by Greg Keyes
clearly expected him to make a hard, straight push for the interdictor.
Instead, he was plowing around the flank farthest from the huge dovin basal
vessel, shredding it pretty effectively. They'd finally analyzed his plan and
were bringing around the largest ship in the cento; but they were slow, and
he'd already managed to take out three of their capital ships without losing
any of his own, though the Ranger was in pretty bad shape.
The starboard flank was theirs, now. He had the ships form a line and
began laying down a corridor of fire that opened a lane to the approaching
Dreadnaught, a monstrous kilometer-long cone of bone-white yorik coral. Maybe
a hundred coralskippers flared out in the first few furious seconds, and
Alliance starfighters rushed in to fill the gap, pouring toward the hulking
Yuuzhan Vong vessels.
"Come and get us," Wedge said. "Come on, be the Vong I know and love."
Because now what remained of the Yuuzhan Vong flotilla I was at a
pronounced disadvantage. To continue the fight, they would have to fly
straight into the combined firepower of six Alliance capital vessels.
Which, predictably, they began to do.
This was where the heavy slugging would begin.
"Sir, we report some activity from the Golan Two. It opened fire on the
skips pursuing Twin Suns."
"Really?" That was good news. He hadn't really expected the battle
platform to be functional after all this time. How had Jaina commandeered it
so quickly?
"Yes, sir."
"See if you can raise Colonel Solo."
The Dreadnaughts were closing, and beginning to fire at extreme range.
Wedge could already see them taking hits from the starfighters.
"Target dovin basals until they're in deep range," he said.
"Lasers only, at your pleasure."
The Mothma and its sisters commenced firing.
"Sir?" Cel sounded distressed.
"Yes?" he asked mildly.
"We can't raise Colonel Solo. And there's something else."
"Well?"
"The Golan Two has disappeared."
"Disappeared? Destroyed?"
"It's hard to say at this range, sir, with this much interfer-ence, but
there's no obvious sign of explosion or debris. It's more like it just dropped
out of existence." Gone, then here, then gone...
"Thrawn," he murmured. "Did you leave us a present?"
"Sir?"
"It's cloaked, Lieutenant. Keep an eye on that sector, and let me know
the instant anyone hears anything from Colonel Solo."
He turned his attention back to the immediate battle. The Golan was still
very much a wild card-he would have to work with what he had.
The lead Dreadnaught was taking terrific damage, but it must have been
mostly hull in the forward sections, because it was still coming. Wedge paced
up to the viewport.
"Die, you ugly brute," he muttered. But on it came, aimed at Spritespray,
a medium cruiser.
At this point, even if they managed to kill the dovin basal drive the
ship would keep coming with enough momentum to wreck the cruiser and open a
hole in his line. If the Dreadnaught retained any firepower, it would then be
behind his line, forcing him to a two-front battle.
"Spritespray, let her through. Vortex Wind, Justice-at-cute rumble."
The three ships acknowledged. Wedge watched the Dread-naught roar past,
with far too much momentum to stop as Spritespray scooted aside and the Vortex
Wind and Justice rolled above and below the gap. As the Dreadnaught went
through the hole, they let the ship have it from both sides. The Dreadnaught
passed through the line with no drive and massive damage in all areas. Without
power it con-tinued on its last vector, out toward the system's rim. Other
ships were making for the gap, though. Wedge shifted his line to break and
form on either side of the already damaged vessels.
"Sir!"
From Gel's frantic tone, he knew it would be bad. Ships were decanting
near the interdictor-Yuuzhan Vong ships. A thin chill lifted the hair of his
neck.
"They've figured out we weren't a feint," Wedge said.
"They're back."
That meant he had a whole new battle on his hands.
THIRTY-DIXIE
The door opened, and Nom Anor stepped out, smiling, his hands extended
with open palms.
"Stop right there," Tahiri commanded.
"If I don't, will you cut me down?" Nom Anor asked. "I have no weapons."
"You wouldn't use them if you had them," Tahiri snapped.
"Coward. You wouldn't fight Anakin at Yag'Dhul."
Nom Anor shrugged. "True enough. How is the young Solo brat? No-didn't I
hear he died? Yes, that's right, he did. And you two were close, were you not?
What a pity."
"Shut up," Tahiri said. The hatred was welling up in her, urging her to
do exactly as he had suggested, cut him down and slash that murderous smug
leer from his face.
"You're angry," Nom Anor said. "I thought you Jedi weren't supposed to
get angry."
"I make an exception for you," Tahiri said.
"How flattering," the executor purred. "You would turn to the dark side
just for me?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Tahiri said.
"Wrong," Nom Anor replied, taking a step out of the turbolift. " I have
studied your ways, Jedi. I know that if you strike me down in anger you will
have committed the most terrible sin your kind can commit."
"You won't care about that," Tahiri said. "You'll be dead."
"Will I?" He took another step.
