| abstract
| - Rain poured down in the dank alley as the killer left the scene of the crime, another in a long string of victims he had claimed already. The dark, foul alley was narrow and littered with detritus, affording plenty of cover for a safe getaway. The belated response by the authorities to the heinous act had once again been insufficient to stop this particular felon. They called him the Minddrinker. Furtive and stealthy, he prowled the streets of the offworld enclave on Thisspias, seeking his prey. Tonight, fate had been kind to him. She had been a young and strong Twi’lek, filled with vigor. The Minddrinker licked his lips, remembering her tantalizing taste. A distant shout sounded in the alleyway behind him, reminding him that he was not safe yet. The Twi’lek had struggled, getting off one desperate cry before he had consumed her. The approaching individuals, whether civilians or authorities, were too far off to ensnare him. He was a creature of the night. The shadows were his friends, wrapping around him like the long jacket he wore to ward off the rain, concealing him from searching eyes. Taking a swig of a bottle filled with liquid stimulants and other ingredients blended into a potent concoction, he redoubled his pace, slipping off into the dark night. An hour later, soaked but victorious, the Minddrinker entered his lair, a small shack built alongside an abandoned warehouse in one of the most rundown parts of the city, a sizable room littered with industrial debris that he had no use or concern for. A single flickering cyan glowpanel illuminated the shelves he had lined most of the lair with, filled with the potions and elixirs he unleashed on his victims before killing them. Slipping inside, he sealed the door behind him, but kept his waterlogged jacket on, oblivious to its drenched state. A self-admitted organizer, the Minddrinker carefully replaced the three canisters he had used tonight neatly on the shelves, placing labels on them to indicate that they were partially depleted. In two months of his predations, the authorities had yet to figure out his true identity, or even his true nature due to the chemicals he used, which disguised the distinctive wounds left by his preferred methods of killing. It was a shame, the Minddrinker reflected, that most Anzati did not use such mind-affecting agents on their victims before they fed on them. It was amazing how the flavor of a sentient’s mind could change when exposed to the proper hallucinogens or intoxicants. The Twi’lek he had fed upon had been thoroughly . . . enhanced by the psychotropic agents injected into her bloodstream, a delicacy that any Anzati would have been proud to consume. Perhaps that was his burden to bear, the knowledge of such intriguing ways to improve the minds that were to be consumed, just as it was the burden of the Anzati to constantly hide their true nature because of the animosity stirred in other sentient species upon learning of the Anzati’s desire—no, it was a need—to feed upon sentient brains, to drink their soup and absorb their life essence. The Minddrinker himself had earned a degree of contempt even for the typically solitary Anzati, both for his chemical marinating of his prey and for his insatiable hunger that led him to feed more often than most other Anzati. Thus far, he had fed every day he had been on Thisspias, injecting his victims with a different cocktail of chemicals each time to sample the different flavors that it was possible to imbue upon a sentient mind. He allowed his feeding proboscises to uncoil from their cheek pouches, licking off the lingering blood and brain tissue from them. Though he had just fed, he was already thinking ahead to the next meal. His hunger was ravenous, his greed to constantly seek out and devour new and intriguing minds all but compulsive. His rapacious tastes had already driven him from three dozen worlds and he intended to drink deeply of the minds on this one before he left. Perhaps next time he would seek out a child, one filled with promise and youth, and drink its life force as well. He would need a special blend, one made with care and delicacy to achieve the right flavor on the mind he would consume without prematurely spoiling it. The Anzati contemplated this matter, idly plucking a selection of cylinders from his collection for possible use. “You really don’t have any remorse for what you’ve done, do you?” a voice issued from the darkness behind him. He whirled in surprise, but there was nobody to be seen. Anzati senses were keener than those of humans or other similar species, but again, the Minddrinker sensed nothing. For once, he was the one surprised. His hands slipped behind him, grabbing several canisters of mind-altering chemicals that would scramble the brain of whoever this intruder was. To distract from his actions, he decided to trade verbal jabs. “Does a predator feel remorse for hunting and consuming its prey?” he sneered. “Their lives are nothing to you, then?” the same hard-edged voice, most likely female called to him from the darkness. “Their lives, no. Their minds are what I seek. Now, I will seek your mind and consume it, to learn what led you to stalk a predator in his lair.” He caught a brief hint of the intruder’s sense. She was powerful, filled with emotion and passion, exuding a presence that brimmed with vigor, and yet had managed to conceal it from him until now. It was tantalizing to him, despite having just fed and satiated his appetite, but now, this new intruder’s sense called to him. He would have her, would hold her in his arms, and then would consume her life force, her soup. His proboscises twitched in anticipation. Perhaps he would leave her to marinate her mind in a special blend of chemicals for a full day, if he could restrain himself that long. “I smell you, my sweet,” he breathed. “Come out where I can see you.” “That won’t be necessary.” A datapad that the Minddrinker used to monitor the communications of law enforcement shot out from the darkness to slam into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs and doubling him over. He staggered back, but quickly regained his composure, injecting himself with powerful blend of stimulants to enhance his already-considerable physical prowess. Raw aggression and animal fury