Force Exile V: Warrior/Part 1

1
A lone individual stared out of the rear viewport of the massive warship’s bridge, disconsolately surveying the receding scene. Despite commanding all the firepower and majesty of a powerful, relatively new Star Destroyer, itself surrounded by dozens of other warships also under his flag, he felt vulnerable, wounded, drained. The Mon Mothma’s bridge was no comfort to him, not when he considered what had been lost, what had been left behind. Though to the rest of the crew, he kept his features appropriately heavy, yet schooled behind rigid emotional restraint, that mask now slipped. His brows were knitted together in anguish as he gazed back at the location of the New Republic’s latest defeat. Age and stress had made their mark on his face, and he bore the strain on every battle, every tense engagement visibly. The slight graying at his temples was accentuated now by the ruffled state of his mostly dark brown hair, and his brown eyes were filled with mourning, the dark circles around them indicating sleep deprivation and battle stress. His New Republic Defense Force officer’s uniform was sweat-stained and rumpled, but he scarcely noticed his disarray. Normally, his stamina and optimism kept him buoyed even in the most strenuous of situations, now, something had snapped inside of him—something deep. To those who knew him, it was obvious he was suffering, that his heart was bereaved, and it took the greatest of efforts for him not to slide all the way past the event horizon of his grief into an abyss of despair.

As he looked back at the receding view, a tall, blond-haired man also wearing an officer’s uniform silently slipped up to his side, his own countenance similarly melancholy. The first man, a bit shorter than the new arrival, slowly turned to regard the new arrival, then returned his gaze to the viewport. When the first spoke, his voice was soft, his tones muted, filled with regret, but not loud enough to convey that message beyond earshot of his companion.

“How did it come to this, Tycho?” he asked.

The other joined in looking back at the viewport, making no reply for a moment. The two haggard men stood there quietly, taking it all in.

“We’ve come from behind before,” the other replied, a bit more resolve in his voice. “It won’t be the first time.”

“I’m not sure I can do it anymore,” the first man said slowly, carefully weighing each of his words. “They just keep coming. No matter what we do-no matter how many we battles we fight-there’s always more.”

“You’re worried about Iella, aren’t you, Wedge?” Tycho mused.

Wedge turned back to regard his fellow officer, former wingman, and longtime friend even as his thoughts went to his wife, whose whereabouts and those of their two daughters, were completely unknown to Wedge.

“Yes,” he said, a haunted look in his face. “I am.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tycho replied firmly, laying a reassuring hand on Wedge’s shoulder. “Her and the girls.”

“I wish I could agree with you,” Wedge said with a small shake of his hand. “But I can’t shake the image of them being captured-or worse.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Tycho urged him. “You’ll see them again soon. Right now, we need you. You’re one of the few people who can pull us out of this mess.”

“Am I?” Wedge asked. “What a great job I’ve done so far.”

“You should listen to yourself,” Tycho said. “You sound like a squadron leader who just lost his first engagement.”

“It’s not just a battle, Tycho,” Wedge countered quietly. “Look.”

“I know,” Tycho said. “And I know I have no room to talk—Winter’s safe on Mon Calamari. If I were you, I’d be eaten up with grief right now, too. But, if I were you, then you’d be me. And if you were me, you’d be urging to get my head back into the fight. To do what only you can do best and rally us behind you.”

“Yeah,” Wedge agreed eventually, his spirits lifting a little. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Out-of-the-box thinking,” Tycho said. “A Rogue Squadron specialty,”

“Impossible’s our stock-in-trade,” Wedge added, the smallest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he remembered the old cocky motto.

He glanced back out the viewport.

“We’re going to need to pull off the impossible, if we’re going to survive,” Wedge said, a hint of steel slipping into his voice.

“I’ve got your wing,” Tycho said. “What’s our next move?”

Wedge mused quietly, contemplating the matter. His eyes stayed fixed on the scene that lay behind them, calculating the next possible strategy. Then, something flickered in his eyes, the spark of an idea. It was the same glow that had fueled his determination in the darkest days of the Rebellion. He smiled grimly, rubbing at the stubble on his chin that he’d not had the time to shave off in who-knew-how-long.

“We’re about to take another lesson from the Rogues,” Wedge said.

“Which one is that?” Tycho asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

“We’re going to Borleias,” Wedge said. “It was the Vong’s staging point to assault Coruscant. Now, we’re going to use it to regroup.”

“And there probably won’t be much of a garrison there,” Tycho said, reflecting on the choice. “Not to mention that it’s close enough for us to see some action, fight back some, while giving us room to run if they come at us with overwhelming numbers. I like it.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Wedge said, nodding gratefully to his comrade. “Just one favor.”

“What’s that?” Tycho asked.

“Write up the order for me,” Wedge said. “I’ll authorize it, but I. . . need some time.”

“Certainly, General,” Tycho said. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks, Tycho,” Wedge said quietly.

Tycho walked off to carry out his superior’s orders, while Wedge remained motionless, continuing to stare at the scene, as if wanting to make sure it was etched in his mind’s eye for weeks to come. He maintained that gaze even as the New Republic vessels around his ship, the Mon Mothma, began to make an orderly jump to hyperspace, bound for Borleias. Only when the Mon Mothma itself reached lightspeed did he turn away, focusing his eyes and mind on other things. Behind them, Coruscant burned.


 * Socorro

“In position,” came the muted voice through Ryion’s earpiece comlink.

“Acknowledged,” he murmured in reply. “Stand by.”

A fairly average-looking Human with little to distinguish him save for his sharp, restless eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair, Ryion Kraen was crouched on the rooftop of one of the numerous sandstone buildings dotting the city of Vakeyya. He was peering through the scope of an S-5X silenced sniper rifle, gazing intently at a door tucked away in a particularly unsavory alley. He was garbed like the natives in loose, dark robes that allowed him to blend in, and to keep his rifle case hidden underneath them without it showing obtrusively. He was also the mission leader for a covert operation, and one that showed no signs of catastrophe as of yet. He decided to proceed with the next step of the operation, keying his comlink with one hand while he kept the other on the resting on the trigger guard of the rifle.

“Go ahead,” he told her.

As he watched through the scope, a red-skinned female Lethan Twilek in a delivery girl’s costume sauntered up to the door with a large parcel. She rapped lightly on the metal door built into the stone walls, then stepped back, waiting for an answer. After a second, the door hissed open to reveal a pair of surly Humans, one of whom had his hand shoved deep into his robe, probably on the grip of a blaster. Ryion watched the brief exchange of words, then the Twi’lek handed over her package, stamped with the logo of a popular local quick food vendor. One of the men rummaged around inside it for a moment, then grunted and took it inside. The other tossed the Twi’lek a credcoin, then the door hissed closed. Ryion smiled. Qedai had done her job perfectly. Though she was the team’s weapons and demolitions expert, Qedai also knew how to use her lithe body to attract attention when she needed to. In this case, her conversation had apparently distracted the two men long enough for her to ‘accidentally’ slip a small listening device inside the room.

“We have a feed,” came another female voice through his comlink.

That was Ariada Cerulaen, the blue-skinned Wroonian who specialized in medicine and electronics. She was also Ryion’s girlfriend, though that wasn’t allowed to interfere with their missions by mutual accord.

“I hope they’re talking about more than just those tomo-spiced ribenes,” Ryion replied. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh, not yet,” Ariada replied dismissively. “You’ll probably have to wait for another three hours to hear anything good.”

“That’s fine, I don’t have any other engagements tonight,” Ryion answered flippantly, though inwardly he was groaning at the thought of three more hours on the roof.

Even at dusk, Socorro’s heat was oppressive and though nightfall would bring some relief from the warmth, Ryion was miserable in his long robes. He knew they would keep him from burning in the sun and conceal his identity, but they were far too cumbersome for his liking. And there was always the chance that he would be spotted.

As it turned out, Ariada’s prediction was just about right. It was two and a half hours after the listening device was planted that their targets began to talk about anything interesting.

“Heads up, Lead,” Ariada told him. “Finally something better than a bunch of gossip about someone’s girlfriend’s sister.”

“What, they’re talking about their mother-in-laws?” Ryion asked.

“Not quite,” Ariada answered. “Even better. I’ve got a nice recording of Peace Brigade plans and exactly how they’re going to turn over this planet to the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“Dirty collaborationists,” Qedai chimed in over the comnet. “I’ll never understand them.”

Ryion couldn’t either. The Peace Brigade was a loose organization of mercenaries, traitors, and general riffraff who pursued a collaborationist policy with the Yuuzhan Vong invaders. They were no friends of Jedi either, and while Ryion and his team couldn’t technically classify themselves as Jedi, he doubted the Peace Brigaders would share the perspective. Or the Yuuzhan Vong.

Now came the tricky part of the operation.

“Do you have enough incriminating evidence?” Ryion asked.

“Got it,” Ariada said.

“Get set for phase two,” Ryion told the rest of the members of his team.

As far as he could tell, the men inside the building were the central Peace Brigade cell on Socorro. While there were others scattered around, these were the planners here, based on the intelligence they had acquired. If they could be neutralized, the Peace Brigade operations here would be set back significantly. What bothered Ryion, though, was how small the group was. His lifeform scanners hadn’t picked up more than eight people inside the building, which was low. They had to have support somewhere else, or the Peace Brigade was either understaffed or overconfident. Ryion hoped it was either of the latter two possibilities.

“Lead, I’ve got two people approaching the front door,” Qedai informed him quietly from her position around the back where she’d swapped her food service disguise for a beggar’s robe. “I think they’re disguised Yuuzhan Vong. I can’t get a sense for them.”

One of the most mystifying things about the invading Yuuzhan Vong had been their utter invisibility in the Force. Force-users like Ryion and his team could not sense or affect them using the Force, and the Yuuzhan Vong had shown a particular antipathy towards Force-users in kind. Of course, their presence here indicated Vong interest in this world and answered the question as to why there were relatively few Peace Brigaders here.

“Got him,” Ryion said, dropping the aiming reticle onto one of the two aliens.

The Yuuzhan Vong had biotechnology for everything, including form-fitting disguises that made them appear Human, but the fact that Ryion couldn’t sense them in the Force meant they were certainly Yuuzhan Vong. Large even in disguise, they walked slowly over to the building he had been observing, clearly checking for surveillance. Too bad for them they didn’t look up, he thought, though he doubted they could have seen him in the murky darkness of twilight.

“Change of plans,” he said, sighting in. “We take them down, then go in before they can reseal the doors. Same entrance vectors.”

A trio of comlink clicks told him his team had acknowledged the order. Ryion checked his sights and windage one last time, then planted the aiming reticle right on the base of the Yuuzhan Vong’s neck. He hadn’t actually fought Yuuzhan Vong before, but reports from other agents indicated they were much harder to kill than the average Human. Ryion wanted to make sure he dropped this one with the first shot. His finger cracked on the trigger and the sniper rifle let loose with a soft whirr-chirp, shooting a tungsten-durasteel slug at subsonic speeds into the Yuuzhan Vong. The alien was knocked forward as black blood sprayed from the wound, but somehow managed to catch himself on the doorframe.

