by James Luceno
Han gulped. Credits to crumbs, the crew of the Trevee had selected Ruan because Yuuzhan Vong agents had already been there.
“You realize that shutting down the transceiver is probably going to touch off every alarm in the complex,” he said.
“Yes, but we can silence most of them,” Baffle assured. “What’s more, many of our deactivated comrades are stored at the complex itself, and once they are reactivated, we can unseal the chambers that house them. The ensuing confusion should aid in your escape.”
“Yeah, Droma and me’ll blend in real well with a bunch of reawakened droids,” Han muttered. “But that’s beside the point. What’s to stop Salliche from repairing the system and deactivating every droid set free?”
“Given even a modicum of time, we can extract the remote sensors from most of those who are liberated—as we have already done to ourselves.”
“Without Salliche’s knowledge?”
“All droids on Ruan have deactivation dates,” Baffle explained. “In order to safeguard our deception, many of us have had to submit to voluntary deactivation while our act of sabotage was being planned.”
“Isn’t all this against your programming or something?”
“Our inhibition programs prevent us from taking direct actions against living beings, but we are permitted, even encouraged, to act in self-preservation. We’ve simply been awaiting the arrival of the one flesh and blood who could help us.”
Han held up his hands. “Not so fast. I mean, let’s say I decide to go through with this, and suddenly there’s a couple of thousand of you who can’t be remotely deactivated. You think that’s going to stop Salliche from hunting every one of you down and hammering a restraining bolt into your plastrons, or just blasting you to fragments?”
“We’re aware of the fate that awaits us,” Baffle said. “But before Salliche Ag can bring about our termination, we plan to execute and broadcast an act of passive resistance that will not only draw galactic attention to our plight, but also alert our comrades far and wide to the dangers they face.”
Han thought about C-3PO and his current obsession with deactivation, and he thought about Droma, who had saved Han’s life on two occasions. An easier way to rescue the Ryn would be to pull rank on whatever bureaucrats administered Ruan. He could simply reveal who he was, and claim that he and Droma were on a mission for New Republic Intelligence. But doing so could backfire on him. Because of the part he had played in the Elan affair, Han could well imagine Director Scaur disavowing any connection between Han and New Republic Intelligence. And even if Scaur backed up Han’s ruse, there was a good chance that Leia would learn of what happened and accuse Han of meddling in SELCORE business. Besides, rescuing Droma by pulling rank wouldn’t do anything for Baffle and the rest of Ruan’s droids.
“All right, I’ll do it,” he said at last. “But on one condition: I want to know where the Trevee went. I want ion drive and thermal exhaust profiles, transponder codes, hyperspace coordinates, and anything else you can come up with.”
“I will attend to the matter personally,” Baffle said.
Han took a breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “You said Droma is being held in a denied area. Where is he?”
Baffle traded glances with some of the others. “He is being held at the product enhancement facility.”
“Product enhancement,” Han repeated slowly.
Baffle nodded. “The manure works.”
TWENTY-ONE
“Talk about ragtag outfits,” Shada D’ukal said as thirteen X-wings, A-wings, and modified Y-wings—many of them as patched up as a pirate craft—pierced the magcon field of Kothlis II orbital station’s aft docking bay. The starfighters had surely been scanned on arrival in Bothan space, but no sooner did they settle down to the deck than a Bothan military unit moved in to execute a thorough search and documents check.
Talon Karrde and the former Mistryl Shadow Guard from Emberlene watched from an observation gallery that overlooked the bay, Shada wearing a form-hugging outfit of black elastex, and Karrde, in a tailored suit, looking more like her booking agent than her employer.
“A pity you never got to see Kyp’s squadron a year ago,” Karrde said. “Back then they had two XJs fresh from Incom, along with a couple of B-wings in near immaculate condition.”
Shada kept her eyes on the starfighters. “So I’ve heard.”
“Kyp had named them the Dozen-and-Two Avengers—much to Skywalker’s dismay. Kyp sicced them on the Outer Rim, detaining pirates and smugglers, and generally sticking his nose whenever he wanted, all without Coruscant batting an eye.”
“The Dozen-and-Two?” Shada said.
