"No. Really? I would never. . , have . . . guessed."
He felt her fluttering toward unconsciousness again.
"Mara?"
"Still... here."
Luke glanced at the sleeping form of Cilghal on a nearby cot. The
healer worked night and day, using the Force to slow the progress of the
disease. The results were hardly noticeable. Only Mara had ever been able to
control it, but her terrific will was too focused now.
"Mara," he said softly. "Mara, you have to let me in."
"I can manage, Luke."
"Mara, my love ... no games this time. You want to do this your way,
and I respect that. Now you have to respect me. That's my child, too-and
you, you're the best part of my world. Let me help."
"Selfish," Mara said.
"Yes, maybe," Luke admitted.
"Meant me," Mara corrected. "Help our child."
Luke reached into her, then, into the maelstrom. He felt how truly
feeble her life was. Her pain racked his body; her dark fevers gnawed at the
fringes of his brain. It was overwhelming, and the most profound sensation
of hopelessness he had ever felt shuddered through him.
No. I'm not here to take her pain. I'm here to add my strength. He knew
it, but it felt beyond his control. There was too much, coming too fast. He
pushed at it, forcing it away, trying to flow a river of vigor into her, but
she wasn't there to receive it, to use it as only her body knew how. He was
at the mercy of her disease as much as she was.
He heard a noise and realized he had cried out.
Calm. I am calm. I bring calm with me, and tranquility. I am
tranquility.
But the sickness laughed at him. Starbursts of images and sensation
exploded everywhere. He saw Palpatine's leering face, saw his own, younger
features through a veneer of hatred. He was a child on the street, cold and
lonely.
All negative feelings, all fears and hates and greeds. Only the worst
of Mara was here, where the disease had its way.
He fought the despair, but it pooled in his feet and slowly, slowly
filled him up, sap climbing inside a tree.
He knew in that moment he could never save her. Mara was lost to him,
forever.
THIRTY
"Oh, Sithspawn," Corran swore.
"The Givin are in league with the Yuuzhan Vong?" Ana-kin said
doubtfully. "The Givin build ships. The Yuuzhan Vong hate technology."
"Yeah, but their real estate isn't all that promising," Corran said.
"Maybe they figure that if they cooperate, the Yuuzhan Vong won't bother 'em
much."
"I don't understand," Tahiri said.
"Yag'Dhul has three moons," Corran explained. "The tidal forces are so
strong that at times and places the atmosphere itself gets rolled back,
exposing the surface to space. The Givin actually evolved to survive in
vacuum for short periods of time. What would the Yuuzhan Vong want with a
planet like that? The location, yes, because it's strategic for purposes of
their conquest. But they probably wouldn't settle the planet."
"I think they're waiting for a reply," Anakin noticed, gesturing at the
tiny image of the Givin.
"Tahiri, tell them in Yuuzhan Vong we're having some minor
difficulties, and we'll be back in touch in a moment."
"Sure." She said something into the comm unit. Then she looked back up.
"They want to know why we aren't using the villip. They have theirs with
them."
"Brother. This gets worse and worse." Corran stared at the row of
villips. One was pulsing slightly. Was that it?
"Tell them it's none of their business," he said. "Make it sound like
we're mad about something. No-wait. Tell them-tell them the sound of them
speaking the Yuuzhan Vong language so poorly is insulting to us. Tell them
we'll
speak the infidel language, Basic, and that the commander is about to
speak to them."
Tahiri did so, after which Corran took up the comm unit. Keeping the
visual off, he tried to remember the cadence of Shedao Shai's accented
Basic, back when he had dueled with the man.
Here goes nothing. He started to open his mouth, then quickly changed
his mind. "Tahiri, Anakin-give me a name. A credible name."
"Hul," Anakin said. "It's a warrior's name."
Corran nodded, flicked the comm back on. "This is Commander Hul Lah,"
he snarled. "Is everything prepared?"
"All is in readiness, Commander," the Givin answered. "The defense grid
will fail in 15.08357462 standard hours. You may bring your fleet from
hyperspace then."
Corran blinked. Something about that. . .
"There is no suspicion, then?" he asked.
"None. The Body Calculus is completely unaware of our vector with you.
The failure of the defense grid and long-range communications will seem
accidental. Only when you take possession of our system will the truth be
known. We have hidden our factors carefully."
"Commendable. We will verify this, of course, but you may rest assured
that if you are telling the truth, the glorious Yuuzhan Vong will honor our
agreement with you."
"Thank you, Commander."
"Hul Lah, out."
Corran pursed his lips thoughtfully. ''Those guys aren't the
government," he said. "Or at least, not all of it. It's just some faction."
"Let's contact the real government, then," Anakin suggested. "Let 'em
know what's going on before their defense grid fails."
"That's a problem," Corran said. "We don't know anything about who we
just dealt with. It might be the local chapter of the Peace Brigade, or it
might be a faction in the Body Calculus. Either way, the odds of contacting
the wrong people are way too high."
