Jedi Eclipse

by James Luceno

  Clearly surprised, Nom Anor did not respond, though his mouth twitched several times in rapid succession.

  “Your actions, Executor, have been closely monitored and widely discussed, and it is the opinion of many in Shimrra’s court that you have strayed from your assigned course. First you chose to ally yourself with the Praetorite Vong, who believed they could spearhead an invasion of this magnitude without suffering tragic consequences.”

  “I was not allied with them,” Nom Anor said when he could. “My assignment was to destabilize the New Republic in ways I saw fit. That is what I did among the Imperial Moffs, as well as in the Osarian system, and have since done—under different guises—in a half-dozen other systems.”

  Choka shot him a gimlet stare. “Who helped the Praetorite Vong obtain a yammosk—and an imperfect one at that?”

  Nom Anor swallowed hard. “I may have mentioned something—”

  “You facilitated them.”

  “Only from a certain point of view.”

  “Don’t try your doublespeak on me, Executor. You may have managed to distance yourself from Prefect Da’Gara and the rest by escaping the price they paid for their miscalculation, but you cannot deny engineering the plan that ended in the death of the priestess Elan, daughter of high priest Jakan—who, I might add, is most displeased with you.”

  “There is no proof that Elan or her mascot Vergere are dead. Even so, I can scarcely be held accountable for what happened to them.”

  “You take no blame for employing agents who act without orders from their handler?”

  Nom Anor added force to his voice. “My agents were endeavoring to please me—us—by returning Elan. I had no knowledge of their designs until it was too late.”

  “Is it true that Elan was to have assassinated a number of Jeedai Knights?”

  “It is.”

  Choka tempered his voice with curiosity. “Why this fascination with the Jeedai, Executor? I, for one, am not convinced they pose a serious threat to our conquest.”

  “It is not the Jedi who pose a threat, so much as the Force—the mystical power they embody.”

  “The Force is nothing more than an idea,” Choka said loudly, “and the best way to extinguish an idea is by replacing it with a better one, such as we bring.”

  Nom Anor risked a patronizing sniff. “As you say, Supreme Commander.”

  Choka glowered. “Now I learn from Commander Malik Carr that you were instrumental in gaining the allegiance of the creatures that occupy this space—these Hutts.”

  Nom Anor’s genuine eye narrowed. “The Hutts are critical to a plan devised by Commander Malik Carr and myself to force a significant defeat on the New Republic. In fact”—he tilted his head to one side—“you arrive at an auspicious moment, because part of that plan is shortly to be put into effect. If you would care to accompany us into battle, you could observe firsthand our strategy for conquering the Core Worlds in advance of the arrival of Warmaster Tsavong Lah.”

  Choka took a moment to weigh the consequences of such an action, then grunted an affirmative. “I will go. But let me caution you, Executor, about the perils of ambition. It’s obvious that you are hungry for escalation, but there are no shortcuts to the rank of consul, to say nothing of prefect.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Look to Yun-Shuno for counsel, Executor. Escalation is awarded only to those who have discharged their obligations in service to the gods. You appear to act in your own behalf, as if possessed of a personal stake in the results.” He leaned slightly forward. “Or is it this galaxy, Executor, and the heathen beliefs of those who populate it that have corrupted you?”

  Nom Anor held his gaze, wishing he had filled his empty eye socket with a venom-spitting plaeryin bol. “I care only for what this galaxy is capable of providing the Yuuzhan Vong.” He cast a glance at Malik Carr. “With all due respect, Commander, our target awaits.”

  Malik Carr nodded to Choka. “He speaks the truth.”

  The supreme commander folded his arms. “Let us enact the sacrifices and see what Commander Malik Carr and Executor Nom Anor have masterminded.” He pointed to the knot of prisoners. “Bring the captives forward. In sacrificing them, perhaps we can help ensure Executor Nom Anor a much-needed victory.”

