Ceikeh Alari had seen a number of people die in his lifetime—in part because of his previous profession. Before acquiring enough fame that he was inducted into Iridonian politics, he had worked the Outer Rim as a mercenary, a gun-for-hire. He and his wife, Arraya, had flown an old YT-1300, the Tansarii Dream, from planet to planet to ply their trade.

He had killed a number of people in the heat of battle, most often Imperial soldiers. Occasionally he had participated in gang warfare between Hutt criminal syndicates and pirate bands. In many of those same battles, his allies had also suffered losses. Often there were not “right” or “wrong” sides in the battles, and casualties on either side didn’t bother him; he grew numb after a time, hardened to the emotional shock of watching allies die.

A decade of politics had made him soft again.

Halyn Sanshir lay on a medical table. Were it not for the monitors showing his very slow heartbeats—perhaps once every ten seconds—and the extremely shallow respirations that didn’t seem to move his chest, he would have believed his old friend dead.  Looking at his old friend in such a state hurt, and hurt in a way he hadn’t thought he would ever feel again.

He was heartened to see that Kelta Rose, the Jedi Knight sent by Skywalker, was back on her feet, though she was still pale and her hands shook when she released her grip on the edge of the medical bed where Halyn now rested.

The big Wookiee was kneeling on the other side of the fallen Zabrak—even on his knees, he was tall enough to stretch out his big furry paws to rest on Halyn’s chest. Anishor’s eyes were closed, and Ceikeh could swear that light was emanating from his hands, though it was hard to see through the fur.

See something new every day, Ceikeh thought. And this war has brought on a lot of new things.

<I pour my strength into him, but he does not respond,> the Wookiee growled in frustration. <I touch him through the Force, but there is almost nothing left. He is fading quickly.>

“Let him go,” Kativie said hoarsely from another medical bed, where she sat with her hands folded in her lap. “There’s nothing you can do to save him.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Kryi Rinnet asked. “Why did he collapse?”

Kativie was silent for long moments. She isn’t denying knowing, Ceikeh realized. Which means she knows.

<Kat,> Anishor said, rising to his feet with slow weariness, <what has happened to him?>

“He’s dying,” she whispered. “He’s dying, and I can’t save him. I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying so damned hard, but nothing I did made any difference.”

“What do you mean?” Ceikeh asked. “You’re not a doctor.”

Kativie laughed, a slow and bitter sound that equaled any Ceikeh had heard before. “No, I’m not. I’m a Jedi.”

<What has happened to him?> Anishor repeated.

“We don’t know exactly when or how,” Kativie said slowly. “Some time around the Yuuzhan Vong’s initial invasion, he was infected with something. It’s been slowly eating at his nervous system, and we knew eventually it would reach his brain’s critical functions. Once those shut down, he’d die, and there was nothing we could do.”

“Why didn’t you take him to a doctor?” Li Coden asked. “I mean, you knew he was sick.”

“We did go to see doctors,” Kativie ground out. “We saw every top physician I could get him in to see. I pulled every string I could as a Jedi, got him in to see top neurologists, top xenobiologists, anyone who we thought might have some insight into whatever has been killing him. I even managed to get Master Cilghal to examine him once, and there’s no better Jedi healer than her.”

“And?” Li prompted.

“And nothing. They could see the damage, and with repeat visits they could see the progress of the disease. But they couldn’t ever find it, couldn’t reverse the damage.” Tears flowed down Kativie’s cheeks. “I could sense the hurt in the Force, but I couldn’t find the disease itself. Neither could Master Cilghal. It’s the reason we thought it was something from the Yuuzhan Vong—anything else I should be able to sense.”

<How does the disease hurt him?> Anishor asked. <If I know, perhaps I can find a way to help him fight it.>

“It’s attacked his nervous system, over and over. But only specific parts.” Kativie took a moment to compose herself. “He lost his ability to feel pain about a year ago. Well, not just pain. He lost his ability to feel tiredness, pain, anything. He started struggling to sleep, and it nearly killed him then—he pushed himself way past the limits of his body, and he almost died then. Since then I’ve tried to keep him in check so he doesn’t do it again, but he kept throwing himself into the battle.”

“That’s why he never seemed to notice,” Ceikeh reasoned. “He would take cuts, mostly shallow wounds, and he wouldn’t notice until someone else started binding the wounds up.”

Kativie nodded, her eyes red. “Yes, exactly.” She looked down. “I couldn’t save him,” she whispered. “No matter what I did.”

A red-and-grey R2 astromech whistled from the doorway. Ceikeh turned to look and frowned. “What is that beat-up old droid doing here?” he asked.

“That’s Deuce,” Kativie said, looking over at the R2. “Halyn’s old astromech droid.” She tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes. “He probably wants to say goodbye, too.”

“No,” Kelta Rose said hoarsely, speaking for the first time since Halyn’s collapse on the Cathleen’s bridge. “He has messages for us.” Her tone was bitter. “Halyn’s last words, I suppose.”

The R2 astromech called “Deuce” had been in service for over forty years. A leftover from the Clone Wars, where he had served aboard an ARC-170 starfighter in service to the Old Republic, he had been decommissioned and left at a deep space storage facility. From there, he was eventually liberated—along with the ARC-170—by a resistance group. He later survived the destruction of the fighter and was then shuffled from group to group, acting as a backseater in Y-wing bombers until finally being assigned to a new T-65 X-wing starfighter. There he came under the ownership of one Halyn Lance, a starfighter pilot recruit in the Rebel Alliance.

Halyn Lance had retained ownership of him, unlike many previous pilots, beyond the destruction of the X-wing. Deuce had eventually been stationed at Zephyr Base on Rori, where he served with distinction as a backseater for X-wings, Y-wings, reconditioned ARC-170 starfighters, and several obscure refurbished craft. He had also participated as part of the crew on several larger vessels, including the Gallofree light freighter Starwind and the larger, heavier-armed Incom X4 gunship Firestorm.

When Halyn left the Rebel Alliance, the droid had remained in his service, acting as partner and accountant for the Zabrak’s business ventures ranging from smuggling to honest shipping to mercenary jobs. Eventually, Halyn had left him on Iridonia in service to Argus Sanshir and Kativie Lusp, helping to coordinate the defensive preparations.

Droids were not programmed with emotions, but Deuce had felt something akin to joy when Halyn had reappeared to help with the defense of Iridonia. While the Zabrak had not taken direct ownership again, the R2 unit considered himself back in Halyn’s service. Thus, it had not been a surprise when the Zabrak had asked the droid to record several messages for his friends and allies in the event of his demise.

Deuce had known from experience that many pilots recorded such messages with similar conditions; it was a common enough practice that the necessary programming had been added to his software during his service to the Rebel Alliance.

The R2 considered the encrypted messages, calculated the likely consequences of permutations of orders of playback, and chose to start with Kativie Lusp.

Kativie didn’t bother trying to compose herself when the R2 astromech wheeled up before her with a low whistle. “It’s okay, Deuce,” she said. “Go ahead.”

The R2 whistled and adjusted the angle of his body; after a moment, his holoprojector lens focused and a grainy blue-white image of Halyn swam into existence.

Judging from the battered duster and the recently-healed cuts, Kativie guessed the message had been recorded very recently—within a day or two of the collapse of the New Horizon Designs building.

“Hi, Katie,” he said hesitantly. “You know, I’ve recorded and updated this message a dozen times since the Vong started their invasion of Iridonia, and it’s still hard to say what I need to say and get these words out.”

He closed his eyes and his expression smoothed out as he composed himself. “First, thank you, little sister. I couldn’t have done this without you, and we would have long since lost the war if you hadn’t been my second. If I’m gone now, that means Iridonia will be in your hands, and I can’t imagine anyone more capable of it.”

“Second,” he said, his voice shaky and then silent for several long seconds—long enough for Kativie to wonder if the recording was corrupted. “I’m so sorry for what happened to your children. It was my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll understand if you never forgive me.” He went silent again, seemingly to gather his thoughts.

His eyes opened, and his gaze was intense even through a grainy recording. “I know you’ve struggled over the years, standing in the shadows of a brother who was the living hero of Iridonia, and the brother who was a general in the Rebel Alliance. You’ve grown into a powerful Jedi Knight, and in many ways you’re a better Zabrak than either of your brothers could ever be.” He smiled faintly. “If anyone can bridge the gap between the Sanshirs and the Lusps, it’ll be you—if it’s even possible.”

Kativie smiled a little at that.

“Rely on our friends and allies. Don’t try to shoulder the burden of this all alone—let Anishor and Kelta and Ceikeh take some of the burden.”

“What, I don’t count?” Li Coden groused.

“If you don’t, this war will crush you the way it has me. You have children, a husband, a family—they deserve more than just a soldier, and you can give it to them.”

Halyn hesitated. “Thank you, little sister, for everything you did. I know keeping my secrets has been hard on you, but I hope you’ll remember me fondly, not as the brother who hurt you.” He raised a hand. “Goodbye, Katie. Remember I love you,” he quirked a smile, “even if you were a brat. Halyn out.”

The holo faded away, but Kativie continued to stare at the spot where Halyn’s image had been.  She swallowed hard, resisting the urge to ask Deuce to play the message again. No, be strong, Kat. You’re the leader now; don’t show weakness.

She rubbed at her cheeks and couldn’t understand why her hands came away wet.

As she watched, the R2 spun around on its wheels and headed for someone else. She didn’t look up from the spot where the holo had been projected.

Anishor watched with a small degree of amusement as the old R2 rolled to a stop in front of him. He remembered the droid well from Halyn’s days as a Rebel X-wing, and later Y-wing, pilot. The coatrack left a message for me, did he?

Deuce beeped twice at the Wookiee. <Go ahead, little one,> Anishor rumbled with a smile.

The hologram of his old friend appeared in a staticky haze in standard one-quarter size. Halyn’s expression was more cheerful than it had been when speaking to Kativie. “Hello, Anishor,” the Zabrak said with an easy smile.

Anishor smiled at the hologram. <Hello, honor brother,> he said in reply to the recording.

“Of the few people I’m leaving these recordings for, I know you’ll likely be taking this best.” The hologram chuckled. “I’m sure you’re already talking about me becoming one with the Great Tree, or something like that. You’ll be at peace with my passing, even when the others are fighting or mourning me. And I appreciate that.”

The Wookiee swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, grateful that the furless beings around him likely could not interpret his expressions well enough to understand what he felt. You’re wrong, coatrack. I mourn you, too, even as you join the Force. I may accept your passing, but I feel your passing as dearly as any family.

“Seriously?” Li grumbled. “No message for me?”

Anishor studied the hologram closely, seeing the distress in his old friend’s face as the recording continued. “I know I was your honor brother, and that means more to me than you’ll ever know. In many ways, you were closer to me than my own brother. We went through everything together, and you’re a big part of why I survived the Civil War.”

Halyn’s tone grew darker. “You helped lead the rescue on Talus when I fell into the hands of the Empire, and you covered my back in some of the worst starfighter combat the galaxy ever saw in the months leading up to Endor. You helped me lead the One-Eighteenth and kept Zephyr Base hidden on Rori.”

His voice dropped even further. “Now I need you to help me one more time. At the time I’m recording this, Iridonia is in danger. With me gone, Kativie will be the last remaining hope for Iridonia to win the fight against the Yuuzhan Vong. I need you to protect her as you have me.”

<I would have anyways, coatrack,> Anishor growled. <She is honor family as well.>

“Right now, you’re probably shaking your head at me for telling you to do something you were already going to do,” the hologram said. “But it needed to be said.”

The recording seemed to freeze in place—long enough for Anishor to wonder if the droid had malfunctioned. Then the hologram finally spoke. “I also wanted to say goodbye. Well, not just goodbye, but thank you. Furball, even after all the things I did, the hell I put you through, you still chose to be my honor brother. You protected me, came for me when I was in captivity, without any thought of the danger you put yourself in. When the war started to eat away at me, and I was losing my way, you were the one who called me on it and forced me to see what I was doing.

“You were a far better friend than I ever deserved.” Halyn hesitated again before adding, “So, I guess I’m saying thank you for being my friend, my protector, my sounding board, and my conscience. Thank you.”

The hologram faded out of existence, and Anishor found himself blinking away at suspicious moisture in his eyes.

Kryi Rinnet watched in puzzlement as the battered R2 unit rolled over to Edlin Sanshir. The young Zabrak warrior had been standing alone, leaning against the wall, just watching. Why would the General leave him a message? It’s not like they were particularly close.

The red-and-grey droid adjusted itself, then started up the holoprojector. The hazy blue-tinted hologram reappeared on the floor again, dressed in the same clothes he had worn in the previous holo.

“Edlin Sanshir,” Lance’s voice floated from the tinny speaker. “This message is for you.” The General hesitated for a few seconds. “I know you and I haven’t been very close over the years, and I’m mostly to blame for that. While you were growing up, I was gallivanting across the galaxy, getting myself into and out of trouble everywhere but Iridonia. But with Argus and me both dead, and knowing that you may never see Allanna again, I felt you need to know some truths. Truths about the Sanshirs. Truths about me. Truths about yourself. There are things I need to tell you that even Kativie doesn’t know.”

Kryi turned her head to see Kativie’s reaction. Shock rode freely on the other’s face at Halyn’s words. She thought she knew all her big brother’s secrets, Kryi thought silently. He obviously included her in so much of his planning that she just assumed…

“Argus, Kativie, and I were all born into a time of war and unrest here on Iridonia. We responded to it different ways. Argus became the noble one among us three—the leader, the Zabrak who would stand up for what he believed in, and would fight to free Iridonia from the Empire’s grip.”

Halyn smiled. “Sometimes I think that’s why Kativie was born with the Force—she was destined to be a Jedi Knight, the noble warrior among the three of us, the real hero of the Sanshirs. If you look at the history of our family, we seldom have Force-sensitives born to our clan, but when we do, it’s usually when the galaxy is at war and such heroes are needed.”

His smile faded into a somber expression. “I was born the coward of our family. I ran away, became a criminal. I was eventually forced to rise above it, but I made a lot of mistakes over the years. Some of those mistakes I regret; some of them turned out better than I could have hoped at the time.”

Melancholy dominated his tone. “After I left the Rebel Alliance, I spent months in the criminal underworld of the galaxy, skipping from planet to planet running cargo. I made a few enemies, made a few credits, and impressed more than a few criminal kingpins. It’s amazing how applicable military training is to running cargo past Imperial patrols.”

The hologram shook his head. “Like everything I’ve done in life, it fell apart due to my decisions. I met a Zabrak girl who was enslaved by a Hutt, and I decided I liked her more than I liked him. The myth that Hutts are immune to blasterfire? Yeah, it’s just a myth.” Halyn’s expression softened. “She and I fell in love. I left the smuggling game and we found a nice backwater planet to hide on. We lived there for just a little while—less than a year. Then the Hutts caught up with us.”

The hologram’s eyes were hard. “Hutts are very unhappy when another Hutt is killed—officially, anyway. Because I hadn’t been acting on orders from another Hutt when I killed Sari’s master, they needed to eliminate me to make an example for the rest of the underworld.”

Halyn’s voice dropped in tone and volume. “Sari was killed by Hutt assassins. I took our child, our son, to Iridonia. I want you to understand, Edlin, just who I was—I was a criminal, a Zabrak who had abandoned every cause he’d been a part of, and didn’t know a way to make an honest living. So, I turned my son over to Argus and Allanna, who were only recently married. I knew they’d be able to provide a stable upbringing for my child—the kind of upbringing a kid should have.”

The General stared through the hologram at Edlin as though he could truly see him. “Yes, that son is you, Edlin. Argus and Allanna raised you, and I know you will probably call them your parents until the day you die, and I don’t hold that against you. But you needed to know the truth—that I’m your father, that your mother was a Zabrak slave girl.”

He hesitated again. Kryi looked at Edlin, but the boy’s expression was completely unreadable to her. “I’ve watched you grow up from afar, and I know you’re already a better man than I am. You’re proof that you can be greater than your origin. Never forget that, Edlin—you are your own man. You make your own decisions in life.”

Halyn finally smiled again. “I know it probably won’t mean much, but I love you, Edlin. There is little else I can say, but good luck. I know the Sanshir family name is in good hands with you.”

The hologram fizzled and died. Kryi’s eyes flashed from Edlin to Kativie, then around the room at a variety of shocked expressions. I guess I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know.

Kelta Rose thought she was holding her composure well as she watched the old astromech deliver messages. The shock of discovery—of Edlin’s parentage—had reached through the fog of pain and mourning that had descended over her. Halyn had a son? It’s not him at all. Though leaving him to someone else? A stab of old pain cracked her heart. Yeah, that I can believe. That’s entirely his style.

The Jedi felt, in that moment, a clarity she had never experienced—she understood entirely how a Jedi could fall to the dark side. It’s good Halyn didn’t date more Jedi, or the galaxy would be overrun by Sith by now.

She was still caught up in that line of thought when Deuce rolled up and stopped before her, beeping to get her attention. Kelta looked up at the R2. Oh. Yeah. Halyn left a recording for me. I’d almost forgotten.

The droid didn’t immediately kick off the recording. Instead, it whistled inquisitively at her.

The Jedi suppressed a shudder. Damn mechanical things. I don’t know why Halyn set so much store by them. She nodded at the droid. “Go ahead, Deuce,” she said reassuringly.

The R2 whistled uncertainly, but a moment later the hologram of Halyn Lance reappeared.

This Halyn Lance was dressed in the uniform he had worn when he collapsed. How recently did he record this? Kelta wondered.

“Hello, Kelta,” Halyn said quietly. “I’m pretty sure this is the last recording I’ll ever make. My last checkup with the med droid indicates I’m nearly at the end.”

The last recording he’s making is to me? Kelta wondered.

“I made a mistake twenty years ago, and I know I can’t make up for it now. So I’m not going to try. There’s no forgiveness to be had for me. I’ve done terrible things, both back then and now.”

Halyn took a deep breath. “I spent five years fighting the Civil War, almost all of them as a fighter pilot. By the time I met you, I was a jaded officer. I was certain I was going to die fighting the Empire like so many of my friends. And when I recruited you to manage the flight academy, I thought you were a naive girl who could do the paperwork.”

He swallowed. “I was wrong, Kelta, and it was the first of a lot of mistakes I made. I was wrong in denying how I felt about you for so long, and I finally started doing right when I let you get close to me. You stabilized me. When we started, I thought the only thing that mattered was the war, and I was ready to die for it. You helped show me there was something to live for, too.”

The hologram seemed to hesitate again before continuing. “Kelta, I loved you more than anything. And that scared me, gave me hope at the same time. Then Endor happened, and half the people we knew died at the horrid place. And when it was over, I knew I was done with war…if I could be.”

Halyn’s face twisted into something unreadable. “When I decided to leave the Alliance, I did it because I wanted to see if there was anything left of me besides the killer I had turned into while fighting the war. I had to know if I could be something else—someone who didn’t immediately evaluate a situation by judging how to kill opponents, how to escape, how to minimize casualties if a firefight broke out.” He took a deep breath again. “That’s when I made another mistake—I thought the only way to do it was to leave everyone behind, to make a completely clean break.”

Kelta fought back against the old wave of pain as the recording stirred old memories.

He closed his eyes. “I left everyone, including the woman who mattered to me most.” He paused again, clearly struggling for words. When his eyes opened again, they seemed to see Kelta even through the recording. “So when I left, I left a big part of myself behind.” He swallowed. “I told myself that it was better for you—that you weren’t the killer I was, that I was protecting you, that you would be happier and better once you had gotten over me.”

The next words seemed to tumble out uncontrolled. “I left the Alliance, met Sari, fell in love, thought I had found myself. We ran away, hid from the war, hid from the Hutts, tried to live a simple life. She died weeks after having our son, assassinated by some Hutt’s lackeys.” His expression was dark. “I went after them, killed them too, eliminated the Hutt who sent them after us. Realized I was still the same Zabrak I was during the war—a killer, a man who shed blood willingly. So I turned Edlin over to Allanna and Argus so he could grow up knowing something besides death.”

The Zabrak stopped to compose himself. “I’m happy for you,” he said at last. “You had a happy marriage until Thrawn’s invasion. You have a wonderful daughter. You’ve made yourself into the Jedi you always wanted to be. And maybe, maybe you’re a better person because of it. So, I wanted to tell you one last time what I’ve wanted to say every time I’ve seen you since—that spaceport at the end of nowhere, Kativie’s wedding, the first time I saw you on the Cathleen’s bridge.

“Kelta, I…I love you. I always have. I never stopped.” He smiled faintly. “Apparently I’m not capable of change, because even now I’ve been refusing to say it to protect you. I didn’t want to draw you in and then die on you. I’m sorry, Kelta Rose. But I love you.” His voice was hoarse. “I’ve always loved you. Goodbye, Kelta.”

“I love you, too,” Kelta whispered as the hologram faded away.

She felt Anishor’s big paw on her shoulder. <Are you alright?> the Wookiee asked, his voice low and calm.

“No.” Kelta shrugged his hand off. “I’m not okay. Halyn is dying or already dead, and I will not let him get off that easy.”

<What are you doing?> Anishor asked as Kelta pulled herself to her feet, then stalked over to where Halyn’s body rested, still hooked up to monitors and showing some faint traces of life, and no sign of hope.

“I will not let him die,” Kelta growled, stretching her hands out and resting them on Halyn’s chest. “Not now. Not after all this.”

<Kelta…> Anishor said hesitantly.

“Kelta, if there were some way to bring him back, I’d be the first to do it,” Kativie whispered. “But you can’t. No one can.”

The Jedi Knight felt her legs weaken, the walls begin to spin around her. “No, I can save him,” she said hoarsely. “I can save him.”

She fell to her knees. “I can’t let him die.”

<He will be one with the Force,> she heard Anishor say.

Kelta closed her eyes, felt the galaxy itself spinning around her. I can’t let him die. He can’t die here. Not now, not after everything.

She could hear voices distantly, but they meant little to her. Ceikeh Alari, Kryi Rinnet, and Kativie Lusp leaving the medical center to return to the Cathleen’s bridge. Anishor and Edlin Sanshir conversing in low tones. Li Coden complaining about a lack of a recording for him yet again before departing to return to his squadron.

They were leaving her to mourn, she knew. But she wouldn’t mourn—not yet. Instead, she reached out to the Force with every bit of strength she possessed. Can’t let him die.

Jram Lusp stared up at the night sky. The stars were as familiar to him as his own hands; he had grown up on Iridonia, had seldom been off-planet, and had learned to navigate his way across the planet using only those same stars above as his guide.

Tonight, they seemed utterly alien.

“There’s been no word from Achick,” his comlink said softly. “When the Council building fell, no one ever saw him board a transport.”

“What do you believe, Mother?” Jram asked distantly. Father, gone? I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. He wouldn’t just vanish.

“There are rumors the Vong took him, that he defected to work with them to help them conquer Iridonia,” Alyce’s distant voice said. “Even more rumors that he’s been working with them all along. Rumors that you and I are traitors as well.”

“Foolish,” Jram scoffed.

“Obviously. We would never betray Iridonia to these invaders. But there are quieter rumors that Sanshir ordered Achick left behind, that his soldiers intentionally ensured that he couldn’t board a transport to make it back. One of his personal agents, and the Wookiee berserker, were responsible for evacuating the Council. Another one of Sanshir’s pets was responsible for defending the Council as well, and we see how well that worked out.” Alyce’s voice held a trace of bitterness.

Jram hesitated before responding. “Mother, I don’t think the Sanshirs would order Achick left behind. Even if they did, a Wookiee would never go along with it—it would violate his honor.” He shook his head, even though his mother could not see it. “Besides…”

“What? You think Halyn Sanshir would hesitate to kill Achick?” Alyce’s voice dripped with venom. “He practically promised to kill him on the Council floor!”

