by Greg Keyes
“Listen, scars-for-brains, I couldn’t care less how you explain your weak knees and yellow belly. We had a good fight going here. You want to finish it, or you want to call it quits? Either way is fine by me.”
“Jacen Solo is with you. I want him. Alive. When I have him, you’re free to go.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll just put him in an escape pod and send him over.”
“Dad?” Jacen’s voice came up from the intrasystem channel. “Dad, maybe it’s not a bad idea. If I can get him to duel me …”
Han ignored Jacen and turned to C-3PO. “You got a read on that radiation signature yet?”
“Yes, sir, but I’m afraid it’s not very helpful. It’s very low grade—the cargo pod contains liquid hydrogen enriched with tritium.”
“Cheap reactor fuel,” Han grumbled. “Industrial waste. I was hoping for a cargo of ion mines, or something.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” C-3PO said.
“Infidel,” Tsavong Lah roared. “There is no sign you are preparing an escape pod.”
Han’s jaw dropped. “This guy doesn’t have any sense of humor at all. He really thinks …”
Well, let him think it, then. He opened the channel for a reply. “Just give me a sec, will you? He is my son, after all.”
“You have two minutes.”
Han chewed his lip, thinking furiously.
Leia called up from below. “Han, couldn’t you put a concussion missile in the escape pod?”
“Nah, they’ll catch that,” he said. “Waste of a missile we’ll probably need.”
“It’s got to be me, Dad,” Jacen said. “I’m going back there.”
“Oh, no you’re not.” Han swung on C-3PO. “Jettison both escape pods. Now. Right now. Aim them both at the Vong ship.”
“Sir, I’m not sure which—”
“There,” Han said, pointing. He cut the engines back in and began creeping back toward the freighter and the Yuuzhan Vong ship it nearly eclipsed. Two escape pods suddenly went tumbling across his field of vision.
“Hopefully, it’ll take ’em a few seconds to figure out there’s no one on board,” Han said. He fired his forward lasers. “Goldenrod, take a deep breath. If this doesn’t work …”
“But, sir, I don’t breathe, of course I—oh, no!”
Anakin, Tahiri, and Corran followed the Givin through the cramped corridors of the Yag’Dhul space station, their footing upset by ever-more-violent explosions.
“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Anakin asked Corran.
“The basic layout hasn’t changed that much,” Corran said. “We’re headed down toward the berths.”
“Yes. Going to the berths,” the Givin said helpfully.
They reached an axis a few moments later and piled into the turbolift, which, at the Givin’s command, whirred them down toward the anterior berths. Power flickered, and the lift jarred to a halt, only to start again a moment later when the lights came back on, albeit dimmed.
“I’ll be sorry to see this place go,” Corran murmured.
Anakin caught a thread of wistfulness in that, something like he got from his father now and then. Almost … almost as if Corran wished he were younger again.
Which was ridiculous. The older you got, the more people took you seriously. Anakin was very much sick of being treated like a kid, especially by people who knew less than him.
Mara … Mara had treated him more like an adult. And Mara was dying, and there was nothing he could do. He almost wished the turbolift would open to a bunch of Yuuzhan Vong, so he’d at least have someone to …
That’s not a wish, he realized. That’s the lambent.
“Guys,” he said quietly, “you’d better activate your lightsabers.”
At least Corran didn’t ask questions, this time. He just did it.
The door whisked open, and there they were. Six Yuuzhan Vong with amphistaffs.
“Me first,” Corran said, leaping out, lightsaber blazing. Tahiri was a blur, and Anakin right behind her when he realized he only counted five Yuuzhan Vong warriors outside.
But the lambent said six.
He spun—almost in time. The Givin struck him across the bridge of the nose with a tightly balled fist, propelling him from the turbolift into the enemy-filled room beyond. His body struck Corran in the back of the knees. Surprised, the ex-CorSec Jedi still managed a shoulder roll, though Anakin caught a bright glimpse of pain from him as an amphistaff struck a glancing blow. Head ringing, Anakin brought his radiant weapon up in a high parry he knew he had to make, felt the sharp thwack of a staff across it. Still aware of the danger at his back, he then threw himself to the side. He rolled up to see Tahiri doing a high, Force-aided flip to land in a protective stance beside Corran. Anakin rose and threw the most powerful telekinetic blast he could at the group of Yuuzhan Vong.
