by Troy Denning
“It doesn’t look like there’s much happening,” Anakin said, speaking to Lowbacca, Tesar, and the rest of the assault squad. “But be careful. We don’t want to get careless and blast Ganner by mistake.”
“You’re sure?” Tahiri asked, drawing a laugh from the others.
Anakin allowed himself a chuckle, but said, “At least for now.”
He ignited his lightsaber and dived through the melt hole headfirst, then felt an attack coming and brought his blade around to block. The thud bug sizzled out of existence with a sharp hiss, and Anakin spun in the direction of the assault, stepping forward to protect those who would be following him.
“Very impressive, Jeedai.”
Anakin looked toward the voice and found Duman Yaght wearing a gnullith and standing behind an instrument console, Ganner Rhysode’s limp form held in front with a coufee to the throat.
“There you are.” Anakin peered around the bridge. “All alone, it seems.”
“Lay down your weapons,” the commander said cautiously, “and your leader will live to meet our warmaster.”
Anakin thumbed off his lightsaber—then, as Lowbacca and Tesar stepped onto the bridge, drew his blaster pistol.
“You really don’t know Ganner, do you?” Anakin asked. “What makes you think he’s that important?”
“You came after him, did you not?” Duman Yaght retreated a few steps, bringing Ganner around to shield him from all three Jedi. “We have studied you Jeedai. When it comes to the death of your fellows, you are soft.”
“Not that soft.” Anakin leveled his blaster pistol at the commander’s head, and Tesar did the same with his power blaster. “But I’ll offer you a deal. If you surrender, we’ll put you off in the shuttle with the rest of your crew.”
Duman Yaght’s eyes hardened. “And dishonor Domain Yaght?” He ran the coufee lightly along Ganner’s throat, drawing a two-centimeter-long trickle of blood. “Yuuzhan Vong do not surrender.”
“Really?”
Anakin reached out with the Force and used it to push the coufee away from Ganner’s neck. Eyes growing wide, Duman Yaght struggled for a moment to bring the blade back to his captive’s throat, then snarled something in his own language and let it fly from his grasp.
When the other hand twitched and started to rise, his head vanished in a convergence of blasterfire.
“By this one’s broken tail!” Tesar slung his power blaster over his shoulder and stepped forward to pluck Ganner out of the mess. “They don’t surrender.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Nom Anor could not believe even Vergere would dare suggest that the warmaster waste his time playing an infidel game—much less survive the affront. Yet there she sat across from Tsavong Lah, studying a shaper’s version of a dejarik board complete with animate monsters and a mat of living terrain. The warmaster was down to a pair of monnoks and a single miniature mantellion savrip, while his feathery pet still boasted a kintan strider and three k’lor’slugs. Though Nom Anor had never really enjoyed the game, he had frequently been forced to play holographic versions during his time in the galaxy—often enough to recognize a master when he saw one. And Vergere was, undoubtedly, a master.
“If New Republic strategists were the only ones who practiced this game, it would not be worth the learning,” Vergere was saying. “But there are suggestions that dejarik was once a favorite study of Jedi Knights.”
That explained how she had enticed the warmaster into such a blasphemy, Nom Anor realized. Tsavong Lah would do anything that might help him defeat the Jedi.
“The strategies are more subtle than they appear, Nom Anor,” Tsavong Lah said, not looking away from the game mat—and surprising Nom Anor, who had thought the warmaster too absorbed to notice the scrutiny. “And a warrior must know the mind of his enemy.”
“The game is popular throughout the galaxy,” Nom Anor replied. “I have played a few times myself.”
“Indeed?” Tsavong Lah tore his gaze from the board. “Then perhaps you have some insight as to the route Jacen and his sister will be taking home?”
“Home?” Nom Anor was confused. The Exquisite Death was more than a day overdue, but such delays were not unusual for picket ships, which operated just inside enemy territory and had to be very careful choosing their routes. “I did not know they had escaped.”
“You didn’t?” Tsavong Lah looked back to the dejarik game, then nudged his savrip forward between two of Vergere’s k’lor’-slugs. “Interesting. By now, I would have thought that obvious to any dejarik player.”