“Yes, but that’s his style! He wouldn’t hesitate to run Father through with a zhaboka, but he wouldn’t arrange to have him killed.” Would he? He hesitated. “The Sanshirs haven’t been killing indiscriminately. After all, they allowed me to live even when I personally fought and tried to kill Halyn.”

Alyce’s reply was reluctant. “Perhaps you are correct,” she said slowly. “Still, what could have happened to him?”

Jram shook his head at himself again. If he wasn’t evacuated, he’s either a prisoner of the Yuuzhan Vong or dead. If he’s a captive, he likely wishes he were dead, and there’s almost no chance we’ll get him back.

“I’m working to get you removed from the front line,” Alyce said, changing the subject. “It would do no good for you to be lost in this war. When it is over, you’ll be needed to help rebuild Rak’Edalin. What the Sanshirs destroy, we Lusps will be called upon to rebuild.”

“No, Mother,” Jram said grimly. “No special favors for me. I’ve been out here fighting because I’m needed here. If I die, there’s always Hakk.”

Alyce was silent for long moments before snarling, “Yes, the son who took up with a Sanshir girl. The Jedi. She has addled his mind with those Force tricks and illusions. I need you to survive, Jram.”

He thought of Kativie and her shining emerald lightsaber, the unstoppable wave of green fire that turned back the Yuuzhan Vong and saved him during the early pushes. I can understand why Hakk fell for her, even if she’s an enemy. She’s a superior warrior and fought without losing her honor. Aloud, he said, “Then I will survive fighting on the front line, Mother, if that is necessary.”

“Lusp,” a voice interrupted him, “it’s time to move out.”

“We’ll speak again later, Mother,” Jram said and shut the comlink off without waiting for her answer.  He wondered, briefly, if her mistrust of the Sanshirs would be considered paranoia by any of the better doctors on Iridonia or Coruscant.

“The Sarge is ordering all our gear packed up for another fallback,” the soldier, barely sixteen years old, told him. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before we need to move out.”

Jram nodded. “Then I’d better pack.”

He returned to the camp and spent a few minutes packing up the few belongings of a frontline Rak’Edalin warrior: his sleeping mat was tightly rolled and tied, the tent he shared with one other soldier broke down and split between them, the little food he carried returned to a watertight pack, his spare power packs attached to a bandoleer and his blaster rifle shouldered. When he was done, he leaned heavily on his zhaboka as the rest of his unit finished similar tasks.

“What are we doing?” he mumbled aloud. “We fight all day to hold the line. Our warriors bleed and die and don’t give a centimeter of territory to the Vong, but night falls and the Ul’akhoi orders us back. Why do we keep falling back during the night, and only fight to hold in the day? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps it keeps our defenses more concentrated and harder to break through,” another soldier suggested.

Jram shook his head. “Falling back and shrinking the line allows the Vong to concentrate their forces as well. It doesn’t change much, other than giving them control over more and more of our territory, which means we have less and less supply sources to draw on. I’ve been running the numbers already—we’re pretty much at the breaking point. If we give much more ground, our supplies can’t keep up anymore.”

His pronouncement was met with shrugs and weary sighs. Most of the warriors fighting on the front line were exhausted; their concerns were day-to-day combat and fighting to survive. More abstract concepts weren’t important enough to enter their psyche while the Vong were at their doorsteps.

What is the Sanshir up to? he asked himself silently again. He has to know that he’s allowing the Vong to concentrate. He also has to know he’s hurting his own supply lines by doing this. So what does he, or Rak’Edalin, or Iridonia benefit by these nightly fallbacks?

He fell into step with his squad as they began falling back. The usual retreat was somewhere between fifty and a hundred meters, but tonight his sergeant did not stop after the usual retreat. When they had covered two hundred meters, Jram’s nerves felt on edge. Okay, so we established a pattern of nightly retreats. Tonight, we’re retreating even further. Why? What are we doing? He shook his head. What could the Ul’akhoi be doing?

The warrior carrying the other half of his tent fell into step beside him. “What’s going on tonight, Jram? This isn’t the usual fallback.” he asked in a low voice.

Jram shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

“C’mon, don’t give me that,” the other warrior said. “We all know your father is Council, big-time. You have to have the inside line on this.”

Jram forced a smile. “I’m just as ignorant as everyone else here,” he said. “Believe me, I wish I knew what was going on. I was on the comlink with my mother when we started packing up, and she didn’t tell me anything.”

“And your father?”

Jram couldn’t stop his smile from vanishing. “Missing since the Council was evacuated. No one’s heard anything from him, and he wasn’t on any of the transports.”

“You sure nobody threw him out an airlock?”

“Now you sound like my mother.” Jram shook his head. “Everyone knows there’s no love lost between the Lusps and the Sanshirs, but we’re all pulling together against the Vong. No one would take the time right now to stab someone else in the back.”

The march was over five kilometers long; the ravaged hull of the Cathleen was visible even in the darkness when the sergeant finally called a cease to their retreat.

“We’re practically inviting the Vong to take the whole city,” Jram muttered to himself. What is he doing? Is he trying to surrender the whole city?

It had become an open secret that, during the night, Halyn could be found in one of the subterranean hangars dotting Rak’Edalin. Virtually all the officers whom had a history with the Ul’akhoi had found him there during the darkest hours, working on an old battered Gallofree light freighter.

Kelta was surprised, then, to find him absent when she walked through the restored hallways of the little freighter. It looks just like it did during the Civil War, she observed as she walked through it. The cockpit had its two extra chairs restored, with all four of the seats reholstered. The panels had been closed up, the displays all in functional order, blinking slowly in standby. I bet she could be started and underway in five minutes, Kelta thought distantly. She always had a fast start-up sequence.

The forward hold had an old overstuffed couch bolted to the floor, a holochess table within reach of the center of the couch. On the opposite side were two heavy-weighted chairs, their bases solid durasteel. The chairs were common in starships across the galaxy, a design intended to stay in place even during turbulence in flight. Elsewhere around the forward hold were similar bits and pieces Kelta remembered from the old days—a lizard-skin rug, a workbench lined with tools, a couple of depowered R-series astromech droids.

The crew quarters were just as she remembered as well—a second workbench, a small galley, and four crewman bunks. She spent a moment to check the refrigeration unit and was amused to note it was stocked with several bottles of alcohol. Just like the old days, she thought wryly. He never did skimp on his booze.

The bunks looked just as she remembered as she stepped over the battered, but recently re-cleaned orange rug that dominated the small chamber. She blushed at her own memories, chiding herself for the embarrassment. You loved him then, and you love him now. It’s hard not to remember when the ship looks just like it used to.

The aft section of the ship had also been restored; the engine panels had been restored, wiring bundled, grounded, and safely tucked away. Two cabinets of tools were bolted to the wall and filled with their usual array of hydrospanners, calibers, laser welders, and other tools. She hooked her finger in a small hole in the decking and heaved; it lifted away to reveal the hidden storage compartments Halyn had installed sometime before she had met him.

As she walked back down the boarding ramp, she saw the sublight thrusters had been cleaned and aligned, the hull patched and repainted, the scorch marks scrubbed away. The Starwind looks ready to fly.

But that doesn’t answer the question: where is Halyn?

Kelta was reluctant to tap deeply into the Force. She was more sensitive to its flows than most Jedi, and intimately felt the pain and anger and fear and hope of those around her, Force-users or not. In a warzone, if she couldn’t maintain her mental shields, she could rapidly be overwhelmed by the sensations. In the past, she had feared such powerful outside emotions could drive her mad.

If she wanted to find Halyn now, though, she suspected that the Force was the only way to do so. Reluctantly, she allowed her shields to ebb. At the first breach in her defenses, the Force flowed into her like a river filling a dam; within moments she felt like she was filled up entirely, the excess energy sloshing over into the flow of the Force around her.

With the Force came the waves of emotion from Rak’Edalin: the physical suffering of the warriors who had been injured in the fighting, the emotional pain of nearly every Zabrak she could sense—all of them had lost homes, family, friends in the long siege.

She felt like she was drowning in the Force.

Kelta stretched out harder, fighting to hold onto her identity under the barrage of others’ emotions and thoughts. It was hard, so hard to concentrate as she felt everything.

Then she found him, touched his mind, and felt like a swimmer breaking the surface after a long dive.

The Jedi slammed her shields back into place, felt the emotions of the ravaged city fall away from her. She spent a few moments breathing, a Jedi calming exercise, and took refuge in the calm clarity of mind she’d felt from Halyn.

“He’s on the Cathleen’s bridge,” she said aloud in wonderment. “In the middle of the night. That’s not like him.”

When she felt she could walk, she ran towards the hangar’s exit, and towards the Cathleen.

Halyn paced the Cathleen’s bridge. The chamber was dark, red-lit from the few battle alert indicators which still functioned.

The survivors of his war council were gathered there with him: Li Coden, the starfighter pilot; Anishor, the mighty berserker warrior; Ceikeh Alari, the Zabrak Senator to the New Republic; Kryi Rinnet, the starfighter coordinator; Kativie Lusp, his sister and Jedi Knight. Edlin Sanshir, Allanna’s eldest son, stood with his back to the wall, clearly uncomfortable with his inclusion in the elite group. Only Kelta Rose, the other Jedi Knight, was still missing.

Too few survivors, he thought bitterly. This war has cost me too many friends and allies. But no more. His thoughts turned to Lenn Kaman, killed when his starfighter was shot down; Sandarie, poisoned and held in hibernation in the hope of getting her to a medical facility capable of saving her; Allanna and Kativie’s children, three of them dead from an assassination attempt aimed at himself; Abi Ocopaqui, heavily medicated in the medical bay with a damaged lekku; and just hours previously, Nisia Eisweep, dead from the Yuuzhan Vong attack on the Council.

I don’t deserve such friends. They fought and died because they are my friends, and I asked them to fight. So many lives lost on my account.

“So, why did you call us all here?” Li asked conversationally. “You usually like having your meetings in the early morning, not late at night. That whole sleep thing most of us need and all.”

Halyn pulled himself away from his dark thoughts. “All of you have fought and bled on my behalf,” he began hesitantly, “and on behalf of Rak’Edalin and Iridonia and perhaps all of Zabrak space. Some of our friends have died or been badly wounded during this war.” He tried to force a smile, but it failed to materialize. “I wanted all of you to know how much I appreciate it.”

“We’re giving up our sleep for that?” Ceikeh asked dryly. “You could’ve sent a thank-you note.”

Anishor roared a wordless assent.

Halyn did manage a smile at that. “I guess I could have. I prefer to show it, though.”

“Show it how?” a new voice asked from the turbolift.

Halyn turned and nodded to red-haired Kelta Rose as she stepped out of the lift. “By making sure you’re here to see the end of the war.”

Kelta shuddered involuntarily. “Does that mean…?” she asked, unable to completely verbalize her question. Does that mean you’re going to surrender?

Halyn shook his head. “No, my rules remain the same. No retreat, no surrender. We fight until the battle is over, one way or the other.”

“Then what…?” Kelta asked, confused.

Halyn smiled just a little. “This is the end, Kelta. What I—we—have been planning since the Cathleen landed in Rak’Edalin.”

<Landed?> Anishor asked. <Only you would call that a landing.>

“Didn’t you see some of his students back when he was running the Rara Avis flight academy?” Li asked sardonically. “Compared to what happened to some of those Y-wings, the Cathleen settled in like a downy feather.”

Laughs circled the bridge, just enough to take the edge off the nervousness. In spite of Kelta’s mental shields, the edginess everyone seemed to be feeling bled through with enough strength to keep her off-balance.

“So what have you been planning?” Ceikeh asked. “And who is ‘we’?”

“Kativie and I,” Halyn said, drawing a deep breath. “She’s the only one who knows everything I’ve done in the defense of Iridonia—whether she agreed with it or not. Kativie knows every plan I made, every step I took, every tactic we deployed. It was necessary to have someone ready to step in should I have fallen.” Halyn took a deep breath. “I didn’t know if I’d survive to see the end of this war.”

“So, how are you going to end the war?” Li asked.

The sense coming off Halyn was so cold for a moment that Kelta shivered.

“We established a new pattern for the Vong recently,” Halyn explained slowly. “Our warriors fought them to a standstill during the day—our Iridonians gave no ground nor quarter during the battles. After nightfall, our warriors fell back, giving the Vong ten meters, fifty, a hundred—enough to safely keep their distance. At daybreak they defend their new positions.”

“This benefits us how?” Ceikeh asked.

Kativie answered. “The Vong won’t think anything of it when our troops pull back from the battle line, as they did tonight.”

Kelta could see that Anishor’s expression was pensive, even through all the hair. <Where did your troops fall back to?> he asked.

“To the Cathleen herself,” Halyn said grimly. “To give us the room to execute this.” He looked over at Kativie. “Are we in position?” he asked.

The Jedi Knight closed her eyes, and Kelta could feel her drawing heavily on the Force. Its currents seemed to bend around her, flowing into the Zabrak Jedi like light into a black hole. At last Kativie nodded, her eyes still closed. “All our troops have fallen back to their proscribed positions.”

“Good.” Halyn closed his eyes, and Kelta could feel the weariness of his spirit even as his body seemed to blaze with strength. “Cathleen gunnery crew, this is the Ul’akhoi. Open fire.”

Kelta’s eyes widened as she began to grasp the significance of his order.

The Cathleen had been badly damaged when the Yuuzhan Vong pulled it from orbit with a dovin basal. Its skeleton was shattered, leaving it incapable of ever flying again. Its engines had been crushed beneath the vessel’s hull when it smashed into the city. Entire decks of the warship had been compressed, packed together like layers of material in a laminate. Many of her crew had been killed instantly; most of the survivors were left injured or wounded.

Yet some of the vessel had survived. Its hangar was still in use, even now, by a small group of Muurian transports. Crew and cargo compartments now sheltered Rak’Edalin’s refugees. Its limited medical facilities now treated Zabrak warriors injured in the ongoing battle. The bridge had become the command center of the entire defensive operation.

The reactor had also survived—it provided the necessary power for the essential ship systems the Cathleen depended on, even in her crippled state.

So had eighteen of the turbolasers.

Red-white fire lanced out from the Cathleen and into the city.

In spite of her mental defenses, Kelta felt shock and horror, both from within and without, shatter her mental shields.

The turbolasers fired once, twice, three times in salvo before falling into a regular thump-thump-thump of the heavy weapons. The regular rhythm was soothing, but completely at odds with the raw sensations pouring into her through the Force.

There was death, of course—but not the death of Zabrak warriors. In fact, she did not feel the intense pain of a life torn away; it was the more muted death of animals, primarily small rodents and scavengers which survived by picking their way through the burnt remains of Rak’Edalin.

Grief, though, was a far more sentient emotion. Kelta could not differentiate her personal emotions from those carried to her by the Force. Her stomach collapsed in on itself, and she felt depths of grief she could barely comprehend—pain she’d felt only twice in her life. Once, when Halyn Lance had walked away from her after the battle of Endor, disappeared without saying goodbye; and once, when her husband, Liam Varo, had died during the Thrawn campaign.

Shock rattled her very soul, replaced moments later by the heart-wrenching pain of betrayal. She felt the betrayal of thousands of beings, Zabrak warriors who had trusted their Ul’akhoi to defend their city against the Yuuzhan Vong—the same Ul’akhoi who now ordered its destruction.

The pain all swirled together, and she could feel her individuality fading away in the storm of pain brought to her by the Force.

Then she felt a calm eye to that storm—the Zabrak it all focused upon. Halyn was utterly calm as he ordered the city utterly destroyed, reducing a burned ruin to a vaporized scorch mark on the face of Iridonia.

She latched onto him, a lifeline to keep her sanity. She could feel his own pain for the responsibility he bore in this maneuver, but he kept it tightly wrapped beneath layers of discipline and necessity. As the emotions of others tried to tug her under the flow, she hung to him in the Force like a shipwreck victim to a life buoy.

Halyn burned brightly in the Force now, even as she could feel faintly the thrum of the energy of the turbolasers. As Kelta felt her sanity, her self returning, she realized that Halyn was more brilliant, more vivid in her senses than she’d ever felt him before. As the remains of Rak’Edalin were reduced to ash, as Yuuzhan Vong warriors were vaporized by powerful starship weapons, his brightness seemed to grow in her perceptions.

He was burning brighter than Kativie, brighter than Anishor. The collective pain of the Zabraks witnessing the loss of their city seemed to fade away. She began to feel as though she were looking into the sun itself, with everything else fading into insignificance when compared to its impossibly bright light.

Then that sun collapsed in on itself, in the span of a heartbeat turning from a brilliant star into a black hole.

Kelta collapsed on the deck as the collective scream of the Zabrak survivors reached her through the sudden emptiness. Waves of pain swept over her, with nothing to dull it.

She pushed herself up to her hands and knees, felt Anishor’s furred paws on her shoulders. “I’m okay,” she rasped as she tried to shut down her connection to the Force. “What…?”

The Jedi raised her gaze far enough to see the truth: Halyn Lance lay silently on the deck, his eyes closed, his chest no longer raising with breath.

Dust and debris from the shattered roof was repelled by the Muurian’s shields, raising sparks and giving a faint blue haze to the view through the canopy. Li grimaced as another large chunk fell and bounced off the shields directly above him, drawing a whine from the ship’s shield generators. “This is getting ugly,” he grumbled aloud.

Anishor answered through the ship’s comm. <Not much longer.>

“How many left?” Li asked.

<Twenty at best,> Anishor replied, his voice abruptly rising into a battle growl that made Li wince. He’s going to shatter my eardrums.

“We can get those on board our ship,” Li decided. He slapped the comm board, changing channels. “Two and Three, take off and get yourselves back to the Cathleen with your cargoes,” he ordered. “We’ve got the rest.”

He waited until the other Muurian pilots had acknowledged, then flipped the comm back to the channel he was sharing with the Wookiee berserker. The two transports slowly rose on repulsorlifts on either side of him, sending yet another shower of debris raining down on his parked ship. “C’mon, Anishor,” he said urgently. “Get the last Zabraks on board so we can get our asses out of here. We’re going to get the ship shot out from under us if we wait much longer.”

Anishor didn’t immediately reply. Li rose from his seat, trying to get a better look at the battle through the smoke and dust boiling through the destroyed Council chamber.

The remaining Iridonians were reluctant to disengage from the eager Vong warriors, but they were slowly being pushed back. The Zabraks were careful in their direction, only allowing themselves to fall back towards the Muurian. Zhabokas and amphistaffs were flashing faster than Li’s eye could follow in the dust, with casualties falling on both sides.

“Much longer and we’re not going to have anyone alive to get out,” Li grumbled.

Anishor’s battle roar was audible even over the din of a building shaking itself to pieces. Li saw the big Wookiee charge headlong into the fray, a rykk blade in either hand as he bolstered the faltering Zabrak defenders.

“Wrong idea!” Li shouted. “We need to retreat, not hold!”

The battle came to a standstill for a long moment as the arrival of the berserker swung the tide. Anishor’s blades seemed to gleam with some internal light that was visible even in the haze of war. Li shook his head. He’s forgetting the point of evacuation, the pilot thought. With nothing to do but wait, he looked away from the fight to the bodies lying around.

He was sickened to recognize a beheaded corpse as Nisia Eisweep, one of Halyn’s close friends and advisors. Damn, he thought to himself. Damn. Halyn’s not going to like this. He sighed. Be honest, Li. You’re going to be lucky if you make it off this rock alive, and there’s not many pilots who can match you in the air. For all you know, we’re all going to end up like that.

His eyes wandered further, and he spotted something even more disturbing: an older Zabrak, not quite elderly, being pulled from the mounds of dead by Yuuzhan Vong warriors. They released him, and he swayed on his feet, but remained standing. They’re taking prisoners! Li swallowed, remembering what he’d seen on a dozen different worlds: loyal New Republic citizens, taken and sacrificed to appease the bloodlust of the Yuuzhan Vong’s imaginary gods. No one deserves that.

He turned back to the battle to see that Anishor was now leading a slow, defensive retreat back to the last transport. The Zabrak warriors still standing were a bloodied and battered lot, their numbers slowly dwindling even with the mighty Wookiee defending them.

Li glanced over at the prisoner and the Vong warriors. No one deserves that, he repeated to himself.

He unstrapped from the pilot’s seat and ran aft.

The upper turbolaser had been manned by a Zabrak gunner when the transport had broken its way into the Council, but that gunner had abandoned his post to defend the boarding ramp with a zhaboka and blaster rifle. Li took advantage of the vacancy by climbing up the gunwell and settling in behind the turbolaser’s controls.

He didn’t bother strapping in; he would be returning to the cockpit in just a moment. The controls were labeled in Zabraki, but the layout was standard Corellian controls for the weapon, no different than the more common quad lasers found in smuggler transports across the galaxy. Li flipped the weapon out of standby with a few switches, then rotated the starship weapon around to where the Vong were now retreating with their prisoner.

He was almost too late; the Vong were already retreating into one of the holes opened through the hallway. The Zabrak had already disappeared into the gap by the time he leveled the weapon at the hole.

Li closed his eyes for a brief moment. Killing in battle was one thing; he had long since made peace with that, having shed blood for nearly thirty years. He even was comfortable with what he was about to do to the Yuuzhan Vong—they had massacred and sacrificed and slaughtered their way across a galaxy that would have greeted them with open arms, had they come peacefully. But to pull the trigger on an ally, to save him from captivity…well, that was something else entirely.

He pushed his doubt aside, opened his eyes, and jammed his thumbs down on the firing studs.

Green-white laserfire, blindingly bright in the dim chamber, flashed through the dust-choked air and slammed into the wall. Yuuzhan Vong at the edge of the blast were thrown askew, tumbled like insects in a gale-force wind. Vong more directly caught by the shot died instantly, their blood and flesh boiled away faster than an eyeblink.

Of the captured Zabrak, Li could see nothing.

However, he very distinctly could see the even-further comprised wall starting to collapse.

Li found himself grateful that he hadn’t strapped himself in. He dropped from the turbolaser turret, sliding down the ladder to the transport’s main deck.

When his boots hit metal, he sprinted for the cockpit, pushing through dazed and wounded Zabrak warriors and politicians, making for the cockpit. The rumble outside the ship grew louder, and he could hear Anishor’s battle cry clearly now.

By the time he was sliding into the pilot’s chair again, he could see the building was coming down. No stopping it now, he thought as he fed power into the repulsorlifts. “Anishor!” he called at the comm. “Ten seconds until lift!”

<Go now!> Anishor immediately returned.

Li decided survival was more important than grace, and slammed full power to the repulsors.

The transport leapt from the ground like a startled nexu. The dorsal shields smashed against the roof—his ascent hadn’t carried him along the same path as his descent—but he held tight to the controls, refusing to budge a centimeter.

He couldn’t tell if the roar was from the shields, the engines, or the building, but Li couldn’t hear anything distinct as he fought the Muurian’s controls with every ounce of skill he possessed.

Then the building was falling away, and the transport was free.

The rumble faded away, and Li could hear again. His eyes stung, and he realized sweat had poured into them during the struggle. He wiped it away, and found his hands were shaking. He clamped onto the controls to steady them.

Anishor was speaking now over the comm. <…too many close scrapes,> the Wookiee rumbled. <Even during the height of the Civil War, we had more breaks, more rest, more time between fights than this.>

“Yeah,” Li croaked. He shook his head. I’m never flying a transport for Halyn again. And people say starfighters are dangerous!

The infirmary was quiet when Halyn arrived. The only time they’re not quiet is when all hell has broken loose, he observed distantly. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be proper. Can’t break decorum unless there’s a damned good reason.

He shook his head at the dark thought. Can’t be thinking that way. Too much to do yet, and too little time. Can’t afford to pity myself, either, or Iridonia will pay the price. We’re on the edge of disaster, and if I don’t walk this exactly right, it will end in disaster.