Simultaneously, Ryion saw Ariada burst from cover in an abandoned cellar, firing her silenced S-5XS at the other Yuuzhan Vong. At least four smaller metal slugs hit the alien, but though he staggered, he remained upright, reaching for a weapon. Ryion didn’t waste his time firing again, though. The metallic slugs that were capable of punching through most bone and soft tissues, apparently weren’t as lethal against the Yuuzhan Vong. Instead, he pulled a disk-shaped weapon sporting four lethal blades on its outer rim and hurled it down at the Yuuzhan Vong, guiding its flight with the Force. The discblade caught the alien Ariada had shot across the neck, dropping him to the ground. By that time, Ariada had finished off the other one with a tight cluster of shots to the back of the head. Unfortunately, the Peace Brigaders had managed to reseal the door, though that wouldn’t be much more than a temporary obstacle. More dangerous was the possibility that they would sound the alarm or get away.

Ryion alighted quietly next to the door, then touched his comlink while Ariada deployed a breaching charge.

“Go,” he said.

Ariada pressed a button and the door exploded inward. Ryion heaved a stun grenade inside, waited for the bang of its detonation, then moved into the building, lightsaber in one hand, S-5XS silenced sidearm in the other. Ariada was right behind him, her pistol also at the ready. However, none of the Peace Brigaders were up for a fight. Most of them were on the ground, clutching their ears, obviously dazed. Across the room, Ryion saw Qedai enter similarly armed and nodded. Together, the three silently checked the few rooms for any sign of resistance but all the Peace Brigaders had gathered in the main room and had thus all been hit by the stun grenade.

“Clear,” Ryion announced, returning his weapons to his belt.

“Good work,” Qedai said.

“Bring the Yuuzhan Vong bodies inside,” Ryion told her. “Ariada, stand guard while she does it. Don’t want anyone to notice.”

“What about the bloodstains?” Qedai asked.

“Throw some sand on it for now,” Ryion answered. “I don’t want to try a dispersant when we don’t even know what their blood chemistry is like.”

She nodded and the two women moved out to carry out the task while Ryion set up a ylannock kit and disarmed the Peace Brigaders. He set up the injectors with practiced ease, finishing just as Qedai and Ariada finished their grisly assignment.

“Any sign of trouble?” he asked.

“No,” Qedai told him. “The people who picked this place wanted somewhere out of the way and they got it. Haven’t seen anyone.”

“Good,” Ryion said.

One of the Peace Brigaders groaned and began to stir.

“They’ll be awake pretty soon,” Ryion said. “Masks on.”

All three of them pulled on hoods and masks, leaving just their eyes exposed as the Peace Brigaders woke up. Lightsabers were discreetly hidden away; it wouldn’t do to inform the Peace Brigade that their captors were apparently Jedi. Ryion set his jaw firmly, knowing that even though he had no intention of harming them further, he couldn’t let them know that. His face hardened as he mentally steeled himself for what he had to do.

“Did you have a good nap?” he asked.

One of them sat up, rubbing his head, then reached for his blaster as he realized what had happened. Of course, it wasn’t there, which was a good thing for them since he was looking down the barrel of Qedai’s pistol.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Ryion commented wryly. “No need to get antsy. Just tell us what we want to know and you’ll be fine. Who’s your leader?”

A particularly pudgy Peace Brigader had already recovered some of his surliness even as he sat up. Sticking his jaw out defiantly, he spat out a quick retort.

“The kriff we’ll tell—,” he began, but Ryion took the retort as an invitation to intensify the questioning with this particular volunteer.

Glowering fiercely behind his mask, he returned his sidearm to its boot sheath, then reached down and hauled the man up bodily, slamming him into the wall.

“This is how this works,” Ryion said with the same affable manner as before, belying the ferocity in his expression. “I don’t have time for your stupidity, so if you’re not going to tell me anything, you’re useless to us. And if you’re useless to us, you end up like them.”

He briefly removed one hand from the man’s collar to point at the two Yuuzhan Vong corpses crumpled in the corner. The Peace Brigader’s eyes widened as he identified the bodies.

“Friends of yours?” Ryion asked flippantly. “Well, they won’t be saving you any time soon. They went down with barely a fight, so don’t think you’ll do much better. Now, who’s your leader?”

“He is!” stammered one of the Peace Brigaders, pointing to a tall lean Human with long greasy hair dyed bright green.

Ryion dropped his unfortunate prisoner and whirled on the indicated man.

“Shut up!” replied Green Hair, but it was too late.

“You should thank him,” Ryion told him with false politeness. “He just saved your lives, at least for now.”

“I got nothing to say ta you,” Green Hair spat out.

“How did you get to be the leader with such terrible decision-making skills?” Ryion demanded with forced patience.

The pistol was back in his hand now and pointed right in the man’s face.

“You’ll kill us anyway,” Pudgy broke in. “Don’t tell him anything.”

“The manner in which that death occurs has yet to be decided,” Ryion said, his mask of reasonability slipping in light of their obstinacy, “and it is possible that you get to leave here alive and with all your body parts, but only if I hear some extremely truthful answers to all of my questions right kriffing now!”

The last words were roared full-force at the startled Peace Brigaders and they finally seemed intimidated.

“All right, all right, what do you want to know?” Green Hair asked.

“That’s much better,” Ryion encouraged them. “How many Peace Brigaders are on Socorro?”

“About-about fifty,” he answered sulkily.

“And Yuuzhan Vong?”

“Just the two that I know of.”

“Oh come on,” Ryion scoffed. “A world in their invasion corridor with only two agents? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“No, no, they’re not planning on invading any time soon, at least they haven’t told us anything about it,” the man pleaded. “The invasion isn’t headed here, at least not yet!”

“And so then why are you fine gentlemen here?” Ryion asked.

“We’re trying to secure spice deliveries, maybe check on a few things locally.”

The man’s deception was easily caught and sifted through the Force, as if his body language wasn’t enough.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Ryion shouted, projecting annoyance into his voice. “You have two Yuuzhan Vong and fifty Peace Brigaders to deliver spice and investigate a world that’s not going to be invaded? You have to be more incompetent than the Senate if you expect me to believe that.”

“Okay, okay, we were going to try and persuade the Socorrans to surrender without a fight. If that didn’t work, we’d report all the important defensive positions to the agents,” Green Hair said, spilling the information as quickly as possible to avoid further remonstration from his angered captor.

“Better,” Ryion said, but then pointed his S-5XS at them again. “I have just one last question. Where are the Yuuzhan Vong headed next?”

“I-I don’t know that,” Green Hair protested. “We couldn’t possibly know that!”

“I don’t believe you,” Ryion said blandly. “Perhaps you need some additional persuasion?”

“Wait, no!” Green Hair called as Ryion lifted his weapon. “I heard them ask if this world would help flank Bothan space. They’re trying to encircle Bothawui, cut it off completely! I don’t know any more than that!”

“Very good,” Ryion told him. “And now, here’s why you shouldn’t have tried lying to us. Receive your freedom.”

A wave of his gloved hand and eight injectors floated from the table, levitating at Ryion’s mental command.

“Jedi!” one of them whispered hoarsely.

“Something like that, but not quite,” Ryion countered off-handedly. “We don’t play by the same rules.”

“You said-you said you wouldn’t kill us!” Green Hair exclaimed.

“I did,” Ryion answered evenly. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to knock you out, erase the last six months of your memory, and leave you here for your Yuuzhan Vong masters to discover. Wait until they discover your amnesia and the bodies of their agents; I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.”

Before they could voice any further complaints, Ryion gestured as an outward extension of his telekinetic control and the ylannock injectors shot forward to land in the necks of each of the still-woozy Peace Brigaders. They soon slumped over, all except Green Hair, who managed to pluck his injector out before it could finish emptying.

“Hush,” Ryion said, striding over to him and snatching the injector.

The man tried to fight back, but Ryion quickly overpowered him with a swift wrist lock. Standing behind the man while immobilizing his arms, Ryion used one hand to stab the injector into his neck and finish the ylannock injection.

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly to the man. “It’ll all be over soon. Ignorance is bliss.”

The man struggled for a few more seconds, then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he sank to the ground.

“Well,” Ryion said disapprovingly, dropping the edge from his voice, “that’s over with.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Qedai suggested.

They did so, taking care to first sanitize the building of any DNA traces or fingerprints they left using a special solution and a modified scanner that Ariada had brought along. Then, the three Yanibar Guard agents quietly slipped out of the building to the speeder where the fourth member of the team, Zeyn Kraen, had been waiting for them while surreptitiously watching over the intrusion. After a quick stop to retrieve Ryion’s rifle, they headed back to the spaceport to their ship, having successfully accomplished their first mission that involved actual Yuuzhan Vong.
 * Ord Pardron

The tarnished silver protocol droid whirred into the crowded, litter-strewn office bearing another tray of datacards to the room’s sole occupant, a short Human woman whose blond hair was now streaked with gray. Not that she would have cared; just like the rest of the dingy temporary room that served as an office, she was dirty and bedraggled. Her clothes were stained and worn, her hair unkempt, her face smudged. Nor did she even seem to notice the droid’s entrance; her attention was otherwise occupied by the datapad she was slouched over.

“Are all the prefab shelters set up, J7?” she asked the droid without even looking up.

“Yes, Mistress,” the droid replied tiredly.

“How about the grain distribution? Is it underway?”

“Not yet, Mistress,” J7 told her. “The primary unloading mechanism was damaged during transit and the mechanics estimate that it’ll be ready by tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

“Are they working on it now?” she asked, a bit snappishly.

“Of course they are,” the droid soothed her gently. “They have rotating shifts trying to repair it even as we speak.”

“Sorry for snapping at you. It’s not your fault that the distributor broke.”

“The apology is unnecessary, Mistress,” J7 reassured her.

The woman ran her hand through her tousled hair, noting ruefully how tangled and stringy the locks were. She stood up quickly, then immediately regretted it as a starburst of pain exploded in her temple. She clasped a hand to her head, grimacing as she tried to stem the pounding in her skull.

“Mistress Cassi, are you okay?” J7 asked her.

“I’m fine,” she managed. “Just a bit of a headache from the thin air.”

“Hmm,” the droid frowned. “You seem to be dehydrated and fatigued. Might I suggest—,”

Cassi cut him off before he could finish.

“I’ll be fine, J7, but thank you,” she said politely but firmly. “There are ten thousand refugees in this camp alone that have far more pressing needs than a little thirst and a headache.”

“Yes, of course,” J7 demurred, “But you cannot do anything to assist them if your own needs are not met.”

“I’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight,” Cassi assured the droid.

Cassi Trealus Kraen flopped back down in her creaky, worn chair and began poring over another distribution list for the next Open Hands transport due to arrive. She had founded the Open Hands charity three years after the Galactic Civil War had ended, seeking to provide food, water, and medical treatment to inhabitants of the Outer Rim and Wild Space between the Corellian Run and the Rimma Trade Route whose homes had been ravaged by the war. The New Republic had largely neglected those regions, just like the Empire and the Republic before it had, and Cassi had been the driving force behind securing some of Yanibar’s prosperity for charitable causes.

