by James Luceno
He adopted a more affable tone. “I’m not saying that security isn’t an issue; only that we set a proper example. By relocating to Dometown we have encouraged everyone to think in terms of concealment.”
A kilometer-wide cavern of homes and buildings, Dometown had originally been financed by a consortium of investors, including former general Lando Calrissian. But the hundreds of thousands expected to abandon the frenetic surface for underground tranquillity had never arrived, and the enterprise had gone bankrupt. Repossessed by banks and various credit unions, the would-be community had ultimately become the property of the New Republic military.
“Already there are new hotels and restaurants being opened on the lowest levels,” A’baht was saying, “in anticipation that those currently fortunate enough to live in Coruscant’s lofty towers will have nowhere to go but down should the Yuuzhan Vong attack. And mark my words, there’ll be no survival, even here. For if what is occurring at Sernpidal and Obroa-skai is any indication, the Yuuzhan Vong will remake Coruscant in their own image, entombing any who have fled to the depths.”
“Has thought been given to just where we will go should Coruscant fall?” Ixidro Legorburu asked while most of the officers were mulling over A’baht’s dire prediction. A native of M’haeli, Legorburu was director of the New Republic’s Battle Assessment Division.
“That will never happen,” Sien Sovv assured, then lowered his voice to add, “Nevertheless, we’re exploring options for relocating key government and military personnel to the Koornacht Cluster or, should worse come to worst, the Empress Teta system in the Deep Core.”
“Key personnel,” someone said leadingly.
The Sullustan admiral frowned. “It’s a moot point, in any case, since most of the proposals have met with opposition by certain members of the senate.”
Knowing glances were traded around the table.
“General A’baht’s point about honoring our commitment to secondary worlds is well taken,” Sovv said, “but I’m certain that even he would be willing to concede that sending a flotilla to Gyndine wouldn’t have slowed the enemy’s advance.”
When everyone looked at A’baht for confirmation, he nodded, though with obvious reluctance.
“The attack on Gyndine indicates a change in the enemy’s battle campaign. Clearly they are probing for weaknesses, perhaps routes into the Core. At the same time, there has been a marked increase in their mining of select hyperspace routes, which has narrowed our access to several outlying sectors.”
“In other words, they’re attempting to contain us,” Brand said.
The diminutive Sovv stood and directed everyone’s attention to a holomap that projected from the table’s center, showing the current disposition of Yuuzhan Vong forces. “This is what we have been able to piece together from direct observation, in addition to stasis probe reconnaissance and hyperspace orbiting scanners.
“As you can see, their fleets are concentrated between Ord Mantell and Obroa-skai, and now between Hutt space and Gyndine. Should they move Coreward from Obroa-skai, Bilbringi, Borleias, Venjagga, and Ord Mirit are imperiled. From Gyndine, Commenor, Kuat, and Corellia are vulnerable. Analysis suggests that the conquest of Gyndine was effected to ready the way for a two-pronged attack. Logic dictates that—”
“You err in believing that they strategize as we do,” A’baht interrupted, “when, in fact, they are waging a psychological war. The destruction of natural beauty and repositories of learning, the pursuit of refugees—such tactics are meant to confound and dishearten us. The Yuuzhan Vong are as much as saying that the civilization we have fashioned means nothing to them. All that we hold sacred is imperiled.”
Impatience coaxed Brand out of his seat. “Spare us the rhetoric, General, and come to the point. With such keen insight into the Yuuzhan Vong, you no doubt have some foreknowledge of where they will strike next.”
A’baht squared his shoulders. “The next targets will be Bothawui and Kothlis.”
Everyone regarded the Dornean for a long moment. “You have evidence to support this?” Sovv asked.
“No more than what you present to support your belief that they will push for the Core. With their forces in Hutt space, they are practically at Bothawui’s door.”
“So this is what he’s been getting at,” Brand muttered. “He’s finally gone over to Borsk Fey’lya’s side. Fey’lya the warrior, the hero of Ithor.”
A’baht refused to speak to the remark. “I propose that elements of the Third and Fourth Fleets be relocated to Bothan space as soon as possible. Bothawui is where we should draw the line and launch our counteroffensive.”
