fragile skin.
Cilghal opened her mental doors, freeing
her thoughts, allowing currents of the Force to flow
into Mon Mothma's form. She let the
nictitating membranes slide over her
Calamarian eyes as she began to see with an
inner vision, traveling through the cellular
pathways of Mon Mothma's body.
She found herself in a strange universe of
rushing blood cells, electrically firing
neurons, contracting muscle fibers, laboring
organs that could no longer perform their functions.
Cilghal couldn't exactly comprehend what she
saw, but somehow she understood instinctively which parts
were healthy, which molecules were sustaining Mon
Mothma, and which were the black scourge.
With the Force, Cilghal could touch with fingers
infinitely small, infinitely precise,
to grasp one of the nano — destroyers and send it
careening out of the dying body.
Cilghal found other microscopic destroyers
and nudged them, pushed them, herding the poison
away from healthy cells, preventing further
damage.
The task was incomprehensibly large. The
poison had spread and replicated, scattering
itself through the billions and billions of cells in
Mon Mothma's body. Cilghal would have to search
and remove every one of them.
After succeeding with the first one, Cilghal sought out
another.
And another.
And another.
And another.
"Has there been any change?" Leia
whispered at the doorway. She had just returned
from a meeting where General Wedge Antilles,
Doctor Qwi Xux, and Han Solo had
given a detailed debriefing on the entire
Maw assault.
Leia had listened with fascination, making eyes
at her husband Han — whichom she had seen too little
of in the past several days. But always in the back of
her mind was a pressing concern for Mon Mothma.
"No change," Ackbar said in a tired
voice. "I wish we understood what Cilghal
is attempting to do."
The female Calamarian had not moved in nine
hours, kneeling beside Mon Mothma's bedside,
flippered hands resting on the dying woman's skin,
deep in a trance. The medical droids had not
expected Mon Mothma to live for this long, so the
mere fact that she still had not succumbed to death meant
something.
From outside the door Leia peeked in to see
that nothing had changed. The leader's hand
lay in a crystal dish as droplets of an
oily grayish liquid emerged from the tip of her
index finger. The process was too slow to watch,
but over the course of half an hour a small
droplet would gather at the tip of her finger,
dangling, until gradually gravity pulled it
off into the dish.
Terpfen walked slowly down the tiled
corridors dressed in a dark — green
close — fitting uniform that bore no insignia.
Even after his full pardon Terpfen had refused
to accept his rank again. He had sequestered himself
in his rooms for much of the time since returning from
Anoth.
The scarred Calamarian stopped several
meters away from them, reluctant to go closer to the
room that held Mon Mothma. Leia knew that
Terpfen still blamed himself for the dying woman's
condition, and he refused to let the guilt be
assuaged. Though she understood his misery, she was
getting impatient with his withdrawal and hoped he
climbed back to his feet soon.
Terpfen bowed ponderously, displaying the network
of scars on his disfigured head. "Admiral, I
have reached a decision." He drew a deep
breath. "I wish to return to Calamari and
continue your work — if our people will have me. I wish
to assist in rebuilding Reef Home. I fear
..." He looked up to stare at the intricate
mosaics on the walls of the Imperial
Palace. "I fear that I will never be comfortable on
Coruscant again."
"Believe me, Terpfen," Ackbar answered,
"I know exactly how you feel. I would not try
to talk you out of your decision. It is a fair
compromise between your need for healing and your desire
to make amends."
Terpfen straightened, as if some measure of
self — esteem had been returned to him. "I would
like to depart as soon as possible," he said.
"I will arrange a ship," Ackbar replied.
Terpfen bowed again. "If I have your leave,
Chief of State?"
"Yes, Terpfen," Leia answered. She
turned once again to watch the motionless tableau
inside the medical chamber.
At a forgotten hour in the depths of
Coruscant's night, Cilghal emerged from the
medical chambers. She staggered,
cradling in her right hand a shallow crystal bowl
half — filled with the deadly poison from the drink that
Ambassador Furgan had thrown in Mon
Mothma's face.
The two New Republic guards stationed at
the door snapped to attention and rushed to help
Cilghal. She was so exhausted she could hardly
place one foot in front of another. She
leaned against the stone doorway, drawing strength from
the solidity of the rock.
