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| - The ramp leading into the Raven’s Claw was lowered when Hobbie arrived, but nobody was there. That immediately made him nervous, particularly since there was very little illumination from the depths of the ship. “Come in, Colonel Klivian,” came the voice of Jan Ors through an external intercom system. “We’re in the cockpit.” His nerves partially assuaged, Hobbie ventured into the ship, making his way forward. The interior of the ship gave him an impression of jumbled disrepair, complete with exposed machinery, loose wires, and scattered parts. The lighting was dimmed and haphazard at best and the smells of engine coolant blended with something he thought might be burnt circuitry. He meandered forward and found Jan and Kyle in the bridge around a holoprojector. Jan was knelt beside it, her hands buried in its inner workings making some repair to the flickering holo, while Kyle was content to lounge on a control panel, arms crossed as he watched her work. “Nice ship,” Hobbie commented as he entered. “I think I’ve been in worse before.” Jan shot him a quick glare before returning to her work. “You can talk bad about me if you want, but don’t trash the ship or its captain,” Kyle warned him. “She’s saved me more times than I can count.” Hobbie privately wondered which she the Jedi was referring to, but didn’t voice his query. “So, do we have the hololink to Wedge on Borleias yet?” he asked. “Almost,” Jan replied, reaching for a small probe. Hobbie stood and fidgeted impatiently, waiting for her to finish the repairs. As if sensing his impatience, Jan offered up some intelligence to distract him even while she kept her focus on the holoprojector. “While you wait, I managed to pull up everything that NRI knows about these Guard people and this Seirla Trasani you told me about back there. I was just telling Kyle when you arrived and I’ll even tell you even though you’re a civilian—but I’m not sure if you’re interested.” “On the contrary, I’m very interested,” Hobbie said. “What do we know?” “Well, there’s not much substantial about them, so don’t get your hopes up,” Jan warned him. “They’ve kept a low profile.” “Nobody has a fleet this big and NRI doesn’t know about it,” Hobbie scoffed. “They had a ship up there bigger than an Impstar Deuce.” “The Yevetha almost got away with it,” Jan recollected, “but you’re right, they must have worked pretty hard to stay hidden. None of the ship types that you sent me sensor data of are known in our databases, except for the B-wings. Same goes for the vehicle, armor, and weapons. It all appears to be completely indigenous, though one of the sidearms resembles an old Clone Wars weapon. We’ve also heard unsubstantiated reports of droideka use—another Clone Wars weapon system.” “So if they’re using weapons derived from the Clone Wars era, how are they holding their own against the Vong?” Hobbie asked. “Obviously they’ve made some upgrades since then,” Jan answered curtly. “I don’t have specifics or even detailed sensor data on the ships. They’re a dead end, except for the modified Gauntlet-class freighter that the leader flew and the B-wings.” “Anything on those?” “I’d need to know more about the ship’s registration to even run a trace.” “So what do you know about these people?” “Scattered rumors and isolated reports. The name of the Guard has popped up in a few reports from agents in the edge of the Outer Rim beyond Ryloth. Mostly smugglers’ stories. If it’s the same group, they prey on pirates and warlords and slavers, and they don’t leave many survivors. Nobody knows who they are, and anybody looking for them has either been unsuccessful or disappeared. Going off the timeframe you gave me about this Seirla Trasani, there’s one report from the Corporate Sector about some mystery forces taking on a hidden Imperial lab twenty-three years ago that could be them. Other rumors talk about them being connected to Bespin somehow or the implosion of the Zann Consortium. It’s not much.” “Okay, so what about Seirla?” “Well, that’s more interesting. It’s possible she was in the Rebellion as a spy and was extracted after the Battle of Endor. Apparently Antilles has had a subsequent encounter with her that he didn’t tell you about—he didn’t tell us about it either.” “So basically, you don’t have anything,” Hobbie remarked. “I didn’t say that,” Jan replied. “We found something interesting about the young warrior who fought off the Vong in the street and at the governor’s palace,” Kyle said. “His name, Ryion, is fairly common, but we put his face through the database, and guess what came up?” Hobbie looked bewildered. “How in space would I know?” “Officially, he’s Ryion Kraest, a former competitor at the 1979th Galactic Games, complete with a Noghri warrior just like you saw at the governor’s palace,” Jan said, punching up a button on the holodisplay to pull up a rotating holo of Ryion’s profile as a competitor. “There’s also the top-secret, unofficial version, the one that I had to slice through several layers of security to get.” “Well, what did you find?” “Apparently, he’s a member of a Force-wielding sect called the Zeison Sha,” Jan explained. “A sect which is under orders from the highest authority to leave alone if at all possible. Orders which originated shortly after said Galactic Games.” “Something happened,” Kyle surmised. “Some kind of secret deal was brokered.” “So we have heard of these guys before,” Hobbie realized. “And, just by looking at their faces, I bet that their leader is Ryion’s father.” “It seems likely,” Jan said. “Or some kind of close relative, given the shared surname.” “Probably father and son based on what I’ve sensed,” Kyle confirmed. “Odd thing is, nothing I’ve ever heard about the Zeison Sha describes them using lightsabers, yet both Ryion and his father were carrying them.” “Maybe that’s helpful for you two, but it doesn’t help me very