"Stop,"
Tahiri commanded.
"Very well. I will do as you ask." He stopped, less than a meter away,
staring at her. She felt her hands shaking-not with fear, but with the effort
to control her passions.
"Kill him," Harrar said.
"He's not armed," Tahiri said. "I won't murder him."
"No!" Harrar said, leaping forward.
It distracted Tahiri for an instant and she looked away, noticing even as
she did that one of Anor's pupils was growing...
Memory clicked-something Leia had said about that eye. She leapt aside as
the glob of venom spurted toward her, but she hadn't taken the guardrail into
account. She hit it with her hip and agonizing pain jolted up her side. She
tried to turn and managed to just in time to see Nom Anor side-step the priest
and kick viciously at her. The kick connected, flipping her back. She dropped
her lightsaber, grabbing wildly for the railing.
She missed and then she was falling.
Part of Nom Anor was amazed it had been so easy to deal with Tahiri. He
turned on Harrar, and found the priest coming for him again, a snarl on his
face.
Nom Anor hit him with a q'urh kick, then spun and snapped his fist
against the back of the priest's head. Harrar faded with the blow, however,
dropping and sweeping. He caught one of Nom Anor's feet, putting him off
balance long enough to launch a powerful thrusting punch.
More by luck than from any design on Nom Anor's part, the punch missed.
Nom Anor brought his fist up under Harrar's jaw with such force that the
priest left the ground. Bits of shattered teeth sprinkled the floor as
Harrar
thudded to it, slid up to the wall, and lay still.
Nom Anor took quick stock of his situation and saw that his day was
getting even better. The Jedi had dropped her weapon. Quickly he picked it up.
He had experimented with them before, and so found it easy to ignite. Then,
re-membering Horn, he severed the power conduits to the lifts, starting with
the one in motion. He heard it drag to a stop someplace not far below.
Knowing that this might not be good enough-for all he knew Horn might cut
hole in the wall and fly up-he left the building and struck off through the
driving sheets of rain toward a high, flat spot he'd picked out some time be-
fore, shoving the now quiescent weapon under his sash. Tahiri nailed in space,
reaching desperately to grab something, anything, but nothing was in reach.
From the corner of her vision she caught sight of the cable Corran had slid
down, less than a meter away-which was still half a meter too far.
The Force, idiot, she thought. She reached out, tugging at the cable with
the Force, changing her vector so she angled toward it.
She wrapped her bare palms around it, gasping as her hands burned. Her
fingers tried to open reflexively, but she couldn't let them, or she would
fall. Nom Anor would escape, Sekot would die-and she would let Corran down. If
the older Jedi was still alive.
She embraced the pain and focused beyond it, using the Force to further
slow her descent. Finally, every muscle in her body shrieking in chorus with
her palms, she came to a stop.
She looked up, and discovered she had fallen almost a hundred meters.
The anger was back, but now she needed it-not to fight, but to wrap her
legs around the cable and pull herself up, though every centimeter gained
brought a world of agony. She felt blisters rupturing on her hands.
At least it makes them stickier, she reflected. Her hands conformed to
the cable now, as if they were made of tal gum. Nom Anor went carefully up the
narrow path, choosing his steps in the freeze-frame moments that the lightning
created as it limned the world white and blue, then left it again in darkness.
The rain was a steady drum, and the wind gusted like the laughter of an insane
god. His route was a broken spine of stone with yawning pits of darkness on
either side. He came to particularly narrow footing and stopped for a moment,
realizing that he was actually afraid. It was as if the planet itself was
trying to do what the Jedi had been unable to.
As perhaps it was. If Nen Yim was correct, and the planet was sentient,
perhaps it had witnessed his act of sabotage. Perhaps it sought revenge.
"Do your worst," he snarled into the wind. "I am Nom Anor. Know my name,
for I have killed you."
As he said it, he finally knew with absolute conviction that he had done
the right thing. Zonama Sekot was like a tonqu flower-attracting insects with
its sweet scent, tempt-ing them to alight upon it-where they found themselves
cloyed, watching the long petal roll up. Part living, part ma-chine, and
somehow part Jedi, it was an abomination - more so than Coruscant, more so
than anything in the galaxy of abominations.
Quoreal had been right. They should never have come here. But Nom Anor
had set that to rights.
He crossed the narrow area, stepped over a gap in the next lightning
flash, and saw that the way widened a bit ahead.
But from the corner of his eye...
Someone crashed into him, chopping viciously at the side of his neck. The
force of the blow knocked him sprawling, and his chin grated against stone.
With a roar he kicked back and rolled. A foot caught him under his savaged
chin, but he managed to catch it and twist. His attacker fell heavily. Nom
Anor scrambled back, trying to regain his footing, but found himself teetering
on the edge of a cliff. Lighting ripped the sky, and he saw a silhouette
rising against it. Another flash came, this one behind him, and he made out
Harrar's face, terrifying, as if the very gods had put their light of
vengeance in him.