After a few Council meetings, her plan had been approved, though her assets were admittedly limited. Yanibar was relatively prosperous compared to the impoverished nearby worlds, but it could not provide enough food and materials to fully assist dozens of other planets. It was a struggle just getting regular shipments of food to colonies that were experiencing shortages and bacta was prohibitively expensive to buy even in small sums. All that had been before the Yuuzhan Vong War.

With the influx of millions of refugees fleeing the invasion corridors, Open Hands had tried to set up makeshift refugee camps and provide food to some of the unfortunates who had escaped the Yuuzhan Vong with just the clothes on their backs. Donations from corporate sponsors and planetary governments had also fallen sharply in light of significantly increased defense spending, leaving Cassi and Open Hands with more mouths to feed and less to feed them with than ever. Such a bleak situation might have broken lesser people, caused them to give up the staggering task, but Cassi only became more resolute with each new obstacle.

One unfortunate side effect was that she was often offworld to coordinate new refugee camp constructions. She had at her disposal a small fleet of sizable transports that used to belong to the Yanibar Guard and the ships were capable of ferrying food, medical supplies, and enough building materials and construction droids to set up a refugee camp that could hold a few thousand. However, the ships were ancient and ate up maintenance time and spare parts—two of them had had to be cannibalized for spare parts. Moreover, due to communication protocols, Cassi could not coordinate more than a single site at a time and finding other skilled dedicated volunteers was difficult. Thus, she spent a week or so on each new planet setting up camps, in between meetings and conferences with various leaders to try and solicit more aid.

It would have been easier if Cassi had allowed the Yanibar Guard Intelligence to station its agents inside Open Hands. The Council had been prepared to grant her access to two engineering teams—a full 120 individuals trained and equipped to handle tasks like setting up and provisioning camps—but only if she let YGI insert its agents into the charity. She had refused to allow Open Hands to compromise its integrity and become a front organization for YGI, which already had several others scattered throughout the Outer Rim, but the extra manpower and equipment, not to mention training, would have been very useful.

She sighed as she read another letter of regret from a Ryloth-based company apologizing for not being able to supply any more credits to Open Hands due to their own suffering in business. It was typical; as soon as trouble hit, charitable donations were the first item to be cut from corporate budgets. Cassi knew it was selfish to expect companies and worlds facing annihilation to keep doling out donations, but at the same time, she was sitting on a planet surrounded by need with precious little to alleviate the suffering.

There was a clatter beside her as J7 slid a tray loaded with a protein packet, some kind of crunchy ration bar, and several other comestibles that Cassi was sure had been packaged, processed, and stored for far too long. The meal, like many others she’d eaten recently, was almost certainly devoid of good taste, but it would give her sustenance.

The droid set a bottle of water down next to the tray, waiting expectantly for her to start eating. Ever since she’d started accompanying Open Hands ships to dangerous refugee camps near the frontlines of the war, Selu and Milya had insisted that Cassi accept J7’s services—the protocol droid was an able assistant and had been programmed and equipped to defend her if need be. In truth, he had been a valuable aid and constantly concerned about her welfare even when she was too distracted to do things like eat or sleep. Eventually, Cassi acquiesced and nibbled away at the bland meal. When she was finished, J7 collected her tray and whirred off, leaving her to her datapad work.

She continued incessantly, trying to allocate resources properly. Her fatigued eyes burned from dryness and she could barely keep herself from succumbing to the insidious whispers of her body urging her to sleep. Cassi didn’t know when she nodded off, but the next thing she knew, she was snapping awake.

Sitting up abruptly in her chair, Cassi discovered that she was back on Yanibar, sitting up in a grassy highland field. What had happened? Had she become ill enough to merit being transported back to Yanibar? If so, why was she in a field instead of in a medcenter or at home?

“J7?” she inquired, looking around for the droid to no avail.

She surveyed the picturesque, tranquil landscape around here, noting that there wasn’t a sign of sentient life anywhere in the distance. This couldn’t be real; she supposed it was a Force vision. Cassi stood up, attempting to orientate herself unsuccessfully.

Suddenly, the sky grew darker around her and a smell of sulfur began emanating from the ground, trickling unpleasantly into her nostrils. The wind changed from balmy zephyrs to raging gales almost instantly, ferrying an ominous wall of clouds with its gusts. A wave of heat slammed over her, hurling her to the ground, which trembled and danced as if something inside it was trying to tear it apart. She watched helplessly as the grass ignited around her, saturating the air with an acrid reek. Above her, the thick roiling plumes of smoke intermingled with furious dark thunderheads. Forks of lightning split the sky as a fierce, acidic rain lashed the burning ground. She threw her hands over her head, trying to protect herself from the two-pronged assault of rain and fire. A swirling, dirt-laced deluge swept over her, carrying her along none-too-gently. Battered by rocks, she fought against the burning hot water, but her efforts were futile. She was soon half-dragged, half-carried towards a deep set of cracks where the muddy torrent was being sucked into crevasses. Letting out a partially stifled scream of terror, Cassi redoubled her efforts to avoid being forced into the crevasse, but the current was too strong. Then, she heard a voice, calm and unconcerned, with an oddly flowing accent.

“Why do you worry?” the voice asked her. “It does not have to end this way.”

Struggling to keep her head above the muddy water, Cassi saw a man standing on a rock amid the flow. He seemed older and his placid appearance belied his precarious perch. He seemed unconcerned about the devastation around her, the burning fires, the rain, the fierce wind, the muddy deluge.

“Help!” she managed.

The man thrust out his hand and pulled her sodden, muddy self from the raging current that continued on its course to disappear into the crevasses. For the first time, Cassi had a chance to look on her rescuer as she scrambled up onto the rock. His accent was that of an offworlder’s, and his clothes seemed strange. He wore loose, flowing trousers anchored in place by a wide sash around his middle and a vest that seemed to be more like armor than clothing, while his long gray hair was braided into a ponytail that swept down to his stomach.

“You must look to the stars,” he told her. “You must seek Atlaradis. It is key.”

“At what?” she asked him. “What is that?”

He smiled and placed one gnarled hand on her shoulder.

“You are the one to deliver your people out of exile,” he said benevolently. “You are the one to save them.”

By now, the escalating darkness and smoke had all but surrounded him until he disappeared. She felt another hand on her shoulder and whirled. The smoke was stinging her eyes, making her blink back tears as she turned to see what it was this time.

“Mistress Cassi? Mistress Cassi, are you okay?” Cassi heard the familiar synthesized voice of J7-A0 ask her.

Blinking her eyes again, she looked up to see she was back on Ord Pardron and J7 was shaking her gently to see if she was okay. Cassi looked around; she seemed to be back where she was before the vision. Breathing a sigh of relief, she relaxed and then turned to assuage the concerned droid.

“I’m fine, J7,” she said. “Just fell asleep at the desk.”

“If you say so, Mistress,” J7 told her doubtfully. “You were convulsing. What is your blood sugar level?”

“I ate the food you gave me, remember?” Cassi answered. “Just relax; I had a bit of a nightmare, that’s all. Probably due to stress.”

That last remark was a blatant lie, but Cassi wasn’t even sure what she had just experienced, or what it meant. She surmised that it was a Force vision, but she couldn’t decipher its meaning, nor did she recognize the mysterious man who had appeared in it. Rubbing her eyes wearily, Cassi knew she would need some time to sort this one out.

“Do you require any further assistance, Mistress?” J7 asked her as he hovered off to one side.

“No, just some time alone and some caf if we have any,” Cassi told him. “It’s going to be another long night.”

2

 * Yanibar

The round chamber of the Governing Council was quiet aside from the soft rustling of someone stirring in their chair. The mood inside the room was subdued, each of the councilors quiet as they waited for the last two arrivals to fill the two empty places at the large ring-shaped table. They arrived soon enough, striding quickly through the corridor and leaving a wake of disturbed air currents behind them. Both were in their sixties, having left the prime of youth behind years earlier. The others stood as they entered the quiet chamber where the rest of the Council had gathered. Their haste was incongruous with the setting, and, as if noticing it for the first time, both the late arrivals slowed their pace upon entry.

The muted atmosphere of the room was enhanced by the fact that the chamber had been built inside a natural cavern. Soft golden tones washed up along the walls and foot of the ring table from recessed floorpanels, while the soft iridescent luminescence of a glowing crystal arrangement hung in the middle of the table’s ring. It gave the chamber a rustic feel, one of archaic solemnity. The other councilors turned to watch as the last two arrivals were admitted and quickly took their places at the large table.

“If we’re all here, this meeting is called to order,” an elder-looking Muun clad in elegant finery announced.

His name was Arkanis Frelix, the chairman of Yanibar’s Governing Council. A member of the Jal Shey Force tradition, he was known for his incredible rhetorical and diplomatic skill, a tradition inherited from his uncle, Jal Shey Mentor Erudis Frelix, who had been one of the original founders of the colony for Force-users on the remote world of Yanibar. The Muun turned to regard the two late arrivals, fixing a pointed stare at them.

“Councilors Kraen, we are pleased to see you well. Would you care to discuss what happened?”

The individuals in question turned to each other as if wondering who would respond. After some unseen indication passed between them, the man stood to answer. In his sixties but still filled with vigor, Selu Kraen was a Jedi Master and leader of the Yanibar Guard as well as one of the founding members of the Yanibar refuge for Force-sensitives. His tanned skin was creased by wrinkles and he appeared calm and wise, though those familiar with him knew the sudden intensity that could explode from within him. His black-and-gray hair and robes were neat and unadorned, as Selu typically opted for simplistic attire.

Beside him stood his wife, Milya Tayrce Kraen, wearing similar attire. A middle-aged woman in her sixties, her dark auburn hair was now streaked with gray and she’d put on a few kilos since her youth. Still, she was still trim and fit, even though years of harsh living had taken their toll on her appearance. At this point, though, her brow was furrowed in concentration, as she was carefully studying a report on her console, leaving the matter of addressing the Council to Selu for the time being.

“I apologize for our lateness, Councilor Frelix,” Selu said. “We’ve been monitoring the situation carefully and we also received word that the First Elite Guardian Team has just entered the system.”

“Ah,” Frelix’s nasally Muun voice replied. “Your son is on that team, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Selu answered. “We only had a chance to speak him briefly before we came over here.”

“In that case,” Frelix said, “if you have no input on some of the more mundane matters before the Council today, you may depart once we hear your report. After all, that is the main reason why we are here.”

The seventeen-member Governing Council was the highest governing body on Yanibar. It was composed of ten representatives from the Force-using traditions at the refuge, including Jedi, Matukai, Zeison Sha, Gray Paladins, and Jal Shey, while three members were also selected via election from the general population. The final four members came from the highest ranks of Yanibar’s defense force, the Yanibar Guard.

Though Selu had once been a Jedi Knight, the rise of the Empire had forced him into hiding until he had received a call to form and protect a refuge for other Force-users during the dark times; one that had endured in sheltered secrecy even after the Empire had been largely broken. He and his wife Milya had shared that same destiny for nearly forty years now, with Selu serving as the Supreme Commander of the Yanibar Guard, while Milya held the position of Director of Intelligence, which was why they were on the Governing Council, though either of them could have likely garnered selection from the Jedi enclave on Yanibar. With the fleet and army commanders away on exercises, that left them as the sole representatives of the Yanibar Guard to the Governing Council today.

