by James Luceno
One by one, coated with slime and reeking of putrid organics, the
four of them squeezed into the freighter's port-side docking arm where Kenth, Harrar, C-3PO, and R2-D2 were waiting.
"Oh, my," the protocol droid said. "I'll activate the sonic showe at once."
R2-D2 rocked on his feet, whistling and tooting.
No sooner had Kenth dogged the hatch than Mara came ninnine through the forward compartment, calling over her shoulder to Tahiri and the Noghri that everyone was safely aboard.
"Where's Uncle Luke?" Jacen asked.
Mara grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into the aft cabin space, where Luke was laid out on one of the small sleeping platforms Han, Leia, and Jaina crowded in behind them.
Jacen kneeled by the bed and carefully removed the dressing Kenth had placed over the deep puncture wound in the left side of Luke's chest. Luke's face and hands were white. His lips and the beds of his fingernails were slightly blue. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow.
"Shimrra's amphistaff," Mara said anxiously.
Jacen looked up at her and nodded. "I saw him get stabbed."
Mara pressed her hands to her eyes and began to cry. Jacen took her tear-moistened hands in his and brought them to Luke's chest wound. He held them there for a long moment, removing his hands only once, to convey some of his own tears to Luke's wound.
Luke's chest heaved as he took a sharp inhalation, and his eyelids fluttered open. Sobbing openly, Mara laid her head on his chest, and slowly Luke's left hand rose to caress her red-gold hair.
"I'll live, my love," he said weakly.
Leia kneeled down to wrap her arms around her son and Mara and cry with them. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Han put his arm around Jaina's shoulders, then the two of them all but fell on top of Leia and Jacen.
C-3PO and R2-D2 appeared at the hatch in time to see the Skywalkers and Solos in a weeping tangle. The astromech made a fluting sound that was at once rejoicing and forlorn.
"I know, Artoo," C-3PO said quietly. "There are few occasions when I envy humans, but this is certainly one of them."
The Mew Order
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wo meters above the ground, the military speeder twisted through the ruins of the sacred precinct, closing on operational headquarters at the northern edge of what had been—only two years earlier—the Legislative District. Admiral Kre'fey perched on the back of the rear seat, his snow-white fur rippling in the wind and his short command cloak snapping behind him like a flag. To either side of him sat his Bothan aides. A human lieutenant had the repulsor-craft's controls, and beside him was a Twi'lek gunner, her hands on the trigger mechanism of a front-mounted repeating blaster. A torrential rain had just ended, and the winding paths the Yuuzhan Vong called streets were running with water. The speeder shot past columns of drenched infantry soldiers with mud caked like clay to their boots or bare legs. If nothing else, the rain had washed some of the cinder and yorik coral grit from the air.
Kre'fey had never evinced a great fondness for Coruscant, but it was only fitting that he tour the prize that had cost the Alliance so many lives. Estimates of battle casualties put the number of dead at close to five million, with twice that number of wounded. More than three hundred capital ships had been destroyed, along with some eleven thousand starfighters.
487
The death toll for the entire war was almost incalculable, though the figure most often quoted was 365 trillion.
Now that Sien Sow had designated Generals Farlander and Bel Iblis as occupation commanders, Kre'fey anticipated that he would b shuttling back to Ralroost before nightfall.
With the shattered Yuuzhan Vong armada still arrayed two million kilometers away, Alliance battle groups remained anchored above Coruscant. When it had finally come, the cease-fire had had less to do with loss of discipline or coordination among the enemy than something closer to loss of hope—to a palpable sense of desperation and gloom. In the aftermath of Shimrra's death, hundreds of vessels had self-destructed or hurled themselves against Alliance ships as living missiles. Other vessels had deserted, jumping to hyperspace for star systems yet unknown. With hundreds of functional dovin basals continuing to deploy shielding singularities, Alliance landing craft and shuttles were being forced to adhere to strict descent corridors. Even so, the sky above the sacred precinct was filled with relief and patrol ships, and more were coming down the well every hour.
