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| - A giant metallic arrowhead materialized with a flicker as the warship reverted from hyperspace. Its glowing blue engines propelled it through the void of space towards the cerulean orb of a planet. The ship was the Trucemaker, a fairly new reimagining of the now-classic Imperial Star Destroyer design, dubbed a Galactic-class battle carrier. Although the same length as a Star Destroyer, it displaced considerably more hull volume due to a broader and blunter hull. The vessel bore the insignia of the Galactic Alliance, the reigning galactic government, and although its launch bays were filled with starfighters and the ship itself bristled with turbolasers, ion cannons, and other weapons, it was not on a mission of war. Instead, its presence was due to a fragmented distress signal received from the planet a few days prior. Even as the carrier entered orbit around the watery Inner Rim world of Manaan, its captain ordered transmissions to be continuously pulsed down to the lone city that rose above Manaan’s gentle waves, Ahto City. However, there was an eerie lack of a reply from the surface. Manaan appeared placid, its waters calm from space, but something was definitely wrong. The ship’s commander was a male Human, fairly short and dark-haired, who wore the uniform of a commodore in the Galactic Alliance. He stood on the ship’s bridge near the forward viewport, stroking his goatee contemplatively as he stared at the planet. The battle carrier had detected nothing, not even signs of spacecraft in the area. This was most unusual, as Ahto City was normally a haven for merchants and other traders wishing to exchange cargo for the healing substance kolto that could be found on Manaan. Something was clearly wrong with the local Selkath. “Send another transmission to the surface,” the commodore ordered. “Aye, sir,” acknowledged one of the bridge crew, implementing the order. “Ahto City, this is the Galactic Alliance vessel Trucemaker,” the officer said neutrally. “Please respond.” He waited, but there was no response from the watery world aside from the normal static caused by subspace interference. “Ahto City, did not receive your last transmission,” he tried again. “Please repeat.” Another wait, another long silence. Whatever was going on down there had completely isolated the city from the galaxy. “Sir,” the sensor officer broke into the commodore’s thoughts. “I have something on visual you might want to see.” The commodore nodded and moved over to a glowing tactical command display. With a series of deft movements, the sensor officer projected a magnified image of Ahto City onto the screen. The Trucemaker’s master squinted at the sight. “Magnify and enhance,” he said. His command was swiftly carried out, revealing that Ahto City was burning in several places and had obviously been breached. The normally pristine silver architecture had been damaged, though there didn’t seem to be a reason why they wouldn’t be communicating. “Take us in closer,” the commodore said. “See if there are any short-range transmissions.” The Trucemaker descended majestically towards the planet, until the star-speckled black of space gave way to the deep blue of Manaan’s sky. The commodore kept his attention on the swelling image of Ahto City, a disturbed frown etched on his forehead. If there was anyone still alive on Ahto, they surely would have seen the battle carrier now floating a mere thirty kilometers above the planet’s surface. “Have shuttles stand by with rescue teams,” he said. The commodore was about to give the order to launch the small craft, when the communications officer reported short-range contact. “Picking up a weak transmission. Just audio,” the officer, a green-skinned Twi’lek, reported. “Let’s hear it,” replied his superior. The sound crackled through the speakers, garbled and faint. It was a Bothan’s voice, but she was gasping, out of breath. “Help . . . please . . . they’re coming for . . . enghh . . . no, gods above . . . no, not me . . . AUUUGH!” The Bothan’s ear-piercing scream was of somebody in obvious agony, and the commodore immediately leaned down to the speaker, straining to hear more, searching for a cause. “What is it?” he asked, concern filling the military man’s voice. “Who’s coming?” However, there was nothing but silence, and as the minutes ticked away, no answer came, leaving the commodore still hunched over the speaker with a white-knuckled grip on the console, trying to learn what had happened. “Launch shuttles,” he said hoarsely. “Tell them to be ready for anything.” Four small craft shot out of the Trucemaker’s hangar, headed for the surface. They hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes when the battle carrier received another signal from the surface. Again, it was put through for the commodore and this time, included full holo. The projection of a tattered-looking Selkath shimmered into view. The aquatic teal-skinned alien was cut and looked weary, and there was some kind of growth on his arm. He was carrying some kind of odd-bladed sword, it appeared, and it was evident from the stains on its blade that it had seen recent use. “This is the Galactic Alliance vessel Trucemaker,” the commodore told the hologram. “Can you hear me?” “I can,” replied the Selkath in a hoarse, gravelly voice. “I am Shyaxa, of the Order of Shasa. You are too late.” “Just hang