Brand snorted derisively. “And if you’re wrong? If the Yuuzhan Vong should decide to assault Bilbringi, Kuat, or Mon Calamari instead?”
A’baht glowered. “Are you suggesting that those worlds are more important than Bothawui?”
“I’m saying precisely that. If any of our shipyards fall, the New Republic will topple.”
“And if Bothawui falls?”
“We will mourn the loss, but the New Republic will survive.”
A’baht shook his head in dismay. “Times like this make me wish that Ackbar could be persuaded to come out of retirement.”
Sovv held up his hands to silence half a dozen separate conversations. “Contrary to General A’baht’s assertions, no scenarios have been ruled out. Based on current intelligence, Bothawui is just as likely to be targeted as Bilbringi. But more important, we are not simply standing by, waiting for the Yuuzhan Vong to strike. Two plans have already been put into action.” He looked at Brand. “Commodore, if you would be so kind.”
A’baht leaned forward in interest.
“The first plan involves inducing the Hapes Consortium to join the fight,” Brand said. “The Hapans are not only well armed but well positioned to outflank the enemy. Indeed, the Yuuzhan Vong may have skirted the Hapes Cluster in order to avoid having to engage them.”
“Then why should the Consortium worlds elect to get involved now?” A’baht asked. “Why wouldn’t they secure their own space as the Imperial Remnant has, or cut a deal, as the Hutts appear to have done?”
“Because the Consortium has allied with us in the past,” Sovv explained calmly. “Following the Battle of Endor, they captured several Imperial Star Destroyers, but instead of holding on to those ships, they donated them to the New Republic. Additionally, the Hapan queen mother’s homeworld of Dathomir is threatened.”
“More to the point,” Brand interjected, “the Jedi recently did the royal family a favor by foiling a coup directed against the queen mother. It is hoped that Ambassador Organa Solo can persuade the rulers of the noble houses to repay us in kind.”
A’baht feigned a look of confusion. “The Jedi did them a favor, and yet you’ve asked Organa Solo to intercede. To the best of my knowledge, she is not a true member of that order. Or is it perhaps that she was once courted by Prince Isolder?”
Brand fielded the question. “I won’t deny that that didn’t influence our decision to approach her.”
“And she has agreed?”
“For a price. We had to promise to back her in seeking added funds for SELCORE—refugee relief. But, yes, she has agreed. She will leave for Hapes immediately on her return from Gyndine.”
A’baht allowed an uncertain nod. “And this other plan?”
Brand adjusted the fit of his collar. “We’re hoping to lure the Yuuzhan Vong into attacking the Corellian system.”
For a moment, even A’baht was too surprised to speak; then he said, “Corellia isn’t Gyndine, Commodore. If it’s your aim to make that system a battlefield to avoid fouling Coruscant’s space lanes, you will never have my vote. Wasn’t it enough that we stripped the Corellians of the ability to defend themselves after the Centerpoint Station crisis?”
Sovv put his small hands on the table and leaned toward A’baht. “Centerpoint Station is the very reason we hope to lure the Yuuzhan Vong there.”
L
arger than the Death Star, the artifact had been discovered to be a hyperspace repulsor, used in the dim past and by an unknown race, to capture and transport planets to the Corellian system. The station was also a weapon of unparalleled power, both starbuster and interdiction field generator, and eight years earlier had been employed as such by a group known as the Sacorrian Triad, in an unsuccessful attempt to achieve independence from the New Republic.
“Are you telling me that Centerpoint is operational?” A’baht asked in disbelief. “The last I heard, it had been shut down.”
“It shut itself down,” Brand snapped. “But as we speak several hundred scientists are attempting to return it to operational status. If the Yuuzhan Vong can be encouraged to attack Corellia, we will use a Centerpoint-generated interdiction field to prevent their ships from going to hyperspace while our fleets attack from the rear.”
“Much to the dismay of the species of the Corellian sector, I would imagine,” A’baht said. “After all, we didn’t win many friends by interceding in the system’s attempts at self-governance. If memory serves, the blowback from that interference is what prompted Organa Solo to resign as chief of state.”