seethed through his body, empowering his muscles and senses beyond their normal capabilities. He would find her, would use his mental talents to subdue her mind, and then she would be his. This single-minded drive consumed the Anzati just as he did his prey. He stalked around in his lair, looking for the elusive intruder, when a storage cylinder came sliding across the room, aimed at sweeping his feet out from under him. The Minddrinker shoulder-rolled over it, coming up on one knee only to have a metal pole bash his face. He gasped and lashed out with a knife he had kept concealed up one sleeve, but his blind stroke met nothing but air. The enraged Anzati leapt to his feet, seeking his prey as he lunged this way and that. “How does it feel, to be trapped and baited like you have done to so many others?” the voice mocked him from the shadows. The Minddrinker had no reply other than an angry growl. He was losing control of his rational mind, a dangerous state for any Anzati, and had no desire for anything than consuming the brain of his intruder. “Show yourself!” he bellowed. A broken glowpanel smashed into his back and shattered, sending him staggering forward again, but he batted it away. A depleted power pack shot up from the floor to slam into his groin even as bolts, scrap, and other debris was hurled into him by some invisible Force, apparently directed by his unseen assailant. They wore away at his strength even as he fought back impotently. Finally, the Minddrinker felt himself be picked up bodily in an invisible grip and hurled back into his wall of shelves, sending chemical cylinders flying off of the shelves to clatter and roll on the floor, ruining his perfect arrangements. Even as he struggled to pick his winded and wounded body off the floor, the Minddrinker finally saw her emerge from the shadows. She was small, a blue-skinned Wroonian with golden eyes, staring malevolently at him as she stepped into the area illuminated by the flickering glowlamp. She had made a mistake though, getting this close to him. His Anzati mental powers, stamina, and physical prowess would allow the Minddrinker to overpower her easily. “Your will is mine,” he snarled at her, directing his natural Anzati mental powers, augmented by the stimulants, at the woman’s mind, seeking to bend her. However, his mental approaches met solid barriers which immediately rebuffed them. For once, the Minddrinker was at a loss. Never had he been unable to subdue the will of another sentient when he desired to do so. “Your life is mine,” she said. The Wroonian woman extended a hand in his direction, sending blue lightning bolts arcing out from her fingers into the Anzati assassin. He writhed as the energy consumed him, jolting his nerves and sending painful energy discharges racing along his body. “How does it feel to be helpless?” she taunted him as she shocked him again. “How does it feel to be in the hands of someone truly remorseless?” The Anzati could make no reply while wracked by Force lightning, but eventually she relented. “Who . . . are . . . you?” he asked. “Does it matter?” she shot back. “You only care for my mind, not who I am.” Seizing control of his twitching limbs, the Anzati staggered to his feet, striking out at her with his short-bladed knife. She sidestepped his first attack, only for him to lunge towards with a stabbing stroke. There was a flash of light, and then suddenly a searing sensation. The horrified Anzati looked down to see his right hand sliced in half at the knuckles, leaving him with only a thumb and a burned stub. The Wroonian stared at him maliciously, a lit lightsaber held in her hand. “Jedi,” he spat. “Kill me now and get it over with.” She smiled at him, a smile bereft of any mirth. “That would be far too easy,” she said. A series of canisters flew from his collection into her hand after a simple gesture. She Force-shoved him back into the shelves again, using another bolt of Force lightning to scramble his nerves. Then, collecting several canisters from his collection, she injected them into the Anzati. His eyes quickly glassed over as he fought to keep from succumbing to the influence of the chemicals, but she wasn’t done. Picking up the knife he had lost when she had severed most of his hand, the Wroonian sliced off his proboscises, eliciting screams of pain from the mutilated Anzati. She then stuffed them into his nose, pouring a gel adhesive into his nasal cavity to hold them in place. “What . . . what are . . . you doing . . ?” he managed even as his mind whirled from the chemical-induced hallucinations and delirium. “You are going to face justice,” she said. Three hours later Ariada watched from the alley as law enforcement vehicles descended on the glowpost where she had left the Minddrinker hanging by his arms from a chain connected to the post. No doubt he was more or less recovered from the effects of the chemicals, owing to Anzati resilience, but there was no way he could possibly resist the myriad law enforcement agents surrounding him. He would be sedated, tried, and hopefully executed as quickly as possible, ending his murderous killing spree. Moreover, her dealing with him would hopefully open up new avenues for her on Thisspias. “Should you not have killed him yourself and executed true justice?” hissed a sibilant voice behind her. She jumped. While she had been hoping for this sort of reaction, she had expected to have a little more advance warning. Ariada whirled around, her hand reaching for the lightsaber tucked into her belt. Standing behind her, lurking in the shadows, were three people she definitely had not seen or sensed behind her five seconds earlier. She could do both now, though not very well. One thing she immediately perceived was that all three of them were strong with the dark side of the Force. Her hidden objective had been achieved. Recomposing herself, she relaxed her hand and faced them. “So you did notice,” she remarked. “I was hoping you would.” “When someone makes an entrance like you just did, it would be impolite to not make an introduction,” came the reply. “What about standing in the shadows where I can’t see you? How’s that for impolite?” she challenged. “That depends on why you sought us out. Doing so takes quite a bit of daring, young lady.” “I was told to seek you