Rebirth: Edge of Victory II

by Greg Keyes

“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.

  “Help me with this table,” Han said.

  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 less his lightsaber. What’s he talking about?

  The Gamorrean turned, though, and Han hit him over the head again, holding the statue in both hands. This time it broke. The Gamorrean, looking puzzled, collapsed.

  “You okay, son?” Han asked.

  “Yeah. A little woozy.”

  Han hefted the half of the statue that remained in his hands, then proffered it to Jacen. “Here, a little souvenir.”

  Jacen turned it over in his hands and uttered a small laugh. Very small, because it hurt his stressed—perhaps cracked—ribs.

  Han, meanwhile, was rooting for his blaster, one eye on the door.

  “I should have known that old smuggler wouldn’t sit still to be blown up,” Han muttered.

  Looking past his father, through the dust and smoke, Jacen could make out a pair of figures on the rooftop—Karrde and Shada. They had just finished the snipers there and were now using the high ground to clear the streets. The job was almost done.

  About fifteen minutes later, Jacen and Han met outside with Karrde and his people. By some minor miracle, none of them had been killed, though several would be in bacta tanks for a while.

  “I’d say Tatooine isn’t going to be one of your safe houses,” Karrde remarked. “I also suggest we get off this ball of rock before the Brigade convinces the spaceport to impound our ships, if they haven’t already.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Han said. “The Darklighter family still has some clout, and we’re at their dock. Still, it would probably be best to get out of here.” He shook his head in disgust. “What a waste of time this was. Now that they know we’re here, we’ll never find out anything about their operation.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jacen said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve still got Shalo, right?”

  “Unless H’sishi was ambushed on the way back to my ship.”

  “I got something from him, something he was hiding. I tried to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure. But he was expecting something. Something big.”

  Shalo was a good deal more subdued during his second interview, and much more cooperative.

  “A convoy is stopping off here,” he admitted. “Day after tomorrow. On its way to Ylesia.”

  “What’s the cargo?”

  “Oh, you know, cargo.”

  “No, I don’t know,” Han said. “Please, enlighten me.”

  “Spice, weapons, maybe a few, uh … a few slaves.”

  “Sacrifices for the Yuuzhan Vong, you mean. You’re quite a piece of work, Shalo.”

  “I’m a businessman, Solo.”

  “Sure. Tell you what, once we’re done with this convoy, we’ll drop you off someplace where you can get nice and cozy with your new business partners. Nal Hutta, maybe.”

  Tsavong Lah regarded the strange creature before him. It looked like some shaper’s fevered joke, with its short, ruffled feathers, spindly limbs, and cochlear antennae. It blinked luminous, slanted eyes at him and stretched its ridiculously wide mouth to speak.

  “Greetings, Warmaster,” it said.

  The warmaster considered her for another moment before deigning to answer.

  “The deception-sect priests and the haar vhinic tell me you have yielded much useful information concerning the infidels. You seem to have been most observant during your captivity.”

  “I would do more,” Vergere said boldly.

  “So I am also told. You have information regarding the ship that has been harassing our infidel lackeys.” As he spoke, a pair of villips projected an image of a matte-black ship, lens-shaped, with odd projections.

  “I know the ship,” Vergere replied.

  “And why would you speak this only to me?” the warmaster rumbled.

  “Because,” Vergere said, “I think the identity of this ship would be of particular interest to you, and because I believe you would prefer to have this information discreetly.”

  “You presume much about me, familiar-of-a-dead-priestess.”

  “If I presume incorrectly, I am prepared to embrace punishment.”

  Tsavong Lah gave her an abbreviated nod of approval. “Waste no more of my time,” he said. “Say what you came to say.”

  “I know the ship because it is the one from which I escaped,” Vergere told him. “It is the Millennium Falcon, and its captain is named Han Solo.”

  “Solo?” Tsavong Lah felt a surge of rage at the name, and his vua’sa foot-claws clacked restlessly against the deck.

  “Solo,” the creature said. “Father of Anakin Solo, who caused the late distress at Yavin Four, or so I’m told. Father of Jacen Solo.”

  Tsavong Lah reared to his full height. “You were correct, familiar. This is of interest.”

