Perhaps everything he knew was doomed.
Piggy caught sight of motion a few hundred meters to the south. Colors so like those everywhere in the landscape, but not part of it, moved over the rolling terrain.
Piggy crawled forward across an angled flat rock at the hill’s summit. It supported his weight; he’d tested it earlier. His head protruding over empty air, he brought his macrobinoculars to his eyes.
This was a highly computerized set of macrobinoculars. They stabilized his view, compensating for slight motions of his hands, compensating for his breathing. They subtracted the least movement, such as plant stalks bending in the wind, from his vision. What was left was what was really moving.
In moments he had it. Two figures covered neck to feet in camouflage-pattern clothing and gear.
Estoric Sandskimmer and Runt Ekwesh. The sandy-haired human carried a gray, conical cylinder, dull and featureless. He cradled it in his arms as he ran. There was a dark spot on Estoric’s side, not a part of the camouflage pattern—blood. Runt seemed unhurt. Both were traveling fast, straight for Piggy’s position.
It took Piggy a moment to realize what was missing from the picture. Neither Estoric nor Runt carried a pack or blaster rifle. They must have been forced to abandon that gear in order to increase their speed.
Missing gear, blood on Estoric—the two had encountered Yuuzhan Vong warriors. But they had the cylinder. They’d succeeded in their mission, at least so far.
Piggy set the macrobinoculars aside and brought up his blaster rifle. He trained it on his friends, focused through the scope, and tracked south from where Estoric and Runt were.
Yes, only about fifty meters behind, three Yuuzhan Vong warriors came at a full run, not slowed by the organic vonduun crab armor they wore. The armor, glistening like the inside lining of some seashells, covered their torsos. Accessory pieces acted as helmets, greaves, bracers. They were living things, those pieces, no two identical, and were so durable that a breastplate could deflect a badly struck blow from a lightsaber or an angled shot from a blaster rifle.
Piggy froze for a moment. He was a good shot, but not good enough to take out fast-moving targets at this range. If he waited until the warriors caught up with his friends, they’d be too close to Estoric and Runt for Piggy to snipe safely. And he couldn’t open up a comm channel to Bhindi in the gunship, not if what New Republic Intelligence believed about the shapers’ nest on this world was true.
There was no good answer. There was no mathematically perfect response.
The three warriors held amphistaffs, deadly serpentlike life-forms that could be stiff blunt-force weapons one moment, pliant whiplike entanglers with poisonous heads the next. But now they transferred the amphistaffs to their off-hands. Each reached into a pouch, withdrew something, and threw.
Piggy winced. Thud bugs, it had to be. Flying insects that distorted gravity, they could become far heavier just at the moment of impact, unloading lethal amounts of kinetic energy against whatever they hit.
At this range, Piggy couldn’t see the thud bugs themselves. He saw Runt’s stride continue unbroken. That meant Runt’s jammer had to be functioning—a late development from Intelligence’s research-and-development department, the jammers confounded thud bug senses in a limited area, making them less accurate.
But Estoric arched forward as if he’d been hit by a catapult stone at waist level. He went down hard, tumbling, the gray cylinder rolling away from him.
Coldness gripped Piggy’s insides. He heard himself murmuring, “No, no, no,” as if the words might somehow convince the impending tragedy to seek other victims.
He flipped the selector on his blaster over to grenades. He sighted in on Estoric and marked the range to the man. It was 153 meters. Piggy knew Runt would not abandon Estoric, and that meant the fight would take place right there.
The three warriors slowed in their approach. The biggest one had the most ornate, most gleaming armor, and his helmet made him seem as tall as Runt. The next largest was the size of an average human man, the smallest slightly shorter. The smallest also had the least impressive armor—he was probably a juvenile.
Runt stopped beside Estoric. He turned toward the warrior, a vibroblade, long and wicked, in his right hand. His left fist was closed around something Piggy couldn’t see. Estoric, clearly in pain, clawed for his own blaster pistol, struggling to get it free of its holster.
Then the warriors reached them.
The biggest one held back, standing atop a small rise, directing the smallest forward.