much to explain whether these are renegade Zeison Sha or if this “Guard” was built by them,” Hobbie grumbled. “Well, you’ll just have to wait then,” Jan told him, returning to her labors. Finally, she seemed satisfied with her work, rising and keying in a set of commands on the flickering display. “We have a secure transmission to Borleias,” she said. “You should be lucky that I know Iella Wessiri Antilles as well as I do, and that she made it to Borleias safely. I had to call in a couple of favors to get this secure transmission.” “Didn’t you tell Wedge I was here?” Hobbie asked, frowning. “He’d never turn me away.” “Yes, but I had to get the appropriate comm codes to make sure he would even hear that message,” Jan replied. “Tensions are high over there; Borleias is a besieged world with twice as many Vong as we have here.” “Sounds like Wedge all right,” Hobbie said. “Let’s notify our new ‘friends’ that we have the connection they wanted to Borleias.” A quarter-sized hologram of Wedge Antilles appeared above the display. It flickered slightly and the audio was laced with static, but even that was better than Hobbie had expected. “Hobbie?” Wedge asked. “What’s going on? I’d have thought this might be a social call, but then I was told you had an urgent message for me.” “Yeah, you’re going to want to see this one,” Hobbie said. “They wanted me to arrange this little chat and you’re not going to believe who it is.” “Who is it?” Wedge asked, frowning. Hobbie started to reply but was cut off by the sudden arrival of Selu and Hasla into the bridge of the Raven’s Claw. Kyle waved them over with a curt gesture. “General Antilles,” Selu offered as a greeting. “I’m Selu Kraest and I’m the one who asked for Colonel Klivian to arrange this meeting. I believe you already know my chief of naval operations, Admiral Hasla Cyrreso.” Wedge squinted at Hasla, then his facial expression blanked as he recognized her. “You…” he said. “It’s been a long time, General Antilles,” she replied cordially. “After all these years, you’re back again,” he answered coldly. “And just like last time, this wasn’t my idea,” came her firm reply. The hologram glared at her with unmitigated rancor. “You know, I seem to recall that the last time we spoke, I promised to kill you if you weren’t turning yourself in.” “That’s right,” she said flatly. “That was twenty years ago, General.” “Some things don’t change.” “General, I understand your anger towards Admiral Cyrreso,” Selu interjected. “But really, the person who deserves that anger is me.” Wedge turned to glower at Selu. “And just why is that?” “Because I am the one who gave her direct orders both times she encountered you. I am the one who ordered her to infiltrate the Rebellion and join their starfighter corps. I am the one who ordered her to seize that bacta convoy. If anyone deserves your vengeance, General, it is me.” Wedge’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke, it was with a tight, controlled voice that just barely contained his anger. “Hobbie, an explanation please?” he said. “Well, it’s like this. Me and my volunteers saved some people from the Vong on Chalacta and tried to get away with it, but the Vong decided to take it personally. They chased us and had us cornered when these two showed up with a pretty sizeable fleet and fought the scarheads straight on. Now there’s lots more scarheads here so we can all die together. Anyway, they wanted to talk to you before the Vong overrun us and carve us up.” “I see. Well, if you’re coming to apologize, it’s about thirty years too late,” Wedge informed them. “I would gladly apologize if I thought it would make a difference, General,” Selu said. “I did what I had to do for the survival of my people. Hasla carried out my orders—and was very reluctant about it. If she hadn’t been forcibly extracted shortly after the Battle of Endor, she would have stayed with the Rebellion.” “So what do you want?” Wedge asked impatiently. “General, we’re on the same team,” Selu said. “Whatever our past differences, we both know that the Yuuzhan Vong are a threat to the entire galaxy. We’re both in similar positions, on worlds besieged by sizeable Yuuzhan Vong forces, and with little hope of reinforcement. I believe it is in our best interests to cooperate.” “You expect me to help you, after what you pulled on me? Twice?” Antilles asked in disbelief. “I expect you to make the right decision,” Selu replied mildly. “As a gesture of goodwill, I’ve brought with me all of the data files we have on the Yuuzhan Vong and Peace Brigade. Our analysts also have determined a tactic that I believe is available to you which they predict has potential to lead to a serious Yuuzhan Vong defeat.” “Go on.” “Orbital bombardment. A conventional army would have portable shield generators or would position its own forces in orbit to circumvent such an assault. However, the Yuuzhan Vong don’t use shields and their past tactics don’t seem to include many defensive operations.” “It’s an interesting idea,” Wedge admitted. “What do you want in return?” “We’d like whatever information you’re willing to share on countering the Yuuzhan Vong. We’re well aware that the New Republic has far more combat experience against them than we do, and that includes the latest counter-measures.” “So rather than spying on us, you’re just flat-out asking for our secrets?” Wedge replied sarcastically. “Well, Kraest, I give you credit for audacity.” Selu sighed, shaking his head. “General, I know that your emotions are very strong over what myself and Hasla have done in the past.” “Give the man a prize for observation,” Hobbie remarked. Selu ignored him and continued. “Even disregarding all the covert aid my organization has given the Rebellion—and believe me, we have a list somewhere—I’m offering a chance to settle the score between us.” “You’re offering to stand trial alongside Hasla for espionage and treason?” Wedge asked. “No…” “Then