amassed over the years spent fighting the Yuuzhan Vong, Danni could see right through him.

“I can’t raise Mon Cal,” he said, his expression becoming more serious. “There seems to be some sort of break in transmission between here and there.”

“What sort of break?”

“It’s hard to tell from this end. I do know, though, that if we can’t contact Mon Cal, we won’t be able to tell them what we find here.”

“If we find anything. There are no guarantees, Jacen.”

“You saw the data—”

“I did, and I agree with you. I’m just trying to encourage debate in your own thoughts.” Danni’s curly blond hair framed her head like a halo, glowing in the instrument lights, and her green eyes seemed to bore into his. “I feel your tension, Jacen. You’re humming like an overloaded shield. What if we don’t find anything, or it’s not what you’re hoping for? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Underneath everything else, that’s what really bothers you.”

He nodded. That fear was running at the back of his mind, a steady rhythm constantly unsettling him, encouraging him to overreact. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I guess we’re not completely cut off. We can still reach Csilla. Maybe I should check with them to see if they can get through to Mon Cal. If not, they can keep trying while we go ahead with our mission.”

Her smile broadened. “Sometimes all we need to do is get the thoughts that trouble us out of our head and into the open where we can see them more clearly.”

She reached out to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, but her hand never fell. Something powerful and strange rolled through him. Jacen pulled away from her, thinking at first that what he was feeling must somehow have had something to do with her. But the sensation persisted, and her expression echoed his alarm.

“You can feel that?” Whatever it was, it was getting stronger—and it was coming through the Force.

Danni nodded, covering both ears with the flats of her palms. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” His head was starting to vibrate like a bell. He turned to the displays ahead of him, searching for information. “But I intend to find out.”

*  *  *

Saba started awake from a deep sleep feeling as though someone were trying to crack open her skull. She called out in alarm, flailing wildly at the empty air before realizing where she was: resting up against the wall in one of Jade Shadow’s crew quarters. She’d closed her eyes to meditate when Mara had announced the mission had stalled, and she must have fallen asleep.

No alarms were ringing; she couldn’t smell panic pheromones in the air; everything seemed completely normal—except for the fact that the crack in her skull seemed to be widening …

She sat up with a growl, sharp teeth clenched in a tight zigzag line. Her eyes peered out from under heavy, knotted brows. She focused upon a spot on her bed, desperately trying to concentrate on who or what was causing the intense discomfort.

Find the pain, she told herself. Trace it back to your attacker!

She breathed deeply through her nostrils and sought to find her inner calm, the still center of her being. It had taken her years to overcome the natural instincts of her species, and in times of stress—when every cell wanted to slash and tear instead of contemplate and respond with careful forethought—the urges were particularly hard to suppress. But she was strong, and determined.

The Force came to her bidding with familiar ease, flooding her with energy that swept the tiredness and confusion away. And with it, too, came the knowledge that what she was feeling was coming through the Force itself, as though something very large and powerful had been disturbed nearby.

Through the discomfort of such intense feelings, she felt the first glimmerings of excitement. It could be only one thing!

Saba hurried forward through the ship. She could tell that the others gathered there shared her excitement. Master Skywalker, Mara, Jacen, Tekli, Danni—they could all feel it! On a ship full of Force-sensitives, it was impossible to hide something as powerful as this. Only Soron Hegerty seemed immune, asleep as she was in one of the cabins.

R2-D2 tootled as Saba went past. She tapped the droid’s shining dome, but didn’t stop. The smell of human uncertainty emanating from the fore of the ship was strong, and Saba breathed through her mouth to ensure her thoughts remained clear and focused.

“—can’t be sure at this range,” Mara was saying, addressing the others standing around in the passenger bay. “It could be anything. Massive psychic disturbances occur for all sorts of reasons.”

Master Skywalker nodded. “She’s right, Jacen. When Alderaan was destroyed by the Death Star, Obi-Wan felt it from a great distance.”

“I know, but this is close,” Jacen insisted, his voice thick with excitement. “I can feel it. What else could it be?”

Saba could sense the others wanting to believe but remaining reluctant to gamble on the young Jedi’s hunch.

“Jacen iz right,” she said, the words emerging in a rough approximation of Basic from her stress-tightened throat. “Zonama Sekot criez out in the void.”

The Jedi Master faced her. “But why?”

“It feelz … distressed.” The pained looks on the faces before her showed that they felt it, too. It was impossible to keep out.

“Almost frightened,” Danni ventured, hugging herself. “But angry, too.”

“Okay, suppose it is Zonama Sekot,” Mara said. “What then? Do we attempt to contact it?”

“That depends on whether you think you can follow this signal to its source.”

The red-haired woman frowned. “It’s possible, but I’m not sure I like the idea of turning up uninvited. This thing sounds agitated as it is. Barging in there might only antagonize it further.”

“Maybe,” her husband replied, “but I think that turning up and showing it our intentions rather than trying to explain them from a distance is the better option.” He turned to the Barabel. “Jacen, Saba—you’re our life-sensitives. What do you think?”

Jacen looked uncertain.

“I can no more read this mind than I could the entire contentz of the Chiss library,” Saba told Luke, her tail tapping restlessly against her right ankle.

“Won’t going closer make the situation worse, though?” Danni asked.

Master Skywalker looked uncertain. “All I’m sure of is that this our best shot at getting where we want to go. If we ignore it, we might never get another one.”

Mara inhaled deeply. “Okay, then let’s do it while we still can.”

Luke reopened the line to the captain of the Widowmaker. “Arien, I want you to lock onto our navicomputer and prepare for immediate departure. We’ve got a lead, and if our hunch is right we’ll soon be exactly where we need to be. We don’t know what we might be getting into, so be prepared.”

“Ready when you are,” came the immediate reply. “Yage out.”

Luke looked around the cockpit at the nervous faces watching him. “Maybe we should meld,” he said. “Pooling our concentration might make it easier for Mara to trace the source.”

Danni had had only limited experience with the Jedi practice of mind-melding, but she nodded along with the others. Saba began the familiar exercises with a series of deep breaths. She felt the life-sparks of those around her, glowing like embers in a white-hot furnace. The strength of the signal was such that it almost totally blanketed them. But she concentrated, bringing them steadily into focus, and slowly their thoughts joined in a tight embrace.

Mara’s mind danced with hyperspace coordinates, instrument panels, and other space flight paraphernalia. Saba added her perceptions of the distant world-mind to the mix of thoughts and impressions gathering around Mara. Danni offered the clearest knowledge of astronomical forces. Saba imagined herself on the dark, red-lit world of Barab I, prowling low for shenbit bonecrushers, every sense keen. Zonama Sekot wasn’t the same thing as a flesh-rending giant lizard, but the principle was the same. They were hunting, and she was a good hunter …

Mara took everything she was given and plotted a course. Jade Shadow’s hyperdrive roared into life, and Saba felt the familiar sensation of lights streaking past them and falling behind as the strange topology of hyperspace enfolded them.

Here the territory belonged to Mara. Even with the Force to guide them, the way was tortuous and fraught with danger. Jade Shadow did her best to follow the path laid down for her, with the Widowmaker firmly in tow, but almost immediately she encountered the same barrier she had earlier. With a sickening wrench she was dumped back into realspace, only slightly closer to Klasse Ephemora than she had been before.

Mara didn’t give up. The signal from the distant mind was as strong as ever. Saba concentrated on it, feeling out the insubstantial pathways between it and them. There was nothing but vacuum in the way, she told herself. Crossing that vacuum should be as easy as leaping across a room. Her tail quivered with effort as she imagined that hyperspace leap in detail.

Jade Shadow jumped again. The hull vibrated as Mara plunged the ship headlong through the strange spaces surrounding their objective. Saba received impressions of incomprehensible shadows sweeping by, bizarre n-dimensional membranes reluctantly unfolding to let them pass. She didn’t know what they were or where they came from, but it seemed for a time as though Mara was making progress. They were getting closer—they had to be!

Then, rattling like an old freighter, they were dumped back into realspace. They stopped long enough to check on the Widowmaker. The frigate limped from hyperspace seconds after Jade Shadow.

“Is the Widowmaker holding up?” Mara asked.

“It’s seen worse,” the Imperial captain assured her. “I imagine she’ll keep going long after we give up.”

Satisfied, Luke gathered the Jedi minds around him for another try.

“I think we can do it this time,” he encouraged them. “Mara was right when she said before that there had to be a way in. All we have to do is find it.”

Grimly determined, they tightened the meld and tried again. Saba felt herself dissolving in the confusing sensations passing through and around her as hyperspace folded around them. The pull of Zonama Sekot was stronger than ever, and growing stronger with each passing second. She felt as though she were drowning in the massive outpouring of emotions, a mote of sand caught in a dust storm, swept up on a rising surge, unable to control where it took her.

For a timeless moment, she completely lost all sense of herself. She was subsumed, absorbed, erased. The hunt consumed her. All her attention was focused on her quarry—on tracking it, finding it, catching it …

Then, abruptly, something changed. She didn’t know what it was, but the thoughts changed in pitch. It was as if they’d reached the eye of a storm. Energy still swirled around them, but at the center there was a kind of peaceful balance. Saba felt her thoughts regain a sense of normality, joining up again in a single coherent stream. They had emerged from hyperspace once more, only this time the screens were alive with data: there was a sun blazing on one, a gas giant looming on another. A faint green-blue speck hung in the center of a third screen—and it was to this that her senses clung. Green meant chlorophyll; blue meant water. If a world was ever to live, it had to have both.

Zonama Sekot!

But as the view zoomed in closer, she saw yellow and bright red clouds blossoming as energy weapons flashed and flared around the atmosphere. Thin-hulled spaceships burst open under the influence of stupendous forces, casting countless lives into the harsh vacuum of space.

And that wasn’t all. What Saba saw behind the space battle was completely beyond her experience. Bright feathery ribbons trailed from the planet’s poles like liberated coronas. Fleeting sprites danced in the upper atmosphere, sending towering flashes of energy spiking far above. Massive sheets of lightning swept around the equator, gathering speed until they joined in a smooth ring; then, with a piercing crack, they lashed out and up like a whip of pure energy. Magnetic field fluxes measured by Jade Shadow accompanied what appeared to be tractor beam effects on scales Saba had never imagined possible.