out by someone I believe you are familiar with,” she said, a little uncertainly. “And who might that be?” came the sibilant reply. “A Gotal named Psykith on Naboo.” “If he sent you to us, where is he? We have not been told of your arrival, nor do we have any reason to believe you.” Ariada swallowed hard before continuing, knowing that her next words would either vindicate or damn her. There was no point lying, though—the people around her likely knew or could infer much of Psykith’s recent fate. “He’s dead. I killed him myself.” “And now you’re coming after us?” came the reply, but with the tone of a challenge, laced with a hint of mockery. “To join you,” Ariada explained. “Psykith advised me to seek you.” “Of course.” There was an undercurrent of suspicion and sarcasm in the response and Ariada was afraid they were going to kill her or reject her outright. She could not sense their emotions, and had to focus a considerable amount of mental effort into maintaining her own mental screens to prevent the probes from the shadowy figures from seeing through her mind. “Psykith believed those that wield power should use it in accordance with their judgment,” she said. “I believe that too. That is why I’ve come looking for you—to find others who wish to use their power to shape events for the better.” “An interesting tale, but hardly a convincing one. Moreover, you have yet to give us a compelling reason to let you live, much less trust you.” Ariada shifted her weight nervously, knowing that if these were the Dark Jedi associates Psykith had spoken of, then their threat was definitely not empty. She had to convince them. “Aside from Psykith’s endorsement, I’m willing to prove that I’m like-minded with you and in possession of considerable ability.” “Psykith is dead and cannot vouch for you.” “Are you implying that I would lie about that to your face and you not be able to detect it? And if I defeated Psykith, that vouches for my capabilities.” An amused chuckle issued from one of the figures. “Indeed. You intrigue us, girl. What is your name?” “Ariada.” “And you had the audacity to seek us out after killing an associate of ours?” “I’ve had a change of heart since then. Consider me his replacement.” “That assumes we decide to both let you live and trust you.” Ariada considered her next words carefully, knowing what she was potentially committing herself to. “I’m willing to prove my sincerity.” “Oh are you?” the voice asked evilly. “Yes,” she said uncertainly. They were silent for a moment, then their spokesman gave his reply. “Disarm yourself and then come with us. We are willing to give you a chance. For now.” Ariada complied reluctantly, surrendering her lightsaber, vibroblade, and blaster, tossing them onto the crumbling tile of the alley. They telekinetically flew over to her interrogators before landing—verification that these were the Dark Jedi she sought. “Be forewarned, Ariada. These tests will not be as simple as capturing a greedy, careless Anzati and stringing him up for the authorities to find. If you are to join us, you must be one of us. And should you fail, the results will be most . . . fatal.” With that solemn warning, the three silhouettes turned to leave, beckoning her to follow. This was it—her last chance to turn back. However, she had come this far and her resolve had not abated. If she was to use her Force-powers to stop the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, she would need resources, resources that these Dark Jedi could provide. Knowing that the Yanibar Guard would never accept her again and that her philosophies would similarly conflict with those of the Jedi Order, there was little other recourse for her if she sought to pursue her convictions. And she did, more than anything else in the galaxy. She had already made countless sacrifices and performed deeds she otherwise would never have done for the sake of her cause. This was the next logical step, the only logical step. Silently, she followed them down the alley. They led her to a mansion at the edge of town, a tall, dark building that loomed over the group. In the murky darkness of midnight, the building appeared to be constructed of some material similar to obsidian, with a refined elegant sleekness in its gleaming black architecture. Apparently this group had a taste for aristocracy. She entered the building and was promptly escorted to a small windowless, featureless room barely illuminated by recessed green glowpanels. With little else to do, she sat herself cross-legged on the floor and soon sank deep into a refreshing meditation routine. The feeling of unrestrained access to the Force, after weeks of captivity in the Force-blind prison, was still like a draught of cool water in the midst of a scorching desert and she luxuriated herself in the feeling of its powerful currents flowing through her freely once more. Ariada wasn’t sure how many hours had passed before she sensed someone approach. Rising, she faced the door as it opened to reveal the three Dark Jedi she had met earlier. “Your first test is ready,” intoned one of them, a powerful-looking Thisspiassian. “Come with us.” Ariada mutely followed them down the main hallway, a broad corridor with an arching ceiling and with walls, floor, and ceiling constructed of the same gleaming highly-polished black stone. The lighting tended towards the pale green, giving the dwelling a dark, eerie ambience—no doubt a desired effect. She wasn’t sure where they were going or what they had in mind, but tried to keep her mind a metaphorical blank holo to allay mental probes while not giving the impression of being totally impossible to read. Mid-stride, the Thisspiassian suddenly whirled to face her. “Have you prepared yourself for this?” the reptilian alien asked. She nodded slowly, just as the floor gave out from under her, plunging her into pitch-black darkness. Ariada hadn’t sensed the danger beforehand and fell freely. She started to use the Force to slow her, only to have her descent suddenly arrested as she splashed into a tank full of a clear viscous liquid. The top sealed over her head and she just barely managed to catch a quick breath before being totally submerged. She estimated there was just enough clearance at the top of the tank for her to surface and breathe when needed and