THIRTY

“Oh, Sithspawn,” Corran swore.

“The Givin are in league with the Yuuzhan Vong?” Anakin said doubtfully. “The Givin build ships. The Yuuzhan Vong hate technology.”

“Yeah, but their real estate isn’t all that promising,” Corran said. “Maybe they figure that if they cooperate, the Yuuzhan Vong won’t bother ’em much.”

“I don’t understand,” Tahiri said.

“Yag’Dhul has three moons,” Corran explained. “The tidal forces are so strong that at times and places the atmosphere itself gets rolled back, exposing the surface to space. The Givin actually evolved to survive in vacuum for short periods of time. What would the Yuuzhan Vong want with a planet like that? The location, yes, because it’s strategic for purposes of their conquest. But they probably wouldn’t settle the planet.”

“I think they’re waiting for a reply,” Anakin noticed, gesturing at the tiny image of the Givin.

“Tahiri, tell them in Yuuzhan Vong we’re having some minor difficulties, and we’ll be back in touch in a moment.”

“Sure.” She said something into the comm unit. Then she looked back up. “They want to know why we aren’t using the villip. They have theirs with them.”

“Brother. This gets worse and worse.” Corran stared at the row of villips. One was pulsing slightly. Was that it?

“Tell them it’s none of their business,” he said. “Make it sound like we’re mad about something. No—wait. Tell them—tell them the sound of them speaking the Yuuzhan Vong language so poorly is insulting to us. Tell them we’ll speak the infidel language, Basic, and that the commander is about to speak to them.”

Tahiri did so, after which Corran took up the comm unit. Keeping the visual off, he tried to remember the cadence of Shedao Shai’s accented Basic, back when he had dueled with the man.

Here goes nothing. He started to open his mouth, then quickly changed his mind. “Tahiri, Anakin—give me a name. A credible name.”

“Hul,” Anakin said. “It’s a warrior’s name.”

Corran nodded, flicked the comm back on. “This is Commander Hul Lah,” he snarled. “Is everything prepared?”

“All is in readiness, Commander,” the Givin answered. “The defense grid will fail in 15.08357462 standard hours. You may bring your fleet from hyperspace then.”

Corran blinked. Something about that …

“There is no suspicion, then?” he asked.

“None. The Body Calculus is completely unaware of our vector with you. The failure of the defense grid and longrange communications will seem accidental. Only when you take possession of our system will the truth be known. We have hidden our factors carefully.”

“Commendable. We will verify this, of course, but you may rest assured that if you are telling the truth, the glorious Yuuzhan Vong will honor our agreement with you.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Hul Lah, out.”

Corran pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Those guys aren’t the government,” he said. “Or at least, not all of it. It’s just some faction.”

“Let’s contact the real government, then,” Anakin suggested. “Let ’em know what’s going on before their defense grid fails.”

“That’s a problem,” Corran said. “We don’t know anything about who we just dealt with. It might be the local chapter of the Peace Brigade, or it might be a faction in the Body Calculus. Either way, the odds of contacting the wrong people are way too high.”

“Maybe we should just get out of here and alert the New Republic military, then,” Anakin suggested.

“It’s an idea, but it will lose us Yag’Dhul. There’s no way to get a fleet here in fifteen hours. If the Givin had their own fleet scrambled, there might be a chance of holding the Yuuzhan Vong off long enough for a New Republic force to arrive, assuming the Senatorial Oversight Committee releases them to do so. No, we’ve got to get the attention of the right people, before the defense grid goes down.”

“Umm,” Anakin mused.

“What? Out with it.”

“Well, I have an idea, but you aren’t going to like it.”

“I’ll take anything I can get right now. Talk.”

“We attack Yag’Dhul before the grid goes down. Whoever comes out to stop us, that’s who we want to talk to.”

“I don’t like it,” Corran said.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I don’t like it, but it will work. Anakin, calculate a jump that will put us as close as safely possible to Yag’Dhul—or better, the space station. Tahiri, can you figure out how to lay it in?”

“Sure. All I have to do is see it in my mind.”

“Let’s get cracking, then. I want to do this before common sense sets in.”

   They reverted two hundred kilometers from the orbit of Yag’Dhul’s farthest moon, a short distance from the military station that Booster Terrik had once commanded. Corran had fond memories of the place, because it reminded him of his early days with Mirax. It felt strange to be attacking it.