Piggy ground his teeth. The Yuuzhan Vong leader was making this a training exercise. But the biggest warrior was now stationary. Piggy sighted in on him, did not bother reading the numbers on his scope display. Mentally he calculated the warrior’s distance from Estoric: 10.3 meters. There was a two-meter difference in Estoric’s and the warrior’s respective altitudes. Winds from the north-northwest, eight knots. No heat shimmer to factor in. Piggy elevated his barrel to the correct angle for the grenade launch and squeezed the trigger. With the blast, the weapon’s stock thumped back into his shoulder. He would have a second before the grenade hit.
Piggy sighted in on the second largest warrior.
That one charged at Runt, swinging his amphistaff. The smallest charged Estoric.
Runt’s arm came up—his left arm. His hand opened. A cloud of glittering dust erupted from it, blanketing the smallest warrior, enveloping his head.
“No, no, no …” Piggy knew it was a tactical mistake. Runt was trying to protect Estoric.
The second warrior’s amphistaff cracked across Runt’s midsection, hurtling him to the green-covered ground.
The biggest warrior was abruptly replaced by a cloud of black and red smoke. Piggy forced himself not to look at the explosion. But the second warrior did. The smallest warrior staggered back from Estoric, flailing to clear the dust from his face.
The sound of the grenade explosion reached Piggy, a distant crack-boom. Piggy’s sighting brackets settled on the second warrior’s back; he elevated his aim a touch, finding the bottom of the back of the warrior’s helmet.
The warrior turned to look for the source of the grenade. The movement brought his neck into view in the scope brackets. Piggy squeezed the trigger. The scope view flared with light from his blaster bolt, and the pale Yuuzhan Vong skin blackened. The warrior staggered back and fell.
Piggy reoriented, took in the whole situation.
The biggest warrior was on his back, his upper body scorched. His entire head was gone.
The second warrior was down, not moving. Piggy was sure of the kill.
The smallest warrior stood over Estoric. The tail end of his amphistaff was a third of a meter deep in Estoric’s chest, right where the heart was. Estoric’s body was in mid-convulsion, stiffening. The warrior’s head was turning as though he was scanning for sound. Runt’s dust had to have blinded him, and yet he’d found and killed Estoric.
Runt, up on his feet, slammed into the last Yuuzhan Vong warrior. They went to the ground together. Runt’s right hand came up and down, stabbing again and again with the vibroblade. The blade ran black with the alien warrior’s blood.
And suddenly nobody down there was moving.
Though he seemed to have no breath, Piggy ran, his blaster rifle in his hands, down his hill slope and then up the slight rise to where the fight had taken place.
In moments he reached the five combatants. Four lay still. Runt was alive, his chest heaving, his features twisted in pain. His movements were weak.
Runt looked up as Piggy reached him. His jaw worked. “Am … phi—”
Only then did Piggy hear it, the rustle slightly louder than the wind, from just a couple of steps to his right. He spun, aimed.
One of the amphistaffs, now mobile, glided toward him through the moss with a sidewinder motion. Piggy fired. The heavy rifle blast caught the amphistaff, picked it up, hurtled it meters away. Even that didn’t kill the beast. The amphista
ff landed, charred along the midsection, and slithered away.
Piggy looked around. The smallest warrior’s staff was also in retreat, and the biggest warrior’s staff was not in evidence.
He knelt beside Runt and slung his rifle on its strap. “Hold on. I’ll get you out of here.”
“Ampi … staff … hits. I’m bitten, Piggy.” Runt’s lips, where his fur did not cover them, and his upper palate inside his mouth were already pale. Runt panted as if superheating from the inside.
Piggy shook his head, denying the evidence of his eyes. “Your metabolism’s not like ours. You’re fighting it, Runt.” He pulled Runt up to a sitting position and then partly across one shoulder. He prepared to stand.
Runt tapped Piggy’s sides, his touch barely strong enough to be felt. “Let me down.”
Piggy hesitated. He felt his face twist against the fact he had to face. Gently, he lowered Runt back to the moss.
His old friend looked up at him, sympathy mixing with the pain he clearly was experiencing. “More … warriors. One, two kilo … meters back. The grenade … will bring them. You can get away with the … commbuzzer. Or you can die with me.”
“I’ll stay. I can’t leave you like this.”