Her arm trembled as she extended the crystal
dish to one of the guards. Cilghal barely had enough
strength remaining to lift the small
poison — filled container, but she did not dare
drop it. She felt a deep, bone — melting
relief when the guard took it from her.
"Be careful," she said in a husky, utterly
exhausted voice. "Take this ... and incinerate
it."
The second guard scrambled to the intercom
system and signaled for all Council members
to come immediately.
"Do you have news of Mon Mothma?" the first
guard asked her.
"She has been cleansed and she will heal." The
lids dropped over Cilghal's glassy eyes.
"But for now she must rest." Her flowing robes
whispered against the tiled walls as she slid down
to collapse on the floor.
"As must I," she said, falling immediately into a
Jedi recovery trance.
The Star Destroyer Gorgon limped through
open space like a wounded dragon, leaking radiation
from a thousand damage points.
Only one of the Gorgon's primary
sublight engines still functioned. Admiral
Daala's engineers assured her it would be many
days before they could attempt to enter hyperspace.
Life — support systems were down for the lower
twelve decks. But Admiral Daala's
soldiers were accustomed to harsh and difficult
conditions. Cramped living quarters might
encourage them to make repairs faster. Heating
systems were low, giving the air a frigid edge,
making spoken words emerge from her lips
accompanied
by a plume of steam.
Her precious flagship had been
grievously wounded, Daala knew; but she
realized she did not need to make the Gorgon
into a top — flight fighting machine again. Not
anymore. This time she merely needed to complete
sufficient repairs to crawl back
to Imperial — controlled territory, where she could
start from scratch.
Daala's best advantage was that the Rebel
forces must have assumed her ship had been destroyed
in the explosion. Their sensors would have been blinded
in the eruption of the reactor asteroid.
Watching Maw Installation vaporize,
Daala had ordered full shields and full
speed, throwing caution aside as she drove the
Gorgon straight to the walls of the Maw,
seeking her own way out. Now, crawling away from
the energetic outbursts of the black hole cluster,
the battered Imperial battle cruiser would not be
noticed on any Rebel scopes.
Half the consoles on her bridge remained
dim, unable to function after sustaining so many
overloads. Technicians tore open access
plates, bundled in heavy uniforms to keep
warm, rubbing their numb hands together as they tinkered with
electronics. But they did not complain, at least
not while Daala was watching.
A significant percentage of her
stormtroopers had been killed in sudden hull
breaches or explosions beldecks. The sick
bays were filled with injured personnel. Many of the
computer systems were off — line. But they had
survived.
Commander Kratas stepped up to Daala and
saluted. His face looked devastated, smudged
with grease and smoke from his attempts at hands — on
repair work.
"The news is not good, Admiral," he said.
"I want to know our true status," Daala
said, forcing her concern back inside, where it could
increase the pressure in her heart,
crystallizing a diamond of her own resolve.
"Tell me, no matter how bad it is."
Kratas nodded, swallowing. "We have only
seven functional TIE fighters remaining in the
hangar bays. All others were lost."
"Seven!" she cried. "Out of — was She
gritted her teeth and shook her head so that her
hair whirled like an inferno around her face. She
drew a short, controlled breath and nodded.
"Yes. Continue."
"We don't have sufficient spare parts
to repair the damaged external weapons
systems," he said. "Our starboard turbolaser
batteries have been wrecked, but we may be able
to get two guns functional again."
Daala tried to be optimistic. "That might
be enough to defend ourselves if we are attacked. But
we must hope not to encounter such a situation. We will
not initiate any aggressive action at this
point. Is that understood?"
Kratas looked relieved. "Understood,
Admiral. We can repair most of the hull
breaches and repressurize some of the decks, although
..." He hesitated, and his thick eyebrows
knitted together like a giant furworm. "But I
don't really see the point in that, Admiral,"
he finished. "We don't need those quarters, and
it would only tax our resources at this point.
Our repair crews are working around the clock, and
I suggest we devote our efforts to completing
only the systems critical to life support and
those necessary for us to be on our way."
Daala nodded slowly. "Again I agree,
Commander. It is a difficult decision, but we
must be realistic. We have lost this battle — but the
war continues. We will make no excuses for
ourselves but continue to give our best effort for the good
of the Empire."
She drew another controlled breath of the frosty
air, staring through the bridge viewport at the lush
starfield that waited ahead, crossed by a wide
swath like a milky river. Looking through the disk
of the galaxy toward the dense core, she saw the
stars appear to stream like a wide river. The
Gorgon headed toward the luminous bulge of the
galactic center.
