Nom Anor knew, of course, what had happened. His spies had been identified and fed false information designed to lead the Yuuzhan Vong fleet into this trap. Whoever had done this had been brilliant, setting out a series of clues and letting Nom Anor himself draw the conclusions.
But there would be little use explaining to his superiors how brilliantly he had been played by the enemy—not in the wake of a military disaster of this magnitude. They would want Nom Anor’s head, not his explanations.
It was time for Nom Anor to vanish, to don an ooglith masquer to disguise his appearance and then to disappear among the anonymous worker caste. After the search died down, he could create further identities and credentials that would get him off the planet.
But where would he go? He would be hunted throughout Yuuzhan Vong–controlled territory. And if he escaped into the New Republic, he would have to live forever in disguise, an object of suspicion wherever he went.
He decided to think about all that later.
Right now, he needed to concentrate on escape.
Twin Suns Squadron was down to eight starfighters, and of these only Lowbacca’s was intact. Tesar had lost an engine and half his shields. Jaina had lost her rear shields and her upper right foil along with its laser, and her cockpit smelled of fear and sour sweat. Others suffered light to heavy damage. They had expended all their missiles and bombs.
Fortunately, they were no longer engaged with the enemy. The larger battles had passed them by, and the fighter-versus-fighter battle seemed to be over. The coralskippers had either been killed or gone somewhere else, and only scattered B- and E-wings were near them.
Through the Jedi meld Jaina could still feel others experiencing the shock of combat. Wearily she turned the nose of her craft toward the huge battle nearby, where Jacen and Kyp and the Wild Knights were engaged, but from Jacen she felt a cool touch of the mind, followed by his voice on the comm.
“Don’t. You’re too shot up.”
“I can feel the others fighting. I can’t stand by.”
“You must. The others would only endanger themselves protecting you.”
The meld was in agreement with Jacen. She felt their unanimity, but still she felt the urge not to abandon her friends.
“You have acquitted yourself honorably, Jaina Solo.” This was Saba’s voice. “It is now your task to preserve your own life.”
“Twin Suns has permission to withdraw to Ebaq Nine.” This came from Ebaq 9, from her own controller.
Jaina felt her tension drain away. Preserve your own life. How long had it been since anyone told her to do that? Her battle was over, and the annihilation that she had feared—that she had expected—had not come.
“Acknowledged,” she told the flag, and then spoke to her pilots. “Streak, I want you to cover Tesar. The rest of you, form on me.”
Wearily, Jaina turned her craft toward safety.
Jaina, Tesar, and Lowbacca had landed on Ebaq 9. Luke could sense their weariness in the Force, but still he felt them trying to send strength and clarity to the others in the Jedi meld.
Luke sat on the bridge of the Mon Calamari cruiser Harbinger, flagship of Garm Bel Iblis, and played a game of holochess in his mind with the enemy commander. Luke’s mission to the old hero of the Rebellion had succeeded: Bel Iblis had brought into the Deep Core half the fleet with which he had been guarding Talaan, divided into three battle groups.
Maneuvering against that fleet was a single Yuuzhan Vong squadron, the one that had earlier been pursuing Han’s squadron of Smugglers’ Alliance ships. Its commander was clever and had managed to keep all three of Bel Iblis’s battle groups occupied without quite engaging any of them.
But it was an unfair contest. The Yuuzhan Vong had only a single piece on the holo board, the New Republic three—four, if Han’s small squadron counted. Luke, maneuvering with the aid of the Jedi meld, slowly reduced the enemy’s options to two: fight and die, or flee.
And he knew the Yuuzhan Vong did not run away.
He ordered the three battle groups to converge.
No good, Tsavong Lah realized. His plan wasn’t working.
He clenched his teeth in rage. May Nom Anor’s flayed skin be trampled by rakamats.
The Battle Groups of Yun-Harla and Yun-Txiin were fighting bravely but being overwhelmed by the enemy. Two new enemy battle groups had joined the fight, fresh and formed and well organized, while the Yuuzhan Vong were scattered and locked in combat with their old enemies.
