Force Exile V: Warrior/Part 10

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The ramp leading into the Raven’s Claw was lowered when Hobbie arrived, but nobody was there. That immediately made him nervous, particularly since there was very little illumination from the depths of the ship.

“Come in, Colonel Klivian,” came the voice of Jan Ors through an external intercom system. “We’re in the cockpit.”

His nerves partially assuaged, Hobbie ventured into the ship, making his way forward. The interior of the ship gave him an impression of jumbled disrepair, complete with exposed machinery, loose wires, and scattered parts. The lighting was dimmed and haphazard at best and the smells of engine coolant blended with something he thought might be burnt circuitry. He meandered forward and found Jan and Kyle in the bridge around a holoprojector. Jan was knelt beside it, her hands buried in its inner workings making some repair to the flickering holo, while Kyle was content to lounge on a control panel, arms crossed as he watched her work.

“Nice ship,” Hobbie commented as he entered. “I think I’ve been in worse before.”

Jan shot him a quick glare before returning to her work.

“You can talk bad about me if you want, but don’t trash the ship or its captain,” Kyle warned him. “She’s saved me more times than I can count.”

Hobbie privately wondered which she the Jedi was referring to, but didn’t voice his query.

“So, do we have the hololink to Wedge on Borleias yet?” he asked.

“Almost,” Jan replied, reaching for a small probe.

Hobbie stood and fidgeted impatiently, waiting for her to finish the repairs. As if sensing his impatience, Jan offered up some intelligence to distract him even while she kept her focus on the holoprojector.

“While you wait, I managed to pull up everything that NRI knows about these Guard people and this Seirla Trasani you told me about back there. I was just telling Kyle when you arrived and I’ll even tell you even though you’re a civilian—but I’m not sure if you’re interested.”

“On the contrary, I’m very interested,” Hobbie said. “What do we know?”

“Well, there’s not much substantial about them, so don’t get your hopes up,” Jan warned him. “They’ve kept a low profile.”

“Nobody has a fleet this big and NRI doesn’t know about it,” Hobbie scoffed. “They had a ship up there bigger than an Impstar Deuce.”

“The Yevetha almost got away with it,” Jan recollected, “but you’re right, they must have worked pretty hard to stay hidden. None of the ship types that you sent me sensor data of are known in our databases, except for the B-wings. Same goes for the vehicle, armor, and weapons. It all appears to be completely indigenous, though one of the sidearms resembles an old Clone Wars weapon. We’ve also heard unsubstantiated reports of droideka use—another Clone Wars weapon system.”

“So if they’re using weapons derived from the Clone Wars era, how are they holding their own against the Vong?” Hobbie asked.

“Obviously they’ve made some upgrades since then,” Jan answered curtly. “I don’t have specifics or even detailed sensor data on the ships. They’re a dead end, except for the modified Gauntlet-class freighter that the leader flew and the B-wings.”

“Anything on those?”

“I’d need to know more about the ship’s registration to even run a trace.”

“So what do you know about these people?”

“Scattered rumors and isolated reports. The name of the Guard has popped up in a few reports from agents in the edge of the Outer Rim beyond Ryloth. Mostly smugglers’ stories. If it’s the same group, they prey on pirates and warlords and slavers, and they don’t leave many survivors. Nobody knows who they are, and anybody looking for them has either been unsuccessful or disappeared. Going off the timeframe you gave me about this Seirla Trasani, there’s one report from the Corporate Sector about some mystery forces taking on a hidden Imperial lab twenty-three years ago that could be them. Other rumors talk about them being connected to Bespin somehow or the implosion of the Zann Consortium. It’s not much.”

“Okay, so what about Seirla?”

“Well, that’s more interesting. It’s possible she was in the Rebellion as a spy and was extracted after the Battle of Endor. Apparently Antilles has had a subsequent encounter with her that he didn’t tell you about—he didn’t tell us about it either.”

“So basically, you don’t have anything,” Hobbie remarked.

“I didn’t say that,” Jan replied.

“We found something interesting about the young warrior who fought off the Vong in the street and at the governor’s palace,” Kyle said. “His name, Ryion, is fairly common, but we put his face through the database, and guess what came up?”

Hobbie looked bewildered.

“How in space would I know?”

“Officially, he’s Ryion Kraest, a former competitor at the 1979th Galactic Games, complete with a Noghri warrior just like you saw at the governor’s palace,” Jan said, punching up a button on the holodisplay to pull up a rotating holo of Ryion’s profile as a competitor. “There’s also the top-secret, unofficial version, the one that I had to slice through several layers of security to get.”

“Well, what did you find?”

“Apparently, he’s a member of a Force-wielding sect called the Zeison Sha,” Jan explained. “A sect which is under orders from the highest authority to leave alone if at all possible. Orders which originated shortly after said Galactic Games.”

“Something happened,” Kyle surmised. “Some kind of secret deal was brokered.”

“So we have heard of these guys before,” Hobbie realized. “And, just by looking at their faces, I bet that their leader is Ryion’s father.”

“It seems likely,” Jan said. “Or some kind of close relative.”

“Probably father and son based on what I’ve sensed,” Kyle confirmed. “Odd thing is, nothing I’ve ever heard about the Zeison Sha describes them using lightsabers, yet both Ryion and his father were carrying them.”

“Maybe that’s helpful for you two, but it doesn’t help me very much to explain whether these are renegade Zeison Sha or if this “Guard” was built by them,” Hobbie grumbled.

“Well, you’ll just have to wait then,” Jan told him, returning to her labors.

Finally, she seemed satisfied with her work, rising and keying in a set of commands on the flickering display.

“We have a secure transmission to Borleias,” she said. “You should be lucky that I know Iella Wessiri Antilles as well as I do, and that she made it to Borleias safely. I had to call in a couple of favors to get this secure transmission.”

“Didn’t you tell Wedge I was here?” Hobbie asked, frowning. “He’d never turn me away.”

“Yes, but I had to get the appropriate comm codes to make sure he would even hear that message,” Jan replied. “Tensions are high over there; Borleias is a besieged world with twice as many Vong as we have here.”

“Sounds like Wedge all right,” Hobbie said. “Let’s notify our new ‘friends’ that we have the connection they wanted to Borleias.”

A quarter-sized hologram of Wedge Antilles appeared above the display. It flickered slightly and the audio was laced with static, but even that was better than Hobbie had expected.

“Hobbie?” Wedge asked. “What’s going on? I’d have thought this might be a social call, but then I was told you had an urgent message for me.”

“Yeah, you’re going to want to see this one,” Hobbie said. “They wanted me to arrange this little chat and you’re not going to believe who it is.”

“Who is it?” Wedge asked, frowning.

Hobbie started to reply but was cut off by the sudden arrival of Selu and Hasla into the bridge of the Raven’s Claw. Kyle waved them over with a curt gesture.

“General Antilles,” Selu offered as a greeting. “I’m Selu Kraest and I’m the one who asked for Colonel Klivian to arrange this meeting. I believe you already know my chief of naval operations, Admiral Hasla Cyrreso.”

Wedge squinted at Hasla, then his facial expression blanked as he recognized her.

“You…” he said.

“It’s been a long time, General Antilles,” she replied cordially.

“After all these years, you’re back again,” he answered coldly.

“And just like last time, this wasn’t my idea,” came her firm reply.

The hologram glared at her with unmitigated rancor.

“You know, I seem to recall that the last time we spoke, I promised to kill you if you weren’t turning yourself in.”

“That’s right,” she said flatly. “That was twenty years ago, General.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“General, I understand your anger towards Admiral Cyrreso,” Selu interjected. “But really, the person who deserves that anger is me.”

Wedge turned to glower at Selu.

“And just why is that?”

“Because I am the one who gave her direct orders both times she encountered you. I am the one who ordered her to infiltrate the Rebellion and join their starfighter corps. I am the one who ordered her to seize that bacta convoy. If anyone deserves your vengeance, General, it is me.”

Wedge’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke, it was with a tight, controlled voice that just barely contained his anger.

“Hobbie, an explanation please?” he said.

“Well, it’s like this. Me and my volunteers saved some people from the Vong on Chalacta and tried to get away with it, but the Vong decided to take it personally. They chased us and had us cornered when these two showed up with a pretty sizeable fleet and fought the scarheads straight on. Now there’s lots more scarheads here so we can all die together. Anyway, they wanted to talk to you before the Vong overrun us and carve us up.”

“I see. Well, if you’re coming to apologize, it’s about thirty years too late,” Wedge informed them.

“I would gladly apologize if I thought it would make a difference, General,” Selu said. “I did what I had to do for the survival of my people. Hasla carried out my orders—and was very reluctant about it. If she hadn’t been forcibly extracted shortly after the Battle of Endor, she would have stayed with the Rebellion.”

“So what do you want?” Wedge asked impatiently.

“General, we’re on the same team,” Selu said. “Whatever our past differences, we both know that the Yuuzhan Vong are a threat to the entire galaxy. We’re both in similar positions, on worlds besieged by sizeable Yuuzhan Vong forces, and with little hope of reinforcement. I believe it is in our best interests to cooperate.”

“You expect me to help you, after what you pulled on me? Twice?” Antilles asked in disbelief.

“I expect you to make the right decision,” Selu replied mildly. “As a gesture of goodwill, I’ve brought with me all of the data files we have on the Yuuzhan Vong and Peace Brigade. Our analysts also have determined a tactic that I believe is available to you which they predict has potential to lead to a serious Yuuzhan Vong defeat.”

“Go on.”

“Orbital bombardment. A conventional army would have portable shield generators or would position its own forces in orbit to circumvent such an assault. However, the Yuuzhan Vong don’t use shields and their past tactics don’t seem to include many defensive operations.”

“It’s an interesting idea,” Wedge admitted. “What do you want in return?”

“We’d like whatever information you’re willing to share on countering the Yuuzhan Vong. We’re well aware that the New Republic has far more combat experience against them than we do, and that includes the latest counter-measures.”

“So rather than spying on us, you’re just flat-out asking for our secrets?” Wedge replied sarcastically. “Well, Kraest, I give you credit for audacity.”

Selu sighed, shaking his head.

“General, I know that your emotions are very strong over what myself and Hasla have done in the past.”

“Give the man a prize for observation,” Hobbie remarked.

Selu ignored him and continued.

“Even disregarding all the covert aid my organization has given the Rebellion—and believe me, we have a list somewhere—I’m offering a chance to settle the score between us.”

“You’re offering to stand trial alongside Hasla for espionage and treason?” Wedge asked.

“No…”

“Then it doesn’t seem like you’re offering to settle that score,” Wedge replied.

Exasperated, Selu cut him off.

“What I’m offering is the possibility of destroying the entire Yuuzhan Vong force over Chalacta. My forces will draw as many of them in as possible and then we’ll wipe out their entire force.”

“If your fleet is capable of doing so, why do you need my help?” Wedge asked suspiciously.

“We have a weapon that promises to be extremely effective against the Yuuzhan Vong, but only if we can get them to concentrate their forces. Their doctrine so far has been to launch swarming attacks at first in an attempt to weaken the defenses, and then push in with a concentrated strike. There’s no guarantee we’ll last that long right now.”

“So, you’re offering to use some mystery weapon to take out a Vong fleet in exchange for all our information on the Yuuzhan Vong?”

“That’s right.”

“But somehow, it doesn’t seem like you’re offering to give me that weapon.”

“No, I am not,” Selu admitted. “I am fairly certain in my ability to use this weapon to successfully destroy a Yuuzhan Vong fleet without causing severe collateral damage. I don’t trust the New Republic to do such a thing.”