"Maybe we should just get out of here and alert the New Republic
military, then," Anakin suggested.
"It's an idea, but it will lose us Yag'Dhul. There's no way to get a
fleet here in fifteen hours. If the Givin had their own fleet scrambled,
there might be a chance of holding the Yuu-zhan Vong off long enough for a
New Republic force to arrive, assuming the Senatorial Oversight Committee
releases them to do so. No, we've got to get the attention of the right
people, before the defense grid goes down."
"Umm," Anakin mused.
"What? Out with it."
"Well, I have an idea, but you aren't going to like it."
"I'll take anything I can get right now. Talk."
"We attack Yag'Dhul before the grid goes down. Whoever comes out to
stop us, that's who we want to talk to."
"I don't like it," Corran said.
"I didn't think you would."
"I don't like it, but it will work. Anakin, calculate a jump that will
put us as close as safely possible to Yag'Dhul-or better, the space station.
Tahiri, can you figure out how to lay it in?"
"Sure. All I have to do is see it in my mind."
"Let's get cracking, then. I want to do this before common sense sets
in."
They reverted two hundred kilometers from the orbit of Yag'Dhul's
farthest moon, a short distance from the military station that Booster
Terrik had once commanded. Corran had fond memories of the place, because i
t
reminded him of his early days with Mirax. It felt strange to be attacking
it.
The station, which had been Rogue Squadron's base during the Bacta War,
was now part of an expanding Givin military-industrial complex. Unhappy with
having their system being used as a battleground by foreign forces, they had
demanded and been ceded the station a few years after the truce with the
Imperial Remnant. It now protected their shipyard.
"I'll bet they'll notice us," Anakin remarked, watching
through a transparency that Tahiri had opened up to give them a view of
surrounding space. "Hyperwave dampeners or not, rocks this size don't just
appear out of nowhere."
"Unless the grid is already down," Corran replied.
"Oh, I don't think it is," Tahiri said. "Or at least, that would be a
big coincidence. Twenty somethings are on their way."
"Twenty what?" Corran asked. "Starfighters, corvettes, capital ships?"
"I don't know," Tahiri replied. "I don't know a lot about ships."
"Well, how big are they?"
Tahiri didn't answer for a few moments. "I'm not sure how to read
that," she said. "They're sort of clusters of spindly rods. Three engines
each. Real fast."
"Starfighters? How far away?"
"Fifteen phons and closing."
"What's a phon?" Anakin asked.
"I don't have any idea," Tahiri replied. "They just implanted the
language, not conversion charts."
"Bring her around, thirty degrees starboard," Corran said.
"Starboard?"
"To your right! Your right hand!"
"Don't get touchy, Captain Horn," Tahiri said. "I'm doing my best, but
I'm not a pilot! And I can't tell if I've turned fifteen degrees or not."
A dull thud echoed through the ship. Tahiri gasped.
"What was that?"
"That hurt!" Tahiri said. "Something just blew up part of us."
"Are they hailing?"
"I-" She broke off again as several more impacts rocked the ship. The
last one was very loud.
"That broke the skin," Tahiri said. "We're losing air. I'm going to
shoot back."
"Don't shoot back," Corran said. "Do you hear me, Tahiri? Do not shoot
back."
"The ship wants to," she wailed. "It's hurt."
"Don't let it."
"They're hailing," Anakin said. "Standard frequency."
"Answer, then, fast. Tahiri-turn away from those ships and run as fast
as you can."
"They're a lot faster."
"Well, use the dovin basal to absorb their shots, if you can figure out
how to do that."
"The ship is doing it already," she replied. "It's just not very good
at it."
"Not a warship," Corran muttered. "Anakin?"
"Something's wrong with the transponder," Anakin said.
"Well, fix it!"
"I'm trying."
"Tahiri, can you take evasive action?"
"I'm evading as much as I can. But this is a really big ship, and
they're really fast."
Another staggered series of blasts ripped along the side of the
Stalking Moon, and now Corran could see their antagonists, flitting about in
admirably swift craft. He didn't recognize the design, but the Givin were
known for quality if not quantity in shipbuilding. A good quarter of the
racing yachts in the galaxy were built in the Yag'Dhul system.
Corran glanced at Anakin. The boy-no, the young man-was working calmly
at the cobbled-together communications device, one lock of hair falling in
his face. He didn't look like someone who feared death in the slightest.
Probably he didn't. Taan, the Shamed One, was as impassive and quiet as she
had been since her conversation with the distant Yuuzhan Vong commander.
The ship jerked and shuddered, and somewhere near, Corran heard the
sound of air screaming out into vacuum. A smell like vaporized rancor
swirled into the chamber.
"We're dying," Tahiri said dully. "Let me shoot back. Please."
"No."
"Got it!" Anakin said.