Zonama Sekot’s attackers were obviously Yuuzhan Vong vessels: two mid-size cruiser analogs and countless numbers of coralskippers. But they weren’t the only ships in the air. Among them darted and wove tiny points of light like no ships Saba had ever seen before. Every one was different; every one was beautiful; every one was deadly.

Zonama Sekot was fighting back!

Anger blazed—ugly in its ferocity, devastating in its efficacy—and with it came a return of the storm. Saba barely had time to wonder what would happen when the mind they’d been seeking finally noticed them, when a wall of psychic energy struck them, tossing them into oblivion.

“Spare me, Master! Spare me!”

Supreme Overlord Shimrra gazed down with cold contempt at the squirming thing at his feet. The Shamed One had been tortured and beaten, but still she hadn’t broken. If the godlike ruler of the Yuuzhan Vong found this puzzling, he didn’t let it show.

“Spare you?” he said, slowly pacing around the prostrate figure. “Why? So you can continue to pollute my chambers with your false protestations of innocence?”

“Not false, Lord! You must believe me.”

“You dare to tell me what I must do?” Shimrra snarled.

The object of his ire quivered piteously. “Forgive my ignorance! If I knew the answers to the questions you ask, I would surely tell you!”

“But you do know. You are a pawn of the vile sect that dares follow the Jeedai.”

“Master, I swear by—”

“Spare me oaths to your infidel gods. I will hear no more of your foul lies.” Shimrra gestured imperiously, and the Shamed One was dragged away. The charnel pits where the heretics were taken for dishonorable execution had been working day and night in recent times. A swarm of ravenous yargh’un—toothy rodents as long as a Shamed One’s leg—devoured the victims in swift order. Crippled, their limbs broken prior to being tossed to their doom, those found guilty of heresy were shown no mercy, nor afforded any honor in the manner of their death.

“Destroy the yargh’un,” Shimrra ordered of the guards who had stepped forward to do his will.

The guards stopped in their tracks, confused by the Supreme One’s command. “Master?”

“The beasts have been defiled by heretical blood,” he said. “Take them from the pit and have them burned.”

“What shall we do with this one, Master?” The guards indicated the Shamed One quailing between them.

“Deal with it as you normally would. Break its legs and throw it into the pit.” Shimrra ascended his throne, climbing heavily across pulsating hau polyps. “It can die slowly of starvation and thirst, like an animal. Its body will stay where it lies to serve as an example of what will happen to anyone who dares allow this heresy to propagate. There will be no easy deaths for those who turn their backs on the gods.”

The guards obeyed Shimrra’s will with grim determination, ignoring the plaintive cries of the condemned. The cries turned to shrieks as all hope fled, then faded to distant wails as the Shamed One was dragged away from the throne room.

Shimrra waited until the last echo had passed before speaking again.

“You do well, Ngaaluh. Once again your investigations have exposed the enemy within.”

The slender priestess bowed deeply. “I am honored by your acknowledgment, Supreme One.”

“You find success where many others have failed.” Shimrra’s baleful gaze scanned the faces of the priests, shapers, warriors, and intendants who had been assembled for the interrogation. “We must be ever watchful to ensure that the roots of heresy spread no farther than they already have. More than that: we must actively seek out nests of perfidy and find their source.”

Assent came loudly and without hesitation.

“Be assured, Great One,” said High Perfect Drathul, senior intendant of Yuuzhan’tar, “that we are making every effort to arrest this terrible tide.”

“Your will—the will of the gods—is not to be denied,” seconded Warmaster Nas Choka, cutting the air with his ceremonial tsaisi. “We will not rest until the last heretic lies crushed beneath our soles!”

“Nor would I expect anything less,” the Supreme Overlord said. “In fact, henceforth anything short of enthusiasm for the heresy’s eradication will be regarded as collaboration. And collaboration will be punishable in the same fashion as treachery. Is that understood?”

The echoes of the Supreme Overlord’s pronouncement rumbled around the throne room, and all who heard it bowed solemnly in agreement.

“You will continue this work, Ngaaluh,” Shimrra intoned. “I cannot personally oversee every interrogation and execution, yet it is my misfortune to be the one responsible for upholding all that the gods have entrusted to us. I am therefore glad to have someone in whom I can place my trust. Go forth and find me more bodies for the yargh’un pit. When it is full, I will build another, and another, until the curse of this foul heresy is erased from the galaxy once and for all, and the gods favor us again.”

“Yes, Supreme One.” Ngaaluh’s bow was even deeper than her first.

The Supreme Overlord shifted in his throne and stared dispassionately over the heads of his minions. “Leave me now. I have much to contemplate.”

One by one the members of Shimrra’s court filed out of the chamber. The priestess Ngaaluh was among the last to leave. She turned to glance back at Shimrra, giving the villip beacon she carried a final glimpse of the Supreme Overlord, seated atop his throne.

To Nom Anor, watching the events on a villip choir far away, deep beneath Yuuzhan’tar’s surface, Shimrra looked isolated yet undiminished. The Supreme Overlord’s power and confidence was evident in his straight-backed posture and the indifference with which he dismissed his court. The ruler of the galaxy had weathered many storms in his time and, judging by the glaring determination of his stare, planned to weather many more.

Nom Anor’s smile, previously broad and triumphant, slipped at the sight. His gnarled hands curled into fists as he paced back and forth across his audience chamber—the sixth he’d occupied in as many weeks. The transmission from Ngaaluh ended as she crossed the security perimeter of Shimrra’s throne room.

“Another success,” Kunra murmured. The disgraced warrior, Nom Anor’s adviser in all matters nonreligious, slouched by the door, to all appearances perfectly relaxed. But Nom Anor knew better; Kunra was alert for trouble, listening intently to everything taking place on either side of the door. “We’ve gained a great deal of valuable intelligence since Ngaaluh joined us. She is instrumental in our growing influence.”

Nom Anor nodded distractedly. As though his silence were a challenge, Kunra persisted in his enthusiasm.

“Not only does Shimrra find a traitor close to his throne, but then he fails to extricate a confession from her! Did you see the look on his face? He is frightened of us!”

“I find it difficult to watch.” Shoon-mi appeared from the shadows beside the Prophet’s stately chair with a bowl of water Nom Anor had requested. The Shamed One was dressed in a faded priest’s robe and wore his scarless face with something akin to pride. His expression, however, was forever glum, and seemed to become increasingly so with each passing day.

Nom Anor understood his religious adviser’s concern perfectly. “In all of us lurks a residual loyalty to the old ways, Shoon-mi. Sometimes even the truth finds it difficult to erase the programming of a lifetime.”

“That’s not what I meant, Master.” Shoon-mi looked almost sullen. “I’m referring to Eckla of Domain Shoolb.”

Nom Anor stared blankly at Shoon-mi for a few moments before comprehension dawned: Eckla was the Shamed One who had just been sentenced to death in Shimrra’s chamber.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Her sacrifice was a noble one, and did not go unnoticed.” The words flowed smoothly, covering the fact that Eckla of Domain Shoolb had ceased being of interest to Nom Anor as soon as the risk of her betraying him was no longer an issue. “She will be remembered as a martyr to our cause.”

“One of many, now.”

Nom Anor’s instincts urged him to reprimand the impudent nobody daring to rebuke him, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “The way to liberation is long and hard, Shoon-mi. We all knew this when we joined, and we would all do the same as Eckla if our time came.”

“Without hesitation, Master.” Shoon-mi made all the appropriate gestures, but still a hint of defiance remained in his tone. “I remind each new novitiate that pain is often the only reward of faithfulness. Few seem deterred.”

“At least something lies beyond the pain,” Nom Anor reminded him, feeding his assistant the spiritual fodder he craved. “The Jeedai promise a new life, whereas the old brings nothing but death and servitude. Freedom is worth the risk of pain, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Master.”

With nothing more to add, Shoon-mi bowed his way out of the audience chamber. Nom Anor could have used his advice on forthcoming novitiate selections, but he let the Shamed One go for now. Had he cared at all about the life of Eckla of Domain Shoolb, he, too, might have needed some time alone to think.

He gestured for Kunra to shut the door. He felt restless, unnerved. If Ngaaluh’s infiltration of Shimrra’s court was so successful, why didn’t he feel satisfaction? Why couldn’t he be like Kunra, and blithely accept that Shimrra was feeling the full effect of the heresy undermining his authority?

“Tell me about the ones you’re training in this region,” he said tiredly, when he was certain the room was secure. “What progress have you made?”

“I have selected three of the more adept recruits, without Shoon-mi’s knowledge.” The disgraced warrior moved from his position by the door toward Nom Anor. The confident ease of his movements revealed that he had grown to enjoy his position as lackey-cum-chief-lieutenant for the Prophet. “Each shows the right balance of fanaticism and stupidity for the task. I’ll let them fight among themselves to see which is successful.”

“Literally fight?” Blood sports didn’t fit in with the Jedi Heresy, but Nom Anor knew that Kunra had a dark, rough edge that might go that far.

Kunra shook his head. “The successful applicants must be able to meet the stare of Shimrra’s lackeys unflinchingly, yet without resorting to violence. They will take their first steps toward true defiance against each other. The first to strike a blow will be the first to be dismissed.”

“And by dismissed you mean—”

Kunra nodded. “Eliminated.”

Nom Anor nodded, satisfied. There were many conflicting demands made of an organization such as his. The first was finding ways to spread the heresy through conduits that had never been designed to act efficiently or reliably. The Shamed Ones had always gossiped, but did so with no concern for accuracy and were safe only under the assumption that no one higher up cared to listen. For the heresy to be effective, distortions had to be kept to a minimum. And now that higher ranks were listening, precautions had to be taken to ensure that the message couldn’t be traced. These two objectives were frequently contradictory, and Nom Anor relied on his two assistants to balance them, with or without each other’s knowledge.

So if Shoon-mi was responsible for ensuring the spread of the word, Kunra, then, was there to plug the leaks. He and a small, handpicked team of what Nom Anor thought of as “spiritual police” worked secretly to tie up any loose threads that threatened to unravel the entire fabric of the scheme. His work was made easier by the fact that disappearances were assumed to be the work of higher echelons getting close to the sources of the heresy. Each surgical elimination had the added effect of heightening paranoia and, arguably, making his role less essential.