there was little evident danger. The cloying taste of traces of the liquid she’d accidentally caught in her mouth told her it was bacta—a surprising choice of confinement given its healing properties. She looked through the clear walls of the tank to see the three Dark Jedi staring at her. One of them, a tall gaunt human, picked up a comlink of some kind and began speaking into it; his words were then relayed through an audio pickup mounted on the inside of the tank. “For your first test, we must measure your willingness to act to preserve your own interests, even at the cost of others. Remember, Ariada, that you must protect yourself first—for only you can bring about the desired change to the galaxy.” He gave her a wicked grin. “You have probably noticed by now that you are floating in a bacta tank. This one has been specially modified to include the audio pickups you are listening to as well as a large button. This button is the subject of our first test.” He gestured and stepped aside to reveal a human male floating in another bacta tank behind him, except that there was no audio pickup, button, and the man was wearing a standard rebreather. Ariada kicked her way up to the top of the tank to speak. “Who is that?” “That is not important. He is an innocent, a civilian in terms of any conflict we might ever find ourselves entangled within. But tonight, one of you will die, and you will be the one who chooses which of you perishes.” The Dark Jedi held up a control and activated it. Suddenly, electricity began to surge into the bacta tank, electrocuting Ariada. White fire danced along her body as the discharges popped and seared her flesh and the tissues underneath. She screamed aloud and convulsed as the electric tendrils scrambled her nerves and burned her. The Dark Jedi let her thrash and writhe in agony for thirty seconds before relenting. She only barely managed to breathe before her twitching limbs could no longer keep her head above the surface and she sank into the bacta. “The next time, I will activate this control and leave it on for twice as long. You will be electrocuted slowly, and then I will let the bacta heal you for a few minutes, and then I will double the duration again. I will do this until you die, and it will not be a fast death. There is only one choice for survival—you must push the button. When you do, it will trip a circuit that shunts the electricity into the other tank.” He held up the control again, preparing to activate it. Ariada tried to summon the Force and wrest it from him, but her mind was still whirling from the violent shocking she had received and her motor control was fuzzy at best, to say nothing of her mental control. The Dark Jedi smiled and enabled the device, once more pouring electricity into the tank she was contained in. The bacta bubbled around her as the electricity coursed through her body. Ariada spasmed involuntarily as the electricity shot down her nerves, overriding any other commands her mind might have given. The pain was unbearable and she felt that she would explode if subjected to the electrocution much longer. Finally, it subsided, leaving her totally exhausted, with throbbing agony lingering in her tortured body. “That was one minute,” he said. “If it gets up to five, I’m not quite sure what it will do to you. All of my previous subjects have expired between three and four minutes.” Ariada drifted in limp helplessness, body convulsing uncontrollably from the electricity. “There is no point in being selfless if it will only result in greater net loss,” the Thisspiassian told her just as the electricity started up again. This time, Ariada could feel it coursing through her body with redoubled intensity. Her head was filled with visions of scarlet, green, and turquoise starbursts as the electricity surged into her head, mouth, and eyes. The electrocution continued for a full two minutes and then finally ceased. Ariada felt her pulse weakly and found it erratic, unstable and weak, a symptom of arrhythmia. If this persisted much longer, her heart might burst, or might stop beating altogether. “If you hope for mercy, or to impress me by your strength, you hope in vain. There is no hope, Ariada. Only a choice between deaths.” She gritted her teeth and tried to force herself to endure. It was against her convictions altogether to subject another person to such abject torture, but at the same time, she knew herself well enough to know that she could not continue to suffer such grievous wounds. She must either perish or accept that she would have to perpetrate an utterly immoral act for the sake of pursuing higher goals—as well as her own survival. Yanibar had always taught selflessness as one of the highest ends for a Force-user, and here she was being asked to repudiate that in a repulsive manner, a manner which would lead her to have the blood of an innocent on her hands. While she wrestled with the hideous notion of voluntarily torturing another sentient to death, the Dark Jedi commenced his sadistic exercise again, plunging her mind into a frenzied hell of raw suffering. As the electricity coursed through her veins, she tried to find strength in the Force, but wracked by such powerful jolts of energy, Ariada could no more summon it to protect her than hurl a moon from orbit. Ariada thrashed around weakly, helpless in the throes of the torture. She felt a bolt burst out through one of her toes, splitting it in a bloody cloud. Finally, the torturous pulses of electricity stopped just as she felt her heart was about to explode. In her weakened state, it took major effort to pull herself to the top of the tank and gasp for breath. She could barely move from the crippling shocks and knew she was close to death. The healing properties of the bacta could only sustain her for so long before she succumbed to the electricity. “Impressive. You have survived six and a half minutes of electrocution. But you cannot survive the next round. This is your last chance, Ariada. Sometimes, we must make hard choices. A few must be sacrificed for the greater good. Embrace this . . . or die.” He said the words with finality and she knew they were true. Blood seeped from a hundred wounds, suffusing the inside of the bacta tank with a cloudy red tint. Her scorched and burned skin hid dozens