“Well, I don’t trust you enough to give you our data files,” Wedge retorted. “Nor am I convinced this is anything but an elaborate scam. Have a nice day.”

“What if I told you that we had saved the life of Princess Leia Solo? Is that worth nothing to you?” Selu asked suddenly.

Wedge froze.

“Explain yourself,” he answered.

“Six years ago, at the 1979th Galactic Games, our people—my son included—foiled an assassination attempt on Leia Solo, at the time the New Republic Chief of State. Agent Ors can confirm this, if you like.”

“Jan, is it true?” Wedge asked.

“He’s telling the truth,” she said. “In return, seems we put his people—a group of Force-wielders called the Zeison Sha—off-limits from both the Jedi Order and the New Republic.”

“We have the same enemies, General,” Selu told him softly. “The same people who wanted you dead twenty years ago would have wanted us dead even more. The same people who want you dead now want us dead even more.”

Wedge gave him a dubious look.

“And why is that?”

Selu pulled his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it in a blaze of green luminescence, holding it up to the holoprojector.

“This is why, General. The Empire and the Yuuzhan Vong had this in common: they would stop at nothing to stop those who serve the light side of the Force. Secrecy has been our safest defense for decades. That was why we could not join the Rebellion—to do so would be to assure the destruction of our own way of life, yet we have worked hard behind the scenes towards many of the same goals.”

“And yet here you are now,” Kyle commented. “What changed?”

“We didn’t come to Rishi to pick a fight,” Selu admitted. “The full story is complicated, but I sent a small force here to retrieve some of my intelligence agents who had stopped a Yuuzhan Vong assassination attempt. They were trapped here and our only options were to sacrifice the fleet or give battle.”

“So you finally got caught skulking around by the Yuuzhan Vong and now that they’re going to make you pay for it, you’re crying to us for help?” Wedge asked. “There’s some irony here, I’m sure of it.”

“Indeed,” Selu acknowledged, extinguishing the weapon and returning it to his belt. “You have a choice, General. You can help me and I’ll rid the galaxy of two hundred thousand Yuuzhan Vong warriors, or you can reject my offer and deal with probably half of those warriors later.”

“You’ve been awful quiet over there, Hasla,” Wedge said to Hasla. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Wedge, I lost all credibility with you a long time ago,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry. For both times.”

Wedge folded his arms and frowned, thoroughly nonplussed.

“Twenty years ago, you let me live,” she continued. “You let my squadron fly away with a bacta freighter that saved a thousand lives on my world. You saw something in me that persuaded you to help us, even though we had no claim to your generosity.”

“And now you’re back for more?” Wedge asked skeptically.

“No, now we’d like to pay the debt we owe—both to you and the galaxy,” Hasla said. “And while we’re prepared to go it alone, the information you have would be very helpful.”

“And by pay this debt, I think the lady means destroy a Vong fleet,” Hobbie remarked.

“Correct,” Selu said.

“You’re asking me to trust you again,” Wedge pointed out.

“No,” Hasla answered. “I’m asking you to give us what we need to help fight the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“Hobbie, what do you think?” Wedge asked him.

“Well, I can’t say I’m a fan of them,” Hobbie replied. “They’re arrogant, they’re sneaky, and they know far too much about us. On the other hand, they’re offering to defeat a Yuuzhan Vong fleet threatening this world, and there aren’t too many other bidders for that job right now.”

“Do you think they can do it?”

“They have a better chance than anyone else in the sector unless there’s another hidden fleet nearby I don’t know about. They already held off one attack,” Hobbie said. “If it comes down to it, better them doing the fighting than us.”

Wedge nodded slowly, painfully aware that the strangers he despised were also the best chance of keeping Hobbie alive as well—his own forces were in no position to relieve Rishi and the virtual collapse of the New Republic meant that no other forces were available.

“All right, you have a deal,” he said to Selu. “I’ll get you the information you want and put you in touch with Danni Quee. I take it you already know who that is.”

“Yes,” Selu admitted. “She’s your leading expert on Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology.”

Wedge frowned.

“I don’t want to know how you know that,” he said. “But you’ll get your data. Put it to good use.”

“We will,” Selu promised. “And thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Wedge replied tersely. “Thank Hobbie over there. I’m only giving you this data so he and the rest of the people on Rishi have a chance of surviving the Vong attack.”

“Understood, General,” Selu told him. “May the Force be with you.”

The transmission terminated and the hologram disappeared. Selu and Hasla then turned and left, leaving Jan, Hobbie, and Kyle sitting in the bridge.

“Well,” Hobbie remarked. “That was interesting.”
 * Over Socorro

Milya emerged slowly from her stateroom sporting swathes of bacta bandages under the loose set of coveralls she was wearing. It had been three hours since their harrowing run through the volcano, which had allowed Jorge to pull the Silent Surprise back into orbit and her to rest and treat her burns. Buckling on her charred utility belt, she made her way to the lounge and sat down. It was quiet aside from the whirs and hums of normal shipboard activity—she was alone for the moment, able to sit peacefully in the lounge and absorb its muted cyan and white colors. Milya relaxed, knowing that her tired, aching body was well overdue for a long rest, but she also still had too much to do before she could sleep. Cassi and Mithunir soon joined her, similarly adorned in bandages of their own.

“We should consider ourselves fortunate to have survived that,” Milya said. “Whoever put that map there, they certainly didn’t make it easy to find.”

“No, they didn’t, but I’m kind of wondering how we got out of there also,” Cassi answered. “How did you tell Jorge and Annita to fly down the volcano to pick us up?”

“I learned a new technique recently that lets me project images of myself across time and space. It’s like a Force version of a holocom. It might have other applications, but I can’t seem to do it except in a meditative state. I’d show you, but I’m too tired right now.”

“So that’s how you contacted Jorge and Annita?”

“Yes, I projected an image of myself to them. Must have frightened them pretty badly. Then I explained everything and used the Force to guide them to the volcano we were underneath. Never done it before, but it worked out. I just hope that little expedition was worth it. Did the holocam at least survive?”

“It did,” Cassi said. “Though I’m afraid the holos individually don’t seem to convey much meaning. I asked Annita to clean up the data, see if she could make sense of it.”

As if on cue, Jorge and Annita entered from the bridge. Annita held a datacard with a triumphant smile on her face.

“While you three were cleaning up, I took a look at the data from your holocam,” she said.

“Did you find anything?” Cassi asked.

“I did,” Annita told them, slotting the datacard into a holoprojector mounted on the center of the table that the others were sitting around. “On their own, the holos don’t make much sense.”

She pressed a button and different-tinted holos floated into view above the table, each one resembling the galaxy, but far more sparsely populated with stars.

“However, when you overlay them on top of each other, that’s where it gets interesting,” Jorge said.

Leaning forward, he pressed another button and the three separate holos coalesced into a single representation that adequately resembled the galaxy.

“Now, here it is with that last one,” Annita said, hitting one final control.

A red arc traced its way across the galaxy from one star near the Outer Rim to another one clear in the Unknown Regions.

“What two stars are those?” Milya asked.

“I did a search across the past thousand years to account for gravitational drift and galactic rotation, but I wasn’t able to find anything within five light years,” Annita replied. “The fact that one of the stars is in the Unknown Regions doesn’t help.”

“That’s when I thought that the map you recorded might be older than that,” Jorge said. “So I pulled a program from Sarth’s database to progressively go back in time and see how long ago the map was made. It uses some extrapolation, but it’s fairly accurate.”

He manipulated the controls and the galaxy holo spun to reflect his adjustments.

“I had to go back 38,000 years. That’s a lot of celestial mechanics,” Jorge said. “But I finally got a hit.”

The origin of the arc now rested firmly on a star. Jorge hit another button and the holo of a galaxy was replaced by a representation of a star system featuring a red dwarf star orbited by a pale blue gas giant and two small rocky worlds.

“This is the Jebuan system,” he said. “It’s a remote system in Wild Space tucked away inside a shell nebula and only been surveyed once decades ago—and it’s a dead end as far as hyperroutes are concerned.”

“What about the planet on the other end of the arc?” Milya asked. “I seem to recall that this system was the starting point.”

“It terminates in a pretty ordinary main sequence star, but we haven’t been able to find a matching record to go with it,” Jorge said. “Kind of surprising.”

“Atlaradis was always said to be a hidden place,” Mithunir murmured.

“Let’s not move on past the Jebuan system too quickly,” Annita cut in. “There’s something else of interest you ought to know.”

“What’s that?” Cassi asked, noting the knowing look on Annita’s face.

“Remember how I said it had been surveyed once, decades ago? The survey team that did it was Samtel Kraen and Lena Quee.”

“Sarth’s and Selu’s parents,” Milya realized aloud.

“Now, there’s no record of any kind of ancient map in their survey report. The system is promising for mining and the explorers’ account tells of a thoroughly inhospitable world, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“The system you speak of will lead us to Atlaradis,” Mithunir promised.

Milya frowned, giving him a skeptical look.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked. “There was no indication of a hyperroute there in the report—it’s a dead end.”

“And there was no indication of a map being tucked away on Socorro, yet what did we just find?” Mithunir replied with assurance. “It will be there, just as my visions showed me.”

“Well, I guess we know where we’re headed next,” Jorge said. “It’ll take a few days to reach the Jebuan system—like I said, it’s out of the way.”

Milya opened her mouth to voice the doubts that had sprung to mind when the map had been revealed, but closed it again without saying anything. If nothing else, it was worth investigating and if she was right and this was all for nothing, then she would be vindicated upon their arrival in the system. They had followed Mithunir’s visions and clues so far, and it had led them to the map. It was becoming more and more likely that this entire quest really was an ancient path leading to a hidden planet, or an elaborate trap—Mithunir had navigated all of the challenges on Socorro with relative ease. In any event, Milya knew that incessant vigilance would be the best course of action, particularly as they neared the Jebuan system.

Jorge, Annita, and Cassi rose, taking the navigational data with them to the bridge to lay in the course for the Jebuan system. Mithunir sat quietly at the table for a while, then nodded to Milya and headed to his cabin.

Milya waited alone in the lounge until she sensed that Mithunir was sound asleep, then sealed him inside his cabin and headed to her own bed. She would rest while they were in hyperspace so she would be fully rested for whatever this next leg on their strange journey had in store.

Little did she know that despite her own vigilance against traps, the most dangerous threat posed to her and her companions was one she had no chance of sensing, one that watched and followed even as the Silent Surprise left the Socorro system and entered hyperspace.


 * Yuuzhan Vong grand cruiser Bloodthirster

The villip everted as the attendant that had brought it to his chambers handed it to Tsaruuk, revealing the vulpine visage of Yiu Shac. Though it was tattooed and scarred, marked by numerous implantations, Tsaruuk found it to be the loveliest face he had ever beheld. The communiqué from his mate was enough to brighten the pensive mood he had been beguiled with since the inconclusive engagement he had fought with the infidel fleet over Rishi.

He had secluded himself in his chambers, leaving only to study the blaze bug displays of the battle over and over again, obsessed with analyzing the ships and tactics of the infidels he had fought, the infidels that had almost killed him. He had been overconfident and it had cost him and his forces dearly. Tsaruuk swore he would not make the same mistake again. However, this message from Yiu Shac would provide a few welcome moments of diversion from his labors. He idly waved the attendant away as he sat down on the hau polyp bed.

“You may speak freely, my mate,” he said. “Make your report.”

“We have traced the infidel jeedai ship to the world of Socorro, where several of our operatives were lost several months ago,” she said. “They journeyed into the desert, then several of them disappeared underground. Their ship later flew into a volcano.”

“Did they survive?” Tsaruuk asked.