The Battle Group of Yun-Q’aah was in the process of being trapped by three enemy battle groups.
The Battle Group of Yum-Yammka, as instructed, was immolating itself against the enemy, but such bravery was useless because nothing else was going well.
Only the Battle Group of Yun-Yuuzhan, under Tsavong Lah himself, still had options. He had planned to join the Battle Groups of Yun-Harla and Yun-Txiin and help them win at least a local victory, but he saw now that this plan, too, would fail, that all he could do was reinforce a battle that was already lost, offering himself to the enemy like a sacrifice upon the altar.
Like a sacrifice …
Despair gripped his heart in iron talons. He should die in battle. After a defeat of this magnitude, Shimrra could scarcely be expected to let him live. Tsavong Lah would be lucky not to be cut down like an animal, like Ch’Gang Hool, and instead die a sacrifice to the gods.
Sacrifice …
Tsavong Lah jerked bolt upright on the cognition throne. A smile drew his slashed lips tight.
A sacrifice. Of course.
“Alter course at once for Ebaq Nine!” he commanded. “Order the Battle Group of Yun-Q’aah to head for the moon at maximum acceleration!”
Jeedai, he thought. The voxyn had howled when he had first brought his fleet to the system. There had been Jeedai in the system then. Some of them were probably with the fleet, but Tsavong Lah believed some, at least, would be on the ninth moon of Ebaq.
A sacrifice.
Luke watched in surprise as the enemy battle group, the one he had been carefully maneuvering against, suddenly bolted, its formations dissolving, every ship for itself. The Yuuzhan Vong had never before fled from a fight in such disorder, and the New Republic battle groups were unprepared for what looked like a panicked withdrawal. There was a little skirmish across the front of one of the battle groups—a few ships flared in the night, and died—and then the enemy were away, with the entire fleet in pursuit.
Luke didn’t understand where the enemy intended to go. They weren’t running directly away from him; it was almost as if they were running toward something.
And then, with a dreadful certainty, he knew where they were headed.
And he thought, Jaina.
* * *
“I did not foresee this!” Ackbar beat with one huge hand on the arm of his chair. “What a fool I have been!”
Countless ships whirled in Jacen’s mind. He struggled madly with his expanded senses to understand what the new enemy maneuver meant, and suddenly he understood. At his realization an electric shock rang through the Jedi meld.
He struggled to find an answer. Calm. He sensed Vergere’s thoughts in his mind. Calm. The Force will tell you what to do.
Suddenly Jacen understood, and he was shouting orders to Admiral Kre’fey while he sent an urgent message through the Force.
“Mom! You’ve got to intercept that squadron! Use everything you’ve got!”
That would keep one of the enemy squadrons away from Ebaq, at least for a while.
It was only after he’d sent his instructions that he realized he might have just sent his parents to their deaths.
Jacen rose from his chair and turned to Admiral Kre’fey. “I need my X-wing now!” he shouted, and without waiting for permission ran for the turbolift.
“Jacen?” Kre’fey seemed more astonished than anything else. “We need you on the flagship!”
The turbolift wasn’t parked at this level. In an agony of frustration Jacen sl
ammed the control buttons. “You’ve already won the battle!” he said. “Now I have to save Jaina!”
Kre’fey’s white fur rippled as he stared at Jacen. Distant rumbles echoed through the room as Ralroost’s inadequate shielding absorbed hits.
“Very well,” Kre’fey said, waving a hand. “Very well.”
And Kre’fey turned back to hammering the enemy.
* * *
“Han, we need to stop them.”
Han cast a bewildered look over his shoulder. “Stop who?”
Leia jabbed an urgent finger at the displays. “The enemy squadron!”
Han shrugged. “They’re fleeing, but they still outnumber us. Let ’em go.”
Anger flared in Leia’s voice. “They’re not running! They’re heading straight for Jaina!”
There was a moment of stunned comprehension, and then the lines in Han’s face turned grim. “Right.” He faced front and snapped on the comm. “This is Solo,” he said. “It’s up to us to hold the Vong until our people can catch up and finish them off. Everyone pick your targets carefully—this will not be fun.”