more internal injuries. The Dark Jedi took note of her continued abstinence from pressing the button and nodded solemnly. Once more, electricity began to pour unabated into the chamber, straight up her legs and into her body. It was more intense than before, instantly perforating her battered body and taking her to the brink of a painful death. Somewhere, in the trackless mist of her consciousness that was not affected by the searing electricity, a cold realization spoke to Ariada. It was a calculated logic, emotionless and devoid of sentimentality. And it told her that she was going to die and that she had no other choice but to press that button if she wanted to live. It told her that her life goals, her desire to see justice brought to the galaxy and the atrocities of the Yuuzhan Vong stopped, would never be accomplished if she died a meaningless death in this torture tank. It told her that even as the tenuous threads of her life snapped one by one in the excruciating torment, that she would have to commit a lesser evil in order to stop a greater one. Its whisper promised of eventual justice on the true perpetrators of the crime, the one who had forced her into this decision, but only if she survived. After being subjected to such unspeakable suffering, Ariada could no longer ignore that voice. She could bear it no longer. With an inaudible cry that caused her to swallow a large gulp of blood-laced bacta, Ariada reached out with the last vestiges of her strength and kicked the button. And then, mercifully, the pain subsided. And yet, she heard a sound she dreaded to hear—the agonized screaming of the man she had just subjected to the same punishment. She listened to it for three and a half minutes before it finally wound down to a hoarse gasping, then a gurgle, then nothing. She had just killed a man for the sake of her own life—the antithesis of the most fundamental precepts of the Yanibar Guard, threads she had held dear even in her exile. Revolted by what she had just done, she vomited. In the filthy remnants of the bacta, she couldn’t tell if she was crying or not. She could not tell if she was wracked by spasms from the effects of prolonged electrocution or if they were grief and horror-induced convulsions. All she knew was that she loathed herself for what she had done, for killing a man, and for placing her own existence above that of another’s. She loathed herself for placing herself in a situation where she would be forced to make such a sadistic choice. She hated the Dark Jedi who had forced her to kill in cold-blood. She hated the cold logic that said some lives were more worthwhile than others to protect, while at the same time she knew it was true. It was a bitter truth to swallow and Ariada barely kept from choking both on that thought and the mixture of vomit and bacta she had accidentally ingested. The tank was opened and she felt herself be slowly floated out of it by the Thisspiassian. He stared at the wounded, burned, despondent Wroonian as she was suspended in mid-air, dripping blood and bacta onto the stone floor. “You have made a hard decision, Ariada,” he told her. “Do not think that any of us would have made such a choice without reservation, for we are not mindless killers. It takes a certain amount of cold rationality to truly wield the power of the Force with the proper mindset. I only regret that you had to learn that in such a painful and torturous manner. Krakadas has a unique appreciation for that type of cruelty and it shows in his test.” He gestured off to one side and a hover stretcher appeared. Telekinetically, he lowered her into it. “You will be well-taken care of and given the opportunity to recover somewhat before the next test. I regret as well that you must be tested again and in a similarly harsh manner, but it is only through the heat of the blast furnace that metal can be refined. You will succeed, I am sure of it.” With that, he laid a long-nailed hand on her head. A wave of Force energy hit her, sending her pain-wracked body into the relative safety and peace of unconsciousness. Rishi It was just into the first watch on the Vigilant Refuge, when the top three commanding officers were asleep. A lowly commander was left in charge on the bridge, along with a fairly minimal complement manning the ship’s stations. Many of the crew chose to sleep during this time when they weren’t on duty. The other watches had been relieved for an hour now, and there was a sense of quiet after the turmoil of watch change. Things had settled down. The lighting in the corridors of the carrier had been dimmed to conserve energy—one of the starboard auxiliary reactors had sustained damage in the skirmish against the Yuuzhan Vong and hadn’t been fully repaired by the engineering crews quite just yet. Most of the conversation in the bridge was muted, filtered out against the background noise of the humming, beeping, and whirring of the hundred displays and control booths strategically located through the ship’s command center. It was shaping up to be another nondescript, uneventful watch. Commander Sorispice, a slender, gaunt Duros sat comfortably in his bridge chair, idly looking over status reports. He’d been in the Yanibar Guard Fleet for a little over ten years now and had advanced rapidly through the ranks of the peacetime navy. While this deployment was the first major combat operation for him, so far, there hadn’t been anything beyond the capability of his fleet, nor had anything extraordinary been asked of him. Everything had gone surprisingly well thus far. Until now. “Hyperspace reversion detected,” the flat synthesized-male voiced of the ship’s auditory warning system intoned, with that vaguely Coruscanti accent. “Hyperspace reversion detected.” The senior officers’ chairs dominated the bridge layout, overlooking the rest of the control stations. Thus, when the holographic cylinder projected in front of the sensor officers’ booth began lighting up with red symbols, Sorispice was instantly able to see what was happening. “Sensors, talk to me!” Sorispice demanded. “Hyperspace reversion detected.” “Multiple inbound contacts decanting from hyperspace,” the human female serving as chief sensor officer reported calmly. “Initial telemetry shows them all vectored directly towards us. Ship types