Destiny's Way

by Walter Jon Williams

  I must inform you that you possess insufficient experience of depravity. Vergere’s words floated to the front of Jacen’s mind. He stared at Jaina in horror.

  “I just realized what’s happening,” he said.

  Jaina looked at him, and apprehension dawned in her brown eyes.

  “You’re the bait,” Jacen told her. “You’re the bait that will bring the Yuuzhan Vong here.” He paused, and then nodded as he followed the thought to its inevitable conclusion. “And I’m the bait, too.”

  “The bait must be real,” Ackbar said. “And the bait must be seen by the enemy.”

  “If necessary,” Mara said, “we’ll have one of our Senators ask whether it’s true that the Chief of State has hidden himself in a redoubt along with his twin Jedi bodyguards. But I think we can do it more subtly than that.”

  The tinkling of fountains and the scent of brine filled the air. Mara and Winter sat by the edge of Ackbar’s pool, swirling their legs in the water. Ayddar Nylykerka had unbent to the point of taking off his boots and dipping his hairy toes.

  Mara reviewed her mental checklist. “The plans for the Final Redoubt,” she said. “Who’s going to glimpse them?”

  “We’ve already used the Sullustan in Senator Praget’s office,” Nylykerka said. “Perhaps this time we should try the Peace Brigade contractor working in the shipyards. He can be given a moment alone with the plans in his supervisor’s office.”

  “We know the Vong gave him a holocam.”

  Mara, Nylykerka, and the mouse droids had located a third Yuuzhan Vong spy network operating in the new capital. She and Fleet Intelligence were keeping all three happy by feeding them information that was perfectly accurate, but either out of date, irrelevant, or useless. The Yuuzhan Vong wouldn’t suspect a spy who delivered no false information, even if the information wasn’t completely useful.

  “The government needs to disappear,” Winter said.

  “Cal will say he’s on a tour of military facilities with the heads of the Senate councils,” Mara said. “And then no one will hear from him for a while.”

  “And the Solo twins need to disappear as well.”

  “Perhaps Senator Praget can be indignant about it,” Nylykerka suggested. “He was an opponent of Leia Organa Solo—there’s no reason why he can’t dislike her children as well.”

  Mara laughed. “That’s right! He can complain that Jacen and Jaina are hiding in some secret fortress just when the New Republic needs them most!”

  “Bait,” Ackbar said. He lifted one hand and let a stream of seawater pour from his palm into the pool. “The bait must be real. And it must be seen to be real.”

  The Sword of the Jedi, Jaina thought. A sword that’s about to be beaten into iron filings between the hammer of the Vong and the anvil of Ebaq.

  “Twin Squadron, prepare to withdraw on my mark. Three, two, mark.”

  Jaina rotated her fighter’s nose and triggered the ion engines. Deep in her gut she absorbed the tug of shifting momentum.

  Now that she understood Ackbar’s plan better, she had to admit it made sense. Lure the enemy into an attack on a supposedly hidden base guarded by Jedi elites, trap them in a starry dead end, annihilate them.

  The problem was, the Yuuzhan Vong would have every chance to annihilate Jaina and her squadron first.

  “Request a shield drop on Sector Seventeen,” Jaina called to Ebaq Control.

  “Shields dropping in five seconds. Four. Three …”

  The shields dropped as Twin Suns Squadron raced through the gap. Jaina triggered the starfighter’s repulsorlifts and maneuvered into the docking bay space.

  “Twin Suns Squadron, abandon fighters and rendezvous at the entrance to Tunnel Twelve-C.”

  Jaina popped the canopy before the X-wing quite touched down, cleared her webbing, and used the Force to lift herself clear of the cockpit and drop onto the docking bay deck. She led the squadron in sprinting for the head of the giant main shaft that ran clean through the moonlet.

  As she ran she kept thinking how tired she was. Tired of the war, of the constant drills, tired of having so many others who depended on her.

  She was losing her edge.

  “I’m worried,” Jacen told Vergere. “She’s exhausted, she has too many responsibilities. She’s on the edge.”

  “Of darkness?” Vergere asked.

  Jacen shook his head. “No. Of despair.” He hesitated, then spoke. “She doesn’t think she’ll survive the war.”