“Thank you,” Selu replied, scanning the docket on the datapad on the table in front of him. “I suppose we’ll begin with our report from the most recent mission.”

He looked at each one of the councilors in turn, making sure he had their attention before he proceeded. Selu knew that the topic he was about to speak upon was controversial and he wanted assurance that he would at least have a receptive audience.

“As you all know, the Kit Fisto and the Adi Gallia departed about a week ago, following intelligence collected via a transmission sent by Tsavong Lah, the Yuuzhan Vong warmaster, regarding captured Jedi.”

Selu paused, knowing that what he was going to say would be difficult for some of the Councilors, particularly the traditionally anti-Jedi Zeison Sha, to absorb.

“After verifying with Yanibar Guard Intelligence that none of our teams had been captured, I came to realize that these were Jedi from the New Republic that I was sensing,” he said. “I also received intermittent visions of them. I don’t know why I received visions of them on this particular occasion, or to what end, but they happened.”

Selu noted the tangible unease that swept around the room, manifesting itself as a subtle stirring and shifting by some of the Councilors.

“They were in grave danger,” Selu continued flatly. “I saw visions of them facing voxyn, the Jedi-hunting creatures that the Yuuzhan Vong have used to pursue and kill Force-users across the galaxy.”

“Not our Force-users, I should hope,” intoned Councilor Asharam, a Rodian Zeison Sha known for his fiery temper and festering distrust of the Jedi.

Selu smiled conciliatorily.

“Of course not,” he said. “But our intelligence networks have provided us with enough information to know that the voxyn do hunt Force-users and are apparently quite lethal, even for Skywalker’s Jedi.”

“My visions showed that these captured Jedi were attempting to destroy the voxyn,” Selu said. “They had little hope of survival, but they were determined.”

“Skywalker sent his Jedi on a suicide mission?” Mentor Frelix asked quizzically, his long, slender hands folded in front of him. “That seems most unlike him.”

“I don’t know the specifics,” Selu answered evenly. “But I didn’t sense any sense of compulsion; from what I’ve heard through the newsnets, I would guess that they volunteered. The mission was too deliberate to be an accident.”

“You’re not venerating those whom we know better than to trust, are you, Master Kraen?” came the challenge from Asharam, who had clearly taken umbrage at Selu’s mission.

Selu forced himself to reply politely; having seen glimpses of their suffering, Asharam’s casual dismissal of their sacrifice irked him.

“Whether we trust them or even concern ourselves with them is irrelevant,” Selu said. “The fact is, they located the source of a threat that endangers both Skywalker’s Jedi and this refuge.”

“But it is relevant,” Mentor Frelix reminded him. “You, of all people, should know that, Master Kraen, having dispatched a sizable force in a hasty rescue attempt based solely on your foresight and limited intelligence.”

Selu’s eyes narrowed.

“Is the Council questioning my foresight, or is there some other point I’m missing here?” Selu asked coolly.

“I merely wonder if your judgment to run rashly to rescue those young Jedi was correct,” Mentor Frelix answered.

“Then I ask that you let me finish my report,” Selu returned evenly, “so that you can weigh all of the facts of the matter.”

The Muun inclined his head, indicating that Selu could continue.

“The ships were ordered not to attempt a rescue unless they were sure of their success in both freeing the Jedi and escaping untraced. In any event, they never even got close to the Jedi prisoners. The Yuuzhan Vong have extensively mined that entire region of space.”

“What were your orders?” Frelix asked.

“To attempt to locate the prisoners and discreetly leak the coordinates to the New Republic,” Selu explained. “Or their Jedi Order, so that they could attempt a rescue mission. I did not authorize direct intervention.”

“What happened to those Jedi, Master Kraen?” Asharam asked.

“Some of them survived,” Selu said. “I don’t know more than some remnant did escape the Yuuzhan Vong. My visions ceased when their use of a Jedi battle meld broke down and so I ordered the expedition to return to Yanibar. We saw no evidence that the Yuuzhan Vong even detected our ships and they took all precautions to ensure they were not followed.”

“Do you have anything else further to say?” Mentor Frelix asked.

“That’s all,” Selu answered with a shake of his head.

“I do have a question now, Master Kraen,” Asharam posed.

Selu pursed his lips; it was utterly unsurprisingly that Asharam would call his actions into question. A younger member of the community, the Rodian had always been outspoken.

“Go ahead, Councilor,” Selu told him.

“Based on your visions and this intelligence, you sent two Yanibar Guard warships and their attendant resources to follow a group of un-affiliated Jedi into hostile territory,” Asharam said. “What was the reasoning for doing so?”

Selu gave the Rodian a pitying look.

“Compassion, Councilor,” he said. “These were barely more than younglings, half-trained in the ways of the Jedi and thrown into the heart of enemy territory. How could I just stand by and sense them suffer?”

“An excellent philosophical answer, Jedi Kraen, but not a very pragmatic one,” Asharam sniffed, not bothering to use the honorific Master. “Were this refuge to extend our brave defenders and offer their assistance to the plight of every Force-sensitive, we would have been wiped out in the Empire’s purge.”

“A fact that I am all too aware of,” Selu reminded him, “Given that I alone out of all of us witnessed the slaughter of the Jedi on Coruscant and that I alone saw the full fury of the Empire descend on those who adhere to the light side.”

“So why was this case different?” Mentor Frelix asked. “Why did you reject our long-standing policy of avoidance and isolation from Skywalker’s Jedi and attempt to aid them?”

This was the question Selu had been waiting for, and the reaction of the other Councilors would either vindicate or condemn his actions. He weighed his answer carefully, knowing that the outcome of the meeting would hinge on his words.

“I saw an opportunity to possibly affect the outcome of this war without our direct opposition to the Yuuzhan Vong,” he said quietly. “Some of the Jedi captured have been very active in fighting against the invaders. It was my hope that providing their whereabouts and how to reach them to Skywalker’s Jedi would let them be rescued, which would be useful in the greater conflict against the Yuuzhan Vong. It would also give us leverage for any future interactions with Skywalker’s Jedi and the New Republic. I don’t see it as a break from our policy; I see it as a continuation and extension by including Skywalker’s Jedi and a New Republic that could use the help.”

The consternation was palpable now, the subtle buzz clearly audible as the Councilors began murmuring. Selu knew that many of them were not sympathetic to his reasoning; they had deliberately insulated themselves from the true depravity of the alien invaders. Some of them had even rejoiced as the New Republic and Jedi sustained defeat after defeat.

“Based on what, Master Kraen?” Asharam asked defiantly.

Selu started to answer, but beside him, Milya raised a hand from where she was leaned over a console, reading something. She had been thus engaged during most of Selu’s report, but now she had news of her own to contribute.

“Based on the fact that Coruscant has fallen to the Yuuzhan Vong,” she informed him smoothly.

A series of gasps and hushed whisperings went around the table until Councilor Frelix called for order.

“The Yuuzhan Vong were able to take the capital of the New Republic?” Frelix asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Milya said as she rose to speak. “They have apparently been planning such an attack for some time. Their fleet completely overwhelmed the galactic capital’s defenses.”

Milya did not need to elaborate further on the horrific nature of the invaders who had sacked the New Republic’s seat of power. For the last three years, the galaxy had been savagely invaded by the extragalactic Yuuzhan Vong species. The aliens wielded bizarre biotechnology that was unlike anything known space had ever seen and were bent on conquest. Their entire race seemed intent on outright subjugation of the entire galaxy and they had blazed a trail of destruction across the stars, leaving countless atrocities and billions dead in their wake. Fueled by religious fervor, they could be shockingly cruel and, worse, they hated mechanical technology and especially Force-users, viewing them as abominations. Yanibar, a rare example of a technologically advanced world as well as a haven for Force-users, had found even more reason to become increasingly withdrawn since the arrival of the Yuuzhan Vong. While the New Republic and their own rebuilt Jedi Order had reeled against the Yuuzhan Vong onslaught, Yanibar had quietly watched and bolstered its defenses for the most part.

“Were the Yuuzhan Vong that much superior to the New Republic defenders?” Asharam asked.

“Possibly,” Milya replied. “It’s hard to tell right now, but it seems that a good portion of the New Republic forces survived. Given the defenses we knew were protecting Coruscant, it’s likely the Yuuzhan Vong suffered heavy casualties. If they were a sane foe like the Empire, they’d regroup, replenish their losses. That doesn’t seem to be something often found in the Yuuzhan Vong strategy, though. They will be on the offensive again, and much sooner than we could anticipate.”

An uneasy silence swept over the room. Though Coruscant was more than halfway across the galaxy, the fact that the capital of the New Republic had been taken was in and of itself quite a shock. With that kind of firepower at their disposal, the Yuuzhan Vong would have no trouble wiping out Yanibar’s relatively meager defenses.

“Then it is clear that the conflict between the Yuuzhan Vong and the New Republic can not be significantly affected by adding the force of our arms to the outcome,” Asharam conjectured.

“On a galactic scale, no,” Selu agreed. “One engagement even over a system would seriously deplete our strength.”

“Then we should do what we have done for years now,” Asharam said. “We must think of the legacy that is entrusted to us to guard. What we cannot protect through strength, we must cherish through secrecy.”

“Orders to that effect have already gone out,” Selu told the Rodian. “All of our ships and soldiers are insystem now, save for the forces undergoing exercises elsewhere.”

“These exercises wouldn’t have anything to do with an attack on the Yuuzhan Vong, would they?” Asharam asked suspiciously.

Selu regarded him coldly, but deferred to Milya for the answer.

“Given that that would be a clear dereliction of our responsibility and a violation of Yanibar Guard protocol, the answer is obviously not,” Milya said icily. “As you are well aware, Councilor, it would be against our governing codes for us to take overt military action without first obtaining the approval of this Council.”

Frelix cleared his throat.

“Are you questioning the integrity of the Yanibar Guard representatives present today, Councilor Asharam, or are you merely insulting them?” Frelix inquired sharply.

Asharam looked contrite.

“My apologies,” he murmured.

“To answer your question more fully,” Selu added. “Our offworld forces are training on remote worlds against the possibility of being forced to defend Yanibar from invasion.”

“Regarding that,” Mentor Frelix said. “While you were gone, the Council approved an additional ten percent increase to the Yanibar Guard budget to help bolster our defenders.”

Selu bowed politely.

“I saw that in the report,” he said. “We will put the additional resources to good use. I plan on talking to Sarth soon to see what he and his team have developed.”

“If the Yuuzhan Vong should come here in force, we do not have the defense to fend off a fullscale invasion,” Milya warned. “A fleet a tenth the size of the one that conquered Coruscant would overwhelm us in hours.”

Her pessimistic prediction was not received well, but she and Selu saw no point in sugarcoating the truth.

“All the more reason to keep our forces—all of them—as close to home as possible,” Asharam insisted.

“That is our present course of action,” Selu said. “But we will not cripple our knowledge of galactic events by withdrawing our intelligence agents. Against a threat of this magnitude, we must be apprised of the state of the invasion.”