largely unknown.” “Hyperspace reversion detected.” A chill ran down Sorispice’s spine as red chevron after red chevron shimmered into existence on the tactical holo display, all with direction arrows pointing towards the Yanibar Guard fleet. It was a huge armada, outgunning his force several times over and closing fast, and more ships were arriving by the minute. “Hyperspace reversion detected.” “Force above,” he breathed. “It’s the Yuuzhan Vong.” He stared in abject horror for a minute, then his training kicked in and he was once again a calm professional. Rising from his chair, the orders he had to give somehow issued from his throat despite the uncontrollable trembling in his arms. Sorispice tried to hide that by clenching his fists even as his mind raced to find the appropriate course of action. “All hands to battle stations,” he said. “Alert the fleet. Bring us up to combat speed. Launch all fighters. Roll us out to 183-67-mark-59 and form the fleet into echelon six formation. And somebody shut that damn thing off!” Klaxons began wailing throughout the mighty carrier as crews scrambled into protective vests and raced to their battle stations. Within two minutes, Commodore Arystek was on the bridge. Her hair was rumbled and uniform tunic half-fastened, but nobody bothered to remark on it. There was a sense of ardent urgency and tension throughout the bridge as she apprised the situation, then took over for her subordinate. “Get me groundside,” she barked at the communications officer. “Make sure they’re seeing what we are. Change formation to echelon three and prime all batteries.” The holo display soon showed the inexorable advance. The small Yuuzhan Vong blockading force linked up with the new arrivals and plunged directly towards the beleaguered Yanibar Guard Fleet. “Kriff it,” came an awestruck expletive from the sensor booth that somehow carried across the bridge. “What is it?” Arystek snapped. “They’re launching fighters, ma’am,” she replied breathlessly, eyes widened in shock. “Look.” She glanced at the tactical hologram and started in surprise as a deluge of tiny red dots swarmed out from the advancing force like the tentacles of a malevolent sea creature. “There must be a thousand of them,” she reported. Arystek glanced down at her chrono and knew that she would not have time to withdraw before they closed on her. She would have to stand and fight. “Deploy all droids,” Arystek ordered. “Have them break up the fighter attack. I want our manned craft to flank their coralskipper waves after their initial run and pin them into our batteries. Set up kill zones and blunt the edge of the starfighter assault.” The Yuuzhan Vong force slowly resolved itself against the black backdrop of space as tiny glistening blobs that grew ever larger. The Yanibar Guard fleet descended into the upper atmosphere of Rishi, attempting to create closure between them and their foe, but the stalling tactic was unsuccessful. Any further attempt at flight would only lead to the YGF force exposing its engines to unrelenting Yuuzhan Vong attack.” “Helm, bring us about,” Arystek ordered. The ships of the Yanibar Guard slowly lumbered around to face their foe, facing into the onslaught of the coralskippers. A wave of 64 Vulture battle droids rocketed into the midst of the coralskippers, blazing away with laser cannons and torpedoes in an impressive display of mass fire techniques. However, the numbers of coralskippers were far beyond those of the droids, who were outdated and best employed against smaller numbers in order to overwhelm their opponents. The oncoming wave engulfed and obliterated the battle droids, leaving shattered wreckage behind—only a few droids survived the initial salvo of plasma fire from the Yuuzhan Vong starfighters. Their numbers barely dented by the droid assault, the Yuuzhan Vong swarmed into the Yanibar Guard Fleet. “All batteries, open fire,” Arystek ordered. Heavy turrets swiveled and trained themselves on the distant targets as gunners and fire control computers brought them to bear on the throng of coralskippers knifing towards them. The Vigilant Refuge rumbled and whined as terajoules of energy flowed through its conduits into the gunning stations, then every single laser cannon and turbolaser opened up in a blistering firestorm of coherent light. The supporting warships of the fleet followed suit, hurling thousands of energy bolts into the coralskippers. Messy explosions soon lit up the formation, but still they approached, and now it was their turn to open fire. Ten thousand plasma globules were soon streaking towards the Yanibar Guard Fleet. The Vigilant Refuge’s shields erupted with orange blossoms as molten material splashed onto them, burning away the protective energy field. The warship shuddered as a thousand impacts registered on the deflectors. A formation of coralskippers shot right over the bridge, pelting its shields with dozens of magma chips that splattered against the shields with bright orange flares. They were chased away by violet streams of laser cannon fire which claimed one of them. The stricken starfighter, rapidly being chewed to pieces by the point-defense batteries, dipped its nose at the last moment and rammed into the ship, punching through the carrier’s aft shields and sending a small short-lived fireball leaping into space from the stern. “Several engine compartments breached,” reported the damage control officer. “Get our shields back up,” Arystek snapped even as the carrier lurched from a hundred other impacts across its skin. “Seal the hangars. We can’t have something getting in!” The carrier began sustaining damage as the relentless coralskippers wore away at its shields. Its batteries blazed away, but the Yuuzhan Vong starfighters were both resilient and unflinching in the face of the barrage. It was a death by a thousand tiny cuts as the shields collapsed again and again. Each time a redundant layer was activated, but only after the coralskippers were able to strafe the ship repeatedly, pockmarking it with a hundred gashes in its metal hide. Fires burned from ruptured compartments, only to be rapidly extinguished as they were sealed off and the oxygen was depleted. Defensive batteries issued streams of purple laser cannon fire, but that only drew the attention of the Yuuzhan