  They spoke in hushed tones in Jacen’s cabin, Jacen on his bunk, Vergere perched on his desk chair. Most of the warship’s crews were asleep. After two days of joint exercises, Ralroost and most of Kre’fey’s fleet hung motionless around the old Imperial star base called Tarkin’s Fang, just a few minutes’ hyperspace jump from Ebaq 9.

  “To despair of life is to despair of the Force,” Vergere said.

  “How do I help her?”

  Vergere’s head thrust forward on its angular neck, peculiarly insistent. The chair creaked at the shift in weight. “You are responsible for your own choices alone.”

  “But if I choose to help my sister?”

  “She rejects your help, does she not?”

  “Maybe I haven’t gone about it right. If I can find the right way to get to her …”

  “From here you can do nothing.” Vergere’s tone was unusually harsh. “Think of your own choices only.”

  Jacen looked at her as a warning sang in his nerves. “What do you know?” he asked.

  Vergere’s eyes were opaque. “Of your sister? Nothing.”

  “And of me?”

  “I know, young Jedi, that you must choose wisely.” She turned away from him, toward the wall. “I will meditate now.”

  “You’re hiding something.”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “Always,” she said.

  And that was all he got out of her.

  The door shivered open, and Nom Anor’s heart lurched at the sight of a grotesque face grinning at him like some demon’s parody of a Yuuzhan Vong. He controlled himself as he realized it was only Onimi, who broke into a slashmouthed grin and ushered him into the room with a bow. The Shamed One sat in the shadows before Shimrra’s feet and declaimed.

  “What one-eyed lurker skulks outside my door?

  Behold the furtive agent, Nom Anor.”

  Nom Anor imagined kicking Onimi out of his way as he stepped into the shadowed room. In the dim light he made out the huge form of Supreme Overlord Shimrra reclining on a dais of pulsing red hau polyps. Nom Anor prostrated himself, all too aware of the relentless scrutiny of Shimrra’s rainbow eyes.

  He tried not to think of what he knew about the eighth cortex project, about Shimrra’s cynical manipulation of religion, about the dreadful hollowness of all the Supreme Overlord stood for.

  The Overlord’s deep voice rolled out of the darkness. “You have news of the infidels?”

  “I have, Supreme One.” He rose to his feet and tried to control the excitement in his voice. “I believe that I have the information that will bring about the decisive battle.”

  The battle that you need, he thought. The victory that will give the eighth cortex project time to succeed.

  Shimrra’s voice was deadly calm. “Very well, Executor. We shall await the warmaster.”

  “As you wish, Dread One.”

  Nom Anor repressed a shiver of fear as he stood alone before the Supreme Overlord. This was Shimrra’s private audience chamber, not the great reception hall, and Nom Anor was without support here, unable to hide behind Yoog Skell and a deputation of intendants. He remembered the way the Supreme Overlord’s mind had overborne his own, the way his thoughts had been squeezed as if between two giant fingers.

  Onimi opened the door before Tsavong Lah could touch its membrane.

  “Behold the great soldier, commander of corps,

  Great Tsavong Lah, the master of war.”

  Tsavong Lah padded balefully into the room on his clawed vua
’sa foot, his eyes glaring hatred at Nom Anor. The warmaster lowered himself to the floor before the Supreme Overlord.

  “At your command, Supreme One.”

  “Stand, Warmaster.”

  Tsavong Lah rose heavily to his feet, the vua’sa claws scrabbling for traction. Even though he was large for a Yuuzhan Vong, the massive form of Shimrra outweighed him by at least half.

  “May I congratulate the warmaster on his mating?” Nom Anor said.

  “You may,” Tsavong Lah said, looking at Nom Anor with more than his usual suspicion.

  Tsavong Lah, in obedience to Shimrra’s order that all warriors mate, had been seen with a subaltern. A beauty, too, known for the sublime blue of the pouches beneath her eyes.

  “I hope that Domain Lah will soon have another addition to its ranks,” Nom Anor said.

  “That,” Tsavong Lah said, “is none of your business.”

  Shimrra vented a basso chuckle. “To business,” he said. “Report, Warmaster.”

  “The fleets are ready, Dread Lord. Our auxiliaries have been trained and stand ready to guard our conquests. We continue to recruit mercenaries.”