“They did. The machine-ship emerged minutes later as the volcano erupted. It is possible they used their sorcery to make it do so. Then they jumped to darkspace. We are in pursuit.”

“Have they made contact with other jeedai?”

“Not since they left Ord Pardron, though this vessel lacks the equipment to listen to their infidel machine communications. There is no sign that they know of our pursuit.”

“And when you find them?” Tsaruuk asked. “You did not attack on Socorro?”

“No,” Yiu Shac answered, her chin rising in mild indignation. “it would be unwise to fight them yet. I am hoping they are heading to their jeedai refuge.”

“Very well. Let us hope your patience is rewarded. You appear to be having more success than I, so far.”

That was an admission Tsaruuk would never make to any other warrior, in front of any other warrior. However, he knew Yiu Shac would not treat his statement as a confession of weakness and so words otherwise absent from his vernacular emerged from his tattered lips.

“What has happened?” she asked.

“We received our reinforcements and proceeded to attack the infidels over Rishi. We were crushing them, so I sent ground troops to attack the main city while our warriors boarded the infidel flagship. Never have I made so great a mistake.”

He took a deep breath, the weight of his failure riding heavily on his hunched shoulders, etching itself into his furrowed brow. Tsaruuk, who had always prided himself on being detached, pragmatic, and contemplative, had let his baser instincts triumph. Even recounting what had transpired to someone he trusted as implicitly as Yiu Shac was painful.

“They surprised you,” she surmised. “Something unexpected?”

He nodded curtly.

“The infidels had another larger fleet they brought in from darkspace right on top of the battle. They sent forces to board the flagship we were seizing, including more jeedai and armored fighters covered in their blasphemous weapons. They also landed ground troops and wiped out many of the landed forces who were not expecting an attack. Kroi Taak is dead, as are those I sent to seize the planet’s leaders.”

“And where were you when all this happened?” Yiu Shac inquired.

“I let my zeal for battle overtake me. I was boarding the infidel flagship with a group of warriors. My villip was lost early in the fight so there I was, a commander unable to command or receive information. Only narrowly did I retreat to take command of the fleet again.”

The last words were spoken with disgust, not at the notion of retreat, but that Tsaruuk had only barely managed to salvage a poor situation when he could have averted it from the bridge of Bloodthirster. Tsaruuk was still mentally punishing himself for his failures and daily ministrations on a throne seat had helped him add physical pain to the crushing setback his pride had taken. His poor decisions continued to gnaw at his confidence, and this sort of confusion and defeated spirit was unbecoming of a true Yuuzhan Vong warrior.

“You made a mistake. It happens,” Yiu Shac told him flatly. “The best warriors find ways to fight back from such a mistake and turn the tables on the enemy. You are one such warrior.”

“Yes, but this latest defeat will give more voice to those who would poison the warmaster against me,” Tsaruuk reminded her.

“Then ignore them,” she told him bluntly. “You must focus on what is important now: defeating the infidels on Rishi. Only then can you purge the stain of your defeat.”

“And yet I must keep in mind the bigger picture,” Tsaruuk said. “The infidels must be defeated without undue cost to our forces, stretched thin as they are. This will take all my cunning—they have been full of surprises thus far.”

“Spy them out and learn their tricks,” Yiu Shac advised. “Once you have done so, I know you. You will find their weaknesses and destroy them. I shall take care of the bigger picture for you.”

“You plan on bringing me the location of the jeedai refuge,” Tsaruuk said with a thin smile, full of evil anticipation. “I shall look forward to your success. May the gods shine upon your effort.”

“On that day, I will watch you crush the jeedai and then you shall receive the true escalation you deserve,” Yiu Shac promised.

Tsaruuk shook his head.

“I care not for advancement. My goal is to bring glory to the Yuuzhan Vong in battle and to do so in a manner that will advance the greater Yuuzhan Vong Empire.”

“I know, and it is what keeps you from being as short-sighted and selfish like so many other warriors,” Yiu Shac placated. “Yet by having greater responsibility, you may do more and bring more success to the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“We shall see,” Tsaruuk answered placidly. “These infidels are enough to occupy my current attention. I did not anticipate them having more reinforcements and our intendants can tell us little about them.”

Talking with Yiu Shac had helped cleanse his mind of his worries, as sharing his burdens helped lift them from his shoulders. His mind was clear again, focused on conducting the campaign over Rishi. His next move was clearer to him now, as being able to bounce ideas and concerns off of her made it easier to think.

“That alone is something,” Yiu Shac countered. “It means they are not major players in galactic affairs, or else they are such a secret force that nobody knows of them and thus highly valuable.”

“I had surmised as much,” Tsaruuk told her. “Their people are not all one species; the ones I saw on their infidel ship were mostly human. That means little in itself. If this is a secret force, I would expect them to be better equipped.”

“Indeed,” Yiu Shac agreed.

“These infidels use their heretical machines to gain an advantage, but they are also soft. They risked many lives in an attempt to save the lives of others and their tactics are to either strike from range or with machines, or to strike so suddenly and forcefully that they overwhelm their enemy quickly.”

“Typical jeedai tactics,” Yiu Shac pointed out.

“This fleet is not even majorly composed of jeedai,” Tsaruuk told her. “But they are clearly their allies. It may be an independent fleet that serves the jeedai since they no longer trust the New Republic since the fall of Coruscant.”

“And yet they attacked you anyway despite your greater numbers?” she asked.

“I think they were surprised to be caught here,” Tsaruuk said.

“Are you sure? Do not underestimate these infidels,” she warned.

“I am sure,” Tsaruuk said. “If they have the forces to defeat my fleet, it seems likely that they would have used them. The clues are apparent in the initial engagement—they had the forces to completely wipe out the containment force and chose not to after fighting through our ships. Their fleet then remained here until we engaged them and did not initially coordinate well with the New Republic infidels on the ground. They are after something else and only by our aggression have they been brought to battle. However, they are infidels that dare stand in our path and I will deal with them.”

He clenched his right arm into a fist, marveling at the tension in the sinews caused by exertion. His eyes noted each detail, carefully evaluating the limb for any sign of weakness. There was none, just as it should be.

“And how will you do this? Your force is not appreciably superior to theirs or you would have already forced battle.”

Tsaruuk nodded appraisingly at his mate’s deduction. In just a few moments, she had already started down the same path that he had been following for the last few days, which had led to his formulation of a new stratagem. Yiu Shac had learned well from him.

“That is true,” he said. “In space, I have the least advantage. The warmaster has provided me with more ground troops. In space, I must utilize the Peace Brigade and they are of little worth in battle. Nearly half of them were lost in the first battle alone. However, our spies report that their ground forces are much weaker than their fleet. It is on the ground that we will attack.”

“What is your plan?”

“Our fleet will venture forth and distract the infidel ships while our forces overwhelm a city away from their main encampment. Either we will capture all the infidels there and use them as leverage, or they will have to leave their fortifications where we can ambush them. There are many scattered Yuuzhan Vong forces on the ground already; I have been in contact with them. They will harass, distract, and gather intelligence.”

“It is a sound plan. What could go wrong with it?”

The question was a direct one, bereft of flattery. The frank evaluation and concern for contingencies was characteristic of Yiu Shac—Tsaruuk knew she was best impressed by results, not appearances.

“The infidels could choose to not engage us with their fleet, or they could use some kind of weapon that inflicts widespread devastation on the ground.”

Yiu Shac gave no response, waiting to hear how Tsaruuk had already planned for these eventualities.

“If they do not maneuver to meet us in space, we will be in position to land troops behind their main encampment. And our assaults on the ground will not employ massed troops. We will move in small columns, hard to detect and wipe out.”

“Will that not hamper your efforts if they attack in force?”

Tsaruuk gave her a thin smile.

“We will have plenty of notice of their coming from our scouts. I have already determined where we will give battle if they attack. It is a trio of valleys, filled with trees and rivers. It will be good cover for our warriors and easy to spot infidel machines moving through the mountain passes.”

“And what of a partial response? If they only send out raiding parties that are likewise hard to detect?”

“That would be the best case of all. Since my failure on their flagship, I lost all our prisoners. Raiding parties could be captured easily.”

Yiu Shac gave him an approving look.

“Your plan is sound. Are you, though?”

Tsaruuk nodded resolutely.

“I will absolve myself of my previous mistake.”

“Be careful not to let your personal ambition get in your way, Tsaruuk,” she warned.

“I told you, I have no personal ambition.”

She laughed, a harsh guttural sound even through the villip.

“Not for your own advancement, but I know you. I know that your pride will not allow you to be bested. Do not let your desire to correct your earlier mistake blind you from doing what is best for the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“I will be mindful of that,” Tsaruuk said firmly.

Yiu Shac shot a piercing look at him.

“You are always so direct, so driven,” she said. “When you seize upon a task, it consumes you until you are finished with it.”

“A sign of great focus,” he replied.

“But it also means that your speech is colored by nothing else,” she pointed out.

“It is my duty,” came the return.

“It is always your duty that is on your mind, Tsaruuk, yet you have other ones as well,” Yiu Shac said.

“Such as?”

“You have a duty to the warriors under you, to be a good example of a wise Yuuzhan Vong warrior. This brooding of yours is unbecoming. And you have a duty to me and to our domain, one that we have yet to explore.”

Tsaruuk saw through her words, cutting through to her true meaning.

“You desire a child?”

She gave him a curt nod.

“This work in the field, sowing discord and eliminating infidels, it suits me well, yet at times, I wonder what it would be like to raise a child. Your child.”

“That is yet another challenge to undertake,” he said, his voice softening a bit. “And one I would be pleased to explore with you—but only after this business is finished.”

She sighed, knowing that Tsaruuk was implacable when his mind was made up.

“I knew you would say as much. May the gods bring you swift victory.”

“And a successful hunt for you,” he returned. “Do-ro’ik vong pratte.”

Yiu Shac inclined her head slightly and the villip everted, leaving Tsaruuk alone in his quarters. Though he remained contemplative, the conversation had renewed his vigor and lifted his spirits. When he strode through the living passageways of Bloodthirster, his head was lifted higher, his gaze more piercing and alive.


 * Rishi

Akleyn Kraen sat at the table staring at the datapad with bloodshot eyes, attempting to focus on yet another mind-numbing form he had to fill out. He was in a small break room in the medcenter typically reserved for doctors and medics to get a few minutes’ respite from the cries of the wounded and the gruesome injuries. This late at night, there was nobody in the room but him; the other three tables were deserted and dark. The other volunteers and medics were either going about their business on the graveyard shift, or else had turned in for the night. A glowpanel suspended over his table provided the only illumination in the room, but its light barely reached the pale green walls or the cabinets and counters lining them. The alarm klaxon and comm system were mercifully not wailing after several hours of constant chatter earlier today. The conservator in the corner hummed quietly in the background, but otherwise, it was silent, just as he preferred it.

With token effort, he scrolled through the list, marking what supplies he had used during today’s operations, reviewing charts for each of his patients that he had operated on that day. For someone with his near-perfect memory, the task was mere busywork and required no mental effort. Idly reaching over for the flask that was resting beside the datapad, he took a long pull of the whiskey. Dulling his mind with alcohol was not likely to aid in his concentration on finishing up the day’s datawork. However, it would help blank out the images of the screaming wounded and dying that had been in front of him all day as he worked mechanically, like a droid, to try and save them even as their life had poured out on his operating table. Whether they had lived or died, the result had been the same. Clear the table and prep for the next one. Over and over again for hours on end, a never-ending deluge of broken bloodied bodies.