on,” the Galactic Alliance officer said. “Help is on the way.” “No!” Shyaxa replied forcefully. “Call them off! You must call them off!” “Why?” the commodore asked, confused. “The city is doomed,” the Selkath replied, glancing at his arm. “It happened three days ago.” “What happened?” The commodore was getting more than little flustered, but the Selkath was unfazed. Instead, the alien heaved a sigh and returned the commodore’s waiting expression evenly. “The great plague,” he said. With that, the Selkath held his arm up to the holocam, showing them the reason for the urgency in his warning. The commodore gasped in surprise and horror as he realized what it was. “I can feel it running through me,” the Selkath whispered hoarsely. “Thousands are dead or have changed already. It is . . . terrible.” The commodore could only stare in abject shock at what he was hearing. “Do not let your men land if you value their lives,” the Selkath warned him. “It ate through our thickest protective suits. Quarantine did not help, nor did our strongest kolto blends. There is no cure, not even the Force.” That startled the commodore out of his silence, and he nodded. “Lieutenant Erhina, recall all the shuttles,” he said. “Immediately.” “Aye, sir,” a junior officer replied. “We’re here to help,” the commodore told the Selkath. “We could evacuate you, get you and the other survivors medical help.” The Selkath coughed painfully. “No,” he croaked. “Keep away from this city. There are no other survivors, and I am dead already. The rest of my kind died fighting to get to this device so we could warn travelers away. Tell the others that the Order of Shasa died well.” With that, the transmission ended. “Launch a probe to the surface. I want visual down there,” the commodore said tersely. “And get a line to the Chief of State. Tell him it’s a priority.” Within minutes, he was connected to the Chief of State’s office on Coruscant. This mission had been prioritized from the start, and the Chief of State had ordered that he be notified as soon as there was news, no matter what the time was. The hologram viewer projected an image of the Alderaanian Cal Omas, a distinguished-looking elder statesman of a politican, sitting behind a sizable desk in his office. “Chief Omas,” the commodore told him. “This is Commodore Darklighter. I have bad news.” Hapes, eight years earlier “Hold still, Sylacra,” the older woman sniffed. The thirteen-year-old girl whose jacket she was fastening stopped squirming with obvious reluctance. Sylacra and the women were standing in a relatively small and plain docking bay in the Royal Palace of Hapes—which meant that it could have housed an entire squadron of starfighters without trouble. Near them was a small Nubian freighter with its boarding ramp lowered. “How long is the trip going to take?” she asked plaintively. “Just a day or two,” replied the older woman. “Now, go join the others inside the Starsong.” Sylacra did as she was told, smoothing down the elaborate folds of her jacket and, with a final nod at the older woman, walking aboard the ship. “Thank you, Lady Orneya,” said another woman, dark-skinned and dressed in the plain brown and tan robes of a Jedi Knight, descending the boarding ramp. “And convey Master Skywalker’s thanks to the Queen Mother.” “There is no need,” announced a regal voice from the other side of the docking bay, making use of the royal we. “We are here to see you off.” Tall and stately, clad in a brilliant red robe that set off her elaborately curled red hair, Queen Mother Tenel Ka of Hapes entered the docking bay, surrounded by an omnipresent retinue of guards and courtiers. “Queen Mother,” the Jedi acknowledged courteously. “I’m honored that you came.” “There is no need for such formality, Sarna,” Tenel Ka declared, then added with a hint of regret as her royal persona temporarily slipped away. “I wish I was going with you.” Sarna smiled. She had been in her youth during the Queen Mother’s adolescence at the Yavin Four academy, but the sight of the Hapan warrior princess dashing around in a lizard-skin outfit on one adventure or another had not been too uncommon. Though it had been years since Tenel Ka had assumed the throne of Hapes and she now carried herself with the dignity and bearing of a true queen, it was obvious that she missed her former freedom. “I wish you were too,” Sarna said. The two embraced briefly, Tenel Ka completely ignoring her attendants as usual. “Give Master Skywalker our thanks,” Tenel Ka said, all business again. “Despite the wishes of some of the nobles, sending these girls to the Maw both for their safety and for training is the best thing.” “We’ll take good care of them,” Sarna replied. “You know Master Skywalker will take care of them and do his best to teach them the ways of the Jedi. They will be safe from the Yuuzhan Vong there.” “That is a fact,” Tenel Ka agreed. “Goodbye, Queen Mother,” Sarna said, bowing as she left. “Farewell, Sarna,” Tenel Ka replied as the Jedi boarded the Starsong. She watched as the little Nubian transport powered up its engines and soared off into the night sky, heading for space. It was a relatively short trip from Hapes to the Maw, where the Jedi Order had been hiding its young trainees after the praxeum on Yavin Four had been destroyed by the Yuuzhan Vong. Sarna was not a particularly accomplished pilot, but she was confident that once they were in hyperspace, the