Sovv nodded. “But Governor-General Marcha is a New Republic appointee, and she has given her conditional approval. As a Corellian citizen, her word carries a lot of weight, not only on her native Drall but on Selonia, Corellia, and the Double Worlds. What’s more, we haven’t made the full extent of our plans known.”
A’baht stared at him for a moment, then looked at Brand.
“As far as the Corellians know, we’re readying Centerpoint as a defensive weapon, in lieu of stationing a flotilla there.”
“How very noble of us,” A’baht said in obvious disgust. “Here they’ve been supplying us with Strident-class Star Defenders, and we withhold the fact that we’re planning to use their system as a battleground. Just how do you plan to lure the Yuuzhan Vong into attacking?”
“By making Corellia appear too attractive a target to pass up,” Brand said. “By leaving the system essentially unprotected.”
A’baht stroked his jaw in thought. “It’s bold, I’ll grant that much. But have Fey’lya and the Advisory Council members been apprised of this plan?”
“They know only what Corellia knows,” Brand barked, then softened his tone to add, “Fey’lya would never sanction the rearming of Centerpoint—if only to prevent Corellia from reaping such power.” He laughed shortly. “Even in the remote chance he did support us, how then could we ensure that word of the plan wouldn’t leak? Once that occurred, every world in the Corellian system would rise up in revolt.”
A’baht snorted in displeasure. “Fey’lya’s isn’t the only voice on the council. He can be overridden by a majority vote.”
Brand and Sovv traded looks. “From what we have been able to determine,” the admiral said, “three of the council members would certainly follow Fey’lya’s lead. Four of the others could very well support us.”
A’baht considered it. In response to the clamor from far-flung sectors for increased representation, two additional senators had been appointed to the council since the poisoning of Ithor. “That’s four against, four in favor. Who is the unknown quantity?”
“The council’s newest member,” Brand said, “Senator Viqi Shesh.”
“Has anyone approached her?” A’baht asked. “Unofficially, of course?”
Brand shook his head. “Not yet.”
Sovv pressed his hands together. “Then I suggest we do so, Commodore. Before our window closes.”
Ixidro Legorburu spoke up. “Is there any hope that the Hutts can be persuaded to join us, actively or indirectly?”
“Intelligence agents on Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa have reported that the Hutts’ decision to ally themselves with the Yuuzhan Vong is a ruse,” Sovv said. “They apparently wish to serve as conduits of information for the New Republic.”
“You accept that?” A’baht asked.
“Given their history of alliances, they wouldn’t align themselves with anyone without having a contingency plan in place.” Sovv ran his hand down his prominently jowled face. “Even the Hutts can’t risk being caught on the wrong side when the Yuuzhan Vong are defeated.”
“When, not if,” Commodore Brand said around an arrogant grin. “I find such optimism refreshing.”
A’baht frowned. “I find it wishful thinking.”
FOUR
From the waiting room of the great spired and onion-domed palace of Nal Hutta’s ruling Hutt, Nom Anor gazed out on a despoiled landscape of feculent swamps, mold-covered stunted trees, and parcels of wan vermin-riddled marsh grass. Stained by a mélange of industrial pollutants and spotted with flocks of ungainly birds, the sky was a brooding ceiling, frequently lamenting its wretched state with lackluster showers of grimy rain. The stilted, destitute precincts so abundant in the vicinity of the spaceport were nowhere to be seen, but the terrain itself reeked of impoverishment and decay.
“What a vile world this is,” Commander Malik Carr commented as he joined Nom Anor at the bay window.
“The Hutts know it as ‘Glorious Jewel,’ ” the executor replied nonchalantly. “But it’s not without potential. The moon, Nar Shaddaa, is far worse—completely encased by buildings and technology.”
Malik Carr grunted. “I see no potential. But perhaps your one true eye sees more clearly than my pair.”
Nom Anor quirked a smile. “I have been in this galaxy for some time, Commander, and have learned to look beyond appearances.” He turned slightly in Malik Carr’s direction. “Imagine Nal Hutta as, say, a laboratory for genetic experimentation.”
Malik Carr smiled slowly. “Yes, yes, even I can envision that.”