  SIXTEEN

  On a purely objective level, battles in space had a savage beauty, an incendiary splendor. Any veteran warship commander or fighter jock ordered to speak the truth would have said so. The more candid among them might even have confessed to moments of exhilaration or, at the very least, moments of hypnotic fascination, when ranging laser bursts or the stroboscopic dazzle of short-lived explosions were enough to carry a pilot completely out of him- or herself. Add distance to the view and the enchantment increased a hundredfold, for along with fiery and coherent light there was the black velvet tableau of stars, planets, moons … and ships—thrusters flaring, burnished by starlight, reduced to fleeting comets, twirling and pirouetting in a slow, pyrotechnic ballet of death.

  The Battle of Tynna was no exception.

  Being seven hundred thousand kilometers removed from the cloud-wreathed, cool-blue and dark-green gem was like having an upper-tier balcony seat at the Coruscant Opera, but the lofty vantage compensated for the lack of details. And as at the opera, technological assists were available for any who wished to bring the action into extreme close-up.

  Major Showolter might have expressed as much to fellow intelligence officer Belindi Kalenda, but he feared being misunderstood. Consequently, he kept his thoughts to himself as the two women at the helm of the KDY LightStealth-18 reconnaissance leaned to either side to afford him and Kalenda an unobstructed view of Tynna’s ruination.

  A carbon-black six-passenger craft with a needlelike body and disproportionate, downsloping stabilizers, the LightStealth recon was the closest anyone had come to producing a starship capable of hiding itself even while it scanned. Unlike the wide assortment of vessels designed by Raith Sienar, Imperial Section 19, or Warthan’s Wizards during the days of the Empire, the LSR wasn’t cloaked, but was instead built for silent running and remarkable speed. Bristling with low-profile rectennae and packed with signal-augmented sensor jammers, blindband hypercomm transmitters, crystal gravfield trap scanners, and a power core more suitable to a ship of the line, the LSR could all but see around the universe to its own aft and could outrun nearly anything that got wind of it.

  The craft’s pilots, on temporary duty from the Intelligence division’s own Black Force Squadron, had assured Showolter that the LSR could be moved to within visual range of the Yuuzhan Vong flotilla and still evade detection. But Showolter had no desire to be any closer to the rout than necessary. They were only there as observers, in any case.

  “It’s horrible,” Kalenda said abjectly, turning away from the narrow viewports. “I can’t stand just sitting here, doing nothing.”

  “Showing ourselves will allow the Yuuzhan Vong to know we’ve found a flaw in their strategy,” Showolter pointed out. Even so, the realization that they really could do nothing brought an end to his ruminations about the beauty of battle and pulled down the corners of his mouth. “But I agree: it’s horrible.”

  Kalenda was slight, dark-skinned, and a touch glassy-eyed, where Showolter was thickset, pale, and a bit more conspicuous than Intelligence liked its officers to be. Recently they had worked closely together in overseeing the Yuuzhan Vong defector case, which had not only turned into a political debacle of major proportions, but had also landed both of them in bacta tanks.

  In private moments Showolter still chided himself for having been so easily manipulated by Elan—the Yuuzhan Vong priestess and faux defector who had very nearly done in Han Solo, as well. Showolter had never trusted her, and yet despite his suspicions he had relaxed his guard and ultimately failed to deliver her to Coruscant. He often wondered what might have happened had he succeeded. Would he have been a victim of her poison breath, as Solo had come close to being? Would she have accomplished her goal of assassinatin
g Luke Skywalker and other Jedi Knights? He wondered, too, about the fate of the strange being that had accompanied Elan, the one called Vergere, who had fled in one of the Millennium Falcon’s escape pods, perhaps back into enemy hands, perhaps not.

  Kalenda had also borne the brunt of the fallout from the affair, as it was thought that she had unwittingly divulged vital details to an informer who sat—even now—in the senate or on the Security and Intelligence Council.

  Showolter’s and Kalenda’s tarnished reputations were clearly what had prompted Talon Karrde to seek them out. Karrde, and the Jedi apparently, had uncovered evidence linking the spice trade to New Republic worlds in imminent danger of attack by the Yuuzhan Vong. The nature of that link was so tenuous, however, that few would have paid it any heed—save for two defamed officers intent on clearing their names at any cost.