He allowed himself a small smile, remembering some long-ago lecture to a class of starfighter pilot trainees. The difference between a good pilot and a great pilot is the ability to operate on the very edge of disaster; a great pilot pushes much further toward that line than a good pilot. The difference between a great pilot and a dead pilot is that the dead pilot pushed even further.

Dead… he shook his head, trying to will the word away. Dead, dead, dead. Lenn is, Sandi is between life and death, some of Kativie and Allanna’s children did, and Abi could’ve died, all because you’ve been too reckless. Others are paying for your mistakes. Not to mention all the Iridonians who have died fighting the war so far. How many more will die before this is over? How many will you kill to beat the Vong?

No. No self-pity. No doubt. Carry the plan through, or everyone who’s died following your orders did it for nothing.

He swallowed hard as he walked further into the medical bay. It was perhaps half-filled now with wounded Zabraks. As the battle lines had pulled in tighter around the Cathleen, the wrecked ship’s facilities had been heavier utilized to treat the casualties of the nearly-continual fighting.

He would have had to be blind to not see Abi, though.

Amidst the flesh-colored Zabrak warriors, the blue Twi’lek stood out distinctly from the other wounded undergoing treatment.

Abi was alone on a corner bed, treated only by a medical droid. Sandi’s dire predicament was indicative of Iridonia’s limited capability to assist non-Zabraks. Were Abi’s wounds more typical—an amputated hand, a hole opened in her belly from an amphistaff stabbing, or slashed open flesh from a cut—Zabrak physicians would have sewn her up, treated her with bacta, and sent her on her way.

A severed lekku, however, was something else entirely.

Halyn had known more than a few Twi’leks during his years—Abi and Sandarie, several of his pilots during the war like Tairs’Ren, pirates like Poe’kunal, even Force-users like Ab’Ki Acha. From many conversations, he understood something of lekku and their purposes.

The nickname “brain tail” for a lek was not entirely inaccurate. The cartilaginous lek housed a fair amount of a Twi’lek’s brain, and was a tool for communication as well. Twi’leks could communicate entirely silently with shakes and twitches of their lekku; only a few non-Twi’leks could even attempt to decipher the language.

Sandarie had told him once—after a lot of drinking—that lekku stored the memories of her ancestors. Those memories weren’t necessarily clear, vivid images, but they held deeply ingrained beliefs, behaviors, attitudes: the very basics of culture.

A Twi’lek who lost her lekku was an outcast.

It wasn’t that other Twi’leks would necessarily exile an amputee; rather, the victim would lose a certain, fundamental part of herself that every Twi’lek shared. In a certain sense, she was no longer a Twi’lek at all.

Halyn was hesitant to approach his old friend.

Abi’s eyes burned with something Halyn couldn’t identify. “You,” she whispered hoarsely.

Halyn didn’t speak at first; instead, he watched the medical droid finish wrapping the amputated lek. When the Emdee-One finished, it laid the damaged appendage across Abi’s chest, mirroring her other lek.

The Zabrak blew out a sigh as he looked her over. “Hello,” he said quietly.

“I should have shot you twenty-five years ago,” Abi rasped.

“Yes, you should have.” Halyn shook his head. “How do you feel?”

The fire faded from the Twi’lek’s eyes. “I…I don’t know.”

The words jarred him worse than anything he had imagined she might say to him. Abi’s personality was always bedrock certain—right or wrong, she would stick with a thought or opinion until it wasn’t possible to maintain it. She made her mind up quickly, and never, ever bothered with indecision.

“I feel…different,” the Twi’lek said slowly. “Like some part of me is just gone.”

“What part?” Halyn asked.

She started to shake her head, grimaced, and stopped. “I don’t know. It’s like I know something’s wrong, but I can’t identify it. I know something’s missing, but I don’t know what.”

The Ul’akhoi straightened. Don’t hesitate, he told himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I got you into this. I’m sorry you were hurt fighting on my behalf.”

Abi looked at him, and he still couldn’t read her eyes. “I’m not sure if I’m still me, Hal. I’m not sure if Abi died, and I’m here in her place.”

The words stung him, and he closed his eyes. Of course. She’s brain-damaged. Even assuming she heals, she might not be the same person anymore.

“The med droid believes the amphistaff missed my brain, though,” Abi continued softly. “Took a big chunk out of my lek, severed a lot of nerves and muscles and tendons and cartilage, but the soft stuff is still intact. An inch higher and I’d be in a lot worse shape.”

Halyn opened his eyes. “Your brain’s intact?”

“The med droid thinks so,” Abi said. “But the surviving part of my lek is all swelled with blood and clotting and from the trauma, so it’s a bit like you horn-heads having a concussion. We won’t know for sure until the swelling has gone down.” She grimaced. “Though I don’t know what I’ll do with a short lek.”

The Zabrak found his voice. “Could be your new signature as a bounty hunter,” he suggested with forced casualness. “Criminals could be terrified of One-Lek coming after them.”

“Not my style,” Abi said. “Too distinctive. I mean, with one lekku, I’d never be able to sneak up on anyone.”

Halyn reached out and grasped her hand, squeezed it. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t,” Abi retorted, her eyes opening and flaring with fire. “So knock it off. I got myself into this fight, and the Vong cut my lek off, not you. And believe me, when I get out of this damned medical center, I’m going to find a way to make every single one of them pay for it.”

“That sounds like the Abi we all know,” Halyn said with a quiet, sad chuckle.

“And love,” Abi added.

“Well, know, anyways.”

She wasn’t strong enough to lash out at him, but he stepped back anyway.

“The patient needs complete rest,” the Emdee intoned from the other side of the bed. “Further excitement will only serve to harm the patient.”

“Shove it up your charger port,” Abi rasped at the droid.

“No, the machine is right,” Halyn said. “You’d better rest.”

“What else is going on?” Abi asked as Halyn turned his back. “I know I didn’t get the bastard, but I saw him. Did anyone else get him?”

“Not yet,” Halyn said as he started to walk away. “No one got him during the strike, but I’m going to make damned sure he doesn’t get off Iridonia alive.”

Commander Triak of Domain Kraal smiled contentedly when the bloodied warriors dumped a Zabrak at his feet.

“The Zabrak Councilor, Achick Lusp, as you requested, Supreme One,” one of the warriors growled.

“The Commander requested he be brought alive,” the tactician, Ret Kraal, stated flatly.

“The Zabrak lives.” The warrior shook his head. “One of his own kind attempted to kill him when we captured him. A dozen warriors died, but this infidel lives.”

“Wake him,” Triak said impatiently, gesturing a hand at the infidel. “The war progresses quickly, and we must waste no time.”

One of the warriors provided a spineray coaxer, a new creation of the shapers during the Iridonian campaign. The nervous systems of the infidel species were varied, and creations that worked for one species often did not work well on another. The creature, designed to inflict pain, had been specifically adapted for use on the Zabraks. It had been tested thoroughly on captured Zabrak warriors, but never put to important use.

Until now.

Achick Lusp’s eyes snapped open as pain coursed through his nervous system, eliciting a pitiful moan. Hardly the behavior of a warrior, Triak thought with amusement. And there are those among us who dare think these Zabraks equal warriors!

He carefully pushed aside his own doubts, his own heresies, refusing to acknowledge them until he had finished with this infidel politician.

“Awaken and arise,” Triak said aloud, in the infidel Basic tongue. “The gods have smiled upon you, Achick Lusp. You still have some minor use to them before you go to your Ultimate Reward.”

The Zabrak tried to rise to his knees, but the pain was apparently too much for him to bear, as he curled into a tight ball on the floor of the damutek, one of many such living buildings the shapers had grown and planted among the Rak’Edalin ruins.

Triak gestured impatiently to the warrior controlling the spineray coaxer. The warrior stroked the creature wrapped around the Zabrak’s neck, quieting it. A moment later, the Zabrak stopped shaking and managed to rise to his knees.

“Where am I?” Achick asked blearily.

“You are among the Chosen,” Triak informed him shortly. “Arise, Achick Lusp, and serve the gods! Or die as an infidel coward and face the eternal void instead.”

The Zabrak, to his credit, staggered to his feet in spite of the burns lining his back and arms, the scorches that patterned his bald head with red streaks. “What are you talking about?” he rasped.

“It is simple,” Triak said. “I want to make a bargain with you. That is the correct word in your Basic, is it not?”

“Basic is not my language,” Achick said hoarsely.

“I will take that as a confirmation.” Triak began to pace back and forth before the prisoner. “We have learned much about you infidels in our time in this galaxy,” he explained slowly. “You infidels often choose the weakest amongst you to lead. It seems your kind prefers a warrior with no power, who could never be a threat, to be your leaders. Your galaxy is a soft place, one which does not understand the necessity of war and sacrifice.”

The Zabrak’s eyes were focusing more clearly now, Triak noted approvingly. “We have taken advantage of your weaknesses repeatedly. A stronger leader to your New Republic, for example, may have stymied the early invasion before we could establish our foothold in this galaxy. A wiser leader would certainly have united these small kingdoms and empires together against us, instead of allowing us to split them apart and dilute the forces arrayed against us.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Achick said hoarsely.

“You understand well what I have already said,” Triak said approvingly. “It is evidenced by your own words and actions. You recognized the weakness of your warmaster and sought to overthrow him, to replace him with a more capable warrior. Your effort failed, but that made you no less correct.”

Achick watched him warily, like a cornered predator. “What do you want?” he asked again. “To turn the Council against Sanshir? It won’t work.”

“Your politicians and your Council are meaningless,” Triak said dismissively. “What I want is to put a strong leader at the head of your kind. A warrior who understands well how to fight.” The Commander smiled cunningly. “A wise warrior who would make peace with our kind, who would lead his people into an alliance with us—an alliance that would end the pitiful New Republic and the Imperial Remnant. A leader who could take his people into a new age of conquest, victory, and glory.”

“You want to make me the leader of Iridonia?” Achick said, his eyes wide.

“Of course. You have proven yourself wise—this Sanshir has been incapable of stopping us, as you predicted. You understand the need for strength of arms. With your wisdom, your people would even come to know the True Way, I have no doubt.” Triak spread his arms wide. “Join us in our war against this galaxy. I have learned much of your history—it is the nature of Zabraks to join conquerors, not remain defenders of the weak. You are natural allies of the Sith, and you would be to us as well.” He offered his hand in a gesture of friendship the Yuuzhan Vong had learned, but never had bothered to use. “Join us.”

Achick responded not by offering his hand, but by a hacking sound. It took Triak a long moment to realize the Zabrak was not coughing, or in pain, but laughing.

Laughing at a child of the gods, and at a warrior.

“You really are fools,” Achick Lusp said, gasping for breath. “You know nothing about me, or about my people. You think I can’t see what’s happening here?” He stopped and bent double for a moment before straightening, his face contorting in pain. “In spite of everything I said and did, Halyn Sanshir is beating you. You’re losing the war here on Iridonia. You’re desperate for anything to change the tide of the war—so desperate you’re trying to get me to betray my own people.” He laughed again, an ugly sound, and raised a finger at Triak.

The warrior turned his back on the Zabrak, examining his options.

“You know nothing about Zabraks, or about the Lusps,” Achick continued. “Yes, we worked with the Sith, to overthrow a corrupt Republic and to maintain our own sovereignty. You Yuuzhan Vong don’t want to just conquer us, you want to remake us. You want to make us become like you. We’ll never submit to you, you scarhead slime.” He spat at Triak. “And the Lusp clan would never, ever betray the New Republic. The Sanshirs and the Lusps may hate each other—we’ve been at war for longer than family memory—but all of us know Iridonia would be crushed under your heel.”

He stopped and gasped for breath for a moment before adding, “Find a different puppet, Vong scum. I won’t betray Iridonia or the New Republic to you.”

Triak chose, and acted.

The Yuuzhan Vong warrior spun and lashed out with his amphistaff. The serpent uncoiled like a whip, its fangs sinking deep into the Zabrak’s flesh and unleashing its venomous load straight into Achick’s bloodstream.

The Iridonian Councilor fell to his knees as poison rushed through his system, eating his nerves alive. “Iridonia will never submit,” he said weakly.

“Fool,” Triak growled. “You could have become great by my hand; instead, you will be crushed by it.”

“Iridonia has survived far worse than you,” Achick slurred. “Like every invader, it will chew you up and spit you out into the void. You’ll never win here. Iridonia will never surrender.”

Triak watched in contempt as the Zabrak Councilor, Achick Lusp, died.

When Achick rested motionless on the floor, his doubts began to rise up again. Even if we win here, will we ever be able to force these Zabraks into submission?

The Council building seemed to rock like an ancient sea-going vessel as coralskippers flashed by overhead, pounding it with plasma fire. T-wings screamed past in hot pursuit, the shrill screech of engines vibrating Nisia’s teeth. She grimaced at the pain as the snubfighters tried to keep the Vong assault off, but even their best efforts were no longer enough.

Yuuzhan Vong warriors advanced against the Council, picking their way through burning mounds of their own dead. They never stop, Nisia observed distantly. We kill them and kill them and kill them, but they never seem to get the hint. E-web repeating blasters started hammering away at the approaching forces again. Vong warriors began to fall, even their best vonduun crab armor unable to protect them from laserfire capable of taking down unshielded starfighters.

Still they advanced onward, wasting slave troops and their own lives in yet another assault on the fortified position. Nisia shook her head at the waste. If they were Zabrak, I’d call it a sad loss of life. With these scarheads, though, it’s just stupidity. If their own people want to throw away resources like this, they can feel free to keep doing so.

More Vong fell to concentrated fire. The corpses were starting to pile up again, and she grimaced. No way we can send out scouts to knock down the piles again. Not with the skips overhead, and the Vong keeping more pressure on us. She frowned and lifted her macrobinoculars to her face, watching the advancing troops. They’re not going to give up this time, are they?

Sure enough, the Vong continued to pour forward, even as dozens more fell to the concentrated defensive fire. The former pirate frowned, trying to understand their strategy, when she felt a tremor in the ground. What was that?

Through the haze that seemed to be a constant in Rak’Edalin now, she caught a glimpse of movement well behind the Yuuzhan Vong assault lines. She refocused the macrobinoculars, trying to get a good look. The smoke from burning all those buildings is making it harder to get a good look at anything, she mentally griped. Little downside to Halyn’s strategy I bet he never considered.

A gust of wind blew away enough haze for Nisia to finally get a clear view, if only for a heartbeat, of what was moving. The ground trembled again, and she swallowed hard. Wonderful. A range. She tried to ignore the fear gripping her heart. Unless we get a lot of fighter cover here right now, we’re going to die.

She unclipped her comlink and brought it to her lips. “Cathleen, this is Nisia at the Council chambers. We need evac immediately.”

“Say again, Nisia,” a distant comm officer answered her.

“The Council chamber is about to be overrun by Yuuzhan Vong,” she said bluntly. “We need transports here in ten minutes or there’s not going to be anyone left alive.”

“Please wait,” the comm officer said calmly.

Nisia gritted her teeth. Bloody military types never understand urgency, she thought harshly. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. C’mon, Jess, come riding to the rescue.

As though her words had summoned him, Halyn spoke on the comlink a moment later. “What’s your status, Nisia?”

“We’ve held out so far,” she said bluntly, “but the Vong are moving in with the heavy artillery. They’re bringing ranges down on us right now, and throwing away warriors to keep our guns tied up. We need evac from your Muurians right now, or you’ll be picking up corpses. How soon can you get us out of the fire?”

“You can’t hold if I eliminate that range?” Halyn asked.

Nisia hesitated, not expecting the Ul’akhoi’s question. She considered carefully, but the tremors were becoming heavier and more frequent. “Jess, I don’t think anyone can knock it out in time.”

“If Argus would’ve let me bury those baradium bombs under the streets like I wanted to,” the distant Zabrak grumbled. “Alright. Stand by.”

The comlink went dead, and Nisia’s nervousness continued to rise. Jess, don’t leave me hanging, she yelled inside her own mind. Don’t let us die out here.

The Ul’akhoi returned to the channel a moment later. “We’re dispatching the Muurians now—they’re just turning around from pulling out one of our strike teams. Hold fast as long as you can, and they’ll pull your feet out of the fire.”

“Thanks, Jess,” Nisia said with a wave of relief washing over her. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, like you’ll ever deliver.”

“Well, I would if you weren’t the one who put me into this situation in the first place,” Nisia retorted. “I don’t know why I ever let you drag me into this war in the first place.”

“See you soon, Nisia.”

“Roger, Nisia out.” She was secretly guilty at the relief she felt as she clipped her comlink to her belt. Halyn no doubt had intended some secret use for the Council chambers, and now she was forcing him to abandon it. Still, they had killed a good many Vong attackers, and they had forced the invaders into committing a far larger force than they’d likely intended for the Council.

At least that damned Lusp will be off my back, she thought wryly. I’m sick of him pestering me abo—

She had no time to finish the thought, as the world around her seemed to explode into fire.

Kelta stormed onto the Cathleen’s bridge, her robes soaked in blood. “Halyn,” she called sharply. “Need to talk to you, right now.”

The Ul’akhoi glanced over his shoulder at her, then returned to the officer he was speaking to. “Three transports should be enough,” he was saying. “Tell them to leave the E-webs behind; there’s no time to evacuate the heavy equipment. Blaster rifles and troops, and every member of the Council they can cram on board. Got it?”

The officer nodded, and Halyn turned to Kelta. She irritably waved him over to a relatively quiet corner of the bridge, where the Zabrak general joined her.

“What is it?” he asked a bit sharply. “We’re trying to take advantage of the chaos your team’s ambush caused, but time is critical here.”

“You didn’t tell me it was an assassination,” Kelta said bluntly. “Who was that? The Vong Commander?”

Halyn rocked back on his heels. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

The Jedi Knight leaned forward, keeping him off balance. “The Vong you sent Abi after. It must have been one of the Vong higher-ups here on Iridonia. He was scarred head to foot, after all.”

“You saw him?” Halyn asked in astonishment. “He actually was there?”

“Yes, he was there,” Kelta snarled. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. After all, you knew you couldn’t send me or Anishor after him directly—neither of us would’ve accepted a hit mission. We’re not assassins, so you sent the best one you could find, and she paid the price.”

Halyn shook his head. “No, I didn’t know the Vong commander would show. I was trying to draw him out so we could find him and take a shot at him, but this was a recon and disruption mission. I didn’t intend to assassinate anyone. At least not yet.”

Kelta’s rage lessened. “Then who…?”

“Me,” another voice answered.

Kelta turned to see Kativie Lusp, the Zabrak Jedi Knight with a very un-Jedi-like glint in her eyes. “I knew Halyn was trying to draw him out. I asked Abi to take the shot if she had a chance. The bastard deserves to die and die screaming, but I’ll take a quick and painful death at the hands of one of the New Republic’s best operatives. It would have blunted the Vong’s assault as well.”

The Zabrak unhooked Kelta’s lightsaber from her own belt and offered it to her colleague. “I’ve retrieved my own. Thank you for letting me borrow this.”

Kelta accepted the hilt wordlessly. Kativie…have you fallen to the dark side? She reached out with the Force and felt darkness in the Zabrak Jedi’s aura. Her pain and desire for revenge colored her perceptions red, and Kelta felt for a moment as though she could lose herself in the depths of Kativie’s rage. It’s the anger of a mother who has lost children. She wants revenge for what was taken from her. Kelta was a Jedi Knight, but she found herself unable to condemn her old friend. Would I be in any better shape, if it had been Adreia who was assassinated?

She swallowed, the righteous anger she’d felt with Halyn starting to fade. It wasn’t him at all. He might have enabled it, but that wasn’t his intent. Another dark intention touched her perception. If he had known the Commander was going to be there, he would’ve taken the shot himself. Kativie would too, actually…but I bet Halyn forbade her from accompanying the strike team.

“Wait,” Halyn said slowly, “what do you mean, Abi paid the price?”

Kelta swallowed. “She took a shot at the Vong and lost.”

Halyn’s face was ashen. “She…”

“She’s alive,” Kelta said. “She lost part of a lekku in the attempt. I don’t know if she’s going to make it, or what will be left of her if she does.”

Halyn closed his eyes.

Kelta could almost see his thoughts in the Force, broadcast in clear text. Twi’lek lekku were more than limbs, more than decorative bits of the head like human hair or even a Zabrak’s horns. The cartilaginous tentacles housed large chunks of a Twi’lek’s brain. Kelta wasn’t absolutely certain on Twi’lek anatomy, particularly brain structure, but she was fairly certain the lekku largely housed memory—some of it passed on from mother to child.

A Twi’lek with damaged lekku was said to be an outcast from her own kind.

Kelta shoved the idea away. Worrying or speculating won’t help Abi now. She glanced at Kativie. I don’t know if she will allow me to help her now, either. She’s tainted by the darkness, but she hasn’t fallen. If I try to help her now, I’ll only push her further and faster along that path.

She took a deep breath. “What can I do?” she asked.

Halyn shook his head. “Stay here on the bridge with Kativie,” he said. “Just make sure nothing else goes wrong.” He turned and headed swiftly for the turbolift at the rear of the bridge.

“Where are you going?” Kelta called after him.

“Where do you think?” he retorted as the lift slid open for him. He turned inside it to look back at the two Jedi. “I don’t like friends of mine dying, but if she doesn’t survive, I won’t let her die alone.”

Nisia was surprised to find herself alive. Fires burned around her, but they were starting to die out. I couldn’t have been out long—maybe a few minutes at worst. She glanced down at her skin, saw the burns, and grimaced. Shock and adrenaline must be keeping me going, she thought. This is going to hurt like blazes when I start to feel it again.

She slowly sat up. Rak’Edalin spun around her, but she refused to give an inch of ground. When the city finally stabilized, she carefully rose to her feet. The ground shook beneath her, and she nearly collapsed again. No, no, no, I will not fall. The Vong can’t kill me.

It wasn’t until she started to walk that she realized the tremors she felt weren’t from her injuries. They were from the Yuuzhan Vong rakamat thundering its slow way to the Council.

She looked around the rooftop, saw several holes melted clear through it. That range must have let loose with the Vong version of artillery, she observed distantly. Now it’s clearing a path to the Council.

The E-webs chattered constantly now, raking reddish laserfire across the Vong creature, but it deployed defensive voids to intercept the damage. Behind it, she could see dozens, maybe hundreds of Yuuzhan Vong warriors clustering in closely to the beast’s legs, depending on it for cover against the defending Zabraks.

Why aren’t they just blowing us to pieces with the rakamat’s weapons? she asked herself. A moment later, the answer surfaced with crystal clarity. Because they know who’s hiding here. The Vong are coming for the civilian government to try to use them as leverage to force us to surrender. But that’s not going to happen.

The distant shriek of repulsorlifts was music to her ears. Here comes the evacuation, she told herself cheerfully. We’ll get out from under the Vong yet.

The rakamat turned and opened fire with its plasma cannons, sending balls of fire out at the approaching transports. That’s not good, Nisia thought dumbly. I’d better get below and get the evacuation started. If we take too long, we’ll get chewed apart.

Li Coden swore as the Muurian transport bucked. “Sithspawn, why did I let anyone talk me into flying one of these buckets?” he griped as plasma splashed over his forward shields. “Two and Three, squeeze in—if we don’t overlap defenses, we’re going to get ripped apart.”

“Sir,” the second Muurian pilot responded, “these aren’t exactly starfighters.”

“I’ve noticed,” Li said sharply. “That doesn’t mean we can’t use the same tactics. Overlap defenses and we have a much better chance of surviving this run.”

Reluctantly, the other two Muurians slid into tight formation with him—one flying directly above him, one directly below. “Remember,” Li joked, “don’t pull back on the stick. Or push forward. Rudder pedals only.”

The other Muurian pilots were grimly silent as they focused on maintaining the formation. Transport pilots aren’t use to this kind of precision flying, Li realized. I’ll be lucky if one of them doesn’t get us all killed.