“That is fair,” Mentor Frelix said, before Asharam could interject. “Are their any objections to continued Yanibar Guard Intelligence covert missions and intelligence collection?”

Asharam and three of the other Councilors raised their hands, but it was clearly not a majority.

“Does the dissent wish to explain their reasoning?” Frelix asked reasonably.

“We are merely concerned that these operations will lead to unwelcome scrutiny of this colony by the galaxy at large, placing all we have sought to protect in jeopardy after so long,” Asharam answered sulkily. “We would ask that restraint be shown in ordering and executing more. . . militaristic missions.”

“We will take every precaution,” Milya assured him.

“Is there any more business regarding the Yanibar Guard?” Mentor Frelix asked.

There wasn’t any, so Selu and Milya took their leave of the Council and departed, eager to be reunited with Ryion and the rest of his team and away from the politics of the Council.

An hour later, Selu and Milya walked into a briefing room at Yanibar Guard headquarters. Their son and his team were seated around an oblong table inside the sparsely furnished room, but stood when the two elders entered. There was little to see on the gunmetal-gray walls and the only other objects of significance were a large holoprojector mounted in the middle of the table and an array of screens at one end for projecting additional information. Still, Selu’s and Milya’s warm greeting made up for the austerity of their environment.

“Welcome home, son,” Selu said, embracing Ryion firmly. “We’ve missed you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Ryion said.

He hugged Milya in return, and then the elder Kraens similarly welcomed the rest of the team back. Once pleasantries were exchanged, though, all of them sat down, their countenances professional again. Ryion and his teammates quickly gave a verbal report of their mission on Socorro, elucidating on various details as Selu and Milya inquired about them.

“Good work,” Selu told them after they finished their report. “You did well.”

“I am curious,” Milya noted. “What are your conclusions about the situation on Socorro with your neutralization of that one cell?”

Ryion shrugged.

“It’s hard to say,” he said. “The situation obviously merits further observation, but we’re stretched thin. The Yuuzhan Vong may try another covert attempt to sway Socorro into their camp, or they may choose to be less subtle and just invade. It wouldn’t take much to seize Socorro.”

“At the moment, it’s a possibility,” Milya replied. “Though I have to imagine that taking Coruscant had to have depleted their forces.”

“The Yuuzhan Vong don’t sit back and lick their wounds, ma’am,” Zeyn reminded her. “If you hit them, they just snarl and hit back harder.”

“Which is a possible weakness,” Ryion pointed out, “but it also makes them fierce opponents.”

“At any rate, it’s no longer our concern any more,” Selu told them. “YGI is not continuing operations on Socorro. We’ve stalled their plans for the world, and that will have to suffice.”

“Why break off operations now?” Qedai asked.

“Too dangerous and it would take too many resources to further influence the situation,” Milya said. “We suspect that what your team did was thwart a tentative attempt to seize the world, an opportunistic seizing that would only work if it wasn’t challenged. Any further attempts on the planet will be in much greater force, force that we would have to challenge directly to stop.”

“And that is something we cannot do,” Selu added.

“I’m not exactly sure why,” Ryion said slowly. “As it stands, the New Republic should be looking for allies. The Jedi know vaguely of our existence. If the Yuuzhan Vong are still weakened by attacking Coruscant, it could be time for a counter-attack.”

“No,” Selu told him flatly. “The New Republic is divided and splintered. The Jedi are reeling from the loss of so many of their members to the voxyn and the public distrust that has been heaped upon them. Any counter-attack now would only result in our swift annihilation at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“Only if they find us,” Ryion pointed out. “The Fleet could operate as a mobile strike force. Hard to pin down, capable of causing a lot of trouble.”

“We don’t know enough about Yuuzhan Vong interdiction technology to be sure of that,” Milya said. “Our experiments with mass shadow technology aren’t quite conclusive yet.”

“Furthermore,” Selu added. “Overt use of the fleet is not only contrary to the wishes of the Council, but also outside of our mission.”

“Then perhaps our mission should change,” interjected Zeyn. “Forgive me, Master Selu, but somehow when you said ‘the wishes of the Council,’ I got ‘my wishes’ out of that. It’s pretty obvious that if the Defense Force councilors, especially you two, recommend something to the Council, it usually happens.”

“That’s not always the case,” Milya replied.

“But it is in this one,” Selu stated. “The Yuuzhan Vong pose a grave threat to this galaxy, but engaging them is even riskier than ignoring them.”

“Besides, Jedi do not attack,” Milya added. “We are defenders.”

“I have to ask, what are we defending, Master Milya?” Ariada asked.

Manipulating the controls on her datapad, she pulled up holos obtained of Yuuzhan Vong atrocities. The burning of Ithor popped up on one projector, followed by the enslavement of the Rodians, the devastation of Kalarba, the millions sacrificed to their bloodthirsty pantheon of gods.

“We’re certainly not defending any of these,” she bit out. “Look at what they’ve done to the Rodians; they’ve manipulated and mutated them on a genetic level into nothing more than warbeasts.”

Selu winced at the ferocity of her reply, knowing that it stemmed from her own personal background. Ariada was the offspring of an Imperial officer and a Wroonian test subject, created as a laboratory experiment to help the officer perfect a virus that would change Wroonians and other near-Humans into Humans. Only the intervention of Selu, Milya, and other Force exiles from the Yanibar refuge had stopped the officer’s repulsive scheme and rescued her. Ariada had never known her parents, but when she was old enough, had been told the circumstances of her birth. Watching the Rodian species undergo the same kind of brutalization that her family and many other Wroonians had suffered had made her blood boil. Some lingering tension between her and Selu’s parents tactic disapproval of her and Ryion’s relational status may also have contributed to her ire, but Selu knew that ultimately, the Wroonian was sincerely incensed at the rampages of the Yuuzhan Vong.

“Ariada, you know that there have been many atrocities committed where we did not intervene,” Selu told her gently. “Because we would have risked everything that we cherish and have sworn to preserve.”

“Master Selu, this isn’t a threat against one people group or against Force-users only,” Ariada replied flatly, her usual reticence temporarily banished due to the passion she felt on this matter. “This is a threat against every species. Every way of life, except that of the Yuuzhan Vong. And while we’re sitting here comfortably, talking about it, they’re out there killing and torturing and enslaving and experimenting on millions of people. Nice to see how little that matters to you.”

Milya’s eyes flashed with anger, but Selu placed an arm on her shoulder, restraining her from answering.

“I know it’s going to be hard for you to understand this,” he said evenly. “But I grieve every day for those who have suffered, who are suffering now. War is a terrible thing. You must also realize that a special responsibility has been given to me, to Milya, and to others, to protect this refuge first so that the way of the light side of the Force will endure no matter what.”

“It seems to me that the light side of the Force somehow endured despite this refuge’s isolation,” Ariada countered. “Luke Skywalker may not have been perfect, but he was out there, serving the light side and actively fighting for right.”

“Is your argument that we haven’t been?” Milya replied. “If so, I have some reading for you concerning the actions of the Yanibar Guard in the past forty years that you’d do well to study before you make that accusation.”

Ariada shook her head.

“If the body of my father hadn’t washed up by your beach house, would you have cared what happened to me? To my people? Or would it have been another intriguing anecdote in the week’s intelligence report? If I wasn’t Force-sensitive, would you have taken such good care of me?” she asked Selu and Milya bitterly.

Milya steeled herself against the biting accusations spewing from the upset Wroonian.

“You know that none of those are true,” Milya told her.

“It was the will of the Force that led us to find you and your people,” Selu added. “We’ve never questioned that decision and we have certainly never regretted it.”

“And yet somehow, the Force isn’t telling you to do anything about the hundreds of millions who the Yuuzhan Vong are killing and enslaving?” she replied sardonically. “Well, let me know when the Force signals that it’s convenient for us to do something with all the talent and equipment and training we’ve stockpiled here.”

With that, she slammed her hands on the desk and stormed out of the room.

“Let her go,” Selu said mildly. “She needed to say that.”

Ryion sighed.

“I apologize for her words,” he put in. “She’s been on edge ever since we saw those slave fields on Tynna. It reminded her of what her people experienced.”

“I see that,” Selu said. “But there’s nothing for you to apologize for. She needed to get that out of her system. What I’m more concerned about is how widespread that viewpoint is, that we should be out there fighting the Yuuzhan Vong.”

Ryion shrugged.

“I won’t deny that I think the Yanibar Guard is being too passive right now,” he answered. “I know what my team and I can do, what the other teams can do, and we’re limited by our orders even while we’re out there watching the Yuuzhan Vong snatch system after system.”

“It wears on all of us,” Qedai added. “Not being able to do enough to stop them.”

“Believe me, I know the feeling,” Selu said. “If it was just me I was responsible for, I would be tempted to go out there and do something about it myself.”

“We’re not naïve, Master Selu,” Zeyn told him. “We know how important protecting this colony is and what the Yuuzhan Vong would do to us if they discovered us.”

“But at least we have a fighting chance,” Qedai added. “We’re strong and capable. We’re equipped and trained to defend ourselves. The people out there don’t have any of those things, for the most part. They’re relying on a government that is imploding to defend them.”

“We don’t want to bring the Yuuzhan Vong here,” Ryion said. “We just want an opportunity to take the fight to them.”

“Why?” Selu asked. “Out of revenge? Out of a sense of justice for people you’ve never met or seen until now?

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Ryion said firmly. “Because we can make a difference, but we’re choosing not to.”

“We are making a difference, son,” Milya told him. “Just not as obviously as you would like. You and your team stopped the Yuuzhan Vong from taking Socorro easily, didn’t you?”

“Temporarily,” Qedai pointed out.

“But a defeat for them,” Milya commented.

“Let me just put it this way,” Selu said. “You can’t understand what it means to risk something until you’ve had to put your life on the line to keep it from being destroyed. This attitude of wanting to challenge the Yuuzhan Vong and stop them from hurting more people is very noble, idealistic even. But it’s flawed.”

All three of the young people’s faces hardened at his reproach, clenching their jaws, but they did not interrupt the aged Jedi Master.

“The problem with that reasoning is that it would lead to more pain and suffering, more death and destruction if we did in fact challenge the Yuuzhan Vong. They could wipe this planet out, but that’s just the start. What about the worlds they would have to take to get here? What about their retribution on any world that we tried to help? What about their reaction to the rest of the galaxy once we’re inevitably defeated. When the consequences of direct intervention are as dire as those of less aggressive action, I would prefer to take the latter path and at least spare us from losing the lives of our people.”

“Then we should at least be out there doing what we can,” Qedai asserted. “This is no time to slack off now.”

“Perhaps,” Selu said. “And yet at the same time, you can’t constantly be on the frontlines. You’ll burn yourselves out.”

“That’s a good point,” Zeyn conceded.

“I know it’s hard to hear,” Selu told him. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to be young and idealistic, to want to fight for what’s right everywhere, all the time. I still believe that we should conduct offworld missions, but in ways that minimize the collateral damage and the risk to ourselves. We have to balance our ideals against the consequences that acting too aggressively on them would instigate, as well as watch out for our own personal wellbeing.”