The station, which had been Rogue Squadron’s base during the Bacta War, was now part of an expanding Givin military-industrial complex. Unhappy with having their system being used as a battleground by foreign forces, they had demanded and been ceded the station a few years after the truce with the Imperial Remnant. It now protected their shipyard.

“I’ll bet they’ll notice us,” Anakin remarked, watching through a transparency that Tahiri had opened up to give them a view of surrounding space. “Hyperwave dampeners or not, rocks this size don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“Unless the grid is already down,” Corran replied.

“Oh, I don’t think it is,” Tahiri said. “Or at least, that would be a big coincidence. Twenty somethings are on their way.”

“Twenty what?” Corran asked. “Starfighters, corvettes, capital ships?”

“I don’t know,” Tahiri replied. “I don’t know a lot about ships.”

“Well, how big are they?”

Tahiri didn’t answer for a few moments. “I’m not sure how to read that,” she said. “They’re sort of clusters of spindly rods. Three engines each. Real fast.”

“Starfighters? How far away?”

“Fifteen phons and closing.”

“What’s a phon?” Anakin asked.

“I don’t have any idea,” Tahiri replied. “They just implanted the language, not conversion charts.”

“Bring her around, thirty degrees starboard,” Corran said.

“Starboard?”

“To your right! Your right hand!”

“Don’t get touchy, Captain Horn,” Tahiri said. “I’m doing my best, but I’m not a pilot! And I can’t tell if I’ve turned fifteen degrees or not.”

A dull thud echoed through the ship. Tahiri gasped.

“What was that?”

“That hurt!” Tahiri said. “Something just blew up part of us.”

“Are they hailing?”

“I—” She broke off again as several more impacts rocked the ship. The last one was very loud.

“That broke the skin,” Tahiri said. “We’re losing air. I’m going to shoot back.”

“Don’t shoot back,” Corran said. “Do you hear me, Tahiri? Do not shoot back.”

“The ship wants to,” she wailed. “It’s hurt.”

“Don’t let it.”

“They’re hailing,” Anakin said. “Standard frequency.”

“Answer, then, fast. Tahiri—turn away from those ships and run as fast as you can.”

“They’re a lot faster.”

“Well, use the dovin basal to absorb their shots, if you can figure out how to do that.”

“The ship is doing it already,” she replied. “It’s just not very good at it.”

“Not a warship,” Corran muttered. “Anakin?”

“Something’s wrong with the transponder,” Anakin said.

“Well, fix it!”

“I’m trying.”

“Tahiri, can you take evasive action?”

“I’m evading as much as I can. But this is a really big ship, and they’re really fast.”

Another staggered series of blasts ripped along the side of the Stalking Moon, and now Corran could see their antagonists, flitting about in admirably swift craft. He didn’t recognize the design, but the Givin were known for quality if not quantity in shipbuilding. A good quarter of the racing yachts in the galaxy were built in the Yag’Dhul system.

Corran glanced at Anakin. The boy—no, the young man—was working calmly at the cobbled-together communications device, one lock of hair falling in his face. He didn’t look like someone who feared death in the slightest. Probably he didn’t. Taan, the Shamed One, was as impassive and quiet as she had been since her conversation with the distant Yuuzhan Vong commander.

The ship jerked and shuddered, and somewhere near, Corran heard the sound of air screaming out into vacuum. A smell like vaporized rancor swirled into the chamber.

“We’re dying,” Tahiri said dully. “Let me shoot back. Please.”

“No.”

“Got it!” Anakin said.

“Give me that!” Corran grunted. “Make sure the visual is on, this time.”

The Givin who appeared on the tiny screen didn’t waste any time with polite mathematical greetings. “Yuuzhan Vong ship, this is Dodecian Illiet. You will stand down and surrender or be destroyed.”

“Dodecian Illiet,” Corran replied, “this is the captain of the Yuuzhan Vong vessel Stalking Moon. We surrender.”

The Givin didn’t blink—he couldn’t—nor could his exo-skeletal face register any other emotion Corran recognized. But he still gave the impression of vast surprise.

“You are not Yuuzhan Vong,” the Givin said.

“It’s a long story,” Corran replied. “We did not intend to attack you, only to get your attention.”

The Givin paused, listening to someone off-screen, then turned his empty eyes back to Corran.

“Our attention you have, Corran Horn. Prepare to be boarded.”