He rolled the Millennium Falcon toward the enemy and throttled up.
The enemy ships—hundreds of them—got nearer and nearer.
“Keep an eye on the displays, sweetheart,” Han told Leia. “When this gets hairy, I don’t want anyone sneaking up on us.”
Han brought the Smugglers’ Alliance squadron right across the front of the Yuuzhan Vong formation, which meant that every weapon on his squadron bore on the enemy, while the enemy could only reply with bow weapons. Han was either going to blow the Vong noses off or force them from their course.
The Vong didn’t turn.
Errant Venture fired first, its enormous turbolasers hurling neon-colored destruction at the enemy, and then one by one the rest of the squadron opened fire. Leia could hear the rhythmic crashing of the Noghri firing the Falcon’s turbolasers.
And then return fire began smashing at the shields.
* * *
Jaina felt cold sweat breaking out on her nape. “Back to the fighters!” she told her squadron. “We’ll launch and get out of the enemy’s sight.”
“That’s a negative, Twin Leader.” It was General Farlander himself on the comm, which spoke to the importance of the message. In the background she could hear the shouts, murmurs, and crashes of a big ship in combat.
“Just get into the mineshafts and slam the blast doors behind you,” Farlander said. “Stick to the plan. You can hold out for hours in there, and we’ll come get you before you know it.”
“The general iz wise, Jaina,” Tesar hissed. His heavy tail lashed left and right. “Our starfighterz are too damaged to make a clean escape. Several of us would be losst.”
Jaina hesitated as she looked at the expectant pilots around her, then nodded. Lost. Tesar was right.
“Understood, General,” she said.
Around her, Ebaq 9’s command center braced itself for the oncoming blow. Two huge Yuuzhan Vong squadrons were headed their way.
Stick to the plan, Farlander had said, but this wasn’t the plan. The plan assumed that when the New Republic fleets arrived the Yuuzhan Vong would realize they were ambushed, and either run or fight to the death. The plan never considered that the Yuuzhan Vong would continue their assault on Ebaq’s ninth moon, which had no real military value at all.
“Right,” Jaina said. “This way.”
The weary pilots limped out of the command center. The gravity was still erratic: sometimes they walked normally, and sometimes an ordinary step would catapult them to the ceiling. They took a hovercar down the great central shaft that drove through the moonlet’s core. From here mineshafts branched off into the old diggings. Several of these had been equipped with the massive durasteel blast doors designed to keep the enemy out for hours.
Jaina stopped the car by the bunker that had been converted to an armory. “I’m going to assume that everything else is going to go wrong,” she said.
“Voxyn,” Lowbacca howled. “How can things go right?”
Jaina nodded. “That’s why I want everyone here to have blasters, body armor, grenades, grenade launchers, and command-detonated mines. And vac suits—we’re pressurized here, but what can be pressurized can be depressurized.”
Tesar gave a hiss of Barabel amusement.
“The major speakz wisdom,” he said.
The turbolift seemed to take an eternity in its glide toward the fighter docking bays. Jacen used his private comm to call his astromech droid and have the fighter ready for him.
The Jedi meld sang in his mind. He was aware of his own anxiety eddying out to the others, reflecting back toward him. He remembered how the Force-meld had kept dissolving on Myrkr, as Jedi were hurt or died, or fought one another over strategy, and he tried to keep his worries from feeding out into the others.
The turbolift jolted to a stop. It had come to a bulkhead, and all bulkheads were sealed during combat.
Jacen flung the lift doors open with the Force and sprinted for one of the internal air locks that communicated between bulkheads. There was another eternity while the lock recycled, and then a narrow, spiral stair—Jacen used the Force to fly down it—and then another bulkhead that communicated to the docking bay deck.
He wasn’t surprised to find Vergere waiting for him. She held up a hand.
“Where are you going?”
Jacen didn’t break stride. “To help Jaina.”
“You cannot help. Ebaq is being attacked by a squadron of capital ships. Your single starfighter will make no difference.”
“I have to try.” Jacen sprinted on. His X-wing was alone in the docking bay next to a partially dismantled A-wing, its weapons and sensor system scavenged to repair other starfighters.