If they had been any other species, it would have pasted them to the wall. Instead, two fell and the other three staggered as if in a high wind. Tahiri, unable to affect them at all, found another solution; a stack of cylinders in the corner suddenly flew into the already off-balance warriors, sending the rest of them down. Only the Givin, who had stepped back from the action, kept his feet, and he was laughing, a harsh, very un-Givinlike laugh.
From side corridors, eight more Yuuzhan Vong filed into the far side of the room from where the Jedi now stood against a bulkhead, lightsabers bristling out like quills.
The Givin reached up, touched the side of his nose, and something oozed off, revealing the Yuuzhan Vong beneath.
“A good effort, for infidels,” he said, taking an amphistaff proffered by one of the newcomers. He looked squarely at Anakin. “Not the Solo the warmaster wishes most, though after Yavin Four your worth has risen immeasurably.”
“I don’t know you,” Anakin said.
“No. But your mother and I have met. I am Nom Anor, and you may consider yourself my captive.”
“We’d rather not jump to that conclusion, if you don’t mind,” Corran said.
“The odds are against you.”
“You must not know much about Corellians,” Corran said.
“Don’t be tiresome. You three have earned respect. If you were not infidels, I might even call you warriors.”
“I can’t say the same for you,” Corran said. “What about it, Nom Anor? Me and you, man to man.”
“Duel you as you dueled Shedao Shai? And if I win, the rest of you would surrender?”
“No. But you could prove you aren’t afraid to face me.”
“Sadly, my duty to my people forces me to decline your offer,” Nom Anor said.
Tahiri suddenly began shouting in Yuuzhan Vong. The warriors looked at her, first puzzled, then angry. One turned and spat something at Nom Anor.
“What did you say?” Anakin asked.
“The warriors with him don’t speak Basic, and they don’t have tizowyrms. They didn’t realize that Nom Anor was turning down a challenge. I told them you were the slayer of Shedao Shai.”
“Good going, Tahiri. Now what?” Corran asked.
“The head warrior of this bunch—Shok Choka—wants to take up the challenge.”
“Tell him I accept,” Corran said.
“No,” Anakin said. “Tell him I accept. Tell him I slew many warriors on Yavin Four. Tell him I fought with Vua Rapuung. Tell him I demand my right to combat, or I will carry their names as cowards to the gods.”
Nom Anor was shouting himself hoarse in Yuuzhan Vong, but the warriors seemed to have almost forgotten he existed. It would have been funny if the situation hadn’t been so deadly.
As Tahiri translated, Anakin stepped out, lightsaber blazing. The other warriors fell back, forming a ring. Shok Choka stepped into it.
FORTY
When Jaina’s engines came back on-line and she realized she wasn’t going to die—at least not right away—she was, naturally, grateful. When, an instant later, Two and Ten dusted the skips off her tail, she was ecstatic. She proved this by fryi
ng the two skips hanging tight on Nine.
But the best part was watching Wampa blow. It came apart in eight symmetrical plates billowing outward on a ball of fire. The wave of charged particles blew over her at lightspeed, nearly—but not quite—generating enough static to drown out Gavin’s fierce cry of exultation.
After that, the Rogues cleaned up the remaining skips—without their war coordinator, apparently on Wampa, they weren’t that much trouble. What was left of Rogue Squadron re-formed.
They’d lost Three and Four, and Eight was hobbling along on one damaged engine.
“Dozen, how’s it going down there?” Gavin asked.
Kyp’s voice came through a steady throb of gravitic distortion.
“… lost five starfighters. Can … hurry, or you’ll miss the party.”
“Hang in there, Dozen, we’re on our way.”
And then, another beautiful sight. The Ralroost, reverting to realspace in all her glory, followed by two corvettes and a heavy cruiser.
“Kre’fey here,” the admiral’s voice boomed. “Congratulation, Rogues. Excellent work. If you don’t mind, we’ll clear a path to target prime now.”