trip would be over in a few short hours. In the mean time, she figured she would get to know the nine Hapan girls on the ship with her. Sarna had spent some time with them on Hapes, knew their names, and knew enough to know they were all daughters of the Hapan nobility. She also knew that it had taken every bit of arm-twisting on the part of the Queen Mother to persuade the stubborn nobles of Hapes to send their Force-sensitive daughters to the Jedi academy for training, but Tenel Ka could twist an arm pretty hard when she needed to. However, the sidelong looks and quiet disdain Sarna had endured on Hapes were over now, and she was excited to meet these new trainees. Sarna spent the next hour talking with the Hapan girls, whose ages ranged from nine to fifteen, learning about them, where they came from, what they liked, and so on. Their girlish chatter was a welcome relief from the formality of the Hapan court, and Sarna found herself so engrossed in it that she almost didn’t hear the alarm coming from the cockpit. Heading forward, she realized with alarm that the Starsong had dropped out of hyperspace prematurely. Activating the sensors, Sarna realized with horror that there was a sizable ship, at least 300 meters long, looming directly over them. It lacked the organic appearance of a Yuuzhan Vong ship, but their allies, the Peace Brigade, were known to use more conventional spacecraft. She tried to throw the little Nubian transport into an evasive power dive, but it was to no avail. It was caught in a tractor beam. A glance at the sensors also told her that it was a gravity cone projected from this vessel that had generated the mass shadow that had yanked the Starsong out of hyperspace. Moreover, the communications were completely jammed. Whoever these people were, they were well-equipped. The ship was trapped. Telling the girls to stay in the lounge and keep quiet, Sarna made sure her lightsaber was in place and headed for the ship’s airlock. It was obvious they were going to be boarded soon since they hadn’t been outright destroyed, and Sarna was determined to get some answers from whoever these people were. Sure enough, the ship was pulled into the docking bay of the larger vessel soon enough. As soon as it was resting securely on the floor, Sarna lowered the boarding ramp and descended, one hand resting on the hilt of her lightsaber. There was a woman there, dressed in a form-fitting black jumpsuit. She wasn’t human; her skin was pale blue, while her hair was ebony. The woman was petite, and the athletic Sarna towered over her. “What do you want with us?” Sarna asked. The other woman merely smiled slightly, and Sarna sensed her presence was suffused with the dark side of the Force. “My name is Ariada. I’m going to kill you and take the girls,” she said flatly. Sarna realized that the time for words was up. Her hand shot to her lightsaber and the Jedi weapon flew into her hand, the blade activating in a flash of green light. To her surprise, though, her adversary had likewise armed herself with two short lightsabers, or shotos, whose blades glowed deep blue. Without hesitating, Sarna attacked, using her strength and longer reach to good effect. The blue woman fell back a step under her sudden onslaught, then stopped, crossing her two short blades against Sarna’s lightsaber. Sarna was about to push through her guard and shove the other woman back when suddenly she heard a sizzling sound as a lance of blue fire drove through her chest. She looked down in stunned disbelief to see the hilt of a third shoto protruding from her body, its blade driven completely through her. All her strength abandoned her and she began to collapse, mouth working as she tried to force out words to register her surprise at the completely unexpected attack. The Force had given her no warning and she hadn’t even seen the third weapon. The Jedi’s thoughts turned to the girls, defenseless in the ship even as Sarna felt her life slipping away and the pain overwhelmed her. “Don’t worry,” Ariada said with a triumphant smile, as if reading her thoughts. “The girls will be well taken care of.” She shoved the lifeless Jedi’s corpse over and advanced into the ship’s interior, hiding her weapons away and adopting a much sweeter tone of voice. “Girls, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay. There’s been a terrible mistake.” Coruscant, present day “And now for today’s keynote speaker, a distinguished lecturer from the University of Corellia, a man with dozens of publications and awards in the field of xenobiology, applied environmental theory, and bioethics, and a leading expert in understanding ecosystem balance, Doctor Yetr Jungplutt!” The announcer gestured offstage as the doctor entered from stage right to thunderous applause. The doctor, an aging pale-skinned man whose gray hair was beginning to recede, gave no discernible response to the audience gathered in the large hall. Instead, he marched straight over to the lectern and stood behind, his gloved hands gripping its edges as he stared out over the crowd. He saw that nearly three thousand people were gathered, seating around a number of tables as they watched him attentively. A few dozen more were scattered in the background of the massive auditorium, conversing in small knots amid the large displays and booths filled with the latest scientific equipment and findings. Holodisplays and exhibits littered