The next day, as she set out in her X-wing for Mon Calamari, Twin Suns Squadron soared past her, brilliant in the light of Kashyyyk’s sun, and tipped their wings in salute before cutting in their engines and flashing away, out of sight.
She felt like a traitor for leaving them behind. The rookies needed much more training before they’d have a chance of surviving against the Yuuzhan Vong, and she wouldn’t be there to supervise it. What if one of them died because of something she hadn’t been present to teach them? What if the whole squadron was led to disaster because of something she could have prevented?
Jaina had every faith that Lowie would do a good job as squadron commander. But it wasn’t Lowie’s squadron, it was hers. Whatever happened to it, it was she who was responsible.
Jaina sighed, settled into her molded seat, and began plotting the first of the long series of jumps that were calculated to avoid the dangerous parts of the wide Yuuzhan Vong–occupied swath of worlds between Kashyyyk and Mon Calamari.
She thought about seeing Jacen again, and all her doubts faded.
“Welcome, Senator.” Lando, smiling broadly, shook Fyg Boras’s hand and escorted him to an armchair. “I’d like to express my admiration on the rapidity with which your committee dealt with the YVH amendment.”
“A surprising number of my colleagues were in favor of the amendment,” Boras said. “An unsubtle number, perhaps.”
“These days,” Lando said, “a person with tons of relief supplies can’t help but make a lot of friends.”
“You’re giving away enough. The price of basic commodities has dropped enormously in the last few days.”
“But surely that’s a good thing, Senator!” Lando said.
“No doubt,” Boras gloomed. Lando and Karrde had so flooded the market with relief supplies that the Senator’s illicit profits were barely keeping ahead of the costs of warehousing everything he was secretly offering for sale.
Cheaters never prosper, Lando thought virtuously.
“I thought we might discuss the future of our relationship,” Lando said, and seated himself adjacent to the Senator.
“I hope you’re not going to offer me more relief supplies.”
Lando steepled his fingertips and tried to ignore Boras’s nose-tickling minty cologne. “What I hoped,” he said, “was to discuss the next Chief of State.”
“I’m committed to Fyor Rodan, as you know.”
“I was hoping to change your mind.”
“That’s not possible,” Boras said shortly. “I’ve made a definite commitment.”
“I regret that extremely. Because it’s then possible that people may see this holovid.”
He touched the control of the room’s holoprojector, and Boras watched with increasing petulance at the sight of himself in his first meeting with Lando.
“You can’t release that!” he snapped finally. “If I’m guilty of taking a bribe—which I’m not—then you’re guilty of offering one! To release that holo would be to put your own head into the noose!”
“I would never claim that I bribed you,” Lando said with indignation. “I’ve never bribed anyone in my life!”
“Then what’s all this about?” Boras snarled.
“I gave you the supplies to be given free to refugees,” Lando said. “That’s very clear in the holo. If it could be demonstrated that you were selling the supplies, instead of giving them away, then that would be—why it would be illegal, wouldn’t it?”
Boras stared at Lando with burning hatred in his eyes.
“Now,” Lando said with a perfect white smile, “about the next Chief of State.”
The next three days saw an extraordinary number of defections from the camp of Fyor Rodan. Not just those who had allowed themselves to be bribed, but others whose activities had been revealed by a little of Talon Karrde’s research. Those who stole fleet elements in order to make their escape from Coruscant, or who called for the fleet to escort them to safety while other naval units, deprived of support, stayed and died. There were those who had sprung criminals from custody on condition that the criminals help them escape the Yuuzhan Vong. Others had taken massive bribes in order to take world-class criminals offplanet. There was one Senator who had left his whole family behind in order to provide transport to a well-fed Coruscant plutocrat and his harem of mistresses.
Some of these—the supporters Fyor Rodan most counted on—were persuaded to announce publicly that they had changed their minds and intended to vote for Cal Omas.
