PART TWO

CONFRONTATION

Blood. That was the first thing Nom Anor noticed as he emerged from the warrens under Yuuzhan’tar: not the sudden sharpness of light, or the wind, or even the towering remains of the planet’s previous rulers. It was the smell of blood, thick and heavy on the air.

He breathed in deeply, and smiled to himself.

The Prophet and his entourage were on the move again. Nom Anor, Shoon-mi, and Kunra all accompanied Ngaaluh as she supposedly spearheaded an investigation into religious corruption in the renamed Vishtu sector of Yuuzhan’tar. Officials at all levels eased her passage. Her sudden notoriety had preceded her: who better than a priestess of the deception sect to uncover deception among the higher ranks?

Ngaaluh brought with her an extensive entourage of her own, all unaware that she was in fact the servant of the corruptor, and that the corruptor himself moved among them. It was the perfect cover. Nom Anor, under heavy disguise, had taken the persona of a lowly worker, the next rung up from a Shamed One. It was his job to supervise the care of the baggage-vrrips, massive six-legged bovine creatures bred purely to haul heavy loads from place to place. The goods in Ngaaluh’s case consisted solely of records, plus five prisoners for interrogation. Nom Anor had overseen the selection of these prisoners. They consisted of would-be heretics: a handful who had proven too unreliable or mentally unstable to be of any use to him or the cause. Nom Anor, in his guise as the Prophet Yu’shaa, had fed them very specific lies. Allowed to think that the Prophet had accepted them, these five had been sent out to spread a perverted version of the word of Yu’shaa. Ngaaluh’s spies—still faithful to Shimrra, and believing they were doing the will of the Supreme Commander—had caught them in due course. Interrogation would reveal terrible secrets about Vishtu sector and the various officials who oversaw it. Thus they did the work of Nom Anor by unwittingly spreading misinformation.

“Halt!”

Nom Anor whipped his vrrips into line as Ngaaluh’s caravan approached the entrance to Vishtu’s command enclave. The clumsy entourage staggered to a halt in a cloud of dust. Bugs swarmed around them, getting under hoods and into clothes, driven mad by the smell of blood. Two warriors guarded the entrance, grotesquely armored and scarred in imaginative ways. One of them growled for authorization, and Ngaaluh’s chief underling presented it for inspection. Security was tight. Ngaaluh watched from an ornate seat on the back of the largest vrrip as one of the guards checked and double-checked her authenticity. Her expression was one of weariness—appropriate for the moment, thought Nom Anor, and probably quite genuine, too. The journey had been long and tiring, even from the comfort of Ngaaluh’s seat.

The guard expressed dissatisfaction with the authorization, much to Nom Anor’s surprise. It was the one thing about the entourage that was unquestionably genuine. An argument broke out between the underling and the guard, and Nom Anor craned to overhear what was being said. Had the guards somehow learned of the Prophet’s imminent arrival and stepped up their vigilance?

Nom Anor caught the eye of Kunra, in the disguise of the caravan’s junior vrrip handler. He was unrecognizable beneath a mask of blasted tissue, heavily scarred as though from extensive, nonritual burns. The ex-warrior nodded and tightened his grip on the long, rigid whip that all vrrip handlers carried.

Before Nom Anor could edge closer, a mailed, thorny hand struck him across the face. “This does not concern you, worker,” snarled the second guard, whom Nom Anor had not noticed circling the caravan. “Do not interfere in the matters of your superiors!”

Nom Anor kept his head low, partly as an act of obeisance, but also to hide any damage that might have occurred to the masquer hiding his real face. He also didn’t want the guards to see the anger he could feel burning in his chest—an anger and loathing that would have surely given him away as something other than a lackey from the worker caste.

He had to contain his emotions. For all intents and purposes, he was a lackey, and given that station he could expect to be kicked and beaten at the whim of those above him.

He gritted his teeth and mumbled something suitably obsequious. The warrior guard grunted and walked away.

“Are you all right?” Kunra whispered when the guards were out of earshot.

Nom Anor straightened and checked his features. His masquer was intact. “I’ve had worse,” he said, staring balefully after the guards.

That was true enough. Working up the ranks of executors had been a long and painful process; he had received as many beatings as he’d given. Working closely with the pain-loving Shimrra and his coterie of sadomasochistic warlords had kept him treading a tightrope between influence and agony, never knowing when he might find himself tipping onto the wrong side.

The thought warmed him that he would one day return every single one of those indignities on those who had administered them. None would be spared. Every slight along that path to revenge only fueled his determination, from the lowliest guard to the high prefect himself …

Finally the guards called out for the gates to be opened, pacified by their brief exercise of authority. Massive muscles strained under the effort of opening the way ahead of Ngaaluh. The once artificial door had long since been replaced by a swarbrik, a sturdy organism that, if attacked, could excrete a highly toxic gas and regenerate its tissues at a heightened rate. It groaned as its keepers poked and prodded it into activity, slowly obeying their commands and allowing the caravan through.

Nom Anor cracked his long whip, and the vrrips grumbled into life. Their giant haunches rocked from side to side, and Nom Anor forced himself to concentrate on his hefty charges. He didn’t have time to appreciate the moment as the giant arch crept over him, and the road’s dusty scent subtly changed to give way to more exotic spices. For a minute or more, his concerns were focused solely upon the vrrips and his job. It was important, he knew, not to arouse any further suspicions. To those observing him, he was a worker, nothing more; no one should suspect for a second that he was anything more than a lowly vrrip handler, shamed into submission.

Ngaaluh’s expression didn’t change once, not even as they passed a wide, dark pool where it seemed the swarbrik itself was bleeding. The creature was sick, weeping from a dozen breaches in its thickened hide. Nom Anor could see no obvious cause of the illness. It was just another of the many small ways in which the World Brain was still malfunctioning on the surface of Yuuzhan’tar.

His smile returned beneath the masquer. Perhaps, he thought, there were advantages to living underground after all.

Jag didn’t waste time questioning his orders; he was just glad to be out of hyperspace. While Pellaeon forced a wedge between the planet and the Yuuzhan Vong to prevent further bombardment, Jag drove the squadron he shared with Jaina like an arrow at the warship Kur-hashan.

“Twin Two, take Six and Eight around the left flank. Three, take the right with Five and Seven. The rest of you, with me.”

Twins Four and Nine pirouetted neatly to create a V-shape with Jag in the middle, moving in perfect synchronicity. He was beginning to forget which pilots were Chiss and which were Galactic Alliance in origin; they’d spent enough time fighting together to have become one. To a casual observer, the clawcraft and X-wings may have looked different, but the ships in their crosshairs were the same.

The Yuuzhan Vong were just waking up to the fact they were under attack from two sides. Kur-hashan’s coral arms seemed to erupt, dispensing coralskippers like seeds to the galactic winds. The flat ovoid yorik-vec assault cruisers—fast but low in firepower—swept around the grotesquely organic capital vessel to engage the attackers. Pride of Selonia powered in to meet them, laser cannons blazing.

The normally dark environment of Esfandia was soon shattered by the almost stroboscopic effect of all the ships’ weapons firing, while screaming engines cast cometlike sprays of energy across the starscape, bringing a false dawn to all sides of the planet. Faster, furious specks darted by the thousands between the artificial and organic behemoths turning to battle. With his sensors turned to maximum just to enable him to see the planet, the light flashing around him soon overwhelmed Jag. It was as if he were seeing the universe from a completely different scale, with the larger ships appearing as quasars and the smaller vessels swirling around them taking the role of galactic clusters—all sped up so that trillions of years of motion was compressed into seconds.

A skip erupted into fire off to Jag’s starboard, dragging him from his reverie. He silently chided himself; idle thoughts like that were dangerous in combat.

“You want to watch yourself there, boss.”

The voice belonged to the Y-wing pilot whom Twin Suns Squadron had recruited from Bakura. She’d proven more than capable in combat in the fight against the Ssiruuk, and had volunteered to help fill some of the empty spots created since the mission had begun. The pilot had jumped at the opportunity—and with the skip that had been about to attack him now a boiling mass in his wake, Jag was glad she had.

“Thanks, Nine,” he said, swinging his reticle around to target another coralskipper. “That one must have crept up on me.”

“There’s another on your tail, One,” said Four, retroing heavily to pass under the Yuuzhan Vong fighter that Jag hadn’t noticed coming in from behind. He pulled himself into a tight spiral and came out on a completely different heading, seeing spots from acceleration. He ramped his inertial dampener up a notch and fired at a skip that flashed by with alarming suddenness. His shot was casually soaked up by a dovin basal. The coralskipper tailing him, however, wasn’t so fortunate; it disappeared in a stuttering flash from his rear screen. He felt his clawcraft shudder slightly from the shock wave of the nearby explosion.

“Much appreciated, Four.”

“You’d do the same for me,” the Chiss pilot returned.

“Count on it,” he said.

Ordinarily, Jag would never have permitted such casual banter among his pilots. The Chiss were taught discipline before they could crawl. But he’d found that, in this instance, with the squadron’s mix of Galactic Alliance and Chiss pilots, a small amount of informality helped everyone come together and function effectively as a team in the most trying of circumstances—such as now, at three-quarters strength, and grossly outnumbered besides.

“Don’t take any chances,” he ordered his pilots. “We’re here to protect the Selonia. Besides the Falcon, we’re all that stands between it and Kur-hashan.”

“Copy, One,” came back Three, currently harassing a blastboat analog many times its size. “Where is the Falcon, anyway?”

Jag scanned the displays before him, looking for the distinctive disk-shaped freighter. It wasn’t immediately visible, and he didn’t have time to look for it, as the Yuuzhan Vong resistance suddenly stiffened and he found himself in the middle of what seemed like three firefights at once. A grin formed on his face as he put aside thoughts of the squadron in favor of his own survival. To Jag, there was nothing quite as satisfying as confronting a worthy adversary. Until now, the Yuuzhan Vong fleet had seemed disorganized, almost dispirited, and his pilots had managed to pick them out of the sky with relative ease. But there seemed to be some spirit returning to their attack. The advantage of surprise was well and truly gone.

His mind instinctively probed at his enemy’s weaknesses as he flew, juking and firing whenever a target appeared before him. If Pellaeon had been following the Yuuzhan Vong force before them, then that suggested it was the remains of the fleet that attacked Bastion and Borosk in Imperial Space. Partial or total, it didn’t matter: the Yuuzhan Vong had suffered heavy losses and, if Jag had learned anything from watching the Galactic Alliance fight, there would have been a significant reduction in the yammosk-per-fighter ratio. Alliance pilots seemed to have an instinct instilled in them: to go for the head whenever possible. Destroy the decision-making part of an organism, and victory will soon follow.

Well, he thought, wherever the head was in this particular battle, it had obviously decided to fight back. Coralskippers flew in sheets like rain upon the attacking forces, delivering through sheer numbers what tactics alone could not. Galactic Alliance versatility beat Yuuzhan Vong methods most times in a one-to-one fight, and Esfandia was no different. The longer it stayed ten-to-one, though, the less confident Jag was inclined to feel.

Yet the shift in emphasis on behalf of the yammosks had one beneficial side effect: while the focus of the Yuuzhan Vong was on the skies above Esfandia, little or no attention was paid to what was happening below. And it was only then, as Jag turned his attention briefly downward to note that the Yuuzhan Vong bombardment of the planet had ceased, that he located Millennium Falcon. She was slipping unnoticed into the turgid, roiled-up mess that was Esfandia’s atmosphere.

Jag had just enough time to wonder what Han and Leia were doing before the warship Kur-hashan cut off his view of the planet, blinding him with violent splashes of energy.

Whatever they’re up to, he thought as he rolled his craft away from the incoming fire, I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough …

When Ngaaluh was settled in her rooms, Nom Anor and his entourage slipped away. Their places were taken by three Shamed Ones who served the Prophet, so their absence would not be noticed. That their appearances differed from Nom Anor and his advisers didn’t matter—Shamed Ones were rarely looked upon with any scrutiny.

Deep under the priestess’s quarters, accessible only by a secret passageway and passwords, were a series of basements that had been transformed from the infidels’ boxy tastes to something more organic; not even the Jedi philosophy could convince a Yuuzhan Vong to live in a lifeless coffin. Nom Anor inspected the new audience chambers and found them satisfactory. They were austere and secure, the only ostentatious element being the chair he insisted upon, placed on a podium so that during his sermons he would be visible to all. The Prophet’s role at the center of the heresy was crucial, and it was important to play it convincingly. Or so he told Shoon-mi. His enjoyment of the sense of power it gave him he kept carefully hidden.

After a hasty meal of raw hawk-bat, Nom Anor retired to a private chamber to work on the heresy. The Jedi philosophy spreading among his minions was an evolving thing, requiring constant fine-tuning—especially with the Jedi Knights’ continued resistance to Shimrra’s attempts to have them purged from the galaxy. But it was important that the faithful be restrained from acting too precipitously when things appeared to be going well, just as it was for them to be given encouragement following any setback. There was a constant need to balance conflicting factions and agendas, needs and objectives.

The minions he left in his wake played a key role in translating his will into action. Some had been chosen by Shoon-mi for their fanatical dedication to the Prophet, others by Kunra for their clearheadedness. Others Nom Anor himself had selected, seeing in them a keen understanding of the philosophy itself. These subordinate Prophets served as direct substitutes for the Prophet Yu’shaa, for it simply wasn’t possible to be everywhere at once, and there were so many questions, so many things the heretics wanted to know. What were the movement’s goals, beyond obtaining freedom for the Shamed Ones? Was displacing Shimrra atop the Supreme Overlord’s throne a goal of the movement if Shimrra refused to accept their demands? Would the Jedi Heresy replace the Great Doctrine as blueprint for the destiny of the Yuuzhan Vong? Where did the old gods and ways fit in?

Nom Anor was wearying of such questions, but he knew that in them lay his only chance of survival, let alone advancement. Spurned by Shimrra, he had no other way to attain power than through the tenets of the Jedi Heresy. That he didn’t believe in them himself didn’t matter in the slightest. That those below him did—with the assistance of the subordinate Prophets—was all that mattered, wherever those beliefs took them.

He wasn’t certain if the work he ordered would result in freedom for the Shamed Ones, even as a sideline. He was simply using the movement to hurt those who had hurt him, via terrorism, political assassination, theft, and other means. He had been trained in covert activism; although his skills had mainly been used to attack the infidels, they could just as easily be turned against those of his own kind.

Sometimes, late at night, he wondered what the future held for him. What lay in store for the skulking yet all-pervasive figure of Nom Anor? Would the Jedi Heresy succeed in returning him to an honored place in society, along with the Shamed Ones? Would he become lost behind the mask of Yu’shaa the Prophet, trapped by the very robes he had adopted as a means of escape?

Ngaaluh joined him when she was able, to discuss recent developments on the surface. The priestess was clean and smelled of incense, but she was clearly exhausted by a busy day, by maintaining her pretence with flawless diligence.

“I hear word from Shimrra’s court,” she said, sinking into a chair opposite Nom Anor with a weary sigh. “High Priest Jakan has assured His Dire Majesty that the fall of the heresy is imminent.”

“Either he is overly confident or he is a fool, then,” Nom Anor said, unmasked. Ngaaluh knew who “Yu’shaa” really was, but that didn’t assail her belief in the Prophet. Her faith in the heresy was so complete that she had no difficulties believing it could seduce even an old scoundrel like the ex-executor.

Ngaaluh nodded. “He is a fool. The heresy is too entrenched to be crushed solely by optimism and good intentions. But he has plans.”

