The Final Prophecy: Edge of Victory III

by Greg Keyes

  She rolled to port and came around. Two skips were following close on Three. She dropped in behind one and started firing, meanwhile jinking to confuse her own pursuer. She hit one of her targets with a torp and flew straight into the expanding mass of plasma and coral. When she couldn’t see anything, she pulled on the stick, arcing up and back—

  And dropped in behind her tail. Grimly she got him in her sights. She slipped a few shots through his void defenses, but apparently none hit anything important, because he continued on after Jag and his wingmates, firing constantly.

  She had picked up two more on her tail, and her wingmates were busy elsewhere. The X-wing rocked as its shields took a heavy hit, and for a moment she lost the skip in her sights. Cappie squealed.

  The skip was going to catch Jag before he jumped.

  She fired her last torpedo and escorted it in with stutter-fire. A void appeared and the torp exploded before being sucked in, as it was programmed to do. Her laserfire riddled the skip, which erupted into an expanding ring of ions.

  Two more were coming up from the side. She wasn’t going to be able to hold them all back.

  Then Jag and his wing were gone.

  Take care, Jag, she thought.

  She cut hard starboard and under horizon, now more concerned about the skips behind her than any in front. She nearly ran into one she hadn’t seen. He was right in her sights, and she let him have it. The skip didn’t explode, but it rolled off, obviously injured.

  “I’ve got you, Twin Leader,” Eight said.

  Two explosions behind her, and she was suddenly clear again. The odds were starting to even.

  “Form up,” she said. “We have to stay together, or they’ll pick us off.” Nine, in particular, was a long way from the fight. “Nine, that means you, too.”

  “Sorry, Colonel. Can’t do anything about it. I’ve lost an engine and my stabilizers are shot.”

  “Hang on, then, we’re coming for you.”

  But it was only a few seconds later when his X-wing flashed out, struck by fire from three coralskippers.

  She watched, feeling hollow and numb. Then she shook it off—they were even more outnumbered now than before, and she realized Wedge had been right. She saw on the longrange scanners that even more skips were coming her way, these slingshoting around the interdictor.

  We’ll be lucky if any of us survives.

  She no longer felt so bad about leaving the main battle.

  She could see the Golan now. It was still a long way away, near the edge of Bilbringi’s wide asteroid belt.

  “Let’s take ’em through the rocks, people.”

  Moments later, they were dodging asteroids from the size of pebbles to genuine monsters. They forged in deep, and slingshotted skips changed course to follow. Most had the common sense to slow down when they saw where they were going. A few didn’t, and Jaina had the satisfaction of seeing them pulverized against oversized rocks. Strangely, Jaina began to relax—this was what Twin Suns did best, fighter-to-fighter combat in dodgy circumstances. The yammosks handling the big fight had clearly cut these fellows loose to battle on their own. Bad for them.

  Another advantage was that X-wing shields repelled the small asteroids. Yuuzhan Vong voids actually attracted them. It wasn’t a huge problem for the Yuuzhan Vong, because any space rock small enough to be attracted by the pinpoint singularities could also be eaten, but if they hit a big one, the singularities sometimes stuck them to it. So the Twins flew tight, dodging in and out, letting the skips eliminate themselves.

  Jaina’s optimism grew stronger, but she knew the victory was more illusion than anything else. They still had to reach the Golan station and bring it on-line—if they could outrun the twenty skips still after them, which didn’t seem likely, even with them slowing down to get through the asteroids. If they really pushed it, they might get there with a few seconds to spare, which wouldn’t give them time to do much of anything with the station, assuming the antique still worked. It was nowhere near the shipyard, so it probably hadn’t been used since the days of the Empire. The guns and everything else useful had likely been scavenged while she was still in diapers.

  She clicked her comm. “Okay, Twins, here’s what we’re going to do. Our primary objectives were to see if the station is operational and to bring it on-line if it was. I don’t think General Antilles figured on half the fleet following us out here, though. We’re going to get there a few seconds ahead of them. The rest of you will cover me while I enter the docking bay, then you’re going to punch to the outer system.”