But as the network expanded, and exponentially more mouths began spouting the Jedi tenets, the risks multiplied. Sometimes Nom Anor woke in the middle of the night, sweating with panic at the thought that even now, despite all his precautions, Shimrra was closing in.

“Good work,” he said, praising Kunra as he would a trained pet. He didn’t need to earn Kunra’s loyalty; he had purchased it simply by sparing the ex-warrior’s life. “But don’t bore me with the details. Just make sure you have a candidate ready in three days. I wish to move on. This skulking in the dark is not something I care to make a habit of.”

Kunra bowed briefly. As with Shoon-mi, there was a certain amount of defiance in the gesture, but Nom Anor could accept it from Kunra. The ex-warrior needed spirit to carry out his tasks effectively. Shoon-mi just needed obedience.

“Leave me now. I wish to think.”

Kunra strode from the room, shutting the door behind him. Tiredly, Nom Anor leaned over to the bowl of water at his side so that he could wash his face. Things were going well, yes: the heresy was spreading, and a constant moving from place to place ensured that Shimrra was still no closer to catching him. That wasn’t enough, though, and it never would be. The heresy had been from its conception a means of restoring himself to power. Every step he took had to advance that cause, or it was a step backward. The question that ever nagged at him, though, was: power over whom? Was being the leader of a scruffy army of Shamed Ones and misfits sufficient?

He froze, staring down at the reflection in the bowl of water. It was haggard and grimy as a consequence of living in the foul subterranean dwellings of Yuuzhan’tar, and its eyes were full of doubt. It looked like a stranger.

With a frustrated snarl he dashed the bowl of water to the floor.

Kunra was wrong. Shimrra wasn’t frightened at all. Not once had he shown a flicker of fear. Anger, yes, but not fear. The heresy was a hindrance, not a threat. And the Prophet? The king of a dungeon might be a king, but he was still living in a dungeon.

It was well beyond time, Nom Anor told himself, feeling better even as he came to the conclusion, that he started exercising some real power …

On the Falcon, tempers were flaring.

“We can’t leave yet,” Han insisted. “Not until we know Jaina’s all right.”

“She’s safe, Han. You know that. She’s on her way back to the Selonia.” Leia felt confined in the tiny cockpit and had to resist the urge to storm out. C-3PO was lurking in the access way, looking back and forth between Han and herself as he followed the heated exchange. “By staying here, you’re putting us at risk.”

Through sensors on the ship’s hull she could hear the baying of the mob that had converged on the Falcon’s landing field. Only the halfhearted efforts of dock security had kept them at bay.

“So what?” he argued. “We can defend ourselves.”

“It doesn’t help the cause if we go around stirring up trouble, Han! We’re supposed to be spreading a peaceful message, not unrest.”

Han rubbed at his temple as though he had a headache. On the screens before him were views of the cordon around the Falcon’s dock, along with various patches from local feeds.

“What about the Ryn?” he asked more calmly.

She didn’t have an answer ready for that. Her thoughts had been focused on Jaina, too. But she supposed that was a consideration. Back on Bakura, Goure had sent them to Onadax on the pretext that another Ryn would meet them there. Thus far, still, there had been nothing.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe Goure got it wrong. Or perhaps things changed here between the message he received and us arriving. The Ryn network is slow, remember. Maybe—”

“Wait.” He waved her quiet. “Did you hear that?”

Leia listened, but heard nothing. She put a hand on his shoulder, lightly patting his taut muscles. If her husband wanted to find a reason to delay, he was going to have to do better than that.

“I really think it’s time we went somewhere safer, Han. Captain Todra can look after herself, and Jaina won’t be much longer. I can feel her getting closer.”

He glanced at her, and with a sigh relented.

“All right,” he said, flicking switches. “But we’re only going to low orbit. If they so much as think about hurting her, I want to be able to—”

“Jaina can handle herself,” Leia interrupted, suppressing a smile.

A furious pounding from the belly of the ship brought the discussion to a halt.

“I thought I heard something.” Han flicked further switches as Leia dropped into the seat beside him. He scanned through various security cam angles while she brought the retractable repeating blaster to life.

Through one of the cams they saw a gangly figure banging on the belly hatch with a hefty metal rod. The alien’s face was obscured by a fogged-up visor, but apart from this there was nothing overtly suspicious or threatening about him or her. The cheap enviro-suit the stranger was wearing was too flimsy to have concealed any weapon.

“I doubt security would send someone looking like that to do their dirty work,” Leia said. “Do you?”

Han shook his head dubiously. “Fire a warning shot. That’ll fix him.”

“That might not be such a good idea, Han. It could be taken as a sign of aggression.”

“It’s intended to be a sign of aggression, Leia,” he shot back. “And if he doesn’t stop banging on the Falcon like that, I’m going to get a whole lot more aggressive, too.”

“But he just seems to be trying to get our attention, Han.”

“Yeah, and look what he’s doing to the paint job in the process!”

“I’m not firing, Han.” She sat back in her chair with her arms folded resolutely across her chest.

He looked at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes. With an annoyed grunt he heaved himself out of the pilot’s seat and headed off down the corridor, muttering something about “mutiny” under his breath.

Leia continued with the preflight warm-up he’d started, all the while keeping one eye on the belly cam covering the ramp.

With a clunk and a whir it opened wide enough to allow Han to bellow a warning to the insistent alien. Leia watched the animated exchange between the two of them, although she couldn’t read lips well enough to work out exactly what was being said. Whatever it was, though, it resulted in the alien briefly lifting his mask, which in turn prompted a look of stunned amazement from Han.

She didn’t see the alien’s face, so it came as a complete surprise when Han lowered the ramp the rest of the way and gestured for the alien to come aboard. He did so, tossing to the ground the metallic rod with which he’d been banging the ship. And as she watched the alien climb the ramp, Leia couldn’t quash a rising sense of unease in her stomach.

“Jade Shadow, please respond!”

Captain Mayn’s voice dragged Luke out of what felt like a very deep pit. The world was shaking around him, and a roaring sound filled his ears. Somewhere beyond the haze caused by the intense mental attack, he could feel Saba, Danni, and Tekli nearby, all out cold. Jacen’s mind was bright and conscious, already reaching out to the others. Farther away, but still in Jade Shadow, he could sense Soron Hegerty, sleeping heavily. And beside him, his wife, wrestling with the controls.

“We’re kind of busy right now, Captain,” she said. Her voice sounded calm, but Luke could tell from her thoughts that she was also suffering the aftereffects of the attack. “We’ll get back to you the first chance we get, okay?”

Before the Widowmaker could respond, Mara switched off the comm unit so there would be no more interruptions. The normally simple task of landing her ship was clearly taking a lot of concentration.

“Where—?” Luke started, but his throat was too dry to get the words out. Pulling himself upright in his seat, he cleared his throat with a cough and tried again. “Where are we?”

“Coming in to land,” she replied, not taking her eyes from the controls.

Through the cockpit’s canopy, Luke could see the lush vegetation of the planet below. To the far south he noticed vast areas of cleared land—possibly the same scarring from the Yuuzhan Vong attacks Vergere had described, or perhaps lasting aftereffects of so many jumps through hyperspace, during its flight through the Unknown Regions. From far above, there was no way to tell.

He glanced at his wife. The bags under her eyes were heavy and dark. “Are you all right?”

“I guess,” she said distractedly.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure. It felt like a Force punch—only a hundred times more powerful. Whatever it was, it managed to knock out everyone on this ship—and keep them unconscious, too.”

“But not yourself?”

Mara shrugged. “One minute I’m out like the rest of you; the next I’m awake and listening to Jacen take instructions over the comm.”

“Jacen?”

“He woke first. He thinks it was Zonama Sekot that knocked us out and woke him up later, but it was definitely someone on the surface who gave him coordinates and an approach corridor. He’d just finished explaining that he wasn’t the best person to pilot the ship when I woke up. That’d be the planet too, I guess. When I told them I would need to confer with you, the people on the ground said that wasn’t an option. Given what the Shadow’s recordings show, I didn’t think arguing with them was the most sensible thing to do.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked over to him, and this time there was more than just exhaustion in her eyes: there was a hint of nervousness as well. “Take a look for yourself,” she said, flipping a switch to begin the playback of the recording. “This was taken just before I was roused, after we came into the system.”

Luke turned to the monitor and viewed the footage Jade Shadow’s instruments had managed to capture while the crew was insensate. It showed the Yuuzhan Vong ships he had glimpsed on their arrival, along with the spectacular pyrotechnic display put on by the planet. He had forgotten about the battle in the confusion of waking up, but seeing it again brought it all back. His surprise at seeing the Yuuzhan Vong in orbit above the living planet was total.

He watched with awe as the alien ships fell back under the local defense forces. The battle was intense. Although the Yuuzhan Vong force was small, it almost held its own against the planetary defenses—almost. But eventually the alien ships broke under the relentless resistance and scattered. Zonama Sekot’s defenders hunted down the fleeing ships and destroyed them one by one.

When the recording had finished, Luke turned back to Mara. She was piloting her ship through the last stages of descent.

“Are there any left?” He didn’t need to elaborate.

“All destroyed, as far as I can tell. There’s a lot of static. We were on the fringes but still affected.”

“Why didn’t we end up like them?” he asked.

Mara glanced at him sidelong as she brought the repulsors on-line. “I have no idea, Luke.”

“Perhaps it read our minds and realized we didn’t mean it any harm,” Luke thought out loud. “And it woke Jacen first because of his natural affinity for unusual minds.”

“There’s only one way to know for sure,” Mara said. “That’s to talk to the natives.”

“And I guess that’s what we’re about to do.” In the main screen, heavily forested land ballooned up toward them. “Maybe they can tell us what the Yuuzhan Vong were doing here in the first place.”

“We know they’ve sent missions into the Unknown Regions. The Chiss told us that before we left Csilla. This must be one of those missions.”

“I guess—but I can’t believe they just stumbled across Zonama Sekot. We had a hard enough time finding it on purpose.”

“There might be more of them, then, and they might have been poking around in here longer.”

Luke nodded, although his questions were far from answered. “That makes twice they’ve found it now, that we know of,” he said. “It’s almost as though they’re actively looking for it …”

Jade Shadow set down perfectly in a broad, grassy field surrounded on all sides by steep forest walls. Flicking switches, Mara killed the engines and settled back into her seat.

