that I have access to a large number of water navy vessels, surface and
submersible, most of them currently decommissioned and crewed by droids. They're
antiques... but an antique exploding shell can still kill an enemy if it's
placed correctly. I could give you several submersibles, large ones for oceans
and small ones for rivers, if you can bring me a transport to carry them. And
then you'd have weapons, however unlikely, that the Yuuzhan Vong have not
encountered on Borleias."
"Are they fully armed and operational?" Leia asked.
"Fully armed and operational."
"How many?"
"I can give you two of the larger submersibles. about the size of Carrack
cruisers, and four smaller units suited to river traffic."
"Make it four and four and you have a deal," Han said-
The admiral's bantha-trader grin widened. "What deal? you haven't offered
anything specific."
"We're offering a guarantee," Leia said. "We guarantee that you win the
election. You'll see the vote turn your way, and you'll be able to see our hand
in the turnaround."
"Done," the admiral said. "The day after I'm installed in the office of the
Presider, you receive your eight sub-mersibles." She extended her hand, and Leia
and Han took it in turn.
Once they were out of the admiral's office, and off the military base she
used as her headquarters, Leia asked, "All right. So you got us something for
our help when we were expecting nothing. What, precisely, do we do with eight
submersibles we don't need? Which won't do us any good against the Yuuzhan Vong?
"
Han gave her his crookedest this-time-I've-got-you-my-dear smile. "Plenty."
"Let's hear it."
"First, when we get the transport for the submersibles here, without
informing Admiral Earnest back there, we leave one of the big submersibles and
one of the small ones behind, in the nearest large body of water."
"For what purpose?"
"You've been thinking of the resistance cells as being set up in the major
cities, with vehicles and ordnance stored in caves, forgotten underground tanks,
whatever the operatives can find. But those submersibles, however antiquated,
can serve as preliminary resistance bases... and can be used to find caves that
can only be reached from underwater. They're not weapons to use on the Yuuzhan
Vong, Leia, they're mobile homes that fire explosive shells. Enough for four
whole resistance cells."
"Ooh." She smiled and considered the idea.
"So how do we do it?"
"Do what?"
"Rig the election."
"I have no idea. I was following your lead, rememher? I've never rigged an
election."
Han sighed. "Well, you'd better figure it out fast. Or I'll have to take
your temporary scoundrel's license away."
Borleias
Jag sat propped up against the side of his clawcraft, engrossed in his
datapad. The special operations docking bay was, for once, comparatively quiet,
only a few clank-ings and swear words floating in from the far corner to
indicate mechanics' activities. He was not too engrossed, though, to see the
pair of booted feet appear before him.
He looked up, and up, into the blue features of Shawn-kyr Nuruodo. A Chiss
officer, she'd been his wingmate on his first trip into New Republic space at
the start of the Yuuzhan Vong crisis, his sole partner during his recent return,
and his second-in-command when he'd founded Vanguard Squadron on Hapes. Now,
while he flew with Twin Suns Squadron, she led the Vanguards.
"Colonel, may I sit?"
"Of course."
She lowered herself and sat cross-legged opposite him-
"I heard that Vanguard Squadron had been classified as fit for elite and
special operations," Jag said. "That you were going to be stationed groundside
with the rest of us. Congratulations."
"It's just a matter of training, motivating, enforcing discipline."
Shawnkyr shrugged. "I came to you because it would be inappropriate for me to
reject their promotion, however well intended, without first talking to you,
since you founded the squadron."
"Why would you refuse it?"
"Because I don't intend to lead the squadron much longer. Nor should you
return to it. It's time for us to leave."
"Explain that."
"Our plan was specific, Colonel. We came back to evaluate the threat the
Yuuzhan Vong posed to Chiss society. We've had time to make that evaluation. Now
we should report back with our findings."
Jag regarded her levelly. He'd anticipated this confrontation for some
time. "And what would your report tell our high command?"
"That the Yuuzhan Vong are a significant threat to us, to the Empire, to
any societal structure that does not resemble theirs. That the New Republic is
shattering on all fronts, and that it is only a matter of time before the
Yuuzhan Vong mop up here and spread out to reach us."
"I agree with your conclusions."
"Then let's go."
He shook his head. "I've come to additional conclusions that suggest we
should stay."
"May I hear them?"
"I believe that this engagement, here on Borleias, will be the surest test
of Yuuzhan Vong determination and character. Only in seeing how this campaign
plays out can we provide a definitive analysis of the enemy that our people will
someday face."
"So it is your plan to return to Chiss space immediately upon the fall of
Borleias."