it doesn’t seem like you’re offering to settle that score,” Wedge replied. Exasperated, Selu cut him off. “What I’m offering is the possibility of destroying the entire Yuuzhan Vong force over Chalacta. My forces will draw as many of them in as possible and then we’ll wipe out their entire force.” “If your fleet is capable of doing so, why do you need my help?” Wedge asked suspiciously. “We have a weapon that promises to be extremely effective against the Yuuzhan Vong, but only if we can get them to concentrate their forces. Their doctrine so far has been to launch swarming attacks at first in an attempt to weaken the defenses, and then push in with a concentrated strike. There’s no guarantee we’ll last that long right now.” “So, you’re offering to use some mystery weapon to take out a Vong fleet in exchange for all our information on the Yuuzhan Vong?” “That’s right.” “But somehow, it doesn’t seem like you’re offering to give me that weapon.” “No, I am not,” Selu admitted. “I am fairly certain in my ability to use this weapon to successfully destroy a Yuuzhan Vong fleet without causing severe collateral damage. I don’t trust the New Republic to do such a thing.” “Well, I don’t trust you enough to give you our data files,” Wedge retorted. “Nor am I convinced this is anything but an elaborate scam. Have a nice day.” “What if I told you that we had saved the life of Princess Leia Solo? Is that worth nothing to you?” Selu asked suddenly. Wedge froze. “Explain yourself,” he answered. “Six years ago, at the 1979th Galactic Games, our people—my son included—foiled an assassination attempt on Leia Solo, at the time the New Republic Chief of State. Agent Ors can confirm this, if you like.” “Jan, is it true?” Wedge asked. “He’s telling the truth,” she said. “In return, seems we put his people—a group of Force-wielders called the Zeison Sha—off-limits from both the Jedi Order and the New Republic.” “We have the same enemies, General,” Selu told him softly. “The same people who wanted you dead twenty years ago would have wanted us dead even more. The same people who want you dead now want us dead even more.” Wedge gave him a dubious look. “And why is that?” Selu pulled his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it in a blaze of green luminescence, holding it up to the holoprojector. “This is why, General. The Empire and the Yuuzhan Vong had this in common: they would stop at nothing to stop those who serve the light side of the Force. Secrecy has been our safest defense for decades. That was why we could not join the Rebellion—to do so would be to assure the destruction of our own way of life, yet we have worked hard behind the scenes towards many of the same goals.” “And yet here you are now,” Kyle commented. “What changed?” “We didn’t come to Rishi to pick a fight,” Selu admitted. “The full story is complicated, but I sent a small force here to retrieve some of my intelligence agents who had stopped a Yuuzhan Vong assassination attempt. They were trapped here and our only options were to sacrifice the fleet or give battle.” “So you finally got caught skulking around by the Yuuzhan Vong and now that they’re going to make you pay for it, you’re crying to us for help?” Wedge asked. “There’s some irony here, I’m sure of it.” “Indeed,” Selu acknowledged, extinguishing the weapon and returning it to his belt. “You have a choice, General. You can help me and I’ll rid the galaxy of two hundred thousand Yuuzhan Vong warriors, or you can reject my offer and deal with probably half of those warriors later.” “You’ve been awful quiet over there, Hasla,” Wedge said to Hasla. “What do you have to say for yourself?” “Wedge, I lost all credibility with you a long time ago,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry. For both times.” Wedge folded his arms and frowned, thoroughly nonplussed. “Twenty years ago, you let me live,” she continued. “You let my squadron fly away with a bacta freighter that saved a thousand lives on my world. You saw something in me that persuaded you to help us, even though we had no claim to your generosity.” “And now you’re back for more?” Wedge asked skeptically. “No, now we’d like to pay the debt we owe—both to you and the galaxy,” Hasla said. “And while we’re prepared to go it alone, the information you have would be very helpful.” “And by pay this debt, I think the lady means destroy a Vong fleet,” Hobbie remarked. “Correct,” Selu said. “You’re asking me to trust you again,” Wedge pointed out. “No,” Hasla answered. “I’m asking you to give us what we need to help fight the Yuuzhan Vong.” “Hobbie, what do you think?” Wedge asked him. “Well, I can’t say I’m a fan of them,” Hobbie replied. “They’re arrogant, they’re sneaky, and they know far too much about us. On the other hand, they’re offering to defeat a Yuuzhan Vong fleet threatening this world, and there aren’t too many other bidders for that job right now.” “Do you think they can do it?” “They have a better chance than anyone else in the sector unless there’s another hidden fleet nearby I don’t know about. They already held off one attack,” Hobbie said. “If it comes down to it, better them doing the fighting than us.” Wedge nodded slowly, painfully aware that the strangers he despised were also the best chance of keeping Hobbie alive as well—his own forces were in no position to relieve Rishi and the virtual collapse of the New Republic meant that no other forces were available. “All right, you have a deal,” he said to Selu. “I’ll get you the information you want and put you in touch with Danni Quee. I take it you already know who that is.” “Yes,” Selu admitted. “She’s your leading expert on Yuuzhan Vong biotechnology.” Wedge frowned. “I don’t want to know how you know that,” he said. “But you’ll get your data. Put it to good use.” “We will,” Selu promised. “And thank you.” “Don’t thank me,” Wedge replied tersely. “Thank Hobbie over there. I’m only