The three remaining team members nodded soberly. While they didn’t necessarily agree with everything that Selu said, they also knew that he did make a valid point.

“I’m sorry,” Ryion said. “I didn’t mean to start an argument or challenge your direction.”

“There’s still nothing to apologize for,” Selu told his son. “I asked for your opinion and you gave it.”

Ryion ducked his head.

“That doesn’t mean I should have responded like that,” he answered. “We didn’t come here to be disrespectful.”

“No disrespect taken,” Milya said. “If anything, it gives us a better idea of what our younger Elite Guardians are feeling and we can communicate more clearly with them about it in the future.”

“Oh, and don’t worry,” Selu told them. “We have another mission for your team, if you’re up to it. Even with our less overt approach, there is still plenty of work for us to do, especially closer to home.”

“For now, though, get some rest,” Milya said. “We’ll send you the details on the mission later, once you’ve had a chance to relax some and recuperate.”

“I understand,” Ryion said. “I’ll talk to Ariada later about it, see what she thinks.”

“Let her know that we’re not mad at her,” Selu added.

“Will do,” Ryion said, “Thanks for your time.”

He signaled his teammates to head for the door, but Milya stopped him before he could file out after Zeyn and Qedai.

“A moment of your time, son,” she said mildly, but her tone conveyed more than just a polite request.

“Yes?” he responded obligatorily.

“Have a seat,” Selu said, his mask of polite amiability from the previous ten minutes dropped.

Ryion sat down.

“I’m not sure what’s going on with your team, but there seems to be an awful lot of discontentment,” Selu told him. “Care to fill us in on the details?”

“I don’t how to answer that, exactly,” Ryion began evasively.

“How about from the beginning?” Milya suggested. “See, this goes just beyond you and your team. This is about all the Elite Guardian teams we have out there, and how what you and your team say and think influences them.”

“Are you claiming that our opinions could start some kind of rebellion?” Ryion asked incredulously. “That’s absurd.”

“Maybe,” Selu admitted. “But maybe it’s not. You and your team are, without a doubt, the most accomplished Elite Guardian team Yanibar has ever fielded. From day one, you four were exceptional in a field of exceptional people. A lot of people are looking up to you, and I need to know how you’re going to handle that influence.”

Ryion gave his father a hard look.

“Are you speaking as a Jedi Master, my military superior, or as my father?” he said.

“All three,” Selu countered. “As a Jedi, it is my calling to be wary for signs of untoward aggression, anger, or hatred. As your superior, it is my duty to see that orders are carried out and the chain of command is respected. And as your father, it is my promise to love you and encourage you to make the right decisions in all aspects of your life.”

The younger Kraen thought he caught a hint of an inference in Selu’s final sentence that sparked off an irate reply.

“Let me guess; this is somehow leading back to my choices with Ariada?” he said, voicing his suspicions.

“Only if you want it to,” Milya told him coolly. “You know where your father and I stand on that, that if you two want to pursue that depth of relationship, you should marry each other and make it permanent instead of dancing around with those type of emotions. There’s a lot of danger in uncommitted passion.”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up,” Selu said mildly before Ryion could protest. “Our position hasn’t changed, but at the moment, I’m more concerned about whether you and your team should still be going out on missions. The strain of being out there is affecting all of you.”

“And what’s the alternative?” Ryion asked. “If we go off-duty, then how many more victories do the Yuuzhan Vong get? How many people suffer and die because we’re sitting at home worried about our psyches?”

“You and your team are one of Yanibar’s most valuable resources,” Milya answered. “The capable, strong, wise people of your generation are what make us as strong as we are. But you can’t keep hurling yourself into harm’s way over and over again nonstop and expect it to have no impact, if not physically, then emotionally.”

“Trust me, I know,” Selu said. “The Jedi Order was partially to blame for what the Clone Wars did to us. We were too busy trying to keep the Republic together to realize that it was being torn apart from underneath us.”

“What do you want from me?” Ryion demanded. “You two and Morgedh give us our missions, send us out to witness all the suffering in the galaxy, and then we come back and you tell us that we can’t use our training to help stop it. Now, you want to stop us from even going out there in the first place, to close our eyes to the pain out there too.”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Milya said. “We’re just asking that you take care of yourself, take care of your team.”

“We’ve been doing that,” Ryion shot back. “We’ve learned to trust each other, to rely on each other to accomplish the mission. That’s why I want to know why you want to stop us from using our training and our teamwork for good.”

“I think we’re having something of a misunderstanding about what exactly we’re wanting,” Milya said, trying to allay the mounting frustration.

She glanced over at Selu, who nodded in agreement.

“Think of a lightsaber,” Selu said. “Like any weapon, it can be very effective if used properly and cared for. But if you drag it through the mud, forget to recharge it, don’t maintain it well, it fails you when you need it that most.”

“So you’re saying we’re due for a recharge?” Ryion asked.

“That’s all we’re saying,” Milya told him. “All the negative emotion that was expressed today, it points to fatigue and tension that needs to be relaxed before you can work effectively again.”

“You know, you could have just said that,” Ryion said, a hint of an ironic smile creasing his face.

“Perhaps we would have, if we weren’t being accused of being unfeeling old geezers abusing our authority on the youth of Yanibar,” Selu reproved mildly.

There was no sting in his words, and they all knew that the mood had lightened. Now that the misunderstandings and accusations had been bypassed, all three felt any tension in the room dissipate.

“That’s fair enough,” Ryion said. “We’ve been on one mission after another and a short break might be good for all of us.”

“I’m glad you agree,” Milya answered. “YGI needs to do some background work in preparation for your next mission anyway, so you’ll have about a week off. I’ll submit you the mission briefings, but only if you promise to use the week to relax and not focus on the mission.”

“I promise,” Ryion said quickly.

“And that goes for the rest of your team, too,” Selu added knowingly.

Ryion shot his father a look of grudging admiration.

“Okay, I’ll relay that message also,” he said.

“Good,” Selu finished as all three of them stood; their discussion was more or less complete.

“I’ll go tell them, and also discuss why we’re taking a break, as well as how we express our feelings about missions,” Ryion said.

“Thank you,” Milya replied. “And thank you for your candor.”

“And your cooperation,” Selu added.

“Family is important,” Ryion answered. “You both taught Rhiannon and I that from the time we were little. If we can’t talk to one another openly and trust each other to do the right things, then we’ve lost that.”

Selu put his arm on his son’s shoulder.

“You are a much wiser man than I was at your age,” he said warmly. “I have no doubts in your ability to make the correct decision. Your mother and I are very proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Ryion said, embracing his father.

Releasing Selu from the embrace, he smiled roguishly at his parents.

“I better go find the others before they wonder what happened to me,” he said. “Explain that I’m not being chewed out before they come back and try to breach the door.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Milya replied drily.

“Good to have you home again,” Selu added. “Try and relax on your week home.”

“Dad,” Ryion shook his head hopelessly. “You of all people should know that ‘there is no try.’”

With that, he turned and sauntered out of the door, leaving Selu and Milya behind.

“That went better than expected,” Selu mused.

“He’s not entirely happy about our decision, but he also knows we’re right,” Milya observed. “Or at least, partially incorrect, but well-intentioned.”

“How of much of that discontentment about the direction of the Yanibar Guard do think was just fatigue and frustration?” Selu asked her.

“Some of it, for sure,” Milya answered. “But we trained them to know and do what is right, to act as defenders of the weak. Their orders are at cross-purposes with their convictions, and that’s a dangerous thing. Some of what we heard today is definitely sincere.”

“I know,” Selu said. “We’ve got the Council pulling us one way and the offworld teams and Elite Guardians, no less our son, wanting to go in the opposite direction.”

“Which one is right?” Milya asked.

“I don’t know,” Selu replied. “But it’s something we’re going to have to monitor closely. There’s a lot of discontent lurking under the surface.”

“We’ve allayed some of that, for now,” Milya pointed out.

Selu shook his head.

“Just like Ryion’s team on Socorro, a temporary victory,” he countered. “I’m not sure which is worse—the depredations of the Yuuzhan Vong or dealing with the internal strife that their invasion has flared up.”

It was not a question that Milya cared to answer. Just contemplating either of the possible outcomes was alarming enough and neither Selu nor Milya was wont to vocalize the dread that had been growing in their minds over the answer to that question.

3
Ryion silently strode up to the door of the apartment, glancing furtively around to see if there was anyone watching him. The waning daylight had given way to the pale gloom of twilight, obscuring his vision, but he wanted to be sure that nobody saw him; what he had in mind was technically against the policies of the Yanibar Elite Guardians. There was no one else in sight or in close proximity, so he rapped lightly on the door.

A few seconds later, it slid open, admitting him into Ariada’s apartment. As he entered, he saw that the lighting of the glowpanels had been dimmed to a cool blue hue, creating a subdued mood, though he sensed tension in Ariada as she led him in. He noted that she’d changed out of the tunic and trousers that they wore while on official duty, opting for a simple black tank top and snugly-fitting pants more appropriate for exercise or meditation instead. Obviously, her change in attire had been fairly recent; her hair was still in the same ponytail she’d worn for their meeting several hours earlier, so she had to have returned to her apartment only recently.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming or not,” Ariada told him, one corner of her mouth twitching upward in a wry smile. “Thought your parents might have restricted you or something.”

Ryion frowned.

“I’m twenty-three,” he said. “My parents haven’t done anything of that sort in years.”

“It was a joke, or an attempt at one,” she said with a slight shrug. “How did your meeting with your parents go?”

“Okay, I suppose,” Ryion told her. “They explained their position and I explained mine.”

“And?” she asked as she walked over to a small table and filled two clear tumblers with water.

“And we’re going to be taking a bit of a pause before our next mission,” Ryion said as he accepted one of the glasses of water and sat down in one of the room’s chairs.

Now it was Ariada’s turn to frown.

“What do you mean, a ‘pause?’” she asked.

“We’re going to be taking a week off before we start preparing for our next mission,” he explained. “They want to make sure we’re physically and emotionally healthy before we go offworld again.”

“They’re slowing down our missions?” she asked. “Is there a reason for that, or is it them being too cautious?”

Ryion hesitated, knowing that his girlfriend would not appreciate his parents’ reasoning as easily as he had.

“They’re worried about our wellbeing, particularly our emotional health,” Ryion admitted. “They don’t want us to be burned out or suffer from battle fatigue.”

Ariada shook her head in disagreement.

“We have each other,” she said, reaching one slender blue hand out to take his hand.

“I know,” Ryion answered. “They’re worried that won’t be enough.”

Her eyes flashed with a momentary spark of anger.

“Is it because of us?” she asked. “Because we’re not married and yet we practically live together, or at least we would if that regulation didn’t prohibit it?”

“I don’t know,” Ryion said honestly. “I don’t think so. I’ve been trying to think of it from their point of view and it does make sense—about the battle fatigue, not about us.”

His quick amendment forestalled a reaction from Ariada, but he knew her mind wasn’t completely settled.

“Ryion, I’m the team medic and I’ve known every member of our team for years,” she said with some exasperation. “I haven’t diagnosed anyone with signs of battle fatigue. For one, we barely even experience direct combat.”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Call it stress, battle fatigue, whatever. It exists and we all feel it to some extent.”