“Welcome to Zonama Sekot,” Jacen said from behind them.

Luke half-turned to study his nephew. Jacen’s eyes were fixed on the view through the cockpit’s massive, transparisteel canopy. On the surface of the planet outside, life swirled though the branches of the trees in a variety of colors and forms.

“Where exactly are we?” Luke asked.

“If you want a name, I can’t help you,” Jacen said. “Whoever I spoke to gave me detailed coordinates for this landing field, then left us alone. But we’re somewhere in the southern hemisphere.”

Mara gestured to a topographic display that indicated their precise location. “If what Vergere told you is true, all of this was destroyed by the Yuuzhan Vong the last time they were here, sixty years ago.”

Jacen nodded. Luke could understand the note of incredulity in Mara’s voice. There was no evidence whatsoever of the destruction that had been inflicted upon the planet, apart from the odd, cleared patch visible from orbit. Zonama Sekot had managed to heal itself.

“Did they say anything else? Anything at all?”

Jacen shook his head. “Only for us to land, and to keep the Widowmaker in orbit, where it won’t be harmed.”

“I presume Arien experienced the same thing we did.”

“Actually, no,” Mara said. “They were completely unaffected. Some of the crew suffered headaches and space-sickness, but nothing more serious than that. It’s almost as though the Force punch was aimed solely at us.”

“Us because Jade Shadow arrived first,” Luke asked, “or us because we’re Jedi?”

He could tell that Mara was about to protest that she knew as little as he did when something caught their attention outside. Stepping out from a narrow gap in the trees were two individuals. Both were tall and thin, with icy, pale blue skin and wide gold-black eyes. The male’s hair was a deep black, while the woman’s swept back in a wave of pure white. Their jaws looked strong, their expressions stern. They wore robelike garments consisting of wide sheets of fabric falling from their shoulders in overlapping streams, all in shades of green and gray.

They came to a halt a safe distance from Jade Shadow, staring at the yacht with their hands clasped in front of them as though waiting for Luke, Mara, and Jacen to step out.

“Well,” Luke said, glancing at his wife, “here are the natives.”

“Their expressions don’t look too inviting, do they?” Mara said, standing.

Jacen went to leave the cockpit, but Luke took his arm. “I’d rather you waited here with Artoo to keep an eye on the others.”

Jacen looked for a second as though he might argue. The stubby droid tootled encouragingly, and the look passed. “That makes sense, I guess. Just call if you need help.”

“Don’t worry,” Mara said, squeezing his hand as they passed through to the air lock. Together she and Luke made their way past the others—Tekli, Saba, and Danni sprawled unconscious on the floor of the passenger bay—to the rear of the ship and the exit hatch. Mara keyed the air lock open and waved Luke through. He stepped down the egress ramp, stopping at the bottom in the knee-high grass to take lungfuls of Zonama Sekot’s invigorating air. He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze on his skin.

We’re actually here, he thought. It would take more than a less-than-friendly welcome to dull that sense of achievement.

He opened his eyes when Mara came up beside him. Her expression reflected an amazement similar to his own. The sky was a vibrant blue, and a fitful wind stirred the flat, wide-bladed grass about their feet. Small clouds scudded overhead, partially obscuring the broad, reddish face of Mobus, the giant world around which Zonama Sekot orbited. The system’s primary was halfway up the sky and twenty degrees away from the gas giant.

Another deep breath swept the last lingering feeling of doubt away. This place was real, and it smelled like life itself. There was a powerful potential in the Force trembling behind everything, as though a psychic thunderstorm were about to burst. Was that the mind of Zonama Sekot? Luke wondered. Was that what Vergere had felt when the living planet had become conscious, all those years ago? Even on Ithor, he had never felt fauna and flora blend so effortlessly into such a magnificent whole.

He put his ruminations aside when the two strangers approached.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded.

“My name is Luke Skywalker,” he said. “And this is my wife, Mara. We’d like to thank you for welcoming us—”

“You’re not welcome,” the male said sharply.

Mara frowned. “But weren’t you the ones that gave us the coordinates to—?”

“We were ordered to do so,” the woman cut in.

“Yours is the first vessel to land on Zonama in more than fifty years,” the man added. “Sekot has willed it, and so we obey.”

With poor grace, Luke noted.

“You speak the names Zonama and Sekot as though they were separate things,” he said. “Why is that?”

“Sekot is the mind,” the man said.

“Zonama is the planet,” the woman concluded.

“Then you are the Zonamans?” Luke asked.

“We are Ferroans,” said a voice from behind Luke. He turned to find himself facing a blue-skinned woman dressed similarly to the others, except her garments were entirely black.

Mara had spun around, surprised, and dropped into a defensive stance.

The corners of the woman’s mouth turned up into a slight smile. “Forgive me for startling you.” Her hands came up in the universal gesture of peace. “I mean you no harm. I am the Magister. I stand between Zonama and Sekot.”

Mara relaxed slightly. Luke studied the new arrival with wary fascination. He couldn’t tell exactly how old she was. Her pale blue skin was wrinkled, but her hair was thick and black, tied in a tight ponytail that hung to her hips. She radiated an incredible vitality that he would have expected from a much younger person. Her Force-signature was odd, too—as if he were viewing it through a rain-coated viewport.

There was no denying that she was in charge, though. The other Ferroans backed reverentially away and bowed their heads.

“Then I take it that you are the one we need to speak with,” Luke said.

“If you have anything to say, then yes, your words should be directed to me.”

Luke nodded as he took a step toward the Magister. “We need to discuss the aliens you were recently fighting.” He indicated the sky with a glance. “We know them as the Yuuzhan Vong, but in the past I believe you have referred to them as the Far Outsiders.”

The Magister’s face tilted, an expression of fascination spreading across it. “How do you know that?”

“A Jedi Knight who once visited here told her story to my nephew.”

“You speak of Vergere, then,” the woman said, nodding. “We remember her well. And fondly.”

Some of Mara’s uncertainty ebbed at the open mention of the other Jedi’s name. “You do?”

“Her story is well known to us. She drew the Far Outsiders away, for a time—long enough for us to prepare for a second assault. We are capable of defending ourselves now, as you have seen.”

Luke nodded. “The demonstration we witnessed was impressive, to say the least.”

“A demonstration implies it was put on for your benefit,” the male Ferroan said. His tone made it quite clear that it had not been at all.

“Now, Rowel,” the Magister cautioned gently. “These are our guests.”

“No, Magister,” the other woman said. “These are intruders. They don’t belong here. We should send them away immediately and forget about them.”

“Denial solves nothing, Darak.” There was no acrimony in the Magister’s words, nor any hint of reproach. “We have tried to forget about the universe at large, but have clearly failed in this. In the space of a single day we have encountered two species who sought to find us. Our denial of them did little to deter them.”

“But Magister,” said the woman, Darak, “they bring with them violent changes! We have lived in peace for decades, and suddenly the skies are filled with the fire of war!”

“That is so,” Luke said. “And I fear there may be more to come.”

“You bring ill tidings then,” Rowel said, glaring balefully at him.

“It is always so with these Jedi Knights,” Darak added.

“Wait,” Luke said, forestalling Mara’s defensive rebuttal. “Did you say Knights? Have you had other Jedi Knights here, apart from Vergere?”

“We have entertained more than one over the years, yes.” The Magister glanced reprovingly at the other Ferroans. “In the past, the Jedi Knights proved to be our friends, our allies. Why should that not be so now?”

“We should be cautious,” Darak advised. “We are but one world against millions.”

“No one is immune,” Luke said. “You cannot hide from what is coming. Today’s events prove that. It’s a hard truth, but it is truth we bring, not lies.”

The regal woman studied the two humans before her with a piercing gaze.

“I would very much like the chance to speak with your nephew, to exchange with him our memories of Vergere.”

“Send them away!” Darak hissed. “Don’t listen to them!”

The Magister laughed loudly at this. “Really, my friends. You go too far.” To Luke and Mara, she continued: “I beg you to forgive their disrespect. Their apprehensions are not unjustified. We have seen unstable times in the past—especially during the Crossings, when we searched for a new home. Those times were hard on everyone. There were terrible upheavals: deaths, famine, plagues.” A fleeting sadness crossed the Magister’s lined face. “There have been no visitors to Zonama for many years. We live in peace, and now conflict has returned to us. We are understandably concerned.”

Luke nodded. “As are we. The presence of the Far Outsiders here was unexpected, and is of grave concern. This is one of the many things we must talk about, and soon.”

“It shall be so,” the Magister said, a stern glance at Darak and Rowel indicating that she would brook no disagreement. “The others may attend, too,” she added. “They wake even as we speak.”

“You will need to come with us, then,” the male Ferroan said.

“Where to?” Mara asked, eyes narrowing. “To our village,” Darak said. “That’s where the meeting place is.”

“Okay,” Mara said. “Tell us where it is and I’ll fly us there myself.”

“That’s not possible,” Rowel said. “Your vessel cannot come.”

“And how do you intend to stop me from—?”

“I don’t.” Rowel pointed to Jade Shadow. “Sekot has already taken care of it.”

Mara’s protest died on her lips as she glanced at her ship. The grass her yacht was resting on, along with vines that had crept unnoticed from the surrounding undergrowth, had invaded the ship, entwining around its landing struts. Green fronds peeked out of apertures and vents all along the underside, indicating that the intrusion was extensive throughout the ship.

Mara reacted defensively, purely on instinct. She took two steps toward the ship, activating her lightsaber. The bright energy blade cut a glowing line through the crystal clarity of the day, promising a swift and indiscriminate pruning.

Luke caught her by the arm before she could take a swing. “Easy, Mara,” he said gently. He leaned in close to her as he guided the blade down to her side, whispering into the red hair covering her ear, “If Sekot can do this to the ship, it can certainly do it to us, as well. You can’t hope to fight a planet, my love.”

He was already reaching out for Jacen inside the ship and, seeing that his nephew was unharmed, he sent Mara his reassurance. She relaxed in his grip, removing her thumb from the activation stud of her weapon and killing the blade. Nevertheless, she was clearly not happy with the situation. Nor could he blame her. Sekot had attacked her ship and made her a prisoner on the planet. It didn’t sit well with him, either; however, he was prepared to ride it out.