"No."
"Then I have failed to understand you."
"I didn't describe all my conclusions. A second one, not related to the
first, is that my presence here may affect coming events, in a small but perhaps
measurable way, and that to abandon this campaign now would not only do it harm,
but eventually do harm to our people as well. Any damage I do to the enemy here
is damage the enemy cannot do to us when they reach us."
"So you will not leave at all."
"I will leave... eventually."
Shawnkyr considered his words silently. The distant swearing increased in
volume, to match a sudden spate of hammering that sounded like revenge rather
than repair, before fading to its normal levels. "May I speak freely? Pilot to
pilot?"
"Of course."
"I think that sentiment is clouding your judgment. I think that the notion
of not being here when Jaina Solo is endangered, or killed, is what is keeping
you from your duty. But your duty is to our people, and to no one else."
"Is that true?"
"Yes. You have sworn an oath. An oath of loyalty and obedience."
"What if the best observation of loyalty leads on a course that diverges
from obedience?"
"It can't."
"I think you're wrong. I am not loyal to the Chiss because my parents were
accepted by them, or because 1 have grown up among them. I'm loyal because they
embody traits I admire and respect; they make those traits part of the very
fiber of our society. Traits such as strength in the face of aggression, such as
acknowledgment of duty before self-interest. The Chiss, however, are not the
only people with admirable tr
aits, not the only ones who deserve to survive the
Yuuzhan Vong, and not the only ones 1 identify with. Not anymore."
"So you think you are supporting a greater good by staying."
"Yes. We can assemble a report and transmit it by holo-comm. We can explain
that more evaluation is needed... which is the truth."
"As you see it."
"Yes."
Shawnkyr's expression changed. It did not harden against him, which was one
possibility Jag had acknowledged hut did not welcome. Instead, a subtle sadness
suffused it. He doubted anyone not well acquainted with her would have detected
it.
"I will stay," she said, "until Borleias falls. Then I will return home."
"Thank you."
"But if I die here, I want you to promise to return in my place. If I stay
here, am delaying the execution of my duty. If I die, you must carry out my
duty."
Jag thought about it. And to his way of thinking, she had presented him
with an impenetrable argument. His only choices really were to agree, or to bid
her farewell now. And the defenders of Borleias would be that much worse off
without her leadership and piloting skills. "I agree," he said.
* * *
Tarc shook Wolam Tser's hand and said, "I thought you'd be tall."
Wolam-graying and distinguished, elder statesman of Coruscant
holojournalism-exchanged an amused look with Tam before returning his attention
to the child. "I am indeed taller than you."
"Yes, hut I thought you'd be two meters at least."
"An illusion, child. When you are in front of the holocam, you dominate the
image. Everything else is secondary to you. So it becomes easy for watchers to
believe you are of extravagant proportions."
"Oh." Tarc nodded sagely, as though Wolam's words made perfect sense to
him.
They stood in the lobby of the biotics building, meters from the door out
onto the kill zone. The lobby was now set up with desks and stations for junior
officers and enlisted personnel. Some directed traffic through the building,
others ensured physical and remote security, and still others were located here
rather than in locations more appropriate to their specific tasks because there
was no room in those locations for them.
But there was still a little open space away from the main flow of traffic,
and that's where they stood, three generations of homeless civilian males
surrounded by military operations.
"So, what's it to be today?" Tam fished around in his expansive bag. He
extracted a holocam, a model small enough to be easily concealed in his large
hands, with a strap to fit around the back of one hand. This unit he handed to
Tarc. He showed the boy how to tighten the strap, where to peer into the holocam
in order to see what the holocam's lens saw.
"How the defenders live," Wolam said. "Bedchambers, meals, medicine,
refreshers, exhaustion, stolen moments. Spot interviews as I decide. No setups,
no analysis."
"Why record anything?" Tarc asked. "With Corus-cant conquered, aren't you
out of a job?"
"Never," Wolam said. "I am a historian. Unless nothing sapient survives in
all the universe, I have a job, a calling. Someday people will be curious about
what happened here, and what we do, recording and analyzing, may be the only
surviving answers to their questions."
"In other words," Tam said, "once you know what you are, nobody can ever
take your 'job' from you. They can change your circumstances. They can make it
hard or impossible for you to get paid." He shot Wolam a sly look, and Wolam
gratified him by giving him an indignant little scowl. "But your 'job' is part
of you."
Tarc fell silent, considering that.
