by James Luceno
Leia felt Olmahk's weight lift from her. By the time she looked up, the Noghri had ripped out the Yuuzhan Vong's throat with his teeth. Left and right, people lay on the ground groaning in pain. Others staggered about with hands pressed to ruptured bellies, compound fractures, broken ribs, or smashed faces.
"Get these people to the battle dressing station!" Leia ordered.
Yorik coral missiles were continuing to rain down on the embassy and the landing zone, where a dozen soldiers were overseeing the loading of the final evacuation craft.
The crowd had long since pushed through the gates, but stun batons and sonics were keeping many from reaching the waiting craft. Groggily, and with Olmahk falling in behind her, Leia began to move that way herself. She spied C-3PO, whose chest plastron had been deeply dented by one of the thud bugs, just above his circular power-recharge coupler.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
He might have blinked if he could. "Thank the maker I lack a heart!"
As the three of them were closing on the evacuation ship a vintage AT-ST limped into view, blackened along one side and leaking hydraulic fluid, its grenade launcher blown away. A lightly armored box perched on reverse-articulated legs, the All Terrain Scout Transport wheezed and clanked to a halt, then collapsed chin first to the permacrete landing apron. In a moment the aft hatch lifted, loosing a cloud of smoke, and a young man crawled coughing but otherwise unharmed from the cockpit.
"Wurth Skidder," Leia intoned, folding her arms acro ss her chest. "I should have known it was you from the brilliance of your entrance."
Blond and sharp-featured, Skidder jumped agilely to his feet and threw off his smoldering Jedi Knight cloak. "The Yuuzhan Vong have overrun our defenses, Ambassador. The fight's lost." He grinned smugly. "I wanted you to be the first to know."
Leia had heard from Luke that Skidder was on Gyn-dine, but this was her first contact with him. She had had trouble with him during the Rhommamoolian crisis eight months earlier, when he had downed a couple of Rodian-piloted Osarian starfighters intent on interfering with her then-diplomatic duties. At the time she had found him to be reckless, insolent, and overconfident in his abilities, but Luke insisted that the Battle of Ithor, and the injury Skidder had sustained there, had changed him for the better. No doubt because he reveled in being able to put a lightsaber to constant use, Leia thought.
"You're a little late with your update, Wurth," she told him now, "but you're in time for the final flight out of here." She nodded in the direction of the landing zone. "My brother would never forgive me if I didn't see you safely back to Coruscant."
Skidder returned an elaborately chivalrous bow, extending his right arm toward her. "A Jedi avoids argument at all costs." He held her gaze briefly. "Nothing in the Jedi Code about having to answer to civilians, but I'll comply out of respect for your celebrated sibling."
"Fine," Leia said sarcastically. "Just see to it that you
get aboard." Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she twisted around.
"Ambassador, we're holding space for you, your bodyguard, and droid," a male flight officer reported. "But you'll have to come now, ma'am. The New Republic envoy is already aboard, and we've received orders to lift off."
Leia nodded that she understood, then swung back to Skidder, only to see him running toward the embassy gates. "Skidder!" she yelled, making a megaphone of her hands.
He stopped, turned to her, and waved a hand in what at least appeared to be genuine acknowledgment. "Just one small task to perform," he shouted back.
Leia frowned angrily and turned to the flight officer once more, cutting her eyes back and forth between him and the sizable crowd gathering at the foot of the ship's boarding ramp. "Surely the ship can accommodate a few more."
The officer's lips became a thin line. "We're already at maximum payload, Ambassador." He followed her gaze to the crowd, then blew out his breath. "But we can probably cram in four more."
Leia touched his forearm in indebtedness, and the two of them hastened for the ramp. Behind a barricade of soldiers, at the head of the line of evacuees, stood a group of tailed, spike-haired, and velvet-furred aliens attired in colorful if threadbare vests and wraparound skirts.
Ryn, Leia realized in surprise-the species to which Han's new friend Droma belonged.
"Four," the flight officer reminded, even as Leia was doing a head count of the Ryn. "Some of them will have to be left behind."