“Stop. This is not your destiny.”
“Maybe not, but it’s my family.”
Vergere followed Jacen, flying on pulses of the Force to match Jacen’s running pace. “What can you hope to accomplish besides your own destruction?” she demanded.
Anger flamed through his mind. Jacen turned to the little alien and put a hand on his lightsaber. “Are you proposing to stop me?” he demanded.
Vergere settled onto the deck and slowly, sadly bowed her head. “I will not stop you, Jacen Solo. You have chosen your destiny.” Her eyes glittered. “It is the consequences you must deal with now.”
Jacen turned and vaulted into the cockpit. He closed the canopy and put on his helmet.
Through the Force, he could feel the cold fear that ran through Jaina’s nerves.
He opened the comm and asked Ralroost’s docking control for permission to launch.
The Millennium Falcon skimmed along the hull of the enemy cruiser, quad lasers pumping shots into the hull as well as toward the coralskippers that danced astern. The coralskipper pilots were having a problem trying to nail the agile Falcon without hitting their own ship, and Han was trying to make the solution to that problem as difficult as he could. The Yuuzhan Vong had already put several shots into their own vessel, and Han didn’t want them to stop now.
The problem was that Millennium Falcon hadn’t been built as a bomber. Proton torpedoes and shadow bombs had the punch to knock out a capital ship, but Falcon didn’t carry either. Neither did Lando’s Lady Luck nor Talon Karrde’s Wild Karrde—they’d been built with the intention of keeping patrol craft off their backs, not with having to knock out large targets.
They all had to improvise. Han figured the best way to splatter a big Yuuzhan Vong ship was to trick the Vong into doing it for him.
And that’s just what happened. One of the pursuing Yuuzhan Vong tried to duck closer to the cruiser than Falcon, in order to shoot up at Han without danger of hitting his own vessel, but unfortunately he forgot about Leia’s bodyguard Meewalh in the belly turret. Meewalh gave a yowl of pleasure at the appearance of the target and hurled an array of laser bolts at the Vong. The enemy pilot was either hit or dazzled by the flares,
because the coralskipper splashed into the enemy cruiser, its store of weapons erupting in fire as it slashed a brilliant flaming scar across the giant hull.
Han shot off the bow of the cruiser and performed another frantic series of evasive maneuvers before the skips on his tail were dispersed or discouraged. Behind, the cruiser shivered as secondary explosions blasted outward through its coral skin. The cruiser arced into a wide turn as dovin basals used for propulsion along one side were destroyed, while those on the other side continued to drive the ship forward, like a rowboat with one oar pulling while the other trailed in the water.
Another ship turned away from Jaina. He could leave it to Bel Iblis’s fleet to finish the cruiser off.
He cast a glance at Leia, who was sitting white-knuckled in the copilot’s seat. “How are we doing?”
She shook her head. “Bel Iblis has caught up to the rearmost enemy. But we’re still the only force between the Yuuzhan Vong and Ebaq Nine.”
“Better find us another target, then,” Han said.
The Smugglers’ Alliance squadron was doing a lot of brilliant flying, but it was outnumbered and many of its ships, like Millennium Falcon, were unsuited for fleet combat. Fortunately the enemy seemed largely at a loss as to how to cope with the attack—the Alliance had no uniform ships, therefore no uniform tactics, and that meant that both sides were improvising, and the smugglers had a lot more experience at improvising than the Yuuzhan Vong.
“Look out!” At the yelp from Leia, Han jerked at the sweat-slick controls and managed to avoid being swatted by the huge Errant Venture, the only real capital ship under his command. The Star Destroyer was pumping fire in all directions, from every weapon on the ship, and as the largest New Republic target was receiving a lot of attention in return. Booster Terrik was driving straight at one enemy ship after another, trying to force them away from their course—a tactic fraught with hazard, but thus far he seemed to be doing well enough. Perhaps the Vong remembered the way Lusankya had rammed their worldship at Borleias.
Han found a pair of smuggler ships in the melee, and these had proton missile launchers. “Follow me,” he told them, “I’ll carve a path for you.”
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