Vong, who focused on crippling the carrier’s weaponry. Soon, less than half of its defensive weapons were still operational. Tsaruuk’s swarming coralskipper tactics and the Yanibar Guard formation meant that the carrier’s protective screen could only fire in certain zones without fear of hitting the Vigilant Refuge. The lack of defensive starfighters was proving to be a fatal weakness for the YGF force, as Tsaruuk’s coralskippers racked up ever-increasing amounts of damage on the carrier. Even though it was not the largest ship in the YGF force, he had identified it as the flagship through his analysis of Yanibar Guard behavior sent from advance force. Tsaruuk’s orders to inflict as much damage as possible on that ship were being carried out with merciless and reckless intensity. Slowly, the carrier’s defenses were whittled away, reminding Arystek of a nature holodoc of a woolamander being chewed to pieces by a swarm of piranha beetles. Each coralskipper’s attacks were largely insignificant, but when multiplied by five hundred and added together, they rapidly eroded the warship’s capabilities. “All right, bring in the fighters, loosen formation to focus nine!” Arystek shouted, fighting to make herself heard over the clamor on the bridge. On her command, 180 Sabres, Maelstroms, and Shotos flew in from the stern of the YGF formation at maximum attack speed, weapons blazing away. The friendly craft, though vastly outnumbered, sliced through the coralskippers, whose formation integrity had diminished into small attacking wedges of fighters, which were easier to overwhelm. Space visible from the bridge’s viewports erupted in a blistering light show as the starfighters counter-attacked. Explosions lit up the screen as coralskippers were shot to pieces by the onslaught of the YGF fighter screen. The coralskippers remained unflinching and while some of them turned to meet their attackers, the rest continued their unyielding bombardment of the Vigilant Refuge. The guiding influence of telepathic Yuuzhan Vong war coordinators kept them focused on their mission while simultaneously directing the entire coralskipper force with eerie synchronization. Several of them made ramming attacks onto the stern of the ship, exacerbating the damage at the sacrifice of Yuuzhan Vong craft. “Commodore, we’ve take serious damage to our starboard engines,” the Yaka standing at the engineer’s station reported. “Defensive batteries are not providing adequate protection.” “Tighten up the screen, bring in the Makashis,” Arystek ordered, tracing out orders on a hologlobe with rapid, adept movements of her stylus. “All ships execute course change to five-oh-seven-mark-one-niner at flank speed.” “The Vigilant Refuge is no longer capable of flank speed,” the helmsman reported. “Then whatever we are capable of!” she snapped. Meanwhile, the Yuuzhan Vong capital ships and gunships were closing rapidly. The Yanibar Guard Fleet formation had turned to veer away from them, but the Yuuzhan Vong altered their approach so that the leading edge of the fleets would run parallel to each other for some time, trapping the YGF between the Vong force and Rishi. A shower of sparks erupted from a burst ceiling glowpanel as the overstrained power systems on the Vigilant Refuge struggled to cope with the excessive demands placed on them. The damage holo representing the carrier began looking increasing dire, with amber and red warning symbols appearing all over its silhouette. Then suddenly, the communication officer gave Arystek a bit of welcome news. “Commodore, comm for you. From groundside.” “This is Commodore Aurek,” the officer responded after nodding to the officer to rout the transmission to her station. “This is Klivian, we spoke a few days ago. Looks like you’re in a bit of trouble there, Commodore.” “Seems that way indeed,” Arystek replied curtly, with a glance at the worsening damage holo. “Well, since we’re probably next in line after they get done with you, we thought we’d offer our help.” There were Yanibar Guard Fleet protocols about such things, but Arystek wasn’t feeling particularly obliged to deal with that formality in the light of her impending obliteration. She could deal with the court-martial if it kept her and her fleet alive. “Much appreciated,” she said. “I recommend your formation launches a diversionary assault on the Yuuzhan Vong and not join in the close-in defense—our sensors aren’t calibrated to recognize your ships as friendlies and there would be communication issues.” “Understood,” Klivian replied. “We’ll see if we can’t shake some of those ships off of you.” Arystek’s sensors soon showed a gaggle of unknown craft rising from the surface to intercept the Yuuzhan Vong fleet. “Tag them as friendlies, have the assault craft follow them in,” she said. “Inform Colonel Klivian of our intentions.” Her orders were swiftly carried out, but the toll from the coralskipper assault was beginning to mount. The sturdy carrier was falling to pieces and damage to its engines was forcing it and its attendant Makashi-class frigates to slow. Ahead, Arystek saw the Fleet Defender Mace Windu release its complement of eighty point-defense drones, autonomous robotic craft designed to protect the Yanibar Guard Fleet by encircling ships and shooting down projectiles and hostile fighters with turret-mounted repeating blasters. The drones had limited fuel supplies and were not recommended for use during high-speed maneuvering, but the Windu’s captain had seen fit to send them back to help protect the Vigilant Refuge. Their defensive fire helped draw off the coralskipper assaults, and while many of them were swiftly destroyed, every drone lost was another minute for the Vigilant Refuge to keep fighting, keep moving away from the oncoming juggernaut of the Yuuzhan Vong main fleet. The combined New Republic and Rishian attack force swept into the side of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet, bombarding them with every joule of firepower their meager fleet could muster. Red and green laser bolts intermingled with pink missile trails as the weapons fire lanced into the Yuuzhan Vong force. The flanking frigates and gunships lit up with a smattering of detonations and flashes as some of the weaponry managed to slip past the dovin basal defenses and score hits