Six Ryn, to be exact, she told herself. Even so, four was better than none. She edged between two broad shouldered soldiers closest to the ramp and beckoned to the aliens in line. "You four," she said, pointing to each in turn. "Hurry!"
Expressions of relief and joy appeared. The chosen four turned to exchange embraces with those who would be abandoned. A swaddled infant was passed from the rear to one of the females up front. Leia heard someone say, "Melisma, should you find Droma, tell him we're here."
Leia gave a start and glanced about for the one who had said the name, but there wasn't time to seek out the Ryn. Already the soldiers were backing their way up the ramp, taking her with them.
"Hold on!" she said, coming to a sudden stop and refusing to be moved. "Skidder. Where's Skidder? Is he already aboard?"
She leaned forward to gaze across the devastated landing zone and spotted him dashing for the ship, dragging a human female behind him and cradling a longhaired infant in his left arm. The sight gave Leia pause. Maybe Skidder had changed, after all.
"Make certain they get aboard," Leia instructed the officer in charge, pausing when a coralskipper-delivered projectile impacted the permacrete only meters from the ramp. "And I don't care if you have to use a shoehorn to doit."
TWO
Death pursued the shuttle to the edge of space, spitting fire from below, needling with fighter-launched missiles, clutching with dovin basals housed in warships anchored just inside Gyndine's envelope. The X-wing escort had to blaze a route through swarms of coral-skippers and take on a frigate analog, five pilots sacrificing themselves in the attempt to see the evacuees to safety.
Leia sat in the cramped cockpit watching the battle rage, wondering whether they would reach the transport in time. A ship that had launched before dawn hadn't been so lucky. Hull perforated in several places, the oval craft drifted lazily in golden sunlight, venting atmosphere and debris into space.
Wherever Leia's eye roamed, New Republic and Yu-uzhan Vong vessels assailed one another with lasers and missiles, while enemy drop ships fell obliquely into the well, winglike projections extended and ablative coral blushed crimson red. Farther from the planet were the new arrivals Commander Ilanka had mentioned. Two of the ships had tentlike hulls fashioned from some sort of diaphanous material, from which protruded a dozen or more lightning-forked arms, as if dendrites from an insect-spun nest. The third resembled nothing so much as a cluster of conjoined bubbles, or egg sacks waiting to hatch.
In the shuttle's passenger cabin, Gyndine's refugees conversed in hushed tones or prayed boldly to sundry gods. Fear rose off the group in waves that stung Leia's nostrils. She was circulating among them when a familiar shudder passed through the ship, and she recognized with relief that a tractor beam had possession of them.
Moments later the shuttle was pulled gently, almost lovingly into the docking bay of the transport.
But even there death reached for them.
During the deboarding process, a pair of coralskippers that had somehow duped the transport's energy shield came streaking into the hold on a suicide run, skidding across the deck and exploding against a blast shield raised in the nick of time. Several refugees and crew members were killed, and a score more were injured.
Two of Leia's female aides who had remained aboard the transport hurried to her as she was picking herself up off the coral-littered deck. She made plain what she thought of their attempts to comb her hair back from her face.
"You're worried about my hairstyle," she fulminated, "when people here need immed
iate medical attention?"
"But your cheek," one of the women said, chagrined.
Leia had forgotten all about the shrapnel. Of its own accord her hand reenacted the movement it had made earlier, fingertips tracing the raised edges of the furrow that had been opened. She exhaled wearily and dropped cross-legged to the deck.
"I'm sorry."
Silently she allowed the wound to be ministered to, suddenly aware of just how exhausted she was. When C-3PO and Olmahk came within earshot, she said, "I can't remember when I last slept."
"That would be fifty-seven hours, six minutes ago,
Mistress," C-3PO supplied. "Standard time, of course. If you'd prefer, I could express the duration by other time parts, in which case-"
"Not now, Threepio," Leia said weakly. "In fact, maybe you should immerse yourself in an oil bath before your moving parts freeze up."
C-3PO cocked his head to one side, arms nearly akimbo. "Why, thank you, Mistress Leia. I was beginning to fear I would never again hear those words spoken."
