by James Luceno
"The decision has been made."
Leia wanted desperately to carry on the fight, but all words fled her. She stared, then touched her fingers to her forehead. Isolder was gazing at her knowingly.
"You're worried that something will go wrong," he said, "and you don't want the responsibility of having decided our fate. But you needn't worry. We made our pledge free and clear. We know exactly what we're getting into. This is in our blood, Leia. You need never fear on our account."
"But-"
"Is there a chance the Yuuzhan Vong will overlook us?"
She considered it. "Probably not."
"Then what choice do we have? Do we fight the invaders alongside you and avail ourselves of greater numbers, or wait to be attacked and be forced to engage them in our own space with only what ships we have?"
She compressed her lips and nodded. "You're right." She managed a faint smile. "Isolder, I'm sorry for what I said earlier."
He waved away the apology. "Words are of no importance. What is, is that we always remain friends."
"Done."
He offered her his arm and they walked a few paces, much to the obvious dismay of C-3PO.
"I believe your droid is agitated," Isolder said quietly.
Leia laughed. "I'm sure he is. Threepio was very much Han's supporter when you were crazy enough to consider me fit to be a queen mother."
Isolder laughed shortly, then stopped to gaze at her. "Leia, as a friend, may I ask you something? You've been preoccupied for the whole of your stay here. Each time I've attempted to visit you, you've avoided me. Is something wrong-between us or otherwise?"
"I have been distracted," she conceded.
"May I know the reason?"
She forced a breath. "I wouldn't know where to begin."
"My mother once told me that when a Jedi is distracted, when she loses her focus, she becomes vulnerable."
"I'm not a Jedi."
"But you are as strong in the Force as any of them. What is it, Leia?"
Leia's eyes narrowed perceptibly. "We're in real danger, Isolder. We're in danger of losing everything we've fought to attain since the defeat of the Empire."
"Are you saying that the Yuuzhan Vong cannot be defeated?"
She took a moment. "I'm not sure. I see a long road ahead of us."
"How clearly do you see this road?"
She shook her head. "Not clearly enough to know where all the rough spots lie."
They resumed walking, without speaking. "Will you accompany me to Coruscant aboard my personal ship?" Isolder asked finally.
"What about Teneniel Djo?"
"She will remain on Hapes," Isolder said flatly.
Once more the vision stormed through Leia's mind, then abated. What light was she seeing? What world was she seeing?
"Of course I will," she said after a moment.
With the Falcon safely docked, Han and Droma cleared Ruan customs and hastened for the spaceport terminal. If not for the crowds, they might have sprinted.
"Hold on a heartbeat," Han said when Droma was about to navigate the crowd on hands and knees. Snatching the Ryn by the back of his vest, he set him on his feet, then decorously adjusted the fit of the frayed garment while he spoke. "Your clanmates wouldn't be so desperate to get offworld that they'd hook up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers and mercenaries. They're smarter than that, right?"
Droma tugged at his mustache. "They're plenty clever, but even the quickest can be outsmarted when the situation looks hopeles s. Both Gaph and Melisma detest confinement. Gaph was once in jail and-"
Han started shaking his head. "That's not the answer I want to hear."
Droma fell silent, then nodded in understanding. "My clanmates take up with a bunch of space-trash hijackers? They're far too clever. In fact, I'm certain they're still on Ruan-somewhere-and that we've arrived well in time to save them."
Han exhaled. "That's a relief."
They had been having the same conversation since leaving Tholatin. The Weequay security chief had been too sly to supply them with the names of his cohorts who had gone to Ruan, or with the name of their ship. But the Ruan scam had come up several times in casual conversation among Esau's Ridge's mechanics and ne'er-do-wells, and Han had a pretty good idea of the caliber of folks he and Droma were dealing with. Even if the hijackers who had come to Ruan weren't working directly for the Yuuzhan Vong, they were likely to be well armed and dangerous-much like the members of the Peace Brigade, with whom Han and Droma had tangled aboard the Queen of Empire, and with whom neither wished to tangle again.