Akleyn swiped his thumb against the datapad to scroll down to the next patient’s chart. His eyes were burning from dryness and from having been awake for thirty hours—now that brought back memories from residency. He wiped them, but apparently his fingers had traces of whiskey on them, for the motion only brought a new, more intense burning. He swore and rose, getting water from the sink to rinse out his agitated eyes. Soon, the burning sensation abated and he turned to the table, running his fingers through his hair—already mussed from hours of wearing a surgical cap—and taking another swig of whiskey. Just as he picked up the datapad to begin his one-hundred-twelfth attempt at concentrating on finishing his datawork, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Not normal ones either—whoever it was definitely had a pronounced hobble.

He looked up to see a human woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a pair of clean but ill-fitting medcenter pajamas, one of the countless sets issued to patients after surgery. Her face was haggard, her brown hair mussed, but she seemed alert enough.

“What’s the matter, Doc, couldn’t sleep?” she asked him, her voice hoarse and raspy, no doubt from thirst.

“What are you doing out of your bed?” Akleyn asked, trying to get his buzzed mind to remember her name.

“I was thirsty,” she said. “Nobody was at the nurse’s station.”

Akleyn sighed and rose, pulling a disposable cup from a sleeve mounted on the side of the conservator and walking over to the sink.

“If you don’t mind, Doc, I’d rather have what you’ve been drinking,” she said, licking her lips.

He turned and gave her an arch look mixed with incredulity that she would even ask him for whiskey in her state.

“If the alcohol hasn’t killed you yet, it won’t kill me either,” she replied to his unasked question. “I can hold my liquor and I’ve been hurt worse. Pour me a round, unless you’re not in the sharing mood.”

Akleyn wasn’t and he almost said so, but something about her forwardness told him that the easiest course would be to acquiesce. Grudgingly, he sat back down and filled the disposable cup halfway with whiskey.

“Have a seat,” he said, indicating to the one of the other chairs at the table as he picked up the datapad again. “Enjoy your drink.”

To punctuate the statement, Akleyn tipped the flask back for yet another swig of the fiery whiskey, savoring the sensation as it flowed down his throat.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting down next to him and taking a much less ambitious sip while Akleyn locked his eyes on the datapad, attempting to peruse its contents for the one-hundred thirteenth time.

“I’m Anja,” she offered after a moment’s silence. “Anja Gallandro.”

Akleyn stopped as she spoke, deliberately choosing not to slide his eyes off the datapad for a full two seconds before looking at her. She obviously was not getting the hint that he wasn’t in a conversational mood. What he wanted to do was finish this datawork and get to sleep so he would be refreshed in the morning. And what he really wanted to do but couldn’t was get extremely drunk. He’d have to settle for being only slightly intoxicated so he could still function in the morning.

“That’s nice,” he said.

Undeterred, Anja tried again.

“Long day?”

Akleyn rolled his eyes. Days on Rishi were always the same length, as they were on most worlds he’d heard of. That expression had never made sense to him. She shook her head hopelessly.

“You really are a grouch,” she said. “I’m surprised you can keep up your ‘caring doctor’ routine for so many hours at a time.”

Akleyn glared at her, but said nothing, quickly dropping his gaze back to this datapad. Another long pause followed, during which he finally managed to get through the chart he’d been staring at for the last ten minutes.

“Do you hate being here?” she asked him bluntly.

He looked up balefully at her, then took another pull of whiskey, before returning his attention to the datapad.

“Is it that hard to talk to people outside of work?” Anja inquired at last.

It was, but Akleyn did not care to broach that subject. Not with his father, not with his mother, and certainly not with this impertinent offworlder patient. However, she had finally managed to get under his skin.

“You’re lucky I didn’t just send you back to bed,” he said. “You got your drink—what more do you want?”

“Just trying to make conversation,” she replied. “What’d that ever do to you?”

“A lot,” he said huffily, the words escaping before he could stop himself.

He paused, attempting to recover his composure.

“Words are powerful things. I don’t toss them around lightly.”

He returned his focus to the datapad, moving to the next chart. As fate would have it, it happened to be hers. Basic information—name, blood type, height, weight—he skimmed over that. Apparently he had been the operating surgeon for her two days prior. Injuries—she’d had lacerations in both her legs, and he’d had to reconstruct ligaments in her right leg, including the tendons over both knees. Painful and complete with a lengthy rehabilitation process if she wanted to walk again normally.

“You know, for a doctor, you sure are ignoring that large infected wound you have,” she said. “Right in the general heart area.”

Akleyn glared at her again.

“I have nothing of the sort,” he demurred.

“Maybe not physically,” she said.

Now thoroughly annoyed, Akleyn nevertheless did not succumb to his vexation. Instead, he adopted his doctor’s voice and changed the subject.

“How’s your knee?”

“It hurts but it’s healing,” she said.

“Let me see.”

She propped her leg up and Akleyn tugged her pants leg to the side to expose her knee via the slits strategically placed in the pajamas for such a purpose. Retrieving a medisensor from his pocket, he ran it over the cast that had covered her right leg from ankle to mid thigh. The tendon seemed to still be stable and the surrounding tissue was healing, with no sign of secondary infection or necrotic flesh. Still, her being up and walking around were not helping matters.

“Looks okay,” he said in a kindlier tone as he gently set her leg back down, “but only if you stay in bed and rest instead of traipsing around harassing doctors.”

“All right, Doc,” she said, draining the last of her whiskey and rising.

She turned and started to hobble off towards her room, but couldn’t resist the urge to throw one last jab over her shoulder.

“Must be nice to just dismiss all your problems like that. What happens when they don’t listen?”

Akleyn looked up from his datapad one last time.

“Good night, Anja,” he said.

She shook her again and turned, knowing that further conversation was futile. Akleyn glared after her for a second longer, then reached for his almost-empty flask. Maybe a few more pulls of whiskey would blot the memory of her annoying probing questions from his mind.

21
“Is the sensor net calibrated yet, J7?” Sarth asked from his workstation.

“Almost, Sarth,” the droid replied. “Running final diagnostics now. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

“Good,” Sarth answered. “This shouldn’t take too long. Once these are set, we can call the Jon Antilles for pickup and head home.”

“Agreed,” J7 said amiably. “Interfacing the mines with the sensor net should only require another three hours after that.”

“Make sure you allocate time for lunch as well,” Sarth said easily. “Just a few more hours to go.”

Sarth set to work, uploading the last bundle of control algorithms into the computer that would govern the sensor net and network of dark mass shadow mines around the barren planetessimal they were on. Along with a small crew of engineers, technicians and droids, they had put a week’s worth of work into installing a generator that would run the sensor network and communications towers without giving away their position. A total of sixteen DMS mines had been planted around the planetessimal and now all Sarth, J7, and the six technicians had to do was finish activating the sensor network and link the mines into the sensorse. Then, they would take their Javelin shuttle back up to the waiting Ataru-class gunship in orbit and head back to Yanibar, having successfully created a defensive shield that would protect this prized secret of the Yanibar refuge.

Looking over his shoulder, Sarth took a moment to glance at the iconic tower rising from the depths of the cratered floor. Funny how he’d never thought to learn the name for the place—he, Selu, Sarth, and Milya knew it simply as Revan’s Tower. It was here, in this potent nexus, that the spirits of ancient Jedi had instructed them—or in Selu’s case instructed further—in the ways of the Force. It was here that they had received their mandate to unify and protect Force-users during Palpatine’s reign of terror. The knowledge in the data banks maintained by the ancient droid T3-M4 inside the tower had also yielded information on the mass shadow generator, which had led to the development of the dark mass shadow mines.

For that reason, it had been designated of sufficient importance to be protected with a DMS mine network. If any ship not bearing the proper authorization attempted to arrive here, it would be detected and a DMS mine would detonate, barring the way to the planetessimal except for a six-month journey on sublight engines and sending an alarm to Yanibar Guard headquarters.

Suddenly, his comlink crackled. Fixated on entering the complicated encryption algorithm, Sarth ignored it at first, but it buzzed again, indicating a priority message. He picked it up.

“This is Sarth.”

“Captain Ramos here. We just detected a ship dropping out of hyperspace near here. It’s not one of ours.”

“What?” Sarth exclaimed.

“This place is far from known hyperroutes and it’s far too large to be a hyperscout ship or smuggler ship.”

“What kind of ship is it?” Sarth asked.

“We don’t know; it’s on the far side of the planetessimal and our sensors are on passive mode. It’s significantly larger than the Antilles, I’ll say that much, and definitely not a YGF ship. Not sure what their intentions are.”

“Understood. J7, bring the sensor net online,” Sarth told him.

“That risks detection,” the droid observed.

Sarth shook his head, a faraway look in his eye as his mind registered a telltale sensation he was all too familiar with.

“They already know we’re here.”


 * In orbit

All things considered, Ariada had to admit to being impressed by the Umbra’s Edge. The converted and heavily-modified Nebulon-B frigate was large enough to pack some serious firepower without alarming most port authorities with its arrival. Of course, most Nebulon frigates didn’t contain meditation chambers, scientific laboratories, or arsenals of various illegal weapons tucked away in their hulls, but that was hardly apparent from even a detailed scan. The crew was almost entirely subservient to the Dark Jedi, in particular Therior, and made no attempt to speak unless spoken to, and even then, only in truncated sentences.

She stood on the bridge now beside Therior, Krakadas, and Aspra Serpaddis, gazing out the viewport at the distant planetessimal that they were closing in on.

“So this is the world you spoke to me of, the world that contains the final resting place of Revan,” Therior said. “And it contains his teachings, his knowledge?”

“Some of them, at least,” Ariada said. “I have never been here, but I know many who have learned things from this place. If they are right, it may be possible to increase one’s strength in the Force from this world.”

“I sense nothing,” Therior said dismissively. “This had better not be a trap.”

“That is because of the Force illusion,” Ariada told him. “It hides locations from any type of scan or Force probe unless you know the technique for seeing through them.”

“And you know how to do this?”

“I do.”

“Show me,” he said.

She nodded, closing her eyes and stretching out her hand toward the world.

“Think of it like a frequency. The illusion masks everything behind it with a false impression, like noise in a signal. But if you can sense the proper frequency, sense what is behind the illusion, you can see through it.”

“How?” Therior asked bluntly.

Ariada struggled to verbalize the technique needed to see through the Force illusions—it was not an easy skill to learn and she had never taught it to someone before. Moreover, the Force illusion on this world was extraordinarily strong, stronger than any she had ever seen before. Therior was not prone to patience with her, though. One stride was sufficient to plant him within grabbing distance. He reached out and clamped one arm around the back of her neck, squeezing tightly. The embedded slivers of crystal sent waves of agony roaring up her spine into her skull. Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden as she gasped in pain, but Therior only increased the pressure, threatening to crack vertebrae.

“You’re hurting me,” Ariada choked out.

“You’re toying with me,” he growled. “Where is this supposed Force locus you told me of? No more tricks.”

“Please. . . I. . . can’t focus when you’re. . . doing that,” Ariada managed.

Her mind was spinning, making concentration impossible. All she knew was the pure agony, that somehow Therior was provoking the crystals in her neck to inflict immense pain.

“I am tired of your excuses,” he said, hurling her to the ground where she collapsed practically sobbing. “You have two minutes.”

Ariada slowly picked herself off the deck to a kneeling position, scrunching her eyes closed as she fought against the residual waves of pain. Anger rose within her, coupled with indignation, and she harnessed it, using it to sharpen her senses and give her clarity of purpose. And with strength from that anger, she found it.

“I sense it,” she said. “I sense the hidden tower.”

Therior immediately knew the veracity of her claim due to his Force senses.

“Show me,” he said.

Ariada wilted, her shoulders slumping helplessly.