Nom Anor smiled at this. He toyed with a coufee while they talked, slicing thin wafers off a twig of waxwood and popping them one by one into his mouth. “How does Jakan intend to do away with me this time?”

“He is petitioning for a total ban on access to the lower levels. Once all authorized personnel have been evacuated, he proposes to release a plague of wild spinerays into the tunnels. Shapers will increase their mobility, fecundity, and appetite, so they will breed and kill, breed and kill. Jakan predicts that anything living down here will be destroyed within a matter of weeks.”

Nom Anor laughed out loud at the naïveté of the plan. “And who does he think will destroy the spinerays when this is accomplished? Who will stop them from escaping to the upper levels? The fool would throw the egg out with the afterbirth if Shimrra let him.”

“Another plan concerned pumping corrosive gas into the tunnels,” Ngaaluh said. “This failed on the grounds that the gas could eat into the foundations and bring the planet’s surface down around us.”

Nom Anor laughed again. “I daresay some would have found this an acceptable risk, nonetheless.” He nodded thoughtfully as he slipped another slice of waxwood into his mouth. “It is good they are desperate. It shows we must be worrying them.”

“I believe so, Master. The strength and rightness of our convictions undermines every move they attempt against us. They cannot destroy us.”

“But that doesn’t mean they won’t continue to try.”

Ngaaluh bowed her head. “This is true, Master. And I will stop them as best I can.”

“How goes our plan?” Nom Anor asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject to one of immediate concern. “Have you inveigled yourself within the corridors of the intendant Ash’ett?”

“I have.” She nodded, sending shadows across her angular features. “He is exactly as you said he was: greedy and self-serving. He mouths platitudes to the old gods and curses the Jedi, but would follow neither, given the choice. He is his own creature.”

His own creature, Nom Anor echoed to himself. They were well-chosen words, and would have served as a good description of himself, too, had she but known the truth.

“You agree, then, that he must fall?”

She nodded. “With him out of the way, there will be room for someone sympathetic to our cause. I will place the ones we have prepared in his staff, and guarantee his destruction.”

“Excellent.” He nodded sagely, inwardly crowing with delight. Prefect Ash’ett was an old rival, someone who had shown no compunction when it came to squashing those around him in order to advance himself—Nom Anor among them. Like many of his old rivals, Ash’ett had risen to power on Yuuzhan’tar, taking territory and glory as the opportunities arose during the fall of the infidel empire. Such power should have been Nom Anor’s. Ash’ett’s time of reckoning was long overdue, and would come with interest.

“I have identified another unworthy,” Nom Anor said. “When we are done here, we will move to Gileng, where a certain Drosh Khalii has grown fat on the profits of war for too long.”

Ngaaluh nodded again, her eyes gleaming in the yellow lichen torch. If she was daunted by the thought of having another target to consider before this one had been eliminated, she didn’t say.

“The hard work of revolution goes ever on,” Nom Anor said.

“We are making progress, Master.”

“Indeed.” He resisted the urge to ask Where to? “Do you have anything else to report?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Tell me, then,” he said, offering Ngaaluh a slice of waxwood. The priestess accepted it but didn’t place it in her mouth straight away.

“I hear whispers in the court, Master,” she said.

“That is not uncommon. At any given time, there might be hundreds of rumors crossing the galaxy.”

“The name of the Unknown Regions, as the Jeedai call them, recurs in these rumors. The missions they speak of, however, seem unrelated to the Chiss. Their focus is on something entirely different.”

“Which is?”

“I’m not sure, Master. There are few details beyond what I have told you.”

“Gossip,” Nom Anor said, dismissing the news with a wave of his hand. “Idle chatter among the ruling classes as they seek to deflect blame from themselves. I’ve seen it a thousand times before.”

“As have I, Master—but these whispers persist. Something is afoot. The enemies of Shimrra are restless.”

“Well, if so, perhaps we can use them to our advantage.” Anything distracting Shimrra from the heretics was a potential boon.

Ngaaluh slipped a piece of the waxwood between her tattooed lips. “There is a rumor I heard from a very reliable source of a mission newly returned from the Unknown Regions. The mission had been gone an extremely long time, and its commander was surprised on his return to find that many of his commanding officers had been replaced.”

Not surprising, Nom Anor thought. The life expectancy of the warriors decreased the closer one got to the top.

“Go on,” he said, hoping the story would soon get interesting.

“The commander, one Ekh’m Val, sought an audience with the Supreme Overlord himself. He boasted of finding the lost world of Zonama Sekot.”

“Zonama Sekot?” Nom Anor frowned. “But the living planet is nothing more than a legend.”

“Not if this Ekh’m Val is to be believed.”

“What happened when he spoke to Shimrra?”

“I don’t know,” Ngaaluh said, leaning in close, her eyes glittering. “That I haven’t heard. Commander Val appears to have disappeared.”

“Really?” Nom Anor was mildly intrigued now; he couldn’t tell why Ngaaluh was telling him this, but the story was an interesting diversion. “Perhaps he was lying and paid the price for it.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But the rumor persists. There may be truth behind it.”

“Do you think it is important?”

“My instincts tell me to listen. The Jeedai teach that we should trust those instincts.”

Nom Anor almost rolled his eye. “By all means listen, then—and report back to me if you learn anything of importance.”

“Of course, Master. I am your obedient servant.” Ngaaluh smoothed her robe and waited for him to speak.

He took pity on her and tossed her a compliment as Shimrra might have tossed the yargh’un a heretic for a snack.

“You’re doing excellent work, Ngaaluh. Your skill at deception is admirable.”

Ngaaluh snorted. “It’s all I can do to not cry out my rage against the atrocities that Shimrra commits upon the truth.”

“Your perseverance does us all proud.”

The priestess paused, turning the remaining waxwood between her callused fingers. “It is hard at times,” she said.

“You should rest,” Nom Anor said. Ngaaluh looked exhausted, physically as well as spiritually. He, too, felt the need for stillness. While nights, per se, might not have technically existed in the depths of Yuuzhan’tar, he still had to listen to his biological rhythms. “Go back to your chambers, before you’re missed, and get some sleep.”

Ngaaluh nodded and rose painfully to her feet. “Our struggle goes well. I have hope that we will achieve our goals soon.”

He only nodded encouragingly, hiding his weariness behind a careworn smile. “Go, now, my friend.”

Ngaaluh bowed again and left the room. Barely had she gone when a soft knocking issued from the door.

He sighed. “Yes?” he called, expecting it to be Kunra to advise him of the successful deployment of the fake heretics.

The guard outside opened the door to admit Shoon-mi. The Shamed One peered cautiously into the room.

“Forgive me, Master, for visiting you at this late hour.”

Nom Anor irritably waved away his lackey’s concern. “What is it?”

“I was wondering if there was anything I can get you, Master.”

“If there was, don’t you think I would have called you?”

Shoon-mi nodded as he took a step into the room. “It’s just that you didn’t call for your evening meal. I thought that—”

“I wasn’t hungry, Shoon-mi; it’s as simple as that. I had work to attend to.”

Shoon-mi executed a pious bow. “Forgive me, Master. I had only your well-being at heart.”

“It’s appreciated,” he said. “But now I really must rest.”

“As you wish, Master.” Shoon-mi bowed a third time, and went to leave. As he was approaching the door, he turned back as though he had forgotten something. “I have taken the liberty of taking your masquer to have it refreshed.”

“My masquer?” Nom Anor looked around at where it normally hung with the others on stalks by his bed. Sure enough, the skin and features of the Prophet were missing. “Very well. It was starting to look a little shabby. Good thinking, Shoon-mi.”

“I shall have it returned to you in the morning, Master, in time for your first audience.”

Fatigue rushed through Nom Anor at the thought of resuming his usual routine so soon. Being outside had reminded him of how far he had fallen. He may have risen on the back of the rising tide of heretics, but there was still a long way to go before he could walk freely in the natural world.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Shoon-mi said. “I am babbling while you should be resting. Are you certain that there is nothing I can assist you with before you retire?”

Nom Anor shook his head, waving his religious adviser away. “I promise you that I will call should I need anything, Shoon-mi.”

With that the Shamed One bowed one last time and left. The door clicked shut again, and Nom Anor threw the heavy bolt across to ensure he had no more interruptions. Outside, he thought he could hear voices whispering—Shoon-mi and Kunra, rapid and emphatic, as though arguing—but he didn’t have the energy to listen in to the conversation. Let them fight among themselves, he thought, reclining on the bed with a chorus of creaking sinews. At least it keeps them occupied.

Exhaustion carried him quickly into sleep, and once there he dreamed of a man with a face more scarred than any he’d seen before, flayed and salted and left to fester. The nose was an open wound, and the mouth a jagged and lipless mess. Incongruously, two red mqaaq’it implants stared out at him from where eyes should have been, giving the visage an air of authority.

The image snarled at him—and Nom Anor awoke to the realization that the face was his own reflection, but the eyes belonged to Shimrra. He shuddered on his narrow bed and pulled the covers tighter around him. Sleep, however, had fled, and he lay huddled in silence until dawn broke, far above, and duty once more called.

“Almost there,” Han said, dipping the Falcon’s nose a little deeper into the turbulent soup that was Esfandia’s atmosphere. The freighter’s chassis shuddered under the extra forces she was being asked to bear. She was riding the dense, frigid gases she encountered with all the grace of a ronto.

Leia clutched the sides of her rattling seat to prevent herself from being thrown to the floor, mentally keeping her fingers crossed the whole time. In the copilot’s position, she did what she could to assist Han in the “splashdown,” as he’d called it. She’d never entered such a dense atmosphere before, outside a gas giant. The situation was compounded by the fact that the heat of the Falcon alone tended to make the bitterly cold, liquid air explode in new and turbulent ways around them as they plummeted groundward, not to mention the various hot spots left by the Yuuzhan Vong bombardment. She doubted Esfandia had experienced such an input of energy for millennia.

“We’re almost there.” Han kept up the litany of small encouragements, although Leia suspected he was talking to the ship herself rather than her passengers.

They had made it past the Yuuzhan Vong fleet easily enough; in the heat of the moment, one battered old freighter feigning a death roll would never warrant too much attention. From there it was just a matter of getting under cover without displaying too many course changes.

“This is definitely one of your crazier ideas,” Droma said from behind them, clutching both their seats for safety’s sake. “If it’s at all possible, you’ve actually become more reckless since last I saw you.”

“I’m getting us through this, aren’t I?” Han said, returning his attention to the task at hand.

“This far, yes,” Droma said. He pointed to the viewport. “But that’s a whole lot of murk to be lost in.”

“We have a radar survey of the surface of the planet,” Han said calmly. “It’s not as if we’re going to run into a mountain or anything.”

“So all we have to do is find the station; is that it?”

Han looked back at the Ryn, obviously detecting his friend’s sarcasm. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Before someone sees the Falcon on their scanners and drops a bomb on us,” Droma said.

“Or we lead them to the station ourselves,” Leia added, following up on the Ryn’s point. The Millennium Falcon’s engines would stand out like a nova in the planet’s cold atmosphere.

Han dismissed their concerns with a brief snort. “Look, all we have to do is release a couple of concussion missiles along the way. Their heat signatures will confuse the readings from orbit, right? Besides, the Vong mines have already stirred things up down here. Hot air rises, remember. Get us deep enough and the upper layers will cover us quite nicely.”

“Are you sure?” Droma asked.

“I’d bet my life on it.”

“And mine.” The Ryn tooted mournfully. “That’s the problem.”

“Hey, trust me, okay?” The ship glided forward in silence for a few seconds before he added, “I know what I’m doing.”

Leia clutched her seat even tighter, having heard those words from her husband all too often in the past. Han usually did know what he was doing, but the ride was rarely an easy one.

“Now,” Han muttered, “where do you suppose we should start looking?”

Leia peered ahead and saw nothing but blackness. Through a low-light enhancement algorithm on the displays she saw a featureless orange fog. The radar map, taken on a quick pass before dropping into the soup, suggested they were crossing what resembled a vast arterial basin. But that wasn’t possible; water had never flowed on Esfandia, except within the communications base. These icy depths knew no life and, should the bubble of hospitality within the Falcon be breached, it would kill them as soon as—

Leia jumped as something loomed out of the darkness, visible only as a bright orange splotch on the enhanced display and shaped like a large, quivering flower. It was gone before she had a chance to make out exactly what it was.

“What was that?” Droma asked, sounding as startled as Leia had been.

“I don’t know,” Han said. “And I’m not about to go back to find out.” He arbitrarily set a reference grid over the barren landscape, steering the freighter across it. “There’s a series of deep channels just east of here. I’m cutting our velocity and altitude to take a closer look. When we reach the edge, Leia, I want you to send out a missile to cover our tracks, okay?”

“How many concussion missiles do we have?” Droma asked. “It could take us forever to find this thing.”

Han shrugged. “It’s a small world.”

“It’s not that small. And remember, what makes it easier for us to find them makes it easier for the Yuuzhan Vong to find us.”

“Then we’d better get started, hadn’t we?” Han said. He swung the Falcon over a steep rise, then flattened out. “Ready with that missile, sweetheart?”

Leia was. On the radar map ahead she saw a sharp drop approaching. Targeting the orange void behind her and putting the missile on a timer fuse, she let it fly just as the Falcon dipped her nose and dived deeper into the frigid atmosphere. The missile shot off into the distance, its boiling wake a gently curving arc leading nowhere.

Han hugged the canyon wall as closely as he could while they fell. Leia caught sight of two more of the odd flower-shaped objects whipping by and wondered what they might be. Pockets of gas? Crystal agglomerates? Clumps of the local equivalent of amoebas, perhaps? Whatever they were, they were exceedingly delicate. In the rear view she saw nothing but wisps left after the Falcon had passed, and the fierce burn of the freighter’s engines soon evaporated even those.

The bottom of the canyon came with surprising suddenness. One moment they were diving nose-first, the next Han had swung the Falcon around level. There was little change to the forward view.

“Cutting main drive,” Han announced. His voice seemed unnecessarily loud in the almost deathly quiet of the cockpit. “Dropping back to repulsors.”

Leia kept her eyes on the sensors as the Falcon cruised through the depths, but there was little to see. The canyon floor was darker and more barren than before. The ambient temperature had risen, although it was still very cold. The surface of Esfandia was a strange and alien place that was unlikely to ever see the stars. Its stony ground could have been composed of frozen carbon dioxide, and was twisted into peculiar shapes that were so fragile that they would have probably been disturbed by a single ray of sunlight.

“Can anyone see anything out there?”

Han made a show of peering out the forward viewport, squinting as though this would somehow make the blackness outside easier to penetrate.

“Nothing,” Droma said softly. “How big is this base meant to be, anyway?”

“Fifty meters across,” Leia said, “not counting its legs.”

“So if it was here, it’d certainly stand out. We might not be able to see it, but we’d definitely get a solid ping off its hull.”

Leia nodded. “Even if it was buried, we’d spot it from up close.”

“Then I guess it’s not here.” Han scrolled through the radar map. “At least not in this canyon.” His finger indicated a much larger network south of their present position. “I propose we surface and try this one here. Unless anyone has any better ideas.”

A sense of futility welled up inside Leia. She couldn’t begin to imagine the number of possible hiding places there could be on Esfandia for something like a communications base. There were hundreds of canyons, and probably a thousand times more fissures it could have slipped into. They could search for months and not find it.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” she said, more for her own sake than anyone else’s.

“Hold it,” Droma said. She looked around to the Ryn, waiting for him to continue. His head was cocked in a manner suggesting that he was intently listening to some faint and far-off sound. “There’s something …”

“What is it?” Leia pressed.