Another plasma ball splashed over the overlapping defenses of the three transports, deflected away by the energy shields. <Well done,> Anishor commented from the copilot’s chair. <I haven’t seen this kind of precision flying with ships this big and slow since…well, ever.>

Li grunted as he focused wholly on the flying; a salvo of magma missiles crashed into the shields and were similarly repulsed. “That’s why you talked me into this, right? You wanted to see some precision flying that even a Jedi wouldn’t be stupid enough to do?”

<I suspected your skills may be necessary to evacuate the Council,> Anishor allowed. <Besides, this transport’s regular pilot was drunk.>

“Drunk?” Li asked in disbelief. “How did you…?”

The Wookiee chuckled. <Acute sense of smell. Not all of you furless deal well with the stresses of war.>

“All of your people do?” Li asked, sweating as more plasma thundered against his forward shields. “Three, you’re lagging—move back up, or we’ll lose our defense advantage.”

The transport promptly throttled up, tightening up just in time for another salvo of fire to wash across the forward shields. The Vong really don’t want us getting in.

<Not all of our kind do, no,> Anishor admitted. <Some become madclaws, others exhibit cowardice.>

“Got any tips on landing?” Li asked, leading the three transports into a shallow banking loop over the Council. Below, the rakamat was against the Council chambers now, and the Vong warriors were pouring out from behind it to rush into the building which had been breached by one of the creature’s massive claws.”

<Straight down,> Anishor advised.

Li smiled at that thought. “Sounds crazy enough to work.” He flicked his comm back on. “Two and Three, break left and right, and then go straight down,” he ordered as he leveled off and pulled the throttle back, cutting in repulsorlifts.

The two transports obediently swung into position. “Sir,” the third pilot spoke up, “I’m pretty sure the Council’s roof won’t hold one Muurian, let alone three.”

“I’m counting on it,” Li replied with a smirk.

Nisia was starting to feel the distant touch of pain from her burns when the Vong started pouring in. Zabrak soldiers were abandoning their E-webs to rush forward, zhabokas rising to meet a tide of amphistaffs.

I’ll get cut to pieces in there, Nisia observed. Instead of joining the rush, she moved past the warriors, heading towards one of the now-abandoned E-webs.

Achick Lusp was at her side before she was halfway to the heavy weapon emplacement. “Captain, surely you have ordered an evacuation,” he said grimly. “We can no longer hold this position.”

“Is that your expert political opinion?” Nisia snarled over her shoulder, never breaking stride. “Or is that merely the amateur warrior?”

“It’s not opinion, it’s fact,” Achick said bluntly.

“Good thing I’ve got three Muurians coming to bail your ass out of this fire,” Nisia replied.

“Oh.” Achick seemed momentarily taken aback, though he continued to follow hot on her heels. “The Ul’akhoi agreed to the evacuation, then?”

“The military situation was not lost on him,” the pirate said dryly. “Now, if you’ll be so kind as to get out of the…”

Her chiding was interrupted by a roar. The building shook again, harder than it had while the rakamat was pounding away at it. What the…?

The roof gave way, collapsing in great chunks as a Muurian transport crashed through. It caught itself on repulsorlifts, settling smoothly to the now debris-cluttered Council floor. Two more transports, repulsorlifts similarly screaming, followed suit, landing ramps dropping even before they could set down on their landing struts.

“That’s something you don’t see every day!” Nisia shouted to no one in particular over the roaring engines.

She rushed to the E-web emplacement, ignoring everything else around her. The clashes of combat, the war cries of the Yuuzhan Vong, the shouts of Iridonian warriors were all drowned out by the deep bass howl of the transports’ engines. Need to buy time for our people to get out, Nisia thought as she reached the E-web.

The weapon was still powered up and ready to go, its barrel protruding through a hole cut in the wall for just that purpose. She heaved against the weapon, trying to pull it back inside. It seemed an impossible task; nothing happened as she threw her weight and muscle into her efforts.

Abruptly, it started to move, nearly sending her sprawling. She looked up and was shocked to see the Council member, Achick Lusp, straining against the weapon with her. With their combined efforts, the heavy E-web slowly retracted into the building.

The moment the barrel cleared the inner wall, Nisia quit pushing against the E-web and straightened. A moment later, she swung the barrel around towards the skirmish between the Yuuzhan Vong and the Iridonian defenders.

The Zabraks were beginning to break toward the transports. Councilors were already boarding the Muurians, rushing aboard for sanctuary.

Nisia grabbed ahold of the weapon’s controls and jammed both thumbs into the firing studs. The E-web thundered, sending fiery death into the crowded Vong. Two Iridonian warriors went down to friendly fire, but the pirate allowed herself no moments of remorse as she raked blaster bolts across the crowd. Don’t need much time, just to buy enough for the politicians to escape the grasp of the Vong.

The thought embittered her more than a bit—the knowledge that dozens, maybe hundreds of Iridonians were dying to save the lives of a bunch of good-for-nothing politicians, people who had done nothing for the war effort except trip up those who were fighting it.

She was so intent on firing she never saw the Yuuzhan Vong attack from behind.

The strike was mercifully swift; the pirate never felt the blow, had no pain as the amphistaff swept through her neck, separating her head from her spine and sending her sprawling bonelessly to the Council floor.

Kelta crouched in the storm sewer, her thoughts centered and calm, the Force flowing through her like a quiet stream. The Jedi knew, with bedrock certainty, when the fighting started that stream would become a raging river, carrying her into the battle with strength and certainty.

She held her single lightsaber in front of her, not with her hands but with the invisible hand of the Force. Kelta would have felt far more comfortable with her second lightsaber on-hand, but she knew she could still fight well without it.

Above her, pressed tightly against the thin circular cover that concealed him from the outside, Anishor also meditated on the Force, albeit uncomfortably. Kelta knew, even without the Force, that her old friend was unhappy with the mud and slime that permeated his coat. With the Force’s aid, she knew just how much it bothered the Wookiee. It did not surprise her—every Wookiee she’d ever known was far more comfortable in the open sky than they would ever be underground.

Kelta stretched out further with her senses, feeling the readiness of the Wookiee berserkers around her. The last few were moving into position even now, and in a few moments they would explode out of their cover and attack the Yuuzhan Vong from behind. Such tactics wouldn’t win the war, she knew, but it would help reduce the odds against the Zabrak defenders if for no other reason than the Vong would have to deploy rearguard troops to keep themselves covered, reducing the pressure they could put on the front line.

How many other ideas like this does Halyn have? Kelta wondered.

It was a mistake to even think the Zabrak’s name. In spite of her bonds of control, thoughts starting churning up from the bottom of her mind, disrupting the flow of the Force. Emotions she thought she’d left behind sprung forth anew—anger at how he’d left her, protectiveness for her dear friend, possessiveness of her old lover. And there was even love.

The Jedi struggled to contain her emotions, tie them down again. She breathed deeply, slowly, calming her racing heart and bringing her racing thoughts back under control. It took precious minutes, but finally the Force flowed evenly through her again. In the corner of her mind, though, she questioned. Is that a memory of the love we shared years ago, or do I love him anew? a tiny voice asked her. Yes, Kelta, you do love him now. Even with how he’s changed, even with what he’s done, even with who he’s become. You still love him.

She told the voice to shut up, or it would get them both killed. The voice retreated into silence, though Kelta sensed it was only a temporary reprieve. Patience, she told herself. Patience.

Naturally, while she was fighting to keep her own mind under control, the fight against the Yuuzhan Vong happened.

Roars rattled the Rak’Edalin storm sewer as Anishor and dozens of other Wookiee berserkers erupted from their concealment, wordless battle cries that could freeze the blood of a Sith Lord, let alone a Yuuzhan Vong warrior.

Light finally shone down and illuminated Kelta at the bottom of the storm sewer. She grimaced at the bright light, chided herself for distraction, and gathered the Force around her. With a whisper of power she sprung upward, her body flying up through the tunnel and into the open air like a projectile from a slugthrower.

Even as she twisted through the air, she took advantage of the height of her jump to survey the battlefield. With the clarity the Force provided her, she saw in an instant the platoon of Wookiee berserkers charging forward, rykk blades already cleaving Yuuzhan Vong flesh. Surprised warriors were trampled by a wall of snarling fangs and fur, an unstoppable wave of Wookiee rage and strength that crashed down on the unprepared invaders.

Kelta landed on her booted feet easily, igniting her lightsaber and charging forward towards a group of unprepared Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

“Jeedai!” the familiar cry went up. Kelta had heard it on every world where she’d fought the invaders. Early in the invasion, it was a death sentence for the target; the Jedi, dependent on the Force to anticipate their enemy’s reactions, were unable to escape the swarm of warriors that inevitably resulted from that cry. Two years of fighting the extragalactic foes had taught Kelta how to fight an enemy she couldn’t sense. Before the cluster of warriors could even bring their amphistaffs to bear, she was among them, her shining violet lightsaber dealing death in swift, fiery slashes.

A part of her rebelled at the slaughter. A Jedi Knight did not strike down helpless foes, nor did she attack first—she waited for an opponent to attack first. Another part of her, though, knew what she was doing was necessary. I’m fighting a war. Not all Jedi ideals are compatible with warfare. Another part of her justified the brutal attack. They’re neither helpless nor innocent. They chose to risk the battlefield, same as any of us, and they invaded Iridonia.

She silenced the mutinous thoughts again by sweeping the legs out from under another Vong warrior, her lightsaber slashing across his knees. As she spun back to strike down the last two charging warriors, her lightsaber skittered off an amphistaff. She recovered by leaping back a meter, gaining space.

The warriors cautiously moved to flank her, amphistaffs hissing viciously at her. Kelta smiled faintly as she flourished her lightsaber, ending in a simple guard. They’ve learned to respect the Jedi light blade, she thought wryly. Too bad. It was easier when they just charged in mindlessly.

She stepped back slowly, refusing to give the Vong the opportunity to take up positions on opposite sides. Kelta shook her head at the stalemate, then raised her blade to prepare to attack. No sense staying in a stalemate—take a risk and break it.

The Force whispered to her. Instead of attacking, Kelta threw herself into a high arcing leap, landing a dozen meters beyond the further warrior. Her eyes were already sweeping the battle, looking for the incongruence that had triggered her senses.

Then she saw it: blue lekku among the furry muscled towers that were Wookiee berserkers. Who? she asked the Force, stretching out.

Then the time she’d bought herself was over as the Yuuzhan Vong attacked her again with whistling amphistaffs, and she abandoned herself to the Force to carry her though the duel.

Triak of Domain Kraal was still glum as he studied the blaze bugs showing the battle. “Your attacks upon their Council yield no success,” he pointed out to Ret Kraal. “Hundreds of warriors and slaves have died attempting to take the chamber, but they have yet to gain a meter of ground. Our dead line the ground like stones and blades of grass.”

“Severe sacrifice is sometimes necessary to bring about victory,” Ret Kraal, the tactician, offered in return. “Even our great victory over the infidels at Coruscant was purchased with many deaths, and that was at the hand of the warmaster Tsavong Lah himself!”

“Still,” Triak murmured, “our losses mount, and replenishment of warriors will not happen unless we are victorious. Domain Kraal is on the brink of loss.”

“As are the infidel Zabraks,” Ret said confidently. “They are at their breaking point; we can endure a few weeks more of these losses, but the infidels will shatter before then.”

“Are you certain, tactician?” Triak asked bluntly. “Perhaps their numbers are greater than you believe, and they can endure everything we can throw at them.”

Ret shook his head. “If they had that strength remaining, they would not retreat before our attacks elsewhere. Even now, their lines weaken and fall back.”

“Perhaps,” Triak said grudgingly. “Or perhaps the Zabrak warmaster seeks to draw us out, to force us to commit everything where he can finish Domain Kraal.”

The two warriors were silent for long minutes. Ret finally broke the silence with a question that no one else would dare ask the Commander—one that would have earned his execution had any other heard it, for it was heresy of the highest degree. “Tell me, Commander—have we been abandoned by the gods?”

Triak’s reply should have been immediate and voracious. Instead, it was quiet and troubled. “I do not know, Tactician.” Words fell from his lips, shared words of treason that would end both their lives if any other heard it. “We were sent here to Iridonia to prove ourselves true Yuuzhan Vong, the children of the gods, with no trace of Shame upon us. We expected these infidels to fall before us like the other races of the galaxy, but instead they strike and strike again. Even though they are weaker, their forces less numerous than our own, they strike with lethality and precision to weaken us and prevent our victory.”

“Have the gods abandoned us in favor of the infidel Zabraks?” Ret asked.

Triak snorted in derision. “The gods would never favor tool-makers like these infidels,” he said dismissively, but his voice was apprehensive when he added, “Yet they could still have abandoned us altogether.”

Neither warrior spoke as they considered the consequences of such an abandonment. Both were still silent when their room was breached by an attendant in seer’s garb.

“Supreme One,” the seer said as he fell to his knees in subservience, “we are ambushed.”

“What?” Triak asked, rising to his feet. “Who? And where?”

“Infidel warriors, attacking from below ground,” the seer said, his head bowed deeply. “They rose through the city’s waste-tunnels like ngdin, striking from darkness in attack.”

Ambush! Triak railed silently. Again! Have the gods truly turned against us? Triak did not give voice to the thought now, not with the seer here. Such a statement now would lead to his death, even should he finally conquer these Zabraks. “They attack without honor,” Triak said flatly, distantly. This was why they retreated during the night, he decided. They wanted to focus our attention forward, on the ground they ceded us willingly, to ensure we would not look backward for the ambush they prepared.

“How many warriors have the infidels sent against us?” Ret asked.

The seer bowed his head deeply. “Perhaps forty, Tactician,” he said with his arms snapped across his chest in salute. “Not Zabraks, either.”

“Droids?” Triak asked in disdain. “Some mechanical abominations they buried to lie in wait for us?”

“No, Supreme One. Large, furry warriors taller than even a great warrior. We have seen them sporadically in the defense of this world and in others, but never in the number which attacks us now.”

“Wookiees,” Ret Kraal said in disbelief. “We have never spotted more than a handful in any place. The Zabrak warmaster must have kept them in reserve.”

“And now tips his hand?” Triak asked. “The infidels now reveal a weapon they have held in secrecy, waiting for the right moment to use against us. And for what? An ambush carried out by a handful of warriors, an attack inconsequential to the fate of this world?”

“No,” a female voice snarled. “To allow me to repay you for your own tactics.”

Triak and Ret both turned toward the voice. The seer rose as he turned, rising between the Commander and the speaker. He almost immediately went down in a burned mess of flesh and blood, sending gore splattering across the room.

Commander and tactician responded with the instincts of long-time warriors, springing for cover. Another blast from the intruder caught Ret, sending the tactician sprawling limply. Triak snarled at the sight of his tactician unconscious. “Infidel assassin!” he snarled from behind a yorik coral bench. “You will not leave here alive!”

“Big words from the Vong on the floor,” the assassin spat.

Triak risked a glance around the yorik coral, was rewarded with a glimpse of a blue-skinned figure in purple and white armor. He barely got his head back into cover when another blast from the assassin’s weapon chewed into the bench, with excess energy melting holes in the deck and wall beyond it.

Triak snorted, clearing his mind of the problems of the battle for the accursed infidel city and freed a pair of thud bugs from his bandoleer. You infidels will never learn, he thought. Your machines have such limitations, but living weapons learn to surpass their limitations.

The tactician released the two thud bugs. They crawled across the floor, under the bench. Triak pulled a razor bug from his bandoleer, watching the thud bugs slowly crawl to where they could take flight. Foolish, foolish infidel. As the thud bugs spread their wings to lift from the yorik coral deck, he threw the razor bug as hard as he could straight up from the bench.

It took the infidel assassin no more than a second to track and fire on the razor bug, splattering it against the coral walls. It was long enough, however, for the two thud bugs to take flight and throw themselves at the assassin.

Unwilling to forego witnessing his victory, Triak peeked out from cover in time to see the two thud bugs wing in at the infidel. She was good enough to shoot one of the unexpected bugs out of the air, but the second one smashed into her weapon before she could fire again. The crippled, fast-moving thud bug and the remains of her own weapon smashed into the assassin’s chest, sending her down in a heap on the floor.

Triak rose and collected the dead seer’s amphistaff, then stalked to the fallen assassin.

She was not a Zabrak, as he suspected. Her skin was a pleasing shade of blue, but she was otherwise as ugly as any infidel. Instead of hair, two large hairless, fleshy tentacles descended from her skull instead. “Twi’lek,” Triak said aloud as he brought the amphistaff up for the coup de grace. “A slave species of this galaxy.”

The assassin’s eyes snapped open. “Slave this!” she snarled, lashing her foot up between Triak’s legs.

The Yuuzhan Vong was thrown off balance by the blow and the pain that accompanied it, but he still brought the amphistaff down in a heavy overhand strike. The hissing serpent cut deeply into one of the Twi’lek’s head-tails, drawing a spray of blood and a scream of pain from the assassin.

Triak hissed at the assassin, tugging the amphistaff back up and out, severing perhaps a third of the lekku. Before he could strike again, though, the Twi’lek lashed her foot sideways into his ankle, throwing him off-balance and sending him sprawling into the wall.

Impossibly, the Twi’lek was trying to rise to her feet in spite of the wound. Triak’s head spun from the impact, though, and he was dizzy as he tried to straighten as well.

Through the ringing of his ears, Triak was slow to recognize a new sound accompanying running feet in the hallway: the hum of a lightsaber.

Kelta slid to a stop, her lightsaber burning brightly in her hand. The horrible reality of the scene took long seconds to sink in, as her brain wrestled with what she saw and tried to label it a nightmare.

Abi Ocopaqui was unsteadily trying to rise to her feet. At her feet lay a large piece of her lekku, apparently severed by the Yuuzhan Vong warrior leaving heavily against the wall with an amphistaff in his hand. Blood ran in rivulets from the severed lekku, painting the floor red.

The Jedi snapped out of revere and stepped into the chamber, moving to protect Abi’s wounded side. “Abi, what happened?” she asked. “Did they capture you, try to enslave you?” She kept her blade raised. Get Abi out first, she told herself. Kill the Vong later.

It was a Jedi choice, and for an eternal instant she felt like perhaps the galaxy hadn’t turned inside-out in the last few years. Maybe there really was a way for the Jedi to survive the war as Jedi.

Abi tried to answer her, but the words were incoherent. Kelta eyed the severed lekku for a moment. Part of a Twi’lek’s brain is in the lekku, isn’t it? She might not be capable of responding anymore. The thought sickened her. If that were Abi’s fate, would she have rather died here than live brain-damaged?

There was no further time to waste on speculation. Kelta kept her blade up between herself and the Vong warrior as she pulled Abi’s arm across her own shoulders, supporting her.

The Vong surprised her, rasping in Basic. “Jeedai. Are you not here to finish what this one started?”

Kelta ignored the words—they made no sense.

“No? I thought you were another assassin of the infidel warmaster here.”

“Assassin?” Kelta asked.

The Yuuzhan Vong warrior chuckled at her, a sound that raised her hackles. She would’ve dropped Abi to the ground to defend herself with her lightsaber, had the Vong looked capable of doing anything besides leaning against the coral walls of the horrid living building.

“Ah, so you live in ignorance of what war truly is,” the Vong taunted her. “Take your little assassin and run along.”

Kelta retreated, her lightsaber held tightly in her off hand. Dammit, Halyn, she railed silently. Our strike mission was an assassination attempt, wasn’t it? You were trying to get revenge for the kids. Why didn’t you tell me?

Because you wouldn’t have approved, the little voice said to her as she finally lost sight of the Vong around the corridor.

Yep, and neither would Anishor. She felt no shame for the thought, though she understood well why he had done it. If it had been Adreia who died in on the Cathleen, would I have done it? In a heartbeat, she knew. Yes, I would have, dark side be damned.

She stopped, helped the semi-delirious Abi slide down to sit on the floor of the Yuuzhan Vong building. Then, with lightsaber in hand, she charged back to finish the Vong warrior.

The chamber was empty.

The Jedi sighed, shut down the lightsaber and clipped it to her belt, then brought her comlink to her lips. “Cathleen, this is Jedi Rose. Can you hear me?”

As she hoped, Halyn’s voice answered her a moment later. “Go ahead.”

“Abi failed,” Kelta said, working hard to keep any emotion out of her voice. “She’s badly wounded and needs a transport.”

“I’ve already got air cover and a pair of Muurians inbound,” Halyn answered crisply. “Don’t miss the pickup. Wookiees are punctual, so don’t keep them waiting.”

“Roger.” Kelta returned to Abi, found the Twi’lek unconscious but still breathing. The Jedi lifted the operative into a rescue-carry, and headed out of the building at a Force-enhanced run. Hal, this was not your best idea.

Dawn revealed a Rak’Edalin shattered by war.

Over half the city lay in ruin. The Yuuzhan Vong had destroyed as much as they could, using living creatures to burn buildings to the ground and immolate every machine they could lay hands upon. They savaged every scrap of Iridonian custom and heritage they touched. They left no sign of the infidel “civilization” in their wake, nothing intact to speak of the great Zabrak history.

But the Zabrak defenders had done far more. Under orders, they had fought every step of their faltering retreat, forcing the Vong to attack over piles of the dead—the fatalities of both sides of the war. When they were forced to fall back, they did so behind a curtain of fire. Under orders, they burned everything in their wake—homes, weapons, medical supplies, food. While the Yuuzhan Vong invaders showed no interest in employing their enemy’s resources, the Zabraks had no intention of making the battle easier for them by leaving anything usable in their wake.

On this particular morning, the dawn revealed a change in the strategy of the defenders. Under the cover of darkness, the Zabraks had fallen back by about a city block, creating much more open space between the warring armies. The Yuuzhan Vong awoke to find, for the first time, that the Iridonians had freely given ground in the long-fought siege. Without the cost of a life, the Yuuzhan Vong could take extra space.

The Yuuzhan Vong found themselves baffled. Not even the most optimistic of their field commanders, nor the most faithful and devout of the priests, believed that the Zabrak will to fight had been broken. Nor did they expect the Iridonians to capitulate.

Instead, they expected a trap.

It wasn’t an unfair expectation, after all; the Zabraks had sprung many traps on them during the drawn-out war. The Zabrak warmaster had proven himself adept at outmaneuvering and tricking his opponents, having slain the first Yuuzhan Vong commander and ravaging the navy and army of the Yuuzhan Vong invaders.

Instead of immediately moving into the newly-given, newly-burned ground, the Vong waited, confused, for instructions from their great Commander.

“What is he doing?” Triak asked Ret as the Commander and his chief tactician toured through the burned husk of a city. “Why do his forces retreat, but only a small distance and then dig in again?”

“He delays us,” Ret said. He had spent the two hours immediately after the dawn in intense devotions and contemplations, pleading with the god of war, Yun-Yammka, the slayer, for insight into the maneuvering of his enemy. At the end of the two hours, he felt as though he had some idea of what their enemy had in mind. “He delays us by making us question freely-given ground. We spend more time studying it, looking for traps, then what it would have taken us to conquer it by force against the infidel defenders. He attempts to buy time and lives alike.”

“To what end?” Triak asked curiously.

“Time for his forces to recover,” Ret answered promptly. “The long grind of this siege has worn his troops down. He seeks to give them precious time to regroup against our attacks. Hours and days are what he needs to reinforce his lines, to make them impenetrable against our attacks.”

“And the assassination attempt?” Triak asked. “You believe it failed?”

“I know it,” Ret said confidently. “The assassins struck just after the sunset. The infidel retreat occurred in the few hours before dawn. Only their General Sanshir would have issued such instructions while leaving troops in place to fight; any new commander would have taken time to familiarize himself with the forces under his control before attempting such actions.”

“And what of the assassins?”

“I know not, Supreme One,” Ret answered truthfully. “I suspect they died in their attempt.”

“Commander,” a villip tender interrupted from behind, bowing his head deeply. “The infidels have broadcast a statement intercepted by our villips, and I believe you should see it.”

Triak waved his hand irritably. “If it is so important then please, show me.”