giving you this data so he and the rest of the people on Rishi have a chance of surviving the Vong attack.” “Understood, General,” Selu told him. “May the Force be with you.” The transmission terminated and the hologram disappeared. Selu and Hasla then turned and left, leaving Jan, Hobbie, and Kyle sitting in the bridge. “Well,” Hobbie remarked. “That was interesting.” Over Socorro Milya emerged slowly from her stateroom sporting swathes of bacta bandages under the loose set of coveralls she was wearing. It had been three hours since their harrowing run through the volcano, which had allowed Jorge to pull the Silent Surprise back into orbit and her to rest and treat her burns. Buckling on her charred utility belt, she made her way to the lounge and sat down. It was quiet aside from the whirs and hums of normal shipboard activity—she was alone for the moment, able to sit peacefully in the lounge and absorb its muted cyan and white colors. Milya relaxed, knowing that her tired, aching body was well overdue for a long rest, but she also still had too much to do before she could sleep. Cassi and Mithunir soon joined her, similarly adorned in bandages of their own. “We should consider ourselves fortunate to have survived that,” Milya said. “Whoever put that map there, they certainly didn’t make it easy to find.” “No, they didn’t, but I’m kind of wondering how we got out of there also,” Cassi answered. “How did you tell Jorge and Annita to fly down the volcano to pick us up?” “I learned a new technique recently that lets me project images of myself across time and space. It’s like a Force version of a holocom. It might have other applications, but I can’t seem to do it except in a meditative state. I’d show you, but I’m too tired right now.” “So that’s how you contacted Jorge and Annita?” “Yes, I projected an image of myself to them. Must have frightened them pretty badly. Then I explained everything and used the Force to guide them to the volcano we were underneath. Never done it before, but it worked out. I just hope that little expedition was worth it. Did the holocam at least survive?” “It did,” Cassi said. “Though I’m afraid the holos individually don’t seem to convey much meaning. I asked Annita to clean up the data, see if she could make sense of it.” As if on cue, Jorge and Annita entered from the bridge. Annita held a datacard with a triumphant smile on her face. “While you three were cleaning up, I took a look at the data from your holocam,” she said. “Did you find anything?” Cassi asked. “I did,” Annita told them, slotting the datacard into a holoprojector mounted on the center of the table that the others were sitting around. “On their own, the holos don’t make much sense.” She pressed a button and different-tinted holos floated into view above the table, each one resembling the galaxy, but far more sparsely populated with stars. “However, when you overlay them on top of each other, that’s where it gets interesting,” Jorge said. Leaning forward, he pressed another button and the three separate holos coalesced into a single representation that adequately resembled the galaxy. “Now, here it is with that last one,” Annita said, hitting one final control. A red arc traced its way across the galaxy from one star near the Outer Rim to another one clear in the Unknown Regions. “What two stars are those?” Milya asked. “I did a search across the past thousand years to account for gravitational drift and galactic rotation, but I wasn’t able to find anything within five light years,” Annita replied. “The fact that one of the stars is in the Unknown Regions doesn’t help.” “That’s when I thought that the map you recorded might be older than that,” Jorge said. “So I pulled a program from Sarth’s database to progressively go back in time and see how long ago the map was made. It uses some extrapolation, but it’s fairly accurate.” He manipulated the controls and the galaxy holo spun to reflect his adjustments. “I had to go back 38,000 years. That’s a lot of celestial mechanics,” Jorge said. “But I finally got a hit.” The origin of the arc now rested firmly on a star. Jorge hit another button and the holo of a galaxy was replaced by a representation of a star system featuring a red dwarf star orbited by a pale blue gas giant and two small rocky worlds. “This is the Jebuan system,” he said. “It’s a remote system in Wild Space tucked away inside a shell nebula and only been surveyed once decades ago—and it’s a dead end as far as hyperroutes are concerned.” “What about the planet on the other end of the arc?” Milya asked. “I seem to recall that this system was the starting point.” “It terminates in a pretty ordinary main sequence star, but we haven’t been able to find a matching record to go with it,” Jorge said. “Kind of surprising.” “Atlaradis was always said to be a hidden place,” Mithunir murmured. “Let’s not move on past the Jebuan system too quickly,” Annita cut in. “There’s something else of interest you ought to know.” “What’s that?” Cassi asked, noting the knowing look on Annita’s face. “Remember how I said it had been surveyed once, decades ago? The survey team that did it was Samtel Kraen and Lena Quee.” “Sarth’s and Selu’s parents,” Milya realized aloud. “Now, there’s no record of any kind of ancient map in their survey report. The system is promising for mining and the explorers’ account tells of a thoroughly inhospitable world, but nothing out of the ordinary.” “The system you speak of will lead us to Atlaradis,” Mithunir promised. Milya frowned, giving him a skeptical look. “How can you be so sure?” she asked. “There was no indication of a hyperroute there in the report—it’s a dead end.” “And there was no indication of a map being tucked away on Socorro, yet what did we just find?” Mithunir replied with assurance. “It will be there, just as my visions showed me.” “Well, I guess we know where we’re headed next,” Jorge said. “It’ll take a