“Are we scanning comm frequencies?”

“Across the dial,” Han said. “Why?”

“Turn up the gain. Listen.”

When Han did as he was instructed, a faint whistling became audible. At first Leia thought it was just random noise, but a closer inspection revealed it to be chopped up into discrete fragments, almost like a—

“That sounds like a digital transmission,” Han said, finishing the thought for her.

“Could it be the base?” Leia asked, mystified.

“I’m not sure,” Han said. “I can’t get a fix on it. The signal seems to be coming from several places at once. We must be getting echoes off the canyon walls.”

“It is a signal, though, right?” Droma asked.

Leia listened for a few seconds longer, then shrugged. “I don’t recognize the protocol. Han?”

Han shook his head. “It’s all Kubazian to me. Where’s Goldenrod? He might be able to translate.”

“He shut himself down during the trip,” Droma said. “He’s sitting there in the main hold with those Noghri bodyguards of yours. The three of them aren’t really much for conversation, are they?”

“Well, don’t just stand there jabbering,” Han said. “Make yourself useful and go wake him up. And don’t feel the need to be too gentle, either. He should know better than to be snoozing at a time like this.”

On the contrary, Leia thought. The droid knew only too well that trouble would be awaiting them when they arrived at Esfandia. It invariably was. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to opt out every now and then.

Alone for a second, she turned to Han. “Do you really think this is going to work?”

“It’s worth a try. While everyone is distracted upstairs, it might be the only chance we get. All it will take is for us to get lucky once. And if those signals are from them, then—”

He was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Droma leaned past Leia and Han to point at a telemetry display.

“I think you should see this,” the Ryn whistled.

The display contained an image of the flickering, furious web of the space battle above, followed as much as was possible from the Falcon’s viewpoint. The view showed two wedge-shaped fighter groups darting in different directions away from the Yuuzhan Vong fleet. Imperial forces engaged with one of them, but couldn’t prevent them from reaching the atmosphere. Both groups of Yuuzhan Vong fighters dipped under the fog and disappeared.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Han said.

Leia wasn’t surprised. It was only a matter of time before the Yuuzhan Vong tried the same tactic as they had.

“Why can’t things ever be easy, Leia? Just for once it would be nice if things went the way they’re supposed to.”

Leia smiled. “Even if they did, Han, I’m sure it would just make you all the more suspicious.”

Everything around Saba burned with a bright, potent vitality. With each lungful of air she took, she could feel the life force of the planet diffuse into her blood and spread to all the cells in her body. The cycle of life and death was in constant play in the tampasi all around her. Iridescent insects glided from branch to branch overhead, seeking pollen from the giant drooping flowers that grew there. Every now and then she would see gangly, six-legged creatures leap out from the cover of the fat leaves to snatch at these insects with unnaturally long and glistening tongues. These in turn were eaten by translucent, long-feathered birds that appeared and disappeared in bright flashes among the boras, their shrill calls echoing throughout the tampasi whenever they successfully managed to catch one of their prey.

She couldn’t get enough of it, no matter how deeply she inhaled. She wanted to ingest the whole world and become one with it. Soron Hegerty walked alongside her, talking about the Ssither, a saurian race the biologist had studied many years ago, but Saba barely heard a word. Only as a strange darkness fell over them did she stir from her reverent daze.

She looked up, expecting to see another airship passing overhead, but even as she did so she knew that this couldn’t be the explanation. This darkness was too complete—as though night had abruptly fallen across the world.

“What iz it?” Saba asked. The others were all gazing up in obvious concern.

“It’s Mobus,” Soron Hegerty said. “We’ve fallen into its shadow.”

Saba understood. She didn’t need to see the gas giant in the sky above to know that the sun had slipped behind it as Zonama Sekot continued on its orbit around the giant world. The animal life on the living world, however, didn’t know the difference between sunset and eclipse.

“We call it Sanctuary,” Rowel said. His gold-black gaze was on Luke, glittering in the sudden twilight.

Again Saba nodded, understanding the Ferroan’s misgivings. The people of Zonama Sekot had searched long and hard for somewhere to feel safe. They had found it, finally, and now it had been invaded again. How would that feel?

They walked on through the tampasi, chilled by the unnatural darkness, as hushed as the world around them. Despite the gloom, their progress wasn’t impeded in any way. The lower branches of the boras sprang to life with a million flickering lights cast by insects nesting there. The greenish bioluminescence illuminated the tampasi floor with a soft, pale light that allowed them to see where they were going. New creatures stirred as ones accustomed to daylight retired for the duration of the eclipse. Saba held her breath as an entirely new ecosystem woke around her.

The sun returned as the ground party approached a Ferroan village an hour later. Voices rose around her, and it was with no small sense of sadness that Saba realized that they had reached the end of their journey through the tampasi.

“It’s hard to imagine that boras could grow as tall as they have in such a short time,” Jacen was saying to one of their Ferroan guides as they entered the village. “Where I come from, trees like this would take thousands of years to grow.”

Rowel glanced at him, his brow pressed down in confusion. “Why would your world take so long to yield its treasures?” he asked. “What is the point in holding back from your inhabitants if it means that most would never get the chance to appreciate your beauty?”

Jacen smiled at this, and Saba sissed softly to herself. To Rowel, worlds were thinking, living things, not just places to live. What most people would consider normal might seem odd to him.

Darak led them to a ring of brown, mushroomlike habitats clustered around the base of a nearby boras. Each habitat had a central pillar that rose two stories high, and was capped with a roof that bulged out and then down until it touched ground. The texture of the walls was rough and flexible, almost rubbery, and the doorways and windows were rounded as though grown rather than cut.

Grown, Saba thought, with the faintest of misgivings. After so long dealing with the organic technology of the Yuuzhan Vong, anything that worked on a similar principle automatically triggered a negative reaction.

Darak led them to the largest habitat and waved them inside.

“We will meet in one hour,” she said. “At sunset.”

Without another word, Darak and Rowel withdrew, leaving the visitors to make themselves at home.

The ground floor contained a number of seating mats scattered about in casual orderliness, along with several tables containing bowls and plates piled high with foodstuffs. The second floor grew out of the central stalk and was accessible by a spiny spiral staircase.

“Fascinating,” Hegerty said, marveling at the habitat’s architecture.

Saba’s stomach growled; she stepped over to one of the tables and dipped a claw into a bowl of an off-white paste. She cautiously sniffed at it before tasting.

“Well?” Danni asked, coming up beside her. “What’s it like?”

“Not obviously poizoned,” she said.

“I think if any harm was intended for us,” Mara said, “then it would have happened before now.”

“Mara’s right,” Luke said. “They could have killed us while we slept on Jade Shadow if they’d wanted to.”

Danni reached into another bowl, this one containing green nutlike pellets. She tasted one, nodding with surprised satisfaction to the others.

“It’s good,” she said, trying some of the other foods.

Jacen, Mara, and Hegerty joined them at the table. Only Luke stood to one side, looking out the window.

“It’s clear that things have changed since Vergere was last here,” the Jedi Master said after a moment. “We’ll need to be on our toes. I suggest we use this time to prepare ourselves for the meeting.”

While she agreed with Luke, Saba found it difficult to emulate the Jedi Master’s calm. They were on Zonama Sekot! How could she just push that fact to the back of her mind and ignore it? She could feel the living world around her; incomprehensible thoughts washed over her like ocean currents. They had reached the place Vergere had sent them to find, a planet that could well prove to be the key to ending the war with the Yuuzhan Vong.

That the Yuuzhan Vong had also located the living planet, however, didn’t bode well. They had successfully achieved their goal—only to find not solace from their concerns, but rather more problems. At least, she thought, they weren’t prisoners. The door hung invitingly open, and there were no guards outside. This seemed strangely at odds with the distrust the Ferroans had displayed since the Jedi Knights had arrived. Then again, perhaps security wasn’t that much of an issue when you were on a planet that could keep a watch on everything for you …

Jacen was about to try some more of the food when he noticed three childlike faces with wide eyes peering around the entrance to the habitat at him. They disappeared with a giggle as soon as they saw him looking back at them.

“Nice to see that not all of the Ferroans hold us in contempt,” Mara said at his shoulder.

He was about to agree with her when Saba uttered a low, perplexed growl. She was standing off to one side, staring out of one of the windows.

“Saba?” Mara said. “What is it?”

The Barabel shook her head uncertainly. “This one feels Sekot not just on the surface of this world, but beneath it, too.”

“I’ve been wondering about that also,” Jacen said. “I’m sensing life below us as well as around and above us.”

“You mean in subterranean chambers?” Mara asked.

Jacen shook his head. “In the rock itself.”

“That’s not as crazy as it might sound,” Danni said around a mouthful of berries. “Some species of bacteria can survive a long way underground—kilometers, even. If Sekot arises out of the biological matrix covering the planet, then it seems reasonable that the life inside it contributes, too.”

“Which might explain the planetary defense systems we saw in action,” Jacen said.

“How, exactly?” Hegerty asked.

“Well, Vergere talked about biological factories making spaceships and other things,” he said. “Sekot clearly found ways to use the technology the Ferroans brought with them when they colonized this world, before it became conscious. Since then, it’s gone even farther. If life has spread down into the crust, and perhaps even deeper, then Sekot could conceivably manipulate the planet on a grand scale.”

“You mean like building a couple of immense hyperdrives,” Hegerty said.

“That,” Jacen said, “but also holding the surface together during long jumps—or bending magnetic field lines at will. Jumping in and out of systems must have been fairly traumatic; without something to keep heavy radiation and gravitational effects at bay, the surface of the planet could have been totally sterilized.”

“What I want to know,” Mara said, “is where Sekot actually came from. If life on this scale can evolve naturally, then why isn’t every planet talking back?”

There was no easy answer to that question.

“Perhaps there’s something special about the Ferroans,” Hegerty suggested.

“I’m not picking up anything radically different about them,” Luke said. The Jedi Master opened his eyes, looking at each of them in turn. “They’re naturally attuned to the life fields around them, but not symbiotically. That would happen to anyone born and raised in an environment as strong in the Force as Zonama Sekot.”

“Perhaps it was just a random mutation,” Danni said. “If the odds are against something like this happening, then that might explain why it’s only happened the once.”

Luke nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible. I’m sure the Magister will be able to tell us more.”

Jacen hoped so. When it came to Zonama Sekot, there were too many unknown factors for his liking.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” Mara said, her voice whispering close to his ear.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She indicated the entrance with a nod. Turning, he saw that one of the little girls had returned and was staring in at him again. When she saw him look at her, she waved shyly and then quickly ducked out of sight with another giggle. Smiling, he went over to the doorway and looked around outside for her.

The girl was standing near the base of a boras, ready to flee if she had to.

“What happened to your friends?” he asked.

“They’re scared,” she said.

“There’s no need to be,” he said. He extended his open hands in a no-weapons gesture. “See?”

She pointed at his belt. “What about your lightsaber?”

Jacen was surprised by the girl’s knowledge of the weapon, but he tried not to let it show. “You know about these?”

The girl nodded.

“And do you also know that I’m a Jedi?” Another nod. “The older ones tell stories about the Jedi.”

“What do these stories say?”

She hesitated, looking around in a manner that suggested she was worried she might be seen talking to him.

“What color is yours?” she asked.

“Color?” Then, realizing: “Oh, my lightsaber? Would you like to see it?”

She shook her head in a definite no. “They’re dangerous!”

“Not in the right hands,” he said. “I would never hurt you, or anyone here.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Jedi Knights have other ways to hurt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anakin killed the Blood Carver without a lightsaber.”

That pulled Jacen up with a start, and for a few seconds he didn’t know what to say.

Anakin killed the Blood Carver without a lightsaber.

The words sounded strange, no matter how many times he rolled them about in his head. How could his brother have ever come to Zonama Sekot without Jacen knowing? There was only one possible answer, and for a joyous moment Jacen entertained the hope that Anakin had somehow managed to manifest himself here in ghostly form—as had his uncle’s teachers, Master Kenobi and …

Then the hope died as a cold feeling blossomed in his gut.

Anakin killed the Blood Carver …

“Tell me,” he said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice, the fear of what the truth might be. “What was the name of the other Jedi, who came here with Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The child looked at Jacen as though he were an idiot, and he wondered if that was exactly how he should feel.

“Tescia!”

A woman’s voice rang out, and the girl jumped back with a guilty start.

“Tescia, what are you doing? I told you to stay away from there!”

With a fearful look, the girl fled, leaving Jacen standing alone in the doorway.

He watched as the girl disappeared into one of the habitats with her mother urging her on. Then, with a heavy heart and a sense of foreboding, he returned inside to relate what to the others he’d just heard.

Gilad Pellaeon surveyed the battle from the bridge of Right to Rule. It was going as well as could be expected. The chunk of the retreating Yuuzhan Vong fleet that he’d been chasing from Imperial Space had stumbled across Generis with eager destructiveness. He had been unsure what their intentions were until he consulted old intelligence reports and learned that Generis was a relay base for communications between the Unknown Regions and the Core. Given the Chiss’s isolationist stance, it had never been targeted for sabotage by the Empire. Taken by surprise, there had been little the Imperial forces could do for the relay base. Generis had fallen, and the Yuuzhan Vong had moved immediately on to Esfandia, to repeat the insult.

Pellaeon didn’t consider it anything more than that. The commander in charge of the retreat, B’shith Vorrik, wasn’t a sophisticated strategist. There was little chance of a trap, or of there being a higher purpose to his strategy. The fact that Luke Skywalker had disappeared into the Unknown Regions on a secret mission just weeks earlier couldn’t possibly be connected to the attack. How could Vorrik possibly know of the mission? And if someone higher up did know about it, why should they even care?

Pellaeon smiled to himself as the battle ebbed and flowed around him. The answer to the last question was probably the key to the mystery—if indeed there was one. Whatever Skywalker was up to, it was either totally irrelevant or absolutely integral to everything. There was no chance of anything in between, he was sure.

And in the meantime lay the opportunity to return the insult …

“Watch the northern flank,” he instructed one of his senior officers, indicating a section of the battlefield where the Yuuzhan Vong were managing to regroup. “Get a yammosk jammer in there now. I want that entire side as chaotic as possible.”

He was under no illusions that they would win. All they had to do was hurt Vorrik long enough to make him reconsider his attack, and/or rescue the hardware and crew aboard the relay station. If they were alive down there, then he would make sure they were found. He wasn’t about to pull back until he knew for certain one way or the other.

Pellaeon frowned, still concerned by the northern flank. Despite a large injection of TIE fighters and energy fire, the Yuuzhan Vong persisted in gathering there. He didn’t know what it was they were up to, but he did know he wanted it stopped.

“Put me through to Leia Organa Solo.”

“I’m afraid Millennium Falcon has dropped off our screens, sir.”

“Destroyed?” He wasn’t sure what he disbelieved more: that such a thing could happen, or that he’d failed to notice it.

“Gone to ground in the atmosphere, sir. Or so we suspect. It was last seen descending toward the southern pole.”

This would have placed the Falcon on the side of the planet farthest from where the fighting was most intense, and therefore in the best position to be overlooked. He nodded, satisfied with the assumption that the Princess and her rough-and-ready husband had plans of their own.

“Get me the commander of the Galactic Alliance frigate instead.”

Within seconds, a flickering, colorless hologram of Captain Todra Mayn stood before him. “Your orders, Admiral?”

A certain stiffness to the woman’s voice assured him that past enmities between the New Republic and the Empire hadn’t been completely forgotten. But she wasn’t obstructing him, and that was the main thing.