  “Are you saying we’re supposed to leave you, Sticks?”

  “With any luck, they won’t see me drop in. They’ll think I jumped with the rest of you.”

  “With all due respect, Colonel, that’s crazy,” Two said.

  “General Antilles needs to know the status of this station, and he needs to know soon. If any of you can think of a better plan, tell me now.”

  “Same plan, but one of us stays behind,” Three said. “It doesn’t make sense it being you, Colonel.”

  It makes plenty of sense, Jaina thought. I won’t send any of you on what’s probably a suicide mission.

  She didn’t say that, though.

  “It’s the way it’s happening,” Jaina said. “The last thing I need right now is an argument.”

  “Yes, Colonel. Understood.”

  She had it about right—the skips were just catching up when they reached the station. The others fell into combat formations. She pretended to, and even squeezed off a couple of shots before making her run for the docking bay. She’d picked up a couple of friends by then, however. Three was right behind them, but there were four skips on her. Jaina’s heart sank. It wasn’t going to work. Even if she made the docking bay, they were going to notice.

  She was grimly reaching to turn when her cockpit strobed in a flash of green light, and another.

  In her headpiece, Twins Eight and Nine were cheering.

  Jaina made her turn and saw why. Gigantic beams of coherent light were pumping from the station’s turrets, slagging skips as if they were practice targets.

  Better yet, she saw the sudden blue sheen of shields.

  “Colonel,” Three said, “it’s just a hunch, but I’d say you can tell General Antilles the station is operational.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  In the night, Nom Anor felt the villip move against his chest, signaling an incoming communication. He lay quietly, wondering if he could leave the rock shelter unobserved. The Jedi slept lightly, and so did Harrar—besides, despite the fact that they hadn’t seen any animals more dangerous than a dhillith, the older Jedi insisted on keeping watches, and Tahiri was on watch at the moment. His own shift would begin in a few hours—why couldn’t the signal have come then?

  Cursing silently, he lay there until the villip ceased quivering, but did not sleep again. Shimrra did not like to be ignored or delayed, and excuses rarely got one far with the Supreme Overlord. He felt his last, best chance at reconciliation slipping from him.

  If he could kill Tahiri without waking the others …

  Yes, and if a wish was a dha’eh, the maw luur would all be choked.

  So he stayed there, trying to keep his muscles from twitching.

  When at last his watch arrived and he took Tahiri’s place on the outjut above the cave, he still dared not reply to the other end of the connection until enough time had passed that he could be relatively certain she was asleep.

  Finally, more than an hour after he took the post, he climbed a little higher up the hill to be sure he was out of earshot of anyone who might be awake, and once again unsealed the bag and stroked the creature to life.

  For long moments, nothing happened, but then a face appeared, a hideous, distorted face.

  With a faint shock he realized it was Shimrra’s jester, Onimi.

  “Nom Anor,” the jester burbled. “Nom Anor, Nom Anor, your reputation we deplore, the bumbling failed executor—”
r />   “I must speak with Shimrra,” Nom Anor whispered fiercely. “Quickly, before our enemies discover us.”

  “Our enemies?” Onimi burbled. “What fortress will we ever stand in together, ever, whether, sever again?”

  “Tell him it concerns Zonama Sekot. Tell him—” The face suddenly melted, and a new, infinitely more terrifying one took its place. Nom Anor shivered, and for an instant he wanted to crush the villip, throw it in a deep pool, and return to his role as Prophet.

  He thought about his disciples, his diseased, pathetic, gullible—

  “Nom Anor,” the villip growled, unable to actually convey the profound, bone-shivering bass of Shimrra’s voice but suggesting it well enough. “Most unworthy and perverse of my servants. What could you possibly want?”

  “Only to serve you, Lord.”

  “You would have served me best to have given yourself over to sacrifice after the disaster you caused on Ebaq Nine.”

  “I could not, Great Lord,” he said. “I was captured, captured by the Jeedai. I have been their captive since that time.”