"And you," Leia said, glancing at Olmahk. "See to washing that Yuuzhan Vong's blood off your chin."
The Noghri muttered truculently, then nodded curtly and moved off with C-3PO.
Fifty-seven hours, Leia thought.
Truth be told, she hadn't slept soundly since Han had left Coruscant almost a month earlier. A day didn't pass when she didn't wonder what he was up to, although ostensibly he was searching for Roa, his onetime mentor, who had been captured by the Yuuzhan Vong during a raid on Ord Mantell's orbital facility, the Jubilee Wheel, as well as for members of his new Ryn comrade's scattered clan. Was it possible, Leia wondered, that the Droma mentioned on Gyndine was the same one Han was suddenly running with?
Reports would occasionally reach her that the Millennium Falcon had been spotted in this system or that one, but Han had yet to contact her personally.
He hadn't been the same since Chewbacca's death- not that anyone or anything had, especially occurring when it did, at the start of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, and largely at their hands. It was natural that Han should mourn Chewie's passing more than anyone, but even Leia had been surprised by the direction he had taken-or the one his unabashed grief had driven him to take. Where Han had always been cheerfully roguish, there was an angry gravity to him now. Anakin had been the first target of his father's outrage; then everyone close to Han had gradually fallen victim to it.
Experts spoke of stages of grief, as if people could be expected to move through them routinely. But in Han the stages were jumbled together-anger, denial, despair- without a hint of resignation, let alone acceptance. Han's stasis was what worried Leia more than anything. Though he would be the first to deny it-vociferously, at that-his grief had fueled a kind of recidivism, a return to the Han of old the lone Solo, who guarded his sensitivity by keeping himself at arm's length, who claimed not to care about anyone but himself, who allowed thrill to substitute for feeling.
When Droma-another adventurer-had first entered Han's orbit, Leia had feared the worst. But in getting to know the Ryn, even slightly, she had taken hea rt. While not a replacement for Chewie-for how could anyone replace him?-Droma at least presented Han with the option of forging a new relationship, and if Han could manage that, he just might be able to see his way to reem-bracing his tried-and-true relationships. Time would tell-about Han, about their marriage, about the Yu-uzhan Vong and the fate of the New Republic.
With her cheek sporting a strip of itchy synthflesh, Leia took leave of her aides to wander forward into the passenger hold, where many of the refugees were already claiming areas of deck space. Despite the battle swirling around the transport, an atmosphere of chatty relief prevailed. Leia spotted the New Republic envoy to Gyndine and went over to him. A man of distinguished handsomeness, he sat with his head in his hands.
"I promised I would get everyone offworld," he told Leia sullenly. "I failed them." He shook his head. "I failed them."
Leia caressed his shoulder in a comforting way. "Awarded the Medal of Honor at the Battle of Kashyyyk, cited for exemplary service during the Yevethan crisis, former member of the Senate Advisory Council to the chief of state ..." Leia stopped and smiled. "Save your recriminations for the Yuuzhan Vong, Envoy. You did more than anyone thought possible."
She moved on, listening in on scraps of conversation, mostly devoted to the uncertain future, rumors about the horrors of the refugee camps, or criticisms of the New Republic government and military. She was happy to see that the Ryn had found space for themselves, until she realized that they had been banished to a dark corner of the hold, and that no one, of any species, had deigned to sit within a meter of them.
Leia was forced to take a meandering route to them, in and through and sometimes over family groups and others. She addressed the female Ryn who held the child.
"When you were boarding, I heard someone mention the name Droma. Is that a common name among your species? I ask only because I happen to know a Ryn named Droma-slightly, at any rate."
"My nephew," the only male among them answered. "We haven't seen him since the Yuuzhan Vong attacked Ord Mantell. Droma's sister was one of those you ... who chose to remain behind on Gyndine." He gestured to the infant. "The child is hers."
"Oh, no," Leia said, more to herself. She took a breath and straightened. "I know where your nephew is."
"He's safe then?"
"After a fashion. He's with my husband. They're searching for all of you."
"Ah, sweet irony," the male said. "And now we're further divided."