Orphan Coruscanti of diverse species lined the boggy byways and stood dozens-deep at makeshift medical stations, supply depots, and identity verification centers. As Kre'fey's convoy of speeders made their way south from Westport, humanoids and aliens would turn to welcome "the liberator of Coruscant" with waves, cheers, and sloppy salutes.
Squads of commandos were on foot patrol in all quarters, performing structure-to-structure searches and controlling looting by Coruscanti and Yuuzhan Vong alike. Heretics who had joined the resistance were acting as interpreters and wranglers of creatures capable of ferreting out spies and imposters wearing ooglith masquers. Enemy weapons were heaped at each corner, awaiting cremation by aged AT-AT walkers and flamethrowers. YVH droids rolled and crawled like tunnel rats through warrens exposed by massive demolition and excavation machines. Elsewhere, teams of specialists were busy erecting temporary communications facilities to uplink with satellites already in orbit.
Galactic Alliance flags had been raised at what was left of the trun-
cated Citadel, on the yorik coral dome that capped the Well of the Vorld Brain, and atop other captured landmarks, but fierce fighting persisted in some districts that were without villip communication and had vet to learn of Shimrra's death. To complicate matters, the sacred precinct had been partitioned into more than a dozen occupation zones, each overseen by a different species. Everyone was working toward the common goal of pacification, but because of the vast amounts of technology that lay buried under the thick vegetation, some claim-staking was inevitable.
Tinged with sadness and misgiving, Kre'fey's gold-flecked eyes took everything in as the speeder rounded the mounds of debris and whiz/ed across the temporary bridges that spanned Coruscant's abysmal canyons.
This is the prize we're going to present to the Alliance members as a sign that life can now begin to return to normal?
The strangest sight he had seen—stranger than the groves of alien trees, the ngdins sopping spilled blood from the streets, the AT-ATs standing shoulder to shoulder with six-legged Yuuzhan Vong beasts— was Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon and six of his Imperial officers touring the area where the Imperial Palace had once stood. Onetime enemies, now unequivocal allies.
Thousands of prisoners were being held at what the Yuuzhan Vong had called the Place of Bones, but thousands more had escaped into the wilderness the planet had become. On the other side of Coruscant, entire battalions were dug in. The commanders of those units were said to have vowed that they would fight to the last, and Kre'fey saw no reason to doubt them.
Questions and concerns tormented him. What was to be done with the heretics and the Shamed Ones; the noncombatants and the children; the World Brain, the roving beasts, and the other biots? Several chief commanders were already advocating that Coruscant be defoliated entirely. Others wanted to preserve some of the planet's new look. And still others wished to see the former galactic capital transformed into a kind of memorial, joining the ranks of Ithor, Ba-rab I, New Plympto, and other worlds.
So despite the cheers and welcoming waves, Kre'fey didn't feel
like a liberator, much less a hero—at least not yet. The Bothan declaration of ar'krai—total war—meant just that, and his species wa going to expect him to take the lead in pushing for extermination of the Yuuzhan Vong. But the Alliance's chief commanders were hardly in accord on that matter. And now that a cease-fire seemed to be in effect, the politicians were eager to wrest control of the situation from the military. Kre'fey had long thought of Chief of State Cal Omas
as an honest and honorable human. But as well meaning as Omas was he didn't always see reason. It scarcely helped that his very influential Advisory Council included six Jedi, a Caamasi, and a Wookiee. With everyone weighing in, it could take months or even years to reach a consensus regarding a final solution to the long war . . .
The skimmer came to a rest in front of Alliance headquarters—an example of Old Republic-classic architecture that had been partly released from its mantle of vegetation by lasers and missies; trees were still rooted in the roof and vines dangled over the ornate columns and shattered window openings.
Kre'fey strode briskly past logistics officers and communications specialists, analysts and slicers, protocol and mouse droids. Ultimately his aides escorted him into a debris-filled room that was being readied for General Farlander. A holoprojector occupied the center of the cleared space, and in the blue cone emanating from the table stood half-sized holograms of Sien Sow and Cal Omas. For much of the battle for Coruscant, elected officials had been on the move, in and out of hyperspace. But for the past four days, Omas and the others had taken refuge on Contruum.