  “Indeed. It was very considerate of them to allow you the use of a villip.”

  “I secreted it upon my person. It went undiscovered.”

  “Then why did you not use it earlier?” the Supreme Overlord rumbled.

  “I was observed, always observed. But I have won their confidence now.”

  “Enough,” Shimrra snapped. “You mention Zonama Sekot. That world has been destroyed.”

  “It has not, Dread Lord. I am upon it, along with the shaper Nen Yim and the priest Harrar. They have allied with the Jeedai, Lord Shimrra. Against you. Against us.”

  “Harrar? You would have me take your word that Harrar is a traitor?”

  “Summon him, my lord. You will find him absent from Yuuzhan’tar, and indeed from Yuuzhan Vong space. As is Nen Yim.”

  For an interminable period, Shimrra said nothing.

  “Go on,” he finally said.

  “With me are also two Jeedai—Corran Horn, who slew Shedao Shai, and Tahiri, the one-who-was-shaped.” He took a deep breath. “Lord, Luke Skywalker is also here, the chief of them all, and Mara Jade Skywalker.”

  “On Zonama Sekot.” The Supreme Overlord’s tone carried an almost unimaginable tinge of fear.

  It almost stopped Nom Anor from going on. But he tightened his resolve and plunged ahead. “Yes, Dread Lord. They have come to persuade the planet to join them against us.”

  “So. So.” Shimrra’s voice rumbled away. It returned a moment later. “You know how to reach this planet?”

  “My villip can be made to serve as a tracer. You may use Phaa Anor’s villip to find me. A shaper can make the necessary modifications.”

  “Lead me to Zonama Sekot, Nom Anor, and you will find the gods smile on you again. I will smile on you again.”

  “That is my only wish, Dread Lord. To serve you as I once did.”

  “I should hope you will serve me better.” Shimrra paused. “Based on our past experiences, it will require overwhelming force to destroy this cursed planet. Much of our fleet is presently engaged. Indeed, I consider it possible, Nom Anor, that you may yet be a traitor trying to lure my fleet there so the infidels can take Yuuzhan’tar.”

  “No fleet is necessary, Dread Lord. There is an Imperial frigate above this planet, and doubtless Skywalker has a ship. Send one ship to deal with them, and a landing craft to find me. That is all that is required.”

  “Fool,” Shimrra grunted. “The problem is not with infidel ships, but with the planet itself.”

  “The planet will not present a problem, Lord Shimrra. I have the means to sabotage it. By the time your ships arrive here, it shall be occupied with its own death.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Jaina’s comm registered a hail, not on the battle frequencies. She switched over.

  “There you are,” a voice on the other end said.

  “Yes,” Jaina replied. “Thanks for the assist just now. But if you don’t mind my asking, who in the galaxy is this?”

  “My name is Erli Prann,” he replied. “I’m in charge of this battle station.”

  “You realize you’re in Yuuzhan Vong–held space, and have been for a long time.”

  “Yes. It’s a long story. What’s going on out there?”

  “Just what it looks like. We’re retaking Bilbringi. But things haven’t gone exactly according to plan, and the general sent me out to see if this station is still operational. Looks like it is.”

  “It’s in pretty good shape,” Prann said proudly. “We’d be glad to be of any assistance we can. If you want to come aboard, I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

  “That’s great,” Jaina said. “Just assign me a berth.”

  “What about the rest of your pilots?”

  “There are still Vong out there. I expect they’ll be headed this way after that display you just put on. I think I’ll keep them out there to help with the defense.”

  “Copy,” Prann said. “Come on in. Berth Seven—you’ll see the beacon.”

  Jaina slipped her X-wing into the docking bay without a mishap. She waited as the doors closed and the area outside was pressurized, then unsealed her cockpit and stepped out onto the deck. The bay was massive, but her ship was the only one she saw. It looked a little lonely in all that space. On the far end she noticed a lot of carbon scoring on the walls, as if there had been an explosion of fire.

  “Welcome aboard!”