"As soon as we reach Ralltiir, I'll try to reach my husband."
"Thank you, Princess Leia," the one named Melisma said, catching her completely by surprise.
"Ambassador," she corrected.
They all smiled. "To the Ryn," the male said, "you will forever remain a princess."
The comment warmed and chilled her at once. The Ryn wouldn't have been on Gyndine in the first place if Leia had not relocated them there from Bilbringi. And what of the six she had been forced to leave behind to face imprisonment or death? Was she princess or deserter in the eyes of Droma's sister? The flattering comment had sounded sincere, but it might have been more sweet irony.
Leia was heading for the bridge when the transport sounded general quarters. By the time she reached the command center, the ship was already being jarred by concussive explosions that tested the mettle of the shields.
"Ambassador Organa Solo," Commander Ilanka said from his swivel-mounted chair, as violent light flashed outside the curved viewport. "Glad to have you aboard. It's my understanding that you were last to board the evacuation ship."
"How much trouble are we in?" she asked, ignoring the sarcasm.
"I'd classify our situation as desperate verging on hopeless. Other than that, we're in fine shape."
"Do we have jump capability?"
"Navicomputer's working on coordinates," the navigator said from her console.
"Coralskippers in pursuit," an enlisted-rating added. Leia glanced at the target-assessment screen, which displayed twenty or more arrowhead shapes, closing fast on the ship. She turned to look out on Gyndine, and again she thought about the thousands she had been forced to abandon to fate. Then it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't seen Wurth Skidder aboard the shuttle or during her passage through the transport. She was about to page him over the comm when the evac craft's flight officer stepped onto the bridge. He remembered Skidder, along with Leia's orders.
"But when you told me to make sure they got aboard, I thought you were referring to the mother and child, not their rescuer." He showed Leia a docile look. "I apologize, Ambassador, but he didn't have the slightest interest in coming aboard. Who is he?"
"Someone who thinks he can save the galaxy single-handedly," Leia mumbled.
On Gyndine, explosions began to blossom along the transitor and deep into the planet's dark side. A fiery speck in the night, the planet's orbital shipyard slowly disintegrated. Leia b
ecame dizzy at the sight and had to steady herself against a bulkhead. The explosions didn't so much stir memories as prompt a troubling vision of some event yet to come.
A tone sounded from the navicomputer. "Hyper-space coordinates received and locked in," the navigator announced.
The ship shuddered. Starlight elongated, as if the past were making a desperate bid to forestall the future, and the transport jumped.
Crouched in the shadows of the smoldering embassy building, Wurth Skidder watched the last of the troop carriers take to the scudded sky. Thousands of Gyndine's indigenous forces had fallen back to the gated compound on the off chance of being evacuated with New Republic effectives. Few had been taken, however, and many of those who had were officers with political ties to Corus-cant or other Core worlds.
There was still some furious fighting going on in the city, but the majority of ground troops, realizing that their hopes for salvation had left with the last ship out, had tossed aside their repeating blasters and stripped off their uniforms in the belief that the Yuuzhan Vong would go easier on noncombatants.
Which just went to show how slowly news traveled to remote worlds, Skidder thought ruefully.
When it came to sacrificing captives to their gods, the enemy drew no such distinctions. In fact, in some cases a uniform-or at least evidence of a fighting spirit-could mean the difference between the mercifully quick death the Yuuzhan Vong offered those who measured up to their warlike ideals and the lingering death they reserved for those taken into captivity. He had heard rumors about captives undergoing dismemberment and vivisection; others about shiploads of captives being launched into the heart of stars to ensure victory for the Yuuzhan Vong.
As if the invaders needed a helping hand.
The gasbag, fire-breathing abominations that had torched Gyndine's forests and turned lakes into boiling cauldrons were gathered on the eastern outskirts of the capital. Flame-carpet warheads couldn't have done as much damage. Yuuzhan Vong infantry units-reptilian-humanoid Chazrack warriors-had followed the fire breathers in to clean out pockets of resistance and generally mop up. The sky had actually brightened slightly, but what light filtered in through smoke and scudding clouds was blotted out by descending drop ships.