The tender provided an already-inverted villip with an image floating over it, created from light. Better than their ‘holoprojector’ and their other wrong machines, Triak thought smugly as he watched the image begin. Nothing can match the beauty of the living.

The grainy image of his counterpart, the infidel warmaster Halyn Sanshir, hovered over the villip. “This message,” the Zabrak spat, “is for the cowardly leader of the Yuuzhan Vong who lay siege to my world. Your attempt to assassinate me has failed.”

Triak cursed to himself. The infidel still lives. How did our infiltrators fail? He shook his head. It does not matter. We will divide these people in two and conquer them even while this Sanshir still draws breath.

The image widened, showing a Yuuzhan Vong warrior on his knees next to the Zabrak. The Yuuzhan Vong was clearly drugged, barely conscious and too weak to rise to his feet or act against the infidel. The Ul’akhoi spoke calmly. “While I fight on the field of honor alongside my warriors, the so-called commander of the Vong,” he continued, the emphasis on the word indicating he clearly knew it was insulting to refer to the children of the gods as such, “hides behind his troops and does not take the field. Perhaps it is for the best.”

The Zabrak unholstered his blaster, leveled the emitter against the Yuuzhan Vong, and pulled the trigger. Triak’s eyes widened in shock as the infidel executed the defeated warrior. Over and over, the warmaster himself has said the infidels are incapable of such acts! This Zabrak has no trace of the softness that has allowed us to conquer this heathen galaxy.

“Come and join the field of battle, Vong scum,” Sanshir spat. “Your fate will be the same. No matter what tactic you use, what dishonorable assassination you attempt, I will kill you like I killed this one—this Vong not worthy of the title ‘warrior’. You chose to fight us here on our world; we will utterly destroy you for it.”

The image faded away, and Triak suppressed the urge to swallow. The Zabrak warmaster threatens and intimidates, but we are not beaten yet, Triak told himself. We are the chosen children of the gods, and they will not allow an honorless heathen to turn us back here.

But a tiny fear continued to eat away at his confidence: Are we truly the children of the gods, or did they abandon us at Borleias?

Ret Kraal stirred, then spoke. “The infidel general seeks to intimidate and demoralize us,” the tactician observed with slow, careful utterances. “His attempts will fail. When our warriors see this image, their hearts will stir for battle and they will finally overcome these Zabrak infidels.”

Will they truly? Triak wondered. Or will they lose heart and be crushed? He did not dishonor the warriors under his command by giving voice to his doubts. Instead, he changed the subject. “What do you recommend as our next plan, Tactician?”

“Take up the ground the Zabraks have given up,” Ret urged. “Do not allow them time to regroup. Keep the pressure on, continue to force them back. Every step of ground they yield boosts the heart of our warriors.”

“You counsel me to continue to sacrifice our warriors and take only ground covered in blood,” Triak murmured. “Our strength will continue to diminish if we pursue such a course of action.”

Ret shook his head. “The battle lines will continue to contract, particularly if these Zabraks continue to yield ground to us as they have this night. But that is only one avenue of attack; there is another to pursue as well.”

“Fighting on several fronts may cost us everything,” Triak warned.

“You misunderstand. We attack as warriors, army against army, which is one avenue of attack. But we must attack along other avenues as well if we hope to conquer.”

Triak leaned forward in interest. “Tell me.”

“The Zabrak warmaster, Halyn Sanshir, has a personal enemy in the form of Achick, of clan Lusp. He has already sought to overthrow Sanshir once since we began our campaign against this world. Should he take the mantle of power, I believe he would be more amicable to surrender.”

Triak gazed at Ret in open wonderment. “One of the Peace Brigade’s infiltrators?” he asked.

“No.” Ret chuckled. “He merely desires power so much, and despises the clan Sanshir, that he would sacrifice his world to see the Zabrak warmaster’s downfall.”

Triak allowed himself a small smile. “How can we see to his elevation, then?”

“Achick Lusp and the other politicians of this world are cloistered in a small building near the battle front,” Ret said. “With your permission, Great One, we will attack it and capture those present. With Lusp on our side, and possibly other of their politicians, their forces will be divided. Without a unified front, they will be overwhelmed and crushed by our warriors.”

Why should I doubt? Truly the gods are with us. The poison we need to strike down our enemy at last is at hand. “Strike hard and swiftly, tactician,” Triak declared.

The sun was burning hotly in the sky as Anishor peeked out from cover. The coatrack will pay for this, Anishor swore to himself. How could he possibly think this was a good idea? Reluctantly, the berserker admitted to himself that it was a brilliant plan. But it was a plan designed for Zabraks, not Wookiee warriors. Of course, without we berserkers to execute it, it would be far less effective.

He carefully lowered himself just far enough to let the lid seal itself again. It took long seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and even then there was nothing to see as his massive body filled the passage entirely. He shuddered in distaste at the mud and muck stuck to his fur.

It was another one of Halyn’s insane plans. With the Vong firmly entrenched and watching forward, waiting for an ambush of some sort to spring from the ground the Zabraks had ceded them, the time was ripe for exactly that sort of attack—as long as it came from behind.

On Halyn’s instructions, the Wookiee berserkers—the most combat-capable unit on the planet not already dedicated to holding the line—had crawled through kilometers of storm drains to reach assault positions. The drains would have forced a Zabrak soldier to crawl in many places, but Anishor had genuinely struggled to pull himself through the narrowest of places in the tunnels.

Wookiees were born to live in the trees and in the sky, Anishor told himself. Not crawl through the dirt and the darkness. The big Wookiee did not consider himself claustrophobic; he had spent many hours in the cockpit of a fighter with no ill effect. No Wookiee could tolerate this for long, though, he grumbled. None should have to tolerate this!

“What does it look like?” Kelta Rose’s voice floated up to his ears around his matted fur.

<The enemy is unprepared,> Anishor reassured her. <As they should be. No Wookiee should ever attack like this.>

Kelta chuckled a little. “No Jedi, either,” she added.

Anishor imagined her for a moment, seeing her robes stained dark with the mud of the sewers, her red hair streaked dark with grime. He allowed himself a small smile. At least I’m not alone in this misery, he told himself, though I don’t see how a furless could suffer in this. After all, a brief bath and she will be clean, but it may take weeks to groom this mud from my coat.

“How long until the attack?” Kelta asked.

Anishor clicked his comlink to life and growled the question. A variety of barks answered him. <The rest near their positions,> he reported. <Only a few more minutes.>

“Good,” the Jedi said with a touch of impatience. “I can’t wait to see daylight again.”

Anishor was grateful for Kelta. Not only had she helped him through some of the tightest tunnels, but her presence had helped sooth his own misgivings about the plan. Anishor was a Force-user and a powerful one in his own right, but his range of abilities was limited. The Jedi Knight’s abilities were far broader in scope than his own, and could prove critical in the battle ahead.

The Wookiee berserker settled himself into a calming meditation. Guide me, Great Tree, he prayed. Make my blades swift and sure. Carry me through this battle, that my friends and allies may survive. Should I fall, I become one with you.

The berserker did not fear the coming battle. His long experience in war, dating all the way back to the Clone Wars, had burned out any trace of weakness. His century of life had left behind the foolishness of the young. His communion with the Force secured his destiny—even should he fall, he had no doubt he would become one with the Life-Power. There was nothing the Yuuzhan Vong could do that would move him from that bedrock knowledge.

The Wookiee was not fearless, though. He feared for the young berserkers under his command. He feared for the Jedi Knight below him in the storm sewer, herself preparing for the coming fight. He feared for his friend and brother-in-arms, Halyn. He feared for the Iridonians hiding behind the thin line of warriors dying to protect them. He feared that his efforts would be in vain, that even the best efforts of the Wookiees would make no difference to the outcome of the hard-fought war.

But as he prepared for battle, he let his fear go. He let go of his hate, too—he despised the abominations called the Yuuzhan Vong, those hairless creatures that somehow existed outside the all-encompassing Force. He let go of his desire to win the war and save Iridonia, for that too was a distraction that would distract him.

He communed with the Living Force, dedicated himself again, as he had on a thousand battlefields, to following its flows and guidance. The Jedi rely on the Unifying Force, and its visions, Anishor thought to himself, but I follow the Living Force. I do not need to know what it will bring me to follow its flows.

So the Wookiee waited as the rest of the Wookiee berserkers found their position, their hole to strike from and retreat to when the battle was over. Strike fast, sow confusion, and retreat, Halyn had ordered them.

Anishor intended to do just that.

This could be going worse, Nisia decided.

“Another wave coming in!” one of her gunners shouted.

“Save your fire until they start climbing over the funeral pyres!” she shouted back. “Then knock ‘em down!”

Shouts of exultation and exuberance answered her orders. The pirate smiled. Could be much worse indeed.

The big E-web repeating blasters started to roar again, sending fiery death into the attacking Yuuzhan Vong again as they climbed over the “funeral pyres” to start their own attack.

One of the gunners had given the nickname to the mounds of Yuuzhan Vong corpses now surrounding the Council chambers in a broad, smoking circle.

The Vong assaults had begun with reptoid shock troopers. Perhaps expecting to crash right through the defenders, as they had elsewhere, the reptoids had started with a mindless charge towards the defended position. The Zabraks, well-entrenched with the big E-web repeating blasters, had mowed the attackers down before they could get within thirty meters of the Council’s walls.

More waves of proxy troops had followed, both the reptoids and enslaved species native to the galaxy. No Iridonian hesitated to fire, even when the Vong attempted to use coral-embedded Zabraks to attack. With the broad open zone surrounding the Council chamber, and the heavy armament Nisia and Halyn had put into place, the Council had been turned into a nearly-impregnable fortress. The biggest problem, one of her troops had joked, was that they didn’t have a way of disposing of the corpses outside their defenses. After several hours of wave attacks, it had become a genuine problem—the piles of bodies were high enough to obstruct their lines of fire.

Nisia had countered by sending out a handful of troops to knock over the piles of bodies the Vong were using as cover, but it was a gruesome task. After the third time the defenders had left cover to clear their killing field, the Vong had tried to spring an ambush. Precision fire from the E-webs had saved all but two of the Zabraks outside the walls, but Nisia gave up on trying to keep the field clear and instead ordered the E-webs to ensure the bodies were kept ablaze.

War really is hell, Nisia pondered while listening to the razor screeches of heavy weapons. It’s easy to lose myself in this. I mean, I’ve ordered my people to ensure the bodies of our enemies are kept burning. How sick is that? She shuddered. This is why I’m a pirate, not a soldier. The things I do at least make sense.

“Captain Eisweep, a moment of your time,” a smooth voice spoke from beside her.

She sighed. “What is it, Councilor Lusp?”

“Don’t you think it’s time to evacuate the Council?” he asked bluntly. “The enemy is all but literally knocking on our walls. If we don’t leave soon, we may all perish at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“Trying to save your own skin, are you Councilor?”

“All of ours,” he answered honestly. “Consider, Captain. Should we die here, Zabrak space will be left without its government and could fall into chaos. Should that happen, the Yuuzhan Vong will tear through our space and conquer our worlds unhindered.”

“The Vong aren’t going to get past Iridonia,” Nisia said irritably.

“Should the Council die, our armed forces will question the Ul’akhoi,” Lusp said smoothly. “Should they not follow him willingly and hesitate, Rak’Edalin and then Iridonia itself will be lost. You must evacuate us immediately.”

Nisia bit back her first thought and forced herself to consider his words. There’s no doubt he wants to get his ass out of the fire, she reasoned, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. If the Vong manage to kill the Council, that could cause a lot of hard feelings with the anti-Sanshir crowd—and they have to be a reasonable size, or Lusp would never have gotten as far as he did with his attempted coup. On the other hand, keeping them here will allow Halyn to continue to prosecute the war, and we can hold this place for a good long time—pretty much as long as our power holds out.

“We’ll continue to hold,” Nisia said. “As long as I’m in charge of the defense, that’s the last word.”

“At least have an evacuation ship standing by,” Lusp pleaded. “Why not be prepared with a simple transport in the event that the Yuuzhan Vong find a way through our defenses?”

“Fine,” Nisia said through gritted teeth. “If that’ll make you happy, I’ll have a transport on standby.” Small price to pay if it keeps him out of my horns.

“It won’t make me happy, Captain, but it is prudent,” the Councilor replied. “I seek only what we all seek—the preservation of Iridonia and of Zabraks everywere.”

And your own elevation, Nisia added silently. “Fine. Go cower in a corner somewhere now, Councilor, while we do the real fighting. If, and I mean if, the time comes to evacuate, I’ll make sure we have a transport standing by. Until the Vong are knocking down our door, though, don’t expect to go anywhere.”

“If the Ul’akhoi believes you to be our best defender, then I trust myself in your hands,” he promised.

Sure, you old snake. Just wish Halyn would’ve given me orders to leave you here. She considered that possibility for a moment. Would definitely make life easier on the Sanshirs, and it wouldn’t be hard—just make sure he misses the boat if we have to evacuate.

“What is it?” Lusp asked.

Nisia snapped out of her revere. “Nothing. Go find a corner and stay out of the way,” she ordered.

The Councilor bowed and walked away.

What I wouldn’t give, Nisia said to herself. You’d be such an easy mark—bet I could rob you blind, too, before I left you for dead. But no, Halyn didn’t want me to do that, so I won’t.

Maybe.

It occurred to her then that the E-webs had fallen silent. “Status?” she called out to her troops.

“Fresh fire on the pyres,” one of the gunners joked. “Vong are backing off again.”

“Good,” Nisia said. “Keep it burning!”

A new sound entered her ears. “Incoming coralskippers!” she shouted. “E-webs, keep your noses down and let the fighters cover us from the air! If you try to play with a skip, the Vong will be knocking on our doors!”

Shouts of acknowledgement, more blasterfire. Thank you, Halyn, she thought as the familiar howl of X-wing fighters roared past overhead, rattling the walls of the Council. Wait, why am I thanking you? You got me into this mess in the first place!

Anishor led Kelta, Li, and Abi through the corridors to the carbon-freezing chamber aboard the Cathleen. Such equipment was not standard aboard a warship of any navy, but when the Zabraks had refitted the old Star Cruiser for their purposes, they had included it. Fortunately, it had survived the freefall from orbit. Why would they have carbon freezing equipment? Were they planning on freezing any enemies they captured? Kelta wondered.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Anishor spoke up. <The coatrack once told me that several of Iridonia’s capital ships are equipped with equipment for extracting and storing tibanna gas.>

“Why would they want their warships to be carrying mining gear?” Li asked with a frown.

<If the Zabraks were conducting long-range operations and were cut off from resupply, they could extract their own tibanna gas from any gas giants that had a deposit,> Anishor explained. <That would allow them to continue to conduct long-range combat operations. It takes up some internal hull space, but if they actually needed to use it, having it on hand would be invaluable.>

“Hal always liked to cover contingencies,” Abi commented. “I mean, it’s not like he could anticipate everything, but he would occasionally have some weird ideas about backup plans and what was needed.”

<Call them weird,> Anishor replied, <but remember that his contingency plans have saved all of us on several occasions.>

Kelta shook her head at the banter. She knew why they were all indulging in it: it was easier to joke and talk about the past than it was to talk about the present, when one of their old friends was nearly dead and they had no way to save her—only a way to possibly preserve her life a little longer. That, and it’s easier than thinking about the hordes of Yuuzhan Vong warriors trying to kill us all right now, Kelta thought wryly.

The Cathleen’s carbon freezing chamber was less impressive than it sounded. Several Zabrak technicians were finishing work on it as they arrived, climbing in and out of all its various components.

The freezing chamber was a flat affair, rather than a deep chamber. From what Kelta understood of the process, in a regular chamber a durasteel frame was dropped into a chamber, then sealed either by a physical plug or with a magcon field. The chamber was subsequently vacuumed free of all gas, then flooded with pure tibanna. A carbon-based liquid alloy was then injected into the frame, trapping the gas and forcing it into an inert state until it would later be thawed in a controlled environment.

The process of freezing something living was more complicated, as the regular carbon alloy would scorch away all of the victim’s skin. Kelta had never bothered to learn the details of what was necessary, but for the first time in her life she wished she’d researched it further.

The freezing chamber looks far too much like a funeral casket, Kelta observed with a shudder.

Unhesitating, Anishor carried Sandarie over and laid her flat in the freezing chamber. The Zabrak technicians finished their various tasks as the four veterans gathered around the chamber to look down on their fallen friend.

“There’s a chance,” one of the technicians was saying, “that she won’t survive the process. It’s never a safe process, and even the best rigs designed for this occasionally kill someone.”

“How often?” Kelta asked distantly.

“With healthy subjects? Perhaps one in a hundred.”

“What about people in her shape?” Li asked.

The technician hesitated. “Well, the body can only handle so much,” he hedged, “and a weakened or comatose subject is less capable of handling the stress.”

“How many people who are comatose survive the freezing process?” Abi asked coldly.

The Zabrak seemed to wilt. “One in three, statistically.”

That statement got Kelta’s attention. She looked at Anishor steadily. “Can you keep her alive?”

<If it is the will of the Force,> Anishor said. <Though I will need your help, young one.>

Kelta smiled a little. “I’m no healer, but I’ll help however I can.”

Anishor nodded and stepped back from the carbon freezing chamber. As the technicians starting locking it shut, he slowly knelt down and began to draw in the Living Force.

Kelta joined him as Abi and Li fell back to watch. She looked at the Wookiee for a moment through the Force.

The berserker was luminous in her perceptions. Kelta felt for a moment like she was standing next to a supernova, with the oncoming shockwave threatening to consume her entirely. Instead of burning her away, though, the energy from the big Wookiee flowed into her, through her, reinforcing her where she was weak.

Kelta wondered at the sensations for a few moments. The Wookiee’s understanding of the Force, his relationship with it, was so much different than a Jedi Knight’s. In moments like this, he felt more powerful than any Jedi Kelta had ever known, aside from Luke Skywalker himself, who always kept his power hidden under the tight bonds of Jedi control. When Anishor’s blades were at play, he was a duelist capable of defeating dark Jedi and Sith in single combat. Yet he could not reach out with the Force to move an object, nor could he sense distant happenings with the clarity of a Jedi. He was not granted visions of the past or future by the power he wielded. Nor could he touch and twist and manipulate minds, as the Jedi and Sith alike were wont to do.

She submerged herself in that power, and then reached out to the dying Twi’lek lying unconscious in a freezing chamber.

The casket where she may very well die, some dark voice whispered to her. She’s the prelude of what’s coming for all of you.

She ignored the voice, pushed it away. Kelta had neither time nor concentration to spare on hopelessness or doubt. She instead enveloped her friend with the power of the Force, trying to anchor her spirit more firmly within her wounded body.

Anishor’s tactic was different, she could sense—his power was focused on keeping her heart beating, her lungs breathing, her mind whole. His power succored her body even as the carbon alloy began to flood the chamber around her. The Wookiee focused to keep Sandarie’s physical self alive, while Kelta fought to keep her spirit intact.

Abruptly, Sandarie was gone from the Force. Between one moment and the next, in the span between heartbeats, the Twi’lek vanished from her perceptions. No! Kelta screamed in her own mind. Her eyes snapped open, and she scrambled to her feet.

The carbon freezing chamber was already sliding open. Kelta forced herself to look down on the Twi’lek’s frozen features. Sandarie’s face was relaxed, her body not responding to the pain of its final moments.

“I’m sorry,” Kelta whispered.

Two of the Zabrak workers stepped up and muscled the frozen Twi’lek out of the chamber. “She survived,” the one commented. “You owe me ten credits,” he added to his partner.

Kelta had the Zabrak held by his collar with both hands. “You’re betting on my friend living or dying?” she snarled. “She just died in that hell, and you’re trying to make money off it?”

<Kelta,> Anishor said, laying a paw on her shoulder. <Sandarie lives.>

The Jedi dropped the Zabrak. “What?” she asked, disbelieving. “Anishor, I felt her die!”

<You felt her absence,> Anishor corrected. <When a life is forced into hibernation, it can feel like a death. But Sandarie survived. Check the life support display for yourself.>

Kelta numbly looked at the display over her shoulder, saw all green lights on the display. Her head dropped. “Sorry. This war is getting to me.”

<Not just you,> Anishor answered. <We all suffer. Exhaustion threatens our clarity of mind and spirit. You need to rest.>

Kelta looked over her shoulder one last time. I just hope you survive in there long enough for us to get you a cure, she said silently to the Twi’lek. But we have to win this war first.

Ceikeh Alari was hesitant when he approached the only lit hangar in the long expanse of bays. While repair crews were still working around the clock to keep the fighter squadrons combat-capable, they had focused their efforts on hangars closer to the facility’s egress. Virtually all the fighters far back in the facility had either been moved up or lost in the seemingly endless combat.

This particular hangar, though, hadn’t housed fighters since before the long siege had begun. Instead, it was home to a single, battered light freighter.

Steady ratcheting sounds filled his ears as he walked through the dark. Occasionally it was punctuated by curses or mutters as the sole mechanic working on the old Gallofree transport stopped to examine his work.

“Ul’akhoi,” the former senator called aloud. “Can I speak to you for a few moments?” He winced at his own phrasing. That sounds way too formal for a meeting between old friends. After all, with Coruscant fallen, there might not be a New Republic anymore, which means I may be out of a job and have no official standing anymore.

Fortunately, Halyn Sanshir didn’t seem too off-put by the question or its phrasing. “That’s fine, as long as you bring me that binder,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards a table full of tools.

Ceikeh allowed himself a small smile. That’s Halyn. Not much for formalities. He picked up three of the six binders on the table, guessing at which ones he needed.

Halyn scowled at the three options Ceikeh presented him, but picked the largest one and said, “Well, I guess that’ll do.”

“It was the biggest one on the table,” Ceikeh advised him.

“That’s because the regular maintenance crew keeps coming by to steal their own tools back,” Halyn complained. “I mean, seriously, they don’t need all of those, do they?”

“Only if you want fighter cover,” Ceikeh deadpanned.

“Bah.” Halyn was silent for a few moments as he used the binder to hook up several of the port sublight engine’s relays. “What do you need?”

Ceikeh hesitated before asking. “I don’t normally question your military decisions, Halyn. I’ve known you for too long, and have too much respect for your capabilities as a tactician.”

“But…” Halyn prompted through gritted teeth as he struggled with a stubborn relay.

“But I don’t understand why you’ve ordered our front line to fall back,” Ceikeh said quietly.

“Ah. Didn’t expect anyone to see that until tomorrow, when the front had already moved,” Halyn commented.

“Well, I have seen it,” Ceikeh said. “So what are you doing?”

Instead of answering his question, Halyn finally dropped the binder to wipe sweat and grease from his brow. “Ceikeh, have I ever answered questions about my tactics to you in the past?”

“No.”

“Why do you think I’d start now?”

“Because you screwed up,” Ceikeh said quietly. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want to screw up again.”

Halyn closed his eyes, and Ceikeh wished he could suck the words back into his mouth. Idiot, he berated himself. He’s hurting badly, and you just kicked him when he’s down. The last thing he needs right now is someone standing over his shoulder questioning every decision he’s making, because he’s already questioning every decision he’s making.

To his surprise, Halyn answered. “Yes, I made a poor decision, but it wasn’t made solely by me.”

Ceikeh thought back to the scene in the med center, replayed it in his mind. Kativie had to be the one who leaked the information to the Vong, he reasoned. She had to have been the traitor the entire time. So she was giving them the information he wanted the Vong to have. But if he was making decisions with someone else, that would mean…

“Kativie wasn’t just your agent, was she?” Ceikeh asked in surprise. “She was your partner.”