The following morning Mara—now operating with a pair of YVH-M mouse droids—picked up a Yuuzhan Vong infiltrator at her place of residence and followed her through refugee-packed streets toward the edge of Heurkea Floating City, where gracefully curved seawalls kept the green ocean rollers from sweeping right up the streets. The Yuuzhan Vong wasn’t interested in the view, but walked along the base of the seawall to a bubble-topped structure that projected out over the water.
When the target entered, Mara remained outside and sent one of the mouse droids through the broad, open doorway. The structure proved to be a private marina, with boats and submersibles of various sizes moored in long rows of slips. The Yuuzhan Vong spoke to a Quarren who sat behind a desk near the entrance, and the Quarren handed her what might have been a set of keys. The infiltrator then walked out onto one of the jetties.
Mara left her second droid near the entrance and entered the marina herself. The salt-and-iodine scent of the sea was strong in the confined space. The Yuuzhan Vong, she saw, was inspecting a submersible. Drawing the hood of her robe forward to partly mask her face from the Vong, Mara approached the Quarren.
“Do you rent submersibles here?” she asked.
“No,” the Quarren said. “We rent berths to private vehicles only.” One of its facial tentacles pointed politely toward the door. “If you want to rent submersibles, you can turn right at the entrance, then walk along the seawall to—”
Mara’s comm unit chittered at her. “Excuse me,” she said, and stepped away from the desk just as a large human male walked into the building. The new arrival blinked as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness inside the covered marina, and during that time Mara read the information that her mouse droid was trying to tell her.
The new arrival was another Yuuzhan Vong.
Mara’s heart leapt. She turned her head away from the new arrival and tried to shrug into her hood—it wasn’t as if Mara Jade Skywalker wasn’t someone an enemy infiltrator might recognize at close range. But the infiltrator wasn’t interested in her, or in the Quarren. Without looking left or right, the Yuuzhan Vong marched into the building, walked down the long jetty, and joined the first Vong.
Frantically Mara considered her options. For years she had been the Emperor’s Hand. She had lived as a spy, infiltrator, and assassin, and she understood spy work well. Two Yuuzhan Vong infiltrators meeting face to face violated every single principle of tradecraft—if the two needed to speak, they could do so by villip with complete privacy; if villips weren’t available, they could use dead-letter drops or, with precautions, simple comm units.
There were three possible reasons why the two Yuuzhan Vong were meeting face to face.
They could be stupid.
They could be overconfident.
Or, third, something was happening that was of such overwhelming importance that the Yuuzhan Vong were forced to throw all caution to the winds and conduct the operation together.
Mara knew which way she wanted to bet.
The Yuuzhan Vong had opened the cockpit of their submersible and were descending into it. Mara returned to the Quarren at the desk.
“Are you sure you don’t have any submersibles for rent?” she asked, and made a gesture with one hand.
“Yes,” the Quarren said. “We have submersibles for rent.”
“I want a fast one, and I need it immediately.”
The Quarren reached beneath the desk and produced a set of keys. “Berth Five-B, ma’am,”
it said.
“Thanks,” Mara said, snatching the keys.
The face-tentacles waved good-bye. “Have a nice voyage.”
The Yuuzhan Vong were swinging their cockpit closed. Mara tried to avoid a dead run as she headed for Berth 5B.
Her submersible was a slim sport model whose sleek lines showed the customary Mon Calamari attention to elegant design. The transparent cockpit seated two passengers, one behind the other, and the deep green paint job featured a scalloped pattern that suggested fish scales.
Mara cast off the two mooring lines, then put a foot on the submersible and felt it bob under her. She keyed the lock, and the bubble canopy rolled aside with a hydraulic hiss. Mara vaulted easily into the pilot’s seat and found the main power switch. She pressed it and the instrument panel came to life.
The instrument panel was simple compared to that found in a starfighter. Mara pulled away a drape of her cloak that had caught on the cockpit coaming, then closed the canopy. Canopy locks clamped down to make the sub watertight. Ventilators whirred as they automatically switched on. Mara engaged the engine, and water jets hissed as Mara backed out of the slip.