“I have a mission for your strike group,” he said. “Can you spare three fighters?”

She looked reluctantly at the displays before her. “We will if required to, sir.”

“But you don’t wish to?” he asked.

A flicker of uncertainty passed across her face. “To be honest, sir, we’re doing some damage on that warship. With just half a squadron to watch our back, I’m not sure we’d be able to effectively keep up the attack.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get backup.”

Pellaeon gestured to an aide and instructed her to assign a full TIE squadron to Pride of Selonia. Then he returned his attention to Mayn.

“So, Captain, do you think Galactic Alliance, Chiss, and Empire can work together?”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough, sir,” she said. “I’ll instruct Colonel Fel to take his orders directly from you.”

“Very good. Carry on, Captain.”

The woman nodded a little less stiffly than before, and the transmission ended.

Pellaeon turned back to the fighting.

“Connect me to Colonel Fel,” he instructed his aide.

“Twin One,” came the almost instantaneous reply.

“Colonel, I have a mission for three of your best pilots,” he said. “The northern flank is proving resistant to our tactics. I’d like you to reinforce the message we’re trying to deliver.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a yammosk in there somewhere. We haven’t been able to get close enough to find it yet, but we’re working on it. When we do locate it, I’d like you to keep it distracted. I want it out of the picture.”

“Understood, sir.” There was a slight pause. “Any further instructions, Admiral?”

“Such as?”

“Approach vectors, rendezvous coordinates, attack runs—”

Pellaeon smiled. “Why don’t you just surprise me, Colonel?”

Jag frowned behind the controls of his clawcraft.

“Surprise you, sir?”

For a moment, Jag swore the Admiral was chuckling—but that simply couldn’t be possible. Grand Admiral Pellaeon—who had served under Thrawn, and who had almost single-handedly prevented the Imperial Remnant from flying apart in a thousand fragments—was not renowned for his sense of humor.

“Do you have a problem with that, Colonel?”

“No, sir. I just—”

“Then carry out your orders. We don’t have time to debate the matter.”

The line fell silent, and Jag was left shaking his head. Surprise me.

Those two words were anathema to everything he’d been taught at the Chiss academy, and that the Imperials to a lesser degree espoused. Not only was it dangerous to identify personally with one’s role in a battle, but an orderly, coordinated offensive was the only way to ensure that such a large operation could work effectively. Let every pilot go rogue and follow his instincts, and the battle would quickly degenerate into chaos.

But it wasn’t every pilot, he told himself.

Surprise me.

It was a challenge. His response wouldn’t prove just his own worth, but the worth of the Alliance and the Chiss forces as well.

The legendary Grand Admiral Pellaeon had asked him for a surprise. He had an idea where to start:

What would Jaina do?

He pondered this while he got the basics out of the way, informing Captain Mayn of his decision to leave Twin Suns in Twin Seven’s capable hands. She confirmed her new role with a simple affirmative. With Twins Four and Eight trailing him, Jag swept away from the dogfights taking place in the vicinity of the Selonia.

Telemetry flowed in from the Imperial forces. They were fighting on numerous fronts simultaneously, doing their best to keep the Yuuzhan Vong distracted from the relay base below. A large amount of wreckage—ranging from microscopic dust fragments in boiling clouds to drifting hulks, their biological systems spewing fluids and sweeping the space around them with strange gravitational storms as their dovin basals expired—had accumulated in the space around Esfandia. Some of it was already falling into the atmosphere, slashing the dark, icy sky with brilliant streaks. Jag only hoped the Falcon knew well enough to keep its head down.

Surprise me.

A Yuuzhan Vong corvette and a cruiser analog, hugging the planet jealously in a low orbit, dominated the northern flank. Presumably the yammosk was in one of those two ships. Swarms of coralskippers were gathering to them like nanja flies to a thawing corpse. Outnumbered four to one, Imperial TIE fighters did their best to keep the alien warriors from gaining a foothold. Once they got themselves organized, Pellaeon’s second Star Destroyer, Relentless, would become vulnerable on that side, as would the planet itself and the relay base with it. As it was, Pellaeon was only just managing to hang on and avoid the Yuuzhan Vong pinning him down, and ending the battle once and for all. And if the relay base was taken out, the battle itself would become altogether meaningless.

Jag could see the importance of securing that section of the battleground. But sending three fighters against a cruiser, a corvette, and countless fighters was madness of the first order. What was he supposed to do? Ram the cruiser? He’d be lucky to get past the dovin basals! And even if he did, what would the momentum of one small starfighter do against a ship of that size?

What would Jaina do? he asked himself again, forcing himself to think laterally.

Then, unexpectedly, a creeping sense of unreality spread over him. An idea had formed in his mind. A crazy and reckless idea that seemed perfectly fitting. It certainly wasn’t the sort of tactic he’d have normally employed. It was, for all intents and purposes, surprising.

“Jocell,” he called to Twin Four, deliberately dropping the formalities now that it was just the three of them. “You in the mood to pick a fight?”

“Not sure exactly what you mean by that, sir,” she replied uneasily. “But I’m always ready.”

“Not just any fight.” He scanned the region around the northern flank. There: a dead gunship, drifting like a lost asteroid, its biological systems slowly dying. Half the ship was black with fire; the other half radiated heat by the terawatt out into the sunless vacuum, chilling rapidly in the process. It was moving in an elliptical orbit that would take it in the direction he wanted. He nudged his vector minutely closer to it, and his wingmates obediently, and unquestioningly, followed.

“Now all we need are some skips.”

“I take it you have something in mind, sir?” asked Enton Adelmaa’j in Twin Eight.

“I do,” he replied. He couldn’t quite believe it himself, so there was no point in attempting to explain it to them just yet. “Behave as normal, and don’t be surprised if I go into a spin for no reason. Just cover me, okay? Make sure nothing picks me off while I’m playing dead.”

“What if you are dead? How will we tell the difference?”

“In the long run, I think you’ll know.”

He quickly double-checked the calculations. Yes, this could work. He wasn’t used to relying on chance, but he was prepared to make an exception here, and the idea of that gave him an unaccountable thrill. Not just because he would be surprising Pellaeon, either: it was also because he was surprising himself.

As he angled his flight toward a knot of coralskippers harrying a nearby Imperial squadron, he sent his thoughts out to Jaina. He wasn’t Force-sensitive and he doubted she could hear him, but he was sure she’d understand.

Wish me luck, Jaina.

Then, gunning his engines, he swooped in to attack.

Jaina struggled through blackness. She had never experienced a mind-meld like this before. It was as though she were trying to swim through mud. The normally bright center of Tahiri’s mind was muffled and distant, buried.

“Tahiri?” She called her friend’s name as she searched for that bright center. Occasional flashes of memory and emotions lunged out of the blackness, startling her. She saw two figures dueling in a place that looked disturbingly familiar, glimpsed as though on a fogged screen. Then she saw those figures running, possibly hunting, lightsabers slicing bright swaths through the fetid air. The light they cast confirmed her first impressions. Even with the prominence of shadows around them, she could tell where they were: it was the worldship around Myrkr; it was the place where Anakin was killed.

Vast statues loomed over them, offering razor-tipped tentacles in return for devotion; deep shadows hid hints of voxynlike monsters, and the air stank of death and grief. The moment she’d melded with Tahiri’s mind and stepped into the young Jedi’s private torment, Jaina had been inundated with memories of the pain she’d felt when Anakin had died, and the grief she had endured afterward. The inner landscape reflected all of these dark emotions back at her; every craggy shadow seemed to emanate all manner of negative emotion: grief, anger, fear, betrayal, loneliness …

These were all things she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by, though. She had to stay focused, to help as she could. She could play no role in whatever fantasy Tahiri was embroiled in, but she could offer strength.

As another image flashed through the darkness, though, she wondered whom exactly she was giving strength to.

Tahiri’s scarred, grim-faced mirror image had murder in her eyes. Although Jaina knew it to be Riina whom Tahiri was fighting, or hunting, she kept seeing Tahiri. The only way to separate them was by the hand that held the lightsaber: in the real world Tahiri was left-handed, while Riina held hers in her right hand.

“Tahiri? Can you hear me?”

Jaina wanted Tahiri to know that she wasn’t alone; that help was at hand if she needed it.

Grishna br’rok ukul-hai, a voice snarled in her mind. Hrrl osam’ga akren hu—akri vushta.

“I don’t understand,” Jaina said into the void.

An image came of Tahiri’s face lunging out of the darkness, eyes glaring with hate. She flinched. Not for the first time, Jaina wondered if she was out of her depth. Psychic healing was Master Cilghal’s field, not hers. Her intentions were good, but that wasn’t enough.

I think it’s time to get out of here, she thought.

When she attempted to break the meld, however, she found that she couldn’t. The illusion of the worldship seemed to close in around her like the walls of a cage, and she realized with alarm that she was trapped.

Ash’nagh vruckuul urukh, mocked the voice of Riina from the shadows. Esh tiiri ahnakh!

Jaina saw an image of Tahiri hunting her shadow flashing out of the void. Jaina quelled a sense of dread and frustration rising in her. There had to be something she could do. She just hoped she could find it in time …

Luke’s thoughts should have been clear when the time came for the meeting with the Magister, but instead they were an untidy tangle. Ever since Jacen had told him about his encounter with the young Ferroan girl, that was all he’d been able to think about.

Anakin killed the Blood Carver without a lightsaber …

He could understand Jacen’s initial confusion. At first he, too, had assumed that Tescia had meant Anakin Solo. But he knew that wasn’t possible. Luke’s youngest nephew had never come to the Unknown Regions, and he certainly couldn’t have kept his encounter with a living planet a secret if he had. No, the girl had clearly been referring to Luke’s father. Before Zonama Sekot had vanished into the Unknown Regions, Anakin Skywalker must have come here—and he’d come with Obi-Wan Kenobi. Why they had done so, though, Luke couldn’t imagine. To look for Vergere, perhaps? In search of the same thing she’d been after: the planet’s biological technology? And what had happened to them here? What did it mean that the boy had killed a Blood Carver without using a lightsaber? That he had used the power of the dark side?

Without more information, it was all just speculation. Nevertheless, he found it difficult to turn his thoughts away from the matter. His mind was still spinning with possibilities when Darak and Rowel finally came to inform them all that it was time.

Luke took a deep, calming breath and let himself be led with the others from the habitat. Night had fallen, turning the tampasi into a vast, starless space that chattered with half-heard rustlings and strange calls from unseen animals. The only light came from balls of bioluminescence balancing atop slender stalks. Standing a meter taller than Luke, they cast a bright greenish glow across the undergrowth. A double row of these lightstalks led a path around the bulk of a nearby tree, a path that Darak and Rowel took them along without ceremony or conversation. Far above, where they’d been tethered for the night, the massive shapes of the kyboes shifted restlessly in their sleep.

The light-stalk path wound through the trees for several hundred meters before culminating in a large, bowl-shaped depression. There, gathered in a circle, a dozen Ferroans awaited them. Standing in the center of these was the black-robed figure of the Magister. She bowed her black-maned head respectfully as they entered the natural amphitheater. The Ferroans—four men and eight women—offered no such gesture; they just stared at the visitors with undisguised suspicion and hostility.

Darak and Rowel guided the group to the center of the depression, then stepped back to stand symbolically at the end of the path that had brought them there. The Ferroans now surrounded them: to leave the meeting place they would have to break the circle.

When all was still, the Magister spoke.

“Once again the Jedi come to us,” she said. Her voice was soft, like a cool breeze on a hot night, but it carried clearly to those gathered around her. “As always, you bring more questions than answers.”

“We are here to answer those questions,” Luke said, wondering why the Magister looked different. Her presence in the Force was strong, but much more muted than it had been on the landing field. The impression nagged at him, even as he put it aside to concentrate on the conversation. “There are many we would ask of you, too.”

She inclined her head slightly, then straightened. “There are some among the council who would have me ask Sekot to send you away immediately. You come to us, by your own admission, as harbingers of doom. I have heard it said that you are more than that; that you bring a direct and deliberate threat to us and to our way of life.”

“What do you mean?” Jacen asked. “We haven’t made any threats. We mean no harm.”

“Three times, now, we have had to defend ourselves,” the Magister explained, “and each time Jedi were present. You cannot blame us for wondering: is it the circumstances that attract you, or are the circumstances a result of your visits?”

“Magister,” Luke said, “if these attacks upon you are in any way connected to our being here, then I assure you it is unintentional on our part. The Far Outsiders arrived before us; we had no idea they would be here until we arrived. Their presence here is a mystery to us. Perhaps we can solve it together, if you allow us to.”

“How would you have us do that?”

“We begin by talking. As I have said before, we are here to discuss our common enemy—the ones we refer to as Yuuzhan Vong. It is a long story, but perhaps in its telling you will come to see the truth of what I say—and the sincerity of our intentions.”

The Magister pondered this for a long moment. Again Luke sensed a fundamental difference between their first meeting and the present. Where before she had been curious about the Jedi, welcoming them cheerfully and openly, now she seemed wary and protective. He wondered what had changed her mind.

Her gaze swept the visitors gathered before her. With a slight nod, she seemed to come to a decision. Her legs folded beneath her and she sank gracefully to the ground. Her robe pooled around her on the soft undergrowth.

“My name is Jabitha,” she said. “We shall hear your story.” She indicated for Luke and the others to likewise sit upon the grass. The other Ferroans, perhaps pointedly, remained standing. “Sekot invites you to talk freely.”

Luke took a deep breath, and began. He started from the time the Yuuzhan Vong had first come to the attention of the New Republic on Belkadan, when Danni Quee had witnessed the launch of their invasion. The grim progression of the war was burned in his mind: from Sernpidal, where Chewbacca died, to Helska 4, Dubrillion, Destrillion, Dantooine, Bimmiel, Garqi, Ithor, Obroa-skai, Ord Mantell, Gyndine, Tynna, Fondor and its shipyards; Kalarba, Nal Hutta, Nar Shadaa, Sriluur, Druckenwell, Rodia, Falleen, Kubindi, Duro; the Jedi academy lost with Yavin 4, Ando, Myrkyr, where Anakin Solo fell, and Coruscant, the capital, where for a while all hope seemed lost.

He talked about the hundreds of billions of deaths across the galaxy, trying to capture in words how it felt to watch everything he had loved slip away—not just the government he’d helped form from the ashes of the Empire, but also the principles on which it had been based. As the Senate had dissolved into bureaucracy and corruption during the last days on Coruscant, he had seen former allies turn against each other, driven by fear and self-preservation—but in the end only hastening the Yuuzhan Vong’s steady march.

He talked about biological technologies, and the Yuuzhan Vong’s philosophy of pain and sacrifice. He described worlds succumbing to insidious growths, free people plucked from their homes and turned into blaster fodder, spies sent to disrupt the peace by spreading lies about those encouraging the survivors to band together against the enemy. He talked of desperation and of genocide, of plans to end the oppression that were rooted in the very same evils, of the Jedi’s hope to find a middle ground, to keep the people of the Galactic Alliance free of the stain of mass murder. He spoke of his love for Ben, and his hope that his son might one day grow to know a peaceful life in a galaxy in which war was not the norm.

“What does this have to do with Zonama Sekot?” the Magister, Jabitha, asked when Luke had finished. “What is it that brings you here, so far from your home, from your war?”

Jacen took up the thread of the story to answer her question.