"Commander" — she lowered her voice — "what is
your opinion of the overall morale on the ship?"
Kratas took a step closer so he could
answer in a soft voice. "We have good people,
Admiral, as you know. Well trained and well
drilled. But they have repeatedly suffered grievous
defeats. ..."
"Have they lost faith in me?" Daala asked.
Her face was chiseled in stone. She made herself
strong and tried not to show that Kratas's answer could
devastate her. She averted her emerald eyes,
afraid that he might see something in them.
"Absolutely not, Admiral!" Kratas
answered with a tinge of surprise. "They
have the utmost confidence in you."
She nodded to cover her long sigh of relief,
then raised her voice, turning to the communications
lieutenant. "Give me an open — ship
channel," she said. "I want to address all of
our troops."
Daala gathered her thoughts until the
lieutenant nodded to her. She spoke in a loud,
firm voice that reverberated through the damaged
ship.
"Attention, all crew members of the
Gorgon. I wish to commend you for your efforts
against overwhelming odds, against a foe that continues
luck. We must now prepare for the next phase in
this battle, however. We are making our way to the
Core Systems, to the last strongholds that still
swear loyalty to the Empire.
"It was not originally my intention to join with one
of the Imperial warlords struggling for dominance, but it
now appears that we must fight the larger fight.
We need to convince them of their real enemy and show
those still faithful to the Emperor that we must be united
to be strong."
She paused before raising her voice. "Yes,
the Gorgon has been damaged. Yes, we have
suffered severe losses. We have been wounded — but
we will never be defeated!
"Trials such as these only strengthen us.
Continue your efforts to make the Gorgon powerful
again. Thank you for your service." She signaled
for the communications lieutenant to stop the
transmission. She looked out again at the moving
stream of stars.
The Gorgon's computer banks held all the
information Daala had pulled from Maw
Installation's classified computer banks. The
weapons designs and new concepts alone would
help the Empire win the next phase of the war.
As she stood on the cold bridge with gloved
hands clasped behind her back, she watched the
universe unfold in front of her.
The Star Destroyer Gorgon sailed on
toward the Core Systems. Through persistence she
coul
d become victorious. One day.
43
The Lady Luck cruised low over the
jagged surface of Kessel. Bleached sunlight
washed across the alkali flats. The sky
scintillated with intermittent streaks of light,
flaming trails of meteorites — chunks of
Kessel's destroyed moon burning down through the
thin atmosphere.
"You know, this is all kind of beautiful,"
Lando said, "in its own way."
Beside him in the space yacht's overly padded
passenger seat, Mara Jade frowned
skeptically. She looked at him as if she thought
he was crazy — not a new thought. "If you say
so," she said.
"Of course, it'll take a lot of work,"
Lando admitted, lifting one hand off the controls
so he could rest it on the arm of her chair. She
flinched at his move ... but not too much.
"First order of business will be to get the
atmosphere factories up to full capacity
again. I'll have to bring in specially modified
droids. I've already talked to Nien Nunb,
my Sullustan friend, who says he'd love
to make his home down in those tunnels. I think
he'll make a great crew boss."
Lando raised his eyebrows and flashed her his
most dazzling smile. "Defense will be
difficult without the moonbase, but I'm sure
with the help of the Smugglers' Alliance we can put
together a great system. You and I will make quite a
team, Mara. I'm really going to enjoy working
closely with you."
Mara sighed, but it was more of a resigned,
tolerant noise than actual annoyance. "You
just don't give up, do you, Calrissian?"
He shook his head, still grinning. "Nope.
Giving up is not my style. Not ever."
Mara slumped back in her passenger chair and
stared out the Lady Luck's front
viewport. "I was afraid of that."
Overhead in the white skies of Kessel,
shooting stars continued to rain down.
Two medical droids supported a
recovering Mon Mothma. She stood dripping as
she emerged from the bacta tank. She wavered a
little and held on to the smooth shoulder plates of the
droids. Finally she stood on her own again,
took a deep breath, and lifted her
head to smile.
Leia stood watching, impressed at the
rapid improvement. "I never thought I'd see
you stand again, Mon Mothma."
"Neither did I," the former Chief of State
admitted with a rueful shrug. "But my body is