"Congratulations, Admiral Kre'fey," Omas said. "Thanks to you we have reclaimed our capital." "Such as it is," Kre'fey said.
Sow made a sound of agreement, then said: "Nevertheless, your efforts are appreciated by one and all. What is the situation there, Traest?' "We're on the verge of turning a hopeless situation into an impossible one."
"Any change in the disposition of the enemy vessels?"
"None."
"Any overtures by Nas Choka?"
Kre'fey forced an exhale. "Much of the fight has been bled from the spaceborne warriors, but we've received no word from Nas Choka. He recalled the dregs of his Muscave and Zonama Sekot flotillas, but has neither advanced on Coruscant nor withdrawn." "What do you suppose they're waiting for, Traest?" "They've never suffered a defeat—let alone had to deal with the sudden death of their Supreme Overlord. Normally there would have been a pool of candidates, one of whom would have been chosen by the priests and shapers to accede to the throne. The elite would have been guided by signs and portents, and any potential successor would have to have demonstrated certain abilities. But it's all moot, because Shimrra apparently saw to it that no one was standing in the royal wings. With Shimrra and High Prefect Drathul dead, Nas Choka is the highest-ranking elite. But in fact he wields no more real power than High Priest Jakan and Master Shaper Qelah Kwaad, both of whom we have in custody. A scramble for power had broken out among some of the lesser prefects and consuls, but it's unlikely that any of them will be officially recognized as an heir apparent. What's more, the heretics, along with many of the Shamed Ones, seem to be looking to us for rescue, protection, even redemption of some sort."
Sow took a moment to absorb Kre'fey's remarks. "Should Nas Choka break the cease-fire and advance, are our fleets in a position to
prevail?"
"Probably," Kre'fey said, "though at considerable cost." "Do you wish to press an attack?" Omas asked carefully. Kre'fey shook his head. "Not at this point. Until this morning we had no means of communicating with Nas Choka. But we've finally been able to persuade the Supreme Commander of the enemy home fleet to act as our liaison with the warmaster, commencing with villip
transmissions."
"Would a full surrender be too much to hope for, Admiral?"
Omas asked.
Kre'fey touched his face in a gesture of uncertainty. "As I say, sir, the Yuuzhan Vong have no protocols for surrender. They're expecting us to behave as they would under similar circumstances, by executing most of them and enslaving the rest."
Omas frowned. "All these years of fighting and they still don't understand us." He paused, then said, "Admiral, you face the daunting task of convincing your commanders that there is nothing to be gained by exterminating the Yuuzhan Vong."
Kre'fey compressed his lips. "Sir, after the barbarity the enemy has visited on us for five years, many local commanders won't be willing to put aside vengeance for compassion. But perhaps some will, and in time others may follow. By the same token, it may prove impossible to convince the Yuuzhan Vong on occupied worlds to capitulate without a fight. Word of Shimrra's death is being relayed by villip to planets throughout the invasion corridor. In several star systems the Yuuzhan Vong are already decamping. But we have our work cut out for us regardless."
"Zonama Sekot survived the battle?" Sow said. Kre'fey snorted. "I would say 'triumphed.' Though I failed to realize it at the time, the entire battle for Coruscant turned on that planet. If for whatever reason the Yuuzhan Vong hadn't been so intent on destroying it ... Well, let it suffice to say that we might not be having this conversation."
"We've heard rumors," Omas said, "that there was a second Supreme Overlord—a power behind the throne, as it were."
Kre'fey nodded. "I've heard those same rumors. But they have yet to be corroborated by anyone."
"There's also talk about a vessel contaminated with Alpha Red." "That happens to be fact, sir. The vessel was one that escaped from Caluula. The Yuuzhan Vong attempted but failed to deploy the bioweapon against Zonama Sekot. Allegedly it has been tractor-beamed into deep space. We have ships searching for it, if only to establish whether the toxin remains virulent." "Stay on that, Admiral," Omas said.