Halyn nodded. “When Argus and I prepared for the defense of Iridonia, we agreed that any plan we made needed to have a failsafe—a backup plan, I guess. We also decided that includes the leadership role. Argus was the one who was supposed to command the defense of Iridonia, but we planned it all together. When he disappeared, it wasn’t a stretch for me to step up and take command because I already knew the details. But that meant I now needed a backup. That included someone not just to take over the role as turncoat, but as a decision-maker.” He shrugged. “Circumstances have dictated our primary plans haven’t worked, so we resort to secondary plans. Sometimes the secondary plans are no longer applicable, and we’ve had to come up with new plans.”

Ceikeh shook his head. “So Kativie is prepared to take over if something happens to you?”

“She was,” Halyn said grimly as he picked up the binder and started working on the portside thruster again. “I’m not sure she is now.”

The Senator thought back to the blood-curdling scream he’d heard in the med bay. She just lost a large part of herself. Even if she can recover, it will be a long time in coming.

“So,” he asked again, “why did you pull the frontline troops back? You know the Vong will advance to take that space again.”

“Ceikeh, Ceikeh, Ceikeh,” Halyn said chidingly. “You’re not listening to me. I already told you why.”

The other Zabrak frowned and opened his mouth to reply, then shut it and began to think it over. Okay. He told me he and Argus planned backup plans for all their primary plans. What was their primary plan for the ground defense of Iridonia? From what I’ve heard from the others and gathered myself, their idea was to draw the Vong in and stalemate them until the New Republic could launch a fleet to assist them. But there’s no fleet coming—with Coruscant gone, and our own fleet gone this long, there’s likely no help coming at all.

So he must have a plan to beat the Vong here, on Iridonia soil, without outside help. But what could that be? And how is retreating going to help it?

He forced himself to think it through. When we give ground, the Vong take ground. He must be trying to maneuver them into the right position for…what, exactly? Did he and Argus order baradium bombs built and buried in Rak’Edalin or something? He shook his head. Doubtful. Whatever it is, though, I don’t doubt the Vong are going to hurt when it’s all over.

“What is this bucket, anyways?” Ceikeh asked aloud.

“This was my ship, a long time ago,” Halyn explained as he slid the repulsor-creeper under the central engine and began working on the relays there. “Back during the Galactic Civil War.”

“Never saw this ship in all the time I’ve known you,” Ceikeh commented.

“I left her behind at Zephyr Base when I resigned from the Alliance,” Halyn explained. “There were a lot of people I didn’t want following me, so I had to leave a few things behind.”

Like that Jedi, Ceikeh noted. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.

“What make and model is she?” the Senator asked.

“Gallofree,” Halyn replied, “which is why you don’t see many of ‘em. Gallofree had retooled a bunch of their industrial line to produce these light freighters—they call ‘em Nova Couriers—right before they went bankrupt. The Alliance wound up with a bunch of them when they purchased the bigger GR-75 medium transports. The GR line was horrid for maintenance, but these little Novas were good ships.”

“Interesting,” Ceikeh murmured.

“I don’t know who brought it here, but this one’s definitely the one I flew during the Civil War. I’ve been fixing her up during the night hours. It’s nice to have something to fix, rather than just destroy.”

Ceikeh smiled. “There will be plenty of fixing and building to do when this is all over.”

“More than you know,” Halyn said dryly.

The phrase gave Ceikeh pause. Now I really want to know what he’s planning. Instead, he looked over at the starboard engine. “Mind if I start on the third drive?”

“Feel free,” Halyn said. “Though you’ll have to find another repulsor-creeper and a bigger binder if you’re serious.”

Ceikeh nodded and headed to one of the adjoining hangars to look for tools.

The medical bay was very dark when Kativie silently slipped through the door. She was dressed again in the plain brown and white robes of a Jedi Knight, and a lightsaber hung at her belt. It wasn’t her blade, though—it was one of Kelta’s curved hilts. The Twi’lek Abi had given the lightsaber to one of the Wookiees she had left behind to hold the missile facility, and while the berserkers had been forced to pull back and burn the facility to prevent its capture, they had not yet returned to the Cathleen with her weapon.

The Zabrak woman called upon the Force for strength as her grief tried to collapse her knees. Only the steady flow of the warm, life-giving energy kept her from collapsing to the cold durasteel floor. The Force, and the knowledge of what she needed to do.

If I try to rejoin the fighting now, I’ll fall to the dark side, she admitted to herself plainly. A Jedi doesn’t attack, nor does a Jedi seek revenge. If I go out right now, it will be for blood—Yuuzhan Vong blood in return for the blood of my children. No, I have to find some semblance of peace first, or I’ll become what I’ve battled my whole life.

Images of her first mentor, the disciple of the dark side whose name she still refused to say, to think, flashed through her mind, but she forced them away. No. Mourn your children now.

Her children. The very thought squeezed at her heart, a pain so sharp she felt as though a lightsaber had been plunged through her chest. She knew they were gone now, one with the Force, but the thought was just as painful as when she’d felt their deaths the first time, battling Abi Ocopaqui on the boarding ramp of a Muurian transport.

Kativie forced herself to approach the first sheet-covered table. It was, in many ways, the least painful of the three—the body there was Triv, Allanna’s child. The pain still squeezed through. I’m so sorry, Allanna. You don’t even know yet. You don’t even know that one of your children is dead, and that your brother-in-law and sister-in-law are responsible. The thought shook her. When I met Allanna at Zephyr Base, I never imagined we’d become friends. She was too quiet, too focused on waging war, and she idolized Halyn. Who’d have thought she and Argus would find love, would marry, have kids that carry the Sanshir name?

If I’d have known, I’d have done things differently. I’d have befriended her even then. It would’ve made those early years so much easier. Now she’s my sister, and I’ve wounded her in a way I don’t know I can ever make amends for.

That thought ached—the possibility that one of her best friends, the woman now her sister—would never forgive her for her actions on Iridonia. I couldn’t blame her for it.

Kativie took a deep breath and moved to the second table. The accumulated pain brought her to her knees, and even the Force was unable to bring her to her feet as she wept on the cloth covering Nop.

My eldest. Hakk’s pride and joy. The boy who should’ve carried the Lusp name, made it great. He would’ve been the one who could truly make peace between the Sanshirs and the Lusps. Oh, Nop. Kativie found she struggled to breathe as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. You would’ve been a great warrior, and you were a wonderful son. Halyn and I struck you down as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow. Forgive me, my son—I never wanted this for you. I only wanted peace.

I wanted you to know a life without war. I wanted you to have the peace that Argus, Halyn, and I never had. You should’ve never had to fight in this war or make this sacrifice. I’m so sorry, Nop, forgive me. “Forgive me,” she whispered aloud, her voice so quiet it would be inaudible to anyone listening. “Forgive me, Nop. I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

The Jedi Knight found herself unable to rise to her feet as she turned away from Nop’s still form. Without the strength to stand, she crawled over to the third table, the smallest sheet. There she collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

“I know you can’t forgive me,” Kativie rasped to young Sash’s still form. “You were too young to know it was my fault. You were too young to see your mother could fail you, that your family could betray you. I’m glad you never knew what that betrayal was.” She felt as though an impossible weight crushed her to the ground, and she was unable to even rise to her knees. “I’m so sorry I failed you, Sash. You were the most like me—the one who could’ve become a Jedi Knight. You could have surpassed me. When the storm came, I…” She choked on her tears, struggling to say the words she needed to say. “I exposed you to the storm. Like a delicate flower, you were crushed by the storm. And it’s my fault that I didn’t protect you. It’s my fault you were vulnerable. I’m so sorry.”

Tears blinded her now, and she couldn’t see anything but the blurry covered forms of the three bodies. “Forgive me,” she croaked. “Forgive me for failing you. Forgive me for my mistakes.”

Her head rested flat on the cold floor, and Kativie felt like she would never again rise to her feet. She wanted to fade away then, like the great Jedi Masters, to become one with the Force and leave the bloody, painful, horrid galaxy behind her.

Then she felt it, through the Force—the touch of a mind against hers. Her pain was so great it numbed her senses, and she struggled to identify the touch.

Vyshtal, she realized at last. His touch in the Force was uncertain—he was never as strong as young Sash, and he focused his efforts on learning uses of his talent more appropriate for battle—but Kativie had the sensation of a small, warm hand wrapping itself around hers. Even through her pain, she found comfort in the gesture—it was a moment of reassurance for a heart shot through with pain and death and mourning.

Somewhere, deep inside, she found she had the strength to squeeze his hand in return.

It was as though the Force itself had whispered in her ear. Perhaps it had; Kativie was not experienced in visions, or the more subtle prompting the Force sometimes provided a Jedi. But the meaning to her was crystal-clear, even through the haze of her pain. Mourn your losses, yes, but your living children need you now.

Somewhere within, she found the strength then to rise to her feet. Slowly, step by unsteady step, she stumbled to the door. With tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes, the Jedi Knight looked back at the three sheet-covered bodies. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the dead. “I can’t atone for what I did to you three. But your siblings need me now.” She closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the doorframe as her legs threatened to collapse again. “I promise you this, though—I won’t allow another of you to fall. Not again.”

The door hissed shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness.

Abi Ocopaqui frowned as she descended the Muurian transport’s boarding ramp. The six Wookiees were in tow, one of them carrying the dark Jedi over his shoulder like a sack of rocks, with no indication or concern that she would be awaking anytime soon.

What concerned her, though, was the officer running the Cathleen’s comm board. He had indicated that Halyn had been unavailable, and was in fact in the ship’s medical bay.

The Twi’lek turned at the whine of repulsorlifts, saw Li Coden float an X-wing into the hangar. Might not support starfighter operations, but there’s sure enough space to set one fighter down. She glanced around the crowded hangar. Of course, the fact that all the Muurians are currently parked here makes it a bit more cramped.

The New Republic pilot found a clear patch of decking to set the fighter down, then vaulted from the cockpit and jogged over to Abi. “What’s going on?” he asked breathlessly.

Abi shook her head. “I don’t know. We found the traitor, and I tried to comm Anishor and Halyn to report it, but neither of them would answer. The comm officer reported that they’re both in the medbay.”

“Med bay?” Li frowned. “Did he go and do something and get himself stabbed or beaten?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, and it’s not like he doesn’t occasionally deserve it.”

Li nodded agreeably and walked behind the Wookiee carrying the unconscious traitor. “That’s her. Where did you find her?”

“She walked straight into a firefight between us and the Vong, swinging a lightsaber around.”

“Lightsaber?” Li asked, raising both eyebrows.

“Dark Jedi,” Abi said grimly.

“How’d you put her down?”

Abi hesitated. “I…didn’t. We were fighting on the Muurian’s boarding ramp and she just collapsed.”

“That doesn’t sound very Jedi-like.”

“Not so much, no. Ran a medical scan with the Muurian’s on-board gear, and she looks like she got the crap kicked out of her by someone or something—broken bones, bruised ribs, a mild concussion. Nothing to explain the collapse, though.”

“Just be grateful,” Li advised.

“I would be, if I wasn’t worried she’d wake up and go after us with a lightsaber again.”

“Then make sure she doesn’t have the lightsaber,” Li advised.

“Already took care of that,” Abi said. “You think I’d risk keeping a lightsaber on the same ship as a knocked-out dark Jedi? Hardly.” She shook her head. “We’d better get moving, find out why the boss is in the medbay.”

The two of them fell into step, the Wookiees clustering in behind with the captive dark Jedi held in the middle. “Li, I have a question,” Abi asked quietly. “Does it feel to you like we’re losing this war?”

“You mean here on Iridonia, or the wider war?”

“Iridonia.”

Li hesitated, waited until the turbolift doors were closed before he answered. “Halyn and the Zabraks have held out longer than anyone else so far with Vong occupation forces actually on-planet, but they’re slowly losing ground. The fighter defenses are being whittled away by the constant combat. If the Vong sent another fleet here, the planet would fall within a week.”

Abi nodded. “I’m seeing a lot of the same things. The ground forces have been pushed through a ringer, and there’s not much left of them. I mean, there’s not enough food and medical supplies to go around, and the battalion leaders are starting to combine squads to keep fighting forces capable of engaging the Vong. Hell, half of Rak’Edalin’s been reduced to rubble, and if the Vong keep pushing it’ll be three-quarters before we know it.”

“Why are you asking?” Li asked.

The Twi’lek was silent until the turbolift’s doors slid open again. “I’m trying to figure out if there’s a way to turn it around, or at the very least, escape from the trap this planet’s become.”

“You don’t think Halyn can do it?”

“Li, I was at Ithor, Ord Mantell, Fondor, Duro, and Coruscant. I don’t know if anyone can do it anymore.”

The two walked without further comment until they reached the medbay. Whatever Abi was expecting to see, it wasn’t the scene in front of her.

Three beds bore sheet-covered bodies. Small bodies, Abi observed. Children.

Other beds in the medbay were mostly empty, save one holding up a blue-skinned Twi’lek woman whose skin was ashen. Abi Number Two!

Around the Twi’lek were three people: Halyn, standing upright but with his eyes lowered and head bowed. Anishor and the Jedi Knight Kelta Rose both knelt, their hands outstretched and resting on the fallen Twi’leks arms. Neither of them looked up, and Abi had the sense of profound concentration from both of them.

“Halyn,” Abi said softly. “Halyn, we nailed the traitor.”

“Hal,” the dark Jedi whispered.

Abi turned and had her scatter pistol leveled at the traitor in a heartbeat. Her finger was tight against the trigger, ready to squeeze should she do so much as murmur another word or wave a hand or do anything that suggested she was about to accomplish more than lay limply over a Wookiee’s shoulder.

To her not-so-mild annoyance, Halyn’s hand twisted her wrist, forcing the scatter pistol away. “No,” Halyn snarled.

“She’s the traitor,” Abi hissed. “Li and I both identified her. I don’t care who she is, but she has to die. She’s a dark Jedi, Hal, and if you let her wake up she’ll kill us all.”

<No, she won’t,> Anishor rumbled. He was rising from the floor, a troubled look in his eyes. <Halyn, what’s going on?>

“Set her down on a bed,” Halyn instructed, ignoring his old friends and allies. The berserker gave Anishor a questioning look first, then set the dark Jedi down with his leader’s approving nod.

“Halyn,” she whispered.

Abi watched tensely as Halyn leaned over the dark Jedi. Her eyes slowly opened, and she whispered, “The children?”

Halyn struggled to speak, and a tear rolled down his cheek. “Nop and Sash,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Katie. It was my fault.”

Her hand came up and slapped him, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault,” he repeated.

The dark Jedi screamed then, a sound so mournful and savage that Abi leveled her scatter pistol at the traitor in spite of Halyn’s proximity. “Get back,” she barked at Halyn. “She’ll kill us all!”

This time it was Anishor who pushed the scatter pistol down. I am getting sick of that, Abi grumbled silently. Next time someone tries it, I’m going to shoot him.

<This is Halyn’s sister, Kativie> Anishor rumbled quietly.

“That’s what one of the berserkers said,” Abi said tightly. “Doesn’t make any difference to me.”

<She is a Jedi Knight and no traitor to Iridonia,> Anishor insisted.

“Well, she sold out the Iridonians to the Vong,” Abi snarled. “Li and I were there and watched it!”

<The Vong have killed two of her children,> the Wookiee replied, his voice even quieter.

Abi glanced over at the shrouded beds again. “Oh,” was all she could manage. The sound of a slap brought her attention back to the bed where Kativie was lying flat on her back. Halyn’s face was turned away, a red imprint already spreading across his cheek.

Halyn slowly straightened. With his back still turned, he said, “Abi, I know you believe Kativie is a traitor to Iridonia and to the Republic. She’s not.”

“I’m going to require more convincing than that,” Abi said shortly. “And what happened to Abi Number Two?”

“Sandarie was poisoned,” Halyn said hoarsely. “The scarheads sent a team to assassinate me, here on the Cathleen. She was supposed to be with the clan children, several decks and a dozen locked bulkheads away. Instead, they came to surprise me and walked straight into a Vong ambush.”

Abi grimaced. She had been a bounty hunter, a soldier, a warrior, a New Republic agent. There were certain lines even she hadn’t crossed, and slaughtering defenseless kids was one of them. “What happened?” Abi asked slowly.

“The Vong were locked in a room with them for ten, maybe fifteen seconds. Three of the kids were killed by the Vong, and an amphistaff bit Sandarie, before we could intervene.”

“They were supposed…be safe,” Kativie mumbled from her bed. Abi glanced over, saw the traitor trying to sit up.

“I know,” Halyn said, his voice even hoarser. “They should have been safe. It’s my fault, Katie. It’s all my fault.”

“How is it your fault?” Li asked, his voice low and tight. “She’s the traitor.”

“She was working for me,” Halyn hissed. “Don’t you get it? She’s been feeding the Vong information so we can predict their actions. As long as she was feeding them knowledge that was accurate, they wouldn’t try to infiltrate another spy into our ranks. It was supposed to be my role, but after Argus died…” Halyn’s voice died, and it was nearly a full minute later before he could speak again. “After Argus died, I had to put someone I trusted in that role. Someone I trusted absolutely, that I knew could never, ever betray Iridonia.”

The Zabrak sighed. “From the fall of Ithor, Argus and I planned for this. We knew that, sooner or later, the Yuuzhan Vong would come here to Iridonia. We spent months preparing our defenses. We planned every detail. We wargamed every scenario. The two of us concluded that we would have to put our own infiltrator among the Vong’s ranks, a traitor that would allow us to feed the Vong the information we wanted them to have.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Argus was supposed to be the great hero, the leader who would command Iridonia’s forces. Neither of us expected the Council to appoint an Ul’akhoi, but it would’ve—should have—been him, not me. I was going to take the risk of being the traitor, of working with the Vong and giving them information. When Argus died, everything changed—I was suddenly in the commandership, because there was no one else to do it. I needed a traitor, someone I could trust absolutely to do what was necessary for Iridonia. That traitor was Kativie—a Jedi Knight, my own sister, the one person no one would suspect as the turncoat who betrayed Iridonia.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Abi asked sharply. “Why let us chase our tails around trying to find a traitor that wasn’t?”

“How could I know that you hadn’t defected?” Halyn rasped. “How could I know if you were still loyal? There’s a lot of old-timers who have gone over to the Peace Brigade, to the Vong. Especially now that Coruscant’s fallen and the galaxy is getting worse and worse. I couldn’t trust anyone, except her.”

<Not even me?> Anishor’s question sounded very displeased to Abi’s ear.

“I trusted you, Anishor, but not with everything. You didn’t need to know everything. Only Katie did, because she was my second—if something happens to me, she’s the only one who has the knowledge of our plans and defenses to still keep Iridonia free.”

<So you didn’t trust any of us?>

Halyn shook his head. “Not completely, no. Most of you I hadn’t seen since Endor, and people change.” He locked eyes with Anishor. “Even Wookiees.”

The answering growl was wordless but clearly unhappy.

“I won’t pretend any of you like the decision I made,” Halyn said quietly. “And I’m sorry for not trusting you. But I’ve done what I’ve done for the sake of Iridonia, not myself.” He looked up at Anishor. “Can you save Sandarie?”

The Wookiee’s answer was slow. <The venom is not of this galaxy, not in the Force. Were it a Sith creation, she would already be healed. But this poison—I cannot touch it with the Force. With my strength, I can hold it at bay, but only for so long.>

“Kelta?” the Ul’akhoi asked.

The red-headed woman reluctantly removed her hands from the Twi’lek. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m not a healer, and Anishor’s skills surpass mine. There’s nothing I can do for her, except perhaps ease her pain.”

“Uh, didn’t the New Republic develop antitoxin for Twi’leks after Ithor?” Li asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Kelta spoke up. “Jedi Knight Daeshara’cor died from amphistaff venom on one of the herd ships. Shortly after, Master Cilghal and the New Republic’s medical corps researched the venom and developed antitoxins for a wide range of species, including Twi’lek.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Li asked.

“This is Iridonia,” Halyn said softly. “Keeping up to date on Twi’lek medical research isn’t really a priority here. Our Holonet relay was cut at the same time the Vong assassins hit my quarters, so we have no way of getting the information short of a courier.”

“So send a courier,” Abi said tightly. “Not to be selfish, but I’d like to know I’m going to live if one of those snakes bites me.”

“There’s nothing on Iridonia that can break the blockade,” Halyn said. “Even the few smugglers who enlisted wouldn’t be able to fly their way out.”

“So we just let her die?” Kelta asked tiredly.

“No.” Halyn’s voice was almost inaudible. “If she’s going to survive, the only thing we can do is freeze her in carbonite. Put her in hibernation, slow her system down until we can get her offworld. It would buy her weeks, maybe months, to get her an antitoxin.”

<If it doesn’t kill her.> Anishor was not a pessimist, but he was not confident in Halyn’s plan. <Freezing someone in carbonite is stressful—not everyone survives the experience.>

“That’s why I need you and Kelta both doing whatever you can to keep her alive during the freezing process.” Halyn’s voice grew stronger. “And we need to do it now, before more time passes and the venom further damages her. The longer we wait, the less the odds of her survival.”

Nods were exchanged around the room. Halyn took a deep breath. “I need you all to leave,” he said softly. “So I can talk to Kativie alone.”

Abi bit down the urge to argue with him. What if she really is a traitor? she asked herself. Just because Halyn thinks she’s working for him doesn’t mean she couldn’t have been playing him, too. But when the Twi’lek looked at the Ul’akhoi, then the Jedi, she decided it wasn’t likely. No, she wasn’t. Not if they’re siblings. Family ties run deep on Iridonia.

Instead, she waited until Anishor had picked up Sandarie, then fell into step with Li and Kelta behind him, following him out of the medbay and to a carbon-freezing chamber.

Halyn waited until the others had left the medbay, then dropped to his knees. “I’m so sorry, Katie,” he whispered. “It was all my fault. I thought I was so smart, but I made horrible mistakes. My arrogance got two of your kids killed.”

“Why?” Kativie rasped. “Why was it me who paid for it? Why wasn’t it you?”

“Because you had so much more to lose,” Halyn replied, his eyes closed because he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. “So when I made the mistake, it was you who suffered. It’s all my fault, Katie.”

“I killed my own children,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “They might as well have died by my lightsaber. I betrayed them.”

“No.” Halyn’s voice was firm. “Dammit, Katie, it wasn’t your fault. You followed my orders and expected me to uphold my end of the deal. It’s my fault, not yours. It’s all my fault.”

“There was a third, wasn’t there?” Katie whispered after several minutes of silence. “Three bodies. And Sandi.”

“Triv,” Halyn said, leaving it at that.

“I just want the killing to stop,” Kativie said, a tinge of desperation in her voice. “Before we’re all gone and there’s none of us left. Before the Sanshirs and the Lusps all die in this miserable war. Why did it have to be us, Hal? Why are we the ones leading this fight and taking these losses?”

“Because we were the ones who could,” Halyn said. “It’s the same reason we’ve been in it since the fall of the Old Republic. We’ve always chosen to fight because we can, and because we can make a difference.”

“Is that our legacy?” Kativie asked, sobbing. “When all our children have died in our wars, is that what we leave behind? A maybe-better galaxy that we sacrificed our kin for?”

“Katie…”

“I know. This isn’t what you wanted for any of us.” Her tone was sardonic. “Who would want this for his family? It wasn’t what you wanted, I know. But it’s what you chose for us.”

“We chose,” Halyn reminded her. “We three. Argus, me, and you. We chose to take up this fight because there was no one else we could trust to fight it as well.”

“And it’s cost us everything.”

“Not everything.” Halyn’s tone was resolute.

“Not yet.”

“Not ever.” Halyn shook his head. “Most of your children still live, as do half of Allanna’s.”

“Edlin?” Kativie asked abruptly.

“He was beaten by the Vong, but he still lives.” Halyn did his best to keep his voice even. “His mother would have been proud, if she had been here.”

There was silence in the medbay, and the siblings simply sat together, sharing each other’s grief as only family can. At last, Halyn slowly rose to his feet. “Are you able to fight?” he asked quietly.

Kativie sat up with agonizing slowness. “I will be, once the doctors patch me up.” She smiled faintly. “I’d be able to now, if someone hadn’t dropped a building on me.”