Ariada crossed her arms.

“What I feel right now is that you’re making excuses for your parents’ decision,” she countered.

“I am not,” he returned. “I’m just saying we should consider the matter from their perspective.”

“Ryion, you’ve asked me, asked us to look at issues from your parents’ point of view for years now,” she answered. “When are you going to ask them to look at things from our point of view?”

He sighed, knowing that she was subconsciously baiting him.

“This isn’t easy for me either,” he said. “Believe me, I’d rather be out there fighting the Yuuzhan Vong until they go back to whatever hole they crawled out of. At this point, though, I have no reason to distrust my parents.”

“Not even the way they condemn us?” Ariada asked him.

“That’s not necessarily condemnation,” Ryion corrected. “It’s a disagreement.”

“Whatever you call it, I just don’t understand why they can’t respect our decisions,” Ariada said.

“They respect our decision in the sense that they haven’t interfered directly,” Ryion said. “But they won’t just let something they think is wrong lie.”

She looked directly into his eyes.

“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?” she asked him pointedly.

“No, not at all,” Ryion insisted, then added more gently. “I do wish that you’d stop making me defend my parents.”

Ariada looked away momentarily, recognizing that she’d been instigating a conflict and putting Ryion squarely in the middle of it. It was difficult for her to separate the two Ryions that existed in her mind, the Ryion that loved her and wanted to agree with her and the Ryion that was loyal to and tried diligently to please his parents. It was all too easy for her to want only the first Ryion and reject the other one, but she knew that both elements were part of his identity. That didn’t justify her berating of him. She sighed, knowing that she had unleashed her frustration with his parents onto him undeservingly.

“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to try and split your loyalty.”

“I know,” he said. “And I forgive you, but you’ll have to make it up later.”

The tone in his voice and his relaxed posture endowed her with a sense that he wasn’t angry with her. In fact, he was sending quite the opposite signals to her, ones that she was all too happy to reciprocate. Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled flirtatiously.

“Oh, I’m quite good at that,” Ariada assured him.

Ryion returned her smile as he gently caressed her forearm.

“It’s times like those that I wish you were wrong more often,” he said.

She turned serious again, her playful mood temporarily forgotten.

“Don’t wish that, Ryion,” Ariada told him. “I do the things I do because I believe that they’re the right thing to do. If I start being wrong about that, then I’m lying to myself.”

“Okay, love,” Ryion said placatingly. “We’ll hope and trust that you’ll be right as much as possible.”

Knowing that he’d struck a nerve, he decided to change the subjects, shift her attention to a more comfortable topic.

“Did you get to see what our next mission is?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Did you?”

“Not really,” Ryion replied. “I glossed over it, but my attention was focused on turning in all the reports from our last mission.”

“I’ll get the datapad then,” she said.

Rising from her chair, she retrieved the datapad in question from her desk across the room. Walking back over to Ryion, she sat down in his lap, angling her body so he could see the datapad over her shoulder.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much,” he said distractedly as he took the datapad from her and scrolled down.

“Surprisingly enough, we’re not going after the Vong or the Peace Brigade,” Ariada remarked. “Nor even certain incompetent politicians.”

“I see that,” Ryion answered as he pored through the file. “This is different indeed.”

“I’ll say,” Ariada replied. “It’s not every day we go after a collector with an unhealthy interest in Sith relics.”

That was a mild description of the target’s recent activities, Ryion figured. Based on the intelligence he was reading, Sh’aalam Iiridath had been one busy Gotal. The wealthy but reclusive financier had been surreptitiously acquiring data and artifacts related to the Sith for some time now, and only purchasing a Sith lanvarok from a fence in the employ of YGI had tipped off the Yanibar Guard to his proclivity.

“I think he’s a bit more than just a collector, based on the fact that we’re being sent after him,” Ryion commented, pointing out a relevant anecdote. “Iiridath seems to be putting a lot of money into a couple specialized biotechnology and starship tech firms. Firms that don’t talk about what they do for any price,” he said. “We’re talking more credits than you and I will ever see, sank into some shadow corporations building who-knows-what. Could be he’s part of a darksider cult and he’s the financier for their operations.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Ariada replied. “Iiridath is known as a recluse. He doesn’t strike me as the type who would collaborate with others easily.”

“Do you think he’s Force-sensitive?” Ryion asked. “It’s reasonably uncommon in Gotals, but certainly not unheard of.”

“Either that, or he has an unnatural urge to collect Sith artifacts and possibly use some of them,” Ariada considered. “It’s highly unlikely that he’s trained, though, even if he is Force-sensitive. Though I suppose there could still be a Dark Jedi or two out there from the war.”

“Isn’t that a cheery thought?” Ryion commented wryly.

“Then we better be careful when we deal with him,” Ariada said.

“Just like always,” Ryion quipped.

She didn’t chuckle at his jibe, her concentration devoted to the meager intelligence that YGI had gleaned on Iiridath.

“He’s going to be hard to approach and harder to corner,” she said. “At this rate, I’m glad we have an extra week to work on this.”

“Not quite,” Ryion answered, plucking the datapad from her hands. “We had to promise to not focus on the mission for that week to get this information, remember?”

She started to protest, but Ryion cupped her head in his hand and kissed her on the lips.

“We promised, remember?” he told her.

Ariada attempted to argue that point, to insist stubbornly that she was right. However, she was having a hard time getting a word in edgewise, because Ryion seemed more intent on kissing her than having an argument. Finally, she shoved him back into the chair.

“I’m trying to have a conversation here,” she protested.

“Are you?” Ryion asked, as if this was somehow a new revelation to him. “I’m trying to enjoy myself and make the most of a week off, but if you want to spend it arguing over something we agreed on already, I guess I can try to play along.”

She scowled.

“This isn’t funny, Ryion,” she said. “If we can’t be out there stopping the Yuuzhan Vong and their allies, then we should at least be neutralizing people like Iiridath before he becomes a problem, too.”

“It can wait, love,” Ryion told her. “We gave our words to relax and that’s exactly what I intend to do. My parents were right about at least one thing—you can’t go directly from one mission to another for months on end. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Iiridath will still be there and we’ll still deal with him.”

“And if he isn’t, that means he caught wind of YGI investigating him and went into hiding so we’ll never find him,” Ariada pointed out crossly.

“Or it means that he and Yuuzhan Vong had an unpleasant encounter and he didn’t win,” Ryion countered. “Even if he does go into hiding, we still win.”

“How so?” Ariada asked, one eyebrow arching up skeptically.

“If he’s dead or disappeared, we probably won’t be tasked with tracking him down,” Ryion explained. “We’ll go back to sabotaging Vong efforts.”

“I suppose,” Ariada conceded. “Though if it has to be one of those, I’d prefer him meet up with the Vong and take some of them down with him. Maybe some of those Sith artifacts he’s collected include a nasty poison or two.”

“Hey there,” Ryion cautioned. “I wouldn’t want to wish the Sith on anyone, even the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she said bitterly. “You’re not the one whose planet was captured, whose people were enslaved and experimented on—just like the Vong are doing on dozens of worlds now.”

He took her hand in his again, trying to assuage her.

“Look, I know how much the Yuuzhan Vong invasion reminds you of what happened to your people years ago,” he said. “It’s awful and if I were in your place, I’d probably feel the same way. You just can’t let it get too stuck inside your head, though. You’ll be too bitter and angry to think straight and we need you at your best if we’re going to stop the Vong from hurting more people.”

She shook her head hopelessly at him.

“Sometimes I think you’ll become a proverb-spouting elder twenty years before you have your first gray hair, but you do make a good point,” she said in surrender before pausing to let her voice and attitude turn subtly indignant. “And is fighting Vong the only thing you need at my best for?”

“Not exactly,” Ryion backpedaled, turning her to face him.

“I hope not,” Ariada said, trying to maintain her façade of umbrage without much success.

Ryion ran one of his hands from her thigh up to her hip as he drew her closer to him with a sensuous smile.

“I can think of one or two other reasons that I need you at your best.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” she asked him, feigning innocence.

“I would indeed,” Ryion answered seductively.

A half-second later, she was in his arms, engulfed in a passionate embrace.


 * Rishi

“Palace Command, this is Storm One. We’ve sighted a second landing wave touching down.”

The Corellian female’s voice crackling through the comm interference confirmed what the sensor board already showed the huddled officers inside the war room of Chalacta’s Viceroy’s Palace. The blue line sweeping around in epicycles showed a jagged formation of red triangles, indicating hostile forces advancing on the palace.

“General Undukjavi, your defenses are crumbling,” said an average-looking middle-aged human from where he stood in corner of the room, his arms crossed.

His complexion was lighter than that of the Chalactan officers who constituted the majority of the room’s occupants and he didn’t wear the uniform of Chalacta’s limited defense forces. His Basic lacked the soft lilting accent of the Chalactans; he was clearly an outsider.

“What did you expect?” snarled the officer in question, a stout individual whose six decades had clearly worn on him.

The indignant general, his sizable mustache bristling, gesticulated at the oncoming wedge.

“We have heavy casualties, enemy units still moving in on the palace. Please advise,” reported Storm One’s voice.

“The defenses were not designed for an attack of this scale,” General Undukjavi practically shouted at the outsider. “Of course they are crumbling! There must be ten thousand Yuuzhan Vong out there!”

“General, that’s one of my volunteers out there fighting for you,” the outsider drawled. “Either you give her some meaningful orders and salvage something out of this, or we’re all dead.”

“What do you want me to tell her?” the general snarled.

“General Undukjavi, please,” an aide urged him. “Colonel Klivian is only trying to help.”

“Help? What help has he been, Colonel Previthavi?” the general rasped. “All he’s done is tell me bad news that I can see for myself!”

“You want my help, General?” the offworlder asked. “Then you get the viceroy and anyone else important to the evacuation ships and let me take over from here.”

“Surrender the defense of this world to an offworlder? Unthinkable!” the general protested.

“Fine then,” Derek Klivian, formerly of Rogue Squadron, sniffed mournfully. “We can all die together. They might even impale us on the same amphistaff. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“General, I implore you to listen to him,” Colonel Previthavi whispered to his superior. “Your responsibility is to safeguard our people, who are currently holding in transports at the spaceport. If Colonel Klivian can stall the advance long enough, we can save thousands of our people—and the viceroy.”

“Fine,” General Undukjavi rumbled, turning back to the offworlder. “Colonel Klivian, I hereby declare you in charge of this planet’s defense. We need a corridor to launch the viceroy’s transport and the rest of the convoy ready to launch from the spaceport.”

“We also need to buy some time to complete the evacuation,” added Colonel Previthavi.

“So you need time and space,” commented Klivian as he leaned over the ominous sensor board. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll see what my volunteers and I can do.”

“It is vital that we evacuate the viceroy,” Colonel Previthavi put in. “He and his family must survive.”

“What about the palace defenses?” Klivian asked.

“They are still. . . preparing for combat,” growled General Undukjavi. “We did not expect so sudden an attack.”

“Oh, we are so dead,” a dour Klivian replied.

He turned to a communications officer.