the back half of the auditorium, where the latest thoughts and scientific instruments pertaining to biology had been transported across the galaxy for presentation. The topics ranged from terraforming to conservation to xenobiology to epidemiology to dozens of other biology-related fields. Graduate students, academics, corporate researchers, government bureaucrats, and philosophers all were assembled here for the third Convention on Biological Advancement since the end of the Yuuzhan Vong War eight years earlier. His quick survey of the crowd quickly informed him to which group each person he scanned belonged to. He waited several minutes for the applause to diminish, until every eye in the audience was enrapt with him standing there expectantly. “Sentients of the galaxy, I bid you welcome,” he boomed agreeably, his stentorian voice echoing across the cavernous chamber. “I would like to thank all of you for your attendance, and the organizers and venues for arranging for me to speak to you. For I come to you with an important message.” He paused for dramatic effect, casting a steely gaze around the room once more. “Sentient life, as we know it, is expendable.” Another pause. “In fact, not only is it expendable, but, after examining its effects on hundreds of ecosystems, I have concluded that it can even be deleterious to the natural environment. Consider Raxus Prime or any of the dozens of worlds despoiled by the excesses of industry. Some would argue that this is unjust and immoral. There are others who would find the radical alterations of the Yuuzhan Vong whereupon the tables were turned and living things overran great cities to be equally unjust and immoral.” “They are missing the point, the pivotal test upon which this ethical question rests. The question is not to whether it is wrong to destroy something with living things or artificial ones. The question is: does the greater galaxy benefit from this action? Individual lives are meaningless compared to the overwhelming force of greater benefit. When I speak of greater benefit, I insinuate to the galaxy as a whole, not just its inhabitants. We must consider the environment as an independent factor in weighing our decisions. It is the epitome of selfishness to blatantly corrode and pollute and mutate so that a few billion sentients—an insignificant number in the greater scheme—can live a couple years longer.” “We must retrain our minds to think not of our own benefit, but of how the galaxy’s resources may be best distributed. Does it serve the welfare of all to pour billions of hours of research and trillions of credits into, say, prolonged treatment for the terminally ill? Does it serve the welfare of all to deliver repeated aid to colonists too stupid to settle on a planet that will not support their lives at the cost of resources that could have helped others? I challenge you, my enlightened listeners, to carefully weigh the value of each decision you make and to understand that to you, those on the cutting edge of all advances and decisions pertaining to life, is thrust the weighty responsibility of comprehending and choosing the many over the few, the galaxy over a few individuals. It is up to you to pass this understanding along to others, to ignore those who would haphazardly risk disproportionate lives and resources to save some arbitrarily selected few from the natural course of things.” The sound of a solitary person persistently clapping stopped the doctor in midspeech. He searched around for the offender and quickly found her, a Wroonian woman clad in black who had risen from her seat and was advancing toward the stage. He glared down at the offender as the rest of the audience sat in stunned silence. “And speaking of not disrupting the priorities of the many,” he remarked acerbically. She seemed unperturbed and continued, though her clapping stopped. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “You are all beings of science, all of you,” she said smoothly, her voice somehow resonating throughout the chamber without any amplification. “I applaud your work, Doctor, and I am sure that your address would amply illustrate your point—it was well-spoken. But perhaps, something else would showcase your message in a manner that would affect your audience more readily.” “I will not stand for this interruption,” Doctor Jungplutt fumed. “Cease this insolence.” She gave him a thin, cold smile as nobody moved to stop her. “I don’t think so, Doctor. We have an experiment to conduct.” “Experiment? What experiment?” he demanded. “One that will verify the truth of what you have said here,” she answered. “Of whether or not it is preferable to always choose for the concerns of the greater galaxy.” She held up a hand and the doctor fell silent as she walked up to the stage. In her hand was a small metallic canister. She pressed a button and a nearly invisible mist began to disseminate from it, propelled by an aerosol. From around various corners of the room, other clouds of mist began to emerge from the tables where the audience was seated. “What have you done?” he asked her insistently. “My experiment, Doctor,” she replied. “I have just dispensed a lethal airborne virus that will infect everyone in this room but me within one minute. There is no cure and the virus has a 100% mortality rate. In fact, it will kill everyone in this room in a horrific fashion. None of you will survive.” The