“I. . . I’m not sure how to,” she admitted. “I’ve never taught this technique before.”

“Easily solved,” Therior grunted.

Reaching down, he grabbed her by the collar and hauled her upright, wheeling her into the viewport.

“Hold still,” he commanded, placing both his hands on her skull and staring directly into her eyes.

Entranced, Ariada was forced to obey as Therior exploded a spike of pure Force power into her mental defenses, driving it through them without regard for the trauma he was causing. She was barely aware of screaming, barely aware that her mental barriers were being swept away, that her mind was completely exposed to his senses. He bore deep, his awareness delving into the parts of her mind she considered the most secret, then exploded outward, spreading through her consciousness. Only now did she understand why the crew was so loyal to Therior and yet so seemingly dull and mechanical. He had drained their individual will and replaced it through their own through some kind of Force domination and now he was doing the same to her. There was a burning sensation in her eyes to accompany the hammering inside her skull and she felt herself being turned around as Therior saw through her eyes, through her senses. She felt his elation as he sensed what she sensed and then she was whirled around to face him again. The terrible hands that were clenched against her skull as conduits for him to erode her mental defenses remained, tearing through any resistance she could attempt to make.

“I had hoped to avoid doing this to you, but have left me no choice,” Therior glowered, his eyes now burning red and utterly void of any humanity.

He clamped down harder and her eyes widened involuntarily from the surge of Force energy he sent into her mind.

“I could destroy your will right now, Ariada. I could sap everything from your mind and make you my slave, like the rest of the fools on this ship, but that would leave you broken.”

He smiled, savoring the total domination he had over her mind.

“Or I could kill you. You are already close enough. Perhaps you have enough presence of mind left to feel your heart racing? One little twitch would be enough to push the muscle over the edge. It would collapse and you would die.”

“However, you were telling the truth about the Force locus here and that is not how I reward loyalty. You have passed your tests, Ariada, and I give you your mind back.”

With that, he released her, throwing her to the deck again. She started to curl into a defensive fetal position where she could cry and sort out the complete violation of her mind, but she knew that would only be seen as a sign of weakness. If she wanted to regain any standing she had had with these Dark Jedi, she had to rise. She had to show no weakness, regardless of the fresh psychic trauma that had just ravaged her mind. None of the Dark Jedi offered her assistance in getting up and she would not have taken if they did. She was strong enough on her own, and maybe that was the lesson she had needed to learn.

She did not need these Dark Jedi. Their resources, those would be helpful, but she didn’t need them. In fact, all they had done to her so far was torture and torment her, treating her worse than their servants, despite her taking them to this sacred place, a place that most people in the Yanibar refuge didn’t even know existed. They were not worthy of her aid, would not understand the purity of her cause against the Yuuzhan Vong. And so, she added them to the list of enemies to be purged from the galaxy. She would destroy them and take their resources, then use those resources to defeat the Yuuzhan Vong. And she would not be a slave, a plaything to the destructive whims of some tyrannical Dark Jedi.

Ariada rose, even though her mind was still reeling. Even though her body was trembling and her heart racing. She rose because she had to, because it was her way of showing her strength. She rose because doing anything else meant admitting defeat and subservience, and Ariada Cerulaen was nobody’s slave.

“I sensed the locus, and. . . a Jedi there too,” Therior breathed triumphantly. “A worthy capture for our cause. There is a ship in orbit as well.”

He turned to Ariada.

“Your Yanibar Guard?”

She nodded, unsure if she could manage to speak with the necessary clarity and strength to make a good impression. Thankfully, Therior made no further attempt to invasively probe her mind again, but if he had, she would have been ready for him. His mental powers were considerable, but they had been buoyed by her being caught offguard. If he attempted to do so again, she was confident she could at least partially resist him.

“Most excellent,” he said. “Helmsman, set a course for that planet at the coordinates I provide.”

“Yes, Master,” came the dull, uninspired reply.

“Master, we have been pinged by a sensor net,” another officer reported.

Therior whirled on Ariada.

“They know we’re here,” he said angrily, advancing towards her.

“Jam the communications,” she said before he could touch her. “And stop the ship from escaping.”

Therior considered inflicting further harm on her, but stayed his hand—for the moment.

“Do it,” he ordered gruffly, before delivering a final warning to Ariada. “If this ends badly for us, I will do things to you that will make earlier seem mild by comparison. The Jedi down there will serve as a poignant example of my capabilities.”


 * On the surface 

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Sarth asked over the comlink.

“It’s a heavily-modified Nebulon frigate,” Captain Ramos answered grimly. “It outguns us by a fair margin and their jamming our signal. We’ll have to make a run for it before it gets here and call for help. I’m signaling everyone on the surface to get to the shuttle.”

“Not that simple, Captain,” Sarth said. “I sensed a presence, something evil aboard that ship.”

“What do you mean?”

“I sensed the dark side. Someone on that ship is very strong in the dark side of the Force,” Sarth told him. “They know the value of this world.”

“And what is that? All I know is that it’s a high-priority location.”

“This world is a nexus for the Force. Spirits of the ancient Jedi live here and there are secrets stored here from ages past, Captain. There is immense knowledge and power to be had here. Only its secrecy and our guardianship have protected it from evil influence.”

“So it’d be bad if a darksider landed here.”

“Immeasurably bad,” Sarth agreed.

“Sarth, if I may venture a suggestion,” J7 offered.

“What is it?”

“We have just deployed a significant network of DMS mines around here,” the droid said. “Perhaps we should use them?”

“If the proximity signal was active, then we could,” Sarth pointed out. “But the mines aren’t interfaced with the sensor net or the communication uplinks yet. We can’t activate them. It was designed this way to prevent an accidental detonation.”

“The manual signal protocols are already loaded,” J7 said. “Presumably Kraechar Arms used them to verify each mine was operational.”

“A manual detonation?” Sarth said. “That would have to be conducted from here, though.”

“I understand that,” J7 said. “I volunteer to stay behind and activate the mines.”

“J7, you can’t just do that,” Sarth protested.

“It is the logical choice,” the droid answered. “Jedi, even Dark Jedi, cannot sense droids as well as they can sense other Jedi. There are insufficient consumables for a human to survive several months—I can use the power cells here if I need to recharge or simply enter standby mode. Also, I have one other advantage: if facing capture, I have the luxury of a very comprehensive self-destruct device.”

Sarth grimaced, knowing the droid was right, but unwilling to abandon J7-A0.

“Go, Sarth,” the droid told him, laying a metallic hand on his arm. “This is my choice. The Yanibar refuge has given me everything. I would like to give something back.”

“You’ve already given enough,” Sarth said.

“Not yet,” J7 replied. “The colony needs you to warn them of this danger. You alone can tell them what you sensed up there. You must go, now.”

Sarth’s face was contorted with pain as he wrestled against what he knew was the only logical choice. Finally, he relented and headed for the door of the small control bunker that had been erected several hundred meters from the tower.

“We’re coming back for you,” he promised. “With the entire fleet if that’s what it takes.”

“Go, Sarth. Tell Rhiannon goodbye for me if I don’t make it,” the droid said, then toggled the control that slid the door closed before Sarth could say anything else.

Shoulders shaking, Sarth turned and ran back to the Javelin shuttle parked nearby where the rest of the technicians and engineers were waiting for him. Clambering inside, he couldn’t help but look back at the bunker where J7 was standing by to activate the DMS mines once they were clear. Tears filled his vision and he clenched his fists helplessly as the shuttle’s repulsorlifts whined and the craft lifted off, heading for the Jon Antilles in a desperate race against the marauding warship.


 * Umbra’s Edge

The warship closed on the barren planetessimal until it filled the viewport. The four Dark Jedi watched intently, though only Therior and Ariada could see behind the concealing illusion. Soon, they would be in reach of both the Jedi and the Force locus that the planet held.

“Master, a small ship has left the planet’s surface,” reported one of the officers.

“Prepare tractor beams,” Therior ordered. “Deploy mines around this world.”

The crew complied. Dozens of stealthy space mines shot away from pods to take up positions in low orbit around the planetessimal. The bridge hummed as the tractor beams—another custom modification—were brought online, waiting for the target to come into range.

“They will not escape now and any help they call for will be useless,” Aspra said aloud. “Those mines are filled with baradium. If they trigger, the resulting explosion would wipe out much of the surface.”

Ariada’s brow wrinkled at the thought of such destructive power being so wantonly and callously unleashed, but that was not all that troubled her. Something was not right. From what she knew of the Yanibar Guard Fleet, there was never a warship stationed here, and this vessel was too large to be a private ship. In fact, judging by the Force presences she’d observed, it was likely an Ataru-class gunship, particularly since the sensor officers hadn’t detected it. Gathering her memories as best as she could in her traumatized mental state, Ariada tried to sift through them and decipher the fragmented clues into a single clear holo.

A sensor net. An Ataru-class gunship, a vessel largely known for its ability to deploy large amounts of torpedoes. A Jedi here with them. A suspicion began gnawing at her mind and she stretched with her Force senses, the mere effort causing her to tremble and perspire. She touched the mind of the other Force-user and realized it was one known to her. Sarth Kraen, the technically-brilliant head of Kraechar Arms. If he was out here, he was either seeking guidance or else he was setting up a defense system for the planetessimal. And based on the warship here, she had a good guess on what that system entailed—one that the Umbra’s Edge would have no defense against. Once trapped here, the ship would face the full wrath of the Yanibar Guard Fleet. The Dark Jedi would perish and so would she, or else face captivity on Yanibar again. That was unacceptable.

“Don’t pursue!” she called. “We need to leave.”

Therior whirled on her, a stormy expression on his face.

“I can sense the Force power down there, Ariada, and I will have it. You lead us here only to try and deny me this? Most unwise.”

“There’s a defense system here,” Ariada warned him. “One this ship is helpless against. If it activates, we’re doomed.”

“What are you talking about?” Therior demanded.

“There is no time to explain,” Ariada insisted. “We need to jump to lightspeed now. Away from the planet by at least a parsec.”

The planetessimal loomed closer and closer as the Umbra’s Edge vectored to skim over its surface to pursue the fleeing shuttle. Ariada sensed that it had met up with the Ataru-class gunship, which was now fleeing at maximum speed.

“She is not lying,” Aspra put in unexpectedly. “She has not lied in the past. If there is danger, we would be wise to heed her warning.”

Therior gave her one last murderous look, but checked himself at the last moment, his prudence winning out over his lust for power. Still, he could sense their quarry just beyond their reach.

“Lay in a course away from here,” he said. “We jump to hyperspace on my mark. Arm tractor beams.”

Suddenly, the ship lurched as an explosion rocked it, then three more in rapid succession. The shields flickered against the impact, their hazy energy field severely weakened by the damage.

“Nighthawks!” Ariada shouted, before she realized the other Dark Jedi had no idea what they were talking about. “Incoming missiles!”

She caught sight of the second salvo before it hit, eight stealthy missiles activating and arming, their rocket boosters accelerating them on terminal approaches with evasive patterns woven into them. Therior saw them as well and with a contemptuous wave of his hand, knocked four of them away with the Force. The other four slammed into the Umbra’s Edge. Two detonated harmlessly against the shields, but the resulting explosion overloaded the shield generators. The lights flickered, then the other two missiles slammed into the engine compartment of the Umbra’s Edge. The ship rolled and shuddered as lateral control was temporarily lost. The stern engine compartment vented atmosphere and burning gases into space alongside a spray of debris as the frigate slowed.

“Port engines damaged,” the engineer reported. “Speed reduced by thirty percent, attempting to stabilize.”