“Magister—” he started, but stopped upon realizing she was gone. He hadn’t noticed her leaving, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her unusual Force presence lingered on the wind, as though part of her were still around. That faded into nothing even as he clutched at it, trying to follow it. It was almost as though she had literally dissolved into thin air.

“If you are going to come with us,” Rowel said, “then we leave now.”

“Thank you,” he said, recovering in order to reply as courteously as he could. If the Ferroans were trying to provoke them in any way, they would be disappointed. “But if we’re not permitted to take Jade Shadow, then how are we to get anywhere?”

The Ferroan pointed at a path visible at the edge of the landing field. “We walk, of course,” Darak said with a faint smirk.

Jaina reached Pride of Selonia’s dock seconds before the mob. The journey through the streets of Onadax had been arduous, and fraught with danger. Several times she’d had to double back to avoid either fires or a fight with the locals. Whoever had stirred up the city had done a frighteningly thorough job.

At the entrance to the dock, two guards barred her way.

“We have orders to detain anyone attempting to enter this vessel,” said one, a swarthy Selonian.

“Orders from whom?” she responded, acutely conscious of the mob baying at her heels. “For what reason?”

“That’s not your concern. If you could just step this way—”

This way, his mind revealed, led to a pair of stun cuffs and a blow to the head.

“You don’t need to hold me,” she said, taking his will and bending it. “I’m exempt from the orders you’ve been given.”

“We don’t need to hold her,” the Selonian told the other guard. “She’s exempt.”

Jaina smiled winningly. “Perhaps I should move through now; I’m sure you have better things to do than stand around chatting.”

“Move on through, please. We can’t stand around chatting all day.”

The guards parted, allowing her access to the Selonia. She hurried up the ramp to the ship’s wide air lock and keyed in the appropriate security code. Before she had finished, however, the panel hissed open.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said Selwin Markota, Captain Mayn’s second in command. He waved her inside. “We’re ready to lift off.”

The clamor of the mob behind her rose a notch as it reached the docks. “That would be good idea.”

Exhaustion rushed through her as Markota hurried through the corridors of the frigate. A solid man with receding hair, he was an excellent administrator, ever dependable in a crisis. That he was walking so briskly confirmed their circumstances were urgent. Gravity shifted minutely beneath her feet as the frigate left Onadax behind.

“What about my parents? Did they get away okay?”

“They’re in orbit, waiting for you to call.”

“Any sign of pursuit?”

“Not so far. My gut feeling is that this was a warning. Someone wanted us out of the way, but didn’t necessarily want us dead.”

She nodded, absorbing the information. “The riots were real enough to me.”

“I’m sure they are. Onadax, like most illegal communities, is a tinderbox ready to go up at the slightest spark.” Markota cast a baleful glance over his shoulder. “We picked up some local news traffic not long ago. Someone posted a bulletin concerning the agent we supposedly sent. Eyewitness accounts describe a person leaving the supposed scene of the incident, an hour or two ago. That person matches Han’s description.”

Jaina thought of her father’s telling of the incident at the Thorny Toe. It certainly hadn’t sounded severe enough to start a riot. But Han Solo’s capacity for understatement was as legendary as his luck.

Markota stopped outside the medical suite that Tahiri had been assigned. “They’re waiting for you in here.”

The first thing she saw when she entered the suite was Jag, rising from his seat with an expression of relief on his face. He was across the room in an instant, his big hands first touching her hair, then falling to her shoulder, which he gripped firmly but warmly.

“When we lifted off and I hadn’t heard—” He fell into an awkward silence, as though embarrassed. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he finished.

Smiling, she touched his cheek lightly with the back of her hand.

“I’m glad, too,” she said.

He moved aside, then, to allow her into the suite properly. With a single glance she took in Tahiri on the bed, pale and comatose, in exactly the same position she’d been in since Bakura. Numerous tubes and monitors snaked under the sheet covering her, monitoring and meeting all her body’s needs. Her eyelids were red, and her lips were cracked and dry.

“Sorry to interrupt the moment,” came her father’s voice from the room’s comm unit.

“Dad?” she said, surprised. “I hadn’t realized there was a line open to you! Is Mom there with you?”

“I’m here, Jaina,” her mother said.

“It’s great to hear your voices,” she said.

“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” Han said.

Jaina sat on the edge of Tahiri’s bed, taking the girl’s hand loosely into her own. “Sorry things didn’t go as planned.”

“That depends,” Leia said.

“On what?” she asked. “Did you find anything about the Ryn?”

Jaina’s father seemed oddly hesitant to answer that question. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, we heard from someone, but it wasn’t who we expected.”

Jaina sighed, too tired to play games. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“We picked up a passenger as we were leaving Onadax,” Han explained. “Someone who said he was trying to escape the riots. We haven’t had much chance to talk to him since we took him aboard, but I’m guessing he’s not the one we’re looking for.”

“He’s the right species,” Leia added, “but doesn’t know much about what’s going on.”

“And who is he, exactly?”

“He’s Droma,” came a distinctly Ryn voice over the comm. “It’s nice to speak to you again, Jaina.”

Jaina’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s good to hear your voice,” she managed.

“Hey, I told you to wait in the hold,” she heard her father say.

“What, you think I’m going to take your secrets and sell them to the Vong or something?” The Ryn blew a rapid, lamenting tune from the chitinous, flutelike nose sported by the members of his species. Its sound came clearly down the comm. “Don’t be so paranoid.”

“This has got nothing to do with paranoia! It’s to do with privacy.”

Their voices slowly faded into the background, culminating in a tired sigh from Leia—as though having the two of them on board together was already proving too exhausting for her.

“As soon as we’re in orbit, I’m coming across, Mom.”

“Personally I think you’re better off where you are. But, if you feel you have to, then I’ll let your father know you’re coming.”

Jacen helped Danni up from the floor of the passenger bay. He waited a moment as she rubbed a dull fog from her eyes. Nearby, his uncle knelt by Saba and Tekli, gently rousing them.

“Welcome back,” Jacen said.

“How—?” Danni started groggily. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” he said.

“We’re here?”

He smiled broadly. “Yes, we’re here, Danni. Come see for yourself.”

Seeing that she was still feeling vague and disoriented, he steadied her as she made her way to the rear of the ship to where the exit hatch hung invitingly open. Before he’d taken one step down the egress ramp, he felt his breath taken from his lungs at the sight outside.

Knee-high grass swayed in a serene breeze beneath a magnificent deep blue sky. The air was filled with a fine down—possibly pollen from numerous flowering plants scattered about the area. Jacen breathed in deeply, savoring the thousand exotic scents and enjoying the slight giddiness the fragrances caused in him.

We made it, he thought as he descended the ramp and set foot on the planet’s soil. We’re actually on Zonama Sekot.

After a dozen steps through the grass, he stopped to let her look up at the multicolored globe of Mobus suspended in the sky above, resembling a mighty, baleful eye bulging down upon them.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” he said softly.

“I don’t know what impresses me most,” she said. “The view, or the fact that we’re actually standing on a sentient planet.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m sure the locals will manage to dampen your excitement a little.”

“The locals—?” For the first time she noticed the two tall figures standing some distance away to their left, quietly conferring with one another. “Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“Let’s just say they’re not particularly overjoyed to see us,” another voice said. They both turned to see Mara, striding toward them across the grass.

“What exactly happened?” Danni asked. “Did they knock us out?”

Together, Mara and Jacen explained the situation as best they could. They told her of the space battle and the Yuuzhan Vong expedition, Jade Shadow’s descent to the surface of Zonama Sekot, Luke and Mara’s encounter with the Ferroans and the Magister, and the imprisonment of the ship. On hearing this part, Danni went to examine the verdant fronds that had crept up the landing struts of Jade Shadow, confirming Mara’s assertion that they weren’t going to leave anytime soon. There was a ferocious vitality surging through the leaves; cut one and three more would undoubtedly grow in its wake.

“What about the Widowmaker?” Danni asked.

“The other vessel will come to no harm as long as it remains in orbit,” came the voice of one of the Ferroans from behind. Jacen turned to see the two wading through the tall grass toward them.

“But how did you do this?” Jacen felt Danni reach out with her growing perception of the Force to taste the world around them. She felt what he did: no mind, no thoughts; just a constant pressure—similar to what a body would feel at great depths in an ocean, only mental rather than physical. “By the Force?”

“Sekot has many defenses,” the male Ferroan said unhelpfully.

A groan in the direction of Jade Shadow announced the arrival of Soron Hegerty, assisted by Luke and closely followed by Tekli. Saba wasn’t far behind; the Barabel’s expression was suitably awestruck as the shock of displacement slowly faded. Saba’s hand rested on the lightsaber at her hip while her gaze constantly scanned the tree lines around them. It was clear that the hunter in her was not going to be distracted by the splendor and magnificence of her surroundings.

“It is time,” the female Ferroan said. “We have a long walk ahead of us.”

“Why?” Danni asked. “Where are we going?”

“We’ll explain on the way,” Luke said.

“Are the treez of your forest safe?” Saba asked.

“They are not trees,” the woman said. “They’re called boras, and they make up the tampasi. They will harm you only if you attempt to harm them.”

Without another word, the two Ferroans set off across the field, their pace suggesting that either the visitors keep up or they would get left behind.

Jacen’s uncle turned to the Chadra-Fan. “Tekli, would you mind staying here and keeping an eye on Jade Shadow?”

The diminutive Jedi bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Of course, Master Skywalker.”

“We’ll keep our comlinks open at all times,” Luke assured her.

Tekli bowed once more and then returned to Jade Shadow.

Luke faced the others. “Is everyone ready?”

“I don’t think we have much choice,” Jacen said, gesturing to the two Ferroans receding into the distance. “They’ll be disappearing over the horizon if we don’t get after them soon.”

“Like I said,” Mara muttered as she headed off in the wake of their escorts. “Real friendly.”

Jaina listened with interest to Droma’s simple story. Her parents had already heard it, but listened again with unflagging interest. Jaina received the distinct impression that Leia was almost hoping for an inconsistency to arise.