crowd stared at her, mouths agape in horror. “Now, this room is equipped with a protective anti-contagion system that will prevent any of the pathogens from escaping into the greater city of Coruscant if activated to seal off the convention center, saving countless trillions of lives. There is a containment field over this room that I’ve established, but its power cells will only last another two minutes. That is how long you have to activate the quarantine system. I will tell you this: concentrated heat from, say, a plasma bomb, will destroy the viruses. It is up to each of you whether you stay here and accept your death nobly and selflessly, or whether you attempt to panic, leave, or seek medical help, actions which will only amplify the deaths a millionfold. I have no desire to see millions die—their lives are in your hands. The choice is yours.” The Wroonian woman turned to the doctor. “Let’s see if you believe what you espouse, Doctor. How about that greater benefit now?” She gave the crowd a wicked, triumphant smile, threw the canister onto the ground, and then disappeared as a luma-grenade detonated in a blinding flash of light. As if a trigger for a sudden explosion, the impact threw the room into a sudden cacophony as three thousand individuals broke into utter pandemonium. Yanibar Selu Kraen sat in his chair in his office, looking over the latest reports on the evacuation schedule. His desk was littered with datacards and holodocs that detailed the progress that Yanibar was making in its mammoth evacuation effort, an effort forced on them by Yuuzhan Vong sabotage during the war eight years earlier. The aliens had used one of their dovin basal creatures to manipulate the orbit of Yorbinal, one of Yanibar’s moons, which had tugged it dangerously close. The altered orbit had caused increasingly destructive groundquakes and tsunamis, to the point where a full quarter of the Yanibar settlement was uninhabitable and had been evacuated, including the city of Saqua and all the residents along the coast. Now his brother Sarth’s company, Kraechar Arms, was racing to produce enough evacuation ships to carry the remaining populace that hadn’t abandoned the world already. The rampant devastation had broken Selu’s heart. He had led the founders of the Yanibar refuge to this basin over fifty years earlier in his youth as a Jedi on the run during the rise of the Empire. He had built it into a place for those who served the light side of the Force to live in exile from the Empire’s wrath and it had grown and prospered. For over fifty years, he had labored to defend it as the head of the Yanibar Guard, which had grown into a strong fighting force for a remote world in Wild Space, and had fought against the Empire, the Zann Consortium, the Saraswan, and the Yuuzhan Vong. And now it was coming to an end. His people were forced to live in increasingly hazardous conditions until they could escape, fleeing known space for a distant, isolated world called Atlaradis, that his wife Milya and sister-in-law, Cassi Trealus Kraen had been led to during the Yuuzhan Vong War. Selu could only hope that this new world would be a more hospitable and safer haven than Yanibar had been. As much as he had wrestled with the harsh climate of Yanibar, Selu knew that leaving the only home he had known for fifty years would be difficult, even for a Jedi Master. He glanced around the office, taking in the few decorations. There were several award plaques, models of Yanibar Guard ships and vehicles mounted to the wall, shelves containing datacards, and a large supply closet where he kept some of his personal effects. Several holographs of his family hovered on the wall opposite his desk so he could easily see them. His desk dominated the room, with a window off to the side, a tactical command display on the other side, and two chairs near the sole entrance into the room. The sensation of an approaching presence had distracted him from his reading and he looked up expectantly at the door, toggling a control on his desk to open it just as the other person approached. Selu’s innate Force senses had told him already that it was Milya long before she reached his office. She entered, a lithe woman nearly as old as he was. Her once-auburn hair was now silver-gray and her face was lined from years of hard living and stress, but the same vigor that had burned in her eyes on the day he had first met her as a down-and-out spacer on New Holstice was still there. However, the lines on her forehead were amplified as her brow was furrowed in a look of deep concern. Selu immediately knew something was wrong as Milya wordlessly crossed the room and planted a datacard on his desk. “She’s surfaced,” Milya said flatly. The color drained from Selu’s face. “I didn’t sense anything,” he said. “I did, just before it happened,” Milya answered. “About four hours ago. We just got the preliminary report from one of our operatives.” Selu was not surprised. Milya’s particular Force talents had always trended toward precognition and foresight, which had served her well in her decades-long role as Director of Yanibar Guard Intelligence. “Before what happened?” Selu asked. “Read the report,” she told him quietly. “That bad?” he asked, eyebrow arching with worry at what could so discomfit a Jedi and intelligence officer as seasoned as Milya. “Worse.”
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