“Master, sensors report gravitic fluctuations rippling around us,” another officer informed them.

Ariada looked plaintively at Therior, knowing she could do little to influence his orders, but also painfully aware that every second’s delay could prove fatal. She bit her tongue, knowing that he would not listen to her nor would he stand to have his authority undermined.

“Go to lightspeed,” he ordered, just as the sensor board registered multiple detonations.

Ahead of them, Ariada felt the Force signatures she had sensed slip away as the Yanibar Guard ship jumped to hyperspace. The Umbra’s Edge vectored and wheeled clumsily, hampered by its damaged engine. She watched anxiously as the hyperdrive kicked in and the starlines elongated, only for the entire ship to be yanked back into realspace tumultuously.

The ship burst back into realspace without any semblance of control, tumbling end over end and over itself. The inertial compensators could not compensate for the tremendous deceleration and the occupants were hurled around throughout the ship. Therior and the other Dark Jedi save Ariada used their control of the Force to root themselves in place, protecting them from such painful injuries, but their hapless crewers were not so fortunate, nor was the ship itself. Structural beams groaned and bulkheads buckled as extreme torsional stresses were exerted upon them. The slender neck that connected the main forward compartment to the stern engine housing threatened to snap under the tremendous burden to which it was subjected.

Finally, its velocity slowed thanks to controlled pulses of maneuvering thrusters, Umbra’s Edge steadied its erratic flight, drifting through the stars. Ariada picked herself off the deck and clambered over to the flickering navigation display.

“Better than it could have been,” she said, her eyes dancing over the boards as she sought to interpret the data.

Therior was in a savage mood, furious at being robbed of his prizes and at the damage to his ship.

“Explain what that was,” he ordered her coldly.

“It’s a new type of mine that generates a mass shadow field,” she told him. “The Yanibar Guard recently developed them. When it goes off, it crushes anything in the vicinity and makes it inaccessible to hyperspace. We barely avoided being completely destroyed. As it is, we’re going to have to limp along at sublight for about a week to get out of the field before we can jump to hyperspace, during which we’ll have to evade the Yanibar Guard reinforcements that will be coming.”

He sneered.

“I don’t fear them.”

“You should at least respect them,” Ariada told him. “A single Niman-class warship could destroy this ship without even losing shield power.”

“Therior, the ship is badly damaged,” Aspra Serpaddis informed him. “Structural failures have occurred throughout the ship, the engines are damaged, and we have many casualties. We cannot stay here.”

Therior clenched both his fists, stomping up and down the deck, his rational mind battling once more with his desire to conquer and dominate.

“Very well,” he said. “Restore power to engines and get us out of this mass shadow field. Jump to lightspeed as soon as we can.”

However, he still had considerable spleen to vent and he turned on Ariada.

“As for you, you knew this weapon existed and you didn’t warn us of it?” he demanded. “How dare you?”

Ariada shrank back, seeing the menace in his eyes.

“I didn’t know they were deployed here,” she attempted to defend herself.

“I should kill you now for this,” he threatened her.

Ariada gave no reply, struggling with what to say to this psychopath.

“How do the mines work?” he asked.

“I don’t know all the technical details,” she told him. “I know what the theory is, but if you’re asking me to reverse-engineer something like that, it’s beyond what I can do.”

Therior roared in incoherent fury, hurling her across the room telekinetically. Her back slammed painfully into a bulkhead and hit the ground spasming, curling into a fetal position.

“You led us into a trap,” he shouted. “And now you’re useless!”

“No. . . wasn’t like that,” Ariada pleaded as she gasped for breath.

“Therior,” cut in the dry, sibilant voice of Aspra Serpaddis. “We would have sensed it if she was trying to trap us. There are no ships attacking us right now like there should be. She was trying to save us.”

Therior’s jaw tightened. It was clear he wanted to unleash his rage on Ariada, but the Thisspiassian spoke wisdom.

“Fine,” he said. “I will heed your counsel once more, Aspra Serpaddis. Get us out of this place as quickly as possible. I will be in my chambers meditating.”

“And Ariada?” Aspra Serpaddis asked.

Therior snorted contemptuously.

“She is not my concern. Do with her as you please; her life is yours.”

Whirling dramatically, he stalked off with an air of wounded self-importance, surrounded by a cloud of dark fury. As soon as the bridge doors closed after him, Aspra Serpaddis slithered over to Ariada. Extending a clawed hand, he floated her into the air as she twitched helplessly, obviously having sustained internal injuries from Therior’s harsh treatment and no longer able to maintain mental control after the traumatic invasion she’d experienced.

“Come Ariada,” Aspra Serpaddis said soothingly. “I shall see to it that you are healed and taken care of. We still have much work to do. Rest for now.”

He placed his hand on her forehead and a wave of blackness overwhelmed her, plunging her into the blissful rest of unconsciousness.


 * Rishi

Selu walked briskly into the tactical command center, showing his identicard to the sentry at the entrance before he was admitted. His face betrayed no sign of tiredness despite it being the middle of the night.

“What’s the situation?” he asked.

“Our scouts and sensor nets have detected numerous Yuuzhan Vong raiding parties landing near the city of Junro. It’s a smaller city, with only about thirty thousand inhabitants, hence it was spared the earlier rampages of the Yuuzhan Vong. It is likely they will overrun it within the day,” reported a female YGI officer somberly.

“What forces do we have in the area?” Selu inquired as he walked over to the tactical holoboard that dominated the room.

He placed his hand on the surface of the table, authenticating his identity, and it lit up. The officer manipulated the controls and soon a holographic representation of the city appeared, with markers indicating positions of Yanibar Guard, Yuuzhan Vong, and native forces.

“Not much,” she said. “It seems likely that all approaches from our main base will be watched.”

“And trapped,” Selu added. “They’re hoping to bait us out there where their numbers can be brought to bear.”

He picked up his priority comlink and called a pre-linked code that immediately linked him to the governor.

“Governor, this is Selu Kraen. We have reason to believe the Yuuzhan Vong are attempting to ransack the city of Junro. Are you still in contact with their authorities over there?”

“Yes,” the governor said. “What are you going to do?”

“They’re going to take the city, but we might be able to evacuate the populace. It’ll have to be by ground; we don’t have enough aerial transports to lift even a fraction of the population. Can you give the order to do so?”

“Certainly,” the governor replied. “Do you know which route you’ll be taking?”

“My planners will have it soon,” Selu said. “If you could order the authorities to set up staging areas on the southeast side of the city and not interfere with the deployment of our troops, that would be most helpful.”

“It will be done,” the governor promised.

“This could be a trap,” came the quiet voice of General Rayven, the lead YGA officer on Rishi. “The Yuuzhan Vong will seek to overwhelm any refugee convoy we put together, and we can’t mount an effective mobile defense.”

“I know,” Selu answered. “We’ll have to cover it with a combination of mobile forces, delaying actions, and fire support. What is your best assessment of the route we should take?”

“The terrain between here and Junro is a twisted maze of forested valleys,” Rayven told him. “Difficult for wheeled or repulsorlift vehicles and direct fire to be of use and with plenty of cover for infantry or an attacking force.”

He zoomed out to show more terrain on the holoboard, sketching out a serpentine course on the terrain.

“This route is both expedient and moderately defensible. It is however over two hundred kilometers to travel.”

“We’ll provide as much artillery support as possible,” Selu said. “It can provide cover once the convoy gets closer.”

“I recommend we do not send a relief column out on the ground until the convoy is within twenty kilometers of our position here,” General Rayven said. “We might spend up to a third of our forces and still be overwhelmed in those valleys.”

“What do you recommend?” Selu asked.

“Personally, I suggest we not engage the Yuuzhan Vong at Junro at all, or only with standoff weapons, but I know that’s not an option.”

“No,” Selu answered grimly. “It’s not. Next suggestion?”

“We airdrop a sizeable portion of forces at Junro to serve as escort and to fight a delaying action,” the general told him. “Along the way, we drop other small parties like droids or commandos, to clear the way by eliminating any smaller Yuuzhan Vong forces and calling for fire support on larger formations.”

Selu studied the deployment plan which Rayven had sketched on the holoboard while narrating.

“It could work,” Selu said. “But we’re putting an awful lot of responsibility on those commando/droid teams deployed along the convoy path. If the Yuuzhan Vong find them, they could overwhelm their positions and also know the route the convoy is going to take.”

“We can drop several dummy teams as well to throw them off the pursuit,” General Rayven pointed out. “A simultaneous aerial operation from YGF would help transport more refugees as well as provide air cover.”

“I’ll contact Admiral Cyrreso,” Selu told him. “We’ll send as many fighters as we can, and possibly create a little diversion in orbit also. I’m going to see how many Elites we can get for this little expedition also. They can help hold those positions along the convoy route.”

“What about you, sir? Will you be joining them?”

Selu shook his head.

“Not this time. I’m needed here more. All right, let’s do it.”


 * Four hours later 

Two Stiletto gunships zoomed through the overcast skies over Junro, dodging globules of plasma fire rising from the ground. Banking, they turned to unleash a hail of rockets into several buildings on the outskirts of the cramped city. Smoke rose from numerous fires burning at the edge of the city. The first prongs of the Yuuzhan Vong advance were already making their way into Junro, battling against several hundred YGF battle droids left to slow their advance.

The city itself was as claustrophobic as any other city on Rishi, nestled inside the crook of a valley and composed mostly of the same tall buildings and narrow streets that dominated Rishian architecture. Normally teeming with civilians, an air of desperation had settled over it as its citizens fled for their lives, assembling at hastily-constructed marshalling areas to be loaded into dozens of transports either commandeered from local citizenry or airdropped by the Yanibar Guard. A fortunate few were able to board the Discblade freighters and Javelin shuttles that had dropped off the Yanibar Guard infantry and vehicles to defend the convoy and fly back to the main encampment, surrounded by heavy YGF starfighter escort.

Behind the two Stiletto gunships, a pair of Javelin shuttles lumbered in their wake, bearing a load of YGA commandos to serve as the final rearguard for the beleaguered city. Bryndar Knrr checked his wrist chrono.

“Convoy begins moving in thirty minutes,” he told the other members of Cresh Squad, receiving silent nods in acknowledgment.

Rising from the bench where he’d been seated, he poked his head into the cockpit as the shuttle rocked and shook from near-misses of plasma impacts.

“Set us down on one of those rooftops over there,” he shouted, fighting to make himself heard over the noise of the cockpit and engines.

“Copy that,” the pilot responded.

Both shuttles wheeled, circling down to deposit their cargo of sixteen commandos onto the indicated rooftops. Bryndar watched as the plasma fire intensified. The pilot jerked the stick hard, narrowly evading a particularly voracious stream of burning projectiles.

“LZ is hot,” the pilot called. “Fire up the chin blasters and suppress.”

The copilot acknowledged, flipping a bank of switches and activating the two triple-blaster chin turrets on the Javelin. Streams of purple blaster fire issued from the turrets, hosing down areas of suspected Yuuzhan Vong activity with lethal energy as the shuttles made their final approach. The suppressive fire and repeated runs from the Stilettos did nothing to slow the volume of plasma projectiles. The shuttle rattled and shook as shields failed. A loud triple-bang that nearly hurled Bryndar into the cockpit told him they’d taken damage.

“Damn, losing engine power and aft stabilizers,” the pilot reported. “It’s too hot, we need to get outta here.”

“Put us on that roof first,” Bryndar ordered even as the shuttle bucked and jerked around, fighting against the pilot’s controls.

“You boys are gonna have to jump,” the pilot told him. “I can’t keep her steady in this sharnstorm.”