After rescuing his sister at Fondor, Droma and his family had drifted from place to place, as was their custom. The encroaching front of the Yuuzhan Vong kept them moving at first toward the Core, then into the outer regions of the galaxy, seeking safer climes. There they encountered fierce parochialism, anti-Jedi sentiments, civil war, and other signs of collapsing infrastructure. It was all his family could do just to keep their collective heads above water.

“Then we heard about the Ryn network.” Droma’s tail whipped and coiled as he paced the Falcon’s main hold as if it were an extra hand, gesticulating to emphasize certain points of his speech. “We knew of the Great River, but we weren’t qualified as resistance fighters or idealists. We’re just travelers, with our own unique skills. The thought of using those skills to gather and disseminate information as we traveled seemed so obvious, and I’m not surprised it took one of us to think of it. A great, galactic enterprise the Ryn could finally be part of! It seemed almost too good to be true.”

“We’ve only met two from this network so far,” Jaina said. “There was one on Galantos, who saved us from a Peace Brigade trap, and Goure on Bakura who sent us here. He said that—”

“That someone would be waiting for you,” Droma interrupted, nodding. “That sounds like them.”

Jaina looked questioningly at her father, who just shrugged. “He does this. It takes some getting used to.”

She looked back at the Ryn. “Are you able to tell us anything that might help us find the Ryn we were supposed to meet here?”

Droma shrugged. “I can’t tell you much more than I already have. I came here to apply on behalf of my family. We wanted to become part of the network ourselves; we want to give something back to the people who helped us on Duro, without compromising what it means to be a Ryn. I don’t care what people think of us; I don’t want to be a hero. I just wanted to try to keep the clan safe, you know? I figure the more friends we have, the safer we are. If the ceiling’s about to come down on us all, I’d like to have some company.”

“So what happened?” Jaina asked.

Droma made a disappointed noise, deep in his throat. “They heard me out, but said they had no vacancies in the organization at this time—at least not where we were stationed. I said we’d be prepared to move to somewhere we were needed, but they weren’t interested.”

“Would you be able—” Leia started.

“To identify the boss Ryn?” Droma finished, shaking his mane of wiry hair doubtfully. “He’s about as shy as they come. And for good reason, too. It certainly sounds like he and his network have been helpful to you and other people in recent times, and the Yuuzhan Vong aren’t going to like that very much.”

Jaina frowned. “So you can’t tell us any more about them?”

“I would if I could, believe me. You helped me out, getting me off Onadax like that. It was about to get real ugly down there.”

“You don’t know anything about that, I suppose,” Leia said. Her expression was one of acceptance, as though she finally believed the Ryn’s story, but there were still numerous holes to fill. “It looked to us like someone was pulling up stumps and getting rid of the evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“The network, I presume.”

Droma shrugged again. “Sorry, but it’s no business of mine. I’m just here for the ride. If you could drop me off somewhere in the Juvex sector, though, I’d be extremely grateful. I can work my way back to the others from there.”

“If we’re going that way, sure,” said Han. “What do you mean, ‘if’?”

“Truth is, we don’t really know where we’re heading next,” Han said.

Droma was looking at them as though they were speaking Gamorrean. “What about Esfandia?” he asked. “You’re going there, right? And Juvex is on the way.”

“Esfandia?” Han repeated, frowning.

“Esfandia is one of two small communications centers on the other side of the galaxy,” Leia said. “It services the Outer Rim. There used to be only one, Generis, but another was brought on-line at the beginning of the war.”

“Why would we go there?” Jaina asked.

“You don’t know what’s happened?” Droma appeared genuinely shocked.

“No,” Jaina said. “What has happened?”

“It’s only something I overheard while I was being interviewed,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “A message came through while I was there. They mentioned something about the head Ryn not wanting to do anything about it, though, because he figured you guys would have already heard about it through official channels.”

All eyes remained on Droma, waiting for him to explain.

“You seriously don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Jaina took a step toward him. “No, we don’t—and if you’re so good at reading what people are going to say, then you’ll know that I’m about to—”

“Jaina,” her mother cautioned.

Droma chuckled at this, glancing at Han. “I see she’s inherited the Solo temper.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” Han said.

The Ryn turned from Han back to Jaina. “Generis has been destroyed by the Yuuzhan Vong, and Esfandia is under attack.”

“When?” Jaina asked,

“Yesterday, I think.”

“What has this got to do with us?” Han asked. “I know these sort of stations. If it’s Outer Rim, it’s probably automated, maybe staffed by a token crew to keep things maintained. If the Yuuzhan Vong have attacked it, it’s already lost.”

Leia shook her head. “Cal Omas beefed up the defenses there before we left. It might still be holding on.”

“And what if it isn’t?” Han asked. “Does it really matter if we lose contact with part of the Outer Rim?”

“It’s not just any part of the Outer Rim,” Leia said. “Generis and Esfandia are the only relay centers we have servicing the Unknown Regions. Every communications signal to and from the Chiss goes through there. Take them out and you effectively put the Unknown Regions out of contact.”

There was a moment’s silence as the implications suddenly sank in.

They’d been walking for more than two standard hours in virtual silence. Darak and Rowel, their Ferroan guides, stayed for the most part ahead of Jacen and the others, rarely bothering to check that their guests were keeping up with them.

This wasn’t necessarily a problem. There was more than enough to see. The tampasi was vigorous and rich with life. The trunk of each boras was a miniature ecosystem, supporting dozens of species of plants and fungi, which in turn provided homes and food for brightly colored insects. These insects became prey for lizards and arachnids, which were eaten by birds or larger animals still. Everywhere Jacen looked, he had the feeling that a tiny universe had, just that second, stopped in the middle of furious motion, and would start up again the moment he glanced away.

Danni had complained that it didn’t make sense that they should have landed Jade Shadow so far away from their destination, but Darak had said that their ship was not permitted in the airspace around any inhabited area; it could interfere with the carefully balanced ecosystem of the planet.

That Jacen could understand. There was only so much wonder he could take, though. His curiosity piqued by something his uncle had told him, he quickened his pace to bring himself alongside Darak. She didn’t turn to acknowledge him in any way, nor slow her pace.

“My uncle tells me that you remember Vergere,” he said.

“Your uncle is mistaken,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “I was a child when she and the other Jedi came to Zonama, and my settlement half a world away.”

The other Jedi … Jacen felt the tug of this revelation like a physical force.

“Your people, then,” he persisted. “You know of her. You’ve heard stories.”

“Stories, yes. Bedtime stories for children.”

He didn’t let the Ferroan’s frosty tone deter him. “I’m not sure whether you know it or not, but the Jedi were almost wiped out about fifty years ago. The ones who came here when you were a child would have been trained in the old ways. If we could learn more about them—”

“Not all were trained,” Rowel put in. “One was an apprentice. Strong in his fashion, but unrefined.”

“What happened to them here?”

“We are guides,” Darak said sourly, “not historians.”

“I know, but surely—”

He stopped when a shadow passed over them. Glancing up into the upper reaches of the boras, Jacen looked just in time to see something large and dark pass overhead. It didn’t stay in view long enough for him to make out exactly what it was.

The others had stopped also and were gazing upward. Darak and Rowel continued on unconcerned.

“What was that?” Jacen asked.

“A kybo,” Rowel called back. “Their fields are nearby.”

“Are they dangerous?” Mara asked.

“Hardly,” the woman said. “They’re airships.”

Moments later they emerged from the dense tampasi into a clearing that was twice the size of the one in which Jade Shadow had landed. Hovering just above the ground were half a dozen enormous manta-shaped dirigibles. Of roughly the same proportions as Millennium Falcon, but at least three times larger, they cast deep shadows across the meadow. Each kybo had five slender lines anchoring it to gnarled roots that protruded from the ground, holding it taut against the gently tugging winds that blew across the vast, grassy area. Beneath each hung a single bullet-shaped gondola with two bone-colored fans protruding from the rear.

Higher up, drifting over the tops of the enormous boras, Jacen could see a further three of the airships, as well as another one at the far end of the field coming in to land. Decorated in long, sweeping stripes of purple and orange across rough white skin, the crafts stood out against the lush green backdrop of the tampasi.

Working around the area were thirty or more Ferroans, some carrying baskets, some working on gondolas, others securing lines. They all looked incredibly industrious.

“Couldn’t we have traveled to your village in one of these?” Danni asked.

The two Ferroans were already meters away from her after she’d stopped to take in the sight.

Darak stopped to answer her. “These airships are not transports,” she said. “They’re harvesters. They are used to collect produce from the tops of the boras.”

Luke, Mara, Saba, and Soron emerged from the tree line together, all looking in wonder at the spectacle around and above them. They moved as a group over to where one man was working on repairs to a gondola that was lying on the grass on its side. The accompanying dirigible floated directly overhead, its anchor lines creaking as the great balloonlike structure moved in the wind.

Jacen felt confident stepping beneath the massive dirigible. From where he stood, he could see that it was composed of dozens of smaller bladders full of gas, each separated by thin membranes. For the craft to crash, a majority of those bladders would have to fail simultaneously, an eventuality too unlikely to worry about.

Inside the gondola was dark and dank. From the sunlight available he could make out benches for sitting on as well as a number of large baskets woven from vines, obviously for the harvested fruit. The sides were moist and ribbed, and he couldn’t help thinking that to sit in one would have been like riding in the belly of a giant whaladon.

“Are you the pilot?” Luke asked.

“My name is Kroj’b,” the man said. “I am her companion.”

“Companion?” Mara said.

The man smiled, revealing an expanse of healthy white teeth. “We have a symbiotic relationship,” he explained. “I care for her and she cares for me.”

Jacen realized only then that the dirigible wasn’t just a balloon; it was a living creature.

“What do you call her?” he asked.

The man smiled.

“Her name is Elegance Enshrined,” he said, as though pleased to be asked.

Jacen nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good name; I like it.”

“Your approval is neither sought nor required,” Rowel said from nearby. “You must come now. We still have a long way to go, and Darak will not wait.”

In the distance, the female Ferroan could be seen nearing the distant line of boras. Rowel turned and moved in her direction also, seemingly unconcerned whether the others followed. As much as he would have liked to have stayed and talked some more to this kybo’s “companion,” Jacen knew that they had to comply with Rowel’s and Darak’s wishes if they were to ever reach their destination.