on the smaller ships. In response, they met with a withering fusillade as three mataloks—roughly analogous to a Star Destroyer—broke off to deal with the pests. New Republic ships exploded in the face of the counterfire, leaving behind crippled wrecks and glowing metallic debris. The surviving warships peeled off, some trailing smoke, fumes, and debris from serious damage. The mataloks pursued them, only to suddenly be confronted with Arystek’s assault wave. Though their escort of only sixteen Sabres and six Shotos was meager, the six squadrons of B-wings were able to unleash their considerable firepower onto the mataloks. Splitting up into two groups, they pounded two of the three Yuuzhan Vong warships with crippling torpedo barrages. With almost all of their coralskippers sent to attack the Yanibar Guard Fleet, the B-wing pilots were able to make their runs virtually unmolested while the Sabres and Shotos drew defensive fire. Soon, both of the targeted mataloks were hulled repeatedly by the furious torpedo salvos of the cruciform starfighters. This was what B-wings were designed to do—kill capital ships—and they were performing splendidly. Other Yuuzhan Vong warships and coralskipper formations quickly hove to in order to chase off the surprisingly effective starfighters, but by then the B-wings had expended most of their ordnance anyway and withdrew. In their wake, they left one matalok a lifeless derelict, the other crippled and limping, barely managing to keep from being pulled down into a terminal trajectory. Even as the starfighters plied their deadly trade, though, Tsaruuk’s fleet shot forward with a surprising burst of acceleration to close within weapons range of their capital ships. Streams of molten plasma were hurled through space to slam into the Yanibar Guard Fleet ships. Unable to escape from the fire, Arystek’s force was instantly pounded. Both Makashi-class frigates that were protecting the Vigilant Refuge disappeared from view under the heaping of plasma fire they received. In short order, both were completely lost. Three of the four forward prongs of the Tsui Choi were chewed off and the ship’s stern was blasted and torn open, exposing the innards of the frigate. A bevy of escape pods shot away from the stricken vessel, even as the Yuuzhan Vong continued to bombard the frigate. A few pods reached other YGF vessels or Rishi—the rest were blasted into atoms by coralskippers. The Nejaa Halcyon was less fortunate—plasma fire melted into its hangar bay and engines, destabilizing the reactors. The warship blew up in a spectacular fireball which split the vessel into three separate, lifeless hulks. The Yuuzhan Vong fleet advanced, ignoring the return fire which tore apart one of their frigates. Redoubling their assault, the lead pair of mataloks alternately volleyed more plasma missiles into the Vigilant Refuge and the cruiser-carrier Saesee Tiin. Both vessels quickly had their port sides gashed and torn into by the endless streaks of molten material slamming into them. Energy shields offered only a few scant seconds of protection before they failed in the face of the Yuuzhan Vong fire. On the bridge, Commodore Arystek clutched the console in front of her as she endured the litany of damage reports being rattled off with as much ferocity as the Yuuzhan Vong attacks. “Commodore, we’ve lost primary engines. We are falling behind,” her Yaka engineer informed her with restrained detachment. “Fighter screen is down to fifty percent effectiveness. The coralskippers are only attacking our starboard,” another officer reported. “Down to one stern battery. Most other defensive weapons have been disabled.” “Venting atmosphere on multiple decks. We have breaches in sixteen engine compartments.” “Portside top hangar is breached!” As if to punctuate his words, an explosion tore through the Vigilant Refuge, buckling its already battered hull. The entire ship lurched and shuddered, flinging crewmembers around like rag dolls. “Order the fleet to maneuver away from the VR,” Arystek ordered as she picked herself up, ignoring the gash across her head. “They can’t accomplish anything by dying alongside us. Get me Captain Ido.” Within seconds, the flickering hologram of the tall dark-skinned Human male standing on the bridge of the Mace Windu appeared in view. “Captain, the fleet is yours,” Arystek said. “Do not come back to save us. Save as many ships as possible.” “You should abandon ship,” the normally taciturn-officer advised. Arystek shook her head resolutely even as the Vigilant Refuge was rocked by another series of explosions which threatened to toss her across the bridge. Blotting out the shouted exclamations and alarms incessantly flooding her hearing, she focused on the transmission. “Not yet. As long as they are focused on us, they’re not hitting the rest of the ships. Stay the course, Captain. The fleet is yours now.” “Aye, ma’am,” he said, saluting. The transmission winked out. Arystek looked at the tactical display to see that the Nejaa Halcyon was now drifting, being chewed to pieces by coralskippers and two Yuuzhan Vong frigates while barely offering any resistance. Suddenly, a new formation of smaller ships emerged from the Yuuzhan Vong fleet, closing on the Vigilant Refuge. She turned to her tactical officer. “What are those?” she asked. “Bombers?” He shook his head, a nervous pallor spreading across his face. “No ma’am,” he said. “Those are assault craft. They’re going to board us.” Even as the Vigilant Refuge fell further and further behind the rest of the Yanibar Guard fleet, the Yuuzhan Vong bombardment diminished, seeking merely to suppress the last of the carrier’s defensive batteries. The shuttles, hideous organic creatures reminiscent of marine insects, closed into position and began latching onto the ruined port side. Arystek swallowed nervously as she watched them clamp onto her ship, disgorging hordes of bloodthirsty Yuuzhan Vong warriors to rampage through her ship. She toggled the ship’s intercom. “All hands, this is the captain. Stand by to repel boarders. Do not abandon ship—you won’t make it far before they capture or kill you. Hold out as long as you can. Courage and honor!” She glanced down at her chrono and grimaced. Time was running out.
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