“Kyp and Miko Reglia—his Jedi apprentice at the time.”
“I should have known.”
“They liked to frequent Dubrillion. Several members of the squadron were recordholders on those modified TIEs Calrissian bought for his asteroid obstacle course—or at least until Jaina Solo showed everyone how Lando’s Folly should be run.” Karrde laughed, mostly to himself. “But I have to credit Kyp for showmanship. Launching or landing, he’d lead the Avengers through flashy maneuvers, sometimes to amplified orchestral music. Then Helska happened.”
Shada turned slightly in Karrde’s direction. “Kyp lost everyone?”
“It was the first engagement between starfighters and Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers—the first substantiated one, at any rate. The Avengers didn’t have a clue what they were up against. Reglia was captured alive, but apparently died later during an escape attempt.”
Shada returned her gaze to the docking bay. “So where do you suppose Kyp found replacements?”
“Most of them are combat veterans from one conflict or another. Several were flying relief missions to threatened, even occupied worlds, earning New Republic credits for authenticated Yuuzhan Vong kills. Kyp proposed that everyone would do better if they formed an actual unit, and at the same time he’d have his Avengers back.”
“But they’re not sanctioned by the military.”
Karrde shook his head. “They’re classified as a support unit. As an appeasement to Skywalker and the military, Kyp dropped the name Avengers. Now they’re just Kyp’s Dozen.” He looked at Shada. “Let’s go say hello.”
By the time Karrde and Shada arrived in the hold, Kyp, Ganner Rhysode, and the twelve members of Kyp’s squadron were huddled near the modified Y-wing copiloted by Ganner. The noses of some of the other starfighters were emboldened by meteor storms of laser-engraved coralskippers.
Seeing Karrde and Shada, the two Jedi walked toward them.
“One heck of a place for a rendezvous, Karrde,” Kyp said. “Half the Fifth Fleet is parked between here and Bothawui. We’re lucky we were even cleared for Kothlis, never mind this place.”
“I didn’t want to trust what I have to say to normal channels,” Karrde explained. “As for the fleet, the Bothans aren’t taking any chances—even though conditions have changed since our visit to Ryloth.”
“Changed how?” Kyp asked conspiratorially.
Karrde nodded his head toward the observation gallery. “Step into my office for a moment.”
Kyp signaled his fliers to remain with the ships; then he and Ganner followed Karrde and Shada to a turbolift that accessed the overlook. No one spoke until they arrived on the gallery, where they pulled four chairs together and sat down.
“The Hutts have resumed shipping spice to Bothawui and Kothlis,” Karrde began. “With all the patrols, not much is getting through, but that’s irrelevant.”
“Are they shipping to Corellia?” Ganner asked.
“Not yet.”
Kyp frowned in bewilderment. “Then why is the fleet here and not at Corellia? From what I hear, the Corellian sector’s about to revolt.”
Karrde shook his head. “I don’t know why. It would appear that not everyone accepts the significance of the intelligence we provided.”
“Fey’lya,” Kyp said.
“And others on the Ad
visory Council. But spice has nothing to do with what I have for you.” Karrde paused briefly. “Are rescue missions off-limits to Jedi? I ask only because I don’t want to be responsible for widening the rift between you and Skywalker.”
“There is no rift,” Kyp said firmly. “We don’t see eye to eye on some things, but there’s no rift. He approved my coming here.”
“That’s good, because I’m reluctant to take this information to Rogue Squadron. Even with Jaina Solo flying with them, I’d have a lot of explaining to do.” Karrde’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the two Jedi. “Is Wurth Skidder still missing?”
Ganner suddenly leaned forward. “Yes.”
“No other Jedi?”
“What have you heard, Karrde?” Kyp demanded.
“This comes direct from Crev Bombaasa, so I’m trusting that it’s reliable information. Yuuzhan Vong forces are holding a Jedi aboard a ship headed for Kalarba. The ship is carrying a war coordinator, so there’s a good chance it’s either well armed or traveling under escort.”
“Kalarba,” Kyp said with a nod. “That’s why you chose to meet here. We’re only a jump away.”