The Yuuzhan Vong craft, she saw, was already moving through the seaward entrance of the marina and into the open sea. Mara kicked the rudder over and accelerated, shaving the stern of the nearest vessel by millimeters as she set out in pursuit.
She zigzagged around the piers and dashed through the exit to see the first ocean wave break over the Vong’s canopy as it began to descend. Mara steered after the vanishing craft and looked for the ballast tank controls. Air sputtered from vents as she began her descent.
Piloting the submersible, she found, was like flying a starfighter, but in slow motion. It rolled and banked like any atmosphere craft, and like any atmosphere craft it flew better when it was in trim, the ballast tanks filled equally fore and aft, which meant she didn’t have to be constantly fighting the dive planes to keep the boat at the right depth.
Visibility was quite good, but “good” visibility in the water only extended a hundred meters or so. Fortunately, her displays kept her informed of other craft in the water.
Radio-based detection systems were useless in the water, so submersibles featured a system based on sound. Rather than having every underwater craft pinging away all the time and confusing each other’s sensors with overlapping noise, Heurkea Floating City itself issued regular low-frequency sonar pulses that highlighted every craft in the vicinity for thirty kilometers or more. In order to detect the vessels around them, all the submersibles had to do was set their own sonar sets to passively receive the city’s pulses.
Mara had no trouble following her target and doing it without calling attention to herself, though she did speed up at one point in order to make certain that the craft she was following was the right one. She crept up on its tail until she recognized the configuration of the cabin, then allowed her boat to drift back. Compared to her own, the Yuuzhan Vong boat was a squat, broad, roomy vessel, with its two passengers sitting abreast of one another, and she reckoned her own tube-shaped craft was much speedier. This and the usefulness of Heurkea’s city sonar allowed her to keep her distance from the Yuuzhan Vong vessel, even to join other traffic patterns in order to make it less obvious to the Vong they were being followed.
The target vessel plodded on at a deliberate speed, descending to thirty-five meters and circling the floating city until it was almost directly opposite the marina from which it had started. At this depth all color faded away to blue or gray, except for the occasional silver flash of a predator fish darting at the smaller fish attracted by the brightly lit windows of the residential areas. Below, the sea was a profound deep blue that seemed to stretch down forever, an azure vastness that seemed as limitless as empty space.
The Yuuzhan Vong boat checked its speed and began to hover. Mara slowed her own vessel, uncertain what she could do without giving herself away. If she began to hover herself, it might make the Yuuzhan Vong suspicious, but so might tracking back and forth in their vicinity.
Instead, she decided to pass within visual range of the target and see if she could make any sense of its actions. She dipped the dive planes to pass under the Vong craft, and set the throttle to a slow rate of speed to give herself as much time in visual range as possible. Then she almost jumped out of her skin as she passed in front of one of the city’s sonar emitters and felt the deep low-frequency rumble as it shivered along her bones and caused her boat’s small metal fittings to rattle.
The squat form of the target submersible loomed up, silhouetted against the bright blue and silver of the ocean surface thirty-five meters above. The Vong boat had its stern to the open ocean, its bow toward the floating city, and it was simply hovering in place. Mara peered up at the boat, unable to see much of anything along its dark underside—but then through the perfect acoustic medium of the water she heard the hum of an electric motor, and with it a brief scraping. The sounds repeated themselves.
This time, as she gazed up at the Yuuzhan Vong vessel, she caught a brief movement from the bows, a kind of dimple that appeared on its port bow, to match an identical dimple on the starboard side. And then her blood froze with horror at the realization of what she had just seen.
The Vong boat had opened a pair of torpedo tubes. It was about to open fire on Heurkea Floating City.
But why? she thought. Heurkea was colossal: a pair of torpedoes couldn’t possibly sink it. Mara’s head cranked to port, staring in consternation at the face of the city, at the series of clear windows that gave out onto the ocean deep, and there, silhouetted, she saw her answer: the tall, shaggy form of a Wookiee.
Triebakk.