An angry heat filled Nom Anor’s eyesacks. “The supreme commander’s last report claimed that this Duman Yaght has things well in hand. Has there been a communication I’m unaware of?”
“Not yet.” Tsavong Lah smiled as Vergere sent her strider up to upend his savrip, then he slipped his little monnok through the vacated space to slay her strider from behind. Taking advantage of the surprise-kill second move, the warmaster threatened a k’lor’slug, then smiled across the table at Vergere. “But the Jeedai mind is growing clearer to me. They will keep a low profile, then strike when their captor has grown complacent.”
Vergere returned the smirk with one of her own. “They will strike, but not where we think.” Instead of moving a second k’lor’slug to defend the first, she sent it slinking two squares toward Tsavong Lah’s side of the mat. “The dejarik vids call that the kintan strider death gambit. It defeats with promises.”
She now had her three k’lor’slugs arranged in a right angle, with each of his monnoks trapped between two of her monsters. No matter which he attacked first, both of the others would be in a position to counterstrike from behind, take a surprise move, and trap his remaining monster in an inescapable vise. The warmaster took all this in with a glance, his eyesacks growing dangerously dark as he realized how cleanly Vergere had defeated him.
“I see what you mean.” He cleared the game mat with a swipe of his hand, then stood and looked through an exterior viewing lens at the swarm of black-faceted vessels hanging in the starlight beside the Sunulok. “So, they have tricked us. To what purpose?”
“The Jedi do not think so differently from you.” Vergere scanned through the holographic images of the tiny monsters and selected one, then projected it on the game mat. “They will strike hardest at what they fear most.”
Tsavong Lah turned away from the viewing lens and, finding the rancor alone on the mat, nodded.
“I suppose it would be wise to assume the worst.” He turned to Nom Anor. “You will take the Ksstarr and start for Baanu Rass at once.”
Nom Anor nodded, needing no explanation. Currently orbiting the planet Myrkr, Baanu Rass was the largest of the world-ships to enter the galaxy so far. With a dying brain that could no longer control its spin—the shapers there now used dovin basals to give it gravity—Baanu Rass was also three-quarters abandoned, a perfect home for the voxyn cloning program that was proving so effective against the Jedi.
“And the Jeedai?”
“Do what is necessary, but the Solo twins have been promised to Lord Shimrra. Those you must bring back alive.”
“As you command.”
The feeling that filled Nom Anor’s heart was closer to triumph than joy. While the warmaster had proven surprisingly tolerant of events on Coruscant, neither had he chastened Vergere for interfering with his mission. Nom Anor crossed his fists over his breast and backed toward the door, already planning how he would convert this assignment into a sector prefecture.
“Warmaster, I believe this to be a mistake.” Vergere spoke quietly, so that Nom Anor would be forced to admit that he was eavesdropping if he wished to challenge her words. “Given that your reputation with Lord Shimrra is at stake, would it not be wiser to send someone with a more certain touch?”
Nom Anor held his tongue—just barely—and continued to back toward the door, ears straining for the warmaster’s reply.
“If you are referring to events on Coruscant, I know what
happened,” Tsavong Lah said. “Nom Anor is not to blame. He did well to return to us at all.”
More to Nom Anor’s astonishment than his anger, Vergere continued to press. “We must also consider the debacle with Elan and the Peace Brigade, and his failures against Mara Jade Skywalker. Nom Anor has faced Jedi many times and done poorly.”
The door valve opened behind Nom Anor, but he remained where he was, not so certain of his position that he could bring himself to depart.
Tsavong Lah turned to face him. “You understand what is at risk, Nom Anor? Vergere’s words are rooted in rivalry, but there is substance to what she says. If you are not confident of success, say so now and let us find a better solution together.”
“There is no cause for concern, Warmaster.” Nom Anor understood perfectly well what was at risk: his prefecture and perhaps his life. “Now that I know you see through Vergere’s intrigues, I have no doubts at all.”
Tsavong Lah’s face darkened. “And you did before?”