few days to reach the Jebuan system—like I said, it’s out of the way.” Milya opened her mouth to voice the doubts that had sprung to mind when the map had been revealed, but closed it again without saying anything. If nothing else, it was worth investigating and if she was right and this was all for nothing, then she would be vindicated upon their arrival in the system. They had followed Mithunir’s visions and clues so far, and it had led them to the map. It was becoming more and more likely that this entire quest really was an ancient path leading to a hidden planet, or an elaborate trap—Mithunir had navigated all of the challenges on Socorro with relative ease. In any event, Milya knew that incessant vigilance would be the best course of action, particularly as they neared the Jebuan system. Jorge, Annita, and Cassi rose, taking the navigational data with them to the bridge to lay in the course for the Jebuan system. Mithunir sat quietly at the table for a while, then nodded to Milya and headed to his cabin. Milya waited alone in the lounge until she sensed that Mithunir was sound asleep, then sealed him inside his cabin and headed to her own bed. She would rest while they were in hyperspace so she would be fully rested for whatever this next leg on their strange journey had in store. Little did she know that despite her own vigilance against traps, the most dangerous threat posed to her and her companions was one she had no chance of sensing, one that watched and followed even as the Silent Surprise left the Socorro system and entered hyperspace. Yuuzhan Vong grand cruiser Bloodthirster The villip everted as the attendant that had brought it to his chambers handed it to Tsaruuk, revealing the vulpine visage of Yiu Shac. Though it was tattooed and scarred, marked by numerous implantations, Tsaruuk found it to be the loveliest face he had ever beheld. The communiqué from his mate was enough to brighten the pensive mood he had been beguiled with since the inconclusive engagement he had fought with the infidel fleet over Rishi. He had secluded himself in his chambers, leaving only to study the blaze bug displays of the battle over and over again, obsessed with analyzing the ships and tactics of the infidels he had fought, the infidels that had almost killed him. He had been overconfident and it had cost him and his forces dearly. Tsaruuk swore he would not make the same mistake again. However, this message from Yiu Shac would provide a few welcome moments of diversion from his labors. He idly waved the attendant away as he sat down on the hau polyp bed. “You may speak freely, my mate,” he said. “Make your report.” “We have traced the infidel Jeedai ship to the world of Socorro, where several of our operatives were lost several months ago,” she said. “They journeyed into the desert, then several of them disappeared underground. Their ship later flew into a volcano.” “Did they survive?” Tsaruuk asked. “They did. The machine-ship emerged minutes later as the volcano erupted. It is possible they used their sorcery to make it do so. Then they jumped to darkspace. We are in pursuit.” “Have they made contact with other Jeedai?” “Not since they left Ord Pardron, though this vessel lacks the equipment to listen to their infidel machine communications. There is no sign that they know of our pursuit.” “And when you find them?” Tsaruuk asked. “You did not attack on Socorro?” “No,” Yiu Shac answered, her chin rising in mild indignation. “it would be unwise to fight them yet. I am hoping they are heading to their Jeedai refuge.” “Very well. Let us hope your patience is rewarded. You appear to be having more success than I, so far.” That was an admission Tsaruuk would never make to any other warrior, in front of any other warrior. However, he knew Yiu Shac would not treat his statement as a confession of weakness and so words otherwise absent from his vernacular emerged from his tattered lips. “What has happened?” she asked. “We received our reinforcements and proceeded to attack the infidels over Rishi. We were crushing them, so I sent ground troops to attack the main city while our warriors boarded the infidel flagship. Never have I made so great a mistake.” He took a deep breath, the weight of his failure riding heavily on his hunched shoulders, etching itself into his furrowed brow. Tsaruuk, who had always prided himself on being detached, pragmatic, and contemplative, had let his baser instincts triumph. Even recounting what had transpired to someone he trusted as implicitly as Yiu Shac was painful. “They surprised you,” she surmised. “Something unexpected?” He nodded curtly. “The infidels had another larger fleet they brought in from darkspace right on top of the battle. They sent forces to board the flagship we were seizing, including more Jeedai and armored fighters covered in their blasphemous weapons. They also landed ground troops and wiped out many of the landed forces who were not expecting an attack. Kroi Taak is dead, as are those I sent to seize the planet’s leaders.” “And where were you when all this happened?” Yiu Shac inquired. “I let my zeal for battle overtake me. I was boarding the infidel flagship with a group of warriors. My villip was lost early in the fight so there I was, a commander unable to command or receive information. Only narrowly did I retreat to take command of the fleet again.” The last words were spoken with disgust, not at the notion of retreat, but that Tsaruuk had only barely managed to salvage a poor situation when he could have averted it from the bridge of Bloodthirster. Tsaruuk was still mentally punishing himself for his failures and daily ministrations on a throne seat had helped him add physical pain to the crushing setback his pride had taken. His poor decisions continued to gnaw at his confidence, and this sort of confusion and defeated spirit was unbecoming of a true Yuuzhan Vong warrior. “You made a