“Copy,” Bryndar said, ducking back into the passenger compartment. “Grab your gear, boys. We’re leaving in a hurry.”

The two side hatches slid open to expose an urban cityscape pockmarked with the telltale signs of war. The entire city seemed to have a gray pall hanging over it like a mortuary shroud. Smoke rose from numerous fires and explosions and weapons fire dotted the sky. The foul stench of burned flesh and machinery rose from the ground to greet them as the shuttle swooped down and skimmed a few meters over the rooftop Bryndar had designated as their landing zone.

“Go!” he shouted, leaping out of the shuttle.

His commandos and several JRF-3 fire support droids followed him, jumping out and landing on the rooftop. Immediately, they began securing it, setting up laser trip mines on the stairwell leading up to it and sighting over the edge. Plasma blasts burst all around them, punching through the duracrete railing to explode in bright dust-laden fireballs as they chased the retreating shuttle.

Bryndar watched the second shuttle swoop in to deliver its own squad of commandos on a neighboring rooftop, fire trailing from one of its engines, when a vicious burst of plasma stabbed upward into the craft, knocking it off course. The Stilettos immediately pounced, unloading laser cannon fire and missiles into the source of the fire, but it was too late. The careening shuttle missed the rooftop, veering into the street. Both its wings were clipped off and it crashed onto the ground several hundred meters away in a smoldering heap.

“Damn,” Bryndar swore, then a loud explosion above him nearly knocked him over.

As he fell, he looked up to see one of the Stilettos in a tailspin right above his head, plummeting rapidly and dangerously close to the rooftop, having apparently taken a hit to the engines as well. Its mortally-wounded engines whined as it abruptly banked either due to mechanical failure or due to some last-minute action of the pilot that had narrowly averted it falling on their heads. The stricken gunship punched through the top floor of a building across the street, still rotating, and fell to land on its side one street over.

“Birds down,” he shouted into his comlink. “Three, Five, Six, Eight, with me. The rest of you stay here and get that imager and targeting array set up!”

Snapping off his fibra-rope, he anchored it into the railing on the back side of the building, with the other four indicated commandos following suit. They rappelled down the side of the building, weapons ready for any sign of Yuuzhan Vong activity. Bryndar peered around the edge of the corner and spotted a group of the lethal aliens storming down the street toward their position.

“ETA, designate target,” he ordered his helmet’s tactical advisor.

The party of infantry lit up with a target designation and then a second later, two streams of repeating blaster fire sprayed down from the roof onto the Yuuzhan Vong. The blasterfire was accompanied by three mini-torpedoes that sizzled down, riding wakes of fire, only to impact with bright orange flares as they exploded in their midst. The JRF-3 support droids were doing their job, using their heavy weapons to eliminate over a dozen Yuuzhan Vong warriors instantly. Bryndar’s S-2F rifle barked several times as he brought the weapon up and fired, hitting several Yuuzhan Vong.

“Go!” he shouted as thud bugs from the scattered survivors of the official assault rained around them.

His four companions raced across the street while he provided covering fire. Once they were in place, they traded positions, with two of them opening up on the Yuuzhan Vong while he put his head down and sprinted across the street. Leaping the final three meters, he tumbled and came up with weapon at the ready, only to find that his commandos were no longer shooting.

“We got ‘em all, chief,” Cresh Three reported.

They scrambled through the building, alert for signs of Yuuzhan Vong intrusion, but found none. Instead, they reached the downed Stiletto gunship. Bryndar raced over to the cockpit of the wreckage and found the pilot, hastily popping the canopy.

“She’s still alive!” he shouted.

“Help. . .” the pilot, a young Human female who couldn’t be more than twenty-five, begged him, a pained expression on her face.

“Where are you hurt?” Bryndar asked, trying not to think of seeing Jasika in a similar situation.

“Leg. . . I think it’s broken,” she told him.

“Listen to me. You’re going to be fine. I’m going to cut you out of there,” he said, reaching for his vibroblade even as he heard his squadmates open up behind him.

“Threat incoming,” advised ETA.

The pilot’s eyes widened.

“Behind you!” she warned.

Time slowed for Bryndar as he rolled around just as a Yuuzhan Vong warrior pounced on him, slamming him into the hull of the cockpit. By reflex, he caught the plunging coufee knife on his vibroblade, but the warrior’s tremendous strength forced his arm backward, driving both blades towards his chest. The warrior punched his face several times, even as Bryndar went for his throat. He was unable to get a grip as the warrior tucked his chin; instead, the Yuuzhan Vong attempted to bite his armored fingers.

“Dashta vey,” Bryndar ordered in the Echani battle-tongue, telling his suit to amplify strength in his right arm.

Slowly, he forced the locked blades back with his suit’s enhanced strength. The Yuuzhan Vong snarled, reaching down to his ankle to draw a thud bug, which he no doubt intended to hurl point-blank into Bryndar, which could cause significant trauma even if it didn’t breach the armor. Defenseless, Bryndar watched helplessly as the warrior hoisted the weapon, when suddenly, the Yuuzhan Vong’s skull exploded. The warrior collapsed, a smoldering hole in the side of his head. Bryndar looked over and saw the pilot with a smoking S-1 blaster pistol in her hand. She gave him a thin smile.

“Nice work,” he said, shoving the corpse off of him and stabbing the thud bug for good measure.

In between scolding him, ETA told him that his commandos were heavily engaged on the other side of the gunship, so he wasted no time in cutting her free and pulling her out of the ruined cockpit. Slinging her over his shoulder, he sprinted back to the abandoned building, firing his blaster rifle one-handed as he went. For good measure, he pulled the secondary trigger, sending an explosive grenade issuing from the tube into the group of Yuuzhan Vong assaulting his companions. Once he was clear, they likewise withdrew, leaving an explosive charge to destroy the wrecked Stiletto.

Bryndar scrambled back across the street to the building where the rest of his squad had fortified the roof. Carefully, he set the pilot down next to the dangling fibra-ropes.

“You’re going on a little trip up the rope,” he told her. “My squad is up there, they’ll take care of you.”

She nodded wanly. Bryndar clipped her to the rope and signaled his men up top.

“Got one package ready to pop up.”

“Copy that, Lead. Aurek Squad already extracted their pilots and made it up here on their own, so we’re just waiting on you.”

“Good to hear. Any KIA?”

“No, those Javelins are built tough. Lots of wounded, though.”

Just as Bryndar and the other four commandos clipped themselves onto the rope and climbed upwards, a fresh wave of Yuuzhan Vong came racing down the street towards them. The blaster fire from the JRF-3 droids stalled them momentarily as they lobbed ordnance at the rooftop, but the Yuuzhan Vong soon spotted the climbing commandos and attacked. Bryndar’s shield lit up as a razor bug hit it and burned off, and he returned fire with his sidearm, painfully aware of its inadequacy against armored Yuuzhan Vong. Accurate, stuttered bursts of blasterfire from the commandos and invisible metal slugs from the snipers on the roof soon joined with that of the droids, picking off numerous Yuuzhan Vong warriors until the cramped confines of the dirty gray streets were littered with the corpses of the enemy.

“Everyone’s here,” reported Cresh Three as Bryndar and the others hauled themselves over the roof.

“And the imager?” he asked.

“All set up. Want to take a look?”

Bryndar nodded, crouch-walking over to where the advanced sensor equipment had been set up, its high-resolution imagers just barely peeking over the edge of the rooftop. He took one look at the holo-imagery on the display and sucked in a quick breath.

“Oh. . . wow,” was all he could manage.


 * Yanibar Guard Tactical Command, Rishi

Selu Kraen stood impassively in front of the holoboard, watching the outskirts of Junro via streams of sensor data sent from dozens of satellites, low-altitude drones, and imagers set up by commando teams. Zooming out with an idle sweep of one finger and switching to thermal mode with another, he saw several thousand Yuuzhan Vong moving into Junro in pursuit of the convoy. Another two pincers were detected from Fire Stations 3-4 and 6-1 seeking to intercept the slow, lumbering evacuation convoy in the tight confines of a valley.

Selu remained calm, but his brow was knitted with worry lines as he concentrated, seeking clarity from the Force and his own experience as a soldier to tell him the proper course of action. Finally, watching the Yuuzhan Vong swarm towards Junro, he felt it was time. Aerial reconnaissance showed a massive wave of coralskippers plunging through the atmosphere in pursuit of the convoy, hoping to strafe it from above. Circling below were several squadrons of YGF starfighters, all carefully following orders to remain below 10,000 meters altitude.

Toggling the communication control, Selu activated a control frequency that would instantly link him with a wing of Valkyrie starbombers.

“This is Home One. Arm for Hope Strike at the following coordinates. Repeat, Hope Strike. Launch decoys and fire on my mark.”

Selu touched another control and the holoboard changed from blue to red, indicating targeting mode. He selected the ordnance type he wanted and tapped several points on the holoboard, which its computer interpreted as grid coordinates, sending them to the targeting displays on the Valkyrie starbombers.

“Copy that, Home One. Hope Strike confirmed,” replied the wing commander.

Selu waited five more seconds as the Yuuzhan Vong flooded through the valleys towards Junro, watching the estimated travel time on the computers as the bombers closed.

“Mark. Set for 2 meter airburst and prime for Hope Strike Two,” Selu ordered reaching for another control. “Grid Three-Eight, Mark Nine.”

The bombers soared in at an altitude of 5,000 meters, unloading a volley of decoy missiles, combined with three real ones at each of the designated coordinates. Several seconds later, after the Valkyries had peeled off and were vectoring away, the holoboard briefly registered misty clouds at each impact site, followed promptly by an enormous destructive blast. Cataclysmic shockwaves emanated from each detonation point, leveling anything in their path. The entire width of the valley where 3,000 Yuuzhan Vong troops had been rushing through was consumed by the hellish inferno. Smoke and fire raged in the aftermath of the blast as gases rushed into the area devoured by the blast to replace oxygen consumed in the monstrous explosion. There was no sign of the enemy in the aftermath of the explosion. Even their heaviest armored walkers had been utterly flattened with a single weapon.

Selu nodded grimly, aware of the devastation he had just unleashed. This was one of Kraechar Arms’ creations, developed after analysis of Yuuzhan Vong weaponry and tactics indicated such a weapon could be hideously effective. He switched his attention and the holoboard back to the formation of coralskippers readying themselves to dive onto the convoy, their tightly packed formation helping them to layer their defensive dovin basals to intercept torpedoes that were being launched at them from long range.

“Arm Hope Strike Two,” he said. “Launch decoys.”

“Weapons are hot,” drawled the wing commander.

“Airburst at 11,000 meters,” Selu said. “Fire in three, two, one. . . Mark!”

“On the way,” came the reply.

A flurry of similarly-sized and weighted decoys shot away from the Valkyries, intermingled with several more of the Hope Strike weapons. A few coralskippers opened fire on the projectiles with their plasma cannons, while others used dovin basals to consume the ordnance. However, two of the Hope Strike weapons made it to the designated altitude and that was enough.

At altitude, the explosion was even more powerful, unleashing the same faint cloud, followed by the enormous shockwave and fireball. The coralskipper formation disappeared in the midst of the blast, and those that managed to escape the fireball radius were nevertheless doomed as the shockwave pulverized the yorik coral with force than even a dovin basal could not deflect.