"Nom Anor," the priest shouted through the rain. "Pre-pare to die,
perfidious one."
"This planet has driven you mad, Harrar," Nom Anor snapped. " You side
with Jedi against me?"
"I side with Zonama Sekot," Harrar said. "And you-you are accursed by
Shimrra, you honorless qorih. I would have killed you anyway."
"Zonama Sekot is a lie, you fool-a tale I told my fol-lowers so that they
would obey me."
"You know nothing," Harrar said. "You know less than nothing. Do you
think you know the secrets of the priest-hood? Do you think we share all we
know? It is Shimrra who has lied to us. Zonama Sekot is the truth. If you
would be of service to your people, you will tell me what you have done."
Nom Anor felt the lightsaber in his hand. Harrar was ad-vancing, and a
single kick would be enough to send Nom Anor plunging to his death. He dared
not use the plaeryin bol-even if it still contained poison, the rain would at
best deflect it, at worst wash in onto him. The Jedi weapon was his only
chance.
"Telling you will do no good," he sneered at Harrar.
"Nothing can reverse the damage now."
"I believe you," Harrar said, his face twisting as he took a quick step
toward Nom Anor.
Nom Anor pressed the stud on the lightsaber and the cut-ting beam blazed
out, hissing and trailing steam in the downpour. It felt strange, a weapon
with no weight other than its grip. He cut at the priest's knee, but his
position and the unfamiliar blade made the cut awkward. At the appear-ance of
the blade, however, Harrar tried to stop his forward motion and jerked his leg
away from the attack; he slipped on the wet rocks and stumbled, falling past
Nom Anor and over the cliff.
His howl of rage and frustration was quickly cut short. Panting, Nom Anor
rose, extinguished the lightsaber, and continued on his way. The gods were
with him again, it seemed. Certainly they were no longer with Harrar.
When the turbolift jarred to a halt, Corran ignited his light-saber and
cut through the roof of the car, stepping aside as the circle of metal clanged
to the floor. After waiting a few seconds for the plating to cool, he leapt up
and caught the edge of the hole, then drew himself up into the shaft. In the
dim emergency lighting, he could see the door some ten meters above. The lift
was magnetic, so the walls were glassy smooth, and the power cables were
buried in them. There were no rungs and nothing to give purchase. He could cut
handholds for himself and climb, but that would take a long time.
He dropped back down into the car and examined the control panel. He
didn't know the language. The up and down icons were obvious, but the others
would take a little figuring out.
Nom Anor must have cut the power from above somehow, but the car hadn't
fallen-presumably there was an emergency battery system to prevent that
happening. But would the emergency system be able to finish the ascent, or was
it doing its best just to keep him from falling?
He pushed a red button with two vertical lines and a
triangle, with no
result. He tried a few of the others, again with no result. Frustrated, he
tapped the up key.
The car started moving, though much more slowly than before. He felt like
pounding his head against the wall the emergency system was separate from the
normal one-he needed only to tell the car where he wanted to go.
A few minutes later, he emerged from the lift, ready to fight-but there
was no one to fight. The room was empty. There were light spatters of black
blood on the floor, but other than that, no clues as to exactly what had
happened. He was about to go outside when he heard a faint noise behind him,
in the maintenance shaft. Peering over, he saw Tahiri pulling herself up the
superconductor cable, about twenty meters below.
"Are you okay?" he shouted.
"I'm fine," she called back up, her voice shaking. She seemed to be
having trouble climbing. "Nom Anor got away," she added. "You have to stop
him-I'll join you when I can."
"And leave you dangling? No. I don't think so. You just hang on there."
He went back to the lifts. Someone had indeed cut through the power
couplings-with a lightsaber, it appeared. He reached cautiously inside and
grabbed a rope-sized fiber-optic conduit and began to pull it out. When he
thought he had enough, he cut it with his weapon and then tied a loop in the
end.
Tahiri hadn't made much progress in the intervening time. He threw the
loop end down to her.,
"Put your foot in that," he said, "and hang on with your hands. I'll pull
you up."
She nodded wearily and did as instructed. Bracing his end of the rope
over the safety rail, Corran hauled her up. When she had pulled herself over
the rail, he saw her hands.
"Let me see those," he said.
"They're all right," she protested.
"Let me see them."
They were badly friction-burned, but it looked as if her tendons were
undamaged, which was good. The scar on her old amphistaff wound had torn a bit
and was leaking blood, but not too much.
"Well, at least you got to slide down the cable," he said.
"Was it as fun as you imagined it would be?"
"That and loads more," Tahiri said.
"What happened here?"
"I let my guard down," she said. "Nom Anor has some-thing in one of his
eyes that shoots poison."
"Did he hit you with it?"
"No. But when I dodged, I hit the rail, and then he knocked me over it."