“Katie, I’m so, so…”

“Shaddup,” she said with the most teasing tone she could muster. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Things are getting worse,” he said grimly.

“We knew it would,” she replied. “We knew this wouldn’t be short or bloodless. The children…” her breath came in ragged gasps for several long moments. “We didn’t expect our kids to be in danger, but we should have known. We both know what has to be done.”

“We fight,” Halyn said softly.

“Until there’s no one left to fight, or no one left to fight,” Kativie finished, her eyes closed.

Untl there’s no enemies left, or no Zabraks able to pick up a zhaboka, Halyn translated in his mind over the redundant words. “I need you,” Halyn said. “I can’t do this without you. And we’re running out of time.”

“How long?” Kativie asked, her voice strengthening. Halyn guessed she was drawing on the Force for strength and wisdom.

“Not long. A week, give or take a few days.” Halyn forced himself to swallow.

Katie closed her eyes. “Alright.  We fight together until the end, one way or the other.”

“To the end.”

That, Kativie decided, was too close. The Jedi slowly, painfully picked her way out of the rubble of the New Horizon Designs tower. That was also not one of Halyn’s better plans. She checked her belt, found her lightsaber clipped securely with its snap-ring. I don’t even remember extinguishing it or putting it on its hook, she thought distantly through the haze of pain.

The dust was slowly starting to settle now from the collapse. She had been forced to wait for agonizing hours in the rubble, drawing on the Force to keep herself safe. Kativie hadn’t dared try to move out after finding a safe hiding-hole, instead settling in to meditate until the wreckage of the building had largely settled in place. Only once the tumbles and crunches and crashes and slides had seemed largely finished did she venture forth.

The hours of meditation had been put to good use. She had set her broken forearm back in place with the Force and splinted it with her emergency medkit. She had forgone the painkillers, though—they would dull her concentration and make the Force harder to access. Drawing on the Force itself gave her most of the pain control she needed, but occasionally she slipped and her aches would start to rise to the surface.

Beyond her broken arm, she knew she was battered and bruised. Precognition had always been one of her gifts in the Force—the ability to sense what was about to happen and react accordingly, a gift some Jedi referred to as their “danger sense.” In the collapsing tower, it had allowed her to keep herself from dying, crushed by massive durasteel girders, but she doubted Master Skywalker himself could have walked out of that rubble without some bruises.

Of course, Master Skywalker wasn’t in there. You were. She sighed, drawing on the Force for strength as well as pain control. Doesn’t matter now, though. You need to keep moving, link up with some friendly forces.

She retrieved her comlink from her pocket, but was unsurprised to find it did not respond to her attempts to activate it. The internal components were probably all shattered by the rocks that hit me. So, I’m out of comm contact for now.

Kativie stopped walking to draw on the Force more heavily. The effort was painful—every Jedi had her limits, and she had long since exceeded them. Now she was paying the price. After she’d rested and mended her wounds, she’d be able to draw on the full power of the Force, but now…

Let your control of the pain slip, she decided. Let the pain take control for just a little bit. Just long enough to find some friendly forces.

As she plunged deeper into the Force, she felt like a swimmer struggling against a current. The Force was as warm and buoyant as ever, but the harder she stretched for her goal, the harder it seemed to push her senses out. She felt the pain rise, distantly, as she continued to reach out.

To her surprise, she found friendlies nearby—less than a kilometer from the smoking remains of the New Horizon Designs tower. Hanging onto the contact only long enough to find the direction, she let go of the Force and gasped as the pain overwhelmed her. Kativie had to fight for several minutes to get her battered body back under control before she could rise to her feet and start walking in the right direction.

Gone was her Force-assisted sprint across Rak’Edalin; now she hobbled along at the fastest walk she could manage, trying to juggle her pain, her strength, the sensations of the Force. Several times she failed, and would find herself flat on the ground screaming in pain, or staring up aimlessly at the dusky skies overhead.

The Jedi spent the better part of an hour reaching her destination. She had to search her memory to identify the structure, but the elusive knowledge finally surrendered: it was a proton torpedo factory, owned by New Horizon Designs. To the best of her knowledge, it was still pumping out proton torpedoes for the Zabrak defenders.

That’s why there’s defenders here, she thought as she stretched her limbs and freed her lightsaber from her belt. They’re trying to keep this place from being overrun. As long as they can hold, it’s a supply line that stays open for the aerial defenses.

Kativie considered igniting her lightsaber and rushing in with the weapon blazing, drawing the Yuuzhan Vong attackers’ attention to herself and providing the Iridonian defenders with much-needed relief. After a self-deprecating chuckle, she rejected the idea: Kativie wasn’t capable of running right now, and drawing the Vong down on herself would end with her death.

She opted instead to slip quietly inside the factory to see the battle raging inside.

The factory was large and open. The defenders were clustered on the upper level, depending on ranged fire to keep the Vong from charging up either of the ramps leading to the upper level. The Vong were constantly prodding the defenses with flurries of attack bugs, apparently attempting to draw the Zabraks into an open confrontation of hand-to-hand combat, or exhaust their supplies of power packs and tibanna gas.

Kativie hunkered in the shadows, trying to decide on a path of action that would help the defenders and not end in her own death. She was still considering her options and trying to work strength and energy into her arms and legs when someone else intervened.

A Muurian transport crashed through the middle of the wall nearest the Yuuzhan Vong, opposite the Zabraks. Braking thrusters fired and repulsorlifts whined as the transport slowed itself to a stop, its underside quad laser hammering down at the Vong. The shots failed to connect with the Vong warriors, but that seemed to be just fine with the pilot as the transport dropped like a stone to land on all four struts with the scream of stressed metal. Even as the Muurian began to fall, the boarding ramp was descending to deploy reinforcements.

To Kativie’s surprise, the reinforcements weren’t Zabraks; a group of Anishor’s Wookiee berserkers thundered down the ramp, rykk blades in hand and roaring challenges at the Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

The Vong responded in kind, sprinting forward to meet the berserkers. As they did, the topside turbolaser opened fire on the charging Vong. The weapon was designed for combat between capital ships; in the tight confines of the warehouse, against Yuuzhan Vong warriors, even near-misses were putting two or three of the warriors down from the intense heat.

The remainder did not seem to realize their numbers had been depleted; five survivors met six Wookiee berserkers in personal combat. Two more of the Vong went down to well-placed shots from the slender, blue-skinned, purple-armored Twi’lek now descending the Muurian’s boarding ramp.

Kativie limped out from cover to meet the strike team. The last Vong fell to a berserker’s blade before she could even leave the shadows cast by the walls of the factory and the quickly-fading sun. No sense risking getting shot, she decided. She loosed her lightsaber from her belt and held it up, igniting the blade.

The distinctive snap-hiss-hum of the blade brought heads snapping around to track her. She continued to walk forward slowly, making no threatening gestures.

“You!” the Twi’lek shouted.

Kativie felt the warning through the Force. Her tired muscles screamed in protest, but she dove away an instant before a blast from the Twi’lek’s weapon—a scatter pistol, she observed distantly—occupied the space her head had just vacated.

She instantly doused her lightsaber blade, plunging herself back in shadows.

“It’s the traitor!” the Twi’lek shouted.

Abi Ocopaqui couldn’t believe her luck. Came here to make sure the Vong didn’t take the factory, and stumbled across the traitor. What are the odds?

She forced herself to slow down and think. Stop and think. Don’t do anything rash. She’s carrying a lightsaber and working with the Vong, so she’s a dark Jedi. Now’s a great time for sonic weapons. She looked down at her limited arsenal. Of course, that would be great if I had a sonic weapon right now. Didn’t expect Hal’s traitor to be a dark Jedi.

She’s probably been tampering with minds from the beginning. Using the Force to steal secrets to turn over to the Vong.

Okay, what do I have for assets on hand. The Twi’lek glanced around the factory. Six Wookiee berserkers who love hand-to-hand combat who may or may not be up for engaging a Force user at close range—none of them are Anishor, that’s for sure. A squad of Zabrak defenders who are exhausted and out of ammo. A slightly-battered Muurian transport that’s armed to the teeth. And one very good ex-bounty hunter and New Republic agent, armed with a scatter pistol which is hard for a lightsaber to block.

This is going to get ugly.

The Twi’lek stared out at the shadows, searching for any trace of the dark Jedi lurking in cover.

Abi realized very abruptly that the Wookiee berserkers were staring at her, not looking outward. Did she already get to them? Abi wondered in dismay, tightening her grip on the pistol as her heart sank. The odds of surviving an assault from six Wookiee berserkers were not very high—even with her initial ranged advantage, she doubted she could drop all six before they entered hand-to-hand range. And grappling with a Wookiee is suicide.

But none of the Wookiees moved—they just stood and stared.

Oh. No, the dark Jedi hasn’t gotten to them. “There’s a traitor,” Abi explained quickly. “We’ve known about her for some time, but we haven’t been able to find her. I met her in person when I was undercover with the Peace Brigade. And now she’s here!”

Understanding began to dawn in the Wookiees’ eyes. One of them barked a question at her in Shryiiwook.

“No, I don’t want to take her alive. Kill her if you can. But watch out—it looks like she’s a dark Jedi. If she gets in close, she’ll carve you up.

The Wookiee berserkers chuffed in laughter before raising their rykk blades in unison. The blades began to glow with a low, internal light. I don’t even want to know, Abi decided as she settled into her hunter’s mindset. Doesn’t matter. We’re all after the same prey. We find this traitor and take her down.

Abi turned back to watch the shadows, looking for movement. The Twi’lek allowed a predator’s fanged smile to stretch her lips back, baring her teeth. Li will be sorry he missed all the fun.

The Wookiees were dispersing now, spreading out to comb the factory. They left nearly ten meters between them, enough space for their superior reflexes to be covering each other in a heartbeat.

“Stay there!” Abi shouted to the Zabrak defenders when they began to descend the ramp. “Stay there, and if that dark Jedi approaches you, you shoot her!”

She turned back to watch the Wookiees began to carefully work their way across the factory. Abi watched in satisfaction. When they kick her up, she’ll go hand-to-hand with them. I’ll take a shot with the scatter pistol if I get an opportunity. If I don’t, the Wookiees will take her to pieces. Easy as shooting scarheads in a vacuum box.

The Wookiees were moving steadily now, but even to Abi’s sharp eyes there was no trace of movement. Something’s not right here. Her senses tingled. No, not my senses—I’m no Jedi. That’s just my experience. This dark Jedi slipped the trap. Where did she go, then? Abi looked around the warehouse with a casual expression plastered to her face, her eyes darting as quickly as they could. Then…up.

She went up when she faded out of sight. She knew we’d search the factory floor, but with the Force she could’ve climbed. That means she’s…

Abi swung her scatter pistol up to point towards the ceiling, but the dark shape was already falling towards her. “Look out!” Abi shouted as she pulled the trigger.

The dark Jedi was already twisting, though, and the shot slipped by the traitor. Abi tried to bring her blaster pistol into line, to bring it to bear on the Zabrak’s head, but it was all happening too fast. The traitor landed in a crouch on the Muurian’s boarding ramp and lashed out with her foot, throwing Abi’s scatter pistol back out of line. The Twi’lek snarled a wordless curse but refused to let go of the weapon, spinning all the way around to bring her pistol back up, to aim.

The Wookiees were reversed now, sprinting towards the Muurian, but they seemed a galaxy away. Halfway through the spin, Abi knew it would take too long. Before she could finish the turn, she heard the snap-hiss-hum of the lightsaber again, knew it would skewer her even through her armor.

The tone of the lightsaber changed as Abi completed her spin. She leveled her weapon at the traitor’s face and registered, even as her finger was tightening, that the dark Jedi had dropped her lightsaber.

The scatter pistol fired, seemingly of its own volition. The dark Jedi was no longer in front of it, though, as she collapsed to the Muurian’s boarding ramp. The Twi’lek cursed as her shot disappeared into the Muurian, drawing sparks and flames and the hiss of escaping gas as a coolant line ruptured. She dropped her scatter blaster down point at the traitor now lying on the ramp.

Here comes the kick, Abi thought in an eternally long heartbeat, knowing the dark Jedi would be lashing out to throw the New Republic agent away before she could fire.

Nothing happened.

Abi stared as the dark Jedi laid on the boarding ramp, breathing shallowly, her eyes rolled back in her head. “What?” was all she could manage to say; it didn’t make any sense. Was she playing possum?

The Twi’lek shook her head. Time to end this, before she pulls some new trick from her sleeve. The barrel of the weapon steadily pointed at the dark Jedi, Abi smoothly pulled the trigger.

A rykk blade interposed itself before her barrel and took the blunt of the attack. Abi snarled angrily at the Wookiee. “What are you doing?!”

The Wookiee howled, long and low, in Shryiiwook, and Abi’s blood ran cold. “This is…Halyn’s sister?”

The berserkers were all gathering around now, groaning their assent.

Abi shrugged. “Better to kill her now, then. Halyn won’t be able to do it.” She leveled her scatter blaster at the fallen traitor again.

This time one of the Wookiees closed his huge hand on her pistol, wrenching it from the Twi’lek’s hands.

“Fine,” Abi said shortly. “We take her back and show Halyn, and then I execute her.” She glared down at the dark Jedi. But what, she asked herself very quietly, made her collapse?

Halyn, Anishor, and Kelta stood together on the bridge of the Cathleen as the sun plunged below the horizon and light faded from the sky. “Try it again,” Halyn ordered, his voice very low.

The comm officer sighed very quietly and began to work at his equipment again. After a few minutes, which the three warriors endured without word, he leaned back. “No signal from Jedi Lusp’s comlink,” he said again. “I can’t even get a location or an echo from it.”

“Halyn,” Kelta said quietly, “you know it’s likely her comlink was destroyed in the collapse. She’s just fine.”

“Can you tell me that with absolute certainty?” Halyn replied coldly, turning to meet Kelta’s gaze.

The Jedi met his eyes unflinchingly. “Halyn,” Kelta said, even quieter, “you know Kativie is fine.”

“Can you tell me that with absolute certainty?” Halyn repeated icily.

The Jedi held his gaze. “You know I can’t,” she said, her voice not moving an inch.

Shortly after the survivors had returned to the Cathleen, Kelta had lost her sense of Kativie in the Force. She had assured Halyn that his sister was fine—she hadn’t died, but the Yuuzhan Vong had moved into the area around the collapsed New Horizon Designs tower. The presence of so many Vong had made the area murky, as Kelta described it—she lost the clarity the Force usually provided her.

It hadn’t helped Halyn’s nerves that the comm officer had been unable to raise Kativie at all since their return.

<Coatrack, we should discuss strategy,> Anishor said.

He’s trying to keep my mind off it, Halyn thought. Trying to distract me from worrying about Kativie. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

Anishor gestured to the officer responsible for maintaining the tactical hologram on the bridge. <Get some rest, friend,> Anishor rumbled. <You will be needed again in the morning.> The Zabrak looked to Halyn for confirmation, then hastened from the bridge at the Ul’akhoi’s curt nod.

The Wookiee took over the station then, his claws dancing across the control with surprising grace. <The collapse of the New Horizon Designs tower killed several hundred Vong, but opened a hole in our lines,> the Wookiee said reprovingly. <You traded the larger tactical situation for a single victory.>

“We won’t beat the scarheads by holding the line,” Halyn retorted. “We need to kill them.”

<You need to quit sacrificing position to do so,> Anishor said calmly. <You’re letting them beat you back. Slowly, with a lot of warriors spent, but they’re eventually going to overwhelm you by sheer numbers.>

“So what’s your professional opinion,” Halyn said slowly, more than a little sarcasm in his voice, “about what the Vong are going to do next?”

<Make a move on the Council,> Anishor replied immediately. <With the troops they moved in after the collapse of NHD, they’re well-positioned to do it.>

“Ah. Good thing I, you know, planned for that,” Halyn retorted. “I sent Nisia there with a squad to defend the place. It’s all low structures and flat ground around there—a perfect killing ground. Nisia’s group will tear them to pieces. If they do manage to take it, they’ll have lost a thousand troops for the forty Zabraks there.”

Anishor shook his head. <It would be better if no one was lost there at all.>

“I don’t doubt it, but that possibility of a bloodless resolution was lost the moment a Vong ship decanted in our space.”

Anishor sighed. <Halyn, unless you come up with something clever, the Vong will be knocking on the Cathleen’s hull in two weeks.>

“That far away, huh?” Halyn said. “We’ve got lots of time to reverse that trend, then.”

Anishor sighed in exasperation. <Kelta, talk to him. I don’t know what to do with him when he gets like this.>

When the Jedi didn’t reply, both Halyn and Anishor turned to look at her. Her eyes were distant and unseeing, as both warriors had seen her when she was concentrating on the flows of the Force. “Kelta?” Halyn asked.

“Something’s not right,” she said at last.

Whenever a Jedi gets nervous, get ready to fight, Halyn thought. He pulled open his dusty, bloodied duster and checked by feel to ensure the Wookiee-forged sword was still in its place. The hilt was warm and comforting in his grip, and he released it only with reluctance.

<Where?> Anishor asked. <Is it Kativie?>

“Yes…no.” Kelta’s voice trembled with uncertainty. “She’s in danger again—I can sense that—but there’s something closer. Something…wrong.”

“Where?” Halyn repeated Anishor’s question.

“Close,” Kelta said again. “It’s…” she shuddered. “I think…” she shook her head, and suddenly her eyes were her own again, filled with fire and panic. “The Vong are here.”

“Here?” Halyn asked with a frown.

“On the Cathleen,” she hissed.

“I thought you couldn’t sense them.”

“I can’t,” Kelta said, starting to pace. “But my senses close in, here on the Cathleen, are all murky—I can’t sense things with the clarity I should.”

<Where?> Anishor asked again.

Kelta’s face flashed with pain that was not her own, pain relayed to her by the Force. It was the pain of someone dying.

Without responding, she turned and sprinted towards the turbolift.

Cold dread filled Halyn, and he knew.

“I’m sure Uncle Halyn will be here,” Edlin said cheerfully. “These are  his quarters, after all.”

“Just a quick visit,” Sandarie said sternly. Then maybe it’ll be easier to keep them confined again. She blew out a sigh as the door slid open. Okay, it won’t be. And you can’t begrudge them wanting to see their family, with Argus dead and Allanna out scouring the galaxy for the New Republic fleet, Hakk only the Force knows where, and Kativie spending so much time on the front line her own kids never see her. A quick visit to Uncle Halyn to show them everything’s okay, that they still have family safe and sound, and it should at least make the Cathleen a little more tolerable.

The Sanshir and Lusp children were bickering again. Durul Sanshir and Bluth Lusp, normally the best of friends due to their closeness in age, were nit picking at each other with small obnoxious comments. Nop carried Kadrol in his arms, the youngest of Allanna’s children tired from the long walk through the twisting corridors of the ship.  The twins Sash and Sylvyi walked on either side of Vyshtal, holding his hands. Allanna’s seven-year-old boy, Triv, clung protectively to “Aunt Sandi’s” hand.

“Brats,” Edlin said warningly as he tapped on the door leading into Halyn’s quarters, “If you don’t settle down Aunt Sandi and I will take you back to our quarters. You have to behave. Remember, everyone here is working hard to keep us all safe, and we don’t want to distract them. Including Uncle Halyn.”

A less-than cheerful “Okays” assented to his statement. Sandarie shook her head. This really is like herding cats. Flith bumped into her leg, and she glanced down. Okay, the nexu’s better-behaved. So it’s worse than herding cats.

No one answered the door. Edlin frowned and tapped the release. The door slid open without protest, revealing a somewhat darker chamber within.

Edlin led the way into the chamber. Halyn’s tactical hologram glowed in grainy blues, providing most of the light for the room. “Look,” he called to the kids. “It’s a map of Rak’Edalin.”

“I wanna see!” Triv called out, releasing Sandarie’s hand. Before she could stop him, he started pushing his way through his siblings and cousins, trying to reach the tactical hologram before the rest could. The Twi’lek sighed in exasperation. There’s no stopping these kids, she decided wearily.

Triv successfully navigated his way through the group, using his smaller size to slip between the shoving Zabrak children. Laughing in delight, he broke forward and rushed to join Edlin at the tactical hologram.

Sandarie and Flith were last through the door, herding all the kids into the room. Best to keep them out of the corridors, so they don’t get in anyone’s way, she decided. The Twi’lek glanced over her shoulder as the door hissed shut, and turned back to the tactical hologram just in time to see the Yuuzhan Vong attack.

The warrior fell from the ceiling in a rush, an amphistaff hissing in his hands. Edlin fell back from the attack, his face slashed open from the razor-sharp serpentine weapon, blood flowing freely. Before he could draw his zhaboka, still firmly in place over his shoulder, the Vong swept Triv’s legs out from under him. Sandarie’s mouth dropped open in a wordless scream of terror and surprise and warning, but before a sound could emerge the Vong pivoted and pinned the Zabrak child to the floor with the butt of his amphistaff, the weapon sliding through his chest like bantha butter.

Edlin had freed his zhaboka, was swinging it to attack the Vong warrior, but two more Yuuzhan Vong dropped down to join the first, leaving a trio against the young Zabrak.

Sandarie’s scream was finally given voice, joined by the shrieks of the terrified children. The universe seemed to slow to a crawl, and Sandarie felt she had long hours to study every detail of the scene unfolding. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the Yuuzhan Vong, the intruders in the one sanctuary on Iridonia.

They did not wear the usual vonduun crab armor, she noted distantly. Perhaps these were not true warriors, but assassins—and given their location, they must have been sent to kill Halyn Sanshir, the Ul’akhoi and Zabrak leader. Instead, I led his nieces and nephews into the slaughter in his place. He’s sacrificing so much to save Iridonia. Is this a sacrifice he would have been willing to make, too?

The universe abruptly resumed its normal pace, but Sandarie felt rooted to the floor.

Flith roared a challenge, throwing herself at one of the Yuuzhan Vong assassins. The Vong and the nexu went down in a flashing pile of fur and claws and fangs and amphistaff and blood. It was impossible to see which was winning; the battle flashed faster than her eye could follow, obscured in a haze of red.

There was so much blood.

Edlin was falling back now, trying to keep his zhaboka up, trying to defend himself. The second warrior disengaged, leaving the untried Zabrak to his partner, and turned back to the children.

Sandi screamed again, threw herself forward. Even unarmed, she could not let the children fall without a fight.

The Twi’lek was too slow, too far away. The Vong assassin lunged, his amphistaff’s head burying in Nop’s stomach. Whether by intention or reflex or a dying spasm, the eldest of Kativie’s children threw the young Kadrol away from the assassin, towards Sandarie. Kadrol went down in a crying heap on the deck, scared and not sure of what was happening.

Bluth and Vyshtal both rushed the warrior, completely unarmed. The Yuuzhan Vong, his amphistaff still twined in Nop’s stomach, swept his foot out and sent both Zabrak children crashing down. The assassin finally jerked the bloodied weapon free of Nop and brought it up above his head, preparing to swing it down on the children.

Young Sash snarled wordlessly, rage in her six-year-old eyes as the warrior attacked her family. She thrust both her hands out.

Sandi could only gape at the movement as she was tripped by the still-tumbling Kadrol. Even as she fell, though, she recognized the movement—a mirror of Kativie’s own gesture when the Zabrak Jedi reached out with the Force to push.

Impossibly, the Vong warrior staggered back, as though caught in a rushing wind. The Force! Sandi managed to think as she scrambled back to her feet, leaving Kadrol crying in a ball. She threw herself forward, but the Vong warrior had already recovered and was lunging forward, his amphistaff a spear aimed at Sash’s throat.

Sandarie caught the little girl in her arms as the child staggered back. Sash’s eyes rolled back in her head, and the Twi’lek knew she was already gone.