  “None of these elements have distinguished themselves thus far,” Shimrra pointed out.

  “The enemy raid us, that is true,” Tsavong Lah said. “But they flee whenever we face them with anything approaching equal numbers. And in any case the raids will cease once we resume the offensive.” He formed a fist on the end of the radank leg he had in place of an arm. “We are ready for conquest, Supreme One! With your permission, I am ready to take Corellia—five planets in the system, Lord, shipyards and the Centerpoint weapon! They are isolated, and I believe I can take them at small cost. They will try to defend all five planets, but that will stretch them too thin, and I will defeat them in detail.” Eagerness contorted his scarred face. “May I have your permission to advance, Supreme One?”

  A giggle escaped Onimi’s slash of a mouth. “I believe Nom Anor has another suggestion.”

  Nom Anor felt the warmaster’s anger as Tsavong Lah glowered at him. “This one?” the warmaster said. “I have followed his advice before—to my cost.”

  The Supreme Overlord’s eyes shimmered from a bloody red to a sulfurous yellow. The hau polyps, shifting beneath his weight, gave a squelching sound and an acid stench. “Speak, Executor,” Shimrra said.

  Nom Anor ignored Tsavong Lah and turned to face Shimrra. “My spies inform me that the New Republic government has fled Mon Calamari and is hiding in the Deep Core. The warmaster and his forces may trap them there and crush them. Without a central government, the enemy will fall apart.” He deigned to glance at Tsavong Lah. “The warmaster may then be able to take Corellia without fighting.”

  Tsavong Lah’s expression hesitated between triumph and scorn. “What spies?” he demanded finally. “What evidence? How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

  Nom Anor turned once again to Shimrra. “I have correlated the evidence from different independent networks operating on Mon Calamari. The plans for what the enemy calls the ‘Final Redoubt’ came from one source. Its location came from another agent. News of an emergency appropriation to pay for it came from a third. The government’s absence from Mon Calamari is public knowledge, though it is presented as a kind of tour of the military.” He smiled. “And the fact that the Final Redoubt is guarded by Jedi—in fact by the Solo twins—came from my most reliable agent.”

  He sensed Tsavong Lah straightening at the mention of the Solo twins. Nom Anor swept one hand triumphantly across his chest. “After this one battle, the warmaster may sacrifice Cal Omas, the heads of the Senate councils, the Solo twins, and many other Jedi. My life in payment if I am wrong, Supreme One.”

  “As you say, Executor,” Shimrra rumbled. “If you are wrong, it shall be your life in payment.”

  Nom Anor heard the words without fear. He knew that he was right, that the victory was within their grasp.

  Shimrra leaned forward on the trembling bed of polyps. “Now let us examine this evidence, and make our plans …”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Alarms blasted Jaina from sleep. She slept in her pilot’s coveralls because it was warmer that way—the techs had never quite got the heating system to work in the pilots’ quarters, though strangely enough the engineers’ own heaters seemed to work perfectly well. So frequent had been the drills that she drew on her boots and grabbed her pilot’s helmet without even opening her eyes.

  She managed to pry open her gummed lids as she sprinted down the corridor that led to the docking bays. Five strides later the artificial gravity snapped off as the moonlet’s defense shields went on—power supply problems had been continuous, and judging by present evidence were unresolved. There had been a rumor that someone had dropped a decimal point in a requisition, and that Ebaq 9’s power supply was one-tenth the size it was supposed to be.

  Jaina used the Force to push herself forward, snagging Vale on the way as her wingmate floundered in the reduced gravity, unable to get traction for her boots. In the docking bay, Jaina flung Vale toward her starfighter, then jumped for her own X-wing. R2-B3, which had never left the bay, was already in the second seat and had the electronics switched on, the repulsorlifts glowing, and the quad ion engines warming.

  The astromech tweedled a greeting as Jaina buckled herself into her seat and watched the last of her squadron’s pilots race, float, or flop their way through the reduced gravity to their craft. When the last one had checked in over the comlink, Jaina opened a channel to Ebaq Control.

  “This is Twin One. Twin Suns Squadron ready for launch.”

  “Launch immediately, Twin One! The shield in Sector Twelve is down for you!”