“We have come here because my teacher, Vergere, advised that the answer to our problems might lie on Zonama Sekot.” He described their mission to find the living planet through the Unknown Regions, not omitting the defense of the Empire or the tense internal conflict in the Chiss territories. He followed their path through the Chiss library, tracing legends and folktales of the wandering planet. He successfully evoked the despair they’d felt when it seemed that the living world might slip through their fingers, despite their best efforts. The realization that Zonama Sekot might be masquerading as a moon rather than an independent planet, he told Jabitha, had been the key to resolving the mystery. The location finally found, they’d set off immediately from Csilla to find their objective.

At the conclusion of his speech, Jabitha frowned, confused, and shook her head. “But this still does not explain why you are here. In what way did Vergere expect us to be able to help you?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Mara said. Luke could feel her impatience kept carefully in check. The attitude of the Ferroans had rankled her from the start, but he trusted her not to say anything precipitous.

“We are but one world with a small population,” Jabitha said. “What can we do against this invading horde you have described? Our strength lies in defense, not offense.”

“That may be so,” Danni said, “but if we’d had your defenses at our disposal in the first place, we may have stood a better chance of repelling the Yuuzhan Vong at the borders of the galaxy.”

The Magister’s frown deepened. “Your words make it sound as though Zonama Sekot is all-powerful. But this is not so. Although it did once manage to repel the Far Outsiders, it was not without suffering major damage to itself. The attack traumatized it greatly. Our defenses are not impenetrable.” She looked down at her feet, then back at Luke. “You should know that the conflict you witnessed has also scarred Sekot deeply, mentally if not physically. The appearance of the Far Outsiders came as a terrible shock. Sekot was not anticipating them; there was no reason to suspect that they were nearby. They tried to study us without being noticed, but our sensors are acute. Sekot’s defenses were activated, and the Far Outsiders took that as an aggressive reaction. They, too, reacted defensively. It is not clear who struck the first blow. The conflict was sparked by fear and uncertainty, as many conflicts are. We do not wish to be party to another such conflict.”

“I understand,” Luke said, although there was much about the situation that remained mysterious. He had assumed that the Yuuzhan Vong had opened fire on the living planet, as they had once before. “We would not want to place Sekot in any more peril than it already faces. But you must be aware that you are in peril already. The Yuuzhan Vong have stumbled across Zonama Sekot twice now, on different sides of the galaxy. They are not so many that this could have happened by chance.” Although he lacked hard evidence to back up the claim, Luke pressed on with the point. “They must be looking for you—and they will keep looking until they find you again. If so much as one ship survived the fleet that found you this time, they will descend upon you en masse, and you won’t be able to defend yourselves.”

The Ferroans shifted restlessly, unnerved by the image, but Jabitha didn’t flinch from it.

“And what would you have us do?” the Magister asked Luke. “You speak of consciences, of right and wrong, and of the horrors perpetrated upon you and the galaxy by the Far Outsiders. You speak of their wish for genocide. And yet, do you not wish the same for them? Do you not wish them removed from the galaxy as they wish you?”

“Absolutely not,” Luke said. “We have, in fact, fought hard to prevent just such an outcome,” he added, the horror of the Alpha Red virus still fresh in his mind.

“The Yuuzhan Vong aren’t all warriors,” Jacen said. “They are women and children, too. They are slaves, and outcasts, and scientists, and workers. They have as much right to life as we do. There is no question about that.”

“Then why have you come here? What possible help can we give you?”

“We must work together to find that out,” Luke said.

“Must?” Jabitha echoed. “It is true that all have a right to life. It is also true that everyone must decide what to do with it. Sekot chose to distance itself from the rest of the galaxy when our attempts to trade peacefully were met by aggression and suspicion. We have suffered greatly to find peace. Why must we suffer again on behalf of those who do not have the fortitude to free themselves?”

“Because the living Force requires it,” Jacen said.

Jabitha’s eyes flashed at Jacen. “What is that? You dare presume to speak for the Force?”

Silence fell around the amphitheater. The air was thick with tension. Luke could feel the situation rapidly slipping from their control. In the hope of rekindling the welcome they had first received from the Magister, he decided to try another tack.

“You say that you have been attacked three times,” he said. “We know of two instances, both perpetrated by the Yuuzhan Vong. Were they behind the third, too?”

“No,” the Magister said. “That force consisted of forces of the Republic, led by a Commander Tarkin.”

Luke’s eyebrows raised slightly. That was a name from the past he recognized only too well. “Is that when you fled? When you went into hiding?”

“Yes.”

“And that was the same time the Jedi were last here?” he persisted. “After Vergere’s visit?”

“Yes.”

Luke detected a slight softening of Jabitha’s expression. That was the encouragement he had been hoping for.

“Tell me about them,” he said. “Tell me about Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The silence seemed to stretch forever. It felt to Luke as though everyone had stopped breathing. Even the soft night breeze rustling through the branches above seemed to stop.

“They came looking for Vergere,” Jabitha said eventually. “And they came out of curiosity, wondering at the living ships we once sold to a select few. Under the guise of clienthood, they passed a testing ritual designed to see if they were suitable for partnership with one of our ships. The youngest, Anakin, was a mystery to us all. Normally, during the ritual, three or so seed-partners would bond with the client to form the basis of a new ship. Anakin drew twelve to him. His ship was a thing of beauty.” Jabitha paused, her gaze distant as though recalling long-forgotten times. “The Force shone brightly in Anakin. He was, briefly, my friend.”

A strange feeling crawled into Luke’s stomach. “You met him?”

“He saved my life,” she answered. “And he revealed to me the truth about my father.”

The words that Jacen had told him about the Blood Carver once again echoed in Luke’s mind.

“There was a Blood Carver,” he prompted.

“An assassin sent to kill Anakin,” Jabitha explained, nodding. “He used me to gain leverage over Anakin, and Anakin became very angry. He killed with the strength of his mind. Until that moment, we had not known that such things were possible.”

“They are possible,” Luke said, ignoring the emotions pouring through him at the revelations concerning his father, “but killing out of anger is wrong. The power of the dark side is seductive and dangerous. The Jedi have never countenanced its use.”

“Yet Anakin used it.”

Luke tried to find the words that might easiest convey Anakin Skywalker’s fate. “It came at a cost,” he said after some reflection.

Her gaze focused on him, sharp as a Tusken Raider’s gaderffii. “You are his son, aren’t you? And I don’t just mean that because you share the same name. He is in you.” She faced Jacen. “And you, too.”

“He was my grandfather,” Jacen said; Luke just nodded.

“Sekot recognized the echoes of my friend in you both when you came here. That is in part why you were allowed to land. But you dismiss Anakin’s actions as though they were an aberration, a mistake. We do not remember them that way. He loved our world, and we will not allow anything you say to damn his memory.”

“The dark side is the dark side,” Mara pronounced. “If you’d met Luke’s father when he was older, you wouldn’t be so quick to defend him.”

“That Anakin did what he did out of good is more important to us than the means he chose. He was a child, and you will not damn him for that here. He saved me.”

Luke countered her defensiveness with a calming gesture. “It is true that I once abhorred all my father stood for, but I have not held such thoughts in a long time. You see, he saved me, too, when the Emperor, his Sith Master, tried to kill me. I no longer wish his spirit ill will; his name lived on through my family, who found no shame in it. I would count a friend of Anakin Skywalker a friend of mine, were I permitted to.” He held Jabitha’s gaze without flinching. “But the shadow of Darth Vader, the man he became when he embraced the dark side, still hangs heavily over us. We have fought long and hard to free ourselves from his oppression—and we will not succumb to the same mistake he made in order to fight the Yuuzhan Vong. That would make a mockery of everything my father stood for, at the beginning and end of his life.”

Jabitha bowed her head in acknowledgment of his short speech, but whether he’d convinced her or not was uncertain.

“It is late,” she said. “You have had a long journey and must be tired. If you will allow us, we will provide you with shelter for the night.”

Luke felt disheartened. “Does that mean that our discussions are at an end?”

“I need time to talk with the council.” Jabitha indicated the ring of stony-faced Ferroans standing around them. “We will take into consideration all that has been said here this night and decide whether or not there is anything more to discuss.”

“Then I advise you to consider very carefully,” Mara said. “The Yuuzhan Vong don’t keep treaties, and they don’t take prisoners. If they do overrun this galaxy, then they will ultimately destroy you, too. No matter how powerful Sekot thinks it is, no matter how far it runs, it won’t be able to hold them off forever. And it’ll be too late then to look for allies, because we’ll all be dead.”

“My wife’s words are blunt, but truthful,” Luke said. “If you have any doubts about the Yuuzhan Vong’s motives, we can show you the history of the war in more detail.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jabitha said. “We feel that we understand the nature of your foe well enough.” The Magister’s expression was one of great weariness, and again Luke was struck by how different she seemed from their first meeting. Then she had been vital and energetic; now she looked tired, drained.

“We will talk again in the morning,” she said, standing and indicating that they should, too.

With a gesture, Darak and Rowel stepped back, offering an exit from the circle. Luke would have liked to say more, but he knew that to push now would be to jeopardize their chances with the Magister. So he inclined his head slightly in a tight, polite bow and led the way from the natural amphitheater. The others followed suit. Once they were clear of the circle, the Ferroans silently closed up behind them. Looking back, Luke saw Jabitha standing again in the middle, her eyes seeing worlds he doubted he could even hope to comprehend.

Tahiri rocked back on her heels as her mirror image abruptly spun around and confronted her.

It’s here!

What is?

The shadow!

Tahiri looked around her, but could see nothing. She and Riina were momentarily united by their mutual fear of the thing that had come for them. Tahiri felt her strength leach out of her at the thought of coming face to face with it. She was tired of fighting. If she let go now, she might finally join Anakin in another world, another life. And perhaps in that other life he could find a way to forgive her …

You could help me fight it, Riina whispered close to her ear. Stand and help me kill it.

How? … Tahiri started, but didn’t know how to finish the question.

You fought before, Riina said. You held your own against me. You are strong.

Tahiri shook her head. She wasn’t a warrior at heart. She’d tried to be one once, but it had cost her the one thing she’d truly loved. It had cost her Anakin; it had cost her a family.

I was never strong enough to destroy you, she said. I could only bury you.

You weren’t trying to destroy me, Riina said. You were trying to destroy yourself.

Tahiri wanted to deny the accusation. But the scars on her arm burned in support of Riina’s argument.

And you know I can never let you do that, Riina said.

Why not? Tahiri asked, her face flushing with shame.

Because I don’t want to die with you.

But you’re already dead! You are a cold and cruel death that constantly sits inside me!

And you are the cold death that envelops me, Riina responded, her words in Tahiri’s ear as rough as a sandstorm. We are bound together, you and I. This is a fate we must accept.

I accept nothing!

Riina stepped up to Tahiri, her footsteps sounding loud in the hollow silence that had descended around them.

Don’t you think I would give you the death you desire if I could? Riina said. But we are bound together. You must see that! I could no more live in this body without you than you could without me. I cannot give you death without embracing it myself—and I am not ready to do that!

Tahiri felt her world shifting around her. She wanted the words to refute Riina’s claim, but in the end there were none.

This can’t be happening, was all she could manage in way of a defense.

It is, Riina said. And you must accept it.

Tahiri shook her head. I can’t.

Then you leave me no choice.

Riina took two steps back and raised her lightsaber horizontally in front of her. Tahiri tensed in anticipation of a blow that never came. Instead, Riina’s blade flashed upward, spinning high into the blackness and casting a bright blue light across the surrounding ruins, causing shadows to dance around them. Openmouthed, Tahiri followed the lightsaber’s flight in fearful silence.

As the blade came down again, Riina reached out to catch it. Tahiri could tell straight away that the Yuuzhan Vong girl had misjudged the descent, but she seemed incapable of calling out to warn her. She just stood mutely watching on as the bright blue blade slashed Riina’s hand and then clattered to the floor.

Then, from somewhere far away, almost smothered by a terrible, blinding pain, Tahiri heard herself scream.

C-3PO cocked his golden head.

“You hear that?” Han asked.

“Of course, sir,” the droid said. “The signal is quite clear.”

“We haven’t been able to locate a source yet; the atmosphere appears to be carrying it a long way, and spreading it out in the process. But the important thing is, can you translate it? And don’t bother telling me how many languages you speak. The only person in the room who hasn’t already heard that spiel a thousand times is Droma, and he’s not easily impressed.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Leia suppressed a half smile as C-3PO nodded stiffly. The warbling transmission issued from the cockpit speakers with liquid clarity. Millennium Falcon’s audio scrubbers had managed to remove much of the background hiss, along with the increasing electromagnetic noise from the battle taking place above the planet. If C-3PO couldn’t translate it, no one could.

While the droid was busy with this task, Han angled the Falcon up and over a ridge, diving deep into another trench. Droma, in the copilot’s seat, fired a concussion missile at a distant mountain, in the hope that the resulting explosion would cover their tracks. Thus far there had been no attempt to interfere with their progress across the surface of Esfandia, so they had to assume that the tactic had thus far worked.

But there had been no sign of the relay base, either. Wherever it was, it had dug in deep and wasn’t moving.

“The transmission appears to be in a very strange form of trinary machine language,” C-3PO said, his glowing photoreceptors gazing off into distant semantic landscapes. “The grammar is inconsistent, and the vocabulary quite peculiar. I am quite certain, though, that this is the source language.”

“Is it coming from the relay base?” Han asked over his shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s terribly likely, sir,” the droid said. “Not unless it has taken to talking to itself.”

“There’s more than one signal?” Leia asked.

“I have identified at least seventeen.”

“Seventeen?” Han repeated. “That’s impossible.”

“They could be decoys,” Droma suggested, “laid out across the surface to misdirect the search.”

“What’s the point of that if you can’t find a single decoy? The way the atmosphere spreads these frequencies, we’d be lucky to bump into one by accident.”

Droma shrugged. “It’d keep us busy, though. And the Yuuzhan Vong.”

Leia thought of the strange, flowerlike formations the Falcon had passed through earlier, and an uneasy thought suddenly occurred to her …

“These transmissions,” she said. “Are they all using an identical variation on that trinary code?”

“No, Mistress. Each transmissions source has its own unique variation.”

“What’s the point of that?” Han said.

Leia waved him silent. “And what are they talking about, exactly?”

“It’s difficult to say with any precision. Some of the nouns are unfamiliar to me, and the modifiers have mutated in ways that defy—”

“Your best guess will do,” Han interrupted.

“There seems to be a lot of talk about the battle,” the droid returned after listening to the signals for a few seconds. “The atmospheric disturbances are severe in some areas, and it would appear that the local flora has suffered catastrophic damage.”

“Did you say flora?”

“Indeed, sir. The ecosystem of this world is another major topic of conversation, particularly among those whose food supplies have been threatened.”

“Food supplies—?” Han glanced at the forward viewport. It was black and lifeless outside. Even using enhanced vision, the surface showed no obvious signs of any biological activity. “Are you saying that the things making these signals are alive?”

“Why, yes, sir. I had assumed you already suspected this.”

“But how is that possible in an environment like this?”

“Life has been found before in atmospheres of similar constitution, sir,” C-3PO lectured. “It could have evolved here in the planet’s early days, when the heat from the core was much more intense. Single-celled life-forms could easily have evolved, perhaps larger organisms also.”

“But you’re talking intelligent life,” Han protested. “Things that can talk!”

“Indeed, sir. It is also possible that these life-forms are not indigenous to Esfandia.”

“They could have been imported here?” Leia asked. “Where from?”

“From wherever it was they evolved, Princess.”

Han raised his hands in frustration. He looked at Droma as though for support.