“Admiral,” Gavin replied. “We don’t mind at all.”
Trailing the Ralroost, Jaina turned her nose sunward and dived.
“We’re going to hit!” C-3PO squealed.
“That’s the general idea, Professor,” Han said. The Falcon bumped into the side of the freighter module—two quick shots from the forward laser had cut it adrift. Now he engaged the Millennium Falcon’s main engines and cranked them to full. The cargo pod lurched into motion, aimed straight at the Yuuzhan Vong Interdictor. The Falcon rattled like a metal bearing in a vorth cage, but Han held her nose steady.
“What in blazes is going on up there?” Leia shouted over her the intercom.
“Just keep a lookout for skips. We’ll be seeing them pretty quickly.”
He was right—it didn’t take the Sunulok long to figure out he was up to something. Coralskippers came howling in, blazing away at both the cargo pod and the Falcon. The trembling of the Falcon took on a different tone, now, as plasma bursts ate her shields. But the deciding factor for Han was the sudden bloom along the outbound rim of the freighter module. He turned the Falcon’s nose up and flew.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Leia said.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Han said, though he felt anything but relaxed. His hands had a death grip on the controls as he tried to coax more speed from his great bird.
Then something stopped them, hard. The interdictor had finally gotten its lock. Han blanched and tried the repulsorlifts, glad he hadn’t told C-3PO what he was doing so the droid could quote him the odds.
He was stuck. He could only watch now.
The tanker module was still hurtling toward the Sunulok too fast for the huge vessel to dodge without a hyperspace jump, but it was coming apart under the steady fire of the smaller ships. Han watched as its liquid contents continued, undeterred, spreading in a bizarre funnel-profile wave toward the Yuuzhan Vong ship.
“I don’t understand, sir,” said C-3PO, in a hopeless and subdued voice. “What could liquid hydrogen possibly do against—”
“Watch and learn, Threepio,” Han said. Then, under his breath, “At least I hope.” He fired three of his six remaining concussion missiles. “Leia, Jacen. Target the Interdictor, full power. Give her everything you’ve got.”
“But the hydrogen won’t burn without oxygen,” C-3PO said.
“Sure won’t,” Han replied.
The lasers lanced out just ahead of the missiles. At about the same moment, the Falcon’s shields went down and the skips started taking her apart.
And then everything broke loose.
Shok Choka was big, even for a Yuuzhan Vong warrior. Each ear had three large chevrons cut from it, and a mounded scar ran from his chin, sliced through his lips, and continued along the ridge of his skull. He held his amphistaff behind his back, the hand grasping it a little lower than his waist. He locked his amber gaze on Anakin’s ice-blue eyes. His knees were bent, and though he was perfectly still, he somehow projected corybantic motion.
Anakin cut his lightsaber off and held it loosely at his side. He began to circle the warrior slowly in a relaxed, almost contemptuous manner. Calm flowed through him. Shok Choka followed him with his predator gaze.
Anakin stopped, smiled faintly, then stepped into the warrior’s range.
The Yuuzhan Vong moved almost faster than vision could process, the rigid amphistaff chopping down. Anakin’s saber burred on, and he raised it in a wide, high block. Choka, anticipating that, arrested the slash and instead lunged in to spear Anakin in the throat. Anakin retreated, dropped his parry, again low and wide, as if he were defending for two people instead of one. That placed Choka’s weapon so far out of line he couldn’t make the third parry, but instead had to flip back toward Anakin and Tahiri. His still-live blade, slashing wildly, scored a meter-long cut through the bulkhead that only just missed Corran.
Stamping and howling, Shok Choka came on. Anakin blocked a powerful blow that carried his blade into the bulkhead for a second time in a long, elliptical slash. He ducked a vicious jab that spanged into the wall and rolled forward, past Shok Choka’s stamping feet and back out into the center of the room. Even as he stood, the warrior was renewing his attack.
Now, suddenly, Anakin tightened his defense, so that rather than pushing the Yuuzhan Vong’s blows as far away from him as he could, they were missing him by centimeters. Still smiling, he fell into the counterrhythm of the dance, the amphistaff whipping and whirling, spearing and slashing.