Kre'fey nodded again. "Sir, assuming a surrender is forthcoming, have you chosen someone to negotiate the terms?"
"Many are urging me to solicit the assistance of the Jedi." Kre'fey's face twisted. "Is that wise, sir, in light of Master Skywalker's statement at Contruum that he would consider giving Coruscant to the Yuuzhan Vong if he thought that would end the war?"
Omas laughed shortly. "I never took Skywalker's remark at face value. But we do need to reach a decision regarding Coruscant's importance in the scheme of things. Perhaps the fact that we reclaimed it will be sufficient to serve as a symbol of our unity."
"With all due respect, sir," Kre'fey said evenly, "we can't allow the Yuuzhan Vong to keep even a square kilometer of Coruscant. Even if vve can't reoccupy the planet for a hundred years, Coruscant is essential to the stability of the Alliance. No species will rest comfortably with the Yuuzhan Vong imprisoned at the center of our galaxy. Coruscant must be seen as a symbol that not only have we prevailed, but also that the threat has passed, and order has been restored."
"I concur, Admiral," Omas replied in the same even tone, "but we're going to have to do something with the Yuuzhan Vong— something more than disarm them and send them back into the inter-galactic void."
"I suspect that they would sooner fight to the death than return there," Kre'fey said. "In any event, we haven't ships enough to escort them from the galaxy."
"Some have suggested imprisoning them aboard their own ships,"
Sow said.
Kre'fey grimaced. "The warriors, perhaps. But do we also imprison every female, every child, every Shamed One? Wouldn't we be sentencing them to a lingering death rather than an expedient one?"
Omas heaved a sign. "Those I trust to safeguard our financial health may not warm to the idea of spending trillions of credits to imprison warriors who are beyond being rehabilitated."
Kre'fey turned slightly to face Omas's image. "Sir, will you consider establishing a war crimes commission?"
"Such a commission is under consideration, Admiral. But who would you have us bring to trial?"
"We could begin with Nas Choka."
Sow shook his head. "We're going to need him if we hope to subjugate the warrior caste. Try Nas Choka, and you will have that fight
to the death."
"I agree with Admiral Sow," Omas said. "Shimrra is dead, as are Tsavong Lah, Nom Anor, most of the Peace Brigade . . . More to the
point, how do we separate the 'war criminals' from the o
zealots? Should we attempt to root out those commanders responsibl for attacking refugee ships, or perhaps those who were directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions of hostages at Corusc
ant? They're all guilty—the entire species. We may as well start with their gods if we're going to initiate criminal proceedings."
Kre'fey allowed the silence to linger for some time, then said, "Sir we still have Alpha Red."
Omas nodded solemnly. "I respect your courage in being the first to broach the subject, Admiral. But Alpha Red is no longer an option Use of the bioweapon isn't a decision one person, three, or even a hundred can make. I promise, however, to discuss all other matters with the members of my Advisory Council."
Kre'fey swallowed hard. "May some wisdom accrue from it."
If jubilant celebrations were taking place on many worlds, stars were the only lights in Zonama Sekot's night sky, and by day only the remote disk that was the Coruscant system's primary.
"It's getting colder," Luke said, as he and Harrar followed Jacen through the boras. "Most of the energy Sekot dedicated to keeping the planet warm was diverted to the mountaintop defenses. Zonama can't remain in this orbit for much longer—not without risk to the forests."
"Perhaps that's what Sekot wishes to discuss," Harrar said. "Inserting Zonama into a more nourishing orbit."
Jacen glanced over his shoulder at the priest. "We'll know soon enough. The reflecting pool isn't much farther."
Jacen had mentioned the pool several times, though Luke had never been there and was eager to see it. The suggestion to assemble at the pool had been Sekot's, relayed through Magister Jabitha, who had visited Luke in his and Mara's cliffside dwelling.
Luke felt as if he had done little more than sleep since arriving on Zonama Sekot a week earlier in the Millennium Falcon. While Jacen had been successful at neutralizing most of the venom delivered by Shimrra's amphistaff, Luke knew that he was not yet completely healed, and might never be. His body was gaining strength daily, and