“I guess it makes sense,” the Ryn said. “If life was going to exist here, it would have to be scattered; a low-energy world couldn’t support too dense a population. They would have to use a form of communication that could reach long distances, and comm frequencies give them that.”

“But trinary code?”

“I think someone taught them to speak that way,” Leia said.

Han’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Someone on the relay team?”

“Past, if not present. The language has had time to change, after all.” She turned to C-3PO. “Do you think we could communicate with these creatures?”

“I can see no reason why not, Princess. We know the frequencies upon which they communicate, and I am fluent in an approximate version of their language.”

He leaned forward to speak into the communicator.

“Low power only,” Han said, letting the droid through. “And if they can’t tell us anything about the relay base, we’re not going to sit here and chat. We’re not the only ones listening.”

C-3PO performed the droid equivalent of clearing his throat, then warbled a series of strange, fluting tones into Esfandia’s dense atmosphere. Leia tried to discern a pattern to it, but it was pointless. To her ears it sounded like three deranged flutists bickering over which melody to play.

When it was done, C-3PO straightened in satisfaction. “I have broadcast a request for information on the location of the vrgrlmrl.”

“Verger-what?” Han said.

“Vrgrlmrl: the relay base,” C-3PO repeated casually, the burbling phrase rolling effortlessly from his vocal box. “If they reply, we will know—”

He paused as a stronger signal from the comm filled the cabin.

“Oh, my,” the droid said, looking almost anxiously to the others around him. “I fear something got lost in translation. They misunderstood my request for information as an invitation.”

“An invitation to what?” Han asked.

“I’m not sure. But if I may try again, sir, I might—”

“Spare us the details,” Han said. “Just get them talking.”

C-3PO burbled out another string of nonsensical sounds. The reply was immediate, although this time it was as if multiple voices had joined the conversation. And if before it had sounded like three flutists bickering, now it sounded like the entire orchestra had gotten involved in the argument.

Droma had his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to keep the cacophony out. “I haven’t heard anything like this since I attended a benefit for a tone-deaf Pa’lowick—and boy, those guys could wail.”

“Are you getting anything useful?” Han asked, rapping on C-3PO’s bronzed casing.

The droid broke off his conversation. “Indeed, sir. For the most part the Brrbrlpp, as they call themselves, are a sociable species, and are happy to talk. They are familiar with the relay base, but will not reveal its location until they are certain we mean it no harm.”

“Well, then, what are you waiting for? Reassure them, already.”

“I have already done so, sir, but I’m afraid it will take more than that to convince them.” C-3PO hesitated, looking to each person in the cockpit.

“What is it, Threepio?” Leia asked.

“Well, Princess, it seems that in the eyes of the Brrbrlpp, we are murderers and therefore untrustworthy.”

“Murderers?” Han rasped. “We’re not the ones bombarding their planet. We’re trying to stop it!”

“It’s not the bombardment that concerns them, sir. They claim that we have killed fifteen of their people since we arrived.”

“What? When are we supposed to have done that?”

“They say that the voices of their friends were silenced when we crossed their paths.”

With a sickening sensation, Leia thought again of the strange flower shapes that had brushed by the Falcon, dissolving in the freighter’s turbulent, superheated wake.

“Stop the engines,” she told her husband.

“What? Leia, you can’t be—”

“Do it, Han,” she insisted. “Switch off the repulsors—everything. Do it now before we kill someone else!”

Han complied, although it was clear from the expression on his face he didn’t understand why. The Falcon settled slowly to the bottom of the trench, and when a quiet had washed over the ship, Leia explained her theory of what these aliens were.

“We didn’t know,” Han said, pale-faced at the idea of having inadvertently killed so many intelligent beings. “Tell them that, Threepio. Explain to them that there was no way we could have known.”

“I will try, sir, but I don’t think it will make much difference to their feelings toward us.”

“There has to be something we can say to change their minds.”

Leia put a hand on her husband’s shoulder as, out of the darkness, one of the flower shapes drifted toward them. Now that she could see it properly, she saw how its edges rippled to provide motion, moving it through the atmosphere. A ring of photosensors studded its interior, along with radial lines of swirling cilia. Behind the cilia, through the creature’s semitransparent flesh, she could see a complicated skeleton keeping the alien’s “petals” rigid, as well as gently pulsing darker patches that might have been internal organs. And behind all that, tapering off into the distance, was a long, whiplike tail.

There was no sense of up or down, or of a face, and yet she knew it was watching them.

“Can they hurt us?” Droma whispered, as though worried the creature might overhear him.

“I doubt it,” Han said, but he didn’t sound confident.

Leia felt a faint rippling through the Force as a second alien joined the first. It was in turn quickly joined by a third. There was no doubt now that they were alive. More came, wafting in on the heavy currents of Esfandia’s atmosphere, until the ship was surrounded by a ring of mysterious flowers.

We killed their friends, she thought bitterly to herself. We killed their family.

Somehow she didn’t think that sorry was about to make up for that.

Saba smelled the thunderstorm long before she heard it. Her sensitive nostrils twitched at the moisture on the air, filtered through the tampasi and redolent with spores and sap. Within minutes she could hear rain sweeping across the treetops, driven at a sharp angle by powerful, gusting winds. Before long she could hear the sound of the water escaping the boras leaves high above and trickling down in streams to the ground.

The Ferroans had provided their guests with rolled-up sleeping pads and thick, coarse blankets. Following a light supper, Jacen, Danni, and Mara had decided to take advantage of the situation and rest, while Master Skywalker and Doctor Hegerty stayed up to talk. Saba stayed awake, also, despite being tired. She still didn’t completely trust their hosts, and wanted to keep watch for the others. She remained on her pad the entire time, with eyes closed and ears opened, listening to everything happening around her—including the conversation between Master Skywalker and Hegerty.

“—mentioned the Potentium to Jacen,” Master Skywalker was saying. “She didn’t give him many details, though, and I’ve never heard of it. Have you?”

“No,” the elderly human scholar replied. “But mind you, the study of the Force isn’t really my field.”

“What about the Ferroans, then? Is there anything about them you think I should know?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed their intolerance toward us,” the doctor said. “Not that I can blame their suspicion. They’ve been contacted by strangers six times that we know of: three times by Jedi, including us; twice by the Yuuzhan Vong; and once by Tarkin and his Old Republic forces. Three times they’ve been attacked, and each time it happened, the Jedi were there. Once you could forget; twice you could forgive; but three times?”

“I know what you mean,” Luke said. “I can’t blame them, either, for thinking that way. But it’s our job to change their minds. Otherwise this whole quest will have been a waste of time.”

Rain crackled gently on the roof of the mushroomlike habitat, although inside was warm and dry. Saba could feel faint tendrils of life trickling through its capillaries. It seemed to like the rain, and much of the warmth was generated as a result of the pleasure it felt.

They talked further, but Saba was finding herself more and more seduced by exhaustion and the notion of sleep. Nearby she could make out the restive breathing of those sleeping around her, and she found herself soothed by the rhythm along with the rain on the rooftop. She fought the sleep for a moment longer, feeling that perhaps she should continue to keep alert for the others. But then, Master Skywalker was still awake, and he was more than able to keep an eye out for everyone’s well-being. There really was no reason to stay alert …

Jag took the shot on his port shields and stuttered his engines as though he’d been hit. His clawcraft went into a wild tumble, careening dangerously across the battlefield. Stars slewed around him in a disorienting tangle, and he had to rely on his instincts in ways rarely called upon to make sure he was heading in the right direction. Only when the scarred bulk of the dead gunship loomed vertiginously over him did he kill the illusion—and then just for a split second.

Everything depended on him being able to convince those that saw him that his “death roll” was genuine, while at the same time maintaining enough control over his ship to ensure he wasn’t actually killed.

A fraction of a second before colliding with the gunship, he fired his laser cannons. The resulting explosion boiled yorik coral in a great plume from the gunship, enveloping him in fire and debris. For a brief moment, he was actually cushioned by the blast—a situation he had initially feared might be untenable, until he checked the rating on his shields and found that they could take it. Inertial dampeners soaked up his residual momentum and brought him and his clawcraft to a creaking halt deep within the hull of the ruined gunship.

It had been a rough ride, and it took him a minute to get himself back together and make sure everything was still in one piece. His shields were recharging, the body of his starfighter was still rigid, and his weapons systems were still working. So far, so good.

The view through his forward canopy was like something he’d expect to find at the heart of a sun. The impact had unleashed a lot of energy on the dying gunship’s interior, energy it wasn’t designed ever to see. Molten decking bubbled against his shields, burning in what little atmosphere remained in the leaky hulk. Organic components released noxious fumes as they decomposed in the extraordinary heat. Jag imagined a plume of debris and particles spewing from the hole he’d left in the gunship’s side. At least he hoped there was; that had been the plan, anyway.

He clicked his communicator. Unwilling to risk revealing his survival until the time was right, he had explained his proposal to Jocell and Adelmaa’j and told them how to respond should the first stage work out. His one click would tell them he’d survived. Thankfully, he immediately received two clicks in return, which meant that everything had gone according to plan on the outside, too: the Yuuzhan Vong had bought the illusion of his destruction. He exhaled heavily in relief, and instantly felt one knot of tension dissolve in his gut. It was time to work on the others.

He searched the wreckage with radar and other instruments. As far as he could tell, it was empty of life, but not completely dead yet. The spine of the ship was still transmitting data, although the “brain” of the living craft was dead and the various limbs it had once coordinated were disconnected. Patches of the yorik coral that comprised the hull would live for some time yet, even if, as a whole, it was beyond hope. And in places, surviving off scraps of nutrients and energy sources circulating irregularly through the infrastructure, were five clusters of dovin basals, the miniature black-hole generators that the Yuuzhan Vong used for propulsion, defense, and attack.

Jag nodded to himself, pleased with the situation.

He fired up his engines again. The clawcraft shifted in the wreckage, then settled as his shields got a better grip. He slowly upped the power, relying on the fighter’s instruments—possibly scrambled by the impact—to tell him where he was going. No further clicks came from his wingmates, so he had to assume everything was still going according to plan. He pushed the engines to their maximum power before, gradually, creakingly, the ruined gunship began to accelerate.

Another two clicks from the outside confirmed that his reaction wake was being camouflaged by the vapor plume. Anyone studying the gunship’s wreckage would simply assume that its interior was aflame and disregard it. Hopefully there were too many other things to worry about—the Star Destroyers, the Imperial squadrons, and the two pesky Galactic Alliance fighters nipping at anything that seemed to be paying too close attention. And while they were busy with that, Jag could get started on the next stage of his plan.

Using the laser cannon as a surgeon would wield a vibroscalpel, he began to sculpt the interior of the gunship. Taking great care to avoid the weight-bearing stanchions against which his starfighter pressed, he cut great chunks out of the spaces around him and let them fall back into the exhaust plume. Relatively speaking, the thrust his starfighter could apply to the gunship was small, since the gunship massed many times more than his engine was used to propelling. He couldn’t do anything about thrust, but he could affect the mass he was pushing against. By eating away at the gunship from the inside and letting the pieces tumble back into the wake, he could gradually increase the effect his clawcraft’s engine was having. And that this inert wreck was suddenly accelerating across the skies of Esfandia wouldn’t necessarily arouse the Yuuzhan Vong’s suspicions. In large space battles, active debris was a common and occasionally dangerous hazard.

Another two clicks confirmed that he was on course and, as yet, unnoticed. His engines were redlining, but he figured they could sustain the effort for the ten minutes required of them. While the battle swirled around him, he moved the hulk slowly but surely to the northern flank. The attention of his cutting lasers encroached, meter by meter, to the hull. Red-hot wreckage boiled and burned around him, and every now and then he would come across a lifeless body that he had to force himself to ignore, and carry on. Each one he came across reminded him just how crazy this plan of his really was.

If it caught the Yuuzhan Vong off guard, he told himself, if only for a second, then it would all be worthwhile.

*  *  *

“Admiral, Twin One appears to be intending to ram that ruined gunship!”

Pellaeon’s gaze didn’t shift from the display to look at the officer standing beside him. “I can see what he’s doing, Commander.”

“But sir, the Yuuzhan Vong have collision avoidance systems at least as good as ours. They’re not about to let wreckage drift into their ships. If they suspect the gunship is to be used as a ram, they’ll simply blow it out of the sky! What could he possibly hope to achieve by doing this?”

“He hopes to surprise me, of course. And them in the process.”

Despite his belief in the young Jagged Fel’s abilities, Pellaeon couldn’t help but feel some apprehension. He’d wanted something solid and disconcerting from the Chiss pilot, certainly, but he hadn’t expected quite so dramatic a response as this.

Meanwhile, the disposition of the battle hadn’t changed. The Yuuzhan Vong still outnumbered the Imperial and Galactic Alliance forces, and they were still amassing their forces in the northern flank. The alien corvette and cruiser had managed to repel all attempts to place a yammosk jammer between them. That remained a potential flashpoint. If it ignited, Esfandia might return to Yuuzhan Vong control.

But he was determined not to let that happen on his watch. He’d sooner ram the Yuuzhan Vong warships himself than allow that.

“Any sign of the Falcon yet?” he asked his aide.

“No, sir. It must still be down in the atmosphere.”

He wondered whether he should send reinforcements down to the surface. The Galactic Alliance forces hadn’t done so, but that was probably because they simply didn’t have the resources to spare. His last conversation with Captain Mayn had ended on a notably cool note; perhaps an offer to assist would help bridge the gap.

His aide soon had her on the line, and he explained the situation as clearly as he could without spelling out every detail. He never entrusted confidential information to any sort of broadcast medium, no matter how secure the line was thought to be.

“So if you need any assistance in that regard,” he concluded, “I’d be only too happy to offer.”

Mayn was shaking her head before he’d finished. “Thanks, Admiral, but that won’t be necessary. We received a low-power coded transmission from the Falcon a short time ago ordering us to deter any further incursions into the planet’s atmosphere as a matter of some urgency. I was about to pass it on to you, in fact, when you called.”

Pellaeon absorbed this. It didn’t sound like a simple everything’s-under-control-no-help-required instruction. One didn’t normally issue orders requesting urgent inaction without good reason.

“Do they know about the Vong patrols scouting the planet?” he asked.

“I advised them of that myself.”

“And they still don’t want anyone to watch their back while they’re down there?”

“They were quite specific about that.”

“Did they offer any explanation as to why?”

“No, sir. The message was brief. They simply said they would explain in due course, when their location was less sensitive.”

“What is their location?”

“That I don’t know, sir,” Captain Mayn replied expressionlessly. “The signal was too diffuse and brief to obtain a precise lock on—which I assume was the intention.”

Pellaeon frowned. Did Captain Mayn really not know, or was she holding out on the information per instructions from her superiors? It seemed reasonable to assume that the Falcon was looking for the relay team. That wasn’t a problem in itself. He simply hated being left in the dark.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said, no longer caring to soften his tone in the interest of public relations. “In future, please keep me promptly informed of any such developments.”

“Understood, sir.”

The Galactic Alliance captain signed off, and Pellaeon turned away from the screen to consider what she had and hadn’t told him. Part of him wondered if he was naive in assuming that he could trust this group of Galactic Alliance forces in the same way that Luke Skywalker and his associates had proved that they could be trusted. Yes, Leia Organa Solo was Luke’s twin sister, but she’d been trained in the art of politics—and politicians had too many fingers in too many pies to be taken at face value …

“Admiral?”

At the sound of his aide’s voice, he turned from his disquieting thoughts. “What is it?”

“I have a text message from Colonel Fel, sir, relayed through Twin Nine.”