“No. Nothing would be worse … than if they had an … antidote.”
Piggy looked at his friend’s face, saw the thoughts that were crossing behind Runt’s eyes. An antidote to the amphistaff’s venom, even a temporary one, meant minutes, maybe hours of suffering. Suffering, interrogation, horror.
Now there was only one escape for Runt.
Piggy felt tears flood his eyes, but he drew his blaster pistol. “Forgive me.”
“I … forgive …”
Piggy put the barrel beneath his friend’s chin and pulled the trigger. Runt’s body jerked and the smell of burned hair mixed with the odors of smoke and burned Yuuzhan Vong skin.
Piggy rose, shaking, and holstered his pistol. He gave his friend one last look.
Hohass “Runt” Ekwesh, poisoned and burned in death. His body would not be sent back to his homeworld for proper rituals. This was … wrong.
Piggy caught up the gray cylinder. Its contents buzzed, angry.
Commbuzzers. New Republic Intelligence had heard rumors of a new insect species created by the shapers of the Yuuzhan Vong. It was said these insects sensed comm traffic. They were infuriated by it. They would track it to its source. If the source was intermittent, they would fly while it was active, swarm when it ceased, resume their search when it became active again. With enough time, even a comm unit sending brief-burst data packets at intervals could be traced.
Chashima was the planet where they were being developed.
If Runt and Estoric had done their work right, the tremendous load of explosives Runt had carried would now be situated in, under, and around the shapers’ nest where the commbuzzers were being developed. The prototype insects, their creators, everything related to that project except the living examples in this cylinder would—
There was a distant rumble, followed by a succession of additional rumbles, and a pillar of black smoke rose into the sky to the south.
Piggy turned with his box full of bugs and ran.
“I know you don’t want to hear this.” Face’s manner and voice both demonstrated his sympathy, the sense of loss he himself must be feeling. “Despite our losses, you did something important down there.”
Piggy slammed his large hand down on his superior’s desk. In the tiny office cabin aboard the frigate that was the Wraiths’ temporary headquarters, the noise was especially loud. “This was a nothing assignment. Two good men died for nothing.”
“Yes, the war’s almost done. We have the Yuuzhan Vong on the ropes. But they’re so inventive.”
“Those bugs wouldn’t have turned the tide of the war.”
“Maybe not. But they could have led to the discovery and elimination of countless resistance and insurgency cells, countless commando and intelligence units. How many men and women would have died? A thousand? Just two hundred? Piggy, tell me that Runt or Estoric would stand in front of me and say, I won’t die for just a hundred men, I don’t want to go.”
Piggy sagged back in his chair. “Face … I don’t care. I’m done.”
“You weren’t done yesterday. Get some rest, take some leave, say your good-byes. You’ll come back in a few days ready for another fight.”
Piggy shook his head. “I don’t have another fight in me.”
“Piggy—”
“And don’t call me Piggy. I’m Voort. I left Piggy back with Runt.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ACKBAR CITY, VANDOR-3
44 ABY (Today)
They filed into the office building of Toozler’s Speeder Repair and Maintenance, six bone-weary Wraiths.
Myri breathed a sigh of relief, holstered her blaster, and stepped out from the shadowy nook behind the stairs where she’d taken cover. “You didn’t comm me from the spaceport.”
“Refresher’s mine.” Jesmin dropped her bag against a wall. She stopped to give Myri a quick hug, then trotted upstairs.
“Blasted Jedi-like reflexes.” Trey put on an expression of irritation. “I thought for sure, this time the refresher would be mine.” He and the others set down their bags.
Myri gave them all a second look. “And you’re all sunburned.” It was true. Jesmin had borne the patchy redness of a new sunburn on fair skin, and everyone else showed signs of time spent outdoors under a hot sun—even the neoglith masquer Scut wore.
Bhindi fluttered her hands as though suddenly transformed into a dewy-eyed lady whose brain waves didn’t quite budge the needle. “Tatooine is so lovely this time of year.” Her voice and manner turned back to normal. “On the other hand, we got a good sale price on the second interceptor—we now have a budget for ongoing operations—and we have a hastily redecorated military shuttle in a hangar at the spaceport. As for not comming you, we didn’t know how long it would take us to scan and secure the hangar. How long you’d have to wait. So we just hired someone to speed us out here.” She took the chair behind the computer setup. “I’m starting to hate travel.”