mistake. It happens,” Yiu Shac told him flatly. “The best warriors find ways to fight back from such a mistake and turn the tables on the enemy. You are one such warrior.” “Yes, but this latest defeat will give more voice to those who would poison the warmaster against me,” Tsaruuk reminded her. “Then ignore them,” she told him bluntly. “You must focus on what is important now: defeating the infidels on Rishi. Only then can you purge the stain of your defeat.” “And yet I must keep in mind the bigger picture,” Tsaruuk said. “The infidels must be defeated without undue cost to our forces, stretched thin as they are. This will take all my cunning—they have been full of surprises thus far.” “Spy them out and learn their tricks,” Yiu Shac advised. “Once you have done so, I know you. You will find their weaknesses and destroy them. I shall take care of the bigger picture for you.” “You plan on bringing me the location of the Jeedai refuge,” Tsaruuk said with a thin smile, full of evil anticipation. “I shall look forward to your success. May the gods shine upon your effort.” “On that day, I will watch you crush the Jeedai and then you shall receive the true escalation you deserve,” Yiu Shac promised. Tsaruuk shook his head. “I care not for advancement. My goal is to bring glory to the Yuuzhan Vong in battle and to do so in a manner that will advance the greater Yuuzhan Vong Empire.” “I know, and it is what keeps you from being as short-sighted and selfish like so many other warriors,” Yiu Shac placated. “Yet by having greater responsibility, you may do more and bring more success to the Yuuzhan Vong.” “We shall see,” Tsaruuk answered placidly. “These infidels are enough to occupy my current attention. I did not anticipate them having more reinforcements and our intendants can tell us little about them.” Talking with Yiu Shac had helped cleanse his mind of his worries, as sharing his burdens helped lift them from his shoulders. His mind was clear again, focused on conducting the campaign over Rishi. His next move was clearer to him now, as being able to bounce ideas and concerns off of her made it easier to think. “That alone is something,” Yiu Shac countered. “It means they are not major players in galactic affairs, or else they are such a secret force that nobody knows of them and thus highly valuable.” “I had surmised as much,” Tsaruuk told her. “Their people are not all one species; the ones I saw on their infidel ship were mostly human. That means little in itself. If this is a secret force, I would expect them to be better equipped.” “Indeed,” Yiu Shac agreed. “These infidels use their heretical machines to gain an advantage, but they are also soft. They risked many lives in an attempt to save the lives of others and their tactics are to either strike from range or with machines, or to strike so suddenly and forcefully that they overwhelm their enemy quickly.” “Typical Jeedai tactics,” Yiu Shac pointed out. “This fleet is not even majorly composed of Jeedai,” Tsaruuk told her. “But they are clearly their allies. It may be an independent fleet that serves the Jeedai since they no longer trust the New Republic since the fall of Coruscant.” “And yet they attacked you anyway despite your greater numbers?” she asked. “I think they were surprised to be caught here,” Tsaruuk said. “Are you sure? Do not underestimate these infidels,” she warned. “I am sure,” Tsaruuk said. “If they have the forces to defeat my fleet, it seems likely that they would have used them. The clues are apparent in the initial engagement—they had the forces to completely wipe out the containment force and chose not to after fighting through our ships. Their fleet then remained here until we engaged them and did not initially coordinate well with the New Republic infidels on the ground. They are after something else and only by our aggression have they been brought to battle. However, they are infidels that dare stand in our path and I will deal with them.” He clenched his right arm into a fist, marveling at the tension in the sinews caused by exertion. His eyes noted each detail, carefully evaluating the limb for any sign of weakness. There was none, just as it should be. “And how will you do this? Your force is not appreciably superior to theirs or you would have already forced battle.” Tsaruuk nodded appraisingly at his mate’s deduction. In just a few moments, she had already started down the same path that he had been following for the last few days, which had led to his formulation of a new stratagem. Yiu Shac had learned well from him. “That is true,” he said. “In space, I have the least advantage. The warmaster has provided me with more ground troops. In space, I must utilize the Peace Brigade and they are of little worth in battle. Nearly half of them were lost in the first battle alone. However, our spies report that their ground forces are much weaker than their fleet. It is on the ground that we will attack.” “What is your plan?” “Our fleet will venture forth and distract the infidel ships while our forces overwhelm a city away from their main encampment. Either we will capture all the infidels there and use them as leverage, or they will have to leave their fortifications where we can ambush them. There are many scattered Yuuzhan Vong forces on the ground already; I have been in contact with them. They will harass, distract, and gather intelligence.” “It is a sound plan. What could go wrong with it?” The question was a direct one, bereft of flattery. The frank evaluation and concern for contingencies was characteristic of Yiu Shac—Tsaruuk knew she was best impressed by results, not appearances. “The infidels could choose to not engage us with their fleet, or they could use some kind of weapon that inflicts widespread devastation on the ground.” Yiu Shac gave no response, waiting to hear how Tsaruuk had already planned for these eventualities. “If they do not maneuver to