He and the others continued with their trek, with Danni coming up alongside Jacen.

“It’s all so amazing, isn’t it?” she said. “There seems to be life in everything around us. Everywhere we look!”

Jacen nodded, watching one of the kyboes skimming the tops of distant boras. “It makes me feel very small,” he whispered as they wound their way alongside the massive boras trunks. Strangely, though, that thought didn’t bother him at all.

Back on Pride of Selonia, Jaina sat beside Tahiri through the long jump across the galaxy. While Jag stretched his wings at the head of Twin Suns Squadron, she kept an eye on her friend’s progress. Although by medical definition Tahiri’s condition was supposed to be stable, Jaina wasn’t convinced. Outwardly the girl appeared okay, but below the surface Jaina sensed a terrible psychic disturbance that was only getting worse with time.

“Can’t you feel it?” she asked Dantos Vigos, the Selonia’s chief medical officer, a Duros with long, solemn features. Tahiri’s skin was waxy and pale, and the scars on her forehead continued to burn. The self-inflicted ones on her arms had all but disappeared. “It’s as though there’s a fire blazing inside her.”

Vigos shook his head as he studied the girl’s vital signs. “She doesn’t seem to be running a fever.”

“I’m not talking about her body; I’m talking about her.”

Vigos stared at her, his eyes filled with puzzlement. He was a highly trained doctor with at least two decades of combat experience under his belt, and he wasn’t the type to turn his back on any relevant information that might help a patient. But clearly he was unable to grasp what Jaina was trying to tell him now.

“I’m afraid she’s going to run out of fuel,” Jaina mused softly, not really talking to him anymore. “What happens then?”

She wished she had Uncle Luke or Master Cilghal with her. They’d know what to do, she was sure. This wasn’t her field of expertise; this wasn’t an enemy that could be squared up to and beaten down. What tactics was she supposed to use against an enemy that was trying to take over her friend’s mind? An enemy that came from within that thought it had as much right to that mind as Tahiri herself?

“Jaina?”

She looked up, realizing the doctor had asked her something.

“I said, is there anything I can get you?”

Jaina shook her head. Vigos patted her shoulder sympathetically and returned to his duties, leaving her once more alone in the room with Tahiri. As much as she’d have liked him to stay and do something to help her friend, she knew that in reality there was nothing anyone could do except stand around and watch her decline.

No, Jaina thought resolutely. She wasn’t about to let that happen. She refused to just sit holding Tahiri’s hand while the girl battled futilely against her inner demons. That was as good as giving up, letting Riina win. Jaina had never before abandoned a friend in need, and she wasn’t about to start now.

The only question was: what could she do about it? Tahiri might be losing a battle, but it was one she’d been fighting for years. Unknown to anyone, she had been maintaining a delicate rearguard action against the Yuuzhan Vong personality thought expunged on Yavin 4. Only now were the cracks beginning to show. If Jaina intervened, the facade might crumble completely, leaving Tahiri exposed. It could be just as dangerous as sitting back and doing nothing.

There was no way for Jaina to contact the Falcon or Twin Suns Squadron for advice, either. While they were in hyperspace, it was up to her and her alone. She sat for more than an hour weighing up the possibilities—few though they were—all the while holding Tahiri’s hand, feeling the Force ever so slowly ebb from the young girl.

I don’t care what her vital signs say, she thought. She’s slipping away. I can feel it.

“What’s our ETA?” she asked Captain Mayn via the room’s comlink.

“Two hours until we’re within sensor range of Esfandia,” came the reply. “We’re running on schedule, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Two hours, Jaina thought. That could be easily long enough to make a difference.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on forming the mind-meld that the younger Jedi Knights used to share strength in battle. If Tahiri was losing the fight, perhaps all she needed was a little reinforcement …

Tahiri felt something sweep over her, as though a deep-ocean wave had just rolled by. She didn’t dare look around, though, for fear of giving Riina the advantage in their duel. Her world consisted of nothing but those green eyes and the harsh humming of two lightsabers striking at each other in imperfect synch. Fatigue ground painfully at every muscle in her body, but she wasn’t about to give in. She was determined not to allow her place in this world to be usurped.

Parry.

But something had changed, and now primal instincts were whispering to her, warning of the dangers that this change would bring. She couldn’t afford to allow herself to let her guard down. Whatever that deep-ocean wave had brought with it, she had to regard it as a threat.

Lunge, parry.

Did you feel that?

Although the voice came from her assailant, it reminded her too much of her own voice.

I felt it, she replied, stepping to one side as Riina’s lightsaber swung past.

Do you know what it is?

Tahiri sensed Riina’s uncertainty, and her hands gripped her pommel a little tighter.

No, she said, taking the lightsaber in both hands and bringing it down toward Riina’s head.

Riina blocked it easily, as though she’d been expecting it. The lightsabers remained locked, crackling menacingly in the quiet. Then Riina leaned in closer with a nervous half smile, and her green eyes fixed Tahiri through the glow of her weapon.

Something’s coming, she whispered.

Tahiri desperately wanted to look around. She felt as though the small of her back was on fire. A hole burned there from the stare of an unnamed something that was gradually drawing nearer. But how could she fight it if she took her eyes from Riina?

Backpedal, block, sweep.

Riina leapt away, lightsaber poised defensively.

We could fight it together, she said.

Tahiri’s body went cold as suspicion flushed through her. Why should I want to do that?

It’s either that or stand here while it picks us off—first one, then the other. It would be as easy as hunting scherkil hla.

Tahiri’s mind supplied her with an image of squat, flightless birds bred as a protein source on Yuuzhan Vong worldships. She forced it back down; such images, such thoughts, did not belong here.

Stab, deflect.

She fought hard, fending off not just the lightsaber, but also her suspicions. Ally herself with Riina? That was tantamount to giving in! She’d been subsumed once by the alien personality, and only Anakin’s intervention had saved her. She couldn’t count on him a second time, since he was—

Her mind balked at the word as it rang through her like a funeral bell tolling:

Dead.

Anakin couldn’t help her now, or ever. There could be no escaping this simple truth. She was on her own.

Slice, duck, swing.

A voice called out to her, carried on the dark wind that blew from the shadowed lands around them. It called her name, but stretched out over many agonized and tormented seconds, as though it were coming to her from far, far away …

Did you hear that? she asked Riina, beginning to feel truly frightened.

I heard it. Riina’s voice was colored with relief. It’s calling you. It doesn’t want me.

Why me? Tahiri demanded angrily, slashing viciously at Riina three times in quick succession. Why not you?

I don’t know. Riina’s amusement was touched with uncertainty. She retreated with a jump that took her five meters away from Tahiri.

But you know it’ll come for you afterward.

Kick, advance.

At least I won’t have you at my back to worry about when it does!

Again the voice boomed out of the shadows, sounding like the first rumble of a mighty wave crashing along the shore.

It’s not honorable to keep your back turned to an enemy in a fight, Riina said. Nor practical.

I can only face one enemy at a time, Tahiri responded, forcing Riina away with a series of aggressive blows. She moved like she’d never moved before, dazzling herself with the grace and power of her strokes. She was like Anakin, filled with the Force, burning up in a white and brilliant fire.

The image brought with it memories, and the memories in turn brought emotions that she’d rather forget. She attacked again, even more viciously than before. But in the end, all she succeeded in doing was to force her and Riina into another deadlock. Eye to eye, barely centimeters apart, lightsabers crossed between them, they stared at each other, frozen.

The voice called her name again, and this time it sounded much closer—so close that she could almost feel breath on her neck!

Without thinking, she turned to look. Darkness shrouded the world around her and Riina like fog, but to one side it was parting, and pale light shone through the gap.

No! I won’t let you kill us!

Riina flung Tahiri away from her and ran into the fog. Startled, Tahiri fell to the ground, but in one bound was up again, chasing Riina, following her frantic footsteps. Whatever was coming for her out of the darkness, she didn’t want to face it without knowing exactly where Riina was.

And what she was afraid of.

I won’t let you kill us …

Riina’s words haunted her as she ran through the darkness, her name echoing once more from behind her.

Leia literally took a backseat during the flight to Esfandia. Trying to compete with her husband and Droma was too exhausting, and, ultimately, pointless. At times it seemed their affinity wasn’t entirely amicable, but it was perfectly natural. They’d hardly stopped talking since the Ryn had come aboard. Bringing each other up to date on events since they’d parted at Fondor, they covered everything from sneaky tactics to Anakin’s death. After the latter, Droma had left the bridge for a while, to sing a plaintive lay in a language Leia didn’t understand, but then he’d returned with a story about one of his exploits in the Senex sector. The tale was as tall as a Bolenian hillspinner, but it served its purpose by easing the pall of melancholy that had engulfed the Falcon.

“So they started taking apart the tanker module,” Han was saying now, relating one of his own stories to Droma, his mood far removed from the grief that had consumed him earlier.

“Which you said was filled with liquid hydrogen.”

“Yeah, but destroying the tanker didn’t stop the hydrogen. If anything, it spread out a little, exactly as planned.”

“Why?” Droma asked, frowning. “Hydrogen won’t burn without oxygen.”

“That’s what Goldenrod said. That’s the trouble with droids: no imagination. As our shields failed, I told Leia and Jacen to punch holes through the cruiser’s hull with our quads. Before I could tell those scarheads to eat ions, there was more than enough oxygen for the hydrogen to react with. The cruiser went up so fast we had a tough time dodging the pieces. After that, it was just a matter of getting out of there. The few skips we left behind weren’t putting up much of a fight.”

“Understandably. I hear Vong skips are useless once they’re cut off from their yammosks.”

“Well, they’re not completely useless,” Han said, “but it does give you an advantage.”

Droma shrugged. “Speaking of yammosks, I’ve heard some stories about them that would make your tail stand on end!”

Leia listened to the banter but offered nothing toward the conversation. Instead, she concentrated on the information Droma had provided them: communications had indeed been lost with the Unknown Regions. The destruction of the base on Generis and the attack on Esfandia appeared to be the source of the disruption. A free-floating proto-world, Esfandia had long since cut free from whatever star had given birth to it, but still had enough radioactivity bubbling in its core to sustain a liquid atmosphere. It wasn’t the most hospitable of places, but it didn’t need to be. A skeleton crew of about a dozen people, mainly technicians, normally inhabited the relay outpost, which had been hastily converted from a scientific station at the beginning of the war with the Yuuzhan Vong. Since Luke’s mission had entered the Unknown Regions, the Galactic Alliance’s military presence around Esfandia had been upgraded to two squadrons of X-wings and a frigate by the name of Corellian Way. What had happened to those forces was unknown. The relay staff only had time to broadcast a message alerting their superiors on Mon Calamari that they were under attack by the Yuuzhan Vong before all communications had been lost.