  Knowing that high-ranking members of the military would be disinclined to hear them out, Showolter and Kalenda had shared Karrde’s data only with select members of the intelligence community. One such member had kept them apprised of Yuuzhan Vong fleet movements in Hutt space, and another of HoloNet S-thread disturbances in the hyperspace routes linking Hutt space to the Tynnani system. The jump of several warships from Hutt space had been enough to prompt Showolter and Kalenda to take a gamble on the flotilla’s destination. Already en route to Tynna when confirmation of the HoloNet disruptions had been received, they had arrived almost simultaneously with the Yuuzhan Vong ships.

  Arms wrapped tightly around herself, Kalenda was staring as if mesmerized by the distant flashes of light. “What were we thinking, Showolter? We should have at least tried to bring the Defense Force into this.”

  “We’ve been through that,” he reflected sourly. “They wouldn’t have listened. And even if they had, they would have dismissed the evidence as unsubstantiated or at best coincidental—especially considering the source.” He glanced over his shoulder at the LSR’s fifth and only civilian passenger. “No offense, Karrde.”

  “None taken,” Karrde assured from one of the seats. He glanced at Kalenda, then added, “Remind her, Major, of the most important reason for not going to the military.”

  Showolter snorted ruefully. “On the off chance Admiral Sovv actually listened to us and dispatched a battle group to Tynna.”

  Kalenda pondered the fact dully. “If the Yuuzhan Vong had found New Republic ships waiting for them, they’d know we’re on to them.” She gazed out the viewport. “Tynna has to fall to save Corellia and Bothawui.”

  Showolter shrugged meaningfully. “And maybe dozens more have to fall.”

  Kalenda sighed with purpose. “I’ve been to Tynna. It’s one of the most beautiful worlds in the Expansion Region. And the Tynnans are probably one of the most well-informed and well-intentioned species anywhere.” She turned to Karrde. “I just can’t accept that there wasn’t some other way of corroborating the intelligence you brought us.”

  “If nothing else, it’ll be over quickly,” one of the pilots remarked. “Tynna’s space defense didn’t number more than two hundred fighters to begin with, and by our count they’re already down to less than thirty.”

  Kalenda squinted, as if to hold the battle at bay. “Why don’t they surrender? It’s suicide.” She compressed her lips in bitterness. “If only they understood what they’re dying for …”

  “Telling them wouldn’t have changed anything,” Karrde said, joining her at the viewport. “If your choice was to fight with your last breath or allow yourself to be captured and sacrificed, what would you do?”

  While Kalenda brooded, Showolter studied the LSR’s authenticator screen. “Do the scanners recognize any of the Yuuzhan Vong ships?”

  The pilot called up data. “Vessel types, more than anything else. But we have verification on three of them. Two were at Obroa-skai. One—the heavy cruiser analog—was at Gyndine.”

  “Enemy fighters and drop ships penetrating the envelope,” the copilot announced. “Bearing on a course for Tanallay Surge complex.”

  “Can we access the satellite feed?” Showolter asked.

  The copilot threw several switches. “Onscreen. What we’re seeing is going live to every city on Tynna.”

  The screen showed the sprawling, multilevel structure that was Surge complex, with its surrounding pools, fountains, and chutes. On the broad steps that fronted the complex and disappeared under water stood several hundred dark and glossy-pelted bipeds, all with pointed ears and tapering tails erect, and whiskered, quivering snouts lifted to the sky.

  Abruptly the screen shifted to a reverse point-of-view shot of Yuuzhan Vong vessels dropping through the atmosphere like slow-motion meteors. Cams tracked the descent of those closest to the Surge complex and held on them as they landed on the far side of bridges that spanned the picturesque lagoon above which the Tynnans had assembled.

  “No indication of weapons among the Tynnan contingent,” Showolter said when the screen had returned to a midrange shot of the web-fingered, bucktoothed aliens. “Must be a welcoming party.”

  “Has to be,” Kalenda mused. “Cunning and quick-wittedness have always been the Tynnans’ best weapons, but it’ll take time before they deploy those.”

  “Meanwhile,” Showolter said, “it looks like they’re ready to hand over the codes to the city.”