Ruan spaceport had a pace all its own. With thousands of refugees pouring in from scores of occupied worlds, there were far more comings than goings, but Salliche Ag was somehow managing to keep the transfer process running smoothly and efficiently. Dozens of species-specific booths lined the terminal walls, and a fleet of surface vehicles waited outside the terminal to convey refugees to one camp or another. Locating refugees, though, was another matter. At a human-staffed information booth, Han and Droma discovered listings for over one hundred separate exile facilities, some only a few kilometers away and others on the far side of the world.
"Searching every camp'll take longer than we've got," Han fumed. "There's gotta be an easier way."
"Try the central data bank," a droid voice said behind him. "Whoever you're looking for might be listed there."
Han turned and found himself face-to-face with an aged droid built roughly along human lines, though stocky and no taller than Droma. In sore need of paint and body work, the machine was long-armed and barrel-chested, with a rounded head that was as primitive in design as the servomotors that operated its limbs.
"Bollux?" Han said in disbelief.
The droid's unblinking red photoreceptors fixed on him. "I beg your pardon, sir?"
"You're a labor droid, aren't you-a, a BLX?"
"A BLX?" the droid said peevishly. "Though we both happen to be products of Serv-O-Droid, Incorporated, I'm a BFL. Baffle, to you, good sir."
"Baffle?" Han's eyebrows arched in skeptical surprise, then his eyes narrowed appraisingly. "Who are you kidding? You're telling me you've never spent time in the Corporate Sector?"
"Thank the maker, no. Why, save for being activated at the Fondor shipyards, I've never even been outside the Core-to the best of my memory, that is."
Han refused to buy it. With Droma looking on, he circled Baffle, taking in the set of the droid's vocabulator grille and its stiff way of moving. "You were never the property of a tech named Doc Vandangante?"
Baffle shook his head. "The name is new to me."
Without warning, Han rapped his fist against the droid's chest plastron, eliciting a hollow sound. "You sure you never carried another droid in there? Cubical thing, no bigger than this"-Han spread his hands a few centimeters apart-"but smart as a whip."
"Another droid? Certainly not! What do you take me for?"
Han stroked his beard, shook his head, then snorted a laugh. "You coulda fooled me."
Baffle bowed slightly. "I'm flattered that I remind you of someone, sir-I think."
"Now what's this about a central database?"
The droid directed them to a computer terminal, at which several folks were queued. Han and Droma planted themselves at the end of the line, behind a Duros couple, and waited while everyone had a go at getting the machine to cooperate. Han handled the input when they finally reached the head of the line.
"Refugees are grouped by species," he said, frowning. "But the Ryn aren't even listed."
"Try 'other,' " Baffle suggested.
Droma smirked. "The droid's right. Allow me to do the honors."
Han moved away from the keyboard but kept his eyes on the display screen.
"Here we are," Droma said. "Just where we usually show up-between Rybet and Saadul. And my clan-mates are here!" He turned excitedly to Han. "Well, five of them at any rate."
"Your sister with them?"
Droma read over th
e list again, then shook his head. "Leia was correct, I'm afraid. Sapha must have been left behind on Gyndine."
Han made his lips a thin line. "We'll find her next. Where are the others?"
"Facility 17-along with thirty-two other Ryn."
"Oh, I know that camp well, sirs," Baffle said. "Several of my peers and counterparts have had occasion to work there."
Han swung to the droid. "What's the quickest way to get there?"
"In my cab."
"You're a driver?"
Baffle pointed out the terminal window to a battered SoroSuub landspeeder. "Just there, sir-the one lacking a proper windscreen and in need of paint."
Han glanced from the landspeeder to the dented and spot-welded droid. "Looks like you and your vehicle get your work done at the same mechanic's shop. Will that thing make it to Facility 17?"
"No problem at all, sir. The camp is actually within walking distance-for those with sufficient time, that is."