meet us in space, we will be in position to land troops behind their main encampment. And our assaults on the ground will not employ massed troops. We will move in small columns, hard to detect and wipe out.” “Will that not hamper your efforts if they attack in force?” Tsaruuk gave her a thin smile. “We will have plenty of notice of their coming from our scouts. I have already determined where we will give battle if they attack. It is a trio of valleys, filled with trees and rivers. It will be good cover for our warriors and easy to spot infidel machines moving through the mountain passes.” “And what of a partial response? If they only send out raiding parties that are likewise hard to detect?” “That would be the best case of all. Since my failure on their flagship, I lost all our prisoners. Raiding parties could be captured easily.” Yiu Shac gave him an approving look. “Your plan is sound. Are you, though?” Tsaruuk nodded resolutely. “I will absolve myself of my previous mistake.” “Be careful not to let your personal ambition get in your way, Tsaruuk,” she warned. “I told you, I have no personal ambition.” She laughed, a harsh guttural sound even through the villip. “Not for your own advancement, but I know you. I know that your pride will not allow you to be bested. Do not let your desire to correct your earlier mistake blind you from doing what is best for the Yuuzhan Vong.” “I will be mindful of that,” Tsaruuk said firmly. Yiu Shac shot a piercing look at him. “You are always so direct, so driven,” she said. “When you seize upon a task, it consumes you until you are finished with it.” “A sign of great focus,” he replied. “But it also means that your speech is colored by nothing else,” she pointed out. “It is my duty,” came the return. “It is always your duty that is on your mind, Tsaruuk, yet you have other ones as well,” Yiu Shac said. “Such as?” “You have a duty to the warriors under you, to be a good example of a wise Yuuzhan Vong warrior. This brooding of yours is unbecoming. And you have a duty to me and to our domain, one that we have yet to explore.” Tsaruuk saw through her words, cutting through to her true meaning. “You desire a child?” She gave him a curt nod. “This work in the field, sowing discord and eliminating infidels, it suits me well, yet at times, I wonder what it would be like to raise a child. Your child.” “That is yet another challenge to undertake,” he said, his voice softening a bit. “And one I would be pleased to explore with you—but only after this business is finished.” She sighed, knowing that Tsaruuk was implacable when his mind was made up. “I knew you would say as much. May the gods bring you swift victory.” “And a successful hunt for you,” he returned. “Do-ro’ik vong pratte.” Yiu Shac inclined her head slightly and the villip everted, leaving Tsaruuk alone in his quarters. Though he remained contemplative, the conversation had renewed his vigor and lifted his spirits. When he strode through the living passageways of Bloodthirster, his head was lifted higher, his gaze more piercing and alive. Rishi Akleyn Kraen sat at the table staring at the datapad with bloodshot eyes, attempting to focus on yet another mind-numbing form he had to fill out. He was in a small break room in the medcenter typically reserved for doctors and medics to get a few minutes’ respite from the cries of the wounded and the gruesome injuries. This late at night, there was nobody in the room but him; the other three tables were deserted and dark. The other volunteers and medics were either going about their business on the graveyard shift, or else had turned in for the night. A glowpanel suspended over his table provided the only illumination in the room, but its light barely reached the pale green walls or the cabinets and counters lining them. The alarm klaxon and comm system were mercifully not wailing after several hours of constant chatter earlier today. The conservator in the corner hummed quietly in the background, but otherwise, it was silent, just as he preferred it. With token effort, he scrolled through the list, marking what supplies he had used during today’s operations, reviewing charts for each of his patients that he had operated on that day. For someone with his near-perfect memory, the task was mere busywork and required no mental effort. Idly reaching over for the flask that was resting beside the datapad, he took a long pull of the whiskey. Dulling his mind with alcohol was not likely to aid in his concentration on finishing up the day’s datawork. However, it would help blank out the images of the screaming wounded and dying that had been in front of him all day as he worked mechanically, like a droid, to try and save them even as their life had poured out on his operating table. Whether they had lived or died, the result had been the same. Clear the table and prep for the next one. Over and over again for hours on end, a never-ending deluge of broken bloodied bodies. Akleyn swiped his thumb against the datapad to scroll down to the next patient’s chart. His eyes were burning from dryness and from having been awake for thirty hours—now that brought back memories from residency. He wiped them, but apparently his fingers had traces of whiskey on them, for the motion only brought a new, more intense burning. He swore and rose, getting water from the sink to rinse out his agitated eyes. Soon, the burning sensation abated and he turned to the table, running his fingers through his hair—already mussed from hours of wearing a surgical cap—and taking another swig of whiskey. Just as he picked up the datapad to begin his one-hundred-twelfth attempt at concentrating on finishing his datawork, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Not normal ones either—whoever it was definitely had a pronounced hobble. He looked up to see a human woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a pair of clean but