“My master, I did not mean to say I doubted you, only my own understanding of your methods.”
Tsavong Lah motioned him back into the chamber. “And what, exactly, did you not understand?” The warmaster’s tone was sharp. “And do not insult me again by lying.”
Nom Anor took a deep breath and returned to the dejarik mat. “My master, the sentients of this galaxy also play another game called sabacc, where the chip-cards change identities before their eyes.” He cast a pointed glance at his rival. “Vergere was the infidels’ prisoner for many weeks, and she has yet to provide a satisfactory explanation of her escape.”
“The readers were satisfied,” Vergere replied. “As were all of Yun-Harla’s priests.”
“They have not met Han Solo.” Nom Anor kept his eyes fixed on Tsavong Lah. “He is not the type to let an enemy escape.”
“He did not let me do anything,” Vergere replied. “There is more to me than you know.”
“And they were in the middle of a battle caused by the ineptitude of your hirelings,” Tsavong Lah added. “More importantly, Vergere learned more during her captivity than how to play dejarik. Her insights have saved thousands of vessels, and we have destroyed three New Republic fleets when she guessed correctly about their intentions.”
“A small price for your favor.” The retort was out of Nom Anor’s mouth almost before he realized it was in his mind. “I certainly don’t mean that Vergere is a traitor—”
“Of course not,” Tsavong Lah said. “Only that I lack the judgment to tell if she were.”
Nom Anor closed his eyes. “I would never disparage—”
“You just did,” Tsavong Lah said. “But that is not what concerns me.”
The warmaster fell silent and remained so until Nom Anor dared to open his eyes.
“What concerns me is that you are foolish enough to think I do not see through you.” Tsavong Lah studied Nom Anor for a long time, then said, “This assignment is more important than any other I have given you. I think it would be wise for you to take an advisor along.”
Having disparaged the warmaster’s judgment once that day, Nom Anor knew better than to do so again. “If the warmaster thinks it wise.”
“The warmaster does.” Tsavong Lah turned to Vergere and, in a voice as stern as he had been using with Nom Anor, said, “You will accompany Nom Anor.”
Vergere’s feathers bristled. “As his advisor?” she gasped. “One does not advise k’lor’slugs. This will never work.”
“It had better.” Tsavong Lah gave them both a hard smile. “I have had enough of this jealousy between you two. From this moment on, you succeed—or fail—together.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“What was I to think when Ulaha attacked?” Jacen asked. Despite his frustration, he kept his voice low to avoid disturbing Ulaha or any of the others lying in healing trances in the Yuuzhan Vong nestbunks. “It looked as though Anakin had ordered her to—and I’m not the only one who thought so.”
“Fact,” Tenel Ka agreed. She sat hunched into a nestbunk beside him, her shoulder touching his in a manner that was a little more than comfortable. Their lightsabers lay close at hand; with the voxyn still at large in the ship’s duct system, they were taking no chances. “But you are his brother. What seems a mistake in others is judgmental from you. And your objections to Lando’s advice do not help matters.”
“Gamblers and spies can afford to dispense with morality,” Jacen replied. “Jedi cannot. It’s too easy for our power to lead us down a dark path, and we’re not the only ones who suffer when that happens.”
“This is so,” Tenel Ka said. “But, Jacen, do you remember my first lightsaber?”
“How could I forget?” Jacen asked, wondering where this was going. Tenel Ka had made the mistake of building her first lightsaber in a hurry, and a flawed crystal had caused it to fail during a sparring match with Jacen. His blade had sliced off her left arm—his first painful lesson in the burden of wielding great power. “For a long time I felt responsible for that accident—I still do, at least partly—but I don’t see what that has to do with Anakin and me.”
“The accident was no one’s fault but mine.” Tenel Ka tapped her chest with her one hand to emphasize the point. “What I believed to be confidence in my fighting abilities was arrogance, and that is why I built a faulty lightsaber.”
“Arrogance,” Jacen repeated. Try as he might, he could not quite see how his mistake resembled Tenel Ka’s. “And?”
“Do you believe you are the only Jedi among us who understands the danger of the dark side?”