Taller than Nom Anor, the commander was displayed in all his glory, without ooglith masquer or cloaker. Malik Carr’s incised face and bare upper torso told of an illustrious military career. Cinched around his backward-sloping forehead was a vibrant head cloth whose tassels were braided into lustrous black hair, forming a tail that hung nearly to his waist. Recently arrived from the galactic edge, where argosies waited eagerly for the warrior caste to complete the invasion, the commander had been charged by Supreme Commander Nas Choka with overseeing the next phase of the conquest.
To keep his own identity concealed—even from the Hutts—as well as in deference to Malik Carr, Nom Anor wore an ooglith masquer that obscured the scars, augmentations, and like evidence of his sacrifices to the gods, along with a prosthesis in the empty eye socket that normally housed a venom-spitting plaeryin bol.
Malik Carr swung from the window and planted his fists on his hips in anger. “How dare this creature keep us waiting. Is he completely unaware of what he risks for himself and his pathetic world?”
“She, Commander,” Nom Anor corrected. “Currently, at any rate. Hutts are said to be hermaphroditic. That is to say, male and female characteristics are combined in each.”
Malik Carr looked at him askance. “And just now this one is female?”
“Fully female, as you will see. As for the prolonged wait, it’s nothing more than tradition.”
“But the precedent—”
“Don’t concern yourself with precedent. I have a plan for dealing with this outmoded formality.”
As the two Yuuzhan Vong walked toward the center of the antechamber, an entourage of ten honor guards and as many attendants snapped to attention. The guards wore vonduun crab armor and carried living amphistaffs and doubled-edge coufee knives. The female attendants were attired in veils, tunics, and cloaks that left visible only the sinuous markings that adorned their bared arms.
Malik Carr acknowledged the guards’ brisk salutes and sat down on a cushioned bench. Nom Anor remained standing. The waiting room’s high ceiling was supported by a dozen stately if moldy pillars. The floor was made of cut stone polished to a dazzling sheen, and woven textiles of intricate design graced the walls.
A bright-green, orb-eyed biped of medium size entered the a
ntechamber. The creature’s lumpy head featured twin hornlike appendages, pointed ears, and a narrow crest of yellow spines. Its long, tapered fingers appeared to be equipped with suction cups.
“A Rodian,” Nom Anor supplied quietly. “A bellicose species given to warfare and bounty hunting. This one is the Hutt’s majordomo, Leenik.”
Leenik approached his master’s guests, his stubby snout twitching. “Borga the Almighty is prepared to grant you audience now,” he said in Basic.
Malik Carr shot Nom Anor a vexed glance. The entire Yuuzhan Vong entourage stood and began to trail the Rodian through an enormous doorway flanked by thickset churlish guards, whose pointed lower teeth and forehead tusks were perfectly matched.
“I suggest you take a deep breath before we enter,” Nom Anor advised the commander.
“Is the Hutt odor so unbearable?”
“Picture bathing in a reopened grave.”
Malik Carr grimaced and sucked in his breath.
The vaulted ceiling of the opulent court was even higher than that of the antechamber, and floating midway to the ceiling on a bolstered antigravity couch was an outsize, bulbous-headed slug whose disproportionately short arms might have been vestigial were the small hands they ended in not beckoning imperiously to Malik Carr and Nom Anor.
Atmosphere exchangers were working overtime, but there was enough residual rankness in the air to make the commander’s eyes water. Sybaritic toadies sprawled about on couches and carpets—musicians, gunsels, and scantily attired dancers, all of diverse species. Chained to one wall, though obviously a pet, was a ferocious-looking beast Nom Anor knew to be a Kintan strider.
Borga favored Nom Anor with a look. “How pleasant to see you again,” her deep voice boomed. “Come and sit beneath me.”
Nom Anor—whom Borga knew as Pedric Cuf, and who claimed to be nothing more than an intercessor between the Yuuzhan Vong and the Hutts—smiled without showing his teeth and remained where he was, a good distance from the repulsor platform. At his hand signal the attendants conveyed to the center of the room several ornate boxes of the sort that might contain tribute. Nom Anor went to the closest box and opened the lid. Almost immediately the levitated couch gave a shudder and crashed loudly to the stone floor, nearly spilling Borga the Almighty into her coterie of shocked sycophants.