  Jaina looked over to see her reception committee—two humans and a Rodian, all wearing the uniform of the old Bilbringi defense force—dark blue slacks and military-style blue jackets over gold-colored shirts.

  The male human, a fellow she guessed to be about as old as her father, with hair that might have once been red but had faded to auburn and silver, came forward with his hand out.

  “I’m Lieutenant Prann,” he said as he shook her hand. “We spoke a moment ago. These are my associates, Zam Ghanol and Hiksri Jith.”

  Ghanol was the other human, an older wiry woman with gray hair and a crooked nose. Jith was the Rodian. Both shook her hand.

  Prann flashed her a big smile. “I really can’t say how glad we are to see you—” He glanced at her insignia. “—Colonel? …”

  “Solo,” she replied.

  “Solo? Not the one from the holos? Jaina Solo?”

  “ ’Fraid so,” she replied. “And I hate to be rude, but could we cut straight to the situation? I need to assess this station and report to General Antilles as soon as possible.”

  “Of course,” Prann said. “It’s just such a surprise and such an honor. If you’ll follow me, please?”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Lieutenant Prann, what in blazes are you people doing here?”

  He uttered a short chuckle. “I suppose that does require a little explanation, doesn’t it? We were part of a crew sent out here to overhaul the station.” He paused as the turbolift came and they stepped into it. “You might have noticed it’s way out here.”

  “Yes,” Jaina said. “I was wondering about that.”

  “In fact, we didn’t know it was here for years. It was cloaked, you see.”

  “Cloaked?”

  “Yep. The theory is that Grand Admiral Thrawn cloaked it for some reason, back when he cloaked all of those asteroids to blockade Coruscant. It showed up missing in the later inventory, but nobody could find it. When a Yuuzhan Vong invasion looked imminent, however, we wanted every advantage we could get, of course. One of the brass guessed it might be cloaked and sent us out here with an old crystal grav-trap to find it. As you can see, we did, but—our bad luck—the invasion started while we were out here. We had taken the cloak down, but didn’t have the shields working. A flight of skips came out here and pretty much fried our transport—you may have noticed the damage to the docking bay.”

  Jaina nodded. The lift opened, and Prann gestured for her to step out into the fire control area, where several other sentients waited
—two more humans, a Twi’lek, a Barabel, and a Toydarian. Over banks of controls, through a broad viewport, she could see the distant battle as a series of tiny winking lights. The seeming smallness of it didn’t fool her—a lot of people were dying back there. It made her itchy to be so far away.

  “Anyway,” Prann went on, “we managed to get one of the turbolasers on-line and the shields up. We gunned down the skips and put the cloak back on—it was the only thing we could think of to do. There was a whole fleet out there. The Vong apparently thought we’d gone to hyperspace—seems they don’t know Golans don’t usually come equipped for that.”

  “But that was more than a year ago,” Jaina said.

  “You’re telling me. We’ve just been waiting, tinkering with the station. Everything works fine, by now, at least those things we had the parts to fix. This thing has a terrific power core—had to, to run the shield for so long. We floated a small probe out on an insulated cable so we could see what was going on, which as you’ve probably guessed wasn’t much that was helpful to our situation—just the Vong setting up shop.”

  His grin broadened. “This morning, though, we swept and saw your fleet. We dropped the field, hoping you would spot us. We’ve got limited sublight communications, but no hyperwave or HoloNet.” He grinned again. “And here you are.”

  It was about then that Jaina understood something was wrong. The feeling in the Force that she took as relief at the end of a long, dangerous isolation was there, but seething beneath it was something hungry.

  She was reaching for her lightsaber when something hit her, hard. Her hand, midway to her weapon, suddenly refused to obey her commands, and the room spun dizzily. She tried to focus and use the Force, but the dizziness got worse, and she was vaguely aware that her legs weren’t holding her up anymore. She didn’t feel the deck when she hit it, but she had a strange view of boots and legs moving her way. She heard faraway sounds that resembled thunder, but which she understood to be speech. Then—

  Then she woke, strapped down to a table with some sort of webbing, her head pounding, and everything still doing a slow spin.