Triebakk, gazing out of the sweating transparisteel wall of Cal Omas’s apartment. Cal, the Chief of State candidate most likely to carry on the war against the Yuuzhan Vong. And Triebakk was soon joined by another, lanky figure that Mara recognized at once.
Cal Omas.
Cal and Triebakk continued to stand by the viewport. Mara realized they were holding drinks. Perhaps they had something to celebrate.
The Yuuzhan Vong boat swam into view dead ahead. Mara’s boat had no weapons, no torpedoes of her own, but on the other hand her craft was a weapon. It weighed a metric ton or more, and it was moving fast, and if she couldn’t sink her enemy by ramming, she might be able to disable it. Mara rolled her sub more or less upright and fed power to the water jets as she aimed her vessel at the enemy canopy, descending on the Yuuzhan Vong craft from above its starboard quarter. If she could smash in the canopy, the enemy would probably be killed outright, and at any rate would drown.
“Pull up! Pull up! Collision alert! Pull up!” Mara’s nerves jumped as a roaring voice filled the cockpit, and her vessel’s passive sonar went active with a series of high-pitched warning screeches aimed at alerting her target to its danger. The controls bucked in her hands as an autopilot seized control of the vessel. Grimly she fought the controls as she tried to keep her craft aimed at the enemy, while her eyes scanned the controls for a switch to turn off the autopilot.
“Pull up! Collision alert! Pull up!”
Things happened too fast for Mara to locate the autopilot override. There was an impact, then a scraping sound as her submersible rolled over the enemy craft. Her boat slewed violently to port as her aft port dive plane caught on the Vong’s dorsal rudder. Locked together, the two subs whirled around each other, then parted with a grinding shudder. Mara looked over her shoulder to see the Vong sub inverted and pitched nose-down, cavitation bubbles spraying from its jets as it tried to right itself. One of the Yuuzhan Vong, thrown against the canopy by the impact, glared at her with his false human face distorted by a furious rage.
Mara sensed that Cal Omas and Triebakk weren’t running away; they were peering out the viewport trying to make out what had just happened in the deep, distant blue of the water. Then the enemy faded into the darkness as Mara’s boat sped away.
Mara fought the control
s to pull her boat around for another pass. Her port dive plane had deformed with the impact; she could hear the hiss and squelch of water as it passed roughly over the distorted surface, and feel the sideways slewing motion that the distortion imparted to her craft.
Then suddenly she heard a whoosh and a frantic pinging, and her nerves keened with the knowledge that the Vong had just fired a torpedo. Her Force-sense told her that it was aimed at her, not at Cal Omas—she could sense the mass of the torpedo as it neared, and hear the increasingly fast, Doppler-shifted chirps of its active sonar as it sped closer.
Mara yanked the craft to port, hoping that the drag of the distorted port dive plane would assist her in making a tight turn. At the same time she pushed out with the Force, trying to shove a stream of water at the torpedo to push it off to the right.
The torpedo sizzled past Mara less than two meters beyond the sub’s starboard dive plane, and Mara felt herself brace against the power of the explosion that would come with the detonation of a proximity fuse. But the torpedo must have had a contact fuse that ignited only on impact, because the underwater missile sped on, its frantic sonar pings Dopplering lower in pitch as it raced away.
Mara gazed at her displays and discovered the Vong craft lumbering in a turn, trying to bring its second and last weapon to bear on Cal Omas. Mara fought the damaged dive plane, lifted the sub’s nose, and straightened once she’d gained five meters of altitude above the enemy boat. She could see no way to disable the autopilot that would try to interfere with her ramming maneuver—either it wasn’t possible, or it required codes she didn’t have. She would have to anticipate the autopilot’s taking over this time, and take its interference into account as she held her course against the enemy.
As she pushed the throttles forward she realized that the fast pinging behind her had shifted, then began to pitch higher in volume. The torpedo had turned around and was coming at her again.
The Vong craft loomed ahead, still turning to bring its torpedo to bear on the floating city. The pings behind Mara grew more frequent and higher in pitch. She pushed her throttle to maximum speed and dived down onto the enemy boat, water hissing through her jets.
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