The three of them headed out to the cab. Baffle clambered into the open-air operator's perch and got the aft-mounted repulsorlift generator and outboard turbines running. When Han and Droma were cinched into the molded seats below the perch, the droid set off down a well-maintained road that coursed between immaculately cultivated fields. Through gaps in the topiary shrubs that lined the road, Han could see droids of endless variety-though far fewer than he was accustomed to seeing on similar agricultural worlds.
"Why aren't you out there with the others?" he shouted to Baffle.
"Oh, I'm too old for that sort of work, sir."
"Salliche sidelined you, huh?"
"Basically, yes. Ever since Salliche Ag offered to accept refugees, Ruan has become a rather chaotic environment, so I was reassigned to function as the driver of this reliable if somewhat woebegone vehicle."
"Seemed to be a lot more people coming than going," Han said.
"That's very observant of you, sir. In fact, many refugees have become so enamored of Ruan, they have remained onworld to work for Salliche Ag."
Han and Droma exchanged puzzled looks. "To work for Salliche?" Han said. "Doing what?"
"Why, field work, sir. Thanks to Ruan's climate-control station, labor is a pleasurable enterprise for many folks."
Han uttered a laugh. "That's crazy. Salliche has an army of droids at its disposal."
"They do, sir, it's true. But Salliche Ag has recently developed a preference for living workers."
Again, Han glanced at Droma, who shrugged. "I just got here, remember?" the Ryn said.
Han might have pursued the topic with Baffle, but just then the refugee camp came into view around a wide turn.
"Facility 17, good sirs."
The droid conveyed them right to the gate, where access to the camp was by way of a turretlike security booth. Han tapped his knuckles against the booth's transparisteel window to draw the attention of a thickset guard inside. The uniformed man stuck his scarred face outside the window, got an eyeful of Han and Droma, and scowled.
"Get a load of this," he said to someone else in the booth.
Shortly, a woman joined him at the window, giving Han and Droma the same once-over. "What's your business here?"
"We're looking for a couple of friends," Han told them.
"Aren't we all," the man said in self-amusement.
"A group of Ryn," Han went on. "They would have arrived maybe two standard weeks ago."
"A group of Ryn, you say." The guard jerked a thumb at Droma. "Like this one."
Han rolled his tongue around in his cheek. "That's right, like this one. If you've got a problem with him, maybe you should step outside so we can all discuss it."
The guard grinned down at him. "I don't have a problem, big guy, but your little pal here does."
Han heard the whirring of charging blasters and spun around to find half a dozen uniformed guards moving in on the booth from three sides. Cautiously he raised his hands to the back of his head, and Droma did the same.
"We didn't come looking for trouble," Han said. "It's like I told the welcome committee, we're just looking for a couple of friends."
The lead guard ignored him and waved his blaster at Droma. "Step to one side." When Droma did, the guard added, "You're under arrest."
Han did a double take. "Arrest? On what charge? We haven't even been here long enough to litter!"
With four blasters trained on Droma and two on Han, the lead guard snapped a pair of cylindrical stun cuffs around Droma's wrists.
"The charge is forgery of official documents," he said to Han. "And if you've any sense, you'll get off Ruan before we haul you in as an accessory after the fact."
NINETEEN
In imperious repose on her cushioned and pillowed pallet, Borga Besadii Diori fixed her gaze on Nas Choka, as Leenik escorted the black-haired Yuuzhan Vong supreme commander and his minions into the palace court. Though rarely known to exercise restraint, Borga refrained from elevating her couch, in the interest of getting off to a better start with Choka than she had with Commander Malik Carr on his first visit to Nal Hutta.
Trailing Choka, and similarly attired in attenuating helmet and swishing command cloak, stepped Malik Carr, and behind him the New Republic traitor, Pedric Cuf, sporting pegged trousers, low black boots, and stiff-collared jacket. Advisers and armed guards dispersed to both sides of Choka's retinue, assuming positions that encouraged confrontation with the members of Borga's own security contingent.
"I welcome you to Nal Hutta," Borga said in Yuuzhan Vong while Choka assessed the trappings of the court from the chair to which the Rodian Leenik had shown him. "We are at your disposal."