Myri leaned over the counter toward her. “Your message didn’t tell me much. I take it the rendezvous was … unproductive.”
Bhindi snorted in wry amusement. “Turns out the general did the full-blown innocent thing and sent someone to capture us.”
Turman took a chair, stretched out his legs before it. “If Thaal turns out to be innocent, I’ll never forgive him.”
“So.” Bhindi put on a bright, cheerful face. “What’s your good news?”
Myri tried to decelerate from the sinking feeling she’d been experiencing for the days the other Wraiths had been incommunicado, in transit. “Face Loran is missing and presumed dead. So is his family.”
“What?”
“His airspeeder was blown up at an open-air market on Coruscant. A market where, at about the same time, two mercenaries—and suspected assassins—were found dead. Face’s body wasn’t found, but security detected genetic material, confirmed as his, in the wreckage. His wife and daughter are just missing. No trace. He hasn’t responded to messages sent to any of the back routes I know. Jezzie’s folks and other friends of the family can’t reach him.”
All the air seemed to go out of the other Wraiths. They stood in silence and stared at Myri.
Voort leaned heavily against a wall. When he spoke, his true voice was raspy and somber, at odds with the pleasant tone of the Basic words rising above it. “I hope it’s a ploy on Face’s part. I hope he’s in hiding somewhere, hunkered down. But we can’t deal with his disappearance right now. We have an objective, and it just got harder because we no longer have Face Loran as a resource. We can no longer ask him to swoop in and prove we’ve been doing things at the request of the head of Galactic Alliance Security. Face insulated us from him, which means we’re on our own at this point.”
“Agreed.” Bhindi sounded as we
ary as Voort did.
Voort looked at Bhindi before continuing. “Before I get to what’s really been occupying my mind, I want to say, one veteran to another, that I didn’t like what happened on the Concussor. Not so much the outcome as the fact that we didn’t have a plan to fight Thaal’s representative if we had needed to. It’s clear your plan was to break and run if anything went sour. We had no tricks up our sleeve to deal with them in an aggressive fashion if we’d needed to, no combat option.”
“That’s correct. We didn’t.”
“Why?”
“My decision, Voort.” Bhindi turned a hard stare on him. “You can ask me my reasoning if I retire and you take over as commander of the unit. Not before.”
“That’s not a good answer.”
“It’s all you’re getting. Now, you said something about what’s really been bothering you.”
Voort turned his head to stare at the blank wall opposite him. “I’ve been thinking about the Starhook and the other ships showing up with nothing but capturing us on their mind. I’ve been thinking about it during our whole time on Tatooine and the trip back. We’ve been talking as if Thaal’s decision to send that command to get us was the action of an innocent man, or at least had that appearance. Now I say it didn’t. Thaal’s decision was that of a guilty man trying to appear incompetent. It means he’s guilty. And I hope he puts up a fight when we come for him, so I can vape him myself.”
Bhindi seemed to welcome this chance not to think about Face. “What’s your reasoning? I don’t follow.”
They were interrupted by a metallic screech from overhead—the distinctive sound of their sanisteam stall’s malfunctioning compressor being activated.
Voort waited a few moments until the sound subsided. He scratched his cheek and his tone turned thoughtful. “Thaal did not act as a good senior officer should unless there are some odd influences at work. An offer made by an officer of a distant power to a major political force of the Alliance should pique the interest of anyone whose job is rooting out enemy spies. Meaning Galactic Alliance Security. If Thaal had reported the attempt to suborn him along official channels, it would have gone straight to General Maddeus. And I have a hard time imagining that Maddeus wouldn’t have put Thaal on a ship, sent him out to meet Hocroft, and had him play along. To give security more information about the effort to flip him. So Maddeus wasn’t notified. What happened instead was the most awkward and ineffective ‘innocent’ response possible. For it to have happened, Thaal had to have bypassed security completely. He had to have gone to an ambitious friend or acquaintance in another service and said, ‘You want to stay on the fast track to promotion? Here’s a spymaster you can catch.’ ”
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