The Hope Strike was a vapor bomb, a thermobaric weapon that rapidly dispersed a mist of a potent high-explosive cocktail mixed with powdered metal, then ignited it. The resulting explosion used oxygen from the atmosphere to fuel its reaction. If the two-hundred meter fireball wasn’t enough, the pressure wave generated was capable of destroying an armored humanoid in a radius of five hundred meters. Anything unfortunate enough to remain within the radius would experience a temporary vacuum due to instantaneous oxygen depletion of the area contiguous to the blast before air came rushing in to equalize the pressure. As the massive fireball dissipated, Yanibar Guard starfighters raced upward and outward to deal with other incoming coralskipper formations and any survivors while the Stiletto gunships vectored to deal with other Yuuzhan Vong raiding parties attacking the other firebases.

Selu coordinated the fire support as best as he could, always assuming responsibility for the grid behind the colony’s advance, alternating between more conventional Valkyrie bomber strikes with plasma bombs and concussion missiles, Stiletto gunship strikes, cruise missiles from surface launchers, and 280mm hypervelocity rail cannon fire from a Shien-class assault frigate in low orbit. The holoboard told him what fire support was available and he used it to maximum effect, his hands flying over the holoboard as he responded to both requests and used his own initiative in targeting. At one point, where the Yuuzhan Vong were pressing the rearguard with particular vehemence, threatening to cut off the retreat of several commando teams, he called in for YGF starfighters to use their laser cannons and proton torpedoes to hit ground targets since he had nothing else to send.


 * Ten kilometers from Junro

“Here they come!” Bryndar screamed as the Yuuzhan Vong overran the position he and his men were occupying, holding a series of two bridges across narrow mountain streams. “Snipers!”

He and the three commando squads under his command were on a ridge overlooking the bridges, hunkered down near what had once been a farmhouse, now abandoned. In times of peace, the area had probably been rather picturesque, with the small bushes and saplings providing some shade for travelers walking along the river. The bridges were molded with permacrete, but had decorative etchings in them that were reminiscent of harvest celebrations. The sunlight normally would have glinted off the water in the streams, sparkling and gurgling as it rushed around the boulders scattered intermittently throughout the streambeds. On either side of them, tall mossy cliffs soared hundreds of meters, making this the only access navigable by vehicles for a dozen kilometers in either direction.

For this reason, it had been one of the most contested points in the entire convoy’s journey. Bryndar and the three commando squads had been dispatched as reinforcements to a force that had originally consisted of a dozen heavy Predator and Reaper droid walkers backed up by fifty droidekas and a single Elite Guardian. Now, hours later, the picturesque landscape had been marred and mutilated by war. Dead Yuuzhan Vong bodies and smoldering droid wreckage clogged the stream and dotted the fields of grass on either side of the river, whose rushing waters were now mingled with blood. Giant warbeasts had fallen slain on the battlefield and the foul stench of charred flesh hung cloyingly in the air. Carrion fowl could be heard overhead, waiting for the cacophony to die down so they could gorge themselves. The trees and bushes were mostly gone, blasted into oblivion and singed by stray shots.

Now, only one Predator and one Reaper walker remained with eight droidekas and the Elite Guardian as well. Bryndar and the twenty commandos under him were spread out in defensive positions, knowing that they had to hold this crossing or the Yuuzhan Vong would be able to bring heavy warbeasts to intercept a convoy not well-equipped to deal with them.

Beside him, Cresh Squad’s sniper opened up, the methodical whirr-chirp of his S-5X sniper rifle visiting death and destruction on the Yuuzhan Vong ranks from outside the range of their other weapons. The other snipers were firing as well, cutting a swathe in the ranks of the advancing Yuuzhan Vong, whose outlines were only faintly visible this far away without magnification.

“Wish we had some of those Avatar walkers here, sir,” Cresh Two told him as he sighted several beasts employed by the Yuuzhan Vong as some kind of artillery or armor approached. “That’d be really handy right now.”

“We fight with the tools we have, not what we wish we could have,” Bryndar reminded him. “Besides, we have him.”

Bryndar indicated towards the diminutive Elite Guardian standing exposed a half-dozen meters ahead of them, unflappable despite the danger of his position and the weight of the Yuuzhan Vong force about to crush them. While he had always considered himself one of the better soldiers and fighters on Yanibar, it was clear that Morgedh clan Kel’nerh was far superior.

Bryndar slapped a fresh power pack into his S-2 blaster rifle, realizing that he only had one left, and no more grenades for the underslung launcher. His shield pack was all but depleted and without recharge, there would be no bringing it back online once it went down.

Sighting in, he waited until the Yuuzhan Vong were close enough that his blasts would do lethal damage. Bryndar relaxed so he could hold his blaster rifle steady. He had faced death many times before, in situations almost as bad as this one, and so the knowledge that he was mostly likely going to die here did not unnerve him. He would do his job until his last breath escaped him and the simple clarity of purpose in that all he had to do was fight was enough.

He squeezed the trigger and the bolt pierced the head of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior, toppling him back into the stream. Around him, the other commandos and droidekas opened fire, their blaster bolts scything through the ranks of the Yuuzhan Vong. Ahead of them, he saw from the corner of his eye that Morgedh clan Kel’ner was using an S-2C carbine he’d been given to good effect, cutting down warrior after warrior with tight, controlled bursts even while evading the swarm of thud, blast and razor bugs hurled at him.

Then the Yuuzhan Vong artillery arrived. Giant plasma balls were lobbed at their position, exploding in fiery splashes of lava, while the Predator anti-vehicle droid walker returned fire with its heavy beamlasers and proton torpedoes. Flanking it, the Reaper walker turned its SkyfirePD turret onto the ground in the absence of aerial targets. Its sonic rounds and six repeating laser cannons sowed death and destruction among the Yuuzhan Vong infantry, mowing them down. However, in doing so, it earned the ire of the Yuuzhan Vong, who hurled countless bugs, plasma eels, and lava missiles at it. Soon, the lethal war machine fell as it was slowly cut down. Hundreds of Yuuzhan Vong dead littered the field and choked the stream but the Yanibar Guard had taken losses as well. Bryndar’s ETA told him he was down to fifteen commandos and all but two of the droidekas were down.

Suddenly, there was a deafening explosion behind him. Bryndar hit the dirt, risking a look back to confirm his fears. The Predator droid, their one effective anti-vehicle weapon, had just been destroyed by a vicious hail of plasma fire. The explosion had further more claimed another two commandos who had been unfortunate enough to be too close to the walker.

“Kriff,” he swore, then got on the comms. “Tac-com, this is fire station 3-8. We could really use some support here.”

“Stand by. Two minutes until fire support,” the controller informed him.

“In two minutes, all we’ll need are body bags,” Bryndar shot back. “Thanks for nothing!”

Another explosion erupted behind him and Bryndar watched as the old farmhouse was consumed by plasma fire from an enormous Yuuzhan Vong artillery beast. The warriors continued their reckless charge and though the commandos cut them down, they completely disregarded their own wellbeing, swept into a frenzy by their thirst for blood and vengeance against the infidels. Morgedh clan Kel’nerh had switched to his lightsaber now, standing on one end of the bridges and defying the Yuuzhan Vong to fight him. This had the effect of drawing most of the thrown bugs onto his position, but his lightsaber wove an impassable barrier in front of him, vaporizing them all with impossible speed and precision. Nor was he completely stationary, leaping to one side when plasma eels or larger artillery fire were directed at him, but always returning to challenge the Yuuzhan Vong once more.

Bryndar knew that the Force-user had to be exhausted from the taxing demands of Force-assisted combat, just as he was. He’d been fighting and running almost non-stop since 0500 and it was now 1130 local time. His armor was drenched with sweat and only the infusions of glucose, adrenaline, nutrients, and stimulants known as pick-me-ups had kept him fighting. His helmet display blinked at him, indicating another depleted power pack. Bryndar automatically swapped it out, aware that this was his last pack. He hoped he’d at least get to use all of it before they got him.

With now only a dozen commandos and Morgedh left to fight the onrushing Yuuzhan Vong horde, Bryndar knew it was a matter of seconds left before they were overrun, yet he swore to make those seconds count. His blaster tracked here and there, picking off Yuuzhan Vong as he fired on single shot mode now, hoping to conserve charge. When a group of Yuuzhan Vong burst out from under the bridge where they’d been skulking, hoping to flank Morgedh, he hurled his last grenade, satisfied when the detonation consumed all of them. Morgedh nodded his thanks, then waded back into the fight, incinerating a half-dozen razor bugs with a single sweep of his lightsaber.

However, there were simply too many. As the next wave of Yuuzhan Vong raced towards them, howling for their blood, Bryndar realized that even if each shot from he and his men killed a Yuuzhan Vong warrior, they would not have enough to kill them all. Not to mention the warbeasts striding towards them.

“Some fire support would really be nice right now,” he muttered to himself, not realizing his link to command was still live.

“You got it,” broke in the voice of Selu Kraen.

A roaring sound rippled through the air, then several streaks pierced the overcast sky overhead, swooping around to spray streams of laser cannon fire and loose proton torpedoes into the ranks of the Yuuzhan Vong. A full squadron of Yanibar Guard Sabre starfighters began circling around the pass, cutting away at the ranks of the Yuuzhan Vong with their lasers and juking to avoid the return fire from the warbeasts. The strafing runs momentarily stalled the Yuuzhan Vong advance even as the commandos poured their remaining blaster bolts into the ranks of the warriors.

“Fire station3-8, prepare for evac,” Selu told them as the starfighters made one final pass and looped away. “Shuttles are inbound.”

“Cutting it a little close, sir,” Bryndar said as the warriors realized the fighters had left and charged.

A razor bug flew past him and even as it came around for another pass, Bryndar’s left hand momentarily released his rifle to draw his sidearm. A quick glance was enough for him to sight on it and shoot the living weapon before it attacked him behind.

Suddenly, Bryndar was aware of another whooshing sound in the sky. At first, he was expecting it to be another of those Hope Strike weapons that had made such magnificent fireballs outside Junro, but it was not to be. Instead, he watched as several explosions lit up the cliff face overlooking the pass. The tell-tale rings of seismic charges obliterated the rock as the cliff exploded in a cloud of blue fire and dust. Dozens of giant boulders rained down, splintered away from the cliff by the initial blast, and then half of the cliff simply slid down to bury the Yuuzhan Vong in the thunderous destruction of an avalanche. Even dovin basals and vonduun crab armor were helpless against such an overwhelming cascade of rock and debris.

While dozens of Yuuzhan Vong remained on the wrong side of the river and were certainly out to catch them, they were now being cut down by streams of blaster fire from a Javelin shuttle coming to a hover above their position. Fibra-ropes were tossed out of the shuttle to dangle down towards the commandos, slender lifelines to safety awaiting them.

“Go!” Bryndar shouted, abandoning the rock he’d been crouched behind and racing for the ropes.

The other commandos and Morgedh followed suit, grabbing onto the ropes and scrambling up them even as the Javelin lifted off with the commandos still dangling precariously below. Yuuzhan Vong ordnance followed them, but soon the shuttle was out of reach even as the commandos hauled themselves up the rope and clambered into the shuttle, which was surrounded by the squadron of Sabres for escort back to base.

“We made it, chief,” Cresh Two said, then sobered. “Well, most of us.”

“That we did,” Bryndar said, too tired to expound further. “Did the convoy make it?”

“Arrived twenty minutes ago,” Morgedh clan Kel’nerh told him.

“Good enough,” Bryndar said.

The shuttle and its escorts wound their way through the twisted valleys of Rishi, overflying the smoldering sites of a hundred skirmishes that scarred the land of Rishi. Here and there they would see the massive craters kicked up by rail cannon strikes or the eerily desolate rings created by Hope Strike blasts that were the most visible and enduring reminders of the devastation wrought on this world. With the arrival of the lone Javelin and its cargo of wounded and exhausted soldiers back at the main Yanibar Guard encampment, the battle for the convoy was concluded.