“What does he say?”

“He says: ‘Get ready.’ ”

Pellaeon glanced at the displays showing the northern flank. The gutted gunship’s path was a dotted line passing between the two major targets in that region. The Chiss pilot was clearly going to miss both ships by a healthy margin.

Any reply Pellaeon might have sent went untransmitted as, on the screen before them, the gutted gunship suddenly exploded.

*  *  *

“That was risky, Leia,” Han said when the message to Pride of Selonia had been dispatched. “The transmission could be traced.”

Leia folded her arms and shivered, unable to take her eyes off the screen in which the aliens C-3PO called Brrbrlpp had gathered. “I know, but we can’t take the risk that any more of them will die. It’s not acceptable.”

“There are Yuuzhan Vong down here, don’t forget,” Droma put in. His tail twitched restlessly where it dangled over the edge of his chair.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she said tightly. “I just haven’t decided what to do about them yet.”

A strange new warbling came over the comm.

“The Brrbrlpp say that there are many hot bodies on Esfandia now,” C-3PO translated. “They’re doing what they can to protect their people, but without knowing where the next target will be, it’s impossible to keep them all safe.”

Leia could appreciate the problem all too well. There was only one possible solution, but she didn’t particularly like it. It all boiled down to the question of what was more important: the relay base and communications with the Unknown Regions, or the lives of an alien species that got caught in the middle of a war.

“We can’t stay down here indefinitely,” Han pointed out.

“But we can’t go anywhere, either,” Droma said. “Not while those aliens are out there.”

He indicated the ring of flowerlike aliens floating around the ship in mute appeal. The moment they engaged the Falcon’s drives, they would be swept away like Geonosians in a hurricane.

“I’m aware of all this,” Leia said irritably. She tried not to take her frustration out on her companions, but it was hard not to when all her thoughts kept coming back to the same conclusion.

“Telemetry,” Han said. Screens in front of the copilot’s station flickered with data coming down from the Selonia. “Increased traffic in this area. The scarheads must’ve picked up the edges of our transmission.”

“If we keep low, they won’t see us, right?” Droma looked at both of them hopefully.

“Yes, but we’re not about to do that,” Leia said. “We have to send another message.”

Han didn’t look happy with her suggestion. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.

“If we do that, Leia, they’ll spot us for sure.”

“That’s partly the idea.”

Understanding dawned behind her husband’s eyes. “Okay, but what about them?” He indicated the waiting aliens.

“How far can we extend the shields?”

“A fair distance. Why?”

“Can we create a separate pocket?”

“Not without serious modifications.”

“But you could do it?” Leia felt disappointment mounting on top of her frustration.

“I guess.”

“Good.” She was only marginally reassured. Her plan would save the Brrbrlpp in the short term, but might end up killing them all in the long run. “I don’t think we have an alternative,” she said.

Han nodded as he turned away to begin hitting switches. “Then let’s get started.”

Droma was looking from Han to Leia with increasing puzzlement. “I don’t suppose either of you would care to let me in on what’s going on.”

“It’s simple,” Leia said. “We’re going to draw the Yuuzhan Vong here by sending another transmission.”

Droma’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up. “Not before dropping me at the nearest thing that passes for a bar on this planet, I trust?”

Leia ignored the glib remark. “It’s the only thing we can do. They know something’s in the area, since they picked up the fringes of our last message. But they’ll assume it came from the relay base; that’s all they’re aware is down here. They’ll instantly converge on us, wanting to take us out.”

“And that’s a good thing—why?”

Droma looked to Han for support, but didn’t get it.

“Listen,” Han said, “we tell the Selonia to look for a convergence in our location, right? When the Yuuzhan Vong are all in one spot, they’ll make the perfect target. The big beam weapons on one of those Star Destroyers should be able to make quite a mess out of them.”

“Not to mention us, of course.”

“Not if they aim right. We’ll be cold, presenting as small a target as possible.”

“What about the locals?”

“Hopefully they’ll be tucked nice and safe under our shields,” Han said. “Look, just relax, Droma, and stop your whining. Leia knows what’s she doing.”

“She married you, didn’t she?” the Ryn muttered with a shake of his head. “That’s not what I’d call a particularly good track record.”

Leia turned away from the two and faced C-3PO, not interested in her husband’s response to the Ryn. “Threepio, advise the—” She stopped, unable to get her tongue around the pronunciation of the aliens’ name. “Just tell them that they should come as close as possible to the Falcon and that they’re to stay there until we tell them otherwise.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

“Tell them also to get anyone in the area as far away as possible. Things are about to get extremely messy around here, and I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

C-3PO relayed the message in burbling, singsong tones. A reply came in several stages, with the droid explaining key features of the plan that were beyond the aliens’ experiences.

“They will do as you instruct,” he said eventually, “although there are some concerns that they might be taken hostage. They ask us to be particularly careful of the nesting plains nearby.”

“Nesting plains?” Han rolled his eyes. “That’s just terrific. As if we don’t have enough to worry about.”

“What does it look like?” Leia asked.

“It consists of a series of caves and tunnels beneath the surface in which the female Brrbrlpp lay their eggs for the males to fertilize. They are private places, warmed from the heat of the core.”

“And the fact that one of them is so near to us might explain why there are so many of those aliens around here,” Leia mused aloud.

“Exactly, Mistress. If we had come down in the open plains, there would have been almost no one around.”

“Well, we can’t move now,” Han said.

“Tell them we’ll be as careful as possible,” Leia said. “That’s the best we can do.”

C-3PO relayed her reassurance, while Leia came to terms with the difficulty of what she’d set out for herself. As things stood, the Falcon was a stationary object that the Yuuzhan Vong looking for the relay base could easily use for target practice. It could neither flee nor return fire, for fear of hurting the fragile locals. Add to that the nearby nesting area, and the fact they still had no idea where the relay base was, and it was beginning to look like they’d taken on more than they could handle.

“The message is on its way,” Han said. “I’ve adjusted the shields.”

Leia glanced at the screen and noted that the ring of Brrbrlpp had contracted around the old freighter. “Then all we can do now is wait, I guess.”

“And hope they’re not too busy up there to rescue us,” Droma said, his eyes drifting nervously to the ceiling.

For this one’s home …

Saba’s eyes snapped open. She sat bolt upright, heart racing and scales shifting in anticipation. She took a couple of deep and calming breaths, but the residue of the dream still troubled her. The burning planet, the anger, the slaveship, the torpedoes … She had relived the terrible images of Barab I’s destruction too many times over the last few months, as well as the guilt that accompanied the dream.

For this one’s people …

She shook her head to lose the dream and the emotions it brought. It was unlikely that she’d ever lose the dream completely; what had happened that day would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She sighed heavily to herself, and looked idly about the dark room. It was still nighttime, and everyone was asleep. The only sounds she could hear were breathing and the rain’s continued pitter-patter on the rooftop. For all intents and purposes, everything seemed normal. And yet …

Her scales stiffened again, this time in apprehension. Something was wrong. She reached out around her with the Force, trying to isolate the unease she was feeling. She could sense her fellow Jedi Knights, could feel the mixed life signals of the airships and various Ferroans nearby, could feel—

She stopped, realizing what it was that troubled her—something so subtle that a human might have missed it. It wasn’t what was there, but rather what wasn’t. There was no longer the faint touch of the habitat’s life force; it was dead.

With her senses tingling, she threw back her blanket and made to stand. Halfway to her feet, however, something heavy and suffocating dropped down on her from above and pushed her back to the ground.

She roared to wake the others. Her lightsaber flared into life beneath the confines of whatever it was that was holding her down. She slashed once, twice, and felt the weight fall away. She forced her arms and head through the hole she’d sliced, just as something hard and heavy swung at her out of the shadows, cracking her across the skull. She fell back with a grunt. Pain from the blow seared down one side of her face.

She fought back, feverishly willing herself to move. Someone had obviously killed the habitat and brought it down upon them. Then, as each of them struggled to climb out, the attackers would strike them as they emerged. It was almost too easy. But clearly, these assailants didn’t know what they were dealing with. A Jedi Knight wasn’t so easily overcome; and four Jedi Knights was a force to be reckoned with …

“Saba!”

The voice belonged to Soron Hegerty, and from the doctor’s tone, Saba knew she was in trouble.

She tried to break free to help the doctor, and was struck again by the blunt weapon. This time she was ready, though, and managed to deflect the blow so that it only struck her shoulder. Her attacker let out a yelp of fright as Saba pulled herself to her feet and raised her lightsaber to strike back. From the glow of her blade, as well as the reflected light from the gas giant Mobus, she was finally able to make him out. He was a Ferroan male of medium height and build, and his expression was one of determination undercut with panic—a panic she knew she could use to her advantage. She faced her attacker squarely, roaring as loud as she could and raising her lightsaber as though to strike. He took one look at her sharp teeth and claws, dropped his weapon, and fled.

She turned to where Hegerty struggled with three other black-clad Ferroans. There were more of them scurrying around on the folds of the collapsed habitat, but Saba ignored them. Master Skywalker and the others could look after themselves; it was Dr. Hegerty who needed her help the most right then. The Jedi Master was weaving through the rain, cutting the others free while staving off his attackers. Hegerty, her cries now muffled, was being dragged rapidly away.

Saba took off at a run, her tail pointing behind her in an arrow-straight counterbalance to the lightsaber in her hand. One of the kidnappers tripped just as Saba reached them, lightsaber cutting a hissing swath through the rain. The one who’d fallen scrambled backward through the mud, while the others turned to face her. There was fear in their eyes, but they held their ground. Two held heavy clubs like the one that had almost knocked her out before. The third pointed something at her that looked like a thin, twisted tree root, with a startlingly acute crystal point at its tip. Before she had time to wonder at its purpose, a miniature bolt of lightning arced toward her.

It grounded safely in her lightsaber, which she’d swung to intercept it with liquid ease.

“This one will not allow a friend to be harmed,” she said, revealing her teeth in a menacing snarl.

The one with the tree root weapon lowered his aim, uncertainty overtaking his resolve, while the one on the ground scrabbled for purchase in the mud. The third kidnapper, the one actually holding the doctor, unceremoniously dropped his hostage. She fell into the mud with a grunt of both pain and indignation. Then all three were gone, running in different directions into the shadows.

Saba resisted the urge to chase after them. Instead, she reached down with one clawed hand to help the doctor to her feet.

“Thank you,” the scholar gasped, wiping water and dirt from her face. Her gray hair hung limply and was streaked with mud. “As soon as the roof came down on us, they were right there ready to cut me free. I thought they’d come to rescue me at first, until they clubbed me.” She rubbed at her head. “Why should they want me, though?”

Saba knew. Go for the weakest of the herd. It was the first rule of predation, and in this case the weakest would have been those who weren’t fighters. And that meant …

“We must get back to the otherz,” she said, hurriedly leading the way.

They returned to find Luke and Mara arguing with a group of Ferroans who had come out to see what all the commotion was about. They seemed genuinely surprised, but not above taking affront at Mara’s suggestion that they’d been in any way negligent.

“Are you suggesting we would sanction such behavior?” Rowel protested.

“All I know is that we were attacked,” Mara said. “And you assured us we’d be safe.”

“I thought Jedi could look after themselves,” Darak sneered.

“The fact that we’re standing here now shows that we can,” Mara defended quickly, “despite the cowardly attack by your people! They waited for the habitat to collapse before doing anything!”

“Habitats don’t just collapse,” Darak said.

“Whoever planned this attack,” Master Skywalker said, “obviously rigged it earlier.”

Rowel looked exasperated. “But I still don’t see who would do such a thing!”

“I don’t care who,” Mara said. “I just want them found.”

“In this rain?” Rowel said. “They could have gone in a dozen different directions. You’ll never find them now.”

“We have to try,” Jacen said, stepping into the conversation with a grim expression. To Master Skywalker and Mara he said, “She’s gone.”

“Who is gone?” Darak asked.

Go for the weakest of the herd …

“Danni Quee,” Saba said. “They took Danni.”

Jacen looked at her and nodded. “And I intend to find her before they get too far.”

“Jacen, wait—” Mara tried to catch her nephew’s shoulder as he started off into the darkness, but he shrugged her hand aside and continued on his way without further comment.

“This one will keep him safe,” Saba reassured Mara. With a two-legged leap, she took after Jacen, hunting the moment …

Pellaeon’s aide gasped as the decoy gunship blew up with Jag Fel inside it. The admiral noted other signs of surprise and distress across the wide bridge of Right to Rule. The fortunes of Soontir’s son had captured more attention than he’d expected. To see them so suddenly dashed was a shock even to him.

He turned to his aide, opening his mouth to issue an order and recall all fighters from the northern flank. Before any words had passed his lips, however, something strange happened. The destroyed gunship had broken into several large chunks, with numerous smaller fragments boiling into vacuum. Two of the larger chunks were heading for the cruiser. Another, the largest, was tumbling toward the corvette. The fragments were large enough and had enough relative velocity to inflict considerable damage, if they hit, but as Pellaeon watched, the equivalent of collision avoidance systems came into play around the two ships. A gout of plasma fire lashed out at the first of the fragments to approach the cruiser.

Instead of blowing the wreckage into even smaller fragments, however, the vicious bolt of plasma was sucked away into nothing.

“What—?” Pellaeon stared at the screen in disbelief. Even when another plasma burst failed to destroy the rapidly approaching wreckage, he still didn’t understand what was happening. Only as the corvette began firing on the piece tumbling toward it did he finally realize it: the plasma fire was being absorbed by dovin basals lingering on the fragments of the gunship’s hull!

And with that realization, the rest of Jag Fel’s plan fell into place for him.

“All fighters in the northern flank,” he ordered his aide, “concentrate on those two targets! Divert all firepower to the weak spots!”

The aide frowned. “What weak spots, sir?”

“Those weak spots!” He indicated the sudden blossoming of energy as the first gunship fragment hit the Yuuzhan Vong cruiser. He leaned back in satisfaction as his orders were relayed and fighters converged on the damaged ship, intending to add not just insult to injury, but violent destruction as well.

Jag rode the wild tumbling of the third fragment as it arrowed toward the Yuuzhan Vong corvette hanging alongside the damaged cruiser. The Yuuzhan Vong were quick; he had to give them that. They were already concentrating their fire on his ride, hoping to overload the lingering dovin basals and blow the threat into a million pieces. When their shots cut through the debris enough to impact on his shields, he retaliated, knowing that the move would take them by surprise. A lethal piece of debris was bad enough; that it would return fire would have been completely unexpected.

His shots had the required effect. The Yuuzhan Vong gunners were distracted long enough for the gunship fragment to hit the corvette’s hull. Just before the collision, Jag made sure the fragment was between him and the corvette; nevertheless, the impact was intense enough to almost buckle his shields. The shock wave from the resulting explosion caused him to black out for a moment, and when he came to again he found himself immersed in a white-hot ball of gas and debris. Repeating the tactic he’d employed in the gunship, he fired his way out of the impact point, tunneling deep into the heart of the corvette.

He didn’t know how far he would get before his shields overloaded, but he was determined to do as much damage as he could before then. Since Yuuzhan Vong warriors were trained to fight to the death, opportunities to explore the interiors of their ships came rarely, and he had no idea where the equivalents of power generators or drives might be situated. He simply angled inward and backward along the craft’s major axes, figuring that the most sensitive material would probably be kept there. He knew that it would be impossible to trigger an explosion like the one that had torn the gunship apart, but he figured it was worth trying.