  Karrde smoothed his mustache. “I still can’t figure what the Yuuzhan Vong want with Tynna. Sure, it’s rich in natural resources, but nothing that can’t be found in Hutt space.”

  “Tynna’s a step closer to the Core,” the pilot suggested.

  Showolter shook his head. “Karrde’s right. Has to be something peculiar to Tynna.”

  The point of view shifted again, this time to Yuuzhan Vong warriors and officers filing from one of the larger drop ships. The cam closed on two officers perched atop levitation seats. The seemingly higher ranked of the pair was black-haired and relatively short for a Yuuzhan Vong. The other was rail thin and elaborately tattooed.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the look of these butchers,” Kalenda said.

  Karrde snorted and made a toasting gesture. “Here’s to hoping you never have to.”

  Showolter’s eyes were glued to the display screen. He touched the copilot’s shoulder. “I want all of this recorded and backed up in triplicate.”

  “Already on it,” she told him.

  Whoever was operating the cam obviously thought that the Yuuzhan Vong were going to continue across the bridges to the gathered Tynnans, because the cam momentarily raced ahead of its subjects when the enemy suddenly stopped short of the lagoon.

  “They want the Tynnans to come to them,” Showolter surmised.

  “I don’t know about that,” Karrde said skeptically. “They’re up to something else.”

  As he was saying it, the cam closed on the black-haired officer and watched as he motioned back to the drop ships. Then it quickly panned across the landscape, focusing on one of the ships in time to see compartments open in its pitted base and a swarm of minuscule red spheres spill onto the ground and rush for the lagoon as if self-propelled.

  “What the …,” the pilot said.

  Instinctively and with patent apprehension, Kalenda reached for the nearest arm, found Karrde’s right, and vised on to it.

  The leading edge of the spill had reached the shore of the lagoon, and the first of the red spherettes were already plunging into the cold blue waters. On the steps the Tynnans were crowding forward, snouts snuffling in agitated curiosity.

  Showolter, Karrde, and Kalenda huddled around the monitor display.

  Abruptly, the lagoon lost color.

  Showolter’s first thought was that something had happened to the satellite feed signal. But when he raised his head to glance out the LSR’s viewport, he could see even at great remove from the planet, the sparkling blue of Tynna’s northern waters was rapidly changing to a sickly pale yellow.

  In the absence of Supreme Commander Choka and Malik Carr—and assure
d of victory at Tynna—the priests had performed the rituals necessary for removing from its crèche aboard the Yammka an enormous, dedicated villip Choka had brought with him from the outer rim of the galaxy. The rituals had involved the intonation of countless prayers, the use of much sacrificial blood, and ceaseless stroking of the bony ridge that was the helmet-shaped villip’s most prominent feature.

  By the time the commanders returned from their brief visit to Tynna, the villip had been relocated to ceremonial surroundings in a hold cleared of everyone but the most exalted of the priests. Below their far-larger companion sat the transmitting villips consciousness-joined to Nas Choka and Malik Carr, who genuflected reverently before the towering communicator, bare heads lowered, wrists crossed atop the elevated knee, and command cloaks falling around them like shrouds.

  Nearby the priests sat cross-legged, chanting the invocations that would put the villip in sequential contact with scores of signal villips that had been positioned in space along the invasion path.

  With loud sucking noises, a cavity resembling an eye socket puckered to life in the center of the villip’s ridge; then along that line the villip everted, turning completely inside out and assuming the features of Warmaster Tsavong Lah.

  As elect protector of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, and well on his way to a kind of apotheosis, Tsavong Lah, through an endless series of escalations, had come to resemble the incarnation of Yun-Yammka, the god of war. Tsavong Lah’s head sloped back from his face, with dark hair both upswept and trailing like tassels from the blunt end. The blue sacks under eyes that were all pupil drooped like deep pockets to the corners of a voracious-looking mouth, and a deep notch bisected his skull from ear to ear. His full lips were ridged by myriad scars, and his ears protruded from his skull like little wings, with the lobes of each descending almost to his shoulders like elongated teardrops of molten wax. Below the neck, overlapping scales the color of rust grew like armor plates from breastbone and collarbones.