That wasn’t necessarily a sure sign of disaster. The relay base was designed to resist such attacks. Imperial AT-AT technology had been adapted to the cold soup of Esfandia’s environment, creating a giant, mechanical, crablike construction capable of moving from place to place at a slow but steady pace. Such mobility was an advantage, given that most of the world was studded with receivers sensitive enough to detect transmissions from deep in the Unknown Regions. The base was designed to circumnavigate the globe, maintaining the receivers, while the technicians remained safely inside. That the ability to move made it easier to hide when attacked was a bonus.

The base, therefore, could have simply gone to ground, tucked away in a crevasse or under the thick silt of the atmospheric soup. If it could be found, it could be reactivated. Assuming, of course, that the Yuuzhan Vong hadn’t found it first and destroyed it for good.

Leia sent her thoughts outward, far beyond her location in hyperspace, beyond Esfandia and whatever awaited them there, to her brother, Luke. The last message Cal Omas had received from him suggested he’d found a promising lead and was setting off to investigate. He hadn’t specified what that lead consisted of or where he was headed, and now there was no way they would know unless they repaired the communications outage. Leia had no doubt that, were anything terrible to happen to him, then she would know about it. She would feel it, just as she had in the past. Nevertheless, she was concerned. So much was invested in his mission—personally, and on a galactic scale—that if something were to go wrong, it would be a disaster of unimaginable proportions.

The conversation between her husband and his old friend shifted as the Falcon’s console began to beep and flash, announcing that they were nearing their destination.

“Right on the nose,” Han said proudly, flipping switches in readiness for the return to realspace.

“And we didn’t even have to get out and push,” Droma said dryly.

“Yeah, that’s real amusing,” Han returned without smiling. “Now you want to move your funny, fuzzed-up self out of that chair so Leia can come forward and help me?”

“No, that’s all right, Han,” she said as Droma began to stand. “I’m sure Droma can manage.”

She couldn’t say that she was enjoying the break from routine, but it was interesting to watch Han’s interaction with the Ryn. Memories of the terrible time when Han had pulled away from her while grieving for Chewbacca still stung, but only Droma had witnessed how low Han had really sunk back then. If having the Ryn aboard did remind Han of those painful times, he certainly wasn’t letting it show.

“You remember how to operate the copilot’s board?” Han asked Droma without looking up from what he was doing.

“Follow orders, and curse when something goes wrong,” Droma replied with a smile. “Which it invariably does.”

Han affected an indignant expression on behalf of his beloved freighter. “Hey, she may be old—”

“But she’s still got it where it counts, right?” Droma said.

“What have I told you about doing that?” Han said irritably.

Droma laughed. “Anyway, it’s not the age of the ship that worries me,” he said, flicking a couple of switches of his own. “It’s the age of the pilot I’m more concerned about.”

The navicomputer bleeped, cutting off any retort Han might have been about to offer. Both faced the front just as the sweeping streaks of hyperspace dissolved into a cold and distant starscape. There was no primary to dim the stars with its glare; the nearest inhabited system in this section of the Mid Rim was more than ten light-years away, and the nearest star of any kind was half that distance. There was nothing for trillions of kilometers but space dust, and the tiny bauble that was the lonely world of Esfandia.

Or so it should have been. As Pride of Selonia along with Twin Suns Squadron emerged from hyperspace alongside the Falcon, Droma’s eyes checked the sensor console for the orphaned planet. The Falcon’s sensor suite was still ahead of standard tech, and it soon acquired the target. It was covered with thick clouds, and glowed a burnt orange in artificial colors that looked wrong to Leia’s eyes until she realized what was missing: because Esfandia had no sun, its sole source of heat lay at its core. And with no orbit to follow, that meant it would have no seasons, either—which in turn meant no icy poles, and no broiling equator. It would be the same temperature all over.

Closer scans, however, revealed that not to be entirely the case. There were at least six hot spots on the hemisphere facing them, and even as they watched, another blossomed into life.

Droma zoomed in closer to examine the cause.

“Aerial bombardment,” he said. “Someone’s dropping mines from orbit.”

“They’re taking out the sensors,” Leia said. “The Yuuzhan Vong are still here!”

Han’s eyes darted across the displays in front of him. “I’ve got a strong presence in close orbit. Seven capital vessels, nine cruisers. Not many skips detached, though. No sign of the local defenses, or the reinforcements from Mon Cal.”

“I think I can guess why not, too,” Droma commented.

Leia knew exactly what he meant. The Yuuzhan Vong force in orbit over Esfandia was enormous by any standard. Against the two squadrons and one frigate Esfandia had possessed, plus the two squadrons Mon Calamari had dispatched to investigate, it was almost obscene. Overkill didn’t cover it.

“I thought the Vong’s resources were stretched,” Droma said.

Han just grunted. A crackle of information flowed across newly reopened communications lines. Captain Mayn and Jag were looking for instructions.

“Tell them to hold off for a moment,” Leia ordered. “We can’t go in like this. It’d be suicide.”

Han turned in his seat to face her. “We can’t just leave, Leia.”

She nodded in agreement. “The relay base must still be down there, otherwise the Yuuzhan Vong wouldn’t be wasting time taking out the sensors. Without the base, none of it would work.”

“So what are we going to do?” Han asked. “They’re going to see us any second.”

Leia stood to look over Han’s shoulder, placing a hand gently on his neck. The Yuuzhan Vong forces were formidable. “If we can get past the capital ships, we might be able to make it down into the atmosphere and find the base before they do.”

“Then what?” Droma asked. “We’d be in exactly the same position as the base. It would just be a matter of time before they find us.”

She could feel her frustration mounting as a solution to the dilemma failed to present itself. If they had to abandon Esfandia, they might still be able to jury-rig another relay base elsewhere that would allow them to reestablish contact with Mon Calamari.

She shook her head irritably. It would still mean leaving innocents here on Esfandia to die, and the thought of that simply made her feel ill, reminding her as it did of the time back on Gyndine, where so many had to be abandoned to a cruel fate.

There has to be another way, she thought.

Almost in answer to the thought, a bleeping sounded from the sensor suite, announcing hyperspace emissions from the far side of the planet.

“Incoming,” Droma announced, his tail wrapped around the base of his chair, gently twitching.

“That’s all we need,” Han muttered. “Maybe it’s time we bid a hasty retreat, after all.”

“Hold on.” Leia switched vantage points to look over Droma’s shoulder. “I don’t think they’re Yuuzhan Vong. Broadcast an emergency on the Imperial codes.”

“Imperial—?” Han started, but clammed up at a glance at the scanner display. The corner of his mouth curled up into a grin as he sent off the coded transmission. “Well, I never thought I’d be glad to see a Star Destroyer.”

Not just one of them, Leia noted. Two of the massive vessels were lumbering out of hyperspace over Esfandia, fully equipped with support vessels and TIE fighters already streaming from launching bays. The way they swooped in to engage the Yuuzhan Vong filled her with an immediate sense of optimism and kinship.

She didn’t immediately recognize the markings on the Star Destroyers, but judging by the blast scoring and other minor damage, it looked like they’d both recently seen combat.

The Falcon’s comm bleeped, and Han quickly answered it. It was Grand Admiral Pellaeon.

“I should have known I’d find the Millennium Falcon here,” he said. “You’re always at the heart of trouble.”

Leia felt a smile creep across her face. “It’s good to hear from you, Gilad.”

“As it is you, Princess,” he said.

“That’s not Chimaera you’re flying,” Han put in. “It looks too old.”

“It’s Right to Rule,” Pellaeon said. “One of the oldest in the fleet. We’ve been chasing this sorry bunch halfway across the galaxy, trying to restrict the amount of damage they inflict. We lost them at the last jump, which is why we’ve only just arrived. Our intelligence data on your remote stations is sadly out of date.”

“Not as good as theirs, obviously,” Leia said.

“We’re here to try to turn our luck around now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Are you joining us?”

“We’re at your command, Admiral.” Leia said.

“I’ll have targets for you shortly. Commander Ansween will relay them to you.” Then, almost as an afterthought, the Grand Admiral added: “Nice to be fighting beside you finally, Captain Solo.”

Han looked up at Leia when the line closed a moment later. “We’re taking orders from an Imperial now?”

“Things have changed,” she said. Her heart was telling her that Pellaeon could be trusted, and the Force was telling her the same thing. “He’s defending a Galactic Alliance asset. Think how strange that must feel to him.”

Han chuckled ruefully. “I guess. It’s just that I’ve never been one for taking orders—from anyone. I hope this newfound camaraderie between us isn’t going to make him think that’s about to change.”

Leia smiled at her husband; one hand fondly massaged his neck. “I’m sure Pellaeon’s fully aware of that, Han.”

The comm unit crackled back to life, this time with a female voice—obviously the commander whom the Grand Admiral had mentioned.

“Your primary target is the destroyer Kur-hashan,” she said. A flood of charts and other data accompanied the message on the Falcon’s monitors. “This is a yammosk-bearing vessel. Secondary targets are support vessels. Engage at will. Right to Rule out.”

Han punched a course into the navicomputer. “You got that, Selonia?”

“Loud and clear,” came back the voice of Captain Mayn.

“Jag?”

“Twin Suns awaits your orders, Captain,” Jag said. He sounded calm and controlled, but underneath the cool exterior Leia knew he was primed and ready for combat.

“Are we about to do what I think we’re about to do?” Droma asked, somewhat nervously.

“You’re the one always second-guessing everyone,” Han replied. “You tell us.”

“It doesn’t take much foresight to know we’re still outnumbered. While it’s nice that we have company and all, it still only makes two Star Destroyers against sixteen of the big uglies.”

“I know,” Han said, a wide, familiar grin settling onto his face. “It makes it so much more interesting when the odds are stacked against you, don’t you think?”