Burning debris roiled around him, enclosing him in an extended, fiery bubble. The plasma effectively cut him off from the universe outside, stopping even the clicks from his wingmates getting through. Whether his maneuver had been sufficient for Pellaeon to turn the tide in the northern flank, he wouldn’t know until he was out. He only hoped he wouldn’t be met with a wall of coralskippers when he emerged. That would certainly bring an ignominious end to his daring plan.

Is this what you would have done, Jaina? he wondered. Would you have gone this far?

He kept on firing until his laser cannons threatened to melt and his shields were on the verge of collapse. In case he needed those systems on the way out, he rested them while he rotated his fighter around its center of gravity and prepared to retrace his steps. The view behind was the same as in front: nothing but boiling debris and the red-hot outlines of load-bearing structures, now deformed and sagging. A shudder rolled through the corvette, but he couldn’t tell if it was a result of his actions or from elsewhere. For all he knew, the ship might have been on the brink of exploding, or it could have simply been changing course.

Gunning his engines and keeping a close eye on the instruments, he powered his way back through the burning ship. Occasionally, great clumps of anti-reactant foam clogged his path, and he was forced to burn his way through, starting new fires in the process.

As he neared the outer hull, he picked up the speed. The impact site of the gunship wreckage gave him more room to maneuver, and a greater feeling of exposure, too. Inside, he’d been relatively safe. Once outside again, he would come under the targeting system of every weapon on the corvette’s hull—along with the targeting reticles of every skip within firing distance. The faster he came out, the better.

White heat faded to blue streaked with yellow, then orange, and finally red. Then abruptly there was nothing ahead of him but stars. He put his shields to maximum behind him and pushed the throttle as far as it would go. Burned black from nose to stern, his starfighter shot out of the burning ship like a particle discharged from the business end of a charric. He fought to keep his damaged stabilizers under control and ignored a blast of noise from his comm. Until he was certain he had his clawcraft under control, he didn’t have time to look around.

When he did, he was amazed to find that his plan appeared to have worked. The corvette was in serious trouble, burning in too many places to count and looking like it could break up at any moment. Dozens of Imperial fighters were pounding it without relief. Nearby, the cruiser was coming under similar attack. The places where the gunship fragments had hit were targets for repeated combat runs, leaving them gaping and vulnerable. The holes vented gases and bodies in huge clouds, making navigation dangerous for Yuuzhan Vong and Imperial alike. Any chance of the northern flank becoming a focus for resistance now seemed very remote.

“Jag! You made it!”

The greeting burst out of his comm like a miniature explosion, closely followed by an X-wing swooping in from his right.

“Nice to hear your voice, Enton,” he replied. “How’s everything out here?”

“Much improved now, sir.” This came from Twin Sun Four, settling into position off his port side. “I think you’ve shown those Imps a thing or two.”

I certainly hope so, he thought as he continued to guide his battered starfighter out of the thick of things.

“Congratulations on a job well done, Colonel Fel.” The voice of the Grand Admiral from the comm broke across his thoughts. “Consider me … surprised.”

“I hope I managed to make a difference, sir.”

“Oh, that you did,” the Grand Admiral said. “It’s becoming obvious that neither we nor the Yuuzhan Vong are going to control the planet. I’d expect a stalemate to form anytime now: us on one side, them on the other. I doubt that anyone will be getting any closer than low orbit. That should allow the ground crew time to find the base, at least.”

“Have we heard anything from them, sir?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Pellaeon said. “Although you might want to check with Captain Mayn. Tell her that if there’s anything I need to hear, she knows where to find me.”

Jag frowned, sensing something in Pellaeon’s tone but not sure what it was—and certain it wasn’t any of his business. “I’ll contact her immediately, sir.”

“I’d consider doing more than that,” the admiral said. “You’re going to need more than just a wire brush to get rid of that scoring.”

Jag smiled as he turned his clawcraft around for Pride of Selonia. He had no idea how badly crisped he’d gotten inside the gunship and the cruiser, but if the admiral had taken time to comment on it, it must be bad.

He checked in with Captain Mayn, who ordered him back in no uncertain terms. There was a heavy strain in her voice, as though she was deeply worried about something.

“We haven’t heard from the Falcon,” she explained when he asked. “A garbled transmission came through a short time ago, but we couldn’t decipher it. We suspect the Yuuzhan Vong are jamming transmissions from the surface.”

“That’s not good,” Jag said. “They could be calling for help. Is there any way we can get down there?”

“No. And don’t even think about trying, Colonel. You’re not going anywhere until we check out your ship.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” he said. “I think one crazy stunt is enough for one day.”

As he arced around the Selonia and moved into position to dock, he asked the question that had been on his mind since he’d emerged from the belly of the alien corvette.

“Captain, is Jaina there?”

There was a long pause. When Mayn returned, her voice was more strained than ever, and Jag knew that this was the source of the woman’s anxiety.

“It might be easier to talk about that when you dock,” Mayn said.

Jag felt an icy nausea squeeze his stomach. “Is something wrong?”

“To be honest, Colonel, we don’t know. None of us here is a Jedi, so we have no idea if her condition is normal or not.”

“What condition?”

Even over the crackling comm, he heard Captain Mayn take a deep breath. “She’s unconscious; possibly in a coma, Dantos says. We don’t know exactly when it happened, and we don’t know when she’s likely to snap out of it—if she snaps out of it at all. I’m sorry, Colonel; I wish I could offer you better news. But the fact is, we just can’t reach her.”

We can’t reach her. Captain Mayn’s words seemed to echo in Jag’s ears. As he jockeyed his clawcraft around to the docking bays, he asked, “When did this happen? Where did you find her?”

“In Tahiri’s room,” Mayn answered. “She’s been like that since we arrived.”

Jag nodded, his jaw tightening. He’d known the answer before asking the question. That didn’t make hearing it any better, though.

He gripped the controls of his clawcraft tightly as he carefully brought it in to dock, even though his every instinct urged him to hurry.

“Are you still there, Colonel?” he heard Mayn ask after a few seconds.

But he didn’t have time to reply; he was too busy clambering from his cockpit. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he was running through the corridors, heading for Tahiri’s room.

*  *  *

The area surrounding Shimrra’s palace had undergone considerable change since Nom Anor’s expulsion. Bio-engineered life-forms extruded from the walls, floors, and ceilings of buildings as they slowly ate their way through the lifeless constructs of the planet’s previous occupants, fashioning them into immense new extensions to house the Supreme Overlord’s vast number of servants, executors, and other support staff.

There was no mistaking the palace itself. A worldship standing on one end, it rose like a majestic mountain from the ruins of the old world. It was a thing of awesome beauty and intimidating splendor with its mighty rainbow-edged wings stretching out across Yuuzhan’tar for all to see.

The exterior of the inner sanctum, Shimrra’s private chambers, had been heavily decorated with slender, curving spikes that reached for the sky as though to snatch at the clouds. The number of entrances had been reduced—possibly in response to failed attempts by the heresy to get inside—and each one was now protected by heavy security.

Still, the priestess Ngaaluh had no difficulty smuggling a villip inside, with which to spy on proceedings. Cleverly incorporated into elaborate robes and ornamentation, it saw what was taking place with perfect clarity. Nom Anor, on the receiving end of its transmissions, saw, too.

A full court had gathered to hear the priestess’s report on the Vishtu region. Nom Anor recognized many of the faces gathered before the Supreme Overlord. Many were ones he had himself served with. The others were recent additions, replacements for those lost in action or killed for failing their master. They watched proceedings with keen, cautious eyes, knowing that opportunities for advancement would be frequent in such an environment, but that risks were concomitantly high.

Then, of course, there was Lord Shimrra himself. Nom Anor felt an immediate adrenaline rush the moment his eyes fell upon the Supreme Overlord. It was easy to forget, when bathed in the rhetoric of the heresy, how striking Shimrra was—how gloriously wrathful. Every fiber of Shimrra’s being screamed out in torment, tortured by the very garments he wore. He radiated psychic distress on every frequency—yet beneath that there burned a cold, implacable surety of purpose. He was like a natural force whose very presence demanded attention, and it took all of Nom Anor’s will just to lower his gaze.

“…  resources provided by Prefect Ash’ett proved barely adequate for my investigation.” Ngaaluh’s report droned on, giving details in abundance, but offering no real information. “I was forced to procure my own means. And what I found was disturbing to an extreme. Numerous cells of heretic movements have formed in the consul’s staff at all levels of seniority. It is clear, Great Lord, that the situation warrants serious scrutiny.”

A flurry of whispers circulated around the throne room. High Prefect Drathul looked particularly concerned. As head of the intendant caste on Yuuzhan’tar, Prefect Ash’ett fell under his governance. Any stain on Vishtu would inevitably reflect on him.

“I find this disturbing,” Shimrra rumbled from on high. His grotesquely magnificent throne towered over the penitents gathered before him, yet he did not seem dwarfed by it. Darkness and power radiated from him in waves. “Once again, Ngaaluh, you display unflinching bravery in bringing such news to my attention.”

Another whisper; the Supreme Overlord had killed many underlings for delivering better news.

The priestess bowed low, unfazed. “It is my duty, Great One. I do not shirk from it.”

“You have evidence, I presume?”

Ngaaluh snapped her fingers. Guards brought forth five prisoners in cages made of coral and sinew that formed a natural shell, through which numerous perforations admitted air. The cages unfolded with a gentle pressure on the outer spinal ridge, and the five prisoners tumbled out. They whimpered and cried as they struggled awkwardly to their knees, but none of them pleaded for mercy.

“These were apprehended in the act of spreading the word of the Prophet,” Ngaaluh explained, perfectly truthfully. “They all work for Prefect Ash’ett.”

The prisoners were pushed facedown onto the floor by Shimrra’s swarthy bodyguards. They squirmed and wriggled, but were unable to escape. Bound by blorash jelly at wrists and ankles, the deformed creatures looked hideous in the face of Shimrra’s imperial perfection. Everything the Supreme Overlord had, the prisoners lacked. There was beauty in pain and ugliness; Nom Anor had forgotten just how splendid it could be.

“You,” Shimrra said, gesturing at one of the prisoners at random with a single long, clawed finger. “Are you a servant of the Jeedai?”

“With every breath,” the prisoner gasped, knowing he was sealing his death sentence with those words. His eyes were wild with hatred and rebellion, but trembling limbs betrayed his fear.

“You do not fear the gods, then.”

“No.”

“Do you fear me?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“Our freedom and our honor!”

The court hissed to hear the heresy spoken so brazenly in the very heart of the Yuuzhan Vong empire. All, including Nom Anor, expected Shimrra to enact an immediate and terrible revenge on the source of such a foul challenge—but the Supreme Overlord, as he so often did, surprised them all.

“Interesting.” Shimrra’s voice was measured, almost bored, as though they were discussing nothing more than fleet movements in a distant part of the galaxy. “It is as you have stated it, Ngaaluh. Tell me, do the Jeedai instruct these heretics personally, or do they direct them through another?”

The prisoner interrupted before Ngaaluh could answer. “I obey my conscience; I obey the Prophet!”

Nom Anor cursed. That wasn’t what the fool was supposed to say!

“My personal opinion is that Ash’ett is involved,” the priestess said, recovering quickly and getting the correct message across.

“But you have no direct evidence?”

“In time, I will provide it.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Shimrra turned his attention back to the prisoners. “Throw them to the yargh’un pit. Their screams of torment will provide a pleasing ambience during my communion with the gods. And while you’re about it, bring me Prefect Ash’ett.”

“It would be good to hear his side of the story, Lord,” High Prefect Drathul said as the heretics were dragged away. “I am certain that he can prove his innocence. He is a loyal and faithful servant—”

Shimrra silenced him with a gesture. “Whether Prefect Ash’ett is corrupt or not,” he said, “the fact is that he has allowed the heresy a foothold in his affairs. That is not acceptable. He must be reminded of the consequences of laxity—as must everyone in a position of responsibility. I want every member of his immediate family executed in the yargh’un pit. If they offer resistance, execute everyone in his entire domain and install another in Vishtu sector. A confession will not be required; suspicion alone is enough. This is the price of laxity that all will suffer if the heresy is not wiped out.”

The orders provoked gasps from the audience. Its severity was extreme, even for Shimrra. Prefect Drathul’s face went a sickly shade of gray, Warmaster Nas Choka grinned a predator’s smile at the fate of the intendants he despised, and Nom Anor, far away, cackled gleefully.

“I am weary of this pointless aggravation,” Shimrra said. His every word and act was calculated to antagonize, to bludgeon those beneath into obedience. Not just the acts of gross violence, but the sweeping red gaze, the glistening teeth, the lazy pacing of a predator at the top of the food chain. “If there were a chance that these worthless animals could achieve their goal, then I might admire their determination, their loyalty to a cause. That their cause is utterly farcical wouldn’t detract from the respect they would deserve, simply for attempting to rise above their station.” Shimrra sneered mightily, triumphantly, at the terrified faces of those watching him. “But they are inevitably doomed. Their cause is hopeless and their deaths will bring them no honor. The gods spurn them as abominations. I will not suffer them, or anyone tainted by them, to live.”

Nom Anor was delighted. His betrayal of Ash’ett had reaped unexpected rewards. Shimrra was obviously hoping to send a clear warning to all caste members while at the same time weeding out suspicious domains. From now on, suspicion alone was enough, and failure to fight the heretics couldn’t be blamed on underlings. What that meant for the heretics, though, wasn’t disaster. It gave Nom Anor an even more potent weapon. With just a word from Ngaaluh, Shimrra could be made to destroy whole swaths of his loyal supporters. It was perfect!

Ngaaluh, glorious queen of deception, was the first to recover from the Supreme Overlord’s pronouncement.

“Your will, Great One, is the will of the gods,” she said, bowing low. “We obey you utterly and without question.”

The others in Shimrra’s court had no choice but to follow suit, echoing her bow and her words with murmured praises of their own. High Prefect Drathul had looked for a moment as though he might protest, but Shimrra’s warning was clear. Those who spoke out against punishment for heresy risked being labeled heretical themselves. Drathul’s eyesacks were inflamed and black as he stooped to offer his loyalty to the Supreme Overlord.

Yet when he looked at Ngaaluh, his expression was free of hatred. Nom Anor looked for any sign of resentment at how Ash’ett—and by association all of the intendants—had been implicated in the heresy, but he saw nothing but resignation. That surprised him. It wasn’t like Drathul to simply roll over and accept his fate.

The moment passed, and Ngaaluh moved back to allow other penitents to speak.

The conversation moved on to other troubles on the surface. A field of lambents had overheated and caught fire, disturbing harvesting on the far side of the planet. Lungworms from the district of Bluudon had developed the noxious habit of emitting hydrogen sulfide instead of life-giving oxygen. Two flocks of massive transport envelopers had gone wild on separate occasions, sending local communities into a panic until the beasts were contained. All could be traced to the ongoing malfunctions of the dhuryam controlling the transformation of Yuuzhan’tar. The new master shaper, Yal Phaath, had yet to find a solution to the problem.

Meanwhile, two thousand kilometers away, a cell of heretics had successfully infiltrated a coralskipper farming crew and slipped parasites into the feeding lines. Half-grown pods had exploded all over the shipyard, setting off others and creating a chain reaction that undid an entire year’s work. The damage couldn’t be hidden; even from orbit the destruction was obvious. It was the pro-Jedi movement’s third major strike in a week. Nom Anor rubbed his hands together. While he wasn’t responsible for the disruption of the World Brain, that didn’t stop him taking credit for it. Word was quickly spreading: anywhere could be next. His power was growing by the day. Nothing could stop him now …