"Give me that!" Corran grunted. "Make sure the visual is on, this
time."
The Givin who appeared on the tiny screen didn't waste
any time with polite mathematical greetings. "Yuuzhan Vong ship, this
is Dodecian Illiet. You will stand down and surrender or be destroyed."
"Dodecian Illiet," Corran replied, "this is the captain of the Yuuzhan
Vong vessel Stalking Moon. We surrender."
The Givin didn't blink-he couldn't-nor could his exo-skeletal face
register any other emotion Corran recognized. But he still gave the
impression of vast surprise.
"You are not Yuuzhan Vong," the Givin said.
"It's a long story," Corran replied. "We did not intend to attack you,
only to get your attention."
The Givin paused, listening to someone off-screen, then turned his
empty eyes back to Corran.
"Our attention you have, Corran Horn. Prepare to be boarded."
THIRTY-ONE
"Shalo was smarter than I thought," Han snarled as he drew his blaster.
"He had backup for his backup."
Jacen tried to pick apart the action. Karrde had placed people
strategically within the cantina-both in the balcony and on the floor-to
disarm Shalo's men, and then set up a cordon outside. That outer ring of
protection was now under attack by a third group. A very numerous third
group. Karrde's people outside were already down or had retreated within the
building.
Jacen grabbed one edge and helped his father drag it to one of the
windows. Several bolts seared by their heads as they barricaded the opening,
bringing with them plumes of ubiquitous Tatooine dust.
"This planet always was bad luck," the elder Solo grumbled. He lifted
his blaster and fired a couple of shots over the edge of the table without
looking.
"Good thing you have the situation completely in control," Jacen
remarked.
"Hey, no plan is perfect. Did you get a look at who they were?"
"Peace Brigade, I'm pretty sure."
"I'm getting tired of those guys. Shalo set us up."
"Imagine that, one of your old buddies setting you up."
"Well, there's been worse," Han said. "You ready?"
"Ready for what?"
"I give it about six seconds before they start lobbing grenades in
here. We do not want to stay here. On three?"
"Three it is."
"Karrde?" Han sang out.
"Busy," Karrde replied, firing through the doorway.
"Give us some cover."
"You got it."
"One, two-hey!"
On two Jacen ignited his lightsaber and bounded to his feet. He was
immediately forced to deflect three blaster bolts in quick succession. His
father popped up behind him, nailing one of his assailants with the first
shot.
"That building across the street," Han said. "Go!"
Fire rained down from the rooftops as they raced across the sunburned
ground. Jacen deflected the more accurate shots while his father blazed
away. Jacen slashed open the closed door of the trinket shop directly across
the street, and the two men ducked in. A veritable barrage shredded the door
frame behind them.
"They can throw grenades in here, too, you know," Jacen remarked.
"Sure, but now we have 'em in a crossfire."
"My door!" shrieked the Toydarian merchant behind them.
"Sorry about that," Jacen told the merchant.
"Sorry? Sorry won't-eep!"
A concussion grenade bounced through the door, and the Toydarian
flitted for cover.
"See?" Jacen said. He gave the bomb a telekinetic swat that sent it
back out the door.
His father seemed to have predicted the trend. What was left of one of
the cantina windows blew out with a billow of flame.
"Karrde!" Han shouted, firing wildly at anything moving on the street.
Han was interrupted by the Gamorrean who came blazing around the edge
of the door. The being's close-range fire missed, but the butt of his weapon
didn't when he dealt the Corellian an uppercut that lifted him off his feet.
His father's body knocked Jacen off-balance, and before he could recover,
the Gamorrean, squealing and snorking, wrapped
his thick limbs around Jacen's body and slammed him into the nearest
wall. The Jedi's lightsaber went flying.
Stunned, Jacen boxed his attacker's ears, but if there was any effect,
he didn't notice it. He tried to focus on retrieving his lightsaber, but in
all of the confusion he couldn't be sure where it was.
He felt the Gamorrean, though, felt his heart hammering in his chest.
He could easily reach out in the Force and . .. No. He would die first.
And that was coming up fast, because he couldn't breathe. He beat
feebly at his attacker's head as outside the twin suns seemed to be going
out.
Then he was falling, slumping against the wall and covered with ceramic
statuettes of Sand People and Jawas falling from the shelves above. The
Gamorrean had turned back to Han, who had just clobbered it over the head
with some sort of larger stone statue. His father's eyes were widening in
surprise at the fact that the Gamorrean hadn't collapsed, but only gotten
madder.
"You're a thickheaded son-of-" he began, but then had to duck a
powerful right.
"Look," Han said, dancing back from the Gamorrean, "you don't know who
you're dealing with. If you just go ahead and surrender, I'll go easy on
you." He looked suddenly past his enraged opponent to Jacen. "That's right,
Jacen. Use your lightsaber!" Jacen was still trying to find his feet, much