  Ebaq Control seemed a little overexcited this morning. “Acknowledged.” She switched to her intership channel. “We have clearance, people. Let’s go.”

  Jaina’s X-wing swung aloft on its repulsorlifts and floated toward the docking bay doors. As the massive doors parted for her, she triggered the ion engines and launched herself into the star-strewn half night beyond.

  In space, as she waited for the others to launch and form on her starfighter, she looked at her displays and saw Farlander’s capital ships hovering eight light-minutes out, all of them launching starfighers. And beyond Farlander, bright starbursts blossomed onto the displays, squadrons of enemy ships in their hundreds and thousands.

  Sudden electricity snarled through her nerves, and the sleep that clung to her was burned away.

  This was not a drill. This was a force of a size that hadn’t been seen since the attack on Coruscant.

  And then Jaina felt a surge through the Force, a sense that a powerful mind had just focused on her, like a searchlight on a helpless insect. Horror shivered through her bones as she recognized the sensation.

  Voxyn …

  The howls of the voxyn rose around Tsavong Lah, and he felt triumph rise in him like a glorious wind. He raised his arms, hands clawed as if to tear the sky asunder.

  Jeedai. The Jeedai were here. That skulking coward, Nom Anor, had been right. Above him, blaze bugs rose into the air, hovering in place to form a three-dimensional representation of the battle, the pitch of their wings and the flashing of their scarlet abdomens identifying the size and status of all ships in the area, friend and enemy alike.

  The voxyn howled again. Wild joy rose in Tsavong Lah. “By Yun-Yuuzhan!” he shouted. “The stinking intendant was right!”

  The New Republic forces were completely outnumbered. No doubt if it were possible to flee, the enemy would be doing so. But Ebaq was in a dead end, and no retreat was possible. They had to fight.

  And should the Jeedai attempt to hide on Ebaq 9 or any other body in this system, Tsavong Lah had the voxyn. Six of the Jedi-hunting beasts had been off Myrkr when the rest of their species was destroyed. The voxyn had very short life spans, and these were near the end of theirs, their green scales yellowed, their eyes filmed and weary. But as soon as they’d sensed Jedi in the system th
ey’d thrown off their lethargy, and their tails lashed eagerly back and forth.

  The embracing tendrils of the cognition throne writhed atop his head, feeding him tactical data and keeping him in contact with Blood Sacrifice’s yammosk, which wordlessly directed the thousands of ships, coralskippers, and transports at the warmaster’s command. In a circle around the cognition throne were a group of subalterns, apprentices, and readers, the former with villips that kept Tsavong Lah in touch with his squadrons.

  Tsavong Lah felt sudden confusion from the yammosk. The enemy were jamming its signals.

  This hardly mattered, the odds were so great. Tsavong Lah called out orders that would be transmitted by the subalterns around him with their villips. “The Battle Group of Yun-Yammka will advance and engage the enemy! The Battle Groups of Yun-Txiin and Yun-Q’aah will advance on the flanks of the enemy and envelop him. The Battle Groups of Yun-Yuuzhan and Yun-Harla will remain in reserve.”

  The battle group named for the Slayer would engage the enemy. And then the battle groups named for the Lovers would converge on the enemy, in a true lovers’ embrace, and destroy them.

  Two more battle groups would remain in reserve, including the warmaster’s own, to follow the enemy through hyperspace should they manage to escape. Though it was unlikely that the infidels would manage an escape, pinned as they were against the gravity well of a huge gas giant.

  Acknowledgments poured in from the commanders of the different battle groups. The blaze bugs overhead swarmed and flashed as dispositions shifted.

  The enemy were maneuvering cautiously, trying to keep between the advancing Battle Group of Yun-Yammka and Ebaq 9. This suited the warmaster perfectly—the defenders were a slow, easy target against which he could hurl his overwhelming strength.

  Tsavong Lah’s satisfaction grew as he watched the enemy plod toward destruction. The Battle Group of Yun-Yammka began to maneuver into extended order to lay itself alongside the enemy, two capital ships to the enemy’s one. And then Tsavong Lah sensed a shift in the infidels’ dispositions—the blaze bugs began to move, their whirrs and patterns swinging subtly to a new configuration.