“You’ll have to move fast regardless. Skidder’s slated to be transferred to another ship and handed over to some top commander. Once that happens, your chances of getting near him are probably next to none.”
Ganner tightened his lips and nodded. “Thanks for bringing this to us, Karrde.”
Karrde got to his feet. “You’re certain Skywalker won’t object.”
Kyp gave his head a shake. “Rescue is our mandate.”
Several thousand demonstrators—most of them Drall and humans but with some Selonians mixed in—railed from behind the majestic gates that had once allowed Governor-General Marcha of Mastigophorous to maintain a tranquil enclave for herself on that part of Drall. Squads of Public Safety Service guards reinforced the fence that encircled the compound, though in fact any determined Drall could simply have burrowed their way onto the grounds.
From a round-topped window in the sitting room that overlooked the estate’s expansive front lawn and Marcha’s beds of prize nannariums, Jacen trained electrobinoculars on some of the placards and signs hoisted high by the vociferous crowd.
“ ‘Jedi warmongers,’ ” he read aloud. “ ‘Servants of the dark side.’ ‘Corellia will live to see Coruscant die.’ ” Lowering the binocs, he swung to his younger brother. “Here’s one you’ll like, Anakin: ‘Solos, go home.’ ” He bit his lower lip and shook his head. “Wait’ll Dad gets wind of this.”
The shuttle that had delivered Anakin and Jacen to Drall sat on a shrub-enclosed permacrete pad behind Marcha’s hemispherical white manse, close to the river. Beyond the pad, manicured lawn stretched to the edge of luxuriant forest. Droid servants busied themselves outdoors and in, trimming the hedges that lined the estate’s brick walkways and making minor adjustments to the fountain in the central foyer.
“I don’t know how word got out that you boys would be stopping here before continuing on to Centerpoint Station,” Marcha said as she served pieces of dark-brown, homemade ryshcate, heavy with vweliu nuts. “But don’t feel singled out. Most of that crowd has been here for the past month. Things are even worse in Coronet and on some of the worlds of the Outlier systems. And on Talus and Tralus the Federation of the Double Worlds has recently formed a coalition with the archaeologists the New Republic forcibly removed from Centerpoint.”
“The Centerpoint Party,” Marcha’s nephew Ebrihim said as he reached for a wedge of the sweet cake. “Extremists who have borrowed freely from the rhetoric of the old Sacorrian Triad.”
Nearby, and attentive to every word, stood Q9-X2, Ebrihim’s jet-black and bullet-headed astromech droid, who, when it spoke, was usually quick to express a high opinion of itself.
“Because this system is comprised of worlds captured by Centerpoint Station and installed into orbit around Corell,” Marcha said, “the party advocates increased representation in the New Republic Senate.”
Ebrihim nodded in affirmation. “With five votes instead of one, the party leaders believe that they might have been able to prevent Coruscant from commandeering Centerpoint.”
Furred and somewhat chubby bipeds, Ebrihim and Marcha had clawed feet, elongated whiskered muzzles, and small ears set high on their heads. Like most Drall they were keenly intelligent and honest to a fault, if at times maddeningly fastidious. But where age had tempered Ebrihim’s tendency to pontificate, Marcha—while some years Ebrihim’s senior—was as fervently self-reliant as Jacen remembered her being during the Centerpoint Station crisis, almost eight years earlier.
What had begun then as a family holiday had turned into open rebellion, with the Sacorrian Triad making use of Centerpoint Station’s awesome interdiction and nova-inducing power to force the New Republic into recognizing the sector’s autonomy. Ebrihim, hired by Leia to tutor Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin, had ended up being their rescuer by spiriting them from Corellia to Drall, where Marcha had not only sheltered them but had also led them to the planetary repulsor Anakin activated to thwart the Triad’s plans.
“Couldn’t you have prevented the New Republic from commandeering Centerpoint?” Jacen asked.
Marcha was gentle in her ridicule. “I’m a political appointee, Jacen. Given that many of my own staff have turned on me for not taking a firmer stand, it probably would have been a wise move to challenge or at least denounce Coruscant’s actions. But without your mother to back me, Borsk Fey’lya would have simply removed me from office and the military would have taken possession of Centerpoint regardless.”