The Yuuzhan Vong kicked her with a taloned foot, sending her sprawling again. The assassin ignored her, raising his amphistaff to slaughter both Bluth and Vyshtal, preparing to sweep his staff through both of them in a single blow.

Then a bloodied, snarling Flith leapt over the fallen Zabraks and Twi’lek, taking the Vong full in the chest.

The nexu went for the Vong’s throat, but was swept aside by a desperate amphistaff slash. The nexu hit the deck, rolled, and came up on her feet all in one motion. She leapt again for the Vong warrior.

The Vong was prepared this time, however; the amphistaff slashed open the nexu’s side, and one of Flith’s legs flopped uselessly as a tendon was cut. Before the nexu could attack again, the Vong chopped down with his staff, severing the nexu’s spine and ending her life.

The Vong grunted something harsh and guttural. He spared barely a glance for his fellow standing warrior, who had backed Edlin into a corner with amphistaff and zhaboka battling for supremacy but the Zabrak slowly losing ground; then at the fallen Vong warrior, who was slowly rising to his feet in spite of the shattered wreck Flith had made of his face.

Then the door fell to the floor with a boom. Sandi barely turned her head and saw the new arrivals: emerald eyes under a dark jato, promising bloody vengeance for fallen kin; a wall of fur and muscle, preceded by a shining blade; and red hair highlighted by the purple fire of a lightsaber.

The world seemed to grow dimmer, and pain started to flicker at Sandi’s nerves. She glanced down at her bloodied hand, and detachedly observed: I’ve been bitten. The amphistaff must have bit me when I caught Sash.

The noise in the room rose into a wordless, crashing crescendo, and none of it made sense. Darkness ebbed at her senses, and she knew no more.

Great, Sandarie thought. Not only do I have to deal with the Sanshir brats, but now I have to deal with their cat, too. She glared at the old nexu lying in the corner, the last surviving pet from Kativie’s stint in the Rebel Alliance. Edlin had brought the old animal in from somewhere, but hadn’t specified where.

“Ow!” she cried as some hands tugged on her lekku.

“Aunt Sandi, tell us a story!” Durul Sanshir pleaded in a child’s whine. He tugged again on her lekku, harder this time. “Please!”

“Please!” more voices echoed around the Twi’lek.

Sandarie sighed. I should’ve made Edlin stay here and watch the brats while I went and got food for them. She was grateful for the Sanshir warrior’s help, though. Before Halyn had sent him to her aid, she had been forced to try to wrangle eight kids to and from a communal meal area twice a day. When those eight kids were lively Zabraks, it was hard to keep even the better-behaved of them in line.

“Everyone sit down,” Sandi said. “And I’ll tell you a story.” She glanced around the room.

“Yay!” little Kadrol Sanshir cheered. “Story!”

“Stories are for little kids,” Vystal said with a superior tone. “Not warriors.”

“It just so happens this story is about two great warriors,” Sandi said smoothly. “Two of the greatest warriors to ever come out of Iridonia.” She smiled. “It’s the story of Flith.”

“You mean our Flith?” Sylvyi asked breathlessly, looking over at the old nexu napping in the darkest corner.

“Yes, your Flith,” Sandarie said. She grimaced in pain as Sash tried to use her lekku as ropes, climbing up the Twi’lek’s back. She doesn’t know better, she doesn’t know better, Sandi kept telling herself as the pain intensified.

Flith rose from the corner and ambled over behind Sandi. A gentle swing of the old nexu’s paw sent Sash tumbling to the ground. The little Zabrak girl cried out in protest, but then contented herself by wrapping herself around the nexu’s neck instead. The big cat laid down by Sandi, her head flat on the ground.

The Twi’lek rested her hand gratefully on the nexu’s head, scratching behind its ears. The cat rumbled in contentment, prompting Sash—now sitting astride the cat—to giggle in delight.

“Well before you were all born, your Uncle Halyn was a general in the Rebel Alliance. He was a great leader with many people who followed him,” she explained slowly. “He was one of the greatest Zabrak warriors in the galaxy, and one of the few who could stand up to the evil Empire. Kativie joined him on Rori at your Uncle Halyn’s fortress, Zephyr Base.”

The kids sat enrapt, listening with wide eyes—even the older kids. Sandi suppressed a smile. I think this is the quietest they’ve been, other than when they’re trying to eavesdrop on Edlin and me.

“The Empire was trying to crush the Zabraks and make them all slaves,” Sandi continued. “Clan Sanshir had been one of their most difficult opponents, so the Imperials decided to make an example out of them. They set up a huge arena and forced Sanshirs to fight against beasts. They thought by doing that they would make other Zabraks lose hope and submit.”

“Mom and Uncle Halyn would never let them do that!” Nop Lusp protested.

“You’re right, they wouldn’t,” Sandi agreed. “So Kativie came back to Iridonia to stop it, even though she knew the Empire wanted to capture her.”

“Why didn’t Uncle Halyn come?” Bluth asked.

“Uncle Halyn was busy fighting the Empire other places,” Sandi explained. “And Kativie didn’t tell him she was leaving.” She shook her head at those dark days and the rash decisions so many of her friends had made—decisions they would regret. “So Kativie came here to unite the Sanshirs and help oppose the Empire. She tried to bring down the Imperial governor, but she was captured instead and forced to fight in the arena.”

“What did she do?” Sylvyi asked.

“She fought and fought for many days,” Sandarie said. “Kativie fought many vicious, wild animals—reek and nexu and rancors and kimogilas! But she always won—and it made the Imperial governor mad, because he wanted to see her die in the arena.”

“And Uncle Halyn didn’t do anything?” Vyshtal asked skeptically. “Even while Mom was fighting and trying not to die?”

“Uncle Halyn was doing something—he was preparing an army to attack the Imperials and free Iridonia.” Sandarie nodded, remembering. “He brought all his pilots and every Zabrak he could recruit from across the galaxy. And his great fleet attacked the Imperial fleet here at Iridonia and drove them off, with the help of his friends.”

“What about Uncle Argus?” Nop asked.

“Argus helped bring together all the Zabraks on the planet,” Sandi explained. “And when Uncle Halyn’s fleet drove off the Imperial blockade, Argus’s army sprung into action. While Halyn’s teams landed in ships, Argus’s army attacked the Imperials, too. Both groups converged on the arena where the Sanshirs had been forced to fight, and they freed Kativie from the Imperials who had tried to kill her!”

“What about Flith?” Sash asked from atop the snoozing nexu.

“When the battle was over, Kativie found a baby nexu in the arena. She decided to keep her and name her Flith.” Sandi smiled. “Flith grew up to become a great friend and guardian for Kativie and her family.”

“Mmm, I love Flith,” Sash declared, squeezing her arms as hard as she could around the nexu’s neck.

Sandi chuckled at the little girl. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the door to the kids’ quarters slid open.

“Hey, brats!” Edlin called cheerily. “I have food for you!”

Cheers floated up from the Zabrak kids, and they quickly abandoned Sandarie and their seats on the floor to swarm their food-bearing family member. Edlin laughed and started passing out small containers of food to each of his kin.

Sandi’s smile faded as she watched the scene. Halyn and Kativie got into so much trouble back then, and so many of their friends and family died in that war. I wonder how they’re doing right now?

“How on Iridonia did you possibly think this was a good idea?” Kativie asked in gasping breaths.

“Okay, I admit it could be going a bit better right now,” Halyn replied between his own gasps. “How could I know the stairs didn’t run all the way to the peak?”

“You didn’t look at the building plans?” Kelta asked, doubled over from cramps. “You intended to come in here, and you didn’t scout it out first?”

“Why do you think I put you in front?” Halyn retorted. “Hang on, here they come again!”

Razor bugs came screaming up through holes in the floor. The two Jedi ignited their lightsabers, striking out at the bugs with their energy swords, trying to protect the group. Halyn, Ceikeh, and the Zabrak defense squad they’d rescued returned fire, sending blaster bolts spraying back through the holes in the floor.

This Yuuzhan Vong squad was two floors down, but the continual fighting had opened so many holes in the floors and ceilings that both sides had decent line-of-sight, leading to another outbreak in hostilities.

A pair of thud bugs came through the holes in the floor next, but they were moving too fast to turn when they emerged. Instead, they smashed into the ceiling above, opening more holes and sending a cloud of dust down to cover the defenders.

Halyn and Kativie had caught up with the rest of their squad at the top of the stairs—the “top” being a mere third of the way up the building. Kelta had led them into a run across the floor that had found another set of stairs, but each ascent seemed to end after only a floor or two. That can’t possibly be Rak’Edalin building code, Halyn thought wryly. Or it wouldn’t be, if we had a building code. Maybe that’s something that should be addressed. Much as I hate Coruscant, there’s a few things they get right.

The attack slowed to a dribble of attacking bugs, then cut off altogether. “C’mon,” Halyn said. “They’re still coming. We need to keep moving.”

“Push, push, push,” Kelta grumbled.

<I am willing to take lead,> Anishor offered.

“I’d appreciate that,” Kelta replied.

<May I borrow a lightsaber?> the Wookiee asked. <It opens doors more easily than my rykk blades.”

Wordlessly, the red-maned Jedi Knight tossed the berserker one of her hilts. Anishor snatched it out of the air, the weapon looking positively tiny in his huge hand. The Wookiee ignited the blade, splashing purple highlights across the room. <A worthy weapon.>

“And a good door opener,” Halyn commented dryly. “Let’s move.”

Anishor plowed ahead with a wordless roar. The rest of the Zabrak squad fell into line behind him, though they had no hope of keeping up with him. Halyn, Kativie, and Kelta fell to the back of the group to provide cover for the rest of their comrades.

“No blaster?” Halyn asked Kelta.

“Didn’t think I’d need one,” she remarked. “Besides, I couldn’t tell you when the last time was I fired a blaster.”

“Here,” Halyn said, freeing his Power5 from its holster and lobbing it to the Jedi.

Kelta snagged the weapon and glanced it over appraisingly.

“It’s not hard,” Halyn offered. “You point and you squeeze the trigger.”

“You always were a smartass,” Kelta grumbled. “What about you? What are you going to do for a weapon now?”

Halyn reached back behind his back under the duster, withdrawing a second Power5. “I long since realized I have to carry a spare when I’m running around with Jedi.

Kativie chuckled at both of them. “Really, Halyn?”

“Well, you two seem so determined to hang onto those antiquated melee weapons of yours,” he said dryly. “And we keep finding ourselves in situations where shooting from range is so much more effective.”

“Yet you’re carrying an archaic weapon or two yourself,” Kelta shot back. “Even more archaic than ours.”

Halyn grinned, not at all rebuked. “Sometimes the most effective solution is to hit something with a big stick,” he answered. “Or a big sharp stick.”

“I’d rather just burn their faces off,” Kativie shot back.

“So violent for a Jedi.”

The three ducked into the next stairway just in time—a thud bug smashed into the wall next to them, drilling a hole through the obstruction but emerging so dazed that Halyn knocked it out of the air with the butt of his blaster. The insect weapon lay on the floor, stunned, until Halyn brought his boot down on its carapace.

More bugs hissed and howled and buzzed through the air. The two Jedi and the Ul’akhoi opened fire with their blasters, filling the doorway with fire. Two of the insects died to lucky shots, but the rest flashed past and smashed into the wall. “Won’t be long now,” Kativie said. “We keep running and pushing them back, but they keep coming.”

Halyn glanced from the doorway and his blaster to check his chrono. “Katie, how far up the building are we?”

“Over halfway now,” his younger sister grunted.

“That’ll have to be good enough,” he decided. “Kelta, catch up with Anishor and tell him we need an exit.”

“An exit?” the Jedi asked with a frown.

“Yes. A hole in the side of the building will do nicely.”

“Why?” she asked, puzzled. “Are you planning on all of us jumping? Kativie and I can’t catch everyone if we do that. Hell, I don’t think the two of us together could save Anishor from that kind of fall.”

“Just trust me,” Halyn said in exasperation. “And quickly. Please, catch up with Anishor and tell him we need an exit.”

“Yes, sir, General, sir, Ul’akhoi, sir, Admiral, sir.” She hesitated for a moment. “Did I miss any?”

Halyn rolled his eyes. “Now, Kelta.”

“Yes, sir!” The Jedi mock-saluted, then sprinted off with Force-enhanced speed to catch up to the Wookiee.

“You have an exit plan, I take it?” Kativie asked dryly.

“Well, I’d intended to be picked up from the roof, but we’ll have to improvise,” Halyn said. Yuuzhan Vong appeared behind them. The siblings opened fire with their blasters, driving the pair of warriors to the poor cover of the railing. “Hopefully our pilot is smart enough to figure it out.”

“You always did love to improvise,” Kativie commented. “Even when it blew up in your face.”

“Especially when it blew up in my face,” Halyn corrected cheerfully. One of the Vong went down to multiple blaster burns across his chest and face. The other retreated back for the stairway. “There’s no challenge to life if everything goes your way.”

“You’re quite the philosopher in combat,” Kativie remarked dryly. “Too bad you’re too busy shooting to write a book. You could make enough money off your musings to retire comfortably.”

“Next time I’ll bring a droid along to take my dictation.” The Yuuzhan Vong warrior peeked back through the doorway, and the shots from both siblings hit him in the throat simultaneously. “Of course, I doubt a droid could keep up with our pace.”

The siblings continued to keep up their fire as they slowly retreated further up the building. “So,” Kativie asked conversationally, “is there some reason you want us to throw ourselves out of the building halfway up, instead of from the top?”

“Yeah,” Halyn said casually. “Mostly because we’ve got, oh, three minutes left.”

“Three minutes until what?” Kativie asked suspiciously. Abruptly, she stopped in her tracks. “You never did give me my thermal detonator back, did you?”

“Nope,” Halyn said cheerfully as he ejected a spent power pack and slammed a new one into the hilt of his blaster. “I needed it.”

“You told me not to use it because it’d bring the building down on top of us!” Kativie protested.

“It would have!” Halyn countered. Brother and sister dropped flat as a trio of thud bugs hummed past at chest-level.

“So what’s the difference when you’re doing it?” Kativie snarled.

“I want to bring the building down when we’re already out, but the Vong are still inside,” the Ul’akhoi said.

Kativie snarled at him as they laid down a fresh volley of suppressive fire. “How long did you set that timer for, anyways?”

“Thirty minutes,” Halyn answered.

“Then we’d better get the hell out of here.”

“That was the idea, yeah. I thought in thirty minutes we’d make it to the top of the building. I’m willing to admit I was wrong in my estimate.”

“Very generous of you,” Kat growled as their blasterfire caught another Vong warrior repeatedly, sending him down in a cloud of crimson smoke. “Would’ve been nice if you would’ve told me about this, you know, twenty-eight minutes ago or so.”

“If I would’ve told you about it, you would’ve told me no.” Halyn’s tone was dry. “Something about not wanting to die, about my plans being terrible—you know, the usual.”

“That’s because I don’t want to die, and this plan is terrible.” Kativie bounded to her feet and ignited her lightsaber as a pair of Vong warriors came charging toward them, completely ignoring the blasterfire deflected by their armor. She met them lightsaber to amphistaff, her blade snarling against the serpentine weapons.

Two more Vong joined them. Halyn freed his sword, stepping forward to take the attention of one of the Vong away from Kativie. This isn’t good. We can’t retreat if we’re tied up with these scarheads.

White light burst into the room, eye-hurting in its intensity. Halyn spun away from the Vong warrior to buy himself space until his vision recovered. The Yuuzhan Vong warriors were similarly stumbling away from the combat, just as blinded as Halyn was. Through the bright light, he could see Kativie pressing her sudden advantage, seemingly not affected by the light. What?

A familiar snarl filled his ears, and then a brown furry wall leapt past him like a starfighter jumping to hyperspace. The light moved with him, seeming to emanate from his hands.

Ah, Halyn thought blankly. Anishor.

The Wookiee berserker was among the Vong, then, his twin rykk blades shining with a brilliance that rivaled the blade of Kativie’s lightsaber. He moved with speed impossible for a being his size, with the grace of a Twi’lek dancing girl, and with blades swinging with the perfect harmony only possible by a being imbued with the Force.

In eight seconds, all four Vong warriors were dead.

Halyn’s vision recovered as the light from the rykk blades died out. Kativie and Anishor stood side by side, covered head-to-toe with soot and grime and blood. Halyn realizing he was similarly covered, wondered when it had happened. If all of Kashyyyk could fight like Anishor, we wouldn’t need a New Republic army—a battalion of Wookiee berserkers could take on the whole Yuuzhan Vong race.

<Kelta has a hole in the wall opened up,> Anishor announced. <Figured I’d come see what was taking you so long.>

Instead of answering the berserker, Kativie turned to Halyn. “How long?”

Halyn blinked. “Right. Uh.” He stole a glance at his chrono. “Fifty-eight seconds.”

Kativie cursed, an Ul’Zabrak expression Halyn hadn’t heard from his sister’s lips since she started training as a Jedi. “Move!” she shouted. “Move, move, move!”

The three turned and started running along the path the others had taken. Anishor looked over at Halyn. <So what did you do?>

“Thermal detonator on the lower level,” Halyn said.

<Timer?>

“Yep.”

They were at thirty-nine seconds when they arrived at the hole Kelta had carved open with her lightsabers. The Iridonian team was standing around, waiting impatiently. Kelta stood at the gap overlooking Rak’Edalin, one of her violet lightsabers ignited and held aloft as a signal.

“Where’s the ship?” Halyn asked.

Kelta pointed with the tip of her lightsaber. “There. It’s being harassed by skips.”

“Wonderful,” Halyn grumbled. “Thirty-three seconds.”

“Until what?” one of the Zabrak squad’s survivors asked.

“Boom,” Kativie said.

The Muurian transport disengaged as if the pilot had heard the conversation inside the New Horizon Designs tower. Its shields held as plasma splashed down at the Zabrak vessel. The topside gunner returned fire with the dorsal turbolaser. Red fire caught the skip full-on, shattering the coral vessel and sending a rain of now-dead rock toward the street below. Two more coralskippers kept harassing the Muurian, but much more reservedly now, staying at range to keep the turbolaser from lighting them up.

The transport pilot came in hot, its boarding ramp dropping as it slid into position near the hole and its forward deflector shields already down.

Anishor saw the problem immediately. <The boarding ramp does not stretch out in front of the ship. We’re going to have to jump for it.>

“Me, first,” Kelta said. The Jedi extinguished her lightsaber and then leapt for the ship, somersaulting through the air and sticking the landing gracefully.

“Jedi always make it look easy,” one of the Zabraks grumbled.

“Go, go, go!” Halyn shouted. “Twenty seconds!”

One after another, the Zabraks flung themselves through the air with abandon. None of them missed the critical jump; every one of them successfully reached the Muurian’s boarding ramp. Each of them, though, just barely reached the ramp—they were a single misstep or loss of balance from a plunging, screaming death.

For a pilot, it was a disconcerting thought.

At nine seconds, only three remained: Anishor, Halyn, and Kativie.

“Go, furball,” Halyn shouted above the whine of the Muurian’s repulsorlifts. Thud bugs started to buzz through the air again, and he dropped to his knee to steady himself. Anishor didn’t protest, taking the leap with the practiced ease and comfort only a Kashyyyk-dweller could possess. Halyn’s blaster screeched, and three thud bugs dropped as smoking carapaces.

Kativie’s lightsaber hummed as she scorched two more thud bugs out of the air. “Go, brother!”

“Five seconds!” Halyn shouted as he turned and threw himself out towards the transport.

As he leapt, he saw in an instant he wasn’t going to make it. The Muurian had slid a half-meter backwards as the coralskippers continued to pound away at it. Oh, frak! In an eternal moment, he knew he was about to die.

Miraculously, he floated forward that extra half-meter. What?

The Force. He didn’t have time to fully comprehend the thought, to understand its consequences, but he didn’t need to know. Kelta had reached out with the Force to grab him; the Jedi had saved his life again.

Then a thud bug buzzed past his ear. A heartbeat later, he was falling again. But now, he was close enough that his fingers snagged the edge of the boarding ramp, leaving him dangling precariously from the impossibly high ship.

Kelta took a thud bug. Is she…? He didn’t have time for more thought as he swiveled his head around to see Kativie. “Jump!” he screamed, trying to make himself heard over the repulsorlifts’ screech, the thump-thump-thump of the topside turbolaser firing, the answering hiss of plasma balls painting the dorsal shields.

Kativie stood alone at the gap, her lightsaber flashing around her in a green halo as she held the line. She seemed to hear him, turned towards the Muurian.

Then a rumble echoed from below, loud enough to be heard even above the cacophony of combat noise. Kativie met Halyn’s eyes for an impossibly long moment as she crouched to make her own leap.

Before the Zabrak Jedi could straighten, could spring towards the safety of the Muurian, the floor fell out from beneath her. Halyn could do nothing but stare at his sister as the dust rolled up, as she descended into the dusty haze of the collapsing tower.

“Kativie!” he screamed.

It was then that he realized his own fingers were slipping. He couldn’t tell if the transport was rising or falling. Halyn wasn’t sure if he cared at that instant—all he could see were Kativie’s green eyes.

His fingers lost their last bit of purchase, and he was falling.

Massive Wookiee paws wrapped around his wrists, arresting his descent before it could really begin. <Hang on!> Anishor snarled.

The transport was definitely bobbing now as plasma continued to rain down.

It didn’t seem real to the Ul’akhoi. None of it did. Let go of me, Halyn wanted to say as he thought of Kativie trapped in the hell of the collapsing New Horizon Designs tower. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. But all he could do was watch as the tower collapsed in a cloud of duracrete dust. He lost sight of it after a few more seconds, the cloud shooting skyward and completely enveloping the disaster.

I killed Kativie.

He was being hauled up by his wrists, then, and a moment later all he could see was the boarding ramp of the Muurian. Oh. I must be facedown.

“We’ve got him!” Ceikeh shouted. “Go, go, go!”

The boarding ramp was retracting then, and Halyn could feel the ship begin to accelerate.

<Halyn, are you alright? Halyn. Halyn. Halyn!>

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said hoarsely to his honor brother. “I’m here, Anishor.” He forced himself to sit up, to blink away the dirt and dust stinging his eyes. “Is Kelta alright?”

“I’ll live,” the red-headed Jedi grunted from the chamber. “The thud bug cracked ribs, I think, but I’ll live.” She was silent for a moment. “Where’s Kativie?”

“Katie…” Halyn’s voice failed him, but he forced it back. Can’t collapse. If I collapse now, we lose it all. “Katie didn’t make the jump in time.”

Kelta’s voice was puzzled. “I can still feel her. She’s reaching out to me.”

“I saw her fall, Kelta,” Halyn said hoarsely. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” the other said in puzzlement. “She’s…she’s alright.”

“How could she be alright?” Halyn whispered. “I saw her fall. No one could survive that.”

Anishor laid a massive paw on his shoulder. <Easy, coatrack. Kelta wouldn’t lie to you.>

Kelta’s voice was no less pained, but the confusion lessened. “Kativie’s not good at trying to communicate like this, but she’s in one piece. She’s already on the ground and moving.” Kelta’s tone became more speculative. “I’d bet she used the Force to get herself clear of the building, used it to slow her fall like I did when we arrived. With the Force, she could’ve anticipated where the debris would fall.”

Halyn slumped back flat on the boarding ramp. “She’s really okay?” he asked, allowing himself to feel a touch of hope for the first time.

“As near as I can tell, yes,” Kelta assured him.

<She’s a Jedi and a Sanshir. You really think a falling building would kill her?> Anishor joked. <You’ve survived worse than that, and you’re not even a Jedi.>

Halyn closed his eyes, wishing for darkness but still seeing Kativie’s green eyes, so distinct even through the dust and haze and smoke of the collapsing building. “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Okay.”

“We’ll be back at the Cathleen in five minutes,” Ceikeh announced over the transport’s comm.

<You can raise her on the comlink when we get back,> Anishor assured him. <She’s fine. You’ll see.>

That, Halyn decided, was too close.