“Get me Storm One,” he said.

A comlink was quickly handed to him and he keyed it to deliver his orders.

“Hold your position, Storm One,” Klivian told her. “We’re mobilizing palace defenses, but we need time to evacuate the royal family.”

“Roger, Command, we’ll do our best,” her voice came through, riding waves of static. “Who the hell are they?”

It was not a question that Klivian cared to answer. He’d been asking himself the same thing for the last two years, ever since his comfortable retirement on Coruscant from the New Republic Defense Force and Rogue Squadron had been shaken up by the Yuuzhan Vong. At first, he’d been worried, but largely disinterested by their advance, even as he disapproved of the political blundering that had characterized the New Republic response to the Yuuzhan Vong. It was after Duro fell that he’d been galvanized into action. While his squadmates Wedge Antilles and Tycho Celchu had returned to active service, Klivian, or Hobbie as he used to be called, had opted for a different route, cobbling together a mixed group of starfighters and ground troops, perhaps a few hundred strong at most, and taking the fight to the Yuuzhan Vong in his own way. Ending up on Chalacta had been at attempt to seize a world already taken by the Yuuzhan Vong. Now, his short-lived re-conquest of the planet was about to come to an end.

He paced back and forth, watching the sensor board intently for the next half hour. Only occasionally did he break his terse silence to issue monosyllabic orders to the Chalactan aides. The situation was not improving.

“Command, this is Storm One,” came the female voice again, this time more panicked. “We’re out of artillery and they’re breaking through our lines. Permission to retreat?”

“Granted,” he said, a frown furrowing its way across his brow as the tactical display updated. “Keep yourselves alive.”

The blue dots denoting her group of volunteers and Chalactan security forces quickly dissipated against the Yuuzhan Vong advance. It was time to be out of here.

“We need to evacuate also, Colonel,” he told Previthevi flatly. “We bought you thirty minutes more than you would have had before. It either counts for something or we’re all dead.”

The colonel started to plead for more time to evacuate the viceroy, but one look from Hobbie cut him off.

In a way, this miserable scenario was the Chalactans’ own fault. They’d capitulated almost immediately to Supreme Commander Nas Choka and his Yuuzhan Vong assault force that had carved its way through the Mid Rim in the war’s first year. The Yuuzhan Vong had spared the spiritually-focused Chalactan Adepts and much of the populace from the horrors of mass enslavement all too common under their unkind auspices. Instead, they had allowed the tranquil world to be administered by the collaborationist Peace Brigade, in exchange for a thousand volunteers for the sacrificial pits. Nobly, a thousand of the Chalactan Adepts had departed their beloved temples, ending up as corpses to satiate Yuuzhan Vong bloodlust in order to spare their world.

That had been until Hobbie and his motley crew had learned of a non-enslaved populace behind enemy lines. Augmented by a pair of New Republic Ranger-class gunships captained by old friends who he’d persuaded to be allowed to join his flotilla, he and his volunteers had fought their way through the maze of dovin basal mines on the main hyperroutes. Arriving over Chalacta, they blasted their way onto the planet and chased off the surprisingly few Peace Brigade forces with relative ease, attempting to arm the meager defense forces and free the populace, including the viceroy and his daughter. While successful, the Yuuzhan Vong response had been swifter than anticipated in light of their stabs into the Core Worlds. They hadn’t had time to complete the evacuation of as many people as possible from the capital before the Yuuzhan Vong had arrived. There would be no second mercy for Chalacta this time.

After several more minutes of terse instructions to the remaining defenders to fall back slowly to their ships and escape, Hobbie decided that he’d done all he could for Chalacta. He could hear the rumble of artillery in the background, knew that the Yuuzhan Vong were minutes from storming the palace. At this rate, he’d be lucky to get offworld and into hyperspace himself.

“Colonel, it’s time to go,” he said, half-dragging Previthavi along by one arm as he led a procession out of the war room.

Behind him, four of his volunteers with blaster rifles escorted them through the once-pristine halls of the palace. The Chalactan officer started to voice an objection as one of the guards laid a mine behind a piece of valuable artwork, but Hobbie glared at him to stifle any objection. In war, aesthetic beauty and priceless art took an unsurprisingly low position on the priority list. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re ambushed right about now,” Hobbie commented with his trademark pessimism. “It’d be just my luck.”

Colonel Previthevi shot him a worried look as they made their way into the hangar where a few transports and starfighters were parked. A pair of guards in Chalactan uniforms was spraying blaster fire in one direction. Several whirring dots slammed into one guard, collapsing him to the ground in a bloody heap.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” shouted the other guard frantically as he redoubled his fire, attempting to take cover behind a column.

Hobbie broke into a sprint.

“Get the officers into the transport!” he shouted to his volunteers as he made a mad dash for his personal X-wing, parked in one corner of the hangar.

The bone-chilling war cries of the Yuuzhan Vong echoed across the hangar as the last guard succumbed to a hail of projectiles. Ten or so Yuuzhan Vong skidded to a halt inside the hangar as Hobbie slid inside his cockpit. He hurriedly closed the canopy and activated his shields, punching all systems to life.

The Chalactans and his security cordon made their own run for the nearest transport ramp amid a hail of thud bugs. Several fell, and though some of them lived, staying behind to retrieve them was an instant death sentence, as one Chalactan found out when he attempted to grab an injured comrade and was rewarded with a razor bug slashing his throat. Even as they ran for the ramp, the Yuuzhan Vong closed swiftly, readying amphistaffs to cut down the procession even as the transport’s engines whined to life. A line of four warriors intercepted the head of the group, brandishing their weapons.

However, the aliens hadn’t noticed the X-wing powering up in the corner. Cruising on repulsorlifts, Hobbie cranked his lasers down to a new stutter-fire configuration that made his X-wing’s weapons mostly fire low-power streams of energy in an attempt to overload the defensive dovin basal singularities on Yuuzhan Vong craft. A feral smile on his face, he dropped his aiming reticule on the intruders and squeezed the trigger. A quick double-blast sent the warriors flying in clouds of superheated fluids and flesh fragments. Hobbie deftly slewed his cannons towards the rest of the Yuuzhan Vong warriors. His relatively weak shots were more than enough to completely evaporate any flesh and blood targets he hit, gouging deep, smoldering furrows in the smooth floor of the hangar.

“This is Storm Leader, I’m away and covering the viceroy’s transport,” he said as he cruised out of the hangar, looking for more warriors to blast.

In his wake, three small transports followed him. As they soared up into the sky, dodging intermittent plasma cannon fire, Hobbie hit a switch that toggled his S-foils into the characteristic shape of an X-wing in attack position. Two ancient Z-95s in Chalactan colors formed up on his wing.

“Copy that, Leader, this is Thunder Six. We’ve got as many ships as we can airborne, headed for space.”

“Where’s Thunder Lead?” Hobbie asked.

“He didn’t make it, Storm Lead,” Thunder Six replied.

“Damnit,” Hobbie swore. “They’ll pay for that, too.”

Roaring through the skies on a trail of ion exhaust, Hobbie and the transports he was flying cover for soon reached the main portion of the convoy that was departing from the main spaceport. His sensor boards showed Yuuzhan Vong craft converging on his straggling clump of ships from all directions, as expected.

“Do we have a clear run to hyperspace?” he asked.

“Negative, Storm Lead,” replied Captain Allaanard aboard one of the Ranger gunships. “Pretty good size Yuuzhan Vong force upstairs, including one of those matalok cruisers.”

“Sithspawn,” Hobbie bit out, knowing that for all intents and purposes, a matalok was the Yuuzhan Vong version of a Star Destroyer.

“Every ship for yourself,” he said over a general channel. “If you can get a jump plotted, transmit it to anyone you can by secure channel and hope to meet up with them later. Fighters, defend the transports as best you can.”

He switched his communications system back over to one used only by his volunteers.

“Commence the Janson Manuever,” he said.

His pilots acknowledged and Hobbie smiled grimly as eight heavy starfighters lurched out ahead of the convoy towards the oncoming Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers that were the aliens’ closest equivalent to starfighters. As the distances diminished rapidly between the converging forces, the eight StarViper starfighters fired off a volley of particularly special missiles, legacies of another war years ago.

As the organic coralskippers swooped in on the lightly defended transports, they suddenly found themselves flying through a cloud of buzz droids, a relic from the Clone Wars that involved packing a missile with droids and showering your opponent with vicious little mechanical creations that could tear apart a starfighter. Conventional tactics to deal with buzz droids were to evade the missiles and their lethal cargo, or fly through too swiftly for them to latch on. However, the Yuuzhan Vong had no conventional tactics or prior experience with this particular ordnance. They also had a deep-rooted and inherent hatred of all things mechanical. A droid dancing on the front of his starfighter would be as big of an affront to the Yuuzhan Vong as telling a fat joke to a Hutt.

“It’s working, Storm Lead,” one of his pilots reported. “The intercepting formation is breaking up. They’re trying to deal with the buzz droids.”

“Good thing we saved them then,” Hobbie said. “Watch out for the flankers and chasers.”

While the Yuuzhan Vong interception force was delayed and weakened by the sudden onset of the buzz droids, the pursuing and flanking forces were able to close on the slow-moving convoy and wreak havoc on their ships.

Hobbie wove his X-wing through the melee even as he continued to fly away from Chalacta. Plasma balls and magma streams that were the preferred starfighter weapons of the Yuuzhan Vong sailed past him, riding fiery tails, while living grutchin creatures latched on and chewed through hulls. Explosions and debris buffeted his X-wing even as he battled through the swarm of coralskippers descending on the Chalactan convoy. He caught a glimpse of one of the Ranger-class gunships spinning slowly, gouts of flame bursting from the stricken ship. Both of his Z-95 wingmates perished, and while he was able to link up with other starfighters from his volunteers and keep fighting, reminders of the price to be paid for running the Yuuzhan Vong gauntlet exploded all around him.

Part of him wondered pessimistically if this was it, if he’d tempted fate or the Force or something too long and now it was over. Part of him wondered if it would be a quick death or if his starfighter would slowly trail off, leaving him to die of asphyxiation. Part of him watched in morbid fascination as ships around him blew up or simply stopped working, killing off anywhere from one to dozens of people at a time. But most of his attention was devoted to using all his once-vaunted skill as a starfighter ace to stay alive.

“All ships, this is Thunder Six, I have a course plotted! Prepare to accept transmission and lay in the jump as quickly as possible!”

The words were sweet as Christophsian sugar to him and he ordered the R5 unit tucked in behind him to enter the course even as he punched laser bolt after laser bolt into a persistent coralskipper. Finally, enough of his shots were able to slip past the miniature black hole generated by the dovin basal to defend the alien craft, sending it hurtling into the void lifelessly. His role as defender more or less accomplished, Hobbie vectored away from the fray and engaged his hyperdrive, knowing that no more than half of the convoy at most remained to follow him. Their ill-fated attempt at liberating Chalacta was over all too swiftly, but he had a feeling that the flight for their lives had just begun. The Yuuzhan Vong would not rest until they’d tracked down the few thousand refugees he had managed to abscond with from Chalacta. Their retribution would be swift and furious.