Tam pulled out his main-duty holocam, a recently manufactured Crystal
Memories Model 17, lighter and possessing more standard memory than previous
models. He passed its strap over his head. The strap grazed against the fresh
scar behind his right ear, the surgical scar over his new implant, the implant
that was now his only defense against the deadly headaches brought on by his
conditioning. Changed circumstances, indeed.
"What should I record?" Tarc asked. "Everything?"
"At first, if you want to," Tam said. "What I do is to record everything
Wolam points at, until he gives me the kill sign-"
Obligingly, Wolam made a gesture like an abbreviated ax chop. His pale
hands against his black garments made the gesture especially easy to see.
"-and also anything I find interesting or unusual. You do the same, and
when we review your recordings together I'll point out what looks interesting
from a historical-record perspective."
"Don't spend too much of your time on the girls," Wolam cautioned.
Tarc's face twisted into an expression of disdain. "You don't have to worry
about that."
Coruscant
"I hate this," Luke said.
"Waiting?" Mara, eyes closed, adjusted her pose, trying to make herself
comfortable-as comfortable as one could be propped up against a deformed metal
wall in a hallway dripping with rainwater that had filtered through thirty or
forty stories of ruined skyscraper above, on a planet ruled and increasingly
"Of course, waiting." Luke had returned half an hour before from the latest
scattering run. Not everyone was back; a few meters down the hallway, Danni was
cataloging plant samples, and Baljos and Elassar were playing sabacc underneath
a flickering glowlight. The others were still unaccounted for.
"Which points to a great failing with the Jedi. The lightsabers."
Luke gave his wife a suspicious look. "A failing?"
She nodded. "You can't sharpen them. Back when I was, well, in my previous
career, I could get through any boring stretch by sharpening my knives. It takes
just enough of your attention to keep boredom at bay, and keeps your tools at
their best. With vibroblades, even if they lose power, you still have a nice
sharp edge for whatever needs cutting."
Elassar looked back over his shoulder at her. "Sometimes I think you can be
spooky just singing nursery songs."
"That's easy." Mara's face took on an expression of motherly concern.
"Hush, child," she sang, "the night is mild, and slumber smiles upon you..." But
she sang the familiar tune in a minor key, making the words unsettling rather
than soothing, evoking the mental image of an anthropomorphic Slumber that was a
night-monster stealing silently up to a crib.
But she fell silent, and Luke could feel from her what he felt in himself-a
wish, one that could not be fulfilled now, that they could be where Ben was,
introducing him to all the little surprises and delights that came with just
being alive. Instead they were here in this endless expanse of death.
Then Mara opened her eyes and looked back down the hall.
Luke felt it too-not danger, but some agitation expressed through the
Force. He rose and put his hand on his lightsaber hilt.
Up through a hole in the floor swung Tahiri. She landed and extended a hand
down, helping Face up to this level. She was somber. He looked dubious.
When she saw Luke,
she gulped-not our of uncertainty or fear, Luke thought,
hut out of nausea. "I found something," she said.
FIVE
Now he had a name.
It had taken time, and frequent yanking of thoughts out of their heads, for
him to understand names. Sounds that belonged only to one being. Each of them
had a name, and when he understood that, it became vital for him to have one,
too.
He was more powerful, more important than any of them. It was not right for
them to have names and him not to.
So they called him Nyax. Lord Nyax. Nyax was his name, and no other might
have it. Lord was a thing that made his name bigger, better. Lord meant that he
was more important than anything.
Satisfied with that recognition of his status, he smiled up at the workers
crawling over the surface of the tall, tall machine.
They repaired it. They cleared rubble from around it. Soon it would go.
Soon it would knock down the black wall he hated.
Soon he, Lord Nyax, would have everything he wanted-which was everything.
All beings would do his bidding. Except, perhaps, those whom his senses could
not detect; they were surprisingly resistant to pain. Them he would kill, every
one.
Coruscant
"You found a tank of goo," said Mara.
They stood on a metal walkway high over a deep, vast chamber. They'd
descended through several levels of ruined factory machinery to reach it. Now,
their comparatively tiny glowrods illuminated tiny patches of the floor far
below.
Not that there was much detail to illuminate. The greater portion of the
floor was dominated by a gleaming white metal tank, dozens of meters wide and
long, but only a meter and a half tall, and filled nearly to its rim by some
reddish fluid.
Most of the others looked disinterested, or immediately cast about for
another place to sit down and rest.
Not so the scientists. Baljos and Danni immediately pulled out sensor
devices and began sampling the local environment.
"Definitely a living thing," Danni said. "A large quantity of monocellular
life-forms."
"This chamber is unusually high in oxygen, unusually low in carbon dioxide