Anakin frowned in confusion. “Any of the repulsors buried on Corellia, Drall, Selonia, or the Double Worlds is capable of fending off an attack by an entire fleet of starships. And with Centerpoint reenabled, Corellia will be as well defended as any system in the New Republic—including Coruscant. So I don’t see why everyone’s protesting what we’re trying to do.”
Marcha and Ebrihim traded knowing looks. “I fear you haven’t been given all the facts, Anakin,” the onetime tutor said. “You’re under the impression that you’ve been summoned to aid in Corellia’s defense, when in fact, reenabling Centerpoint Station has more to do with offense than defense.”
“I knew it would be something like this,” Jacen blurted.
Anakin smiled falsely. “Drall’s lighter gravity is going to Jacen’s head,” he told everyone. “He’s convinced that our coming here is going to upset the balance of the Force or something.”
Jacen smoldered. “You’re not far off, Anakin.”
“You’re the one who’s far off. Anything that will stop the Yuuzhan Vong has the Force on its side.”
“What’s come over you boys?” Marcha interrupted. “You never used to argue.”
“We disagree about this mission,” Jacen said, staring at his younger brother.
“Among other things,” Anakin said under his breath.
Jacen gestured toward Ebrihim. “You heard what he said, Anakin: This has more to do with offense. And you were the one who described Centerpoint as Corellia’s lightsaber.”
“Yeah, which means it can be used to parry or thrust. It all depends on who’s wielding it.”
“Meaning what—that you’ll refuse to help if you find out it’s going to be used for attack?”
“Meaning that I’m waiting to hear all sides of the argument.” Anakin turned to Ebrihim. “Is there proof the New Republic plans to use Centerpoint as a weapon instead of a shield?”
Ebrihim mulled over his response. “The problem, as I see it—and as you yourself assert—is that Centerpoint has the capacity to be both. Even if used as a shield today, there’s no guarantee it won’t be used as a weapon tomorrow. But that inherent duality isn’t the reason for the protests. The cause runs deeper than that.”
“How much do you remember about what the Triad attempted to do during the crisis?” Marcha asked.
“Actually, I don’t remember all that much,” An
akin confessed. “I know they used Centerpoint to create a systemwide interdiction field, capable of trapping hostages and repelling rescue attempts at the same time.”
Ebrihim nodded. “We strongly suspect that the New Republic will attempt to do the very same thing. You see, this operation isn’t about using Centerpoint to safeguard Corellia; it’s about using the station to ensnare the Yuuzhan Vong fleet, and utilizing this system as a battle arena.”
“Oh, brother,” Jacen groaned. “No wonder Corellia’s ready to riot.”
Anakin looked from Jacen to Ebrihim. “You said ‘suspect.’ ”
“That’s correct. We’re not privy to all that’s going on inside Centerpoint, much less inside the minds of the Defense Force command staff. What we do know is this: That despite the proximity of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet to Corellia, the system is effectively undefended. Oh, the New Republic has seen fit to deploy three of our own Strident-class Star Defenders at Corellia, and the flotilla that has been safeguarding Duro has been pulled back to shore up the Outlier systems. But even that amount of firepower is insufficient to ward off a full-scale attack.”
“Which is precisely what the Defense Force would like the Yuuzhan Vong to conclude,” Marcha added.
“Our conspicuous vulnerability is meant to lure the invaders here,” Ebrihim said, “to prompt an assault. Then, once Centerpoint has immobilized their fleet, New Republic ships deployed at Bothawui, Kuat, and other worlds will supposedly jump to engage them.”
Anakin’s forehead creased in concern. “How is the Defense Force expecting to get ships through the interdiction field that’s holding the Yuuzhan Vong fleet at bay?”
“By outfitting the ships with the same hyperwave inertial momentum sustainers the Bakurans used during the crisis,” Ebrihim said. “You must understand, Anakin, this operation has been in the works for some time.”
Marcha confirmed it with a nod. “Just how much of it is understood by the demonstrators, or even by the Centerpoint Party, is immaterial. The protestors are reacting to the fact that Coruscant has withheld defense and commandeered Centerpoint without factoring Corellia’s citizenry into the equation.”