The warrior suddenly dropped and swept Anakin’s feet from under him, something the young Jedi hadn’t seen coming at all. He thudded to the floor awkwardly and threw his blade up to catch the inevitable downward blow, but the staff whipped around and cut his shoulder, the deadly poisonous head slapping against the floor centimeters from his arm. Anakin caught the amphistaff with his left hand and with his right, lifting from a prostrate position, drove his weapon through the knee joint of Shok Choka’s armor. The warrior grunted and aimed a powerful punch with his left fist toward Anakin’s head, but Anakin wasn’t there. Releasing the amphistaff, ignoring the cut in his hand grabbing it had caused, he bounded up and was suddenly standing above the warrior, who had overcommitted to the punch. In the split second while Shok Choka decided whether to tumble forward or attempt to regain his balance, Anakin cut his head off.
Before the body could hit the floor, Anakin bounded toward his friends. Corran had already seen the plan, and with a single swipe of his own blade finished cutting the bulge-sided triangle Anakin had begun in the bulkhead with his “wild” parries. The other Yuuzhan Vong, stunned by the death of their war captain, hesitated an instant too long. One got a parting shot at Anakin, the last of the three to duck through the small opening. Several somethings cracked against the metal bulkhead—thud bugs, probably. Then he was through, turning a corner in the corridor behind Tahiri, and they were all running as fast as they could manage. They passed through a pneumatic bulkhead. Anakin slashed the controls as it sighed closed. He caught a glimpse of a Yuuzhan Vong face turning the corner, and a second later heard a thud on the other side of the door, then several more. Glancing back over his shoulder as he continued to run, he didn’t see it open.
“You did that on purpose!” Corran accused. “I thought at first you were just fighting sloppy.”
“We need to find berth thirteen!” Anakin gasped.
“On it,” Corran shouted back. “This way.”
“How far do we have to go? Because—” Tahiri began to ask.
“Just keep running,” Anakin urged.
“—because my ears are popping,” she finished.
Anakin realized that his were, too, and that he was a lot more winded than he ought to be.
“Sithspawn,” Corran said. “The Givin have opened the station to space. We’ll never
make it to berth thirteen.” He stopped, looked around. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Follow me.”
He led them down a side corridor, where he paused.
“They’ve changed the designations,” he muttered, “but I think this is it.” He keyed a door open.
“We might make it to the ship,” Anakin shouted, following him into the room beyond. It was wall-to-wall storage lockers.
Corran sounded as if he were across a space twice as large when he replied. “No way. We’re not even to the docking ring.” As he spoke, he began cutting though the locks on the lockers with his lightsaber.
“Check the unlocked ones, you two,” Corran ordered. “We’re looking for vac suits. This is the sector Illiet told us to go to.”
Anakin did, feeling the air grow thinner and colder as he did so. Most were empty. “But what if Illiet was in with Nom Anor?”
“I doubt it. If he was, why such an unwieldy trap? Nom Anor must have contacted the other Yuuzhan Vong to meet him, to get him off the station. Hah!” He yanked a large vac suit from one of the lockers. “Look at this thing,” he said. “It must be twenty years old.”
The next locker turned up an airpack, but no suit. Neither did the next few, and Tahiri was starting to giggle with hypoxia. Anakin felt symptoms himself.
“Okay, that’s it,” Corran said. “You two. Get in there.” He pointed to one of the large lockers.
“Why?” Anakin asked.
“Just do as I say. This one time, please, without questions, just do what I tell you to.”
It seemed funny that Corran was shouting at him again. Part of Anakin knew that was a bad sign.
He grabbed Tahiri’s hand and pulled her into the locker. Corran shoved the airpack in behind them.
“Minimum feed to keep you alive. Remember the locker is probably leaky.” He swayed on his feet, seeming to nearly collapse. “I’ll be back. There’s another set of lockers down the hall.”
He slammed the locker door, and they were in total darkness. Anakin felt around for the feed valve, and soon a small hiss escaped the airpack. He turned it up until his dizziness subsided.