Choka smiled in surprise. "Excellent, Borga. I didn't realize that you were acquainted with our language."
"A few simple phrases," Borga said in Basic. "Courtesy of the tutorial supplied by Pedric Cuf."
Choka glanced at Nom Anor, then his closely set eyes came back to Borga. "I'm told that you have already been exceedingly accommodating."
Borga smiled pleasantly. "We are renowned for our hospitality-especially of the sort we render to revered guests."
Choka's tone of voice changed. "Guests." Deliberate or not, his faceful of bulges and indentations gave him the look of someone who had gone fifteen hard rounds with a Hapan kickboxer. "An interesting choice of words, Borga. Unless you mean to imply that the Yuuzhan Vong are nothing more than visitors to this galaxy."
"A visitor who takes well to new surroundings often becomes a resident," Borga replied, refusing to be flustered. "When you have established yourselves on Corus-cant, I would be honored to call you neighbor."
Choka grinned faintly. "You would do well to call me lord."
Borga's large eyes blinked. "Then when the title suits the circumstance, I will do so."
Choka nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'm not one to mince words, Borga. With respect to your gracious offer to oversee the transport of captives in exchange for information regarding imperiled star systems, I have determined that such services are unwarranted at this stage of our campaign. As a gesture of good faith, however, we will continue, from time to time and as we see fit, to furnish you with some advance notice of our activities." He paused momentarily. "For example, you may resume delivery of your euphoric spice to the Bothawui system, without fear of inadvertent entanglement."
Borga licked her lips. "We thank you-and I'm sure the Bothans will do likewise."
Choka studied her for a moment. "For the spice, you mean."
"Precisely. For the spice."
Choka's expression didn't change. "I trust, Borga, that you're not sharing this privileged information with any third parties."
Borga spread her smallish hands, palms outward. "With whom would I share? Our primary concern is to maintain trade-and, of course, to avoid complicating your business, whatever that may be."
"That's comforting to hear," Choka said. "Be advised that should evidence ever come to light that you have been violating our confidence . . . Well, I don't t
hink I need to enumerate the horrors that would befall Hutt space, do I?"
Borga shook her head. "We are also renowned for our vivid imaginations."
"Splendid." Choka gestured toward Malik Carr. "My second in command informs me, as well, that you expressed a desire to commence apportioning the galaxy, in anticipation of our complete and utter conquest."
Borga swallowed audibly. "I may have been premature, Excellency."
Choka's invidious grin returned. "Nothing pleases me more than a well-reasoned response. We will lay siege to whichever worlds we require or crave, including this 'glorious jewel' of yours-not that we have any such designs-for the moment, that is-although one never knows-save for Warmaster Tsavong Lah, who could decide tomorrow that Nal Hutta needs to be razed. Do we understand each other?"
"As well as can be expected," Borga replied, "given the limitations of Basic-and, of course, the relative youth of our association-notwithstanding the depths it has already achieved-despite our many differences."
Choka smiled with sincerity. "Very good. We prize sportive circumlocution above almost anything but valor. Speaking of valor, Borga, have the Hutts had many dealings with this gang of ruffians that calls itself the Jedi Knights?"
Borga adopted a look of distaste. "Some, Excellency. In fact, before you deigned to grace this galaxy with your presence, the Jedi were making things rather irksome for us by interfering with our myriad operations."
"Yes," Choka mused, "they have proved troublesome for us, as well. We've had a few Jedi in our grip, but they have all managed to slip through our fingers." He regarded Borga for a long moment. "You would profit by assisting us in separating one from the pack."
Borga fell silent, wondering if she was being tested, but ultimately deciding that Choka's offer was genuine. "But, Excellency, you have one in your possession even now," she said cautiously.
It was Choka's turn to fall silent. He turned to glance at Malik Carr, then Nom Anor, both of whom returned nescient shrugs.
"Explain yourself, Borga."
"The vessel aboard which my son Randa is currently a guest," Borga supplied. "Randa sent word that a Jedi had been discovered among the ship's complement of captives."