“Of course not. Most of us have had trouble with the Shadow Academy, and Zekk even turned …” Jacen let the sentence trail off, finally comprehending Tenel Ka’s point. Anakin knew the danger of the dark side as well as any of them. To believe him capable of ordering Ulaha’s mad attack was to doubt more than his judgment; it was to doubt his very character. Jacen shook his head in guilty regret. “That was a mistake. A bad one.”
“Fact.” Tenel Ka bumped him with her shoulder. “But there is no need to sulk. I will always be fond of you.”
Jacen’s stomach grew hollow. “You think he’s that angry?”
Tenel Ka rolled her eyes, then took a canister of bacta lotion and slipped off the nestbunk to check on their insensate fellows. “It was a joke, Jacen.”
“Ah.” Jacen grabbed his lightsaber and followed close behind. “Aha. You have a lot to learn about jokes.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Actually, I thought it quite good.” She came to Ulaha, who was breathing fitfully even in her healing trance, and lifted the Bith’s blanket. “Trust him to forgive, Jacen, and things will return to normal.”
She rubbed a fresh coat of lotion over Ulaha’s wounds. It wasn’t nearly as effective as immersion in a tank, but it was better than almost anything else they could do for her.
On the deck below, a Yuuzhan Vong targeting brain lay open on a wardroom table, its nutrient bath filling the chamber with the stink of rotten seaweed. Nestled in a nutlike shell no larger than a human fist, the organ was a tangle of axons and dendrons webbing together a gelatinous muddle of neuron clusters. Though Jaina found the structure of the biotic computer hopelessly bewildering, Lowbacca was engrossed in dissecting the thing, using a small set of steristeel tools to snip here and move there, grunting in satisfaction as the fibers reattached themselves in new locations. Finally, he fused a short thread of axon between two lengths of dendron, then chortled in delight as an eyestalk hanging from the front of the casing rose and focused on Jaina.
Lowbacca growled a request, which Em Teedee, recently retrieved from the equipment pod, translated as, “Master Lowbacca asks if you would be kind enough to circumnavigate the table.”
Though Jaina understood Wookiee well enough to know Lowbacca had phrased the request somewhat less eloquently, she did as asked. The eye followed her progress, using a control stem on the back of the shell to spin the brain around as she circled
.
“Lowie, get some help,” Jaina laughed. “That’s just Sith.”
Lowbacca growled a chuckle, then steadied the shell with a big hand and slipped a pair of needle-nosed fiber snips inside. Turning away from the targeting brain, Jaina found Zekk waiting with a photon trap from their equipment pod’s sensor system.
“There weren’t any extra detector films in the droid kit,” he said. “Maybe we can take a sheet from this and trim one down.”
“It’s worth a try.”
Jaina led the way across the wardroom to where 2-1S stood, silently regrowing his laminanium armor and running internal diagnostics. Since awakening from their healing trances, Jaina, Zekk, and Lowbacca had been working nonstop to help the war droid repair himself, but 2-1S still looked like he had grabbed the wrong end of a turbolaser. They had replaced his recessed photoreceptors with extras from the repair kit Lando had included in the equipment pod, but several thud bugs had penetrated deep inside the skull casing, smashing circuit boards and detection mediums beyond all hope of repair. Fortunately, having spent much of his life as an equipment forager in Coruscant’s dangerous undercity, Zekk had a Force-enhanced talent for finding things. So far, he had scavenged substitutes for the infrared and ultrasonic sensors, and now possibly the gamma analyzers, as well.
Jaina took the thin sheet of detector film from the photon trap and held it up for 2-1S. “What about this for your gamma system?”
YVH 2-1S ran his photoreceptors over the sheet, then crackled, “Affirmative.” His voice was a static-filled ghost of Lando’s, but that was the least of their worries. “Double the thickness.”
“Another success for Zekk,” Jaina said. She turned and found herself looking directly into his green two-tone eyes, a sentiment much deeper than friendship evident in the way he held her gaze. Jaina waited a moment for him to look away, and, when he did not, passed the detector film back to him. “Hold this while I get the cutter.”