  “Find the Millennium Falcon, Warmaster, and you will find Jacen Solo. I believe he is aboard her. If he is not, once you have his father, he will not be long in arriving. It is the way these infidels think.”

  “Indeed,” the warmaster replied, a vast satisfaction rising in his blood. “And the Jeedai are most particularly weak in that respect.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Admiral Traest Kre’fey seated himself in the tactical chamber room of his flagship, the Ralroost. His violet eyes were sternly set, but Jaina nevertheless felt a brief but tangible impulse to stroke his fur, which was whiter than the wastes of Hoth. Contrasted with his black flight suit, it positively shone.

  It was a feeling that evaporated immediately when the dignified Bothan began to speak.

  “I’ve reviewed all of the information presented me,” he said. “General Antilles, is there anything missing? Any other little surprises?”

  “No, Admiral,” Wedge replied. He glanced aside at Kyp. “Not that I know of.”

  “Well,” the admiral mused. “Who would have guessed that the Yuuzhan Vong were another pack of superweapon aficionados. I thought we were done with that when we were done with the Empire.”

  “Apparently not,” Gavin Darklighter said dryly. “I share General Antilles’s distrust of Kyp Durron, but—”

  “This I’m getting tired of.” Kyp grunted and stood. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go destroy it myself—with my lightsaber if I have to. This isn’t worth the bother.”

  “Oh, Kyp, sit down and let Colonel Darklighter finish,” Jaina snapped.

  “Yes, why don’t you do that?” Admiral Kre’fey said dryly. “And in the meantime, why don’t you credit me with the brains to sort things out for myself, without the benefit of your posturing? Believe it or not, Master Durron, I can sympathize with you to a certain extent. Like yourself, I’ve found it more productive to fight the Yuuzhan Vong in my own way, without bureaucratic shackles. It has made me quite as unpopular as you are.”

  Kyp dropped his head fractionally. “Your pardon, Admiral. I’m an admirer of yours; I’ll make no secret of that. If I could have found you, I would have proposed alliance long ago. But about one thing you are mistaken. While the New Republic may have little use for either of us, you are still bet
ter liked in most quarters, as present company demonstrates.”

  “Well, son,” the admiral said, “I suspect that in great measure that is a burrow you’ve buried yourself in. Don’t expect anyone else to dig you out.”

  Kyp merely nodded and returned to his seat.

  “Admiral,” Gavin said, “may I continue?”

  “Please.”

  “I was saying that Durron and his Dozen-or-so went to what must have been desperate lengths to get this information. You remember, Admiral—we were there before the Yuuzhan Vong buttoned down the system as tightly as they could. What he got out of that is the clearest proof we’re going to get that the Yuuzhan Vong are priming something very dangerous indeed. It’s my opinion that we ought to do something about it.”

  “General Antilles?”

  Wedge clicked his tongue. “I agree,” he said.

  “As do I,” the Bothan concurred. “You see, Master Durron, what another moment of silence would have cost you? Nothing at all.”

  “I understand, Admiral. My apologies.”

  “Very well. I’ve been looking for a good target to take out, and this will do nicely. The nice thing about super-weapons is that they are usually big, and this one seems no exception. I should think we will be able to hit it.”

  “Hitting it will be the very least of our worries,” Gavin said. “From what Kyp said, the Yuuzhan Vong have pretty much mapped all the safe hyperspace jumps near the weapon and have them effectively blockaded. Since Sernpidal is also one of their major shipyards, and since the Yuuzhan Vong haven’t started any new offensives lately, we can expect a pretty warm reception.”

  “I’m sure that’s so, Colonel Darklighter. However, I have information that perhaps you do not. Sernpidal is one of the several parts of occupied territory that has been of interest to me in the past months. I’ve watched it—from somewhat a greater distance and with a good deal more caution than Master Durron, but I have watched traffic to and from it. In the last week, a large number of ships have departed Sernpidal. I was unable to determine where they were bound.”

  “A new push?”

  “Possibly they are merely reinforcing their borders with new ships,” Kre’fey said. “Or perhaps they are preparing the way for this superweapon of theirs. I should hasten to point out that nothing nearly the size of the weapon has been observed leaving, so it is presumably still there.”