ill-fitting medcenter pajamas, one of the countless sets issued to patients after surgery. Her face was haggard, her brown hair mussed, but she seemed alert enough. “What’s the matter, Doc, couldn’t sleep?” she asked him, her voice hoarse and raspy, no doubt from thirst. “What are you doing out of your bed?” Akleyn asked, trying to get his buzzed mind to remember her name. “I was thirsty,” she said. “Nobody was at the nurse’s station.” Akleyn sighed and rose, pulling a disposable cup from a sleeve mounted on the side of the conservator and walking over to the sink. “If you don’t mind, Doc, I’d rather have what you’ve been drinking,” she said, licking her lips. He turned and gave her an arch look mixed with incredulity that she would even ask him for whiskey in her state. “If the alcohol hasn’t killed you yet, it won’t kill me either,” she replied to his unasked question. “I can hold my liquor and I’ve been hurt worse. Pour me a round, unless you’re not in the sharing mood.” Akleyn wasn’t and he almost said so, but something about her forwardness told him that the easiest course would be to acquiesce. Grudgingly, he sat back down and filled the disposable cup halfway with whiskey. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating to the one of the other chairs at the table as he picked up the datapad again. “Enjoy your drink.” To punctuate the statement, Akleyn tipped the flask back for yet another swig of the fiery whiskey, savoring the sensation as it flowed down his throat. “Thanks,” she said, sitting down next to him and taking a much less ambitious sip while Akleyn locked his eyes on the datapad, attempting to peruse its contents for the one-hundred thirteenth time. “I’m Anja,” she offered after a moment’s silence. “Anja Gallandro.” Akleyn stopped as she spoke, deliberately choosing not to slide his eyes off the datapad for a full two seconds before looking at her. She obviously was not getting the hint that he wasn’t in a conversational mood. What he wanted to do was finish this datawork and get to sleep so he would be refreshed in the morning. And what he really wanted to do but couldn’t was get extremely drunk. He’d have to settle for being only slightly intoxicated so he could still function in the morning. “That’s nice,” he said. Undeterred, Anja tried again. “Long day?” Akleyn rolled his eyes. Days on Rishi were always the same length, as they were on most worlds he’d heard of. That expression had never made sense to him. She shook her head hopelessly. “You really are a grouch,” she said. “I’m surprised you can keep up your ‘caring doctor’ routine for so many hours at a time.” Akleyn glared at her, but said nothing, quickly dropping his gaze back to this datapad. Another long pause followed, during which he finally managed to get through the chart he’d been staring at for the last ten minutes. “Do you hate being here?” she asked him bluntly. He looked up balefully at her, then took another pull of whiskey, before returning his attention to the datapad. “Is it that hard to talk to people outside of work?” Anja inquired at last. It was, but Akleyn did not care to broach that subject. Not with his father, not with his mother, and certainly not with this impertinent offworlder patient. However, she had finally managed to get under his skin. “You’re lucky I didn’t just send you back to bed,” he said. “You got your drink—what more do you want?” “Just trying to make conversation,” she replied. “What’d that ever do to you?” “A lot,” he said huffily, the words escaping before he could stop himself. He paused, attempting to recover his composure. “Words are powerful things. I don’t toss them around lightly.” He returned his focus to the datapad, moving to the next chart. As fate would have it, it happened to be hers. Basic information—name, blood type, height, weight—he skimmed over that. Apparently he had been the operating surgeon for her two days prior. Injuries—she’d had lacerations in both her legs, and he’d had to reconstruct ligaments in her right leg, including the tendons over both knees. Painful and complete with a lengthy rehabilitation process if she wanted to walk again normally. “You know, for a doctor, you sure are ignoring that large infected wound you have,” she said. “Right in the general heart area.” Akleyn glared at her again. “I have nothing of the sort,” he demurred. “Maybe not physically,” she said. Now thoroughly annoyed, Akleyn nevertheless did not succumb to his vexation. Instead, he adopted his doctor’s voice and changed the subject. “How’s your knee?” “It hurts but it’s healing,” she said. “Let me see.” She propped her leg up and Akleyn tugged her pants leg to the side to expose her knee via the slits strategically placed in the pajamas for such a purpose. Retrieving a medisensor from his pocket, he ran it over the cast that had covered her right leg from ankle to mid thigh. The tendon seemed to still be stable and the surrounding tissue was healing, with no sign of secondary infection or necrotic flesh. Still, her being up and walking around were not helping matters. “Looks okay,” he said in a kindlier tone as he gently set her leg back down, “but only if you stay in bed and rest instead of traipsing around harassing doctors.” “All right, Doc,” she said, draining the last of her whiskey and rising. She turned and started to hobble off towards her room, but couldn’t resist the urge to throw one last jab over her shoulder. “Must be nice to just dismiss all your problems like that. What happens when they don’t listen?” Akleyn looked up from his datapad one last time. “Good night, Anja,” he said. She shook her again and turned, knowing that further conversation was futile. Akleyn glared after her for a second longer, then reached for his almost-empty flask. Maybe a few more pulls of whiskey would blot the memory of her annoying probing questions from his mind.
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